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'' Familiar  in  their  Moiahs  as  HOUSEHOLD  lf01?D5L"— Shakespbari. 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS; 


i  WitlAu  Immtitl. 


OONDUOTXD  BT 


CEARLES    DICKENS. 


VOLUME  XL 

Prom  the  3rd  of  February  to  the  2Slh  cf  JuLy,  hdng  from  No.  254  to  No.  279. 


NEW  TOEK : 
DIX   &   EDWARDS,  PUBLISHERS, 
,  ^  No.    10   PARK   PLACE. 

1855. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


THB  NEW  YORK 
PUBLIC  LlRnUlY 

95219R 

B  1.  ,0  L 


HOLMAH  A  Gkat,  Printen  and  BUrwijpen, 
Corner  of  Centre  and  White  Streeta. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CONTENTS. 


rioi 

▲ooiDBvn  br  MthlntT,  241 887, 

404.006 

Adam,  The  ObineM        •       .  07 

Idnltemtioiifl           ...  214 

AdTJM 78 

Alchemiito,  8pecim«iu  of  the  467 . 
448,640 

Alderman*  Starrfttioii  of  »ii    .  214 

Alexander  the  fint  .  678 
AlgioTS,  the  Game  of  Yadaob 

in 819 

American  Opinion  of  England, 

An 266 

Ancefltorfl         ....  880 

AnehoTiee        ....  210 

Arctic  Yojagert,  The  Lott     .  12 

Audit  Board,  The  ...  648 
Autralia,  €k>ld  Diaeorered  by 

a  Oonyiot  in  1788         .       .  682 

Anetralian  Ourieis                .  420 

Back  at  Trinity      .       «       .619 

Back  from  the  Orimea  .  .  119 
Balloon.  Death  of  De  Boeier 

and  Bomain         .       .       .  149 

Barmecide  feast,  Story  of  the  816 

Bedfordshire  Farmer              .  102 

Bethnal  Green,  The  Poor  of  •  193 

Birthdays  ....  288 
Black  Sea  Five  Oentoiiet  Ago, 

Tho  .  .  .  .  .  02 
Board  of  Trade                .       .101 

Bohemian  Story  of  a  Signboard  418 

Boots  and  Oorne      ...  848 

Bottle  of  Champagne,  A  61 

Brandy 801 

Bread  Oast  on  the  Waters      .  820 

Bright  Chanticleer         .       .  204 

Brimstone        ....  898 

Brino 601 

Boeharest         ....  84 

Bulgarian  Posthonae,  A         •  886 

Bolgiarians       ....  406 

Boll,  Prince.    A  fairy  Tale    .  49 

Borgandy  Wines     ...  28 

By  Bail  to  Parnassus     •       .  477 

GALr*8  Skin,  Stealing  a  .  140 
GaUfomia,  Mr.  V.  Barryat's 

JBxperiences  of  ...  88 
Camel  Troop  Contincent,  The  226 
Ckmp  of  Honvanlt,  The  .  488 
Cssaubon,  Isaac  ...  70 
Oats  and  Dogs  .  .610 
Oayenne  Peper  .  .216 
Oeylon  in  Olden  Times  •  .  628 
Chambers  in  the  Temple  .  182 
Chalhpagne  ....  61 
Charles  the  Second,  A  Birth- 
day of   240 

Cheap  Patriotism     ...  488 

Children,  The  Bducation  of  .  677 
Children  of  the  Csar    108,227,280 

Ohinaman*s  Parson         .       .  202 

Chinese  Adam,  The        .  07 

Chinese  Postman  .  .  269 
Chips     .     20^  87. 140, 879, 898, 494 

Ciril  Service  Appointment  A  488 

Clergyman,  The  Petition  of  a  468 

Coffee  Adulteration  .  .  2U 
Coffee  Adulteration,  A  Tale 

about 600 

Cognac 861 

Colonel   C^mnpeck   and  Mr. 

Perkinson     ....  264 


PAOn 
Colours  from  Blectrlcity  .  262 
CoUege  luTitation,  A  .  .  620 
Commerce  ....  823 
Constantinople  to  Yama  .  142 
CouTicts,  Bngllsh  and  French  86 
Convict.  Story  of  a  .  .  682 
Cookery  Book  of  1000  .  .  21 
C0te-d*Or  ....     29 

Countess  d'Aulnoy's  Tales  498, 609 
County  Ooy  ....  699 
Cries  from  the  Past  .    607 

Crimea,  A  Dinner  in  the  .  191 
Crimea,  Betumed  lh>m  the  .  119 
Criminal  Lunatics  .       .    141 

Criminal  ProcsM  in  1000  .  860 
Curiosities  of  London    .    406, 007 

DAHVBn,thePassBgeofthe  .  406 
Deadly  Shafts  241,387,404 

Dear  Cup  of  Coffee,  A     .       .606 
Death's  Cipheriog-book         •    887 
Carriers  to  the        .    420 
601 


l>*fl(ings.( 

Dip  in  the  Brine,  A 

DiTers 

Doctor  Dubois 

Dodsley  Bobert 

Dogs 


.  602 

.  429 

.  809 

.  618 

Droitwich,  The  Salt  Mines  at  601 

BDiKBiniOB,  The  Houses  of  .  188 

Electric  Light  ...  251 

Blixabethan  Beformer,  A       .  663 

Embarkation    ....  864 

Faou 201 

Factory  Accidents  241, 887, 494, 006 
Factory  Occupiers,  National 

Association  of  •  .  006 
Fairy  Tales  .  .  .408,600 
Falstaff,  Death  of  ...  649 
Fsrming  in  Bedfordshire  .  102 
Fast  and  Loose  ...  169 
Fatalism  ....  107 
Fencing  with  Humanity  241, 887, 
494 
Fenton,  Elijah  ...  44 
Few  More  Leeches,  A  •  .141 
Fiend-Fancy  .  .492,609 
Fifty-two,  Wriothesley  Place  88 
-FUreUpI"  ....  007 
Flats.  Houses  in  .  •  .182 
Flemish  Gardens  ...  008 
Food  and  its  Adulterations  .  214 
Forefathers  ....  880 
France,  Poultry  in  .  899 
Franklin's,  Sir  John,  Expedi- 
tion        12 

French  ConTiets  ...  80 
French  Court  of  Justice  .  600 
French  Criminal  Process,  A  866 
French  Farmers,  Two  .  .  106 
French  Lore  ....  442 
French  Soldiers  in  Camp  .  488 
French  Wines  28,  61, 489 

Froebel's  Infant  Osrdens  .  677 
Frost-bitten  Homes  .    196 

OAMBLnro       ....  280 

Gardens  in  Belgium       .       .  002 

Garden  Walks          ...  001 

GasUght  Fairies  ...  26 
Ghost  Story.  A  .  .  .170 
Gibraltar,  The   Sappers   and 

Miners  at  the  Siege  of        .  410 

Gold  Discoverer,  Story  of  a    .  682 


PAO» 

GoTemmeot  Clerk,  A  .  488 

Gone  to  the  Dogs    ...  121 

Giurgero  ....  407 

GiuxgOTO  to  Bucharest  .       .  668 

Hassall's  (Dr.)  Book  on  Ad- 
ulterations  ....  214 
Herbert,  Mr.  Sidney,  and  the 

Bnglifh  Soldier    ...  48 

HiU  of  Gold,  The    ...  28 

Hood  (Dr.)  on  Lunacy     .       .  141 

Houses  in  FUts       ...  182 
Humbugs,  The  Thousand  and 

One       .       .       .     266,289,818 

Hunt's,  Leigh,  Stories  in  Terse  478 

lovoKAST  Mas  and  the  Genie, 

Story  of  the          ...  208 

Important  Bubbish         .       .  870 

India  PickU     ....  440 

India.  Beeouroes  of        .       .  440 

Indian  Promotions          .       .  879 

Indian  Bice      ....  622 

Infant  Gardens       ...  677 

Iron  Works,  Befrise  of  the     .  870 

JoAif  of  Alio.  The  Sign  of  the    418 
Justice,  a  French  Picture  of; 
in  1090  .866 

Lasiis' School.  A         .  80 
Latest  Intelligence  fit>m  the 

Spirita  .       .  .618 

Law  of  Storms        •       •       .  188 

Leeches 141 

Legal  Fiction,  A  ...  698 
Iieigb  Hunt's  Stories  in  Terse  478 
Letter  Carriers  in  China  .  200 
Letter  from  a  Candidate  for  Of- 
fice to  a  Board  of  Guardians  495 
Leriathian  Indeed,  A             .  400 

Locusts 07 

London,  Curiosities  of   .       •  496 

London,  The  Plagues  of        .  810 
London  Thieves       .       .       .817 

Long  Life  of  Locusts      .  07 

Louis  Qoatorse  and  his  Wig  .  620 

Lore  in  France        ...  442 

Lunacy 141 

Lyons.  Admiral  Sir  B.,  A  Tarn 

about 146 

MAOHuriBT  Accidents    .   211.  387, 
494.006 

Madame  Tartine      ...  494 

Maxims  of  the  Chinese          •  206 

Mechanics  in  Uniform    .       .  400 
Medical  Prescriptions,  An  Old 

Book  of        ....  804 

MiUtia.  Dress  of  the              .  609 

Misprints         ....  232 
Monsters          .        .                .190 

More  Alchemy         •       .       .  640 

More  Children  of  the  Csar    .  227 

More  Grist  to  the  Mm    .       .  006 
Mother  and  Stepmother— 

Parti 841 

Partn.         ....  807 

Part  III.       ....  887 

Mr.  Philip  Stubbes         .       .  668 

Mr  Pope^  Friend    ...  43 

Muse  in  Lirery,  The       .       .  808 

My  Confession         ...  OS 

My  Garden  Walks  ...  001 


4  0X974 


Digitized  by 


Google 


iv 

CONTENTS. 

PAOI 

PAO» 

PAGB 

NOTHiso  Like  BuMia-Leather 

286 

From  GiuTgero  to  Bucharest 

668 

106 

Royal  Balloon,  The         .        • 

149 

Two  Nephews  .... 

626 

Obsolbtb  Cookery 

21 

Boyal  Engineers,  The     . 

409 

Old  Boar's  Head,  the      . 

646 

Royal  Exchange,  The     . 
Rubbish 

826 

Uhdbb  the  Sea     •  . 

602 

Old  Ladies        .... 

97 

876 

Unfeneed  Blachinery,  241,  887,494 

Old  Picture  of  Justice,  An     . 

366 

Rustchuk         .       .       .       . 

427 

606 

Old  t^cholar,  An        .        .       . 

76 

Ruined  by  Railways 

114 

Unfortunate  James  Daley      . 

682 

Our  Bedfordshire  Fanner 

162 

Bussia,  Alexandertfae  First  of 

673 

Overpunished  Crime 

140 

Bussia,  Social  Condition  of   . 

108. 

VA1L8  to  Servants   . 

10 

Oxford  and  Cambridge  Men    . 

620 

.227 

,266 

Tampyres         .... 
Tama  to  Balaklava  '    .  . 

80 
168 

Paper  Makiho*  Straw  Pulp  for 

20 

Salt  Mnnv  at  Droitwieh       . 

661 

Tama  to  Bustchuk . 

807 

PaihinffFaces           .        . 
Peiiny  Wisdom  •      .        . 
Pensioners,  Employment  for 

261 

Sappers  and  Miners,  The 
Sardinian  Forests  and  Fish- 

409 

Tery  Advisable 

78 

876 

Tery  LitUe  House,  A  ■    .       . 

470 

673 

eries       .       . 

684 

Tery  LltUe  Town,  A 

209 

Pfere  I'anpan     .       .  ■     . 

'  68 

Scale  of  Promotion,  The     ■ 

879 

Tesuvius  in  Eruption     . 

436 

Periwigs  .       . 

620 

Scarli   Tapa   and    the  For^ 

Petition'Eztraordinarr 

463 

ThieTCi,  Story  of  the 
School  of  the'Fairies,  The      . 

289 

Wastb      .    *  .       . 

376 

Philosopher's  atone,  The   468, 488, 

600 

Water  Carriers,  Parable  of  the 

660 

640 

Secret  of  the  Well,  The 

4 

Water  Magnided      ... 

216 

PhTsip  a-FJeld         ... 
Pickles.  Adulterations  in 

304 

Servants,  Tails  to    .       .       . 

10 

What  it  is  to  have  Forefathers 
What  my  Landlord  Believed  . 

880 

216 

Servia,  WhltUngton  in    . 

689 

418 

Plagues  of  London 

316 

Set  of  Odd  FeUowa,  A    . 

196 

Whenthe  Wind  Blows    /       . 

188 

Podtry  on  theBailway    . 

414 

Seven  Dials      .... 

204 

Whittington  in  Servia    .       . 

689 

Poetry  by  Railway 

Poor.  The  Frost-bitten  Homes 

,477 

Signboard,  Story  of  a     . 

418 

Wigs  -      .       .       J       .        . 

619 

Sir    John   Franklin  and « his 

Wine-duty,  The    '  . 

439 

of.the     ....       .       . 

1»3 

Crews    .       .       .       . '     . 

12 

Wines  of  France      .  •       28,  61 

,480 

Pope's  Friend   .... 

43 

Sister  of  the  Spirits,  Tbie 

124 

Wives  of  Soldiers     .        .        . 

278 

Post-cart  TraT^lling  in  Walla- 

Sister  Bose—      • 

Wivea.  The  Wrongs  of    . 

698 

ehU       :       .       ,       .       . 

558 

PartL  ..... 

217 

Workhouse,  A  Candidate  for 

Postmen  in  China    .       .       . 

269 

Part  XL         .       .       .       . 

244 

OfBceina      .... 

496 

Potichomania     .... 

129 

PartllL        .       ... 

267 

Wounded  Soldiers  from   the 

Poultry  Abroad       .       . 
Prescriptions,  An  Old  Book  of 

899 

PartlV.^       .... 

292 

Crimea 

110 

304 

Bl4g 

876 

Wriothesley  Place.  A  Ladies' 

141 

Slang  Sayings  .... 
SmlA,  Sir  Sidney    .    •   .       . 

008 

School  in      .... 

86 

Prince  Bull,  A  Fairy  Tale       . 

49 

182 

Promotion  in  India 

379 

SmuKgled  Belations 
Soldiers' Costume   . 

481 

Yadac€      

819 

Public  That  other          .       . 

1 

600 

Yarn  about  Toung  Lions 

146 

Public  Ledger,  The 

828 

Soldiers  from  the  War    . 

119 

Yellow  Mask,  The 

Pulp 

20 

fcoldier's  Wife,  The 

278 

Parti 

620 

Specimens  of  the  Alchemists  467. 

PartIL         .       *       .       . 

666 

QuiTi  Revolationaxy 

474 

488 

.640 

PartlU.       .... 

687 

Spirits,    Latest   Intelligence 

Part  IT.        .... 

609 

Bab's  (Dr.)  Report  of  Sir  John 
Franklin's  Expedition 

from  the        ...        . 

613 

12 

Starvation  of  an  Alderman     . 

213 

Bailway,  Poetry  on  the   . 

414 

Stealing  a  Calf  s  Skin 

140 

POETBY. 

Balph,  the  NaturaUst     . 

167 

Steam  Ship,  The  Leviathan   . 

406 

Belations  in  the  Background 

481 

St  Nicholas     .... 

403 

ABOBi,Tho      .... 

640 

Bevolutiont      .... 

474 

Storms  and  Wind  Beads 

188 

Aspiration  and  Duty 

Baby  Beatrice          ... 

108 

Bice 

622 

Story  of  a  King,  The      . 

402 

808 

Bifrht  Man  in  the  Bight  Place, 

Strictly  Financial    .       .       . 

489 

Banoolah         .       .       . 

67 

The 

496 

Stubbes.  Mr.  Philip        .       . 

663 

Before  Sebastopol    . 
False  Genius,  A      . 

86 

Biver  Picture  in  Summer 

879 

Supposing        .... 

48 

264 

BosendaSl        .... 

604 

First  Death.  The     . 

468 

817 

Talkatitb  Babbbs,  The  Story 

First  Sorrow,  A 

876 

Boutine 

660 

ofthe 

813 

Flower's  Petition,  The    .       . 

278 

Boyiog  Eoglisliman— 
Very  Cold  at  Bucharest 

Tea,  Adulteration  of       . 

216 

Footman,  The 

309 

82 

Terraces,  Parable  of  the 

661 

God's  Gifts       .... 

319 

The  Theatre 

88 

That  other  Pnblie    . 

1 

Honour    ..... 

204 

The  Terrible  Officer     . 

84 

Theatre,  Fairies  at  the    .       . 

86 

Lesson  of  the  War 

12 

From     Constantinople    to 

Thieves  of  London  . 

817 

MadameTartine       .       .       . 

404 

7ama        .... 

142 

Thousand  and  One  Humbugs, 
The        .        .       .    266.28© 

One  by  One      .... 

167 

From  Yama  to  BalaklaTa    . 

168 

,818 

Passing  Clouds 
Poet's  Home,  A.      . 

132 

A  Dinner  in  Camp 

191 

Tinder  from  a  CaUfomian  Fire 

88 

609 

Timbs'B   (Mr.)   Coiiosiaes   of 

Spring  Li^U  and  Shadows    . 

181 

London         .... 

497 

Strive,  Wait,  and  Pray    .       . 
Time's  Cure      •       •       •       -i 
Unknown  Grave,  The     .       ; 

446 

From  Varna  to  Rustchuk    . 

SOT 

Toady-Tree,  The 
TomD'Urftey    .... 
Trade,  The  Bord  of  . 

886 

|666 

A  Bulgarian  Poet-house 
Bustchuk      .... 

886 

186 

•226 

427 

101 

Tision  of  Hours,  A 

^16 

The  Passage  of  the  Danube 

466 

l^ade        

328 

Wind,  The       .... 

420 

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"  fiuUlhr  in  their  Mwthi  (U  WUSJEHOLD  WORDS,"    ■■.■■■■■iii 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
COHDXrCTED   BT   CHABLE8   DICKBK8. 


No.  1.] 


J.  A.   DIX,   PUBLISHER, 

Omo«,  No.  10  Paui  PiAffs,  Vww-Y9tM. 


[Whole  No.  254. 


THAT  OTHER  PUBLIC. 

In  out  ninth  volume,*  it  fell  natnrallj  in 
our  way  to  make  a  few  inquiries  as  to  the 
abiding  place  of  that  vague  noun  of  multi- 
tude signifying  many,  The  Public.  We  re- 
minded our  readers  that  it  is  never  forthcom- 
ing when  it  is  the  subject  of  a  joke  at  the 
theatre :  which  is  always  perceived  to  be  a 
hit  at  sonae  other  Public  richly  deserving  it, 
but  not  present.  The  circumstances  of  this 
time  considered,  we  cannot  better  commence 
our  eleventh  volume,  than  by  gently  jogring 
the  memory  of  that  other  Public  :  which  is 
often  culpably  oblivious  of  its  own  duties, 
rights,  and  interests  ;  and  to  which  it  is  per- 
fectly clear  that  neither  we  nor  our  readers 
are  in  the  least  degree  related.  We  are  the 
sensible,  reflecting,  prompt  Public,  always  up 
to  the  mark— whereas  that  other  Public  per- 
sists in  supinely  lagging  behind,  and  behav- 
ing in  an  inconsiderate  manner. 

To  begin  with  a  small  example  lately 
revived  by  our  friend,  The  Examiner  news- 
paper. What  can  that  other  Public  mean, 
by  allowing  itself  to  be  fleeced  every  night 
of  its  life,  by  responsible  persons  whom  It 
accepts  for  its  servants  ?  The  case  stands 
thus.  Bribes  and  fees  to  small  oflScials,  had 
become  quite  insupportable  at  the  time  when 
the  great  Railwav  Companies  sprang  into  ex- 
istence. All  sucn  abuses  they  immediately 
and  very  much  to  their  credit,  struck  out  of 
their  system  of  management ;  the  keepers  of 
boteh  were  soon  generally  obliged  to  follow 
in  this  rational  direction  ;  the  Public  (mean- 
ing always,  that  other  one,  of  course)  were  re- 
lieved ft*om  a  most  annoying  and  exaspera- 
ting addition  to  the  hurry  and  worry  of  travel; 
and  the  reform,  as  is  in  the  nature  of  everv 
reform  that  is  necessary  and  sensible,  extend- 
ed in  many  smaller  directions,  and  was  bene- 
ficially felt  in  many  smaller  ways.  The  one 
persistent  and  unabashed  defyer  of  it,  at  this 
moment,  is  the  Theatre — which  pursues  its 
old  obsolete  course  of  refhrilng  to  fulfil  its 
contract  with  that  other  Public,  unless 
that  other  Public,  after  paying  for  Its 
box-seats  or  stalls,  will  also  pay  the  wages 
of  theatre  servants  who  buy  their  places 
that  they  may  prey  upon  that  other  Public 

•  HooMhoU  Words,  Tolnme  IX.  page  100. 

TOL.   XI. 


As  if  we  should  sell  our  publidier's  post  to 
the  highest  bidder,  leaving  him  to  charge  an 
additional  penny  or  twopence,  or  as  mnch  as 
he  could  get,  on  every  number  of  House- 
hold Words  with  which  he  should  graciously 
favour  that  other  Public  1  Within  a  week  or 
two  of  ^is  present  writing,  we  paid  five 
shillings,  at  nine  o'clock  In  the  evening, 
for  our  one  seat  at  a  pantomime  ^  after  our 
cheerfhl  compliance  with  which  demand,  a 
hnngry  footpad  clapped  a  rolled-up  playbill 
to  our  breast,  like  the  muzzle  of  a  pistol,  and 
positively  stood  before  the  door  of  which  he 
was  the  keeper,  to  prevent  our  access  (with- 
out forfeiture  of  another  shilling  fbr  his  ben- 
efit) to  the  seat  we  had  purchased.  Now, 
that  other  Public  still  submits  to  the  gross 
imposition,  notwithstanding  that  its  most 
popular  entertainer  has  abandoned  all  the 
profit  derivable  fh>m  it,  and  has  plainly 
pointed  out  its  manifest  absurdity  and  extor- 
tion. And  although  to  be  sure  it  is  univer- 
sally known  that  the  Theatre,  as  an  Institu- 
tion, is  in  a  highly  thriving  and  promising 
state,  and  although  we  have  only  to  see  a 
y,  hap-hazard,  to  perceive  that  the  great 
ly  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  representing  it, 
have  educated  themselveswith  infinite  labour 
and  expense  in  a  variety  of  accomplishments, 
and  have  really  qualified  for  their  calling  in 
the  true  spirit  of  students  of  the  Fine  Arts ; 

?et,  we  take  leave  to  suggest  to  tiiat  other 
ttblic  with  which  our  readers  and  we  are 
wholly  unconnected,  that  these  are  no  reasons 
fbr  its  being  so  egregiously  gulled. 

Wo  just  now  mentioned  Railwajr  Compa- 
nies. That  other  Public  is  very  jealous  of 
Railway  Companies.  It  is  not  unreasonable 
in  being  so,  for,  it  is  quite  at  their  mercy ; 
we  merely  observe  that  it  is  not  usually  slow 
to  complain  of  them  when  it  has  any  cause. 
It  has  remonstrated,  in  its  time,  about  rates 
of  Fares,  and  has  adduced  instances  of  their 
being  undoubtedly  too  high.  But,  has  that 
other  Public  ever  heard  of  a  preliminary  sys- 
tem fh>m  which  the  Railway  Ck>mpanie8  have 
no  escape,  and  which  runs  riot  in  squander- 
ing treasure  to  an  incredible  amount,  before 
they  have  excavated  one  foot  of  earth  or  laid 
a  bar  of  iron  on  the  ground  T  Why  does  that 
other  Public  never  begin  at  the  beginning  and 
raise  its  voice  against  the  monstrous  charges 
of  toliciling   private  bllli  in   Parlianent, 

254 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Caaduetodbjr 


and  condacting  inquiries  before  Committees 
of  the  House  of  Commons^allowed  on  all 
hands  to  be  the  very  worst  tribunals  con- 
ceivable bj  the  mind  of  manT  Has  that 
other  Public  any  adequate  idea  of  the  corrup- 
tion, profusion,  and  waste,  occasioned  by 
this  process  of  misgovernment  ?  Supposing 
it  were  informed  that,  ten  years  ago,  the 
average  Parliamentary  and  Law  expenses  of 
all  the  then  existing  Railway  Companies 
amounted  to  a  charge  of  seven  hundred 
pounds  a  mile  on  every  mile  of  railway  made 
in  the  United  Kingdom,  ^ould  it  be  startled? 
But,  supposing  it  were  told  in  the  next  breath, 
that  this  charge  was  really — not  seven,  but 

BEVKNTEEN     HUNDRED    POUNDS  A.  KILE,    what 

would  that  other  Public  (on  whom,  of  course, 
every  farthing  of  it  falls),  say  then?  Yet  this 
is  the  statement,  in  so  many  words  and 
figures,  of  a  document  issued  by  the  Board  of 
Trade,  and  which  is  now  rather  scarce — as 
well  it  may  be,  being  a  perilous  curiosity. 
That  other  Public  may  learn  from  the  same 
pages,  that  on  the  Law  and  Parliamentary 
expenses  of  a  certain  Stone  and  Rugby  Line, 
the  Bill  for  which  was  lost  (and  the  Line 
consequently  not  made  after  all),  there  was 
expended  the  modest  little  preliminary  total 
of  one  hundred  and  forty-six  thousand 
pounds !  '  That  was  in  the  joyful  days  when 
counsel  learned  in  Parliamentary  Law,  re- 
fused briefs  marked  with  one  hundred  guinea 
fees,  and  accepted  the  same  briefs  marked 
with  one  thousand  guinea  fees ;  the  attorney 
making  the  neat  addition  of-  a  third  cipher, 
on  the  spot,  with  a  presence  of  mind  sug- 
gestive of  his  own  little  bill  against  that 
other  Public  (quite  ditsociated  from  us  as 
aforesaid),  at  whom  our  readers  and  we  are 
now  bitterly  smiling.  That  was  also  in  the 
blessed  times  when,  there  being  no  Public 
Health  Act,  Whitechapel  paid  to  the  tutelary 
deities,  Law  and  Parliament,  six  thousand 
five  hundred  pounds,  to  be  graciously  allowed 
to  pull  down,  for  the  public  good,  a  dozen 
odious  streets  inhabited  by  Vice  and  Fever. 
Oar  Public  know  all  about  these  things, 
and  our  Public  are  not  blind  to  their  enor- 
mity. It  is  that  other  Public,  somewhere  or 
other— where  can  it  be? — which  is  always 
getting  itself  humbugged  and  talked  over. 
It  has  been  in  a  maze  of  doubt  and  con- 
fusion, for  the  last  three  or  four  years,  on 
that  vexed  question,  the  Liberty  of  the 
Press.  It  has  been  told  by  Noble  Lords 
that  the  said  Liberty  is  vastly  inconve- 
nient No  doubt  it  is.  No  doubt  all 
Liberty  is— to  some  people.  Liglit  is  highly 
inconvenient  to  such  as  have  their  sufficient 
reasons  for  preferring  darkness;  and  soap 
and  water  is  observed  to  be  a  particular  in- 
convenience to  those  who  would  rather  be 
dirty  than  clean.  But,  that  other  Public  find- 
ing the  Noble  Lords  much  given  to  harping 
betweenwhile?,  in  a  sly  dull  way,  on  this 
string,  became  uneasy  about  it,  and  wanted  to 
know  what  the  harpers  would  have— wanted 


to  know,  for  instance,  how  they  would  direct 
and  guide  this  dangerous  Press.  Well,  now 
they  may  know.  U  that  other  Public  will 
ever  learn,  their  instruction-book,  very 
lately  published,  is  open  before  them.  Chapter 
one  is  a  High  Court  of  Justice ;  chapter  two 
is  a  history  of  personal  adventure,  whereof 
they  may  hear  more,  perhaps,  one  of  these 
days.  The  Queen's  Representative  in  a  most 
important  part  of  the  United  Kingdom— a 
thorough  gentleman,  and  a  man  of  unim- 
peachable honour  beyond  all  kind  of  doubt — 
knows  so  little  of  this  Press,  that  he  is 
seen  in  secret  personal  communication  with 
tainted  and  vile  instruments  which  it  rejects, 
buying  their  praise  with  the  public  money, 
overlooking  their  dirty  work,  and  setting 
them  their  disgraceful  tasks.  One  of  the  great 
national  departments  in  Downing  Street  is 
exhibited  under  strong  suspicion  of  like  igno- 
rant and  disreputable  dealing,  to  purchase 
remote  puffery  among  the  most  pim-^idden 
people  ever  propagated  on  the  face  of  this 
eartn.  Our  Public  know  this  very  well,  and 
have,  of  course,  taken  it  thoroughly  to  heart, 
in  its  many  sug^tive  aspects ;  but,  when  will 
that  other  Public-always  lagging  behindhand 
in  some  out  of  the  way  place-become  informed 
about  it,  and  consider  it,  and  act  upon  it  ? 

It  is  impossible  to  over-state  the  complete- 
ness with  which  our  Public  have  got  to  the 
marrow  of  the  true  question  arising  out  of 
the  condition  of  the  British  Army  before 
Sebastopol.  Our  Public  know  perfectly, 
that,  making  every  deduction  for  haste,  ob- 
struction, and  natural  strength  of  feeling  in 
the  midst  of  goading  experiences,  the  cor- 
respondence of  The  Times  has  revealed  a 
coi^used  heap  of  mismanagement,  imbe- 
cility, and  disorder,  under  which  the  nation's 
bravery  lies  crushed  and  withered.  Our  Public 
is  profoundly  acquainted  with  the  fact  that 
this  is  not  a  new  kind  of  disclosure,  but,  that 
similar  defection  and  incapacity  have  be- 
fore prevailed  at  similar  periods  until  the 
labouring  age  has  heaved  up  a  man  strong 
enough  to  wrestle  with  the  Misgovernment  of 
England  and  throw  it  on  its  back.  Wel- 
lington and  Nelson  both  did  this,  and  the 
next  great  Greneral  and  Admiral — for  whom 
we  now  impatiently  wait,  but  may  wait  some 
time,  content  (if  we  can  be)  to  know  that  it 
is  not  the  tendency  of  our  service,  by  sea  or 
land,  to  help  the  greatest  Merit  to  rise — must 
do  the  same,  and  will  assuredly  do  it,  and  by 
that  sign  ye  shall  know  them.  Our  Public 
reflecting  deeply  on  these  materials  for  co- 
gitation, will  henceforth  hold  fast  by  the 
truth,  that  the  system  of  administering  their 
afluirs  is  innately  bad;  that  classes  and 
families  and  interests,  have  brought  them  to  a 
very  low  pass ;  that  the  intelligence,  stead-, 
fastness,  foresight,  and  wonderful  power  of 
resource,  which  in  private  undertakings  dis- 
tinguish England  from  all  other  countcles, 
have  no  vitality  in  its  public  business  ;  that 
while  every  merchant  and  trader  has  en- 


Digitized  by 


Google 


Ctela  DkkeBt.] 


THAT  OTHER  PUBLIC. 


larged  his  grasp  and  quickened  bis  faculties, 
the  Fablic  Departments  have  been  drearily 
Ijiog  in  state,  a  mere  stupid  pageant  of 
gorgeoas  coflSns  and  feeblj-bnming  lights ; 
Md  that  the  windows  must  now  l^  opened 
wide,  and  the  candles  put    out,    and    the 
coffins  buried,  and  the  dajlight  freely  ad- 
mitted, aod  the  furniture  made  firewood,  and 
the  dirt  clean  swept  away.  This  is  the  lesson 
from  which  our  Public  is  nevermore  to  be  dis- 
tricted by  aoy  artiGce,  we  all  know.  But,  that 
other  Pttblic.    What  will  (%  do !    They  are 
ft  hamane,  generous,  ardent  Public :  but,  will 
they  hold  like   grim  Death  to  the  flower 
Wammg,  we  have  plucked  from  this  nettle 
Wit?    Will  they   steadily    reply    to    all 
etjoiers,  that  though  every  flannel  waist- 
coat in  the  civilized,  and  every  bearskin  and 
hoffalo^kin  in  the  uncivilized,  world,  had 
been  sent  out  in  these  days  to  our  ill-clad 
countrymen  (and  never  reached  them),  they 
would  not  in  the  least  affect  the  lasting  ques- 
tion, or  dispense  with  a  single  item  of  the 
toeodment  proved  to  be  needfdl,  and,  until 
Jttde,  to  be  severely  demanded,  in  the  whole 
Mosehoid  and  system  of  Britannia  ?    When 
tiiewar  it  over,  and  that  other  Public,  always 
f^J  for  a  demonstration,  shall  be  busy 
throwing  up  caps,  lighting  up  houses,  beating 
^^me,  blowing  trumpets,  and  making  hun- 
™8  of  miles  of  printed  columns  of  speeches, 
^l  thCT  be  flattered  and  wordily-pumped 
^  of  the  one  plain  issue  left,  or  will  they 
remember  it  ?   O  that  other  Public  I   If  we— 
JOQ,  and  I,  and  all  the  rest  of  us — could  only 
Bftke  sure  of  that  other  Public ! 

Woald  it  not  be  a  most  extraordinary  re- 
paacas  on  the  part  of  that  other  Public,  if 
It  were  content,  in  a  crisis  of  uncommon 
d/SeoJty,  to  lau^h  at  a  Ministry  without  a 
3«>d,  and  leave  It  alone  ?  Would  it  not  be  a 
JOQderftil  instance  of  the  shortcomings  of 
«**  other  Public,  if  it  were  never  seen  to 
J^  aghast  at  the  supernatural  imbecility  of 
thit  authority  to  which,  in  a  dangerous  hour, 
itconHded  the  body  and  soul  of  the  nation  t 
We  know  what  a  sight  it  would  bo  to  behold 
"at  miserable  patient,  Mr.  Cabinet,  specially 
^jjing  his  relations  and  friends  together 
Wore  Christmas,  tottering  on  his  emaciated 
^P  in  the  last  stage  of  paralysis,  and  feebly 
Piping  that  if  such  and  such  powers  were  not 
catroeted  to  him  for  instant  use,  he  would 
cmainly  go  raving  mad  of  defeated  pa- 
triotism, and  pluck  his  poor  old  wretched 
2?8  out  in  despair ;  vfe  know  with  what  dis- 
wfnl  emotions  we  should  see  him  gratified 
^  then  Bhu£9e  away  and  go  to  sleep :  to 
■uike  no  use  of  what  he  had  got,  and  be 
**rt  of  no  more  until  one  of  his  nurses, 
"w^re  irritable  than  the  rest,  should  pull  his 
^2en  noae  and  make  him  whine — we  know 
J*t  t^jese  experiences  would  be  to  us,  and 
"««us!  we  should  act  upon  them  in  round 
2[»e8t— but,  where  is  that  other  Public, 
•w  iodifi'erenoe  is  the  life  of  such  scare- 
^'i^and  whom  it  would  seem  that  not  even 


plague,  pestilence  and  famine,  battle,  murder 
and  sudden  death,  can  rouse  ? 

There  is  one  comfort  in  all  this.  We 
English  are  not  the  only  victims  of  that 
other  Public.  It  is  to  be  heard  of,  else- 
where. It  got  across  the  Atlantic,  in  the 
train  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers,  and  has  fre- 
quently been  achieving  wonders  in  America. 
Ten  or  eleven  years  ago,  one  Chuzzlewit 
was  heard  to  say,  that  he  had  found 
it  on  that  side  of  the  water,  doing  the 
strangest  thin^  The  assertion  made  all 
sorts  of  Publics  angry,  and  there  was 
quite  a  cordial  combination  of  Publics  to 
resent  it  and  disprove  it.  But  there  is  a 
little  book  of  Memoirs  to  be  heard  of  at  the 
present  time,  which  looks  as  if  young 
Chuzzlewit  had  reason  In  him  too.  Does  the 
"smart"  Showman,  who  makes  such  a  Mer- 
maid, and  makes  such  a  Washington's  Nurse, 
and  makes  such  a  Dwarf,  and  makes  such 
a  Singing  Angel  upon  earth,  and  makes 
such  a  fortune,  and,  above  all,  makes 
such  a  book— does  he  address  the  free  and 
enlightened  Public  of  the  great  United 
States  :  the  Public  of  State  Schools,  Liberal 
Tickets,  First-chop  Intelligence  and  Uni- 
versal Education?  No,  no.  *  That  other 
Public  is  the  sharks'-prey.  It  is  that  other 
Public,  down  somewhere  or  other,  whose 
bright  particular  star  and  stripe  are  not  yet 
ascertained,  which  is  so  transparently  cheated 
and  so  hardily  outfaced.  For  that  other 
Public,  the  hatter  of  New  York  outbid 
Creation  at  the  auction  of  the  first  Lind  seat. 
For  that  other  Public,  the  Lind  speeches  were 
made,  the  tears  shed,  the  serenades  given.  It 
is  that  other  Public,  always  on  the  boil  and 
ferment  about  anything  or  nothing,  whom  the 
travelling  companion  shone  down  upon  from 
the  high  Hotel-Balconies.  It  is  that  other 
Public  who  will  read,  and  even  buy,  the 
smart  book  in  which  they  have  so  proud  a 
share,  and  who  will  fly  into  raptures  about 
its  being  circulated  from  the  old  Ocean 
Clifl^  of  the  Old  Granite  State  to  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  It  is  indubitably  in  reference  to 
that  other  Public  that  we  find  the  following 
passage  in  a  book  called  Ambrioan  Noths. 
**Anotber  prominent  feature  is  the  love  of 
*  smart'  dealing,  which  gilds  over  many  a 
swindle  and  gross  breach  of  trust,  manv  a 
defalcation,  public  and  i>rivate ;  and  enables 
many  a  knave  to  hold  his  head  up  with  the 
best,  who  well  deserves  a  halter^thoogh  it 
has  not  been  without  its  retribiitive  opera- 
tion ;  for,  this  smartness  has  ^ne  more  in  a 
few  years  to  impair  the  public  credit  and  to 
cripple  the  public  resources,  than  dull 
honesty,  however  rash,  could  have  effected 
in  a  century.  The  merits  of  a  broken  specu- 
lation, or  a  bankruptcy,  or  of  a  successful 
scoundrel,  are  not  gauged  by  its  er  his  ob- 
servance of  the  golden  rule,  *Do  as  you 
would  be  done  by,'  but  are  considtered  with 
reference  to  their  smartness.  The  following 
dialogue  I  have  held  a  hundred  times: — *£ 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coodvctwlliy 


it  not  a  yerj  disgracefal  circumstaDce  that 
8ocb  a  man  as  So  and  So  should  be  acquiring 
a  large  property  by  the  most  infamous  and 
odious  means ;  and,  notwithstanding  all  the 
crimes  of  which  he  has  been  guilty,  should  be 
tolerated  and  abetted  by  your  Citizens  ?  He 
is  a  public  nuisance,  is  he  not?' — *  Yes,  sir.' 
— *A  convicted  liar!'— 'Yes,  sir.' — 'He  has 
been  kicked  and  cuffed  and  caned?' — 'Yes, 
sir.' — 'And  he  is  utterly  dishonourable, 
debased,  and  profligate?' — 'Yes,  sir.' — 'In 
the  name  of  wonder,  then,  what  is  his  merit? ' 
— '  Well,  sir,  he  is  a  smart  man.' " 

That  other  Public  of  our  own  bore  their 
full  share,  and  more,  of  bowing  down  before 
the  Dwarf  aforesaid,  in  despite  of  his  obviously 
being  too  young  a  child  to  speak  plainly :  and 
tre,  the  Public  who  are  never  token  in,  will 
not  excuse  their  folly.  So,  if  John  on  this 
shore,  and  Jonathan  over  there,  could  each 
only  get  at  that  troublesome  other  Public  of 
his,  and  brighten  them  up  a  little,  it  would 
be  very  mucn  the  better  for  both  brothers. 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE  WELL. 

OcTsiDB  the  gate  of  Sitt  Zeyneb,  lead- 
ing from  New  Cairo  to  the  old  city  was 
a  cluster  of  buildings  that  became  cele- 
brated in  their  day.  They  wore  the  aspect 
rather  of  a  fortress  than  of  the  habita- 
tions of  quiet  peaceable  people ;  and  were 
principally  occupied  by  sly  Copts  and  very 
poor  Muslems.  The  backs  of  the  houses  were 
turned  towards  the  fields,  and  exhibited 
nothin^f  but  great  bare  walls  with  a  few  win- 
dows pierced  high  up.  The  fronts  looked  upon 
an  irregular  court  and  a  few  blind  alleys, 
some  of  which  were  vaulted  over.  A  low 
gateway,  closed  at  night  and  in  times  of  dis- 
turbance, admitted  those  who  had  business 
there  ft*om  the  dirty  road.  Other  mode  of 
ingress  there  was  none ;  so  that  when,  what 
you  may  call  the  little  garrison  was  united, 
even  collectors  of  taxes  sometimes  in  vain  de- 
manded admittance.  By  agreement  based 
on  mutual  interest,  importunate  creditors 
were  either  locked  out  by  common  consent  *, 
or,  so  ill-received,  that  they  never  cared  to 
return  again.  The  children  and  the  don 
that  lav  together  all  day  long  on  the  only 
ppot  where  the  sun  shone  upon  the  court, 
were  sufficient  to  worry  an  ordinary  man  to 
death. 

From  time  immemorial  there  had  been  a 
large  house  to  let  in  this  out-of-the-way  place. 
The  family  to  whom  it  belonged  must  have 
had  some  other  good  source  of  revenue  ;  for 
generation  after  generation  passed  and  no 
tenant  appeared.  Once  every  twenty  years  or 
BO — ^probably  when  son  succeeded  to  father- 
some  one  came  from  the  city  with  the  kevs, 
went  in,  remained  a  little  while,  made  in- 
quiries about  the  salubrity  of  the  place  as  if 
debating  whether  to  live  there  or  not,  and 
went  awar  with  vague  talk,  never  fulfilled, 
of  returning.    The  neighbours,  not  very  in- 


quisitive people,  had  learned  that  the  owners 
were  Copts,  but  nothing  more.  As  to  ihe  fact 
that  the  house  remained  empty,  no  one  won- 
dered at  it  The  cluster  of  habitations  con- 
tained many  deserted  dwelling-places  besides, 
and  several  single  old  men  occupied  premises 
capable  of  containing  five  families.  What 
slightly  astonished  the  gosrips  was,  that  any 
one  should  ever  recur  to  the  idea  of  letting 
that  great  tottering  bouse. 

It  was  situated  in  the  extensive  depths  of 
the  Cassar,  as  the  place  was  called ;  and  the 
lane  leading  to  its  great  arched  doorway,  be- 
ing half  choked  with  rubbish,  was  seldom 
visited,  save  bv  some  sullnr  boy— truant  from 
the  morning  school  of  Dando  the  Cbpt  barber— 
or  by  some  young  couple  who  had  contrived, 
Heaven  knows  now,  to  give  one  another 
rendezvous  there.  On  all  sides  it  rose  high 
and  vast  above  the  other*dwelling8,  with  not 
a  window  by  which  light  could  penetrate  into 
Uie  interior.  Those  who  took  the  trouble  to 
refiect  on  this  circumstance  guessed  that  its 
great  circuit  contained  a  court-yard,  or,  if  not, 
Uiat  the  chambers  were  dark.  But  in  general 
the  good  folks  of  the  Cassar  lived  as  indiffer- 
ently by  the  side  of  that  vast  mysterious 
edifice  as  the  fox  between  the  stones  that 
have  tumbled  from  the  great  Pyramid.  It 
was  part  of  the  natural  order  of  things. 

As  the  court  of  the  Cassar  contained  three 
shops,  it  was  called  the  bazaar.  By  the  side 
of  Dando,  barber  and  schoolmaster,  was 
Sohmed,  the  Muslem  tobacco  merchant,  who 
also  dealt  in  ready-made  clothes;  and  over 
the  way  Ibn  Daood  kept  a  sort  of  general 
warehouse,  in  which  most  necessary  things, 
from  pumpkins  to  pistols,  from  water-melons 
to  coffee-pots,  could  be  obtained.  It  seemed 
to  be  the  refuge  of  all  rejected  frumiture  and 
unsold  provisions.  Strangers  who  wandered 
into  the  place  positively  avowed  that  they 
never  saw  a  single  customer  at  any  one  of 
these  shops;  and  it  is  certain  that  Sohmed 
and  Daood  spent  the  chief  part  of  their  time 
on  the  bench  in  front  of  Dando's  shop,  on 
what  conversing  it  is  difficult  to  say,  for  one 
of  the  party  being  a  Christian,  controversial 
topics  and  sacred  legends  were  necessarily 
excluded.  In  the  East  no  propagandlsm  fi 
allowed  in  private  life :  and  theological  tisti- 
cufis  are  not  exchanged  over  a  cup  of  coffee 
From  the  little  I  have  said  it  may  b< 
imagined,  that  life  in  the  Cassar  was  i 
steady  hum-drum  sort  of  thing.  The  peopl< 
got  up  with  .the  sun  and  went  forth  to  tfai 
city  or  field  to  work,  and  came  back  with  th^ 
sun  to  go  to  .bed.  They  ate  as  they  were  abU 
and  dressed  with  perfect  indifference  to  th 
world's  opinion.  Their  sons  and  daaghter 
ffrew,and  loved,  and  married,  much  like  othQ 
folk.  Now  and  then  there  was  a  wedding 
and  now  and  then  a  funeraL  But  U  seeoM 
never  likely  that  the  whole  of  that  Bober  pi 
pulation  could  suddenlv  be  roused  into  palnn 
anxiety,  disturbed  with  horrid  fears  perpeti 
ally  increasing,  and  hurried  day  after  da| 


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CMmWduaa.] 


THE  S£CBET  OF  THE  WELL. 


week  ftfter  week,  moro  rapidly  down  a 
itreun  of  tragic  excitement,  such  as  some- 
iimea  aeizes  and  bears  aloag  resistless  the 

:  popalatioD  of  whole  cities. 

I  On  a  bright,  scorching,  dosty  day  in 
August,  the  triamvirate  in  the  bazaar, 
mo?ed  by  the  exclamation  of  an  old  woman 
irbo  passed  with  a  tray  of  bread  upon  her 
bod,  left  the  bench  where  they  were  lazily 
smoking,  and  advanced  to  a  point  whence  they 
could lM>k  oat  beneath  the  broad  arched  gate- 
way down  a  dark  lane,  as  through  a  telescope, 
ioto  the  sanny  country.    There  was  no  doubt 

I  about  the  matter.  A  small  caravan  of 
camels,  attended  by  some  gaudily  decked- 
oatservants,  had  certainly  halted  there.  Pre- 
sently a  tall,  handsome  young  man,  dressed 
in  a  garb  that  seemed  rersian,  stooped  to 
enter,  and  came  rapidly  towards  the  court- 
jard  accompanied  by  a  little,  shrivelled,  old 
nan  with  a  black  turban.  The  three  gossips 
made  way,  bat  stared  with  all  their  eyes. 

"Ifl  that  the  shed  ?  "  enquired  the  young 
man,  looking  with  half-closed  eves  and  a 
contemptuoas  carl  of  the  lip  at  the  walls  of 
the  nniohabited  house. 

"A  large  shed,''  suggested  Dando,  across 
whose  mind  vague  visions  of  a  customer  be- 
gan to  float 

The  stranger  acknowledged  this  interrup- 
tion bj  a  sladi  with  a  little  whip  which  he 
twirled  in  his  hand.  Dando  dispersed  in  the 
direction  of  his  shop,  Sohmed  and  Ibn  Daood 
followed.  The  old  man,  who  carried  a  vast 
wooden  key  like  a  club,  went  down  the  Im- 
pegnated  lane,  and,  after  some  fumbling, 
c<afrjved  to  open  the  door  of  the  house.  The 
Wber,  rubbing  his  shoulder  with  one  hand, 
itretehed  out  his  neck  and  opened  his  eyes, 
bat  saw  nothing  bat  a  gulf  of  darkness  for  a 
iBoment  and  thea  the  solid  planks  of  wood 
ig&in. 

SooQ  afterwards  a  procession  of  servants, 
lU  black,  and  too  terrible-looking  to  en- 
eoorage  familiarity,  passed  by  like  shadows, 
bearing  heavy  burdens.  They  went  back- 
nrd  and  forward  for  some  time.  Then  the 
old  man  with  the  black  turban  made  his  ap- 
JKaraoce  once  more,  hastened  across  the 
eonrtyard.  mounted  a  mule  held  by  a  slave 
Bear  the  gate,  and  rode  away.  The  camels 
bad  already  disappeared ;  so  that  within  an 
bonr  after  the  Cassar  had  been  thus  disturbed 
there  was  no  sign  whi^tever  of  the  new  arri- 
^  except  that  the  three  tradesmen,  a  few  old 
men  too  weak  to  go  forth  to  work,  and  all  the 
women  of  the  place — usually  so  silent  and 
ad— were  eagerly  discussing  this  remarkable 
^>ecnrreace.  The  eastern  narrators  will  have 
it  tliat,  by  a  kind  of  instinctive  revelation,  all 
^oew  that  they  were  soon  to  become  the 
Qei^boors  of  strange  actions,  perhaps  the 
Tictiutt  of  terrible  disaster. 

I^ly  rising  was  the  rule  in  the  Oassar, 
^  next  day  everybody  was  astir  an  hour 
before  the  usaal  time.  Great  was  the  rumour 
^  greater.thc  conversation ;  but  there  is  so 


mach  news,  and,  above  all,  so  much  wisdom 
current  in  the  world,  that  it  would  be  fastidi- 
ous to  repeat  anything  that  was  said.  We  all 
know  the  rich  variety  of  jiurmise  that  can  be 
based  on  a  fact  comprehended  by  nobody.  In 
this  case  even  Dando  who,  within  an  hour, 
was  equally  positive  that  the  new  tenant  of 
the  great  house  was  a  Persian  physician,  an 
Indian  juggler,  a  Chinese  shawl-merchant, 
and  a  Muscovite  emimary,  never  approached 
within  a  parasang  of  the  truth. 

A  provoking  circumstance  was  that  the 
day  passed  by,  an4  the  great  time-stained 
door  of  the  old  house  never  opened.  No 
loquacious  black,  no  garrulous  servant-girl 
appeared.  **  And,  by  Uie  by,"  observed  the 
barber,  **we  saw  no  woman  enter.  This  is 
against  the  rule.  There  are  no  harlms  in  the 
Cassar.  We  live  here  in  no  Wakalah.  It  is 
not  the  custom  for  bachelors  to  lodge  in  the 
midst  of  Ikmilies.  Some  bold  man  should 
go  and  make  this  representation.  It  would  be 
a  good  opportunity  to  see  what  Is  passing  be- 
hind that  door." 

The  Muslem  crowd,  for — ^unusual  ciroum- 
stance—a  crowd  had  collected,  thanked 
Dando  for  his  solicitude ;  and  suggested  that 
he  was  the  identical  bold  man  wanted  at  this 
critical  coiguncture.  But  his  shoulder  still 
felt  the  smack  of  the  whip ;  and  he  very 
humbly  admitted  that  he  was  not  a  lion.  In 
Effypt  no  man  loses  his  own  esteem  or  that  of 
others  by  pleading  guilty  to  cowardice.  It  is 
considered  a  mark  of  taste  and  piety  to  be 
chary  of  that  inestimable  possession — life. 

Next  day  a  very  old  black  man  with  fierce 
rolling  eyes  came  out  of  the  house  and  went 
rapidly  across  the  little  square.  A  number 
of  women  who  were  laying  in  wait  addressed 
him  as  *'My  Lord  Steward,"  and  proposed 
dealings  in  eggs,  butter,  milk,  and  other  pro- 
visions. They  had  stopped  up  the  way,  not 
at  all  fk'ightened  by  h(s  fiery  eyes  and  bright 
teeth,  nor  discouraged  by  his  obstinate  reply, 
that  he  wanted  nothinf^.  "  But  ^our  master 
cannot  live  without  eating,"exclaimed  the  bar- 
ber^s  wife.  *'  Perhaps  he  doesn't  eat  bread," 
replied  the  black  man  with  a  horrid  leer. 
The  crowd  fell  back  and  allowed  him  to  pass. 
In  an  incredibly  short  ^ace  of  time  it  was 
known  that  a  cannibal  had  come  to  inhabit 
tbe  Cassar ;  and  mothers  began  to  call  their 
chUdren  within  doors,  and  to  count  them 
anxiously. 

In  a  couple  of  hours  the  black  old  man 
returned  followed  by  a  porter,  who  grunted 
under  a  huge  basket  of  provisions,  as  Egyp- 
tian porters  usually  grunt  when  they  are  near 
the  end  of  their  journey,  and  are  calculating 
the  amount  of  the  present  they  are  about  to 
receive.  He  was  not  allowed  to  enter  the 
house,  but  emptied  his  basket  and  received 
his  money  at  the  door.  It  appears  that  he  was 
well  paid ;  for  whilst  the  women,  who  deter- 
mined not  to  abandon  the  charge  of  canni- 
balism, were  crying  out  against  the  wretch 
who  despised  to  buy  of  bis  neighbours,  the 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coodvct^lV 


porter,  wiping  his  brow  with  bis  sleeve,  went 
away  mormiiriDg :  *'0  prince,  0  generous 
manP' 

For  a  long  time  matters  continued  in  tbis 
position,  so  that,  althougb  the  population  of 
the  Gassar  continued  uneasy,  and  mothers  no 
longer  fearftil  but  spiteful,  still  maliciously 
looted  to  count  their  children  morning  and 
evening,  they  sank  back  perforce  into  their 
old  jog-trot  style  of  life.  The  three  trades- 
men alone  persisted  in  making  the  old  house 
and  its  servants  the  object  of  their  conver- 
sation, because  they  bad  nothing  else  to  talk 
about  J  and  their  eyes  were  often  raised  to- 
wards the  vast  silent  walls  that  overlooked 
like  a  precipice  the  whole  of  the  Cassar.  At 
length  new  food  was  supplied  to  their 
curiosity. 

Strangers  began  to  make  their  appearance, 
sometimes  guided  by  the  old  black  man; 
sometimes  alone.  The  latter  would  ask  for 
the  House  of  Gamadel,  by  which  outlandish 
name  it  appeared  the  new  tenant,  whom 
nobody  had  ever  seen  after  the  first  day,  was 
known.  All  seemed  eager  to  arrive,  and 
not  by  anjr  means  eager  to  go  away.  At 
whatever  time  they  came,  it  was  never  until 
long  after  dark  that  they  departed ;  and  one 
of  the  earliest  observations  made  in  the  Gassar 
was,  that  the  more  remarkable  the  visitor,  the 
later  the  hour  of  departure.  Sometimes  the 
porter  who  slept  on  a  bench  behind  the  door, 
always  closed  at  nightiall,  tried  to  keep  awake 
until  some  very  noble  stranger  issued  forth ; 
but  it  always  happened  that  the  bars  were 
taken  down  before  he  could  well  open  his  eyes. 
He  never,  therefore,  saw  more  than  a  robe  or 
the  back  of  a  turban,  disappearing  through 
the  door;  and  the  old  black  man.  with  the 
rolling  eyes  and  bright  teeth,  preparing  to 
shut  it.  On  these  occasions,  however,  the 
steward  was  particularly  soft-spoken  and  even 
humble  in  his  politeness.  He  seemed  afraid 
to  excite  the  anger  or  the  curiosity  of 
Bawab  All;  and  now  and  then  dropped  a 
piece  of  money  into  his  hand,  saying :  **  This 
is  from  my  master's  guest" 

Now,  it  happened  that  near  the  very  ancient 
and  sacred  mosque  of  Sitt  Zeyneb,  within  the 
gate  of  the  city,  dwelt  an  old  man  who  had 
an  only  son  named  Gathalla,  celebrated  in  the 
quarter  for  his  singular  disposition.  In 
Cairo,  as  elsewhere,  reputations  are  oftencr 
based  on  reprehensible  than  on  admirable 
qualities.  Gathalla  became  talked  of  among 
the  neighbours,  because,  his  father  being  mo- 
derately rich,  he  took  it  into  his  head  that  he 
was  not  bound  to  enter  Into  the  contest  for 
wealth.  Some  foolish  old  book  had  told  him 
that  the  sole  object  of  life  was  not  to  add 
piastre  upon  piastre,  and  heap  dollar  upon 
dollar.  Man,  according  to  him,  was  created 
for  other  objects  than  to  gather  stores  which 
he  could  never  consume.  The  pursuit  of 
knowledge  and  the  acquisition  of  wisdom,  the 
search  after  the  nature  and  the  reasons  of 
things,  were  not  to  be  abandoned  only  to  men 


of  feeble  body  and  wandering  Intellects,  inca- 
pable of  overreaching  a  customer  or  grappling 
with  the  intricacies  of  a  bargain.  Study  was 
not  quite  unworthy  of  a  noble  spirit ;  and  the 
sentences  garnered  up  by  the  wise,  of  times 
gone  by,  were  sometimes  of  more  value  than 
gold  and  silver. 

These  odd  notions  led  Gathalla  to  adopt  a 
singular  kind  of  life.  His  father,  whose  ap- 
proval he  had  won  as  much  by  obstinacy  as  by 
reason,  allowed  him  to  purchase  all  the  old 
manuscripts  he  could  find,  and  to  fit  up  a 
room  in  a  retired  part  of  the  house  they  in- 
habited, where  he  fluent  the  greater  portion  of 
bis  time,  growing  paler  as  he  grew  wiser. 
What  he  learned  it  would  be  too  long  to 
relate.  The  general  result  was  that  he 
acquired  a  very  different  mode  of  viewing 
thoughts  and  actions  from  all  around  bim, 
and  came  to  consider  things  unlawful,  which 
everybody  else  regarded  as  perfectly  proper. 
But  he  did  not  crave  happiness.  It  is  a  terri- 
ble thing  to  make  a  code  of  morals  for  one- 
self, and  to  quit  the  path  of  custom.  Medita- 
tion easily  finds  truth;  but  the  will  is  not 
always  strong  enough  to  obey  it.  Gathalla 
became  soon  dissatisfied  with  himself  as  he 
was  with  the  world.  He  lost  the  health 
of  his  mind  as  well  as  that  of  his  body. 

Suddenly,  he  threw  his  books  aside  and 
took  to  wandering  forth  through  the  city, 
especially  by  night,  when  the  narr^  streets 
were  deserted,  save  by  some  unhappy  man  in 
search  of  rest  or  booty,  or  by  an  occasional 
party  of  worthy  citizens  protected  by  lanterns 
and  the  loudness  of  their  voices,  or  by  the 
watch  moving  along  with  heavy  tramp.  At 
such  times,  when  the  tranquil  moon  threw 
down  patches  of  silver  between  the  near 
houses,  and  th6  starry  sky  could  be  seen  in 
strips  over  head ;  when  the  sound  softly  shook 
the  leaves  of  the  palm  trees  that  drooped 
over  the  lofty  walls,  and  the  owl  hooted  from 
the  pinnacle  of  some  ruined  building;  Gathalla 
thought  that  he  felt  his  mind  enlarge  and  rise 
In  stature,  so  that  high-placed  truth  was 
nearer  to  his  grasp.  But,  he  did  not  quite 
understand  all  the  emotions  that  troubled 
him.  There  were  times  when  he  yearned  after 
something  difiPerent  from  the  old  aphorisms  of 
philosophy — when  "  to  know  "  appeared  no 
longer  all  in  all,  and  he  aspired  likewise  "  to 
be."  "Is  this  existence?"  he  would  say. 
"  What  purpose  do  I  iUlfil  in  this  world  T  The 
men  whom  I  disdain,  belong  to  the  great  ma- 
chine of  humanity.  They  buy,  they  sell,  they 
cultivate,  they  go  forth  in  ships^  they  tread 
the  desert,  they  govern  and  give  judgment  in 
causea  When  they  disappear,  there  is  joy 
or  sorrow.  But,  if  I  go  to  sleep  under  this 
dark  archway,  who  will  miss  me  but  the  old 
man  living  In  a  lonely  house,  too  far  on  theway 
to  Paradise  for  bitter  regret  ? "  In  truth,  Ga- 
thalla yearned  to  love  and  to  be  loved ;  and  in 
such  moods  of  mind,  from  every  lattice  over- 
head, he  thought  he  heard  passionate  whis- 
pers., and  soft  salutations,  and  tender  sighs, 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Ck«i«Dkfe0iM.] 


THE  SEGRBT  OF  THE  WELL. 


and  half  audible  kisses  oroeslDg  to  and  fro,  in- 
terlacing, as  it  were,  in  an  exqaisite  roof, 
beneath  which  he  lingered  for  a  while  with 
ineflable  delight  that  soon  turned  to  despair. 
One  day,  the  young  man  wandered  forth 
into  the  country,  and  strolled  on  the  banks  of 
theNile,until  its  waters  grew  dark  and  became 
dotted  with  the  reflections  of  stars.  Then,  he 
thought  of  returning  homeward;  but  the 
city  gates  were  closed  when  he  reached  them, 
and  the  flmards  refused  to  admit  him.  He  was 
not  at  all  disturbed  by  the  idea  of  passing  a 
night  in  the  open  air ;  but,  being  tired,  wished 
to  fiod  a  place  where  he  could  lie  down  and 
rest  undisturbed.  Chance  directed  him  to  a 
mined  tomb  near  the  back  of  the  Gassar 
under  the  walls  of  the  house  of  Gamadel. 
He  entered,  and  lying  down,  slept.  Towards 
midaight  he  was  awakened  by  the  sound  of 
Toices.  He  listened  at  first  without  moving, 
thinking  he  was  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
robbers. 

"  Show  thy  foce,  O  Suliman  Ebn  Suliman," 
said  a  voice  from  some  high  position  in  a 
jeering  tone.  **  If  it  be  not  now  black,  thou 
art  not  to  be  admitted." 

"  It  is  black  as  blackness,"  was  the  repij, 
"Great  is  the  power  that  can  efl'ect  tlus 
change." 

Calballa  looked  cautiously  through  a  break 
in  the  ruined  tomb,  and  beheld  by  the  light 
of  the  moon,  which  shone  brilliantly,  a  tall 
negro  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  wall,  looking 
up.  He  was  dressed  in  the  garments  of  a 
distinguished  person,  and  seemed  to  wait  im- 
patiently to  seize  the  first  round  of  a  rope- 
ladder  that  was  being  let  down  from  above. 
Presently  he  began  to  ascend,  and  soon  disap- 
peared through  a  small  window  near  the 
summit  of  the  lofty  walL 

"This  is  a  strange  occurrence,"  thought 
Cathalla,  trying  to  account  for  it  by  reasoning, 
bat  in  vain. 

Next  day,  just  as  the  Damascus  caravan 
was  about  to  start,  great  search  was  made 
after  a  wealthy  merchant  named  Suliman 
Ebn  Suliman,  a  Turk.  A  crier  perambulated 
the  streets,  announcing  that  his  ft*iends  were 
distressed  at  his  disappearance ;  but  Cathalla 
was  again  wandering  forth ;  and  even  if  he 
had  heard  the  inquiry,  having  impiously 
learned  to  disbelieve  in  magical  transforma- 
tions, would  never  have  thought  of  connecting 
the  white  merchant,  whose  face  he  well  knew, 
with  the  black  man  he  had  seen  entering  in  a 
mjsterious  manner  the  house  of  Gamadel. 

By  this  time,  however,  the  Cassar  was  In  a 
state  of  terrible  excitement  No  one  can  tell 
how  the  report  got  abroad,  or  on  what  it  was 
founded.  It  seemed  to  be  one  of  those  reve- 
iaiions  which  Providence  sometimes  mys- 
teriously puts  into  the  mouths  of  common 
people,  who  shout  the  truths  they  do  not 
understand  through  the  streets  and  fields. 
Certain  it  is,  however,  that  from  the  barber 
to  the  porter,  every  one  beean  to  say  that  the 
strangers  wl^  entered  the  house  of  Gamadel 


nearly  every  day  never  came  forth  again. 
Some  people  personating  them,  wearing  their 
garments  or  mysteriouslv  assuming  their 
shape,  did  pass  through  the  gate  frequently 
whilst  the  bawab  was  in  his  heavy  sleep,  and 
never  returned.  But  Dando  maintained,  with 
great  appearance  of  truth,  that  the  real  per- 
sonages would  be  less  careful  to  conceal  their 
hceSf  and  was  perhaps  the  first  to  cry  out 
that  the  house  of  Gamadel  was  a  house  of 
slaughter — an  idea  readily  accepted,  for  the 
popular  mind  willingly  infers  that  a  man  who 
disappears  is  dead. 

If  the  people  of  the  Cassar  had  been  quite 
persuaded  of  what  seemed  to  be  likely  under 
this  supposition — that  the  strangers  whose 
fate  interested  them  were  murdered  for  the 
purpose  of  robbery — they  would  probably 
have  been  less  disquieted.  Being  all  poor, 
they  could  have  nothing  to  fear  for  them- 
selves. But  their  imaginations  were  fertile. 
Gamadel,  the  strong-armed,  as  they  now 
thought  they  remembered  the  ferocious- 
looking  young  man,  might  be  a  terrible 
magician  who  had  need  of  human  blood  for 
hislncantations.  Their  turn  might  come  next 
At  any  rate,  this  supposed  neighbourhood  of 
crime  disquieted  them,  even  w-faile  they  had 
reason  toUiink  that  they  themselves  were  safe. 

At  length  even  this  consolation  was  taken 
fh>m  them.  A  half-witted  youth  one  morning 
went  chuckling  about  the  Cassar,  intimating 
that  he  could  say  strange  things  if  he  chose, 
that  he  had  passed  the  night  outside  the 

fiites,  and  had  seen — ^he  would  not  say  what 
hey  pestered  him  to  speak,  but  with  a 
cunning  stupidity  he  refused.  "Let  him 
alone,''^said  4)ando.  "  This  evening,  if  we 
turn  our  backs  on  him,  he  will  tell  all  of  his 
own  accord."  The  half-witted  lad  went  forth : 
but  was  found  about  midday  in  a  field  of 
sugar-canes,  killed  by  a  single  stroke  of  a 
sword. 

When  this  fact  became  knoi;iii,  the  people 
of  the  Cassar  assembled  tumultuously  ;  and 
although  there  seemed  no  positive  reason  to 
say  that  death  had  been  dealt  by  any  of  the 
people  of  the  house  of  Gamadel,  no  one 
doubted  that  such  was  the  case.  The  mur- 
dered lad  had  boasted  of  having  noticed  some 
suspicious  circumstance,  and  had  died  without 
saymg  what  it  was.  Who  could  be  interested 
in  slaying  him,  save  some  servant  of  the 
house?  Lees  conclusive  reasoning  has  often 
urged  a  crowd  to  the  most  terrible  excesses. 
An  old  woman — the  mother  of  the  victim^ 
pointing  with  her  lean  finders  to  the  corpse, 
which  Uy  on  some  straw  m  a  comer  of  the 
court,  croaked  for  veneeance.  The  men  of  the 
Cassar  were  not  usually  brave,  but  they  were 
goaded  on  by  despair.  One  after  the  other, 
they  might  all  roll  beneath  the  assassin's 
knife,  If  they  dared  to  reveal  any  frightfttl 
secret  that  miehtcome  to  them  without  their 
will.  Some  old  guns,  several  rusty  swords, 
and  many  spears,  began  to  make  their  ap- 
pearance.   The  butcher  wielded  a  prodigious 


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8 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoadiictMl  by 


cleaver.  They  adyanced  with  furious  shouts 
towards  the  great  door  of  the  house — no 
sound  emanating  f^om  within,  no  sign  re- 
vealing that  it  was  Inhabited. 

An  unexpected  circumstance  put  a  stop  to 
the  meditated  assault.  A  lady  followed  by  a 
slave,  and  at  a  little  distance  by  a  young 
man,  appeared  in  the  court  of  the  Cassar, 
advancing  towards  the  house  of  Gamadel. 
She  was  carelessly  veiled ;  and  what  could  be 
seen  of  her  countenance  was  so  beautiful, 
that  the  most  furious  of  the  crowd  stopped ; 
presently  all  ranged  themselves  on  either 
hand,  to  let  her  pass.  She  advanced  at  first 
boldly  and  then  seemed  to  hesitate,  as  if 
uncertain  whither  she  was  going. 

''Is  this  the  house  of  Gamadel?"  she 
inquired. 

They  answered  that  it  was ;  but,  their  anger 
and  their  terror  reviving  at  that  word,  all 
implored  her  not  to  enter,  repeating  the  ter- 
rible suspicions  that  had  troubled  them  for 
so  many  months  past.  She  smiled  incredu- 
lously, and  announced  her  intention  to  enter, 
with  so  much  confidence,  that  the  people 
began  to  doubt  what  they  had  previously 
seemed  so  certain  about.  This  lady  spoke 
of  Gamadel  so  tenderly,  and  as  if  from  so 
complete  a  knowledge,  that  all  marvelled. 

Suddenly  the  young  man  whom  we  have 
mentioned  came  forward.  It  was  no  other 
than  Gathalla.  He  had  seen  the  lady  riding 
slowly  along  the  street,  and  having  been 
smitten  with  love  for  her  had  followed,  not 
knowing  what  he  desired  or  what  he  hoped. 
With  passionate  entreaties  he  also  besought 
her  not  to  enter ;  and  his  words  and  manner 
showed  clearly  what  was  the  reason  of  his 
interference.  The  lady  looked  benevolently 
at  him  and  smiled  sadly ;  but  without  an- 
swering advanced  towards  the  great  doorway. 
Gathalla  would  have  followed ;  but  the  crowd 
surrounded  him  ;  and  when  he  succeeded  in 
passing  through,  thrusting  back  their  hands 
on  either  side,  the  grim  vast  door  had  closed 
upon  the  form,  the  image  of  which  remained 
like  a  burning  coal  in  his  breast. 

He  listened  gloomily  to  the  horrible  stories, 
or  rather  the  horrible  surmises  related  to 
him,  and  then  went  away.  But  he  could  not 
leave  the  neighbourhood  of  the  place  where 
the  object  of  his  sudden  love  had  disappeared 
beneath  a  roof  of  terror,  like  a  bright  stream 
leaping  into  a  yawning  chasm  of  the  earth. 
Going  round  the  Cassar  by  the  fields,  he 
recognised  the  tomb  where  he  had  once 
passed  a  night,  and  the  great  wall  of  the 
house  which  the  black  man  had  entered  in 
so  strange  a  manner.  What  he  had  just  heard 
seemed  a  comment  on  what  he  had  seen  for- 
merly. 

**  I  will  return,"  he  said,  *•  when  darkness 
comes,  and  watch. " 

So,  he  wandered  away  to  the  river  side,  and 
remaining  there  until  an  hour  after  sunset, 
came  back  by  moonlight  to  the  tomb.  Here 
he  lay  down  and  waited  patiently.     Time 


passed  by.  He  heard  the  muezzins  from  the 
mosques  calling  to  prayer  long  after  the  bum 
of  the  great  city  near  at  hand  had  died  awaj. 
Occasionally  in  the  suburbs  and  in  the  vil- 
lages scattered  over  the  fields,  packs  of  dogs 
barked  at  some  wayfarer.  The  wind  that 
blew  sometimes  seemed  to  sing  amongst  the 
sugar-canes.  The  monotony  of  watchful- 
ness overcame  him,  and  he  slept.  But, 
as  before,  he  was  awakened  by  the  sound  of 
voices : 

**  Look  around."  said  some  one  overhead, 
"  I  saw  thatyoung  dreamer  prowl  in  this 
direction.    What  if  he  play  the  spy  ?  " 

"Does  he  wish  to  go  with  the  other?" 
growled  the  black  man,  looking  to  the  right 
and  to  the  left,  and  then  advancing  towards 
the  tomb.  Gathalla  beheld  the  gleam  of  a 
sword,  and  knew  that  he  must  kill  or  be, 
killed.  He  drew  a  dagger  and  stood  inside 
the  ruined  doorway,  breathless  as  one  watch- 
ing by  a  sick  bedside.  The  black  man,  who 
strange  to  say  wore  the  mantle  of  a  woman, 
entered  without  much  caution,  and  fell  on  his 
face  dead  ;  for,  the  dagger  of  Gathalla  at  the 
first  blow  pierced  him  to  the  heart.  The 
young  man,  made  reckless  by  the  excess  of 
his  passion  for  the  unknown  lady,  instantly 
tore  off  the  mantle,  threw  it  over  his  own 
head,  and  taking  the  dead  man's  sword,  went 
forth  towards  the  house  to  the  place  where 
the  ladder  was  let  down  as  before.  He 
mounted  eagerly,  no  one  speaking  to  him, 
and  reaching  the  window  entered  and  stood 
firmly  on  the  floor  before  the  other  black  took 
notice  of  him.  A  cry  of  terror  and  warning 
was  interrupted  by  death ;  and  Gathalla 
stepped  over  this  second  corpse  and  pro- 
ceeded to  explore  the  interior  of  the  house. 

A  long  passage,  at  the  extremity  of  which 
burned  a  light,  presented  itself  to  him.^  It 
led  to  a  chamber  with  a  lamp  in  a  niche 
opening  upon  a  kind  of  terrace.  Advancing 
cautiously,  Gathalla  leaned  over  the  parapet, 
and  looking  down  beheld  a  sight  that  con- 
vinced him  how  unfounded  bad  been  the 
suspicions  of  the  people  of  the  Gassar — at  any 
rate  in  one  instance.  A  veil  seemed  to  drop 
from  before  his  eyes.  Had  he  been  a  mur- 
derer without  just  cause?  Were  the  two 
lives  to  be  taken,  innocent?  He  might 
have  retired  with  fear  and  trembling,  but 
a  stronger  passion  than  remorse  restrained 
him. 

He  beheld  the  lady  who,  according  to  the 
villagers,  had  gone  to  certain  death,  sitting 
dressed  in  splendid  garments  on  a  kind  of 
raised  throne  in  the  centre  of  a  little  garden, 
beautifully  diaded  by  trees  and  cooled  by  a 
fountain  that  gushed  amidst  flowers.  Near 
her  feet,  reclining  on  a  low  divan,  was  the' 
young  man  known  as  Gamadel.  He  Seemed 
to  gaze  at  her  with  passionate  adoration,  and 
now  and  then  uttered  a  few  words  the  sense 
of  which  did  not  come  to  the  ears  of  Gathalla. 
Probably,  however,  he  was  pressing  her  to 
sing;  for,  presently  she  took  a  lute,  and 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CbaikiDicUu.] 


THE  SECRET  OF  THE   WELL. 


having  tuned  it,  in  a  voice  of  marvelloua 
sweetnees  chanted  the  following  verseB : 

**  In  abtencd  I  longed  for  thee  as  the  thintj  flowert 
long  for  the  dewi  of  night ; 

"As  the  Arab  longs  to  eee  the  white  lidee  of  hie 
tent  gleaming  in  the  deserts  aCur  off;  aa  the  mother  for 
the  first  kii^s  of  her  flrat-bom;  as  the  soul  of  the  fldth- 
fol  for  paradise. 

"  Food  was  not  pleasant  to  me,  for  the  sweetest 
Tiands  seemed  bitter. 

"  Best  was  not  pleasant  to  me,  for  I  feared  that  thj 
feet  were  weary. 

"  Sleep  stajed  no  longer  on  vaj  ejelids  than  does  thc4 
nestward-bound  bird  on  the  branch  where  it  alights  to 
rest  its  wings. 

"I  rose  to  escape  from  mj  dreams,  and  I  lay  down 
to  escape  from  mj  waking  thoughts. 

**  Without  thee  I  cannot  lire,  and  with  thee  I  am 
content  to  die.*' 

As  she  concluded  she  stooped  towards 
Gamadel  and  touched  his  brow  fondly  with 
her  hand.  Cathalla  dared  not  advance  and 
could  not  retire. 

Then  the  master  of  the  house  took  the  lute, 
and  havine  tuned  it,  sang  in  a  voice  that 
resounded  like  the  clang  of  cymbals : 

"  For  the  love  of  thee  I  have  steeped  my  hands  in 
blood ;  and  the  wealth  which  I  lay  at  thy  feet  Is 
gathered  by  the  strength  of  my  arm. 

"  I  have  not  measured  yards  of  cloth  nor  weighed 
the  teeth  of  dead  beasts  in  scales. 

**  I  have  not  lied  to  foolish  men  nor  deceived  silly 
women. 

'*  They  come  with  their  hands  full  of  gold ;  some  to 
boy  more  gold,  and  others  to  buy  more  life. 
*'  Not  one  has  returned  except  in  seroblanca. 
**  What  matters  it  that  the  people  murmur  t    Now 
thou  art  come  we  will  away  to  the  land  of  AJem,  and 
the  secret  of  the  well  will  never  be  known." 

Cathalla  learned  f^om  these  words  that  he 
had  really  peaetrated  into  a  house  of  crime, 
and  regretted  not  that  he  had  put  the  two 
blacks  to  death.  Ordinary  prudence  would 
have  counselled  him  to  retire  whilst  it  was 
yet  time ;  but  although  the  lady  was  evidently 
associated  with  Gamadel  in  crime,  her  fascina- 
tion remained  powerful.  Curiosity  ,al80,to  learn 
more  of  this  strange  history , urged  Cathalla  on- 
wards. No  other  person  save  the  two  lovers 
seemed  astir  lo  the  bouse.  On  all  sides  the  doors 
of  chambers  well -lighted  were  o|ien,but  no  one 
moved.  The  young  man,  casting  aside  his 
mantle  and  firmly  grasping  his  sword,  de- 
scended a  narrow  staircase,  and  soon  found 
himself  on  a  level  with  the  garden  in  a  dark 
corner  where  he  was  concealed  by  trees. 
From  what  they  said,  it  seemed  that  they 
were  cousins ;  that  they  had  lived  formerly  at 
Stamboul,  from  which  city  they  had  been 
forced  suddenly  to  fly,  by  different  ways ;  that 
the  young  man  had  continued  in  various 
places  his  terrible  mode  of  life — decoying  rich 
men  by  secret  emissaries  to  his  house  by 
the  promise  of  unlimited  wealth  procured 
magically — and  that  the  lady  had  long 
searched  for  him  in  vain. 

"  Whisper  into  their  ears,''  said  Gamadel, 


with  terrible  knowledge  of  human  nature; 
"  though  they  be  rich  as  Suliman  ben  Daood, 
with  not  a  month  of  life  before  them;  tell 
them  that  there  is  a  way  to  get  more  money 
without  work,  and  that  the  grave  may  be 
spumed  back  as  I  spurn  this  cushion.  Not 
one  will  disbelieve !  All  come  here  with  pearls 
and  jewels :  all  come  and  die  and  go  to  their 
paradise,  which  they  would  exchange  for  one 
hour  of  basking  at  thy  feet.'' 

Gamadel  was  about  to  say  further  impious 
things ;  but  the  sword  of  Cathalla  gleamed 
over  his  head,  and  he  fell  and  spoke  no  more. 
The  lady  became  white  with  terror,  and 
looked  to  the  right  and  to  the  left  for  help : 
but  seeing  none,  tried  to  smile — the  smile  oi 
one  upon  the  rack,  who  will  not  allow  his 
torturer  to  know  that  he  has  power  over  him. 
Then  she  spoke  the  sweetest  words  she  could 
remember,  so  that  Cathalla,  who  had  medi- 
tated doing  vengeance  on  her  likewise, 
dropped  the  point  of  his  sword  and  listened. 
She  feigned  to  be  glad  of  her  deliverance 
from  a  monster  like  Gamadel,  and  offered  to 
follow  Cathalla.  But  he  now  loathed  her 
even  because  she  was  so  submissive,  and  im- 
periously commanded  her  to  say  how  many 
more  slaves  were* in  the  house.  Two,  she 
said,  the  steward  and  the  porter ;  and  offered 
to  lead,  him  where  he  might  slay  them.  She 
kept  her  promise ;  for  she  had  formed  a  plan 
to  kill  Cathalla  afterwards,  and  take  to  flight 
alone  with  a  casket  containing  all  the  wealth 
of  Gamadel  in  jewels  of  prodigious  value. 
"With  this,"  said  she,  exhibiting  it,  «-we 
w'U  fly  to  the  world's  end."  She  beckoned 
to  the  youn^  man  to  follow  her  into  a  room ; 
so  fascinating  was  her  smile,  that  in 
spite  of  his  good  resolutions  he  was  about  to 
follow ;  when,  as  if  by  a  miracle,  a  line  of 
GamadeFs  song  flashed  across  his  mind: 
**  The  secret  of  the  well  will  never  be  known." 

"  Lady,''  said  he,  "  wherefore  didst  thou 
avoid  that  great  stone  in  the  doorway  ?  Is 
the  well  beneath  ?  Come  towards  me  across 
it ;  else  I  will  slay  thee  with  this  sword." 

Upon  this,  seeing  that  she  was  discovered, 
the  face  of  the  woman  changed  to  that  of  a 
fury,  and  she  began  to  utter  horrible  male- 
dictions. The  choice  of  death  was  before  her. 
She  endeavored  bravely  to  meet  the  sharp 
edge  of  the  sword,  but  could  not ;  and  leaping 
with  a  fearful  cry  upon  the  stone,  that  gave 
way  at  once,  she  fell  to  join  the  numerous 
victims  on  whose  spoils  the  wealth  of  her 
lover  was  based.  Cathalla  stood  a  moment 
horror-stricken ;  but  the  wicked  woman, 
thinking  to  get  rid  of  her  enemy  and  escape 
at  once,  had  thrown  fire  into  a  room  full  of 
rich  stufl^,  the  spoils  of  the  murdered.  Smoke 
and  flames  began  to  rise  on  every  side ;  the 
crackling  of  burning  wood  showed  how 
rapidly  the  conflagration  spread.  The  young 
man  snatched  up  the  casket  and  made  his 
escape  in  time ;  but,  the  bouse  of  Gamadel, 
with  the  whole  of  the  Cassar,  was  destroyed 
that    night.     The    poor   people,    suddenly 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


10 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Condoctod  hr 


awakened,  nxsbed  forth  into  the  fields  and 
stood  helpless,  beholding  the  flames  devour 
all  they  possessed.  According  to  their  belief, 
fire  had  descended  from  heaven  to  punish  the 
wicked. 

Not  long  afterwards,  a  new  village  had 
risen  on  the  same  spot  by  the  munificence  of 
a  stranger  whose  name  was  never  known ; 
and  all  the  inhabitants  had  reason  to  rejoice 
over  what  had  seemed  at  first  an  irreparable 
disaster.  As  for  Cathalla,  strongly  impressed 
with  the  wickedness  and  avarice  of  the  world, 
he  retired  with  his  father  to  a  lonely  spot 
with  his  strangely  acquired  wealth,  and  built 
a  honse  and  devoted  himseif  entirely  to  acts 
of  charity.  When  he  told  this  story  he 
pretended  that  the  conduct  of  the  cousin  of 
Gamadel  had  so  disgusted  him  with  women, 
that  he  had  resolved  never  to  marry ;  but 
some  believing,  what  may  be  true,  that  love 
is  a  kind  of  madness,  said  that  no  other 
woman  could  make  him  forget  that  one. 
And  after  all,  how  many  great  passions  would 
be  borne  in  this  world  if  only  good  women 
were  their  object  ? 

VAILS  TO  SERVANTS. 

Having  been  from  year  to  year  an  unmoved 
spectator  of  the  indignant  face  of,  and  an 
amused  listener  to  the  lamentations  over  the 
decay  of  vails  to  servants,  made  by  the  head 
messenger  of  my  office  (I  sit  in  the  shadow 
of  Inigo's  banqueting  bouse),  I  have  been 
looking  of  late  into  a  box  I  possess,  of 
anecdotes  relating  to  English  manners  and 
customs,  to  see  what  I  can  find  on  a  subject, 
the  decay  and  almost  entire  abolition  of  which 
elicits  every  Christmas  sour  looics  and  sour 
words  ftom  the  well-fed,  well-lodged,  and 
not  at  all  ill-salaried  Ephraim  Easeinsleep. 
head  messenger  and  officekeeper  of  one  of 
her  Majesty's  offices  of  state. 

Amused  ^with  what  I  have  found,  I  will 
group  together  briefly,  but  accurately,  all 
that  I  know  upon  the  subject.  I  will  only 
premise  that  vails  to  servants  were  of  a  like 
nature  with  fees  to  officials — looked  upon  as 
perquisites  appertaining  to  wages  and  salaries; 
and  that  it  is  only  within  the  last  few  years 
that  Christmas  boxes  to  servants,  and  fees  to 
officers  of  state,  have  been,  as  far  as  the 
public  accounts  are  concerned,  publicly 
alK)lished  and  forbidden  by  the  Lords  Com- 
missioners of  her  Majesty's  Treasury.  A  few 
perhaps  remain,  such  as  fees  on  venison 
warrants,  but  their  number  must  be  very 
few.    Hence  Ephraim's  ill-humour. 

I  read  (to  use  one  of  old  Stow's  expres- 
sions), that  the  servants  of  our  portrait 
painters  were  the  greatest  exacters  of  vails. 
Few  sitters  escaped.  When  Villiers,  Duke  of 
Buckingham  (the  Buckingham  who  was  assas- 
sinated), sat  to  Mr.,  afterwards  Sir  Balthazar 
Gerbler,  the  bearer  of  the  Duke's  privy  purse. 
Sir  Sackville  Crowe,  was  indignant  at  the  ex- 
actions made  upon  his  master.  Sir  Sackville's 


entry  of  the  payments  made  on  this  occasion 
will  excite  a  smile : 

Giren  to  Mr.  Oerbier'i  Mrrants  when  hii  Lordship 
■at  there  for  hit  picture,— ris..  to  the  two  maida,  £2 ; 
to  the  two  men  that  pretend  to  Cake  paina  about  hia 
picture,  £i.    In  all,  X7. 

The  flrst  painter  in  this  country  to  forbid 
the  custom  of  giving  vails  to  servants,  was 
that  •  great  pourtrayer  of  manners,  William 
Hogarth.  "When  I  sat  to  Hogarth,"  said 
painstaking  William  Cole,  *'the  custom  of 
giving  vaih  to  servants  was  not  discontinued. ' 
On  taking  leave  of  the  painter  at  the  door,  I 
offered  his  servant  a  small  gratuity,  but  Uie 
man  very  politelv  refused  it,  telling  me  it 
would  be  as  much  as  the  loss  of  his  place  if 
his  master  knew  it.  This,"  adds  Cole,  **  was 
so  uncommon  and  so  liberal  in  a  man  of 
Hogarth's  profession  at  that  time  of  day, 
that  it  much  struck  me,  as  nothing  of  the 
kind  had  haj^ened  to  me  before."  It  is  told 
of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  that  he  gave  his 
servant  six  pounds  annually,  of  wages,  and 
offered  him  one  hundred  pounds  a  year  for 
the  door  I  But  Ralph  knew  better  than  to 
go  halves  with  his  master  in  such  a  matter. 

My  next  memorandum  leads  us  to  a  cha- 
racteristic story  of  Sir  Richard  Steele,  who 
was  always  liberal  and  always  poor.  Steele 
was  at  Blenheim  at  the  performance  of  a 
tragedy  by  Dryden.  It  was  got  up  to  amuse 
the  great  Duke  of  Marlborough  in  his  dotage, 
and  Steele  sat  next  to  the  famous  Hoadly, 
then  only  Bishop  of  Bangor.  The  liveried 
army  alarmed  Sir  Richard.  "  Does  your 
lordship  give  money  to  all  these  fellows  in 
laced  coats  and  ruffles?"  asked  the  discon- 
certed essayist  and  theatrical  patentee.  **  No 
doubt,"  replied  the  bishop.  "I  have  not 
enough,"  whispered  the  knight,  and  walked 
on.  Hoadly  watched  him,  and  heard  him 
accost  the  bevy  of  menials  in  the  hall,  telling 
them  that  he  had  found  them  men  of  taste, 
and  as  such  invited  them  all  to  Drury  Lane 
Theatre— to  any  play  they  should  bespeak. 
My  theatrical  reading  has  not  enabled  me  to 
discover  if  Sir  Richard  was  called  upon  to 
make  good  the  promise  of  his  witty  escape 
fVom  vails  on  this  occasion. 

The  people  who  have  been  most  indignant 
against  vails  to  servants  have  been  the  mean 
and  the  necessitous.  Of  the  latter  class  was 
Richard  Savage.  His  wants  made  him  seek 
access  to  the  titled,  and  his  poverty  prohi- 
bited him  from  acting  up  to  the  liveried 
notion  of  the  complete  gentleman.    He  com- 

Slained  in  print  |Queen  Caroline  allowed 
lerlin's  Cave  and  other  tom-foolerics  of  the 
kind,  at  Richmond,  to  be  shown  for  money. 
This  was  too  much  for  Savage,  who  in  a 
poem  "On  Public  Spirit  with  regard  to 
rublic  Works,"  inserted  these  lines : 

Bat  what  the  flowering  pride  of  gardena  rare. 

However  royal,  or  howerer  Ikir, 

If  fpitea,  which  to  aoceaa  ahould  atill  gfTe  way. 

Ope  but,  like  Peter's  Paradise,  fbr  pay  1 

If  perqniaitedTarleta  frequent  stand. 

And  each  new  walk  moat  a  new  tax  demand. 


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ClMrleiDkkciM.3 


VAILS  TO  8EEVANTS. 


11 


What  foreign  ere  bat  with  contempt  sarreji? 
What  nrnae  ahall  from  oblivion  aoatch  their  praise? 

These,  however,  for  fear  of  oflfending  the 
Qaeen,  he  was  pmdent  enough  to  cancel ; 
and  thus  his  vigorous  verse  was  of  no  use  in 
removing  an  absnrd  custom  then  prevalent 
in  Engluid. 

The  next  memorandum  in  my  box  refers 
to  Henry  Fielding,  and  leads  as  to  an  anec- 
dote not  unlike  that  I  have  just  told  of  Sir 
Richard  Steele.  It  is  this.  At  one  of  Gar- 
riclc's  many  dinners,  Fielding  was  present, 
and  vails  to  servants  being  still  in  fashion, 
each  of  the  guests  at  parting  made  a  present 
to  the  man  servant  of  the  great  actor,  David, 
a  Welshman,  and  a  wit  In  his  way.  When 
the  company  had  gone,  the  lesser  David  being 
in  high  glee,  was  asked  bv  his  master  how 
much  he  had  got.  "  I  can  t  tell  you  yet,  sir," 
was  the  man's  reply.  "  Here  is  harfa-crown 
from  Mrs.  Gibber,  Got  pless  hur !— here  is  a 
shilling  from  Mr.  Macklin ;  here  are  two  ft'om 
Mr.  Havard;  here  is and  here  is  some- 
thing more  from  Mr.  Fielding,  Grot  pless  his 
merrv  heart  I  "  By  this  time,  the  expectant 
Welshman  wearing  the  great  actor's  livery 
had  unfolded  the  paper,  when,  to  his  great 
astonishment,  he  saw  that  it  contained  a 
vulgar  and  unmistakeable  penny  and  no 
more.  Garrick,  it  is  saidf  was  nettled  at  this, 
and  spoke  next  day  to  Fielding  about  the 
impropriety  of  Jetting  with  a  servant.  "Jest- 
ing!" said  the  author  of  Tom  Jones,  with 
seeming  surprise.  "  So  far  from  it,  that  I 
meant  to  do  the  fellow  a  real  service, — ^for 
had  I  given  him  a  shilling,  or  half-a-crown,  I 
knew  you  would  have  taken  it  from  him ; 
bat  by  giving  him  onlv  a  penny,  he  had  a 
chance  of  calling  it  his  own."  Garrick's 
alleged  parsimonv  was  long  the  subject  of 
sarcastic  observation  among  his  contempora- 
ries. That  the  twoDavids— the  master  and  the 
man— divided  vails  it  is  impossible  to  believe. 

If  Sir  Richard  Steele  was  witty  in  his 
escape  ft-om  this  black-mail  levied  by  men  in 
livery,Sir  Timothy  Waldo,  Baronet,  of  whom 
I  know  nothing  more,  was  at  least  manly  on 
a  similar  occasion.  He  had  been  dining  with 
the  minister  Duke  qf  Newcastle, — I  suppose 
in  that  lar^  red  house  in  the  north-west 
comer  of  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  still  known  to 
antiquaries  as  Newcastle  House.  On  leaving, 
Sir  Timothy  was  pressed  by  the  domestics  of 
the  Duke,  who  lined  the  hall  with  eager  faces 
and  extended  hands.  He  had  made  his  way 
as  far  as  the  cook,  and  apparently  had  sati»- 
fied  the  servants  of  his  host,  when  a  crown 
pat  into  the  hand  of  the  cook  was  returned 
with  "  Sir,  I  do  not  take  silver." — Don't  you 
indeed ! "  said  the  baronet,  putting  it  into  his 
pocket,  "  then  I  do  not  give  gold." 

From  these  exactions  poor  peers  suflfered 
still  more  than  poor  commoners.  Here  is  a 
case  in  point,  told  of  a  Roman  Catholic  peer 
and  the  attainted  Duke  of  Ormond.  "I  re- 
member," says  Dr.  King,  "  a  Lord  Poor,  a 
Roman  Catholic  pe^  of  Ireland,  who  lived 


upon  a  small  pension  which  Queen  Anne  had 
granted  hioL  He  was  a  man  of  honour  and 
well  esteemed,  and  had  formerly  been  an 
officer  of  soide  distinction  in  the  service  of 
France.  The  Duke  of  Ormond  had  often  in- 
vited him  to  dinner,  and  be  had  as  often  ex- 
cused himself.  At  last  the  Duke  kindly  expoe- 
tulated  with  him,  and  would  know  the  reason 
why  he  so  constantly  refused  to  be  one  of  his 
guests.  My  Lord  Poor  then  honestly  con- 
fessed that  he  could  not  afford  it.  <'  But," 
says  he,  "  if  your  Grace  will  put  a  guinea 
into  my  hands  as  often  as  you  are  pleased  to 
invite  me  to  dine,  I  will  not  decline  the 
honour  of  waiting  on  you."  This  was  done, 
says  Dr.  King,  and  my  Lord  was  afterwards 
a  freanent  guest  in  St  James's  Square. 

This  levy  of  vails  had  grown  to  such  a  nui- 
sance early  in  the  reign  of  King  George  the 
Third,  that  serious  attempts  were  made  to 
resist  the  tax.  In  this  resistance,  no  one 
seems  to  have  behaved  better  than  a  gentle- 
man whose  name  has  unluckily  not  reached 
us.  He  was  paying  the  servants  of  a  Ariend 
for  a  dinner  which  their  master  had  invited 
him  to.  One  by  one  they  appeared  with 
*'Sir,  your  great  coat,"  and  a  shilling  was 
given ;  "  Sur,  your  hat," — another  shilling : 
"Sir,  your  stick,"— a  third  shilling;  "Sir, 
your  umbrella,"— a  fourth  shilling  ;  "  Sir, 
your  gloves." — **  Why,  friend,  you  mav  keep 
the  gloves ;  they  are  not  worth  a  shilling ! " 

A  still  more  active  opponent  of  the  scan- 
dalous custom  of  vails  was  the  benevolent 
Jonas  Hanway,  whose  name  still  lingers 
pleasantly  round  many  of  our  London  cha- 
rities. He  not  onl^  wrote  against  it,  but 
answered  a  fk'iend  in  high  station,  who  re- 
proached him  for  not  coming  oftener  to  dine 
with  him,  by  saying,  "Indeed  I  cannot 
afford  it" 

Hanway  moved  in  food  society ;  and  his 
letters,  and,  above  all,  his  example,  did  much 
to  remove  this  indecent  tax  upon  good  nature 
and  good  sense.  The  Duke  of  Nbrfolk,  Mr. 
Spencer,  Sir  Francis  Dashwood,  and  others, 
increased  their  servants'  wages  in  proportion 
to  the  alleged  value  of  their  vails.  The  famous 
farce  of  High  Life  Below  Stairs  caused  ser- 
vants to  be  looked  upon  in  a  light  unfavour- 
able to  the  custom,  and  by  degrees  the  tax 
was  no  longer  demanded  as  a  right  The 
discontinuance  first,  it  is  said,  commenced 
seriously  in  Scotland.  "I  boasted,"  says 
Boswell,  "  that  the  Scotch  had  the  honour  of 
being  the  first  to  abolish  the  inhospitable, 
troublesome,  and  ungracious  custom  of  giving 
vails  to  servants.  "Sir,"  said  Johnson,  in 
reply,  "  you  abolished  vails  because  you  were 
too  poor  to  be  able  to  give  them." 

The  first  attempt  made  to  discontinue  so 
scandalous  a  custom,  led  to  a  serious  disturb- 
ance. The  scene  was  Ranelagh,  and  the  time 
the  eleventh  of  August,  seventeen  hundred 
and  sixty-four.  Such  of  the  nobility  and 
gentry  as  would  not  suffer  their  servants  to 
take  vails,  were  hooted  and  hissed  on  that 


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12 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coodocted  bj 


occasion  b^  their  own  coachmen  and  footmen* 
From  hissing  they  proceeded  to  break  the 
lamps  and  outside  windows.  They  then  ex- 
tinguished their  flambeaux  and  pelted  the 
company  with  brickbats.  Swords  were  drawn  j 
in  the  scuffle  one  servant  was  run  through 
the  thigh,  another  through  the  arm,  and  many 
others  were  wounded.  Four  were  seized  and 
being  carried  before  the  justices,  one  was 
committed  to  Newgate,  one  discharged  by  his 
master  and  bound  to  good  behaviour,  one  set 
at  liberty  on  his  asking  pardon  and  promising 
to  discover  his  accomplices,  and  one  dis- 
charged.— no  person  appearing  against  him. 
I  long  to  sec  Ephraim^s  face  when  he  reads 
this  paper. 


THE  LESSON  OF  THE  WAR. 

Thi  feut  U  spread  throagh  BngUod 

For  rich  and  poor  to-day ; 
Greeting^  and  laaghtor  maj  be  there. 

Bat  thoof  ht«  are  far  awaj, 
Orer  the  itormj  ocean, 

Orer  the  dreary  track. 
Where  some  are  gone  whom  Bogland 

Will  nerer  welcome  back. 
Breathless  she  wairs,  and  listeni 

For  every  eastern  breese 
That  bears  apoh  its  bloody  wings 

News  from  beyond  the  seas. 
The  leafless  branches  stirring 

Make  many  a  watcher  start. 
The  distant  tramp  of  steed  may  send 

A  throb  fkDm  heart  to  heart. 

The  mlers  of  the  nation, 

The  poor  ones  at  their  gate, 
With  the  same  eager  wonder 

The  same  great  news  a«ait ! 
The  poor  man's  stay  and  comfort. 

The  rich  man's  Joy  and  pride, 
Upon  the  bleak  Crimean  shore 

Are  fighting  side  by  side. 

The  bullet  comes— and  either 

A  desolate  hearth  may  see ; 
And  Ood  alone  to-night  knows  wher« 

The  raeant  place  may  be  I 
The  dread  that  stirs  the  peasant 

Thrills  nobles'  hearts  with  fear,— 
Yet  aboTe  selfish  sorrow 

Both  hold  their  coantry  dear. 

The  rich  man  who  reposes 

In  his  ancestral  shade. 
The  peasant  at  his  ploaghshare} 

The  worker  at  his  trade. 
Each  one  his  all  has  perilled. 

Each  has  the  same  great  stake. 
Bach  soul  can  bat  hare  patience. 

Each  heart  can  only  break  I 

Hushed  is  all  party  clamoar ; 

One  tbonght  in  every  heart. 
One  dread  in  every  household, 

Has  bid  sacb  strife  depart 
Bogland  has  called  her  children. 

Long  silent— the  word  came 
That  lit  the  smouldering  ashes 

Throagh  all  the  land  to  flame. 

0  yoa  who  toil  and  saffer, 
Tea  gladly  heiurd  the  call ; 


Bat  those  you  sometimet  envy 
Have  they  not  given  their  all  ? 

0  yoa  who  rule  the  nation. 

Take  now  the  toil-worn  hand,— 
Brothers  yoa  are  in  sorrow 

In  duty  to  year  land. 
Learn  bat  this  noble  lesson 

Ere  Peace  returns  again, 
And  the  Ufeblood  of  Old  BogUnd 

Will  not  be  shed  in  vain ! 


SIR  JOHN  FRANKLIN  AND  HIS 
CREWS. 
Ix  order  that  our  readers,  at  a  future  time, 
when  the  Esquimaux  stories  shall  have  been 
further  tested,  may  be  in  possession  of  them 
as  originally  brought  home,  we  have  pro- 
cured ft-om  Db.  Rab  a  faithful  copy  of  his 
Report  for  publication.  We  do  not  feel 
justified  in  omitting  or  condensing  any  part 
of  it ;  believing,  as  we  do,  that  it  is  a  very 
unsatisfactory  document  on  which  to  found 
such  strong  conclusions  as  it  takes  for  granted. 
The  preoccupation  of  the  public  mind  has 
dismissed  this  subject  easily  for  the  present; 
but,  we  assume  its  great  interest,  and  tlie 
serious  doi^bts  we  hold  of  its  having  been 
convincingly  set  at  rest,  to  be  absolutely 
certain  to  revive. 

York  Factory,  Hudson's  Bay,  lit  Sept,  1854. 

I  have  the  honour  to  report,  for  the 
information  of  the  Governor,  Deputy  Go- 
vernor, and  Committee,  that  I  arrived  here 
vesterday  with  my  party,  all  in  good  health ; 
but,  fV'om  causes  which  will  be  explained 
hereafter,  without  having  effected  the  object 
of  the  expedition.  At  the  same  time 
information  has  been  obtained,  and  articles 
purchased  Arom  the  natives,  which  prove 
beyond  a  doubt  that  a  portion,  if  not  all,  of 
the  survivors  of  the  long  lost  and  unfortunate 
party  under  Sir  John  Franklin  had  met  with 
a  fate  as  melancholy  and  dreadful  as  it  is 
possible  to  imagine. 

Bv  a  letter  dated  Chesterfield  Inlet, 
nintn  of  August,  eighteen  hundred  and  fifty- 
three,  you  are  in  possession  of  my  proceed- 
ings up  to  that  time.  Late  on  the  evening  of 
that  day  we  parted  company  with  our  small 
consort,  she  steering  down  to  the  southward, 
whilst  we  took  the  opposite  direction  to 
Repulse  Bay. 

Light  and  variable  winds  sadly  retarded 
our  aidvance  northward ;  but  by  anchorine 
during  the  fiood,  and  sailing  or  rowing  witE 
the  tide,  we  gained  some  ground  daily.  On 
the  eleventh  we  met  with  upwards  of  three 
hundred  walrus,  lying  on  a  rock  a  few  miles 
off  shore.  They  were  not  at  all  shy,  and 
several  were  mortally  wounded,  but  one  only 
(an  immensely  large  fellow)  was  shot  dead 
by  myself.  The  greater  part  of  the  fat  was 
cut  off  and  taken  on  board,  which  supplied 
us  abundantly  with  oil  ibr  our  lamps  all  winter. 

On  the  forenoon  of  the  fourteenth,  having 
a  fair  wind,  we  rounded  Cape  Horn,  and  ran 
up  Repulse  Bay;  l^ut  as  the  weather  was 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ChiriM  DfckeiML] 


SIR  JOHN  FRANKLIN  AND  HIS  CREWS. 


IS 


^cry  foggy,  completely  biding  every  object  at 
the  distance  of  a  qiiarter-of-a-mile,  we  made 
the  land  about  seven  miles  east  of  my  old 
winter  quarters ;  next  day,  midst  heavy  rain, 
we  ran  down  to  North  Polo  River,  moored 
the  boat,  and  pitched  the  tents. 

The  weather  being  still  dai*k  and  gloomy, 
the  snrronnding  country  presented  a  most 
dreary  aspect.  Thick  masses  of  ice  clung  to 
the  shore,  whilst  immense  drifts  of  snow 
filled  each  ravine,  and  lined  every  steep  bank 
that  had  a  southerly  exposure.  No  Esqui- 
maux were  to  be  seen,  nor  any  recent  traces 
of  them.  Appearances  could  not  be  less 
promising  for  wintering  safely ;  yet  I  deter- 
mined to  remain  until  the  first  of  September ; 
hj  which  date  some  opinion  could  be  formed 
M  to  the  practicability  of  procuring  suflBcient 
food  and  fuel  for  our  support  during  the 
winter:  all  the  provisions  on  hand  at  that 
time  being  equal  to  only  three  months' 
eonsomption. 

The  weather  fortunately  improved,  and  not 
ft  moment  was  lost.  Nets  were  set ;  hunters 
were  sent  oat  to  procure  venison;  and  ihe 
majority  of  the  party  was  constantly  em- 
ployed collecting  fuel.  By  the  end  of  August 
a  sapply  of  the  latter  essential  article  (An- 
dromeda Tetragona)  for  fourteen  weeks  was 
laid  up,  thirteen  deer  and  one  musk-buU  bad 
been  shot,  and  one  hundred  and  thirty- 
six  salmon  caught.  Some  of  the  favourite 
haunts  of  the  Esquimaux  had  been  visited, 
bat  no  indications  were  seen  to  lead  us  to 
soppoee  that  they  had  been  late]|r  in  the 
neighboorhood. 

The  absence  of  the  natives  caused  me  some 
anxiety;  not  that  I  expected  any  aid  from 
th«m,  but  because  I  could  attribute  their 
having  abandoned  so  favourable  a  locality 
to  no  other  cause  than  a  scarcity  of  food, 
arising  f^om  the  deer  having  taken  another 
roQte  in  their  migrations  to  and  firom  the 
north.  ^ 

On  the  first  of  September  I  explained  our 
position  to  the  men ;  the  quantity  of  pro- 
visions we  had,  and  the  prospects,  which 
were  far  from  fiattering,  of  getting  more. 
They  all  most  readily  volunteered  to  remain, 
and  our  preparations  for  a  nine  months' 
winter  were  continued  with  unabated  energy. 
The  weather,  generally  speaking,  was  favour- 
able, and  onr  exertions  were  so  successful, 
that  by  the  end  of  the  month  we  had  a 
qoaati^  of  provisions  and  fuel  collected 
sdeqnate  to  our  wants  up  to  the  period  of 
the  spring  migrations  of  the  deer. 

One  hundred  and  nine  deer,  one  musk-ox 
(inclnding  those  killed  in  August)  fifty-three 
brace  of  ptarmigan,  and  one  seal,  had  been 
diot;  and  the  nets  produced  fifty-four 
salmon.  Of  the  larger  animals  above  enu- 
merated, forty-nine  deer  and  the  musk-ox 
were  shot  by  myself;  twenty-one  deer  by 
Histegan,  the  deer-hunter;  fourteen  by 
another  of  the  men  ;  nine  by  William  Oulig- 
back ;  and  sixteen  by  the  remaining  four  men. 


The  cold  weather  set  in  very  early,  and 
with  great  severity.  On  the  twentieth,  all 
the  smaller,  and  some  of  the  larger  lakes, 
were  covered  with  ice  four  to  six  inches  thick. 
This  was  far  from  advantageous  for  deer 
shooting,  as  these  animals  were  enabled  to 
cross  the  country  in  all  directions,  instead  of 
following  their  accustomed  passes. 

October  was  very  stormy  and  cold.  About 
the  fifteenth,  the  migrt^tions  of  the  deer 
terminated,  and  twenty-five  more  were  added 
to  our  stock.  Forty-two  salmon,  and  twenty 
trout,  were  caught  with  nets  and  hooks  set 
in  lakes  under  the  ice.  On  the  twenty- 
eighth,  the  snow  was  packed  hard  enough 
for  building ;  and  we  were  glad  to  exchange 
the  cold  and  dismal  tents  (in  which  the  tem- 
perature had  latterly  been  thirty-six  or 
thirty-seven  degrees  below  the  freezing 
point)  for  the  more  comfortable  shelter  of 
snow  houses,  which  were  built  on  the  south 
south-east  side  of  Beacon  Hill,  by  which 
they  were  well  protected  from  the  prevailing 
north-west  gales.  The  houses  were  nearly 
half  a  mile  south  of  my  winter  Quarters  of 
eighteen  hundred  and  forty-six  and  eighteen 
hundred  and  forty-seven. 

The  weather  in  November  was  com- 
paratively fine,  but  cold,  the  highest,  lowest, 
and  mean  temperature  being,  respectively, 
thirty-eight  degrees,  eighteen  degrees,  and 
three  degrees  below  zero.  Some  deer  were 
occasionally  seen,  but  only  four  were  shot ; 
some  wolves,  several  foxes,  and  one  wolve- 
rine were  killed ;  and  from  the  nete  fifty- 
nine  salmon  and  twenty-two  trout  were 
obtained. 

Our  most  productive  fishery  was  in  a  lake 
about  three  miles  distant,  bearing  east  (mag- 
netic) from  Beacon  Hill,  or  the  mouth  of  the 
North  Pole  River. 

The  whole  of  December,  a  very  few  days 
excepted,  was  one  continued  gale  with  snow 
and  drift.  When  practicable,  the  men  were 
occupied  scraping  under  snow  for  fuel,  by 
which  means  our  stock  of  that  very  essential 
article  was  kept  up.  The  mean  temperature 
of  the  month  was  twenty-three  degrees  below 
zero.  The  produce  of  our  nets  and  g^ns  was 
extremely  small,  amounting  to  one  partridge, 
one  wolf,  and  twenty-seven  fish. 

On  the  first  of  January,  eighteen  hundred 
and  fifty-four,  the  temperature  rose  to  the 
very  unusual  height  of  eighteen  degrees 
above  zero,  the  wind  at  the  time  being 
south-east,  with  snow.  Our  nets,  after  being 
set  in  different  lakes  without  success,  were 
finally  taken  up  on  the  twelfth,  only  five 
small  fish  having  been  caught  The  ther- 
mometer was  tested  by  freezing  mercury,  and 
found  to  be  in  error,  the  temperature  indi- 
cated by  it  being  four  degrees  five  minutes 
too  high. 

The  cold  during  February  was  steady  and 
severe,  but  there  were  fewer  storms  than 
usual.  Deer  were  more  numerous,  and  gene- 
rally were  travelling  northward.  One  or  two 


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14 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoDdnctcd^ 


were  wounded,  but  none  killed.  On  two 
occasions  (the  first  and  twenty-seventh),  that 
beautiful  but  rare  appearance  of  the  clouds 
near  the  sun,  with  three  fringes  of  pink  and 
green,  following  the  outline  of  the  cloud,  was 
seen,  and  I  may  add  that  the  same  splendid 
phenomenon  was  frequently  obseryed  during 
the  spring,  and  was  generally  followed  by  a 
day  or  two  fine  weather. 

During  the  latter  part  of  the  month,  pre- 
parations were  being  made  for  our  spring 
journeys.  A  carpenter's  workshop  was  built 
of  snow,  and  our  sledges  were  taken  to  pieced, 
reduced  to  as  light  a  weight  as  possible, 
and  then  reunited  more  securely  than  be- 
fore. The  mean  temperature  of  February, 
corrected  for  error  of  thermometer,  was 
thirty-nine  de^ees  below  zero.  The  highest 
and  lowest  bcmg  twenty  degrees  and  fifty- 
three  degrees. 

On  the  first  of  March  a  female  deer  in 
fine  condition  was  shot,  and  on  the  ninth  and 
tenth  two  more  were  killed.  Three  men 
were  absent  some  days  during  this  month,  in 
search  of  Esquimaux,  from  whom  we  wished 
to  obtain  dogs.  They  went  as  far  as  the  head 
of  Ross  Bay,  but  found  no  traces  of  these 
people. 

On  the  fourteenth  I  started  with  three 
men  hauling  sledges  with  provisions,  to  be 

8 laced  in  **  cache"  for  the  long  spring  journey. 
>wing  to  the  stormy  state  of  the  weather  we 
got  no  farther  than  Cape  Lady  Pelly,  on  the 
most  northerly  point  of  which  our  stores  were 
placed,  under  a  heap  of  large  stones,  secure 
from  any  animal  except  man  or  the  bear. 
We  returned  on  the  tweqty-fourth,  the  dis- 
tance walked  together  being  a  hundred  and 
seventy  miles. 

On  the  thirty-first  of  March,  leaving  three 
men  in  charge  of  the  boat  and  stores,  I  set 
out  with  the  other  four,  including  the  inter- 
preter, with  the  view  of  tracing  the  west 
coast  of  Boothia,  ft'ont  the  Castor  and  Pollux 
River  to  Bellot  Strait.  The  weight  of  our 
provisions,  &c.,  with  those  deposited  on  the 
way,  amounted  to  eight  hundred  and  sixty- 
five  pounds,  an  ample  supply  for  sixty-five 
days. 

The  route  followed  for  part  of  the  journey 
being  exactly  the  same  as  that  of  spring, 
eighteen  hundred  and  forty-seven,  it  is  un- 
necessary to  describe  it.  During  the  two 
first  days,  although  we  did  not  travel  more 
than  fifteen  miles  per  day,  the  men  found  the 
work  extremely  hard,  and  as  I  perceived  that 
one  of  them  (a  fine,  active  young  fellow,  but 
a  light  weight)  would  be  unable  to  keep  pace 
with  the  others,  he  was  sent  back,  and  re- 
placed by  Mistegan,  a  very  able  man,  and  an 
experienced  sledge-hauler.  More  than  a  day 
was  lost  in  makmg  this  exchange,  but  there 
was  still  abundance  of  time  to  complete  our 
work,  if  not  opposed  by  more  than  common 
obstacles. 

On  the  sixth  of  April  we  arrived  at  our 
provision  cache,  and  found  it  all  safe.    Hav- 


ing placed  the  additional  stores  on  the 
sledges,  which  made  those  of  the  men  weigh 
more  than  a  hundred  and  sixty  pounds  each, 
and  my  own  about  a  hundred  and  ten  pounds, 
we  travelled  seven  miles  further,  then  built 
a  snow  house  on  the  ice  two  miles  from  shore. 
We  had  passed  among  much  rough  ice,  bat 
hitherto  the  drift  banks  of  snow,  by  lying  in 
the  same  direction  in  which  we  were  travel- 
ling, made  the  walking  tolerably  good.  As 
we  advanced  to  the  northward,  however, 
these  crossed  our  track  (showing  that  the 
prevailing  winter  gales  had  been  Arom  the 
westward),  and  together  with  stormy  weather, 
impeded  us  so  much  that  we  did  not  reach 
Colville  Bay  until  the  tenth.  The  position  of 
our  snow  bouse  was  in  latitude  sixty-eight 
degrees  thirteen  minutes  five  seconds  north, 
longitude  by  dironometer  eighty-eight  de- 
grees fourteen  minutes  fifty-one  seconds  west, 
the  variation  of  the  compass  being  eighty-six 
degrees  twenty  minutes  west.  From  this 
place  it  was  my  intention  to  strike  across 
land  as  straight  as  possible  for  the  Castor  and 
Pollux  River. 

The  eleventh  was  so  stormy  that  we  could  ' 
not  move,  and  the  next  day,  after  placing  en 
cache  two  days'  provisions,  we  had  walked 
only  six  miles  in  a  westerly  du-ection,  when  a 
gale  of  wind  compelled  us  to  get  under 
shelter.  T)ie  weather  improved  in  the  evea- 
ing,  and  having  the  benefit  of  the  full  moon, 
we  started  again  at  a  few  minutes  to  eight 
P.M.  Our  course  at  first  was  the  same  as  it 
had  been  in  the  morning,  but  the  snow  soon 
became  so  soft  and  so  deep  that  I  turned 
more  to  the  northward  in  search  of  firmer 
footing.  The  walking  was  excessively  fa- 
tiguing, and  would  have  been  so  evQfi  to 
persons  travelling  unencumbered,  as  we  sank 
at  every  step,  nearly  ankle  deep  in  snow. 
Eight  and  a  half  miles  were  accomplished  in 
six  and  a  half  hours,  at  the  end  of  which  as 
we  req^uired  some  rest,  a  small  snow  house 
was  built,  and  we  had  some  tea  and  frozen 
pemican. 

After  resting  three  hours  we  resumed  our 
march,  and  by  making  long  detours,  found 
the  snow  occasionally  hard  enough  to  support 
our  weight.  At  thirty  minutes  to  noon  on 
the  thirteenth,  our  day's  journey  terminated 
in  latitude  sixty-eig^t  degrees  twenty-three 
minutes  thirty  seconds  north,  longitude 
eighty-nine  degrees  three  minutes  fifty-three 
seconds  west,  variation  of  compass  eighty- 
three  degrees  thirty  minutes  west  At  a 
mile  and  a  half  from  our  bivouac,  we  had 
crossed  the  arm  of  a  lake  of  considerable 
extent,  but  the  country  around  was  so  fiat, 
and  so  completely  covered  with  snow,  that 
ita  limits  could  not  be  easily  defined,  and  our 
snow  hut  was  on  the  borders  of  another  lake 
apparently  somewhat  smaller. 

A  snow  storm  of  great  violence  raged 
during  the  whole  of  the  fourteenth,  which  did 
not  prevent  us  fVom  making  an  attempt  to 
get  forward.    After  persevering  two  and  a 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


OharlM  Dlokeu*  j 


SIR  JOHN  FRANKLIN  AND  fflS  CREWS. 


16 


half  hoarSf  and  gaining  a  mile  and  a  half 
distance,  we  were  again  forced  to  talce  shelter. 
The  fifteenth  was  very  beantifnl,  with  a 
temperatnre  of  only  eight  degrees  below  zero. 
The  heavy  fall  of  snow  had  made  tiie  walking 
and  sledge-haaling  worse  than  liefore.  It  was 
impossible  to  keep  a  straight  course,  and  we 
had  to  tarn  much  out  of  our  way,  so  as  to 
select  the  hardest  drift  banks.  After  advanc- 
ing several  miles,  we  fortunately  reached  a 
large  lake  containing  a  numlier  of  islands,  on 
one  of  which  I  noticed  an  old  Esquimaux 
tent  site.  The  fVesh  footmarks  of  a  partridge 
(Tetrao  rnpestris)  were  also  8een,  beins  the 
only  signs  of  living  thing  (a  few  traols  of 
foxes  excepted)  that  we  had  observed  since 
commencing  the  traverse  of  this  dreary  waste 
of  snow-clad  country.  To  the  lake  above 
mentioned,  and  to  those  seeh  previously,  the 
name  of  Barrow  was  given,  as  a  mark  of 
respect  to  John  Barrow,  Esquire,  of  the 
Admiralty;  whose  zeal  in  promoting,  and 
'  liberality  in  supporting,  many  of  the  expedi- 
tions to  the  Arctic  Sea  arc  too  well  known  to 
require  any  comment,  further  than  that  he 
presented  a  very  valuable  Halkett's  boat  for 
the  service  of  my  party,  which  unfortunately 
by  some  irregularity  in  the  railway  bageage 
trains  between  London  and  Liverpool  did  not 
reach  the  latter  place  in  time  for  the  steamer, 
although  sent  flrom  London  some  days  before. 
Oar  snow  hut  was  built  on  the  edge  of  a 
small  lake  in  latitude  sixty-eight  degrees 
thirty-one  minutes  thirty-eight  seconds  north, 
longitude  eighty-nine  degrees  eleven  minutes 
fifty-five  seconds  west,  variation  of  corn- 
degrees    thirty  minutes 


pass   eighty-three 
west. 

The  dUBculties 
what   diminished 


of 


walking  were  some- 
on  the  sixteenth  by  a 
fresh  breeze  of  wind,  which  drifted  the  snow 
off  the  higher  ground,  and  we  were  enabled 
to  make  a  fiiir  day's  journey.  Early  on  the 
seventeenth  we  reached  the  shore  of  Pelly 
Bay,  but  had  barely  got  a  view  of  its  rugged 
ice  covering  before  a  dense  fog  came  on.  Wc 
had  to  steer  bv  compass  for  a  large  rocky 
Island,  some  miles  to  the  westward ;  and  we 
stopped  on  an  islet  near  its  east  shore  until 
the  fog  cleared  away.  This  luckily  hap- 
pened some  time  before  noon,  and  afforded 
an  opportunitv  of  obtaining  observations, 
the  results  of  which  were  latitude,  sixty- 
ei^t  degrees  forty-four  minutes  fifty-three 
seconds  north,  longitude  by  chronometer 
eighty-nine  degrees  9iirty-four  minutes  forty- 
seven  seconds  west,  and  variation  eighty-four 
degrees  twenty  minutes  west. 

Even  on  the  ice  we  found  the  snow  soft 
»nd  deep,  a  most  unusual  circumstance.  The 
many  detentions  I  had  met  with  caused  me 
now,  instead  of  making  for  the  Castor  and 
Pollux  River,  to  attempt  a  direct  course 
towards  the  magnetic  pole,  should  the  land 
west  of  the  bay  be  smooth  enough  for  travelling 
over.  The  large  island  west  of  us  was  so 
ragged  and  steep  that  there  was  no  crossing 


it  with  sledges ;  we  therefore  travelled  along 
its  shores  to  the  northward,  and  stopped  for 
the  night  within  a  few  miles  of  the  northern 
extremity.  The  track  of  an  Esquimaux 
sledge  drawn  by  dogs  was  observed  to-day, 
but  It  was  of  old  date. 

The  morning  of  the  eighteenth  was  very 
foggv;  but  after  rounding  the  north  point 
of  the  island  it  became  clear,  and  we  tra- 
velled due  west,  or  very  nearly  fo,  until 
within  three  miles  of  the  west  shore  of  the 
bay,  which  presented  an  appearance  so  rocky 
and  mountainous,  that  it  was  evident  we 
could  not  traverse  it  without  loss  of  time. 
Aft  the  country  towards  the  head  of  the  bav 
looked  mere  level,  I  turned  to  the  southward, 
and,  after  a  circuitous  walk  of  more  than 
sixteen  miles,  we  built  our  snow  house  on 
the  ice,  five  miles  fVom  shore.  Many  old 
traces  of  Esquimaux  were  seen  on  the  ice 
to-day. 

On  the  nineteenth  we  continued  travelling 
southward,  and  our  day's  journey  (abou^ 
equal  to  that  of  yesterday)  terminated  near 
the  head  of  the  bay. 

Twentieth  of  April.  The  fref^h  foot- 
marks of  Esquimaux,  with  a  sledge,  having 
been  seen  yesterday  on  the  ice  within  a  short 
distance  of  our  resting-place,  the  interpreter 
and  one  man  were  sent  to  look  for  them,  the 
other  two  being  emploved  in  hunting  and 
collecting  fuel,  whilst  I  obtained  excellent 
observations,  the  results  of  which  were 
latitude  sixty-eight  degrees  *  twenty-eight 
minutes  twenty-nine  seconds  north,  longi- 
tude by  chronometer  ninety  degrees  eighteen 
minutes  thirty-two  seconds  west,  variation  of 
compass  ninety-eight  degrees  thirty  minutes 
west.  The  latter  is  apparently  erroneous, 
probably  caused  by  much  local  attraction. 

After  an  absence  of  eleven  hours  the  men 
sent  in  search  of  Esquimaux  returned  in 
company  with  seventeen  natives  (five  of 
whom  were  women),  and  several  of  them 
had  been  at  Repulse  Bay  when  I  was  there 
in  eighteen  hundred  and  forty-seven.  Most 
of  the  others  had  never  before  seen  "  whites,'- 
and  were  extremely  forward  and  trouble- 
some. They  would  give  us  no  information 
on  which  any  reliance  could  be  placed,  and 
none  of  them  would  consent  to  accompany 
us  for  a  day  or  two.  although  I  promised  to 
reward  them  liberally. 

Apparently,  there  was  a  great  objection 
to  our  travelling  across  the  country  in  a 
westerly  direction.  Finding  that  it  was  their 
object  to  puzzle  the  interpreter  and  mislead 
us,  I  declined  purchasing  more  than  a  small 
piece  of  seal  from  them,  and  sent  them  away 
— not.  how^ever,  without  some  difiiculty,  as 
they  lingered  about  with  the  hope  of  stealing 
something ;  and,  notwithstanding  our  vigi- 
lance, succeeded  in  abstracting  from  one  of 
the  sledges  a  few  pounds  of  biscuit  and 
grease. 

The  morning  of  the  twenty-first  was  ex- 
tremely fine ;  and  at  three  i..iL  we  started 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


16 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CC«DAacte«l  8f 


across  land  towards  a  very  coa^picuoas  hill, 
bcariog  west  of  us.  On  a  rocky  eminence, 
some  miles  inland,  we  made  a  cache  of  the 
seal's  flesh  we  bad  purchased.  Whilst  doing 
this,  our  interpreter  made  an  attempt  to  join 
his  countrymen.  Fortunately,  his  absence 
was  observed  before  he  had  gone  far ;  and 
he  was  overtaken  after  a  sharp  race  of  four 
or  five  miles.  He  was  in  a  great  fright  when 
we  came  up  to  him,  and  was  crying  like  a 
child,  but  expressed  his  readiness  to  return, 
and  pleaded  sickness  as  an  excuse  for  his 
conduct.  I  believe  he  was  really  unwell— 
probably  from  having  eaten  too  much  boiled 
seal's  flesh,  with  which  he  had  been  regaled 
at  the  snow  huts  of  the  natives. 

Having  taken  some  of  the  lading  off" 
Ouli^back's  sledge,  we  had  barelv  resumed 
our  journey  when  wo  were  met  oy  a  very 
intelligent  Esquimaux,  driving  a  dog-sledge 
laden  with  musk-ox  beef.  This  man  at  once 
consented  to  accompanv  us  two  days'  journey, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  had  deposited  his  load 
on  the  snow,  and  was  ready  to  join  us. 
Having  explained  my  object  to  him,  he  said 
that  the  road  by  which  he  had  come  was  the 
best  for  us  ;  and,  having  lightened  the  men's 
sledges,  we  travelled  with  more  facility. 

Ave  were  now  joined  by  another  of  the 
natives,  who  had  been  al^nt  seal-hunting 
yesterday  ;  but,  being  anxious  to  see  us,  had 
visited  our  snow-house  early  this  morning, 
and  then  followed  our  track.  This  man  was 
very  communicative,  and  on  putting  to  him 
the  usual  questions  as  to  his  having  seeo 
white  men  before,  or  any  ships  or  boats,  be 
replied  in  the  negative ;  but  said  that  a 
party  of  kabloonans  had  died  of  starvation 
a  long  distance  to  the  west  of  where  we  then 
were,  and  beyond  a  large  river.  He  stated 
that  he  did  not  know  the  exact  place — that 
he  had  never  been  there,  and  that  he  could 
not  accompany  us  so  far. 

The  substance  of  the  information  then  and 
subsequeutlv  obtained  f^om  various  sources 
was  to  the  following  cfliect. 

In  the  spring,  four  winters  past  (eighteen 
hundred  and  fifty),  whilst  some  Esquimaux 
families  were  killing  seals  near  the  northern 
shore  of  a  large  island,  named  in  Arrowsmith's 
charts  King  William's  Land,  about  forty  white 
men  were  seen  travelling  in  company  south- 
ward over  the  ice,  and  dragging  a  boat  and 
sledges  with  them.  They  were  passing  along 
the  west  shore  of  the  above-named  island. 
None  of  the  party  coald  speak  the  Esquimaux 
language  so  well  as  to  be  understood ;  but  by 
signs  the  natives  were  led  to  believe  that  the 
ship  or  ships  had  been  crushed  bv  ice,  and 
that  they  were  then  going  to  where  they 
expected  to  find  deer  to  Skoot  From  the 
appearance  of  the  men— all  of  whom,  with 
the  exception  of  an  officer,  were  hauling  on 
the  drag- ropes  of  the  sledge,  and  were  looking 
thin — they  were  then  supposed  to  be  getting 
short  of  provisions ;  and  they  purchased  a 
small  seal,  or  piece  of  seal,  from  the  natives. 


The  oflBcer  was  described  as  being  a  tall, 
stout,  middle-aged  man.  When  their  day's 
journey  terminated,  they  pitched  tents  to 
rest  in. 

At  a  lat^  date,  the  same  season,  bat  pre- 
vious to  the  disruption  of  the  ice,  the  corpses 
of  some  thirty  persons  and  some  graves  were 
discovered  on  the  continent,  and  five  dead 
bodies  on  an  island  near  it,  about  a  long  day's 
journey  to  the  north-west  of  the  mouth  of  a 
large  stream,  which  can  be  no  other  than 
Back's  Great  Fish  River  (named  by  the 
Esquimaux  Oot-koo-hi-ca-lik),  as  its  descrip- 
tion, and  that  of  the  low  shore  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Point  Ogle  and  Montreal  Island, 
agree  exactly  with  that  of  Sir  George  Back. 
Some  of  the  bodies  were  in  a  tent  or  tents  9 
others  were  under  the  boat,  which  had  been 
turned  over  to  form  a  shelter ;  and  some  lay 
scattered  about  in  difi*erent  directions.  Of 
those  seen  on  the  Island,  it  was  supposed  that 
one  was  that  of  an  oflQoer  (chief),  as  he 
had  a  telescope  strapped  over  his  shoulders,  * 
«nd  his  double-barrelled  gun  lay  underneath 
him. 

From  the  mutilated  state  of  many  of  the 
bodies,  and  the  contents  of  the  kettles,  it  is 
evident  that  our  wretched  countrymen  had 
been  driven  to  the  last  dread  alternative  as  a 
means  of  sustaining  life. 

A  few  of  the  unfortunate  men  must  have 
survived  until  the  arrival  of  the  wild  fowl 
(say  until  the  end  of  May),  as  shots  were 
heard,  and  fish-bones  and  feathers  of  geese 
were  noticed  near  the  scene  of  the  sad 
event 

There  appears  to  have  been  an  abundant 
store  of  ammunition,  as  the  gunpowder  was 
emptied  by  the  natives  in  a  heap  on  the 
ground  out  of  the  kegs  or  cases  containing  it : 
and  a  quantity  of  shot  and  ball  was  founa 
below  high-water  mark,  having  probably  been 
left  on  the  ice  close  to  the  beach  before  the 
spring  thaw  commenced.  There  must  have 
l)een  a  number  of  telescopes,  guns  (several  of 
them  double-barrelled),  watches,  compasses, 
&c. ;  all  of  which  seem  to  have  been  broken 
up.  as  I  saw  pieces  of  these  difi'erent  articles 
with  the  natives, — and  I  purchased  as  many 
as  possible,  together  with  some  silver  spoons 
and  forks,  an  order  of  merit  in  the  form  of  a 
Htar.  and  a  small  silver  plate  engraved  *'  Sir 
John  Franklin,  K.C.H." 

Enclosed  is  a  list  of  the  principal  articles 
bought,  with  a  note  of  the  initials,  and  a 
rough  pen-and-ink  sketch  of  the  crests  on  the 
forks  and  spoons.  The  articles  themselves  I 
i>hall  have  the  honour  of  handing  over  to 
you  on  my  arrival  in  London. 

None  of  the  Esquimaux  with  whom  I  had 
communication  saw  the  white  men,  either 
when  living  or  after  death,  nor  had  they  ever 
been  at  the  place  where  the  corpses  were 
found,  but  had  their  information  from  natives 
who  bad  been  there,  and  who  had  seen  the 
party  when  travelling  over  the  ice.  From 
what  I  could  learn,  there  is  no  reason  to 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ChtricfDIektiiL] 


SIR  JOHN  FRANKLIN  AND  mS  CREWS. 


17 


BQKpeot  thai  any  Tiolence  had  been  oflfered  to 
the  saflf^rere  by  the  natives. 

As  the  dogs  in  the  sledge  were  fhtigned 
before  they  joined  us,  our  day's  journey  was 
a  skort  one.  Our  snow-house  was  built  in  lati- 
tude sixty-eight  degrees  twenty-nine  seconds 
norths  and  longitude  ninety  degrees  forty-two 
minutes  forty-two  seconds  west,  on  the  bed  of 
a  river  having  high  mud  banks,  and  which 
falls  into  the  west  side  of  Pelly  Bay,  abouf 
latitude  sixty-eight  degrees  forty-seven  mi- 
nates  north,  and  longitude  ninety  degrees 
twenty-five  minutes  wesU 

On  the  twenty-second,  we  travelled  along 
the  north  bank  of  the  river  (which  I  named 
after  Captain  Beecher,  of  the  Admiralty),  in 
a  westerly  direction,  for  seven  or  eight  miles, 
until  abreast  of  the  lofty  and  peculiarly 
shaped  hill  already  alluded  to,  and  which  I 
named  EUice  Mountain,  when  we  turned 
more  to  the  northward. 

We  soon  arrived  at  a  long  narrow  lalre,  on 
trhich  we  encamped  a  few  miles  from  its  east 
end,— our  day's  march  being  little  more  than 
thirteen  miles.  Our  Esquimaux  auxiliaries 
were  now  anxious  to  return,  being  in  dread, 
or  professing  to  be  so,  that  the  wolves  or 
wolverines  would  find  their  "  cache  "  of  meat, 
and  destroy  it.  Having  paid  them  liberally 
for  their  aid  and  information,  and  having 
hade  them  a  most  friendly  ftirewell,  they 
eet  out  for  home  as  we  were  preparing  to  go 
to  bed. 

Next  moniing  provisions  for  six  days  were 
secured  under  a  heap  of  ponderous  stones,  and 
we  resumed  our  march  along  the  lake. 

Thick  weather,  snow-storms,  and  heavy 
walking,  sadly  retarded  our  advance.  The 
Bequimanx  had  recommended  me,  after 
reaching  the  end  of  the  chain  of  lakes  (which 
ran  in  north-westerly  direction  for  nearly 
twenty  miles,  and  then  turned  sharply  to  the 
southward)  to  follow  the  windings  of  a  brook 
that  flowed  from  them.  This  I  attempted  to 
do,  until  finding  that  we  should  be  led  thereby 
far  to  the  south,  we  struck  across  land  to  the 
west  among  a  series  of  hills  and  valleys. 

Tracks  of  deer  now  became  numerous,  and 
a  few  traces  of  musk  cattle  were  observed. 

Attwo  A.M.,  on  the  twenty-sixth,  we  fell  upon 
a  river  with  banks  of  mud  and  gravel  twenty 
to  forty  feet  high,  and  about  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  in  width.  After  a  most  laborious  walk 
of  more  than  eighteen  miles,  we  found  an  old 
snow-hut,  which  after  a  few  repairs  was  made 
habitable,  aud  we  were  snugly  housed  at 
forty  minutes  past  six  a.m.  Our  position 
was  in  latitude  sixty-eight  degrees  twentv- 
five  minutes  twenty-seven  seconds  north, 
longitude  ninety-two  degrees  fifty-three 
minutes  fourteen  seconds  west. 

One  of  our  men  who,  from  carelessness 
some  weeks  before,  had  severely  frozen  two 
of  his  toes,  was  now  scarcely  able  to  walk  ; 
and  as,  by  Esquimaux  report,  we  could  not 
be  very  ftir  from  the  sea,  I  prepared  to  start 
in  the  evening  with  two  men  and  four  days' 


provisions  tor  the  Castor  and  Pollux  River, 
leaving  the  lame  man  and  another  to  follow, 
at  their  leisure  a  f^w  miles  on  our  track,  to 
some  rocks  that  lay  on  our  route  where  they 
were  more  likely  to  find  both  fuel  and  game, 
than  on  the  bare  flat  ground  where  we  then 
were. 

The  morning  of  the  twenty-sixth  was  very 
fine  as  we  commenced  tracing  the  course  of 
the  river  seaward ;  sometimes  following  its 
course,  at  other  times  travelling*on  its  left  or 
right  bank  to  cut  off  points. 

At  four  A.M.,  on  the  twenty-seventh,  we 
reached  the  mouth  of  the  river,  which,  by 
subsequent  observation,  I  found  to  be  situated 
in  latitude  sixty-eight  degrees  thirty-two 
minutes  north,  and  longitude  ninety-three 
degrees  twenty  minutes  west.  It  was  rather 
difficult  to  discover  when  we  had  reached  the 
sea,  until  a  mass  of  rough  ice  settled  the 
question  beyond  a  doubt  After  leaving  the 
river  we  walked  rapidly  due  west  for  six 
miles,  then  built  our  usual  snug  habitation 
on  the  ice,  three  miles  from  shore,  and  had 
some  partridges  (Tetrao  mutus)  for  supper,  at 
the  unseasonable  hour  of  eight  a.m.  We  had 
seen  great  numbers  of  these  birds  during  the 
night. 

Our  latitude  was  sixty-eight  degrees  thirty- 
two  minutes  one  second  north,  and  about 
forty  minutes  east  of  Simpson's  position  of 
the  mouth  of  the  Castor  and  Pollux  River. 

The  weather  was  overcast  with  snow 
when  we  resumed  our  journey,  at  thirty* 
minutes  past  eight  p.m.,  on  the  twenty-seventh ; 
we  directed  our  course  directly  for  the  shore, 
which  we  reached  after  a  sharp  walk  of  one 
and  a  half  hours,  in  doing  which  we  crossed 
a  long  stony  island  of  some  miles  in  extent. 
As  by  this  time  it  was  snowing  heavily,  I 
made  my  men  travel  on  the  ice,  the  walking 
being  better  there,  whilst  I  followed  the 
winding  of  the  shore,  closely  examining  every 
object  along  the  beach. 

After  patting  several  heaps  of  stones,  which 
had  evidently  formed  Esquimaux  caches,  I 
came  to  a  collection  larger  than  any  I  had 
yet  seen,  and  clearly  not  intended  for  the 
protection  of  property  of  any  kind.  The 
stones,  generally  speaking,  were  small,  and 
had  been  built  in  the  form  of  a  pillar,  but  the 
top  had  fallen  down,  as  the  Esquimaux  had 
previously  given  me  to  understand  was  the 
case. 

Calling  mv  men  to  land,  I  sent  one  to  trace 
what  looked  like  the  bed  of  a  small  river 
immediately  west  of  us,  whilst  I  and  the 
other  men  cleared  away  the  pile  of  stones  in 
search  of  a  document.  Although  no  docu- 
ment was  found,  there  could  be  no  doubt  in 
my  own  mind,  and  in  that  of  my  companion, 
that  its  construction  was  not  that  of  the 
natives.  My  belief  that  we  had  arrived  at 
the  Castor  and  Pollux  River  was  confirmed 
when  the  person  who  had  been  sent  to  trace 
the  apparent  stream-bed  returned  with  the 
information  that  it  was  a  river. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


18 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCoadMtedby 


My  latitade  of  the  Castor  and  Pollux  is 
sixty-eight  degrees  twenty-eight  minutes 
thirty-seven  seconds  west ;  agreeing  within 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  with  that  of  Simpson ; 
but  our  longitudes  differ  considerably,  his 
being  ninety-four  degrees  fourteen  minutes 
west,  whilst  mine  was  ninety-three  degrees 
forty-two  minutes  west  My  longitude  is 
nearly  intermediate  between  that  of  Simpson 
and  Sir  George  Baclc,  supposing  the  latter  to 
have  carried  on  his  survey  eastward  from 
Montreal  Island.  A  number  of  rocky  eleva- 
tions to  the  north  of  the  river  were  mistaken 
by  Simpson  for  islands,  and  named  by  him 
the  Committee. 

Having  spent  upwards  of  an  hour  in  fruit- 
less search  for  a  memorandum  of  some  kind, 
we  l>egan  to  retrace  our  steps :  and  after  a 
most  fatiguing  march  of  fifteen  hours,  during 
which  we  walked  at  least  thirty  miles,  we 
arrived  at  the  snow-hut  of  the  men  left  be- 
hind. They  had  shot  nothing,  and  had  not 
collected  sufficient  andromeda  for  cooking, 
but  had  been  compelled  to  use  some  grease. 
The  frost-bitten  man  could  scarcely  move. 

^arly  on  the  morning  of  the  twenty-ninth, 
during  a  heavy  fall  of  snow,  we  set  out  for 
the  mouth  of  the  river,  which  was  named  in 
honour  of  Sir  Frederick  Murchison,  the  late 
President  of  the  Royal  Geographical  Society ; 
and  after  losing  our  way  occasionally  in 
attempting  to  make  short  cuts,  we  arrived  at 
Cache  Island,  so  named  from  an  Esquimaux 
•cache  that  was  on  it,  within  two  miles  of  the 
sea,  at  eight  a.m.,  and  stopped  there,  as  it 
blew  a  gale  with  drift 

As  soon  as  we  got  shelter,  and  had  supped, 
preparations  were  made  for  starting  in  the 
evening  for  Bellot  Strait  An  ample  stock  of 
provisions  and  fuel  for  twenty-two  days  were 

E laced  on  two  of  our  best  sledges,  and  I 
auled  on  my  own  small  sledge  my  instru- 
ments, books,  bedding,  &c,,  as  usnaL 

On  the  evening  of  the  twenty-ninth,  the 
weather  was  so  stormy,  that  although  we  were 
prepared  to  start  at  eight  o'clock,  we  could 
not  get  away  until  past  two  on  the  following 
morning,  when  after  travelling  little  more  than 
five  miles,  a  heavy  fall  of  snow  and  strong 
wind  caused  us  again  to  take  dielter. 

Our  advance  was  so  much  impeded  by  thick 
weather  and  soft  snow,  that  we  did  not  arrive 
within  a  few  miles  of  Cape  Porter  of  Sir  John 
Ross,  until  the  sixth  of  Mav.  In  doing  this 
we  had  traversed  a  bay,  the  head  of  which 
was  afterwards  found  to  extend  as  far  north 
as  latitude  sixty-eight  degrees  four  minutes 
north.  Point  Sir  H.  Dr^rden,  its  western 
boundary,  is  in  latitude,  sixty-eight  degrees 
forty-four  minutes  north,  longitude  ninety- 
four  degrees  west.  To  this  bay,  the  name  of 
Shepherd  was  given,  in  honour  of  the  Deputy 
Governor  of  the  Honourable  Hudson's  Bay 
Company,  and  an  island  near  its  head,  was 
called  Bence  Jones,  after  the  distinguished  me- 
dical man  and  analytical  chemist  of  that  name 
to  whose  kindness  1  and  my  party  were  much 


indebted,  for  having  proposed  the  use  and  pre- 
pared some  extract  of  tea,  for  the  expedition* 

This  article  we  found  extremely  portable, 
and  as  the  tea  could  be  made  without  boiling 
water,  we  often  enjoyed  a  cup  of  that  reAresh- 
ing  beverage,  when  otherwise  Arom  want  of 
fuel,  we  must  have  been  satisfied  with  cold 
water. 

From  Point  Dryden,  the  coast  which  is  low 
atid  stony,  runs  in  a  succession  of  small  points 
and  bays  about  ten  miles  nearly  due  west, 
then  turns  sharply  up  to  the  north  in  latitude 
sixt^-eight  degrees  forty-five  minutes  north, 
longitude  ninety-four  degrees  twenty-seven 
minutes  fifty  seconds  west,  which  was  ascer- 
tained by  observations  obtained  on  an  island 
near  the  shore.  The  point  was  called  Cape 
Colville,  after  the  Governor  of  the  Company, 
and  the  island,  Stanley.  To  the  west,  at  the 
distance  of  seven  or  eight-miles,  land  was  seen, 
which  received  the  appellation  of  Matheson 
Island,  as  a  mark  of  respect  to  one  of  the 
Directors  of  the  Compafiy. 

Our  snow-hut  on  the  sixth  of  May,  situate 
on  Point  de  la  Gulche  was  by  good  observa- 
tions found  to  be  in  latitude  sixty-eight  de- 
grees fifty-seven  minutes  fifty-two  seconds 
north,  longitude  ninety-four  degrees  twenty- 
two  minutes  fifty-eight  seconds  west.  One  of 
my  men,  Mistegan,  an  Indian  of  great  intelli- 
gence and  activity,  was  sent  six  miles  farther 
along  the  coast  northward;  Iff  ascending 
some  rough  ice  at  its  extreme  point,  he  could 
see  about  five  miles  farther,  the  land  was  still 
trending  northward,  whilst  to  the  north-west, 
at  a  considerable  distance,  perhaps  twelve  or 
fourteen  miles,  there  was  an  appearance  of 
land,  the  channel  between  which  and  the  point 
where  he  stood,  beinp;  full  of  rough  ice.  This 
land,  if  it  was  such,  is  probably  part  of  Matty 
Island,  or  King  William's  Land,  which  latter 
is  also  clearly  an  island. 

I  am  happy  to  say  that  on  this  present,  as 
on  a  former,  occasion,  where  my  survey  met 
that  of  Sir  James  C.  Ross,  a  very  singular 
agreement  exists,  considering  the  circum- 
stances under  which  our  surveys  have  been 
taken. 

The  foggy  and  snowy  weather,  which  con- 
tinued upwards  of  four  days,  had  occasioned 
the  loss  of  so  much  time,  that,  although  I 
could  easily  have  completed  a  part  (perhaps 
the  half)  of  the  survey  of  the  -coast,  between 
the  Magnetic  Pole  and  Bellot  Strait,  or 
Brentford  Bay,  I  conld  not  do  the  whole  with- 
out great  risk  to  my  party,  and  I  therefore 
decided  upon  returning. 

Having  taken  possession  of  our  discoveries 
in  the  usual  form,  and  built  a  cairn,  we  com- 
menced our  return  on  the  night  of  the  sixth. 
Having  fine,  clear  weather,  we  made  long 
marches,  and  at  Shepherd  Bav,  having  got  rid 
of  the  sledge,  which  I  had  hitherto  hauled,  I 
detached  myself  from  the  party,  and  ex- 
amined the  bay  within  a  mile  or  two  of 
the  shore,  whilst  my  men  took  a  straighter 
route. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ChninDldniifi.] 


SIR  JOHN  FRANKLIN  AND  HIS  CREWS. 


19 


Thick  weather  again  came  on  as  we  en- 
tered the  bay  (named  in  honour  of  Sir  Robert 
H.  Inglis)  into  which  the  Murchison  River 
falls,  and  we  had  much  trouble  in  finding  the 
mouth  of  the  river.  Here  the  services  of  my 
Gree  hunter  were  of  much  value,  as  custom 
bad  caused  him  to  notice  indications  and 
marks,  which  would  have  escaped  the  ob- 
servation of  a  person  less  acute  and  experi- 
enced. 

On  the  eleventh  of  May,  at  three  a.  m.,  we 
reached  the  place  where  our  two  men  had 
been  left  Both  were  as  well  as  I  could  hope 
for,  the  one  whose  great  toe  had  been  frozen, 
and  which  was  about  to  slough  off  at  the  first 
joint,  thereby  rendering  the  foot  very  tender 
and  painful  when  walkmg  in  deep  snow,  had 
too  much  spirit  to  allow  himself  to  be  hauled. 
One  deer,  and  eighteen  partridges  had  been 
shot ;  but,  notwithstanding,  I  found  a  greater 
reduction  in  our  stock  of  provisions  than  I 
had  anticipated,  and  I  felt  confirmed  in  the 
course  I  had  taken. 

The  day  became  very  fine,  and  observations 
were  taken,  which  gave  the  position  of  Cache 
Island,  where  our  snow-hut  was — latitude 
sixty -eight  degrees  thirty- two  minutes 
two  seconds  north,  longitude  ninety-three 
degrees  thirteen  minutes  eighteen  seconds 
west. 

Having*  completed  my  observations,  and 
filled  in  rough  tracings  of  the  coast  liqe, 
which  I  generally  did  from  day  to  day,  we 
started  for  home  at  eight  thirty,  p.m.  The 
weather  being  now  fine,  and  the  snow  harder 
than  when  outward  bound,  we  advanced  more 
rapidly  and  in  a  straighter  direction,  until 
we  came  to  the  lakes,  about  midway  in  the 
Isthmas,  after  which,  as  far  as  Pelly  Bay,  our 
outward  and  homeward  route  were  exactly 
alike.  We  reached  Pelly  Bay  at  one  i..H.,  on 
the  seventeenth,  and  built  a  snow-house  about 
two  and  a  half  miles  south,  and  the  same  dis- 
tance west,  of  my  observations  of  the  twentieth 
of  April. 

Observing  traces  of  Esquimaux,  two  men 
were  sent,  after  supper,  to  look  for  them. 
After  eight  hours  absence  they  returned  with 
ten  or  twelve  native  men,  women,  and  child- 
ren. From  these  people  I  bought  a  silver 
^on  and  fork.  The  initials  F.  R.  M.  €.,  not 
engraved,  but  scratched  with  a  sharp  instru- 
ment, on  the  spoon,  puzzled  me  much,  as  I 
knew  not  at  the  time  the  Christian  names  of 
the  officers  of  Sir  John  Franklin's  expedition; 
and  thought  that  the  letters  above-named 
might  possibly  be  the  initials  of  Captain 
M'Clure,  the  small  c  between  M  C  being 
omitted. 

Two  of  the  Esquimaux  (one  of  them  I  had 
seen  in  eighteen  hundred  and  forty-seven) 
offered  for  a  consideration  to  accompany  us  a 
day  or  two's  march  with  a  sledge  and  dogs. 
We  were  detained  some  time  by  the  slow 
preparations  of  our  new  allies ;  but  we  soon 
made  up  for  lost  time,  and,  after  a  journey  of 
sixteen  geographical  or  about  eighteen  and  a 


half  statute  miles,  we  arrived  at  the  east  side 
of  the  bay,  in  latitude  by  reduction  to  the 
meridian  sixty-eight  degrees  twenty-three 
minutes  ten  seconds  north,  longitude  eighty- 
nine  degrees  fifty-eight  minutes  thirty-nine 
seconds  west 

It  may  be  remembered  that  in  the  spring 
of  eighteen  forty-seven  I  did  not  trace  the 
shore  of  Pelly  Bay,  but  saw  it  from  the  summit 
of  one  of  the  lofty  islands  in  the  bay.  Desirous 
of  being  alwavs  within,  rather  than  of  ex- 
ceeding the  limits  of  truth,  I  that  year  placed 
the  head  of  the  bay  about  ten  miles  north  of 
what  it  ou^ht  to  have  been, — a  mistake  which 
will  be  easily  accounted  for  by  those  who 
know  the  difficulties  of  estimating  distances 
in  a  snow-clad  country,  where  the  height  of 
the  land  is  unknown. 

The  width  of  the  isthmus  separating  Pelly 
and  Shepherd's  Bays  is  fully  sixty  geogra- 
phical miles. 

In  the  evening  before  parting  with  our' 
Esquimaux  assistants,  we  bought  a  dog  ftom 
them,  and  after  a  most  friendly  farewell, 
resumed  our  journey  eastward,  and  found,  on 
a  long  lake,  some  old  snow-houses,  in  which 
we  took  up  our  lodgings.  Here  a  set  of  good  * 
observations  placed  us  in  latitude  sixty-eight 
degrees  twelve  minutes  eighteen  seconds 
north,  longitude  eighty-nine  degrees  twenty- 
four  minutes  fifty-one  seconds  westj  varia- 
tion eighteen-one  degrees  west 

On  the  morning  of  t|ie  twenty-first,  we 
arrived  at  Committee  Bay.  From  thence  our 
route  to  Repulse  Bay  was  almost  the  same  as 
before  ;  and  I  shall  not,  therefore,  advert  to  it 
further  than  to  mention  that  we  arrived  at 
our  winter  home  at  five,  a.m.,  on  the  twentv- 
sixth  of  May, — having,  firom  the  better  walk- 
hog,  travelled  in  twenty  days  the  distance 
(less  forty  or  fifty  miles)  which  had  taken  us 
thirty-six  days  to  accomplish  on  our  outward 
journey. 

I  found  the  three  men  who  had  been  left  in 
charge  of  the  property  quite  well,  living  in 
abundance,  and  on  the  most  friendly  terms 
with  a  number  of  Esquimaux  families,  who 
had  pitched  their  tents  near  them. 

The  natives  had  behaved  in  the  most  exem- 
plary manner ;  and  many  of  them  who  were 
short  of  food,  in  compliance  with  my  orders 
to  that  effect,  had  been  supplied  with  venison 
from  our  stores. 

It  was  from  this  time  until  August  that  I 
had  opportunities  of  questioning  the  Esqui- 
maux regarding  the  information  which  I  bad 
already  obtained,  of  the  party  of  whites  who 
had  perished  of  starvation,  and  of  eliciting 
the  particulars  connected  with  that  sad 
event,  the  substance  of  which  I  have  already 
stated. 

In  the  early  part  of  July,  the  salmon  came 
ft'om  the  sea  to  the  mouths  of  the  rivers  and 
brooks  which  were  at  that  date  open ;  and 
we  caught  numbers  of  them.  So  tnat  occa- 
sionally we  could  afford  to  supply  our  native 
friends  with  fifty  or  one  hundred  in  a  night. 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


rCondncMd  by 


As  is  the  usaal  custom  at  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company's  inland  trading  posts,  all  provisions 
were  given  gratis  ;  and  they  were  much  more 
gratefully  received  by  the  Esquimaux  than 
by  the  more  southerly  and  more  favoured  red 
man. 

We  had  still  on  hand  half  of  our  three 
months'  stock  of  pemican,  and  a  sufficiency 
of  ammunition  to  provide  for  the  wants  of 
another  winter.  We  were  all  in  excellent 
health,  and  could  get  as  many  dogs  as  we 
required:  so  that  (D.V.)  there  was  little 
doubt  that  a  second  attempt  to  complete  the 
survey  would  be  successful;  but  I  now 
thought  that  I  had  a  higher  duty  to  attend 
to,  that  duty  being  to  communicate,  with  as 
little  loss  of  time  as  possible,  the  melancholy 
tiding  which  I  had  heard,  and  thereby  save 
the  risk  of  more  valuable  lives  being  jeo- 
pardised in  a  fruitless  search,  in  a  direction 
where  there  was  not  the  slightest  prospect  of 
obtaining  any  information.  I  trust  this  will 
be  deemed  a  sufficiently  good  reason  for  my 
return. 

The  summer  was  extremely  cold  and  back- 
ward ;  we  could  not  leave  Repulse  Bay  until 
the  fourth  of  August,  and  on  the  sixth  had 
much  difficulty  in  rounding  Gape  Hope.  From 
thence,  as  far  as  Cape  Fnllcrton,  the  strait 
between  Southampton  Island  and  the  main 
shore  was  fhlly  packed  with  ice,  which  gave 
us  great  trouble.  South  of  Cape  FuUerton 
we  got  into  open  water.  On  the  evening  of 
the  nineteenth  instant,  calms  and  head  winds 
much  retarded  us,  so  that  we  did  not  enter 
Churchill  River  until  the  morning  of  the 
twenty-eighth  of  August.  There  we  were 
detained  all  day  bv  a  storm  of  wind.  My 
good  interpreter,  William  Ouligback,  was 
landed,  and  before  bidding  him  farewell,  I 
presented  him  with  a  very  handsomely 
mounted  hunting  knife,  intrusted  to  me  by 
Captain  Sir  (Jeorge  Back  for  his  former 
travelling  companion,  Ouligback  ]  but  as  the 
old  man  was  dead,  I  took  the  liberty  of  giving 
it  to  his  son,  as  an  inducement  to  future  good 
conduct  should  his  services  be  again  required. 

A  three  days'  run  brought  us  to  York 
Factory,  at  which  place  we  landed  all  well 
on  the  forenoon  of  the  Slst  of  August.  I 
am  happy  to  say  that  the  conduct  of  my 
men,  under  circumstances  often  very  trying, 
was  generally  speaking  extremely  good  and 
praiseworthy ;  and  although  their  wages  were 
nigher  than  those  of  any  party  who  have 
hitherto  been  employed  on  boat  expeditions, 
I  tliought  it  advisable,  after  consulting  with 
Chief  Factor  William  Mactavlsh,  to  give  each 
a  small  gratuity,  varying  the  amount  accord- 
ing to  merit. 

In  conclusion,  I  have  to  express  my  regret 
that  I  was  unable,  on  this  occasion,  to  bring 
to  a  successful  termination  an  expedition 
which  I  had  myself  planned  and  projected ; 
but  in  extenuation  of  my  failure,  I  may  men- 
tion that  I  was  met  by  an  Accumulation  of 
obstacles,  beyond  the  usual  ones  of  storms 


and  rough  Ice,  which  my  former  experience  in 
Arctic  travelling  bad  not  led  me  to  anticipate. 

CHIP. 


PULP. 


The  possibility  of  making  paper  from  any- 
thing but  rags  has  only  been  mooted  since 
the  rag-famine  set  in.  It  was  amongst  the 
good  old  manufacturing  pr^udices,  that  pulp 
for  paper-making  could  only  be  formed  from 
flax  or  cotton  which  had  been  spun,  woven, 
made  into  garments  or  napcry,  worn  out, 
cast  off,  had  the  best  price  given  for  it  at  the 
Black  Doll ;  picked,  sorted,  washed,  torn  to 
tatters,  and  smashed  into  pulp  at  the  mill. 
The  manufacturing  mind  has  only  recently 
become  awake  to  the  probability  that  pulp 
iplght  be  made  out  of  fibre  that  has  never 
passed  through  the  rag-shop. 

The  idea  of  making  paper  from  raw  flax 
is  neither  new  nor  startling.  At  present 
the  flax  plant  is  only  used  for  two  pur- 
poses—its straw  is  reduced  to  fibre,  and 
then  spun  and  woven  into  textile  fabrics ; 
and  its  seed,  besides  propagating  it,  yields 
painter's  oil.  Ye^  the  same  plant  can  never 
be  used  for  both  purposes.  To  produce 
good  flax,  It  must  be  cut  down  before  the 
seed  is  ripe ;  and,  when  fully  matured  to 
yield  oil,  the  straw  fibre  cannot'  be  spun. 
But  it  can  be  converted  into  the  best  possible 
pulp.  Unlimited  supplies  of  this  straw  is 
wasted  in  India,  whence  it  might  be  import- 
ed into  this  country;  and,  mixed  with  in- 
ferior cotton  and  linen  rags  to  soften  and 
economise  it,  be  converted  into  a  tougher, 
whiter,  and  cheaper  paper  than  we  can  at 
present  afford  for  common  use.  On  such 
paper  the  second  edition  of  the  *'  Times " 
newspaper  of  Monday  the  seventeenth  of 
July  last  was  printed. 

There  are  besides,  coarser  varieties  of  the 
flax-plant  that  might  be  cultivated  to  yield 
paper-pulp  of  the  first  quality.  The  experiment 
has  been  tried  with  a  success  which  proves  that 
vast  expanses  of  marshy  lands  in  this  country, 
and  a  large  proportion  of  the  Irish  soil,  not 
now  productive,  might  be  made  to  grow  in- 
ferior species  of  flax  convertible  into  unlimited 
supplies  of  pulp.  There  is  only  one  barrier  to 
the  immediate  solution  of  the  great  paper 
difficulty.  A  few  gentlemen  with  capital 
and  enterprise  have  associated  themselves 
for  the  supply  of  flax  pulp  to  paper-makers, 
and  some  of  the  principal  paper-makers  have 
agreed  to  become  their  customers.  Their 
object  being,  however,  one  of  those  which  can 
only  be  carried  out  on  a  large  and  expensive 
scale,  it  is  beyond  the  means  of  '•  a  few  " 
gentlemen.  With  broad  acres  to  purchase  or 
to  rent,  with  mills  and  machinery  to  pro- 
vide ;  or,  with  vast  purchases  to  make  ot  the 
coarser  flax  from  the  Indian,  Australian,  or 
New  Zealand  markets,  the  capital  required 
could  only  be  commanded  by  an  extensive 
company ;    and,  whoever  enters  upon    the 


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dMrici  DickfMi  j 


OBSOLETE  COOKERY. 


21 


scheme  must  be  prepared  to  incur  enormous 
liabilities.  This  no  man  in  his  senses  will 
do,  in  the  present  absurd  and  crippling  state 
of  the  law  of  partnership  even  to  confer 
the  greatest  blessing  on  his  fellow  men ;  for 
he  would  place  everything  he  possessed  in 
jeopardy,  from  his  bank-stock  to  his  boots. 

Here,  then,  is  an  instance  of  a  most  useful 
and  beneficial  project  being  paralysed  fi'om 
an  irrational  and  unjust  law — a  law  which 
exists  in  no  other  countr^r  than  England :  a 
law  which  discourages  habits  of  prudence  and 
saving  among  the  humbler  orders  (for  it  shuts 
out  everv  profitable  investment  from  the 
small  capitalist)  and  which  nips  every  compre- 
hensive and  beneficent  enterprise  in  the  bud. 
Mr.  Cardwell  has  promised  an  alteration  of 
this  anomalous  statute;  let  us  hope  that 
he  will  keep  his  word  early  in  the  present 
Session. 


OBSOLETE  COOKERY. 

The  cookery  of  mummers  and  morris- 
dancers,  of  abbots  of  unreason  and  licensed 
jesters — what  can  it  be  but  grotesque,  like 
the  rest ;  full  of  quaint  humour  without 
elegance,  and  of  gross  lavishness  without  real 
luxury?  So,  in  fact,  we  find  it  in  Robert 
May's  queer  book :  "  The  Accomplisht  Cook ; 
printed  for  Nath.  Brooke,  at  the  Sign  of  the 
Angel,  Comhill,  1660."  Robert  May  seems 
to  have  been  great  in  his  time,  in  his  attempt 
to  popularise  the  art  and  mvstery  of  cookerv ; 
and  m  his  address  to  the  master  cooks 
and  young  practitioners— which  is  as  much 
a  defence  as  an  address — he  deprecates  the 
wrath  of  the  protectionists  of  that  art  in 
consequence.  He  takes  high  ground,  though. 
He  says  that  though  **  he  may  be  envied  by 
some  that  only  value  their  private  Interests 
above  Posterity  and  the  publick  good ;  yet 
God  and  his  own  Conscience  would  not  per- 
mit him  to  bury  these  his  Experiences  with 
his  Silver  Hairs  in  the  Grave."  An  expression 
■that  gives  one  an  affectionate  kind  of  reve- 
rence for  the  brave  old  cook—the  "  artist," 
as  he  calls  himself  and  his  confreres.  He  is 
intensely  English,  among  other  things.  He 
abuses  the  French  for  their  "  Epigram  dishes, 
'  smoakH  rather  than  dress't — their  Mush- 
roomed Experiences  for  sauce  rather  than 
Diet,"  and  ungraciously  says,  that  though 
"whatever  he  found  good  in  their  Manu- 
scripts and  printed  Authours  he  inserted 
in  this  volume,"  yet  their  books  wgre  but 
"  empty  and  unprofitable  treatises,  of  as  little 
use  as  some  Niggards'  Kitchens : "  wherein  we 
see  the  shadow  of  that  fatal  spirit  of  expendi- 
ture, the  ill  effects  of  which  we  feel  to  this  day. 

We  have  directions  for  carving,  and  the 
terms  of  carving;  an  account  of  sundry 
"  triumphs  and  trophies  in  cookery,  to  be  used 
at  festival  times,  as  Twelfth  Day.  etc.;"  the 
service  (or  order  of  meats) ;  a  list  of  sauce 
for  all  manner  of  fowls ;  showing  "  how  with 
all  meats  sauce  shall  have  the  opperation;" 


bills  of  fare  for  every  season  in  the  year ; 
also  *'  how  to  set  forth  the  meat  in  order  for 
that  service,  as  it  was  used  before  hospitality 
left  this  nation."  And  finally  a  mass  of  recipes 
— and  such  recipes !  Shade  of  Lucullus!  what 
clumsy  messes,  and  what  strange  material  I 

The  directions  for  carving  are  very  quaint. 
You  are  to  break  a  deer  and  to  leach  brawn 
(Uche,  a  thin  slice?)  You  are  to  spoil  a 
hen,  unbrane  a  mallard,  display  a  crane, 
disfigure  a  peacock,  border  a  pasty,  tire  an 
egg,  tame  a  crab,  tusk  a  barbel,  culpon  a 
trout,  fin  a  chevin  (chub),  transon  an  eel, 
tranch  a  sturgeon,  undertranch  a  porpoise, 
and  barb  a  lobster.  Also,  which  is  not  ex- 
actly carving,  you  are  to  timber  the  fire.  In 
the  service  or  order  of  serving  you  are  to 
have  first  mustard  and  brawn,  then  pottage, 
then  meat,  fowl  or  game,  fish,  sweets ;  you 
are  to  have  stork  and  crane  and  heron  and 
peacock  with  his  tail  on,  and  larks  and 
dowcets  (custard),  and  pampuff  (pancakes  t) 
and  white  leach — which  we  leave  to  our 
readers  to  interpret  into  modem  English — 
amber-jelly,  and  then  curlews  and  suites,  alias 
snipes,  and  sparrows  and  martins,  and  pearch 
in  jelly,  and  pettypervis — which  is  also  to  be 
interpreted  according  to  pleasure  and  a  good 
dictionary — and  dewgard  or  dewberries,  and 
fruter-sage,  and  blandrells,  and  pippins,  with 
carraways  in  comfits,  and  wafers  and  hip- 
pocras.  Then  you  are  to  have  as  sauce 
verjuice  for  chickens.and  chaldrons— or  giblets 
verv  likely — ^with  swan :  mustard  and  sugar 
with  lamb  and  pi^ :  sauce  gamelin — whatever 
that  mav  be — witn  bustfud  and  bittern  and 
spoonbill }  with  cranes  and  herons,  salt  and 
sugar ;  with  sparrows  and  thrushes,  salt  and 
cinaon  (cinnamon).  Sprats  is  good  in  stew, 
says  Robert  May;  pears  and  quinces  in 
syrrup  with  parsley  roots,  and  a  mortus  of 
houndfish  is  to  be  raised  standing.  Which 
last  seems  to  mean  pounded  or  perhaps  potte^ 
fish,  turned  out  of  a  deep  dish. 

You  are  to  carve  cleanly  and  handsomely, 
and  not  break  the  meat;  you  are  to  lay 
the  slices  in  a  fair  charger  generally,  and 
lace  the  breasts  of  poultry  with  your  knife ; 
you  are  to  gobbm  a  salt  lamprey  and 
other  things,  and  dight  the  brain  of  a  wood- 
cock (gobbin  seems  to  mean,  cut  up  into 
small  pieces,  and  to  dight  is  to  dress) ; 
you  are  to  roast  a  porpos  and  cut  him 
about;  when  you  unbrane  a  mallard  you 
are  to  lace  it  down  on  each  side  with  your 
knife,  bending  it  to  and  fro  like  waves ;  and 
you  are  to  array  forth  a  capon  on  your 
platter  as  though  he  should  fiy. 

But  listen  to  Robert  May's  description  of 
"  a  triumph  and  trophy  in  cookerv,"  such  as 
was  "formerly  the  delight  of  the  nobility 
before  good  housekeeping  had  left  England, 
and  the  sword  reallj  acted  that  which  was 
only  counterfeited  in  such  honest  and  laud- 
able exercises  as  these."  You  are  to  make 
the  likeness  .of  a  ship  in  pasteboard,  with 
flags  and  streamers,  with  guns  of  kiokses 


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22 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoDdncted  bf 


(kickBhawsT)' charged  with  traina  of  gun- 
powder. This  ship  you  are  to  place  in  a 
great  charger  with  salt  round  about,  and 
stick  therein  egg-shells  full  of  sweet  water. 
Then  in  another  charger  you  are  to  have  a 
stag  made  in  coarse  paste,  with  a  broad 
arrow  in  the  side  of  him,  and  his  body  filled 
up  with  claret  wine.  In  another  charger, 
after  the  stag,  you  are  to  have  a  castle  with 
battlements,  purcullices,  gates,  and  draw- 
bridges of  pasteboard,  the  guns  of  kickses  as 
in  the  former  instance.  The  castle  is  also 
surrounded  with  salt,  stuck  with  egg-shells 
full  of  rose-water.  On  each  side  of  the  stag 
have  a  pie — one  filled  with  live  frogs,  the 
other  with  live  birds.  Ship,  stag,  castle,  and 
pies  are  to  be  gilded  and  adorned  with  gilt 
bay  leaves.  Bdng  all  placed  in  order  upon 
the  table,  the  ladies  are  to  be  persuaded  to 
pluck  the  arrow  out  of  the  stag ;  then  will 
the  claret  wine  follow  as  blood  running  out 
of  a  wound.  This  being,  done  with  admi- 
ration of  the  beholders,  after  a  short  pause 
fire  the  train  of  the  castle,  answering  with 
that  of  the  ship,  as  in  a  battle.  Then  the 
ladies, "  to  sweeten  the  stinck  of  the  powder," 
are  to  take  the  egg-shells  full  of  sweet  waters 
and  throw  them  at  each  other.  All  danger 
being  now  over,  by  this  time  it  is  supposed 
that  you  will  d^ire  to  see  what  is  in  the 
pies ;  "  whfen,  lifting  off  the  lid  of  one,  out 
skip  the  frogs,  which  makes  the  ladies  to  skip 
and  shreek :  next  after  the  other  pie,  whence 
comes  out  tne  birds.''  The  birds  by  natural 
instinct  will  fly  high  and  ^ut  out  the  candles ; 
so  that  what  with  the  flying  birds  and  skip- 
ping frogs,  the  one  above,  the  other  beneath, 
and  total  darkness  for  the  romp,  we  are  told 
this  trophy  and  triumph  will  cause  much 
delight  and  pleasure  to  the  whole  company. 

They  ate  such  aueer  things  in  those 
days.  Most  likely  they  knew  how  to  make 
good  dishes  out  of  their  grotesque  con- 
comitants: but  a  "jigott"  of  mutton  with 
anchove  sauce  does  seem  a  rather  odd  com- 
pound; so  does  a  turkey  roste  and  stuck 
with  cloves,  and  eight  turtle  doves  and  an 
olive  pie  and  larded  gulls.  Snails,  too,  do 
not  suit  the  degenerate  palates  of  the  nine- 
teenth century.  But,  Robert  May  gives  nine 
receipts  for  the  various  dressing  of  snails. 
First  as  boiled,  then  broiled,  then  fried,  then 
hashed,  then  in  a  soup,  and  lastly  baked. 
We  are  told  how  to  bake  frogs  as  well.  Take 
the  recipe  as  it  stands  : 

"Being  fieyed,  take  the  hind  legs,  cut  off 
the  feet  and  season  them  with  nutmeg, 
pepper^  and  salt;  put  them  in  a  pie  with 
some  sweet  herbs  chopped  small,  large  mace, 
slic't  lemon,  gooseberries,  grapes,  or  bar- 
berries, pieces  of  sklrret..  artichocks,  pota- 
toes or  parsnips,  and  marrow.  Close  it  up 
and  bake  it;  being  baked,  liquor  it  with 
butter  and  juyce  of  orange,  or  grape  of  ver- 
juyce." — Which  look  ra&er  as  if  the  frogs 
were  to  be  disguised  out  of  all  recognition 
than  appreciated  and  enjoyed.     But  what 


would  a  *'  muskle  pie "  be  like  T  Would  they 
bake  the  beards  as  well  ?  Has  any  one  eatea 
a  broiled  lobster?— or  one  hashed,  stewed, 
baked^  or  fried?  Would  hashed  oyster  be 
good  eating?  There  is  an  oyster  pottage 
which  reads  well,  and  oysters  in  stoffado, 
whatever  that  may  be ;  which  last  receipt 
includes  wine,  vinegar,  spices,  eggs,  cream, 
butter  and  batter,  "slic't"  oranges,  bar- 
berries, and  "sarsed  manchet"— which  we 
should  call  bread  crumbs — among  its  ingre- 
dients. There  are  minced-herring  pies  and 
all  sorts  of  fish  pies  generally — not  bad 
things,  by  the  way — and  there  is  a  stewed 
lump,  and  a  baked  lump,  and  chewits, 
otherwise  minced  patties  of  salmon,  and 
a  lumber  pie  of  salmon,  and  pike  jelly, 
and  peti  poets  (petits  pat^s?)  of  carp 
minced  up  with  eel;  and  marinated  fish  of 
every  kind,  which  seems  to  be  fish  pickled 
and  salted  in  a  peculiar  way.  Porpoise  and 
whale  were  familiar  things  to  Robert  May. 
We  believe  he  would  not  have  declined  hip- 
popotamus or  alligator,  or  lions  and  tigers. 
He  would  have  made  decent  stews  and 
hashes  out  of  snakes  and  condors,  no  doubt, 
true  omnivorous  old  cock  that  he  was.  We 
protest,  though,  against  his  taking  a  hand- 
some carp — a  special  one  of  eighteen  inches 
— and  splitting  it  down  the  back  alive.  Our 
crimped  cod,  and  the  eels  which  don't  get 
used  to  being  skinned,  are  just  as  bad,  and 
perhaps  worse ;  but  the  ori^nators  of  tiiese 
wicked  practices  were  the  Robert  Mays  of 
our  ancestors. 

We  wish  we  could  give  the  engravings  of 
this  book.  There  are  pictures  of  fish  "splat," 
or  in  pies — the  oddest-looking  things  ima- 
ginable, with  queer,  grave  countenances,  that 
seem  to  express  a  stolid  objection  to  thehr 
position.  They  would  be  better  as  portraits 
if  they  were  not  all  alike.  A  salmon,  a 
sturgeon,  and  a  carp,  have  some  points  of 
difference,  but  Robert  May's  wood-engraver 
makes  the  same  block  do  for  them  all,  which 
rather  spoils  the  likeness.  The  king  of 
them  all  is  a  lobster.  What  words  can 
describe  that  unhappy  crustacean?  It 
looks  like  a  spread  eagle ;  like  a  goblin  bom 
of  dyspepsia  and  laudanum ;  like  a  fancifhl 
fiower-bed ;  like  a  mythic  tortoise  with  gout 
in  his  fins,  for  it  is  splat  in  halves,  as  is 
the  wont  with  this  accomplished  cook's  fish  ; 
it  is  sprawling  and  floundering  across  the 
page  in  a  wonderful  fashion,  not  at  all  after 
the  manner  of  modem  lobsters.  The  cut 
we  refer  to  heads  a  recipe  for  "  baked  lob- 
sters to  be  eaten  hot"  it  sounds  appetising 
enough. 

**  Being  boild  and  cold,  take  the  meat  out 
of  the  shells  and  season  it  lightly  with  nut- 
meg, pepper,  salt,  cinamon,  and  ginger; 
then  lay  it  in  a  pie  made  according  to  this 
form"  (our  spread  eagle  or  goblin),  "and 
laj  on  it  some  dates  in  halves,  large  mace, 
slic't  lemons,  barberries,  yolks  of  hiu^  eggs, 
and  butter.    Close  it  up,  and  bake  it ;  and 


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28 


being  baked,  liquor  it  with  white  wine, 
batter  and  sagar.  and  ice  it.  On  flesh  dajs 
pot  marrow  to  it.^' 

If  the  fidi  are  odd,  the  pastry  is  more 
80.  That  section  on  pastry  demands  a 
Tolome  to  itself.  To  begin  with,  do  our  pre- 
sent cooIes  make  paste  for  a  pie  in  this 
manner:  ^*  Take  to  a  gallon  of  flour  a  pound 
of  butter ;  boil  it  in  fair  water ;  and  make 
the  paste  up  quick  T  "  Or  haye  we  eatable 
costard  paste  like  this :  **  Let  it  be  onel j  boil- 
ing water  and  flour  without  butter ;  or  put 
Bogar  to  it,  which  will  add  to  the  stifness  of 
it,  and  thus  likewise  all  paste  for  crusts  and 
orangado  tarts  and  such  like? "  If  this  was 
intended  to  be  eaten  and  digested,  they  had 
good  stomachs  in  those  days.  The  garnish 
of  dishes,  which  we  make  now  of  paste 
stamped  out  by  a  cutter,  was  then  made  in 
moulds.  They  were  called  stock  fritters  or 
fritters  of  arms,  and  were  made  of  **flne 
flower  "  into  a  batter  no  thicker  than  thin 
cream.  The  brass  moulds  were  heated  in 
clarified  butter:  then  dipped  half-way  in  the 
batter  and  fried,  to  garnish  any  boiled 
fish,  meats,  or  stewed  oTsters.  "View 
iheir  form,"  ends  Robert  May,  garnishing 
this  recipe  with  three  woodcuts — the 
first  is  the  likeness  of  a  pike  in  all  the 
agonies  of  acute  indigestion ;  the  second  a 
cross-bar,  like  the  heraldic  sig^  of  a  mascle ; 
and  the  third  like  a  grotesque  pink  or  carna- 
tion. Then  paste  was  firied  out  of  a  seringe, 
or  butter-squirt,  like  little  worms  lying  about 
the  dish.  Well,  that  was  only  a  coarser  kind 
ofTermicelli  or  macaroni,  so  we  have  no  right 
to  laugh  at  it.  "  Blamanger  "  Is  apparently 
always  made  of  capon  "  boiled  all  to  mash,'' 
or  or  pike  boiled  in  fair  water,  yery  tender, 
and  chopped  small;  boiled  on  a  soft  flre, 
remember,  in  a  broad,  clean-scoured  skillet 
to  the  thickness  of  an  apple  moise.  And 
when  made,  this  blamanger,  and  creams,  and 
jellies  too  of  all  kinds,  are  seryed  up  in  forms 
and  shapes  like  the  most  hideous  of  those 
geometrical  ray  ings  which  artistically-minded 
children  draw  on  their  slates  for  ornament. 
A  pippin  pie  is  to  be  made  of  thirty  good 
large  pippins,  thirty  cloyes.  a  quarter  of  an 
oooce  of  whole  cinamon,  and  as  much  pared 
and  slicH,  a  quarter  of  a  pound  of  orangado^ 
as  much  of  lemon  in  Bucket  (sweet-meat),  and 
a  pound  and  a  half  of  refined  sugar ;  close  it 
op  and  bake  it  —  it  will  ask  four  hours 
baking  —  then  ice  it  with  butter,  sugar  and 
rose-water.  There  is  a  quince  pie  that  looks 
like  an  unintelligible  astronomical  figure,with 
the  signs  of  the  zodiac  all  round ;  and  there 
are  pippin  tarts  of  half-moons,  and  rounds,  and 
ninepins  with  spots  all  oyer  them ;  and  other 
fruit  pies  like  cathedral  windows ;  and  a  tart 
of  pips ;  and  a  tart  of  splnage ;  and  a  taffety 
tart  (apple,  lemon-peel,  and  fennel-seed) ;  and 
cream  tarts  made  of  cream  thickened  with 
muskified  bisket-bread,  and  presenred  cit- 
teron,  and  in  the  middle  a  prescnred  orange 
with  biskets,  the  garnish  of  the  dish  being  of 


poflT-paste;  and  receipts  for  all  manner  of 
tart  stuff,  that  **  carries  his  colour  black,  or 
yellow,  or  green,  or  red."    There  are  recipes 
for  triffels,  for  sack  possets,  for  wassel,  Nor- 
folk fools,  white-pot,  pyramidis  cream,  me- 
tbeglin,  ippocras,  jamballs,  jemelloes,  amber- 
greece  cakes,  marchpanes,  paste  of  violets, 
'  burrage.  bugloas,  rosemary,  cowslips,   Ac., 
portingall  tarts,  and  many  more  that  we 
cannot  even  allude  to.    There  is  a  recipe  for 
I  a  dish  of  marchpane  to  look  like  col  lops  of 
,  bacon ;  for  making  muskedines,  called  rising 
,  comflts,  or  kissing  comfits,  made  of  **  half-a- 
pound  of  reflned  sugar  beaten  and  searced : 
put  into  it  two  grains  of  musk,  a  grain  of 
ciyet,  two   grains  of  amber-juyce,  and   a 
;  thimble-full  of  white  orris  powder  ;  beat  all 
these   with    gum-dragon   steeped    in   rose- 
:  water ;  then  roul  it  as  thin  as  you  can,  and 
I  cut  it  into  little  lozenges  with  your  Iglng- 
iron,  and  stow  them  in  some  warm  oven  or 
stoye,  then 'box  them  and  keep  them  all  the 
;  year."   There  is  an  "  Extraordinary  Pie,  or  a 
;  Bride  Pie  of  seyerall  Compounds,  being  seve- 
rall  distinct  pies  on  one  bottom."  One  of  the 
ingredients  is  a  snake  or  some  liye  birds, 
"which  will  seem  strange  to  the  beholders 
who  cut  up  the  pie  at  the  table."    This  is 
"  onely  for  a  wedding,  to  pass  away  time." 

Then  there  are  "  maremaid  pyes,"  made  of 
pork  and  eels  ;  an^  "  minced  pyes  of  calyes' 
chaldrons,  or  muggets,"  made  of  grapes, 
gooseberries,  barberries,  and  bacon;  and 
there  are  "heads"  made  into  pyes, with  a  wood- 
cut underneath  that  looks  literally  like  half 
a  carpet  rug  with  a  scroll  at  the  two  ends  ; 
and  there  are  recipes  for  "  baking  all  manner 
of  sea-fowl,  as  swan,  whopper,  dap-chicks, 
Ac. ; "  and  there  are  marinated  pallets,  and 
lips,  and  noses ;  and  Italian  chips  of  difierent 
coloured  pastes  in  layers ;  and  then  there  are 
sallets. 

Here  is  a  grand  salleL  A  cold  roast  capon, 
or  other  roast  white  meat,  cut  small,  mingled 
with  a  little  minced  tarragon,  and  an  onion, 
lettice.  oliyes,  samphire,  broom-buds,  pickled 
mudirboms,  pickled  oysters,  lemon,  orange, 
raisins,  almonds,  blew  flgs,  Virginia  potato, 
I  caperons,  crucifex  pease,  and  the  like,  (^ar- 
I  nish  this  medley  with  quarters  of  oranges  and 
lemons,  and  pour  on  ovl  and  vinegar  beaten 
I  together.  Another  sallet  has  the  following 
,  mixture :  "  Take  all  manner  of  knots  of  buds 
of  sallet  herbs,  buds  of  potherbs,  or  any  green 
herbs,  as  sage,  mint,  balm,  burnet,  violet- 
leaves,  red  coleworts  streaked  of  different 
colours,  lettice,  any  flowers,  blanched  al- 
monds, blew  flgs,  raisins  of  the  sun,  currans, 
capers,  olives;  then  dish  the  sallet  in  a  heap 
or  pile,  being  mixt  with  some  of  the  fruits, 
and  all  flnely  washed  and  swung  in  a 
nf4>kin ;  then  about  the  center  lay  first  slio't 
figs,  next  capers  and  ourrans,  then  almonds 
and  raisins,  next  olives,  and  lastly  either 
jagged  beets,  jagged  lemons,  jagged  cucum- 
bers, cabbidge-lettice  in  quarters,  good  oyl, 
and  wine  vinegar  sugar  or  none." 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


Nowig  not  this  a  recipe  worth  studying? 
If  variety  has  any  claim  to  one's  attention,  this 
mixture  ought  to  stand  high  in  our  considera- 
tion. Every  kind  of  herb  or  plant  seemed  fit  for 
^'sallet,''  according  to  our  accomplisht  cook. 
If  he  had  recommended  hay-seeds  or  thistle- 
buds  we  should  not  have  felt  surprised. 
Purslan,  clovesjilly-flowers,  rampons,  ellick- 
sander  budS|  samphire,  charvel,  cucumber, 
boiled  coUyflower,  bumet,  burrage,  endive, 
lettice,  fruits  of  aU  kinds,  everything  that 
grows,  in  short,  mingled  together,  and  mixed 
up  with  salt,  sugar,  oil  and  vinegar.  A  most 
catholic  taste,  to  say  the  least  of  it ;  but 
really  more  sensible  than  our  silly  daintiness 
which  permits  a  wide  wealth  of  food  to  rot  at 
our  feet  because  of  some  absurd  prq'udice  or 
most  unworthy  ignorance.  Yet,  at  first  sight 
— and  at  first  taste  too,  one  would  imagine — 
much  of  the  material  of  that  day  would  be 
unpalateable.  For  who  would  dream  of 
shell-bread !  —  positively  muscle-she  lis !  — 
muscle-shells  **  toasted  in  butter  melted,  when 
they  be  baked,  then  boiled  in  melted  sugar, 
as  you  boil  a  simnell  (the  present  name 
for  a  certain  Shrewsbury  cake) ;  then  lay 
them  on  the  bottom  of  a  wooden  sieve, 
and  they  will  eat  as  crisp  as  a  wafer.'* 
The  rest  of  this  shell-bread  is  made  of  a 
quarter  of  a  pound  of  rice  flower,  a  quarter 
of  a  pound  of  fine  fiower,  the  yolks  of  four 
new  laid  eggs,  a  little  rose-water,  and  a 
grain  of  musk ;  make  these  into  a  paste,  then 
roul  it  very  thin,  and  bake  it  in  great  muscle- 
shells  (we  have  already  had  the  receipt  for 
the  management  of  these).  There  is  a  re- 
ceipt, too,  for  bean-bread,  which  is  made  of 
aniseeds,  musk,  and  blanched  almonds ;  why 
called  bean-bread  is  diflScnlt  to  sav. 

These  cinnamon  toasts  are  not  bad.  **  Cut 
fine  thin  toasts,  then  toast  them  on  a  grid- 
iron, and  lay  them  in  ranks  in  a  dish,  put  to 
them  some  fine  beaten  cinamon,  mixed  with 
sugar  and  some  claret,  warm  them  over  the 
fire,  and  serve  them  hot"  Here  are  French 
toasts,  too,  tolerable  in  their  way:  *'Cut 
French  bread,  and  toast  it  in  pretty  thick 
toasts  on  a  clean  gridiron,  and  servo  them 
steeped  in  claret,  sack,  or  any  wine,  with 
sugar  and  juyce  of  orange.'/  Do  you  want  a 
sauce— or  souce,  as  our  accompUiBht  hath  it 
— for  a  hare  T 

*'  Beaten  cinamon,  nutmegs,  ginger,  pepper, 
boiled  prunes,  and  corrans  strained,  muski- 
fied  bisket ;  bread  beaten  into  powder,  sugar 
and  cloves,  all  boild  up  as  thick  as  water- 
grewel." 

Another  sauce  much  like  this  is  to  be 
I'  boild  up  to  an  indifferency  ; "  and  another 
is  to  "  have  a  walm  or  two  over  the  fire." 
Mustard  is  to  be  ground  in  a  *' mustard 
quern,  or  a  boul  with  a  cannon-bullet,"  and 
made  into  little  loaves  or  cakes  to  carry  in 


one's  pocket.  Then,  there  are  odd  ways  of 
making  vinegar.  You  are  to  take  bramble 
bryers  when  they  are  half  ripe,  dry  them, 
and  make  them  into  powder:  with  a  little 
strong  vinegar,  make  little  oalls,  and  dry 
them  in  the  sun,  and  when  you  will  use 
them,  take  wine  and  heat  it,  put  in  some  of 
the  ball,  or  a  whole  one,  and  it  will  bo  turned 
very  speedily  into  strong  vinegar.  This  is  a 
good  pendant  to  the  mustard  cakes.  At  this 
rate  a  man  might  carry  his  whole  store-closet 
in  his  pocket  In  making  vinegar  ^ou  are 
to  put  your  firkin  full  of  good  white  wine 
in  tne  sun,  "  on  the  leads  of  a  house  or  gut- 
ter." Or  you  are  to  put  into  this  firkin,  a 
beet-root,  medlars,  cervices,  mulberries,  un- 
ripe fiowers,  a  slice  of  barley  bread  hot  out 
of  the  oven,  or  the  blossoms  of  cervices  in 
their  season :  dry  them  in  the  sun  in  a  glass 
vessel,  in  the  manner  of  rose  vinegar ;  fill 
up  the  glass  with  clear  wine  vinegar,  white 
or  claret  wine,  or  set  it  in  the  sun  or  in  a 
chinmey  by  the  fire.  There  are  sugar  or 
honey  sops  to  be  met  with  in  Cumberland  to 
this  day.  Very  delicious,  and  uncommonly 
bilious  eating.  Then,  there  is  *'  broth  for  a 
sick  body ;"  and  to ''stew  a  cock  against  a  con- 
sumption j"  and  "to  distill  apig  good  against  a 
consumption ;"  and  another  "  excellent  broth 
or  drink  for  a  sick  body,"  and  immediatelv 
following,  another  "  strong  broth  for  a  sick 
party,"  and  an  excellent  restorative  for  a 
weak  back,  of,  "  the  leaves  of  clary  and  nepe, 
fried  with  the  yolks  of  eggs,  and  eat  to 
breakfast" 

We  might  multiply  Robert  May's  oddities 
in  his  Art  and  Mystery  of  Cooking,  until 
we  had  given  every  recipe  in  his  boolc. 
They  are  all  in  the  same  style  as  those 
we  have  copied.  Cumbersome,  quaint,  pro- 
tase,  coarse,  they  are  fit  for  the  time  which 
countenanced  the  gross  practical  jokes  and 
rough  pleasures  of  the  Trophy  and  Triumph 
we  have  spoken  of ;  but,  there  is  also  a  lordly 
lavishness  about  them  that  brings  up  pleasant 
pictures  of  the  baronial  magnificence  of  olden 
times,  and  somewhat  shames  the  smaller,  if 
more  elegant  hospitality  of  to-day.  Live 
frogs,  live  birds,  and  live  snakes,  are  not  the 
most  pleasant  guests  at  a  dinner-table ;  but,  the 
open-nanded  desire  to  show  honour  to  their 
friends,  and  to  give  happiness  and  pleasure, 
was  some  counterbalance  to  the  coarseness  of 
our  ancestors.  Passing  by  the  bad  taste 
which  took  delight  in  such  vandalisms,  we 
might  perhaps  find  some  useful  hints  in  our 
old  cookery-book.  Certainly  we  might  learn 
one  good  lesson— how  to  make  use  of  every 
available  article  of  food  ;  how  to  multiply 
our  present  resources,  and  turn  into  nourish- 
ment and  use,  material  now  left  wasting  by 
the  side  of  men  dying  of  hunger. 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
COVDVCTED   BT   CHABLE8   DICKBV8. 


No.  2.] 


jr.  A.  DIX,   PUBLISHER, 

OrvioB,  N«.  10  Pass  PfcAoi,  Naw>Y«B>. 


[Whole  No.  265. 


GASLIGHT  FAIRIES. 

Fancy  aa  order  for  five-and-thirtj  Fairies ! 
Imagine  a  mortal  in  a  loose-sleeved  great 
coat,  with  the  mud  of  London  streets  upon 
his  legs,  commercially  ordering,  in  the 
common-place,  raw,  foggy  forenoon,  "five- 
and-thirty-more  Fairies^"!  Yet  I,  the  writer, 
heard  the  order  given.  "  Mr,  Vernon,  let  me 
have  flve-and-thfrty  more  Fairies  to-morrow 
morning — and  take  care  they  are  good  ones." 

Where  was  it  that,  towards  the  close  of 
the  year  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and 
fifty-four,  on  a  dark  December  morning,  I 
overheard  this  astonishing  commission  given 
to  Mr.  Vernon,  and  by  Mr.  Vernon  accepted 
without  a  word  of  remonstrance  and  entered 
in  a  note-book?  It  was  in  a  dark,  deep  gulf 
of  a  placd,  hazy  with  fog — at  the  bottom  of  a 
Bort  of  immense  well  without  any  water  in 
it:  remote  crevices  and  chinks  of  daylight 
faintly  visible  on  the  upper  rim ;  dusty  palls 
enveloping  the  sides ;  sas  flaring  at  my  fset ; 
hammers    going,    in  Invisible    workshops; 

f  roups  of  people  hanging  about,  trying  to 
eep  their  toes  and  flhgers  warm,  what  time 
their  noses  were  dimly  seen  through  the 
smoke  of  their  own  breath.  It  was  in  the 
strange  conventional  world  where  the  visible 
people  only  never  advanpe;  where  the 
unseen  painter  learns  and  changes;  where 
the  unseen  tailor  learns  and  changes ;  where 
the  unseen  mechanist  adapts  to  his  purpose 
the  striding  ingenuity  of  the  age ;  where  the 
electric  light  comes,  in  a  box  that  is  carried 
under  a  man's  arm ;  but,  where  the  visible  flesh 
and  blood  is  so  persistent  in  one  routine 
that,  from  the  waiting-woman's  apron-pockets 
(with  her  hands  in  them),  upward  to  the 
smallest  retail  article  in  the  "business"  of 
mad  Lear  with  straws  in  his  wig,  and 
downward  to  the  last  scene  but  one  of  the 
pantomime,  where,  for  about  one  hundred 
years  last  past,  all  the  characters  have 
entered  groping,  in  exactly  the  same  way,  in 
identically  the  same  places,  under  precisely 
the  same  circumstances,  and  without  the 
smallest  reason — I  say,  it  was  in  that  strange 
world  where  the  visible  population  have  so  com- 
pletely settled  their  so-potent  art,  that  when 
1  pay  my  money  at  the  door  I  know  befbre- 
hand  everything  that  can  possibly  happen  to 
me,  inside.    It  was  in  the  Theatre,  thai  I 


heard  this  order  given  for  five-and-thirty 
Fairies. 

And  hereby  hangs  a  recollection,  not  out  of 
place,  though  not  of  a  Fairy.  Once,  on  just 
such  another  December  morning,  I  stood  on 
the  same  dusty  boards,  in  tlM  same  raw 
atmosphere,  intent  upon  a  pantomime- 
rehearsal.  *A  massive  giant's  castle  arose 
before  me,  and  the  giant's  body-guard 
marched  in  to  comic  music ;  twenty  grotesque 
creatures,  with  little  arms  and  legs,  and  enor- 
mous faces  moulded  into  twenty  varieties  of 
ridiculous  leer.  One  of  these  faces  in  par- 
ticular—an absurdly  radiant  faiie,  with  a 
wink  upon  it,  and  Its  tongue  in  its  cheek — 
elicited  much  approving  notice  from  the 
authorities,  and  a  ready  laugh  from  the  or- 
chestra, and  was,  for  a  full  half  minute,  a  facial 
success.  But,  it  happened  that  the  wearer  of 
the  beaming  visage  carried  a  banner ;  and,  not 
to  turn  a  banner  as  a  procession  moves,  so  as 
always  to  keep  its  decorated  side  towards  the 
audience,  is  one  of  the  deadliest  sins  a 
banner-bearer  can  commit  This  radiant 
goblin,  being  half-blinded  by  his  mask,  and 
further  disconcerted  by  partial  suflbcallon, 
three  distinct  times  omitted  the  first  duty  of 
man,  and  petrified  us  by  displaying,  with  the 
greatest  ostentation,  mere  sackcloth  and 
timber,  instead  of  the  giant's  armorial  bear- 
ings. To  crown  which  offence  he  couldn't 
hear  when  he  was  called  to,  but  trotted 
about  in  his  richest  manner,  unconscious 
of  threats  and  imprecations.  Suddenly,  a 
terrible  voice  was  heard  above  the  music, 
crying,  "Stop!"  Dead  silence,  and  we 
became  aware  of  Jove  in  the  boxes. 
'*  Hatchway,"  cried  Jove  to  the  director. 
*<who  is  that  manT  Show  me  that  man.'' 
Hereupon,  Hatchway  (who  had  a  wooden 
l^Sr)}  vigorously  apostrophising  the  defaulter 
as  an  **  old  beast,"  stumped  straight  up  to 
the  body-guard  now  in  line  before  the  castle, 
and  taking  the  radiant  countenance  by  the 
nose,  lifted  it  up  as  if  it  were  a  saucepan-lid 
and  disclosed  below,  the  features  of  a  bald, 
superannuated,  aged  person,  very  much  in 
want  of  shaving,  who  looked  in  the  forlornest 
way  at  the  spectators,  while  the  large  face 
aslant  on  the  top  of  his  head  mock^  him. 
'<  What  I  It's  you,  is  it  7"  said  Hatchway,  with 
dire  contempt  ''  I  thought  it  was  yoo."  '*  I 
knew  it  was  tiiat  man!"  cried  Jove.     '^I 

166 


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26 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


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told  yooyesterday,  Hatchway,  be  was  not  fit 
for  it.  Take  him  away,  and  bring  another ! " 
He  waft  ejected  with  every  mark  of  ignominy, 
and  the  ineonstaat  mask  was  Just  at  fUnny 
on  another  man^s  Bhouldera  immediately 
afterwards.  To  the  present  day,  I  never  see 
a  very  comic  pantomime-mask  but  I  wonder 
whether  this  wretched  old  man  can  possibly 
have  got  behind  it ;  and  I  never  think  of  him 
as  dead  and  buried  (which  is  far  more  likely), 
but  I  make  that  absurd  countenance  a  part  of 
his  mortality,  and  picture  it  to  myself  as 
gone  the  way  of  all  the  winks  in  the  world. 

Five-and-tblrty  more  Fairies,  and  let  them 
bd  good  ones.  I  saw  them  next  day.  They 
ranged  from  an  anxious  woman  of  ten,  learned 
in  the  prices  of  victual  and  fuel,  up  to  a 
ooDoeited  young  lady  of  five  times  that  age, 
who  always  persisted  in  standing  on  one  leg 
longer  than  was  necessary,  with  the  deter- 
mination (as  I  was  informed),  *'  to  make  a 
Part  of  it"  This  Fairv  was  of  long  theatrical 
descent— centuries,  I  believe — and  had  never 
had  an  ancestor  who  was  entrusted  to  com- 
municate one  word  to  a  British  audience. 
Yet,  the  whole  race  had  lived  and  died  with 
the  fixed  idea  of  '*  making  a  Part  of  it ; "  and 
she,  the  last  of  the  line,  was  still  unchangeably 
resolved  to  go  down  on  one  leg  to  posteritv. 
Her  father  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the  family 
ambition ;  having  become  in  course  of  time 
so  extremely  difficult  to  "  get  off,"  as  a  vil- 
lager, seaman,  smuggler,  or  what  not,  that  it 
was  at  length  considered  unsafe  to  allow  him 
to  *'  go  on."  Gonsequentl;^,  those  neat  con- 
fidences with  the  public  in  which  he  had 
displayed  the  very  acmi  of  his  art — osuallv 
consisting  of  an  explanatory  tear,  or  an  arch 
hint  in  dumb  show  of  his  own  personal  de- 
termination to  perish  in  the  attempt  then  on 
foot — were  regarded  as  superfluous,  and  came 
to  be  dispc^ised  with,  exactly  at  the  crisis  when 
he  himself  foresaw  that  he  would  *'  be  put  into 
Parts  "  riicnily.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  recog- 
nising in  the  character  of  an  Evil  Spirit  of 
the  Marsh,  overcome  by  this  lady  with  one 
(as  I  should  else  have^considered  puxposeless) 
poke  of  a  javelin,  an  actor  whom  I  bad 
formerly  encountered  in  the  provinces  under 
oircnmstances  that  had  fixed  him  agreeably 
in  my  remembrance.  The  play,  represented 
to  a  nautical  aadience,  was  Hamlet ;  and  this 
geotlemto  having  been  killed  with  much  credit 
as  Polonius,  reappeared  in  the  part  of  OsiHc : 
provided  against  recognition  by  the  removal 
of  his  white  wig,  and  the  adjustment  round 
his  waist  of  an  extremely  broad  belt  and 
buckle.  He  was  instantly  reoogniied,  not- 
withstanding these  artful  precautions,  and  a 
solemn  impreasion  was  made  upon  the  8|>eo- 
tators  for  which  I  could  not  account,  until  a 
sailor  in  the  Pit  drew  a  long  breath,  said  to 
himself  in  a  deep  voice,  "  Blowed  if  here  a'nt 
another  Ghost!"  and  composed  himself  to 
listen  to  aseoontfcommnnication fromthetomb. 
Another  penonage  whom  I  recognized  as 
taking  refuge  under  the  vrings  of  Paatomirae 


(she  was  not  a  Fairy,  to  be  sure,  but  she  kept 
the  cottage  to  which  the  Fairies  came,  and 
lived  in  a  neat  upper  bedroom,  with  her  legs 
obviously  behind  the  street  door),  was  a 
country  manager's  wife— a  most  estimable 
woman  of  about  fifteen  stone,  with  a  larger 
family  than  I  baa  ever  been  able  to  count : 
whom  I  had  last  seen  in  Lincolnshire,  playing 
Juliet,  while  her  four  youngest  children  (and 
nobody  else)  were  in  the  boxes— hanging  out 
of  window,  as  it  were,  to  trace  with  their 
forefingers  the  pattern  on  the  front,  and 
making  all  Verona  uneasy  by  their  imminent 
peril  of  falling  into  the  Pit  Indeed,  I  had 
seen  this  excellent  woman  in  the  whole  round 
of  Sbakesperian  beauties,  and  had  much 
admired  her  way  of  getting  through  the  text 
If  anybody  made  any  remark  to  her,  in  re- 
ference to  which  any  sort  of  answer  occurred 
to  her  mind, 'She  made  that  answer ;  other- 
wise, as  a  character  in  the  drama,  she  preserved 
an  impressive  silence,  and,  as  an  individual, 
was  heard  to  murmur  to  the  unseen  person 
next  in  order  of  appearance, ''  Come  on ! "  I 
found  her,  now,  on  good  motherly  terms  with 
the  Fairies,  and  kindly  disposed  to  chafe  and 
warm  the  fingers  of  the  younger  of  that  race. 
Out  of  Fairy-land,  I  suppose  that  so  many 
shawls  and  bonnets  of  a  peculiar  limpness 
were  never  assembled  together.  And,  as  to 
shoes  and  boots,  I  heartily  wished  that  **  the 
good  people  "  were  better  shod,  or  were  as 
little  liable  to  take  cold  as  in  the  sunny  days 
when  they  were  received  at  Court  as  God- 
mothers to  Princesses. 

Twice  a-year,  upon  an  average,  these  gas- 
light Fairies  appear  to  us ;  but,  who  knows 
what  becomes  of  them  at  other  times  t  Yoa 
are  sure  to  see  them  at  Christmas,  and  they 
may  be  looked  for  hooefully  at  Easter ;  but, 
where  are  they  through  the  eight  or  nine  long 
intervenio  g  months  T  They  cannot  find  shelter 
under  mushrooms,  they  cannot  live  upon  dew : 
unable  to  array  themselves  in  supernatural 
green,  they  must  even  look  to  Manchester  for 
cotton  stufis  to  wear.  When  {hey  bcMCome 
visible  you  find  them  a  traditionary  people, 
with  a  certain  conventional  monotony  in  their 
proceedings  which  prevents  their  surprisiDg 
you  very  much,  save  now  and  then  when  they 
appear  in  companv  with  Mr.  Beverley.  In  a 
general  way,  they  have  been  sliding  out  of  the 
clouds,  for  some  vears,  like  barrels  of  beer 
delivering  at  a  public-house.  They  sit  in  the 
same  little  rattling  stars,  with  glorious  cork- 
screws twirling  about  them  and  neyer 
drawing  anything,  through  a  good  many 
successive  seasons.  They  come  up  in  the 
same  shells  out  of  the  same  three  rows  of 
gauze  water  (the  little  ones  lying  down  in 
fh>nt,  with  their  heads  diverse  ways) ;  and 
you  resign  yourself  to  what  must  Infallibly 
take  place  when  yoa  see  them  armed  with 
garlands.  You  know  all  you  have  to 
expect  of  them  by  moonlight.  In  the  glowing 
day,  yott  are  morally  certain  that  the  gentle- 
man with  the  muscular  legs  and  the  short 


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OariMOickeM.] 


GASLIGHT  FAIEIEIS. 


27 


tattle  (like  the  Bast  at  the  Hairdresser's,  com- 
pletel/  carried  out),  is  comiog,  when  yoa  see 
them  **  getting  over  ^'  to  one  side,  while  the 
surprising  phenomenon  is  presented  on  the 
landscape  of  a  vast  mortal  shadow  in  a  hat  of 
the  present  period,  violently  directing  them 
I  80  to  do.    Yon  are  acquainted  with  all  these 
I  pecalarities  of  the  gaslight  Fairies,  and  vou 
Imow  by  heart  everything  that  they  will  do 
I  with  tbt'ir  arms  and  legs,  and  when  they  will 
I  doit.  But,  as  to  the  same  good  people  in  their 
I  invisible  condition,  it  is  a  hundred  to  one  that 
yoa  know  nothing,  and  never  think  of  them. 
I      I  began  this  paper  with,  p^haps,  the  most 
carious  trait,  after  all,  in  the  history  of  the 
race.    They  are  certain  to  be  found  when 
wanted.     Order   Mr.    Vernon  to  lay  on  a 
handred  and  fifty  gaslight  Fairies  next  Mon- 
day morning,  an4  they  will  flow  into   the 
establishment  like  so  manj^  feet  of  gas.  Every 
Pairy  can  brluff  other  Fairies ;  her  sister  Jane, 
h^  friend   Matilda,  her   friend    Matilda-s 
friend,  her  brother's  young  family,  her  mother 
—if  Mr.  Vernon  will  allow  that  respectable 
person  to  pass  master.    Summon  the  Fairies, 
and  Drury  Lane,  Soho,  Somers'  Town,  and 
the   neighbourhood  of  the   obelisk  in  St. 
George's  Fields,  will  become  alike  prolific  in 
them.    Poor,  good-humoured,  patient,  fond 
of  a  little  sel^dlsplay,  perhaps,  (sometimes, 
but  far  from  always),  they  will  come  trudging 
tbroogh  the  mud,  leading  brother  and  sister 
k«er  Fairies  by  the  hand,  and  will  hover 
tliout  in  the  dark  stage-entrances,  shivering 
lod  chattering  in  their  shrill  way,  and  eam- 
iog  their  little  money  hard,  idlers  and  vaga- 
bonds though  we  may  be  pleased  to  think 
^em.  I  wish,  myself,  that  we  were  not  so  often 
pleased  to  think  ill  of  those  who  minister  to 
oor  amusement.    I  amrfar  A-om  having  satis- 
^  my  heart  that  either  we  or  they  are  a 
bit  the  better  for  it. 

Nothing  is  easier  thaja  for  any  one  of  us  to 
pi  into  a  pulpit,  ,or  upon  a  tub,  or  a  stump, 
or  a  platform,  and  blight  (so  far  as  with  our 
l^ruMis  and  complacent  breath  we  can),  any 
class  of  small  people  we  may  choose  to  select. 
But,  it  by  no  means  follows  that  because  it  is 
easy  and  safe,  it  is  right.  Even  these  yery 
^ght  Fairies,  now.  Why  should  I  be 
bitter  on  them  because  they  are  shabby  per- 
XHisges,  tawdrily  dressed  for  the  passing 
boor,  and  then  to  be  shabby  again  ?  1  have 
known  very  shabby  personages  indeed— the 
•habbiest  I  ever  heard  of— tawdrily  dressed 
for  pablic  performances  of  other  kinds,  and 
performing  mar  rellously  ill  too,  though  trans- 
eeodently  rewarded :  yet  whom  none  dispa- 
raged 1  In  even-handed  justice,  let  me  render 
these  little  people  their  due. 

tidies  and  gentlemsn.  Whatever  yon  may 
bear  to  the  contrary  (and  may  sometimes 
bareastrange  satisliaction  in  believing),  there 
is  no  lack  of  virtue  and  modesty  ampng  the 
Fairies.  All  things  considered,  I  doubt  if 
^y  he  much  below  our  own  high  leveL  In 
re^t  of  constant  acknowledgment  of  the 


claims  of  kindred,  I  assert  for  the  Fairies, 
that  they  yield  to  no  grade  of  humanity.  Sad 
as  it  is  to  say,  I  have  known  Fairies  even  to 
fall,  through  this  fidelity  o^  theirs.  As  to 
young  children,  sick  mothers,  disRipated 
brothers,  fathers  unfortunate  and  fathers 
undeserving,  Heaven  and  Earth,  how  many 
of  these  I  have  seen  clinging  to  the  spangled 
skirts,  and  contesting  for  the  nightly  Bhllliag 
or  two,  of  one  little  lop-sided,  weak-legged 
Fairy! 

Let  me,  before  I  ring  the  curtain  down  on 
this  short  piece,  take  a  single  Fairy,  as  Sterne 
took  his  Captive,  and  sketch  the  Family -Pic- 
ture.   I  select  Miss  Fairy,  aged  three-and- 
twenty lodging  within  cannon  range  of  Water- 
loo Bridge,  London — not  alone,  but  with  her 
mother,  Mrs.  Fairy,  disabled  by  chronic  rheu- 
matism in  the  knees ;  and  with  her  father, 
Mr.  Fairy,  principally  employed  in  lurking 
about  a  public-house,  and  waylaying  the  the- 
atrical profession  for  twopence  wherewith  to 
purchase  a  glass  of  old  ale,  that  he  may  have 
something  warming  on  his  stomach  (which 
has  been  cold  for  fifteen  years) ;  and  with 
Miss  Rosina  Fairy,  Miss  Angelica  Fairy,  and 
Master  Edmund  Fairy,  axed   respectively, 
fourteen,  ten,  and  eight.     Miss  Fairy  has  an 
engagement  of  twelve  shillings  a -week — sole 
means  of  preventing  the  Fairy  family  from 
coming  to  a  dead  lock.     To  be  sure,  at  this 
time  of  year  the  three  young  Fairies  have  a 
nightly  engagement  to  come  out  of  a  Pumpkin 
as  French  soldiers ;  but,  its  advantage  to  the 
housekeeping  is  rendered  nominal,  by  that 
dreadful  old  Mr.  Fairy's  making  it  a  legal 
formality  to  draw  the  money  himself  every 
Saturday — and  never  coming  home  until  his 
stomach  is  warmed,  and  the  money  gone. 
Miss  Fairy  is  pretty  too,  Qiakes  up  very 
pretty.     This  is  a  trying  life  at  the  best,  but 
very  trying  at  the  worst.    And  the  worst 
is,  that  that  always  beery  old  Fairy,   the 
father,  hovers  about  the  stage-door  four  or 
five  nights  a  week,  and  gets  his  cronies  among 
the  carpenters  and  footmen  to  carry  in  mes- 
sages to  his  daughter  (he  is  not  admitted  him- 
self), representing  the  urgent  coldness  of  his 
stomach  and  h  Isparen  tal  demand  for  twopence ; 
failing  compliance  with  which,  he  creates 
disturbances  ]  and  getting  which,  he  becomes 
maudlin  and  waits  for  the  manager,to  whom  he 
represents  with  tears  that  his  darling  child  and 
pupilf  the  pride  of  his  soul,  is  ''kept  down  in 
t|ie  Theatre."    A  bard  life  this  for  Miss  Fairy, 
I  say,  and  a  dangerous!     And  it  is  good  to 
see  her,  in  the  midst  of  it,  so  watchful  of 
Rosina  Fairy,  who  otherwise  might  come  to 
harm  one  day.    A  hard  lifeihis,  I  say  again, 
even  if  John  Kemble  Fairy,  the  brother,  who 
sings  a  good  song,  and  when  he  gets  an 
engagement  always  disappears    about  the 
second  week  or  so  and  is  seen  no  more,  had 
not  a  miraculous  property  of  turning  up  on  a 
Saturday  without  any  heels  to  bis  boots, 
firmly  purposing  to  commit  suicide,  unless 
bought  off  with  half-a-crown.    And  yet — so 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


28 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCoBdactedbf 


cnrioos  U  the  gaslighted  atmoflphere  in  which 
thew  Fairies  dwell  !—throagh  all  the  narrow 
ways  of  Buoh  an  existence,  Miss  Fairy  never 
rellnqaishes  thebelief  that  that  incorrigible  old 
Fairy,  the  father,  is  a  wonderful  man !    She  is  ' 
immovably  convinced  that  nobodv  ever  can,  | 
or  ever  coald,  approach  him  in  RoUa.    She  I 
has  grown  up  in  this  conviction,  will  never  \ 
correct  it,  will  die  in  it    If,  through  any 
wonderful  turn  of  fortune,  she  were  to  arrive 
at  the  emolument  and  dignity  of  a  Free 
Benefit  to-morrow,  she  would  **  put  up  "  old 
Fairy,  red-nosed,  stammering  and  imbecile — 
with  delirium  tremens  shaking  his  very  but- 
tons off—as  the  noble  Peruvian,  and  would  play 
Cora  herself,  with  a  profound  belief  in  his 
taking  the  town  by  storm  at  last. 

THE  HU.L  OF  GOLD. 

Thb  alchemists  tried  hard  to  discover  some 
form  of  aurum  potabile,  or  drinkable  gold, 
which,  when  at  last  brewed  in  correct  and 
perfect  style,  should  endow  the  happy  and 
learned  drinker  with  unfading  youth  and  in- 
terminable length  of  days.  They  failed,  we 
may  suppose ;  because,  although  rarely,  from 
time  to  time,  one  or  two  reputed  evergreen 
mortals  have  stmtted  on  the  stage  whereon 
all  men  and  women  are  the  pla^rers,  they, 
like  the  rest,  have  made  their  exit.  Them- 
selves, as  well  as  the  scenes,  have  been  shifted. 
We  see  them  not  amongst  us,  to  testii^^  to  the 
potency  of  their  golden  potion,  in  spite  of  the 
daily  miracles  wrought  by  hair  dyes,  supple- 
mental teeth,  and  Tyrian  bloom. 

It  has  been  reserved  for  myself  to  make 
the  grand  discovery  which  past  ages  have 
been  unable  to  achieve.  I — not  by  myself— 
I,  have  penetrated  to  the  source  whence  issue 
inexhaustible  fountains  of  potable  gold.  1 
have  drunk  my  fill  without  stint  or  limit,  and 
I  feel  the  invigorating  beverage  tingling  in 
every  fibre,  imparting  strength  to  every 
muscle,  and  even  adding  energy  to  every 
thought  Not  to  be  selfish  and  miserly,  by 
concealing  the  whereabouts  of  this  liquid 
treasure,  the  true  golden  beverage  is  to  be 
had  at  springs  whose  names  are  Yollenay, 
Voup^ot,  Beaune,  Nuits,  and  many  others, 
all  situated  in  the  eastern  region  of  France, 
midwav  between  the  Mediterranean  and  the 
English  Channel.  But,  to  cut  matters  short 
and  to  end  all  mystery,  I  will  precede  any 
further  explanation  by  a  short  lecture  on 
Gallic  geography. 

France,  then,  is  historically  associated  in 
^ur  minds  with  the  old  division  into  pro- 
vinces. We  can  never  forget  such  memorable 
words  as  Champagne,  Burgundy,  Langue- 
doc.  These  names  have  disappeared  from 
modem  maps,  and  are  replaced  by  others. 
It  is  exactly  as  if  all  our  counties  were  swept 
dean  away,  and  Great  Britain  were  redistri- 
buted into  more  equal  portions,  with  quite 
new  denominations  attached  to  them.  France 
actually  and  at  present  is,  by  decree  of  the 


National  Assembly,    partitioned    into  five 
regions,  very  easy  to  remember  In  respect  to 
their  relative  positions — namely,  north,  south, 
east,  west,  and  central — ^which  again  are  un- 
equally divided  into  eighty-six  departments, 
including  Corsica,  ceded  to  France  by  the 
republic  of  Genoa  so  lately  as  seventeen  hun- 
dred and  sixty-eight,  in  consideration  of  a 
money  payment    This  insular  department  of 
course  belongs  to  the  south  region.   As  to  the 
order    in  which   the  departments   usually 
range,  some  geographers  begin  at  the  bottom 
of  the  map,  making  Corsica  number  one ; 
others  at  the  top,  placing  the  Department  da 
Nord  (in  which  are  the  towns  of  Dunkerque, 
Lille,  and  Valenciennes)  at  the  head  of  the  list. 
The  names  by  which  the  different  depart- 
ments are  distinguished,  have  been^onferred 
upon  them  for  different  reasons.    Many  are 
known  by  the  name  of  the  principal  river  or 
rivers  which  run  through  them :  as  the  De- 
partments de  la  Sarthe,  de  rAliier,  de  Loir- 
et-Cher,  and  de  la  Seine-Inf^rleure.     Others 
derive  their  titles  from  the  mountains  to 
which  they  are  contiguous ;  as  the  Depart- 
ments dn  Jura,  des  Yosges,  des  Basses- Aipes, 
and   des  Hautes-Pyr^n^    Some    maritime 
departments  bring  with  them  an  allusion  to 
the  seas  which  wash  their  shores ;  as  those  of 
de  la  Manche,  du   Pas^e-Calais,   and  des 
Cotes-du-Nord ;    while  remarkable  natural 
peculiarities  of  position  or  constitution,  un- 
usual and  celebrated  points  of  topography-, 
claim  their  right  to  be  commemorated  in  the 
household  words  of  the  locality.    Hence  we 
have  the  Departments  du  Puy-de-D6me,  from 
the  conical  colossus  who  rears  his  head  above 
the  other  Puys,  or  volcanic  hills,  which  have 
been  upraised  by  subterranean  fires  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Clermont;   des   Landes, 
from  the  vast  sandy  plains  which  tire  the 
eye  with  little  relief,  except  fh)m  ponds  and 
marshes,  and  over  which  the  wild  inhabitants 
stride  raiydty  on  stilts ;  du  Finlsterre,  frt)m 
the  Land's  End  of  France ;  and  du  Calvados, 
from  a  dangerous  chain  of  rocks  along  the 
coast,  six  leagues  in  length,  extending  fVt>m 
the  mouth  of  the  Vire  to  that  of  the  Ome, 
and  which  owe  their  own  denomination  to 
the  shipwreck  of  a  vessel  of  that  name  he- 
longing  to  the  squadron  which  Philip  the 
Second  despatched   for   England  in  fifteen 
hundred  and  eighty-eight     And  lastly,  as  a 
crowning  example,  there  is  a  bit  cut  out  of 
Burgundy,  the  Department  de  la  Cote-d'Or, 
or  the  Hill  of  Gold. 

Grold  is  really  found,  then,  in  that  preoioua 
hill  ?  It  is  another  Australia  T— a  Califomian 
mountain T  Oh  no!  Something  far  better 
than  that  Its  gold,  I  repeat,  is  drinkable ; 
producing,  when  used  with  due  discretion,  if 
not  exactly  eternal  youth,  the  nearest  ap- 
proach to  it  which  human  wit  has  as  yet 
discovered, — the  most  perennial  restorative 
allowed  to  man  according  to  the  laws  imposed 
on  nature  by  the  Almighty  Controller  and 
Provider  of  all  things. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ChulM  DickeuL] 


THE  HILL  OF  GOLD. 


29 


TheCote-d'Or  is  a  chain  of  hillfl  extending 
about  five-aad-thirty  Engllah  miles  in  length 
from  the  city  of  Dijon  at  its  northern  end  to 
Santenay,  the  last  village  at  its  southern 
extremity.  Along  this  range  are  produced 
the  wines  which  have  conferred  on  Burgundy 
a  cosmopolitan  reputation  as  the  out-and-out 
prince  of  jollity  and  good  cheer.  The  line  of 
this  chain  runs  from  north-east  to  south- 
west, in  such  a  way  that  tiie  first  rays  of  the 
rising  and  the  last  of  the  setting  sun  gild 
and  warm  the  outspread  vineyards.  Once, 
the  summits  of  the  hills  were  all  crowned 
with  wood,  which  now  only  remains  as  a  rare 
exception.  The  forests  were  all  cut  down, 
because  it  was  believed  they  attracted  hail- 
storms (that  might  be  merely  an  excuse  for 
raising  the  wind);  but  since  their  removal 
the  evil  has  proved  as  destructive  as  ever, 
while  their  shelter  and  mist-attracting 
powers  are  lost  For  the  most  part,  the  top 
of  the  Hill  of  Gold  is  a  lump  of  cold,  grey, 
barren  limestone,  with  hardly  suiBcient 
moisture  and  mould  upon  it  to  keep  alive  a 
few  half-starved  tufts  of  grass  and  stunted 
bulges.  Mosses  and  lichens,  those  outcasts 
of  vegetation,  shift  for  themselves  as  well  as 
they  can.  The  vineyards,  all  along  the  Cote, 
run  up  to  the  very  verge  of  this  stony 
desert;  and  within  a  few  feet,  sometimes 
within  a  few  inches  of  each  other,  you  see 
blushing  the  grape  which  produces  the  most 
luscious  wine,  and  the  astringent  sloe  and 
the  vapid  blaokbefry.  Sometimes  a  low  cliff, 
a  few  feet  in  height,  seives  as  a  wall  to  sepa- 
rate the  vinevard  from  the  wilderness,  and 
so  causes  the  transition  to  appear  less  abrupt 
^  As  a  general  rule,  the  wine-producing  por- 
tions of  BurguDdy  and  Champagne  are  what 
we  should  call  dry,  even  snort  of  water. 
There  are  neither  marshes,  lakes,  nor  consi- 
derable rivers,  to  send  up  mists  which  pollute 
the  atmosphere  and  screen  the  vivifying  action 
of  the  sun ;  and  the  ocean  is  too  far  distant 
to  overspread  the  sl^r  with  a  mantle  of  sea- 
fog  night  and  morning.  Ton  can  fancy, 
therefore,  that  the  grapes  (like  the  cucumbers 
from  which  the  Laputa  chemist  proposed  to 
extract  the  sunbeams),  imbibe  the  heat  of  the 
solar  rays,  and  treasure  it  up,  for  the  purpose 
of  yielding  it  back  by  and  bv,  as  they  do 
when  thej  cause  the  old  man's  heart  to  glow 
within  him.  The  Cote-d'Or,  in  spite  of  its 
grey,  barren,  baM  forehead,  looks  everywhere 
warm,  dry,  and  comfortable.  Its  slope  is 
thiclcly  studded  with  snug  villages,  whose 
names,  when  you  ask  them,  are  familiar 
words, — ^Vougeot,  Gevrey-Chambertin,  and 
Vollenay,— each  with  its  square,  solid  steeple, 
and  dwarf,  stubby,  would-be  spire.  Many 
present  a  deceitfully-dilapidated  aspect,  from 
being  roofed  with  shingle  of  self-splitting 
i  rock;  they  nevertheless  are  weatherproof 
I  habitations  of  men,  wherein  dwell  wealth, 
I  ease,  and  good  living,  besides  contented  be- 
cause constant  labour.  The  Cote,  so  smiling 
upon  the  whole,  every  now  and  then  yawns 


wide,  opening  into  rocky  and  precipitous 
ravines,  tufted  and  overhung  with  clumps  of 
trees,  and  tempting  to  penetrate  their  shadjr 
recesses.  But  the  foot  of  the  Cote  is  a  conti- 
nuous carpet  of  vineyards  stretching  further 
north  and  south  than  the  eye  can  follow  it 
either  way.  We  should  wonder  what  the 
inhabitants  can  do  with  all  the  wine  pro- 
duced (and  epochs,  as  we  shall  see,  have 
occurred  when  they  have  been  sorely  puzzled 
how  to  dispose  of  it),  did  we  not  know  that 
the  whole  world,  just  now,  like  a  thousand- 
armed  Briareus,  is  constantly  holding  out 
innumerable  cups  for  generous  Jean  Raisin 
to  fill  with  good  liquor.  In  the  Department 
de  la  C6te<<l'0r  alone  there  are,  m  round 
numbers,  sixty-nine  thousand  English  acres 
entirely  occupied  by  vineyards.  This  im- 
mense field  of  vlniferous  verdure  is  dotted 
with,  not  broken  up  by,  standard  fruit-trees 
of  various  kinds.  The  vine-forest  is  over- 
topped at  distant  invervals  by  vegetable 
monsters  of  colossal  growth,  the  humblest  in 
rank,  though  not  in  stature,  being  the  walnut, 
with  its  valuable  wood.  There  are  a  few 
a^ple-trees,  more  pears,  still  more  cherries, 
with  apricot  and  pc^h-trees  in  unaccountable 
abundance.  The  fruit  from  these  is  in  great 
part  sent  off  to  less  favoured  regions,  and  to 
the  all-consuming  metropolis.  There  are 
vignerons  who  have  sold  this  year  six  hun- 
dred firancs'  worth  of  apricots  alone,  thus 
slightly  stopping  the  gap  caused  by  the 
failure  of  the  grape-blossoms  in  spring.  And 
as  to  the  fruit  from  the  standard  peach-trees, 
a  plein  vent,  in  the  full  wind,  though  inferior 
in  size,  thev  are  in  flavour  what  can  only  be 
expressed  by  smacking  the  lips  with  the 
accompaniment  of  a  look  of  ecstacy.  Less 
pretending  intruders  are  numerous;  aspa- 
ragus stools  dispersed  throughout  thtf  vine- 
yards to  render  an  acceptable  tribute  in  their 
seasons.  Then  come  undulating  tracts,  sinking 
into  valleys  of  a  very  Welsh  character ;  hills 
breaking  out  into  cliffb,  with  shrubs  sprouting 
on  their  perpendicular  face ;  with  vineyards 
running  merrily  to  the  tops  of  the  respective 
portions  of  Cote,  till  the  bare  rock,  cropping 
out,  effectually  stop  all  further  progress. 
The  whole  scene  fills  the  mind  with  that 
indestribable  complacency  which  arises  from 
the  contemplation  of  a  lovely  landscape.  The 
best  and  choicest  wine,  be  it  ever  remem- 
bered, is  grown  neither  at  the  very  top  of  the 
cultivated  part,  not  yet  upon  the  flat  fertile 
parts  which  sends  forth  such  abundant  streams 
of  rosy  juice.  It  is  found  just  upon  the  final 
slope  by  which  the  hilldissol^s  and  descends 
into  the  plain. 

The  very  fields  amidst  the  vineyard  on  the 
plain  are  but  temporary  gaps.  Burgundy 
does  not  grow  enough  wheat  for  its  own  con- 
sumption, even  on  the  alluvial  bottoms  that 
skirt  the  Saone,  the  Oucbe,  and  the  Yonne. 
When  vines  show  symptoms  of  wearing  out, 
they  are  stubbed  up,  and  the  ground  is  cul- 
tivated with  other  crops  for  a  few  years  to 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


30 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Condortetl  by 


give  it  rest;  that  is,  to  allow  the  bite  of  rock 
in  wliich  tlie  vine  delights,  to  decompose  and 
famish  fresh  soil.  But  each  stubbings-up 
seldom  occur  on  well-managed  ground.  On 
the  Cote  is  a  vineyard  called  Charlemagne, 
because,  according  to  an  old  tradition,  it  was 
planted  by  that  prince^  order.  Some  vines 
at  Chablis  have  lasted  ft-om  sixty  to  eighty 
years,  with  care ;  others,  neglected,  fall  off 
at  thirty.  As  the  Burgundians  are  short  of 
grain  crops,  they  consequently  are  short  of 
manure ;  and,  in  the  absence  of  farm-vard 
muck,  ihoy  sow  the  land  destined  for  wheat, 
with  peas,  vetches,  and  other  leguminous 
plants,  sometimes  also  with  raves,  or  coarse 
turnips,  to  be  ploughed  in  as  fertilizers.    All 


the  vineyards  has  little  other  stimulant  (save 
sunshine)  than  slowly  decomposing  mineral 
food.  The  Academy  of  Salerno  have  wisely 
decided  that  wine,  to  be  really  good,  must 
possess  united  the  four  meritorious  qualities 
of  perf\ime,  savour,  brilliancy,  and  colour. 
All  these,  and  more,  good  bargundy  can 
boast ;  and  yet  it  is  prefaced  firom  a  mere 
heap  of  stony  rubbish. 

In  short,  it  is  the  rock  that  makes  the 
wine.  Not  that  any  and  every  rock  will  pro- 
duce good  burgundy ;  but,  on  the  qnality  of 
the  rock  depends  thd  permanent  character  of 
the  vintage.  Everybody  knows  that  good 
champagne  ought  to  have  a  decided  taste  ^f 
gnn-flint.    Sir  Hnmphery  Davy  has  shown 


these  are  allowable  make-shifts ;  but,  apart  that  the  nature  of  the  soils  depends  on  the 
from  vine-growing,  farming  is  not  at  high-  !  subetratom  of  rock  on  which  they  lie,  and  by 
water  mark.    In  Basse  Bourgogne  are  to  be    the  decomposition  whereof  they  arc  mainly 


seen  instructive  examples  of  the  evil  effects 
of  stripping  beet  of  its  leaves.    The  root  re- 


produced.   And  thns,  the  wines  of  the  Cote- 
d'Or  mav  be  classed  into  groups ;  those  grow- 


sulting  is  something  resembling  a  crooked  j  log  on  the  same  bed  of  rock  are  similar  in 


red  walking-stick,  instead  of  the  fht  honest 
torpuienco  which  a  well-to-do  beet  is  expected 
to  protrude.  A  hundred  symptoms,  as  you 
travel  along,  show  that  the  vine  is  lord  para- 
mount of  the  soil.  Thus,  all  the  moist  hol- 
lows are  planted  with  willows  and  osiers, 
to  serve  as  ligatures  to  tVe  drooping  shoots. 

Perhaps  the  most  extraordinary  feature  of 
the  best  Burgnndian  vineyards,  is  their  soil; 
for  the  rich  alluvial  loam  of  the  valley  only 
produces  second-rate  wine.  It  is  composed 
of  bits  of  broken  grey  or  yellow  rock,  mixed 


flavour  and  character.  As  the  substratum 
varies  along  the  course  of  the  Cote,  so  do  the 
wines.  Generally,  the  rock  which  forms  the 
base  of  tbeGoMen  Hills,  isa  coarse  sub-carbon- 
ate of  lime,  which  furnishes  very  tolerable  Btone 
for  building  pnrpoees.  and  presents,  especially 
near  Santenay,  an  enormous  mass  of  gryphites 
united  by  a  calcareous  paste  of  a  grayish  tint. 
But  the  prevailing  hue  is  an  ochrey  yellow; 
and  it  is  uncertain  whetiier  the  Cote  derives 
its  name  from  the  colour  pf  its  soil  or  the 
money  value  of  its  produce.  Examine  any  one 


with  a  portion  of  what  cannot  be  called  earth  '  given  hill,  and  the  truth  of  the  above  prin- 
or  vegetable  mould,  but  merely  rotten  stone  ciple  will  be  evident.  For  instance,  the  hill  of 
in  the  shape  of  powder,  and  hardly  that  |  Pulignv  and  Mnrsanlt  is  all  of  a  piece ;  the 
You  would  say  that  it  was  only  fit  to  mend  \  crystallisation  is  the  same,  and  it  is  a  heap  of 
the  roads  with.  I  have  seen  many  a  good  the  same  kind  of  shells.  Whether  you  take  it 
cartload  of  Iho  like  lying  ready  prepared  by  |  at  Mursault  or  at  Montrachet,  namely,  at  the 
the  wayside,  in  the  midland  counties.    Mr.  !  two  extremities,  it  Is  the  same  carbonate  of 


Blueapron — who  keeps  his  vinery  fo  moist 
that  his  vines  pat  forth  roots,  in  mid  air,  the 
whole  length  of  their  new-wood  branches — 
who  manin^s  his  vine-borders  with  quarters 
of  dead  horses,  and  will  not  allow  even  a 
mignonnette  plant  to  exhanst  their  richness 
— would  look  aghast  if  he  were  told  to  culti- 
vate such  compost  as  that.  It  is  perfectly 
true  that  the  two  Messieurs  B.,  Blueapron 
videlicet,  and  Bourgignon,  grow  grapes  with 
a  different  object;  table  and  tub  are  their 
opposite  destiny.  "  My  grapes,"  the  former 
will  boast,  *•  are  different  to  these."  To  which 
B.  Ihe  second  will  answer  with  a  shrug — 
"They  are  indeed  1  The  only  drink  your 
dropsical  berries  would  make,  is  the  cru 
which  the  Champagne  beasts  call  Tord- 
boyau,  or  Twistbowel  wine."  More  opposite 
conditions  of  culture  can  hardly  exist.  In 
one  case,  the  plant  has  its  branches,  fniit, 
and  foliage  in  the  dryest  almost  of  European 
air,  and  its  root  in  a  stratum  of  warm  well- 
ventilated  pebbles;  in  the  other,  the  vine  is 
pmotbercd  with  steam  above  and  choked 
with  carrion  below.    The  horticultural  vine 


lime,  differing  only  In  slight  external  pro- 
perties, but  identical  in  its  internal  composi- 
tion. 

Nevertheless,  the  wine  of  Montrachet  1b 
superior  to  that  of  the  rest  of  the  hill ;  but 
that  is  the  consequence  of  Its  aspect,  which 
slopes  to  the  south-east.  Moreover,  the  soil 
of  this  canton  is  fine,  light,  extremely  perme- 
able to  the  action  of  the  air,  and  Is  composed 
of  an  admirable  mixture  of  clay,  sub-carbonate 
of  lime,  tritoxide  of  iron,  and  vegetable 
remains.  The  superiority  of  the  produce  is 
owing  to  the  fortunate  combination  of  a 
favourable  aspect  and  a  good  soil. 

At  the  valley  of  Nuits  commences  the  por- 
tion of  the  Cote,  which  is  perhaps  the  most 
celebrated  amongst  foreigners  for  its  wines, 
which  have  the  reputation  of  being  strong,  of 
keeping  well,  and  of  bearing  long  journeys. 
Fashion  may  have  bad  something  to  do  with 
it.  Until  the  beginning  of  the  eighteentli 
century  they  were  in  less  esteem.  Their  re- 
putation seems  to  date  ft"om  the  illness  which 
Louis  the  Fourteenth  suffered  in  sixteen  hun- 
dred and  eightv,  when  his  physician  Fagon 


is  glutted  with  animal  manure;  the  vine  of  j  recommended    Nuits  wine    to    restore    his 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


^ChvlitlNckeM.] 


THB  HILL  OF  GOLD. 


31 


strength.  Of  course,  every  sick  courtier 
drank  the  same  beverage ;  those  that  were 
not  sick  fell  ill  on  purpose  to  follow  their 
dread  sovereign's  example.  We  may  add,  by 
the  way,  that  the  failing  powers  of  the  same 
monarch  gave  rise  to  the  invention  of 
liqueurs  bv  the  same  medical  attendant,  as  a 
cordial  wherewith  to  'stimulate  the  blunt 
senses  of  decrepitude.  The  rock  which  forms 
the  base  of  this  little  chain  is  a  very  pure 
Bubcarbonate  of  lime,  with  but  little  admix- 
ture of  foreign  substajices ;  in  fact,  it  is  true 
and  real  marble  streaked  with  a  few  delicate 
pinkish  veins.  It  is  possible  that,  hereafter, 
the  marble  of  Nuits  will  stand  In  almost  as 
high  repute  as  its  wine. 

One  October  morning  I  was  awakened  at 
Nuits  by  the  din  of  coopers  hammering  the  tubs 
of  preparation,  and  making  them  fit  to  receive 
the  grapes.  I  dressed  myself  to  the  sound  of 
music,  whose  rhythm  corresponded  to  Dr. 
Arne's  old  tune  of,  '*  When  the  hoUow  dram 
doth  beat  to  bed.''  The  streets  were  full  of 
quiet  but  earnest  busiuess;  it  was  the  first 
day  of  the  vintage.  There  were  carts  going 
out  of  town,  on  each  of  which  was  mounted  a 
large  oval  tub  called  a  balonge,  to  receive  and 
partially  squeeze  the  grapes  in ;  there  were 
the  same  or  similar  carts  and  tubs  brimful  of 
black  grapes  returning  from  the  field ;  there 
were  men  passing  from  the  vineyards  into  the 
town,  laden  with  hods,  or  back-baskets,  and 
also  with  baskets  shaped  like  Yarmouth 
Bwills,  only  shallower,  all  full  of  the  black, 
not-at-all-goodlooking  pineau  grape;  wo- 
men also  with  empty  baskets  containing 
a  supply  of  unshutttng  (K'uning-knives 
te  sever  poor  Jean  Raisin  f^om  his 
parent  stem ;  gentlemen  with  choice  little 
baskets  of  grapes  on  their  arm,  culled  before 
the  vlntajgers  have  begun,  for  theb:  wives  to 
treasure  in  moss  and  paper  to  produce  them 
for  the  Christmas  dessert ;  or  a  woman  bear- 
ing the  same  on  her  head,  bv  way  of  trans- 
porting them  more  steadily;  and  vine- 
owners,  accompanied  by  their  bailiflb  or 
fisototams,  seriously  walking  to  the  scene  of 
action :  for,  they  say  here,  when  the  cat's 
away  the  rats  will  dance.  Of  course,  there 
are  parties  of  young  ladies  and  gentlemen 
who  must  go  and  see  the  vintaging,  and 
neighbours  who  like  to  peep  at  other  neigh- 
boars'  crops.  And  then  contrast  with  their 
neat  and  spruce  attire  those  three  rough  fel- 
lows riding  inside  one  balonge,  like  veritable 
children  of  St.  Nicholas  in  their  picklcd-pork 
tab;  pity,  too,  the  horse  who  is  forced  to 
drag  the  cart,  laden  with  the  balonge,  filled 
with  as  many  as  eigbt-'and- twenty  large 
baskets  of  grapes  —  eight  baskets  make  a 
pi^e,  or  hogshead  of  wine  —  a  tolerable 
load  on  a  hot  autumnal  day.  I  should  like 
to  i^ve  that  horse  a  few  bunches  of  grapes,  to 
moisten  his  poor  dry  dnstv  mouth  with.  By 
the  way,  dogs  are  prohibited  from  entering 
the  vineyards  when  the  fruit  is  ripe,  for  they 
are  as  fond  of  a  good  dessert  as  the  fox  in 


the  fable;  sportsmen  also  can  be  kept  at  bay 
to  the  distance  of  three  hundred  metres,  for, 
gunshot  wounds  are  fatal  to  Jean  Raisin, 
both  in  stem  and  fh'uit.  If  the  owner's 
longing  for  game,  and  not  his  judgment,  con- 
sents to  or  commits  the  trespass,  it  is  he  who 
bea's  the  penalty.  Another  by  the  wav:  a 
miller's  donkev  stepped  Into  a  vineyara  and 
drank  a  full  draught  out  of  a  tub  of  new 
grape -juice.  The  owner  summoned  the 
miller  before  the  justice  to  make  him  pay 
damages.  The  sentence  was,  that  the  donkey 
having  only  swallowed  a  passing  glass  of 
wine,  without  sitting  down  to  enjoy  himself 
in  a  regular  way,  the  miller  was  not  com- 
pelled to  pay  anything.  That  justice  had 
all  the  wisdom  of  Solomon.  Thou  shalt  not 
muzzle  the  ox  while  he  treads  out  the  corn. 
It  is  odious  to  see  French  boises,  at  harvest 
time,  with  baskets  on  their  mouths  like  wean- 
ling calves.  But  grapes — grapes — ^nothing 
but  grapes!  All  the  grapes  grown  around 
Nuits  are  brought  into  the  town  to  be  made 
into  wine,  excepting  always  those  numerous 
basketfuls  that  are  pold  to  be  made  into  wine 
elsewhere;  a  passable  quantity,  altogether, 
although,  they  say,  the  grape-harvest  is  a 
failure.  Ton  can  smell  the  vintage  as  you 
walk  along  the  street — exactly  the  fruity, 
cloying  kind  of  smell  which  delighted  the 
old  woman  when  she  put  her  nose,  with  the 
.^fisopian  exclamation,  to  the  bung-hole  of  the 
empty  tub.  Grapes,  grape-refiise,  grape- 
pr(>duce,  grape-odours,  grape-tools,  and  grape- 
people  ! 

Nuits  is  a  straggling,  loose-built  little  town 
(never  having  been  connned  within  a  corset  of  , 
fortifications),  situated  on  one  of  the  gorges 
into  which  the  Cote-d'Or'ls  split,  and  tra- 
versed by  the  bed  of  what  is  sometimes  a 
torrent,  and  sometimes  a  dry  strip  of  shingle 
and  sand,  over  which  the  unnecessary  bridges 
stride.  Nuits,  with  only  five  thousand  in- 
habitants, still  possesses  two  public  walks ; 
but  the  vineyards  were  the  most  tempting 
promenade  to  me.  Everybody  at  Nuits  fi 
either  a  vine-grower,  a  wine-merchant,  a  vin* 
tagor,  or  a  wine-cooper.  The  universal  popu- 
lation are  drinkers  of  wine,  from  old  sealed 
bottles  to  new  piquette,  and  the  shop-windows 
display  a  varied  assortment  of  brass  and  other 
tai^  and  syphons.  As  you  walk  in  the  out- 
skirts, little  symptoms  tell  eloquent  tales 
about  the  climate.  You  have  maize  cultivated 
with  a  successful  result,  sometimes  in  patches, 
sometimes  in  single  plants  stuck  in  to  fill  the 
place  of  a  missing  vine  ;  you  have  magnificent 
heads  of  drooping  millet ;  you  have  melons 
ripening  on  the  bare  open  ground;  you  have 
cornichons  or  gherkins,  growing  in  a  row  and 
running  up  sticks  like  ranks  of  green  peas. 
A  gardener  will  tell  you  what  all  that  means, 
if  the  fiavour  of  your  gla^s  of  wine  does  not 
give  rise  to  strong  suspicions  that  the  summer 
here  differs  a  little  from  the  English  one. 
Quite  out  of  town,  you  are  in  a  sea  of  vines. 
In  general  there  is  no  boundary  or  fence. 


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32 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoBdoctedly 


Jean  Raisin  stands  exposed  to  eyerj  enemj. 
Land  is  too  valuable  to  be  wasted  in  hedges, 
which,  besides,  would  exhaust  the  soil,  shade 
the  crop,  and  harbour  weeds  and  vermin. 
Jean,  therefore,  throwd  himself  entirely  on 
▼our  honesty  and  generosity.  Paths  f^om  the 
high  road  conduct  you  whithersoever  you 
choose  to  roam,  whether  to  the  naked  brow  of 
the  Cote,  or  far  and  wide  amidst  the  vine- 
yards. The  Burgundian  is  a  bold,  bluff, 
generous  fellow ;  his  beard  comes  before  his 
discretion.  If  you  are  a  well-known  brigand 
and  thief,  he  will  give  you  unmistakable 
warning  to  keep  out  of  his  vines  ;  but  if  you 
have  the  garb  and  look  of  an  honest  man,  you 
are  welcome  to  peep  in,  aye,  and  to  taste  with 
moderation.  '*  Eat,  monsieur,  eat ! ''  was  the 
only  warning  or  prohibition  I  received  during 
my  strolls  in  the  environs  of  Nuits.  To  be 
sure,  it  is  easy  for  vintagers  to  be  liberal  with 
what  is  not  exactly  their  own.  "That's 
tolerably  heavy!"  I  iaXd  to  abroad-shouldered 
fellow,  as  he  set  down  a  basket  of  grapes  that 
would  have  made  many  a  watering-place 
donkey  sorawl  flat  on  the  ground.  "At  your 
service  I "  was  his  reply,  with  a  gesture 
of  invitation,  stalking  away  to  fetch  another. 
And  he  was  a  garde-champStre,  too,  whose 
duty  is  to  watch  and  keep  marauders  away 
from  all  sorts  of  country  produce.  There  is 
also  another  noble  custom  here  ;  when  onc^ 
the  first  grape-^thering  is  over,  the  half-ripe, 
unripe,  and  quite  inferior  bunches  are  left  to 
hang  for  a  while,  as  vine-gleanings  for  the 
poor  to  make  piquette  with.  This  year,  how- 
ever, in  consequence  of  the  general  failure, 
Yollenay,  and  several  other  communes  where, 
there  is  a  considerable  number  of  late-pro- 
duced grapes,  have  decided  to  make  a  second 
vintage  of  them,  as  a  matter  of  necessity 
rather  than  of  custom. 

A  few  of  the  choicest  and  most  valuable 
spots  are  circumscribed  by  a  wall  of  stone. 
A  walled-ln  vineyard  is  called  a  clos.  One 
of  the  most  famous  of  these  is  the  Clos 
Yougeot,  which  suns  itself  on  the  gentlest 
of  slopes,  half-way  between  Nuits  and 
Dijon.  Like  almost  everything  else  that 
is  good,  it  was  once  in  the  grasp  of  the  touch- 
and-take-all  monks,  who  made  three  separate 
brewings  of  the  grapes.  The  produce  of  the 
upper  portion  of  the  Clos  was  never  sold,  but 
was  reserved  for  the  abbot  (barring  what  he 
treated  himself  to),  as  presents  to  the  crowned 
heads,  princes,  and  ministers  of  Catholic 
Europe.  The  wine  from  the  middle  part, 
almost  equal  to  the  first,  was  sold  at  exceed- 
ingly high  prices.  The  lowest  part  produced 
a  sample  which,  though  inferior  to  the  others, 
was  still  very  good,  and  always  found  ready 
purchasers.  The  Clos  Vougeot,with  its  league 
or  two  of  cellarage,  has  passed  into  the  hands 
of  lay  proprietors ;  otherwise,  things  arc  much 
as  they  were.  Old  epicures  say  that  the  fla- 
vour of  the  wine  is  not  so  good  as  when  the 
monks  prepared  it ;  perhaps  it  is  their  palates 
that  have  undergone  the  change. 


In  Lower  Burgundy,  the  vines  are  planted 
on  even  ground  (leaving  the  general  slope 
of  the  whole  out  of  the  question),  in  rows 
which  run  up-hill  and  down- hill— not  across, 
— a  yard  wide,  and  two  feet  apart  from  Btool 
to  stool,  or  thereabouts ;  though  this  varies 
according  to  locality,  )ike  most  other  details 
of  vine  culture.  At  Chablis,  the  plants  are 
four  and  a  half  feet  fVom  each  other,  whilst 
the  ranks  are  two  and  a  half  feet  wide. 
Some  attempts  are  made  to  plant  in  quin- 
cunx, which,  principally  in  consequence  of 
the  operation  of  provignement,  or  layering 
the  vines,  in  a  few  years  become  patterns  of 
irregularity,  and  at  no  time  are  so  convenient 
either  for  gathering  or  tillage.  The  vines 
are  supported  by  stakes  about  five  feet  long, 
called  echalas,  sometimes  paisseaux,  which 
are  nothing  more  than  laths  of  split  oak- 
branches,  prepared  by  workmen  known  as 
fendeurs  de  merrain,  and  pointed  at  each 
end,  that  when  one  end  is  rotted  off  in  the 
ground,  the  other  may  be  used  and  the  stake 
still  remain  useful.  "As  thin  as  an  echaias," 
is  a  local  saying.  During  winter,  the  laths 
are  collected  and  sheltered  somewhere  from 
the  weather,  like  hop-poles,  to  save  tbem 
from  rotting.  These  vine-props  are  not  stack 
perpendicularly  into  the  ground,  but  are 
made  to  slope  uniformly,  all  leaning  a  little 
at  the  same  angle,  according  to  the  aspect  of 
the  hill  and  the  whim  of  the  vine-dresser, 
who  is  apt  to  be  fanciful  in  this  respect. 
The  arrangement  gives  great  regularity  to 
the  appearance  of  the  vineyards  about  Ton- 
nerre  and  Chablis.  When  the  stake  slightly 
overtops  the  vine,  the  effect,  seen  fh)m  below, 
is  like  that  of  a  field  of  green  corn  with  an 
enormous  beard.  If  a  vine-stem  is  so  long 
that  its  shoots  would  rise  above  its  own 
stake,  it  is  made  to  trail  about  a  couple  of 
inches  above  the  surface  of  the  ground,  and 
then  mount  that  of  one  of  its  neighbours. 
This  plan  is  useful  in  case  any  of  its  said 
near  neighbours  should  die,  as  it  can  then  be 
inlaid,  and  so  form  a  new  plant.  But  to  keep 
home,  as  the  gardeners  say, — to  cut  cloee 
back, — is  the  favourite  practice.  To  shorten 
the  vine,  they  believe,  improves  its  health. 

The  planting  of  a  vineyard  is  an  expensive 
affair.  It  gives  no  return  till  the  fourth  year, 
and  has  to  be  carefully  cultivated  all  the  while. 
The  small  profit  from  cabbages,  and  other 
crops,  grown  in  the  intervals  of  the  rows  is  but 
an  inconsiderable  help  to  cover  the  outlay. 
The  fifth  year  it  begins  to  produce  in  good 
earnest  j  but  the  wine  from  young  vines  is 
inferior  to  that  from  old  ones.  The  eighth 
year,  it  is  in  its  full  strength  and  vigour. 
New  vineyards  here  are  mostly  planted  from 
rooted  cuttings  (chevel^es),  in  trenches  like 
our  celery  trenches,  at  the  proper  intervals. 
When  tlie  plants  are  established,  the  earth 
is  levelled,  and  they  shoot  forth  new  roots  at 
the  new  surface  of  the  ground.  On  the 
C6te-d*0r,  in  little  out-of-the-way  nooks,  may- 
be seen  vine-cutting  nurseries,  filled  with  little 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CbvkalNGkaM.] 


THE  HILL  OF  GOLD. 


83 


Tines  thickly  planted  together,  which  are 
intended  to  be  transferred  to  other  groond 
next  year,  or  the  year  after,  to  supply  oar 
sons  and  grandsons  with  a  cheerful  glass  to 
drink  to  the  memory  of  the  present  gene- 
ration. Many  Lower  Burgundians  prefer 
planting  a  new  vineyard  with  unrooted 
cuttings,  the  technical  word  for  which  is 
cbapons.  A  few  of  these  are  sure  to  fail. 
Those  that  succeed,  thrive  all  the  better  for 
having  escaped  transplantation,  and  the 
vacancies  are  filled  up  the  following  season 
with  cheveUes.  The  chapons,  cut  from 
healthy  young  vines  of  the  required  sort,  are 
about  eighteen  inches  long.  They  are  cut  off 
about  Christmas,  and  the.  sooner  they  are  got 
into  the  ground  afterwards,  the  better.  The 
plant,  t<K>,  succeeds  better  if  buried  in  the 
fresh-dug  earth  as  soon  as  the  trench  is 
opened.  On  this  account  circumstances  are 
less  favourable  when  the  cuttings  to  be 
planted  have  to  be  brought  from  any  con- 
siderable distance,  or  when  frost  sets  in 
suddenly  and  prevents  all  tillage.  In  such 
cases,  the  chapons  are  tied  in  bundles,  and 
their  larger  ends  are  put  into  buckets  of  water 
to  the  depth  of  six  inches.  But  when  kept 
too  long  m  this  way,  mimy  of  the  cuttings 
rot,  and  if  the  planter  does  not  examine  them 
carefully  the.  proprietor  sustains  a  heavv 
loss.  Some  better  mode  might  be  employed. 
Hot  water,  near  the  boiling  point  is  a  well- 
known  means  of  reviving  languished  vege- 
tative powers.  A  curious  fact,  related  by 
Klobe,  IS  that  when  the  early  colonists  of  the 
Cape  of  Gk)od  Hope  failed  in  their  attempts 
to  propagate  the  vine,  a  German  conceived  the 
idea  of  slightly  burning  the  extremity  of  the 
cuttings  which  he  planted.  Observe,  those 
were  cuttings  fromVollenay  on  this  very  Cote 
d'Or.  The  pineau  of  Burgundy  produces 
tlie  Constaniia  wine  of  the  Cape.  When  the 
ground  is  read^,  the  vintager,  working  in  a 
single  row,  straight  from  the  top  to  the  bottom 
of  the  hill,  makes  a  long  trench,  and  lays  the 
baby  vine  reposing  sixteen  inches  under- 
ground, with  the  remaining  two  peeping 
above.  If  there  are  more  than  two  eyes,  he 
prunes  them  back  to  that. 

The  fir^  operation  of  vine  culture — the 
pulling  up  of  the  stakes,  begins  immediately 
after  the  vintage.  They  are  laid  in  heaps 
at  regular  distances,  after  having  any  broken 
or  rotten  point  sharpened  by  the  women, 
and  are  then  taken  care  of  to  be  replanted 
in  March,  April,  or  the  beginning  of  Ma^, 
at  the  latest  The  winter'«  work  consists  in 
separating  the  rooted  layers  from  the  parent 
plant,  in  pruning  the  chevel^e  or  sufNerabun- 
dant  roote,  and  covering  them  ag^in  with 
earth.  The  plant  is  thus  prepared  to  resist  the 
rigours  of  winter,  sometimes  with  the  aid  of  a 
little  warm  manure.  Then,  there  is  the 
8tubbing-up  of  bad  stools,  and  the  half- 
^SSiAg  of  holes  to  supply  their  places  by 
layers.  When  the  cold  is  so  intense  that 
nothing  can  be  done  to  the  vines  themselves, 


the  vigneron  has  not  the  more  leisure  for  that 
The  soil  on  a  sloping  vineyard  is  washed 
down  by  every  shower  of  rain  to  the  lowest 
part  of  the  declivity,  where  it  is  stopped  by 
little  walls  that  are  raised  for  the  purpose. 
The  upper  portion  of  the  vineyard,  thus 
denuded  of  earth,  would  at  last  become  so 
poor  that  the  vines  would  perish.  To  replace 
the  loss,  the  vigneron  carries  on  his  back 
hodsful  of  earth  from  the  deposit  at  the  bottom, 
to  the  impoverished  summit  of  the  hill.  He 
does  his  best  to  oppose  the  law  of  nature, 
which  decrees  that  every  hill  shall  be  level- 
led with  the  plain.  This  earth-carrying 
task  is  of  the  greatest  utility,  and  is  per- 
formed about  once  in  three  years.  The  new 
soil  is  most  precious  manure,  whose  effect  is 
immediately  seen  iif  produce. 

About  St.  Valentine,  pruning  commences 
on  the  Cote.  It  takes  place  later  on  the 
plain,  where  fh)ets  are  more  to  be  appre- 
hended. All  the  top  branches  are  cut  away ; 
nothing  is  left  but  one  or  more  stems  (accord- 
ing to  the  strength  of  the  cep)  nearest  to  the 
old  wood.  Two  or  three  eyes  are  usually  left 
to  each  stem :  greedy  vine-growers  leave  as 
many  as  five,  out  they  pay  for  it  afterwards  by 
the  speedy  exhaustion  of  the  stool.  At  pruning^ 
time,  choice  is  made  of  branches  to  make 
lavers  with.  The  best  way  is  to  make  the 
selection  just  before  the  vintage,  marking  the 
plants  which  produce  the  greatest  abundance 
of  first-rate  fruit.  The  best  tool  to  prune 
with  is  a  serpette,  or  an  English  pruning- 
knife,  when  it  can  be  had,  just  such«  one  as 
the  good  old  seirant  which  sometimes  cuts 
my  wayside  bread  and  cheese  or  thumb-piece, 
and  sometimes  helps  me  to  put  rose-trees  in 
order.  There  is  an  instrument  called  a 
secateur,  a  combination  of  pincers  and 
scissors,  and  a  great  favourite  with  ignorant  * 
vine-dressers  and  lazy  gardeners,  beoiose  it 
helps  them  to  get  over  the  sround  quickly. 
I  mention  it,  in  order  to  advue  its  utter  re- 
jection for  any  but  the  roughest  purposes. 

Full-grown  and  established  vines,  which 
are  entirely  cultivated  by  hand  labour,  should 
receive  a  tillage  four  times  during  every 
summer ;  in  mid-March  or  April,  in  May,  in 
June  or  July,  and  the  fourth  in  August  If 
one  of  these  is  more  essential  than  the  other, 
it  is  the  second.  The  first,  called  becher, 
though  no  digging  is  employed,  is  performed 
with  a  peculiar  hoe,  named  a  meille,  whose 
iron  is  perfectly  triangular,  except  that  the 
point  is  elongated.  The  handle  of  the  meille 
IS  slightly  curved  to  help  the  labourer,  and 
the  iron  is  bent  towards  the  handle  at  a  very 
sharp  angle.  It  thus  forms  a  sort  of  hand- 
plough  as  the  vigneron  draws  it  towards 
himself.  This  work  is  performed  by  men 
who  toil  with  naked  feet  among  the  rocky 
vineyards,  where  the  heat  during  the  summer 
tillage  sometimes  makes  it  an  ordeal,  as  we 
should  think,  equivalent  to  walking  over 
red-hot  ploughshares.  After  the  b6cher.  the 
stakes  are  planted,  which  enter  more^readily 


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34 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoBdoetedby 


the  freflhed-stdrred  earth.  This  task  mostly 
falls  to  the  lot  of  the  women.  It  is  their 
office  also  to  tie  up  the  vines  with  rye-straw 
or  osier  two  or  three  times  in  the  course  of 
the  season,  as  well  as  to  disbud  and  remove 
all  troublesome  and  unnecessary  shoots.  If 
the  vine-shoot  is  long  and  weak,  and  if  it  is 
not  carefully  tied  to  its  stake,  at  the  first 
storm  after  the  appearance  of  the  blossom- 
bud  and  the  development  of  the  earliest 
leaves,  the  twigs  beat  one  against  the  other, 
and  the  ground  is  covered  with  their  pre- 
mature ruins.  During  summer,  the  vignerons 
are  obliged,  time  after  time,  mercilessly  to 
cull  back  the  rampant  branches.  At  last,  by 
admitting  sunshine  and  air,  and  by  preventing 
the  vigour  of  the  vine  fh)m  exhausting  itself 
unnecessarily,  the  berries  swell  and  the 
bunches  ripen. 

On  the  Cote-d'Or,  the  vineyards  are  often 
full  of  little  hollows,  which  are  left  to  nurse 
a  favourite  ourrant-'bush  or  millet  plant  in, 
or  sometimes,  I  think,  for  the  mere  pleasure 
of  walking  up  and  down  hilL  The  grand 
final  cause  of  these  numerous  hollows  is 
the  necessity  of  making  a  preparation 
for  the  layering  of  vines.  That  operation 
renders  the  vine  immortal,  If  the  soil 
on  which  it  is  planted  is  good.  There 
are  renowned  vineyards  at  Vollenay,  Pom- 
mard,  Beaune,  and  elsewhere,  whose  plan- 
tation dates  from  time  immemoriaL  But  to 
insure  this  happy  result,  the  vines  must  not 
be  neglected  for  a  single  season.  Every  year, 
layers  most  be  made  in  proportion  to  the 
number  of  ceps  that  have  perished,  whether 
from  age,  inclement  seasons,  or  the  still  worse 
evil  of  im'udicious  management  Note,  that 
when  a  layer  is  well  made,  it  gives  a  few 
grapes  the  first  year;  in  the  second,  It  has 
attained  its  ftill  strength. 

To  make  good  wine,  you  must  catch  Jean 
Raisin  at  the  exact  point  of  ripeness.  For 
red  wines,  a  little  too  soon  is  better  than  a 
little  too  late.  When  the  day  is  fixed  by  the 
wise  men  of  the  village,  troops  of  vintagers 
of  all  ages  and  sexes  throng  in,  ftom  ten, 
twelve,  and  fifteen  leagues  distance,  to  eiyoy 
the  pleasure  of  eating  their  fill  of  grapes 
under  the  pretence  of  earning  wages.*  The 
vintage,  in  diflferent  localities,  commences 
on  a  different  appointed  day.  This  is 
partly  a  matter  of  necessity,  as  the  vin- 
tagers go  in  bands  from  one  place  to 
another.  And  to  make  g^ood  wine,  it  must  be 
concocted  with  a  certain  degree  of  celerity 
and  decision.  Good  grapes,  as  in  quite  the 
south  of  France,  often  produce  bad  wine  for 
no  other  reason  than  that  the  makers  are 
sluggish  about  the  'business  :  exactly  as.  in 
the  bcet-sugar  manufacture,  the  slightest  halt 
m  the  march  of  the  establishment  brings 
about  a  serious  check. 

When  these  errant  ladies  and  gentlemen 
and  children  are  introduced  into  a  vineyard, 
they  are  ranged  in  line,  and  each  individual 
walks  straight  before  him,  her,  or  it,  cutting 


every  bunch  he,  the,  or  it,  finds  under  his, 
her,  or  its  noses,  and  putting  them  into  little 
flat  baskets.  One  hand  ou^t  to  support  the 
bunch,  while  the  other  adroitly  severs  the 
stem.  When  the  fruit  is  over  ripe,  the 
basket  should  be  set  at  the  foot  of  the  vine, 
to  catch  the  loose  grapes  that  would  other- 
wise fall  on  the  ground  and  be  lost  The 
little  baskets,  when  full,  are  carried  off  by  a 
man,  styled  from  his  office  vide-panier,  or 
basket-emptier,  and  their  contents  are  trans- 
ferred into  the  grands  papiers  or  baskets 
proper,  which  are  previously  set  down  at 
proper  intervals  within  the  area  of  the  vine- 
yard. The  whole  scene  is  often  overlooked 
by  a  stem  gaunt  woman,  perhaps  the  propri- 
etor's wife,  who  sees  that  nothing  is  lost,  and 
who  wastes  her  energies  on  the  thankless 
task  of  persuading  the  gluttons  to  eat  as  few 
grapes  as  tiiey  can. 

The  baskets  proper  are  then  emptied  into 
balonges,  or  large  oval  tubs,  each  standing 
ready  upon  its  own  cart.  The  balonge,  when 
brimful,  is  wheeled  away  to  the  pressoir,  a 
word  which  the  dictionary  interprets  wine- 
press, but  which  on  the  Cote-d'Or  means  the 
apartment,  large  or  small,  wherein  wine- 
press, tubs,  and  other  wine-making  tools  are 
congregated.  The  first  grapes  thrown  into 
the  first  balonges,  are  trampled  pn  by  wooden- 
shod  men  upon  the  spot.  The  balonges 
themselves,  arriving  at  the  pressoir,  are 
emptied  into  vast  round  tubs,  called  cuves. 
When  the  contents  of  the  first  balonge  are 
thrown  into  the  cuve,  a  vigneron  jumps  in, 
and  tramples  them  as  cruelly  as  he  can,  to 
make  what  is  called  the  levain,  or  leaven. 
Upon  this  leaven  are  cast  all  the  rest  of  the 
slightly  crushed  or  uncrushed  grapes  as  they 
are  brought  from  the  vineyard.  And  that  is 
all  that  is  done  to  commence  or  accelerate 
the  fermentation,  the  progress  of  which 
is  ascertained,  amongst  oSier  means,  by 
listening. 

Sometimes  the  grapes  are  entirely  or  par- 
tially 4grapp^8,  or  stripped  f^om  the  stalks  be- 
fore being  put  in  the  cuve.  There  are  occasion- 
ally years  in  which  although  the  bunches  are 
abundant,  each  bunch  only  bears  some  five 
or  six  berries.  Little  else  is  to  be  seen  but 
a  crop  of  stalks.  Stripping  then  is  necessary, 
because  the  stalks  would  absorb  so  much 
juice  as  to  occasion  great  loss.  Some  propri- 
etors, in  less  disastrous  years,  remove  a  cer- 
tain proportion  of  stalks.  The  grapes  are 
put  into  a  large  concave  wicker  sieve,  called 
an  ^grappoir,  the  osiers  composing  which 
cross  each  other  at  sufficient  distances  to 
allow  something  larger  than  the  largest  sized 
grape  to  pass  between  them.  The  bunches 
are  thrown  into  this  ^grappoir  and  the 
vintager's  hand  roughly  rolls  them  about. 
The  berries  roll  off  without  being  too  much 
crushed,  and  the  stalks  remaining  are  tossed 
aside  as  useless.  But  most  wine-masters  do 
not  ^grapper  their  grapes  at  all. 
In  warm  weather,  fermentation  is  soon 


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THE  HILL  OP  GOLD. 


86 


established,  and  the  caye  can  be  emptied  o^ 
its  contents  in  from  twenty-four  to  thirtj-eix 
hoars;  bat,  in  cold  seasons,  fermentation  does 
not  begin  till  the  third  or  fourth  day,  and 
the  emptying  of  the  cave  on  the  sixth. 
When  the  mass  of  bunches  of  fruit  has 
BufBciently  fermented,  it  is  foulM,  or  trod- 
den by  a  man  without  clothes  (sometimes 
there  are  several),  who  enters  the  tub,  and 
squeezes  out  the  juice  as  well  as  he  can 
for  about  an  hour,  by  stamping,  kicking,  and 
bagging  the  IVuit,  pressing  it  against  his 
chesty  and  embracing  it  in  his  arms  till  he 
becomes  himself  a  perfect  red-skin.  This 
vinous  bath  is  sometimes  so  overpowering 
that  the  treader  is  obliged  to  give  up  the 
task  through  absolute  tlpsinees,  and  allow 
another  and  a  soberer  man  to  take  his  place 
in  the  bacchanalian  fountain.  The  operation 
lets  loose  into  the  cuve  a  large  quantity  of 
saccharine  matter,  which  has  not  yet  fer^ 
mented,  and  the  sweetness  of  the  cuve  is  much 
increased.  The  fermentation  re-commences 
violently ;  and  if  it  is  found  that  the  grapes 
are  still  insufficiently  crushed,  the  rS-skin 
Indians  renew  their  onslaught. 

As  soon  as  the  treading-out  is  finished, 
the  whole  contents  of  the  cuve — grapes, 
stones,  stalks,  and  all— are  transferr^  into 
the  actual  pressoir,  or  wine-press.  Pressoirs 
varv  considerably  in' construction. 

^rom  the  pressing-place,  the  pieces  are 
carried  at  once  into  the  cellar,  and  there 
left  to  fine,  perfect,  and  finish  themselves, 
with  no  other  interference  than  what  is  pro- 
duced by  the  eye  of  the  master, — in  all  cases 
a  most  potent  agent. 

Simple  as  the  making  of  burgundy  wine 
thus  appears  to  be,  it  requires  great  nicety, 
caref^il  watching,  experience,  forethought, 
and  skilful  application  of  the  rule  of  thumb, 
to  insure  success  both  with  the  cave  and  the 
insensible  fermentation  afterwards  In  the 
cask.  Many  little  precautions  and  guiding 
symptoms  are  traditionally  transmitted  fk*om 
father  to  son,  fVom  one  generation  of  cellar- 
men  to  that  which  succe^  it.  Bad  methods 
are  also  adhered  to  with'  equal  obstinacy, 
which  accounts  for  the  permanent  unpalata- 
blcness  of  the  wine  produced  in  several 
favourable  localities  in  France.  Large  esta- 
blishments are  able  to  avail  themselves  of 
mechanical  aid.  Thus,  at  Clos  Yougeot,  the 
new  wine  runs  from  the  pressoir  to  the 
cellars  through  closely-fitted  pipes.  All  the 
pure  Cote-d'Or  burgundies  are  the  wines  for 
great  and  wealthy  people  to  drink.  For 
second-clnss  folk  there  are  second-class  wines, 
known  on  the  spot  as  passe-tout-graln,  which 
are  made  from  vineyards  planted  with  a 
mixture,  mostly  half  notricn  and  half  gamy. 
In  good  years,  passe-tout-graln  is  excel- 
lent, brilliant  in  colour  and  high  in  flavour. 
It  is  less  liable  to  change,  and  bears  longer 
keeping  than  many  of  the  finer  wines ;  nay, 
aristocratic  liquors  are  often  obliged  to  call 
in  the  aid  and  intreat  the  alliance  of  the 


plebeian  fluid,  in  order  to  preserve  their  own 
body  and  reputation.  And  the  hard-working 
vigneron,  when  he  is  thli^ty,  what  has  he  to 
drink  at  home?  After  the  grapes  are 
squeezed  in  the  press,  he  fills  some  tubs  with 
marc  or  refuse,  carefully  excluding  the  air 
daring  winter.  In  spring,  he  fills  up  the 
tube  with  water,  lets  them  stand  a  week  or 
ten  days,  taps  one,  and  draws  a  drink  which 
if  it  does  him  no  great  good,  at  the  same  time 
does  him  no  great  harm. 

The  management  of  wine  in  the  cask  is 
infinitely  intricate.  One  wrinkle  may  be 
usefhl  to  housekeepers.  M.  Pomler,  an  apo- 
thecary of  Sallns,  has  discovered  a  simple 
mode  of  removluff  the  odious  smell  and  taste 
from  wine  which  has  been  put  into  a  mouldy 
hogshead.  It  consists  in  mixing  a  certain 
dose  of  olive  oil  with  the  iinured  wine,  and 
agitating  the  mixture  violently.  In  four-and- 
twenty  hours  the  oil  is  all  at  the  top,  charged 
with  the  ill  savours  which  it  has  absorbed 
f^om  the  wine.  The  experiment  has  been 
repeatedly  tested.  It  has  also  been  recom- 
mended to  oil  the  Inside  of  old  mouldy  casks, 
because  the  tube  thus  lose  their  disagreeable 
smell,  and  the  wine  put  into  them  acquires 
no  unpleasant  taste.  It  appears  that  the 
substance  which  iinures  the  wine  in  such 
cases  is  of  a  nature  similar  io  that  of  essqptlal 
oils.  If  fixed  oils  are  violently  shaken  to- 
gether with  distilled  aromatic  waters,  the 
fatter  enturely  lose  their  aroma,  which  com- 
bines with  the  fixed  oil.  One  more  wrinkle 
to  amateurs  of  burgundy.  Import  your  wine 
as  soon  as  you  can  get  H  out  of  the  grower's 
cellar,  and  let  it  perfect  itself  in  your  own. 
At  its  oulminatlng^olnt  of  ripeness  it  is  too 
delicate  to  stand  a  ioumey,  even  f^om  one 
end  of  the  town  to  the  other. 

Though  the  Burgundy  wines  are  the 
most  delicious  in  France,  their  consumption 
is  more  local  and  sparse  than  that  of 
any  others  of  the  first  class.  You  get  good 
ordinary  burgundies  in  Paris,  but  not  gene- 
rally elsewhere.  The  grand  requisite  for 
a  more  extended  enjoyment  of  the  golden 
draught,  Is  a  European  peace,  enabling  the 
French  to  make  more  croHS-countrv  railroads, 
and  allowing  the*  English  (though  we  might 
do  that  at  once)  to  reduce  the  duties  on 
French  wines  to  what  they  ought  to  be: 
namely,  to  the  merest  trlfie.  We  shall  attain 
these  happy  results  by  and  by.  It  ought  to  be 
known  that,  by  opening  our  cellars,  we  may 
do  as  much  good  to  our  allies  and  neighbours 
as  to  ourselves.  The  grand  wine-fountain, 
though  perennial,  has  its  spring-tide  and  its' 
neap.  At  the  present  moment,  it  Is  at  lowest 
ebb,  and  wine  Is  dearer  and  dearer  every  day. 
Thousands  in  France  will  have  to  go  withoat 
it  this  year.  But  there  occur  successive  years 
of  over-abundance,  when  the  owner  really  does 
not  know  what  to  do  with  the  produce*;  and 
these  epochs  return  from  time  to  time  after 
an  indefinite  lapse  of  years.  A  tub  has  been 
filled  with  wine,  in  exchange  for  an  empty 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


COooAKtodbjr 


tab ;  crops  of  mpes  have  been  abandoned  to 
whomsoever  ohoee  to  help  himself,  or  have 
been  suffered  to  fidl  and  rot  on  the  ground, 
because  wine  was  (locally)  so  cheap  that  It 
woold  not  pay  to  gather  them.  The  revolu- 
tion of  eighteen  hundred  and  forty-eight  was 
preceded  and  followed  by  five  successive  very 
abundant  and  consequentlv  very  expensive 
vintages,  which  crushed  all  but  large  capita- 
lists, and  filled  the  cellars  to  overflowing. 
The  same  state  of  things  is  sure  to  occur  again. 
The  quantity  of  good  second-claas  wines  (as 
good  as  any  reasonable  man  wants),  Is  capable 
of  incalculable  Increase  in  France.  L<mdon 
might  drink  claret  (not  burgundy),  at  a 
cheaper  rate  than  Paris  does. 

I  now  wish  to  post  two  great  facts  side 
by  side :  Here,  is  a  people  who  like  wine, 
who  want  wine,  who  will  pay  for  wine,  and 
who  have  not  wine :  There,  is  another  people, 
just  over  the  way,  a  friendly  people,  a  conve- 
nient people,  who  have  often  mudi  more  wine 
than  they  want,  who  would  be  glad  to  sell  it, 
who  cannot  sell  it.  Such  a  state  of  things  is 
an  unstable  equilibrium,  which  must  set  itself 
right,  sooner  or  later,  by  the  force  of  gravity 
alone. 

FIFTY-TWO,  WRIOTHESLEY  PLACE. 

So'mc  vears  ago,  more  than  I  care  to  tell, 
Mrs.  Ruleit  was  at  the  head  of  a  very  select 
ladies'  school  in  Wriothesley  Place,  Russell 
Square.  I  don't  know  what  she  termed  it ; 
but  she  would  neither  have  it  called  a  school, 
nor  an  establishment,  nor  a  seminary,  nor  a 
house.  Such  names  she  rejected,  as  low ;  or,  to 
use  her  favourite  expression, "  twopenny."  It 
was  simply  Mrs.  Ruleit's,  Wriothesley  Place. 
On  the  same  principle  the  girls  were  not 
called  young  ladles,  whatever  their  rank  or 
station:  they  were  only  *Hhe  girls."  The 
school  nad  fallen  off  comdderably  before  I 
went.  From  twelve  pupils,  which  was  the 
limit.  It  was  reduced  to  five :  there  must  have 
been  some  prejudice  at  work  somewhere; 
for,  before  mv  going  was  quite  decided,  our 
old  friend,  lur.  France,  the  clergyman,  took 
pains  to  inquire  from  the  familv  of  one  of  the 
pupils  what  they  thought  of  the  school,  and 
received  for  reply,  *'0h,  we  like  the  school 
very  well,  and  the  masters  are  very  efficient : 
but  we  don't  think  sincerity  is  taught  there." 
I  suppose  my  father  trusted  I  had  learnt  sin- 
cerity before,  though  I  never  had  a  sincerity 
master.  At  all  events  I  went;  but,  with  a 
caution  not  to  repeat  what  I  had  heard  on 

i    'any  account,  and  tnis  secret  lay  like  a  load  of 

I     lead  upon  my  mind,  all  the  time  I  was  there. 

:        Mrs.  Ruleit  .and  her  daughter,  with  the 

I  teacher  Miss  Radlev,  and  we  five  girls,  com- 
posed the  household ;  Miss  Radley  slept  in 

!  our  room,  walked  out  with  us,  and  never  left 
us.    She  was  about  thirty  years  of  age,  with 

'  coarse  red  bair,  white  eyebrows,  and  a  turn- 
up nose.    What  a  life  she  had  with  us  I  for 

;    we  were  more  frequently  impertinent  than 


polite ;  and  how  lonely  too  t  for  she  belonged 
neither  to  us  nor  to  Madune.  At  half-past  six 
in  summer  it  was  her  duty  to  call  us,  and 
about  seven  we  came  down  stairs.  One  of  us 
was  then  sent  off  to  the  piano  in  the  front 
drawing-room,  another  to  the  piano  in  the 
back,  and  a  third  to  the  piano  in  the  parlour 
below,  to  practise  till  breakfast.  It  was  along 
time  for  growing  girls  to  wait ;  but  we  often 
stayed  our  appetites  with  a  hard  biscuit  At 
nine,  Madame  came  down,  and  prayers  were 
read  by  one  of  the  girls;  after  that,  breakfast 
of  tea  and  solid  squares  of  bread  and  butter, 
which  was  very  good  every  morning  except 
Mondays,  when  it  was  a  day  old.  We  lived 
entirely  in  the  study — a  good  room  with  a  view 
of  the  back  walls  of  the  mews.  There  was  a 
long  deal-ta^ble  with  a  form  down  each  side  in 
the  centre  of  the  room,  and  forms  all  round 
close  to  the  wall.  These  forms  contained  lockers 
for  our  books— no  carpet,— only  a  hearth-rag 
before  the  fire  which  was  a  forfeit  to  cross.  We 
were  quite  Satisfied  with  our  accommodation ; 
for  the  terms  of  the  school  were  called  high — 
two  hundred  a-year — so  we  felt  very  genteel 
and  select,  and  never  missed  the  carpet 
Breakfast  over,  Mrs.  Ruleit  placed  herself  at 
the  head  of  the  table  and  beard  one  of  as 
read  French,  which  was  all  the  teaching  she 
understood  herself ;  except  assiduous  attention 
to  our' deportment  and  carriage,  to  which  last 
task  she  was  gradually  falling  a  sacrifice, 
according  to  her  own  account  She  was  very 
short  and  very  stout ;  but  we  were  constantly 
assured  she  was  worn  to  a  thread  with  en- 
treating us  to  hold  up — nay,  to  a  ravel- 
ling. 

Monday  morning  brought  Mr.  Greeley  the 
English  master,  whose  lessons  were  held  in 
the  deepest  reverence ;  for  Mrs.  Ruleit  wisely 
considered  that,  to  speak  and  write  Eng- 
lish in  puritj,  was  far  better  than  middling 
French  or  imperfect  Italian.  The  idea  of 
Grerman  was  never  entertained.  We  should  as 
soon  have  learnt  Runic  A  tradition  existed 
that  Mr.  Gresley  had  sold  his  head  to  the  sur- 
geons, and  there  was  something  imposing  in 
being  taught  by  a  head  that  was  worth  ba  j- 
ing;  so  we  were  all  very  attentive,  and  a 
little  awe-struck.  We  read  poetry  with  him,  > 
besides  the  grammar  and  parsing  lessons,  and 
sorely  tried  he  must  have  been  at  times.  I 
recollect  a  tall  girl,  nearly  twenty,  who  had 
been  at  various  schools  aft  her  life,  repeating 
Young's  lines : — 

••Bat  their  hearts,  wounded  like  the  woonded  air. 
Soon  doie.— where  past  the  shaft,  no  trace  Is 
found." 

He  interrupted  her  with,  "  Miss  G.,  what  do 
you  mean  by  the  shaft?" — <' Something  be- 
longing to  a  cart,  sir."  How  he  grinned, 
clapped  his  hands,  and  shuddered  I 

Our  instructor  in  French  was  a  little,  shri- 
velled, old  emigrant  without  teeth,  who  mum- 
bled his  language  all  to  mash.  He  had  a  per- 
petual cold,  too,  and  was  for  ever  using  his 


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CbitlMOkteacJ 


FIFTY-TWO,  WRIOTHBSLBT  PLACE. 


37 


handkerohief,  and  interraptiiig  the  reading 
with  **  Hon  nez  me  demand/'  He  corrected  the 
ezercifles,  heard  ns  read  in  Epochs  d'Angle- 
terre,  and  got  as  far  in  the  beanties  of  La 
Fontaine,  as  "  Une  grenonille  Tit  on  boenf." 

Two  mornings  in  the  week,  we  came  down 
to  breakfast  in  mil  evening  drees,  for  Monsiear 
Rorerre  the  dancing-master,  a  dapper  little 
gentleman  (ballet-master  at  the  opera,  who 
came  in  his  own  carriage),  preceded  by  Mr. 
Chip  with  his  fiddle  in  a  green-bag,  who  sat 
near  the  door  playing  it  daring  the  lesson. 
Oh !  his  earnest  endeavours  to  make  as  grace- 
ful ;  his  despair  in  oar  elbows ;  his  hopeless- 
ness in  oar  backs,  and  his  glare  of  indignation 
at  oar  mistakes  I  Bat  what  coald  we  dot 
English  girls  are  not  French  girls,  who  are 
bom  dancers.  We  did  oar  best  and  he  ought 
to  have  known  it;  but  he  didn't:  so  we 
hated  him  as  school-girls  onlv  can  hate,  and 
revenged  ourselves  by  calling  him — when 
nobodv  heard — Old  Roverre. 

Mumc  was  the  great  end  of  education  at 
Mrs.  Buleit's,  and  an  evening  of  excitement 
was  that  when  Mr.  Dragon  gave  his  lesson. 
Then  Mrs.  R.  and  her  daughter  sat  with 
coflfee  in  the  front  parlour,  and  each  of 
as  in  turn  with  her  music  in  her  hand 
had  to  enter  the  room,  curtsey,  and  take  her 
seat  at  the  piano,  with  three  sets  of  the  most 
formidable  eyes  in  the  world  fixed  upon  her. 
I  am  agitated  now  to  think  of  those  Tuesday 
evenings.  After  all  those  odious  praotisings  in 
the  front  drawing-room,  without  fire,  to  find 
your  fingering  erroneous,  your  time  defective, 
taste  and  feeling  wanting,  and  diligence  ques- 
tioned ;  and,  finally,  as  you  left  ike  room  to 
hear,  with  a  contemptuous  sigh,  **  She  will 
never  make  anything  of  iV'  was  more 
than  a  girPs  nature  could  bear.  How  thank- 
ftil  I  was  toget  to  bed  after  it,  and  be  soothed 
to  sleep  by  the  boy  in  the  mewscalling,  **  Beer ! 
beer  I"  Happy  boy,  to  have  no  music-master ! 

On  Wednesday  mornings  we  were  gene- 
rally indulged  at  breakfast  with  a  rumiing 
commentary  on  the  shortcomings  of  the  pre- 
ceding evening,  accompanied  bv  plaintive 
lamentations  on  the  inferiority  of  the  present 
set  of  ffirls  as  compared  with  those  of  former 
years,  in  everything  worth  knowing  generally 
—and  music  in  particular.  Then  we  heard,  for 
the  twentieth  time,  of  Miss  Timmins,  who  so 
appreciated  the  advantage  of  learning  flrom 
sach  a  master  as  our  Dragon,  that  she  could 
scarcely  be  induced  to  leave  the  piano.  She 
never  complained  of  the  cold  in  the  back 
drawing-room,  or  that  the  instrument  in  the 
front  parlour  had  several  dumb  notes.  Miss 
Timmins  knew  her  duty,  and  did  it,  and  may  be 
doing  it  yet,  and  I  hope  is.  I  never  saw  her ; 
bat  I  hated  Miss  Timmins. 

I  did  better  in  drawing  than  music,  and 
had  one  master,  in  hessian  boots,  all  to  myself: 
for  I  drew  chalk  heads,  which  no  other  girl 
did.  I  felt  very  grand  standing  at  my  easel 
with  my  port-crayon,  rubbing  in  a  large  head 
of  Calypso,  or  a  great  ugly  Syrian  woman 


from  the  Miraculous  Draught  of  Fishes,  which 
I  talked  of  as  "  after  Raphael"  But  the 
crowning  triumph  was  copying  Canova's 
Hebe  from  the  cast,  or,  as  we  technically 
called  it.  the  round.  Then  I  felt  indeed  an 
artist  Our  studies  were  suspended  at  one 
o'clock  by  the  entrance  of  a  plate  of  dry 
bread  for  luncheon.  Mrs.  Bnlelt  shut  up 
her  de^  and  sailed  out  of  the  room,  while 
we  proceeded  upstairs  to  dress  for  our 
walk.  Two  whole  hours  we  spent  every 
fine  day  in  the  nursery  gardens  in 
Euston  Square.  But  we  were  not  com- 
pelled to  keep  together ;  so  I  often  took  a 
book,  and,  in  the  cold  weather,  was  much  in 
the  greenhouse,  and  in  warm  by  the  side  of 
the  pond  under  shade  of  a  large  white  thorn 
that  hung  over  it  I  wonder  where  the  pond 
and  the  large  white  thorn  are  now?  We 
returned  home,  in  time  to  dress  for  dinner,  at 
four.  This  was  a  plain,  substantial  meal, 
soon  over ;  and,  after  it,  we  were  left  to  our 
own  devices  and  Miss  Radlev,  until  tea  at 
seven.  The  interval  was  filled  up  with 
reading,  talking,  or  learning  lessons.  Our 
stock  of  entertaining  books  was  not  very 
extensive.  Countess  and  Grertrude,  Rosanne, 
The  Poetical  Keepsake,  the  Swiss  Family 
Robinson,  and  Paul  et  Virginia,  were  all  I 
remember.  Then  was  the  time  for  revela- 
tions to  each  other  of  our  previous  lives  and 
esperiences.  Only  one  of  us,  (it  was  not 
myself)  had  ever  had  a  lover—that  grand 
object  of  attainment  to  a  sohool-glrl:  and 
that  secret  was  not  spoken  loud  out,  but  only 
to  me  in  the  retirement  of  the  nursery-gardens. 
It  was  an  officer  in  the  East  India  Company's 
service,  never  likely  to  come  to  England 
again,  and  who  had  never  made  a  direct  offer ; 
so  he  was  but  a  shadowv  kind  of  lover  after 
all :  onlv  it  did  to  talk  about,  as  we  had 
notning  better.  But  one  of  the  girls  had 
spent  the  last  holidays  with  a  beautiful 
cousin,  who  was  engaged  to  an  officer  in  an 
English  regiment,  ^nioee  name  was  Manner- 
ing;  and  tius  engagement  served  as  an  illustra- 
tion of  all  the  sentiment  and  love-making  that 
could  be  at  any  time  broached.  Meantime, 
Miss  Radley  read,  or  worked,  or  walked 
backward  and  forwurd  in  the  study,  hold- 
ing a  backboard ;  and,  when  it  grew  dusk, 
and  she  thought  we  could  not  see,  mounted  a 
hairpin  across  her  nose,  in  the  vain  hope  of 
curbing  its  aspiring  tendencies.  If  by 
chance  she  heard  the  word  gentleman,  we 
were  instantly  interrupted  by  some  question 
as  to  what  age  we  were,  or  how  many 
brothers  and  sUters  we  bad  at  home.  She. 
did  not  like  so  well  to  tell  her  own  age ;  for 
once,  when  we  got  on  the  subject  of  ages,  she 
asked  us  how  old  we  thought  her!  We  all 
believed  her  thirty,  but  thought  it  would  be 
very  ill-bred  (and  we  piqued  ourselves  on  our 
godd-breediog)  to  tell  her  that  she  had 
arrived  at  tlutt  age  when  hope  is  outlived, 
and  despair  even  survived:  so  we  unani- 
mously said  twenty-seven ;  and  she  would  not 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


38 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


jCmimetni  ty 


tell  Q8  the  truth  after  alL  She  rebuked  me 
once  viciouBlj  for  saving,  '*  an  old  lady  of 
fiftj."  I  understand  it  now,  alas!  but  then 
I  thought  it  verj  unjust :  fifty  is  not  so  old 
as  it  once  was. 

When  candles  came,  Miss  Radley  gathered 
us  round  her,  and  heard  us  read  the  Bible, 
or  questioned  us  in  ancient  and  modem 
history,  or  heathen  mythology,  and  some- 
times we  read  poetry.  She  was  of  a 
tender,  sentimental  turn,  in  spite  of  red 
hair  and  a  turn-up  nose ;  and,  in  moments  of 
confidence,  would  show  us  a  little  box  of 
treasures  to  be  g<^zed  at  lovingly  when 
we  were  asleep.  The  gem  of  the  collection 
was  what  I  took  to  be  a  paper  of  tobacco,  the 
contents  being  about  that  colour  and  texture, 
with  this  inscription  outside, — "The  sweet 
remembrance  of  my  beloved  brother."  She 
soon  set  my  error  at  rest,  by  explaining  that 
it  was  her  brother's  whiskers,  which  he  had 
cut  off  on  returning  from  the  wars  r  and  she 
had  treasured  them  up  ever  since.  This  was 
a  remarkable  brother  too ;  for  he  was  very 
deaf  when  he  went  into  battle,  and  the  roar 
of  the  cannon  did  something  to  his  ears,  for 
he  heard  quite  well  when  he  came  out. 

At  this  time  of  the  evening  we  were 
allowed,  now  and  then,  to  sutecribe,  and 
send  the  housemaid  out  for  hardbake, 
parliament,  apples,  or  biscuit,  or  a  cocoa- 
nut,  which  we  peeled,  sliced,  and  boiled  in 
brown  sugar,  then  turned  out  on  a  dish,  and 
called  ambroisla.  Seven  o'clock  brought  tea, 
and  Madame  took  her  place  again  at  the 
head  of  the  table;  each  girl  had  a  large 
breakfast  cup  full,— we  might  have  more  if 
we  liked,  but  we  never  had.  After  tea,  one 
read  aloud  in  that  cheerful  specimen  of  polite 
literature.  Rollings  Ancient  History  (I  have 
never  looked  into  it  since),  while  the  rest 
worked.  I  hate  Cyrus  to  this  day.  We  had 
a  very  little  joke  upon  Darius,  who  was  nick- 
named Dosen,  because  he  made  promises  that 
he  did  not  keep,  like  our  next  door  neighbour 
Mr.  Moses,  who  promised  to  send  Mrs.  Ruleit 
a  bag  of  cofiee,  and  didn't ;  so  we  called  him 
"  dosen,"  and  held  him  in  contempt  At  nine 
o'clock  we  put  up  our  work,  the  prayer-book 
was  brought  out,  and  we  knelt  in  a  circle 
before  Madame.  Prayers  were  read  by  the 
girls  in  turn ;  and  after  "  bon  soir,"  we  were 
dismissed  for  the  night ;  not  without  sus- 
picion that  Mrs.  Ruleit  and  her  daughter  had 
something  good  to  eat  after  we  were  gone,— 
but  this  was  never  confirmed,  and  cook  would 
not  tell. 

Our  Italian  master.  Signer  Gagliardini, 
only  taught  the  girls  who  could  sing;  for, to  pro- 
nounce the  words  of  Italian  songs  properly, 
was  the  chief  ol^ect  of  the  instruction  ;occasion- 
ally  he  brought  his  little  boy  who  Informed 
us,  in  a  tbin,  shrill  voice,  that  his  name  was, 
*'  TitusTolcmique  Terence  Themistoclc ;"  the 
weight  of  his  name  seemed  to  have  crushed 
his  growth.  The  Signor  gave  a  concert  on  a 
plan  common  enough  at  that  time.    A  lady  in 


Upper  Brook  Street  lent  her  house  for  the 
evening,  on  condition  of  having  a  certain 
number  of  tickets  for  herself  and  friends. 
Mrs.  R.  took  two  or  three  of  us  herself,  ao- 
companied  by  Cadney,  a  neighbouring  green- 
gprocer,  dressed  in  black,  and  whom  we  were 
told  to  call  "  James"  (his  name  was  Isaac), 
when  he  went  out  with  us,  that  he  might  look 
like  our  own  footman.  The  concert  was  in  the 
dining-room,  and  the  suite  of  drawing-rooms 
was  open  to  the  company;  who  examined 
the  ornaments,  lolled  on  the  sofas,  read  the 
cards,  and  counted  the  candles,  under  the 
very  eyes  of  the  owner  herself,  for  anything 
they  knew.  The  notes  and  cards  of  the 
greatest  and  most  fashionable  acquaintances 
were  uppermost,  as  usuaL  The  unfortunate 
giver  of  the  concert  must  have  passed  a 
wretched  evening.  Signor  Ronzi  de  Begnis 
was  late,  Sapio  never  came  at  all,  the  lady 
singers  were  capricious ;  so,  between  hoping 
and  fearing,  and  filling  up  gaps  himself,  and 
apologising,  and  a  wonderful  air  with  varia- 
tions on  the  harp,  and  Adelaide  by  a  gentle- 
man sorely  afflicted  within,  the  concert 
terminated. 

One  of  the  girls  was  to  be  left  at  home  for 
the  night  in  Hanover  Square ;  and,  as  we 
watch^  the  footman  give  her  a  bed  candle 
and  saw  her  glide  up  the  painted  staircase, 
we  drew  ourselves  up  and  affected  to  think  it 
very  grand  but  very  comfortless,  as  all  people 
do  who  are  not  grand  themselves.  1  donjt 
know  that  we  had  any  such  very  particular 
comforts  in  Wriolhesley  Place;  but  we  thought 
the  Hanover  Square  carriage  might  have 
taken  us,  but  it  didn't.  So  it  was  pleasant  to 
despise  carriages  and  luxuries  in  general. 

But,  all  this  time,  my  secret  about  sincerity 
lay  heavy  on  my  mind ;  and,  one  unlucky 
morning  (the  first  of  September,  I  remember 
it  well),  for  want  of  a  secret  to  tell  about  a 
lover — for  I  had  not  one — I  confided  this 
to  one  of  my  companions  in  return  for 
the  excitement  I  experienced  about  the 
shadowy  captain  in  the  East  Indies.  I 
repented  it  from  that  moment;  for  if  she 
should  reveal  it  I  was  a  lost  character.  I 
pictured  to  myself  the  disgrace  I  should  fall 
into  at  home  with  good  Mr.  France,  with  the 
family  who  told  us  in  confidence,  and,  above 
all,  the  disturbance  it  would  cause  in 
Wriothesley  Place.  Oh,  what  I  suflered  I  I 
had  no  pleasure  in  the  thought  of  going 
home — the  sunshine  was  taken  out  of  my 
life— I  had  committed  a  breach  of  trust 
society  could  not  overlook.  My  distress  reach- 
ed its  climax,  when,  one  morning,  Madame 
received  a  letter  from  a  friend  in  the  country 
saying  she  considered  it  her  duty  to  tell  her 
that  Mrs.  Horseman,  our  neighbour  over  the 
way,  had  been  visiting  in  the  country,  and 
there  said,  in  company,  that  there  was  one 
school  in  London  where  she  would  not  send  a 
girl,  and  that  was  Madame  Ruleit's;  and 
this  opinion  was  calculated  to  do  great  injury, 
as  Mrs.  Horseman  was  called  intellectual,  and 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


OhtrkcDietoM.] 


VAMPYRES. 


39 


looked  up  to  by  a  certain  set  who  woald  like 
to  be  iateilectaal  too.  The  exoitement  amongst 
OS  was  intense :  we  freelv  used  the  words 
calumny,  malice,  falsehood — and  one  girl,  a 
soldier's  daughter,  said  "  lying."  But  it  was 
all  right  in  such  a  cause ;  for  the  more  vehe- 
ment our  indignation  the  more  complimentary 
to  Madame.  I  was  in  a  fright,  to  be  sure, 
lest  my  confidante  should,  in  the  excitement, 
forget  her  solemn  promise  not  to  tell,  and  let 
out  my  secret.  The  subject  was  diseUe«ed,  day 
by  day  by  us,  to  please  Madame— by  Madame 
in  sad  earnestness.  At  length  she  requested 
her  friend  Miss  Montague,  a  great  lady  in  Gros- 
venor  Square,  to  ascertain  the  truth  of  the 
matter;  for  she  kaew  a  little  of  Mrs.HorsemaQ's 
sister,  and  could  ask  her,  which  I  suppose 
she  did,  for  in  a  few  days  she  came  to  Mrs. 
Ruleit  with  the  result  of  the  interview.  Miss 
Chickworth,  the  sister,  wishing  to  be  well 
with  Grosvenor  Square,  denied  it  in  toto, 
**  felt  convinced  her  sister  had  never  said  a 
word  in  disparagement  of  Madame,  but  trusted 
Miss  Montague  would  excuse  her  being  told 
of  the  occurrence,"  as  **  it  would  infinitely 
distress  her,  and  might  be  prejudicial,  as  she 
was  a  nurse ; "  we  knew  nothing  about  being 
a  nurse,  how  should  wet  so  we  decided  it 
was  only  a  ruse ;  and  when  we  went  out  to 
walk,  relieved  our  feelings  by  looking  daggers 
at  the  houses  opposite. 

When  the  holidays  came,  we  went  home, 
and  the  school  dwindled,  and  dwindled,  and 
poor  dear  Madame  drooped,  and  drooped, 
until  she  was  compelled  at  last  to  let  her 
house  and  accept  the  kind  offer  of  some  rela- 
tives to  make  her  home  with  them.  I  never 
saw  her  more,  but  I  retain  a  grateful  recol- 
lection of  her  painstaking  anxiety  for  my 
improvement ;  and  I  learned  from  the  anguish 
I  witnessed  there,  never  to  say  on6  word 
lightly,  or  unadvisedly,  in  disparagement  of 


» 


es'  school. 


VAMPYRES. 

Op  all  the  creations  of  superstition,  a  Vam- 
pyre  is,  perhaps,  th6  most  horrible.  You  ore 
lying  in  your  bed  at  jiight,  thinking  of  no- 
thing but  sleep,  when  you  see,  by  the  faint 
light  that  is  in  your  bed-chamber,  a  shape 
entering  at  the  door,  and  gliding  towards  you 
with  a  long  sigh,  as  of  the  wind  across  the 
open  fields  when  darkness  has  fallen  upon 
them.  The  thing  moves  along  the  air  as  if 
by  the  mere  act  of  volition ;  and  it  has  a 
human  visage  and  figure.  The  eyes  stare 
wildly  from  the  head ;  the  hair  Is  bristling ; 
the  flesh  is  livid :  the  mouth  Is  bloody. 

You  He  still— like  one  under  the  influence 
of  the  nlght-mare— and  the  thing  floats  slowly 
over  you.  Presently  you  fall  Into  a  dead  sleep 
or  swoon,  returning,  up  to  the  latest  moment 
of  consciousness,  the  fixed  and  glassy  stare  of 
the  phantom. '  When  you  awake  in  the  morn- 
ing, you  think  it  is  all  a  dream,  until  you 
perceive  a  small,  blue,  deadly-looking,  spot  on 


your  chest  near  the  heart;  and  the  truth 
flashes  on  you.  You  say  nothing  of  the  mat- 
tei:  to  your  friends ;  but  you  know  you  are 
a  doomed  man — and  you  know  rightly.  For 
everjr  night  comes  the  terrible  Shape  to  your 
bed-side,  with  a  face  that  seems  horrified  at 
itself,  and  sucks  your  life-blood  in  your  sleep. 
You  feel  it  is  useless  to  endeavour  to  avoid 
the  visitation,  by  chauging  your  room  or  your 
locality :  you  are  under  a  sort  of  cloud  of 
fate. 

Day  after  day  you  grow  paler  and  more 
languid :  your  face  becomes  livid,  your  eyes 
leaden,  your  cheeks  hollow.  Your  Ariends 
advise  you  to  seek  medical  aid — to  take 
change  of  air — ^to  amuse  your  mind ;  but  you 
are  too  well  aware  that  It  Is  all  In  vain. 
You  therefore  keep  your  fearful  secret  to 
yourself:  and  pine,  and  droop,  and  languish, 
till  you  ale.  When  you  are  dead  (If  you  will 
be  so  kind  as  to  suppose  yourself  in  that  pre- 
dicament), the  most  horrible  part  of  the  busi- 
ness commences.  You  are  then  yourself 
forced  to  become  a  Vampyre,  and  to  create 
tresh  victims ;  who,  as  they  die,  add  to  the 
phantom  stock. 

The  belief  in  Vampyres  appears  to  have 
been  most  prevalent  in  the  south-east  of 
Europe,  and  to  have  had  Its  origin  there. 
Modem  Greece  was  its  cradle ;  and  among 
the  Hungarians,  Poles,  Wallachians,  and 
other  Sclavonic  races  bordering  on  Greece, 
have  been  its  chief  manifestations.  The  early 
Christians  of  the  Greek  Church  believed  that 
the  bodies  of  all  the  Latin  Christians  buried  in 
Greece  were  unable  to  decay,  because  of  their 
excommunication  from  that  fold  of  which  the 
Emperor  of  Russia  now  claims  to  be  the 
sovereign  Pope  and  supreme  Shepherd.  The 
Latins,  of  course,  in  their  turn,  regarded 
these  peculiar  mummies  as  nothing  less 
than  saints ;  but  the  orthodox  Greeks  con- 
ceived that  the  dead  body  was  animated  by  a 
demon  who  caused  it  to  rise  f)rom  Its  grave 
every  night,  and  conduct  itself  after  the 
fashion  of  a  huge  mosquito.  These  dreadful 
beings  were  called  Brucolacs ;  and,  according 
to  some  accounts,  were  not  merely  manufac- 
tured from  the  dead  bodies  of  heretics,  but 
from  those  of  all  wicked  people  who  have 
died  impenitent.  They  would  appear  In  divers 
places  in  their  natural  forms;  would  run  a 
muck  indiscriminately  at  whomsoever  they 
met,  like  a  wild  Malay;  would  Injure  some, 
and  kill  others  outright ;  would  occasionally, 
for  a  change,  do  some  one  a  good  service ; 
but  would,  for  the  most  part,  so  conduct 
themselves  that  nothing  could  possibly  be 
more  aggravating  or  unpleasant  Father 
Richard,  a  French  Jesuit  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  who  went  as  a  missionary  to  the  Archi- 
pelago, and  who  has  left  us  an  account  of  the 
Island  of  Santerini,  or  Saint  Irene,  the  Thera 
of  the  ancients,  discourses  largely  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Brucolacs.  He  says,  that  when  the 
persecutions  of  the  Vampyres  become  intol- 
erable, the  graves  of  the  offending  parties  are 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


40 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCoMlaetedky 


opened,  when  the  bodies  are  found  entire  and 
uncorrupted ;  that  they  are  then  cut  up  into 
little  bits,  particularly  the  heart ;  and  that, 
after  this,  the  apparitions  are  seen  no  more, 
and  the  body  decays. 

The  word  Brucolac,  we  are  told,  is  derived 
from  two  modern  Greek  words,  signifying, 
respectively,  "  mud,"  and  "  a  ditch,"  because 
the  graves  of  the  Vampyres  were  generally 
found  full  of  mud.  Voltaire,  in  the  article 
on  Vampyres  in  his  Philosophical  Dictionary, 
gives  a  similar  account  of  these  spectres.  He 
observes,  in  his  exquisite,  bantering  style: 
**  These  dead  Greeks  enter  houses,  and  suck 
the  blood  of  little  children ;  eating  the  su^ 
pers  of  the  fathers  and  mothers,  drinking  their 
wine,  and  breaking  all  the  furniture.  They 
can  be  brought  to  reason  only  by  being 
burnt — when  they  are  caught ;  but  the  pre- 
caution must  be  taken  not  to  resort  to  this 
measure  until  the  heart  has  been  torn  out, 
as  that  must  be  consumed  apart  from  the 
bodv."  Wfiat  a  weight  of  meaning  and 
implied  satire  is  there  m  that  phrase,  '*  They 
can  be  brought  to  reason  only  by  being 
burnt!"  It  is  a  comment  upon  unlversiu 
history. 

Pierre  Daniel  Huet,  a  French  writer  of 
Ana,  who  died  in  seventeen  hundred  and 
twenty-one,  says,  that  it  is  certain  that  the 
idea  of  Vampyres,  whether  true  or  false,  is 
/Very  ancient,  and  that  the  classical  authors 
are  full  of  it.  He  remarks,  that  when  the 
ancients  had  murdered  any  one  in  a  trea- 
cherous manner,  they  cut  off  his  feet,  hands, 
nose,  and  ears,  and  hung  them  round  his  neck 
or  under  bis  arm-pits;  conceiving  that  by 
these  means  the^  deprived  their  victim  of 
the  power  of  taking  vengeance.  Huet  adds, 
that  proof  of  this  may  be  found  in  the  Greek 
Scholia  of  Sophocles :  and  that  it  was  after 
this  fashion  that  Menelaus  treated  Deiphobus, 
the  husband  of  Helen — the  victim  having  been 
discovered  by  ^neas  in  the  infernal  regions 
in  the  above  state.  He  also  mentions  the 
story  of  HermotimuB  of  Clazomene,  whose 
soul  had  a  power  of  detaching  itself  from  its 
body,  for  the  sake  of  wandenng  through  dis- 
tant countries,  and  looking  into  the  secrets  of 
IVitnrity.  During  one  of  Aese  spiritual  jour- 
neys, his  enemies  persuaded  his  wife  to  have 
the  body  burned ;  and  his  soul,  upon  the  next 
return,  finding  its  habitation  not  forthcom- 
ing, withdrew  for  ever  after.  According 
to  Suetonius,  the  body  of  Caligula,  who  had 
been  violently  murdered,  was  but  partially 
burned  and  superficially  buried.  In  conse- 
quence of  this,  the  house  in  which  he  had 
been  slain,  and  the  garden  in  which  the  im- 
perfect cremation  had  taken  place,  were  every 
night  haunted  with  ghosts,  which  continued 
to  appear  until  the  house  was  burned  down, 
and  tne  frineral  rites  properly  performed  bv 
the  sisters  of  the  deceased  emperor.  It  is 
asserted  by  ancient  writers  that  the  souls  of 
the  dead  are  tmable  to  repose  until  after  the 
body  has  been  entirely  consumed ;  and  Huet 


informs  us  that  the  corpses  of  those  excom- 
municated by  the  modern  Greek  Ghorch  are 
called  Toupi,  a  word  signiiying  "  a  dram," 
because  the  said  bodies  are  popularly  sap- 
posed  to  swell  like  a  drum,  and  to  sound  llko 
the  same,  if  struck  or  rolled  on  the  groiind. 
Some  writers  have  supposed  that  the  ancient 
idea  of  Harpies  gave  rise  to  the  modem  idea 
of  Vampyres. 

Traces  of  the  Vampyre  belief  may  be 
found  in  the  extreme  north — even  in  remote 
Iceland.  In  that  curious  piece  of  old  Icelandic 
history,  called  the  %rbyggja-Saga,  of  which 
Sir  Walter  Scott  has  given  an  abstract,  we 
find  two  narrations  which,  though  not  identi- 
cal with  the  modern  Greek  conception  of 
Brucolacs,  have  certainly  considerable  affinitj 
with  it  The  first  of  these  stories  is  to  the 
following  effiect :— Thorolf  Beglfot  or  the 
Crookfooted,  was  an  old  Icelandic  chieftain 
of  the  tenth  century,  unenviably  notorious  for 
his  savage  and  treacherous  disposition,  wbi^ 
involved  him  in  continual  broils,  not  only 
with  his  neighbours,  but  even  with  his  own 
son,  who  was  noted  for  justice  and  generosity. 
Havingbeen  frustrated  In  one  of  his  knavish  de- 
signs, and  seeing  no  fisjiher  chance  open  to  him, 
Tborolf  retiunS  home  one  evening,  mad  with 
rage  and  vexation,  and,  refrising  to  partake  of 
any  supper,  sat  down  at  the  head  or  the  tahle 
like  a  stone  statue,  and  so  remained  without 
stirring  or  speaking  a  word.  The  servants 
retired  to  rest;  but  yet  Thorolf  did  not 
move.  In  the  morning,  every  one  was  horri- 
fied to  find  him  still  sitting  in  tho  same  place 
and  attitude ;  and  it  was  whispered  that  the 
old  man  had  died  after  a  maimer  peculiarly 
dreadful  to  the  Ioelander»— though  what  may 
be  the  precise  nature  of  this  death  is  very 
doubtful.  It  was  feared  that  the  spirit  of 
Thorolf  would  not  rest  in  its  grave  unless  some 
extraordinanr  precautions  were  taken ;  and 
accordingly  his  son  Amkill,  upon  being  sent 
for,  approached  the  body  in  such  a  manner  as 
to  avoid  looking  upon  the  face,  and  at  the 
same  time  enjoined  the  domestics  to  observe 
the  like  caution.  The  corpse  was  then  re- 
moved from  the  chair  (in  doing  which,  great 
force  was  found  necessary ;  the  face  was  con- 
cealed by  a  veil,  and  Hxq  usual  religions  rites 
were  performed.  A  breach  was  next  made 
in  the  wall  behind  the  chair  in  which  the 
corpse  had  been  found ;  and  the  body,  being 
carried  through  it  with  immense  labour,  was 
laid  in  a  strongly-built  tomb.  All  in  vain. 
The  spirit  of  the  malignant  old  chief  hannted 
the  neighbourhood  both  night  and  day; 
killing  men  and  cattle,  and  keeping  every  one 
in  continual  terror.  The  pest  at  lengtti  be- 
came unendurable ;  and  Arnkill  resonred  to 
remove  his  father's  body  to  some  other  place. 

On  opening  the  tomb,  the  corpse  of  Thorolf 
was  found  with  so  ghastly  an  aq[>eot,  that  he 
seemed  more  like  a  devil  than  a  man ;  and 
other  astounding  and  fearful  circumstances 
soon  manifested  themselvea  Two  strong 
oxen  were  yoked  to  the  bier  on  which  the 


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ChMlM  DkkoM.] 


VAMPTRE3. 


41 


body  was  placed ;  bat  they  were  very  shortly 
ezhaasted  by  the  weight  of  their  burden. 
Fresh  beasts  were  then  attached ;  bat,  a{>on 
reaching  the  top  of  a  steep  hilli  they  were 
seized  with  a  sadden  and  nncontroUable 
terror,  and,  dashing  fhintically  away,  rolled 
headlong  into  the  valley,  and  were  killed.  At 
every  mile,  moreover,  the  body  became  of  a 
still  greater  weight ;  and  it  was  now  foand 
impossible  to  carry  it  any  farther,  thongh  the 
contemplated  place  of  barial  was  still  distant 
Tlie  attendants  therefore  consigned  it  to  the 
earth  on  the  ridge  of  the  hill — an  immense 
moand  was  piled  over  it— and  the  spirit  of  the 
old  man  remained  for  a  time  at  rest.  But 
"after  the  death  of  Amkill,"  says  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  "  Begifot  became  again  troublesome, 
and  walked  forth  Arom  his  tomb,  to  the  great 
terror  and  damage  of  the  neighbourhood, 
slaying  both  herds  and  domestics,  and  driving 
the  inhabitants  from  the  canton.  It  was 
therefore  resolved  to  consume  his  carcase 
with  flre ;  for,  like  the  Hubgarian  Vampyre, 
he,  or  some  evil  demon  in  his  stead,  made 
use  of  his  mortal  reliques  as  a  vehicle 
daring  the  commisBlon  of  these  enormities. 
The  body  wa?  found  swollen  to  a  huge  size, 
equalling  the  corpulence  of  an  ox.  It  was 
transported  to  the  sea-shore  with  difBcnlty, 
and  there  burned  to  ashes.''  In  this  narra- 
tiye,  we  miss  the  blood-sucking  propensities 
of  the  genuine  Vampyre ;  but  in  all  other 
respects  the  resemblance  is  complete. 

The  other  story  fh>m  the  same  source  has 
relation  to  a  certain  woman  named  Thor- 
gonna.  This  excellent  old  lady  having,  a 
short  time  previous  to  her  death,  appointed 
one  Thorodd  her  executor,  and  the  wife  of 
the  said  Thorodd  having  covetously  induced 
her  husband  to  preserve  some  bed-ftimiture 
which  the  deceased  particularlv  desired  to 
have  burnt,  a  series  of  ghost-visits  ensued. 
Thorgunna  requested  that  her  body  might  be 
coQveyed  to  a  distant  place  called  Skalholt ; 
and  on  the  way  thither  her  ghost  appeared 
at  a  house  where  the  funeral  party  put  up. 
Bot  the  worst  visitations  occurred  on  the 
return  of  Thorodd  to  his  own  house.  On 
the  very  night  when  he  reached  his  domi- 
cile, a  meteor  resembling  a  half-moon  glided 
roand  the  walls  of  the  apartment  in  a  direction 
opposed  to  the  apparent  course  of  the  sun  (an 
ominous  sign),  and  remained  visible  until  the 
inmates  went  to  bed.  The  spectral  appearance 
continued  throughout  the  week  :  and  then  one 
of  the  herdsmen  went  mad,  evidently  under 
the  persecutions  of  evil  spirits.  At  length  he 
was  found  dead  in  his  bed ;  and,  shortly  after, 
Thorer,  one  of  the  inmates  of  the  house, 
going  out  in  the  evening,  was  seized  bv  the 
ghost  of  the  dead  shepherd,  and  so  injured 
by  blows,  that  he  died.  His  spirit  then  went 
into  partnership  with  that  of  the  herds- 
man, and  together  they  played  some  very 
awkward  and  alarming  pranks.  A  pestilence 
appeared,  of  which  many  of  the  neighbours 
died;  and  one  evening  something  in  the 


shape  of  a  seal-flsh  lifted  itself  up  through 
the  flooring  of  Thorodd's  boose,  and  gazed 
around. 

The  terrifled  domestics  having  in  vain 
struck  at  the  apparition,  which  continaed  to 
rise  through  the  floor,  Kiartan,  the  son  of 
Thorodd,  smote  it  on  the  head  with  a  ham- 
mer, and  drove  it  gradually  and  reluctantly 
into  the  earth,  like  a  stake.  Subsequently, 
Thorodd  and  several  of  his  servants  were 
drowned  ;  and  now  their  ghosts  were  added 
to  the  spectral  group.  Every  evening,  when 
the  fire  was  lighted  in  the  great  hall,  Thorodd 
and  his  companions  would  enter,  drenched 
and  dripping,  and  seat  themselves  close  to 
the  blaze,  f^om  which  they  very  selfldily  ex- 
cluded all  the  living  inmates ;  while,  from  the 
other  side  of  the  apartment,  the  ghosts  of 
those  who  had  died  of  pestilence,  and  who 
appeared  gray  with  dust,  would  bend  their 
way  towards  the  same  comfortable  nook, 
under  the  leadership  of  Thorer.  This  being 
a  very  awkward  state  of  aflUrs  in  a  climate 
like  Iceland,  Kiartan,  who  was  now  the  mas- 
ter of  the  house,  caused  a  separate  flre  to  be 
kindled  for  the  mortals  in  an  out-house, 
leaving  the  great  hall  to  the  spectres ;  with 
which  arrangement  their  ghostships  seemed 
to  be  satisfied.  The  deatlm  from  the  pesti- 
lence continued  to  increase  ;  and  every  deaUi 
caused  an  addition  to  the  phantom  armr. 
Matters  had  now  reached  so  serious  a  pitch, 
that  it  was  found  absolutely  necessary  to  take 
some  steps  against  the  disturbers  .of  the 
neighbourhood.  It  was  accordingly  resolved 
to  proceed  against  them  by  law ;  but,  previ- 
ously to  commencing  the  legal  forms,  Kiartan 
caused  the  unfortunate  bed-ftirniture,  which 
had  been  at  the  bottom  of  all  the  mischief,  to 
be  burnt  in  sight  of  the  spectres.  A  jury 
was  then  form^  In  the  great  hall ;  the  ghosts 
were  accused  of  being  public  nuisances  within 
the  meaning  of  the  act  in  that  case  made  and 
provided ;  evidence  was  heard,  and  flnallr 
a  sentence  of  eiectment  was  pronounced. 
Upon  this,  the  phantoms  rose  ;  and,  protest- 
ing that  they  had  only  sat  there  while  it  was 
lawfbl  for  them  to  do  so,  sullenly  and  mut- 
teringly  withdrew,  with  many  symptoms  of 
unwillingness.  A  priest  then  damped  the 
room  with  holy-water — a  solemn  mass  was 
performed,  and  the  supernatural  visitors  were 
thenceforth  non  est  inventus. 

The  incident  of  the  seal  in  this  narrative 
will  remind  the  reader  who  has  properlv 
studied  his  Corsican  Brdthers — and  (as  it  is 
cu&tomary  to  ask  on  these  occasions)  who  has 
not  T— of  the  appearance  of  the  ghost  of  the 
duellist  as  he  comes  gliding  through  the  floor 
to  the  tremulous  music  of  the  fiddles.  The 
whole  tale,  in  fact,  falls  in  a  great  measure 
into  the  general  class  of  ghost  stories ;  but  the 
circumstance  of  each  person,  as  he  died,  add- 
ing to  the  array  of  the  evil  spirits,  and  thus 
spreading  out  the  mischief  in  ever-widening 
circles,  has  an  affinity  to  the  distinguishing 
feature  of  the  Br^colac  superstition.    Still, 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCaaAictadbf 


fbr  the  perfect  epocimen  of  the  genus  Yani- 
pjre,  we  muBt  revert  to  the  south-east  of 
Europe. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  says  that  the  above  '*  is 
the  only  instance  in  which  the  ordinarj  ad- 
ministratiou  of  justice  had  been  supposed  to 
extend  over  the  inhabitants  of  another  world, 
and  in  which  the  business  of  exorcising 
spirits  is  transferred  from  the  priest  to  the 
judge.'' 

Voltaire,  however,  in  treating  of  Yam- 
pyres,  mentions  a  similar  instance.  ^*It  is 
in  my  mind,''  says  the  French  wit  and  phi- 
losopher, *'  a  curious  fact,  that  judicial  pro- 
ceedings were  talcen,  in  due  form  of  law, 
concerning  those  dead  who  had  left  their 
tombs  to  sucic  the  blood  of  the  little 
boys  and  girls  of  the  neighbourhood.  Cal- 
met  relates  that  in  Hungarv  two  officers  ap- 
pointed by  the  Emperor  Charles  the  Sixth, 
assisted  by  the  bailiflf  of  the  place,  and  the 
executioner,  went  to  bring  to  trhU  a  Vam- 
pyre  who  sucked  all  the  neighbourhood,  and 
who  had  died  six  weeks  iSefore.  He  was 
found  in  bis  tomb,  fresh,  gay,  with  his  eyes 
open,  and  asking  for  food.  The  bailiff  pro- 
nounced his  sentence,  and  the  executioner 
tore  out  his  heart  and  burnt  it :  after  which 
the  Vampyre  ate  no  more." 

Voltaire's  levity  has  here  carried  him  (in- 
advertently, of  cour8e)with  a  smiling  face  into 
a  very  appalling  region.  It  is  an  historical  fact 
that  aaor(  of  Vampyre  fever  or  epidemic  spread 
through  the  wholesouth-east  of  Europe,  from 
about  the  year  seventeen  hundred  and  twenty- 
seven  to  seventeen  hundred  and  thirt^r-five. 
This  took  place  more  especially  in  Servia  and 
Hungary  ;  with  respect  to  its  manifestations 
in  which  latter  country  ,Galmet,  the  celebrated 
author  of  the  History  of  the  Bible,  has  left  an 
account  in  his  Dissertations  on  the  Crhosts 
and  Vampyres  of  Hungaiy.  A  terrible  in- 
fection appeared  to  have  seized  upon  the 
people,  who  died  by  hundreds  under  the 
belief  that  they  were  haunted  by  these 
dreadful  phantoms.  litUtary  commissions 
were  issued  for  inquirhig  Into  the  matter ; 
and  the  ipraves  of  the  alle^  Vampyres  being 
opened  in  the  presence  of  medical  men,  some 
of  the  bodies  were  found  nndecompoeed,  wHh 
fresh  skiu'and  nails  growing  in  the  place  of 
the  old,  with  florid  complexions,  and  with 
blood  in  the  chest  and  abdomen.  Of  the  truth 
of  these  allegations  there  can  be  no  reasonable 
doubt,  as  they  rest  upon  the  evidence  both  of 
medical  and  military  men ;  and  the  problem 
seems  to  admit  of  only  one  solution.  Dr.  Her- 
bert Mayo,  in  his  Letters  on  the  Truths  con- 
tained in  Popular  Superstitions,  suggests  that 
the  superstitious  belief  in  Vampyrism,  acting 
upon  persons  of  nervous  temperaments,  pre- 
disposed them  to  fall  into  the  condition  called 
death-trance;  that  in  that  state  they  were 
hastily  buried ;  and  that,  upon  the  graves 
being  opened,  they  were  found  still  alive, 
though  unable  to  speak.  In  confirmation  of 
this  ghastly  suggestion,  Dr.  Mayo  quotes  the 


following  most  pathetic  and  fHghtful  account 
of  a  Vampyre  execution  from  an  old  German 
writer : — ''  When  they  opened  his  grave,  after 
he  had  been  long  buried,  his  face  was  found 
with  a  colour,  and  his  features  made  natural 
sorts  of  movements,  as  if  the  dead  man 
smiled.  He  even  opened  his  mouth  as  if  he 
would  inhale  the  firesh  air.  Thev  held  the 
crucifix  before  him,  and  called  in  a  loud  voice, 
'  See,  this  is  Jesus  Christ  who  redeemed  your 
soul  from  hell,  and  died  for  you.'  After  the 
sound  had  acted  on  his  organs  of  hearing,  and 
he  had  connected  perhaps  some  ideas  with  it, 
tears  began  to  flow  from  the  dead  man's  eyes. 
Finally,  when,  after  a  short  prayer  for  his 
poor  soul,  they  proceeded  to  hack  oif  his 
bead,  the  corpse  uttered  a  screech,  and 
turned  and  rolled  just  as  if  it  had  been  alive 
— and  the  grave  was  full  of  blood."  The 
wretched  man  most  assuredly  was  alive ;  but 
Superstition  has  neither  brain  nor  heart ;  and 
so  it  murdered  him. 

A  story  similar  to  the  foregoing  has  been 
preserved  by  Serjeant  Mainard,  a  lawyer  of 
the  reign  of  Charles  the  First ;  and  may  be 
here  repeated  as  a  curious  instance  of  the 
hold  which  the  most  puerile  superstitions 
maintained  in  England  at  a  comparatively 
recent  period,  and  the  influence  which  they 
were  allowed  to  exercise  even  in  so  grave  a 
matter  as  a  trial  for  murder.  In  the  year  six- 
teen hundred  and  twenty-nine,  somewhere 
in  Hertford^re,  a  married  woman,  named 
Joan  Norcot,  was  found  in  bed  with  her 
throat  cut ;  and,  although  the  inquest  which 
was  held  upon  her  body  terminate  in  a  ver- 
dict of  felo-de-se,  a  rumour  got  about  that 
the  deceased  had  been  murdered.    The  body 
was  accordingly  taken  out  of  the  grave  thirty 
days  after  ite  death,  in  the  presence  of  the 
jury  and  many  other  persons ;  and  the  jury 
then  changed  their  verdict  {which  had  aot 
been  drawn  into  form  by  the  ooroner),  and 
accused  certain  parties  of  wilful  murder. 
These  were  tried  at  the  Hertford  AsBisea, 
and  acquitted ;  *'  but,"  says  the  Seijeaat, "  so 
much  against  the  evidence,  that  the  Judge 
(Harvy)  let  fitll  his  opinion  that  it  were 
better  an  appeal  w^  brought  than  to  foul  a 
murder  should  escape  unpunished."  •  In  con- 
sequence of  this,  **  they  were  tried  on  the 
appeal,  which  was  brought  by  the  young 
child  against  his  fhther,  grandfather,  and 
aunt,  and  her  husband,  Okeman ;  and,  be- 
cause the  evidence  was  so  strangle,  I  took 
exact  and  particular  notice  of  it    It  was  as 
followetb,  viz. :  After  the  matters  above  men- 
tioned and  related,  an  ancient  and  grave  per- 
son, minister  of  the  parish  where  the  fact  waa 
committed,  being  sworn  to  give  evidenoe,  ac- 
cording to  the  custom,  deposed,  that  the  body 
being  taken  out  of  the  grave,  thirty  days 
after  the  party's  death,  and  lying  on  the 
grass,  and  the  four  defendants  present,  they 
were  required,  each  of  them,  to  touch  the 
dead  body.    Okeman's  wife  fell  on  her  knees, 
and  prayed  Grod  to  show  token  of  their  iano- 


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MR.  POPE'S  FRIEND. 


49 


eenejr,  or  to  some  sach  pmrpofle :  but  her  vei 
I  Tie.,  precise]  words  I  Ibrgoi  The  appellei 
i   did  teach  the  dead  body;  whereapon,  tl 


very 
'lers 

.        *!« 

Itow  of  the  dead,  whfoh'wae  of  a  livid  or 

1  cirrioQ  coloar  (that  was  the  verbal  expred- 

'  sioo  in  the  terms  of  the  witoess)  began  to 

j  btre  a  dew  or  gentle  sweat,  which  ran  down 

in  drops  on  the  face,  and  the  brow  tarned 

lod  changed  to  a  lively  and  fresh  colour,  and 

I   the  detd  opened  one  of  her  ejes,  and  shut  it 

'  H»in ;  and  this  opening  the  eve  was  done 

three  sereral  times.    She  likewtoe  thrust  out 

^   the  ring  or  marriafre-finger  three  times,  and 

C"  i  it  in  again ;   and  the  finger  dropt 
from  it  on  the  gran."*    This,  being 
'  contrmed  by  the  witnesses  brother,  also  a 
clergyman ;  and  other  evidenoe  (of  a  more 
hmian  character,  but,  as  it  appears  to  us. 
I  very  insnlBcient)  having  been  adduced ;  Oke- 
Bin  was  acquitted,  and   the    three   other 
prisoners  were  found  guilty :  a  result  which 
I  there  can  be  little  question  was  mainly 
I  ivoaght  about  by  the  monstrous  story  of  the 
Keoe  at  the  exfaamation.f  That  the  details  of 
that  stor^  were  exaggerated,  according  to  the 
nperstitiouB  habit  of  the  times,  seems  obvious: 
I  but  the  query  arises,  whether  the  body  of  the 
I  vottan  might,  not  really  have  been  alive. 
I  Itiitme  that  thirty  days  had  elatraed  since 
,  iier  apparent  death  :  but  some  of  the  alleged 
j  Vimpyres  supposed  bv  Dr.  Mayo  to  have 
;  heen  buried  alive  had  been  in  their  graves 
'  three  montiis  when  their  condition  was  in- 
|{  ^ted.   Not  being  possessed  of  the  requisite 
■edjcal  knowledge,  we  will  forbear  to  pro- 
,  Doonce  whether  or  not  life  could  be  sustained, 
QBder  such  cbrcumstances,  for  so  great  a 
I  IsDftb  €f  time ;  bat  what  seems  flatal  to  the 
npposttion,inthelastiBetanoe,{sthefaotof 
'  ^  woman  having  bad  her  throat  out 

^ampyres  have  often  been  introduced  into 
'  raiMace.  There  is  an  old  Anglo-Saxon  poem 
I  »the subject  of  the  Yampyre  of  the  Fens: 
ttd  the  Baron  von  Haxthausen,  in  his  work 
JljTraoscaQcaBia,  has  toM  a  story  of  one  of 
uoe  gentry,  wliich  mav  be  here  appended  as 
*  tort  of  pleasant  burlesque  after  the  fore- 
iNng  tragedies : — **  There  once  dwelt  in  a 
«^em  in  Armenia  a  Vampyre,  called  Dak- 
nBaTBr,*who  could  not  endure  any  one  to 
pwetrate  into  the  mountains  of  tJlmish 
Altotem,  or  count  their  valleys.  Every  one 
*bo  attempted  this  had,  in  the  night,  bis 
Jjwod  tacked  by  the  monster  from  the  soles 
w  hia  feet,  until  he  died.  The  Vampyre  was, 
however,  at  last  outwitted  by  two  cunning 
MUm%.  They  began  to  count  the  valleys, 
•ndwben  nig^t  came  on  they  lay  down  to 

*Tbe  ble«ding  of  the  dead  body  of  »  murdered  per- 
■^  open  the  approach  of  the  murderer  it  an  old 
^ioD,  to  which  Bacon,  In  his  Natural  History. 
*«'nt  inclined  to  glre  some  weight. 

^  The  notes  from  which  this  stoty  is  derived,  were 
■•*•  by  the  Serjeant  from  what  he  himself  heard  on 
t^«  trial.  (See  the  Gentleman's  Magaxine  for  July, 
li5L) 


sleep, — takiuff  care  to  place  themselves  with 
the  feet  of  the  one  under  the  head  of  the 
other."  (How  belh  could  have  managed  to  do 
this,  we  leave  to  the  reader's  ingenaity  to  ex- 
plain.) **  In  the  night,  the  monster  came, 
felt  as  usual,  and  found  a  head ;  then  he  felt 
at  the  other  end,  and  found  a  bead  there  alFO. 
'  Well,'  cried  he,  <  I  have  gone  through  the 
whole  three  hundred  and  sixty-six  valleys  of 
these  mountains,  and  have  sucked  the  blood 
of  people  without  end ;  but  never  yet  did  I 
find  any  one  with  two  heads  and  no  feet ! ' 
So  saying,  he  ran  away,  and  was  never  rapre 
seen  fn  that  country;  but  ever  after  the 
people  have  known  that  the  mountain  has 
three  hundred  and  sixty-six  valleyt>." 

In  South  America,  a  species  of  bat  is  found, 
which  sucks  the  blood  of  people  while  asleep 
(lulling  them  with  the^  fanning  of  its  wings 
during  the  operation),  and  which  is  called  the 
Vampyre  bat  from  that  circumstance.  If 
this  creature  belonged  to  Europe,  we  should 
be  inclined  to  regard  it  as  the  origin  of  the 
Vampyre  fable. 

MR.  POPE'S  FRIEND. 

Thebk  is  a  custom,  I  have  been  told,  pre- 
valent among  the  junior  officers  on  board  some 
of  her  Majesty's  ^ips  of  war,  and  by  means 
of  which  the  mpnotony  of  cockpit  life  is 
agreeably  diversi6ed,  called  **  swop."  When 
a  swop  takes  place,  the  contents  of  the 
youngsters'  sesH^ests  are  strewn  on  the 
cabin  table,  and  an  ingenious  and  ex- 
citing FC3ne  of  barter  ensues,  of  gold-laced 
bands  against  jars  of  mixed  pickles ;  sup- 
plies of  stationery  against  rasor-strops  and 
shaving-brushes;  comets-a-piston  against 
quadrants;  and  lodu  of  sweethearts'  hair 
against  clasp-knives— a  flageolet,  a  clothes- 
brush,  or  a  cake  of  chocolate,  being  occa- 
sionally thrown  into  a  bargain  by  way  of 
ballast  or  make-weight.  Swop  may  alt<o, 
perhaps,  be  recognised  bv  some  of  my  young 
friends  now  or  lately  at  home  for  the  Christ- 
mas vacation  as  a  favourite  half-holiday 
pastime  at  the  establishments  where  they 
receive  their  education,  and  where  (it  is  to  be 
hoped)  none  but  the  sons  of  gentlemen  are 
received.  I  retain,  myself,  lively  reminis- 
cences of  my  school  swops.  In  these  the 
chief  articles  quoted  were  toffy,  plum-cake, 
peg-tops,  marbles,  pocket-combs,  jew's-harps, 
slate-pencil,  white  mice,  silk-worms,  trowser- 
straps  (much  coveted,  these),  common  prayer- 
bookR,and  illustrated  copies  of  the  Adventures 
of  Philip  Quarll,  together  with  twopennv 
cakes  of  water-colours,  of  which  dragoons 
blood  and  saturnine  red  were  most  in 
demand :  chiefly,  I  think,  by  reason  of  their 
romantic  and  adventurous  names,  and  not 
with  any  reference  to  their  artistic  uses. 
At  a  large  public  school,  also,  of  which  I 
know  Boraething — so  large  that  its  conductors 
had  quite  failed  in  keeping  pace  with  the  re- 
quirements of  the  boys,  and  in  the  endeavour 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDa 


[Condactcdfef 


had  dropped  behind  a  trifle  of  two  hnndred 
years  or  so — swop  existed,  and  flourished  ex- 
ceedingly under  the  name  of  pledging,  the 
barter  being  mainlj  confined  to  the  provisions 
furnished  to  the  pupils  by  the  establishment 
Thus  tbe  boys  pledged  their  dinner  pudding 
against  potatoes— their  meat  against  pudding. 
Pledging  in  this  form  was  sanctioned  by  the 
authorities  ;  but  there  was  also  much  illegal 
bartering,  detection  in  which  (there  was  a 
legend  that  one  boy  bad  poeltiyely  pledged 
his  leathern  small-clothes— a  relic  of  monastic 
costume— against  a  pair  of  tumbler  pigeons), 
subjected  the  contrabandist  to  tbe  punish- 
.  ment  of  the  rod. 

Lest  I  should  be  betrayed  into  an  elaborate 
essay  upon  the  different  forms  of  barter  cur- 
rent among  ancient  and  modern  nations — 
from  Hercules  swopping  tbe  deliverance  of 
Troy  A'om  the  Sea  Monster  against  Laome- 
don's  thorough-bred  horses;  from  the  mess 
of  pottage  for  which  Esau  pledged  his  birth- 
right to  Jacob,  to  the  swops  in  usage  between 
the  burghers  of  the  Manhattoes  and  the 
Indians  in  the  early  days  of  the  colony  of 
New  York — when  a  Dutchman's  foot  was 
by  mutual  agreement  understood  to  weigh 
ten  pounds — I  may  as  well,  and  at  once, 
explain  what  connection  exists  between 
swops  and  Mr.  Pope's  friend. 

Some  IViends  of  mine  who  live,  as  I  do,  in 
a  lar^  gloomy  hotel  in  the  Quartier  Latin, 
and  in  the  fair  city  of  Lutetia ;  when  the 
weather  is  too  wet  for  a  walk  on  the  boule- 
vards or  for  study  at  the  Biblioth^que 
Imp^riale ;  when  the  Palais  Royale  has  no 
delights,  the  billiard-tables  no  charms,  and 
the  English  newspapers  (as  it  frequently 
happens)  have  been  stopped  by  the  police, 
and  there  is  nothing  worth  reading  (which 
there  scarcely  ever  is)  in  the  French  journals; 
when  I  myself  have  invoked  the  Muses  in 
vain,  and  find  that  they  persist  in  keeping 
themselves  coy  at  the  very  top  of  Mount 
Parnassus — Lempri^re  only  knows  how 
manv  thousand  miles  off;  and  when  my 
neighbour  the  doctor  with  the  beard  has 
deferred  till  to-morrow  his  visit  to  the  dis- 
secting-room of  the  clamart  (which  visit  he 
has  been  deferring  about  three  hundred  and 
forty  times  a-year  for  the  last  three) ;  are 
accustomed  to  meet  in  a  cheerful  sederunt, 
and  kill  the  hours  with  swop.  Few  things 
are  too  exalted  or  too  humble  for  our  com- 
mercial interchanges ;  and  a  complete  da- 
^erreotype  apparatus  has  been  known  to  be 
m  the  market  at  the  same  time  with  a  vil- 
lanous  clay-pipe  never  before  worth  more 
than  a  sons,  but  now  supposed  to  posses? 
some  extrinsic  value  by  having  been  smoked 
till  it  is  very  dirty.  Swops  are  also  made  of 
boots,  clothes,  small  articles  of  jewellery, 
postage-stamps  (which  are  always  in  great 
demand  among  foreign  sojourners  in  Paris, 
and  though  always  on  sale  cannot  always  be 
bought),  pomatum,  surgical  instruments,  and 
especially  books.  For,  a  studious  man  cannot 


read,  with  pleasure,  any  but  his  own 
books;  and  as  his  means  forbid  hiin  to 
accumulate  a  large  library,  swop  comes  to 
his  aid  very  usefully  and  pleasantly;  and 
when  he  has  well  read  and  meditated  one 
book,  through,  he  can  exchange  it  for  another. 
The  prices  demanded  and  the  value  placed 
upon  articles  are  ft^uentlysomewhat  fanciful 
and  capricious.  Coals  are  not  always  coals, 
but  occasionally  run  up  almost  as  high  u 
diamonds  ;  and  it  is  now  and  then  necessary 
to  threaten  an  appeal  to  the  tribunal  of  Ce- 
sar, represented  by  the  marchand  dliaUts 
or  old  clothesman,  who  is  always  hovering 
about  the  courtyard  below,  like  a  vulture, 
with  three  h^ts  and  a  moustache.  I  recently 
became  the  possessor,  at  a  perfectly  exorbitant 
rate  of  barter,  of  a  certain  cross-barred 
velvet  waistcoat  —  the  transaction  being 
saddled  with  the  additional  disadvantage  of 
its  being .  impossible  to  wear  the  garment 
with  propriety  in  any  of  the  capitals  of 
Europe  in  which  I  propose  to  take  up  my 
residence.  The  waistcoat  (which  would  be 
really  a  most  splendid  and  effectively  ornate 
article  of  apparel  If  it  had  a  new  back  and 
were  looked  after  a  little  about  the  pockets 
and  button-holes),  is  as  well  known  in  the 
Rue  du  Palais  de  Laecken  at  Bni8Bels.as  on  the 
Boulevard  des  ItaUens;  in  the  Caf^  Greece 
in  Rome,  as  on  the  Glacis  at  Vienna.  It  has 
been  on  the  press  in  London — on  the  mwily 
chest  of  more  than  one  sub-editor— at  diffe- 
rent intervals  during  the  last  forty  months; 
and,  as  I  am  not  just  now  prepared  with  the 
passage-money  to  Constantinople  (and  even 
there  I  daresay  our  own"  correspondent,  come 
from  the  Crimea  to  Pera  to  purchase  • 
stove,  a  fUr  tippet,  and  a  pair  of  Airferican 
over-shoes,  would  reco^ise  it  immediately), 
the  only  European  capital  where  I  can  see  a 
chance  of  wearing  it  without  the  risk  of  de- 
tection in  having  second-hand  clothes  upon 
me.  is  Venice.  I  hope  to  go  there  shortly ; 
and  should  you  happen  to  go  there  too,  and 
see  an  untidy  man  m  a  cross-barred  velvet 
waistcoat  sauntering  about  the  Place  of  St 
Mark,  gazing  at  the  dusky  Ducal  Palace, 
and  the  muddy  canal,  and  the  black  gon- 
dolas, you  may  with  tolerable  certitude 
affirm  the  wearer  to  be  the  writer  of  this 

Swop  and  the  cross-barred  vest  were  the 
means  of  my  being  introduced  to  Mr.  Pope  s 
friend.  For,  as  I  grumbled  a  little  at  m 
terms  demanded  for  the  transfer  of  the  waist- 
coat, its  original  possessor,  touched,  perhaps 
by  compunction,  perhaps  by  generosity, 
offered  to  throw  into  the  bargain  as  a  bonne- 
bouche,  pot-de-bin,  or  bonus,  a  copy  oi 
Fenton.  "  And  who  the  Blank."  I  asked, 
"is  Fen  ton?" 

Whereupon,  he  handed  me  a  little  ptarved 
duodecimo  volume,  with  tarnished  gilt  cdg^ 
and  bound  in  mottled  calf,  the  ragged  state 
of  which  suggested  that  several  penknives  ot 
the  last  century  had  been  sharpened  upon  it. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


r 


Cbadca  Dfekeoa.  j 


ME.  POPE^S  FRIEND. 


OpeDiDg  It,  I    foand,  by   the    title  page, 
the  book  to  be  The  Poetical  Works  of  Eljuth 
Fenton :  With  the  Life  of  the  Author.    Em- 
bellished with  Superb  EngraviDgs.    London : 
Printed    for   the    Booksellers.     Seventeen 
hundred  and  odd.    The  superb  engravings 
I  found  comprised  In  one  bald  little  plate, 
in  which  an  overgrown  Cupid  was  repre- 
sented fighting  in  a  most  nngallant  manner 
II   for  the  possession  of  a  bow  with  a  ladj  with 
;    powdered  hair,  a  short  waist,  and  no  shoes  or 
I    6tocktnj];s.    The  superb  engraving  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  border,  in  which  more  bows  and 
arrows,   a  comic    made,  some    clouds,  the 
Boman  fasces,  a  wreath  of  laurel,  and  the 
I   Boyal    arms,    were    tasteftiUy    intermixed. 
;   Lastly,  on  the  fly-leaf  of  the  cover,  it  was 
[]  recorded  that  Samuel  Burrell  was  the  happy 
possessor  of  Fenton  fifty-seven  years  ago — 
•I  said  Samuel,  in  the  pride  of  possession,  ex- 
I    pressi  ng  the  most  uncharitable  wishes  towards 
^    whoever  stole  this  book.    Beneath,  there  was 
I    some    little   private    trade-mark — a    large 
figure  of  four  and  a  small  d  ;  which,  together, 
led  me  to  suppose  that  the  book  must  have 
been,  in  the  long  run,  stolen  from  Burrell,  or 
that  after  his  death  it  had  been,  at  the  sale 
I    of  his  effects,  disposed  of  by  public  auction, 
I    and  that  ultimately  it  bad  been  offered  for 

I  sale  at  a  bookstall  for  fourpence. 

I I  Now,  who  was  Fenton!  I  hope  ladies  and 
I  gentlemen  will  not  be  ashamed  to  avow 
' '  their  ignorance  if  they  never  heard  of  Fenton 
;  before.  A  man  may  have  read  eight  hours 
|!  a  day  for  half  a  century  and  have  never 
!<  read  Fenton:  a  man  may  be  as  wise  as 
I  Solomon,  and  Fenton  still  fa«  a  sealed  book  to 
I  him.  I  came  acroels,  the  other  day,  some  re- 
I    marks  of  Fuller's  about  schoolmasters.    He 

mentions  **tbat  gulf  of  learning,  Bishop 
Andrews.''  How  many  ordinarily  well-read 
men  could  tell  anything  now  about  Bishop 
Andrews,  and  his  gulf  of  learning?  The 
;  gulf  has  swallowed  him  up  altogether,  and 
he  is  learned  at  the  bottom  of  Lethe,  t 

All  that  I  had  ever  known  of  Fenton  be- 
fore I  took  his  poetical  works  in  the  swop 
with  the  cross-barred  waistcoat,  was  that  his 
life  had  been  written  by  Doctor  Johnson  in 
the  Lives  of  the  Poets,  and  that  I  had  always 
dcipped  it  in  turning  over  that  voluminous 
work  in  quest  of  the  glorious  biomphies  of 
Milton  and  Savage;  next,  that  Fenton  had 
something  to  do  with  Pope.  Whether  he  was 
j  Pope's  Homer,  or  one  of  the  heroes  of  Pope's 
•  Dunciad,  i  was,  Heaven  help  me,  quite  uncer- 
tain. I  am  proudnow,  after  studying  his  life, 
to  inform  my  readers  that  he  was  Mr.  Pope's 
friend. 

I  know,  now  too,  that  Mr.  Pope's  friend  was 
the  hero  of  a  joke — a  joke,  not  quite  seasoned 
enough  for  the  spicy  company  of  Joe  Miller, 
but  risible  enough  to  find  admission  to  some 
"Wit's  companion,"  or  "Collection  of  humour- 
ous and  diverting  anecdotes." 

'•Fenton,"  says  the  historian,  "was  one 
day  in  the  company  of  Broome,  his  anooiate, 


and  ^ord*  a  clergyman,  at  that  time  too  well 
known,  whose  abilities,  instead  of  furnishing 
convivial  merriment  to  the  voluptuous  and 
dissolute,  might  have  enabled  him  to  excel 
among  the  vLrtnous  and  the  wise.  They  de- 
termined all  to  see  "The  Merry  Wives  of 
Windsor,"  which  was  acted  that  night ;  and 
Fenton,  as  a  dramatic  poet,  took  them  all  to 
the  stage-door,  where  the  door-keeper  inquir- 
ing who  they  were,  was  told  they  were  three 
very  necessary  men :  Ford,  Broome,  and  ten- 
ton;  ta  composing  a  part  of  the  characters 
in  the  comedy :  and  it  is  to  be  observed  that 
the  name  in  the  play  which  Pope  restored  to 
Brook  was  then  Broome,  It  is  not  stated 
whether  the  door-keeper  admitted  the  thre^ 
very  necessary  men  for  their  joke's  sake ;  nor 
do  I  know  of  what  stufi",  penetrable  or  not, 
the  janitors  of  theatres  were  made  of  in  the 
reign  of  Queen  Anne;  but  I  should  not 
counsel  any  humourist  of  the  present  day  to 
essay  penetration  through  the  etage  door  of 
a  London  theatre  on  the  strength  of  a  witti- 
cism. I  am  afraid,  even,  that  the  funniest  of 
government  clerks,  if  his  name  happened  to 
be  Box,  and  his  friend's,  in  the  post-oifioe. 
Cox,  would  be  sternly  refused  ingress  at  the 
stage-door  of  the  Lyceum,  were  he  to  claim 
admission  on  the  score  of  self  and  friend 
being  two  "  very  necessary  men." 

Let  us  see  how  Elijah  Fenton  came  to  be 
Mr.  Pope's  ftiend,  and  what  his  friendship 
brought  him.  It  appears  by  my  book,  the 
narratives  of  Jacobs  and  Shiels,  and  the 
Life  by  Doctor  Johnson,  that  Elijah  was  de- 
scended firom  an  ancient  and  honourable 
Camily  at  Shelton,  near  Newcastle-under- 
Lyne ;  that  his  lather  possessed  a  considerable 
estate,  but  that  he,  being  a  younger  son,  was 
precluded  from  heirship ;  was  educated  at  a 
grammar  school ;  then  entered  as  a  student 
at  Jesus  College,  Cambridge ;  but  retaining 
an  attachment  to  the  family  of  the  Stuarts 
refused  to  qualify  himself  for  public  employ- 
ment by  taking  the  necessary  oaths,  and  left 
the  university  without  a  degree.  The  mala- 
droit Elgah  thus  managed  to  make  a  stumble 
upon  the  very  threshold  of  life.  As  a  non- 
juror he  was  not  even  eligible  for  the  nost  of 
a  tide-waiter,  or  a  parish  constable.  Medio- 
crity seemed  determined  to  mark  him  for  her 
own. 

"  As  obficurity,"  his  biographer  finely  re- 
marks, "is  the  inseparable  attendant  upon 
poverty  "  (of  which  I  am  not  quite  certain, 
though  I  know  that  poverty  is  the  Inseparable 
attendant  upon  obscurity),  **  the  incidents  of 
his  life  cannot  be  accurately  traced  from  vear 
to  year,  or  the  means  traced  firom  which  he 
derived  a  support"  With  what  sonorous 
comprehensiveness  does  the  historian  gloss 
over  Mr.  Pope's  friend's  probably  desperate 
battle  for  bread.  Poor  Elgah  I  Wno  shall  say 
how  many  times  he  slept  upon  bulks,  or 
among  the  cabbage  stalks  it  Fleet  Market, 


♦Hog»rth»i  "PM»n  f  <»*.»' 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CondBCtodly 


or  wfilked  the  streets  all  night  shelterless  I 
How  reany  times  be  refect^  his  famtsbcd 
sides  at  a  St.  Giles's  cook-shop,  or  fancied  be 
could  choke,  like  Otway,  with  a  peony  roll,  ir 
he  oolj  bad  a  penny  to  purchase  a  roll  to 
choke  himself  withal.    Did  he  ever  enact 
griflBos,  ships,  or  Towers  of  Babel,  at   the 
^*  motion  "  plays  at  Bartholomew  Fair,  like 
that  other  poet,  the  unhappy  Elkanah  Settle  7 
Was  he  ever  one  of  Swift's  Little  Britain 
translators  that  lay  three  in  a  bed  7    Was  he 
one  of  the  historians  that  Mr.  Curll  kept  at 
the  public  house  in  Holborn,  and  fed  on  tripe 
and  strong  waters?    He  lived  somehow  this 
poor  non-juring  mediocre  man ;  for,  he  lived 
to  be  tutor  to  the  Earl  of  Orrery,  the  re- 
nowned translator  of  Pliny,  and  afterwards 
to  be  master  of  the  charity  school  at  Seven 
Oaks  tn  Rent,  wbich.sitnation  he  quitted  in 
seventeen  hundred  and  ten,  through  the  per- 
suasion of  Mr.  St.  John,  afterwards  Lord 
Bolingbroke,  who  made  him  promises  of  a 
more  honourable  and  profitable  employment. 
**  In  process  of  time,''  I  quote  his  biographer 
here,  *<  as  he  became  more  and  more  attached 
to  the  muses,  whom  he  had  courted  from  early 
life,  he  became  more  moderate  in  his  political 
opinions;    for  though  a  non-juror  he  was 
lavish  in  his  enlogiums  on  Queen  Anne,  and 
extolled  the  name  of  Marlborough  beyond 
the  very  echo  of  applause."    Poor  Fenton ! 
was  he  not  getting  hungry?    Was  it  not 
natural  fur  the  poetical  non-luror,  condemned 
to  teach  the  charity-school  boys  of  Seven 
Oaks,  and  to  dance  the  young  Earl  of  Orrery 
like  a  bear  through  his  humanities — Ah  1  if 
the  truth  were  known,  I  will  be  bound  tltat 
honest  Elijah  bad  more  to  do  with  Pliny  angli- 
cised than  the  renowned  translator  cared  to 
admit — to  yearn  a  little  after  the  loaves  and 
fishes?    Though  Queen  Anne  occupied  the 
throne  of  King  James,  it  Is  not  natural  that 
an  empty  stomach  of  gears'  standing  should 
at  last  thaw  the  Jacobite  ice  into  a  stream  of 
lavish  eulogiums,  and  tune  the  High  Tory 
harp  to  extol  the  name  of  the  Whig  Marl- 
borough beyond  the  very  echo  of  applause  ? 
Even  more  than  this  did  Elijah  do.    He  tes- 
tified his  regard  for  the  Churchill  family,  in 
Florelio.  an  elegiac  pastoral  on  the  death  of 
the  great  captain's  son.  the  Marquis  of  Bland- 
ford;  in  which  Doctor  Johnson  observes,  "he 
could  be  prompted  only  by  respect  or  kindness, 
for  neither  the  Duke  nor  Duchess  desired 
the  praise,  or  liked    the  cost  of   patron- 
age."   I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  am  at  issue 
with  Bolt  Court   upon  this  point     John 
Churchill,  the  great  Duke  of  Marlborough, 
could  swallow  anything.    Blue  ribbons,  gar- 
ters, places,  pensions,  coronets,  palaces,  par- 
liamentary gran t8,pilfering8  from  the  soldiers' 
pay,  and  profits  upon  their  shirts  and  fire- 
locks*^ is  great  avarice  had  stomach  for  them 
all.    He  was  more  bespattered  with  praise 
(as,  afterwards  with  obloquy),  than  any  man 
of  his  age ;  and  it  is  to  be  presumed  that  he 
liked  as  much  to  be  praised  as  to  be  General- 


Wmo  of  the  allied  forces,  and  proprietor  oi 
Blenheim.  And  his  Duchess  '*  Old  Sarah," 
is  the  Doctor  to  assert  that  she  dis- 
liked praise?  Was  she  not  a  woman — was 
she  not  a  Duchess— a  Duchess,  living  in  the 
days  when  Duchesses  were  estimated  by 
poets  (at  BO  many  gold  pieces  per  line)  as 
something  very  little  short  of  divinities! 
It  might  have  been  the  Duchess  of  Marl- 
borough's chaplain  (for  reverend  Prainers  were 
multiplied  exceedingly  in  those  days),  who, 
preaching  a  funeral  sermon  over  a  deceased 
Peeress,  took  occasion  to  inform  his  congrega- 
tion that  "  he  had  no  doubt  that  her  Grace  was 
at  that  moment  occupying  that  distinguished 
position  in  Heaven  to  which  her  exalted  rank, 
andshining  virtues  entitled  her  I"  Close-fisted, 
moreover,  as  Duchess  Sarah  may  have  been, 
she  would  scarcely  have  grudged  a  meal  of  vic- 
tuals in  the  kitchen  of  Marlborough  House, 
and  half  a  score  of  broad  pieces  to  the  author 
of  Florelio. 

In  seventeen  hundred  and  nine,  Elgah 
Fenton  acquired  the  esteem  of  the  literati 
He  also  acquired  the  esteem  of  Soutbernc, 
and  lastly  the  friendship  of  a  little  crooked 
catholic  gentleman,  who  lived  in  a  little  house 
with  a  grotto  at  Twickenham,  from  whence, 
now  and  then,  he  rode  to  town  in  a  little 
coach — and  who  was  called  Alexander  Pope. 
The  little  waspish,  spiteful,  kind-hearted  bard 
was  the  first  to  patronise  and  pat  on  the  back 
the  forlorn  Elgah.  They  must  have  been  a 
curious  couple.  Fenton  was  a  tall,  bulk^, 
gross,  lazy  man,  on  whom  his  landlady's  criti- 
cism was, ''  that  he  would  lie  a-bcd,  and  be 
fed  with  a  spoon."  His  clothes  were  not 
good;  his  wig  was  probably  uncombed,  his 
shoes  down  at  heel,  his  buckles  rusty,  his 
steenkirk  unbleached.  He  was  '*  very  sluggish 
and  sedentary,"  says  the  biographer,  '*  rose 
late,  and  when  we  once  had  sat  down  to  his 
books,  would  not  get  up  again."  He  must 
have  been  a  sort  of  dull,  heavy  book,  this 
Elijah,  in  unreadable  type,  that  went  down  to 
oblivion  with  most  of  its  leaves  uncut. 

Elijah  was  not  tired,  poor  fellow,  of  dedica- 
tions yet  To  a  collection  of  poems  called 
the  Oxford  and  Cambridge  Verses  he  prefixed 
a  very  elegant  dedication  to  Lionel,  Earl  of 
Dorset  and  Middlesex;  and  in  seventeen 
hundred  and  sixteen  he  produced  his  Ode  to 
Lord  Gower.  Mr.  Pope  hastened  to  show 
his  friendship  on  the  occasion,  by  stamping 
the  poem  with  his  approbation.  He  pro- 
nounced it  to  be  the  next  ode  In  the  English 
language  to  Dryden's  Alexander's  Feast. 
Here  are  a  few  of  Elga^s  lines,  taken  at 
random  f^om  the  Ode : — 

From  Tolga'f  booki  th'  imp«rioai  Csar 
Le»di  forth  hin  pany  troops  to  war, 
Fond  of  the  softer  soath«rn  Aj : 
The  Soldan  gulls  th'  IllTrian  coaot. 
But  soon  the  misereant  mooney  host 
Before  the  yietor  cross  shall  fl j. 

Humph  I   Miscreant  mooney  host   Again : 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CbMlMDfeknii.] 


MR.  POPE^  FRIEND. 


47 


0  Oower  I  through  all  that  dettined  ipaoa 
What  brMth  tha  pow'n  allot  to  me 
Shall  ling  tba  rirtaea  of  thj  race, 
United  and  complete  in  thee. 

Fancy  the  nnfortnnate  bard  exbaasting 
his  lungs  until  tbe  daj  of  bis  death,  in  one 
anceasing  pean  of  praise  of  tbe  Right  Hon- 
ourable John  liord  Gowerl  Tbe  Ode  ends 
with  a  description  of  "Honour's  Bright 
Dome,"  where 

PhocioD,  LflBliaa,  Oapel.  Hyde, 
With  f  alkland  aeated  near  bii  aide, 

prophesy  the  happier  fame  of  bis  Lordship ; 
while  the  muse  to  receive  his  radiant  name, 
selects  a  whiter  space. 

The  Ode  to  Lord  Gower,  I  opine,  can  only 
be  called  tbe  next  to  Alexander's  Feast 
upon  the  principle  that  when  there  are  two 
boys  in  a  class  and  one  is  at  the  top  of  it,  the 
second  boy  is  the  next  to  him. 

Mr.  Pope's  friendship  soon  afterwards 
showed  itself  to  Elijah  in  recommending  him 
to  the  notice  of  Mr.  Secretary  Craggs,  who 
engaged  him  as  a  sort  of  half-secretary,  half- 
literary  companion.  The  poet  had  now  had 
some  prospect  of  ease  and  plenty,  for,  to 
quote  Johnson  again,  '*  Fentoo  had  merit,  and 
Craggs  had  generosity:"  which  Is  as  much 
as  to  say  that  Fenion  had  feet  and  Craggs 
boots ;  or  Fenton  a  stomach  and  Craggs  beef. 
But  Fate  never  seemed  tired  of  making  Elijah 
a  rival  of  Murad  the  unlock  v ;  for,  Mr.  Craggs 
besides  havioff  generosity  bad  also  the  small 
pox— of  which  he  died,  leaving  Mr.  P<^'8 
unfortunate  ftrlend  stranded  again. 

Hr.  Pope,  untiring  in  bis  friendship,  soon 
afterwards  set  Fenton  bard  at  work  In  trans- 
lating the  Odyssey,  in  which  he  had  for  coad- 
jutor another  friend  of  Mr.  Pope— Mr. 
Broome.  Fenton  translated  four  books; 
Broome  translated  eight,  besides  writing  all 
the  notes.  "The  judges  of  poetry,"  says 
Johnson, "  have  never  l^en  able  to  distinguish 
their  books  from  those  of  Pope."  Lucky 
Fenton  and  Broome  I  If  they  had  not  bad  tbe 
advantage  of  Mr.  Pope's  friendship,  or  had 
failed  in  their  translations,  I  wince  to  think 
what  pitiable  figures  Mr.  Pope's  friends  would 
have  cut  in  Mr.  Pope's  Dunciad.  Gildon's 
debts  and  Dennis's  want  of  dinners  would 
have  been  as  nothing  compared  to  the  soari- 
floations  they  would  have  received. 

In  seventeen  twenty-three,  Fenton  did 
what  most  dull  men.  and  all  unlucky  men, 
do.  You  may  think  I  mean  that  he  married. 
Not  exactly  that,  but  be  wrote  a  play. 

It  was  a  ponderous  production — a  tragedy 
—founded  upon  the  story  of  Herod  and  Ma- 
riamne,  related  in  tbe  Spectator,  and  taken 
from  Josepbus.  Mariamne  is  written  in  lines 
of  ten  syllables.  It  is  long,  slow,  lazy,  dull, 
uniform— a  very  Bridgcwater  canal  of  a  play. 
Fenton  is  said  to  nave  been  assisted  by 
Southerne,  with  many  bints  as  to  incident  and 
stage  effect ;  the  navigation  of  the  canal  was 
not  much  improved  thereby,  however* 


When  Mariamne  was  presented  to  Colley 
Gibber,  the  monarch  of  the  stage  not  only 
rejected  it,  but  added  insolence  to  llliberality, 
advising  the  anthor  to  direct  bis  attention  to 
some  i^ustrions  pursuit,  in  order  to.  obtain 
that  subsistence  which  he  In  vain  expected 
from  bis  poetical  efforts.  I  suppose  be  ad- 
vised Fenton  to  turn  to  bellows-mending  for 
a  livelihood.  Tbe  manager  was  insolent,  as 
managers  ordinarily  are  ;  but  not  altogether 
wrong.    Managers  seldom  are. 

However,  Mariamne,  produced  at  tbe  rival 
theatre,  succeeded,  even  beyond  its  authors 
expectations;  the  profits  accruing  fVom  it 
amounted  to  nearly  a  tiiousand  pounds. 

Here  we  have  at  last,  Elijah  Fenton,  the 
favourite  of  fortune.  After  ignoring  bis 
existence  for  years,  tbe  fickle  goddess  at 
length  smiled  upon  him.  A  thousand  golden 
pounds!  What  did  Elijah  with  his  lump  of 
money  ?  Did  he  purchase  an  annuity :  did  be 
invest  bis  capital  in  South  Sea  Stock — like 
€rav — and  win  or  lose  more  thousands ;  did 
he  lend  it  out  at  usury,  or  hide  it  in  a  hole  in 
the  ground  7  Alas  t  no.  Fortune  threw  tbe 
lump  of  gold  at  him  much  'as  one  pelts  a 
dog  with  marrow-bones.  She  hurt  him  while 
she  enriched  him.  The  thousand  pounds  were 
not  destined  to  become  the  foundation  of  a 
plum  or  even  to  be  modestly  put  out  at  in- 
terest to  gild  the  tops  of  the  trees  of  honest 
Elijah's  winter.  It  is  recorded  that  our 
author  appropriated  tbe  sum  to  the  dis- 
charge of  a  debt,  incurred  by  purchasing 
many  expensive  articles,  for  supporting  an 
appearance  necessary  for  bis  attendance  at 
court. 

Oh  vanitv!  Ofa  fUlacy  of  human  wishes, 
hopes,  and  labours!  Oh  gold,  turned  to  dry 
leaves !  A  few  glass  coaches,  full  bottomed 
wigs,  silver  hilted  swords,  clouded  canes,  and 
red  heeled  thocB ;  a  diamond  snntf-box,  per- 
haps; a  china  monster  or  two.  given  as 
Presents  to  Lady  Bab  or  tbe  Honourable 
[iss  Betty ;  a  ride  in  my  Lord's  chariot ;  a 
card  for  my  Lady's  Drum;  a  night  at  the 
Groom-porters';  a  squeeze  at  St.  James's  at 
a  birthdav  drawing-room ;  and  Elijab's*  only 
windfall  had  taken  to  itself  wings,  and  flown 
away! 

In  vain,  ElUah,  didst  thou  afterwards  edit 
an  edition  of  Milton's  Poems,  with  a  biography 
of  tbe  poet  written  with  tenderness  and 
integrity.  In  vain  didst  thou  publish  an 
elegant  edition  of  Waller,  with  notes  so 
drearily  extended  by  long  quotations  IVom 
Clarendon,  bringing  upon  thee  in  after  years 
the  censure  of  the  stem  critic  who  wrote 
Rasselas ;  and  who  says  grimly  that,  "  illus- 
trations drawn  firom  a  ^>ok  so  easily  con- 
sulted, should  be  made  by  reference  rather 
than  transcription."  Fast  wert  thou  sinking 
into  tbe  miserable  condition  of  a  bookseller's 
hack;  when  the^  friendly  Pope  once  more 
stepped  forth,  only  indeed  to  rescue  thee 
ftrom  Grub  Street,  by  restoring  thee  to  the 
quondam  profession  of  bear-leader. 


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48 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


Poor  Fenton  seems  through  life  to  have 
been  endeavoaring  to  shake  out  of  his  hand 
the  birch  and  ferule  of  the  pedagogue,  but 
always  failed.  The  last  kind  office  done  for 
him  hy  his  friend  at  Twickenham  was  to 
procure  him  employment  with  Lady  Trumbal, 
widow  of  Sir  William  Trumbal,  to  superin- 
tend the  education  of  her  son,  whom  he  first 
.  directs  in  his  studies  at  home,  and  after- 
wards "  attended  "  to  Cambridge.  When  the 
young  heir  was  fairly  licked  into  shape,  Elgah 
was  not  turned  adrift,  but,  being  found  a 
harmless,  easy,  useful,  willing  kind  of  man, 
her  ladyship  retained  him  In  her  household 
at  Eastbampton,  in  Berkshire,  as  auditor  of 
her  accounts.  He  passed  the  remainder  of 
his  life  in  a  **  pleasingretirement,"  and  died 
at  the  seat  of  Lady  Trumbal  in  seventeen 
hundred  and  thir^.  He  had  written  a 
tragedy,  translated  the  Odvssey,  educated  the 
**  renowned  translator  of  rliny,"  appeared  at 
Court,  produced  an  Ode  »*  next  to  Alexander's 
Feast,'-  possessed  a  thousand  pounds,  and 
been  the  friend  of  Mr.  Pope.  He  ended  his 
days  "  in  a  pleasing  retirement " — in  a  posi- 
tion something  between  that  of  a  pensioner 
and  a  house-steward ;  checking  the  accounts 
of  Mrs.  Frugal  the  housekeeper:  auditing 
the  incomings  and  outgoings  of  Mr.  Spigot, 
the  butler's  cellar,  and  Dorothy  Draggletail's 
dairy.  I  dare  say  he  took  the  vice-chair  at 
a  rent-dinner  with  much  dignity  and  affa- 
bility, and  there  wore  those  famous  court 
clothes,  in  the  purchase  of  which  his  thousand 
pounds  had  melted  away  like  smoke. 

Mr.  Pope's  firiendship  did  not  end  with  his 
friend's  life.  He  behaved  most  handsomely 
to  his  memory.  In  a  letter  to  his  other 
friend,,  Mr.  Broome,  he  says,  spealung  of 
Fenton,  *'  No  man  better  bore  the  approaches 
of  his  dissolution  (bs  I  am  told),  or  with  less 
ostentation  yielded  up  his  being.. .  .He  died 
as  he  had  lived,  with  secret  though  sufficient 
contentment. ..As  to  his  other  affairs,  he 
died  poor  but  honest  (I),  leavmg  no  debts  or 
legacies,  except  of  a  few  pounds  to  Mr. 
Trumbal  and  my  ladv,  in  token  of  respect, 
gratitude,  and  mutual  esteem.  I  shall  with 
pleasure  take  upon  me  to  draw  this  amiable, 
quiet,  deservinff,  unpretending  Christian  and 
philosophical  character  in  his  epitaph." 

Here  is  the  philosophical  character  as 
drawn  by  Mr.  Pope : 

This  modest  stone,  what  few  jain  mftrbles  cao, 

Maj  truly  saj,  Here  lies  an  honest  man; 

A  poet  bleseed  beyond  the  poet's  (ate, 

"Whom  Hearen  kept  secret  flrom  the  prond  and  great* 

Foe  to  loud  praise  and  friend  to  learned  ease, 

Oontent  with  seience  in  the  Tale  of  peace. 

Calmlj  he  looked  on  either  side,  and  her* 

Saw  nothing  to  regret  or  there  to  fear; 


From  nature's  temp'iate  feast  rose  satisfied, 
Tbank'd  Hear'n  that  he  liT'd  and  that  he  died. 

Such  is  the  testimony  of  Pope. 

I  am  sorry  ;  I  really  am  very  sorry }  but  I 
must  add  one  more  extract  IVom  a  letter 
which  does  not  place  the  ft*iendship  of  Mr. 
Pope  in  quite  so  shining  a  light. 

**  Mr.  Fenton,"  sajrs  Lord  Orrery,  in  a  letter 
to  a  friend  written  in  seventeen  hundred  and 
fifty-six,  "  was  my  tutor ;  he  taught  me  to  read 
English,  and  attended  me  through  the  Latin 
tongue  from  the  age  of  seven  to  thirteen 
vears.  He  translated  double  the  number  of 
books  in  the  Odyssey  that  Pope  has  owned. 
His  reward  was  a  trifle — an  arrant  trifle.  He 
has  even  told  me  that  he  thought  Pope  feared 
him  more  than  he  loved  him.  He  had  no 
opinion  of  Pope's  heart,  and  declared  him  to 
be,  in  the  words  of  Bishop  Atterbury,  'mens 
curva  in  corpore  curvo ' — a  crooked  mind  in 
a  crooked  body.  Poor  Fenton  died  of  a 
great  easy  chair  and  two  bottles  of  port  a 
day.  He  was  one  of  the  worthiest  and  most 
modest  men  that  ever  belonged  to  the  court 
of  Apollo." 

Such  is  the  testimony  of  Lord  Orrery.  I 
wonder  whose  is  the  true  one — Pope  s  or 
his! 

So.  this  is  all  I  have  to  set  down  about 
Mr.  tope's  friend.  I  hope  a  great  many 
people  know  much  more  about  him  than  I 
do;  should  the  contrary  be  the  case,  some 
day,  when  the  lives  of  Obscurorum  Virorum 
come  to  be  written,  these  pages  may  serve 
the  historian  in  some  stead. 


SUPPOSING. 

Supposing  that  a  gentleman  named  Mb. 
SmNET  Herbert  were  to  get  up  in  the  House 
of  Commons,  to  make  the  best  case  he  coald 
of  a  system  of  mismanagement  that  had  filled 
all  England  with  grief  and  shame : 

And  supposing  that  this  gentleman  were  to 
expatiate  to  the  House  of  Commons  on  the 
natural  helplessness  of  our  £ngli£^  soldiers, 
consequent  on  their  boots  being  made  by  one 
man,  their  clothes  by  another,  their  houses 
by  another,  and  so  forth — blending  a  senti- 
mental political  economy  with  Red  Tape,  in  * 
a  very  singular  manner : 

I  wonder,  in  such  case,  whether  it  would 
be  out  of  order  to  suggest  the  homely  fanoi 
that  indeed  it  Is  not  the  custom  to  enlist  the 
English  Soldier  in  his  cradle;  that  there 
really  are  instances  of  his  having  been  some- 
thing elft  before  becoming  a  soldier:  and 
that  perhaps  there  is  not  a  Regiment  in  the 
service  but  includes  within  its  ranks,  a  num- 
ber of  men  more  or  less  expert  in  every 
handicraft-trade  under  the  Sun. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


^'FamOiar  in  ihdr  Mouths  <u  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS: 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
COVSUCTED   BT  CHABLES   SICEEVS. 


No.  3.] 


J.  A.  DIX,  PUBLISHER, 

OwMs,  No.  10  Pabs  Puoi,  NiV'Yoas. 


[Whole  No,  266. 


PRINCE  BULL.    A  FAIRY  TALK 

Once  upon  a  time,  and  of  course  it  was  in 
the  Golden  Age,  and  I  hope  you  may  know 
when  that  was,,  for  I  am  sure  I  donH,  though 
I  bare  tried  hard  to  find  out,  there  lived  in  a 
rich  and  fertile  country,  a  powerful  Prince 
whose  name  was  Bull.  He  had  gone  through 
•  great  deal  of  fighting  in  his  time,  about  all 
wrts of tbingg,  including  nothing;  but,  had 
gndoally  settled  down  to  be  a  steady,  peace- 
jWe,  good-natured,  corpulent,  rather  sleepy 
.  Prince. 

This  Puissant  Prince  was  married  to  a 

lOTely  Priooess  whose  name  was  Fair  Free- 

'   ^   She  had  brought  him  a  large  fortune, 

ud  had  borne  him  an  immense  number  of 

diUdren,  and  had  set  them  to  spinning,  and 

'  Arming,  and  engineering,  and  soldiering,  and 

I  sifloring,  and  doctoring,  and  lawyering,  and 

'  Patching,  and  all  kinds  of  trades.  The  coffers 

M  Prince  Bull  were  full  of  treasure,  bis  cellars 

'ere  crammed  with  delicious  wines  ftrom  all 

PJrtsof  the  world,  the  richest  gold  and  silver 

Pwe  that  ever  was  seen  adorned  his  slde- 

!  «*rd8,  his  sons  were  strong,  his  daughters 

'  *ve  handsome,  and  in  short  you  might  have 

wpposed  that  if  there  ever  lived  upon  earth 

»fortanate  and  happy  Prince,  the  name  of 

twt  Prince,  take  him  for  all  in  till,  was  as- 

I  ftndly  Prince  Ball. 

\  Bat,  appearances,  as  we  all  know,  are  not 
}  !hIi*^  ^  ^  trusted—far  from  it ;  and  if  they 
pI?  ^^  ^^^  **^  ^*®  conclusion  respecting 
I  '^iflce  Bull,  they  would  have  led  you  wrong, 
I  *  they  often  have  led  me. 

.  Por,  this  good  Prince  had  two  sharp  thorns 

■  l^hi* pillow,  two  hard  knobs  in  his  crown,  two 

j  «»Ty  loads  on  his  mind,  two  unbridled  nlght- 

1  "'^  in  his  sleep,  two  rocks  ahead  in  his 

fonrse.  He  could  not  by  any  means  get  ser- 

^tt  to  suit  hlra,  and  he  had  a  tyrannical 

w^godmother  whose  name  was  Tape. 

we  was  a  Fairy,  thfs  Tape,  and  was  a 

^ght  red  all  over.    She  was  disgustingly 

I*^  and  formal,  and  could  never  bend  her- 

*»[«  hair's  breadth  this  way  or  that  way,  out 

*h«r  naturally  crooked  shape.  But,  she  was 

yj  ptent  in  her  wicked  art    She  could 

J^'P  the  &8te8t  thing  in  the  world,  change 

rfrongest  thing  into  the  weakest,  and  the 

^^^ful  into  the  most  useless.    To  do  this 

^  had  only  to  put  her  cold  hand  upon  it. 


and  repeat  her  own  name,  Tape.    Then  it 
withered  away. 

At  the  Court  of  Prince  Bull— at  least  I 
douH  mean  literally  at  his  court,  because  he 
was  avery  genteel  Prince,  and  readily  yielded 
to  his  godmother  when  she  always  reserved 
that  for  his  hereditary  Lords  and  Ladies— in 
the  dominions  of  Prince  Bull,  among  the  great 
mass  of  the  community  who  were  called  in  the 
language  of  that  polite  country  the  Mobs  and 
the  Snobs,  were  a  number  of  very  ingenious 
men,  who  were  always  busy  with  some  inven- 
tion or  other,  for  promoting  the  prosperity  of 
the  Prince's  sul^ects,  and  augmenting  the 
Prince's  power.  But,  whenever  they  submit- 
ted their  models  for  the  Prince's  approval, 
his  godmother  stepped  forward,  laid  her  hand 
upon  them,  and  said,  "  Tape."  Hence  it  came 
to  pass,  that  when  any  particularly  good  dis- 
covery was  made,  the  discoverer  usually  car- 
ried it  off  to  some  other  Prince,  in  foreign 
parts,  who  had  no  old  godmother  who  said 
Tape.  This  was  not  on  the  whole  an  advan- 
tageous state  of  things  for  Prince  Bull,  to  the 
best  of  my  understanding. 

The  worst  of  it,  was,  that  Prince  Bull  had 
in  course  of  years  lapsed  into  such  a  state  of 
subjection  to  this  unlucky  godmother,  that  be 
never  made  any  serious  effort  to  rid  himself 
of  her  tyranny.  I  have  said  this  was  the 
worst  of  it,  but  there  I  was  wrong,  because 
there  is  a  worse  consequence  still,  behind. 
The  Prince's  numerous  family  became  so 
downright  sick  and  tired  of  Tape,  that  when 
they  should  have  helped  the  Prince  out  of  the 
difBculties  into  which  that  evil  creature  led 
him,  they  fell  into  a  dangerous  habit  of 
moodily  keeping  away  ftom  him  in  an  impas- 
sive and  indifferent  manner,  as  though  they 
had  quite  forgotten  that  no  harm  could  hap- 
pen to  the  Prince  their  father,  without  its  in- 
evitably affecting  themselves. 

Such  was  the  aspect  of  affairs  at  the  court 
of  Prince  Bull,  when  this  great  Prince  found 
it  necessary  to  go  to  war  with  Prince  Bear. 
He  had  been  for  some  time  very  doubtful  of 
his  servants,  who,  besides  being  indolent  and 
addicted  to  enriching  their  families  at  his 
expense,  domineered  over  him  dreadfully ; 
threatening  to  discharge  themselves  if  they 
were  found  the  least  fault  with,  pretending 
that  they  had  done  a  wonderful  amount 
of  work    when    they   had   done   nothing, 

2M 


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50 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


making  the  most  unmeaning  speeches  that 
ever  were  heard  in  the  Prince's  name,  and 
uniformly  showing  tbemselyes  to  be  very 
inefficient  indeed.  Though,  that  some  of 
them  had  excellent  characters  from  previous 
situations  is  not  to  be  denied.  Well  I  Prince 
Bull  called  his  servants  together,  and  said  to 
them  one  and  all,  **  Send  out  my  army  against 
Prince  Bear.  CJothe  it,  arm  it,  feed  it,  pro- 
vide it  with  all  necessaries  and  contingencies, 
and  I  will  pay  the  piper !  Do  your  duty  by 
my  brave  troops,"  said  the  Prince,  "  and  do 
it  well,  and  I  will  pour  my  treasure  out  like 
water,  to  defray  the  cost.  Who  ever  heard 
HE  complain  of  money  well  laid  out  I "  Which 
indeed  he  had  reason  for  saying,  inasmuch  as 
he  was  well  known  to  be  a  truly  generous 
and  munificent  Prince. 

When  the  servants  heard  those  words,  they 
sent  out  the  army  against  Prince  Bear,  and 
they  set  the  army  tailors  to  work,  and  the 
army  provision  merchants,  and  the  makers 
of  guns  both  great  and  small,  and  the  gun- 
powder makers,  and  the  makers  of  ball,  shell, 
and  shot ;  and  they  bought  up  all  manner  of 
stores  and  ships,  without  troubling  their 
heads  about  the  price,  and  appeared  to  be  so 
busy  that  the  good  Prince  rubbed  his  hands 
and  (using  a  favourite  expression  of  his), 
said,  *'  It's  all  right  I "  But,  while  they  were 
thus  employed,  the  Prince's  godmother,  who 
was  a  great  favourite  with  those  servants, 
looked  in  upon  them  continually  all  day  long, 
and  whenever  she  popped  in  her  bead  at  the 
door,  said,  "How  do  you  do,  my  children? 
What  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  "  Official  busi- 
ness, godmother.'-  **  Oho  I  "  says  this  wicked 
Fairy.  "—Tape I"  And  then  the  business 
all  went  wrong,  whatever  it  was,  and  the 
servants'  beads  became  so  addled  and  mud- 
dled that  they  thought  they  were  doing 
wonders. 

Now,  this  was  very  bad  conduct  on  the 
part  of  the  vicious  o]d  nuisance,  and  she 
ought  to  have  been  strangled,  even  if  she  had 
stopped  here :  but,  she  didn't  stop  here,  as 
you  shall  learn.  For,  a  number  of  the  Prince's 
subjects,  being  very  fond  of  the  Prince's  ar- 
my who  were  the  bravest  of  men,  assembled 
together  and  provided  all  manner  of  eatables 
and  drinkables,  and  books  to  read,  and  clothes 
to  wear,  and  tobacco  to  smoke,  and  candles  to 
burn,  and  nailed  them  up  in  great  packing- 
cases,  and  put  them  aboard  a  great  many 
ships,  to  be  carried  out  to  that  brave  army 
in  the  cold  and  inclement  country  where 
they  were  fighting  Prince  Bear.  Then,  up 
comes  this  wicked  Fairy  as  the  ships  were 
weighing  anchor,  and  says,  "  How  do  you  do, 
my  children  ?  What  are  you  doing  here  ? " 
— **  We  are  going  with  all  these  comforts  to 
the  army,  godmother."—"  Oho ! "  says  she. 
*'  A  pleasant  voyage,  my  darlings.— Tape  I " 
And  from  that  time  forth,  those  enchanted 
ships  went  sailing,  against  wind  and  tide  and 
rhyme  and  reason,  round  and  round  the 
world,  and  whenever  they  touched  at  any 


port  were  ordered  off  immediately,  and  could 
never  deliver  their  cargoes  anywhere. 

This,  again,  was  very  bad  conduct  on  the 
part  of  the  vicious  old  nuisance,  and  she 
ought  to  have  been  strangled  for  it  if  she  had 
done  nothing  worse  ;  but,  she  did  something 
worse  still,  as  you  shall  learn.  For,  she  got 
astride  of  an  official  broomstick,  and  mutter- 
ed as  a  spell  these  two  sentences  "  on  her  Ma- 
jesty's service,"  and  "I  have  the  honour  to 
be,  sir,  your  most  obedient  servant,"  and 
presently  alighted  in  the  cold  and  inclement 
country  where  the  army  of  Prince  Bull  were 
encamped  to  fight  the  army  of  Prince  Bear. 
On  the  seashore  of  that  country,  she  fojind 
piled  altogether,  a  number  of  houses  for  the 
army  to  live  in,  and  a  quantity  of  provisions 
for  the  army  to  live  upon,  and  a  quantity  of 
clothes  for  the  army  to  wear :  while,  sitting 
in  the  mud  gazing  at  them,  were  a  group  of 
officers  as  red  to  look  at  as  the  wicked  old 
woman  herself.  So,  she  said  to  one  of 
them,  **  Who  are  you,  my  darling,  and  how 
do  you  do  ? " — "  I  am  the  Quarter-master 
General's  Department,  godmother,  and  I  am 
pretty  well."— Then  she  said  to  another, 
*•  Who  are  yoM,  my  darling,  and  how  do  ym 
do?"  —  "I  am  the  Commissariat  Depart- 
ment, godmother,  and  /  am  pretty  well." 
Then  she  said  to  another,  "  Who  are  you,  my 
darling,  and  how  do  you  do  ? " — "  I  am  the 
head  of  the  Medical  Department,  godmother, 
and  /  am  pretty  well.''  Then,  she  said  to 
some  gentlemen  scented  with  lavender,  who 
kept  themselves  at  a  great  distance  from  the 
rest,  "  And  who  are  pou,  my  pretty  pets,  and 
how  do  f/ou  do  ? "  v^nd  they  answered,  **  We- 
aw-are-the-aw-Staff-aw-Department,  god- 
mother, and  we  are  very  well  indeed." — "I 
am  delighted  to  see  you  all,  my  beauties,"  ; 
says  this  wicked  cKd  Fairy,  " — Tape  I  "  Upon 
that,  the  houses,  clothes,  and  provisions,  all 
mouldered  away ;  and  the  soldiers  who  were 
sound,  fell  sick ;  and  the  soldiers  who  were  " 
sick,  died  miserably ;  and  the  noble  army  of 
Prince  Bull  perished. 

When  the  dismal  news  of  his  great  loss 
was  carried  to  the  Prince,  he  suspected  his 
godmother  very  much  indeed ;  but,  he  knew 
that  his  servants  must  have  kept  company  with 
the  malicious  beldame,  and  must  have  given 
way  to  her,  and  therefore  he  resolved  to  turn 
those  servants  out  of  their  places.  So,  he 
called  to  him  a  Roebuck  who  had  gift  of 
speech,  and  he  said,  *' good  Roebuck,  tMl 
them  they  must  go."  So,  the  good  Roebuck 
delivered  his  message,  so  like  a  man  that  yoa 
might  have  supposed  him  to  be  notlking  hot 
a  man,  and  they  were  turned  out — ^but,  not 
without  warning,  for  tiiat  they  had  had  a  long 
time. 

And  now  comes  the  most  extraordinary  part 
of  the  history  of  this  Prince.  When  he  had 
turned  out  those  servants,  of  course  be 
wanted  others.  What  was  his  astonishment 
to  find  that  in  all  his  dominions,  which  con- 
tained no  less  than  twenty-seven  millioDS  of 


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61 


people,  there  were  not  above  flve-and-twenty 
servants  altogether  I  They  were  so  lofty 
about  it,  too,  that  instead  of  di^OBsing 
whether  they  should  hire  themselves  as  ser- 
vants to  Prince  Bull,  they  turned  things  topsy- 
turvy, and  considered  whether,  as  a  favour, 
they  should  hire  Prince  Bull  to  be  their 
master  I  While  they  were  arguing  this 
point  among  themselves  auite  at  their 
leisure,  the  wicked  old  red  iairy  was  inces- 
santly going  up  and  down,  knocking  at  the 
doors  of  twelve  of  the  oldest  of  tbe  five- 
and-twenty,  who  were  the  oldest  inhabi- 
tants in  all  that  country,  and  whose  united 
ages  amounted  to  one  thousand,  saying, 
**  Will  you  hire  Prince  Bull  for  your  master  ? — 
Will  you  hire  Prince  Bull  for  your  master  ? " 
To  which,  one  answered,  "I  will,  if  next 
door  will;"  and  another,  ** I  won't,  if  over 
the  way  does;"  and  another,  "  I  can't,  if  he, 
she.  or  they,  might,  could,  would,  or  should." 
And  all  this  time  Prince  Bull's  affairs  were 
going  to  rack  and  ruin. 

At  last,  Prince  Bull  in  the  height  of  his  per- 
plexity assumed  a  thoughtful  face,  as  if  he 
were  struck  by  an  entirely  new  idea.  The 
wicked  old  Fairy,  seeing  this,  was  at  his  elt>ow 
directly,  and  said, "  How  do  you  do,  my  Prince, 
and  what  are  you  thinking  of?" — '*!  am  think- 
ing, godmother,"  eayshe, ''  that  among  all  the 
seven-and-twenty  millions  of  my  subjects  who 
have  never  been  in  service,  there  are  men  of 
intellect  and  business  who  have  made  me  yerv 
famous  both  among  my  friends  and  enemies." 
— "Aye,  truly?"  says  the  Fairy.— "Aye, 
truly."  says  the  Prince. — "And  what  then  ?" 
says  the  Fairy. — "  Why,  then,"  says  he, "  since 
the  regular  old  class  of  servants  do  so  ill,  are 
so  hanl  to  get,  and  carry  it  with  so  high  a 
hand,  perhaps  I  might  try  to  make  good  ser- 
vants of  some  of  these."  The  words  had  no 
sooner  passed  his  lips  than  she  returned, 
chuckling,  "  You  think  so,  do  you  ?  Indeed, 
my  Prince  ? — Tape ! "  Thereupon  he  directly 
forgot  what  he  was  thinking  of,  and  cried  out 
lamentably  to  the  old  servants,  "  O,  do  come 
and  hire  your  poor  old  master  1  Pray  do! 
On  any  terms ! " 

And  this,  for  the  present,  finishes  the  story 
of  Prince  BulL  I  wish  I  could  wind  it  up  by 
saying  that  he  lived  happy  ever  afterwards, 
but  I  cannot  in  my  conscience  do  so ;  for, 
with  Tape  at  his  elbow,  and  his  estranged 
children  fatally  repelled  by  her  from  commg 
near  him,  I  do  not,  to  tell  you  the  plain 
truth,  believe  in  the  possibility  of  such  an 
end  to  it 

A  BOTTLE  OP  CHAMPAGNE. 

In  childhood  we  have  all  of  us  revelled  in 
tales  about  magical  vases  and  marvellous 
bottles,  whence  issued  irritated  genii  or  face- 
tious devils-on-two-sticks ;  and  our  won- 
der was,  and  still  remains,  how  they  man- 
aged to  get  into  them.  In  manhood,  and 
Bometimes  too  soon  in  youth,  our  attention 


has  been  occasionally  riveted  by  the  wonders 
performed  by  a  bottle  of  champagne ;  but  I 
venture  to  assert  that  not  one  perron  in  a 
hundred  has  the  least  idea  of  how  much 
there  is  inside  one  of  these  mystic  phials,  nor 
by  what  elaborate  and  cabalistic  incantations 
the  imprisoned  sprites  were  confined  therein. 
With  some  amount  of  perseverance  and  cou- 
rage, I  have  penetrated  to  the  subterranean 
laboratories,  and  have  witnessed  how   the 
reluctant  demons  are  thrust,  and  kept  fast 
prisoners,    within    the    glass   walls    of    a 
cylindro-conical  dungeon.    I  have   stalked 
through  part  of  the  six  English  miles  of 
cellar,  and  traversed  sundry  of  the  fifty-five 
galleries,  the  longest  extending  about  four 
hundred  yards ;  I  have  stared  at  some  thou- 
sands of  the  tlu'ee  million  bottles  that  are 
waiting  to  get  out  and  be  drunk  fk'om  the 
bright,  barrack-like  establishments  of  Messrs. 
Jacquesson  et  Fiis,  of  Chalons-sur-Marne ;  I 
have  descended,  like  a  second  ^neas,  to  the 
lowest  deep  of  the  Tartarean  grottoes  pos- 
sessed by  MesfTs.  Moet  and  Chandon,  of  Kper- 
nay;   I  have  gone  down  the  steps  beside 
which  a  black  marble  tablet,  with  letters  of 
gold,  informs  the  visitor  that  Napoleon  the 
Grand  did  exactly  the  same  thing,  in  I  did 
not  think  it  necessary  to  note  what  year ;  I 
dived  through  stories  of  thrice- triple  caves  ; 
I  reached  an  ancient  portion  of  catacomb- 
like  cellar  no  longer  in  use,    which   they 
call  Siberia :  I  tapped  at  the  door  where- 
in ice  is  treasured,  not  only  to  chill  the 
sample  wines  of  entertainment  for  the  pro- 
prietor's table,  but  for  more  important  pur- 
poses, as  you  shall  hear  ;  and  I  have  emerged 
by  the  stairs  where  another  gilt  tablet  in- 
formed me  that  Jerome  Bonaparte,  ex-king 
of  Westphalia,  had  had  the  honour  of  pre- 
ceding me.    After  a  good  hour-and-half's 
scientific  ramble  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth, 
the  air  and  sunshine  were  a  delicious  treat, 
worth  all  the  bottles  of  champagne  in  the 
world;  but  still  it  appeared  to  me  that  a 
few  details  might  be  useful  to  the  public, 
if  only  to  help  housekeepers  to  make  and 
manage  their  gooseberry  wine. 

To  begin  with  the  province  of  Cham- 
pagne itself :  there  is  poor  Champagne  and 
rich  Champagne.  If  you  traverse  the  former 
from  south  to  north,  yon  have  a  series  of 
tiresome  plains,  which  are  not  exactly  flat, 
but  slightly  hollow  and  undulating.  The 
face  of  the  country,  even  where  abundantly 
rich,  is  far  from  being  prepossessing  in  its 
appearance,  unlike  its  rival  Burgundy.  The 
land  puts  you  in  mind  of  an  enormous  sheet 
held  out  to  catch  some  giant  Garagantua, 
who  is  expected  soon  to  jump  down  Arom  the 
skies  and  display  his  traditional  powers  of 
consumption.  With  patience,  you  at  last 
reach  the  city  of  Troyes,  an  old-fashioned 
town,  a  hundred  years  behindhand,  with  but 
rare  foot-pavements  and  with  plenty  of  open 
wells  in  the  streets.  Many  of  the  houses  are 
built  of  wood  framework,  filled  up  with  plasttf , 


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62 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Condoctcd  bjr 


like  those  we  Bee  at  Shrewsbury  and  Chester. 
Bonncterie  is  the  staple  manufacture,  com- 
prising stockings,  nightcaps,  gloves,  and  mit- 
tens. Numerous  stocking-frames  are  seen  at 
work,  as  well  as  the  circular  tricot,  or  knit- 
ting round  by  machinery.  A  Ghampenois, 
(but  on-French)  fashion,  to  be  witnessed  at 
Troyes,  is  the  custom  of  employing  young 
men  to  act  as  chambermaids.  Altogether, 
once  in  one^s  life  is  often  enough  to  have 
been  at  Troyes,  in  spite  of  Its  ancient  im- 
portance and  repute.  After  another  long, 
dull,  monotonous  ride  over  the  same  ever- 
lasting open  plains,  you  perceive  a  pair  of 
twin  steeples  in  a  verdant  hollow.  You  then 
descend,  through  pleasant  and  promising  en- 
virons, to  the  fortified  town  of  v  itry  le  Fran- 
^ais;  wherein  all  the  streets  run  at  right 
angles  to  each  other  from  a  central  square, 
with  a  fountain  in  the  middle.  If  you  eat, 
drink,  or  sleep  at  Vitry,  take  care  to  go  to 
the  Hotel  des  Voyageurs,  which  is  one  of  the 
most  satisfactory  inns  in  all  Champagne.  For, 
be  it  known,  the  people  of  Champagne  are 
not  popular  with  their  own  compatriots. 

The  inhftbitanta  of  several  districts  of 
France  have  borne  a  traditional  character 
amongst  their  countrymen  from  time  imme- 
morial, just  as  the  Scotch  and  Yorkshiremen 
have  in  England.  The  Bourguignon  has 
always  been  a  favourite;  the  Cbampenois 
exactly  the  reverse.  The  leading  feature  of 
his  mind  is  supposed  to  be  silliness,  "  Ninety- 
nine  sheep,"  say  the  French,  "and  one 
Champenois  make  together  a  hundred  block- 
heads." In  a  certain  vaudeville,  a  lady  and 
gentleman  make  an  acquaintance  at  a  roadside 
Inn.  Gentleman :  '*  I  am  just  arrived  from 
Troyes."— Lady:  "I  thought  so."— Gentle- 
man :  "  What  I  do  I  look  so  foolish  as  that?" 
An  analogous  saying  makes  a  huhdred  block- 
heads consist  of  ninety-nine  Flemings  and  one 
hog.  I  like  the  Fleming  better  than  the  Cham- 
penois ;  he  is  cleanlier,  and  moreover  a  first- 
rate  gardener.  The  genuine  type  of  Cham- 
pagne dulness  is  not  the  sheep,  but  rather 
the  ^oose, — the  phalansterian  emblem  of  the 
artful  peasant,  a  cunning  simpleton  with  a 
purposely  vacant  look.  The  Champenois 
never  forgets  to  take  care  that  you  shall  pay 
enough.  Beware  how  you  touch  his  grapes  I 
or  he  will  make  yon  the  subject  of  a  proems 
verbal.  His  very  vines  are  often  trained  in 
such  a  way,  that  besides  bearing  fruit,  they 
serte  as  hedges  and  inclosing  fences.  Honest- 
hearted  Jean  Raisin  is  degraded  to  the  rank 
of  a  xxinX  policeman.  He  is  compelled  to 
stretch  out  an  arm  to  bar  the  passage,  and 
to  shout  "No  thoroughfare  I"  The  ban 
or  proclamation  of  the  date  when  grape- 
gathering  is  to  be  first  allowed  in  each  dls- 
teict.  shows  a  nervous  fear  of  being  robbed, 
which  strongly  contrasts  with  the  Burgnndian 
open-handed  practice.  There  things  are  con- 
ducted in  such  a  style  as  this:  "Monsieur 
wishes  to  walk  through  my  vines?"  a  Chablis 
proprietor  asked  of  my  ^de..  "  With  plear 


sure."  He  then  added,  with  a  good-humoured 
smile,  "  The  best,  as  you  know,  are  on  the 
hill  La  Moutonne ;  but  don't  eat  too  many 
grapes;"— thereby  implying,  that  though 
the  crop  was  very  short,  we  were  heariily 
welcome  to  taste  in  moderation.  But  the 
Mayor  of  Troyes  sternly  informs  the  public 
that  the  opening  of  the  vintaging  of  vines  in 
such  a  territory  is  fixed  for  such  a  day ;  and 
and  for  such  other,  for  such  another  day.  All, 
whether  owners  or  tenants  of  vineyards,  are 
warned  that  if  they  contravene  the  ban  by 
beginning  before  their  neighbours,  and  so' 
taking  the  opportunity  of  plundering  them 
they  shall  be  delivered  over  to  the  Tribunal 
of  Simple  Police.  Moreover,  all  persons  what- 
soever, except  thfe  owners,  are  forbidden  to 
enter  the  vineyards  at  anv  time,  on  any  pre- 
text. Jean  Raisin  is  watched  and  guarded  as 
careililly  as  a  wealthy  novice  in  a  convent. 

From  Vitry,  through  Chalons,  to  Epemay, 
you  are  in  rich  Champagne,  in  the  valley  of 
the  Marne.  There  are  vines:  but  not  even 
at  Chalons  are  you  yet  arrived  at  the  cbam- 
pagne-wine-producing  district.  At  Epernay 
you  reach  it  at  last;  and  if  you  stroll  over 
to  Ai,  to  admire  its  lovely  site  in  the  lap  of 
hills,  or  stretch  as  far  as  Sillery,  you  are 
still  amongst  the  vines  which  do  actually 
produce  champagne.  The  wine  made  and 
matured  in  M.  Jacquesson's  vast  establish- 
ment at  Chalons  is  not  grown  on  the  spot ; 
but  is  brought  there  in  hogsheads — ^previous 
to  being  bottled — from  his  vineyards  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Ai  and  elsewhere.  But 
the  truth  is  that,  even  in  France,  nobody  but 
the  wine-merchant,  and  not  always  he  him- 
self, knows  where  champagne  wine  does  come 
frouL  A  good  deal  is  made  in  Burgundy ; 
some  in  Germany;  and,  in  the  white  wine 
districts,  great  quantities  are  bought  up  and 
carried  away  and  no  one  knows  whither. 
They  are  kidnapped,  burked,  dissected,  trans- 
mogrified, and  successfully  resuscitated  with 
a  change  of  title. 

This  year,  the  vintage  is  comparatively  a 
blank  at  Epemay ;  but  we  may  safely  pre- 
dict that,  though  prices  will  rise,  there  will 
be  no  perceptible  deficiency  in  the  general 
supply.  No  one  who  can  pay  for  a  bottle  of 
champa^e  during  the  years  fifty-five  and 
fifty-six  is  likely  to  be  compelled  to  go  with- 
out it ;  although  possibly  the  cider  and  sugar- 
and-water  of  fifty-four  will  be  as  famous  in 
its  way  as  the  wine  of  'forty-six.  It  is  much 
easier  to  make  good  champagne  wine  beyond 
the  limits  of  the  ancient  province,  than  it 
would  be  to  manufacture  burgundy  wine  far 
away  from  Burgundy.  You  can  fabricate 
pinchbeck,  but  you  cannot  make  gold.  Cham- 
pagne wine  is  so  completely  a  factitious 
thing,  that  if  the  duty  on  French  wines  were 
taken  off  in  England,  champagne  could,  and 
would  be  prepared  in  London,  so  good  as  to 
threaten  a  serious  rivalry  to  the  genuine 
article  from  Chalons-sur-Mame.  The  cham- 
pagne grower's  capital  really  and  truly  lies 


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A  BOTTLE  OF  CHAMPAGNE. 


63 


in  his  cellar ;  that  is  his  plant,  his  mill,  his 
factory.  The  Borgandiairs  consists  in  his 
vinejard.  There  is  but  one  cote  d'or,  and 
human  skill  cannot  create  another;  there 
arc  scores  of  architects  and  thousands  of 
masons  in  Great  Britain  and  Ireland,  and 
money  moreover'  to  pay  them  with,  who 
would  outdo  with  ease  the  vastest  store- 
houses of  Ch&lons,  Epernay,  Sillery,  or 
Reims. 

Notwithstanding  which,  the  above-men- 
tioned  cellars  really  are  a  sight  to  see. 
'^.  Jacquesson's,  the  most  modem,  dates 
from  eighteen  hundred,  and  is  considered 
by  sticklers  from  the  old  routine  to  be  rashly 
light  and  airy  in  its  construction.  In  fact, 
there  is  little  that  is  cellarlike  about  it.  No 
damp,  no  fungus,  no  mouldy  smell,  and 
almost  no  darkness.  For  an  ordinary  visit 
you  have  no  need  to  be  lighted  about  with  a 
candle.  Champagne  cellars  are  made  to 
contain  wine  in  bottles,  not  in  casks ;  hence 
an  immense  difference  in  their  aspect  and 
atmo^here.  Jacquesson's  establishment 
crowns  the  top  of  a  hill,  just  outside  the 
town,  near  the  railway  station.  It  is  white 
and  clean,  shining  with  neatness  and  good 
repair;  and  a  plain  s<][uare  tower,  at  one 
corner  of  the  range  of  buildings,  is  sufficiently 
ornamental  and  solid  in  its  proportions  to 
show  that  the  owner  is  no  common  trades- 
man. A  like  hint  is  given  by  the  pheasantry 
at  the  other  end  —  a  handsome  enclosure 
of  shrubs  and  ever^eens  all  covered  in  with 
a  vast  roof  of  nettmg.  The  courtyard,  too, 
of  M.  Jacqnesson^s  residence  in  the  town 
displays  an  assemblage  of  orange-trees  (of 
course  in  tul)B)  Ihat  would  do  no  discredit  to 
a  royal  garden.  Champagne  wine  is  clearly 
lucrative.  Heavy  taxes  are  cheerfully  paid 
when  part  of  the  money  is  to  be  returned 
in  pleasure. 

The  cellars  are  hardly  underground ;  that 
is,  though  pierced  in  the  side  of  the  hill, 
they  are  nearly  level  with  the  acUoining 
road.  Here  in  cool  grot,  in  one  of  the 
galleries,  is  a  private  tramway  communicating 
with  the  Chalons  station  close  by,  and  all  for 
the  convenient  conveyance  away,  by  trucks- 
full,  of  armies  of  well-drilled  and  disciplined 
champagne,  not  to  mention  receiving  the  raw 
recruits  or  empty  bottles  that  have  to  be 
brought  in,  and  dispatching  to  their  fiery 
funeral  in  the  glass-house  the  shattered 
corpses  or  broken  bottles  that  must  be 
carried  out  The  last-mentioned  sufferers 
form  a  heavy  item.  Outside,  at  various 
distances,  you  observe  a  series  of  small  glass 
domes,  within,  you  find  they  light  the 
cellars  most  effectually.  The  rays,  descend- 
ing perpendicularly  from  the  sky,  are  caught 
on  larffe  sheets  of  polished  tin,  inclining  at 
an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees,  and  are  thence 
reflected  horizontally  tlm)ughout  the  whole 
length  of  the  galleries  which  they  respec- 
tively command.  At  a  distance,  the  reflection 
is  80  powerful  and  brilliant,  that  you  might 


&ncy  the  place  was  splendidly  furnished 
with  a  set  of  superb  plate-glass  mirrors.  On 
each  side  of  these  long  straight  galleries, 
which  cross  each  other  at  right  angles,  are 
ranged  the  bottles  in  frames  of  wood,  called 
tabletas,  mostly  containing  a  hundred  and 
eight  bottles  each.  At  various  points  the 
tenmerature  of  the  cellar  can  be  regulated 
b^  folding  doors  which  exclude  the  External 
air  at  pleasure.  The  place  in  the  cellar 
which  the  bottles  occupy,  and  the  position  in 
which  they  are  laid  in  the  rack,  depends 
upon  their  age  and  the  point  to  which  their 
education  has  advanced.  Much  more  than 
this,  to  see,  there  is  not;  except  perhaps 
the  wine-press  and  the  packinff-room. 

Epernay  lies  in  a  lonely  valley.  The  view 
thence  consists  of  vine-clad  hills,  the  less  pro- 
ductive summits  of  which  form  a  purple 
background  on  the  opposite  side.  But  if 
you  walk  past  those  self-same  vineyards,  you 
will  see  a  broad  Champenois  hint  not  to  touch 
anything  which  does  not  belong  to  you,  in 
the  streaks  of  whitewash  that  are  dabbed  on 
grapes  growing  dangerously  close  to  the 
public  path.  The  town  is  a  small  compact 
little  place,  whose  chief  ornament  consists  in 
the  princelv  mansions  in  which  the  wine- 
merchants  have  contrived  to  house  them- 
selves. I  could  not  but  look  at  them  and 
marvel  at  the  results  obtained  f^om  a  little 
iVisky  wine.  For  though  by  no  means  castles 
in  the  air,  we  may  assert  that  they  are  built 
with  carbonic-acid  gas,  cemented  with  sugar, 
and  founded  on  froth.  The  numerous 
fabriques  and  magasins  of  bouchons  d'Es- 
pagne,  or  shops  of  cutters  of  Spanish  corks, 
may  be  looked  upon  as  the  arsenals  of  balls 
and  bullets  that  are  to  be  fired  off  by  the  pro- 
duce of  Jean  Raisin's  own  powder-mill.  But 
Jean,  I  believe,  mostly  shoots  with  an  air-gun. 

M.  Moet,  on  presentation  of  a  recommen- 
datory letter,  at  once  acceded  to  my  request, 
not  only  to  travel  through  his  unseen  domi- 
nions, but  also  to  watcn  his  confidants  at 
work;  and  in  less  than  five  minutes,  I  was 
tripping  downstairs,  candlestick  in  hand,  as  if 
it  were  bedtime.  The  plan  of  this  great 
alembic  of  cosmopolitan  luxury  is  exceed- 
inglv  simple,  and  is  easily  carried  away  in 
the  head.  Here,  no  daylight  streams  in  from 
above,  nor  too  much  air.  On  descending  to 
the  first  grand  level,  you  are  conducted 
through  a  series  of  straight,  dark-brown, 
dampish  galleries,  which  cross  each  other 
right  and  left,  and  whose  general  plan  is  a 
short  parallelogram  or  inexact  square.  With- 
out the  picturesque  festoons  and  tapestry  of 
funguses  which  decorate  the  London  Docks, 
there  is  yet  enough  of  long-standing  mouldi- 
ness  to  give  M.  Moet's  caves  an  unmis- 
takably respectable  and  ancestral  character. 
And  for  vastness,  run  as  quick  as  you  will,  it 
would  take  more  than  three  gooNd  hours  to 
traverse  them  completelv.  From  four  to  five 
millions  of  bottles  are  ueir  contents ;  there- 
fore on  you  go,  and  on  and  on,  with  regiments 


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64 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoDdnctcd  bf 


of  bottles  drawn  up  on  each  side,  and  some- 
times saluting  70a  with  a  pop  as  you  pass. 
You  have  no  contrast  of  big  tubs  and  small ; 
no  variety  of  ports,  sherries,  capes,  and  ma- 
deiras, in  pipes,  butts,  hogsheads,  and  all  the 
rest  of  it;  but  everywhere  bottles  of  the 
same  shape  and  the  same  size,  except  where 
pints  or  half-bottles  take  the  place  of  whole 
ones.    It  is  as  well  to  walk  carefully,  else 
you  may  slip  by  stepping  into  the  unctuous 
and  sweet-smelling  puddles  that  are  formed 
by  companies  of  explosionists  on  each  side ; 
and  falfa  are  best  avoided  in  a  country  where, 
if  you  come  to  the  ground,  some  fleshy  por- 
tion of  your  precious  person  may  chance  to 
come  in  contact  with  a  bit  of  broken  glass. 
Tou  look  into  black  depths,  whither  the  eye 
cannot  penetrate ;  you  pass  by  the  massive 
square  buttresses  and  pillars  which  support, 
like  Atlas,  the  upper  world  on  their  broad 
bare  shoulders;  you  see  the  sharp  decided 
shadows  following  you  close,  as  yon  and  your 
candle  travel  along ;  and  you  are  conscious 
that  if  your  guide  were  evil-minded  and  were 
to  leave  you  alone  in  a  malignant  fit  of  ill- 
temper,  you  would  lose  yourself  as  hopelessly 
as  a  child  straying  in  the  catacombs  of  Paris. 
Yon  descend  from  cellar  to  cellar.  All  these 
different  depths  and  various  degrees  of  tempe- 
rature and  dampness  offer  an  extensive  choice 
of  climate,  which  the  experiencedowner  doubt- 
less well  knows  how  to  turn  to  the  best  advan- 
tage.   As  means  of  communication  between 
these  stages — for  tubs  of  wine,  for  instance, 
that  are  condemned  to  be  let  down  and  bled 
to  death  and  bottled  in  darkness— there  are 
trap-doors  cut  in  the  floor  in  places  where 
you  would  never  look  for  them.    From  time 
to  time,  you  come  upon  groups  of  sepia- 
coloured  men  busily  employed  at  their  sub- 
terranean tasks.  By  the  light  of  their  candles, 
they  hardly  look  alive.    At  a  few  yards'  dis- 
tance,  thy  strike   you   rather   as  spirited 
sketches  •  done    in    burnt   umber  by  some 
modem  Rembrandt,  than  as  breathing,  warm- 
blooded fellow-creatures.    There  is  closeness 
and  mysteiy  in  the  caverns  of  Epernay,  as 
there  was  light  and  space  in  the  grottoes  of 
Ghillons.     M.  Moet  might  summon  a  con- 
ference of  the  gnomes ;  while  M.  Jacquesson 
is  almost  privileged  to  invite  the  sylphs  to 
shelter  themselves  in  a  cool  retreat  when 
oppressed  by  the  sultriness  of  the  summer  air 
on  the  top  of  the  hill.   You  depart  from  both 
in  wonderment  that  such  vast,  ponderous, 
and  costly  machinery  should  be  employed  in 
a  work  of  no  mater  utility  or  necessity  than 
that  of  furnishing  a  tickling  draught  to  fasti- 
dious palates. 

We  call  champagne  a  sparkling  wine, 
which  is  quite  a  mistake.  Wc  might  as  well 
talk  about  sparkling  ginger-pop.  The  French 
more  correctly  style  it  mousseux,  or  frothy. 
It  does  not  sparkle  so  brightly  as  soapsudis. 
A  dewdrop  sparkles,  a  diamond  sparkles  better 
still.  In  the  way  of  gems,  the  only  thing  to 
which  champagne  makes  the  slightest  ap- 


proach, is  to  seed  pearls  dancing  on  the  surfticc 
of  a  glass  of  water.    Burgundy  fills  the  glass 
like  a  liquid  ruby ;  claret  shines  softly  with  a 
more  purple  glow;  effervescing  champagne 
offers  no  brilliancy  to  the  eye.    It  is  onlj 
bright  when  it  is  still,  or  in  the  popular 
notion,  good  for  nothing.    Both  frothy  wines 
and  wliite  wines  difi'er  greatly  in  their  mode 
of  preparation  from  those  that  are  respectably 
still  and  red.    One  rule,  however*  holds  good 
for  all ;  the  best  vineyards  produce  the  best 
liquor,  and  the  quality  is  equally  distinguish- 
able whether  the  bottle  Is  meant  to  go  oflT 
like  a  duelling  pistol,  or  to  be  opened  quietly 
and  noiselessly.  If  the  juice  obtained  from  the    j 
grape  has  only  undergone  a  sort  of  half  fennea- 
tation — if  a  slight  piquancy  has  commenced,  it 
is  called  vin  bourru.   White  grapes  are  mostly    I 
treated  thus,  and  the  liquor  is  in  great  re-    I 
quest  amongst  certain  persons  during  the    r 
vintage.    It  possesses  all  the  faults  and  in- 
conveniences of  sweet  wine,  purges  like  it, 
and  is  windy  and  indigestible.    Its  admirers, 
who  belong  to  the  old  school  rather  than  the 
new,  assert  that  it  is  diuretic,  solvent,  purifl- 
cative,  and  so  on.    When  corked  in  bottle,  it     1 
bursts  a  great  many,  after  the  fashion  of    : 
champagne  wine,  to  which  it  approaches  In    ;t 
its  nature.   Left  in  open  vessels,  it  completes    ! 
its  fermentation,  and  passes  into  the  state  of    f 
ordinary  wine;  only  much  inferior,  from  the 
circumstance  of  not  havjng  regularly  gone 
through  all  the  steps  of  the  process,  and  in 
the  proper  time.     There  are  certain  sweet 
wines,  sometimes  called  liqueurs,  such  as 
Bergerac,  Arbois,  Condrieux,  Lunel,  Frontig- 
nan,  Rivesalte,  which  are  prepared  almost 
without  fermentation.     The  bunches,  most 
|;enerally  of  Muscat  grapes,  are  cut  very  late, 
just  before  the  frosts  come  on,  after  they  have 
undergone  the  evaporation  of  nearly  one  half 
of  theur  substance,  and  are  become  shrivelled 
and  wrinkled.     They  are  carefully  picked, 
almost  berry  by  berry,  crushed,  and  the  Juice, 
at  once  put  into  the  hogshead,  finishes  Its 
working  and  clears  itself  there.    These  wines 
keep  for  an  indefinite  period.    Similar  wine 
is  made  in  the  isles  of  Greece,  in  Spain,  in 
the  Canaries  and  Madeira,  where  spirit  is 
mostly  added;  as  to  port  wine,  especially 
when  it  has  to  travel.    The  English  rarely 
taste  any  but  alcoholized  wines ;  pure  wine 
being  notoriously  too  insipid  to  please  the 
British   palate.     The   consequence  is  that 
we  seldom  have  the  chance  of  tasting  it 
pure.    But  the  list  of  articles  formerly  used 
m  France  itself  to  adulterate  wine  is  really 
iVlghtful.     To  begin  with  innocent  water, 
there  follow  perry,  elder,  and  beet-root  juice ; 
then  come  elder,  privet  and  other  berries, 
with  logwood ;  decoctions  of  elder  flowers, 
celery,  and  sage,  doctored  up  with  alcohol ; 
and  last,  sugar  of  lead,  which,  if  it  foiled  to 
paralyse  and  kill  the  wine-bibber,  gave  him 
painter's  colic  as  a  mild  form  of  disease.    Its 
use  is  now  said  to  be  discontinued  by  the    | 
Parisian  wine-doctors,  as  involving  too  great  a    i 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Charici  Dickens,  j 


A  BOTTLE  OF  CHAMPAGNE. 


66 


risk  for  themaelveB  as  well  as  for  their  cus- 
tomers. What  they  now  employ  instead,  I 
know  not.  Even  in  France,  wine  is  said  to  be 
occasionally  made  without  a  single  drop  of 
grapejuice  in  it.  Verily,  one  ought  to  rejoice 
greatly  after  swallowing  a  bumper  of  genuine 
wine. 

Amongst  the  French  there  is  a  wide-spread 
and  firmly-rooted  opinion  that  their  white 
wines,  as  an  habitual  beverage,  are  less  whole- 
some than  the  red.  They  are  believed  to 
shake  the  nervous  system,  and  to  be  capiteuz, 
or  to  fly  to  the  head.  Myself  would  not  con- 
firm this  judgment,  as  a  rule,  knowing  that 
the  effect  complained  of  is  nothing  (nore  tiian 
the  natural  effect />f  the  quantity  and  strength 
of  the  liquid  imbibed.  Most  white  wines 
either  slip  down  so  easilv,  that  you  have  not 
the  slightest  suspicion  how  much  you  have 
taken,  or  are  so  strong  that  they  surprise  you 
before  you  are  aware  of  it,  when  you  thought- 
lessly consume  your  usual  allowance.  But 
wine,  besides  its  stimulating  properties,  also 
contains  medicinal  elements;  and  white  wines 
are  partially  deficient  in  these,  from  the  ab- 
sence of  the  red  particles  and  the  other  tonic 
and  strengthening  contents  of  the  skin  which 
are  associated  with  them.  Amongst  French- 
men, too.  white  wine  (champagne  excepted, 
because  it  costs  so  dear),  reckons  for  nothing. 
A  bottle  of  Chablis,  or  Sauterne,  at  dejeuner 
(a  repast  which  does  not  correspond  to  the 
English  breakfast),  is  looked  upon  merely  as 
a  bottle  of  water,  just  serving  to  wash  down 
a  few  shell-fish,  or  other  little  preliminary 
^het,  before  the  serious  business  of  the  meal 
begins.  As  a  somewhat  exaggerated  sample 
of  the  prevalent  idea,  we  may  take  the  cele- 
brated feat  of  the  Parisian  oystel^woman, 
who  betted  that  she  would  eat  twelve  dozen 
oysters,  and  drink  twelve  glasses  of  chablis, 
while  the  clock  of  Saint-Eustacbe  was  strik- 
ing twelve;  which  she  executed,  thus:  on 
the  pewter  counter  of  the  Commerce  de  Vins 
where  the  performance  came  off.  there  were 
ranged,  in  regimental  row,  a  dozen  tumblers, 
in  each  of  which  a  dozen  small  oysters  were 
floating  in  a  limpid  balh  of  chablis  wine.  At 
the  first  stroke  of  the  clock,  down  went  the 
contents  of  tumbler  number  one ;  the  rest 
glided  down  in  steady  succession ;  and  she 
won  her  bet. 

The  luscious  sweet  wines,  surcharged  with 
sugar  and  the  principles  contained  in  the  flesh 
of  the  grape — such  as  Muscat-Frontignan— 
though  medicinal  and  restorative  in  small 
doses,  and  reputedly  injurious  in  larger 
draughts,  are  too  cloying  to  fear  much  danger 
of  their  being  taken  in  excess.  Yet  1 
have  seen  a  bottle  quaffed  at  a  sitting  with 
evident  satisfaction  and  benefit,  by  an  indivi- 
dual whose  bodily  constitution  was  pining 
after  saccharine  and  viscous  material. 
Some  people  are  mad  at  times  after  a  draught 
of  sweet  wine ;  just  as  deer  are  irresistibly 
attracted  by  the  American  salt-licks.  The 
great  fault  of  champagne  is  that  you  can  never 


have  enough  of  it.  In  my  time,  I  have  had 
enough  port ;  occasionally  (if  only  a  glass)  too 
much  of  cape  and  sherry ;  enough  burgundy. 
But  champagne,  after  it  is  down  your  throat, 
cries  **  More  I  more  t "  as  flercely  and  unde- 
niably as  a  famished  ogress  panting  for  blood. 
When  I  feel  that  the  demon  has  taken  pos- 
session, the  only  way  to  dislodge  her  is  to 
slake  my  thirst  with  a  pint  of  bordeaux. 

For  the  manufacture  of  champagne,  the 
grapes,  instead  of  being  taken  to  the  pressing- 

Elace  in  balonges,  are  carefully  carried  thither 
1  baskets,  after  being  gathered  in  the  cool 
of  the  morning.  Great  pains  is  taken  not  to 
shake  them  more  than  can  possibly  be  helped. 
Because  in  good  years,  the  juice  that  would 
be  squeezed  out  by  the  mere  weight  of  the 
bunches  piled  on  each  other,  which  is  the 
finest  portion  of  the  liquor,  would  all  be 
lost;  and  hot  sunshine,  by  hastening  ths 
dissolution  of  the  skin  in  the  juice  so  let 
out,  would  tinge  the  must  with  colouring 
matters.  It  Is  really  a  no  more  wonderful 
phenomenon  that  white  wine  should  be  made 
from  black  grapes^tban  that  a  black  hen  should 
lay  a  white  egg  *,  the  juice  of  black  grapes 
being  naturally  white,  except  in  a  few  less 
common  species,  as  the  Teinturier.  The  main 
point  in  order  to  keep  the  wine  colourless  is, 
tbat  the  grapes  should  be  unbroken  and  not 
allowed  to  ferment  in  the  least,  either  in  a 
cuve,  or  in  the  baskets  on  their  way  to  one. 
They  do  not  go  into  a  mashtub  at  all,  but 
are  immediately  put  into  the  press,  and  are 
squeezed  a  first,  second,  third,  and  even  a 
fourth  time.  The  liquor  from  the  last  presft- 
ing  is  apt  to  be  coloured,  and  is  inferior  in 
quality  to  tbat  from  the  two  first. 

New  tubs  are  then  filled  three-quarters  full 
with  the  juice  produced  by  these  different 
squeezingps.  They  are  left  open  to  ferment 
for  a  fortnight,  at  the  end  of  which  period, 
they  are  filled  completely  and  tightly  stopped 
with  a  close-fitting  bung.  It  Is  a  great  point 
with  white  wines  to  preserve  them  colourless. 
One  mode  Is  to  be  careful  in  keeping  the  tub 
always  full.  This  precaution  prevents  the 
absorption  of  oxygen,  which,  incorporating 
with  the  wine,  would  turn  It  yellow,  and  cause 
it  to  lose  a  portion  of  Its  perfume  and  light- 
ness. Some  time  in  the  month  of  January, 
the  wine  is  racked  off,  or  drawn  fh>m  the 
lees,  and  immediately  clarified  by  means  of 
isinglass  or  gluten.  Six  weeks  afterwards, 
it  is  clarified  again;  and  if,  in  April,  it  is 
found  that  the  wine  has  not  the  requisite 
transparency,  it  is  drawn  off  a  third  time  and 
dosed  with  animal  jelly.  In  the  course  of 
April  or  May  it  is  bottled,  and  into  each 
bottle  is  put  a  dose  of  liquor  composed  of 
equal  parts  of  the  wine  itself  and  sugar  candy. 
For  pink  champagne,  the  liquor  is  made  with 
red  wine.  About  three  percent.  Is  the  ordinary 
dose  of  sirop.  The  cork  is  tied  down,  fastened 
with  wire,  or,  as  at  M.  Moet's,  with  an  Iron 
clasp  called  an  agrafe,  and  deposited  in 
a  cellar,  where  it  can  enjoy  the   nearest 


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56 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoDdacted  by 


approach  to  a  uniform  temperature.  For 
now  comes  the  tag  of  war.  A  regiment 
of  champagne  bottles,  at  this  stage  of  their 
existence,  are  terribly  mutinoos  and  ex- 
citable. You  wouldn't  believe  Jean  Raisin 
to  be  of  so  pepperjr  a  temperament;  but 
at  the  least  provocation,  he  becomes  a  per- 
fect bottle-imp,  bursts  into  a  rage,  breaks  a 
blood-vessel,  maims  himself  for  life,  and  falls 
a  sacrifice  to  the  violence  of  his  passions.  If 
the  weather  is  too  incendiary,  the  riot  act  is 
often  read,  b^  bringing  a  cargo  of  ice ;  but 
the  tranquillising  arguments  generally  arrive 
too  late,  after  all  the  mischief  is  done. 

Champagne  spends  the  summer  reclining 
thus,  though  too  often  not  reposing,  in  a  hori- 
zontal position.  The  bursting  of  the  bottles 
is  simply  caused  by  the  formation  inside  of  a 
greater  quantity  of  carbonic  acid  gas  than  the 
vessel  of  glass  has  strength  to  contain.  Pur- 
chasers prefer  the  wine  which  has  exploded  in 
the  largest  proportion,  and  make  strict  inqui- 
ries as  to  its  performances  in  this  line.  If  it 
had  not  burst  at  all,  they  would  have  nothing 
to  say  to  it  About  fifteen  per  cent,  is  a  very 
respectable  amount  of  burstage,  satisfactory 
to  all  parties.  Sometimes  it  rises  to  more 
than  thirty  per  cent,  and  then  becomes 
ruinous  to  the  manufacturer. 

In  September;  and  later,  after  the  internal 
fermentation  and  gas-making  is  nearly 
complete,  there  forms  at  the  lower  part  of 
the  bottle  a  quantity  of  dark,  loose  sedi- 
ment, looking  something  like  curdled  soot, 
which  would  quite  spoil  the  brilliancy^ 
and  even  the  cleanliness  of  the '  sample,  if 
suffered  to  remain.  To  get  rid  of  tnis  is 
the  delicate  task  that  has  now  to  be  un- 
dertaken. The  bottles  have  to  be  placed 
Rur  pointe,  as  it  is  called,  in  their  bottle- 
racks;  that  is,  leaning  with  their  neclcs 
downward,  at  an  angle  of  not  quite  forty 
degrees.  The  sediment  has  thus  a  tendency 
to  sink  towards  the  cork.  Each  individual 
bottle  has  then  to  be  moved  or  slightly 
twisted,  with  the  least  perceptible  shock,  or 
coup  de  main  (increasing  the  inclination  fW)m 
time  to  time),  every  day  for  a  month  or  six 
weeks,  according  to  the  season  and  the  qua- 
lity of  the  wine.  It  seems  an  endless  and 
impossible  job  to  treat  in  this  way  the  multi- 
tudinous contents  of  such  a  cellar  as  M. 
Moet's ;  "but  one  clever  active  man  can  turn 
and  shake,  upon  a  stretch,  as  many  as  fifteen 
thousand  bottles  a  day.  At  last,  when  the 
dark  deposit  is  all  got  down  to  the  cork,  the 
wine  is  ready  to  submit  to  the  operation 
called  "d^gorger,"  or  disgorging.  The  work- 
man, or  d^gorgeur,  who  performs  it  is  remark- 
ably light-fingered.  Each  bottle  is  handed  to 
him,  and  taken  from  him,  by  an  attendant 
slave  on  either  side.  He  holds  it  horizontally, 
removes  the  wire  or  the  iron  clasp,  takes  out 
the  cork,  lets  a  spoonful  of  froth  spurt  out 
with  a  fizz  ^carrying  with  it  the  ugly  dregs), 
raises  the  oottle  perpendicularly,  replaces 
the  cork,  and  the  feat  is  done.  Like  all  other 


clever  tricks,  it  looks  easy  enough    when 

ferformed  adroitly ;  although,  were  you  and 
to  attempt  it,  we  should  probably  empty 
the  bottle  before  we  knew  that  the  cork  had 
stirred.  Home-made  champagne,  to  approach 
perfection,  ought  to  be  treated  according  to 
the  same  legerdemain. 

A  first  disgorging  is  seldom  sufficient ;  it 
generally  has  to  be  followed  by  a  second  and 
a  third.  The  bottle  has  again  to  be  laid 
sloping,  heels  upwards,  in  the  rack.  An  ad- 
ditional drop  of  liquor  is,  now  and  then, 
put  in  at  the  subsequent  operations.  At 
the  last  disgorging,  its  doom  is  finallj 
fixed  by  *a  band  of  five  or  six  execu- 
tioners, who  sit  in  silent  and  solemn  row, 
with  their  instruments  of  torture  before 
them.  The  first  man  wipes  o£f  the  perspira- 
tion which  has  settled  on  its  face  at  the  anti- 
cipation of  its  approaching  fate ;  the  second 
bleeds  it  afresh  at  the  neck,  as  before  de- 
scribed; the  third  claps  it  under  an  iron 
vice,  in  which  there  is  a  cylindrical  hole  of 
the  same  size  as  the  inside  of  the  neck  of  the 
bottle,  a  screw  compresses  the  cork  suffi- 
ciently to  go  in,  the  man  relentlessly  knocks 
it  down  with  a  punch,  and  the  bottle  ia 
gagged ;  the  fourth  secures  the  cork  with 
strmg;  the  fifth  secures  the  string  with 
wire;  and  a  sixth  seizes  the  iron-bound 
victim,  and  hurries  it  incontinently  nobody 
knows  where.  Ton  guess  though,  when  you 
behold,  on  reaching  daylight,  a  trio  of  com- 
passionate women  nursing  the  poor  afflicted 
sufferers  upstairs.  The  first  female  wipes  off 
the  sweat  of  agony  with  which  it  is  bedewed ; 
the  second  binds  up  its  wounds  with  a  beal- 
ing-plaister  of  paste  and  lead-leaf;  the  third 
wraps  It  in  a  paper  winding-sheet,  and  hands 
it  to  a  man,  the  sexton  of  the  champagne 
cemetery,  who  entombs  it  in  a  wicker  basket 
and  scrupulously  buries  it  in  clean  rye  straw. 
The  sacrifice  is  ended  now.  Jean  Raisin's 
relentless  pursuers  may  at  last  suck  his  blood 
at  their  ease. 

Champagne  is  not  fit  to  be  thus  delivered 
up  before  the  May  of  the  second  year ;  so 
that  a  bottle  of  frothy  wine  cannot  be  drank 
till  from  eighteen  to  twenty  months  after  It 
had  been  vmtaged,  at  the  very  soonest.  It  is 
better  even  the  thirtieth  month  after  it  baa 
quitted  the  parent  vine.  This,  with  the  troa- 
ble,  the  loss,  and  the  cellar-rent,  make  it 
impossible  that  genuine,  properly-prepared 
champagne  should  be  otherwise  than  costly. 
The  maker,  merely  to  pay  his  outlay,  must 
dispose  of  it  at  a  heavy  price.  Cham- 
pagne, therefore,  is  the  wine  of  the  wealthy. 
At  a  second-rate  inn  In  Epemay,  the  Siren, 
which  is  not  without  its  own  particular  fasci- 
nations, I  paid  four  francs  for  a  bottle  of  AL 
Wine-mercnants  on  the  spot  cannot  let  yon 
have  passable  Sillery  for  less  than  two  francs 
and  a  half  per  bottle.  But  let  not  those  who 
cannot  afford  to  drink  champagne  envy  too 
bitterly  those  who  can.  The  loss  is  by  no 
means  so  great  as  they  fancy.    '*  Which  ihM 


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Goo^e 


ChMln  Dickens] 


BANOOLAH. 


57 


we  have,  champagne  or  bordeaux  T "  said  I  to 
a  Frenchman  whom  I  wanted  to  reward  for 
talking,  as  well  as  to  set  him  talking  a  little 
more.  ^'Champagne  is  the  more  noble/'  he 
answered,  after'  deep  consideration ;  '*  but  it 
is  five  francs  the  bottle.  The  bordeanx  here 
is  good,  and  costs  only  thirty  sous.  One 
bottle  of  bordeaux  will  fortify  our  stomachs 
better  than  two  bottles  of  champagne ;  and 
for  one  bottle  of  champagne  we  can  have 
three  of  bordeaux,  with  ten  sous  to  spare  for 
something  else.  Let  us  drink  bordeaux,  mon- 
sieur, if  you  please."  And  bordeaux  we  did 
drink. 

I  have  heard  of  physicians  prescribing  port, 
madeira,  hock,  sherry,  and  even  brandy-and- 
water,  to  their  convalescents ;  I  have  known 
them  order  effervescent  drinks,  as  seltzer, 
soda,  and  other  waters,  mixed  solutions  of 
acids  and  alkalis  that  throw  off,  on  meeting, 
a  whiff  of  fresh-made  gas ;  but  I  never  knew 
a  doctor  recommend  champagne.  On  the 
contrary,  French  medical  men  nave  told  me 
that  persons  who  make  a  daily  practice  of 
drinking  champagne  at  their  meals,  although 
not  in  excess,  do  themselves  no  good  by  it. 
Before  the  invention  of  chloroform,  a  Parisian 
surgeon,  observing  that  drunken  men  often 
inflicted  serious  injury  upon  themselves  with- 
out suffering  pain  f^om  it  at  the  time,  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  inebriating  his  patients 
with  champagne  before  operating  upon  them. 
Some  cases  succeeded  well;  in  others,  the 
reaction  had  baneful  effects;  in  a  few  the 
patient  was  excited  to  frenzy,  and  became 
nnmana^ble.  The  system  was  not  per- 
severed in. 

Champagne  is  deficient  in  one  of  the  most 
meritorious  qualities  of  wine — the  length  of 
time  it  may  be  kept  to  advantage.  Cham- 
pagne, unlike  friendship  as  it  ought  to  be, 
does  not  improve  with  the  lapse  of  vear&  I 
was  surprised  to  be  told  that  the  oldest  wine 
in  M.  Jacquesson's  cellars  was  of  the  fort^- 
nine  vintage.  The  old  age  of  champagne  is 
inglorious.  A  bin  of  leaky  bottles,  with  the 
string  rotted,  the  wires  rus^,  the  gas  escaped, 
and  the  sweetness  turned  to  bitter  mould  and 
flat  mnstiness,  is  a  thing  to  be  got  rid  of  at 
once  with  as  little  ceremony  as  possible. 
Burgundy  and  port  often  terminate  their 
span  of  existence  with  all  the  glories  of  a 
gorgeous  sunset ;  champagne,  if  suffered,  to 
survive  so  long,  is  apt  to  go  out  like  a  tallow 
candle  burnt  into  the  socket 

Nowhere  is  champagne  the  common  be- 
verage of  Ihe  people  fwhich  diminishes  its  title 
to  respect,  and  is  almost  a  just  ground  for 
separating  and  distinguishing  it  from  wine 
proper),  any  more  than  pastry  is  anywhere 
their  daily  bread.  Champagne  is  the  con- 
fectionary of  wine-making ;  and  both  that  and 
pastry  are  superfluous  luxuries.  Neither  a 
garrison  in  a  state  of  siege,  nor  a  populous 
&land  on  which  provisions  ran  short,  with  no 
immediate  supply  at  hand,  would  think  of 
brewing  champagne  or  making  puff  tarts. 


The  precise  epoch  during  a  repast  at  which 
champagne  is  usually  drunk  is  different  in 
England  from  what  it  is  in  France,— John 
Bull  proving  himself  the  more  sensible. 
We  trifle  with  the  seducer  during  din- 
ner; the  French  yield  themselves  up  to 
him  at  dessert,  and  when  they  once  begin, 
they  often  go  on.  If  a  feast  must  be  ennobled 
by  the  presence  of  champagne,  incompliance 
with  the  ladies'  wishes  (who,  ever  since  the 
days  of  Eve,  have  desired  to  partake  of  what 
does  them  least  good),  my  dictum  is,  to  serve 
to  each  person  present  one  large  well-filled 
glass,  containing  not  less  than  a  quarter  of  a 
pint,  and  to  make  it  instantly  vamsh,  bottles 
and  wind,  for  the  rest  of  the  evening  ftrom  the 
dining-room.  Champagne's  real  place  is  not 
at  a  dinner,  but  at  a  ball.  A  cavalier  may 
appropriately  offer,  at  propitious  intervals,  a 
glass  now  and  then  to  his  danceress.  There, 
it  takes  its  fitting  rank  and  position  amongst 
feathers,  gauzes,  lace,  embroidery,  ribbons, 
white  satin  shoes,  and  eau  de  Cologne.  It  is 
simply  one  of  the  elegant  extras  of  life ;  and 
far  should  I  be  ftrom  condemning  it  in  its 
way.  But  we  must  not  let  it  give  itself  too 
many  airs  because  it  is  a  dandy  gentleman. 
It  ought  not  to  push  into  the  background  of 
neglect  and  disesteem,  the  more  solid  and 
generally  useful  elixirs  of  life. 


BANOOLAH. 
**  Lbt  go  the  anchor !  "—anting  and  harth  the  loand 
Am  the  rough  chain  nnwound  its  ahrieking  eoili, 
And  after  nolaeleia  motion,  acarce  porcoired. 
Oar  gallant  ahip  swung  slowlj,— bows  to  land. 

Then  grew  the  bay  all  pictore;  sound  wa«  none. 
A  thousand  sails  deep-tinted,  strange  of  shape, 
SwelI'd  seaward;  thousand  paddles  lapp'd  the  calm; 
A  thousand  duskj  faces  soon  look'd  up, 
Large-eyed,  and  ivory  tooth'd,  and  gentle-roioed. 
And  spoke  in  syllables  that  died  away 
Like  music;  and  at  interrals  a  hand. 
Small,  feminine,  with  grace  in  erery  more. 
Holds  up  a  flower.    Oh  !  beautifiil  the  forms 
Of  those  lithe  Naiads,  with  the  simple  band 
Pendant  fh>m  flexile  waist ;  and  soft  the  smiles 
They  shed,  impartial,  orer  all  the  ship,— 
On  captain,  bronzed  with  fifty  years  of  storm,— 
Staid  mate,  important,  stepping  stem  and  stem,— 
And  middy,  wiM  with  wonder  at  the  scene. 

Shoreward,  white  tents  were  dotted  round  the  bay. 
With  statelier  buildings  mix'd,  but  simple  all. 
Bough  trunks  close-fitted,  yet  with  chinks  betwern 
Where  herbage  grew,  cross-barr'd  with  bands  of  pine. 
And  roofd  with  glistening  canes.    There  kings  reside . 
Kings  and  great  lords,  stewards  and  chamberlains, 
Stlckless  as  yet,  unstarr'd,  unribbanded. 
The  half-clothed  marquises  of  Owaihee  I 

Far  inland,  like  cathedral's  lifted  dome. 
Rose  a  rude  shape,  half-lost  amid  the  bine, 
A  cloud,  unchanging  in  its  form— so  still 
The  summer  air— self-balanced  as  a  tower. 
Fit  canopy  of  gloom  and  grandeur,  piled 
Abore  the  molten  sea  that  seethes  and  boils 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


68 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


rC«Bdaec^ky 


Within. the  lofiy  bill  where  Belah  dwelli.— 
Bc'lab.  dread  goddess!  whofe  low-whisper  d  name 
Shatter'd  the  stoutest  hearts  like  wonis  of  doom. 


Oar  surgeon  told  this  legend  of  the  days 
Er«  Christ  was  known  and  Belah  held  her  rule. 
And  many  a  sigh  the  sad  narrator  heaved 
While,  leaning  on  the  taffraiL  looking  down 
Ou  the  nnnumber'd  thousands  in  the  boats. 
And  countless  swimmers  raising  watchful  eyes 
All  round  the  ship,— he  told  the  piteous  tsjTe. 

Haxt  thou,  0  man  t  when  midnight,  girt  with  storms. 
Shrieks  through  the  wood  and  heralds  Belah'spath, 
No  dread  that  in  the  pauses  of  the  wind 
The  shapeless  lips  shall  syllable  thy  name  ? 

Paomi  waked,— and  trembled  as  he  lay ; 
For  in  the  bowlings  of  that  midnight  ffust 
Rose  to  his  ear  the  name  that  he  loved  the  best, 
Banoolah— What  1    Banoolah.  >i^ith  rich  hair. 
Giving  its  tint  to  the  white  brow  and  neck. 
Like  crimson  sunset  on  the  snow— hid  child  I 
He  wakee  the  dark-eyed  mother  of  his  babe. 

"  Belah  has  called  Banoolah  I  "  was  the  word . 
That  smote  her  ear  and  still'd  her  beatins  heart. 
While  with  wide  nostril,  and  pale,  parted  lips. 
He  sate  and  iisten'd  for  the  awful  sound. 
"  Rightly."  that  wife  replied,  and  smote  her  breast, 
**  Rightly  has  Belah  called,— for  are  we  not 
Servant  s  of  Belah  1    Are  we  not  the  work 
Of  Belnh's  hands  ?  and  trampled  'neath  her  heel 
Since  we  forgot  the  tribute  to  her  shrine  T" 
"  What  tribute t"  answered  tremblingly  the  man. 
**  All  that  we  love  I    Have  we  not  kept  the  child. 
Towed  fre  i's  birth,  Banoolah.  yellow-hair'dl" 
Silent  the  man  lay,  shaking  all  the  couch 
With  the  strong  agony  of  remorseful  fear. 
**  Three  years  our  crops  have  foil'd,  our  boat  retum'd 
Bmpty,  and  now  the  sea  contains  it  all- 
Riven  plank  and  broken  mast,  and  shiver'd  oar. 
BelHh's  hot  breath  o'erwhelm'd  it,  and  it  sank. 
And  beggars  us" 

"  What  remedy  ?  " 

" But  one  I- 
In  silence  lay  they  both ;  and  fresh  arose 
The  sweeping  wind.    Tbe  trees  bent  craxhing  boughs 
Rock  d  the  fr^il  hut.— ••  But  one  I "  again  she  said, 
"She  calls!    Hark!" 

Terror  gave  articulate  roice. 
And  through  the  tranced  caverns  of  their  hearts 
They  heard.  "  BanooUh— feed  me  on  her  life. 
Or  you  and  all  your  house  shall  surely  die." 

Meanwhile,  in  shudderings  of  a  fearftil  dream. 

The  child,  which  lav.  leaf-covord.  on  the  fl«»or. 

Sighed  *'  Mother!  Mother  I "  and  relapsed  to  sleep. 

"  But  must  we  die  ?  "  whispered  the  wife,—"  or,  worse, 

Live  'neath  the  curse  of  Belah,  in  the  scorn 

Of  happier  mothers,  who  have  paid  the  price 

Of  Belah *s  love,  and  walk  in  innocence 

For  that  they  have  falfiU'd  her  holy  law?"— 

"  When  ?  "  said  Paomi,  with  a  start  of  thought 

That  pierced  the  future. 

'  "  To  delay  is  death," 
Replied  Nooravah.    And  again  the  dream 
Pant'd  through  the  shaken  fMUcies  of  the  child. 
"Oh !  father  I  father !  take  Banool  ih  home  I 
The  waves  are  rough."     So  said  ahe  as  she  droam'd. 

Loud  as  'mid  shouts  of  battle  when  the  spear 

Sh  ikes  ere  it  tlies,  his  voice  burst  throogn  the  gloom. 

"  Now  l—fT9  the  deed  has  time  to  pass  beyond 

ThH  shade  it  cas's  upon  my  soul  I    Now  I    Now  1 " 

Ila-  fury  seized  him  ?    He  has  loft  his  lair, 

Osst  his  short  mnntle  round,  and  clutch'd  the  child.— 

From  slumber  with  a  ahriek  of  pain  she  woke. 

For  hi«»  hot  gra8|)  was  on  her  shoulder  laid. 

And  dinted  all  his  6ngcrs  in  her  flesh. 

At  one  flerce  drag  he  raii*ed  her  from  the  ground : 

"  Help,  mother  I  '*  cried  the  child  with  piteous  sobs. 


But  silent  in  the  stragglings  of  her  soul— 
And  breathing  wildly— •ith  convuIsiTe  daap, 
Guarding  the  olanket  which  immured  her  face. 
The  motner  lay.    **  Will  you  not  l«»ok  on  her. 
On  the  sweet  flow«v  you  punctured  on  her  brestst. 
Sign  of  our  house,  the  daisy  yellow-ring'd  1 " 
"  Go !  go  I    I  will  not  see  her  lest  I  die. 
Spare  not  the  richest  of  your  goods,  the  child, — 
Belah  will  smile.    Go  I    go !  "—And  he  was  gone. 


There  was  no  moon  that  night ;  the  land  lar  d 

Beneath  the  wood,  thick  matted,  which  by  daj 

Made  midnight  on  the  path  to  Belah'a  home. 

Through  the  thick  shrubs  Paomi  led  the  child  ; 

Up  the  steep  hill  Psomi  led  the  child ; 

Close  to  the  edge  he  led  the  child  and  stopt. 

"  Home  go.  Banoolah  I "  said  the  tottering  voioe. 

"  Home  to  Nooravah  !    Home,  Banoolah,  go  I  ** 

Paomi  shudder'd  as  he  heard  the  words. 

And  fancied  the  sweet  eyes  he  could  not  see. 

He  felt  th«4  timid  clinging  of  her  band, — 

The  little  hand  that  lay  so  close  in  his. 

'*  Hom- 1  aye,  Banoolah  shall  go  home,"  he  said. 

And  lift  his  eyes  and  saw  a  gush  of  flame 

Pierce  the  red  cloud.    "  Banoolah  shsil  go  home 

And  dwell  with  mighty  gods  and  famous  men. 

And  never  thirst  nor  hunger  any  more 

Come  onward !  "—On  the  giddy  brink  they  stood. 

And  heard  far  down  the  billows  of  dark  Are 

Dashing,  like  ocean,  'gainst  a  rocky  shore. 

"  Banoolnh.  do  yon  love  me  ?  "  in  quick  words 

Paomi  said,  and  tonch'd  her  on  4he  arm. 

**  Banoolah  loves  Paomi,"  said  the  child, 

"  And  loves  Nooravah  too."— Down  the  black  cbaam 

He  look'd,  and  upward  rose,  with  hideous  bound. 

Black  fHnged  and  red  wiihin,  a  flood  of  Are, 

And  closed  him  round,  and  stifled  all  his  breath ; 

And  shuddering,  shaking  in  his  limbs,  he  stept 

Backward  a  space,  and  panted,  and  revived. 

Then,  strug/Ung  with  himself,  and  mad  with  rage. 

He  grasp'd  the  child  and  hurried  to  the  ainrss. 

But  silent  through  the  darkness  moved  a  form. 

With  noiseless  Hten,  and  touched  him  where  he  stood. 

"  Stay,  murderer !  *  ssid  the  voice,—"  repent  and  live! 

God  is  not  here."— *' Who  speaks T  "  Paomi  said. 


**  I,  Melville,  your  king's  firiend,  and  yonn 
That  tt-lls  you  how  to  live  and  how  to  die 


-thei 


I've  aeen  you  in  the  crowd  when  I've  proclaim'd 
Christ  our  Redt^mt'r— Christ  our  only  Kioff  I " 
**  I  know  not  t'hrist— Relah  demands  my  child,** 
Paomi  said.  **  But  Christ  is  mightier  far ; 
Mighty  to  sare."  ssid  Melville.  **  Leave  with  me 
The  innocent  child  ;  leave  her  to  roe  and  God  !** 
"  And  Belah- Hark  I  she  thunders  I " 

With  soft  hand 
Melville  has  drawn  Banoolsh  to  his  side. 
"Will you  love  Chiist.  mv  little  maid  f  "  he  said, 
"  And  he  will  give  you  life."    Upon  her  knee' 
Sank  the  frail  child,  and  kiss'd  the  preacher's  hand: 
"  Banoolah  will  love  Christ  "    "  Then  come  with  me,** 
Re  said,  and  raised  her  in  his  loving  arms. 
And  bore  her  gently  to  the  downward  path. 
And  rack'd  'tween  love  and  fear,  the  father  stood. 
Unable  to  resist  the  yearning  thought 
That  his  Banoolah  should  be  saved,  yet  wild 
With  terror  at  the  doom  Banoolah  at* nds. 
Meanwhile,  brave  Melville  bore  Banoolah  down 
Swiftly,  and  left  the  path,  and  wound  and  wound 
Through  treadless  ways,  to  baulk  porsuing  feet,— 
But  none  pursued. 

The  rooming  faintly  broke 
Upon  the  topmost  trees,  and  on  the  ridge 
Where  Relah 's  breath  hung  heavy.    In  the  shade 
Stood,  motionless,  Paomi,  gasing  up 
To  the  thick  vaporous  cloud  that  changed  itself 
In  rapid-fading  forms,  but  dreadAil  all. 
And  threatening  vengeance     Seated  on  hot  throne, 
Belsh  stretch 'd  forth  her  hand,  and  shook  her  curse 
From  open  nalmx.    Psnmi  tuni'd  to  go, 
And.  breathless  lifts  ihe  lutch:  Nooravah  wakes; 
"  Our  life  is  crush'd  into  a  minute's  space. 
And  we  must  die.  for  Belah  follows  last  I  ** 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbarira  Dlckena  ] 


BANOOLAH. 


59 


NooniTah  Mt  and  marmnr'd  under  breath 

n>Uf  syllables  of  prajer  to  move  the  Fiend. 

With  gaxpings  at  ner  throat  that  choked  her  words; 

But  swajing  to  and  fro  to  rock  the  pain. 

She  caaght  with  deaden'd  sense  Paomi's  voice : 

'*  The  child  Kanoolah  lives  I "    When  this  Rhe  heard. 

Oh  I  with  a  start,  a  sudden  shriek  she  pour'd 

Srmight  fh>m  her  woman's  heart,  and  stood  dilate. 

With  hand  outstretch'd,  and  lips  kept  wide  apart, 

All  eye.  all  ear     *'  She  lives  I "  at  last  she  said ; 

**  Yea :  I  have  blest  the  gods  for  man^  gifts, — 

Tor  plenteous  summers  in  the  olden  time ; 

F*ir  fruit,  for  Bowers,  for  fish  from  the  deep  sea; 

For  lore  like  yours,  Paomi ;  and.  best  of  all, 

For  the  liffbt  step  that  nounded  on  the  floor, 

And  the  blithe  voice  that  caroU'd  at  the  porch. 

And  the  fkir  hair  that  fell  o'er  all  her  neck. 

And  the  deep  eyes  that  settled  on  my  face ; 

But  never,  never  did  I  bless  the  gods 

With  such  fond  heart  as  now— Banoolah  lives ! " 


Sudden  a  tremor  shook  the  solid  ground ; 
Thick  smoke  flU'd  all  the  hut    A  rAttUng  noise 
Of  crashing  boughs  and  splitting  trunks  went  by. 
And  earthquake  heaved  the  soil.    "Away,  away !  *^ 
Paomi  criM ;  and  madden'd  with  wild  fear, 


The/  fled.    Bat  whither?    Upwurd.  in  a  crowd, 
"    f  in  delirious  griet 

(ringing  high 
Sharp  Kpenm ;  and  at  their  hi'ad,  with  eyeUuls  flx'd 


Shrieking  and  dancing  in  delirious  griet 
Game  thousands,  waving  arms,  and  swii 


And  rigid  sinews,  lifting  moveltHis  bands. 

Moved  BeUh's  pnest.    At  such  a  sight,  the  hearts 

Of  the  two  tremblers  wither'd  like  a  leaf 

Fi  rest  ruck ;  and,  'mid  the  silence  that  foil  down 

Upon  the  heaving  crowd.— as  in  a  storm 

Comes  calm  when  at  the  wildest,— rose  the  voice 

Strain'd.  harsh,  as  fh>m  an  oivan  not  his  own. 

The  words  unconffcious  floweo.  of  Belah's  priest. 

And  cried.  "  Paomi,  who  has  done  this  thing  ?  " 

Prone  on  hU  Cace  Paomi  be&t  and  fell,— 

Prone  on  the  ground,  yet  reeling  with  the  shock, 

And  heated  with  the  molten  sea  oeyond. 

**  'Tis  L"  he  said :  "  I  wakeii'd  Belah'i  wrath, 

An<l  robh'd  her  of  hf>r  gift,  and  this  the  end  I " 

Then  told  h«»  all ;  how,  year  by  year,  his  life 

Grew  hardf  r,  an  thi*  Power' forbore  her  smile ; 

How,  though  hii«  veins  were  redden'd  with  the  juice 

Of  kinffly  sterna,  his  fortunes  sank  so  low 

That  Uungnr  walk'd  around  his  empty  hut, 

Narrowing  iisnath,  till  in  a  wasted  nog 

Hii'  home  lay  flreless.    Then  he  told  at  last 

How  B«lab  claim'd  her  gift,  and  how  he  toll'd. 

He  and  Banoolah,  through  the  darken'd  path ; 

And  how,  when  midst  a  glorv  from  the  shrine 

The  child  seem'd  girt  with  fire,  an  impious  hand 

Was  laid  upon  him.  and  the  gift  withdrawn 

From  Belah's  open'd  lips. 

Impetuous  heaved 
The  daiiky  crowd,  like  surges  on  a  shore 
In  mooniesi*  n*ghts,  with  inarticulate  sound ; 
But  found  a  voice,  when  piercing  like  a  etj 
Of  eagles  in  the^air,  the  priest  exclaim'd, 
**  Woe.  woe  upon  the  guilty— he  must  die  I 
Melville,  the  stranger  who  invents  fialse  gods, 
And  voung  Banoolah.— both  of  them  must  die  I 
Bro  hers  and  men !    No  deed  like  this  is  done 
In  all  our  vears  since  flung  from  Belah,s  mouth 
The  pearl  lay  on  the  waters  where  we  dwell. 
This  stranger  seeks  to  entangle  us  with  lies. 
And  tells  of  one  who  clomb  to  Belah's  throne 
Through  whips  and  scorn,  and  an  avenging  tree. 
Say,  what  shall  be  his  doom,  and  what  the  child's  f  " 


The  crowd  was  silent  for  a  minute's  space: 

*•  Ut  Melville  die,  and  let  Ba*ioo1ah  die," 

Said  a  weak  voice ;  and  when  men  luok'd,  they  saw 

A  woman  with  her  hands  upon  her  fkce. 

And  knew  it  was  Nooravah— ••  l«t  them  die  I " 


Lo!  there  they  come  I     And  thousand  eyes  were 

turn'd 
To  where,  emerging  from  the  close-set  trees, 
The  aged  man  came  forward,  leading  slow 


Banoolah  by  the  hand  :  her  little  feet 
Bleeding,  and  all  her  motions  duU'd  with  pain ; 
A  fiiir-bair'd  child,  like  some  sweet  English  girl 
Tired  with  long  joumeylngs  in  the  woods  in  May, 
When  following  the  voung  flowers  to  make  a  wreath, 
And  heedless  of  the  briars  that  plant  their  thorns 
In  naked  leg  and  ruddy  rounded  arm. 
Bus  different  in  sad  looks,  and  anxious  eyes 
That  knew  of  danger  near,  yet  knew  not  what 


Forth  from  the  crowd  two  stalwart  warriors  preat 
And  grappled  Melville's  unresisting  hands ; 
And  one  caught  up  Banoolah  with  narsh  gripe. 
And  never  from  the  ground  Nooravah  look'd. 
And  Mul  Paomi  held  Nooravah's  hand. 
And  look'd  upon  the  ground,  as  fathers  look 
Within  the  hollow  or  a  daughter's  grave  I 
But  all  the  rabble  was  alive  with  wrath. 
And  howl'd  triumphant  songs,  and  bore  the  twain 
Resisllens  to  the  beach.    The  ebbing  sea 
Lapp'd  the  calm  shore,  and  in  the  slanting  sun 
The  moisten'd  pebble  shone,  and  here  and  there 
Danced  a  light  skiff,  or,  half-afloat  half-dry. 
Dinted  with  deepening  prow  the  glistening  sand. 


Then  spoke  the  priest:  **0h,  Ckdl  whose  teat  te 

spread 
Tn  sightlesM  levels  of  the  hungry  sea, 
Where  earth  is  all  unknown,  and  lonely  waves 
Welter  for  ever  withnut  sound  or  form ! 
We  give  thee  these,  whom  Belah's  hands  reject. 
And  fling  flrom  out  the  land  where  B**lah  dwells! 
Engulf  them  in  th-  jaws  where  ships  go  down. 
And  cleanse  Bar'h's  blessed  soil  of  so  much  wrong! 
For  it  is  written  in  our  changeless  law 
That  Belah's  foes  shall  perish  In  the  deeps  I  ** 


A  boat  was  launch 'd,  a  small  and  (Hkgile  boat,— 
And  on  its  floor  was  placed  a  cocoa-cup. 
With  scanty  water,  and  such  tree-born  bread 
As  might  suffice  a  child  hxr  morning  raeiil,— 
Naught  el-e.— and  rh>m  the  vessel  tney  removed 
Mast,  oar,  and  sail,  and  in  H  placed  the  pair,— 
The  whlte-hair'd  preacher,  and  Banoolah. 

Quick! 
Push  them  away !  for,  shouting,  waving  high 
Her  frantic  arms,  Nooravah  through  the  crowd 
Rush'd.  blind  to  all  but  the  insensate  girl 
Who  lay  In  Melville's  arms,  and  never  more 
Liftt^d  her  eyes,  or  moved,  or  broke  In  <-ohs. 
But  with  a  spring,  that  plash 'd  in  Minding  foam 
The  shnllow  wave,  NooravMh  clutch 'd  the  boat 
And  caught  the  child,  and  tore  from  Its  white  breast 
The  mantle's  fold,  and  kiss'd  the  filial  sign. 
The  punctured  dalsr  with  the  rings  of  gold. 
And  kini'd  and  kiss'd  with  lipp  that  drew  the  blood, 
So  sav>«ge  was  their  press  I    Then  at  a  word 
The  child  was  s-ised,  and  placni  In  M-lville's  arms ; 
And  folding  all  her  mbe  around  her  head, 
Nooravah  bent  her  down  as  if  to  heur 
Banoulah's  Toice,— but  silent  was  the  child. 


Then  rose  a  shout  when  motion  took  the  boat 
And  bit  l^  bit,  with  fond  returning  prow. 
Prom  backward  wave  to  wave  still  mrther  back, 
The  bark  with  idle  liftings  felt  the  call 
Of  the  mid  ocean,  and  releasn]  the  land. 
"  Oo  1 "  said  the  priest  **  BeUb.  who  dwells  on  high, 
Looks  from  her  throne  of  thunder  and  durk  cloud. 
And  sees  for  off.  beyond  the  reach  of  sight 
The  waken 'd  tempest  walling  for  his  prev. 
Qii  I    Belah  shakes  the  guilty  from  h-r  lap, 
A'«d  dmth  awaits  you  wher«  no  eye  shall  see  I " 
And  high  replied  the  old  man  from  the  boat. 
"  God's  eve  hIimII  see  us  in  the  trackles*  waste ; 
Yea  I  and  his  love  shnll  save  us  though  we  die  I " 
But  soon  his  voice  was  lost  and  on  iliey  sped 
Far  from  the  nhore ;  and  with  in  ten  test  eyes 
The  crowd  irased  on.  with  still  unsated  rage, 
Till  th"  s'uall  vessel  sank  into  a  speck. 
And  in  the  widening  distance  died  away. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


60 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoBdactcdkr 


PART  n. 

"  Ab'  wretched  end  t  **  I  said,  when  here  the  tale 
Broke  off,  **  What  Cate  could  be  the  hapleea  pair'a  ?  ** 
"  Ther  moat  have  periahed  either  bj  tne  wares 
Engulflng  all.  or  by  the  crueller  death 
Of  thint  and  hnneer  on  the  breathlesa  sea,— 
Or  haply,  as  has  chanced  to  native  praams, 
Thev  maj  hare  drifted  'cross  the  homeward  path 
Of  Kngland's  commerce,  and  been  sared  at  last — 
I  heard,  indeed,  how  once  a  Bristol  ship 
Had  rescued  a  small  child,  which  sat  alone 
Beside  an  old  man's  corse,— too  young  for  words, 
Or  crush'd  by  want  and  fear  till  memory  died. 
But  here  come  all  the  brethren  (h>m  the  shore. 
The  Hoir  Preachers,  who  hare  brought  this  land 
Into  Ck>d's  light.    **  Ob  !  great  shall  be  their  praise ! 
.  'Tis  twentr  years  since  Melville  dree'd  his  doom. 
And,  lo  1  the  thing  he  pray'd  for  has  been  done ! " 


Beside  ns  on  the  deck  with  glowing  heart 
Stood  Edward  Elliot;  and  a  soft  white  hand 
Lay  on  his  arm,  and  with  fond  loving  eyes 
His  wife  look'd  on  his  fi&oe. 

"  God's  will  be  done  I  *' 
He  said ;  "  dear  Edith,  this  our  field  of  toil.— 
This  the  dear  home  we've  pictured  in  our  talk 
In  the  old  time  when  first  I  took  the  vow 
To  spread  Ch>d's  name,  and  on  an  autumn  eve, 
Beside  the  little  brook  that  girdled  in 
Your  uncle's  orchard  with  a  sone  of  sound, 
Tou  whisper'd  in  a  voice  I  scarce  could  hear, 
That  you  would  aid  me  in  the  cause  I  loved. 
Have  yon  repented  of  the  word  you  spoke  ?  " 
Silent  stood  Edith  SlUot  for  a  time. 
And  gased  all  round.    The  bav  more  fiU'd  had  grown, 
With  sail  and  shallop,  and  a  thousand  waves 
Danced  onward,  with  a  thousand  joyous  boys 
And  splashing  girls,  wild  with  their  ocean  games. 
Tumbling  with  shrilly  laughter  from  the  crost, 
And  diving  to  the  depths,  as  if  in  shame. 
Then  turn  d  she  moisten'd  eyes,  and  press'd  his  arm 
And  said  **  what  answer  more  do  yon  require  T  *' 
Gay-pennon'd,  with  the  Union  at  the  mast, 
And  rowed  bv  six  young  chiefs,  who  kept  their  way. 
Heedless  of  light  canoe,  and  fluttering  Wk, 
Like  charging  squadrons  on  a  battle  day, 
A  boat  gleamed  round  the  point,  and  in  the  stem 
Sate  reverend  men.— reverend,  though  young  in  years. 
And  matrons  in  their  quiet  English  robes. 
As  if  on  some  calm  lake  in  Westmoreland, 
All  gasing  on  the  ship.    And  Elliot  gased. 
And  Edith,— for  these  looked-for  visitors 
Were  brethren  of  the  mission.    Side  by  side 
Their  future  course  must  be.    Ah !  happy  coursdi 
Under  the  lifted  banner  of  the  Gross. 


How  sweet  the  meeting  on  the  silent  deck ! 

For  no  one  spoke ;  but  in  the  matron's  hands 

Lay  Edith's,  trembling  with  uneasv  joy. 

And  tears  were  ift  her  eves,— and  Elliot  bent. 

While  hands  were  raised  in  prayer  above  his  head. 

Soon  the  three  women  silently  withdrew 

On  sign  from  Edith,  and  with  noiseless  steps 

Moved  down  the  cabin  stairs,  and  stopt  at  last 

Where  slept  a  rosy  child  two  summers  old. 

Heedless  of  trampling  deck  and  noisy  bay. 

Edith  bent  down,  and  kiss'd  it  as  it  slept. 

Then  careful  raised  it  from  its  tiny  bed. 

And  laid  it  in  the  smilinr  sister's  arms. 

**  Oh  !  we  will  love  the  child,"  the  sister  said, 

"  And  graft  this  bud  of  English  innocent  life 

On  the  wild  tree  of  this  new  waken'd  land, 

And  watch  its  growth,  till  flower  and  fruit  come  forth 

And  aU  the  Isle  shall  lie  within  its  shade." 

So  Susan  Marfeldt  carried  forth  the  child. 

Childless  herself;  and  Edith  stood  at  gase, 

Watching  the  careful  nurse  fft>m  ship  to  boat. 

From  boat  to  shore,  and  up  the  shining  beach. 

Till  the  low.  Mission  dwellings  took  them  in. — 

And  shoreward  went  the  Brothers,  deep  in  talk, 

With  many  a  pause,  as  up  the  bay  they  moved. 

And  pleased  was  Elliot  with  his  new-found  home. 


**  Look  I "  said  the  surgeon,  and  he  tonch'd  my  arm, 

"  The  bark  full  sail'd  upon  our  starboard  beam ! 

That  is  the  King's.  PaomL**    *'  What !  the  wretch 

Who  slew  Banoolah.  is  he  now  the  king  f  " 

"  All  things  went  well  with  him  since  that  dread  time ; 

Wealth,  power,  and  vigorous  hand,  all  built  him  up 

Into  the  foremost  man  of  all  the  isles. 

And  well  he  wears  the  crown  and  wields  the  sword, 

Half-Ohristian--Christian  only  with  the  head— 

His  heart  is  with  his  idols  as  of  old." 

'•  And  his  more  savage  wife  1 "    "  Nooravah  Uvea, 

The  flercest  worshipper  of  Belah's  power 

Of  all  who  hear  Christ's  name  and  scorn  his  law. 

See,  there  she  stands." 

Triumphant  as  a  king 
Who  drinks  the  shouts  of  battle,  tall  she  stooC 
A  Javelin  in  her  hand,  and  with  proud  lips 
Look'd  upward  to  the  deck.    Beside  her  sate 
Paomi,  klnglv  robed,  and  great  of  form. 
Like  AJaz,  self-collected  In  his  thought 

With  boxes,  tranki,  and  varying  packages. 
Wooden  or  leather-bound,  of  sluipe  and  siae 
Incongruous,  linen  bags  and  basket-work, 
Cumbering  the  deck,  and  busied  among  them  all 
Edith  was  bent;  her  every  fkcnlty 
Intent  on  rescuing  from  the  common  hei^ 
Her  separate  goods,  like  some  sage  shepherdeaa 
Drawing  forth  from  her  own  commingled  flocks. 
When  moved  Nooravah  up  to  where  sne  stood, 
Flush'd  with  unwonted  toil,  her  hair  dispread 
In  lustrous  folds— her  arm  to  Uie  elbow  bared. 
And  all  her  flexile  limbs  with  gracious  strength 
Strung,  like  some  Arab  charger,  fiery-eyed, 
With  sinewy  power  dilating  all  its  form. 

She  took  no  heed ;  but  soon  the  savage  Queen 
Touch'd  her,  and  smiled,  and  pointed  to  her  haart. 
And  said  in  liquid  words,  that  in  their  sound 
Bore  meaning,  though  the  language  was  unknown. 
"  Nooravah  loves  you."    Then  she  laid  her  hand 
On  the  long  tresses,  smoothing  them  idl  their  lengtk. 
And  oall'd  Paomi.    Edith  smiled  and  spoke. 
And  felt  a  veamine  to  them  in  her  heart 
As  those  who  yet  should  listen  to  her  voice. 
And  follow  where  she  led  to  pastures  new. 

Nooravah  mark'd  no  other  in  the  ship. 
But  flx'd  her  eyes  on  Edith  all  the  day. 
And  help'd  her  in  her  troubles,  ratherlaff  up 
Parcels  and  veils  and  shawls,  aiM  langh'd  aloud 
When  she  had  raised  boxes  of  mightiest  sise 
Which  Edith  strove  in  vain  to  push  to  a  side. 
And  when  the  boat  retum'd.  and  all  was  pack'd 
Along  her  floor,  and  piled  above  the  seats. 
Till  scarce  the  levell'd  oars  had  room  to  move, 
Nooravah  would  not  part  from  Edith's  side. 
But  slid  impetuous  down  the  dangling  rope 
And  aate  beside  her ;  and  when  fear  made  pale 
Her  fair  companion's  cheek,  as  roU'd  the  bark 
With  gunwale  down,  she  press'd  her  in  her  anna ; 
And  so  in  Queen  Nooravah's  fond  embrace 
Edith  lay  calm ;  and  love  oonjoin'd  the  twain. 

And  when  they  reach'd  the  house,  Nooravah  look'd 

Well  pleased  round  all  the  rooms,  and  follow'd  cIom 

On  tiptoe  to  the  chamber,  dim  and  cool. 

Where  sat  kind  sister  Marfeldt  by  a  bed 

Watchinc  the  child.    Nooravah  stopt  to  gase, 

Her  hand  in  Edith's.    Then,  as  if  at  once , 

A  thought  pass'd  through  her  soul,  she  knew  not  wh&t. 

She  darted  to  the  couch,  and  lifted  up 

The  sheet,  and  gentle-handed,  tum'd  aside 

The  shawl  that  wrapt  the  babe,  and  gased  and  gased 

Upon  her  breast ;  and  then,  with  big  round  tears 

In  her  Aill  eyes,  she  shook  her  head  and  sigh'd. 

As  those  who  seek  the  thing  they  cannot  find. 

Was  it  Banoolah's  image  that  rose  up 

Before  the  mother's  heart,  till  all  the  chords 

Of  her  deep  inner  beine  felt  the  stir 

Of  unaocustom'd  thoughts,  like  sudden  gusts 

That  shake  the  sleeping  woods,  we  know  not  wh  j  t 


Digitized  by 


Google 


ClarlM  Dkkeiu.] 


BANOOLAH. 


61 


"0!  blMMd  ilfffat  !'*  Bftid  Marfeldt,  when  at  ere 
The  Ohristian  Mnd  held  commune,  *'  blessed  sight, 
The  tesrs  that  flow'd  down  fierce  Noorarah's  ftice, 
And  the  sweet  smile  that  follow'd  Edith's  steps, 
And  the  awaken'd  softness  that  weU'd  forth 
On  Bdith's  babe,  for  where  such  feelings  dwell. 
Behold  I  onr  loring  Qod  is  nigh  at  hand  I " 

Then  told  they  mntnal  stories  of  their  lireB, 
Where  each  was  bom,  what  home  they  first  had  known. 
Their  fiithers'  names.    And  when  to  Bdith's  torn 
These  sweet  unfoldings  of  the  past  came  round, 
Long  time  she  paused,  and  blushing  told  at  last 
How  all  her  years  were  dumb  and  had  no  rolce 
Till  she  was  standing  by  her  ancle's  knee ; 
Yet  not  her  uncle,  but  a  loring  heart 
Which  found  her  fHendless,  cast  aside  by  all. 
Like  flower,  chance-scatter'd  on  a  nameless  grare 
And  gave  her  home  beside  him,  home  and  love. 
But  nerer  had  she  seen  a  father's  smile. 
Nor  felt  a  mother's  hand  upon  her  head. 

"  Tet  are  you  not  unhappy,"  BUlot  said, 

**  No,  nor  yet  fHendless,  for  who  knows  you  best 

Lotos  rou  the  most."    Then  added  with  a  smile, 

"  Our  uthers  were  plebeians ;  mine  rose  high. 

And  once  was  mayor  of  a  country  town ; 

But  who  can  tell  what  great  progenitors, 

Howards,  and  mighty  knights,  and  lords  and  earls, 

Full  quarter'd  as  the  old  Plantaffenets, 

Can  boast  a  dear  descendant  sucn  as  you  1 

Haply  some  mom  the  fairy  of  your  fate 

Will  tap  three  taps  upon  your  chamber-door 

And  say,  *  Gome  forth,  fkir  princess ;  for  the  king, 

Tour  royal  fother,  longs  to  see  jour  fkce.' " 

They  laugh'd,  nor  thought  more  meanly  of  their  friend 

That  she  nad  none  to  lore  but  only  them. 

Next  morning,  soon  as  daylight  toueh'd  the  sea, 
NooraTah  lifuid  soft  the  wicket  latch. 
And  laid  a  basket  flll'd  with  firuit  and  flowers 
Upon  the  window-sill  where  Bdith  slept,— 
And  slow  withdrew,  with  many  a  look  behind. 
To  mark  if  haply  to  the  lattice  came 
The  face  she  wisn'd  to  see.    But  no  one  moyed. 
And  day  by  day  Noorarah  placed  her  chair 
By  Bdith's  side,  and  taught  her  all  the  sounds 
And  soft  inflexions  of  her  Island  toncpie.— 
And  soon  with  ready  lips  could  Bdith  tell 
Of  Hearen  and  all  its  hopes ;  and  like  a  rain 
In  thirsty  ground,  her  gentle  words  sank  in. 

As  some  lone  tam  tax  up  amid  the  hills. 
Cloud-circled  'neath  a  thunder-laden  sky. 
Lies  in  thick  gloom,  till  comes  the  mid-day  sun 
And  shines  upon  its  fiace ;  so  from  the  heurt 
Of  daric  Noorarah  ereiy  shadow  fell. 
And  night  was  brighten'd  into  perfect  day. 


Paomi  died :  his  hand  in  Edith's  hand. 

His  eye  with  dying  light  on  Edith's  fisce. 

'•  I  go,"  he  said,  "  to  see  the  loring  eyes 

I  ne'er  shall  see  on  earth ;  to  look  again 

On  the  Ught  limbs,  to  hear  the  happy  roice 

Of  young  Banoolah,  at  the  feet  of  Cfod." 

Long  E^th  sat  beside  the  sarage  king,— 

garage  no  more,— and  heard  him,  with  faint  breath. 

Whisper  "Banoolah ; "  stiU,  as  if  a  charm 

Lay  in  the  sound,  **  Banoolah  "  to  his  lips 

Game  when  he  slept  the  uneasy  sle^  or  pain. 

Or  when  he  waked  within  the  shadow  of  Death. 

A  thousand  thoughts  flutter'd  in  Bdith's  heart. 
Dim,  fitful,  with  mysterious  whisperings,— 
Like  leaves  in  midnight  on  a  breesy  hill- 
But  nought  she  spoke,  as  if  her  spirit  lar 
Imprison'd  in  a  spell  she  could  not  break. 

Slow-paced  and  sunken-eyed,  Noorarah  came 
And  sat  whole  days  in  Bdith's  little  room. 


In  roioeless  griet— and  hung  o'er  Bdith's  child. 
Her  Rachel,  whether  playing  wild  with  glee, 
Qr  silent  listening  with  her  great  round  eyes 
To  tales  her  mother  told.— "But  thirty  moons 
Had  seen  Banoolah  when  she  pass'd  away ; 
And  Rachel  now  has  thirty  moons,"  she  said, 
"And  what  a  Ufe  before  her  flll'd  with  joy  I " 

Then  broke  she  forth  in  passionate  sobs  and  tears. 

Like  thunder-clouds  in  autumn,  toss'd  with  storms : 

**  Why  do  I  lire  to  lift  unhappy  eres 

And  read  no  pardon  in  a  brasen  skr  1 

Why  do  I  lift  blood-stained  hands  like  these 

In  mockery  to  a  Ood  who  will  not  hear? 

Oh  I  blessed  are  the  mothers  who  hare  wept 

O'er  lidless  coffins  where  their  infants  lay ; 

Blessed  their  eyes,  who,  through  the  mist  of  tears, 

Hare  seen  f^sh  earth  upon  their  children's  grares  1 " 

"  Noorarah ! "  Bdith  said,  "your  eyes  are  dim. 
And  see  not  what  is  written  on  the  Gross- 
Pardon  and  Rest.    Oh  I  heariest  sin  of  all. 
And  least  deserring  Mercy,  Is  Despair ! " 
Then  led  she  upward  trcm  the  Valley  of  Death, 
Through  tangled  thorns,  the  steep  ascending  war. 
Till  on  the  Bionnt  they  stood— where,  clear  and  large. 
Lay.  'mid  the  hills  of  Peace,  the  City  of  God. 
And  holiest  comfort  flll'd  Noorarah's  heart. 
And  from  her  ransom'd  soul  the  chains  fell  down. 

Tet  as  a  bird  that  on  the  mountain  peak 
Has  shrill'd  for  battle,  if  perchance  it  feel 
The  captire  bond,  rfbd  from  its  bruised  heart 
The  thirst  of  blood  depart,  and  pride  of  power. 
Decays  and  pines,— so,  f^m  Noorarah's  life 
Strength  pass'd,  and  passionless  and  weak  she  lay. 
*'  Nooraran  I  is  it  sleep  that  dims  thine  eyes. 
Or  Death's  adrancing  shadows  o'er  thy  face  T  " 
Said  Bdith,  whispering  in  the  slumberer's  ear. 
"  Gire  me  a  sign  with  thine  uplifted  hand 
That  thou  hast  entrance  to  the  Ark  of  Christ." 

The  hand  rose  up ;  the  eye  unclosed  again. 

The  form  dilatea,  and  erect  she  stood. 

"  Tea !  I  hare  peace.    Tet  in  this  hour  of  hope 

One  thought  hangs  heary  on  my  upward  spring. 

There  is  a  light  of  something  in  thine  eyes. 

There  Is  a  sound  of  something  in  thy  tone. 

Thy  hands'  soft  touch,  thr  smile,  that  erer  more 

Minds  me  of  something  I  '*    Then,  with  rapid  steps 

She  press'd  to  Edith,  and  with  lifted  rolce. 

Shrieks—"  I  adjure  thee,  tell  me  who  thou  art  I 

For  I're  had  risions  in  the  long  dull  nights 

That  fill  my  room  with  light ! "  Then  trembling  hands 

Cast  off  the  shawl  that  Ml  on  Bdith's  neck. 

Tore  loose  the  ties  (hat  bound  her  silken  robe. 

Held  down  its  fold,— and  on  the  marble  skin 

What  did  she  see?— With  scream  of  wildest  joy 

Noorarah  sank,  and  gased  with  clasped  hands 

On  the  sweet  flower  that  glow'd  upon  her  breast,— 

The  daisy,  yellow-rlng'd,— the  filial  sign ! 

**  Banoolah  I  my  Banolah  I "  cried  the  Queen ; 

*' My  daughter  I  "—and  with  passionate  strength  she 

strore, 
And  rose,  and  put  her  arms  around  the  neck, 
And  kiss'd  the  flower,— and  looking  long  and  deep 
In  Edith's  fkce.  with  such  a  smRe  as  lies 
Like  holy  sunshine  round  the  lips  of  saints. 
The  mother  loosed  her  hold,  and  Calling  slow, 
Lay  in  triumphant  rest  at  Edith's  feet. 


THE  BLACK  SEA  FIVE  CENTURIES 
AGO. 
In  diggine  down  through  the  strata  of 
past  centuries,  surprising  contrasts  wor^ 
thy  to  be  contemplated,  sometimes  pre- 
sent themselves.  We  have  just  turned  over 
the  leaves  of  one  of  the  volumes  of  the 
Arab  Ibn-Batutah's  Travels,  now  publish- 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoMlacted  bf 


ing  by  the  Asiatic  Society  of  Paris.  The 
name  of  Si  nope  arrested  as.  What  was  this 
pious  man  fVom  Morocco  doing  there,  during 
the  first  half  of  the  fourteenth  century?  He 
bad  wandered  through  many  African  and 
Asiatic  regions,  and  was  on  his  way  to 
visit  a  country,  now  interesting  to  our- 
selves nnder  the  name  of  Sontbern  Russia. 
Sinope  was  already  in  the  bands  of  the  Turks, 
although  many  infidel  Greeks  lived  there 
under  protection  of  the  Muslims.  From  one 
of  these  a  vessel  was  hired.  The  voyagers  set 
out;  but,  three  days  afterwards,  met  with  a 
violent  tempest,  such  as  sometimes  troubles 
that  sea  about  the  equinox  of  spring.  They 
were  driven  back  in  sight  of  land  ;  but  tried 
their  fortunes  once  more,  and,  after  much 
rough  weather,  appeared  before  the  port  of 
Lertch,  f&miliar  now-a-days  to  the  stu- 
dents of  wal^maps.  Some  men  upon  the 
mountain,  however,  for  reasons  not  explained, 
signed  to  them  to  keep  off;  so  they  crossed  to 
the  mainland  and  took  ground  there,  at  a 
place  where  was  a  church  attended  by  a 
siugle  monk.  In  those  days  Christianity  and 
Islamism  were,  so  to  speak,  dovetailed  one 
into  the  other  all  along  their  frontiers,  al- 
though the  former  was  gradually  retiring 
and  the  latter  advancing  triumphantly,  out- 
flanking the  great  Greek  capital,  before 
daring  to  assault  it. 

Desht  KiQak,  or  the  Wilderness  or  Stepp 
of  KiQak.  on  the  edge  of  which  the  traveller 
bad  landed,  was  green  and  flowery,  but 
without  mountain,  or  hill,  or  slope,  or  tree. 
Nothing  was  to  be  obtained  for  firing  but  the 
dung  or  animals,  which  even  the  great  people 
collected  as  a  precious  thing,  and  carried 
home  in  the  skirts  of  their  garments.  The 
wilderness  was  said  to  extend  for  the  space  of 
six  months' journey ,  three  of  which  were  within 
the  territories  of  Mohammed  Uzbek  Khan, 
whom  the  traveller  desired  to  visit  He  pro- 
ceeded in  the  first  place  to  Kaffa.  a  city  built 
on  the  shores  of  the  sea,  and  inhabited  by 
Christians,  for  the  most  part  Genoese,  under 
a  chief  named  Demetrio.  This  mercantile 
nation  bad  factories  all  along  the  coat^ts  of 
the  Black  Sea,  and  remind  as  in  their 
manner  of  proceeding  of  our  own  early 
and  more  successful  exploits  in  India.  They 
allowed  within  their  walls  one  mosque  of  the 
Muslims,  to  which  travellers  of  that  nation 
repaired  on  theur  arrival,  as  to  an  hotel. 

This  was  the  first  time  that  the  worthy 
Ibn-Batutah  bad  visited  a  city  entirely  in 
the  hands  of  Christians.  He  had  not  been 
there  long  before  he  was  struck  by  a  remark- 
able sound.  The  air  thrilled  with  the  ringing 
of  bells  calling  the  **  Infidels  "  to  church  and  he 
boldly  ordered  his  people  to  ascend  the  mina- 
ret, read  the  Koran  and  recite  the  Muslim  call 
to  prayer.  He  no  doubt  thought  this  was  ne- 
cessary, to  avert  what  calamities  might  be 
brought  down  from  Heaven  by  that  impious 
ding:-doag.  This  zeal,  however,  alarmed  the 
Kadi  of  the  Muslims  of  that  place,  who 


donned  his  cuirass,  snatched  up  bis  sword, 
and  ran  to  protect  his  co-religionist  from 
the  effects  of  what  the  good  people  of  Kaffa 
might  consider  an  impertinence.  But  the 
ringing  of  the  bells  had  probably  drowned 
the  voice  of  the  mueddin.  At  any  rate,  the 
strangers  were  civilly  treated. 

The  traveller  describes  Kaffa  as  a  hand- 
some town  with  beautiful  markets,  and  an 
admirable  port,  where  more  than  two  hun- 
dred vessels  of  war  or  commerce  were  col- 
lected. All  the  people,  however,  he  repeats 
in  a  compassionate  parenthesis,  are  Kafirs. 
So  on  he  goes  in  a  waggon  to  Kiram  or 
Solyhut,  governed  for  Uzbek  Khan  by  a  man 
named  Toloktoraour.  who  received  the  tra- 
veller with  hospitality.  He  lodged  in  the 
hermitage  of  a  sheikh,  who  with  a  singular 
toleration  told  him  in  perfect  faith  of  a 
Christian  monk  who  inhabited  a  monastery 
situated  outside  the  town,  where  he  gave 
himself  up  to  devotional  practices  and  fre- 

?[ucnt  fastings.    He  used  sometimes  to  pass 
brty  days  without  food,  and  then  only  eat  a 
single  bean.   The  result  was  wonderful  mental 
perspicacity,  which  made  him  discover  the 
most  hidden  things.    The  good  sheikh  wished 
his  guest  to  visit  this  monk ;  but  Ibn-Batutah, 
with  a  prejudice  natural  in  a  Morocco  man, 
refused,  of  which  he  afterwards  repented.    It 
gave  him  greater  pleasure  to  see  the  wise 
and  pious  Moshaffer  Eddin,aGreek  by  birth, 
who  bad  sincerely  embraced  Islamism,  with- 
out, however,  losing   his  barbarous  accent 
Leaving  Kiram,  the  traveller  set  out  in  com- 
pany with  the  Emir  Toloktomour  for  Sera, 
where  Sultan  Mohammed  Uzbek   held    his 
court    For  this  purpose  it  was  necessary  to 
buy  waggons — great  four-wheeled  vehicles, 
drawn  sometimes  by  two  or  more  horses, 
sometimes  by  oxen  and  camels.    The  driver 
armed  with  a  whip  and  a  goad,  mounted 
postilion -wise.    On  the  chariot  was  raised  a 
kind  of  tent  covered  with  felt  or  cloth,  aired 
by  latticed  windows.    Here  the  traveller  ate, 
slept,  wrote,  or  read  during  the  journey. 
The  caravan  started,  according  to  the  custom 
of  the  Turks,  immediately  after  the  prayer  of 
dawn,  rested  from  nine  or  ten  of  the  morning 
until  after  midday,  and  then  proceeded  until 
night    During  the  halt  the  horses,  camels, 
and  oxen  were  let  loose  to  graze  at  will.    The 
whole  country  was  covered  with  cattle  with- 
out shepherds  or  guards ;  for  the  laws  of  the 
Turks  were  very  severe  against  theft    He 
who  was  found  in  possession  of  a  stolen 
horse  was  obliged  to  restore  it  along  with 
nine  of  equal  value.  If  he  could  not  do  so,  bis 
children  were  seized  instead ;  and  if  he  had 
no  child,  they  cut  his  throat     The  peo- 
ple  eat  no   bread    nor    any    other    bard 
food,  but  lived    on    a    kind   of  porridge 
made  of  millet,  with  bits  of  meat  sometirnes 
boiled  therein.   A  bowlful,  with  curdled  milk 
poured  over  it,  was  served  to  each  pcri^oii. 
They  drank  kimezz  or  soured  mare's  milk, 
and  a  kind  of  fermented  liquor  made  from 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbarics  DlcknM.] 


THE  BLACK  SEA  FIVE  CENTURIES  AGO. 


63 


millet.  Horsefle^  was  in  great  request; 
bat  all  sweetmeats  thej  abhorred.  Ac- 
cording to  Toloktomour,  the  Saltan  once 
offered  freedom  to  a  slave  who  had  fortj 
children  and  grandchildren,  on  condition  that 
he  would  devour  a  sugared  dish,  but  received 
for  answer :  "  No ;  not  even  if  you  kill  me ! " 

Eighteen  stations  fVom  Kiram  the  caravan 
reached,  in  the  midst  of  the  steppe,  a  vast 
expanse  of  water,  which  it  took  a  whole  day 
to  ford,  and  a  similar  obstacle  occurred 
fiuther  on  J  but  at  length  they  arrived 
at  the  citv  of  Azak,  where  the  Ge- 
noese and  other  people  came  to  trade.  The 
reception  and  consequently  of  his  com- 
panions, was  splendid.  Tents  of  silk  and 
linen  were  prepared  for  bis  reception,  with 
a  wooden  throne  incrusted  with  gold.  First 
came  the  eating  and  the  drinking,  and  then 
an  intellectual  entertainment  in  toe  shape  of 
a  mighty  long  sermon,  delivered  first  in 
Arabic  and  then  translated  into  Turkish  by 
the  same  speaker.  There  was  also  marvellous 
singing,  and  after  that  much  more  eating ; 
and  then  more  preaching  and  praying  all  day. 

Having  rested  some  days,  Ibn-Batutah 
proceeded  to  Majar,  one  of  the  finest  cities 
then  belonging  to  the  Turks,  situated  on  the 
great  river  Kouma,  and  adorned  with  gardens 
yielding  many  fruits.  As  usual,  the  traveller 
got  a  lodging  in  a  hermitage.  His  host,  the 
sheikh  Mohammed — with  whom  he  prays 
God  to  be  satisfied — ^had  about  seventy  fakirs 
with  bim,  Arabs,  Persians,  Turks,  and 
Greeks  j  some  married,  others  not.  All  lived 
on  charity  dispensed  in  those  times,  as  ever, 
chiefly  by  the  hands  of  women.  Ibn-Batutah 
witnessed  how  a  pious  preacher  prepared  for 
a  journey.  He  made  an  excellent  sermon, 
and  then  some  one  got  up  and  said :  "  He 
who  has  spoken  is  going  to  travel,  and  wants 
provisions  for  that  purpose."  Then  he  took 
off"  his  own  tunic,  saying,  "This  is  my  gift;" 
and  being  thus  stimulated,  the  remainder  of 
the  congregation  began,  some  to  strip,  others 
to  subscribe  a  horse  or  else  money  ;  and  so 
at  last  the  worthy  man  was  fitted  out  like  a 
prince. 

What  struck  Ibn-Batutah  chiefly  during 
this  journey  was  the  great  respect  which  the 
Turks  showed  to  women;  who  seemed  to  hold, 
in  fact,  a  higher  rank  than  men.  He  men- 
tions that  on  leaving  Kiram  he  met  a 
princess,  wife  of  an  emir,  in  her  chariot  It 
was  covered  with  costly  blue  cloth.  The 
windows  and  doors  were  open,  so  that  he 
could  see  the  lady,  attended  by  four  young 
girls,  exquisitely  beautiful  and  wonderfully 
dressed.  Other  chanots  filled  with  hand- 
maidens followed.  She  got  down  to  visit 
Toloktomour.  Thirty  girls  held  up  the 
skirts  of  her  robe.  The  emir  rose  to 
receive  her ;  and,  after  they  had  eaten  and 
drank  together,  presented  her  with  a  dress  of 
honour.  Even  the  wives  of  merchants  and 
small  dealers  kept  up  great  state ;  and,  in 
travelling,  had  also  two  or  three  girls  to  bear 


their  train.  It  was  always  possible  to  see 
their  faces;  for,  in  those  times,  the  women  of 
the  Turks  were  not  veiled.  When  the  hus- 
band travelled  he  might  often  be  taken  for  a 
servant,  wearing  nothing  but  a  pelisse  of 
sheepskin  and  a  high  cap  called  alcula,  whilst 
the  wife's  head-dress  was  incrusted  with 
jewels  and  adorned  with  peacock's  fea- 
thers. 

At  Majar  the  traveller  learned  that  the 
camp  of  the  Sultan  was  at  Beoh-Taw,  or  the 
Five  Mountains.  They  went  in  search  of  it ; 
and,  one  day,  after  they  had  halted  on  the 
summit  of  a  hill,  beheld  the  ordou  or  Im- 
perial camp  approach.  It  resembled  a  great 
city  moving  along  with  all  its  inhabitants,  its 
mosques,  and  its  markets.  The  smoke  of  the 
kitchens  rose  through  the  air,  for  the  Turks 
did  not  always  halt  to  cook  their  meals. 
Innumerable  waggons  were  filled  with  people. 
On  arriving  at  the  halting  ground,  they 
removed  the  tents  and  the  mosques  and  the 
shops  from  the  waggons,  and  prepared  to  pass 
the  night.  One  of  the  Sultan-s  wives,  seeinga 
tent  on  a  neighbouring  hill,  with  a  standard 
set  up  in  front  to  announce  a  new  arrival, 
sent  pages  and  young  girls  to  carry  her  salu- 
tations ;  and,  having  waited  until  they  re- 
turned, passed  on  to  the  place  appointed 
for  her.  Soon  afterwards  the  Sultan  him- 
self arrived,  and  encamped  in  a  quarter  apart. 

According  to  Ibn-Batutah,  Sultan  Uzbek 
was  one  of  the  seven  great  soverigns  of  the 
earth.  One  of  the  titles  given  to  him  was 
that  of  '*  Conqueror  of  the  enemies  of  God. 
the  inhabitants  of  Constantinople  the  Great." 
He  was  remarkable  as  well  for  his  business 
habits  as  for  his  splendour.  In  the  descrip- 
tion of  his  audience-days  particular  stress  Is 
laid  on  the  fact  that  he  was  always  sur- 
rounded by  queens  and  princesses  (with  names 
too  hard  to  pronounce) ;  and  the  importance 
of  women,  as  part  of  the  machinery  of  that 
empire,  is  constantly  insisted  on.  Ibn- 
Batutah  came  from  different  climes  more  to 
the  south,  where  diff'erent  habits  prevailed. 
He  enlarges  complacently  on  the  courts  and 
households  of  the  four  khatouns  or  queens ; 
their  waggons  with  domes  of  gilded  silver  ; 
their  horses  covered  with  silken  trappings ; 
their  wise  duennas;  their  beautiful  slave  girls; 
their  costly  wardrobes,  and  their  etiq^uette. 
Then  he  gives  a  peculiarly  Oriental  biogra- 
phical account  of  those  four  ladies,  one  of 
whom  was  Beialoun,  daughter  of  the  Emperor 
of  Constantinople  the  Great,  Andronicus  the  . 
Third.  When  the  traveller  visited  her  she 
was  seated  on  a  throne  incrusted  with  stones 
and  precious  stones,  with  silver  feet  Before 
her  were  a  hundred  young  girls,  Greek, 
Turkish,  and  Nubian;  some  sitting,  some 
standing.  Eunuchs  were  near  her.  with 
several  Greek  chamberlains.  On  hearing  of 
the  distance  fh>m  which  the  travellers  bad 
come,  she  wept  with  tenderness  and  corapas* 
siou,  and  wiped  her  face  with  a  kerchief  she 
held  in  her  band.  No  doubt  she  was  thinking 


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64 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


of  her  own  far-off  coantry,  and  parents  of  a 
different  faith  ftrom  her  lord.  She  ordered  a 
repast  to  be  spread,  and  then  dismissed  her 
visitors  with  splendid  presents  of  provisions, 
money,  garments,  sheep  and  horses. 

Ibn-Batntah,  ever  anxioas  to  sec  strange 
things,  had  heard  of  the  wonderfnl  shortness 
of  the  night  in  one  season,  and  of  the  day  in 
another  season,  observed  at  the  city  of  Bol- 
ghar,  and  accordingly  marched  ten  days 
northward  to  visit  it.  He  arrived  there 
during  the  months  of  Ramadhan ;  and,  having 
broke  his  fast  at  sunset,  performed  tlie  even- 
ing prayer,  and  then  three  other  long  prayers 
— when,  lo !  the  dawn  began  to  appear.  He 
wished  to  visit  what  was  called  the  Land  of 
Darkness ;  forty  days  still  further  off,  but  the 
difficulty  of  the  journey  alarmed  him.  He 
was  told  that  people  travelled  there  in  sledges 
drawn  by  dogs,  some  of  which  were  valued 
at  a  thousand  dinars.  Their  master  fed  them 
before  he  touched  food  himself.  The  trade  of 
the  country  was  in  furs,  chiefly  ermine,  ex- 
ported to  China  and  India. 

On  his  return  to  Beoh-Taw,  Ibn-Batutah 
witnessed  the  solemnity  of  the  breaking  of 
the  fast  of  the  Ramadhan,  performed  with 
wonderful  barbaric  splendour.  After  that  the 
ordou  of  the  Sultan  broke  up  and  marched 
to  the  city  of  H%j-Terkhan,  now  known  as 
Astrakhan.  The  word  Terkhan  amongst  the 
Turks  signifies  a  place  exempt  ft>om  tax- 
ation. The  person  who  gave  his  name  to  the 
city  was  a  devout  pilgrim  or  h%j,  who  founded 
it,  and  obtained  from  the  sultan  the  privilege 
of  exemption.  It  Increased  to  a  great  size, 
and  became  an  emporium.  It  was  the 
custom  of  the  Sultan  to  remain  there  until 
the  cold  set  in  and  the  Volga  was  frozen  over. 

What  next  happened  to. Ibn-Batutah  sug- 
gests a  strange  contrast  with  the  present 
state  of  the  East.  Soon  after  arriving  at 
Astrakhan,  the  Khatoun  Beialoun,  daughter 
of  the  King  of  the  Greeks,  asked  permission 
of  the  Sultan  to  visit  her  fotherat  Constanti- 
nople, in  order  to  become  a  mother  there, 
promising  to  return  immediately  afterwards. 
Her  request  was  granted,  and  our  traveller 
begged  to  be  allowed  to  accompany  her,  in 
order  that  he  might  see  the  celebrated  city  of 
the  Christians.  After  some  kindly  opposition, 
he  received  permission  to  do  so,  and  was 
overwhelmed  with  valuable  presents.  The 
Sultan  politely  accompanied  his  Greek  wife 
for  a  day's  march,  and  then  left  her  to  proceed 
'  with  an  escort  of  five  thousand  soldiers.  Her 
own  servants  were  to  the  number  of  five 
hundred  horsemen,  for  the  most  part  slaves 
or  Greeks,  and  two  hundred  girls.  She  had 
four  hundred  chariots,  two  thousand  horses, 
three  hundred  oxen,  and  two  hundred  camels. 
They  marched  first  to  the  town  of  Okak,  a 
well-built  but  small  city,  situated  one  day's 
journey  from  the  mountains  inhabited  by  the 
Russians,  who  were  Christians  with  red  hair, 
blue  eyes,  ugly  faces,  and  cunning  disposi- 
tions.   They  possessed  mines  of  silver  wnich 


they  exported  in  the  shape  of  lingots,  each 
five  ounces  in  weight,  used  as  current  monev 
in  that  country.  This  is  all  that  Ibn-Batutah 
has  to  say  about  the  people  which  has  since 
spread  its  power  like  an  inundation  to  the 
east,  to  the  west,  and  to  the  south. 

Ten  days  farther  on,  the  queen  Beialoun,  in 
her  progress,  came  to  Sondak,  situated  on  the 
shores  of  the  sea  amidst  gardens,  and  with  a 
fine  and  well-frequented  port  It  was  inha- 
bited partly  by  Turks,  partly  by  Greek 
artisans  living  under  their  protection.  Not 
long  before,  a  violent  insurrection  of  the 
Christians  had  led  to  the  massacre  or  expul- 
sion of  the  greater  number.  The  next  station 
was  Baba-Salthouk,  the  last  city  belonging  to 
the  Turks,  between  which  and  Uie  commence- 
ment of  the  Greek  empire  was  a  desert 
eighteen  days  across,  a  great  portion  without 
water.  It  is  difficult  to  adapt  this  account 
to  modem  geography ;  and  we  do  not  exactly 
recognise  the  fortress  Mahtouly,  situated  at 
the  other  extremity  of  the  desert  on  the 
limit  of  the  Christian  territory.  Here  Beia- 
loun was  received  with  great  honours  by  her 
people,  and  the  Turkish  escort  returned  by 
the  way  it  had  come.  The  poor  princess 
breathed  more  freely.  Thenceforward,  the 
custom  of  praying  was  abolished.  '*  Among 
I  the  provisions  brought  to  her,''  says  Ibn- 
Batutah,  *'  were  intoxicating  drinks,  of  which 
she  partook,  and  hogs,  of  which  one  of  her 
people  told  me  she  ate.  No  one  remained 
with  her  who  prayed,  except  a  Turk,  who 
performed  his  devotions  with  us.  Her  secret 
sentiments  thus  manifested  themselves  as 
soon  as  we  had  reached  the  country  of  the 
infidels ;  but  die  requested  the  Greek  Emir, 
Nicholas,  to  treat  me  with  due  honour ;  add 
on  one  particular  occasion  that  officer  beat  a 
slave  who  had  made  fun  at  our  prayers." 
How  strangely  does  all  this  read  now  I 

The  brother  of  the  princess  came  to  escort 
her  with  an  army,  part  of  which  consisted  of 
a  body-guard  composed  of  men  in  complete 
coats  of  mail.  Their  gilded  lances  were 
adorned  with  .pennons,  and  altogether  a  won- 
derful display  of  riches  and  splendour  was 
made.  Thus  thev  proceeded  across  the  Da- 
nube and  the  plains  of  Roumelia ;  until,  after 
a  long  journey,  they  reached  a  spot  within 
ten  miles  of  Constantinople,  where  they 
halted  for  the  night  ''Next  day,"  says  the 
traveller,  ''the  population  of  that  city — ^men, 
women  and  children— came  out  to  meet  the 
princess ;  some  on  foot ;  some  on  horseback ;  all 
dressed  in  their  best  array.  From  the  earliest 
dawn  the  cymbals,  and  the  clarions,  and  the 
trumpets  sounded.  T^ie  Sultan  (Emperor), 
with  his  wife,  mother  of  the  Khatoun,  and  all 
the  great  personages  of  the  empire  and  the 
courtiers,  surrounded  by  horse-soldiers,  issued 
forth.  Over  the  head  of  the  Emperor  was 
carried  a  vast  canopy,  supported  by  horsemen 
and  footmen.  The  meeting  of  this  procession 
and  our  party  was  tumultuous.  I  could  not 
penetrate  through  the  crowd,  but  am   told 


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Charles  Dlckena.] 


THE  BLACK  SEA  FIVE  CENTURIES  AGO. 


C6 


that  when  the  princess  approached  her  pa- 
rentS;  she  put  foot  to  ground  and  kissed  the 
earth  at  their  feet,  and  the  hoofs  of  their 
horses,  as  did  likewise  her  chief  officers. 
We  entered  Constantinople  the  Great,  Uy- 
wards  midday.  The  inhabitants  were  ringing 
their  bells  in  full  peal,  so  that  the  heavens 
were  shaken  by  the  noise.  When  we  reached 
the  first  gate  of  the  palace,  we  found  there  a 
guard  of  a  hundred  men  upon  a  platform.  I 
heard  them  saying  'The  Saracens!  the  Sara- 
cens! * — a  word  by  which  they  designate  the 
Muslims — and  they  prevented  us  from  enter- 
ing." This  difficulty,  however,  was  subse- 
quently removed ;  and  Ibn-Batutah  was  not 
only  lodged  in  the  palace,  but  received  pre- 
sents of  flour,  bread,  sheep,  fowls,  butter, 
fruits,  and  fish,  with  money  and  carpets. 

Ibn-Batutah  calls  the  Emperor  of  Con- 
stantinople Takfour,  a  corruption  of  the 
Armenian  word  Tagavor,  which  means  king. 
He  was  the  son  of  the  previous  Emperor, 
Greorge,  who  had  abdicated  and  become  a 
monk.  The  traveller  visited  the  monarch  on 
the  invitation  of  the  Khatoun.  As  he  entered 
the  palace  he  was  searched,  to  see  that  he 
had  no  weapon  about  him,  according  to  an 
ancient  custom  rigidly  complied  with.  This 
done,  he  was  admitted,  whilst  four  people 
surrounded  him,  two  holding  his  sleeves  and 
two  his  shoulders.  Thus  attended,  he  reached 

Xat  hall,  the  walls  of  which  were  horned 
mosaics  representing  natural  produc- 
tions, animal  and  mineral.  In  the  midst  of 
the  hall  was  a  piece  of  water,  with  trees  bor- 
dering it.  Men  stood  upon  the  right  and  on 
the  left«  without  speaking.  Three  of  them 
received  him  from  his  guides,  and  likewise 
took  hold  of  his  clothes.  A  Syrian  Jew, 
acting  as  interpreter,  told  him  to  fear  nothing, 
for  strangers  were  always  received  thus.  He 
asked  how  he  was  to  salute,  and  was  an- 
swered, **  With  the  words  Salam  Alaykoum." 

The  Emperor  was  sitting  on  his  throne, 
with  his  wife  and  her  brothers  at  its  foot. 
Armed  men  stood  ^v  his  side  and  behind 
him.  He  signed  to  the  stranger  to  sit  down 
and  rest  awhile,  and  recover  his  presence  of 
mind,  after  which  he  questioned  him  con- 
cerning Jerusalem,  and  the  Rock  of  Jacob, 
and  the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre ;  on 
the  Cradle  of  Jesus,  on  Bethlehem  and 
Hebron,  on  Damascus,  Cairo,  Persia,  and 
Asia  Minor.  Ibn-Batutah  was  astonished  at 
the  interest  the  monarch  took  in  these  things, 
and  answered  copiously.  He  was  treated 
with  great  respect,  and  received  a  dress  of 
honour,  with  a  horse  saddled  and  bridled, 
and  one  of  the  king's  own  parasols,  as  a 
mark  of  protection.  He  asked  for  a  guide 
to  show  him  the  wonders  of  the  city,  and 
thus  accompanied,  went  forth  to  satiate  his 
cariosity. 

Ibn-Batutah  describes  the  city  of  Constan- 
tinople as  situated  on  two  sides  of  a  river,  by 
which  he  means  the  Golden  Horn.  One  por- 
tion was  called  Esthamboul,  inhabited  by  the 


Saltan,  the  grandees  of  the  empire,  and  the 
remainder  of  the  Greek  population.  Its  mar- 
kets and  its  streets  were  broad,  and  paved 
with  flags  of  stone  Every  trade  occupied  a 
distinct  place,  and  the  markets  were  closed 
by  gates  at  night.  From  this  description, 
which  would  now  apply  to  most  Oriental 
towns,  we  might  infer  that  Constantinople 
afterwards  became  the  model  city  of  the  East 
But  it  is  added,  that  in  the  fifteenth  century 
most  of  the  artisans  and  shopkeepers  were 
women.  The  second  quarter  of  the  city  was 
called  Gralata,  and  was  principally  inhabited 
bv  Christian  Franks  of  many  nations— as 
Genoese,  Venetians,  Romans,  and  French. 
They  were  under  the  authority  of  the  Em- 
peror, who  nominated  what  they  call  Alkomes, 
or  a  court  to  govern  them.  They  paid  an  an- 
nual tribute,  but  often  revolted  and  warred 
against  the  Emperor,  until  the  Pope,  or 
patriarch,  interposed  to  make  peace  between 
them.  All  were  devoted  to  commerce.  "  I 
hav6  seen  about  a  hundred  galleys  and  other 
great  ships  there,"  says  Ibn-Batutah,  "with- 
out counting  smaller  craft  The  markets  of 
this  quarter  are  large  but  full  of  filth,  and  are 
traversed  by  a  dirty  river.  The  churches  of 
these  people  are  also  disgusting,  and  contain 
nothing  good." 

Then  ttie  worthy  traveller  goes  on  to  talk 
of  the  great  church  of  St  Sophia,  which  has 
been  closed  for  so  many  centuries  against 
Christians,  whilst  remaining  the  pole-star  of 
orthodox  popes.  According  to  nim,  it  was 
founded  by  Assag,  son  of  Barakia,  who  was  a 
son  of  Solomon's  aunt  In  those  days  the 
Greeks  had  it  all  their  own  way,  aad  set  the 
example  of  keeping  strangers  rigidly  out. 
Ibn-Batutah  was  not  allowed  to  enter  further 
than  the  great  enclosure.  He  describes  the 
exterior  as  very  splendidly  adorned,  but  men- 
tions that  shops  existed  within  the  sacred 
limits.  In  order  to  be  certain  that  none  but 
good  Ctiristians  entered  the  church,  guardians 
wero  posted,  who  compelled  every  one  to 
kneel  before  a  cross,  which  (says  the  tra- 
veller) was  greatly  respected  by  those  people. 
It  was  a  fragment  of  the  real  cross,  pre- 
served in  a  coffer  of  gold.  Ibn-Batutah  gives 
a  ^ood  many  details  of  the  religious  customs 
existing  at  Constantinople.  The  number  of 
monks  and  other  people  living  by  religion 
seems  to  have  been  immense.  What  particu- 
larly struck  him  was  a  convent  of  five 
hundred  virgins,  dressed  in  haircloth,  with 
felt  caps  on  their  heads,  which  were  shaved. 
These  women,  he  says,  were  of  exquisite 
beauty,  but  the  austerity  of  their  lire  was 
marked  upon  their  faces.  When  he  went  to 
see  them,  a  young  boy  was  reading  the  Gospel 
to  them  in  a  voice  of  marvellous  beauty. 
Having  told  many  other  facts  of  the  same 
nature,  the  traveller  exclaims  a^in :  "  Verily, 
the  greater  part  of  the  population  of  this  city 
consists  of  monks  and  priests.  The  churches 
were  innumerable.  All  the  inhabitants,  mili- 
I  tary  or  not,  poor  and  rich,  went  about  with 


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66 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Condocted  by 


great  parasols  sammer  and  winter."  Do  we 
not  now  begin  completely  to  anderstand  the 
great  disaster  which  happened  about  a  cen- 
tury afterwards? 

One  day  Ibn-Batutah  met  an  old  man  with 
a  long  white  beard  and  a  handsome  counte- 
nauce,  walking  on  foot  in  a  dress  of  horsehair 
and  a  felt  cap.  Before  him  and  behind  him 
was  a  troop  of  monks:  in  his  hand  was  a 
stick,  and  about  his  neck  a  chaplet.  When 
the  Greek  who  had  been  given  to  our  traveller 
as  a  guide  ^aw  him,  he  got  down  from  his 
horse  and  said—'*  Do  as  I  do ;  for  this  is  the 
father  of  the  king."  It  was  indeed  George, 
the  father  of  Andronicus.  He  spoke  to  the 
Greek,  who  knew  Arabic,  and  said :  "  Tell 
this  Saracen  that  I  press  the  hand  that  has 
been  at  Jerusalem  and  the  foot  which  has 
walked  on  the  Rock  of  Jacob."  Then  he 
touched  Ibn-Batutah^s  feet,  and  passed  his 
hand  over  his  own  face.  Afterwards,  they 
walked  hand  in  hand  together,  talking  of 
Jerusalem  and  the  Christians  who  were  stUl 
there,  ugtil  they  entered  the  enclosure  of 
St  Sophia.  When  he  approached  the  prin- 
cipal gateway  a  troop  of  priests  and  monks 
came  out  to  salute  him,  for  he  was  one  of 
their  chiefs.  On  seeing  them,  he  let  go  the 
hand  of  the  traveller,  who  said  to  him  :  *'  I 
wish  to  enter  with  thee  into  this  church." 
But  the  old  king  replied :  "  Whoever  enters 
must  do  obeisance  to  the  Cross,  according  to 
the  law  of  the  ancients,  which  cannot  be 
transgressed."  So  saying,  he  entered  alone, 
and  Ibn-Batutah  saw  him  no  more. 

It  will  be  seen  that  our  traveller  looked  at 
everything  from  a  particular  point  of  view, 
and  was  not  very  fertile  in  general  observa- 
tions. What  he  relates,  however,  will  be 
sufficient  to  suggest  the  wonderflil  change 
that  has  come  over  those  regions  since  he 
wrote.  Every  thing  and  every  race  seems  to 
have  changed  its  place.  The  Russians  were 
then  spoken  of  as  an  obscure  tribe:  the 
Turks,  recently  emerged  firom  the  depths  of 
Central  Asia,  were  indulging,  under  their 
tents,  in  a  foretaste  of  Imperial  splendour ; 
the  Greeks  were  gradually  sinking  into  the 
slough  of  mere  formal  religion,  and  becoming 
effeminate  under  tl^'ir  silken  parasols.  The 
Franks  appeared  merely  as  strangers,  freely 
trafficking  with  either  party,  but  trying  here 
and  there  to  establish  a  footing.  One  of  the 
most  curious  parts  of  Ibn-Batutah 's  rapid 
narrati  ve  is  the  sketch  of  the  story  of  Beialoun. 
She  had  been  made  over  to  Uzbek  Rhan 
from  political  motives,  but  had  probably  not 
won  any  extravagant  share  of  his  affections. 
At  any  rate,  by  her  conduct  on  her  arrival  in 
Christendom,  she  seemed  determined  to  have 
no  more  of  barbarian  life.  The  Turks  who 
accompanied,  soon  saw  that  she  professed  the 
religion  of  her  father,  and  desired  to  remain 
with  him.  They  asked  her  permission,  there- 
fore, to  return ;  which  she  granted,  after 
bestowing  presents  upon  them.  Ibn-Batutah 
also  shared  in   her  bounty.    He  received 


three  hundred  dinars  "  of  poor  gold,  how- 
ever," with  two  thousand  Venetian  drachms 
and  other  matters;  and  after  having  re- 
mained a  month  and  six  days  with  ^e 
Greeks,  returned  to  Astrakhan. 


CHIP. 


LONG  LIFE   OF  LOCUSTS. 

A  Correspondent,  in  reference  to  the 
tenacity  of  life  in  locusts,*  mentions  "  that 
about  twelve  years  ago  an  insect  of  the 
locust  tribe,  about  an  inch  and  a  half  or 
two  inches  in  length  (of  body)  flew  or  was 
blown  into  the  windows  of  a  house  on 
Albury  Heath.  It  was  caught,  and  we 
endeavoured  to  preserve  it  by  washing  it  iq 
a  solution  of  camphor;  but  Uie  camphor 
would  not  kill  it.  I  then  applied  prussic  acid 
of  the  quality  usually  dispensed  by  good 
druggists.  I  washed  it  well  with  a  feather 
over  its  head,  back,  wings,  and  legs.  As  soon 
as  applied,  the  insect  dropped  all  of  a  heap, 
as  the  vulgar  expression  is,  and  would  remain 
apparently  lifeless  for  about  six  or  eight 
minutes.  Then  it  would  revive  gradually, 
and  apparently  regain  its  full  life  and  vigour. 
I  did  this  for  several  days,  and  on  some  occa- 
sions repeating  the  dressing  from  time  to 
time  as  soon  as  it  had  revived,  sometimes  as 
soon  as  it  showed  symptoms  of  revival.  I 
forget  what  became  of  it,  but  assuredly  prus- 
sic acid  did  nut  kill  it" 

THE  CHINESE  ADAM. 

The  notions  entertained  by  Chinese  writers 
on  the  subject  of  the  first  man  and  the  cre- 
ation of  the  world,  are  very  curious.  They 
begin,  like  our  Scriptural  account,  with  a 
time  when  the  earth  was  without  form  and 
void ;  from  that  they  pass  to  an'idea  that  was 
of  old  part  of  the  wisdom  of  Egypt.  Chaos 
was  succeeded  by  the  working  of  a  dual 
power.  Rest  and  Motion,  'the  one  female,  and 
named  Yin, — the  other  male,  and  named 
Yang. 

Of  heaven  and  earth,  of  genii,  of  men,  and 
of  all  creatures,  animate  and  inanimate.  Yia 
and  Yang  were  the  father  and  the  mother. 
Furthermore,  all  these  things  are  either  male 
or  female  :  there  is  nothing  in  Nature  neuter. 
Whatever  in  the  material  world  possesses,  or 
is  reputed  to  possess,  the  quality  of  hardness 
(including  heaven,  the  sun,  and  da^)  is  mas- 
culine. Whatever  is  soft  (including  earth, 
the  moon,  and  night,  as  well  as— earth,  wood, 
metals,  and  water),  is  feminine.  Choofoots 
says  on  this  subject,  '*  The  celestial  principle 
formed  the  male ;  the  terrestrial  principle 
formed  the  female.  All  animate  and  inani- 
mate nature  majr  be  distinguished  into  mas- 
culine and  feminine.  Even  vegetable  pro- 
ductions are  male  and  female ;  for  instance. 


''Sea  Tolame  x.  p*g«  478. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbcriei  DickeiM.] 


THE  CHINESE  ADAM. 


67 


there  is  female  hemp,  and  there  are  male  and 
female  bamboo.  Nothing  can  possibly  be 
separated  fh>ro  the  daal  principles  named 
Tin  and  Yang,  the  superior  and  hard, 
—the  inferior  and  soft"  It  is  cartons  to 
find  that  the  Chinese  have  also  a  theory 
resembling  one  propounded  by  Pythagoras, 
concerning  monads  and  duads.  *'  One,- '  they 
say,  "  begat  two,  two  produced  four,  and  four 
increased  to  eight ;  and  thus  by  spontaneous 
multiplication,  the  production  of  all  things 
followed." 

As  for  the  present  system  of  things,  it  is 
the  work  of  what  they  call  *'  the  triad  powers," 
— Heayen,  Man,  and  Earth.  The  following 
is  translated  from  a  Chinese  Encyclopedia, 
published  about  sixty  years  ago, — **  Before 
heaven  and  earth  existed,  they  were  com- 
mingled as  the  contents  of  an  eg|-she11 
are."  [In  this  egg-shell,  heaven  is  lilcened 
to  the  yellow,  the  earth  to  the  white  of  the 
egfgO  "  Or  they  were  toother,  turbid  and 
muddy  like  thick  dregs  just  beginning  to 
settle.  Or  they  were  together  like  a  thick 
fog  on  the  point  of  breaking.  Then  was  the 
beginning  of  time,  when  the  original  power 
created  all  thin^  Heaven  and  eartn  are 
the  effect  of  the  First  Cause.  They  in  turn 
produced  all  other  things  besides." 

Another  part  of  the  tradition  runs  as 
follows :  "  In  the  midst  of  this  chaotic  mass 
Pwankoo  lived  during  eighteen  thousand 
years.  He  lived  when  the  heaven  and  the 
earth  were  being  created;  the  superior 
and  lighter  elements  forming  the  firmament, 
— ^the  inferior  and  coarser  the  dry  land." 
Again,  *' During  this  time  the  heavens  in- 
creased every  day  ten  feet  in  height,  the 
earth  as  much  in  thickness,  and  Pwankoo  in 
stature.  The  period  of  eighteen  thousand 
years  being  assigned  to  the  growth  of  each 
respectivehr,  during  that  time  the  heavens 
rose  to  their  extreme  height,  the  earth 
reached  the  greatest  thickness,  and  Pwankoo 
his  utmost  stature.  The  heavens  rose  aloft 
nine  thousand  miles,  the  earth  swelled  nine 
thousand  miles  in  thickness,  and  in  the 
middle  was  Pwankoo,  stretching  himself  be- 
tween heaven  and  earth,  until  ne  separated 
them  at  a  distance  of  nine  thousand  miles 
^m  each  other.  So  the  highest  part  of  the 
heavens  is  removed  f^om  the  lowest  part  of 
the  earth  bv  a  distance  of  twenty-seven  thou- 
sand miles." 

The  name  of  the  Chinese  Adam — ^Pwankoo 
— ^means  *<  basin-ancient,"  that  is,  **basined 
antiquity."  It  is  probably  meant  to  denote 
how  this  father  of  antiquity  was  nourished 
originally  In  an  egg-shell,  and  hatched  like  a 
chick.  Among  the  portraits  commonly  stored 
up  by  native  archieologists,  we  find  various  re- 
presentations of  Pwanltoo.  One  is  now  before 
me  that  exhibits  him  with  an  enormous  head 
tipped  with  two  horns.  His  hair,  which  is 
of  a  puritanical  cut  on  the  brow,  fiows  loose 
and  long  over  the  back  and  shoulders.  He 
has  large  eyes  and  shaggy  eyebrows,— a  very 


flat  nose, — a  heavy  moustache  and  beard. 
Only  the  upper  part  of  his  body  is  exhibited, 
and  one  can  scarcely  tell  whether  the  painter 
represents  it  as  being  covered  with  hair, 
leaves,  or  sheepskin.  His  arms  are  bare, 
and  his  hands  thrown  carelessly  the  one  over 
the  other,  as  if  in  complete  satisfaction  with  . 
himself.  Another  picture  represents  him 
with  an  apron  of  leaves  round  his  loins,  hold- 
ing the  sun  in  one  hand,  and  the  moon  in 
the  other.  A  third  artibt  has  pictured  him 
with  a  chisel  and  mallet  in  his  hands,  split- 
ting and  sculpturing  huge  masses  of  granite. 
Through  the  immense  opening  made  by  his 
labour,  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars  are  seen ; 
and  at  his  right  hand  stand,  for  companions, 
the  unicorn  and  the  dragon,  the  phoenix 
and  the  tortoise.  He  appears  as  a  strong 
naked  giant,  taking  pleasure  in  the  carv- 
ing out  of  the  mountains,  stupendous  pillars, 
caves,  and  dens.  During  his  eighteen 
thousand  years  of  efibrt,  we  are  told  that, 
**  his  head  became  mountains,  his  breath 
winds  and  clouds,  and  his  voice  thunder. 
His  left  eye  was  made  the  sun,  and  his  right 
eye  the  moon.  His  teeth,  bones,  and  mar- 
row were  changed  into  metals,  rocks,  and 
precious  stones.  His  beard  was  converted 
mto  stars,  his  flesh  into  flelds,  his  skin  and 
hair  into  herbs  and  trees.  His  limbs  became 
the  four  poles;  his  veins,  rivers;  and  his 
sinews  formed  the  undulations  on  the  face  of 
the  earth.  His  very  sweat  was  transformed 
into  rain,  and  whatever  insects  stuck  to  or 
crept  over  his  gigantic  body,  were  made  into 
human  beings!" 

The  uneducated  Chinese  are  careless,  and 
the  educated  sceptical,  about  these  things. 
As  a  people  they  are  not  easily  induced  to 
pay  mucli  regard  to  whatever  has  refer- 
ence to  more  than  everyday  social  wisdom. 
The  sort  of  doctrine  common  now  among 
the  learned,  is  indeed  found  in  the  succeed- 
ing passage  from  a  Chinese  author : — **  But 
as  everything  (except  heaven  and  earth) 
must  have  a  beginning  and  a  cause,  it  is 
manifest  that  heaven  and  earth  always 
existed,  and  that  all  sorts  of  men  and  beings 
were  produced  and  endowed  with  their  va- 
rious qualities,  by  that  cause.  However,  it 
must  have  been  Man  that  in  the  beginning 
produced  all  the  things  upon  the  earth.  Him, 
therefore,  we  may  view  as  Lord ;  and  it  is 
from  him,  we  may  say,  that  the  dignities  of 
rulers  are  derived." 


Pi:RE  PANPAN. 

<<  Monsieur  Panpan  lives  in  the  Place 
Valois,"  said  my  ft-iend,  newly  arrived  from 
London  on  a  visit  to  Paris,  **  and  as  I  am 
under  promise  to  his  brother  Victor  to  deliver 
a  message  on  bis  behalf,  I  must  keep  my 
word  even  if  I  go  alone,  and  execute  my  mis- 
sion in  pantomime.  Will  you  be  my  inter- 
preter ? " 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


68 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  bj 


The  Place  Valois  is  a  dreamj  little  sqaare 
formed  bj  tall  houses :  graced  bj  an  elegant 
fountain  in  its  centre ;  guarded  bj  a  red- 
legged  sentinel ;  and  is  chleflj  remarkable  in 
Parisian  annals  as  the  scene  of  the  assassina- 
tion of  the  Due  de  Berri.  There  is  a  quiet 
melancholy  air  about  the  place  which  accords 
well  with  its  traditions ;  and,  even  the  little 
children  who  make  it  their  playground  on 
account  of  the  absence  of  both  vehicles  and 
equestrians,  pursue  their  sports  in  a  subdued 
tranquil  way,  hanging  about  the  fountain's 
edge,  and  dabbling  in  the  water  with  their 
little  fingers.  Monsieur  Panpan's  residence 
was  not  difficult  to  find.  We  entered  by  a 
handsome  porte-lM>ch^re  into  a  paved  court- 
yard, and,  having  duly  accounted  for  our 
presence  to  the  watchful  concierge  who  sat 
sedulously  peering  out  of  a  green  sentry-box, 
commenced  our  ascent  to  the  upper  regions. 
Seeing  that  Monsieur  lived  on  the  fourth 
floor,  and  that  the  steps  of  the  spacious  stair- 
case were  of  that  shallow  description  which 
disappoint  the  tread  by  falling  short  of  its 
expectations,  it  was  no  wonder  that  we  were 
rather  out  of  breath  when  we  reached  the 
necessary  elevation ;  and  that  we  paused  a 
moment  to  collect  our  thoughts,  and  calm 
our  respiration,  before  knocking  at  the  little 
back-room  door,  which  we  knew  to  be  that  of 
Monsieur  Panpan. 

Madame  Panpan  received  us  most  gra- 
ciously, setting  chairs  for  us,  and  apologising 
for  her  husband  who,  poor  man,  was  sitting 
up  in  his  bed,  with  a  wan  contenance, 
and  hollow,  glistening  eyes.  We  were 
in  the  close  heavy  air  of  a  sick  chamber. 
The  room  was  very  small,  and  the  bedstead 
occupied  a  large  portion  of  its  space.  It  was 
lighted  by  one  little  window  only,  and  that 
looked  down  a  sort  of  square  shaft  which 
served  as  a  ventilator  to  the  house.  A  pale 
child,  with  large  wandering  eyes,  watched  us 
intently  from  oehind  the  end  of  the  little 
French  bedstead,  while  the  few  toys  he  had 
been  playing  with  lay  scattered  upon  the 
floor.  The  room  was  very  neat,  although  its 
furniture  was  poor  and  scanty,  and  by  the 
brown  saucepan  perched  upon  the  top  of  the 
diminutive  German  stove,  which  had  strayed, 
as  it  were,  from  its  chimney  corner  into  the 
middle  of  the  room,  we  knew  that  the  pot- 
au-feu  was  in  preparation.  Madame,  before 
whom  was  a  small  table  covered  with  the  un- 
finished portions  of  a  corset,  was  very  agree- 
able— ^rather  coquettish,  indeed,  we  should 
have  said  in  England.  Her  eyes  were 
bright  and  cheerful,  and  her  hair  drawn 
back  from  her  forehead  a  la  Chinoise.  In 
a  graceful,  but  decided  way,  she  apologised 
for  continuing  her  labours,  which  were 
evidently  works  of  necessity  rather  than  of 
choice. 

"  And  Victor,  that  good  boy^"  she  exclaim- 
ed, when  we  had  farther  explained  the  object 
of  our  visit, "  was  quite  well  I  I  am  charmed  I 
And  he  had  found  work,  and  succeeding  so 


well  in  his  alRiirs.  I  am  enchanted  I  It  is  so 
amiable  of  him  to  send  me  this  little  cadeau !  ^• 

Monsieur  Panpan,  with  his  strange  lustrous 
eyes,  if  not  enchanted,  rubbed  his  thin  bony 
hands  together  as  he  sat  up  in  the  bed,  and 
chuckled  in  an  unearthly  way  at  the  good 
news.  Having  executed  our  commission,  we 
felt  it  would  be  intrusive  to  prolong  our  stay, 
and  therefore  rose  to  depart,  but  received  so 
pressing  an  invitation  to  repeat  the  vidt, 
that,  on  the  part  of  myself  and  IViend,  who 
was  to  leave  Paris  in  a  few  davs,  I  could  not 
refuse  to  comply  with  a  wish  so  cordially 
expressed,  and  evidently  sincere.  And  thus 
commenced  my  acquidntance  with  the  Pan- 
pans. 

I  cannot  trace  the  course  of  our  acquaint- 
ance, or  tell  how,  from  an  occasional  call,  my 
visits  became  those  of  a  bosom  friend ;  but 
certain  it  is,  that  soon  each.retumin|;  Sunday 
saw  me  a  guest  at  the  table  of  Monsieur  Pan- 
pan,  where  my  convert  and  serviette  became 
sacred  to  my  use ;  and,  after  the  meal,  were 
carefully  cleaned  and  laid  apart  for  the  next 
occasion.  This,  I  afterwards  learned,  was  a 
customary  mark  of  consideration  towards  an 
esteemed  friend  among  the  poorer  class  of 
Parisians.  I  soon  learned  their  history.  Their 
every-day  existence  was  a  simple,  easily 
read  stoir,  and  not  the  less  simple  and 
touching  because  it  is  the  ev^ry-day  story  of 
thousands  of  poor  French  families.  Madame 
was  a  stay-maker ;  and  the  whole  care  and 
responsibility  of  providing  for  the  wants  and 
comforts  of  a  sick  husband ;  for  her  little 
Victor,  her  eldest  bom;  and  the  monthly 
stipend  of  her  infant  Henri,  out  at  nurse 
some  hundred  leagues  from  Paris,  hung  upon 
the  unaided  exertions  of  her  single  hands,  and 
the  scrupulous  and  wonderful  economy  of 
her  management. 

One  day  I  found  Madame  in  tears.  Panpan 
himself  lay  with  rigid  features,  and  his  wiry 
hands  spread  out  upon  the  counterpane.  Ma- 
dame was  at  first  inconsolable  and  inexpli- 
cable, but  at  length,  amid  sobs,  half  sup- 
pressed, related  we  nature  of  their  new 
misfortune.  Would  Monsieur  believe  that 
those  miserable  nurse-people,  insulting  as 
they  were,  had  sent  from  the  country  to  say, 
that  unless  the  three  months  numng  of 
little  Henri,  together  with  the  six  pounds 
of  lump  sugar,  which  formed  part  of  the 
original  bargain,  were  immediately  paid, 
cette  pauvre  bete  (Henri  that  was),  would 
be  instantly  dispatched  to  Paris,  and  pro- 
ceedings taken  for  Uie  recovery  of  the  debt. 
Ces  miserables  I 

Here  poor  Madame  Panpan  could  not  con- 
tain herself,  but  gave  way  to  her  affliction 
in  a  violent  outburst  of  tears.  And  yet  the 
poor  child,  the  cause  of  all  this  sorrow,  was 
almost  as  great  a  stranger  to  his  mother 
as  he  was  to  me,  who  had  never  seen  him 
in  my  life.  With-  scarcely  a  week's  exist- 
ence to  boast  of,  he  had  been  swaddled 
up  in  strange  clothes ;  entrusted  to  strange 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ChariM  IHckea*.] 


PfcRE  PANPAN. 


69 


hands;  aod  harried  away  some  hundred 
leagues  from  the  capital,  to  scramble 
abont  the  clay  floor  of  an  unwholesome  cotr 
tage,  in  company  perhaps  with  some  hali"- 
dozen  atomies  like  himseir,  as  strange  to 
each  other,  as  they  were  to  their  own 
parents,  to  pass  those  famous  mois  de 
nonrrioe  which  form  so  important  and  mo- 
mentous a  period  in  the  lives  of  most  French 
people.  Madame  Panpan  was.  however,  in 
no  way  responsible  for  this  state  of  things ; 
the  system  was  there,  not  only  recogni^, 
but  encouraged;  become  indeed  a  part  of 
the  social  habits  of  the  people,  and  it  was  no 
wonder  if  her  poverty  should  have  driven  her 
to  so  popular  and  ready  a  means  of  meeting 
a  great  dilBcul^.  How  she  extricated  her- 
self from  this  dilemma,  it  Is  not  necessary  to 
state ;  suflBce  it  to  say,  that  a  few  weeks 
saw  cette  petite  bete  Henri,  happily  rfoml- 
ciled  in  the  Place  Valols ;  and,  if  not  over- 
burdened with  apparel,  at  least  released 
from  the  terrible  debt  of  six  and  thirty  iVancs, 
and*  six  pounds  of  lump  sugar. 

It  naturally  happened,  that  on  the  plea- 
sant Sunday  afternoons,  when  we  bad  dis- 
posed of  our  small,  but  often  sumptuous 
dinner ;  perhaps  a  gigot  de  mouton  with  a 
clove  of  garlic  ia  the  knuckle  ;  a  ft'icass^e 
de  rabbits  with  onions,  or  a  fricaodeair; 
Panpan  himself  would  tell  me  part  of  his 
history  j  and  in  the  course  of  our  salad ; 
of  our  little  dessert  of  fresh  fruit,  or  currant 
jelly  ;  or  perhaps,  stimulated  by  the  tiniest 
glass  of  brandy,  would  grow  warm  in  the 
recital  of  his  earlv  experiences,  and  the  un- 
happy chance  which  had  brought  him  into 
his  present  condition. 

**  Ah,  Monsieur ! "  he  said,  one  day,  **  little 
would  vou  think  to  see  me  cribbed  up  in  this 
miserable  bed,  that  I  had  been  a  soldier,  or 
that  the  happiest  days  of  my  life  had  been 
passed  in  the  woods  of  Fontainebleau,  follow- 
ing the  chase  in  the  retinue  of  King  Charles 
the  Tenth  of  France.  I  was  a  wild  young 
fellow  in  my  boyhood ;  and,  when  at  the  age  of 
eighteen  I  drew  for  the  conscription  and  found 
it  was  my  fate  to  serve,  I  believe  I  never  was 
so  happy  in  my  life.  I  entered  the  cavalrv ; 
and,  in  spite  of  the  heavy  duties  and  strict 
discipline,  it  was  a  glorious  time.  It  makes 
me  mad.  Monsieur,  when  I  think  of  the  happy 
days  I  have  spent  on  the  road,  ixK  barracks, 
and  in  snug  country-quarters,  where  there 
was  cider  or  wine  for  tne  asking ;  to  find  my- 
self in  a  solitary  comer  of  great,  thoughtless 
Paris,  sick  and  helpless.  It  would  be  some- 
thing to  die  out  in  the  open  fields  like  a 
worn-out  horse,  or  to  be  shot  like  a  wounded 
one.  But  this  is  terrible,  and  I  am  but  thirty- 
eight." 

We  comforted  him  in  the  best  way  we  could 
with  sage  axioms  of  antique  date,  or  more 
lively  stories  of  passing  events ;  but  I  saw  a 
solitary  tear  creeping  down  the  cheek  of 
Madame  Panpan,  even  in  the  midst  of  a 
quaint  sally ;  and,  under  pretence  of  arrang- 


ing his  pillow,  she  bent  over  his  head  and 
kissed  him  gently  on  the  forehead. 

P^re  Panpan— I  had  come  by  degrees  to 
call  him  **Pere,"  although  he  was  still  young; 
for  it  sounded  natural  and.  kindly — con- 
tinued his  narrative  in  his  rambling,  gossip- 
ing way.  He  bad  been  chosen,  he  said,  to 
serve  in  the  Garde  Royale,  of  whom  fifteen 
thousand  sabres  were  stationed  in  and  about 
the  capital  at  this  period ;  and  in  the  royal 
forest  of  Fontainebleau,  in  the  enjoyment 
of  a  sort  of  indolent  activity,  he  passed  his 
happiest  days  ;  now  employed  in  the  chase, 
now  in  the  palace  immediatelv  about  the 
person  of  the  king,  in  a  succession  of  active 
pleasures,  or  easy,  varied  duties.  Panpan 
was  no  republican.  Indeed,  I  question 
whether  any  very  deep  political  principles 
governed  his  sentiments;  which  naturally 
allied  themselves  with  those  things  that 
yielded  the  greatest  amount  of  pleasure. 

The  misfortunes  of  P^re  Panpan  dated 
from  the  revolution  of  eighteen  hundred  and 
thirty.  Then  tlie  glittering  pageantry  in  the 
palace  of  Fontainebleau  vanished  like  a  dream. 
The  wild  clatter  of  military  preparation ;  the 
rattling  of  steel  and  the  trampling  of  horses ; 
and  away  swept  troop  after  troop,  with  sword- 
belt  braced  and  carbine  in  hand,  to  plunge 
into  the  mad  uproar  of  the  streets  of  Paris, 
risen,  stones  and  all,  in  revolution.  The  Garde 
Royale  did  their  duty  in  those  three  terrible 
days,  and  if  their  gallant  charges  through 
the  encumbered  streets,  or  their  patient  en- 
durance amid  the  merciless  showers  of  indes- 
cribable missiles,  were  all  in  vain,  it  was 
because  their  foe  was  animated  by  an  enthu- 
siasm of  which  they  knew  nothing,  save  iA 
the  endurance  of  its  efibcts.  Panpan's  in- 
dividual fate,  amid  all  tills  turmoil,  was 
lamentable  enough. 

A  few  hours  amid  the  dust ;  the  swelling 
heat ;  the  yellings  of  the  excited  populace  : 
the  roaring  of  cannon  and  the  pattering  of 
musketry  ;  saw  the  troop  in  which  he  served, 
broken  and  scattered,  and  Panpan  himself 
rolling  in  the  dust,  with  a  thousand  lights 
flashing  in  his  eyes,  and  a  brass  button 
lodged  in  his  side ! 

<*  Those  villains  of  Parisians  I "  he  ex- 
claimed, *^  not  content  with  showering  their 
whole  garde  meuble  upon  our  heads,  flred 
upon  us  a  diabolical  collection  of  missiles, 
such  as  no  mortal  ever  thought  of  before : 
—bits  of  broken  brass ;  little  plates  of  tin 
and  iron  rolled  into  sugar-loaves;  crushed 
brace-buckles ;  crooked  nails  and  wads  of 
metal  wire : — anything,  indeed,  that  in  their 
extremity  they  could  lay  their  hands  on,  and 
ram  into  the  muzzle  of  a  gun  I  These  things 
inflicted  fearfhl  gashes,  and,  in  many  cases,  a 
mere  flesh-wound  turned  out  a  death-stroke. 
Few  that  got  hurt  In  our  own  troop  lived  to 
tell  the  tale." 

A  few  more  days  and  the  whole  royal 
cavalcade  was  scattered  like  chaff*  before  the 
wind,  and  Charles  the  Tenth  a  fugitive  on  his 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[ConAirtwl  tfj 


way  to  England ;  a  few  more  days  and  the 
wily  Louis  Philippe  was  taking  the  oath  to  a 
new  constitution,  and  our  friend,  Panpan,  lay 
carefully  packed,  brass  button  and  all,  in  the 
Hotel-Dieu.  The  brass  button  was  difficult 
to  find,  and  when  found,  the  ugly  fissure  it 
had  made  grew  gangrened,  and  would  not 
heal ;  and  thus  it  happened  that  many  a  bed 
became  vacant,  and  got  filled,  and  was  vacant 
again,  as  their  occupants  either  walked:  out, 
or  were  borne  out,  of  the  hospital  gates, 
before  Panpan  was  declared  convalescent,  and 
finally  dismissed  firom  the  Hotel-Dieu  as 
"  cured." 

The  proud  trooper  was,  however,  an 
altered  man ;  his  health  and  spirit^  were 
gone  ;  the  whole  corps  of  which  he  had  so 
often  boasted  was  broken  up  and  dispersed ; 
his  means  of  livelihood  were  at  an  end,  and 
what  was  worse  be  knew  of  no  other  exercise 
by  which  he  could  gain  his  daily  bread.  There 
were  very  many  such  helplessi  tradeless  men 
pacing  the  streets  of  Paris,  when  the  fever  of 
the  revolution  was  cooled  down,  and  ordi- 
nary business  ways  began  to  take  tbeir 
course.  Nor  was  it  those  alone  who  were 
uninstructed  in  any  useful  occupation,  but 
there  were  also  the  turbulent,  dissatisfied 
spirits ;  builders  of  barricades,  and  leaders  of 
club-sections,  whom  the  late  excitement,  and 
their  temporary  elevation  above  their  fellow- 
workmen,  had  left  restless  and  ambitious,  and 
whose  awakened  energies,  if  not  directed  to 
some  useful  and  congenial  employment,  would 
inikllibly  lead  to  mischief. 

Panpan  chuckled  over  the  fate  which 
awaited  some  of  these  ardent  youths  :  *'  Ces 
gaillards  la!"  he  said,  "had  become  too 
proud  and  troublesome  to  be  left  long  in  the 
streets  of  Paris ;  they  would  have  fomented 
another  revolution,  so  Louis  Philippe,  under 
pretence  of  rewarding  his  brave  'solda^s 
laboureurs,^  whom  he  was  ready  to  shiJ^e  by 
the  hand  in  the  public  streets  in  the  first 
flush  of  success,  enrolled  them  in  the  army, 
and  sent  them  to  the  commanding  officers 
with  medals  of  honour  round  their  necks, 
and  special  recommendations  to  promotion 
in  their  hands.  They  hoped  to  become  Mar- 
shals of  France  in  no  time.  Pauvres  diables ! 
they  were  soon  glad  to  hide  their  decorations, 
and  cease  bragging  about  street-fighting  and 
barricades,  for  the  regulars  relished  neitJier 
their  swaggering  stories  nor  the  notion  of 
being  set  aside  hj  such  parvenus ;  and  they 
got  so  quizzed,  snubbed,  and  tormented,  that 
they  were  happy  at  last  to  slide  into  their 
places  as  simple  soldats,  and  trust  to  the  or- 
dinary ooorse  of  promotion." 

As  for  Panpan,  his  street  wanderings  ter- 
minated in  his  finding  employment  in  a  lace- 
manufactory,  and  it  soon  became  evident  that 
his  natural  talent  here  found  a  congenial 
occupation.  He  came  by  degrees  to  be  hap- 
py in  his  new  position  of  a  workman.  Then 
occurred  the  serious  love  passage  of  his  life — 


his  meeting  with  Louise,  now  Madame  Pan- 
pan.*  It  was  the  simplest  matter  in  the 
world ;  Panpan,  to  whom  life  was  nothing 
without  the  Sundav  quadrille  at  the  bar* 
ri^re,  »having  resolv^  to  figure  on  the 
next  occasion  in  a  pair  of  bottes  veroifl, 
waited  upon  his  bootmaker — every  Parisiaii 
has  his  bootmaker  —  to  issue  his  man- 
dates concerning  their  length,  shape,  and 
general  construction.  He  entered  the  boor 
tique  of  Mons.  Cuire,  when,  lo  I  he  beheld  in 
the  little  back  parlour,  the  most  delicate 
little  foot  that  ever  graced  a  shoe,  or  tripped 
to  measure  on  the  grass.  He  would  say 
nothing  of  the  owner  of  this  miracle ;  of  b^ 
face — ^which  was  full  of  intelligence,  of  her 
figure — which  was  gentille  toute  k  faite — bat 
for  that  dear,  chaste,  ravishing  model  of  a 
foot!  so  modestly  pos^  upon  the  cushion. 
Heaven  I — and  Panpan  unconsciously  heaved 
a  long  sigh,  and  brought  with  it  from  the  very 
bottom  of  his  heart  a  vow  to  become  its  pos- 
sessor. There  was  no  necessity  for  anything 
very  rash  or  very  desperate  in  the  case  as 
it  happened,  for  the  evident  admiration  of 
Panpan  had  inspired  Louise  with  an  im- 
promptu interest  in  his  favour,  and  he  being 
besides  gentil  gar^on,  their  chance  recontre 
was  but  the  commencement  of  a  friendship 
which  ripened  into  love, — and  so  the  old 
story  over  again,  with  marriage  at  the  end 
of  it. 

Well!  said  M.  Panpan,  time  rolled  on, 
and  little  Louis  was  born.  This  might 
have  been  a  blessing,  but  while  family 
cares  and  expenses  were  growing  upon 
them,  Panpan's  strength  and  energies  were 
withering  away.  He  suffered  little  pain, 
but  what  there  was  seemed  to  ^ring 
fbom  the  old  wound ;  and  there  were  whole 
days  when  he  lay  a  mere  wreck,  without  the 
power  or  will  to  move ;  and  when  his  feeble 
breath  seemed  passing  away  for  ever.  Hap- 
pily, these  relapses  occurred  only  at  intervals, 
but  by  slow  degrees  they  became  more  fre- 
quent, aud  more  overwhelming.  Madame 
Panpan's  skill  and  untiring  perseverance 
grew  to  be,  as  other  resources  faUed,  the 
main,  and  for  many,  many  months,  the  whole 
support  of  the  famUy.  Then  came  a  time 
when  the  winter  had  passed  away,  and  the 
spring  was  already  in  its  full,  and  still  Pan- 
pan  lay  helpless  in  bed  with  shrunken  limbs 
and  hollow,  pallid  cheeks, — and  then  little 
Henri  was  born. 

P^re  Panpan  having  arrived  at  this  crisis 
in  his  history,  drew  a  long  breath,  and 
stretched  himself  back  in  his  bed.  I  knew 
the  rest.  It  was  soon  after  the  event  last- 
named  that  I  made  his  acquaintance,  and  the 
remainder  of  his  simple  story,  therefors, 
devolves  upon  me. 

The  debility  of  the  once  dashing  soldkr 
increased  daily,  and  as  it  could  be  traced  to 
no  definite  cause,  he  gradually  became  a  phy- 
siological enigma ;  and  thence  naturally  a  pet 
of  the  medical  profession.  Not  that  he  was  a 


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PfiRE  PANPAN. 


71 


profitable  patient,  for  the  necenities  of  the 
family  were  too  great  to  allow  of  so  expensive 
a  luxury  as  a  doctor's  bill ;  but  urged,  partly 
by  commiseration,  and  partly  by  professional 
curiosity,  both  ardent  students  and  methodical 
practitioners  would  crowd  round  his  simple 
bed,  probing  him  with  instruments,  poking 
him  with  their  fingers,  and  punching  him 
with  their  fists ;  each  with  a  new  theory  to 
propound  and  establish  ;  and  the  more  they 
were  baffled  and  contradicted  in  their  precon- 
ceived notions,  the  more  obstinate  they  be- 
came in  their  enforcement.  Panpan's  own 
thoughts  upon  the  suJo^ect  always  reverted  to 
the  brass  button,  although  he  found  few  to 
listen  to,  or  encourage  him  in  his  idea.  His 
medical  patrons  were  a  constant  source  of 
suffering  to  him,  but  he  bore  with  them 
patiently  j  sometimes  reviving  from  bis  pros- 
tration as  if  inspired,  then  lapsing  as  suddenly 
into  his  old  state  of  semi-pain  and  total 
feebleness.  As  a  last  hope,  he  was  removed 
from  his  fourth  fioor  in  the  Place  Yalols,  to 
become  an  inmate  of  the  Bicetre,  and  a  domi- 
ciled subject  of  contention  and  experiment  to 
its  medical  stafll 

The  Bicetre  is  a  large,  melancholy-looking 
building,  half  hospital  half  madhouse,  situ- 
ated a  few  leagues  from  Paris.  I  took  a 
distaste  to  it  on  my  very  first  visit  It 
always  struck  me  as  a  sort  of  menagerie,  I 
suppose  from  the  circumstance  of  there  having 
been  pointed  out  to  me,  immediately  on  my 
entrance,  a  railed  and  fenced  portion  of  the 
building,  where  the  fiercer  sort  of  inhabitants 
were  imprisoned.  Moreover,  I  met  with  such 
strange  looks  and  grimaces ;  such  bewildering 
side-glances  or  moping  stares,  as  I  traversed 
the  open  courb>yards,  with  their  open  corri- 
dors, or  the  long-arched  passages  of  the 
interior,  that  the  whole  of  the  inmates  came 
before  me  as  creatures,  in  human  ^ape 
indeed,  but  as  "possessed  by  the  cunning  or 
the  ferocity  of  the  mere  animal.  Yet  it  was 
a  public  hospital,  and  in  the  performance  of  its 
duties  there  was  an  infinite  deal  of  kindly 
attention,  consummate  skill,  and  unwearying 
labour.  Its  associations  were  certainly  un- 
happy, and  had,  I  am  sure,  a  depressing  effect 
upon  at  least  the  physically  diBordercd  pa- 
tients. It  may  be  that  as  the  Bicetre  is  a 
sort  of  forlorn  hope  of  hospitals,  where  the 
more  desperate  or  inexplicable  cases  only  are 
admitted,  it  naturally  acquires  a  sombre 
and  ominous  character ;  but  in  no  establish- 
ment of  a  similar  kind  (and  I  have  seen 
many)  did  I  meet  with  such  depressing 
influences. 

Panpan  was  at  first  in  high  spirits  at  the 
change.  He  was  to  be  restored  to  health  in  a 
brief  period,  and  he  really  did  in  the  first  few 
weeks  make  rapid  progress  towards  convales- 
cence. Already  a  sort  of  gymnasium  had  been 
arranged  over  his  bed,  so  that  he  might,  by 
simple  muscular  exercises,  regain  his  lost 
strength ;  and  more  than  once  I  have  guided 
his  tottering  steps  along  the  arched  corridors, 


as,  clad  in  the  gray  uniform  of  the  hospital, 
and  supported  by  a  stick,  he  took  a  brief 
mid-day  promenade. 

We  made  him  cheering  Sunday  visits, 
Madame  Panpan,  Louis,  the  little  Henri,  and 
I,  and  infringed  many  a  rule  of  the  hospital 
in  regard  to  his  regimen.  There  was  a 
charcntier  living  close  to  the  outer  walks,  and 
when  nothing  else  could  be  had,  we  pur- 
chased some  of  his  curiously  prepared  deli- 
cacies, and  smuggled  them  in  under  various 
guises.  To  him  they  were  delicious  morsels 
amid  the  uniform  soup  and  bouillon  of  the 
hospital,  and  I  dare  say  did  him  neither  good 
nor  harm. 

Poor > Madame  Panpan!  apart  from  the 
unceasing  exertions  which  her  difficult  posi- 
tion demanded  of  her ;  apart  from  the 
harassing  days,  the  sleepless  nights,  and  pe- 
cuniary deficiencies  wbich  somehow  never 
were  made  up;  apart  from  the  shadow  of 
death  which  hovered  ever  near  her ;  and  the 
unvarying  labours  which  pulled  at  her 
fingers,  and  strained  at  her  eyes,  so  that  her 
efforts  seemed  still  devoted  to  one  ever  unfi- 
nished corset, — there  arose  another  trouble 
where  it  was  least  expected  ;  and  alas  1 1  was 
the  unconscious  cause  of  a  new  embarrass- 
ment. I  was  accused  of  being  her  lover. 
Numberless  accusations  rose  up  against  us. 
Had  I  not  played  at  pat-ball  with  Madame 
in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne  ?  Yes,  pardi !  while 
Panpan  lay  stretched  upon  the  grass  a  laugh- 
ing spectator  of  the  game  ;  and  which  was 
brought  to  an  untimely  conclusion  by  my 
breaking  my  bead  against  the  branch  of  a 
tree.  But  had  I  not  accompanied  Madame 
alone  to  the  Champs  Elys^es  to  witness  the 
jeu-de-feu  on  the  last  fete  of  July  ?  My  good 
woman,  did  I  not  carry  Louis  pick-a-back  the 
whole  way  ?  and  was  not  the  crowd  bo  dense 
and  fearful,  that  our  progress  to  the  Champs 
Elys^es  was  barred  at  its  verv  mouth  by  the 
fierce  tornado  of  the  multitude,  and  the 
trampling  to  death  of  three  unhappy  mortals, 
whose  shrieks  and  groans  still  echo  in  my 
ear?  and  was  it  not  at  the  risk  of  life  or 
limb  that  I  fought  my  way  along  the  Rue  de 
la  Madeleine,  with  little  Louis  clinging  round 
my  neck,  and  Madame  hanging  on  to  my 
coat-tail  ?  Amid  the  swaying  and  eddying  of 
the  crowd,  the  mounted  Garde  Municipale 
came  dashing  into  the  thickest  of  the  press, 
to  snatch  little  children,  and  even  women, 
from  impending  death,  and  bear  them  to  a 
place  of  safety.  And  if  we  did  take  a  bottle 
of  Strassburger  beer  on  the  Boulevards,  when 
at  length  we  found  a  freer  place  to  breathe 
in,  faint  and  reeling  as  we  were,  pray  where 
was  the  harm,  and  who  would  not  have  done 
as  much  ?  Ah,  Madame !  if  you  had  seen,  as 
I  di<^  that  when  we  reached  home  the  first 
thing  poor  Madame  Panpan  came  to  do,  was 
to  fall  upon  her  husband's  neck,  and  in  a 
voice  broken  with  sobs,  and  as  though  her 
heart  would  break,  to  thank  that  merciful 
God  who  had  spared  her  in  her  trouble,  that 


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72 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


she  might  still  work  for  him  and  his 
children!  you  would  not  be  bo  ready  with 
your  blame. 

But  there  was  a  heavier  accusation  still. 
Did  you  not,  sir,  entertain  Madame  to  supper 
in  the  Rue  de  Roule  ?  with  the  utmost  extra- 
yagance  too,  not  to  mention  the  omelette 
Bouffl^e  with  which  you  must  needs  tickle 
your  appetites,  and  expressly  order  for  the 
occasion  ?  And  more  than  that :  did  you  not 
then  take  coft'ce  in  the  Rue  St.  Honor^,  and 
play  at  dominoes  with  Madame  in  the  salon  ? 
Alas,  yes!  all  this  is  true,  and  the  cause 
still  more  true  and  more  sad :  for  It  was 
under  the  terrible  impression  that  Madame 
Pan  pan  and  her  two  children — for  they  were 
both  with  us  you  will  remember,  even  little 
Henri — had  not  eaten  of  one  tolerable  meal 
throuffhout  a  whole  week,  that  these  unpar- 
donable acts  were  committed  on  the  Sunday. 
An  omelette  souffl^e,  you  know,  must  be 
ordered ;  but  as  for  the  dominoes,  I  admit  that 
that  was  an  indiscretion. 

P^re  Panpan  drooped  and  drooped.  The 
cord  of  his  gymnasium  swung  uselessly 
above  his  head ;  he  tottered  no  more 
along  the  corridors  of  the  hospital.  He 
had   ceased   to   be   the  pet  of  the  medi-| 


cat  profession.  His  malady  was  obsti- 
nate and  impertinent ;  It  could  neither  be 
explained  nor  driven  away ;  and  as  all  the 
deep  theories  propounded  respecting  it,  or 
carried  Into  practical  operation  for  its 
removal,  proved  to  be  mere  elaborate  fancies, 
or  useless  experiments,  the  medical  profes- 
sion— ^happily  for  Panpan — retired  from  the 
field  in  disgust. 

''I  do  believe  It  was  the  Initton!"  ex- 
claimed Panpan,  one  Sunday  afternoon,  with 
a  strange  light  gleaming  in  his  eyes.  Madame 
replied  only  with  a  sob.  ''You  have  seen 
many  of  them?"  he  abruptly  demanded  of 
me. 

"Of  what?" 

"  Buttons." 

**  There  are  a  great  many  of  them  made  in 
England^"' I  replied.  Where  were  we  wan- 
dering ?  • 

Panpan  took  my  hand  in  his,  and,  with  % 
gentle  pressure  that  went  to  my  very  heart, 
exclaimed :  *'  I  do  believe  It  was  the  bnm 
button  after  alL  I  hope  to  Grod  it  was  not 
an  English  button  I  " 

I  canH  sav  whether  It  was  or  no.  But,  as 
to  poor  Pere  Panpan,  we  buried  him  at 
Bicetre. 


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''FamOkttr  in  their  Mouths  08  EOUSEHOLD  WORDS." 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
COSDirCIED   BT   CHABLES   DICKENS. 


No.  4.] 


J.  A.  DIX,  PUBLISHBE, 

Omoi,  No.  10  Pabk  PbAca,  Niw-Toax. 


[Whole  No.  267. 


VERY  ADVISABLK 

From  my  earliest  years  everybody  seemed 
to  think  I  stood  in  need  of  advice.  The 
simplest  affairs  werp  considered  beyond  my 
comprehension  without  the  aid  of  a  monitor — 
and  this  from  no  want  of  natural  capacity,  as 
far  as  I  am  able  to  perceive,  but  ftom  a 
remarkable  adaptation  for  the  reception  of 
wise  saws  which  made  itself  perceptible  to 
the  most  superficial  acquaintance.  No  one 
was  too  great  an  ass  to  give  me  the  benefit  of 
his  counsel — fellows  whom  I  despised,  girls 
even,  of  the  most  preternatural  silliness,  all 
found  occasions  of  showing  their  superiority, 
by  telling  me  what  to  do,  or  say,  or  think.  I 
seemed  a  blank  piece  of  paper  on  which  every 
person  liked  to  try  his  hand,  and  the  result 
of  this  perpetual  indoctrination  was  that  I 
learo^  to  have  no  reliance  on  myself.  I 
couldn't  walk  through  my  own  garden,  it  was 
thought,  without  finger-posts  to  guide  me ; 
and  so  many  posts  were  put  up,  all  pointing 
in  different  directions,  that  I  never  felt  sure 
of  my  way.  Probably  to  counteract  this  want 
of  firmness,  my  friends  began,  when  I  was 
about  fifteen,  to  lead  me  with  precepts  on  the 
benefits  of  Independence — of  the  absolute 
necessity  of  standing  up  on  all  occasions  for 
my  rights,— of  never  letting  an  opportunity  of 
gaining  an  advantage  pass — and,  above  all, 
of  being  manly  and  decided.  How  could  I 
be  manly  and  decided  when  I  had  never  been 
allowed  to  have  a  will  of  my  own  ?  How  could 
I  take  Time  by  the  forelock — have  an  eye  to 
the  main  chance — strike  while  the  iron  was 
hot — be  wide  awake — take  care  of  number 
one— or  do  any  of  the  hundred  other  things  I 
was  now  recommended  to  do  when  nobody 
told  me  how  to  get  hold  of  Time's  forelock,  or 
where  to  hit  the  hot  iron,  or  what  to  hit  it 
with  ?  However,  I  tried  to  take  the  advice, 
and  to  become  selfish  and  exacting  with  all 
my  might  This  is  not  so  easy  as  it  seems. 
I  never  could  hoard  up  my  pocket-money,  or 
hide  the  box  of  cake  and  jam  which  was  sent 
to  me  at  school.  I  used  to  lend  my  cricket 
bat,  and  never  get  it  back :  boys  used  to 
pretend  they  drove  my  ball  into  the  river, 
and  then  to  cover  it  with  the  initials  of  their 
names,  and  sometimes  make  me  pay  a  penny 
an  hour  for  the  use  of  my  own  property ; 
my  arrows  were  always  missing,  and  I  never 

TOL.   XT. 


grudged  my  playmates  whatever  plaything 
5iey  took.  I  saw  they  followed  the  advice 
which  had  been  so  frequently  pressed  on  me, 
and  were  holding  on  by  Time's  forelock,  and 
hitting  the  hot  iron  as  became  men  of  sense, 
and  I  respected  them  accordingly.  If  I  inter- 
fered at  any  time  with  their  goods  and 
chattels,  or  even  tried  to  borrow  a  book  which 
I  recognised  as  my  own,  they  repulsed  me  in 
the  most  manly  and  decided  manner ;  and  I 
soon  feresaw  that  they  would  all  get  on  in 
the  race  of  life  and  leave  me  miles  behind. 
At  church  I  used  occasionally  to  hear  some 
statements  that  gave  me  consolation,  some 
advice  that  even  encouraged  me  to  persevere 
in  the  spiritless  conduct  which  came  to  me  so 
naturally — ^but  the  clergyman,  on  week  days, 
was  one  of  the  most  eloquent  of  my  advisers 
to  stick  up  for  what  I  could  get,  to  stand 
no  nonsense,  and,  in  short,  to  fight  my  way 
through  the  school  with  the  same  bullying, 
selfish,  dishonest  audacity  with  which  I  was 
treated.  I  was  quite  willing  to  do  this,  but  I 
couldn't,  so  I  had  the  double  disadvantage  of 
wishing  to  be  a  tyrant  and  continuing  aspoony. 
My  virtue  had  no  value  as  it  was  involuntary, 
I  would  have  been  a  serpent  if  I  could,  but  I 
had  no  sting,  and  was  only  a  worm.  The 
boy  I  respected  most  was  Herbert  Grubb — ^I 
respect  lum  still ;  I  saw  he  would  rise  to 
wealth  and  honouTj  and  he  has  done  so.  The 
second  day  of  our  friendship  he  told  me  he 
had  come  away  without  his  allowance,  but  it 
was  to  be  sent  to  him  by  post ;  I  lent  him  all 
I  had,  and  for  a  week  I  saw  him,  at  all  hours, 
in  the  play-ground  swallowing  apple  tarts 
and  drinking  ginger  beer,  and  filling  his 
pockets  with  gingerbread  out  of  the  old  rruit- 
woman's  basket,  and  when  I  ventured  to  ask 
him  if  his  allowance  had  come,  "  You  fool," 
he  said,  ^'  I  had  it  all  the  time,  and  if  I  had  a 
few  more  asses  like  you  in  the  school,  I  would 
put  it  into  the  savings'  bank— mind  your  eye, 
for  here  comes  a  handful  of  cherry-stones." 
The  other  boys  applauded  his  cleverness,  and. 
In  my  secret  heart,  so  did  I— it  was  such 
admirable  sticking  up  for  number  one. 

There  was  a  little  fellow  In  the  lowest  class 
of  the  name  of  Knowlsworth,  he  was  only 
half  a  year  at  the  school,  and  was  the  simplest 
little  boy  I  ever  knew.  I  felt  immensely 
superior  to  him,  and  once  took  away  his  top, 
but  he  looked  so  disconsolate  that  I  pretended 

267 


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74 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conduct^  by 


I  had  done  it  because  it  was  not  a  good  one. 
and  bought  a  large  one  for  him  with  the  most 
awftilly  painted  sides  and  a  power  of  hum- 
ming which  would  have  done  honour  to  a 
beehive.  He  was  a  sickly,  delicate,  fair- 
haired  fellow,  with  dark  blue  eyes,  that  filled 
with  tears  on  the  slightest  provocation.  He 
generally  shed  tears  when  he  talked  of  home ; 
so  Grubb  made  great  fun  of  his  weakness. 
He  always  cleaned  Grubb's  shoes,  and  when 
they  were  polished  to  bis  satisfaction  he  used 
to  sit  with  the  blacking-brush  in  hid  hand 
ready  to  launch  it  at  the  little  boy^s  head, 
and  make  him  describe  all  his  family,  from 
his  father,  who  was  afflicted  with  the  gout,  to 
his  sister  Mary,  whom  he  described  as  a  per- 
fect angeL  As  he  cried  while  he  branched  out 
into  these  description8,Grubb  and  his  intimate 
Mends  eiyoyed  the  joke  exceedingly.  He  used 
to  come  and  sit  down  beside  me  at  a  table  in 
the  hall  after  he  had  been  forced  to  make  these 
revelations,  and  lean  his  little  bead  upon  my 
shoulder  till  he  fell  asleep.  I  advised  him  to 
complain  to  the  master — a  Doctor  of  Divinity, 
who  had  written  Latin  notes  to  the  Gospel  of 
St.  John — and  the  master  told  him  he  was  a 
fool  for  his  pains ;  and  when  all  the  fellows 
went  up,  one  after  another,  and  assured  the 
Doctor  that  Grubb  was  an  excellent  youth, 
and  very  kind  to  little  boys,  Knowlsworth 
was  flogged  for  false  accusation,  and  very 
generally  cut  1^  the  school,  and,  in  fact,  so 
was  I,  which  I  very  much  regretted,  for  I 
looked  up  with  unfeigned  veneration,  not 
unmixed  with  envy,  to  those  high-spirited 
young  gentlemen  who  carried  into  practice 
the  lessons  of  worldly  wisdom  which  were 
wasted  upon  me.  How  often  I  had  been  told 
to  carry  my  head  above  every  one  else,  to 
vindicate  my  position,  and  make  myself  feared 
and  respected  in  the  school.  There  was  not 
one  of  us  who  did  not  fear  and  respect  Her- 
bert Grubb  except  little  Harry  Knowlsworth, 
but  he  was  a  curious  boy,  and  had  not 
received  the  same  kind  of  lessons  at  home  as 
the  rest  of  us.  He  said  Grubb  was  a  bully, 
and  he  was  sure  was  a  coward:  now,  his 
papa  had  told  him  a  coward  couldn't  be  a 

fentleman,and  a  bully  couldnH  be  a  Christian, 
wondered  at  the  time  if  old  Mr.  Knowlsworth 
knew  that  Grubb's  father  had  married  the 
daughter  of  an  Irish  earl,  and  that  she  was 
really  Lady  Glendower  Grubb  ?  How  could 
her  son  then  not  be  a  gentleman?  I  knew 
he  was  a  Christian,  for  he  borrowed  my  Bible 
and  Prayer-book,  and  I  never  liked  to  ask 
him  for  them  again.  We  were  two  Pariahs, 
Harry  Knowlsworth  and  I,  and  I  dare  say  he 
did  me  a  great  deal  of  harm,  for.  whereas, 
being  four  or  five  years  older,  I  ought  to  have 
rais^  him  up  to  my  level  and  have  taught 
him  the  vices  and  knowingnessei  of  my  more 
advanced  period  of  life,  he  dragged  me  down 
to  his,  and  1  never  rose  above  nine  or  ten 
years  old  all  the  time  he  was  at  school.  But 
this  was  not  long.  He  began  to  be  ill  in  the 
middle  of  the  half-year,  and  the  cruelty  of 


Herbert  Grubb  and  his  Mends  to  increase. 
They  now  insisted  on  his  describing  his  sister 
Mary  not  as  the  charming  creature  the  little 
boy  represented  her,  bat  as  hump-backed  and 
with  a  stutter,  with  moral  qualities  to  match. 
Nothing  would  tempt  Harry  to  ^ve  utterance 
to  the  terrible  names  the  coterie  of  wits  and 
tyrants  affixed  to  the  object  of  the  child^s 
affection.  So  brushes  were  flung  at  his  head, 
and  the  clothes  torn  off"  his  bed,  and  water 
thrown  on  his  face,  and  his  hands  held  till 
they  blistered  close  to  the  fire,  but  he  would 
not  say  that  Mary  was  a  thief,  or  had  run 
away  with  the  groom,  or  was  anything  but 
the  best  of  beings,  and  as  I  sometimes  ^arcd 
in  the  punishments  inflicted  on  our  obduracy, 
for  I  was  as  firmljr  persuaded  as  Harry  of 
the  angelic  nature  of  his  sister,  we  used  to 
retire  to  remote  corners  of  the  playground, 
and  there  the  heroic  brother  would  tell  me 
for  hours  what  a  kind,  clever,  admirable  girl 
his  sister  was,  and  what  a  noble,  generous  old 
man  his  father ;  and  then  he  used  to  take  my 
hand,  and  then,  on  looking  carefully  round 
and  seeing  no  one  near,  he  used  to  press  it  to 
his  lips  and  say  that,  next  to  those  two  in  all 
the  world,  he  liked  me  best,  and  I  used  to 
feel  it  a  great  consolation,  amidst  the  contempt 
of  all  the  other  boys,  that  this  little  fellow 
was  attached  to  me.  However,  we  had  not 
time  to  grow  more  intimate,  for  he  became 
rapidly  worse,  and  was  sent  home  a  month 
before  the  holidays  began.  I  got  a  letter 
from  him  to  sav  that  his  sister  was  at  sthool 
in  France  or  Italy,  I  forget  which,  but  was 
expected  home  in  three  months,  and  then  he 
would  tell  her  all  about  my  kindness,  and 
begeing  me  not  to  believe  the  things  that 
Grubb  and  his  companions  had  said  about 
her,  but  to  like  her  for  his  sake. 

But  he  did  not  live  to  see  the  sister  he  was 
so  fond  of.  He  sent  me  a  beautiful  locket 
that  Mary  had  given  him,  and  I  was  to  wear 
it  always,  and  never  forget  him  if  we  never 
met  again.  And  just  when  we  were  going 
down,  the  Doctor,  in  shaking  hands  with 
Grubb,  said,  **  You  will  be  sorry  to  hear 
your  little  favourite  Knowlsworth  is  dead — a 
delicate  boy,  and  I  believe  you  were  very- 
kind  to  him,  only,  perhaps,  a  little  too  rough 
(as  high-spirited  young  gentlemen  often  are) 
in  your  play.  Good-bye — ^my  respectful  duty 
to  Lady  Glendower." 

As  to  me,  nobody  took  any  notice,  luckily, 
of  how  I  bore  the  news.  Grubb  bore  it  very 
well.  He  said,  ^'Ah !  is  he  dead,  poor  fellow  ? 
I'm  glad  now  I  was  always  so  attentive  to 
him."  I  don't  think  the  conscience  begins  to 
have  any  power  till  manhood.  Here  was  a 
boy  who  should  have  felt  like  a  murderer, 
and  really  believed  himself  to  have  been  kind 
to  the  victim  of  his  cruelty.  I  could  not  help 
having  some  thoughts  like  that  in  spite  of  my 
respect. 

On  our  meeting  next  half-year  poor  Harnr 
was  forgotten  by  everybody  except  by  me.  I 
always  wore  the  locket  next  my  heart,  and 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Chuies  DickoML] 


VERY  ADVISABLE. 


76 


often  took  it  out  to  look  at  the  hair.  Mary's 
and  Harry's  had  been  tied  in  a  knot  long  ago^ 
and  the  boy  had  added  my  initial  as  a  loop  at 
the  top.  It  was  valuable,  too,  for  the  case 
was  of  gold,  and  there  were  large  real  pearls 
all  round  the  rim.  It  was  detected  round  my 
Deck  at  tiie  bathing,  and  got  noised  fdl  through 
the  school ;  and  it  happened  one  day  when  I 
was  in  the  water  four  or  five  of  the  biggest 
boys  kept  me  engaged  and  guarded  me  from 
making  my  way  to  the  bank,  and  when  at 
last  I  reached  the  place  where  my  clothes 
were  lying,  the  locket  was  gone.  I  could  not 
tell  who  had  taken  it  I  spoke  to  the  master, 
and  he  quoted  many  texts  firom  Scripture 
against  evil  speakers  and  false  accusers.  He 
found  out  that  my  suspicions  rested  on  Grubb 
— he  said  Grubb  was  an  honour  to  the  school, 
had  noble  blood  in  his  veins,  and  if  I  could 
not  substantiate  my  horrible  accusation  he 
would  consider  whether  I  should  not  be 
publicly  expelled.  On  this  I  begged  to  with- 
draw suspicions  and  accusations,  and  to  be 
allowed  to  submit  to  the  loss.  He  paused  for^ 
some  time,  but  at  last  agreed  to  pass  over  my 
conduct,  as  a  knowledge  of  such  an  unchristian 
disposition  might  injure  my  prospects  in  life. 
Shortly  after  Uiat  he  was  made  a  bishop  in 
consideration  of  his  skill  in  Greek  quantities, 
and  I  had  to  go  to  another  school.  My 
prospects  in  life,  of  which  the  bishop  had 
been  so  considerate^did  not  appear  to  brighten, 
though  I  was  for  a  while  delivered  from  the 
tyranny  of  Grubb.  But  there  are  Grubbs  at 
all  schools.  I  tried  in  vain  to  assert  my 
rights ;  I  made  my  claims  either  at  the  wrong 
time  or  in  the  wrong  manner,  so  when  my 
relations  and  friends  perceived  that  I  derived 
no  benefit  from  their  counsels,  but  rather 
allowed  every  opportunity  to  slip  by,  they 
determined  to  send  me  to  the  bar  as  a  profes- 
sion, where  if  I  did  not  struggle  I  must  yield. 
It  was  like  forcing  a  man  to  swim  by  throwing 
him  into  deep  water.  The  plunges  I  made 
excited  laughter  in  others,  and  weariness  in 
myself  j  sol  determined  to  live  quietly  on  the 
small  mcome  I  possessed,  and  watch  the 
ocean  and  the  tempest-tossed  barks  upon  it 
from  the  safe  eminence  of  two  hundred  a-year. 
"  Foolish  fellow,"  said  one  of  my  most  inti- 
mate friends,  "  to  be  satisfied  with  two  hun- 
dred a-year;  you  know  nothing,  my  dear 
Plastic,  of  the  management  of  money — now, 
that  is  what  I  have  particularly  studied  all 
my  life — ^I  will  give  you  my  advice,  and  you 
may  soon  remove  to  Belgrave  Square."  How 
kind !  here  was  a  practical  man ;  he  had  been 
educated  as  a  civil  engineer,  then  he  turned 
architect,  then  went  into  the  corn  trade,  and 
was  a  prodigious  authorihr  about  railways 
and  other  lucrative  specuIationB.  He  came 
to  me  in  two  days — 

"  Have  you  any  money  you  can  immediately 
command?" 

**  Yes :  I  have  two  thousand  pounds  in  the 
funds." 

"  That  will  exactly  do ;  I  belong  to  a  com- 


pany for  the  manufacture  of  soap  out  of  tallow 
candles.  It  is  secured  by  a  patent  I  myself 
hold  more  shares  than  lean  conveniently  pay 
the  calls  upon — ^hundreds  are  asking  to  be 
allowed  only  a  few ;  you  shall  have  three 
hundred  and  fifty — thev  will  pay  thirty  per 
cent,  and  you  may  safely  increase  your  ex- 
penditure by  six  hundred  a  year." 

I  bought  a  horse — the  same  friend  had 
three,  and  parted  with  one  of  them — which, 
however,  unfortunately  became  lame.  I 
thought  of  giving  up  my  humble  apartment, 
as  he  said  it  was  for  the  benefit  of  the  company 
that  the  partners  should  live  in  good  parts  of 
the  town  ;  he  got  me  elected  director,  with  a 
salary  of  two  hundred  a-year,  and  my  grati- 
tude knew  no  bounds.  Ue  lived  with  his 
aunt,  and  I  presented  her  with  a  tea-service, 
from  Rundle  and  Bridge,  with  an  allegorical 
sculpture  on  the  co&e  pot,  representing 
Generositv  pouring  wealth  from  a  cornucopia 
into  the  lap  of  Friendship.  I  did  several 
other  foolish  things,  and  went  down  to  the 
committee  room  of  the  company  in  a  clarence, 
which  I  jobbed  for  three  months,  and  even 
had  my  crest — a  sheep's  head  with  its  mouth 
opeuv-painted  on  the  panel.  How  I  despised 
my  iogudicious  advisers!  Haven't  I  taken 
care  of  myself?  Haven't  I  got  hold  of  time 
by  the  forelock  ?  I  turned  the  tables  upon 
them,  and  gave  them  immense  quantities  of 
advice.  I  advised  the  most  pertinacious  of 
my  counsellors — a  Scotchman  who  was  con- 
nected with  a  Greek  house  in  the  City — to 
join  our  company.  The  man  was  thunder- 
struck. What  I  get  advice  from  mel  He 
came  to  me, — ''Ye're  a  bigger  fule  than 
ever,"  he  said ;  "  how  do  ye  ^nk  ony  body 
can  mak^  a  profit  by  tumin'  goodcan'les  into 
bad  saip  ?  The  can'les  is  dearer  than  the 
saip.  and  ye're  just  a  prodigious  ass  I " 

This  turned  out  to  be  true.  I  lost  all  the 
money  I  put  into  the  concern,  and.  paid  a 
little  more  to  get  a'  quittance  from  all  liabi- 
lities. But  my  friend  was  not  abashed.  He 
said  to  me,  **  Your  horse  is  lame — ^nobod^  can 
perceive  it  until  he  has  been  ridden  a  mile  or 
two— he  isn't  worth  ten  pounds,  but  I  have  a 
very  silly  friend  from  Devonshire,  I  daresay 
he  will  give  you  fifty  guineas — ^you're  too 
much  a  man-  of  the  world  to  refuse  a  good 
offer  I" 

I  said,  *^  Certainly  not ;  it  would  be  strange 
if,  after  all  my  experience,  I  wasn't  a  man  of 
the  world." 

So  after  that,  when  I  spoke  to  him  about 
having  sold  me  his  shares  in  the  candle  soap 
patent,  he  said, — 

<'  I  have  had  great  experience,  sir ;  I  am  a 
man  of  the  world,  as  you  were  willing  enough 
to  be  about  your  old  screw  of  a  horse,  only 
the  Devonshire  spoony  turned  out  to  be  a 
man  of  the  world,  too." 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done,  so  I  went 
into  humbler  lodgmgs,  gave  up  my  club, 
never  took  anybody's  advice,  and  never  was 
asked  by  anybody  for  mine.    But  one  day 


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76 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


the  whole  destiny  of  my  life  seemed  to  change. 
I  met  Herbert  Grubb  m  the  street — ^we  had 
not  met  for  twelve  or  thirteen  years,  but  he 
knew  me  at  once.  He  was  what  is  called 
head  of  a  department  and  member  of  par- 
liament, overwhelmed  with  business,  ai^d 
anxious  for  a  secretary  who  would  require  no 
salary,  but  rely  on  the  political  interest  of  his 
chief.  He  im^talled  me  at  once.  I  answered 
all  his  letters,  read  up  historical  allusions,  and 
pored  over  the  index  verborum  of  the  classics 
for  his  quotations.  He  was  delighted  with 
my  patience  and  perseverance,  he  asked  me 
to  dinner,  and  introduced  me  to  his  wife,  a 
tall  nuycsticwoman,with  noble  features,which 
never  relaxed  into  a  smile,  but  which  must 
have  been  wonderfully  beautiful  if  they  could 
have  clothed  themselves  in  that  sunshine  of 
the  heart  which  makes  even  the  plainest 
faces  loveable.  Her  eyes  were  amazingly 
brilliant,  and  her  cheeks  glowed  with  hectic 
flushes  which  made  her  very  sad  to  look  on, 
in  spite  of  her  beauty.  She  was  very  kind, 
but  it  did  not  escape  my  notice  that  she  was 
unhappy ;  when  Grubb  was  in  one  of  his 
bullying  moods  she  used  to  look  with  pitying 
eyes  on  his  much-enduring  secretary.  As  to 
me,  I  did  not  mind  it  I  had  always  pro- 
phesied he  would  get  on  in  the  world,  and  I 
was  rather  proud  than  otherwise  to  acknow- 
ledge the  superiority  which  I  had  foreseen. 
She  was  surprised  at  his  harsh  airs  of  com- 
mand to  an  old  schoolfellow  and  a  better 
scholar  than  himself,  but  she  said  nothing, 
only  when  I  was  going  away  she  used  to 
come  forward  and  take  my  hand  and  wish 
me  good-bye  with  such  a  sweet  voice  and 
such  a  compassionate  smile,  that  I  dreamt  of 
them  all  night. 

Friends  bad  gathered  round  me  again,  and 
were  prodigal  of  advice.  "  Go  in  and  win," 
said  one,  "  she  certainly  likes  you,  and  her 
fortune  is  secured  upon  herself— he  treats 
her  so  ill  that  the  world  will  be  all  on  her 
side.  She  has  fifteen  hundred  a-year,  and 
can  dispose  of  it  as  she  likes." 

Here  was  advice—here  was  another  hammer 
to  weld  my  fortunes  with  while  the  iron  was 
hot — ^here  was  a  chance  not  to  be  thrown 
away.  Oh  I  if  they  had  seen  the  stately  form 
they  degraded  wiUi  their  ribald  suggestions, 
the  noble  face,  the  imperial  eyes— and  she 
was  evidently  dying,  and  Grubb  evidently 
knew  it;  and  there  were  evidently  fights 
going  on,  and,  indeed,  I  knew  that  he  was 
leaving  her  no  rest  till  she  disposed  of  every- 
thing in  his  favour,  as  her  guardian  had 
secured  her  the  power  of  doing,  at  the  time 
of  her  marriage ;  and  I  watched  the  gradual 
embitterment  on  one  side  and  increasing 
contempt  on  the  other.  It  couldn't  last  long. 
One  day  when  I  was  in  my  small  apartment, 
after  a  morning's  work  in  Herbert's  office,  a 
tap  came  to  my  door,  and  the  lady  came  in. 
"  You  must  come  with  me,"  she  said,  "  for 
you  are  my  only  friend  in  all  the  world— 
don't  refuse  my  first  and  last  request,  you 


shall  know  the  reason  soon."  So  ^e  took 
me  with  her  to  a  lawyer's,  and  left  me  in  the 
outer  room  while  she  transacted  business  in 
the  office  It  didn't  last  half  an  hour ;  she 
introduced  me  to  the  lawyer  when  she  came 
out,  and  said,  "  Remember  I "  Then  she  went 
away,  and  I  shook  hands  with  her  as  I  put 
hermto  her  brougham,  and,  do  you  know, 
she  took  my  hand  and  held  it  to  her  lips,  and 
when  she  let  it  go  again  her  eyes  were  filled 
with  tears.  She  laid  her  head  back  in  the 
carriage,  and  I  never  saw  her  again.  In  a 
fortnight  or  three  weeks  she  died.  The 
funeral  was  very  private.  My  chief  did  not 
go — I  went  as  his  representative ;  his  attorney 
also  was  there,  and  the  old  gentleman  to 
whom  I  had  been  introduced  as  I  have  said — 
a  kind  old  man,  and  deeply  afiected,  and  so 
was  I.  "  You  must  come  home  with  me,"  he 
SAid,  ^*  for  I  have  business  of  the  greatest 
importance  to  transact  with  you."  When  we 
reached  his  office  he  shut  the  door,  he  went 
to  a  tin-case,  took  out  a  parchment,  and  said, 
"  Open  that  carefully,  there  is  something  in  it 
that  deeply  concerns  yourself."  I  unfolded  the 
package,  and  there  lay  in  the  middle  of  ^e 
page,  suspended  by  a  black  silk  ribband,  a 
locket  set  in  pearls,  and  I  knew  it  at  once — 
it  was  little  Harry  Knowlsworth's  memorial — 
and  there,  still  fresh' as  if  but  yesterday  put 
in,  were  the  initials  of  the  little  boy  and  his 
sister  looped  up  by  mine.  **  She  was  Mary 
Knowlsworth,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  '<  and 
only  lately  discovered  a  mistake  under  which 
she  married  Mr.  Grubb.  She  was  told  by  the 
Bishop  of  Tufton  that  he  had  been  her  bro- 
ther's friend  at  school — she  became  Ms  wife 
from  gratitude,  not  from  affection.  In  a 
drawer,  some  months  since,  she  found  the 
locket— in  her  husband's  secretary  she  recog- 
nised the  companion,  friend,  and  fellow  suf- 
ferer of  young  Harry.  You  will,  therefore, 
accept  the  fortune  she  leaves  you  as  a  legacy 
from  both.  Any  advice  we  can  give  you  in 
the  management — " 

<<  It  shall  lie  quietly  in  the  funds,"  I  said, 
"  and  every  half-year  I  will  go  and  draw  the 
dividends.  I  will  buy  a  revolving-pistol 
when  I  leave  this  room,  and  will  shoot  the 
first  man  who  offiers  me  advice." 


AN  OLD  SCHOLAR. 

Loitering  in  Poets'  Comer,  you  have  per- 
haps observed  opposite  the  monument  of 
Drtden,  a  tablet  on  the  wall  bearing  the 
name  of  Isaao  Caslubon.  In  the  holy  ground 
thereabouts,  were  laid  the  remains  of  that 
great  scholar  in  the  year  sixteen  hundred  and 
fourteen.  He  had  been  four  years  in  this 
country,  having  been  invited  here  by  James 
the  First,  endowed  with  two  prebends  (West- 
minster and  Canterbiiry),  and  a  pension,  when 
death  seized  him.  He  has  a  place  in  the 
Biographia  Britannica,  and  a  place  in  Hal- 
lam's  Literature  of  Europe.  He  is  still  in 
high   repute   among   those  who    read   the 


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AN  OLD  80HOLAB. 


77 


claniet,  aod  only  the  other  day  we  obeerved 
ayoaog  Germaii  philologer  gasiag  with  mooh 
interest  at  his  epitaph. 

All  the  above  facts,  howeTer,  would  not 
entitle  Isaac  Gasanbon  to  a  place  in  House- 
bold  Words,  if  he  had  not  left  behind  him  a 
DuRT  of  the  last  seventeen  years  of  his  life, 
which  has  been  published  in  our  own  time,  and 
is  a  very  enrions  and  interesting  work.  The 
manuscript  remained  in  the  possession  of  the 
ecclesiastical  authorities  of  Canterbury, where 
Casaubon's  son,  Meric,  held  preferment,  and 
was  printed  a  few  years  since  by  the  Univer- 
sity of  Oxford,  under  the  care  of  Dr.  John 
Russell.  It  is  in  Latin,  of  course,  and 
Dr.  John  Russell  edits  it  in  Latin,  and  writes 
a  Latin  preface  to  it ;  so  that  if  a  Roman 
ghost,  revisitinff  the  earth,  caught  sight  of  it, 
he  would  conclude  that  Gasanbon  and  Dr. 
Russell  (one  a  Frenchman  and  the  other  an 
Englishman)  were  both  countrymen  of  his 
own,  and  that  Britain  was  still  a  barbarous 
island  under  Roman  government  However, 
an  English  translation  would  not  haVe  paid 
its  expenses  in  any  case,*  and  the  University, 
which  brings  out  the  work  at  its  own  cost, 
has  a  right  to  present  it  to  the  world  in 
its  own  way.  Be  it  ours  to  unroll  Isaac 
Gasanbon  from  these  wrappages  and  ancient 
habiliments,  and  try  to  form  a  living  notion 
of  him  as  a  European  man.  We  presume 
that  we  diall  do  his  memory  no  offence,  by 
rendering  him  into  Euglish ;  and  we  hope 
that  his  warmest  classical  admirers  will  not 
deny  that  he  was  once  alive  ;  that  though  he 
wrote  a  dead  language,  even  in  his  Diary 
(Ephemerides  he  ealln  it),  ^et  that  he  was  a 
good  friendly  scholar,  eating  and  drinking 
like  the  rest  of  us,  and  talking  French— at 
all  events  to  his  wife. 

The  old  commentators  who  devoted  their 
lives  to  the  interpretation  of  the  classics 
were  a  very  remarkable  class  of  men.  The 
world  wants  yet,  an  adequate  account  of 
them.  They  were  pioneers,  backwoodsmen, 
clearers  of  the  forests,  and  drainers  of  the 
marsh.  We  pride  ourselves  on  our  Dryden's 
Virgil,  our  Pope's  Homer,  the  insight  of 
Gibbon,  the  classicality  of  Gray.  But,  for 
these  great  men  the  old  commentators  paved 
the  way.  They  made  the  classics  readable 
and  intelligible.  In  fact,  they  made  the  roads 
on  which  manv  a  triumphal  ear  of  genius  has 
rolled  smoothly  along  since ;  and,  directly  or 
indirectly,  every  writer  is  indebted  to  them. 
Their  energy  and  enthusiasm  were  un- 
boui^ed — their  love  of  learning,  a  passion — 
their  occasional  pedantry  and  violence,  par- 
donable for  the  sake  of  these.  Gasaubon's 
Diary  gives  us  a  glimpse  of  the  domestic  life 
and  private  character  of  one  of  the  most 
famous  of  them.  When  his  formal  writings 
.for  publication  have  exhausted  their  utility, 
the  world  will  stUl  look  at  this  Diary ;  and 
his  private  jottings  of  the  adventures  of  the 
day  will  make  many  who  care  little  for  the 
commentator  think  with  interest  of  the  man. 


Gausanbon  belonged  to  the  second  ffenerar 
tion  of  the  scholars  of  the  Revival  of  Letters. 
He  belonged  to  the  generation  after  Erasmus 
and  the  elder  Scaliger,  and  was  contemporary 
with  the  youuffer  Sealiger.  His  mtiier, 
Amanld  GasauEon,  was  a  minister  of  the 
reformed  religion.  He  fled  from  Dauphin^ 
to  Geneva,  where  Isaac  was  bom,  in  Febniary, 
fifteen  hundred  and  fifty-nine.  At  nine  years 
old  the  boy  spoke  and  wrote  Latin  pretty 
easily.  They  taught  Latin  in  those  days  verr 
nmch  by  conversation — a  practice  which 
made  children  learn  it  early,  but  whieh 
Asoham  condemns  as  iigurious  to  purity  of 
style.  However,  as  it  was  the  universal  lan- 
guage of  communication  among  the  learned, 
and  also  among  the  great  of  the  world, 
familiarity  with  it  was  the  great  olject  to 
attain.  At  twenty-four,  Gasanbon  was  a 
Professor;  at  twenty-seven,  he  married  a 
daughter  of  the  celebrated  Henry  Stephens, 
bv  whom  he  had  twenty  children.  With  a 
rising  family  of  this  kind  springing  up  about 
him,  Isaac  had  to  keep  his  Greek  and 
Latin  learning  '^up,"  with  a  vengeance; 
and  the  first  thing  we  have  to  tell  of  his 
studies  is,  that  he  worked  like  a  horse,  or 
like  anything  you  please  to  consider  indu»- 
trious.  His  reading  was  such  as  some  gen- 
tlemen who  draw  liurge  endowments  out  of 
ancient  foundations  of  learning  in  our  day, 
MTonld  probably  consider  incredible.  Those 
who  make  their  fortunes  for  life  by  reading 
<*bits"  and  writing  '"bite"  of  scholarship— 
with  three  centuries  of  learning  at  their  back 
to  help  them — difi^r  from  the  Casaubons  and 
Scaligers,  as  the  King  of  Naples  does  from 
Julius  Cesar.  It  is  indeed  the  difference 
between  l>eing  carried  in  the  penny  steam- 
l)oat,  and  being  one  of  the  crew  of  the  Argo. 
It  is  the  difference  between  a  naan  who  owes 
everything  to  machinery  which  has  beeix 
made  for  nim^  and  a  man  who  owes  every- 
thing to  himself. 

Gasaubon's  routine  employment  as  Pro- 
fessor consisted  of  delivering  lectures.  But 
his  great  occupation  in  life  was  editing 
classics.  Now,  editing  a  classic,  as  we  some- 
times see  it  done  in  England  in  our  day, 
though  a  respectable,  is  not  a  transcendently 
great  piece  of  work.  First  of  all,  of  eoiurse 
your  edition  is  **  based''  on  that  of  Bunkins, 
Cunkins,  or  Dunklns,  of  €rermany ;  which 
entitles  you  to  make  what  use  of  the  labours 
of  those  philologists  you  please.  Then  you 
have  got  some  fifty  excellent  commentaries 
written  before  you  were  born,  to  help  yourself 
to.  So  far,  so' good ;  your  edition  soon  gets 
under  weigh.  Ton  balance  commentator 
against  commentator,  and  decide  between 
them ; — this  marks  the  man  of ^  Judgment  t 
Then,  you  attack  the  last  Eoglisfa  editor,  and 
treat  him  with  contempt.  You  call  him  a 
certain  Smith  (Smithius  quidam) — a  roan 
without  a  tincture  of  learning  (litterls  ne 
leviter  quidem  Imbutus) : — in  English,  it 
would  be  impertinent, — in  Latin,  it  is  severe ; 


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78 


HOUSBHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coadvetedby 


and  the  critics  set  it  down  to  yoor  zeal  for 
sound  lei^ning,  and  your  hatred  of  superficial 
men.  Finally,  you  dedicate  to  a  bishop,  whom 
you  call  the  ornament  of  the  age  (seculi 
decus) ;  and  out  comes  your  edition  on  beau- 
tiftil  paper— a  reproach  (in  the  paper)  to  th* 
inferiority  of  Germany.  Casaubon's  labours 
were  of  a  severer  character.  He  settled  the 
texts  of  his  authors  by  infinite  care — the 
very  first  necessity  being  critical  skill  in  the 
tongues.  His  commentu'ies  brought  all  anti- 
quity to  Illustrate  each  part  of  it.  By  the 
time  he  was  six-and-thirty,  he  had  edited 
Strabo,  Theophrastus,  the  Apologia  of  Apu- 
leius,  and  Suetonius.  He  then  devoted  himself 
to  Athemeus  and,  at  the  age  of  thirty-eight, 
moved  from  Geneva  to  Montpellier,  and  he 
accepted  a  chair  there.  He  commenced  his 
Diary  at  Montpelier,  on  his  thirty-eighth 
birthday.  He  l^cpt  it  regularly  till  his  death ; 
^ut  about  three  years  of  it  have  been  lost 
Let  us  now  open  it. 

Casaubon  begins  his  reading  early  in  the 
morning.  You  see  at  once  that  reading  is 
the  passion  of  his  life.  The  day  commences 
with  prayer.  Thus  he  reads  from  about  five 
until  ten.  After  refreshment,  he  reads 
again.  If  anybody  calls  on  any  manner  of 
business,  or  on  any  pretence  of  kindness,  a 
dismal  groan  is  recorded.  The  business  of 
life  is  to  get  on  with  the  classics : 

"Mormng.  Prayer;  books.  Not  wholly 
uselessly  employed,  0  Godj  " 

This  IS  a  specimen  of  many  a  day.  There 
is  an  habitual  tone  of  piety  throughout :  of 
that  fervid,  living  piety  fostered  in  him  from 
infancy  by  bis  father,  and  kept  warm  by  the 
earnest  spirit  of  the  great  town  of  the 
Reformers. 

**  Studied — not  without  a  grief  of  mind 
from  an  internal  cause  known  to  thee.  Lord. 
My  spouse,  who  ought  to  be  an  alleviation  to 
my  lalK>urs,  is  sometimes  an  impediment." 

Was  the  marita,  then,  a  shrew  ?  No ;  she 
was  a  good,  faithful,  wife :  truly  loved  by 
Oasaubon,  why  generally  calls  her  the  most 
beloved  (the  philtati,  in  Greek).  But 
(Casaubon  was  a  little  hastyrtcmpercd,  as  he 
himself  regrets ;  and  doubtless  the  philtate 
was  sometimes  a  bore,  when  he  was  puzzled 
by  a  frightfully  corrupt  passage. 

•*  Kal.  Jan.  (t,e.,  first  of  January),  1598.— A 
present  from  a  noble  German.^' 

Here  we  have  a  glimpse  of  the  way  in 
which  supplies  came  In.  The  noble  Grerman 
is  some  amateur  of  letters,  no  doubt,  passing 
through  Montpelier,  and  sends  a  new  year's 
gift  to  the  learned  Monsieur  Oasaubon  by 
way  of  lowing  that  he  appreciates  learning. 

»-Feb.,  1698.— When  shall  I  be  wholly 
given  to  my  books?  (Jrant  this,  0  God: 
but,  above  all^  true  piety  and  constant  love  of 
the  purer  religion." 

The  purer  religion.  There  is  need  to  pray 
for  constancy,  for « an  eminent  Protestant  is 
harrassed  with  people  wanting  to  convert 
him.    Temptation  waits,  too,  in  the  form  of 


great  ofibrs.  We  shall  see  that  Casaubon 
was  exposed  through  life  to  much  pain  and 
annoyance  on  this  side  of  affairs. 

But  duty  is  better  than  study ;  and  Casau- 
bon was  a  good  man  in  the  best  sense  ;  for — 

'*  Called  from  our  studies  by  the  widow  of 
Peter  Gaiesius.  The  time  was  not  ill- 
bestowed.    Duty  is  better  than  study." 

The  following  is  curious : — "Attempted  the 
interpretation  of  a  law  of  Ulpian's  which 
contains  the  material  of  garments.  Thou 
knowest,  God,  that  we  have  not  undertaken 
this  rashly,  knowing  with  what  diligence  we 
have  treated  that  subject." 

So  entirely  had  the  feeling  of  duty  taken 
possession  of  his  mind,  that  ne  carried  this 
solemn  kind  of  earnestness  into  details.  Thus 
he  would  put  up  a  prayer  for  a  right  imder- 
standing  of  the  nature  of  the  Macedonian 
Phalanx  ;  a  feeling  quite  Puritan  in  its  cha- 
racter, and  one  which,  in  various  forms, 
achieved  immense  results  in  those  ages. 

In  the  year  fifteen  hundred  and  ninety- 
nine,  CTasaubon  was  summoned  to  an  appoint- 
ment in  Paris.  From  Montpelier  he  brought 
away,  as  he  tells  us,  good  repute,  and  nothmg 
else.  His  means  were,  indeed,  generally 
limited  enough,  and  his  family  expenses,  as 
the  reader  has  seen,  were  likely  to  be  con- 
siderable. 

In  March  of  the  above-mentioned  year  he 
was  at  Lyons,  and  his  wife  paid  a  visit  to 
Geneva.  He  is  still  working  at  Athensus ; 
and  yet  his  nephew  Peter  \^ll  have  a  fight 
with  a  servant  (cum  famulo).  So  down  goes 
a  note  of  his  misconduct  in  the  Diary,  and  the 
nineteenth  century  is  indignant  at  Peter 
accordingly. 

He  was  for  some  time  at  Lyons,-and  also 
visited  Geneva  this  year.  The  time  is 
August  He  has  read  one  day,  from  five 
o'clock  until  ten.  His  wife  and  he  sit  down 
to  dinner  in  high  spirits  (hilariter),  when 
Madame  is  suddenly  taken  ill,  and  at  night 
gives  birth  to  a  boy.  It  is  observable,  that 
whenever  a  child  is  bom — thongh  it  be  the 
seventeenth  or  eighteenth — (^lasaubon  piously 
offers  thanks  for  the  blessing,  and  could  not 
be  more  grateftil  were  he  an  old  monarch 
wanting  an  heir  to  his  kingdom.  Here  is  an 
entry  in  the  September  of  this  same  year  : 

''  Wife  is  ill,  also  little  Phillippa,  John,  and 
nephew  Peter.  Add  to  this  that  one's  mfll^irs 
are  embarrassed.  Who  in  such  troubles 
could  find  leisure  for  arduous  study  ?  " 

Who,  indeed  I  Yet,  with  all  his  tronbles, 
Casaubon  became  one  of  the  first  scholars  in 
Europe,  which  ought  to  stimulate  many  men, 
and  not  scholars  only.  To  these  tronbles 
was  to  be  added  the  old  one,  arising  from  his 
Protestantism ;  for  now  that  he  was  invited 
to  Paris,  the  orthodox  were  very  busy  abont 
him. 

About  the  end  of  December,  he  talks  with 
"acertain  Alchymist — certainly  an  in^nious 
man,  who  told  me  some  things  worth  hearing 
about  the  secrets  of  his  art."     Casaubon 


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CbtoAm  Dlckrat.  j 


AN  OLD  SCHOLAR. 


79 


seems  to  incline  to  believe  that  gold  can  be 
made :  there  is  a  fascination  in  the  idea  when 
pecuniary  affairs  are  embarrassing,  certainly. 
The  last  day  of  February  in  sixteen 
hundred  he  set  off  to  Paris— using  relavs  of 
very  bad  horses.  On  the  tenth  of  March 
he  was  presented  to  Henry  the  Fourth,  who 
received  him  with  singular  humanity.  "  Thou 
knowest,  Lord,"  he  enters  in  his  Diary, 
"that  I  did  not  seek— did  not  court— this 
royal  position.^    Thou  hast  done  it.  Lord." 

His  books,  of  course,  had  to  follow  him,  or 
accompany  him  in  these  peregrinations  ;  and 
his  first  employment  in  a  new  place  was  to 
set  them  all  up  and  prepare  his  private 
museum  in  the  house.  Soon,  he  falls-to  at 
them  again;  and  now  his  labours  on 
Athens^us  arc  drawing  to  a  close.  He  is 
fixed  in  Paris,  and  the  king  is  kind  to  him ; 
conducts  him  one  day  over  the  palace  with 
much  ^serious  conversation.  Thuanus  has 
lost  his  wife,  and  Casaubon  consoles  him :  in 
addition  to  which,  he  is  studying  Arabic, 
besides  his  usual  classical  labours  ;  and  now 
he  opens  a  correspondence  with  that  con- 
ceited monarch,  James  the  Sixth  of  Scot- 
land. This  monarch  writes  him  a  letter 
from  his  Scotch  palace,  being  ambitious  of 
tlie  praise  of  learned  men.  Casaubon  does 
not  yet  foresee  that  he  is  destined  to  become 
associated  with  this  monarch ;  and.  In  fact, 
is  a  little  suspicious  of  him.  Meanwhile, 
Henry  the  Fourth  is  kind,  as  usual,  though 
there  are  orthodox  people  always  at  his 
ear,  hinting  that  Casaubon  is  a  dangerous 
heretic.  Gentlemen  of  wooden— fagffoty 
aspect,  indeed — scowl  at  Monsieur  Casaubon, 
and  would  roast  him,  on  a  good  pretext,  if 
possible.  Underlings  of  the  royal  library 
are  not  polite  ;  nor  are  treasurers  punctual 
with  instalments  of  the  pension. 

On  his  forty-fourth  birthday,  Casaubon — 
as  is  his  wont  on  his  birthday — was  medi- 
tating solemnly  on  his  life  and  prospects, 
when  who  should  come  in  but  the  philtate?  She 
brought  with  her  a  birthday  present  of  money, 
which  she  had  saved  out  of  the  household 
expenses  for  this  auspicious  occasion.  Ca- 
saubon was  delighted,  and  returned  thanks 
to  God  for  the  frugality  and  management 
(oikouomia)  of  the  charissima  uxor. 

In  sixteen  hundred  and  three,  he  visited 
his  mother  at  Bordeaux,  and  soon  afterwards 
paid  a  visit  to  Geneva,  where  old  friends  and 
relatives  received  him  with  open  arms.  On 
a  fine  June  night  he  supped  with  Theodore 
Beza,  exclaiming,  **What  a  man  I  What 
piety !  What  learning!  0  truly  great  man  I " 
Beza,  he  remarks,  though  his  memory  was 
failing  as  to  ordinary  matters,  still  retained 
it  in  all  matters  of  religion  and  theology. 
He  told  him  that  on  the  night  of  the 
Admiral's  murder,  he  (Beza)  had  seen  him 
in  a  dream,  at  Geneva,  all  bloody  :  and 
had  beard  from  him  the  events  of  that 
night  almost  as  they  actually  occurred. 
Casaubon  stayed  a  little  while  at  Geneva, 


on  the  money  affairs  of  some  relations  (about 
which  the  Genevese  authorities  did  not 
behave  well),  and  then  returned  to  Paris. 

About  the  end  of  sixteen  hundred  and 
three,  we  find  him  busy  on  his  Persius,  ex- 
amining ancient  manuscripts,  preparatory  to 
beginning  his  admirable  edition  of  that  poet. 
He  prays  that  the  mind  of  King  Henry  may 
not  be  swayed  by  evil  counsellors.  The 
Idng  did  not  conceal  from  him  that  the  pope 
complained  of  the  favour  he  ^owed  to 
heretics }  and  all  the  people  about  the  king 
were  brimming  over  with  hatred  of  the 
poor  scholar.  Large  promises — every  artifice 
employed— but  neither  Casaubon  nor  his 
wife  would  open  their  ears  to  the  tempters. 

What  with  Cardinal  Perron  trying  to  con- 
vert him  \  what  with  black  sons  of  Loyola 
tempting  and  hating  (your  conscience  or 
your  life,  being  the  favourite  alternative  of 
these  pious  dragoons) ;  what  with  occasional 
poverty  and  domestic  troubles— what  is  a 
scholar  to  do?  What  but  go  on  with  his 
work  ?  Isaac  Casaubon  had  various  labours 
on  the  anvil:  a  Treatise  on  Uie  Ancient 
Satire  (one  of  those  rare  treatises  which 
settle  the  question)  —  the  Incomparable 
Commentary  on  Persius,  and  so  forth.  Occa- 
sionally he  had  visitors.  Casaubon  loved  not 
visitors.  Why  will  people  come  and  talk, 
dragging  a  quiet  man  from  his  books?  There 
comes  one  man  who  loves  to  hear  Casaubon 
talk  — an  Englishman,  handsome,  high- 
spirited,  grave,  courtly,  leamed-^nobilis- 
simum  virum.  His  name  is  Edward  Herbert, 
known  to  all  the  world  in  after  ages  as  Lord 
Herbert  of  Cherbury.  That  most  distin- 
guished gentleman — the  best  swordsman  and 
rider  and  duellist  of  his  age ;  accomplished 
in  all  that  could  grace  rank  or  give  dignity 
to  birth — left  courts  and  palaces  ta  come  and 
talk  to  the  quiet  and  laborious  scholar ;  and 
reported  in  his  Autobiography  that  he  had 
much  benefited  himself  thereby.  Such  a 
man,  one  could  spare  an  hour  or  two  from 
Persius  to  chat  with.  In  such  talk  one  could 
forget  the  '^arrogant  biped,"  whose  foolish 
remarlcs  on  the  Roman  poet  much  annoyed 
Casaubon  in  those  days. 

This  is  the  way,  then,  in  which  life  was 
jogging  on.  The  king  held  firm,  and  would 
not  persecute  this  heretic.  Money  was 
scanty,  but  still  things  were  kept  going, 
through  the  household  wisdom  of  that  model 
wife,  the  philtate.     Early  morning  found 

Then,  to  work  he  went,  still  in  the  early  part 
of  the  century,  at  Persius.  In  sixteen 
hundred  and  five  the  Persius  appeared. 
Joseph  Scaliger  observed  that  the  sauce  was 
wortn  more  than  the  fish.  Indeed,  Persius 
sails  like  a  cock-boat  in  a  huge  sea  of  com- 
mentary. He  is  hung  up  like  a  picture,  with 
a  hundred  lights  on  it — illuminated  like  a 
palace  on  a  festal  night  He  had  been  every- 
where spoken  of  as  obscure  and  unintelligible, 
Casaubon,  who  heartily  admired  him,  deter- 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


80 


HOUSBHOIiD  WORDS. 


[CoadMtadbf 


mined  to  prove  that  ht  could  understand 
him,  at  all  events.  The  resnlt  was  a  work 
which  has  formed  the  basis  of  every  edition 
slQce — ^which  contains  a  mass  of  learning 
about  antiquity,  and  which  has  associated 
ihe  name  of  Casaubon  with  that  of  Persios 
for  ever.  His  next  great  occupation  was  his 
Polybius,  the  preface  to  which  Warton  con- 
siders one  of  the  three  flnest  prefaces  ever 
written. 

Of  course, — ^he  was  not  to  be  converted, 
— "  Were  I  an  atheist,"  he  says,  bitterly.  "I 
should  be  at  Rom^."  He  complains  of  his 
little  facilities  for  attending  public  worship. 
To  tills  misfortune  was  soon  added  a  serious 
business  one.  By  some  decision  at  Geneva, 
he  lost  in  sixteen  hundred  and  seven,  the 
whole  of  his  wife's  fortune,— "  and  we  are 
left  naked,"  he  adds.  ''  We  have  no  fortune  : 
I  have  nothing  left  but  my  books  and  my 
children  I  .  .  .  Ungratefol  bipeds  enjoy  the 
fruits  of  my  labours."  Thus  he  wails  In  the 
spring  of  sixteen  hundred  and  eight — a 
bitter  cold  one— during  which  he  huddled 
himself  over  the  Are  with  a  book.  A  new 
domestic  trouble,  too,  makes  Its  appearance. 
"Prid.  Kal.  Feb.  (January  the  thirty-first). 
As  I  see,  fire  and  water  will  agree  better 
than  these  two  women,  namely  my  wife 
and  sister!  O  miserable  lot!  0  hard  destiny." 
Summing  up  the  last  year's  history,  he  says : 
— "Yet  my  studies,  though  they  have  suf- 
fered ihuch  detriment,  have  not  totally  foiled. 
Witness  my  Polybius,  &c." 

But  he  now  suffered  the  greatest  home 
sorrow  of  which  his  Diary  gives  any  record — 
the  deatti  of  his  eldest  daughter  Philippa. 
He  enters  with  melancholy  minuteness  that 
she  was  aged  eighteen  years,  six  months, 
twenty-one  davs,  and  four  hours.  **  0  my 
light,  my  darling,  love,  delight,  and  glory  of 
vour  mother!"  For  days  and  days  the 
Image  of  poor  Philippa  haunts  the  pages  of 
the  Diary.  He  leaves  off  his  books,  every 
now  and  then,  at  the  thought  of  her,  and 
relapses  into  grief.  And,  at  this  time,  he 
is  labouring  at  "that  most  intricate  question 
of  the  difference  between  the  Macedonian 
phalanx  and  the  Roman  legion,"  and  com- 
pelled to  send  oif  every  period  to  the  printer 
as  fast  as  it  Is  finished. 

Soon  after,  we  find  him  dailr  inserting  a 

grayer  in  the  Diary  for  Joseph  Scaliger,  now 
I  his  last  illness,  and  recording  the  birth  of 
a  daughter,  his  wife's  seventeenth  child.  At 
last  comes  the  news  of  Scaliger's  death  in 
February,  sixteen  hundred  and  nine :  "  Extin- 
guished is  that  lamp  of  our  age,  the  light  of 
fetters,  the  glory  of  France,  the  ornament  of 
Europe."  Scaligerleft  him  a  silver  cup.  They 
had  l^en  on  friendly  terms  always.  Cfasanbon 
honoured  Scaliffer  with  true  afl'ectlon  and 
admiration,— and  Scaliger,  in  the  Scalige- 
liana,  speaks  always  of  Casaubon  In  a  cor- 
responding tone.  The  great  scholars  have 
often  maiUed  each  other;  it  Is  pleasant  to 
remember,  that  these  two  (and*  there  never 


were 

and 

welL 


two  greater  men  of  the  kind)  thoa^t 
spoke   of  each    other   worthily    abd 


In  the  kind  of  way  we  have  been  de- 
scribing, the  Parisian  years  rolled  by.  Ca- 
saubon^ ^eatest  trouble  was,  that  they 
would  insist  on  endeavouring  to  convert 
him.  They  waylaid  him  In  the  library,  and 
entangled  him  in  controversies;  sometimes 
thev  spread  a  report  that  he  wot  converted, 
and  alarmed  the  ''  reformed "  througfaont 
Europe.  But  they  did  Eucceed  in  striking 
him  a  severe  blow ;  they  managed  to  convert 
his  son  JohUi  a  youth  ignorant  of  all 
the  great  questions  of  dispute.  This  hurt 
Casaubon  severely.  We  can  fancy  him  in  his 
"museum,"  brooding  over  this  sore  grief, — 
his  hand  carelessly  playing  with  the  leaves  of 
a  folio — when  a  stranger  is  announced.  An 
Italian  enters,  and  has  something  to  say 
evidently  of  a  verv  secret  nature.  Casaobon 
begs  that  he  will  n>eak  out  The  Italiaa 
hesitates:  then  would  Casaubon  orant  him 
an  interview  with— his  ftimiliar  7  Obstupai  I 
wys  Casanbon,  entering  the  foct  in  his  Diary, 
wbat  with  alchymy,  and  diablerie,  and  astro- 
logy,  men's  minds  were  ever  hovering  aboat 
the  verge  of  the  wonderful  in  those  days, 
and  sbi^ows  and  shapes  lurked  in  comen 
out  of  which  gas  light  and  other  light  has 
long  driven  them, 

Sixteen  hundred  and  ten  opened  on  Ca- 
saubon, still  cloudy  in  the  theological  quarter, 
and  in  others.  He  was  reading,  revising,  and 
editing,  as  usual,  and  forming  pleasant  castles 
in  the  air — such  as  visits  to  Italy  and  the 
like.  A  visit  to  Italy  was  still  a  fovonrite 
vision  of  scholars,  who  loved  the  thought  of 
the  morning-land  of  learning.  Oanmbon 
wanted  to  go  to  Italy,  as  Erasmus  had  done  ; 
he  wanted  to  see  the  country  and  talk  with 
the  learned  men ;  and,  particularly,  he  wished 
to  visit  Venice,  and  inform  himself  accurately 
about  the  Greek  Church.  For,  it  was  one 
great  and  leading  desire  of  Casaubon's,  that 
a  day  might  come  when  he  should  devote 
himself  entirely  to  sacred  learning.  The 
memory  of  his  &ther  sanctified  that  idea ; 
when  he  first  presented  the  good  minister 
with  a  learned  work,  the  old  man  told  him 
that  he  would  rather  see  one  text  of  the 
Scriptures  rightly  interpreted  by  him,  than 
all  the  fine  fruits  of  the  Pagan  mind.  Ca- 
saubon thought  often  of  that  saying;  he 
remembered  the  pious  zeal  of  the  old  man, 
supportbig  them  all,  in  the  terrible  days 
which  followed  on  the  Saint  Bartholomew, 
when  the  Casaubons  fled  Uke  hunted  beasts 
to  the  caves  and  mountains,  and  worshipped 
€rod  in  sore  distress  and  terror.  It  was  the 
pet  dream  of  Isaac  Casaubon  to  devote 
his  old  age  to  theology ;  and,  indeed,  it  may 
be  doubted  if  he  ever  expounded  a  mere 
comic  writer,  such  as  Plautus,  without  a  kind 
of  uneasy  regret. 

Such  were  the  dreams,  studies,  trials,  and 
troubles  of  Casaubon,  the  pious,  laborioos. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ClMricilMekcM.] 


AN  OLD  SCHOLAR. 


81 


iflbctionate,  rather  irritable  man,  now  tamed 
of  fifty— when  all  Paris,  one  day  in  May, 
ttarted  at  the  death  wonnd  of  the  asfiasBi- 
nated  Henry  the  Fourth.  That  king  had 
altogether  treated  him  well,— had  respected 
his  conscience,  and  checked  his  enemies ;  and 
now  Paris  was  an  intolerable  and  an  unsafe 
residence.  Casaubon  had  corresponded,  occa- 
sionalljT,  with  James  the  First;  and  now, 
that  king  being  on  the  English  throne,  a 
negotiation  had  sprung  up  between  them, 
and  it  was  proposed  to  tfasaubon  to  come 
oyer  to  London.  For  this  purpose,  he  had 
to  Djet  leave  from  the  French  court  The 
pbntion  of  great  scholars  in  those  days 
was  a  singular  one.  They  were  courted 
from  place  to  place  in  Europe,  and.  as  they 
approached  the  towns  of  their  new  appoint- 
ments, the  magistrates  and  professors  came 
out  to  meet  them  a  mile  outside  the  gates. 
Tet,  they  had  the  utmost  difficulty  in  getting 
their  salaries.  And,  in  the  same  way,  though 
every  king  of  high  pretensions  considered  a 
great  scholar  an  ornament  to  his  court  and 
city. — though  kings  recognised  them  person- 
ally with  honour  (Henry  the  Fourth  wrote 
to  Joseph  Scaliger,  on  one  occasion,  with  his 
•own  hand),— ^et,  when  installed,  the  scholar 
was  a  kind  of  servant;  If  he  wanted  to  leave 
the  city  he  must  get  permission.  When  he 
asked  permission,  ne  was  sometimes  refiised 
It,  for  fear  he  should  not  come  back.  The 
lives  of  scholars  were,  indeed,  full  of  strange 
contradictions;  they  had  the  splendour  of 
reputation  which  a  singer  has  in  our  times, 
combined  with  fortune  enough  to  pay  for  the 
singer's  bouquets,  and  hampered  with  restric- 
tions and  troubles  infinltelv  vexatious. 

In  October  of  sixteen  hundred  and  ten, 
Casaubon  obtained  permission  to  visit  Eng- 
land, and  came  over  in*company  with  Wotton ; 
leaving  his  family  and  books  in  Paris.  He 
was  sea-sick,  like  other  great  and  little  men, 
and  lay  groaning,  below,  on  a  heap  of  sailors' 
jackets,  duly  entered  in  the  Ephemerides,  as 
**  vestes  nautarum." .  He  staved  a  little  while, 
at  Canterbury,  with  Dr.  Charier,  and  ^en 
came  to  lionaon,  **  through  a  most  pleasant 
country,"  he  observes:  as  Kent,  we  know, 
still  is.  He  duly  arrived  at  Gravesend 
("  Gravesinda  "  sounds  odd  in  our  days  I) 
and  went  first  to  the  house  of  the  Dean  of 
St.  Paurs— Overall. 

On  the  eighth  of  November,  he  was  pre- 
sented to  King  James,  at  St.  Theobald's,  and 
attended  him  at  dinner.  The  ceremonial  was, 
that  you  stood,  while  the  king  ate  and  drank, 
and  made  observations  on  samd  and  profuie 
literature,  at  his  good  pleasure.  An  irreve- 
rent modem  might  consider  this  a  little  dull ; 
but  times  are  changed.  Casaubon  stood — a 
kind  of  learned  dumb-waiter — with  bishops 
and  others;  and  conversation  went  on. 
**  There  was  much  conversation  with  this 
great  and  wise  king  on  all  kinds  of  literature. 
The  talk  turned  on  Tacitus,  on  Plutarch,  on 
Conmiines,  and  others.    Not  without  aston- 


ishment, did  I  hear  so  great   a   monarch 
pronouncing  opinions  on  letters ! " 

Casaubon  was  sincere ;  and  we  can  respect 
his  sincerity,  without  supposing  that  the 
king  was  a  paragon.  Learning  was  rare ; 
learned  kings  were  rarer  still.  James  had 
been  well  educated :  and,  if  he  had  a  feature 
in  his  character  not  utterly  low  and  mean, 
that  feature  was  a  kind  of  love  of  learning, 
such  as  is  found  in  many  a  "  dominie  "  of  his 
country.  He  was  glad  to  get  a  chance  of 
showing  off  to  a  scholar :  a  scholar  in  those 
days  was  glad  to  find  anything  like  personal 
appreciation  of  his  merits  in  a  king.  James 
actually  asked  Casaubon,  to  his  table  to  dine 
with  him,  which  Is  recorded  by  biographers 
with  wonder.  But,  generally,  Casaubon's 
place  was  at  the  king's  chair,  along  with  the 
bishops  and  scholars,  as  above-mentioned. 
Casaubon  soon  found  that  the  king's  per- 

gctual  summonses  of  him  were  a  serious 
iterruption  to  his  studies.  His  wife's  ab- 
sence, too,  and  that  of  his  library,  were 
annoying.  He  was  solicited  to  take  up  his 
residence  in  England  J&nd  the  king  bestowed 
on  him  a  prebend  in  Westminster,  a  prebend 
in  Canterbury,  and  a  pension.  There  Is  on 
record  an  autograph  order  of  James's  to  the 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  about  Casaubon, 
which  is  certainly  the  best  specimen  of  his 
Majesty's  humour  that  we  have  ever  seen : — 
"Chancelor  of  my  Excheker,  I  will  have 
Mr.  Casaubon  paid  befor  me,  my  wife,  and 
my  bames."    (2Brd  September,  1612.) 

With  what  glee  would  the  world  have 
hailed  in  the  scholar's  pages  any  mention  of 
the  great  authors  of  tnat  period — any  little 
note  about  Shakspeare  or  Ben  Jonson  I  Had 
Casaubon  ever  fancied  that  there  was  a  man 
then  alive  in  England,  whose  poetry  was 
more  beautiful  than  that  of  all  the  ancients 
whom  he  knew  so  well  T  There  is  something 
affecting  In  the  world's  indifference  to  its 
great  men.  Casaubon,  learned,  wise,  good- 
hearted  as  he  was,  probably  never  thought  all 
his  life,  that  any  modern  could  write  any- 
thing worth  reading,  except  of  course  such 
modems  as  the  Scaligers  and  others,  who 
were  proud  to  devote  their  laborious  lives  to 
the  illustration  of  the  classics.  Our  language 
he  knew  nothing  of ;  nor  was  it  indeed  of  any  * 
great  importance  to  him  that  he  did  not :  all 
those  discussions  on  theology  and  the  classics 
with  the  king  and  the  bidiops  went  on  in 
Latin. 

Casaubon's  wife  Joined  him  here ;  and  he 
llkenHse  obtained  his  books  at  last-not  without 
sore  annoyance  from  custom-house  authorities. 
He  established  himself  in  a  house  in  St  Mary 
Axe :  "  marvellously  expensive,"  says  the 
Diary :  where  the  poor  uxor  suffered  most, 
knowing  nothing  of  English,  and  finding  the 
climate  inclement  In  those  days,  too,  the 
strong  and  growing  Puritan  feeling  spread 
itself  among  the  lower  orders,  and  Casaubon 
—as  a  friend  to  the  English  church,  and,  per- 
haps, as  a  suspected  papist — ^was  liable  to 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


HOUSEHOLD  WOBDS. 


CCMidoctcdky 


insults.  '  His  windows  were  pelted :  sorely 
to  the  grief  of  the  poor  philtate. 

In  sixteen  hundred  and  thirteen,  we  find 
him  visiting  Oxford,  and  sumptuously  enter- 
tained at  Magdalen  College.  But  ill-health 
was  now  coming  upon  him — from  an  internal 
complaint  of  a  very  peculiar  character.  On 
his  fifty-fifth  birthday  (sixteen  hundred  and 
fourteen),  he  enters  in  his  Diary : 

**  I  find  my  bodily  strength  languishing." 

And  so  it  languished  as  the  summer  drew 
nigh. 

**  Third  of  June.— My  body  languishes  . . . 
My  studies  are  neglected,  except  that  I  turn 
over  the  writings  of  Au^tine."  For  some 
days,  he  was  still  fcadmg  Augustine,  and 
getting  worse.  The  last  entry  in  his  own 
hand.  Is,  "  Thursday,  sixteenth  of  June,  six- 
teen hundred  and  fourteen.  I  see  that  it 
is  now  over  with  my  studies,  unless  the  Lord 
Jesus  otherwise  order  it.  In  this,  too,  be  thy 
will  done,  0  Lord  I  "  These  were  the  last 
words,  and  surely  they  were  worthy  words. 
On  the  first  of  July,  all  warm  baths  and 
other  measures  proving  in  vain,  Isaac  Casau- 
bon  died.  He  was  buried  in  Westminster 
Abbey,  as  we  have  already  said. 

His  son  Meric  Casaubon  made  England  his 
home ;  and  for  long  years,  held  a  Canterbury 

Erebend  as  his  faUicr  had  done.  He  lies 
uried  in  Canterbury  Cathedral,  with  a  son 
John,  and  a  ^ndson  Meric,  in  the  last  of 
whom  (a  child)  the  scholar's  line  ended. 
Out  of  this  poor,  brave,  persecuted  family  of 
French  Protestants,  came  one  to  make  it 
famous;  and  then  it  disappeared  again. 
The  brave,  kindly,  profoundly-learned,  and 
earnestly  pious  man  had  the  laborious  and 
various  life  we  have  seen ;  and  it  is  a  happy 
chance  that  the  preservation  of  his  Diary 
enables  us  to  think  of  him  with  familiarity, 
and  know  him  to  have  had  qualities,  which 
those  who  talk  of  the  good  old  commentators 
of  Europe  as  "  pedants"  only,  would  do  well 
to  imitate.  Casaubon's  life  was  as  good  a 
commentary  on  the  stoic  poet  Persius,  as  the 
work  which  he  wrote  with  that  title ;  and  he 
deserves  a  little  corner  in  our  hearts,  as  well 
as  in  our  Abbey. 

THE  ROVING  ENGLISHMAN. 

VERT  COLD  AT  BCOHARBST. 

It  is  a  bright  clear  morning,  and  the  snow 
lays  white,  crisp,  and  fair  upon  the  ground. 
There  is  a  healthy  buoyancy  about  the  air, 
which  disposes  the  mildest  men  for  practical 
jokes,  while  the  jovial  arc  wrought  up  to  a 
state  quite  boisterous  by  cold  and  high 
spirits.  Individuals  with  mustaches  like  a 
black  frill  of  spears  about  their  mouths,  and 
beards  and  shoulders  of  forty  years'  growth, 
appear  in  open  daylight  with  large  catskin 
muflb  upon  Uieir  hands  and  fur  slippers  on 
their  feet  Ladies  are  positively  intrenched 
and  fortified  in  cloaks  and  tippets  and  shawls. 
Peasant  girls,  only  roll  laughing  along  with 


bare  legs  and  arms,  with  eyes  that  absolutely 
sparkle  from  merriment  and  frozen  tun  when 
they  observe  the  poor  chilly  stuffof  which  we     ^ 
seem  to  be  made.  , 

My  nose  has  been  of  a  singular  colour — 
partly  blue,  partly  a  deep  crimson — these 
three  days,  I  do  not  exactly  know  where  my 
hands  are :  I  could  not  decide  with  the 
smallest  certainty  about  them  if  my  com- 
forter depended  on  my  doing  so.  It  appears  | 
to  me  as  if  my  feet,  under  the  direct  influ- 
ence of  some  malevolent  fairy,  had  been  i 
turned  into  pin-cushions,  and  that  my  re- 
joicing enemy— perhaps  the  nurse  in  my 
elder  brothers  family — ^was  ironically  punc- 
turing on  them,  "  Welcome  little  stranger," 
or  some  similar  device,  as  expressive  of  gra- 
tification at  the  birth  of  an  heir  to  the 
peerage,  and  the  utter  discomfiture  of  myself 
and  tailors.  I  should  never  be  surpria^  to 
trace  those  insulting  words  if  I  succeed  in 
getting  off  my  boots  without  pulling  off  my 
feet  afio  wheu  I  venture  to  go  to  bed  to-night. 
I  use  the  wpi^i  venture  with  respect  to  going 
to  bed  because  it  is  almost  as  bold  an  enter- 
prise to  retire  to  a  couch  of  single  wretched- 
ness as  to  leave  it.  I  believe  that  the  nusjority 
of  the  population  in  these  countries  are  un- 
controUablv  urged  into  the  state  of  matri- 
mony by  the  irresistibly  seductive  prospect 
of  procuring  a  bed-warmer.  I  am  given  to 
understand  that  it  is  customary  among  mar- 
ried people  here  to  toss  up  (I  suppose  night- 
caps) which  shall  be  devoted  to  the  common 
cause,  and  go  in  to  thaw  the  sheets ;  or  that 
the  more  equitable  portion  of  that  happy 
community  take  it  bv  turns.  I  am  inclined 
to  think,  however,  that  the  lady  generally 
contrives  to  overreach  the  husl^nd  in  this 
respect,  she  is  fond  of  exciting  his  courage  into 
rashness  by  repeated  glasses  of ''  poonch,'*  or 
powerful  green  tea  and  rum,  about  the  hour 
of  bedtime.  She  has  been  known,  also, 
to  plead  successfully  the  necessity  of  doing 
up  her  back  hair  and  to  watch  the  shudder- 
ings  of  her  lord  between  the  sheets  with 
intense  and  hopeful  ^igoyment.  When  a 
husband  ceases  to  shudder,  his  wife  knows 
that  she  can  venture  to  get  into  his  place 
without  collapsing,  and  usually  seizes  the 
time  with  the  same  accuracy  of  judgment  as 
is  displayed  by  careful  housewives  in  boiling 
an  egg.  That  process  of  thawing  the  bed  is 
as  penetrating  and  miserable  an  agony  as 
can  be  conceived.  The  most  robust  man  will 
sink  to  half  his  size  during  the  humbling 
process.  As  for  getting  up,  It  is  an  exploit  so 
doughty  as  only  to  be  accomplished  by  the 
promptings  of  the  most  ravenous  hunger.  I 
wonder  how  the  ladies'  medical  men  do.  - 

You  feel  your  clothes  freezing  on  yoa  as 
you  dress.  You  have  no  sooner  lefl  your 
hotel  than  you  appear  to  have  been  miracu- 
lously endowed  with  diamonds,  and  very  bard 
ones,  growing  out  of  your  head,  ejes,  cars, 
nose,  and  mouth ;  or  you  may  be  the  genius 
of  a  crystal  cave.     Your  whiskers  set   all 


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THE  ROYING  EKGLBHBCAN. 


88 


attempts  at  elegaiMse  on  the  part  of  your 
ooUars  at  defiance.  They  stand  out  like  a 
compaot  hnadle  of  quills,  to  use  a  profes- 
sional simile,  and  they  crack  in  a  similar 
manner  if  roughly  disturbed.  When  you 
take  up  a  position,  it  is  as  well  to 
chbose  an  elegant,  or  at  least  an  easy  one ; 
for  you  will  be  speedily  wedged  into  it,  and 
you  soon  grow  painfully  aware  of  your  like- 
ness to  those  bold  commercial  satellites  who 
walk  about  London  spreading  the  fame  of 
Moses  and  Son  for  a  shilling  a  day  and  their 
board. 

Your  hat,  if  yon  persist  in  wearing  one, 
outs  a  clean  place  for  Itself  into  your  frozen 
hair ;  and  if  you  catch  sight  of  your  shadow 
in  a  foggy,  tortured  looking-glass  (nothing  is 
so  abjectly  affected  hj  we  weather  as  a 
mirror),  you  will  perceive  that  the  natural 
covering  of  your  head  has  gracefully  arranged 
itself  in  the  form  of  a  sugar-loaf,  or  perhaps, 
in  light  mockery  of  your  profession  or  ac- 
quirements, in  that  of  .a  fool's  cap.  It  has  in 
fact  taken  the  shape  of  the  inside  of  your  hat, 
whatever  that  shape  may  be. 

It  is  a  fierce  and  bloodthhrsty  thing  to 
shave  yourself,  or  to  allow  any  ferocious 
lover  of  old  iiAshions  to  shave  you.  Tour 
face,  after  such  an  operation,  will  bear  the 
strongest  resemblance  to  an  uncooked  beef- 
steak of  unsavoury  exterior.  Your  obdurate 
and  merciless  collar  eats  into  the  persecuted 
skin  like  a  knife,  and  you  would  no  more 
think  of  making  a  true  British  bow  than  of 
cutting  your  throat.  The  intelligent  and 
travelled  observer  will  remember  Qiat  Rus- 
siuis  and  other  people  of  cold  countries, 
generally  rather  raise  their  heads  than 
depress  them  in  saluting.  I  believe  they 
have  learned  this  by  bitter  experience,  by 
the  torture  of  shaving  in  sledging^time. 
Their  bow  is  not  a  deferential  inclination 
of  the  head.  It  is  a  spasmodic  writhe  of  the 
waist 

Now,  it  is  all  very  well  for  some  bumptious 
old  person  connected  with  that  famous  school 
for  bumptiousness,  the  red  tape  and  sealing- 
wax  office,  to  say,  ''  Pooh  I  pooh  I  I  was  Ui 
the.  Principalities  in  eighteen  hundred  and 
three,  and  I  found  notiiing  of  this  sort.'' 
Excuse  me,  sir;  I  find  it  so  in  eighteen 
hundred  and  fifty-four.  They  say  the  cli- 
mates of  the  world  are  changing,  and  I  am 
sure  you  will  agree  with  me  when  I  add  that 
the  race  of  young  men  and  travellers '  has 
degenerated  since  your  time  of  wooden  heads 
and  wonders. 

I  am  going  to  dine  with  the  hospodar,  and 
the  frost  dims  my  burnished  boots  as  I  walk 
down  stairs;  my  teeth  are  chattering  in  spite 
of  the  enormous  bearskin  cloak  in  which  I 
am  swathed.  My  brother's  nurse  is  certainly 
using  the  pincue^ion  very  briskly  as  I  step 
into  m^  sledge  and  hurry  my  feet  into  a 
sheepskin  bag,  for  nothing  but  wool  and 
leather  will  keep  out  the  penetrating  cold. 
It   is  still  daylight,  for   the  prince  dines 


at  five  o'clock,  and  we  are  at  the  close 
of  January.  The  streets  are  a  pretty  sight. 
Gilded  and  glittering  sledges  are  flash- 
ing about  in  all  directions.  The  horses 
that  draw  them  wear  great  patches  of  bright 
coloured  leather  covered  with  bells  on  their 
foreheads  and  shoulders.  (The  jingling  is 
peculiarly  merry  and  inmiriting.)  They  have 
housings  of  velvet  imd  fur,  and  I  se^  that  it 
is  a  gallantry  among  the  cavaliers  here  that 
these  shall  Ikv  of  the  same  colours  as  those 
chosen  by  their  lady-loves.  Some  are  of 
crimson  and  ermine,  some  of  purple  and  gold, 
some  of  white  and  sable.  The  siedging-time 
will  probably  last  about  a  couple  of  months, 
and  the  streets  never  look  so  animated  and 
pretty  at  any  other  season. 

THB  THEATBB. 

Thkre  is  a  Wallachian  theatre  where 
pieces  are  performed  twice  a  week  in  the 
Roumaft  language.  I  went  there,  and  found  it 
a  dismid  little  place  enough,  lighted  by  a  dim 
chandelier  of  oil  lamps.  Two  IndifFerent  and 
rather  dirty  candles  were  also  placed  beneath 
every  box.  Each  box  contained  four  chairs, 
and  was  divided  merely  by  a  thin  partition, 
on  which  the  occupants  of  either  side  might 
place  his  elbows  and  converse.  They  did 
converse— conversation,  indeed,  appeared  the 
sole  business  of  the  company  there.  This 
talk  must  have  disturbed  the  serious  pit  of 
standing  people  who  came  to  see  the  play ; 
but  they  bore  it  very  patiently,  and,  perhaps, 
thev  did  not  lose  much. 

The  pieces  were  the  Great  Great-coat  of 
Prince  Menchikoff,  an  excessively  stupid  farco 
founded  on  the  anecdote  which  startled  the 
diplomatic  world  of  Constantinople.  The 
other  piece  was  called  a  Peasant's  Marriage. 
I  am  sorry  to  say  nothing  could  be  sillier — 
plot,  language,  and  acting  were  almost  child- 
ish. An  old  Greek,  dressed  in  Turkish  clothes, 
keeps  a  school :  he  overhears  that  one  of  his 

Supils  is  in  love  with  the  pride  of  the  village, 
e  is  also  in  love  with  her — why,  how,  or 
wherefore,  does  not  appear  in  either  caso. 
These  circumstances  give  rise  to  a  comic 
song,  performed  by  the  whole  strength  of  the 
company.  The  dramatis  personac  then  scuttle 
off  the  stage,  tugging  at  the  old  person's 
robe  and  hustling  him.  To  console  him- 
self, he  gets  into  a  swing,  he  compares  the 
emotions  produced  in  an  elderly  stomach 
by  swinging,  to  love — audience  laugh — 
comic  song  all  chorus  succeeds,  and  act 
closes.  There  is  now  half  an  hour's  pause 
for  general  flirtation.  The  Wallachian  good- 
humour  is  irresistible.  The  dim  oil  chan- 
delier is  lowered,  part  of  it  hits  a  bald- 
headed  gentleman  on  the  head,  bald-headed 
gentleman  laughs,  audience  laughs,  bald- 
headed  gentleman  rubs  his  head — ^there  is  a 
visible  bump  on  it — audience  is  in  ecstasies, 
and  cry  out  jocular  condolences.  Lamps  are 
snufied,  and  make  a  sad  smell,  whereat  there 


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84 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


\m  also  ^eral  jollity,  in  which  some  of  the 
ladies  diBtioguiah  tbemselvea. 

Up  strikes  the  band,  every  man  playing  on 
hit  own  hook.  The  leader  has  evidently  seen 
a  piotare  of  Stranss.  He  imitates  his  position 
and  bearing.  His  wristbands  are  turned  np ; 
they  are  not  quite  clean.  He  docs  not  appear 
to  have  the  smallest  idea  of  his  business.  I 
mention  this  to  my  companion :  he  laughs. 
People  in  the  next  box  laugh  because  we 
laugh.  The  curtain  rises  on  a  dance.  It 
is  awkward  and  hobbly,  but  I  am  told  it 
is  characteristic.  The  peasant  boy  has  of 
course  cut  out  the  schoolmaster,  who  ex- 
presses his  grief  in  several  more  comic  songs. 
Audience  join  in  one  which  appears  to  be  a 
favourite.  There  is  something  interesting  in 
this  scene,  because  I  learn  that  the  actors  are 
dressed  in  the  old  Wallachian  peasant  cos- 
tume, which  is  now  fast  disappearing.  The 
men  wear  long  white  things  like  calico  braided 
bedgowns,  turn-over  boots,  and  comical 
woollen  caps.  The  girls  are  one  blaze  of 
spangles  and  tinsel.  There  is  a  pretty  scene  in 
which  the  peasant  fetches  his  bride  from  her 
parents,  while  his  best  friends  offer  bread  and 
wine  as  a  symbol  of  plenty.  There  is  also 
some  gun-firing,  a  custom  probably  borrowed 
from  the  Turks,  but  the  sulphurous  smell  of 
the  powder,  added  to  the  smoke  of  the  lamps, 
and  the  pent-up  atmosphere  of  the  theatre, 
which  is  crowded  to  suffocation,  are  almost 
insupportable. 

I  was  not  sorry  when  the  whole  con- 
cluded with  a  dance  and  a  chorus  by  the 
whole  strength  of  the  company,  and  we  were 
f^ee  to  go.  I  never  remember  to  have  seen 
theatre,  play,  acting,  actors  and  actresses,  so 
irredeemably  bad. 

Below  there  was,  of  course,  a  complete 
regiment  of  gallants  drawn  np  in  line.  Every 
XtAj  coming  down  had  to  run  the  gauntlet 
This  appeared  to  me  the  real  reason  why 
most  of  the  company  in  the  boxes  had  gone 
to  the  theatre,  and  a  very  good  reason  too. 
Perhaps  there  are  here  and  there  a  few 
people  in  proper  London  who  would  not  go 
to  tne  opera  if  it  were  not  for  the  pleasures 
of  the  crush-room,  while  Mrs.  Lackadaisy's 
carriage  is  stopping  the  way. 

THE  TKRRIBLB  OFFICER. 

Therb  is  an  Austrian  officer  quartered  in 
the  house  of  a  pleasant  Wallachian  familv. 
He  is  an  under^lieutenant,  or  Vhat  we  should 
call  an  ensign,  and  he  is  a  verv  great  man  in 
consequence.  It  is  a  powerful  thing  to  hear 
his  sabre  clanking  along  the  passage  when  he 
comes  home  at  night  from  the  hotel  or  cashio. 
It  is  more  overwhelming  still  to  hear  him  in 
energetic  conversation  with  his  man  servant 
of  a  morning.  He  treats  the  pleasant  Wal- 
lachian ihmily  as  if  they  were  his  bom  serft 
and  servants.  They  keep  out  of  his  way, 
therefore,  as  much  as  it  is  convenient  to  do 
so— perhaps  more.  His  footfbll  is  a  signal 
for  the  prompt  flight  of  all  within  hearing  of 


it  When  he  dears  his  tiiroat  the  maid- 
servant tremUes.  If  he  coughs  in  the  night 
the  whole  house  is  thrown  into  a  state  of 
alarm. 

It  is  not  unnatural  under  these  circum- 
stances that  when  the  pleasant  Wallachian 
family  gave  a  ball  on  New  Year's  Eve  the 
terrible  officer  is  not  invited.  He  is  not  in- 
vited because  there  is  not  a  Udy  who  would 
dance  with  him ;  because  his  presence  would 
be  insupportaUe — his  very  entry  into  the 
room  would  cause  the  guests  to  quake  and 
fear^ 

The  Austrian  ensign,  however,  does  not 
appear  to  appreciate  these  reasons  at  a  suffi- 
cient value.  He  is  huffed  at  being  for^tten 
on  a  festival  dav,  as  most  people  are  who 
have  rendered  themselves  disagreeable  pre- 
viously. He  makes  these  sentiments  known 
to  the  family  on  his  return  home  between 
nine  and  ten  o'clock,  by  sending  them  an 
abrupt  order  to  leave  .off  making-  a  noise, 
which  is  likely  to  disturb  his  rest  The  ser- 
vant who  delivers  this  message  creates  much 
astonishment,  also  some  laughter.  He  is 
generally  supposed  to  be  the  harmless  agent 
of  rather  a  fiiir-fetched  practical  joke.  The 
guests  converse  together  agreeably  about 
him  in  little  groups  for  a  few  minutes,  and 
then  the  sul]!Ject  is  forgotten. 

Forgotten:  for  this  night  is  one  of  tiie 
greatest  festivals  of  the  Greek  Church,  and 
every  good  Christian  Is  bound  to  be  merry 
accordingly.  Our  guests  are  merry,  and  the 
ball  goes  on.  Now,  a  Wallachian  ball  is  by 
no  means  the  milk-and-water  affitir  of  a  ball 
in  Eaton  Place  West  There  are  few  wall- 
flowers who  sit  in  steady  silence  throughout 
the  evening,  looking  as  unhappy  as  possible ; 
there  are  no  long^faced  gentiemen  who 
stand  about  exasperatingly  in  doorways,  and 
will  not  be  comforted ;  there  arc  no  thj 
people  who  won't  dance,  or  can't  dance.  The 
guests  assemble  at  about  seven  o'clock  in  the 
evening  with  a  fixed  determination  to  amuse 
themselves.  They  dance  in  the  most  vigorous 
manner  till  midnight  Then  they  have  a 
solid  sit-down  supper,  seasoned  with  a  very 
considerable  condiment  of  flirtation.  Then 
they  begin  again,  and  see  each  other  home 
in  the  morning,  just  as  you  and  I  riiould 
like  to  see  home  Miss  Brown  and  Mrs. 
FaUrly. 

Such  is  the  highly  ornamental  design  for  an 
evening's  entertainment  marked  out  on  the 
present  occasion.  So  the  polka  succeeds  the 
waits,  and  the  quadrille  is  followed  by  the 
mamrka,  and  all  prudent  people  who  love  to 
talk  together  in  comers  have  long  ago 
entered  into  arrangements  for  the  cotillon. 
That  fascinating  dance  is,  indeed,  at  ita 
height.  The  performers  are  whirling  in 
mazy  but  pretty  confusion,  picking  up  hand- 
kerchiefs, pulling  crackers,  presenting  boa- 
Jtuets  and  gay  ribbons  to  each  other,  after  the 
iMbion  of  the  thing.  Then  the  door  opens  sud- 
denly, and  a  fearfm  apparition  a{q[>ear8  in  tho 


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CONVICTS,  ENGLISH  AND  FRENCH. 


85 


midst  of  them.  That  apptritioa  is  sap- 
posed  at  first  to  be  a  holiday  joke  of  Chrii^ 
mas  time.  The  ladies  scream  delightedly,  and 
the  genUemen  laugh  and  whisper  consolation. 
Nothing  can  be  ^easanter ;  for  no  one  has 
recognised  in  the  long  figure  habited  in  a 
scanty  dressing-gown  and  dingy  drawers,  the 
angost  person  of  ^e  Austrian  ensign.  He 
soon  enlightens  them. 

<'  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this  noise?" 
he  thunders  in  a  terrible  voice.  "Did  I  not 
sent  you  a  message  to  be  quiet  T  Is  this  a 
pothouse,  where  you  can  ask  whom  you  please, 
or  is  it  my  quarters?  Put  out  the  lights 
and  send  home  this  people.  I  cannot  go  to 
sleepfor  their  racketty  doinn.'' 

*'  Hark  ye,  sir ! "  answers  the  host,  now  put 
on  his  metal.  **  I  and  my  family  have  borne 
a  good  deal  from  you,  but  we  cannot  bear 
this.  I  beg  that  you  will  retire  at  once  to 
your  dwn  room." 

"So  you  will  have  it,  then,"  says  the 
Austrian  ensign,  growing  much  irritated. 
"  Understand,  therdbre,  that  I  place  you  all 
under  arrest  as  rioters."  Then  he  disap- 
pears, and,  Bummoninff  his  soldiers,  they  sur- 
round the  house,  and  he  absolutely  does  im- 
prison the  new  year's  party.  He  is  a  man 
of  his  word. 

Now,  amonff  the  guests  is  an  aid-de- 
camp of  the  hoepodar.  or  prince,  of  this 
unhappy  country.  He  is  reauired  to  be  on 
daty  at  a  certain  hour,  and  when  he  sees  that 
the  house  is  surrounded  he  grows  seriously 
alarmed.  All  the  doors  are  guarded,  but 
there  is  still  a  window  through  which  he 
might  escape.  Ho  squeezes  through  it,  and 
luckily  makes  good  his  e:dt,  leaving  the  rest 
of  the  company  in  confinement. 

He  tells  the  prince  of  what  has  happened, 
and  in  a  few  days  there  is  a  rumour, 
that  the  Austrian  ensign  has  been  placed 
under  arrest  also ;  but  nobody  believes  it ; 
and  all  idea  of  his  serious  punishment  for  so 
strange  a  freak  is,  of  course,  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. It  is  said,  however,  to  have  been  a  sad 
and  singular  sight  enough  to  see  the  guests 
file  out  in  the  morning  when  the  guards 
were  removed.  They  were  in  their  ball- 
dresses,  and  their  carriages  had  been  sent 
away.  They  had  to  wade  through  the  mud, 
cheerless  and  wretched. 

<*  And  so,  Colonel,  are  these  things  to  be 
continued  ?  The  feeling  of  the  Wallachians  is 
very  much  exasperated  about  them,"  said  a 
person  to  an  Austrian  officer  high  in  com- 
mand, while  conversing  on  this  and  some 
similar  events. 

"What  will  you  have?"  was  the  repl; 
"  It  is  the  same  in  Italy.  Scarcely  a  tig\ 
paosea  without  some  riot  or  murder.  It  must 
always  be  the  same  where  there  is  an  army 
of  occupation.  At  Olausenberg  last  year, 
too,  a  thing  occurred  precisely  sfmilar  to  that 
we  are  now  discussing.  Some  of  the  natives 
gave  an  insolent  ball,  to  which  they  did  not 
ask  our  office's,  and  the  consequence  was  that 


we  stopped  their  balls  altogetiier.  Why,  balls, 
sir,  are  as  bad  as  clnbs.  They  are  often  dan- 
gerous assemblies  of  people  dtsaff^ted  to  the 
government.    If  not,  why  exclude  us  ? " 

"Ah,  indeed!  Then  tiiere  are  to  be  no 
more  balls  at  Bucharest,  perhaps?  " 

"  Very  likely  not" 

And  there  have  been  none. 


BEFORE  SEBASTOPOL. 

Trvb  heirts,  true  heftrti !  with  eonnflro  all  andaiint«d, 
Well  tried,  well  prored,  on  tCMuy  a  battle  field, 
A  connge  well  euatained,  and  Jastlj  taonted, 
Versed  in  all  tactics,— aave  the  art  to  yield. 

It  ii  «  harder  oonfllpt  ye  are  bearhig, 
▲  bitt'rer  strogi^e  now  je  undergo, 
nian  any  outer  act  of  gallant  daring. 
Or  combat,  howe'er  deadly,  with  the  foe. 

The  winter  in  inhospitable  regions,  \ 
The  toil  by  day,  the  ceaseless  watch  by  night, 
Bain,  frost  and  cold  adTanoe  resistless  legions, 
Worse  to  encounter  than  the  sorest  fight. 

Sickness  and  Death,  their  monrnfol  harrest  reaping. 
Sweep  day  by  day  through  each  diminished  line, 
Like  silent  river  fl<A>ds,  that  onward  creeping 
Their  fragile  barriers  daily  undermine. 

The  hope  defeired,  the  long  enforced  inaction. 
Warm  hearts  at  home,  and  yet  all  help  so  fu>,— 
ProTing  how  world-old  rules  and  party  faction 
Can  add  new  horrors  to  the  curse  of  war. 

What  in  comparison  were  deadliest  masting, 
Though  the  dark  angel  horered  in  the  van  f 
Ask  the  heroic  hearts  so  braTcly  beating 
On  Alma's  heights  or  plains  of  IidEermaiin. 

True  hearts,  true  hearts  I  with  courage  all  unswerringi 
Be  this  proud  record  added  to  your  ikme : 
Of  the  whole  nation  warmest  praise  deserring, 
Te  add  new  glorj  to  old  England's  name  I 

To  bear  such  hardships  nobly  uncomplaining, 
To  keep  through  all  the  lamp  of  hope  alire. 
As  e'en  the  slightest  murmuring  tone  disdaining, 
To  your  last  breath  to  suifer  and  to  strive. 

Out  of  the  earth  our  brethren's  blood  is  eryiog 
Te  One  not  heedless  when  such  daimants  sue, 
And  a  roused  natiom's  earnest  heart  replying, 
Ooes  forth,  dsfvoted  men,  and  Meeds  with  you. 

CONVICTS,  ENGLISH  AND  FRENCH. 


OnK  of  tiie  grandest  judicial  mysterlei 
one  of  the  most  puszlingly  sealed  books  in 
the  Radclifflan  library  in  Themis's  castle  of 
Udolpho  is,  what  becomes  of  a  man  after  he  has 
been  sentenced  to  be  transported  ?  The  judge 
on  the  bench — it  is  no  disrespect  to  him  to  say 
it — knows  no  more  than  the  wig  he  wears 
what  will  be  the  after  fate  of  the  delinquent 
upon  whom  he  has  just  passed  judgment. 
The  prisoner,  honest  man,  is  equally  ignorant 
of  his  future.     He  knows  quite   enough 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


86 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


CCondoctcd  hj 


already — that  he  cannot  walk  about  in  the 
open  air  when  he  wishes ;  that  he  cannot 
smoke,  drink  strong  liquors,  gamble,  or  stop 
out  o'nights ;  that  he  is  compelled  to  wear  a 
prison  fiess  instead  of  his  own  clothes,  and 
that  any  property  he  may  possess,  as  a  con- 
vict, is  forfeited  to  the  state.  But  how  long 
this  state  of  things  is  to  continue ;  or  where 
the  ten,  fifteen,  or  twenty  years,  or  the  per- 
petuity of  his  captivity  are  to  be  lived  out, 
he  has  no  more  than  a  very  faint  and  misty 
notion.  He  may  find  himself,  two  or  three 
years  hence,  on  board  the  Justicia  hulk  at 
Woolwich,  at  Melbourne  or  Sydney,  in 
Devonport  dockyard,  on  the  Plymouth  break- 
water, in  the  Portland  stone  quarries,  in  a 
private  room  at  Pentonville,  or  (and  this  con- 
summation is  just  as  likely  as  the  others)  he 
may  find  himself,  after  a  short  detention,  at 
large,  breathing  the  sweet  air  of  his  dear 
native  Whitechapel  or  Westminster  again — a 
ticket-of-leave  in  his  pocket ;  a  graduate  in 
the  university  of  crime ;  a  bachelor  of  thieves' 
arts,  with  only  a  few  more  terms  to  keep 
before  he  goes  back  to  the  Central  Criminal 
Court  to  be  received  M.A. 

The  British  public  knows  very  little  of  what 
becomes  of  the  convicts.  Some  of  them  are 
in  the  dockyards,  that  is  apparent ;  some  in 
this  penitentiary ;  some  in  that ;  many  en- 
joying perfect  bberty,  though  their  term  of 
punishment  be  not  half  expired ;  which  is 
unpleasantly  evident  from  the  daring  burglary 
at  the  house  over  the  way,  committed  by 
ticket-of-leave  men  last  Friday  night,  and 
from  the  startling;  garotte  robbery  by  a  libe- 
rated convict  which  is  to  be  inquired  into  at 
Bow  Street  Police-office  this  morning.  But 
where  are  the  vast  majority  t  Australia  won't 
have  them ;  Yan  Diemen's  Land  repudiates 
them ;  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  would  like  to 
see  them  (Ironically)  come  there.  The  earthly 
Hades  at  Norfolk  Island  is  broken  up ;  the 
American  plantations  have  been  out  of 
fashion  for  the  transported  for  a  century. 
We  can't  receive  them  into  the  bosoms  of 
our  families,  and  set  them  to  baste  the 
meat  for  seven  years,  or  entreat  them  to 
nurse  the  baby  for  the  term  h(  their  natural 
lives.  We  can't  have  them  continually  sailing 
up  and  down  the  seas  in  auesl  of  a  colony 
which  will  take  them  in.  We  would  rather 
not  have  them  walking  about  Regent  Street, 
with  bludgeons,  pitch-plasters,  chloroform 
roonges,  and  slin-knotted  handkerchiefs  in 
their  pockets.  They  are  an  eyesore  to  us 
even  in  Woolwich  or  Portsmouth  yards, 
skulking  among  the  frank,  jovial,  open-faced, 
men-of-war's  men  and  the  smart  •  stalwart 
soldiers.  We  grumble  against  the  pet  prisons, 
the  horticultural  show-houses  of  rascality,  the 
menageries  of  crime — wild  beast  shows  well 
kept,  well  swept,  well  ordered,  with  nice  sweet 
shins  of  beef  for  the  animals  (fed  at  regular 
hours),  and  well-dressed  visitors  crowding  to 
see  the  hippopotamus  of  burglary  taking  his 
bath,  or  the  chimpanzee  of  larceny  holding 


a  good  book  like  a  Christian,  or  the  bludgeon- 
ing tiger  being  stirred  up  with  a  long  pole 
and  not  howling,  or  the  worthy  governor  or 
worthy  chaplain  emulating  the  exploits  of 
Mr.  Van  Amburg — putting  their  heads  in  the 
lion's  mouth,  and  not  having  them  bitten  off. 
Where  are  the  convicts  to  go  ?  Where  do  they 
go  ?  And  while  we  ask,  well-meaning  philan- 
thropists echo  the  same  question  dolorously, 
while  the  govemmentcrystill  more  dolorously 
that  they  would  like  very  much  to  be  told 
what  to  do  with  the  oonvicts,  and  where  to 
send  them.  Whereui)on  A  bellows  out, 
"  Botany  Bay ! "  forgetting  that  we  have  tried 
the  Bay,  and  that  it  has  now  narrowed  into 
a  river  running  upon  golden  sands,  even  the 
Pactolus,  and  that  the  inhabitants  of  its  auri- 
ferous banks  refuse  disdainfully  to  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  British  scum.  Follows  B, 
who  roars, ''  Hang  them  I "  unmindful  that  we 
have  tried  that,  too,  and  have  not  found  it 
answer.  Follows  (at  a  long  distance  behind) 
Z,  who  has  a  small  voice,  and  is  too  weak  to 
struggle  to  the  front,  and  who  says  mildly, 
^'  Teach  and  wash  and  tend  them,  before  they 
come  up  into  the  dock  for  judgment;  let  there 
be  clean  straw,  sweet  shins  or  beef,  and  good 
books  outside  as  well  as  inside  the  menagerie, 
and  do  not  let  a  human  being  wait  till  he  be  a 
criminal  to  be  cared  for,  like  the  bear  in  the 
Garden  of  Plants,  who  only  became  famous 
from  the  day  he  ate  a  baby." 

Whatever  becomes  of  the  convicts  in  the 
present  muddled  state  of  transition  into  whioh 
the  questions  of  secondary  punishments  and 
prison  discipline  have  sunk,  it  is  not  the  less 
certain  that  judges  of  the  land  declare  that 
they  do  not  know  whether  the  sentences  Ihey 
are  passing  will  be  carried  out  or  not ;  and 
that  criminals  avowedly  contemn  the  punish- 
ment of  transportation,  and  are  pleasantly 
conscious  that  it  will  not  be  carried  out  in  its 
terrible  entirety.  Meanwhile  we,  who  are  not 
yet  transported,  only  dimly  know  two  things : 
that  transportation  to  the  colonies  is  at  an 
end,  and  that  large  numbers  of  determined 
ruffians  are  daily  let  loose  upon  tickets-of- 
leave,  and  return  from  wherever  they  came 
to  swell  the  already  not  immaculate  popula- 
tion of  our  large  towns,  and  exercise  assault, 
battery,  theft,  burglary,  shop-lifting,  hocuss- 
ing,  and  other  branches  of  their  profession, 
witlx  as  much  vigour  and  with  more  success 
than  heretofore. 

Let  us  see  what  the  state  of  affiikira  is  in 
the  dominions  of  the  Emperor  of  the  French, 
yntil  very  lately,  grave  and,  in  many  cases, 
capital  crimes  were  punished  by  travaux 
forces  (hard  labour)  for  a  term  of  years  or 
for  perpetuity  at  the  dockyard  Bagnes — 
better  known  under  the  generic  name  of  the 
galleys.  But  our  neighbours  are  now  in  the 
same  state  of  muddled  transition  as  to 
secondary  punishments  that  we  in  England 
are.  The  Bagnes  were  the  same  hells  upon 
earth  that  our  Norfolk  Island  was.  A  large 
section  of  French  philanthropists  and  social 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CtaarlM  iNckaai.] 


CONVICTS,  ENGLISH  AND  FRENCH. 


87 


ecoQomi8t9  called  oat  for  the  cellular  syBtem, 
with  all  its  wretched  apparatus  of  starring, 
darkness,  strapping,  hanging  on  tiptoes,  and 
gagging ;  and  with  its  horrible  attendants  of 
madness  and  suicide,  canting  hypocrisy,  or 
hardened  sulklness.  The  French  government, 
which  is  to  the  full  as  puzzled  as  our  own 
what  to  do  with  its  reprobates,  suddenly 
confounded  confusion  by  breaking  up  the 
Bagnes ;  and,  at  the  present  day,  the  nntran- 
sported  public  in  France  are  in  a  state  of 
dreamy  ignorance  parallel  to  our  own  as  to 
the  whereabouts  of  convicts;  where  they  go  to, 
what  is  actually  done  with  them,  and  when 
tbey  may  be  expected  back.  The  authorities 
are  indefinitely  known  to  have  invented  penal 
colonies ; — one,  the  fine  feverish  settlement  of 
Cayenne,  about  which— whether  it  be  in  Sene- 
gal or  Guiana,  or  both— the  same  muddled 
ignorance  prevails  as  amons  well-informed 
circles  here  as  to  whether  Demerara  be  an 
island  or  a  continent,  in  South  America  or  in 
the  West  Indies,  or  all  four.  Another  is 
Nooka-Hiva,  which,  when  I  say  that  it  is  in 
the  South  Seas,  is  sayins  quite  enough  for 
once,  I  think.  Thither  the  burglars,  forgers, 
and,  very  often,  murderers,  who  are  sen- 
tenced by  the  French  Court  of  Assize  to 
travaux  forces  are  sent ;  but,  as  it  is  known 
that  there  are  also  in  those  colonies  some 
thousands  of  unfortunate  men,  many  of  them 
educated  gentlemen — many  shamefully  de- 
luded by  now  prosperous  rogues — almost  all 
of  them  guilty  of  no  other  crimes  than  wanting 
bread  and  differing  in  political  opinion  from 
somebody  else,  no  coherent  idea  can  be 
formed  of  which  is  transportation,  which 
deportation,  and  which  travaux  forc^  The 
widow  whose  only  son  was  sent  to  Cayenne 
because  he  happened  to  be  in  the  National 
Guard  and  in  Barb^'  Legion  in  June  'forty- 
eight,  or  because  he  was  foolish  enough  to 
walk  on  the  Boulevard  des  Capucins  on  the 
second  of  December  Wty-one,  knows  not 
whether  he  be  chained  to  a  desperado  found 
guilty  of  assassination  with  extenuating  cir- 
cumstances, and  condemned  to  hard  labour  for 
life,  or  not,  and  vice  versa.  It  is  all  a  muddle. 
The  few  letters  that  reach  France  from 
Cayenne,  or  are  allowed  to  be  published, 
describe  settlements  as  having  been  made 
and  abandoned ;  penitentiaries  opened  and 
closed;  tickets-of-leave  granted,  to  the  in- 
finite annoyance  of  the  non-convict  inhabi- 
tants of  Senegal,  and  numerous  evasions  into 
the  bush.  What  sort  of  bush  the  bush  of  Sene- 
gal may  be,  I  am  not  aware ;  but,  from  the 
peppery,  tigerish,  junglelsh  nature  of  the 
climate,  I  imagine  that  any  of  the  evaded.  If 
retaken,  would  be  found  to  have  become 
spotted— if  not  brindled,  with  tails,  great 
suppleness  In  the  joints,  and  capacity  for 
sprinting  from  holes  in  rocks,  and  an  un- 
quenchable appetite  for  raw  meat  and  hot 
blood. 

In  a  most  remarkable  converse,  the  French 
are  desperately  Endeavouring  to  get  rid  of 


the  yery  disease  with  whose  virus  we  are 
as  desperately  trying  to  inoculate  ourselves. 
*'  No  convicts  in  France  ! — no  liberated  con- 
victs. Break  up  the  Bagnes  I''  cry  the 
French.  "  No  transportation  to  the  colonies  I 
Tlckets-of-leave,  and  build  up  a  Bagne  on 
Dartmoor ! "  cry  we.  And  each  system  seems 
to  work  equally  ill.  The  French  judges 
go  on  sentencing,  doubting  the  efficacy  of 
their  sentences ;  the  public  go  on  asking  for 
security,  or  at  least  for  information,  and  don't 
get  them ;  and  the  head  government  goes  on 
scratching  its  head  (if  a  government  could 
perform  so  undignified  an  operation),  or,  like 
that  man  who  was  so  wondrous  wise,  jumping 
backwards  and  forwards  in  and  out  of  a 
quick-set  hedge,  not  much  improving  its 
vision  in  the  long  run  thereby. 

The  curse  of  French  society — the  big 
plague-spots  in  all  the  back  streets — were 
the  liberated  and  escaped  convicts.  Strictly 
guarded  and  watchea  as  they  were,  they 
often  managed,  as  we  shall  afterwards  have 
occasion  to  see,  to  regain  their  llbertjr. 
Of  course,  they  all  flocked  to  Pans. 
The  streets  were  not  safe  at  night ; 
the  bridges  were  regular  places  of  call  for 
assassins:  and,  at  every  ^meute,  at  every 
popular  commotion,  there  were  vomited  forth 
from  foul  cellars  and  tapis  francs  ;  from  the 
Eue  aux  Fetes;  the  infamous  tumours  of 
streets  behind  the  Louvre  ;  the  slums  of  the 
petite  Pologne,  the  Barri^re  Mont  Parnasse ; 
the  Eue  Moufietard  and  the  Faubourg  du 
Temple,  boiling,  raving,  screeching,  ravenous 
mobs  of  escap^  convicts,  liberated  convicts, 
coiners,  midnight  assassins,  passport-forgers ; 
nine -tenths  of  whom  had  served  at  some  time 
or  other  their  apprenticeship  at  the  Bagnes. 
These  men,  falling  themselves  republicans, 
and  fighting  at  the  barricades  as  a  cloak  for 
murder  and  plunder,  did  more  harm  to  honest 
republicanism  and  real  liberty  than  ten 
hundred  reigns  of  terror  could  have  done. 
These  were  the  men  who  shot  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Paris,  who  murdered  General  de 
Brea,  who  impaled  the  artilleryman,  and  cut 
ofi*  the  feet  of  the  dragoon.  A  large  majority 
of  the  prisoners  arrai^ed  at  the  Court  of 
Assize  had  been  convicts  at  some  time  or 
other ;  and  a  large  proportion  of  the  duties 
of  that  peculiarly  infamous  body,  the  secret 
police  (recruited,  itself,  from  the  convict 
ranks),  consisted  in  hunting  out  and  re- 
capturing the  formats  evades — thp  escaped 
convicts. 

The  evaded  malefactor—who  had  thus  pro- 
ylded  himself  with  an  unsanctioned  ''  ticket- 
of-leave  "—did  not  fall,  of  course,  of  becoming 
interesting  and  romantic  in  France.  He  was 
dramatised  immediately  with  immense  suc- 
cess. The  escaped  format,  Yautrin,  in  M.  de 
Balzac's  drama  of  that  name,  was  elevated  by 
the  accomplished  actor,  Frederic  Lemaitre.. 
into  a  sort  of  French  Tlmon— a  cynic  phi- 
losopher, visiting  all  the  institutions  of 
society  with  the  most  withering  scorn.    The 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


88 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


tCmdmtMbf 


olmracter  was  thoQfftit  to  be  a  caricature  of 
Loots  Philippe,  and  the  plaj  was  prohibited 
W  the  government  So  was  Robert  Macaire, 
that  other  convict  apotheosis,  which  is  too 
well  known  in  England  to  need  any  further 
mention  here.  M.  de  Balzac's  Vantrin  was 
hj  him  transplanted  Into  that  wonderful 
series  of  novels  aggregated  by  their  author 
under  the  title  of  the  *<ComMie  Humaine.'' 
The  escaped,  recaptured,  re-escaped,  again  re- 
captured, and  at  last  promoted  into  chief  of 
the  Police  de  Saret^,  Vantrin  runs  through 
half  a  dozen  romances  like  Natty  Bumppo  in 
the  works  6f  Mr.  Cooper.  Scarcely  a  melo- 
drama or  a  novel  afterwards  was  produced 
without  a  forcat  being  discovered  in  act  the 
first,  occupying  the  exalted  position  of  a 
baron,  banker  or  general.  In  act  the  third 
he  was  generally  detected ;  and,  if  not  diot, 
was  sent  back  with  ignominy  to  the  galleys. 
The  *'  ancient  format "  became  almost  as  recog- 
nised a  role  as  the  **  p^re  noble "  or  the 
**  premier  amoureuz."  The  novel  writers  ran 
the  escaped  convict  almost  to  death.  They 
had  Mm  in  one  volume,  in  two  volumes,  fn 
three  volumes,  In  series  of  ten  of  three 
volumes  each ;  in  feuilletons,  reviews,  and 
magazines.  Mr.  FrMeric  SouU^  served  up 
the  convict  with  as  many  sauces  as  a  good 
ship's  cook  will  adjust  to  one  piece  of  beef; 
but  the  culmination  of  convicts  took  place  in 
If.  Eugene  Sue's  monstrous  romance  of  the 
"  Mysteries  of  Paris,"  in  which  every  one  of 
the  characters  either  had  been,  or  were,  or 
ought  to  have  been  at  the  galleys.  To  be- 
lieve these  gentlemen  (which,  to  say  the 
truth,  very  few  people  did),  you  could  not 
enter  a  drawing-room  without  running  the 
risk  of  your  host  being  an  escaped  convict, 
even  if  you,  as  a  guest,  did  not  iiappen  to  be 
a  forcat  yourself :  and  there  was  every  pro- 
bability of  the  gentleman  decorated  with  the 
riband  of  legion  of  honour  who  sat  next  to 
vou  at  dinner,  having  undergone  ten  years' 
.  hard  labour ;  or  of  the  patent  leather  ankles 
of  your  sister's  partner  having  fbrmeriy  been 
endrcled  with  a  neat  Iron  ring  with  leg-chain 
to  match. 

Though  the  dramatists  and  novelists  am- 
plified uieir  narrations  constderablv,  as  it  fs 
the  custom  of  dramatists  and  novelists  to  do, 
they  had  some  foundation  of  trath  to  woiic 
upon ;  for  the  escaped  convict  was,  until  very 
recently  indeed,  a  disagreeable  reality  in 
France.  He  was  ft^uently,  too,  a  romantic 
reality ;  and  there  are  accounts  on  record  of 
the  escapes  of  convicts  and  their  subsequent 
adventures,  surpassing  in  romantic  interest 
the  boldest  achievements  of  our  penny  illus- 
trated heroes.  The  essential  democracy  of 
French  society—at  least  before  the  second 
Empire—whidH  allowed  every  man  witii  a 
eooa  coat  on  his  bftck,  and  with  tolerable 
nnpudence,  to  penetrate  into  the  best  circles ; 
and  to  attain  even  the  highest  social  posi- 
tions; the  perfect  facilities  offered— Th)m 
the  abolition  of  the  hereditary  peerage — to 


a  man  for  calling  himself  by  whatever  title 
he  chose ;  the  omnipotence  of  ready  money 
in  consequence,  and  I  may  bint  the  general 
corruption  and  Robert  Macairism  tbat  cha- 
racterised the  early  days  of  the  monarchy  of 
July,  produced  a  general  condition  of  exist- 
ence that  really  rendered  it  possible  for  the 
escaped  denizen  of  the  Bagne  to  form  com- 
mercial partnerships  of  the  highest  respect- 
ability, and  to  marry  spinsters  with  fortunes. 
They  could  play— and  win— at  the  best  tables, 
sport  for  a  time  titles  and  decorations,  and 
mix  in  and  impose  upon  the  entire  round  of 
fashionable  life.  Fancy  Belgravlabamboozled 
by  a  ticket-oMeave  holder— Tybumia  duped 
by  Tyburn  Jack  I 


TINDER    FROM    A   CALIFORNIAN 
FIRB. 

Ths  golden  attractions  of  California  have 
been  sought  by  many  Englishmen,  who  have 
brought  home  various  repOTts  of  them ;  among 
others,  they  have  been  lately  sought  by 
Mr.  Frank  Marryat,  who  has  r^nt  three 
years  In  the  country,  and  tried  it  in  various 
capacities.  He  has  lived  there  as  a  shooter 
of  deer,  a  grower  of  onions,  a  builder  on  a 
town  lot,  a  cruder  of  quartz.  Having  bo 
tried  it,  he  has  failed  In  getting  money,  but 
has  succeeded  well  in  getting  pleasure  out  of 
his  adventures.  He  is  a  gentleman  who — 
having  good-humour  for  the  chief  bulk  of  his 
luggage— has  wandered  much  about  the  world, 
who  has  taken  pen-and-ink  notes  of  many 
thinffs ;  who  has  made  a  great  number  of  pencil 
sketches.  His  Califomlan  journal  and  tiie 
pictures  he  had  painted  were  burnt  in  one 
of  the  great  fires  of  San  Francisco.  It  is 
from  recollection  of  the  leaves  of  his  journal 
that  he  now  produces  a  cheerful,  nsefdl  book ; 
Mountains  and  Molehills  is  its  title.  We 
will  Indicate  h^re  a  little  of  the  anecdote 
and  information  thus  reduced  to  tinder,  and 
thus  restored  to  ink  and  paper  again. 

Mr.  Marryat  arrived  at  San  Francisco 
while  the  June  fire  of  eigbteen  hundred  and 
fifty  was  still  burning.  He  was  accompanied 
by  a  young  fHend,  Mr.  Thomas,  who.  having 
gone  out  to  join  a  great  mercantile  bouse 
and  found  the  house  in  ruins,  fell  in  with 
Mr.  Marryat's  purpose  of  experimenting  for 
a  fsw  months  on  Califomian  sport  by  settling 
somewhere  among  the  mountains,  and  sub- 
sisting by  the  gun.  He  was  accompanied 
also  by  a  faithful  servant,  Barnes,  who  had 
begun  the  world  as  a  poacher,  and  then  settled 
down  as  gamekeeper;  by  two  blood  honndB, 
Prince  and  Blrkham ;  and  by  a  large  Scotcb 
slot  hound,  whose  name  was  Cromer.  After 
various  experiences,this  party  of  six  awoke  one 
morning  on  the  bank  of  Ruwlan  River  to  find. 
mules  and  horses  stolen,  all  means  of  farther 
advance  cut  off,  and  no  more  agreeable  alter- 
native left  than  to  wade  through  the  stream, 
each  man  with  baggage  on  his  head,  and  look 
on  the  other  side  for  a  backwoodsman's  hut 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


TINDER  FROM  A  CAUFPRNIAN  FIRE. 


that  was  known  to  eodst  in  the  Tieini^y. 
Without  mack  trouble  the  hut  w.aa  found, 
near  a  running  stream,  mirrounded  by  huge 
redwood  treee.  The  backwoodsman,  a  power- 
ful Miasourian,  whose  name  was  March,  being 
at  home,  lent  his  mule  to  Inring  the  luggage 
up;  and,  bj  niffhtlall,  the  English  party  was 
encamped  within  a  few  yards  of  this  man's 
dwelling. 

Two  other  backwoodsmen  lived  with 
March,  bringing  up  to  three  the  number  of  the 
population  in  that  district  These  three 
men  ncTertheless  had  been  at  work  in  the 
recesses  of  the  forest.  With  their  own  six 
bands  they  had  just  built  a  massive  sawmill, 
to  which  they  mid  applied  the  power  of  the 
stream,  by  means  of  an  overshot  wheel.  The 
heavy  beams  of  the  millftame,  the  dam,  and 
race,  had  all  been  formed  from  the  adjacent 
redwood  trees.  Nothing  was  wanting  bat 
the  saw,  and  for  that  the  builders  meant  to 
make  a  trip  to  San  Francisco.  Thus,  as  Mr. 
Marryat  rightlv  says,  the  American  goes 
ahead  because  he  looks  ahead.  From  the 
first  tents  of  San  Francisco  orders  were  sent 
oat  for  steam  engines  and  foundries  which 
now  do  the  dail^  work  of  an  important  city. 
In  the  same  ^irit  March's  mill  was  built  m 
a  lonely  wood,  with  the  safe  ex^tation  that 
its  use  would  soon  appear,  and  it  now  barely 
sapplies  the  wants  of  an  agricultural  popu- 
lation that  is  setfclinff  round  about  it. 

By  the  advice  of  March,  Mr,  Marryat  and 
his  companions  walked  over  the  hills  to  look 
at  a  valley  on  which  they  were  strongly 
advised  to  squat.  The  valley  wa^  found  to 
contain  about  twenty  acres  of  ground,  per- 
fectly level,  bounded  on  one  side  by  masses 
of  redwood  trees,  and  on  the  other  by  a  fine 
stream  whose  banks  were  shaded  with  alders 
and  wild  vines.  In  the  vallev  itself  was 
neither  shrub  nor  tree ;  except  that,  from  its 
centre,  rose  a  clump  of  seven  gigantic  red- 
woods which  grew  in  a  circle,  and  so  formed  a 
natural  chamber,  to  which  there  was  but  a  sin- 
gle entrance.  Of  this  vallev,  the  English  party 
made  a  winter's  home.  The  space  withm  the 
central  clump  was  perfected  as  to  its  accom- 
modations  by  the  addition  of  a  boarded 
floor  an4  a  brushwood  roof.  Barnes,  who 
was  a  famous  woodsman,  laid  his  axe  to  the 
trees  beyond  the  stream,  and  proceeded  to 
the  manufacture  of  rails  and  other  things 
proper  to  be  set  up  by  an  occupier  of  the 
ground.  Mr.  Thomas  took  charge  of  the 
home  department,  and  Mr.  Marryat  devoted 
himself  and  his  gun  to  the  business  of  finding 
victuals  for  the  whole  establishment. 

The  redwood  tree  here  mentioned — the 
arbor  vit»— is  to  the  Califomians  as  much  a 
poesession  and  a  wonder  as  their  gold.  It 
grows  to  he  some  eighteen  feet  in  girth, 
one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  in  height,  and  is 
as  straight  as  it  is  talL  Its  timber  is  very 
dorabloy  and  at  the  same  time  easilv  worked, 
with  no  other  tools  than  an  axe,  a  betel,  and 
some  wedges.    An  unusually  large  redwood 


tree  is  something  most  enormous.  In  Cala- 
veras county  a  group  of  them,  each  tree 
being  from  two  hundred  to  two  hundred  and 
fifty  feet  in  height,  were  found  to  measure  in 
girth  from  fifty  feet  to  sixty,  seventy,  and 
eighty.  The  largest  was  felled,  and  the  bark* 
which  was  removed  to  San  Francisco,  and 
set  up  in  its  original  position,  formed  a 
^acious  room,  seven-and-twenty  feet  from 
end  to  end. 

The  redwood  bark  is  commonly  found  per- 
forated in  every  direction  by  a  kind  of 
starling,  called  for  his  pains  the  carpentaro — 
carpenter.  The  carpentaros  labour  indefati- 
ffably  to  form  cells  in  the  trees,  which  they 
fit  tightly  with  acorns  for  their  winter  pro- 
vender. They  work  noisily,  chiefiy  upon  the 
tops  of  the  redwoods,  and  are  always  at 
work  when  they  are  not  fighting.  There  is  a 
gray  squirrel  who  profits  by  their  Labour. 
When  he  ascends  a  redwood  he.  is  immedi- 
ately surrounded  by  the  birds,  who  know 
what  he  wants,  and  attack  him  with  an  angry 
chatter.  Taking  no  heed  of  them  he  extracts 
whichever  acorn  is  most  tempting  in  his  eyes, 
pops  it  into  his  mouth,  and  turns  his  head 
from  side  to  side,  looking  at  the  indignant 
birds  with  comical  composure.  Then  down 
he  comes,  whisking  his  silvery  tail,  and  the 
carpentaros  assemble  around  the  pillaged  hole 
to  scream  at  the  whole  rascally  business,  and 
rate  the  robber  soundly  in  his  absence.  Often 
it  he^pens  that  while  they  are  in  tlie  midst 
of  their  vituperation,  the  ^y  squirrel  again 
appears  among  them,  havmg  found  the  first 
acorn  so  ripe  and  good  that  he  thinks  he 
will  take  another.  By  that  time  the  noise  in 
the  tree  has  brought  fresh  flights  of  carpen- 
taros to  the  scene  of  quarrel,  and  the  chorus 
of  protest  against  his  proceedings  becomes 
altogether  deafening.  X  worse  enemy  to  the 
carpentaro  is  the  Digger  Indian.  The  diggers 
light  a  fire  at  the  root  of  a  well-acorned 
redwood  tree,  in  that  way  fell  it,  and  when  it 
has  fallen  pick  its  acorns  out  and  carry 
many  baskets-full  away. 

After  a  little  time,  by  help  of  Barnes  the 
woodman,  there  was  a  two-roomed  house 
built  near  the  redwood  clump,  and  this  was 
kept  free  from  the  vermin — ^wnioh  abound  in 
t^  land,  and  are  brought  home  in  fresh 
colonies  with  the  skin  of  every  slain  animal — 
by  a  few  simple  precautions.  Everything  was 
turned  out  of  the  hut  daily  and  hungup  in  the 
sun,  the  floor  was  then  well-watered :  and,  by 
these  precautions,  accompanied  witn  a  scru- 
pulous rep^ard  for  cleanlmess,  a  ban  was  set 
upon  centipedes  and  scorpions,  and  all  black 
cattle  that  seek  pasture  upon  human  flesh. 
The  settlers  had  books,  and  one  of  them 
usually  read  aloud  after  the  day's  active  work 
or  sport— when  supper  was  done  and  pipes 
were  lighted — ^from  a  volume  of  Fielding, 
Goldsmith,  or  De  Foe.  Barnes  also  took 
writing  lessons ;  but,  on  one  occasion,  these 
amusements  were  set  aside  for  a  great  debate 
on  a  proposed  farming  operation.     Onions 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


90 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


tC<mdact«d  l>7 


were  commandiDg  fabulous  prices  in  San 
Francisco.  If  onions  could  be  persuaded  to 
come,  enormous  proflt  would  accrue.  Onion 
seed,  therefore,  was  fetched  from  town  with 
/)ther  agricultural  stock.  The  onions  re- 
warded a  great  deal  of  care  by  really  eprout- 
ing:  but,  before  they  were  ready  for  the 
market,  the  gray  squirrels  interfered  with  the 
foresight  of  the  farmers,  just  as  they  had  set 
at  nought  the  foresight  of  the  carpenters. 
They  munched  them  and  wagged  their  heads 
over  them  until  the  field  was  stripped  of  all 
its  produce. 

By  that  time,  however,  Mr.  Marryat  was 
being  led  into  a  new  track.  He  had  gone  to 
San  Francisco,  there  to  meet  an  iron-house 
that  had  been  sent  to  him  f^om  Europe.  It 
was  landed,  and  proving  mere  rubbish,  was 
left  to  be  thrown  into  the  quay.  A  speculation 
of  a  larger  kind  in  iron  buildings  followed : 
and  here  let  us  stop  to  back  the  author's  re- 
commendation to  all  emigrants  in  no  case 
to  go  out  like  snails  with  houses  on  their 
backs. 

Of  bron-houses,  after  much  experience,  he 
speaks  in  the  most  disparaging  way.  Under 
sun-shine  they  are  too  not ;  as  night  advances 
they  cool  too  rapidly,  and  towards  dawn  they 
are  ice-houses.  When  warm  the  anti-corrosive 
paint  upon  them  emits  a  sickening  smell,  the 
rain  falls  on  the  roof  noisily  like  small  shot, 
and,  if  such  bouses  become  implicated  in  a 
Arc  they  first  expand,  then  collapse,  and  tum- 
ble down  with  astonishing  rapidity.  In  one 
of  the  San  Franciscan  fires,  of  which  Mr. 
Marryat  had  some  experience,  the  American 
iron- houses,  of  which  the  plates  were  nearly 
an  inch  thick,  and  the  castings  of  apparently 
unnecessary  weight,  collapsed  like  a  pre- 
served-meat  can,  and  destroyed  six  persons, 
who,  believing  it  to  be  fire-proof,  remained 
inside. 

While  the  onions  were  coming  up,  and 
Mr.  Marryat  was  at  San  Francisco,  a  store- 
ship  laden  with  iron-houses,  belonging  to  a 
friend  of  his,  sunk  at  her  moorings  in  a 
heavy  gale.  When  raised,  her  cargo,  crusted 
with  mud  and  peopled  with  small  crabs, 
was  unsaleable  at  San  Francisco.  At  that 
time,  the  state  of  California  had  secured  cer- 
tain ground,  the  property  of  General  Vallejo 
as  the  site  for  a  capital,  a  seat  for  govern- 
ment, of  which  vallejo  was  to  be  the 
name.  The  ground  had  already  been  sur- 
veyed and  staked  off'  into  botanic  gardens, 
theatres,  churches,  orphan  asylums,  town- 
halls,  and  schools  for  the  indigent  blind.  The 
bright  idea  therefore  occurred  to  Mr.  Marryat 
of  landing  those  muddy  materials  on  the  beach 
at  Vallejo,  leaving  them  there  for  the  tide 
to  sconr,  and  then  using  them  for  the  construc- 
tion of  some  building  in  the  rising  capital. 
At  the  end  of  six  months  ho  had  accord- 
injrly  converted  them  into  a  capacious  hotel, 
well  finished  and  painted,  and  furnished 
handsomely,  according  to  the  proper  Califor- 
nian  style.    At  this  juncture  the  government 


altered  its  mind  relative  to  the  site  of  the  new 
capital,  and  selected  Benicia.  So  mnch  of  the 
city  of  Vallejo  as  had  been  built  was  there- 
upon pulled  down,  and  sold  for  old  materials. 
The  hotel,  we  should  say,  was  just  before  the 
same  crisis  seized  in  execution  for  two  ponies' 
tails.  Its  owner — who  had  proposed  to  himself 
to  let  it  at  a  great  rent — had  been  travelling 
with  a  friend  in  a  drag,  to  which  he  harnessed 
two  horses  of  his  own,  while  his  friend  added 
to  the  beam  a  pair  of  Canadian  switchtail 
ponies.  The  friend  upon  the  journey  dined 
too  well ;  and,  after  dinner,  nothing  would 
please  him  but  an  ;ilteration  of  the  tails  of 
the  two  Canadian  ponies.  They  must  be 
made  to  match  with  the  tails  of  the  other 
pair  of  horses,  which  were  banged.  Remon- 
strance was  urged  against  this  proceeding, 
inasmuch  as  it  wonld  be  the  spoiling  of  two 
valnable  animals,  whose  chief  beauty  con- 
sisted in  thebr  manes  and  tails,  but  the  re- 
monstrance was  in  vain.  The  tails  were 
hacked  with  a  blunt  table-knife,  and  when 
they  were  docked  (one  being' left  nearly  a 
foot  shorter  than  the  other)  the  perpetrator 
of  the  mischief  admired  them,  and  remarked 
after  a  grave  survey,  "  O,  no  consequence, 
s'hey  don't  b'long  to  me.''  The  person  to 
whom  they  did  belong  thought  it  of  conse- 
quence and  went  to  law  upon  the  matter. 
Thus  it  came  finally  to  pass  that,  for  the 
value  of  two  ponies'  tails,  the  sheriff  was  put 
in  possession  of  the  Vallejo  hotel,  but  that 
functionary  submitted  to  ejectment  by  the 
owner. 

Then,  too,  the  onions  failed,  and  the  squat- 
ters gathering  about  March's  mill,  proved 
Mr.  Marryat  to  be  an  alien  who  had  no  right 
of  pre-emption,  and  objected  to  his  retention 
of  the  valley.  Moreover,  while  things  were 
going  awry  at  Vallejo,  and  Mr.  Marryat  was 
in  that  place,  a  bright  giare  one  night,  in  the 
direction  of  San  Francisco,  warned  liim  of 
another  conflagration  of  the  town,  to  which 
he  hurried,  and  at  which  he  arrived,  after  his 
lodging  there  with  all  the  possessions  it 
contained  (journal  Included)  were  destroyed. 
By  a  few  steel  buttons  only  that  remained 
upon  the  ground  could  he  discover  where 
his  property  had  stood.  What  one  of  these 
all-devouring  fires  is  like  the  traveller  shall 
tell  us,  for  of  a  calamity  like  this  none  who 
are  inexperienced  can  speak  with  half  the 
force  of  an  eye-witness.  It  is  another  con- 
flagration— one  that  occurred  while  he  was 
living  in  San  Francisco — to  which  Mr.  Mar- 
ryat refers  in  the  succeeding  passage : — 

"  On  third  of  May,  at  eleven  in  the  evening, 
the  fire-bell  again  startled  us;  but  on  this 
occa<*ion  the  first  glance  at  the  lurid  glare 
and  heavy  mass  of  smoke  that  rolled  towards 
the  bay  evidenced  that  the  fire  had  already  a 
firm  grip  on  the  city.  The  wind  was  nnusaally 
high,  and  the  fiames  spread  In  a  broad  sheet 
over  the  town.  All  efforts  to  arrest  them 
were  useless;  houses  were  blown  up  and  torn 
down  in  attempts  to  cut  off  communication ; 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ChMlMDteknM.] 


TINDER  FROM  A  CALIFORNIAN  FIRE. 


91 


but  the  engines  were  driven  back,  step  by 
step,  wliile  some  of  the  brave  firemen  fell 
victims  to  their  determined  opposition.  As 
the  wind  increased  to  a  gale,  the  fire  became 
beyond  control ;  the  brick  buildings  in  Mont- 
gomery Street  crumbled  before  it ;  and  before 
it  was  arrested,  over  one  thousand  houses, 
many  of  which  were  filled  with  merchandise, 
were  left  in  ashes.  Many  lives  were  lost,  and 
the  amount  of  property  destroyed  was  esti- 
mated at  two  millions  and  a-half  sterling. 

**No  conception  can  be  formed  of  the 
grandeur  of  the  scene,  for  at  one  time  the 
burning  district  was  covered  by  one  vast 
sheet  of  fiame  that  extended  half  a  mile  in 
length.  But  when  the  excitement  of  such  a 
night  as  this  has  passed  by,  one  can  scarcely 
recal  the  scene :  the  memory  is  confused  in 
the  recollection  of  the  shouts  of  the  excited 
populace — the  crash  of  falling  timbers — the 
yells  of  the  burnt  and  injured — the  clank  of 
the  fire-brakes — the  hoarse  orders  delivered 
through  speaking-trumpets— maddened  horses 
released  from  burning  livery  stables  plunging 
through  the  streets— helpless  patients  being 
carried  fh>m  some  hospital,  and  dying  on  the 
spot,  as  the  swaying  crowd,  forced  back  by 
the  flames,  tramples  all  before  it — explosions 
of  houses  blown  up  by  gunpowder — showers 
of  burning  splinters  that  fall  around  on  every 
side — the  thunder  of  brick  buildings  as  they 
fall  into  a  heap  of  ruins,  and  the  blinding 
glare  of  ignited  spirits.  Amidst  heat  that 
Ecorches,  let  you  go  where  vou  will — smoke 
that  strikes  the  eyes  as  if  they  had  been 
pricked  by  needles — ^water  that,  thrown  oflF 
the  heated  walls,  falls  on  you  in  a  shower  of 
scalding  steam— you  throw  your  coat  away, 
and  help  to  work  the  engine  brakes,  as  calls 
are  made  for  more  men." 

The  end  of  it  was  work,  and  the  result  of  it 
was  work.  The  community  of  San  Francisco 
took,  in  those  days,  a  fire  as  quietly  as  a  boy 
takes  a  fall  upon  the  pavement.  The  town 
had  to  be  got  up  again,  and  that  was  all. 
However  great  might  be  the  destruction  of 
property,  however  complete  the  ruin  of  some 
individuals  whose  all  was  lost,  and  who  could 
take  no  part  in  the  effbrt  to  reconstruct  their 
own  fortunes  together  with  the  town,  all 
lamentation  was  sent,  like  the  sickness  in  an 
army,  to  the  rear.  The  ruined  were  the 
luckless  men — not  rare  in  Galifornian  society 
— and  nothing  remained  for  them  but  to  go 
about  their  business,  whatever  that  might  be. 
The  business  of  all  who  had  wherewith  to 
buy  building  materials  was  obvious  enough, 
and  the  demand  for  bricks  and  stones  was 
held  to  be  more  pressing  tlian  the  need  for 
sighs  and  groans,  therefore  among  the  tents 
of  the  bumt-out  townspeople  little  was  said 
of  the  past  grief,  much  of  the  present  remedy. 
Mr.  Marryat  arrived  at  San  Francisco,  sum- 
moned by  the  glare  over  the  town,  only  in 
time  to  see  the  dying  embers  of  the  fire 
that  had  destroyed  hlsjoumal,  but  over  them, 
while  they  still  smoked,  he  found  the  citizens 


already  preparing  to  rebuild  their  homes,  or, 
it  would  be  more  accurate  to  say,  places  of 
business,  with  brick  and  stone,  instructed 
and  even  strengthened  by  disaster  is  the  man 
who  would  cut  out  for  himself  a  new  path  in 
the  world.  The  Galifornian  public  knows  the 
uses  of  adversity,  turns  them  all  to  account, 
and  thrives. 

Mr.  Marryat  himself  also  has  made 
some  trial  of  them,  and  is  not  the 
worse  for  his  experience.  Soon  after  he 
had  been  burnt  out  at  San  Francisco, 
that  gentleman  commenced  a  quartz-crushing 
experiment,  and  found  that  his  iron  ma- 
chinery was  obstinate  in  breaking  down, 
the  quartz  being  more  able  effectively  to 
bruise  the  machine  than  the  machine  to 
bruise  the  quartz.  Here  was  the  man  to 
bring  us  home  a  black  account  of  California ; 
but  he  docs  nothing  of  the  kind.  He  en- 
joyed his  adventures  in  the  country,  and  has 
sense  to  separate  his  individual  mishaps,  as  a 
speculator,  from  the  general  prosperity.  If 
San  Francisco  began  its  new  life  in  the  midst 
of  riot,  dissipation,  and  misfortune,  he  can 
see  that  the  experience  of  some  dozen  con- 
fiagrations  has  only  taught  the  people  there 
to  erect  good  bricK  houses,  make  their  city 
the  substantial  place  it  now  is.  and  protect  it 
by  a  brave  volunteer  corps  of  firemen.  Now 
San  Francisco  stands  as  little  chance  of 
being  again  laid  in  ashes  as  Hamburg  or 
London.  He  remembers  that  in  the  midst 
of  their  first  excesses  the  Americans  of  San 
Francisco  did  not  forget  to  found  a  public 
school,  and  take  care  even  in  a  wild  co- 
lony, for  the  education  of  all  children — a  care 
not  taken  for  the  ragged  sons  and  daughters 
even  of  righteous  England.  He  sees,  too, 
that  the  energies  of  vice  have  become  ex- 
hausted— that  the  town  Califomians,  sick  of 
excess,  are  turning  in  many  ways  to 
right  thoughts  and  right  deeds,  with  an 
energy  unknown  in  communities  that  have 
been  satisfied  for  generations  with  the  re- 
spectable way  in  which  they  have  managed 
their  concerns.  March's  mill  he  knows  to  be 
more  truly  a  type  of  what  is  in  that  land  of 
activity  than  his  own  quartz-crushing  ma- 
chine. The  failure  of  his  quartz  crusher  lie 
regards  only  as  the  failure  of  one  among  the 
number  of  experiments  which  must  be 
made  by  every  pioneer.  As  for  his  onions 
he  does  not  for  their  sake  curse  all 
the  onions  in  the  land.  Thanks  to  the 
maiden  soil,  vegetables  attain  to  an  un- 
ueual  size  in  California,  though  (as  always 
happens  in  such  cases)  they  gain  size  at  the 
expense  of  flavour.  Onions  and  tomatas  as 
large  as  cheese-plates  are,  Mr.  Marryat  says, 
common.  Melons  have  attained  the  weight 
of  fifty  pounds.  Wheat  and  oats  grow  to  the 
height  of  eight  or  ten  feet,  and  are  very  pro- 
lific in  the  ear.  "We  recommend  no  one  to 
emigrate  who  cannot  carnr  out  with  him 
some  measure,  at  least,  of  this  dauntless, 
candid  temper. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


92 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCottdvetodbr 


Of  course,  there  is  a  good  deal  of  road- 
making  and  other  work  yet  to  be  done  in  the 
new  country.  For  example,  this  is  the  sort 
of  excitement  open  to  a  passenger  upon  the 
box-seat  of  a  coach  or  spring-wageon,  rattled 
along  the  mine  district  by  six  horses,  well 
broken  in  to  crossing  gulches  and  mudboles. 
Now, the  road  is  down  a  dry  gulch,then,throngh 
a  bog,  to  be  crossed  in  safety  only  by  hard 
driving ;  then,  along  the  steep  slope  of  a  hill, 
with  one  wheel  up,  the  other  down,  and  all 
passengers '^  hard  up  to  the  right,''  at  the 
command  of  the  colonel  who  drives — that  is 
to  say,  throwing  their  weight  all  on  one  side 
to  maintain  a  balance.  Presently,  the  vehicle 
is  dragged  up  through  an  infinity  of  small 
cindery  rocks  to  the  summit  of  a  used-up 
crater.  The  colonel  puts  the  break  on  with 
his  leg,  and  down  the^  slide  among  the  rocks, 
the  colonel  loudly  adjuring  the  horses  not  to 
touch  one  of  them.  Near  the  bottom  the 
off-wheels  get  into  a  mudhole.  The  colonel 
without  hesitation  orders  all  passengers  to 
hang  on  to  the  near  side  of  the  waggon, 
jumps  upon  the  lap  of  the  sentleman  who 
occupies  the  box-seat,  and  with  a  crack  of  the 
whip  starting  the  whole  concern,  sends  it  flying 
and  swaying  from  side  to  side  to  the  bottom  of 
the  hill.  Tnere  they  pull  up,  and  the  colonel 
relieves  his  neighbour  of  his  weight,  ob- 
serving, in  extenuation  of  what  might  other- 
wise have  appeared  a  liberty,  that  he  is 
obliged  to  be  a  little  "  sarsy ''  on  the  road. 
All  goes  well  for  a  time.  Presently,  the 
colonel  turns  round  to  his  neighbour,  his 
hands  being  occupied  with  his  ribbons,  and 
says,  '<  I  guess  there's  a  flea  on  my  neck." 
It  is  the  business  of  the  box-seat  to  catch  and 
kill  it  The  colonel,  as  he  nods  his  thanks, 
remarks  that  he  generally  has  three  or  four 
of  the  '<  darned  cattle  put' through  "  in  that 
fashion  during  the  journey. 

Then  again,  as  we  need  hardly  say,  men  in 
those  parts  walk  armed.  Outrage  has  be- 
come comparatively  infrequent,  theft  is  less 
common  tnan  at  home  in  the  old  country ; 
but  even  in  San  Francisco  men  go  armed. 
In  this  and  in  some  other  respects  many 
things  in  California  carry  our  minds  back  to 
the  period  when  Europe  itself  was,  so  to 

?>eak,  a  new  country.,  a  few  centuries  ago. 
he  energies,  too,  that  were  displayed  by  the 
pioneers  to  whom  we  owe  the  present  state 
of  the  old  world,  though  different  in  kind, 
were  in  no  degree  less  wonderful  than  those 
which  we  now  see  put  forth  by  the  best  class 
of  Californian  adventurers.  There  is  a  great 
deal  in  such  a  parallel  that  would  be  worth 
pursuing. 

Before  the  last  San  Francisco  fire,  bur- 
glaries, says  Mr.  Marryat,  were  so  common 
that  it  became  necessarv  to  carnr  firearms 
after  dark,  more  particularly  as  the  streets 
were  not  lighted.  An  acquaintance  of  his 
was  walking  late  one  night  through  a  street 
which  was  apparently  deserted,  and  in  which 
one  dim  light  alone  shed  a  sickly  ray  from 


over  the  do<n>  of  a  closed  restaurant  As  he 
reached  this  spot,  a  man  started  from  the 
obscurity,  and  requested,  with  the  politeness 
of  a  Claude  Duvsd,  to  know  the  time.  With 
equal  civilitv  the  person  addressed  presented 
the  dial  of  his  watch  to  the  light,  and.allowing 
the  muzzle  of  his  revolver  to  rest  gracefully 
upon  the  watch-glass,  he  invited  the  strange 
to  inspect  for  himself.  Slowly  the  man  ad- 
vanced, and  the  sickly  rav  gleamed  on  the 
barrel  of  the  **  sixshooter ''  as  well  as  upon 
the  dial-plate,  as  with  some  dilBculty  he 
satisfied  himself  rejecting  the  time.  Both 
then  prepared  to  depart,  and  for  the  first 
time  the  light  fell  on  their  faces ;  then  these 
desperate  fellows  discovered  tiiat  they  wa« 
no  burglars,  but  old  acquaintances,  who  had 
dined  in  company  that  very  evening.  This 
might  surelypasB  for  a  scene  out  of  the  old 
town  life  of  Eiurope. 

Onboard  the  local  steamboats,  the  open 
bunks  line  the  saloon  and  decorum  forbids 
undressing ;  but  by  a  placard — though  indeed 
vainly—*'  gentlemen  are  requested  not  to  go 
to  bed  in  their  boots."  Apropos  to  this, 
writes  Mr.  Marryat,  I  remember  attending  a 
political  meeting  in  a  little  church  at  Benioia : 
in  each  pew  was  a  poster,  which  requested 
that  you  would  neither  cut  the  woodwork, 
nor  spit  on  the  fioor ;  but  the  authorities  had 
provided  no  spittoons ;  so,  as  a  gentleman 
observed  to  me,  whilst  inside  the  sacred  edi- 
fice, "  what-the-something  was  a  man  to  do 
who  chewed  t " 

That  the  Californian  gold  was  sought, 
although  not  found,  by  the  early  Spanish 
priests,  is  evident  firom  the  number  of  old 
shafts  in  some  places,  sunk  sometimes  in 
the  centre  of  rich  districts.  Often  it  has 
happened  that  they  who  seek  for  the  gold 
miss  it,  and  they  who  had  no  thoughts  of  it  in 
their  minds  fall  upon  heaps.  A  market-gar- 
dener who  had  long  been  abusing  his  g^und 
for  producing  cablMiges  that  were  all  stalk, 
one  day  pulled  up  an  aggravating  sample, 
and  found  a  piece  of  gold  adhering  to  its 
roots.  Holden's  garden,  near  Sonora,  was 
found  to  be  so  rich  that  the  gamblers  of  the 
town  sallied  out  and  fought  for  claims  in  it 
For  four  years  it  has  yielded  riches,  pieces  of 
gold  weighing  many  pounds  having  been 
sometimes  taken  from  it  There  is  a 
famous  digging  upon  Carson's  Hill,  in  the 
vicinity  of  which  a  rich  gulch  was  dis- 
covered under  circumstances  that  were 
related  to  Mr.  Marrvat  by  Mr.  Carson: 
One  of  the  miners  died,  and  as  he  had  been 
much  respected,  it  was  determined  to  give 
him  an  unusually  ceremonious  funeral.  A 
digger  in  the  neighbourhood,  who  had  once 
been  a  powerful  preacher  in  the  United 
States,  was  requested  to  officiate,  and  after 
*'  drinks  all  round,"  the  party  went  in  solemn 
order  to  the  grave.  Around  the  grave  all 
knelt  while  the  man  of  power  laboured  inde- 
f&tigably  at  a  lengthy  prayer.  Time  began  to 
hang  heavy  on  the  hands  of  listeners ;  their 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbarlet  Dickens.] 


MY  CONFESSION. 


93 


fingers  began  to  work  in  a  nervous  or  ab- 
stracted way  among  the  loose  earth  that  had 
been  thrown  up.  It  was  thick  with  gold,  and 
an  .excitement  quickly  spread  among  the 
kneeling  crowd.  The  preacher's  eye  was 
caught,  and  he  stopped  suddenly  in  his 
prayer  to  exclaim,  "Boys,  what's  that? 
Gold,  and  the  richest  kind  of  diggings.  The 
congregation  is  dismissed ! "  The  poor  miner 
was  taken  Arom  the  precious  soil  and  put 
aside  for  burial  elsewhere,  while  the  funeral 
party,  with  the  parson  at  its  head,  lost  no 
time  in  **  prospecting  "  the  new  digging. 

In  Mr.  Marryat's  book  we  find  bits  of 
adyice  to  emigrants  which  we  think  worth 
repeating.  Some  of  them  we  have  already 
given  iiicidentally,  but  we  add  a  few  others 
in  a  plainer  form.  Mr.  Marryat  would  have 
every  one  go  out  with  his  mind  made  up  as 
to  what  he  means  to  do,  not  with  the  vague 
notion  of  bring  his  luck,  in  some  unknown 
fashion.  He  advises  that  each  emigrant 
should  prefer,  as  far  as  possible,  to  do  that 
work  in  the  colony  for  which  he  has  been 
trained  at  home :  and,  if  he  amasses  money  at 
first  in  the  diggmgs,  that  he  should  be  pru- 
dent in  time,  and  use  it  as  the  means  of 
setting  himself  upamong  the  new  community 
in  steadv  trade.  He  dwells  on  the  importance 
of  a  trine  of  capital,  that  may  be  consumed 
during  the  days  of  quiet  observation  and 
deliberation  with  which  an  emigrant's  life,  in 
the  majority  of  cases,  is  best  begun.  He  recom- 
mends daily  and  complete  ablution  for  the 
preservation  of  health,  the  constant  wearing 
of  flannel  next  the  skin,  in  California,  and  in 
other  places  with  like  climate;  and  he  most 
wisely  advises  against  meddling  with  a  medi- 
cine chest.  The  emigrant's  best  medicine  for 
home  use — good  to  swallow,  good  to  use  as  a 
salve;  efficacious  in  a  hundred  cases,  and 
unlikely  to  be  dangerous  in  one — is  castor 
oil.  This,  with  a  few  trifles  for  the  cure  of 
wounds,  a  stock  of  mustard,  and  some  quinine 
if  it  can  be  afibrded,  should  be  all  the  physic 
with  which  an  emigrant  would  venture  to 
undertake  the  tinkering  of  his  own  consti- 
tution. When  headache  and  sickness  ^ive 
warning  of  fever,  rat,  says  the  wise  adviser. 
Do  not,  he* adds,  take  pride  in  working  till 
an  illness  becomes  serious.  A  day  or  two  of 
repose,  and  a  dose  or  two  of  castor  oil,  taken 
in  proper  time,  will  often  save  the  digger 
weeks  of  misery.  When  fever  threatens, 
reeist  the  inclination  to  bathe  in  a  stream. 

The  digger  is  advised  to  vex  himself  little 
about  outfit;  but  to  be  very  careful  as  to 
the  good  quality  of  his  blankets  and  flannel 
clothing,  to  select  good  thick  socks  and  the  best 
highlow  shoes  that  can  be  made  for  money. 
A  blanket  with  a  hole  cut  in  the  middle  for 
the  head  to  go  through,  is  an  invaluable 
poncho  wrapper  for  wet  seasons.  India 
rubber  clothmg — except,  perhaps,  a  water- 
proof cap  with  a  curtain  to  protect  the  neck — 
is  scarcely  to  be  recommended.  Whoever 
intends  to  dig  will  find  it  worth  while  to 


have  one  or  two  pickaxes  and  crowbars  made 
under  his  own  supervision,  since  the  adviser 
tells  us  "  it  is  money  well  spent  to  pay  some- 
thing over  market  price  for  a  pickaxe  that 
won  t  turn  its  nose  up  at  you  the  instant  you 
drive  it  into  the  hillside." 

Finally,  everybody  is  advised — not  by  Mr. 
Marryat,  but  by  us — to  read  the  sensible 
book  we  have  cursorily  described. 


MY  CONFESSION. 

I  HAD  always  been  a  passionate  boy.  They 
said  I  was  almost  a  fiend  at  times.  At  others 
I  was  mild  and  loving.  My  father  could 
not  manage  me  at  home ;  so  I  was  sent  to 
school.  I  was  more  flogged,  both  at  home  and 
at  school,  than  any  one  I  ever  knew  or  heard 
of.  It  was  incessant  flogging.  It  was  the 
best  way  they  knew  of  to  educate  and  correct 
me.  1  remember  to  this  day  how  my  father 
and  my  master  used  to  say,  "  they  would  flog 
the  devil  out  of  me. "  Tins  phrase  was  burnt 
at  last  into  my  very  being.  I  bore  it  always 
consciously  about  with  me.  I  heard  it  so  often 
that  a  dim  kind  of  notion  came  into  my  mind 
that  I  really  was  possessed  by  a  devil,  and 
that  they  were  right  to  try  and  scourge  it 
out  of  me.  This  was  a  very  vague  feeling 
at  first    After  events  made  it  more  definite. 

Time  went  on  in  the  old  way.  I  was  for 
ever  doing  wrong,  and  for  ever  under  punish- 
ment— terrible  punishment  that  left  my 
body  wounded,  and  hardened  my  heart  into 
stone.  I  have  bitten  my  tongue  till  it  was 
black  and  swollen,  that  I  might  not  say  I 
repented  of  what  I  had  done.  Repentance 
then,  was  synonymous  with  cowardice-  and 
shame.  At  last  it  grew  into  a  savage  pride 
of  endurance.  I  gloried  in  my  sulferiogs, 
for  I  knew  that  I  came  the  conqueror  out 
of  them.  The  masters  might  fiog  me  till  I 
fainted ;  but  they  could  not  subdue  me.  My 
constancy  was  greater  than  their  tortures, 
and  my  firmness  superior  to  their  will.  Yes, 
they  were  forced  to  acknowledge  it — ^I  con- 
quered them :  the  devil  would  not  be  scourged 
out  of  me  at  their  bidding;  but  remained 
\irith  me  at  mine. 

When  I  look  back  to  this  time  of  my  boy- 
hood, I  seem  to  look  over  a  wide  expanse  of 
desert  land  swept  through  with  fiery  storms. 
Passions  of  every  kind  convulsed  my  mind — 
unrest  and  mental  turmoil,  strife  and  tumult, 
and  suffering  never  ceasing ; — this  is  the  pic- 
ture of  mv  youth  whenever  I  turn  it  from  the 
dark  wall  of  the  past.  But  it  is  foolish  to 
recal  this  now.  Even  at  my  age,  chastened 
and  sobered  as  I* am,  it  makes  my  heart 
bound  with  the  old  passionate  throb  again, 
when  I  remember  the  torture  and  the  fever 
of  my  boyhood. 

I  had  few  school  friends.  The  boys  were 
afraid  of  me,  very  naturally ;  and  shrank  from 
any  intimacy  with  one  under  such  a  potent  ban 
as  I.  I  resented  this,  and  fought  my  way 
savagely  against  them.    One  only,  Herbert 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


94 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Condacted  bjr 


Ferrars,  was  kind  to  me ;  he  alone  loved  me, 
and  he  alone  waa  loved  in  return.  Loved — 
aa  you  may  well  believe  a  boy  of  warm 
affections,  such  as  I  was,  in  spite  of  all  my 
intemperance  of  passion,  isolated  from  all 
and  shunned  by  all — ^would  love  any  one  such 
as  Herbert  I  He  was  the  Royal  Boy  of  the 
school;  the  noblest;  the  loved  of  all — 
masters  and  playmates  alike ;  the  chief  of 
all;  clever;  like  a  young  Apollo  among 
the  herdsmen;  supreme  in  the  grace  and 
vigour  of  his  dawning  manhood.  I  never 
knew  one  so  unselfish — so  gifted  and  so 
striving,  so  loving  and  so  just,  so  gentle  and 
so  strong. 

We  were  friends— fast,  firm  friends.  The 
other  boys  and  the  ushers,  and  the  mas- 
ters, too,  warned  Herbert  against  me. 
Thev  told  him  continually  that  I  should 
do  him  no  good,  and  might  harm  him  in 
many  ways.  But  he  was  faithful,  and  suffered 
no  one  to  come  between  us.  I  had  never 
been  angry  with  Herbert  A  word,  or  look, 
joining  on  the  humour  of  the  moment,  would 
rouse  me  into  a  perfect  fiend  against  any 
one  else;  but  Herbert's  voice  and  manner 
soothed  me  under  every  kind  of  excitement. 
In  any  paroxysm  of  rage — the  very  worst 
— ^I  was  gentle  to  him:  and  I  had  never 
known  yet  the  fit  of  fury  which  had  not  yielded 
to  his  remonstrance.  I  had  grown  almost  to 
look  on  him  as  my  good  angel  against  that 
devil  whom  the  rod  could  not  scourge  out 
of  me. 

We  were  walking  on  the  cliffc  one  day, 
Herbert  and  I,  for  we  lived  by  the  sea-side. 
And  indeed  I  think  that  wild  sea  makes  me 
fiercer  than  I  should  else  have  been.  The 
cliffs  where  we  were  that  day  were  high 
and  rugged;  in  some  places  going  down 
sheer  and  smooth  into  the  sea,  in  others 
jagged  and  rough;  but  always  dangerous. 
Even  the  samphire  gatherers  dreaded  them. 
They  were  of  a  crumbling  sandstone,  that 
broke  away  under  the  hands  and  feet;  for 
we  had  often  climbed  the  practicable  parts, 
and  knew  that  great  masses  would  crumble 
and  break  under  our  grasp,  like  mere 
gravel  heaps.  Herbert  and  I  stood  for  a 
short  time  close  to  the  edge  of  the  highest 
cliff ;  Haglin's  Crag  it  was  called ;  looking 
down  at  the  sea,  which  was  at  high  tide,  and 
foaming  wildly  about  the  rocks.  The  wind 
was  very  strong,  though  the  sky  was  almost 
cloudless;  it  roared  round  the  cliffs,  and 
lashed  the  waves  into  a  surging  foam,  that 
beat  furiously  against  the  base,  and  brought 
down  showers  of  earth  and  sand  with  each 
blow  as  it  struck.  The  sight  of  all  this  life 
and  fury  of  nature  fevered  my  blood  and 
excited  my  imagination  to  the  highest.  A 
strange  desire  seized  me.  I  wanted  to  clamber 
down  the  face  of  the  cliflfe — to  the  very  base 
— and  dip  myself  in  the  white  waves  foaming 
round  them.  It  was  a  wild  fancy,  but  I  could 
not  conquer  it,  though  I  tried  to  do  so ;  and 
I  felt  equal  to  its  accomplishment. 


"Herbert,  I  am  going  down  the  cliff;" 
I  said,  throwing  mv  cap  on  the  ground. 

**  Nonsense,  Paul,"  said  Herbert,  laughing. 
He  did  not  believe  me;  and  thought  I  was 
onlv  in  jest 

When,  however,  he  saw  that  I  was  serious, 
and  that  I  did  positively  intend  to  attempt 
this  danger,  he  opposed  me  in  his  old  man- 
ner of  gentleness  and  love ;  the  manner  which 
had  hitherto  subdued  me  like  a  magic  spell. 
He  told  me  that  it  was  my  certain  death  I 
was  rushing  into,  and  he  asked  me  affection- 
ately to  desist. 

I  was  annoyed  at  his  o]>position.  For  the 
first  time  his  voice  had  no  power  over  me ; 
for  the  first  time  his  entreaties  fell  dead  on 
my  ears.  Scarcely  hearing  Herbert,  scarcely 
seeing  him,  I  leant  over  the  cliffii ;  the  waves 
singing  to  me  as  with  a  human  voice ;  when 
I  was  suddenly  pulled  back,  Herbert  saying 
to  me,  angrily — 

"  Paul,  are  you  mad  T  Do  you  think  I  will 
stand  by  and  see  you  kill  yourself! '' 

He  tore  me  from  the  cliff.  It  was  a 
strain  like  physical  anguish  when  I  could  no 
longer  see  the  waters.  I  turned  against  him 
savagely,  and  tried  to  shake  off  his  hand. 
But  he  threw  his  arms  round  me,  and  held 
me  firmly,  and  the  feeling  of  constraint,  of 
imprisonment,  overcame  my  love.  I  could 
not  bear  personal  restraint  even  fh>m  him. 
His  young  slight  arms  seemed  like  leaden 
chains  about  me ;  he  changed  to  the  hideoos- 
ness  of  a  jailor ;  his  opposmg  love,  to  the  in- 
solence of  a  tyrant.  I  called  hoarsely  to  him 
to  let  me  free ;  but  he  still  clung  round  me. 
Again  I  called ;  again  he  withstood  me ;  and 
then  I  stmgffled  with  him.  My  teeth  were 
set  fast — my  hands  clenched,  the  strength  of 
a  strong  man  was  in  me.  I  seized  him  by  the 
waist  as  I  would  lift  a  young  child,  and 
hurled  him  from  me.  God  help  me ! — I  did 
not  see  in  what  direction. 

It  was  as  if  a  shadow  had  fallen  between  me 
and  the  sun,  so  that  I  could  see  nothing  in  its 
natural  light.  There  was  no  light  and  there  was 
no  colour.  The  sun  was  as  bright  overhead  as 
before ;  the  grass  lay  at  my  feet  as  gleaming 
as  before ;  the  waves  flung  up  their  sparkling 
showers;  the  wind  tossed  the  branches  full 
of  leaves,  like  boughs  of  glittering;  gems,  as  it 
had  tossed  them  ten  minutes  ago ;  but  I  saw 
them  all  indistinctly  now,  through  the  veil, 
the  mist  of  this  darkness.  The  shadow  waa 
upon  me  that  has  never  left  me  since.  Day 
and  night  it  has  followed  me ;  day  and  night 
its  chill  lay  on  my  heart  A  voice  sounded 
unceasingly  within  me,  *^  Murder  and  a  lost 
soul,  for  ever  and  ever! " 

I  turned  from  the  cliff  resolutely,  and  went 
towards  home.  Not  a  limb  failed  me,  not  a 
moment's  weakness  was  on  me.  I  went  home 
with  the  intention  of  denouncing  myself  as 
the  murderer  of  my  friend :  and  I  was  calm 
because  I  felt  that  his  deatn  would  then  be 
avenged.  I  hoped  for  the  most  patent 
degradation  possible  to  humanity.    My  only 


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ClMriea  Dickena.] 


MY  CONFESSION. 


95 


desire  was  to  avenge  the  murder  of  my 
iriend  on  myself,  his  murderer ;  and  I 
walked  along  quickly  that  I  might  over- 
take the  slow  hours,  and  gain  the  moment  of 
expiation. 

1  went  straight  to  the  master's  room.  He 
spoke  to  me  harshly,  and  ordered  me  out  of 
his  sight ;  as  he  did  whenever  I  came  before 
him.  I  told  him  authoritatively  to  listen  to 
me ;  I  had  something  to  say  to  him :  and 
my  manner,  I  suppose,  struck  him :  for  he 
turned  round  to  me  again,  and  told  me  to 
speak.    What  had  I  to  say  ? 

I  began  by  stating  briefly  that  Herbert  had 
fallen  down  Haglin's  crag;  and  then  I  was 
about  to  add  that  it  was  I  who  had  flung 
him  down  though  unintentionally — when — 
whether  it  was  mere  faintness,  to  this  day  I  do 
not  know — I  fell  senseless  to  the  earth.  And 
for  weeks  I  remained  senseless  with  brain 
fever,  from  it  was  believed  the  terrible 
shock  my  system  had  undergone  at  see- 
ing my  dearest  friend  perish,  so  miserably 
before  my  eyes.  This  belief  helped  much 
to  soften  men's  hearts,  —  and  to  give  me 
a  place  in  their  sympathy,  never  given  me 
before. 

When  I  recovered,  that  dark  shadow  still 
clung  silently  to  me ;  and  whenever  I  at- 
tempted to  speak  the  truth — and  the  secret 
always  hung  clogging  on  my  tongue — the 
same  scene  was  gone  through  as  before;  I 
was  struck  down  by  an  invisible  hand ;  and 
reduced  perforce  to  silence.  I  knew  then 
that  I  was  shut  out  from  expiation^as 
I  had  shut  myself  out  from  reparation  in 
my  terrible  deed.  Day  and  night,  day 
and  night!  always  haunted  with  a  fierce 
thought  of  sin,  and  striving  helplessly  to  ex- 
press it. 

I  bad  come  now  to  that  time  in  my  life 
when  I  must  choose  a  profession.      I  re- 
solved to  become    a   physician    from   the 
feeling  of  making  such  reparation  to  hu- 
t    manity  as  I  was  able,  for  the  life  I  had 
destroyed.     I  thought  if  I  could  save  life, 
I    if  I  could  alleviate  eufiering,  and  bring  bless- 
I    ing  instead  of  affliction,  that  I  might  some- 
I    what  atone  for  my  guilt.    If  not  to  the  indi- 
I    vidual,  yet  to  humanity  at  large.    No  one 
ever    clung    to   a   profession    with    more 
ardour    than    I   undertook   the    study    of 
medicine;    for  it  seemed  to  me  my  only 
way  of  solvation,  if  indeed  that  were  yet 
possible — a  salvation  to  be  worked  out  not 
only  by  chastisement  and  control    of  mv 
passions,  but  by  active  good  among  my  fel- 
low-men. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  first  patient  I 
attended.  It  was  a  painful  case,  where 
there  was  much  suffering ;  and  to  the  rela- 
tions—  to  that  poor  mother  above  all — 
bitter  anguish.  The  child  had  been  given 
over  by  the  doctors:  and  I  was  called  in 
as  the  last  untried,  from  despair,  not  from 
hope ;  I  ordered  a  new  remeidy ;  one  that 
few  would  have  the  courage  to  prescribe. 


The  effect  was  almost  miraculous,  and,  as  the 
little  one  breathed  freer,  and  that  sweet  soft 
sleep  of  healing  crept  over  her,  the  thick  dark- 
ness hanging  round  me  lightened  perceptibly. 
Had  I  solved  the  mystery  of  my  future  ?  By 
work  and  charity  should  I  come  out  into  the 
light  again?  and  could  deeds  of  reparation 
dispel  that  darkness  which  a  mere  objectless 
punishment  —  a  mere  mental  repentance  — 
could  not  touch  ? 

This  experience  gave  me  renewed  courage : 
I  devoted  myself  more  ardently  to  my  pro- 
fession, chiefly  among  the  poor,  and  without 
remuneration.  Had  I  ever  accepted  money,  I 
believe  that  all  my  power  would  have  gone. 
And  as  I  saved  more  and  more  lives,  and 
lightened  more  and  more  the  heavy  burden  of 
human  suffering,  the  dreadful  shadow  grew 
fainter. 

I  was  called  suddenly  to  a  dying  lady.  No 
name  was  given  me,  neither  was  her  station 
in  life  nor  her  condition  told  me.  I  hurried 
off  without  caringto  ask  questions:  care- 
ful only  to  heal.  When  I  reached  the  house, 
I  was  taken  into  a  room  where  she  lay  in  a 
fainting  fit  on  the  bed.  Even  before  I  ascer- 
tained her  malady — with  that  almost  second 
sight  of  a  practiced  physician — her  wonderful 
beauty  struck  me.  Not  merely  because  it  was 
beauty,  but  because  it  was  a  face  strangely 
familiar  to  me,  though  new ;  strangely  speak- 
ing of  a  former  love:  although,  in  all  my 
practice,  I  had  never  loved  man  or  woman 
individually. 

I  roused  the  lady  from  her  faintness ;  but 
not  without  much  trouble.  It  was  more  like 
death  than  swooning,  and  yielded  to  my  treat- 
ment stubbornly.  I  remained  with  ner  for 
many  hours;  but  when  I  left  her  she  was 
better.  I  was  obliged  to  leave  her,  to  attend 
a  poor  workhouse  child. 

I  had  not  been  gone  long — carrying  with 
me  that  fair  face  lying  in  its  death-like 
trance,  with  all  its  golden  hair  scattered  wide 
over  the  pillow,  and  the  blue  lids  weighing 
down  the  eyes,  as  one  carries  the  remem-  . 
brance  of  a  sweet  song  lately  sung — carrying 
it,  too,  as  a  talisman  against  that  dread 
shadow  which  somehow  hung  closer  on  me 
to-night ;  the  darkness,  too,  deepening  into 
its  original  blackness,  and  the  chill  lying 
heavily  on  my  heart  again — when  a  mes- 
senger hurried  after  me,  telling  me  the 
lady  was  dying,  and  I  was  to  go  back  imme- 
diately. I  wanted  no  second  bidding.  In  a 
moment,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  I  was  in  her 
room  again.    It  was  dark. 

The  lady  was  dyiag  now,  paralysed  from 
her  feet  upwards.  I  saw  the  death-ring 
mount  higher  and  higher ;  that  faint,  bluish 
ring  with  which  death  marries  some  of  his 
brides.  I  bent  every  energy,  every  thought  to 
the  combat.  I  ordered  remedies  so  strange  to 
the  ordinary  rules  of  medicine,  that  it  was 
with  difficulty  the  chemist  would  prepare 
them.  She  opened  her  eyes  full  upon  me, 
and   the  whole  room  was  filled  with  the 


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96 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


cry  of  "Murderer I"  They  thought  the 
lady  had  spoken  fevetishly  in  her  death- 
trance.  I  alone  knew  from  whence  that  cry 
had  come. 

But  I  would  not  yield,  and  I  never  qnailed, 
nor  feared  for  the  result  I  knew  the  power 
I  had  to  battle  with,  and  I  knew,  too,  the 
powers  I  wielded.  They  saved  her.  The  blood 
circulated  again  through  her  veins,  the  fidnt- 
ness  gradually  dispersed,  the  smitten  side 
flung  off  its  paralysis,  and  the  blue  ring 
faded  wholly  from  her  limbs. 

The  lady  recovered  under  my  care.  And 
care,  such  as  mothers  lavish  on  their 
children  I  poured  like  life-blood  on  her.  I 
knew  that  her  pulses  beat  at  my  bidding, 
I  knew  that  I  had  given  her  back  her  life, 
which  else  had  been  forfeit,  and  that  I  was 
her  preserver.  I  almost  worshipped  her. 
It  was  the  worship  of  my  whole  being — the 
tide  into  which  the  pent-up  sentiment  of 
my  long  years  of  unloving  philanthropy, 
poured  like  a  boundless  flood.  It  was  my 
life  that  I  gave  her — my  destiny  that  I  saw 
in  her — my  deliverer  from  the  curse  of  sin, 
as  I  had  been  hers  from  the  power  of  death. 
I  asked  no  more  than  to  be  near  her,  to  see 
her,  to  hear  her  voice,  to  breathe  the  same  air 
with  her,  to  guard  and  protect  her.  I  never 
asked  myself  whether  I  loved  as  other  men 
or  no;  I  never  dreamed  of  her  loving  me 
again.  I  did  not  even  know  her  name  nor 
her  condition :  she  was  simply  the  Lady  to 
me — the  one  and  only  woman  of  my  world. 
I  never  cared  to  analyse  more  than  this. 
My  love  was  part  of  my  innermost  being, 
and  I  could  as  soon  have  imagined  the 
earth  without  its  sun  as  my  life  without  the 
lady.  Was  this  love  such  as  other  men 
feel  ?  I  know  not  I  only  know  there  were 
no  hopes  such  as  other  men  have.  I  did 
not  question  my  own  heart  of  the  future: 
I  only  knew  of  love— I  did  not  ask  for 
happiness. 

One  day  I  went  to  see  her  as  usual.  She 
was  well  now;  but  I  still  kept  up  my  old 
habit  of  visiting  her  for  her  health.  I  sat  by 
her  for  a  long  time  this  day,  wondering, 
as  I  so  often  wondered,  who  it  was  that 
she  resembled,  and  where  I  had  met  her 
before,  and  how ;  for  I  was  certain  that 
I  had  scpn  her  some  time  in  the  past. 
She  was  lying  back  in  an  easy  chair — how 
well  I  remember  it  all  I— enveloped  in  a 
cloud  of  white  drapery.  A  sofa-table  was 
drawn  along  the  side  of  her  chair,  with  one 
drawer  partly  open.  Without  any  inten- 
tion of  lookmg,  I  saw  that  it  was  filled 
with  letters,  in  two  different  handwritings, 
and  that  two  miniature  cases  were  lying 
among  them.    An  open  letter,  in  which  lay 


a  tress  of  sun-bright  hair,  was  on  her 
knee.  It  was  written  in  a  hand  that  made 
me  start  and  quiver.  I  knew  the  writing, 
though  at  the  moment  I  could  not  recognise 
the  writer. 

Strongly  agitated,  I  took  the  letter  in  my 
hand.  The  hair  fell  across  my  fifigers.  The 
darkness  gathered  close  and  heavy,  and  there 
burst  from  me  the  self-accusing  cry  of 
"Murderer  I" 

"No,  not  murdered,"  said  the  lady,  sor- 
rowftiUy.  "  He  was  killed  by  accident.  This 
letter  is  from  him — ^my  dear  twin-brother 
Herbert — written  the  very  day  of  his  death. 
But  what  can  outweigh  the  blessedness  of 
death  while  we  are  innocent  of  sin  1 " 

As  she  spoke,  for  some  strange  fancy  she 
drew  the  gauzy  drapery  round  her  head.  It 
fell  about  her  soft  and  white  as  foam.  I 
knew  now  where  I  had  seen  her  before,  lying 
as  now  with  her  sweet  face  turned  upward  to 
the  sky;  looking,  as  now,  so  full  of  purity 
and  love:  calling  me  then  to  innocence  as 
now  to  reconciliation.  Her  angel  in  her 
likeness  had  once  spoken  to  me  through  the 
waves,  as  Herbert^s  spirit  now  spoke  to 
me  in  her. 

"  This  is  his  portrait,"  she  continued,  open- 
ing one  of  the  cases. 

The  darkness  gathered  closer  and  closer. 
But  I  fbught  it  off  bravely,  and  kneeling 
humbly,  for  the  first  time  I  was  able  to 
make  my  confession.  I  told  her  all.  My 
love  for  Herbert;  but  my  fierce  fury  of 
temper :  my  sin,  but  also  how  unintentional : 
my  atonement.  And  then,  in  the  depth  of 
my  agony,  I  turned  to  implore  her  forgive- 
ness. 

"I  do,"  she  said,  weeping.  "It  was  a 
grievous  crime — grievous,  deadly — ^but  you 
have  expiated  it  You  have  repented  in 
deed  by  self-subjugation,  and  by  unwearied 
labours  of  mercy  and  good  among  your  fellow 
men.  I  do  forgive  you,  my  friend,  as 
Herbert's  spirit  would  forgive  you.  And," 
in  a  gayer  tone,  "  my  beloved  husband,  who 
will  return  to  me  to-day,  will  bless  you  too 
for  preserving  his  wife,  as  I  bless  you  for 
preserving  me  to  him." 

The  darkness  fell  from  me  as  she  kissed 
my  hand.  Yet  it  still  shades  my  life :  but  as 
a  warning,  not  as  a  curse — a  mournnil  past, 
not  a  destroying  present.  Charity  and  active 
good  among  our  fellow  men  can  destroy  the 
power  of  sin  within  us ;  and  repentance  in 
deeds — ^not  in  tears,  but  in  the  life-long 
efforts  of  a  resolute  man — can  lighten  the 
blackness  of  a  crime,  and  remove  the  cnrse  of 
punishment  from  us.  Work  and  love:  by 
these  may  we  win  our  pardon,  and  by  these 
stand  out  again  in  the  light. 


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"  Fimaiar  m  their  Moutht  as  HOUSEHOLD  irOi2i>5."— «■*«■•».*» 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
COHDXrCTED   BT   CHABLES   BICKENS. 


No.  5.] 


J.  A.  DIX,  PUBLISHER, 

Ovnn,  No.  10  PAmx  Pt.Aoa,  Nnr*Y«BS. 


[Whole  No,  268. 


OLD  LADIES. 


Are  there  any  old  ladies  left,  now-a-days? 
The  question  may  at  first  appear  absurd ;  for, 
by  the  returns  of  the  last  census  we  find 
that  seven  per  centum  of  the  whole  female 
population  were,  four  years  since,  widows; 
and  that,  at  the  same  period,  there  were  in 
Great  Britain,  three  hundred  and  fifty-nine 
thousand  nine  hundred  and  sixty-nine  '^  old 
maids  "  above  the  age  of  forty,  x  et  I  repeat 
my  question,  and  am  prepared  to  abide  by 
the  consequences :  Are  there  any  old  ladies 
left,  now-a-days? 

Statistically  of  course,  substantially  even,old 
ladies  are  as  plentiful  as  of  yore ;  but  I  seek 
in  vain  for  the  old  lady  types  of  my  youth ;  the 
feminine  antiquities  that  furnished  forth  my 
juvenile  British  Museum.  Every  omnibus- 
conductor  has  his  old  ladv  passenger — pattens, 
big  basket,  umbrella.  The  cabman  knows  the 
old  lady  well— her  accurate  measurement  of 
mileage,her  multitudinous  packages,f or  which 
she  resists  extra  payment ;  her  objections  to 
the  uncleanliness  of  the  straw  and  the  damp-^ 
ness  of  the  cushion ;  her  incessant  use  of  the 
checkstring  and  frequent  employment  of  a 
parasol  handle,  or,  a'  key,  dug  into  the  small  of 
tho  driver's  back  as  a  means  of  attracting 
his  attention;  her  elaborate  Hut  contnulic- 
tory  directions  as  to  where  she  wishes  to  be 
set  down;  and,  finally,  her  awftil  threats 
of  fljie,  imprisonment,  and  treadmill  should 
the  much-ill-used  Ixion-at-sixpenoe-a-mile 
offend  her.  No  railway-train  starts  without 
an  old  lady,  who  screams  whenever  the 
whistle  is  sounded;  groans  in  the  tunnels ;  is 
sure  there  is  something  the  matter  with  the 
engine ;  smuggles  surreptitious  poodles  into 
the  carriage  ;*  calls  for  tea  at  stations  where 
there  are  no  refreshment-rooms;  summons 
the  ^ard  to  the  door  at  odd  times  during 
the  journey,  and  tells  him  he  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  himself,  because  the  train  is 
seven  minutes  behind  time;  insists  upon 
having  the  window  up  or  down  at  pre- 
cisely the  wrong  periods:  scrunches  the 
boots  of  her  opposite  neignbour,  or  makes 
short  lunges  into  his  wafetcoat  during  in- 
tcmpestine  naps,  and,  shonld  he  remon- 
strate, indulges  in  muttered  soliloquies, 
ending  with,  *'One  doesn't  know  who 
one  is  travelling  with,  now-a-days ; ''  and 


carries  a  basket  of  provisions,  from  which 
crumbs  disseminate  themselves  unpleasantly 
on  all  surrounding  laps  and  knees  and  IVom 
which  the  neck  of  a  small  black  bottle 
Will  peep:  the  cork  being  always  mis- 
laid in  the  carriage,  and  causing  un- 
speakable agonies  to  the  other  passengers 
in  the  efforts  for  its  recovery.  There 
are  old  ladies  at  every  theatre,  who  scream 
hysterically  when  guns  are  discharged; 
who,  when  the  Blaze  of  Bliss  in  the  Realms 
of  Dioramic  Delight  takes  place,  seem  on 
the  pjoint  of  crying  "  Fire  1 "  and  who  persist 
in  sitting  before  you  in  huge  bonnets, 
apparently  designed  expressly  to  shut  out 
the  dangerous  seductions  of  the  ballet 
Churches  teem  with  old  ladies — fVom  tho  old 
ladies  in  the  pews  who  knock  down  the 
prayer-books  during  the  "I  publish  the 
bums  of  marriage,"  and  turn  over  the  mouldy 
hassocks,  blinding  you  with  a  cloud  of 
dust  and  straw-chips, — to  the  old  ladies, 
mouldier  and  dustier  than  the  hassocks, 
who  open  the  pews,  cough  for  sixpences,  and 
curtsey  for  riiillings^  and  the  very  old 
ladies  who  sit  in  the  free  seats,  have  fits 
during  the  sermon,  and  paralysis  all  through 
the  service.  There  are  old  ladies  in  ships 
upon  the  high  seas  who  will  speak  to  the 
man  at  the  wheel ;  in  bad  weather,  moan- 
ingly  request  to  be  thrown  overboard  and 
block  up  the  companion-ladder — mere  sense- 
less bundles  of  sea-sick  old-ladyism.  There 
is  never  a  crowd  without  an  old  lady  in  it. 
The  old  lady  is  at  almost  every  butcher's  shop, 
at  almost  every  grocer's  retail  establishment, 
on  Saturday  nights.  Every  housemaid 
knows  an  old  lady  who  objected  to  rib- 
bons, counted  the  hearthstones,  denounced 
the  *^ fellows"  (comprising  the  police,  the 
household  troops,  and  the  assistants  of  the 
butcher  and  grocer  aforesaid),  and  denied 
that  the  cat  broke  all  the  crockery  at 
her  (the  housemaid's^  last  place.  Every 
cook  has  been  worretted  dreadful,  by  the 
old  lady;  every  country  parson  knows  her 
and  dreads  her,  for  she  interferes  with  t^  dis- 
cipline o£  the  village  school,  and  questions  the 
orthodoxy  of  his  sermons.  Every  country 
doctor  is  aware  of,  and  is  wroth  with  her ;  for 
there  is  either  always  something  the  matter 
with  her,  or  else  she  persists  in  dosing,  pilling, 
and  plastering  other  old  ladies  who  have 

258 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  Iqr 


something  the  matter  with  tiiem,  to  the  stul- 
tification of  the  doctor^sprescriptions,  and  the 
conf  osioB  of  science.  The  miasionaries  wonld 
have  little  to  eat,  and  nobody  to  eat  them 
up  in  the  Sonth  Seas,  were  it  not  for  the  old 
ladies.  Exeter  Hall  in  May  wonld  be  a 
howling  wilderness,  but  for  the  old  ladies 
in  the  front  seats,  their  umbrellas,  and 
white  pocket-handkerchief^  And  what  Pro- 
fessor Methusaleh  and  his  pills.  Profes- 
sor Swc^ow  with  his  ointment,  Doctor 
Bnmblepuppy  with  his  pitch-plalsters,  and 
Mr.  Spools,  M.R.G.S.,  with  bis  galvaoo- 
therapeutic  blisters,  would  do  without 
old  ladies  Vm  sure  I  don't  know:  Tea, 
and  the  poor-boxes  of  the  police-courts 
for  their  Christmas  five-pound  notes,  the 
destitute  for  their  coals  and  blankets,  the 
bed-ridden  old  women  for  their  fiannel-petti- 
coats  would  often  be  in  sorry  plight  but  for 
the  aid  of  the  old  ladies,  bless  them!  At 
every  birth  and  at  every  death  there  is  an  old 
lady.  I  have  heard  that  old  ladies  are  some- 
times seen  at  courts.  It  is  whispered  that 
old  ladies  have  from  time  to  time  been  found 
in  camps.  Nay,  irreverent  youths,  hot-headed, 
inconsiderate  youngsters,  doubtless— bits  of 
boys — ^have  sometimes  the  assurance  to  hint 
that  old  ladles  have,  within  these  last  thou- 
sand years,  been  known  to  sit  at  the  coun- 
cils of  royalty,  and  direct  the  movement  of 
armies,  the  intricacies  of  diplomacy,  and  the 
operations  of  commerce. 

But  these  are  not  mtf  old  ladies.  Search 
the  wide  world  through,  and  bring  before  me 
legions  of  old  ladies,  and  I  shall  still  be  ask- 
ing my  old  Question. 

No.  I  will  be  positive  and  give  my  self- 
asked  question  a  negative,  once  for  alL 
There  are  no  old  ladies  now-andays.  You 
know  as  well  as  I  do  that  there  are  no  chil- 
dren now ;  no  tender  rump-steaks ;  no  good- 
fellows  ;  no  good  books ;  no  chess  tenors ;  no 
clever  actors:  no  good  tragedies,  and  no  old 
port  wine.  The  old  ladies  have  followed  all 
these  vanished  good  things.  If  they  exist  at 
all,  they  exist  only  to  that  young  generation 
which  is  treading  on  our  corns  and  pushing 
us  Arom  our  stools,  which  laughs  in  its  sleeve 
at  us,  and  calls  us  old  fogies  behind  our  backs; 
to  that  generation  which  yet  believes  in  the 
whisperings  of  fancy,  the  phantoms  of  hope, 
and  the  performance,  by  age,  of  the  promises 
of  youth.  The  old  women  have  even  dis- 
appeared. Women  there  are,  and  old,  but  no 
old  women.  The  old  woman  of  Berkeley ; 
the  old  woman  of  Tutbury  who  so  marvel- 
lously supported  herself  by  suction  from 
her  pocket-handkerchief;  the  aerostatic  old 
woman  who  effected  an  ascent  so  many  times 
higher  than  the  moon :  the  old  woman  who 
lived  in  a  shoe,  and  nrugally  nurtured  her 
numerous  o£fepring  upon  broth  without 
bread :  the  delightful  old  woman,  and  mem- 
ber or  the  society  for  the  prevention  of 
cruelty  to  animals — ^Mother  Hubbard — who 
so  tenderly  entertained  that  famous   dog, 


though,  poor  soul,  she  was  often  put  to 
it,  to  find  him  a  bone  in  her  cupboard; 
the  eccentric  old  woman  who,  is  it  pos- 
sible to  imagine'  it,  lived  upon  nothing  but 
victuals  and  drink,  and  yet  would  never  be 
quiet  (she  evanished  from  my  youthftil  ken 
at  about  the  same  time  as  the  old  man  of 
Tobago— who  lived  on  rice,  sugar,  and  sago) ; 
the  terrible  old  French  woman.  La  M^re 
Croquemitaine  who  went  about  France  with 
a  birch  and  a  basket,  wherewith  to  whip  and 
carry  away  naughty 'little  girls  and  boys, 
and  who  has  now  been  driven  away  herself 
by  the  principals  of  genteel  seminaries  in 
the  Avenue  de  Marigny,  Champs  Elys^es; 
the  marvellous,  fearsome  old  women  of  witch- 
craft, with  brooms,  hell-broths,  spells,  and  in- 
cantations ;  the  good  and  wicked  old  women 
of  the  Arabian  Nights  and  the  Child's  Own 
Book:  fairy  godmothers;  hump-backed  old 
women  sitting  by  wellsides ;  cross  old  women 
gifted  with  magic  powers,  who  were  inad- 
vertently left  out  of  christening  invitations, 
and  weaved  dreadful  spells  in  consequence  ; 
good  women  in  the  wood;  old  women  who 
had  grandchildren  wearing  little  Eedriding^ 
hoods  and  meeting  (to  their  sorrow)  wolves ; 
Mother  Goose ;  Mother  Redcap ;  even  Mother 
Danmable  (I  beg  your  pardon) ;— all  this 
goodly  band  of  old  women  have  been  swept 
away.  There  are  no  types  of  feminine  age  left 
to  me  now.  All  the  picturesque  types  of  life 
besides  seem  melting  away.  It  is  all  coming 
to  a  dead  level :  a  single  line  of  rails,  with 
signals,  stations,  points,  and  turntables ;  and 
the  Cradle  Train  starts  at  one  fifteen,  and  the 
CofiOn  Train  is  due  at  twelve  forty-five. — ^An 
Iron  world. 

Somewhere  in  the  dusty  room,  of  which  the 
door  has  been  locked  for  years,  I  have  a  cup- 
board. There,  among  the  old  letters — ^how 
yellow  and  faded  the  many  scored  expres- 
Mons  of  afibctions  have  grown !  the  locks  of 
hair ;  the  bygone  washing-bills : — "  one  pare 
SOX,  one  fhint:"  the  handsome  bill  of 
costs  (folio,  foolscap,  stitched  with  green 
ferret)  that  came  as  a  rider  to  that  small 
legacy  that  was  spent  so  quickly ;  the  minia- 
ture of  the  lady  in  the  leg  of  mutton  sleeves  ; 
the  portraits  of  Self  and  SchoolfHend— Self 
in  a  frilled  collar,  grinning ;  Schoolfriend  in 
a  lay-down  collar,  also  grinning ;.  the  rusted 
pens ;  the  squeezed-out-tubes  of  colour ;  the 
memoranda  to  be  sure  to  do  Heaven  knows 
what  for  Heaven  knows  whom ;  the  books 
begun ;  the  checkbooks  ended ;  the  torn  en- 
velopes ;  the  wedding  cards  with  true  lovers' 
knots  dimmed  and  tarnished;  the  ad- 
dresses of  people  who  are  dead;  the  keys  of 
watches  that  are  sold ;  the  old  passports,  old 
hotel  bills,  dinner  tickets,  and  theatrical 
checks ;  the  multifarious  odds  and  ends  that 
will  accumulate  in  cupboards,  be  your  pe- 
riodical burnings  ever  so  frequent,  or  your 
waste  paper  badcet  system  ever  so  rigorous : 
among  aU  these  it  may  be  that  I  can  find  a 
portfolio— shadowy  or   substantial  matters 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CUri«  Dkkenai] 


OLD  LADIES. 


99 


lltUe— where  are  nestled,  all  torn,  blotted, 
faded,  mildewed,  crumpled,  stained  and  moth- 
eaten,  some  portraits  of  the  old  ladies  I 
should  like  to  find  now-a-days. 

Yes ;  here  is  one :  The  Pretty  Old  Lady. 
She  must  have  been  very,  very  beautiful  when 
young;  for,  in  my  childish  eyes  she  had 
scarcely  any  impenections,  and  we  all  know 
what  acute  and  unmerciful  critics  children 
are.  Her  hair  was  quite  white ;  not  silvery, 
nor  powdery,  but  pure  glossy  white,  resem- 
bling spun  glass.  1  have  never  been  able  to 
make  my  mind  up  whether  she  wore  a  cap, 
a  hood,  or  one  of  tiiose  silken  head-cover^ 
ings  of  the  last  century  called  a  calash. 
Whatever  she  wore,  it  became  her  infinitely. 
I  incline,  on  second  thoughts,  more  to  the 
calaah,  and  think  she  wore  it  in  lieu  of  a 
bonnet,  when  she  went  abroad;  which  was 
but  seldom.  The  portrait  I  have  of  the  old 
lady  is,  indeed,  blurred  and  dimmed  by  the 
lapse  of  many  winters,  and  some  tears.  Her 
titie  of  the  pretty  old  lady  was  not  given  to 
her  lightly.  It  was  bruited  many  years  ago 
— when  ladies  of  fashion  were  drunk  to,  In 
public,  and  gentlemen  of  fashion  were  drunk 
m  public — that  the  pretty  old  lady  was  a 
'^  reigning  toasf 

A  certain  gray  silk  dress  which,  as  it  had 
always  square  creases  in  it,  I  coigectured  to 
be  always  new,  decorated  t)ie  person  of  the 
pretty  old  lady.  She  wore  a  profusion  of 
black  lace,  which  must  have  been  price- 
less, for  it  was  continually  being  mended,  and 
its  reversion  was  much  coveted  by  the  old 
lady's  female  Ariends.  Hy  aunt  Jane,  who 
was  tremendously  old,  and  was  a  lady; 
but  whose  faculties  decayed  somewhat 
towards  the  close  of  her  life,  was  never  so 
coherent  (save  on  the  subject  of  May-day  and 
the  sweeps)  as  when  she  speculated  as  to 
"who  was  to  have  the  lace''  after  the  old 
lady's  demise.  But  my  aunt  Jane  died  first, 
and  her  doubts  w^e  never  solved.  More  than 
this,  I  can  remember  a  fat-faced  old  gold 
watch  which  the  pretty  old  lady  wore  at 
her  waist ;  a  plethoric  mass  of  wheezing  gold, 
like  an  oyster  grown  rich  and  knowing 
the  time  of  day.  Attached  to  this  she  wore 
some  trinkets — not  the  nonsensical  charms 
or  breloques  that  young  ladies  wear  in  their 
chatelaines  now,  but  sensible,  substantial 
ornaments  —  a  signet-ring  of  her  grand- 
father's ;  a  smelling-bottle  covered  with  silver 
fillagree ;  and  a  little  golden  box  in  the  form 
of  a  book  with  clasps,  which  we  waggish 
youngsters  declared  to  be  the  old  lady's 
snuff-box,  but  which,  I  believe,  now,  to  have 
been  a  pouncet-box — ^the  seme  perhaps,  which 
the  lord,  who  was  perfumed  like  a  milliner, 
held  'twixt  his  finger  and  his  thumb  upon 
the  battle-field,  and  which,  ever  and  anon, 
he  gave  his  nose. 

I  trust  I  am  not  treading  upon  dangerous 
ground,  when  I  say,  that  two  of  the  chief 
prettinesses  of  the  pretty  old  lady  were  her 
feet  and  their  covering.     *'  To  ladies'  eyes 


around, boys!"  Certainly, Mr. Moore,we  can't 
refuse :  but  to  ladies'  feet,  a  round  boys, 
also,  if  you  please.  Now  the  pretty  old  lady 
had  the  prettiest  of  feet,  with  the  most  delicate 
of  gray  silk  stockings,  the  understandings  of 
the  finest,  softest,  most  lastrons  leather  that 
ever  came  Arom  innocent  kid.  I  will  back  those 
feet  (to  use  the  parlance  of  this  horse- 
racing  age)  and  those  shoes  and  stockings 
against  any  in  the  known  world,  in  ancient 
or  modem  history  or  romance:  against 
Dorothea's  tiny  feet  dabbling  in  the  stream : 
against  Musidora's  paddling  in  the  cool 
brook;  against  Sara  la  Baigneuse  swing- 
ing in  her  silken  hammock;  against  De 
Grammont's  Miss  Howard's  green  stockings ; 
against  Madam  de  Pompadour's  golden  clocks 
and  red-heeled  mules;  against  Noblet, 
Taglioni,  Cerito's ;  against  Madame  Yestris's, 
as  modelled  in  wax  bv  Signer  N.  N. 
There  are  no  such  feet  as  the  pretty  old  lady's 
now ;  or,  if  any  such  exist,  their  possessors 
don't  know  how  to  treat  them.  The  French 
ladies  are  rapidly  losing  the  art  of  putting  on 
shoes  and  stockings  with  taste :  and  I  deli- 
berately declare,  in  the  faoe  of  Europe,  that  I 
have  not  seen,  within  the  last  three  months  in 
Paris — from  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens  to  the 
Ball  of  the  Prefect  of  the  Seine— twenty  pairs 
of  irreproachable  feet  The  systematically 
arched  instep,  the  geometrical  ankle,  the 
gentle  curves  and  undulations,  the  delicate 
advancement  and  retrogression  of  the  foot 
of  beauty,  are  all  things  falling  into  de- 
cadence. The  American  overshoes,  the  ma- 
chine-made hosiery,  and  the  trailing  dra- 
peries, are  completing  the  ruin  of  shoes  and 
stockings. 

The  pretty  old  lady  had  never  been  married. 
Her  father  had  been  a  man  of  fashion— a  gay 
man — a  first-rate  buck,  a  sparkling  rake; 
he  had  known  lords,  he  had  driven  curricles, 
he  had  worn  the  finest  of  fine  liHen,  the  most 
resplendent  of  shoe-buckles ;  he  had  once 
come  into  the  possession  of  five  thousand 
pounds  sterling,  upon  which  capital-^uite 
casting  the  grovelling  doctrine  of  interest  to 
the  winds— ^he  bad  determined  to  try  the  fas- 
cinating experiment  of  living  at  the  rate  of 
five  thousand  a-year.  In  this  experiment  he 
succeeded  to  his  heart's  content  for  the 
exact  i>eriod  of  one  year  and  one  day,  after 
which  he  bad  lived  (at  the  same  rate)  on 
credit :  after  that  on  the  credit  of  his  credit ; 
after  that  on  his  wits ;  after  that  in  the  rules  of 
the  King's  Bench ;  after  that  on  the  certainty 
of  making  so  many  tricks,  nightly,  at  whist ; 
and  finally,  upon  hU  daughter.  For  the  pretty 
old  lady,  with  admirable  self-abnegation,  had 
seen  her  two  ugly  sisters  married ;  had,  with 
some  natural  tear8,refti8edCaptain  Cutts,of  the 
line,whom  she  loved  (but  who  had  nothing  but 
his  pay)and  hadcontentedlyaccepted  the  office 
of  a  governess;  whence,  after  much  self-denial, 
study,  striving,  pinching,  and  saving  (how 
many  times  her  little  cobwebs  of  economy 
were  ruthlessly  swept  away   by   her    gay 


91 


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100 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  by 


father's  turn  for  whist  and  hazard — cobwebs 
that  took  years  to  reconstruct !)  she  had  pro- 
moted herself  to  the  dignity  of  a  schoolmis- 
tress ;  governing  in  that  capacity  that  fine  old 
red-brick  ladies'  seminary  at  Paddington, 
— pulled  down  for  the  railway  now — Port- 
chester  House. 

'Twas  there  I  first  saw  the  pretty  old  lady : 
for  I  had  a  cousin  receiving  her  **  finishing" 
at  Portchester  House,  and  'twas  there — 
being  at  the  time  some  eight  years  of  age — 
that  I  first  fell  in  love  with  an  astonishingly 
beautiful  creature,  with  raven  hair  and  ga- 
zelle-like eyes,  who  was  about  seventeen,  and 
the  olde^  girl  in  the  school.  When  I  paid  my 
cousin  a  visit  I  was  occasionally  admitted — 
being  of  a  mild  and  watery  disposition,  and  a 
very  little  boy  of  my  age — to  the  honours  of 
the  tea  table.  I  used  to  sit  opposite  to  this 
black-eyed  Juno,  and  be  fed  by  her  with  slices 
of  those  curious  open-work  cross-barred  jam 
tarts,  which  are  so  frequently  met  with  at  gen- 
teel tea-tables.  I  loved  her  fondly,  wildly :  but 
she  dashed  my  spirits  to  the  ground  one  day, 
by  telling  me  not  to  make  fcu^es.  I  wonder 
whether  she  married  a  duke! 

The  pretty  old  lady  kept  schoolatPortchester 
House  for  many,  many  years,  supporting  and 
comforting  that  fashionable  fellow,  her  father. 
She  had  sacrificed  her  youth,  the  firstlings 
of  her  beauty,  her  love,  her  hopes,  every- 
thing. The  gay  fellow  had  grown  a  little 
paralytic  at  last ;  and,  becoming  very  old 
and  imbecile  and  harmless,  had  been  relegated 
to  an  upper  apartment  in  Portchester  House. 
Here,  for  several  years,  he  had  vegetated  in 
a  sort  of  semi-fabulous  existence  as  the  "  old 
gentleman :"  very  many  of  the  younger  ladies 
being  absolutely  unaware  of  him ;  till,  one 
evening,  a  neat  coffin  with  plated  nails  and 
handles,  arrived  at  Portchester  House,  for 
somebody  aged  seventy -three,  and  the 
cook  remaAed  to  the  grocer's  young  man, 
that  the  ''old  gentleman"  had  died  that 
morning. 

The  pretty  old  lady  continued  the  education 
of  generations  of  black-eyed  Junds,  in  French, 
geography,  the  use  of  the  globes,  and  the 
usual  branches  of  a  polite  education,  long 
after  her  father's  death.  Habit  is  habit; 
Lieutenant-Colonel  Cutts  had  died  of  fever  in 
the  Walcheren  expedition^-so  the  pretty  old 
lady  kept  school  at  Portchester  House  until 
she  was  very,  very  old.  When  she  retired,  she 
devised  all  her  savings  to  her  ugly  sisters' 
children;  and  calmly,  cheerfully,  placidly  pre- 
pared to  lay  herself  down  in  her  grave.  Ilers 
had  been  a  long  journey  and  a  sore  ser- 
vitude ;  but,  perhaps,  something  was  said 
to  her  at  the  end,  about  being  a  good 
and  faithful  servant,  and  that  it  was  well 
done. 

Such  is  the  dim  outline  which  the  picture 
in  my  portfolio  presents  to  me  of  the  pretty 
old  lady.  Sharpened  as  her  pretty  features 
were  by  age,  the  gentle  touch  of  years  of 
peace  of  an  equable  mind  and  calm  desires, 


had  passed  lovingly  over  the  acuities  of  her 
face,  and  softened  thenL  -  Wrinkles  she  must 
have  had,  for  the  stern  usurer  Time  will  have 
his  bond ;  but  she  had  smiled  her  wrinkK^s 
away,  or  had  laughed  them  into  dimples.  O ur 
just,  though  severe  mother.  Nature  had  re- 
warded her  for  having  worn  no  reu^e  in  her 
youth,  no  artificial  flowers  in  her  spring ;  and 
gave  her  blooming  roses  in  December.  Al- 
tiiough  the  sunset  of  her  eyes  was  come  and 
thev  could  not  bum  you  up,  or  melt  you  as 
in  the  noontide,  the  sky  was  yet  pure,  and  the 
luminary  sank  to  rest  in  a  bright  halo :  the 
shadows  that  it  cast  were  long,  but  sweet 
and  peacefhl,-— not  murky  and  terrible.  The 
night  was  coming ;  but  it  was  to  be  a  night 
starlit  with  faith  and  hope,  and  not  a  season 
of  black  storms. 

It  was  for  this  reason,  I  think,  that  being 
old,  feeling  old,  looking  old,  proud  of  being 
old,  and  yet  remaining  handsome,  the  pretty 
old  lady  was  so  beloved  by  all  the  pretty  girls. 
They  adored  her.  They  called  her  a  **  dear 
old  thing."  They  insisted  upon  trying  their 
new  bonnets,  shawls,  scarfs,  and  similar 
feminine  fal-lals,  upon  her.  They  made  her 
the  fashion,  and  dressed  up  to  her.  They 
never  made  her  spiteful  presents  of  fleccr 
hosiery,  to  guard  against  a  rheumatism  witn 
which  she  was  not  afflicted ;  or  entreated  her 
to  tie  her  face  up  when  she  had  no  toothache ; 
or  bawled  in  her  ear  on  the  erroneous  as- 
sumption that  she  was  deaf, — as  girls  will 
do,  in  pure  malice,  when  age  forgets  its 
privileges,  and  apes  the  levity  and  spright- 
liness  of  youth.  Above  all,  they  trusted 
her  with  love-secrets  (I  must  mention,  that 
though  a  spinster,  the  pretty  old  lady  was 
always  addressed  as  Mistress).  She  was  great 
in  love  matters, — a  complete  letter-writer, 
without  its  verbosity :  as  prudent  as  Pamela, 
as  tender  as  Amelia,  as  judicious  as  Hooker,  as 
dignified  as  Sir  Charles  Grandison.  She  could 
scent  a  Lovelace  at  an  immense  distance,  bid 
Tom  Jones  mend  his  ways,  reward  the  con- 
stancy of  an  Uncle  Toby,  and  reform  a  Cap- 
tain Booth.  I  warrant  the  perverse  widow 
and  Sir  Roger  de  Coverly  would  have  been 
brought  together,  had  the  pretty  old  lady 
known  the  parties  and  been  consulted.  She 
was  conscientious  and  severe,  but  not  into- 
lerant and  implacable.  She  did  not  consider 
every  man  In  love  a  **  wretch,"  or  every 
woman  in  love  a  "  silly  thing."  She  was 
pitiful  to  love,  for  she  had  known  it  She 
could  tell  a  tale  of  love  as  moving  as 
any  told  to  her.  Its  hero  died  at  Wal- 
cheren. 

Where  shall  I  find  pretty  old  ladles  now- 
a-days?  Where  are  they  gone,— those  gentle, 
kindly,  yet  dignified,  antiquated  dames,  mar- 
ri^  and  single  ? 

My  young  friend  Adolescens  comes  and 
tells  me  that  I  am  wrong,  and  that  there 
are  as  many  good  old  ladies  now  as  of 
yore.  It  may  be  so ;  it  may  be,  that  wo 
think  those  pleasant  companionships  lost  be* 


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CbttriM  Diekens.] 


THE  BOARD  OF  TRADE. 


101 


cause  the  years  are  gone  in  which  we  enjoyed 
them ;  and  that  we  imagine  there  are  no  more 
0I4  ladies,  because  those  we  loved  are  dead. 


THE  BOARD  OF  TRADE. 

A  lARGE  part  of  the  administration  of  the 
domestic  affairs  of  this  country,  which  does 
not  come  under  the  cognizance  of  the  Home 
Office*  and  the  Treasury,  is  confided  to  a  go- 
vernment department  called  the  Board  of 
Trade.  Its  formal  title  is,  the  Committee  of 
the  Privy  Council  appointed  for  the  Con- 
sideration of  all  matters  relating  to  Trade 
and  Foreign  Plantations. 

Though  the  Board  of  Trade  is  now,  as  it 
ought  to  be  in  the  ^eatest  trading  countrv  in 
the  world,  a  useful  institution,  its  earlier  his- 
tory is  not  respectable.  Its  origin  was,  how- 
ever, good;  for  it  began  with  Cromwell, who  ap- 
pointed his«on  Richard,  and  many  lords  of  his 
council,  to  meet  and  consider  by  what  means 
trade  and  navigation  might  be  regulated  and 
promoted.  Before  Cromwell's  time  English 
sovereigns  had,  for  a  century,  been  accustomed 
now  and  then,  to  direct  their  privy  councils 
to  discuss  particular  questions  of  trade:  but  it 
was  Cromwell  who  established  first  a  trade 
department  of  the  state,  and  the  labours  of 
the  committee  so  established  helped  to  pro- 
duce the  nayigatlon  laws  of  the  Pro- 
tectorate. Cromwell's  committee,  however, 
was  the  thing  without  a  name ;  a  Board  of 
Trade,  distinctly  so-called,  did  not  come  into 
existence  till  the  restoration,  when  it  was 
established  at  the  instigation  of  Lord 
Shaftesbury ;  a  nobleman  who,  though  bv  no 
means  upon  all  points  sincere,  took,  there 
is  every  reason  to  believe,  a  real  interest  in 
the  developement  of  Commerce.  This  is  the 
Board  denounced  by  Burke  as  <'  one  amongst 
those  showy  and  specious  impositions,  which 
one  of  the  experiment-making  administrations 
of  Charles  the  Second,  held  out  to  delude  the 
people  and  to  be  substituted  in  the  place  of 
the  real  service  which  thejrmicht  expect  from 
a  parliament  annually  sitting.''  The  continu- 
ance of  the  Board,  good  or  bad,  at  any  rate, 
was  brief.  Projected  in  sixteen  hundred  and 
sixty-eight,  it  perished  in  sixteen  hundred  and 
seventy-three ;  the  expense  of  it  being  found 
inconvenient  to  his  sacred  but  straightened 
majesty. 

During  the  war  with  France  which  fol- 
lowed the  Revolution  of  sixteen  hundred 
and  eighty-eight,  our  trade  suffered  greatly 
from  French  cruisers  and  privateers.  Occa- 
sion was  thereupon  taken  by  a  faction  hostile 
to  King  William  the  Third  to  propose  the  esta- 
blishment of  a  Board  for  the  Protection  of 
Trade  in  parliament  itself,  so  constituted  as  of 
necessity  to  draw  into  itself  the  chief  func- 
tions of  both  the  Treasury  and  the  Admiralty, 
and  thus  deprive  the  king  of  a  large  part  of 
his  prerogative.  The  government  with  diffi- 
culty defeated  this  design,  by  opposing  to  it 


•  8m  Yolame  X.,  page  270. 


that  revival  of  the  Board  of  Trade  and  Plan- 
tations, which  took  place  in  the  year  sixteen 
hundred  and  ninety-six.  ^*  Thus,''  according 
to  Burke's  comment,  '^  the  Board  of  Trade 
was  reproduced  in  a  job,  and  perhaps,''  he 
adds,  speaking  bitterly,  in  the  year  seventeen 
hundred  and  eighty,  *'  it  is  the  only  Instance 
of  a  public  body  which  has  never  degenerated; 
but,  to  this  hour,  preserves  all  the  health  and 
vigour  of  its  primitive  institution." 

The  Board,  as  constituted  in  the  year  six- 
teen hundred  and  ninety-six,  consisted,  in 
addition  to  the  great  officers  of  state,  of  a 
first  lord  and  seven  commissioners,  each  paid 
with  a  thousand  pounds  a  year.  Their  duty 
was  to  promote  the  trade  of  the  king- 
dom, and  to  inspect  and  improve  the 
plantations.  The  appointment  of  so  many 
well-paid  officials,  in  times  of  political  corrup- 
tion, led  to  much  dishonest  dealing,  and  the 
work  of  the  Board,  so  far  as  it  i&ected  co- 
lonies, was  purely  mischievous.  The  only 
colonies  established  by  it,  Georgia  and  Nova- 
Scotia,  cost  vast  sums  to  the  nation,  and  never 
prospered  until  A:eed  from  the  intermeddling 
of  their  founders.  Correspondence  between 
the  crown  and  the  colonies  was  indeed  car- 
ried on,  nominally,  through  a  secretary  of 
state ;  but  the  secretary  acted  upon  the  reports 
and  opinions  of  the  Board  of  Trade  in  all 
matters  relating  to  colonial  government  and 
commerce. 

The  mischief-making  of  the  Board  of 
Trade  came  to  its  climax  in  the  reign  of 
George  the  Third,  after  that  king  had' re- 
solved to  break  the  power  of  the  great  Whig 
families  of  the  revolution,  to  whom  he,  as  one 
of  the  house  of  Hanover,  was  indebted  for 
the  English  crown.  George  the  Thud  deshr- 
ing  to  increase  his  personal  authority  over  the 
government,  he  and  the  ministers  who  8to<^»ed 
to  his  desires,  endeavoured  to  win  the  support 
of  the  landed  interest  to.  his  new  system,  by 
transferring  to  the  colonies  the  weight  of 
many  burthens  pressing  heavily  on  land- 
owners in  England.  During;  the  early  part, 
therefore,  of  this  king's  reign,  the  Board  of 
Trade  was  constantly  employed  in  devising 
those  experiments  for  taxing  the  American 
colonies  which  led  to  their  noble  war  of 
Independence  and  cut  off  the  United  States 
from  the  British  empire.  While  the  Board 
of  Trade  was  occupied  in  this  way  it  was 
doing  little  enough,  and  nothing  usefUl,  to 
advance  the  commerce  of  the  realm. 

Although  a'  secretary  of  state  for  the 
colonies  had  been  appointed  in  the  year 
seventeen  hundred  and  sixty-eight,  the 
powers  of  the  Board  of  Trade  remained  un- 
altered until  the  year  seventeen  hundred  and 
eighty-two^  when  the  righteous  successes 
of  the  American  colonists  rendered  eco- 
nomies in  England  unavoidable.  The 
Board,  as  it  then  stood,  was  accordingly 
abolished,  and  the  business  of  the  depart-  ' 
ment  was  made  over  to  a  permanent  com- 
mittee of  the  privy  council,  constituted  as  it 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


102 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoDdDctvd  by 


is  at  present.  Chiefly  by  this  committee  were 
conducted  the  enqairiea  that  preceded  the 
abolition  of  the  English  slave-trade;  bat, 
with  that  exception,  its  duties  were  light  until 
the  close  of  war  in  eighteen  hundred  and 
fifteen.  During  the  long  peace  that  followed, 
and  especially  during  the  last  fourteen  years, 
the  real  uses  of  the  Board  of  Trade  have  been 
developed.  It  has  ceased  to  regulate  colonial 
aflfairs,  and  is  concerned  only  with  tiie  com- 
mercial state  of  the  united  kingdom. 

The  Board  of  Trade  as  it  now  stands,  consists 
of  two  paid  acting  members,  a  president  and  a 
vice-president,  three  or  four  selected  privy 
councillors  who  are  generally  retired  state- 
functionaries,  and  of  a  number  of  privy-coun- 
cillors who  hold  official  seats  in  the  com- 
mittee, namely,  the  Furst  Lord  of  the  Treasury, 
the  Secretaries  of  State,  the  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer,  the  Lord  Chancellor,  the  Speaker 
of  the  House  of  Commons,the  Chancellor  of  the 
Duchy  of  Lancaster,  the  Paymaster-General, 
and  such  officers  of  state  in  Ireland  as  may  hap- 
pen to  be  English  privy-councillors.  Such  is 
the  constitution  and  composition  of  the  "  Com- 
mittee of  the  Privy  Council  appointed  for  the 
Consideration  of  all  matters  relating  to  Trade 
and  Foreign  Plantations.''  But  for  almost  all 
working  purposes  the  Board  of  Trade  simply 
consists  of  its  president  and  vice-president, 
and  of  the  staff  of  officials  under  their  control. 
The  president  and  vice-president,  of  course,  go 
out  and  come  in  with  the  ministries  to  which 
they  may  belong.  One  site  in  the  lower  and 
the  other  in  the  upper-house,  and  each 
receives  as  his  salary  two  thousand  pounds  a- 
year.  However  they  may  privately  divide 
their  work,  the  responsibility  of  these  two 
officers  is  not  divisible ;  and,  as  one  is  bound  to 
answer  to  the  lords,  the  other  to  the  commons, 
it  is  necessary  that  each  should  be  cognisant 
of  all  the  business  of  his  department. 

It  is  the  duty  of  the  Board  of  Trade  to  be 
as  well  informed  as  possible  on  all  matters  re- 
lating to  trade,  in  order  to  advise  other  depart- 
ments on  questions  in  which  the  commerce  of 
Ihe  country  is  concerned.  It  is  required  to 
examine  and  report  to  the  Colonial-office  on 
all  acts  of  the  colo^ial  legislatures  affecting 
trade ;  to  direct  the  parliamentary  course  of 
all  government  bills  concerning  commerce, 
and  to  watch  those  which  may  have  been  in- 
troduced bv  private  members.  It  assists  Uxe 
Foreign-olfice  in  the  negoclation  of  com- 
mercial treaties.  It  advises  the  crown  on  all 
applications  by  projected  commercial  com- 
plies for  charters  of  incorporation ;  com- 
municates with  the  great  seats  of  commerce; 
examines  consular  corren>ondence  on  com- 
mercial subjects,  and  receives  and  keeps  all 
Foreign-oiS^e  docnments  that  concern  our 
trade  and  navigation.  These  factions  belong 
to  the  general  scheme  of  the  department.  By 
naming  the  chief  special  labours  that  have 
been  imposed  upon  the  Board  of  Trade,  since 
the  vear  eighteen  hundred  and  thirty,  we 
shall,  perhaps,  best  show  how  steadily  that 


branch  of  government  has,  of  late,  been  in- 
creasing in  importance. 

In  eighteen  nundred  and  thirty-two  it  was 
charged  with  the  duty  of  collecting  and  pub- 
lishing statistical  information. 

Since  eighteen  hundred  and  forty  it  has 
exercised  a  certain  degree  of  control  over 
railway  companies.  During  about  the  same 
length  of  time  government  schools  of  design 
have  been  placed  under  its  superintendence. 

Offices  for  the  regulation  of  joint  stock 
companies,  and  for  the  registration  of  designs 
have  also  been  attached  to  it 

In  eighteen  hundred  and  fifty  it  was  charged 
with  supervision  of  the  merchant  shipping. 

In  eighteen  hundred  and  fifty-one  it  re- 
ceived large  powers  of  controul  over  the  steam 
navigation  of  the  country. 

And  last  year  the  shipping  laws  generally 
have  been  consolidated  and  placed  under  its 
superintendence. 

The  general  business  of  this  department  of 
state  is  carried  on  in  Whitehall ;  but  there 
are  detached  offices  elsewhere  for  the  trans- 
acting of  certain  portions  of  its  business. 
The  annual  cost  of  the  office  of  the  Board  of 
Trade — which  finds  work  for  a  staff  of  one 
hundred  and  twenty-four  persons — is  about 
forty-six  thousand  pounds.  The  president 
and  the  vice-president  have  the  salaries 
already  mentioned;  two  joint-secretaries 
receive  not  much  less,  namely,  three  thousand 
five  hundred  pounds  a  year  between  them. 
The  private  secretaries  of  the  president  and 
vice-president  receive  respectively  three  hun- 
dred and  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a 
year.  An  assistant  secretary  for  the  railway 
department  has  a  thousand;  one  for  the 
marine  department  eight  hundred,  growing 
to  a  thousand  by  the  usual  annual  increase. 
A  chief  of  the  statistical  department  has 
eight  hundred:  his  assistant  four  hundred 
and  eighty.  The  railway  chiefs  assistant's 
salary  grows  till  he  receives  four  hundred 
and  fifty ;  a  legal  assistant  for  railway  busi- 
ness has  five  hundred  guineas.  Three  inspec- 
tors of  railways  have  together  eleven  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds.  There  are  two  sea  captains 
attached  to  the  marine  department  who 
divide  between  them  fourteen  hundred 
pounds.  There  is  a  librarian  with  about  six 
nundred,  and  an  accountant  with  allbut  nine 
hundred  a  year.  Then  there  are  the  comp- 
troller and  deputy  comptroller  of  corn 
returns,  with  five  hundred  and  four  hundred 
a  year  respectively.  There  are  six  senior, 
nine  second,  and  twelve  junior  clerks,  with 
salaries  beginning  at  a  hundred  and  ascend- 
ing to  six  hundred  pounds.  There  are  fifteen 
copyists  at  eighty  pounds  a  year ;  an  office- 
keeper,  a  housekeeper,  and  a  dozen  messen- 
gers and  porters.  These  people  all  work  at 
the  office  in  WhitehalL  At  the  office  of  the 
registrar  of  merchant  seamen  there  are  em- 
ployed, a  registrar,  with  from  seven  to  eight 
hundred,  an  assistant  registrar,  with  five  hun- 
dred and  a  chief  clerk  with  four  hundred  a 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CharlMlMekaM.] 


THE  BOARD  OF  TRAD£. 


103 


year.  Under  these  are  for^  clerks,  in  fi^e 
divisions,  of  whom  the  salaries  ascend  Arom 
eighty  to  three  hondred  and  fifty  pounds. 
The  progressive  rise  of  salary  is  managed 
npon  the  principle  described  in  oar  account 
of  the  Home  Department,  it  being  one  that 
is  common  to  all  government  ofBc^ 

Certain  changes  in  ^e  staff  of  the  Board  of 
Trade  have  been  suggested,  and  are  being 
carried  oat  It  is  proposed,  for  example,  to 
have  onl^  one  chief  secretaiy,  and  under  him 
three  assistant  secretarie8--^ne  for  the  gene- 
ral trade  department,  one  for  railway  busi- 
ness, and  one  for  the  mercantile  marine.  It 
is  thought  that  the  statistics  and  com  returns 
may  be  thrown  into  the  business  of  the  gene- 
ral trade  department,  and  that  the  number 
of  the  clerks  may  be  reduced  by  increasing 
the  number  of  copyists. 

By  adopting  the  division  into  three  parts, 
recognised  by  the  suggestion  of  tiie  three 
assistant  secretaries,  we  can  describe  the  busi- 
ness of  the  Board  of  Trade  in  an  extremely 
simple  manner.  The  general  trade  depart- 
ment, which  would  have  cognisance  of  mis- 
cellaneous matters  Jt  will  be  most  convenient 
to  speak  of  last.  We  begin,  therefore,  with 
the  Board^s  concern  in  rauway  management, 
aad  in  the  superintendence  of  the  mercantile 
marine. 

The  English  railway  system,  as  every  one 
knows,  is  the  r^ult  of  private  enteiprise. 
Parliament  has  passed  some  general  laws  to 
regulate  the  internal  admimstration  of  the 
companies  with  regard  to  capital,  direction, 
meetings  of  sharSiolderSt  dividends,  pur- 
chase of  land,  etc,  to  protect  the  public 
against  very  improper  construction  and  work- 
ing of  the  lines  of  rail,  to  ensure  due  convey- 
ance upon  fixed  terms  of  troops  and  of  the 
mails.  Both  houses  have  their  standing 
orders  which  establish  conditions  that  all 
applicants  on  behalf  of  railway  enterprise 
are  l)ound  to  fulfiL 

In  the  first  place  notice  of  each  intended 
applicatton  must  be  sent  to  the  Board  of  Trade 
before  a  certain  day  which  precedes  each 
meeting  of  parliament.  All  applications  so 
received  are  classified  by  the  Board,  and  pre- 
soited  in  a  report  made  to  the  House  of  Com- 
mons as  soon  as  it  assembles.  By  help  of  this 
report  the  general  railway  committee  of  the 
house  is  enabled  to  distribute  the  various 
projects  in  tlie  most  convenient  way  among 
the  sub-committees,  which  decide  upon  their 
fate,  and  from  whose  decision  applicants 
have  no  appeal.  Should  a  railway  project 
deposited  with  the  Board  of  Trade,  after 
careful  examination  be  found  to  contain  In  its 
provisions  any  lend  defect  or  matter  that 
seems  to  be  prejudicial  to  the  public  interests, 
the  Board  directs  to  that  Uci  the  attention  of 
the  chairman  of  the  general  committee.  Any 
clauses  or  amendments  Uiat  may  be  required 
to  give  effect  to  its  suggestions  it  prepares, 
and  after  the  bill  in  question  has  passed  the 
ordeal  oi  the  parliamentary  sul>-committee. 


the  Board  of  Trade  again  looks  for  any  flaws 
that  it  may  contain,  and  if  they  appear,  points 
them  out  to  the  chairman.  Finally^  in  order 
to  provide  still  greater  security  to  the  public, 
there  is  a  standing  order  of  the  House  of  * 
Lords  that  no  railway  bill  shall  be  read  a 
third  time  in  that  house  unless  it  has  been 
deposited  three  days  before  such  reading 
with  the  Board  of  Trade  ;  so  that  it  receives 
then  a  third  scrutiny  from  the  Board  with 
especial  reference  to  its  bearing  on  the  public 
interests.  The  points  chiefly  looked  to  in 
the  course  of  these  three  scrutinies,  concern 
the  way  of  raising  and  applving  capital,  pre« 
vention  of  excessive  borrowing,  or  of  the  pay- 
ment of  interest  out  of  capital  f-  a  due  adjust- 
ment of  the  rights  of  shareholders,  provUion 
for  compensaticm  according  to  Uie  very 
various  cases  that  may  possiblv  arise,  and 
the  insertion  of  a  clause  subjecting  the  rail- 
wav  to  the  authority  of  future  legation. 

After  a  railway  has  been  authorised  and  its 
construction  is  complete,  it  cannot  be  opened 
unless  notice  of  its  completion  has  been  sent 
to  the  Board  of  Trade,  and  it  has  been  ex- 
amined and  approved  by  the  Board's  railway 
inq[>ectors.  If  anytliing  be  found  unsafe  or 
incomplete  the  opening  must  be  postponed 
until  the  scruples  of  the  Board  are  satisfied. 
After  the  railway  has  been  opened,  its  line 
and  rolling  stock  must  be  at  all  times  open 
to  the  visits  of  the  government  inspectors. 
Upon  the  construction  of  roads  and  bridges, 
upon  questions  of  junctions,  curves,  gradients, 
etc.,  in  connexion  with  railway  works,  the 
decision  of  the  Board  is  final;  and  it  may, 
after  hearing  evidence,  by  its  certificate,  per- 
mit any  necessary  deviation  f^om  the  plans 
and  sections  authorised  by  parliament  The 
Board  of  Trade  may  also  regulate  the  speed 
of  trains  with  a  view  to  the  safety  of  the 
public,  and  the  hours  appointed  for  the  run- 
ning on  each  line  of  the  one  parliamentary 
train  that  is  required  to  take  passengers  for 
a  penny  a  ibile,  at  a  rate  not  less  than  twelve 
miles  an  hour,  must  be  such  as  the  Board  of 
Trade  has  sanctioned.  The  Board  abjudicates 
in  case  of  dispute  between  railway  and  rail- 
way, gives  effect  by  its  approval  to  the  bye- 
laws  of  each  company,  requbresfVom  all  rail- 
way companies  annual  returns  of  tolls  and 
traffic  as  well  as  accidents,  and  being 
charged  generally  with  the  enforcement  of 
all  railway  acts  is  at  the  same  time  the 
official  referee  to  crown  and  parliament  on 
any  railway  question  that  arises.  Here,  then, 
is  no  lack  of  work  for  one  department  of  the 
Board  of  Trade.    We  pass  on  to  another. 

One  consequence  of  the  repeal  of  the  old 
English  navigation  laws  was  the  necessity  for 
a  new  regulation  of  the  merchant  service. 
This  task  was  undertaken  in-  the  year 
eighteen  hundred  and  fifty,  and  is  consi- 
dered to  have  been  completed  last  year.  Five 
years  ago  no  department  of  state  was  charged 
with  the  care  of  the  merchant  service.  We 
have  now  a  marine  department  of  the  Board 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


104 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDa 


[Condoctod  by 


of  Trade,  consisting  of  two  sea-captains^  an 
assistant-secretary,  and  a  proper  establish- 
ment of  clerks.  A  local  marine  board  may 
be  established  at  any  ontport  that  employs  in 
*  foreign  trade  thirty  thousand  registered  tons 
of  shipping,  and  at  sixteen  snch  ports  these 
boards  have  been  established.  In  each  case 
thBy  are  composed  of  two  members  belonging 
to  the  municipality,  four  persons  resident  on 
the  spot  who  are  nominated  by  the  Board  of 
Trade,  and  six  who  are  named  by  local 
owners,  the  possession  of  at  least  two  hundred 
and  fifty  registered  tons  of  foreign-going  ship 
being  requisite  to  qualify  each  owner  for  his 
vote.  If  any  local  board  falls  In  its  duty,  the 
Board  of  Trade  may  either  cause  it  to  be 
superseded  or  assume  its  functions.  The  local 
boards,  which  are  required  to  be  in  constant 
correspondence  with  the  registrar  of  mer- 
chant seamen,  must  provide  shipping  offices 
and  shipping  masters  for  their  several  ports, 
and  also  medical  inspectors. 

The  registrar  of  merchant  seamen,  whose 
office,  subordinate  to  the  Board  of  Trade,  is  In 
Thames  Street,  records  all  voyages  of  ships, 
and  keeps  a  register  of  seamen  and  appren- 
tices, in  which  he  enters  the  characters  given 
them  by  their  masters,  and  other  information. 
The  shipping  offices  in  the  various  ports  keep 
and  transmit  to  head-quarters  similar  re- 
cords. Masters  before  clearing  out  must 
leave  lists  of  thehr  crews  at  the  custom-house 
of  their  ports,  to  be  transmitted  to  the 
registrar.  The  whereabouts  of  every  seaman 
and  his  business  history  is  thus  on  record. 
Masters  of  vessels  wanting  crews  have  only 
to  apply  to  the  shipping  masters  at  the 
shipping  offices,  to  which  sailors  in  want  of 
ships  also  resort,  at  which  alone  contracts 
can  be  made,  crews  discharged,  and  accounts^ 
between  master  and  man  settled.  Balances  of 
wages  due  to  deceased  seamen  are  also  ascer- 
tained and  paid  into  the  hands  of  the  ship- 
ping masters  for  the  benefit  of  their  next 
of  kin,  these  balances  having  been  formerly 
nearly  all  lost  b^  the  families  of  the  lost  men. 
Even  now  there  is  a  three  years  accumulation 
of  such  balances  that  have  remained  un- 
claimed, to  the  extent  of  no  less  than  ten 
thousand  pounds. 

The  registrar  of  seamen  also  keeps  account 
of  all  contracts  of  apprenticeship.  The  old 
navigation  laws  compelled  every  ship  to  take 
a  ceitain  number  of  apprentices,  and  the  with- 
drawal of  compulsion  very  much  reduced  the 
number  ofvouths  entered  to  the  merchant 
service.  With  a  view  to  the  encouragement 
in  boys  of  a  seagoing  taste,  the  Board  of 
Trade  proposes  to  establish  nautical  classes 
in  all  the  national  schools  of  seaport  towns. 
Schools  for  adults,  we  may  add,  have  been 
attached  to  the  sailors'  homes  of  the  metro- 
polis. The  sailors'  homes,  established  now  In 
all  large  ports,  provide  good  board  and  lodg- 
ing to  the  seamen  at  a  reasonable  rate — about 
fourteen  shillings  a-week->and  are  meant  to 
«ave  him  from  the  hands  of  thieves  and  fh>m 


the  haunts  of  vice.  Like  ships,  they  are,  how- 
ever, monasteries ;  and  while  they  do  much 
good,  must  to  a  certain  extent  fail  of  their 
intentions.  Upon  this,  as  upon  many  other 
points  in  the  sketch  we  are  here  giving, 
comments  will  occur  to  many  minds.  It  is 
our  purpose,  however,  in  giving  outlines  of 
the  business  of  government  departments,  to 
state  only  what  arrangements  are  existing. 
The  local  charges  that  arise  out  of  machinery 
connected  witn  the  merchant  service  is  a 
little  more  than  paid  for  by  a  tax  upon  the 
seamen's  earnings. 

Among  other  duties  of  the  Board  of  Trade 
in  its  marine  department  these  may  be  speci- 
fied. It  obtains  shipphig  returns  ftom  con- 
suls at  foreign  ports,  or  other  crown  officers 
able  to  fhmish  them.  It  may  demand  of 
any  shipmaster  his  logbook,  and  cause 
his  papers  to  be  inspected,  or  his  crew 
mustered,  should  such  a  proceeding  appear 
necessary.  It  appoints  inspectors  to  report 
on  accidents  at  sea,  and  gives  them  extensive 
powers  for  the  jmrpose  of  enquli*y.  It  super- 
intends the  new  system  of  examination  to 
test  the  capacity  of  masters  and  mates  of 
vessels^  and  furnish  them  with  classed  certifi- 
cates according  to  their  merit  Examiners 
are  appointed  hj  the  local  boards,  and  the 
Board  of  Trade  issues  certificates  (which  in 
case  of  misconduct  it  may  suspend  or  cancel) 
in  accordance  with  the  examiners'  reports. 

Over  steam-vessels  carrying  passengers  the 
Board  of  trade  exercises  much  control.  It 
appoints  for  their  examination  a  shipwright 
and  an  engineer,  and  compels  owners  under 
heavy  penalties  to  submit  their  steam  vessels 
to  such  surveillance  twice  a  year— namely,  in 
April  and  October.  Sea  or  river  certificates, 
for  which  a  fee  is  paid,  are  allowed  only  on 
the  reports  of  the  surveyors.  Lists  of  the 
qualified  steamers  are  hung  up  in  the  custom- 
house of  each  port,  and  if  a  vessel  plys  with- 
out a  license,  it  is  liable  to  heavy  penalties. 

Upon  the  third  division  of  the  business  of 
the  Board  of  Trade,  its  general  and  miscel- 
laneous duties,  something  has  already  been 
said,  and  a  few  more  notes  will  suffice.  It 
has  an  office  in  Seijeant's  Inn  for  the  regis- 
tration of  joint  stock  companies.  At  this 
office,  when  such  a  company  has  been  pro- 
jected, very  ftill  particulars  must  be  filed,  and 
certain  fees  paid.  The  scheme  being  thus 
"provisionally  registered,"  may  then — ^bat 
not  until  then — ^be  publicly  submitted  to  the 
world.  No  such  company,  however,  can 
commence  business  untu  its  registration  has 
been  made  complete,  and  "  complete  registra- 
tion" cannot  be  had  by  it  until  the  draft  of 
its  deed  of  settlement  has  been  approved  by 
the  Board  of  Trade,  and  sent  in  fully  signed, 
with  four  copies  for  filing  in  the  registratioa 
office.  The  company  then  has  the  legal  pri- 
vileges of  a  c<H^ration.  Companies  of  all 
kinds  have  to  be  provisionally  registered,  but 
when — as  in  the  case  of  railway  companies — 
they  can  be  established  only  by  an  act  of 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ChtttU*  Dlekena] 


TWO  FRENCH  FARMERS. 


105 


parliament,  the  .act  sapersedes  the  necessity 
for  a  completion  of  the  registry.  The  coet  of 
this  office  is  under  three  thousand  a-jear,  and 
it  takes  six  thousand  in  fees,  so  that  it  yields 
a  profit  to  the  exchequer  in  the  sliape  of  a  tax 
on  joint  stoclc  partnership. 

The  Board  of  Trade  is  further  charged 
with  the  promotion  of  science  and  ark  in 
their  relation  with  industrial  pursuits.  It 
therefore  has  central  training-schools  for 
teachers  and  local  schools  of  design,  which  it 
maintains  by  inspection,  hj  a  cheap  supply 
of  good  models,  etc,  by  tramin^  teachers,  en- 
couraging students  with  exhibitions,  and  by 
limited  pecuniary  help.  There  are  in  the 
proyinces  no  schools  of  science;  but  there 
are  twenty-one  schools  of  design,  to  which 
annual  grants  are  made,  varying  from  one 
hundred  and  fifty  to  six  hundred  pounds 
a-piece.  The  grants  are  administered  by 
local  committees,  suliject  to  the  direction  of 
the  Board  of  Trade.  An  attempt  is  also 
being  made  to  induce  the  formation  of  self- 
supporting  schools  of  design,  by  guaranteeing 
for  the  first  year  a  master^s  salary.  In  con- 
nection with  the  central  school  of  design  at 
Marlborough  House,  lectures  are  deliyered 
upon  fabrics,  wood  engraving,  porcelain 
painting,  casting,  and  such  topics.  There  are 
two  other  training  schools  in  London— one  at 
Somerset  House  for  males,  the  other  in 
Gk>wer  Street  for  females. 

For  the  encouragement  of  science  there 
exists  at  present  only  a  central  school  con- 
nected with  the  Museum  of  Practical 
Greology  in  Jermyn  Street.  It  has  labora- 
tories and  professors.  It  is  the  home  also  of 
the  geological  survey  and  mining  records. 
The  whole  department  of  art  and  practical 
science  costs  forty-five  thousand  pounds 
a-^ear.  All  the  institutions  in  association 
with  it  furnish  annual  reports,  and  obtain 
every  year  some  little  direct  attention  from 
the  legislature. 

There  is  an  office  in  Whitehall  Place 
belonging  to  the  Board  of  Trade  for  the 
registration  of  useful  and  ornamental 
designs.  The  registry  is  first  provisional  and 
then  complete;  when  complete  it  confers  a 
copyright  for  a  limited  period,  varying  from 
nine  months  for  a  shawl  pattern  to  three 
years  for  a  carpet  or  for  articles  in  earthen- 
ware, wood,  glass,  or  metal. 

The  corn-office,  which  Is  now  a  separate 
department,  haft  lost  all  its  glory  since  the 
abolition  of  the  sliding-ecale.  It  used  to  fix 
by  averages  struck  from  six  weeks  returns  of 
price,  the  fluctuating  rate  of  duty.  Now  it 
is  merely  a  producer  of  statistics.  The  statis- 
tical department  of  the  Board  of  Trade  was 
devised  for  great  purposes.  It  was  to  pro- 
vide figures  on  all  subjects ;  but  since  every 
department  makes  its  own  tables,  more  than 
half  the  work  of  this  statistical  department 
is  executed  and  published  and  paid  for  in 
duplicate.  These  are  the  two  departments 
which  it  is  proposed  to  reduce  to  their  just 


proportions,  uid  throw  into  the  miscellaneous 
business  of  the  Board  of  Trade, 

Througliout  the  preceding  account,  it  will 
be  observed  the  Board  of  ^l^de  and  Planta- 
tions is  concerned  with  trade  alone.  Recently, 
some  part  of  its  function  as  an  authority 
upon  colonial  matters  was  revived  by  Lord 
Grey.  That  nobleman,  when  colonial  minis- 
ter, being  required  to  frimish  constitutions 
for  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  and  the  Austra- 
lian colonies,  remitted  so  grave  a  responsi- 
bility to  the  whole  *•  Committee  of  the  Privy 
Council  appointed  for  the  Consideration  of  all 
matters  relating  to  Trade  and  Foreign  Planta- 
tions." The  president  and  vice-president  were 
then,  for  once,  surrounded  by  the  whole 
august  body  of  privy  councillors,  otherwise 
attached  only  nominally  to  their  board,  and 
in  such  committee  the  outlines  of  these  two 
colonial  constitutions  were  defined. 


TWO  FRENCH  FARMERS. 

Desibing,  for  the  sake  of  experience,  to  live 
during  some  time  in  the  household  of  one  of 
the  simkll  proprietors  abounding  in  the  villages 
of  France,  I  took  the  train  at  Paris  for  a  place 
of  which  I  knew  nothing  and  had  never  heard 
the  name.  In  an  hour  I  was  set  down  at  the 
station,  quitting  which,  I  found  myself  on  a 
large  plain  covered  with  ripening  harvests. 
The  walk  of  a  mile  or  two  brought  me  to 
some  white  houses  roofed  with  red  tiles  and 
embedded  in  a  iiest  of  fruit  trees.  That  was 
my  village.  Beyond,  rose  a  hill  cultivated 
half-way  to  the  top,  and  giving  promise  of  a 
happy  vintage.  Seen  from  a  little  distance 
all  looked  welL 

Closer  acquaintance,  however,  did  not  pre- 
possess me  with  the  place  I  had  chosen  for  a 
temporary  home.  The  entrance  to  the  vil- 
lage was  quite  wretched ;  the  roadway  was 
broken  up  and  full  of  ruts  or  rubbish  heaps ; 
the  hedges  ran  to  waste  and  rubbed  the  carts  ' 
tliat  paffied  between ;  the  fruit  trees  had  an 
aged  look;  the  palings  before  houses  were 
broken  or  wormeaten ;  a  .black  pool,  about 
which  pigs  and  ducks  were  busy,  received 
the  filth  of  the  place  and  filled  the  air 
with  pestilence.  To  this  pool  men  brought 
cattle  to  water;  and  here,  women  were 
beating  and  rinsing  reddish-brown  stuffs, 
kneeling  upon  straw  and  sticking  their  stuff 
with  the  battoir  or  round  stick  on  a  smooth 
deal  plank  laid  for  the  purpose.  This  was 
perhaps  enough  of  clothes  washing  to  satisfy 
a  population  Siat  seemed  to  be  almost  wholly 
unaccustomed  to  the  washing  of  the  person. 

A  high  and  thick  lichen-covered  wall, 
piejroed  by  a  large  doorway,  belonged  to 
the  sort  of  farm  with  which  I  wished  to 
make  acquaintance.  I  pulled  the  latcbet 
of  a  small  side  door,  and  entered  a  court 
that  I  had  to  travel  ankle-deep  in  mire 
and  the  accumulated  refuse  of  the  stables. 
Cocks   and   hens,   pigs,   ducks  and    their 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


106 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


ducklings,  tnrkeTS,  and  geeee  were  the  <^pa- 
rent  live  stock ;  and,  under  a  shed  close  at 
hand,  I  saw  stacks  of  dry  wood,  carU,  and 
farming  implements.  As  there  was  no  man 
visible,  I  went  forward  to  the  house,  which  I 
found  locked.  Taking  the  liberty  of  a  peep 
through  a  broken  pane  of  glass,  patched  but 
imperfectly  with  paper,  I  saw  a  living-room 
that  contained  what  ought  to  have  been  re- 
garded as  defunct  articles  of  furniture; 
decayed  scraps  of  all  sizes  and  patterns 
picked  up  at  sales,  perhaps,  or  in  the  shops  of 
the-  surrounding  brokers.  I  turned  then  to 
the  door  of  the  stables  which  was  much  ob- 
structed by  the  dunghill  and  forced  that 
open,  to  discover  only  cows  thriving  In  spite 
of  filth,  and  a  superb  bull  ready  to  toss  me. 

I  turned  back  for  such  air  as  the  yard 
afforded ;  and,  at  tliat  moment,  the  door  of  one 
of  the  outhouses  creaked  upon  Its  hinges,  and 
a  little  old  man— In  a  blue  blouse,  with  long, 
thin,  gray  hair  streaming  from  beneath  a 
shabby  cap— appeared  berore  me.  He  be^ 
at  once  to  appraise  me  with  his  twinkling 
dots  of  eyes. 

" Good  day,  Monsieur,"  I  said ;  "can  you 
accommodate  me  with  a  lodgine?" 

"Is  it  a  room  you  want?"  he  replied. 
"  Stop  a  minute,  I  will  unharness  the  horses ; 
afterwards  you  shall  taste  mv  wine,  and  we 
will  talk.    Are  you  a  citizen? " 

"  I  am." 

"An  architect?" 

"  0,  no." 

"Independent?" 

"Ah,  no." 

"  But  I  must  have  a  good  price  for  my 
room." 

"How  much.  Monsieur?" 

"  Two  hundred  francs  a-year." 

During  this  dialogue  the  unharnessed 
horses— which,  by  the  way  were  of  a  large 
Norman  breed,  and  ill-attended  because  they 
were  too  tall  for  their  little  master— went 
their  way  to  the  stables.  The  farmer,  con- 
cealing the  act  as  well  as  he  could  with  his 
blouse,  took  the  house  *  door-key  from  its 
hiding-place  under  a  stone,  opened  his  door, 
and  led  me  down  three  broken  steps  into  the 
low  chamber  that  I  had  already  inspected  from 
without  He  then  reached  down  from  an 
ancient  dresser  a  black-pitcher  in  the  form  of 
a  priest^s  cap ;  and,  taking  another  key  from 
behind  the  door,  said  to  me,  "  Wait  here  for  a 
minute."  I  was  thus  trusted  alone  among 
the  furniture.  Mv  friend,  when  he  returned 
with  his  pitcher  full  of  wine,  rinsed  out  a 
couple  of  glasses,  and  certainly  did  not  stint 
the  thin  sour  liquor  over  which  he  hoped  to 
strike  a  lively  bargain.  After  much  chafi'er- 
ing,  it  was  agreed  Siat  I  should  have  my  room 
for  one  hun£red  and  fifty  firancs  a-year. 

My  bonhomme,  I  found  had  been  left  a 
widower  with  a  small  family,  consisting  of 
one  son  and  two  daughters,  and  was  then  in 
possession  of,  or  rather  possessed  by,  a  second 
wife,  who  managed  him  and  his  affiiirs.    She 


was  laborious,  and  she  was  vigQant,  and  she 
was  garrulous.  I  have  seen  her  shed  genuine 
tears  at  an  accident  that  had  befallen  a  strange 
traveller,  and  I  have  seen  her  rob  her  neigh- 
bours without  pity.  Like  many  of  her  class, 
she  laboured  all  her  life  to  convert  sous  into 
dollars  and  dollars  into  napoleons,  for  ulti- 
mate conversion  into  lands  or  houses,  or  for 
ultimate  enjoyment  as  a  treasure  laid  up  in 
an  earthen  pot  To  eke  out  her  savings  she 
would  lay  hands  not  unfrequently  on  the 
possessions  of  her  neighbours,  thereby  not 
greatly  outraging  the  feelings  of  her  friend, 
her  familiar  demon,  the  notary,  witili  whom 
she  held  very  frequent  converse,  and  who  was 
her  father  confessor  and  adviser  in  all  worldly 
things. 

"  One  day,"  she  herself  told  me,  "  I  was 
making  hay  in  the  field  and  spied  two  aprons 
on  the  other  side  of  the  ditch  belonging  to 
my  neighbours.  I  crossed  over  and  took 
them  from  the  washing  line,  tied  up  my  load 
of  liay  in  them,  and  was  travelling  home  with 
my  head  lost  beneath  the  hay  like  a  donkey  at 
harvest,  when  suddenly  I  was  tripped  up  and 
sent  flying  into  the  ditch.  As  soon  as  I  could 
see  anvthing,  there  were  my  two  harridans 
upon  the  bank,  not  only  taking  their  aprons 
but  dividing  my  hay  between  them.  I  was 
up  with  a  bound,  though,  brandishing  my 
sickle,  drew  blood  frcmi  one  of  tiliem  and 
bruised  the  other ;  they  went  off  with  their 
aprons,  but  I  re-conquered  my  hay." 

This  was  the  dame  who  put  the  rennet  into 
the  milk,  skimmed  the   cream,  made  the 
cheese,  churned  the  butter,  counted  the  eggs, 
and  slept  like  a  watchdog  after  a  last  peep  at 
her  savings.    When  she  went  to  market,  die 
was  absent  for  four  hours ;  half  the  time  being 
spent  in  going  and  returning.    Her  husband, 
on  such  occasions,  went  out  in  the  morning 
and  came  back  reeling  at  night    She  was  a 
wise  woman ;  and,  being  usually  loquacious, 
startled  him  at  such  times  by  saying  nothing 
on  the  sulject    Nothing  on  earth  is  so  em- 
phatic as  a  woman's  silence,  if  she  would  bat 
know  it    Madame  at  the  farm  did  know  it ; 
and  by  shrewd  diplomacy,  became  the  mlstresB 
of  the  whole  establishment  and  keeper  of  its 
cash.    Monsieur  would  have  been  left  whoUy 
without  pocket-money  for  the  tavern,  if  he 
had  not  been  cunning  enourii  to  keep  back, 
out  of  the  produce  of  his  bargains,  certain 
small  pieces  of  silver  which  he  hid  In  an  old 
stocking  under  a  wine  barrel  behind  the  plas- 
ter on  a  beam  in  the  wall.    Sometime!  this 
stocking  fell   into  the  old   lady's  hands; 
whereupon  Monsieur  looked  like  a  culprit, 
and  there  was  great  scolding,  and  promia- 
ing  never  to  do  that  sort  of  thing  again. 
There  was  a  rumour  that  the  old  gentlemaa 
had  been  a  gallant  when  he  was  young. 
This  rumour— which  he  took  as  a  set-off 
against  his  avarice— he  never  contradicted. 
Like  his  second  wife,  he  was  at  heart  a  miaer. 
It  cost  him  many  a  sigh  to  get  any  aseistaaoe 
onhisfbrm.    For  a  long  time  he  di4>eiiBed 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CkMlHlMckctM.] 


TWO  FRENCH  FARMRRS. 


107 


with  it,  then  he  ohoee  helpers  from  the  beard* 
less  youth  who  chanted  the  responses  at  mas& 
These  he  entrapped  into  his  senrice  by  petty 
gifts,  by  occasional  dranffhts  of  his  soar  wine, 
and  by  flattering,  familiar  jokes.  As  they 
grew  older  he  enlarged  his  presents,  so  that 
they  wonld  include  sometimes  a  pair  of  sabots, 
or  a  ten-eoos  piece  on  a  Sunday.  He  supplied 
them  also  with  more  food,  and  warned  them 
against  evil  companr,  meaning,  within  him- 
self, the  company  of  other  youths  likely  to 
ask  *^  How  much  does  that  old  hunks  pay  you 
for  your  services  T" 

Friendly  submission  made  on  my  part  to 
their  lore  of  gain  when  manifested  at  my  own 
expense,  got  me  the  close  acquaintance  of  this 
couple.  The  old  lady,  then  in  her  sizty^sizth 
year,  sometimes  set  her  cap  at  me,  and  went 
so  far  as  to  send  me  little  gifts  of  cream- 
cheese,  or  Aresh  eggs,  or  short  cakes,  with  bits 
of  apple  laid  upon  them.  **  Can  you  not  teach 
me  to  read?"  she  asked  one  evening.  ''I 
know  the  letters  well,  but  except  where  it's  a 
prayer  that  I  know  by  heart,  I  can't  put 
them  together.  I'd  be  glad  to  pay  you  for 
teaching  me  to  sign  my  name  and  understand 
my  leases.  Gome  now,  just  for  an  example, 
r^td  me  this  bit  of  a  page."  The  bit  of  a 
page  was  a  document  just  drawn  up  by  her 
notary,  and  the  exactness  of  which  I  could 
see  by  her  fixed  eye  and  pursed  up  lip  that 
she  was  verifying  word  for  word  while  I  was 
reading.  She  must  have  had  some  notion 
that  the  notary  was  capable  of  cheating  her. 

The  husband  seeing  that  I  toc^  a  lively 
interest  in  all  his  agricultural  affairs,  made 
me  an  oifer  one  day  which  I  closed  with 
heartily.  <'  I  am  going,"  he  said, "  to  the  sale 
of  a  proprietor's  farm  and  farming  stock, 
which  takes  place  by  adijudication.  I  haye 
purchases  to  make  there,  and  to  look  after 
the  recovery  of  a  debt  Will  you  go  with 
me,  you  diaal  have  a  seat  in  my  ohuette  and 
only  pay  your  own  expenses,  eh? " 

It  was  agreed.  The  best  horse  from  the 
plough,  beating  his  heavy  iron  shoes  heavily 
upon  the  soil,  took  us  to  the  farm  in  about  an 
hour  and  a  half,  at  a  dull,  pitiless  trot.  The 
form  was  not  quite  six  miles  distant. 

We  found  the  farm-yard  crowded  with  vil- 
lagers of  every  sort,  from  the  proprietor  down 
to  the  ploughboy.  Farmers  and  farmers' 
sons  with  long,  white,  flapped  hats  covering 
their  side  faces  chatted  with  farmers'  wives 
and  daughters,  capped  with  quilted  towers 
trimmed  wiih  white  satin  ribbons,  and  fixed 
with  pins  whose  heads  were  golden  bees.  The 
notaiy,  in  his  black  gown,  drank  wine  at  the 
kitclien  table  while  h6  turned  over  the  leaves 
of  an  inventory  wiUi  an  absent  air.  The 
auctioneer  and  crier  were  already  mounted 
npon  a  platform  of  boards  supported  bv  two 
empty  wine  barrels.  Petty  officers  displayed 
themselves  in  all  directions,  and  the  crowd 
made  itoelf  heard.  The  sale  commenced  with 
the  dii^osal  of  the  land,  which  was  divided 
into  small  lots  and  suljected  to  very  eager 


biddings.  Then  came  the  cattle.  Troops  of 
oxen,  cows  and  sheep,  each  headed  by  a  cow- 
herd, or  a  shepherdess,  defiled  before  the 
assembled  agriculturists,  then  followed  the 
horses,  every  one  mounted  by  a  carter,  or  a 
carter's  boT.  Tlie  assembly  crowding  about 
each  beast,  became  critical  on  ages,  points,  and 
vices,  and  the  bidding  went  on  tolerably  fast. 

As  I  was  strolling  on  to  another  part  of  the 
courtyard,  I  came  unexpectedly  upon  a  tall, 
robust  man,  appar^tly  of  about  forty,  whose 
swarthy  countenance  looked  pale  and  nief- 
wom.  He  was  the  proprietor  whose  home 
was  passing  fh>m  him.  Tears  were  in  his 
eyes :  he  was  engaged  in  the  struggle  to  re- 
press violent  emotion.  By  his  side  stood  a 
young  girl,  whose  sunburnt  features  were  as 
surely  clouded  by  the  present  sorrow.  Un- 
willing to  intrude  on  their  distress  I  turned 
back  to  the  crowd  about  the  auctioneer.  Pots 
and  pans  and  household  articles  were  being 
sold,  and  upon  these  the  women's  tonffues  were 
at  work  mightily.  They  were  discassing, 
wrangling,  scandalising;  each  eager  to  get 
the  smallest  article,  though  it  were  but  a 
cracked  saucepan,  in  the  shape  of  a  decided 
bargain.  They  displayed  more  fierceness  and 
bitter  animosity — ^besides  ^ndlng  more  time 
--over  the  purchase  of  their  skewers  and  pip- 
Idns,  than  the  men  had  shown  whilst  bidding 
for  cattle  and  lands  of  a  thousand  times  their 
value. 

The  sale  was  at  last  ended,  and  the 
creditors  entered  a  low  room  in  the  house, 
where  they  held  solemn  conference  with  the 
ofBcials.  Out  of  this  room  my  ancient  came, 
rubbing  his  hands  and  exclaiming  to  me,  **  He 
is  a  staunch  fellow.  We  diall  get  every  sous 
after  all." 

**  And  do  you  leave  the  unfortunate  man 
nothing?" 

"  What  would  you  have  ?  Every  one  for 
himself.  Who  knows  whose  turn  it  may  be 
next  to  go  to  wreck  ?  He  is  not  the  first,  and 
win  not  be  the  last.  Besides,  it  serves  him 
right  His  wife  wears  a  silk  gown,  and  his 
daughter  has  a  watch  and  shoes  from  Paris." 

I  was  admitted  to  the  dinner  wherewith 
these  proceedings  closed.  Dishes  crowded 
the  table,  wine  was  abundant,  and  the  sale 
having  yielded  twenty  shillings  in  the  pound, 
the  mirth  of  all  the  creditors  was  loud 
and  coarse.  My  landlord  was  treated,  as  a 
rich  man,  with  great  respect,  and  every 
one  was  i^lent  when  he  made  a  speech.  He 
was  sure  to  say  nothing  prejudicial  to  the 
interests  of  Messieurs  the  small  proprietors. 
He  attached  vigorously,  however,  Messieurs 
the  large  proprietors,  whose  game  devoured 
the  lands  of  little  people,  and  proclaimed  him- 
self, amid  general  applause,  a  helping  friend 
to  poachers.  Towards  nightfall  the  conver- 
sation became  very  heavy,  and  at  night  mv 
landlord  and  I  reached  home,  both  of  us  stupid. 
As  we  entered,  the  old  gentleman's  wife 
screamed  out  to  him  Arom  the  recesses  of  her 
ro<mi,  **  Well,  is  there  enough  ?" 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


108 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


"All  rifi^t,  all  right,"  he  replied;  "we 
shall  not  lose  the  whole."  The  apparent  re- 
serve in  this  answer  was  a  quality  the  old 
man  conld  not  help ;  for  it  had  become  an 
instinct  with  him  to  keep  back  little  amounts 
and  set  them  to  the  credit  of  his  stocking. 

Every  eight  or  ton  years  my  ancient  p^ve  a 
dinner  to  the  children  he  had  had  by  his  first 
wife.  His  second  wife,  on  every  such  occa- 
sion, after  a  few  years  of  coaxing,  did  her 
part  with  a  good  grace.  The  large  didies 
and  plates  were  taken  Arom  their  place  of 
almost  eternal  rest  upon  the  shelves,  and  Uie 
fiirm  cookery  performed  its  best,  for  the  old 
dame  knew  that  a  dav  might  come  when  it 
would  be  worth  her  while  to  have  been  civil 
to  her  husband^s  heirs.  It  was  in  my  time 
that  this  day  did  come. 

Every  one  knows  that  people  in  these  coun- 
try places  are  more  likely  to  fetoh  a  doctor  for 
the  disorders  of  their  cows,  their  horses,  or 
their  asses,  than  for  anv  of  their  own.  My 
friend  actod  in  this  spirit,  and  having  con- 
tracted an  ailment  in  one  of  his  toes,  begotten 
by  perpetoal  uncleanliness,  inflammation  ex- 
tended, deepened  into  gangrene,  and  at  last 
caused  deatL  The  old  man's  death  was  sud- 
den enough  to  disappoint  his  wife  in  many 
plans  for  the  Securing  of  possessions  to  her- 
self. She  was  dispossessed  of  the  chief  part 
of  the  estate ;  but,  thanks  to  her  friend  the 
notary,  she  had  reserves  of  house  and  land. 
Moreover  it  was  said  that  she  carried  off  by 
niffht  some  earthen  pots  which  did  not  con- 
tun  cream,  or  wine,  or  water.        « 

At  this  period,  of  course,  my  residence  upon 
the  farm  came  to  an  end ;  but,  some  time  after- 
wards, I  paid  a  visit  to  the  place.  The  miser's 
son  had  altered  it  entirely.  The  approaches 
were  quite  clean,  the  road  to  it  was  mac- 
adamised, and  bordered  with  a  solid  causeway. 
The  doorwav  to  the  farm  was  new,  of  oak, 
studded  with  large  pentagon-headed  nails. 
Of  the  old  buildings  I  found  nothing  left  ex- 
cept the  spacious  bams.  The  stables  con- 
tained good  drains,  the  cattle  stood  over  fredi 
litters.  Order,  liberality,  and  prudent 
economy,  were  visible  in  all  the  arrange- 
ments. Implements  were  in  excellent  con- 
dition ;  tools  were  well  polished*;  there  was 
a  clear  spring  of  water  in  the  yard,  and  the 
house  had  clean  windows.  As  for  tiie  house 
itself,  it  was  both  simple  and  elegant,  con- 
structed on  a  plan  now  common  in  such  cases, 
that  reminds  one  of  our  country  railway 
stations.  The  adoption  of  arches  and  pillars 
made  of  Iron,  of  brick  for  the  walls,  and  of 
zinc  or  slate  for  the  roof,  gives  to  the  residences 
of  many  of  the  small  French  proprietors  an 
appearance  of  convenience  and  comfort  which 
is  not  visible  always  in  the  villas  of  the  rich. 

While  noticing  this  change  I  was  accosted 
hj  a  fine  young  man  of  about  flve-and-thhrtj, 
with  whom  I  had  no  difflcolty  in  renewing 
previous  acquaintance.  He  took  me  to  see 
his  threshing  machines,  talked  about  the  dis- 
tillation of  beetroot,  and  showed  me  improve- 


ments which  made  It  impoodble  for  me  not  to 
suggest  comparisons  with  what  I  had  before 
seen  on  the  same  spot* 

"  It  is  well,"  said  the  young  farmer.  "  My 
father  was  a  prudent  man  but  one  of  the  old 
school.  He  made  the  Ainds.  I  have  only  to 
use  them.  If  I  have  inrofited  much  by  his 
economy,  I  owe  that  to  the  counsels  of  a  wise 
friend  who  has  joined  me, — mv  wife's  fkther." 
When  I  was  introduced  to  this  wise  friend, 
his  animated  and  contented  features  did 
indeed  contrast  with  those  of  the  man  whom 
I  had  seen  as  a  debtor  in  the  miser's  dutohes ; 
nevertheless,  it  was  the  same  man,  and  the 
girl  whom  I  had  on  that  day  seen  with  him 
was  now  the  young  man's  wife. 

A  good  wife  too.  Her  house  was  full  of 
quiet,  order,  freshness.  Her  tables  were  well 
washed,  her  floors  well  rubbed,  her  dressers 
piled  with  plates  and  dishes  tastefully  chosen, 
and  her  solid  house  furniture  had  Also  a 
touch  or  two  of  elegance  added  to  its  solidity. 
The  woman  herself— 4ione  the  worse  for  hav- 
ing owned  a  watch  and  worn  shoes  made  in 
Paris — sat  at  a  window  looking  out  upon  a 
well-stocked  flower  garden ;  she  was  neatly 
dressed,  and  had  her  liair  oarefrdly  gathered 
up  under  one  of  the  high  caps  peculiar  to  the 
district  Happy  children  sat  about  her ;  boys 
in  blue  blouses  and  strong  leather  shoes; 
girls  busy  over  the  needlework  which  em- 
ployed them  when  they  had  no  other  work 
on  hand.  Through  an  open  door  that  led  into 
the  kitehen  I  could  see  a  plump  maid  with 
bare  arms  preparing  dinner  with  the  clean- 
liness that  makes  the  meal  a  delight  to  par- 
take of.  I  gladly  agreed  to  stay  and  take 
my  dinner  at  the  farm,  wishing  much  that  I 
could  yield  myself  up  to  the  Irishes  of  these 
people  and  become  their  lodger. 


ASPIRATION  AND  DUTY. 

Ob,  whftt  ifl  Miih  to  those  who  lone 
Por  higher,  holier,  nobler  thinge  t 

rd  eoar  aloft  on  borninff  eonc 
Amidgk  the  ruih  of  ■pTrit  wings  1 

Bat  hash,  nroad  heart  7   While  here  below. 

At  Datj's  call  ftilfU  ihj  Ikte, 
And  homblr,  onward,  apward  go — 

So  shsit  thoa  enter  heaven's  gate  1 


THE  CHILDREN  OP  THE  CZAR. 

A  BOOK,  written  by  Ivan  Tourghenief ,  was 
published  at  Moscow  in  eighteen  hundred 
and  fifty  two,  of  course  In  Rusrian,  and  has 
since  been  translated  into  English  as  Rusdaa 
Life  in  the  Interior,  or  the  Experiences  of  a 
Sportsman ;  and  into  French  under  the  mo- 
dified title  of  Mtooires  d'un  Seigneur  Rusae. 
We  have  just  laid  down  the  latter  veraon, 
and  are  so  impressed  with  the  truthfhlnesB  of 
ite  delineations,  that  an  irrestetible  tempta- 
tion arises  to  scatter  broadcast,  by  means  of 
our  columns,  a  few  of  the  sketohes  which  it 
gives  of  Russian  life.    Some  of  these  are 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ChHbaDfeknM.] 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CZAR. 


109 


touching  groups,  making  us  consoions,  tSier 
all,  of  the  bond  of  common  brotherhood 
which  urges  us  individually  to  fraternise  with 
individufu  members  even  of  a  hostile  nation. 
Other  scenes  are  simply  astounding,  com- 
pelling us-  to  lift  our  hands  and  eyes  in 
wonder  that  such  monstrous  things  should  be 
possible  in  a  land  which  protests  that  it  is 
eminently  a  member  of  true  Gliristendom. 
But  the  whole  series  of  pictures,  great  and 
small,  confirm  the  accounts  previously  cur- 
rent of  the  barbaric  civilisauon,  the  feudal 
tyranny,  and  the  many  instances  of  personal 
merit  which  characterise  the  multitudinous 
nation  that  bows  itself  down  and  is  irrespon- 
sibly driven  before  him  by  the  world's  arch- 
enemy, the  Emperor  Nicholas. 

Altiiough  the  volume  is  written  in  a  form 
that  might  seem  to  denote  a  highly  artificial 
mode  of  composition  (for  it  consists  of  twenty- 
two  chapters,  each  complete  in  itself,  like 
articles  tnat  might  appear  in  the  pages  of 
this  journal,  and  sometimes  contains  minute 
descriptions  that  remind  us  of  Balzac's  most 
finished  pictures),  on  reading  it,  the  effect 
produced  is  rather  that  of  listening  to  an 
eloquent  improvisitore,  or  Red  Indian  orator, 
than  of  perusing  the  work  of  a  practised 
writer.  M.  Tourghenief  is  fkmiliar  with 
nature,  loves  her,  courts  her  in  her  coyest 
moments,  and  often  betrays  the  secret  charm 
of  out-door  life  with  a  passionate  warmth 
that  would  do  honour  to  Audubon  himself; 
while  his  social  position  as  a  barine,  or  terri- 
torial lord,  enables  him  to  give  us  tniia  of 
Russian  high  life  with  the  same  readiness 
that  his  sportsmanship  introduces  him  to  the 
interior  of  rustic  huts.  The  writer  is  un- 
practised, inexperienced,  new :  and  his  ran- 
dom leaves,  thrown  out  from  time  to  time  in 
a  Moscovian  literary  periodical,  excited 
attention  by  their  truth  and  freshness. 
United,  they  prove  to  constitute  one  of  those 
bold,  popular  volumes,  which  reflect  the  tone 
of  public  feeling,  and  which  succeed,  making 
their  way  to  the  hearts  of  all,  because  the 
national  mind  volunteers  itself  as  their  insti- 
gator, accomplice,  and  judge.  M.  Tourghe- 
nief diall  speak  for  himself  in  an  eminently 
suggestive  visit  to  a  neighbour. 

About  twenty  versts  from  isxy  estate,  he 
writes,  there  resides  an  ez-ofScer  of  the 
Guards^  a  handsome  young  gentleman,  with 
whom  1  am  acquainted.  His  name  is  Arcadl 
Pavlytch  P6enotchkine.  His  domain  has 
the  advantage  over  mine,  in  being,  amongst 
other  things,  well  stocked  with  game.  The 
house  in  wliich  my  friend  Peenotchkine 
resides  was  built  after  the  plans  of  a  French 
architect;  his  people,  from  the  first  to  the 
last,  are  clad  in  liveries  according  to  the 
English  style.  He  gives  excellent  dinners. 
He  receives  you  in  the  most  amiable  manner 
— and  with  all  that,  you  do  not  visit  him 
with  hearty  goodwill.  He  is  fond  of  the 
prudent  and  the  positive:  he  has  received 
a  perfect  education,  has  served  in  the  army. 


has  received  the  polidi  of  high  society,  and 
at  present  devotes  his  attention,  with  marked 
success,  to  matters  of  rural  economy.  Arcadi 
Pavlytch,  according  to  lus  own  proper  state- 
ment, is  severe,  but  just ;  he  watches  closely 
over  the  welfare  of  bis  vassals,  and  if  he 
chastises  them,  it  is  the  best  proof  of  his 
affection  for  them.  ''They  are  creatures 
whom  you  must  treat  exactly  like  children," 
he  says  on  such  occasions ;  ''  for  in  foct  they 
are  grown  up  children,  my  dear  fellow,  and 
we  must  not  forget  to  bear  that  in  mind.'' 
As  to  himself,  when  he  happens  to  be  placed 
in  what  he  calls  the  sad  necessity  of  acting 
rigorously,  he  abstains  from  any  abrupt  or 
angry  movement,  or  even  from  raising  his 
voice  :  he  simply  extends  his  forefinger,  and 
says  coldly  to  the  culprit, ''  I  begged  you,  my 
dear  man,  to  do  so  and  so,"  or,  **  What  is  the 
matter  with  you,  my  friend?  Recollect  your- 
self." His  teeth  are  slightlv  clenched ;  his 
mouth  contracts  imperceptibly,  and  that  is 
all. 

He  is  above  the  middle  height,  well-made 
and  very  good-looking ;  he  takes  the  greatest 
care  of  his  hands  and  nails ;  his  cheeks  and 
lips  are  ren»lendent  with  health.  He  laughs 
frankly  and  heartily.  He  dresses  with  infi- 
nite taste.  He  procures  a  great  quantity  of 
French  books  and  publications  of  all  kinds, 
without  being  a  great  reader  the  more  for  that, 
and  it  is  as  much  as  he  has  done  if  he  has 
got  to  the  end  of  the  Wandering  Jew.  He 
is  an  excellent  partner  at  cards.  In  short, 
Arcadi  Pavlytch  passes  for  a  highly  civilised 
gentleman,  and,  with  mothers  who  have 
daughters  to  many,  for  one  of  the  most 
desirable  matches  in  our  whole  "govern- 
ment" The  ladies  are  mad  after  him,  and, 
above  all  things,  extol  his  planners.  He  is 
admirably  reserved,  and  has  the  wisdom  of 
the  serpent:  never  has  he  been  mixed  up 
in  any  current  bit  of  gossip.  He  spends  his 
winters  at  St.  Petersburg.  His  nonse  is 
marvellouslv  well  managed ;  the  very  coach- 
men have  felt  his  infiuence  so  completely, 
that  the;^  not  only  clean  their  harness  and 
dust  their  armiaks,  but  they  carry  their 
refinement  so  lar  as  to  wash  their  faces 
every  day,  including  the  back  of  their  ears 
and  neck.  Arcadi  ravlytch's  people  have  a 
somewhat  downcast  look ;  but  m  our  darling 
Russia  it  is  not  very  easy  to  distinguish 
moroseness  from  mere  sleepyheadedness. 

Arcadi  Pavlytch  has  a  soft  and  unctuous 
way  of  speaking ;  tie  cuts  up  his  phrases  with 
frequent  pauses,  and  voluptuously  strains 
every  word,  curling  it  between  his  puffed-up 
moustachios.  He  is  fond  of  seasoning  his 
dialogue  with  French  expressions,  such  as 
''Mais  c'est  impayable!  Mids  comment 
doncl"  In  spite  of  all  that,  he  has  no 
attractions  for  me ;  and  were  it  not  for  the 
game  of  his  woods  luid  heaths,  and  fields, 
the  probability  is  that  we  should  forget  each 
other. 

Notwithstanding  the  slight  sympathy  which 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


110 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCkmdoetadbT 


I  entertain  for  Arcftdi  PavlTtch,  I  onoe  hap- 
pened to  pass  the  night  at  his  house.  Early 
the  next  morning  I  had  the  horses  put  to  mj 
caUche,  bat  he  would  not  allow  me  to  leave 
till  I  had  breakfasted  in  the  English  style, 
and  he  dragg^  me  into  his  cabinet.  We  had 
tea,  outlets,  poached  eggis,  butter,  honey, 
Swiss  cheese,  and  so  on.  Two  white-glored 
valets,  silently,  and  with  the  greatest 
promptness,  anticipated  our  slightest  wishes. 
We  were  seated  upon  a  Persian  divan, — 
Arcadi  Pavlytch,  in  a  heterogeneous  Oriental 
costume,  sipped  his  tea,  nibbled  a  bit  of  some- 
thing, smiled,  looked  at  his  nails,  smoked, 
tucked  a  cushion  under  his  arm,  and  appeared 
in  the  main  to  be  in  excellent  good  temper. 
He  soon  made  a  serious  attack  upon  the 
cutlets  and  the  cheese;  and,  after  having 
worked  away  at  them  like  a  man,  he  poured 
himself  out  a  glass  of  red  wine,  raised  it  to 
his  lips,  and  knitted  his  brows. 

"  Why  has  this  wine  not  been  warmed  ? " 
he  drily  asked  of  one  of  the  valets,  who  be- 
came confUsed,  turned  pale,  and  stood  like  a 
statue.  **  I  iust  ask  you  that  question,  my 
dear  fellow,"  continued  the  young  Seigneur, 
staring  at  the  poor  man  with  wide-open  eyes. 
The  only  paction  the  culprit  made  was  a 
sliffht  twisting  of  the  napkin  which  he  held 
in  his  hand.  Under  the  weight  of  fascination, 
he  was  unable  to  utter  a  syllable.  Arcadi 
Pavlytch  lowered  his  forehead,  and  continued 
to  ^ze  thoughtfully,  but  covertly,  at  his 
vic'tim. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear  sfar,"  he  said 
to  me  with  an  a^iiable  smile,  laying  his  hand 
familiarlv  on  my  knee.  He  again  gave  the 
valet  a  silent  stare. 

''Well!  go  I ''he  said,  at  last,  raising  his 
eyebrows,  and  touching  the  spring  of  a  small 
alarum  bell,  which  was  followed  by  the 
entrance  of  a  stout,  brown-faced  man,  with  a 
low  for^ead  and  bloodshot  eyes. 

"  Gret  matters  ready  for  Fedor,"  said  Arcadi 
Pavlytch,  with  Increasing  laconlsm,  and  in  a 
state  of  perfect  self-command. 

The  thickset  man  bowed,  and  left  the 
room.  No  doubt  the  correction  for  which  he 
had  received  the  order  was  duly  administered 
to  the  delinquent  servant-man. 

"  This  is  one  of  the  annoyances  of  country 
life,"  said  Arcadi,  in  laughing  mood.  "  But 
where  are  you  going  to?  Stop,  stop!  sit 
down  here." 

"No,  indeed ;  I  am  obliged  to  leave  you. 
It  is  gettine  late." 

"  To  go  snooting  ?  Always  shootinsr !  'Tls 
quite  a  passion  with  you.  In  which  direction 
do  yon  propose  to  start  ?  " 

"  Forty  versts  oflf :  to  Reabovo." 

"  To  Reabovo  1  But  then  I  will  accom- 
pany you.  Reabovo  is  only  five  versts  from 
my  estate  of  Ghipilovka,  and  I  have  been 
intending  to  go  there  for  some  time  past. 
Till  to-day,  I  have  not  had  a  moment  at 
liberty.  It  is  a  lucky  accident.  You  can 
shoot  at  your  hearths  content  at  Reabovo,  if 


such  is  your  wish,  and  in  the  evening  you 
will  be  my  guest  We  will  have  a  good 
supper,  for  I  will  take  the  cook  with  me.  I 
want  to  show  you  Ghipilovka ;  my  mocglks 
(peasants)  there,  pay  their  taxes  punctuiUly. 
I  can't  understand  how  they  make  two  ends 
meet ;  but  that's  their  aflfair.  I  must  own  that 
I  have  a  hard-headed  bourmister  (steward) 
over  them  ;  quite  a  little  statesman,  on  my 
word  of  honour.  Tou  will  see  what  a  lucky 
mortal  I  am." 

It  was  impossible  to  refuse ;  but  instead  of 
leaving  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  it  was 
two  in  the  afternoon  before  we  started.  A 
sportsman  will  understand  my  impatience. 
Arcadi  Pavlytch  took  with  him  such  a  stock 
of  linen,  provisions,  plothes,  cushions,  per- 
i^imes,  and  divers  "necessaries,"  as  would 
have  sufficed  an  economical  Grerman  for  a 
whole  twelvemonth,  supplying  him  stylishly 
and  pleasantly  too.  At  last  we  arrived,  not 
at  Reabovo,  where  I  wanted  to  go,  but  at 
Ghipilovka.  It  was  too  late  to  think  seriously 
of  shooting,  so  I  consoled  myself  with  the 
reflection  that  what  can't  be  cured  must  be 
endured. 

The  cook  had  preceded  us  by  several  mi- 
nutes. I  thought  I  could  observe  that  he  bad 
already  completed  sundry  arrangements,  and 
especially  that  he  had  given  notice  of  our 
coming  to  the  person  who  had  the  greateat 
interest  in  being  informed  of  it  At  the  gate 
of  the  village  we  were  met  by  the  staroate 
(elder),  the  son  of  the  bourmister,  a  vieorous 
red-headed  peasant,  six  feet  high,  on  norse- 
back,  without  a  hat,  dressed  in  his  best« 
armiak,  which  hung  unfastened  and  danced 
in  the  air. 

"  And  where  is  Sophron  ?  "  asked  Arcadi 
Pavlytch. 

The  elder  first  of  all  dismounted,  bowed 
very  low,  and  muttered,  "Health,  father, 
Seigneur  Arcadi  Pavlytch."  Then  he  raised 
his  head,  shaking  his  locks  to  make  ^em 
stand  u|Hright,  and  said  that  Sophron  was  at 
Perof,  but  that  he  had  already  been  sent  for 
to  return  immediately. 

"  Very  well  1  Go  behind  the  oal^he,  and 
follow  us." 

The  elder,  by  way  of  politeness,  led  bis 
horse  ten  paces  away  from  us  to  the  border 
of  the  road,  remounted,  and  trotted  after  us, 
cap  in  hand.  We  made  our  entry  into  the 
village. 

The  bourmister's  cottage  was  situated 
apart  from  the  others,  in  the  midst  of  a  green 
and  fertile  hempfield.  We  halted  at  the  ea- 
traace  of  the  courtyard.  M.  P^enotchkine 
rose,  picturesquely  threw  aside  his  cIoiJl,  and 
stepped  out  of  the  caliche,  serenely  gazing 
around  him.  The  bourmister's  wife  advanced, 
bowing  very  low  in  front,  and  making  a  d^ 
set  at  the  hand  of  the  master,  who  gracioualy 
allowed  the  good  woman  to  kiss  it  as  long  as 
she  pleased,  and  then  mounted  the  three  steps 
that  led  to  the  front  door.  The  elder's  wife 
was  waiting  in  a  dark  comer  of  the  entrance, 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


THB  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CZAR. 


Ill 


bowing  also  very  low,  bat  wlthoat  daring  for 
a  moment  to  aspire  to  the  honour  of  kiteing 
the  hand.  In  what  is  called  **ihe  cold 
chamber/'  to  the  right  of  the  entrance  hall, 
two  other  women  were  bosllj  engaged  in 
carrying  off  all  sorts  of  olgeots— «mpty  jags, 
old  clothes,  batter-pots,  and  a  cradle  wherem, 
amidst  a  heap  of  rags,  an  in&nt  reposed,  as 
it  seemed  to  me.  Their  work  ended,  Arcadi 
PaTljtch  droye  them  oat  in  a  hnrry,  to  seat 
himself  on  the  bench  exactly  onder  the  holy 
pictores,  which  the  common  people  neyer  fail 
to  salnte,  crossing  themselyes  at  the  same 
time,  wheneyer  they  enter  any  room  what- 
soeyer.  The  driyers  then  bronsht  in  the 
Itf  go  chests,  the  middle-sized  tnu&s,  and  the 
little  boxes.  It  is  needless  to  mention  that 
they  took  infinite  pains  to  moffle  the  soand 
of  their  footsteps.  Once  when  they  stood  a 
little  on  one  side,  I  saw  the  bonrmistress 
noiselessly  pinch  and  beat  some  other  woman, 
trho  did  not  dare  to  cry  oat  Saddenly,  we 
heard  the  rM»id  rolling,  as  rapidly  checked,  of 
m  *'  telegae''^ which  stepped  before  the  docur, 
and  the  boarmister  made  his  entrance. 

The  "  statesman"  of  whom  Arcadi  Paylytch 
had  boasted  was  short,  thickset,  with  broad 
shoalders,  grisly  hair,  a  red  nose,  small  bine 
eyes,  and  a  beard  shaped  like  a  reyersed  fan. 
:Mote,  by  the  way,  that  eyer  since  Rassia  has 
been  in  existence  there  has  not  been  a  single 
instance  of  a  man's  growing  rich,  withoat 
his  beard  at  the  same  time  becoming  propoi^ 
tionally  broader  and  broader.  We  may  sap- 
pose  that  the  Boarmister  had  coploasly 
washed  down  his  dinner  at  Perof.  tils  face 
streamed  with  perspiration,  and  he  smelt  of 
wine  at  ten  paces'  distance. 

"Ah,  yoal  oar  fiOhersI  Yoa,  oar  bene- 
fiict<ff8  r'  ^d  the  canning  follow,  in  a  droll 
sort  of  chant,  nsing  the  plaral  form  to  show 
his  greater  respect  and  speaking  in  snch  a 
tone  of  emotion,  that  I  expected  eyery  mo- 
meat  to  see  Um  borst  into  tears.  "Yoahaye 
come  to  OS  at  last  1  Year  hand,  father,  yoor 
hand !"  he  added,  protrading  his  thick  lips 
to  their  ntmoet  stretch. 

Arcadi  Paylytch  allowed  his  hand  to  be 
kissed*  and  said,  qaite  caressingly :  ''  Well, 
brother  Sophron,  how  do  oar  af&irs  go 
on?" 

"  Ah,  yoa.  oar  fothers !"  Sophron  replied. 
"  And  how  should  they  go  on  otherwise  than 
well,  when  yon,  oar  fathers,  oar  benefoctors, 
deign  by  year  presence  to  enlighten  oar  poor 
little  yiilage  ?  Oh !  I  am  happy  to  my  dying 
day.  Thanks  to  God,  Arcadi  Paylytch,  afl 
goes  well  All  goes  well  that  belongs  to  yoar 
grace." 

After  a  minate's  silence  deyoted  to  mate 
contemplation,  the  "statesBian"  sighed  en- 
thosiasticaUy,  and,  as  if  canied  away  by 
sodden  inspiration  (with  which  a  strong  dose 
of  ardent  roirits  might  haye  something  to  do), 
he  again  solicited  the  lordly  hand,  and  chanted 
with  greater  yehemence  than  before :  "  Ah, 
yoa  I  oar  fothers  and  benefactors  I  I  am  mad 


with  delight !  I  can  scarcely  belieye  my  eyes 
that  it  is  yoa,  oar  fathers,  oar — " 

The  scene  was  well  acted.  Arcadi  Paylytch 
looked  at  me,  smiled  slightly,  and  asked  me 
in  French,  "  Is  it  not  tonchinff  T" 

**  Ah  I  Arcadi .  Paylytch,"  resame^  the 
boarmister ;  **  what  will  become  of  yoa  here  ? 
Jast  now,  I  think,  yoa  th<»'oagfaly  yex  me ; 
yoa  did  not  let  me  knbm  that  yoa  were 
coming.  How  will  yoa  contriye  to  pass  the 
night,  gracious  Heayen?  This  is  a  dusty, 
dirty  hole — " 

"  No  matter,  Sophron ;  no  matter,"  replied 
Arcadi  Paylytch  with  a  smile.  "  We  are  well 
enough  here." 

*'Well!  our  cherished  fathers;  well!  yes: 
but  for  whom?  For  us  clod-hoppers,  welF 
enough,  but  for  youl  Ahl  our  fathers — 
ah !  our  benefactors,  excuse  a  poor  imbecile. 
Yes ;  my  brain  is  turned  inside  out— Father  of 
Heayen  1  inside  out— I  am  crazy  with  excess 
of  joy." 

Supper  was  seryed :  Arcadi  Paylytch  sat 
down  to  supper.  The  old  man  soon  turned 
his  son  out  of  the  room,  because  he  exhaled 
too  potent  a  rustic  odour,  according  to  the 
remark  of  the  father  himself,  who  stood  like 
an  aotomaton  three  or  four  paces  away  from 
the  table. 

"  Well,  old  fellow  1  haye  you  settled  with 
the  neighbours  about  the  boundary  T"  asked 
M.  P^enotchkine. 

"  Settled,  barine,  settled — thanks  to  thee, 
to  thy  name.  The  day  before  yesterday  we 
signed  the  agreement  The  khlynoysld,  at 
first,  made  a  great  many  objections;  they 
demanded  this,  and  that,  and  something 
besides,  and  Heayen  knows  what  Dogs,  poor 
people,  fools  as  they  are  1  But  we,  father, 
thanks  to  thy  generosity,  we  haye — satisfied 
Nicolas  Nicolaeyitch.  We  acted  according  to 
thy  instructions,  barine— as  thou  hast  said, 
we  haye  done— yes ;  we  haye  arranged  and 
finished  all,  according  to  thy  will,  as  reported 
by  Egor  Dmitritoh." 

'<  Egor  deliyered  in  his  report,"  said  Arcadi 
Paylytch,  majestically ;  *^  and  now  are  you 
satisfied?" 

Sophron  only  waited  for  such  a  word  to 
intone  afresh  his  *<Ah!  you,  our  fathers, 
our  sayiours  and  benefactors!  ah !  we  pray 
the  Lord  Grod  for  you  night  and  day.  Doubt- 
less, we  haye  but  little  land  here." 

*'  Good,  good,  Sophron,"  said  Plenotohklne, 
"  I  know  you  are  a  deyoted  servant,  and— 
what  does  ihia  yearns  threshing  produce  T" 

<'  The  threshing?  it  is  not  altogether  satis- 
factory. But  allow  me,  our  good  fathers, 
Arcadi  Paylytch,  to  announce  to  you  a  little 
matter  which  has  befollen  us  unexpectedly." 
Here  he  drew  near  to  M.  P^notchkine, 
leaned  forwai^  .obliquely,  and,  winking  his 
eye,  said,  **  A  dead  body  has  been  found  upon 
our  land." 

'<How  did  that  happen?" 

'<  Ah !  our  fathers,  I  ask  the  same  question : 
it  must  haye  been  done  by  some  enemy.    It 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


112 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Condacted  by 


is  fortunate  that  it  laj  apoa  the  verr  verge 
of  oar  estate,  near  a  field  which  belongs 
to  other  people.  I  cleverly  caused  the  corpse 
to  be  transported  to  the  neighbour's  land.    I 

Eosted  a  sentinel  a  little  way  off,  and  enjoined 
im  to  keep  the  strictest  silence.  I  then  went 
to  the  head  of  the  police,  gave  information  in 
mj  own  way,  ^d  left  him  with  a  slight  token 
of  gratitude  for  Ike  injury  which  he  does  not 
do  us.  By  Our  Lady,  barine,  my  plan 
answered;  the  corpse  remained  hanging 
round  our  neighbour's  neck.  You  know  that 
on  such  an  occasion  as  this  two  hundred 
roubles  (more  than  thirty  pounds)  have  no 
more  effect  than  a  penny  roll  of  the  finest 
flour  has  on  the  appetite  of  a  starving  man.'' 

M.  P^enotchkine  laughed  at  his  bour- 
mister's  exploit,  and  said  to  me  in  French 
several  times,  pointing  to  him  with  a  motion 
of  the  head.  "  What  a  jolly  fellow  1  Isn't  heT" 

The  night  came,  the  table  was  removed, 
and  some  hay  brought  in.  The  valet  de 
chambre  arranged  two  beds,  covering  them 
properly  with  sheets  and  pillows.  Arcadi, 
before  going  to  sleep,  enumerated  the  admi- 
rable qualities  of  the  Russian  peasantry, 
adding  that  ever  since  Sophron  had  been 
manager  he  had  never  lost  a  farthing  of  in- 
come from  this  estate. 

Next  morning  we  rose  early.  I  had  in- 
tended to  go  to  Reabovo :  but  Arcadi  Pav- 
lytch  tcstiHed  a  great  desire  to  show  me  his 
property,  and  induced  me  to  remain.  I  con- 
fess I  was  curious  to  witness  with  my  own 
eyes  the  proofs  of  the  great  talents  of  the 
statesman  whose  name  was  Sophron  the  bour- 
mlster.  Qe  soon  appeared  before  us.  He 
was  still  dressed  in  a  blue  armlak  with  a  red 
girdle.  He  was  less  talkative  than  the  day 
before :  he  watched  his  master  with  piercing 
attention  :  he  answered  cleverly,  and  In  pro- 
per terms.  We  inspected  the  barns,  the  sheep- 
fold,  the  outhouses,  the  windmill,  the  stables, 
the  kitchen-garden,  and  the  hemp-fields ;  all 
was  really  in  excellent  order.  The  wan 
countenances  of  the  moujiks  were  In  truth 
the  only  thing  with  which  I  could  as  yet  find 
fault  Arcadi  Pavlytch  was  delighted ;  he 
explained  to  me  In  French,  the  advantages 
of  the  system  of ''  obroc"  ^personal  tax),  and 
gave  advice  to  the  bonrmister  as  to  the  best 
way  of  planting  potatoes  and  physicking 
cattle.  Sophron  listened  attentively,'  and 
sometimes  even  ventured  to  difller,  for  he  had 
discarded  yesterday's  devoted  adulation,  and 
stuck  to  the  text  that  the  estate  must  be 
increased,  because  the  soil  was  bad.  ''Buy 
more  land,  then, — ^In  my  name^"  answered 
Arcadi  Pavlytch  ;  "  I  have  no  objection."  To 
which  Sophron  made  no  other  answer  than 
to  close  his  eyes  in  silence,  and  stroke  his 
beard.  With  regard  to  sylviculture,  M. 
P^enotchkine  followed  Russian  notions.  He 
told  me  an  anecdote,  which  he  thought  very 
aipuslng, — of  a  facetious  countrv  gentleman, 
who,  in  order  to  make  his  head  forester  un- 
derstand that  it  Is  not  true  that  the  more 


'  you  strip  a  wood,  the  better  it  will  sprout 
again, — ^robbed  him,  at  a  single  pluck,  of  half 
the  beard  that  grew  on  his  chin. 

In  other  respects,  I  cannot  say  that  either 
Arcadi  Pavlytch  or  Sophron  were  opposed  to 
all  Innovation  and  improvement.  They  took 
me  to  see  a  winnowlng-machine,  which  they 
had  recently  procured  fh)m  Moscow ;  but  if 
Sophron  could  have  foreseen  the  untoward 
event  which  awaited  us  there,  he  would 
certainly  have  deprived  us  of  this  latter 
spectacle. 

A  few  paces  from  the  door  of  the  bam 
where  the  machine  was  at  work,  stood  two 
peasants,— one  an  old  man  of  seventy,  the 
other  a  lad  of  twenty,  both  dressed  In  shirts 
made  of  odd  scraps  of  cloth,  both  wearing:  a 
girdle  of  rope,  and  with  naked  feet  The 
elder,  with  gaping  mouth,  and  oonvulrively 
clenched  fists,  was  trying  to  drive  them  away, 
and  would  probably  have  succeeded  if  we  had 
remained  much  longer  in  the  bam.  Arca^ 
Pavlytch  knit  his  brows,  bit  his  Up,  and 
walked  straight  to  the  gronp.  The  two 
peasants  cast  themselves  at  his  feet 

"  What  do  you  want  T  Speak  I"  he  said, 
in  a  severe  and  somewhat  nasal  voice. 

The  poor  creatures  exchanged  looks,  and 
could  not  utter  a  word ;  their  eyes  winked  aa 
if  they  were  dazzled,  and  their  respiration 
was  accelerated. 

''Well,  what  is  the  matter?"  resumed 
Arcadi  Pavlytch,  Immediately  turning  round 
to  Sophron.  "  To  what  family  do  they  be- 
long r' 

"To  the  ToboUif  family,"  answered  the 
bonrmister  slowly. 

*'  What  do  you  want,  then  ?  Have  von  no 
tongue  T  Speak,  old  man  ;  what  would  yoa 
have  T"  He  added ;  "  Ton  have  Bothlng  to 
be  Arightened  at.  Imbecile." 

The  old  man  stretched  forward  his  bronzed 
and  wrinkled  neck,  moved  his  thick  blue  lips, 
and  said,  in  a  bleating  voice :  "  Gome  to  our 
aid,  my  Seigneur  I" 

And  again  he  fell  with  his  forehead  to  the 
ground ;  the  young  man  acted  nearly  in  the 
same  way.  Arbadl  Pavlytch  gravely  regarded 
their  bended  necks ;  then  changing  the  posi- 
tion of  his  legs  and  his  head,  he  sidd,  "What 
Is  the  matter!  Of  whom  do  you  complain T 
Let  us  see  all  about  It" 

"  Pity,  my  Seigneur ;  a  moment's  breath- 
ing-time,   we  are  tortured;  we  are " 

"Who  tortures  you  T" 

"  Sophron  Jakovlitch,  the  bonrmister." 

"  Your  name?"  said  my  companion,  after 
a  moment's  silence. 

"  Anthippe,  my  Seigneur." 

"And  the  other?" 

"  He  Is  my  son,  Seigneur." 

Arcadi  Pavlytch  was  again  silent,  twisting^ 
his  moustache.  At  last  he  added,  "  Well,  and 
In  what  way  has  he  tortured  you  so  craelly  ?" 
And  he  haughtily  regarded  the  wretched 
man,  looking  down  between  the  tufts  of  his 
moustache. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


OlMrioDlckeai.] 


THE  CHILDREa^  OF  THE  CZAR. 


113 


*'  My  Seigneur,  he  has  completelj  stripped 
and  ruined  us.  Contrary  to  every  regula- 
tion, he  has  compelled  two  of  my  sons  to 
enlist  out  of  their  turn,  and  now  he  is  going 
to  rob  me  of  the  third.  No  later  than  yester- 
day, he  carried  off  my  last  cow ;  and  his 
grace,  the  elder,  who  is  indeed  his  son,  has 
beaten  my  housewife.  Ah  I  good  Seigneur ! 
Do  not  permit  him  to  make  an  end  of  us.'' 

M.  P^enotchlsine  was  extremel;^  embar- 
rassed ;  he  coughed  three  or  four  times,  and 
then,  with  a  dUwontented  air,  inquired  of  the 
bourroister,  in  an  under  tone,  what  he  ought 
to  think  of  such  an  allegation. 

"He  is  a  drunkard,  sir;"  replied  the 
bourmieter,  with  insolent  assurance;  *'a 
drunkard  and  an  idler.  He  does  nothing. 
For  the  last  five  years  he  has  not  been  able  to 
pay  his  back  reckoning." 

'*  Sophron  JakoTlitch  has  paid  for  me,  my 
Seigneur,"  replied  the  old4nan.  **  This  is  the 
fifth  year  in  wnich  he  has  paid  instead  of  me  ; 
and,  as  he  pays  for  me,  he  has  treated  me  as 
his  pledge,  his  own  proper  slave,  my  good 

Seigneur,  and "  • 

''But  all  that  does  not  explain  the  reason  of 
the  deficit,"  said  M.  P^enotchkine,  with  ani- 
mation. The  old  man  bowed  his  head. — "  You 
drink,  don't  youT  You  haunt  the  public- 
houses  f"  The  old  man  opened  his  lips  to 
justify  himself— "I  know  you,"  continued 
Arcadi  Pavlytch.  "You  pass  your  time  in 
drinking  and  in  sleeping  on  the  stove  ;  and 
the  industrious  peasant  has  to  answer  for 

you,  to " 

"  And,  besides,  he  is  ill  behaved,"  added 
the  bourmister,  without  scrupling  to  behave 
111  himself  by  presuming  to  interrupt  his 
master. 

*«  Ill-behaved,  of  course !  it  Is  always  so :  I 
have  often  made  the  same  observation.  The 
lazy  fellow  indulges  in  dissipation  and  bad 
language  the  whole  year  through,  and  then, 
one  day,  he  throws  himself  at  his  Seigneur's 
feet." 

**My  good  Seigneur,"  said  the  old  man 
with  an  accent  of  fearful  despair,  "in  the 
name  of  God,  rescue  us  from  this  man.  And 
he  calls  mo  ill-behaved,  besides  I  I  tell  yon 
before  Heaven  that  I  cannot  exist  any  longer. 
Sophron  Jakovlitch  has  taken  a  spite  against 
me,  Why?  Who  can  say?  He  has  ruined, 
crushed  and  utterly  destroyed  me.  This  is 
my  last  child.  Well?" — A  tear  ran  down 
the  old  man's  yellow  and  wrinkled  cheeks. 
"  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  my  good  Seigneur, 
come  to  oar  aid." 

"  And  we  are  not  the  only  people  whom  he 
persecutes,"  said  the  younger  peasant. 

Arcadi  Pavlytch  took  fire  at  this  word  from 
the  poor  lad,  who  had  hitherto  kept  so  quiet. 
"  And  who  asked  you  any  questions  ?  Tell 
me  that.  Uow  dare  you  speak  before  you 
are  spoken  to?  What  does  all  this  mean? 
Hold  your  tongue  ;  hold  your  tongue !  Good 
God!  this  is  a  regular  revolt.  But  it  will 
not  answer  to  revolt  against  me.    I  will " — 


Arcadi  Pavlytch  was  about  to  make  some 
hasty  movement  of  which  he  would  have  re- 
pented afterwards,  but  he  probably  remem- 
bered that  I  was  present,  for  he  restrained 
himself,  and  stuck  his  hands  in  his  pockets. 
He  said  to  me  in  French,  "  I  beg  your  par- 
don my  dear  fellow,"  with  a  forced  smile  and 
in  an  undertone.  "  It  is  the  wrong  side  of  the 
tapestry,  the  reverse  of  the  medal."  He  con- 
tinued in  Russian,  addressing  the  serfb,  but 
without  looking  at  them,  "  Very  well ;  venr 
well.  I  shall  take  my  measures.  Very  well, 
go!"  (The  peasants  did  not  stir.)  "Very 
well,  I  tell  you.  Take  yourselves  off.  I  tell 
you  I  shall  give  my  (urders.    Begone." 

Arcadi  turned  his  back,  mutterfUg  the 
words,  "  Nothing  but  unpleasantnesses,"  and 
strode  off  to  the  bourmister's  house,  who 
followed  him. 

A  couple  of  hours  after  this  scene,  I  was  at 
Reabovo ;  and  there,  taking  for  my  companion 
one  Anpadiste,  a  peasant,  whom  I  knew,  I 

Bromised  to  devote  myself  entirely  to  sport, 
p  to  the  moment  of  my  departure,  M. 
Peenotchkino  appeared  to  be  sulky  with 
Sophron.  I  could  not  help  thinking  that  I 
had  yielded  extremel^r  mal  a  propos  to  the 
invitation  to  stop  and  inspect,  that  morning. 
Whether  I  would  or  not,  the  thought  was  so 
completely  uppermost  in  my  mind,  that  while 
journeying  with  Anpadiste  I  said  to  him  a 
few  words  ou  the  subject  of  M.  P^enotchkine 
and  the  Chipilovka  serfs,  and  asked  him  if  he 
knew  the  bourmister  of  the  estate.    * 

"  Sophron  Jacovlitch,  you  mean." 

"  Yes ;  what  sort  of  a  man  is  he?" 

"  He  is  not  a  man,  he  is  a  dog,  and  so  bad 
a  dog  that  from  here  to  Koursk  you  would 
not  find  his  equal." 

"Reallv?" 

"  Ah,  sir,  Chipilovka  has  only  the  appear- 
ance of  belonging  to— to  this — never  mind 
his  Christian  names  " — (in  Russia,  a  person's 
Christian  name  and  that  of  his  father  are 
used  together,  whenever  It  is  wished  to  speak 
respectfully  to,  or  of,  any  person :  their  sup- 
pression is  equivalent  to  an  insult) — "  to  this 
M.  P6enotcbkine.  He  is  not  the  owner :  the 
real  owner  is  Sophron  only." 

Do  you  think  so?" 

"  He  has  converted  Chipilovka  into  a  life- 
estate  of  his  own.  Fancy  that  there  is  not  a 
single  peasant  there  who  is  not  in  debt  to 
him  up  ta  the  neck.  He,  therefore,  has  them 
all  under  his  thumb.  -  He  employs  them  as 
he  will,  does  what  he  chooses  with  them,  and 
makes  them  his  tools  and  drudges." 

"  I  am  told  they  are  pinched  for  room, — 
that  the  estate  is  not  large  enough." 

"  Are  we  ever  short  of  land  or  room  In 
these  districts  ?  Sophron  traffics  in  land,  in 
horses,  in  cattle,  pitch,  rosin,  batter,  hemp, 
and  a  hundred  other  articles.  He  is  clever, 
very  clever;  and  Isn't  he  rich,  the  brute? 
But  he  is  mad  about  threshing.  He  is  a  dog, 
a  road  dog,  and  not  a  man.  f  tell  you  again, 
he  is  a  ferocious  brute." 


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HOUSEHOLD  WOEDa 


[CoBdnotedby 


*'  Bat  why  do  not  the  peasants  make  a  com- 
plaint to  their  real  Seigneur?'* 

"  Ah,  sir,  the  Seigneur  pockets  his  revenue, 
—the  payment  is  exact,  and  he  is  satisfied. 
In  case  of  complaint,  what  will  he  do  ?  He 
will  say  to  the  complainant,  *Take  yourself 
off,--begone !  If  not,  Sophron  wiU  know  the 
reason  why.  Make  yourself  scarce ;  other- 
wise, he  will  settle  your  business,  as  he  has 
settled  So-and-so's  and  So-and-so's.' " 

I  briefly  told  him  what  I  had  seen  that 
morning  respecting  Anthippe  and  his  son. 

**WeTl,'  said  Anpadiste,  "Sophron  will 
now  devour  the  old  man.  He  will  suck  the 
marrow  out  of  his  bones.  The  elder  will 
address  him  in  no  better  language  than 
blows  of  the  fist.  Poor  man!  five  or  six 
years  ago,  he  resisted  Sophron  about  some 
trifle,  in  the  presence  of  others,  and  some 
words  passed  between  them  which  rankled 
in  the  bourmister's  heart  That  was  quite 
enough.  He  began  by  annoying  him ;  after- 
wards he  pressed  him  closer  ]  and  now  he  is 
gnawing  him  to  the  very  bone,  execrable 
scoundrel  that  he  is !" 

RUINED  BY  RAILWAYS. 

The  man  was  a  tall,  thin  flgure,  dressed 
in  black,  rather  worn,  but  neatly  brushed, 
with  an  ill-washed  white  neckcloth.  Over 
all,  be  wore  a  shabby  sort  of  camlet 
cloak.  He  was  continually  bus^  making 
calculations  with  a  short  stump  of  pencil  on 
the  back  of  a  bundle  of  papers.  From  time 
to  time  he  took  snu£f  in  a  rapid  nervous  way, 
from  a  once  handsome,  much  worn  Scotch  box. 

He  said— and  as  he  spoke  he  shivered 
with  cold  ;  for  he  had  no  great  coat  or  rail- 
way wrapper,  and  the  second  class  carriage 
in  which  we  were  travelling  had  a  hole  In 
the  floor— It  is  very  hard  that  it  should 
have  happened  to  me.  I  have  always  been 
careful :  I  never  wasted  a  penny  in  my  life. 
No,  no  I  they  cannot  sajr  it  was  extravagance 
that  ruined  me.  Why,  sir,  until  this  wretched 
business,  I  never  had  a  debt  In  my  life — paid 
on  the  nail,  and  made  up  my  cash-book 
every  night  before  I  went  to  bed.  It  seems 
only  the  other  day— although  it's  fifteen 
vears  ago — ^that  m^  poor  father  gave  me  a 
bright,  new  sovereign,  because  I  had  saved 
ten  shillings  in  my  money-box,  while  my 
brother  Jack — ^he  enlisted  soon  after,  and  was 
killed  in  the  Battle  %f  Moodkee — had  only 
threepenoe,  and  owed  a  tick  to  the  tari- 
woman. 

No,  gentlemen  (he  continued,  after  we  had 
shown  our  tickets  at  the  Bilbury  junction — 
his  was  a  tree  pass)  I  have  always  been  pru- 
dent Many  a  time  have  I  ha!d  a  shilling 
from  my  uncle  Bullion  for  repeating  poor 
Robin's  maxims.  *'  Take  care  of  the  pence 
mj  boy,"  he  used  to  say,  "  and  the  pounds 
will  take  care  of  themselves."—"  A  shilling 
saved  is  a  shilUng  got."  He  promised  to 
leave  me  his   fortune;  and   he   would — 


only,  you  see,  being  persuaded  by  his  most 
respectable  acquaintance,  he  put  all  his 
money  into  the  Real  del  Monte  at  five 
hundred  pounds  premium,  when  they  went 
down  to  fifty  shillings,  there  was  only 
thirty  pounds  balance  after  paying  the 
brokers. 

I  was  apprenticed,  when  I  left  school,  to 
old  Alderman  Drabble,  who  began  life  with 
half-a-crown,  and  was  considered  worth  at 
least  a  plum.  He  did  a  great  business  with 
the  West  Indies,  and  there  was  not  a  man 
more  respected  in  Mudborough,  where  he 
lived.  For  he  did  not  spend  above  three 
hundred  pound  a-year,  and  always  had  ten 
thousand  ready  to  invest  at  a  short  date  /on  se- 
curity of  produce — sugar,  coffee,  or  tobacco— 
at  jNToper  interest,  commission,  and  expenses. 

Well,  I  worked  there  early  and  late.  When 
I  was  out  of  my  time,  he  offered  me  a  part- 
nership— not  much  of  a  share,  to  be  sure : 
not  more  than  I  could  have  got  as  cashier 
anywhere  else;  but  then  he  liinted  that  I 
should  have  all  the  business  when  he  died.  He 
used  to  say  those  were  fools  that  retired  from 
business — ^that  there  was  no  amusement  like 
making  "money — money,  more  money,  my 
boy  1 "  So  he  took  me  as  a  young  partner,  that 
he  might  work  less  and  make  more.  He  got 
me  cheap  enough.  * 

When  I  was  an  apprentice  I  used  to  be 
very  fond  of  pret^  Lucy  Oradley,  our 
surgeon's  daughter.  I  often  talked  of  marry- 
mg  her  as  soon  as  I  was  in  business  for 
myself ;  for  we  had  been  children  together, 
and  she  was  the  nicest  little  creature  I  ever 
saw.  But  of  course  I  was  not  going  to  be 
such  a  fool  as  to  marry  a  pig  in  a  poke :  so  I 
got  mv  mother  to  sound  tne  doctor,  and  find 
out  what  he  was  going  to  give  her.  Would 
you  believe  it,  I  never  could  make  out 
whether  it  was  his  extravagance — ^he  al- 
wajrs  had  hot  suppers— or  his  meanness :  he 
actually  declared  he  could  only  afford  to  give 
his  three  g^ls  five  hundred  pound  a-piece. 
Well,  you  see,  that  would  not  do  for  me.  So 
I  began  to  listen  to  my  father — ^who  talked 
a  great  deal  about  saving  money;  al> 
though  I  found  after  all  that  he  spent 
most  of  his  fortune  in  foreign  Lottery 
tickets.  He  used  to  say,  when  I  spoke  of 
Lucy,  "Ben,  my  1)oy,take  my  word  for  it, 
beauty's  onlv  skin  deep.  Depend  uj^n  it 
there's  nothing  like  a  good  balance  in  the 
bank  for  making  married  life  happy.  Stick 
up  to  the  alderman's  daughter." 

Now  Rebecca  Drabble  was  not  exactly  my 
fancy.  She  was  rather  older  than  I  was, 
and  bony  and  yellow,  and  you  always  heard 
her  nagnng  the  maids.  But  when  I  told  my 
father  that,  he  said :  "  Ah,  Ben,  my  boy,  the 
chink  of  the  money  will  drown  her  scolding ; 
besides,  if  she  does  scold  the  maids,  she 
won't  scold  vou." 

Well,  I  dropped  poor  Lucy;  she  after- 
wards married  young  Charles  Bally.  He  was 
first  mate  of  the  Golden  Grrove ;  he's  detain 


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ChwiMlHekMw.] 


RUINED  BY  RAILWAYS. 


115 


and  a  great  ship-owner  now ;  they  keep  their 
own  carriage,  while  I  am  obliged  to  travel 
third  class — when  I  can't  get  a  ftree- 
pass.  I  married  Rebecca.  The  alderman 
was  quite  agreeable.  He  said,  ''Bei^amin, 
I  shan't  give  mj  daughter  any  fortune. 
When  I  married  mj  Rebecca  I  had  but  thirty 
shillings  a  week,  and  she'd  saved  a  hundred 
pound.  Now,  youll  have  all  Rebecca's 
savings :  I  aUow  her  twenty  pounds  a  year 
for  clotnes  and  pocket  money,  and  when  I 
die  you'll  have  something  handsome." 

I  didn't  much  like  tms.  It  wasn't  what 
my  father  planned  for  me ;  but,  if  I  gave 
it  up,  I  knew  I  could  not  live  in  Mud- 
borough.  Old  Drabble  would  have  made  it 
too  hot  for  me.    So  I  married  her. 

I  began  to  repent  the  day  after,  and  have 
repented  ever  since.  My  father's  was  a  careful 
house :  bread  and  milk  for  breakfast,  or  por- 
ridge ;  roast  or  boiled  and  pudding  for  dinner; 
and  glass  of  grog  on  Sundays.  But  there  it  was 
more  talk  than  anything  else.  Rebecca  used 
to  make  me  live  on  herrings  and  sprats, 
and  never  bought  any  meat  but  sticking- 
pieces.  She  uMd  to  dine  by  herself,  before 
I  came  home,  on  some  little  nicety. 

After  we  were  married  the  Alaerman  got 
into  the  habit  of  going  to  London  a  good  deal 
to  see  about  investments,  leaving  us  to  take 
care  of  his  house.  He  left  nothing  in  it  but 
the  furniture ;  so  we  did  not  save  much  by 
that.  One  day  news  came  from  his  London 
broker  that  he  had  fallen  down  dead  at  the 
Railway  Hotel.  I  can't  say  I  was  much 
fretted  by  the  news.  No  more  was  Rebecca, 
for  he  was  a  tir»Bome  stingy  old  man.  I  went 
down  to  'Change  that  day  pretty  proud. 
How  they  did  flock  round  and  shake 
me  1^  the  hand,  and  condole  and  con- 
gratulate me,and  pay  me  compliments.  There 
were  a  dozen  of  the  first  merchants  asking 
my  advice. 

I  went  up  to  town  in  a  new  suit  of  black, 
out  of  turn,  for  it  was  my  rule  to  make  a  suit 
last  twelve  months.  When  I  found  the— would 
you  believe  it  ? — ^the  old  villain  was  married  a 
8e<!ond  time,had  a  wife  and  a  young  fieunily  liv- 
ing in  a  house  close  to  the  L<mdon  station.  He 
had  left  all  his  monev— It  was  not  so  much 
by  half  as  people  tnougfat— to  the  young 
brats.  Their  mother  was  a  turnpike  gate- 
keeper's daughter,  young  enough  to  be  his 
granddaughter.  So  we  got  nothing  except 
five  thousand  pounds  settled  strictly  on 
Rebecca.  To  add  insult  to  the  iiiduij,  he  said, 
in  his  will, "  as  my  son-in-law  is  so  frugal  and 
industrious  he  will  not  want  money  so  much 
as  my  helpless  babes." 

I  had  no  peace  after  this  happened  at  home, 
for  Rebecca  would  have  it  that  it  was  all  my 
fault 

However,  in  spite  of  everything — although 
my  friends  looked  very  cold  on  me  when  I 
oame  back,  and  Alderman  Tibbs,  and  the 
great  Mr.  Glight,  of  the  firm  Glight,  Ribs, 
and  Bibbs,  treated  me  as  if  I  had  swindled 


them  by  accepting  an  invitation  to  dinner 
sent  on  the  strength  of  the  report  tliat  Mr. 
Drabble  had  left  us  an  immense  fortune, — 
I  did  manage  to  make  money.  I  had  saved 
a  nice  little  capital,  and  made  some  very 
pretty  hits  in  underwriting ;  for  I  thoroughly 
understood  ships.  People  used  to  say,  '<  as 
safe  as  Ben  Balance;^'  "Balance  knows 
which  side  his  bread  is  buttered ; "  or  "  you 
can't  come  Yorkshire  over  Mr.  Balance." 
"  He  can  see  through  you,  can  Balance." 

I  do  believe  I  should  have  made  a  plum, 
perhaps  have  been  mayor,  and  even  knighted; 
though,  to  be  sure,  having  always  a  delicate 
digestion,  and  never  able  to  drink  more  than 
one  pint  of  port  wine,  I  could  scarcely  have 
been  qualified  to  stand  in  ^e  ahoesjot  our  true 
blue  five-bottle  man,  Sir  Peter  Curley,  who 
was  knighted  in  especial  compliment  to  the 
Oporto  interest  Often  and  often  I  used  to  sit 
and  think  what  a  fool  my  uncle  was,  for  not 
realising  when  he  could  have  made  thirty 
thousand  pounds  by  the  Real  del  Monte 
shares  that  I  had  to  sell  for  thirty  pounds, 
and  that  nothing  would  incline  me  to  take  a 
share  in  anyuing.  When  the  railway 
fever  broke  out,  I  was  worth  at  least  ten 
thousand  pound. 

At  first  I  took  no  notice  of  all  that  was 
in  the  newspapers.  I  ioined  the  steady 
set  in  the  rcMMimg-room  in  laughing  at  the 
young  fellows  who  were  so  deep  and  hot 
speculating,  and  fiying  by  express  trains  up 
and  down  to  and  fh)m  London.  But  pre- 
sently one  friend,  and  then  another,  dropped 
into  the  stream,  and  then  came  to  tell  me 
how  much  they  had  made.  There  was 
young  Sploshton,  not  in  business  above 
six  months,  who  realised  a  little  for- 
tune in  six  weeks  —  married  the  girl  he 
had  been  engaged  to  for  three  years,  and 
actually  bought  a  small  estate  and  retired 
from  business.  He  lives  on  it  now.  There 
was  young  Tandemtit ;  he  had  been  so  wild 
his  mends  had  sent  mm  to  America.  He 
returned  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  was  obliged 
to  borrow  a  crown  piece  of  the  station- 
master  at  Bootlem  to  bring  him  to  his 
father's  house.  He  set  up  as  a  share-broker, — 
the  second  ever  known  in  the  town;  the 
other,  old  Foggerton,  only  dealt  in  go- 
vernment stoclE  The  first  year  Tandemtit 
opened  a  good  amount  with  Glight,  Ribs  and 
Bibbs,— drove  his  mail  phaeton,  and  gave  open 
champagne  lunches  to  his  customers.  There 
was  Alderman  Cobalt,  who  went  up  to  town 
to  his  son's  wedding,  met  an  engineer  in  the 
train,  and,  from  his  information,  made  five 
thousand  pounds  in  one  transaction.  It  was  no 
use  shutting  your  ears;  these  stories  were 
dinned  into  your  ears  every  day — even  the 
women  talked  of  them.  I  made  my  two 
pounds,  or  five,  and  sometimes  ten  pounds 
a  day,  by  my  business.  But  when  in  every 
shop  and  every  counting-house,  and  on 
'Change,  at  all  hours  we  heard  of  thousands 
and  tons  of  thousands  made  in  a  etrolce  of  apen, 


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116 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Condnctedby 


and  saw  men  and  boys  of  yesterdaj  springing 
into  importance  in  close  consultation  witli 
oar  steady  old  bankers,  it  was  impossible 
not  to  feel  discontented.  I  repeated  to  my- 
self all  the  cautions  proverbs— *' Slow  and 
sure ;  "  More  haste  worse  speed ;"  "  What's 
earned  over  the  devil's  back  is  spent,"  &c.; 
and  then  met  some  one  whom  I  had  considered 
a  stupid  fellow,  who  would  stop  me  to  show 
a  letter  of  allotment  he  was  going  to  sell  for 
ever  so  many  hundred  pounds. 

I  could  not  help  imparting  my  discontent 
one  day  to  Joseph  Sleekleigh,  the  cashier  of 
the  chief  bank  at  Mudborough.  Sleekleigh  was 
deacon  of  our  chapel,  universally  considered  a 
safe,  steady  man  of  business,  and  the  future 
manager  of  the  Joint  Stock  Bank  whenever 
old  Dummy,  who  ,had  held  it  from  the 
commencement,  died.  To  this  Sleekleigh 
answered, "  Well,  if  we  were  to  do  anything,  it 
ought  to  be  on  a  large  scale.  These  allot- 
ments are  but  paltry  aflFairs  for  men  like  you 
and  me.'' 

A  few  Sundays  after  this  conversation, 
Sleekleigh  called  upon  me,  and  said,  as  soon 
as  we  were  alone  in  the  garden,  "B,  are 
you  ready  to  go  into  a  really  good  thing  on 
a  large  scale  ?  Are  you  prepared  in  fact,  to 
back  your  luck,  and  make  a  fortune?  Be- 
cause, if  you  are,  I  have  a  chance  for  you." 

I  told  him  how  disappointed  I  had  been 
by  my  father-in-law's  infamous  deception. 
So  he  went  on  to  say,  "You  know  my 
nephew,  young  Tom  Slum,  who  returned 
ft*om  Australia  the  other  day." 

"  Yes,  of  course  ;  always  smoking  cigars, 
drives  hired  tandems,  goes  to  races  witli 
prize-fighters.  I  have  seen  him,  and  could 
never  understand  how  a  respectable  man  like 
you  could  have  such  a  young  ruffian  for  his 
nephew." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Sleekleigh, "  he  is  rather 
wild,  but  not  such  a  fool  as  he  seems.  He 
now  and  then  collects  information  worth 
having,  for  the  bank  ;  and,  although  of  course 
I  can't  receive  him  at  my  own  house,  I  do 
meet  him  occasionally.  Tom  has  a  secret  that 
may  be  worth  a  hundred  thousand.  Think 
of  that.  So  make  up  your  mind.  Will  you 
go  in  with  me  into  the  speculation?" 

After  further  consultation,  I  consented  to 
draw  a  check  in  four  figures ;  he  then  con- 
fided to  me  that  Slum  had  been  making  love 
to  the  good-looking  housekeeper  of  Alder- 
man Rugg,  a  widower,  and  chairman  of  the 
Pinnacle  Junction  Railway,  and  that  he,  or 
rather  she  for  him,  had  discovered  that  a 
secret  plan  was  nearlv  completed,  for  iHiying 
the  Granite  Valley  Continuation  in  ten  per 
cent,  stock ;  indeed,  Mrs.  Jenny  had  somehow 
or  other  got  possecBion  of  the  torn  pieces  of 
the  original  ^aft  memorandum,  prepared  at 
a  private  dinner  between  the  alderman  and 
Lawyer  Cockle. 

To  cut  a  long  story  short,  I  was  tempted 
to  go  into  the  aflTair.  I  went  to  the  London 
broker   who   had   always  bought   CooboIb 


for  me,  quietly  collected  shares,  and  made 
large  time  bargains  in  the  Granite  Valley 
Continuation,  then  at  fifty  per  cent,  discount 
In  three  weeks  we  divided  nearly  a  hundred 
thousand  pounds!  Yes,  you  may  stare,  a 
hundred  thousand  pounds.  The  news  of  the 
amalgamation  came  out  in  leas  than  a  week 
after  I  had  operated.  Up  went  the  shares ; 
two  hundred  per  cent  premium ;  the  direc- 
tors who,  in  consequence  of  our  getting 
into  the  secret,  had  not  made  quite  as  much 
as  they  expected,  took  tbie  public  while  it 
was  in  the  humour,  and  issued  a  lot  of 
new  extension  shares.  Of  course  we  got 
our  quota,  and  there  was  another  famous 
pull.  My  total  third  came  to  thirty-two 
thousand  pounds,  nineteen  shillings,  and 
fourpenoe. 

You  can't  expect  that  I  was  going  to  attend 
to  my  beggarly  business  after  thai  Besides, 
this  coup  having  been  effected  by  me  alone, 
ostenaiblv,  gave  me  an  immense  reputation 
among  the  most  knowing  hands  as  a  sharp 
man  of  business, — they  never  guessed  how  I 
got  my  information,  and  I  was  overwhelmed 
with  oflfers  of  shares  in  good  things,  with 
seats  in  provisional  committees,  brides  being 
consulted  about  plans  for  all  sorts  of  under- 
takings. I  never  luiow  before  how  quick, 
how  intelligent  I  was.  I  had  been  noted  on 
our  little  'Change  for  the  decided  way  in 
which  I  underwrote  a  doubtful  ship ;  in  my 
new  line  this  served  me  wonderinlly.  I 
dined  with  a  great  East  Indian,  and  got  a 
letter  of  introduction  which  gave  me  two 
hundred  shares  in  the  celebrated  Pnqjaab 
and  Cape  Comorm  Railway, — deposit  five 
shillings.  I  sold  them  the  day  following,  for 
twelve  pounds  premium.  I  was  a  director  of 
the  Great '  Mietropolis  and  Mudboroagh 
Direct:  of  the  Great  Metropolis  and  Coal- 
boro'  Direct,  and  half-a^ozen  other  great 
projects.  We  brought  them  all  out  at  tea 
pounds  premium  and  every  director  had  a 
thousand  shares.  We  were  quite  above  any- 
thing at  less  than  ten  pounds  premium,  and 
the  Coalboro'  we  brought  out  at  twenty-five 
pounds.  When  I  think  that  all  the  Dirdbts 
but  one  have  been  wound  up  with  heavy 
loss ;  that  the  PuAJaube  have  been  sold  at 
two  shillings  and  sixpence  discount,  and  that 
the  lines  at  work  which  were  at  two  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  are  now  at  ninety  pounds 
each— it  drives  me  almost  mad. 

I  got  into  a  completely  new  line  of  life 
and  set  of  society,  instead  of  the  aldermen 
whom  I  used  to  think  it  a  great  honor  to  dine 
with.  I  was  intimate  with  lords  and  M.  P's. 
Our  Direction  Boards  were  regular  happy 
fidmilies.  No  prejudices,  politics,  or  religion, 
or  rank,  or  birth  prevailed  there.  We  had 
Lord  Jennet,  who  came  in  with  William  the 
Conqueror,  and  Trimmer  the  banker,  whose 
father  kept  a  gin-shop :  and  Muggins,  who 
had  been  on  the  turf,  but  found  the  Stock 
Exchange  more  profitable ;  the  Honourable 
Peter  Plaudit,  M.P.,  the  celebrated  radical 


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Obarlet  Dlelmig.] 


RUINED  BY  RAILWAYS. 


117 


philantbropist,  and  the  Honourable  AugostaB 
de  Brabber  Fleecj,  son  of  the  Duke  of 
Woolley,  the  celebrated  protectionifii 

We  used  to  meet  about  twelve  o'clock, 
and  have  a  little  champagne  lun(di;  per- 
haps a  basin  of  turtle,  and  then  settle  the 
allotments  and  the  premiums.  We  had  our 
expenses  paid,  including  boxes  at  the  Opera, 
and  broughams  for  those  who  liked  them.  I 
didn't  I  used  to  go  to  my  lodgings  in  Blow- 
hard  Square — a  guinea  a  week,  including 
bed  and  breakfast — and  calculate  my  profits. 
I've  got  the  book  now.  Of  course  it  was 
nothing  to  anybody  if  I  chose  to  save  my 
allowance  of  five  guineas  a  day. 

We  thought  nothing  of  a  hundred  thousand 
pounds  more  or  less  in  those  days.  I  re- 
member well,  just  before  we  started  the 
Joint  Stock  Bank  Company  of  Mexico,  Meso- 
potamia, and  New  Zealand,  that  Peter 
M^Orawley  (the  celebrated  shiihowner  and 
patriot— it  was  before  he  got  into  Parliament), 
made  such  an  excellent  thing  by — we  tossed 
up  whether  the  capital  should  be  one  million 
or  five  hundred  thousand  pounds,  and  the 
million  won.  We  brought  that  out  at  two 
pounds  deposit,  and  five  pounds  premium. 
It  went  down  the  following  year  to  one 
pound  discount,  when  M^Orawley  bought  up 
all  the  shares  he  could,  broke  up  the  under- 
taking, and  got  one  pound  fifteen  shillings 
for  every  one  of  them.  I  lost  thousands  by 
mine. 

But  to  return  to  my  partners  in  the  first 
transaction.  Young  Slum  went  to  London 
immediately:  he  travelled  up  in  the  same  train 
with  the  Honourable  Constaotine  Gndlip, 
who  bad  just  been  obliged  to  leave  Fizzington 
Wells  after  an  nnsuccessfhl  attack  on  an 
heiress.  Cudlip  borrowed  a  thousand  pounds 
of  Slum,  introduced  him  into  some  of  the 
best  society  at  Hyde  Park  Corner,  and  made 
him  a  member  of  the  Raffle  and  Riot  Club. 
So  Slum  drove  a  four-in-hand  drag — divided 
his  time  between  Capcl  Court  and  the 
-'*  Comer,''  and  took  up  his  abode  at  the  Gin 
Sling  Hotel,  in  Carriboo  Square,  doing  the 
same  business  that  I  did,  but  in  quite  a  difi'er- 
ent  style;  —  where  I  spent  a  shilling  he 
spent  a  hundred  pounds.  It  was  astonii^ing 
how  Teddy  Slum — ho  cfdled  himself  Fitz 
Teddington  Slum — was  altered,  what  with 
his  clothes  and  his  ways;  the  station-mas- 
ter would  never  have  known  him ;  I  never 
altered. 

Ab  for  Sleekleigh  he  left  the  Bank--set  up 
as  a  sharebroker  and  had  all  the  best  people 
in  the  county  for  his  customers.  Besides  the 
bankers  and  merchants,  there  were  old  ladies 
and  parsons  in  crowds,  who  sold  out  of  consols, 
called  in  mortgages  and  brought  their  money 
to  lay  out  OS  he  pleased,  and  he  made  it  a 
ftiTOur  to  take  it. 

I  can't  make  you  believe  what  I  was  worth 
at  one  time.  I  know  I  staid  at  home  one 
Sunday,  and  calculated  by  the  premiums  on 
the  share-lists  sent  down  on  Saturday  night 


that  I  was  worth  half  a  million,  good.  I  de- 
termined to  retire  at  a  million.  Here  the 
narrator  seized  a  wedge  of  pork-pie  which  the 
young  woman  who  eat  opposite  to  us  kindly 
offered  to  him,  and  went  on  masticating  and 
talking  at  the  same. 

Ah,  I  was  happy  then,  although  I  lived 
in  a  fever.  I  did  not  waste  my  money 
as  Slum  did.  My  bankers  never  kept  me 
waiting ;  I  was  shown  into  their  parlour  the 
moment  I  appeared.  In  my  old  black  pocket- 
book  I  used  to  keep  a  bundle  of  notes, 
buttoned  in  a  pocket  close  over  my  heart, 
and  a  score  of  sovereigns  in  my  breeches 
gockct.     I  was  never  dull  while  I  could 

i ingle  them.  To  be  sure  I  was  not  quite 
lappy  at  home.  Rebecca  was  never  the 
best  of  tempers  — used  to  worry  and  nag 
me  out  of  my  life  to  give  her  a  carriage,  and 
this  and  that  and  the  other,  and  to  move  to 
a  better  house,  although  I  had  never  seen  the 
colour  of  her  money.  She  took  good  care 
to  save  up  all  that  I  allowed  her — as  much 
as  three  pounds  a  week  to  keep  house — quite 
enough  too.  I  was  not  going  to  waste  my 
money  on  coaches  and  bouses  after  I  had 
been  so  infamously  cheated  about  Rebecca's 
fortune. 

Well,  after  a  time  things  began  to  grow 
rather  flatter,  but  I  had  still  a  large  balance  at 
my  banker's.  I  had  sold  all  the  small  stufi^  and 
put  it  out  on  good  interest ;  so  I  reserved  my 
strength  for  my  direct  lines.  There  was  a 
fortune.  I  thought  at  the  lowest  calculation 
they  would  pay  ten  per  cent,  and  that  on  my 
shares  would  be  forty  thousand  a  year. 
We  had  the  calculations  of  the  celebrated  Mr. 
Paul  Stretcher,  who  made  a  fortune  by  his 
Railway  traffic  calculations  alone  in  less  than 
two  years. 

A  good  many  small  people  were  smashed 
in  the  first  panic,  my  losses  were  heavy,  but 
still  I  had  my  solid  saving  to  fall  back  on, 
and  my  direct  shares.  While  Slum — ^M'ho  had 
declined  to  take  Lord  Cornboy's  mansion 
and  park,  because  there  was  stabling  for  only 
twenty  horses — was  obliged  to  borrow  money 
at  high  interest. 

The  time  came  for  going  to  Parliament, 
many  of  our  other  shareholders,  some  of  our 
directors,  especially  the  Right  Honorable 
ones,  hung  back.  In  fact,  tbcv  had  no  ready 
money,  and  they  had  spent  their  premiums 
OS  fast  as  they  got  them.  I  had  to  choose 
between  a  great  loss  and  going  on.  I  went 
on,  with  four  or  five  others ;  we  put  down  our 
hard  cash,  and  took  the  shares  of  the  de- 
faulters, with  the  forfeit  of  what  they  had 
paid.  I  could  have  retired  then  with  some- 
thing handsome. 

That  was  the  most  dreadful  time  of  all. 
Every  day  the  engineers,  or  the  lawyers  were 
at  us  for  money.  It  was  like  putting  a  pistol 
to  one's  throat    It  was  pay,  or  lose  all. 

While  the  railway  committees  were  going 
on  in  Commons  and  Lords  —  sometimes 
winning,  sometimes  losing  —  my  visits   to 


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118 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CGoBdoctodVjr 


the  Git^  were  constant,  and  at  times  I 
made  a  prettj  good  thing  of  speenlating  on 
mj  infonnation.  But  at  length  the  *'  Long 
Seflsion^'  grew  to  an  end.  Oat  of  the  slaught- 
ered innocents  foar  of  the  Direct  Lines  were 
saved.  Conceive  my  horror  when  they  all 
fell  to  par  the  moment  the  Royal  Assent  was 
obtained,  and  we  were  in  a  position  to  pat  a 
pickaxe  in  the  groand. 

Bat  I  was  determined  to  hold ;  I  was  snre 
that  better  times  would  come  when  the  ras- 
cally papers  woald  cease  to  write  against  as, 
and  we  shoald  spring  up  to  our  old  premiums. 
Nay,  I  bought  more  shares  to  cover  my  losses. 

But  down,  down,  down  they  went  with 
partial  gleams  of  hope — like  the  fluttering 
leaves  of  an  old  almanack. 

This  was  not  the  worst;  my  table  was 
daily  covered  with  notices  and  threatening 
letters  from  the  solicitors  of  companies  in 
which  I  had  taken  allotments,  or  accepted 
provisional  direction. 

The  creditors  of  the  dissolved  companies 
where  I  was  director  and  committee-man 
began  to  sue  me.  I  was  in  a  hundred  actions 
of  law  at  once,  I  was  torn  to  pieces  with 
consultations  with  my  lawyers  and  my  brokers. 
My  ready  money  was  consumed  in  paying 
calls,  paying  law  costs,  and  continuations  on 
unsuccessful  speculations  on  the  Stock  Ex- 
change. I  ceased  to  keep  exact  accounts,  1 
could  not  bear  to  see  my  darling  scrip  re- 
duced to  the  value  of  waste  paper,  but  hoping 
for  better  times  I  pledged  my  good  shares  at 
my  broker's.  Good  shares— there  was  nothing 
good! 

Yes,  I  who  could  have  had  my  bills,  when 
I  began,  done  at  two  per  cent,  per  annum 
was  obliged  to  pay  equal  to  twelve  pounds, 
then  fifteen,  then  twenty-five  per  cent  for 
discount,  and  the  respectable  bankers  who 
sneered  at  Slum's  friends,  the  Jews,  took  it 

I  think  I  might  then  have  retured  with  ten 
thousand  pounds. 

My  old  friend,  Lucy's  father,  met  me  by  acci- 
dent, and  recommended  me  strongly  to  clear 
off  all,  and  return  to  Mudborongh.  I  was 
-half-inclined  when  I  came  across  Sir  John 
Bullion,  he  held  me  by  the  button-hole,  oppo- 
site Capel  Court,  condoled  with  me  for  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour,  and  then  in  the  kindest  man- 
ner, gave  me  some  important  secret  informa- 
tion advising  me  to  buy  all  the  shares  I  could. 
I  followed  his  advice,  others  believing  that  I 
was  his  agent,  followed  me,  for  he  then  had  a 
reputation  for  finance.  I  operated  largely, 
the  shares  rose  rapidly  that  day,  the  next  day 
they  fell  with  a  dead  flop.  We  had  been  done.  Sir 
John  had  put  on  me  all  his  share  of  bad  stock, 
as  dead  as  ditch  water.  All  my  money  went,and 
more,  an  acceptance  to  my  brokers  was  my 
only  resource.  I  still  had  the  shadow  of 
credit  with  many,  although  my  bank  aoconnt 
was  finally  closed.  I  struggled  on  for  a  year, 
made  one  or  two  good  small  hits,  and  then  a 
final  smash  and  default.  I  was  posted  in  the 
Stock  Exchange,  arrested  on  the  bill,  and  in  | 


the  Queen's  Bench  foand  my  forcotten  friend 
Slum,  in  a  flowered  damask  sTlk  dressing- 
gown  and  a  high  state  of  deliriom  tremens. 
He  lived  long  enoagfa  to  be  put  on  the  poor 
side,  and  died  with  a  handle  of  letters  in  his 
hand  from  his  noble  friends,  to  whom  he  had 
written  for  twenty  poands  to  enable  him  to 
pass  the  Insolvent  Court 

In  my  despair  I  wrote  to  Sleekleigh  and 
got  in  answer  a  letter  ftrom  a  solicitor,  in- 
forming me  that  the  firm  of  Sleekleigh  and 
Co.,  Stock  and  Share  Brokers  was  bankrupt, 
that  the  acconntscould  not  be  balanced  within 
a  million,  and  that  Sleekleigh  himself  had 
emigrated  to  Californiap— he  afterwards  be- 
came a  judge  and  bar-keeper  in  Grizsly  Bear 
Valley. 

When  at  length  I  was  discharged  by  the 
Court,  with  a  compliment  on  the  raiallness  of 
my  personal  expenditare,  and  a  remand  for 
actions  vexatiously  defended,  I  found  that 
my  wife  had  departed  to  live  somewhere  on 
the  Continent,  on  the  interest  of  her  five 
thousand  pounds ;  leaving  me  a  letter  declin- 
ing all  further  acquaintance  with  me  on  the 
ground  of  my  improvident  habits. 

I  have  since  tried  to  do  a  little  business  in 
my  native  town ;  but  I  could  not  get  on  very 
well,  it  is  so  slow  to  woric  for  shillings  when 
you  have  been  in  the  habit  of  making  hun- 
dreds a  day. 

However,  I  shall  be  all  ri^t  again  soon. 
I've  got  here  a  capital  thing— a  Copper  and 
Gk>ld  Mine  in  Wales,  I  have  a  half  share  in 
it,  and  am  now  travelling  down  to  get  my 
old  fHends  to  take  shares.  We  only  want  five 
thousand  pounds  to  begin  with;  we  have 
tested  the  rotk,  and  it  gives  three  ounces  of 
gold  to  the  ton  in  Nobler's  Gold  Crushing 
Machine.  Ten  thousand  tons  a  year,  at  three 
pounds  ten  shillings  an  ounce,  beside  the  cop- 
per, which  will  pay  the  working  expenses. 
There's  a  profit  for  only  fiva  thousand 
pounds  t 

He  paused  here,  took  snuff  vehemently, 
and  looked  around  to  see  if  any  one  wonid 
take  a  forty  shilling  share, — one  shilling 
deposit  When  a  bluff  commercial  traveller- 
looking  man  in  a  dark  comer  of  the  end 
compartment  burst  in  with,  <<Is  that  the 
Penny  Gwyg  Mine  you're  talking  of?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  yes,— ^o  you  know  anything 
about  it?" 

**  Know  it  well :  it's  been  worked  by  seven 
sets  of  people  in  ten  years,  and  all  lost  money 
by  it  There's  about  as  much  gold  as  cop- 
per, and  that  wouldn't  make  up  a  five  shilling 
packet  The  last  time  it  was  sold  by  old 
Owen  Gwynne,  who  ^t  a  cask  of  beer  for 
it,  iVom  a  man  travelling  for  a  new  brewerj. 
Ah  I  ah !  hah  I "  and  ha  laughed  a  horse-bar 
sort  of  laugh! 

The  thin  man  blushed,  gatiiered  up  his 
papers  from  the  seat,  and  when  the  train 
stopped  at  the  Deadbuiy  station,  went 
out  hastily.  Two  days  after,  the  news- 
papers contained  an  account  of  a  man  with 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ChtflM  DkkeM.] 


BACK  FROM  THE  CRIMEA. 


119 


B.  B.  marked  on  his  linen,  foand  out  to  pieces 
on  a  lerel  croeaing  on  the  Great  Round  About 
Railway. 

Tlie  verdict  was,  "  Accidental  death ;  the 
railway  authorities  not  to  blame.'' 


BACK  FROM  THE  CRIMEA. 

Tkstrrdat  was  a  great  day  for  the  great  sea- 
port where  I  live — the  day  of  the  landing  of 
the  convalescent  sick  and  wounded  from  the 
trenches  and  the  battle-fields  of  the  Crimea ;  a 
long,  long  line  of  wan  pale  warriors,  tottering 
to  ^eir  resting  place,  the  hospital ;  and  those 
who  could  not  walk,  borne  after  them  on 
litters.  This  was  not  the  first  sight  of  this 
kind  we  have  witnessed  here,  and  it  will  not 
be  the  last  by  many.  The  deepest  feelings  of 
gratitude  and  commiseration  are  weakened 
not  one  whit  within  us ;  but  the  enthusiasm 
that  requires  novelty  to  re-awaken  it  has 
almost  died  out  No  shouting  crowds  now 
follow  these  poor  soldiers  to  the  hospital  gates; 
no  flags  wave  from  the  windows ;  no  cannons 
roar.  We  have  found  out  other  ways  of  wel- 
come,— ^there  is  a  subscription-list  lying  open 
at  the  Town  Hall,  whereto,  you  may  add  your 
help  in  supplying  boolcs  and  papers  to  the 
invalids;  and  volunteers,  who  understand 
the  art  and  mystery  of  letter-writing,  are 
plentiful  by  the  pick  beds,  to  send  for  their 
disabled  occupants  a  word  of  comfort  home- 
wards. To-day  a  still  more  solemn  scene  took 
place :  the  sick  and  wounded  who  were  too 
ill  to  be  moved  yesterday — ^no  convalescents, 
but  men  well  nigh  death's  door — were  brought 
back  to  their  fatherland  to  die. 

The  great  three-decker  lies  in  the  offing 
that  conveyed  them  fh>m  Scutari,  watched  by 
us  these  three  di^swith  dim  eyes, — avast 
death-ship  and  floating  hospital  between 
decks,  and  gay  with  flags  and  full  of  life 
above. 

There  has  been  sad  work  at  these  dread 
landings  of  the  wounded ;  but  to-day,  at  least, 
were  all  things  fitting  and  in  reodmess.  The 
Royal  Rampshire  sent  its  hundred  men  or  so 
to  the  Dockyard  Pier,  with  litters,  and  almost 
all  its  officers  were  in  attendance.  A  ecore  of 
hardy  seamen,  too,  were  there,  contrasting 
strangely  with  the  slight  slim  figures  of  the 
yoang  militiamen ;  official  people  with  the  f^ar 
of  The  Times  before  their  eyes :  surgeons,  and 
dockyard  dignitaries.  It  Lscold  enough  wait- 
ing upon  harbour  piers  for  steam-tugs,  with 
the  wind  and  tide  against  them,  and  a  little 
leap-frog  does  not  seem  out  of  place  among 
the  gallant  Rampshire-men ;  but  directly  the 
first  puff  of  smoke  is  seen  above  the  Bastion, 
the  order  is  given  to  "fall  in," — all  eyes 
are  directed  to  the  approaching  ve8sel,>all 
hearts  beat  quickly,  all  faces  lose  their 
smiles. 

First,  the  dark  dismal  hull,  and  then  the 
decks  spread  thick  with  dim  white  tarpaulins, 
whoee  shapes,  as  they  draw  nearer,  are  as  of 


sheets  above  the  dead ;  and  there  the  dying, 
perhaps  dead,  men  are, — the  worst  cases,  that 
would  not  bear  moving  underneath,  but  lie 
with  heaps  of  blankets  over  them,  and  only  a 
prominence  observable  at  heads  and  feet 
The  vessel  is  brought  alongside,  and  four  tars 
descend  the  narrow  plaii^  to  bear  the  sick 
men,  feet  foremost  The  litters  cannot  here 
be  used,  so  bad  are  all  these  oases;  but 
through  the  thick  canvass  of  these  "  cots " 
great  poles  are  inserted,  and  shouldering 
these  with  difficulty,  and  keeping  in  step  for 
the  suiferers'  sake,  which  is  hard  work  also, 
the  sailors  land  thehr  burthen.  Sometimes 
ftrom  under  the  ^eat  pile  of  clothes  an  ashy- 
white  thin  face  just  shows  itself,  or  rather  is 
shown  by  chance,  for  the  eyes  are  lustreless, 
and  express  no  gleam  of  interest.  The  heavy 
moustache  and  the  military  cap,  still  worn 
as  bed-gear,  contrast  most  painfully  with 
the  dependent,  prostrate  condition  of  their 
wearers.  What  expression  yet  remains  to 
some  is  of  a  thoughtful  cast.  Thev  have  seen 
and  suffered  much  these  last  six  months; 
and  want  and  danger  are  such  teachers  as  the 
most  careless  may  not  disregard.  The  bearers 
are  warned  of  all  impediments ;  and  tenderly 
and  skilftilly  do  they  lift  their  heavy  burthen, 
and  the  "wheelers"  start  with  left  foot, 
and  the  "  leaders  "  with  the  right,  and  so . 
"  slow-march  "  to  the  hospital.  Now,  too,  must 
the  less  dangerous  cases  be  brought  from 
between  decks,  and  transferred  from  their 
cots  to  litters.  Each  man  is  dreased  in  his 
great  coat,  and  his  knapsack  lies  beside  him 
as  though  he  should  presently  arise  and  walk; 
but  it  is  easy  to  see  there  Is  no  walking  for 
him  these  many  weeks,  though  his  eyes  are 
bright  with  happiness,  and  he  will  answ^ei; 
softly  if  you  address  his  ear ;  and  these,  too, 
are  carried  to  the  sick  wards  to  join  their  less 
fortunate  brethren. 

These  wards  are  warm  and  comfortable, 
with  a  fire  at  each  end  of  them.  "  We  have 
not  seen  a  fire  since  we  left  old  England," 
say  many  of  the  sufferers ;  and  medicines  are 
in  plenty  and  attendance  good. though  medical 
help  is  still  greatly  needed  :  but  things  were 
not  so  at  first  by  anv  means.  Ragged  and 
swarming  with  vermin  (as  we  are  credibly 
informed)  did  our  poor  fellows  lie  for  days ; 
for  there  was  signing  and  counter-signing  to 
be  effected,  and  the  "  proper  channel "  to  be 
quite  decided  upon,  before  the  official  mind 
could  rightlv  understand  the  matter  and  pro- 
vide clean  Imen.  Let,  however,  bygones  be 
bygones.  Now,  we  repeat,  were  there  a  larger 
medical  staff  (especially  in  the  matter  of 
dressers),  all  would  be  well.  <« 

Accompany  us,  then,  with  some  of  the 
officers  from  the  Royal  Rampshire,  and  bring 
pen,  ink,  and  paper,  and  a  little  writing-case; 
seat  yourself  down  on  one  of  the  deal  stools 
that  stand  beside  each  bed,  and  hear  a  story 
of  the  war, — quite  unpiotorial,  without  rose- 
colour,  flame-colour,  drum  accompaniment, 
or  any  such  thing,— and  let  the  look  of  each 


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sad  reciter  be  before  you  when  men  prate 
of  glory  for  glory's  sake ;  and  believe  him 
as  he  gasps  upon  his  scanty  pallet  in  the  bare 
white-waied  room,  without  one  friend  about 
him,  and  (but  for  you)  unable  to  apprise  pne 
of  his  fate,  when  he  affirms  that  this  is  Eden, 
Paradise,  Heaven,  to  what  he  has  endured 
these  six  months.  Be  sure  this  is  the  reality 
of  the  whole  matter — war  stripped  of  its 
pomp  and  circumstance. 

First  is  a  foot-soldier,  wounded  by  a  shell 
in  the  knee,  who  thinks  he  would  like  to 
write  to  his  first-cousin.  This  first  cousin  is 
his  only  relative,  and^does  not  know  even  of 
his  having  volunteered  for  foreign  service  ; 
he  is  not  sure  about  the  direction,  but  knows 
that  it  is  somewhere  in  the  county  Clare.  In 
the  next  bed  a  woe*begone  sad  creature 
answers  your  question  in  a  hollow,  despairing 
voice :  **  I  have  no  friends,"  he  says,  and**  Let 
me  alone."  The  brain  of  this  poor  fellow  is 
affected,  and  we  can  be  of  no  service  to  him 
at  present,  so  pass  on.  There  is  a  bov  of  only 
seventeen,  wounded  at  the  battle  of  tne  Alma. 
His  face  is  quite  beautiful,  round,  and  healthy- 
looking.  He  seems  quite  happy  and  contented, 
and  answers  cheerfully  enough,  that  he  would 
wish  to  write  to  father  and  mother,  and  tell 
them  he  had  lost  his  leg  :  such  a  letter  he  dic- 
tates as  would  shame  a  whole  army  of  philo- 
sophers;— when  he  gets  used  to  **  those,"  he 
says,  pointing  to  the  crutches  by  his  bed's 
head,  he  will  do  well  enough. 

The  next  case  is  one  of  dysentery.  A  giant 
of  an  Hussar— the  skeleton  of  one  at  least — 
all  shaggy  hair  and  eyes,  with  cough,  accom- 
panied by  moaning,  ^would  like  to  let  his 
wife  and  children  know  about  him;  they 
have  not  heard  since  he  went  out  five 
months  ago ;  they  will  not  see  him  again  in 
this  world,  he  feels  sure,  and  truly  his  state 
is  very  sad ;  his  attenuated  legs  find  even  tiie 
weight  of  bedclothes  insupportable,  he  can 
only  fetch  his  breath  to  speak  at  intervals ; 
has  been  deadly  ill  these  six  weeks,  as  far  as 
he  could  take  note  of  lagging  time  y  would 
have  sent  home  some  money  long  ago,  but 
that  they  robbed  him  in  Scutari  hospital  of  all 
he  had — which,  they  cut  from  around  his 
naked  neck  where  he  wore  it  in  a  bag ;  there 
was  some  more  duo  to  him  if  he  had  his 
rights ;  and  they  should  have  all ;  they  must 
have  wanted  it,  he  knew,  through  this  sad 
winter.  Yes,  he  was  in  the  great  horse-charge 
that  was  so  famous, — borne  up  by  the  men 
around  him  through  the  rain  of  bullets — 
borne  and  back  again  to  the  Russian  guns, 
and  baek  again,  he  i[neans,  without  much 
thought  of  danger ;  there  was  no  time.  He 
does  not  wis^  that  to  be  set  down  in  the  letter: 
said  it  to  inform  us  only.    We  have  written 


all  he  wishes ;  and  so,  with  a  ''  Thank  ye, 
thank  ye,"  he  sinks  back  in  his  bed  and 
groans. 

The  fifth  place  has  no  tenant;  its  latest 
occupant  was  borne  out  yesterday  to  a  still 
narrower  resting-place. 

The  sixth  is  a  maimed  man ;  his  right  arm 
was  shot  off  at  Inkermann ;  he  was  in  all  the 
previous  battles.  This  man  talks  freely  of  the 
war  and  without  pain  in  utterance,  which 
most  can  do  (and  let  it  be  kept  in  remembrance 
by  all  those  making  themselves  useful  to 
the  sick,  not  to  allow  their  compassion  to  be 
sacrificed  to  curiosity).  The  fearfullest  thing 
of  a  battle-field  is  the  treading  upon  the 
bodies  of  the  fallen.  The  thunder  of  the  guns 
and  the  flashes,  the  trembling  of  the  ground 
under  the  horses,  seemed  as  though  heaven 
and  earth  were  coming  together ;  but  the  step- 
ping on  a  wounded  man — that  was  the  worst: 
before  the  figUting,  it  was  not  unpleasant,  per-  , 
haps ;  and  after,  it  was  a  dreadful  tiqie, — but  i 
the  fighting  itself  was  enough  to  flush  a  man,  I 
a  great  while  of  excitement  and  madness ; 
often  and  often  used  to  think  of  it  as  be  lay 
in  bed  and  on  board  "ship. 

The  seventh  bed  is  occupied  by  a  living 
being  at  present,  and  that  is  all  we  can  call 
the  shadowy  form ;  the  eyes  are  sunk  into 
the  head,  and  all  the  features  have  the  sharp- 
ness of  death.  He  has  ceased  to  disturb  the 
ward  (as  ho  did  at  first)  with  coughs  and 
groans,  and  a  few  hours  will  rid  them  of  his 
presence.  We  must  hero  mention  tiiat  t^e 
want  of  a  smaller  apartment  for  the  reception 
of  those  who  cannot  cease  from  coughing  and 
expressions  of  pain,  is  much  felt  iu  all  our 
hospitals  here. 

In  striking  contrast  to  this  dying  man  is  his 
neighbour,  the  eighth  aud  last  patient  of  the 
line ;  he  has  lost  three  fingers  of  hia  left  hand 
by  a  cannon  ball,  and  has  received  a  fracture 
of  the  leg,  but  is  getting  on  capitally,  and  is 
in  the  highest  spirits.  He  has  no  need  to  tell 
us  he  is  an  Irishman,  for  ho  has  an  accent  as 
broad  as  from  here  to  Cork :  indeed  it  is  with 
the  greatest  difiiculty  we  can  undei^tand 
what  he  wishes  us  to  write ;  it  takes  us  five 
minutes  to  unravel  "respects  to  inquiring 
friends" — (always  "respects,"  however  near 
maybe  the  relationships)  from  the  mass  of  r's, 
which  he  is  pleased  to  insert  amongst  that 
sentence.  Russia,  as  far  as  he  knows,  is  abso- 
lutely good  for  nothing ;  except,  indeed^  be 
must  say, /or  grapes  and  lice.  Amidst  a  heap 
of  extraneous  matter  of  this  sort,  he  write* 
to  liis  mother  in  Tipperary,  "  Don't  let  our 
Patrick,  mother,  go  for  a  soldier ;  not  that 
I  mind  for  myseli,"  ho  says,  pointing  to  his 
shattered  hand,  "  but  one^s  enough. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


**  fimOiar  in  thsir  Moutht  oi  HOUSEHOLD  WOBDS."- 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
COHDVCTED   BT   CHARLES   SICEEHS. 


No.  6.] 


J.   A.  DIX,   PUBLISHER, 

Omoi,  No.  10  Pais  Puoi,  Niw-Yobs. 


[Wholb  No.  259. 


GONE  TO  THE  DOGS. 

We  all  know  what  treasures  Posterity  will 
inherit,  in  the  falneas  of  time.  We  all  know 
what  handsome  legacies  are  iDequeathed  to  it 
every  daj^what  long  laggage-trains  of  Sonnets 
it  will  be  the  better  for,  what  patriots  and 
statesmen  it  will  discover  to  have  existed  in 
this  age  whom  we  have  no  idea  of,  how  very 
wide  awake  it  will  be,  and  how  stone  blind 
the  Time  is.  We  know  what  multitudes  of 
disinterested  persons  are  always  going  down 
to  it,  laden,  like  processions  of  genii,  with 
inexhaustible  and  incalculable  wealth.  We 
have  frequent  experience  of  the  generosity 
with  which  the  profoundest  wits,  the  subtlest 
politicians,  unerring  inventors,  and  lavish 
l>enefactors  of  minkind,  take  beneficent  aim 
at  it  with  a  longer  range  than  Captain  War- 
ner's, and  blow  it  up  to  the  very  heaven  of 
heavenS|Ape  hundred  years  after  date.  We  all 
defer  toW  as  the  great  capitalist  in  expecta- 
tion, the  world's  residuary  legatee  in  respect 
of  all  the  fortunes  that  are  not  just  now  con- 
vertible, the  heir  of  a  long  and  fruitful 
minority,  the  fortunate  creature  on  whom  all 
the  true  riches  of  the  earth  are  firmly  en- 
tailed. When  Posterity  does  come  into  its 
own  at  last,  what  a  coming  of  age  there 
will  be  I 

It  seems  to  me  that  Posterity,  as  the  sub- 
ject of  80  many  handsome  settlements,  has 
only  one  competitor.  I  find  the  Dogs  to  be 
every  day  enriched  with  a  vast  amount  of 
valuable  property. 

What  has  become — to  begin  like  Charity 
at  home^what  has  become,  I  demand,  of  the 
inheritance  I  myself  entered  on,  at  nineteen 
years  of  age  I  A  shining  castle  (in  the  air) 
with  young  Love  looking  out  of  window, 
perfect  contentment  and  repose  of  spirit 
standing  with  ethereal  aspect  in  the  porch, 
visions  surrounding  it  by  night  and  day  with 
an  atmosphere  of  pure  gold.  This  was  my 
only  inheritance,'  and  I  never  squandered  it 
I  boarded  it  like  a  miser.  Say,  bright-eyed 
Araminta  (with  the  obdurate  parents), 
tbou  who  wast  sole  lady  of  the  castle,  did  I 
not?  Down  the  flowing  river  by  the  walls, 
called  Time,  how  blest  we  sailed  together, 
treasuring  our  happiness  unto  death,  and 
never  knowing  change,  or  weariness,  or  sepa- 
ration!   Where  is  that  castle  now,  with  all 

VOL.  XI.  


its  magic  fdmiture?  Gone  to  the  Dogs. 
Canine  possession  was  taken  of  the  whole  of 
that  estate,  my  youthful  Araminta,  about  a 
quarter  of  a  century  ago. 

Come  back,  friend  of  my  vouth.  Come 
back  from  the  glooms  and  shadows  that  have 
gathered  round  thee,  and  let  us  sit  down 
once  more,  side  by  side,  upon  the  rouffb, 
notched  form  at  school  I  Idle  is  Bob  Tample, 
given  to  shirking  his  work  and  getting  me  to 
do  it  for  him,  inkier  than  a  well-regulated 
mind  in  connection  with  a  well-regulated  body 
is  usually  observed  tf>  be,  always  compound- 
ing with  his  creditors  on  pocket-money 
days,  frequently  selling-off  pen-knives  by 
auction,  and  disposing  of  his  sister's  birth- 
day presents  at  an  enormous  sacrifice.  Yet, 
a  rosy,  cheerful,  thoughtless  fellow  is  Bob 
Tample,  borrowing  with  an  easy  mind,  six- 
pences of  Dick  Sage  the  prudent,  to  pay 
eighteenpences  after  the  holidays,  and  freely 
standing  treat  to  all  comers.  Musical  is 
Bob  Tample.  Able  to  sing  and  whistle 
anything.  Learns  the  piano  (in  the  par- 
lor), and  once  plays  a  duet  with 
the  musical  professor,  Mr.  Goavus  of  the 
Royal  Italian  Opera  (occasional-deputy- 
assistant-copyist  in  that  establishment,  I 
have  since  seen  reason  to  believe),  whom 
Bob's  friends  and  supporters,  I  foremost  in 
the  throng,  consider  tripped  up  in  the  first 
half-dozen  bars.  Not  without  bright 
expectations  is  Bob  Tample,  being  an  orphan 
with  a  guardian  near  the  Bank,  and  destined 
for  the  turmy.  I  boast  of  Bob  at  home  that 
his  name  is  *'  down  at  the  Horse  Guards," 
and  that  his  father  left  it  in  his  will  that  '<  a 
pair  of  colours"  (I  like  the  expression  with- 
out particularly  knowing  what  it  means), 
should  be  purchased  for  him.  I  gp  with  Bob 
on  one  occasion  to  look  at  the  building 
where  his  name  is  down.  We  wonder  in 
which  of  the  rooms  it  is  down,  and  whether 
the  two  horse  soldiers  on  duty  know  it.  I  also 
accompany  Bob  to  see  his  sister  at  Miss  Mag- 
g^ggs's  boarding  establishment  at  Hammer- 
smith, and  it  is  unnecessary  to  add  that  I  think 
his  sister  beautiful  and  love  her.  She  will  be 
independent,  Bob  says.  I  relate  at  home 
that  Mr.  Tample  left  it  in  his  will  that  his 
daughter  was  to  be  independent.  I  ^ut  Mr. 
Tample,  entirely  of  my  own  accord  and  in- 
vention, into  the  army ;  and  I  perplex  my 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


122 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Condoctod  bj 


ftkmllj  circle  by  relating  feats   of  valour 
achieved  bv  that  lamented  officer   at    the 
Battle  of  Waterloo,  where  I  leave  him  dead, 
with  the  British  flag  (which  he  wouldn't 
give  up  to  the  last)  wound  tightly  round  his 
left  arm.    So  we  go  on,  until  Bob  leaves  for 
Sandhurst.     /  leave  in  course    of  time — 
everybody  leaves.  Years  have  gone  by,  when 
I  twice  or  thrice  meet  a  gentleman  with  amous- 
tache,  driving  a  lady  In  a  very  gay  bonnet, 
whos  face  recalls  the  boarding  establishment 
of  Miss  Maggiggs  at  Hammersmith,  though 
it  does  not  look  so  happy  as  it  did  under  Miss 
Maggiggs,    iron-handed    despot   as    I    be- 
lieved that  accomplished  woman  to  be.    This 
leads  me  to  the  discovery  that  the    gen- 
tleman with  the  moustache  is   Bob:    and 
one   day  Bob    pulls    up,  and    talks,    and 
asks  me  to  dinner;    but,  on  subsequently 
ascertaining  that  I  don't  play  billiards,  hardly 
seems  to  care  as  much  about  me  as  I  had  ex- 
pected.   I  ask  Bob  at  this  period,  if  he  is  in 
the  service  still  ?    Bob  answers  no  my  boy, 
he  got  bored  and  sold  out ;  which  induces  me 
to  think  (for  I  am  growing  worldlv),  either 
that  Bob  must  be  very  independent  indeed,  or 
must  be  going  to  the  Dogs.  More  years  elapse, 
and  having  quite  lost  s^ht  and  sound  of  Bob 
meanwhile,  I  say  on  an  average  twice  a  week 
during  three  entire    twelvemonths,  that  I 
really  will  call  at  the  guardian's  near  the 
Bank,  and  ask  about  Bob.  At  length  I  do  so. 
Clerks,  on  being  apprised  of  my  errand,  be- 
came disrespectftil.     Guardian,  with    bald 
head  highly  flushed,  bursts  out  of  inner  office, 
remarks  that  he  hasn't  the  honor  of   my 
acquaintance,  and  bursts  in  again,  without  ex- 
hibiting the  least  desire  to  improve  the  oppor- 
tunity of  knowing  me.  I  now  begin  sincerely 
to  believe  that  Bob  is  going  to  the  Dogs. 
More  years  go  by,  and  as  they  pass  Bob 
sometimes  goes  by  me  too,  but  never  twice  in 
the  same  aspect— always  tending  lower  and 
lower.    No  redeeming  trace  of  better  things 
would  hang  about  him  now,  were  he  not 
always  accompanied  by  the    sister.      Gay 
bonnet  gone:  exchanged  for  something  limp 
and  veiled,  tnat  might  be  a  mere  porter's 
knot  of  the  feminine  gender,  to  cairy  a  load 
of  misery  on — shabby,  even  slipshod.     I,  by 
some  vague  means  or  other,  come  to  the  know-, 
ledge  of  the  fact  that  she  entrusted  that  inde- 
pendence to  Bob,  and  that  Bob— in  short,  that 
it  has  all  gone  to  the  Dogs.  One  summer  day, 
I  descry  Bob  idling  in  the  sun,  outside  a 
public-house  near  Drury  Lane;    she,  in  a 
shawl  that  clings  to  her.  as  only  the  robes  of 
poverty  do  cling  to  their  wearers  when  all 
things  else  have  fallen  awa^,  waiting  for  him 
at  the  street  corner ;  he,  with  a  stale,  accus- 
tomed air,  picking  his  teeth  and  pondering ; 
two  boys  watchful  of  him,  not  unadmiringly. 
Curious  to  know  more  of  this,  I  go  round 
that  way  another  day,  look  at  a  concert-bill 
in  the  .public-house  window,  and  have  not  a 
doubt  that  Bob  is  Mr.  Berkeley,  the  cele- 
brated bacchanalian  vocalist,  who  presides  at 


the  piano.    From  time  to  time,  rumours  float 
by  me  afterwards,  I  can't  say  how,  or  where 
they  come  from — from  the  expectant  and 
insatiate  Dogs  for  anything  I  know — touch- 
ing hushed-up  pawnings  of  sheets  from  poor 
furnished  lodgings,  begging  letters  to  old 
Miss  Maggiggs  at  Hammersmith,  and  the 
clearing  away  of  all  Miss  Maggiggs's  um- 
brellas and  clogs,  by  the  gentleman  who  called 
for  an  answer  on  a  certain  foggy  evening 
after  dark.  Thus  downward,  until  the  faithful 
sister  begins  to  beg  of  m^,  whereupon  I 
moralise  as  to  the  use  of  giving  her  any 
money  (for  I  have  grown  quite  worldly  now), 
and  look  furtively  out  of  mv  window  as  she 
goes  away  by  night  with  that  half-sovereign  of 
mine,  and  think,  contemptuous  of  myself,  can 
I  ever  have  admired  the  crouching  figure 
plashing  through  the  rain,  in  a  long  round 
crop  of  curls  at  Miss  Maggiggs's!    Often- 
times she  comes  back  with  bedridden  lines 
from  the  brother,  who  is  always  nearly  dead 
and  never  quite,  until  he  does  tardily  make 
an  end  of  it,  and  at  last  this  Actaeon  reversed 
has  run  the  Dogs  wholly  down  and  betaken 
himself  to  them  finally.     More  years  have 
passed,  when  I  dine  at  Withers's  at  Brighton 
on  a  da;^,  to  drink  Torty-one  claret;  and 
there,  Spithers,  the  new  Attorney-General, 
says  to  me  across  the  table,  "  Weren't  you  a 
Mithers's  bov  ?  "    To  which  I  say,  "  To  be 
sure  I  was?"    To  which  he  retorts,  *' And 
don't  you  remember  me  T  "    To  which  I  re- 
tort, •*  To  be  sure  1  do"— which  I  never  did 
until  that  Instant — and  then  he   says   how 
the  fellows  have  all  dispersed,  and  he  has 
never  seen  one  of  them  since,  and  have  I  ? 
To  which  I,  finding  that  my  learned  friend 
has  a  pleasant  remembrance  of  Bob  from 
having  given  him  a  black  eye  on  his  fifteenth 
birthday  in  assertion  of  his  rl^ht  to  ^  smug  " 
a  pen-wiper  forwarded  to  said  Bob  by  his 
sister  on  said  occasion,  make  response  by 
generalising  the  story  I  have  now  completed, 
and  adding  that  I  have  beard  that,  after  Bob's 
death.  Miss  Maggiggs,  though  deuced  poor 
through  the  decay  of  her  school,  took  the 
sister  home  to  live  with  her.     My  learned 
ft*lend   says,  upon   his   word  It  does  Miss 
Whatshername  credit,  and  all  old  Mitherses 
ought  to  subscribe  a  trifle  for  her.     Not 
seeing  the  necessity  of  that,  I  praise  the 
wine,  and  we  send  it  round,  the  way  of  the 
world  (which  world  I  am  told  is  getting 
nearer  to  the  Sun  every  year  of  its  existence), 
and  we  bury  Bob's  memory  with  the  epitaph 
that  he  went  to  the  Dogs. 

Sometimes,  whole  streets,  inanimate  streets 
of  brick  and  mortar  houses  go  to  the  Dogs. 
Why,  it  is  impossible  to  say,  otherwise  than 
that  the  Dogs  betwitch  them,  fascinate  them, 
magnetise  them,  summon  them  and  thej 
must  go.  I  know  of  such  a  street  at  the 
present  writing.  It  was  a  stately  street  In 
Its  own  grim  way,  and  the  houses  held 
together  like  the  last  surviving  members  of 
an  aristocratic  family,  and,  as  a  general  rale. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Charlw  DlekaM.3 


GONE  TO  THE  DOGS. 


123 


were— PtiU  not  nalike  them — ^Fery  tall  and 
very  dull.  How  long  the  Dogs  may  have 
bad  their  eyes  of  temptation  upon  this  street 
is  aulcnowQ  to  me,  bot  they  called  to  it,  and 
it  went.  The  biggest  house — It  was  a  comer 
one—went  first  An  ancient  gentleman  died 
in  it ;  and  the  andertaker  put  up  a  gaudy 
hatchment  that  looked  like  a  very  bad  trans- 
parency, not  intended  to  be  seen  by  day,  and 
only  meant  to  be  illuminated  at  night ;  and 
the  attorney  put  up  a  bill  about  the  lease, 
and  put  in  an  old  woman  (apparently  with 
nothing  to  live  upon  but  a  cough),  who  crept 
away  into  a  corner  like  a  sacred  old  dor- 
mouse, and  rolled  herself  up  in  a  blanket 
The  mysterious  influence  of  the  Dogs  was  on 
the  house,  and  it  immediately  began  to 
tumble  down.  Why  the  infection  should 
pass  over  fourteen  houses  to  seize  upon  the 
fifteenth,  I  don't  know ;  but,  fifteen  doors 
off  next  began  to  be  fatally  dim  in  the  win- 
dows:  and  after  a  short  decay,  its  eyes  were 
closed  by  brokers,  and  its  end  was  desolation. 
The  best  house  opposite,  unable  to  bear  these 
sights  of  woe,  got  out  a  black  board  with  all 
despatch,  respecting  unexpired  remainder  of 
term,  and  cards  to  view ;  and  the  family  fled, 
and  a  bricklayer's  wife  and  children  came  in 
to  *'  mind"  the  place,  and  dried  their  little 
weekly  wash  on  lines  hung  across  the  dining- 
room.  Black  boards,  like  the  doors  of  so 
many  hearses  taken  oft*  the  hinges,  now  be- 
came abandaiyt.  Only  one  speculator,  with- 
out snsptcion  of  the  Dogs  upon  his  soul, 
responded.  He  repaired  and  stuccoed  num- 
ber twenty-four,  got  up  an  ornamented 
parapet  and  balconies,  took  away  the 
knockers,  and  put  in  plate  glass,  found 
too  late  that  all  the  steam  power  on  earth 
could  never  have  kept  the  street  from  the 
Dogs  when  it  was  once  influenced  togo,  and 
drowned  himself  in  a  water  butt.  Within  a 
year,  the  house  he  had  renewed  became  the 
worst  of  all ;  the  stucco  decomposing  like  a 
Stilton  cheese,  and  the  ornamented  parapet 
coming  down  in  fragments  like  the  sugar  of 
a  lMt>ken  twelfth  cake.  Expiring  elTorts  were 
then  made  by  a  few  of  the  black  boards  to 
hint  at  the  eligibility  of  these  commodious 
mansions  for  public  institations,  and  suites  of 
chambers.  It  was  useless,  'i'he  thing  was 
done.  The  whole  street  may  now  be  bought 
.for  a  mere  song.  But,  nobody  will  hear  of  it, 
for  who  dares  dispute  possession  of  it  with 
the  Dogs. 

Sometimes,  it  would  seem  as  if  the  least 
yelp  of  these  dreadful  animals,  did  the  busi- 
ness at  once.  Which  of  nsdoes  not  remember 
that  eminent  person— with  indefinite  resources 
in  the  City,  tantamount  to  a  gold  mine — who 
had  the  delightful  house  near  town,  the 
famous  gardens  and  gardener,  the  beautiful 
plantations,  the  smooth   green    lawns,  the 

Sineries,  the  stabling  for  five-and-twenty 
orses,  and  the  standing  for  half-a-dosen  car- 
riages, the  billiard-room,  the  music  room,  the 
pictiure  gallery,  the  accomplished  daughters 


and  aspiring  sons,  all  the  pride,  pomp  and 
circumstance  of  riches?  Which  of  us  does 
not  recal  how  we  knew  him  through  the  good 
offices  of  our  esteemed  friend  Swallowfly,  who 
was  ambassador  on  the  occasion?  Which  of 
us  cannot  still  hear  the  gloating  roundness  of 
tone  with  which  Swailowly  informed  us 
that  our  new  friend  was  worth  five  hun-dred 
thoo-eand  pounds,  sir,  if  he  was  worth  a 
penny?  How  we  dined  therewith  all  the 
Arts  and  Graces  ministering  to  us,  and  how 
we  came  away  refiectlng  that  wealth  after  all 
was  a  desirable  delight,  Ineed  pot  say.  Neither 
need  I  tell,  how  we  every  one  of  us  met 
Swallowfly  within  six  little  months  of  that 
same  day,  when  Swallowfly  oh6erved,with  such 
surprise,  "You  haven't  heard?  Lord  bless 
me  I  Ruined — Channel  Islands — gone  to  the 
Dogs  I" 

Sometimes  again.  It  would  seem  as  though 
in  exceptional  cases  here  and  there,  the  Dogs 
relented,  or  lost  their  power  over  the 
imperilled  man  in  an  inscrutable  way.  There 
was  mv  own  cousin — he  is  dead  now,  there- 
fore I  have  no  oljection  to  mention  his  .name 
—Tom  Flowers.  He  was  a  bachelor  (fortu- 
nately), and,  among  other  ways  he  had  of 
increasing  his  income  and  improving  his 
prospects,  betted  pretty  high.  He  did  all 
sorts  of  things  that  he  ought  not  to  have 
done,  and  he  did  everything  at  a  great 
pace,  so  it  was  clearly  seen  by  all  who  knew 
him  that  nothing  would  keep  him  fh>m  the 
Dogs ;  that  he  was  running  them  down  hard, 
and  was  bent  on  getting  into  the  very  midst 
of  the  pack  with  all  possible  speed.  Well!  He 
was  as  near  them,  I  suppose,  as  ever  man  was, 
when  he  suddenly  stopped  short,  looked 
them  full  in  their  jowls,  and  never  stirred 
another  inch  onward,  to  the  day  of  his  death. 
He  walked  about  for  seventeen  years,  a  very 
neat  little  figure,  with  a  capital  umbrella,  an 
excellent  neckcloth,  and  a  pure 'white  shirt, 
and  he  had  not  got  a  hair's-breadth  nearer 
to  the  horrible  animals  at  the  end  of  that 
time  than  he  had  when  he  stopped.  How  he 
lived,  our  family  could  never  make  out — 
whether  the  Dogs  can  have  allowed  him  any- 
thing will  alwavs  be  a  mystery  to  me— but/he 
disappointed  ail  of  us  in  the  matter  of  the 
canine  epitaph  with  which  we  had  expected 
to  dismiss  him,  and  merely  enabled  ns '  to 
remark  that  poor  Tom  Flowers  was  g^neat 
$lxty-seven.  '     '  1 

It  is  overwhelming  to  think  of  the  Treasury 
of  the  Dogs.  There  are  no  such  fortunes  ^in- 
barked  in  all  the  enterprises  of  life,  as  have 
?;one  their  way.  They  have  a  capital  Drania, 
or  their  amusement  and  instruction.  They 
have  got  hold  of  all  the  People's  holidays  fbr 
ihe  reflreshment  of  weary  frames,  and  the 
renewal  of  weary  spirits.  They  have  Ifeft  ihe 
People  little  else  in  that  way  but  a  Fast  now 
and  then  for  the  ignorances  and  imbecilities 
of  their  rulers.  Perhaps  those  days  will 
go  next  To  say  the  plain  truth  very 
seriously,  I  shouldn't  be  surprised. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


124 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


Consider  the  last  ppseeaBions  thftt  have 
gone  to  the  Dogs.  Consider,  friends  and 
oountrymen,  how  the  Dogs  have  been  en- 
riched, by  your  deepoilment  at  the  hands  of 
your  own  blessed  governors — to  whom  be 
honour  and  renown,  stars  and  garters,  for 
ever  and  ever  I— on  the  shores  of  a  certain 
obscure  spot  called  Balaklava,  where  Bri- 
tannia rules  the  wave  in  such  an  admirable 
manner,  that  she  slays  her  children  (who 
never  never  never  will  be  slaves,  but  very 
very  very  often  will  be  dupes),  by  the  thou- 
sand, with  every  movement  of  her  glorious 
trident!  When  shall  there  be  added  to  the 
possessions  of  the  Dogs,  those  columns  of  talk, 
which,  let  the  columns  of  British  soldiers 
vanish  as  they  may,  still  defile  before  us 
wearily,  wearily,  leading  to  nothing,  doing 
nothing,  for  the  most  part  even  saying 
nothing,  only  enshrouding  ns  in  a  mist  of 
idle  breath  that  obscures  the  events  which 
are  forming  themselves — not  into  playfUl 
diapes,  believe  me— beyond.  If  the  Dogs, 
lately  so  gorged,  still  so  voracious  and  strong, 
ooula  and  would  deliver  a  most  gracious 
bark,'!  have  a  strong  impression  that  their 
warning,  would  run  thus : 

**  My  Lords  and  Gentlemen.  We  are  open- 
mouthed  and  eager.  Either  you  must  send 
suitable  provender  to  us  without  delay,  or 
you  must  come  to  us  yourselves.  There  is  no 
avoidance  of  the  alternative.  Talk  never 
softened  the  three-headed  dog  that  kept  the 
paasaffe  to  the  Shades  ;  less  will  it  appease 
us.  1^0  jocular  old  gentleman  throwing 
sommersaults  on  stilts  because  his  great- 
grandmother  is  not  worshipped  in  Nineveh, 
b  a  sop  to  us  for  a  moment ;  no  hearing, 
cheering,  sealing-wazlng,  tapeing,  fire-eating, 
Yote-eatinff,  or  other  popular  Club-perform- 
ance, at  all  imports  us.  We  are  the  Dogs.  We 
are  known  to  you  just  now,  as  the  Dogs  of 
War.  We  crouched  at  your  feet  for  employ- 
ment, as  William  Shakespeare,  plebeian,  saw 
«s  ortuohing  at  the  feet  of  the  Fifth  Harry— 
and  you  gave  it  us ;  crying  Havoc!  in  good 
English,  and  letting  us  slip  (quite  by  accident), 
on  good  Englishmen.  With  our  appetites  so 
whetted,  we  are  hungry.  We  are  sharp  of 
scent  and  quick  of  sight,  and  we  see  and 
smell  a  great  deal  coming  to  us  rather  rapidly. 
Will  you  give  us  such  old  rubbish  as  must  be 
ours  lA  any  case  T  My  Lords  and  Grentlemen, 
make  haste !  Something  must  go  to  the  Dogs  in 
earnest   Shall  it  be  you  or  something  elseT^' 

THE  SISTER  OF  THE  SPIRITS. 

Thb  merchant  Zara  was  uneasy  that  day  in 
his  shop  in  the  Khan  El-Khaleciee.  He  got 
up  from  his  mat  more  than  a  hundred  times 
to  arrange  goods  that  were  not  out  of  order, 
and  answerod  customers  who  came  to  buy 
or  bargain  in  so  strange  a  manner  that  several 
went  away,  thinking  he  was  mad.  One  person 
was  sure  of  the  fact,  for  he  bought  a  piece  of 
yellow  silk  cheaper  than  if  it  had  been  com- 


mon cloth,  and  walked    away  so  rapidly, 
fearing  the  mistake  would  be  discovered,  that 
he  nearly  overturned  an  old  Turk,  unsteady 
trom  fat,  and  did  not  stop  to  laugh  till  he  was 
round  the  corner.    As  Zara  was  one  of  the 
richest  Christian  merchants  of  Cairo,  be  would    < 
not  have  spent  much  time  in  regret  even  if  he 
had  discovered  the  mistake.    But  he  hitd  no    , . 
leisure  to  think  of  matters  of  profit  and  loss. 
His  mind  was  away  in  another  place,  hovering 
over  a  dwelling  in  a  retired  street  not  far  ott^ 
where  one  whom  he  loved,  and  by  whom  be 
was  loved,  suffered  and  smiled,  hoped  and    , 
feared — pale  as  a  lily,  yet  joyful  as  a  rose    i 
tree  when   the   first   bud   reddens    on   its    { 
greenest  spray.  ^ 

Two  hours  after  noon,  a  black  girl,  without    , 
her  mantle,  which  she  had  forgotten  to  throw    ; 
over  her  shoulders — indeed,  they  had  poshed 
and  hustled  her  out  of  the  house  as  if  she  had 
been  a  thief— came  and  advanced,  her  great    ! 
round  ebony  face,  that  beamed  with  one  vast 
smile,  into  the  shop,  and  said,  swearing, — 

*'  w  allah  I  thou  didst  not  deserve  it." 

"  Speak  reverently,"  quoth  the  merchant, 
reddening  to  the  roots  of  his  beard, "  for  I  am 
going  to  pray ;  shall  it  be  for  the  health  of  a 
son  or  a  daughter?" 

"  Pray  first,"  said  the  girl,  maliciously. 

**  Wallah !"  exclaimed  the  merchant,  swear^ 
ing  also, ''  I  will  neither  pray  nor  listen." 

With  these  words,  he  dropped  a  net  over 
the  front  of  his  shop,  and,  getting  up,  went 
down  the  bazaar,  turned  into  a  narrow  street, 
and  ran  so  fast  that  the  black  girl  could 
scarcely  keep  pace  with  him.  When  he  came 
to  the  door  of  his  house,  however,  he  stopp^ 
to  gather  breath  and  gravity,  and  then 
entered,  saying,  "  Blessings  on  all  thoee  who 
may  be  under  this  roof  I"  He  went  softly  up 
stairsytry ing  in  vain  to  seem  at  homcybut  really 
looking,  as  we  all  do  on  such  occasions,  says 
the  narrator,  as  if  he  had  no  right  to  be  there. 

Zara  had  married,  rather  late  in  life,  a 
young  girl,  whom  her  parents  gave  him  for 
his  wealth,  and  who  loved  him  for  his  good- 
ness. Her  name  was  Martha :  and  fortune* 
in  distributing  her  gifts,  had  made  her  wise 
instead  of  beautiful,  for  which  her  cousins- 
all  lovely  maidens,  coquettidi  and  i^oud — 
pitied  her  exceedingly.  But  Zara  bad  seen 
the  world,  and  prudence  told  him  not  to  put 
his  wrinkled  visage  ai^d  grey  beard  bj  the 
side  of  blooming  cheeks  and  passionate  eyes 
and  ruby  lips  and  all  the  qualities  of  foam 
given  to  some  few  of  the  daughters  of  earth, 
that  poets  and  youths  may  follow  them  and 
grow  mad.  He  wanted  a  gentle  hoose  com- 
panion for  himself,  not  a  beacon  to  attract 
others,  and  Martha  satisfied  his  amUtion  for 
many  years. 

But  at  length — so  is  man  iVamed — ^the 
ho^se,  which  had  at  first  seemed  full  to  the 
very  innermost  comers  of  light,  became  in  bis 
eyes  dimmer  and  duller.  Martha  was  not 
less  sweet  and  diligent ;  but  Zara  yearned 
for  something,  he  knew  not  at  first  what    In 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ClMriw  DtckoML] 


THE  SISTER  OP  THE  SPIRITS. 


125 


tmthf  he  had  reached  the  time  when  he  felt 
the  Btream  of  life  flow  more  gently  through 
his  Teins;  and  he  wished  <o  see  a  new  spring 
burst  forth  before  the  other  was  dried  up. 
In  all  countries,  exceptions  set  aside,  men 

frieve  at  the  threatened  extinction  of  their 
ine ;  but  in  the  East,  children  are  longed,  for 
as  if  there  were  no  other  iramortalitj  but 
continued  life  in  a  succession  of  generation. 
At  length  Zara's  desires  were  accompUehed, 
and,  as  he  was  a  good  man,  respectftil  of  all 
things,  even  of  what  people  of  another  faith 
respected,  there  was  a  p^uliar  blessing  on 
the  birth  of  his  child.  Spirits  were  overheard 
(by  whom  the  legend  sayeth  not)  to  meet  over 
WQ  cradle  in  which  Zara's  daughter — for  it 
was  a  daughter — was  placed  in  the  first  hour 
of  its  life,  and  to  greet  one  another  with 
strange  expressions. 

**  Ginnee  of  the  Christians/'  said  one  voice, 
'*we  unite  with  you  to  bestow  all  qualities 
and  good  fortune  on  this  young  thing,  whom 
we  name  our  sister.  Let  us  divide  the  work." 
''Gionee  of  the  Muslims,  It  is  agreed,'' 
replied  another  voice ;  "begin  your  gifts." 

Then  several  Muslim  spirits  began,  one 
after  the  other,  to  say,  **  Let  her  form  be 
gracefhl  as  a  wand,  let  her  countenance 
resemble  the  countenance  of  one  of  the 
daughters  of  Paradise,  let  her  eyes  be  sweeter 
than  the  morning,  let  pearls  avoid  comparison 
with  her  teeth,  let  her  lips  be  such  as  to  draw 
angels  down  fh)m  near  the  throne  of  the 
All-powerful,  to  find  new  delight  in  a  kiss- 
blessings  on  our  sister! " 

And  so  they  proceeded  until  they  had  ex- 
hausted the  blessings  which  woman,  child  of 
the  earth,  most  prizes. 

But  afterwards  the  Ginnee  of  the  Chris- 
tians began  to  speak  in  their  turn,  and  said, 
**  Let  her  be  wise,  let  her  be  modest,  let  her 
be  pure,  lei  her  heart  never  suffer  from  sor- 
rows that  come  fh>m  the  outward  world — 
blessings  on  our  sister  I " 

Then  the  spirits  all  bent  forward  until 
their  heads  touched,  and  remained  like  a 
canopy  banging  over  the  cradle  of  the  child. 
The  merchant  Zara  had  sat  down  by  its 
side,  unaware  of  these  invisible  spectators 
and  was  saying  with  the  pride  of  a  worldly 
man, — 

**  I  have  six  ships  upon  the  sea,  and  six 
caravans  coming  to  me  across  the  desert,  and 
my  shop  is  full,  and  my  warehouses  overflow, 
and  my  coffers  are  replenished,  and  there 
shall  be  no  maiden  in  Cairo  whose  happiness 
shall  be  as  great  as  thine ;  princes  will  ask  her 
hand  in  marriage  on  account  of  her  dowry, 
but  I  will  not  grant  her  save  to  one  who  shall 
be  perfect  in  virtue  and  in  science." 
-  When  the  spirits  heard  these  words,  they 
remembered  that  they  had  forgotten  the  gift 
of  good  fortune,  but  as  the  merchant  boasted 
of  his  wealth,  and  even,  to  some  extent,  spoke 
of  what  he  intended  should  be,  rather  than 
what  was — for  he  had  only  a  share  in  each 
ship  and  in  each  caravan — they  smiled  satiri- 


cally at  each  other  and  flew  away  on  various 
errands  of  good  and  evil. 

Martha  was  as  proud  of  the  pride  of  Zara 
as  of  the  child  itself.  That  was  the  beginning 
of  a  happy  time.  Those  who  noticed  how 
unruffled  was  the  life  of  this  family,  how  the 
days  seemed  not  long  enough  to  savour  the 
delights  which  Mica  had  brought  with  her 
into  the  world  shook  their  heads,  and  stiid, 
"  There  is  woe  in  store  for  those  who  forestal 
the  rewards  of  heaven."  Men  are,  indeed, 
ever  disposed  to  believe  that  excessive  joy  is 
a  sin  which  brings  the  punishment  of  mis- 
fortune, and  interpret  the  varying  chances  of 
unstable  life  as  providential  compensations. 
If  it  be  so,  we  have  no  right  to  complain,  for 
prosperity  is  never  pure,  and  we  seem  to  take 
care  to  deserve  adversity  by  pride  and  over- 
weening confidence. 

Martha  was  wise,  but  no^  perfect :  when 
she  saw  the  extreme  beauty  of  her  child, 
which  increased  every  day,  it  was  natural,  but 
not  admirable,  that  she  should  begin  to  des- 

Eise  the  children  of  others,  and  to  boast  that 
[ina's  hair  was  blacker  and  more  silky,  that 
her  brow  was  purer,  that  her  ejea  were 
brighter,  that  her  smile  was  sweeter,  than 
the  hair,  the  brow,  the  eyes,  the  smile  of 
any  other  daughter  in  the  world,  including, 
of  course,  the  daughters  of  Zadlallah  and  Han 
Hanna  and  Bedreldeen.  and  all  the  other 
merchants  (Christian  and  Muslim)  in  Cairo — 
even  Ayshee,  the  princess,  child  of  Zatmeh 
Hanem,  the  favourite  slave  of  the  Sultan,  was 
but  the  foil  of  Mlna.  She  was  so  little  cau- 
tious in  expressing  her  opinion,  that  all  wives 
who  were  mothers  began  to  hate  her,  and  to 
predict  suffering  to  her.  No  one  knew  how 
the  truth  got  abroad,  but  in  the  harim  and 
the  public  baths,  when  the  women  met 
together,  they  spoke  of  Mina  as  the  sister  of 
the  spirits,  and  said,  scornfully,  that  she  was 
made  so  lovely  only  as  a  punishment  to  her 
parent,  and  that  when  she  reached  the  perfect 
age,  she  would  be  taken  away  to  the  dwelling 
for  which  she  was  fit  "Too  beautiful  for 
this  world,"  is  often  a  sneer  on  the  lips  of 
envy. 

We  might  linger  long  and  pleasantly  on  the 
various  stages  by  which  Mina  advanced, 
amidst  smiles  and  prosperity,  towards  ripe 
maidenhood ;  but  it  is  sufficient  to  say  that 
all  the  promises  and  blessings  of  the  spirits 
that  visited  her  cradle  were  fulfilled.  Her 
loveliness  was  only  surpassed  by  her  excel- 
lence, and  if  her  parents  were  not  perfect  in 
jov  it  was  Isecause  they  sometimes  felt  them- 
selves not  on  a  level  with  their  daughter. 
They  instinctively  missed  in  her  the  natural 
errors  of  humanity,  and  were  uneasy  in  her 
presence  occasionally,  for  she  seemed  with 
them,  bnt  not  of  them.  Her  father,  not 
wanting  in  sagacity,  would  frequently  specu- 
late on  her  anomalous  position,  and  his  imper- 
fect philosophy  led  him  to  believe  that  her 
virtue  was  almost  out  of  place,  a  superfluous 
element  in  her  existence.  She  was  moderate, 


s 


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126 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coodact«d  bf 


but  coald  eqjoj  all  things — sober,  bat  with 
the  means  of  pleasure  aroood  ber— calm,  bat 
never  opposed — patient,  but  never  disap- 
pointed ;  in  fact  she  had  all  the  qualities 
that  would  have  made  poverty  acceptable, 
and  yet  wealth  and  honours  ever  Increased 
around  her.  What  he  meant  was,  that  she 
had  never  been  tried,  only  he  could  not  doubt 
that  in  whatever  position  placed  she  would 
triumph. 

The  merchant  Zara  possessed  a  country 
house  out  on  the  borders  of  the  Nile,  in  the 
midst  of  a  garden  where  pomegranate  trees 
and  orange  trees  and  sweet  lemon  trees  and 
bananas,  with  palms  and  svcamores.  combined 
to  throw  a  pleasant  shadow  upon  the  earth. 
There  he  dwelt  with  his  fttmlly  during  the 
summer  months,  riding  on  his  mule  to  the 
city  in  the  morning,  and  returning  in  the 
evening.  One  day  Martha  and  Mina  were 
sitting  in  a  little  kiosque  overhanging  the 
banlcs  of  the  river,  which  was  resplendent 
in  the  sun,  when  a  large  barque,  with  many 
rowers,  came  rapidly  down  the  stream.  On 
the  roof  of  the  cabin  sat  an  old  man,  dressed 
in  a  costume  strange  to  Egypt.  He  was 
looking  eagerly  at  the  houses  on  the  banks  of 
the  stream,  as  if  seeking  some  sign.  When 
he  came  exactly  opposite  the  kiosque,  he  half 
rose,  and,  in  a  loud  voice,  commanded  the 
steersman  to  guide  the  boat  to  the  land.  A 
few  minutes  afterwards  he  stood  at  the  gate 
of  the  garden,  saying,  '* Blessings  been  Mina 
the  perfect,  and  on  Martha  the  happy  I  This 
is  the  term  of  my  voyage,  and  I  beg  to  be 
allowed  to  rest  under  Uiese  beautiful  trees 
until  the  master  of  the  house  returns  from 
Cairo." 

Martha  and  her  daughter  came  veiled  fVom 
the  kiosque,  wondering  at  the  old  man's 
knowledge  of  their  names,  and  impatient  to 
ask  for  an  explanation.  They  admitted  the 
stranger,  who  saluted  them  politely,  and  sat 
down  on  a  bench  under  a  sycamore.  The 
gravity  of  his  manner  restrained  their  ques- 
tions, and  they  contented  themselves  with 
ordering  coffee  and  pipes  and  sherbet  to  be 
brought  from  the  house,  that  the  stranger 
might  be  reAreshed.  All  the  time  it  was  only 
the  example  of  Mina,  however,  that  restrained 
the  inquisitiveness  of  Martha,  and  she  now 
and  then  whispered  :—••  Daughter,  shall  I 
provoke  him  to  speak  ?  "  But  Mina  always 
shook  her  head,  and  so  they  remained  igno- 
rant of  the  meaning  of  this  visit  until  the 
arrival  of  Zara.  The  stranger,  on  perceiving 
the  merchant,  saluted  him  by  his  name,  say- 
ing :  **  Oh  Zara,  I  have  travelled  during  two 
months  for  the  sake  of  seeing  thee  and  thy 
family,  and  by  the  blessing  of  Providence  my 
desire  is  now  fulfilled." 

Then,  he  related,  speaking  softly  and 
sweetly  in  that  calm  evening  in  the  garden, 
through  which  the  beams  of  the  setting  sun 
shone  in  golden  streaks,  that  his  name  was 
Sahel,  that  he  was  vizier  of  one  of  the  kings 
of  Abyssinia,  who  had  a  son  called  Miohau, 


perfect  in  knowledge  and  understanding,  and 
excellent  in  beauty.    When  the  time  came 
that  this  king  wished  to  persuade  his  son  to 
marriage,  the  young  man  olijected  that  none 
of  the  princesses  whom  he  had  seen,  or  of 
whom  he  had  heard,  possessed  the  qualities 
which  would  satisfv  him.    His  father  smiled, 
and  said :  -'  So  it  is  always  with  the  young. 
They  think  that  none  but  angels  are  fit  to  & 
their  companions,  and  so  it  must  be  that  the^ 
regard  themselves  as  angels  too.    When  Wn 
reveals  to  us  our  true  value  we  become  less 
fastidious,  and  fancy  we  have  grown  corrupt 
whilst  we  have  only  become  humble.     How- 
ever, seek,  my  son,  and  thou  shalt  find." 
Michail  hod  already  formed  his  opinion  on  all 
the  maidens  of  his  people  who  were  of  safR- 
clently  high  birth  to  attract  his  notice.    He 
might,  perhaps,  have  found  beauty  and  virtue 
enough  in  lower  regions,  but  when  men  are 
placed  on  the  summit  of  a  moantain  their 
fellow-creatures  in  the  plain  are  diminished 
to  dwarft.    So,  at  first,  the  young  prince 
looked  forward,  not  without  some  melancholy, 
to  a  life  of  celibacy.  A  worthv  monk,  learn- 
ing his  vtate  of  mind,  advised  him  to  take  the 
vow,  and  for  a  moment  he  was  dispos^  to 
do  so:  but  on  closely  questioning  his  own 
heart  ne  determined  instead  to  make  one 
more   effort,  and  seek  to  discover  a  wife 
worthy  to  share  his  high  position. 

His  mind  being  full  of  these  ideas,  he  retired 
one  night  to  rest  in  a  pavilion  situated  in  a 
quiet  comer  of  the  garden  of  his  fatber^s 
palace.  Here  he  slept  to  the  music  of  his  own 
thoughts ;  but,  though  he  slept,  he  seemed  to 
see  tne  forms  around  I||m  almost  as  clearly 
as  when  awake — the  elegant  dome,  the  pen- 
dent lamp,  the  slender  pillars  with  the 
branches  of  beautiful  trees  gently  waving 
between  them.  Suddenly  he  heai^cl  a  mst- 
ling  sound,  as  if  invisible  birds  were  flutter- 
ing around.  Then  he  thought  he  made  out 
the  forms  of  women  overhead,  but  ho  vague 
and  indistinct  that  he  saw  the  gilded  roof 
through  them.  Then  he  heard  a  voice  which 
said: 

'<  What  news  of  our  sister,  oh,  Ginneel  of 
the  Christians?" 

*'She  is  beautiful  and  happy,"  was  the 

"  But  what  of  tiie  prince  whom  her  father, 
in  his  vanity,  chose  for  her  husband?  Has 
he  come  to  woo  her?" 

*'  There  is  no  prince  worthy  of  her,  onleas 
it  be  this  one." 

<<  Let  us  betroth  her  to  him." 

Then  all  the  spirits  speaking  together,  said, 
or  sang : 

**  We  betroth  Mina,  the  daughter  of  Zara 
and  his  wife  Martha,  who  are  now  in  Cairo, 
of  Egypt,  to  the  prince  Michail.  Aocunied 
be  he  if  he  take  any  other  maiden  to  wife. 
Let  him  send  a  messenger  for  her.  She  will 
be  found  sitting  with  her  mother  in  a  kiosque 
on  the  banks  of  the  Nile."  Then  they  de- 
scribed the  place,  and  the  hour,  and  the  olr- 


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127 


oomstaocos,  aad  having  added  blessings  on 
him,  by  whom  our  sister  shall  be  made  happy, 
flew  away. 

Next  day  Michall  went  and  threw  himself 
at  his  father's  feet,  and  begged  to  be  allowed 
to  depart  in  search  of  the  perfect  Mina.  But 
the  old  king  having  much  dabbled  in  the 
affairs  of  this  world,  and  seen  how  vicioos 
men  were — ^having  in  faot  been  from  time  to 
time,  once  a  week  or  so,  compelled  to  hang  a 
fellow-creatore— had  lost  much  more  than  he 
would  have  been  willing  to  admit  of  the 
poetical  illusions  of  youth,  and  replied  in  a 
tone  that  something  savoured  of  impiety : 
"  My  son  shall  not  depart  on  this  wild-goose 
chase.  There  may  be  spirits ;  but  I  do  not 
believe  that  they  have  sisters  worth  marry- 
log.''  Upon  tills  Michail  began  to  weep; 
and  so  his  fother  took  a  middle  course, 
and  said ;  "  Uy  vizier,  Sahel,  is  a  wise  man, 
and  has  served  me  faithfully  for  thirty  years, 
so  that  he  almost  thinks  that  he  is  the  Sultan 
and  not  I.  It  will  enable  him  to  rest  from 
his  fatigues,  and  be  extremely  beneficial  to 
his  health,  if  we  send  him  to  Egypt  in  search 
of  this  Mina.''  There  was  a  wicked  lustre 
in  the  old  king's  eves  as  he  expressed  this 
opinion,  but  Michail  did  not  observe  it.  and 
replied  r  '*  Let  him  depart  immediately.'' 

The  vizier,  Sahel,  had  just  completed  an 
elaborate  plan  for  reforming  the.  finances  of 
his  master's  dominions,  and  had  made  the 
grand  discovery  that  in  order  to  keep  a  full 
treasury  it  is  necessary  not  so  much  to  lay 
on  new  taxes  as  to  restrict  expenditure — an 
idea,  the  perfect  beauty  of  which  the  old 
king  did  not  perceive.  Some  of  the  courtiers, 
indeed,  had  begun  to  talk  of  dotage,  or 
treachery.  As  for  Sahel,  he  grumbled  at  the 
duty  imposed  on  him,  but  being  very  loyal, 
kissed  his  Inaster's  hand,  hinted  that  on  his 
return  he  intended  to  show  that  there  need 
not  be  more  than  ten  dishes  placed  at  a  time 
00  the  royal  table,  and  departed.  He  tra- 
versed the  desert,  and  descended  the  Nile, 
studying  men,  manners,  government,  and 
laws  as  be  proceeded,  and  making  such  good 
use  of  his  time,  and  such  an  inexorable  appli- 
cation of  logic,  that  he  framed  a  still  more 
wonderful  theory  than  before,  convincing 
himself  that  town  and  country  folk  had  not 
been  created  only  for  the  benefit  of  sultans. 
He  was  so  charmed  with  the  progress  of  his 
ideas,  that  he  felt  disposed  to  return  from 
Dongola  to  communicate  them  to  his  master, 
but  reflecting  that  there  was  no  particular 
hurry,  and  that  the  world  might  go  on  a  few 
months  longer,  according  to  old  principles, 
continued  his  journey,  and  at  length,  as  we 
have  seen,  reached  his  destination. 

When  the  merchant  Zara  and  his  wife 
heard  this  story,  both  were  rejoiced  in  dif- 
ferent degrees.  Martha,  who  was  naturally 
prudent,  and  reflected  somewhat  of  her 
daughter's  qualities,  simply  drew  aside  her 
veil  a  little,  and  allowed  the  old  vizier  to  see 
that  she  imiled  benevolently  at  him;  but 


Zara,  who  had  scarcely  been  able  to  contain 
himself  during  this  narrative,  no  sooner 
heard  the  last  words,  than  he  took  off  his 
turban,  and  flung  it  up  into  the  air  with  such 
violence,  that  it  reached  the  topmost  bough 
of  the  sycamore  under  which  he  was  sitting, 
and  caught  there,  and  could  not  be  got  down 
by  any  means,  so  that  the  birds  built  their 
nests  therein.  When  the  confiftion  had  a 
little  subsided,  and  Zara's  shaven  head  had 
been  wrapped  in  a  corner  of  his  cloak,  Mina 
spoke,  saying :  **  This  is  a  wonderful  story, 
but  wherefore  should  I  leave  my  parents  and 
travel  to  distant  countries  to  please  the  fancy 
of  a  youth  who  cannot  find  a  wife  jto  satisfy 
him  except  in  his  dreams?"  The  vizier, 
Sahel,  instantly  made  a  speech,  which  had  a 
beginning,  a  middle,  and  an  end,  and  con- 
tained fifteen  apposite  citations  from  the 
poets :  but  all  in  vain.  Then  he  addressed 
the  parents,  and  proved  to  them  that  they 
had  absolute  power  over  their  daughter. 
*'  Thy  words  are  words  of  wisdom,"  said  the 
merchant.  <<Mlna,  thou  must  become  the 
wife  of  this  prince." 

Wonderfhl  to  relate,  Mina  the  perfect,  In 
the  gentlest  and  tenderest  manner  possible, 
announced  her  intention  to  disobev.  Zara 
tried  to  fly  into  a  passion,  but  failed,  especi- 
ally as  the  wise  Sahel  observed :  "  Nothing 
should  be  done  in  a  hurry.  Let  her  have 
time  to  reflect."  That  evening,  when  she 
was  alone  with  her  mother,  Mina,  with  some 
blushes  and  a  few  tears — under  which  new 
aspect  she  looked  more  beautiful  than  ever — 
confessed  that  she  too  had  a  story  to  relate, 
the  chief  incident  of  which  was  a  dream. 
The  spirits  had  appeared  to  her  likewise  and 
had  led  her,  in  vision,  out  into  the  desert 
where  in  a  lonely  valley  she  had  beheld  a 
youth  poorly  clad,  but  of  great  beauty  and 
nobleness  of  demeanour,  who  had  called  her 
by  her  name,  whilst  many  voices  cried  to  her: 
"  This  is  thy  husband."  It  was  evident,  there- 
fore, she  argued,  that  the  Mina  of  Prince 
Michail  was  quite  another  Mina.  Her 
mother  objected  that  a  poor  man  out  in  the 
desert  was  not  a  very  suitable  match,  and 
the  conclusion  was :  **  Let  us  wait  awhile." 

Sahel  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  return  to  his 
country.  He  had  never  seen  a  capital  like 
Cairo  before,  and  busied  himself  so  Intently 
in  studying  its  economy,  that  month  after 
month  pass^  away,  and  he  did  not  insist  on 
any  definite  answer  from  Mina  or  her  father. 
One  day,  however,  he  heard  a  rumour  in  the 
market-place  and  the  bazaars.  The  great 
merchant  Zara  was  ruined.  His  ships  had 
been  destroyed  by  the  anger  of  the  ocean, 
and  his  caravans  overwhelmed  by  the  sands 
of  the  desert.  A  wealthy  creditor,  armed 
with  the  powers  of  government,  was  even 
seeking  him  to  put  him  in  prison,  and  he  had 
disappeared  with  his  family.  This  is  a  sad 
case,  said  Sahel  to  himself.  My  eloquent 
persuasions  were  just  beginning  to  produce 
their  effect    Of  course  they  will  now  send  a 


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128 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoDdocted^ 


private  messenger  to  mc,  begging  me  to  take 
them  to  Abyssinia,  bat  the  king,  my  master, 
took  me  apart  before  I  left  Lim,  and  said 
that  one  of  the  perfections  of  Mina  must  be  a 
handsome .  dowry.  How  shall  a  get  rid  of 
these  poor  people  T 

Meanwhile  the  merchant  Zara,  reduced  to 
poverty  and  flying  from  his  creditors,  had  de- 
parted froii!  Cairo,  mingling  with  the  humble 
followers  of  a  great  caravan  bound  for  Da- 
mascus. For  his  own  part  he  walked  on  foot, 
but  he  had  three  or  four  little  asses  to  carry 
his  wife,  his  daughter,  and  what  property  he 
had  been  able  to  save.  As  he  looked  back 
from  the  summit  of  a  sandy  bill,  whence  the 
minarets  of  Cairo  could  be  distinguished  for 
the  last  time,  rising  against  the  yellow  sky 
where  the  sun  had  set,  he  wept  bitterly,  and 
in  a  moment  of  anger  began  almost  to  re- 
proach his  daughter,  because  she  had  not 
accepted  the  wonderful  ofl'ers  made  her.  -  But 
Martha  wisely  said  :  *^  If  she  had  left  us  this 
misfortune  would  nevertheless  have  happened, 
and  without  her  neither  you  nor  I  should 
have  been  able  to  bear  it."  So  they  continued 
their  journey  cheerfully,  and  Mina  made  the 
night  hours  pleasant  by  singing  in  a  sweet 
voice,  to  which  other  sweet  voices  in  the  air 
overhead  sepmed  to  answer. 

They  travelled  many  days,  and  had  more 
than  hall  concluded  theirjoumey ;  when,about 
the  hour  of  sunset  a  great  tumult  was  heard 
at  the  head  of  the  caravan,  and  men  and 
beasts  began  to  fly  wildly  in  various 
directions.  The  Arabs  of  the  desert  were 
attacking  the  merchants  for  the  sake  of  plun- 
der; and,  whilst  some  resisted  and  others  sur- 
rendered, many  sought  safety  in  flight.  Zara 
with  his  wife  and  daughter  entered  a  defile 
of  the  mountains,  and  proceeded  until  the 
sound  of  shouting  and  firing  died  away  in  the 
distance.  Then  they  halted  under  the  shadow 
of  a  rock,  and  determined  to  wait  until  morn- 
ing. They  passed  the  night  undisturbed ;  and, 
when  the  sun  rose  over  the  yellow  desert, 
found  themselves  quite  alone  at  the  foot  of  a 
range  of  mountains.  They  dared  not  ven- 
ture over  the  broad  expanse  of  sand,  but 
followed  a  valley  at  the  extremity  of  which 
were  some  trees.  It  happened  that  Mina  rode 
first.  She  knew  not  why;  but,  since  the 
day  had  dawned,  all  her  fears  had  vanished. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  this  was  not  the  first 
time  she  had  been  in  that  country.  The  hills 
were  familiar  to  her,  and  the  trees  towards 
which  she  was  advancing  drooped  in  an  ac- 
customed way.  At  length  she  uttered  a  loud 
cry,  and  her  father  and  mother  hastening  up, 
found  her  gazing  at  a  youth,  dressed  in  poor 
garments,  and  apparently  weakened  by  fa- 
tigue'or  sickness,  sitting  under  the  shade  of  a 
mimosa.  Her  heart  told  her  that  this  was  to 
be  the  lord  of  her  destiny,  but  she  did  not  at 
once  learn  that  she  was  in  the  presence  of 
Micbail. 

Strange  things  had  happened  in  Abyssinia 
since  the  departure  of  Sahel.    The  king  had 


taken  another  vizier,  a  young  man  with  old 
ideas,  and  marvellous  splendour  at  once  sur- 
rounded the  throne.  It  was  discovered  that 
the  greatest  happiness  of  the  people  consisted 
in  giving  all  they  possessed  to  their  rulers, 
and  a  prodigious  number  of  new  taxes  were 
at  once  laid  on.  The  king  ha^  five  hundred 
dishes  on  his  table  in  a  single  day,  so  that  he 
never  spoke  of  the  absent  Sahel  except  by  the. 
irreverent  name  of  jackass.  It  was  clear 
indeed,  that  the  worthy  old  man  knew  no- 
thing of  finance.  Feasting  and  jollity  were 
the  order  of  the  day,  but  alas  for  the 
instability  of  human  affairs!  Men  never 
know  when  they  are  well-governed ;  and 
some  ambitious  wretch  persuwled  some  spite- 
ful people  that  Sahel  was  not  such  a  fool 
after  all.  For  his  part,  he  expressed  his  opin- 
ion in  a  very  brutal  manner;  for  one  fine 
morning,  he  attacked  the  king's  palace,  and 
drove  him  with  his  son,  who  was  too  much 
occupied  with  thoughts  of  Mina  to  know  how 
matters  were  going  on,  into  exile.  The  king 
and  the  prince  escaped  on  board  a  vessel  fronn 
Massowa,  and  landed  at  an  Arabian  port, 
whence  they  travelled,  and  after  many  dan- 
gers arrived  at  the  valley  where  the  mer- 
chant Zara  and  his  family  had  found  them^ 
By  this  time,  the  king  had  become  quite  a 
philosopher.  "  My  son,"  said  he,  *<  the  numan 
race  is  not  worthy  that  the  wise  should 
reign  over  them.  Here  are  green  trees  and 
pleasant  waters.  Let  us  abandon  the  cares 
of  government,  and  pass  the  remainder  of 
our  days  in  retirement." 

The  good  old  man  forgot  that  he  was  near 
the  end  of  his  life,  whilst  Michail  was  only 
just  on  the  threbhold.  He  was  surprised, 
therefore,  when  the  young  prince  answered : 
**  1  care  not  to  reign  over  ungrateful  men, 
and,  perhaps,  my  wisdom  is  not  suflQcient 
But  I  cannot  rest  in  this  valley  unless  I  have 
Mina  with  me."  So  it  was  agreed  that  as 
soon  as  he  had  recovered  his  strength,  be 
should  go  to  Cairo  and  seek  for  his  beloved. 
<*At  the  same  time,"  quoth  the  late  king, 
benevolently,  "  you  may  find  that  foolish  old 
man,  SaheL  Say  nothing  to  him  about  the 
deplorable  results  of  his  policy,  which  I  felt 
aftier  his  departure,  except  to  tell  him  that  I 
forgive  all." 

Michail  led  the  merchant  Zara  and  bis 
family  to  the  hermitage  which  his  father  had 
chosen  in  a  very  pleasant  part  of  the  valley, 
and  the  remainder  of  that  day  was  spent  hy 
the  wanderers  in  exchanging  their  stories. 
Whilst  the  old  people  spoke,  however,  Mina 
and  Michail  sat  near  together,  performing  the 
ceremony  of  betrothment  with  their  eyes. 

Here  the  narrative  visibly  draws  to  a  close; 
although  oriental  legends  rarely  leave  their 
personages  after  they  have  fallen  from  wealth 
to  poverty  without  restoring  them  at  least  to 
their  former  position.  But  it  seems  to  have 
been  thought  that  perfect  goodness  and  per- 
fect beauty  may  be  sufficiently  happy  together 
without  wealth.    The  blessings  of  the  spirit 


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Charlea  DickenaO 


POTICHOMANIA. 


129 


which  did  not  include  good  fortune  were 
shared  equally  by  the  young  couple.  They 
remained  in  the  valley  and  adopted  the  man- 
ner of  life  of  the  early  father  of  nittions,  and 
it  is  said  that  a  city  now  exists  on  that  spot, 
far  out  of  the  track  of  commerce  and  travel, 
protected  from  the  visits  of  the  evil-minded 
by  the  spirits  who  still  watch  over  the 
posterity  of  their  sister.  The  old  king  lived 
beyond  the  natural  term  of  humanity,  and 
attributed  the  prosperity  of  the  little  district 
entirely  to  the  wi^om  of  his  own  counsel. 
They  have  learned  by  experience — a  mar- 
vellous circumstance — but  it  is  necessary  to 
add  tbat  the  foolish  vizier  Sahel  was  sum- 
moned from  Cairo,  and  when  he  fell  into  his 
old  master's  arms  and  heard  that  he  was  for- 
given, carefully  concealed  his  face  to  hide  one 
smile  aod  two  tears,  which  the  reader  may 
interpret  as  he  pleases. 


POTICHOMANIA. 

What  new  mania  is  this?  What  ispotiche 
or  poticho,  and  why  need  women  have  an 
espt'cial  mania  for  It?  If  potiche  be  some- 
thiug  good,  why  not  have  potichotechny, 
or  potichology,  or  potichonomy,  or  poticho- 
somy,  or  potichography,  or  potichometry  ? 
A  mania  is  almost  as  bad  as  a  phobia :  a 
madat;s.s  for,  is  as  little  pleasant  as  a  madness 
against ;  and  we  may  perchance  yet  have  a 
potichopboOia  as  an  antidote  to  the  poticho- 
mania.  A  learned  pundit  who  has  discoursed 
on  tbis  subject  for  the  benefit  of  the  public, 
rea.souft  in  this  way — that  as  metromania, 
bibliomauia,  and  melomania,  are  irreproach- 
able words,  by  which  one  expresses  love  of 
poetry,  love  of  books,  and  love  of  music — 
there  seems  no  reason  why  we  should  not 
invent  the  word  potichomania.  He  admits 
that  we  have  not  yet  become  accustomed  to 
the  sound  of  such  a  word ;  but  what  of  that? 
Is  it  not  easier  than  angeiograpby,  for  a  de- 
scription of  weights  and  measures?  or  than 
opUtbalmoxystic  as  a  name  for  a  little  rye-ear 
bru^b  used  to  smooth  the  eyebrows?  Thus 
he  claims  the  right  to  offer  for  academical 
baptism  the  word  potichomania,  on  the  ground 
that  men  are  permitted— or  rather  that 
science  is  permitted,  under  etymological  pre- 
texts— to  add  to  modern  languages  by  means 
of  the  Greek.  H ow  far  the  academical  Greeks 
of  the  present  day  will  approve  of  the  compo- 
site name,  it  will  be  for  them  to  declare. 
Potiches  are  said  to  be  Chinese  or  Japanese 
jars :  and  hence  the  new  art  becomes  a  frenzy 
for  jars — a  very  pretty  conclusion,  which  it  is 
to  be  hoped  will  be  satisfactory  to  all  parties. 
That  the  art  means  something  amusing,  what- 
ever the  name  may  mean,  is  evident  enough  ; 
for  the  advertising  columns  of  the  daily 
journals  inform  us  that  Mr.  So-and-so,  for  a 
given  number  of  shillings  or  guineas,  will  give 
a  certain  number  of  lessons  in  potichomania, 
whereby  a  lady  may  easily  learn  the  elegant 


art;  while  colour-makers  and  print-sellers 
adopt  similar  means  of  notifying  to  the  world 
that  all  the  materials  necessary  for  the  prac- 
tice of  this  art  may  be  obtained  at  their 
respective  establishmenta 

To  come  to  the  gist  of  the  matter,  it 
seems  that  potichomania  is  a  method  of 
imitating  in  decorated  glass,  Japanese,  or  any 
other  specimens  of  ware  or  porcelain.  There 
seems  no  reason  why  pleasing  and  even 
elegant  results  may  not  be  obtained ;  but  if 
it  1^  used  only  as  a  means  of  imitating  ugly 
roecimens  of  oriental  workmanship,  its 
desirability  as  a  means  of  art  may  be  ques- 
tioned. If,  on  the  other  hand,  natural  taste 
be  allowed  fair  play,  there  is  no  reason  to 
doubt  that  very  elegant  results  may  follow. 

A  recently  published  essay  on  the  sub- 
ject, shows  that  the  list  of  working  materials 
is  somewhat  formidable,  comprising  glass 
vases,  or  potiches,  or  cups,  or  plates,  shaped 
similarly  to  those  made  of  pottery  or  porce- 
lain; a  well-assorted  selection  of  coloured 
papers  or  gelatine  sheets;  a  fine-pointed 
pair  of  scissors  for  cutting  out;  tubes  or 
bottles  of  prepared  colours  of  various  tints:  a 
bottle  of  a  peculiarly  prepared  vamisn : 
another  bottle  containing  refined  essence  of 
turpentine  ;  a  bottle  of  melted  gum ;  around 
hog's-hair  brush  for  gumming  the  paper  or- 
naments, another  for  varnishing,  and  two 
flat  brushes  for  colouring ;  a  vessel  in  which 
the  colours  may  be  diluted;  and  a  box 
wherein  to  stow  away  all  these  treasures. 
As  to  the  means  of  procuring  the  glass 
articles  themselves,  this  must  be  left  to  the 
skill  of  the  glass-maker.  The  object  is  to 
produce  glass  imitations  of  pottery  and  por- 
celain articles ;  and  therefore  the  glass  must 
of  course  be  wrought  into  a  form  consistent 
with  such  a  purpose.  It  may  be  a  vase,  or  a 
potiche.  or  a  honey-pot,  or  a  plate,  or  a  cup 
— anything,  in  short,  which  has  a  smooth 
surface  (for  articles  with  ornaments  in  relief 
do  not  seem  to  be  susceptible  of  this  mode  of 
imitation) ;  but  the  glass-worker  must  in  any 
case  precede  the  oruamentalist 

Though  most  persons  have  a  sort  of 
obscure  notion  that  the  colours  on  cups  and 
saucers,  dishes,  and  plates,  are  in  some  way 
burnt  in,  yet  the  delicacy  and  nicety  of  the 
methods  are  little  suspected.  There  is  the 
migolica  ware  of  Italy,  copied  from  the 
Moorish  pottery,  adorned  with  copies  of 
paintings  by  Rafi'aelle  and  his  contemporaries, 
and  some  specimens  supposed  to  have  been 
painted  by  the  band  of  the  great  master  him- 
self. There  is  the  Delia  Robbia  ware,  so 
named  from  a  Florentine  artist,  who  modelled 
and  sculptured  excellent  works  in  porcelain, 
and  then  adorned  them  with  enamel  and  gold 
and  colours.  There  is  the  Palissy  ware,  in- 
vented by  a  man  whose  life  was  a  continuous 
romance,  and  presenting  historical,  mytho- 
logical, and  allegorical  designs  on  grounds  of 
rich  yellow  and  blue  and  gray.  There  is  the 
delft  ware,  with  its  beautiful  enamel,  its  blue 


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130 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCoodoctcd  bar 


colours,  and  its  designs  copied  from  the  old 
Japan  prodactions.  There  are  the  stone 
wares  from  China  and  Japan,  which  fre- 
quently ser^e  as  a  coloured  base  for  raised 
ornaments  of  soft  porcelain.  There  are  the 
various  Wedgwood  wares,  comprising  the 
Queen's  and  the  Basalt,  the  Jasper  and  the 
Onyx,  and  other  kinds.  There  are  the  old 
Chelsea  china,  Rotherham  china,  and  Derby 
china.  There  are  the  Dresden  china  and  the 
Botticher  ware  and  the  Sevres  china.  In 
short,  if  the  reader  knew  how  eagerljr  col- 
lectors look  out  for  the  different  varieties  of 
old  pottery  and  porcelain,  he  would  have 
some  clue  to  the  origin  of  that  desire  which 
exists  to  imitate  in  some  degree  those  pro- 
ductions :  not  to  imitate  for  dishonest  pur- 
poses ;  for  he  must  be  a  shallow  judge  who 
would  mistake  modern  decorated  glass  for 
old  painted  china.  How  the  connoisseur  dis- 
tinguishes the  poteries  a  pate-tendrefrom  the 
poteries  a  pate  dur ;  the  poterie  matt  from 
the  poterie  lustr^e ;  the  poterie  verniss^e  from 
the  poterie  emailee;  Uie  fayence  Anglaise 
from  the  fayence  Fran^aise :  the  Wedgwood, 
the  Botticher,  the  Palissy,  the  Delia  Robbia, 
the  Mf^olica,  the  Sevres,  the  Dresden — how 
he  learns  to  know  these  one  from  another,  is 
a  part  of  his  business  as  a  collector  and  con- 
noisseur ;  but  it  may  be  worth  knowing  that, 
from  the  nature  of  the  process,  some  of  these 
varieties  of  ware  are  wholly  unfitted  to  be 
imitated  on  glass. 

The  imitative  art  to  which  the  long  Greek 
name  is  given  bears  no  analogy  to  that  by 
which  these  several  kinds  of  ware  are  coloured 
and  adorned.  Some  of  the  coloured  wares 
have  metallic  figments  mixed  with  the  clay 
whereof  they  are  formed,  which  imparts 
a  uniform  colour  to  the  whole  substance  ; 
while  in  other  cases,  colours  are  mixed  with 
oils  and  turpentine,  and  arc  applied  to  the 
surface  of  the  ware  with  a  pencil  of  camel- 
hair,  the  fixture  of  the  colour  being  ensured 
by  a  subsequent  process  of  fixing  in  a  small 
kiln  or  oven.  Nor  does  the  art  resemble 
that  of  the  glass-stainer :  for  this  skilful 
artist,  after  having  sketcned  his  design  on 
glass,  has  a  most  elaborate  series  of  processes 
to  attend  to :  his  mineral  colours  must  be  eo 
chosen  as  to  form  a  sort  of  enamel  with  the 
glass  by  the  aid  of  heat ;  and  he  must  so 
select  the  components  of  his  colours  that 
whatever  they  may  appear  like  when  opaque, 
they  must  appear  brilliantly  transparent 
when  applied  to  the  glass. 

No  ;  the  potichomania,  the  jar  frenzy,  the 
imitation  of  porcelain  and  pottery,  must  not 
claim  to  rank  either  with  porcelain-painting 
or  glass-stainiDg.  There  is  nothing  chemical 
about  it, — nothing  that  requires  kilns,  or 
muffles,  or  ovens, — nothing  for  which  our 
leading  artists  will  be  called  upon  to  contri- 
bute designs.  Nevertheless,  there  is  no  reason 
why  it  should  not  constitute  a  pretty  lady- 
like employment,  susceptible  of  considerable 
variety  of  application. 


There  have  not  been  wanting  imitations  of 
old  Dutch  china  manufacturod  in  wood.  The 
wood  was  turned  in  a  lathe  to  the  shape  of  a 
jar,  or  um,  or  vase  ;  the  wooden  counterfeit 
was  painted  with  oil  colour ;  flowers  or  orna- 
ments were  cut  out  of  colored  printed  calico 
or  linen ;  these  were  pasted  on  in  their  proper 
relative  positions;  and  the  pseudo-Dutch  <Hr 
Japanese  production  received  its  finishing 
touch  by  means  of  a  coat  of  varnish.  Bat 
this  varnish  had  a  tendency  to  crack,  and  it 
seldom  presented  such  a  surface  as  could  well 
imitate  the  smooth  glossy  exterior  of  a  real 
product  of  the  plastic  art.  Hence  it  is  that 
the  inventors  of  the  new  process  pride  them- 
selves on  the  higher  philosophy  of  their 
modus  operandi.  They  say,  virtually  if  not 
verbally,  "  See,  our;exterioris  the  real  thing; 
the  exterior  of  a  porcelain  vessel  is  a  veritable 
glass,  for  all  enamel  and  glaze  are  true  glass ; 
and  our  products  exhibit  a  real  glass  exterior  ; 
untouched  by  colour  or  varnish  of  any  kind, 
^rgo,  our  imitations  are  better  than  their 
wooden  predecessors."  The  validity  of  this 
ergo  depends  upon  the  whereabouts  and  the 
manner  in  which  the  coloured  adornments 
are  applied.  So  long  as  sheets  of  paper  or 
cloth  alone  could  be  used,  it  may  be  doubted 
whether  the  new  art  could  have  been  prac- 
tised to  any  satisfactory  degree;  bccaose 
there  is  a  solidity  or  opacity  about  them 
which  interferes  with  anything  like  trans- 
lucency  of  effect  Every  one  knows  that  very 
pretty  sheets  of  gelatine  are  now  made,  which 
receive  colours  of  considerable  brilliancy,  and 
have  a  semi-transparency,  which  adds  greatly 
to  their  ornate  effect.  Gold,  too,  may  be 
combined  with  the  colours  in  a  rich  and  deli- 
cate degree  ;  and  it  is  these  qualities  which 
seem  to  have  suggested  the  employment  of 
such  a  substance  in  the  imitative  art  now 
under  notice.  As  to  the  manufacture  of  the 
gelatine  sheets  themselves,  it  is  one  of  the 
countless  examples  afforded  by  modem  che- 
mistry of  the  production  of  useful  substances 
from  that  which  is  either  refuse,  or  at  most 
a  very  common  and  cheap  article.  It  is  an 
illustration  of  the  Penny  Wisdom  which  has 
already  received  a  little  attention  in  House- 
hold Words.*  Glass  being  transparent,  while 
wood  is  opaque,  and  gelatine  sheets  being 
more  transparent  than  sheets  of  coloured 
paper  or  coloured  linen,  we  see  at  once  the 
basis  on  which  the  new  art  claims  to  have 
some  superiority  over  its  predecessor.  The 
coloration  is  effected  inside  the  glass:  this 
alone  is  sufficient  to  ensure  a  smooth  exterior. 
One  of  the  novelties  of  late  years  has  been 
the  production  of  brilliant  globes  and  ves^ls 
of  glass,  in  which  the  brilliancy  results  from 
the  use  of  coloured  glass  coated  behind  with 
a  layer  of  silver.  The  new  art  has  no  direct 
analogy  with  this ;  but  the  one  may  serve,  in 
some  degree,  to  show  how  the  other  may 
produce  softly-beautiful  effects  by  the  inter- 

ToL  tU  p.  97. 


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CbftriM  Dickens.] 


POTICHOMANIA. 


181 


position  of  a  glonj  layer  between  the  colour 
and  the  eye. 

The  name  which  the  inventors  have  chosen 
to  give  to  this  imitative  art  is  dependent  on 
the  primary  olject  of  imitating  the  Chinese 
or  Japanese  potiches  or  jars ;  bat  a  farther 
display  of  skill  may  enable  the  worlters  to 
apply  the  process  to  glas^  imitations  of  Sevres 
and  Dresden  porcelain.  The  eastern  products 
are  usually  adorned  witH  figures  and  plants 
and  animals;  but  those  of  Europe  aim  at 
applications  of  the  historical  and  landscape 
piinter's products.  The  potichomanist  (a  very 
hard  word  to  apply  to  a  lady)  selects  her  glass 
vase  or  jar,  cup  or  plate,  pot  or  dish,  and  then 
sheets  of  coloured  gelatine,8uch  as  will  produce 
the  colours  of  the  device  to  be  imitated.  With 
her  sharp-pointed  scissors  she  cuts  out  the 
little  bits  of  gelatine  requisite  to  produce  the 
device.  This  is  probably  the  most  difiScult 
part  of  the  whole  affair :  for  not  only  must 
the  outlines  of  the  device  be  carefully  ob- 
served but  also  the  juxtaposition  of  any  two '  * 
or  more  colours  which  it  may  comprise. 

Ttie  coloured  gelatine,  then,  is  cut  into  little 
fragments,  and  the  glass  is  clean  and  ready, 
and  the  pencils  or  small  brushes  are  at  hand, 
and  the  liquid  gum  is  prepared,  and  the  artist 
is  in  a  condition  to  proceed  with  the  delicate 
work.  Sheets  of  gelatine  are  naturally  adhe- 
sive when  wetted;  but  pieces  of  coloured 
paper  may  occasionally  be  used  which  have 
no  adhesive  layer  upon  them.  The  wet- 
ting or  the  gumming,  are  adopted  according 
to  circumstances ;  but  either  must  be  done 
tboroughlv,  for  it  is  of  much  importance  to 
the  completeness  of  the  process  that  the 
cementing  to  the  glass  should  be  close  and 
perfect  in  every  part.  A  linen  pad  or  cloth 
is  applied  delicately  to  ensure  this  closeness 
of  contact.  There  must  be  no  babbles  of  air ; 
no  branches  of  trees,  or  detached  leaves  of 
flowers,  or  wings  of  insects,  must  curl  up  at 
the  corners,  and  obtrude  themselves  unduly 
upon  notice.  All  must  adhere  closely  to  their 
glass.       » 

It  must  be  observed,  however,  that  these 
gelatine  sheets,  if  used  at  all,  are  not  em- 
ployed by  themselves.  The  gelatine  appears  to 
be  simpl  V  a  film  on  the  front  or  face  of  the  pic- 
ture, which  film,  if  damped,  becomes  adhesive 
without  the  aid  of  gum.  Our  tasteful  neigh- 
bours across  the  Channel  supply  us  with 
these,  as  well  as  with  the  original  idea 
whereby  the  art  has  been  created.  Theirs 
is  the  potichomanie,  which  we  have  changed 
into  potichomania ;  and  theirs  are  the  sheets 
of  pictures— Chinese  ladies,  landscapes  with 
impossible  perspective,  foliage,  fiowers,  fruit, 
birds,  butterflies,  arabesques,  grotesques — 
printed  in  lithography,  brilliantly  coloured 
and  sold  at  six,  nine,  twelve,  eighteen,  or  any 
other  number  of  pence  per  sheet.  Some  of 
our  teachers  tell  us  to  use  hog's-hair  brushes ; 
some  say  cameVs-hair ;  but  others,  more  pro- 
vident than  either,  recommend  both  the 
hog  and  the  camel  to  our  notice.    The  glass 


vessels  themselves  are  apparently  French* 
although  we  know  of  no  reason  why  English 
glassblowers  should  not  make  them.  The 
potiches  en  verre,  vases,  allumette  vases, 
flower-pot  covers,  cups,  and  bowls,  are  many 
of  them  well  and  gracefully  shaped ;  but  we 
would  gently  whisper,  that  if  the  glass  were 
a  little  more  free  ftom  air-bubbles,  it  would 
be  better  for  the  object  in  view;  because, 
whether  we  would  imitate  the  bluish  tint  of 
old  Sivres,  or  the  greenish  tint  of  Chinese, 
or  the  nankeen  tint  of  Etruscan,  or  the  tints 
of  any  other  famous  porcelain  or  pottery,  we 
can  certainly  get  on  better  without  bubbles 
in  the  glass,  than  with  them.  It  is  a  French 
professor,  too,  who  assures  us  that  *'  the  ex- 
traordinary success  which  this  art  has  ob- 
tained may  be  easily  accounted  for,  if  we 
rememl>er  Lthat,  after  an  easy,  interesting 
labour  of  a  few  hours,  we  see  a  simple  glass 
vessel  transformed  into  a  Chinese,  Sevres, 
Dresden,  or  Japanese  vase." 

But  the  materials  are  only  half  the  matter, 
— the  processes  are  the  other  half;  and  we 
follow  our  instructions,  humbly  and  diligent- 
ly, thus : 

We  are  especially,  In  the  most  energetic 
terms,  cautioned  not  to  proceed  to  the  next 
process  until  the  efficacy  of  the*gum  has  been 
well  ascertained ;  but,  this  done,  we  advance 
to  the  varnishing.  This  varnish  is  intended 
partly  to  secure  the  coloured  devices  in  their 
place,  and  partly  to  shield  the  gelatine  f^om  a 
layer  of  oil  colour  afterwards  applied.  The 
varnish  is  applied  over  the  whole  interior  of 
the  vase  or  jar ;  but  being  clear  and  colour- 
less, it  docs  not  produce  a  disfigurement  in 
the  general  appearance.  We  presume  that 
the  uiape  of  the  jar  in  respect  to  its  mouth 
and  general  proportion,  must  be  such  as  will 
admit  of  the  artist's  hand  and  varni^  brush, 
and  bits  of  coloured  paper.  There  is  a  little 
vitreous  conundrum  occasionly  to  be  seen, 
consisting  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte  or  an 
English  stage  coach  bottled  up  in  a  decanter, 
or  phial,  whose  month  is  far  smaller  than 
the  lateral  dimensions  of  the  great  emperor; 
and  the  puzzle  is,  to  find  out  how  Napoleon 
could  have  possibly  got  into  the  decanter, 
or  the  Brighton  mail  into  the  phiaL  In 
the  present  case,  however,  there  is  to  be 
no  difficulty  in  putting  in  or  taking  out 
anything  which  the  jar  or  vase  ought  to 
contain. 

The  varnishing  being  done,  the  painting 
or  colouring  follows,  the  object  of  this  is, 
to  give  to  the  whole  of  the  glass  vessel  a  tint 
and  an  opacity  corresponding  with  the  tint 
and  opacity  of  the  specimen  of  pottery  or 
porcelain  imitated — an  important  and  dif- 
flcult  part  of  the  routine  of  processes :  for 
the  selection  of  ingredients,  and  the  mode  of 
application,  mubt  each  require  much  care. 
The  colour-men  have  p^pared  an  ample  list 
of  tints,  to  imitate  the  aeadly  white  and  the 
delicately  white,  the  creamy  white  and  the 
bluish  white,  the  red  lacquered,  the  black 


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HOUSEHOLD  WOBDS. 


CCoodact«d  hf 


lacquered,  the  sea-green,  the  green  yellow,  the 
gold  dust,  the  deep  gold,  the  Pompadoor  rose, 
the  deep  blue,  the  bright  blue,  and  other 
colours  of  pottery  and  porcelain ;  and  we  are 
told  how,  by  employing  zinc  white,  cobalt 
blue,  yellow  ochre,  vermilion,  lake,  ivory 
black,  Naples  yellow,  silver  white,  Veronese 
green,  yellow  lake,  bitumen,  raw  sienna, 
burnt  sienna,  cadmium,  March  violet,  carmine, 
ultramarine,  gold  varnish,  gold  powder, — we 
are  told  how  all  these,  or  some  among  the 
number,  combine  to  produce  tints  which  will 
imitate  the  ground  colour  of  all  varieties  of 
pottery  and  porcelain.  And  we  are  cautioned 
against  numerous  snares  and  pitfalls  into 
which  our  ignorance  may  lead  us.  If  our 
paint  be  too  opaque,  it  will  spread  with  diffi- 
culty over  the  surface  of  the  glass :  if  it  be 
too  thin,  it  will  not  cover  the  glass  with  suf- 
ficient body ;  if  it  be  not  equable  in  distribu- 
tion, it  will  fail  to  imitate  tne  homogeneity  in 
the  appearance  of  porcelain  ;  if  there  be  not 
enough  mixed  at  once,  it  will  be  difficult  to 
match  the  tint  afterwards ;  if  it  be  made  to 
flow  more  easily,  it  may  drv  more  tardily. 
As  to  the  mode  of  applying  the  colours,  there 
seems  to  be  two  varieties — brushing  and 
flowing.  The  f4>plication  with  a  brush  is  the 
most  obvious;  but  the  teachers  assure  us 
that  it  is  difficult  to  avoid  inequalities  in  the 
touch  of  the  brush,  and  that,  therefore,  the 
method  of  flowing  or  flooding  is  preferred. 
In  this  process  the  liquid  colour  is  poured 
into  the  vessel,  and  is  rolled  about  in  every 
direction,  after  which  the  surplus  is  poured 
out  into  a  cup  or  other  receptacle.  One  flood- 
ing seldom  leaves  a  sufficient  thickness  or 
opacity  of  colour,  ibid  a  second  is  hence 
required.  This  process  is  very  similar  to  that 
by  which  artificial  pearls  are  produced.  A 
greyish  liquid  made  from  fish-scales  being 
blown  through  a  little  tube,  a  drop  at  a  time, 
into  hollow  glass  beads,  and  then  rolled 
about. 

Phrenologists  say  that  man  is  blessed  with 
an  organ  of  colour,  the  greater  or  lesser  deve- 
lopment of  which  indicates  a  greater  or  lesser 
capacity  for  appreciating  the  chromatic  ele- 
ments of  a  picture ;  and  the  potichomanist 
hints  pretty  strongly  that  the  success  of  a 
student  in  this  art  wUl  depend  in  a  consider- 
able degree  on  the  magnitude  of  this  said 
organ.  He  declares  first  that  the  faculty  of 
what  painters  call  colour,  is  not  given  to 
every  one ;  he  further  declares  that  those 
who  possess  this  faculty  will  produce  in 
ptotichomania)  as  in  painting,  works  far  supe- 
rior to  the  production  of  those  who  are  not 
endowed  with  it,  inasmuch  as  the  former  will 
be  artists,  while  the  latter  will  be  nothing 
more  than  skilful  workmen,  or  clever  imita- 
tors ;  he  acknowledges  that  the  art  of  poti- 
chomania  is  still  In  its  infancy ;  but  he  roundly 
prophesies  that,  like  the  great  art  of  painting, 
it  will  have  its  school,*its  masters,  its  disoiples, 
its  imitators — securing  a  place  for  itself 
among  decorative  arts,  developing  its  re- 


sources in  the  embelliriimcnt  of  our  apart- 
ments and  furniture,  and  bringing  honour 
and  praise  to  its  artists.  Mav  the  prediction 
be  verified,  in  spite  of  the  jar-frenzy  name 
given  to  the  art!  Glass  has  advanced  much 
in  usefulness  and  beauty,  since  the  change  in 
the  excise  duties ;  and  unless  grim  war  shall 
urge  the  finance  minister  again  to  throw  his 
longing  eyes  to  glass,  we  may  hope  that  the 
useralness  and  the  beauty,  consequent  in 
great  part  on  cheapness,  will  be  yet  farther 
increased. 


PASSING  CLOUDS. 

Whbbi  are  the  iwalloiri  fled? 

Frozen  and  dead. 
Perchance  upon  tome  bleak  and  stormj  ghott. 
0  doubting  heart  I 
Var  o'er  the  purple  seaa, 
Thej  wait  in  sunny  ease, 
The  balmj  southern  breeze, 
To  bring  them  to  their  northern  home  once  more. 

Whj  must  the  flowers  die  ? 

Prisoned  thej  lie 
In  the  cold  tomb,  heedless  of  tears  or  rain. 
0  doubting  heart  I 
Thejr  onlj  sleep  below 
The  soft  white  eirmine  snow, 
WhUe  winter  winds  shall  blow. 
To  breathe  and  smile  upon  jou  soon  again. 

The  sun  has  hid  its  rays 

These  many  days ; 
Will  dreary  hours  never  leave  the  earth  T 
0 doubting  heart! 
The  stormy  clouds  on  high 
Yell  the  same  sunny  sky, 
That  soon  (for  spring  is  nish) 
Shall  wake  the  summer  Into  golaen  mirth. 


Fair  hope  is  dead,  and  light 

Is  quench'd  in  night. 
What  sound  can  break  the  silence  of  despair? 
0  doubting  heart  I 
Thy  sky  is  overcast, 
Yet  stars  shall  rise  at  last, 
Briffhter  for  darkness  past. 
And  angels'  silver  Toices  stir  the  air. 


CHAMBERS  IN  THE  TEMPLE. 

FiFTBBN  years  ago,  when  I  w«8  a  schoolboy 
in  Paris,  wearing  a  uniform  very  much  re- 
semUing  that  of  a  Metropolitan  policeman 
(the  dress  is  military  now,  and  they  have  me- 
tamorphosed my  old  college  into  an  Imperial 
Lyceum)  eating  a  distressing  quantity  of 
boiled  haricots,  washed  down  by  the  palest 
of  pink  wUie  and  water,  and  conjugating  a 
prodigious  quantity  of  verbs,  regular  and  Ir- 
regalar— the  tenses  of  which  have  become  so 
very  preterpluperfeot  since,  that  they  have 
faded  dean  away  from  my  memory— fifteen 
vears,  then,  since,  there  was  an  old  gentleman 
inhabiting  the  English,  or,  St  Honors  quarter 
of  the  French  oapital—a  white-headed,  stormy, 
battle  and  weather-beaten  veteran  of  the  salt 
sea-a  rear-admbral  in  the  English  navy,  and  on 


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CHAMBERS  IN  THE  TEMPLE. 


133 


the  Ittlf-pay  thereof.  He  had  been  celebrated 
all  over  the  world  in  his  time  for  deeds  of 
daring  and  chivalrous  bravery ;  bat  that  had 
beea  a  very  long  time  ago ;  and  the  nngrate- 
fU  generation  among  whom  his  latest  jear^ 
—those  that  were  to  be  but  labour  and  sor- 
row—were passed,  celebrated  only  his  eccen- 
tricities and  ignored^  or  were  indifferent  to 
his  glory.  This  is  the  way  of  the  world,  my 
Christian  friend.  When  you  and  I  oome  to 
he  old  men— and  dionld  we  ever  have  given 
the  world  cause  to  talk  about  us — ^we  shall 
find  that  the  books  we  have  written,  the  pic- 
tures we  have  painted,  or  the  statues  we  have 
hewn,  will  be  dismissed  to  oblivion  with  a 
good  natored  contempt  as  things  meritorious 
eooogfa  in  their  way,  but  quite  out  of  date  ; 
shoold  we  be  worth  paragraphs,  or  anecdotes, 
they  will  have  reference  to  the  redness  of  our 
noses,  the  patterns  of  our  trowsers,  our  man- 
ner of  eating  peas  with  our  knives,  our  habit 
of  putting  the  left  leg  foremost  when  we  walk, 
or  oar  assumed  fondness  for  cold  rum  and 
water.  The  Ihike  of  Marlborough's  petty 
avarice  and  haggllngs  with  the  Bath-chair- 
men were  talked  about  long  after  the  con- 
qneror  of  Blenheim  was  forgotten,  and  the 
nation  had  even  grumbled  about  paying  for 
the  palace  it  had  voted  him  in  the  first  out- 
borst  of  its  gratitude.  Lord  Peterborough 
walking  from  market  in  his  blue  ribbon,  with 
a  fowl  ander  one.  arm,  and  a  cabbage  under 
the  other,  quite  threw  into  the  shade  Lord 
Peterborough  the  hero  of  Almanza.  When- 
ever the  name  of  the  Marquis  of  Granby 
occurs  to  us  now-a-days,  it  is  in  connection 
with  the  Incorporated  Association  of  Licensed 
Victoallersy  with  foreign  wines,  beer,  and  to- 
bacco—not with  battles  won,  or  sieges  suc- 
cesfiilly  conducted.  Whose  aquiline  nose, 
white  dncks,  and  hat-saluting  fingers,  were 
hoQsehold  words  in  London  to  the  populace, 
who  bad  forgotten  Waterloo,  when  thejr 
sBMMhed  the  windows  of  Apsley  House  with 
stones,  because  its  owner  was  an  enemy  to 
fieform?  Whose  children  grin  now  at  the 
ctficatured  presentments  of  the  prominent 
nose  and  plaid  trowsers  of  the  man  who  was 
the  greatest  orator,  the  greatest  advocate,  the 
greatest  reformer  of  the  law,  England  has 
ever  seen,  tLod  who  thirty  years  since  shook 
this  realm  from  end  to  end  by  the  thunder 
of  his  eloquence,  and  dashed  down  walls  of 
corruption,  one  after  another,  with  his  im- 
petuoos  hand  ?  The  world  is  as  ungrateful, 
M  fiekle,  as  petnlant  as  a  woman.  I  war- 
rant Omphalc  rapped  the  fingers  of  Her- 
esies when,  fitting  at  her  feet  a-spinning, 
^  happened  to  ravel  the  fiax.  He  who  had 
▼uiqafebed  the  Nemsean  lion,  and  quelled  the 
frjmanthian  boar,  was  forgotten  in  the  care- 
^  spinner.  So  it  was  with  the  old  gentle- 
tuui  whom  I  knew  in  Paris  fifteen  years  ago. 
People  talked  of  the  strange  fancy  he  bad 
of  hndlng  an  old  white  horse  about  the 
"treets,  on  which  he  never  rode ;  much  mer- 
riment was  excited  by  the  rumour  that  he 


slept  with  his  head  through  a  hole  in  a  blan- 
!  ket — (I  am  not  exaggerating) — the  quidnuncs 
of  the    Rue   St.  Honor^  and  the    Champs 
Elys^es  were  infinitely  amused  at  his  strange 
I  ways,  bis  loud  and  rambling  talk,  his  general 
'  oddity  of  manner ;  very  few  people  cared  to 
]  remember  that  before  most  of  them  were  born 
he  was  famous  over  the  whole  world  as  the 
I  English  Commodore  Sir  Sidney  SMrrn,  the 
!  heroic  defender  of  Acre,  the  scourge  of  the 
French  navy— from  the  lofty  three-decker  to 
the  smallest  chasse-mar6e,-and  nearly  the  only 
I  man  for  whom  the  great  Napoleon— the  impas- 
I  8ible,ambitioas,who  no  more  deigned  to  love  or 
hate  men,  with  him,  or  against  him,  any  more 
'  than  Mr.  Staunton,  the  chess-player,  loves  or 
hates  the  pawns  in. his  game— condescended 
to  entertain  a  violent  personal  dislike.    Sir 
Sidney  Smith  used  coolly  to  declare  that 
Napoleon  was  jealous  of  him.    It  is  certain 
that  he  annoyed  and  chafed  the  Great  Man 
'  horribly,  and  in  Egypt  drove  him  to  the  per^ 
petration  of  a  very  sorry  joke,  having  posi- 
tively challenged  him  to  single  combat,  which 
'  Napoleon  declined,  till — having  rather  an 
exalted  idea  of  the  "  foeman  worthy  of  his 
'  steel " — he  could  produce  the  ghost  of  the 
great  Duke  of  Marlborough. 

Sir  Sidney  Smith  diedin  Paris:  but  it  is 
not  with  his  death  or  latter  days  that  I  have 
I  to  do.    I  wish  to  tell  the  story  of  his  escape 
'  from  certain  chambers  which  he  occupied  in 
'  the  Temple,  while  he  was  yet  the  famous  com- 
j  modore,  admired  by  Europe,  and  hated  by 
the  French   Directory,  and   especially   by 
'  General  Bonaparte.    How  much  of  strict  his- 
toric truth  there  may  be  in  the  story,  it  is  not 
;  for  me  to  say.    The  journals  of  the  period 
tell  pretty  nearly  the  same  tale ;  but  even 
'  newspapers  will  occaaonally  err,  and  even 
I  the  buckets  of  grave  history  writers  often 
'  stop    short  of  toe  bottom  of  the  well  of 
I  verity. 

I      Sir  Sidney  Smith,   taken   prisoner  In  a 

daring  cutting-out  expedition  on  the  coast  of 

I  Brittany,  was  confined  in  the  prison  of  the 

I  Temple  in  Paris,  In  the  year  seventeen  hun- 

!  dred  and  ninety-eight.    Some  idea  may  be 

I  formed  of  the  importance  which  the  republl- 

'  can  government  attached  to  his  capture  and 

I  detention  to  the  fact,  first,  that  the  Directory 

'  refused  to  liberate  him  in  exchange  for  M. 

Bergeret.  a  post-captain  in  the  French  navy, 

and  again,  on  another  occasion,  positively 

refused  to  receive  as  an  equivalent  for  hla 

person  no  fewer  than  twelve  thousand  French 

prisoners !  A  man  worth  ten  thousand  pounds 

IS  something ;  but  a  sea  captain  not  to  be 

bought  for  twelve  thousand  fighting  men  is, 

indeed,  rich  and  rare. 

Unfortunately  even  distinction  had  its 
embarrassments,  and  such  was  the  store  set 
by  the  safe  keeping  of  Sir  Sidney  by  his  cap- 
tors, that  his  confinement  was  of  the  most 
rigorous  description.  Verdun  or  Biche  was 
good  enough  for  ordinary  prisoners  of  war ; 
but  the  redoubtable  commodore  was  transfer- 


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134 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coodoctod  uj 


red  to  the  Tower  of  the  Temple — that  gloomy 
revolutionary  Bastile,  the  sceoe  of  the  last 
days  of  Louis  the  Sixteenth  and  Marie  An- 
toinette, and  of  the  slow  agony  and  death  of 
the  poor  little  captive  dauphin — the  tower 
that  was  afterwards  to  witness  the  darkest 
episodes  of  the  Consulate — the  reported 
suicides,  but  whispered  murders,  of  Pichegru 
and  Captain  Wright — the  last  adieux  of  the 
simple,  yet  desperate,  Chouans — the  stem 
presence  of  their  leader  Georges  Cadoudal.  In 
the  Temple,  then,  Sir  Sidney  Smith  was  in- 
carcerated. The  guards  were  doubled,  the 
defences  strengthened,  all  communication 
from  without  was  denied  him,  and  the  most 
rigid  surveillance  was  exercised  over  all  his 
actions. 

Once  having  got  their  prisoner  safe  within 
the  four  strong  walls  of  the  Temple,  however, 
isolated  him  from  all  exterior  influences,  and 
placed  a  strong  guard  over  him,  the  Directory 
did  no.t  feel  it  necessary  to  treat  him  with  any 
great  personal  severity.  They  did  not  load 
him  with  chains,  they  did  not  lock  him  up  in 
a  dungeon,  they  did  not  feed  him  upon  bread 
and  water.  Sir  Sidney  was  amply  provided 
with  pecuniary  resources,  and  was  allowed  to 
keep  himself.  Apartments,  the  most  commo- 
dious that  the  prison  could  afford,  were 
allotted  to  hiin,  and,  furthermore,  he  was 
allowed  to  maintain  something  like  an  esta- 
blishment of  domestics.  Besides  Captain 
Wright,  who  acted  as  his  secretarjr*  he  had  a 
cook,  a  valet,  and  notably  an  English  servant, 
half  groom,  half  confidential  man,  called 
Sparkes.  The  cook  and  valet  were  freemen, 
and  Frenchmen ;  Sparks  had  been  taken  pri- 
soner at  the  same  time  as  the  commodore,  but 
the  condition  attached  to  the  French  who 
were  permitted  to  attend  upon  Sir  Sidney 
was,  that  they  should  share  his  imprisonment 
— not  one  was  permitted  to  pass  the  outer 
gate  of  the  Temple. 

I  am  not  aware  whether  it  has  ever  been 
the  lot  of  any  of  the  ladies  or  gentlemen  who 
read  this  to  have  suffered  the  slow  torture  ot 
imprisonment  I  hope  not ;  but  if  any  such 
there  be,  they  will  readily  understand  how 
prone  is  the  human  fliind,  when  the  body  is 
incarcerated,  to  devote  itself  to  the  culinary 
art.  Most  prisoners  are  good  cooks,  or,  at 
least,  love  good  eating.  The  man  with  the  iron 
mask  was  a  gourmand.  The  sham  dauphin 
(one  of  the  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine 
sham  dauphins)  who  called  himself  Duke  de 
.  Normandfe,  and  had  i>a68ed  three-fourths  of 
his  existence  in  the  different  prisons  of  Europe, 
was  renowned  for  the  confection  of  roast  tur- 
key stuffed  with  chestnuts.  When  confined  in 
Ste  P^lagie,  in  eighteen  hundred  and  thirty- 
three,  it  was  a  matter  of  daily  occurrence  to 
hear  a  cry  fromhis  fellow  prisoners  of  Capet, 
is  the  turkey  nearly  ready  7 "  and  the  pseudo- 
descendant  of  St.  Louis  would  answer,  *'  I  am 
dishing  it."  The  late  Mr.  Rush,  on  the 
memorable  occasion  of  his  trial,  addressed  a 
very  specific  and  emphatic  billet-doux  from 


his  retreat  in  Norwich  Castle  to  the  eating- 
house  keeper  opposite,  commanding  pig,  <'  and 
plenty  of  plum  sauce."  I  have  seen  in  White- 
cross  Street  prison  an    analytical   chemist 
frying  pancakes,  and  it  was  once  my  fortune 
to  know,  in  the  Queen's  Bench,  a  doctor 
of  divinity  whose  mockturtle  soup  would 
have  rather    astonished   Mr.   Farrance  of 
Spring  Gardens.    Now,  though  Sir  Sidney 
Smith  on  shipboard  would  have  been  per- 
fectly content  with  ship's  cookery,— salt  junk, 
salt  horse,  or  salt  mahogany,  as  it  is  indif- 
ferently called ;  plum  duff^  grey  pea-soap, 
sea  pie,  lobscouse,  weevilly  biscuit,  and  new 
rum — ^no  sooner  did  he  find  himself  immured 
in  the  Temple,  than  he  fell  into  the  ordinary 
idiosyncrasy  of  prisoners,  and  became  an 
accomplished  bon-vivant.    The  choicest  of 
fish,  flesh,  and  fowl  were  procured  from  the 
Parisian  market,  and  (after  being  strictly  ex- 
amined at  the  gate  to  see  whether  they  con- 
tained any  treasonable  missives)  famished 
forth;  by  no  means  coldly,  his  prison  table. 
The  famous  roast  beef  of  Old  England  was 
seen,  and  smoked  within  those  gloomy  walls. 
Sur  Sidney  had  endless  dispQtes  with  the 
French  cook  conoeminff  the   thickness  of 
melted  butter,  the  propriety  of  potatoes  ap- 
pearing at  table  with  their  skins  on;  the 
iigury  done    to   a  rumi>Bteak   by  beating 
it ;  the  discretion  necessary  in  the  employ- 
ment of  garlic,  and  the  number  of  hoars 
necessary  to  be  devoted  to  the  boiling  of  a 
plum-pudding.    The  cook  would  not  boil  it 
long  enough.    Unless  closely  watched,  he 
would  withdraw  it  furtively  from  the  pot, 
hide  it  in  secret  places  till  dinner-time,  and 
declare  stoutly  that  it  had  been  boiling  eight 
hours  when  it  had  not  been  three  on  uie  fire. 
But,  errors  excepted,  the  captives  lived  as 
well  as  those  bellicose  bipeds  of  the  galli- 
naceous  breed   whose    epuiHiombats  were 
formerly  the  delight  of  our  British  nobility, 
are  popularly  supposed  to  live.    Nor  were 
good  liquids  wanting  to  wasb  down  these 
succulent  repasts.    For  tiie  first  time,  pe^ 
haps,  in  France  that  noble  compound,  tiie 
punch  of  the  United  Kingdom  (for  England, 
Scotland,  and  Ireland  are  all  equidly  famous 
for  it)  was  brewed  within  the  prison  walls; 
and  every  Frenchman  who  tasted  It— even 
the  rabideat  enemy  of  "  Pitt  et  Cobourf  "— 
thenceforth  renounced  the  small-beer  julep, 
half  sour,  half  syruppy,  thitherto  misoamM 
"  punch  "  abroad.  Brandy,  sheny,  and  cUwt 
also  formed  part  of  the  commodore's  cellar, 
and  in  particular,  he  had  laid  in  a  supply  of 
admirable  old  port  wine — ^rare  old  stmf— 
bottles  of  liquid  rubies,  in  a  setting  of  rich 
crust ,  and  cobwebs.    Money  can  do  almost 
anything  in  any  times.    It  can  break  the 
sternest  of  blockades,  and,  though  it  could 
not  get  Sir  Sidney  Smith  out  of  prison,  it 
could  procure  him  a  supply  of  the  primesl 
wines  in  the  English  market    The  Trench 
cook  admired  the  old  port  wine  hugely.   He 
discovered  that  "  porto  "  was  requirea  for  a 


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Charta  Dicke&i.] 


CHAMBERS  IN  THE  TEMPLE. 


135 


greftt  many  dishes  and  sauces.  He  was  dis- 
coTered  in  the  kitchen  one  day  by  Sparkes, 
weeping  bitterly  into  a  stew-pan,  by  the  side 
of  AD  empty  port  wine  bottle.  'Ho  declared 
oa  that  occasion,  with  some  thickness  of  utter- 
ance, that  the. Directory  were  brigands,  and 
the  National  Assembly  thieves,  and  that  the 
Dime  of  the  legitimate  ruler  of  France  was 
Loois  the  Eighteenth.  He  was  very  pale  and 
^laky  nest  day,  affected  great  republican 
sternness,  and  insisted  more  than  ever  upon 
being  called  **  citizen,"  and  "Junius  Brutus," 
when,  honest  man,  his  name  was  Jean  Bap- 
tiste  all  over,  from  his  slippers  to  his  white 
nightcap.  These  details  may  probably  seem 
oaeless.  But  the  commodore*s  port  wine  had 
more  to  do  with  his  escape  fipom  his  chambers 
in  the  Temple  than  you  may  at  present  ima- 
gine. 

One  gilt  and  burnished  afternoon  in  the 
antamn  of  this   same  year  ^ijinety-eight,  a 
^y  of  four  persons  were  assembled  In  Sir 
bidney  Smith's  sitting-room  in  the  tower  of 
the  Temple.    One  of  thfese  persons  was  Cap- 
tain Wright,  whom,  as  he  has  nothing  further 
to  do  with  this  histoiy,  I  need  not  specially 
descrihe.    The  second  was  Sir  Sidney  Smith, 
then  in  all  the  pride  and  vigour  of  his  man- 
hood-a  little  pale,  perhaps,  through  want  of 
exercise,  but  a  comely  man,  and  fair  to  look 
upon.   He  had  bis  hair  powdered,  and  wore 
top-boots,    which     would    seem   somewhat 
strange  articles  of  costume  for  a  naval  officer, 
ilbeit  in  plain  clothes,  in  these  days,  but  were 
the  fashion  in  'ninety-eight.    The  third  was 
^  Sparkes,  his  body  servant.    Mr.  Sparkcs 
^w  of  the  middle  height,  and  remarkably 
stout,  though  anything  but  corpulent  in  the 
^we.   He  was  so  stout  about  the  chest,  that 
joa  could  scarcely  divest  yourself  of  the  im- 
preaion  that  he  had  more  than  one  waistcoat 
^  Perhaps  he  had.    A  very  low  forehead 
^  Mr.  Sparkcs,  and  a  very  voluminous 
allowance  of  bushy  red  hair.  He  was  freckled, 
*nd  his  chin  was  lost  in  the  folds  of  his 
tmple  cravat.    He  had  a  considerable  impedi- 
i3€Qt  in  his  speech,  which  caused  him  to  speak 
slowly,  and  not  often,  and  not  much  at  a 
'  oe ;  bat  he  was  a  great  humorist,  and  was 
^  enormous   favourite   among  the  prison 
jfficlals  for  his  droll  sayings,  and  for  the 
i^ideoaaly  execrable  manner  in  which  he  pro- 
Jjwnced  the  French  language.    A  thorough 
Biiton— an  incorrigible  **  rosbif*  was  Sparkcs, 
^  they— there  were  some  hopes  of  the  com- 
J^ore  acquiring   a   decent   knowledge  of 
jrwch  after  a  few  years'  residence,  but  as  for 
Jl^^es,  he  would  never  learn,  not  he.  Doctor 
•wUvet,  the  prison  surgeon,  who  had  been  in 
%land.  and   spoke  ravishing  English  de- 
J[»ed  John  as  *•  tout  ce  qu'il  y  avait  de  plus 
Coqueni'»-.by  which,  it  is  to  be  presumed, 
^  meant    Cockney.      Sparkes   had    been 
brought  up,  he  said,  with  the  commodore, 
Jhich  accounted   for  a  certain   degree    of 
amiliarity  with  which  he  treated  bim.  and 
which  he  was  far  from  showing  to  the  other 


servants.  This  present  golden  afternoon  John 
half  stood  behind  his  master's  chair,  half 
leaned  against  the  side-board.  He  was  attten- 
tive  in  supplying  the  wants  of  the  other  per- 
sons present,  but  he  did  not  neglect  to  help 
himself  liberally  from  a  special  bottle  of  port 
behind  him,  nor  did  he  refrain  from  joining, 
from  time  to  time,  in  the  conversation. 

The  fourth  person  of  this  g^oup,  and  who 
sat  at  the  end  of  the  table  facing  the  Commo- 
dore, was  a  Frenchman, — a  very  important 
Serson,  too,  you  are  to  know,  being  Citizen 
[utius  Scaivola  Lasne  (formerly  Martin), 
concierge,  keeper  or  head  gaoler  of  the  Tem- 
ple. He  was  responsible  for  the  safe-keeping 
of  the  prisoners  with  his  head.  He  slept  every 
night  with  the  prison  keys  under  his  pillow. 
He  knew  where  the  secret  dungeons — the 
underground  cachots  and  cabanons — were, 
and  what  manner  of  men  were  in  them.  He 
was  not  a  man  to  be  despised. 

Citizen  Lasne  was  a  very  large,  fat  man, 
with  a  small  head.  Gaolers  generally  are, — 
but  let  that  pass.  Now  there  is  no  medium 
of  character  or  disposition  in  large  fat  men 
with  small  heads.  They  are  either  intolerably 
vicious,  slowly  cruel,  stolidly"  beard-hearted, 
mischievously  stupid,  torpidly  revengeful, 
dully  selfish,  sensual  and  avaricious,  or  else 
they  are  lazy,  good-natured,  genial,  soft- 
hearted giants, — mere  toasts  and  butter,  giv- 
ing freely,  lending  freely,  spending  freely, 
always  ready  to  weep  at  a  pitiful  tale,  to  sing 
the  best  song  they  know,  to  lend  you  their  best 
umbrella,  and  to  walk  wheresoever  you  wish 
to  lead  them.  It  is  the  same  with  bald-headed 
men  who  wear  spectacles.  They  are  either 
atrocious  villains  or  amiable  philanthropists. 
The  race  admits  of  no  mediocrity.  Citizen 
Lasne  happened,  luckily  for  his  prisoners,  to 
be  a  large  fat  man,  of  the  second  or  soft- 
hearted category.  His  exterior  was  rugged 
and  his  moustache  wiis  fierce.  He  was  as 
stupid  as  the  libretto  of  an  opera,  and  as  vain 
as  a  dab-chick ;  but  his  nature  was  honest, 
simple,  confiding,  and  compassionate.  He  was 
the  foolish,  fat  scullion  of  Sterne  metamor- 
phosed into  a  man.  He  would  have  spared  a 
flea  when  he  caught  him,— a  three-bottle  Ilea, 
drunk  with  his  life  blood,  and  giddy  with 
leaping  over  his  body.  He  would  do  any- 
thing for  a  prisoner  save  allow  him  to  escapL% 
— for,  like  all  slow  men,  he  had  a  fixed  idea, 
and  this  fixed  idea  confiimed  him  in,  aud 
kept  continually  before  him,  the  conviction 
that  on")  prisoner  the  less  in  the  Temple 
(unless  legally  discharged),  was  one  head  the 
loss  upon  his  own  shoulders.  This  is  why  he 
always  inspected  the  bolts,  bars,  and  locks  of 
the  doors  and  windows  every  night,  set  the 
watch,  aud  slept  with  the  keys  of  the  Temple 
under  his  pillow. 

Citizen  Lasne  liked  drink.    For  port  wine 
he  conceived  an  immoderate  affection.    His 
liking  for  that  beverage  was  pleasingly  gra- 
tified, as  the  Commodore  frequently  invited 
I  him  to  his  table.  Misery  makes  us  acquainted 


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136 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  bj 


with  Btrange  bedfellows,  and  a  gaol  makes  a 
man  take  up  with  strange  boon  companions. 
These  eyes  have  seen  the  eon  of  an  earl  hob- 
nobbing at  a  prison  tap  with  an  insolvent 
boot-closer.  On  his  own  quarter-deck,  In 
London,  at  St.  James's,  Sir  Sidney  Smith 
would  doubtless  have  been  as  dignified,  not 
to  say  haughty,  as  an  Englishman  and  a  com- 
modore has  a  right  to  be.  In  the  state  cabin 
of  his  own  flag-ship  he  would  decidedly  not 
have  hobnobbed  with  Bob  Catskin,  the  boat- 
swain's mate.  But  a  prisoner  in  the  Temple, 
far  from  home,  almost  solitary,  any  com- 
panionship was  welcome  to  him.  This  is  why 
he  so  often  invited  Citizen  Lasne  to  dinner 
and  to  supper.  This  is  why  that  fat  citizen 
sat  facing  nim  at  the  tabic  on  the  golden 
autumn  afternoon  I  treat  of. 

The  citizen  having  eaten  like  an  ox  (he 
approved  of  English  cookery  much),  was  now 
drinking  like  a  fish.  He  could  stand  a  pro- 
digious quantity  of  drink, — all  fat  men  can. 
Only  as  ne  drank,  his  eyes,  which  were  small 
and  round,  appeared  to  diminish  still  further 
in  volume,  for  the  little  penthouses  of  his 
eyelids  began  to  droop  somewhat,  and  his 
round  rosy  cheeks  to  puff  out  upwards  and 
laterally,  while  the  eyes  themselves  seemed 
to  rdcede  into  their  orbits,  as  though  they 
were  lazy  with  repletion,  and  were  throwing 
themselves  back  in  their  easy-chairs. 

The  table  was  covered  with  plates  of  fruit 
and  decanters  of  wine,  from  both  of  which 
Citizen  Lasne  was  helping  himself  largely, — 
the  others  in  moderation.  The  citizen  drank 
his  old  port  out  of  a  tumbler, — the  starveling 
and  effeminate  thlmblcfuUs  known  as  English 
wine-glasses  not  having  as  yet  penetrated  into 
the  Temple.  He  persisted  on  calling  the  port 
"a  little  wine," — un  petit  vin  d^licieux, — 
meanwhile  taking  hearty  gulps  of  the  libelled 
liquor  ;  for  it  is  a  mighty  and  generous  wine, 
— yea,  that  invigorateth  the  frame,  and 
maketh  the  hearts  of-  men  strong  within 
them.  It  hath  cheered  the  vigils  of  great 
scholars,  and  armed  brave  warriors  for  the 
fray, — port  wine.  As  the  citizen  drank,  how- 
ever, it  was  evident  that  the  fixed  idea  was 
anything  but  dormant  within  him :  for  he 
watched  his  host's  countenance  from  time  to 
time  narrowly,  and  in  the  midst  of  his  hilarity 
and  talkativeness  there  would  occasionally 
flit  across  his  fat  face  an  expression  almost  of 
alarm,— for  Sir  Sidney  was  taciturn,  pensive, 
evidently  pre-occupicd,  drank  little,  and 
leant  his  head  on  his  hand. 

"  May  I  pass  for  a  *  suspect,'  "  he  cried  sud- 
denly, laying  down  his  glass,  **  if  I  drink 
another  drop." 

"What's  the  matter.  Father  Latchkey?" 
asked  Mr.  Sparkes  in  French,  far  too  ungram- 
matical  to  transcribe  here.  "  Wine  gone  the 
wrong  way, — swallowed  a  fly?  Why  you 
look  as  if  you  saw  a  file  in  the  bottom  of  your 
glass,  and  a  bunch  of  skeleton  keys  in  the 
Commodore's  face." 

"May  I  sneeze  in  the  sawdust"  (when  a 


person  is  guillotined,  his  head  faUs  into  a 
basketful  of  sawdust)  "  if  the  citizen  prisoner 
of  war  is  not  thinking  of  his  Three  Muses  at 
this  very  ipoment." 

The  "  Three  Muses"  were  three  royalist 
ladies,  hiding  their  real  names  under  the 
fabulous  sobriquets  of  Thalia,Melpomene,  and 
Clio.who  had  long  and  successfully  evaded  the 
pursuit  of  the  police,  and  who  were  noto- 
riously continually  conspiring  to  effect  the 
deliverance  of  Sir  Sidney  Smith.  It  should 
be  known  that«t  this  period,  notwithstanding 
the  sanguinary  severity  of  the  Republican 
government  against  the  Royalists,  France 
and  Paris  swarmed  with  secret  emlssaricfl 
from  foreign  powers,  known  as  "  alarmists," 
"  accapareurs ;  but  more  under  the  generic 
name  of  "  agents  de  I'^tranger,"  and  oy  the 
populace  as  "  Pitt-et-Cobourgs,"  There  were 
agents  from  London,  from  Vienna,  from  Ber- 
lin, and  from  ^^msterdam.  There  were  agents 
in  the  army,  the  navy,  the  saloons,  the  public 
offices,  the  ante-chambers  of  the  ministry; 
among  the  box-openers  at  theatres,  the 
market-women  in  the  Halle,  the  coachmen 
on  the  stand, — all  well  supplied  with  money, 
all  indefatigable  in  obtaining  information, 
in  fomentinff  re-actionary  disturbances,  in 
promoting  the  escape  of  political  prisoners, 
I  might  fill  a  book  with  anecdotes  of  Conrad 
Kock,  the  Dutch  banker  (guillotined)  j  Ber- 
thold  Proly  (guillotined)  ;  the  two  Moravian 
brothers  Frey,  and  their  sister  L^opoldine ; 
Andr4-Marie  Guzman,  the  Spaniai'd,  who 
actually  so  far  ingratiated  himself  into  the 
confidence  of  Marat  that  the  last  letter  the 
famous  terrorist  ever  wrote  was  to  him; 
Webber,  the  Englishman,  whose  mission  it 
was  to  obtain  plans  of  French  fortified  towns, 
and  paid  twelve  thousand  francs  for  one  of 
Douai ;  one  Greenwood,  who  was  specially 
employed  to  give  dinners  to  distressed 
Royalists;  Mrs.  Knox  5  and  especially  the 
two  famous  Pitt-et-Cobourgs,  Dickson  and 
Winter,  who  braved  the  Terror,  the  Dh^c- 
tory,  the  Consulate  and  the  Empire,  and  only 
gave  up  business  in  eighteen  hundred  and 
fifteen.  It  was  pretty  well  known  to  the 
police,  when  our  fat  friend  alluded  to  the 
Three  Muses,  that  an  intricate  and  elaborate 
network  of  intrigues,  plots  and  counterplots, 
existed  for  the  release  of  Sir  Sidney  Smith ; 
that  neither  money  nor  men  were  wanting  to 
effect  this,  should  an  opportunity  occur  ;  and 
that  persons  secretly  powerful  were  working 
night  and  day  to  bring  that  opportunity  aboat. 
This  is  why  the  English  Commodore  had  been 
so  particularly  recommended  to  Citizen  Lasne, 
and  why  the  fixed  idea  I  have  mentioned  was 
so  prominent  in  that  patriot's  mind. 

"You  will  pardon  me,  Citizen  Commo- 
dore," the  gaoler  continued,  rising,  but  cast- 
ing a  loving  look  at  the  decanters,  "  but  I 
don't  like  to  see  you  look  thoughtful  Think- 
ing means  running.  I  must  go  and  examine 
all  the  locks,  and  order  the  night-watch  to  be 
doubled." 


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Chartc*  DtctaM.] 


CHAMBERS  IN  THE  TEIIPLE. 


137 


"  A  man  may  be  thinking  of  his  home  and 
friends,  his  King  and  coantiy,  without  me- 
ditating an  escape  there  and  then,  my  good 
Lasne/'  Sir  Sidney  said  with  a  qniet  smile. 

"  Ah,''  objected  the  gaoler,  shaking  his  fat 
head,  "  bat  you've  too  many  friends  in  Paris, 
citizen  prisoner.  Your  King  sends  too  many 
guineas  and  spies  over  here.  There  are  hun- 
dreds of  them  between  here  and  the  Rue  St 
Antoide  at  this  moment,  I'll  be  bound.  Very 
kind  indeed  to  think  of  your  friends,  but  if 
you  should  feel  inclined  to  say  boigour  to 
them,  my  onl^  friend  would  be  Chariot  (the 
public  executioner)." 

If  citizen  Lasne  could  have  spoken  English, 
and  have  made  a  pun,  he  might  have  said 
that  that  only  friend  would  nave  cut  him. 
But  he' was  a  stupid  fat  man,  and  could  do 
neither. 

"  Make  your  mind  ea^,  my  friend,"  replied 
Sir  Sidney  Smith,  "  I  will  promise  you  not  to 
escape  to  night" 

"You  promise!  tiien  it's  all  right:  you 
promise  mind,"  ejaculated  citizen  Lasne, 
joyfully. 

"  I  give  you  my  word." 

"  Then  give  me  some  more  wine,"  cried  this 
merry  fat  man.  "More  Porto,  Monsieur 
Sparkes,  my  dear,  ho!  ho!" 

With  which  he  sat  down,  and  held  out  his 
tumbler  with  his  great  fat  doughy  hand,  that 
looked  as  if  it  had  just  been  kneaded,  and  was 
ready  for  the  bakehouse. 

"  More  port,  more  port,"  grumbled  or  pre- 
tended to  grumble  Mr.  Sparkes,  filling  the 
bacchanalian's  glass  to  the  brim,  "  What  an 
old  forty-stomach  it  is.  He  blows  his  wind- 
bags out  like  a  sail.  There'll  be  bellows  to 
mend  before  long.  Here's  more  port  for 
yon." 

♦•'lis  good,  my  friend,  'tis  an  exauisite 
little  wine.  Yet  a  little  more.  A  drop— 
e^KS^'gi-g^'gV' — smd  he  continued  to  drink. 
The  gaoler  knew  that  Sir  Sidney  Smith 
Tvas  a  man  of  inflexible  honour  and  integrity ; 
that  to  him  his  word  as  a  sailor,  a  knight,  a 
fl^eutleman,  was  sacred.  So  he  put  the  fixed 
idea  out  to  grass  for  a  time,  and  drank  more 
port. 

But  port,  though  an  exquisite  little  wine, 
will  tell  its  tale,  and  have  its  own  way  with 
a  man  at  least,  like  labour,  like  age,  like 
death.  The  citizen  Lasne  became  very 
talkative  indeed,  which  showed  that  he  was 
getting  on ;  then  he  sang  a  song,,  which 
Bbowed  that  he  was  getting  further  on ;  then  he 
efibayed  to  dance,  which  showed  that  he  was 
gretting  drunk ;  then  he  told  a  story  about  a 
pig  in  the  South  of  France,  and  cried;  which 
showed  that  he  was  very  drunk  indeed. 

'*  Citizen  Commodore,"  he  said  all  at  once, 
"  would  you  like  to  take  a  walk  on  the 
Boulevard?" 

At  this  strange  proposition  Sir  Sidney 
tamed  his  eyes  to  the  barred  window.  The 
rays  of  the  setting  sun  threw  the  shadows  of 
the  bars  upon  the  wall :  the  bright  light  was 


between.  And  the  gentle  breeze  of  the  even- 
ing came  into  the  room  like  the  whisper  of 
an  angel. 

The  hum  and  murmur  of  the  great  city 
came  up  and  smote  the  captive  upon  the  ear, 
gently,  lovingly,  gaily,  as  though  they  said, 
•*  Come !  why  tarry  ?  you  are  Invited."  And 
the  birds  were  singing  outside  upon  the 
gloomy  terrace,  where  the  little  dauphin  used 
to  walk. 

"  Monsieur  Lasne,"  answered  the  Commo- 
dore, stifling  a  sigh,  "  there  are  suljects  upon 
which  it  is  both  unjust  and  cruel  to  jest" 

**  But  I'm  not  jesting." 

"  But  do  you  reallv  mean  to  say  that  you 
would  consent  .  .  .'' 

"  Once  more,  would  you  like  to  take  a  walk 
on  the  Boulevard  ?" 

"  Would  you  like  to  take  a  walk  on  the 
Boulevard?"  bawled  Sparkes,  applying  his 
mouth  to  his  master's  ear,  as  though  he  were 
deaf. 

"  If  you  are  speaking  seriously,"  Sir  Sidney 
said  at  last  "  I  can  but  accept  the  offer  with 
the  greatest  gratitude." 

"  Seriously,  of  course  I  am,",replied  citizen 
Lasne,  rising,  and  shaking  off  the  load  of 
port  wine  from  his  fat  form,  as  though  it 
were  a  cloak,  and  really  succeeding  in 
standing  straight  "First,  though,  let  us 
make  our  little  conditions.  No  attempt  at 
escape" 

"  Oh,  of  course  not,"  replied  the  Commo- 
dore. 

"  No  speaking  to  any  one  you  meet  on  the 
road.  No  Muses :  no  words,  gestures ;  not 
a  nod,  not  a  wink." 

"  I  promise  all  this." 

"  On  the  word  of  an  honest  man." 

"  On  the  word  of  an  English  gentleman," 
Miswered  the  Commodore  firmly. 

"Corae  along  then,"  cried  the  gaoler,  as  if 
perfectly  satisfied,  linking  his  arm  in  that  of 
his  prisoner,  and  moving  towards  the  door ; 
"you  shall  see  of  what  .stuff  the  Boulevards 
of  Paris  are  made.  Citizen  Commodore." 

Although  this  fat  turnkey  had  drunk  a  pro- 
digious quantity  of  port  wine,  he  did  not 
seem,  once  on  his  legs,  so  very  much  the 
worse  for  liquor.  He  gave  one  of  his  legs  a 
little  pat  as  if  to  reproach  it  for  having  been 
shaky,  and  took  a  last  gulp  of  port  by  way 
of  a  final  clench  or  steadier.  Only  his  little 
eyes  began  to  flame  and  sparkle  greatly, 
which  from  the  general  dulness  of  his  coun- 
tenance gave  him  the  appearance  of  having 
an  evening  party  inside  his  head,  and  having 
had  the  windows  lighted  up. 

The  pa*r  were  going  out  when  Citizen 
Lasne  was  aware  of  Mr,  Sparkes,  who  leaned 
against  the  sideboard  with  his  arms  folded, 
looking  anything  but  contented  with  the 
general  ae^pect  of  affairs. 

"A  citizen  who  has  poured  me  out  so 
many  tumblers  of  good  wine,"  said  the  gaoler, 
graciously.  "  deserves  some  little  considera- 
tion at  my  hands.  Pass  your  word  for  him  too 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


138 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


(Oaodoctcd  lif 


Commodore,  and  Citisen  Sparkes  shall  com«  I  from  the  cerebellum  of  Citizen  Lasne,  he 
with  us."  I  woald  have  remarked  a  little  clrcametance 

*•  Yon  have  my  word,"  Sir  Sidney  aaid,  '>  which  might  hare  led  him  to  entertain  verj 
laaghing.  "  Sparkes  shall  make  no  attempt  grave  BOBpicions  concerning  the  safety  of  his 
at  escape."  i  prisoners.    Ever  since  the  party  had  quitted 

*•  You  might  have  asked  me  for  my  word,"  ^  the  Temple,  they  had  been  followed,  step  by 
grumbled  m,  Sparkes.  "  That  would  have  ^  gtep,  by  a  female  figure  closely  shawled  and 
been  quite  sulficient.  A  nice  republican  you  ;  veiled ;  and  Sir  Sidney  could  distinctly  hear, 
must  be  to  think  that  the  word  of  a  gentle- ,   "       "    *  "     '  .  --       .     . 

man's  servant  is  not  as  good  as  that  of  a  gen- 


tleman.   Is  that  your  fraternity,  or  equality, 
or  whatever  you  call  it  ?" 

"Liberty,  equality,  and  fraternity,"  replied 
Citizen  Lasne,  with  vinous  gravity,  *»  are  very 


though  the  gaoler  fh>m  a  trifling  singing  and 
bnziiQg  in  his  ears,  could  not,  the  sound  of 
steps  behind  them,  regularly  keeping  time 
with  their  own. 

The  night  was  dark,  and  Lasne,  determined 
to  keep  bis  word  at  all  hazards,  proceeded 


pretty  to  look  at  on  the  two-sous  pieces ;  but ,  towards  the  Boulevard.  At  the  moment  when 
the  heart  of  man  is  deceitfuL   However,"  he  ^  the  three  were  turning  the  angle  of  the  Rue 


added,  "may  1  pass  for  a  ci-devant.  Citizen 
Spark,  If  I  think  that  you  would  pUy  me 
false.  Citizen,  come  along.  Citizen  Secre- 
tary (to  Captain  Wright)  1  recommend  my- 
self to  your  distinguished  consideration  till 
we  return.    Au  Boulevard  I" 

He  led  the  Commodore  away,  and  Sparkes 
followed  close  at  their  heels,  as  a  well-bred 
gentleman's  servant  should  do.  A  few 
minutes  afterwards  the  three  were  outside 
the  great  gate  of  the  Temple.  The  Commo- 
dore had  taken  care  to  wrap  himself  in  a 
clottk,  and  to  slouch  his  hat  over  his  head. 
As  long  as  the  sun  remained  on  the  hortzon 
the  party  wandered  about  the  Diedalus  of 
narrow  little  streets  which  then  surrouoded, 
and  even  now  to  a  certain  extent  surround 
the  Temple.  As  It  grew  dark,  the  Commo- 
dore proposed  that  they  should  take  the  pro- 
mised walk  on  the  Boulevard. 

Now  Citizen  Lasne,  In  regard  to  liquor, 
was  somewhat  of  a  spongy  nature  and  tem- 
perament. He  could  suck  up  an  astonishing 
quantity  of  moisture,  but  such  moisture  was 
very  easily  expressed  by  a  few  minutes'  exer- 
cise, and  then  the  citizen  was  dry,  porous,  dn 
the  alert  and  ready  for  more.  When  Citizen 
Lasne  left  the  Temple  with  his  prisoners  he 
was  considerably  more  than  seven-eighths 
drunk.  He  had  not  been  long  In  the  flresh 
air  Before  the  fixed  Idea  began  to  dominate 
over  bis  mind  with  redoubled  force.  He 
began  to  repent  of  his  somewhat  too  chival- 
rous confidence  in  the  parole  of  his  captives. 
He  began  U)  repent  heartily  of  his  impru- 
dence. He  began,  finally,  like  Falstatt',  to 
perceive  that  he  had  been  an  ass ;  and  worse 
than  all,  that  he  had  effected  that  undesir- 
able metamorphosis  himself. 

As  they  walked  he  scrutinized  narrowly 
the  countenances  of  the  passers  by  to  see  if 
any  marks  of  recognition  passed  between 
them  and  his  companion.  And  almost  inces- 
santly he  glanced  over  his  shoulder  to  assure 
himself  of  the  whereabout  of  Citizen  Spark. 
That  trustv  servant  was  contented  with  tread- 
ing most  faithfully  upon  his  gaoler's  heels, 
and  with  saying,  when  he  caught  his  eye, 
"All  right,  citizen— all  right." 
If  the  fumes  of  the  wine  had  been  com- 
pletely, Instead  of  very  nearly,  evaporated 


Chariot  a  hand  was  laid  on  the  arm  of  Citizen 
Sparkes,  and  a  timid  voice  whiq[»ered'— 

"  Monsieur  le  Compte." 

Sparkes  turned  his  head  round,  without 
Blackening  his  pace. 

"  I  saw  you  start,"  whispered  the  veiled 
female,  for  she  was  the  owner  of  the  hand  and 
voice.  ♦*  I  have  informed  my  sisters.  Roche- 
colte  and  De  Ph^Iippaux  are  in  readiness. 
One  word  and  the  Commodore  shall  be  rescu- 
ed from  the  hands  of  that  wretch." 

"  But  the  Commodore  will  not  say  that 
word,"  answered  Citizen  Sparke8,in  very  pure 
and  elegant  French. 

"And  In  heaven's  name,  why?" 

"  He  has  given  his  word,  as  a  gentleman, 
not  to  attempt  to  escape  to-night." 

"And  you "  the  veiled  figure  con- 
tinued. 

"  Oh,  as  for  me — the  Commodore  was  secu- 
rity for  me — but " 

The  night  grew  darker,  and  darker,  and  the 
three  strange  companions,  with  the  phantom 
in  the  veil,  were  lost  in  the  tumultuous  sea  of 
life  upon  the  great  Boulevard. 

There  was  no  Boulevard  des  Italiens  then ; 
no  Rue  de  la  Paix,  no  Madeleine,  no  Asphalte 
pavements,no  brilliant  pa88ages,no  gas-lamps. 
But  the  Boulevards  were  still  the  Boulevards, 
unequalled  and  unrivalled ;  the^  crowds  of 
promenadurs  and  loungers  were  still  the  same, 
though  attired  in  costumes  far  different  from 
those  they  wear  now.  They  passed  some 
dozen  of  theatres,  they  passed  Monsieur  Cur- 
tlus's  wax-work  exhibition  ;  they  passed  num- 
berless groups  of  tight-rope  dancers,  jugglers, 
mountebanks,  learned  dogs  and  quack  doc- 
tors All  at  once,  just  as  they  had  arrived  at 
the  spot  were  the  Passage  Vendome  has 
since  been  constructed.  Citizen  Lasne  uttered 
an  exclamation  of  horror  and  surprise. 

"  By  heavens!"  he  cried,  "  Spark  has  dis- 
appeared I" 

It  was  but  too  true,  the  body  servant 
of  Sir  Sidney  Smith  was  no  where  to  be 
seen. 

In  his  terror  and  agitation  the  unlucky 
gaoler  quite  forgot  his  republican  character. 
He  was  within  a  hair's  breadth  of  making  the 
sign  of  the  cross ;  but  remembering  that  reli- 
gion had  been  done  away  with  according  to 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ChMlM  Diokviii.] 


GHAMBBBS  IN  THI^  TEMPLE. 


1S9 


law  loQg  since,  ho  twirled  his  moustache 
instead. 

"  May  heaven  grant,*'  said  the  Commodore 
to  himself,  *'that  the  poor  fellow  has  really' 
sacceeded  in  making  his  escape.''      Then 
he  added,  aloud,  "  Sparkes  has  no  doubt  lost 
us." 

'•  Lost  us,"  cried  the  concierge,  furiously, 
"  lost  us  I— yes,  to  find  himself  in  London. 
I  am  ruined,  destroyed.  Citizen,  citizen,  1 
am  a  poor  man,  the  father  of  a  family,  1  have 
a  head— I  know  I  shall  lose  it — let  us  hasten 
home  like  the  very  devil." 

He  seized  the  Cfommodore's  arm  tightly  as 
he  spoke,  and  quickened  his  pace ;  and  Sir 
Sidney  had  no  alternative  but  to  walk  as  fast 
as  his  companion.  Tbey  ascended  the  Boule- 
vard, and  then  rapidly  descended  the  Rue  du 
Temple. 

But  the  tribulations  of  Citizen  Lasne  had 
not  yet  reached  their  culminating  point.  At 
the  top  of  the  Bue  Meslay  they  found  the  tho- 
roughfare obstructed  by  a  numerous  crowd. 
Men  of  equivocal  appearance  hovered  about, 
and  formed  suspicious  groups.  Some  carts 
and  barrows  had  been  over-turned  in  the 
road-way,  evidently  with  the  intention  of 
forming  a  barricade.  Lasne  cast  round  him 
a  desperate  look.  A  gaoler,  he  scented  a 
conspiracy  from  afar  off. 

**  And  where  may  you  be  taking  this  honest 
man,  citizen,"  asked  a  man,  placing  himself 
directly  in  Lasne's  way.  The  man  wore  a 
coarse  blue  blouse,  but  the  ill-buttoned  collar 
showed  something  most  suspiciously  like  a 
lace  shirtfrill  beneath. 

"  Room  there  I  "  cried  Lasne,  to  whom  des- 
pair lent  courage. 

"  You're  in  a  hurry.  Citizen  Donkey.  If  I 
relieve  you  of  the  care  of  that  ci-devant  who 
is  hanging  on  your  arm,  don't  you  think  you 
could  walk  faster?" 

*•  Room  there  I "  repeated  the  gaoler  in  a 
hoarse  voice.  "  Room  in  the  name  of  the 
Directory,  in  the  name  of  the  Republic " 

"One  and  indivisible  1 "  interrupted  the 
man  in  the  blouse.  "  We  know  all  about  it. 
Hallo  I  attention  there  I " 

The  groups  closed  up.  Citizen  Lasne  felt 
himself  hustled,  buffetted,  half-strangled. 
Then  he  was  violently  dragged  down  a  nyo- 
street  and  thrust  into  a  doorwav.  When  he 
recovered  his  scattered  senses,  he  was  alone 
— the  Commodore  had  disappeared. 

**  Oh  my  children,  my  poor  children,"  mur- 
mured Citizen  Lasne,  pursuing  his  solitary 
walk  towards  the  Temple.  What  will  be- 
come of  them?  Oh  accursed  be  Pitt  and 
Coburg  I  O  thrice  accursed  be  the  wine  of 
Porto  I" 

A  fat  man  in  a  fright  is  not  a  pleasant 
sight  to  see.  He  always  puts  me  in  mind  of 
a  pig  just  poniarded  by  the  butcher,  and 
running  about  in  extremis.  The  legs  of 
Citizen  Lasne  quivered  under  him.  A  cold 
perspiration  broke  out  all  over  him.  He  felt 
like  a  lump  of  ice  in  his  backbone.    The  ends 


of  his  hair  pricked  his  forehead ;  the  singing 
in  his  ears  loudened  into  a  yell.  The  pores  of 
his  flesh  opened  and  shut  like  oysters;  and 
the  whole  of  his  inside  became  incontinent 
one  mass  of  molten  lead. 

As  he  neared  the  Temple,  the  opposite  sides 
of  the  street  formed  themselves  into  a  horrible 
proscenium,  and  in  the  middle  an  infernal  . 
drama  was  being  acted.  He  saw,  painted  all 
in  red,  somebody  having  the  hair  at  the  back 
of  his  head  shaved  off  by  somebody  else 
hideously  like  M.  Samson,  otherwise  called 
Chariot,  the  public  executioner ;  then  some- 
body being  strapped  upon  a  plank  and  thrust 
head  downwards  between  two  posts,  in  grooves 
of  which  ran  a  huge  triangular  axe.  And 
the  axe  fell  with  a  '*  thud."  and  somebody's 
head  fell  into  a  red  basket  full  of  sawdust, 
and  the  fiends  that  were  veiling  in  his  ear 
called  out  '*  Citizen  Lasne,Citizen  Lasne,agent 
of  Pitt  et  Coburg."  And  the  devil  danced 
before  the  theatre,  playing  upon  a  pipe. 

The  unhappy  gaoler  reached  the  Temple 
gate.  He  rang  and  was  about  to  enter,  when 
he  heard  a  voice  behind  him. 

"  Will  you  permit  me  also  to  enter,  Monr 
sieur  Lasne  ? '' 

The  citizen  could  hardly  believe  his  ears. 
Much  harder  was  it  for  him  to  believe  his 
eyes,  when,  turning  round,  he  recognised  Sir 
Sidney  Smith. 

<'  May  I  be  consumed,"  (ho  used  a  stronger 
term  than  this),  cried  Citizen  Lasne,  **  if  the 
word  of  a  gentleman  is  not  worth  all  the  bolts 
and  bflurs  in  the  Temple." 

Notwithstanding  his  high  eulogium  upon  a 
gentleman's  word,  Citize  Lasne  did  not  for- 
get to  see  the  bolts  and  bars  properly  secured 
as  soon  as  he  sot  inside.  But  a  vigorous 
pressure  from  without  prevented  the  closing 
of  the  great  door,  and  a  voice  was  heard 
crying,— 

•*  Let  me  in  I  let  me  in !    'Tis  I,  Sparkes." 

"  And  where  the  wonder,"  (he  used  even  a 
stronger  term  this  time).  •'  do  you  come  ft*om  T" 
asked  Citizen  Lasne,  when  the  Commodore's 
body-servant  had  been  admitted. 

**  Where  I  why  ftom  looking  after  you  to  be 
sure.  Do  you  call  this  fraternity  and  equality, 
locking  a  man  out  of  his  own  prison.  A 
pretW  country,  where,  instead  of  prisoners 
running  away  from  the  gaolers,  the  gaolers 
run  away  from  the  prisoners." 

Citizen  Lasne  was  too  delighted  at  the  safe 
recovery  of  his  prisoners  to  resent  Mr. 
Sparkes's  reproaches.  He  insisted  upon  light- 
ing the  Commodore  to  his  apartments;  he 
overwhelmed  him  with  compliments  and 
thanks.  He  positively  wanted  to  embrace 
him.    The  Commodore  repulsed  him  gently. 

**  You  owe  me  nothing,  M.  Lasne,"  he  said. 
"  I  had  promised,  I  have  kept  my  word.  But 
dating  from  this  moment  I  withdraw  my 
parole." 

**  Wait  till  to-morrow,"  exclaimed  Lasne,  in 
a  supplicating  voice.  '^Onlvwait  till  to- 
morrow. Commodore,  I'm  so  sleepy." 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


140 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[GoBdnctcdbf 


Mr.  Sparkes  pinched  the  arm  of  Sir  Sidney 
Smith.  "  Give  your  word  till  to-morrow 
morning,"  he  whispered. 

"Well, so  be  it,"  pursued  the  Commodore. 
'*  Till  to-morrow  morning  I  will  give  my  word 
to  remain  quiet.  But  after  that  I  shall  court 
the  Muses  as  much  as  I  please." 

"  I  wish  to-morrow  morning  were  this  day 
month,"  murmured  Citizen  Lasne,  as  he  bid 
the  prisoners  good  night,  and  left  them  to 
their  repose. 

"To-morrow  morning  may  bring  forth 
great  things.  Sir  Sidney,"  remarlied  Mr. 
Sparkes,  suddenly  rising  from  the  body-ser- 
vant into  the  frielid.  **  You  have  kept  your 
word  in  neither  escaping  nor  planning  escape. 
I  have  kept  the  word  you  gave  for  me  in  not 
escaping.    We  shall  see,  we  shall  see." 

The  historian  relates,  with  what  accuracy 
I  know  not,  that  when  Citizen  Lasne  had 
retired  for  good  for  the  night,  Mr.  Sparkes 
took  off  no  less  than  five  waistcoats,  and  also 
relieved  his  arms  and  legs  from  much  super- 
fluous padding ;  that  underneath  his  red  hair 
he  had  some  closely-cropped  silky  black 
locks;  that  the  freckles  on  his  face  were 
removable  by  no  stronger  cosmetic  than  or- 
dinary soap  and  water ;  and  that  in  less  than 
one  quarter  of  an  hour  after  the  departure  of 
the  gaoler,  the  bluff  English  bodv-servant 
had  unaccountably  assumed  the  likeness  of 
an  accomplished  French  gentleman. 

The  next  morning,  very  early,  a  yellow  post- 
ohaise,  drawn  bv  four  horses,  drove  up  to  the 
great  door  of  the  Temple.  On  the  dox  sat 
two  individuals,  who  at  a  glance  could  be 
recognised  as  gendarmes  in  plain  clothes. 
Two  more  gendarmes,  but  in  uniform,  de- 
scended from  the  chaise,  and  assisted  to 
aliji^ht  no  less  a  personage  than  Citizen  Auger, 
a(^utapt-general  of  the  army  of  Paris. 

Shortly  afterwards,  the  Commodore  was 
sent  for  to  the  prison  lodge,  and  there  be  was 
shown  an  order,  signed  by  the  Minister  of  the 
Interior,  for  the  transfer  of  the  persons  of  Sir 
Sidney  Smith  and  his  servant.  John  Sparkes, 
Anglais,  to  the  military  prison  of  the  Abbaye. 

"  And  many  a  poor  fellow  have  I  seen 
transferred  to  the  prison  of  the  Abbaye,  who 
has  only  left  it  to  be  shot  in  the  Plaine  de 
Grenelle,"  murmured  Lasne.  "  However,  tout 
est  en  r^gle,— all  i?  correct  I  will  just  enter 
the  warrant  In  the  books,  if  you  will  be  kind 
enough  to  sign  a  receipt  for  the  bodies  of  the 
prisoners,  Citizen  Auger." 

The  Citizen  signed  his  name  to  the  prison 
register,  ••Auger,  Adjutant-General,"  fol- 
lowed bv  a  tremendous  paraphe  or  flourish. 
He  declined  the  escort  of  six  men  which 
Lasne  was  kind  enough  to  offer  him,  saying 
that  the  four  gendarmes  were  suflBclent,  and 
that,  besides,  be  would  depend  on  the  honour 
of  Sir  Sidney  Smith  not  to  compromise  him. 
The  Commodore  begged  Lasne  to  accept  the 
remainder  of  his  stock  of  port  wine,  shook 
hands  with  him,  took  an  affecting  leave  of 
poor  Captain  Wright,  and  with  Sparkes  en- 


tered the  x>ost-chai8e.  Citizen  Auger  fol- 
lowed ;  the  two  gendarmes  in  plain  clothes 
mounted  the  box,  and  the  carriage  drov« 
away,  ^or  aught  Sir  Sidney  Smith  knew,  he 
was  riding  to  his  death. 

The  next  morning,  the  newspapers  teemed 
with  accounts  of  the  audacious  escape  of 
Commodore  Sir  Sidney  Smith  from  the  prison 
of  the  Temple,  by  means  of  a  forged  oi^er  of 
transfer.  Citizen  Adjutant-General  Auger 
was  no  other  than  the  proscribed  emigr^,  the 
Marquis  de  Rochecotte,  and  the  gendarmes 
were  doubtless  agents  of  the  indefatigable 
Pitt-et-Cobarg.  As  for  Mr.  John  Sparkes.  it 
was  subsequently  elicited  that  he  was  a  cer- 
tain Count  de  Tergorouac,  a  nobleman  of 
Britanny,  who  had  resided  for  a  long  time  in 
England,  and  to  whom  it  had  luckily  occur- 
red, when  taken  prisoner,  to  assume  the  dis- 
guise of  an  Englishman. 

The  French  police  performed  prodigies  of 
strategy  to  arrest  the  fdgitives,  but  all  in 
vain.  They  reached  Calais,  crossed  the 
Channel  in  a  smuggling-vessel,  and  arrived 
safely  in  England. 

As  for  Citizen  Lasne,  he  could  come  to  no 
harm ;  for,  though  the  order  was  forged,  the 
signature  of  the  minister  appended  to  it  was 
undoubtedly  genuine.  It  was  never  known 
by  what  stratagem  the  signature  had  been 
obtained.  The  fat  citizen  finished  the  com- 
modore's port  wine  gaily,  and  drank  bia 
health,  and  that  of  "  ce  dlgne  Spark,"  in  their 
now  unoccupied  chambers  in  the  Temple. 

CHIPS. 


8TBALINO  A  CALF'S  SKIN. 
AcBRET,  a  gossipplng  antiquary,  who  has 
preserved  some  curious  facts  and  half-facts, 
relates  of  Shakespeare  that,  when  a  boy.  he 
exercised  his  father's  trade  of  a  butcher, 
<'  and  when  he  killed  a  calf  he  would  do  it  in 
a  high  style,  and  make  a  speech."  How  the 
boy  Shakespeare  addressed  a  calf  as  he  skinned 
it,  it  is  not  difficult  to  imagine— perhaps  in 
the  King  Cambyses  vein  (certainly  a  high 
style),  perhaps  in  a  vein  like  that  in  which 
Burns  indulged  when  he  turned  up  a  monse^s 
nest  with  his  plough  (certainly  a  touching 
style).  What  a  value  Shakespeare  set  upon  a 
calfs  skin  we  may  gather  from  the  contemp- 
tuous clothing  assigned  to  Austria  by  Con- 
stance and  Falconbridge — 

And  hang  a  calf's  akin  on  those  recreant  limbs. 

But  bow  little  could  he  have  foreseen  what 
punishment  was  to  be  assigned  in  this  England 
of  his  and  ours  to  a  poor  woman  for  the 
crime  of  stealing  a  single  calf's  skin.  Had 
he  been  possessed  of  second-sight,  he  won  Id 
have  felt  as  the  famous  John  Howard  felt, 
whose  active  sympathv  with  a  poor  woman 
over-punished  for  stealing  one  calf's  skin  we 
are  enabled  to  publish  for  the  first  time,  and 
in  his  own  words.    The  case  has  escaped  the 


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CHIPS. 


141 


nameroQS  biographers  of  that  benevolent 
mao.  The  time  is  the  year  serentecn  han- 
dred  and  eighty-eight,  when  George  the 
Third  was  king,  and  Howard  thus  pats  her 
story  to  the  then  secretary  of  state  for  the 
iwme  department : — 

To  the  Right  Honountble  Lord  Sjdnej. 

niabeth  Baker,  of  the  pArish  of  Ufflngton.  In 

B«vkshire,  was  committed  September  Ist,  17^5,  and 

oo  the  20th  of  Bfareh,  1786,  wan  convicted  of  felony 

for  stealing  one  calft  akin,  and  aentencod  to  be  trana- 

Dorted  for  aeren  jeara.     By   a   letter  from    Lord 

STdney,  dated  25tb  Norember,  1786,  ahe  waa  ordered 

I    to  bo  remored  on  board  the  ship  Daokirk,  at  Ply- 

Doaih;  bat  being  then  ill,  and  aince  becoming  a 

I    erii^e.  ahe  atill  contlnaea  in  the  county  goal  at 

Iieter.  Tiiia  woman  hai»  been  married  near  eighteen 

jcan,  has  had  fifteen  children ;  aix  are  now.  alive,  one 

'    of  whom  is  blind.    Her  husband,  a  sober  man,  works 

I    nastantlr  at  hia  trade  in  the  prison,  and  haa  uniformly 

I    dedared  he  will  nerer  leare  her. 

Kov,  my  lord,   from  the  cooaideration  of  theae 

I    drcamstancaa,  I  earneatly  implore  her  free  pardon. 

'      This  petition,  I  am  persuaded,  will  not  be  denied 

DO  ss  amidat  the  many  objects  of  distress  in  prisons 

that  I  bftTe  long  boon  conversant  with,  this,  my  lord, 

is  nj  first  appUoation. 

(Signed)  Job*  Howakd. 

London,  Dee.  12, 1787. 

This  touching  story  of  overpunished  crime, 
18  Ijring,  in  John  Howard^s  own  manly  hand, 
before  us.  After  many  years'  linowledge  of 
goals,  in  almost  every  country,  this  was  his 
mi  application  to  the  secretary  of  state  in 
Sngland.  No  wonder  he  was  roused.  Seven 
moDths  elapse  between  committal  and  con- 
Tictton,  and  seyen  years*  transportation  is 
adjudged  for  what  is  now  only  punished 
with  &ree  months'  imprisonment.  The  inci- 
deat  of  the  hosband  working  constantly  at 
his  trade  In  the  prison  with  his  wife, 
tnd  his  uniformly  declaring  that  he  will 
nerer  leave  her,  will  bring  tears  to  many 
eyea  Was  John  Howard's  application  ac- 
ceded to?  Did  Elizabeth  Baker  return  to 
Uffiogton  in  Berkshire  through  John  How- 
ard's manly  appeal  to  government  in  her 
behalf?  We  hope  so.  Of  the  six  surviving 
children  some  may  yet  be  living,  unconscious 
of  the  touching  story  in  their  parents'  lives, 
or  of  the  interest  which  Howard  took  in  pro- 
caring  the  free  pardon  of  their  mother. 

A  FEW  MORE  LEECHES.* 

It  appears  from  a  report  by  M.  Souberain 
to  the  French  Academy  of  Medicine,  that 
some  one  is  trying  to  do  with  leeches  as 
others  are  trying  to  do  with  edible  fish — cul- 
ture them  or  nurse  them  from  the  embryo.  M. 
Borne,  an  inhabitant  of  St.  Arnault,  in  the 
Department  of  Seine-et-Oise,  after  long  study 
socceeded  in  establishing  a  regular  leech-fac- 
tory near  his  native  place.  It  consists  of  a  sort 
of  bog,  two  or  three  acres  in  extent,  surround- 
<d  by  a  trench  filled  with  water.  M.  Borne 
foond  by  observation  that  leeches  are  wont  to 


*  8«6  Half  a  Dosaa  Loaches,  Yolnme  z.  p.  200. 


deposit  thehr  eggs  in  small  ga]leries,which  they 
form  in  the  son  earth  on  the  borders  of  ponds ; 
and,  accordingly — on  the  principle  sometimes 
adopted  in  society  of  leading  a  man  by  letting 
him  do  what  he  likes— the  experimentalist 
formed  a  number  of  zig-zag  channels  reaching 
to  the  edge  of  the  water,  and  covered  them 
over  with  the  stiff  mud  which  he  had  removed. 
He  found,  by  observation,  that  leeches  are 
wont  to  warm  themselves  in  the  sun  in  winter 
and  lie  in  the  shade  in  summer ;  and,  accord- 
ingly, he  constructed  small  earthen  pro- 
montories, one  facing  the  south  and  the 
other  the  north,  where  they  might  congre- 
gate as  instinct  dictated.  His  mode  of  feed- 
ing them  is  this:— He  beats  a  quantity  of 
blood  with*  switches  to  separate  the  fibrin, 
which  he  has  found  to  injure  them ;  he  places 
a  number  of  leeches  in  a  flannel  bag;  he 
plunges  the  bag  into  the  sanguine  fluid,  and 
there  he  leaves  the  leeches  to  have  their  fill. 
He  seems  to  know  what  is  good  for  their 
health  and  their  age;  he  takes  them  out 
when  he  judges  they  have  made  a  judiciously 
hearty  meal,  washes  them  in  tepid  water,  to 
make  them  dainty  and  clean;  and  re- 
stores them  to  their  former  habitat.  The 
actual  receptacles  for  the  leeches  are  large 
pits  sunk  in  the  ground,  and  filled  with  water. 
When  eggs  have  been  deposited  in  the  little 
zig-zag  channels,  the  leech-rearer  removes 
them  from  time  ta  time,  and  places  them  in  a 
small  pit  by  themselves,  where  they  are  care- 
fully tended  during  the  hatching  process. 
The  trench  or  ditch  of  water,  which  sur- 
rounds the  boggy  island,  is  destined  to  pre- 
serve the  leecn  from  enemies,  of  which  he 
appears  to  have  many.  In  a  little  wooden 
hut  lives  a  man,  the  bog-king,  whose  sole 
duty  it  is  to  combat  the  birds,  and  the  water- 
rats,  and  the  insects,  which  would  other- 
wise be  likely  to  make  short  work  with  the 
leeches. 


PREVBimON  BETTER  THAN  CURB. 

Dr.  Hood,  of  Bedlam  Hospital,  in  his 
work  on  criminal  lunacy,  shows  from  in- 
disputable data,  that  the  largest  portion 
of  the  inmates  of  our  prisons  and  asylums 
is  contributed  by  agricultural  counties.  That 
there  should  be  less  crime  and  insanity  in 
towns  and  manufacturing  districts,  we  may 
at  onoe  perceive ;  because  there  the  poorer . 
classes  find  within  their  reach  factory  schools, 
mechanics'  institutes,  and  free  libraries. 
Their  mental  faculties  are  sharpened  and  kept 
in  a  state  of  wholesome  activity. 

It  is  far  otherwise  in  rural  districts. 
During  the  long  dreary  winter  evenings 
the  ploughman  or  the  hedger  is  without  re- 
source. Their  only  refuge  Is  the  village  ale* 
house;  where,  by  the  abuse  of  beverages 
which  might,  taken  in  moderation,  be  no 
detriment  to  him,  the  rustic  beclouds  his 
already  heavy  fiaculties. 

It  is  certain,  therefore,  that  the  best  cor- 
rection for  this  state  of  things  must  be,  a 


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142 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


greater  diffdmon  of  rural  lending-libraries 
for  such  as  can  read,  Bchools  for  those  who 
cannot  read,  and  wholesome  recreation  for  all. 


THE  ROVING  ENGLISHMAN. 

FROM  CONSTjLNTINOPLB  TO  VARNA. 

If  any  lady  or  gentleman  shoald  think 
proper  to  set  out  with  me  for  my  scamper,  I 
recommend  them  to  be  careful  in  stepping 
into  the  crazy  little  caique  which  stands  moor- 
ed beside  the  ofiBcial  reiidenoeof  the  Pasha  of 
Tophaua.  My  imaginary  friend  must  take 
care  to  step  right  into  the  centre  of  this 
ricketty  little  boat,  for,  I  may  as  well  mention, 
that  a  stout  lady  of  my  acquaintance,  who 
neglected  to  attend  to  this  precaution  after  it 
had  been  suggested  to  her  by  a  mutual  friend, 
was  only  saved  from  drowning  in  the 
Bosphorus  by  the  rotundity  of  her  figure  and 
the  swelling  circle  of  a  remarkably  respectable 
silk  dress. 

Our  servants  and  luggage  must  follow  in 
another  crazy  little  boat^  as  there  is  not  room 
for  them  in  ours.  So,  swift  over  the  sulky 
December  waters  then  —  past  many  a  bat- 
tered hulk  which  shows  sad  signs  enough  of 
the  wild  hurricanes  in  the  Black  Sea ;— past 
transport  ships  by  the  score,  and  onug  oily 
commissariat  officers,  a  little  the  worse  for 
their  previous  night's  entertainment,  but 
keeping  good  hope  of  an  appetite  again  by 
and  by  at  the  hospitable  board  of  a  contrac- 
tor—past barges  with  a  score  of  extremely 
dirty  fellows,  gentlemen  in  fezzes  and  baggy 
breeches,  labouring  at  a  multitude  of  oars 
slowly  toiling  along  towardssome  ship  bound 
for  Sebastopol,  there  to  give  up  their  dismal 
and  disheartened  cargo  of  astounded  peasants 
from  the  far  away  interior,  and  who  are 
bound  chiefly  against  their  wills  for  the  good 
of  glory. 

j^way — past  men  of  war  with  jovial  officers 
chatting  to  admiring  visitors  over  the  ship's 
side,  and  making  light  of  the  dangers  they 
bore  BO  nobly  but  yesterday,  and  will  court 
again  to-morrow.  One's  very  heart  warms 
towards  the  blue-jackets,  and  one  cannot  help 
contrasting  their  fhink,  open,  fearless  looks 
with  the  anxious,  sly,  shuffling  appearance  of 
the  commissariat  fellow  who  pulled  past  us 
in  stealthy  talk  with  a  wilv  trader,  just  now. 
And  salutes  are  firing  from  the  ship  and 
battlement,  and  gentle  ladies  of  high  degree 
flit  swiftly  by  us  in  their  gilded  boats  to  visit 
the  sick  at  Scutari.  I  vow  and  declare  there 
goes  Miss  Nightingale,  and  yonder,  in  the 
great  official  caique,  sits  kind  Lady  Stratford 
and  her  daughters  fair.  They  are  braving 
wind  and  weather,  as  they  have  been  doing 
ever  so  long  on  the  same  kind  errand,  to 
carry  to  the  sad  couch  of  the  wounded  in  a 
distant  land,  the  meet  tribute  of  Woman's 
sympathy  and  admiration.  Let  us  look  our 
last  at  a  scene  which  has  surely  grown  on  my 
mink  like  affection  for  a  friend.  There  stands 
rambling  Scutari — dismal   eHough,  though 


the  neighbourhood  around  is  beaatifal — 
vender  is  Leander's  Tower,  with  its  pretty 
legend  of  captive  beaulnr  and  conquering  love. 
There  is  the  ricketty  old  wooden  bridge,  my 
favourite  walk  so  long.  There  go,  fosvng 
and  puffing  away,  the  busy  little  steamers  for 
Therapia  and  the  villages  of  the  Bosphorus. 
And  I  see  through  my  glass  that  the  Share  is 
as  usual  crowded  with  a  rabble  rout  of 
Greeks,  Jews,  Armenians,  sailors,  soldiers, 
tinkers,  tailors,  sutlers,  gaily  dressed  young 
ladies,  and  all  the  dirty  crowd  of  a  sea-port. 

There,  some  tearful  widow  who  has  left  her 
world  behind  her,  on  the  hard-fought  field  or 
the  stormy  sea,  is  being  assisted  into  a  boat 
by  some  kind  friend  whose  stout  arm  is  now 
perhaps  trembling  almost  as  much  as  her  own 
pale  hand,  which  is  laid  upon  it  She  n 
going  aboard  yon  steamer,  where  the  union 
jack  is  hoisted,  and  she  will  return  to  her 
mockery  of  a  home— now  lonely  ever  more — in 
fatherland.  She  will  keep  holv  the  memory 
of  the  brave  man  whose  living  love  was  hers ; 
who  died,  may  be,  with  her  name  tke  ImI 
word  upon  his  lips. 

There  are  horses  embarking  and  diaeai- 
barking,  and  fat  bales  of  merchandise  toil- 
ing along,  near  the  smart  boats  of  sea 
captains  and  the  flashing  caiques  of  Pashms 
and  ministers.  Here  raves  a  Frenchman, 
there  roats  a  German,  or  yells  a  Greek ;  and 
the  shrill  boatswain's  whistle  skims  the  deep. 

Of  all  the  steamers  with  which  it  was  ever 
my  misfortune  to  become  acquainted,  I  hare 
not  the  smallest  hesitation  in  asserting  that 
the  Austrian  Lloyd  boat,  the  Stamboul,  ply- 
ing between  Yarna  and  Constantinople,  is 
the  dirtiest  and  most  inconvenient.  I 
scrambled,  and  tumbled,  and  slipped 
through  a  variety  of  people  and  tbingSL 
At  last  the  decks  were  cleared  of  hotel 
servants,  who  had  been  forgotten  and  who 
had  come  to  claim  some  preposterous  little 
account  which  had  been  forgotten  too,  accord- 
ing to  the  custom  of  their  tribe.  The  last 
Greek  huckster  had  given  his  last  wily  coun- 
sel to  his  supercargo,  and  the  last  Jew  bad 
wrangled  with  the  last  boatman,  who,  Greek 
as  he  was,  wearied  soon  in  the  contest — and 
we  were  off. 

Oh  no!  We  should  have  been  off  any- 
where but  in  Turkey.  As  it  was,  we  beat 
about  for  several  hours  in  the  cheerfulest 
and  most  obliging  manner,  to  wait  for  some 
impossible  individual ;  who  finally  appeared 
to  nave  changed  his  mind,  and  declined  mak- 
ing the  voyage  with  us. 

It  is  the  dusk  of  evening  when  we  at  last 
flit  rattling  down  the  Bosphorus,  and  al- 
ready our  keel  leaves  a  bright  track  of  phos- 
phorus light  on  the  darkening  sea,  like  the 
steps  of  a  water  fairy. 

Away,  past  the  pretty  villages  on  the  diore, 
where  I  nave  wiled  away  so  many  an  en- 
chanted summer  day;  away,  past  tower  and 
fort  and  sleepy  hollow.  By  the  low  rambllttg 
wooden  houses  of  the  great  pashas,  with  tbtir 


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Ctarici  Dickem.] 


THB  ROVING  ENGLISHMAN. 


143 


barred  and  guarded  harems,  and  by  quiet 
cemeteries  with  their  tnrbaned  dead.  By  the 
tomb  of  the  Lesbian  admiral,  Barbarossa,  the 
conqueror  of  Algiers;  aud  past  the  palace 
of  Sardanapalus.  Past  diplomatic  Therapia 
and  cockney  Bojukd^e.  So  out  into  the 
Black  Sea,  as  the  moon  rises  mournfully  and 
mistily. 

The  captain,  a  gaunt,  melancholy  Don 
Juan,  I  see,  has  been  alarmed  by  the  recent 
accidents:  so  have  we;  and  therefore  it 
is  with  some  inward  satisfaction — though  we 
would  scorn  to  express  it — that  we  see  he  is 
making  all  taut  and  trim  in  case  of  sudden 
storm  Hn  the  night.  Some  light  skirmishing 
clouds  to  the  northward  look  rather  like  mis- 
chief ;  but  suppose  we  go  down  stairs  and 
have  some  supper  ?  We  shall  find,  to  be  sure, 
nothing  but  a  powerful  species  of  cheese. 
But  even  that  is  better  than  nothing; 
and  a  short  pipe,  with  some  brandy  and 
water  afterwards,  will  quite  warm  our  noses, 
which  are  cold,  and  I  am  sorry  to  say  have 
been  so  for  some  time. 

And  here  I  wish  to  improve  the  occasion, 
bj  hinting  to  the  docile  traveller  that  one  of 
the  most  dangerous  things  he  can  allow  to 
occur  to  himself  in  Turkey,  is  any  way  to 
ge%  chilled.  I  would  also  suggest  that  the 
nose, especially  if  long,  is  an  excellent  natural 
thermometer,  alwajrs  at  hand  when  you  like 
to  touch  it.  Now,  if  the  temperature  of  the 
nose  be  older  than  thai  of  the  finger  under 
ordinary  circumstances — if  it  tingles  or  mis- 
conducts itself  in  any  wa^  whatsoever — the 
possessor  of  that  nose,  if  a  judicious  man  and 
willing  to  be  guided  by  the  counsels  of  expe- 
rience, will  immediately  warm  it  either  by 
active  exercise  or  by  means  of  the  most  zealous 
anti-teetotal  remedies.  I  personally  am  in- 
clined to  advise  the  latter  method,  supposing 
the  said  proprietor  of  the  said  nose  to  have 
already  tired  himself  on  the  slippery  deck  of 
a  Varna  steamer,  and  being  otherwise  dis- 
posed for  rest,  as  we  were. 

We  passed  Bnrgaf>h  in  the  night,  and  were 
dashing  away  merrily  enough  over  waters 
hardly  disturbed  by  a  ripple  when  I  woke  in 
the  morning.  I  was  first  up  of  our  party; 
and  so  I  ought  to  have  been,  for  I  had  slept 
in  far  more  agreeable  quarters.  They  had 
retired  uncomplaininglv  to  the  dismal  little 
holes  in  the  wall  which  the  steward  had 
obligingly  pointed  out  to  them.  I,  on  the 
contrary,  hsd  taken  that  functionary  aside, 
and  held  sweet  converse  with  him;  till  he 
-was  thereby  induced  to  make  me  up  a 
very  little  bed  on  one  of  the  solks  in  the 
great  cabin,  where  I  had  more  leg  and  elbow 
room,  with  better  smells;  though  I  am 
bound  to  confess  that  the  odour  of  the  pow- 
erful cheese  we  had  had  for  supper  was  per- 
ceptible during  a  part  of  the  nignt — say  till  I 
got  used  to  it,  i^nd  weht  to  sleep. 

We  had  a  pretty  good  breakfast,  the 
steamer  cook  being  a  deacon  of  his  craft ; 
bam,  fish,  beefsteaks,  caviar,  macaroni,  and 


the  sort  of  things  it  requures  a  traveller's 
appetite  to  put  under  his  waistcoat  at  ten 
oxlook  in  the  morning.  The  steamer  library 
was  also  remarkably  good  and  very 
well  chosen.  There  were  just  the  kind  of 
books  that  give  spice  and  zest  to  a  journey 
in  a  half  civilised  country.  Cooper,  Scott, 
Washington  Irving,  (the  kindest,  gentlest, 
most  amusing  of  all  the  rovers  that  have 
ever  written).  There  were  also  Leake's 
Travels  in  Greece,  and  the  transactions  of 
some  German  antiquarian  society,  for  those 
fond  of  solid  things  when  sea-sick. 

I  do  not  know  that  anything  occurred 
during  our  voyage  worth  notice*  except  that 
we  met  with  immense  flocks  of  migratory 
wild  ducks  bearing  with  qulvermg  flight  and 
outstretched  bills  away  for  the  marshes  of 
Bulgaria  and  the  Principalities.  We  had  a 
discussion  with  one  of  the  officers  about  our 
fare,  however.  I  note  it,  because  the  same 
thing  has  occurred  to  me  before  on  these 
Lloyd's  boats,  and  cries  loudly  for  notice.  We 
had  neglected  fh)m  want  of  time  to  take  our 
passage  at  Constantinople,  and  consequently 
had  to  pay  on  board.  The  ofBcer,'an  ill-con- 
ditioned fellow,  if  there  ever  was  one,  deter- 
mined to  turn  this  circumstance  to  account, 
and  mulcted  us  of  precisely  two  shillings  in 
every  Turkish  pound  above  the  legal  exchange 
at  Varna  or  Constantinople.  This  wants  sad  ly 
looking  into ;  and  therefore  it  is  well  to  Im 
explicit,  and  add  that  the  officer,  whose 
misconduct  was  very  gross,  was  not  one 
of  the  stewards,  who  are  apt  enough 
4o  do  such  things,  but  one  of  the  superior  offi- 
cers appointed  by  the  Company.  It  has  been 
objected  to  these  kind  of  details  that  they 
show  something  like  a  settled  intention  to 
complain.  Well,  so  be  it,  a  traveller  who 
only  complains  of  things  reallvcomplainable 
cannot  complain  too  much.  The  fact  is,  few 
people  will  take  the  trouble  to  complain,  and 
therefore  folks  should  be  the  more  obliged  to 
those  who  will. 

It  is  said  that  Varna  has  about  it  a  dirti- 
ness peculiarly  its  own,  but  I  incline  rather 
to  the  opinion  that  it  is  merely  Turkish  dirti- 
ness, and  Hhat  there  is  nothing  whatever  re- 
markable about  this  little  military  hothouse. 
We  landed  not  without  some  difficulty 
and  danger.  The  note  of  military  prepara- 
tion was  pealing  everywhere.  Officials 
belonging  to  the  commissariat,  and  unused 
to  riding,  were  holding  on  to  the  pommels 
of  their  new  saddles,  and  jogging  about  un- 
comfortably in  many  durections.  Officers 
were  conversing  in  groups  and  in  astounding 
uniforms,  supposed  to  be  that  of  the  body 
guard  of  his  majesty  the  King  of  Candy,  in 
whose  service  they  bad  been,  and  firom  whom 
they  had  obtained  all  sorts  of  impossible 
ranks  and  decorations.  I  never  saw  so 
many  colonels  and  generals  at  once  in  all  my 
born  days. 

It  was  pleasant  to  see  many  a  rollicking 
Irishman  or  canny  lad  f^om   beyond   the 


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144 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


Tweed,  who  had  obtained  ao  iDtrodaction 
to  the  cutty-stool  in  early  life,  and  had 
become  the  scandal  of  his  eldrs — it  was 
refreshing,  I  say,  to  see  them  shining  away 
here  as  pashas,  and  knights,  and  generals. 
They  were  quite  In  their  element. 

There  they  were,  eating  and  drinking  to- 
gether like  gipsies  or  mosstroopers ;  drinking 
brandy  and  water,  to  keep  off  cholera,  out  of 
their  embroidered  caps ;  and  cutting  np  tough 
fowls  with  their  doughty  sabres.  There  they 
were,  lending  money  to  each  other  out  of 
purses  slender  enough  probal)ly ;  disputing 
with  consuls  about  unpaid  tailors'  bills  for 
the  wonderful  uniforms ;  laughing  together  ; 
quarrelling  together,  making  it  up  with  tears 
and  assurances  **that  Jack  was  the  best 
fellow  under  the  sun,  only,  hang  him,  he  is 
always cominff  the  general  oyer  me  so."  There 
they  were,  belieying  in  each  other,  and  beliey- 
ing  in  themselyes,  talking  about  their  uncles 
who  liyed  in  parks,  which  are  always  the 
finest  in  the  part  of  the  United  Kingdom  in 
which  they  were  situated.  There  they  were 
talking  of  their  sisters,  who  were  all  trumps 
of  girls,  and  who  had  often  helped  to  pay 
(perhaps  out  of  a  goyerness's  salary)  for  the 
wonderful  uniforms— when  they  were  paid 
for,  which  was  not  often.  There  they  w^ere, 
talking  of  their  wiyes,  who  had  mostly  behayed 
badly.  Puncturing  their  breasts  and  arms 
with  tattooed  letters  of  the  names  of  splendid 
women  they  had  left  behind  at  Bucharest,  or 
bold  deyices  like  Erin-go-bragh  or  Rule 
Britannia.  Many  a  fine  fellow,  as  he  lies 
stiff  and  stark  beneath  the  inclement  skiel 
of  the  Crimea,  shall  be  found  by  some 
dauntless  friend  among  the  thickest  of  the 
follen,  whereyer  glory  was  to  be  won,  or  the 
wildest  yalour  dared  to  spur,  and  he  shall 
be  known  by  those  braye  words  upon  his 
breast,  and  buried  with  a  tear,  which  shall 
not  be  the  last  shed  oyer  him.  Yes,  there 
will  be  mourners  enough  for  them  among 
bright-eyed  women  and  true  men.  Among 
fathers,  of  whom  they  were  still  the  pride,  and 
among  mothers,  who  will  not  be  comforted 
when  they  hear  that  their  bold  sons  haye 
follen.  The  sons  with  the  open  Drows  and 
hazel  eyes,  with  the  hot  tempers  and  hearts 
of  gold.  Sons  who,  in  spite  of  reckless  habits, 
made  little  hoards — stolen  often  from  the 
necessaries  of  life — to  send  some  token  of  their 
unaltered  and  enduring  loye  to  far-away 
homes  and  relatiyes,  who  had  looked  coldly 
enough  on  them ;  who  wrote  letters,  tell- 
ing of  their  brightened  fortunes ;  who  wrote 
letters  which  had  made  the  old  folks  stare 
and  hold  up  their  heads  agaiu,  and  giyen  rise 
to  paragraphs  in  county  papers ;  who  wrote 
letters  full  of  high  hopes  and  honest  simple- 


hearted  projects  for  the  Aiture;  and  who 
neyer  wrote  again. 

Then  there  were  sparkling  little  Freuch 
ofiBcers  making  jokes  about  their  chances  of 
promotion ;  and  prosy,  good-natured  soldiers 
(no  one  on  earth  is  so  prosy  as  a  French 
priyate)  telling  extraordinary  stories,  per- 
fectly unintelligible,  of  course,  to  British 
grenadiers,  and  Scotch  or  Irish  soldiers  listeD- 
ing  to  them  with  polite  and  tipsy  grayity. 
There  were  doctors  hurrying  about  to  aud 
from  the  hospital,  and  orderlies  gaUopiog 
hither  and  thither  oyer  the  blackened  ruins  of 
the  Greek  fire,  for  Greek  it  really  does  seem 
to  haye  been.  There  were  army  chaplains, 
with  curious  recipes  for  making  curry,  who 
stopped  obliging  linguists  in  the  streets,  and 
wanted  to  know  *<the  Greek  for  Cayenne 
pepper  ?''  There  were  French  and  Italian 
hucksters  driying  roaring  trades;  and  im- 
promptu hotels  cheating  many  trayellers ;  for 
the  military  messes  haye  all  been  broken  up, 
and  eyen  the  ex-officers  of  the  King  of  Candy 
— usually  such  sticklers  for  military  eti- 
quette, and  capital  authorities  on  culinary 
matters,  as  indeed  on  all  others,  are  obliged 
to  dine  by  twos  or  threes. 

We  adjourned  with  some  of  them  to  the 
house  of  the  consular  interpreter.  He  was 
a  grandiloquent  man,  as  all  Greeks  in  oflBce 
are.  He  immediately  took  us  mentally  and 
bodily  into  a  sort  of  custody.  He  implored 
us,  as  we  trusted  in  his  hoaour  and  abilities, 
to  free  ourselyes  from  the  smallest  thought 
!  or  trouble  about  anything.  We  found  him, 
;  of  course,  a  fearful  scamp,  and  his 
I  house  seemed  merely  a  windy  wooden 
trap,  for  yermin,  and  bad  smells— the 
latter  coming  quite  unexpectedly  and  In 
stifling  gusts.  The  former  absolutely  turned 
us  out  of  bed,  descending  on  us  In  such 
countless  hosts  when  we  put  out  the  lights, 
that  there  was  no  keeping  the  field  against 
them. 

The  food  we  got  here  was,  of  course,  bad : 
the  Greeks  haying  no  idea  of  eating  and 
drinking,  except  on  festiyal  days.  The  bill 
was  so  preposterous  that  it  called  forth  a 
rather  energetic  remonstrance  from  the 
Almoner  of  our  party.* 

*•  Sare,"  whined  the  Greek,  in  defence  of 
his  charges,  and  with  all  the  misplaced  pride 
of  his  race,  **  I  am  not  a  common  man.'' 

"No,  faith,"  replied  the  Purse-bearer, 
wincing,  "you  seem  to  me  a  most  uncommon 
rogue." 

We  were  glad  to  get  away,  touzled, 
bitten,  dirty,  comfortless,  and  sleepless, 
to  go  plashing  along  through  the  lonely 
moonlight  to  the  sea-shore  where  a  boat 
was  waiting  for  us. 


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**Ikfmliar  in  their  MouthtoiWUSEIIOLD  WORDS."- 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
COHBITCTED  BT  CHABLEB  DICKENS. 


No.  7.] 


3.  A.  DIZ,  PUBLISHER, 

Oivioi,  No.  10  Pass  Plaoi,  Niw-Tomc. 


[WuoLB  No.  Z60. 


A  YARN  ABOUT  YOUNG  UONS. 

When  I  hear  people  talking  about  the 
decadence  of  England  I  generallj  go  for  a 
day  or  two  to  Portsmonth.  It  is  so  pleasant 
to  see  the  fleet  of  a  third-rate  power  big 
enoagh,  and  heavr  metalled  enoueh,  to  hold 
its  own  against  all  other  navies  whatsoever ; 
aad  to  feel  that  though  we  are  sunic  into  in- 
8ig:nificance  and  contempt,  it  is  an  insignifi- 
cance of  a  very  peculiar  kind,  consisting  of  a 
hundred  sail  at  Spithead,  mounting  upwards 
of  two  thousand  guns.  So  sinks  a  great  Lord 
into  poverty  when  his  creditors  make  him  an 
allowance  of  a  hundred  thousand  a  year ;  so 
sinkB  Lucullus  into  fasting  and  abstinence 
when  his  table  is  reduced  to  four  courses  and 
a  dessert. 

Being  very  much  depressed  in  spirits  last 
week,  after  reading  some  German  pamphlets 
which  proved  that  England  was  ruined,  and 
several   Irish    and    Aifterican    newspapers 
which  positively  asserted  that  the  sun  of 
tyrannical  Albion  had  sunk  for  ever,  I  be- 
took mvself  to  the  Boscawen  Arms  on  Ports- 
mouth Hard,  which  is  next  door  to  the  Ben- 
bow,  which  is  next  door  to  the  Glondesley 
Shovel,  which  is  next  door  to  the  Earl  St. 
Vincent,  so  that  It  seems  like  a  set  of  stout 
volumes  of  the  Lives  of  the  British  Admirals 
ranged  on  alibrary  shelf, — and,by  means  of  the 
smell  of  tar  and  Kilt  water,  and  the  sight  of  a 
crowded  harbour,  and  the  echo  of  a  thousand 
hammers  in  the  dockyard,  I  soon  got  into  a 
more  comfortable  frame  of  mind,  and  began 
already  to  believe  that  we  should  have  a  very 
fair  chance  against  the  King  of  the  Two 
Sicilies,  or  even  Otho  of  Greece.    I  don^t 
know  how  it  is,  but  whenever  I  am  in  any 
part  of  Portsmonth  I  always  feel  as  if  I  could 
lick  any   amount   of  foreigners  with    the 
greatest  ease ;  I  feel  a  strange  twitching  in 
the  shoulders,  and  a  desire  to  hitch  up  my 
lower  integuments,  as  if  the  braces  had  broke ; 
and  I  find  myself  occasionally  trying  to  ex- 
pectorate in  a  free  and  manly  manner,  as  if  I 
never  had  a  quid  out  of  my  right  cheek.  The 
manner  in  which  my  legs  flourish  about,  evi- 
dently believing  they  are  on  a  quarter-deck 
in  a  considerable  gale  of  wind,  has  often 
caused  me  great  uneasiness  as  to  th^  opinion 
my  friends  may  entertain  of  the  cause  of  so 
unsteady  a  gait ;  but  as  every  body  In  Ports- 

TOL.  XI. 


month  seems  to  heel  over  and  sway  from 
side  to  side  pretty  much  in  the  same  manner, 
let  me  hope  they  either  donH  notice  the 
obliquity  of  my  motion,  or  attribute  it  to  the 
right  cause — a  marine  sympathy  which  it 
is  impossible  to  resist.  By  the  same  pecu- 
liar action  of  the  sea-breezes,  my  language 
becomes  almost  unintelligible  to  my  friends, 
and  sometimes  even  to  myself.  Do  you  think 
I  conld  say  I  was  walking  down  High  Street? 
No ;  I'd  see  you  in  Davy  Jones's  locker  first  I 
I  always  either  steer  or  bear  down  High 
Street,  and  wouldn't  "walk  "  for  the  world. 
I  always  weigh  anchor  when  I  leave  a  room, 
and  bring  up  when  I  sit  down  to  dinner; 
and  yet — would  you  believe  it? — I  hate  the 
real  thing  in  spite  of  this  strange,  and,  I  be- 
lieve, involuntary  imitation.  I  am  seasick  on 
the  voyage  from  Gosport  to  Ryde,  and  never 
was  on  board  a  man-of-war  in  m^  life.  In 
Quit  I  have  never  been  able  very  distinctly  to 
understand  how  any  body  ever  got  on  board 
a  man-of-war,  except  in  dock.  It  seems  to 
me  impossible  to  clamber  up  such  an  immense 
height  with  only  the  help  of  a  rope,  and  the 
uncertain  footing  of  the  planking  scams, — for 
stairs,  I  understand,  are  done  away  with  In 
blue  water,  and  chairs  let  down  for  none  but 
ladies.  However,  in  spite  of  these  draw- 
backs, I  am  conscious  I  have  the  soul  of  a 
Nelson  in  the  body  of  a  land-lubber,  and 
feel  ppsitively  certain  that  I  would  sing  Rule 
Britannia  and  Hearts  of  Oak  at  the  point 
of  death.  I  do  it  constantly  now — or  when  I 
don't  sing  the  words  I  whistle  the  tunes: 
"  We  burn  them,  and  sink  them,  or  drive  them 
on  shore ;  And  if  they  won't  fight  us  what 
can  we  do  more  ? "    Ah !  AVhat,  indeed? 

The  water  in  the  harbour  is  generallv 
smooth,  and  I  hire  a  boat  by  the  day,  and  sail 
up  and  down  for  ever.  Past  the  glorious 
V  Ictory — past  the  Excellent — past  the  huge 
hulks  we  go,  and  up  into  a  city  of  hoode^ 
houses,  with  port-holes  for  windows,  lying 
upon  their  shadows  opposite  Portchester 
Castle,  and  waiting  only  to  be  called- on  to 
doff  their  roofs,  and  stick  in  their  masts,  and 
hoist  their  sails — ^and  behold  the  quiet  line  of 
sleepy  monsters  iransformed  into  leviathans 
afloat,  with  their  bulwarks  on  the  brine,  ready 
for  all  weathers,  and  as  gay  with  pennon  and 
streamer  as  a  new  made  bride  I  Thirty-six 
hours  would  send  these  vessels  at  any  time  to 

960 


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146 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCoadocted  by 


Spitbead  in  case  of  necessity— "  for  yon  see, 
sir,"  said  Bill  Windus  to  me,  *'there*8  fonr 
thousand  of  us'longf-shore  men  -  tween6'thamp- 
ton  and  Selsey  Bill,all  old  8ailor8,and  with  the 
help  of  some  landsmen,  we  coald  man  a  famous 
fleet  for  home  defence,  till  our  sea-going  ships 
could  get  at  'em  from  the  Downs  and  Ply- 
mouth.'' Now,  Bill  Windus  is  my  boatman, 
a  man  of  very  quick  hands  in  managing  a  boat, 
but  very  slow  comprehension  in  mastering  an 
idea.  For  instance,  all  his  notion  of  an  enemy 
whom  it  would  be  bis  duty  to  oppose  is 
strictly  limited  to  a  Frenchman  of  the  old 
school.  It  has  not  yet  reached  his  mind  that 
there  may  be  others  whom  it  behoves  us  to 
take  or  destroy :  and  whenever  he  talks  even 
of  "them  Roosnans"  be  has  an  invariable 
habit  of  chucking  his  thumb  over  hisrigbt 
shoulder,  in  the  direction  of  Cherbourg. 
Whether  he  thinks  the  French  have  taken  a 
new  name,  or  are  masquerading  in  the  dress 
of  Muscovites,  as  sometimes  they  painted 
their  ftigateslike  merchantmen  to  come  down 
upon  our  homeward  bound,  unawares,  I  do 
not  know ;  but  H  is  very  clear  that  Bill  has 
not  yet  turned  his  attention  to  the  fact  of  our 
present  alliance.  He  has  a  deeply-grounded 
belief  that  it  would  be  a  great  stroke  of  policy 
to  bring  the  Imperial  squadrons  as  fair  cap- 
tures to  Spithead.  **  'Cause  why  ?  "  be  says, 
"  if  they're  all  so  kind  and  Mendly,  we  can 
do  the  work  ourselves ;  and  if  they're  not,  it's 
better  to  draw  their  teeth  in  time,  and  then 
they  can  do  no  harm." 

But  Bill  is  an  old  Toi^,  and  a  bad  politician, 
though  he  has  an  excellent  boat  and  handles 
her  like  a  pilot  of  the  fleet  The  last  day  of 
my  visit  he  asked  permission  to  take  an  old 
chum  with  us  up  the  harbour,  and  as  I  was 
rather  tired  of  Bill's  eloquence  I  was  very 
glad  of  a  change.  A  very  different  person 
from  Bill  was  Harry  Sparks — a  man  of  action 
— a  man  of  intelligence— a  man  of  few  words, 
and  an  immense  deal  of  tobacco,  with  a  larse 
mouth  filled  from  side  to  side  with  amazinglv 
yellow  teeth,  and  a  round  close  cropped  head, 
that  looked  verv  like  a  sixty-eight  pounder, 
sprinkled  slightly  over  with  shreds  of  oakum. 
A  pleasant  man  to  look  at,  for  he  never 
fli ached  from  your  eye,  but  exposed  his  ruddy 
countenance,  as  if  he  had  never  in  all  his  life 
done  anything  to  be  ashamed  of.  He  was 
almost  as  great  an  enthusiast  In  maritime 
aQairs  as  mvself,  and  we  were  friends  in  a 
moment  His  enthusiasm  was  shown  by  a 
series  of  well-directed  squirts  over  the  side 
of  the  boat,  when  I  spoke  of  the  magnificence 
of  our  first-rates :  and  many  approving  nods 
with  his  bullet-soaped  head  when  I  dilated 
on  the  grandeur  of  our  position  as  the  first  of 
maritime  nations,  and  holding  the  trident  of 
Neptune,  which  I  explained  to  him  was  the 
sceptre  of  the  world. 

"1  seen  it,"  he  said, "  in  Plymouth  Dock,  and 
a  rare  good  house  it  is,  particular  the  egg-flip." 

We  spent  a  delightful  time  of  it  on  the 
water,  and,  on  parting,  I  gave  Harry  Sparks 


an  invitation  to  a  "  pipe  and  can "  in  the 
Boscawen  Arms.  At  seven  o'clock  a  knock 
came  to  the  door,  a  figure  made  its  appear- 
ance in  clean  shirt  and  a  very  loose  blue 
jacket,  very  wide  Russia-duck  trousers— 
the  image  of  Mr.  T.  P.  Cooke  in  the  sailor's 
hornpipe— and  ducked  its  head  three  or  four 
times,  while  it  kept  it  steady  by  holding  od 
vigorously  by  a  long  lock  of  hair  in  front 
I  recognised  my  friend  Harry  Sparks  in  his 
quarter-deck  manners  and  Sunday  clothes. 

**  Here  I  am,  yer  honour,  and  'most  mA^tn!^ 
of  my  company,  for  I  ben't  used  to  it" 

This,  I  perceived,  in  spite  of  the  grammatical 
construction,  was  a  compliment  to  my  eiip<aior 
rank,  and,  with  the  help  of  a  large  bottle 
of  Hollands— I  prefer  that  spirit  to  til 
other  drinks  whatever— a  large  kettle  of 
water,  and  a  couple  of  stout  tumblers,  I  sooo 
put  him  at  his  ,ease,  and  the  flow  of  eool 
began.  It  was  at  my  expense  for  a  long  time. 
I  was  educated  at  a  classical  academy  in 
Suffolk,  and  gave  him  an  account  of  a  Cartha- 
ginian galley  and  a  Roman  trireme.  Mr. 
Sparks  would  have  liked  no  better  fim  thun 
to  have  swept  the  seas,  both  of  Pompey  and 
the  pirates,  with  a  revenue  cutter  like  the 
Dart,  mounting  four  guns,  also  a  picked  crev 
and  a  good  captain—**  For  you  see,  sir,  it's  a 
man  that  makes  all  the  differ."  I  agreed 
with  him  on  this  point  in  a  very  decided  man- 
ner, and  we  filled  again.  **  You're  right, 
Harry,"  I  said  j  **  for  what's  the  use  of  all 
these  noble  ships  at  Spithead,  if  they  are 
manned  by  muffs  and  commanded  by  an  aged 
pump,  fit  only  to  be  a  churchwarden  or  a  lord 
chancellor?  Now,  Harry,  you're  a  man  of 
experience,  also  of  extensive  observation,  and 
you,  perhaps,  can  tell  us,  have  we  the  man 
we  want?'' — "Dozens I"  said  Mr.  Sparks, 
and,  with  a  sound  like  the  Maelstrom  engulf- 
ing a  ship,  he  engurgitated  his  grog,  ull  1 
considered  it  a  great  mercy  that  he  did  not 
choke  himself  with  the  spoon.  **  Dozens,  sir  P 
he  repeated,  dinting  his  tumbler  on  the  table 
with  a  force  that  nearly  broke  it ;  <*  and,  firsi 
and  foremost,  there's  old  Nero — which  some 
calls  him  the  Lion— in  the  Black  Sea — which 
will  take  Semastyfool,  as  sure  as  the  Setr  of 
Rooshia  has  got  skin  on  his  nose,  afore  tbe 
snmmer^s  begun.  I  knows  him,  I  do,  that  *ere 
Nero ;  and  he's  done  harder  things  afore— 
'cause  I  knows  'em  very  well,  though,  maj- 
hap,  I  can't  tell  'em  so  clear  as  you  would, 
sir.  Sir,  you're  a  eloquent  gentleman,  I  most 
say,  and  I  drink  your  health  again,  sir,  with 
many  thanks  for  the  same." 

By  this  time  our  pipes  had  diffused  a  din 
but  very  agreeable  atmosphere  through  the 
apartment :  the  fire  burned  cheerily,  tbe 
water  was  always  hot,  as  the  kettle  rested  on 
the  hob ;  and.  In  a  very  pleasant  frame  of 
mind,  I  swayed  back  on  the  hind  legs  of  mj 
chair,  and  listened  attentively  to  the  anec- 
dote delivered  with  great  unctionby  my  now 
communicative  friend. 

**  When  old  Nero  w^  young — as  in  coorae, 


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Ckaric*  Dickciu.] 


A  YARN  ABOUT  YOUNG  LIONS. 


14T 


he  was  ooce. —  he  was  first-mate  aboard 
a  ship  OQ  the  India  statioo,  which  was  a 
prime  station  at  the  time,  for  we  was  at  war 
with  the  Dutch,  and  spices  and  pepper  is 
the  best  of  prize-money,  besides  sugars  and 
rum.  The  whole  of  that-ere  sea,  I'?e  heard 
say,  is  spotted  over  with  islands,  as  if  the 
occaa  had  the.  small-pox,  and  the  islands 
was  the  pits—and  very  fine  islands  they  be 
to  look  at,  for  the  trees  are  wonderful  large, 
and  the  fruits  delicious,  and  the  flowers — 
for  them  that  lU^e  such  tilings — the  brightest 
and  beautifuUest  in  the  world.  All  this  IVe 
only  heard,  for  I  never  served  beyond  the 
Cape,  but  Tvc  heard  of  them  so  often  I  seem, 
to  have  been  born  and  bred  amongtbem cedars 
and  camellias  and  seringas.  The  Dutch  ain't  a 
stupid  set  of  pej»ple  when  left  to  their  own  ways, 
and  would  never  have  quarreled  with  England 
if  it  had  not  been  for  that'ere  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte which  set'em  on  like  a  Highland  terrier 
on  a  mastiff* dog.  Howsomever  as  they  showed 
their  teeth  it  was  necessary  for  us  to  knock 
'em  down  their  throats,  and  according  we 
did  it  all  the  time  of  the  war.  Now,  one  day 
says  the  captain  to  young  Nero, '  Yon  go,' 
he  says,  ■  in  the  tender,  with  twelve  men  of 
jour  choice,  and  bring  us  word  what  the  myn- 
heers is  a  doing  on  in  the  island  two  hundred 
knots  to  our  eastward,  and  let  me  know, 
d'ye  hear ;  for  it's  reported  that  they've  sent  a 
large  army  from  Java,  and  I  daresay  the  big 
breeches,'  says  he,  *  are  arter  some  mischief.' 
So  young  Nero  touched  his  hat,  named  his  men, 
aad  thought  himself  the  king  of  Great  Britain, 
France,  and  Ireland,  and  all  the  world  beside, 
when  he  seen  his  flas  for  the  first  time,  and 
bore  away  for  his  destination  with  all  the 
canvas  he  could  spread.  The  captain  was  a 
very  strict  man,  and  had  given  orders  to  run 
no  manner  of  risk,  but  to  be  very  careful 
both  of  vessel  and  men.  So  they  came  late 
one  evening  within  sight  of  the  island ;  and 
high  over  all  the  rich  trees  that  crowned  all 
the  coast,  they  saw  far  inland  the  Dutch 
standard  a  flapping  on  the  flag-post,  and  even 
in  the  still  air  heard  the  military  band  a  play- 
ing on  the  parade  ground  of  the  castle,  as  if 
it  was  a  playing  a  welcome  to  youn^  Nero  and 
his  crew.  This  was  remarkable  civil  in  the 
Dutch,  and  Nero  beckoned  Will  Hatch  and 
says,  *They  don't  seem  to  be  much  on  the 
look  out,'  says  he, '  or  surely  they  would  have 
seen  our  sails  as  we  rounded  the  high  point. 
Now  you  see.  Will,'  says  he,  *  if  they're  so  off 
their  guard,  and  seem  so  fond  of  theur  fine 
tunes,  it  would  only  be  respectful  in  us  to  go 
a  little  nearer  and  pay  them  the  compllmeut 
of  a  call.  So  tell  nine  of  the  lads  to  take  two  or 
three  pistols  apiece  and  a  cutlass — run  us  into 
one  of  them  deep  creeks,  where  the  brush- 
wood is  higher  than  our  mast — tuck  in  a  pre- 
cious good  supper,  and  be  ready  to  follow  me 
ashore.'  Away  through  the  thick  jungle  went 
the  ten  men,  all  their  ears  open  and  their 
forefingers  on  the  trigger ;  and  after  strug- 
gling through  (he  s^bs,  which  smelt  like 


ladies'  scent-bottles,  all  of  a  sudden  they 
come  to  a  clear  space,  and  found  themselves 
within  fifty  yards  of  the  castle  walls.  It  was 
now  nearly  dark>-a  heav v  sort  of  a  night,  as  if 
the  air  was  too*thick  with  heat  and  perfume 
to  be  seen  through — in  them  parts  it's  nevef 
so  pitch  black  as  here.  At  the  other  side 
of  the  fortress  either  anotiier  band  was  a  play- 
ing fine  Italian  music,  or  it  was  the  same 
they  had  heard  before,  only  moved  away,  per- 
haps, on  their  road  to  the  barracks.  Well,  this 
was  an  the  information  as  could  be  picked 
up,  and  Nero  didn't  think  the  captain  would 
be  satisfied  if  he  only  took  him  back  a  list  of 
the  tunes  they  played ;  lo  be  says, '  Come 
nearer,'  he  says, '  and  make  no  noise  till  we  get 
under  the  guns,  for  just  at  this  present  they 
could  point  them  to  where  we  stand,  and 
blow  us  into  conwulsions.'  On  tiptoe  they 
hurried  for'ard,  and  when  they  got  close  to  the 
wall,  they  found  the  drawbridge  down  and 
gate  open,  and  just  at  this  time  the  music 
ceased,  and  it  seemed  as  if  the  whole  family 
had  gone  to  bed  and  left  .the  big  doors  of  the 
citadel  open  to  air  the  town.  *Now's  the 
time,  boys,'  says  young  Nero ;  *  follow  me  at 
the  run,  shoot  the  firet  sentinel  you  find, 
shout  with  all  your  might,  fire  off  your  spare 
pistols,  split  into  i>arties  of  twos  and  threes, 
but  always  keep  in  hearing,  and  see  what 
our  luck  will  be  I '  The  boys  could  scarcely 
keep  from  laughing,  it  was  such  a  capital 
contrived  lark;  but  still  they  managed  not 
to  laugh  too  loud,  and  did  as  they  were 
told.  There  was  firing  and  shouting  in  a  few 
minutes  all  over  the  place.  The  sentinels 
thought  five  tiiousand  English  at  least  had 
fallen  upon  them  as  the  advanced  guard  of  a 
tremendous  expedition,  and  made  off— those 
that  wern't  shot — and  told  the  general  what 
they  thought  He  was  a  very  fftmous  com- 
mander, and  would  do  notiiing  contranr  to 
the  rules  of  war ;  so  he  determined  to  lead  bis 
men  into  the  open  country  and  wait  for  rein- 
forcements to  enable  him  to  retake  the  place. 
And  away  they  went  by  the  inland  gates, 
which  Nero  Instantly  ordered  to  be  closed, 
and  set  all  hands  to  work.  They  spiked  the 
guns  —  there  were  sixteen  of  'em  —  and 
threw  them  Into  the  moat ;  they  burned  the 
barracks ; ,  broke  all  the  arms  they  found ; 
filled  their  pockets  and  handkerchers  with 
any  think  that  took  their  fancy,  and  before 
daylight  evacuated  the  castle  in  the  greatest 
order,  locking  the  gats  behind  them, -and 
rasping  through  the  main  hinge  of  the  draw-' 
bridge  by  way  of  preventing  pursuit.  In  as 
great  silence  as  they  had  made  their  ap- 
proach, they  pursued  their  way  through  the 
forest  to  the  creek,— got  quietly  on  board  and 
warped  out  into  deep  water,  i  on  may  guess 
what  fun  they  had  when  morning  dawned,  to 
see  the  castle  still  a  smoking,  and  no  flag 
hoisted  on  the  wall.  The  Dntcn  general  fol- 
lowed the  most  scientific  plans  he  co^d  hear 
of  in  books,  and  made  his  approaches  in  such  a 
skilfhl  way  that  it  was  three  days  afore 


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148 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCoD4QCtodbT 


I 


he  got  into  the  deserted  fortrefls,  and  wrote 
home  an  account  of  how  he  had-  repulsed 
nine  thousand  British  soldiers  with  the  loss  of 
three  men;  for  which  exploit  he  was 
made  a  baron  on,  and  adwfAced  a  step  in 
rank. 

**  Now,  when  joung  Nero  got  on  board  his 
^ip  the  captain  asked,  why  the  Wickeds  he 
haanH  gone  down  to  that  there  island,  as  he 
had  ordered  ?  '  I've  been,  sir/  said  Nero,  yer j 
sharp,  <and  got  iUl  the  information  we  re- 

Juire.'  Whereupon  he  told  him  all,  just  as 
Ve  told  it  to  you,  sir.  But  the  captain  was 
a  gentlemen  that  didn't  approve  of  tilings  out 
of  the  common,  and  he  says,  very  coldly, 
*  You  hare  unnecessarily  exposed  the  men's 
lives,  and  HisMigesty 's  vessel,  and  vou'U  con- 
sider yourself  under  arrest.  I  will  write  an 
account  of  your  behaviour  to  the  admiral,  and 
ou  will  probably  be  dismissed  the  service.'  So 
le  wrote  a  full  history  of  all  that  young  Nero 
had  done,  tied  it  all  up  in  the  reddest  of  tape 
as  he  had,  and  was  very  fain  to  send  him  home 
at  once  as  a  dangerqus  character.  But  as  soon 
as  a  fast  sailing  frigate  could  come  from  the 
admiral— which  was  a  friend  of  Nelson's,  and 
knew  the  Nelson  touch  as  well  as  any  man 
alive — the  captain  was  forced  to  call  young 
Nero  on  the  quarter  deck  and,  in  the  presence 
of  all  the  ship's  company,  present  him  with 
a  acting  order  to  serve  as  lieutenant,  and  to 
Join  the  admiral's  ship  without  delay.  All 
the  twelve  of  the  crew  wanted  to  go  with 
him,  but  he  could  only  get  leave  for  Will 
Hatch,  which  has  never  left  him  since,  and  is, 
at  tills  moment, -casting  a  loving  eye  on 
the  batteries  of  SemasWfool,  so  let  that 
there  Scar  of  Rooshia  look  out,  for  Nero  will 
take  it  as  sure  as  a  gun." 

Hr.  Sparks  rewarded  himself  for  this  inter- 
esting account  with  a  rather  copious  infusion 
of  fresh  matter  into  his  tumbler.  And  now 
that  the  flood-gates  of  speech  were  opened  he 
poured  forth : — **  I  s'pose,  sir,  as  I  never  seen 
you  before,  I  never  told  you  the  story  of  how 
young  Nero  g^t  his  ship  ashore,  and  as  near 
as  possible  lost  his  commission.  Well,  sir, 
here.it  is— short  and  straight,  for  you  haven't 
time  to  be  a  listening  here  all  nig^t  You've 
heard,  perhaps,  of  love,  sir,— a  many  songs 
have  been  written  about  it,  and  if  you 
never  met  with  it  yourself  you  may  know  it 
by  the  descriptions.  It's  something  like  the 
meesels  or  hooping-cough,  sir;  everybody 
must  have  it  once  in  their  lives,  and  if  bv 
chance  it  comes  a  second  time,  it's 
always  exceeding  mild.  Well,  when  young 
Nero  was  first  took  with  the  eruption,  he  was 
in  command  of  a  sloop,  and  stood  away  for 
where  his  lady  lived,  though  it  was  out 
of  the  bounds  of  the  station  where  he  was 
placed.  But  it  was  just  out  of  bounds, 
and  he  thought  by  clever  handling  he  might 
run  dose  in  shore,  and  post  with  quick  horses 
up  to  where  his  sweetheart  was,  and  be 
)>ack  on  his  station  again  afore  his  absence 
was  noticed.    His  sweetheart  was  a  lady  of 


high  rank,  and  Bill   Hatch,  which  went 
with  him  in  the  chase,  has  told  me  that 
better  liquors  was  nowhere  in  England  Uian 
he  had  that  night  in  the  servants'  hall.    Oh  I 
there  was  singing  and  dancing,  and  what  not 
in  the  drawing-room ;  and  I'll  be  sworn  a 
good  specimen  of  the  same  in  the  kitchen, 
too,  for  I've  heard  Bill  crack  a  tumbler  by 
the  noise  he  made  in  '  Cease  rude  Boreas ;' 
and  as  to  dancing,  he  would  wear  a  hole  in 
an  oak  plank  afore  he'd  give  over  the  shuffle. 
So.  when  the  gentlefolks  was  a  thinking  of 
goiuff  to  bed,  a  little  tap  comes  to  the  door : 
and  Will  Hatch,  which  was  in  the  middle  of 
the  Jolly  Young  Waterman  at  that  very 
moment,  felt  a  shock  as  If  something  was  a 
going  to  happen :  and  a  footman  goes  to  the 
door,  and  Will  hears  a  voice  which  said, 
'TeU  Will  Hatch  to  tell  the  captain  she's 
bumped,  bows  on,  and  will  only  have  five 
foot  water  at  low  tide.'  The  footman  looked 
surprised,  and  asked  who ''  she"  was ;  but  Will 
Hatch  had  gone  to  the  do(»r,  discovered  the 
captain  of  the  foretop,  and  heard  it  was  all 
true.    A  message  was  sent  into  the  drawing- 
room,  and  young  Nero  come  out  into  the 
passage.    What  was  to  be  done?    It  waa 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning — the  tide  would 
fall  for  another  hour.  In  five  minutes  he  and 
Will  Hatch  and  the  messenger  was  on  tiieir 
way :    in  an  hour  and  a  half  they  was  on 
board.     All  the  ship's  company  knew   the 
scrape  the  captain  was  in.    How  they  worked 
with  the  boats;  how  they  lightened  the  ship, 
how  they  landed  some  of  the  guns ;  how  they 
toiled  with  heart  and  hand  till  morning  light ! 
And  then  the  tide  was  still  on  tiie  rise — 
higher-higher— and  the  work  of  unloading 
still  went  on.  There  was  a  coast-euard  station 
near,  and  a  line  of  telegraphs  that  held  pa- 
lavers over  hills  and  walleys  with  a  great 
arsenal  to  the  east    If  the  authorities  heard 
of  tiie  accident,  there  would  be  a  tremenduona 
kick  up — salvage— court-martial — dismissal. 
And  still  the  tide  come  on!    But  suddenly 
went  up  a  cursed  straight  rod  of  the  tele- 
graph, that  meant '  ship  '—followed  in  a  m<H 
ment  by  a  little  arm  that  pointed  downwards, 
and    that    meant  'ashore."     So    in  three 
minutes  it  was  known  all  over  the  port  as 
a  ship  was  on  shore.    Come  on  I  come  -on  I 
blessed  tide  I  For  in  an  hour  and  a  half  the  cap- 
tain of  the  harbour  will  be  here ;  and  lightm 
will  be  here :  and  reporters  for  Times  news- 
papers will  be  here !  Well  it  rose,  and  it  rose, 
and  at  last  with  all  the  ship's  boats  a  tag^^g 
at  her  stem,  she  heaved  once  or  twice  nugeati- 
cally,  and  slipt  her  bows  off  the  land — it  waa 
only  a  ^It  oi  sand  and  no  harm  done — and 
glided  away  into  deep  water  as  if  nothing 
had  happened.    Then  the  work  began.    The 
cargo  had  to  be  taken  on  board,  the  guns  re- 
placed, the  disorder  rectified ;  and  just  when 
the  last  stroke  was  done,  and  the  vessel  was 
fit  for  service,  a  long  line  of  craft  waa  seen 
coming  round  the  point  1    There  was  the 
harbour^naster's  yacht,  and  the  admirml'a 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbarin  DkkeiM.] 


THE  EOYAL  BALLOON. 


149 


barge,  and  three  or  four  lighters,  and  two  or 
three  sloops  from  Lloyd\;  and  they  all 
backed  sail  with  astonishment  as  they  seen  the 
beautifulest  sloop  in  the  Royi^l  Nayy,a  looking 
as  spick  and  span  as  if  thatmomentout  of  dbck. 
And  then  she  noisted  a  signal — Good  morrow, 
gentlemen — and  bore  quietlyoutof  the  narrow 
into  the  wide  sea.  Some  of  the  disappointed 
salTors  went  ashore,  and  gave  the  telegraph 
men  as  good  a  licking  as  ever  they  had  in 
their  lives.  Well,  sir,  Nero  was  tried  for  the 
accident,  and  received  a  slight  reprimand ; 
with  such  a  high  compliment  for  his  sseal  and 
activity  in  getting  his  ship  off  again  that  he 
got  his  promotion  in  a  month  or  two,  and 
took  command  of  a  frigate  of  forty-foor  guns." 

Other  stories  were  told  me  by  Harry 
Sparks,  all  tending  to  the  same  result: 
namely,  that  there  really  was  a  man  on  whom 
the  countrv  can  rely,  with  courage  and  discre- 
tion equally  mixed.  The  heat,  the  tobacco,  the 
grog,  the  excitement,  the  glaring  eyes  of  Mr. 
Sparks,  his  prodigious  mouth,  his  yellow 
teeth,  his  bullety  head,  tdl  conspired  to  put 
me  into  the  highest  state  of  satisfaction  with 
this  ruined,  weakened,  disgraced,  and  power- 
less England. 

"  Sparks,"  I  said,  **  I  was  born  in  an  inland 
connfy,  sir ;  but,  far  from  the  dash  of  the 
wild  sea  I  heard  the  music  of  Britannia's 
thunder,  and  felt  that  if  all  the  world  were  to 
combine  against  us,  we  should  still  our  foot- 
steps insupportably  advance,  and  Britons 
never  never  never  shall  be  slaves! — hur- 
rah!" 

Mr.  Sparks  entered  fully  into  my  feelings, 
though  perhaps  he  did  not  understand  the 
grandeur  of  my  language,  which  was  also 
rather  obscure  to  myself;  and  the  last  thing 
I  remember  was  his  scratching  his  oakum 
locks  for  a  minute,  and  then  engulfing  his 
head  in  the  tumbler,  after  saying,  *^The  same 
to  yon,  sir,  and  many  happy  returns  I" 

THE  ROYAL  BALLOON. 

Bluebeabd's  wife  is  a  faithful  type  of  our 
common  human  nature,  male  as  well  as 
female.  The  secret  chamber  is  the  room 
we  all  want  to  penetrate  into.  One  unbumt 
book  from  the  Alexandrian  library  would 
be  more  attractive  to  bibliomaniacs  than 
a  whole  college-full  of  learned  folios  that 
stand  ready-ranged  on  their  dusty  shelves. 
The  last  volume,  spared  by  the  Sibyl,  only 
increased  the  longing  after  those  that  were 
irrevocably  gone.  Who  would  not  give  a 
trifle  for  a  peep  at  some  of  the  treatises  which 
those  who  used  curious  arts  in  the  early  days 
of  Christianity,  brought  together  and  burned 
before  all  men?  Dr.  Young,  since  grown  old, 
found  more  pleasure  in  contemplating  an 
obelisk-side  of  hieroglyphics,  than  in  running 
through  the  London  Gazette ;  doubtless  for 
the  simple  reason  that  he  could  read  the  one 
and  could  not  read  the  other.  Herschell'S  de- 
light was  to  hunt  after  stars.  Invisible  or  dimly 


seen,  which  seemed  to  dive  deeper  into  distant 
space  the  harder  he  tried  to  get  a  peep  at 
them.  We  can  easily  fancy  the  intense  de- 
light of  the  great  modem  interpreter  of 
Nmevite  literature,  when  he  believes  he  has 
inserted  the  wedge  of  a  lucky  guess  Into  a 
cuneiform  inscription,  and  has  a  chance  of 
8|plitting  it  up  into  sentences  and  words.  The 
higher  the  wall  that  surrounds  a  garden,  the 
sweeter,  longing  mouths  and  noses  suspect, 
are  the  ftuit  and  flowers  inclosed  within. 
The  thick  morning  mist  that  veils  a  landscape 
makes  us  the  more  eager  to  discover  its 
beauties.  The  clouds,  the  glaciers,  and  the 
'teeacherons  snow,  which  ought  to  render  ihe 
mountahi-top  inaccessible,only  serve  to  invite 
the  adventurous  spirit  to  plant  his  foot  where 
prudence  and  practicability  forbid.  What  we 
cannot  have,  we  resolve  to  have  {  what  we 
cannot  know,  we  insist  upon  knowing. 

From  this  craving  after  forbidden  lore  I 
pretend  to  be  no  more  exempt  than  my 
neighbours.  A  wayside  monument  has  had 
the  same  effect  upon  me,  haunting  my  dreams 
and  fancies  by  night,  and  intruding  on  my 
waking  thoughts  by  day.  It  has  intrigued 
me,  to  borrow  a  French  expression,  beyond 
all  bearing. 

The  churchyard  of  the  village  of  Wimille, 
about  four  miles  north  of  Boulogne-sur-Mer, 
skirts  the  imperial  road  to  Calais.  Just 
at  the  middle  of  the  boundary-wall  a  stone 
tablet  rises,  inscribed  with  small  capitals, 
and  surmounted  at  the  top  with  something 
which  is  very  like  a  petrified  caulifiower. 
It  is  meant  to  represent  a  balloon  on  fire: 
The  inscription  (in  French)  runs  to  the 
following  eflfect:— "In  this  cemetery  are  in- 
terred Francois  Pilatre  de  Rosier  and  Pierre 
Ange  Remain,  who,  desiring  to  pass  over  to 
England  in  an  air-balloon,  in  which  they  had 
combined  the  agency  of  fire  and  of  inflam- 
mable air,  by  an  accident  whose  veritable 
cause  will  always  remain  unknown,  the  fire 
having  caught  the  upper  part  of  the  balloon, 
they  fell  from  the  height  of  more  than  five 
thousand  feet  betweenWimereux  and  the  sea." 
The  inscription  is  repeated  in  a  Latin  dupli- 
cate, for  the  benefit  of  travelling  strangers 
who  do  not  understand  French.  The  said 
travellers  are  also  apostrophised :— "Passers- 
by,  mourn  their  lot,  and  pray  God  for  the  re- 
pose of  their  souls  I"  Annual  masses  for 
their  souls'  repose,  at  the  date  o<}rresponding 
to  their  rapid  descent,  were  founded  in  the 
parish  church  of  Wimille ;  whether  or  not  the 
^ninety-three  revolution  swept  away  the 
masses  I  cannot  say.  The  Cur^  would  give 
an  answer  to  those  who  wish  to  know.  Their 
lot  was  mournful ;  but  even  stronger  than 
our  pity  is  the  feeling  which  urges  us  to  find 
out  now  the  deuce  it  happened.  I  resolved 
to  try  what  could  be  done  to  t)iat  effect,  and 
at  last  made  out  a  theory  which  may,  or  may 
not,  be  the  true  one. 

The  churchyard  memorial  was  not  the  only 
cue  that  was  raised  to  mark  the  horrible 


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150 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoDdicted  by 


catastrophe.  In  the  oamp  of  Wimereux,  just 
behind  the  CM  da  Petit  Caporal,  which  is 
next  door  to  the  Estaminet  da  Ballon,  a  small 
obelidc  of  marble  from  the  neighbouring 
quarries  of  Ferques,  built  without  anj,  or 
with  the  least  possible  mortar,  and  not  more 
than  eight  or  nine  feet  high,  rises  on  the  spot 
where  tne  aeronaots  weredashed  to  the  ground. 
When  I  first  knew  it,  it  stood  in  solitude  in 
the  midst  of  a  grassy,  down-like  waste,  half 
undermined  bj  moles,  and  almost  pushed  off 
its  pedestal  bj  the  cattle  who  used  it  as  a 
rubbing-post.  The  parties  that  seemed  to 
fkvour  it  with  the  longest  notice,  were  the 
mushrooms  who  peeped  above-ground  from 
time  to  time,  some  singly,  some  in  little 
family  groups  of  three  or  four,  but  all  appa- 
rently considering,  undertheir  broad-brimmed 
hats,  whether  it  would  not  be  an  act  of  charity 
to  the  memory  of  the  deceased,  to  surround 
their  half-ruined  monument  with  a  railing. 
That  also  bears  its  record,  in  French,  supply- 
ing a  few  additional  particulars  :  *'  Here  fell 
from  the  height  of  more  than  five  thousand 
feet,  at  thirty -five  minutes  past  seven  in  the 
morning,  the  unfortunate  aeronauts  Pilatre 
de  Rosier  and  Remain  the  elder,  who 
started  from  Boulogne  at  five  minutes  after 
seven,  in  the  morning  of  the  fifteenth  of 
June,  seventeen  hundred  and  eighty-five. 
The  first  was  foand  dead  upon  the  spot ;  the 
second  gave  a  few  signs  of  life  during  one  or 
two  minutes." 

The  best  means,  I  thought,  of  solving  the 
problem  of  their  fall,  was  to  find  up  any 
persons  who  had  witnessed  it.  I  was  more 
fortunate  than  might  have  been  expected, 
with  an  event  occurring  sixty  years  ago.  In 
a  hamlet  to  the  north  of  Wimereux,  f  found 
an  pld  woman  more  than  a  hundred  yeftrs  old, 
whohad  seen  the  balloon  ascendf^omBoulogne. 
She  was  dozing  and  dreaming  over  a  fire  of 
dry  furze,  staring  at  the  sparks  with  her 
filmy  eyes.  I  wonder  whether  she  could  see 
with  those  eyes,  even  after  she  turned  them 
on  me  as  I  entered  her  hovel. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  me?"  she  said, 
in  a  voice  that  belonged  to  the  other  world. 
"You  don't  know  me,  and  I  don't  know 
you.    I'm  of  no  use  to  anybody,  now." 

"But  I  know  you,"  my  companion  said. 
And  then  he  began  to  talk  about  their  ac- 

Suaintance,  and  then  about  the  obelisk,  and 
len  about  Pilatre  de  Rosier. 
"  I  saw  him  and  his  friend  go  up,"  she  said, 
suddenly  waking,asif  inspired.  "I  wa*  close  to 
them.  He  was  a  handsome  man,  and  looked  so 
smiling.  As  the  balloon  rose,  he  saluted 
and  bowed  to  all  the  people,  and  waved  his 
flags  continually  in  this  way,  so,  until  he  had 
mounted  quite  high  in  the  sky."  And  then 
she  suited  the  action  to  the  word,  waving  her 
arms  in  imitation  of  poor  De  Rosier.  "  My 
arms  then  were  not  like  this ;"  she  continued, 
pulling  the  skin  which  hung  loosely  about 
them.  "  I  had  handsome  arms  once.  Yes  : 
he  waved  his  arms  so."    And  then  she  fell 


again  Into  her  dreamy  state,  the  precursor  of 
the  long  sleep  of  death,  from  which  nothing 
could  rouee  her.  All  the  further  information 
we  could  extract  was,  that  he  waved  his  arms, 
comme  9a,  and  that  hers  were  once  handsome 
arms. 

It  struck  mc  that  the  excellent  Museum  at 
Boulogne  might  contain  some  relics  of  ibis 
tragical  tumble.  I  fonn^  them  there,  and 
better  than  them.  Monsieur  Duburquoy, 
senior,  an  intelligent  old  man,  the  father  of 
the  present  well-informed  curator  of  the 
museum,  was  at  Wimereux  when  the 
aeronauts  fell,  and  helped  to  lift  them  from 
the  ground.  He  was  thirteen  years  of  age 
at  the  time.  He  told  me  that  De  Rosier, 
quite  deaid,  had  one  of  his  legs  broken,  and 
tnat  the  bone  pierced  through  the  tieht  fit- 
ting trouser  ;  and  that  Remain  heaved  three 
or  four  deep  sighs,  and  then  expired.  He 
picked  up  a  piece  of  bread,  partially  eaten, 
that  fell  with  them.  A  bottle  of  wine,  that 
had  been  uncorked,  and  had  had  a  glass  or 
two  drunk  f^om  It,  accompanied  them  in 
their  fall,  and  most  extrordinarily  was  not 
broken.  | 

The  museum  has  the  portrait  of  De 
Rosier  in  powdered  wig  and  fHlled  shirt, 
besides  a  coloured  medallion  in  wax.  He  is 
styled  "  the  first  aeronaut  of  the  universe :" 
to  which  title  there  would  be  nothing  to  ob- 
ject, if  we  were  but  perfectly  cognisant  of  the 
atmospherical  conditions  or  every  other  sun, 
planet,  and  satellite  in  the  universe.  There 
are  besides,  his  barometer,  thermometer, 
speaking-trumpet,  and  the  wand  to  which  his 
little  waving  flae  was  attached.  There  is  the 
painted  cloth  which  surrounded  the  gallery 
of  the  Montgolfi^re,  or  fiying  fire-place,  which 
helped  him  to  ascend  ;  there  is  a  little  piece 
of  the  tafi'etas  or  oiled-silk,covered  with  gold- 
beater's skin,  which  contained  his  float  ofhj- 
drogen  gas ;  and  that  is  all  the  material  evi- 
dence to  be  found. 

Our  readers  may  remember  that  Pilatre 
de  Rosier  was  ambitious  to  be  the  first  to 
cross  the  English  channel  in  a  balloon.*  He 
had  already  the  honour  of  being  the  first  man 
who  ascended  In  the  earth's  atmosphere,  in  a 
captive  balloon  as  a  first  experiment,  and 
afterwards  in  one  at  liberty  to  rise  and  wander 
whither  it  would,  in  which  bold  excursion  he 
was  accompanied  by  the  Marquis  d'Arlandes. 
The  first  living  creatures  that  made  a 
balloon  ascent,  were  a  sheep,  a  cook,  and  a 
duck,  coi^'ointly  travellers  through  the  region 
of  clouds.  Since  then,  equestrian  ascents  have 
been  made  by  terrified  horses,  mounted  hj 
fool-hardy  men.  In  all  these  latter  cases,  it 
may  be  believed,  that  an  ass  made  one  of  the 
party. 

In  crosmng  the  channel,  De  Rosier  was 
forestalled  by  At*  countryman  (Blanchard) 
and  our  compatriot  (Jeflieries),  who  started 
from  Dover   and   landed  in  the  forest  of 


•  See  "Over  the  Water,"  toL  yU.,  p.  488. 


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ClMrlei  IMckeiM.J 


THE  ROYAL  BALLOON. 


151 


Gaines  oo  the  seventh  of  January,  seventeen 
hnndrcd  and  elghtj-five.  Nevertheless,  he 
had  drawn  npon  government  funds ;  and  he 
^till  adhered  to  his  purpose  of  passing  in 
a  balloon  f^om  France  to  England,  as  his 
more  fortunate  rival  had  done  from  England 
to  France.  The  latter  feat  has  been  several 
times  repeated,  the  former  has  never  yet 
been  accomplished.  De  Rosier  had  given  the 
Comptroller-Greneral  of  Finances  to  under- 
stand that,  if  he  would  pay  the  expense  of  the 
expedition,  he  (Pilatre)  would  execute  it.  His 
request  was  granted;  he  received  forty-two 
thousand  francs  (sixteen  hundred  and  eightv 
pounds  sterling)  as  a  first  instalment,  wnich 
was  afterwards  said  to  be  increased  till  it 
amounted  to  the  enormous  sum  of  a  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  fhtncs.  Romain,  who  then 
eigoyed  a  great  repute  for  manufacturing 
balloons,  made  an  agreement  with  Pilatre,  by 
which  he  bound  himself  to  construct  one  of 
thirty  feet  diameter,  or  thereabouts,  for  the 
sum  of  three  hundred  louis-d^ors.  Pilatre, 
whose  business  was  to  find  the  work-room, 
obtained  from  the  governor  of  the  Tnileries, 
the  Salle  des  Gardes,  and  another  apartment. 
The  work,  begun  at  the  end  of  August  seven- 
teen hundred  and  eighty-four,  was  completed 
six  weeks  afterwards.  Six  hundred  ells  of 
white  taffeta  were  employed  in  fabricating 
this  ill-starred  machine. 

Romain  had  strictly  kept  to  himself  the 
secret  of  rendering  taffeta  impermeable  to 
gas.    He  was  carefUl  beyond  measure  to  con- 
ceal his  mode  of  preparation.    He  worked  in 
solitude,  like  an  alchemist,  and  was  onl^ 
known  to  have  one  single  companion  of  his 
studies,  who  aided  him  gratuitously  in  the 
construction  of  his  balloon.  The  whole  secret 
consisted  in  covering  the  taffeta  with  a  coat 
of  linseed  oil  made  capable  of  drying  by  sugar 
of  lead,  and  in  pressing  in  till  it  only  felt 
greasy  in  the  hand.    Every  strip  was  then 
covered  with  gold-beater's  skin,  that  was 
made  to  adhere  by  ordinary  size,  in  which 
was  incorporated  a  mixture  of  honey  and 
•  linseed  oil.    These  Ingredients  gave  supple- 
ness to  the  size,  and  prevented  the  united 
superficies  from  cracking.    A  second    and 
third  layer  of  gold-beater^s  skin  were  added  ; 
and  the  balloon,  when  finished,  thirty-three 
and  a  half  French  feet  in  diameter,  and  orna- 
mented with  tinsel  in  different  parts,  weighed 
three  hundred  and  twenty  pounds,  including 
the  cylindrical  apparatus  that  helped  to  fill 
•  it    So  impermeable  was  it  that  it  remained 
distended    with    atmospheric  air   for    two 
months,  without  showing  a  single  wrinkle. 
If  De  Rosier  had  then  ascended  from  Paris, 
it  would  have  carried  him  almost  whitherso- 
ever he  would.    At  the  end  of  two  months, 
the  balloon,  carefully  packed,  was  transported 
to  Boulogne,  which  Pilatre  had  chosen  as  his 
starting-point.    Of  course,  the  packing  and 
.  transport  for  so  long  a  distance  by  land-car- 
riage, rendered  it  still  more  difficult  to  pre- 
serve uninjured  so  perishable  an  article  as  a 


balloon,  with  the  little  previous  experience  of 
managing  it  that  had  been  acquired.  A 
montgolfi^re  also  travelled  with  it,  twenty 
feet  high,  whose  cupola  was  formed  of  chamois 
leather.  It  was  tested  before  its  departure 
for  the  coast,  and  its  success  corresponded  to 
the  care  that  had  been  bestowed  upon  it 

The  montgolfi^re,  or  fire-balloon,  was, 
either  accidentally  or  purposely,  directly  or 
indirectly,  the  immediate  cause  of  Pilatre's 
fearful  end.  He  had  announced  some  new 
combination  of  the  means  of  ascent,  which  he 
shrouded  as  far  as  he  could  in  mvstery.  It 
seems  to  have  been  his  idea,  that  the  gas-bal- 
loon would  be  sufficient  to  carry  him,  while 
the  fire-balloon  would  give  him  gteat  com- 
mand of  equilibrium,  by  increasing  or  dimi- 
nishing the  fire  in  it,  so  as  almost  to  render 
him  independent  of  ballast  His  confidence 
in  the  long^snstaining  power  of  his  machine 
was  one  means  of  procuring  him  pecuniary  aid 
fh)m  the  government.  Whatever  might  be 
the  aerostatic  advantages  gained,  the  danger 
was  increased  enormouslv.  Either  a  gas- 
balloon  or  a  fire-balloon,  alone,  was  infinitely 
safer  than  the  two  united.  To  crown  the 
whole  rash  scheme,  the  hydrogen  gas  must 
necessarily  float  above  the  montgolfidre.  As 
his  friend,  Professor  Charles,  remonstrated 
with  him,  '*  you  are  putting  a  chafing-dish 
under  a  barrel  of  gunpowder.'' 

Pilatre  arrived  at  Boulogne  on  the  twentieth 
of  December,  seventeen  hundred  and  eighty- 
four,  followed  by  the  anxious  wishes  of  the 
subscribers  to  his  scientific  Lyceum,  and  also 
of  numerous  ladies  of  the  court,  who  had 
requested  him  to  bring  back  innumerable 
small  articles  from  England  to  serve  as  New 
Year's  Day  presents.  Two  days  after  his 
arrival  he  was  informed  of  the  preparations 
which  Blanchard  was  making  in  England  for 
a  voyage  which  should  compete  with  his  own. 
He  became  alarmed.  Ho  went  to  Dover; 
saw  Blanchard;  and,  for  a  moment,  enter- 
tained the  hope  (on  account  of  the  dilapidated 
condition  of  the  palloon,  ftom  which  the  gas 
oozed  in  many  places)  that  the  rival  ascent 
could  not  take  place.  His  anxious  fears  soon 
resumed  their  power ;  he  returned  to  Bou- 
logne; left  there  Romain  and  his  brother, 
who  had  accompanied  him,  and  went  to  Paris 
in  a  feverish  state  of  mental  torture. 

Meanwhile,  Blanchard  and  Jefferies  ascend- 
ed from  Dover,  and  reached  the  forest  of 
Guines  safe  and  sound.  Pilatre's  pride  re- 
ceived a  mortal  wound  at  failing  to  be  the 
first  to  cross  the  sea.  He  entreated  to  be 
excused  attempting  the  voyage.  Some  say 
that  the  Comptroller  of  Finances  consented, 
merely  claiming  the  surplus  of  what  had  not 
been  disbursed  about  the  balloon.  But  the 
wretched  Pilatre,  sure  of  success,  had  already 
spent  it  in  enriching  the  experimental  de- 
partment of  his  Lyceum.  Others  state  that 
when  he  explained  his  doubts  and  apprehen- 
sions to  M.  de  Calonne,  the  minister,  he  met 
with  a  cold  and  even  rough  reception. 


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152 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[OooductodbT 


"  We  have  not  gpent  a  handred  and  fifty 
thousand  francs,"  he  said,  "merely  to  help  yon 
to  make  an  inland  trip.  Ton  must  turn  the 
balloon  to  some  useful  account,  and  cross  the 
channel  with  it" 

However,  in  the  impossibility  of  fulfilling 
the  first  conditions,  and  under  the  necessity  of 
at  least  attempting  the  second,  he  returned  to 
Boulogne,  prepared  for,  and  evidently  expect- 
ing, the  worst 

It  may  appear  strange  that  a  minister  of 
the  crown  should  be  so  anxious  about  the 
accomplishment  of  a  mere  scientific  whim, — as 
the  balloon  passage  f^om  France  to  England 
would  seem  to  be, — and  should  advance  so 
large  a  sum  of  money  to  further  it  But 
there  was  more  than  a  scientific  result  in  the 
background,  and  De  Rosier  was  probably 
well  aware  of  it  It  was  the  common  report 
of  that  day,  that  the  grand  object  of  Pilatre's 
attempt  was  to  effect  the  escape  of  Louis  the 
Sixteenth  and  his  family  to  Great  Britain,  by 
an  aerial  route,  since  terrestrial  ways,  it  was 
instinctively  felt,  were  already  closed  against 
their  departure.  It  was  alreadv  foreseen  by 
acute  observers  of  the  signs  of  the  times,  that 
*  the  royal  family  of  France  was  alreadv 
doomed.  The  King's  want  of  energy,  Egalit^^s 
profligacy,  Necker's  vanity,  the  olwtinate 
pride  of  the  aristocracy,  and  the  wrongs  and 
sufferings  of  the  people,  all  tended  to  one  in- 
evitable catastrophe.  The  King,  even  then, 
had  not  a  will  of  his  own ;  his  house  was  not 
his  castle,  nor  his  actions  free.  He  was  drift- 
ing down  the  stream  with  that  increased 
rapidity  which  denotes  unmistakeably  that  a 
cataract  is  near.  No  person  of  ordinary  pe- 
netration would  be  surprised  to  find  him  not 
long  afterwards  a  prisoner  in  the  Tuilerics, 
walking  in  the  gardens  with  six  grenadiers  of 
the  milice  bourgeoise  about  him,  with  the 
garden  gates  shiit  in  consequence  of  his  pre- 
sence, to  be  opened  to  the  public  as  soon  as 
he  entered  the  palace.  He  might  order  a 
little  railed-off  garden  for  his  son,  the  Dau- 
phin, to  amuse  himself  in ;  but  the  poor  boy 
could  not  be  permitted  to  work  with  his  little 
hoe  and  rake  without  a  guard  of  two  grena- 
diers. Louis's  most  attached  friends,  as  well 
as  his  most  implacable  enemies,  foresaw  all 
this,  and  what  followed  it  A  balloon  was 
one  of  the  schemes  to  rescue  him ;  and  Pilatre 
de  Rosier  was  the  man  pitched  upon  to 
manage  it 

It  was  a  desperate  chance,  the  most  san- 
guine will  admit  Even  had  they  been 
launched  propitiously  with  a  favourable 
wind,  a  sudden  change  of  that  fickle  element 
might  have  swept  them  hopelessly  towards  the 
arctic  horrors  of  the  North  Sea,  or  to  the 
interminable  waters  of  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 
We  shudder  to  imagine  such  a  dreadful  fate 
as  possibly  awaiting  a  delicately-nurtured 
king  with  his  wife  and  children;* we  reflect, 
however,  that  such  a  speedy  termination  to 
their  sufferings,  arriving  at  latest  in  the 
course  of  a  few  days,  womd  have  been  mercy 


in  comparison  to  what  they  were  afterwards 
really  made  to  endure. 

Pilatre,  then,  seriously  prepared  for  his 
departure.  He  sent  off  numerous  pilot  bal- 
loons, which  were  constantly  driven  back  to 
the  continent  by  adverse  west  and  north-west 
winds.  All  this  caused  considerable  delay, 
during  which  the  balloon,  exposed  to  the 
wear  and  tear  of  the  elements,  was  consider- 
ably damaged ;  it  was  even  nibbled  by  rats. 
Henceforward,  the  machine  on  which  such 
care  and  expense  had  been  bestowed,  became 
leaky  and  worthless,  in  consequence  of  ill- 
treatment  and  want  of  shelter. 

A  better  prospect  opened  at  last ;  and  as 
the  wind  was  favourable,  blowing  rrom  the 
south-east,  the  departure  was  fixed  for  the 
fifteenth  of  June.  As  the  weather  was  ex- 
ceedingly hot,  preparations  were  commenced 
at  daybreak,  and  all  was  ready  by  seven 
o'clock.  A  salute  of  artillery  announced  the 
launch  into  air.  The  ascent  was  majestic 
The  balloon  rose  perpendicularly  to  its 
greatest  elevation ;  it  then  sailed  in  a  nor- 
therly direction,  over  the  top  of  the  cliff  of  La 
Oriche,when  a  current  from  the  upper  regions 
of  the  atmosphere,  which  had  been  foreseen  by 
sailors  best  acquainted  with  Channel  naviga- 
tion, wafted  it  gently  towards  the  continent 
Twenty-three  minutes  had  elapsed  since  the 
ropes  were  loosed  which  held  the  machine 
captive ;  the  acclamations  of  the  spectators 
had  not  ceased ;  every  eye  was  strained  to 
gaze  after  the  aerial  voyagers,  when,  just  as 
the  wind  drove  them  back  to  France,  cries  of 
alarm  from  the  united  crowd  announced  the 
fearful  calamity  which  it  witnessed.  A  bright 
light  burst  Arom  the  upper  balloon ;  a  volume 
of  smoke  succeeded  it :  and  then  commenced 
the  rapid  fall  which  piled  all  present  with 
consternation.  The  pcene  was  frip^htful ;  the 
crowd  shuddered  with  apprehension  of  what 
was  immediately  to  follow,  and  swung  back- 
wards and  forwards  like  tempest  -  tossed 
waves.  After  the  first  shock  of  terror,  a  great 
number  of  people  rushed  to  Wimereux,  in  the 
vain  hope  of  rendering  some  assistance.  They 
arrived  only  to  find  the  adventurers  past  all 
human  aid. 

I  cannot  help  entertaining  a  suspicion 
that  Pilatre  de  Rosier  perished  by  suicide  ; 
that  he  wilfully  set  fire  to  the  balloon  when 
he  found  there  was  an  end  of  all  his  hopes.  It 
i%  true  that  the  almost  fulminating  arrange- 
ment of  his  apparatus  might  have  caused  the 
explosion  to  result  fh)m  accident  or  indis-v 
oretion ;  and  therefore  no  more  than  a  su^i- 
cion  ought  to  be  suggested.  But  persons 
who  watched  the  progress  of  the  balloon 
with  telescopes,  assert  that  the  valve  of  the 
hydrogen  Iwlloon  was  not  secured.  Pilatre, 
too,  was  a  doubly  ruined  man ;  ruined  in 
money,  and  ruined  in  prestige.  Blanchard 
bad  robbed  him  of  his  crowning  ambition ; 
and  now  an  envious  puff  of  wind  forbade  his  . 
ever  being  allowed  to  attempt  the  transport*-  * 
tion  of  the  royal  family.    Pilatre's  coolness 


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Cbtflfli  DlekoM.] 


THE  ROVING  ENGLISHMAN. 


153 


presence  of  mind,  and  focultj  of  avoiding 
impending  danger,  were  notorious ;  so  also 
were  his  vanitj,  pride,  violence,  and  reckless- 
ness of  life.  A  man  who,  in  prosperity,  could 
fill  his  mouth  with  hydrogen  gas,  and  set  fire  to 
it  there,  and  who  could  expose  himself  repeat- 
edly to  be  struck  dead  in  hazardous  electrical 
experiments,  waa  not  likely  to  hesitate  when 
he  had  to  choose  between  disgrace  and 
despair.  His  friend  Charles  had  threatened 
to  blow  his  brains  out,  if  the  timid  king  per- 
sisted in  forbidding  him  to  make  an  ascent 
that  threatened  danger,  and  which,  wisely  on 
his  part,  was  his  fist  and  last  ascent,  or 
rather  two  consecutive  first  and  last  ascents 
on  one  day.  We  know,  too,  the  immense 
interest  which  the  court  (the  queen  particu- 
larly) felt  in  Pilatre's  success.  These,  and 
numerous  other  minor  scraps  of  evidence, 
all  lead  to  the  inference  that  De  Hosier's 
death  was  even  more  tragical  than  has  been 
currently  believed.  If  there  be  the  slightest 
truth  in  the  notion,  Bomaine  is  even  more 
greatljfr  to  be  pitied.  He  had  refused  the 
Marquis  of  Maisonfort's  offer  of  two  hundred 
loui^'ors  to  resign  his  place. 

The  spot  where  they  fell  is  a  very,  very 
little  way  from  the  sea.  The  conflagration 
must  have  taken  place  almost  immediately 
after  the  direction  of  their  course  was  altered. 
I  have  several  times  asked,  of  people  compe- 
tent to  judge,  whether,  if  they  had  fallen 
into  the  sea,  instead  of  upon  the  land,  they 
could  by  no  possibility  have  escaped  with 
life.  The  answer  has  been  that  perhaps  they 
might.  Conceive  the  Idea  of  talkiug  face  to 
face  with  a  man  who  had  fallen  from  the 
height  of  more  than  five  thousand  feet! 


THE  ROVING  ENGLISHMAN. 

FBOM  VARNA  TO  BALAKIAVA. 

Thk  anchor  is  weighed,  and  we  are  standing 
oat  to  sea.  The  prospect  around  is  not  veir 
cheering.  The  sky  is  of  a  dull  heavy  lead- 
colour  as  if  charged  with  snow  and  tempests. 
To  the  extreme  northward  a  dense  mass  of 
cumbrous,  fantastically-ahaped  clouds  seem  to 
menace  the  waters  with  their  wrath,  and  they 
have  that  black,  sullen  look  I  have  often 
observed  on  the  eve  of  a  storm.  The  short 
waves,  which  are  a  peculiar  characteristic  of 
the  Euxine,  chop  fitfully  against  each  other, 
and  their  angry  spray  shoots  upwards  with 
a  hissing  sound.  A  thick  mist  rises  along 
the  coast  and  soon  hides  it  from  our  view, 
then  it  spreads  along  the  sea,  and  seems 
to  settle  in  a  thin,  penetrating  rain  which 
comes  in  sudden  fretful  gusts,  and  then  suh- 
aides ;  to  return  again  presently  and  unex- 
pectedly. It  is  bitterly  cold.  That  clammy, 
deadly,  cold  of  these  climates,  against 
which  no  clothes  seem  able  to  protect  you. 
It  is  a  cold  which  is  not  felt  in  the  chest, 
nor  hands,  nor  feet,  as  our  cold  in  Europe 
is;  but  it  is  sure  to  strike  first  at  the 
stomach.  You  were  well  just  now,  and,  trying 


with  all  the  philosophy  at  your  command  to 
be  jovial  under  difficulties,  suddenly  you  are 
seized  with  agonizing  pains  just  below  the 
chest  In  vain  you  try  to  make  light  of  it. 
You  are  obliged  to  lean  for  support  against 
the  first  thing  or  person  at  hand.  Your  ex- 
tremities have  become  chilled  and  useless — 
you  sit  and  double  yourself  up,  hoping 
something  from  warmth  and  quiet — at  last 
you  lie  down  and  writhe  in  the  intensity  of 
your  pain.  If  you  are  driven  to  take  brandy 
{hot  Inttndy  and  water  is  best)  you  feel  a  pe- 
culiar  sickness  for  some  minutes,  and  then 
the  pain  slowly  subsides ;  but  it  leaves  you 
stupid  and  depressed  for  hours  afterwards ; 
and  trembling,  and  nervous.  The  only  way 
to  give  yourself  a  chance  of  escape  is  by 
winding  some  twenty  yards  of  silken  or 
woollen  sash  tightly  round  your  loins  and 
abdomen.  It  is  the  custom  of  the  country  ; 
the  dress  of  the  peasant  and  the  prince,  and 
you  will  soon  understand  tj^at  it  has  not  been 
adopted  without  a  reason.  This  was  the 
oommtncement  of  that  sickness  which  car- 
ried off  numbers  of  our  troops.  The  doctors 
called  it  cholera:  it  was  only  cold. 

Nothing  can  oe  much  more  dreary  and 
dispiriting  than  our  voyage.  There  is  a  good 
deal  of  brandy-drinking  and  a  brisk  consump- 
tion of  cigarettes  and  pipes:  but  it  does 
not  mend  our  spirits  much.  We  know  all 
about  the  wreck  of  the  Prince  and  the  gallant 
merchant  fleet  which  carried  the  winter- 
clothing  for  the  army.  Sad  accounts  have 
reached  us  of  the  fate  of  dear  friends,  and  of 
relatives  exposed  to  melancholy  privations. 
A  few  among  us  maybe  anxious  for  their 
own  fate  when  they  join  the  army  which 
has  hitherto  so  vainly  beleaguered  Sebas- 
topol.  See  yonder  pallid  lieutenant.  He 
was  sent  invalided  to  the  hospital  at  Scu- 
tari. He  recovered;  care  and  good-living 
soon  brought  him  round.  Then  he  begsea 
the  doctors  so  hard  to  let  him  rejoin 
his  regiment  that  they  consented.  But 
already  he  feels  the  numbing  hatfd 
of  the  malady  which  laid  him  low 
before,  and  he  will  return  soon,  or  die. 
There  is  a  fixed  and  steady  light  in  his  eye ; 
such  as  I  can  fancy  may  have  been  wit- 
nessed, though  unread,  by  those  who  stood 
round  Arthur  ConoUy  when  he  died  at  far 
Bokhara.  It  is  the  light  which  has  been  seen 
often  in  the  eyes  of  true  brave  men  who  were 
prepared  to  fulfil  their  duty  simply  and  un-^ 
flinchingly,  whether  death  stood  in  the  way, 
or  not  Indeed  this  officer  seems  to  have  laid 
this  truth  to  heart :  that  he  who  does  not  know 
how  to  die,  if  need  be,  should  hardly  be  a 
soldier.  He  tells  me  this  as  we  talk  together 
over  the  ship's  side,  merely  expressing  what 
is  ^rt  of  his  quiet,  noble  creed. 

We  leave  the  Isle  of  Serpents,  and  the 
months  of  the  Danube  on  the  larboard.  Now 
and  then  we  descry  a  war-steamer  paddlinff 
up  through  the  haze,  with  despatches,  and 
there  is  an  exchange  of  signals  between  us  ; 


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154 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


but  the  ships  look  shadowy  and  unsabetan- 
tial  as  phantomsy  so  that,  a  moment  after  they 
have  been  signalled,  the  straining  eye  searches 
vainly  for  them.  Still  we  are  glad  to  make  oat 
a  friendly  sail,  or  to  see  the  smoke  of  a  funnel. 
It  relieves  the  weariness  of  the  voyage,  and 
makes  the  slippery  deck,  and  cambered  hold 
more  cheerful. 

We  do  not  make  much  way,  for  we  are 
heavily  laden.  We  are  carrying  all  sorts  of 
fresh  provisions  and  stores :  yet  we  know  that 
our  burthen  will  disappear,  among  so  many, 
like  a  drop  of  water  in  the  sand ;  and  this 
is  another  reason  why  we  are  glad  to  see 
other  vessels  steering  toward  the  same  point 
At  last,  however,  as  we  draw  near  land,  the 
heavy  snow-storm  which  has  been  brooding 
80  long  in  the  air,  descends  with  an  effect  that 
is  quite  blinding.  Then  we  go  below,  and 
try  to  amuse  ourselves  as  well  as  we  can.  It 
is  too  dark  to  read  with  comfort,  except  at 
night,  when  the  candles  are  lighted ;  and  then 
we  are  most  of  us  drowsy.  So  we  play  at 
cards  and  tell  each  other  stories,  quite  fami- 
liarly ;  although,  wonderful  to  say,  we  may 
not  have  been  acquainted  before.  It  is  curious 
to  mark  how  tolerant  we  are  of  each  other^s 
little  weaknesses ;  and  how  closely  WB  seem 
to  be  drawn  together  by  the  mere  tie  of 
national  brotheriiood.  I  have  never  wit- 
nessed anything  like  it  before  amongst 
Englishmen. 

In  about  forty  hours  from  the  time  we  left 
Yama  we  anchored  at  Balaklava.  We  could 
hear  now  and  then  the  stray  boom  of  can- 
non to  windward;  and  we  could  see  the  flag 
of  England  flying  from  the  heights.  We  bad 
scarcely  cast  anchor,  when  we  were  boarded 
by  a  tumultuous  and  motley  crowd  of  officers 
off  duty,  looking  pale  and  haggard  enough. 
Doctors  with  anxious  faces  and  hurried  looks, 
brawny  boatmen,  and  lean  slovenly  servants 
on  foraging  expeditions.  You  could  hardly 
recognise  them  as  the  trim  smart  grooms  who 
had  left  Constantinople  a  short  time  ago. 
I  must  own,  also  to  some  surprise  at  being 
accosted  by  touters,  who  perceiving,  I  sup- 
pose, by  my  speculative  and  abstracted  looks, 
that  I  was  not  a  military  gentleman,obligingly 
offered  to  procure  me  quarters  for  a  con-sinie- 
ra-tion.  Come,  thougnt  I,  after  all,  things 
cannot  be  quite  so  bad  as  we've  heard  saj,  if 
a  voung  fellow  of  no  account,  like  this,  is 
able  to  get  me  food  and  shelter.  Whereupon 
I  fell  into  a  train  of  reflections. 

Our  greatest  curse  in  the  Crimea  has  been 
our  ignorance.  We  were  ol)liged  to  do 
everything  in  the  dark — to  feel  our  way 
at  every  step.  Thus  we  knew  that  the 
casual  visit  of  a  Frenchman  about  sixty 
years  ago  had  first  given  political  import- 
ance to  the  Crimea.  *  We  knew  that  the 
name  of  that  Frenchman  had  been  of  course 
forgotten.  We  should  like  to  hear  the  name 
of  the  Frenchman  who  suggested  ihe  build- 
ing of  old  Westminster  Bridge  or  any  other 
work  on  which  our  national  pride  reposes.   I 


warrant  it  would  be  as  hard  to  come  at  ai 
that  of  the  founder  of  SebastopoL 

Then  we  knew  that  there  was  a  bay  which 
Strabo  called  the  Ctenus,  and  a  Tartar  vilUge 
by  the  name  of  Aktiar(aneient).  We  knew  that 
the  appellation  of  Seba8tq;K>l  was  altogethef 
an  invention  of  the  respectable  but  lively 
Catherine.  Indeed,  there  was  no  end  to  the 
things  we  knew  which  were  not  of  the  snuUlest 
importance  for  anybody  to  know.  Of  ancient 
Chreson,  we  knew  all  that  Dubois  de  Mont- 
p^reux  and  Kohl  had  to  say  upon  the  snlject, 
and  that  I  am  sure  was  confusing  enongh— 
especially  to  read  when  sUghtly  sea-iick. 
With  regard  to  Balaklava  especially,  we  knew 
all  about  the  colony  of  Symbolum  (the 
Cembalo  of  the  Genoese);  also  about  Ulysses 
and  rthe  Lsestrigonians.  We  were  weU  up  io 
.various  matters  relating  to  Diana  :  her  fond- 
ness for  roasted  strangers,  the  elegance  of  her 
temple,  and  the  mysterious  functions  of  her 
Mend  Theos;  while  we  need,  of  coarse, 
scarcely  allude  to  Orestes  and  Pylades,  who 
have  been,  so  to  say,  old  familiar  friends  of 
ours  these  flve-and-twenty  years.  We  could 
have  recognised  their  lodging  even  by  the 
description  of  a  Zouave,  who  offered  himself 
as  a  sort  of  amateur  laquais  de  place.  The 
imperious  Iphigenia  was  also  a  lady  with 
whom  we  were  well  acquainted  by  repute, 
and  we  were  fully  instructed  about  subter- 
ranean Inkermann  and  the  Arians.  Cor 
education,  indeed,  like  that  of  most  of  oar 
clear-headed  practical  countrymen,  had  been 
altogether  in  this  directionr-so  of  course  we 
could  not  be  expected  to  know  anything  about 
the  wild  wind-gusts  which  come  on  unex- 
pectedly here,  and  one  of  which  absolutely 
blew  our  ship^s  boat  bottom  upwards,  aod 
drifted  it  away  like  a  straw  before  we  were 
aware  of  it — so  completely  were  we  taken  tj 
surprise  in  consequence  of  an  event  whicn 
an  officer's  Greek  servant  told  me  sohee- 
quently  was  quite  an  every-day  occurrence  at 
this  season  of  the  year,  and  a  very  well- 
known  peculiarity  of  the  climate.  The  cap- 
tains of  the  little  Greek  boats  which  ply 
about  these  seas  in  peace  time,  are  always 
verv  well  prepared  on  these  occasions.  Some 
of  these  men  would  have  been  invaluable  as 
pilots  ;  but  it  seems  the  naval  authorities  are 
now  afraid  to  employ  ihem — another  fine 
illustration  of  our  far-eighted  and  able 
policy  towards  the  Greeks  at  (the  outbreak 
of  the  war.  A  little  prudent  concession 
would  have  placed  tiiem  completely  on  oar 
side.  Now,  however,  I  have  no  doubt  that 
the  naval  authorities  have  good  reason  for 
their  suspicions,  and  tiiat  many  a  Greek 
pilot  would  risk  his  life  to  punish  us.  Indeed, 
the  melancholy  story  of  Uie  Tiger  is  proof 
enongh  of  it. 

These  thoughts  podthrely  haunt  me  at  oar 
boat  (recaught  and  brought  back  after  a  good 
deal  of  delay)  is  being  hustled  forward  by  a 
pair  of  short  fttt  oars  towards  the  shore,  and 
moderately  bumped  and  jockeyed  by  the 


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THE  ROVING  ENGLISHMAN. 


155 


more  livelj  craft  going  ia  the  same  direction 
We  land  at  last  amid  slash,  and  snow,  and 
slippery  loose  stones.  The  sky  over  onr 
hesds  is  inky  black,  and  the  clouds  on  the 
Terge  of  the  horizon  look  white.  The  ships 
in  the  pretty  harbour  (for  pretty  it  is,  in 
spite  even  of  the  scowl  of  winter),  are  in- 
distinct and  shadowy  firom  tile  thick  fall  of 
snow  which  lies  upon  every  spar,  amid  the 
folds  of  theur  drooping  penants, — on  their 
paddle-boxes,  and  their  light  sticks  aloft, — 
on  the  rim  of  the  captain's  hat,  as  he  paces 
the  deck  thoughtftiUy ;  wondering,  perhaps,  if 
the  little  worm  which  eats  holes  in  the  bot- 
toms of  vessels  when  at  anchor  in  these  seas, 
is  already  silentlv  feasting  upon  his;  or  i>er- 
haps  he  is  too  well-educatcS  to  know  anything 
about  so  unclassical  a  subject  as  this  vora- 
cious little  worm — a  terrible  reality,  never- 
theless. 

The  doctors  have  spurred  hurriedly  away, 
so  have  the  officers  and  the  foraging  servants, 
though  their  horses  look  gaunt  and  shaggy. 
In  colour  they  are  quite  rusty,  as  if  their  coat 
were  made  of  iron  wire  which  had  been  for 
some  time  exposed  to  the  rain. 

There  is  an  old,  old  look  about  Balaklava ; 
a  tumble  down  air  which  especially  belongs 
to  things  and  places  that  were  once  in  the 
possession  of  those  strange  trading  Italians  of 
the  middle  ages.  The  town,  a  miserable 
place,  lies  at  the  foot  of  a  range  of  hills 
on  the  east, — and  the  sea,  shut  in  bv  the 
mountains,  makes  the  harbour  look  almost 
like  a  lake.  The  ruins  of  an  old  Genoese 
fortress  frown  grimly  down  upon  it,  and 
seem  as  shadowy  and  indistinct  as  the  ships 
in  its  covering  of  snow.  On  the  hills  towards 
Baidar  lie  the  tents  of  the  Highlanders  and 
Turks,  together  with  a  contingent  of  marines 
and  some  sailors. 

We  are  soon  made  aware  of  the  near  neigh- 
bourhood of  Turks  and  sailors. 

Sailor  (with  great  contempt,  and  at  the  top 
of  his  voice).  "Blow  them  Turks!  I  say, 
you  bono  Johnny,— drat  you !  ahoy  I  ahoy  I 
you  beggar." 

Turkish  soldier  (with  much  courtesy). 
"Bono  Johnny!  oo,  oo,  oo,  Bono  Johnny!" 
he  waves  his  pipe  blandly  as  he  speaks,  and 
aaeumes  an  air  of  puzzled  jocularity,  as  if  he 
was  aware  that  there  was  some  pleasantry 
going  forward,  without  being  clearly  able  to 
divine  the  nature  of  it. 

Sailor  (now  roaring  with  tremendous  ener- 
gy). "  Ahoy !  I  say,  give  us  a  light !  Do  you 
think  nobody  wants  to  smoke  but  yourself, 
you  son  of  a  sea-cook  t" 

Turk  (swaying  his  head  from  side  to  side 
smilingly).    "  Bono  Johnny !  Bono  Johnny, 

oo,  00,  00." 

Sailor  (speechless  with  indignation  for  a 
moment,  as  if  this  were  really  too  much  for 
him).  "  None  of  that,  or  I'm  jiggered  if  I  don't 
spoil  your  old  mug  for  you.  (jive  us  a' light 
Why  don't  you  come,  you  beggar?  I  speak 
plain  enough,  and  loud  enough  too,  don't  I  ? " 


Turk  (perceiving  at  last  that  there  is  to  be 
another  row  with  an  infidel,  though  unable 
to  understand  whv)  drops  his  arms  by  his 
side,  and  looks,  blushing  and  wondering,  at 
the  excited  seaman.  He  twiddles  his  thumbs 
he  shuffles  with  his  feet,  he  looks  the  picture 
of  listless  incapacity,  like  most  of  his  country- 
men when  in  difficulties. 

The  sailor  meantime  marches  up  to  him 
and  attempts  to  light  his  pipe.  The  Turk 
is  a  petty  officer.  He  has  formerly  been 
the  aga  of  a  village,  and  he  looks  upon  this 
proceeding  as  a  direct  insult,  an  action  at 
variance  with  all  his  previous  ideas  of  cour- 
tesy and  good  breeding.  It  is  indeed  an 
action  similar  to  that  which  eating^ut  of  the 
plate  of  a  stranger  or  drinking  out  of  his 
glass,  unasked,  would  be  in  Euffiand. 

The  Turk  withdraws  his  pipe  therefore, 
and  his  looks  display  how  deeply  he  thinks 
his  dignity  is  wounded. 

And  the  sailor  takes  him  by  the  ear- 
by  the  left  ear,  for  I  paid  particular  attention 
to  the  circumstance.  He  then  stands  upon  one 
leg,  and  begins  to  execute  a  species  of  horn- 
pipe, tugging  at  that  ear  to  time.  It  is  a  sin- 
gular, though  not  to  me  a  very  agreeable 
fflght,  to  see  the  Turk  tucking  in  his  two- 
penny, and  following  the  stout  tar  in  these 
agile  movements.  Were  he  to  do  otherwise 
he  must  make  up  his  mind,  I  fear,  to  part 
with  his  left  ear  altogether,  for  the  sailor 
holds  it  with  a  grasp  like  a  vice,  and 
gives  satisfactory  evidence  how  far  human 
flesh  and  how  fhr  human  patience  can 
stretch. 

"  Hulloh,  Jack !  What  are  you  about  with 
that  poor  fellow?"  says  a  small  man  smo- 
thered in  clothes,  who  now  approaches  the 
pahr.  "  Here,  I'll  give  you  a  light  and  some 
baccy  too." 

"Lord  love  you,  guv'ner,  them  beggars 
alnt  fit  for  nothing  else  but  monkey's  allow- 
ance, they  aint.  Why,  I'm  blessed,  guv'ner, 
if  I  wasn't  a  hallooin'  to  un  for  an  hour, 
to  give  us  a  light,  and  he  wouldn't !  How- 
somedever,  they'll  lam  by  and  by,  how  this 
here  is  British  ground ;  won't  they,  sir  ?  " 
"  Ay,  ay,  Jack."  " 

The  truth  was,  the  sailor  was  as  racy 
a  tar  as  ever  chawed  a  quid ;  and  the  Turk 
was  perhaps  as  good  a  Mussulman  as  any 
going.  But  the  best  folks  do  not  always 
agree,  when  they  try  to  force  their  ideas  on 
each  other. 

«  What !  No  mustard  with  your  beef,  sir !" 
cried  Matthews,  stranger,  at  the  cofiPeehouse. 
"  Confound  you,  sir,  you  thall  have  mustard !" 
How  often  have  I  seen  that  stranger  ap- 
plying his  principles  to  other  things  than 
steaks  and  spices! 

On  the  wnole,  Balaklava  appeared  to  be 
"  the  thing,"  and  it  was  generally  expected  of 
us  to  express  the  utmost  satisfaction  at  being 
there.  Every  one  we  met  spoke  of  it  in  the 
holiday  language  used  by  country  cousins 
who  came  up  to  London  firom  the  wilds  of 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoDdMtedtv 


Lincolnshire  before  the  inventloa  of  railroads. 
In  fact,  there  seemed  an  impression  that  all 
things  might  be  had  here,  even  to  the  loxury 
of  something  eatable.  My  companion,  there- 
fore, looked  at  me  with  considerable  surprise, 
when  I  told  him  ruefully,  that  I  had  some 
preserved  meats  and  fruits  carefully  packed  in 
tin  coses  somewhere  among  my  luggage  (a 
dreary  pile),  I  did  not  clearly  know  where  5  for 
my  faculties  were  frozen.  "  Preserred  things 
in  tin  cases,"  said  my  friend,  brightening  up 
when  he  clearly  understood  me.  "Oh,  we 
can  send  those  on  to  the  camp.  Here  we  have 
got  all  sorts  of  things— salt  beef  and  pork — 
and  pork  and  beef— and,  and — well,  not  much 
more,  but.we  are  fairlv  in  clover  compared 
with  the  rest  of  the  fellows." 

It  was  quaint  to  hear  my  companion,  a 
regular  London  swell  —  whom  I  remem- 
bered very  well  with  nerves,  and  a  damaged 
digestion  —  thus  lauding  the  accommc^a- 
tions  of  Balaklava.  It  is  but  a  little  village 
— a  mere  collection  of  huts.  In  ordinary 
times  it  must  be  inexpressibly  dreary ;  but 
now  the  Greneral  Post  Office  ten  minutes 
before  closing  time  is  hardly  fuller  of  bust- 
ling, and  hustling,  and  scuffling.  Rusty,  im- 
patient individuals  on  short  leave  from  other 
places,  flounder  about  hurriedly,  yet  with  an 
odd  air  of  business  and  authority  in  all  they 
do,  which  bespeaks  the  stranger  on  a  hostile 
soil.  They  are  armed  also — needlessly  just 
here — but  who  among  them  knows  when  he 
may  be  summoned  to  ^e  front,  and  find 
himself  hand  fo  hand  with  the  enemy  7  It  is 
well^  therefore,  to  ride  prepared  even  when 
foraginff  within  your  own  lines.  They  are 
strangely  altered,  some  of  those  bucks  and 
bloods  I  see  stride  sloughingly  up  the  broken 
street,  now  in  a  mud  hole,  now  out  of  it,  now 
sending  the  splashes  from  a  half-melted  snow 
puddle  fiyiQg  right  and  left  on  each  side  of 
them.  They  hardly  look  the  same  men  who 
used  to  step  mlncingl^.  out  of  their  cabs  and 
strut  daintily  into  their  clubs.  Barring  a  few 
soiled  and  torn  remnants  of  what  was  once  a 
uniform,  and  still  looks  something  like  one 
when  you  get  quite  close  to  it,  they  might  be 
so  many  Californian  Diggers.  They  are  be- 
grimed, gaunt,  grim,  famished,  and  luckless 
enough.  They  have  the  boldest  contrivances 
to  keep  themselves  dry  and  warm.  Wherever 
an  article  of  fur  or  wool  can  be  worn  by  any 
one  who  is  fortunate  enough  to  possess  it, 
there  it  is.  Round  their  waists  are  twisted 
immense  gay-coloured  scarfs,  bought  at  fabu- 
lous prices.  On  their  feet,  are  coverings 
which  might  be  the  seven-leagued  boots  of 
the  giant  Blunderbore. 

The  occupation  of  almost  everybody  seems 
to  be  connected  with  eating.  Little  knots  of 
fellows  adyoum  for  impromptu  feasts  to  all 
sorts  of  places,  and  dispense  with  knives, 
and  forks,  and  plates  with  the  utmost  readi- 
ness. They  have  at  length  acquired  that 
branch  of  Turkish  politeness,  which  consists 
in  eating  with  the  fingers;     others   more 


fortunate  have  invitations  to  cosy  Utile  things 
on  board  some  of  the  ships  in  the  bay.  Lacl^ 
dogs! 

Meantime,  I  wander  about  leisurely,  no. 
body  minding  me  —  by-and-by,  at  dinner 
time,  there  will  be  some  conversation,  but  not 
now.  So  I  get  among  the  hovels  near  tlie 
shore,  and  enter  one,  knocking  my  head  dis- 
tinctly, as  I  do  so.  It  looks  not  unlike  an 
all-sorts  shop  at  Wapping.  Rolling  abont  in 
oozy,  frozen  barrels,  is  an  immense  quantitj 
of  salt  pork  —  that  prime  delicacy  recom- 
mended for  its  being  easier  cooked,  and  keep- 
ing better  than  beef:  also  recommended, p(3^ 
haps,  because  swine's  flesh  is  precisely  the 
sort  of  meat  which  is  forbidden  to  be  eaten 
by  the  inhabitants  of  those  latitudes.  Trim 
kegs  of  rum,  piled  up  one  over  the  other,  look 
cheerily  at  us  from  corners.  Something  is 
carefully  packed  in  sacking,  and  steadily  lying 
in  soak  as  it  were  between  the  wet  ground  and 
the  snow.  This,  I  am  told,  is  part  of  the  freeli 
supply  of  warm  clothes  sent  from  Constanti- 
nople or  Bucharest  since  the  loss  of  the  Prince. 
There  are  stacks  of  guns,  too,  and  piles  of 
ammunition,  also  some  cannon.  Everything 
seems  in  a  wretched  disorderly  plight  Out 
of  doors  there  is  a  crowd  fiilly  equal  to  that 
of  Whitechapel  on  a  Saturday  night,  barring 
the  ladies.  There  is  quite  as  much  shouting 
and  hallooing,  however,  for  provisions  are 
being  landed  from  the  transports  and  then 
hurried  away  to  the  camp.  It  is  not  very  far 
off",  but  the  road  there  is  "  too  bad,  sir,  en- 
toirely  I "  as  an  Irishman  has  just  told  me. 
Neither  horse  nor  man  can  make  sure  of 
reaching  it  when  he  goes  hence,  and  a  ponnd 
weight  difi'erence  to  their  burthen  may  render 
the  journey  impossible  to  either. 

Wandering  about,  I  find  that  Balaklava 
boasts  a  low  wall  singularly  useless  and 
ill-built  ^  down  a  break-toe  street  also  is  a 
well,  quite  impregnable,  I  should  say,  from 
the  difficult  and  ancle-wrenching  nature  of  its 
natural  fortifications.  Farther  on,  are  some 
melancholy  hypochondriacal  trees,  four  of 
them,  I  think,  as  straight  and  dull  as  so  many 
gigantic  vegetable  policemen.  Balaklava 
possesses  also  a  good-for-nothing  old  Genoese 
fortress,  a  church  of  no  account,  and  a  briak 
colony  of  a  small  Crimean  insect  which  seems 
to  have  a  wonderful  partiality  for  freeh 
stranger  considered  in  an  alimentary  point  of 
view.  This  energetic  little  race  provides  me 
with  considerable  occupation:  it  is  with  satis- 
faction also  that  I  notice  several  other  persons 
furnished  with  emplovment  similar  to  mine, 
and  performing  their  allotted  task  with 
much  diligence  and  apparent  pleasurable 
feeling. 

Yes ;  Balaklava  is  a  wretched  little  place 
enough ;  yet  I  dare  say  there  are  some  who 
would  rather  not  ride  away  from  it  throng 
the  fast  falling  snow  to-night ;  and  I  feel  that 
many  ft  bold  fellow  must  turn  longing  glances 
at  the  lights  which  glow  out  of  the  snog 
cabin  windows,  and  the  blazes  seen  through 


J, 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ChArlM  Dickeni.] 


RALPH  THE  NATURALIST. 


157 


tho  open  doorway  as  his  Ariends  bid  him  good 
bye,  and  hJB  lank  horse  plods  wearily  camp- 
wards. 


ONE  BY  ONE. 
On  bj  one  the  Mnde  are  flowingf 

One  bj  one  the  moments  fall; 
Some  tn  coming,  some  are  going. 

Do  not  strire  to  grasp  them  all. 

One  bj  one  thj  daties  wait  thee, 
Let  thy  whole  strength  go  to  each, 

Let  no  future  dreams  elate  thee, 
Learn  thou  first  what  these  can  teach. 

One  hj  one  (bright  gifts  from  Heaven) 

J07S  are  sent  thee  here  below ; 
Take  them  readllj  when  given, 

Readj  too  to  let  them  go. 

One  bj  one  thy  grieft  shall  meet  thee. 

Do  not  fear  an  armed  band ; 
One  will  fitde  as  others  greet  thee, 

Shadows  passing  through  the  land. 

Do  not  look  at  life's  long  sorrow ; 

See  how  small  each  moment's  pain ; 
God  will  help  thee  for  to-morrow, 

Every  day  begin  again. 

Every  hour  that  fleets  so  slowly 

Has  its  task  to  do  or  bear ; 
Luminoos  the  crown,  and  holy. 

If  thou  set  each  gem  with  care. 

Do  not  linger  with  regretting. 

Or  for  passing  hoars  despond ; 
Nor,  the  daily  toil  forgetting, 

Look  too  eagerly  beyond. 

Hoars  are  golden  links,  God's  token. 
Reaching  Heaven ;  bat  one  by  one 

Take  them,  lest  the  chain  be  broken 
£ro  the  pilgrimage  be  done. 

RALPH  THE  NATURALIST. 

A  STRANGE  dreamy  fellow  was  Ralph 
Jessctt,  always  wandering  about  the  woods 
and  fields  by  himself,  and  finding  out  more 
secrets  of  nature,  in  his  queer  shambling 
way,  than  he  would  have  ever  learnt  from 
science  had  he  gone  through  all  the  triposes 
of  Cambridge.  He  knew  where  almost  every 
nest  in  the  garden  was,  from  the  tomtit's,  in 
the  wall  of  the  old  arbour,  to  the  shy  linnet^ 
hidden  low  among  the  shrubbery  trees ;  and 
the  sitting  birds  never  flew  away  ftom  Ralph 
Jessett's  looking  at  them.  They  seemed  to 
know  that  he  was  a  friend,  and  would  not 
harm  them.  He  would  tell  marvellous  stories 
of  the  intelligence  of  all  creation,  from  snails 
to  dogs ;  and  as  for  spiders,  and  earwigs,  and 
centipedes,  and  all  manner  of  creeping,  crawl- 
ing, wriggling  creatures,  why  to  hear  him 
70a  would  thmk  that  Newton  and  Shaks- 
peare  were  mere  humbugs  compared  to 
them.  He  had  no  antipathies  either.  It 
was  quite  curious  te  see  the  unconcern  with 
which  he  would  handle  slugs,  toads,  water- 


newts, — every  kind  of  entomological  abomi- 
nation! saying,  with  his  sweet  smile  and 
embarrassed  humility.  '*  The  more  one  knows, 
the  more  one  loves  all  things  in  nature.^' 
And  then  he  would  give  long  accounts  of  the 
love-worthiness  of  these  creatures,  the  very 
mention  of  which  would  have  made  manv  a 
young  lady  scream  and  shudder ;  but  after 
hearing  Ralph's  biographies,  one  felt  quite 
respectfully  towards  efts^nd  cleggs,  and  stag- 
beetles,  and  hundred-legs  of  every  race,  and 
almost  ashamed  somehow  of  being  a  man, 
and  not  an  insect 

He  had  always  been  queer,  this  poor  rela- 
tion of  the  rich  Temples  of  Manor  House. 
His  mother  used  to  fret  about  him  a  great 
deal  before  she  died ;  for  she  fancied  he  was 
not  quite  "  canny,"  as  the  Scotch  say,  and 
that  ne  would  never  make  his  way  in  the 
world,  left  as  he  was  without  fortune,  and 
with  such  unprofitable  tastes  only.  For  he 
cared  only  for  natural  history,  and  onlv  for 
that  exi)erlmentally,  not  scientifically.  When 

guite  a  little  fellow—and  obliged  to  stop  at 
ome  alone,  and  not  take  part  in  any  sort  of 
game  or  play,  because  he  was  so  sickly— he 
might  be  heard  talking  to  the  butterflies  and 
birds  flying  low  about  him,  holding  long  con- 
versations with  them,  and  telling  them  that 
he  loved  them, — oh  I  far  better  than  anything 
else  in  the  world ;  which  he  did,  excepting 
his  dear  mother. 

In  the  days  of  witchcraft  and  fairy-folk, 
Ralph  would  have  been  thought  an  elf-child 
to  begin  with,  and  a  wizard  as  he  went  on. 
As  it  was,  he  was  such  a  withered,  quaint, 
odd-looking  creature,  with  so  much  irregular 
learning,  and  so  much  simplicity  of  character, 
that  it  was  a  puzzle  to  many  whether  he 
were  'cute  or  simple,  as  the  country  people 
say.  And  when  he  went  to  live  at  Manor 
House,  on  his  mother's  death,  it  was  thought 
quite  a  charity  in  Mr.  Temple  to  take  him, 
(though  he  received  pavmentfor  his  education 
and  maintenance),  ana  a  very  great  honour 
for  Ralph  to  be  admitted  to  his  establish- 
ment They  were  cousins  though :  and  in 
early  life  Ralph's  father  had  been  of  infinite 
service  to  Mr.  Temple.  But  Ralph  thought 
it  an  honour  with  the  rest,  and  said  so 
loudly  ;  for  he  had  net  a  very  exalted  notion 
of  his  own  dignity,  and  was  far  more  inclined 
to  gratitude  &an  to  self-assertion.  His  birds 
and  insects  taught  him  humility,  he  used  to 
say. 

The  Temples  were  very  kind,  in  their  way, 
to  Ralph.  Mrs.  Temple  took  great  interest 
in  him,  and  supplied  him  with  books,  and 
encouraged  his  tastes,  so  fkr  as  she  could. 
For  she  was  a  sweet,  placid,  fair-faced  woman, 
— one  of  those  women  who  go  upstairs  very 
slowly,  and  who  breathe  very  hard  while 
they  are  doing  so, — an  indolent  gentlewoman, 
who  was  never  seen  to  run  since  her  teens, 
and  who  was  never  known  to  be  cross  since 
she  cut  her  teeth, — a  woman  whose  most 
positive  acts  were  those  that  should  make 


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168 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Condocted  bj 


other  people  happy,  and  whoae  only  incentive 
to  exertion  was  uiat  she  wonld  do  a  kindness 
to  another.  She  petted  Ralph  a  good  deaL 
Her  husband — a  hard  pompons  man,  who 
carried  everything  before  him  in  the  parish 
by  dint  of  quickness  in  figures  and  a  deep 
voice—said  sne  spoiled  the  boy.  He  did  not 
approve  of  poor  relations  with  quaint  tastes 
and  inquiring  minds.  He  thought  they  ought 
to  be  practical,— "  fit  for  clerltships  and 
counting-houses,  sir :  not  always  living  in 
snail-sheils  and  dog-kennels."  But  now  he 
was  obliged  to  confess  that  patronage  might 
be  worse  bestowed  than  on  that  "loose- 
jointed  awkard  fool  of  a  fellow,  who,  by 
Jove,  sir,  would  not  kill  the  slugs  off  my 
peach-trees,  nor  shoot  the  blackbirds  in  the 
cherry-trees,  nor  take  the  crows'-nests,  nor 
shoot  the  sparrows, — who  would  not  even 
chop  up  a  worm  when  he  was  digging  in  the 
garden  I"  But  at  last  he  got  accustomed  to 
Ralph  and  his  odd  ways ;  and,  partly  per- 
haps because  all  his  energies  were  absorbed  in 
opposing  an  obnoxious  churchwarden  whom 
he  used  to  call  a  viper  and  a  traitor  to  the 
blessed  constitution,  he  let  him  alone,  and 
allowed  his  wife  to  dispense  her  sweet  cha- 
rities at  her  will.  So  Ralph  wandered  about, 
looking  after  grubs  and  caterpillars,  or  sat  by 
the  fire  reading  about  ants,  and  emmets,  and 
song-birds,  and  dormice,  till  he  knew  as  much 
about  them  as  one  of  themselYcs, — and  per- 
haps more. 

Little  Miss  Temple  and  Ralph  Jessett 
were  great  friends.  She  was  a  little  lady  of 
about  five  or  six  years  old  when  Ralph  came 
to  Manor  House, — ^he  a  boy  of  eighteen  or 
nineteen  ;  and  they  soon  became  the  firmest 
and  fastest  allies  possible.  The  way  in  which 
the  little  thing  used  to  cling  to  him,  follow 
him  about  the  garden,  and  perch  on  his  knee 
to  hear  his  stories  about  creeping  things, 
was  quite  beautiftil.  All  the  servants  said, 
that  Master  Ralph  was  the  only  one  in  the 
world  who  could  manage  Miss  Letty, — "  the 
plague  of  the  whole  house,"  they  used  to  add 
savagely,  and  truly;  for  that  she  TC^as  this 
domestic  inconvenience  there  is  no  denying, 
I  fear.  What  can  a  healthv  well-organized 
child  be  but  a  plague,  if  all  her  youth  and 
energy  of  life  be  placed  under  the  harrow  of 
conventionality  ?  Miss  Letty  was  no  excep- 
tion to  the  rule  that  force  must  have  an 
object,  and  that  energy  must  be  expanded ; 
still  less  to  that  which  makes  healthy  children 
of  high  spirits  family  torments,  nnless  they 
are  allowed  to  live  somewhat  according  to 
the  necessities  of  their  being.  However,  she 
was  very  good  to  Ralph,  and  did  not  tease 
him  much.  And  Ralph,  in  return  for  her 
patronage,  instructed  her  in  a  great  deal  of 
insect  lore,  and  taught  her  the  names  of 
birds,  and  the  habits  of  fishes,  and  the  won- 
derful virtues  of  plants, — Letty  sitting  on 
his  knee  down  in  the  old  arbour,  wher» 
the  tomtit's  nest  was,  wondering  if  she  should 
ever  be  as  clever  as  Ralph  Jessett,  and  what 


a  pity  it  was  her  doll  could  not  hear  him  as 
well  as  she  did.  So  Ralph  and  Letty  were 
great  cronies,  and  believed  in  each  other  im- 
plicitly. 

Time  gradually  unfolded  one  after  another 
of  his  huge  iron  books  of  years  ;  till  the  little 
Letty  had  grown  into  a  fine  handsome  girl 
of  eighteen,  with  eyes  as  blue  as  the  sky 
on  a  hot  summer's  day,  and  hair  as  golden  as 
the  sun's.    She  was  a  magnificent  specimen 
of  a  Saxon  girl,  with  perhaps  more  animation 
in  that  fresh,  round  face  of  hers  than  many 
of  the  Saxon  race  "  pure  blood," — with  a 
pair  of  large  round  shoulders  as  white  as 
snow,  and  arms  and  hands  that  would  have 
made  the  fortune  of  a  modeller,  if  he  could 
have  copied  them  correctly.    Her  lips  were 
as  fresh  and  red,  and  her  skin  was  as  white 
as  human  fiesh  may  be  ;  and  altogether  she 
was  as  superb   a  being  as  you  wonld  see 
anywhere  in  England,  and  was  consequently 
a  great  pride  to  the  parents,  and  the  acknow- 
ledged beauty  of  the  county.     She  herself 
quite   conscious   too,  in    a    good-tempered 
way,  that  she  was  beautiful  and  admirable, — 
vain  as  a  high-bred  hunter  would  have  been 
vain,  if  conversant  with  his  own  peculiar 
points  of  beauty, — not  like  a  peacock,  but  in 
a  free,  half-laughing,  gallant  manner,  quite 
content  to  admire  herself,  but  not  fretting 
after  the  admiration  of  all  the  world  beside ; 
perhaps  because  she  had  it.    And  all  the 
time  sne  had  been  developing  into  this  grand 
creature — all  the  time  she  had  been  growing 
stronger  and  handsomer,  and  fuller  of  life  and 
more  powerful — Ralph  Jessett  had    shrunk 
and  shrunk,  till  now,  at  a  little  more  than 
thirty,  he  was  bald  and  gray,and  withered  and 
wrinkled;  shyer  and  more  awkward  than  ever; 
a  better  naturalist  certainly,  but  stranger, 
more  shambling  and  less  worldly,  than  he 
was  when,  as  a  boy  of  eighteen,  he  first  came 
to  Manor  House  as  Mr.  Temple's  poor  rela- 
tion,— more  loved  than  ever  by  everybody. 
Even   the   squire  sometimes   condescended 
to  exchange  a  few  kindly  words  with  hinn, 
and  sweet  Mrs.  Temple,  stouter  and  lazier 
than  in  olden  times,  smiling  on  him  placidly, 
as  she  kept  him   holding  skeins  for  her  to 
wind  off  his  hands,  by  the  hour  together  ; 
Miss  Letty  only  changing  somewhat  in  her 
demonstrations,  eschewing  now  that  parti- 
cular form  of  friendship  which  she  and  hex 
doll  used  to  indulge  in,  ten  years  ago,  down 
in  the  tomtit's  arbour,  but  capital  fricndB 
still  with  Ralph,  although  she  did  no  long^ 
sit  on  his  knee,  and  try  to  poke  out  his  eyes  ; 
but  counting  him  as  entirely  her  property 
and  creature  as  Dido,  her  spaniel,  or  Frisk, 
her  pony, — ^Ralph  nothing  loth  to  be  so  class- 
ed, as  much  for  love  of  his  co-subjects  as  for 
their  queen. 

As  Miss  Letty  grew  out  into  this  brilliant 
womanhood,  Ralph's  manners  were  observed 
to  chan^.  Always  respectful,  even  to  the 
little  girl,  he  became  reverential  to  the 
young  lady ;  and  while  his  anxiety  to  please 


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RALPH  THE  NATURALIST. 


159 


her  increased  tenfold,  hU  embarrassment 
and  shyness  increased  tenfold  as  well.  She 
herself  saw  it  at  last,  and  scolded  Ralph 
soundly,  for  she  was  a  free-spoken,  free- 
hearted girl,  and  hated  mysteries  and  misun- 
derstandings. She  told  Ralph  once,  that  if 
he  was  dissatisfied  with  her,  and  spoke  to 
her  in  that  ridiculous  way — ^why  she  wasnH 
an  eastern  princess ! — he  bad  better  go ;  for 
she  hated  people  to  be  unhappy  because  of 
her,  and  what  had  she  done  to  make  him  so 
cool  and  reseryed?  A  speech  which  made 
Ralph  cry  as  if  his  heart  was  breaking ;  partly 
from  distress  at  haying  ofifended  her,  and 
partly  from  gratitude  at  her  condescension  in 
taking  any  notice  of  his  manners  at  all.  At 
which  Miss  Letty  said,  she  thought  he  must 
be  really  half  an  idiot— Ralph  looking  as 
delighted  as  if  she  had  called  him  an  angel — 
for  how  could  people  haye  been  brought  up 
together  without  getting  fond  of  each  other, 
and  had  they  not  been  good  friends  all  their 
livesj  so  why  shouldn't  she  care  for  him  like 
her  own  brother  now?  Which  was  such  a 
pleasant  ending  to  tiieir  quarrel,  that  Ralph 
had  no  sleep  all  night  in  consequence. 

About  this  time  Mr.  Temple  took  it  into 
his  head  that  Ralph  Jesse  it  should  "  com- 
mence a  career  of  usefulness.*'  He  had  his 
choice  of  eyery  profession  under  the  sun, 
said  the  squire;  but  choose  one  he  must! 
So  Ralph,  after  a  great  deal  of  hesitation, 
chose  that  of  an  analytical  chemist,  which, 
at  least,  was  a  brancn  of  natural  science, 
he  said.  People  laughed  at  the  notion 
of  such  an  awkward  fellow  eyer  making 
delicate  experiments.  "Why  he  would  be 
frightened  at  his  own  chemicals,"  they  all 
said  ;  but  Ralph  blushed  and  fidgetted,  and 
told  them  he  should  get  oyer  that,  per- 
haps, if  it  were  necessary ;  at  any  rate 
he  would  try.  Good  Mrs.  Temple  aided 
him  in  the  way  he  was  going  as  usual ;  and 
Miss  Letty,  too,  said  he  was  right  to  obey 
papa,  and  do  as  he  told  him  ;  but  she  cried 
when  the  time  came  for  him  to  go,  and 
pouted  a  great  deal.  Ralph  went  almost 
beside  himself  at  the  sight  of  her  tears,  and 
was  nearly  glying  up  the  plan,  and  bearding 
Mr.  Temple  in  his  den— the  library — in  a 
fit  of  enthusiastic  rebellion,  had  he  not  been 
afraid  of  Mrs.  Temple,  who  fortunately  was 
in  the  room  at  the  moment  But  it  was 
dreadful.  He  used  to  wonder  afterwards  at 
his  own  firmness,  and  always  felt  like  a  mur- 
derer wheneyer  he  thought  that  he  had  once 
made  Miss  Letty  cry.  Howeyer,  Letty  dried 
her  eyes,  which  began  to  smart,  and  old 
Ralph  wont  away  to  a  chemist's  in  Edin- 
burgh ;  and  in  a  short  time  Miss  Letty  grew 
accustomed  to  his  absence,  and  gradually  re- 
organised her  life  without  him.  For  she  was 
not  a  yery  reflectiye  young  lady ;  nor  one 
whose  affections  went  much  oeyond  the  limit 
of  her  yision.  A  joyous,  red-lipped,  white- 
armed  girl,  life  was  all  before  her,  and 
pleasure    for    the   present,   hope   for   the 


future  but  no  regret  for  the  past,  bound  her 
ia  a  silyer  chain,  strung  through  with  flowers. 
So,  while  Ralph  studied  the  properties  of 
gases,  and  dreamed  of  Miss  Letty  by  turns, 
the  foot-prints  of  the  past  were  being  slowly 
efiiiced  from  that  young  lady's  heart  by  the 
rising  wayes  of  new  associations. 

Miss  Letty  went  a  yisiting.  To  the  De- 
laforces,  of  Delaforce  House, — an  old  French 
emigrant  family,  which,  by  intermarriage 
with  English  heiresses,  had  gr^ually  raised 
themselyes  to  opulence  and  consideration. 
There  was  one  son  now  in  the  family,  a  young 
man  just  of  age,  owning  a  dog-cart  and  a  pair 
of  moustachios.  There  was  also  a  daughter  of 
Letty's  own  age ;  who,  as  often  chances  with 
sisters  possessing  handsome  brokers,  was 
the  especial  darling  of  all  the  young  ladies  in 
the  place,  and  chief  of  all  with  Letty  Temple, 
the  heiress  of  Manor  House.  When  Letty 
went,  she  was  gay,  j  when  Letty  came  back, 
she  was  dull.  Her  father  and  mother  both 
saw  the  change,  and  asked  the  reason ;  but 
Letty  pouted  or  laughed,  according  to  her 
humour,  and  reftised  to  giye  any.  "  There 
was  none,"  she  said,  "it  was  all  papa's 
fancy ; "  and  then  she  ran  away  down  into 
the  shrubbery  at  the  end  of  the  garden,  where 
she  had  half-a-dozen  hiding-places  no  one 
but  Ralph  and  herself  knew  of;  and  there 
they  were  obliged  to  leaye  her,  till  she  chose 
to  emerge  of  her  own  accord.  And  as  in  a 
short  time  she  forgot  to  be  quite  so  dull 
as  when  she  first  came  home,  and  as  she 
looked  well,  and  eat  well,  and  slept  well,  and 
was  only  rather  cross  at  times,  her  father  and 
mother  ceased  to  ask  her  any  questions  on 
the  subject,  or,  indeed,  to  thinkof  her  changed 
manner  at  alL  Mrs.  Temple  only  said,  some- 
times, "My  loye,  I  am  sure  you  are  bilious 
to-day." 

Miss  Letty  was  in  loye.  The  reader 
knows  that,  tnough  the  squire  did  not.  But 
young  Mr.  Delaforce,  who  had  a  loye 
m  London,  had  declared  to  his  sister  Julia, 
that  "  Miss  Temple  was  not  at  all  his  style  of 
beauty,  and  that  he  did  not  admire  her  the 
least  in  the  world."  Which  complicated 
matters  not  a  little. 

In  the  mean  time  Ralph  came  home  for  a 
yacation  from  his  gases  and  retorts,  and  soon 
Letty  and  he  wore  on  their  old  terms  of  con- 
fidence together.  Letty  told  him  all  that 
moyed  in  her  world,  and  he  told  Letty  all 
that  he  thought  and  felt  in  his.  But  as  yet 
the  name  of  Montague  Delaforce  had  not 
been  mentioned  between  them. 

"  Ralph,"  said  Letty,  suddenly.  They  were 
in  the  arbour  together,  at  the  bottom  of  the 
garden ;  the  arbour  in  the  shrubbery,  where 
the  old  tomtit's  nest  used  to  be,  when  Letty 
was  a  child.  "Ralph,  do  you  think  me 
pretty?"  She  did  not  look  merely  pretty 
when  she  asked  that  question,  but  superbly 
handsome. 

"  Yes,"  said  Ralph,  neryously,  "I  do,  Miss 
Letty  :  very  pretty,''  with  emphaais. 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS, 


[Conducted  bf 


"  Would  every  one,  Ralph  ?  " 

**  I  should  think  bo,  Mias  Letty,  every  one 
who  had  eyes,  and  knew  what  beauty  was 
when  they  saw  it." 

Letty  appeared  to  reflect;  her  thoughts 
were  never  very  profound,  but  this  time  she 
did  think.  And  then  she  said,  suddenly, 
"  Then,  Ralph,  why  does  not  Mr.  Delaforce 
like  me  better?" 

A  question  poor  Ralph  was  quite  unable  to 
answer;  excepting  by  a  vague  invective 
against  Mr.  Delaforce,  for  daring  to  have  any 
thought  about  Miss  Letty  Temple  but  one  of 
reverence  and  awfiil  admiration. 

''  I  wish  you  would  tell  him  all  that,"  said 
Letty,  when  he  had  ended. 

"Why,  Miss  Letty?" 

"  Because  he  does  not  like  me."  said  Letty, 
bluntly  J  "  and  I  wish  he  did." 

Ralph  was  indignant  at  Miss  Letty's  hold- 
ing herself  so  cheap.  He  thought  she  ought 
to  be  indiflTerent  to  Mr.  Delaforce,  and  every 
other  Mr.  in  the  world.  Why,  there  was  not 
one  fit  to  tie  her  very  shoe-strings,  he  said 
angrily— quite  savagely,  for  him — and  why 
did  she  care  for  Mr.  Delaforce  or  any  one 
like  him  ?  A  set  of  senseless  puppies  that 
wanted  cropping — what  was  there  to  care 
about  in  them  ? 

*'  But  I  do  care,"  persisted  Letty.  "  And  I 
don't  like  Mr.  Montague  to  slight  me  as  he 
does ;  it  is  not  pleasant.  So,  dear  old  Ralph, 
you  mnst  make  him  think  better  of  me  ;  for 
I  am  so  fond  of  Julia,  that  it  is  quite  dis- 
agreeable her  brother  hating  me  as  he  does," 
she  added,  almost  crying.  And  I  daresay 
she  thought  she  did  care  as  much  for  Julia 
as  she  did  for  Julia's  brother. 

Of  course  Ralph  could  only  do  as  he  was 
bid,  and  further  his  young  queen's  wishes  to 
the  utmost  So  now,  whenever  he  saw  the 
Delaforces ;  which,  owing  to  Miss  Letty's  ex- 
cessive attachment  to  Miss  Julia,was  flrequent, 
he  lost  no  opportunity  of  extolling  thatyonng 
lady's  perfections ;  especially  before  Mr. 
Montague,  though  it  almost  choked  him  to 
do  so,  to  gain  the  admiration  of  such  a  puppy 
as  that  for  his  sovereign  mistress.  In  which 
process  of  exaltation  Ralph  grew  sadder  and 
paler  daily,  though  he  could  not  himself  have 
told  what  was  the  matter  with  him. 

One  particularly  fine  day  in  Spring,  Mr. 
Montague's  love  in  London  married  Captain 
Wilkie  of  the  Blues.  They  had  been  engaged 
for  the  orthodox  time,  unknown  to  Mr.  Mon- 
tague Delaforce ;  who,  being  an  heir  to  a  good 
estate,  the  young  lady — a  practised  politician 
— ^had  kept  in  her  train  lest  Captain  Wilkie 
should  desert.  But  he  came  to  the  point 
after  a  great  deal  of  by-play,  and  so  the 
vounff  civilian  was  dismissed;  whereupon 
Mr.  Montague  the  heir  came  down  to  Dela- 
force House  in  a  rage,  and  burled  himself 
among  the  elms  and  the  oaks  in  the  park, 
like  a  Bond  Street  Timon  as  he  was.  To 
divert  the  heir  f^rom  his  misanthropy,  or 
rather  from  his  misogyny,  and  to  retuue  his 


mind  to  social  harmonies  again,  and  make 
him  fiing  off  his  mud  boots  and  shave,  the 
Delaforces  thought  of  Miss  Letty  Temple ; 
to  whom  an  invitation  was  sent  on  the  plea 
of  Miss  Julia's  ardent  affection,  and  the 
necessity  that  young  lady  was  under  of 
teaching  her  a  new  pattern  in  crochet.  A 
necessity  Miss  Letty  fully  accepted,  though 
she  handled  a  crochet-neendle  about  as  deftly 
as  an  Amazon  would,  in  the  days  of  Theseus 
and  his  Athenians. 

The  scheme  seemed  about  to  fail.  Mr. 
Montague,  full  of  that  London  love  with 
black  eyes,  found  no  solace  in  those  large 
liquid  blue  eyes  which  looked  so  firanklv 
into  his.  He  was  even  profile  enough 
to  call  them  like  boiled  gooseberries,  in  his 
eagerness  of  admiration  for  Mrs.  Captain 
Wilkie  of  the  Blues.  Her  hair  he  called  like 
flax — ^like  tow  he  meant — and  then  raved 
frantically  about  the  "  beauty  of  ebon  tresses ; 
which  spoilt  an  educated  eye,"  he  added 
disdainfhlly,  "  for  anything  so  H^de  as  Hiss 
Temple." 

Of  course  Letty  knew  nothing  of  all  these 
disparaging  comparisons.  She  only  thought 
that  Mr.  Delaforce  was  very  cold  to  her,  and 
that  she  wished  he  was  kinder ;  but  she  did 
not  know  that  he  positively  despised  her 
handsome  face  and  noble  carriage,  and  that 
he  preferred  a  little  dark  Celtic  creature,  as 
Mrs.  Wilkie  was,  to  her  large  Saxon  love- 
liness, which  a  savage  would  have  thought 
came  direct  from  heaven.  I  don't  know  what 
this  large-eyed,  white-shouldered  girl  would 
have  done,  if  she  had  known  the  truth.  Most 
probably  offended  pride  would  have  driven 
every  other  feeling  out  of  her  head.  So  per- 
haps it  was  a  pity  she  did  not  know.  But  a 
change  came  about.    In  this  wise. 

One  evening  Miss  Lettv  was  asked  to  mg. 
She  sang  one  of  those  delicious  songs  one  sees 
advertised  with  pathetic  titles,  Uiat  make 
young  ladies  violently  sentimental.  It  was 
something  about  loving  for  ever ;  and  "  Forget 
thee,  no ! ''  Miss  Letty  sang  it  wit^  emphasis, 
looking  as  if  she  had  really  a  lover  whom  she 
was  called  onto  abide  by,  or  to  renounce.  This 
song  touched  the  sore  place  in  Mr.  Delaforce's 
heart.  It  has  been  credibly  afllrmed  that 
tears  came  into  his  eyes ;  for  he  was  thinking 
of  that  London  love  of  his,  who  once  had 
given  him  her  bouquet,  and  once  had  pressed 
his  hand — he  was  sure  of  it — ^whenhe  pressed 
hers,  in  the  quadrille  chaine  des  dames :  and 
he  felt  grateful  to  Miss  Letty  for  bringing  bis 
woe  BO  soothingly  before  him.  When  ^e 
had  ended,  he  went  and  sat  down  on  the  sofa 
by  her,  and  began  to  talk  sentiment;  which 
being  sad  trash,  we  shall  not  attempt  to 
transcribe.  It  broke  the  ice  between  them, 
however ;  and  made  poor  Letty  very  happy 
— silly  child  1 — for  she  thought  his  romantic 
commonplaces  the  highest  point  to  which  the 
poetry  of  human  feeling  could  go,  and  she 
beean  to  cherish  an  intellectual  esteem,  as 
well  as  a  personal  admiration,  for  Mr.  Mon- 


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RALPH  THE  NATURALIST. 


161 


tague  Delaforce,  which  would  have  astonished 
none  more  than  that  young  gentleman  him- 
self, had  he  known  it.  He  bad  been  twice 
plucked  at  Cambridge  for  his  llttle-go. 

In  the  midst  of  this  incipient  love-making, 
Ralph  Jcssett  came  shambling*  over  with  a 
sad  face,  to  tell  Miss  Lettj  that  her 
fatiier  was  ill,  and  she  must  go  home.  The 
carriage  would  come  for  her  in  a  few 
minutes ;  and  Miss  Letty  had  better  pack  up 
her  things  before  it  did  come,  for  they  wanted 
her  back  directly. 

As  Letty  was  an  affectionate  daughter,  she 
beffan  to  cry  violently  on  receiving  this  news. 
Ralph  was  overwhelmed  at  the  sight  of  her 
grief.  He  had  never  known  that  she  was  so 
fond  of  her  father ;  and  he  called  himself  all 
sorts  of  names^  like  dolt  and  idiot,  because  he 
bad  told  her  too  suddenly,  and  had  shocked 
and  soared  her.  Letty  only  sobbed  the 
more,  as  she  turned  her  back  full  on  poor  old 
Ralph,  and  clung  round  Julia's  neck,  as^f 
Julia  had  been  her  guardian  angel  entering 
on  a  term  of  banishment.  And  Julia  cried 
too,  and  said,  ^'  ssh  I  ssh  I"  patting  Miss 
Letty 's  back  with  both  her  hands.  It  was  a 
formula  of  consolation  that  had  not  much 
effect  on  the  patient.  And  then  the  carriage 
came,  and  the  fatal  moment ;  and  poor  Miss 
Letty  was  obliged  to  say  farewell;  Mr. 
Montague  looking  the  deepest  tragedy 
as  he  handed  her  into  the  barouche: 
and  Ralph  feeling  somehow  that  he  had 
incurred  everybody's  displeasure,  and  stood 
at  that  moment  in  the  position  of  a  moral 
Ishmael ;  which  position  Miss  Letty  kept 
him  in  all  the  way  home — it  was  eight  miles 
— not  deigning  to  look  at  him  nor  speak  to 
him  once  during  that  whole  drive,  but 
making  him  profoundly  sensible  that  she 
considered  herself  ii\jured  by  him,  and  that 
she  was  his  victim  and  his  prisoner. 

**  Ralph,"  she  said  the  next  day,  **  I  be- 
haved very  ill  to  you  yesterday." 

''  No,  Miss  Letty ;  not  ill  to  me.  You 
were  only  unhappy,  and  so  behaved  ill  to 
yourself." 

**  Nonsense,  Ralph  ;  you  know  that  I  did. 
"Will  you  forgive  me  ?" 

**  Yes,  Miss  Letty,  if  you  did  ;  but"— 

"  Well,  never  mind  buts.  Will  you  walk 
over  to  Delaforce  House  for  me,  this  after- 
noon ?"  She  spoke  very  quickly,  and  looked 
down. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Letty." 

"  And  take  a  letter  from  me  to  Julia?  I 
want  to  tell  her  that  papa  is  better,  and  that 
it  is  nothing  catching." 

"  But  who  ever  said  it  was  ?"  asked  Ralph, 
in  astonishment.  "  I  did  not  bring  that  mes- 
sage yesterday." 

"  Never  mind,"  retorted  Letty ;  *•  take  the 
letter,  and  don't  ask  questions." 

Which  closed' Ralph's  mouth  at  once. 

So  the  letter  was  written,  and  Ralph  set 
out  through  the  woods  to  Delaforce  House : 
miserably  unhappy,  and  with  .the  kind  of 


feeling  he  would  have  had  if  there  bad  come 
stealing  on  a  perpetual  eclipse  of  the  sun. 
But  he  got  to  the  bouse  at  last,  and  delivered 
his  credentials ;  and  Miss  Julia  made  her 
ringlets  dance  as  she  ran  off  to  Montague, 
saying,  <*  Oh,  Monty,  we  can  go  to  the  Manor 
when  we  like  I"  A  piece  of  news  that  made 
that  youuff  gentleman  smile  below  his  mous- 
tache gaily :  and  declare  his  intention  of 
riding  over  to-morrow.  And  when  his  sister 
had  embodied  that  intention  in  a  small  three- 
cornered  note,  Ralph  was  sent  home  again, 
dimly  conscious  that  he  bad  been  instru- 
mental in  a  plot,  he  did  not  know  how. 

But  the  plot  went  on,  under  the  same  instru- 
mentaliif .  Ralph  Jesset  was  soon  installed 
regular  postman  between  the  Manor  House 
and  the  Delaforces;  and  did  actually  go 
twice  in  one  day  to  please  Miss  Letty.  He 
walked  thirty-two  miles  on  a  hot  summer's 
day,  to  the  end  that  Mr.  Montague  Delaforce  - 
should  know  the  right  meaning  of  this  phrase : 
"  You  are  very  cruel  to  doubt  me.  If  I  tell 
you  to  wait  until  papa  is  better ;  it  is  not  that 
I  am  indifferent  to  your  feelings,  but  only 
more  careful  of  the  future  than  you  are ;" 
which,  Mr.  Montague — being  a  vouth  more 
gifted  with  beau^  than  with  brains,  and 
being  moreover  one  of  those  sensitive  people 
who  are  always  taking  offence  at  nothing- 
considered  to  be  a  phrase  wounding  to  nis 
dignity  and  common  sense ;  requiring  ex- 
planation before  things  could  go  on  any 
rarther.  And  thus  matters  continued.  When 
Mr.    Temple    grew   better,    the    plot    ex- 

Sloded,  the  mystery  was  dissolved,  and  Mr. 
[ontague  Delaforce,  asking  for  the  honour  of 
Miss  Temple's  hand,  and  accepted,  opened 
Ralph's  eyes  as  with  the  touch  of  a  magic 
wand.  And,  amidst  a  storm  of  agony  and 
grief  such  as  one  would  not  have  imagined 
that  such  a  gentle  creature  as  he  could  have 
felt,  he  came  to  the  knowledge  suddenly 
that  be  bad  been  unconsciously  the  instru- 
ment of  his  own  sorrow — ^the  innocent  suicide 
of  his  own  happiness.  So  long  as  Miss 
Letty  was  unmarried,  and  he.  Ralph  Jessett, 
could  live  near  her,  and  with  her ;  could  read 
to  her,  wait  on  her,  do  her  pleasure,  attend 
to  her  commands,  devote  his  whole  life  to 
her,  and  live  as  a  slavd  in  the  shadow 
of  the  altar,  be  would  have  been  quite  as 
blessed  as  he  dedred — and,  as  he  thought, 
deserved — in  bis  unconscious  love  and  un- 
selfish adoration.  For,  Ralph  thought  It  was 
joy  and  honour  enough  for  him  to  be  allowed 
to  love  Letty  in  his  own  way.  But  now — 
taken  from  him,  and  married  to  a  man 
he  thought  as  little  worthy  of  her,  in  spite 
of  his  curling  hair  and  grand  moustache,  as 
if  he  had  been  a  blackamoor  from  Africa : 
it  was  more  like  his  own^  death  than 
her  marriage.  If  Mr.  Montague  had 
been  better;  if  he  had  been  wiser,  and 
older,  and  steadier— then  indeed ;  but  as  it 
was !  Oh  I  his  queen,  bis  darling,  his  little 
Letty,  who  used  to  sit  on  his  knee,  and  ask 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Condaetedkj 


him  for  stories  bj  tho  hoar ;  his  gracious 
young  lady  who  had  always  been  so  good  and 
condescending  to  him !  lUlph  could  not  bear 
it  With  a  wailing  stifled  cry  he  fell  back 
against  the  old  oak  tree:  and.  for  a  long 
time,  all  nature  and  all  gnef  alike  were  shut 
out  from  him.  But  when  the  faintness 
passed,  and  he  was  obliged  to  remember 
again,  he  turned  away  with  a  breaking  heart 
from  the  blank  of  his  future  ;  feeling  that  his 
life  without  Miss  Letty  as  its  queen  and 
guiding  star,  would  be  a  mere  desert  without 
riiade  or  verdure.  Even  his  earwigs  and 
his  emmets  lost  their  charm ;  chemistry 
seemed  a  mere  phantasmagoria  of  flitting 
Tapours,  without  form  or  object.      # 

He  would  go  away  again,  he  said.  His 
Tacation  was  over,  and  he  would  go  back  to 
Edinburgh.  He  was  of  no  use  here ;  a  queer 
fellow  like  himself  was  out  of  place  in  such 
•  times  as  weddings.  He  looked  so  ill  and 
worn  when  he  said  this,  that  Mrs.  Temple 
noticed  it,  and  asked  him,  brcathingly,  what 
was  the  matter  with  himT  So  did  Miss 
Letty,  even  in  the  midst  of  all  her  rose- 
coloured  excitement  and  most  fervent  girlish 
love.    She  went  to  him,  after  breakfast,  and 

Eouted  in  her  old  way  of  command,  and  told 
im,  for  the  thousandth  time  in  their  joint 
lives  together,  that  he  was  an  idiot  and  an 
old  baby,  and  asked  what  was  wrong  now  ? 

"  Oh,  Mies  Letty  I"  began  Ralph  ;  but  he 
could  get  no  farther.  He  gave  a  loud  sob, 
and  rushed  from  the  room,  down  the  garden 
to  that  favorite  retreat  the  shrubbery,  where 
he  burrowed  in  among  the  trees,  and  remained 
all  the  day.  He  was  a  little  consoled  by 
finding  a  new  red  fungus  and  a  variety  of 
ladybird. 

**  Can  Ralph  bo  jealous  ?"  thought  Miss 
Letty,  with  her  blue  eyes  very  wide  open. 

However,  Ralph  was  not  allowed  to  go 
away  before  the  wedding.  Letty,  who  of 
course,  had  no  idea  of  the  truth,  insisted  on 
his  staying.  She  should  not  feel  happy ;  she 
diould  not  feel  married,  she  said;  unless 
Ralph  was  there.  So  Ralph  smothered  his 
own  feelings  and  obeyed  her.  and  found  a 
certain  amount  of  happiness  for  the  time,  as 
usual,  in  his  obedience.  It  was  something  to 
suffer  at  her  command  I  But,  when  the  wed- 
ding-dav  came,  and  he  had  seen  her  given 
away,  his  pride,  his  joy,  his  life,  his  own  soul 
— given  away  to  the  keeping  of  a  handsome, 
foolish,  petulant  fop — ^when  there  was  no 
longer  any  joy  on  earth  for  him,  no  longer 
any  hope,  even  of  the  moonlight  pleasure  of 
his  life— when,  standing  in  the  dusty  road  to 
see  her  pass,  taking  off  his  hat  as  to  a  queen, 
and  letting  his  lone  gray  hair  stream  in  the 
sununer  breeze,  as  ne  gazed  his  last  look  at 
her,ly  ing  back  in  the  carriage  in  all  her  white 
wedding  loveliness  and  glory — when,  on  her 
!  turning  back  again  and  again,  leaning  out  to 
see  him  so  long  as  she  could,  and  waving  her 
hand  and  handkerchief  to  him  kindly,  she 
saw  him  still  standing  there,  like  a  statue 


without  life  or  motion — and  when  the  car- 
riage finally  disappeared  behind  the  trees— 
then  Ralph  plunged  wildly  into  the  woods, 
and  wandered  away  from  Manor  House  for 
ever.  Wandering  through  the  world  in 
poverty  and  privation,  a  gentle,  harmless, 
half-crazed  naturalist,  who  knew  the  haunts 
and  habits  of  every  tiny  creature  to  be  found 
in  England,  and  who  sometimes  in  his  restless 
sleep — large  tears  rolling  quietly  down  bis 
withered  checks  —  murmured  plaintively, 
'*  Miss  Letty !"  and  **  Lost  I  lost  I" 


OUR  BEDFORDSHIRE  FARMER.' 

It  was  harvest-time  when  we  went  down  on 
our  first  visit  to  the  fVlend,  whom  for  anony-  I 
mous  distinction  we  will  call  the  Bedfordshire 
farmer.  We  travelled  by  railroad  of  course, 
and  were  set  down  on  a  platform  almost  wi thin  | 
sight  of  his  hospitable  chimney.  In  this 
roadside  station,  which  is  in  effect  an 
inland  iron  port,  to  a  purely  rural  district, 
we  have  a  specimen  of  one  of  the  mecliir 
nical  revolutions  of  modern  agriculture. 
The  fat  beasts  and  sheep  of  this  parish 
formerly  required  four  days  to  travel  along 
the  road  to  market,  at  a  loss  of  maiir 
pounds  of  flesh,  beside  growing  feverish 
and  fiabbv  with  excitement  and  fatigue ;  they 
now  reach  the  same  market  calm  and  fresh,  in 
four  hours.  If  news  of  a  favourable  corn- 
market  have  arrived  by  the  morning's  post, 
fifty  quarters  of  wheat  can  be  carried  from 
the  stack,  thrashed  out  by  steam-driven  ma- 
chinery, Bold,and  the  money  returned  in  much 
less  time  than  it  would  have  taken  merely  to 
thrash  out  fiftv  quarters  by  the  hand-flail. 

The  farmer  himself  met  us  on  the  platform 
— ^a  disappointing  personage,considering  that 
he  had  been  more  than  twenty  years  getting 
a  living  by  growing  corn  and  sheep  ;  for  he 
had  not  an  atom  of  the  uniform  associated 
from  time  immemorial  with  the  British 
farmer— no  cord-breeches,  no  top-boots,  not 
even  gaiters,  no  broad-brimmed  hat,  not  a 
large  red  face  or  ample  corporation — ^In  fact, 
was  not  half  so  much  like  the  conventional  far- 
mer as  my  friend  and  fellow-traveller  Nuggets 
of  the  eminent  firm  of  Nuggets  and  Bullion, 
who  cultivates  eight  and  a-half  acres  at  Brix- 
ton, on  the  most  scientific  principles,  at  an  an- 
nual loss  of  about  twenty  pounds  an  acre. 
The  Bedfordshire  farmer  looked  and  was 
dressed  very  much  like  any  other  gentleman 
not  obliged  to  wear  professional  black  and 
white.  His  servant,  too,  who  shouldered  our 
carpet  bags,  wore  neither  smock-frock  nor 
hob-nailed  shoes ;  he  might  have  been  the 
groom  of  a  surgeon  or  a  parson. 

The  Grange  presented  what  amateurs  in 
French  would  call  more  disillusionment.  A 
modem  villa-cottage,  with  one  ancient  gable 
and  one  set  of  Elizabethan  chimneys,  planted 

*  8«e  Beef,  Matton,  and  Bread,  ptLgt  113  of  tbe 
tenth  Tolame. 


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OUR  BEDFORDSHIRE  FARMER. 


168 


in  the  midst  of  a  well-kept  garden,  with  the  I 
regular  three  sitting-rooms  of  a  suburban  ' 
rilla,  reminded  us  that  times  were  changed 
since  Bakewell  received  crowds  of  visitors  of  I 
the  highest  rank,  including  royalty,  **  clad  in 
a  brown  metal-buttoned  coat,  a  red  waistcoat, 
leather  breeches,  top  boots,  rftting  in  the  \ 
chimney  comer  of  his  one  keeping  room, ' 
hung  round  with  dried  and  pickled  specimens 
of  his  famous  beasts.v    The  book-shelves  in 
one  of  our  friend^s  rooms  are  filled  not  only 
with  works  on  agriculture,  but  with  histories, 
biographies,  novels,  and  poems.    The  win- 
dows, fringed  with  monthly  roses,  look  out 
upon  the  gardens,  across  a  fence  where  a' 
steep  hill  of  pasture  rises,  once  a  deer  park, 
still  studded  over  with  fine  trees.     There 
Suffolk  horses,  a  long-tailed  g^ay  mare,  some 
dairy  cows,  and  Southdown  sheep  are  feeding, 
and  are  chewing  the  cud  in  the  shade. 

Our  first  visit  was  to  the  farm  buildings,  di- 
vided by  a  road  from  the  nag  stables  and  offices 
of  the  house,  which  therefore  is  not  troubled 
with  either  the- smell  or  the  dirt  of  the  farm- 
yard. A  picturesque  untenanted  dovecote, 
half  covered  with  Ivy,  is  the  only  remaining 
monument  of  the  farming  days  when  five 
year-old  mutton  was  fed,  and  woodenploughs 
were  used.  Pigeons  donH  pay  in  cultivated 
countries.  On  one  side  of  the  occupation  road 
leading  to  the  first  field  of  the  farm,  were 
the  sheds  for  carts  and  implements ;  on  the 
other  the  cattle  yards,  the  feeding  houses, 
the  cart  stables,  the  cow-house,  and  the 
barn-machinery  and  steam-engine.  One- 
horse  carts  were  the  order  of  the  day, 
a  system  far  preferable  to  waggons,  when 
each  horse  is  well  up  to  his  work.  Our 
friend's  horses  are  always  in  good  con- 
dition. The  implements  made  a  goodly 
display,  eight  or  nine  of  Howard's  iron 
ploughs,  light  and  heavy,  harrows  to  match 
the  ploughs,  a  cultivator  to  stir  the  earth, 
and  a  grubber  to  gather  weeds,  drills 
and  manure  distributors,  and  horse-hoes,  a 
CrosskilFs  clod-crusher,  and  a  heavy  stone- 
roller,  a  haymaking-machine  and  horse- 
rakes.  These  were  all  evidently  in  regular 
ase :  some  for  strong  clay,  others  for  light 
Band. 

The  cattle  yards  form  three-sided  squares, 
the  open  side  facing  the  road  and  the  sun,  the 
other  three  sides  bordered  with  covered  feed- 
ing-sheds, or  verandahs,  about  which  there  was 
nothing  remarkable,except  that  the  roofe  were 
all  carfully  provided  with  spouts,  by  which 
the  rain  that  would  otherwise  fiow  into  the 
cattle  yards  and  saturate  the  straw,  was  effec- 
tually carried  away  into  the  main  drains. 
The  floors  of  these  yards  are  dish-shaped, 
slightly  hollow.  In  winter  a  thin  layer  of 
mould,  covered  daily  by  fi*esh  straw,  imbibes 
every  particle  of  liquid  manure.  Under  the 
treading  of  the  beasts,  which  are  turned  in 
as  Boon  as  grass  fetils,  there  to  feed  on  hay, 
turnips,  and  mangold  wurzel,  or  corn,  or  cake, 
in  tarn,  according   to   relative   price  and 


supply  of  the  last — nothing  is  cheaper  than 
oil-ci&e  when  it  can  be  bought  at  a  penny 
a  pound — the  straw  made  on  uie  farm  is  con- 
verted into  manure  of  the  richest  -quality, 
which  is  in  due  time  returned  to  the  fields. 

in  every  yard  was  an  iron  tank  filled  with 
pure  clean  wat^r,  by  a  tap  and  biUl,  which 
reffulated  a  constant  supply  fh>m  a  spring- 
filled  reservoir,  established  on  the  hill  that 
overlooked  the  Grange.  These  iron  tanks 
were  substitutes  for  those  foal  inky  ponds, 
to  befoand  as  the  only  drinking  places  on  too 
many  old-fashioned  farms.  In  the  stable, 
which  was  carefully  ventilated,  we  found  a 
team  that  had  done  a  day's  work  of  plough- 
ing, munching  their  allowance  of  clover  and 
split  beans.  They  were  powerful,  active, 
clean-legged  animala,  as  unlike  drayhorses 
as  possible ;  the  harness  of  each  was  neatly 
arranged  in  a  harness-room,  not  tnmbling 
above  the  dirty  stable,  as  too  often  seen. 
The  feeding  house,  where  twenty-five  beasts 
could  be  tied  up  and  fed,  was  placed  con- 
veniently near  tne  granary,  and  here  again 
at  every  beast's  chain-pole  a  perpetually  full 
tank  was  to  be  found.  The  doors  opened,  so 
that  the  manure  of  the  feeding  houses  could 
straightway  be  added  to  the  accumulation  of 
the  yard. 

Our  Bedfordshire  farmer  does  not  indulge 
in  fi&ncy,  in  purctiasing  his  cattle.  Noblemen 
and  owners  of  model  farms  adhere  rigidly  to 
some  one  breed,  Devons,  Herefords,  or  Scots, 
and  have  to  pay  an  extra  price  to  make  up 
their  number.  He  purchases  every  spring 
or  snmmer,  at  the  fahrs  where  cattle  are 
brought  from  Scotland,  Ireland.  Wales,  Devon- 
ihire,  Herfordshire,  and  Yorkshire,  for  the 

Eurpose,  one  hundred  good  two-yea^old 
>evons,  Herefords,  or  Short-horns,  or  three- 
year-old  Scots  or  Anglesea  runts.  These  he 
runs  on  the  inferior  sward  until  winter ;  then 
takes  them  into  the  vards  and  stalls,  and 
feeds  them  well  with  hay  and  roots^not 
exceeding  a  hundred  weight  of  tarnips  a  day 
— more  would  be  wasted ;  to  this  he  adds 
from  time  to  time  linseed  and  barley  meal, 
in  preference  to  oil-cake,  which  he  generally 
reserves  for  sheep.  He  has  experimented 
with  cooked  food,  but  has  not  found  the 
result  in  weight  pay  the  cost  and  trouble. 
In  the  spring  these  beasts  are  put  on  the 
best  grass,  and  sent  off  to  market  as  fast  as 
they  become  ripe,  having  left  behind  them  in 
the  vards  a  store  of  manure  available  for  all 
the  land  within  easy  carting  distance. 

On  our  autumn  visit  we  saw  in  the  empty 
yards  and  in  the  styes  a  few  pigs  of  no  parti- 
cular breed,  but  all  of  that  egg-shape  which 
betokens  rapid  fattening.  As  there  Is  no 
dairy,  the  Beds,  farmer  finds  it  does  not  par 
to  breed  pigs  or  feed  more  than  just  enough 
to  consume  what  would  otherwise  be  wasted. 
Lastly,  we  came  to  a  compact  building 
forming  the  one  side  or  wing  of  the  cattle 
yards,  marked  by  a  tall  chimney  :  here  was 
a  high-pressure   steam-engine  of  six-horse 


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HOUSBHOLD  WORDS. 

% 


[Condoettdbj 


power,  ander  the  care  of  a  ploughbojr,  which 
pat  in  motion  the  barn  machinery,  threshed 
and  winnowed  the  corn,  separated  it  into 
wheat,  first  and  second,  tailings,  cavings, 
and  chaff,  and  carried  the  straw  into  the 
straw  honse,  and  the  wheat  into  the  granary. 
The  same  engine  also  pat  in  motion  stones  for 
grinding  com  or  linseed,  or  crushed  beans, 
and  worked  a  chaff-catter. 

The  steam-driven  bam  apparatus  has  more 
advaatages,  and  creates  more  profit  to  the 
farmer,  Uian  can  be  explained  in  a  few  words. 
Under  the  hand  flail  system,  a  great  bam 
was  needed,  where  it  was  necessary  to  thrash, 
not  when  you  wanted  to  send  to  market,  but 
when  thrashers  could  be  had,  and  then  very 
slowly,  with  great  loss  by  imperfect  thrashing 
and  systematic  pilfering.  Our  Bedfordshire 
farmer  having  had  the  building  provided  by 
his  landlord,  put  up  the  steam-engine  and 
machinery  himself,  at  a  cost  of  five  hundred 
pounds ;  and  now,  with  coals  costing  fifteen 
shillings  per  ton,  his  steam-engine  thrashes 
and  dresses  two  hundred  bushels  of  wheat  in 
one  day,  at  a  cost  of  one  penny  a  bushel,  which, 
with  horse-power,  would  cost  four  pence,  and 
with  flail  thrashing,  six  pence  a  busheL  Be- 
sides this  economy  in  time  and  money,  there 
is  an  economy  m  space,  as  the  corn  can 
remain  in  the  rick  in  the  field,  until  wanted. 

Some  very  pretty  things  have  been  said 
About  the  flail;  and  thraishing  does  make 
a  very  pretty  picture,  although  it  is  a 
most  soul-deadening  occupation.  But  to  a 
thoughtful  mind,  there  is  something  much 
more  beautiful  in  the  regularity  with  which 
the  sheaves,  delivered  from  the  cart,  are  con- 
sumed and  distributed.  The  steam-driven 
bam  machinery  was  not  a  complete  piece  of 
work  until  linked,  by  the  railway,  with  the 
com-market.  In  Scotland  machine-thrashing 
has  long  been  universal,  but  in  England  it 
makes  way  slowly,  and  is  introduced  with 
excuses  in  some  counties — our  poor-laws 
having  been  in  the  way. 

We  next  mounted  our  friend's  hacks  and 
climbed  the  hill  to  take  a  bird's-eye  view  of 
the  farms  before  descending  into  details. 

On  our  way  we  crossed  a  broad  belt  of  grass 
fields  which  surround  the  house  and  ga^en, 
and  are  always  mowed,  other  fields  farther  off 
being  always  grazed :  by  this  arrangement  it 
is  thought  that  the  best  kinds  of  grass  for 
feeding  are  cultivated  on  the  one,  and  the 
best  for  mowing  on  the  other ;  while  the  hay 
so  grown  near  the  yards  where  it  is  to  be 
consumed,  and  near  the  manure  heaps 
which  restore  fertility  to  meadows.  Mea- 
dows round  a  house  are,  it  must  be  admitted, 
much  more  agreeable  than  ploughed  land, 
besides  having  the  advantage  of  keeping 
the  cattle  and  horses  grazing  within  an  easy 
distance  if  not  within  sight.  After  ascending 
a  hill,  considered  steep  in  the  midland 
counties,  we  stood  upon  a  sort  of  inland  pro- 
montory, marking  the  division  of  the  ftirm. 
all  above  being  sand-land  of  the  character  I 


well  known  as  Wobura  sand,  and  nearly  all 
below  stiff  clay,  being  part  of  the  rich  valley 
which  runs  on  to  the  sea  at  King's  Lynn  in 
Norfolk. 

From  this  promontory  we  could  review,  as 
in  a  panorama,  the  farmer's  crops — ^wheat  in 
great  fields  of  forty,  fiftv,  and  sixty  acres— a 
golden  sea,  fast  falling  before  the  scythe  and 
the  sickle ;  barley  not  so  ripe,  some  of  it 
Iving  here  and  there  in  rucks  as  if  a  great 
flood  had  rolled  over  it;  too  much  manuring 
swelled  the  ears  without  stiffening  the  straw 
enough,  and  so  anxiety  to  raise  a  large  crop 
had  defeated  itself.  There  were  oats  too, 
verdant  and  feathery ;  beans,  dark  ugly 
patches  on  the  landscape ;  mangold,  with 
rich  dark  green  luxuriant  leaves :  and  fields 
of  something  that  was  not  grass,  though  like 
it  in  the  distance.,  being,  what  is  called  in 
farmer's  phrase,  seeds,  that  is  to  say,  artificial 
grasses,  such  as  Italian  rye  pass,  red  clover, 
or  white  clover  and  trefoil  mixed,  which  | 
form  a  rotation  crop  only  to  be  grown  once 
in  four  or  in  eight  years,  according  to  the 
soil. 

Experience  and  scientific  investigation  have 
but  slightly  and  slowly  added  any  new  crops 
for  the  use  of  the  farmer.  When  anyone 
loudly  announces  a  new  crop,  which  will 
supersede  all  others  in  utility  and  profit,  we 
may  as  safely  set  him  down  as  a  quack 
as  if  he  announced  a  universal  medicine. 
For  England  wheat,  barley,  and  oats,  are 
the  best  cereal  crops ;  rye,  except  green  to 
feed  stock,  is  not  in  demand ;  wheat  in  many 
varieties  fits  itself  to  suitable  soils,  the  finest 
kinds  cannot  always  be  carried  to  a  distant 
country  without  degeneration.  The  finest 
barley  for  malting  is  grown  in  a  few  counties 
on  light  soil,  while  oats  attain  a  perfection  in 
Scotland  and  Ireland  rarely  to  be  found  in 
districts  where  oatmeal  is  not  the  food  of  the  , 
people.  I 

Tne  proportions  which  a  farmer  should    i 
grow  of  each  crop  will  depend  on  his  soil 
and  on  his  market,  supposing  always  that    | 
the  landlord  is,  like  our  friend's  landlord,    | 
su£Bciently  intelligent  to  allow  his  tenant  to 
make  the  best  of  his  land.    For  instance,    i 
having  six  fields  on  his  clay  land  of  abont    ! 
fifty  acres  each,  be  has  found  it  convenient  to 
adopt  the  following  rotation : — First  year,    , 
either  a  fallow  or  a  fallow  crop,  such  as  cole-,   | 
seed,  tares,  early  white  turnips,  mangold,  &c ; 
second  year,  wheat ;  third  year,  beans ;  fourth    I 
year,  barley ;  fifth  year,  clover ;  sixth  year,    I 
wheat,  instead  of  the  Scotch  rotation,  in  which    , 
beans  stand  fifth,  and   the    land    becomes    { 
too  full  of  weeds  for  a  good  crop.    On  tbe    , 
sand  land  the  rotation    is— first,    turnips;    j 
second,  barley;  third,  clover;  and  fourth, 
wheat;   white  and  red  clover  being  used 
alternately. 

It  will  be  observed  that  root  crops  form 
the  foundation  of  this  style  of  farming.  Root    | 
crops  do  two  things  for  the  farmer ;  they  pre- 
pare the  land  for  com  crops,  and  they  supply    , 


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OUR  BEDFORDSHIRE  PARMER. 


166 


food  for  a  great  namber  of  lambs  and  Bbcep. 
Under  the  old  system,  two  hundred  acres  of 
^is  farm  were  poor  grass  pasture.  Under 
the  rotation  named  they  feed  more  live  stock 
than  before,  in  addition  to  the  crops  of  wheat 
twice  in  six  years.  Of  course  on  six  fields  two 
aro  always  in  wheat.  But  on  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  acres  of  fertile  under^ented 
land,  the  intelligent  cultivation  of  roots  is 
quite  unknown ;  indeed,  without  security  of 
ftnure  in  lease  or  agreement,  it  cannot  be 
practised  because  it  takes  six  years  to  com- 
plete a  never-ending  circle  of  improve- 
ment. There  are  landed  baronets,  who 
having  gone  so  far  ahead  as  to  adopt  the 
short-horn,  which  superseded  their  grand- 
fathers' long-cherished,  long-homed,  thick- 
skinned,  Craven  beasts,  still  look  askance  at 
guano  and  superphosphate — the  best  food 
tor  root  crops — as  condiments  of  revolu- 
tionary origin ;  and  as  for  leases,  you  may 
as  well  speak  of  confiscation  at  once. 

As.  we  looked  down  the  beautiftil  fertile 
valley,  and  gossipped  over  the  cardinal 
principles  of  good  farming,  we  could  see  the 
marks  in  the  shades  of  vegetation,  and  here 
and  there  a  land-mark  in  a  stately  tree,  where 
four  miles  of  fences  had  seven  years  previ- 
ously been  cleared  away,  and  superseded 
wherever  fences  were  needed  at  all,  by  double 
ditches,  and  rails  arranged  with  mathe- 
matical regularity  to  protect  growing  thorns 
from  the  assaults  of  the  beasts  and  sheep 
feeding;  around.  Before  coals  came  by  canal 
and  railway,  hedges  gave  faggots  for  winter 
fires. 

Turning  our  nags'  heads  upwards,  we  next 
traversed  the  sand  half  of  the  farm,  an  undu- 
lating f6ur  hundred  acres,  sprinkled  over 
with  many  pretty  wooded  dells  and  bordered 
deep  belts  of  plantation,  where  our  firiend, 
havmg  the  game  in  his  own  hands,  kept  up  a 
fair  head  of  pheasants  and  hares.  Farmers 
seldom  object  to  the  game  they  may  shoot 
themselves. 

On  the  sand  we  found  a  different  rotation, 
viz.,  turnips,  barley,*  clover,  and  wheat; 
neither  mangold  nor  beans. 

The  prettiest  sight  was  our  farmer's  breed- 
ing flock  of  South  Downs,  feeding  on  a  hill  of 
seeds :  four  hundred  blaok-fao^,  close-fleeced, 
firkin-bodied,  flat-backed,  short-legged,  active 
animals,  without  a  hollow  or  a  bump  on  any 
part  of  their  compact  bodies,  as  like  each 
other  as  peas,  and  as  fhll  of  meat. 

They  were  under  the  amiable  care  of  an 
old  shepherd,  a  boy,  and  a  dog  of  great  dis- 
cretion— a  real  Scotch  colley,  who  also 
attend  to  the  whole  sheep  stock.  It  had  cost 
our  farmer  twenty  years  of  constant  care  to 
bring  this  flock  to  their  present  perfbction, 
during  which  time  he  has  tried  and  given  up 
the  long-woolled  Leicester,  of  which  half  his 
sheep  stock  formerly  consisted,  flnding  the 
SoutQ  Down  more  hardy  and  profitable  on  his 
land  and  with  his  market  The  total  sheep 
stock  always  kept  on  this  farm  amounts  to  one 


thousand  head,  of  which  what  are  not  bred 
on  the  farm  are  bought.  Thus  in  the  course 
of  the  year  about  one  thousand  sheep  and 
lambs,  and  one  hundred  and  fifty  bullocks, 
are  sent  to  market. 

Now  we  had  seen  all  the  raw  material  for 
growing  com  and  wool. 

Bullocks  fed  in  yards  in  autumn  and 
winter,  on  roots  grown  on  well-drained,  and 
hay  on  well-manured  land,  with  com  and 
cake  to  finish  them— these  produce  while 
getting  fat,  and  tread  down  and  solidify 
manure  which  is  ready  In  the  spring  to  be 
carted  out  where  wanted,  for  growing  more 
roots  for  green  or  hay  crops.  On  the  other 
hand,  light  land  is  consolidated  and  enriched 
by  a  flock  penned  upon  it,  and  there  faeding 
with  turnips,  corn,  or  pulse  and  cake.  If 
they  are  store-sheep  they  are  allowed  to  gnaw 
the  turnips  on  the  ground  for  part  of  the 
year;  if  they  are  young  and  to  be  fatted,  the 
turnips  are  drawn,  topped,  and  tailed,  and 
slFced  for  them  by  a  boy  with  a  portable 
machine — a  simple  aflldr,  and  yet  one  of  the 
most  valuable  of  agricultural  inventions. 
Thus  feeding  in  the  day,  and  penned  succes- 
sively over  every  part  of  a  field  at  night,  the 
sheep  fertilise,  and  with  their  f^et  compress 
more  effectively  than  any  roller,  light,  blow- 
ing sand,  and  prepare  soil  which  once  would 
scarcely  feed  a  family  of  rabbits  on  an  acre 
for  such  luxuriant  corn  crops  as  we  saw  wav- 
ing around. 

What  neither  farm-yard  manure  nor  sheep- 
treading  win  do  toward  stimulating  vegeta- 
tion, and  supply  the  wants  of  an  exhausted 
soil,  is  done  with  modem  portable  manures, 
which  do  not  supersede,  l^t  aid  the  home- 
made fertilisers  of  our  forefathers. 

Cantering  on,  now  pausing  to  examine  a 
root  crop,  then  pushing  through  a  pheasant 
cover,  then  halting  to  chat  with  the 
reapers,  we  came  to  a  field  of  wheat  on  sand 
inferior  to  the  rest.  The  choicest  seed  ft'om 
the  Vale  of  Taunton  Dean  had  been  used : 
but  it  seemed  that,  in  this  instance,  what 
suited  a  Somersetshire  valley  did  not  thrive 
on  a  Bedfordshire  hill.  Such  special  expe- 
rience a  good  farmer  is  continually  collecting. 
Again:  repeated  trials  had  convinced  the 
farmer  that  guano,  the  most  valuable  of  all 
portable  manures,  was  wasted  on  the  sand  ; 
as,  in  the  event  of  a  dry  season,  the  fertilising 
powers  were  evaporated  and  entirely  lost. 
On  another  fifty-six  acres  of  wheat  a 
most  wonderful  crop  was  being  moved, 
estimated  at  six  quarters  to  the  acre.  The 
extra  weight  could  only  be  accounted  for  by 
the  field  having  been  rolled  with  more  than 
ordinary  care  with  a  heavy  Iron  roller. 
Nevertheless,  amateurs  most  not  rash  off  to 
roll  their  wheat  fields,  because  on  aplastic  soil 
it  would  be  total  rain  to  reduce  a  field  after 
rain  to  the  consistence  of  smooth  mortar. 

I  have  advisedly  said,  mow,  not  reap, 
several  times  in  this  narrative.  The  Bedford- 
shire farmer  has  no  doubt  of  the  superior ' 


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166 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coad«etcdb7 


advantages  of  the  former  plan.  Neverthe- 
less, he  reaps  a  few  acres  as  shelter  for  the 
partridges.  Mowing  is  done  by  piece-work, 
at  per  acre.  Formerly  the  harvesters  re- 
ceived BO  much  money  per  acre,  and  five 
Elnts  of  beer  for  a  day  ;  bat  the  farmer 
aving  one  July  day  expressed  his  discontent 
to  a  party  of  mowers  snugly  lying  in  the 
shade,  pipe  in  mouth  and  beer-can  in  hand, 
at  the  slow  progress  of  the  work,  was  an- 
swered with  fatal  candour  by  a  jolly  foreman 
— ^'Maister,  we  come  here  to  drink  your 
good  beer,  and  as  long  as  you  give  us  five 
pints  a  day  we  beant  agoin'  to  hurry 
the  work.'*'  From  that  season  an  additional 
shilling  per  acre  replaced  the  five  pints  of 
the  mowing  charter ;  and  there  is  no  lagging. 
Mowers  arc  not  the  only  people  who  like 
idleness  and  five  pints  of  beer  a  day. 

It  was  brilliant  weather  on  the  second  day 
of  our  visit.  Carts,  each  drawn  by  one 
clean-legged  horse,  were  at  work  at  a  pace 
that  would  have  choked  the  old*  hairy- 
legged  breed.  The  pidiresque  wagQp,  with 
its  long  team,  is  disappearing  fast  from  modern 
harvest-fields.  The  horse-riUce,  following  the 
binders,  leaves  little  for  the  gleaners. 

While  the  carts  were  at  work  in  one  field 
and  the  mowers  and  binders  in  another — for 
there  were  two  hundred  acres  of  wheat  on 
this  farm — in  a  fallow-field  a  party  of  boys 
were  cross-ploughipg  wTth  some  of  Howard's 
beautiful  wheel  ploughs,  which  can  be 
managed  by  boys  of  thirteen,  for  such  work 
the  object  being  only  to  pulverise  the  land. 
On  almost  any  land  the  superiority  of  the 
iron-wheel  plough  is  incontestable. 

We  rode  back  through  a  great  grass  field* 
well-dotted  with  shady  trees,  under  which 
shorthorns,  Devons,  Herefords,  and  black 
Anglesea  runts  were  comfortably  chewing 
the  cud ;  all  the  different  breeds  being  found 
profitable  to  feed  when  bought  at  a  proper 
price,  as  the  account-books  of  our  friend, 
carefully  kept  for  twenty  years,  distinctly 
show.  From  the  homed  stock  and  the  sheep,* 
a  draught  of  the  fittest  and  fattest  were  sent 
to  Smithfield  every  week  from  May  to  the 
following  March,  and  replaced  by  fresh  pur- 
chases from  the  neighbouring  fairs. 

After  dinner,  while  looking  out  between 
rosebushes  at  the  cattle  on  the  hills,  we 
talked,  of  course  of  farming  past  and  present 
— of  what  practice  and  science  had  done, 
and  what  it  could  and  could  not  do  for 
farmers. 

In  what  we  had  seen  there  was  nothing 
startling,  although  the  results,  as  to  quantity 
of  produce  in  corn  and  meat  in  a  year,  would 
have  been  incredible  if  foretold  to  any  brown- 
coated  farmer  in  seventeen  hundred  and 
fifty-four.  There  was  no  land  wasted  by 
fences  or  devoured  by  weeds ;  there  was  no 
time  lost— one  crop  prepared  the  way  for 
another;  there  was  no  labour  lost — ^horses 
and  men  and  boys  were  fully  employed.  The 
live  stock  for  market  was  always  full  fed ; 


the  breeding-stock  was  kept  up  by  retaining 
only  the  best-shaped  ewe  lambs,  and  hiring 
or  buying  the  best  rams  from  skilled  South- 
down breeders.  So  the  farm  was  continually 
sending  to  market  a  succession  of  lamb, 
mutton,  and  beef. 

All  this  requires  for  success  some  con- 
siderable skill  and  experience,  and  not  a 
little  expense.  Twelve  or  thirteen  hundred 
pounds  a-year  for  rent,  and  as  much  more 
for  wages;  two  hundred  a-year  poor's- 
rates,  no  tithes;  three  hundred  a-year 
for  corn  and  cake  purchased;  one  hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  for  portable  manures.  A 
capital  laid  out  in  two  hundred  store  beasts, 
which  cannot  be  bodght  for  less  than  ten 
pounds  each,  and  four  hundred  breeding 
'ewes,  worth  two  pounds  ten  shillings  each 
—also  thirty  carthorses,  worth  forty  pounds 
a-piece  on  the  average,  and  all  tbe  agri- 
cultural implements,  too.  So,  in  round  num- 
bers there  was  evidently,  without  asking 
impertinent  questions,  some  ten  thousand 
pounds  invested. 

The  labour  of  this  farm  would  In  its  num- 
l>er  astoui&h  a  farmer  of  the  old  school  of 
anti-guano  and  anti-steam-engine  preju- 
dices, as  much  as  the  implements.  It  consists 
of  about  twenty  men  and  thirty  boys.  Of 
these,  six  men  are  ploughmen,  and  have  the 
care  of  four  horses  each,  being  assisted  by 
eight  plough-boys.  The  boys  are  divided  into 
two  sets,  of  which  the  younger  consists  of 
fifteen  boys  between  the  ages  of  eleven  and 
thirteen,  who  are  under  the  command  of  a 
steady  experienced  farm-labourer.  He  never 
has  them  out  of  his  sight ;  under  bis  orders 
they  do  all  the  hand-hoeing  of  wheat,  thin 
out  turnips,  spud  thistles  out  of  grass-land, 
gather  the  turnips  into  heaps  for  tailing, 
carry  away  the  straw  from  the  threshing- 
machine,  bring  the  sheaves  from  the  stack  to 
the  man  who  feeds  the  machine,  and  do  other 
work  suited  to  their  strength.  When  the 
harvest  is  off,  and  repeated  ploughiogs  have 
brought  the  couch-grass  roots  to  the  surface, 
they  gather  it  in  heaps  und  burn  it.  A  great 
bare  field  dotted  over  with  heaps  of  this 
troublesome  weed,  each  on  fire,  and  each 
industriously  fed  and  tended  by  an  active 
little  boy,  presepted  a  very  amusing  sight  to 
us  in  a  second  visit  to  Bedfordshire,  in  Oc- 
tober. 

Thus  these  boys  are  trained  to  work  regu- 
larly at  all  kinds  of  farm-labour,  and  form  a 
regiment  of  militia  from  which  the  regular 
army  of  the  farm  is  recruited.  The  most 
intelligent  are  promoted  to  be  ploughboys, 
and  grow  up  to  be  very  useful  men. 

They  receive  three  snillings  a-week  wages, 
and  every  week,  if  well-behaved,  a  sixpenny 
ticket,  which,  once  a  year,  in  September,  is 
converted  into  money  to  be  laid  out  in  clothes. 
The  stoppage  of  a  ticket— a  very  rare  occur- 
rence—  IS  considered  not  only  a  loss,  bat 
a  disgrace.  In  harvest  time  they  receive 
double  wages,  and  double  tickets. 


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Clwrlct  Dicker  j 


FATALISM. 


167 


Such  18  a  short  view  of  the  system  oa  a 
well-maaaged  corn  and  wool  furm. 

If  able  to  laj  out  the  needful  capital  skil- 
fully, and  manage  the  men,  boys,  and  horses 
needed  for  a  thousand  acres  of  average  com 
and  sheep  land,  the  farmer,  on  an  average  of 
vears,  can  reap  a  fair  return  for  his  risk  and 
labour.  He  cannot  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances, expect  to  make  a  fortune  except  by 
saving  out  of  ordinary  income;  for  there 
arc  no  patents,  or  secrets,  or  special  un- 
discovered markets  for  fanners,  as  there  are 
for  clever  manufacturers.  Those  who  under- 
take to  do  wonderful  things  in  agriculture 
invariably  sacrifice  profit  to  glory.  But  the 
skilful  farmer  is  not  tied  to  a  day,  a  week,  or 
even  a  month,  except  at  harvest  or  seed  time ; 
he  lives  among  pleasant  scenes,  socially  and 
hospitably,  and  runs  not  the  risks  and 
endures  not  the  sleepless  nights  of  the  manu- 
facturer, whose  fortune  depends  on  the 
temper  of  a  thousand  hands,  and  the  honesty 
or  good  fortune  of  debtors  on  the  other  side 
of  the  globe. 

FATALISM. 

One  of  the  popular  tales  current  among 
the  Servians— which  we  take  from  a  collection 
made  by  Wuk  Stephanovitsch  Karadschitsch 
— emphatically  illustrates  a  well-known  ori- 
ental doctrine,  and  suggests  how  stem  a 
curse  such  doctrine  becomes  to  the  people 
among  whom  it  is  once  admitted. 

Once  upon  a  time  there  were  two  brothers 
who  lived  together.  One  was  industrious 
and  did  everything,  the  other  was  lazy  and 
did  nothing  except  eat  and  drink.  Their 
harvests  were  always  magnificent,  and  they 
had  plentv  of  oxen,  horses,  sheep,  pigs,  bees, 
and  all  else.  The  brother  who  aid  every- 
thing said  to  himself  one  day,  *•  Why  should 
I  work  for  this  idler?  It  is  better  that  we 
diould  part,"  He  said,  therefore,  "My 
brother,  it  is  not  just  that  I  should  do  every- 
thing, whilst  thou  doest  nothing  but  eat  and 
drink.  I  have  decided,  therefore,  that  we 
ought  to  part"  The  other  sought  to  turn 
him  from  his  purpose  by  saying,  <'  Brother,  let 
not  that  be  so :  we  prosper  as  we  are, 
and  behold  all  things  are  in  thy  hands,  as 
well  those  which  belong  to  me,  and  those 
which  are  thine.  Thou  knowest  also  that 
whatever  thou  wilt  thou  doest,  and  I  am 
content"  But  the  elder  persisted  in  his 
resolution,  and  the  younger  vielded,  saying, 
*'  If  it  must  be  so,  yet  I  will  have  no  part  in 
this  act.  Make  the  division  as  thou  wilt" 
The  division  was  then  made,  and  each  brother 
took  what  was  his  portion. 

Then  the  idler  hired  a  herdsman  for  his 
cattle,  and  a  shepherd  for  his  sheep,  another 
herdsman  for  his  goats,  a  keeper  for  his 
swioe,  and  yet  another  for  his  bees;  and 
said  to  them  all,  *'I  entrust  my  property  to 
you,  and  may  (Jod  keep  you."  Having  djpne 
that,  he  continued  to  live  as  before. 


The  worker,  oo  the  contrary,  continued  to 
exert  himself  as  he  had  always  done.  He 
kept  no  servants,  but  himself  attended  to 
his  own  affairs.  Nevertheless  all  went 
wrong  with  him,  and  he  became  poorer 
every  day,  until  at  last  he  did  not  possess 
even  a  pair  of  shoes,  and  was  obliged  to 
walk  about  barefooted.  Then  he  said  to 
himself,  **  I  will  go  to  my  brother  and  see 
how  it  is  now  with  him." 

His  way  was  over  land  covered  with  grass. 
He  saw  a  fiock  of  sheep  feeding  there  unat- 
tended by  a  shepherd.  Near  them  sate  a 
beautiful  girl,  who  wassewine  with  a  golden 
thread.  Alter  having  saluted  ner,  he  asked  to 
whom  the  flock  belonged ;  and  she  answered, 
'*  To  whom  I  belouff ,  these  sheep  also  belong." 

"  And  who  art  thou?"  he  inquired. 

She  replied,  *'I  am  the  Grenius  of  thy 
brother." 

Then  was  this  man's  soul  filled  with  rage 
and  envy,  and  he  said  to  her,  **But  my 
Genius,  where  is  she  T" 

The  girl  said,  '<Ah  I  she  is  far  from  thee." 

''  Can  I  find  her  ?"  he  asked. 

She  answered.  "  Yes :  after  long  travel." 

And  when  he  heard  this,  he  went  straight- 
way to  his  brother ;  who,  when  he  saw  his 
wretched  state,  was  filled  with  grief,  and, 
bursting  into  tears,  said  to  him,  "Where 
hast  thou  been  so  long  ?"  And  when  be  had 
heard  all,  and  knew  that  his  brother  wished 
to  go  in  search  of  his  far-distant  Genius,  he 
gave  him  money  and  a  pair  of  shoes. 

After  the  two  brothers  had  remained  some 
days  together,  the  elder  one  returned  to  his 
own  bouse,  threw  a  sack  upon  his  bhoulders, 
into  which  he  put  some  bread,  took  a  stick  in 
his  hand,  and  set  out  to  walk  through  the 
world  to  seek  his  Genius.  Having  travelled 
for  some  time,  he  found  himself  at  last 
in  the  midst  of  a  great  wood,  where  he 
saw,  asleep  under  a  bush,  a  frightful  hag. 
He  strove  long  to  awaken  her,  and  at  last  in 
order  to  do  so  put  a  snake  down  her  back : 
but  even  then  sne  moved  with  difflculty.  and 
onlv  half  unclosing  her  eyes,  said  to  him, 
*•  Thank  Heaven,  man,  that  I  am  sleeping 
here ;  for  had  I  been  awake  thou  wouldst  not 
have  possessed  those  shoes." 

He  said,  "Who  then  is  this  that  would 
have  prevented  me  from  having  on  my  feet 
these  shoes  ?" 

And  the  hag  replied,  "  I  am  thy  Genius." 

When  the  man  heard  that,  he  smote  him- 
self upon  the  breast,  and  cried,  "Thou  I 
Thou  mv  Genius!  May  Heaven  exterminate 
thee  1    Who  gave  thee  to  me  ?" 

And  the  hag  replied,  "  It  is  Fate." 

"  And  where  is  Fate  ?"  he  asked. 

The  answer  he  received  was,  "  Go  and 
search  for  him."    And  the  hag  disappeared. 

Then  the  man  went  in  search  of  Fate.  After 
a  long,  long  journey,  he  again  entered  a  wood; 
and,  in  this  wood,  found  a  hermit,  whom  he 
asked  whether  he  could  tell  where  Fate  was 
to  be  found.    The  hermit  said,  "  Go  up  that 


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168 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


moantaia,  my  son,  and  thoa  wilt  reach  his 
castle ;  but^  when  in  his  presence,  do  not 
speak  to  him.  Whatever  thoa  shalt  see 
him  do,  that  do  yon,  until  be  questions 
thee."  The  traveller  having  thanked  the 
hermit,  took  the  road  which  led  up  the 
mountain. 

But,  when  he  had  arrived  at  the  castle,  he 
was  much  amazed  at  its  magnificence.  Ser- 
vants were  hurrying  in  all  directions,  and 
everything  around  him  was  of  more  than 
royal  splendour.  As  for  Fate,  he  was  seated 
at  a  table  quite  alone ;  the  table  was  spread, 
and  he  was  in  the  act  of  supping.  When 
the  traveller  saw  that,  he  seated  himself,  and 
ate  with  the  master  of  the  house.  After 
supper.  Fate  went  to  his  couch,  and  the  man 
retired  with.  him.  Then,  at  midnight,  there 
was  heard  the  rushing  of  a  fearful  sound 
through  all  the  chambers  of  the  castle  ;  and, 
in  the  midst  of  the  noise  a  voice  was  heard 
crying  aloud,  "Fate I  Fate!  To^lay  such 
and  such  souls  have  come  into  the  world. 
Deal  with  them  according  to  thy  pleasure !" 
Then,  behold,  Fate  arose,  and  opened  a  gilt 
coffer  full  of  golden  ducats,  which  he  sowed 
upon  his  chamber  floor,  saying,  "  Such  as  I 
am  to-day,  you  shall  be  all  your  lives!" 

At  the  break  of  day,  the  beautiful  castle 
vanished  ;  and,  in  its  place,  stood  an  ordinary 
house ;  but  a  house  in  which  nothing  was 
wanting.  When  the  evening  came  Fate  sat 
down  to  supper,  and  his  guest  sat  by  his 
side ;  but  not  a  word  was  spoken.  When 
they  had  done  supper  they  went  to  bed.  At 
midnight  the  rushing  sound  was  heard  again ; 
and,  in  the  midst  of  the  noise,  a  voice  cried, 
"Fate!  Fate!  Such  and  such  souls  have 
seen  the  light  to-day.  Deal  with  them  accord- 
ing to  thy  pleasure!"  Then,  behold.  Fate 
opened  a  silver  coffer ;  but  there  were  no 
ducats  therein,  only  silver  money,  with  a  few 
gold  pieces  mingleid.  And  Fate  sowed  this 
silver  on  the  ground,  saying,  "  Such  as  I  am 
to-day,  you  shall  be  all  your  lives!" 

At  break  of  day  this  house  also  had  dis- 
appeared I  and,  in  its  place,  there  was  one 
smaller  still.  Every  mght  the  same  thing 
happened,  and  every  morning  the  house  be- 
came smaller  and  poorer,  until  at  last  it  was 
nothing  but  a  miserable  hovel.  Then  Fate 
took  a  spade  and  dug  the  earth,  the  man 
doing  the  same.  And  they  worked  all  day. 
In  the  evening  Fate  took  a  piece  of  bread  and 
broke  it  in  two  pieces,  and  gave  one  to  his 
guest.  This  was  all  they  had  to  eat;  and, 
when  thev  had  eaten  it,  they  went  to  bed. 
During  all  this  thoie,  they  had  not  exchanged 
a  word. 

At  midnight  the  same  fearful  sound  was 


heard,  and  the  voice  which  cried,  "Fate! 

Fate !    Such  and  such  souls  have  come  into 

I  the  world  this  night    Do  unto  them  accord- 

I  ing  to  .thy  pleasure !"    And,  behold,  Fate 

I  arose,  and  opened  a  coffer,  and  took  out  of  it 

!  stones,  and  sowed  them  upon  the  earth,  and 

among  tiie  stones  were  small  pieces  of  money. 

This  he  did,  repeating  at  the  same  time, 

"  Such  as  I  am  to-day,  you  shall  be  all  yoor 

Uves." 

When  morning  returned  the  cabin  had 
disappeared,  and  the  palace  of  the  first  day 
had  come  back  again.  Then,  for  the  first 
time.  Fate  spoke  to  his  guest,  and' said,  "  Why 
earnest  thou  here  7"  The  other  told  him  tmly 
all  the  itory  of  his  journey,  and  its  cause, 
namely,  to  ascertain  why  Fate  had  awarded 
to  him  a  lot  so  unhappy.  And  Fate  an- 
swered, "  Thou  didst  see  how,  on  the  first 
night,  I  sowed  ducats,  and  what  followed. 
Such  as  I  am  in  the  night  wherein  a  man  is 
born,  such  will  that  man  be  during  all  his  life. 
Thou  wert  bom  on  a  night  when  I  was  poor, 
and  thou  wilt  remain  poor  all  thy  days.  As 
for  thy  brother,  he  came  into  the  world  when 
I  was  rich,  and  rich  will  he  be  ever.  Yet, 
because  thou  hast  laboured  hard  to  seek  me, 
I  will  tell  how  thou  mayst  aid  thyself.  Thy 
brother  has  a  daughter  named  Miliza,  who 
was  bom  in  a  golden  hour.  Wlien  thou 
retumest  to  thy  country  take  her  for  thy 
wife.  Only  take  heed  that  of  whatsoever 
thou  shalt  afterwards  acaaire,  say  that  it  is 
hers, — call  nothing  thine." 

And  the  man,  thanking  Fate,  departed. 
When  he  had  come  back  to  his  own  country, 
he  went  to  his  brother,  and  said,  "  Brother, 
give  me  Milisa ;  for  thou  seest  that  without 
her  I  am  alone."  The  brother  answered :  "  1 
am  glad  at  thy  request  Take  her,  for  she  is 
thine."  Therefore  he  took  her  to  his  house ; 
and,  from  that  time  his  flocks  and  herds 
began  to  multiply,  so  that  he  became  rich. 
But  he  was  careful  to  exclaim  aloud,  every 
day,  "  All  that  I  have  is  Milisa's  I" 

One  day  he  went  to  the  field  to  see  his 
crops,  which  were  all  rustling  and  whispering 
to  the  breeze  songs  of  plenty :  when,  by  chance, 
a  traveller  passed  by,  wno  said  to  him: 
"  Whose  croi^  are  these  7"  And  he,  withont 
thinking,  replied, "  They  are  mine.'^  Scarcely 
had  he  finished  speaking,  when,  behold,  the 
harvest  was  on  fire  and  the  flames  leapt  from 
field  to  field.  But,  when  he  saw  this  he  ran  with 
all  his  speed  after  the  traveller,  and  shouted, 
"  Stop,  brother  I  Itoldyoualie.  These  crops 
are  not  mine,  they  are  my  wife's  I"  The  fire 
went  out  when  he  had  spoken,  and  from  that 
hour  he  continued  to  be--thank8  to  Mlliza— 
rich  and  happy. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


''  FmMxr  in  iMr  MouthM  OM  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS."- 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
COHDVCTED   BT   CHARLES   DICKEK8. 


No.  8.] 


.  A.  DIX,  PUBLISHER, 

Omos,  N«.  10  Pam  PvA«a,  Na«>Yoax. 


[Wholi  No.  261. 


FAST  AND  LOOSB. 

If  the  Directors  of  any  great  joint-stock 
commercial  undertaking — Bay  a  Railway 
Company — were  to  get  tbeniBelTea  made 
Directors  principally  in  virtue  of  some  blind 
superstition  declaring  every  man  of  the 
name  of  Bolter  to  be  a  man  of  business, 
every  man  of  the  name  of  Jolter  to 
be  a  mathematician,  and  every  man  of  the 
name  of  Polter  to  possess  a  minute  acquaint- 
ance with  the  construction  of  locomotive 
steam-engines ;  and  if  those  ignorant  Direct- 
ors 80  managed  the  aflbirs  of  the  body  cor- 
porate, as  that  the  trains  never  started  at  the 
right  times,  began  at  their  right  beginnings, 
or  got  to  their  right  ends,  but  always  devoted 
their  steam  to  bringing  themselves  into  vio- 
leat  collision  with  one  another :  and  if  by  such 
means  those  incapable  Directors  destroyed 
thousands  of  lives,  wasted  millions  of  money, 
and  hopelessly  bewildered  and  conglomerated 
themselves  and  everybody  else ;  what  would 
the  shareholding  body  say,  if  those  brazen- 
faced Directors  called  them  together  in  the 
midst  of  the  wreck  and  ruin  they  had  made, 
and  wiUi  an  audacious  piety  addressed  them 
thus :  '*  Lo,  ye  miserable  sinners,  the  hand  of 
Providence  is  heavy  on  you  I  Attire  your- 
selves in  sackcloth,  throw  ashes  on  your 
heads,  fast,  and  hear  us  condescend  to  make 
dieoourses  to  you  on  the  wrong  you  have 
done  1" 

Or,  if  Mr.  Matthew  Marshall  of  the  Bank 
of  England,  were  to  be  superseded  by  Bolter ; 
if  the  whole  Bank  parlour  were  to  be  cleared 
for  Jolter  ;  and  the  engraving  of  bank-notes 
were  to  be  given  as  a  snug  thing  to  Polter; 
and  if  Bolter  Jolter  and  Polter,  with  a 
short  pull  and  a  weak  pull  and  a  pull  no  two 
of  them  together,  should  tear  the  Money 
Market  to  pieces,  and  rend  the  whole  mercan- 
tile system  and  credit  of  the  country  to 
shreds  ;  what  kind  of  reception  would  Bolter 
Jolter  and  Polter  get  from  Baring  Brothers, 
Rothschilds,  and  Lombard  Street  in  general, 
if  those  Incapables  should  cry  out,  •*  Provi- 
dence has  brought  you  all  to  the  Gazette. 
Listen,  wicked  ones,  and  we  will  give  you  an 
improving  lecture  on  the  death  of  the  old 
Lady  in  Threadneedle  Street  I" 

Or,  if  the  servants  in  a  rich  man's  household 

were  to  distribute  their  duties  exactly  as  the 

TOL.  «i. 


fancy  took  them ;  if  the  housemaid  were  to 
undertake  the  kennel  of  hounds,  and  the 
dairymaid  were  to  mount  the  coachbox,  and 
the  cook  were  to  pounoe  upon  the  secretary- 
ship, and  the  groom  were  to  dress  the  dinner, 
and  the  gamekeeper  were  to  make  the  beds, 
while  the  gardener  gave  the  young  ladies 
lessons  on  the  piano,  and  the  stable-helper 
took  the  baby  out  for  an  airing ;  would  the 
rich  man,  soon  very  poor,  be  much  improved 
in  his  mind  when  the  whole  incompetent 
establishment,  surroundinff  him,  exclaimed, 
'<  Yon  have  brought  yourself  to  a  pretty  pass, 
sir.  You  had  letter  see  what  fasting  and 
humiliation  will  do  to  get  you  out  of  this.  We 
will  trouble  you  to  pay  us,  keep  us,  and  try  I" 

A  very  fine  gentleman,  very  daintily  dressed, 
once  took  an  uncouth  creature  under  his  pro- 
tection— a  wild  thing,  half  man  and  half 
brute.    And  they  travelled  along  together. 

The  wild  man  was  ignorant ;  but,  he  had 
some  desire  for  knowledge  too,  and  at  times 
he  even  fell  into  strange  fits  of  thought, 
wherein  he  had  gleams  of  reason  and  flashes 
of  a  quick  sagacitv.  There  was  also  veneration 
in  his  breast,  for  the  Maker  of  all  the  wondrous 
universe  about  him.  It  has  even  been  supposed 
tiiat  these  seeds  were  sown  within  him  by  a 
greater  and  wiser  hand  than  the  hand  of  the 
very  fine  gentleman  very  daintily  dressed. 

It  was  necessary  that  they  should  get  on 
quickly  to  avoid  a  storm,  and  the  first  thing 
tnat  happened  was,  that  the  wild  man's  feet 
became  crippled. 

Now,  the  very  fine  gentleman  had  made  the 
wild  man  put  on  a  tight  pair  of  boots  which 
were  altogether  unsuited  to  him,  so  the  wild 
man  said : 

"It's  the  boots." 

"  It's  a  Rebuke,"  said  the  very  fine  gentle- 
man. 

"  A  WHAT  T"  roared  the  wild  man. 

"It's  Providence,"  said  the  very  fine 
gentleman. 

The  wild  man  cast  his  eyes  on  the  earth 
around  him,  and  up  at  the  sky.  and  then  at 
the  very  fine  gentleman,  and  was  mightily 
displeased  to  hear  that  great  word  so  reetdilv 
in  the  mouth  of  such  an  interpreter  on  such 
an  occasion  ;  but  he  hobbled  on  as  well  as  he 
could  without  saying  a  syllable,  until  they 
had  gone  a  very  long  way,  and  he  was 
hungry. 

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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


There  was  abundance  of  wfaoleeome  fniits 
and  herbe  by  the  wayside,  which  the  wild 
man  tried  to  reach  by  springing  at  them,  bat 
conld  not. 

"  I  am  starving,"  the  wild  man  complained. 

**  It's  a  Rebuke,''  said  the  very  fine  gentle- 


*<  It's  the  handcuflfh,"  said  the  wild  man. 
For,  he  had  submitted  to  be  handcufiPed  be- 
fore he  came  out 

However,  his  companion  wouldn't  hear  of 
that  (he  said  it  was  not  official,  and  was  un- 
parliamentary), so  they  went  on  and  on,  a 
weary  journey ;  and  the  wild  man  got  nothing, 
because  he  was  handcuffed,  and  because  the 
▼ery  flue  gentleman  couldn't  reach  the  fruit 
for  him  on  account  of  his  stays :  and  the  very 
fine  gentleman  got  what  he  had  in  his  pocket. 

By  and  by,  they  came  to  a  house  on  fire 
where  the  wUd  man's  brother  was  being  burnt 
to  death,  because  he  couldn't  get  out  at  the 
door :  which  door  had  been  locked  seven  years 
before,  by  the  very  fine  gentleman,  who  had 
taken  away  the  key. 

''Produce  the  key,"  exclaimed  the  wild 
man,  in  an  agony,  ''and  let  my  brother  out" 

"  I  meant  it  to  have  been  here  the  day  be- 
fore yesterday,"  returned  the  very  fine  gen- 
tl^nan,  in  his  leisnrelv  way,  "  and  I  had  it 
put  a-board  ship  to  be  brou^t  here ;  but  the 
met  is,  the  ship  has  gone  round  the  world  in- 
stead of  coming  here,  and  I  doubt  if  we  shall 
ever  hear  any  more  about  it." 

"  It's  Murder  1"  cried  the  wild  man. 

But,  the  very  fine  gentleman  was  uncdhi- 
m<mly  high  wiui  him,  for  not  knowing  better 
than  that :  so  the  brother  was  burnt  to  death, 
and  they  prooeded  on  their  journey. 

At  last  they  came  to  a  fine  palace  by  a 
river,  where  a  gentleman  of  a  tnriving  ap- 
pearaioe  was  rolling  out  at  the  gate  in  a  very 
neat  ohariot,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  blood  horses, 
with  two  servants  i^  behind  in  fine  purple 
liveries. 

"Bless  my  soul!"  cried  this  gentleman, 
oheoking  his  coachman,  and  looking  hard  at 
the  wildman,  "  what  monster  have  we  here  1" 

Then  the  very  fine  gentleman  explained 
that  it  was  a  hardened  creature  with 
whom  Providence  was  very  much  incensed ; 
in  proof  of  which,  here  he  was,  rebuked,  crip- 
pled, handcuffed,  starved,  with  his  brother 
/burnt  to  death  in  a  locked-up  house,  and  the 
key  of  the  house  going  round  the  world. 

*' Are  you  Providence?"  asked  the  wild 
man  faintly. 

**  Hold  your  tongue,  sir,"  said  the  very  fine 
gentleman. 

"  Are  you  f"  asked  the  wild  man  of  the 
gentleman  of  the  palace. 

Hie  gentleman  of  the  palace  made  no  reply; 
but,  coming  out  of  his  carriage  in  a  brisk  busi- 
neas-like  manner,  immediately  put  the  wild 
man  intoastrait-waistcoat,  andsaid  to  the  very 
fineaentlemaB, "  Heshallfaet  for  hissins." 

"  1  have  already  done  that,"  the  wUd  man 
protested  weakly. 


"  He  shall  do  it  again,"  said  the  gentleman 
of  the  palace. 

*'I  have  fasted  from  work  too.  throng 
divers  causes — ^you  know  I  speak  tne  truth-- 
until  I  am  miserably  poor,"  said  the  wild  man. 

"  He  shall  do  it  again,"  said  the  gentleman 
of  the  palace. 

"  A  day's  work  just  now,  is  the  breath  of 
my  life,"  said  the  wild  man. 

"He  shall  do  without  the  breath  of  hii 
life,"  said  the  gentleman  of  the  palace. 

nierewith,  they  carried  him  off  to  a  hard 
bench,  and  sat  him  down.and  discoursed  to  him 
ding-dong,  through  and  through  the  diction- 
ary, about  all  manner  of  businesses  except  the 
business  that  concerned  him.  And  when  thev 
saw  his  thoughts,  red-eyed  and  angry  thoogk 
he  was,  escape  from  them  up  to  the  true  Pro- 
vidence far  away,  and  when  they  saw  that  he 
confusedly  humbled  and  quieted  his  mind  be- 
fore Heaven,  in  his  innate  desire  to  approach  it 
and  learn  from  it,  and  know  better  how  to 
bear  these  things  and  set  them  right,  they  mid 
"  He  is  listening  to  us,  he  is  doing  as  we  would 
have  him,  he  will  never  be  troublesome." 

What  that  wild  man  really  had  before  him 
in  his  thoughts,  at  that  time,  of  being  so  mis- 
construed and  so  practised  on,  History  shall 
tell—not  the  narrator  of  this  story,  though  he 
knows  full  welL  Enough  for  us,  and  for  the 
present  purpose,  that  this  tale  can  have  no  ap* 
plication— how  were  that  possible! — to  the 
year  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and  fifty- 
five. 


A  GHOST  STORY. 

I  WILL  relate  to  you,  my  fHend,  the  whole 
history,  from  the  beginning  to  nearly  the 
end. 

Tbo  first  time  thafr-^^  U  h^pentd^  was 
on  this  wise. 

My  husband  and  myself  were  sitting  in  a 
private  box  at  the  theatre — one  of  the  two 
large  London  theatrea  The  performance 
was,  I  remember  well,  an  Easter  piece,  in 
which  were  introduced  live  dromedaries  and 
an  elephant,  at  whose  clumsy  feats  we  were 
considerably  amused.  I  mention  this  to  show 
how  calm  and  even  gay  was  the  state  of  both 
our  minds  that  evening,  and  how  little  there 
was  in  any  of  the  circumstances  of  the  place 
or  time  to  cause,  or  render  us  liable  to — what 
I  am  about  to  describe. 

I  liked  this  Easter  piece  better  than  any 
serious  drama.  M^  life  had  contained 
enough  of  the  tragic  element  to  make  me 
turn  with  a  sick  distaste  from  all  imitationi 
thereof  in  books  or  playa  For  months,  ever 
since  our  marriage,  Alexis  and  I  bad  sto'iven 
to  lead  a  purely  childish,  common-place 
existence,  eschewing  idl  stirring  eventa  and 
strong  passions,  mixing  little  in  society,  and 
then,  with  one  exception,  making  no  associa-  ; 
tions  beyond  the  moment  | 

It  was  easy  to  do  this  in  London;  fbr  we  , 
had  no  relatione— we  two  were  quite  akme 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ChMlMDkktw] 


A  GHOST  STORY. 


171 


and  free.  Free— free  I  How  wildly  I  some- 
times grasped  Alexis's  hand  as  I  repeated 
that  word. 

He  was  yoong— so  was  I.  At  times,  as  on 
this  night,  we  wonld  sit  and  laagh  like  chil- 
drefti.  It  was  so  glorious  to  know  of  a 
surety  that  now  we  eonld  think,  feel,  speak, 
act — above  all,  love  one  another-^iaanted  by 
no  counteracting  n>eU,reeponsible  to  no  livihg 
creature  for  onr  life  and  onr  love. 

But  this  had  been  only  for  a  year— I  had 
thought  of  the  date,  shuddering,  in  the 
moming^for  a  year,  from  this  same  day. 

We  had  been  laughing  very  heartily,  cherish- 
ing mirth,  as  it  were,  like  those  who  would 
caress  a  lovely  bird  that  had  been  frightened 
out  of  its  natural  home  and  grown  wild  and 
rare  in  its  visits,  only  tapping  at  the  lattice 
for  a  minute,  and  then  gone.  Suddenly,  in  the 
pause  between  the  acts^  when  the  house  was 
half-darkened,  or  laughter  died  away, 

**  How  cold  it  is,"  said  Alexis,  shivering. 
I  shivered  too ;  but  it  was  more  like  the  in- 
voluntary shudder  at  which  people  say, 
**  Some  one  is  walking  over  my  grave."  I 
said  so  jestingly. 

''  Hush,  Isbel,"  whispered  my  husband,  re- 
provingly; and  again  the  draught  of  cold 
air  seemed  to  blow  right  between  ua 

We  sat,  he  in  the  front,  I  behind  thecur- 
Mn  of  our  box,  divided  by  some  foot  or  two 
of  space  and  by  a  vacant  chair.  Alexis  tried 
to  move  this  chair,  but  it  was  fixed.  He 
went  round  it,  and  wrapped  a  mantle  over 
my  shoulders. 

'*  This  London  winter  is  cold  for  you,  my 
love.  I  half  wished  we  had  taken  courage, 
and  sailed  once  more  for  Hi^paniola." 

"  Oh,  no— oh,  no  I  No  more  of  the  sea  I" 
said  I,  with  another  and  stronger  shudder. 

He  took  his  former  posiljbn,  looking  round 
indifiTerently  at  the  audience.  But  neither  of 
us  spoke.  The  mere  word  Hispaniola  was 
enough  to  throw  a  damp  and  a  silence  over 
us  both. 

;<l8bel,"he  said  at  last,  roushig  himself, 
with  a  half-emile,  *'  I  think  you  must  have 
grown  suddenly  beautiful.  Lookl  half  the 
glasses  opposite  are  lifted  to  our  box.  It 
cannot  be  at  me,  you  know.  Do  you  remem- 
ber tellinflr  me  I  was  the  ugliest  fellow  you 
ever  saw?" 

"Oh,  Alw:!"  Yet  it  was  quite  true— I 
had  thought  him  so,  in  far  back,  strange, 
awful  times,  when  I,  a  girl  of  sixteen,  had 
my  mind  wholly  filled  with  one  Ideal— one 
insane,  exquisite  dream;  when  I  brought 
my  innocent  child's  garlands,  and  sat  me 
down  under  one  great  spreading,  magnificent  i 
tree,  which  seemed  to  me  the  king  of  all  the 
trees  of  the  field,  until  I  felt  its  dews  dropping 
death  upon  my^  youth,  and  my  whole  som 
withering  under  its  venomous  shade. 

"Oh,  Alexl"  I  cried,  once  more,  looking 

fondly  on  his  beloved  face, where  no  unearthly 

beauty  dazzled,  no  unnatural  calm  repelled ; 

^  where  all  was  simple,  noble,  manly,  true. 


"Husband,  I  thank  heaven  for  that  dear 
'  ugliness'  of  yours.  Above  all,  though  blood 
runs  strong,  they  say,  that  I  see  in  you  no 
likeness  to—" 

Alexis  knew  what  name  I  meant,  though 
for  a  whole  year— since  God's  mercy  made  it 
to  us  only  a  name— we  had  ceased  to  utter 
it,  and  let  it  die  wholly  out  of  the  visible 
world.  We  dared  not  breathe  to  ourselves, 
still  less  to  one  another,  how  much  brighter, 
holier,  happier,  that  world  was,  now  that  the 
Divine  wisdom  had  taken— Ann— into  another. 
For  he  had  been  mv  husband's  uncle  ;  like- 
wise, once  my  guardian.    He  was  now  dead. 

I  sat  looking  at  Alexis,  thinking  what 
a  strange  thing  it  was  that  his  dear  face 
should  not  have  always  been  as  beautiful 
to  me  as  it  was  now.  That  loving  my  hus- 
band now  so  deeplv,  so  wholly,  cUng^ng  to 
him  heart  to  heart,  hi  the  deep  peace  of  satis- 
fied, all-trusting,  and  all-dependent  human 
affection,  I  could  ever  have  felt  that  emotion, 
first  as  an  exquisite  bliss,  then  as  an  ineflbble 
terror,  which  now  had  vanished  away,  and 
become — nothing. 

«'They  are  gazing  still  Isbel." 

"  Who,  and  where  T"  For  I  had  quite  for- 
gotten  what  he  said  about  the  people  staring 
at  me. 

"  And  there  is  Colonel  Hart  He  sees  us. 
Shall  I  beckon?" 

"As  you  will." 

Colonel  Hart  came  up  into  our  box.  He 
shook  hands  with  my  husband,  bowed  to  me, 
then  looked  round,  half-curioudy,  half-un- 
easily. 

"  I  thought  there  was  a  friend  with  you." 

"  None.  We  have  been  alone  all  evening." 

"Indeed I   How  strange." 

"  What!  That  my  wife  and  I  should  enjoy 
a  play  alone  together  I"  said  Alexis,  smiling. 

"  Excuse  me,  but  really  I  was  surprised  to 
find  you  alone.  I  have  certainly  seen  for  the 
last  half-hour  a  third  person  sitting  on  this 
chair,  between  you  both." 

We  could  not  help  starting :  for,  as  I  stated 
before,  the  chair  had,  in  trutD,  been  left  be- 
tween us,  empty. 

"  Truly  our  unknown  friend  must  have  been 
invisible.  Nonsense,  Colonel ;  how  can  you 
turn  Mrs.  Saltram  pale,  by  thus  peopling 
with  your  fancies  the  vacant  air  ?" 

"I  tell  you,  AJexis,"  said  the  Colonel  (he 
was  my  husband's  old  friend,  and  had  been 
present  at  our  hasty  and  private  marriage), 
"  nothing  could  be  more  unlike  a  fancy,  even 
were  I  given  to  such.  It  was  a  very  remark- 
able person  who  sat  here.  Even  strangers 
noticed  him." 

**Him!"  I  whispered. 

"  It  was  a  man,  then,"  said  my  husband, 
rather  angrily. 

"Avery  peculiar-looking,  and  extremely 
handsome  man.  I  saw  many  glasses  levelled 
at  him." 

"What  was  he  like?"  said  Alexis,  rather 
sarcastically.  "  Did  he  speak  ?  or  we  to  him  ?" 


Digitized  by  LjOOQIC 


172- 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Condacted  by 


*'  No— neither.  He  sat  quite  still,  in  this 
chair.'' 

My  husband  turned  away.  If  the  Colonel 
had  not  been  his  friend,  and  so  very  simple- 
minded,  honest  and  sober  a  gentleman,  I- 
think  Alexis  would  have  suspected  some 
drunken  hoax,  and  turned  him  out  of  the 
box  immediately.    As  it  was  he  only  said  : 

''  My  dear  fellow,  the  third  act  is  beginning. 
Come  up  again  at  its  close,  and  tell  me  if 
you  again  see  my  invisible  friend,  who  must 
find  60  great  an  attraction  in  viewing,  gratis, 
a  dramatic  performance." 

"  I  perceive— you  think  it  a  mere  halluci- 
nation of  mine.  We  shall  see.  I  suspect  the 
trick  is  on  your  side,  and  that  yon  are  har- 
bouring some  proscribed  Hungarian.  But  I'll 
not  betray  him.    Adieu." 

''  The  ghostly  Hungarian  shall  not  sit  next 
you,  love,  this  time,"  said  Alexis,  trying  once 
more  to  remove  the  chair  But  possibly, 
though  he  jested,  he  was  slightly  nervous, 
and  his  efforts  were  vain.  ^'  What  nonsense 
this  is  1  Isbel,  let  us  forget  it.  I  will  stand 
behind  you,  and  watch  the  play." 

He  stood.  I  clasping  his  hand  secretly  and 
hard.  Then,  I  grew  quieter ;  until,  as  the 
drop-scene  fell,  the  same  cold  air  swept  past 
us.  It  was  as  if  some  one,  fresh  from  the 
sharp  sea-wind,  had  entered  the  box.  And, 
just  at  that  moment,  we  saw  Colonel  Hart's, 
and  several  other  glasses  levelled  as  before. 

*'  It  is  strange,"  said  Alexis. 

"  It  is  horrible,"  I  said.  For  I  had  been 
cradled  in  Scottish,  and  then  filled  with  Ger- 
man superstition  ;  and  my  own  life  had  been 
so  wild,  so  strange,  that  there  was  nothing 
too  ghastly  or  terrible  for  my  imagination  to 
conjure  up. 

'*I  will  summon  the  Colonel.  We  must 
find  out  this,"  said  my  husband,  speaking 
below  l^is  breath,  and  looking  round,  as  if 
he  thought  he  was  overheard. 

Colonel  Hart  came  up.  He  looked  very 
serious ;  so  did  a  young  man  that  was  with 
him. 

**  Captain  Elmore— Mrs.  Saltram.  Saltram, 
.  I  have  brought  my  friend  here  to  attest  that 
I  have  placed  off  on  you  no  unworthy  jest. 
Not  ten  minutes  since  he,  and  I,  and  some 
others  saw  this  same  gentleman  sitting  in 
this  chair." 

*'  Most  certainly— in  this  c^^air,"  added  the 
young  captain. 

My  husband  bowed  ;  he  kept  a  courteous 
calmness,  but  I  felt  his  hand  grow  clammy  in 
mine. 

"  Of  what  appearance,  sir,  was  the  unknown 
acquaintance  of  my  wife's  and  mine,  whom 
everybody  appears  to  see,  except  ourselves?" 

*'  He  was  of  middle-age,  dark-haired^  pale. 
His  features  were  very  still,  rather  hard  in 
expression.  He  had  on  a  cloth  cloak  with  a 
fur  collar,  and  wore  a  long,  pointed  Charles- 
the-First  beard." 

Mv  husband  and  I  clung  hand  to  hand  with 
an  inexpressible  horror.      Could  there  be 


another  man — a  living  man,  who  answered 
this  description  ? 

*'  Pardon  me,"  Alexis  said  faintly.  "  The 
portrait  is  rather  vague ;  may  I  ask  you  to 
repaint  it  as  circumstantially  as  you  can." 
**  He  was,  I  repeat,  a  pale,  or  rather  a  sallow- 
featured  man.  His  eyes  were  extremely 
piercing,  cold,  and  clear.  The  mouth  close- 
set — a  very  firm  but  passionless  mouth.  The 
hair  dark,  seamed  with  grey— bald  on  the 
brow — " 

"  0  heaven ! "  I  groaned  in  an  anguish  of 
terror.  For  I  saw  again — clear  as  if  he  had 
never  died— the  face  over  which,  for  twelve 
long  months,  had  swept  the  merciftil  sea 
waves,  off  the  shores  of  Hispaniola. 

*'Can  you.  Captain  Elmore,"  said  Alexis, 
''mention  no  other  distinguishing  nark! 
this  countenance  might  resemble  many 
men." 

**  I  think  not.  It  was  a  most  remarkable 
face.  It  struck  me  the  more — ^because — " 
and  the  young  man  grew  almost  as  pale  as 
we — "  I  once  saw  another  very  like  it" 

"  You  see — a  chance  resemblance  only. 
Fear  not,  my  darling,"  Alexis  breathed  in  my 
ear.  "  Sir,  have  you  any  reluctance  to  tell 
me  who  was  the  gentlemen  ?" 

*'  It  was  no  living  man,  but  a  corpse  that 
we  picked  up  off  a  wreck,  and  agam  com- 
mitted to  the  deep — ^in  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  W 
was  exactly  the  same  face,  and  had  the  same 
mark — a  scar,  cross-shape,  over  one  temple." 

"  'Tis  he !  He  can  follow  and  torture  us 
still ;  I  knew  he  could  I" 

Alexis  smothered  my  shriek  on  his  breast. 

"  My  wife  is  ill.  This  description  resembles 
slightly  a — a  person  we  once  knew.  Hart, 
will  you  leave  us?  But  no,  we  must  probe 
this  mystery.  Gentlemen,  will  you  once  more 
descend  to  the  lov^r  part  of  the  house,  whilst 
we  remain  here,  and  tell  me  if  you  still  see 
this  figure  sitting  in  this  chair." 

They  went.  We  held  our  breaths.  The 
lights  in  the  theatre  were  being  extinguished, 
the  audience  moving  away.  No  one  came 
near  our  box ;  it  was  perfectly  empty.  Except 
our  own  two  selves,  we  were  conscnus  of  no 
sight — no  sound.  A  few  minutes  after  Colonel 
Hart  knocked. 

*'  Come  in,"  said  Alexis,  cheerily. 

But  the  Colonel— the  bold  soldier — shrunk 
back  like  a  frightened  child. 

**l  have  seen  him — ^I  saw  him  but  this 
minute,  sitting  there." 

I  swooned  away. 

It  is  right  I  should  briefly  give  you  mj 
history  up  to  this  night's  date. 

I  was  a  West  Indian  heiress — a  posthumous, 
and  soon  after  birth,  an  orphan  child.  Brought 
up  in  my  mother's  country,  until  I  was  six- 
teen years  old  ; — I  never  saw  my  guardian. 
Then  he  met  me  in  Paris,  with  my  governess, 
and  for  the  space  of  two  years  we  lived  under 
the  same  roof,  seeing  one  another  daily. 

I  was  very  young;  I  had  no  father  or 
mother ;  I  whhed  for  neither  love  nor  has-    . 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Clwrki  Dickeni.] 


A  GHOST  STORY. 


173 


baud ;  my  gaardian  became  to  me  as  the  one 
object  of  my  existence. 

It  was  no  love-passion ;  he  was  far  too  old 
for  that,  and  I  comparatively  too  yonng,  at 
least  too  childish.  It  was  one  of  those  insane, 
rapturous  adorations  which  young,  maidens 
sometimes  conceive,  mingling  a  little  of  the 
tenderness  of  the  woman  with  the  ecstatic 
enthusiasm  of  the  devotee.  There  is  hardly  a 
prophet  or  leader  noted  in  the  world's  history 
who  has  not  been  followed  and  worshipped 
by  many  such  women. 

So  was  my  guardian,  Anastasius— not  his 
true  name,  but  it  suflSced  then  and  will 
now. 

Many  may  recognise  him  as  a  known  leader 
in  the  French  political  and  moral  world — as 
one  who,  by  the  mere  force  of  intellect, 
wielded  the  most  irresistible  and  silently  com- 
plete power  of  any  man  I  ever  knew,  in  every 
circle  into  which  he  came ;  women  he  won  by 
his  polished  gentleness, — men,  by  his  equally 
polished  strength.  He  would  have  turned  a 
compliment  and  signed  a  death-warrant,  with 
the  same  exquisitely  calm  grace.  Nothing 
was  to  him  too  great  or  too  small.  I  have 
known  him,  on  his  way  to  advise  that  the 
President's  soldiers  should  sweep  a  can- 
nonade down  the  thronged  street — stop  to 
pick  up  a  strayed  canary-bird,  stroke  its 
broken  wing,  and  confide  it  with  beautiful 
tenderness  to  his  bosom. 

0  how  tender ! — how  mild ! — ^how  pitiful  I — 
could  he  be  I 

When  I  say  I  loved  him,  I  use,  for  want  of 
a  better,  a  word  which  ill  expresses  that  feel- 
ing. It  was — ^Heaven  forgive  me  if  I  err  in 
using  the  similitude — the  sort  of  feeling  the 
Shunamite  woman  might  have  had  for  Elisha. 
Religion  added  to  its  intensity ;  for  I  was 
brought  up  a  devout  Catholic ;  and  he,  what- 
ever his  private  dogmas  might  have  been,  ad- 
hered strictly  to  the  forms  or  the  same  church. 
He  was  unmarried,  and  most  people  supposed 
him  to  belong  to  that  order  called — Heaven 
knows  how  unlike  Him  from  whom  they 
assume  their  name — the  Society  of  Jesus. 

We  lived  thus — ^I  entirely  wor^ipping,  he 
gniding,  fondling,  watching,  and  ruling  by 
turns,  for  two  whole  years.  I  was  mistress  of 
a  large  fortune,  and,  though  not  beautiful, 
had,  I  believe,  a  tolerable  intellect,  and  a 
keen  wit  which  he  used  to  play  with,  as  a 
boy  pla;^s  with  fireworks,  amusing  himself 
with  their  glitter — sometimes  directing  them 
against  others,  and  smiling  as  they  flailed  or 
scorched— knowing  that  against  himself  they 
were  utterly  powerless  and  harmless.  Know- 
ing, too,  perhaps,  that  were  it  otherwise,  he 
had  onlv  to  tread  them  out  under  foot,  and 
step  aside  from  the  ashes,  with  the  same  un- 
moved, easy  smile. 

1  never  knew — nor  know  I  to  this  day, 
whether  I  was  dear  to  him  or  not  Useful  I 
was,  I  think,  and  pleasant,  I  believe.  Possiblv 
he  liked  me  a  little — as  the  ^tter  likes  his 
clay,  and  the  skilful  mechanician  likes  his 


tools^-until  the  clay  hardened,  and  the  fine 
tools  refused  to  obey  the  master's  hand. 

I  was  the  brilliant  West  Indian  heiress.  I 
did  not  marry.  Why  should  IT  At  my 
house — at  least  it  was  called  mine — all  sorts 
and  societies  met,  carrving  on  their  separate 
games ;  the  quiet,  soft  hand  of  M.  Anastasins 
playing  his  game — in,  and  under,  and  through 
them  all.  Mingled  with  this  grand  game  of 
the  world  was  a  lesser  one — to  which  he 
turned  sometimes,  just  for  amusement,  and 
because  he  could  not  cease  from  his  metier— a 
simple,  easy,  domestic  game,  of  which  the 
battledore  was  that  said  white 'hand,  and  the 
shuttlecock  my  foolish  child's  heart 

Thus  much  have  I  dilated  on  him,  and  my 
own  life  in  the  years  when  all  its  strong, 
wild  current  flowed  towards  him ;  that,  in 
what  followed  when  the  -tide  turned,  no  one 
may  accuse  me  of  fickleness,  or  causeless 
aversion,  or  insane  terror  of  one  who  after  all 
was  onlv  man,  <' whose  breath  is  in  his 
nostrils.'' 

At  seventeen  I  was  wholly  passive  in  his 
hands ;  he  was  mv  sole  arbiter  of  right  and 
wrong — my  conscience — almost  my  (ftd.  As 
my  chfiracter  matured,  and,  in  a  few  things,  I 
began  to  judge  for  myself,  we  had  occasional 
slight  differences— begun,  on  my  part,  in  shy 
humility,  continued  with  vague  doubt,  but 
always  ending  in  penitence  and  tears.  Since 
one  or  other  erred,  of  course  it  must  be  I. 
These  differences  were  wholly  on  abstract 
points  of  truth  or  justice. 

It  was  his  taking  me  to  the  ball  at  the 
Tuileries,  which  was  given  after  Louis  Napo- 
leon Bonaparte  had  seized  the  Orleans  pro- 
perty, and  it  was  mv  watching  my  cousin's 
conduct  there,  which  made  me  first  ques- 
tion, in  a  trembling  terrified  way — like  one 
who  catches  a  glimpse  of  the  miracle -making 
priest's  hands  behind  the  robe  of  the  wor- 
shipped idol — ^whether,  great  as  M.  Anas- 
tasius was  as  a  political  ruler,  as  a  man  of 
the  world,  as  a  faithful  member  of  the  Society 
of  Jesus,  he  was  altogether  so  great  when 
viewed  beside  an^  one  of  those  whose  doc- 
trines he  dissenunated,  whose  faith  he  pro- 
fessed. 

He  had  allowed  me  the  New  Testament, 
and  I  had  been  reading  it  a  good  deal  lately. 
I  placed  him,  my  spiritual  guide,  first  in 
venerating  love,  then,  with  a  curious  marvel- 
ling comparison,  beside  the  fishermen  of 
Gralilee,  beside — ^reverently  be  it  spoken — 
beside  the  Divine  Christ 

There  was  a  certain  difference. 

The  next  time  we  came  to  any  argument — 
always  on  abstract  questions, — for  my  mere 
individual  will  never  had  any  scruple  in 
resigning  to  hie — instead  of  yielding  and 
atoning,  I  ceased  the  contest,  and  brought  it 
afterwards  privately  to  the  one  infallible 
rule  of  right  and  wrong. 

The  difference  grew. 

Gradually,  I  ^gan  to  take  my  cousin's 
wisdom — perhaps,    even    his    virtues — with 


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174 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


certain  reserrations,  feeling  that  there  was 
growing  In  me  some  antagonistic  quality 
which  prevented  my  full  sympathy  with  Iwth. 

"  But,"  I  thought.  •*  he  is  a  Jesuit :  he  fol- 
lows only  the  law  of  his  order,  which  allows 
temporising,  and  diplomatising,  for  noble 
ends.  He  merely  dresses  up  the  Truth,  and 
puts  it  in  the  most  charming  and  safest  light, 
even  as  we  do  our  images  of  the  Holy  Virgin, 
using  them  for  the  adoration  of  the  crowd, 
but  ourselves  worshipping  them  still.  I  do 
believe,  much  as  he  will  dandle  and  play  with 
the  Truth,  that,  not  for  his  hope  of  Heaven, 
would  Anastasius  stoop  to  a  lie." 

One  day,  he  told  me  he  should  bring  to  my 
saloons  an  Englishman,  his  relative,  who  had 
determined  on  leaving  the  world  and  enter- 
ing the  priesthood. 

'*  Is  he  of  our  faith  T"  asked  I  indifferently. 

**  He  is,  from  childhood.  He  has  a  strong, 
fine  intellect ;  this,  under  fit  guidance,  may 
accomplish  great  things.  Once  of  our  Society, 
he  might  be  my  right  hand  in  every  Court  in 
Europe.    You  will  receive  him?"     ' 

"  Certainly." 

But  I  paid  verv  little  heed  to  the  stranger. 
There  was  nothing  about  him  striking  or 
peculiar.  He  was  the  very  opposite  of  M 
Anastasius.  Besides,  he  was  young,  and  I 
had  leamt  to  despise  youth— my  guardian 
was  fifty  years  old. 

Mr.  Saltram  (you  will  alreadv  have  guessed 
that  it  was  he)  showed  equal  indifference  to 
me.  He  watched  me  sometimes,  did  little 
kindnesses  for  me,  but  always  was  quiet  and 
silent— a  mere  cloud  floating  in  the  brilliant 
sky,  which  M.  Anastasius  lit  up  as  its  gor- 
geous sun.  For  me,  I  became  moonlike,  ap- 
pearing chiefly  at  my  cousin's  set  and  rise. 

I  was  not  happy.  I  read  more  in  my  Holy 
Book  and  less  in  my  breviary :  I  watched 
with  keener,  harder  eyes  my  cou^n  Anasta- 
sius, weighed  all  his  deeds,  listened  to  and 
compared  his  words :  my  intellect  worshipped 
hini,  mv  memoried  tenderness  clung  round 
him  still,  but  my  conscience  had  fled  out  of 
his  keeping,  and  made  for  itself  a  higher  and 
diviner  ideal.  Measured  with  common  men, 
he  was  godlike  yet— above  all  passions,  weak- 
nesses, crimes;  but  viewed  by  the  one  perfect 
standard  of  man — Christian  man — in  charity, 
humility,  singlc-mindedness,  guilelessness, 
truth — my  idol  was  no  more.  I  came  to  look 
for  it,  and  found  only  the  empty  shrine. 

He  went  on  a  brief  mission  to  Rome.  I 
marvelled  that,  instead  of  as  of  yore  wan- 
dering sadly  through  the  emptv  house,  its  air 
felt  freer  for  me  to  breathe  in.  It  seemed 
hardly  a  day  till  he  came  back. 

I  happened  to  be  sitting  with  his  nephew 
Alexis  when  I  heard  his  step  down  the  cor- 
ridor— the  step  which  had  once  seemed  at 
every  touch  to  draw  music  from  the  chords  of 
my  prostrate  heart,  but  which  now  made  it 
shrink  into  itself,  as  if  an  iron-shod  football 
had  passed  along  the  strings. 

Anastasius  looked   slightly  surprised   at 


seeing  us  together,  but  his  welcome  was  very 
kind  to  both. 

I  could  not  altogether  return  it  I  had 
just  found  out  two  things  which,  to  say  the 
least,  had  startled  me.  I  determined  to  prove 
them  at  once. 

"  Mv  cousin,  I  thought  you  were  aware  that, 
though  a  Catholic  myself,  my  'house  is  open, 
and  my  friendship  likewise,  to  honest  men  of 
every  creed.  Why  did  you  give  your  relative 
so  hard  an  impression  of  meT  And  why  did 
you  not  tell  me  that  Mr.  Saltram  has,  for 
some  years,  been  a  Protestant?" 

I  know  not  what  reply  he  made ;  I  know 
only  that  it  was  ingenious,  lengthv,  gentle, 
courteous— that  for  the  time  being  it  seemed 
entirely  satisfactory,  that  we  spent  all  three 
together  a  most  pleasant  evening.  It  was 
only  when  I  lay  down  on  my  bed,  face  to 
face  with  the  solemn  Dark,  in  which  dwelt 
conscience,  truth,  and  €rod,  that  I  discovered 
bow  Anastasius  had,  for  some  secret--doubt- 
less  blameless,  nay,  even  justifiable  purpose, 
told  of  me,  and  to  me,  two  absolute  lies ! , 

Disguise  it  as  he  might,  excuse  it  as  I  might, 
and  did,  they  were  lies.  They  haunted  me— 
flapping  their  black  wings  like  a  couple  of 
fiends,  mopping  and  mowing  behind  him 
when  became — sitting  on  his  shoulders  and 
mocking  his  beautiful,  calm,  majestic  foce— 
for  days.  That  was  the  beginning  of  sorrows ; 
gradually  they  grew  until  they  blackened  my 
whole  world. 

M.  Anastasius'  whole  soul  was  bent,  as  he 
had  for  once  truly  told  me,  on  winning  his 
voung  nephew  into  the  true  fold,  mfUciog 
him  an  instrument  of  that  great  purpose 
which  was  to  bring  all  Europe,  the  Popedom 
itself,  under  the  power  of  the  Society  of 
Jesus  and  its  future  head — Anastasius. 

The  young  man  resisted.  He  admired  and 
revered  his  kinsman  ;  but  he  himself  was 
very  single-hearted,  staunch,  and  true.  Some- 
thing in  that  strong  Truth,  which  was  the 
basis  of  his  character,  struck  sympathy  with 
mine.  He  was  very  much  inferior  in  most 
things  to  Anastasius— he  knew  it,  I  knew  it 
— but,  through  all,  this  divine  element  of 
Truth  was  patent,  beautifully  clear.  It  was 
the  one  quality  I  had  ever  worshipped,  ever 
sought  for,  and  never  found. 

Alexis  and  I  became  friends— equal,  e8^ 
nest  friends.  Not  in  the  way  of  wooing  or 
marriage— at  least,  he  never  spoke  of  either; 
and  both  were  far,  oh  how  far!  from  my 
thought — ^but  there  was  a  great  and  tender 
bond  between  us,  which  strengthened  day  by 
day. 

The  link  which  riveted  it  was  religion. 
He  was,  I  said,  a  Protestant,  not  adhering  to 
any  creed,  but  simply  living — not  preaching, 
but  living  the  faith  of  Our  Saviour.  He 
was  not  perfect — he  had  his  sins  and 
shortcomings,  even  as  I.  We  were  both 
struggling  on  towards  the  glimmering  light. 
So,  after  a  season,  we  clasped  hands  in 
friendship,  and  with  eyes  steadfastly  upward 


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determined  to  prees  on  together  towards  the 
one  goal,  and  along  the  self-eame  road* 

I  pat  mj  breviary  aside,  and  took  wholly 
to  the  New  Testament,  assuming  no  name 
either  of  Catholic  or  Protestant,  but  simply 
that  of  Christian. 

When  I  decided  on  this,  of  course  I  told 
Anastasius.  He  received  the  tidings  calmly. 
He  had  ceased  to  be  my  spiritual  confessor 
for  Bome  time ;  yet  I  could  see  he  was  greatly 
surprised,  afterwards  he  became  altogether 
changed. 

"  I  wish,"  said  I,  one  day,  "  as  I  shall  be 
twenty-one  next  year,  to  have  more  freedom. 
I  wish  even" — for  since  the  discovery  of  my 
change  of  belief  he  had  watched  me  so  closely, 
80  quietly,  so  continually,  that  I  had  con- 
ceived a  vague  fear  of  him,  and  a  longing  to 
get  away — to  put  half  the  earth  between  me 
and  bis  presence — "I  wish  even,  if  possible  this 
summer,  to  visit  my  estates  in  Hispaniola?" 

"Alone?" 

"No;  Madame  Gradelle  will  accompany 
me.  And  Mr.  Saltram  will  charter  one  of  his 
ships  for  mv  use." 

For,  I  should  say,  Alexis  was,  far  from 
being  a  Boman  Catholic  priest,  a  merchant 
of  large  means. 

"  I  approve  the  plan.  It  will  be  of  advan- 
tage to  your  health.  But  Madame  Gradelle 
is  not  sufficient  escort  I,  as  your  guardian, 
will  accompany  and  protect  you." 

A  cold  dread  seized  me.  Was  I  never  to 
be  f^ee  ?  Already  I  began  to  feel  my  guar- 
dian's influence  surrounding  me — an  influence 
once  of  love,  now  of  intolerable  distaste,  and 
even  fear.  .  Not  that  he  was  ever  harsh  or 
cruel — not  that  I  could  accuse  him  of  any 
single  wrong  towards  me  or  others :  but  I 
knew  I  had  thwarted  him,  and  through  him, 
his  cause^ — that  cause  whose  strongest  dogma 
is  that  any  means  are  sacred,  any  evil  good, 
to  the  one  great  end — Power. 

I  had  opposed  him,  and  I  was  in  his 
hand— that  hand  which  I  had  once  believed 
to  have  almost  superhuman  strength.  In  my 
terror  I  believed  it  stilL 

"He  will  go  with  us — we  cannot  escape 
from  him,"  I  said  to  Alexis.  "  He  will  make 
Tou  a  priest  and  me  a  nun,  as  he  planned — I 
know  he  did.  Our  very  souls  are  not  our  own.' ' 

"  What,  when  the  world  is  so  wide,  and  life 
so  long,  and  God's  kindness  over  all — when 
too,  I  am  free,  and  you  will  be  firee  in  a  year 
— when  " ' 

"I  shall  never  be  free.  He  is  my  evil 
genius.  '  He  will  haunt  me  till  my  death." 

It  was  a  morbid  feeling  I  had,  consequent 
on  the  awful  struggle  which  had  so  shaken 
body  and  mind.  The  sound  of  his  step  made 
me  turn  sick  and  tremble  ;  the  sight  of  his 
grand  face — ^perhaps  the  most  beautiful  I 
ever  saw,  with  its  faultless  features,  and  the 
half-melancholy  cast  given  by  the  high  bald 
forehead  and  the  pointed  beard — was  to  me 
more  terrible  than  any  monster  of  ugliness 
the  world  ever  produced. 


He  held  my  fortune — he  ruled  my  house. 
All  visitants  were  came  and  went  under  his 
control,  except  Alexis.  MThy  this  young 
man  still  came — or  how— -I  could  not  tell.. 
Probably  because  in  his  pure  singleness  of 
heart  and  purpose,  he  was  stronger  even  than 
M.  Anasiafeius. 

The  time  passed.  We  embarked  on  board 
the  ship  Argo,  for  Hispaniola. 

My  guardian  told  me,  at  the  last  minute, 
that  business  relating  to  his  order  would  pro- 
bably detain  him  in  Europe — that  we  were  to 
lie  at  anchor  for  twelve  hours,  oflf  Havre — 
and,  if  he  then  came  not,  sail. 

He  came  not — we  sailed. 

It  was  a  glorious  evening.  The  sun,  as  he 
went  down  over  the  burning  seas,  beckoned 
us  with  a  finger  of  golden  fire,  westward — to 
the  free,  safe,  happy  West 

I  say  us,  because  in  that  evening  we  first 
began  unconsciously  to  say  it  too  —  as  if 
vaguely  binding  our  fates  together— Alexis 
and  I.  We  talked  for  a  whole  hour— till 
long  after  France,  with  all  our  old  life 
therein,  had  become  a  mere  line,  a  cloudy 
speck  on  the  horizon— of  the  new  life  we 
should  lead  in  Hispaniola.  Tet  all  the  while, 
if  we  had  been  truly  the  priest  and  nun  he 
wished  to  make  us,  our  words,  and  I  believe 
o€ur  thoughts,  could  not  have  been  more 
angel-pure,  more  free  from  any  bias  of  human 
passion.  ,    ^ 

Tet,  as  the  sun  went  down,  and  the  sea- 
breeze  made  us  draw  nearer  together,  both 
began,  I'repeat,  instinctively  to  say  we,  and 
talk  of  oiir  future  as  if  it  had  been  the  future 
of  one. 

"  Good  evening,  friends  I " 

He  was  there — M.  Anastasius!  I  stood 
petrified.  All  the  golden  finger  of  hope  had 
vanished,  I  shuddered,  a  captive  on  his 
compelling  arm— seeing  nothmg  but  his 
terrible  smiling  face  and  the  black  wilder- 
ness of  sea.  For  the  moment  I  felt  inclined 
to  plunge  therein— I  had  often  longed  to 
plunge  into  the  equally  fearsome  wilderness 
of  Paris  streets— only  I  felt  sure  he  would 
follow  me  still.  He  would  track  me.  It  seem- 
ed, through  the  whole  world. 

'*  You  see  I  have  been  able  to  accomplish  the 
voyage ;  men  mostly  can  achieve  any  strong 
purpose— at  least  some  men.  Isbel,  this  sea- 
air  will  bring  back  your  bloom.  And,  Alexis, 
my  friend,  despite  those  close  studies  you  told 
me  of,  I  hope  you  will  bestow  a  Uttle  of  ^^r 
society  at  times  on  my  ward  and  me.  We 
will  bid  you  a  good  evening  now." 

He  gave  his  nephew  my  powerless  hand; 
that  of  Alexis,  too,  felt  cold  and  trembling. 
It  seemed  as  if  he  likewise  could  not  resist 
the  fate  which,  born  out  of  one  man's  indo- 
mitable will,  dragged  us  asunder.  Ere  my 
guardian  consigned  me  to  Madame  Gradelle, 
he  said,  smiling,  but  looking  through  me  with 

"  Bemember,  my  fair  cousin,  that  Alexis  is 
to  be— must  be— a  priest." 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coadvetedby 


"  It  18  impossible  I "  said  I,  stung  to  resist- 
ance. "  Ton  know  he  has  proved  the  falseness 
of  your  creed :  he  will  never  return  to  it.  His 
conscience  is  nis  own." 

**  But  not  his  passions.  He  is  young— I  am 
old.    He  will  be  a  priest  yet." 

With  a  soft  hand-pressure,  M.  Anastasius  | 
left  me. 

Now  began  the  most  horrible  phase  of  my 
existence.  For  four  weeks  we  had  to  live 
in  the  same  vessel;  bounded  and  shut  up 
together.— Anastasius,  Alexis,  and  I ;  meet- 
ing continually,  in  the  soft  bland  atmosphere 
of  courteous  calm ;  always  in  public — never 
alone. 

From  various  accidental  circumstances,  I 
knew  how,  night  and  day,  M.  Anastasius  was 
bending  all  the  powers  of  his  enormous  intel- 
lect, his  wonderful  moral  force,  to  compass 
his  cheri&ed  ends  with  regard  to  Alexis 
Saltram. 

An  overwhelming  dread  took  possession  of 
me.  I  ceased  to  think  of  myseli  at  all — ^mv 
worldly  hopes,  prospects,  or  joys — over  which 
this  man's  influence  had  long  hung  like  an 
accursed  shadow;  a  sun  turned  into  dark- 
ness,— ^the  more  terrible  because  it  had  once 
been  a  sun.  I  seemed  to  see  M.  Anastasius 
only  with  relation  to  this  young  man,  over 
whom  I  knew  he  once  had  so  great  power. 
Would  it  return — and  in  what  would  it  re- 
sult? Not  merely  in  the  breaking  eff  any 
feeble  tie  to  me.  I  scarcely  trembled  for  that, 
since,  could  it  be  so  broken,  it  was  not  worth 
trembling  for.  No  I  I  trembled  for  Alexis' 
soul. 

It  was  a  s«ul,I  had  gradually  learnt — more 
than  ever  perhaps  in  this  vovage,  which  every 
day  seemed  a  brief  life,  so  rail  of  temptation, 
contest,  trial  —  a  soul  pure  as  God's  own 
heaven,  that  hung  over  us  hour  by  hour  in 
its  steady  tropic  blue ;  deep  as  the  seas  that 
rolled  around  us.  Like  them^  stirring  with 
the  lightest  breath,  often  tempest-tossed, 
liable  to  adverse  winds  and  currents} 


}  7«* 
ivme 


keeping  far,  far  below  the  surface  a  diVL_. 
tranquillity, — diviner  than  any  mere  stagnant 
calm.  And  this  soul  full  of  all  rich  impulses, 
emotions,  passions, — a  soul  which,  because  it 
could  strongly  sympathise  with,  might  be 
able  to  regenerate  its  kind,  M.  Anastasius 
wanted  to  make  into  a  Catholic  Jesuit  priest, 
— a  mere  machine,  to  work  as  he,  the  head 
machine,  chose ! 

This  was  why  (the  thought  suddenly  struck 
me,  like  lightning)  he  had  told  each  of  us 
severally  those  two  lies.  Because  we  were 
young,  wo  mi^ht  love — we  might  marry; 
there  was  nothing  externally  to  prevent  us. 
And  then  what  would  become  of  his  scheme  ? 

I  think  there  was  born  in  me — while  the 
most  passive  slave  tO  lawful,  loving  rule — a 
faculty  of  savage  resistance  to  all  unlawful, 
ui^jnst  power ;  also  a  something  of  the  female 
.wild-beast,  which,  if  alone,  will  lie  tame  and 
cowed  in  her  solitary  den,  to  be  shot  at  by  any 
daring  hunter ;  whereas  if  ^e  be  no<  alone— If 


she  have  any  love-instinct  at  work  for  cubs  or 
mate— her  whole  nature  changes  ft*om  terror 
to  daring,  from  cowardice  to  rary. 

When,  as  we  neared  the  tropics,  I  saw 
Alexis'  cheek  growing  daily  paler,  and  his  eye 
more  sunken  and  restless  with  some  secret 
struggle,  in  the  which  M.  Anastasius  never 
left  him  for  a  day,  an  hour,  a  minute,  I 
became  not  unlike  that  poor  wild-beast 
mother.  It  had  gone  ill  with  the  relentless 
hunter  of  souls  if  he  had  come  near  me  then. 

But  he  did  not.  For  the  last  week  of  our 
voyage,  M.  Anastasius  kept  altogether  out  of 
my  way. 

It  was  nearly  over, — we  were  in  sight  of 
the  shores  of  Hispaniola.  Then  we  should 
land.  My  estates  lay  in  this  island.  Mr.  Sal- 
tram's  business,  I  was  aware,  called  him  to 
Barbadoes;  thence  again  beyond  seas.  Once 
parted,  I  well  knew  that  if  the  power  and 
will  of  my  guardian  could  compass  anything 
— and  it  seemed  to  me  that  they  were  able  to 
compass  everyUiing  in  the  whole  wide  earth 
— ^Alexis  and  I  should  never  meet  again. 

In  one  last  struggle  after  life— after  the 
fresh,  wholesome,  natural  life  which  contact 
with  this  young  man's  true  spirit  had  given 
me — I  determined  to  risk  all. 

It  was  a  rich  tropic  twilight.  We  were  all 
admiring  it,  just  as  three  ordinary  persons 
might  do  who  were  tending  peacefully  to 
their  voyage-end.  Yet  Alexis  did  not  seem 
at  peace.  A  settled,  deadly  pallor  dwelt  oa 
his  face,— a  restless  anxiety  troubled  his  whole 
mien. 

M.  Anastasius  said,  noticing  the  glowing 
tropic  scenery  which  already  dimly  appeared 
in  our  shoreward  view, 

"  It  is  very  grand ;  but  Europe  is  more 
suited  to  us  grave  Northerns.  You  will  think 
so,  Alexis,  when  you  are  onoe  again  there." 

"Are  you  returning?"  I  asked  of  Mr. 
Saltram. 

My  cousin  answered  for  him,  "Yes,  im- 
mediately." 

Alexis  started ;  then  leaned  over  the  poop 
in  silence,  and  without  denial. 

I  felt  profoundly  sad.  My  interest  in  Alexis 
Saltram  was  at  this  time — and  but  for  the 
compulsion  of  opposing  power,  might  have 
ever  been — entirely  apart  from  love.  We 
might  have  gone  on  merely  as  tender  friends 
for  years  and  years, — at  least  I  might  There- 
fore no  maidenly  consciousness  warned  me 
from  doing  what  my  sense  of  right  im- 
pelled towards  one  who  held  the  same 
faith,  and  whose  life  seemed  strangled  in  the 
same  mesh  of  circumstances  which  had  nearly 
paralysed  my  own. 

"  Alexis,  this  is  our  last  evening ;  you  will 
sail  for  Europe — and  we  shall  be  friends  no 
more.  Will  you  take  one  twilight  stroll 
with  me  ?  " — and  I  extended  my  hand. 

If  he  had  hesitated,  or  shrunk  back,  one 
second,  I  would  have  flung  him  to  the  winds, 
and  fought  my  own  warfare  alone ;  I  was 
strong  enough  noyr.     But  he  sprang  to  me, 


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177 


clung  to  my  liand,  looked  wildly  in  my  ftice, 
as  if  there  were  the  sole  light  of  truth  and 
trust  lefk  in  the  world ;  and  as  if,  even  there,  , 
he  had  began  to  doubt.    He  did  not,  now.       * 

'<  Isbel;  tell  me  1  Ton  still  hold  our  faith 
—you  are  not  going  to  become  a  nun  ?''  ' 

*'  Neverl    I  will  offer  myself  to  Heaven  as 
Hearen  gave  me  to  myself— free,  bound  by 
no  creed,  subservient  to  no  priest.    What  is 
he,  but  a  man  that  shall  die,  whom  the  worms  I 
shall  cover?"  *  ' 

I  said  the  words  out  loud.  I  meant  M.  | 
Anastaaius  to  hear.  But  he  looked  as  if  he  j 
heard  not :  only  when  we  turned  up  the  deck,  > 
he  slowlv  followed. 

I  stood  at  bay.  '*  Cousin,  leave  me.  Cannot 
I  have  any  friend  but  you  ?" 

"None,  whom  I  believe  you  would  harm 
and  receive  harm  from." 

"  Dare  you" — 

'*  I  dare  nothing ;  there  is  nothing  which 
my  church  does  not  dare.  Converse,  my 
children.  I  hinder  you  not.  The  deck  is  free 
for  all." 

He  bowed,  and  let  us  pass^  then  followed. 
E^ery  sound  of  that  slow,  smooth  step  seemed 
to  strike  on  mj  heart  like  the  tracking  tread 
of  doom. 

Alexis  and  I  spoke  little  or  nothing.  A 
leaden  despair  seemed  to  bind  us  closely 
round,  blowing  only  one  consciousness,  that 
for  a  little,  little  time,  it  bound  us  together  1 
He  held  my  arm  so  fast  that  I  felt  every 
throbbhig  of  his  heart.  My  sole  thought  was 
now  to  say  some  word  that  might  be  fixed 
eternally  there — so  that  no  lure,  no  power 
might  nuike  him  swerve  from  his  faitn,  the 
faith  which  was  my  chief  warrant  of  meeting 
him— never,  oh  never  in  this  world  I  but  in 
the  world  everlasting. 

Once  or  twice  in  turning  we  confronted 
fully  IL  Anastasius.  He  was  walking,  in  his 
usual  slow  pace,  his  hands  loosely  clasped 
behind  him — ^his  head  bent — a  steely  repose, 
even  pensiveness,  which  was  his  natural  look 
^-settled  in  his  grave  eyes.  He  was  a  man 
in  hitellect  too  great  to  despise,  in  character 
too  spotless  to.  loathe.  The  one  sole  feeling 
he  inspired  was  that  of  unconquerable  fear. 
Because  you  saw  at  once  that  he  feared 
nothing  either  in  earth  or  Heaven,  that  he 
owned  out  one  influence,  and  was  amenable 
but  to  one  law,  which  he  called  "  the  Church," 
bat  which  was,  himself. 

Men  like  M.  Anastasius,  one-idea'd,  all- 
engrossed  men,  are,  according  to  slight  varia- 
tions in  temperament,the  salvation,  tne  laugh- 
ing stock,  or  the  terror  of  the  world. 

He  appeared  in  the  latter  form  to  Alexis 
and  me.  Slowly,  surely  came  the  conviction 
that  there  was  no  peace  for  us  on  God's  earth 
while  he  stood  on  it ;  so  strong,  so  powerfril, 
that  at  times  I  almost  succumbed  to  a  vague 
belief  in  his  immortality.  On  this  night,  espe- 
ciall3^  I  was  stricken  with  a  horrible— curio- 
sity, I  think  it  was — a  wish  to  see  whether  he 
could  die,~wheth«r  the  grave  could  swallow 


him,  and  death  have  power  upon  his  flesh, 
like  that  of  other  men. 

More  than  once,  as  he  passed  under  a  huge 
beam,  I  thought— should  it  fall !  as  he  leaned 
against  the  ship's  side — should  it  give  way  I 
But  only,  I  declare  before  Heaven,  in  a 
frenzied  speculative  curiosity,  which  I  would 
not  for  worlds  have  breathea  to  human  soul ; 
especially  to  Alexis  Saltram,  who  was  his 
sister's  son,  and  whom  he  had  been  kind  to 
as  a  child. 

Night  darkened,  and  our  walk  ceased.  We 
had  said  nothine, — nothing,  except  that  on 
parting,  with  a  kind  of  desperation,  Alexis 
buried  my  hand  tightly  in  his  bosom,  and 
whispered,  "  To-morrow  ?" 

That  midnight  a  sudden  hurricane  came  on. 
In  half-an-hour  all  that  was  left  of  the  good 
ship  Argo  was  a  little  boat,  filled  almost  to 
sinkiuff  with  half-drowned  passengers,  and  a 
few  sailors  clinging  to  spars  and  fragments 
of  the  wreck. 

Alexis  was  lashed  to  a  mast,  holding  me 
partly  fastened  to  it,  and  partly  sustain^  in 
his  arms.  How  he  had  ix>und  and  rescued 
me  I  know  not ;  but  love  is  very  strong.  It 
has  been  sweet  afterwards  to  me  to  think 
that  I  owed  my  life  to  him — and  him  alone. 
I  was  the  only  woman  saved. 

He  was  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  mast ; 
we  rested,  face  to  face,  my  head  against  his 
shoulder.  All  along,  to  its  slender  point,  the 
sailors  were  clinging  to  the  spar  like  flies, 
but  we  two  did  not  see  anything  in  the  world, 
save  one  another. 

Life  was  dim,  death  was  near,  yet  I  think 
we  were  not  unhappy.  Our  Heaven  was  clear; 
for  between  us  and  Him  to  whom  we  were 
going  came  no  threatening  shadow,  holding 
in  its  remorseless  hand  life,  fSetith,  love.  Death 
itself  was  less  terrible  tha^  M.  Anastasius. 

We  had  seen  him  among  the  saved  pas- 
sengers swaying  in  the  boat ;  then  we  thought 
of  him  no  more.  We  clung  together,  with 
closed  eyes,  satisfied  to  die. 

"  No  room — off  there  I  No  room !"  I  heard 
shouted,  loud  and  savage,  by  the  sailor  lashed 
behind  me. 

I  opened  my  eyes.  Alexis  was  gazing  on 
me  only.  I  gazed,  transfixed,  over  his 
shoulder,  into  the  breakers  beyond. 

There,  in  the  trough  of  a  wave,  I  saw,  clear 
as  I  see  my  own  right  hand  now,  the  up- 
turned face  of  Anastasius,  and  his  two  white, 
strctched-out  hands,  one  of  which  had  the 
well-known  diamond  ring — for  it  flashed  that 
.minute  in  the  moon. 

"Ofl" I"  yelled  the  sailor,  striking  at  him 
with  an  oar.  '*  One  man's  life's  as  good  as 
anothe^s.    Off"!" 

The  drowning  face  rose  above  the  wave, 
the  eyes  fixed  direct  on  me,  without  any 
entreaty  in  them,  or  wrath,  or  terror — the 
long-familiar,  passionless,  relentless  eyes. 

I  see  them  now :  I  shall  see  them  till  I  die. 
Oh,  would  I  had  died ! 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


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For  one  brief  second  I  thought  of  tearing 
off  ttie  lashings  and  giving  him  my  place  ; 
for  1  had  loved  him.  But  youth  and  life  wero 
strong  within  me,  and  my  head  was  pressed 
to  Alexis'  breast. 

A  full  minute,  or  it  seemed  so,  was  that 
face  above  the  water  ;  then  I  watched  it  sink 
slowly,  down,  down. 

We,  and  several  others,  were  picked  up 
firom  the  wreck  of  the  Argo  by  a  homeward- 
bound  ship.  As  soon  as  we  reached  London 
I  became  Alexis'  wife. 

That  which  happened  at  the  theatre  was 
exactly  twelve  months  after — as  we  believed 
— Anastasius  died. 

I  do  not  pretend  to  explain  ;  I  doubt  if  any 
reasoning  can  explain  a  circumstance  so  sin- 
gular— so  impossible  to  be  attributed  to  either 
imagination  or  illusion.  For,  as  I  must  again 
distinctly  state,  we  saw  nothing.  The  appa- 
rition, or  whatever  it  was,  was  visible  only  to 
other  persons,  all  total  strangers. 

I  had  a  fever.  When  I  arose  from  it,  and 
things  took  their  natural  forms  and  relations, 
this  strange  occurrence  became  mingled  with 
the  rest  of  my  delirium,  of  which  my  hus- 
band persuaded  me  it  was  a  part.  He  took 
me  abroad — to  Italy — Grermany.  He  loved 
me  dearly  I  He  was,  and  made  me,  entirely 
happy. 

In  our  happiness  we  strove  to  live,nof  merely 
for  one  another,  but  for  all  the  world ;  all  who 
suffered  and  had  need.  We  did — nor  shrunk 
from  the  doing — manjr  charities  which  had 
first  been  planned  with  Anastasius — with 
what  motives  we  never  knew.  While  carry- 
ing them  out,  we  learnt  to  utter  his  name 
without  trembling — remembering  only  that 
which  was  beautiful  in  him,  and  which  we 
had  both  so  worshipped  once. 

In  the  furtherance  of  these  schemes  of 
good,  it  became  advisable  that  we  should  go 
to  Paris,  to  my  former  house,  which  still  re- 
mained empty  there. 

"  But  not,  dear  wife,  if  any  uneasiness,  or 
lingering  pain,  rests  in  your  mind  in  seeing 
the  old  spot.  For  me,  I  love  it !  since  there 
I  loved  Isbel,  before  Isbel  knew  it,  long." 

So  I  smiled ;  and  went  to  Paris.  « 

My  husband  proposed,  and  I  was  not 
sorry,  that  Colonel  Hart  and  his  newly- 
married  wife  should  join  us  there,  and 
remain  as  our  guests.  I  shrunk  a  little  from 
re-inhabiting  the  familiar  rooms,  long  shut 
up  from  the  light  of  dav ;  and  it  was  with 
comfort  I  heard  my  husband  arranging  that 
a  portion  of  the  hotel  should  be  made  ready 
for  us,  namely,  two  salons  en  suite,  and 
leading  out  of  the  farther  one  of  which  were 
a  chamber  and  dressing-room  for  our  use — 
opposite  two  similar  apartments  for  the 
Colonel  and  his  lady. 

I  am  thus  minute  for  reasons  that  will 
appear. 

Mrs.  Hart  had  been  travelling  with  us 
some  weeks.    She  was  a  mild  sweet-faced 


English  girl,  who  did  not  mnch  like  the 
Continent,  and  was  half  shocked  at  some  of 
my  reckless  foreign  ways,  on  board  steam- 
boats and  on  railways.  She  said  I  was 
a  little— just  a  little— too  free.  It  might 
have  seemed  so  to  her ;  for  my  southern 
blood  rushed  bright  and  warm,  and  my 
manner  of  life  in  France  had  completely 
obliterated  early  impressions.  Faithful  and 
tender  woman,  and  true  wife,  as  I  was,  I 
believe  I  was  unlike 'an  English  woman 
or  an  English  wife,  and  that  Mrs.  Hart 
thought  so. 

Once — for  being  weak  of  nature  and  fast 
of  tongue,  she  often  said  things  she  should 
not — there  was  even  some  hint  of  the  kind 
dropped  before  my  husband.  He  flashed  up 
— but  laughed  the  next  minute;  for  I  was 
his,  and  he  loved  me  I 

Nevertheless,  that  quick  glow  of  anger 
pained  me — ^bringing  back  the  recollection  of 
many  things  his  uncle  had  said  to  me  of  him, 
which  I  heard  as  one  that  heareth  not.  The 
sole  saying  which  remained  was  one  which, 
in  a  measure,  I  had  credited— that  his  con- 
science was  in  his  hand,  '<but  not  his  pas- 
sions." 

I  knew  always — and  rather  rejoiced  in  the 
knowledge — that  Alexis  Saltram  could  not 
boast  the  frozen  calm  of  M.  Anastasiua 

But  I  warned  tame  Eliza  Hart,  half  jest- 
ingly, to  take  heed,  and  not  lightly  blame  me 
before  my  husband  again. 

Reaching  Paris,  we  were  all  very  gay 
and  sociable  together.  Colonel  Hart  was  a 
grave  honourable  man ;  my  husband  and  I 
both  loved  him. 

We  dined  together— a  lively  partie  quarr^e. 
I  shut  my  eyes  to  the  familiar  things  about 
us,  and  tried  to  believe  the  rooms  had  echoed 
no  footsteps  save  those  of  Mrs.  Hart  and  the 
Colonel's  soldierly  tread.  Once,  or  so,  while 
silence  fell  over  us,  I  would  start,  and  feel 
my  heart  beating ;  but  Alexis  was  near  me, 
and  altogether  mine.  Therefore,  I  feared 
not,  even  here. 

After  coffee,  the  gentlemen  went  out  to 
some  evening  amusement.  We,  the  weary 
wives,  contented  ourselves  with  lounging 
about,  discussing  toilettes,  and  Paris  sights, 
and  the  fair  Empress  Eugenie — the  wifely 
crown  which  my  old  aversion  Louis  Bona- 
parte had  chosen  to  bind  about  his  ugly 
brows.  Mrs.  Hart  was  anxious  to  see  all,  and 
then  fly  back  to  her  beloved  London. 

"How  long  ia  it  ^ce  you  left  London, 
Mrs.  Saltram?" 

''  A  year,  I  think.    What  is  to-day!" 

"  The  twenty-fifth— no,  the  tw«ity-«ixth  of 
May."  ^ 

I  dropped  my  head  on  the  coBhion.  Then, 
that  date — the  first  she  mentioned— bad 
passed  over  unthought  of  by  us.  That  night 
— the  nigllt  of  mortal  horror  when  the  Argo 
went  down — lay  thus  far  buried  in  the  past, 
parted  fVom  us  by  two  blessed  years. 

But  I  found   it   impossible    to  converse 


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179 


ionger  with  Mrs.  Hart ;  so  aboat  ten  o'clock 
left  her  reading,  and  went  to  take  half  an 
hour's  rest  in  m;^  chamber,  which,  as  I  have 
explained,  was  divided  ft^m  the  salon  bj  a 
small  bondoir  or  dressing-room.  The  only 
other  entrance  was  from  a  door  near  the 
head  of  my  bed,  which  I  went  and  locked. 

It  seemed  unconrteons  to  retire  for  the 
night ;  so  I  merely  threw  a  dressing-gown 
over  my  evening  toilette,  and  lay  down  ont- 
eide  the  bed,  dreamily  watching  the  shadows 
which  the  lamp  threw.  This  lamp  was  in 
my  chamber ;  but  its  li^t  extended  faintly 
into  the  boudoir,  showing  the  tall  mirror 
there,  and  a  sofa  which  was  placed  opposite. 
Otherwise,  the  little  room  was  dusky,  save 
for  a  narrow  fflint  streaming  through  the  not 
cloeed  door  of  the  salon. 

I  lay  broad  awake,  but  very  quiet,  con- 
tented, and  serene.  I  was  thinkins^  of  Alexis. 
In  the  midst  of  my  reverie,  I  heard,  as  I 
thought,  mv  maid  trying  the  handle  of  the 
door  behind  me. 

*'  It  is  locked,"  I  said ;  "  another  time." 

The  sound  ceased ;  yet  I  almost  thought 
she  had  opened  the  door,  for  there  came  a 
rift  of  wind,  which  made  the  lamp  sway  in 
ita  socket.  But  when  I  looked,  the  door  was 
closely  shut,  and  the  bolt  still  fast. 

I  lay,  it  might  be,  half  an  hour  longer. 
Then,  with  a  certain  compunction  at  my  dis- 
courtesy, I  saw  the  salon  door  open,  and 
Mrs.  Hart  appear. 

She  looked  in,  drew  back  hurriedly,  and 
closed  the  door  after  her. 

Of  course  I  immediately  rose  to  follow  her. 
Ere  doing  so,  I  remember  particularly  stand- 
ing with  the  lamp  in  my  hand,  arranging  my 
dress  before  the  mirror  in  the  boudoir,  and 
seeing  reflected  in  the  glass,  with  my  cash- 
mere lying  over  its  cushions,  the  sofa  unoo- 
capied. 
Eliza  was  standing  thoughtfully  by  the  stove. 

"  I  ought  to  ask  pardon  of  you,  my  dear 
Mrs.  Hart." 

**  Oh»  no,— but  I  of  you.  I  did  not  know 
Mr.  Saltram  had  returned.  Where  is  my 
husband?" 

"  With  mine,  no  doubt  I  We  need  not  ex- 
pect them  for  an  hour  yet,  the  renegades." 

"You  are  jesting,"  said  Mrs.  Hart,  half 
offended.  •*  I  know  they  are  come  home.  I 
saw  Mr.  Saltram  in  your  boudoir  not  two 
minutes  since." 

"How?" 

"  In  your  boudoir,  I  repeat.  He  was  lying 
on  the  sofa." 

"  Impossible  I "  and  I  burst  out  laughing. 
<'  Unless  he  has  suddenly  turned  into  a  cash- 
mere shawL    Come  and  look." 

I  flung  the  folding  doors  open,  and  poured 
a  blaze  of  light  into  the  little  room. 

"  It  is  very  odd,"  fidgetted  Mrs.  Hart ; 
"  very  odd,  indeed.  I  am  sure  I  saw  a  gen- 
tleman here.  His  face  was  turned  aside,— 
but  of  course  I  concluded  it  was  Mr.  Saltram. 
Very  odd,  indeed." 


I  still  laughed  at  her,  though  an  uneasy 
feeling  was  creeping  over  me.  To  dismiss  it, 
I  showed  her  how  the  door  was  fastened,  and 
how  it  was  impossible  my  husband  could 
have  entered. 

**  No ;  for  I  distinctly  heard  you  say,  *  It  is 
locked — another  time.'  What  did  you  mean 
by  another  time  ? " 

"  I  thought  it  was  Fanchon." 

To  change  the  subject  I  began  showing 
her  some  parures  my  husband  had  just 
bought  me.  Eliza  Hart  was  very  fond  of 
jewels.  We  remained  looking  at  them  some 
time  longer,  and  then  she  bade  me  good 
night 

**  No  light,  thank  you.  I  can  find  my  way. 
The  boudoir  is  not  dark.  Good  night.  Do 
not  look  so  pale  to-morrow,  my  dear." 

She  kissed  me  in  the  friendly  English 
fashion,  and  we  parted. 

She  went  through  rapidly,  shutting  my 
bed-room  door.  A  minute  afterwards  she 
re-appeared,  breathless,  covered  with  angry 
blushes. 

"Mrs.  Saltram,  you  have  deceived  me  I 
You  are  a  wicked  French  woman." 

"Madam!" 

"  You  know  it, — you  knew  it  all  alone.  I 
will  go  and  seek  my  husband.  He  will  not 
let  me  stay  another  night  in  your  house ! " 

"  As  you  will," — for  I  was  sick  of  her 
follies.    "  But  explain  yourself." 

"  Have  you  no  shame  ?  Have  you  foreign 
women  never  anv  shame?  But  I  have  found 
you  out  at  last.'' 

"Indeed!" 

"  There  is— I  have  seen  him  twice  with  my 
own  eyes — there  is  a  man  lying  this  minute 
in  your  boudoir, — and  he  is— no<  Mr.  Sal- 
tram!" 

Then,  indeed,  I  sickened, — a  deadly  horror 
came  over  me.  No  wonder  the  young  thing, 
convinced  of  my  guilt,  fled  from  me,  appalled. 

For  I  knew  now  whom  she  had  seen. 
•  •  •  •  • 

Hour  after  hour  I  must  have  lain  where  I 
fell.  There  was  some  confusion  in  the  house 
— no  one  came  near  me.  It  was  early  day- 
light when  I  woke  and  saw  Fanchon  leaning 
orer  me,  and  trving  to  lift  me  from  the  floor. 

**  Fanchon, — is  it  morning  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Madame." 

"What  day  is  it?" 

"  The  twenty-sixth  of  May." 

It  had  been  he,  then.    He  followed  us  still. 

Shudder  after  shudder  convulsed  me.  I 
think  Fanchon  thought  I  was  dying. 

"  Oh,  Madame !  on,  poor  Madame !  And 
Monsieur  not  vet  come  home." 

I  uttered  a  horrible  cry — for  my  soul  fore- 
boded what  either  had  been,  or  would  be. 

Alexis  never  came  home  again. 

An  hour  after,  I  was  sent  for  to  the  little 
woodcutter's  hut,  where  he  lay  dying. 

Mv  noble  husband  had  in  him  but  one  thing 
lacking— his  passions  were  *^  not  in  his  hand." 
When  Colonel  Hart,  on  the  clear  testimony  of 


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Eliza,  impagned  Ait  wife's  honour,  Alexis 
fought  and  fell. 

It  all  happened  in  one  night,  when  their 
blood  was  flerj  hot  By  daylight,  the  Colonel 
stood,  cold  as  death,  pale  as  a  shadow,  by 
Alexis'  bedside.  He  had  killed  him,  and  he 
loved  him  I 

No  one  thought  of  me.  They  let  me  weep 
near  him — unconscious  as  he  was — doubtless 
believing  them  the  last  contrite  tears  of  an — 
adulteress!  I  did  not  heed  or  try  to  deny  that 
horrible  name — Alexis  was  dying. 

Towards  evening  he  became  stronger,  and 
his  senses  returne£  He  opened  his  eyes  and 
saw  me,  but  they  closed  with  a  shudder. 

"Alexis— Alexis  I" 

"  Isbel,  I  am  dying.  Ton  know  why.  In 
the  name  of  God — are  you  " 

**  In  the  name  of  God,  I  am  your  pure  wife, 
who  never  loved,  even  in  thought,  any  man 
but  you." 

''  I  am  satisfied." 

He  looked  at  Colonel  Hart,  faintly 
smiling  ;  then  opened  his  arms  and  took  me 
into  them,  as  if  to  protect  me  with  his  last 
breath. 

**Now,*'  he  s^id,  still  holding  me,  "my 
friends,  we  must  niake  all  clear.  Nothing 
must  harm  her  when  1  am  gone.  Hart,  fetch 
your  wife  here." 

Mrs.  Hart  came,  trembling  violently. 
Woman-like,  seeing  my  misery,  even  she 
caught  my  hand  and  wept  My  husband 
addressed  her. 

"  Who  did  you  see  ?  Answer,  as  to  a  dymg 
man  who  to-morrow  will  know  all  secrets.^ 
Who  was  the  man  you  saw  in  my  wife's 
chamber  ? " 

"  He  was  a  stranger.  I  never  met  him  be- 
fore, anywhere.  He  lay  on  the  sofa,  wrapped 
in  a  fur  cloak." 

"  Did  you  see  his  face  ? " 

"  Not  the  first  time.  The  second  time  I 
did." 

"  What  was  he  like  ?  Be  accurate,  for  the 
sake  of  more  than  life — ^honour." 

My  husband's   voice   sank.     There   was 
'  terror  in  his  eyes,  but  not  that  terror — ^he 
held  me  to  his  bosom  still. 

"What  was  he  like,  Eliza?"  repeat«A 
Colonel  Hart. 

"  He  was  middle-aged ;  of  a  pale,  grave 
countenance,  with  keen,  large  eyes,  high 
forehead,  and  a  pointed  beard." 

"  Heaven  save  us  I  I  have  seen  him,  too«" 
cried  the  Colonel,  horror-struck.  "  It  was  no 
living  man  you  saw,  Eliza." 

"  It  was  M.  Anastasius  I " 

My  husband  died  that  night  He  died,  his 
lips  on  mine,  murmuring  how  he  loved  me, 
and  how  happy  he  had  been. 

For  many  months  after  then  I  was  quite 
happy,  too;  for  my  wits  wandered,  and  I 
thought  I  was  again  a  little  West  Indian 
girl,  picking  gowans  in  the  meadows  about 
Dumfries. 


The  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Hart  were,  I  believer 
very  kind  to  me.  I  always  took  her  for  a 
little  playfellow  I  had,  who  was  called  Eliza. 
It  is  only  lately,  as  the  year  has  circled  round 
again  to  the  spring,  that  my  head  has  become 
clear  and  I  have  found  out  who  she  is,  and— 
ah,  me  ! — who  I  am. 

This  coming  to  my  right  senses  does  not 
give  me  so  much  pain  as  they  thought  it 
would ;  because  great  weakness  of  body  had 
balanced  and  soothed  my  mind. 

I  have  but  one  desire :  to  go  to  my  own 
Alexis  ; — and  before  the  twenty-fifth  of  May. 

Now  I  have  been  able  to  complete  nearly 
our  story.  Reader,  judge  between  us— and 
JUm.    Farewell. 

Isbel  Saltbam. 

Post-Scriptum.— I  think  it  will  be  well 
that  I,  Eliza  Hart,  should  relate,  as  sunply 
as  veraciously,  the  circumstances  of  Mrs. 
Saltram's  death,  which  happened  on  the  night 
of  the  twen^-flfth  of  May. 

She  was  living  with  us  at  our  house,  some 
miles  out  of  London.  She  had  been  very  ill 
and  weak  during  May,  but  towards  the  end 
of  the  month  she  revived.  We  thought  if  she 
could  live  till  June  she  might  even  recover. 
My  husband  desired  that  on  no  account  might 
she  be  told  the  day  of  the  month — she  w&s 
indeed  purposely  deceived  on  the  subject. 
When  the  twenty-fifth  came  she  thought  it 
was  only  the  twenty-second. 

For  some  weeks  she  had  kept  her  bed,  and 
Fanchon  never  left  her.  Fauchon,  who  knew 
the  whole  history,  and  was  strictly  charged, 
whatever  delusions  might  occur,  to  take  no 
notice  whatever  of  the  sulject  to  her  mistress. 
For  my  husband  and  herself  were  again  per- 
suaded that  it  must  be  some  delusion.  So 
was  the  physician,  who  nevertheless  deter- 
mined to  visit  us  himself  on  the  night  of  the 
twenty-fifth  of  May. 

It  happened  that  the  Colonel  was  unwell^ 
and  I  could  not  remain  constantly  in  Mrs. 
Saltram's  room.  It  was  a  large  but  very 
simple  suburban  bedchamber,  with  white 
curtains  and  modem  furniture,  all  of  which  I 
myself  arranged  in  such  a  manner  that  there 
should  be  no  dark  corners,  no  ediadows  thrown 
bv  hanging  draperies,  or  anything  of  the 
kind. 

About  ten  o'clock  Fanchion  accidentally 
quitted  the  room,  sending  in  her  place  a 
nursemaid  who  had  lately  come  into  oar 
familv. 

This  girl  tells  me  that  she  entered  the  room 
quickly,  but  stopped,  seeing,  as  she  believed, 
the  physician  sitting  by  the  bed,  on  the  fur- 
ther side,  at  Mrs.  Saltram's  right  hand.  She 
thought  Mrs.  Saltram  did  not  see  him,  for 
she  turned  and  asked  her — "Susan,  what 
o'clock  is  it?" 

The  gentleman,  she  says,  appeared  sitting 
with  his  elbows  resting  on  his  knees,  and  bis 
face  partly  concealed  in  his  hands.  He  wore  a 
long  coatr  or  cloak — she  could  not  distinguish 


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which,  for  the  room  was  rather  dark,  but  she 
could  plainly  see  oa  his  little  fiuger  the 
sparkle  of  a  diamond  ring. 

She  is  quite  certain  that  Mrs.  Saltram  did 
not  see  the  gentleman  at  all,  which  rather 
surprised  her,  for  the  poor  lady  moved  from 
time  to  time,  and  spoke,  complalningly,  of 
its  being  "  very  cold.^'  At  length  she  called 
Susan  to  sit  by  her  side,  and  chafe  her  hands. 

Susan  acquiesced — "But  did  not  Mrs. 
Saltram  see  the  gentleman?" 

"What  gentleman?" 
^  "  He  was  sitting  beside  you,  not  a  minute 
since.    I  thought  he  was  the  doctor,  or  the 
clergyman." 

And  the  girl,  much  terrified,  saw  that  now, 
there  was  no  one  there. 

She  says,  Mrs.  Saltram  did  not  seem  terri- 
fied at  all.  She  only  pressed  her  hands  on 
her  forehead ;  her  lips  slightly  moving- 
then  whispered :  "  Go,  call  Fanchon  and 
them  all,  tell  them  what  you  saw." 

**Bnt  I  must  leave  you.  Are  you  not 
afraid?" 

"  No.    Not  now— not  now." 

She  covered  her  eyes,  and  again  her  lips 
began  moving. 

Fanchon  entered,  and  I  too,  immediately. 

I  do  not  expect  to  be  credited.  I  can  only 
state  on  my  honour,  what  we  both  then  be- 
held. 

Mrs.  Saltram  lay,  her  eyes  open,  her  face 
quite  calm,  as  that  of  a  dying  person ;  her 
hands  spread  out  on  the  counterpane.  Be- 
side her  sat  erect,  the  same  figure  I  had  seen 
Wing  on  the  sofa  in  Paris,  exactly  a  year  ago. 
It  appeared  more  life-like  than  she.  Neither 
looked  at  each  other.  When  we  brought  a 
bright  lamp  into  the  room,  the  appearance 
vanished. 

Isbel  said  to  me,  "  Eliza,  he  Is  come." 

"  Impossible  I    Ton  have  not  seen  him  ? " 

"No,  but  you  have?"  She  looked  me 
steadily  in  the  face.  "  I  knew  it:  Take  the 
light  away,  and  you  will  see  him  again.  He 
is  here,  I  want  to  speak  to  him.  Quick,  take 
the  light  away." 

Terrified  as  I  was,  I  could  not  refuse,  for 
I  saw  by  her  features  that  her  last  hour  was 
at  hand. 

As  surely  I  write  this,  I,  Eliza  Hart,  saw, 
when  the  candles  were  removed,  that  figure 
grow  again,  as  out  of  air,  sitting  by  her  bed- 
side. 

She  turned  herself  with  difficulty,  and 
faced  it.  "  Eliza,  is  he  there  ?  I  see  nothing 
bat  the  empty  chair.    Is  he  there  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"  Does  he  look  angry  or  terrible?  " 

"No." 

"  Anastasius."  She  extended  her  hand 
towards  the  vacant  chair.  "  Cousin  Anas- 
tasius I" 

Her  voice  was  sweet,  though  the  cold  drops 
Blood  on  her  brow. 

**  Cousin  Anastasius,  I  do  not  see  you,  but 
you  can  see  and  hear  me.   I  am  not  afraid  of 


you  now.  You  know,  once,  I  loved  you  very 
much." 

Here— overcome  with  terror,  I  stole  back 
towards  the  lighted  door.  Thence  I  still 
heard  Isbel  speaking. 

"  We  erred,* both  of  us,  Cousin.  You  were 
too  hard  upon  me — I  had  too  great  love  first, 
too  great  terror  afterwards,  of  you.  Why 
should  I  be  afraid  of  a  man  that  shall  die, 
and  of  the  son  of  man,  whose  breath  is  in 
his  nostrils  ?  I  should  have  worshipped,  have 
feared,  not  you,  but  only  God." 

She  paused — drawing  twice  or  thrice 
heavilv,  the  breath  that  could  not  last. 

"  I  forgive  you — forgive  me  also.  I  loved 
you.  Have  you  anything  to  say  to  me, 
Anastasius?" 

Silence. 

"  Shall  we  ever  meet  in  the  boundless  wide 
spheres  ? " 

Silence— a  long  silence.  We  brought  in 
candles,  for  she  was  evidently  dying. 

"  Eliza— thank  you  for  all !  Your  hand. 
It  is  so  dark — and"— shiverinff— "  I  am  afraid 
of  going  into  the  dark.  I  might  meet  Anasta- 
sius there.  I  wish  my  husband  would  come." 

She  was  wandering  in  her  mind,  I  saw. 
Her  eyes  turned  to  the  vacant  chair. 

"  Is  there  any  one  sitting  by  me  ?  " 

"  Dear  Isbel ;  can  you  see  any  one  ?  " 

"No  one — yes" — and  with  preternatural 
strength  she  started  right  up  In  bed,  extend- 
ing her  arms.  "  Yes !  There— close  behind 
you — I  see — my  husband.  I  am  quite  safe — 
now ! " 

So,  with  a  smile  upon  her  face,  she  died. 


SPRING  LIGHTS  AND  SHADOWS. 

Thb  breese  and  abowers  of  coming  Spring 

Will  waken  many  aighs  and  tears, 
Her  earlj  blouoma  cannot  bring 

The  old  delights  of  peaceful  jears ; 
The  primrose  colour  of  her  sky, 

Th^  aroma  of  her  budding  bowers. 
Will  but  recall  the  Joys  gone  by, 

While  Grief  is  sitting  'mid  the  flowers. 


Beside  the  mstcd  cannon-ball 

On  daisied  slopes  the  Iamb  will  sleep, 
0      Beneath  the  shelled  and  battered  wall 

The  deep  blue  yiolet  upward  peep. 
In  Inkermann  sweet  buds  will  blow  :— 

On  Balaklava's  blood-stained  day, 
Where  England's  sons  rode  down  the  foe. 

Children  amid  the  wildflowers  plaj. 


Spring-flowers  again  will  deck  the  sod, 

Which  heayy-wheeled  artillery  crushed ; 
Bloom  where  the  flery  war-horse  trod, 

And  wave  where  marching  columns  rushed : 
On  mountain  heieht,  in  deep  rarine, 

Will  be  in  all  their  beauty  found, 
As  if  the  silenc«  of  the  scene 

Had  ne'er  rung  back  War's  trumpet-sound. 


Along  highways  where  warriors  went. 
Last  blue-bell  time,  with  fife  and  drum, 

Spring-flowers  will  throw  their  sweetest  scent, 
And  belted  bees  amid  them  hum. 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Condactcd  bj 


Where  mnsketa  sang  the  fanenl  hymn, 
Thej'll  ahow  no  traces  of  the  dead, 

Unleta  the  daisT'i  silver  rim 
Be  dappled  with  a  deeper  red. 


Lalmmami  their  (old  ohaini  will'swliiff. 

Hawthorns  in  star-lilce  Maj  be  'rajeo, 
Lilacs  their  early  perfumes  bring, 

Boses  the  wildbriar  branches  braid. 
And  lorelj  forms  amid  them  mourn. 

Who  fondlr  hoped,  when  they  should  bloom, 
He— crowned  witn  victory— would  return. 

Who  now  sleeps  in  a  soldier's  tomb. 


Some  with  the  swallow  o*er  the  sea, 

To  cottage-homes  in  tranquil  dells 
Will  come— and  'neath  the  orchard-tree. 

Once  more  hear  the  sweet  village  bells. 
And  as  the  Spring  her  gentle  rain 

Sheds  on  the  bending  buds  below,^ 
Their  thoughts  will  stray  to  comrades  slain. 

Who  sleep  where  other  wildflowers  blow. 


Spring's  gathered  blossoms  soon  will  throw 

Their  light  shapes  on  the  rustic  floor. 
Bees  through  the  open  casement  go,— 

While  in  the  sunshine  at  the  door 
The  childless  sire  will  sit  for  hours, 

A  statue  in  his  deep  distress  :— 
Where  his  loved  boy  once  gathered  flowers 

There  will  not  be  a  bud  the  less. 


Through  the  dim  golden  mists  of  dawn. 

And  the  blue  twilight's  dewy  fall. 
Loved  eyes  will  look  across  the  lawn— 

From  the  bay-window  of  the  hall— 
For  him  whose  shadow  never  more, 

Along  the  pathway  quaint  and  trim. 
Will  send  his  likeness  on  before, 

To  call  them  out  to  welcome  him. 


Nor  morning  red,  nor  eVning  gray. 

That  presence  dear  shall  ever  bring, 
Nor  starry  night,  nor  sunny  day, 

Nor  all  the  bright  hopes  of  the  Spring. 
Biany  lost  shadows  lengthen'd  out 

Into  a  gloom  profound  and  cprand. 
From  the  far  Sast  will  close  about— 

A  shadow  upon  all  the  Land. 


HOUSES  IN  FLATS. 

Of  course,  where  there  are  mills  there  are 
millowners  and  operatives  ;  where  there  are 
ships  there  are  sailors;  where  there  are 
houses  built  there  are  people  to  tenant  them ; 
but,  just  as  you  may  have  Edwin  and  Emma 
— ^foolish  and  fond  pair— doubling  each  other's 
bliss  in  a  hard  stone  house  in  the  High  Street, 
and  Thumbscrew  the  usurer  at  Woodbine 
Retreat  in  the  suburbs,  buried  among  roses 
and  laurustinuses,  so  you  may  have  practical 
town-populations  shelled  in  romance,  and 
highly  imaginative  communities  with  nothing 
but  a  dull  crust  over  them.  Tou  can  no 
more  tell  what  is  in  a  town  than  you  can 
tell  what  is  in  a  pie,  till  you  begin  your 
diggings  into  it.  We  have  been  worally 
deceived  by  pies,  and  by  towns  also. 

For  example,  we  have  been  deceived  by 
London.  The  bachelor,  or  any  other  man 
whose  domestic  wants  happen  to  be  limited, 


has  a  right  when  he  comes  to  London  to 
believe — if  faith  can  be  put  in  town  exteriors 
— that  he  has  come  to  a  matter-of-fact  place, 
in  which  he  may  settle  down  methodically, 
get  what  he  wants,  and  never  be  perplexed 
by  anv  nonsense.  Oxford  Street,  Cheapside, 
and  the  Strand,  are  manifestly  mere  places 
of  business.  It  is  impossible  to  give  rein  to 
the  fancy  and  become  sentimental  in  presence 
of  Somerset  House.  The  strongest  emotion 
it  can  excite  is  by  reminding  one  of  a  half- 
vear's  income-tax  which  has  to  be  paid.  But 
now  dreadful  a  mistake  will  the  young 
bachelor  have  made,  who  judges  Londoners 
by  London  in  this  way  I 

Let  him  attempt  to  settle  down  among 
them.  How  will  he  live  ?  He  will  go  into 
lodgings,  or  he  will  take  a  house.  Perhaps 
the  gentleman  is  not  a  bachelor,  but  a  man 
with  a  small  family,  and  an  income  not  par- 
ticularly large.  He  would  prefer  a  house, 
and  looks  about  accordingly.  Soon  he  dis- 
covers that  the  great  bulk  of  the  professional 
and  trading  classes  must  be  particularly  well 
to  do ;  for  house-agents  laugh  at  the  possi- 
bility of  any  one  who  is  able  to  keep  decent 
broadcloth  on  his  back  paying  less  than 
forty  pounds  a  year  for  house-rent,  exclusive 
of  taxes.  Far  out  of  town,  and  in  some  suburbs 
of  equivocal  respectability,  thirty-five  pound 
houses  may  be  found,  in  which  a  government 
clerk,  a  retired  tradesman,  or  any  one  holding 
a  like  position,  could,  by  chance,  get  a  dwell- 
ing suited  to  his  circumstances.  But,  unless 
it  be  distant  enough  from  town  to  cease  to 
be  a  London  residence,  even  the  occasional 
house  offered  at  that  rent  to  a  tenant  from 
tlie  middle  classes  of  society,  is  scantily  sup- 
plied with  the  things  necessary  to  a  civilised 
existence.  It  contains  but  an  imitation  of  a 
kitchen,  probably  no  pantry,  and  a  little  nook 
for  coals  under  the  bed-room  stairs.  Its  cis- 
tern only  holds  water  enough  to  make  a  little 
scrubbing  possible  after  the  kettle  has  been 
supplied,  and  enough  water  taken  for  the 
wasning  of  a  few  hands  and  faces.  As  for  the 
washing  of  bodies  by  a  free  use  of  the  bath 
dailv,  no  such  thing  can  be  attempted  in  a 
thirty-five  pound  house.  The  majority  of 
houses  at  this  rent,  and  nearly  all  houses  at 
a  lower  price  in  London,  are  intended  for  the 
tenancy  of  people,  who  pay  for  them  at  a  rate 
above  their  means ;  small  milliners,  journey- 
men carpenters,  bricklayers'  foremen,  work- 
ing shoemakers,  chimney-sweeps,  and  so  forth. 
They  do  what  the  young  surgeon  does,  who 
screws  his  brass  plate  on  a  door  in  some 
street  leading  from  a  square,  and  pays  up- 
wards of  a  hundred  pounds  of  rent  and  taxes 
out  of  ninety  pounds  of  income, — each,  "  hav- 
ing a  larger  house  than  he  requires,  desires 
to  let  a  portion.''  The  streets  of  London  and 
its  suburbs,  are  in  fact,  except  in  a  few 

?[uarters,  lines  of  make-believe.  They  are 
uU  of  houses  which  are  in  no  degree  pro- 
portioned to  the  incomes  of  their  tenants. 
The  master  and  mistress  of  a  house  often 


I 


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CteriM  DtekoH.] 


HOUSES  IN  FLATS. 


183 


pass  strange  boots  on  their  way  to  bed,  have  houses  of  stone,  piled  as  by  a  dreamer,  story 

too  often  the  smell  of  strangers'   dinners  over  story ;  a  High  Street,  full  of  fantastic 

steaming  from  their  kitchen,  and  the  hats  of  pictures,  lined  with  shops  that  rarely  are 

men  who  despise  them,  hanging  in  their  hall,  content  with  simple  labelling,  but  crowd  the 

The  master  or  the  mistress  of  the  house  is,  way  with  emblems  to  the  right  hand  and  the 

in  three  instances  out  of  four,  more  justly  to  left.  Mambrino's  helmet,  the  very  same  brass 

be  called  its  servant.    For  the  most  part  the  basin  that   was  precious  in  Don  Quixote's 


boose  of  the  Londoner  is  not  his  castle ;  the 
borne  of  the  Londoner  Is  not  a  ref\ige  from 
the  world :  it  is  no  haven  of  peace ;  but  the 
I  rmg  in  wnich  landlord,  or  landlady,  spars 
wi£  lodger  from  sunrise  until  after  sunset. 

There  is  an  incessant  tax  upon  the  fisuicy. 
Mr.  Watson  is  the  renter  of  a  dwelling,  and 
bis  friends  are  to  suppose  that  the  house  is  his. 
Watson  himself  thinks   so,   though  he  lets 
i    the  drawing-room    floor    to    the    Mopsons, 
and  sells  to  them  with  it,  the  command  over 
I    his  kitchen.    Also,  notwithstanding  that  he 
has   lodged    Mr.  Kinderbogie,    a    despotic 
I    foreigner,  in  his  front  parlour,  and  in  his 
most  cozy  bed-room,  Kinderbogie's  friends 
are  required    to   suppose,   when   thev  visit 
Kinder  bogie,  that  they  see  him  in  bis  house  ; 
'    and  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  Mopsons, 
'    who  are  polite  people,  would  forfeit  a  month's 
hire,  and  auit  their  apartments  instantly,  if 
'    Watson,  who  pays  the  rent  for  his  house,  were 
I    to  assert  his  right  to  it,  by  putting  his  own 
I    name  on  the  front  door.  As  for  a  row  of  bell- 
'    handles,  wHh  Mopson,  Watson,  Kinderbogie, 
under  each,  respectively,  not  one  of  the  three 
would  submit  to  it.  There  is  the  make-believe 
j    of  the  whole  house  for  each,  one  bell  labelled 
I    "visiters,"   and   one   ditto  "servants,"  for 
I    them  all,  one  slovenlv  and  weary  maid  of  all- 
I    work  waiting  upon  them  all. 
'       Furthermore,  we  need  only  mention  the 
vast  calls  upon  the  fancy  made  in  such  houses 
in  connexion  with   the  most  matter-of-faot 
I    tbing8,~the  ghostly  disappearances  of  tea 
1    and  sngar, — the  magical   transformation  to 
which  hams  are  often  subject  between  break- 
fkst-time  and  breakfast-time ;  the  miraculous 
loss  of  power  suffered  by  eggs,  which  go  by 
scores  into  puddings,  and  there  leave  no  trace 
of  their  existence ;  the  mysterious  book  of 
the  landlady,  with  which  she  conjures  in  a 
\    way  bewildering  to  ordinary  business  men. 
I    No  more  of  this : 

»*  Pot  'til  a  chronicle  of  day  by  day, 
Not  matter  for  a  breakftwt."^ 

We  hold  it  to  be,  beyond  doubt,  that  Lon- 
don lodging-letting  Is  the  black  art  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  and  it  is  dreadful  to  know,  as 
it  is  known  by  the  statistical,  that  in  no  less 
than  three  out  of  four  of  all  the  houses  in 
London  this  art  is  practised.  Thus  London 
streets  tell  nothing  of  the  truth  of  London 
life :  and  the  housekeeping  of  the  majority 
of  Londoners  is  rimplv  and  entirely  fiction. 

Weary  of  one  British  capital,  let  the  same 
badielor  betake  himself,  or  the  same  small 
&mlly  betake  itself,  to  another.  Try  Edin- 
burgh. There  ^e  case  is  reversed.  Out  of 
doors  all   Is  romance.    Li  the  Old  Town, 


eyes,  is  represented  over  every  barber's  door; 
the  golden  fancy  of  the  chemist  is  pestle  and 
mortar ;  and  the  watchmaker  hangs  out  a 
vast  gold  watch,  that  clearly   belongs  by 
natural  right  to  a  pantomime,  and  dangles  of 
course,  at  the  door,  for  a  clown  to  pocket  At 
the  top  of  this  dreamy  hill,  is  Edinburgh 
Castle,  open  freely  to  all  comers,  where  Mens 
Meg  occupies  a  place  of  honour,  and  the  crown 
and  sceptre  worn  by  Scottish  kings  and  queens 
in  the  old  days  of  chivalry  glitter  mysteriously 
in  an  illuminated  vault.    There,  the  kilted 
Highlander,  off  duty,  will  point  up  to  the  win- 
dow of  Queen  Mary's  room,  and  tell  how  a 
young  prince  was  let  down  in  a  basket  from 
that  window  long  ago,  hundreds  of  feet  down, 
by  the  steep  side  of  the  rocks.  At  the  bottom 
of  the  steep,  fant^istic  street,  Holvrood  Palace' 
and  the  ruins  of  the  chapel  are  almost  as  free 
to  all  comers  as  the  castle.    For  a  sixpenny 
fee  one  may  have  all  the  story  of  it  told,  be 
shown  the  stairs  in  the  wall  by  which  the 
conspirators  went  up  to  murder  Rizsio,  the 
very  tapestry  from  behind  which  thev  en- 
tered Mary's  room,  the  bed  on  which  Queen 
Mary  slept,  the  bower  in  which  she  dressed, 
the  glass  by   which  her  features  were  re- 
flected, the  antechamber — a  grim  cupboard 
now  half  filled  with  Darnley's  armour, — ^in 
which  she  was  supping  with  Rizzio  when  the 
murderers  entered,  the  (apocryphal)  stain  on 
the  floor  made  by  the  soaking  all  night  through 
it  of  Rizzio's  blood,  let  out  by  six  and  thirty 
wounds.    Bridges  leap  across  a  valley  edged 
with  gardens,  to  connect  the  old  town  with 
the  new,  and  in  the  valley  live  the  great 
steam  dragons.    Then  there  is  the  new  town, 
an  idea  in  stone,  without  a  crook  in  one  of 
its  straight  lines,  or  a  flaw  in  one  of  its  circles, 
— no  twisting  hither  and  thither  in  obedience 
to  this  interest  and  that ;  but  broad,  straight, 
uniformly  intersecting  streets,  that  seem  to 
have  sprung  up  together  in  the  same  hour,  at 
the  touch  of  an  enchanter's  wand.  There  is  the 
Calton  Hill,  littered  over  with  waste  fancies — 
a  rubbish  heap  of  the  imaginative  architec- 
ture— a  hill  to  be  looked  firom,  with  an  eleva- 
tion of  the  spirit,  but  to  be  looked  at  with  an 
elevation  of  the  nose.    And  finally,  to  press 
the  seal  down  tishtly  on  the  impression  of 
Edinburgh  as  a  city  of  romance,  there  is  the 
newest  glory   of  the   town, — a   monument 
which  dwarfs  the  proportions  of  the  Castle 
Hill,— to  Walter  Scott,  the  citizen  of  whom 
the  city  is  most  proud — a  mere  writer,  my 
English  lords  and  gentlemen,  of  romances. 

But,  our  bachelor  who,  judging  from  all 
these  appearances,  makes  up  his  mind  that 
he  has  found  his  way  to  a  community  of 
imaginative,  unbusinesslike  people,  very  soon 


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184 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoBdaetedby 


becomes  aware  of  his  mistake.  He  finds  that 
the  romance  is  oat  of  doors,  and  that  within- 
doors everytliing  is  adapted  in  a  straightfor- 
ward way  to  the  wants  of  the  various  sections 
of  a  middle -class  commanitj.  We  say 
nothing  of  the  poor  in  wjnds  and  closes, 
as  we  nave  said  nothing  of  the  tenants  of 
the  London  alleys.  In  London,  it  is  not  only 
the  poor  whom  hoosebuilders  neglect.  In 
Edinbnrgh,  there  is  no  other  class  left 
unconsidered.  A  large  division  of  the  towns- 
people is  composed  of  what  are  termed  in  a 
material  sense,  respectable  persons,  who  soon 
reach  the  limits  of  their  income.  It  is  judged 
in  Edinburgh  more  proper  to  furnish  such 
people  with  dwelling-places  of  the  character 
and  price  required  by  them,  than  to  force 
them  into  the  tenancy  of  houses  priced  above 
their  means,  and  to  compel  them  to  destroy  all 
their  domestic  comfort  by  going  into  slavery 
to  lodgers,  in  order  that  they  may  pay  out  of 
artificial  income,  artificial  rent. 

In  Edinburgh,  as  in  some  continental 
^towns,  this  problem  is  solved  by  the  adoption 
*of  a  system  of  house-building  which  is  refused 
to  the  inhabitants  of  London — the  system  of 
building  in  flats.  There  are  complete  houses 
of  two,  three,  four,  or  even  ten  stories,  for 
those  who  require  them,  cheaper,  of  course, 
proportionately  than  in  London.  For  those 
who  require  less  than  this,  there  are  the  flats, 
which  are,  generally  speaking,  to  be  defined 
as  one-storied  houses,  built  one  over  the  other, 
and  because  they  are  so  built,  the  street  by 
which  they  are  approached  takes,  of  course, 
the  form  of  a  stone  fiight  of  stairs.  One  of 
these  independent  flats  sometimes  includes 
two  stories,  in  which  case  it  has  its  domestic 
staircase  perfectly  distinct  from  the  common- 
atair,  which  is  in  truth,  as  before  said,  a  form 
of  street.  Each  flat  is,  in  every  respect,  a 
private  dwelling,  and  contains,  or  should  con- 
tain, every  requisite  convenience.  It  may 
consist  of  four,  five,  six,  or  more  rooms ;  and 
by  renting  a  flat  suited  to  his  wants,  a 
bachelor,  a  married  couple  without  children, 
or  a  small  family,  may  secure  absolute  inde- 
pendence and  retain  any  degree  of  social 
standing  as  the  occupant  of  a  home  containing 
what  is  wanted  in  it,  and  no  more,  and  which, 
at  the  same  time,  costs  only  what  can  be 
afforded. 

The  common-stair  is  at  night  well  lighted 
with  gas.  It  is  sometimes  quite  open  below 
to  the  street,  sometimes  closed  by  a  door 
which  corresponds  to  the  gate  often  set  up  at 
the  opening  to  private  streets  in  London.  It 
is  not  usual  in  Edinburgh,  as  in  Paris,  to  give 
custody  of  this  entrance  to  a  porter.  Bell- 
handles  communicating  with  each  flat  are 
flzed  in  the  street,  and  to  each  bell-handle  is 
attached  the  name  of  the  person  with  whose 
house  it  communicates.  The  servant  of  the 
person  whose  bell  is  rung,  is  at  the  trouble  of 
opening  the  great  entrance  door,  not  by  going 
down  to  it ;  but  by  machinery  like  that  used 
often  in  London  offices  for  causing  front  doors 


to  fly  open,  as  if  of  their  own  accord.  The 
visitor,  thereupon,  ascends  the  private  street 
of  stone  steps  until  he  comes  to  the  house  of 
his  friend,  and  enters. 

It  is  much  more  a  matter  of  necessity  in 
London  than  in  Edinburgh  and  Paris,  that 
manv  of  the  inhabitants  should  live  over  their 
neighbours'  heads,  and  not  merely  side  bj 
side  with  them.  Already  we  do  so  in  a 
wretched  way  by  occupying  one  another's 
houses,  interfering  with  each  other's  privacy 
and  comfort.  It  is  a  wretched  thing  to  be  a 
London  lodger ;  but  it  is  yet  a  more  wretched 
thing  to  be  a  ^London  letter  of  lodgines. 
Already  the  8iz*e  of  London  causes  the  dis- 
tances traversed  in  the  course  of  business  to 
consume  a  serious  amount  of  time.  The  cost 
of  ground-r^nts  also  rises.  Why  do  our 
builders  then  refuse  to  entertain  this  idea— 
anything  but  a  new-fangled  one — of  building 
in  flats  one-storied  houses,  solidly  constructed 
and  piled  one  over  the  o^er,  so  that  they 
may  reduce  ground-rent  to  a  trifle  as  thej 
rise,  and  are  capable  of  being  let  at  rentals 
varying  fh)m  twenty  pounds  to  forty.  Tens 
of  thousands  who  have  been  thrust  into  a 
false  position  by  the  want  of  properly  con- 
structed homes  of  this  description  would  be 
eager  to  become  their  tenants. 

They  would  need  to  be  well  built,  with 
good  material,  and  that  is  no  dOubt  one  of 
our  great  difficulties.  The  builder  should 
work  solidlv  on  solid  means,  but  the  number 
of  substantial  builders  seems  in  London  to  he 
yearly  lessening.  We  have  been  credibly  in- 
formed that  in  and  about  London  the  race  of 
bricklayers  has  been  demoralised  by  the  im- 
mense preponderance  of  flimsy,  slovenly  erec- 
tions, and  that  it  is  not  very  easy  to  get  men 
capable  of  executing  brickwork  of  Sie  best 
description.  Men  without  capital  speculate 
successfUly  in  bricks,  and  look  no  farther 
than  the  present  speculation.  We  have  had 
occasion  to  observe,  how,  with  a  capital  of 
flfty  pounds,  a  terrace  may  be  built,  by  mort- 
gaging, and  selling  now  and  then,  and  build- 
ing house  after  house  so  rapidly  as  to  get 
rentals  soon,  from  which  to  pay  a  trifle  on 
account  of  ftiture  bills  for  brick  and  timber.* 
The  terrace  is  soon  built  and  sold :  out  of  the 
flfty  pounds  have  been  made  several  thousands, 
and  the  public  has  been  furnished  with  resi- 
dences which  it  is  not  likely  to  enjoy. 

It  may  be  that  houses  built  in  this  fashion 
can  be  offered  for  sale  at  a  price  which  deters 
many  honest  men  from  venturing  on  building 
speculations.  We  do  not  know  how  that  may 
be.  We  have  a  strong  conviction  that  if  dis- 
trict st^eyorsdid  all  that  they  are  bidden  to 
do  by  the  Building  Act,  and  were  not— as 
thev  now  seem  to  be— ashamed  of  being 
active,  houses  would  not  tumble  down  as 
they  do,  and  often  would  not  tumble  up 
as  they  do.  We  fancy  that  we  could  be 
more  grateftd  than  we  sometimes  feel  towards 
the  whole  profession  of  surveyors,  if  it  would 

♦  See  Vol.  TiiL,  p.  217. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ChftilM  DkkcM.] 


HOUSES  IN  FLATS. 


185 


bat  efl^t  all  that  it  can  effect  for  the  pro- 
motion of  the  public  health  and  safety.  Bat 
it  is  DO  easy  thing  to  affirm  sarelj  of  any 
given  suryeyor  or  civil  engineer  that  he  has 
not  performed  his  datv.  It  very  commonly 
appears  upon  inquiry  that  he  has  done  all  for 
which  he  held  himself  responsible.  We  are 
reminded,  for  example,  of  a  case  in  which  we 
undertook  to  be  particular,  that  of  the  Croy- 
doa  Drainage.  There  were  some  awkward 
errors  made  in  the  first  execution  of  the  work ; 
a  Blue  Book  whispered  grave  hints  implying 
stupidity  in  the  surveyor  under  the  Local 
Board  at  Croydon  ;  and  from  a  grave  autho- 
rity came  more  than  a  hint  that  he  owed  his 
appointment  to  some  undue  influences.  These 
charges  were  embodied  in  a  particular  state- 
ment on  the  subject  in  a  former  article,*  but, 
inasmuch  as  we  have  since  found  that  portion 
of  them  to  be  untrue,  which  contains  the 
more  than  hint  (which  should  have  been  no 
hint  at  all)  of  jobbery  in  the  appointment, 
and  find  as  to  other  matter  a  great  shifting 
to  and  fro  of  the  req>onsibilitie8  in  question, 
what  can  we  do  better  than  unsay  all  that  we 
have  said,  so  far  as  it  weighs  upon  the  indi- 
vidual referred  to  in  our  statement  7 

Let  us  take  up  affain  our  tale  of  bricks. 
Given  a  capitalist,  who  is  disposed  to  be  a 
benefactor  to  the  London  race  with  profit  to 
himself,  let  him  set  to  work  about  the  build- 
ing of  a  perpendicular  street  or  two  with 
some  such  notions  as  the  following.  The 
doors  on  each  side  of  the  street  (which  is,  of 
course,  a  spacious  staircase)  are  to  be  under- 
stood as  opening  not  from  so  many  floors  of 
a  house,  but  from  so  many  distinct  houses: 
the  ceiling  of  one  being  the  foundation  of  the 
other.  Every  such  house  is  to  be  parted 
from  the  one  below  it  and  the  one  above  it, 
not  by  mere  timber,  lath,  and  plaster,  but  by 
brickwork — hollow  toicks  being  the  best  for 
use  in  such  positions— or  some  solid  combina- 
tion of  iron  with  concrete  or  plaster,  that 
shall  be  at  least  as  fireproof  as  an  ordinary 
parting  wall.  This  also  will  stop  a  little 
more  effectually  than  many  of  our  parting 
walls  now  do,  the  passage  of  sound  from  one 
tenement  Into  another.  Which  is  essential, 
be  it  observed,  to  the  comfort,  honesty,  and 
success  of  such  an  enterprise. 

The  same  capitalist  must,  in  the  next  place, 
take  counsel  for  the  ventilation  of  each  set 
of  premises.  Although  immeasurably  supe- 
rior to  the  London  plan  of  parcelling  a  house 
that  has  only  conveniences  for  one  family 
into  residences  for  two,  three,  or  four  separate 
establishments,  the  Edinburgh  system  of 
flats  is  yet  by  no  means  entirely  perfect 
The  staircase  in  an  ordinary  London  house 
goes  far  to  make  it  airy.  In  the  flat  there  is 
no  shaft  of  this  kind  communicating  by  a 
hall-door  with  the  street ;  and  it  needs  much 
opening  of  windows  to  secure  TretAi  air  to 
the  tenants,  if  no  special  means  are  employed 

*  See  OmiBfion  and  OommUilon,  ToL  x..  No.  82ft. 


to  secure  its  circulation  through  the  building* 
But  it  is  not  difficult  to  connect  the  kitchen 
fires  all  the  way  up  with  a  ventilating  shaft, 
that  shall  be  set  in  action  by  them,  and 
maintain  a  constant  upward  current  of 
spoiled  air,  for  which  compensation  can  be 
provided  by  a  shaft  for  the  introduction  of 
pure  air,  that  can  be  also  warmed,  if  neces- 
sary. Provision  of  this  kind  for  a  pile  of 
flats  would  not  by  any  means  be  costly; 
and  it  should  not  be  left  out  of  any 
attempt  to  introduce  the  flat  system  into 
London.  Also,  to  save  much  bodily  labour, 
there  should  be  a  moveable  stage  for  the 
lifting  up  of  coals  or  heavy  supplies  to  the 
level  of  any  of  the  landings. 

There  has  been  sent  to  us  a  pamphlet  by 
two  architects  and  civil  engineers — ^Messrs. 
Ashpital  and  Whichcord — on  the  erection  of 
fire-proof  houses  in  flats,  which  pays  all 
proper  attention  to  these  points,  contains  pro- 
fit and  loss  calculations,  and  plans  for  the 
construction  of  flats  in  a  way  suitable  to  the 
requirements  of  those  to  whom  it  is  of  im- 
portance whether  they  pay  twenty,  thirty,  or 
forty  pounds  of  rent  We  may  say  that  the 
lowest  price  at  which  these  gentlemen  con- 
sider it  possible  to  supply  in  London,  in  the 
form  of  flat,  a  living-room  and  three  bedrooms, 
with  scullery,  and  all  the  necessary  accommo- 
dation suitable  for  the  family  of  a  person  in 
receipt  of  good  wages  or  small  salary,  is  six- 
teen pounds  ten  shillings  a-year.  This  pay- 
ment covers — not  only  rent,  but  also  rates 
and  taxes,  with  the  cost  of  a  free  supply  of 
gas  and  water.  Its  yield  to  the  capitalist 
would  be  eight  per  cent  upon  his  ouUay. 

The  pamimlet  suggests  that  London  would 
not  freely  adopt  the  Faris  system  of  a  grada- 
tion of  rank  in  the  character  of  the  flats,  as 
one  ascends  the  common  stair.  Therefore 
they  would  give  equal  accommodation  to  all 
the  eight  or  ten  houses  opening  on  each  little 
street  of  staircase.  Then  the  degree  of 
climbing  necessary  to  get  home  would  indeed 
be  considered  in  the  rent ;  but  not  to  an  ex- 
tent great  enough  to  make  any  serious  dif- 
ference in  the  rank  of  persons  living  over 
the  same  plot  of  ground.  This  mountmg  to 
one's  housedoor,  be  it  remembered,  is  an 
exchange  for  all  the  climbing  daily  done  in- 
doors under  the  present  system;  not  the 
imposition  of  an  extra  task. 

The  architects  to  whom  we  have  referred 
illustrate  their  ideas  freely  by  a  set  of  plans 
appended  to  their  pamphlet,  which  are  cer- 
tainly worth  the  attention  of  any  person  prac- 
tically interested  in  this  subject  And  who  is 
not?  They  suggest  very  agreeable  methods  of 
turning  to  account  plots  of  ground  yet  vacant 
in  or  near  town,  by  grouping  sets  of  flats  into 
handsome  little  squares,  wiUi  private  dwell- 
ings approached  from  and  lookmg  out  upon  a 
garden  plot,  and  with  shops  Aronting  the  street. 
At  the  entrance  to  the  garden  within  such  a 
square  they  would  establish  a  porter.  The 
centre  of  such  a  plot,  surrounded  by  the 


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186 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


hooses  of  mechanics,  might  contain  a  small 
building  capable  of  being  used  as  a  reading- 
room,  with  baths  and  wash-houses. 

There  is  no  good  reason  why  residence  in 
flats  should  not  become  popular  among  ufi, 
and  being  popularised,  become  even  to  1^  re- 
cognised by  fashion.  The  Albany  is  but  a 
set  of  ftrst-class  flats,  spread  out  upon  the 
ground,  and  since  we  have  no  longer  ground 
to  waste,  and  the  business  or  the  pleasure  of 
the  Londoner  is  already  interfered  with  by 
the  necessity  of  constant  widking  or  riding 
oyer  all  the  miles  of  ground  we  occupy  at  pre- 
sent, why  may  we  not  change  our  tactics,  and 
have  little  Albanies  built  up  into  the  air  ? 

Still  there  will  be  letters  of  apartments, 
because  Airnished  lodgings  are  a  necessary 
town  accommodation.  But  one  need  go  no 
farther  than  Edinburgh  to  find  out  how  the 
flat  system  operates  on  the  subletting  of 
apartments,  Aurnished  or  unfurnished.  The 
woman  who  in  London  takes  a  presentable 
house,  and  pays  a  hundred  a  year  for  it,  in 
rent  and  taxes  ]  besides  struggling  yery  hard 
to  get  the  furniture  together,  is  to  be  half 
forgiyen  if  she  preys  upon  the  public  She  has 
so  much  to  do  to  find  herself  in  bread  and 
butter,  that  she  may  well  be  tempted  to  eke  out 
her  dinner  from  her  tenant^s  meat  In  Edin- 
burgh, lodging-letting  is  a  business  of  a  much 
less  speculatiye  kind.  A  flat  may  be  taken  and 
all  rooms  but  two  sublet  The  speculation  is 
not  great,  and  the  return  tolerably  certain. 
When  it  appears  prudent  and  safe  to  extend 
the  business,  a  second  flat  can  easily  be  added 
to  the  flrst  The  landlady,  in  fact,  attempts 
ODly  what  she  can  do,  and,  beinff  sure  enough 
of  the  power  to  liye  honestly,  is  all  the  less 
disposed  to  cheat  The  price  of  fUrnished 
apartments  in  London  would  fall  by  one-third 
if  the  flat  system  were  extensively  adopted, 
and  the  lodging-letters  would  nevertheless 
be  better  off  than  they  are  now. 

And,  after  all,  one  of  the  best  advan- 
tages of  the  change,  would  be  the  banishing 
from  London  of  a  swarm  of  social  fictions 
which  tend  to  demoralise  society.  Our  false 
method  of.  house  tenancy  has  much  to  do 
with  the  trouble  given  themselves  by  so  many 
people  in  this  town  to  enlarge  the  world's 
opinion  of  their  incomes.  It  is  connected 
with  a  ftilse  system  of  balls  and  dinner  parties, 
which  are  admirable  thinp  in  themselves, 
and  in  their  season,  but  which  become  unsea- 
sonable always  when,  instead  of  being  honest 
gatherings  of  friend!s,  they  are  mere  shows 
painfully  got  up  to  cheat  a  little  public  of 
acquaintances.  In  this  matter,  too,  London 
may  learn  wisdom  from  ^inburgb,  where 
not  only  house-keeping  but  hospitality  is 
set  upon  its  most  natural  footing.  In  each 
case  the  thing  itself  becomes  more  reid  as 
well  as  more  habitual.  We  belieye  that 
in  Edinburgh  the  proportion  of  domestic 
servants  to  the  population  is  greater  than  in 
any  other  town  in  the  three  kingdoms ;  this 
being  caused  mainly  by  the  ease  with  which 


eyery  person  of  moderate  means  estaUiiha 
for  his  own  household — thanks  to  the  fliUs- 
a  comfortable  home. 

TOM  D'URFEY. 

One  of  the  oddest  epitaphs  in  Londoa  is  to 
be  seen  on  the  south  wall  of  the  church  of 
Saint  James,  Piccadilly.  Sculptural  chir  • 
racter  it  has  none.  It  is  at  the  best  a  com- 
mon piece  of  Yorkshire  flag,  with  a  veij 
brief  inscription : — 

Tom  DTJrfey 
Djed  Feb^y  y*  96th,  172S. 

We  haye  a  kind  of  Old  Mortality  interat 
in  this  monument,  paying  periodical  viati  to 
it— not  from  any  particular  admiration  for 
the  poor  inhabitant  it  seeks  to  commenont« 
— but  purely  from  a  desire  that  seme  ticlu- 
tect  may  not  remove  it  as  unsightly,  or  iook 
churchwarden  destroy  it  as  of  no  maimer  of 
use. 

These  periodical  yisits  to  Tom  D^rfeyi 
tomb  extend  over  a  quarter  of  a  ceotor;. 
Many  have  looked  at  it  besides  ourselfo. 
Some  few  have  evidently  known  "  all  aboat" 
Tom  DlJrfey.  Some  have  a  rude  guess  ihti  , 
he  was  a  clever  and  compaoionabie  fellow. 
Some  have  shrugged  their  eliouldtrs  before 
it,  and  passed  on  with  a  '<  Well,  rm  nre 
— brief  enough  for  any  residuary  legatee." 
Others  haye  laughed  before  it,  and  cried 
"Poor  Tom's  a-oold;"  and  it  was  bat  the 
other  day  that  we  detected  a  charity-boy 
trying  a  hard  ball  against  Tom's  crumUiof 
tablet,  thinking  perhaps  it  would  have  bees 
a  good  bit  of  fun  to  haye  "  done  for  the  oM 
buffer."  We  have  a  liking  for  Tom,  ml 
have  actually  dived  into  Tom's  history,  tod 
collected  what  no  bookseller  has  yet  coUected 
— Tom  D^rfev'S  works. 

Tom  was  half  a  Frenchman,  half  to 
Englishman.  His  uncle  was  that  D'Urf^  wko 
wrote  the  romance  of  Astrea— a  kind  of 
French  Arcadia  and  New  Atlantis— which 
Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu  delighted  to 
read,  and  was  we  suppose  the  last  woman 
who  did  delight  to  read.  His  father,  the  son 
of  a  Frenchman,  was  married  to  a  gentle- 
woman of  Huntingdonshire,  of  the  fiunily  of 
the  Marmions ;  and  Tom  was  bom,  i*  *»  ^ 
lieved,  in  Exeter,  in  the  year  sixteen  hundred 
and  forty-nine. 

He^  was  intended  for  the  law,  but  Coke 
upon  Littleton  had  no  attractions  for  so  voli- 
tlle  a  student ;  and  the  two  theatres  existtn^ 
when  Tom  was  a  boy,  in  Drury  Lane  and 
Dorset  Gardens,  tore  him  away  from  Plowd^ 
and  the  Inns  of  Court  '*My  good  or  u 
stars,"  he  says, "  ordained  me  a  kmghtrerrant 
in  the  fairy  land  of  poetry."  We  hear  first  of  ' 
him  in  sixteen  hundred  and  seventy-six, JJ 
his  twenty-seventh  year,  when  he  prodooej 
at  the  King's  Theatre  a  tragedy,  full  » 
bombast  and  fustian,  called  ''The  Siege  oi 
Memphis ;  or,  the  Nubitlan  Queen." 


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ChwlM  JMckoM.] 


TOM  DTJEPBY. 


187 


The  work  beariog  this  alarming  title  was 
his  first  work,  and  for  the  next  six-and- 
forty  years  Tom  was  a  constant  caterer  for 
the  London  stage  and  country  sqnires.  He 
tried  his  band  at  tragedy,  comedy,  opera,  and 
farce,  and  found  favour  with  the  public  in  all 
four.  Great  actors  and  actresses  played  in 
many*of  his  pieces — Hart,  Betterton,  Doggett, 
and  Mrs.  Braoegirdle.  It  was  In  a  play  by 
DTTrfey  that  Doggett  was  first  pre-eminently 
distinguished  as  a  great  actor. 

Tom  lived  and  died  a  bachelor.  He  was 
poor  to  marry,  and  the  life  he  led  was  not 
one  particularly  adapted  to  the  state  of  ma- 
trimony. He  existed,  we  might  say  fiourished, 
for  forty-six  years  and  more  on  the  chance 
profits  of  the  stage,  on  benefit  nights,  on  the 
money  any  bookseller  would  give  for  his  copy, 
on  the  sale  of  his  songs,  and  on  the  bounty  of 
many  patrons,  firom  King  Charles  the  Second 
and  Queen  Anne,  to  the  witty  Earl  of  Dorset 
and  the  mercurial  Duke  of  Wharton.  He  was 
a  welcome  guest  wherever  he  went :  for  Tom 
was  Hinny  and  could  stand  a  jest  And  though 
be  stuttered,  he  could  sing  a  song  as  well  as 
any  one  of  the  twenty-four  fiddlers  in  whose 
music  the  merry  monarch  took  such  raptu- 
rous delight. 

We  have  said  that  Tom  stuttered,  and  we 
have  two  anecdotes  to  ofl'er  in  illustration  of 
what  we  state.  Tom  was  cheapening  a 
shoulder  of  mutton  in  Glare  Market  (long 
the  resort  of  English  actors),  but  the  butcher 
was  immoveable — he  would  not  take  a  penny 
off.  Tom  was  imjjortunate,  the  butcher  still 
deaf.  At  last,  as  if  to  get  rid  of  a  customer 
he  did  not  care  for,  the  batcher  said  he  should 
have  it  for  nothing  if  he  would  ask  for  it 
without  stuttering.  Whereupon,  Tom — who 
had  words  and  music  at  will — asked  for  the 
shoulder  in  an  extempore  song,  which  came 
from  his  tongue  without  a  single  stammer 
or  even  a  rough  note.  The  astonished 
butcher  surrendered  the  mutton,  and  Tom 
left  Clare  Market  triumphant.  This  is  told 
by  Goldys. 

"  There  is  nothing,"  says  Tom  Brown,  *•'  like 
bearing  an  injury  or  a  jest,  heroically." 

"  The  town  may  da-da-damn  me  for  a  poet," 
said  D'Urfey,  *•  but  they  si-si-sing  my  songs 
for  all  that.^» 

It  is  Tom  (now  of  St.  James's  churchyard), 
who  gave  us  that  very  agreeable  collection  of 
songs,  in  six  volumes,  called  Pills  to  Purge 
Melancholy.  He  was  long  the  poet,  as  Pope 
tells  Cromwell,  of  tolerable  reputation  among 
country  gentlemen ;  and  Pope  significantly 
adds,  *'  Dare  any  one  despise  him  who  has 
made  so  many  men  drink." 

When  Rowe  died,  Arbuthnot  wrote  to 
Swift,  that  his  place  as  Poet  Laureate  should 
be  filled  up  thus  suitably, — "  I  would  fain 
have  Pope  get  a  patent  for  the  place,  with  a 
power  of  putting  in  D'tJrfey  as  deputy ;"  and 
Tom  would  really  have  made  a  good  Poet 
Laureate — of  the  kind — when  required ;  for 
Tom  knew  the  humour  of  the  town  and  what 


was  proper  for  diversion.  Hie  Joy  to  Great 
Cieear  would  have  swelled  the  chapel-royal 
throat  in  a  true  Laureate-like  manner. 

The  muse  of  D'Urfey  was  not  confined  to 
Whitehall ;  on  court  occasions  it  went  into 
the  city  \  and  Tom  accompanied  Charles  the 
Second  to  a  Guildhall  banquet,  and  sung  a 
song  about  an  Ig^oramous  Jury  and  a  Loyal 
Lord  Mayor. 

Queen  Anne  was  diverted  with  his  witty 
catches  and  songs  of  humour  suited  to  the 
spirit  of  the  times,  and  gave  bim  fifty  guineas 
for  singing  a  song  against  the  Princess  So- 
phia, then  the  heir  apparent  to  her  throne. 

The  crown  ii  too  weighty 
For  ■hooldem  of  elghtj. 

For  Anne  delighted  in  any  compliment  to  her 
own  youth  at  the  expense  of  her  expectant 
but  more  aged  successor.  It  was,  however, 
at  Newmarket  that  Tom  was  heard  to  the 
greatest  advantage.  There,  as  Gay  observes, 
he  ran  his  muse  with  what  was  long  a  favour- 
ite racing  song, — 

To  horte.brare  boys,  to  Newm&rket  to  hone, 
Yoa'll  loae  the  outch  by  longer  delaying. 

But  the  three  houses  in  which  Tom  D'Urfey 
was  happiest,  were  Knowle,  in  Kent,  the 
princely  seat  of  the  witty  Earl  of  Dorset ; 
Leicester  House,  in  Leicester  Square;  and 
Winchendon,  in  Bucks,  the  stately  residence 
of  the  able  but  licentious  Philip,  Duke  of 
Wharton.  Dorset  frequently  put  newly- 
minted  guineas  under  the  plates  of  the  poets 
he  invited  to  his  table;  Lord  Leicester,  when 
in  town,  set  Saturdtyy  apart  for  the  entertain- 
ment of  poets  ;  and  Wharton,  in  his  garden  at 
Winchendon,  erected  a  banqueting-house, 
called  Brimmer  Hall,  where  IrUrfey  was  a 
favourite  guest.  '^Many  an  honest  gentle- 
man," says  the  Tatler,  '*  has  got  a  reputation 
in  this  country  by  pretending  to  have  been  in 
company  with  Tom  D'Urfey.  Many  a  pre- 
sent toast,  when  she  lay  in  her  cradle,  has 
been  lulled  asleep  by  D'Urfey's  sonnets." 
**  Any  man  of  any  quality,"  savs  Pope, "  is 
heartily  welcome  to  the  best  toping  table  who 
can  roar  some  rhapsodies  from  his  works." 

It  was  the  fashion  to  lauffh  at  D'Urfey 's 
dramatic  efibrts,  and  certainly  his  tragedies 
and  comic  operas  affbrd  fit  material  for  con- 
tempt. He  made  Don  Quixote  the  hero  of  a 
piece  in  two  parts,  and,  in  a  sad  extravaganza, 
called  Wonders  in  the  Sun,  introduced  comical 
dances  of  blackbirds  and  parrots,  and  seems 
to  have  dressed  them  and  to  have  made  them 
sing  in  character.  When  a  gentleman,  on  re- 
turning from  one  of  D'Urfey's  plays,  the  first 
night  it  was  acted,  observed  inquiringly  to 
Dryden,  '*Was  there  ever  such  stuff?  I 
could  not  imagine  even  this  author  could 
have  written  so  ill."  •*  O  sir,"  replied  Dry- 
den, *'  you  don't  know  my  friend  Tom  so  well 
as  I  do ;  I'll  answer  for  him,  he  shall  write 
worse  yet." 

Pope  wrote  a  drolling  prologue  for  what 
was  said  to  be  his  last  play ;  and  Johnson  has 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


188 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoBdoetcdbj 


immortalised  bim  ia  his  well-knOwD  prologue, 
spoken  by  Garrick,  at  tbe  opening  of  the 
Drury  Lane  Theatre : — 

PerbaM  if  ikill  conld  distant  timei  explore, 
New  Behns,  new  D'Urfejs  yet  remain  in  store. 

New  D^Urfeys !  We  have  in  our  own  time 
dramatic  productions  in  every  way  as  low  as 
D'Urfey^s  ;  indeed,  if  we  compare  them,  and 
may  be  allowed  one  of  Tom's  own  Newmarket 
similies,  Tom  would  distance  many  competi- 
tors by  a  length  and  more. 

When  Tom  D'Urfev  represented  the  Ivric 
muse  of  England,  Pindarics  were  at  their 
highest,  and  the  ever-ready  Tom  perpetrated 
and  published  Pindarics.  He  rode,  it  is  true, 
a  jaded  muse,  whipt  with  loose  reins,  but  he 
got  over  a  deal  of  ground  notwithstanding, 
and  received  as  high  fees  for  what  he  did 
from  the  patrons  of  poetry,  as  the  best  of  the 
Pindaric  batch.  His  contemporaries  envied 
his  success,  and  one  (it  is  said  Tom  Brown) 
wrote  the  following  epigram  upon  him : 

Thon  car,  half-French,  half-Inglish  breed, 

Thon  monerel  of  Parnassus. 
To  think  tall  lines  ran  np  to  seed, 

Shoald  ever  tamelj  pass  as. 

Thoa  write  Pindarics,  and  be  damned, 

Write  epigrams  for  cutlers ; 
None  with  thy  Ijrics  can  be  sham'd, 

But  chamber-maids  and  butlers. 

In  t'other  world  expect  dry  blows ; 

No  tears  can  wash  thj  stains  out ; 
Horace  will  pluck  thee  bj  the  nose, 

And  Pindar  beat  thj  bndns  out 

Tom's  consolation  was  no  doubt  the  same 
as  with  his  plays — "  The  town  may  da-da- 
dtfmn  my  Pindarics,  but  they  si-si-sing  my 
songs  for  all  thaf 

We  have  said  that  Tom  subsisted  in  part  by 
the  dedications  to  his  books.  Two  anecdotes 
are  told  of  his  doings  in  this  way.  He  is 
said  to  have  celebrated  a  certain  lord  for  the 
greatest  poet  and  critic  of  the  age,  upon  a 
misinformation  in  a  newspaper  that  his  noble 
patron  was  made  lord  chamberlain.  But 
this  dedication  we  cannot  find.  Of  the  other 
anecdote  we  have  evidence  before  us.  One 
of  his  dedications  is  to  the  then  Lord  Mor- 
peth, whom  he  addresses  in  print  as  '*My 
dear  Lord.''  For  this  familiarity  he  was 
sadly  abused — as  Pope  was  ridiculed  not  long 
after  for  calling  himself  in  a  printed  letter 
to  Lord  Burlington  his  lordship's  affectionate 
humble  servant.  Anecdotes,  slight  even  as 
these  are,  illustrate  the  manners  and  breeding 
of  our  forefathers. 

When  old  age  crept  on  Tom,  and  he  was  no 
longer  able  to  cater  towards  the  amusements 
of  the  town,  the  good  natured  Steele  stept  in 
to  his  assistance,  and  recommended  his  claims 
to  the  public,  in  the  Tatler,  the  Guardian, 
and  the  Lover.  Steele  had  then  the  ear  of 
the  town,  and  Tom  by  the  Tatler's  influence 
obtained  some  benefits  of  importance  to  his 


ways  and  means.    There  are  few  pleasanter 

Eapers  by  Steele  than  those  in  which  he  shows 
is  interest  for  TomD'Urfey.  Tom  was  natu- 
rally fond  of  Steele,  though  I  can  find  no  men- 
tion of  Sir  Richard  in  his  works.  The  common 
story  is,  that  Tom  was  buried  at  the  expense 
of  Steele,  but  this  is  not  the  case ;  he  was 
buried  near  the  stone  which  suggested  this 
paper,  at  the  expense  of  the  Duke  of  Dorset, 
— the  son  of  his  patron — the  duke  to  whom 
Prior  has  addressed  so  readable  a  dedication 
of  his  poems.  To  Steele,  Tom  D'Urfey  left 
bis  gold  watch  and  chain  ;  and  Steele  follow- 
ed his  friend  Tom  to  this  very  grave  in  St 
James's,  Westminster. 

Tom's  familiar  face  and  appearance  were 
missed  by  many  in  the  cities  of  London  and 
Westminster.  That  his  face  was  not  of  the 
willow-pattern  type  we  may  readily  gather 
from  his  portrait  among  the  poets  at  Knowle. 
That  his  appearance  was  remarkable  we  may 
infer  from  his  being  followed  in  the  streets 
by  a  servant  under  age — for  Tom,  so  we  are 
told  in  the  notes  to  the  Dunciad,  Was  the  last 
English  poet  who  appeared  in  the  streets 
attended  by  a  page.  Few  poets  have  had  an 
attendant  of  the  kind  :  we  read  of  Mr.  Dry- 
den's  boy,  and  Mr.  D'Urfey's  page,  and  of 
these  only. 


WHEN  THE  WIND  BLOWS. 

We  have,  previously,*  given  some  account 
of  the  Wind-roads  of  the  world,  as  traced  by 
that  indefatigable  navigator  and  philosopher 
Lieutenant  Maury,  of  the  United  States  navy. 
We  are  taught  by  modern  science  to  regard 
the  wind  no  longer  as  the  fickle  element  we 
were  once  wont  to  consider  It,  but  as  a  beau- 
tiful and  wonderful  agent  in  the  great  econo- 
my of  our  system,  controlled  and  guided  by 
laws  as  fixed  as  those  which  regulate  the 
starry  firmament,  or  the  movements  of  our 
own  globe. 

When  it  is  remembered  that,  according  to 
the  shipping  records  at  Lloyd's,  there  are,  on 
an  average,  fifty  vessels  annually  i  of  which  no 
tidings  are  ever  received;  eight  hundred 
total  wrecks,  and  between  three  and  four 
thousand  casualties  of  various  kinds,  amongst 
the  registered  shipping,  involving  a  yearly 
loss  of  from  four  to  five  millions  sterling,  it 
must  be  at  once  apparent  how  deeply  inter- 
esting the  labours  of  those  who  are  spending 
a  large  portion  of  their  lives  in  the  investi- 
gation of  the  law  of  storms  must  be. 

Colonel  Reidof  the  Royal  Engineer8,andMr. 
Redfleld,  of  New  York,  were,  we  believe,  the 
earliest  labourers  in  this  field  of  research.  They 
were  followed  by  Mr.  Piddington  of  Calcutta, 
who  has  published  a  Sailor's  Horn-book  of  the 
Law  of  Storms,  in  which  the  plainest  Instruc- 
tions are  given  for  the  navigation  of  ships 
through  the  dangerous  cyclones  of  the  Indian 
seas.  So  great  have  been  the  advantages 
already  derived  from  the  study  of  this  sub- 

*  dee  '*  Air  Ifaps,"  rol.  Tiii.,  p.  138. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbarie*  Okkaaa.] 


WHEN  THE  WIND  BLOWa 


189 


ject  j  and  so  inpportant  is  a  better  study  of  it 
coQsidered,  tliat  in  the  autumn  of  eighteen 
hundred  and  fifty-three,  a  Maritime  Confer- 
ence was  held  at  Brussels,  by  delegates  from 
the  leading  nations  of  Europe  and  the  United 
States,  for  the  purpose  of  devising  some 
general  and  uniform  system  of  observation 
at  sea,  to  be  carried  on  by  the  public  and 
private  ships  of  all  countries.  Already,  how- 
ever, much  has  been  accomplished.  Our  pre- 
sent acquaintance  with  the  Wind-roads,  and 
the  Law  of  Storms,  has  been  the  means  of 
shortening  ships'  passages  in  most  parts  of 
the  world  to  an  astonishing  extent,  aided,  no 
doubt,  by  the  progressive  science  of  the  ship- 
builder ;  so  much  so,  indeed,  that  our  Liver- 
pool clipper-ships  are  beating  steam-vessels 
on  the  Australian  voyage.  It  is  scarcely 
possible  to  say  how  many  valuable  ships,  or 
how  much  human  life  has  been  saved. 

In  the  high  northern  latitudes  in  which  we 
live,  storms  such  as  sweep  over  many  parts 
of  the  earth  and  sea,  are  unknown.  At  cer- 
tain seasons  of  the  year,  our  islands  are 
visited  with  severe  gales  of  wind,  which 
cause  much  havoc  amongst  our  coasting  ves- 
sels, and  some  damage  to  property  on  land ; 
but  this  is  nothing  compared  with  the  terrible 
efiects  of  a  cyclone,  a  typhoon,  or  a  hurri- 
cane in  the  Bay  of  Benffal,  the  China  Seas, 
or  amongst  the  West  India  Islands. 

The  fearful  rotary  storms  of  wind  which 
frequently  occur  within  the  tropics,  lose  much 
of  their  violence  in  passing  over  the  land; 
yet,  the  ruin  and  devastation  occasioned  by 
them  there,  is  of  a  terrible  character.  In  one 
hurricane  which  passed  over  Madras  a  few 
years  since,  a  thousand  houses  were  injured 
or  destroyed,  many  lives  lost,  nine  thousand 
sheep,  and  nearly  three  thousand  horses  and 
cattle  perished,  besides  several  villages  which 
were  entirely  swept  away,  leaving  no  records 
whatever.  A  similar  calamity  happened  at 
Coringa  in  eighteen  hundred  and  thirty-nine, 
when  twenty  thousand  of  the  inhabitants 
were  said  to  have  perished,  besides  an 
incredible  number  of  cattle  and  stock.  Sixty 
native  vessels  at  anchor  in  the  roads  dis- 
appeared within  balf-an-hour,  with  all  their 
crews,  whilst  one  or  two  sloops  were  carried 
by  the  united  force  of  the  wind  and  waters  to 
a  distance  of  five  miles  inland.  In  eighteen 
hundred  and  fifty-three  one  of  these  cyclones 
swept  over  a  portion  of  Bengal,  marking  its 
comparatively  narrow  track  with  the  ruins  of 
many  vilUges  and  the  bodies  of  hundreds  of 
natives.  The  houses  were  smashed  into 
minute  fragments:  there  was  scarcely  any- 
thing left  as  large  as  a  brick ;  and  it  seemed 
as  though  the  car  of  Juggernath  had  passed 
its  ponderous  wheels  over  those  ill-fated  vil- 
lages. Men  were  found  with  their  brains 
daj'hed  out  against  trees  or  rocks.  Some  had 
been  blown  against  broken  bamboos  and 
impaled  on  their  sharp  points.  Women  and 
children  were  torn  limb  from  limb,  as  though 
by  wild  beasts ;  whilst  doors,  furniture,  and 


other  wooden  articles,  were  shivered  and 
splintered  into  fragments  as  completely  as 
though  cut  up  by  axes.  All  this  was  wrought 
by  the  mere  force  of  the  wind.  It  occurred 
many  miles  inland,  away  from  any  sea  or 
river.  At  the  Mauritius,  hurricanes  are  of 
almost  annual  occurrence  during  the  first  four 
months  of  the  year.  The  effect  of  some  of 
these  has  been  very  remarkable.  A  ship  of 
eight  hundred  tons  burden,  loaded  with 
cargo,  was  bloum  high  and  dry  upon  land, 
many  yards  from  the  influence  of  the  sea. 
Portions  of  iron  machinery,  weighing  many 
hundred  weights,  were  in  like  manner  hoisted 
from  their  positions  and  flung  through  the  air 
for  a  hundred  yards.  Cattle  were  lifted  from 
their  legs,  caught  up  in  the  whirlwind,  and 
carried  across  many  fields. 

These  hurricanes  are  not  only  more  violent 
on  the  open  seas,  but  present  themselves 
there  with  more  terrific  features.  We  have, 
in  our  time,  been  in  two  of  these  fearfhl 
storms.  In  one  the  sky  and  sea  took  a  blood- 
red  tinge,  although  the  hurricane  had  then 
well  nigh  passed  over.  In  the  other,  near 
the  Bay  of  Bengal,  a  ship  under  bare  poles, 
was  laid  on  her  beam  ends ;  the  wind  roared 
like  one  continuous  peal  of  thunder,  whilst 
the  air  was  filled  with  the  foaming  crest  of 
many  waves  torn  into  blinding  spray.  We 
have  heard  of  a  ship  having  its  foremast 
snapped  ofi*  at  the  deck,  carried  aloft  by  the 
whirl  of  the  cyclone,  and  then  dropped 
upon  the  fore-hatch  through  which  it  forced 
its  way,  and  so  became  fixed  tightly  during 
the  rest  of  the  gale.  It  is  not  uncommon  to 
hear  of  ships'  boats  being  blown  away  from 
their  fastenings  and  carried  aloft  into  the 
rigging ;  or  of  poop-ladders  torn  from  their 
staples  and  smashed ;  or  sails,  whilst  closely 
furled,  being  blown  away  from  their  yards  in 
shreds. 

If  these  cyclones  are  to  be  dreaded  in  the 
midst  of  the  open  ocean,  how  much  more 
dangerous  must  they  be  to  ships  in  a  road- 
stead, or  under  a  lee-shore — that  is  to  say, 
with  the  first  burst  of  the  gale  blowing  dead 
on  the  land.  There  is  the  record  of  a  typhoon 
in  the  China  seas  in  which  every  native  craA 
along  the  coast  was  lost  except  one.  Not 
fewer  than  a  hundred  thousand  persons  per- 
ished afioat  and  ashore.   • 

Fortunately  for  navigators,  the  barometer 
gives  timely  warning  of  the  approach  of  such 
storms ;  and  in  all  open  ports  or  harbours  in 
hurricane  countries  frequented  by  British 
shipping  the  captains  of  vessels  in  the  roads 
have  early  intimation  of  any  signs  of  bad 
weather.  Signals  are  hoisted  on  £ore  either 
to  make  all  snug  and  let  go  a  second  anchor, 
or  to  slip  cable  and  put  to  sea,  in  order  to 

f;et  clear  of  the  coast  before  it  be  too  late, 
n  this  way,  and  with  the  invaluable  as- 
sistance of  the  Horn-book  of  Storms,  hun- 
dreds of  fine  ships  are  annually  saved  which 
would,  otherwise,  have  been  lost  or  seriously 
damaged. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


190 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCoodacted  bj 


The  combined  labours  of  Redfleld,  Reidt 
Maurj  and  others  have  demonstrated  beyond 
a  doubt  that  the  harricanes,  tornadoes,  ty- 
phoons and  other  named  storms,  are  nearly 
identical  in  character,  being  in  fact,  vast 
whirlwinds  moving  onward  by  a  fixed  law, 
from  east  to  west  It  is  known,  also,  that 
these  whirlwinds  revolve  in  contrary  direc- 
tions on  opposite  sides  of  the  equator,  in  the 
southern  hemisphere  they  move  round  in  the 
same  direction  as  the  hands  of  a  watch,  from 
left  to  riffht,  whilst,  in  the  northern  seas, 
tliey  revolve  fh>m  right  to  left.  Thus  the 
side  of  one  of  these  cyclones  nearest  the 
equator,  in  either  hemisphere,  will  be  a 
westerly  gale,  whilst,  on  its  polar  margin,  the 
storm  will  be  fk-om  the  east 

These  cyclones,  as  they  are  now  termed,  do 
not  move  in  a  due  westerly  direction  alone ; 
but  attain  a  polar  inclination  as  they  pro- 
gress, and.  towards  their  termination,  recede 
somewhat  to  the  eastward,  so  that  they  form 
the  figure  of  a  section  of  a  circle,  gyrating  in 
curves  more  or  less  extended  according  to 
the  rate  of  progress  of  the  storm.  The  speed 
at  which  these  cyclones  travel,  varies  con- 
tinually between  two  miles  and  forty-three 
miles  an  hour :  at  times  they  have  even  been 
known  to  remain  stationary  for  a  considerable 
period.  The  gyration  of  these  progressive 
storms  may  be  fairly  represented  by  an  ordi- 
nary coil  of  rope,  somewhat  opened  out,  and 
4)read  in  a  quarter  circle. 

Mr.  Redfleld's  explanations  of  the  cause  of 
the  rise  and  fall  of  the  mercury  during  these 
gales,  tells  us  that  one  of  these  cycloidal 
storms  which  sets  a  considerable  portion  of 
the  atmosphere  in  a  state  of  rapid  revolution, 
diminishes  its  pressure  over  tnat  particular 
track,  and  most  of  all  so  towards  the  centre 
of  the  whirl.  Consequently  the  depth  of  the 
superincumbent  column  of  air  will  be  least 
at  the  centre ;  and  its  weight  will  be  dimin- 
ished in  proportion  to  the  strength  of  tiie 
wind. 

This  idea  may  be  illustrated  by  means  of 
a  tumbler  half  filled  with  water,  and  pu^  in 
rapid  motion  by  passing  a  rod  round  the 
inside  of  the  vesseL  On  looking  at  the 
contents  of  the  tumbler  it  will  be  perceived 
that  the  surface  of  the  water  is  depressed  at 
the  centre,  and  rises  against  the  nde.  The 
centrifugal  force  exerted,  causes  this  heaping 
up  at  the  sides  of  the  glass,  but  the  reverse 
in  the  case  of  whirlwinds,  which  have  limits 
to  confine  them.  The  tendency  of  the  atmo- 
sphere thus  set  in  rapid  rotation  is,  conse- 
quently, to  fly  oiT  from  its  centre,  lessening 
thereby  the  weight  of  the  incumbent  air,  and 
causing  a  foil  of  the  mercury  in  the  baro- 
meter. This  flying  off  would  brinff  down  a 
portion  of  the  old  stratum  of  the  upper 
atmosphere,  which,  coming  in  contact  with 
the  humid  stratum  of  the  surfkce,  produces  a 
continuous  layer  of  clouds,  and  a  copious 
supply  of  rain — the  usual  accompaniment  of 
cycloidal  storms. 


Let  us  see  how  the  knowledge  of  all  this, 
as  set  forth  by  the  Hornbook  of  the  Law  of 
Storms,  enables  the  commander  of  a  ship, 
who  will  give  a  little  attention  to  the  snb- 
ject,  to  take  his  vessel  out  of  a  cyclone  with 
almost  certain  impunity.  Any  captain  ove^ 
taken  by,  or  inadvertently  running  into 
such  a  hurricane,  can  escape  fh)m  its  in- 
fluence by  ascertaining  the  ship-s  position  in 
the  cyclone,  and  endeavouring  to  reach  its 
outer  edge.  In  ignorance  of  this,  a  vessel 
may  be  forced  into  the  very  centre  of  the 
whiri. 

To  scud  or  run,  either  partially  or  wholly, 
with  the  gale.  Is  to  be  avoided,  as  only  cal- 
culated to  retain  the  ship  within  the  gale. 
The  most  prudent  plan  Is  to  bring  the  ship's 
head  to  tne  wind, — in  nautical  terms,  to 
«  bring  her  to," — and,  in  that  position,  with 
just  sufficient  head-sail  set  for  the  purpose,  to 
wait  the  passing  over  of  the  stonn.  In  put- 
ting this  in  practice,  however,  judgment  is 
required  in  order  to  prevent  the  wind  head- 
ing the  ship,  which  might  cause  her  to  founder. 
The  force  of  the  wind  on  the  masts  and  riff- 
ging  alone  is  sufficient  to  do  this ;  and  it  is 
believed  that  many  ships  have  been  thus  lost 
The  rule  of  action  in  such  a  case,  as  laid 
down  by  the  Hornbook,  is,  '*  to  heave-to  on 
the  starboard  tack  when  on  the  north  side  of 
the  equator,  and  on  the  port  tack  when  on  the 
south  side  of  the  equator.*'  A  ship  so  placed 
will  have  the  gale  veer  round  more  towards 
the  stern,  when  the  head  could  be  at  once 
brought  close  to  the  wind  in  its  new  direction, 
until  at  length  the  cyclone  would  fairly  blow 
over,  and  leave  the  ship  in  its  rear ;  whereas, 
if  the  ship  were  so  laia-to  that  the  next  shift 
of  wind  took  her  aback  by  blowing  directly 
against  her  head,  she  would  perhaps  sink 
stem  foremost 

By  keeping  the  wind  on  the  starboard 

auarter  in  the  northern  hemisphere,  and  on 
le  port  quarter  in  the  southern,  a  ship  may 
be  gradually  sailed  from  the  centre  of  the 
storm.  But  there  is  always  one  quadrant 
of  the  hurricane^ircle  replete  with  danger  in 
such  a  course :  it  is  that  portion  whidi  would 
immediately  carry  a  vessel  within  the  path 
of  the  centre  whirl  of  the  advancing  cyclone. 
With  the  storm  advancing  due  west  in  the 
northern  hemisphere,  the  quadrant  of  danger 
would  be  in  its  north-western  quarter;  in 
the  south,  it  would  be  in  the  south-west  In 
its  polar  progress,  when  north,  the  dangerous 
quadrant  would  be  in  the  north-east  On 
the  opposite  side  of  the  line  it  would  be  in 
the  south-east  An  imperfect  acquaintance 
with  the  Law  of  Storms,  or  a  careless  appli* 
cation  of  it,  may  lead  a  commander  into 
more  danger  than  if  he  had  never  seen  a 
Hornbook,  or  had  thrown  his  barometer  over- 
board. It  is  a  law  which  must  be  studied 
attentively,  or  not  at  all. 

The  barometer  is  not  the  sole  indicator 
of  the  approach  of  a  cyclone.  The  storm 
sends  before  it  a  herald,  which,  outstripping 


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THE  ROVING  ENGLISHMAN. 


191 


the  BwUinesB  of  the  hurricaiie,  gives  sore 
and  Umely  warning  to  those  dwellers  in 
tropic  islands  or  navigators  of  fhiil  barks, 
who  know  not  the  use  of  •scientific  in- 
straments.  The  gale  works  np  the  waters 
of  ocean  to  fierce  ftirj,  and  the  mightj 
billows  roll  on  with  inconceivable  swiftness 
for  many  hundreds  of  miles  across  the  sea 
in  every  direction.  Colonel  Reid  was 
in  Bermuda  when  the  hurricane  of  eighteen 
hundred  and  thirty-nine  occurred,  and  dis- 
tinctly heard  the  sea  breaking  loudly 
against  the  south  shores  on  the  morning  of 
the  ninth  of  September,  tall  three  days  before 
the  stomi  reached  the  islands,  as  recorded  in 
tables  of  the  state  of  the  weather  kept  at 
the  central  signal  station.  At  that  time, 
the  hurricane  was  still  within  the  tropic,  and 
distant  ten  degrees  of  latitude.  As  the  storm 
approached  the  swell  increased,  breaking 
against  the  southern  shores  with  louder  roar 
and  grandeur,  until  the  evening  of  the  twelfth 
of  September,  when  the  whirlwind  storm 
reachmg  the  Bermudas  set  in  there.  When 
the  storm  had  passed  over  the  islands,  the 
Boutiiern  shore  became  calm;  and  the 
northern  reefb  presented  a  white  line  of  surge, 
caused  by  ihe  undulations  rolled  back  from 
the  storm  in  its  progress  towards  Nova  Sootia 
and  Newfoundland. 

During  these  hurricanes,  especially  within 
or  bordering  on  the  tropics,  the  appearance 
of  the  sky  is  often  extremely  beautiful 
In  one  of  Piddington's  memoirs  on  storms, 
he  describes  the  aspect  of  a  dense  mass  of 
heaped-up  clouds  pushed  towards  the  Ghauts 
in  tiie  Madras  Presidency.  The  great  bulk 
was  arrested  and  collected  into  a  long  hori- 
zontal wall-like  bank  of  solid  aspect  and  of  a 
deep  bluish  hue,  varied  at  the  edges  by  floccu- 
lent  curves  and  zones  of  sombre  grey,  which 
appeared  in  vivid  distinctness  as  coruscations 
of  lightning  shot  up  and  illuminating  portions 
of  the  gloomy  mass.  A  few  detached  higher 
clouds  escaped,  and  passed  slowly  to  the 
westward,  whilst  the  upper  edge  of  the  cloud- 
hank  sometimes  curled  over  the  top  of  the 
ridge,  like  the  falling  crest  of  a  wave  dis- 
persing in  spray,  and  descended  in  a  transient 
shower. 

Not  less  grand  is  the  storm  at  sea.  The 
ship's  loff  of  a  captain  who  passed  through  the 
centre  of  a  cyclone,  tells  us  how  the  sun  went 
down  fiery  red,  his  rays  dipping  and  losing 
themselves  almost  perpendicularly  in  the 
lonff  heavy  swelL  The  rain  fell  in  torrents 
daring  the  height  of  the  storm ;  the  lightning 
darted  in  awful  vividness  from  the  intensely 
dark  masses  of  clouds  that  pressed  down  on 
the  troubled  sea.  When  the  hurricane  passed 
off,  the  scene  to  leeward  was  awfully  grand : 
thick  masses  of  the  darker  purple-coloured 
clouds  were  rolling  over  each  other  in  incon- 
ceivable confhsion,  lighted  up  in  different 
places  by  intensely  vivid  lightning.  The 
hoarse  roar  of  the  retiring  storm,  mingled 
with  the  hollow  groan  of  continued  thunder, 


as  they  slowly  retreated  with  the  gale,  left  an 
impression  on  the  mind  not  easily  to  be  for^ 
gotten. 

THE  RQVING  ENGLISHMAN. 

A  DINNER  IN  CAJIP. 

The  wind,  which  has  been  howling  these 
ten  davs,  is  lulled  at  last.  A  keen  penetrating 
cold  indeed  still  finds  its  searching  way 
through  our  tent,  through  our  matted  clothes, 
which  have  not  been  changed  so  long  that  we 
have  altogether  forgotten  the  sensation  pro- 
duced by  putting  on  a  clean  shirt  It  finds 
its  way  with  equal  success  through  the  leather 
leggings  of  our  trousers,  and  our  clumsy 
cracked  boots,  through  our  tangled  wiry  hair 
and  beards ;  down  the  napes  of  our  necks 
when  we  move  our  heads  to  this  side  or  to 
that,  BO  as  to  give  it  the  smallest  opening  at 
which  to  creep  in. 

We  cannot  get  up  and  run  about,  like  good 
boys,  to  keep  ourselves  warm,  because  we  are 
dwelling  in  a  sort  of  marsh  or  bog.  We 
should  therefore  get  hopelesi^  wet  and 
uncomfortable ;  our  fires  do  not  thrive 
enough  to  admit  of  our  drying  ourselves 
speedily  ;  and  we  have  no  change  of  clothes. 
We  cannot  either  aflbrd  a  bowl  of  punch  just 
yet,  f  (ff  there  is  a  great  scarcity  of  f^esh  water. 
It  is  imprudent  to  take  little  gulps  of  brandy 
every  now  and  then  to  keep  up  our  circula- 
tion, because  we  have  but  very  little  of  that 
spirit  left,  and,  besides,  the  doctors  say  that 
such  a  course  of  proceeding  is  very  apt  to 
bring  on  the  cholera.  . 

Our  tent  is  a  needlessly  miserable  afikir, 
but  we  are  lucky  to  haye  it  Tents,  even 
such  as  these,  are  not  for  everbody.  The 
curse  of  wanton  mismanagement  seems  upon 
everything,  and  I  cannot  look  on  the  piti- 
able scene  around  me  without  feeling  a  large 
personal  share  in  our  national  humiliation. 
We  have  had  experience  enough  of  camp  life, 
too,  thrust  upon  us  during  the  last  few  years. 
There  have  been  the  countless  letters  of 
settlers  in  the  new  world,  almost  each  con- 
taining some  valuable  practical  suggestion, 
the  fruits  of  dearly-bought  experience.  There 
have  been  whole  libraries  written  about  the 
wants  and  contrivances  of  the  gold  hunters. 
Sir  Stephen  Lakeman  and  Kafi)reland  had 
furnished  us  with  lessons,  and  Sir  Richard 
England,  at  least,  knows  something  of  the 
causes  which  brought  about  our  disgrace  in 
Affghanlstan.  Yet  we  have  wilfdlly  neglected 
everything  most  lamentably ;  the  n^ore  so  be- 
cause Englishmen  are  not  given  to  complain- 
ing of  mere  personal  sufl'ering  ;  and,  among 
all  of  those  whom  I  see  around  me  there  is  a 
gallant  (I  might  have  written  touching)  de- 
termination to  put  a  bluff  gay  face  upon 
things. 

Therefore  we  sit  (there  were  four  of  us) 
curled  up  in  various  attitudes,  and  joking 
about  the  state  of  things  in  general,  over 
short  clay  pipes,  almost  as  black  and  dirty  as 


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192 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


oarselves.  We  sit  waiting  for  dinner,  and 
oar  hoet,  every  now  and  then,  shouts  lustily 
to  a  servant  who  is  preparing  it  somewhere 
outside  within  hearing.  As  the  servant  docs 
not  appear  however  to  make  much  progr^as, 
and  our  appetites  goad  us  at  last  into  ex- 
treme measures,  we  go  out  to  help  him,  or 
worry  him  into  greater  speed. 

Our  cook  is  a  tattered,  lantern-jawed, 
hollow-eyed  fellow,  who  would  not  be  re- 
cognized as  a  soldier  by  anv  servant-maid  in 
Knightsbridge.  We  find  him  in  a  state  of 
despondency  peculiar,  I  think,  to  the  cook- 
ing Englishman.  He  is  kneeling  down  on 
the  damp  ground  and  blowing  testily  at 
some  wettish  smoky  shrub-roots,  crammed 
in  a  manner  inartistic  enough  into  an  im- 
promptu fire-place.  He  looks  a  fine  illus- 
tration of  shame  and  anger,  he  dislikes 
his  job,  and  he  does  not  know  how  to  perform 
it 

Let  us  help  him.  I  know  somebody  who  is 
not  a  bad  cook  at  a  push,  and  so,  if  we  can 
only  get  some  charcoal,  I  dare  say  we  shall 
do  verv  well.  We  are  not  badly  off  for  prog ; 
there  is  some  ration  pork,  a  lean  fowl,  some 
eggs,  potatoes  and  honey.  We  have  also  got 
an  old  iron  kettle  and  a  coffee-pot,  with  the 
lid  belonging  thereto.  They  are  worth  their 
weight  in  gold,  and  I  hope  we  know  how  to 
appreciate  them. 

Modesty  prevents  my  telling  how,  by  frying 
the  pork  in  the  lid  of  the  kettle,  we  obtained 
enough  grease  to  fry  the  fowl ;  how  a  mess 
of  bread  and  honey,  and  whipped  eggs  was 
manufactured,  which  caused  a  full  chorus  of 
lip-8macklng,and  which  was  pensively  remem- 
bered long  after  its  abrupt  disappearance. 
Then  we  roasted  some  potatoes  among  the 
embers,  and  ate  them  (with  the  remains  of  the 
grease  extracted  from  the  pork)  as  a  delicate 
mouthful  to  crown  our  repast ;  and  lastly,  it 
was  with  all  the  pride  of  art,  that  we  stewed 
some  tea  in  the  coffee-pot  and  converted 
it  into  punch  of  no  common  bouquet  and 
flavour. 

We  must  have  looked  a  strange  companv. 
All,  except  myself,  were  ragged,  and  oddly 
arrayed.  They  wore  their  full  dress  uniform, 
dingy  and  caked  over  with  dirt,  till  the  colour 
was  undistinguiehable.  They  looked  some- 
thing between  the  military  mendicants  who 
prowl  about  elderly-ladylike  neighbourhoods, 
and  fancy  portraits  of  brigands.  Their 
beards  appe|ured  to  begin  at  the  eyelashes, 
and  to  go  on  till  they  were  lost  in  the  folds  of 
the  voluminous  scarfs  worn  round  the  waist. 
Between  the  dark  neutral  tint  of  their  clothes 
and  that  of  their  hands  there  was  but  small 
difference,  and  when  they  removed  their  caps 
for  a  moment,  the  bit  of  clean  skin  under- 
neath presented  a  contrast  quite  startling 
and   ludicrous.    There  was  one  thing  also 


which  struck  me  particularly,  and  that  was 
our  host's  prudent  and  laudable  anxiety  with 
respect  to  the  fragments  of  our  feast  Once 
I  remember,  as  a  soldier  pawed,  chuckling 
and  lugging  along  a  powerful  and  strug- 
gling goose  oy  the  neck,  the  captain  cried  oat, 
with  an  ecgerness  of  speech  inexpressibly 
droll,  "  Hang  it,  Martin  1  there  goes  a  fellow 
with  a  goose ;  be  quick  and  cut  after  him. 
Perhaps  he  will  let  us  go  halves,  or  tell  you 
where  he  got  it,  if  there's  another,  liook 
sharp,  or  you'll  lose  him."  I  should  be  sorry 
to  bring  anything  like  an  unhandsome  charge 
against  the  captain's  guests,  but  it  certainly 
was  my  impression  that  Ensign  Dash  placed 
something  in  his  coat  pocket;  and  that  that 
something  was  the  drumstick  of  a  fowl,  and 
a  hunk  of  precious  black  bread,  done  up  in  a 
pocket-handkerch  ief. 

I  remember,  as  the  night  deepened,  and  we 
still  sat  talking,  that  a  certain  deep-seated 
piet^  and  resignation  rested  upon  my  com- 
panions, which  I  do  not  remember  to  have  ever 
observed  in  young  men  before.  They  ap- 
peared to  be  filled  with  tenderness  and  bro- 
therhood, when  they  spoke  of  fallen  com- 
rades. It  seemed  as  if  their  own  uncertain 
chances  of  life  gave  them  a  kindred  with  the 
dead.  Little  words  passed — perhaps  uncon- 
sciouslv  enough — among  them  whicn  may  be 
some  day  told  solemnly,  on  summer  even- 
ings and  by^  winter  hearths,  as  the  last  yearn- 
ings and  expressed  desires  of  gallant  hearts 
which  shall  then  be  cold.  Sometimes  what 
they  said  had  a  simple  and  impressive  ear- 
nestness, as  if  the  speaker  wished  that  his 
words  should  be  hereafter  faithfully  recorded 
— as  if  he  felt  himself  among  those  who  are 
doomed.  There  was  no  fear  or  gloom  in  oar 
little  party  that  night ;  only  a  serious  sense 
of  a  grave  position — which  a  good  man  sboold 
not  refiect  on  lightly.  It  drew  the  l)ands  of 
kindly  friendships  closer. 

They  talked  with  cheerfUl  pathos  aboat 
their  distant  families  and  friends,  so  that! 
felt  even  then,  while  I  listened,  as  if  I  were 
becoming  the  depository  of  many  precioas 
secrets,  and  that  I  should  go  upon  my  way 
laden  with  things,  which,  to  some,  would  be 
held  of  higher  value  than  an  argosy.  God  be 
merciful  to  the  bereaved !  Of  those  who  sat 
beside  me  on  that  day  but  one  remains :  for 
two  were  struck  with  tardy  sickness,  and  the 
third  fell  suddenly  in  fight  God  be  me^ 
ciful  to  the  bereaved!  and  teach  them 
to  think,  even  in  their  grief,  with  a  pride 
which  shall  be  as  balm  to  them,  how  thev 
kindred  have  gone  to  join  the  radiant  teuid 
of  those  who  have  died  uncomplaining,  for 
the  pure  cause  of  duty  I  Let  us  resolve  that 
they  shall  be  surrounded  with  respect  and  ac- 
tive sympathy,  which  shall  not  die  away  u» 
words. 


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'  FbmOiat  in  iheir  Mouihi  at  HOUSEHOLD  WORDSJ^ 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
COlTDTrCTEI)   BT   CHABLE8   SICKEHS. 


No.  9.] 


J.  A.   DIX,  PUBLISHER, 

OwtoB,  No.  10  Pakb  PfcAOB,  NtW'Yoas. 


[Whole  No.  262. 


FROST-BITTEN  HOMES. 

On  the  closing  daj  of  the  long  Fcbrnarj 
frost  I  went  to  see  what  its  effect  had  been 
upon  the  dwellings  of  the  quiet  poor.  The 
general  distress  endnred  bj  a  large  class  of 
the  inhabitants  of  London  who  commit  no 
crimes  and  ntter  no  complaints  by  which  to 
call  attention  to  their  sorrow,  has  been 
already  suggested  in  this  journal.*  It  Is  a 
hard  tale  to  tell  twice,  but  would  to  Heaven 
it  were  told  a  thousand  times,  if  telling  be  a 
step  of  any  kind  towards  more  active  sympa- 
thy. I  had  paid  a  second  visit  to  a  number  of 
these  people  during  the  past  summer,  and 
had  found  the  shadow  of  tne  war  upon  their 
households.  Looms  were  idle,  high  prices 
and  the  dread  of  a  prevailing  pestilence  id- 
most  destroyed  the  traffic  of  the  hawkers, 
and  the  thousands  of  our  fellow  citizens  who 
are  so  often  tempted  to 

"  Sit  down  with  Tacant  itare, 
AjmI  the  game  of  life  abandon  with  the  qoiet  of  decpair," 

being  almost  without  exception  destitute  of 
this  world's  goods,  remained  as  miserable  as 
they  had  been  in  the  preceding  winter.  Let 
bo  one  suppose  from  this  that  ne  can  picture 
to  himself,  if  he  has  not  seen  the  horror  of 
their  present  state.  Their  crowning  affliction 
was  the  frost.  The  defect  must  be  a  grav^  one 
in  our  social  system  which  converts  one  of  the 
best  gifts  of  Nature  into  a  curse  for  thousands. 
The  cold  weather  dealt  with  the  unoffending 
poor  as  it  might  deal  with  the  exotics  in  a 
hot-house.  Nothing  that  had  life  among  them 
seemed  to  have  escaped  the  blight  of  it. 

I  saw  them  on  the  last  day  of  the  A*ost, 
wh^n  many  of  them  had  little  more  in  this 
world  than  their  lives  to  lose.  Inured  to  suf- 
fering, they  bore  without  rebellion  the  heaviest 
privations.  On  that  and  the  preceding  dav, 
they  were  surrounded  by  bread-riots.  Dock- 
labourcrs,  impatient  of  a  few  days'  fiimine, 
joined  by  several  of  the  discontented  in  East 
London,  raised  the  black  flag ;  and,  marching 
in  large  crowds,  emptied  betkers'  shops,  but 
with  such  crowdjs  there  went  none  or  these 
famished  suflierers.  The  men  whose  need  was 
greatest  hungered  silently  in  their  frost- 
bitten homes. 

♦  YoL  \x^  page  aOL 


*'Ton  have  a  great  many  countrymen 
among  these  mobs,  Mrs.  Sullivan.  Your 
husband  has  no  part  in  them  ? '' 

<*He,  sir  1  What  has  he  to  do  with  them? 
They're  not  honest  men.  My  husband  would 
lie  down  on  those  stones  and  die  of  hunger 
before  he  would  join  hand  with  such  ruffians. 
They  were  bv  here  yesterday,  five  hundred  of 
them,  with  the  black  flag  and  a  loaf  dipped 
in  blood.  They  cleared  out  a  poor  man  over 
the  way,  who,  though  he  is  a  baker,  is  not 
much  richer  than  we,  God  help  him  I " 

The  SuUivans  once  owned  a  little  farm  in 
Ireland  by  the  Lake  of  Killarney :  they  are 
warm-hearted  people.  The  husband,  when  in 
Ireland,  put  his  name  to  a  friend's  bill  for  a 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  became  chargeable 
with  the  payment,  and  sold  all  to  meet  it  He 
then  came  to  London,  bringing  hither  his 
wife  and  a  young  family,  with  the  design  of 
emigrating.  There  was  delay  caused  by  the 
difficulty  of  getting  shipped  ttom  England, 
and  that  proved  sufficient  to  complete  his  ruin. 
He  was  forced  to  abandon  his  scheme  and  to 
remain  in  London,  where,  with  wife  and  chil- 
dren, he  now  adds  a  drop  to  the  great  sea  of 
bitterness  in  Bethnal  Green.  I  did  not  find 
this  family  in  the  last  stage  of  destitution. 
The  SuUivans,  thouffh  they  were  starving, 
had  not  yet  sold  their  table  and  their  chairs 
for  food.  They  had  clothes,  too.  The  gar- 
ments of  many  little  ones  recently  washed, 
hung  upon  lines  about  the  room,  and  it  was 
thro'  the  grove  of  tiny  fh)cks  and  petticoats 
thus  planted  that  one  had  peeps  of  a  crone 
near  the  scanty  fire,  who  rocked  herself  in 
sullen  grief,  and  of  a  sick  girl  in  the  chimney 
comer,  who  was  eating  a  few  chips  of  potato 
firom  a  plate.  Mrs.  Sullivan  is  a  true  woman. 
When  the  great  distress  began  and  she  was 
herself  in  want,  bread  had  been  offered  her. 
Then  she,  denying,  herself,  pointed  out  the 
greater  destitution  of  a  neighbour,  one  for 
whom  her  rich  h^art  had  l^en  grieving. — 
**  Let  me  wait,"  she  said.  ''  If  there  is  bread 
to  be  given,  take  the  first  morsel  to  her." 

"  You  could  have  a  cottage  at  Killarney 
for  the  price  of  this  room,  Mrs.  Sullivan." 

<^0,  and  if  we  could  only  be  back  there 
again!  Time  was  when  we  never  had  a 
want ;  when  we  owned  cows  and  horses ;  and 
sure  we  did  not  know  that  there  was  ever  in 
the  world  such  an  unhappy  place  as  this.  If 
S02 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


194 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coodoctodky 


we  was  only  at  Killarney"  —  she  was  half 
sobbing  at  the  thought,  and  rubbing  her  eyes 
furtively  from  time  to  time  with  the  corner  of 
a  baby's  petticoat  that  hung  beside  her  face. 
A  little  girl  slipped  in  quietly,  her  feet  cov- 
ered with  snow,  and  her  mother,  in  reply  to 
an  inquiry,  said,  *' Yes,  she  was  a  good  girl, 
and  had  just  come  f^om  the  Ragged  School. 
The  frock  she  was  then  wearing  had  been 
given  to  her  there." 

The  poor  little  thing  bad  slipped  to  the 
cupboard  in  search  of  her  evening  meal,  and 
was  peering  about  it  like  a  hungry  kitten. 

*•  It's  of  no  use,  Kitty,"  said  her  mother, 
with  another  rub  against  the  little  petticoat, 
*»  there's  nothing  for  you." 

The  Bupperless  child  slipped  to  the  fire 
without  a  syllable  or  gesture  of  complaint, 
and  bent  for  warmth  over  the  few  ashes  that 
were  burning  in  it 

<'  Ah,"  said  the  mother  again,  ''  we  little 
thought  at  Killarney  of  a  place  like  this.  It's 
fit  to  kill  one  only  to  see  the  sufferings  of  that 
poor  soul  over  the  way."  This  was  the  same 
neighbour  for  whom  she  had  pleaded  once 
before,  and  anxious  to  engage  our  sympathy 
in  her  behalf,  she  led  us  to  her  room. 

*'  Excuse  me  for  not  opening  the  door  to 
you,"  said  the  woiAan  as  we  entered.  "  The 
baby  is  in  my  arms,  and  it  is  so  sick."  Her 
voice  died  away  in  a  note  of  the  most  plain- 
tive tenderness.  The  poor  mother  sat  with 
the  baby  in  her  lap  on  one  of  the  two  chairs 
that  the  room  contained  :  there  was  a  sick 
boy  in  the  other.  Five  more  children  cow- 
ered round  the  grate.  The  baby  had  been  ill, 
we  found,  and  had  been  left  for  a  short  time 
on  the  previous  Sunday,  while  the  mother 
was  at  church,  in  charge  of  the  eldest  son, 
the  sick  boy  whom  we  saw.  He,  liable  to 
fits,  had  been  seized  with  one  during  that 
time,  fallen  with  the  infant,  and  so  bruised  its 
cheek.  Slight  injuries  produce  great  wounds 
on  bodies  ill-fed  and  ill-housed ;  the  conse- 
quence of  the  fall  was,  that  a  large  abscess 
formed  where,  in  a  healthy  child,  there  would 
have  been  only  a  discoloured  skin. 

"  And  the  boy's  foot  is  bound  up  T " 

"  Yes  J  badly  cut.  The  real  truth  is,  sir, 
we  were  forcea  to  part  with  his  shoes,  and 
whether  it  was  ice  or  broken  glass  thrown 
in  the  road,  X  don't  know,  but  he  came  home 
with  a  sad  wound,  and  can't  go  out  of  doors 
for  some  weeks,  I'm  afraid." 

Inquiry  was  made  as  to  her  means  of  sub- 
sistence. "  We  have  had  nothing  coming  in," 
she  said ;  "  but  the  baker  has  not  let  us 
starve.  He  knows  we  will  pay  him  when  we 
can,  and  he  has  trusted  us;  but  yesterday 
when  I  went  he  had  no  bread  to  give  us,  be- 
cause the  rioters  had  been  to  his  shop  and 
taken  all  there  was  in  it — so  we  have  had 
nothing  since  that." 

Mrs.  Sullivan,  who  had  followed  us  into 
the  room,  and  watched  her  neighbour  with 
the  strongest  interest,  here  broke  out  into 
loud  denunciations  of  the  ruflBans  who,  in  the 


name  of  distress,  rob  the  starving.  "  It's 
always  the  honest  poor,"  she  said,  **  who  suf- 
fer by  those  noisy  blackguards.?'  The  sick 
baby  uttered  a  low  wail.  There  were  four 
coloured  Scripture  prints  over  the  mantel- 
piece of  this  room :  upon  one  of  them  was 
the  Great  Physician.  It  is  not  wonderful 
that  in  the  day  of  want,  though  coats  and 
shoes  were  sold,  those  prints  were  kepi 

The  charitable  trust  of  the  baker  for  which 
this  woman  had  been  grateful  was  limited  bj 
his  own  poverty  and  the  extent  of  the  dis- 
tress appealing  to  his  sympathies.  When  last 
she  had  been  seen  eating,  we  learnt  after  we 
had  left  her — for  herself,  her  husband,  and 
her  seven  children,  the  whole  dinner  had 
been  two  halfpenny  loaves. 

This  household  clung  to  Scripture  printa 
Almost  in  all  the  cold,  dismantled  rooms  we 
saw,  there  was  some  one  thing  saved  to  the 
last  which  might  have  been  among  the  first 
and  easiest  for  any  man  without  a  heart  to 
lose.  One  little  family  bad  saved  the  birds 
belonging  to  the  children — but  there  remain- 
ed only  tne  empty  cages,  for  the  birds  were 
dead.  Each  cage  was  worth  a  loaf  of  bread, 
and  there  were  two  of  them,  but  still  they 
hung  upon  the  wall.  A  doUmaker— the  fa- 
ther of  a  troubled  family — ^had  been  accus- 
tomed to  find  solace  in  a  fiddle.  He  took  to 
fiddling,  as  some  others  take  to  drink,  but 
his  little  vice  gave  Innocent  pleasure  to  his 
children,  while  it  soothed  himself  and  helped 
him  to  endure  the  buffe tings  of  fortune.  Ta- 
bles and  chairs  were  bartered,  one  by  one, 
for  bread,  and  still  the  fiddle,  strong  consoler, 
was  retained.  The  charm  of  its  music  helped 
a  hungfry  family  to  nestle  together  of  even- 
ings, freed  from  the  sharp  consciousness  of 
want.  At  last,  the  evil  day  could  be  put  off 
no  longer,  and  even  the  dollmaker's  fiddle 
was  exchanged  for  bread,  to  the  sreat  grief, 
not  only  of  himself  and  of  his  family,  but 
also  of  nis  neighbours. 

For  although  manyof  these  suffering  people, 
tortured  by  hunger,  become  selfish  in  urging 
their  demands  for  bread,  and  jealous  of  those 
whose  sorrows  are  assuag^  m  preference  to 
theirs  ;  though  very  many  others  are  attract- 
ed by  the  light  and  warmth  of  the  gin-palace, 
and  the  short  exemption  from  grief  to  be  pur- 
chased at  its  bar ;  though  cursing  is  to  he 
heard  here  every  day  near  the  church  door, 
and  there  is  one  curse  uttered  elsewhere  by 
the  self-righteous  that  falls  heavily  here,  as  in 
all  places,  on  the  child  of  the  poor  man,  *'He 
shall  die  without  instruction;  and  in  the 
greatness  of  his  folly  he  shall  go  astrajr :"  i^ 
spite  of  all  this  evil,  there  is  a  true  spiri*^ 
good  in  this  community  of  people  who  mgood 
times  struggle,  and  in  bad  tunes  starve.  I 
saw  a  woman  with  a  kindly  ftice  able  to  thank 
God  that  she  had  taken  an  orphan  to  her 
house.  "  It  was  no  loss  to  them,"  she  said, 
"  for  she  had  turned  out  a  good  girl,  andnw- 
ny  were  the  times  when  they'd  have  wanted 
bread  but  for  the  work  she  did,"  Of  another 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Charles  Dickens.] 


FROST-BITTEN  HOMES. 


195 


woman  in  the  district  I  heard  a  Btorj  illus- 
trating in  an  odd  waj  the  same  pervading 
tenderness  of  spirit  She  became  actively 
religions  under  the  influence  of  some  hot 
preacher,  and  prayed  to  Heaven  for  the  know- 
ledge of  what  she  could  do  to  show  herself  a 
Christian.  One  day  she  told  her  husband 
that  her  prayer  had  been  answered:  the 
Lord  had  let  her  know  what  she  must  do.  A 
reprobate  hawker — one  Skulk — lived  in  their 
court,  and  his  neglected  children,  ruined  by 
familiarity  with  wickedness  and  filth,  were 
shame  and  scandal  to  the  neighbourhood. 
'*  I  am  to  take  a  child,''  said  the  poor  woman, 
"  and  train  it  up  in  the  right  way.  Will  you 
ask  Bill  Skulk  for  leave  to  adopt  one  of  his 
boys?" — **  Certainly,  my  dear,"  said  the  hus- 
bandfwho  did  not  like  the  kind  of  son  suggest- 
ed, but  employed  the  tact  of  a  domestic  Met- 
temich,  and,  what  is  better  far,  the  courtesy 
of  a  true  gentleman  towards  his  wife :  **  cer- 
tainly I  will  do  as  you  wish,  but  had  vou  not 
better  think  it  over  and  ask  the  Lord  again, 
for  it  may  be  some  other  child,  and  not  one 
of  Bill  Skulk's  boys  that  we  are  to  take.''  The 
wife  took  time  to  reflect  and  pray.  Very 
soon  afterwards  a  narrow-weaver  died,  leav- 
ing an  innocent  child  utterly  desolate  and 
destitute.  "  Now,"  said  the  wife,  **  I  know, 
John,  whom  the  Lord  calls  on  us  to  help." 
They  took  the  orphan  to  their  home,  and  were 
a  father  and  a  mother  to  it. 

I  go  back  unwillingly  to  the  actual  specta- 
cle of  want,  but  the  reader  shall  be  shocked 
with  few  more  words  about  it.  In  such  a  case 
as  this  few  words  may  suffice  to  beget  many 
Bympathetic  deeds. 

I  saw  a  shoemaker  in  a  room  destitute  of 
furniture  watching  the  hungry  faces  of  two 
children.  He  possessed  nothipg  but  his  tools, 
and  there  was  no  work  to  be  done  with  them. 
There  are  three  hundred  small  shoemakers 
now  in  the  workhouse,  and  thousands  of 
journeymen  out  of  employ.  There  is  an 
export  trade,  I  believe,  of  slop  goods  arrested 
by  the  war.  Be  that  as  it  may,  I  saw  this 
man  standing  in  his  empty  room,  wan,  un- 
shaven, with  no  other  clothes  than  a  few 
rags  pinned  or  knotted  in  an  uncouth  way 
about  his  person.  A  cruel  mockery  of  bed 
was  in  one  corner,  a  little  straw — it  will  not 
be  believed  how  little — assuredly,  for  the  bed 
of  husband,  wife,  and  children,  during  a  six 
weeks'  intense  frost,  not  more  than  as  much 
straw  as  would  stuff  an  ordinary  footstool. 
One  hand  would  suffice  to  collect  and  lift  it 
all.     A  lump  of  salt  was  all  the  food  in  his 


I  saw  the  home  of  a  bricklaver,  who,  when 
he  has  work,  earns  thirty  shilling^  a  week, 
and  lives  with  a  wife  and  nine  children  In  two 
rooms.  We  passed  through  the  first  room, 
froth  which  everything  had  been  taken  to  get 
bread.  We  went  into  the  second  room,  and 
found  that  also  stripped.  There  remained 
only  two  chairs,  that  were  not  chairs,  and 
had  been  left  simply  because  they  were  worth- 


I  less.  They  had  lost  thehr  seats,  but  one  or 
two  sticks  laid  across  the  framework  made  it 
,  possible  to  use  them.  In  one  such  chair  the 
I  wife  sat  with  a  naked  baby  on  her  lap,  her 
own  arms  bare.  Her  sown  had  gone  for 
bread,  her  chemise,  and  the  last  things  sold 
[  were  her  shoes.  There  was  a  rag  that  covered 
(  a  small  portion  of  the  baby — two  months  old 
— the  rest  of  its  body  the  mother  did  her 
best  to  cover  with  what  little  dressing 
decency  forced  her  to  retain  about  herself 
Ei^ht  other  children  crowded  round  some 
dymg  embers.  Their  distress  was  the  more 
pitiful  to  see  because  the  woman  had  refine- 
ment in  her  features,  was  gentle  and  uncom- 
plaining in  her  speech,  and  the  condition  of 
the  children  showed  that  they  had  received 
Arom  her  careful  nurture.  They  were  all 
Tounff,  all  bearing  their  privations  with  the 
beautiful  simplicity  that  belongs  onlv  to  chil- 
dren. A  little  boy  with  a  round  head  and 
flaxen  locks  planted  himself  before  one  of  as, 
and  fixed  his  wondering  blue  eyes  upon  the 
stranger's  face— unconscious  of  the  sorrows 
of  his  home — not  stirring  foot  or  changing 
for  an  instant  the  direction  of  his  gaze  until 
the  marvel  had  departed.  I  think  these 
.children  were  not  very  conscious  of  privation. 
It  was  impossible  to  look  from  their  well- 
rounded  forms  to  the  thin  face  of  the  mother 
without  feeling  that  for  them  all  sacrifice  was 
made.  I  did  not  see  the  husband,  but  was 
told  that  he  was  true  and  earnest,  like  his 
wife.  The  bed  here  was  a  small  heap  of  the 
ends  of  rushes  in  a  comer  of  the  room. 
'*  How  do  you  manage  of  a  night  T" 
"  Those  rush  ends  make  a  very  sofk  bed. 
They  were  in  a  piece  of  ticking,  but  we  had 
to  sell  the  tick.  The  children  sleep  tiiere. 
My  husband  and  I  sit  up  on  the  chairs." 

Surely  there  are  many  beds  of  down  less 
enviable  than  those  two  chairs,  upon  which 
sitting  must  have  been  a  sort  of  torture  to 
the  l^y.  In  the  dark  room  penetrated  br 
the  bitter  fh>st  husband  and  wife,  thinly  clad, 
sat  nightly  side  by  side,  that  they  might 
letive  the  little  nest  of  rushes  to  thehr  chil- 
dren. 

I  shall  recal  no  more  of  these  cases.  In 
no  district  of  England  was  the  miserv  occa- 
sioned by  the  late  frost  so  complete  as  in  some 
parts  of  l^ondon;  in  no  place  was  the  dis- 
tress borne  with  such  complete  tranquillity. 
Not  only  were  nearlv  all  men  labonrtng  out 
of  doors  deprived  of  their  resources,  but  the 
weavers  have  no  spring  trade  to  prepare  for — 
in  war  times  there  will  be  few  gaieties  to  brinff 
rich  dresses  into  use,  and  many  who  would 
wear  ihem  have  been  by  the  war  thrown 
into  mourning.  There  are  no  orders  for  spring 
novelties,  and  weavers,  therefore,  saffer.  In 
one  whole  district  visited  bv  us  there  was  no 
breach  in  the  distress,  the  duferenoe  between ' 
one  house  and  that  next  to  it  was  only  in  the 
degree  of  destitution  borne  by  those  within. 
What  can  be  done?  The  workhouse  pro- 
vided for  the  parish  to  which  this  district 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


196 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoadDcttdkr 


belongs  is  calculated  to  hold  eight  hundred 
people,  and  it  contained  thirteen  hundred  at 
the  time  of  which  I  speak.  To  lessen  an 
enormous  burden  upon  ratepayers  the  work- 
house rules  are  strict,  and  no  sane  man  would 
consider  it  a  remedy  for  that  great  hitch  in 
our  social  system  which  produces  such  a 
population  as  that  here  described,  to  build 
more  workhouses  and  fill  them  with  more 
poor.  Benevolent  relief,  though  it  provides 
no  remedy,  saves  many  a  day  8  hunger  and 
preserves  many  a  life. 

But  for  the  remedy  which  lies  in  the  cor- 
rection of  Bot  one  or  two  but  twenty  social 
errors,  we  must  look  elsewhere.  Honourable 
gentlemen  have  for  some  time  been  pledged 
to  provide  two  such  corrections,  but  have 
not  redeemed  their  pledges.  The  law  of 
settlement  still  compels  poor  men's  commu- 
nities to  stagnate,  and  practically  denies  to 
thousands  who  cannot  lave  in  one  place  the 
right  of  going  to  some  other  place  in  search 
of  better  fate.  The  law  of  Partnership  still 
denies  to  poor  men  the  right  of  clubbing  their 
small  means  together  in  a  prudent  way,  and 
helping  one  another  to  success  where  thev 
now  fad  because  they  are  too  feeble  to  work 
singly.  The  amendment  of  these  bad  social 
regulations  will  not  convert  a  pauper  neigh- 
bourhood into  a  Paradise,  but  it  will  be  at  least 
a  stirring  forward  in  the  right  direction. 
There  is  a  great  deal  more  to  be  considered 
and  a  great  deal  more  to  be  done.  Wholesome 
dwellings  must  be  furnished,  children  must 
be  taught  We  talk  about  these  things,  and 
have  been  talking  for  generations.  Fairly 
considering  what  is  here  partly  shown,  the 
real  urgency  of  the  matter,  could  we  not 
feel  justified  in  parting  with  a  little  of  Our 
oratory  for  the  sake  of  a  more  need^  thing, 
some  vigorous,  true-hearted  action?  Mean- 
while we  wait,  and  wait,  and  wish  good  speed 
to  the  time  when  Lords  and  Gentlemen, 

*'  Who  act  the  God  among  external  thioga, 
To  Mod,  on  apt  saggeation,  or  unbind," 

shall  have  heard  enough  of  their  own  thunder. 

A  SET  OF  ODD  FELLOWS. 

Pigmies  and  Polrphemes,  by  many  a  name. 

Oentaurs  and  Satyrs,  and  such  flbapea,as  hannt 
Wet  clefts,— and  lumps  neither  aliye  nor  dead, 

Dog-headed,  bosom-eyed,  and  bird-footed. 

Sdillxt's  Witch  of  Atlaa. 

From  the  earliest  ages,  the  minds  of  men 
appear  to  have  been  haunted  by  ideas  of  ano- 
midous  creatures  swanning  in  earth,  air,  and 
sea  ^  some  of  them  mysterious  combinations  of 
familiar  forms — others,  vague  and  undefin- 
able  as  the  shifting  phantoms  seen  at  evening 
in  the  clouds.  &deed,  Nature  herself  has 
prompted  and  almost  justified  such  fancies ; 
for  it  would  be  difficult  to  surpass  in  strange 
fantastic  uglinesB  some  of  the  reptiles  and 
marine  animals  which  we  know  to  exist,  and 
to  be  reproduced  from  generation  to  genera- 


tion. Spenser,  in  that  romantic  and  awful 
journey  of  Sir  Guyon  and  the  Palmer  to  tlie 
Bower  of  Bliss  in  the  Faery  Queene,  Bpeaiu 
of  the  sea-monsters  which  the  travellers  en- 
countered as  being  terrible  enough  even  to 
appal  the  power  that  created  them. 

Moat  uglr  shapes  and  horrible  asp^ti, 
Such  as  Dame  Nature  selfe  mote  feare  to  see. 
Or  shame,  thaterer  should  ko  foirle  defects 
From  her  most  cunni  ng  hand  escapM  b«e : 
All  draadfull  pourtraits  of  deformltee. 

And  he  adds : 

1^0  wonder  if  these  did  the  knight  appall: 
For  all  that  here  on  earth  we  dreadftxll  hold 
Be  but  as  bugs  to  fearen  babes  withall,      ^ 
OomporM  to  the  creatures  in  the  sea's  MitrilL 

These  sickening  distortions  (asthey  appesr 
to  us)  of  organic  life,  occasionally  beheld  in 
rapid  and  fearftil  glimpses  by  mariners— as 
well  as  the  slimy  and  torpid  creatures  crawl- 
ing in  the  mud  of  ditches  and  damp  places, 
from  which  they  are  scarcely  distinguishable 
in  member,  joint,  or  limb,  and  the  terrible 
quadrupeds  to  be  found  in  manv  parts  of 
Asia  and  Africa, — would  naturallv  raggest, 
even  to  the  minds  of  the  wisest,  in  an  age 
when  men  were  more  inclined  to  speculate  on 
abstract  theories  than  to  investigate  facts,  the 
notion  of  appalling  departures  from  the  ordi- 
nary course  of  Nature ;  such  as  accidental 
combinations  of  incongruous  forms,  or  hideous 
and  purposeless  phenomena,  starting  into  life 
under  some  malign  influence. 

It  is  curious  to  observe  that,  in  early  times, 
all  nations  had  a  tendency  to  people  countries 
remote  from  them  with  anomalous  shapes,  as 
well  as  other  prodigies.  Thus  Plutarch,  in 
commeiicing  his  Lives,  says  that  he  could,  if 
he  pleased,  speak  of  stranger  and  more  an- 
cient things :— Like  as  the  historiographers, 
which  do  set  forth  the  description  of  the  earth 
in  figure,  are  wont  to  place  in  the  lowermost 
part  of  their  mappes  tne  farre  distant  regions 
unknowne  unto  them,  and  to  make  in  the 
margent  such  like  notes  and  reasons  as 
these :  Beyond  these  countries  are  nothing 
but  deepe  dry  sands  without  water,  fhll  of 
fowle  ill-favoured  venimous  beasts,  or 
much  mudde  unnavigable,  or  Scythia  fo^ 
saken  for  cold,  or  else  the  sea  frosen  with  ice. 
The  Greeks  were  among  the  most  distin- 
guished in  this  kind  of  romancing.  Arabia 
was  with  them  chiefly  noted  as  the  native 
country  of  the  mystical  Phcenix.  Ethiopia 
was  the  land  of  pigmies,  of  gods,  and  of  god- 
like men.  And  with  what  indescribable  and 
dream-like  presentiments  (such  as  those  which 
glare  and  lighten  over  the  enchanted  island 
of  Prospero)  did  they  not  make  awful  the  far- 
removed  interiors  of  India,  Scythia,  and 
Africa! 

All  the  monstrous  forms 
Twixt  Africa  and  lud. 

says  the  Elder  Brother,  in  Comus.  In  the 
childhood  of  society,  as  in  the  childhood  of  the 


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Charte*  Dlckenc] 


A  SET  OF  ODD  FELLOWS. 


197 


individaal,  remoteneM  is  always  allied  to 
mjstevy  and  wonder.  Neither  child-state 
can  understand  the  possibility  of  any  of  the 
common-places  of  daily  life  bein^  related  in 
the  shadowy  regions  afar  off,  which  it  is  sup- 
posed must  be  lulling  abodes  of  rest  andplca- 
sare,  or  else  the  haunt  of  startling  contradic- 
tions to  our  sense  of  proportion  and  fitness. 
Thus,  the  Elysian  delia  were  islands  of  the 
distant,  boundless,  and  legend-haunted  At- 
lantic, beyond  the  limits  of  the  known  world ; 
and  Tartarus,  or  Hell,  was  in  Spain — a 
country  of  which  the  ancient  Greeks  were 
very  ignorant.  To  the  Persians  and  Arabians, 
the  gloomy  and  desert  mountains  of  Cauctisus 
are  rendered  sacred  by  the  belief  that  they 
are  inhabited  by  Genii  and  the  ghosts  of  Pre- 
Adamite  Sultans ;  and  when  our  early  Euro- 
pean travellers  first  entered  the  marvellous 
lands  of  the  East,  they  saw,  or  dreamed  they 
saw,  all  the  hobgoblins  and  uncouth  animals 
which  they  had  read  of  in  the  pa^es  of  Hero- 
dotus, Pliny,  Philostratus  (the  biographer  of 
Apollonius  of  Tyana),  and  other  ancient 
writers. 

Chimseras  and  Anomalies  have  been  fre- 
quently introduced  into  modern  poetry,  though 
almost  entirely  derived  from  ancient  tradi- 
tions. The  first  of  all,  however,— Caliban 
and  the  half  human  shapes  of  the  Tempest, 
appearing  and  disappearing  like  monstrous 
visions,  with  dreary  mutterinss  and  stu- 
pendous sounds — have  in  them  the  true  spirit 
of  the  wild  and  shadowy  North,  superadded 
to  the  physical  horror  of  the  Greek  defor- 
mities. One  great  superiority  of  Gothic 
poetry  and  fable  oyer  classic,  in  such  matters 
as  these,  is  the  finer  sense  of  spirituality 
which  pervades  It.  Something  beyond  the 
mere  outline  and  substance  is  always  implied. 
A  vagueness  and  a  darkness,  haunted  by  we 
know  not  what,  brood  over,  and  enfold  as 
with  an  atmosphere,  the  most  ejctravagant 
creations.  The  apparitions  in  the  Tempest, 
for  instance,  are  not  simply  terrible  or  beau- 
tiful in  form,  according  to  their  respective 
natures ;  but  are  contmuallv  prompting  a 
finer,  subtler,  and  more  profound  terror  or 
beauty  than  can  be  conveyed  by  any  mere 
superficial  appearance.  They  move  before  a 
sky  of  fluctuating  suggestions  and  cloud-like 
hints ;  they  isaae  out  of  abysses  that  are  their 
native  homes,  and  carry  with  them  an  air  of 
primeval  mystery  and  wonder,  that  dilates 
and  glides  away  before  the  mind  that  attempts 
to  grasp  it ;  they  are  psychologically  true  to 
the  aspects  they  present  The  incarnations 
of  the  Greeks  were  more  statuesque,  definite, 
and  fixed.  Their  religion,  except  in  the  in- 
terpretation of  Plato  and  a  few  others — was 
material,  rather  than  spiritual ;  and  (if  we 
are  not  pushing  the  matter  too  far)  their  clear 
and  crystal  climate,  showing  distant  as  well 
as  close  ol^eots  in  all  their  sharpness  of  out- 
line, may  have  encouraged  a  similar  keenly- 
defined  and  marmoreal  character  in  their 
genius.    Our  climate^  on  the  contrary,  casts  a 


sort  |of  veil  even  over  familiar  things,  and 
throws  the  mind  in  upon  itself,  forcing  it  to 
contemplate  the  riddle  of  its  own  existence. 

In  a  recent  number  of  Household  Words* 
we  quoted  a  passage  from  Stowe,  which 
appears  to  have  suggested  to  Shakespeare  the 
idea  of  Svcorax,  Caliban,  and  the  other  mon- 
sters of  the  Tempest ;  but,  according  to  some 
commentators,  he  was  indebted  in  this  parti- 
cular to  Sylvester  Jourdan's  account  of  the 
discovery  of  the  Bermudas.  These  islands, 
from  the  dreadful  storms  which  were  continu- 
ally raging  round  them,  and  perhaps  from 
their  far  outlying  in  the  lonely  sea,  as  well  as 
from  the  barren  and  deserted  character  of  the 
coasts,  were  supposed  to  be  enchanted,  and  to 
be  under  the  especial  patronage  of  the  Devil, 
after  whom,  indeed,  they  were  sometimes 
named ;  and  it  is  related  that  when  Sir  (]reorge 
Somers  was  wrecked  here  in  the  reign  of 
James  the  First,  a  sea-monster,  having  some 
affinity  to  a  man,  had  the  courtesy  to  present 
himself.  Pomponius  Mela  mentions  a  race 
of  Africans  called  Blemmii,  who,  being  with- 
out heads,  had  their  eyes  and  mouth  in  their 
breasts.  Shakespeare  was  probably  acquainted 
with  this  fiction,  and  thus  derived  a  sugges- 
tion which  he  has  embodied  in  the  remark  of 
Gonzalo,  after  the  disappearance  of  the 
strange  shapes  which  carry  m  the  banquet  :— 

When  we  irere  bojs. 
Who  would  beliere  that  there  were  moontaineert 
Dew-Upp'd  like  bulls,  whose  throats  had  hanging  at 

them 
Wallets  of  fl  sh  t  or  that  there  were  such  men 
Whose  heads  stood  in  their  breasU  T 

Act.  ilL  ic.  8. 

Othello,  also,  speaks  of 

Men  whose  heads 
Do  grow  beneath  their  shoulders. 

AoL  L  so.  8. 

Malone  seems  to  think  that  Shakespeare 
derived  his  knowledge  of  these  phenomena 
from  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  who  gives  an  ac- 
count of  them  in  his  Description  of  Guiana — 
a  book,  savs  the  commentator,  that,  without 
doubt,  Shakespeare  had  read.  St  Augustine 
testifies  to  the  existence  of  the  same  hobgob- 
lins in  Ethiopia.  In  his  thirty-third  sermon, 
entitled  To  his  Brothers  in  the  Desert,  he 
says : — I  was  already  Bishop  of  Hippo  when 
I  went  into  Ethiopia,  with  some  servants  of 
Christ,  to  preach  the  Go«pel  there.  We  saw 
In  this  country  many  men  and  women  without 
heads,  who  had  two  large  eyes  in  their 
chests.  If  the  bishop  stayed  long  in  this 
surprising  land,  a  man  with  an  ordinary 
cranium  must  have  been  as  much  a  matter  of 
wonder  to  him  as  the  contrary  was  at  first 
An  Eastern  sorcerer,  of  the  name  of  Setteiah, 
is  recorded  to  have  had  his  head  in  his  bosom, 
and  to  have  otherwise  departed  frtMn  the 
characteristics  of  homanity  to  an  extent,  and 
in  a  manner  truly  ghastly,  though  dashed 

*  See  A  Seientiflo  figment  toL  x.  p.  403. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


198 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coodactedbjr 


dragons,  griffins,  and  foar-footed  birds  as 
with  the  ludicrous.  He  hf|d  no  bones  at  all 
in  his  bo^y,  except  in  his  skull,  and  at  the 
ends  of  his  fingers.  He  could  neither  stand 
nor  sit  upright,  unless  when  swollen  with 
anger ;  and  his  bodj  was  so  pliant  that,  if  it 
was  desired  to  move  him  from  one  place  to 
another,  he  was  folded  up  like  a  garment ; 
after  which,  before  he  could  be  consulted,  it 
was  necessary  to  roll  him  backward  and 
forward  on  the  floor.* 

PomponiuB  Mela  mentions  another  race  of 
African  prodigies  called  -^gypanl,  who  were 
human  above  the  waist  and  goatish  below  it, 
—a  kind  of  satyrs.  Well  might  the  poet  tolk 
of 

All  monst«n  which  hot  Africke  forth  doth  Mnd 
Twixt  NiloB,  AtUs,  and  the  loathern  cape. 

f  AiErAx^t  Tamo, 

Bat  modem  speculation  has  been  here,  as 
everywhere  else,  disenchanting  our  magic 
regions,  and  showing  all  their  wonders  to  be 
literal  facts  ezageerated.  Satyrs  were  ba- 
boons or  apes :  and  the  gentlemen  with  their 
eyes  and  moutns  in  their  breasts,  were  slmpl v 
a  race  of  high-shouldered,  short-necked  Indi- 
viduals, with  heads  proportlonably  depressed, 
and  partly  concealed  by  their  shoulders  and 
their  long  thick  hair.  Readers  of  the  Tem- 
pest, however,  will  not  sulTer  so  matter-of-fact 
an  explanation  to  enter  those  far-off  marvel- 
lous islands,  where  the  very  earth  is  startled 
into  strange  life  by  the  ceaseless  thunders 
that  surge  over  it. 

Ethiopia,  according  to  Pliny,  not  only  pro- 
duced pigmies,  but  also  a  race  of  people  with- 
out any  noses — ^having  pefectly  plain  and 
flat  visages :  another  without  lips ;  and  a 
third  tongueiess.  Those  who  were  minus  the 
nasal  organ  were  probably  negroes,  in  whom 
that  feature  is  never  prominent.  Bion  testi- 
fies to  the  existence  of  a  nation  called  Nlgras, 
whose  king  had  but  one  eye  to' bless  himself 
with ;  which  may  have  been  intended  as  a 
covert  satire  upon  the  seml-bllndness  fre- 
quently attributed,  by  the  nnbellevlng,  to 
the  kingly  office.  It  does  not  appear  that 
the  subjects  of  his  Polyphemlc  majesty  were 
at  all  deficient  in  their  visual  powers :  but  a 
moiety  of  what  they  possessed  in  full  seems 
to  have  been  the  chief  prerogative  of  the  head 
of  their  army,  law,  and  church,  and  probably 
one  of  the  evidences  of  his  divine  right 
Ethiopia  also  produces  the  Troglodytes,  or 
cave-dwellers,  who  are  the  swiftest-footed  of 
all  men,  and  who  feed  upon  serpents,  lizards, 
and  other  reptiles.  They  speak  'a  language 
like  no  other,  says  Herodotus,  but  screech 
like  bats. 

Great,  however,  as  Africa  was  in  the  pro- 
duction of  marvels,  It  must  yield  to  India. 
For  many  centuries  that  remote  region  was 
to  Europeans  a  land  of  enchantment  and 
dreams.  Whatever  was  most  fantastic,  most 
portentous,    most   rich   and   strange,  most 

•  8m  Pric«*i  Bauj  towardi  the  HUtorjr  of  Arabia. 


gorgeous,  or  most  vision-like,  had  there  its 
natural  and  long-abiding  home.  The  moun- 
tains, rivers,  and  seas  that  bound  the  terri- 
tory of  the  Hindus,  were  to  the  western 
nations  like  the  talismanic  circles  of  a  magi- 
cian, holding  within  themselves  all  the  vast- 
ness  of  the  peternatural  world.  Apolloniua 
of  Tyana, dissatisfied  with  any  less  prodigious 
limitation  to  such  a  domain  of  prodigies,  his 
surrounded  India  with  a  zone  of  intertangled 
dragons.  But  the  very  facts  that  had  been 
ascertained  concerning  the  country,  helped  to 
encourage  that  overshadowing  faith  in  the 
marvellous  In  which  Europeans  were  disposed 
to  regard  it.  The  spirit  of  an  awful  antiquity 
seemed  to  dwell  there  like  a  visible  presence. 
The  people  themselves  appeared  priestlike, 
and  familiar  with  mysteries  and  the  remote 
origin  of  things.  Little  being  known  of  their 
daily  life,  the  wildest  shapes  of  the  imagina- 
tion did  not  meet  with  any  abrupt  contradic- 
tions, which  might  have  made  them  simply 
ludicrous,  but  seemed  to  walk  within  a  sphere 
of  wonder,  peculiar  to  themselves,  and  unin- 
vaded  by  the  outer  world.  For,  until  com- 
paratively recent  times,  this  land  of  mar?els 
was  rarely  entered  by  western  visitors ;  and 
fiction  was  left  to  luxuriate  undisturbed,  in 
rich  and  heavy  overgrowth. 

Successive  generations  of  travellers  and 
geographical  writers,  from  Ctesias  down  to 
Sir  John  Mandeville,  have  concurred  in  filling 
India  with  bewildering  phant&sms.  This  has 
been  In  some  measure  accounted  for  by  a 
recent  writer,  who  remarks  that  Ctesias 
appears  to  have  taken  sculptured  symbols  for 
the  representation  of  real  existing  creatures ; 
all  the  anomalies  described  by  him  being 
still  found  represented  on  the  walls  of  the 
pagodas  or  temples,  as  types  of  the  Hindu 
mvthology.  It  would  be  tedious  to  mention 
all  the  monstrous  shapes  that  were  the  com- 
mon-places and  familiar  things  of  the  lands 
beyond  the  Indus ;  but  these  are  some  of  the 
most  remarkable: — Men  and  women  with 
dogs*  heads,  who,  says  Mandeville,  be  right 
fierce,  and  talk  not  as  other  men,  but  bark  as 
dogs ;  men  with  only  one  leg,  warranted  by 
the  same  authority  to  be  right  nimble  and 
fast  to  go,  by  leaping  and  hopping  with  the 
one  leg ;  others  whose  ears  reached  to  the 
ground  ;•  others  with  their  feet  reversed ; 
pigmies  (for  these  were  supposed  to  exist  in 
India  as  well  as  in  Ethiopia);  the  dreadful 
beast  mantichora  (of  whom  more  presently); 


*  In  the  fourth  book  (canto  seren)  of  the  Faery 
Qaeene,  we  hare  a  wild  man  of  the  woods,  whote  eaif 
reach  down  to  his  waist— 

More  great  than  th'  eares  of  elephants  by  Indos'  flood. 
It  is  remarkable  that  the  whole  description  of  tbii 
monster  resembles  that  giren  of  the  one  ejed  ogre  In 
the  third  rojage  of  Sinbad  the  Sailor ;  of  whom  it  is 
said :  His  fore-teeth  were  verj-  loog  and  sharp,  and 
stood  out  of  his  mouth,  which  was  as  deep  as  taat  of 
a  horse ;  his  upper  lip  hung  down  upon  nis  breast ; 
his  ears  resembled  those  of  an  elephant,  and  coT«T«d 
his  shoulders ;  and  his  nails  were  as  long  and  erooked 
as  the  talons  of  the  greatest  birds. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ClMrlMlHcluM.] 


A  SET  OF  ODD  FELLOWS. 


199 


large  as  woIfoa.  There  is  also  a  people  of 
India  called  Astoml,  who  dwell  about  the 
fountains  of  Ganges,  hairr  all  over  like 
the  down  that  grows  on  leaves  of  trees: 
thej  are  likewise  said  to  have  no  months. 
Plinj  places  them  in  India ;  and  others,  with 
more  probability,  in  the  heart  of  Africke. 
The  original  of  this  fable  abont  them  is  de- 
rived from  a  custom  of  certain  Africans  be- 
yond Senega,  a  branch  of  the  river  Niger. 
Tliese  people,  counting  it  a  disgrace  to  show 
tlieir  faces,  gave  occasion  to  others  to  say  they 
had  no  mouths. 

Mr.  M'Farlane,  in  his  aniusing  Romance  of 
Travel  in  the  East,  gives  an  account  ef  an 
illuminated  manuscript  copy  of  Mandeville's 
works  preserved  in  the  British  Museum,  in 
which  the  artist  has  vied  with  the  author  in 
the  production  of  the  most  astounding  forms. 
Here,  says  Mr.  M-Farlane,  sprawls  a  Cali- 
ban sort  of  Ethiopian ;  he  is  lying  on  his  back 
under  a  scorching  sun  ;  he  has  only  one  leg, 
and  that  is  up  in  the  air ;  but  the  foot  of  that 
leg  is  so  long  and  so  broad  that  it  serves  to 
shade  both  body  and  head  from  its  burning 
rays.  [Pliny  mentions  a  race  of  men  called 
Sciapodes,  on  account  of  their  sheltering 
themselves  under  this  singular  kind  of  um- 
brella:  and  Apollonius  of  Tyana  heard  of, 
hut  did  not  see  them  when  he  was  in  India.] 
Here  again  we  have  the  lively  effigies  of  a 
man  with  a  projecting  upper  lip,  which  looks 
like  the  truncated  trunk  of  an  elephant, 
covering  and  totally  concealing  mouth,  chin, 
and  neck.  Here  are  men  and  women  without 
any  head  at  all,  but  with  eyes  in  their  chests, 
and  gasping^,  semi-lunar  mouths  in  the  front 
of  their  bellies.  And  here  our  artist  gives 
OS  a  picture  of  men  that  have  beards  as  it 
were  cats'  tails.  He  paints  us  greeU-faced 
people,  and  blue-faced  people:  but  that 
which  surpassed  his  art  was  to  give  the  tran- 
sition stage  of  a  people,  described  by  his  au- 
thor, who  change  from  red  to  black.  As  we 
pass  from,  human  form  divine  to  the  brute 
creation,  we  find  our  limner  or  author  still 
more  inventive.  The  hippopotamus  is  turned 
into  a  centaur  and  cannibal ;  for,  In  the 
kingdom  of  Bactria  be  ypotaims  that  dwell 
sometimes  on  land  and  sometimes  in  water ; 
and  are  half  man  and  half  horse,  and  do  feed 
on  men  when  they  can  get  them. 

It  is  but  faiV  to  Sir  John  Mandeville  to 
observe  with  Mr.  M*Farlane  that  he  does  not 
pretend  to  have  seen  with  his  own  eyes  all  the 
marvels  he  relates ;  but,  in  many  cases,  only 
repeats  Information  communicated  to  him  by 
men  upon  whose  veracity  he  thought  he 
conld  rely.  He  seems  also  to  have  derived 
much  of  his  fabulous  matter  from  Pliny  and 
other  Roman  and  Greek  writers;  besides 
which,  it  appears  that  great  liberties  have 
been  taken  with  his  text,  both  in  the  MS. 
copies  and  in  the  printed  editions  of  his  tra- 
vels. There  can  be  little  doubt,  however,  that 
Sir  John's  faith,  like  that  of  all  his  contem- 
poraries, was  large  and  trusting.    It  was  es- 


sentially an  age  of  faith.  The  philosophizing 
Academies  of  Greece  and  Alexandria  had  been 
long  extinct ;  the  Church  interpretation?  of 
Christianity  had  opened  a  larger,  but  more 
vague  and  shadowy,  world ;  and  the  modern 
habits  of  inquiry  and  ratiocination  had  not 
commenced.  Mandeville,  therefore,  lived  at 
the  right  time  for  turning  geography  Into 
romance  ;  and  he  has  not  omitted  to  do  so. 
One  reads  the  voyages  of  this  great  wit,  says 
the  Tatler  (No.  264),  with  as  much  astonlBh- 
ment  as  the  travels  of  Ulysses  in  Homer,  or 
of  the  Red-Cross  Knight  in  Spenser.  All  is 
enchanted  ground  and  fairy-land. 

It  is  not  to  be  expected  that  a  man  like 
Apollonius  of  Tyana  could  travel  into  India 
without  seeing  many  marvels  and  prodigies. 
He  hears,  however,  of  some  more  wondrous 
still,  which  he  has  not  the  good  luck  to  behold 
with  hisowneyes,  and  to  which  his  biographer, 
Philostratus,  thinks  entire  credit  should  not 
be  given,  nor  yet  altogether  withheld,  though 
the  Indian  sage  Jarchas  repudiates  all  know- 
ledge of  them.  Nevertheless,  Philostratus 
conceives  it  necessary  to  describe  them  in 
full.  Among  these,  is  the  half-human  beast 
raartichora— or  mantichora,  as  Pliny  has  it — 
which  is  of  i\^e  number  of  quadrupeds,  has  a 
head  like  a  man's,  is  as  large  as  a  lion,  with 
a  tail  from  which  bristles  grow  of  the  length 
of  a  cubit,  all  as  sharp  as  prickles,  which  it 
shoots  forth  like  so  many  arrows  against  its 
pursuers.  (Life  of  Apollonius,  book  iii., 
chap.  45.)  A  further  account  of  this  tremen- 
dous monster  is  to  be  found  in  Pliny's 
Natural  History,  book  viii.,  chap.  21 ;  but, 
for  a  concentration  of  all  imaginable  and 
unimaginable  horrors,  take  the  following 
rapid  definition  of  him  from  Florio's  Italian 
Dictionary :  — A  wild  beast  in  China  and 
India, with  three  ranks  of  teeth,  cloven-footed, 
face  and  cars  like  a  man,  bodied  like  a  lion, 
with  a  sting  in  his  tail  as  a  scorpion,  a  voice 
sounding  like  a  flute  and  trumpet  together ; 
and  covets  much  to  feed  on  man's  flesh. 
There  is  something  in  the  style  of  this  passage 
like  the  matter-of-fact  description  of  an  ordi- 
nary runaway  culprit,  or  of  the  person  re- 
ferred to  in  a  continental  passport ;  yet  what 
a  fearful  idea  does  it  give  one  of  this  many- 
natured  mystery  of  a  beast,  who,  notwith- 
standing his  ghastly  and  incongruous  features, 
has  a  voice  that  speaks  in  music !  An  anoma- 
lous creature  always  derives  additional  hor- 
ror from  having  a  resemblance  to  humanity: 
but  the  fluty-trumpet  voice  of  the  mantichora 
has  something  In  it  almost  pathetic  and  recon- 
ciling. It  makes  us  think  that  perhaps  after 
all,  he  has  a  touch  of  humanity  within  him, 
as  well  as  in  his  exterior  aspect;  that  he  has 
been  jostled  and  huddled,  by  some  grim  mis- 
take, into  his  irreconcileable  and  self-contra- 
dictory form :  that  he  is  forced  by  the  same 
tremendous  late  into  acts  of  cruelty  and 
bloody  longings  for  which  he  has  an  inward 
loathing  :  and  that,  between  his  sanguinary 
fits,  he  solaces  himself  with  sweet  sad  tones  of 


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melody.  Does  he  ever  retire  into  deserts 
and  still  places,  this  thing,  smitten  with 
diame  and  horror  of  himself,  and  there,  out 
of  the  dreadful  haman  month,  people  the 
loneliness  with  sounds  of  lamentation  and 
remorse  ?  Has  he  a  yearning  to  be  altogether 
human,  inextricably  blended  and  incorporated 
(like  contradictions  in  dreams)  with  a  shud- 
dering appetite  for  human  blood?  Perhaps 
he  is  an  allegory  of  those  strange  anomalies 
of  men  in  whose  natures  the  bestial  and  the 
divine  are  perpetually  struggling  for  mastery. 
It  has  been  thought — and  with  great  ap- 
pearance of  probability — that  the  mantiebora 
IS  a  poetical  exaggeration  of  the  hyena,  the 
face  of  which  animal  has  a  certain  ghastly 
resemblance  to  humanitv,  especially  when  it 
is  grinning.  The  peculiar  sound  like  lapgh- 
ter,  for  which  it  is  celebrated,  would  also  en- 
courage the  growth  of  the  fiction.  Spenser 
(in  book  iii.,  c.  7,  of  the  Faery  Queene)  thus 
de8cril>es  an  anomalous  beast,  which  he  com- 
pares to  an  hyena : — 


Eftfloonei  out  of  her  hidden  care  the  cald 
Ad  hideous  beast  of  horrible  aspect, 
l*hat  could  the  stoutest  coraffe  hare  appald ; 
Monstrous,  mishapt,  and  all  nis  back  wsa  speet 
With  thousand  spots  of  colours  quaint  elect: 
Thereto  so  s«rlfle,  that  it  all  beaiiU  did  pas. 
Like  never  jet  did  liTing  eie  detect ; 
But  likest  it  to  an  hjrena  was. 
That  feeds  on  women's  fltoh,  as  others  feede  on  graa. 

The  designation  man-tegar,  or  man-tiger, 
applied  to  a  species  of  ape,  has  been  derived 
from  a  misinterpretation  of  the  meaning  of 
the  word  mantichora. 

Another  explanation  of  this  fable  is  sug- 
gested by  the  alleged  fact  that.  In  the  north- 
ern parts  of  India  (as  the  readers  of  House- 
hold Words  have  already  been  made  aware), 
wolves  have  been  known  to  carry  off  human 
children— some  of  whom  have  been  suckled 
and  reared  by  the  females,  and  have  been  sub- 
sequently discovered  horribly  degenerated 
into  a  kind  of  wild  beasts.  If  this  phenome- 
non be  true,  it  brings  our  childhocNd's  story 
of  Orson,  as  well  as  the  classical  tradition  of 
Romulus  and  Remus,  within  the  bounds  of 
possibility. 

Fable  also  tells  us  of  a  bird  with  a  human 
countenance  and  cannibal  tendencies,  which 
dies  of  horror  of  itself.  Fuller,  the  Church 
historian,  thus  finely  alludes  to  this  awful 
creature  : — ^I  have  read  of  a  bird  which  hath 
a  fkce  like,  and  yet  will  prey  upon,  a  man ; 
who,  coming  to  the  water  to  drink,  and  find- 
ing there,  by  reflection,  that  he  had  killed 
one  like  himself  pine th  away  by  degrees,  and 
never  afterwards  eigoyeth  itself.  Lamb, 
after  quoting  this  passage  in  his  Essays,  re- 
marks : — I  do  not  know  where  Fuller  read  of 
this  bird :  but  a  more  awful  and  affecting 
story  in  Natural  History,  or  rather  in  that 
fabulous  Natural  History  where  poets  and 
mythologists  found  the  phoenix  and  the  uni- 
corn, and  other  strange  fowl,  is  nowhere  ex- 


tant It  is  a  fable  which  Sir  Thomas  Browne, 
if  he  had  heard  of  it,  would  have  exploded 
among  his  Vulgar  Errors ;  but  ^e  delight 
he  would  have  taken  in  the  discussing  of  its 
probabilities  would  have  ^own  that  the  truth 
of  the  fact,  though  the  avowed  object  of  his 
search,  was  not  so  much  the  motive  which 
put  him  upon  the  investigation,  as  those  bid- 
den affinities  and  poetical  ansilogies— those 
essential  verities  in  the  application  of  strange 
fable  —  which  made  him  linger  with  such 
reluctant  delay  among  the  last  fading  lights 
of  popular  tradition,  and  not  seldom  to  con- 
jure up  a  superstition,  that  had  been  long 
extinct,  from  its  dusty  grave,  to  inter  it  him- 
self with  greater  ceremonies  and  solemnities 
of  burial.  This  subtle  piece  of  cdticism 
should  be  borne  in  mind  by  the  reader.  Fic- 
tion is  often  the  symbol  of  those  perceptions 
beyond  thought  which  dwell  in  the  remote 
solitudes  of  the  soul. 

Scythia,  as  well  as  Afirica  and  India,  was 
celebrated  among  the  ancients  for  its  mon- 
strous productions.  This  country  was  per- 
haps less  known  to  the  Greeks  and  Romans 
than  any  other,  of  the  existence  of  which 
they  were  at  all  aware  ;  and  the  imagination 
would  therefore  naturally  run  riot  with  re- 
gard to  it.  Even  l^e  grave  and  judicious 
Herodotus  tells  us  of  the  one-eyed  Arimas- 
pians,  who  steal  gold  from  the  jealous  guar- 
dianship of  gigantic  griffins  (see  book  iii., 
chap.  116);  a  tradition  which  furnished  Mil- 
ton with  a  grand  simile  in  the  second  booic 
of  Paradise  Lost  To  vindicate  his  veracity, 
the  historian  concludes  his  account  by  an  as- 
surance that  he  does  not  believe  "  that  men 
are  bom  with  one  eye,  and  yet  in  other  re- 
spects resemble  the  rest  of  mankind.  How- 
ever,''  he  adds,  as  though  desirous  that  the 
case  should  be  stated  mirly  on  both  sides, 
''  the  extremities  of  the  world  seem  to  sur- 
round and  enclose  the  rest  of  the  earth,  and 
to  possess  those  productions  ^ich  we  ac- 
count most  excellent  and  rare.''  Tbeone 
eye  of  the  Arimaspians  has  been  said  to  mean 
nothing  more  than  that  they  closed  one  eye 
when  footing  with  the  bow. 

Herodotus  also  speaks  of  men  who  are 
naturally  bald  all  their  lives,  from  their  birth 
to  their  death;  of  a  race  of  mountaineers 
with  goat's  feet  (which  "  to  me,"  he  says,"  is 
incredible"):  of  men  who  sleep  six  months 
at  a  time  (''  but  this  I  do  not  at  all  admit"); 
and  of  others  who  can  at  their  pleasure  turn 
themselves  into  wolves,  and  with  eqoal  ease 
resume  their  natural  diape.  There  was  also 
a  Scythian  race,  called  Fanoti,  whose  ears 
covered  their  whole  bodies ;  and  one  of  the 
chief  kings  of  the  conn^,  whose  name  was 
Scythes  (whence  Scythia),  was  half  a  man 
and  half  a  serpent.  According  to  Herodotus, 
he  was  a  son  of  Hercules,  by  a  half  human, 
half-snaky  mother. 

Of  the  well-known  monsters  of  classic 
fable,  Gorgons,  Hydras,  Centaurs,  the  Sphinx, 
the  Chinuera  (properly  so  called),  the  Mino* 


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tanr,  the  dog  Cerberos,  and  others,  it  will  be 
unnecessary  here  to  speak,  since  ail  are  ac- 
quainted with  them ;  out  we  should  not  be 
discharging  our  task  fitly,  were  we  to  omit 
glancing  at  the  fearful  progeny  of  the  sea, — 
of  the  *'  great  abyss  of  waters,''  which  Milton 
emphatically  calls,  **the  monstrous  world." 
We  have  observed,  at  the  commencement  of 
this  paper,  that  many  of  the  animals  really 
existing  in  the  ocean,  appear  to  our  human 
perceptions  more  like  the  result  of  some  acci- 
dental combination  of  matter  than  the  har- 
monious creations  of  an  all-wise  Providence. 
There  is  something  shudderingly  horrible  and 
dreary  in  the  aspect  of  (for  instance)  the  sea- 
devil,  with  its  bat -like  wings  —  the  hippo- 
campus, half  horsy  and  half  serpentine — the 
orbis,  a  mere  lump  of  flesh  joined  to  a  tail 
and  fins— the  toad-fish,  with  a  face  like  a 
shattered  human  visage  occupying  nearly  the 
whole  body, — and  many  others.  We  fancy 
that  we  can  see  in  the  eyes  of  some  of  these 
bewildering  shapes,  a  sense  of  the  weight  and 
loneliness  of  the  eternal  waters.  This,  it  is 
true,  is  but  the  transference  to  them  of  our 
own  earthly  sensations ;  for  the  dwellers  in 
the  deep  are  doubtless  as  happy  in  their 
element  as  we  are  in  ours.  But  we  have  no 
means  of  sympathizing  with  creatures  whose 
lives  are  so  totally  distinct  from  humanity ; 
who  seem  to  have  no  home,  no  abiding-place, 
no  nest,  no  haven  for  repose  and  love«  nothing 
beside  the  vastness,  and  the  solitude,  and  the 
weltering  of  the  ancient  sea. 

Fantastic,  however,  as  Nature  herself  has 
been  in  this  part  of  her  domain.  Superstition 
has  surpassed  her.  Poetry,  also,  has  not 
forgotten  her  divine  mission  to  create.  Ro- 
mance has  been  out  upon  the  pathless  waters, 
and  brought  back  news  of  its  inhabitants, 
mingling  facts  with  fimcies.  And  Investiga- 
tion itself,  in  its  early  days,  has  babbled  to 
the  world  of  prodigies  within  the  ocean 
depths  as  strange  andf  appalling  as  any  with- 
in the  limits  of  acknowledged  Fable. 

We  have  already  quoted  a  passage  from 
the  Faery  Queene,  touching  sea -monsters  ; 
but  the  catalogue  which  the  poet  goes  on  to 
give  us,  is  so  fearfully  fine,  and  is  such  a  con- 
densed cyclopedia  of  fabulous  marine  zoolo- 
gy, that  we  cannot  forbear  appending  it : — 

Spring-heftded  hydros,  and  ••a-thooldariiig  whales ; 
Great  whirlpools,  which  all  fishes  make  to  flee  ; 
Bright  scolopendraes,  armd  with  silver  scales ; 
Might/  monoceros,  with  immeasared  tajrles ; 

The  dreadfull  fish  that  hath  deserved  the  name 
Of  Death,  and  like  him  lookes  in  dreadfuU  hew ; 
The  griesly  wasserman,  that  makes  his  game 
The  Ijins;  ships  with  swiftnes  to  parsew  ; 
The  horrible  sea-satjrre,  that  doth  shew 
His  fuarefuU  (ace  in  time  of  greatest  storme ; 
Uage  tiffins,  whom  mariners  eschew 
No  lesse  than  rockes,  as  travellers  informs ; 
And  greedj  rosmarinos,  with  visages  deforme. 

All  these,  and  thousand  thousands  man  j  more, 
And  more  deformed  monsteiV  thousand  fold. 


With  dreadfhil  noise  and  hollow  romhling  rore 
Came  rushing.  In  the  fomv  waves  enrold. 

Book  if.  e.  12. 

—What  a  passionate  earnestness,  as  though 
the  writer  nad  been  really  scared  with  hla 
own  imagination,  is  there  in  the  above  repe- 
tition of  the  word  "  thousand ! '' 

Olaus  Magnus,  Archbishop  of  IJpsal,  in 
Sweden,  who  lived  in  the  sixteenth  century, 
is  one  of  the  chief  authorities  in  support  of 
the  wild  stories  which  were  once  in  circula- 
tion respecting  sea-monsters.  He  tells  us  of 
a  species  of  fish  seen  on  the  coast  of  Norway, 
whose  eyes,  which  are  eight  or  ten  cubits  in 
circumference,  appear,  when  glaring  upward 
ftt>m  the  black  chasmy  water-depUis,  like  red 
and  fiery  lamps ;  of  the  "  whirlpool,"  or 
prister,  who  is  **  two  hundred  cubits  long,  and 
very  cruel,"  —  who  amuses  himself  by  up- 
setting ships,  which  he  securely  fastens  by 
entangling  them  in  the  windings  of  his  long 
tail,  and  who  is  most  readily  put  to  flight  by 
the  sound  of  a  trumpet  of  war,  cannon-balhi 
being  utterly  ineffective  ;  of  a  sea-serpent 
^resembling  that  astounding  phantom  of  the 
aeep  of  wmch  we  have  heard  so  much  lately) 
who  goes  ashore  on  clear  summer  niehts,  to 
regale  himself  on  calves,  lambs,  and  hogs, 
and  who  "  puts  up  his  head  like  a  pillar,  and 
catcheth  away  men"  from  off  the  decks  of 
ships ;  and  of  other  marvels  too  numerous 
to  mention.  But  we  are,  even  yet,  so  imper- 
fectly acquainted  with  the  multiform  vitality 
of  the  ocean,  that  we  must  take  care  we  are 
not  treading  unawares  upon  the  remote  twi- 
light boundaries  of  fact  Are  scientific  en- 
quirers yet  sure  that  those  strangely  vanish- 
ing islands,  which  at  times  appear  and  disap- 
pear in  the  solitanr  northern  seas,  are  not  the 
prominent  parts  of  some  stupendous  kndcen  ? 
Sindbad,  in  his  First  Voyage,  beholds  cer- 
tain "  fishes  about  a  cubit  m  length,  that  had 
heads  like  owls;"  and  a  commentator  on 
the  Arabian  Nights,  says,  that  Martini  ( a 
Jesuit  of  the  seventeenth  century,  who  re- 
sided many  years  in  China),  "  mentions  fishes 
with  birds^  faces  in  the  China  seas."  In  his 
Third  Voyage,  the  Arabian  Ulysses  perceived 
near  one  of  the  oriental  islands, "  a  fish  which 
looked  like  a  cow,  and  gave  milk,"  and  the 
skin  of  which  was  "  so  hard  that  they  usually 
made  bucklers  of  it"  He  also  saw  in  the 
same  locality,  a  sea-monster  "  which  had  the 
shape  and  colour  of  a  camel."  But  these  are 
nothing  in  comparison  with  a  fish  seen  by 
our  Enfi;lish  mariner,  Philip  Quartl,  off  the 
coast  of  his  desert  island.  This  phenomenon, 
which,  in  its  incongruous  components,  some- 
what resembles  the  mantichora,  is  described  as 
"  a  form  without  likeness,  and  yet  comparable 
to  the  most  terrible  part  of  every  frightful 
creature  :  a  largo  head,  resembling  that  of  a 
lion,  bearing  three  pair  of  horns,  one  pair 
upright  like  that  of  an  antelope,  another  pair 
like  a  wild  goat's,  two  more  bending  back- 
wards ;  its  face  armed  all  round  with  darts 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoodMtedVj 


like  a  porcupine ;  vast  great  eyes,  sparkling 
like  a  flint  strack  with  a  steel ;  its  nose  like 
a  wild  horse,  always  snarling ;  the  mouth  of 
a  lion,  and  the  teeth  of  a  panther  ;  the  fences 
of  an  elephant,  and  the  tusks  of  a  wild  boar  ; 
shouldered  like  a  giant,  with  claws  like  an 
eagle ;  bodied  and  covered  with  shells  like 
a  rhinoceros :  and  the  colour  of  a  croco- 
dile." 

We  do  not  know  of  more  than  one  singing 
fish,  and  that  is  the  individual  who  was  cele- 
brated in  one  of  Master  Autolycus's  ballads, 
and  who  '^  appeared  upon  the  coast,  on 
Wednesday,  the  fourscore  of  April,  forty 
thousand  fathom  above  water,  and  sung  this 
ballad  against  the  hard  hearts  of  maids.  It 
was  thought  she  was  a  woman,  and  was 
turned  into  a  cold  fish,  for  she  would  not  ex- 
change flesh  with  one  that  loved  her.  The 
ballad  is  very  pitiful,  and  as  true."  (Winter's 
Tale,  Act  fourth,  Scene  third.)  The  "  truth" 
ofthisnarration,  it  appears,  was  attested  by 
"  five  justices'  hands,"  besides  a  host  of  less 
worshipful  witnesses.  The  most  extraordi- 
nary sea-beast,  however,  of  which  we  have 
ever  heard,  is  one  which  was  beheld  by  an 
old  Mahometan  traveller  of  the  fourteenth 
century— Ibn  Batuta— in  the  likeness  of  a 
ship  illuminated  by  many  torches,  and  which 
made  periodical  visits  off  the  coast  of  one  of 
the  Maldive  Islands  I 

With  these  ''most  delicate  monsters"  we 
must  conclude  our  list  of  marine  and  other 
prodigies,  or  we  shall  be  so  addled  as  not  to 
be  able  to  recognise  common  things  for  what 
they  are. 


THE  CHINAMAN'S  PARSON. 

AcooRDiNO  to  the  Shocking,  one  of  the  most 
ancient  of  the  Chinese  classics,  it  was,  about 
four  thousand  years  ago,  a  Chinese  custom, 
each  year,  at  the  opening  of  spring,  for  a 
certain  personage  to  deliver  instructions  to 
the  people,  travelling  up  and  down  the  high- 
ways, and  calling  thehr  attention  thereto,  by 
striking  on  a  wooden  cylinder,  or  drum. 
The  object  of  the  drumming  was  to  rouse  the 
people,  so  that  on  tiie  return  of  spring  they 
might  bestir  themselves,  and  go  to  work  with 
all  their  wits  about  them. 

One  or  two  thousand  years  later,  under  the 
Chow  dynasty,  part  of  the  first  day  of  every 
month  was  devoted  to  an  expounding  of  the 
Chinese  laws;  but  the  custom  grew  into 
desuetude  on  the  establishment,  about  two 
hundred  years  since,  of  the  Tartar  dynasty, 
now  tumbling  from  the  throne;  the  practice  of 
public  lecturing  was  revived,  and  is  now  in 
force  twice  a  month,  at  new  and  at  full  moon. 
Although  in  the  provinces  the  preacher 
MikB  his  work,  in  the  chief  towns  one  may 
often  have  an  opportuni^  of  hearing  him. 

A  few  years  ago  I  witnessed  the  ceremony 
in  the  city  of  Shanghai,  on  the  first  day  of 
new  moon,  in  the  grand  hall  of  the  city  tem- 


ple. Shortly  after  sunrise,  the  civil  and  mili- 
tary authorities  of  the  place  met  in  full  dress 
at  the  public  office  of  Uieir  chief  official.  At 
a  given  signal,  the  procession  moved ;  the 
officers  in  their  sedans,  servants  on  foot, 
every  man  placed  according  to  his  rank.  The 
approach  of  the  show  towaAs  the  temple  was 
announced  by  gongs  and  the  shouts  of  mn- 
ners  calling  on  the  public  to  keep  silence  and 
retire.  A  salvo  of  three  popguns  announced 
the  arrival  of  the  company  at  the  gates  of  the 
great  hall  that  had  already  been  duly  deco- 
rated for  the  occasion.  After  the  officers 
had  left  their  sedans,  the  master  of  ceren\o- 
nies  ordered  them  first  to  stand  up,  each 
in  his  own  place,  and  then  to  kneel  three 
times ;  bowing  their  heads  nine  times,  their 
bodies  directed  towards  Peking,  the  resi- 
dence of  the  emperor,  and  before  a  small 
tablet  that  bore  an  inscription  in  honour  of 
his  long-lived  ms^esty.  They  were  next 
called  upon  to  rise  and  retire  into  a  small 
ciiamber ;  where  tea  and  refreshments  were 
served 

The  spectators,  having  nothing  more  to  see 
in  this  direction,  gathered  round  a  narrow 
platform,  on  which  stood  the  public  reader, 
with  a  desk  and  book  before  him.  The  crowd 
consisted  of  mere  saunterers,  a  few  fish- 
mongers and  other  people  from  the  neighbo^ 
hood.  When  idlence  was  obtained  the  public 
instructor  announced  the  maxim,  or  text, 
appointed  for  the  day— it  was  selected  from 
the  book  upon  his  desk— and  he  proceeded  to 
explain  its  meaning. 

The  service  being  concluded,  the  autho- 
rities moved  off  much  in  the  same  order  in 
which  they  came>  uid  the  assembled  multi- 
tude retired. 

The  book  from  which  the  expounder  gave 
out  the  lesson  is  the  one  universally  used  on 
these  occasions,  and  the  only  one  sanctioned 
by  government  for  this  especial  purpose.  It 
is  named  the  "  ^ling-yu,"  a  book  sometimes 
known  to  foreigners  as  "The  Sacred  Edict," 
though  more  properly  translated,  The  Book 
of  Sage  Maxims,  or  wise  sayings.  It  is  large, 
although  not  bulky — a  manual  in  clear  print 
The  ground-work  consists  of  sixteen  special 
apothegms,  originally  delivered  in  an  edict 
by  Kanghee,  the  second  Tartar  emperor,  not 
long  before  his  death.  These  sixteen  texts 
bear  upon  the  several  duties  of  life,  or  what 
his  Imperial  Highness  deemed  the  points 
most  necessary  to  be  punctually  observed  by 
his  subjects.  Their  intention,  and  of  all 
the  preaching  founded  on  them,  was,  of 
course,  political  They  were  copied  oat  of 
the  imperial  ukase  in  which  they  originally 
appeared,  and  inscribed  on  slips  of  bamboo, 
which  were  stuck  up  in  public  offices ;  some 
of  these  slips,  it  is  said,  are  extant  at  the 
present  day,  Yoong-ching,  son  and  suc- 
cessor of  the  Emperor  Kanghee,  further  to 
carry  out  the  designs  of  his  father,  drew  up 
a  commentarv  on  the  sixteen  texts.  In«- 
planation  of  his  object,  he  remarks :  *•  We 


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ChtflciDlckeBa.3 


THE  CHINAMAN^  PABSON. 


203 


have,  with  the  most  profound  care,  searched 
out  these  sixteen  lofty  maxims,  explained 
their  meaning,  and  amplified  the  style  by  the 
addition  of  some  ten  thousand  words;  so 
that  we  may  denominate  it  a  full  explanation 
of  the  wise  sayings.  We  have  drawn  our 
iUostrations  from  every  available  subject, 
and  have  used  every  method  to  find  appro- 

Eriate  expressions  by  which  the  sense  could 
e  clearly  given." 

Subsequently,  it  was  still  found  that  the 
gr%nd  object  sought  for  by  the  Imperial  authors 
was  not  easily  secured.  The  people  did  not 
profit  so  much  as  had  been  expected.  The 
language  of  the  Commentary,  being  artificial 
and  classical,  was  too  high  for  the  majority 
of  readers  ai»l  hearers.  Accordingly,  those 
officers  who  felt  peculiar  anxiety  ^  be  real 
teachers  of  the  x>eople,  thought  fit  to  give  an 
easier  interpretation  by  help  of  the  vulgar 
dialects.  Wang>yewpo,  on  the  other  hand,  in 
the  province  of  Shensee,  put  the  imperial 
work  into  the  Mandarin  language,  and  en- 
larged it  by4he  introduction  of  common  say- 
ings, colloquial  phrases,  and  a  variety  of  signi- 
ficant illustrations.  This  Mandarin  paraphrase 
is  now  generally  printed  and  bound  up  along 
with  the  genenu  maxims  of  Kanghee  and  the 
Commentary  of  his  son  Toong-chinp^. 

Some  officials,  again,  not  quite  satisfied  that 
the  Mandarin  tongue  can  be  adequately 
caught  by  the  crowding  throngs,  require  that 
the  text  of  Wang-yewpo  shouldras  far  as 
possible,  be  read  off  in  the  vulgar  patois  of 
the  districts  under  their  rule.  In  a  Tartar 
community  the  Mantchoo  version  is  used. 
In  the  case  under  my  own  experience,  the 
address  was  delivered  in  the  Shanghai  dialect 
proper  to  the  spot. 

I  have  b^  me  a  Canton  edition  of  the 
"Wise  Maxims,"  published  in  the  year 
ei^teen  hundred  and  fifteen,  during  the 
reign  of  the  Emperor  Kiakeng,  the  preface  to 
which  was  penned  t^  a  local  officer  of  some 
standing  in  the  province  of  Canton.  As 
editor,  he  says:  ''This  interpretation  of 
Wang-yewpo's  was  written  in  the  northern 
dialect,  most  perspicuously  and  fully,  not 
leaving  any  part  of  the  sense  unexplained. 
Having  received  it  and  read  it,  your 
H^jes^'s  humble  servant  became  insensibly 
delighted  with  the  paraphrase,  and  ordered 
the  academical  officer  to  search  among  the 
second  class  of  literary  candidates,  and  select 
four  individuals  whose  teeth  and  mouth 
seemed  formed  for  clear  and  distinct  enuncia- 
tion, that  on  the  first  and  fifteenth  of  each 
moon  they  might  read  the  original  text  in  the 
Canton  dialect.  These  said  Maxims  your 
humble  servant  has  widely  distributed 
throughout  the  districts  in  this  province,  and 
has  given  it  td  the  local  officers,  who,  in  fkct, 
are  appointed  to  be  the  pastors  of  the  people, 
requiring  that  they  should  extensively  pro- 
claim the  same,  and  not  leave  one  person  (even 
in  the  huts  that  may  be  thinly  scattered  along 
the  coast)  ignorant  and  perverse." 


Thus  far  we  have  dwelt  chiefiy  on  the  word 
of  mouth  proclamation  of  the  texts  of  the 
preacher,  Kanghee.  But  the  press  is  also 
active  in  issuing  the  same  maxims  in  sundry 
shapes,  and  circulating  them  throughout  the 
empire.  Several  officials  of  repute,  at  different 
times  and  in  various  places,  have  on  their  own 
responsibility  printed  editions  for  tree  distri- 
bution among  their  people.  At  present  there 
is  circulating  through  the  empbre  a  vast 
supplv  of  this  Book  of  Sage  Maxims,  in  full 
and  abridged  editions ;  in  the  largest  and  the 
smallest  text ;  in  handsome  volumes,  and  in 
cheap,  crabbed  little  reprints.  The  Sixteen 
Maxims  are  not  found  only  in  books :  some- 
times they  are  inscribed  on  slips  of  oamboo 
or  wood,  sometimes  engraved  on  seals.  Then, 
again,  the  work  has  been  versified,  for  the 
benefit  of  children.  There  are  now  upon  my 
desk  three  different  samples  of  it  One  is 
the  full-sized  edition ;  another  is  of  a  watch- 
pocket  size;  the  third  is  a  stamp,  or  seal 
(the  face  of  which  is  one  inch  wide  by  half  an 
inch  deep),  with  the  sixteen  maxims  carved 
upon  its  face. 

Enough  has  been  said  to  make  It  proper 
that  I  should  add  a  translation  of  these 
proverbs,  and  I  should  begin  by  noting  that 
each  of  the  sixteen  consists  of  seven  cha- 
racters— the  first  three  conveying  the  lesson, 
the  last  three  the  object  to  be  gained ;  the 
middle  character  beinff  the  same  in  each,  and 
equivalent  to  the  English  "  in  order  to,"  "  so 
that."  The  following  are  the  maxims  them- 
selves : 


Vint— **  Pay  all  neeassary  regard  to  filial  and 
firatemal  duties,  to  that  70a  may  ^ve  doe  importance 
to  the  Tariooa  relattona  of  life. 

Second.— '*Be«peot  yonrwhole  kindred,  eo  that  70a 
ma7  dbpla7  fenmne  harmony. 

Third.— '*  Let  oonoord  preTail  between  neighbonr- 
ing  elana,so  that  70a  ma7  pat  an  end  to  qoanela  and 
•trifes. 

fourth.— "Let  Juft  importance  be  placed  on  agri- 
culture and  the  oultiTatlon  of  the  mulberr7-tree,  eo 
that  we  ma7  secure  a  sufficient  8uppl7  of  food  and 
clothing. 

Fifth.— **  Be  particular  In  habits  of  econom7,  in 
order  to  be  careful  in  the  eiq>endlture  of  mone7. 

Sixth.— *' Set  the  highest  estimate  possible  on 
academical  learning,  so  that  70U  mayadrance  the 
scholar. 

Serenth.- **  Put  awa7  all  strange  notions,  in  order 
to  pa7  the  profoundest  respect  to  the  instruction  tliat 
is  correct  and  upright. 

Eighth.—**  Explain  the  laws,  in  order  to  warn  the 
ignorant  and  stuobom. 

Ninth.—**  Make  7onr8elf  clearlr  acquainted  with 
the  rules  of  politeness  and  proprlet7,  so  that  70U  may 
improTC  70ur  manners. 

Tenth.—**  Let  each  man  attend  to  his  own  calling  : 
so  that  decision  of  character  ma7  be  giren  to  the  mind 
of  the  public  mass. 

EleTenth.— *'  Instruct  the  rising  genention,  in  order 
to  check  cTil  habits  and  practices. 

Twelfth.—**  Putdowivftklse  speaking  and  accusation, 
so  that  70U  may  protect  and  rescue  the  honest  and 
innocent. 

Thirteenth.— **  0arefUl7  warn  people  against  con- 


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204 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoBdacted  b7 


CMling  faglUTO  duertera,  m  that  th«7  nuj  not  Call 
into  the  same  mUchief  with  them. 

fourteenth.— "  Pay  np  all  the  tazei  as  early  as 
possible,  in  order  to  stop  the  dinning  application  of  the 
tax-gatherer. 

Pifteedth.— "A  strict  police  surrelllance  onght  to 
he  kept  np  in  ererj  town  and  Tillage,  so  that  70a  maj 
hare  effectual  means  of  checking  theft  and  robber j. 

Sixteenth.—'*  Do  not  cherish  any  foellng  of  rerenge 
or  animosity,  in  order  that  jou  may  set  a  proper  ralue 
npon  human  life." 

The  principles  embodied  in  the  Sage 
Maxims  of  Kanghee,  and  in  their  com- 
mentaries or  paraphrases,  are,  so  far  as  they 
.go,  unexceptionable,  being  worthy  of  the 
dictates  of  common  sense,  and  inferences  from 
homan  experience  and  observation.  Never- 
theless it  is  to  be  observed  that,  professing, 
as  the  boolc  does,  to  define  the  whole  dat^  of 
man,  there  is  nothing  said  in  it  of  relations 
that  are  beyond  man,  earth,  and  time.  In 
this  respect,  then,  the  morality  of  these 
"  words  of  wisdom''  mast  be  pronounced  to 
be  found  wanting.  Their  final  object  is  laid 
down  by  the  emperor  Toong-chmg  in  the 
words,  '^that  all  cherishing  the  spbrit  of 
kindness  and  courtesy,  might  enjoy  an  eternal 
reign  of  peace.''  To  promote  political 
morality,  to  get  the  taxes  punctually  paid, 
and  to  save  trouble  to  the  occupier  or  the 
throne,  securing  for  him,  rather  than  for  his 
subjects,  "  the  reign  of  peace,"  was  obviously 
the  purpose  of  the  Tartar  maxims.  Never- 
theless, they  are  not  to  be  blamed.  The 
religion  of  the  Chinese  rarely  talces  a  higher 
flight.  Seldom  does  the  Chinese  preacher, 
never  does  the  Chinese  hearer,  look  beyond 
the  world  in  which  he  lives. 


HONOUR. 

Honour  is  tender  human  lore, 

Late  seen  and  touched  by  each  of  us, 
▲gain  descended  from  abore, 

And  changed  to  be  ubiquitous. 
Noli  me  tangere  !    'Tis  grown 

Conscious  of  self :  yet  if  the  way 
Of  Honour  is  to  hare  his  own, 

*Tis  but  in  care  that  others  may. 
Heplies  no  self-suspecting  strife 

His  own  repute  with  men  to  raise ; 
He  thinks  them  just ;  and  lires  his  lift 

Oonferring,  not  beseeching  praise. 
Hegreatly  scorns  their  faithless  mood, 

who,  traitors  to  the  social  tie, 
BelieTC  the  ill  before  the  good. 

And  benefit  of  doubt  deny ; 
And  nobly,  when  he  cannot  know 

Whether  a  'scutcheon's  dubious  field 
Carries  a  iklcon  or  a  crow, 

Blasons  a  fklcon  on  the  shield : 
Tet  careful  erer  not  to  hurt 

God's  honour  who  creates  success, 
His  praise  of  even  the  bMt  desert 

Is  out  to  have  presumed  no  less ; 
And,  should  his  own  deed  plaudits  bring. 

He's  simply  vex'd  at  heart  that  such 
An  easy,  yea,  delightful  thing 

Should  more  the  minds  of  men  so  much. 
His  home  is  home ;  his  chosen  lot 

A  private  place  and  private  name ; 
But,  if  the  world's  want  calls,  he'll  not 

Eefuse  the  indignities  of  Cune. 


BRIGHT    CHANTICLEER. 


It  must  have  happened  to  most  reasonable 
persons  who  have  practically  studied  the 
*•  Trivia"  of  Mr.  John  Gay,  and  have  endea- 
voured to  adapt  its  maxims  to  common  use  in 
the  difficult  feat  of  walking  the  streets  of 
London,  to  have  made  a  miserable  mistalce  in 
the  attempt  to  accomplish  a  short  cut  from 
the  Strand  to  Oxford  Street,  and,  after  some 
hours  of  desperate  and  frantic  marching, 
and  countermarching,  to  discover  themselves 
hopelessly  and  irretrievably  lost  in  Seven 
Dials.  I  ought  to  be  tolerably  well  up  in  my 
Dials,  for  I  lived  in  Great  Saint  Andrew 
Street,  once;  yet  I  declare  that  I  never 
yet  knew  the  exact  way,  in  or  out  of  that 
seven-fold  mystery.  There  is  always  one 
thing  wanting  to  solve  the  topographical 
enigma.  My  first,  my  second,  and  so  on— up 
to  my  sixth  inclusive,— of  this  charade  of 
streets,  I  have,  after  long  ye^rs  of  study  and 
experience,  mastered ;  but  my  seventh  is  yet 
in  the  limbo  of  things  unlmown;  and,  for 
want  of  it,  I  can't  unravel  the  riddle  of  Seven 
Dials  at  all.  So  have  I  known,  and  know. 
I  know  a  most  estimable  young  married  lady 
who  has  an  admirable  recipe  for  plum-pad- 
ding ;  aye,  and  could  make  it  as  iMlmirably, 
but  for  one  little  thing.  What  that  little  thing 
is — salt,  sugar,  spice,  an  egg  the  more,  or  a 
table-spoon  of  flour  the  less — she,  I,  no  one  can 
tell,~but  for  the  want  of  the  one  little  thing 
unknown  the  pudding  is  invariably  spoilt— to 
the  casting  of  gloom  over  Christmas  and  the 
overflowing  of  tears  from  the  hostess.  Many 
of  the  delicious  condiments  stick  to  the  cloth, 
and  what  does  come  to  the  table  of  the  meri- 
torious, because  the  well-meant  pudding,l8  a 
stodgy  mass  of  geology  boiled  soflr— the  clayey 
formation  very  apparent,  and  the  red  sand- 
stone uppermost. 

Supposing  the  peripatetic  to  have  well  lost 
himself  in  Seven  Dials;  supposing  him  to 
have  paraj^hrased  the  famous  "  water"  line 
in  the  Ancient  Mariner,  and  to  have  cried  out, 
despairingly — 

Disls,  Dials  everywhere. 
And  not  a  street  I  know. 

Supposing  him  to  have  addressed  him  for 
information  successively  to  a  policeman,  a 
costermonger  wltli  a  bam>w,  a  woman  with  a 
black  eye,  a  boy  with  a  sack  round  him  (and 
nothing  else)  and  a  man  whose  presence  is 
perceptible  more  by  the  sense  of  smell  than 
by  that  of  sight,  and  who  is  too  drunk  to  do 
anything  but  stand  in  the  middle  of  ihe  Dials. 
Supposing  him  to  have  been  told  to  move  on, 
to  have  been  mocked,  cursed,  hooted,  and  to 
have  had  one  oystershell,  and  one  turnip- 
stalk  cast  at  him  by  way  of  reply,  and  sup- 
posing him,  finally,  to  have  become  so  wearied 


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Charlet  DlckoM.] 


BRIGHT  GHANTIGLEEB. 


205 


and  dispirited  with  the  noise,  the  dirt,  the 
amell,  the  horrible  labyrinth  he  has  wandered 
into,  and  the  howling  fiends  that  come  danc- 
ing and  fighting  Arom  it,  that  he  feels  half  in- 
clined to  throw  himself  under  the  wheels  of  the 
fire-engine  tliat  comes  tearing  by  (there  always 
is  a  fire — when  there  is*nt  a  murder — going  on 
in  the  vicinity  of  Seven  Dials),  or  to  rush  into 
any  one  of  the  seven  gin-palaces  that  stare  at 
him  lilce  seven  Acherons,  and  drink  himself  to 
madness  with  vitriolic  acid  and  coculus 
indicns :  this  desirable  state  of  things  being 
arrived,  and  state  of  mind  attained,  I  beg  to 
offer  to  the  peripatetic  a  friendly  remedy 
against  suicide  or  fnsanitv.  He  will  find  solace, 
amusement,  and  instruction,  in  the  contempla- 
tion of'*  cocks."  Seven  Dials  is  the  birth-place 
and  home  thereof,  and  abounds  with  them. 

Now,  a  cock  is  a  lie.  It  is,  however,  so  far 
different  from  and  above  simple  mendacity, 
that  to  succeed,  it  must  be  a  lie  pIctOTial,  a  lie 
literary,  a  lie  poetical,  a  lie  political,  or  a  lie 
dramatic.  And  it  must  be  above  all  things, 
a  lie  typographical ;  for  an  unprinted  Chanti- 
cleer is  a  mere  rumour,  that  brmgs  profit  to  no 
one ;  whereas,printed,it  is  sold  for  analfpenny, 
and  brings  bread  into  the  mouth  of  the  seller. 

In  all  the  streets  and  off"  streets  that  pullu- 
late round  the  Dials — in  every  shabby  slum 
by  night  and  by  day,— in  the  midst  of  the  fried 
fish,  the  dubiously  Aresh  herring8,;the  radishes, 
onions,  inferior  bread,  tainted  meat,  pennv 
looking-glasses,  tin  Dutch-ovens,  ragged  chil- 
dren, hulking  men,  beaten  women,  drunken 
everybody  ;  cabbage-leaves,  dead  cats,  mud- 
carts,  garbage,  gin-cholera,  typhus  and  death, 
—to  the  Cultivation  of  all  which  animal  and 
vegetable  products,  the  soil  of  Seven  Dials 
is  wondrously  favourable — there  are  to  be 
found,  surrounded  by  admiring  and  attentive 
audiences,  certain  shabby  men,  known  as 
patterers.  long  song  sellers,  street  ballad- 
singers,  dealers  in  cocks.  There  is  a  sallow 
artist  with  a  blue,  bristly  beard.  He  is  clad 
in  an  absurd  masquerade  costume  of  patched, 
faded  drugget,  one  side  of  which  is  gray  and 
ttie  other  yellow.  The  entke  suit  is  plenti- 
fully sprinkled  with  a  coarse  embroidery  of 
broad  arrows,  letters,  and  numbers.  A  vile 
felt  hat,  of  the  approved  Woolwich  or  hulk- 
patter,  covers  his  bead  (which,  with  a  view  to 
farther  efi^t  is  closely  cropped),  and  to  his 
ankles  are  attached  a  pair  of  jingling, 
clattering  fetters.  The  whole  of  this  pic- 
turesque habiliment  is  supposed  to  rep- 
resent that  of  a  convict :  and  the  con- 
vict himself  gives  out  with  stentorian, 
though  somewhat  rusty  lungs,  a  recitation 
partly  in  prose,  ;partly  In  verse,  of  the  Or- 
rors  of  Transportation;  being  the  Suffer- 
ings of  me  William  Cockbum  condemned 
unjustly  (cela  va  sans  dire)  to  be  banished 
from  his  native  country,  serving  for  life  in 
Chains  in  the  Ulks  in  Norfolk  Island  with 
my  Dangers  A-om  Savages  and  Wild  Beestes 
and  the  Cruelties  infiicted  on  him  bv  order  of 
the  British  Ministers.    Some  of  the  errors 


of  transportation  and  the  sufibrings  of  the  ill- 
used  WUliam  Cockbum  are  depicted  in  water 
colours,  most  vilely,  upon  a  pUicard  stuck  on 
a  pole,  bannerwise,  which  he  carries  in  his 
hand.  On  the  placard  you  mav  see  ferocious 
dragoons  spearing  William  Cfockbum  with 
lances,  while  ruthless  grenadiers  in  scarlet 
prod  him  behind  with  fixed  bayonets.  In 
one  compartment,  the  miserable  William  is 
represented  undergoing  the  Horrid  Punish- 
ment of  the  Lash :  the  cat  having  at  least 
nine  times  nine  tails,  and  the  blood  spouting 
from  the  back  in  a  perfect  cascade  of  crim- 
son. In  another,  fierce  savages,  black  and 
decorated  with  bells,  catch  William  Cock- 
bum, and  cook  him  in  a  pot  and  eat  him ; 
in  another,  the  dreadful  wild  beestes  career 

I  about  the  wilds  of  Norfolk  Island,  he  des- 
perately clinging   to   a   palm-tree   in   the 

!  midst.  Among  the  wild  beestes  there  are 
blue  lions,  tigers  of  a  fiery  scarlet  hue, 
and  many  other  infuriated  animals  whose 
conformation  almost  induces  the  supposi- 
tion that  the  griffin  is  not  yet  extinct, 
that  the  unicorn  is  yet  to  be  found  in  the 
Australian  latitudes,  and  that  the  dragon  of 
Wantley  has  removed  to  and  fiourishes  in 
Norfolk  Island.  William  Cockbum  carries  a 
pile  of  printed  papers,  in  which  the  horrors 
and  sufferings  he  has  endured  are  neatly  set 
forth  for  family  reading.  The  type,  it  must 
be  acknowledged,  is  somewhat  damaged, 
somewhat  broken,  and  now  and  then,  for  a 
phrase  or  two,  wanting  altogether.  William's 
style  is  diffuse  without  eloquence,  and  satiri- 
cal without  humour;  but  the  price  is  only  one 
halfpenny,  and  the  convict  is  surely  worthy 
of  his  hire. 

The  audience  who  surround  the  sufferer 
are  variously  affected  towards  him.  Some 
(the  female  portion  especiallv)  express  their 
opinion  that  it  is  *<a  shame,''  and  ejaculate 
"  poor  fellow  1 "  The  boys  venture  conjec- 
tures as  to  "  what  it  was  fur  t "  and  how 
he  managed  to  effect  his  escape;  many 
of  a  misanthropic  turn  of  mind  pronounce 
the  whole  transaction  "  gammon  "—but  buy 
a thalfpennyworth,  notwithstanding;  while 
one  individual  who  stands  a  little  aloof, 
chewing  the  cud  of  refiection  and  a  fiower- 
stalk — a  gentleman  whose  jacket  is  of  velvet- 
een, greasy ;  whose  trousers  are  of  corduroy, 
also  greasy ;  whose  neck  is  of  the  bull's,  whose 
mouth  of  the  mastiff's,  whose  eye  of  the  wolfs ; 
about  whose  breast-pocket  there  is  a  certain 
bulging,  as  if  he  kept  his  life-preserver  there ; 
this  gentleman  says  nothing ;  but,  as  Wil- 
liam Cockbum  descants  upon  the  horrors  of 
transportation,  he  softly  whistles,  and  I  really 
think  he  could  if  he  chose  tell  William  Cock- 
bum a  few  things  concerning  Woolwich, 
broad  arrows,  fetters  and  bayonets,  which 
would  astonish  him.  I  think,  too,  tiiat  he 
could  produce  a  more  interesting  piece  of 
readhig  than  one  of  William's  halfpenny 
cocks,  in   the   shape   of  an   unpretending 

I  parchment  document,  which  Lord  Viscount 


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206 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoDdactcd  by 


Palmerston  has  taken  the  trouble  to  sign  and 
Lien  tenant-Colonel  Jebb  to  endorse,  and 
which  is  commonlj  known  as  a  ticket,  and  of 
leave.  And  I  think  that  the  policeman  who 
comes  np  all  at  once  like  a  sirocco,  and 
scatters  the  whole  assemblage—William 
Cockbnrn,  fetters,  banner,  and  audience  and 
all — to  the  four  winds,  shares  my  opinion ; 
fdr  he  looks  at  the  flower  chewer,  and  the 
flower  chewer  looks  at  him,  and  so  takes  his 
life-preserver,  his  ticket  of  leave,  and  himself 
down  an  infamous  alley,  and  is  seen  no  more. 

While  the  fetters  of  Cockbum  the  trans- 
ported, jingle  away  into  the  extreme  dis- 
tance, another  dealer  starts  np  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  way.  Banner,  water- 
coloured  cartoons,  pile  of  papers  :  he  has  all 
these ;  but  he  is  simply  clad  in  a  shabby 
suit  of  black,  and  wears  nor  fetters,  nor 
particoloured  prison  dress.  A  red  nose,  in 
passing,  I  may  remark,  is  common  to  the 
whole  confraternity.  The  man  in  black  is 
bellowing  forth  the  recital  of  the  horrid, 
cruel,  and  barbarous  murder  of  a  clergyman 
and  five  children  by  gipsies  in  the  north  of 
England,  all  for  one  halfpenny.  In  the  next 
street  another  banner,  another  pile  of  paper, 
and  a  Seven  Dials  Demosthenes  in  the  midst 
of  a  philippic  on  some  curious  passages  in 
the  life  of  the  Reverend  Mr.  B         and  the 

widow  of  General  S ,  with  the  whole  of 

the  correspondence  between  the  parties; 
only  one  hal4>enny.  Some  half  dozen  yards 
from  him  may  bo  another  industrial,  declaim- 
ing the  particulars  of  the  Dreadful  Assassi- 
nation of  a  Lieutenant  in  the  Navy  by  a 
young  Lady  of  Quality  whom  he  had  de- 
ceived and  deserted — the  perfidious  lieute- 
nant being  represented  in  the  ordinarily  vio- 
lent water^olours,  as  receiving  his  death-blow 
from  the  explosion  of  a  pistol,  held  by  tiie 
young  lady,  who  is  in  piuK  satin  with  many 
flounces.  Further  on,  we  have  Revelations 
of  Hi^h  Life  in  connection  with  the  late 
Mysterious  Afiair,  bv  the  unfortunate  Earl 
of  C ;  an  imaginary  conversation  be- 
tween the  Pope  of  Rome  and  the  Earl  of 
Aberdeen,  and  one  between  the  Emperor 
of  Russia  and  the  DeviL  Further  on  again, 
a  full  account  of  the  late  serious  Catastrophe 
between  a  certain  Judge  and  a  well-known 
Countess:  Death-bed  Confession  of  Doctor 

Richard  G ;  and  Awful  and  feariocious 

cruelty  of  a  Mouer  in  humble  life,  attaching 
black  beetles  confined  in  walnut  shells  upon 
the  eyes  of  her  four  young  children,  and  in 
that  state  sending  them  out  to  beg  in  the 
public  streets :  these,  all  illustrated  b^  the 
water  colours  on  the  banners,  mostly  inter- 
spersed with  snatches  of  doggerel  verse  and 
hoarse  melody,  and  all  price  one  halfpenny, 
are  among  the  thousand  and  one  bright  chan- 
ticleers that  form  the  Seven  Dials  day  and 
night  entertainments. 

Now,  all  these  chanticleers,  the  crowing 
whereof  you  may  hear  any  time  you  happen  to 
lose  your  way  In  Seven  Dials,  and  with  which, 


to  a  smaller  extent,  you  may  be  favoured  in 
most  of  the  back  streets — in  Clare,  Newport, 
and  Portman  Market,  in  Holbom,  Leather 
Lane,  the  Brill  at  Somer's  Town,  Tottenham 
Court  Road,  the  New  Cut,  and  the  Waterloo 
Road— are  all  egregiou8,barefaced  falsehoods. 
The  lieutenant  in  Uie  navy  has  been  assassi- 
nated by  the  young  lady  of  quality  any  time 
these  twenty-five  years ;  the  unfortunate  Earl 
of  C —  is  the  unfortunate  earl  of  nowhere  j  the 
story  of  the  Reverend  Mr.  B —  and  the  widow 
of  Greneral  S —  Is  as  old  and  as  trustworthy 
as  that  of  the  unfortunate  Miss  Bailey  and 
her  garters :  the  death-bed  confession  dates 
from  the  time  of  the  Princess  Charlotte's 
death ;  and  William  Cockbum  probably  never 
Buflbred  any  greater  judicial  inflictions  than 
were  comprised  in  an  occasional  month 
upon  the  treadmill  as  a  rogue  and  vagabond. 
The  public — ^particularly  the  Seven-Dials 
public^must  always  have  some  excitement 
It  is  fond  of  a  good  war;  it  is  fonder  still, 
much  fonder,  of  a  good  murder;  it  does 
not  turn  up  its  nose  at  a  shipwreck  or  a 
fire,  when  the  particulars  are  sufficiently  ho^ 
rifying,  and  the  number  of  lives  lost  saffi- 
ciently  numerous.  But  the  public  cannot 
always  be  accommodated  with  a  good  war, 
murder,  shipwreck,  or  fire.  It  will  sometimei 
happen  that  nations  will  shake  hands,  and  in- 
dividuals with  the  bump  of  destructivenesB 
will  refrain  from  cutting  up  their  near  rela- 
tives, and«ending  them  off;  packed  in  tarpso- 
lin,  by  railway.  Ships  do  sometimes  reach  their 
destinations  without  any  tribulation  to  the 
underwriters  at  Lloyds,  and  Mr.  Braidwood 
is  now  and  then  enabled  to  eigoy  a  peaceable 
night's  rest.  Then  the  chief  of  the  London 
Fire  Brigade,  the  unfortunate  Earl  ofC— 
is  roused  from  his  slumbers  in  a  back  garret: 
the  naval  officer  who  used  the  young  lady  of 
quality  so  cruelly,  is  deservedly  put  once  more 
to  the  torture  of  the  printing-machine,  and 
worked  off  into  so  many  quires ;  the  inhuman 
mother  again  places  walnut-dieUs,  with  live 
black  beetles  in  them,  upon  the  eyes  of  her 
helpless  children,  as  she  has  been  accustomed 
to  do  on  and  off  during  the  last  half-centorv ; 
and  the  barbarous  and  cruel  murder  of  the . 
clergyman  in  theNorth  of  England  is  repeated. 
The  inhabitants  of  the  Dials  never  seem  to 
become  tired  of  these  absurd  figments.  To 
some  old  and  middle-aged  DialistB,the  stories, 
the  doggerel  verses,  the  wretohed  daubs  on 
the  banners  must  have  been  fkmiliar  since 
they  were  little  children :  yet  to  them  the  mon- 
strosities shouted  forth  fcy  the  hoarse  voices 
of  the  patterers,  seem  always  as  welcome, 
thouffh  quite  as  stale,  as  the  threadbare  jokes 
of  Mr.  Merryman,  the  clown  at  the  circns. 
I  have  stodied  Seven  Dials  in  their  connection 
with  patterers  these  fifteen  yearsdurant ;  and 
I  am  of  opinion  that  the  older  the  cock  the 
more  it  is  admired.  It  takes  a  long  time  for 
a  new  thing  to  impress  itself  upon  the  Seven 
Dials  mind.  Soap,  although  patent Js scarcely 
yet  recognised  in  that  district    Water  is  yet 


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BRIGHT  CHANTICLEER. 


207 


looked  upon  in  the  light  of  ft  friyolons  iimo- 
yation,  and  clean  shirts  are  regarded  as  new- 
fangled inventions.  Thos  it  is  in  more  places 
than  Seven  Dials.  Tradition,  ridiculoos.  obso- 
lete, barbarous,  hnrtfol  as  it  may  be,  is  ever 
loolced  upon  with  some  sort  of  reverence  and 
affection ;  and  the  good  old  joke,  the  good  old 
cesspool,  the  good  old  tax,  the  good  old  job, 
the  good  old  giUlows,  and  the  good  old  times, 
abandoned,and  are  calledgood  because  theyare 
pertinaciously  retained  or  reluctantly  are  old. 

Thus,  thoup;h  a  printed  broadsheet  with  a 
full  and  particular  account  of  the  capture  of 
Sebastopol,  the  assassination  of  the  Emperor 
of  Russia  l^  the  King  of  Prussia  (while 
excited  by  champagne) :  or  the  blowing  up 
of  the  New  Houses  of  Parliament  by  some 
modem  Guy  Fawkes,  might  cause  a  transitory 
excitement  in  the  Dials;  while  a  few  new 
st^ps  might  be  hewn  out  of  Parnassus  by  a 
doggerelballad upon  some  passing  subject — 
Bloomerism,  Popery ,Potichomania,  or  Cochin 
China  fowls— the  Diallian  interest  will 
always  be  found  to  revert  to  the  old  murders 
and  InJlads.  The  day  passes,  these  chanticleers 
pass  not  away.  Fresh  assassins  are  banned 
month  after  month;  but  the  last  dying 
speech  and  confession  of  John  Thurtell  or 
William  Corder,  still  continue  to  serve  for  the 
valediction  of  every  murderer  executed.  Seven 
Dials  are  eminently  conservative.  Sam  Hall 
only  found  favor  in  their  eyes  because  he 
was  hanged  as  far  backj^  the  reign  of  Queen 
Anne  (and  it  is  possible  that  even  then  the 
ruffianly  sweep  was  only  a  hash  up  of  some 
footoad  of  the  reign  of  James  the  First). 
Willikins  and  his  Dinah  are  tolerated  in  the 
Dials  as  a  popular  melody ;  but  the  veterans 
of  the  neighbourhood  know  the  song  to  be  as 
old  as  the  hills.  Lord  Bateman  and  the  Fair 
Sophia  flourished  in  front  of  those  houses  of 
seven  times  seven  gables,  long  before  Mr. 
George  Csuikshank  undertoolc  to  illustrate 
the  life  of  that  roving  nobleman  who  employed 
the  proud  voung  porter :  and  the  germ  of 
Lord  Lovell  and  nis  milk-white  steed  was 
sprouting  in  the  poetic  garden  of  the  Dials, 
years  before  the  present  favorite  singers  of 
that  legend  were  bom. 

The  water-colour  placards  are  all  manufac- 
tured, the  half-penny  broadsides  all  printed,  in 
the  immediate  vicinity  of  Seven  Dials ;  and 
fVom  the  mysterious  recesses  of  the  courts 
and  alleys  round  about  sally  forth  the  men 
with  the  red  noses,  the  hoarse  voices  and  the 
shabby  clothes,  who  address  the  mixed  au- 
diences of  the  Dials.  But  it  will  some- 
times happen  that  business  (a  robbery,  a  fire, 
or  a  razzia  on  an  over-turned  fruit  barrow) 
or  pleasure,  such  as  a  mad-dog  to  hunt,  an 
idiot  to  hoot  and  pelt,  an  accident  to  follow, 
a  newly-opened  publio-house  to  visit,  or  a 
favourite  fried  fish  shop  to  fight  outside  of; 
or  temporary  satiety — leading  the  Dialists  to 
lean  moodllv  against  posts,  or  gamble  secretly 
at  knuckle-down  or  poker  behind  hoardings 
and  piles  of  bricks,  or  gaze  misanthropically 


into  yawning  sewers — ^will  bring  chanticleers 
into  considerable  depreciation  and  discount 
for  a  time,  and  cause  an  almost  total  dearth  of 
the  harvest  of  halfpence  which  the  patterers 
strive  so  hard  to  reap.  Then  do  these  indus- 
trious men  fly  the  regions  of  the  Dials,  and 
betake  themselves  to  work  the  districts  in- 
habited by  those  favoured  ones  of  humanity 
—the  nobs  at  the  Westend.  The  stories,  how- 
ever, which  would  attract  admiration  and 
coppers  in  the  Dials  would  not  be  quite 
suitable  for  Eaton  Place  or  Lower  Grosvenor- 
street  It  would  scarcely  be  consonant  with 
delicacy  to  trumpet  forth  the  misfortune  of 
the  Earl  of  C —  opposite  to  the  mansion  pos- 
sibly inhabited  by  his  Lordship :  and  how- 
ever merited  may  have  been  tne  revenge 
taken  by  the  young  lady  of  quality,  upon  the 

Serson  of  the  dastardly  lieutenant  who  had 
estroyed  her  illusions  and  blighted  her 
existence,  it  would  scarcely  be  pradent  to 
allude  to  the  circumstances  in  the  vicinity  of 
the  residence  of  the  parents  of  (perhaps)  the 
young  lady  ofquaUty  nerself.  Sothe  bill  of  fare 
is  altered.  About  nhie  or  ten  o'clock  in  the 
evening  have  you  never  heard,  in  the  silent 
aristocratic  streets,  the  voices  of  the  patterers 
calling  forth  in  sonorous,  almost  sepulchral 
accents,  accounts  of  pestilence,  battle,  murder, 
and  sudden  death  :  the  assassination  of  this 
emperor,  the  storming  of  a  certain  fortress,  ac- 
companied, of  course,  by  a  dreadful  massacre  ? 
For,  observe,  though  personal  reflections  upon 
the  aristocracy  do  not  go  down  among  the 
nobs  at  Westend,  horrors  are  always  sure 
of  a  sale.  The  inhuman  mother  with  the 
black  beetles  is  a  great  favourite  in  the  areas — 
that  sober  insect,  the  beetle,  coming  familiarly 
home  to  the  serving  man  and  woman's  mind 
in  connection  with  Uie  kitchen  dresser  and  the 
coal-cellar— and  ofttimes,  as  apattercr  dwells, 
with  grim  minuteness,  upon  the  horrible  per- 
ticklers  of  the  murder ;  or  the  agonies  of  the 
small  children  under  the  walnut  shells ;  or,  as 
with  grisly  unction  he  describes  Vyenna  in 
flames ;  the  red  flag  of  the  Marsellays  histed 
over  Paris ;  theJKezar's  hanser  to  the  Hem- 
perer ;  war  to  the  last  mbble  and  the  last 
knife;  the  Preston  strike  bended  in  blood, 
the  hartillery  called  out ;  or  (a  very  favour- 
ite device),  feariocious  hattempt  upon  her 
Migesty  by  a  maniac  baker;  you  will  see 
John  the  footman,  or  Mary  the  housemaid, 
steal  up  the  area  steps  and  into  the  street, 
purchase  a  half-penny  worth  of  dire  intelli- 
gence, which,  shallow  cock  as  it  is,  is  read  with 
trembling  eagerness  and  enthralled  interest, 
in  kitchen  or  servants'  hall,  till  the  cat  puts 
her  back  up  by  the  fire,  and  the  hair  of  the 
little  footpage  stands  on  end.  The  shabby 
men  with  the  solemn  voices  who  perambulate 
the  Westend  streets  at  nightfall  are  own 
brothers  to,  if  not  the  very  same  eloquent 
individuals  who  carry  the  banners  in  Seven 
Dials ;  and  they  again  are  descendants  of  the 
old  flying  stationers,  the  pleasant  lying  vaga- 
bonds who  were  wont  to  waken  the  stillness 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCondactcdby 


of  the  streets  in  the  old  French  war-time, 
crying  "Great  news!"  "  Glorious  news  I " 
when  there  were  no  news  at  all. 

The  etymology  of  the  cock  mendaoioas, 
is  as  uncertain  as  that  of  the  kingdom  of 
Cockaigne.    Is  the  word  derived  fh>m  the 
"  cock  and  pye  "  of  Justice  Shallow — a  thing 
said,  but  not  the  more  believed  in?    Perhaps 
cock  may  have  originated  in  the  patterer  being 
frequently  a  coqum  or  rogue,  or  from  the  cock 
and  bull  story  which  Mr.  Shandy's  novel  is  ulti- 
mately settled  to  have  been  about  Or  dees  cock 
— a  lie,  a  tale  of  news  having  no  foundation 
1 1     whatever  in  fact,  but  still  made  public  and  per- 
sisted in — spring  from  the  famous  political 
j  I     hoax  in  which  Lord  CocArane  was  said  to  have 
I     been  implicated :  the  scandalous  cock  which  for 
1 1     stockjobbing  purposes,  in  the  year  eighteen 
i  I     hundred  and  fourteen,  gave  out  Bonaparte  to 
I  i     have  been  torn  to  pieces  by  Cossacks,  and 
which  had  such  disastrous  con8e<]^uences  for 
one  of  the  bravest  officers  of  the  British  navy? 
This  last  theorv,  although  sufficiently  vrai- 
semblable,  is  militated  against  by  the  in- 
dubitable existenee    of  these   Chanticleers 
long  anterior  to  Lord  Cochrane's  time.    Their 
antiquity  is  highly  respectable.    Butler,  who 
has  something  to  say  about  almost  every 
subject  within  the  compass  of  human  know- 
ledge, has  a  wondrous  appreciation  of  them 
in  substance,  if  not  in  name.    Listen  to  what 
he  says  in  Hudibras ;  apropos  of  fame  : — 
There  is  a  Ull,  long-sided  dune, 
(Bat  wondront  light)  jclepted  Fame, 
That  like  a  thin  cameleon  boards 
Herself  on  air,  and  eats  her  words : 
Upon  her  shoalders  wings  she  wears 
Like  hanging  sleeTOS,  lin'd  through  with  ears. 
And  ejes,  and  tongaes,  as  poets  list. 
Made  good  by  deep  mythologist. 
With  these  she  through  the  welkin  flies, 
And  sometimes  carries  truth,  oft  lies ; 
With  letters  hung,  like  eastern  pigeons. 
And  meroaries  of  furtherest  regions ; 
Dinmals  writ  for  regulation 
Of  lying,  to  inform  the  nation. 
And  bj  their  public  use  to  bring  down 
The  rate  of  whetstones  in  the  kingdom. 
About  her  nock  a  packet  mail. 
Fraught  with  advice,  some  fresh  some  stale : 
Of  men  that  walked  when  they  were  dead. 
And  cows  of  monsters  brought  to  bed ; 
Of  hailstones  big  as  pullet's  eggti. 
And  puppies  whelp'd  with  twice  two  logs ; 
A  blazing  star  seen  in  the  west 
By  six  or  seren  men  at  least. 
This  quotation  brings  me  to  a  topic  which 
I    have    been   meditating    upon    from  the 
commencement  of  this  article,  and  without 
which  it  would  be  singularly  incomplete  :  I 
mean  newspaper  Chanticleers.    In  snug  little 
comers  of  that  British  Press,  of  which  we 
are  all  so  justly  proud  and  jealous,  eccentric 
gallinaceous  figments  nestle,  crow,  and  clap 
Sicir  wings  exceedingly.    They  are  periodical 
in  their  appearance.    Long  debates,  interest- 
ing news  from  abroad,  groat  exhibitions,  reli- 
gious uproars,  violent  controversies  as  to 


whether  Biffin  calling  Miffin  a  rascal  meant 
therein  anything  to  the  prejudice  of  Wiffin  ; 
who,  as  a  rascal,  would  be  of  course  and  for 
ever  compromised  in  the  opinion  of  both 
Chiffin  and  Piffln :  these  will  occasionallj 
drive  Bright  Chanticleer  out  of  the  columns 
of  the  London  newspaper,  and  compel  hiqi 
to  betake  himself  to  those  of  the  provincial 
journal.  He  will  crow  harmlessly  till  the 
metropolitan  public  begin  to  be  satiated  with 
the  realities  of  authentic  news ;  till  the 
Episcopalians  and  Dissenters,  magnanimously 
forgetting  their  former  differences,  combine 
heart  and  hand  to  fall  foul  of  the  Bhuddists  ; 
till  Biffin  assures  Miffin  that  he  never  con- 
sidered him  a  rascal  at  all,  but  rather  as 
something  nearly  approximating  to  an  angel. 
Then,  and  especially  in  the  piping  times  of 
peace  and  profound  tranquillity,  doth  Chanti- 
cleer move  modestly  London-ward  again. 

Let  me  see  if  I  cannot  enumerate  a  few 
favourite  newspaper  chanticleers.  I  will  not 
insult  your  understanding  by  allusion  to  the 
enormous  gooseberries,  singular  freaks  of 
nature,  showers  of  frogs,  cats  found  la 
gas-pipes,  discoveries  of  Roman  remains,  and 
human  skeletons;  which  are  the  oldest,weakest 
flimsiest  known.  They  have  passed  into  jokes 
long  ago ;  and  newspapers  witn  even  a  shadow 
of  modesty  are  ashamed  to  g^ve  insertion  to 
them  now.  But  there  are  others  more  insidious, 
less  derisively  scouted.  There  is  the  French 
war-steamer  which  hovers  about  the  coast  of 
Lincolnshire,  somewhere  between  Saltfleet 
and  Great  Grimsby ;  the  officers  of  which  are 
continually  making  soundings,  or  are  landing 
to  take  sketches  of  the  coast  and  adjacent 
scenery ;  all  with  an  evident  view  to  an 
approaching  invasion,  and  to  the  infinite 
dlsmav  of  that  ^eat  grandfather  of  lies, 
the  oldest  inhabitant ;  the  plunging  into 
newspaper  correspondence  of  our  esteemed 
townsman,  Mr.  Flubbers,  who  remembers 
the  invasion  panic  of  eighteen  hundred  and 
four,  and  suggests  that  now  Is  the  time  for 
government  to  purchase  the  secret  of  the 
Flubbers'  explosive  sabre  and  the  Flubbers' 
asphyxiating  (long  range)  syringe  ;  and  the 
display  of  one  hundred  per  cent,  extra  vigi- 
lance by  our  active  and  experienced  com- 
mander of  the  coast-guard.  Lieutenant  Lop- 
side.  Dear  me!  How  many  times  that 
French  war-steamer  has  turned  up.  Off  St. 
Michael's  Mount  in  Cornwall ;  off  the  Orknles 
and  Shetland  islands :  off  Mull  and  Bate  and 
Arran  ;  off  Gralway,  Brighton,  Torquay,  and 
Beechey  Head.  She  has  always  been  ready,  at 
a  newspaper  pinch,  off  Dover.  The  daily  in- 
creasing intimacy  and  cordiality  of  our  rela- 
tions with  France,  though,  have  brought  this 
belligerous  vessel  into  some  little  disfavour  ; 
and  for  it  there  have  begun  to  be  frequently 
substituted  such  anecdotes  as — ^*  There  is  now 
in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Spong  of  this  town  a 
double-barrelled  pistol  of  antique  workman- 
ship, presented  to  his  ancestor  Captain  Hugh 
Spong  by  Marshal  Turrenne,  during  the  cam- 


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A  VERY  LITTLE  TOWN. 


209 


pugn  of  the  allied  English  and  French  armies 
1  n  sixteen  b andred  and  fif ty-eix — seven."  Or, 
"  our  readers  will  be  pleased  to  learn  that  it 
was  the  proud  privilege  of  our  worthy  host, 
Boo^jobn,  of  the  Royal  Leathers  hotel,  to  con- 
fer a  considerable  obligation  upon  the  present 
ruler  of  the  French  nation  some  years  since. 
The  illostrious  personage  who  was  then  stay- 
ing at  the  Royal  Leathers,  being  in  temporary 
diiBcalties,  Bootjohn  not  only  forgave  him  tfa« 
amount  of  his  score,  but  also,  and  without 
the  least  hope  of  retarn,  lent  him  one  and 
ninepence  and  a  clean  shirt.  We  rejoice  to 
learn  that  the  whole  amount  has  been  most 
honourably  repaid  by  h — s  I— p— 1  M— j— y: 
the  remittance  being  accompanied  by  a  highly 
flattering  autograph  letter  from  N— p— n  the 
Third." 

There  is  also  at  this  present  moment  a 
highly  favourite  little  chanticleer  crowing 
most  lustily,  and  attributing  English,  Scotch, 
or  Irish  extraction,and  even  existing  relatives, 
to  the  imperial  family  of  France,  their  gene- 
rals, courtiers,  and  dependents.  Thus,  we 
have  been  informed  (Slugborough  Herald) 
that  the  Empress's  maternal  uncle  is  now 
residing  as  a  cheese  and  bacon  factor  at  E^i- 
dermisnock,  Argyleshire.  It  mav  be  interest- 
ing to  know  (Foggington  Courier)  that  the 

present  Emperor  of  F e  was  clandestinely 

married  in  eighteen  hundred  and  thirty-six 
to  Miss  Chilian  Picldes  of  this  town.  The 
I — ^p — 1  bride  died  soon  after  the  incarcera- 
tion of  her  adventurous  husband  in  the 
citadel  of  H— m ;  but  four  children,  the  off- 
spring of  the  marriage,  are  yet  alive,  two  of 
whom  are  receiving  a  brilliant  though  solid 
education  at  the  establishment  of  the  Ifisses 
W ,  not  a  hundred  miles  from  here. 

As  to  our  own  beloved  Sovereign,  the  chan- 
ticleers that  go  theround  of  the  papers  are  innu- 
merable and  unnumbered.  The  Queen  enters 
Highland  cottages ;  eats  bannocks ;  tastes 
the  whisky  (the  real  Glenlivet,  as  the  his- 
torian takes  care  to  inform  us) ;  adopts 
children,  and  pensions  octogenarians.  She 
asks  the  way  down  by-lanes  and  across  com- 
mons of  country  boys,  and  slips  sovereip^as 
into  their  hands  when  she  leaves  them ;  writes 
Victoria  with  a  diamond  ring  upon  cottage 
window-panes,  and  makes  anonymous  water- 
ccdonr  ^tiwings  in  the  albums  of  private 
fiftmilies.  As  to  Prince  Albert,  he  carries 
schoolboys  pickaback,  makes  the  Prince  of 
Wales  (with  some  touching  moral  remarks) 
present  his  patent  leather  shoes  to  a  beggar, 
and  matches  his  cob  against  the  trotting  ponv 
of  a  butcher  (whom  he  meets  of  course  acci- 
dentally, and  who  addresses  him,  unconscious 
of  his  exalted  rank,  as  Grovernor),  and  whom 
he  beats  in  the  race  triumphantly. 

Multitudes  of  other  chanticleers  there  be, 
to  which  I  can  but  barely  allude.  The  gallant 
gay  Lotharios  who  elope  with  the  lady  of  a 
highly-respected  baronet,  to  the  consternation 
of  the  county  and  the  ultimate  employment 
of  the  gentlemen  of  the  long  robe ;  the  heart- 


less monsters  who  marry  four  different  young 
ladies  at  four  different  churches  on  the  same 
day :  the  would-be  Benedicks  who  advertise 
for  a  wife — a  lady  having  a  small  independ- 
ence— and  are  entrapped  into  correspondence 
with  gentlemen  writing  disguised  female 
hAnds,  and  make  appointments  and  keep 
them,  and  are  ultimately  brought  to  great 
i^me  and  ridicule ;  the  faithless  swains  who 
leave  their  intended  brides  at  the  church- 
door,  and  bolt  off  to  Australia ;  the  brutes 
who  eat  two  legs  of  mutton,  half  a  dozen 
live  rats,  and  a  pound  of  candles,  for  a  wager ; 
the  criminals  who  were  hanged  twenty  years 
ago,  and  are  now  alive  and  universally  re- 
spected in  Lower  Canada ;  the  railway 
navvies  who  come  into  fortunes  of  fifty  thou- 
sand pounds,  and  immediately  go  mad  with 
joy  ;  the  geiltleman  wearing  eight  watch- 
chains,  who  is  continually  travelling  up  and 
down  the  London  and  North  Western  Rail- 
way ;  the  stingy  nobleman  at  a  fashionable 
watering-place,  whose  wife  is  saved  from 
drowning  by  an  honest  boatman,  and  who 
recompenses  the  hardy  son  of  Neptune  with 
twopence  ;  the  nonogenarian  paupers  whose 
demise  is  recorded  under  the  heading,  **  Death 
of  a  character;*'  the  cuckoos  that  sing  so  early 
and  the  blackbirds  that  sing  so  late;  the 
weather  which  is  so  astonishingly  mild,  and  the 
Swedish  turnips  that  have  attained  so  extra- 
ordioary  a  size  :  tiiese  are  a  few  of  the  news- 
paper chanticleers.  They  are,  in  a  general 
way,  harmless  enough.  And  if  the  country 
ne wipers  who  pay  that  Cochin-China 
chanticleer,  "  Our  London  Correspondent  ^ 
for  his  weekly  letter,  find  their  account  in 
it,  80  be  it.  I  never  knew  him  to  be  right 
about  anything ;  but  he  may  be,  some  day. 


A  VERY  LITTLE  TOWN. 

Wb  live  (ray  aunt  and  I)  in  a  very  little 
town  somewhere,  through  which,  once  upon 
a  time,  ninety  stage-coaches  daily  passed  to 
London,  and  where  now  hardly  one  public 
conveyamie  of  any  sort  is  ever  seen  ;  where, 
once  upon  a  time,  the  great  big  inn  was  kept 
by  a  great  big  landlord  (as  I  have  beard),  who 
received  some  very  great  people  at  his  door; 
where  post-horses  were  kept,  and  where  car- 
riages and  four  were  quite  a  common  sight : 
but  where  now  there  Is  nothing  but  emptiness 
and  solitude.  The  great  inn  yard-gate  grows 
rusty  on  its  hinges,and  the  stable  windows  are 
all  broken,  dirty,  and  Ml  of  cobwebs;  tjie 
inner-door  is  closely  padlocked,  and  all  its 
windows  are  black  and  bare,  as  if  every  one 
inside  were  dead  and  all  the  linen  had  been 
sent  to  the  wash.  The  sign  of  the  British  Lion, 
standing  erect  on  one  hind  leg,  like  a  ballet- 
dancer,  threatens  to  fall  from  its  supporters 
every  windy  night ;  so  does  the  great  kitchen 
chimney ;  and  moss  grows  on  the  hearth- 
stones in  the  great  big  bed-rooms,  with  the 
great  big  beds  in  which  the  very  great  people 
slept,  once  upon  a  time. 


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210 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCflDdoetodbj 


There  are  manj  other  deserted  houses  near, 
with  shutters  always  closed ;  dull,  blank,  me- 
lancholy looking  buildings,  like  faces  with 
sightless  eyes;  and  the  road  is  very  quiet, 
and  knows  business,  fashion,  pleasure,  no 
more.  The  stream  of  prosperity  and  patron- 
age tiasbeen  tumed,and  flows  now  to  the  near- 
est railway  station,  leaving  nothing  to  our  very 
little  town  but  the  remembrance  of  the  past 
In  short,  we  have  gone  through  the  rise  and 
fall  which  are  said  to  be  proper  to  all  human 
affairs  and  empires,  with  the  utmost  neatness 
and  propriety,  and  having  now  accomplished 
the  business  and  subsided  into  insignificance, 
we  hope  to  be  left  to  follow  our  own  little 
devices  in  peace,  without  further  interference 
from  fashion  or  modem  improvements. 

Like  most  other  dwellers  in  the  country, 
we  can  find  no  more  important  occupation 
than  that  of  fighting  and  quarrelling  with 
each  other  about  everything  or  nothing.  Of 
course,  the  most  fruitful  sources  of  disagree- 
ment are  our  pets.  Only  last  week  my  aunt 
fell  out  with  Miss  Brooks  because  her  large 
dog  was  inconveniently  taken  ill  in  the  sitting- 
room  at  tea-time  ;  and  the  very  week  before 
that,  a  ten  years'  friendship  between  Mrs. 
Blytiie  and  Miss  Carter  was  interrupted  by  a 
dispute  concerning  the  propriety  of  giving 
castor-oil  to  sick  canaries.  Indeed,  some- 
times when  the  village  has  been  particularly 
dull  and  stagnant,!  have  had  serious  thoughts 
of  requesting  my  aunt  to  keep  a  pig,  or  some 
other  obnoxious  animal,  for  the  express  pur- 
pose of  giving  rise  to  a  little  pleasing  excite- 
ment in  the  way  of  annoyance  to  our  neigh- 
bours, quarrels,  misunderstandings,  and  re- 
conciliations. Why,  for  two  whole  years  our 
village  had  no  other  amusement  than  watch- 
ing and  commenting  on  a  dispute  between 
Mr.  Tomkins  and  Mr.  Carter  concerning  a 
cowl  This  is  the  truth  of  the  story :— ^, 
Tomkins  had  a  favourite  Aldemey  cow — a 
very  pretty  little  creature,  and  Mr.  Carter 
had  a  favourite  fence,  a  cross-barred  fanciful 
affair,  in  which  he  took  great  pride  and  de- 
light When  the  cow  first  appeared  in 
Mr.  Tomkins'8  field,  Mr.  Carter  took  an 
amazing  fancy  to  it,  admired  it  quite  extra- 
vagantly, thought  it  an  ornament  to  the  view 
from  bis  windows,  allowed  it  even  to  come 
sometimes  into  his  own  little  paddock,  and 
there  let  it  wander  about  at  its  own  sweet 
will.  One  summer,  however,  it  grew  suddenly 
bold ;  would  be  found  sitting  in  flower-beds ; 
once  put  its  head  in  at  the  dining-room  win- 
dow ;  would  take  a  walk  on  the  lawn,  and 
once  or  twice  attempted  to  eat  the  creeping 

Slants  on  a  summer-house,  which  it  converted, 
[r.  Carter  said,  into  a  highly  picturesque 
ruin.  He  particularly  admired  it  when  it 
rubbed  itself  against  one  especial  tree  with  a 
background  of  sunset ;  he  said  it  gave  an 
Arcadian  character  to  his  grounds.  Until  one 
day— one  fatal  dav— he  found  his  beautiful 
cross-barred  fence  broken  down  in  two  places. 
Every  man  in  the  village  was  accused,  and 


every  woman,  and  every  boy,  and,  last  of  all, 
Mr.  Carter's  own  gardener  was  accused,  and 
indeed  I  think  he  was  the  culprit,  but  he  had 
always  cherished  a  peculiar  hatred  to  the 
cow,  and  so  laid  the  blame  upon  it — and  in- 
stantly Mr.  Carter  (by  a  sort  of  inspiration, 
he  said),  was  convinced,  and  hated  it  too.  He 
began  to  see  that  there  was  a  deep  design  of 
annoyance  in  the  whole  matter ;  that  the  cow 
had  been  trained  to  break  down  cross-barred 
fences,  and  had  destroyed  his  in  accordance 
with  its  master's  express  orders  and  com- 
mands. It  was  immediately  declared  to  be  a 
nuisance,  a  mischievous  creature  ;  all  its 
misdeeds,  which  had  been  formerly  of  no  con- 
sequence, were  magnified  into  murder, — and 
every  time  the  wretched  creature  was  seen 
trespassing  even  on  the  outskirts  of  Mr. 
Carter's  hedges  and  ditches,  he  became 
dreadfully  excited.  He  was  continuallj 
confounding  the  poor  cow,  and  chasing 
it,  and  making  everybody  else  chase  it : 
and  at  last,  overcome  by  a  feeling  of  injured 
innocence  and  insulted  dignity,  he  wrote 
a  grand  epistle  to  Mr.  Tomkins,  demanding 
in  the  most  exalted  language  that  the  coir 
should  be  tied  by  the  leg,  or  otherwise  con- 
fined to  its  master's  own  grounds.  It  was 
indeed  a  very  fine  piece  of  composition,  all 
about  the  scales  of  justice,  and  what  the 
Romans  did  or  would  have  done  under  similar 
circumstances  ;    and  Mr.  Carter  was  verj 

Eroud  of  it,  and  felt  sure  it  would  quite  anni- 
ilate  both  Mr.  Tomkins  and  his  cow.  It  re- 
mained unanswered  for  a  week,  and  then  Mr. 
Tomkins  wrote  a  short  note,  to  the  effect  that 
if  Mr.  Carter  didn't  like   the  cow  in  bis 

S'ounds  he  had  better  turn  it  out  Next  day 
r.  Carter  watched  all  the  morning  for  Mr. 
Tomkins,  and  seeing  him  at  last  in  the  dis- 
tance, put  on  his  hat  and  sallied  forth  with 
crossed  arms  and  a  fierce  countenance  and 
went  to  meet  him,  on  purpose  to  cut  him 
dead.  After  that,  Mr.  Tomkins  would  never 
meet  Mr.  Carter,  and  Mr.  Carter  would  never 
meet  Mr.  Tomkins  at  our  tea-parties;  and 
whenever  they  met  accidentally  they  never 
saw  each  other  in  the  least  We  ladies  were 
very  nervous  when  these  tremendous  en- 
counters took  place,  and  the  excitement  of 
them  lasted  a  whole  week. 

There  are  some  few  philosophers  amongst 
us,  however,  who  do  not  fight  about  their 
pets ;  but  these  are  our  poor  neighbours, 
who  have  something  else  to  do  and  to  think 
about  One  of  them,  indeed— old  Mrs.  Hill, 
— is  quite  a  noted  philosopher,  and  many  a 
lesson  on  forgiveness  of  injuries  and  content- 
ment have  I  received  from  her.  She  lives  in 
a  cottage  of  her  own,  in  a  larse  orchard,  at 
the  end  of  a  very  crooked  path ;  and  when- 
ever you  go  there,  you  find  it  in  a  state  of 
the  greatest  disorder  and  confdsion  ;  and 
Mrs.  Hill  always  says,  '^  Oh,  ma'am !  if  you 
had  but  come  to-morrow  1  I  was  just  going 
to  clean  up,  and  put  things  tidy." 

She  is  an  old,  old  woman.  Such  a  face  she 


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CbwifliDlcktiM.] 


A  VERY  UTILE  TOWN. 


211 


has  I  All  hideous  with  wrinkles  and  loss  of 
teeth.  I  believe  she  was  once  handsome,  and 
she  has  still  a  fine  npright  figure,  and  lively 
blue  eyes. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Hill,"  said  I  this  morning, 
"  and  how  is  Tibby  to-day  ?  " 

"Thank  you,  miss,  she's  much  better. 
She'd  a  very  good  night" 

*•  Has  she  recovered  her  appetite  ? " 

"Yes,  miss,  she  eat  a  good  breakfast  I 
give  her  the  gruel  as  you  sent  me,  and  I  hope 
as  she'll  soon  be  out  again.  Do  you  know, 
miss,  she's  the  forty-second  black  cat  as  has 
been  born  in  our  house  T  " 

"Really?" 

"  Yes,  miss,  and  she's  quite  a  companion  to 
me  when  my  husband's  away.  She  goes  out 
with  me  every  morning  when  I  takes  my  hus- 
band to  his  work,  and  comes  back  with  me, 
.she  do  I" 

"  Does  your  husband  still  work  for  Mr. 
Carter?" 

"  Yes,  miss,  he  do ;  it's  rather  hard  for  him 
now  ;  its  a  long  way,  you  see,  and  he  don't 
like  leaving  his  old  home." 

Hooked  at  Uie  wretched  little  tumble- 
down cottage,  and  sud,  "  You  are  a  very 
happv  couple ! " 

"Thank  the  Lord,  that  we  are!  I  am  up 
every  morning  between  four  and  five,  and 
get  my  husband's  breakfast  ready,  and  that's 
a  recommendation  for  the  young  ladies,  miss, 
if  you*ll  excuse  me.  He  don't  come  home 
from  work  till  late,  and  then  there's  supper 
to  be  got,  and  we're  not  in  bed  till  ten,  for 
there's  all  the  little  arrangements  to  make 
for  next  morning.  I  put  the  things  ready  for 
breakfast  and  for  lighting  the  fire  ;  that's  my 
post :  I  always  light  the  fire." 

"  And  you  are  always  in  good  health?  " 

"  The  best  of  health,  miss,  praise  the  Lord; 
and  a  week  after  Lord  Mayor's  Day  was  two 
years,  I  shall  be  eighty  years  old.  As  I  said 
to  a  lady  the  other  day,  miss— 

Thlrtf  jMri  I  wu  a  maid,  flflj  yean  I*Te  been  a  wife, 
If  I  live  twenty  more,  it  will  be  time  to  end  mj  life. 

She  gave  me  half  a  pound  of  tea  directly, 
miss,  from  King's  shop,  close  here." 

You  cunning  old  thing,  thought  I.  "  Well," 
I  said,  "  you  are  contented,  and  contentment 
is  wisdom." 

" Thankyou,  miss — oh,  yes— if  we're  only 
happy  in  Heaven,  it  donH  matter  here."  And 
in  this  consoling  belief  I  left  her. 

Our  other  philosopher  is  old  Dale,  the 
shepherd— a  man  without  a  nose,  who  spends 


at  a  flock  of  sheep.  He  hails  passers-by  over 
a  hedge  sometimes,  and  holds  conversations 
with  Uiem  about  his  two  favorite  subjects — 
Solomon  and  the  weather.  With  a  sheepskin 
on  his  back,  his  crook  in  his  hand,  and  his 
dog  at  his  heels,  he  looks  very  picturesque 
leaning  over  a  fence  to  talk  to  his  friends. 
The  first  time  he  addressed  me  1  was  rather 
startled. 


"  Beg  your  pardon,  mum,"  he  cried ;  "  very 
cloudy  weather." 

"  Very  cloudy  indeed." 

"  A  good  deal  of  wind,  too,  mum." 

"  You  must  find  It  very  cold  standing  about 
in  the  fields  all  day,"  said  L 

"  Bless  you,  mum,  I  be  used  to  it,  I  be. 
Lord,  I  stands  here  reading  all  the  day.  You 
see,  mum,  I  learnt  myself.  Yes,  mum;  I 
never  had  a  day's  schooling,  but  a  lady  she 
gave  me  a  Bible  thirty  year  ago,  and  I  couldn't 
read  a  word  of  it,  but  I  learnt  myself.  I've 
got  it  now,  mum,  and  a  fine  Bible  it  is,  but, 
you  see,  I  can't  put  it  in  my  pocket,  and  I 
ain't  got  time  to  read  at  home;  but  in  the 
fields— Lord,  mum !  I  knows  it  all  as  well — 
look  here,  mum,"  he  said,  pulling  out  his  blue- 
check  pocket  handkerchief,  in  which  an  old 
Bible  was  carefully  wrapped  up,  and  leaning 
on  the  fence,  marking  his  words  with  a  cer- 
tain emphatic  motion  of  his  right  hand; 
"  here  is  Solomon,  mum.  Well,  he  wam't  no 
great  shakes,  not  he.  How  many  wives  had 
he  ?  Three  hundred.  Yes,  mum,  three  hun- 
dred, and  seven  hundred  other  sort.  He 
wam't  a  man  after  Grod's  own  heart,  like 
David.  No,  mum,  no ;  there  was  a  deal  o' 
difference  between  'em.  And  what  was  it  as 
led  Solomon's  heart  astray?  Aye,  mum — 
what  was  it?  Why  it  was  the  woman-folk ! 
Ah,  yesi  Uie  woman-folk,  it  was.  Yes,  mum, 
yes — the  woman-folk.  He  wam't  a  man  as 
temptation  couldn't  reach.  He  were  easv 
bagged  on.    No  great  shakes,  mum — ^no,  no." 

I  had  heard  that  old  Dale  was  not  at  all  under 
female  mle — being,  indeed,  rather  addicted  to 
beating  bis  wife  on  Sundays  and  other  holi- 
days, by  way  of  agreeable  recreation  to  all 
parties — so  I  was  not  surprised  by  his  scorn 
of  Solomon,  though  I  confess  he  took  a  view 
of  the  subject  which  had  never  occurred  to 
me  before.  I  have  disputed  the  matter  two 
or  three  times  with  him,  endeavouring  to 
convince  him  of  the  advantages  consequent 
upon  following  the  example  of  Solomon's  com- 
plaisance to  If^es  (so  far  as  not  beating  them 
goes),  but  I  fear  without  much  effect.  Never- 
theless he  looks  quite  romantic,  leaning 
on  a  sheep-fold  in  the  midst  of  his  fiock, 
conning  his  Bible  :  with  the  near  horizon 
behind  him  and  the  darkening  sky  above, 
across  which  black  and  stormy  clouds  are 
sailing. 

The  gaieties  of  our  very  little  town  are  usu- 
ally of  a  very  simple  kind— being  merely  small 
tea  parties,  the  principal  amusement  of  which 
consists  in  eating  and  drinking.  The  fashion- 
half  his  days  and  nights  out  of  ioon,  gazingj  able  dinner  hour  is  five — so  that  we  take 


tea  at  seven,  and,  if  we  are  careful  to  be  a 
long  while  over  It,  as  soon  as  we  have  finished, 
it  is  time  for  refreshments ;  and  then,  before 
we  walk  home,  of  course  we  must  take  some- 
thing strengthening  and  comfortable  in  the 
way  of  supper.  This  being  the  usual  state  of 
affairs,  it  may  easily  be  imagined  what  great 
and  delightful  excitement  was  produced  the 
other  morning  by  the  appearance  of  a  long 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coadneted  by 


printed  bill  on  all  the  genteelest  breakfast 
tables  in  the  place,  announcing,  in  the  veiy 
largest  and  blackest  capitals,  that  a  Mr. 
Dulby  would  that  evening  deliver,  in  the  na- 
tional schoolroom,  by  leave  of  the  Reverend 
John  Uoldenough  (our  rector),  a  lecture  on 
astronomy  and  on  ecclesiastical  architecture; 
and  also  exhibit  dissolving  views  of  an  im- 
mense and  choice  variety  of  objects.  No 
event  of  equal  importance  had  occurred  for  at 
least  two  years,  and  the  sensation  was  conse- 
quently tremendous.  Our  establishment  (one 
maid)  came  up  in  a  body,  and  asked  leave — 
with  humble  words,  but  a  very  resolute  ap- 
pearance— to  go  to  the  show ;  and,  in  half  an 
hour  more,  all  out  most  particular  friends 
were  ga^ered  around  us,  discussing  the  pro- 
priety of  granting  this  request,  and  of  our- 
selves joining  in  such  an  unusual  piece  of 
dissipation.  At  last,  it  was  agreed  that  we 
should  go  at  once  to  the  school-house  and 
make  inquiries  of  Mr.  Long  the  master  ;  and 
that,  if  we  found  it  was  to  be  all  quite  correct 
and.  proper,  we  should  engage  good  places  for 
ourselves  and  servants. 

We  found  Mr.  Long  full  of  bustling  im- 
portance on  the  occasion—quite  ready  to  an- 
swer, and,  indeed,  expecting  inquiries  about 
24r.  Dulby.  He  said  that  Lady  Harrow  had 
graciously  been  pleased  to  notify  her  intention 
of  honouring  the  evening's  entertainment  with 
her  presence,  and  that  many  other  persons  of 
less  dignity  had  followed  her  ladyship's  ex- 
ample ;  also,  that  reserved  seats  must  be 
paid  for  at  the  rate  of  one  shilling  each,  but 
that  the  others  were  to  be  had  for  six  pence. 
We  were  also  Informed  that  Mr.  Dulby  was 
actually  to  use  the  room  rent  free,  on  Qondl- 
tion  of  his  admitting  twelve  of  the  eldest 
school  children  without  payment  This  ap- 
peared to  me  rather  an  Irish  way  of  paying 
no  rent,  but  I  was  instantly  put  down  by  the 
rest  of  the  party,  who  were  loud  in  their 
admiration  of  tnls  liberal  arrangement,  for 
which  they  hoped  poor  Mr.  Dulby  would  be 
eternally  grateful.  The  report  we  took  home 
to  my  aunt(a  maiden  lady  of  strict  principles), 
was  so  satisfactory  that  she  rang  for  Luc]r,and, 
in  a  solemn  address,  gave  her  full  permission 
to  go  to  Mr.  Dulby 's  improving  entertain- 
ment, warning  her,  however,  against  the 
dangers  of  late  hours  and  dissipated  acquaint- 
ances, and  hinting  mysteriously  at  the 
thorough  knowledge  she  would  have  of  all 
her  proceedings,  although  she  herself  would 
not  be  present.  The  fact  is,  we  are  rather 
afraid  Lucy  has  a  lover,  and  as  it  would  be 
impossible  to  imagine  what  would  become  of 
us  if  she  were  to  leave  us,  we  are  very  care- 
Ail  to  prevent  interviews.  My  aunt  has 
brought  up  Lucy  on  purpose  for  herself,  and 
she  knows  all  our  ways — understands  curling 
my  aunt's  wigs,  and  never  talks  about  them 
in  the  village — and  submits  to  our  suinptuary 
laws  against  flounces  and  artificial  flowers. 
She  is,  unfortunately,  a  good-looking  girl, 
very  neat  and  pleasant  in  her  general  appear- 


ance, and  possessed  of  a  natural  talent  for 
being  fallen  in  love  with,  which  she  cnltivates 
with  extraordinary  industry ;  and  she  never 
omits  an  opportunity  of  making  herself  agree- 
able In  conversation  to  the  other  sex.  Not 
that  she  is  silent  with  us,  however,  for  Fhe 
has  always  a  great  deal  of  interesting  matter 
to  talk  about  Every  morning  when  she 
comes  into  my  room,  as  the  clock  strikes  six 
in  summer  and  seven  in  winter,  I  know 
whether  there  is  any  news  going  about, 
for  whenever  that  is  the  case,  she  makes 
rather  more  clatter  with  the  blinds  and 
the  crockery  than  is  quite  indispensable, 
in  order  to  attract  my  attention  and-  induce 
me  to  speak  (she  being  far  too  respectful  to 
begin  a  conversation  herself)*  and,  as  I  under- 
stand the  signal  udw,  I  say  quite  naturally, 
whenever  the  jugs  and  basins  knock  together 
more  than  usual,  **  Well,  Lucy,  what  is  it?"- 
Then  comes  the  exciting  Intelligence :  "Oh! 
ma'am,  Mrs.  Hore  have  got  another  little  boy 
at  five  this  morning,  and  I  see  all  the  clothes 
in  the  tub  at  ten  last  night ;  "  or  else,  *'  If  yoa 
please,  miss,  farmer  Lane's  fatted  turkey's 
fell  off*  its  roost  in  a  fit :  "  or  "  Mr.  Tomkins's 
dun  cow,  ma'am,  her  with  the  white  face,  have 
got  a  calf— such  a  pretty  little  dear,  with  the 
longest  legs  ever  you  see."  In  i^ort,  before 
I  am  up,  I  know  everything  of  importance 
that  has  occurred  since  yesterday.  On 
Sundays,  Lucy  adorns  herself  as  gorge- 
ously as  she  can  without  breaking  the 
law  already  mentioned  against  flowers  and 
flounces.  She  puts  on  a  ^ess  of  some  mate- 
rial bearing  a  strong  resemblance  to  silk : 
also  a  cap  of  decidedly  townified  and 
pert  appearance.  It  is  generally  made 
of  lace,  is  much  cut  away  at  the  ears,  and 
sticks  up  a  little  behind,  where  it  is  embel- 
lished with  a  bow  of  some  smart  coloured 
ribbon — once,  I  grieve  to  say,  it  was  yellow ! 
I  am  much  afraid  she  has  a  strong  taste  for 
the  vanities  of  fashion,  for  sometimes,  when  I 
have  gone  up  to  bed  earlier  than  usual,  aud 
have  caught  her  bringing  up  my  hot  water, 
or  brushing  my  aunt's  night  wig,  I  have 
fancied  that  I  perceived  actually  a  polka  on 
her  shoulders,  and  a  beautifhl  diamond 
brooch  made  of  glass  (really  very  like  real 
stones,  only  prettier),  under  her  chin.  At 
such  times  she  glides  away  with  remarkable 
celerity,  and  when  she  reappears  these  vani- 
ties are  no  longer  to  be  seen.  I  suspect, 
therefore,  that  sne  dresses  more  finely  for 
kitchen  company  than  for  ours.  Certainly 
the  polka  and  the  brooch  must  be  levelled  at 
somebody,  and  when  we  have  been  coming 
home  fy*om  church  we  have  sometimes  seen 
her  standing  in  a  pensive  attitude  at  the 
comer  of  the  road  by  our  house,  with  a 
gentleman  in  groom's  livery  at  her  side — he 
evidently  pretending  to  be  devoted,  and 
looking  extremely  smitten.  But  the  door  Is 
close  by,  so  this  vision  soon  disappears.  I 
have  asked  Lucy,  in  the  most  innocent  man- 
ner I  can  devise,  who  the  man  is — but  she 


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ClMrlMlNckcaa.3 


STARVATION  OF  AN  ALDERMAN. 


21S 


gives  me  onlj  the  rather  vague  information 
that  he  is  somebody  she  knows.  I  do  my 
best  to  saye  her,  and  to  persuade  her  to  be 
an  old  maid  like  my  aunt,  wno  often  harangues 
her  on  the  advantages  of  single  blessedness, 
and,  indeed,  takes  advantage  of  every  oppoi^ 
tunity  to  warn  her  against  the  well-known 
miseries  of  marriage  and  deceitfulness  of  men : 
but  Lucy  only  laughs  and  says,  *'  yes,  miss,' 
and  *'  certainly,  miss ;"  and  once  she  said 
'<  she  did  not  think  all  men  could  be  so  very 
hopstreperous,'^  which  I  am  afraid  is  a  bad 
sign.  It  was  not,  therefore,  without  anxiety 
that  we  sent  her,  although  under  proper 
chaperonage,  to  the  evening*B  lecture. 

No  one,  who  walked  through  our  very  little 
town  that  evening,  had  ever  before  seen  it  in 
such  a  disturbed  condition.  Mr.  Eling,  the 
batcher  and  shoemaker,  had  put  two  candles 
in  his  window,  and  Miss  Pink,  the  bonnet 
and  apple-shop— our  Howell  and  James — the 
same.  We  overtook  a  crowd  of  four  people 
and  no  less  than  one  spring-van  from  Ryton, 
our  post-town ;  and  in  the  school-room  we 
found  every  seat,  except  those  reserved  for 
ourselves,  occupied.  The  children  and  the 
Ryton  shopkeepers  and  nursery-gardeners 
were  ranged  on  benches ;  and  in  front  of 
them  were  the  village  gentry,  seated  on 
chairs  more  or  less  provided  with  backs  and 
weak  in  the  legs.  There  was  something 
quite  awful  in  the  artificially-produced  dark- 
ness of  the  room,  and  the  subdued  murmur 
of  whispered  conversation,  and  the  certainty 
that  Lad^  Harrow  and  her  party  were  sitting 
in  all  their  grandeur  somewhere  in  the  gloom. 
A  large  sheet  was  stretched  across  the 
further  end  of  the  room,  from  floor  to  ceiling, 
bearing  decorations  of  honour  for  long  service, 
in  the  shape  of  every  variety  of  dam  ;.  and 
on  this  Mr.  Long  directed  us  to  fix  our  ex- 
pectant gaze.  Just  as  we  were  beginning  to 
grow  a  little  tired  of  that  amusement,  we 
heard  a  faint  clapping  of  hands  from  the 
back  benches,  and  on  looking  again  more 
attentively  at  the  sheet,  we  perceived  a  pale 
shadow  upon  it,  whiph  Mr.  Dulby  was  kind 
enough  to  tell  us  was  intended  to  represent 
the  earth,  adding  the  information  that  its  shape 
is  circular.  He  then  proceeded  to  prove  this 
assertion,  which  he  did  in  such  an  ingenious 
way  as  made  me  feel  more  than  doubtful  whe- 
ther the  earth  really  is  round  after  all ;  indeed, 
when  he  ceased  speaking,  my  impression  was 
that  the  earth  is  certainly  square.  Then 
came  the  moon,  which  Mr.  Dulbv  said  he  had 
every  reason  to  believe  was  inhabited  ;  and 
tbcn^  appeared  the  sun,  with  the  planets 
circling  round  it  in  a  rather  unsteady  manner 
— like  a  ^ host  on  the  stage  or  a  lame  person  in 
private  life.  Hereupon,  Mr.  Dulby  requested 
us  to  observe  the  skill  with  which  those 
heavenly  bodies  avoid  knocking  their  heads 
together,  observing  in  this  reject,  he  said,  a 
sort  of  "  courtly  a  ticket" — probably  mean- 
ing etiquette.  This  allusion  to  high  life  was 
received  with  great  favour;  a  murmur  of 


applause  arose.  Then  came  the  ecclesiastical 
architecture,  in  the  shape  of  a  very  faint 
vanishing  view  of  the  temple  of  Jerusalem  ; 
and  this  ended  the  business  part  of  the  show. 
Then  we  saw  visions  of  old  gentlemen  with 
red  noses,  having  their  gouty  toes  trodden  on 
by  their  worthless  grandchildren,  and  others 
supposed  to  be  comical  figures,  which  called 
fortn  bursts  of  laughter  from  the  younger 
part  of  the  audience.  At  this  vulgar  stage 
of  the  proceedings,  the  occupants  of  the 
chairs  arose  and  prepared  to  depart.  Only 
those  people  who  were  indifferent  to  ]^ublio 
opinion  remained  after  that  We  were  not  of 
the  number,  and  so  came  away  at  once. 
Lucy  was  thus  left  to  her  own  de- 
vices ;  and  as  I  quitted  the  room  I  thought 
I  saw  a  gold  hat-band  close  to  her  bonnet, 
glimmering  in  the  light  of  the  two  tallow 
candles  Mr Xong  had  lighted  for  the  accommo- 
dation of  Lady  Harrow.  My  aunt  was  very 
nervous,  and  stood  in  the  passage  with  her 
watch  in  her  hand  until  Lucy  came  in,  and  I 
am  almost  sure  I  saw  another  shadow  besides 
that  of  her  chaperon  gliding  away  from  our 
door  when  I  closed  it.  I  am  afraid  It  was  in- 
judicious to  let  her  eo.  I  do  hope  we  may  not 
soon  be  obliged  to  look  out  for  a  new  maid — 
and  yet  I  fear.  However,  Lucy  waited  upon 
us  very  colleptedly  and  with  an  unconscious 
face  that  same  evening  at  tea  (for  we  gave  a 
party  in  honour  of  the  occasion),  so  perhaps 
it  is  only  a  false  alarm,  after  all.  That  party 
brought  forth  some  very  important  results. 
Mr.  Tomkins  and  Mr.  Carter,  finding  that  the 
lecture  had  started  a  new  subject  of  conver- 
sation, and  that  their  dispute  was  no  longer 
an  object  of  interest  and  attention,  mi^e 
themselves  remarkable  in  another  way  by 
shaking  hands  and  swearing  eternal  friend- 
ship over  our  hot  supper ;  and  Miss  Brooks 
and  my  aunt  shed  a  few  tears  of  reconcilia- 
tion privately  in  a  corner,  where  Miss  Brooks 
was  putting  on  a  shawL  Mrs.  Blythe  and 
Miss  Carter  also  patched  up  a  peace(but,  I  fear, 
a  hollow  one),  on  the  canary  question  ;  and 
when  they  left,  the  whole  party  voted  my  aunt 
and  me,  dear  comfortable  creatures.  Indeed, 
Miss  Carter,  who  has  a  serious  turn,  and  is 
fond  of  a  little  something  warm  to  drink, 
began  to  talk  about  the  sinfulness  of  human 
nature ;  and,  in  short,  they  all  went  away  in 
the  highest  spirits,  declaring  that,  they  had 
never  spent  such  an  instructive  and  pleasant 
evening  in  all  their  life  before. 

STARVATION  OP  AN  ALDERMAN. 


The  following  account  of  a  tragedy  which 
is  now  filling  with  consternation  many  per- 
sons resident  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Clump- 
Lodge,  Brixton,  and  which  has  caused  despair 
among  the  friends  of  the  afflicted  parties, 
will  probably  occasion  great  distress,  and  in 
that  hope  I  request  its  publication.  The  sub- 
ject of  my  communication,  sir,  is  no  less  than 
the  starvation  of  an  alderman,  with  his  entire 


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2U 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coadoctedbj 


family,  a  calamitj  which,  I  grieve  to  add,  odIj 
one  event  can  arrest,  and  that  is  the  complete 
re-organization  of  society.  M^r  sole  hope  for 
the  attainment  of  this  tmlj  important  end 
lies,  Mr.  Condoctor,  in  the  printing  of  this 
narrative.  Permit  me,  then,  I  intreat  you,  to 
appeal  through  your  pages  to  an  awe-stricken 
universe  on  behalf  of  my  papa,  Hr.  Alderman 
Crumpet,  my  mamma,  and  myself,  Marie 
Crumpet,  the  family  in  question.  An  emi- 
nent poet  has  well  observed : 

I  do  «iitrMt  your  fnee  to  pardon  me ; 

and  goes  on  to  remark,  in  his  lovely  Midsum- 
mer Night's  Dream,  for  I  allude  here  to  the 
celebrated  Shakespeare : 

I  know  not  by  what  power  I  am  made  bold ; 

and,  yet,  I  shall  be  pardoned,  I  ieel  sure. 

More  than  two  years  have  now  elapsed, 
since  my  respected  father  suffered  from  the 
horrors;  meaning  the  upholstery  and  ap- 
pointments of  his  happ^  home,  as  wickedly 
condemned  by  the  authorities  at  Marlborough 
House.  He  suffered  alone,  and  he  himself 
described  to  you  the  nature  of  his  complaint 
at  page  two,  six,  five,  of  ^our  vol.  six.  I  will 
only  observe  here,  that  his  sufferings  were  all 
owing  to  his  having  caught  the  correct-prin- 
ciples-of-taste  at  a  place  which  he  ought  never 
to  have  visited.  Happily  ma  and  I  were  not 
infected  by  his  fever,  and  he  has  himself 
long  recovered  from  it.  But  now,  alas!  a 
much  more  serious  calamity  weighs  on  us 
all.  In  the  midst  of  abundance — we  are 
starving. 

The  circumstance  arose  in  this  way.  On' 
Tuesday  week  last,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Martin 
Frippy,  with  their  nursemaid  and  their  sweet 
babe.  Aunt  Sally  Lunn,  with  her  son  James, 
and  an  old  and  respected  member  of  our 
family,  my  grandmother  upon  mamma's  side, 
the  widow  of  T.  Cake,  Esq.,  who  was  in  her 
youth  a  favourite  toast  and  is  still  beautiful, 
were  to  dine  with  us  on  the  occasion  of  my 
reaching  the  age  of  twenty.  Some  time  be- 
fore the  day  arrived,  the  Alderman,  my  papa, 
said  to  me  one  morning : 

'•  Polly"— it  is  his  way  to  call  me  Polly— 
"  you  are  old  enough  to  be  a  cook." 

*' A  what,  pa,  dear  I"  I  said,  unable  to  sup- 
press a  little  scream. 

<'  Why,"  said  the  alderman,  with  his  usual 
jocosity,  **  now  that  jrou  have  left  the  teens 
and  got  among  the  ties,  vou'll  be  thinking 
about  knots,  and  we  shall  have  the  parson 
tying  you  to  somebody.  You'll  have  to  bless 
young  Lunn." 

"  Never  young  Lunn,"  I  said,  and  here  I  re- 
peat that  decision  publicly.  "And  how  can  /, 
pa,  whom  you  frown  at  so  cruelly  for  quoting 
the  dear  Shakespeare  and  for  displaying  such 
ornaments  as  gems  of  thought,  how  can  / 
bring  content  to  any  husband  ?  " 

<*  There  is  only  one  way,  Polly,"  said  pa, 
«  you  must  learn  to  feed  him.    Buy  a  good  J 


cookeiy  book  to-morrow,  study  it  well,  leave 
off  writing  verses,  and  be  the  author  of  your 
birthday  dinner.  We'll  tell  the  Lunns  that 
you  composed  it^  and  believe  me  you  will  get 
more  credit  for  setting  well  before  us,  your 
three  courses  of  victuals,  than  if  you  reaid  as 
thirty  cantos  of  your  verse." 

*'  But,  papa,"  I  replied,  "  how  can  you 
tell  that  when  you  have  never  heard  me  read 
my  Ship  of  Melesinda  !  " 

"  No  doubt,  Polly,  it  is  profound.  I  grant 
you  are  a  great  poet :  now  scale  another 
height,  be  a  great  cook." 

Mamma  seconded  his  entreaties,  and  I  was 
not  stubborn.  I  accepted  their  commands  as 
fate,  and  in  the  words  of  the  interesting 
Prince  of  Denmark,  answered  them  that  I 
would  nerve  myself  against  Tuesday  to  do 
my  best,  and  if  possible  produce  a  soup  ia 
particular  that  should  surprise  the  Frippys 
and  the  Lunns.    My  fate,  isaid  : 

•*  Oriee  oat. 
And  makes  each  petty  artery  in  this  body 
Am  hardy  as  the  Nemean  lion's  nenre." 

Immediately  after  breakfast,  I  addressed  a 
note  to  the  alderman,  my  pa's  bookseller, 
re<]uesting  him  to  be  so  obliging  as  to  send, 
without  delay,  the  latest  scientific  work  upon 
the  mysteries  connected  with  the  preparation 
of  food .  In  reply  to  my  note,  a  parcel  arrived 
in  the  evening  containing  an  exceedingly 
large  book  with  a  title  that  quite  made  me 
jump — "  Food  and  its  Adulterations  j  com- 

g rising  the  Reports  of  the  Analytical  Sanitary 
bmmlssion  of  the  <  Lancet,'  for  the  years 
1851  to  1854  inclusive,  revised  and  extended : 
being  records  of  the  results  of  some  thousands 
of  original  microscopical  and  chemical  ana- 
lyses of  the  Solids  and  Fluids  consumed  by 
all  Classes  of  the  Public,"  and  so  on,  by 
Arthur  Hill  Hassall,  M.D.,  Chief  Anylyst  of 
the  Commission,  and  so  on,  and  so  on.  How 
frightful  to  be  sure,  but  I  was  nerved,  as  I 
have  said  already,  and  it  did  seem  to  me  a 
proper  thins  that  the  first  application  of  a 
mind  like  mine  to  the  business  of  the  kitchen 
should  be  worthy  of  its  superior  organization. 
''Some  kinds  of  baseness,'' as  my  Shakespeare 
says,  "are  nobly  undergone,"  and  if  I  stooped 
to  the  base  things  of  the  kitchen,  I  would 
apply  the  torch  of  science  to  the  fire  of  genias 
already  laid  within  my  soul,  and  throw  a 
blaze  of  light  over  the  whole  range  of  my  neir 
department.  I  determined,  therefore,  to 
begin  with  a  chemical  and  microscopical  com- 
prehension of  the  solids  and  fluids  consumed 
by  all  classes  of  society,  and  read  till  I  grew 
haffgard  over  Dr.  Hassall's  book.  I  went  to 
bed  a  miserable  girl. 

**  Papa,"  said  I  next  morning,  at  breakfast, 
when  I  had  handed  his  cup  to  the  alderman ; 
"  is  your  tea  endurable  ? " 

"Agreeable  you  mean,  child." 

"No,"  I  said,  "I  shall  never  ask  that 
question  again.    Mixed  tea  it  is,  and  what 


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STARVATION  OF  AN  ALDERMAN. 


215 


is  it  a  mixture  of?  Ezhaasted  tea  leayes, 
leaves  other  than  those  of  tea,  beech,  elm, 
sycamore,  horse  chestnut,  plane,  plum,  fancy 
oak,  willow,  poplar,  hawthorn,  and  sloe,  lie 
tea,  paddy  hush,  Datch  pink,  rose  pink,  indi- 
go, Prosslan  blue,  mineral  green,  turmeric, 
logwood,  Chinese  yellow,  verdigris,  arsenite 
of  copper,  chromate  and  bichromate  of  pot- 
ash, gypsum,  mica,  magnesia" — 

"  My  child,  my  child ! "  the  alderman  ex- 
claimed. 

I  went  on  hysterically,  "  black  lead" — my 
mother  laid  her  cup  down — "  China  clay  or 
kaolin,  soapstone  or  French  chalk,  catechu  or 
Japan  earth,  gum,  sulphate  of  iron.  And, 
oh !  the  commonest  of  all  adulterations  are 
with  catechu,  a  dangerous  astringent,  to  give 
a  roughness  that  is  like  strength  to  the  taste, 
and  with  sulphate  of  iron,  green  vitriol- 
poisonous  stuff  that  acts  upon  a  solution  of 
tea  chemicallj,  blackens  it,  and  fives  a  sem- 
blance of  strength  to  the  eye.  It's  catechu 
they  put  in  tea-improvers  that  poor  women 
buy,  and  a  great  deal  of  the  tea  is  so 
doctored  in  China  that  an  attempt  has  been 
made  to  import  some  of  it  as  manufactured 
goods,  and  though  the  tea-dealers  in  this 
country  are  pretty  honest — oh  I  please  how 
are  we  to  know,  when  we  haven't  got  a  la- 
boratory and  a  microscope,  whether  we  drink 
tea  or  black  lead  and  catechu  for  break- 
fast? " 

"Make  me  some  coffee, Polly ;  make  it  this 
minute  I " 

"Oh,  pal"  I  said,  "you  mean  chicory, 
which  is  a  sort  of  dandelions.  You  know, 
papa,  you  sent  away  the  coffee-mill,  because 
it  ground  your  sleep  out  of  you  every  morn- 
ing, and  there's  no  faith  in  ground  coffee ; 
no,  there  is  none,  indeed,  in  spite  of  orders 
of  the  government  Just  turn  to  Dr.  Has- 
salPs  book,  look  here,  papa.  Sample  of 
'finest  Turkey  coffee' — 'much  chicory  and 
Bome  roasted  corn,  very  little  coffee.'  Would 
you,  as  an  alderman,  condescend  to  breakfast 
ujpon  com  and  dandelions?  Look  at  the  'deli- 
cious lamily  coffee '—*  one-fourth  coffee, 
three-fourths  chicory.'  Look  at  the  *  coffee 
as  in  France' — 'principally  chicory.'  Since  the 
government  order  which  relates  to  the  adul- 
teration with  chicory,  coffee  has  been  tested 
hy  the  *  Lancet '  commifisioners,  purchased  as 
coffee  in  forty-two  shops,  and  found  to  be 
I  partly  chicory,  sometimes  nearly  all  chicory, 
with,  now  and  then,  corn  or  mangold  wurzel, 
in  no  less  than  thirty-one  instances.  As  for 
canister  coffees,  out  of  twenty-nine  samples 
purchased  indiscriminately,  twenty-eight 
were  adulterated,  chicory  forming,  in  many 
JMtances,  the  chief  part  of  the  article. 
There  is  no  faith  in  man.  Let  me  read  this 
to  you,  papa,  which  is  said  of  a  sample  pur- 
chased at  a  shop  in  one  of  the  great  thorough- 
fares of  London  :  I  could  show  you  more  of 
the  sort.  The  following  is  a  copy  of  a  writ- 
ten placard,  of  gigantic  proportions,  placed 
near  the  shop  door  : — 


GENUINE  COFFEE. 

NO  ADULTERATION. 

We  coDcdTe  that  it  if  our  datj  to  caution  our 
friends  and  the  public  ag&inst  the  present  unjust  and 
iniquitous  srstem  pursued  by  manf  grocers  in  adul- 
terating their  colTee  with 

Roasted  beans, 
Doff-biscuit, 
Chicorj,  and  tan. 

Our  adxice  to  purchasers  of  coffee  is,  to  bnj  it  in  the 
berry,  and  grind  it  yourselves;  if  you  cannot  do  this, 
purchase  It  of  respectable  men  only ;  pay  a  fair  and 
honourable  price  for  it ;  you  may  then  depend  upon  a 
GOOD  and  obmulnb  article. 

'<Now  see  what  is  the  comment  of  the 
analyst  upon  this  article— 'Adulterated : 
with  a  very  large  quantity  of  chicory.' 

'*  That  man's  fair  and  honourable  price  was 
sixteen  pence  for  a  mixture  of  less  value  than 
that  which  another  tea-dealer  can  afford  to 
label.  Mixture  of  Chicory  and  Coffee,  and  to 
sell  for  eightpence.'' 

'*But,"  said  the  alderman,  "chicory  is 
harmless  stuff." 

'*  Ah,  no,  papa.  I  used  to  think  so ;  but 
Dr.  Hassall  says  certainly  not  He  says  that 
he  has  made  experiments,  and  finds  a  break- 
fast of  pure  chicory  infusion  to  produce 
drowsiness  and  weight  at  the  stomach  ;  com- 
monly headache,  sometimes  diarrhcea.  When 
mixed  with  coffee  to  the  extent  common  in 
sho^,  it  frequently  produces  diarrhoea.  He 
attributes  to  the  increased  use  of  it  the 
increased  frequency  of  a  distressing  internal 
disorder,  and  he  says  that  Professor  Beer,  of 
Vienna,  on  account  of  its  effect  upon  the 
nervous  system,  includes  chicory  among  the 
causes  of  amaurotic  blindness.  Furthermore, 
chicory  was  in  eleven  cases  out  of  two-and- 
twenty  not  to  be  had  pure.  They  adulterate 
even  that  with  carrot,  mangold  wurzel,  roast- 
ed wheat,  and  sawdust" 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Mary,"  said  mamma 
— "  we  will  in  future  have  cocoa  for  break- 
fast" 

"  My  dear  mamma,  out  of  fifty-six  samples 
of  cocoa  bought  indiscriminately  in  various 
parts  of  London,  only  eight  were  genuine." 

My  papa's  countenance  had  by  this  time 
begun  to  assume  an  expression  of  desponden- 
cy. "  After  all,"  he  said  at  last,  **  one  cannot 
die  of  thirst  while  there  is  water  in  the  cis- 
tern." 

"  But,  if  you  please,  papa,  just  look  at 
these  pictures.  That's  a  drop  of  New  River 
water  as  seen  under  the  microscope,  full  of 
nasty  long  sticks,  lobsters,  and  shaving- 
brushes  :  that's  a  drop  of  the  Lambeth  Com- 
pany's water,  with  an  immense  maggot  in 
the  middle :  that's  the  Southwark  and  Vanx- 
hall,  full  of  animals  all  spikes,  like  suns 
revolving  round  each  other,  a  fat  shrimp 
with  a  prickly  tail,  leeches,  caterpillars, 
shaving-brui^hes,  and  cigars :  that's  the  Grand 
Junction,  full  of  things  like  bell-ropes,  and  a 
five  legs,  and  a  horrible  long  snake  :  that's 
the  Hampstead  Company's  water,  full  of  the 


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216 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


most  frightful  water  monsters,  each  with 
eight  claws  to  a  toe.  Oh,  papa,  don't  these 
beings  make  yon  think  about 

•  Th«  pftinAil  &milj  of  Death, 
More  hideoas  than  their  qoeen : 

This  rmckB  the  joints,  this  ares  the  reins, 
That  •rerj  laboaring  sinew  strains, 

Those  in  the  deeper  ritals  i 


"  Child,"  said  mr  father,  "  say  no  more. 
Hand  me  the  bread." 

V  Bread ! "  I  cried.  "  Ha !  ha  I  A  bake- 
ment  of  aluminised  paste !  " 

**  Then  let  ns  breakfast  on  the  anchovies !" 

"Anchovies!  How  many  of  these  things 
are  anchovies!  Dutch,  French,  Sicilian 
fish,  anchovies  or  no  anchovies,  all  of  them 
poisoned  with  paint— coloured  with  bole 
Armenian  and  Venetian  red.  You  have  bole 
Armenian  in  potted  beef,  in  potted  shrimps,  in 
potted  bloaters.  Out  of  twenty-eight  samples 
of  potted  meat  and  fish  examined,  twenty- 
three  were  befouled  with  this  red  earth.  Of 
the  anchovies  sold  in  shape  of  fish  not  more 
than  a  third  are  really  anchovies.  Anchovy 
sauce  and  almost  all  other  red  fish  sauces  are 
saturated  with  bole  Armenian  —  drenched 
with  it  even  more  completely  than  the  potted 
meats.  Five  samples  of  India  soy  were 
examined,  and  they  were  all  full  of  treacle 
and  salt.  In  a  famous  fish  sauce  was  found 
much  oxalate  of  lime  and  charred  deal. 
That  brings  me  to  the  birthday  dinner,  papa. 
I  do  not  see  how  we  can  have  any  fish.  It  is 
insipid  by  itself,  and  sauce,  you  see,  is  quite 
out  of  the  question." 

"No,"  said  papa,  who  was  getting  more 
and  more  dejected.    •*  No  fish." 

"And  I  have  been  thinking  too,  papa,  about 
the  soup ;  because  if  they  poison  the  cayenne 
pepper " 

"Poison — cayenne  ! " 

"  0,  yes,  indeed  they  do,  with  brickdust 
and  deal  sawdust,  turmeric,  vermilion,  and 
red-lead.  Out  of  twenty-eight  samples  tested, 
only  four  were  genuine ;  most  of  the  others 
contained  poisonous  proportions  of  either 
red-lead  or  vermilion." 

"  Soup  is  impossible." 

"  Then  I  thought,  papa,  of  cnrry — but  of 
curry-powders,  only  seven  in  six  and  twenty 
were  found  genuine,  and  this  world  is  so  very 
wicked  that  although  the  *  Lancet '  published 
the  names  of  the  people  who  sold  genuine 
things,  how  can  I  tell  which  of  them  will  go 
straightway,  and  adulterate  upon  the  strength 
of  their  good  character.  How  can  I — auer 
reading  such  a  revelation  as  this  is — have 
any  faith  in  any  person  who  sells  eatables ! 
O  dear  10  dear  l" 


"  Child,"  said  papa,  "  starvation  stares  us 
in  the  face.    Ring  for  cold  meat  directly." 

"  Oh,  sir,  you  never  will  be  so  bold.  You 
know  yon  cannot  eat  cold  meat  except  with 
pickle." 

"  Well  There  is  pickle  in  the  boose  I 
hope." 

"  A  dreadfhl  poison,  copper — ^more  or  less 
of  it — has  been  found  in  every  bottle  of  pickle 
that  has  been  examined.  They  use  it  to 
make  pickles  green.  Besides  that,  in  nine- 
teen out  of  twenty  cases  there  is  oil  of  vitriol 
in  the  vinegar." 

"  Amen  to  cold  meat,"  said  poor  mamma. 

"  We've  preserves  in  the  house  and  bottled 
fhiits — ^whfch  is  all  one  can  have  at  this  time 
of  the  year. — but  I  dare  not  make  them  into 
pies  and  puddings,  because  they  are  drugged 
with  copper,  too." 

We  ate  no  more  breakfast,  and  papa  spent 
the  whole  morning  with  me  studying  in  Dr. 
Hassairs  book.  We  decided  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  go  on  taking  our  meals,  and  that 
our  dinner-party  must  be  put  oflf  until  I  had 
had  time  to  reconstitute  society  and  make  the 
dealers  in  food  honest,  as  I  hope  they  will 
become,  when  they  have  heard  how  dreadful- 
ly we  sufi^.  I  really  think  that  if  the 
public  health  is  cared  about  by  anybody, 
I  somebody  will  establish  something  that  diall 
I  be  a  check  upon  all  poisoners  of  victuals,  and 
'  make  it  as  necessary  in  law  to  call  thin^  by 
I  their  honest  names  as  to  use  honest  weights 
and  measures.  Also  I  hope,  sir,  that  it  will 
jnot  be  long  before  ybu  make  public  this 
humble  representation,  because  we  are  starv- 
ing until  it  shall  have  performed  its  work  by 
causing  arevulslon  In  the  public  feelings.  Our 
case  is  the  more  eminently  horrible,  inasmuch 
as  when  we  had  determined  to  still  the  crav- 
ings of  hunger,  by  keeping  in  our  mouths 
"l  lozenges  and  comfits,  we  were  cut  oflf  even 
from  that  resource  by  the  discovery  that  these 
little  consolations  are  denied  us  by  the  dread 
we  must  have  of  swallowing  plaster  of  Paris, 
cochineal,  lake,  red-lead,  vermilion,  Indian- 
red,  gambouge,  lemon  orange  and  deep 
chrome  yellows,  indigo,  ferrocyanide  of  iron, 
Antwerp  blue,  artificial  ultramarine,  verditer, 
arsenlte  of  copper,  the  three  Brunswick 
greens,  brown  ferruginous  earths  as  umber, 
sienna  and  vandyke  brown,  carbonate  of  lead, 
and  white  lead. 

I     There  may  be  persons  in  tWs  country  who, 
!  being  warned  of  all  these  frauds  and  dangers, 
know  how  to  protect  themselves.    The  alder- 
man, my  pa,  mamma  and  I,  do  not  belong 
to  that  number,   and    we    believe     there 
\  are  some  others  who  don't ;  therefore  we 
!  beg  to  be  protected.    And  in  the  mean  time, 
I  while  we  beg,  let  me  repeat  that  we  are 
I  starving. 


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' FamiUar  in  (hiir  MouOa  oi  HOUSEHOLD  W0JLDJS."^9mM*uw^MB, 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
COHDirCTED   BT   CHABLE8   DICXEHS. 


No.  10.] 


J.  A.  DIX,  PUBLISHES, 

Omea.  N*.  10  Pabs  PbAO*.  Nbw-Y*bs. 


[Whole  No.  263. 


SISTER  ROSE. 

Uf  SKYSN  CHAPTBB8.— CBAPTIB  I. 

"  Well,  Monsieur  GaiUaome,  what  is  the 
news  this  evening  ?'' 

**  None  that  I  know  of,  Monsienr  Justin, 
except  that  Mademoiselle  Rose  is  to  be  mar- 
ried to-morrow." 

"  Much  obliged,  my  respectable  old  fHend, 
for  80  interesting  and  unexpected  a  reply  to 
my  question.  Considering  that  I  am  the 
valet  of  Monsieur  Danville,  who  plays  the 
distinguished  part  of  bridegroom  in  the  little 
wedding  comedy  to  which  you  refer,  I  think 
I  may  assure  you,  without  offence,  that  your 
news  is,  BO  mr  as  I  am  concerned,  of  the 
stalest  possible  kind.  Take  a  pinch  of  snuff. 
Monsieur  Guillaume,  and  excuse  me  if  I  in- 
form you  that  my  question  referred  to  public 
news,  and  not  to  the  private  aflR&brs  of  the  two 
families  whose  household  interests  we  have 
the  pleasure  of  promoting." 

"I  don't  understand  what  you  mean  by 
such  a  phrase  as  promoting  household  in- 
terests, Monsieur  Justin.  I  am  the  servant 
of  Monsieur  Louis  Trudaine,  who  lives  here 
with  his  sister,  Madeimoselle  Rose.  Yon  are 
the  servant  of  Monsieur  Danville,  whose  ex- 
cellent mother  has  made  up  the  match  for 
him  with  my  young  lady.  As  servants,  both 
of  us,  the  pleasantest  news  we  can  have  any 
concern  with  is  news  that  is  connected  with 
the  happiness  of  our  masters.  I  have  nothing 
to  do  with  public  affairs ;  and,  being  one  of 
the  old  school,  I  make  it  my  main  object  in 
life  to  mind  my  own  business.  If  our  homely 
domestic  politics  have  no  interest  for  you, 
allow  me  to  express  my  regret,  and  to  wish 
you  a  very  good  evening." 

"  Pardon  me,  mv  dear  sir,  I  have  not  the 
slightest  respect  for  the  old  school,  or  the 
least  sympathy  with  people  who  only  mind 
their  own  business.  However,  I  accept  your 
expressions  of  regret  ;•  I  reciprocate  your 
Good  evening ;  and  I  trust  to  find  you  im- 
proved in  temper,  dress,  manners,  and  appear- 
ance, the  next  time  I  have  the  honour  of 
meeting  you.  Adieu,  Monsieur  Guillaume, 
and  Vive  la  bagatelle!" 

These  scraps  of  dialogue  were  interchanged 
on  a  lovely  summer  evening,  in  the  year 
seventeen  hundred  and  eighty-nine,  before  the 
back-door  of  a  small  house  which  stood  on 

TOL.  XI. 


the  banks  of  the  Seine,  about  three  miles 
westward  of  the  city  of  Rouen.  The  one 
speaker  was  lean,  old,  crabbed,  and  slovenly ; 
the  other  was  plump,  young,  oily-mannered, 
and  dressed  in  the  most  gorgeous  livery  cos- 
tume of  the  period.  The  last  days  of  genuine 
dandyism  were  then  rapidly  approaching  all 
over  the  civilised  world ;  and  Monsienr 
Justin  was,  in  his  own  wa^,  dressed  to  per- 
fection, as  a  living  illustration  of  tiie  expiring 
glories  of  his  epoch. 

After  the  old  servant  bad  left  him,  he 
occupied  himself  for  a  few  minutes  in  con- 
templating, superciliouslv  enough,  the  back 
view  of  the  little  house  before  which  he  stood. 
Judging  by  the  windows,  it  did  not  contain 
more  than  six  or  eight  rooms  in  all.  Instead 
of  stables  and  outhouses,  there  was  a  conserv- 
atory attached  to  the  building  on  one  side, 
and  a  low  long  room,  built  of  wood  gaily 
painted,  on  the  other.  One  of  the  windows  of 
this  room  was  left  uncurtained,  and  through' 
it  could  be  seen  on  a  sort  of  dresser  inside, 
bottles  filled  with  strangely-colonred  liquids, 
oddly-shaped  utensils  of  brass  and  copper, 
one  end  of  a  large  furnace,  and  other  olgects, 
which  plainly  proclaimed  that  the  apartment 
was  used  as  a  chemical  laboratory. 

^*  Think  of  our  bride's  brother  amnsing 
himself  in  such  a  place  as  that  with  cooking 
drugs  in  saucepans,"  muttered  Monsienr 
Justin,  peeping  into  the  room.  **  I  am  the 
least  particular  man  in  the  universe ;  but,  I 
must  say,  I  wish  we  were  not  going  to  be 
connected  by  marriage  with  an  amateur 
apothecary.  Bah!  I  can  smell  the  place 
through  the  window." 

With  these  words  Monsieur  Justin  turned 
his  back  on  the  laboratory  in  disgust,  and 
sauntered  towards  the  cli&  overhanging  the 
river. 

Leaving  the  garden  attached  to  the  boose, 
he  ascended  some  gently-rising  ground  by  a 
winding  path.  Arrivea  at  the  summit,  the 
whole  view  of  the  Seine  with  its  lovelv  green 
islands,  its  banks  fringed  with  trees,  its  glid- 
ing boats,  and  the  little  scattered  water-side 
cottages,  opened  before  him.  Westward^ 
where  the  level  country  appeared  beyond  the 
further  banks  of  the  river,  the  landseape  was 
all  aglow  with  the  crimson  of  the  setting  sun. 
Eastward,  the  long  shadows  and  mellow  in- 
tervening lights,  ue  red  glory  that  qai^ered 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDa 


[Caodoctodky 


on  the  rippling  water,  the  steady  rubj-flre 
glowing  on  cottage  windows  that  reflected  the 
level  sunlight,  led  the  eye  onward  and  on- 
ward, along  the  windings  of  the  Seine,  until 
it  r^^ed  upon  the  spires,  towers,  and  broadly- 
massed  houses  of  Rouen,  with  the  wooded 
hills  rising  beyond  them  for  background. 
Lovely  to  look  on  at  any  time,  the  view  was 
almost  supematurally  beautiful  now,  under 
the  gorgeous  evening  light  that  glowed  upon 
it  All  its  attractions,  however,  were  lost  on 
the  valet :  he  stood  yawning,  with  his  hands 
In  his  pockets,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor 
to  the  left:  but  staring  straight  before  him 
at  a  little  hollow,  beyond  which  the  ground 
sloped  away  smoothlv  to  the  brink  of  the 
clifc  A  bench  was  placed  here,  and  three 
persons— an  old  lady,  a  gentleman,  and  a 
young  girl — were  seated  on  it,  watching  the 
sunset,  and  bv  conse<]|uence  turning  their 
backs  on  Monsieur  Justm.  Near  them  stood 
two  gentlemen,  also  looking  towards  the  river 
and  the  distant  view.  These  five  figures 
attracted  the  valet's  attention,  to  the  exclu- 
sion of  every  other  object  around  him. 

''  There  they  are  still,"  he  said  to  himself 
discontentedly.  <^  Madame  Danville  in  the 
same  place  on  the  seat ;  my  master,  the  bride- 

groom,  dutifully  next  to  her  ;  Mademoiselle 
ose,  the  bride,  bashfully  next  to  him ; 
Monsieur  Trudune,  the  amateur  apothecary 
brother,  affectionately  next  to  ner ;  and 
Monsieur  Lomaque,  our  queer  land-steward, 
oflBoially  in  wafting  on  the  whole  party. 
There  they  all  are  indeed,  incomprehensibly 
wasting  their  time  still  in  looking  at  notblnj^I 
Yes,"  continued  Mondeur  Justin,  lifting  his 
eyes  wearily,  and  staring  bard,  first  up  the 
river,  at  Rouen,  then  down  the  river,  at  the 
•■eiiing  sun ; "  yes,  plague  take  them,  looking 
aA  nothing,  absolutely  and  positively  at  no- 
tiiing,  all  this  while." 

Here  Monsieur  Justin  yawned  again ;  and, 
returning  to  the  ^den,  lat  himself  down  in 
an  arbour  and  resignedly  went  to  sleep. 

If  tke  valet  had  ventured  near  the  five  per- 
sons whom  he  had  been  apostrophising  from  a 
distance,  and  if  he  had  been  possessed  of  some 
little  refinement  of  observation,  he  could 
hardly  have  failed  to  remark  that  the  bride 
and  b£degroom  of  the  morrow,  and  their 
eompanions  on  either  side,  were  all,  in  a 
greater  or  less  degree,  under  the  influence  of 
some  secret  restraint,  which  affected  their 
conversationj  their  gestures,  and  even  the 
ezpressioB  w  their  faces.  Madame  Danville 
— a  handsoeie,  richly-dressed  old  lady, 
with  very  bright  eyes,  and  a  quick  suspi- 
cious manner  —  looked  composedly  and 
happily  enough,  as  long  as  her  attention 
was  fixed  on  tier  son.  Bnt  when  she  turned 
from  him  towards  the  bride,  a  hardly-percep- 
tilale  uneasiness  .passed  over  her  feice — an 
uneasiness  Which  only  deepened  to  positive 
distrust  and  4i8satisuu2tion  whenever  she 
looked  towards  Mademoiselle  Trudaine's 
brother.    In  the  sane  way,  her  son,  who  was 


all  smiles  and  happiness  while  he  was  speaking 
with  his  future  wife,  altered  visibly  in  manner 
and  look,  exactly  as  his  mother  altered,  when- 
ever the  presence  of  Monsieur  Tnidaine  spe- 
cially impressed  itself  on  his  attenticoi.  Then, 
again,  Lomaque,  the  land-steward — quiet, 
sharp,  skinny  Lomaque,  with  the  submlBBiye 
manner,  and  the  red-rimmed  eyes— never 
looked  up  at  his  master's  Aiture  brother-in- 
law,  without  looking  away  again  rather 
uneasily,  and  thouehtfhllv  drilling  holes  in 
the  grass  with  his  long  sharp-pointed  cane. 
Even  the  bride  herself,  the  pret^  innocent 
girl,  with  her  childish  shyness  of  manner, 
seemed  to  be  affected  like  the  others.  Donbt, 
if  not  distress,  overshadowed  her  face  from 
time  to  time,  aad  the  hand  which  her  lover 
held  trembled  a  little,  and  grew  restless,  when 
she  acccidentally  caught  ner  brother's  eve. 
And  yet,  strangely  enough,  there  was  nothing 
to  repel,  but,  on  the  contrary,  evervthing  to 
attract,  in  the  look  and  manner  of  the  person 
whose  mere  presence  seemed  to  exercise  such 
a  curiously  constraining  influence  over  the 
weddiuff  party.  Louis  Trudaine  was  a  re- 
markably handsome  man.  His  expression 
was  singularly  kind  and  gentle  ;  his  manner 
irresistibly  winning  in  its  fhmk,  manly  firm- 
ness and  composure.  His  words,  when  he 
occasionally  spoke,  seemed  as  unlikely  to  give 
offence  as  his  looks ;  for  he  only  opened  his 
lips  in  courteous  reply  to  questions  directly 
addressed  to  him.  Judgin|f  by  a  latent 
moumfUlness  in  the  tones  of  his  voice,  and  by 
the  sorrowful  tenderness  which  clouded  his 
kind  earnest  eyes  whenever  they  rested  on 
his  sister,  his  thoughts  were  certainly  not  of 
the  happy  or  the  hopeful  kind.  But  he  gave 
them  no  direct  expression ;  he  intruded  his 
secret  sadness,  whatever  it  might  be,  on  no 
one  of  his  companions.  Neverthel.ess,  modest 
and  self-restrained  as  he  was,  there  was  evi- 
dently some  reproving  or  saddening  influence 
in  his  presence  which  affected  the  spirits  of 
every  one  near  him,  and  darkened  Uie  eve 
of  the  wedding  to  biide  and  bridegroom 
alike. 

As  the  sun  slowly  sank  in  the  heaven^  the 
conversation  flagged  more  and  more.  After 
a  long  silence  the  bridegroom  was  the  first  to 
start  a  new  subject. 

"  Rose,  love,"  he  said,  "  that  magnificent 
sunset  is  a  good  omen  for  our  marriage,  it 
promises  another  lovely  day  to-morrow.^' 

The  bride  laughed  and  blushed. 

"  Doyou  really  believe  in  omens,  Charles T" 
she  said. 

"  My  dear,"  interposed  the  old  lady,  before 
her  son  could  answer ;  '*  if  Charles  does  be- 
lieve in  omens,  it  is  nothing  to  laugh  at  Ton 
will  soon  know  better,  when  you  are  his  wife, 
than  to  confound  him,  even  in  the  slightest 
things,  with  the  common  herd  of  people.  All 
his  convictions  are  well-founded— so  well.that 
if  I  thought  he  really  did  believe  in  omens,  I 
should  most  assuredly  make  up  my  mind  to 
believe  in  them  too." 


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SISTER  ROSE. 


219 


<*  I  beg  Toar  pardon,  madame,"  Rose  began 
trenialoasly ;  "  I  only  meant — *' 

"iij  dear  child,  have  yon  so  little  know- 
ledge of  the  world  as  to  suppose  that  I  could 
be  offended—" 

**  Let  Rose  speak,"  said  the  joun^  man.  He 
tamed  round  petulantly,  almost  with  the  air 
of  a  spoilt  child,  to  his  mother,  as  be  said 
those  words.  She  had  been  looking  fondly 
and  prondly  on  him  the  moment  before.  Now 
lier  eyes  wandered  disconcertedly  fW>m  his 
face ;  she  hesitated  an  instant  with  a  sadden 
confusion  which  seemed  quite  foreign  to  her 
character,  then  whispered  in  his  ear  : 

"  Am  I  to  blame,  Charles,  for  trying  to 
make  her  worthy  of  you  t " 

Her  son  took  no  notice  of  the  question.  He 
only  reiterated  sharply,—"  Let  Rose  speak." 

"  I  really  had  nothing  to  say,"  faltered  the 
young  girl,  growing  more  and  more  confused. 

•*0h,  but  you  had!" 

There  was  each  an  nngraoioos  sharpness  in 
his  voice,  such  an  outboret  of  petulance  in  his 
manner,  as  he  spoke,  that  his  mother  gave 
him  a  warning  touch  on  the  arm,  and  whim- 
pered "Hush  P' 

Monsieur  Lomaque,  the  land-steward,  and 
Monsieur  Tradaine,  the  brother,  both  glanced 
searchingly  at  the  bride,  as  the  words  passed 
the  bridegroom's  lips.  She  seemed  to  be 
frightened  and  astonished,  rather  than  irri- 
tated or  hurt.  A  curious  smile  puckered  up 
Lomaque's  lean  face,  as  he  looked  demurely 
down  on  the  ground,  and  began  drilling  a 
fresh  hole  in  the  turf  with  the  sharp  point  of 
his  cane.  Tnidaine  turned  aside  quickly, 
and.  sighing,  walked  away  a  few  paces :  then 
came  back,  and  seemed  about  to  speak,  but 
Danville  interrupted  him. 

"  Pardon  me,  Rose,"  he  said ;  '^  I  am  so 
jeaious  of  even  the  appearance  of  any  want 
of  attention  towards  you,  that  I  was  nearly 
allowing  myself  to  be  irritated  about  nothing." 

He  kissed  her  hand  very  gracefully  and  ten- 
derly as  he  made  his  excuse ;  but  there  was  a 
latent  expression  in  his  eye  which  was  at 
variance  with  the  apparent  spirit  of  his 
action.  It  was  noticed  by  nobody  but  observ- 
ant and  submissive  Monsieur  Lomaque,  who 
smiled  to  himself  again,  and  drilled  harder 
than  ever  at  his  hole  in  the  grass. 

'*  I  think  Monsieur  Trudaine  was  about  to 
speak,"  said  Madame  Danville.  "  Perhaps  he 
will  have  no  objection  to  let  us  hear  what  he 
was  going  to  say." 

'*  None,  madame,"replied  Tmdalne  politely. 
"  I  was  about  to  take  npon  myself  the  blame 
of  Rose's  want  of  re^>ect  for  believers  in 
omens,  by  confessing  that  I  have  always  en- 
couraged her  to  laugh  at  superstitions  of 
every  kind." 

"Ton  a  ridiculer  of  superstitions,"  said 
Danville,  turning  quickly  on  hluL  "  You  who 
have  built  a  laboratory;  you  who  are  an 
amateur  professor  of  the  occult  arts  of  chem- 
istry, a  seeker  after  the  Elixir  of  Life.  On 
my  word  of  honour,  you  astonish  me  1 " 


There  was  an  Ironical  politeness  in  his  voice, 
look,  and  manner,  as  he  said  this,  which  his 
mother  and  his  land-steward,  Monsieur  Lo- 
maque, evidently  knew  how  to  interpret  The 
first  touched  his  arm  again,aud  whispered  '*  Be 
careful ! "  the  second  suddenly  grew  serious, 
and  left  off  drilling  his  hole  in  the  grass.  Rose 
neither  heard  the  warning  of  Madame  Dan- 
ville, nor  noticed  the  alteration  in  Lomaque. 
She  was  looking  round  at  her  brother,  and 
was  waiting  with  a  bright  aflfectlonate  smile 
to  hear  his  answer.  He  nodded,  as  if  to  re- 
assure her,  before  he  spoke  again  to  Danville. 

''You  have  rather  romantic  ideas  about 
experiments  in  chemistry,"  he  said  quietly. 
"Mine  have  so  little  connection  with  what 
you  call  the  occult  arts,  that  all  the  world 
might  see  them,  if  all  the  world  thought  it 
worth  while.  The  only  Elixirs  of  Life  that  I 
know  of,  are  a  quiet  heart  and  a  contented 
mind.  Both  those  I  found,  years  and  years 
ago,  when  Rose  and  I  first  came  to  live  to- 
gether in  the  house  yonder." 

He  spoke  with  a  quiet  sadness  in  his  voice, 
which  meant  far  more  to  his  sister  than  the 
simple  words  he  uttered.  Her  eyes  filled 
with  tears  :  she  turned  for  a  moment  from 
her  lover,  and  took  her  brother's  hand. 
<•  Don't  talk,  Louis,  as  if  yon  thought  yoa 

were  going  to  lose  your  sister,  because " 

Her  lip  began  to  tremble,  and  die  stopped 
suddenly. 

"  More  jealons  than  ever  of  your  taking 
her  away  from  him  1 "  whispered  Madame 
Danville  in  her  son's  ear.  "  Hush !  don't,  for 
God's  sake,  take  any  ftotice  of  it,"  she  added 
hurriedly,  as  he  rose  from  the  seat,  and  faced 
Trudaine  with  nndisg^uised  Irritation  and  Im- 
patience in  his  manner.  Before  he  could 
speak,  the  old  servant,  Guillaume,  made  his 
appeMimce,  and  announced  that  coffee  was 
ready.  Madame  Danville  again  said  ''Hush!" 
and  quickly  took  one  of  his  arms,  while  he 
offered  the  other  to  Rose.  "  Charles  I  "  said 
the  young  girl,  amazedly, "  how  flushed  your 
face  is,  and  how  your  arm  trembles ! " 

He  controlled  himself  in  a  moment,  smiled, 
and  said  to  her, "  Can't  you  ffuess  why,  RoseT 
I  am  thinking  of  to-morrow."  While  he  was 
speaking  ho  passed  close  by  the  land-steward, 
on  his  way  back  to  the  house  with  the  ladies. 
The  smile  returned  to  Monsieur  Lomaque's 
lean  fiace,  and  a  curious  light  twinkled  In  his 
red-rimmed  eyes,  as  he  began  a  fresh  hole  In 
the  prass. 

"  Won't  YOU  go  in-doors,  and  take  some 
coffee!  "  asked  Trudaine,  touching  the  land- 
steward  on  the  arm. 

Monsieur  Lomaque  started  a  little,  and  left 
his  cane  sticking  in  the  ground.  "  A  thou- 
sand thanks,  monsieur,"  he  said ;  "  may  I  be 
allowed  to  follow  you  ?  " 

"  I  confess  the  beauty  of  the  evening  makes 

me  a  little  unwilling  to  leave  this  place  just 

yet." 

**Ah !  the  beauties  of  nature— I  feel  them  with 

you,  Monsieur  Thidalne :  I  feel  them  here." 


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220 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoBdoctcd  by 


Saying  this,  Lomaque  laid  one  band  on  bis 
beart,  and  witb  tbe  otberpulled  bis  stick  out 
of  tbo  grass.  He  had  looked  as  little  at  tbe 
landscape  or  the  setting  sun  as  Monsieur 
Justin  himself. 

They  sat  down,  side  b^  side,  on  tbe  empty 
bench ;  and  then  there  followed  an  awkward 
pause.  Submissive  Lomaque  was  too  discreet 
to  forget  bis  place,  and  venture  on  starting  a 
new  topic.  Trudaine  was  pre-occupied,  and 
disinclined  to  talk.  It  was  necessary,  bow- 
ever,  in  common  politeness,  to  say  something. 
Hardly  attending  himself  to  bis  own  words, 
be  began  witb  a  commonplace  phrase, — "  I 
regret,  Monsieur  Lomaque,  that  we  have  not 
had  more  opportunities  of  bettering  our 
acquaintance. '' 

*'  I  feel  deeply  indebted,"  rejoined  the  land- 
steward,  "  to  the  admirable  Madame  Danville 
for  having  chosen  me  as  her  escort  hither 
from  her  son's  estate  near  Lyons,  and  having 
thereby  procured  for  me  tbe  honour  of  this 
introduction."  Both  Monsieur  Lomaque's 
red-rimmed  eyes  were  seized  with  a  sudden 
fit  of  winking,  as  he  made  this  polite  speech. 
His  enemies  were  accustomed  to  say,  that 
whenever  be  was  particularly  insincere,  or 
particularly  deceitml,  he  alwavs  took  refuge 
in  the  weakness  of  bis  eyes,  ana  so  evaded  the 
trying  ordeal  of  being  obliged  to  look  steadily 
at  ihe  person  whom  he  was  speaking  with. 

**  I  was  pleased  to  hear  you  mention  mv 
late  father's  name,  at  dinner,  in  terms  of  high 
respect,"  continued  Trudaine,  resolutely 
keeping  up  tbe  conversation.  '*  Did  you  know 
him?" 

'*  I  am  indirectly  indebted  to  your  excellent 
father,"  answered  tbe  land-steward,  **  for  tbe 
very  situation  which  I  now  bold.  At  a  time 
when  the  good  word  of  a  man  of  substance 
and  reputation  was  needed  to  save  me  from 
poverty  and  ruin,  your  father  ppoke  that 
word.  Since  then,  I  have,  in  my  own  very 
small  way,  succeeded  in  life,  until  I  have 
risen  to  the  honour  of  superintending  tbe 
estate  of  Monsieur  Danville.*' 

**  Excuse  me — but  your  way  of  speaking  of 
your  present  situation  rather  surprises  me. 
Tour  father,  I  believe,  was  a  merchant,  just 
as  Danville's  father  was  a  merchant ;  tbe  onlv 
difference  between  them  was,  that  one  failed, 
and  the  other  realised  a  large  fortune.  Why 
dionld  you  speak  of  yourself  as  honoured  by 
holding  your  present  place?" 

**  Have  you  never  beard  ? "  exclaimed  Lo- 
maque, with  an  appearance  of  great  astonish- 
ment,'*  or  can  you  have  heard,  and  forgotten, 
that  Madame  Danville  is  descended  from  one 
of  tbe  noble  bouses  of  France  T  Has  she 
never  told  you,  as  she  has  often  told  me,  that 
she  condescended  when  she  married  her  late 
husband ;  and  that  her  nreat  object  in  life 
is  to  get  tbe  title  of  her  ramily  (years  since 
extinct  in  tbe  male  line)  settled  on  her  son  t" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Trudaine ;  "  I  remember  to 
have  beard  sometbinf  of  this,  and  to  have 
paid  no  great  attention  to  it  at  tbe  time, 


having  little  symwithy  witb  such  aspirations 
as  you  describe,  i  ou  have  lived  many  years 
in  Danville's  service.  Monsieur  Lomaque, 
have  you — "  be  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then 
continued,  looking  tbe  land-steward  full  in 
the  face,  **  have  you  found  him  a  good  and 
kind  master!" 

Lomaque's  thin  lips  seemed  to  close  in- 
stinctively at  the  question,  as  if  be  were 
never  going  to  speak  again.  He  bowed — 
Trudaine  waited— be  only  bowed  again. 
Trudaine  waited  a  third  time.  Lomaque 
looked  at  bis  host  with  perfect  steadiness  for 
an  instant,  then  bis  eyes  began  to  get  weak 
again.  '*  You  seem  to  have  some  special  inte- 
rest," be  quietly  remarked,  "  if  I  may  say  so 
wittiout  offence,  in  asking  me  that  question." 

**  I  deal  franklv,  at  all  najards,  witb  every 
one,"  returned  Trudaine  ;  *^  and,  stranger  as 
you  are,  I  will  deal  frankly  witb  you.  I 
acknowledge  that  I  have  an  interest  in  asking 
that  question — tbe  dearest,  tbe  tenderest  of 
all  interests."  At  those  last  words,  bis  voice 
trembled  for  a  moment,  but  be  went  on 
firmly :  "  from  tbe  beginning  of  my  sister's 
engagement  with  Danville,  I  made  it  my  duty 
not  to  conceal  my  own  feelings:  my  con- 
science and  m^  affection  for  Rose  counselled 
me  to  be  candid  to  the  last,  even  though  my 
candour  should  distress  or  offend  others. 
When  we  first  made  tbe  acquaintance  of 
Madame  Danville,  and  when  I  first  discovered 
that  her  ton's  attentions  to  Rose  were  not  un- 
favourably received,  I  felt  astonished,  and, 
though  it  cost  me  a  hard  effort,  I  did  not  con- 
ceal that  astonishment  from  my  sister — " 

Lomaque,  who  bad  hitherto  been  all  atten- 
tion, started  here,  and  threw  up  his  bands  in 
amazement.  *' Astonished,  did  I  hear  yon 
sayT  Astonished,  Monsieur  Trudaine,  uat 
tbe  attentions  of  a  young  gentleman  possessed 
of  all  tbe  graces  and  accomplishments  of  a 
highly-bred  Frenchman  should  be  favourably 
received  by  a  young  lady  1  Astonished  that 
such  a  dancer,  such  a  singer,  such  a  talker, 
such  a  notoriously  fascinating  ladies'  man  as 
Monsieur  Danville  should,  by  dint  of  respect- 
ful assiduity,  succeed  in  making  some  impres- 
sion on  tbe  heart  of  Mademoiselle  Rose! 
Oh  I  Monsieur  Trudaine,  respected  Monsieur 
Trudaine,  this  is  almost  too  much  to  credit!" 
Lomaque's  eyes  grew  weaker  than  ever,  and 
winked  incessantly,  as  be  uttered  this  apoe- 
tropbe.  At  the  end,  be  threw  up  bis  bands 
again,  and  blinked  inquiringly  all  round  bim, 
in  mute  appeal  to  universal  nature. 

<'When,  in  the  course  of  time,  matters 
were  farther  advanced,"  continued  Trudaine, 
without  paying  any  attention  to  tbe  interrup- 
tion ;  *^  when  the  offer  of  marriage  was  made, 
and  when  I  knew  that  Rose  had  in  her  own 
heart  accepted  it,  I  objected,  and  I  did  not 

conceal  my  ol^'ections " 

"Heavens I"  interposed  Lomaque  again, 
clasping  bis  bands  this  time  with  a  look  of 
bewilderment ;  "  what  oljectionst  what  pos- 
sible olyeotions  to  a  man  young  and  well-bred. 


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8ISTEB  ROSE. 


221 


with  fiD  immeiiBe  fortune  and  an  nneompro- 
mised  character  T  I  have  heard  of  these  ob- 
jections :  I  know  they  have  made  bad  blood ; 
aod  I  ask  myself,  asrain  and  again,  what  can 
they  be?" 

*'  God  knows  I  have  often  tried  to  dismiss 
them  from  my  mind,  as  fonciftil  and  absnrd," 
said  Tmdaine,  "  and  I  hare  always  failed. 
It  is  impossible,  in  yonr  presence,  that  I  can 
describe  in  detail  what  my  own  impressions 
have  been  from  the  first  of  the  master  whom 
yon  serve.  Let  it  be  enough  if  I  confide  to 
yon  that  I  cannot,  eyen  now,  persuade  myself 
of  the  sincerity  of  his  attachment  to  my 
sister,  and  that  I  feel— in  spite  of  myself,  in 
spite  of  my  earnest  desire  to  pnt  the  most 
implicit  confidence  in  Rose's  choice— a  distrust 
of  his  character  and  temper,  which  now,  on 
the  eye  of  the  marriage,  amounts  to  positiye 
terror.  Long  secret  snfi'ering,  doubt,  and 
suspense,  wring  this  confession  from  me. 
Monsieur  Lomaque,  almost  unawares  in  de- 
fiance of  caution,  in  defiance  of  all  the  con- 
yentionalities  of  society.  You  have  liyed  for 
years  under  the  same  roof  with  this  man : 
you  haye  seen  him  in  his  most  unguarded 
and  private  moments.  I  tempt  you  to  betray 
no  confidence— I  only  ask  you  if  you  can 
make  me  happy  by  telling  me  that  I  have 
been  doing  your  master  grievous  injustice  by 
my  opinion  of  him!  I  ask  you  to  take  my 
hand,  and  tell  me,  if  you  can,  in  all  honour, 
that  my  sister  is  not  risking  the  happiness  of 
her  whole  life  by  giving  herself  in  marriage 
to  Danville  to-morrow  I " 

He  held  oat  his  hand  while  he  spoke.  By 
some  strange  chance,  Lom^^ue  happened,  ju»t 
at  that  moment,  to  be  lookine  away  towards 
those  beauties  of  nature  which  he  admired  so 
greatly.  <<  Really,  Monsieur  Tmdaine,  really 
such  an  appeal  from  you,  at  such  a  time, 
amazes  me."  Having  got  so  far,  he  stopped 
and  said  no  more. 

*'  When  we  first  sat  down  together  here 
I  had  no  thought  of  making  this  appeal, 
no  idea  of  talking  to  you  as  I  have  talked," 
pursued  the  other.  ^*  My  words  have  escaped 
me,  as  I  told  you,  almost  unawares— you 
most  make  allowances  for  tiiem  and  for  me. 
I  cannot  expect  others.  Monsieur  Lomaque,  to 
appreciate  and  understand  my  feelings  for 
Rose.  We  two  have  lived  alone  in  the  world 
together:  father,  mother,  kindred,  they  all 
died  years  tince  and  left  us.  I  am  so  much 
older  than  my  sister,  that  I  have  learnt  to 
feel  towards  her  more  as  a  father  than  as  a 
brother.  All  my  life,  all  my  dearest  hopes, 
all  my  highest  expectations  have  centred  in 
her.  I  was  past  the  period  of  my  bovhood 
when  my  mother  put  my  little  child-sister's 
hand  in  mine,  and  said  to  me  on  her  death- 
bed, *  Louis,  be  all  to  her  that  I  have  been, 
for  she  has  no  one  left  to  look  to  but  you.' 
Since  then  the  loves  and  ambitions  of  other 
men  have  not  been  my  loves  or  my  ambitions. 
Sister  Rose— «8  we  all  used  to  call  her  in 
those  past  days,  as  I  love  to  call  her  still- 


Sister  Rose  has  been  the  one  aim,  the  one 
happiness,  the  one  precious  trust,  the  one 
treasured  reward  of  all  my  life.  I  have  lived 
in  this  poor  house,  in  this  dull  retirement,  as 
in  a  paradise,  because  Sister  Rose,  my  inno- 
cent, happy,  bright-fSM^d  Eve,  has  lived  here 
with  me.  Even  if  the  husband  of  her  choice 
had  been  the  husband  of  mine,  the  necessity 
of  parting  with  he^  would  have  been  the 
hardest,  the  bitterest  of  trials.  As  it  is, 
thihkiuff  what  I  think,  dreading  what  I  dread, 
judge  what  my  feelings  must  be  on  the  eve  of 
her  marriage ;  and  know  why,  and  with  what 
olgeot  I  made  the  appeal  which  surprised 
you  a  moment  since,  but  which  cannot  sur^ 
prise  you  now.  Speak  if  you  will — ^I  can  say 
no  more."  He  sighed  bitterly;  bis  head 
dropped  on  his  breast,  and  the  band  which 
he  had  extended  to  Lomaque  trembled  as  he 
withdrew  it  and  let  it  fall  at  his  side. 

The  land-steward  was  not  a  man  accus- 
tomed to  hesitate,  but  he  hesitated  now.  He 
was  not  usually  at  a  loss  for  phrases  in  which 
to  express  himself,  but  he  stammered  at 
the  very  outset  of  his  reply.  "  Suppose  I 
answered,"  he  began  slowly ;  "  suppose  I  told 
you  that  you  wronged  him,  would  my  testi- 
mony really  be  strong  enough  to  shake 
opinions,  or  rather  presumptions,  which  have 
been  taking  firmer  and  firmer  hold  of  you  for 
months  and  months  past !  Suppose,  on  the 
other  hand  that  my  master  had  nis  little — " 
(Here  Lomaque  hesitated  before  he  pronounc- 
ed the  next  word) — **  his  little— infirmities,  let 
me  say :  but  only  hypothetlcally,  mind  that  I 
infirmities— and  suppose  I  had  observed  them, 
and  was  willing  to  confide  them  to  you,  what 
purpose  would  such  a  confidence  answer  now, 
at  the  eleventh  hour,  with  Mademoiselle 
Rose's  heart  engaged,  with  the  marriage  fixed 
for  to-morrow T    No!,  no!  trust  me — " 

Tmdaine  looked  up  suddenly.  "  I  thank 
you  for  reminding  me,  Monsieur  Lomaque, 
that  it  is  too  late  now  to  make  inquiries,  and 
by  consequence  too  late  also  to  trast  in  others. 
My  sister  has  chosen  ;  and  on  the  sul]t|c<^^  of 
that  choice  my  lips  shall  be  henceforth  sealed. 
The  events  of  the  future  are  with  God :  what- 
ever they  may  be,  I  hope  I  am  strong  enough 
to  bear  my  part  in  them  witii  the  patience 
and  the  courage  of  a  man  I  I  apologise, 
Monsieur  Lomaque,  for  having  thoughtlessly 
embarrassed  you  hy  questions  which  I  had 
no  right  to  adc.  Let  us  return  to  the  house — 
I  will  show  you  the  way." 

Lomaque's  lips  opened,  then  closed  again : 
he  bowed  uneasily,  and  his  sallow  complexion 
whitened  for  a  moment  Tmdaine  led  the 
way  in  silence  back  to  the  house ;  the  land- 
steward  following  slowly  at  a  distance  of  seve- 
ral paces,  and  talking  in  whispers  to  'him- 
self. **  His  father  was  the  saving  of  me," 
muttered  Lomaque ;  "  thatistrath,  and  there 
is  no  getting  over  it :  his  father  was  the  sav- 
ing of  me :  and,  yet,  here  am  I-— no  1  it's  too 
late  I— too  late  to  speak  — too  late  to  act— too 
late  to  do  anything  1" 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[COTiteetodby 


Close  to  the  bouse  thej  were  met  by  tbe 
old  servant.  ^*  My  young  lady  bad  just  sent 
me  to  call  you  in  to  coffee,  Monsieur,"  said 
Gnillaume.  <*She  bas  kept  a  cup  bot  for 
you,  and  another  cup  for  Monsieur  Lomaque.'' 

The  land-steward  started— tbls  time,  wltb 
genuine  astontsbment.  '*  For  me ! "  he  ex- 
claimed. "  Mademoiselle  Rose  has  troubled 
herself  to  keep  a  cup  of  coffee  hot  for  me  t" 
The  old  servant  stared j  Trudaine  stopped, 
and  looked  back.  **  What  is  there  so  rery 
surprising,"  he  asked,  '*  in  such  an  ordinary 
act  of  politeness  on  my  sister's  part?" 

''Excuse  me,  Monsieur  Trudaine,"  answered 
Lomaque.  '*  You  have  not  passed  such  an  ex- 
istence as  mine,  yon  are  not  a  friendless  old 
man,  you  have  a  settled  position  in  the  world, 
and  are  used  to  be  treated  with  consideration. 
I  am  not.  This  is  the  first  occasion  in  my 
life  on  which  I  find  mvself  an  object  for  the 


attention  of  a  young  lady ;  and  it  takes  me 
by  surprise.     I  * 

US  go  in." 


by  surprise.     I  repeat  my  excuses — pray  let 


Trudaine  made  no  reply  to  this  curious 
explanation.  He  wondered  at  it  a  little,  how- 
ever ;  and  he  wondered  still  more,  when,  on 
entering  the  drawing-room,  he  saw  Lomaque 
walk  straight  up  to  his  sister,  and— appa- 
rently not  noticing  that  Danville  was  sitting 
at  the  harpsichord,  and  singing  at  the  time — 
address  her  confusedly  and  earnestly  with  a 
set  speech  of  thanks  for  his  hot  cup  of  coffee. 
Rose  looked  perplexed,  and  half-inclined  tjo 
laugh  as  she  1  wtened  to  him.  Madame  Dan- 
ville, who  sat  by  her  side,  fh>wned,  and 
tapped  the  land-steward  contemptuously  on 
the  arm  with  her  fan. 

**  Be  so  good  as  to  keep  silent  until  my  son 
has  done  singing,"  she  said.  Lomaaue  made 
a  low  bow ;  and  retiring  to  a  table  in  a  cor- 
ner, took  up  a  newspaper  lying  on  it.  If 
Madame  Danville  had  seen  the  expression 
that  came  over  his  face  when  he  turned  away 
from  her,  proud  as  she  waa,  her  aristocratic 
composure  might  possibly  have  been  a  little 
miBed. 

Danville  had  finished  his  song,  had  quitted 
the  harpsichord,  and  was  talking  in  whispers 
to  his  bride  ;  Madame  Danville  was  adding  a 
word  to  tbe  conversation  every  now  and  then ; 
Trudaine  was  seated  apart  at  the  far  end  of 
the  room,  thoughtfully  reading  a  letter,  which 
he  had  taken  fh>m  his  pocket,  when  an  excla- 
mation from  Lomaque,  who  was  still  engaged 
with  the  newspaper,  caused  all  the  other  oc- 
cupants of  the  apartment  to  suspend  their 
employments,  and  look  up. 

**  Wliat  is  it ! "  asked  Danville,  impatiently. 

<<  Shall  I  be  interrupting,  if  I  explain?" 
inquired  Lomaque,  getting  yery  weak  in  the 
eyes  again,  as  he  deferentially  addressed  him- 
self to  Madame  Danville. 

*'  You  have  already  interrupted  us,"  said 
the  old  lady  sharply,  y  so  you  may  now  just 
as  well  explain." 

"  It  is  a  passage  from  the  Scientific  Intelli- 
gence, which  has  given  me  great  delight,  and 


which  will  be  joyful  newsfor  every  one  here." 
Saying  this,  Lomaque  looked  significantly  at 
Trudaine,  and  then  read  from  the  newspaper 
these  lines : 

"  AOADaiCT  or  Soihcis,  Pabii.— Tht  TAcaat  sub- 
^rofeuorship  of  ChemiMirj  htm  been  offered,  we  mn 
rtjolced  to  hoar,  to  »  gentleman  whose  modeatj  hM 
hitherto  |a«Tented  hie  eeientifle  merits  from  becominf 
■aflSciently  prominent  In  the  world.  To  the  membera 
of  the  Academy  he  haa  been  long  ainoe  known  as  the 
originator  of  some  of  the  moat  remMlcable  impioTe- 
menta  in  ehemiatry  which  hare  been  made  of  Inte 
yeara— Improrementa,  the  credit  of  which  he  haa,  with 
rare,  and  we  were  almost  about  to  add,  cnlpable 
moderation,  Ulowed  others  to  profit  bj  with  impanify* 
No  man,  in  eoy  profeoaion,  is  more  thorooghlj  entlUed 
to  haire  a  position  of  troat  end  distinetion  ooaferred 
on  him  hy  tbe  atnte  then  the  gentlemen  to  whom  we 
refer— M.  Lonis  Tmdaine.** 

Befbre  Lomaque  could  look  up  ftt>m  the 
paper  to  observe  the  impression  which  bis 
news  produced,  Rose  had  gained  her  brother's 
side,  and  was  kissing  him  in  a  fiutter  of 
delist. 

"Dear  Louis,"  she  cried,  clapping  ber 
hands,  **  let  me  be  the  first  to  congratulate 
you !  How  proud  and  glad  I  am  1  You  accept 
the  professor^ip,  of  course." 

Tmdaine,  who  bad  hastily  and  confiisedly 
put  his  letter  back  in  his  pocket,  the  moment 
Lomaque  began  to  read,  seemed  at  a  loss  for 
an  answer.  He  patted  his  sister's  hand  rather 
absently,  and  said, 

"  I  have  not  made  up  my  mind  ;  don't  ask 
me  why,  Rose — at  least  not  now,  not  just 
now."  An  expreesion  of  perplexi^  and  dis- 
tress came  over  his  face,  as  he  gently  mo- 
tioned her  to  resume  her  chair. 

"  Pray,  is  a  sab-professor  of  chemistry  sop- 
posed  to  hold  the  rank  of  a  gentleman?" 
asked  Madame  Danville,  without  the  elight- 
est 'appearance  of  any  ^>ecial  interest  in 
Lomaque's  news. 

"Of  course  not,"  replied  her  son,  with  a  sar- 
castic laugh:  he  is  expected  to  work,  and  make 
himself  useful — what  gentleman  does  that  ?  " 

"  Charles  I "  exclaimed  the  old  lady,  red- 
dening with  anger. 

"  Bah ! "  cried  Danville,  turning  bis  back 
on  her,  "  enough  of  chemistry.  Lomaque ! 
now  you  have  begun  reading  the  newspapers, 
try  if  you  can't  find  something  interesting  to 
read  about  What  are  the  last  accounts  from 
Paris  T  Any  more  symptoms  of  a  general 
revolt?" 

Lomaque  turned  to  another  part  of  the 
paper.  "  Bad,  very  bad  prospects  for  the  re- 
storation of  tranquillity,''  he  said.  •*  Necker, 
the  Peoples'  minister,  is  dismissed.  Placards 
against  popular  gatherings  are  posted  all  over 
Paris.  The  Swiss  Guards  have  been  ordered 
to  the  Champs  Elys^es,  with  four  pieces  of 
artillery.  No  more  is  yet  known,  but  the 
worst  is  dreaded.  The  breach  between  the 
aristocracy  and  the  people  is  widening  fa- 


tally almost  hour  byl 


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CtediiDkkeM] 


SISTER  ROSE. 


223 


Here,  he  stopped,  and  laid  down  tbo  news- 
paper. Tmdame  took  it  from  him,  and 
shook  bis  head  forebodingly,  as  he  looked 
oyer  the  paragraph  which  had  jost  been 
read. 

''Bah!''  cried  Madame  Danville.  "The 
People,  indeed  I  Let  those  foar  pieces  of  ar- 
tillery be  properly  loaded,  let  the  Swiss 
Gaards  do  their  dnty ;  and  we  shall  hear  no 
more  of  the  People  f" 

^  I  advise  jon  not  to  be  sore  of  tiiat,"  said 
her  son,  carelessly ;  "  there  are  rather  too 
many  people  in  Paris  for  the  Swiss  Gaards  to 
shoot,  conveniently.  Don't  hold  yonr  head 
too  aristocratically  high,  mother,  till  we  are 

n" )  certain  which  way  the  wind  really 
blow.  Who  knows  if  I  may  not  have 
to  bow  jasi  as  low  ona  of  these  days  to 
Ung  Mob,  as  ever  yon  cartseyed  in  yonr 
yonth,  to  Ring  Lonis  the  Fifteenth !" 

He  langhed  complacently  as  he  ended,  and 
opened  his  snnff-box.  His  mother  rose  from 
her  chair,  her  f!sce  crimson  with  indignation. 

"  I  won't  hear  yon  talk  so — ^it  shocks,  it 
horrifies  me  1"  she  exclaimed  with  vehement 
gestionlation.  **  No,  no  I  I  decline  to  hear 
another  word.  I  decline  to  sit  by  patiently, 
while  my  son,  whom  I  love,  jests  at  the  most 
sicred  principles,  and  sneers  at  the  memorv 
of  an  anointed  king.  This  is  my  reward,  is 
it,  for  havinff  yielded,  and  having  come  here, 
against  all  the  laws  of  etiquette,  the  night 
before  the  marriage  t  I  comply  no  longer : 
I  resume  my  own  will,  and  my  own  way.  I 
order  yon,  my  son,  to  accompany  me  back  to 
Bouen.  We  are  the  bridegroom's  party,  and 
we  have  no  tMisiaess  overnight  at  the  house 
of  the  bride.  Ton  meet  no  more  till  yon 
meet  at  the  church.  Justin!  my  coach. 
liOmaqne,  pick  up  my  hood.  Monsieur  Tru- 
daine !  thanlcs  for  vour  hospitality  ;  I  shall 
hope  to  return  it  with  interest  the  first  time 
yon  are  in  our  neighbourhood.  Mademoiselle ! 
put  on  your  best  looks  to-morrow,  along  witii 
year  wedding  finery;  remember  that  my 
ton's  bride  must  do  honour  to  my  son's  taste. 
Justin!  my  ooach — drone,  vagabond,  idiot, 
where  is  my  coach  I" 

''My  mother  looks  handsome  when  she  is 
in  a  passion,  does  she  not,  Rose  T"  said  Dan- 
v^ille,  quietly  putting  up  his  snuff-box  as  the 
old  lady  sailed  out  of  the  room.  "  Why  you 
■eem  quite  frightened,  love,"  he  added, 
taking  her  hand  with  his  easy,  graceful  air, 
**  frightened,  let  me  assure  you,  without  the 
least  cause.  My  mother  has  but  that  one 
prejudice,  and  that  one  weak  point,  Rose. 
You  will  find  her  a  very  dove  for  gentleness, 
as  long  as  yon  do  not  wound  her  pride  of 
caste.  Come,  come  I  on  this  night,  of  all 
others,  you  must  not  send  me  away  with  such 
a  face  as  that." 

He  bent  down  and  whispered  to  her  a  bride- 
groom's compliment,  which  brought  the  blood 
back  to  her  cheek  in  an  instant. 

"  Ah  how  she  loves  him— how  dearly  she 
loves  him,"  thought  her  brother,  watching 


her  from  his  solitary  comer  of  the  j'oom,  and 
seeing  the  smile  that  brightened  her  blushing 
face  when  Danville  kissed  her  hand  at  part- 
ing. Lomaque,  who  had  remained  imper- 
turbably  cool  during  the  outbreak  of  the  old 
lady's  anffer ;  Lomaque,  whose  observant  eyes 
had  watched,  sarcastically,  the  effect  of  the 
scene  between  mother  and  son,  on  Trudaine 
and  his  sister ;  was  the  last  to  take  leave. 
After  he  had  bowed  to  Rose  with  a  certain 
gentleness  in  his  manner,  which  contrasted 
strangely  with  his  wrinkled  haggard  face,  he 
held  out  his  hand  to  her  brotiier.  "  I  did  not 
take  yonr  band,  when  we  sat  together  on  the 
bench,"  he  said,  "  may  I  take  it  now  ?" 

Trudaine  met  bis  advance  courteously,  but 
in  silence.  "  Yon  mav  alter  your  opinion  of 
me,  one  of  theso  days."  Adding  those  words 
in  a  whisper,  Monsieur  Lomaque  bowed  once 
more  to  the  bride,  and  went  out 

For  a  few  minutes  after  the  door  had 
closed,  the  brother  and  sister  kept  silence. 
"Our  last  niffht  together,  at  home!"  that 
was  the  thought  which  now  fiUed  the  heart 
of  each.  Rose  was  the  first  to  speak.  Hesi- 
tating a  little,  as  she  approached  her  brother, 
she  said  to  him,  anxiously : 

"  I  am  sorry  for  what  happened  with  Ma- 
dame Danville,  Louis.  Does  it  make  you 
think  the  worse  of  Chariest" 

"  I  can  make  allowance  for  Madame  Dan- 
ville's anger,"  returned  Trudaine,  evasively, 
"  because  she  spoke  from  honest  conviction." 

"  Honest?"  echoed  Rose,  sadly — "honest  t 
— ah,  Louis!  I  know  you  are  thinking  dis- 
paragingly of  Charles's  convictions,  when  you 
speak  so  of  his  mother's." 

Trudaine  smiled,  and  shook  his  head ;  but 
she  took  no  notice  of  the  gesture  of  denial — 
only  stood  looking  earnestly  and  wistfully 
into  his  face.  Her  eyes  began  to  fill ;  she 
suddenly  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and 
whispered  to  him,  "  Oh,  Louis,  Louis !  how 
I  wish  I  could  teach  you  to  see  Charles  with 
my  eyes!" 

He  felt  her  tears  on  his  cheek  as  she  spoke, 
aad  tried  to  reassnre  her. 

"  You  shall  teach  me,  Rose — you  diall,  in- 
deed. Come,  come!  we  must  keep  up  oar 
spirits,  or  how  are  yon  to  look  your  best  to- 
morrow ?" 

He  unclapsed  her  arms,  and  led  her  gently 
to  a  chair.  At  the  same  moment,  there  was 
a  knock  at  the  door  ;  and  Rose's  maid  ap- 
peared, anxious  to  consult  her  mistress  on 
some  of  the  preparations  for  the  wedding 
ceremonv.  No  interruption  could  have  been 
more  welcome.  Just  at  that  time.  It  obliged 
Rose  to  think  of  present  trifles ;  and  it  gave 
her  brother  an  excuse  for  retiring  to  his  study. 

He  sat  down  by  his  desk,  doubting  and 
heayv-hearted,  and  placed  the  letter  from  the 
Academy  of  Sciences  open  before  him.  Pass- 
ing over  all  the  complimentary  expressions 
which  it  contained,  his  eye  rested  only  on 
these  lines  at  the  end : — ^"  During  the  first 
three  years  of  your  Professorship,  you  will  bo 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoBdoetedbf 


reqaired  to  reside  in  or  near  Pftris,n!De  months 
out  of  the  year,  for  the  purpose  of  delivering 
lectures  and  superintending  experiments, 
from  time  to  time,  in  the  laboratories.^'  The 
letter  in  which  these  lines  occurred,  offered 
him  such  a  position  as  in  his  modest  self-dis- 
trust, he  had  never  dreamed  of  before :  the 
lines  themselves  contained  the  promise  of 
such  vast  fiscilities  for  carrying  on  his  favour- 
ite experiments,  as  he  could  never  hope  to 
command  in  his  own  little  study,  with  his 
own  limited  means ;  and  yet,  there  he  now 
sat.  doubting  whether  he  should  accept  or 
reject  the  tempting  honours  and  advantages 
that  were  offered  to  him— doubting  for  his 
listers  sake  I 

"  Nine  months  of  the  year  in  Paris,"  he 
said  to  himself  sadly;  **  and  Rose  is  to  pass 
her  married  life  at  Lyons.  Oh  I  if  I  could 
clear  my  heart  of  its  dread  on  her  account — 
if  I  could  free  my  mind  of  its  forebodings  for 
her  future — how  gladly  I  would  answer  this 
letter  by  accepting  the  trust  it  offers  me !"  He 
paused  for  a  few  minutes,  and  reflected.  The 
thoughts  that  were  in  him  marked  their  omi- 
nous course  in  the  growing  paleness  of  his 
cheek,  in  the  dimness  that  stole  over  his  eyes. 
**  U  this  cleaving  distrust  ftt>m  which  I  can- 
not free  myself,  should  be  in  very  truth  the 
mute  prophecy  of  evil  to  come — to  come,  I 
know  not  when — if  it  be  so  (which  Grod  for- 
bid), how  soon  she  may  want  a  friend,  a  pro- 
tector near  at  hand,  a  ready  refuge  in  the 
time  of  her  trouble  1  Where  shall  she  then 
find  protection,  or  refuge  T  With  that  pas- 
sionate woman  t  With  her  husband's  kindred 
and  friends  T" 

He  shuddered,  as  the  thought  crossed  his 
mind ;  and  opening  a  blank  sheet  of  paper, 
dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink.  "  Be  all  to  her, 
Louis,  that  I  have  been,"  he  murmured  to 
himself,  repeating  his  mother's  last  words, 
and  beginning  the  letter,  while  he  uttered 
tiiem.  It  was  soon  completed.  It  expressed 
in  the  most  respectful  terms,  his  gratitude 
for  the  offer  made  to  him,  and  his  inability  to 
accept  it,  in  consequence  of  domestic  circum- 
stances which  it  was  needless  to  explain. 
The  letter  was  directed,  sealed :  it  only  re- 
mained foi^  him  to  place  it  in  the  post-bag, 
lying  near  at  hand.  'At  this  last,  decisive 
act,  he  hesitated.  He  bad  told  Lomaqne,  and 
he  had  firmlv  believed  himself,  that  he  had 
conquered  all  ambitions  for  his  sister's  sake. 
He  knew  now,  for  the  first  time,  that  he  had 
only  lulled  them  to  rest— he  knew  that  the 
letter  from  Paris  had  aroused  them.  His 
answer  was  written,  his  hand  was  on  the  post- 
bag  ;  and  at  that  moment  the  whole  struggle 
had  to  be  risked  over  again— risked  when  he 
was  most  unfit  for  it  I  He  was  not  a  man 
under  any  ordinary  circumstances,  to  procras- 
tinate ;  but  he  procrastinated  now.  *'  Night 
brings  counsel :  I  will  watt  till  to-morrow," 
"  he  said  to  himself,  and  put  the  letter  of  re- 
fusal in  his  pocket,  and  hastily  quitted  the 
laboratory. 


Inexcnrably  that  important  morrow  came : 
irretrievably,  for  good  or  for  evil,  the  mo- 
mentous marriage  vow  was  pronounced. 
Charles  Danville  and  Rose  Trudaine  were 
now  man  and  wife.  The  prophecy  of  the 
magnificent  sunset  overnight  had  not  proved 
false.  It  was  a  cloudless  day  on  the  marriage 
movi^ng.  The  nuptial  ceremonies  had  pro- 
ceeded smoothly  throughout,  and  had  even 
satisfied  Madame  Danville.  She  retamed 
with  the  wedding-party  to  Trudaine's  house, 
all  smiles  and  serenity.  To  the  bride  die 
was  graoiousness  itself.  **  QooA  girl,"  said 
the  old  lady,  following  Rose  into  a  comer, 
and  patting  her  approvingly  on  the  cheek 
with  her  fim.  "  Good  girlT  you  have  looked 
well  this  morning— you  have  done  credit  to 
my  son's  taste.  Indeed,  you  have  pleased 
me,  child  1  Now  go  upstairs,  and  get  on 
your  travelling  dress;  and  count  on  my 
maternal  affection  as  long  as  you  make 
Charles  happy." 

It  had  been  arranged  that  the  bride  and 
bridegroom  should  pass  the  honeymoon  in 
Brittany,  and  then  return  to  Danville's  estate 
near  Lyons.  The  parting  was  hurried  over, 
as  all  such  partings  should  be.  The  carriage 
had  driven  off— Trudaine,  after  lingering 
long  to  look  after  it,  had  returned  hastily  to 
the  house — the  very  dust  of  the  whirling 
wheels  had  all  dispersed— there  was  abso- 
lutely nothing  to  see— and  yet,  there  stood 
Monsieur  Lomaque  at  the  outer  gate ;  Idly,  as 
if  he  was  an  independent  man-Hoalmly,  as  if 
no  such  responsibilities  as  the  calling  of 
Madame  Danville's  coach,  and  the  escorting  of 
Madame  Danville  back  to  Lyons,  could  pos- 
sibly rest  on  his  shoulders. 

Idly  and  calmly,  slowly  rubbing  his  hands 
one  over  the  other,  slowly  nodding  his  bead 
in  the  direction  by  which  the  bride  and 
bridegroom  had  departed,  stood  the  eccentric 
land-steward  at  the  outer  gate.  On  a  sudden, 
the  sound  of  footsteps  approaching  from  the 
house  seemed  to  arouse  bun.  Once  more  he 
looked  out  into  the  road,  as  if  he  expected 
still  to  see  the  carriage  of  the  newly-married 
couple.  "Poor  girl!— ah,  poor  girl!"  said 
Monsieur  Loma<^ue  softly  to  himself,  turning 
round  to  ascertain  who  was  coming  ftt»m  the 
house. 

It  was  only  the  postman  with  a  letter  in 
his  hand,  and  the  post-bag  crumpled  up  under 
his  arm. 

"Any  fresh  news  from  Paris,  friend?" 
asked  Lomaqne. 

"  Vei^  bad,  monsieur,"  answered  the  poet- 
man.  "  Camille  Desmoulins  has  appealed  to 
the  people  in  the  Palais  Royal — ^there  are 
fears  of  a  riot" 

«  Only  a  riot!"  repeated  Lomaque,  sarcas- 
tically. <'  Oh,  what  a  brave  government  not 
to  be  afraid  of  anything  worse!  Any 
letters?"  he  added,  hastily  dropping  the 
subject. 

**  None  to  the  house,"  said  the  postman — 
"  only  one  /ram  it,  given  me  by  Monsieur 


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durlM  Dickon.] 


THE  CAlffiL-TROOP  CONTINGENT. 


226 


Tradaine.  Hardlj  worth  while,"  he  added, 
twirling  the  letter  in  l^is  hand,  "  to  pat  it 
into  the  bag,  IB  it?" 

Lomaqne  looked  oyer  his  shoulder  as  he 
gpoke,  and  saw  that  the  letter  was  directed 
to  the  President  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences, 
Paris. 

**  I  wonder  whether  he  accepts  the  pla^e  or 
refuses  it?"  thought  the  land-steward, 
nodding  to  the  postman,  and  continuing  on 
his  way  back  to  the  house. 

At  the  door,  he  met  Trudaine,  who  said  to 
him  rather  hastily,  ''  You  are  going  back  to 
Lyons  with  Madame  Danville,  I  suppose?" 

**  This  very  day,"  answered  Lomaqne. 

''If  you  should  hear  of  a  convenient 
bachelor-lodffing  at  Lyons,  or  near  it," 
continued  the  other,  dropping  his  voice 
and  speaking  more  rapidly  uian  before, 
"  You  would  be  doing  me  a  favour  if  you 
would  let  me  know  about  it." 

Lomaqne  assented ;  but  before  he  could 
add  a  question  which  was  on  the  tip  of  his 
toDfiruc.  Trudaine  had  vanished  in  the  interior 
of  ue  house. 

"  A  bachelor-lodging  1"  repeated  the  land- 
steward,  standing  alone  on  the  door-step. 
''At  or  near  Lyons!  Aha  I  Monsieur  Tru- 
daine, I  put  TOUT  bachelor-lodging  and  your 
talk  to  me  last  night  together,  and  I  make 
out  a  sum  total  which  is,  I  think,  pretty  near 
the  mark.  You  ha^  refused  that  Paris  ap- 
pointment, my  friend;  and  I  fancy  I  can 
guess  why." 

He  paused  thoughtfully,  and  shook  his 
head  with  ominous  frowns  and  biting  of  his 
lips. 

"All  clear  enough  in  that  sky,"  he  con- 
tinued, after  a  while,  looking  up  at  the 
lustrous  mid-da^  heaven.  ^*  All  clear  enough 
there ;  but  I  think  I  see  a  little  cloud  rising 
in  a  certain  household  firmament  already — a 
little  cloud  which  hides  much,  and  which  I, 
for  one,  shall  watch  carefully." 


THE  CAMEL-TROOP  CONTINGENT. 

I  AM  on  two  years'  leave  from  the  Mahratta 
Fencibles,  and  have  been  appointed,  after 
assiduous  application,  to  the  Native  Abyssi- 
nian Camel-troop  Contingent  for  service  in 
the  East  It  is  true,  I  can't  speak  Abyssi- 
nian, but  I  know  Welch  and  a  little  Latin ; 
and  I  am  told  the  roots  of  these  three  tongues 
are  very  similar. 

There  is  no  doubt  about  my  official  appoint- 
ment whatsoever.  I  hold  it  in  my  hand 
"  Sir,— I  am  directed  to  inform  you,  in  answer 
to  your  late  application,  that  you  have  been 
appointed  to  the  N.  A.  C.  Contingent,  and 
are  requested 'to  embark  with  the  utmost 
practicable  dispatch.    (Signed)  Rbdtape." 

I  read  this  continually  in  order  to  re-assure 
myself  of  the  fact  of  my  appointment,  because 
every  other  circumstance  goes  directly  against 
it    ''Utmost  practicable  dispatch  1"    I  took 


leave  of  my  thirteen  brothers  and  sisters, 
scarcely  allowing  a  quarter  of  a  second  to 
each  embrace;  was  whirled  by  the  express 
train  to  town :  and  rushed  to  the  War  Office. 

Says  my  fiiend  at  Court,  then :  "  See  his 
lordship?  Quite  impossible.  Snooks  !  One 
hundred  and  forty  people  in  the  ante-room  : 
and  besides  that  (in  confidence),  he  escaped 
by  the  back  door  at  lunch  time,  and  has  not 
come  back  since." 

I  waited,  nevertheless,  for  I  too  had  some 
sat-upon  sandwiches  still  left,  that  I  had 
brought  with  me  in  the  train  from  Aberdeen, 
and  some  sherry  in  a  pocket-pistol ;  and  "  time 
and  the  hour  "  brought  me  to  the  minister. 

He  was  not  in  a  pleasant  frame  of  mind. 
''Thiflis  not  the  place,  sir,  for  your  confounded 
AWssinian  Troop  business.    Go  to—-" 

I  shall  not  refer  more  particularly  to  the 
office  he  thus  suggested,  than  to  observe,  that 
whatever  intelligence  I  might  have  wanted,  I 
should  not  have  voluntarily  made  personal 
application  to  the  head  of  that  department ;  so 
I  walked  across  the  way,  instead,  to  another 
bureau.  In  answer  to  most  anxious  inquiries, 
I  was  there  informed  that  **  there  had  been, 
and  even  still  was,  some  talk  of  an  Abyss —  " 

"  Talk,  sir,"  I  interrupted ;  "  look  here  I" 
and  I  produced  my  appointment,  signed  and 
sealed,  triumphantly. 

''Yaas,"  observed  the  smooth  official. 
"  Yaas,  we  have  sent  a  great  many  of  these 
out  lately.  Thirty-six  appointments  have 
been  signed,  I  think,  from  first  to  last ;  but 
only  three  are  to  hold  good." 

I  was  in  a  white  heat,  bat  quite  calm : 
when,  in  answer  to  my  question  of  where  I 
was  to  go  for  information,  ho  replied,  "To 
the  War  Office." 

"His  lordship  has  already  directed  me 
here,"  I  answered :  for  I  began  to  &ncy  the 
place  synonymous. 

"Then,  your  commanding  officer  or  his 
secretary  might  know,  perhaps,"  said  he. 

I  thought  that  it  was  just  possible  they 
might ;  sol  tried  the  secretary.  Who  should 
I  find  closeted  with  him,  bat  my  old  ftiend, 
Banberry,  colonel  of  the  Cingalese  Dragoons, 
the  first  cavalry  officer  in  India,  appointed  to 
my  very  own  brigade,  and  just  the  man  to  tell 
me  all  I  wanted.  After  "  Snooks,  my  boy !" 
and  the  slaps  on  the  back  were  over,  I  told 
him  I  had  but  twent-four  hours,  or  so,  to 
spend  in  England,  and  had  to  get  all  my  outfit 

"  Indeed!"  said  he.  "  And  where  are  you 
_  in  such  a  hurry  ?    What's  your  corps  ? 

_iaPs  your  uniform  ?" 

"€}ood  Bteavens!"  said  Ij  "I  go  with 
you,  in  your  corps,  in  your  uniform.  I  want 
to  know  all  about  it" 

"  Well,  I  confess  I  should  like  to  know  a 
little  about  it  m^rself,"  said  the  colonel,  who  is 
celebrated  for  his  imperturbability. 

Well,  I  went  from  him  to  the  man  who  is 
to  command  us — ^the  general  himself :  a  gen- 
tlemanly person  enough,  just  the  man  for 
our  Camel-troop,  no   doabt;   only,  unfor- 


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226 


HOUSBHOLb  WORDS. 


CCoodnettdby 


^anately,  he  knew  no  more  about  the  matter 
than  myself. 

*'■  But;  '  embark  with  the  ntmost  dispatch.' 
What  does  that  mean,  general?"  I  urged. 

'*  Why  as  I  have  had  the  same  order  for 
aboat  forty  days,  I  fancy  it  means  nothing 
in  particular." 

*'  ^Vhen  we  do  go,  sir,  may  I  ask  the  station 
we  shall  sail  to,  the  depot,  the — ?" 

"  Certainly,  Captain  Snooks,"  interposed 
the  general,  blandly,  '*  certainly,  ask  whatever 
you  please ;  but  I  regret  that  it  is  not  in  my 
power  to  give  you  i,n  answer." 

"  And  the  uniform  ?"  I  suggested ;  "  at  least 
I  had  better  get  my  things  ready  for  embar^ 
cation." 

''  Really,"  said  the  general,  as  he  bowed 
mo  elegantly  to  the  door,  *'  really  I  have  not 
the  faintest  conception  of  what  uniform  will 
be  worn  by  the  Native  Abyssinian  Camel- 
troop  Contingent.  Perhaps  a  feuicy  dress, 
according  to  our  private  tastes  and  favourite 
colours.    Perhaps — anything  I" 

In  despaur,  and  reflecting  that,  as  the 
authorities  were  all  at  sea,  the  Admiralty  was 
as  good  an  office  to  apply  to  as  any  other,  I 
went  there.  Thank  goodness  I  A  ship  had 
been  ordered  round  to  Wightmouth,  to  carry 
the  Camel-troops  and  a  militia  regiment ; 
and  I  had  better  go  down  there  to  meet  it 

"  Our  destination,  then,"  said  I,  "  is—?" 
But  here,  it  seemed,  my  unexpected  success 
had  rendered  me  over-sanguine  ;  for  the  clerk 
motioned  me  to  the  office-door,  with  <<We 
haven't  the  smallest  idea,  sir."  That  is  the 
impression  I  have  ever  since  retained  of 
official  people :  "  they  haven't  the  smallest 
idea,  sir." 

Who  should  I  find  at  Wightmouth  but  my 
old  friend  Malines,  commanding  the  Isle-of- 
Dogs  Volunteer  Corps,  the  very  regiment 
that  was  to  accompany  us  part  of  our  voyage 
to  Wherever-it-was.  It  was  to  take  him  and 
his  host  to  a  real  place,  and  drop  us  at  Malta 
on  the  way,  to  be  taken  on  to  Corfu  by 
another  vessel.  Malines  is  an  excellent 
coloneL  His  regiment  volunteered  about  the 
first,  and  has  been  long  since  in  the  highest 
state  of  discipline,  and  ready  to  embark  at  a 
day's  notice.  The  Mull  l^litia,  quartered 
in  the  same  street,  had  also  volunteered; 
but  they  were  mostly  raw  recruits;  were 
without  full  accoutrements,  and  had  no 
orders  to  hold  themselves  in  readiness  to 
start  as  the  Isle-of-Dogs  had. 

I  told  Malines  my  adventures ;  and  he  said 
my  troubles  were  nothing  to  what  he  had 
suffered  in  trying  to  get  a  ship  sent  down  Ibr 
his  corps.  He  had  been  referred  from  one 
department  to  another  until  quite  bewildered ; 
and  being  rather  choleric,  nad  sworn  most 
vigorously  at  the  highest  dignitaries.  What 
in  the  colonel  was  "  impatience,"  in  my  case 
would  have  been  "rank  blasphemy,"  and 
would  have  deprived  me  of  my  command  in 
the  Camel-troop ;  but  certainly  in  Malines, 
it  seemed  to  have  had  a  beneficial  effect ;  and 


he  had  been  promised  bis  ship  immediately. 
By  reason  of  a  number  of  ladies  accompanying 
the  regiment,  it  was,  moreover,  to  be  a  swift 
and  roomy  steamer.  The  vessel  had  been 
signalled,  and,  after  a  little  refitting  in  the 
dockyard,  was  to  sail  in  about  a  week.  In 
the  meantime,  and  awaiting  the  final  official 
order,  the  mess  was  broken  up,  and  the 
officers  emigrated  to  the  Vulture  Hotel 
There,  too,  I  established  myself,  at  an  expense 
I  could  ill  afford;  but  still  I  heard  iio  breath 
of  news  of  the  unfortunate  N.  A.  C.  I  began 
to  be  fidgety  as  to  whether  the  Bombay  might 
not  yet  leave  us,  after  all— a  Contingent  re- 
mainder. Suddenly  into  my  rooms  buret 
Malines,  purple  with  passion : 

"  Through  some  confounded  devilry,  that 
Mull  regiment  has  got  our  order,  and  is  off  in 
thirty-^  hours." 

It  wag  perfectly  true.  Many  Mullitcs  had 
no  shako ;  many,  no  coatees.  The  general, 
who  had  not  even  inspected  them  previouslv, 
found  a  whole  company  standing  apart  in 
their  barrack-yard  unMlled,  undr^sed,— 
unfit  for  departure  altogether.  Nevertheless, 
at  the  appohited  hour,  with  drums  beating 
and  colours  flyine,  the  Mull  Militia  embarked 
in  the  Bombay :  that  very  ship  which  had  been 
designed  for  the  accommodation  of  the  wives 
of  the  1. 0.  D.  M.,  and  the  N.  A.  C.  Contingent. 
The  M.  M.  didn't  take  their  ladies  at  all,  and 
marched  on  board,  playing  "  the  girls  we  left 
behind  us,"  triumphantly. 

A  day  or  -two  afterwards,  a  dhi^  trans- 
port, quite  incompetent  to  carry  half  Malines' 
regiment,^  let  alone  the  Contingent — about 
whose  existence  I  began  to  have  a  hideous 
doubt — ^was  sent  round  to  us  from  Plymouth, 
ran  ashore  upon  the  beach,  was  derided 
by  the  townspeople  ;  and  then  was  ordered 
back  again— I  think  with  coals.  I  have  got 
about  three  pounds  left,  to  pay  the  landlord 
of  the  Vulture  for  three  weeks'  board  and 
lodging.  My  destination  is  as  likely  to  bo 
Botany  Bay  as  anywhere  else.  The  Isle-of- 
Dogs  Militia  go  about  in  a  vacant  manner, 
saying  "  they  don't  know  "  to  every  question 
that  is  asked  of  them.  For  my  part,  I  keep 
my  written  appointment  about  my  person, 
and  exhibit  it,  when  interrogated,  with  a 
bitter  laugh.  Having  tried  every  other  office, 
I  now  try  the  office  of  Household  Words. 


THE  UNKNOWN  GRAVE. 

No  name  to  bid  as  knotr 

Who  reits  beloxr, 
No  word  of  death  or  birth ; 

Only  th«  graaaea  wave, 
Over  a  mound  of  earth, 

Orer  a  namelesa  grave^ 

Did  this  poor  wandering  heart 

In  pain  depart  t 
Longing,  bat  all  too  late, 

Tor  the  calm  home  again, 
Where  patient  watchers  wait. 

And  still  will  wait  in  vain  r 


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ChM-lea  DickemJ 


MORE  CHILDRBN  OP  THE  CZAR. 


227 


Did  moornwt  come  In  ■corn, 

And  thtu  forlorn, 
Lmto  him,  with  ffrief  and  thame 

To  Bil«nc«  and  aeeay, 
And  hide  the  tarnished  name 

Of  the  unconscious  clayt 


It  may  he  fh>m  his  aide 

Hii  loTed  ones  died. 
And  last  of  some  bright  hopd, 

(Together  now  once  more), 
He  songht  hit  home,  the  land 

Where  they  were  gone  hefora. 


No  matter ;  limes  have  made 

A«  cool  a  shade. 
And  lingering  breezes  pass 

As  tender]/  and  ^ow, 
Aa  if  beneath  the  grass 

A  monarch  slept  below. 

No  grief,  though  loud  and  deep, 
Oould  stir  that  sleep ; 

And  earth  and  hearen  tell 
Of  rest  that  shall  not  cease 

Where  the  cold  world's  fiurewell 
Tades  into  endless  peace. 


MORE  CHILDREN  OP  THE  CZAR. 

M.  Tourohbnibf/  when  traTelling  on  the 
road  from  Moscow  to  Toola,  six  years  ago, 
was  obliged  to  stop  a  whole  daj  at  a  wayside 
post-house,  for  want  of  a  fresh  relay  of  horses. 
He  was  retomlng  f^om  the  chase,  and  had 
had  the  imprudence  to  send  his  own  troika 
away.  While  detained  there,  another  tra- 
veller arrived,  shoutiug  **  Horses,  as  ^uick  as 
possible ! "  but  he  also  had  to  submit  to  the 
discourteous  refusal  of  the  postmaster.  To 
while  away  the  time,  the  two  new  acquaint- 
ances took  tea  together,  which  it  Is  the 
Russian  fashion  to  drink  out  of  glasses,  and 
to  qualify  with  a  greater  or  less  admixture  of 
rum.  The  chance  companionship  in  a  solitary 
inn,  the  wearisomeness  of  haying  nothing  to 
do,  the  tea,  and  the  rum,  had  the  combmed 
effect  of  setting  the  new  arrival — one  Peotre 
P^trovitch  Karataef,  a  territorial  seigneur.of 
the  second  class,  some  thirty  years  of  age- 
to  talk  unreservedly  of  lus  own  private 
affairs.  The  communicaticm  made  is  startling 
enough  to  persons  not  familiar  with  Russian 
institutions,  and  makes  'us  occidental  free- 
men aak  for  how  many  years  longer  it  will  be 
poasible  for  the  slavery  of  whites  to  continue, 
now  that  black  slavery  is  going  out  of 
fashion.  Not  to  anticipate  the  purport  of  the 
story,  we  leave  M.  Tourghenief  to  relate  it, 
in  the  way  in  which,  he  says,  it  was  told  to 
him. 

After  we  had  finished  taking  our  refresh- 
ment, Karataef  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands,  and  rested  his  elbows  on  the  table.  I 
watched  him  in  silence,  expecting  one  of 


•See  No.  258,  page  108. 


those  efi\isions  of  sentiment,  and  even  of 
tears,  which  are  so  apt  to  flow  from  people 
who  have  been  drinkinff  a  little ;  so  that  I 
was  forcibly^  struck  by  the  expression  of  de- 

Ercssed  spirits,  of  absolute  prostration,  which 
is  features  bore,  and  I  could  not  help  asking 
him  what  was  the  matter  with  him. 

"It  is  nothing,"  he  said.  "The  past  re- 
turned to  my  memory, — one  anecdote  partic- 
ularly. I  should  like  to  tell  it  to  you :  but 
really  you  must  be  getting  tired  of  my  "— 

"  Oil,  by  no  means.  Let  me  hear  your 
story,  Feotre  P^trovitoh,  and  be  assured  that 
I  shall  listen  with  a  friendly  ear." 

"  So  I  will,  then.  What  occurred  to  me 
was  this.  I  resided  in  my  own  village,  and 
being  a  professed  sportsman,  of  course  I 
rambled  about  the  neighbourhood.  One  day 
I  caught  sight  of  a  girl.  Ah  I  what  a  pretty 
girl  I  A  real  beauty  I  And  with  all  that, 
what  a  good  find  clever  creature  she  was  I 
Her  name  was  Matr^na.  But  she  was  only 
one  of  the  common  people,—<][uite  common, 
you  understand, — a  servant,  a  slave.  She 
did  not  belonff  to  me,  and  there  was  the  dif- 
ficulty. She  Delonged  to  another  estate, — 
she  was  the  property  of  another  person, — 
and  I  was  over  heaa  and  ears  in  love  with 
her.  My  story  is  a  love-tale.  Excuse  my 
troubling  you  with  it.  And  she  was  in  love 
as  well  as  myself ;  and  there  she  was,  begging 
and  praying  me  to  buy  her,  to  go  and  see  her 
lady,  pay  whatever  sum  was  a&ed,  and  then 
take  her  away  with  me.  The  same  Uiought 
had  also  occurred  to  mvself.  Her  lady  was  a 
rich  woman,  of  one  of  the  oldest  families. 
The  old  lady's  residence  was  situated  fifteen 
versts  from  mine.  Well,  one  fine  morning,  as 
the  saying  is,  I  had  my  best  trolge,  my  very 
best  team  of  three  horses,  harnessed  to  my 
best  drochka.  I  put  my  hackney  in  front  la 
the  middle.  Oh  I  such  an  Asiatic  as  you  do 
not  often  see,  and  whom,  on  account  of  the 
brightness  of  his  coat,  I  called  Lampourdos. 
I  dressed  myself  in  my  Sunday's  best,  and 
set  off  to  pay  a  visit  to  Matr^na's  lady. 

'*  With  these  arrangements  for  producing  a 
good  eflfect  at  first  sight,  I  arrived  at  my 
destination.  I  beheld  a  large  house  flanked 
with  a  couple  of  elegant  wings,  with  an 
avenue  and  square  in  front,  and  with  large 
gardens  at  the  back.  Matr^na  was  waiting 
for  me  at  a  certain  turn :  she  tried  to  speak 
to  me.  All  she  could  do  was  to  kiss  her 
hand.  I  entered  the  ante-chamber  ^  I  asked 
if  the  lady  were  at  home.  A  great  simpleton 
of  a  footman  came  forward,  and  said,  <  How 
is  it  your  pleasure  to  be  announced  ? '— '  Go, 
my  fine  fellow,  and  announce  M.  Karataef,  a 
neighbouring  gentleman  proprietor,  and  say 
that  I  am  come  to  talk  about  business.' — The 
footman  retired.  I  waited,  I  considered,  and 
said  to  myself, '  Shall  I  succeed,  or  shall  I 
fail  ?  And  if  the  old  fool  should  take  it  into  ' 
her  head  to  ask  me  an  extravagant  price! 
She  is  rich, — ^yes,  that's  evident ;  die  is  not  a 
bit  the  less  likely  on  that  account  to  want  for 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Condocted  by 


Matr^na,  for  InstaDce,  as  much  as  five  hon- 
dred  roubles  (eighty  poands  sterling).' 

*'  The  footman  re-appeared,  and  announced 
to  me  that  I  was  waited  for.  He  introduced 
me  into  the  saloon.  There,  seated  in  an  arm- 
chair, was  a  very  little  bilious-complexioned 
woman,  winking  both  her  eyes  as  rapidly  as 
the  second-hand  on  the  face  of  a  time-piece. 
I  approached ;  without  further  preliminary, 
she  bluntly  asked  me  what  I  wanted.  Tou 
can  fancy  that,  without  pretending  to  be 
susceptible,  I  thought  it  apropos  to  begin  by 
telling  the  lady  that  I  was  happy  to  see  her, 
and  delighted  to  make  her  honourable  ac- 
quaintance.— *  You  are  under  a  mistake,'  she 
said.  '  I  am  not  the  mistress  of  this  estate  ; 
I  am  related  to  the  lady.  Say  what  you 
want.' — *  Excuse  my  telling  you  that  I  require 
to  speak  to  my  honourable  neighbour  ner- 
self .' — *  Maria  lUinlchna  does  not  receive  anjr 
one  to-day ;  ;she  is  indisposed.  What  is  it 
that  you  want?' — *Come,  there  is  no  help 
for  it,'  I  thought  to  myself,  and  so  I  men- 
tioned Matr^na,  and  explained  the  object  of 
my  visit— 'Matronal  the  girl  Matronal' 
muttered  the  old  winkeress.  *  Who  can  this 
Matr^na  be? ' — '  She  is  Matr^na  Fedoravna, 
the  daughter  of  F6dor  Koqlikof.'—  <  Ah  I 
Matr^na,  fat  Koulik's  daughter!  And  how 
did  you  happen  to  get  acquainted  with  the 
girl  ? ' — '  By  a  chance  accident.' — *  And  is  she 
aware  of  your  intention  to  buy  her? ' — '  Yes, 
madame.' — *  Grood !  I'll  settle  her  business. 
To  think  of  the  creature  1 '  said  the  lady, 
turning  fh)m  saffron  to  chocolate,  after  a 
silence  of  no  good  omen. 

"  I  was  completely  aghast,  not  having  sus- 

Eected  that  my  proposition  could  in  anyway 
ave  brought  the  poor  girl  into  any  trouble. 
*  Matrina  is  not  at  all  to  blame,'  I  said.  *  I 
am  ready  to  pay  any  reasonable  sum,  which  I 
shall  he  greatly  obliged  if  you  will  have  the 
goodness  to  fix.'  The  tufts  of  curly  hairs 
which  ornamented  the  old  lady's  face  bristled 
up ;  she  puffed  and  puffed,  and  then  said,  in 
a  hard!  voice, '  Dear  me  I  this  is  something 
surprising !  As  if  we  stood  in  great  need  of 
your  money  I  I  wiU  give  it  her, — I  will  ffive 
it  her  I  We  will  cure  her  of  this  pretty  piece 
of  madness, — ^we  know  the  receipt  for  that 
complaint!'  (The  old  lady  coughed  with 
spite,  and  changed  from  chocolate  to  caf^  au 
lait)  <She  isn't  comfortable  with  us,  the 
creature !  Little  ^e-devil,  take  yourself  off; 
you  shall  ijay  for  it.  God  forgive  me,  if  there 
is  any  sin  in  doing  so ! ' 

"  I  confess  that,  at  these  words,  I  had  the 
weakness  to  take  fire.  '  Why  should  you  be 
so  enraged  against  a  poor  girl  ?  Can  you  tell 
me  in  what  respect  she  has  been  to  blame  ? ' 
— The  old  lady  crossed  herself,  and  said,  'Ah  I 
good  God,  do  I ;  this  girl  does  not  belong  to 
-  you,  not  to  you,  sir.  You  have  no  bumness 
to  meddle  in  the  matter.  Maria  Illinichna 
can  manage  her  own  affairs ;  but  you  think 
proper  to  interfere.  However,  I  shall  make 
it  my  business  to  remind  Matrina  to  whom 


she  owes  obedience, — whose  hands  and  feet 
she  is  bound  to  kiss.' 

**  At  that  moment  I  should  have  been  very 
glad  to  twist  the  old  fury's  cap  hind  part  in 
front ;  but  I  recollected  Matrdna's  position, 
and  my  arms  remained  nailed  fast  to  my  sides. 
I  was  so  completely  balked  that  I  did  not 
know  what  I  was  about.  I  said  at  random, 
*  Put  whatever  price  you  please  on  Matr^na.' 
— 'And  pray  what  do  you  want  with  her  ? ' 
— *  She  has  taken  my  fancy,  madame ;  and 
she  pleases  me  still.  Put  yourself  a  little  in 
my  position.  Permit  me  to  have  the  honour 
of  kissing  your  hand.'  And  in  fact,  would 
you  believe  that  I  kissed  the  hand  of  this 
cursed  old  witch;?— 'Well,'  muttered  the  old 
woman, '  I  will  state  the  affair  to  Maria  Illi- 
nichna, and  she  will  decide  upon  it.  You  can 
come  here,  again  the  day  after  to-morrow.' 

**  I  returned  home  in  a  state  of  great  agita- 
tion. I  could  not  help  thinking  that  I  had 
begun  the  business  badly,  and  uiat  I  ou^ht 
not,  in  any  case,  to  have  betrayed  the  motive 
by  which  I  was  urged.  I  said  to  myself,  *  It  is 
too  late  to«pretend  to  be  indifferent  now.' 
Two  days  afterwards,  I  made  my  second 
appearance  at  the  lady's  house.  This  time  I 
was  introduced  into  her  cabinet,  which  was 
luxuriously  furnished  and  carpeted.  She  was 
there,  in  her  own  proper  person,  stretched 
almost  at  full  len^h,  on  some  sort  of  mar- 
vellously mechanical  arm-chair,  with  her 
head  reposing  upon  a  cushion.  The  old  lady, 
the  relation  who  had  received  me  at  my  for- 
mer visit,  was  present,  and  there  was  besides,  ' 
a  kind  of  young  lady  with  white  eyebrows  and 
eyelashes,  and  a  mouth  on  one  side,  in  a  high 
green  dress,  as  verdant  as  a  meadow ;  I  took 
her  to  be  a  humble  companion.  The  lady 
begged  me  to  be  seated.  I  sat  down.  She 
asked  me  how  old  I  was,  where  I  had  served 
in  the  army,  and  what  were  my  future  proB- 

Eects.    She  spoke  with  a  certain  tone  of 
auteur  and  superiority.    I  gave  answers  to 
her  triple  question. 

"She  took  her  pocket-handkerchief  and 
fanned  her  face  with  it,  as  if  she  were  brush- 
in  away  some  offensive  vapour ;  then  ^e 
said,  dropping  out  her  words  one  by  one, 
'  Eaterina  Karpovna,  the  lady  present,  hav 
reported  to  me  the  intentions  you  have  enter- 
tained. She  has  made  me  a  report  of  the 
circumstances,  at  the  same  time  that  she  is 
fhlly  aware  that  I  never  depart  firom  a  prin- 
ciple I  have  laid  down ;  I  never  allow  my 
people  to  enter  the  service  of  other  persons, 
no  matter  who  they  may  be.  In  my  eyes, 
that  would  be  a  most  improper  proceeding, 
(^uite  inconsistent  with  a  wellrmanaged  estab- 
lishment: it  would  be  disorderly  and  im- 
moral. I  have  arranged  everything  for  the 
best,  as  is  proper  in  sueh  unpleasant  cases ; 
it  is  quite  unnecessary,  therefore,  sir,  for  you 
to  give  yourself  any  further  trouble  in  the 
matter.' — *  Trouble  I  I  beg  your  pardon, 
madame,  but  I  do  not  exactly  understand  your 
meaning;  do  you  mean  to  say  that  Matrlna's 


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ChaijM  DickeaiO 


MORE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CZAR. 


2i9 


aervicea  are  indispensable  to  yourself,  per- 
son^ly?* — 'By  no  means;  neither  the  girl 
nor  her  services  are  at  all  necessary  to  me/ 
— '  Well,"  then,  why  will  you  not  consent  to 

fart  with  her?'—*  Because  I  do  not  choose  ; 
will  not  give  her  up  ;  and  that  is  all  I  have 
to  say  about  it.  I  have  given  my  orders,  and 
they  are  irrevocable.  I  have  sent  her  to  a 
village  which  I  possess  in  the  Steppes.' 

"  This  speech  made  me  feel  as  if  a  flash  of 
lightning  had  gone  through  my  brain.  The 
old  lady  said  a  few  words  in  French  to  the 
young  woman  in  green,  who  thereupon  In- 
stantfy  left  the  room. — *  You  must  know,'  she 
then  said  to  me,  *  I  am  a  woman  of  principle ; 
besides  that,  the  delicate  state  of  my  health, 
which  makes  me  incompetent  to  suffer  the 
least  agitation.  You  are  still  a  young  man  ; 
I,  on  the  other  hand,  am  a  very  old  woman, 
which  entitles  me  to  offer  you  a  little  advice. 
Would  it  not  be  as  well  if  you  were  to  think 
of  settling ;  if  you  were  to  choose  a  suitable 
match,  and  get  married  honourably  and  re- 
spectably? Girls  with  large  fbrtunes  are 
sc&rce ;  and  as  nothing  is  ever  gained  by 
marrying  beneath  one's  own  rank,  we  might 
find  you  up  a  respectable  girl  who,  though 
not  endowed  with  worldly  ricnes,  would  bring 
you  the  wealth  of  the  heart  and  the  treas- 
ures  of  morality. 

"  At  this  proposition,  sir,  I  stared  at  the 
old  woman.  I  did  not  comprehend  in  the 
least  what  she  was  prating  about.  I  heard 
that  she  talked  of  my  getting  married ;  I 
almost  guessed  that  she  had  some  one  whom 
she  wanted  to  provide  for  before  she  turned 
up  the  wliites  of  her  eyes.  It  was  very  kind 
on  her  part,  and  came  cheaper  than  a  legacy. 
But  she  also  mentioned  a  village  in  the 
Steppes  to  which  perhaps  they  were  dragging 
Matrena  at  the  very  moment  that  she  was 
persuading  me  to  marry  her  toad-eater.  I 
was  boiling  with  rage.  I  said  to  the  old 
match-maker,  *  Well,  madame,  have  we  been 
beating  about  the  bush  all  this  while  for  no- 
thing ?  I  did  not  want  your  advice  as  to 
whom  to  marry ;  I  simply  wanted  to  know 
whether  you  would  consent  or  not,  for  a  pecu- 
niary consideration,  to  part  with  the  girl 
Matrina,  your  subject.' — Instantly  old  lady 
number  two  rose,  flashing  furious  glances  at 
me,  and  approached  with  the  greatest  solici- 
tude old  lady  number  one,  who  began  utter- 
ing '  Oh's !'  and  '  Ah's  I'  as  if  I  had  been  the 
devil  in  person.  *  Ah  1  This  man  has  quite 
upset  me.  Oh  I  there,  there,  make  him  leave 
the  room.  Send  him  away  directly;  oh! 
dear  me,  oh !' — ^Number  two  began  shouting 
at  me  so  effectually  that  I  could  not  get  in  a 
single  word  of  excuse.  Number  one,  on  her 
part,  moaned  like  a  spoiled  child  in  a  fit  of 
the  colic,  and  said,  'What  have  I  done  to 
deserve  such  treatment  as  this  ?  I  suppose  I 
am  not  to  be  mistress  over  my  own  serfs.  I 
am  not  to  do  as  I  like  in  my  own  house.  Oh  I 
Ouf!  Ahl  Aie!' 

"  I  rushed  out,  and  made  my  escape  as  fast 


as  I  could,  as  If  I  were  pursued  by  a  tvtole 
legion  of  vipers  led  on  by  a  pack  of  witches. 
"  Perhaps,"  continued  M.  Karataef,  "  you 
yourself  will  judge  me  rather  harahly  for 
having  formed  so  strong  an  attaehment  to  a 
woman  belonging  to  the  servile  class.  I  was 
wrong,  I  confess ;  and  I  do  not  attempt  to 
justify  my  weakness.  I  relate  the  facts,  and 
nothing  more.  After  this,  I  had  not  a 
moment's  repose ;  I  tormented  myself  night 
and  day,  reproaching  myself  with  having 
brought  the  poor  girl  into  serious  trouble.  I 
pictured  her  to  myself  as  keeping  geese  in  a , 
coarse  smock-frock,with  the  body  part  spotted 
and  stained  with  grease,  groaning  morning 
and  evening  under  the  frightful  insults  of  a 
brutal  village  elder, — a  peasant  in  heavy 
boots  smeared  with  pitch, — and  I  fell  into  a 
cold  perspiration  at  the  mere  idea  of  these 
horrors,  which,  after  all,  might  be  merely 
imaginary. 

"  At  last,  being  unable  to  control  my  Im- 
patience,! obtained  information.  I  discovered 
to  what  village  Matrena  had  been  banished ; 
Ijumped  on  horseback  and  rode  thither. 
With  all  the  haste  I  could  make,  I  did  not 
reach  it  till  the  evening  of  the  next  day.  I 
easily  percc^lved  that  they  had  not  expected  I 
should  play  them  such  a  prank  as  that,  and 
that  no  precautions  had  been  taken,  nor  any 
orders  given,  in  respect  to  myself.  I  went 
straight  to  the  elder^s  house,  just  as  any  other 
neighbouring  seigneur  of  the  Steppe  would 
have  done, 

"  As  soon  as  I  entered  the  court,  I  eaught 
sight  of  Matrina,  who  was  sittmg  under  the 
entrance-porch^  with  her  head  leaning  on  her 
band.  After  ^e  first  moment  of  surprise, 
she  was  goine  to  utter  an  exclamation  of  joy ; 
but  I  made  sT^s  to  her  to  dissimulate  her 
feelings,  pointing  In  the  direction  of  the  fields 
that  lay  towards  the  west  and  out  of  sight  of 
the  cottages.  I  went  into  the  elder's  house, 
and  told  that  wortny  a  cock-ana-bull  story 
which  completely  threw  them  off  the  track  of 
my  personality;  and  when  the  moment 
favourable  to  my  project  had  arrived,  I 
hastened  away  to  meet  Matrina.  I  easily 
found  her,  and  the  poor  little  darling  hung 
round  my  neck ;  she  could  not  cease  from 
kissing  my  hands  and  my  hair.  Poor  little 
dove,  she  was  pale  ;  she  had  grown  much 
thinner.  I  said  to  her,  *  There,  there,  have 
done  with  that,  and  don't  cry ;  come,  I  won't 
have  you  cry.' — It  was  easy  to  say  so,  but  I 
myself  was  crying  like  a  woman.  Neverthe- 
less, I  was  ashamed  of  myself.  '  Matrina,'  I 
resumed,  *  tears  are  but  %  poor  remedy  for  a 
heavy  misfortune.  You  must  summon  up  a 
little  resolution  :  you  must  escape  from  this 
place  ;  I  will  take  you  up  on  horseback  be- 
hind me  ;  that  is  the  only  chance  we  have.' 
— 'What  a  desperate  measure !  Recollect  that 
if  I  take  such  a  step  as  that,  they  will  set 
upon  me  like  furies.  Ah  I  yes :  they  will 
tear  me  to  pieces !'—'  Silly  girl  I  Who  should 
find  you  out?' — They  will  be  sure  to  find 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Condactcd  bj 


me  ont ;  I  shall  be  certainly  discovered,'  she 
said  in  a  Yoice  that  trembled  with  terror. 
Then,  passing  from  one  emotion  to  another, 
she  added, '  I  thank  you,  Peotre  F^trovitch  : 
never  in  my  life  shall  I  forget  this  mark  of 
voor  attachment  But  fote  has  driven  me 
here,  and  here  I  will  remain.* — 'Matrina, 
Matrina  i  I  thoo^t  you  had  some  little  force 
of  chanMSter,  and  here  yon  stand,  half-dead 
with  fright  Yon  have  not  the  slightest  q[>ark 
of  courage.' 

''  She  did  not  really  want  for  courage ;  she 
had  plenty.  She  did  not  want  for  som  ;  ners 
was  a  heart  of  gold,  monsieur,  I  assure  you. 
I  returned  to  my  proposition.  *  Good  God  I 
what  makes  you  determine  to  remain  here  T 
If  yon  will  have  to  undergo  suffering  in  con- 
sequence of  making  your  escape,  it  all  only 
comes  to  the  same  thing.  You  cannot  be 
worse  off  anywhere  than  you  are  in  this  wild 
and  desert  spot.  I  am  certain  that  this  brute 
of  an  elder  kicks  you  and  gives  vou  blows  of 
the  fist  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  Sullying  and 
beating  some  one.' 

"  Matr^na  blushed  deeply  and  ground  her 
teeth.  She  made  no  reply ;  then,  thinking  of 
the  consequences  of  her  flight,  were  she  to 
take  that  decided  step,  she  turned  ^ale,  and 
said,  *If  I  run  away.  I  shall  bring  misfortune 
on  every  one  belonging  to  me.' — 'How  so  ?  Do 
you  believe  they  would  persecute  your  whole 
family  T  Would  they  send  your  relations  into 
banishment  ?' — '  In  the  first  place,  my  brother 
would  be  certainly  sent  here  In  my  stead : 
and  what  a  cruel  lot  that  would  be  for  him !' 
— *  But  your  fother  ?' — *  My  &ther  would  not 
be  sent  away ;  my  lady  has  only  one  good 
tailor  belonging  to  her,  and  that  is  he.' — 
'  Ah !  that's  tol  right,  then.  And  your  brother, 
you  may  be  sure,  would  not  remain  long  in 
the  Steppe.  Your  father  would  urge  every 
day  that  the  lad,  at  least,  has  not  committed 
any  crime ;  he  would  beg  for  his  release,  and 
he  would  be  soon  sent  back  again.' — Terhaps 
it  might  turn  out  so ;  but  you,  you— they 
would  make  you  responsible — ^they  would 
bring  you  into  trouble.  I  would  sooner  die 
than  be  the  cause  of  what  might  happen.' — 
'  As  to  that,  that's  my  affair,  dear  girl,  and 
not  yours.' 

*'  She  turned  and  re-turned  her  objections 
over  and  over  again,  but  she  i^eady  began  to 
hesitate.  I  carried  her  off,  not  this  time,  but 
after  another  visit.  I  arrived  one  night  with 
my  chariot ;  she  had  taken  her  resolution,  and 
I  drove  away  with  her. 

<<  Did  she  step  into  your  chariot  of  her  own 
free  will  ?"  I  asked  of  M.  Korataef. 

"  Entirely  of  her  own  free  will.  I  reached 
home  next  day  at  dusk,  and  I  installed  her  in 
her  new  abode.  My  house  consisted  of  eight 
rooms  in  all,  and  I  employed  only  a  very  sinall 
number  of  persons  ih  my  service.  My  people, 
I  may  tell  you  without  the  slightest  scruple, 
respected  me,  and  were  so  devoted  to  me  that, 
I  declare;  they  would  not  have  betrayed  me 
for  all  the  wealth  in  the  world.   I  was  singu- 


larly  happy.  Matrina,  while  she  remained 
with  me,  remembered  her  past  sufferings 
only  to  enhance  the  enjoyment  of  her  present 
life,  and  soon  regained  her  health  and  her 
fresh  complexion ;  and  I,  beholding  her  so 
handsome,  so  happy,  bo  grateful  for  my  atten- 
tions, became  more  attacned  to  her  than  ever. 
What  an 'excellent  girl  she  was,  monsieur  I 
Let  those  who  can,  explain  the  matter,  but  I 
found  that  she  could  sing,  dance,  and  play  the 
guitar.  I  was  carelUl  not  to  let  the  neigh- 
bouring landowners  catch  sight  of  her  ;  for 
how  was  I  to  prevent  their  gossiping,  even 
without  their  meaning  to  do  us  any  harmt 
But  I  had  a  friend,  quite  an  intimate  friend, 
his  name  is  Gomostaef  Pantelei— don't  you 
know  him! 

"*No.' 

"  Gomostaef  was  quite  charmed  with  her; 
he  kissed  her  hands  as  he  would  have  done  to 
a  handsome  lady,  I  assure  you.  I  confess 
that  Gomostaef  was  quite  a  different  sort  of 
man  to  me — he  was  a  man  of  learning — ^he 
had  read  all  Pouchkine  through — and  when 
he  conversed  with  Matr^na  and  myself,  there 
we  were,  all  ears,  devouring  his  discourse 
with  open  mouth.  He  taught  my  little  Ma- 
tr^na  to  write — he  was  a  very  original  fellow. 
As  for  me,  I  set  her  up  with  such  a  wardrobe 
that  she  might,  in  point  of  dress,  have  check- 
mated his  excellence  the  governor's  wife. 
She  had.  especially,  a  manteau  of  raspbcrry- 
colourea  velvet,  with  a  collar  and  lining  of 
black  fox  fur — ah  I  how  well  she  looked  in 
that  I  A  Moscow  madame  made  that  man- 
teau, in  the  newest  fashion,  with  a  waist  to  it. 
Many  were  the  days  when,  from  morning  till 
night,  I  was  occupied  with  one  single  idea, 
namely,  how  to  procure  her  some  great 
pleasure.  And,  will  you  believe  it?  when  I 
loaded  her  with  presents,  it  was  only  for  the 
sake  of  seeing  her  dance  with  joy,  blush  with 
delight,  try  on  the  drcsscss  or  ornaments, 
advance  towards  me  radiant  with  satisfaction, 
bend  smiling  before  me,  and,  at  last,  throw 
her  arms  round  my  neck. 

"  Her  father  Koulik,!  cannot  tell  how,  got 
wind  of  the  affair,  and  strongly  denied  the 
tmth  of  it  to  every  one  that  mentioned  it. 
But  he  came  secretly  to  see  us,  his  daughter, 
and  myself  You  can  imagine  how  we  treated 
him.  lie  shed  a  good  many  tears  of  pleasure, 
and  departed  mysteriously  as  he  came.  In 
this  way,  we  spent  five  months :  I  need  not 
tell  you  that  i  should  have  liked  it  to  last 
our  whole  lives  long.  But  I  was  born  an  ex- 
ceedingly unlucky  rellow  " — 

"What  bad  luck  occurred  to  you  after- 
wards ?"  I  inquired  with  sympathy,  observing 
that  he  was  in  some  sort  embarrassed  at  hav- 
ing talked  about  himself  so  long. 

"  All  my  happiness  went  to  the  devil,"  he 
answered,  making  a  gesture  of  renunciation 
of  very  familiar  use  in  Russia  by  all  except 
persons  of  education  who  have  travelled  or 
who  habitually  frequent  the  saloons  of  the 
three  capitals— a  gesture  which  commences 


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231 


by  a  rapid  moTement^  and  ends  by  dropping 
the  hand  like  a  victim.  "And  I  was  the 
cause  of  her  misery. 

"  One  of  Matr^na's  greatest  delights  was  to 
take  long  sledge  drives.  I  nsed  to  gratify  her 
taste  in  the  evening,  at  an  hoar  when  we  ran 
the  least  risk  of  meeting  any  one  that  knew 
OS.  Once^  with  the  intention  of  making  a 
good  long  ezcnrsion,  we  selected  an  incom- 
parably beautiful  day.  It  was  clear  frosty 
weather,  there  was  a  splendid  sunset,  and  not 
a  breath  of  wind.  We  started.  Matr^natook 
the  reins:  and  I,  satisfied  and  thinking  of 
other  things,  scarcely  looked  which  way  she 
was  driving.  And  where  should  abe  go  but 
take  the  road  to  Eoukouefka,  her  mistress's 
great  village.  Tes ;  there  we  were,  almost 
at  Koukouefka.  I  said  to  Matr^na,  *Yon 
mad^p  girl,  where  are  you  going  to  V  She 
looked  at  me  over  her  shoulder  and  smiled. 
I  thought  to  myself  she  has  a  mind,  for  once, 
at  least,  in  her  life,  to  enjoy  the  unknown 
pleasure  of  indulging  in  a  little  bravado— 
what  a  child  she  is  I  It  is  such  capital  fun— 
a  single  once — only  once — to  drive  full  speed 
past  the  seigneural  abode,  in  an  equipage  and 
dress  only  used  by  nobles,  and  to  dash  in  style 

through  a  place  where  formerly Oh  I  it  is 

a  great  temptation! — and  I  was  weak  enough 
to  allow  her  to  do  it. 

"We  approached  the  village  rapidly— my 
spendid  fore-horse  flew  away  witn  us — the 
two  side-horses  rattled  on  like  a  couple  of 
whirlwinds.  We  could  already  see  the  cross 
and  the  roof  of  ttie  church.  Meanwhile  on 
the  road  before  us  there  was  an  old  green 
close-carriage,  creeping  like  a  tortoise,  behind 
which  there  stood  a  tall  footman.  It  was  the 
great  lady  who,  by  an  extraordinary  chance, 
was  taking  a  short  eveninsr  drive.  The  mere 
circumstance  of  meethig  them  made  me  un- 
easy enough.  But  Matr^na  urged  the  horses 
on  straight  towards  the  heavy  equipage, 
whose  coachman  became  considerably  alarmed 
at  the  approach  of  the  high-spirited  troika, 
which  seemed  as  if  it  must  inevitably  dash 
down  upon  his  team  like  an  avalanche.  He 
tried  to  make  way  for  this  fabulous  obicct, 
which  his  advanced  age  prevented  him  from 
distinguishing  very  clearly;  he  pulled  the 
bridle  too  zealously,  and  upset  the  carriage  in 
a  shallow  ditch  lined  with  green  turf.  The 
glass  of  the  coach  door  was  smashed — the 
lady  screamed— the  humble  companion  called 
to  the  coachman  to  stop  his  horses — and  we — 
we  made  our  escape  at  the  top  of  our  speed. 
We  went  as  quick  as  the  horses  could  carry 
us ;  but,  I  thought,  there  will  be  some  squab- 
bling about  this  business.  I  was  a  great  fool 
to  let  her  go  to  Koukouefka. 

"  Fancy,  Monsieur,  that  the  old  everlasting 
and  her  green  pro^g^e  had  recognised  Ma- 
trfcna  and  myself.  The  lady  brought  a  com- 
plaint against  me,  in  which  It  was  stated  that 
a  runaway  serf-girl,  from  her  establishment, 
was  living  in  concealment  in  the  house  of  the 
noble  landed-proprietor,  Karataef.  In  making 


this  complaint,  she  found  means  to  induce 
the  police  to  take  the  matt^  up.  The  second 
day  after  our  prank  was  played,  the  isprav- 
nick,  the  police-captain,  came  to  my  house. 
This  ispravnik  was  well  known  to  me ;  his 
name  was  St^pane  Sergfa^ltch  Kouzovklne,  a 
good  sort  of  man.  An  ispravnik  a  good  sort 
of  man  T  You  understand — a  very  bad  sort 
of  man. 

"  Kouzovklne  came,  walked  in,  and  said  to 
me,  'Well,  Peotre  P^trovitch,  now,  now,  now  I 
— and  how  comes  all  this  about  t  Consider, 
the  responsibility  is  great,  and  the  laws  re- 
specting it  are  clear.' — *  I  am  aware  of  It, 
St^pane  Sergh^itch;  no  doubt;  no  doubt 
We  must  talk  the  matter  over.  But  you  have 
come  a  good  long  way ;  you  will  eat  a  little 
bit  of  something,  first  of  all.' 

"^e  consented  to  partake  of  luncheon j  but 
as  soon  as  he  had  taken  the  edge  off  his 
appetite,  he  said:  "Justice  must  have  its 
course,  Peotre  P^trovitch,  as  you  know  your- 
self.'—* Ah !  yes,  yes,  justice  I  But,  just  tell 
me,— I  have  been  told  that  you  have  an  old 
black  mare.  Tou  must  chop  me  her  with 
my  Lampourdos.  Will  that  suit  your  views  f 
But  there  is  no  such  a  thing  at  all,  at  all,  in 
my  house,  as  any  girl  by  the  name  of  Ma- 
trena  Fedorovna.' — '  Ah !  Peotre  P^trovitch, 
the  girl  is  In  your  hands  ;  and  you  know  very 
well  that  we  do  not  live  in  Switzerland.  Ajb 
to  chopping  your  horse,  Lampourdos,  there  is 
no  objection  to  that;  but  after  the  other 
day's  upset,  you  know,  one  might  take  hfan 
at  once,  without  a  word  about  any  chop— ^ 
Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha  I— In  spite  of  this  bitter- 
sweet pleasantry,  I  managed  to  get  rid  of 
him,  for  a  few  days  at  least. 

"The  old  lady  became  more  and  more 
inveterate  against  me.  '  It  will  cost  me  ten 
thousand  rubles  (sixteen  hundred  pounds 
sterling),  but  that  I  will  have  justice  done 
me  of  those  turtle  doves.' — ^The  whole  secret 
of  her  implacability;  Monsieur,  was,  that  the 
day  when  I  first  called  upon  her,  as  soon  as 
she  saw  me,  she  determined  to  marry  me 
to  her  green  young  lady.  My  refhsal,  which 
was  afterwards  repeated,  excited  her  thus 
to  make  war  to  the  knife.  Those  rich  country 
ladies,  who  are  eaten  up  with  ennui  In  their 
manorial  domains,  are  capable  of  entertain- 
ing the  strangest  fancies.  This  one  did  me 
a  deal  of  harm.  She  made  me  spend  im- 
mense sums  of  money,  which,  after  all, 
procured  me  truces  of  but  i^ort  dura- 
tion. I  had  considerable  trouble  in  hiding 
Matrftna  from  all  sorts  of  prying  eyes.  Scores 
of  snares  were  laid  to  trap  me,  and  it  is  a 
jniracle  that  I  did  not  fall  into  some  of  them. 
I  was  tracked  whichever  way  I  went,  exactly 
like  a  wretched  hare. 

"  I  fell  into  debt ;  I  lost  my  sleep,  and  I 
lost  my  health.  One  night,  I  was  lying  on 
my  bed,  and,  not  being  able  to  sleep,  I 
thought  to  myself.  Gracious  Heaven  I  what 
horrible  crime  have  I  committed,  that  I 
should  be  made  to  suffer  in  this  way  7    What 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCinAwtodbf 


can  I  do,  if  I  cannot  cease  loving  her :  for  I 
am  quite  Bare  that  h  above  my  strength? 
— I  heard  footsteps  in  mv  chamber.  It  was 
Matrina.  I  had  eecladed  her  temporarily  in 
a  farm  which  belonged  to  me,  two  versts  off. 

<*  I  was  alarmed  at  seeing  her,  supposing 
that  some  one  had  driven  her  away  from 
thence,  uid  I  questioned  her,  under  that 
impression.  *  No,'  she  said,  *  no  one  has  been 
to  disturb  me  at  Boubnova ;  but  things  can- 
not go  on  in  this  way,  m^  dear  Peotre  F4tro- 
viteh.  Your  situation  is  deplorable ;  and  I 
cannot  see  you  any  longer  in  such  a  state  as 
this.  My  mend,  you  know  that  I  can  never 
forget  the  fourteen  months  of  happiness 
which  I  owe  to  your  affection  j  but  the 
moment  has  at  last  arrived  when  it  becomes 
my  dvLtj  to  bid  you  adieu.' 

**  *  What  are  tou  talking  about !  What  do 
you  mean  by  bidding  me  adieu  t  Why  need 
you  bid  me  adieu  V — *  Think  only  of  your 
own  welfare  and  of  your  own  health.  Ab  for 
me,  I  have  known,  though  only  for  a  little 
while,  a  degree  of  happiness  of  which  my 
equals  are  ignorant.  1  must  now  go  where 
duty  calls  me*  I  mean  to  yield  myself  up  to 
my  mistress's  authority.' — <  I  tellyou,  I'll  have 
you  imprisoned  in  the  attics  1  Do  you  mean 
to  be  the  death  of  me  t  Do  you  mean  to 
break  my  heart  with  grief!  Speak,  then. 
Look  at  me.  What  is  the  cause  of  this  new 
idea?' — 'I  will  not  remain  with  you  any 
longer,  to  be  a  cause  of  misery  to  you — ^per- 
haps of  ruin.  I  know  what  your  suffeungs 
af^^— I  witness  them.' " 

Here  Peotre  P^trovitch  burst  into  sobs. 
As  soon  as  he  recovered  himself  he  hastened 
to  finish  his  story. — "Well,  what  do  you  say 
to  that?  "  he  continued,  strilung  the  table 
with  his  fist,  and  knitting  his  brows,  while 
the  tears  which  he  could  not  master  still  ran 
down  hia  inflamed  cheeks. — "  The  wretched 
girl  went  and  gave  herself  up.  She  went 
away  on  foot  that  very  nrght  She  presented 
herself  as  a  suppliant  at  her  lady's  door, 
and — " 

"  And  what  did  they  do  to  poor  Matr^na  ?" 
I  asked. 

M.  Karataefs  only  answer  was  the  gesture 
which  is  susceptible  of  a  variety  of  interpre- 
tations, which  I  have  already  alluded  to  in 
the  coarse  of  this  narrative. 

MISPRINTS. 

If  the  art  of  printing  be  one  of  the  most 
useful  inventions  which  Uie  world  has  known, 
the  art  of  misprinting  is  certainly  one  of  the 
most  ingenious.  Mii^rinting  in  its  best— or 
worst — acceptation,  does  not  simi|ly  consist  in 
mere  blundering,  but  in  blundering  so  pecu- 
liarlv  as  exactly  to  invert  the  sense  of  the 
original,  and  mSke  a  writer  say  the  reverse 
of  what  he  intended.  There  is  one  notice- 
able feature  beyond  all  the  rest  in  errors  of  the 
press :  they  occur  in  the  very  places  where 
they  most  affect  the  context 


Manage  accounts  for  this  very  naturally. 
He  says : — "  If  you  desire  that  no  mistakes 
shall  appear  in  the  worlcs  which  you  puhlUh, 
never  send  well-written  copy  to  the  prmter, 
for  in  that  case  the  manuscript  is  eiveo  to 
young  apprentices,  who  make  a  thoasand 
errors,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  that  which 
is  difficult  to  read,  is  dealt  with  by  the  master 
printers."  This  is  an  ejq>erience  wnich  authors 
very  soon  ac(|uire  ;  many  of  them  agree  bo 
thoroughly  with  the  learned  Frenchman,  as 
to  imagine,  apparently,  that  the  worse  they 
write,  Uie  better  they  will  be  printed ;  and 
that  the  printer,  like  a  great  general  or  a 
celebrated  beauty,  does  not  care  for  too  easy 
a  conquest :  give  him  a  difficulty  to  o?ercome, 
and  he  summons  all  his  energies  to  contend 
with  it :  but  make  the  path  easy  for  him,  and 
straightway  he  walks  into  a  slough. 

As  to  the  places  where  misprints  inevitably 
occur,  that  is  a  fatality  apart  from  ail  con- 
siderations of  good  or  bad  writing.  No  cali- 
ffraphic  precautions  can  guard  against  tiiem. 
It  is  a  question  of  pure  chance  whether,  when 
you  intend  to  be  particularly  clear  and  em- 
phatic, you  may  not  be  made  extremely 
muddy  and  inconclusive.  Much  depends,  per- 
haps, on  the  printer's  opinion  of  your  grammar 
and  punctuation ;  but,  some  have  held  that 
typographical  errors  are  fore-doomed.  A 
Mohammedan  says: — "It  is  written,"  and 
submits  calmly  to  his  fate ;  a  Christian 
author,  in  a  similar  fix,  exclaims :~"  It  is 

firinted,"  and  is  neither  calm  nor  resigned, 
t  is  of  no  use  to  tell  him  that  "  Things 
without  remedy  should  be  without  regard." 
He  belongs  to  an  irritable  race  who,  in 
such  matters,  never  forget  nor  forgive.  Of 
all  the  mistaJLes  that  are  committed  in  this 
world,  a  misprint  is  the  most  indelible.  A 
lady  may  make  a  false  step ;  a  gentleman's 
memory  may  be  treacherous,  and  lead  him  to 
suppose  himself  (commercially  and  autogra- 
phically)  somebody  else :  all  sorts  of  moral 
mishaps  may  chance ;  but  these  thiogsare  re- 
trievable: there  is  alwavs  a  door  open  for  repen- 
tance, or  the  exercise  of  greater  discretlon.^at 
a  misprint  is  a  fixture  that  cannot  be  removed. 
The  book  that  contains  it  goes  forth  to  the 
uttermost  parts  of  the  earth :  its  track  is  lost, 
though  its  existence  be  beyond  a  doubt.  Tou 
try  to  call  in  the  present  edition-^and  fall ; 
and  you  fall  for  this  reason  chiefly,  that 
through-going  book  collectors  set  an  addi- 
tional value  on  an  imperfect  copy ;  it  is  so 
pleasant  to  think  that  an  author's  reputation 
is  at  their  mercy.  To  print  a  list  of  errata  Is, 
in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  only  to  advertise  yonr 
misfortunes  in  the  most  conspicuous  manner. 
If  you  satisfy  the  public  that  the  mistake  was 
another's — a  result  by  no  means  certain— 
you  never  can  shut  your  eyes  to  the  fact  that 
the  disfigurement  will  last  as  long  as  the 
paper  on  which  it  is  impressed.  Therefore, 
your  implacability  against  the  printer. 

It  is  a  painful  but  natural  consequence  of 
enormous  reprinting,  but  in  no  work  have  so 


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lOSPEINTS. 


235 


maoj  faults  been   perpetrated  as  in   the 
Bible. 

Pope  Sixtos  the  Fifth  caused  an  edition 
of  the  Yulgate  to  be  published  in  Rome,  in 
fifteen  hundred  and  ninety,  every  proof  of 
which  he  had  carefully  corrected  himself :  and, 
at  the  end  of  the  volume  he  affixed  a  bull,  by 
which  he  excommunicated  any  one  who 
should  venture  to  make  any  alteration  in  the 
text  This  bull  caused  a  great  deal  of  amuse- 
ment—for the  Bible  was  found  to  be  tail  of 
mistakes ;  and  the  Pope,  in  consequenoe,  was 
obliged  to  suppress  the  edition.  A  copy  of  it 
hi  a  great  rarity,  and  of  course  fetches  a  high 
price.  Brunet,  in  his  "  Manuel  du  Libraire. " 
says  that  a  large^paper  copy  was  disposed  of 
at  the  sale  of  Camus  de  Limare  for  twelve 
hundred  and  ten  francs.  I  dare  say  it  would 
fetch  a  great  deal  more  at  Sotheby's  at  the 
present  moment  The  English  Bibles  contain 
Beveral  remarkable  misprints.  The  edition  of 
sixteen  hundred  and  thirty-four,  printed  in 
London,  has,  in  the  Twelfth  Psalm,  *<The 
fool  hath  said  in  his  heart  there  is  Grod," 
uistead  of  *'  there  is  no  God."  This  edition 
was  suppressed  bv  order  of  the  King.  In 
another  London  eaition  (sixteen  hundr^  and 
fifty-three,  in  quarto),  we  read,  "  In  order 
that  all  the  world  should  perceive  the  means 
of  arriving  at  worldly  riches,''  instead  of 
"godly  riches."  The  editions  of  Field,  the 
printer  to  the  University  of  Cambridge  in 
the  seventeenth  century,  are  full  of  misprints. 
It  is  said  that  he  received  a  present  of  fifteen 
hundred  pounds  from  the  Independents  to 
print  '*  ye  "  for  "  we,"  in  the  Mxth  verse  of  the 
third  chapter  of  the  Acts,  in  order  to  make  it 
appear  that  the  right  of  choosing  their 
pastors  emanated  from  the  people,  and  not 
from  the  Apostles : — '^  Wherefore,  brethren, 
look  ye  out  among  you  seven  men  of  honest 
report,  full  of  the  Holy  Ghost  and  of  wisdom, 
whom  ye  (we)  may  wpoint  over  this  busi- 
ness." In  the  same  Bible,  in  Corinthians 
(I.  vi.  9),  we  find,  **Know  ye  not  that  the 
unrighteous  shall  (not)  inherit  the  kingdom 
of  God," — onoitting  the  second  "not.''  At 
the  Clarendon  Press,  in  sixteen  hundred  and 
seventeen,  a  Bible  was  printed  which  was 
known  as  the  Vinegar  Bible,  on  account  of 
Uie  title  of  the  twentieth  chapter  of  St.  Luke, 
in  which  "Parable  of  the  Vineyard"  is 
printed  '•  Parable  of  the  Vinegar."  To  show 
how  dangerous  it  is  to  assert  infallibility 
while  correcting  the  press,  I  may  mention 
that  in  the  Curiosit^s  Bibliographiques  (a 
scarce  book,  though  published  in  Paris  only 
in  eighteen  hundi^  and  forty-seven),  from 
whence  I  have  derived  several  of  the  above- 
noticed  misprints,  the  word  "vinegar"  is 
printed  **vinegard."  The  omission  of  the 
nep^tive  has  occurred  more  than  once  in 
prmting  the  Seventh  Commandment.  This 
happened  with  an  edition  published  in  the 
reign  of  Charles  the  First ;  and  for  making 
it,  the  printers  were  summoned  before  the 
High  Commission,  and  fined  three  thousand 


pounds.  The  same  omission  occurred  in  the 
thirty-fourth  edition  of  the  Bible,  printed  at 
Halle,  which  was  confiscated,  and  is  now  a 
great  biblical  rarity.    All   scriptural   mis- 

frints  are  not,  as  we  have  seen  in  the  case  of 
'ield,  the  result  of  accident.  There  is  an- 
other on  record,  which  betrays  a  deep  and — 
may  I  add  ?~a  most  nefarious  design.  It  was 
the  design  of  a  printer's  widow  in  Germany 
to  upset  tiie  whole  system  of  the  domestic 
economy.  A  new  edition  of  the  Bible  was 
being  printed  in  her  house ;  and,  one  night 
when  iul  the  workmen  were  absent,  she  rose 
from  her  comfortless  couch  (a  German  bed 
always  is  comfortless,  lie  in  it  how  you  will), 
and  proceeded  to  the  printing-room,  there  to 
tamper  with  the  type  and  falsify  a  text  that  had 
cauMd  her  much  trouble.  Her  defunct  spouse 
had,  without  doubt,  given  her  fk>equent  cause 
to  protest  in  her  heart  asainst  that  sentence 
of  woman's  subjection  which  is  pronounced 
upon  Eve  in  the  third  chapter  of  Genesis. 
To  rescue  her  sex  from  its  false  position,  she 
resolved  to  alter  the  relative  positions  of  the 
parties,  and  taking  out  the  first  two  letters 
of  the  word"  herr,"  cunningly  replaced  them 
by  "  na."  By  this  means  the  decree  ran, 
*•  And  he  shall  be  thy  fool  (narr),"  instead 
of  "  he  shall  be  thy  ijORD  (herr)."  This  sub- 
stitution, though  submitted  to  in  domestic 
life— as  I  dare  say,  was  the  case— was  not 
suffered  to  pass  unpunished  by  those  who 
were  in  authority,  and  the  widow  was  burnt 
for  heresy.  Some  copies  of  this  edition  are 
said  to  have  been  secreted,  and  are  possibly 
to  be  found  in  the  private  libraries  of  a  few 
strong-minded  women. 

But,  besides  the  Bible,  there  are  manv 
other  works  whose  baris  is  religion,  which 
have  been  treated  so  carelessly  hj  the  printer, 
as  almost  to  justify  the  supposition  that  has 
been  more  than  once  entertained,  of  diabolic 
interference.  A  work  intituled  Missa  ac  Mis- 
salis  Anatomia,  printed  in  fifteen  hundred 
and  sixty-two«  contains  one  hundred  and  sixty- 
eight  pages  in  octavo,  and  errata  occupying 
fifteen  pages.  The  compiler  of  the  errata, 
to  excuse  their  number,  relates  the  various 
artifices  resorted  to  by  the  devil  to  frustrate 
the  good  effects  which  the  book  would  have 
caused.  "When  the  work  was  printed,"  he 
says,  "  that  cursed  Satan  made  use  of  all  his 
tricks,  and  succeeded  in  disfiguring  it  by  so 
many  mistakes  (for  certain  passages  contain 
no  sense  at  all,  and  others  give  exactly  the 
contrary  meaning  to  that  intended)  in  order 
to  prevent  the  pious  from  reading  it,  or  to 
weary  its  readers  so  effectually  that  none,with- 
out  extreme  disgust,  could  get  to  the  end  of 
the  volume.  Even  before  the  manuscript  was 
placed  in  the  printer's  hands,  this  same  Satan 
threw  it  in  the  dirt,  and  it  was  so  defaced 
with  wet  and  mud,  that  the  writing  was 
almost  effaced,  and  whole  pages  were  entirely 
spoilt  Besides,  the  book  was  so  terribly 
torn,  that  not  only  was  it  impossible  to  read 
it,  but  it  could  not  be  opened  without  the 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


234 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[COTdwsMby 


leaves 'sepaniting  from  each  other.  There^ 
fore,  in  order  to  remedy  theee  artifices  of 
Satan,  it  has  been  found  necessarj,  after 
printing,  to  go  entirely  throogh  the  work,  and 
set  down  all  the  mistakes,  notwithstanding 
their  great  nnmber.''  I  am  very  much  in- 
clined to  think  that  the  devil  who  threw  this 
book  in  the  mud,  was  the  printer's  devil. 

The  fate  of  Cardinal  Bellarmine's  Contro- 
versies, was  even  worse  tlian  that  of  the 
Anatomy  of  Missals,  althonghhis  eminence  re- 
frained firom  ascribing  it  to  diabolical  agency. 
Being  vexed  at  perceiving,  oncldse  examina- 
tion, that  nnmberlen  errors  existed  in  all  the 
editions  of  the  work  In  question,  he  had  a 
manuscript  copy  made  which  was  entirely 
free  from  faults,  and  confided  it  to  a  printer 
at  Venice,  with  the  strictest  injunctions  to  be 
careful  and  corfiDct.  His  precautions,  however, 
were  useless,  and  he  found  himself  under  the 
necessity  of  publishing  a  book  intituled,  Re- 
cognitio  Llbrorum  Omnium  Robertl  Bellarml- 
ni,  (Ingoldstadt,  sixteen  hundred  and  eight,  in 
octavo),  in  which  he  pointed  out  all  the  mis- 
takes that  had  been  made  in  the  Venetian 
edition.  The  errata  occupied  eigfaty-ei^^t 
pages  by  Itself.  The  author  complains  bit- 
terly in  his  preface,  that  in  more  than  fortv 
places  the  printer  has  made  him  say  '*  yes,'' 
for"  no,"  and  "  no  "  for  *♦  yes."  Another  learn- 
ed man,  the  Dominican  F.  Garcia,  found  yet  a 
lower  deep  than  Cardinal  Bellarmlne.  He 
pnbli^ed  in  fifteen  hundred  and  seventy- 
eight,  in  quarto,  a  list  of  the  mistakes  which 
had  crept  into  the  existing  impreeaon  of 'the 
Trance  of  St.  Thomas.  It  occupied  a  hundred 
and  eleven  pages.  While  on  the  subject  of 
mistakes  by  wholesale,  I  may  mention  the 
first  edition  of  the  works  of  Pico  de  la  Mlran- 
dola,  published  at  Strasburg  in  fifteen  hundred 
and  seven,  in  folio.  It  contains  a  list  of  errata 
of  fifteen  pages ;  "  the  most,"  says  Chevillier, 
"that  I  ever  remember  to  have  seen  in  so 
small  a  volume."  It  was  not  that  mistakes 
abounded  because  of  the  novelty  of  the  art  of 
printing,  for,  nearly  a  centurv  and  a  half  after 
lu  invention.  It  appears  that  the  works  printed 
in  Paris  were  so  incorrect  as  to  elicit  the 
animadversion  of  the  Government.  In  issuing 
a  serlesof  regulations  to  the  librarians  of  that 
eapltal  In  sixteen  hundred  and  fortv-nlne,  the 
department  charged  with  the  superintendence 
of  printed  worlu,  observes :  "  There  are  so 
few  good  books  printed  in  Paris,  and  what 
are  printed  there  are  evidently  so  greatly 
neglected,  both  on  account  of  the  bad  paper 
and  the  want  of  care  in  printing,  that  it  may 
truly  be  considered  a  national  wame,  and  an 
injury  to  the  state."  Paris  has  long  been  free 
from  the  reproach  of  inaccuracy,  though  there 
is  still  something  to  amend  In  a  general  way 
with  respect  to  we  quality  of  the  paper. 

Commend  me,  however,  for  bad  materials,  to 
the  country  in  which  printing  originated.  I 
have  before  me,  amongst  other  German  books 
which  closely  resemble  it,  a-  copy  of  Ebers's 
large  Worterbuch,  published  at  Leipeio,  in 


seventeen  hundred  aod  ninety-nine,  that 
seems,  from  the  colour  and  texture  of  the 
leaves,  to  have  been  printed  on  old  blankets 
liberally  interwoven  with  glistening  frag- 
ments of  straw.  But,  perhaps,  in  a  Dictionaiy 
a  little  chaff  is  allowable. 

The  greatest  printers  have  always  been 
distinguished,  not  only  by  the  beauW  of  their 
type,  but  by  the  correctness  of  its  appli- 
ance. Aldus  Minutius,  in  the  supplication 
which  he  addressed  to  Pope  Leo  the  Tenth 
(prefixed  to  his  edition  of  Plato,  In  fifteen 
hundred  and  thirteen),  says  that  be  experi- 
enced so  much  regret  when  he  dlscoTered 
mistakes  in  his  editions,  that  he  would  wil- 
lingly, if  he  could,  correct  every  one  of  ttiem 
at  the  cost  of  a  crown  of  gold  each.  And, 
after  all,  he  would  not  have  expended  any 
very  large  sum,  for  accuracy  is  as  valuable  a 
feature  of  the  Aldine  editions,  as  the  clear- 
ness and  delicacy  of  the  printing.  The 
Errata  of  the  Commentaries  on  the  Latm 
language,  l^  Etienne  Dolet,  indicate  only 
eight  mistakes,  although  the  work  is  in  two 
volumes  folio.  Only  three  appear  in  the 
treatise  of  Budeus,  De  Asse,  printed  by  Vas- 
cosan ;  and,  if  the  Soaligeriana  is  to  be 
trusted.  Cardan's  treatise,  De  Subtilitate,  by 
the  same,  in  fifteen  hundred  and  fifty-seven, 
contains  not  a  single  misprint.  These  statis- 
tics, however,  are  somewhat  dull :  let  me 
turn  to  a  more  lively  branch  of  the  subject 

A  very  notable  misprint  is  to  be  fbund 
in  the  works  of  Rabelais,  which  very  nearly 
got  him  into  trouble.  The  monks  and 
doctors  of  theology,  furious  against  him  on 
account  of  the  vituperative  epithets  by  which 
he  assailed  tiiem,  eagerly  sought  in  his 
works  for  the  means  of  convicting  him  of 
heresy.  A  council  was  held  at  the  Sorbonne, 
and  the  twenty-second  and  twenty-third  chap- 
ters of  the  third  book  of  the  Pantagruel  were 
selected  as  the  pieces  de  conviction  (proofs 
against  him).  The  former  of  these,  which  Iia 
sermon,  after  the  usual  fashion  of  Panurge, 
against  the  mendicant  friars,  contained— they 
decreed — ^in  one  word,  twice  repeated  there, 
and  once  in  Ihe  latter  chapt^,  the  entire 
principle  of  Atheism.  It  was  the  substitu- 
tutlon  by  the  printer  of"  asne  "  for  "  ame  "— 
"ass"  for  "soul."  These  are  the  passages: 
"  II  ha  grlevement  pech6.  Son  asne  s'en  vaa 
trente  mille  paner^es  de  dlables."  ("  He  has 
grievously  sinned  ;  his  ass  is  sent  to  thirty 
thousand  paniers-fuU  of  devils."  (**I1^ 
par  la  vertus  beuf,  h^r^tlque.  Je  dy  her*- 
tique  form^,  h^r^tique  clavel^,  Wr^tiqw 
bruslable  comme  une  belle  petite  horo- 
loge. Son  ame  e'en  va  &  trente  mille  cha- 
ret^es  des  dlables."  ("  He  Is,  by  the  vertus 
boeuf  (an  untranslateable  oath)  a  heretic.  1 
say  a  heretic  formed  with  the  rot,*  a  heretic 

•  H€r«ttqu«  cUreltf  fata  Utevallr  this  •'P*****'^; 
bat  it  baa  a  apMial  pannfng  allafiion  to  CUveliar  (or 
CUvelo),  adockmaker  of  U  BocbeUe,  who  wMborDj 
for  her^Ry,  together  with  a  wooden  clock  wtucii  " 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ChviM  JNckcB*.] 


lOSPBINTS. 


236 


fit  for  borning  like  a  pretty  little  clook.  His 
•88  ifl  sent  to  thirty  thousand  cart-loads  of 
deyil8.'0  **  An  moins  s'il  perd  le  corps  et 
la  vie :  quMl  ne  damne  son  asne,^^  (*'  At 
least,  tnough  he  lose  both  body  and  life,  let 
him  not  damn  his  ass.^)  On  these  grounds  the 
doctors  of  the  Sorboone  formally  denooneed 
Babeiais  to  Frtuieis  the  First,  and  requested 
permission  to  prosecute  the  author.  In  all 
matters  of  heresy  Francis  was  as  severe  as  an 
inquisitor-general ;  but,  in  this  instance,  here- 
solved  to  judge  for  himself  before  he  handed 
over  his  favourite  writer  to  the  tender  mercies 
of  the  Dominicans.  He  had  not  then  read  the 
offending  chapters,  and  caused  the  book  to 
be  placed  In  tne  hands  of  the  most  learned 
and  accurate  reader  in  the  kingdom,  himself 
carefully  listening  the  while  to  detect  the 
heretical  passages.  He  failed  to  discover 
them,  and  no  proceedings  conseanentlv  were 
taken  asainst  Rabelais,  who,  in  the  epistle  at 
the  head  of  the  fourth  book,  dedicated  to  the 
Cardinal  de  Chatilion,  ridicules  his  principal 
aecuser,  whom  he  calls  a  serpent-eater 
(maogeur  de  serpens)  for  founding  a  charge 
of  mortal  heresy  on  the  insertion  of  an  N 
Instead  of  an  M,  through  the  Ikult  and 
negligence  of  the  printers.  There  is,  how- 
ever, very  good  reason  for  supposing  that  the 
misprint  was  intentional.  If  so,  poor  Etienne 
Dolet,  who  eould  print  so  well,  suiTered  for 
it  shortly  afterwards,  when,  at  the  stake,  he 
expiated  less  doubtful  heretical  opinions. 
Foiled  in  their  endeavours,  the  enemies  of 
Rabelus,  at  a  later  period,  shifted  their 
ground,  and  unable  to  convict  him  according 
to  the  letter  of  his  writings,  attacked  their 
spirit,  accusing  him  of  double  meaning.  How- 
ever open  to  the  charge,  Rabelais  defended 
himself  in  a  very  grave  and  pious  tone,  and 
succeeded  in  persuading  Henry  the  Third,  to 
whom  the  accusation  was  addressed,  to  take 
off  the  interdict,  which  for  a  long  time  pre- 
vented the  continuation  of  the  Pantagmel. 

Erasmus  was  a  sufferer  also,  both  on 
account  of  misprints  and  misinterpreted 
meanings.  The  feculty  of  Theology  of  Paris 
censured  him  for  an  unlucky  mistake  made 
by  his  printer  in  the  paraphrate  of  the  six- 
teenth chapter  of  St.  Matthew,  where  *'  amore 
singnlari "  appeared  instead  of  "  more  singu- 
lan ;''  and  he  was  accused  of  confining  theo- 
logy to  Germany,  because  they  chose  to  read 
in  that  sense  a  passage  in  his  Enchiridion,  in 
which  he  praised  the  "  Grermanam  aposto- 
lorum  theo^ogiam,"  or  genmn$  (not  German), 
apostolic  theology.  It  was  scarcely  lees  a 
crime  in  their  eyes  that  he  should,  in  the 
Lord's  Prayer,  have  substituted  '*peccata" 
for"debita." 

'^Besides  the  ordinary  errata,"  says  D'Israeli 
the  elder,  <'  which  happen  in  printing  a  work, 
others  have  been  purposely  committed,  in 
order  that  the  errata  may  contain  what  is 
not  permitted  to  appear  in  the  body  of  the 
work.  Wherever  the  Inquisition  had  power, 
particularly  at  Rome,  it  was  not  allowed  to 


employ  the  word  ftUum  or  fata  in  any  work. 
An  author  desirous  of  using  the  latter  word, 
adroitly  invented  this  scheme ;  he  had  printed 
in  his  book  fada^  and  in  the  errata  he  put  • 
*  for  facta,  read  fata  J"  A  more  amusing 
instance  of  misprinting  by  design  Is  told  of 
Scarron,  though  in  which  edition  of  his  works 
I  am  uiv^ble  to  say,  as  it  is  not  to  be  found  in 
that  pnblidied  at  Amsterdam  in  seventeen 
hundred  and  twelve,  or  in  the  Paris  edition 
of  seventeen  hundred  and  nineteen  ;  but  it  is 
too  likely  not  to  be  true.  He  had  composed 
a  poetical  epistle,  which,  as  the  subject  fully 
admitted  of  it,  be  dedicated  to  GuUlemette, 
the  female  dog  of  his  sister  {**  A  Guillemette, 
chienne  de  ma  soeur  '0 ;  but  having  quarrelled 
with  his  relation,  he  maliciously  put  Into  the 
errata,  **  au  lieu  de  *  ohtenne  de  ma  sceur '('  fe- 
male dog  of  my  sister')?  Uses  *  ma  chienne  de 
KBur '  (my  female  dog  of  a  sister  ')•"  A  more 
recent  intentional  nusprint  occurred  in  Bel- 
gium, two  or  three  years  before  the  events  of 
eighteen  hundred  and  thirty.  Amongst  those 
who  mainly  prepared  the  way  for  the  revolu- 
tion which  was  to  expel  the  House  of  Oran^, 
were  a  number  of  young  literati,  who,  the 
better  to  carry  out  the  object  thev  had  in 
view,  purchased  the  Courrier  dee  Pays  Bas, 
— at  that  time  a  very  influential  newspaper. 
They  did  not  make  any  Immediate  change  in  ' 
the  personnel  of  the  editorship,  but  retained 
the  editor,  who  was  a  Frenchman,  and  a 
Jesuit  into  the  bargain.  In  a  short  time, 
however,  they  found  that  the  articles  which 
he  wrote  militated  against  their  policy ;  and 
they  limited  his  contributions  to  the  feuille- 
ton.  The  ex-edltor  accordingly  became  de- 
sirous of  Informing  his  friends  at  a  distance 
of  the  change  that  had  taken  place :  and  he 
made  the  aew^Mtper  itself  the  medium  of 
communication^ — ^not  directly,  but  after  this 
fashion.  The  motto  of  the  Courrier  des  Pavs 
Bas  was,  '<£st  modus  in  rebus,"  from  the 
well-known  line  in  Horace ;  and  the  Jesuit, 
to  make  it  apparent  that  tiiere  was  a  hitch 
somewhere,  substituted  '*  nodus  "  (a  knot),  for 
'*  modus"  (a  manner) ;  and  for  three  weeks 
the  paper  was  published  daily  before  the 
misprint  was  discovered. 

No  one  in  Ensland  feels  diq[>oeed  to  advo- 
cate the  censorship  of  the  press ;  but  if  one 
of  its  functions,  as  the  dut^  is  performed  in 
Spain,  were  exercised  here,  it  might  not  be 
amiss.  A  few  errors  which  have  occasionally 
startled  the  town  would  not  then  have  been 
committed.  In  Spain,  says  Cnkevililer.  there 
has  long  been  established  a  police  for  the 
correction  of  the  press,  bv  means  of  which  it 
is  attempted  to  oblige  printers  to  be  vi^lant 
and  make  fewer  mistakes.  Before  permitting 
the  sale  of  a  book,  it  is  examined  by  the 
censor,  who  compares  the  printed  copy  with 
the  manuscript,  and  marks  all  the  misprints. 
The  errati  which  he  has  made  is  then  pre- 
fixed to  the  first  sheet,  and  tiie  censor's  sig- 
nature is  attached  to  a  statement,  whioh 
declares  that,  except  the  mistakes  indloated. 


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236 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


iCmAnetUVf 


the  book  is  faithfully  printed.  This  kind  of 
attestation  is  also  fonnd  in  some  French  works. 
In  a  few  are  found  the  names  of  the  correctors. 
The  police  of  the  press  in  Madrid  appear  to 
be  less  particular  in  their  relations  with 
foreign  countries  ;  for,  in  eighteen  hundred 
and  forty-six,  all  the  printed  enyelopes  of  the 
Madrid  papers,  which  were  sent  to  the  editor 
of  the  Daily  News  ran  as  follows : — "  She 
Edictor  of  the  dacly  Nevves,  99  Heet  Strees.'' 
I  must  record  in  honour  of  the  ingenious  post- 
man who  was  charged  with  conveying  them  to 
their  destination,  &at  they  never  miscarried. 
Allowance  must,  however,  be  made  for 
printers  who  have  to  exercise  their  art  in  a 
language  unfamiliar  to  them.  I,  therefore, 
am  not  so  highly  irritated  as  some  authors 
of  my  acquaintance,  when  I  find,  in  French 
words  where  n  and  u  occur,  that  the  wrong 
letter  is  invariably  selected  by  the  English 
typographer.  French  authors  are  not  I  hope 
so  susceptible  in  this  matter  as  they  are 
in  most  others,  or  I  should  greatly  pitv  the 
frantic  state  of  rage  into  which  they  ought  to 
be  thrown  at  the  way  in  which  the  British 
tongue  is  mutilated  in  print  when  they 
attempt  a  quotation  from  our  literature.  I 
met  with  one  the  other  dav,  in  a  late  number 
of  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  where  the 
alteration  of  a  single  letter  produced  a  very 
ludicrous  effect  The  writer,  being  senti- 
mental, and  at  Venice,  was  disposed  to  quote 
Byron,  and  began  with  the  first  line  or  the 
fourth  canto  of  Ghilde  Harold.  He  probably 
wrote  it  correctly  enough,  but  the  printer 
rendered  it  as  follows : 

J  stood  at  Teniee  on  the  bridge  of  tighi. 

Now  when  a  man  says  J.  did  so  and  so,  one 
thinks  that  Jones,  or  Jackson,  or  Johnson 
did  it,  but  if  the  sul^t  be  poetical,  I  leave 
yon  to  imagine  what  becomes  of  the  poetry. 
Anglo-French  is  ridiculous  enough,  bat  I  am 
inclined  to  think  that  French-English  is  even 
more  so.  For  fear  of  disturbing  the  entente 
cordiale,  I  shall  not  eite  any  examples  just 
now,  but  as  I  am  not  withheld  by  the  same 
scruples  in  regard  to  the  dominions  of  King 
Bomba,  let  me  give  the  following  specimen 
of  Neapolitan  English,  which  was  copied  not 
long  ago  from  a  printed  advertisement  in  one 
of  the  Neapolitan  newspapers.  It  is  necessary 
to  observe  that  the  word  "  Fine-Hok ''  cor- 
responded to  *'  Belle-vue  "  in  the  French  of 
the  parallel  (explanatory)  column,  but  it  was 
not  stated  that  cabaret  in  the  one  language, 
and  pot-house  in  the  other,  would  have 
better  expressed  the  true  character  of  the 
establishment. 

Bettoratire  llotel  Fine  Hok  kept  Ij  Frank  Prosper! 
Ucing  the  milltarv  qasrler  st  Pompeii.  That  Hotel 
open  since  a  rerj  KwdaTS  is  renowned  for  the  cleanless 
of  the  apartments  and  linen  for  the  exactness  of  the 
serrioe  and  for  the  excellence  of  the  true  French 
cookery.  Being  sitoated  at  prozimitr  of  that  regenera^ 
tion.  it  will  be  propitious  to  receire  fiimilies,  whatever, 
which  will  desire  to  reside  altematirelj  into  that  town 
to  Tisit  the  monuments  now  found  and  to  breathe 


thither  the  salnhrltj'  of  the  air.  That  establishment 
will  SToid  to  all  traTcUers,  risitors,  of  tliat  sepoltcitj 
and  to  the  artists  (willing  draw  the  antiquities)  a  great 
disorder  occasioned  bj  tardjr  and  expensive  contour  of 
the  iron  whaj  people  will  find  equaliT  thither  a  eom- 
nlete  sortment  of  >stranger  wines  and  of  the  kingdom, 
hot  and  cold  baths,  stables*  coach-houses,  the  whole  at 
yenr  moderated  prices.  Now  all  the  applications  and 
endearoors  of  the  Hosts  will  tend  always  to  correspond 
to  the  tastes  and  desires  of  their  customers  wnich 
will  require  without  doubt  to  him  into  that  town  th« 
reputation  whome,  he  is  ambitious. 

These  Bellevues,  or  Belvederes,  are  danger- 
ous things  to  meddle  with.  A  lady  of  my  ac- 
quaintance once  saw  an  announcement  in  the 
window  of  an  hotel  at  Basle  that  it  possessed 
"  A  Belvedere  that  likes  to  take  a  walk." 

Foreign  editions  of  English  books  abound 
in  misprints,  though  very  n*equently  they  are 
not  mere  errors  of  the  press,  but  arise  from 
editorial  misconception  of  the  real  meaning. 
I  have  a  small  pocket  edition  of  Childe 
Harold,  published  by  Campe  of  Nuremberg, 
in  which  occur  the  following  variorum 
readings.  In  canto  three,  stanza  eighty-two, 
are  these  lines  : — 

Thej  made  themselves  a  fearftil  monument 
The  wreck  of  old  opinions— things  which  grsw, 
Broathed  from  the  breath  of  time : 

Fearfril  is  printed  frightful,  and  breath  bird. 
Again,  in  stanza  one  hundred  and  eighty-one, 
canto  four,  where  the  poet,  apostrophising  the 
ocean,  says  of  the  oak  leviatnans  that  sail  on 
it,  "These  are  thy  toys" — for  this  last  word 
the  Grerman  printer  substituted  tops,  by 
which,  I  confess,  I  was  at  first  rather  puzzled, 
until  it  struck  me  that  whip-tops  or  peg-tops 
must  have  been  in  his  mind^s  eye  when  he 
thought  of  ships  becoming  the  sport  of  wind 
and  wave.  '  Before  Byron  is  dismissed,  I  must 
speak  of  one  of  the  strangest  misprints  that, 
perhaps,  has  ever  occurred  ;  for  it  was  com- 
mitted without  being  discovered  by  the 
author — sensitive  as  we  know  he  was — or  by 
the  public  who  have,  for  years,  admiringly 

a  noted  the  lines.    The  st«nza  which  follows 
le  one  last  cited  runs  thus : — 

Thy  shores  are  empires,  chang'd  in  all  save  thee — 
Assyria,  Greece,  Bome,  Cartlutfe,  what  are  they  f 
Thy  waters  wasted  them  when  they  were  free. 
And  many  a  tyrant  since : 

A  skilful  critic  was,  very  recenUj, 
reading  this  passage,  and  when  he  came  to 
"Thy  waters  wasted  them,"  he  paused. 
Wasted  what?  Where  is  it  on  record  that 
the  Mediterranean  sea  has  wasted  the  shores 
that  surround  it  ?  What  part  of  the  coast — 
European,  Asiatic,  or  Afrioan^has  been 
overwhelmed  by  the  tide,  and  then  left  deso- 
late T  The  ruins  of  Tyre  are  still  a  landmark ; 
the  rock  of  Salamis  still  overlooks  the  wave  ; 
the  site  of  Carthage  remains.  Tyrants  may 
have  wasted  those  shores,  but  the  waters 
never.  There  must,  then,  be  some  mistake. 
Could  the  critic  have  access  to  the  ori^nal 
manuscript  ?  It  was  produced  and  examined, 
and,  as  much  to  the  surprise  of  all  present  aa, 


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ClwriM  IMekeM.] 


MISPRINTS. 


237 


I  dare  say,  it  will  be  to  the  public,  the  faulty 
line  ran  thus : — 

Thy  wAtera  waahed  them  power  when  thej  were  free, 
And  many  a  tjrant  since. 

The  MS.  of  another  of  Byron's  poems  rec- 
tifies a  reprint  which  has  been  allowed  to 
pass  current  in  all  the  hitherto  published 
editions  of  his  works.  It  occurs  in  the  Prisoner 
of  Chillon  :— 

And  thoa  together,  yet  apart, 
Fettet'd  in  hand,  bat  pin'd  in  heart— 

For  pin'd,  read  join'd,  Which  completes  the 
antithesis. 

An  author  ma^  sometimes  be  indebted  for 
an  idea  to  his  prmter.  The  story  thai  is  told 
of  Malherbe  is  a  case  in  point.  In  his  cele- 
brated epistle  to  Du  Perrier,  whose  daughter's 
name  was  Rosette,  he  had  written : — "  £t 
Rosette  a  v^u  ce  que  Tivent  les  roses.'' 
('*  And  Rosette  has  lived  as  the  roses  live.") 
But  the  printer,  who  found  the  MS.  difficult 
to  read,  put  Roselle  instead  of  Rosette. 
Malherbe,  reading  the  proof,  was  struck  by 
the  change,  and  modified  his  yerse  as  follows : 
**  Et  Rose  elle  a  v^u  ce  que  vivent  les  roses." 
(*' And  a  Rose,  she  has  lived  as  the  roses  live.") 
The  comparison  to  the  Rose  in  the  first  instance 
adds  greatly  to  the  beauty  of  the  image. 

Misprinted  dates  occur  very  often,  and 
sometimes  cause  considerable  confusion  in  the 
reader's  mind.  In  the  last  number  of  the 
Quarterly  Review,  in  a  review  Very  admirably 
written,  of  the  account  of  Corsica,  hf  Grego- 
rovius,  mention  is  made  of  Sampiero,  the 
famous  Corsican  Gondottiero.  He  was,  says 
the  reviewer,  "  bom  a.d.  1498  at  Bastelica,  a 
village  in  the  mountuns  near  Aiaccio." 
After  speaking  of  his  military  services  in 
Italy,  he  adds : — **  While  thus  acquiring  dis- 
tinction in  foreign  countries,  he  was  not  un- 
mindful of  his  own.  He  returned  home  in 
1597,and  his  reputation  as  a  soldier  supplying 
the  place  of  titles  and  ancestry,  won  for  him 
a  noble  bride — Yannina,  daughter  and  heiress 
of  Francis  Omano,  a  principal  noble  of  the 
island."  Yannina  must  have  had  a  singular 
taste  to  select  for  her  bridegroom  a  gentleman 
of  the  mature  age  of  ninety-nine.  I  must 
observe  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  context 
which  helps  one  to  affix  the  right  date, 
though  it  is  afterwards  said  that  he  died  in 
fifteen  hundred  andsixty-6even,exaotly  thirty 
jears  before  he  married  his  blooming  bride, 
whom,  in  the  meantime,  he  murdered.  Mis- 
prints of  this  description,  make  people  do 
strange  things  after  their  deaths.  In  a  review 
which  I  saw  lately  in  a  weekly  paper,  re- 
ference is  made  to  a  very  pleasant  letter  from 
Swift  to  Arbuthnot  giving  an  excellent 
account  of  the  mode  of  life  of  the  former.  It 
is  dated  (by  the  printer)  "  on  or  about  1773," 
from  which  it  would  appear  that  it  was 
written  by  the  ghost  of  SWift  to  the  ghost  of 
Arbuthnot,  the  former  having  died  in 
seventeen  hundred  and  forty-five,  and  the 
latter  in  seventeen  hundred  and  thirty-three. 


What  makes  this  misprint  the  more  absurd 
Is,  that  the  letter  consists  chiefly  of  details 
respecting  eating  and  drinking  and  the  cheap- 
ness of  living^not  in  the  other  world,  but  in 
Ireland.  The  Builder,  a  few  weeks  since,  or 
the  Globe,  quoting  the  paragraph,  says  that 
what  Raffaello  did  in  hU  ''  brief  life  "  was 
*'  marvellous*"  So  it  was,  but  then  Rafiaelle 
did  not  live,  as  the  paragraph  stated,  to  be 
fifty-seven  years  of  age.  Here  it  is  easy  to 
rectify  the  error,  the  words  being  in  figures, 
and  a  five  inserted  in  the  place  of  a  three. 
But  it  only  shows  how  careful  you  should  be 
in  your  comments  when  your  printers  are 
apt  to  stumble.  Apropos  of  the  Globe,  the 
following  passage  appeared  in  its  impression 
of  January,the  eighteenth  ult : — **Ottr  printer 
yesterday  committed  a  serious  error  in  giving 
our  extract  from  the  Registrar-General's 
return.  He  makes  us  say  that  the  inhabitants 
of  London  suffer  at  present  from  a  high  rate 
of  morality."  About  the  same  period  the 
Court  Journal  made  a  somewhat  similar 
lapsus.  A  bride  in  high  life  was  said  to  have 
been  accompanied  to  the  altar  by  tight  brides- 
maids. For  the  sake  of  the  young  ladies 
referred  to,  I  beg  to  say  that  the  word  in 
italics  was  intended  to  be  dgM,  An  error  in 
the  Morning  Chronicle  in  the  year  eighteen 
hundred  and  twenty-nine  must  have  caused 
many  fruitless  references  to  the  Peerage.  It 
reported  that  a  magnificent  banquet  had  been 
given  by  the  Duke  of  Pork. 

In  the  Daily  News  of  the  seventh  of 
February,  a  mistake — rather  than  a  misprint 
— occurred,  which  realised  Sir  Boyle  Roche's 
ideas  of  the  capacity  of  a  bird,  and  almost 
equalled  the  supposition  of  Mrs.  Malaprop. 
The  ministerial  secessions  were  on  the  tapis, 
and  the  paper  was  made  to  say,  *'  The  late 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  is  in  favour  of 
reiaining  office,  but  Mr.  Gladstone  is  inclined 
to  retire  from  the  ministry."  For  a  politician, 
however,  this  was  not  a  very  inapplicable 
mistake.  It  resembled  the  distinction  between 
tlie  **  governor"  and  "  fother,"  in  Sheridan's 
Critic.  Misprints  en  bloc  are  occasionally  to 
be  met  witL  In  the  Morning  Chronicle  of] 
the  twenty-ninth  of  January  last,  there  was 
an  account,  on  the  fifth  page,  of  Cardinal 
Wiseman's  voyage  from  Civita  Yecchia  to 
Marseilles,  with  a  description  of  a  fearful 
storm,  which  was  described  in  detail,  with 
all  due  circumstantial  sobriety.  The  next 
paragraph  began :  ^*  No  doubt,  many  persons 
will  disbelieve  this  story,  as  many  persons 
disbelieved  the  story  of  Louis  Napoleon's 
marriage  with  Mdlle.  de  Montijo,  when  it 
was  first  announced."  ''  This  story !"  What 
was  it?  Had  Cardinal  Wiseman  been  saved 
from  a  tempest  by  floating  on  his  paletot,  like 
Mr.  Newman's  favourite  saint  ?  To  discover 
what  seemed  so  hard  to  believe,  it  was  neces- 
sary to  turn  to  the  eighth  page  of  the  same 
impression,  where,  in  the  Paris  news  of  the 
day  before,  it  was  stated  that  the  Count  de 
Momy  is  the  uterine  brother  of  the  Emperor. 


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238 


HOUSBHOLD  WORDa 


[C«iid«ci«dfer 


''  It  18  now  said— and,  I  majr  ftdd,Ubelieved  in 
the  best-informed  quarten^that  the  Emperor 
had  resolved  to  declare  the  Coant  de  Moray 
the  legitimate  son  of  King  Loula  of  Holland 
and  Queen  Hortenae^and  consequently  his  own 
brother.''  In  lifting  the  type  for  a  different 
edition,  the  comment  upon  this  paragraph  had 
unfortunately  been  left  behind  ;  for,  after  dis- 
posing of  the  Count  de  Morpy,  the  corre- 
spondent continued  the  adventure  of  Cardinal 
W  iseman  as  quietly  as  if  nobody  else's  aflatrs 
had  interposed  to  render  it  doubtful.  Another 
misprint  en  bloc  crept,  a  few  weeks  since, 
into  a  leading  weekly  journal.  A  passage 
from  the  Times  was  quoted  respecting  the 
deficiencies  in  the  camp  at  Balaklaya.  The 
description  was  a  most  painful  one.  After 
speaking  of  the  wants  of  the  army,  which 
was  stated  to  be  perishing  on  account  of  the 
absence  of  all  things  by  which  life  is  sup- 
ported, the  quotation  went  on  to  say :  **  We 
cannot  glance  over  the  letters  before  us  with- 
out discovering  more  and  more  deficlenciefl.'' 
And  then  this  list  appeared :  *'  11,160  cwt 
bristles,  70,000  cwt.  rags,  3680  cwt.  sailcloth, 
1180  cwt.  oil,  7987  cwt.  mats,  6090  cwt.  raw 
hides,  5100  cwt  of  tar,  3600  cwt  feathers, 
400  cwt  potash,  555,012  timbers,  21,065  oak 
timbers  for  ship-building,  and  2136  lasts 
pipestaves.'*  Bristles  and  rags  t  Plenty  of 
both  in  the  camp,  no  doubt :  but  the  enume- 
ration of  these  articles  belonged  to  a  para- 
graph in  the  next  column,  where  the  exports 
from  Memel  were  detailed. 

These  are  a  few  out  of  the  host  of  mis- 
prints which  might  be  accumulated  were 
only  a  few  of  "  the  gentlemen  who  write  with 
ease,"  and  are  printed  with  difficulty,  to  send 
their  experiences  to  Household  Words.  In 
conclusion,  just  now,  merely  to  show  that 
there  has  been  no  individous  selection  in  the 
instances  cited  from  the  London  press,  it  niay 
be  mentioned  that  our  own  printer,  in  a  proof 
of  an  article  for  a  recent  number  of  this 
ioumal,  converted  a  very  distinguished  judge 
into  **  Mr.  Justice  Nightman." 

BIETHDAYa 

Births,  Marriages  and  Deaths  1  This  sen- 
tence is  succinct  enough  in  all  conscience ; 
'tis  as  short  as  a  hunting  mass ;  and  yet  it 
comprises  in  its  three  brief  acts  the  whole 
drama  of  life.  Of  the  acting  copy  of  that 
drama,  be  it  understood,  there  is  a  great  folio 
edition  locked  up  in  a  certain  library  to 
which  humanity  is  denied  access  ;  and  in  that 
volume  of  the  numan  comedy  there  are  pro- 
logues and  epilogues,  exits  and  entrances, 
stage  directions,  and  variorum  notes  that  we 
wist  not  of;  but  we,  in  our  limited  apprecia- 
tion, are  confined  to  beiuff  spectators  of  (and, 
in  our  turn,  actors  in)  the  three-act  epopo&a 
of  birth,  of  marriage,  and  of  death.  The 
comedy  is  played  out  with  a  due  attention  to 
the  unities  and  exigencies  of  scenic  effect  and 
spectacle.    There  U  a  grand  birthday  fete  in 


the  first  act ;  a  bridal  chonm  in  the  second, 
with  maidens  clad  in  white  and  scattering 
flowers;  then  the  stage  darkens,  and  the 
green  curtain  goes  down  upon  all  the  dancing 
and  glitter,  and  there  is  nothing  left  but 
darkness  and  the  night-watchers. 

Birthdays!  What  a  joyous  stream  of 
melody  runs  through  that  gay  first  act  of  the 
play  I  The  instruments  gt  the  musicians  are 
in  excellent  tune :  the  lamps  bum  brightly ; 
the  scenery  and  dresses  are  new  and  glitter- 
ing; the  audience  are  in  capital  humour,  pre- 
disposed to  be  pleased,  and  prognosticating 
all  sorts  of  good  things  for  the  piece  and  its 
actors.  See,  here  is  the  Infiuit  Roscins, 
the  Young  Ghuriok.  the  Sucking  Sappho. 
What  thunders  of  applause  greet  these 
juvenile  debutants  on  tne  imperial  stage! 
Alack,  how  often  it  must  happen  that  Roacm 
comes  to  shame,  and  Garrick  is  *'  gooeed*" 
and  Sappho  makes  a  bad  end  of  it,  pelted 
with  oranges  and  half-pence,  before  the  end 
of  the  third  act  I  But,  clap  or  hiss,  the  end  must 
come,  and  the  bell  ring,  and  the  curtain  fall. 

Birthdays  1  Are  uey  not  one  of  the 
three  great  legacies  inherited  equally  by  all 
the  children  of  humanity?  Nokes  has  his 
birthday  as  well  as  the  Norman-descended 
Earl :  and  Nokes,  or  Smith,  or  Brig|:s,  may 
keep  their  birthdays  with  as  much  joy  and 
merry-making,  as  kings  and  queens  with 
their  salutes  of  an  hundred  guns  and  one. 

When  a  man  dies,  if  he  be  a  pauper, 
we  pack  him  up  in  a  deal  box,  and  ^*  rattle 
his  boi^es  over  the  stones"  to  the  pauper 
burial-ground,  where  we  bury  him  Uke 
so  much  rubbish  to  be  shot ;  if  he  b<9  a 
prince,  we  wrap  him  up  in  velvet,  and  gold, 
and  stuff  his  poor  dead  body  full  of  sweet 
herbs,  and  make  a  herald  Drag  about  his 
empty  titles  over  his  grave.  We  have  nod- 
ding plumes,  '*  rich  silk  scarves  and  mutes," 
gilt  nails,  cherubims'  heads,  and  sUver-gUt 

Elates,  for  the  wealthy  or  noble ''  party ;''  we 
ave  the  hospital  dead-house,  the  parish  shell, 
the  contract  coffin,  the  maimed  rites,  and  the 
drunken  grave-digger,  for  the  poor  man; 
just  as  in  France  thev  have  the  deep-mouthed 
serpent,  the  shrill  choristers,  the  Dim  tra,  the 
incense,  the  master  of  the  ceremonies  with 
his  silver  chain  and  ebony  baton,  and  all  the 
bricaforac  of  the  PcmMa  fvmkbre$^  for  Mon- 
sieur ;  and  for  plain  Jean  or  Pierre  just  a 
eromu  mori  or  two,  a  dingy  bier  on  wheels, 
witn  a  driver  in  rusty  boots,  and  a  battered 
cocked-hat,  a  scant  service  of  bad  Latin 
hastily  mumbled,  and  an  aaperging  brush  for 
holy  water,  like  a  stunted  hearth-broom. 
But  though  a  man  can  as  certainly  bring  no 
more  into  the  world  than  he  can  carry  anj- 
thing  out,  there  is  in  the  first  birthday  of 
royalty  little  difference  between  that  of  Jack 
Ragg  the  crossing-sweeper.  There  may  be  a 
difference  in  the  locale,  and  suns  mav  fire 
when  the  child  is  bom ;  but  ttiat  is  alL  A 
few  magging  crones  are  gratified  with  the 
first  view  of  Mrs.  Ragg's  first,  as  my  Lord 


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Chwlet  DiekoM.] 


BIRTHDATB. 


2St 


ChftBoellor,  my  Lord  Archbishop,  and  my 
Lords  the  great  olBcers  of  State  are  with  the 
flnt  poblic  exhibition  of  Prinee  Prosperous ; 
hat  there  is  the  same  skill  in  the  doctor,  the 
same  c«re  and  attention  in  the  nurse,  the 
same  solicitude  and  joy  in  all  womankind 
that  are  about ;  the  same  pride  in  the  father, 
the  same  and  less  chattering,  hurrying  about, 
and  ceaseless  potterings  oyer  fireplaces  with 
muoepans  containing  mysterious  messes,  at 
the  birth  of  the  little  sweep  in  the  garret,  as 
of  the  little  Prince  of  the  Palace.  Napo- 
leon, bursting  into  the  golden  ante-chamber 
of  the  Tuileries  with  that  long-desiderated 
man-child  in  his  arms,  swauied  in  the 
purple,  and  crying  out  to  his  Marshals,  and 
Ifinisters,  and  Cardinals,  with  all  the  joy 
and  exultation  of  satisfied  ambition,  and  new 
nascent  hope,  **  It  is  a  king  of  Rome  I "  sings 
hat  to  the  self-same  tune  as  the  parish  nurse 
does  to  the  happy  Mr.  Bagg,  senior,  when, 
holding  a  particularly  diminutiye  infant 
in  her  arms,  she  informs  him  that  it  is 
the  finest  child  <Hhat  heyer  were  seen." 
They  Both  mean  Babt,  and  they  are  both 
equal  in  their  Urth.  Baby  Beggar  is  as 
good  as  Baby  Basileus.  The  grael  is  in 
a  silyer  cup  or  a  broken  butter-boat  The 
Doctor  must  be  an  M.R.G.S.,  whether  he 
hare  the  prefix  of  Sir,  and  the  prestige 
of  Court  practice  or  not ;  and  the  poor 
man's  ba^  makes  an  equal  item  as  the 
heir  of  a  Brown  in  the  Begistrar-Generars 
returns.  Nay,  if  Mr.  Ragg,  p^,  choose  to 
inyest  three  shillings  and  sixpence  with  the 
proprietors  of  the  Times  newspaper,  he 
ean  read  at  fall  length  in  that  journal  sudi 
an  announcement  as  ^Mn  Hampshfare  Hog 
Lane,  the  lady  of  John  Ragg,  Esquire,  of  a 
Son.''  His  lady  may  go  to  St  Giles's  or  St 
James's  and  be  churched  by  a  liye  Doctor  of 
Diyinity,  and  what  more  can  the  infhnt  prince 
haye  than  a  little  larger  type  in  the  news- 
paper, a  few  more  lines,  the  smoke  and  smell 
of  a  little  gunpowder,  and  an  archbishop  to 
compose  a  form  of  thanksgiying  to  be  recited, 
on  the  Sunday  following,  in  all  parish 
churches  in  England,  and  the  town  of  Ber- 
wick-^pon-Tweed. 

But  though  our  first  Birthdm  are  all 
pretty  nearly  alike,  no  sooner  is  Baby  short- 
coated  and  weaned  than  we  begin  to  play  our 
little  game  of  mummeries  and  masqueradings, 
posture-makings  and  hankey-pankey  tricks ; 
and  the  Birthday  becomes  an  institution  to 
he  kept  with  great  state,  and  splendour,  and 
carousal  by  the  rich,  to  be  neglected  or 
ignored  by  the  poor.  Little  Jack  Ragg 
speedily  forgets  all  about  his  birthday,  if 
indeed  anylM)dy  eyer  took  the  trouble  to 
inform  him  of  the  exact  date  of  the  anni- 
yersary  of  that  eyent :  that  young  gentleman 
has  sundry  important  preoccupations  touching 
the  proyision  of  shoes  for  his  feet,  a  shirt  for 
his  back,  yictnals  for  his  belly,  and  a  bed  to 
lay  his  £ead  upon ;  and  he  is  oftener  prompted 
to  bewail  his  existence  altogether,  and  that 


he  **  heyer  wor  born,"  than  to  make  enquiries 
as  to  when  his  natal  day  falls  due,  and  rejoice 
thereupon.  Little  black  Topsey  neyer  had  a 
birthday,  she  'spects;  she  **growed,"  for 
aught  she  knows;  ihe  '"Speculator"  who 
raised  her,  old  roaster  who  made  the  flesh  fly, 
or  old  missis  who  whipped  her  with  a  poker, 
neyer  made  her  Birthday  presents — what 
should  she,  or  Jack  Ragg  in  England,  or  Fagg 
the  tramp,  or  Bobtail  the  thief,  Jcnow  or  care 
about  their  birthdays  ?  They  haye  no  large 
Family  Bibles  with  all  the  birthdays  of  the 
family  accurately  registered  on  the  fly  leayes. 
They  haye  no  Bibles  at  all,  no  families,  no 
anything.  What  should  they  know  of  their 
own  birthdays  when  they  are  utterly  ignorant 
of  the  meaning  and  purpose  of  the  great  blessed 
Birthday>-nay, ignorant  of  its  yery  being?  You 
shall  go  down  courts  and  alleys;  you  shall  hold 
your  breath  in  the  noisome  stench  of  common 
lodging-houses;  you  shall  stir  up  the  breathing 
heaps  of  foul  rags  on  which  the  rays  of  the 
policeman's  bulls-eye  fall ;  you  shall  see  the 
man  In  tatters,  and  the  <*  woman  in  un- 
womanly rags."  the  boy  thief,  the  girl  without 
a  name,  the  whole  tribe  troth  the  patriarch 
to  the  new-bom  babe  in  dirt,  hunger,  misery, 
and  the  ignorance  that  slayeth.  To  talk  to 
these  fbrlorn  beings  about  their  birthdays  I 

Tet  we  all  haye  our  Birthdays,  though 
ofttimes  disregardfhl  of  them  as  of  other 
precious  gifts ;  there  may  be  no  oxen  roasted 
whole,  or  firew^Trks  let  off,  or  Sir  Roger  de 
Coyerley  danced  when  our  natal  anniyersarles 
come  round,  yet  we  can  be  joyful  for  our 
birthdays,  and  thankful  for  that  mercy,  which 
has  permitted  us  to  e^joy  so  many  of  them. 

I  am  not  about  to  inflict  upon  my  reader  a 
course  of  Lempri^re  or  Adams's  Roman  Anti- 
quities, else  it  would  be  as  easy  as  lying  to  tell 
you  howthe  ancients  kept  their  birthdays;  how 
the  men  sacrificed  to  Jupiter  and  the  women 
to  Juno :  how  rich  dresses  were  worn  and 
presented  as  gifts :  bow  great  feaste  were 
held,  when  the  guests  in  postures  of  graceful 
accubation  made  themselyee  sick  with  those 
peculiarly  nasty  dishes  which  were  the  glory 
of  Roman  cookery.  Yet  there  are  some 
modern  birthdays  in  whose  phases  of  celebra- 
tion there  may  be  things  socially  interesting. 
Place  to  Princes,  and  let  us  haye  a  peep  at 
the  King's  birthday !  Which  King  and  which 
birthday  shall  we  haye  T  There  are  many  to 
choose  from.  Shall  we  go  back  to  the  twenty- 
ninth  of  May,  sixteen  hundred  and  sixty,  and 
stand  at  Charing  Cross  (close  by  where  was 
once  a  certain  statue,  pulled  down  during  the 
late  troubles,  and  supposed  to  haye  been  cast 
into  parliamentary  ordnance,  for  adminis- 
tering "  apostolic  blows  and  knocks "  long 
since,  but  which  has  been  safely  hidden 
underground,  and  is  soon  to  be  set  up  again 
in  as  high  estate  as  eyer  with  new  glorifi- 
cations of  pedestal-caryings  by  Grinling 
Gibl)ons>— Shall  we  stand  here  while  the 
trumpets  bray  out  their  noisy  fanfares,  and 
1  the  joy-bells  ring  their  merry  peals,  and  the 


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ToWiCr  gans  thuader  forth  salates,  and  oonnt- 
lees  muaquetoonfi  and  eacopettes  go  on  private 
account,  and  all  in  honoor  of  this  brave  birth- 
day—the birthday  of  Charles  Stewart,  King 
of  £ogland,  the  king  who  is  come  to  his  own 
again,  and  is  making  his  triumphal  entry  into 
his  restored  kingdom  on  the  thirtieth  anni- 
versary of  his  birth  1  Here  come  the  London 
train-bands,with  silver  trumpets  and  flaunting 
banners.  They  have  quite  forgotten  all  about 
ship-money,  and  the  five  members,  and  Mr. 
Prynne's  ears.  Hark  how  the  mob  shout 
"  Long  live  the  King  t "  See  how  the  soldiers 
wave  their  pikes ; — these  are  Monk's  Cold- 
streams,  my  dear.  These  loyal  hearts  in  buff 
Jerkins  and  headpieces  belong  to  the  same 
armed  bands  that  **  clapped  their  bloody 
hands  "  when  another  Charles  Stewart,  also 
King  of  England,  came  out  of  a  certain 
window  in  the  banqueting  house  close  by, 
twelve  years  agone.  Mr.  Marvel,  the  member 
for  Hull,  who  writ  that  piece  on  the  death  of 
Charles  L,  is  sitting  at  a  window  in  the  house 
of  a  friend  of  his,  a  bowyer,  in  Charing  Cross. 
He  sees  the  armed  bandis  and  hears  the 
shouts  of  the  loyal  mob,  and  thinks  of  the 
time  they  shouted  *'  To  your  tents,  0  Israel! " 
and  smiles  melancholily.  Now  come  the 
heralds  and  pursuivants  (the  last  time  they 
had  new  tabards  was  at  Oliver's  funeral) ; 
now  come  the  peers  in  their  robes — many  of 
them  have  left  little  scores  unpaid  in  the 
Low  Countries,  my  dear,  and*  what  is  left  of 
their  broad  acres  they  carry  in  the  skirts  of 
their  velvet  robes,  and  the  remnant  of  their 
plate  in  the  gold  of  their  coronets,  and  their 
rents  and  fines  for  renewal  of  leases  in  their 
embroidered  garters  and  jewelled  Georgen. 
Here  comes  the  Deliverer,  the  Restorer  of 
Monarchy,  the  great  Duke  of  Albemarle  ;  he 
in  his  flowing  periwig  and  silver  armour  and 
blue  ribbon,  and  steed  with  embroidered 
housings,  cannot  be  any  relative  or  connection 
of  that  stern  General  Monk  with  dull  corslet, 
plain  bands,  high  boots  of  buff  leather  and 
steeple  hat,  who  was  one  of  Oliver's  men,  and 
was  so  fierce  against  monarchy  only  five 
weeks  since.  Here  comes  the  Lord  Mayor, 
ready  to  entertain  the  King,  Heaven  bless 
him  I  with  as  gorgeous  a  banquet  and  as 
generous  wine  as  he  was  wont  to  entertain 
his  Highness  the  Lord  Protector,  Heaven 
bless  fum  (in  the  past  tense).  Here  come  the 
bwrons  of  the  Cinque  Ports,  bearing  the  royal 
canopy;  and  here  comes  the  hero  of  the 
birthday,  here  comes  the  Kino  1  his  roy«U 
brothers  of  York  and  Gloucester  on  either 
side;  his  swarthy  face  glowing  with  pleasure: 
royal  witticisms  flowing  DE^t  from  the  royal 
lips ;  the  royal  grace  and  affabilit;^  and 
majesty  visible  in  every  flexure  of  his  ner- 
vous form,  in  every  curvet  of  his  admbrably 


HOUSBHOLD  WORDS. 


managed  charger.  The  bells  ring,  the  cannons 
roar,  the  people  shout  louder  than  ever. 
Flowers  are  strown  in  his  path ;  women  weep 
and  laugh  wildly,  and  wave  their  kerchiefs ; 
the  conduits  run  wine,  the  taverns  overflow 
with  customers ;  whole  oxen  are  roasted  in 
open  places ;  at  night  there  is  a  bonfire  at 
the  corner  of  every  street:  and  decoroufl 
Master  Samuel  Pepys,  returning  homewards, 
is  seiied  upon  by  madcap  cavaliers,  and  made 
to  drink  the  King's  health  on  his  knees. 
Hurrah  t  let  us  all  throw  our  caps  into  the 
air  and  shout  for  this  glorious  birthday  1 
Pull  Oliver's  bones  from  their  grave,  and 
hang  dead  Bradshaw  up  on  Tyburn  gibbet, 
with  the  red  robe  he  wore  at  tiiat  awfiU  high 
Court  of  Justice  about  him.  Set  up  the 
Maypoles  again ;  open  all  the  theatres;  bring 
Doctor  Lawnsleeves  back  again  to  his  rectory, 
and.send  Obadiah  Cropears  packing  to  (x«- 
neva.  Fat  pig  nor  goose  no  more  oppose,  nor 
*'  blaspheme  custard  through  the  nose."  The 
King  eigoys  his  own  again  :  this  is  his  birth- 
day, and  each  succeeding  birthday  shall  be 
more  glorious  than  the  otfier  1 

I  wonder  if  any  deoent  section  of  those 
loval  thousands  bad  had  the  least  idea  of 
what  the  yearlv  succeeding  birthdays  of  this 
well-beloved,  long-desired  Charles  Stewart 
would  brin^  abouC  whether  they  would  have 
shouted  quite  so  loud  or  quite  so  loyally. 
There  were  many  birthdays  In  store  for  the 
restored  King  yet.  At  some  he  touched  right 
royally  for  the  evil,  and  hung  the  angel  gold 
am)ut  the  necks  of  the  sick  with  his  accus- 
tomed grace ;  at  one  he  may  have  tasted  hit 
first  pine-apple,  and  at  one  cracked  that 
famous  joke  when  he  saw  the  thief  pick  his 
courtier's  pocket.  At  all  his  birthdays, 
doubtless  there  were  great  feasts  and  merry- 
maldngs  and  junketings ;  great  presentations 
of  rich  gifts;  great  assemblies  of  courtiers 
playing  basset,  and  French  boys  fringing  love 
songs  in  that  '*  glorious  gallery  ;"  court  plays 
in  which  saintly  Miss  Blagg,  vivacious  Miss 
Stewart,  and  witty  Grammont,  and  worthless 
Legion,  acted;  but  as  each  birthday  came 
round  it  was  to  a  King  becoming  more  profii- 
gate,  more  heartless,  more  lavish  of  his 
subjects'  money,  more  neglectful  of  his  own 
and  their  honour,  more  detestable,  despicable 
and  scandalous  as  a  man  and  a  monarch. 
His  last  two  birthday  suits  were  dyed  with 
the  blood  of  Russell  and  Sidney,  and  his  last 
shame  was  to  be  as  cruel  as  Amurath.  And 
having  outlived  his  subjects' love  and  his  own 
honour,  he  died  a  poor  worn-out,  reprobate 
pensioner.  This  was  the  merry  monarch, 
my  dear;  and  we  admire  his  goodness  of 
heart,  his  charming  aflkbility,  and  his  great 
jocoseness  even  unto  the  present  day. 


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'* HmUUar  inthmr  Mmtht  oi  BOVSHHOLD  WORDS."    ■■«>»■>■■■■■ 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
COVDHCTED   BT  CHAELE8   DICKBHS. 


So.  11.] 


J.  A.   DIX,   PUBLISHEK, 

Orttom,  No.  10  Pabb  Plaoi,  Nsw-Yoas. 


[Whole  No.  264. 


FENCING  WITH  HUMANITY. 

Upwards  of  two  thoasand  accidents  in 
factories— being  the  usual  average — occurred 
in  the  half  year,  last  reported  upon  by  the 
Ikctorj  inspectors.  Of  this  number,  all  but 
iboQt  a  hundred  were  not  only  preventlble, 
but  such  as  millowners  are  bound  bv  law  to 
prevent  The  law  compels  these  gentlemen  to 
fence  their  machinery ;  but,  in  an  unfortunate- 
ly Urge  number  of  instances,  the  obligation  is 
resisted.  As  a  consequence  of  this  resist- 
ance, one  and  twenty  persons  have,  in  six 
mouths,  been  drawn  into  machinery,  and 
Mn  by  every  variety  of  torture,  from 
breaking  on  the  wheel  to  being  torn  limb 
from  limb.  One  hundred  and  fifty  working 
people  have  had  torn  away  from  them,  during 
the  same  six  months,  a  part  of  the  right  baud 
that  earns  their  bread.  A  hundred  and 
thirtj-two  have  lost  part  of  the  left  hand. 
Eight  and  twenty  have  lost  arms  or  legs ;  two 
bimdred  and  fifty  have  had  their  bones 
cracked  in  their  bodies :  more  than  a  hundred 
bave  suffered  fracture  or  other  serious  damage 
to  the  head  and  face ;  and  one  thousand  two 
hondred  and  seventy  two  have  been  painfully, 
bat  not  dangerously,  torn,  cut,  or  bruised. 
The  price  of  life  is  twenty  pounds ;  and  lower 
damage  costs  but  a  trifle  to  the  person  whose 
neglect  has  Inflicted  it  What  it  costs  to  the 
eafferer,  all  may  judge  who  ever  read  London 
police  reports,  and  meet  from  time  to  time 
with  Che  sad  stories  of  men,  women  and  boys, 
who— having  been  mutilated  In  a  factory  and 
rendered  useless  to  the  owner  thereo/--are 
pitilessly  thrown  upon  the  world. 

Ithas  been  proved  by  the  experience  of  mill- 
owners  who  have  obeyed  the  dictates  of 
hamanity,  that  every  part  of  the  machinery 
thejose  can  be  securely  fenced  without  pro- 
ducing a  great  fire  of  Manchester,  or  causing 
the  total  ruin  of  Great  Britain  as  a  manu- 
^turlng  country.  The  Home  Secretary 
has,  therefore,  since  we  last  called  attention 
to  this  subject,*  rescinded  every  compromise 
between  right  and  convenience  that  was,  a 
yew  ago,  admitted  by  authority ;  and  orders 
that  henceforth  the  law  shall  be  enforced  to 
^entmoei  Unfenced  machinery  is  not  to  be 
beld  to  be  innocent  nntil  it  has  spilt  ^'  much 
gore  Mood ;"  bnt,  shall  be  made  Innocent 
^  In  Tolnme  IX.,  pag«  224. 


before  it  can  have  had  time  to  crack  a  bone, 
or  crush  a  body.  Instantly  a  large  number  of 
millowners  fly  to  the  platform,  deliver  and 
hear  angry  orations,  form  deputations,  and 
declare  themselves  a  slaughtered  interest. 

At  a  great  meeting  held  in  Manchester, 
when  this  increased  care  for  the  lives  of  work- 
people was  threatened,  one  speaker  drew  an 
awful  picture  of  the  conflagration  that  would 
follow.  "  Suppose,"  said  he, "  the  millowners 
were  to  go  home  and  set  to  work  to  case  all 
their  gearing ;  in  many  of  the  mills  miles  of 
casing  (wooden  casing  of  course)  would  be 
required,  and  the  effect  would  be  that,  within 
this  casing,  a  large  amount  of  cotton  flake 
and  dust  would  And  its  way  [bear,  hear]. 
This  would  more  or  less  interfere  with  the 
oiling  of  the  machinery,  and  a  spark  com- 
municating to  the  fibres  inside  this  casing, 
would  inevitably  lead  to  the  destruction  of 
the  whole  mill  [hear,  hear,  hear]  ;  the  soft 
fibre  would  ignite  like  gunpowder,  the  fire 
would  pass  from  shaft  to  diaft.  and  it  would 
be  found  that  tho  moment  the  fire  was  put 
out  in  one  place  it  would  break  forth  in 
another  and  render  extinction  impossible. 
The  wood  casing,  too,  when  ignited,  would  fall 
in  burning  fragments  and  set  fire  to  every 
thing  else."  Upon  this  magnificent  picture 
of  ruin^  which  Martin  might  have  been 
tempted  to  paint,  Mr.  Howell,  one  of  the 
inspectors,  comments  by  stating  the  result  of 
proper  fencing  in  a  large  factory  at  Hyde, 
near  Manchester.  "In  that  factory,"  he 
says,  "several  hundred  feet  of  horizontal 
shafting,  having  been  enclosed  In  hexagonal 
wood  casing  under  the  supervision  of  Mr., 
Robert  Hall,  the  manager,  a  length  of  the 
casing  which  had  been  fixed  more  than  six 
calendar  months  was,  at  my  request,  taken 
down  while  I  was  in  the  factory,  in  order  to 
ascertain  the  fact  whether  any  cotton  fiake 
or  dust  bad  insinuated  itself  within  the 
casing ;  and  it  was  satisfactory  to  find  that 
the  inside  of  the  casing  was  as  free  from  the 
insidious  intrusion  of  cotton  flake  and  dust 
as  it  was  when  first  put  up." 

Then  it  is  said  that  victims  have  been  cau- 
tioned, and  that  they  were  heedless  of  Instruc- 
sions.  Assume  this  to  be  the  case,  though 
it  is  not  true  that  every  accident  results,  or, 
that  one  half  of  the  accldenta  result,  from 
carelessness  on  tiie  part  of  the  sufferer.    A 

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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoodaeM  by 


larire  proportion  of  them  are  mch  as  no  pru- 
dence or  foresight  on  the  part  of  the  workman 
could  have  hindered.  That,  from  the  nature 
of  the  several  disasters,  can  be  shown ;  but 
it  is  evident  enough  from  the  fact,  that  many 
of  these  heedless  fellows  are  men  maimed 
when  in  the  prime  of  life,  after  a  long  fami- 
liarity with  ftictory  machinery,  and  a  career 
in  which  they  have  become  so  noted  for  their 
skill,  carefulness,  intelligence  and  steadiness, 
as  to  have  been  promoted  above  their  fellows 
to  situations  of  trust  and  responsibility.  Let 
us  grant,  however,  that  the  victims  are  aU 
negligent  rogues  who  have  not  done  what 
they  were  bidden  to  do.  What  is  to  be  said 
of  the  superior  heedfulness  of  orders  shown 
1^  the  masters,  who,  being  bound  to  hang  up 
in  their  mills  a  list  of  certain  obligations  laid 
upon  them,  thereby  advertise  to  all  their 
men  that  certain  things  which  the  masters  of 
the  masters  order  them  to  do,  they  have  not 
done  1  For  thus  begins  the  list  which  is 
hung  up  in  all  the  factories  throughout  the 
kingdom : 

**DAKGiBont  MAoaiirBBT  ijn>  AooiDsirt.  BTery 
fly-wheel  eonn«eied  with  the  st«am-«Dgiae  or  watei^ 
wheel,  whether  In  the  englne-hoQae  or  not,  and  erery 
part  of  a  ateam-engine  and  water-wheelianderery  holat 
or  teagle,  and  every  ahaft  and  erery  wheel,  drum  or 
pulley,  by  wfaieh  the  motion  of  the  flrat  moTing  power 
it  commonicated  to  any  machine,  most  be  aecurely 
fenced ;  and  erery  wheel-race  moat  be  fenced  cloae  to 
the  edge ;  and  the  aaid  protection  to  each  part  mnat 
not  be  removed  while  the  parte  requiring  to  be  fenced 
are  in  motion.— 7  *  8  Tict,  c  15,  M  21, 73." 

It  is  indeed,  then,  to  a  "wanton  disol)edience 
of  orders,''  that  the  accidents  in  factories  are 
commonly  to  be  ascribed.  But  who  is  guilty 
of  the  disobedience,— the  masters  or  the  men? 
We  may  sum  up  this  part  of  the  subject  in 
the  words  of  the  manager  of  a  great  factory, 
quoted  by  Mr.  Howell :— "  The  fact  is,  that 
all  these  shafts  can  and  ought  to  be  fenced  ; 
they  ought  to  be  cased.  This  is  a  plain 
question,  upon  which  an  intelligent  man  in 
a  fustian  jacket  who  spends  all  his  time 
among  the  machinery  in  a  factory,  can  form 
as  sound  a  judgment  as  the  gentlemen  in  the 
counting-house  who  calculate  the  expense. 
The  have  not  got  to  handle  the  straps ;  they 
do  not  put  them  on  the  drums ;  nor  are  they 
liable  to  be  caught  by  a  strap  lapping  on  a 
naked  unfenced  shaft."     « 

A  few  months  previous  to  our  last  discus- 
sion on  this  subject,  in  a  circular  letter  dated 
the  thirty-first  of  January,  eighteen  hundred 
and  fifty-four,  mill-owners  were  reminded  of 
the  law  as  it  regards  the  fencing  of  mill- 
gearing,  and  were  informed  that  its  provi- 
sions must  be,  for  the  future,  strictly  observ- 
ed. Out  of  this  announcement  was  bred  the 
great  meeting  of  mill-owners  at  Manchester, 
whereat  fire  and  ruin  were  predicted  in  the 
manner  already  shown.  At  that  meeting  a 
deputation  was  appointed,  which  was  receiv- 
ed at  the  Home  OiBce  in  March  last  year. 


and  which  there  made  representations  of  the 
impossibility  of  fencing  horizontal  shafts ;  of 
the  danger  of  fire  if  the  impossibility  were 
accomplished ;  of  the  fact  that  horizoatal 
shafts  usually  revolve  at  a  height  from  the 
fioor,  which  makes  it  impossible  for  danger 
to  arise  from  them ;  and  of  the  great  expense 
that  would  be  incurred  by  miil-owuen  in 
doing  impossibilities  to  prevent  impossibili- 
ties, whereby  they  would,  after  all,  only  set 
their  premises  on  fire.  By  some  such  line  of 
argument,  the  Home  Secretary  was  indaced 
to  direct  that,  inasmuch  as  the  circular  letter 
of  the  thirty-first  of  January  had  been  con- 
strued to  require  the  universal  adoption  of  a 
permanent  fixed  casing,  that  circular  should 
be  for  a  time  suspended,  and  need  not  be 
acted  upon.  But,  at  the  same  time,  the  same 
Secretary  pointed  out  various  modes  and  pre- 
cautions by  which  danger  to  the  workpeople 
from  horizontal  shafts  might  be  prevented. 
This  concession  to  the  mill-owners  was  pro- 
mulgated in  a  circular  bearing  date  the  fif- 
teenth of  March  last  year,  which  closed  in 
this  manner :  "  The  best  proof  that  the  adc^ 
tion  of  these  or  any  other  suggestions  is  a 
sufficient  compliance  with  the  requirements 
of  the  law  in  tills  respect,  will,  of  couse,  be 
the  ab^nce  of  accidents  hereafter  in  those 
factories  in  which  these  precautions  shall 
have  been  adopted ;  at  the  same  time  the 
inspectors  are  instructed  to  remind  the  occo- 
piers  of  factories  that  if  an  accident  shall 
occur  in  anv  factory  in  which  no  attempt 
shall  have  been  made,  within  a  reasonable 
time,  to  introduce  any  contrivance  by  which 
this  accident  might  have  been  prevented,-' 
they  will  be  liable  to  prosecution. 

The  required  proof  of  the  sufficiency  of 
mild  suggestions  has  not  been  given.  During 
the  past  year,  death  and  mutilations  of  the 
most  horrible  kind  have  been  as  frequent  as 
they  ever  were:  many  of  them  have  been 
caused. by  machmery  revolving  at  heights 
above  seven  feet  from  the  floor ;  they  bare 
been  found  to  occur  even  at  a  height  of 
nearly  fifteen  feet  In  comparatively  few 
cases  have  the  suggestions  offered  by  the 
Home  Office  for  the  prevention  of  this  crash- 
ing and  maiming,  received  any  practical 
attention. 

The  right  step  has,  in  consequence,  been 
taken  by  the  Government ;  and  on  the  eighth 
of  January  in  the  present  year,  a  letter  was 
sent  from  the  Home  Office  to  the  Factoi^ 
Inspectors,  directing  that  they  should  insti- 
tute proceedings  to  enforce  the  law  which 
requires  that  horizontal  shafts  shall  be  fenced, 
and  that  they  should  not  defer  such  proceed- 
ings until  after  the  occurrence  of  accidents 
which  such  fencing  might  have  prevented. 
The  relaxations  allowed  by  the  circular  of 
the  fifteenth  of  March  in  the  previous  year, 
were  therefore  withdrawn,  and  ceased  to  be 
in  force.  *'  The  object  of  the  law  was,"  as 
LordPalmerston  said,  **  To  prevent  accidents, 
not  to  punish  for  them."    Indulgence,  trnst 


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FENCING  WITH  HUMANITY. 


243 


in  sta^hooks  and  Bpontaneoas  humanity, 
hare  been  tried.  The  result  has  been  no 
dimination  in  the  accidents,  and  very  little 
oae  6760  of  those  cheap  contrivances  which 
the  deputation  of  mill-owners  suggested  as 
eifectaal,  and  promised  for  their  body  to 
adopt  It  has  become  evident,  also,  that  the 
eoatrivances  in  question  would  indeed  lessen 
by  fifty  per  cent,  the  number  of  preventible 
accidents,  but  would  leave  still  a  large  annual 
list  of  killed  and  wounded.  Measures  of 
complete  prevention  Introduced  voluntarily 
into  some  extensive  factories,  have  worked  in 
soch  ft  way  as  to  disprove  all  the  arguments 
a^lost  them  put  forth  a  twelvemonth  ago  by 
the  mUl-owners'  deputation.  Complete  pro- 
tection of  the  lives  of  factory  operatives  Is 
now,  therefore,  no  longer  a  fiction  introduced 
among  the  statutes ;  but  the  means  towards 
it  are  to  be  henceforward,  without  further 
wavering,  strictly  and  actively  enforced. 

The  battle  will  have  to  be  fought  stoutly 
hj  the  factory  inspectors ;  for,  they  have 
much  patwive  resistance  to  subdue.  Mr. 
lieooard  Horner  tells  us  in  his  report,  of 
a  jooag  man  aged  twenty-two,  who  in  No- 
Tember  last  perished  at  Oldham.  His 
foot  became  entangled  in  a  strap  of  the 
machine  at  which  he  was  working,  and 
the  strap  having  lapped  round  the  hori- 
zontal shaft,  he  was  dragged  up,  his  skull 
vas  fhustured,  and  he  died  immediately.  A 
few  guide  hooks  to  prevent  the  falling  of  the 
strap  wonld  have  made  that  accident  impos- 
sible ;  bat  even  this  simple  protection  to  life 
-one  of  those  promised  by  the  Manchester 
depatation— was  not  furnished  by  the  mill- 
owaer.  He  was  prosecuted;  there  was  no 
doabt  about  either  the  facts  or  the  law  re- 
lating to  them ;  but  five  magistrates  (of  whom 
three  happened  to  be  themselves  great  owners 
of  onfeaced  machinery),  after  a  short  retire- 
ment, came  into  court  and  announced  that 
the  case  was  dismissed,  without  giving  any 
f«MOtt  for  the  decision.  Mr.  Horner  adds 
^  this,  another  case,  which  occurred  in 
hig  district  a  few  weeks  later.  A  man  in 
i  the  prime  of  life — aged  twenty-nine^mme- 
diatelj  after  he  had  i^gun  work  one  morning, 
^eaagfat  by  a  strap  and  dragged  up  to  a 
horiaontal  shaft,  totally  unfenced,  revolving 
»t  a  height  of  ten  or  eleven  feet  from  the 
fioor.  The  shaft  dashed  out  his  brains  upon 
tbe  ceiliag,  until  the  engine  could  be  stopped. 
^  owner  of  this  unfenced  machine  was 
proeecnted  before  the  local  magistrates— 
'gam  gentlemen  who  had  the  "  owner's  in- 
*«fe«t"  uppermost  in  their  minds.  The 
case  was  gone  into  very  fully,  and  it  was 
proved  that,  had  a  very  few  dillllngs  been 
'pent  on  strap-hooks  (as  the  Home  Office  had 
f««onunended),  the  brains  of  the  deceased 
wonld  not  have  been  beaten  out  in  the 
defendant's  service.  "After  being  absent 
for  an  hour  with  their  three  clerks,  the 
"*^gi«trates  returned  into  court,  when  a 
A<^gbonrlng    mill-owner    said,    that    after 


much  consideration  they  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  act  constrained  them  to 
convict ;  but  they  should  do  so  in  the  lowest 
penalty,"  that  is— Ten  Pounds.  When  the 
mill-owner  sets  that  price  on  his  workman's 
brains,  who  can  wonder  if  the  workman  sets 
a  price  still  lower  on  his  master's  heart  I 

We  have  not  spoken  of  this  state  of  tbinffs 
as  if  we  loved  it ;  but  at  the  same  time  let  It 
not  be  supposed  that  we  attack  this  grave 
and  general  shortcoming,  in  any  spirit  of 
unkind  feeling  against  mill-owners  as  a  body. 
The  verv  same  report  that  tells  us  of  these 
base  things,  tells  also  of  noble  en^rprises 
nobly  ventured,  and  of  a  fine  spirit  ^own 
by  other  chieftains  of  the  cotton  class.  Sir 
John  Klncald  writes  of  ^^  the  praise-worthy 
liberalitv  of  some  mill-owners,  which  was 
gradually  extending  itself,  in  providing  com- 
fortable accommodation  for  their  workers 
during  meal  hours,  and  before  commencing 
work  in  the  morning."  The  Messrs.  Scott  of 
Dumfiries,  have  established  at  their  works, 
a  kitchen  and  refreshment  room.  For  a 
penny  they  supply  a  quart  of  porridge  and 
milk,  a  pint  of  tea  or  coffee,  with  milk  and 
sugar,  or  a  quart  of  bfoth  with  meat,  adding 
potatoes  for  another  halfpenny.  "  The  quality 
of  each  article  supplied  was  reported  by  the 
sub-inspector  to  be  su1)3tantial  and  good. 
The  Messrs.  Scott  have  also  lately  added  a 
reading-room,  lighted  with  gas  at  their  own 
expense,  for  the  benefit  of  their  workers.  At 
the  cotton  mills,  near  Lanark,  an  apartment 
has  also  been  fitted  up  at  the  expense  of  the 
company,  for  the  accommodation  of  their 
workers  during  meal  hours,  and  provided 
with  a  comfortable  fire,  in  cold  weather." 

And,  finally,  who  shall  sa^  that  there  is  no 
health  in  the  system  which  is  producing  that 
vast  establishment  of  Saltaire,  near  Bradford, 
probably  the  largest  factorv  in  the  world, 
wherein  Mr.  Titus  Salt,  the  first  manu- 
facturer who  introduced  fabrics  of  Alpaca 
wool,  sets  at  work  fifty  thousand  spindles, 
twelve  hundred  power  looms,  and  a  little 
colony  of  people.  He  has  gone  out  to  the 
valley  of  we  river  Air,  which  supplies  water 
for  his  engines,  has  the  Liverpool  and  Leeds 
canal  under  his  warehouse  walls,  and  a  branch 
from  the  Leeds  and  Bradford  railway  running 
into  his  premises.  These  premises  being  four 
miles  from  Bradford,  he  knows  better  than  to 
adopt  the  agricultural  Idea,  ofgivlng  an  eight 
mile  walk  to  and  from  work  by  way  of  freshen- 
er to  the  strength  of  his  labourers,  and  to 
avoid  giving  them  a  settlement  upon  his  land. 
He  id  forming  for  them  a  settlement  under 
the  shadow  of  the  factory,  in  a  new  town  built 
wholly  for  them  and  their  families — for  a 
population,  it  is  supposed,  of  about  eight 
thousand.  This  town  Is  to  be  thoroughlv 
drained,  amply  supplied  with  water,  and  will 
be  lighted  with  gas ;  it  will  contain  a  church, 
schools,  a  market,  a  public  dining  hall  and 
kitchen,  baths  and  wash-hoases,  ground  for 
recreation  ;  the  streets  are  to  be  spacious  ; 


J 


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244 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDa 


[Coadnetcd  bf 


the  cottages  of  TMrioos  sizes,  small  separate 
dwclliogs  and  boarding  houses  for  the  single; 
each  house  will  contain  erery  possible  ar- 
rangement for  adding  to  the  comfort  and 
health  of  the  inmates ;  the  water  is  to  be 
pnre,  unaffected  by  the  drainage ;  and  smoke 
IS  not  to  contaminate  the  atmosphere.  The 
total  number  of  residences  proposed  to  be 
built  eventually,  as  the  demand  for  them  may 
arise,  is  seven  hundred :  of  which  one  hun- 
dred and  sixty-four  cottages  and  boarding- 
houses  have  been  already  built,  and  are  now 
occupied  by  about  a  thousand  persons. 

After  physic,  sugar ;  and  so,  for  the  pre- 
sent, ends  our  treatment  of  a  difficult  and 
painful  case. 


SISTER  ROSE. 

IN  SEVEN  CHAPTERS. — CHAPTER  U, 

Five  years  have  elapsed  since  Monsieur 
Blaireau  stood  thoughtfully  at  the  gate  of 
Trudaine^s  house,  looking  after  the  carriage 
of  the  bride  and  bridegroom,  and  seriously 
reflecting  on  the  events  of  the  future.  Great 
changes  have  passed  over  that  domestic 
firmament  in  which  he  prophetically  dis- 
cerned the  little  warning  cloud.  Greater 
changes  have  passed  over  the  firmament  of 
France. 

What  was  Revolt  five  vears  ago  is  Revolu- 
tion now — revolution  which  has  engulphed 
thrones  and  principalities  and  powers ;  which 
has  set  up  crownless,  inhereditary  kings  and 
counsellors  of  its  own,  and  has  bloodily  torn 
them  down  again  by  dozens;  which  has 
raged  and  ra^ed  on  unrestrainedly  in  fierce 
earnest,  until  but  one  king  can  still  govern 
and  control  it  for  a  little  while.  That  King 
is  named  Terror,  and  seventeen  hundred  and 
ninety-four  is  the  year  of  his  reign. 

Monsieur  Lomaque,  land-steward  no  longer, 
sits  alone  in  an  official-looking  room  in  one 
of  the  official  buildings  of  ParU.  It  is  anoUier 
July  evening,  as  fine  as  that  evening  when 
he  and  Trudaine  sat  talking  together  on 
the  bench  overlooking  the  Seme.  The  win- 
dow-of  the  room  is  wide  open,  and  a  faint, 
pleasant  breeze  is  beginning  to  flow  through 
It.  But  Lomaque  breathes  uneasily,  as  if  still 
oppressed  by  the  sultry  mid-day  heat ;  and 
there  are  signs  of  perplexity  and  trouble  in 
his  face  as  he  looks  down  absently  now  and 
then  into  the  street  The  times  he  lives  in  are 
enough  of  themselves  to  sadden  any  man's 
face.  In  this  fearful  Reign  of  Terror  no  living 
being  in  all  the  city  of  Paris  can  rise  in  the 
morning  and  be  certain  of  escaping  the  spy, 
the  denunciation,  the  arrest,  or  the  guillotine, 
before  night.  Such  times  are  trying  enough 
to  oppress  any  man^s  spirits  ;  but  Blabreau 
is  not  thinking  of  them,  or  caring  for  them, 
now.  Out  of  a  mass  of  papers  which  lie 
before  him  on  his  old  writing-table,  he  has 
just  taken  up  and  read  one,  which  has  carried 
his  thoughts  back  to  the  past,  and  to  the 
changes  which  have  taken  place  since  he 


stood  alone  on  the  door-step  of  Tmdaine's 
house,  pondering  on  what  might  happen. 

More  rapidly,  even,  than  be  had  u>reboded 
those  changes  had  occurred.  In  lees  time, 
even,  than  he  had  anticipated,  the  sad  emer- 
gency for  which  Rose's  brother  had  pre- 
pared, as  for  a  barely  possible  calamity, 
overtook  Trudaine,  and  called  for  all  the 
patience,  the  courage,  the  self-sacrifice,  which 
he  had  to  give  for  his  sister's  sake.  By  slow 
gradations  downward,  from  bad  to  worse, 
her  husband's  character  manifested  itself  less 
and  less  disguisedly  almost  day  by  day.  Oc- 
casional slights  ending  in  habitual  neglect ; 
careless  estrangement  turning  to  cool  enmity ; 
small  insults  which  ripened  evilly  to  great 
iojuries — these  were  the  pitiless  elgns  which 
showed  her  that  she  had  risked  all,  and  lost 
all  while  still  a  young  woman— these  were  the 
unmerited  afflictions  which  found  her  help- 
less, and  would  have  left  her  helpless,  but  for 
the  ever-present  comfort  and  support  of  her 
brother's  self-denying  love.  From  the  first, 
Trudaine  had  devot^  himself  to  meet  such 
trials  as  now  assail  him ;  and,  like  a  man,  he 
met  them,  in  defiance  alike  of  persecution 
from  the  mother  and  of  insult  from  the  son. 
The  hard  task  was  only  lightened  when,  as 
time  advanced,  public  trouble  began  to 
mingle  itself  with  private  grief.  Then  ab- 
sorbing political  necessities  came  as  a  relief 
to  domestic  misery.  Then  it  grew  to  be  the 
one  purpose  and  pursuit  of  Danville's  life 
cunningly  to  shape  his  course  so  that  he  might 
move  safely  onward  with  the  advancing  re- 
volutionary tide — he  cared  not  whither,  as 
long  as  he  kept  bis  possessions  safe  and  his 
life  out  of  danger. — His  mother,  infiexibly 
true  to  her  old-world  convictions  through  all 
peril,  might  entreat  and  upbraid,  might  talk 
of  honour  and  courage  and  sinceritv — be 
heeded  her  not,  or  heeded  only  to  laugh.  As 
he  had  taken  the  false  way  with  his  wife,  so 
he  was  now  bent  on  taking  it  with  Uie  world. 
The  years  passed  on:  destroying  changes 
swept  hurricane-like  over  the  old  governing 
system  of  France ;  and  still  Danville  shifted 
successfully  with  the  shifting  times.  The 
first  days  of  the  Terror  approached  ;  in  pub- 
lic and  in  private — in  high  places  and  in  low 
— each  man  now  suspected  his  brother. 
Crafty  as  Danville  was,  even  he  fell  under 
suspicion  at  last,  at  head-quarters  in  Paris, 
principally  on  his  mother's  account  This 
was  his  first  political  failure,  and,  in  a 
moment  of  thoughtless  rage  and  disappoiot- 
ment,  he  wreaked  the  irritation  caused  by  it 
on  Lomaque.  Suspected  himself,  he  in  turn 
suspected  the  land-steward.  His  mother 
fomented  the  suspicion — Lomaque  was  dis- 
missed. 

In  the  old  times  the  victim  would  have  been 
ruined — in  the  new  times  he  was  simply  ren- 
dered eligible  for  a  political  vocation  in  life. 
Lomaque  was  poor,  quick-witted,  secret,  not 
scrupulous.  He  was  a  good  patriot  he  bad 
good  patriot  friends,  plenty  of  ambition,  a 


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Chtfki  INckeiM.] 


SISTER  ROSE. 


246 


subtle,  cat-like  courage,  nothing  to  dread— 
tod  he  went  to  Paris.  There  were  plenty  of 
small  chances  there  for  men  of  his  calibre. 
He  waited  for  one  of  them.  It  came  ;  he 
made  the  most  of  it :  attracted  favoorablj 
the  notice  of  the  terrible  Fouquier-Tinville ; 
and  won  his  way  to  a  place  In  the  office  of 
the  Secret  Police. 

Meanwhile,  Danyille's  anger  cooled  down : 
he  recovered  the  nse  of  that  canning  sense 
which  had  hitherto  served  him  well,  and  sent 
to  recal  the  discarded  servant  It  was  too 
late.  Lomaqne  was  already  in  a  position  to 
set  him  at  defiance— nay,  to  put  his  neck, 
perhaps,  nnder  the  blade  of  the  gnillotine, 
Worse  than  this,  anonymous  letters  reached 
him,  warning  him  to  lose  no  time  in  proving 
hU  patriotism  by  some  indisputable  sacrifice, 
and  in  silencing  his  mother,  whose  imprudent 
eiacerity  was  likely  ere  long  to  cost  her  her 
life.  DiEmville  knew  her  well  enough  to 
koov  that  there  was  but  one  way  of  saviuff 
her,  and  thereby  saving  himself.  She  had 
always  refused  to  emigrate  ;  but  he  now  in- 
sisted  that  she  should  seize  the  first  oppor- 
tanity  he  could  procure  for  her  of  quitting 
France,  until  calmer  times  arrived.  Probably 
ihe  would  have  risked  her  own  life  ten  times 
oyer  rather  than  have  obe^red  him ;  but  she 
had  not  the  courage  to  risk  her  son's  too ; 
ftod  she  vielded  for  his  sake.  Partly  by 
secret  influence,  partly  by  unblushing  fraud, 
Danville  procured  for  her  such  papers  and 
permits  as  would  enable  her  to  leave  France 
by  way  of  Marseilles.  Even  then  she  refused 
to  depart,  until  she  knew  what  her  son's 
plans  were  for  the  future.  He  showed  her  a 
letter  which  he  was  about  to  despatch  to 
Robespierre  himself,  vindicating  his  suspected 
patriotism,  and  indignantly  demanding  to  be 
allowed  to  prove  it  by  filling  some  office,  no 
matter  how  small,  under  the  redoubtable  tri- 
umrhute  which  then  governed,  or  more  pro- 
perly, terrified  France.  The  sight  of  this 
docament  reassured  Madame  Danville.  She 
bade  her  son  farewell,  and  departed  at  last, 
with  one  trusty  servant,  for  Marseilles. 

I^viUe's  intention  in  sending  his  letter  to 
I^aris,  had  been  simply  to  save  himself  by 
patriotic  bluster.  He  was  thunder-struck  at 
receiving  a  rcplv,  taking  him  at  his  word, 
and  summoning  him  to  the  capital  to  accept 
employment  there  under  the  then  existing 
government.  There  was  no  choice  but  to 
obey.  So  to  Paris  he  journeyed ;  taking  his 
jife  with  him  into  the  vei7  jaws  of  danger. 
He  was  then  at  open  enmity  wiCh  Trudaine  : 
Mid  the  more  anxious  and  alarmed  he  could 
OMke  Uie  brother  feel  on  the  sister's  account, 
the  better  he  was  pleased.  True  to  his  trust 
^  his  love,  through  all  dangers  as  through 
*ll  persecutions,  Trudaine  followed  them; 
*nd  the  street  of  their  sojourn  at  Paris,  in  the 
perilous  days  of  the  Terror,  was  the  street  of 
hi8  sojourn,  too. 

I^ville  had  been  astonished  at  the  accept- 
ance of  his  proffered  servicee— he  was  still 


more  amazed  when  he  found  that  the  post 
selected  for  him  was  one  of  the  superintend- 
ent's places  in  that  very  office  of  Secret 
Police  in  which  Lomaque  was  employed  as 
Agent.  Robespierre  and  his  colleagues  had 
taken  the  measure  of  their  man— he  hi^  money 
enough  and  local  importance  enough  to  be 
worth  studying.  They  knew  where  he  was  to 
be  distrusted,  and  bow  he  might  be  made 
useful.  The  affiairs  of  the  Secret  Police 
were  the  sort  of  affairs  which  an  unscru- 
pulously cunning  man  was  fitted  to  help  on ; 
and  the  faithful  exercise  of  that  cunning  in 
the  service  of  the  state  was  ensured  by  the 
presence  of  Lomaque  in  the  office.  The  dis- 
carded servant  was  just  the  right  sort  of 
spy  to  watch  the  suspected  master.  Thus  it 
happened  that,  in  the  office  of  the  Secret 
Police  of  Paris,  and  under  the  Reign  of 
Terror,  Lomaque'sold  master  was,  nominally, 
his  master  still— the  superintendent  to  whom 
he  was  ceremonially  accountable,  in  public— 
the  suspected  man,  whose  slightest  words 
and  deeds  he  was  officially  set  to  watch,  in 
private. 

Ever  sadder  and  darker  grew  the  face  of 
Lomaque  as  he  now  pondered  alone  over  the 
changes  and  misfortunes  of  the  past  five 
years.  A  neighbouring  church-clock  striking 
the  hour  of  seven  aroused  him  fVom  his  medi- 
tations. He  arranged  the  confused  mass  of 
papers  before  him— looked  towards  the  door 
as  if  expe6tinff  some  one  to  enter— then,  find- 
ing himself  still  alone,  recurred  to  the  one  spe- 
cial paper  which  had  first  suggested  his  long 
train  of  gloomy  thoughts.  The  few  lines  it  con- 
tained were  signed  in  cypher,  and  ran  thus : — 

"  Toa  Mxt  aware  that  your  aaperintendent,  Banvillet 
obtained  leave  of  absence,  last  week,  to  attend  to  some 
affiUra  of  his  at  Lyons,  and  that  he  is  not  expected 
back  Jost  yet  for  a  day  or  two.  While  h«  is  away,  push 
on  the  aifidr  of  Trudaine.  Collect  all  the  evidence, 
and  hold  yourself  in  readiness  to  act  on  it  at  a  mo- 
ment's notice.  Don't  leave  the  office  till  yon  have 
heard  from  me  again.  If  yon  have  a  copy  of  the  Pri- 
vate Inatmetions  respecting  Danville, which  yon  wrote 
for  me,  send  it  to  my  honse.  I  wish  to  refresh  my 
memory.    Tonr  original  letter  Is  bomt." 

Here  the  note  abruptly  terminated.  As  he 
folded  it  up,  and  put  it  in  his  pocket,  Lomaque 
sighed.  This  was  a  very  rare  expression  of 
feeling  with  him.  He  leaned  back  in  his 
chair,  and  beat  his  nails  impatiently  on  the 
table.  Suddenly  there  was  a  faint  little  tap 
at  the  room  door,  and  eight  or  ten  men — 
evidently  familiars  of  the  new  French  Inqui- 
sition— quietly  entered,  and  ranged  them- 
selves against  the  wall  Lomaque  nodded  to 
two  of  them.  "  Picard  and  Magloire,  go  and 
sit  down  at  that  desk.  I  shall  want  you  after 
the  rest  are  gone."  Say mg  this,Lomaque  hand- 
ed certain  sealed  and  docketed  papers  to  the 
other  men  waiting  in  the  room,  who  received 
them  in  silence,  l^wed,  and  went  out  Inno- 
cent spectators  might  have  thought  them 
clerks  taking  bills  of  lading  from  a  merchant. 
Who  could  have  imagined  that  the  giving 


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246 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


and  receiving  of  Denunciations,  Arrest  Or- 
ders, and  Death  WarrantB,~tbe  providing  of 
its  doomed  human  meal  for  the  all-devouring 
Guillotine— could  have  been  managed  so 
coolly  and  quietly,  with  such  unruffled  calm- 
ness of  official  routine ! 

"  Now,"  said  Lomaque,  taming  to  the  two 
men  at  the  desk,  as  the  door  closed,  "  have 
you  got  those  notes  about  you?"  (They 
answered  in  the  affirmative).  "  Picard,  you 
have  the  first  particnhirs  of  this  affair  of 
Trudaine;  so  you  must  begin  reading.  I 
have  sent  in  the  reports ;  but  we  may  as  well 
go  over  the  evidence  again  from  the  com- 
mencement, to  make  sure  that  nothing  has 
been  left  out.  If  any  corrections  are  to  be 
made,  now  is  the  time  to  make  them.  Read, 
Picard,  and  lose  as  little  time  as  you  possibly 
can." 

Thus  admonished,  Picard  drew  some  long 
slips  of  paper  from  his  pocket,  and  began 
reading  from  them  as  follows : — 

**  MinatM  of  erideno*  eoUecUd  concerning  Louis 
Trudaine,  ancpected,  on  the  dononoUtion  of  Oitixeii 
Superintendent  DanTille,  of  hoitility  to  the  Mcred 
caoM  of  libertj,  and  of  dieafltection  to  the  aorereigntj 
of  the  people.  (1.)  The  aaapected  penon  it  placed 
onder  secret  obaerration,  and  these  facts  are  elicited: 
—He  is  twice  seen  passing  at  night  from  his  own  house 
to  a  house  in  the  Rue  de  Ol^ry.  On  the  first  night  he 
carries  with  him  monej,— on  the  second,  papers.  He 
returns  without  either.  These  particulars  hare  been 
obtained  through  a  citiien  engaged  to  help  Trudaine 
in  housekeeping  (one  of  the  sort  called  Serrants  in  the 
days  of  the  Tyrants).  This  man  is  a  good  patriot,  who 
can  be  trusted  to  watch  Trudaine's  actions.  (2.)  The 
inmates  of  the  house  in  the  Rue  de  Olfcry  are  numer- 
ou8,and  in  some  cases  not  so  well  known  to  the  govern- 
ment as  could  be  wished.  It  is  found  difficult  to  gain 
eertain  information  about  the  person  or  persons  risited 
by  Trudaine  without  haring  recourse  to  an  arrest.  (8^) 
An  arrest  is  thought  premature,  at  this  preliminary 
stage  of  the  prooeedings,  being  likely  to  stop  the  de- 
velopment of  conspiracy,  and  give  warning  to  the  guil* 
ty  to  fly.  Order  thereupon  given  to  watch  and  wait  for 
the  present  (4.)  Citisen-Superintendent  Danville 
quits  Paris  for  a  short  time.  The  office  of  watching 
Trudaine  is  then  taken  out  of  the  hands  of  the  un- 
dersigned, and  is  confided  to  his  comrade.  Hagloire. 
—Signed,  PiOAao.    Oountersigned,  Loxaqub." 

Having  read  so  far,  the  police-agent  placed 
his  papers  on  the  writing-table,  waited  a 
moment  for  orders,  and,  receiving  none,  went 
out.  No  change  came  over  the  sadness  and 
perplexity  of  Lomaque's  face.  He  still  beat 
his  nails  anxiously  on  the  writing-table,  and 
did  not  even  look  at  the  second  agent,  as 
he  ordered  the  man  to  read  his  report. 
Magloire  produced  some  slips  of  paper  pre- 
cisely similar  to  Pioard's,  and  read  ft'om  them 
in  the  same  rapid,  business-like,  unmodulated 
tones : — 

**  Affair  of  Trudaine.  Minutes  continued.  Citiien- 
Agent  Masloire  having  been  appointed  to  continue 
the  surveillance  of  Trudaine,  reports  the  discovery  of 
additional  fikcts  of  importance.  (1.)  Appearances  make 
It  probable  that  Trudaine  meditates  a  third  secret 
visit  to  the  house  in  the  Rue  de  01^.  The  proper 
measures  are  taken  for  observing  him  closely,  and  the 


result  is  the  implication  of  anotiier  person  discovered 
to  be  connected  with  the  supposed  conspiracy.  Thii 
person  is  the  sister  of  Trudaine,  and  the  wife  of  CIti- 
sen-Soperintendent  Danville." 

"Poor,  lost  creature! — ah,  poor  lost  crea- 
ture !"  muttered  LfOmaque  to  himself,  sighing 
again,  and  shifting  uneasily  IVom  side  to  side, 
in  his  mangv  old  leathern  arm-chair.  Appa- 
rently, Magloire  was  not  accustomed  to  sighs, 
interruptions,  and  expressions  of  regret,  from 
the  usually  Imperturbable  chief  agent.  He ' 
looked  up  from  his  papers  with  a  stare  of 
wonder.  "  Go  on.  Magloire  I"  cried  Lomaque 
with  a  sudden  outburst  of  irritabilitv.  "Why 
the  devil  donH  you  go  on  ?" — "  All  ready, 
citizen,"  returned  Magloire,  submissively, 
and  proceeded : — 

•*(2.)  It  is  at  Trudaine's  house  that  the  woman 
Danville's  connection  with  her  brother's  secret  de- 
signs is  ascertained,  through  the  vigilance  of  the 
before-mentioned  patriot-citiaen.  The  interview  of 
the  two  suspected  persons  is  private ;  their  conversa- 
tion is  carried  on  in  whispers.  Little  can  be  overheard; 
but  that  little  suffices  to  prove  that  Trudaine's  sister 
is  perfectly  aware  of  his  intention  to  proceed  for  the 
third  time  to  the  bouse  in  the  Rue  de  Olfery.  It  is  fxa- 
ther  discovered  that  she  awaits  his  return,  and  that 
she  then  goes  back  privately  to  her  own  house.  (3) 
Meanwhile,  the  strictest  measures  are  taken  for  watch- 
ing the  house  in  the  Rue  de  Clkrj.  It  is  discovered 
that  Trudaine's  visits  are  paid  to  a  man  and  wobmo 
known  to  the  landlord  and  lodgers  by  the  name  of 
Dubois.  They  live  on  the  fourth  floor.  It  is  impossi- 
ble, at  the  time  of  the  discovery,  to  enter  this  room, 
or  to  see  the  dtlsenand  citoyenne  Dubois  .without  pro- 
ducing an  undesirable  disturbance  In  the.  house  and 
neighbourhood.  A  police-sgent  is  left  to  watch  the 
place,  while  search  and  arrest-orders  are  i4>plied  for. 
The  granting  of  these  is  accidentally  delayed.  When 
they  are  ultimately  obtained,  it  is  discovered  that  the 
man  and  woman  are  both  missing.  They  have  not  hi- 
therto been  traced.  (4.)  The  landlord  of  the  house  is 
immediately  arrested,  ss  well  as  the  police-agent  ap- 
pointed to  watch  the  premises.  The  landlord  protests 
that  he  knows  nothing  of  his  tenants.  It  is  suspected, 
however,  that  he  has  been  tampered  with,  as  also  that 
Trudaine's  papers,  delivered  to  the  cititen  and  dto- 
yenne  Dubois,  are  forged  passports.  With  these,  and 
with  money,  it  may  not  be  impossible  that  they  have 
already  succeeded  in  escaping  tnm  France.  The  pro- 
per measures  have  been  taken  for  stopping  them,  if 
t]|ey  have  not  yet  passed  the  fh>ntiers.  No  further 
report  in  relation  to  them  has  yet  been  received.  (5.) 
Trudaine  and  his  sister  are  under  perpetual  surveil- 
lance: and  the  undersigned  holds  himself  ready  tor 
fiirther  orders.— Signed  Haolgibb.    Countersigned. 

Havhig  finished  reading  his  notes,  Hagloire 
placed  them  on  the  writing-table.  He  was 
evidently  a  favoured  man  in  the  office,  and 
he  presumed  upon  his  position;  for  he  ven- 
tured to  make  a  remark,  instead  of  leaving 
the  room  in  8ilence,like  his  predecessor, Picard. 

"  When  citizen  Danville  returns  to  Paris," 
he  began,  "  he  will  be  rather  astonished  to 
find  that  in  denouncing  his  wife's  brother, 
he  has  also  onoonsciously  denounced  bis  wife." 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CluclMiNckeiM.] 


SISTER  ROSE. 


247 


Lomaque  looked  ap  qaicklj,  with  that  old 
weakness  in  his  ejes  which  affected  them  in 
sach  a  strangely  irregular  manner  on  certain 
occasions.  Magloire  £iew  what  this  symptom 
meant,  and  would  have  become  confused,  if 
be  had  not  been  a  police  agent.  As  it  was. 
he  quietly  backed  a  step  or  two  f^om  the 
table,  and  held  his  tongue. 

"  Friend  Magloire,"  said  Lomaque,  winking 
mildljp^,  '*  your  last  remark  looks  to  me  like  a 
question  m  disguise.  I  put  questions  con- 
stantly to  others,— I  neyer  answer  questions 
myself.  You  want  to  know,  citizen,  what 
our  superintendent's  secret  motiye  is  for 
denouncing  his  wife's  brother  T  Suppose  you 
try  and  find  that  out  for  yourself.  It  will  be 
famous  practice  for  you,  friend  Magloire — 
famous  practice  after  oflOce  hours." 

"  Any  further  orders?  "  inquired  Magloire, 
sulkily. 

"  None  in  relation  to  the  reports,"  returned 
Lomaque.  **  I  find  nothing  to  alter  or  add  on  a 
revised  hearing.  But  I  shall  have  a  little  note 
ready  for  you  immediately.  Sit  down  at  the 
other  desk,  friend  Maglobre ;  I  am  yery  fond 
of  you  when  you  are  not  inquisitiye, — pray 
sit  down." 

While  addressing  this  polite  inyitation  to 
the  agent  in  his  softest  voice,  Lomaque  pro- 
doced  his  pocket-book,  and  drew  from  it  a 
little  note,  which  he  opened  and  read  through 
attentively.  It  was  headed,  "Private  In- 
structions relative  to  Superintendent  Dan- 
ville," and  proceeded  thus:— "The  under- 
signed can  confidently  assert,  fh>m  long 
domestic  experience  in  Danville's  household, 
that  his  motive  for  denouncing  his  wife's 
brother  is  purely  a  personal  one,  and  is  not 
in  the  most  remote  degree  connected  with 
politics.  Briefiy,  the.  facts  are  these : — ^Louis 
Trodaine,  from  the  first,  opposed  his  sister's 
marriage  with  Danville ;  distrusting  the 
latter's  temper  and  disposition.  The  mar- 
riage, however,  took  place,  and  the  brother 
resigned  hii^iself  to  await  results. — taking  the 
precaution  of  living  in  the  same  neighbour- 
hood  as  his  sister,  to  interpose.  If  need  be, 
between  the  crimes  which  the  husband 
might  commit  and  the  sufferings  which  the 
wife  might  endure.  The  results  soon  ex- 
ceeded his  worst  anticipations,  and  called  for 
tbe  interposition  for  which  he  had  prepared 
bimself.  He  is  a  man  of  inflexible  fbrmness, 
patience,  and  integrity,  and  he  makes  the 
protection  and  consolation  of  his  sister  the 
business  of  his  life.  He  gives  his  brother-in- 
law  no  pretext  for  openly  quarrelling  with 
bim.  He  is  neither  to  be  deceived,  irritated, 
nor  tired  out ;  and  he  is  Danville's  superior 
eveiy  way, — in  conduct,  temper,  and  capacity. 
Under  these  circumstances,  it  is  unnecessary 
to  say  that  his  brother-in-law's  enmity  to- 
wards him  is  of  the  most  implacable  kind, 
and  equally  unnecessary  to  hint  at  the  per- 
fectly plain  motive  of  the  denunciation. 

"As  to  the  suspicious  circumstances  af- 
fecting not  Trudidne  only,  but  his  sister  as 


well,  the  undersigned  regrets  his  inability, 
thus  far,  to  offer  either  explanation  or  sng- 
gestion.  At  this  preliminary  stage,  the  affsJr 
seems  involved  m  impenetrable  mystery." 

Lomaque  read  these  Hues  through,  down 
to  his  own  signature  at  the  end.  They  were 
the  duplicate  Secret  Instructions  demanded 
ft'om  him  in  the  paper  which  ho  had  been 
looking  over  before  the  entrance  of  the  two 
police  agents.  Slowly,  and  as  it  seemed  unwil- 
lingly, he  folded  the  note  up  in  a  treat  sheet  of 
paper,  and  was  preparing  to  seal  it,  when  a  tap 
at  the  door  stopped  him.  **Cojne  in,"  he  cried, 
irritably  ;  and  a  man,  in  travelling  costume, 
covered  with  dust,  entered,  quietly  whispered 
a  word  or  two  in  his  ear,  nodded,  and  went  out. 
Lomaque  started  at  the  whisper ;  and,  open- 
ing his  note  again,  hastily  wrote  under  his 
signature : — "  I  have  just  heard  that  Danville 
has  hastened  his  return  to  Paris,  and  may  be 
expected  back  to-night"  Having  traced 
these  lines,  he  dosed,  sealed,  directed  the 
letter,  and  gave  it  to  Magloire.  The  police- 
agent  looked  at  the  ad&ess  as  he  left  the 
room — it  was  "  To  Citizen  Robespierre,  Rue 
Saint-Honore." 

Left  alone  again,  Lomaque  rose,  and  walked 
restlessly  backwards  and  forwards,  biting  his 
nails. 

"  Danville  comes  back  to-night,"  he  said  to 
himself ;  "  and  the  crisis  comes  with  hiuL 
Trudaine,  a  conspirator  I  Sister  Rose  (as  he 
used  to  call  her)  a  conspirator  I  Bah  I  con- 
spiracy can  hardly  be  the  answer  to  the  riddle 
this  time.    What  is?" 

He  took  a  turn  or  two  in  silenoe— then 
stopped  at  the  open  window,  lookina;  out  on 
what  little  glimpse  the  street  afforded  him  of 
the  sunset  sky. 

"This  time  five  years,"  he  said, "  Trudaine 
was  talking  to  me  on  that  bench  overlooking 
the  river ;  and  Sister  Rose  was  keeping  poor 
hatchet-faced  old  Lomaque's  cup  of  coffee  hot 
for  him  I  Now  I  am  officially  bound  to  sus- 
pect them  both ;  perhaps  to  arrest  them ;  per- 
haps— I  wish  this  job  had  fallen  into  o&er 
hands.  I  don't  want  it— I  don't  want  it  at 
any  price!" 

He  returned  to  the  writing-table,  and  sat 
down  to  his  papers,  with  the  dogged  air  of  a 
man  determined  to  drive  away  vexing 
thoughts  by  dint  of  sheer  hard  work.  For 
more  than  an  hour  he  laboured  on  resolutely, 
munching  a  bit  of  dry  bread  ftom  time  to 
time.  Then  he  paused  a  little,  and  began  to 
think  again.  Gradually  the  summer  twilight 
Aided  and  the  room  grew  dark. 

"  Perhaps  we  shall  tide  over  to-night,  after 
all — ^who  knows  T"  said  Lomaque,  ringing  his 
hand-bell  for  lights.  They  were  brought  in ; 
and  with  them  ominously  returned  the  police- 
agent  Magloire  with  a  small  sealed  packet.  It 
contained  an  arrest-order,  and  a  tiny  three- 
cornered  note,  looking  more  like  a  love-letter 
or  a  lady's  invitation  to  a  party  than  any- 
thing else.  Lomaaue  opened  the  note  eagerly 
and  read  these  lines,  neatly  written,  and 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


248 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoBdoeMkr 


signed  with  Robespierre's  initials — M.  R. — 
formed  elegantly  in  ciphers : — 

''  Arrest  Trudaine  and  his  nster  to-night 
On  second  thoughts,  I  am  not  sure,  if  Dan- 
ville comes  back  in  time  to  be  present,  that  it 
may  not  be  all  the  better.  He  is  unprepared 
for  his  wife's  arrest  Watch  him  closely 
when  it  takes  place,  and  report  privately  to 
me.  I  am  f^raid  he  is  a  vicious  man;  and  of 
all  things  I  abhor  Vice." 

*'  Any  more  work  for  me  to-night  7 ''  asked 
Magloire  with  a  yawn. 

"  Only  an  arrest."  replied  Lomaqne.  '*  Col- 
lect our  men,  and  when  you're  ready,  get  a 
coach  at  the  door." 

**  We  were  just  going  to  supper,"  grumbled 
Magloire  to  himself,  as  he  went  out  '*  The 
devil  seize  the  Aristocrats  I  They're  all  in 
such  a  hurry  to  get  to  the  Guillotine  that 
they  won't  even  give  a  man  time  to  eat  his 
victuals  in  peace !  " 

"There's  no  choice  now,"  muttered  Lo- 
maque,  angrily  thrusting  the  arrest-order  and 
the  three-cornered  note  into  his  pocket  **  His 
father  was  the  saving  of  me  *^  he  himself  wel- 
comed me  like  an  equal ;  his  sister  treated 
me  like  a  gentleman,  as  the  phrase  went  in 
those  days  ;  and  now — " 

He  stopped  and  wiped  his  forehead — ^then 
unlocked  his  desk,  produced  a  bottle  of 
brandy,  and  poured  himself  out  a  glass  of  the 
liquor,  which  he  drank  bv  sips,  slowly. 

"  I  wonder  whether  other  men  get  softer- 
hearted  as  they  grow  older  ?  "  he  said.  "  I 
seem  to  do  so  at  any  rate.  GourageJ  courage  I 
what  must  be,  must  If  I  risked  my  head  to 
do  it,  I  couldn't  stop  this  arrest  There 
isn't  a  man  in  the  oiBce  who  wouldn't  be 
ready  to  execute  it,  if  I  wasn't" 

Here  the  rumble  of  carriage-wheels  sound- 
ed outside. 

*<  There's  the  coach  I "  exclaimed  Lomaque, 
locking  up  the  brandy-bottle,  and  taking  his 
hat  "After  all,  as  this  arrest  is  to  be 
made,  it's  as  well  for  them  that  I  should 
make  it" 

Consoling  himself  as  he  best  could  with  this 
reflection,  Chief  Police-Agent  Lomaque  blew 
out  the  candles,  and  quitted  the  room. 

CHAPTER  m. 

Ignorant  of  the  change  in  her  husband's 
plans,  which  was  to  bring  him  back  to  Paris 
a  day  before  the  time  that  had  been  fixed  for 
his  return,  Siste  iRose  had  left  her  solitary 
home  to  spend  the  evening  with  her  brother. 
They  had  sat  talking  together  long  after  sun- 
set, and  had  let  the  darkness  steal  on  them 
insensibly,  as  people  will  who  are  oiiiy  occu- 
pied with  quiet,  familiar  conversation.  Thus 
it  happened,  by  a  curious  coincidence,  that 
just  as  Lomaque  was  blowin|^  out  his  candles 
at  the  office,  Rose  was  lighting  the  reading- 
lamp  at  her  brother's  lodgings. 

Five  years  of  disappointment  and  sorrow 
had  sadly  changed  her  to  outward  view.  Her 


face  looked  thinner  and  longer ;  the  once 
delicate  red  and  white  of  her  complexioD  was 
gone ;  her  figure  had  wasted  under  the  in- 
nuence  of  some  weakness  which  already  made 
her  stoop  a  little  when  she  walked.  Her 
manner  had  lost  its  maiden  shyness  onlj  to 
become  unnaturally  quiet  and  subdued.  Of 
all  the  charms  which  had  so  fatally,  yet  so 
innocently,  allured  her  heartless  husband,  bat 
one  remained — the  winning  gentleness  of  her 
voice.  It  might  be  touched  now  and  then 
with  a  note  of  sadness ;  but  the  soft  attrac- 
tion of  its  even,  natural  tone  still  remained. 
In  the  marring  of  all  other  harmonies,  this 
one  harmony  had  been  preserved  unchanged! 
Her  brother — though  his  fetce  was  care-worn, 
and  his  manner  sadder  than  of  old,  looked 
less  altered  from  his  former  self.  It  is  the 
most  fragrile  material  which  soonest  shows 
the  fiaw.  The  world's  idol,  Beauty,  holds  its 
frailest  tenure  of  existence  in  the  one  Temple 
where  we  most  love  to  worship  it 

*<  And  so  you  think,  Louis,  that  our  perilous 
undertaking  has  really  ended  well  bv  this 
time?"  said  Rose,  anxiously,  as  she  Ut  the 
lamp  and  placed  the  glass  shade  over  it. 
"  What  a  relief  it  is  only  to  hear  you  say  yon 
think  we  have  succeeded  at  last ! " 

"  I  said  I  hoped.  Rose,"  replied  her  brother. 

"  Well,  even  hoped  is  a  great  word  from 
you,  Louis — a  great  word  IVom  any  one  in  this 
fearful  city,  and  in  these  days  of  Terror." 

She  stopped  suddenly,  seeing  her  brother 
raise  his  hand  in  warning.  They  looked  at  each 
other  in  silence,  and  listened.  The  soond  of 
footsteps  going  slowly  past  the  house— ceasing 
for  a  moment  just  beyond  it — then  going  on 
again — came  through  the  open  window.  There 
was  nothing  else,  out  of  doors  or  in,  to  distirb 
the  silence  of  the  night — the  deadly  silence  of 
Terror  which,  for  months  past,  had  bung  over 
Paris.  It  was  a  significant  sign  of  the  times, 
that  even  a  passing  footstep,  sounding  a  little 
strangely  at  night,  was  subject  for  suspicion, 
both  to  brother  and  sister — so  common  a  sub- 
ject that  they  suspended  their  conversation  as 
a  matter  of  course,  without  exchanging  a 
word  of  explanation,  until  the  tramp  of  the 
strange  footsteps  had  died  away. 

"Louis,"  continued  Rose,  dropping  her 
voice  to  a  whisper,  after  nothing  more  was 
audible,  "  when  may  I  trust  our  secret  to  my 
husband?" 

*'  Not  yet ! "  rejoined  Trudaine  earnestly. 
"  Not  a  word,  not  a  hint  of  it,  till  I  give  you 
leave.  Remember,  Rose,  you  promised  silence 
from  the  first  Everythmg  depends  on  your 
holding  that  promise  sacred  tiU  I  release  you 
from  it" 

'*  I  wiU  hold  it  sacred ;  I  will,  indeed,  at  all 
hazards,  under  all  provocations,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"  That  is  quite  enough  to  reassure  me— 
and  now,  love,  let  us  change  the  subject 
Even  these  walls  may  have  ears,  and  the 
closed  door  yonder  may  be  no  protection.'- 
He  looked  towards  it  uneasily  while  he  spoke. 


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SISTER  ROSE. 


249 


"  By-the-bye,  I  have  come  roood  to  your  w»y 
of  thinking,  Rose,  abont  that  new  servant  of 
mine — there  is  something  false  in  his  faoe.  I 
wish  I  had  been  as  qoick  to  detect  it  as  yon 
were." 

Rose  glanced  at  him  aflHghtedly.  "Has 
he  done  anything  suspicions?  Have  you 
canght  him  watching'y  on  ?  Tell  me  the  worst, 
Louis." 

*'HuahI  hush  I  my  dear,  not  so  loud. 
DonH  alarm  yourself ;  he  has  done  nothing 
suspicious." 

**Turn  him  off— pray,  pray  turn  him  off, 
before  it  is  too  late !" 

"  And  be  denounced  by  him,  in  revenge, 
the  first  night  he  goes  to  his  section.  You 
forget  that  servants  and  masters  are  equal 
now.  I  am  not  supposed  to  keep  a  servant 
at  all.  I  have  a  citizen  living  with  me  who 
lays  me  under  domestic  obligations,  for  which 
I  make  a  pecuniary  acknowledgment  No! 
no  1  if  I  do  anything,  I  must  try  if  I  canH 
entrap  him  into  giving  me  warning.  But  we 
have  got  to  another  unpleasant  subject  already 
— suppose  I  change  the  topic  again  ?  Ton 
will  find  a  little  book  on  that  table  there,  in 
the  corner — tell  me  what  you  think  of  it." 

The  Dook  was  a  copy  of  Comeille's  Cid, 
prettily  bound  in  blue  morocco.  Rose  was 
enthusiastic  in  her  praises.  '*  I  found  it  in  a 
bookseller's  shop,  yesterday,"  saidher  brother, 
<'  and  bought  it  as  a  present  for  you.  Cor- 
nellle  is  not  an  author  to  compromise  any 
one,  even  in  these  times.  DonH  you  remember 
saying  the  other  day,  that  you  felt  ashamed 
of  knowing  but  little  of  our  greatest  drama- 
tist?" Rose  remembered  well,  and  smiled 
iJmost  as  happily  as  in  the  old  times  over  her 
present  "  There  are  some  good  engravings 
at  the  beginning  of  each  act,"  continued  Tru- 
daine,  directing  her  attention  rather  earnestly 
to  the  illustrations,  and  then  suddenly  leaving 
her  side  when  he  saw  that  she  became  inte- 
rested in  looking  at  them. 

He  went  to  the  window — listened — then 
drew  aside  the  curtain,  and  looked  up  and 
down  the  street  No  living  soul  was  in  sight. 
*'  I  must  have  been  mistaken,"  he  thought, 
returning  hastily  to  his  sister  ]  "  but  I  cer- 
tainly fancied  I  wi^  followed  in  my  walk 
to-day  by  a  spv." 

'*I  wonder,"  askpd  Rose,  still  busy  over 
her  book;  "I  wonder,  Louis,  whether  my 
husband  would  let  me  go  with  vou  to  see 
Le  Cid  the  next  time  it  is  acted  ?" 

"  No !"  cried  a  voice  at  the  door :  "  not  if 
you  went  on  your  knees  to  ask  him  f" 

Rose  turned  round  with  a  scream.  There 
stood  her  husband  on  the  threshold,  scowling 
at  her,  with  his  hat  on,  and  his  hands  thrust 
doggedly  into  his  pockets.  Trudaine's  ser- 
vant announced  him,  with  fm  insolent  smile 
during  the  pause  that  followed  the  discovery. 
*<  Citizen-superintendent  Danville',  to  visit 
the  citoyenne,  his  wife,"  said  the  fellow, 
making  a  mock  bow  to  his  master. 

Rose  looked  at  her  brother,  then  advanced 


a  few  paces  towards  the  door.  "  This  is  a 
surprise,"  she  said  faintly ;  "  has  anything 
happened?  We—we  diduH  expect  you—" 
Her  voice  failed  her,  as  she  saw  her  husband 
advancing,  pale  to  his.  very  lips  with  sup- 
pressed anger. 

'<  How  dare  you  come  here  after  what  I 
told  you  ?  "  he  asked  in  quick  low  tones. 

She  shrank  at  his  voice  almost  as  if  he  had 
struck  her.  The  blood  flew  into  her  brother's 
face  as  he  noticed  the  action,  but  he  controlled 
himself,  and,  taking  her  hand,  led  her  in 
silence  to  a  chair. 

*'  I  forbid  you  to  sit  down  in  his  house," 
said  Danville,  advancing  still ;  "  I  order  you 
to  come  back  with  me  I  Do  you  hear?  I  order 
you." 

He  was  approaching  nearer  to  her,  when 
he  caught  Trudaine's  eye  fixed  on  him,  and 
stopped.  Rose  started  up,  and  placed  herself 
bfitwfifiii  thfiTn 

"Oh,  Charles  I  Charles  I"  she  said  to  her 
husband.  "  Be  friends  with  Louis  to  night, 
and  be  kind  again  to  me — I  have  a  claim  to 
ask  that  much  of  vou,  though  vou  may  not 
think  it  I" 

He  turned  away  from  her,  and  laughed 
contemptuously.  She  tried  to  speak  again, 
but  Trudaine  touched  her  on  the  arm,  and 
gave  her  a  warning  look. 

"Signals,"  exclaimed  Danville:  "secret 
signals  between  you !" 

His  eve,  as  he  glanced  suspiciously  at  his 
wife,  fell  on  Truidane's  gift-book,  which  she 
still  held  unconsciously. 

"  What  book  Is  that?"  he  asked. 

"  Only  a  play  of  Corneille's,"  answered 
Rose ;  "  Louis  has  just  made  me  a  present  of 

At  this  avowal,  Danville's  suppressed  anger 
burst  beyond  all  control. 

"  Give  it  him  back !"  he  cried,  in  a  voice  of 
fury.  "  You  shall  take  no  presents  from  him ; 
the  venom  of  tha  l^ousehold  spy  soils  every- 
thing he  touches.  Give  it  him  back  I"  She 
hesitated.  "  You  won't?"  He  tore  the  book 
from  her  with  an  oath — threw  It  on  the  floor 
— and  set  his  foot  on  it 

"Oh,  Louis  I  Louis!  for  God's  sake  re- 
member ! " 

Trudaine  was  stepping  forward  as  the  book 
fell  to  the  floor.  At  the  same  moment  his 
sister  threw  her  arms  round  him.  He  stopped, 
turning  from  fiery  red  to  ghastly  pale. 

"No!  no!  Louis,"  she  said,  clawing  him 
closer ;  "  not  after  five  years'  patience.  No 
—no!" 

He  gently  detached  her  arms. 

"  You  are  right,  love.  Don't  be  aflraid,  it 
is  all  over  now." 

Saying  that  he  put  her  from  him,  and  in 
silence  took  up  the  book  from  the  floor. 

"Won't  that  offeod  you  even?"  said  Dan- 
ville, with  an  Insolent  smile.  "  You  have  a 
wonderful  temper — any  other  man  would 
have  called  me  out !  " 

Trudaine  looked  back  at  him  steadily ;  and, 


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250 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCoiMlactcd  Vr 


taking  oat  his  handkerchief,  paned  it  over 
the  soiled  cover  of  the  book. 

'*  If  I  coaid  wipe  the  stain  of  your  blood  off 
mj  conscience  as  easily  as  I  can  wipe  the 
stain  of  your  boot  otf  this  book,"  he  said 

Snietly,  **  yon  should  not  live  another  hour, 
ton't  cry,  Hose,"  he  continued,  turning  again 
to  his  sister ;  **  I  will  take  care  of  your  book 
for  you  until  you  can  keep  it  yourself." 

**  Vou  will  do  this  I  you  will  do  thatl" 
cried  Danville,  growing  more  and  more  eias- 
perated,  and  letting  his  anger  get  the  better 
even  of  his  canning  now.  "  Talk  less  confi- 
dently of  the  fature— you  don't  know  what  it 
has  in  store  for  you.  Govern  your  tongue 
when  you  are  in  my  presence ;  a  day  may 
come  when  you  will  want  my  help — my  help, 
do  you  hear  that?" 

Trudaine  turned  his  face  from  his  sister,  as 
if  be  feared  to  let  her  see  it  when  those 
words  were  spoken. 

*'  The  man  who  followed  me  to-day  was  a 
spy — Danville's  spy  I"  That  thought  flashed 
across  his  mind,  but  he  gave  it  no  utterance. 
There  was  an  instant's  pause  of  silence ;  and 
through  it  there  came  heavily  on  the  still 
night  air  the  rumblfng  of  distant  wheels. 
The  sound  advanced  nearer  and  nearer — 
advanced,  and  ceased  under  the  window. 

Danville  hurried  to  it,  and  looked  out 
eagerly. 

**  I  have  not  hastened  my  return  without 
reason.  I  wouldn't  have  missed  this  arrest 
for  anything  I "  thought  he,  peering  into  the 
night 

The  stars  were  out ;  but  there  was  no 
moon.  He  could  not  recognise  either  the 
coach  or  the  persons  who  got  out  of  it ;  and 
he  turned  again  into  the  interior  of  the  room. 
His  wife  had  sunk  into  a  chair — her  brother 
was  locking  up  in  a  cabinet  the  book  which 
he  bad  promised  to  take  care  of  for  her.  The 
dead  silence  made  the  noise  of  slowly-ascend- 
ing footsteps  on  the  stairs  painfully  audible. 
At  last  the  door  opened  softly. 

''Citizen  Danville,  health  and  fraternity!" 
said  Lomaque,  appearing  in  the  doorway,  fol- 
lowed by  bis  agents.  "Citizen  Louis  Tru- 
daine?" he  continued,  beginning  with  the 
usual  form. 

Rose  started  out  of  her  chidr ;  but  her 
brother's  hand  was  on  her  lips  before  she 
could  speak. 

<*My  name  is  Louis  Trudaine,"  he  an- 
swered. 

"  Charles! "  cried  his  sister,  breaking  from 
him  and  appealing  to  her  husband,  "  who  are 
these  men*    What  are  they  here  for  ?" 

He  gave  her  no  answer. 

'*  Louis  Trudaine,"  said  Lomaque,  slowly 
drawing  the  order  from  his  pocket,  "  in  the 
name  of  the  republic  I  arrest  you." 

"  Rose,  come  back,"  cried  Trudaine. 

It  was  too  late ;  she  had  broken  from  him, 
and  in  the  recklessness  of  terror  had  seized 
her  husband  by  the  arm. 

"  Save  him!"  she  cried.    <<  Save  him,  by 


all  you  hold  dearest  in  the  world  1  You  are 
that  man*B  superior,  Charles — order  him 
from  the  room  I" 

Danville  roughly  shook  her  hand  off  his 
arm. 

''  Lomaque  is  doing  his  duty.  Tes,"  he 
added,  with  a  glance  of  malicious  triumph  at 
Trudaine—''  Yes,  doing  his  duty.  Look  at 
me  as  you  please—  your  looks  won*t  move 
me.  I  denounced  yon.  I  admit  i1»— I  glory 
in  it !  I  have  rid  myself  of  an  enemy  and 
the  State  of  a  bad  citizen.  Remember  your 
secret  visits  to  the  house  in  the  Rue  de 
CUry!" 

His  wife  uttered  a  cry  of  horror.  She 
seized  his  arm  again  with  both  hands— frail, 
trembling  hands — that  seemed  suddenly 
nerved  with  all  the  strength  of  a  man's. 

**  Come  here — come  here !  I  must  and  will 
speak  to  you !" 

She  dragged  him  by  main  force  a  few  paces 
back  towards  an  unoccapied  corner  of  the 
room.  With  deathly  cheeks  and  wild  eyes 
she  raised  herself  on  tiptoe,  and  pat  her  lips 
to  her  husband's  ear.  At  that  instant,  Tru- 
daine called  to  her. 

**  Rose,  if  you  speak  I  am  lost  I" 

She  stopped  at  the  sound  of  his  yolce, 
dropped  her  hold  on  her  huRband's  arm,  and 
faced  her  brother,  shuddering. 

"  Rose,'-  he  continued, "  you  have  promised, 
and  your  promise  is  sacred.  If  you  prize 
your  honour,  if  you  love  me,  come  here — 
come  here,  and  be  silent" 

He  held  out  his  band.  She  ran  to  him  ; 
and,  laying  her  head  on  his  bosom,  burst  into 
a  passion  of  tears. 

Danville  turned  uneasily  towards  the 
police-agents.  *'  Remove  yoar  prisoner,"  he 
said.    "  You  have  done  your  duty  here." 

"  Only  half  of  it,"  retorted  Lomaque,  eye- 
ing him  attentively.  "  Rose  Danville  " 

"  My  wife,"  exclaimed  the  other.  "  What 
about  my  wife  ?" 

'*  Rose  Danville,"  continued  Lomaque,  im- 
passibly,  *'  you  are  included  in  the  arrest  of 
Louis  Trudaine." 

Rose  raised  her  head  quickly  fh)m  her 
brother's  breast  His  firmness  had  deserted 
him— he  was  trembling.  She  heard  him 
whispering  to  himself,  *'  Rose,  too  I  Oh.,  my 
God!  I  was  not  prepared  for  that"  She 
heard  these  words,  and  dashed  the  tears  fh>m 
her  eyes,  and  kissed  him,  saying — 

*'  I  am  glad  of  it,  Louis.  We  risked  all 
togetheiv-we  shall  now  suffer  together.  I 
am  glad  of  it" 

Danville  looked  incredulously  at  Lomaque, 
after  the  first  shock  of  astonishment  was 
over. 

"Impo«ible!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  never 
denounced  my  wife.  There  is  some  mistake ; 
you  have  exceeded  your  orders." 

"  Silence !"  retorted  Lomaque,  imperiously. 
'*  Silence,  citizen,  and  respect  to  a  decree  of 
the  Republic!" 

'*You  blackguard!  show  me  the  arrest 


Digitized  by^VjOOQlC 


Charlw  DiekeM  ] 


ELECTBIO  LIGHT. 


251 


order  I"  said  DaDYille.    "  Who  has  dared  to 
deoouDce  mj  wife  f 

**  You  have !"  said  Lomaqae,  taraing  on 
bim  with  a  gria  of  coatempt.  *<  You! — aad 
blackguard  back  ia  your  teeth !  You,  la  de- 
Dounciug  her  brother  I  Aha!  we  work  hard 
in  our  office ;  we  don't  waute  time  in  calling 
names— we  make  discoveries.  If  Trudaine  is 
guilty,  your  wife  is  implicated  in  his  guilt 
We  know  it ;  and  we  arrest  her." 

*'  I  resist  the  arrest,"  cried  Danville.  **  I 
am  the  authority  here.  Who  opposes  me  ?" 

The  impassible  chief-agent  made  no  answer. 
Some  new  noise  in  the  street  struck  his  quick 
ear.  He  ran  to  the  window  and  looked  out 
eagerly, 

**  Who  opposes  me  ?"  reiterated  Danville. 

''Hark  I"  exclaimed  Lomaque,  raising  his 
hand.    "  Silence,  and  listen !" 

The  heavy,  dull  tramp  of  men  marching 
together  became  audible  as  he  spoke.  Voices 
humming  low  and  in  unison  the  Marseillaise 
hymn,  joined  solemnly  with  the  heavy,  regu- 
lar footfalls.  Soon,  the  flare  of  torchlight 
began  to  glimmer  redder  and  redder  under 
the  dim  starlight  sky. 

'*  Do  you  hear  that  7  Do  you  see  the  ad- 
vfuicing  torchlight?"  cried  Lomaoue,  point- 
ing exultingly  into  the  street  **  Kespect  to 
the  national  hymn  and  to  the  man  who 
holds  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand  the  destinies 
of  all  France !  Hat  off,  citizen  Danville  I 
Robespierre  is  in  the  street.  His  body-guard, 
the  Hard-hitters,  are  lighting  him  on  his 
way  to  the  Jacobin  club ! — Who  shall  oppose 
yon,  did  you  say  ?  Your  master  and  mine ! 
Tbe  man  whose  signature  is  at  the  bottom  of 
this  order — the  man  who  with  a  scratch  of 
his  pen  can  send  both  our  heads  rolling 
together  into  the  sack  of  the  guillotine! 
Shall  I  call  to  him  as  he  passes  the  house? 
Shall  I  tell  him  that  Superintendent  Dan- 
ville resists  me  in  making  an  arrest?  Shall 
I  ?  Shall  I?"  And  in  the  immensity  of  his 
contempt,  Lomaque  seemed  absolutely  to  rise 
in  stature,  as  he  thrust  the  arrest-order  under 
Danville's  eyes,  and  pointed  to  the  signature 
with  the  head  of  his  stick. 

Rose  looked  round  in  terror  as  Lomaque 
spoke  his  last  words — looked  round,  and  saw 
her  husband  recoil  before  the  signature  on 
the  arrest-order,  as  if  the  guillotine  itself  had 
suddenly  arisen  before  him.  Her  brother  felt 
her  shrinking  back  in  his  arms,  and  trem- 
bled for  the  preservation  of  her  self-control  if 
the  terror  and  suspense  of  the  arrest  lasted 
any  longer. 

'*  Courage,  Rose ;  courage!"  he  said.  '*  You 
have  behaved  nobly :  you  must  not  fail  now. 
No,  no !  Not  a  word  more.  Not  a  word  till 
1  am  able  to  think  clearly  again,  and  to  decide 
what  is  best.  Courage,  love:  our  lives 
depend  on  it  Citizen,"  he  continued,  ad- 
dressing himself  to  Lomaque,  **  proceed  with 
your  duty — we  are  ready .^' 

The  heavy  marching  footsteps  outside 
were  striking   louder  and  louder   on  the 


ground ;  the  chaunting  yoices  were  every 
moment  swelling  in  volume  ;  the  dark  street 
was  flaming  agam  with  the  brightening  torch- 
light, as  Lomaque,  under  pretext  of  giving 
Trudaine  his  hat  came  close  to  him  ;  and, 
turning  his  back  towards  Danville,  whippered, 
**  I  have  not  forgotten  the  eve  of  the  wedding 
and  the  bench  on  the  river  bank." 

Before  Trudaine  could  answer,  he  had 
taken  Rose's  cloak  and  hood  from  one  of  his 
assistants,  and  was  helping  her  on  with  it 
Danville,  still  pale  and  trembling,  advanced 
a  step  when  he  saw  these  preparations  for 
departure,  and  addressed  a  word  or  two  to 
his  wife ;  but  he  spoke  in  low  tones,  and  the 
fast-advancing  march  of  feet  and  sullen  low 
roar  of  singing  outside,  drowned  his  voice. 
An  oath  burst  f^om  his  lips,  and  he  struck 
his  flst,  in  impotent  fury,  on  a  table  near 
him. 

*'  The  seals  are  set  on  everything  in  this 
room  and  in  the  bedroom,"  said  Magloire, 
approachinpr  Lomaque,  who  nodded,  and 
signed  to  him  to  bring  up  the  other  police- 
agents  at  the  door. 

"  Ready,"  cried  Magloire,  coming  forward 
immediately  with  his  men,  and  raising  his 
voice  to  make  himself  heard,  **  Where  to  ?" 

Robespierre  and  his  Hard-hitters  were 
passing  the  house.  The  smoke  of  the  torch- 
light was  rolling  in  at  the  window;  the 
tramping  footsteps  struck  heavier  and  heavier 
on  the  ground ;  the  low,  sullen  roar  of  the 
Marseillaise  was  swelling  to  its  loudest  as 
Lomaque  referred  for  a  moment  to  his  arrest- 
order,  and  then  answered — 

"To  the  prison  of  St  Lazare  1" 

ELECTRIC  LIGHT. 

Of  the  beauty,  the  brilliancy  of  the  eleo- 
tric  light  there  Is  no  question.  It  converts 
midnight  into  noon-day.  Although  burning 
from  points  not  larger  than  the  little  finger, 
it  is  distinctly  visible  at  a  distance  of  four 
miles  at  an  ordinary  elevation.  And  so 
pure  and  intensely  white  is  it,  that  all 
other  flames  near  it  assume  a  red  tinge 
from  the  contrast  We  saw  this  extraordi- 
nary light  burning  not  lone  ago  on  a 
bright  sunny  noon,  and  the  bright  rays  of  the 
sun  which  came  streaming  into  the  room, 
appeared  to  have  no  effect  upon  it ;  it  shone 
on  as  brilliantly  as  though  it  were  twilight 
A  candle  was  lighted  near  it,  and  it  was  with 
difficulty  that  the  tallow  flame  could  be  dis- 
tinguished. On  holding  a  burning  taper  be- 
tween the  electric  light  and  the  wall  a  deep 
black  shadow  was  oast  on  it  from  the  sickly 
flame  of  the  taper,  so  completely  was  its  illu- 
minating power  annihilated. 

Electric  light  is  produced  by  the  juxtaposi- 
tion of  two  points  of  carbon  in  thd  shape  of  pen- 
cils, through  which  are  transmitted  streams 
of  positive  and  negative  electricity.  It  had 
been  found  that  during  the  powerful  com- 
bustion of  the  carbon  points  they  wore  away, 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


262 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoMBCtM  17 


or  consumed  at  an  irregular  rate  ;  and  hence 
the  diBtance  between  them  became  greater  or 
less  at  certain  Interrals,  destroTing  tiiereby 
the  equality  of  the  light,  which  became  more 
or  lees  intense  as  the  carbon  points  approached 
or  receded  from  each  other.  To  ensore  a 
proper  condition  of  the  light  a  regular  dis- 
tance was  essential :  if  the  points  became 
too  widely  separated  the  flame  expired; 
if  they  were  forced  too  near  it  deadened  to  a 
heavy  dull  glow.  Mechanical  contrivances  of 
some  ingenuity  were  tried  to  obviate  this 
difficulty,  but  without  avail,  and  it  was  not 
until  Dr.  Watson  devised  the  beautiful  method 
now  employed,  by  which  the  points  of  carbon 
are  made  self-regulating,  that  a  continuous 
and  steady  light  was  obtained. 

The  electric  light,  although  triumphant  as 
an  illuminator,  was,  at  first,  too  costly  in  its 
consumption  of  the  raw  materials  of  electrici- 
ty to  malce  it  available  for  ordinary  purposes. 
It  may  have  been  likened  to  some  beautiful 
animal,  which  was  found  to  consume  fkr  more 
food  than  it  was  worth.  The  electric  animal 
swallowed  too  much  iron,  zinc,  copper,  acids, 
and  salts,  to  pay  for  its  work  :  It  was  not  con- 
tent with  eating  away  its  carbon  points,  but, 
like  many  a  noble  steed,  *'  ate  its  head  off.''' 

Many  plans  were  devised  for  cheapening 
the  production  of  electricity,  and  this  was 
partially  compaseed  by  the  employment  of 
cheaper  metals  in  combination  with  the 
normal  acids.  The  cheapest  metals  were 
found  to  be  iron,  lead,  and  zinC;  but  still 
the  consumption  of  these  with  the  chemicals 
employed  outstripped  the  value  of  the 
electricity,  and  something  more  had  to  be 
achieved.  For  the  purposes  of  an  electric 
light  it  had  been  for  some  time  ascertained 
that  constancy  and  intensity  in  the  battery 
employed  were  essentials:  in  other  words, 
unless  the  stream  of  electricity  was  both 
regular  and  powerful,  no  effect  would  be  pro- 
duced. A  iMittery  of  cast  iron  and  zinc 
arranged  in  such  a  way  that  the  former  is 
separated  from  the  latter  by  a  porous  dia- 
phragm of  potter's  biscuit-ware,  the  Iron 
being  excited  by  a  mixture  of  saltpetre  and 
sulphuric  acid  diluted  by  water,  or  by  dilute 
nitrous  acid  and  the  zinc  acted  on  by  dilute 
sulphuric  acid,  affords  great  intensity.  This 
is  known  as  the  Maynooth  battery. 

The  products  of  such  a  battery  as  the 
above  are,  in  addition  to  the  electricity  which 
is  turned  to  account,  several  salts  which  have 
hitherto  been  thrown  aside  as  valueless. 
These  were  the  articles  known  to  chemists  as 
nitrate  and  sulphate  of  iron  and  sulphate  of 
zinc,  the  latter  being  the  white  vitriol  of 
commerce.  The  actual  value  of  any  of  these 
salts  is  so  trifling,  and  the  demand  for  them 
so  limited,  that  the  residuary  liquor  of  the 
Maynooth  battery  containing  them  may,  for 
all  practical  purposes,  be  called  worthless.  It 
was  evident  tnat  if  this  waste  solution  of  the 
metals  and  aoids  could  be  turned  to  profitable 
account,  the  cost  of  the  electricity  would  be 


proportionately  reduced.  To  Uiis  object, 
therefore.  Dr.  Watson  directed  all  his  energies. 

The  result  of  countless  delicate  and  pains- 
taking experiments  has  been  the  conversion 
of  the  hitherto  refuse  liquor  of  the  Maynooth 
battery  into  articles  of  considerable  com- 
mercial value.  It  was  known  thai  certaia 
salts  of  iron  and  lead — that  is  to  say,  com- 
binations of  acids  with  those  metals— pre- 
cipitated in  the  form  of  salts,  when  mixed 
with  certain  chemicals,  produced  a  numl)er 
of  beautiful  pigments  of  great  delicacy  and 
purity.  This  was  seized  on  as  a  means  of 
employing  to  a  profit  the  waste  liquor  of  tlie 
battery,  and  the  result  showed  that  the  plan 
of  producing  light  and  colour  from  the  same 
elementary  bodies  was  perfectly  practicable. 
In  this  way  the  cast-iron  and  zinc  appara- 
tus of  Maynooth  was  converted  into  a  chro- 
matic battery. 

This  process  is  as  simple  as  it  is  beantifbl 
In  the  iron  and  zinc  battery,  nitric  and  sul- 
phuric acids  are  employed  in  a  diluted  form, 
the  ordinary  resulting  waste  of  which  are 
solutions  of  nitrate  of  iron  and  sulphate  of 
zinc.  Instead  of  these  residuary  liquors  be- 
ing thrown  aside  as  undeserving  of  care,  tbej 
are  removed  separately  from  the  chromatic 
battery,  and.  having  been  brought  to  a  certain 
heat  by  mean»of  steam,  are  blended  with  a 
solution  of  prussiate  of  potash,  which,  with 
the  iron  liouor,  throws  down  a  splendid  blae 
pigment — Prussian  blue,  in  fact,  of  great 
purity — whilst  with  the  zinc  liquor  it  preci- 
pitates a  fine  ultramarine  blue. 

After  some  agitation  the  colouring  matter 
is  allowed  to  sulfide,  the  clear  liquorls  drawn 
off,  and  finally  the  heavy  deposition  of  bloe  is 
removed  fh>m  the  bottom  of  the  vats  and 
placed  on  cloth  stretchers,  whereon  the 
moisture  is  allowed  to  drain  from  it.  Subse- 
quent pressure,  and  a  final  gradual  drying 
in  carefully  heated  chambers  complete  tbe 
process,  and  the  result  is  a  pigment  suitable 
for  employment  in  the  fine  arts,  for  house 
decoration  or  paper-colouring.  It  is  diflScult 
to  conceive  a  deeper  or  more  ethereal  blue 
than  the  rich  yet  delicate  ultramarine  of  the 
chromatic  battery.  Equally  gorgeous  are  the 
electric  reds  produced  by  boiling  the  eioo 
yellow  with  lime  in  varying  proportions, 
according  to  the  depth  of  colour  required. 
By  a  combination  of  these  zinc  yellows  with 
the  iron  blues,  a  series  of  greens  are  produced 
of  an  infinity  of  shades,  and  which  have  the 
property  of  standing  high  temperatures  with- 
out injury. 

Yellows  of  great  delicacy,  ranging  from 
pale  lemon  to  a  bright  orange  yellow,  are 

{»roduced  by  treating  the  waste  liquor  of  Ihe 
ead  and  nitric  acid  compartments  of  the 
battery  with  chromate  of  potadi,  which  is,  m 
plainer  language,  a  salt  composed  of  potash 
and  chromic  acid. 

If,  instead  of  the  chromate,  prussiate  of 
potash  be  added  to  the  residuum  of  the  lead    | 
and  zinc  battery,  a  delicate  white  pigment 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ClMrlBi  DiekMM.] 


ELECTRIC  LIGHT. 


253 


will  be  the  reeolt,  possessing,  witli  great  l>od j, 
the  property  of  not  blacliening  by  exposure 
to  snlphuretted  hydrogen  gas,  protected  as  it 
appears  to  be  by  the  zino-saJt  in  the  com- 
pound. In  like  manner,  the  addition  of 
ebromate  of  potash,  instead  of  the  prussiate, 
to  the  residuum  of  the  iron  battery  yields  a 
brown  pigment  of  considerable  depth. 

In  stating  that  the  market  value  of  these 
new  colours  far  exceeds  the  whole  cost  of  the 
original  elements  of  the  electro-chromatic 
battery,  we  do  so  fi'om  no  desire  to  take  a 
mere  commercial  view  of  the  process :  such 
would  be  altogether  beside  our  purpose ;  but 
we  mention  the  fact  with  a  view  to  show 
what  is  of  great  importance  to  society — that 
by  covering  the  cost  of  all  the  materials 
employed  in  these  batteries  by  the  conversion 
of  their  hitherto  waste  products  into  electro- 
colours,  the  electricity  developed  during  the 
process  becomes  a  costless  article— we  have 
it  gratis.  Here,  then,  the  great  obstacle  to 
the  electric  light  is  fairly  overcome.  That 
which  before  bad  been  too  costly  in  spite  of 
its  utility,  for  general  purposes,  becomes  at 
onee  a  cheap  eommodi^. 

During  a  fog,  the  ordinary  red  and  green 
lights  on  railways  are  all  but  obscured,  or  if 
eeen  appear  as  of  one  colour,  and  trains  are 
left  to  the  chance  of  fog-signals.  Through 
the  heaviest  fog  that  ever  swallowed  the 
metropolis  in  its  murky  jaws,  the  electric 
Ugfat  shines  in  all  its  wonted  midday  bril- 
liancy, heedless  of  heavy  atmosphere.  Along 
onr  ^ogerous  coasts,  during  winter  months, 
bow  many  ships  are  lost,  how  many  lives  are 
Baeriflced,  how  many  valuable  cargoes  de- 
stroyed from  the  want  of  a  light  sufficiently 
powerful  to  burst  through  the  thick  midnight 
baze  of  storm,  and  warn  the  voyager  of  the 
bidden  danger  ere  it  be  too  late.  Surely  in 
tbeae  cases  interest  and  humanity  would 
prompt  the  availing  of  this  new,  and  now  cheap 
and  simple  light  It.  is  worth  while,  too,  to 
dwell  upon  the  great  simplicity  of  the  electric 
Ismp,  which  may  be  turned  ojx  and  attended 
to  bv  the  most  ordinary  person  ;  and  insomuch 
M  the  electric  light  signals  proposed  to  be 
employed,  do  not  depend  on  colour,  but  on 
diape  for  their  signification,  there  can  be  no 
confusion  during  the  most  foggy  weather.  A 
ample  straight  line  of  electric  light  denotes 
that  all  is  right ;  a  Remicircle  of  brilliant 
J*y8  to  the  left  or  right  of  the  signal-post 
indicates  the  side  on  which  danger  presents 
itself,  whilst  an  entire  circle  of  light  warns* 
w  approaching  train  to  stop  altogether. 

Amongst  those  purposes  to  which  cheap 
electricity  may  be  applied,  is  that  of  convey- 
mg  semaphoric  messages  by  night  across  the 
jeean,  and  thus  avoiding  the  great  cost  of 
telegraph  cables.  Electric  light  is  readily 
fli^nguiahable  for  a  distance  of  forty-miles ; 
Md  it  is  stated  that,  bv  a  series  of  signal 
"aUons,  many  seas  might  be  traversed  by 
"^eiwgea  from  one  to  the  other,  where  islands 
or  rocks  offer  connecting  links. 


As  a  cheap  product  for  all  purposes  of 
electrotyping,  it  cannot  but  prove  more  ac- 
ceptable, and  not  less  so  in  one  or  two  other 
branches  of  manufacture,  which  it  may  be 
interesting  to  mention.  It  was  ascertained 
some  time  since,  that  if  the  poles  of  a  power- 
ful  battery  be  applied  to  a  mass  of  coal  un- 
dergoing the  process  of  coking  in  an  ordinary 
coke  oven,  in  proportion  as  the  coal  loses  its 
bituminous  character,  and  assumes  the  pro- 
perties of  coke,  there  is  a  greater  facility 
afforded  to  the  current  of  electricity  for  its 
passage,  accompanied  by  a  more  rapid  dis- 
engagement of  the  sulphur  of  the  coal,  and 
a  greater  and  more  effectual  separation  of 
the  earthy  and  metallic  impurities.  Besides 
this,  the  coke  thus  produced,  and,  as  it  were 
electrolysed,  is  mucn  more  compact,  and  con- 
sumes more  equally  than  the  material  em- 
ployed by  the  ordinary  method.  The  im- 
portance of  obtaining  a  coke  free  from 
sulphur  for  metallic  manufactures,  and 
smelting  processes  is  undeniable;  equally 
desirable  is  it  to  obtain  a  large  amount  of 
carbon  compressed  within  a  small  space  for 
sea-going  steamers.  All  these  advantages 
have  hitherto  been  forbidden  by  the  costly 
nature  of  intense  electricity ;  now  that  coke 
manufacturers  can  obtain  their  power  at  a 
trifling  cost,  the  whole  feature  of  their  pro- 
cess will  be  changed. 

Again,  our  supplies  of  sulphur  are  derived 
from  Sicily,  the  government  of  which  has 
recently  forbidden  the  export  of  the  article, 
which  is  consequently  at  an  exorbitant  price. 
We  have  no  sulphur  deposits  in  this  coun- 
try ;  but  there  exist  large  quantities  of  sul- 
phur in  close  combination  with  iron,  under 
the  form  of  iron  pyrites,  in  many  parts 
of  England.  It  has  been  fonnd  practica- 
ble to  decompose  this  article,  and  obtain  its 
sulphur  and  iron  separate  by  smelting  it 
with  the  aid  of  intense  electricity ;  here 
again,  the  cost  of  the  electric  agent  was  the 
barrier,  and  here  also  cheap  electricity  comes 
to  the  rescue,  and  will  shortly  place  this 
country  independent  of  Sicily. 

To  the  wholesale  assayer  of  metals  a  cheap 
supply  of  intense  electricity  will  be  an  in- 
estimable boon ;  for  it  creates  not  only  an 
enormous  saving  of  fuel,  but  the  six  opera- 
tions at  present  involved  in  the  ordinary  pro- 
cess, may  be  reduced  to  one. 

Cheap  electricity  will  enable  railway  com- 
panies to  electrolyse  the  tires  of  their  engine 
and  carriage  wheels  with  a  coating  of  steel, 
and  thus  avoid  the  great  and  incessant  wear 
of  the  biting  surface  of  the  wheels,  which, 
especially  with  their  engines,  require  con- 
stant repair. 

'  The  quantity  of  bleaching  material  em- 
ployed in  this  country  Is  someuing  enormous, 
and  would  doubtless  sound  incredible  in  the 
ears  of  the  reader.  An  economical  bleaching 
agent  may  be  obtained  by  the  decomposition 
of  common  salt  in  a  state  of  solution,  by 
means  of  electricity. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


254 


HOUSEHOLD  WORD& 


ICvmdmckmdhf 


Should  electro-mAgaetic  engines  be  brought 
into  practical  working,  which  manj  believe 
will  bedone^  how  great  will  be  the  advantage 
arising  from  a  supply  of  almost  costless  elec- 
tricity. The  superiority  of  such  machines 
for  long  sea  voyages  is  at  once  apparent ;  and 
now  that  electricity  for  the  million  has  been 
provided  it  would  appear  more  than  ever 
desirable  to  bring  them  into  use. 


A  FALSE  GENIUS. 

I  8BB  a  spirit  hj  thy  tide, 
Parple  winged  and  aagle  eyed. 
Looking  like  a  HeaTenlj  guide. 

Thoagb  be  aeemB  ao  bright  and  fkir, 
Ere  thon  trast  hia  proffered  care, 
Panse  a  UtUe,  and  beware  I 

If  he  bid  thee  dwell  apart. 
Tending  some  ideal  amart 
In  a  alok  and  coward  beart ; 

In  aelf-wortblp  wrapped  alone, 
Dreaming  tbj  poor  griefs  are  grown 
More  than  other  men  hare  known ; 

Dwelling  in  lome  eloudj  sphere. 
Though  Ood's  work  is  waiting  here, 
And  €K>d  delgneth  to  be  near ; 

If  bis  torch's  crimson  glare 
Show  thee  OTil  eTerywhere, 
Tainting  all  the  wholesome  air ; 

While  with  strange  distorted  choice, 
Still  disdaining  to  rfljolce, 
Thon  wilt  hear  a  wailing  rolce ; 

If  a  simple,  humble  heart, 
Seem  to  thee  a  meaner  part, 
Than  thy  noblest  aim  and  art ; 

If  he  bid  thee  bow  before 
Crowned  mind  and  nothing  more, 
The  great  idol  men  adore ; 

And  with  starry  rell  enfold 
Sin,  the  trailing  serpent  old, 
Till  his  scales  shine  out  like  old ; 

Though  his  words  seem  true  and  wise, 
Soul.  I  say  to  thee  Arise, 
He  is  a  Demon  in  disguise  I 


COLONEL  GRUNPECK  AND  MB. 
PARKINSON. 
SuspiciousLT  approximating  to  a  paradoz, 
as  it  undoubtedly  did,  I  can  favourably  ap- 
preciate, while  not  positively  concurring,  in 
the  dictum  of  Doctor  Johnson,  that  **he 
loved  a  good  hater."  With  a  like  slender 
logical  reservation,  I  aver  that  I  respect  and 
admire  a  good  strong  prejudice.  To  be  entitled, 
however,  to  reroeot  and  admiration  the  holder 
of  the  prejudice  must  be  consistent,  and 
should,  I  think,  be  old.  Toryism  in  an  all- 
round  collar,  a  Noah-s  Ark  coat,  Sydenham 
trousers,  and  a  downy  moustache,  is  simply  a 
monster ;  but  Toryism  in  top-boots  (the  tops 


of  a  mahogany  hue),  a  blue  coat  with  brass 
buttons,  a  grey  head,  and  a  fluiSy  white  hat 
with  a  green  lining  to  the  brim,  is  entitled  to 
be  heard  with  attention  and  treated  with 
courtesy.  The  thing  is  old,  rusty,  useless, 
and  would  be  all  the  better,  probably,  for  a 
glass  case,  and  a  ticket  corresponding  with  a 
number  in  a  catalogue ;  but  it  is  still  a  curi- 
osity :  it  wasoace  powerful,  has  been  brave,  is 
venerable.  I  can  bear  to  hear  Major  Three- 
angles  bewail  the  decadence  of  the  ladh,  and 
the  abolition  of  the  picket  and  the  woodeo 
horse  in  the  maintenance  of  militarydiscipHne. 
It  angers  me  none  when  Squire  Mittimus 
sighs  for  the  stocks  and  whipping-post  back 
again  ;  extols  the  old  parish  constables,  while 
sneering  at  the  county  police,  and  bitterly 
denounces  the  appointment  of  stipendiary 
magistrates.  I  can  read  with  a  compassionate 
equanimity  the  speeches  of  the  Earl  of  Wood- 
en^oes,  who  traces  the  causes  of  the  ruin  of 
this  once  prosperous  country  to  the  repeal  of 
the  fine  old  penal  laws,  which  banished  the 
Papist  ten  miles  from  the  metropolis,  and 
forbade  him  to  possess  a  horse  worth  more 
than  five  pounds ;  and  who  attributes  the 
increase  of  crime  and  pauperism  to  the  insane 
disfranchisementof  Grampouudand  the  fatal 
demolition  of  Old  Sarum.  I  can  have  patience 
with  the  staunch  old  pr^udiced  people  who 
yet  refuse  to  use  steel  pens,  lucifer  matches, 
gaslamps,  or  railway  trains.  I  should  almost, 
I  fancy,  feel  inclined  to  quarrel  with  a  beadle 
if  he  wore  a  round  hat,  with  a  dustman  if  he 
wore  trousers  instead  of  the  immemorial 
velveteens  and  ankle-jacks,  or  with  a  Chelsea 
pensioner  if  he  had  not  a  red  nose,  and  did 
not,  in  his  accounts  of  his  Peninsular  cam- 
paigns, tell  me  at  least  sixty  per  cent,  of 
lies.  What  does  it  matter  ?  In  a  few  years 
these  harmless  old  folks,  and  their  preju- 
dices too,  will  be  all  dead.  Who  would  beat 
a  cripple  with  his  own  crutches?  Who 
would  move  the  House  to  break  up  the 
Victory  for  firewood,  or  bum  London  Stone 
for  lime  7  Who  would  have  shot  Copenhagen, 
the  Duke's  old  charger — ^purblind,  spavined, 
worthless  as  he  may  have  become  ?  It  is  no 
use  sending  for  Mr.  Braidwood  and  the  Lon- 
don fire  brigade  to  plav  upon  the  ruins  of 
Troy.  It  is  no  use  when  you  see  a  man 
knocking  at  Death's  door,  and  hear  the 
Skeleton  footsteps  in  the  hall,  coming  to 
admit  him,  to  insist  upon  his  scraping  his 
boots  on  the  scraper  and  wiping  them  on  the 
*mat  before  he  enters.  Let  the  worn-out  old 
prejudice  be.  It  is  Innocuous,  nay,  frequently 
amusing. 

I  met  the  other  day  (upon  a  perfectly 
amicable  footing)  a  lawver.  I  knew  him  to 
be  senior  partner  in  a  large  firm,  formerly 
doing  an  excellent  practice.  He  was  com- 
plaining to  me,  In  the  most  dolorous  accents, 
of  the  utter  ruin  of  the  professioil  of  the  law 
by  the  establishment  of  county  courts,  the 
dethronementof  those  h^oes  of  legal  romanoe. 
Doe,  Roe,  and  the  "  lessor  of  the  plaintiiT,'' 


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COLONEL  GRUNPECK  AND  MR.  PARKINSON. 


256 


and  thoee  visionaiy  bearers  of  "  sticks  and 
staves''  who  used  formerly  to  break  Into  **  that 
is  to  say  three  hundred  turbaries"  which 
tbey  never  saw,  and  which  never  existed,  all  to 
the  great  damage  of  nobody.  He  was  especially 
pathetic  upon  the  subject  of  [he  wicked  laws 
recently  enacted  which  permit  plalntifib  and 
defendants  to  be  heard,  personally,  in  cases 
about  which  no  one  can  by  any  possibility 
besides  themselves  know  anything  worth 
bearing.  "  As  to  the  profession,  sir,''  he  said, 
**  it's  gone  to  the  dogs ;  the  county  courts 
have  done  that;  would  you  believe  it — we 
haven't  issued  a  writ  for  seven  weeks  ?  "  I 
was  on  the  point  of  thanking  heaven  that 
this  desirable  consummation  had  been  at- 
tained—but, remembering  this  man's  pre- 
judice, that  he  had  been  fed  on  parchment 
and  weaned  on  brief-paper,  that  he  had 
been  articled  and  admitted,  and  had  paid 
heavy  stamp  duties,  that  he  was  right 
in  his  vocation  and  generation,  I  forebore  to 
exalt  over  the  decline  of  writs,  and  actually 
condoled  with  him.  For  prejudice  is  in  many 
cases  only  tenacity  of  possession  of  a  thing 
or  an  idea,  and  resentment  at  the  prospect  of 
deprivation.  The  eel  has  a  prejudice  against 
being  skinned,  and  the  lobster  against  being 
boiled,  although  the  cook  knows  that  both 
processes  must  absolutely  be  gone  through  for 
the  proper  making  of  the  eel  pie  and  the 
lobster  salad.  If  1  were  a  flea,  I  would,  I  am 
Bare,  protest  against  being  cracked.  If  I  were 
a  Clerk  of  the  Petty  Bag,  or  one  of  the  Six 
Clerks  or  one  of  the  Broad  Bent  Clerks  of  the 
Pipe  Office  (supposing  those  mysterious  fuoc- 
tiouarics  not  yet  to  have  been  pensioned  off), 
I  should,  I  am  certain,  talk  loudly  about  my 
vested  rights,  our  glorious  constitution,  and 
the  destructive  tendencies  of  political  incen- 
diaries. You,  who  are  nobly  prejudiced 
againet  corruption,  wait  until  you  yourselves 
are  corrupted,  and  then  see  bow  staunchly 
prejudiced  you  will  be  In  corruotion's  favour. 

But  a  little  while  ago,  I  thought  I  had 
never  known  so  prejudiced  an  individual 
as  Colonel  Gmnpeck  of  Kentucky.  He  was 
ordinarily  addn^sed  as  Colonel,  not  so  much 
upon  the  supt>osition  that  be  had  ever 
held  a  military  command,  as  because  there 
was  a  great  doubt  and  mystery  as  to  what  he 
was  or  had  been :  and  because  in  American 
circles  you  can't  be  ftu*  wrong  In  calling  a 
man  Colonel.  It  is  a  safe  appellation.  If 
yott  should  happen  to  be  among  Americans 
with  a  stranger  who  wears  a  white  neckcloth 
you  may  call  him  Doctor.  You  can't  be  very 
much  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  hedge  in 
doing  so,  for  the  preHx,  Doctor,  will  serve  for 
Divinity,  Laws,  Medicine,  Music  or  Philo- 
sophy. In  other  cases  (your  man  being  over 
twenty)  dub  him  Colonel  immediately. 

I  had  thejadvantage  of  becoming  aquainted 
with  Colonel  Gmnpeck  (aged  I  imagine, 
about  threescore)  at  Madame  Bnsaue's  plea- 
sant Kanctum,  which  I  have  had  the  honour 
of  describing  In  these  pages.    The  Colonel 


first  attracted  my  attention  by  a  stern  decla' 
ration  that  he  dined  at  one  o'clock  every  day* 
We  dined  at  six ;  and  during  our  meal  he 
was  wont  to  sit  aloof,  chewing,  and  occasion- 
ally indulging  us  with  polite  conversation.  I 
gathered  from  Florence,  Madame  Busque's 
neat-handed  Phillis,  that  the  Colonel's  staple 
meal  was  salt  codfish  and  potatoes,  washed 
down  by  a  glass  ot  kirsch,  mingled  with 
cayenne  pepper,  and  that  he  professed  and 
practised  the  uttermost  contempt  and  dis- 
regard for  French  cookery  and  French  wines. 
These  circumstances,  coupled  with  the  state- 
ment that  he  had  inhabited  Paris  for  a  con- 
siderable number  of  years,  were  quite  enough 
to  convince  me  that  the  Colonel  was  no  ordi- 
nary man.  When  on  a  subsequent  occasion 
he  informed  us  that  he  had  visited  and  had 
been  resident  in  Germany,  Italy,  and  Russia,^ 
and  France  inclusive,  and  that  he  could  not 
speak  one  word  of  the  languages  of  those  coun- 
tries, I  began  to  recognise  in  Colonel  Gmnpeck 
a  prodigy  of  prejudice.  And  he  really  did  be- 
come prodigious  in  time.  He  treated  with  scorn 
and  derision  a  modest  statement  of  mine  that 
there  was  a  spirituous  liquor  called  Whiskey 
manufactured  in  Ireland,  which  was  a  fa- 
vourite potation  of  the  inhabitants  of  that 
country;  and  that  there  was  also  some  whiskey 
of  a  smokev  flavour  made  in  Scotland,  which 
was  said  to  be  worth  drinking.  The  only  whis- 
key was  in  Kentucky — nay,  even  and  only  In  a 
small  portion  of  that  state, — for  be  himself,  if  I 
remember  correctly,  possessed  the  only  half- 
dozen  hogsheads.  Likewise  the  only  rice,  the 
only  tobfUM^o,  the  only  land,  and,  specially, 
the  only  pigs.  The  best  niggers,  abo.  he,  of 
course,  owned,  though,  I  am  bound  to  confess, 
that  he  did  not  maintain  them  to  be  the  only 
ones.  His  religious  prejudices  it  is  neither 
my  province  nor  any  man's  to  take  exception 
to :  those  prejudices  we  must  all  take  off  our 
hats  to,  and  pass  by  reverentially  ;  but  I 
may  just  mention  that  he  quoted  Moses  and 
Aaron  to  prove  that  all  negro  babies  were 
born  with  tails,  and  that  ,with  reference  to 
miracles  he  declared  that  he  **  never  could 
believe  that  Jonah  swallowed  that  thar 
whale,"  and  when  I  presumed  mildly  to  hint 
that  the  swallowing  was  done  by  the  other 
party,  sternly  rebuked  and  put  me  down.  His 
political  pr^udices  were  immense.  He  quite 
repudiated  Washington,  JetTerson,  Franklin, 
Adams  Jackson,  Webster,  and  Taylor.  The 
god  of  his  political  idolatry  was  one  Amos 
Grix,  of  whose  antecedents  or  culmination  he 
did  not  condescend  to  inform  us.  but  who 
chawed  up  the  speaker  of  some  local  legislature 
dreadful  bright  on  some  occasion  not  stated. 
Colonel  Gmn peck's  hatred  and  contempt  for 
this  country  and  its  inhabitant  Britishers 
were  something  dreadful.  He  took  the 
British  lion  ;  he  twisted  that  animal's  tail, 
and  tied  knots  in  it ;  he  tore  out  the  hair  of 
his  mane ;  he  cut  off  his  claws ;  he  skinned 
him  alive :  he  muzzled  him ;  he  made  him 
stand  on  his  hind  legs  and  beg  |  he  whipped 


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256 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoMactodkr 


him  through  cmation,  as  one  would  a  puppy- 
dog  ; — all  iu  a  manner  shockinff  to  contem- 
Slate.  He  inveighed  against  the  Court  of 
t.  James's ;  against  our  haughty  aristocrats ; 
against  our  bloated  clergy ;  he  pitied  our 
starving  needlewomen,  our  famished  and 
downtrodden  peasantry ;  our  groaning  and 
oppressed  Irish  serft ;  the  white  slaves  in  our 
factories ;  the  gaunt  and  fever-stricken  chil- 
di*en  in  our  workhouses.  No  good  could  come 
out  of  us  anyhow — '^  nohow,''  he  said.  We 
never  could  pay  our  national  debt,  the  interest 
of  which  was  rapidly  sapping  our  credit  and 
bringing  us  to  bankruptcv.  We  had  no  pub- 
lic building  equal  to  the  Capitol,  at  Washing- 
ton ;  Lord  Brougham,  Burke,  Sheridan,  Chat- 
ham, never  approached  Patrick  Henry  in 
oratory;  Hooker,  Barrow,  Taylor,  South,  were 
dunces  in  theological  attainments  to  Jared 
Sparlcs ;  we  had  no  painters  equal  to  Colonel 
Trumbull.  We  had  no  poets  or  philosophers ; 
the  great  republic  had  out-manufactured  us. 
Hobbs  had  picked  our  locks.  Commodore 
Stephenson  had  whipped  our  yacht-clubs,  and 
Colonel  Colt  had  driven  our  Mantons  and 
Westly  Richards  from  the  field.  We  bad  quar- 
relled with  our  best  ft'iend,  the  Emperor  of 
Russia ;  our  French  ally  was  ready  to  turn 
round  on  us ;  the  port  of  New  York  exceeded 
us  in  tonnage,  as  the  New  York  clippers  out- 
sailed ours ;  our  population  was  burning  for  re- 
volution ;  our  colonies  ripe  for  revolt ;  Canada 
was  knocking  at  the  door  of  the  Union.  It 
was  all  up  with  the  British  lion  ;  take  him 
away  to  the  knacker's  yard,  and  sell  his  flesh 
to  the  dogs'-meat  venders.  "  He  isn't  worth 
that,"  Colonel  Grunpeck  would  cry,  throwing 
away  the  last  remnants  of  his  quid. 

All  this  and  more  did  I  hear  in  the  first 
month  of  this  present  year,  'fifty-five,  fVom 
the  lips  of  Colonel  Grunpeck.  I  must  not 
omit  to  notice,  too,  the  dreadfully  long  list  of 
naval  engagements  which  he  was  wont  to  re- 
capitulate—engagements in  which  Britidi 
men-of-war  had  been  licked,  riddled,  sunk,  or 
captured  by  a  vastly  inferior  American  force. 
Great,  also,  was  the  Colonel  upon  the  topic  of 
the  battle  of  New  Orleans,  at  which  he  had 
himself  been  present,  and  where  he  had  shot, 
with  his  own  patriot  hand,  no  less  than  four- 
and-twenty  Britishers ;  he  lying  in  ambuscade 
behind  a  cotton  bale,  and  armed  only  with  a 
rusty  ship's  musket,  of  which  the  barrel  was 
cracked  in  two  places. 

Hearing  all  these  things,  I  used  to  go  home 
and  wonder  whether  there  were  many  more 
men  in  the  States  like  Colonel  Grunpeck.  I 
began  to  wonder  whether  the  Knownothings, 
the  Lone  Stars,  the  New  York  United  Irish- 
men, and  the  Native  Sympathisers,  who  hold 
Caucusses  and  Indignation  meetings  at  Tam- 
many Hall,  were  at  all  of  the  Grunpeck 
breed  ;  whether,  in  fine,  the  British  lion  was 
really  in  the  pitiable  state  the  Colonel  had  re- 
presented him  to  be ;  or  whether,  as  I  had 
fondly  hoped  and  believed  for  some  time, 
there  was  bome  life,  and  some  fighting  left 


in  the  old  beast  yet  For  I  have  the  plea- 
sure— one  participated  in,  I  trust,  by  many 
more  men — of  numbering  among  my  friendi 
very  many  American  gentlemen,  courteous, 
accomplished,  liberal,  tolerant,  and  quite 
devoid  of  prejudice,  who  are  proud  to  call 
this  countiy  ye^  the  old  one,  and  their  motiier, 
and  who  are  prompt  to  qrmpathise  with  our 
righteous  cause,  as,  indeed,  brethren  should, 
who  are  joined  to  us  by  such  strong  bonds  of 
race,  kindred,  language.  Literature,  and  laws. 

Taking  the  other  side  of  the  question,  I 
began  to  refiect,  whether  we,  on  our  side 
of  the  Atlantic,  could  show  any  Englirii 
Grunpecks,  any  genuine  Britishers,  who,  hav- 
ing visited  the  United  States,4iad  been  unable 
or  unwilling  to  discern  one  single  thing  worthy 
of  admiration  in  their  travelling  experiences. 
I  read  a  great  many  books  of  travels,  tours, 
flying  visits,  and  voyages,  humorous  and 
sentimental,  to  the  States ;  but,though  in  many 
of  these  volumes  I  found  the  people,  the  man- 
ners, and  the  institutions  of  the  American 
Republic,  commented  upon  with  sufficient 
severity,  I  was  unable  to  discover  the  real 
prejudiced  traveller — the  genuine  Britisher — 
who  couldn't  or  wouldn't  find  any  good  in 
the  Americans — nohow.  I  might  have  gone 
on  to  this  day  searching  for  a  genuine  Bri-  ; 
tisher,  had  I  not  been  fortunate  enough  to 
stumble  in  the  comer  of  a  Kentish  cottage, 
upon  the  Experiences  of  Mb.  Parkinson. 

Mr.  Richard  Parkinson,  late  of  Orange 
Hill,  near  Baltimore,  and    author  of    the    ; 
Experienced    Farmer,  published   just   fifty     | 
years  ago  (you  see  I  am  obliged  to  go  back  a 

good  way  for  my  genuine  Britisher,  but  then 
olonel  Grunpeck  was  over  sixty).  A  Tour 
in  America,  exhibiting  sketches  of  Society 
and  Manners,  and  a  particular  account  of  tlie 
American  system  of  Agriculture.  I  had  not 
read  Mr.  Parkinson  half  through  before  I 
began  to  see  a  sort  of  vision  or  day-ghost  of 
a  bluff  sturdy  man  in  a  blue  coat,  mahogany 
tops,  and  a  fluSy  white « hat.  And  the  ghost 
walked  through  the  United  States  with  one 
continual  upturning  of  the  nose ;  and  I  said 
to  myself :  Surely,  this  must  be  the  geniune 
Britisher  I  have  been  so  lon^  in  quest  of.  I 
will  give  a  brief  sketch  of  some  of  Mr.  Park- 
inson's experiences,  and  my  readers  can  then 
judge  for  themselves,  how  far  he  was  British 
and  genuine. 

Mr.  Parkinson,  like  a  true-blue  and  wearer 
of  uncompromising  mahogany  tops,  dedicates 
his  Tour  to  his  Royal  Highness  the  Duke  of 
York.  In  times  like  these,  says  Bir.  Parkin- 
son, when  the  wicked  intentions  and  wild 
chimeras  of  desij^ng  and  misguided  men 
have  so  widely  disseimnated  principles  of  a 
fallacious  equality,  it  behoves  every  reason- 
able person,  and  especially  Mr.  Parkinson, 
not  onlv  to  manifest  proper  expressions  of 
regard  lor  high  station  and  illustrious  an- 
cestry, but  also  to  spare  his  country  the  loss 
of  many  a  valuable  though  humble  member, 
whom  misrepresentation  might  tempt  to 


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COLONEL  GRUNPECK  AND  MB.  PARKINSON. 


267 


grate.  And  in  another  portion  of  the  work 
the  author  states  that  it  will  afford  him 
infinite  pleasure  if  the  publication  of  these 
sheets  should  have  the  desired  effect — that  of 
preventing  his  countrymen  fh>m  running 
headlong  into  misery,  as  he  and  many  others 
hare  done. 

When  Mr.  Parkinson  was  printing  his 
Experienced  Farmer,  in  London,  he  had  the 
honour  of  becoming  acquainted  with  Sir  John 
Sinclair,  then  President  of  the  Board  of  Api- 
culture. General  Washington  had  at  that  time 
sent  over  to  Sir  John,  proposals  for  letting  his 
Uoont  Yernon  Estate  to  English  or  Scotch 
fiirmers.  Whereupon  Mr.  Parkinson  thought 
himself  possessed  of  a  real  fortune  in  the 
prospect,  as  he  naively  says,  of  an  introduc- 
tion both  to  eo  great  a  man  as  General 
Washington  and  to  the  rich  soils  of  America. 
As  the  liberating  general  had  sent  over  a 
plan  of  Mount  Vernon  divided  Into  distinct 
farms,  Mr.  Parkinson  pitched  upon  one  of 
twelve  hundred  acres;  the  rent  twenty-two 
shillings  per  acre.  Moreover,  he  got  upwards 
of  five  hundred  subscribers  to  his  book,  of  the 
first  gentlemen  in  England,  as  a  recommenda- 
tion to  the  gentlemen  in  America :  and  with 
these  encouragments,  speculated  to  make  a 
rapid  fortune.  Sanguine,  though  experienced 
Hr.  Parkinson  I 

The  genuine  Britisher  went  to  Liverpool, 
aod  employed  brokers   to  charter  a  ship, 
which  cost  him   eight   hundred   and   fifty 
pooods.    He  then  bought  the  famous  race- 
horses Phenomenon  and  Cardinal  Puff;  ten 
hlood  mares  and  ten  more  blood  stallions ;  a 
hoU  and  a  cow  of  the  Roolright  breed  ;  a 
hall  and  a  cow  of  the  North  Devon ;  a  bull  I 
and  a  cow  of  the  no-horncd  Yorkshire  kind  ; 
a  cow  and  a  calf  of  the  Holdemess  breed  ;  five 
hoar  and  seven  sow  pigs  of  four  different : 
kinds.    These  things  being  put  on  board,  our  { 
friend  went  on  bouxl  with  his  family,  which  ; 
consisted  of  seven,  besides  two  servants  to  \ 
take  care  of  the  cattle.    A  little  Noah's  ark, 
Kr.  Parkinson !  | 

Bat  there  was  no  dove  in  the  ark  and  little  : 
peace.  The  cargo  was  improperly  stowed,  and  ! 
the  ship  wanted  ballast,  and  the  captain  spent ! 
foorteen  days  in  getting  it.    One  attendant 
was  sick,  and  had  to  be  sent  back.  No  sooner  i 
had  they  got  to  sea  than  the  king's  boats 
hoarded  them  and  pressed  their  other  servant 
Mr.  Parkinson  was  twelve  weeks  on  his  pas- 
sage (the  Red  Jacket  makes  the  voyage  to 
Melbourne  in  less  time  now),  and  in  that  time  j 
lost  eleven  horses,  in  which  number  wan  the 
fiunoQs  race-horse  Phenomenon.  I 

When  Mr.  Parkinson  arrived  at  the  land 
of  promise— the  Mount  Vernon  Estate — the  > 
wonderful  disappointment  he  met  with  in  the 
harrenness  of  the  land  was  beyond  descrip- , 
tion.    Would  General  Washington  have  given 
him  the  twelve  hundred  acres  he  would  not  | 
have  accepted  them,  and  to  convince  the  | 
General  of^the  cause  of  his  determination,  he  , 
was  compelled  to  treat  him  with  a  great  deal : 


offrankneai.  Did  the  daring  Britisher  pre- 
sume to  "  cheek  -'  the  father  of  his  country  T 
If  Colonel  Grunpeck  had  been  there,  a  bowie- 
knife — a  revolver — ha !  but  to  our  UHe. 

Mr.  Parkinson  is  very  hard  upon  the  hero. 
He  supposed  himself  to  have  fine  sheep  and  a 
great  quantity  of  them.  On  the  General's 
five  farms  of  three  thousand  acres  he  had  but 
one  hundred  sheep,  and  those  in  very  poor 
condition  ;  whereas  in  Old  England,  on  Mr. 
Parkinson's  father's  farm,  which  was  less 
than  six  hundred  acres,  the  paternal  Park- 
inson clipped  eleven  hundred  sheep.  Again, 
the  average  weight  of  the  Parkinson  wool 
was  ten  pounds  per  fleece;  the  Washington 
wool  scarcely  reached  tat  average  of  three 
pounds  and  a  half.  Finally,  and  with  which 
we  may  consider  General  Washington  as  dis- 
posed of  as  an  agriculturist,  the  Generars 
crops  were  from  two  to  three  bushels  of  wheat 
per  acre  ;  while  on  that  genuine  British  farm 
the  land,  though  poor  clayey  soil,  gave  from 
twenty  to  thirty  bushels  per  acre. 

Colonel  Lear.  General  Washington's  aide- 
de-camp,  did  Mr.  Parkinson  the  honour  to 
say  that  he  was  tiie  only  man  he  ever  knew 
to  treat  the  General  with  frankness.  But 
Mrs.  Washington,  the  Greneral's  wife,  treated 
Mr.  Parkinson  with  even  more  frankness 
than  he  had  treated  her  husband ;  for  the 
British  farmer  being  invited  to  dinner  at 
Mount  Vernon,  she  said  to  him :  '*  I  am 
afraid,  Mr.  Parkinson,  that  yon  have  brought 
your  fine  horses  and  pigs  to  a  bad  market." 
Which  observation  vexed  Mr.  Parkinson 
much,  for  he  was  bv  this  time  beginning  to 
be  afraid  himself  that  he  had  brought  his 
pigs  to  a  very  bad  market  indeed. 

No  land  whatsoever,  or  wherever  situated, 
would  suit  our  traveller.  General  Stone  of- 
fered him  one  thousand  acres  as  a  gift,  to  be 
chosen  out  of  three  thousand  four  hundred 
acres  of  the  General's  own  in  Allegany 
county,  but  the  Britisher  would  have  none  of 
it  Many  of  his  friends  advised  him  to  try 
Kentucky  and  the  backwoods.  This  he  in- 
dignantly refused  to  do.  He  soon  found  those 
countries  worse  than  the  parts  nearer  the 
cities ;  for  as  money  was  his  olject,  and  he 
found  it  scarce  In  the  cities,  he  concluded 
that  it  must  be  scarcer  in  the  backwoods. 
Naive  this,  but  logical,  and  more  logical  the 
proof,  "  for,"  says  Mr.  Parkinson,  **  the  Ken- 
tuckians  are  a  sharp,  roguish,  enterprising 
people,  and  if  anything  valuable  was  to  be 
had  in  that  countrv,  they  would  be  sure  to 
secure  it  for  themselves." 

Mr.  Parkinson  was  told  of  two  gentlemen, 
brothers,  named  Ricketts,  who  had  large  fiour- 
mills  near  Alexandria,  and  had  realised  a 
fortune  by  them.  **  How,"  he  moodily  adcs, 
*'had  they  made  that  fortune?  How  did 
they  live  while  they  were  making  it  7 "  One 
of  the  young  Parkinsons  boarded  and  lodged 
with  the  Ricketts  for  some  time,  and  he  should 
describe  their  way  of  living.  They  had  oof- 
fee  and  salt  herrings  for  breakfast,  and  some- 


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258 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[OoB^aetcd  by 


times  salt-beef.  The  bread  was  00)7  oakefi 
made  of  hogs'-lard  and  wbeatea  floor,  and 
was  never  buttered.  The  dinner  was  salt- 
beef  and  bread,  and  sometimes  potatoes  (which 
were  very  bad,  all  over  the  country)  ;  at  other 
times,  as  a  treat,  a  cow  cabbage,  which  was 
preserved  in  a  cellar  to  keep  it  fh>m  frost ; 
and  water  to  drink  1  This  was  in  the  winter. 
Tbej  only  had  fresh  beef  when  they  killed  a 
cow  which  they  could  milk  no  more  ;  nor  was 
there  any  butter  used  in  the  house  for  the 
four  months  during  which  the  junior  Parkin- 
son resided  In  it 

Mr.  Parldnson  had  employed  a  servant  who 
had  lived  in  '^  those  boasted  backwoods,''  as 
he  calls  them.  The  servant  was  an  Irishman, 
and  had  been  hired  by  a  man  who  had  pur^ 
chased  land  in  Kentucky,  in  order  to  clear  it, 
and  grow  Indian  com.  ''How,''  he  asks, "  did 
they  live  ? "  They  built  themselves  a  log- 
house,  which  was  open  at  the  sides,  bv  reason 
of  the  logs  not  lying  close  to  each  other. 
There  was  no  entrance  to  it  save  at  the  top, 
like  the  hatchway  of  a  ship.  When  they  had 
raised  their  corn,  and  wanted  it  ground,  thev 
had  forty  miles  to  go  to  a  mill,  which,  with 
returning,  was  two  days'  journey.  When  the 
master  was  absent,  on  these  occasions,  the 
servant  was  left  alone,  and  was  much  fright- 
ened by  the  owl's  screeching — supposing  the 
Indians  were  coming  to  kill  him  in  the  night; 
it  being  a  common  custom  of  these  savages 
to  come  into  the  house,  and  lie  by  the 
fire,  nor  did  the  inhabitants  dare  to  prevent 
them. 

There  were  no  good  servants  or  labourers 
to  be  had  in  America :  so,  at  least,  Mr.  Par- 
kinson thought  Working-men  emigrating, 
were  sure  to  be  lamentably  disappointed. 
They  were  speedily  ruined  on  their  arrival, 
and  were  ashamed  to  return  to  their  native 
countnr  in  a  reduced  state,  to  be  made  the 
scoff  of  their  former  acquaintance.  More  than 
this,  working-men  had  it  seldom  in  their  power 
to  ^t  back ;  forif  they  had  no  money  to  pay 
their  passage,  the  captains  of  ships  would  not 
bring  them  from  America,  on  tne  terms  on 
which  they  were  taken.  These  terms  were 
peculiarly  infamous,  and  as  we  have  no  reason 
to  doubt  the  Genuine  Britisher's  trust-worthi- 
ness in  matters  of  fact,  however  much  he 
may  be  prejudiced  In  matters  of  opinion,  we 
are  compelled  to  witness  the  disclosure  of  an 
atrocious  system  of  White  Slavery  in  Ame- 
rica existing  and  flourishing  after  the  Decla- 
ration of  Independence,  after  the  Revolution, 
after  the  Peace,  by  which  the  United  States 
were  erected  into  a  Free  Republic  :*  nay,  ex- 
isting within  the  present  oentury.  There 
were  men  in  all  the  American  ports  ready 
to  buy  emigrants  as  slaves  on  their  first 
arrival :  and  as  slaves  they  wei'e  sold,  for 
certain  terms  of  vears,  by  the  shij;H)aptain8  to 
reimburse  them  for  the  passage-money  from 
Europe.  But  these  miserable  creatures  want- 
ing clothing,  and  not  having  the  means  of 
purchasing  it  during  their  stated  time  of 


servitude,  were  compelled  to  get  the  money 
of  their  masters,  and  were  so  kept  in  the 
same  state  ^e  greatest  part  of  their  lives. 
Anything  more  abominable  than  the  follow- 
ing story,  it  is  dUBcult  to  imagine.  A  Dutch- 
man who  had  loist  all  his  property,  which  was 
considerable,  bv  the  war  with  France,  met 
with  the  captain  of  an  American  ship,  who 
offered  him  and  his  two  sons,  a  free  passage  to 
America ;  but  at  the  end  of  the  voyage  the 
captain  offered  them  all  for  sale  to  pay  for 
the  passage.  They  were  bought  by  Messrs. 
Ricketts,  who  paid  the  captain  ready  money 
for  them,  and  were  to  repay  those  gentlemen 
by  labour  a  certain  term  of  years.  The  old 
Ehitchman,  naturally  obstinate,  and  not  un- 
naturally indignant,  at  having  been  thus  vil- 
lanously  kidnapped,  refiised  to  work,  and 
was  therefore  (as  was  usual)  whipped  with  the 
cowhide,  in  the  same  way  as  the  negroes.  The 
old  man,  however,  notwithstanding  several 
renewed  infiictions  of  this  puniBbment, 
held  out  firmly,  and  still  persisting  in  his 
obstinacy,  and  being  very  old  the 
Messrs.  Ricketts  kindly  gave  him  his  li- 
berty, and  kept  his  two  boys  to  work  out  the 
sunL 

With  regard  to  servants,  the  Genuine  Bri- 
tisher comes  out  in  his  strongest  colours.  He 
warns  Englishmen  that  ^e  liberty  and 
equality  dreamed  of  by  some  who  emigrated 
frt>m  these  kingdoms  to  America  would  not 
be  found  very  pleasant.  He  would,  as  a 
servant,  have  to  eat,  drink,  and  sleep,  with 
the  negro  slaves ;  for,  hs  the  master  cannot 
keep  three  tables,  the  white  servant,  unless 
he  dine  with  his  master,  f"  and  I  have  heard 
of  their  doing  that,"  writes  Mr.  Parkinson, 
with  true  British  horror),  must  necessarily 
feed  at  the  second  table,  which  was  that  of 
the  darkies.  Another  thing  about  which 
Mr.  Parkinson  complains  most  lamentably  is, 
that  among  the  white  people  in  America  they 
were  all  Mr.  and  Sir,  or  Madam  and  Miss — 
so  that  in  conversation  you  ci^uld  not  dis- 
cover which  was  the  master  an«\  which  the 
man  —  which  the  mistress  or  which  the 
maid. 

Now,  our  tourist  explained,  this  custom  of 
being  called  Mr.  and  Sir  sat  so  uneasily  upon 
an  mglish  servant,  that  he  was  sure  speedily 
to  become  the  greatest  puppy  imaginable,  and 
much  unpleasanter,  even,  than  the  negro. 
Then,  he  adds,  as  all  men  imitate  their  bet- 
ters in  pride  and  consequence,  when  the 
negroes  met  together  they  were  all  Mr.  and 
Madam  among  themselves.  It  was  the  same 
with  respect  to  the  manner  of  wearing  their 
hair— almost  every  one,  child  or  man,  had  his 
hair  powdered  or  tied  in  a  club.  The  negroes 
the  same ;  but  as  the  hair  of  the  negroes  is 
^ort,  it  was  customary  to  hang  lead  to  it 
during  the  week,  that  it  might  have  length 
enougn  to  be  tied  on  the  Sunday. 

The  (renuine  Britisher's  complaints  increase 
thick  and  threefold  throughout  the  volume ; 
but  they  are  so  numerous  that  I  cannot  dwell 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CktfhilMektm.] 


THK  CHINESE  POSTMAN. 


259 


on  tbem  in  detail.  He  tells  us  a  story  of  one 
Hr.  Grimes  who  invited  bim  to  bis  planta- 
tJoD  on  tlie  Potomac,  made  him  a  present  of 
some  Teal,  cabbages,  and  two  bosbels  of 
oysters,  and  then  threatened  to  shoot  him  be- 
eaose  be  did  not  approve  of  some  Saintfoin 
plaotshehad  in  his  garden.  He  grumbles 
about  straneers  walking  into  his  parlour  and 
ligbting  their  pipes,  or  rambling,  uninvited,  in 
bis  orchards,  piullug  his  peaches  and  nectar 
rioes,  and  denouncing  him  as  an  enemj  of  Uie 
boman  race,  and  an4nfringer  of  the  rights  of 
man.  He  tells  of  waggoners  pulling  up  by 
bis  fields  and  roasting  the  ears  of  his  Indian 
com  for  themselves  and  their  horses ;  of 
strange  men  borrowing  (without  asking)  his 
horses,  and  returning  them  at  a  week's  end, 
blown,  out  of  condition,  and  often  seriously 
iAJored.  He  describes  the  land  as  irretriev- 
ably barren,  and  requiring  enormous  e]q>en- 
dltare  to  produce  even  a  moderate  crop.  He 
speaks  of  the  cattle  as  meagre,  half-starved 
horses,  never  getting  any  hay,  but  fed  on 
blades  and  slops,  eaten  up  by  a  dreadftil 
disease  called  tne  hollow-horn,  and  stung  to 
madness  by  a  horrible  insect,  a  compound  of 
mosqaito.  locust,  and  vampyre,  called  the 
Hessian  fly.  The  American  oysters  are  bad, 
the  poultry  is'ezecrable,  the  venison  carrion, 
the  horses  under-6ized,the  government  rotten. 
The  people  are  vain,  boasting,  mendacious, 
dranken,  artful,  unprincipled,  and  unable  to 
mannfacture  even  a  gun-flint.  And  when 
completely  disgusted  with  the  fanning  busi- 
0688,  and  the  brewery  business,  upon  which 
be  entered  as  a  subsequent  speculation,  our 
Gennine  Britisher  sells  his  stock  at  a  loss  and 
re-embarks  for  England  with  his  familv ;  he 
takes  leave  of  the  Americans  by  flinging  in 
their  teeth  the  powerful,  though  somewhat 
worn-out,  sarcasm,  that  their  fathers  and 
grandfathers  had  been  sent  out  as  colonists, 
not  of  their  own  firee-will,  as  he,  Richard 
Parkinson,  had  been,  but  by  the  verdict  of 
twelve  honest  men,  and  the  warrant  of  their 
lung.  Oh  I  fifty  years  since  I  Oh !  Grunpeck 
in  mahogany  tops ! 

I  dare  say  Richard  Parkinson  was  as  hon- 
^  well-meaning,  sincere  a  man  as  ever  the 
son  shone  upon.  But  his  strong  Grunpeckian 
pr^ndice  forbade  him  to  discern  those  o<Hn- 
^g  events  which  fifty  years  ago  were  casting 
their  shadows  before,  m  America.  He  saw 
only  coarse  food,  rough  living,  clumsy  culti- 
^tion,  and  unpolished  manners.  It  was  not 
within  bis  prejudicial  ken  to  know  that  this 
ungainly  Transatlantic  baby,  sprawling  in  a 
cradle  of  half-cleared  forests,  was  a  young 
giant,  destined  to  grow  up  above  the  pines 
and  the  cedars,  and  the  mountains,  some  day, 
»nd  overshadow  half  the  western  world  with 
bis  stature. 

But  Mr.  Parldnson  is  gone,  and  his  place 
knows  him  no  more.  I  bear  (as  I  have  said) 
not  the  least  animosity  towards  Grunpeck, 
yet  I  think  that  the  sooner  Grunpeck  follows 
Parkinson,  the  better  it  wUl  be  for  both  ddes 


of  the  Atlantic  Perhaps  Grunpeck  and  Par- 
kinson may  come  to  be  of  one  mind  after  all, 
in  the  Shades— who  knows? 

THE  CHINESE  POSTMAN. 

How  things  will  be  done  in  the  Celestial 
Empire,  when  the  end  is  made  of  the  Tartar 
dynasty  of  Brothers  of  the  Sun,  we  cannot 
telL  Probably  we  diall  not  live  to  hear  of 
the  Pekin  and  Canton  Railway,  nor  the  Chi- 
nese penny-post  But  how  things  are  now 
done  on  the  ''first  form''  of  civilisation 
among  the  three  hundred  millions  of  people, 
so  far  as  postal  business  is  concerned,  we  pro- 
ceed to  tell. 

We  must  begin  with  the  Government  Post. 
Its  movements  arc  all  under  the  direction 
of  the  Board  of  War  at  Pekin.  Sixteen 
postmasters  are  appointed  by  this  Board,  and 
distributed  throughout  the  empire.  From 
the  capital  to  the  different  i»>ovinces,  at  in- 
tervals of  twenty  miles,  are  military  sta- 
tions which  supply  post  couriers  and  horses. 
Fifty  miles  a  day  appears  to  be  the  celestial 
notion  of  post  haste.  No  deviation  from  the 
ordinary  route  is  allowed,  although  deviation 
might,  in  some  instances,  save  both  time  and 
money.  The  times  of  departure  ft'om  the  cap- 
ital are  not  fixed  with  precision, but  it  is  gen- 
erally on  every  sixth  day  that  despatches  are 
made  up,  all  expenses  of  course  beingf  borne 
by  the  imperial  exchequer. 

This  branch  of  government  service  is  spe- 
cially appropriated  to  the  conveyance  of  the 
Imperial  Gazettes,  official  notices  of  promo- 
tion, suspension,  furlough,  the  formal  an- 
nouncements of  the  names  of  candidates  who 
have  succeeded  in  gaining  literary  honours 
at  Pekin,  and  likewise  the  conveyance  of 
special  favours  and  marks  of  honour  granted 
by  the  Emperor  to  his  subjects  in  the  shape 
of  call),  buttons,  or  peacocks'  feathers.  Such 
government  papers  as  are  included  under  the 
category  of  "  Special  Replies,"  "  All-impor- 
tant Edicts,"  "Positive  Commands,"  *'  Pri- 
vate summonses  to  the  Court,"  &c,  are  en- 
trusted to  express  messenger8---there  are 
twenty-one  of  them  connected  with  the  Mili- 
tary Board — travelling  on  horseback  at  the 
rate  of  sixty,  a  hundred  and  twenty,  or  a 
hundred  and  eighty  miles  a  day,  according  to 
the  necessity  of  the  case.  Horses  and  mules 
are  always  in  readiness,  as  well  as  couriers, 
at  the  various  postal  branches  on  the  Emper^ 
or's  high  way.  Sedan  chairs  too  are  at  the 
service  of  these  extraordinary  couriers.  The 
Government  Post  is.  as  we  said,  not  open  io 
the  public ;  but,  through  the  special  favour 
got  by  help  of  friends  at  Court,  plebeians 
may  be  eo  far  privileged  as  to  have  one  or 
two  private  notes  transmitted  under  a 
stamped  government  cover,  on  the  inflexible 
condition  that  the  envelope  contains  no 
metal. 

The  postmen  for  the  people  form  in  China 
quite  another  class.  They  belong  to  co-opera- 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


260 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CMdvcMbf 


tive  societies  of  letter-carriers,  who  bear  to 
and  fro  all  the  missiyes  sent  upon  affiiirs  of 
trade  or  family  intereat  from  Uhinamaa  to 
Chiaamaa,  la  enyelopes  varionslj  endorsed. 
To  show  how  the  ordinary  Chinese  postal  bu- 
siness is  conducted  let  us  take  one  town, 
Shanghai,  the  northern  open  port,  for  an  ex- 
ample. Of  course  the  arrangements  of  the 
oflSce  there  can  be  described  onlv  as  they  ex- 
isted before  the  city  of  Shanghai  fell  into  the 
hands  of  the  revolutionary  party  : 

Outside  the  small  east  gate  of  Shanghai, 
and  in  one  of  the  most  populous  thorough- 
fares, stand  the  offices  of  a  letter  and  parcel 
delivery  company,  called  the  Tienshun  house. 
It  transmits  letters  through  four  postal  lines, 
connected  with  the  first  cities  in  the  central 
provinces,  Kiangnan,  Kiangsi,  Honan  and 
Chihkiang ;  indirectly  also  with  the  remote 
country  parts  in  those  directions,  ^h  of 
these  lines  is  served  separately  by  its  own 
particular  firm  ;  but  the  junction  of  the' four 
at  Shanghai  is  completed  hy  the  union  of 
these  four  firms  in  a  general  partnership  lim- 
iting its  own  liabilities.  Its  mode  of  working 
will  be  understood  by  following  it  on  any  sin- 
gle line,  say  that  which  runs  along  the  coast 
of  Chihkiang,  and  extends  to  the  N.  E.  comer 
of  the  Fokien  province,  a  distance  of  not 
quite  seven  hundred  miles.  There  are  em- 
ployed upon  it  sixteen  postmen.  The  names 
of  these  are  written  in  large  characters  upon 
a  board  hung  up  in  the  receiving  house ;  and 
most  of  them  are  partners  in  the  business. 
There  are  fixed  days  for  the  receipt  of  letters 
on  this  line,  making  about  twenty  post  days 
in  the  month.  For  each  post  day  one  man  is 
nominated  as  carrier,  and  his  name  is  regu- 
larly advertised  upon  the  "  letter  board,"  one 
day  at  least  previous  to  his  departure.  Ex- 
presses may  be  had  on  the  other  days ;  and 
if  possible,  public  notice  of  an  express  is 
given,  in  order  that  the  general  public  may 
participate  in  its  advantages. 

The  clerk  who  receives  any  letter  posted  at 
the  office,  gives  a  receipt  to  the  person  bring- 
ing it ;  he  then  places  it  upon  a  rack  till  the 
hour  comes  for  a  regular  distribution  and  as- 
sortment. Several  « letter-receipts  "  are  in 
our  hands ;  the  following  is  a  translation  of 
one  given  in  exchange  for  a  letter  addressed 
to  Peking:— 

*'  30tb  year  of  Taoakwang.  5th  Moon. 

•*  Thii  is  to  certify  that  we  hare  reoeirod  ftom 

a  letter,  parportlng  to  contain  oood  miws  fordiraatoh 
to  and  safe  dellveiy  at  the  city  of  Peking,— of  which, 
too.  this  paper  is  to  be  taken  as  a  sofflcient  goantntee. 
Postage  paid.'*    (The  office  seaL) 

As  to  the  cost  of  postage,  if  the  parties  are 
well  known,  payment  may  be  deferred  until 
the  letter  is  delivered.  But  in  general  it  is 
required  that  at  least  half  be  paid  at  there- 
cefving  house.  The  rates  vary  according  to 
distance  as  well  as  according  to  the  contents 
of  the  despatch.  All  envelopes  of  single  or 
double  letters  go  under  the  head  of  ''empty 
letters,"  provided  they  enclose  no  coin.   The 


charge  for  a  letter  upon  this  line  of  seven 
hundred  miles,  from  the  one  terminus  to  the 
other,  is  about  five  shillings  and  sixpence; 
but  as  this  was  the  charge  made  by  a  nstive 
on  a  foreigner,  it  is  probably  above  the  hon- 
est rate.  The  utmost  caution  is  exercised  in 
admitting  money  enclosures  of  gold,  silver,  or 
copper.  Of  these  the  carriers  require  special 
notice  at  the  receiving  office,  prior  to  the  ex- 
change of  duly  stamps  receipts.  Failing  this, 
the  companv  considers  itself  free  from  res- 
ponsibility in  case  of  accident  or  loss.  Incu^ 
rying  all  letters  and  packages  properly 
entered,  the  society  engages  to  incnr  the  en- 
tire risk  of  loss  and  damage,  except  firom 
weather  and  (the  most  pressing  of  all  risks  hi 
China)  robbers. 

On  the  day  of  despatch,  after  the  covers 
have  been  examined,  sorted,  and  marked  with 
the  office  stamp,  the  bag  is  made  up  sDd  en- 
trusted to  the  custody  of  the  messenger  for 
the  day.  He  forthwith  starts  upon  hisjoamej, 
which  he  pursues  on  foot  or  by  boat,  tboagfa 
not  at  one  half  the  average  speed  of  the 
English  postboy  seventy  years  ago,  '*  which 
then  was  about  three  miles  and  a  half  per 
hour."  It  is  understood  that  the  bearer  pros- 
ecutes his  route  uninterruptedly  and  indefoti- 
gably,  sparing  no  exertions,'  using  every 
means,  and  undaunted  by  obstacles,  until  he 
shall  reach  his  journey  is  end.  He  does  his 
mile  and  a  half  an  hour,  according  to  the 
circular  of  one  of  these  post-offices,  "  q)read- 
ing  out  the  heavens  overhead,  carrying  the 
moon,  shunning  neither  rain  nor  snow,  W 
bouring  with  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  and  run- 
ning with  all  haste.'' 

Most,  if  not  all,  establishments  for  posting 
letters  before  being  set  on  foot,  have  to  apply 
to  the  local  authorities  for  sanction  and  pro- 
tection. Two  separate  post-offices  were  open- 
ed at  Soochow,  the  one  in  the  year  eighteen 
hundred  and  fifty-two,  the  other  in  eighteen 
hundred  and  forty-three ;  the  former  for  con- 
veyance of  letters  to  Nanking,  the  latter  run- 
ning direct  into  the  province  of  Honan.  The 
circulars  of  both  of  them  commence  in  the 
same  strain :  "  We,  the  undersigned,  daring 

month,  applied  to  our  local  authorities 

for  their  sanction  and  permission  to  open  the 

PostOffice.    In  compliance  with  our 

petition,  their  worships  have  given  orders, 
forbidding  any  others  assuming  the  same 
designation  as  that  of  our  firm,  and  granting 
us  the  right  of  appeal  in  case  of  any  violation 
of  our  special  privilege." 

We  annex  the  prospectus  of  one  of  the  chief 
officesin  Soochow.  ItconveysletterstoCant^* 
a  distance  of  one  thousand  three  hondred 
miles. 

CiROULAm.— We,  the  undersigned,  are  humbly  of 
opinion  that  the  sure,  safe,  and  speedj  deliTwy  oi 
letUrs  to  and  tro  depends  mainlr  on  the  pnoctnaUtJ 
of  the  post  Of  late,  this  important  business  baviof 
been  undertaken  by  realljr  too  manr.— •Ithoofh  "»• 

Sreater  part  hare  been  true  to  their  word,  jet  not » 
m  hare  broken  faith  with  the  pubUc    ^o«  if  » 
indeed  be  deemed  requisite  to  fix  on  d«ys  of  deptrtu* 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CtekilHofcflwO 


PASSING  FACES. 


261 


tod  tiiiTal,— ia  It  not  •qiwlly  noetanry  that  the  party, 
who  ooderUkM  thia  retponaibilitT,  ahoold  spare  no 
exertion^  whether  hj  da^  or  bj  mght*  in  fair  or  in 
foal  weather,  to  falfll  hie  oblif^ona  to  the  ntmoat  r 
Under  aoeh  circnmatancea,  no  delaja  will  occur,  and 
thvre  will  be  a  eood  prospect  of  meeting  the  wiahea 
uidpromoting  the  viewa  of  the  mercantile  community. 

Bj  this  teal  of  panetuality,  the  undersigned  are 
eooient  to  hare  their  diligence  and  fidelity  tried,  and 
known  to  all  whom  it  ooncerna. 

We,  a  company  of  twenty  men,  pledged  to  stand 
Mcnntj  for  each  other,  hare  set  on  foot  a  postal  esta- 
UiiluBent  in  the  eity  of  Sfichan,  and  hare  agreed, 
(eecii  in  his  turn)  to  start  from  thia,  upon  the  ihird, 
uxih,  ninth,  thirteenth,  aixteenth,nineteenth,  twentv- 
tbird,  twenty -sixth,  and  twenty- ninth  of  erery  montn, 
and  Tiiit  all  the  places  on  our  lines. 

SbooM  we  be  honoured  with  the  patronage  of  the 
BMittotile  community  and  entrusted  with  letters, 
money  enclosuree,  and  other  valuables,  we  earnestly 
b«f  they  wiU  deliver  said  articles  aa  early  aa  poaaible 
tt  tills  offlce  for  the  sake  of  having  them  duly  entered 
upon  the  books,  to  render  future  referenoe  both  easy 
ud  eoDTenient.  With  the  same  object,  every  postman 
it  provided  with  the  office-seal  in  order  to  give  security 
for  ail  letters  that  may  be  received  on  the  way. 

Shoald  any  losses  of  these  moneys,  occur  through 
aagligence,  this  house  undertakes  to  make  due  com- 
penniioo.  But,  in  ease  any  thing  is  lost  or  mis- 
carried that  has  not  been  in  due  form  lodged  at  thia 
oOke  and  entered  upon  its  Journala,  it  mnat  be 
distiuBtly  underatood  that  thia  company  will  not  con- 
sider itself  in  any  way  responaible  fur  auch. 

We  also  beg  to  give  notice  of  the  following  par- 
tienlan: 

nTit,-;3honld  any  merchant  or  merchanta  engage 
tn  expreaa  for  apeeial  deapatchea,  and  atipulate  aa  to 
the  time  of  delivery  and  tbe  charge  for  poatage,  let  it 
be  ondtrttood  that,  in  caae  of  unavoidable  delay, 
either  from  the  srvere  inclemency  of  the  weather,  or 
from  the  £iilure  of  the  poatboy'a  health,  there  is  to 
be  DO  redaction  of  the  poatage  feea. 

Second,— The  mercantile  community  muat  forgive 
u  for  tttggeftting,  that  we  hope  they  will  not  enclose 
too  man;  letters  belonging  to  other  partiea  within 
the  envelopes  preaented  by  themaelvea ;  aa  the  bulk 
of  the  letter  bag  may  thereby  be  increased  beyond  th« 
■trength  of  the  postman,  and  thua  oceaaion  delay  and 
iiregolarity  in  Ui«  delireiy  of  letters,  as  well  aa  in 
the  retom  of  the  poat. 

Third,— Should  any  of  the  poatmcn  be  found  guilty 
of  dlktorinesa  or  any  riolation  of  our  engagementa, 
we  will  pay  a  tine  of  ftve  shilllnga  upon  every  auch 
iutance,  which  penalty  ahall  be  appropriated  to  defray 
the  religiooa  aervicea  of  our  eatabliahment. 

foarth,— Should  any  empty  letter  bo  loat,  we  en- 
EHe  to  pay  a  fine  of  Ave  ahiilinga,  to  be  laid  up  for 
pablieoae. 

There  are  short  postal  districts,  served  by 
mea  on  foot;  and  the  letters  carried  in 
this  way  are  called  ''foot-letters.''  These 
IH)st8  are  sometimes  included  within  the 
rtmits  of  one  town  with  its  environs ;  some- 
tlmea  thej  connect  neighboaring  places. 
Tbe  letter  bearers  perform  their  journey  at  a 
gentle  trot ;  being  lightly  clad  and  burdened 
only  with  a  smail  umbrella,  and  a  wallet 
thrown  across  the  shoulders. 
•  Despatches  sent  often  to  great  distances  by 
boat,  when  the  line  of  water  communication 
is  complete,  are  called  "  boat-letters.''  And 
there  occurs  again  another  form  of  post 
commanlcation  in  the  rural  districts,  as  the 
green  tea  country,  where  constant  correspon- 
dence has  to  be  kept  up  with  important 
markets  and  ports.  There  they  have  the 
''letter-merchant,"  who,  as  to  his  duties  and 
liabilities,  corresponds  to  the  country  carrier 
of  former  days  in  England. 


There  is  also  a  notion  afloat  in  China  about 
letters  transmitted  by  fishes.  A  Chinaman 
often  calls  a  letter  by  a  synonymous  word 
which  means  '*  a  pair  of  carp  fishes,"  and 
upon  its  envelope  he  sometimes  draws  a 
picture  of  two  fishes.  The  origin  of  this 
notion  is  traced  to  the  following  passage  in 
one  of  their  classic  works — "  A  stranger  iVom 
a  distance  presented  me  with  a  pair  of  carp 
fishes :  I  ordered  my  boy  to  cook  them ; 
when,  lo  and  behold  I  he  found  a  letter  for 
me  in  the  stomach  of  each." 


PASSING  FACES. 

We  have  no  need  to  go  abroad  to  study  eth- 
nology. A  walkthrough  the  streets  of  London 
will  show  us  specimens  of  every  human  variety 
known.  Not  pur  sang,  of  course,  but  trans- 
mitted (diluted  too)  through  the  Anglo-Saxon 
medium, — special  characteristics  necessarily 
not  left  very  sharply  defined.  It  takes  a 
tolerably  quick  eye,  and  the  educated  percep- 
tions of  an  arttsl^  to  trace  the  original  lines 
through  the  successive  shadings  made  by 
many  generations  of  a  different  race.  But 
still  those  lines  are  to  be  seen  by  all  who 
know  how  to  look  for  them,  or  who  under- 
stand them  when  they  are  before  them. 
The  broad  distinctions  of  Saxon,  Celt,  and 
Norman,  are  easily  recognised.  And,  of 
course,  we  know  negroes  when  we  see  them, 
and  can  give  a  tolerably  shrewd  guess  at  a 
Lascar  or  a  Chinaman.  But,  few  people  dream 
of  tracing  out  the  Jewish  ancestor  in  that 
Christianised  descendant  of  three  or  four 
generations,  though  the  Hebrew  sign  is  dis- 
tinctly marked  in  the  very  midst  of  blue 
eyes,  fair  skin,  and  flaxen  hair.  People 
seldom  judge  of  races  excepting  by  colour. 
The  form  and  the  features  go  for  nothing. 
Who  assignff  the  turned  lip,  the  yellow-white 
eye,  the  fiat  forehead,  the  spreading  nostril, . 
the  square  chest,  the  tow-like  hair,  the  long 
heel,  back  to  their  respective  races  t  Who 
spies  the  Red  Indian,  or  ihe  Malay,  or  the 
Nubian,  or  the  Fin,  hidden,  like  the  yellow 
dwarf,  in  the  lower  branches  of  a  respectable 
English  gentleman's  genealogical  tree  ?  Who 
detects  the  Tartar  in  his  West-End  friend,— 
unless  it  be  that  metaphorical  Tartar  which 
a  man  sometimes  catches  in  his  wife  ?  And 
who  can  swear  to  the  Slavonian,  with  an 
English  name,  who  speaks  perfect  Saxon, 
and  wears  a  NicoU's  paletot?  Yet  we 
are  always  encountering  diluted  specimens 
of  these  and  other  races,  who  perhaps  don't 
know  as  much  of  their  own  ancestry  as  we 
can  read  to  them  fVom  nature's  evidence, 
printed  in  an  unmistakeable  type  on  their 
own  faces. 

It  is  perfectly  incredible  what  a  large  num- 
ber of  ugly  people  one  seea  One  winders 
where  they  can  possibly  have  come  f^om, — 
from  what  invading  tribe  of  savages  or 
monkies.  We  meet  faces  that  are  scarcely  hu- 
man,— ^positively  brutified  out  of  all  trace  of 


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262 


HOUSBHOLD  WORDS. 


CC«Bd«ct«db7 


intelligence  hr  vice,  gin,  and  want  of  ednoa- 
tion  :  but  beside  this  sad  class,  there  are  the 
simpijr  aglj  faces,  with  all  th&lines  turned  the 
wrong  way,  and  all  the  colours  in  the  wrong 
places ;  and  then  there  are  the  bird  and  beast 
faces,  of  which  Gavarni's  caricatures  are  foith- 
ful  portraits.  DoesnH  everybody  count  a  crane 
and  a  secretary-bird  among  his  acquaintances? 
— tall  men,  with  slopiag  shoulders  and  slender 
legs,  with  long  necks,  which  no  cravat  or 
stock  can  cover,  with  small  heads ; — ^if  a  crane, 
the  hair  cropped  short ;  if  a  secretary-bird, 
worn  long  and  flung  back  on  the  shoulders, 
that  look  as  if  they  were  sliding  down-hill  in 
a  fright.  These  are  the  men  who  are  called 
elegant  —  good  lord  t  —  and  who  maunder 
through  life  in  a  daft  state  of  simpering  dilet- 
tanteism,  but  who  never  thought  a  man's 
thought,  nor  did  a  man's  work,  since  thev 
were  born.  Every  one  knows,  too,  the  hawk^s 
face — about  gambling-tables  and  down  in  the 
City  very  common — and  the  rook's  and  the 
jackdaw's ;  and  some  of  us  are  troubled  with 
the  distressing  neighbourhood  of  a  foolish 
man-snipe,  and  some  of  as  have  had  our 
intimate  owls  and  favourite  pan'ots  ;  though 
the  man-parrot  is  not  a  desirable  companion 
in  general. 

But  the  beast-faces,  there  is  no  limit  io 
them !  Dogs  alone  supply  the  outlines  of  half 
the  portraits  we  know.  There  is  the  bull- 
dog,— that  man  in  the  brown  suit  yonder, 
with  bandy  legs  and  heavy  shoulders, — did 
you  ever  see  a  kenneled  muzzle  more 
thoroughly  the  bull-dog  than  this?  The 
small  eyes  close  under  the  brows,  the  smooth 
bullet  forehead,  heavy  jaw,  and  snub  nose,  all 
are  essentially  of  the  bull-dog  breed,  and  at 
the  same  time  essentially  British.  Then  the 
mastiff,  with  the  double-bass  voice  and  the 
square  hanging  jaw ;  and  the  shabby-looking 
turnspit,  with  his  hair  staring  out  at  all  sides, 
and  his  eyes  drawn  up  to  its  roots  ;  and  the 
greyhound,  lean  of  rib  and  sharp  of  face  ;  and 
the  terrier— who  is  often  lawyer — with  a 
snarl  in  his  voice  afnd  a  kind  of  restlessness 
in  his  eye,  as  if  mentally  worrying  a  rat — his 
client ;  and  the  Skye,  all  beard  and  moustache 
and  glossy  curls,  with  a  plaintive  expression 
of  countenance  and  an  exceedingly  meek 
demeanour  ;  and  the  noble  old  Newfoundland 
dog,  perhaps  a  brave  old  soldier  from  active 
service,  who  is  chivalrous  to  women  and 
gentle  to  children,  and  who  repels  petty 
annoyances  with  a  grand  patience  that  is 
veritably  heroic.  Reader,  if  you  know  a 
Newfoundland-dog  man,  cherish  him,  stupid 
as  he  probably  will  be,  yet  he  is  worth  your 
love.  Then  we  have  horse-faced  men  ;  and 
men  like  camels,  with  quite  the  camel  lip  ; 
and  the  sheep-faced  man,  with  the  forehead 
retreating  from  his  long  energetic  nose — 
smooth*  men  without  whiskers,  and  with 
shining  hair  cut  close,  and  not  curling,  like 
pointers ;  the  lion-man,  he  Is  a  grand  fellow ; 
aod  the  bull-headed  man;  the  flat  serpent 
head ;  and  the  tiger's,  like  an  inverted  pyra- 


mid; the  giraffe's  lengthy  unhelpfolness ; 
and  the  sharp  red  face  of  the  fox.  Don't  we 
meet  men  like  these  at  every  step  we  take  in 
London? — and  if  we  know  any  such  inti- 
mately, don't  we  invariably  find  that  their 
characters  correspond  somewhat  with  their 
persons? 

The  women,  too— we  have  likenesses  for 
them     I  know  a  woman  who  might  have 
been  the  ancestress  of  all  the  rabbits  in  all 
the  hutches  in  England.     A    soft    downy- 
looking,  fair,  placid  woman,  with  long  hair 
looping  down  like  ears,  and  an  innocent  face 
of  mingled  timidiW  and  surprise.    She  is  a 
sweet-tempered    thing,    always    eating    or 
^sleeping ;  who  breathes  hard  when  she  goes 
upstairs,  and  who  has  as  few  brains  in  work- 
ing order  as  a  human  being  can  get  on  with. 
She  is  just  a  human  rabbit,  and   nothing 
more  ;  and  she  looks  like  one.    We  all  know 
the  settee-woman — the  best  of  all  the  types 
— graceful,    animated,  well-formed.  Intelli- 
gent, with  large  eyes  and  wavy  hair,  who 
walks  with  a  firm  tread  but  a   light  one, 
and  who  can  tum*her  hand  to  anything. 
The  true  setter-woman  is  always  married ; 
she    is    the    real    woman    of  the  world. 
Then  there  is  the  Blenheim  spaniel,  who 
covers  up  her  face  in  her  ringlets  and  holds 
down  her  head  when  she   talks,  and  who 
is  shy  and  timid.     And  there  is  the  grey- 
hound woman,  with  lantern-jaws  and  braided 
hair,  and  large  knuckles,  generally  rather 
distorted     There    is  the  cat  woman,  too; 
elegant,  stealthy,    clever,    caressing ;    who 
walks  without  noise  and  is  great  in  the  waj 
of  endearment.    No  limbs  are  so  supple  as 
hers,  no  backbone  so  wonderfully  pliant ;  no 
voice   so  sweet,  no  manners  so  endearing. 
She  extracts  your  secrets  from  you  before 
you  know  that  you  have  Spoken ;  and  half- 
an-hour's    conversation    with    that    grace- 
ful, purring  woman,   has  revealed  to  her 
every  most  dangerous  fact  it  has  been  your 
life's  study  to  hide,    The  cat  woman  is  a 
dangerous  animal.    She  has  claws  hidden  in 
that  velvet  paw,  and  she  can  draw    blood 
when  she  unsheathes  them.    Then   there  is 
the  cowfaced  woman,  generally  of  phlegmatic 
temperament   and    melancholy  disposition, 
given  to  pious  books  and  teetotalism.    And 
there   is    the  lurcher  woman,  the   strong- 
visaged,  strongminded  female,   who  wears 
rough  coats  with  men's  pockets  and  large 
bone  buttons,  and  whose  bonnets    fling  a 
spiteful  defiance  at  both  beauty  and  fashion. 
This  is  that  wonderful  creature  who  electrifies 
foreigners  by  climbing  their  mountains  in  a 
mongrel-kind  of  attire,  in  which  men's  cloth 
trowsers  form  the  most  striking  feature  ;  and 
who  goes  about  the  business  of  life   in  a 
rough,  grufl',  lurcher-like  fashion,  as  if  grace 
and  beauty  were  the  two  cardinal  sins  of 
womanhood  and  she  were  on  a'*  mission*'  to  pat 
them  down.    This  is  not  a  desirable  animal. 
Wo  have  women  like  merino  sheep ;   they 
wear  their  hair  over  their  eyes  and  hx  on  to 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ChATlca  Diekent.] 


PASSIN6  FACES. 


263 


their  neoks.  And  women  like  poodle  dogs, 
wiUi  fuzzy  heads  and  round  eyes ;  women 
like  kangaroos,  witli  short  arms  and  a  clumsy 
kiad  of  hop  when  they  walk  ;  and  we  have 
active,  intelligent  little  women,  with  just  the 
fkintest  suspicion  of  a  rat's  face  on  them  as 
they  look  watchfully  after  the  servants  and 
inspect  the  mysteries  of  the  jam  closet 
Then  there  are  pretty  little  loving  marmoset 
faces.  I  know  the  very  transcript  of  that 
gold-haired  Silky  Tamarin  in  the  Zoolo- 
gical Gardens.  It  is  a  gentle,  plaintive, 
loving  creature,  with  large  liquid  brown  eyes, 
that  have  always  a  tear  behind  them  and  a 
look  of  soft  reproach  in  them :  its  hair  hangs 
In  a  profusion  of  golden-brown  curls — 
not  curls  so  much  as  a  mass  of  waving 
tresses ;  it  is  a  creeping,  nestling,  clinging 
thiog,  that  seems  as  if  it  wants  alwavs  to 
bury  itself  in  some  one's  arms— as  if  the 
world  outside  were  all  too  large  and  cold 
for  it  There  is  the  horisefaced  woman, 
too,  as  well  as  the  horsefaced  man;  and 
there  is  the  turnspit  woman,  with  her  ragged 
head  and  blunt  common  nose.  In  fact, 
there  are  female  varieties  of  all  the  male 
tvpes  we  have  mentioned,  excepting,  perhaps, 
the  lion  woman.  I  have  never  seen  a  true 
lioD-headed  woman,  excepting  in  that  black 
B^ryp^iftQ  figure,  sitting  with  her  hands  on 
her  two  Icnees,  and  grinning  grimly  on  the 
Museum  world,  as  Bubastis,  the  lion-headed 
goddess  of  the  Nile. 

Well,  then,  as  we  walk  throneh  London, 
we  have  two  subjects  of  contemplation  in  the 
passing  faces  hurrying  by — their  races  and 
their  likenesses.  Now  to  their  social  condition 
and  their  histories,  stamped  on  them  as  legibly 
as  arms  are  painted  on  a  carriage-panel. 

In  the  city  alone  are  several  varieties  of 
oar  modem  Englishman.  There  are  the- 
smart  men,  who  wear  jaunty  hats  and  well- 
trimmed  moustaches ;  who  drive  to  their 
places  of  business  in  cabs  with  tigers,  and 
who  evidently  think  they  are  paying  com- 
merce a  compliment  by  making  their  for- 
tunes out  of  it  And  there  are  the  staid 
respectable,  city  men,  who  live  in  the 
snburbs  ride  in  omnibuses,  and  wear  great 
coats  of  superseded  cut ;  who  carry  umbrellas, 
shaven  chins,  and  national  whiskers,  and  are 
emphatically  the  city  men.  And  there  are 
equivocal-looking  men,  who  are  evidentlv 
unsubstantial  speculators  without  capital, 
and  who  trade  on  airy  thousands  when  thev 
want  money  enough  to  buy  a  dinner.  Don^t 
we  all  know  these  men,  with  their  keen  faces 
and  bad  hats,  their  eager  walk  and  trowsers 
bulged  out  at  the  knees  ?  DonH  we  all  know 
the  very  turn  of  their  black  satin  handker- 
chief pinned  with  that  paste  pin — a  claw 
holdin|^  a  pearl — all  sham,  every  bit  of  it, 
excepting  the  claw,  which  is  allegorical — and 
folded  so  as  to  hide  the  soiled  and  crumpled 
shirt?  DonH  we  see  by  their  very  boots 
that  they  are  men  of  straw  7  For,  by  right 
of  unpaid  biUs,  the  landlady  is  impertinent 


or  the  servant  dlsremeotfU,  and  these  neces- 
sary coverings  are  therefore  left  in  a  dusty 
and  unenlightened  condition.  These  are 
the  men  who  are  the  curse  of  the  commer- 
cial world.  Unscrupulous,  shifty,  careless 
of  th^  ruin  which  their  false  schemes  may 
bring  on  their  dupes  when  the  bubble  bursts 
and  the  day  of  reckoning  comes.  In  the 
city,  too,  about  the  doors  of  the  banks  and 
ofBces  an^  the  city  clubs,  are  standing  old 
men  dirtv  and  worn.  Perhaps  they  were 
once  clerks  in  Uie  very  oflSces  at  the  doors 
of  which  they  now  lounge  to  serve  any 
cab  or  carriage  that  may  drive  up.  Ton 
never  see  such  men  anywhere  but  in  the 
city ;  not  with  the  same  amount  of  hitelli- 
gence  and  abject  poverty  combined.  In 
better  days  they  may  perhaps  have  shovelled 
you  out  gold  in  shining  scoops  or  have 
checked  your  cash-book  for  thousands. 

Then  there  are  Jews;   with  that  clever 
sensual,  crafty  countenance,  which  contains 
the  epitome  of  the  whole  Hebrew  history: 
with  their  jewellery  and  flashy  dress.     Ana 
there    are   young   thieves,  with   downcast 
eyes  and  a  wholesome  fear  of  the  policeman ; 
iKit  every  now  and  then  a  sharp  glance  that 
seems  to  take  in  a  whole  world  of  purses  and 
pockets,  and  to  subtract  your  money  like 
,  magic  from  vour  hand.  These  have  generally 
an  older  lad,  a  young  man,  lounging  near 
J  them.    Ton  would  scarcely  believe  him  their 
companion,  he  looks  so  staid  and  respectable ; 
I  but  he  is.    The  yonng  thieves  are  not  con- 
fined to  the  city,  unhappily.    You  see  them 
everywhere.     Turning  vaguely  down  any 
I  street  where  they  think  they  see  a  victim ; 
I  walking  without  aim  or  purpose  or  business 
1  in  their  walk ;  dressed  incongruously — with 
I  some  one,  or  perhaps  two  articles  of  dress 
perfectly  good,  and  the   rest   in   tatters; 
bearing  nu  signs  of  special  trade  or  of  work 
about  them;  a  strange  kind  of  cunning, 
rather  than  of  intelligence,  in  their  fiuies : 
these  are  the  marks  of  the  thieves. 
I     Tnming  westward,  carriages  and  mous- 
I  taches  increase  ;  queerly  dressed  people  and 
I  carts  decrease.  You  see  fewer  policemen,  as 
such ;  but  more  acute-looking  men  in  plain 
clothes,  on  the  look  out  for  evidence  or  a 
criminal.    And  you  see  more  ladies.    Here 
i  is  one  in  all  the  pride  of  her  new  maternity, 
walking  with  nurse  by  her  side  carrying 
'  baby  in  a  maze  of  ribbons,  laces,  and  em- 
,  broidery.     Sometimes  it  is  a  blue   baby, 
I  sometimes  a  pink  one,  or  a  light  green  or 
!  a  stone  colour ;  not  often  a  white  one  in 
;  London,  because  of  the  soot     You  read 
in  the  face  of  this  young  wife   pleasant 
>  revelations  of  love  and  happiness,  with  all  the 

floss  of  newness  on  the  marriage  ring  as  yet. 
on  read  of  a  pretty  home,  with  the  clean 
bright  furniture  arranged  like  prettv  play- 
things, and  re-arranged  almost  daily  ;  of 
sisters  coming  to  stay,  full  of  pride  and  love, 
and  thinking  Henry  the  most  charming 
brother  possible. 


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264 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


Toa  meet  the  strong-minded  wonuui  always, 
and  always  cecognisable  under  her  yarioos 
disguises— the  ^nrcber  still  and  ever.  And 
you  meet  the  silly  little  woman  whose  bon- 
nets are  farther  off  her  head,  whose  petticoats 
are  longer — especially  in  dirty  weather — and 
whose  cloaks  are  shorter,  than  everybody's 
else ;  orange  girls  with  bloated  faces,  flat- 
tened bonnets,  and  torn  shawls ;  butter  boys 
with  greasy  jaolcets;  butcher  bQvs  with 
greaay  hair ;  newspaper  bo^,  impndent  and 
vocal ;  ragged  school  boys  m  red  jackets  or 
green,  cleaning  your  honour's  shoes  for  a 
peony, 'and  with  a  strange  expression  of  hope 
and  redemption  in  their  faces;  tigers,  pages 
—all  buttons  and  silver  lace,  poor  monkeys ; 
vulgar  boys,  coming  from  school ;  charity 
schoolboys,  dressed  out  of  all  reason ;  for- 
eigners with  beards,  hooded  cloaks,  slouched 
hats,  and  smoking ;  artists  imitating  them — 
very  badly ;  shopmen,  oily  and  pert ;  country 
clergymen  up  for  the  day,  with  a  train  of 
women  the  reverse  of  fashionable ;  guards- 
men ;  soldiers,  lately  in  old-fashioned  hunting- 
coats;  footmen;  workmen,  all  lime  and 
paint ;  pretty  girls  and  lovely  children ;  this 
IS  the  London  world  as  seen  in  the  London 
streets,  and  met  with  every  day. 

And  what  a  world  it  is,  as  it  passes  so 
swiftly  by !  The  hopes,  the  joys,  the  deadly 
fears ;  the  triumph  here,  the  ruin  there ;  the 
quiet  heroism,  the  secret  sin — what  a  tumult 
of  human  passions  burning  like  fire  in  the 
volcano  of  human  life  I  Look  at  that  pale 
woman,  with  red  eyes,  sunken  cheeks,  and 
that  painful  thinness  of  the  shabby  genteel. 
She  is  the  wife  of  a  gambler,  once  an  honour- 
able and  a  wealthy  man,  now  sunk  to  the 
lowest  depths  of  moral  degradation — fast 
sinking  to  the  lowest  depths  of  social  poverty 
as  well.  He  came  home  last  night,  half  mad. 
The  broad  bruise  on  her  shoulder  beneath 
that  flimsy  shawl  would  tell  its  own  tale,  if 
you  saw  it.  Her  husband's  hand  used  once 
to  fall  in  a  softer  fashion  there  than  it  fell 
last  night.  She  has  come  to-day  to  pawn 
some  of  her  clothes;  the  first  time  in  her 
miserable  career  that  this  task  has  been  forced 
on  her :  by  this  day  next  year  she  will  have 
known  every  pawnbroker's  shop  in  the 
quarter.  Lucky  for  her,  if  she  does  not  come  to 
know  every  ginshop  as  well!  This  little 
woman  laughing  in  the  shrill  voice,  ran  away 
from  her  home  a  year  ago.  She  is  laughing 
now  to  choke  bacK  the  tears  which  gushed  to 
her  strained  eyes  as  the  baby  in  the  white 
long  cloak  was  carried  by.  She  left  one 
about  the  same  age,  on  the  hot  summer's 
night  when  she  fled  f^om  all  that  good  men 
reverence.  Those  tears  show  that  conscience 
is  not  all  dead  within  her  yet.  Poor  mother  I 
the  day  will  come  when  that  false  laughter 
will  no  longer  choke  back  those  pemtent 


sobs;  when  you  will  forget  to  smile,  and 
learn  to  weep  and  pray  1  The  downcast  man 
stalking  moodily  along  has  just  lost  his  last 
farthing  on  the  Stock  Exchange.  He  is  going 
home  now  to  break  the  news  to  his  wife,  and 
to  arrange  for  a  flight  acros  the  GhanneL 
He,  this  moment  jostling  him,  was  married 
last  week  to  an  heiress,  and  a  pretty  one  too : 
he  is  humHiing  an  opera  tune  as  he  walks 
briskly  home  to  his  temporary  lodgings,  and 
wondering  what  people  can  find  in  life  to 
make  them  so  miserable  and  dull !  For  his 
part,  he  finds  this  world  a  jolly  place  enon^ ; 
and  so  might  others  too,  if  thej^  chose,  be 
says.  That  pale  yonth  sauntering  feebly, 
dined  out  last  night,  and  woke  with  a  head- 
ache this  morning.  He  wears  a  glass  in  hia 
eye,  and  is  qualifying  himself  for  manliness 
and^death,  by  a  coutsa  of  dissipation.  He 
has  just  come  to  his  fortune,  which  he  won't 
ei^oy  many  years,  unless  he  fiuds  out  that  he 
is  living  the  life  of  a  fool — and  he  must  grow 
wiser  l>efore  he  can  find  out  that.  The  clean 
respectable  woman  of  middle  age  is  a  gen- 
tleman's  housekeeper  coming  from  her  visits 
among  the  poor.  She  has  just  taken 
some  wine  to  a  sick  woman  down  in  a 
filthy  street  in  Westminster,  -and  some 
socks  and  flannel  to  a  family  of  destitute 
children.  There  is  much  more  of  this  kind  of 
charity  than  we  see  on  the  surface  of  society ; 
though  still  not  so  much  as  is  wanted.  The 
sweet-looking  girl  walking  alone,  and  dressed 
all  in  dove-colour,  is  an  authoress ;  and  the 
man  with  bright  eyes  and  black  hair,  who  has 
just  lifted  his  hat  to  her  and  walks  on,  with  a 
certain  slouch  in  his  shoulders  that  belongs  to 
a  man  of  business,  is  an  autiior,  and  an  editor ; 
a  pope,  a  Jupiter,  a  czar  in  his  own  domain, 
against  whose  flat  there  is  neither  redress 
nor  appeal  No  despotism  is  equal  to  the 
despotism  of  an  editor. 

Past  the  Circus — ^up  Regent  Street,  lin- 
gering to  look  at  some  of  the  beau ti  nil  things 
set  up  in  the  windows — through  OxfoM 
Street,  and  towards  the'  Marble  Arch — 
crowds  on  crowds  still  meet ;  and  face  after 
face,  full  of  meaning,  turned  towards  you  as 
you  pass ;  signs  of  all  nations  and  races  of 
men  pass  you,  unknown  of  all  and  to  them- 
selves whence  they  came ;  beasts  and  birds 
dressed  in  human  form ;  tragedies  in  broad- 
cloth, farces  in  rags;  passions  sweeping 
through  the  air  like  tropical  storms,  and 
silent  virtues  stealing  by  like  moonlight : 
Lira,  in  all  its  boundless  power  of  joy  and 
suflering — this  is  the  great  picture-book  to  be 
read  in  London  streets ;  these  are  the  wild 
notes  to  be  listened  to ;  this  the  strange  mass 
of  pathos,  poetry,  caricature,  and  beauty 
which  lie  heaped  up  together  withoat  order 
or  distinctive  heading,  and  which  men 
endorse  as  Society  and  the  World.' 


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*'Ibmai(trmthmrMouthta9BOU8EffOLD  WORDS?' 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
COHOUCTED   BT   CHAKIES   BICKBHS. 


No.  12.] 


J.   A.  DIX,   PUBLISHER, 

Ornoi,  No.  10  Pa*»  PbAoa,  K  ■«•¥••>. 


[Wholb  No.  266. 


THE  THOUSAND  AND  ONE. 
HUMBUGS. 

Ktbrtbodt  is  acquainted  with  that  enchant- 
ing collection  of  stories,  the  Thousand  and 
One  Nights,  better  known  In  England  as 
the  Arabian  Nights'  Entertainments.  Most 
people  know  that  these  wonderful  fancies  are 
unquestionable  of  genuine  Eastern  origin,  and 
are  to  be  found  in  Arabic  manuscripts  now 
existing  in  the  Vatican,  in  Paris,  in  London, 
and  in  Oxford;  tha  last-named  city  being 
particu]%rly  distinguished  in  this  connection, 
as  posseiBsing,  in  the  library  o£  Christchurch, 
a  manuscript  of  the  never  to  ^  forgotten 
Voyages  of  Sinbad  the  Sailor. 

The  civilised  world  is  indebted  to  France 
for  a  vast  amount  of  its  possessions,  and 
among  the  rest  for  the  first  opening  to  Europe 
of  this  gorgeous  storehouse  of  Eastern  riches. 
So  well  did  M.  Galland,  the  original  trans- 
lator, perform  his  task,  that  when  Mr.  Wonx- 
LBT  MoN'TAGUB  brought  homc  the  manuscript 
now  in  the  Bodleian  Library,  there  was  found 
(poetical  quotations  excepted),  to  be  very 
little,  and  that  of  a  very  inferior  kind,  to  add 
to  what  M.  Galland  had  already  made  per- 
fectly familiar  to  France  and  England. 

Thus  much  as  to  the  Thousand  and  One 
Nights,  we  recal,  by  way  of  introduction  to 
the  discovery  we  are  about  to  announce. 

There  has  lately  fallen  into  our  hands,  a 
manuscript  in  the  Arabic  Character  (with 
which  we  are  perfectly  acquainted),  contain- 
ing a  variety  of  stories  extremely  similar  in 
structure  and  incident  to  the  Thousand  and 
One  Nights  ;  but  presenting  the  strange  fea- 
ture that  although'  they  are  evidently  of  an- 
cient origin,  they  have  a  curious  accidental 
bearing  on  the  present  time.  Allowing  for  the 
difference  of  manners  and  customs,  it  would 
often  seem — were  it  not  for  the  manifest  im- 
possibility of  such  prophetic  knowledge  in 
any  mere  man  or  men — that  they  were  writ- 
ten expressly  with  an  eye  to  events  of  the 
current  age.  We  have  referred  the  manu- 
script (which  may  be  seen  at  our  office  on  the 
first  day  of  April  in  every  year,  at  precisely 
four  o^clock  in  the  morning),  to  the  profound- 
est  Oriental  Scholars  of  England  and  France, 
who  are  no  less  sensible  than  we  are  ourselves 
of  this  remarkable  coincidence,  and  are  equal- 
ly at  a  loss  to  account  for  it.  They  are  agreed, 
_       VOL.  »i. 


we  may  observe,  on  the  propriety  of  our  ren- 
dering the  title  iiP  the  words.  The  Thousand 
and  One  Humbugs.  For,  although  the  East- 
ern story-tellers  do  not  appe^  to  have  pos- 
sessed any  word,  or  combination  of  parts  of 
words,  precisely  answering  to  the  modem 
English  Humbug  (which,  indeed,  they  expref»- 
ed  by  the  figurative  phrase,  A  Camel  made  of 
sand),  there  is  no  doubt  that  they  were  con- 
versant with  so  common  a  thing,  and  further 
that  the  thing  was  expressly  meant  to  be  de- 
signated in  the  general  title  of  the  Arabic 
manuscript  now  before  us.  Dispensing  with 
further  explanation,  we  at  once  commence 
the  specimens  we  shall  occasionally  present, 
of  this  literary  curiosity. 

INTBODUCTOAT  CHAPTER. 

Among  the  ancient  Kings  of  Persia  who 
extended  their  glorious  conquests  into  the 
Indies,  and  far  beyond  the  famous  River 
Ganges,  even  to  the  limits  of  China,  Taxed- 
TAURU8  (or  Fleeced  Bull)  was  Incomparably 
the  most  renowned.  He  was  so  rich  that 
he  scorned  to  undertake  the  humblest  enter- 
prise without  inaugurating  it  by  ordering  his 
Treasurers  to  throw  several  millions  of  pieces 
of  gold  into  the  dirt.  For  the  same  reason 
he  attached  no  value  to  his  foreign  posses- 
sions, but  merely  used  them  as  play-things 
for  a  little  while,  and  then  always  threw 
them  away  or  lost  them. 

This  wise  Sultan,  though  blessed  with  in- 
nnmcrable  sources  of  happine^  was  afflicted 
with  one  fruitful  cause  of  discontent.  He 
had  been  married  many  scores  of  times,  yet 
had  never  found  a  wife  to  suit  him.  Although 
he  had  raised  to  the  dignity  of  Howsa  Kum- 
mauns*  (or  Peerless  Chatterer),  a  great  va- 
riety of  beautiful  creatures,  not  only  of  the 
lineage  of  the  high  nobles  of  .his  court,  but 
also  selected  from  other  classes  of  his  sub- 
jects, the  result  had  uniformly  been  the  same. 
They  proved  unfaithful,  brazen,  talkative, 
idle,  extravagant,  inefficient,  and  boastful. 
Thus  it  naturally  happened  that  a  HoWsa 
Kummauns  verv  rarely  died  a  natural  death, 
but  \ias  generally  cut  short  in  some  violent 
manner. 

At  length,  the  young  and  lovely  Reefawm 
(that  is  to  say  Light  of  Reason),  the  youngest 

*  Sounded  like  Hoom  o'  Oommons. 
266 


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266 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCoodnetod  by 


and  fairest  of  all  the  Saltan's  wives,  and  to 
whom  he  had  looked  with  hope  to  recom- 
pense him  for  his  many  disappointments, 
made  aq  bad  a  Howsa  Kummaans  as  any  of 
the  rest  The  unfortunate  Taxedtanrus  took 
this  so  much  to  heart  that  he  fell  into  a  pro- 
found melancholy,  secluded  himself  from  ob- 
servation, and  for  some  time  was  so  seldom 
seen  or  heard  of  that  many  of  his  great  offi- 
cers of  state  supposed  him  to  be  dead. 

Shall  I  never,  said  the  unhappy  Monarch, 
beating  his  breast  in  his  retirement  in 
the  Pavilion  of  Failure,  and  giving  vent 
to  his  tears,  find  a  Howsa  ICummauns, 
who  will  be  true  to  me !  He  then  quoted 
ftom  the  Poet,  certain  verses  import- 
ing, Every  Howsa  Kummftuns  has  deceived 
me.  Every  Howsa  Kummauns  is  a  Hum- 
bug, I  must  ^ay  the  present  Howsa  Kum- 
mauns as  I  have  slain  so  many  others,  I  am 
brought  to  shame  and  mortification,  I  am 
despised  by  the  world.  After  which  his 
grief  BO  averpot^ered  him,  that  he  fainted 
away. 

It  happened  that  on  recovering  his  senses 
he  heard  the  voice  of  the  last-made  Howsa 
Kummauns,  in  the  Divan  adjoining.  Applying 
his  ear  to  the  lattice,  and  finding  that  that 
shameless  Prinoess  was  vaunting  her  loyalty 
and  virtue,  and  denying  the  host  of  facts— 
which  she  always  did,  all  night— the  Sultan 
drew  his  scimitar  in  a  fury,  resolved  to  put 
an  end  to  her  existence.  .«' 

But,  the  Grand  Vizier  Parmarstoon  (or 
Twirling  Weathercock),  who  was  at  that 
moment  watching  bis  incensed  master  from 
behind  the  silken  curtains  of  the  Pavilion  of 
Failure,  hurried  forward  and  prostrated  him- 
self, trembling,  on  the  ground.  This  Vizier 
had  newly  succeeded  to  Abadden  (or  the 
Addled),  who  had  for  his  misdeeds  been 
strangled  with  a  garter. 

The  breath  of  the  slave,  said  the  Vizier,  is 
in  the  hands  of  his  Lord,  but  the  Lion  will 
sometimes  deign  to  listen  to  the  crofUsiuff  of 
the  frog.  I  swear  to  thee.  Vizier,  replied 
the  Sultan,  that  I  have  borne  too  much 
already  and  will  bear  no  more.  Thou  and 
the  Howsa  Kummauns  are  in  one  story, 
and  by  the  might  of  Allah  and  the  beard 
of  the  Prophet,  I  have  a  mind  to  destroy  ye 
both  I  ^  ^ 

When  the  Vizier  heard  the  Sultan  thus 
menace  him  with  destruction,  his  heart 
drooped  within  him.  But,  being  a  brisk  and 
ready  man,  though  stricken  in  years,  he 
ouoted  certain- lines  from  the  Poet,  implying 
that  the  thunder-cloud  often  spares  the  leaf 
or  there  would  be  no  fruit,  and  touched  the 
ground  with  his  forehead  in  token  of  sub- 
mission. What  wouldst  thou  sav  ?  demanded 
the  generous  Prince,  1  gi?e  thee  leave  to 
speak.  Thou  art  not  unaccustomed  to  public 
speakine ;  speak  glibly  I  Sire,  returned  the 
Vizier,  but  for  the  dread  of  the  might  of  my 
Lord,  I  would  reply  in  the  words  addressed 
by  the  ignorant  man  to  the  Genie.  And  what  | 


were  those  words?  demanded  the  Sultan. 
Repeat  them  1  Parmarstoon  replied.  To  hear 
is  to  obey  : 

THE  8T0RT  Of  THl  IGNORAMT  MAN  AXD 
THB   OBNIK. 

Sire,  on  the  barbarous  confines  of  the 
kingdom  of  the  Tartars,  there  dwelt  an 
ignorant  man,  who  was  obliged  to  make  a 
journey  through  the  Great  Desert  of  Desola- 
tion 'j  which,  as  your  Majesty  knows,  is  some- 
times a  journey  of  upwards  of  three  score 
and  ten  years.  He  bade  adieu  to  bis  mother 
verv  early  in  the  morning,  and  departed 
without  a  guide,  ragged,  barefoot,  and  alone. 
He  found  the  way  surprisingly  steep  and 
rugS^d,  and  beset  by  vile  serpents  and 
strange  unintelligible  creatures  of  horrible 
shapes.  It  was  likewise  full  of  black  bogs 
and  pits,  into  which  he  not  only  fell  himself, 
but  often  had  the  misfortune  to  drag  other 
travellers  whom  he  encountered,  and  who 
got  out  no  more,  but  were  miserably  stifled. 

Sire,  on  the  fourteenth  day  of  the  journey 
of  the  ignorant  man  of  the  kingdom  of  the 
Tartars,  he  sat  down  to  rest  by  the  side  of  a 
foul  well  (being  unable  to  find  a  better),  and 
there  cracked  for  a  repast,  as  he  best  could,  a 
very  hard  nut^  which  was  all  he  had  about 
him.  He  threw  the  shell  anywhere  as  he 
stripped  it  off,  and  having  made  an  end  of  his 
meal  arose  to  wander  on  again,  when  sud- 
denly the  air  was  darkened,  he  heard  a  fright- 
ful cry,  and  saw  a  monstrous  Genie,  of  gn^aa- 
tic  stature,  who  brandished  a  mighty  scime- 
tar  in  a  hand  of  iron,  advancing  towards 
him.  Rise,  ignorant  beast,  said  the  monster, 
as  he  drew  nigh,  that  I,  Law,  may  kill  thee 
for  having  anronted  my  ward.  Alas,  my 
lord,  returned  the  ignorant  migi,  how  can  I 
have  afih>nted  thy  ward  whom  I  never  saw  ? 
He  is  invisible  to  thee,  returned  the  Genie, 
because  thou  art  a  benighted  barbarian  ;  but 
if  thou  hadst  ever  learnt  any  good  thing 
thou  wouldst  have  seen  him  plainly,  and 
wouldst  have  respected  him.  Lord  of  my 
life,  pleaded  the  traveller,  how  could  I  learn 
where  there  were  none  to  teach  me,  and  how 
affront  thy  ward  whom  I  have  not  the  power 
to  see  ?  I  tell  thee,  returned  the  Crenie,  that 
with  thy  pernicious  reftise  thou  hast  struck 
my  ward,  Prince  Socieetee,  in  the  apple  of 
the  eye  ;  and  because  thou  hast  done  this,  I 
will  be  tbv  ruin.  I  maim  and  kill  the  like  of 
thee  by  thousands  every  year,  for  no  other 
crime.  And  shall  I  spare  thee  f  Kneel  and 
receive  the  blow. 

Your  Majesty  will  believe  (continued  the 
Grand  Vizier)  that  ^e  ignorant  man  of  the 
kingdom  of  the  Tartars,  gave  himself  up  for 
lost  when  he  heard  those  cruel  words.  With- 
out so  much  as  repeating  the  formula  of  our 
faith^There  is  but  one  Allah,  from  him  we 
come,  to  him  we  must  return,  and  who  shall 
resist  his  will  (for  he  was  too  ignorant  even  to 
have  heard  it),  he  bent  his  neck  to  receive  the 
fatal  stroke.  His  head  rolled  olTas  he  finished 


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267 


Baying  these  words :  Dread  Law,  if  thou 
hadst  taken  half  the  pains  to  teach  me  to  dis- 
cern thy  ward  that  thoa  hast  taken  to  avenge 
him,  thou  hadst  been  spared  the  great  account 
to  which  I  summon  thee ! 

Taxedtaams  the  Saltan  of  Persia  listened 
attentively  to  this  recital  on  the  part  of  his 
Grand  Vizier,  and  when  it  was  concluded 
said,  with  a  threatening  brow,  Expound  to 
me,  0,  nephew  of  a  doaj  I  the  points  of  resem- 
blance between  the  Tiger  and  the  Nightin- 
gale, and  what  thy  ignorant  man  of  the 
accursed  kingdom  of  the  Tartars  has  to  do 
with  the  false  Howsa  Kummauns  and  the 
glib  Vizier  Parmarstoon?  While  speaking 
he  again  raised  his  glittering  scimetar.  Let 
not  my  master  sully  the  sole  of  his  foot  by 
crushing  an  insect,  returned  the  Vizier,  kiss- 
ing the  ground  seven  times ;  I  mean  but  to 
ol^  up  a  petition  from  the  dust,  that  the 
Light  of  the  eyes  of  the  Faithful  would,  before 
striking,  deign  to  hear  my  daugher.  What 
of  thy  daughter?  said  the  Sultan  impatiently, 
and  why  should  I  hear  thy  daughter  any 
more  than  the  daughter  of  the  dirtiest  of  the 
dustmen?  Sire,  returned  the  Vizier,  I  am 
dirtier  than  the  dirtiest  of  the  dustmen  in 
yoar  Majesty's  sight,  but  my  daughter  is 
deeply  read  in  the  history  of  every  Howsa 
Kummauns  who  has  aspired  to  your  Sfajesty^s 
favour  during  many  years,  and  if  your 
Majesty  would  condescend  to  hear  some  of 

the  Legends  she  has  to  relate,  they  might 

What  dost  thou  call  thy  daughter  ?  demanded 
the  Saltan,  interrupting.  Hansardadade,  re- 
plied the  Vizier.  Go,  said  the  Sultan,  bring  her 
hither.  I  spare  thy  life  until  thou  shalt  return. 

The  Grand  Vizier  Parmarstoon,  on  receiv- 
ing the  injunction  to  brine  his  daughter  Han- 
sardadade into  the  royal  presence,  lost  no 
time  in  repairing  to  his  palace  which  was  but 
across  the  Sultan's  gardens,  and  going  straight 
to  the  women's  apartments,  found  Hansarda- 
dade snrrounded  by  a  numbes  of  old  women 
who  were  all  consulting  her  at  once.  In  truth, 
this  affable  Princess  was  perpetually  being 
referred  to,  by  all  manner  of  old  women. 
Hastilv  causing  her  attendants,  when  she 
heard  ner  father's  errand,  to  attire  her  in  her 
fine^tt  dress  which  outsparkled  the  sun ;  and 
bidding  her  young  sister,  Brothartoon,  (or 
Chamber  Candlestick),  to  make  similar  prepa- 
rations and  accompany  her ;  the  daughter  of 
the  Grand  Vizier  soon  covered  herself  with  a 
rich  v^il,  and  said  to  her  father,  with  a  low 
obeisance,  Sir,  I  am  ready  to  attend  you,  to 
my  Lord,  the  Commander  of  the  Faithful. 

The  Grand  Vizier,  and  his  daughter  Han- 
sardadade, and  her  young  sister  Brothartoon, 
preceded  by  Mistaspeeka,  a  black  mute,  the 
Chief  of  the  officers  of  the  royal  Seraglio, 
went  across  the  Sultan's  gardens  by  the  way 
the  Vizier  had  come,  and  arriving  at  the 
Sultan's  palace,  found  that  monarch  on  his 
throne  surrounded  by  his  principal  counsellors 
and  offloers  of  state.  They  all  four  prostrated 


themselves  at  a  distance,  and  waited  the  Sul* 
tan's  pleasure.  That  gracious  prince  was 
troubled  in  his  mind  when  he  commanded 
the  fair  Hansardadade  (who,  on  the  whole, 
was  very  fair  indeed),  to  approach,  for  he 
had  sworn  an  oath  in  the  Vizier's  absence 
from  which  he  could  not  depart.  Never- 
theless, as  it  must  be  kept,  he  proceeded 
to  announce  it  before  the  assembly.  Vizier, 
said  he,  thou  hast  brought  thy  daughter 
here,  as  possessing  a  large  stock  of  Howsa 
Kummauns  experience,  in  the  hop^  of  her 
relating  something  that  may  soften  me  under 
mv  accumulated  wrongs.  Know  that  I  have 
solemly  sworn  that  if  her  stories  fail — as 
I  believe  they  will — to  mitigate  my  wrath, 
I  will  have  her  burned  and  her  ashes  cast  to 
the  winds !  Also,  I  will  strangle  thee  and  the 
present  Howsa  Kummauns,  and  will  take  a 
new  one  every  day  and  strangle  her  as  soon  at 
taken,  until  I  find  a  good  and  true  one. 
Parmarstoon  replied,  To  hear  is  to  obey. 

Hansardadade  then  took  a  one-stringed  lute, 
and  sang  a  lengthened  song  in  prose.  Its  pur- 
port was,  I  am  the  recorder  of  brilliant  elo- 
quence. I  am  the  chronicler  of  patriotism,  I  am 
the  pride  of  sages,  and  the  joy  of  nations.  The 
continued  salvation  of  the  country  is  owing 
to  what  I  preserve,  and  without  it  there  would 
be  no  business  done.  Sweet  are  the  voices  of 
the  crow  and  chough,  and  Persia  never  never 
never  can  have  words  enough.  At  the  con- 
clusion of  thi:  delightful  strain,  the  Sultan 
and  the  whole  divan  were  so  faint  with  rap- 
ture that  they  remained  in  a  comatose  state 
for  seven  hours. 

Would  your  Majesty,  said  Hansardadade 
when  all  were  at  length  recovered,  prefer 
first  to  hear  the  story  of  the  Wonderful 
Camp,  or  the  story  of  the  Talkative  Barber, 
or  the  story  of  Scarli  Tapa  and  the  Forty 
Thieves?  I  would  have  thee  commence, 
replied  the  Sultan,  with  the  story  of  the  Forty 
Thieves. 

Hansardadade  began,  Sire,  there  was  once  a 
poor  relation — when  Brothartoon  interposed. 
Dear  sister,  cried  Brothartoon,  it  is  now  past 
midnight,  it  will  be  shortly  daybreak,  and  if 
you  are  not  asleep,  you  ought  to  be.  I  pray  you 
dear  sister,  by  all  means  to  hold  your  tonguo 
to-night,  and  if  mv  Lord  the  Sultan  will  suffer 
you  to  live  another  day,  you  can  talk  to- 
morrow. The  Sultan  arose  with  a  clouded 
face,  but  went  out  without  giving  any  orders 
for  the  execution. 

SISTER  ROSE. 

IN  SEVEN  CHAPTERS. — CHAPTER  IV. 

The  head-gaoler  of  St.  Lazare  stood  in 
the  outer  hall  of  the  prison,  two  days  after 
the  arrest  at  Trudaine's  lodgings,  smoking 
his  morning  pipe.  Looking  towards  the 
court-yard  gate,  he  saw  the  wicket  opened, 
and  a  privileged  man  let  in,  whom  he  soon 
recognised  as  the  chief-agent  of  the  second 
section  of  Secret  Police.  '*  Why,  firiend  Lo- 
maque,"  cried  the  gaoler,  advancing  towards 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


the  coart-yard,  ^  what  brings  you  hert  this 
morning,  bosineflB,  or  pleasure  ?  " 

**  Plearare,  this  time,  citizen.  I  bare  an 
idle  hour  or  two  to  spare  for  a  walk.  I 
find  myself  passing  the  prison,  and  I  can't 
resist  calling  in  to  see  bow  my  friend 
the  head-gaoler  is  getting  on/'  Lomaqne 
spoke  in  a  surprisingly  brisk  and  airy 
manner.  His  eyes  were  suffering  under  a 
violent  fit  of  weakne»  and  winking ;  but  he 
smiled,  notwithstanding,  with  an  air  of  the 
most  inteterate  cheerfulness.  Those  old  ene- 
mies of  his,  who  always  distrusted  him  most 
when  his  eyes  were  most  affected,  would 
have  certainly  disbelieved  every  word  of 
the  friendly  speech  he  had  just  made,  and 
would  have  assumed  it  as  a  matter  of  fact 
that  his  visit  to  the  head-gaoler  had  some 
specially  underhand  business  at  the  bottom 
of  it 

''  How  am  I  getting  on  ? "  said  the  gaoler, 
shaking  his  head.  "  Overworked,  friend — 
otverworked.  No  idle  hours  in  our  depart- 
ment. Even  the  guillotine  is  getting  too  slow 
for  us?" 

•'  Sent  off  your  batch  of  prisoners  for  trial 
this  morning?"  asked  Lomaque,  with  an 
appearance  of  perfect  unconcern. 

*•  No ;  they're  just  going,"  answered  the 
other.  '*Come  and  have  a  look  at  them." 
He  spoke  as  if  the  prisoners  were  a  collection 
of  pictures  on  view,  or  a  set  of  dresses  just 
made  up.  Lomaque  nodded  his  head,  still 
with  bis  air  of  happy  holiday  carelessness. 
The  gaoler  led  the  way  to  an  inner  hall ;  and, 
pointing  lazily  with  his  pipe-stem,  said; 
**  Our  morning  batch,  citizen,  just  ready  for 
the  baking." 

In  one  comer  of  the  hall  were  huddled 
together  more  than  thirty  men  and  women, 
of  all  ranks  and  ages ;  some  staring  round 
them,  with  looks  of  blank  despair ;  some 
laughing  and  gossiping,  recklessly.  Near 
them  lounged  a  guard  of  "  Patriots,"  smok- 
ing, spitting,  and  swearing.  Between  the 
patriots  and  the  prisoners  sat,  on  a  ricketty 
stool,  the  second  gaoler— a  humpbacked  man, 
with  an  immense  red  moustachio — finishing 
his  breakfast  of  broad  beans,  which  he 
scooped  out  of  a  basin  with  his  knife,  and 
washed  down  with  copious  draughts  of  wine 
from  the  bottle.  Carelessly  as  Lomaque 
looked  at  the  shocking  scene  before  him,  his 
quick  eyes  contrived  to  take  note  of  every 
prisoner's  face,  and  to  descry,  in  a  few 
minutes,  Trudaine  and  his  sister  sCanding  to- 
gether at  the  back  of  the  group. 

"  Now  then,  Apollo  I "  cried  the  head- 
gaoler,  addressing  his  subordinate  by  a  face- 
tious prison  nickname,  **  don't  be  all  day 
starting  that  trumpery  batch  of  yours !  And 
harkye,  friend,  I  have  leave  of  absence,  on 
business,  at  my  section,  this  afternoon.  So  it 
will  be  your  duty  to  read  the  list  for  the 
guillotine,  and  chalk  the  prisoners'  doors 
before  the  cart  comes  to-morrow  morning. 
'Ware  the  bottle,  Apollo,  to-day ;  'ware  the 


boUle.  for  fear  of  acddenta  with  the  death- 
list  to  morrow." 

I      '*  Thirsty  July  weather,  this, — di,  cittfeen  ?  " 

!  said  Lomaque,  leaving  the  head-goaler,  and 
patting  the  hunchback,  in  the    frtendliest 

'  manner,  on  the  shoulder.  **  Why,  how  you 
have  got  your  batch  huddled  up  together 
this  morning!    Shall  I  help  you  to  ^bove 

I  them  into  marching  order?  My  time  is  quite 

I  at  your  disposaL    This  is  a  holiday  morning 

\  with  me  I  " 

I  ''Ha!  ha!  ha!  what  a  jolly  dog  he  is  on 
his  holidav  morning ! "  exclaimed  the  head- 

'  gaoler,  as  Lomaque — apparently  taking  leave 
of  his  natural  character  altogether,  in  the 
exhilaration  of  an  hour's  unexpected  leisure 
— began  pushing  and  pulling  the  prisoners 
into  rank,  with  humorous  mock  etiologies, 
at  which,  not  the  ofl&cials  only,  but  many  of 
the  victims  themselves — reckless  victims  of  a 
reckless  tyranny— laughed  heartily.  Perse- 
vering to  the  last  in  his  practical  jest,  Lomaque 
contrived  to  get  close  to  Trudaine  for  a 
minute,  and  to  give  him  one  significant  look 
before  he  seized  him  by  the  shoulders,  like 
the  rest.  "Now,  then,  rear-guard,"  cried 
Lomaque,  pushing  Trudaine  on.  **  Close  the 
line  of  mut:h,  and  mind  you  keep  step  with 
your  young  woman,  there.  Pluck  up  your 
spirits,  ci  toy  en  ne!  one  g^tsused  to  everything 
in  this  world,  even  to  the  guillotine!  '' 

While  be  was  speaking,  and  pushing  at  the 
same  time,  Trudaine  felt  apiece  of  paper  slip 
quickly  between  his  neck  and  his  cravat. 
''  Courage ! "  he  whispered,  pressing  bis 
sister's  hand,  as  he  saw  her  shuddering  under 
the  assumed  brutality  of  Lomaque's  juke. 

Surrounded  by  the  guard  of  "■  patriots,'^  the 
procession  of  prisoners  moved  slowly  into  the 
outer  court-yard,  on  its  way  to  the  revolu- 
tionary tribunal,  the  hump-backed  gaoler 
bringing  up  the  rear.  Lomaque  was  aboat 
to  follow  at  some  little  distance ;  famt  the 
head-gaoler  hospitably  expostulated.  '*'  Wbat 
a  hurry  you're  in !  "  said  be.  *'  Now  that 
incorrigible  drinker,  my  second  in  command, 
has  gone  off  with  his  batch,  I  don't  mind 
asking  you  to  step  in,  and  have  a  drop  of 
wine." 

'*  Thank  you,"  answered  Lomaque  ;  *•  but  I 
have  rather  a  fancy  for  hearing  the  trial  this 
morning.  Suppose  I  come  back  afterwards  T 
What  time  do  you  go  to  your  section  ?  At 
two  o'clock,  eh?  Good!  I  shall  try  if  I 
can't  get  here  soon  alter  one."  With  these 
words  he  nodded  and  went  out.  The  brilliant 
sunlight  in  the  court-yard  made  him  wink 
faster  than  ever.  Had  any  of  his  old  enemies 
been  with  him,  they  would  have  whiFpi*red 
within  themselves — **  If  you  mean  to  come 
back  at  all,  citizen  Lomaque,  it  will  not  be 
soon  after  one ! " 

On  bis  way  through  the  streets,  the  chief- 
agent  met  one  or  two  police-office  friends,  who 
delayed  bis  progress ;  so  that  when  he  arrived 
at  the  revolutionary  tribunal,  the  trials  of 
the  day  were  just   about  to  begin.     The 


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269 


prinofpal  article  of  farnltnre  in  the  Hall  of 
«f  ustice  was  a  loQff  clumsy  deal  table,  co- 
vered with  green  baise.  At  the  head  of  thic 
t«ble  8at  the  president  and  his  court,  with 
their  hate  on,  backed  by  a  heterogeneous  col- 
lection of  pttriots  officially  connected  in 
various  ways  with  the  proceedings  that  were 
to  take  place.  Below  the  front  of  the  table, 
a  railed-off  space,  with  a  gallery  beyond,  was 
appropriated  to  the  general  public — mostly 
represented  as  to  the  gallery,  on  this  occasion, 
by  women,  all  sitting  together  on  forms,  knit- 
ting, sbirt-mending,  and  baby-linen-making. 
as  coolly  as  if  they  were  at  home.  Parallel 
with  the  side  of  the  table  farthest  from  the 
Ip-eat  door  of  entrance,  was  a  low  platform, 
railed  off,  on  which  the  prisoners,  surrounded 
by  their  guard,  were  now  assembled,  to  await 
their  trial.  The  sun  shone  brightly  frort  a 
high  window,  and  a  hum  of  ceaseless  talking 
pervaded  the  hall  cheerfully,  as  Lomaque 
entered  it.  He  was  a  privileged  man  here, 
as  at  the  prison ;  and  he  made  his  way  in  by 
a  private  door,  so  as  to  pass  the  prisoners' 
platform,  and  to  walk  round  it,  before  he  got 
to  a  place  behind  the  president's  chair. 
Trudame,  standing  with  his  sister  on  the 
outermost  limits  of  the  group,  nodded  sig- 
nificantly as  Lomaque  looked  up  at  him  for 
an  instant.  He  had  contrived,  on  his  way 
to  the  tribunal,  to  get  an  opportunity  of 
reading  the  paper  which  the  chief-agent  had 
slipped  into  his  cravat.  It  contained  these 
lines  :-^"  I  have  just  discovered  who  the 
citizen  and  citoyenne  Dubois  are.  There  is 
no  chance  for  you  but  to  confess  everything. 
By  that  means  yon  may  inculpate  a  certain 
citizen  holding  authority,  and  may  make  It 
his  interest,  if  he  loves  his  own  lire,  to  save 
yours  and  your  sister's." 

Arrived  at  the  back  of  the  president's 
chair,  Lomaque  recognised  his  two  trusty 
subordinates,  Magloire  and  Picard,  waiting 
among  the  assembled  patriot-officials,  to  give 
their  evidence.  Beyond  them,  leaning  against 
the  wall,  addressed  by  no  one,  and  speaking 
to  no  one,  stood  the  superintendent  Danville. 
Doubt  and  suspense  were  written  in  every 
line  of  his  face :  the  fretfulness  of  an  uneasy 
mind  expressed  itself  in  his  slightest  gestures 
— even  in  his  manner  of  passing  a  handker- 
chief, from  time  to  time,  over  his  face,  on 
which  the  perspiration  was  gathering  thick 
and  fast  already. 

"  Silence ! "  cried  the  usher  of  the  court  for 
the  time  being — a  hoarse-voiced  man  in  top- 
boots,  with  huge  sabre  buckled  to  his  side, 
and  a  bludgeon  in  his  hand.  ^*  Silence  for  the 
citizen-president  I"  he  reiterated,  striking 
his  bludgeon  on  the  table. 

The  president  rose,  and  proclaimed  that 
the  sitting  for  the  day  had  begun ;  then  sat 
down  again.  The  momentary  silence  which 
followed  was  interrupted  by  a  sudden  confu- 
sion among  the  prisoners  on  the  platform. 
Two  of  the  guards  sprang  in  among  them. 
There  was  the  thump  of  '  a  heavy  fiiU — a 


scream  of  terror  f^om  some  of  the  female 
prisoners — then  another  dead  silence,  broken 
by  one  of  the  guards,  who  walked  across  the 
hall  with  a  bloody  knife  in  his  hand,  and  laid 
it  on  the  table.  *'  Citizen-president,"  he  said, 
I*  I  have  to  report  that  one  of  the  prisoners  has 
just  stabbed  himself."  There  was  a  murmur- 
ing exclamation—*'  Is  that  all  ?  "  among  the 
women-spectators,  as  they  resumed  their  work. 
Suicide  at  the  bar  of  justice  was  no  uncom- 
mon occurrence  under  the  Reign  of  Terror. 

"Name?"  asked  the  president,  quietly 
taking  up  his  pen,  and  opening  a  book. 

•'Martigu^,"  answered  the  hump-backed 
gaoler,  coming  forwaid  to  the  table. 

"Description?" 

**  Ex-royalist  coach-maker  to  the  tyrant 
Capet." 

**  Accusation  ?  " 
'  "  Couppiracy  In  prison." 

The  president  nodded,  and  entered  in  the 
book — **  Marti gn^,  coachmaker.  Accused  of 
conspiring  in  prison.  Anticipated  course  of 
law  by  suicide.  Action  accepted  as  sufficient 
confession  of  guilt.  Goods  confiscated.  1st 
Thermidor,  year  two  of  the  Republic." 

"  Silence  I "  cried  the  man  with  the  bludgeon, 
as  the  president  dropped  a  little  sand  on  the 
entry,  and  signing  to  the  gaoler  that  he  might 
remove  the  dead  body,  closed  the  book. 

•*  Any  special  cases  this  morning?"  resum- 
ed the  president,  looking  round  at  the  group 
behind  him. 

**  There  is  one,"  said  Lomaque,  making  his 
way  to  the  back  of  the  official  chair.  »*  Will 
it  be  convenient  to  you,  citizen,  to  take  the 
case  of  Louis  Trudaine  and  Rose  Danville 
first  ?  Two  of  my  men  are  detained  here  as 
witnesses :  and  their  time  is  valuable  to  the 
Republic." 

The  president  marked  a  list  of  names 
before  him,  and  handed  it  to  the  crier  or 
usher,  placing  the  figures  one  and  two 
against  Louis  Trudaine  and  Rose  Danville. 

While  Lomaque  was  backing  again  to  his 
former  place  behind  the  chair,  Danville  ap- 
proached, and  whispered  to  him. — "  There  is 
a  rumour  that  secret  information  has  reached 
yon  about  the  citizen  and  citoyenne  Dubois. 
Is  it  true  ?    Do  you  know  who  they  are  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Lomaque  ;  "  but  I  have 
superior  orders  to  keep  the  information  to 
myself,  just  at  present." 

The  eagerness  with  which  Danville  put 
his  question,  and  the  disappointment  he 
showed  on  getting  no  satisfactory  answer  to 
it,  were  of  a  nature  to  satisfy  the  observant 
chief-agent  that  his  superintendent  was  really 
as  ignorant  as  he  appeared  to  be  on  the 
subject  of  the  man  and  woman  Dubois.  That 
one  mystery,  at  any  rate,  was  still,  for 
Danville,  a  mystery  unrevealed. 

"  Louis  Trudaine !  Rose  Danville ! "  shouted 
the  crier,  with  another  rap  of  his  bludgeon. 

The  two  came  forward,  at  the  appeal,  to  the 
fVont  railing  of  the  platform.  The  first  sight 
of  her  judges,  the  first  shock,  on  confronting 


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270 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoDdnctadbf 


the  pitiless  cariosity  of  the  aadienoe,  seemed 
to  OTer whelm  Rose.  She  turned  from  deadly 
pale  to  crimsoQ,  then  to  pale  again,  and  hid 
her  face  on  her  brother's  hhoulder.  How 
fast  she  heard  his  heart  throbbing!  How 
the  tebrs  filled  her  eyes,  as  she  felt  that  his 
fear  was  all  for  her  I 

*'  Now !  ^'  said  the  president,  writing  down 
their  names.    *'  Denounced  by  whom  ? '' 

Magloire  and  Picard  stepped  forward  to 
the  table.  The  first  answered—"  By  citizen- 
saperintendent  Danville.^' 

The  reply  made  a  great  stir  and  sensation 
among  both  prisoners  and  audience. 

'♦  Accused  of  what?  "  pursued  the  president 

**  Tiie  male  prisoner,  of  conspiracy  against 
the  Republic,  the  female  prisoner,  of  criminal 
knowledge  of  the  same.^' 

'*  Produce  your  proof  in  answer  to  this 
order." 

Picard  and  Magloire  opened  their  minutes 
of  evidence,  and  read  to  the  president  the 
san^  particulars  which  they  bad  formerly 
read  to  Lomaque,  in  the  Secret  Police  oiBce. 

"  Good,"  said  the  president,  when  they 
had  done.  *'  We  need  trouble  ourselves  with 
nothing  more  than  the  identifying  of  the 
citizen  and  citoyenne  Dubois,  which,  of 
course,  you  are  prepared  for.  Have  you 
heard  the  evidence?"  he  continued,  turn- 
ing to  the  prisoners ;  while  Picard  and 
Magloire  consulted  together  in  whispers, 
looking  perplexedly  towards  the  chief-agent, 
who  stood  silent  behind  them.  "  Have  you 
heard  the  evidence,  prisoners?  Do  you  wish 
to  say  any  thing  ?  If  you  do,  remember  that 
the  time  of  this  tribunal  is  precious,  and  that 
you  will  not  be  suffered  to  waste  it" 

♦•  I  demand  permission  to  speak,  for  myself 
and  for  my  sister,"  answered  Trudaine.  **  My 
object  is  to  save  the  time  of  the  tribunal  by 
making  a  confession." 

The  faint  whispering,  audible  among  the 
women  spectators,  a  moment  before,  ceased 
instantaneously  as  he  pronounced  the  word 
confession.  In  the  breathless  silence,  his  low, 
quiet  tones  penetrated  to  the  remotest  cor- 
ners of  the  hall;  while,  suppressing  exter- 
nally all  evidences  of  the  death-agony  of  hope 
within  him,  he  continued  his  address  in  these 
words : — 

"  I  confess  my  secret  visits  to  the  house  in 
the  Rue  de  C16ry.  I  confess  that  the  per- 
sons whom  I  went  to  see  are  the  persons 
runted  at  in  the  evidence.  And  lastly, 
confess  that  my  object  in  communicating 
with  them  as  I  did  was  to  supplv  them  with 
the  means  of  leaving  France.  If  I  had  acted 
from  political  motives,  to  the  political  pre- 
judice of  the  existing  government,  I  admit 
that  I  ^ould  be  guilty  of  that  conspiracy 
against  the  Republic  with  which  I  am 
charged.  But  no  political  purpose  animated, 
no  political  necessity  urged  me,  in  perform- 
ing the  action  which  has  brought  me  to  the 
bar  of  this  tribunaL  The  persons  whom  I 
aided  in  leaving  France  were  without  political 


influence,  or  political  connections.  I  acted 
solely  from  private  motives  of  humanity  to- 
wards them  and  towards  others — motires 
which  a  good  republican  may  feel,  and  yet 
not  turn  traitor  to  the  welfare  of  his 
country." 

"  Are  you  ready  to  inform  the  court,  next 
who  the  man  and  woman  Dubois  really  are  ?  " 
inquired  the  president,  impatiently^. 

"  I  am  ready,"  answered  Trudame.  ^<  But 
first  I  desire  to  say  one  word  in  reference  to 
my  sister,  charged  here  at  the  bar  with  me." 
His  voice  grew  less  steady ;  and,  for  the  first 
time,  his  colour  began  to  change,  as  Rose 
lifted  her  face  from  his  shoulder,  and  looked 
up  at  him  eagerly.  "  I  implore  the  tribunal  to 
consider  my  sister  as  innocent  of  all  active 
participation  in  what  is  charged  against  me 
as  a  crime — "  he  went  on.  ■'  Having  spoken 
with  candour  about  myself,  I  have  some  claim 
to  be  believed  when  I  speak  of  her  ;  when  I 
assert  that  she  neither  did  help  me  nor  could 
help  me.  If  there  be  blame,  it  is  mine  only : 
if  punishment,  it  is  I  alone  who  should 
suffer." 

He  stopped  suddenly  and  grew  confused. 
It  was  easy  to  guard  himself  from  the  peril  of 
looking  at  Rose,  but  he  could  not  escape  the 
bard  trial  to  his  self-possession  of  hearing  her, 
if  she  spoke.  Just  as  he  pronounced  the  last 
sentence,  she  raised  her  face  again  from  his 
shoulder,  and  eagerly  whispered  to  him : 

"  No,  no,  Louis  I  Not  that  sacrifice,  after 
all  the  others — not  that,  though  you  should 
force  me  into  speaking  to  them  myself! " 

She  abruptly  quitted  her  hold  of  him,  and 
fronted  the  whole  court  in  an  instant  The 
railing  in  front  of  her  shook  with  the  quiver- 
ing of  her  arms  and  hands  as  she  held  by  it 
to  support  herself!  Her  hair  lay  tangled  on 
ber  shoulders ;  her  face  had  assumed  a  strange 
fixedness ;  her  gentle  blue  eyes,  so  soft  and 
tender  at  all  other  times,  were  lit  up  wildly. 
A  low  hum  of  murmured  curiosity  and  adn^ 
ration  broke  from  the  women  of  the  audience. 
Some  rose  eagerly  from  the  benches,  others 
cried, 

"  Listen,  listen  I  she  is  going  to  speak! " 

She  did  speak.  Silvery  and  pure  the  sweet 
voice,  sweeter  than  ever  in  sadness,  stole  its 
way  through  the  gross  sounds — through  Uie 
coarse  humming  and  the  hissing  whispers. 

"My  lord  the  president" — began  the 
poor  girl,  firmly.  Her  next  words  were 
drowned  in  a  volley  of  hisses  from  the 
women. 

"Ah!  aristocrat,  aristocrat!  None  of 
your  accursed  titles  here ! "  was  their  shrill 
cry  at  her.  She  fronted  that  cry,  she  fronted 
the  fierce  gestures  which  accompanied  it,  with 
the  steady  light  still  in  her  eves,  with  the 
strange  rigidity  still  fastened  on  her  face.  She 
would  have  spoken  again,  through  the  uproar 
and  execration,  but  her  brother's  voice  over- 
powered her. 

"  Citizen  president,"  he  cried,  "  I  have  not 
concluded.    I  demand  leave  to  complete  my 


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SISTER  ROSE. 


271 


confeseion.  I  implore  the  tribanal  to  attach 
DO  importance  to  what  mj  sister  says.  The 
trouble  and  terror  of  this  daj  have  shaken 
her  intellects.  She  is  not  responsible  for  her 
words— I  assert  it  solemnly,  in  the  face  of  the 
whole  court  I " 

The  blood  flew  up  into  his  white  face  as  he 
made  the  asseveration.  Even  at  that  supreme 
moment  the  g^at  heart  of  the  man  reproach- 
ed him  for  yielding  himself  to  a  deception, 
though  the  motive  of  it  was  to  save  his  sis- 
ter's life. 

**  Let  her  speak  1  let  her  speak  I"  exclaim- 
ed the  women,  as  Rose,  without  moving, 
without  looking  at  her  brother,  without  seem- 
ing even  to  have  heard  what  he  said,  made  a 
second  attempt  to  address  her  judges,  in  spite 
of  Trudaine's  interposition. 

"Silence!''  shouted  the  man  with  the 
bludgeon.  *'  Silence,  you  women !  the  citizen- 
president  is  going  to  speak." 

"  The  prisoner,  Trudaine,  has  the  ear  of 
the  court,"  said  the  president ;  **  and  may: 
continue  his  confession.  If  the  female  pri- 
soner wishes  to  speak,  she  may  be  heard 
afterwards.  I  enjoin  both  the  accused  per- 
sona to  make  short  work  of  it  with  their  ad- 
dresses to  me,  or  they  will  make  their  case 
worse  instead  of  better.  I  command  silence 
among  the  audience;  and  if  I  am  not  obeyed, 
I  will  clear  the  hall.  Now,  prisoner  Trudaine, 
I  invite  you  to  proceed.  No  more  about 
your  sister  ;  let  her  speak  for  herself.  Your 
business  and  ours  is  with  the  man  and  woman 
Dubois  now.  Are  you,  or  are  you  not,  ready 
to  tell  the  court  who  they  are?" 

**  I  repeat  that  I  am  ready,"  answered  Tru- 
daine. *'The  citizen  Dubois  is  a  servant. 
The  woman  Dubois  is  the  mother  of  the 
man  who  denounces  me — superintendent 
Danville." 

A  low,  murmuring,  rushing  sound  of  hun- 
dreds of  exclaiming  voices,  all  speaking, 
half-suppressedly,  at  the  same  moment,  fol- 
lowed the  delivery  of  the  answer.  No  officer 
of  the  court  attempted  to  control  the  outburst 
of  astonishment  The  infection  of  it  spread  to 
the  persons  on  the  platform,  to  the  crier  him- 
self, to  the  judges  of  the  tribunal,  lounging, 
but  the  moment  before,  so  carelessly  silent  in 
tiieir  chairs.  When  the  noise  was  at  length 
quelled,  it  was  subdued  in  the  most  instan- 
taneous manner  by  one  man,  who  shouted 
from  the  throng  behind  the  president's 
chair, 

"Clear  the  way  there!  Superintendent 
Danville  is  taken  ill!" 

A  vehement  whispering  and  contending  of 
many  voices  interrupting  each  other,  follow- 
ed ;  then  a  swaying  among  the  assembly  of 
official  people  ;  then  a  great  stillness ;  then 
the  sudden  appearance  of  Danville,  alone,  at 
the  table.  The  look  of  him,  as  he  turned  his 
ghastly  face  towards  the  audience,  silenced 
and  steadied  them  in  an  instant,  just  as  they 
were  on  the  point  of  falling  into  fresh  con- 
fosion.  Every  one  strttehed  forward  eagerly 


to  hear  what  he  would  say.  His  lips  moved ; 
but  the  few  words  that  fell  from  them  were 
inaudible,  except  to  the  persons  who  happen- 
ed to  be  close  by  him.  Having  spoken,  he 
left  the  table  supported  by  a  police-agent, 
who  was  seen  to  lead  him  towards  the  private 
door  of  the  court,  and,  consequently,  also 
towards  the  prisoner's  platform.  He  stopped, 
however,  half-way,  quickly  turned  his  face 
from  the  prisoners,  and  pointing  towards  the 
public  door  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall, 
caused  himself  to  be  led  out  Into  the  air  bv 
that  direction.  When  he  had  gone,  the  presi- 
dent, addressing  himself,  partly  to  Trudaine, 
and  partly  to  the  audience,  said, — 

"  The  citizen-superintendent  Danville  has 
been  overcome  by  the  heat  in  the  court.  He 
has  retired  (by  my  desire,  under  the  care  of 
a  police-agent)  to  recover  in  the  open  air : 
pledging  himself  to  me  to  come  back  and 
throw  a  new  light  on  the  extraordinary  and 
suspicious  statement  which  the  prisoner  has 
just  made.  Until  the  return  of  citizen  Dan- 
ville, I  order  the  accused,  Trudaine,  to  sus- 
pend anv  further  acknowledment  of  com- 
plicity which  he  may  have  to  address  to  me. 
This  matter  must  be  cleared  up  before  other 
matters  are  entered  on.  Meanwhile,  in  order 
that  the  time  of  the  tribunal  ma^  not  be 
wasted,  I  authorise  the  female  prisoner  to 
take  this  opportunity  of  making  any  state- 
ment concerning  herself  which  she  may  wish 
to  address  to  the  judges." 

"  Silence  him !"  "  Remove  him  out  of 
court !"  "  Gag  him !"  "  Guillotine  him !" 
These  cries  rose  from  the  audience  the  mo- 
ment the  president  had  done  speaking.  They 
were  all  directed  at  Trudaine,  who  had  made 
a  last  desperate  effort  to  persuade  his  sister 
to  keep  silence,  and  had  been  detected  in  the 
attempt  by  the  spectators. 

"  If  the  prisoner  speaks  another  word  to 
his  sister,  remove  him,"  said  the  president, 
addressing  the  ffuard  round  the  platform. 

"  Good !  we  raall  hear  her  at  last  Silence  I 
silence!"  exclaimed  the  women,  settling 
themselves  oomfortablv  on  their  benches,  and 
preparing  to  resume  their  work. 

"  Rose  Danville,  the  court  is  waiting  to 
hear  you,"  said  the  president,  crossing  his 
legs,  and  leaning  back  luxuriously  in  his  large 
arm-chair. 

Amid  all  the  noise  and  confusion  of  the 
last  few  minutes,  Rose  had  stood  ever  in  the 
same  attitude,  with  that  strangely  fixed  ex- 
pression never  altering  on  hernu^e  but  once. 
When  her  husband  made  his  way  to  the  side 
of  the  table,  and  stood  there  prominently 
alone,  her  lips  trembled  a  little,  and  a  faint 
shade  of  colour  passed  swiftly  over  her  cheeks. 
Even  that  slight  change  had  vanished  now — 
she  was  paler,  stiller,  more  widely  altered 
firom  her  former  self  than  ever,  as  she  faced 
the  president,  and  said  these  words : — 

"I  wish  to  follow  my  brother's  example  ; 
and  make  my  confession,  as  he  has  made  his. 
I  would  rather  he  had  spoken  for  me ;  but 


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272 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


iCmdmei^hf 


he  is  too  generous  to  any  aoy  words  except 
such  asbe  thinks  may  save  me  from  sharing  his 
punishment.  I  refuse  to  be  saved,  unless  he 
is  saved  with  me.  Where  he  goes  when  he 
leaves  this  place,  I  will  go  ;  what  he  suffers, 
I  will  suffer ;  if  he  is  to  die,  I  believe  God 
will  grant  me  the  strength  to  die  resignedly 
with  him  I  This  is  what  I  now  wish  to  say, 
as  to  my  share  in  the  offence  charged  against 
my  brother : — some  time  ago,  he  told  me,  one 
day,  that  he  had  seen  my  husband^s  mother 
in  Paris,  disguised  as  a  poor  woman ;  that  he 
had  fipoken  to  her,  and  forced  her  to  acknow- 
ledge herself.  Up  to  this  time  we  had  all  felt 
certain  that  she  bad  left  France,  because  she 
held  old-fashioned  opinions,  which  it  is  dan- 
gerous for  people  to  hold  now;  had  left 
France  before  we  came  to  Paris.  She  told 
my  brother  that  she  had  indeed  gone  (with 
an  old  tried  servant  of  the  family  to  help 
and  protect  her)  as  far  as  Marseilles ;  and 
that,  finding  unforeseen  difficulty  there  in 
getting  farther,  she  had  taken  it  as  a  warning 
from  Providence  not  to  desert  her  son,  of 
whom  she  was  very  passionately  fond,  and 
from  whom  she  had  been  most  unwilling  to 
depart  Instead  of  waiting  in  exile  for  quiet- 
er times,  she  determined  to  go  and  hide  her- 
self in  Paris,  knowing  her  son  was  going  there 
too.  She  assumed  the  name  of  her  old  and 
faithful  servant,  who  declined  to  the  last  to 
leave  her  unprotected  ;  and  she  proposed  to 
live  in  the  strictest  secrecy  and  retirement, 
watching,  unknown,  the  career  of  her  son, 
and  ready  at  a  moment^s  notioe  to  disclose  her- 
self to  him,  when  the  settlement  of  public  af- 
fairs might  reunite  her  safely  to  her  beloved 
child.  My  brother  thought  this  plan  full  of 
danger  both  for  herself,  fcnr  her  son.  and  for 
the  honest  old  man  who  was  risking  his  head 
for  his  mistress's  sake.  I  thought  so  too ;  and 
in  an  evil  hour,  I  said  to  Louis,  *  Will  you  try, 
in  secret,  to  get  my  husband's  mother  away, 
and  see  that  her  faithful  servant  makes  her 
really  leave  France  this  time?'  I  wrongly 
asked  my  brother  to  do  this  for  a  selfish  rea- 
son of  m^  own — a  reason  connected  with  my 
married  life,  which  has  not  been  a  happy  one. 
I  had  not  succeeded  in  gaining  my  husband's 
aff^tion,  and  was  not  treated  kindly  by  him. 
My  brother,  who  has  always  loved  me,  far 
more  dearly,  I  am  afraid,  than  I  have  ever  de- 
served, my  brother  increased  his  kindness  to 
me,  seeing  me  treated  unkindly  by  my  hus- 
band. This  made  ill  blood  between  them.  My 
thought,  when  I  asked  my  brother  to  do  for 
me  what  I  have  said,  was,  that  if  we  too,  in 
seoret,  saved  my  husband's  mother,  without 
danger  to  him,  fh>m  Imperilling  herself  and 
her  son,  we  should,  ^l\pn  the  time  came  for 
speaking  of  what  we  had  done,  appear  to  my 
husband  in  a  new  and  better  light  I  should 
have  shown  how  well^I  deserved  his  love,  and 
Louis  would  have  shown  how  well  he  deserv- 
ed his  brother-in-law's  ffratitudp  ;  and  so,  we 
should  have  made  home  nappy  at  last,  and  all 
three  have  lived  together  affectionately.  This 


was  my  thought;  and  when  I  told  it  to  my 
brother,  and  asked  him  if  there  would  be 
much  risk,  out  of  his  kindness  and  indulgence 
towards  me,  he  said  *  No ! '  He  had  so  used 
me  to  accept  sacrifices  for  my  happiness,  that 
I  let  him  endanger  himself  to  help  me  in  my 
little  household  plan.  I  repent  this  bitterly 
now ;  I  a^k  bis  pardon  with  my  whole  heart 
If  he  is  acquitted,  I  will  try  to  show  myself 
worthier  of  his  love.  If  he  is  found  guilty.  I 
too  will  go  to  the  scaffold,  and  die  with  my 
brother,  who  risked  his  life  for  my  sake." 

She  ceased  as  quietly  as  she  had  begun ; 
and  turned  once  more  to  her  brother.  As  she 
looked  away  from  the  court,  and  looked  at 
him,  a  few  tears  came  into  her  eyes,  and  some- 
thing of  the  old  softness  of  form  and  gentle- 
ness of  expression  seemed  to  return  to  her 
face.  He  let  her  take  his  hand  ;  but  he  seem- 
ed purposely  to  avoid  meeting  the  anxious 
gaze  she  fixed  on  him.  His  head  sunk  on  his 
breast ;  he  drew  his  breath  heavily ;  bis  coun- 
tenance darkened  and  grew  distorted  as  if  be 
were  suffering  some  sharp  pang  of  physical 

Eain.  He  bent  down  a  little ;  and,  leaning 
is  elbow  on  the  rail  before  him,  covered  his 
face  with  bis  hand ;  and  so  quelled  the  rising 
agony,  so  forced  back  the  scalding  tears  to 
his  heart  The  audience  had  hca^  Rose  in 
silence;  and  they  preserved  the  same  tran- 
quillity when  she  had  done.  This  was  a  rare 
tribute  to  a  prisoner  from  the  people  of  the 
Reign  of  Terror. 

The  president  looked  round  at  his  col- 
leagues, and  shook  his  head  suspiciously. 

**  This  statement  of  the  female  prisoner's 
complicates  the  matter  very  seriously."  said 
he.  *»  Is  there  anybody  in  court"  he  added, 
looking  at  the  persons  behind  his  chair,  *'  who 
knows  where  the  mother  of  superintendent 
Danville  and  the  servant  are  now.?" 

Lomaque  came  forward  at  the  appeal,  and 
placed  himself  by  the  table. 

"  Why,  citizen  agent,"  continued  the  pre- 
sident, looking  hard  at  him,  *'  are  you  over- 
come with  the  heat  too  ? " 

'*  The  fit  seemed  to  take  him,  citizen  prea- 
dent,  when  the  female  prisoner  had  made  an 
end  of  her  statement,''  explained  Magloire, 
pressing  forward  officiously. 

Lomaque  gave  his  subordinate  a  look  which 
sent  the  man  back  directly  to  the  shelter  of 
the  official  group  ;  then  said,  in  lower  tonei 
than  were  customary  with  him, 

'*Ihave  received  information  relative  to 
the  mother  of  superintendent  Danville  and 
the  servant,  and  am  ready  to  answer  any 
questions  that  may  be  put  to  me." 

*'  Where  are  they  now  ?"  asked  the  preri- 
dent 

<'  She  and  the  servant  are  known  to  have 
crossed  the  frontier,  and  are  supposed  to  be 
on  their  way  to  Cologne.  But  since  they  have 
entered  Germany,  their  whereabouts  is  ne- 
cessarily a  matter  of  uncertainty  to  the  re- 
publican authorities." 

*^  Have  you  any  information  relative  to  the 


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SISTER  ROSE. 


273 


conduct  of  the  old  serTant  while  he  was  in 
Parte?" 

"  I  have  information  enough  to  prove  that 
he  was  not  an  olijeot  for  political  saspiclon. 
He  seems  to  have  been  simply  animated  by 
servile  zeal  for  the  woman's  Interests ;  to  have 
performed  for  her  all  the  menial  offices  of  a 
servant  in  private  ;  and  to  have  misled  the 
neighbonrs  by  affected  equality  with  her  in 
public.'^ 

"Have  yon  any  reason  to  believe  that 
Saperintendent  Danville  was  privy  to  his 
mother's  first  attempt  at  escaping  from 
France?" 

"  I  infer  it  ttom  what  the  female  prisoner 
has  said,  and  for  other  reasons  which  it  would 
be  irregular  to  detail  before  the  tribunal. 
The  prooflican  no  doubt  be  obtained,  if  I  am 
allowed  time  to  communicate  with  the  autho- 
rities at  Lyons  and  Marseilles." 

At  this  moment  Danville  re-entered  the 
court,  and,  advancing  to  the  table,  placed 
himself  close  by  the  chief-agent's  side.  They 
looked  each  other  steadily  in  the  face  for  an 
instant. 

"  He  has  recovered  from  the  shock  of  Tru- 
daine's  answer,"  thought  Lomaque,  retiring. 
"  His  hand  trembles  ;  his  face  is  pale  ;  but  I 
can  see  regained  self-possession  in  hte  eye ; 
and  I  dread  the  consequences  already." 

"Citizen  president,"  began  Danville,  "I 
demand  to  know  if  anything  has  transpired 
affecting  my  honour  and  patriotism  in  my 
absence  ? " 

He  spoke  apparently  with  the  most  perfect 
calmness ;  but  he  looked  nobody  in  the  face. 
His  eyes  were  fixed  steadily  on  the  green 
baize  of  the  table  beneath  him. 

"  The  female  prisoner  has  made  a  state- 
ment, referring  principally  to  herself  and  her 
brother,"  answered  the  president ;  '*  but  in- 
cidentally mentioning  a  previous  attempt  on 
your  mother's  part  to  break  existing  laws  by 
emigrating  from  France.  This  portion  of  the 
confession  contains  in  it  some  elements  of 
suspicion  which  seriously  affect  you  " — 

♦♦  They  shall  be  suspicions  no  longer — at 
my  own  peril,  I  will  change  them  to  certain- 
ties !"  exclaimed  Danville,  extending  his  arm 
theatrically,  and  looking  up  for  the  first  time. 
**  Citizen  president,  I  avow  It  with  the  fear- 
less frankness  of  a  good  patriot ;  1  was  privy 
to  my  mother's  first  attempt  at  escaping  from 
France." 

Hisses  and  cries  of  execration  followed  this 
confession.  He  winced  under  them  at  first ; 
but  recoveredbis  self-possession  before  silence 
was  restored. 

"  Citizens,  you  have  heard  the  confession 
of  my  fault."  he  resumed,  turning  with  des- 
perate assurance  towards  the  audience ;  "now 
near  the  atonement  I  have  made  for  it  at  the 
altar  of  my  country." 

He  wailed  at  the  end  of  that  sentence,  until 
the  secretary  to  the  tribunal  had  done  writing 
it  down  in  the  report-book  of  the  court. 

"  Transcribe  faithfully  to  the  letter  I"  cried 


Danville,  pointing  solemnly  to  the  open  page 
of  the  volume.  "Life  and  death  hang  on  my 
words," 

The  secretary  took  a  flresb  dip  of  ink,  and 
nodded  to  show  that  he  was  ret^y.  Danville 
went  on : 

"In  these  times  of  glorv  and  trial  for 
France,"  he  proceeded,  pitching  his  voice  to 
a  tone  of  deep  emotion,  "  what  are  all  good 
citizens  most  sacredly  bound  to  do  ?  To  im- 
molate their  dearest  private  affections  and 
interests  before  their  public  duties  I  On  the 
first  attempt  of  my  mother  to  violate  the 
laws  against  emigration,  by  escaping  from 
France,  I  failed  in  making  the  heroic  sacri- 
fice which  inexorable  patriotism  demanded  of 
me.  My  situation  was  more  terrible  than  the 
situation  of  Brutus  sitting  in  judgment  on  his 
own  sons.  I  had  not  the  Roman  fortitude  to 
rise  equal  to  it.  I  erred,  citizens,  erred  as 
Coriofanus  did,  when  his  august  mother 
pleaded  with  him  for  the  safety  of  Rome  1 
For  that  error  I  deserved  to  be  purged  out 
of  the  republican  community  ;  but  1  escaped 
my  merited  punishment, — nay,  I  even  rose  to 
the  honour  of  holding  an  office  under  the 
government.  Time  passed  ;  and  again  my 
mother  attempted  an  escape  from  France. 
Again,  inevitable  fate  brought  my  civic  vir- 
tue to  the  test.  How  did  I  meet  this  second 
supremest  trial  ?  By  an  atonement  for  past 
weakness,  terrible  as  the  trial  itself!  Citizens, 
you  will  shudder;  but  you  will  applaud 
while  you  tremble.  Citizens,  look  I  and  while 
you  look,  remember  well  the  evidence  given 
at  the  opening  of  this  case.  Yonder  stands 
the  enemy  of  his  country,  who  intrigued  to 
help  my  mother  to  escape;  here  stands  the 
patriot  son,  whose  voice  was  the  first,  the 
only  voice,  to  denouncC^  him  for  the  crime !" 
As  he  spoke,  ho  pointed  to  Trudaine,  4ben 
struck  himself  on  the  breast,  then  folded  his 
arms,  and  looked  sternly  at  the  benches  oc- 
cupied by  tho»spectators. 

"  Do  you  assert,"  exclaimed  the  president, 
"  that  at  the  time  when  you  denounced  Tru- 
daine, you  knew  him  to  be  intriguing  to  aid 
your  mother's  escape  ?  " 

"  I  assert  it,"  answered  Danville. 

JhQ  pen  which  the  president  held,  dropped 
from  his  band  at  that  reply  ;  his  colleagues 
started  and  looked  at  each  other  in  blank 
silence. 

A  murmur  of  "  Monster  I  monster !"  began 
with  the  prisoners  on  the  platform  and  spread 
instantly  to  the  audience,  who  echoed  and 
echoed  it  ag^in  :  the  fiercest  woman-republi- 
can on  the  benches  joined  cause  at  last  with 
the  haughtiest  woman-aristocrat  on  the  plat- 
form. Even  in  that  sphere  of  direst  discords, 
In  that  age  of  sharpest  enmities,  the  one 
touch  of  nature  preserved  its  old  eternal 
virtue ;  and  roused  the  mother  instinct  which 
makes  the  whole  world  kin ! 

Of  the  few  persons  in  the  court  who  at 
once  foresaw  the  effect  of  Dan|ille's  answer 
on  the  proceedings  of  the  tribunal,  Lomaque 


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274 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoMliictfld  hf 


was  one.  His  sallow  face  whitened  as  he 
looked  towards  the  prisoners'  platform. 
**  Tbejr  are  lost,"  he  murmured  to  himself, 
moving  ont  of  the  group  in  which  he  had 
hitherto  stood.  ^'Lostl  the  lie  which  has 
saved  that  villain's  head  leaves  them  without 
the  shadow  ot  a  hope.  No  need  to  stop  for 
the  sentence — Danville's  infamous  presence 
of  mind  has  given  them  up  to  the  guiliotiue !" 
Pronouncing  these  words,  he  went  out  hur- 
riedly by  a  door  near  the  platform,  which  led 
to  the  prisoners'  waiting-room. 

Rose'f  head  sank  again  on  her  brother's 
shoulder.  She  shuddered  and  leaned  back 
faintly  on  the  arm  which  he  extended  to  sup- 
port her.  One  of  the  female  prisoners  tri^ 
to  help  Trudaine  in  speaking  consolingly  to 
her ;  but  the  consummation  of  her  husband's 
perfldy  seemed  to  have  paralysed  her  at 
heart.  She  murmured  once  in  her  brother's 
ear,  '*  Louis,  I  am  resigned  to  die — nothing 
but  death  is  left  for  me  after  the  degradation 
of  having  loved  that  man."  She  said  those 
words  and  closed  her  eyes  wearily,  and  spoke 
no  more. 

"  One  other  question,  and  you  may  retire," 
resumed  the  president,  addressing  Danville. 
**  Were  you  cognisant  of  your  wife's  connec- 
tion with  her  brother's  conspiracy  ? " 

Danville  reflected  for  a  moment,  remem- 
bered that  there  were  witnesses  in  court  who 
could  speak  to  his  language  and  behaviour 
on  the  evening  of  bis  wife's  arrest,  and  resolv- 
ed this  time  to  tell  the  truth. 

**I  was  not  aware  of  it,"  he  answered. 
**  Testimony  in  my  favour  can  be  called  which 
will  prove  that  when  my  wife's  complicity 
was  discovered  I  was  absent  from  Paris." 

Heartlessly  self-possessed  as  he  was,  the 
public  reception  of  bis  last  reply  had  shaken 
his  nerve.  He  now  spoke  in  low  tones, 
turning  his  back  on  the  spectators,  and  fixing 
his  eyes  again  on  the  green  baize  of  the  table 
at  which  he  stood. 

<* Prisoners!  have  you  anj  objection  to 
make,  any  evidence  to  call,  invalidating  the 
statement  by  which  citizen  Danville  has 
cleared  himself  of  suspicion?"  inquired  the 
president. 

*'  He  has  cleared  himself  by  the  most  exe- 
crable of  all  falsehoods,"  answered  Trudaine. 
**  If  his  mother  could  be  traced  and  brought 
here,  her  testimony  would  prove  it." 

*'  Can  you  produce  any  other  evidence  in 
support  of  your  allegation?"  asked  the  presi- 
dent. 

'*  I  cannot" 

"  Citizen-superintendent  Danville,  yon  are 
at  liberty  to  retire.  Your  statement  will  be 
laid  before  the  authority  to  whom  you  are 
officially  responsible.  Either  you  merit  acivic 
crown  for  more  than  Roman  virtue,  or — '* 
Having  got  thus  far,  the  president  stopped 
abruptly,  as  if  unwilling  to  commit  himself 
too  soon  to  an  opinion,  and  merely  repeated, 
— "  You  may  retire." 

Danville  l€ft  the  court  immediately,  going 


out  again  bj  the  public  door.  He  was  follow- 
ed by  murmurs  ll'om  the  women's  benches, 
which  soon  ceased,  however,  when  the  presi- 
dent was  observed  to  close  his  note-book,  and 
turn  round  towards  his  colleagues.  **  The  sen- 
tence!" was  the  general  whisper  now. 
*'  Hush,  hush—the  sentence !" 

After  a  consultation  of  a  few  minutes  with 
the  persons  behind  him,  the  president  rose, 
and  ppoke  the  momentous  words : — **  Lonis 
Trudaine  and  Rose  Danville,  the  revolution- 
ary tribunal,  having  heaj^  the  charge  against 
you,  and  having  weighed  the  value  of  what 
you  have  said  in  answer  to  it,  decides  that 
yon  are  both  gnilty,  and  coodenms  you  to  the 
penalty  of  death." 

Having  delivered  the  sentence  in  those 
terms,  he  sat  down  again,  and  placed  a  mark 
against  the  two  first-condemned  names  on  the 
list  of  prisoners.  Immediately  afterwards, 
the  next  case  was  called  on,  and  the  curiosity 
of  the  audience  was  stimulated  by  a  new 
trial. 

CHAPTBE  T. 

The  waiting-room  of  the  revolutionary  tri- 
bunal was  a  glim,  bare  place,  with  a  dirty 
stone  floor,  and  benches  running  round  the 
walls.  The  windows  were  high  and  barred ; 
and  at  the  outer  door,  leading  into  the  street, 
two  sentinels  kept  watch.  On  entering  this 
comfortless  retreat  from  the  court,  Lomaque 
found  it  perfectly  empty.  Solitude  was  just 
then  welcome  to  him.  He  remained  in  the 
waiting-room,  walking  slowly  from  end  to 
end  over  the  filthy  pavement,  talking  eagerly 
and  incessantly  to  himself. 

After  awhile,  the  door  communicating  with 
the  tribunal  opened,  and  the  hump-backed 
gaoler  made  his  appearance,  leading  In  Tru- 
daine and  Rose. 

"  You  will  have  to  wait  here,"  said  the 
little  man,  *'  till  the  rest  of  them  have  been 
tried  and  sentenced  ;  and  then  you  will  all  go 
back  to  prison  in  a  lump.  Ha,  citizen !"  he 
continued,  observing  Lomaque  at  the  other 
end  of  the  hall,  and  bustling  up  to  him. 
*  Here,  still,  eh  ?  If  you  were  going  to  stop 
much  longer,  I  should  ask  a  favour  of  you." 

"  I  am  in  no  hurry,"  said  Lomaque,  with  a 
glance  at  the  two  prisoners. 

'"Good!"  cried  the  hunchback,  drawing 
his  hand  across  his  mouth ;  '<  I  am  parched 
with  thirst,  and  dying  to  moisten  my  throat 
at  the  wine-shop  over  the  way.  Just  mind 
that  man  and  woman  while  I'm  gone,  will 
you  ?  It's  the  merest  form — there's  a  guard 
outside,  the  windows  are  barred,  the  tribunal 
is  within  hail.    Do  you  mind  obliging  me  ?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  am  glad  of  the  oppor- 
tunity." 

*' That's  a  good  fellow— and,  remember,  if 
I  am  asked  for,  you  must  say  I  was  obliged 
to  quit  the  court  for  a  few  minutes,  and  left 
you  in  charge." 

With  these  words,  the  hump-backed  gaoler 
ran  off  to  the  wine-shop. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Chvica  Dickcna.] 


SISTER  ROSE. 


276 


He  had  scarcely  disappeared  before  Tru- 
daine  crossed  the  room,  and  caught  Lomaque 
by  the  arm. 

"  Save  her,"  he  whispered  ;  "  there  is  an 
opportanity — save  her  I "  His  face  was  flashed 
—his  eyes  wandered— his  breath  on  the  chief- 
agent's  cheek,  while  be  spoke,  felt  scorching 
hot.  **Save  her!"  ho  repeated,  shaking 
Lomaque  by  the  arm,  and  dragging  him 
towards  the  door.  **  Remember  tdl  you  owe 
to  my  father — remember  oar  talk  on  that 
bench  by  the  river — remember  what  you  said 
to  me  yourself  on  the  night  of  the  arrest— 
don't  wait  to  think — save  her,  and  leave  me 
without  a  word  1  If  I  die  alone,  I  can  die  as 
a  man  should— if  she  goes  to  the  scaffold  by 
my  side,  my  heart  will  fail  me— I  shall  die 
the  death  of  a  coward!  I  have  lived  for  her 
life — let  me  die  for  it,  and  I  die  happy ! " 

He  tried  to  say  more,  but  the  violence  of 
his  agitation  forbade  it  He  could  only  shake 
the  arm  he  held  again  and  again,  and  point 
to  the  bench  on  which  Rose  sat — ^her  head 
sank  on  her  bosom,  her  hands  crossed  list- 
lessly on  her  lap. 

"  There  are  two  armed  sentinels  outside — 
the  windows  are  barred— you  are  without 
weapons— and  even  if  you  had  them,  there  is 
a  guard-house  within  hail  on  one  side  of  von, 
and  the  tribunal  on  the  other.  Escape  from 
this  room  is  impossible,"  answered  Lomaque. 
"  Impossible !  "repeated  the  other  futiously. 
"  You  traitor !  you  coward !  can  you  look  at 
her  sitting  there  helpless— her  very  life  ebbing 
away  already  with  every  minute  that  passes — 
and  tell  me  coolly  that  escape  Is  impossible  ?" 
In  the  frenzy  of  his  grief  and  despair,  he 
lifted  his  disengaged  hand  threateningly 
-while  he  spoke.  Lomaque  caught  him  by  the 
wrist,!  and  drew  him  towards  a  window  open 
at  the  top. 

'^  Yon  are  not  In  your  right  senses,"  said 
the  chief-agent  firmly :  "  anxiety  and  appre- 
hension on  your  sister ^s  account  have  shaken 
your  mind.  Try  to  compose  yourself,  and 
listen  to  me.  I  have  something  important  to 
say—"  (Trudaine  looked  at  nim  incredu- 
lously.) *'  Important."  continued  Lomaque, 
"  as  affecting  your  sister's  interests  at  this 
terrible  crisis." 

That  last  appeal  had  an  instantaneous 
effect.  Trudaine's  outstretched  hand  dropped 
to  his  side,  and  a  sudden  change  passed  over 
his  expression. 

''  Give  me  a  moment,"  he  said  faintly ;  and, 
turning  away,  leaned  against  the  wall,  and 
pressed  his  burning  forehead  on  the  chill, 
damp  stone.  He  did  not  raise  his  head  again 
till  he  had  mastered  himself,  and  could  say 
quietly,  "  Speak— I  am  fit  to  hear  you,  and 
sufficiently  in  my  senses  to  ask  your  forgive- 
ness for  what  I  said  just  now." 

'*When  1  left  the  tribunal  and  entered 
this  room,"  Lomaque  began,  in  a  whisper : 
"there  was  no  thought  in  my  mind  thai 
could  be  turned  to  g(M>d  account,  either  for 
your  sister  or  for  you.    I  wa  sflt  for  nothing 


but  to  deplore  the  failure  of  the  confession 
which  I  came  to  St.  Lazare  to  suggest  to  you 
as  your  best  plan  of  defence.  Since  then,  an 
idea  has  struck  me,  which  may  be  useful — an 
idea  so  desperate,  so  uncertain — involving  a 
proposal  so  absolutely  dependent,  as  to  its 
successful  execution,  on  the  merest  chance, 
that  I  refuse  to  confide  it  to  you  except  on 
one  condition." 

*'  Mention  the  condition !  I  submit  to  it 
beforehand." 

"  Give  me  your  word  of  honour  that  you 
will  not  mention  what  I  am  about  to  say  to 
your  sister  until  I  grant  you  permission  to 
speak.  Promise  me  that  when  you  see  her 
shrinking  before  the  terrors  of  death  to-night, 
you  will  have  self-restraint  enough  to  abstain 
firom  breathing  a  word  of  hope  to  her.  I  a8k 
this,  because  there  are  ten— twenty— fifty 
chances  to  one  that  there  is  no  hope." 

**  I  have  no  choice  but  to  promise,"  answer- 
ed Trudaine. 

Lomaque  produced  his  pocket-book  and 
pencil  before  he  spoke  again. 

"  I  will  enter  into  particulars  as  soon  as  I 
have  asked  a  strange  question  of  you,"  he 
said.  *•  You  have  been  a  great  experimenter 
in  chemistry  in  your  time — is  your  mind  calm 
enough  at  such  a  trying  moment  as  this  tq 
answer  a  question  which  is  connected  with 
chemistry  In  a  very  humble  way  ?  You  seem 
astonished.  Let  me  put  the  question  at  once. 
Is  there  any  liquid,  or  powder,  or  combina- 
tion of  more  tnan  one  ingredient  known, 
which  will  remove  writing  from  paper,  and 
leave  no  stain  behind  7  " 

**  Certainly !  But  is  that  all  the  question  7 
Is  there  no  greater  difficulty — T" 

"  None.  Write  the  prescription,  whatever 
it  may  be,  on  that  leaf,"  said  the  other,  giying 
him  the  pocket-book.  "  V^te  it  down,  with 
plain  directions  for  use."  Trudaine  obeyed. 
'<  This  is  the  first  step,V  continued  Lomaque, 
putting  the  book  in  his  pocket,  **  towards  the 
accomplishment  of  my  purpose — my  uncertain 
purpose,  remember  I  Now  listen ;  I  am  going 
to  put  my  own  head  in  danger  for  the  cnance 
of  saving  your^s  and  your  sister's  by  tampering 
with  the  death-list.  DonH  interrupt  me!  If 
I  can  save  one,  I  can  save  the  other.  Not  a 
word  about  gratitude !  Wait  till  von  know 
the  extent  of  your  obligation.  I  tell  you 
plainly,  at  the  outset,  there  is  a  motive  of 
despair,  as  well  as  a  motive  of  pity,  at  the 
bottom  of  the  action  in  which  I  am  now  about 
to  engage.  Silence !  I  insist  on  it  Our  time 
is  short :  it  is  for  me  to  speak,  and  for  you  to 
listen.  The  president  of  the  tribunal  has  put 
the  death-mark  against  your  names  on  the 
prison  list  of  to-day.  That  list,  when  the 
trials  are  over,  and  it  is  marked  to  the  end, 
will  be  called  in  this  room  before  you  are 
taken  to  St.  Lazare.  It  will  then  be  sent  to 
Robespierre,  who  will  keep  it,  having  a  copy 
made  of  It  the  moment  it  is  delivered,  for  cir- 
culation among  his  colleagues— St.  Just,  and 
the  rest  It  is  my  business  to  make  a  duplicate 


Digitized  by 


Google 


276 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoDdacttdbf 


of  this  copj  in  the  first  instance.  The  dapli> 
cate  will  be  compared  with  the  original,  and 
possibly  with  the  copy  too,  either  by  Robes- 
pierre himself,  or  by  some  one  in  whom  be 
can  place  implicit  trust,  and  will  then  be  sent 
to  St.  Lazare  without  passing  through  my 
hands  again.  It  will  be  read  in  public  the 
moment  it  is  received,  at  the  grating  of  the 
prison,  and  will  afterwards  be  kept  by  the 
gaoler,  who  will  refer  to  it  as  he  goes  round 
in  the  evening  with  a  piece  of  chalk  to  mark 
the  cell  doors  of  the  prisoners  destined  for 
the  guillotine  to-morrow.  That  duty  happens, 
to-day,  to  fall  to  the  hunchback  whom  you 
saw  speaking  to  me.  He  is  a  confirmed 
drinker,  and  I  mean  to  tempt  him  with  such 
wine  as  he  rarely  tastes.  If^after  the  reading 
of  the  list  in  public,  and  before  the  marking 
of  the  cell  doors — I  can  get  him  to  sit  down 
to  the  bottle,  I  will  answer  for  making  him 
drunk,  for  getting  the  list  out  of  his  pocket, 
and  for  wiping  your  names  out  of  it  with  the 
prescription  you  have  just  written  for  me.  I 
shall  write  all  the  names,  one  under  another, 
just  irregularly  enough  in  my  duplicate  to 
prevent  the  interval  left  by  the  erasure  from 
being  easily  observed.  If  I  succeed  in  this, 
your  door  will  not  be  marked,  and  your  names 
will  not  be  called  to-morrow  morning  when 
fbe  tumbrils  come  for  the  guillotine.  In  the 
present  confusion  of  prisoners  pouring  in 
every  day  for  trial,  and  prisoners  pouring  out 
every  day  for  execution,  you  will  have  the 
best  possible  chance  of  security  against  awk- 
ward enquiries,  if  you  play  your  cards  pro- 
perly, for  a  good  fortnight  or  ten  days  at 
least.    In  that  time—'' 

**  Well  1  well  I "  cried  Trudaine  eagerly. 

Lomaque  looked  towards  the  tribunal  door, 
and  lowered  his  voice  to  a  fainter  whisper 
before  he  continued  :  "  In  that  time,  Robes- 
pierre's own  head  may  fall  into  the  sack! 
France  is  beginning  to  sicken  under  the 
Reign  of  Terror.  Frenchmen  of  the  Moder- 
ate faction,  who  have  lain  hidden  for  months 
in  cellars  and  lofts,  are  beginning  to  steal  out 
and  deliberate  by  twos  and  threes  together, 
under  cover  of  the  night.  Robespierre  has 
not  ventured  for  weeks  past  to  face  the  Con- 
vention committee.  He  only  speaks  among 
his  own  fViends  at  the  Jacobins.  There  are 
rumours  of  a  terrible  discovery  made  by 
Gamot,  of  a  desperate  resolution  taken  by 
Tallien.  Men  watching  behind  the  scenes,  see 
that  the  last  davs  of  the  Terror  are  at  hand. 
Jf  Robespierre  is  beaten  In  the  approaching 
struggle,  you  are  saved — for  the  new  reign 
must  be  a  Reign  of  Mercy.  If  he  conquers,  I 
have  only  put  off  the  date  of  your  death  and 
your  sister's,  and  have  laid  my  own  neck 
under  the  axe.  Those  are  your  chances— 
this  is  all  I  can  do." 

He  paused,  and  Trudaine  again  endea- 
voured to  speak  such  words  as  might  show 
that  he  was  not  unworthy  of  the  deadly  risk 
which  Lomaque  was  prepared  to  encounter. 
But  once  more  the  chief-agent  peremptorily  | 


and  Irritably  interposed.    "  I  tell  you,  for 
the  third  time,"  he  said,  **  I  will  listen  to  do 
expressions  of  gratitude  from  you,  till  I  know 
when  I  deserve  them.    It  is  true  that  I  recol- 
lect your  father's  timely  kindness  to  me— 
true  that  I  have  not  forgotten  what  passed, 
five  years  since,  at  your  house,  by  the  ^ive^ 
side.    I  remember  everything,  down  to  what 
you  would  consider  the  veriest  trifle— that 
cup  of  coflfee,  for  instance,  which  your  sisler 
kept  hot  for  me.    I  told  you  then  that  joa 
would  think  better  of  me  some  day.    I  know 
that  you  do  now.    But  this  is  not  all.    Yoa 
want  to  glorify  me  to  my  face  for  risking  my 
life  for  you.    I  won't  hear  you,  becaufie  my 
risk  is  of  the  paltriest  kind.    I  am  weary  of 
my  life.    I  can't  look  back  to  it  with  plea- 
sure.   I  am  too  old  to  look  forward  to  what 
is  left  of  it  with  hope.  There  was  something 
in  that  night  at  your  house,  before  the  wed- 
ding— something  in  what  you  said,  in  what 
your  sister  did—which  altered  me.    I  ha?e 
had  my  days  of  gloom  and  self-reproach,  from 
time  to  time  since  then.    I  have  sickened  at 
my  slavery,  and  subjection,  and  duplicity,  and 
cringing,  first  under  one  master,  then  under 
another.    I  have  longed  to  look  back  at  my 
life,  and  comfort  myself  with  the  sight  of 
some  good  action,  just  as  a  frugal  man  com- 
forts himself  with  the  sight  of  his  little 
savings  laid  by  in  an  old  drawer.    I  can't  do 
this  :  and  I  want  to  do  it.    The  want  takes 
me  like  a  fit,  at  uncertain  interval8,-^8ud- 
denly,  under  the  most  incomprehensible  influ- 
ences. A  fflance  up  at  the  blue  sky— starlight 
over  the  houses  of  this  great  city,  when  I 
look  out  at  the  night  from  my  garret  window 
— a  child's  voice  coming  suddenly,  I  dont 
know  where  from — the  piping  of  my  neigh- 
bour's linnet  in  his  little  cage— now  one 
trifling  thing,  now  another,  wakes  up  Ihst    i 
want  in  me  in  a  moment.    Rascal  as  I  am, 
those  few  simple  words  your  sister  spoke  to 
the  judge  went  through  and  through  me  like 
a  knife.    Strange,  in  a  man  like  me,  ien't";    I 
I  am  amazed  at  it  myself,    ify  life?   BaJJ    | 
I've  let  it  out  for  hire,  to  be  kicked  about  hy 
rascaJs  from  one  dirty  place  to  another,  like  a    ^ 
football !    Its  my  whim  to  give  it  a  last  kick  ^ 
myself,  and  throw  it  away  decently  before  it    i 
lodges  on  the  dunghill  for  ever.    Your  sister  ; 
kept  a  good  cup  of  coflfee  hot  for  me,  and/ 
give  her  a  bad  life  in  return  for  the  compU-   : 
ment.    You  want  to  thank  me  for  it?    What  i 
folly  I    Thank  me  when  I  have  done  somej 
thing  useful.    Don't  thank  me  for  that!     jj 
He  snapped  his  fingers  contemptnottsly  m  »>*   \\ 
spoke,  and  walked  away  to  the  outer  door, 
to  receive  the  gaoler,  who  returned  at  that  | 
moment 

"  Well,"  inquired  the  hunchback, "  has  any 
body  asked  for  me  ? "  ,    ' 

"No;"  answered  Lomaque,  "not  a  soui  ^ 
has  entered  the  room.  What  sort  of  wine  dia  i 
you  get?"  -  .   I 

"So-so!    Good  at  a  pinch,  fHend— good  at 

a  pinch."  j 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Mrlea  Diciiciis.] 


SISTER  ROSE. 


277 


"  Ah !  you  should  go  to  my  shop,  and  tir  a 
ertain  cask,  filled  with  a  certain  Vintage  f" 

"  What  shop?  Which  vintage?  " 

**  I  can't  stop  to  tell  yon  now ;  but  we  shall 
Host  likely  meet  again  to-day.  I  expect  to 
m  at  the  prison  this  afternoon.  Shall  I  ask 
br  you  ?  Good  I  I  won't  forget  I "  With 
hoee  farewell  words  he  went  out ;  and  never 
10  macb  as  looked  back  at  the  prisoners  be- 
Tore  he  dosed  the  door  behind  him. 

Trudaine  returned  to  his  sister,  fearfhl 
lest  his  face  should  betray  what  had  passed 
luring  the  extraordinary  interview  between 
Lomaque  and  himself.  But,  whatever  change 
there  might  be  in  his  expression,  Rose  did 
not  seem  to  notice  it  She  was  still  strangely 
inattentive  to  all  outward  things.  That  spirit 
of  resigaation,  which  is  the  courage  of  women 
in  all  great  emergencies,  seemed  now  to  be 
the  one  animatinffspirit  that  fed  the  flame  of 
life  within  her.  When  her  brother  sat  down 
by  her,  she  only  took  his  hand  gently,  and 
said — "  Let  us  stop  together  like  this,  Louis, 
till  the  time  comes.  I  am  not  afraid  of  it ; 
for  I  have  nothing  but  you  to  make  me  love 
life,  and  you,  too,  are  going  to  die.  Do  you 
remember  the  time  when  I  used  to  grieve 
that  I  had  never  had  a  child  to  be  some 
comfort  to  me  ?  I  was  thinking,  a  moment 
ago,  how  terrible  it  would  have  been  now,  if 
my  wish  had  been  granted.  It  is  a  blessing 
for  me,  in  this  great  misery,  that  I  am  child- 
less I  Let  us  talk  of  old  days,  Louis,  as  long 
as  we  can — not  of  my  husband,  or  my  mar- 
riage— only  of  the  old  times,  before  I  was  a 
burden  and  a  trouble  to  you.'' 

The  day  wore  on.  By  ones  and  twos  and 
threes  at  a  time,  the  condemned  prisoners 
came  from  the  tribunal,  and  collected  in  the 
waiting-room.  At  two  o'clock  all  was  ready 
for  the  calling  over  of  the  death-list.  It  was 
read  and  verified  by  an  officer  of  the  court ; 
and  then  the  gaoler  took  his  prisoners  back 
to  Saint  Lazare. 

Evening  came.  The  prisoners'  meal  had 
been  served  ;  the  dnplicate  of  the  death-list 
bad  been  read  in  public  at  the  grate ;  the  cell- 
doors  were  all  locked.  From  Uie  day  of  their 
arrest,  Rose  and  her  brother,  partly  through 
the  influence  of  a  bribe,  partly  through 
Lomaque's  intercession,  had  been  confined 
together  in  one  cell ;  and  together  they  now 
awaited  the  dread  event  of  the  morrow.  To 
Rose,  that  event  was  death — death,  to  the 
thought  of  which,  at  least,  she  was  now  re- 
sign^. To  Trudaine,  the  fast-nearing  future 
was  darkening  hour  by  hour,  with  the  uncer- 
taioty  which  is  worse  than  death ;  with  the 
faint,  fearfhl,  nnpartaken  suspense,  which 
keeps  the  mind  ever  on  the  rack,  and  wears 
away  the  heart  slowly.  Through  the  long, 
onsolaced  agony  of  that  dreadful  night,  but 
one  relief  came  to  him.  The  tension  of  every 
nerve,  the  crushing  weight  of  the  one  fatal 
oppression  that  clung  to  every  thought, 
relaxed  a  little,  when  Rose's  bodily  powers 


began  to  sink  under  her  mental  exhaustion — 
when  her  sad  dying  talk  of  the  happy  times 
that  were  past  ceased  softly,  and  she  laid  her 
head  on  his  shoulder,  and  let  the  angel  of 
slumber  take  her  yet  for  a  little  while,  even 
though  she  lay  already  under  the  shadow  ot 
the  angel  of  death. 

The  morning  came,  and  the  hot  summer 
sunrise.  What  life  was  left  in  the  terror- 
struck  city  awoke  for  the  day  faintly ;  and 
still  the  suspense  of  the  long  night  remained 
unlightened.  It  was  drawing  near  the  hour 
when  the  tumbrils  were  to  come  for  the  vic- 
tims doomed  on  the  day  before.  Trudalne's 
ear  could  detect  even  the  faintest  sound  in  the 
echoing  prison-region  outside  his  cell.  Soon 
listening  near  the  door,  he  heard  voices  dis- 
puting on  the  other  side  of  it.  Suddenly, 
the  bolts  were  drawn  back,  the  key  turned 
in  the  lock,  and  he  found  himself  standing 
face  to  face  with  the  hunchback  and  one 
of  the  subordinate  attendants  on  the  pri- 
soners. 

**  Look ! "  muttered  this  last  man,  sulkily, 
"  there  they  are,  safe  in  their  cell,  just  as  I 
said  ;  but  I  tell  you  again  they  are  not  down 
in  the  list.  What  do  you  mean  by  bullying 
me  about  not  chalking  their  door,  last  night, 
along  with  the  rest?  Catch  me  doing  your 
work  for  you  again,  when  you're  too  drunk 
to  do  it  yourself! " 

''Hold  your  tongue,  and  let  me  have 
another  look  at  the  list  I"  returned  the 
hunchback,  turning  away  f^om  the  cell-door, 
and  snatching  a  slip  of  paper  from  the  other's 
hand.  "  The  devil  take  me  if  I  can  make 
head  or  tail  of  iti "  he  exclaimed,  scratching 
his  head,  after  a  careful  examination  of  the 
list.  ''  I  could  swear  that  I  read  over  their 
names  at  the  grate,  yesterday  afternoon,  with 
my  own  lips ;  and  yet,  look  as  long  as  I  may, 
I  certainly  can't  find  them  written  down 
here.  Give  us  a  pinch,  Ariend.  Am  I 
awake,  or  dreaming?-- drunk,  or  sober,  this 
morning  ?  " 

*'  Sober,  I  hope,"  said  a  quiet  voice  at  his 
elbow.  ''  I  have  just  looked  in  to  see  how 
you  are,  after  yesterday." 

**  How  I  am,  citizen  Lomaque?  Petrified 
with  astonishment.  Ton  yourself  took  charge 
of  that  man  and  woman  for  me,  in  the  wait- 
ing-room, yesterday  morning ;  and  as  for 
myself,  I  could  swear  to  having  read  their 
names  at  the  grate,  yesterday  afternoon.  Yet, 
this  morning,  here  are  no  such  things  as  these 
said  names  to  be  found  in  the  list!  What  do 
you  think  of  that  ?  " 

"  And  what  do  you  think,"  interrupted  the 
aggrieved  subordinate, "  of  his  having  the  im- 
pudence to  bully  me  for  being  careless  in 
chalking  the  doors,  when  he  was  too  drunk 
to  do  it  himself  ?— too  drunk  to  know  his 
right  hand  fVom  his  left !  If  I  wasn't  the 
best-natured  man  in  the  world,  I  should 
report  him  to  the  head-gaoler." 

**  Quite  right  of  you  to  excuse  him,  and 
quite  wrong  of   him  to  bully  yon,"  said 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


278 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCoodnctcd  bf 


Lomaqae,  pereaasivelj.    "  Take  my  advice,''  I 
he  coDtinaed  ooafidentially  to  the  honchback,  j 
**  and  doa't  trast  too  implicitly  to  that  Blip  ! 
pery  memory  of  yours,  after  our  little  driak- 
iog  boat  yesterday.    Tou  could  not  really  | 
have  read  their  names  at  the  grate,  you  know,  i 
or  of  course  they  would  be  down  on  the  list. 
As  for  the  waiting-room  at  the  tribunal,  a 
word  in  your  ear :  obief-agents  of  police  know 
strange  secrets.    The  president  of  the  oourt 
condemns  and  pardons  in  public ;  but  there 
b  somebody  else,  with  the  power  of  ten  thou- 
sand presidents,  who  now  and  then  condemns 
and  pardons  in  private.    You  can  guess  who. 
I  say  no  more,  except  that  I  recommend  you 
to  keep  your  head  on  your  shoulders,  by 
troubling  it  about  nothing  but  the  list  there 
in  your  hand.     Stick  to  that  literally,  and 
nobody  can  blame  you.    Make  a  fuss  about 

mysteries  that  don't  concern  you,  and *' 

Lomaque  stopped,  and,  holding  his  hand 
edgewise,  let  it  drop  significantly  over  the 
hunchback's  head.  That  action,  and  the  hints 
which  preceded  it,  seemed  to  bewilder  the 
little  man  more  than  ever.  He  stared  per- 
plexedly at  Lomaque  ;  uttered  a  word  or  two 
of  rough  apology  to  his  subordinate,  and 
rolling  his  mis-shapen  head  portentously, 
walked  away  with  the  death-Hat  crumpled  up 
nervously  in  his  hand. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  a  sight  of  them,  and 
see  if  they  really  are  the  same  man  and 
woman  whom  I  looked  after  yesterday  morn- 
ing in  the  waiting-room,"  said  Lomaque, 
Sutting  his  hand  on  the  oell-door,  just  as  the 
eputy-gaoler  was  about  to  close  it  again. 
*'  Look  in,  by  all  mrans,"  said  the  man. 
"No  doubt  you  will  find  that  drunken  booby 
as  wrong  in  what  he  told  you  about  them,  as 
he  is  about  everything  else." 

Lomaque  made  use  of  the  privilege  granted 
to  him  immediately.  He  saw  Trudaine  sitting 
with  his  sister  in  the  corner  of  the  cefl 
farthest  from  the  door,  evidently  for  the  pur- 
pose of  preventing  her  flrom  overhearing  the 
conversation  outside.  There  was  an  unsettled 
look,  however,  in  her  eves,  a  slowly-height- 
ening colour  in  her  cheeks,  which  showed  her 
to  be  at  least  vaguely  aware  that  something 
unusual  had  been  taking  place  in  the  corridor. 
Lomaque  beckoned  to  Trudaine  to  leave  her; 
and  whispered  to  him—"  The  prescription 
has  worked  well.  You  are  safe  for  to-day. 
Break  the  news  to  your  sister  as  gently  as 

vou  can.     Danville "   He  stopped  and 

listened  till  he  satisfied  himself,  bv  the  sound 
of  the  deputy-gaoler's  footsteps,  that  the  man 
was  lounging  towards  the  farther  end  of  the 
corridor.  **  Danville,"  he  resumed,  "  after 
having  mixed  with  the  people  outside  the 
grate,  yesterday,  and  having  heard  your  names 
read,  was  arrested,  in  the  evening,  by  secret 
order  from  Robespierre,  and  sent  to  the 
Temple.  What  charge  will  be  laid  to  him, 
or  when  he  will  be  brought  to  trial,  it  is 
impossible  to  say.  I  onlv  know  that  he  is 
arrested.    Hush  I  don't  talk  now  \  my  flriend 


outside  is  coming  back.  Keep  quiet — hope 
everything  from  the  chances  and  changes  of 
public  aff'airs ;  and  comfort  yourself  with  the 
thought  that  you  are  both  safe  for  to-day." 

**  And  to-morrow,"  whispered  Trudaine. 

"Dont  think  of  to-morrow,"  returned 
Lomaque,  turning  away  hurriedly  to  the 
door.    "  Let  to-morrow  take  care  of  itself." 


THE  FLOWERS'  PETITION. 


Wb  flowvre  Mid  thralM  in  citSet  pent, 
"From  Aflds  »od  couotry  places  rent 
(Withoat  our  own  or  ft-iands'  conMnt), 

In  dMparate  eoadition. 
Tat  on  no  wilfkil  ootraffa  bent. 

So  hamblj  hara  patitioo. 


Wharaaa:  AKaimt  oar  siTaat  wflla. 
With  loaa  of  soil  aud  parlidg  rilla. 
Ooopad  ap  in  pota.  on  wiodov-silla, 

III  ricketj  old  bozet— 
Tha  citj*s  braath  onr  baanty  kit  It, 

And  makaa  oa  graj  aa  fbxaa ; 


Oondamn'd  in  walls  of  briek  and  lima, 
In  narrow  beda  of  elay  and  slime. 
To  opa  oar  bnds  and  shed  our  priuK 

We  naad  aoma  kind  t 
Wa  praj,  oh,  let  at  lira  our  time  I 

And  we  are  Terj  tender  I 


Oh,  cheat  as  not  of  heaTen'a  dewa ; 
Not  air  (howe rer  stale)  refuae : 
God  knows  'lit  little  we  can  use. 

So  choked  are  all  onr  ritalt : 
No  allfhteat  care  will  wa  abate. 

Nor  Ctil  in  fond  reqoitala. 


Well  breathe  70a  delicate  peHVimes : 
We'll  f  lad  our  ejn  with  choicest  blooma ; 
Bat  do  not  ahnt  oa  op  in  rooma. 

Or  ttiflioir  erowded  placaa--> 
Tha  akj,  in  dondt  and  ug ht,  aatamet 

To  at  far  lo?aUer  Ikcoa. 


Oar  Bootj  and  badragfled  fkta, 
(Oar  erer-eraena  tarn  chocolate;. 
Do  wa  aacrlba  to  apite  or  hatet ' 


(Oar  arer-eraena  tarn  chocolate) 
crlba  to  apite  or  hatet 

No  we  are  tore  .voa  loTe  oa ; 


Tet,  hair-aahamed.  we  beg  to  ttate 

W*  lore  the  ana  abora  oa. 


Then  treat  nt  in  yonr  gentlest  wajt. 
And  next  nntn  the  aun^t  own  rajt. 
With  baautv'a  homage,  incanaa-pralaa, 

Wa  CTer  will  careaa  70a, 
And  to  the  ending  of  onr  da7a 

In  gratefai  ailence  Ueaa  yoo. 


THE  SOLDIER'S  WIFE. 

Wb  know  in  England  mach  of  the  con- 
tents of  the  post-bag  ttom  the  Crimea^ 
and  have  been  taught  by  the  letters  sent 
from  persons  in  the  army  to  their  wives  and 
mothers,  that  an  English  soldier,  although 
a  member  of  the  lowest  rank  and  file,  has 
such  a  thing  as  a  heart  under    his  ribSi 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Chtfkt  DiekcMi] 


THE  SOLDIER'S  WIFE. 


279 


aad  caa  be,  on  the  very  battle-field,  as  fUll 
of  tenderoesB  and  genaine  refinement  as  any 
well-brud  Lady  Dorii*,  who,  in  May  Fair, 
'Mails  the  snltry  hoars  away.''  Who  does 
not  wish  good  wives  and  mothers  to  snch 
men?  Who  does  not  feel  that  as  the  men 
tre,  80  may  the  women  be ;  that  where  the 
maa  U  true-hearted  and  gentle,  it  is  not  in 
the  Datore  of  the  woman  to  be  otherwise  than 
faithful  and  discreet  T 

But  we  know  well  that  the  character  which 
attaches  too  generally , as  a  stain,  to  the  private 
soldier's  wife,  is  one  that  shamefully  belies 
ber  nature  and  the  nature  of  her  sex.  We 
know  bow  this  comes  to  pa8&  It  is  the 
public  policy  of  this  country  to  debase  the 
wife  of  the  common  soldier  for  the  direct 
porpose  of  making  marriage  odious  in  his 
eyes.  We,  as  a  nation,  are  too  virtuous  to 
say  this  in  so  many  words;  but  we  do  say  it 
in  a  great  many  more  words,  and  proclaim  it 
by  our  public  policy.  It  is  not  thought  to  be 
desirable  that  soldiers  should  marry :  th^y 
have  little  pay,  and  cannot  aflbrd  the  luxury 
of  any  semblance  of  a  home.  Domestic  ties, 
it  has  hitherto  been  thought,  unfit  them 
for  their  duty.  Is  this  true  ?  Surely  that 
last  dark  fancy  is  dispersed  for  ever  by  the 
light  we  get  out  of  the  soldiers'  letters,  which 
have  been  published  by  thousands  during  the 
last  six  months.  It  is  evident  now,  if  it  was 
ever  anything  but  clear,  that  home  thoughts 
and  affections  are  predominant  in  men  who 
win  most  honour  by  their  courage  on  a 
Bcene  of  war.  The  military  legislator  knows 
nothing  whatever  of  the  spirit  of  an  Eng- 
lishman, who  thinks  him  more  likely  to 
fight  well  as  an  animal  than  as  a  man 
loving  his  home  and  his  countrr;  whose 
heart  is  directed,  after  the  English  fashion, 
upon  at  least  one  strong  feeling  of  domestic 
love.  The  soldier  will  but  fight  the  better, 
when  he  is  the  hero  up  to  the  height  of 
whose  daring,  wife  and  child  look  with  an 
entbosiasm  greater  than  the^  feel  for  any 
Agamemnon  who  has  had  his  centuries  of 
praise.  He  will  not  be  a  coward  in  the 
sight  of  those  who  can  pay  him  out  of  all 
their  love  ten  thousand  times  more  richly  than 
his  country  can  pay  him  for  every  sacrifice  he 
naakes,  and  every  great  deed  he  does.  He 
will,  for  the  sake  of  the  unstinted  recompense 
his  home  affords, — for  the  sake  of  a  proud 
flash  in  his  mother's  eyes,  of  a  wife's 
^mbling  and  admiring  wonder,— be  a  lion 
in  the  field,  and  he  will  Uke  care  also  to  show 
^e  lion's  generosity  and  to  keep  his  soul 
pore  froin  the  filth  and  villany  that  have, 
ere  now,  belonged  to  the  vocation  of  the 
wldier.  For  the  work  he  does,  are  they  not 
pnre-minded  women  whose  reward  he  has  to 
earn? 

We  are  sure,  then,  that  the  English  private 
soldier  is  improved  in  quality  by  the  posses- 
sion of  a  decent  and  an  honourable  domestic 
tie.  The  question  of  economy  alone  remaini*. 
Under  the  present  system—by  which  soldiers' 


wives  are  systematically  and  purposely  con- 
verted into  **  drabs" — they  are  excluded  as  a 
body  fh>m  almost  all  means  of  aiding  their 
husbands  in  the  establishment  of  anything 
like  home.  There  are,  indeed,  in  almost  every 
regiment,  some  well-conduoted  women,  who, 
by  acting  as  servants  to  offlcers'  wives, — ^l^ 
taking  in  washing,  and  in  other  little  ways, — 
render  themselves  helps  rather  than  burdens 
to  their  husbands.  These  women  either  have 
borne  up  with  a  rare  strength  of  character 
against  debasing  influences,  or  they  have 
been  protected  from  them  by  the  help  of 
husbands  gifted  with  unusual  tact  and  self- 
denial. 

The  rale  is  against  them.  Great  men  who 
ipould  the  fortunes  of  the  little  men  in  mili- 
tary life,  declare  against  purity  in  women ; 
and,  well  knowing  that  her  virtues  open 
fairest  in  the  shade,  contrive  their  destruc- 
tion by  a  process  of  exposure  that  we  will 
not  venture  to  describe  in  our  own  words. 
A  sympathising  lady—wife  of  an  army  sur- 
geon—who has  often  pleaded  their  cause  with 
the  public,— in  a  little  Plea  for  Soldiers' 
Wives,  recently  published,  states  the  case 
thus :— **  A  young  woman  of  highly  moral  and 
respectable  character,— perhaps  a  farmer's 
daughter,  or  the  servant  of  a  family  in  good 
social  position,— marries,  with  the  consent  of 
the  commanding  officer,  a  private  in  a  regi- 
ment stationed  in  a  provincial  town.  She 
has  then  a  right  to  live  in  barracks ;  that  is, 
the  youn|f  married  woman  is  allowed  to 
occupy  with  her  husband  a  sleeping  room 
common  to  several  other  persons, — soldiers, 
single  and  married, — without  the  slightest 
protection  to  her  feelings  of  womanly  decency 
or  religions  habits.  Appalled  at  the  position 
in  which  she  finds  herself  placed,  her  ears 
assailed  on  every  side  by  ribaldry  and  blas- 
phemy, the  woman  perhaps  sits  down  and 
weeps;  while  one  who  has  passed  through 
agony  snch  as  hers  now  Is,  in  earlier  days, 
draws  near,  jests  at  her  condition,  and  recom- 
mends her  to  try  the  soothing  influence  of  the 
dram-shop.  The  pNoison  does  its  work  ;  the 
poor  creature's  sensibilities  are  dulled ;  she 
now  endures  the  horror  of  her  position, 
and,  day  by  day,  becomes  more  indifferent 
to  it." 

No  day  could  be  more  fit  than  the  present 
for  putting  aside  the  public  indifference  to 
this  disgrace  upon  our  barrack  i^stem.  Vast 
barracks  are  to  be  built  at  Aldershott,  and 
other  new  barracks  on  a  scale  hitherto  un- 
known to  us,  are,  we  believe,  designed  in 
other  places.  We  have  dwelt  upon  the 
positition  of  soldiers'  wives  rather  fUlly  In  a 
former  volume  of  this  journal  ;*  but  we  feel  it 
to  be  a  duW  to  renew  our  argent  appeal  on 
their  behalf  now,  when  the  greatest  curse 
under  which  they  suffer  is,  in  the  building  of 
these  new  barracks,  to  be  strengthened  and 
perpetuated,  or  to  be  removed.    It  is  for  the 


*  Yoliim«  iil.,  page  66L 


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280 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 


[CMdwtadbT 


public  to  request  that  in  all  pending  an^ge- 
mente  for  the  lodging  of  our  soldiers  some 
consideration  may  be  shown  to  the  common 
soldier's  wife  who  is  admitted  into  barracks ; 
a  consideration  to  be  conceded  without  wicked 
extravagance,  we  hnml>l7  trust,  since  it  is 
one  of  common  decency  alone.  According  to 
regulation,  only  five  out  of  every  ninety-five 
sokliers  are  allowed  to  marry ;  consequently, 
no  more  than  that  proportion  of  wives  are 
allowed  residence  with  their  husbands  in 
barracks.  But  to  suppose  that  the  rule  is 
adhered  to:  to  suppose  that  clandestine 
marriages  ao  not  infinitely  outnumber  the 
prescribed  proportion ;  and  to  suppose  that 
the  authorities  are  not  fullv  aware  of  this 
general  breach  of  rule,  would  be  supposing 
that  the  soldier  is  not  a  human  being, 
and  that  his  oflScers  are  blind.  In  this  case 
—as  in  every  other  round  which  routine 
tightens  its  red  tape  or  plasters  on  its 
pipe-clay — the  law  is  always  being  broken, 
with  the  connivance  of  those  to  whom  the 
responsibility  of  enforcing  it  is  confided  ;  and 
broken  because  it  cannot  be  kept.  It  is  a 
fiction  and  a  snare.  If  the  soldier  knew  hf 
could  marry  with  leave  and  allowance,  and 
that  his  wife  would  be  permitted  to  take  can 
of  herself  and  of  him,  like  the  wives  of  othei 
men,  he  would  be  much  better  worth  hi^ 
money  ^to  adhere  to  the  economical  view  o: 
the  subject)  than  he  is.  Desertion,  drunk- 
enness, and  all  sorts  of  Insubordination  must 
be  caused  bv  the  present  system.  Soldiers 
whose  wives  live  out  of  barraclu  are  attracted 
to  spend  their  time  out  of  barracks  more  than 
is  good  for  the  performance  of  their  profes- 
sional duties  within  barracks,  and  thus  arc 
constantly  offending.  Their  married  life  is 
marred  by  continual  absence  firom  what 
ought  to  be  their  home,  and  their  professional 
life  is  ruined  by  constant  transgression  of 
barrack  rules;  which  would  not  be  broken 
if  the  two  were  combined.  Soldiers'  chil- 
dren, again,  are  often,  not  only  brought 
into  the  world  with  a  shameless  want  of 
privacy :  but,  as  they  grow  up.  the  lessons 
they  imbibe  are  not  of  the  most  wholesome 
character. 

Even  the  small  proportion  of  wives  allowed 
to  each  regiment  are  not  only  not  cared  for, 
but  are  surrounded  by  such  circumstances 
as  allow  them  to  escape  demoralization  only 
by  a  miracle.  Surely  the  present  war  has 
shown  that  there  are  duties  connected  with 
the  army,  as  imperative  as  drill,  which  women 
ought  to  perform.  There  is  a  small  staff  of 
surgeons  to  each  regiment :  why  should  there 
not  also  be  a  staff  of  nurses?  And  who  so  fit 
to  nurse  as  the  soldier's  wife  ?  Washing  and 
needlework  might  also  be  put  under  some 
sort  of  regulation,  and  soldiers'  wives  em- 
ployed in  those  useful  occupations  *»  by  au- 
thority." Routine  is  rigid  about  heel-ball, 
the  form  of  a  whisker,  or  the  stiffness  of 
a  cravat,  but  it  seldom  regulates  where 
regulation  is  required. 


Shall  the  present  system  be  contlnaed  io 
spite  of  the  norrors  it  has  bred?  Or  is  our 
army  really  to  be  managed  at  all  pointi  in 
such  a  way  that,  from  the  noble  general  down 
to  the  poor  soldier *s  wife,  every  one  coDDected 
with  it  may  be  put  officially  upon  the  shortest 
road  to  shame  ? 

GAMBLING. 

A  lUK  will  grow  tired,  in  the  long  ran,  of 
every  amusement  or  occupation  in  the  world, 
except  one— Gambling.  Fickle,  ioconstaot, 
and  capricious  human  straws  that  we  are, 
blown  about  from  side  to  side  by  the  wind 
of  levity,  we  often  think  we  have  had  enoogli 
of  a  bad  as  of  a  good  thing.  Many  a  one 
leaves  off  vicious  practices,  not  because  be 
feels  an  inclination  towards  virtue,but  because 
he  is  tired  with  vice.  We  become  a-weary, 
a-weary  of  rich  meats  and  potent  wines,  of 
blood-horses  and  fair  women ;  of  jewels  and 
pictures ;  of  our  mansion  in  Belgravia,  and 
our  palace  in  Hampshire — conservatories, 
fallow-deer,  pheasant  preserves, large  footmen, 
bowing  tenantry,  and  all.  Among  the  many 
causes  I  have  for  thanking  heaven  that  I  am 
not  a  duke,  one  of  the  chiefest  is  the  certitude 
I  feel  that  at  least  five  out  of  every  half-dozen 
dukes  are  desperately  bored  with  their  state 
of  dukedom  :  that  their  gorge  rises  at  their 
stars,  that  they  loathe  their  garters;  and 
that  they  are  heartily  sick  of  being  called 
vour  grace  all  day  long.  Yes,  everything 
here  below  will  pall  upon  us  and  find  us  used 
up  at  last.  To  every  tragedy  the  sublimest 
— to  every  comedy  the  wittiest— there  is  an 
unfailing  anti-strophe,  long  after  theepilone 
has  been  spoken — a  yawn.  To  the  Sir 
Charles  Coldstream  complexion  we  oas^ 
come  eventually;  we  must  sicken  of  the 
Italian  Opera,  the  Lord  Mayor's  dinner, 
Dod's  Peerage  and  Baronetage,  the  Sacred 
Harmonic  Society,  the  House  of  Peers,  the 
Court  Circular,  the  Freedom  of  the  Chicken- 
butchers  Company  in  a  golden  box,  and  the 
Council  of  the  Eoyal  Academy;  topmast 
pinnacles  of  human  felicity  and  grandeur  as 
those  institutions  are  thought  to  be.  It  >3 
dreadful  to  reflect  upon  the  vanity  of  mundane 
things,  and  it  is  enough  to  cause  a  shudder 
to  every  well  regulated  mind  to  have  to 
remember  that  the  water  bailiff's  young  nwn 
will  one  dav  feel  a  disgustful  fatigue  for  his 
proud  position:  that  the  gold-stick  will  become 
satiated  with  the  po.ssession  of  his  auriferoD!> 
baton,  and  that  his  uncle,  the  marquis,  will  no 
longer  feel  any  pleasure  in  being  an  mfT 
Brother  of  the  Trinity  House.  There  wUi 
come  a  time  too,  I  think  Mr.  Chairman.  wDen 
we  shall  all  grow  a-weary  even  of  the  day  ana 
night,  and  wish  in  the  evening  that  it  wej"^ 
morning,  and  in  the  morning  that  the  nip 
were  come.  Then  we  shall  draw  the  curtains 
at  the  bed's  foot,  and  shut  out  the  bright  son- 
light,  and  turn  the  gay  pictures  with  tBeir 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ChartM  DlckeiM.] 


GAMBLING. 


281 


backs  to  the  wall  j  for  we  shall  think  then, 
AS  that  Roman  satirist  thought  nineteen  hun- 
dred years  ago,  that  we  have  eaten  enough, 
and  drunk  enough,  and  played  the  fool 
enoQgh,  and  that  it  is  tempus  abire — time  for 
us  to  go. 

But  of  that  pleasaat  perdition  Gambling  a 
man  never  tires.    No  man  ever  tires  of  pitch  . 
and  toss  as  long  as  he  has  an  arm  to  pitch 
with,  or  a  penny  to  tose.  The  gambler  requires 
neither  food  nor  drink,  sleep  nor  raiment.    As 
long  as  he  has  hands  and  a  voice  he  will  ! 
rattle  the  bones  and  bet ;  when  he  has  para- 
Ijm  on  his  tongue  and  chalk-stones  on  his 
fingers,  he  will  get  his  neighbour  to  throw  the 
dice  and  call  the  mains  for  him :  but  gamble 
still.    Addiction  to  play  has  not  only  the 
power  of   making  the   heart  hard  as    the 
nether  millstone,  but  it  will  confer  insensi- 
bility to  pain,  and  indifference  to  privation. 
It  will  even  vanquish  the  great  edax  rerum  j 
—Time— and  give  the  votaries  of  play  longe- 
vity ;  for  unless  the  gambler's  career  be  cut 
ibort  bv  a  quick  despair  and  sudden  suicide, 
he  will  outlive  wives,  children,  friends,  for- 
tune, and  will  see  new  generations  springing  i 
up  whose  fathers  he  has  fleeced,  or  whose 
grandfathers  have  fleeced  him,  and,— gray- 
haired,  gamble  still.    I  know  a  white-headed 
old  punter  now,  whose  limbs  are  all  in  a 
quiver  with  the  palsy,  who  has  been  ruined  ■ 
and  hoping  scores  of  times  for  the  last  half- 
century.  He  aays  that  if  I  will  only  lend  him  i 
forty  pounds,  and  go  with  him  to  Hombourg, 
he  will  show  me  how  the  red  must  turn  up, 
and  he  and  I  win  an  incalculable  fortune. 
He  comes  to  me  with  the  theory  of  his  infal-  | 
lible  martingale  engrossed  on  foolscap  like  ' 
an  indenture.    He  brings  packs  of  cards,  and 
trembling  shows  me  the  combinations  that 
must  render  gain  certain.  He  picks  out  with 
a  pin  the  chaDcesof  red  against  black  upon  a  | 
gambler's  almanack.    He  nurses  his  martin-  [ 
gale  as  old  women,  thirty  years  ago,  used  to  \ 
nurse  cabalistic  numbers  in  the  lottery  ]  num-  | 
hers  of  which  thev  had  dreamed,  or  which 
had  been  sold  to  tuem  by  fortune-tellers,  or 
which  they  had  picked  up  in  the  street,  and 
which  were  always  to  bring  them  the  great  j 
prize,  and  wealth,  but  never  did.  j 

Look  at  the  perseverance,  persistence,  in- 
capacity of  fatigue  of  gamblers.  Consider 
once  more' Cardinal  Mazarin  on  his  death- 1 
bed.  The  last  bulletin  has  been  issued.  His 
Bovereign  and  master  here  below  has  made 
up  his  mind  to  lose  his  faithful  servant,  and  ; 
has  even  so  far  recovered  from  the  first  shock  I 
of  his  grief  as  to  give  his' place  to  another. 
The  pallid  spectre  with  the  equal  footsteps  is 
waiting  at  the  cardinal's  door,  like  the  print- 
er's boy,  at  mine,  for  copy  ;  his  friends  are 
gathered  round  his  bed ;  he  has  had  unction, 
absolution,  tears,  thanks,  blessings ;  and  what 
w  the  cardinal  doing  ?  Is  he  gathering  the 
clothes  over  his  head,  or  turning  his  face  to 
thewall,  or  murmuring  like  Hadrian,  Animula 
Tagula  blandulal  no  ;  he  is  sitting  up  in  bed 


plavinff  at  cards  with  the  ladies  of  the  court 
—the  ladies  with  frizzled  ringlets  and  low- 
necked  dresses  I  There  is  an  awful  story  I 
have  read  somewhere  of  a  man. who  refused 
to  die :  who  in  extremis,  had  the  card- table 
drawn  up  to  his  bedside  and  strong  meats  and 
drinks  placed  upon  it,  and  so  held  the  cards 
against  Death  :  but  Death  had  all  the  trumps, 
and  the  man  lost  the  game.  Cont^ider  this. 
The  approach  of  death  softens  most  men. 
The  grim  warrior  becomes  like  unto  a  baby  \ 
the  reprobate  wishes,  he  could  live  his  life 
over  again  ;  the  condemned  criminal  talks  of 
his  innocent  school  days,  and  his  dead  mother; 
the  callous  old  knave  Falstaff  babbles  of 
green  fields ;  but  the  gambler  relinquishes 
his  hold  of  the  cards  or  the  dice-box  only 
with  his  life.  He  will  dice  with  the  devil  on 
the  banks  of  the  pit  of  perdition  till  he  falls 
into  it,  for  ever. 

If  I  were  to  go  to  history  or  to  antiquity  I 
could  find  instances,  and  relate  anecdotes,  of 
that  persistence  and  utter  absorption  to  ex- 
traneous influences,  which  mark  gamblers  as 
with  a  hot  iron,  enough  to  fill  thia  volume  at 
the  end  of  the  half  year.  But  I  need  not  go 
even  as  far  back  as  that  Duke  of  Norfolk, 
in  King  William  the  Third's  time,  whose  ser- 
vant deposed  on  a  trial,  that  his  master  would 
stop  awav  for  weeks  together  at  play,  and 
would  only  send  home  when  he  bad  lost  all 
his  gold.  I  need  not  search  the  Annals  of 
the  Four  Masters  for  that  fine  old  Irish  gam- 
bling tradition  of  the  two  bogtrotters,  who 
for  eleven  consecutive  days  and  nights  played 
at  shove  halfpenny  on  the  back  of  a  broken 
pair  of  bellows.  I  need  not  cross  the  Atlantic 
to  narrate  to  you  the  bo ^d  ppirit  for  play  of 
Hon.  Elkanah  Mush,  of  the  United  States 
Senate,  who,  with  the  exception  of  the  inter- 
regna of  drinks  and  cutting  fresh  tobacco- 
plugs,  passed  the  whole  of  four  voyages,  per 
steamer,  from  St.  Louis  to  New  Orleans  and 
back  again,  in  the  exciting  and  national  game 
of  Poker  (playing  with  a  Texan  land-specu- 
lator) and  losing  thereat  twenty-five  thou- 
sand dollars,  five  hundred  niggers,  and  a 
double-barrelled  rifle,  besides  hypothecating 
two  cotton  crops,  not  yet  sown.  I  have  but 
to  look  at  home,  and  not  much  farther  than 
the  extremity  of  my  own  nose,  for  such  in- 
stances and  anecdotes.  Go  to  the  half  built- 
upon  slums  behind  Rattlebridge,  hard  by  the 
Great  Northern  Railway  terminus.  Take  a 
walk,  any  Sunday  morning,  to  the  arches  of 
the  Greenwich  Railway ;  to  the  muddy  shores 
of  the  Thames  above  Millbank ;  you  will  find 
groups  of  boys — some  coster  boys,  some  thief 
boys,  some  boys  of  whom  it  is  dfficult  to  say 
more  by  way  of  description  save  that  they 
are  boys,  and  dirty  and  ragged, — squatting 
in  the  mud,  among  the  rubbish,  the  broken 
brickd,  the  dust-heaps,  and  the  fragments  of 
timber ;  playing  for  half-pence,  for  button* 
and  marbles  when  thev  have  no  moneys  these 
boys  will  gamble  for  boors  and  hours  with  a 
rapt  eagerness,  with  a  feverish  determination, 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


iCmiaeMhf 


with  a  strong  will,  that  otherwise,  and 
rlRhtly  directed,  should  make  them  emperors. 
'Tis  but  the  fondness  of  boys  for  a  game, 
you  may  say ;  no  boys  would  play  at  leap- 
frog, at  bop-scotch,  or  cricltet,  or  prisonerd- 
bars,  or  at  the  more  popular  diversion,  fight- 
ing, with  this  inflexible  perseverance,  in 
despite  and  defiance  of  ragged  trousers,  chil- 
blains, cold,  empty  bellies,  the  imminent 
police,  and  possible  incarceration  for  unlaw- 
fully gambling,  and  the  certainty  of  being 
brutally  beaten  when  they  go  home— a  cer- 
tainty at  least  to  those  who  have  any  homes 
to  go  to.  The  spectators,  as  young,  as  rag- 
ged, as  passionately  excited  by  the  chances  of 
the  game  as  the  players  themselves,  stand  or 
crouch  in  a  ring  around.  Those  who  have 
coppers  bet:  those  who  have  none  scratch 
themselves  convulsively,  but  watch  the  fluc- 
tuations of  the  g^me  with  the  same  rapt 
eagerness  They  gasp  with  excitement :  they 
have  scarcely  breath  to  swear  with.  And  the 
players  would  play  and  the  spectators  stare 
till  Doomsday,  were  it  not  for  an  inexorable, 
implacable  spoil-sport,  in  the  shape  of  a 
police-man,  who  charges  down  on  the  band 
of  gamesters  fiercer  than  any  Turcoman,  and 
puts  them  to  fiight  with  a  "  Now,  then !  " 
horrid  to  hear,  and  a  dreadfully  echoing— 
"Come  out  of  that : "  collaring  many,  hit- 
ting some,  and  scattering  all ;  though  the 
rout  is  but  a  partial  one  ;  for  the  broken  ring 
collects  again  in  smaller  segments  soon,  be- 
hind angles  of  walls  and  under  the  lees  of 
barges  and  brick-stacks,  where  the  game  be- 
gins afresh,  and  players  and  spectators  are 
again  excited  and  absorbed. 

More :  Go  to  tibe  low  cofl'ee-shops  and 
public-houses  in  Whitechapel,  Spitalflelds, 
Shoreditcb,  and  that  delightful  region  whose 
streets  nestle  in  the  shadow  of  the  collegiate 
church  of  St.  Peter^s,  Westminster,  and 
which  cling  on  to  the  skirts  of  broad,  light 
Victoria  Street,  like  barnacles  to  a  ship's 
keel.  Look  at  the  Jew  boys  and  men  gam- 
bling— now  for  bank  notes  and  jewels,  now 
for  cnps  of  coffee  and  halfpenny  tarts.  Ask 
the  thieves  how  they  spend  their  nefarious 
earnings.  If  they  answer  you  civilly  (which 
is  donbtfal)  and  veraclously  (which  is  more 
doubtful  still)  they  will  tell  you  that  they 
game  till  they  have  lost  all  their  money,  and 
then  go  and  steal  more. 

More :  Leave  these  low  haunts :  put  on 
a  clean  collar  and  enter  respectable  society. 
Ask  the  noble  lord  If  he  is  not  rather  tired 
of,  not  to  say  disgusted  with,  the  noble  lord 
opposite,  who  has  only  been  in  the  house  a 
twelvemonth,  and  has  only  made  half  a  dozen 
roeeches,  and  then  ask  him  if  he  has  ever 
tired  of  his  nightly  game  at  whist,  which  he 
has  played  almost  every  night  (Sundays  ex- 
cepted) for  the  last  sixty  years,  and  whether 
he  will  not  shuffle  the  cards  this  evening  with 
the  same  degree  of  pleasure  as  he  was  wont 
to  do  when  he  played  with  Mr.  Fox  and  Lord 
Hertford  in  the  year  nincty-fivo.    What  can 


there  be  in  a  few  pieces  of  spotted  paste- 
board, and  a  board  ftiU  of  boles,  to  make  old 
ladies  love  cribbage  long  after  they  aro  piu^ 
blind — to  make  grave  reverend  men  play  at 
whist  long  after  their  strength  is  but  labour 
and  sorrow  ?  And  for  halfpenny  points,  too. 
It  cannot  be  avarice.  It  cannot  be  avarice. 
I  knew  a  venerable  old  lady  in  Comber- 
land,  whom  meeting  one  day  remarkably  red 
about  the  eyes,  I  took  the  liberty  respectful- 
ly to  question.    I  suggested  cold. 

"  Eh  ! "  she  answered,  "  I'se  gat  na  caald : 
Pinkie  Saunders  and  Fly-me-Jack  kem  fra' 
Kendal  on  Tuesday,  that  loo'e  a  game  a*  whisk 
dearly,  an'  I-se  bin  carding  the  mom  and  the 
e'en,  the  e'en  an'  the  morn,  twa  days." 

**  And  what,  madam,"  I  asked, "  might  yon 
have  won  T " 

**  Eh !  "  she  replied,  with  infinite  simplici- 
ty, **  it  mun  be  a  shilling." 

No :  it  cannot  always  be  avarice.  The 
thirst  for  gain  is  of  course  one  of  the  primary 
Inducements  to  gaming ;  but  the  cause  of 
causes  of  this  inextinguishable  desire  for  and 
addiction  to  play  must  be  the  fixed  idea  of 
conquering:  the  fierce  desire  of  doing  to 
your  neighbour  that  which  you  would  not 
like  your  neighbour  to  do  unto  you. 

On  a  long  sea  voyage,  every  amusement- 
every  subtle  device  for  wiling  away  the  time 
that  seems  so  leaden-winged,  and  yet  is  withal 
so  swift  and  defiant  of  pursuit  and  capture— 
every  ingenious  nostrum  for  curing  ennui  will 
pall  upon  the  passengers— save  one :  gambling. 
Tarry,  while  on  the  shipman's  card  I  point 
you  out  the  bearings,  or,  with  the  compasses 
upon  the  chart  find  out  the  exact  position  of 
the  teak-built  East  Indiaman  ''  Huccabadar," 
Captain  Chillun^ee,  homeward  bound  fbm 
Bombay.  My,word !  how  woefully  sick  the 
passengers  have  all  become  of  the  ship,  them- 
selves, and  each  other.  Everything,  almost, 
has  been  tried,  worn  out,  and  thrown  aside. 
Mofuzzle,  covenanted  servant  of  the  H.E.I.C., 
and  collector  of  Brandipawnlbad,  coming 
home  on  leave,  has  grown  tired  of  expatiat- 
ing on  the  state  of  his  liver,  of  exhibiting  the 
shawls  he  is  carrying  to  his  female  relatives 
in  England,  his  collection  of  hookahs,  the 
calomel  in  his  medicine  chest,  and  of  disput- 
ing with  Pawkey,  the  snuffy  Scotch  surgeon, 
as  to  the  functions  of  the  pancreas.  Lieute- 
nants Griffin  and  Tiffin,  Bombay  Native  Infcn- 
try,  have  told  all  their  stories  about  tige^ 
hunting,  plg-sticklng,  riding  unbroken  horses 
at  the  Cape :  travelling  dawk ;  the  Capsicum- 
wallah  steeple  chases,  rows  at  mess,  the  drunk- 
enness of  the  Colonel,  the  vulgarity  of  the  Ma- 
jor's wife,  the  scragginess  of  Captain  Aitch* 
l>ones  unmarried  daughters'  shoulders,  the  sa- 
perlorlty  of  Jufl^'s  bungalow  over  Tuliy's,  the 
performances  of  Griffin's  rat-catching  t«rner, 
Choker ;  and  the  accomplishments  of  Tiffla  s 
long-legged  mare,  Neilgherry.  These  young 
men  have  smoked  out  their  biggest  cig;ar8, 
have  worn  their  fanciest  shirts,  ehoj^'IJ* 
jackets,  and  trousers,  and  are  bored  to  dcatD- 


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GAMBLING. 


288 


Ctd?  of  the  Indian  bar  is  weary  of  attempting 
to  plaj  the  **  Fair  Land  of  Poland  "  upon  the 
German  flute.  Old  Colonel  Stranbenzee  of 
the  Buddercbowrie  Irregulars  has  tired  every- 
body oat  with  his  droning  stories  of  what  his 
uncle  did  at  the  siege  of  Seringapatam,  and 
what  Sir  Dayid  Baird  said  to  him.  Lady 
Toiloddle  and  Miss  Anne  Tolloddle  (wife  and 
daughter  of  Sir  Gypes  Tolloddle,  Judge  of 
the  Supreme  Court),  are  evidently  weary  of 
perusing  their  collection  of  tracts :  ^*  the 
awakened  Sikh,"  "  the  Clearstarcher  of  Boot- 
erstown,"  the  **  Wheelbarrow  of  Repentance," 
"Grace  for  Grenadiers,"  Ac  They  don't 
say  they  are  sick  of  those  edifying  works, 
but  they  are,  depend  upon  it.  Mrs.  Captain 
Chatnee  is  weary  of  quarrelling  with  her 
Ayah,  and  dosing  her  unfortunate  baby  with 
deleterious  medicaments.  Mrs.  Lechowder 
(wife  of  X.  P.  Lechowder,  Esq.,  Magistrate  of 
Mnllagong),  who  has  been  generally  weary 
ever  shice  she  left  her  English  finishing  school 
to  come  out  to  India  on  the  matrimonial  spe- 
culation that  terminated  so  prosperously,  has 
wearied  of  reading  the  novels  of  Miss  Jane 
Porter,  of  lying  on  the  sofa  with  her  shoes 
oir,  of  languidly  assaulting  her  sallow  little 
daughter  with  a  hairbru^.  Even  Captain 
Chillumjee  seems  weary.  He  is  testy  with 
his  men,  moroee  with  Bult,  the  first  mate, 
whilom  his  boon  companion ;  he  tells  no 
more  jovial  stories ;  the  finished  and  ceremo- 
nious courtesy  towards  the  ladies,  by  which 
he  inaugurated  the  voyage,  has  subsided  into 
a  moody  respect ;  he  looks  vengefuUy  among 
the  crew  and  the  passengers,  as  if  seeking  a 
quarrel ;  as  if  he  wanted  a  mutiny  to  break 
out,  that  he  might  put  somebody  in  irons ;  or 
a  pirate  to  be  signalled  on  the  weatherbow, 
that  he  might  clear  the  decks  for  action.  He 
is  weary.  Private  theatricals  have  been  tried. 
A  weekly  magazine  of  "  Literature,  Science, 
aod  Art,"  has  been  tried.  Flirtation  has 
been  tried.  Scandal,  quarrelling  (even  to  the 
extent  of  challenges  to  fight),  sing-songs,  de- 
bating societies,  soirees  musicales,  magic 
lantern  exhibitions  in  the  cuddy ;  quadrilles 
ftod  polkas  on  the  poop ;  deep-sea-fishing ; 
goiog  aloft ;  electro-magnetism ;  table-turn- 
iog;  arguments  about  the  Siege  of  Pon- 
dicherry,  about  Dupleix  and  Laly-Tollen- 
dal,  about  the  case  of  the  Begums  and  the 
execution  of  Nuncomar,  and  the  exploits  of 
Holkar;  all  these  have  been  tried  in  succes- 
doQ,  and  found  wanting  at  last,  through 
weariness.  The  gallant  teak-built  vessel 
becomes  a  phantom  ship — a  very  Flying 
Dutchman  of  boredom.  The  sea  is  no  longer 
open,  ftresh,  or  ever  flree :  it  is  a  dreadful  in- 
terminable prison-wall,  painted  blue.  The 
fresh-baked  bread  \  the  fowls  and  ducks ;  the 
vegetables ;  the  champagne  on  Wednesdays 
Md  Sundays;  the  Reverend  Mr.  Whack- 
spsng's  sermons  (he  belongs  to  the  Blunder- 
pore  mission),  all  the  delicacies,  luxuries,  com- 
forts, and  appliances  of  an  East  Indiaman, 
teak-built,  copper-bottomed,  registered  A 1  at 


Lloyd's  and  under  engagement  to  the  honour- 
able company — all  these  delight  the  passen- 
gers no  longer ;  for  they  are  a-weary .  a-weary, 
and  wish  that  they  were  well  out  of  the  Huc- 
cabadar,  or  dead.  The  only  contented  person 
on  board  (excepting,  of  course,  the  sailors  and 
common  people  of  that  sort,  who  are  not  to 
be  named  in  the  same  breath  with  gentility) 
seems  to  be  Rammajee  Bobbajee.  from  Bom- 
bay, who  is  proceeding  to  England  to  hear 
his  appeal  to  the  Privy  Council  tried,  in  the 
interminable  case  of  himself  versus  Lumpajee 
Chostanjee  Lall.  He  has  rolled  himself  into 
a  white  muslin  ball ;  and  eats  rice ;  and  in 
his  brown  face  there  is  no  particular  expres- 
sion of  fatigue  discemable  ;  but  a  general, 
stolid,  immovable,  impassible  indifierence, 
combined  with  a  settled  and  profound  con- 
tempt for  the  ship,  the  captain,  the  passengers, 
and  the  crew. 

The  last  subject  of  conversation  has  been 
exhausted,  when  the  Huccabadar  has  left  St 
Helena  behind  ;  when  the  spot  where  the 
Emperors's  body  isnH  burled  has  been  visited, 
and  when  the  life  and  adventures  of  Napoleon 
Bonaparte  have  been  recounted  and  discussed 
for  the  five-thousandth  time.  All  the  books 
have  been  read,  all  the  jokes  are  stale,  every- 
body has  quarrelled  with  everybody ;  there 
seems  to  be  nothing  but  shipwreck,  fire,  or 
shi>rtness  of  provisions  that  can  come  to  the 
rescue  ;  when,  even  as  the  albatross  appeared 
on  board  the  ship  in  Coleridge's  immortal 
rhyme,  a  bird  of  promise,  of  strange  and 
varied  plumage,  appears  on  board  the  Hucca- 
badar, and  gladdens  the  bored-out  passen- 
gers. It  is  the  bird  of  play— the  gamecock 
of  the  seas. 

And  now,  away  with  melancholy,  away 
with  dullness,  weariness,  ennui— nunc  est 
ludendum.  Surreptitiously  at  first,  for  Cap- 
tain Chillumjee  is  reported  to  have  strict 
notions  of  discipline,  and  to  have  set  his 
weather-embroidered  face  against  gambling 
entirely.  In  Mr.  Pawkey's  snug  cabin,  in 
quiet  comers  of  the  cuddy  and  cosy  state- 
rooms, noiseless  hands  at  cwdn  are  sate  down 
to.  Colonel  Stranbenzee  happens  to  mention 
that  he  likes  a  rubber  at  whist ;  Griffin  and 
Tiffin  go  into  the  maintop  and  toss  for  half- 
crowns  privately.  MofUzzle  and  the  purser 
go  to  backgammon  furiously  Soon  it  begins 
to  be  whispered  about  that  all  the  passengers 
are  p^ambling  like  mad.  They  don't  stop  long 
at  dmner ;  you  don't  see  much  of  them  in  the 
cuddy  or  on  deck  :  the  fact  is,  they  are  all  in 
each  other's  cabins  gambling.  Mrs.  Lechow- 
der makes  up  an  apparently  irreconcileable 
quarrel  with  Mrs.  (captain  Chutnee,  borrows 
twenty  pounds  of  her,  and  is  reported  to  lose 
it  all  before  eight  bells  at  vingfr^t-un.  There 
is  a  wicked,  scandalous  rumour  prevalent 
that  the  exemplary  spouse  of  Sir  Gypes  Tol- 
loddle has  been  lood— heavily  lood.  They  say 
that  Cady  of  the  Indian  bar  is  a  knowing  hand 
at  cribbage,  and  that  he  is  running  that  in- 
considerable lad  Griffin.    I  hope  that  there  is 


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284 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CC«i«nctadb)r 


no  truth  in  the  statement  that  Tiffin  is  flfty- ; 
eight  ponods  sterling  (a  dreadful  amount  of 
sicca  rupees  to  deduct  from  your  snbaltern^s  , 
pay.  Tiffin)  in  debt  to  Miss  Anne  ToUoddle — 
all  money  lost  at  cards.     Can  this  be  true  7 
Can  it  be  true  that  Captain  Cbillumjee  shnts  ' 
himf^lf  up  in  his  cabin  nightly  with  Cady, 
drioks  cold  rum  and  water,  aud  plays  at  the  i 
coarse  but  exciting  game  of  spoilt  fives  ;  aye^  i 
and  that  he  plays  deep?     At   all    events, 
nobody   looks  weary  now ;  nobody  yawns,  I 
mopes    about  the  deck,  or  potters  in  the  j 
rigging  or  hammock  rattlings.    Nobody  cares 
when  the  ship  is  due  at  Plymouth  :  whether 
the  winds  are  fair  or  adverse.    The  Log —  | 
that  great  nautical  newspaper — is  still  inte-  , 
resting,  for  the  passengers  bet,  and  for  heavy  ; 
stakes,  upon  the  number  of  knots  the  ship 
made  yesterday,  and  the  probable  number  i 
she  wi  11  make  to-morrow.    There  are  auarrels,  | 
but  they  are  disputes  about  who   had  the 
king ;  the  odd  trick  ;  the  colour  of  the  trump, ' 
the  ^ush  of  five,  and  the  last  card.    There  are  i 
scandals ;  but  they  are  gossipping  reports  of , 
Cady*s  winnings,  Griffin's  losses.  Lady  Tol- 
loddle's  avarice,  and  Colonel  Stranbenzee's 
disinclination  to  fair  play.    And  all  this  while 
— upon  the  topmast  truck  of  the  highest  mast 
of  the  Huccabadar  j  above  each  yard  and  sail,  i 
above  mainsail,  mam-topgallant,  sky-scraper, ' 
moon-raker,  and  jack-above-all,  is  perched,  | 
crowing  lustily,  the  bird  of  play,  the  game- . 
cock.    He  crows,  for  he  has  cured  the  gentle- 
folks aft  of  their  weariness ;  and  the  spurs  on 
his  heels  are  the  spurs  of  avarice  and  lust  of 
conquest,  envy,  hatred,  malice,  and  all  un- 
charitableness.    And  so,  for  England  ho  I 

I  do  not  think  that  those  who  have  under- 
taken a  long  voyage  on  ship-board,  and  have 
experienced  that  fine,  exciting,  unwholesome 
relief  of  the  diversion  that  never  flags — 
gambling—will  accuse  me  of  having  over- 
charged this  picture  much.  Nautical  gambling 
is  even  historical.  The  Earl  of  Sandwich  lost 
four  hundred  pieces  at  play  in  his  cabin,  the 
night  before  the  engagement  in  which  he  lost 
his  life.  Sir  Edward  Morgan  and  his  bucca- 
neers gambled  ^the  spoils  of  Panama  among 
themselves  in  their  filibustering  craft.  Na- 
poleon, they  say,  would  have  died  of  ennui  in 
his  voyage  in  the  Northumberland  from  Ply- 
mouth to  St.  Helena,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
^art^. 

But,  if  yon  would  desire  to  see  marine 

Slay  in  its  perfection,  take  a  trip  to  the 
panish  Main,  or   to  the  scorching  Brazils, 
and    come  back  in  the    first    cabin    of   a 
mail  steamer, — say  the  Landcrab,  Captain  | 
Mango.     Now    a   voyage    fV-om  the  West ' 
Indies,  or  even  fh>m  the  Brazils,  is  not  so  I 
very  wearisome  an  alfair.     In  the  first,  there 
are  numerous  beautiful  islands  to  touch  at,  | 
— gardens  of  Eden,  but  with  the  deadly  fever- 
serpent.  Yellow  Jack,  coiled  up  in  the  midst.  | 
Then  there  is  the  excitement  of  sharks  ;  then 
there  are  strange  tempests  and  hurricanes,  { 
not  to  be  seen  in  other  latitudes, — storms  I 


when  the  sky  turns  pitchy  black  and  the 
waves  foam  white  ;  when  strange  birds  wheel 
about  the  masts,  or  fall  dead  with  fright  upon 
the  decks:  when  the  lightning  rends  and 
splits  up  tne  clouds  into  shreds ;  and  when 
the  thunder  screams  as  well  as  roars.  Take 
your  berth  in  the  saloon  of  the  Landcrab, 
and  you  may  have  your  fill  of  play  ;  for  there 
are  on  board  Spanish  and  Portuguese  Dons, — 
sallow  moustachioed  senhors,  with  long  black 
hair  and  long  pedigrees.  They  wear  broad- 
brimmed,  grass-plait  hats;  nankeen  coats,  in 
which  light  pink  and  salmon-tint  are  the 
colours  most  affected  ;  patent  leather  boots ; 
large  turn-down  collars ;  gold  sleeve-buttons; 
and  striped  pantaloons.  Their  fingers  are 
covered  with  jewelled  rin^  They  frequently 
cany  uncut  diamonds  in  their  waistcoat 
pockets.  They  wear  massive  ear-rings.  They 
smoke  without  cessation,  save  to  eat,  and 
even  then  they  lay  their  cigarettes  down  on 
the  table-cloth  by  the  side  of  their  soup- 
plates,  and  resume  the  fragrant  weed  when 
they  have  finished  their  potage.  They  have 
wlves,pale,  youthful  and  languid,  who  swing  hi 
silken  hammocks,  who  sleep  a  great  deal,  who 
have  large  black  eyes  (such  eyes!),  and  who, 
I  regret  to  say,  also  smoke  cigarettes.  They 
have  numerous  families  of  gorgeously-dressed 
children,  on  whom  attend  black  servants, 
with  particoloured  handkerchiefs  tied  round 
their  heads.  They  (the  Dons)  have  all  a 
dozen  names,  more  or  less.  Down  in  the 
hold  they  have  vast  amounts  of  specie,  of 
which  due  mention  will  be  made  in  the  Times 
when  the  Landcrab  arrives  at  Southampton ; 
huge  clumsy-looking  ingots  like  bricks,  or 
rather  pigs  of  gold  ;  saflVon-like  gold-dust,  in 
deal  boxes,  rudely  nailed  together ;  chips  and 
splinters  and  flakes  of  gold ;  chests  of  fat 

{Hilar  dollars,  and  flaccid,  perspiring,  bilious- 
ooking  doubloons;  small  kegs,  where  ser- 
vices of  plate  are  packed  in  straw, — plate 
rude  in  workmanship,  bnt  ah  I  how  precious 
in  metal  at  per  ounce  I  These  Dons— who 
will  be  set  upon  in  London  by  touters,  and 
conveyed  forcibly  to  horrible  dens  smelling 
of  bad  oil  and  garlic,  miscalled  hotels  and 
boarding-houses,  situate  in  the  purlieus  of 
Finsbury  Square,  among  sugar-bakers  and 
second-hand  furniture  shops,  and  kept  bv 
mouldy  females,  single,  of  equivocal  national- 
ity, but  who  call  themselves  Dona,  and  where, 
unhappy  Dons!  they  will  have  to  pay  about 
six  times  more  than  they  ought  for  execrable 
accommodation  —  these  Dons,  for  I  need 
reiterate  my  words  after  a  parenthesis  of 
such  unwarrantable  length,  are  men  singu- 
larly mild,  amiable,  and  inoffensive  in  demea- 
nour. They  are  neither  so  proud  nor  so 
saturnine  a»  the  European  Spaniard ;  but  they 
are  mercurial,  garrulous,  gesticulatory,  nay, 
what  I  may  be  permitted  to  call  frisky. 
They  are  men,  too,  of  admirable  sobriety, 
taking  very  little  wine,  and  never,  by  any 
chance,  exceeding  in  their  potations.  Bat 
they  gamble,  these   Dons,  like    the    very 


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CtMllM  DiclttM.] 


GAMBLING. 


285 


mischief.  Eater  the  saloon  of  the  Lan^crab,  at 
whatever  boar  yoa  like  of  the  day  or  evening 
(before,  of  OQurse,  all  the  lights  in  the  ship 
are  put  out),  and  you  will  find  the  Dons  hard 
at  play.  And  for  no  paltry  stakes  be  it  under- 
stood, but  for  round  sams  of  the  bilious-look- 
ing doubloons,  for  handfuls  of  the  gold-dust 
that  is  like  saffron,  and  for  the  golden  ingots 
that  are  like  pigs  of  lead.  Tbere  is  no  need 
for  surreptitious  gaming  here  ;  for  on  board 
the  Landcrab  gaming  Is  looked  upon  as  an 
institution,  as  one  of  the  natural  products  of 
that  hot,  passionate,  excitable  region,  the 
Spanish  Main — as  a  natural  consequence  and 
cbaracteristic  of  men  whose  native  home  is  on 
Tom  Tiddler's  Ground,  who  dwell  on  the 
honks  of  the  Pactolus,  and  are  connected  with 
the  Cr(B8us  family.  Gambling  is  thought  to  be 
as  indigenous  to  the  Brazils  as  milreas, 
diamond  mines,  and  the  close-tufted  forests  of 
gigantic  tress  where  the  many-hued  parrots 
scream,  where  the  humming-bird  is  alive  and 
hums  'j  where  the  bird  of  paradise,  undegraded 
by  being  made  a  plume  for  a  dowager's  tur- 
ban, soughs  down  gently  to  earth  through  the 
interlaced  branches;  where  the  lithe  monkeys, 
some  big  as  men,  some  tiny  as  mice,  leap 
chattering  and  gibing  from  branch  to  branch, 
and  where  there  springs  up  in  the  underwood 
a  myriad  vegetation  such  as  Linnaeus  never 
dreamt  of,  and  such  as  would  puzzle  Professor 
Liodley  to  take  nature  prints  of,  were  he  to 
spend  his  whole  life  in  the  attempt. 

It  comes  not,  just  now,  within  the  province 
of  these  aspects  of  gambling  to  figure  to  you 
how  the  grave  Sir  Rufus  Redhead,  K.C.B., 
Governor  of  the  Island  of  St.  Febris,  going 
out  to  his  government  in  the  Shaddock 
steamer.  Captain  Arrowroot  (the  mortal  re- 
mains of  the  last  governor,  Sir  Nay  lor  Croke, 
were  brought  home,  neatly  preserved  in 
spirits,  in  the  Landcrab),  lost  upwards  of  two 
thousand  pounds  sterling  to  Don  Thomas 
Aliboro  Benvisto  Quintal  y  Ruiz  y  Lomano  y 
Diaz  y  Castellan  y  Marmora,  of  Carthagena. 
Nor  would  it  be  edifying  to  tell  you  how  the 
Hebrew  Fpeculator  of  Rio  Janeiro,  Don 
Rafaelle  Peixotto,  gambled  away  the  entire 
stock  of  gold  epaulettes,  sword-knots,  sashes, 
and  lace  which  he  was  taking  out  to  Brazil 
with  a  special  view  to  the  benefit  of  the 
officers  of  the  Brazilian  army.  Let  those 
byegonea  sleep.  His  Excellency  Sir  Rufus 
will  never  paention  his  little  losses  at 
goverument-house  St.  Febris,  and  Don 
Hafaelle  Peixotto  has  long  since  had  his 
financial  revenge  out  of  other  matters  besides 
epaulettoa  Also  will  we  drop  the  curtain 
upon  the  catastrophe  of  poor  Bob  Clovers, 
who  had  been  clerk  in  a  merchant's  house 
at  Rio,  and  who  coming  home  after  his 
third  fever  (he  took  too  much  aguardiente), 
and  getting  deep  in  play  with  the  Yicomte 
de  Carambolaro,  foolishly  gave  him  a  bill  for 
a  large  amount  in  payment  of  losses,  and  was 
positively  sold  up  and  arrested  three  weeks 
after  he  had  landed  at  Southampton. 


The  Yicomte  de  Carambolaro !  I  bad  once 
the  honour — no ;  I  can't  conscientiously  say 
the  honour — but  I  was  once  acquainted  with 
that  nobleman.  It  was  but  an  equivocal, 
cloudy,  at-long-dates — renewable,  box-lobby, 
race-course,  smoking-room,  table-d'hote,  laza- 
retto, railway-train,  shy-society  sort  of  ac- 
quaintance at  most.  In  short,  we  knew  of, 
rather  than  knew,  each  other :  still,  at  one 
time,  I  used  to  see  a  good  deal  of  the  Yicomte 
de  Carambolaro.  He  was  over  six  feet  in 
height,  and  one  of  the  handsomest  of  men. 
He  had  been  originally,  I  believe,  a  French- 
man ;  but  he  had  made  so  many  (gamb- 
ling) campaigns  in  different  countries  that 
he  spoke  French,  English,  Italian,  Ger- 
man, Spanish,  and  Portuguese  with  equal 
ease  and  fluency,  and  had  quite  lost  his 
nationality.  He  said  that  he  was  the  best 
small-swordsman  in  Europe,  and  I  have  no 
reason  to  doubt  his  word.  He  danced  beau- 
tifully ;  drew  portraits,  horses,  and  cari- 
catures with  grace  and  vigour ;  rode  fearless- 
ly ;  played  the  piano  and  guitar  with  taste  and 
feeling,  and  swam  like  a  duck.  I  don't  think  he 
could  read  or  write  much  ;  but  he  could  draw 
up  a  challenge  and  sign  his  name  to  a  bill,  and 
this  was  all  the  scholarship  required  of  him. 
He  was  an  irretrievable  scoundrel.  He  was, 
very  probably,  a  real  viscount,  which  does 
not  militate  from  his  scoundrelism  one  iota. 
He  was,  by  profession,  a  *'  mace-man," — by 
which,  I  mean,  that  he  lived  at  the  best 
hotels,  drank  the  most  expensive  wines :  went 
frequently  abroad ;  travelled  a  great  deal  in 
first-class  carriages;  wore  the  best  clothes 
and  a  great  deal  of  jewellery ;  continually 
changed  sovereigns,  and  had  no  ostensible 
means  of  obtaining  a  livelihood  Of  course, 
when  you  see  a  man  who  lives  at  the  rate  of 
five  pounds  a  day  upon  an  income  of  nothing 
a-year,  you  naturally  infer  that  he  "  shakes 
his  elbow,"  i.e.,  that  he  gambles.  This,  I 
should  say,  the  Yicomte  de  Carambolaro  did 
rather  extensively. 

I  lost  sight  of  the  viscount  for  a  consider- 
able period  of  time.  It  chanced,  however,  ' 
one  day,  that  it  behoved  me  to  call  upon  him 
on  business — upon  my  word  I  think  it  was 
about  a  bill— which,  together  with  a  horse,  a 
lady,  a  gambling  debt,  and  a  duel,  were  the 
only  subjects  about  which  you  could  possibly 
have  business  with  the  viscount.  1  traced  him 
ft-om  hotel  to  hotel,  and  from  lodging  to 
lodging  (he  always  lodged  in  aristocratic 
streets),  till  I  was  directed  to  a  fashionable 
tailor's  in  Conduit  street  I  am  a  man  of  a 
placid  demeanour  and  nervous  temperament, 
and  after  knocking  in  vain  for  some  time  at 
the  tailor's  private  door  I  entered  the  shop, 
and  asked  meekly  if  the  Yicomte  de  Caram- 
bolaro lived  there.  Suddenly  there  leaped 
down  from  a  high  desk  a  little  man  with  a 
bald  head  and  a  yard  measure  hanging  round 
his  neck.  He  advanced  towards  me  in  a 
series  of  short  jumps,  brandishing  a  tre- 
mendous pair  of  shears,  very  much  ms  a 


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286 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoBdoctcd  bf 


HuroQ^  a  Pa^meCf  a  Choctaw,  or  a  Blaokfoot 
iDdian  might  flourish  his  tomahawk  when 
decorated  with  his  war-paiot,  aad  going  forth 
to  meet  his  enemies.  Then,  in  a  voice,  ter- 
ribly like  a  war-whoop,  he  oried  out,  "  Vis- 
count !  Viscount  Skaramboles !  Where  is  be  ? 
— where  is  he? — where  is  he,  sir?  Know  the 
Viscount?  oh,  jres  (sarcastically).  Where's 
his  friend,  the  marquis,  eh?''  I  tried  to 
explain,  mildly,  that  far  from  being  able  to 
answer  questions,  I  was  myself  seeking  in- 
formation ;  whereupon  with  a  parting  yell 
of  **  Viscount  I  Marquis!"  and  **  Seventy- 
pounds  ! ''  the  little  man  whirled  his  shears 
over  his  head  like  a  meteor,  cut  six,  and 
leaped  into  the  high  desk  again.  A  large 
ledger  upon  the  top  thereof  was  immediately 
afterwards  opened  by  unseen  hands ;  and  I 
opined  (though  I  may  have  been  wrong) 
that  somebody  was  immediately  debited 
with  a  new,  superfine.  Saxony  black  dress 
surtout,  with  fine  silk  velvet  collar,  rich 
silk  skirts  and  sleeve-linings,  by  way  of 
soothing  the  exacerbated  feeling^  of  the 
little  man  with  a  bald  head.  I  made  my 
escape  from  the  shop  as  soon  as  I  could  ;  for 
it  was  evident  that  the  foreign  aristocracy  as 
a  body  were  distasteful  to  the  man  with  the 
shears,  and  I  was  fearful  that  he  might  take 
me  for  a  baron.  It  was  many  months  before  I 
discovered  the  viscount  again.  I  lighted  upon 
him  at  an  hotel  in  that  city  of  hotels — 
Southampton,  and  there  I  learnt  indirectly — 
through  a  private  source,  as  the  American 
papers  say — what  had  become  of  him  during 
his  long  absence. 

He  had  found  out  the  Dons,  and  bow  fond 
they  were  of  gambling ;  and  it  is  a  fact  that 
the  Viscount  de  Carambolaro  had  been  tra- 
velling backwards  and  forwards  in  West 
Indian  and  South  American  mail-steamers 
for  the  last  two  years,  fleecing  the  Dons.  As 
he  had  to  pay  something  like  a  hundred 
pounds  passage-money  every  voyage,  it  may 
be  imagined  that  his  profits  were  large.  He 
was  a  general  in  the  service  of  Paraguay' 
now.  He  looked  like  one.  He  was  one  of 
those  men  who,  dressed  in  uniform,  look  as 
though  they  had  been  bom  field-marshals ; 
and  who  very  probably,  underneath  their 
stars  and  embroidery,  have  the  galley  slaves' 
brand  on  their  shoulders,  or  the  cat  o'  nine- 
tail's  scratch  on  their  backs.  The  Emperor  of 
Brazil,  he  said  (not  to  the  Dons,  though),  had 
given  him  the  concession  of  a  whole  province 
full  of  mines  of  gold,  silver,  and  diamonds — to 
say  nothing  of  the  less  precious  metals,  mines 
of  which  existed  in  profusion.  He  engaged  a 
simple  draughtsman  to  plan  him  out  from  his 
own  sketches  a  map  of  this  metalliferous 
region,  for  the  purpose  of  getting  up  a  com- 
pany. The  man  said  to  me  afterwards,  with 
uplifted  eyes  and  hands,  "  Why,  that  vis- 
count's neither  more  nor  less  than  a  swindler, 
sir.  When  I  took  him  the  map  for  approval, 
he  grumbled  because  there  weren't  more  dia- 
mond mines ;  and  says  he,  'Pop  down  three 


more  on  that  river  and  two  more  on  that* 
and  a  gold  mine  in  the  left-hand  top  comer 
He's  a  do,  sir."  I  tried  to  explain  to  the 
draughtsman  that  Carambolaro  was  a  great 
man  ;  but  he  persisted  in  oonsiderinff  him  a 
do,  because  he  put  down  diamond  mines 
where  no  diamond  mines  existed. 

The  viscount,  however,  great  as  he  was, 
did  not  invent  the  system  of  fleecing  the 
Dons  by  travelling  backwards  and  forwards 
in  mail-steamers.  The  honour  of  the  inven- 
tion appertains,  I  believe,  to  the  famous 
Mr.  William  Cauty,  a  play-man  of  long 
standing  and  first-rate  abilities.  A  series  of 
miflconceptions,  however,  relative  to  a  cash- 
box  and  the  Westminster  Bank,  together 
with  an  erroneous  view  taken  of  Mr.  Cauty^s 
conduct  by  a  jury  of  his  countrymen,  and 
the  palpable  misdirection  of  a  learned  judge, 
changed  the  venue  of  his  nautical  experiences 
ft-om  the  Spanish  Main  to  the  Southern  Pa- 
cific Ocean.  In  sober  truth  and  sad  earnest 
he  was  transported  for  life.  Play,  like  science, 
has  had  its  martyrs. 

These  are  some  of  the  aspects  of  gambling. 
If  I  be  asked,  how  manv  more  there  be,  I 
require  to  be  informed  how  many  changes 
of  pattern  can  be  counted  in  a  kaleidoscope ; 
and,  when  I  receive  a  reply,  I  will  answer  the 
question. 


NOTHING  LIKE  RUSSIA-LEATHER. 

Wb  will  again  call  on  M.  Tourghenlef^  to 
illustrate  the  social  condition  of  Russia. 

'*  Monsieur,"  said  Ermolai  the  huntsman, 
one  day,  '*  Let  us  go  and  shoot  at  Lgof.  We 
shall  kill  wild  ducks  by  hundreds  and  thou- 
sands." I  assented  to  the  proposition,  and 
we  started  together. 

Lgof  is  a  large  village  situated  far  away 
fk*om  all  communication,  and  possessing  a 
very  ancient  stone  church  with  a  single 
cupola,  and  two  watermills  on  the  muddy 
course  of  the  river  Rossota.  Five  versts 
(about  three  miles)  f^om  Lgof,  the  Rossota  is 
converted  into  a  vast  pond,  whose  surface, 
both  in  the  centre  and  round  the  edges,  is 
enlivened  by  the  verdure  of  thick  beds  of 
rushes.  The  bays  and  creeks  between  those 
rushes  are  tenanted  by  a  population  com- 
posed of  every  species  of  duck  in  the  world ; 
mallards,  shovellers,  pintails,  widgeon,  teal, 
dun-birds  and  golden-eyes,  to  say  nothing  of 
gulls,  divers,  and  dabchicks.  Little  flocks  are 
constantly  rising  and  flying  backwards  and 
forwards  over  the  surface  of  the  water.  If 
you  fire,  there  rise  such  clouds  of  birds  that 
the  sportsman  involuntarily  lays  his  hand 
on  the  crown  of  his  cap,  and  makes  with  his 
mouth  a  prolonged  **  trrrr ! "  Ermolai  and  I 
began  by  Fkirting  the  pond.  We  knew  very 
well  that  the  wild  duck  is  a  bird  which,  on 
the  bank,  is  always  on  the  alert,  and  never 
remains  long  in  one  place ;  and  that,  even  if 

*  See  paces  106  and  227  of  the  present  roUme.. 


I 


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ChiriMDkkCM.] 


NOTHING  LIKE  RUSSIA-LEATHER. 


287 


some  imprudeDt  teal  were  to  expose  itself  to 
oar  fire  and  lose  its  life,  oar  dogs  woald  be 
onable  to  extricate  its  bod^  ftom  the  tangled 
thiclcet  of  rushes.  In  spite  of  their  noble 
devotedness,  they  would  be  unable  either  to 
gwiffl  or  to  walk  on  the  bottom  of  mud,  and 
woald  do  nothing  but  set  their  muzzles  bleed- 
ing by  cutting  them  against  the  sharp-edged 
aedge-leaves. 

"  Come,"  said  Ermolai,  "  it  is  clear  that  we 
most  now  procure  a  boat.  A  man  in  the  vil- 
lage, nicknamed  Soutchok,  or  ^  Dry  Chips,' 
has  a  sort  of  raft  which  pretends  to  be  a  flat- 
bottomed  boat ;  only  I  do  not  know  where  it 
is  moored.  I  must  go  and  find  the  fellow 
himself." 

He  soon  returned,  accompanied  by  Sout- 
chock,  who,  lame,  in  rags,  with  bristling  and 
antidy  hair  and  beard,  looked  like  a  a  sex- 
agenarian domestic  that  had  passed  into  the 
seryice  of  a  master  who  cared  little  about  ap- 
pearances. 

"  Have  you  a  boat?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  in  a  hoarse,  and  hic- 
cupping voice;  *'  but  it  is  a  very  bad  one." 
SoQtchok's  habitual  mode  of  speaking  gave 
yoa  the  idea  of  a  stupid  clown  who  cannot 
qaite  succeed  in  waking  himself  up. 

''What  is  the  matter  with  it?" 

"  It  leaks,  and  the  ruUocks  are  broken." 

'-The  damage  is  not  great,"  said  Ermolai. 
"  With  tallow  and  hemp  it  will  be  easy  to 
caalk  it." 

••  Ah !  certainly,"  said  Soutchok ; "  get  some 
hemp  and  taliow.  There  is  plenty  to  be  had." 

"  But  what  are  you  ?  What's  your  trade  ?  " 
I  ioQuired. 

"I  am  our  ladv's  fisherman." 
.  *'  A  capital  fisherman,  not  to  keep  a  boat 
on  the  river!" 

"  What  good  would  that  be,  if  there  are  no 
fish  in  the  river  ?  " 

"  Fish  don't  like  the  rusty  taste  of  marsh 
waters,"  observed  my  huntsman,  majesti- 
cally. 

"  Pray  tell  me,  have  you  long  been  a  fisher- 
man?" 

"  Seven  years,  Barine." 

"  No  more  I  And  what  did  you  do  before 
that?" 

"  I  was  a  coachman." 

"  Why  did'nt  they  let  you  remain  a  coach- 
man?" 

"The  nev  lady  ordered  me  out  of  the 
stables." 

"What  lady?" 

The  lady  who  bought  us,  Alcona  Timo- 
f6evna ;  a  very  fat,  stout  woman»  not  parti- 
cularly young.    Don't  you  know  her?" 

"No.  What  put  it  into  her  head  to  make 
yoo  her  fisherman  ?  " 

.  "  God  knows.  She  came  to  look  at  her  es- 
tate of  Tambof ;  she  summoned  all  the  ser- 
vants ;  Rhe  showed  herself;  we  rushed  upon 
lier,  to  kiss  her  hand }  she  was  by  no  means 
offended.  After  we  had  done,  she  asked  each 
of  as  in  succession  what  was  his  employment. 


When  my  turn  came,  and  she  was  informed 
that  I  was  a  coachman,  she  said, '  You,  in- 
deed, a  coachman  I  A  pretty  sort  of  a  coach- 
man, with  such  a  face  and  figure  as  vours  I 
Really,  I  have  got  a  handsome  coachman  I 
1  wonH  have  you  belong  to  the  stables  any 
longer.  €ro  and  shave  your  beard  and  cut 
your  hair  short;  you  shall  be  my  family 
fisherman.  Every  time  that  I  come  here,  it 
is  your  duty  to  supply  my  table  with  fish, 
you  understand  :  and  if  my  pond  is  not  kept 
in  order,  you  will  have  to  answer  for  it.' — 
But  what  a  joke,  to  ask  for  fish  here !  Crood 
heaven !  That  is  more  than  I  can  manage, 
and  I  should  be  much  obliged  if  any  one 
would  tell  me  how  to  keep  such  a  pond  as 
ours  neat  and  tidy." 

"  To  whom  did  you  belong  before  that?" 

»*To  Serge  Sergh^itch  Pehtiref,  who  in- 
herited us.  He  was  our  master  only  six 
years.*  I  used  to  drive  him  when  he  was  here; 
in  town,  he  had  another  coachman." 

'^  You  were  a  coachman,  then,  from  your 
youth  upwards  ?  " 

*'  Ah,  no,  no!  I  was  made  a  coachman  in 
the  time  of  Serge  Sergh^itch.  Before  then,  I 
was  a  cook :  but  not  in  town,  only  here  in 
the  country." 

"  Cook,  I  dare  say  ;  but  cook  to  whom  ?  " 

"  Why,  to  the  former  master,  to  Athanase 
Nef6dy  tcb,  who  was  Serge  Sergbiitch's  uncle. 
The  old  gentleman  had  bought  Lgof,  and 
that^s  how  Serge  Sergh^itch  became  our 
master ;  namely,  by  inheritance." 

'<  From  whom  did  old  Athanase  make  the' 
purchase?"  ^ 

"  Why,  from  Tatiana  Vacilievna." 

"  What  Tatiana  Vacilievna  ? " 

"  Why,  she  who  died  single  at  Bolkhof  near 
Karatchof ;  an  old  maid,  look  you.  She  was 
never  married.  Did'nt  you  know  her  ?  She 
had  us  from  her  father  Yacill  S^m^nitch. 
She  was  our  mistress  for  a  long  while  ;  oh  I 
for  a  good  space  of  twenty  years." 

**  Were  you  not  her  cook?  " 

**  Yes,  at  first ;  but  she  soon  made  me  her 
koficb^nok." 

*' Her  what?" 

**  Her  ko-fi-ch6-nok." 

'*  What  sort  of  servant  is  that  ? " 

"  That's  more  than  I  can  tell  you,  Barine. 
Only  I  was  put  into  the  place,  and  was 
obliged  to  be  called  Anntonn,  instead  of 
Kouzma.    Such  were  madame's  orders." 

^'  Your  real  name  was  Kouzma,  then  ? " 

"Why,  yes!    Kouzma," 

"  And  you  were  her  kofich^nok  for  seven- 
teen.or  eighteen  years?" 

*^  Ah,  no ;  1  had  to  be  an  actor!  " 

"  Nonsense ;  what  do  you  mean  bv  actor  ?  " 

*'  I  acted  in  her  theatre.  Our  lady  made  a 
theatre  in  a  large  chamber." 

"  What  line  of  parts  did  you  take  ?  " 

"  I  beg  your  paixlon  ?  " 

"  What  had  you  to  do  in  the  theatre?" 

**  Ah,  you  don't  know  then.  They  took  me 
and  dressed  me  up.    I  walked  about  in  the 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


clothes,  i a  this  way  ;  I  stood  still,  and  I  sat 
down.  They  gave  me  my  orders, — *  Say  so 
and  so,  and  so  and  so.' — It  was  all  one  to  me. 
I  spoke  what  they  told  me.  One  day  I  repre- 
sented a  blind  man,  sir,  and —  " 

"  And  afterwards ;  what  were  you  next  ?  " 

"  Next  ?    Ah  I  next  I  was  cook  again.'' 

*'  But  why  turn  cook  again  ?  " 

*^  One  of  my  brothers  ran  away,  and  I  had 
to  take  his  place." 

"  Good ;  and  what  were  you  in  the  esta- 
blishment of  your  first  mistress's  father?" 

•*  With  her  father?  With  her  father  ;  look 
you,  I  have  been  all  sorts  of  things.  At  first 
I  was  a  little  kazac ;  I  bad  to  remain  stand- 
ing b(>hind  a  door,  ready  to  fetch  and  carry 
messages.  Then  I  was  a  postilion.  We  drove 
only  four  horses;  I  used  to  ride,  on  a  high 
saddle,  on  the  left  hand  horse  of  the  front 
pair.  But  they  made  me  turn  huntsman, 
and "  / 

*•  Huntsman — mounted— with  dogs?  " 

"  Yes  ;  mounted,  and  with  dogs.  But  I 
had  a  fall  and  lamed  myself,  and  the  horse 
likewine.  The  old  Barine  was  very  severe  ; 
lie  had  me  well  beaten,  and  I  was  sent 
to  Moscow  to  be  apprenticed  to  a  boot- 
maker." 

*'  Apprenticed  I  What  are  you  talking 
about?  You  were  a  child  when  they  made 
you  a  huntsman  and  a  whipper-in." 

••  1  wa«  something  like  twenty  years  of  age. 
But  that  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  The 
thing  must  be  done,  because  the  master 
ordered  it ;  buf  as  he  died  shortly  afterwards, 
thtty  made  me  go  back  to  the  village 
again." 

**  And  when  did  you  serve  your  apprentice- 
ship as  cook?" 

**  There  is  no  need  of  any  apprenticeship 
to  that.  You  make  the  women  cook  a  few 
things,  you  taste  of  them,  and  that's  quite 
sufficient,"  said  Soutchok,  raising  his  thin  and 
yellow  face,  on  which  a  smile  struggled  to 
break  forth  in  vain. 

"  Come,  come,"  I  continued ;  "  you  have 
pi  ay  I'd  a  good  many  parts  in  the  course  of 
your  life ;  but  now  that  you  are  a  fisherman, 
what  do  you  do,  as  there  is  no  fish  in  the 
pond  ?  " 

*'  Oh !  I  make  no  complaint.  I  thank  God, 
as  they  say,  that  they  have  made  me  a  fi^her- 
mau.  But  there  is  another  old  man,  Andr^ 
Poutyr,  whom  Madame  sent  to  work  in  the 
paper  manufactory.  But  they  didn't  make 
any  paper.  Poutyr  said  to  himself  that  it 
wa-4  a  sin  to  eat  bread  that  be  had  not  earned; 
at  the  name  time,  he  looked  out  for  a  change 
for  (he  better.  He  had  a  nephew  who  was  a 
clerk  in  the  Barynia's  counting-house ;  and 
he  promised  to  speak  to  Madame,  to  obtain 
for  hitn  something,  I  donH  know  what  He 
fiiltilli'd  his  promise :  he  spoke  to  her!  and 
Undo  Poutyr  feUatnis  nephew's  feet  I  was 
there." 

•*  Enough.  Have  you  any  fapiily?  Arc 
you  married?" 


'*  No,  Sir ;  that  was  impossible.  Tatiana 
Vacilievna, — God  open  the  skies  to  her !  I 
hope  80 — our  late  mistress,  did  not  allow  any 
one  here  to  get  married.  She  sometimes  said, 
even  before  the  priest,  ^Heaven  defend  me 
from  sufi'ering  that!  I  am  single,  and  it  does 
not  kill  me;  I  lead  a  maiden  life.  What 
would  they  have,  I  should  like  to  know  ?  I 
have  spoiled  them.  What  will  they  want 
next  ? ' " 

"  How  do  you  live?  Do  you  receive  any 
wages,  any  fixed  payment  ?  " 

"  Wages!  Why,  Barine,  they  give  us  vic- 
tuals to  eat ;  that  is  all  we  require.  Gracious 
Goodness!  Heaven  grant  long  life  to  our 
lady  I " 

Ermolai  informed  me,  in  a  cross  tone  of 
voice,  that  the  boat  was  caulked  and  put  in 
order,  and  sent  off  Soutchok  to  fetch  his 
punting-pole.  Ermolai,  a  serf  himself,  dis- 
missed the  brave  fellow  with  a  smile  of  the 
utmost  contempt 

''What  an  idiot!  "  he  said,  as  the  other 
went  away  ;  **  a  real  brute,  a  clumsy  mocgik, 
not  a  bit  better.  Yon  cannot  call  that  animal 
a  servant  And  yet  he  presumes  to  boast  Is 
it  likely  he  could  ever  perform  a  part  in  a 
play  ?  Answer  me  that  question,  sir  ?  Y'ou 
have  done  him  too  much  honour  by  talking 
to  him." 

In  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  we  w'ere  all  three 
seated  on  the  edge  of  the  flat-bottomed  boat 
We  bhot  away  at  a  great  rate ;  Ermolai  con- 
tinuously victorious,  I,  as  usual,  very  indif- 
ferently. Soutchok  watched  us  with  the  look 
of  a  man  who  has  been  in  a  state  of  servitude 
from  childhood  upwards.  From  time  to  time 
he  shouted,  "  There !  there !  another  duck ! " 
Then,  abashed  at  the  sound  of  his  own  voice, 
he  scratched  his  back,  not  with  his  hands, 
but  by  a  particular  movement  of  his  shoul- 
ders. By  noontime  our  boat  was  overladen 
with  victims  piled  in  pyramids  Instead  of 
remarking  that  our  vessel  leaked  faster  and 
faster,  we  neglected  to  bale  the  water  out 
Just  we  were  about  to  leave  off  shooting, 
clouds  of  ducks,  teal,  and  pintails,  rose  so 
thick  and  frequent,  as  if  to  bid  us  good-bye 
effectually,  that  we  had  not  tinfe  to  reload 
between  the  flights.  We  so  completely  lost 
sight  of  the  state  of  our  skiff,  that  Ermolai, 
by  a  sudden  grasp  at  an  expiring,  mallard, 
made  the  boat  lean  too  far  on  one  side.  It 
filled,  was  swamped,  and  majeAically  de- 
scended to  the  nmddy  bottom. 

"Gently!"  we  all  shouted  at  once  ;  but 
it  was  too  late.  In  two  minutes  we  were 
up  to  our  ohins  in  water,  "  Dry  Chips  "  in- 
cluded. 

Ermolai  was  the  first  to  break  silence, 

*•  t*ouah  ! "  he  vociferated,  spitting  on  the 
water.  **  What  an  abominable  ducking !  It 
is  your  fault,  old  devil,"  he  said  angrily  to 
Soutchok,  "with  your  pretended  boat — 
Pouah!" 

•*  I  beg  your  pardon,"  muttered  the  poor 
old  man. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


^^IhmOiariniheirMnahsatBOUSEJSOLD  WOBDS,^'- 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
COVDirCTED   BT   CHASLES   DICKENS. 


No.  13.] 


J.   A.   DIX,   PUBLISHER, 

Omoi,  No.  10  Pass  P&aoi,  If  iv-Toik. 


[Whole  No.  266. 


THE  THOUSAND  AND  ONE 
HUMBUGS. 

THE   STORY   OP    SCARLI    TAPA.  AND  THE  FOETT 
THIKYES. 

AcooKPANiED  by  the  Grand  Vizier  Pai^ 
marstoon,  and  the  black  mute  Mistaspeeka 
the  chief  of  the  Seraglio,  Haneardstdade  again 
repaired  next  day  to  the  august  presence, 
and,  after  making  the  usual  prostrations  be- 
fore the  Sultan,  began  thus : 

Sire,  there  was  once  a  poor  relation  who 
lived  in  a  town  in  the  dominions  of  the  Sul- 
tan of  the  Indies,  and  whose  name  was 
Scarli  Tapa.  He  was  the  youngest  son  of  a 
Dowajah— which,  as  your  Majesty  knows,  is 
a  female  spirit  of  voracious  appetiU^s,  and 
generally  with  a  wig  and  a  carmine  com- 
plexioD,  who  prowls  about  old  houses  and 
preys  upon  mankind.  This  Dowajah  had 
attained  an  immense  age,  in  consequence  of 
having  been  put  by  an  evil  Genie  on  the 
Pbnshcnuht,  or  talisman  to  secure  long  life ; 
but,  at  length  she  very  reluctantly  died  to- 
vards  the  close  of  a  quarter,  after  making 
the  most  affecting  struggles  to  live  into  the 
half-year. 

Scarli  Tapa  had  a  rich  elder  brother  named 
Cashm,  who  ha«l  married  the  daughter  of  a 
prosperous  merchant,  and  lived  magnifioently. 
Scarli  Tapa,  on  the  other  hand,  could  barely 
support  his  wife  and  family  by  lounging 
aboat  the  town  and  going  out  to  dinner  with 
hia  utmost  powers  of  perseverance,  betting 
on  horse-races,  playing  at  billiards,  and  run- 
ning into  debt  with  evervbody  who  would 
trust  him— the  last  being  his  principal  means 
of  obtaining  an  honest  livelihood. 

One  day,  when  Scarli  Tapa  had  strolled 
for  some  time  along  the  banks  of  a  great 
river  of  liquid  filth  which  ornamented  that 
Agreeable  country  and  rendered  it  salubrious, 
he  found  himself  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
Woods  and  Forests.  Lifting  up  his  eyes, 
he  observed  in  the  distance  a  great  cloud  of 
dust.  He  was  not  surprised  to  see  it,  know- 
ing those  parts  to  be  famous  for  casting  pro- 
digious quantities  of  dust  into  the  eyes  of  the 
Faithful ;  but  as  it  rapidly  advanced  towards 
him,  he  climbed  into  a  tree,  the  better  to  ob- 
serve it  without  being  seen  himself. 

As  the  cloud  of  dust  approached,  Scarli 
Tapa  perceived  It  from  his  niding-plaoe  to  be 


occasioned  by  forty  mounted  robbers,  each 
bestridine  a  severely-goaded  and  heavily- 
laden  Bull.  The  whole  troop  came  to  a  halt 
at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  and  all  the  robbers 
dismounted.  Every  robber  then  tethered  his 
hack  to  the  most  convenient  shrub,  gave  it  a 
full  meal  of  very  bad  chaff,  and  hung  over 
his  arm  the  empty  sack  which  had  contained 
the  same.  Then  the  Captain  of  the  Robbers, 
advancing  to  a  door  in  an  antediluvian  rock, 
which  Scarli  Tapa  had  not  observed  before, 
and  on  which  were  the  enchanted  letters 
0.  F.  F.  I.  C.  E.,  said,  Debrett's  Peerage.  Open 
Sesame !  As  soon  as  the  Captain  of  the  Rob- 
bers had  uttered  these  words,  the  door,  obe- 
dient to  the  charm,  flew  open,  and  all  the 
robbers  went  in.  The  captain  went  in  last, 
and  the  door  shut  of  itself. 

The  robbers  stayed  so  long  within  the  rock 
that  Scarli  Tapa  more  than  once  felt  tempted 
to  descend  the  tree  and  make  off.  Fearful, 
however,  that  thev  might  reappear  and  catch 
him  before  he  could  escape,  he  remained  hid- 
den by  the  leaves,  as  patiently  as  he  could. 
At  last  the  door  opened,  and  the  forty  rob- 
bers came  out.  As  the  captain  had  gone  in 
last,  he  came  out  first,  and  stood  to  see  the 
whole  troop  pass  him.  When  they  had  all 
done  so,  he  said,  Debrett's  Peerage.  Shut 
Sesame !  The  door  immediately  closed  again 
as  before.  Every  robber  then  mounted  his 
Bull,  adjusting  before  him  his  sack  well 
filled  with  gold,  silver,  and  jewels.  When 
the  captain  saw  that  they  were  all  ready,  he 
put  himself  at  their  head,  and  they  rode  off 
by  the  way  they  had  come. 

Scarli  Tapa  remained  in  the  tree  until  the 
receding  cloud  of  dust  occasioned  by  the 
troop  of  robbers  with  their  captain  at  their 
head,  was  no  longer  visible,  and  then  came 
softly  down  and  approached  the  door.  Mak- 
ing use  of  the  words  that  he  had  heard  pro- 
nounced by  the  Captain  of  the  Robbers,  he 
said,  after  first  piously  strengthening  himself 
with  the  remembrance  of  his  deceased  mother 
the  Dowi^ah,  Debrett's  Peerage.  Open  Se- 
same 1    The  door  instantly  flew  wide  open. 

Scarli  Tapa,  who  had  expected  to  see  a  dull 
place,  was  surprised  to  find  himself  in  an  ex- 
ceedingly agreeaUe  vista  of  rooms,  where 
every  thing  was  as  light  as  possible,  and  where 
vast  quantities  of  the  finest  wheaten  loaves, 
and  the  richest  gold  and  silver  fishes,  and  all 

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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coodncted  bj 


kiDds  of  valuable  poiMeflsioiiB,  were  to  be  ^t 
tor  the  laying  bold  of.  Qaicklj  loading  him- 
self with  as  much  spoil  as  he  could  move 
under,  he  opened  and  dosed  the  door  as  the 
Captain  of  the  Robbers  had  done,  and  hurried 
awaj  with  his  treasure  to  his  poor  home. 
OpWhen  the  wife  of  Scarli  Tapa  saw  her  hus- 
band enter  their  dwelling  after  it  was  dark, 
and  proceed  to  pile  upon  the  floor  a  heap  of 
wealth,  she  cried,  Alas !  husband,  whom  hare 
jou  taken  in,  now  7  Be  not  alarmed,  wife, 
returned  Scarli  Tapa,  no  one  suffers  but  the 
public.  And  then  told  her  how  he,  a  poor 
relation,  had  made  his  way  into  Office  by  the 
magic  words  and  had  enriched  himself. 

There  being  more  money  and  more  loaves 
and  fishes  tiian  they  knew  what  to  do  with  at 
the  moment,  the  wife  of  Scarli  Tapa,  trans- 
ported with  joy,  ran  off  to  her  sister-in-law,  the 
wife  of  Cashim  Tapa,who  lived  hard  by,  to  bor- 
row a  measure  by  means  of  which  their  proper- 
W  could  be  got  into  some  order.  The  wife  of 
Cashim  Tapa  looking  into  the  measure  when 
it  was  brought  back,  found  at  the  bottom  of  it, 
several  of  the  crumbs  of  fine  loaves  and  of  the 
scales  of  gold  and  silver  fishes ;  upon  which, 
flying  into  an  envious  rage,  she  thus  addressed 
her  husband :  Wretched  Cashim,  you  know 
you  are  of  high  birth  as  the  eldest  son  of  a 
Dowigah,  and  you  think  you  are  rich,  but  your 
despised  younger  brother,  Scarli  Tapa,  is  in- 
flnitely  richer  and  more  powerful  than  yon. 
Judge  of  his  wealth  f^om  these  tokens.  At 
the  same  time  she  showed  him  the  measure. 

Cashim,  who  since  his  marriage  to  the  mer- 
chant's widow,  had  treated  his  brother  cool- 
ly and  held  him  at  a  distance,  was  at  once 
ftred  with  a  burning  desire  to  know  how  he 
had  become  rich.  He  was  unable  to  sleep 
all  night,  and  at  the  first  streak  of  day,  be- 
fore itkQ  summons  to  the  morning  prayers 
was  heard  from  the  minarets  of  the  mosques, 
arose  and  went  to  his  brother's  house.  Dear 
Scarli  Tapa,  said  he,  pretending  to  be  very 
firatemal,  what  loaves  and  fishes  are  these 
that  thou  hast  in  thy  possession?  Scarli 
Tapa,  perceiving  f^om  this  discourse  that  he 
could  no  longer  keep  his  secret,  communicat- 
ed his  discovery  to  his  brother,  who  lost  no 
time  in  providing  all  things  necessary  fbr  the 
stowage  of  riches,  and  in  repairing  alone  to 
the  mysterious  door  near  the  Woods  and 
Forests. 

When  night  came,  and  Cashim  Tapa  did 
not  return,  his  relatives  became  uneai^.  His 
abseaoe  being  prolonged  for  several  days 
and  nights,  S^li  Tapa  at  length  proceeded 
to  the  enchanted  door  in  search  of  him. 
Opening  it  by  the  infallible  means,  what  were 
his  emotions  to  find  that  the  robbers  had  en- 
countered his  brother  within,  and  had  quar- 
tered him  upon  the  spot  for  ever  1 

Commander  of  the  Faithful,  when  Scarli 
Tapa  beheld  the  dismal  spectacle  of  his 
Inrother  everlastingly  quartered  upon  OfiSce 
for  having  merely  nttered  the  magic  words, 
Debrett's  Peerage.    Open  Sesame  1  he  was 


greatly  troubled  in  his  mind.  FeeUng  the  n^ 
cessity  of  hushing  the  matter  up,  and  patting 
the  best  face  upon  it  for  the  familv  credit,  he 
at  once  devised  a  plan  to  attain  that  ottfect 

There  was,  in  the  House  where  his  brother 
had  sat  himself  down  on  his  marriage  with 
the  merchant's  daughter,  a  discreet  dave 
whose  name  was  Jobbiana.  Though  a  kind  of 
under  secretary  in  the  treasury  department, 
she  was  very  nsefhl  in  the  dirty  work  of  the 
establishment,  and  had  also  some  knowledge 
of  the  stables,  and  could  assist  the  whippen- 
in  at  a  pinch.  Scarli  Tapa,  going  home  and 
taking  the  discreet  slave  aside,  related  to  her 
how  her  master  was  quartered,  and  how  it  was 
now  their  business  to  disguise  the  fact,  and 
deceive  the  neighbours.  Jobbiana  replied, 
To  hear  is  to  obey. 

Accordingly,  before  day— for  she  always 
avoided  daylight — ^the  discreet  slave  went  to 
a  certain  cobbler  whom  she  bmew,  and  found 
him  sitting  in  hi»  stall  in  the  public  street 
€rood  morrow,  friend,  said  she,  patting  a 
bribe  into  his  hand,  will  you  bring  the  tools 
of  your  trade  and  come  to  a  House  with  met 
Willingly,  but  what  to  do?  replied  the  cob- 
bler, who  was  a  merry  fellow.  Nothing 
agiunst  my  patriotism  and  conscience,  I  hopet 
(at  which  he  laughed  heartily).  Not  in  the 
least,  returned  Jobbiana,  giving  him  another 
bribe.  But,  you  must  go  into  the  Hoofie 
blindfolded  and  with  your  hands  tied;  yoo 
don't  mind  that  fwr  a  job  ?  I  don't  mind  any- 
thing fbr  a  job,  returned  the  cobbler  with 
vivacity;  I  like  a  job.  It  is  mjr  busineas  to 
job ;  only  make  it  worth  my  while,  and  I  am 
ready  for  any  job  you  may  please  to  name. 
At  the  same  time  he  arose  briskly.  Jobbiana 
then  imparted  to  him  the  quartering  that  m 
taken  place,  and  that  he  was  wanted  to  cob- 
ble the  subject  up  and  hide  what  had  hew 
done.  Is  that  all?  If  it  is  no  more  than  tl»t, 
returned  the  cobbler,  blind  my  eyes  and  tie 
my  hands,  and  let  us  cobble  away  as  long  as 
you  like  I 

Sire,  the  discreet  slave  blindfolded  thec<H)- 
bier,  and  tied  his  hands,  and  took  him  to  Oe 
House  :  where  he  cobbled  the  subject  op^^ 
so  much  skill,  that  she  rewarded  him  monifr  { 
oently.    We  must  now  return  to  the  CaptaUi 
of  the  Robbers,  whose  name  was  Yswrawali,  i 
and  whose  soul  was  filled  with  perpleBtJ*  I 
and  anxieties,  when  he  visited  the  cave  and 
found,  from  the  state  of  the  wheaten  loaves  , 
and  the  gold  and  silver  fishes,  that  there  wtf 
yet  another  person  who  possessed  the  secret 
of  the  magic  door.  . 

Your  majesty  must  know  that  Yawyawan, 
Captain  of  the  Robbers  (most  of  whoeo  fore- 
others  had  been  rebeUious  Genii,  who  wytf 
had  had  anything  whatever  to  do  with  Stf^ 
MON),  sauntering  through  the  city,  in  a  higwj 
disconsolate  and  languid  state,  chAHcedw 
come  before  daylight  upon  the  cobWcr  wow- 
ing in  his  stall  Good  morrow,  honourtwe 
fHend,  sidd  he,  you  job  early.  My  Low, 
returned  the  cobbler,  I  job  early  and  »^  j 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CbvkiDlekaii.] 


THE  THOUSAND  AND  ONE  HUMBUGS. 


291 


Yoa  do  well,  observed  the  Captain  of  the 
Bobbers ;  bat,  have  70a  light  enough !  The 
leas  light  the  better,  said  the  cobbler,  for  my 
worJL  Ah !  returned  Yawjawah  ;  why  so  ? 
Why  80 !  repeated  the  oobbler,  wioking,  be- 
caasc  I  can  cobble  certain  businesses,  best,  in 
the  dark.  When  the  Captain  of  the  Robbers 
beard  him  say  this,  he  qnickly  understood  the 
hint.  He  blindfolded  him,  and  tied  his 
hands,  as  the  discreet  slave  had  do^e,  turned 
his  coat,  and  led  him  away  until  he  stopped  at 
the  House.  This  is  the  House  that  was  con- 
cerned in  the  quartering  and  cobbling,  said  he. 
The  captain  set  a  mark  upon  it  But,  Job- 
biana  coming  by  soon  afterwards,  and  seeing 
what  bad  been  done,  set  exactly  the  same 
mark  upon  twenty  other  Houses  in  the  same 
row.  So  that  in  truth  they  were  all  precisely 
alike,  and  one  was  marked  by  Jobbiana  ex- 
actly as  another  was,  and  there  was  not  a  pin 
(0  choose  between  them. 

Thus  discomfited,  the  Captain  of  the  Rob- 
bers called  his  troop  together  and  addressed 
them.  My  noble,  right  honourable,  honoura- 
ble and  gallant,  honourable  and  learned,  and 
timply  honourable  friends,  said  he,  it  is  appa- 
rent that  we,  the  old  band  who  for  so  many 
years  have  possessed  the  command  of  the 
magic  door,  are  in  danger  of  being  super- 
seded. In  a  word,  it  is  clear  that  there  are 
DOW  two  bands  of  robbers,  and  that  we  must 
OTercome  the  opposition,  or  be  ourselves 
▼anquished.  All  the  robbers  applauded  this 
sentiment  Therefore,  said  the  captain,  I  will 
disguise  myself  as  a  trader — in  the  patriotic 
line  of  business — and  will  endeavour  to  pre- 
vail by  stratagem.  The  robbers  as  with  one 
voice  approved  of  this  design. 

The  Cfaptain  of  the  Robbers  accordinglv 
disguised  himself  as  a  trader  of  that  sort  which 
is  called  at  the  bazaars  a  patriot,  and,  having 
again  had  recourse  to  the  cobbler,  and  hav- 
ing carefully  observed  the  House,  arranged 
his  plans  without  delay.  Feigning  to  be  a 
dealer  in  soft-soap,  he  concealed  his  men  in 
nine-and-thirty  jars  of  that  commodity,  a  man 
in  everv  jar ;  and  loading  a  number  of  mules 
with  this  pretended  merchandise,  appeared  at 
the  head  of  his  caravan  one  evening  at  the 
HoQse,  where  Soarli  Tapa  was  sitting  on  a 
bench  in  his  usual  place,  takipg  it  (as  he  gen- 
erally did  in  the  House)  very  coolly.  My 
Lord,  said  the  pretended  trader,  I  am  a 
stranger  here,  and  know  not  where  to  bestow 
my  merchandise  for  the  night  Suffer  me  then, 
I  beseech  you,  to  warehouse  It  here.  Scarli 
Tapa  rose  up,  showed  the  pretended  mer- 
chant where  to  put  his  goods,  and  instructed 
Jobbiana  to  prepare  an  entertainment  for  his 
guest.  Also  a  bath  for  himself ;  his  hands 
being  very  far  Arom  dean. 

The  discreet  slave,  in  obedience  to  her 
orders,  proceeded  to  prepare  the  entertain- 
ment and  the  bath ;  but  was  vexed  to  dis- 
cover, when  it  was  late  and  the  shops  of  the 
dealers  were  all  shut,  that  there  was  no  soft- 
soap  in  the  House— which  was  the  more 


unexpected,  as  there  was  generally  more  than 
enough.  Remembering,  however,  that  the  pre- 
tended trader  had  brought  a  large  stock  with 
him,  she  went  to  one  of  the  jars  to  get  a  lit- 
tle. As  she  drew  near  to  it,  the  impatient 
robber  within,  supposing  it  to  be  his  leader, 
said  in  a  low  voice,— Is  it  time  for  our  party 
to  come  in  ?  Jobbiana,  instantly  comprehend- 
ing the  danger,  replied.  Not  yet,  but  present- 
ly. She  went  in  this  manner  to  all  the  jars, 
receiving  the  same  question  and  giving  the 
same  answer. 

The  discreet  slave  returned  into  the  kitch- 
en, with  her  presence  of  mind  not  at  all  dis- 
turbed, and  there  prepared  a  lukewarm  mess 
of  soothing  syrup,  worn-out  wigs,  weak  milk 
and  water,  poppy-heads,  empt^  nat-shclls, 
firoth,  and  other  similar  ingredients.  When 
it  was  sufficiently  mawkish,  she  returned  to 
the  jars,  bearing  a  large  kettle  filled  with 
this  mixture,  poured  some  of  it  upon  every 
robber,  and  threw  the  whole  troop  into  a 
state  of  insensibility  or  submission.  She  then 
returned  to  the  House,  served  up  the  enter- 
tainment, cleared  awa^r  the  fragments,  and 
attired  herself  In  a  rich  dress  to  dance 
before  her  master  and  his  disguised  visi- 
tor. 

In  the  course  of  her  dances,  which  were 
performed  in  the  slowest  time,  and  during 
which  she  blew  both  her  own  and  the  family 
trup[ipet  with  extraordinary  pertinacity,  Job- 
biana took  care  always  to  approach  nearer 
and  still  nearer  to  the  Captain  of  the  Robbers. 
At  length  she  seized  him  by  the  sleeve  of  his 
disguise,  disclosed  him  in  his  own  dress  to  her  ' 
master,  and  related  where  his  men  were,  and 
how  they  had  asked  Was  it  time  to  come  in? 
Scarli  Tapa,  so  far  from  being  angry  with 
the  pretended  trader,  fell  upon  his  neck  and 
addressed  him  in  these  friendly  expressions : 
Since  our  object  is  the  same  and  no  great  dif- 
ference exists  between  us,  O  my  brother,  let 
us  totm  a  Coalition.  Debrett's  Peerage  will 
open  Sesame  to  the  Scarli  Tapas  and  the  Yaw- 
yawahs  equally,  and  will  shut  out  the  rest  of 
mankind.  Let  it  be  so.  There  is  plunder 
enough  in  the  cave.  So  that  it  is  never  re- 
stored to  the  original  owners  and  never  gets 
into  other  hands  but  ours,  why  should  we 
quarrel  overmuch  I  The  Captain  made  a 
suitable  reply  and  embraced  his  entertainer. 
Jobbiana,  shedding  tears  of  joy,  embraced 
them  both. 

Shortly  afterwards,  Scarli  Tapa,  in  grati- 
tude to  the  wise  Jobbiana,  caused  her  to  be 
invested  with  the  freedom  of  the  City— where 
she  had  been  very  much  beloved  for  many 
years — and  gave  her  in  marriage  to  his  own 
son.  They  had  a  large  family  and  a  powerful 
number  of  relations,  who  all  inherited,  by 
right  of  relationship,  the  power  of  opening 
Sesame  and  shutting  it  tight.  The  Yaw- 
yawahs  became  a  very  numerous  tribe  also, 
and  exercised  the  same  privilege.  This, 
Commander  of  the  Faithful,  is  tiie  reason 
why,  in  that  distant  part  of  the  dominions 


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292 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CC4Midact«d  bf 


of  the  Saltan  of  the  Indies,  all  true  be- 
lieTcrs  kiss  the  ground  seven  hundred  and 
seventy-seven  times  on  hearing  the  magic 
words,  Debrett's  Peerage— why  the  talisman 
of  Office  is  always  possessed  in  common  by 
the  three  great  races  of  the  Scarli  Tapas,  the 
Yawyawahs,  and  the  Jobbianas— why  the 
public  affairs,  great  and  small,  and  all  the 
national  enterprises  both  by  land  and  sea  are 
conducted  on  a  system  which  is  the  highest 
pealc  of  the  mountain  of  justice,  and  which 
always  succeeds — why  the  people  of  that 
country  are  serenely  satisfied  with  themselves 
and  things  in  general,  are  unquestionably 
tile  euvy  of  surrounding  nations,  and  cannot 
fail  in  the  inevitable  order  of  events  to  flour- 
ish to  the  end  of  the  world — why  all  these 
preat  truths  are  incontrovertible,  and  why  all 
who  dispute  them  receive  the  bastinado  as 
atheists  and  rebels. 

Here,  Hansardadade  concluded  the  story 
of  the  Forty  Thieves,  and  said,  if  my  Lord 
the  Sultan  will  deign  to  hear  another  narra- 
tive from  the  lips  of  the  lowest  of  his  ser- 
vants, I  have  adventures  yet  more  surprising 
than  these  to  narrate ;  adventures  that  are 
worthy  to  be  written  in  letters  of  gold.  By 
Allah !  exclaimed  the  Sultan,  whose  hand  had 
been  upon  his  scimitar  several  times  during 
tiie  previous  recital,  and  whose  eyes  had 
menaced  Parmarstoon  until  the  soul  of  that 
Vizier  had  turned  to  water,  what  thou  l)ast 
told  but  now,  deserves  to  be  recorded  in  let- 
ters of  Brass  I 

Hansardadade  was  proceeding,  Sire,  in  the 
great  plain  at  the  feet  of  the  mountains  of 
Casgar,  which  is  seven  weeks  journey  across — 
when  Brothartoon  interrupted  her :  Sister,  it 
Is  nearly  daybreak,  and  if  you  are  not  asleep 
you  ought  to  be.  I  pray  you,  dear  sister,  tell 
us  at  present  no  more  of  those  stories  that 
you  know  so  well,  but  hold  your  tongue  and 
go  to  bed.  Hansardadade  was  silent,  and  the 
Sultan  arose  in  a  very  indifferent  humour 
and  gloomily  walked  out — in  great  doubt 
whether  he  would  let  her  live,  on  any  consid- 
eration, over  another  day. 


SISTER  ROSE. 

IN  BBVBN  CH1.PTERS.     CHAi»TEB   VI. 

On  a  spring  morning,  in  the  year  seventeen 
(hundred  and  ninetv-ei^t,  the  public  convey- 
ance then  running  between  Chalons-sur-Marne 
and  Paris,  set  down  one  -ef  its  outside  pas- 
sengers at  the  first  post  station  beyond  Meauz. 
The  traveller,  an  old  man,  after  looking  about 
him  hesitatingly  for  a  moment  or  two,  betook 
himself  to  a  little  inn  opposite  the  post-house 
known  by  the  sign  of  the  Piebald  Horse,  and 
kept  by  the  Widow  Duval, — a  woman  who 
enjoyed  and  deserved  the  reputation  of  being 
the  fastest  talker  and  the  best  maker  of  gibe- 
lotte  in  the  whole  locality. 

Although  the  traveller  was  carelessly  no- 
ticed by  the  village  idlers,  and  received  with- 
out ceremony  by  the  Widow  Duval,  he  was 


by  no  means  so  ordinary  and  uninteresting  a 
stranger  as  the  rustics  of  the  place  were 
pleased  to  consider  him.  The  time  had  been 
when  this  quiet,  elderly,  unobstrusive  appli- 
cant for  refreshment  at  the  Piebald  Horse 
was  trusted  with  the  darkest  secrets  of  the 
Reign  of  Terror,  and  was  admitted  at  all 
times  and  seasons  to  speak  face  to  face  with 
Mazimilien  Robespierre  himself.  The  Widow 
Duval  and  the  hangers-on  in  front  of  the  poet- 
house  would  have  been  all  astonished  indeed, 
if  any  well-informed  personage  from  the  me- 
tropolis had  been  present  to  tell  them  that 
the  modest  old  traveller,  with  the  shabby  lit- 
tle carpet-bag,  was  an  ez-chlef  agent  of  the 
secret  Police  of  Paris  I 

Between  three  and  four  years  had  elapsed 
since  Lomaque  had  exercised,  for  the  last 
time,  his  official  functions  under  the  Reign  of 
Terror.  His  shoulders  bad  contracted  an 
extra  stoop,  and  his  hair  had  all  fallen  off, 
except  at  the  sides  and  back  of  his  head.  In 
some  other  respects,  however,  advancing  age 
seemed  to  have  improved  rather  than  dete- 
riorated him  in  personal  appearance.  His 
complexion  looked  healthier,  his  expression 
cheerfuUer,  his  eyes  brighter  than  they  had 
ever  been  of  late  years.  He  walked,  too, 
with  a  brisker  step  than  the  step  of  old  times 
in  the  police-office  j  and  his  dress,  although 
it  certainly  did  not  look  like  the  costume  of 
a  man  in  affluent  circumstances,  was  cleaner 
and  far  more  neatly  worn  than  ever  it  had 
been  in  the  past  days  of  his  political  employ- 
ment at  Paris. 

He  sat  down  alone  in  the  inn  parlour,  and 
occupied  the  time,  while  hi^  hostess  had  gone 
to  fetch  the  half  bottle  of  wine  that  he  or- 
dered, in  examining  a  dirty  old  card  which 
he  extricated  from  a  mass  of  papers  in  his 
pocket-book,  and  which  bore,  written  on  it, 
these  lines : — "  When  the  troubles  are  over, 
do  not  forget  those  who  remember  you  wi^ 
eternal  gratitude.  Stop  at  the  first  post 
station  beyond  Meaux,  on  the  high  road  to 
Paris,  and  ask  at  the  inn  for  citizen  Maurice, 
whenever  you  wish  to  see  us  or  to  hear  of  us 
agcLin.'- 

"Pray'*  inquired  Lomaque,  putting  the 
card  in  his  pocket  when  the  Widow  Duval 
brought  in  the  wine,  "can  you  inform  me 
whether  a  person  named  Maurice  lives  any- 
where in  this  neighbourhood  ?  ^' 

"  Can  I  inform  you  ?"  repeated  the  voluble 
widow.  *•  Of  course  I  can  I  Citizen  Maurice, 
and  the  citoyenne,his  amiable  sister — who  is 
not  to  be  passed  over  because  you  don't  men- 
tion her,  my  honest  man! — live  within  ten 
minutes'  walk  oimj  house.  A  charming  cot- 
tage, in  a  charming  situation,  inhabited  by  two 
charming  people, — so  quiet,  so  retiring,  such 
excellent  pay.  I  supply  them  with  every- 
thing,— fowls,  eggs,  bread,  butter,  vegetables 
(not  that  they  eat  much  of  anything),  wine 
(which  they  don't  drink  half  enough  of  to 
do  them  good) ;  in  short,  I  victual  the  dear 
little  hermitage,  and  love  the  two  amiable 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ChariM  Dlckem.] 


SISTER  ROSK 


293 


reel  usee  with  all  mj  heart  Ah !  thej  have 
bad  their  troubles,  poor  people,  the  sister 
especially,  though  they  never  talk  about 
fchezn.  When  they  first  came  to  live  in  our 
neighbourhood  " 

*'  I  beg  pardon,  citoyenne,  but  if  you  would 
only  be  so  kind  as  to  direct  me'' 

**  Which  is  three — no,  four — no,  three  years 
and  a  half  ago — in  short,  just  after  the  time 
T^hen  that  Satan  of  a  man,  Robespierre,  had 
Ills  head  cut  off  (and  served  him  ri^ht !),  I  said 
to  my  husband  (who  was  on  his  last  legs 
then,  poor  man !),  ^  She'll  die,' — meaning  the 
lady.  She  didn't. though^  My  fowls,  eggs, 
bread,  butter,  vegetables,  *and  wine,  carried 
lier  through, — always  in  combination  with 
the  anxious  care  of  citizen  Maudce.  Tes, 
yes!  let  us  be  tenderly  conscientious  in 
g^iving  credit  where  credit  is  due :  let  us 
never  forget  that  the  citizen  Maurice  con- 
triboted  something  to  the  cure  of  the  interest- 
ing invalid,  as  well  as  the  victuals  and  drink 
from  the  Piebald  Horse.  There  she  is  now, 
the   prettiest  little  woman  in  the  prettiest 


little  cottage—-" 
'*  Where!    Will 
tell  me  where  ? " 


you  be  so  obliging  as  to 


'  And  in  excellent  health,  except  that 
she  is  subject  now  and  then  to  nervous 
attacks,  having  evidently,  as  I  believe,  been 
strack  with  some  dreadful  fright, — most 
likely  during  that  accursed  time  of  the 
Terror,  for  they  bame  from  Paris— you  don't 
drink,  honest  man  I  Why  don't  you  drink? 
— Very,  very  pretty  in  a  pale  way ;  figure 
perhaps  too  thin — let  me  pour  it  out  for 
you — but  an  angel  of  gentleness,  and  at- 
tached in  such  a  touching  way  to  the  citizen 
Maurice  " 

*'  Citizen  hostess!  will  vou,  or  will  you  not, 
tell  me  where  they  live?" 

*<  You  droll  little  man  I  why  did  you  not 
ask  me  that  before,  if  you  wanted  to  know  ? 
Finish  your  wine  and  come  to  the  door. 
There's  your  changcand  thank  you  for  your 
custom,  though  it  isn't  much.  Come  to  the 
door,  I  say,  and  don't  interrupt  me  I  You're 
an  old  man,— can  you  see  forty  yards  before 
you  ? — Yes,  ^ou  can  I  Don't  be  peevish, — 
that  never  did  anybody  any  good  yet.  Now 
look  back,  along  the  road,  where  I  am  point- 
ing. You  see  a  large  heap  of  stones  ?  Good. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  heap  of  stones,  there 
is  a  little  path, — you  can't  see  that,  but  you 
can  remember  what  I  tell  you  ?  Good,  i  ou 
go  down  the  path  till  you  get  to  a  stream  ; 
down  the  stream  till  you  get  to  a  bridge ; 
down  the  other  bank  of  the  stream  (after 
crossing  the  bridge)  till  you  get  to  an  old 
water-mill, — a  jewel  of  a  water-mill  I  famous 
for  miles  round ;  artists  from  the  four  quar- 
ters of  the  globe  are  .always  coming  to  sketch 
it  I  Ah !  what,  yon  are  getting  peevish 
again?  You  won't  wait?  Impatient  old 
man,  what  a  life  your  wife  must  lead,  if  you 
have  got  one  I  Remember  the  bridge  t  Ah  I 
yoor  poor  wife  and  children,  I  pity  them, — 


your  daughters  especially.  PstI  psti  Re- 
member the  bridge,  —  peevish  old  man, 
remember  the  bridge  I " 

Walking  as  fast  as  he  could  out  of  hearing 
of  the  Widow  Duval's  tongue,  Lomaque  took 
the  path  by  the  heap  of  stones  which  led  out 
of  the  high-road,  crossed  the  stream,  and 
arrived  at  the  old  water-mill.  Close  bv  it 
stood  a  cottage, — a  rough,  simple  building, 
with  a  strip  of  garden  in  front.  Lomaque^s 
observant  eyes  marked  the  graceful  arrange- 
ment of  the  flower-beds  and  the  delicate 
whiteness  of  the  curtains  that  hung  behind 
the  badly-glazed  narrow  windows.  "  This 
must  be  the  place,"  he  said  to  himself  as  ho 
knocked  at  the  door  with  his  stick.  '*  I  can 
see  the  traces  of  her  hand  before  I  cross  the 
threshold." 

The  door  was  opened.  "Pray,  does  the 
citizen  Maurice — ?"  Lomaque  began,  not 
seeing  clearly  for  the  first  moment,  in  the 
dark  little  passage. 

Before  he  could  say  any  more  his  hand  was 
grasped,  his  carpet-bag  was  taken  from  him, 
and  a  well-known  voice  cried,  "  Welcome !  a 
thousand  thousand  times  welcome,  at  last! 
Citizen  Maurice  is  not  at  home ;  but  Louis 
Trudaine  takes  his  place,  and  is  oveijoyed  to 
see  once  more  the  best  and  dearest  of  bis 
friends  I " 

"  I  hardly  know  you  again.  How  you  are 
altered  for  the  better  1 "  exclaimed  Lomaque, 
as  they  entered  the  parlour  of  the  cottage. 

"  Remember  that  you  see  me  after  a  long 
freedom  from  anxiety.  Since  I  have  lived 
here,  I  have  gone  to  rest  at  night,  and  have 
not  been  afhiid  of  the  morning,"  replied  Tru- 
daine. He  went  out  into  the  passage,  while 
he  spoke,  and  called  at  the  foot  of  the  one 
flight  of  stairs  which  the  cottage  possessed, 
*'  Rose !  Rose !  come  down  I  The  friend  whom 
you  most  wished  to  see  has  arrived  at  last  I " 

She  answered  the  summons  immediately. 
The  frank  friendly  warmth  of  her  greeting ; 
her  resolute  determination,  after  the  first 
inquiries  were  over,  to  help  the  guest  to  take 
off  his  upper  coat  with  her  own  hands,  so 
confused  and  delighted  Lomaque,  that  he 
hardly  knew  which  way  to  turn,  or  what 
tosav. 

"  This  is  even  more  trying,  in  a  pleasant 
way,  to  a  lonely  old  fellow  like  me  " — he  was 
about  to  add,  "  than  the  unexpected  civility  of 
the  hot  cup  of  coflee,  years  ago ; "  but  remem- 
bering what  recollections  even  that  trifiing 
circumstance  might  recal,  he  checked  himself 

"  More  trying  than  what  ? "  asked  Rose, 
leading  him  to  a  chair. 

"Ah I  I  forget  I  am  in  my  dotage 
already  I "  he  answered  confusedly.  **  I  have 
not  got  used  just  yet  to  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
your  kind  face  again." 

It  was  indeed  a  pleasure  to  look  at  that 
face  now,  after  Lomaque's  last  experience  of 
it.  Three  years  of  repose,  thougn  they  had 
not  restored  to  Rose  those  youUiful  attrac- 
tions which  she  had  lost  for  ever  in  the  days 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


294 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCooductadbr 


of  the  Terror,  had  not  passed  without  learing 
kiodlj  outward  traces  of  their  healing  pro- 
gress. Though  the  girlish  roundness  had  not 
returned  to  her  cheeks,  or  the  girlish  delicacy 
of  colour  to  her  complexion,  her  ejes  had 
recovered  much  of  their  old  softness,  and  her 
expression  all  of  its  old  winning  charm. 
What  was  left  of  latent  sadness  in  her  face, 
and  of  significant  quietness  in  her  manner, 
remained  gently  and  harmlessly — remained 
rather  to  show  what  had  been  once,  than 
what  was  now. 

When  they  were  all  seated,  there  was,  how- 
ever, something  like  a  momentary  return  to 
the  suspense  and  anxiety  of  past  days  in 
their  faces,  as  Trudaine,  looking  earnestly  at 
Lomaque,  asked—"  Do  you  bring  any  news 
from  Paris?" 

"  None,"  he  replied;  "but  excellent  news, 
instead,  from  Rouen.  I  have  heard  acci- 
dentally, through  the  employer  whom  I  have 
been  serving  since  we  parted,  that  your  old 
house  by  the  river  side  is  to  let  again." 

Rose  started  from  her  chair.  "  Oh,  Louis, 
if  we  could  onlv  live  there  once  more !  My 
flower-garden?"  she  continued,  turning  to 
Lomaque. 

"  Cultivated  throughout,"  he  answered, 
"  by  the  late  proprietor." 

"  And  the  laboratory? "  added  her  brother. 

"  Left  standing,"  said  Lomaque.  "  Here  is 
a  letter  with  all  the  particulars.  You  may 
depend  upon  them ;  for  the  writer  is   the 

Serson  charged  with  the  letting  of  the 
ouse." 

Trudaine  looked  over  the  letter  eagerly. 

"  The  price  is  not  beyond  our  means,"  he 
said.  "  After  our  three  years*  economy  here, 
we  can  afford  to  give  something  for  a  great 
pleasure." 

**  Oh,  what  a  day  of  happiness  it  will  be 
wh^n  we  go  home  again  I "  cried  Rose. 
"  Pray,  write  to  your  friend  at  once,"  she 
added,  addressing  Lomaque,  "and  say  we 
take  the  house,  before  any  one  else  is  before- 
hand with  us  I " 

He  nodded ;  and  folding  up  the  letter  me- 
chanically in  the  old  official  form,  made  a 
note  on  it  in  the  old  official  manner.  Tru- 
daine observed  the  action,  and  felt  Its  asso- 
ciation with  past  times  of  trouble  and  terror. 
His  face  grew  grave  again,  as  he  said  to 
Lomaque,  "  And  is  this  good  news  really  all 
the  news  of  importance  you  have  to  tell  us?" 

Lomaque  hesitated,  and  fidgeted  in  his 
chair.  **  What  other  news  I  have  will  well 
bear  keeping,"  he  replied.  "  There  are  many 
questions  I  should  like  to  ask,  first,  about 
your  sister  and  yourself.  Do  you  mind  allow- 
ing me  to  refer  for  a  moment  to  the  time 
when  we  last  met? " 

He  addressed  this  enquiry  to  Rose,  who 
answered  in  the  negative ;  but  her  voice 
seemed  to  alter,  even  in  saying  the  one  word 
"  No."  She  turned  her  head  away  when  she 
spoke :  and  Lomaque  noticed  that  her  hands 
trembled  as  she  took  up  some  work  lying  on 


a  table  near,  and  hurriedly  occupied  herself 
with  it 

"We  speak  as  little  about  that  time  as 
possible,"  said  Trudaine,  looking  significantly 
towards  his  sister  ;  "  but  we  have  some  ques- 
tions to  ask  you,  in  our  turn ;  so  the  allusion, 
for  this  ODce  is  inevitable.  Your  sudden 
disappearance  at  the  very  crisis  of  that 
terrible  time  of  danger  has  not  yet  been  fully  i 
explained  to  us.  The  one  short  note  which  I 
you  left  behind  you,  helped  us  to  guess  at  what 
had  happened,  rather  than  to  understand  it."    I 

"I  can  easily  explain  it  now,"  answered    { 
Lomaque.    "  The  sudden  overthrow  of  the 
Reign  of  Terror,  which  was  salvation  to  you,    I 
was  destruction  to  me.    The  new  republican 
reign  was  a  reign  of  mercy,  except  for  the 
tail  of  Robespierre,  as  the  phrase  ran  then,    i 
Every  man  who  had  been  so  wicked  or  so    | 
unfortunate  as  to  be  involved,  even  in  the 
meanest  capacity*  with  the  machinery  of  the 
government  of  Terror,  was  threatened,  and 
justly,  with  the  fate  of  Robespierre.   I,  among 
others,  fell  under  this  menace  of  death.    I 
deserved  to  die,  and  should  have   re«gned 
myself  to  the  guillotine,  but  for  you.    From 
the  course  taken  by  public  events,  I  knew    I ' 
you  would  be  saved;    and  although  your    I 
safety  was  the  work  of  circumstances,  still,  I    I 
had  a  hand  in  rendering  it  possible  at  the 
outset ;  and  a  yearning  came  over  me  to 
behold  you  both  free  again  with  my  own  eyes    j 
— a  selfish  yearning,  to  see,  in  you,  a  living,    ' 
breathing,  real  result  of  the  one  good  impuL^    i 
of  my  heart  which  I  could  look  back  on  with    | 
satisfaction.     This  desire  gave  me  a  new    ! 
interest  in  life.    I  resolved  to  escape  death,  if 
it  were  possible.    For  ten  days  I  lay  hidden    I 
in  Paris.     After    that — thanks  to    certain    ': 
scraps  of  useful  knowledge,  which  my  expe-     ' 
rience  in  the  office  of  secret  police  had  given    I 
me — I  succeeded  in  getting  clear  of  Paris,    ' 
and  in  making  my  way  safely  to  Switzerland. 
The  rest  of  my  story  is  so  short,  and  so  soon    I 
told,  that  I  may  as  well  get  it  over  at  once. 
The  one  relation  I  knew  of  in  the  world  to 
apply  to,  was  a  cousin  of  mine  (whom  I  had    '* 
never  seen  before),  established  as  a  silk-     ' 
mercer  at  Berne.    I  threw  myself  on  this 
man's  mercy.     He  dlscoverM  that  I  was    ! 
likely,  with  my  business  habits,  to  be  of  some 
use  to  him,  and  he  took  me  into  his  house.    I 
I  worked  for  what  he  pleased  to  give  me;     ' 
travelled  about  for  him  in  Switzerland :  de-   i 
served  his  confidence,  and  won  it    Till  within 
the  last  few  months,  I  remained  with  him ; 
and  only  left  my  employment,  to  enter,  by 
my  master's  own  desire,  the  house  of  one  of    i 
his  sons,  established  also  as  a  silk-mercer,  at 
Chalons-sur-Marne.      In  the  counting-house 
of  this  merchant  I  am  a  corresponding  clerk ;    , 
and  am  only  able  to  come  and  see  you  now, 
by  offering  to  undertake  a  special  business- 
mission,  for  my  employer,  at  Paris.     It  is 
drudgery,  at  my  time  of  life,.after  all  I  have 
gone  through — but  my  hard  work  is  innocent 
work.    I  am  not  obliged  to  cringe  for  every 


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CluulMDlckciM.] 


SISTER  ROSE. 


295 


crown-piece  I  pat  in  my  pocket — ^not  bound 
to  denounce,  deceive,  and  dog  to  deatli  other 
men,  before  I  can  earn  mj  bread,  and  scrape 
k>£^ther  money  enough  to  bury  me.  I  am 
ending  a  bad  base  life,  harmlessly  at  last 
It  1b  a  poor  thing  to  do,  bat  it  is  something 
done — and  even  that  contents  a  man  at  my 
age.  In  short,  I  am  happier  than  I  used  to 
be,  or,  at  least,  less  ashamed  when  I  look 
people  like  you  in  the  face." 

''Husht  hush  I"  interrupted  Rose,  laying 
her  hand  on  his  arm.  ^*  1  cannot  allow  you 
to  talk  of  yourself  in  that  way,  even  in 
jest." 

**I  was  speaking  in  earnest,"  answered 
Lomaque,  quietly ;  "  but  I  won't  weary  you 
wi  th  any  more  words  about  myself.  My  story 
is  told." 

'<A11?"  asked  Tradaine.  He  looked 
searohlngly,  almost  suspiciously,  at  Lomaque, 
as  he  put  the  question.  ^*  All  ?  "  he  repeated. 
"  Yours  is  a  short  story,  indeed,  my  good 
friend  I  Perhaps  you  have  forgotten  some  of 
it?" 

Again  Lomaque  fidgetted  and  hesitated. 

'<  Is  it  not  a  little  hard  on  an  old  man,  to 
he  always  asking  questions  of  him,  and  never 
answering  one  of  his  inquiries  in  return!" 
he  said  to  Rose,  very  gaily  as  to  manner,  but 
rather  uneasily  as  to  look. 

<'  He  will  not  speak  out  till  we  are  alone," 
thought  Trudaine.  "  It  is  best  to  risk  nothing, 
and  to  humour  him." 

«  Come,  come,"  he  said  aloud,  "  no  grum- 
bling. I  admit  that  it  is  your  turn  to  hear 
our  story  now ;  and  I  will  do  my  best  to 
gratify  you.  But  before  I  begin,"  he  added, 
turning  to  his  sister,  "  let  me  suggest,  Rose, 
that  if  you  have  any  household  matters  to 
settle  up  stairs" — 

''I  know  what  you  mean,"  she  inter- 
rupted, hurriedlv  taking  up  the  work  which, 
during  the  last  few  minutes,  she  had  allowed 
to  drop  into  her  lap ;  **  but  I  am  stronger 
than  you  think ;  I  can  face  the  worst  of  our 
recollections  composedly.  Go  on,  Louis; 
pray  go  on — ^I  am  quite  fit  to  stop  and  hear 
you." 

"  You  know  what  we  suffered  in  the  first 
days  of  our  suspense,  after  the  success  of 
your  stratagem,"  said  Trudaine,  turning  to 
jLomaque.  ^^  I  think  it  was  on  the  evening 
after  we  had  seen  you  for  the  last  time,  at 
St.  Lazare,  that  strange  confused  rumours  of 
an  impending  convulsion  in  Paris  first  pene- 
trated within  our  prison  walls.  During  the 
next  few  days,  the  faces  of  our  gaolers  were 
enough  to  show  us  that  those  rumours  were 
true,  and  that  the  Reign  of  Terror  was  act- 
ually threatened  with  overthrow  at  the 
hands  of  the  Moderate  Party.  We  had  hard- 
ly time  to  hope  everything  from  this  bless- 
ed change,  before  the  tremendous  news  of 
Robespierre's  attempted  suicide,  then  of  his 
condemnation  and  execution,  reached  us.  The 
confusion  produced  in  the  prison  was  beyond 
all  description.    The  accused  who  had  been 


tried  and  the  accused  who  had  not  been  tried 
got  mingled  together.  From  the  day  of 
Robespierre's  arrest,  no  orders  came  to  the 
authorities,  no  death-lists  reached  the  prison. 
The  gaolers,  terrified  by  rumours,  that  the 
lowest  accomplices  of  tne  tyrant  would  be 
held  responsible,  and  be  condemned  with  him, 
made  no  attempt  to  maintain  order.  Some 
of  them,  that  hump-backed  man  among  the 
rest — deserted  their  duties  altogether.  The 
disorganization  was  so  complete,  that  when 
the  commissioners  from  the  new  government 
came  to  St  Lazare,  some  of  us  were  actually 
half-starving  iVom  want  of  the  bare  necessaries 
of  life.  To  inquire  separately  into  our  cases 
was  found  to  be  impossible.  Sometimes  the 
necessary  papers  were  lost ;  sometimes  what 
documents  remained  were  incomprehensible 
to  the  new  commissioners.  They  w6re  obliged, 
at  last,  to  make  short  work  of  it  by  calling 
us  up  before  them  in  dozens.  Tried  or  not 
tried,  we  had  all  been  arrested  by  the  tyrant, 
had  all  been  accused  of  conspiracy  against 
him,  and  were  all  ready  to  hail  the  new  gov- 
ernment, as  the  salvation  of  France.  In  nine 
cases  out  of  ten,  our  best  claim  to  be  dis- 
charged was  derived  from  these  circum- 
stances. We  were  trusted  by  Tallien  and  the 
men  of  the  Ninth  Thermidor,  because  we  had 
been  suspected  by  Robespierre,  Couthon,  and 
St.  Just.  Arrested  informally,  we  were  now 
liberated  informally.  When  it  came  to  my 
sister's  turn  and  mine,  we  were  not  under 
examination  five  minutes.  No  such  thing  as 
a  searching  question  was  asked  of  us ;  I  be- 
lieve we  might  even  have  given  our  own  names 
with  perfect  impunity.  But  I  had  previously 
instructed  Rose  that  we  were  to  assume  our 
mother's  maiden  name — ^Maurice.  As  the 
citizen  and  citoyenne  Maurice,  accordingly, 
we  passed  out  of  prison — under  the  same 
name  we  hi^e  lived  ever  since  in  hiding  here. 
Our  past  repose  has  depended,  our  future 
happiness  will  depend,  on  our  escape  from 
death  being  kept  the  profonndest  secret 
among  us  three.  For  one  all  sufficient  reason, 
which  you  can  easily  guess  at,  the  brother 
and  sister  Maurice  must  still  know  nothing  of 
Louis  Trudaine  and  Rose  Danville,  except 
that  they  were  two  among  the  hundreds  of 
victims  guillotined  during  the  reign  of 
Terror."  ^ 

He  spoke  the  last  sentence  with  a  faint 
smile,  and  with  the  air  of  a  man  trying,  in 
spite  of  himself,  to  treat  a  grave  subject 
lightly.  His  face  clouded  again,  however,  in 
a  moment,  when  he  looked  towards  his  sister, 
as  he  ceased.  Her  work  had  once  more 
dropped  on  her  lap ;  her  face  was  turned 
away,  so  that  he  could  not  see  it ;  but  he 
knew  by  the  trembling  of  her  clasped  hands, 
as  they  rested  on  her  knee,  and  by  the  slight 
swelling  of  the  veins  on  her  neck,  which  she 
could  not  hide  from  him,  that  her  boasted 
strength  of  nerve  had  deserted  her.  Three 
years  of  repose  had  not  yet  enabled  her 
to  hear  her  marriage  name  uttered,  or  to  be 


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296 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


prefteot  when  past  times  of  deathly  saffering 
and  terror  were  referred  to,  without  betray- 
ing the  diock  in  her  face  and  manner.  Tm- 
daine  looked  saddened,  bat  in  no  way  sur- 

Erised  by  what  he  saw.  Making  a  sign  to 
lOmaqae  to  say  nothing,  he  rose  and  took  up 
his  sister's  hood,  which  lay  on  a  window- 
seat  near  hiuL 

"  Come,  Rose,"  he  said, "  the  san  is  shining, 
the  sweet  spring  air  is  inviting  us  oat  Let 
as  have  a  qaiet  stroll  along  the  banks  of  the 
stream.  Why  should  we  keep  our  good  friend 
here,  cooped  up  in  this  narrow  little  room, 
when  we  have  miles  and  miles  of  beautifal 
landscape  to  show  him  on  the  other  side  of 
the  threshold  ?  Gome !  It  is  high  treason  to 
Queen  Nature  to  remain  indoors  on  such  a 
morning  as  this." 

Without  waiting  for  her  to  reply,  he  put 
on  her  hood,  drew  her  arm  through  his,  and 
led  the  way  out.  Lomaque's  face  grew  grave 
as  he  followed  them. 

"  I  am  glad  I  only  showed  the  bright  side 
of  my  budget  of  news  in  her  presence," 
thought  he.  **  She  is  not  well  at  heart  yet. 
I  might  have  hurt  her,  poor  thing !  I  might 
have  hurt  her  again  ^tdly,  if  I  had  not  h^ld 
my  tongue ! " 

They  walked  for  a  little  while  down  the 
banks  of  the  stream,  talking  of  indifferent 
matters ;  then  returned  to  the  cottage.  By 
that  time  Rose  had  recovered  her  spirits,  and 
could  listen  with  interest  and  amusement  to 
Lomaque's  drily-humorous  description  of 
his  life  as  a  clerk  atChalons-sur-Marne.  They 
parted  for  a  little  while  at  the  cottage-door. 
Rose  retired  to  the  up-stairsroom  from  which 
she  had  been  summoned  by  her  brother. 
Trudaine  and  Lomaque  returned  to  wander 
again  along  the  banks  of  the  stream. 

With  one  accord  and  without  a  word  pass- 
ing between  them,  they  left  the  neighbour- 
.hood  of  the  cottage  hurriedly ;  then  stopped 
on  a  sudden,  and  attentively  looked  each 
other  in  the  face — looked  in  silence  for  an  in- 
stant.   Trudaine  spoke  first. 

"  I  thank  you  for  having  spared  her,"  he 
began,  abruptly.  **  She  is  not  strong  enough, 
yet,  to  bear  hearing  of  a  new  misfortune, 
unless  I  break  the  tidings  to  her  first" 

*'You  suspect  me  then  of  bringing  bad 
news  ?*'  said  Lomaque. 

"  I  know  you  do.  When  I  saw  vour  first 
look  at  her,  ajter  we  were  all  seated  m  the  cot- 
tage-parlour, I  knew  it.  Speak !  without  fear, 
without  caution,  without  one  useless  word  of 
preface.  After  three  years  of  repose,  if  it 
pleases  God  to  aifiict  us  again,  I  can  bear  the 
trial  calmly  j  and,  if  need  be,  can  strengthen 
her  to  bear  it  calmly  too.  I  say  again,  Lo- 
maque, speak  at  once,  and  speak  out !  I  know 
your  news  is  bad,  for  I  know  beforehand  that 
it  is  news  of  Danville." 

"  Yon  are  right,  my  bad  news  is  news  of 
him." 

"  He  has  discovered  the  secret  of  oar  escape 
from  the  guillotine—?  " 


"No— he  has  not  a  suspicion  of  it  He 
1[>elieves — as  his  motiier,  as  every  one  does — 
that  you  were  both  executed  the  day  after 
the  Revolutionary  Tribunal  sentenced  yoa  to 
death." 

*<  Lomaque  I  you  speak  positively  of  that 
belief  of  his — ^but  you  cannot  be  certain  of  it" 

"I  can,  on  the  most  indisputable,  the  moet 
startling  evidence — on  the  authority  of  Dan- 
ville's own  act  You  have  adied  me  to  e;peak 
out—?" 

"  I  ask  you  again — I  insist  on  it  I  Yoor 
news,  Lomaaue — your  news,  without  another 
word  of  preface  I  " 

«  You  shall  have  it  without  another  word 
of  preface.  Danville  is  on  the  point  of  being 
married." 

As  the  answer  was  given  they  both  stopped 
by  the  bank  of  the  stream,  and  again  looked 
each  other  in  the  face.  There  was  a  minute 
of  dead  silence  between  them.  During  that 
minute,  the  water  bubbling  by  happily  over 
its  bed  of  pebbles,  seemed  strangely  loud,  the 
singing  of  birds  in  a  little  wood  by  the  stream 
side  strangely  near  and  shrill,  in  both  their 
ears.  The  light  breeze,  for  all  its  mid-day 
warmth,  touched  their  cheeks  coldly ;  and  the 
spring  sunlight  pouring  on  their  faces,  felt  as 
if  it  were  glimmering  on  them  through  win- 
ter-clouds. 

"  Let  us  walk  on,"  said  Trudaine,  in  a  low 
voice.  "  I  was  prepared  for  bad  news»  yet  not 
for  that.  Are  you  certain  of  what  you  have 
just  told  me?" 

**  As  certain  as  that  the  stream  here  is  flow- 
ing by  our  side.  Hear  how  I  made  the  dis- 
covery, and  you  will  doubt  no  longer.  Before 
last  week,  I  knew  nothing. of  Danville,  except 
that  his  arrest  on  suspicion  by  Robespierre^s 
order,  was,  as  events  turned  out,  the  saving  of 
his  life.  He  was  imprisoned,  as  I  told  you, 
on  the  evening  after  he  had  beard  your  names 
read  from  the  death-list  at  the  prison-grate. 
He  remained  in  confinement  at  the  Temple, 
unnoticed  in  the  political  confusion  out  of 
doors,  just  as  you  remained  unnoticed  at  St 
Lazare ;  and  he  profited,  precisely  in  the  same 
manner  that  you  profited  by  the  timely  insur- 
rection which  overthrew  the  Reign  of  Terror. 
I  knew  this,  and  I  knew  that  he  walked  out 
of  prison  in  the  character  of  a  persecuted 
victim  of  Robespierre's — and  for  better  than 
three  years  past  I  know  no  more.  Now 
listen.  L^t  week  I  happened  to  be  waiting 
in  tiie  shop  of  my  employer,  citizen  Clairfai^ 
for  some  papers  to  take  into  the  counting- 
house,  when  an  old  man  enters  with  a  sealed 
parcel,  which  he  hands  to  one  of  the  shop- 
men, saying: 
" '  Give  that  to  citizen  Clairfalt.' 
" '  Any  name? '  says  the  shopman. 
"  *  The  name  is  of  no  consequence,'  answers 
the  old  man ;  *  but  if  you  please  you  can  ^Ive 
mine.  Say  the  parcel  came  firom  citizen 
Dubois ;'  and  then  he  goes  out  His  name 
in  connection  with  his  elderly  look,  strikes 
me  directly. 


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SISTER  ROSE. 


297 


<"'  Does  that  old  fellow  live  at  Chaloosr  I 
ask. 

" '  No/  says  the  shopman.  <  He  is  here  ki 
atteodaoco  oa  a  customer  of  ours— an  old  ex- 
aristocrat  named  Danville.  She  is  on  a  visit 
io  OUT  town.* 

"Heave  joa  to  imagine  how  that  reply 
startles  and  amazes  roe.  The  shopman  can 
aosirer  none  of  the  other  qaeatioos  I  pat  to 
bim  ]  but  the  next  day  I  am  asked  to  dinner 
by  my  employer  (who.  for  his  father^a  sake, 
sbowB  me  the  utmost  civility).  On  enterihg 
the  room,  I  find  his  wife  just  putting  away  a 
la?eader-coloured  silk  scarf,  on  which  die  has 
been  embroidering  in  silver  what  looks  to  me 
very  like  a  crest  and  coat  of  arms. 

"*Idon-t  mind  your  seeing  what  I  am 
aboat,  citiEen  Lomaque,'  said  she,  ^for  I 
know  we  can  trust  you.  That  scarf  is  sent 
back  to  us  by  the  purchaser,  an  ex-emigrant 
lady  of  the  old  aristocratic  school,  to  have 
ber  family  coat-of-arms  embroidered  on  iV 

" '  Rather  a  dangerous  commission  even  in 
these  mercifully  democratic  times,  is  it  not?' 
saysL 

"  *  The  old  lady,  you  must  know,'  says  she, 
'  is  as  proud  as  Lucifer ;  and  having  got  back 
safely  to  France  in  these  days  of  moderate 
republicanism,  thinks  she  may  now  indulge 
with  impunity  in  all  her  old-fashioned  no- 
tioQB.  She  has  been  an  excellent  customer 
or  ours,  80  my  husband  thought  it  best  to  hu- 
mour her,  without,  however,  trusting  her 
commission  to  any  of  the  work-room  women 
to  execute.  We  are  not  living  under  the  Reign 
of  Terror  now,  certainly ;  still  there  is  nothing 
like  being  on  the  safe  side.' 

** '  Nothing,'  I  answer.  '  Pray  what  is  this 
ex-emigrant's  name  ? ' 

"'Danville,'  replies  the  citoyenne  Glair- 
fait  'She  is  going  to  appear  in  that  fine 
scarf  at  her  soa^s  marriage.' 

"  *  Marriage  I '  I  exclaim,  perfectly  thunder- 
struck. 

*•'  Yes,'  says  she.  *  What  is  there  so  amaz- 
ing in  that  ?  By  all  accounts,  the  son,  poor 
maa.  deserves  to  make  a  lucky  marriage  this 
time..  Uis  first  wife  was  taken  away  from  him 
iu  the  Reign  of  Terror  by  the  guillotine.' 

"*  Who  is  he  going  to  marry  ? '  I  enquire, 
still  breathless. 

"  *  The  daughter  of  General  Berthelin— an 
ex-aristocrat  by  family,  like  the  old  lady,  but 
by  principle  as  good  a  republican  as  ever 
lived— a  hard-drinking,  loud-swearing,  big- 
whlnkered  old  soldier,  who  snaps  his  fingers 
at  bis  ancestors,  and  says  we  are  all  descend- 
ed from  Adam,  the  first  genuine  sans-culotte 
in  the  world.' 

"  In  this  way  the  citoyenne  Glairfait  goe- 
sips  on  all  dinner-time,  but  says  nothing  more 
of  any  importance.  I,  with  my  old  police- 
office  habits,  set  to  the  next  day,  and  tried  to 
make  some  discoveries  for  myself.  The  sum 
of  what  I  find  out  is  this :  Danville's  mother 
w  Flaying  with  General  Berthelin's  sister  and 
daughter  at  Chalons ;  and  Danville  himself 


is  expected  to  arrive  every  day  to  escort 
them  all  three  to  Paris,  where  the  marriage 
contract  is  to  be  signed  at  the  general's 
house.  Discovering  this,  and  seeing  that 
prompt  action  Is  now  of  the  most  vital  im-  ^ 
portance,  I  undertake,  at  I  told  you,  my  em- 
ployer's commission  for  Paris ;  depart  with 
all  speed ;  and  stop  here  on  my  way. — Wait  I 
I  have  not  done  yet  All  the  haste  I  can 
makp  is  not  baste  enough  to  give  me  a  good 
start  of  the  wedding  party.  On  my  road 
here,  tiie  diligence  by  which  I  travel  is  pass- 
ed by  a  carriage,  posting  along  at  full  speed. 
I  cannot  see  inside  that  carriage ;  but  I  look 
at  the  box-seat,  and  recognise  on  it  the  old 
man  Dubois.  He  whirls  by  in  a  cloud  of  dust, 
but  I  am  certain  of  him  ;  and  I  say  to  my- 
self, what  I  now  say  again  to  you,  no  time  is 
to  be  lost ! ' 

*^  No  time  thall  be  lost,"  answered  Trodaine, 
firmly.  "  Three  years  have  passed,"  he  con- 
tinued, in  a  lower  voice,  speaking  to  himself 
rather  than  to  Lomaque ;  "  three  years  since 
the  day  when  I  led  ray  sister  out  of  the  gates 
of  the  prison, — three  years  since  I  said  in  my 
heart,  I  will  be  patient,  and  will  not  seek  to 
avenge  myself.  Our  wrongs  cry  from  earth 
to  heaven;  from  man  who  inflicts  to  God 
who  redresses.  When  the  day  of  reckoning 
comes,  let  it  be  the  day  of  His  vengeance,  not 
of  mine.  In  my  heart  I  said  those  words — I 
have  been  true  to  them — I  have  waited.  The 
day  has  come,  and  the  duty  it  demands  of  me 
shall  be  fulfilled." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  before  Lo- 
maque spoke  again.  ''  Your  sister  ?"  he  began 
hesitatingly. 

**  It  is  there  only  that  my  purpose  falters," 
said  the  other  earnestly.  **  If  it  were  but 
possible  to  spare  her  all  knowledge  of  this 
last  trial,  and  to  leave  the  acconplishment 
of  the  terrible  task  to  me  alone?" 

'*I  think  it  is  possible,"  interposed  Lo- 
maque. "  Listen  to  what  I  advise.  We  must 
depart  for  Paris  by  the  diligence  to-morrow 
morning,  and  we  must  take  your  sister  with 
us — to-morrow  will  be  time  enough  :  people 
don*t  sign  marriage  contracts  on  the  evening 
after  a  long  day's  journey.  We  most  go  then, 
and  we  must  take  your  sister.  Leave  the  care 
of  her  in  Paris,  and  the  responsibiiity  of  keep- 
ing her  in  ignorance  of  what  you  are  doing, 
to  me.  Go  to  this  Creneral  Berthelin's  house 
at  a  time  when  you  know  Danville  is  there 
(we  can  get  that  knowledge  through  the  ser- 
vants) ;  confront  him  without  a  moment's  pre- 
vious warning:  confront  him  as  a  man  risen 
from  the  dead;  confront  him  before  every 
soul  in  the  room,  though  the  room  should  be 
fdll  of  people — and  leave  the  rest  to  the  self- 
betrayal  of  a  panic  stricken  man.  Say  but  three 
words,  and  yaw  duty  will  be  done  ;  you  may 
return  to  your  sister,  and  may  depart  with  her 
in  safety  to  your  old  retreat  at  Rouen,or  where 
else  you  please,on  the  very  day  when  you  have 
put  it  out  of  her  infamous  husband^s  power 
to  add  another  to  the  list  of  his  crimes." 


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298 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[C«iMioetcdW 


<*  Toa  forget  the  BaddennesB  of  the  Journey 
to  Paria,"  said  Trudaine.  **  How  ai^  we  to 
account  for  it  without  the  riak  of  awakening 
my  sister's  suspicions?  " 

<<  Trust  that  to  me,"  answered  Lomaque. 
"  Let  us  return  to  the  cottage  at  once.  No ! 
not  you/'  he  added  suddenly,  as  they  turned 
to  retrace  their  steps.  *'  There  is  that  in  your 
face  which  would  betray  us.  Leave  me  to  go 
back  alone— I  will  say  that  you  have  gone  to 
give  some  orders  at  the  inn.  Let  us  separate 
inunediately.  You  will  recover  your  self- 
possession,  you  will  get  to  look  yourself  again 
sooner,  if  you  are  let  alone— I  know  enough 
of  yon  to  know  that  We  will  not  waste 
another  minute  in  explanations,  even  minutes 
are  precious  to  us  on  such  a  day  as  this.  By 
the  time  you  are  fit  to  meet  your  uster  again, 
I  shall  have  had  time  to  say  all  I  wish  to  her, 
and  shall  be  waiting  at  the  cottage  to  tell  you 
the  result." 

He  looked  at  Trudaine,  and  his  eyes  seem- 
ed to  brighten  again  with  something  of  the 
old  energy  and  sudden  decision  of  the  days 
when  he  was  a  man  in  office  under  the  Reign 
of  Terror.  **  Leave  it  to  me,"  he  said^  and, 
waving  his  hand,  turned  away  quickly  in  the 
direction  of  the  cottage. 

Nearly  itn  hour  passed  before  Trud&ine  ven- 
tured to  follow  him.  When  he  at  length  en- 
tered the  path  which  led  to  the  garden  gate, 
he  saw  his  sister  waiting  at  the  cottage 
door.  Her  face  looked  unusually  animated  ; 
and  she  ran  forward  a  step  or  two  to  meet 
him. 

"  Oh,  Louis  1"  she  said,  "  I  have  a  confes- 
sion to  make,  and  I  must  beg  you  to  hear  it 
patiently  to  the  end.  You  must  know  that 
our  good  Lomaque,  though  he  came  in  tired 
from  his  walk,occupied  himself  the  first  thing, 
at  my  request,  in  writing  the  letter  which  is 
to  secure  to  us  our  dear  old  home  by  the  banks 
of  the  Seine.  When  he  had  done,  he  looked 
at  me,  and  said,  <  I  should  like  to  be  present 
at  your  happy  return  to  the  house  where  I 
first  saw  you.'  *  Oh,  come,  come  with  us  I'  I 
said  directly.  *  I  am  not  an  independent  man,' 
he  answered, '  I  have  a  margin  of  time  allow- 
ed me  at  Paris,  certainly,  but  it  is  not  long 
— ^if  I  were  onlv  my  own  master — '  and  then 
he  stopped.  Louis  I  I  remembered  all  we 
owed  to  him ;  I  remembered  that  there  was 
no  sacrifice  we  ought  not  to  be  too  glad  to 
make  for  his  sake ;  I  felt  the  kindness  of  the 
wish  he  had  expressed ;  and,  perhaps,  I  was 
a  little  influenced  by  my  own  impatience  to 
see  my  flower  garden  and  the  rooms  where 
we  used  to  be  so  happy  again.  So  I  said  to 
him,  *I  am  sure  Louis  will  agree  with  me, 
that  our  time  is  yours,  and  that  we  shall  be 
only  too  glad  to  advance  our  departure  so  as 
to  make  travelling-leisure  enough  for  you  to 
come  with  us  to  Rouen.  We  should  be  worse 
tbau  ungrateful — '  He  stopped  me.  '  You 
have  always  been  good  to  me,'  he  said.  *  I 
must  not  Impose  on  your  kindness  now.  No! 
no  I  you  have  formalities  to  settle  before  you 


can  leave  this  place.'  *Notone,'Isaid-^orwe 
have  not,  as  you  know,  Louis  ?  *  Why,  here 
is  your  furniture  to  begin  with,'  he  said.  'A 
few  chairs  and  tables  hired  from  the  ino.'  I 
answered  ;  'we  have  only  to  give  the  landla- 
dy our  key,  to  leave  a  letter  for  the  owDcrof 
the  cottage,  and  then — '  He  laughed.  '  Whj, 
to  hear  you  talk,  one  would  tbiok  yoa  were 
as  ready  to  travel  as  I  am  I'  '  So  we  are/ 1 
said,  *  quite  as  ready,  living  In  the  way  we  do 
here.'  He  shook  his  head ;  but  you  will  not 
Rh'ake  yours,  Louis,  I  am  sure,  now  yoa  bare 
heard  all  my  long  story  7  You  can't  blame 
me,  can  you  ?  " 

Before  Trudaine  could  answer,  Lomaqne 
looked  out  of  the  cottage  window. 

"  I  have  just  been  telling  my  brother  every- 
thing," said  Rose,  turning  round  towards 
him. 
"  And  what  does  he  say?"  asked  Lomaqoe. 
"  He  says  what  I  say,"  replied  Rose,  an- 
swering for  her  brother  ;  ''  that  our  time  ii 
your  time — the  time  of  our  best  and  dearest 
friend." 

*'  Shall  it  be  done,  then  ? "  asked  Lomaqoe, 
with  a  meaning  look  at  Trudaine. 

Rose  glanced  anxiously  at  herbrother :  his 
face  was  much  graver  than- she  bad  expected 
to  see  it,  but  his  answer  relieved  her  from  all 
suspense. 

**  You  were  quite  right,  love,  to  speak  as 
you  did,"  he  said  gently.  Then,  turning  to 
Lomaque,  he  added,  in  a  flrmer  voice,  "  It 
shall  be  done  I" 

CHAFTEB  Tn. 

Two  days  after  the  travelling  carnage  de- 
scribed by  Lomaque  had  passed  the  diligence 
on  the  road  to  Paris,  Ma^tme  Danville  satio 
the  drawing-room  of  an  apartment  in  the  Roe 
de  Grenelle,  handsomely  dressed  for  driyiog 
out.  After  consulting  a  large  gold  watch 
that  hung  at  her  side,  and  finding  that  it 
wanted  a  quarter  of  an  hour  onlv  to  two 
o'clock,  she  rang  her  hand-bell,  and  said  to 
the  maid  servant  who  answered  the  sammoos: 
**  I  have  five  minutes  to  spare.  Send  Do- 
bois  here  with  my  chocolate." 

The  old  man  made  his  appearance  with 
great  alacritv.     After  handing  the  cap  of  i 
chocolate  to  his  mistress,  he  ventured  to  ose 
the  privilege  of  talking,  to  which  his  longaod 
faithful  services  entitled  him,  and  paid  the 
old  lady  a  compliment.  "  I  am  rejoiced  toB« 
madame  looking  so  young  and  in  such  good  i 
spirits  this  morning,''  he  said,  with  a  low  bow  i 
and  a  mild  deferential  smile. 

"I  think  I  have  some  reason  for  being  m 
good  spirits   on   the  day  when  ^7 J^^^ 
marriage   contract   is  to   be  signed,   8^  i 
Madame  Danville,  with  a  gracious  nod  of  tne  | 
head.    **  Ha,  Dubois,  I  shall  live  yet  to  see   i 
him  with  a  patent  of  nobility  in  his  hand,    i 
The  mob  has  done  its  worst ;  the  end  of  «"» 
infamous  revolution  is  not  far  off;  our  order 
will  have  its  turn  again  soon,  and  then  woo 


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CharlMlMekeat.] 


SISTER  ROSE. 


299 


will  have  sooh  a  chance  at  court  as  mj  son  ?  He 
is  noble  already  throagb  bis  mother ;  be  will 
thea  be  noble  also  throagb  bis  wif^.  Tes, 
yes,  let  that  coarse-mannered,  passionate,  old 
soldier-fkther  of  bers  be  as  unnaturally  re- 
pabllcan  as  be  pleases,  be  has  inherited  a 
name  which  will  help  my  son  to  a  peerage! 
Tlie  Vicomte  D'Anville  (D  with  an  apoetro- 

Slie, Dubois,  you  understand)  I  The  Vicomte 
>'An7ille-»bow  prettily  it  sounds!" 

'*  Charmingly,  Madame — charmingly.  Ab ! 
tliis^  second  marriage  of  my  young  master's 
begins  under  much  better  auspices  than  the 
first/' 

The  remark  was  an  unfortunate  one.  Ma- 
dame Danyille  frowned  portentously,  and  rose 
in  a  great  hurry  from  her  chair. 

"Are  your  wits  failiog  you,  you  old  fool !" 
she  exclaimed,  indignantly  ;  "  what  do  you 
mean  by  referring  to  such  a  subject  as  that, 
on  this  day  of  all  others?  You  are  always 
harping  on  those  two  wretched  people  who 
were  guillotined,  as  if  you  thought  I  could 
ha?e  saved  their  lives.  Were  you  not  present 
when  my  son  and  I  met,  after  the  time  of  the 
Terror?  Did  you  not  bear  my  first  words  to 
Iiim  when  be  told  me  of  the  catastrophe? 
Were  they  not : — *  Charles,  I  love  you  ;  but 
if  I  thought  you  had  let  those  two  unfortu- 
nates, who  risked  themselves  to  save  me,  die 
without  risking  your  life  in  return  to  save 
tbem,  I  would  break  my  heart,  rather  than 
ever  look  at  you  or  speak  to  you  again  ? ' — 
Did  I  not  say  that  ?  And  did  he  not  answer : 
— '  Mother,  my  life  was  risked  for  them.  I 
proved  my  devotion  by  exposing  myself  to 
arrest— I  was  imprisoned  for  my  exertions,— 
and  then  I  could  do  no  more ! '  Did  you  not 
stand  by,  and  bear  him  give  that  answer, 
overwhelmed  while  he  spoke  by  generous 
emotion  ?  Do  you  not  know  that  he  really 
was  imprisoned  in  the  Temple?  Do  you 
dare  to  think  that  we  are  to  blame  atiter 
that?  I  owe  you  much,  Dubois,  but  if  you 
are  to  take  liberties  with  me — " 

"*  Oh,  madame !  I  beg  pardon  a  thousand 
times.  I  was  thoughtless ;  only  thougbt- 
le»~" 

"Silence I  Is  my  coacb  at  the  door? — 
Very  well.  Get  ready  to  accompany  me. 
Tour  master  will  not  have  time  to  return 
here.  He  will  meet  me,  for  the  signing  of 
the  oontitust,  at  General  Berthelin's  nouse  at 
two  precisely. — Stop.  Are  there  many  peo- 
ple in  the  street?  I  can't  be  stared  at  by 
the  mob,  as  I  go  to  my  carriage." 

Dubois  hobbled  penitently  to  the  window 
and  looked  out,  while  his  mistress  walked  to 
the  door. 

**  The  street  is  almost  empty,  madame,"  be 
Mid.  "  Only  a  man,  with  a  woman  on  bis 
arm,  stopping  and  admiring  your  carriage. 
They  seem  like  decent  people,  as  well  as  I 
can  tell,  without  my  spectacles.  Not  mob,  I 
should  say,  madame,  certainly  not  mob ! " 

"Very  well.  Attend  me  down  stairs ;  and 
bring  some  loose  silver  with  you,  in  case 


those  two  decent  people  should  be  fit  objects 
for  charity.  No  orders  for  the  coachman, 
except  that  be  is  to  go  straight  to  the  general's 
house." 

The  party  assembled  at  General  Bertbelln's 
to  witness  the  signature  of  the  marriage-con- 
tract, comprised,  besides  the  persons  imme- 
diately interested  in  the  ceremony  of  the  day, 
some  young  ladies,  friends  of  the  bride,  and  a 
few  officers,  who  bad  been  comrades  of  her 
father's  in  past  years.  The  guests  were  dis- 
tributed, rather  unequally,  in  two  handsome 
apartments  opening  into  each  other, — one 
called  in  the  house  the  drawing-room,  and 
the  other  the  library.  In  the  drawing-room 
were  assembled  the  notary,  with  the  contract 
ready,  the  bride,  the  young  ladies,  and  the 
majority  of  General  Bertbelin's  friends.  In 
the  library,  the  remainder  of  the  military 
guests  were  amusing  themselves  at  a  billiard- 
table  until  the  signing  of  the  contract  should 
take  place;  while  Danville* and  his  future 
father-in-law  walked  up  and  down  the  room 
together ;  the  first  listening  absently,  the 
last  talking  with  all  his  accustomed  energy, 
and  with  more  than  bis  accustomed  allowance 
of  barrack-room  expletives.  The  general  had 
taken  it  into  bis  bead  to  explain  some  of  the 
clauses  in  the  marriage-contraci  to  the  bride- 
groom, who,  though  far  better  acquainted 
with  their  full  scope  and  meaning  than  his 
father-in-law,  was  obliged  to  listen  fipr  civi- 
lity's sake.  While  the  old  soldier  was  still  in 
the  midst  of  bis  long  and  confused  harangue, 
a  clock  struck  on  the  library  mantel-piece. 

**  Two  o'clock ! "  exclaimed  Danville,  glad 
of  any  pretext  for  interrupting  the  talk 
about  the  contract  "  Two  o'clock :  and  my 
mother  noi  here  yet !  What  can  be  delay- 
ing her?" 

•*  Nothing,"  cried  the  general.  "  When  did 
von  ever  know  a  woman  punctual,  my  lad  ? 
If  we  wait  for  your  mother— and  she's  such  a 
rabid  aristocrat  that  she  would  never  forgive 
us  for  not  waiting — we  shan't  sign  the  con- 
tract yet  this  half-hour.  Never  mind!  let's 
go  on  with  what  we  were  talking  about. 
Where  the  devil  was  I  when  that  cursed 
clock  struck  and  interrupted  us?  Now  then, 
Black  Eyes,  what's  the  matter?" 

This  last  question  was  addressed  to  Made- 
moiselle Berthelin,  who  at  that  moment 
hastily  entered  the  library  from  the  drawing- 
room.  She  was  a  tall  and  rather  masculine- 
looking  girl,  with  superb  black  eyes,  dark 
hair,  growing  low  on  her  forehead,  and  some- 
thing of  her  father's  decision  and  bluntness 
in  her  manner  of  speaking. 

"  A  stranger  in  the  other  room,  papa,  who 
wants  to  see  you.  I  suppose  the  servants 
showed  him  up-stairs,  thinking  he  was  one  of 
the  guests.  Ought  I  to  have  nad  him  shown 
down  again  ? " 

*'  A  nice  question  I  How  should  I  know  ? 
Wait  till  I  have  seen  b:m,  miss,  and  then  V\\ 
tell  you."     With  these  words  the  general 


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300 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


tamed  on  his  heel,  and  went  into  the  drawing- 
room. 

His  daughter  woald  have  followed  him; 
bat  DaoTille  oaaght  her  by  the  hand. 

<'  Can  you  be  hard-hearted  enough  to  leave 
me  here  alone  ? "  he  asked. 

*^  What  is  to  become  of  all  my  bosom  friends 
in  the  next  room,  you  selfish  man,  if  I  stop 
here  with  you?''  retorted  mademoiselle, 
struggling  to  free  herself. 

*'  Call  them  in  here,"  said  Danyille,  gaily, 
making  himself  master  of  her  other  hand. 

She  laughed,  and  drew  him  away  towards 
the  drawing-room. 

**  Come ! "  she  cried.  "  and  let  all  the  ladies 
see  what  a  tyrant  I  am  going  to  marry. 
Come  and  show  them  what  an  obstinate,  un- 
reasonable, wearisome — '' 

Her  voice  saddenlv  failed  her ;  she  shud- 
dered, and  turned  faint.  Danville's  hand  had 
in  one  instant  grown  cold  as  death  in  hers ; 
the  momentary  tooch  of  his  fingers,  as  she 
felt  their  grasp  loosen,  struck  some  myste- 
rious chill  through  her  flrom  head  to  foot. 
She  glanced  round  at  him  aifrlghtedly ;  and 
saw  his  eyes  lookiRg  straight  into  the  draw- 
ing-room. Thev  were  fixed  in  a  strange,  un- 
wavering, awful  stare ;  while,  from  the  rest 
of  his  face,  all  expression,  all  character,  all  re- 
cognisable play  and  movement  of  feature  had 
utterly  gone.  It  was  a  breathless,  lifeless 
mask — a  white  blank.  With  a  cry  of  terror 
she  looked  where  he  seemed  to  be  looking ; 
and  could  see  nothing  but  the  stranger 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  drawing-room. 
Before  she  could  ask  a  question,  before  she 
could  speak  even  a  single  word,  her  father 
came  to  her,  caught  Danville  by  the  arm,  and 
pushed  her  roughly  back  into  the  library. 

'*  Go  there,  and  take  the  women  with  you," 
he  said  in  a  quick  fierce  whisper.  *^  Into  the 
library  I "  he  continued,  turning  to  the  ladies, 
and  raising  his  voice.  *'  Into  the  library,  all 
of  you,  along  with  my  daughter." 

The  women,  terrified  by  his  manner,  obeyed 
him  in  the  greatest  confusion.  As  they 
hurried  past  him  into  the  library,  he  signed 
to  the  notar^Lto  follow  ;  and  then  closed  the 
door  of  communication  between  the  two 
rooms. 

**  Stop  where  you  arel "  he  cried,  address- 
ing the  old  officers  who  had  risen  from  their 
chairs.  "Stay,  I  insist  on  it  I  Whatever 
happens,  Jacques  Berthelin  has  done  nothing 
to  be  ashamed  of  in  the  presence  of  his  old 
friends  and  companions.  You  have  seen  the 
beginning,  now  stay  and  see  the  end." 

While  he  spoke,  he  walked  into  the  middle 
of  the  room.  He  had  never  quitted  his  hold 
of  Danville's  arm — step  by  step,  they  ad- 
vanced together  to  the  place  where  Trudaine 
was  standing. 

'*  Tou  have  come  into  my  house,  and  asked 
me  for  my  daughter  in  marriage — and  I  have 
given  her  to  you,"  said  the  general,  addressing 
Danville  quietly.  **  You  told  me  that  your 
first  wife  and  her  brother  were  guillotined 


three  years  ago  in  the  time  of  the  Terror— 
and  I  believed  you.  Now^look  Ht  that  man 
— look  him  straight  io  the  face.  He  has  an- 
nounced himself  to  me  as  the  brother  of  your 
wife,  and  he  asserts  that  his  sister  is  alive  at 
thie  moment.  One  of  you  two  has  deceived 
me.    Which  is  it?" 

Danville  tried  to  speak  ;  but  no  soand 
passed  his  lips ;  tried  to  wrench  his  arm  from 
the  grasp  that  was  on  it,  but  could  not  stir 
the  old  soldier's  steady  hand. 

"Are  you  afraid?  are  you  a  coward? 
Can't  you  look  him  in  the  face?  "  asked  the 
general,  tightening  his  hold  Fteruly. 

"  Stop !  stop  I  "  interposed  one  of  the  old 
officers,  coming  forward.  "  Give  him  time. 
This  may  be  a  case  of  strange  accidental 
resemblance  ;  which  would  be  enough,  under 
the  circumstances,  to  discompoae  any  man. 
You  will  excuse  me,  citizen,''  he  continued, 
turning  to  Trudaine.  "  But  you  are  s 
stranger :  you  have  given  us  no  proof  of  your 
Identity." 

"There  is  the  woof,"  said  TrudaiDe, 
pointing  to  Danville^s  face. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  pursued  the  other;  "he  looks 
pale  and  startled  enough,  certainly.  Bot  I 
say  again — let  us  not  be  too  hasty  :  there  are 
strange  cases  on  record  of  aocideotal  resem- 
blances, and  this  may  be  one  of  them ! " 

As  he  repeated  those  words,  Danville  looked 
at  him  with  a  faint,  cringing  gratitade  steal- 
ing slowly  over  the  blank  terror  of  his  face. 
He  bowed  his  head,  murmured  something, 
and  gesticulated  confusedly  with  the  band  , 
that  be  was  free  to  use. 

"  Look ! "  cried  the  old  officer ;  "  look,  Ber- 
thelin, he  denies  the  man's  identity." 

"  Do  you  hear  that  ? "  said  the  general,  ap- 
pealing to  Trudaine.  "  Have  jotk  proofs  to 
confute  him?  If  you  have,  produce  tliem 
instantly." 

Before  the  answer  could  be  given,  the  dwr 
leading  into  the  drawing-room  from  the  8tal^ 
case  was  violently  flung  open,  and  Madame 
Danville — ^hcrhair  in  disorder,  her  face  in  its 
colourless  terror  looking  like  the  very  counter- 
part of  her  son's — appeared  on  the  threshold, 
with  the  old  man  Dubois  and  the  group  or 
amazed  and  startled  servants  behind  her. 

"  For  God's  sake  don't  sign !  for  God's  sake 
come  away  I "  she  cried.  "  I  have  seen  joor 
wife— in  the  spirit,  or  in  the  flesh,  I  know  not 
which— but  I  have  seen  her.  Charles. 
Charles  I  as  true  as  Heaven  is  above  us,  i 
have  seen  your  wife  I "  , 

"  You  have  seen  her  in  the  flesh,  li^'^*"!! 
breathing  as  you  see  her  brother  J^'^!^ 
said  a  firm,  quiet  voice  from  among  the  se^ 
vants  on  the  landing  outside.  ,, 

"  Let  that  man  enter,  whoever  he  is  I  c"^ 
the  general. 

Lomaque 
threshold. 


her )  then,  euppuibiu^  ucipci»  w^  —  «. 
followed  him  a  few  paces  into  the  room.  »» 
looked    first    at    her    son— after    thst  ■• 


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Cbarics  DtckCM.] 


SISTER  ROSR 


SOI 


Trudaine — after  that,  back  again  at  her  boo. 
Something  in  her  presence  silenced  everj  one. 
There  feU  a  sudden  stillness  over  all  the 
assembly—a  stillness  so  deep,  that  the  eager, 
frightened  whispering,  and  sharp  rustling  of 
dreescs  among  the  women  in  the,  library  be- 
came audible  from  the  other  side  of  the  closed 
door. 

'^CharlesT'  she  said,  slowly  advancing; 
**  why  do  you  look — ?'^  She  stopped,  and 
fixed  her  eyes  again  on  her  son  more  earnept- 
\y  than  before ;  then  turned  them  suddenly 
on  Trudaine.  '*  You  are  looking  at  my  son. 
sir,''  she  said,  "  and  1  see  contempt  in  your 
face.  By  what  right  do  you  insult  a  man 
whose  grateful  sense  of  his  mother*8  obliga- 
tions to  you,  made  him  ri&k  his  life  for  the 
saving  of  your's  and  your  sister's.  By  what 
right  have  you  kept  the  escape  of  my  son's 
wife  from  death  by  the  guillotine— -an  escape 
which,  for  all  I  know  to  the  contrary,  his  gen- 
erous exertions  were  instrumental  in  effecting 
— a  secret  from  my  son  T  By  what  right,  I  de- 
mand to  know,  has  your  treacherous  secresy 
placed  us  in  such  a  position  as  we  now  stand 
in  before  the  master  of  this  house  ?'' 

An  expression  of  sorrow  and  pity  passed 
over  Trudaine's  face  while  she  spoke.  He 
retired  a  few  steps,  and  gave  her  no  answer. 
The  general  looked  at  him  with  eager  curi- 
osity ;  and,  dropping  his  hold  of  Danville^s 
arm,  seemed  about  to  speak ;  but  Lomaque 
stepped  forward  at  the  same  time,  and  held 
up  his  hand  to  claim  attention. 

*'  I  think  I  shall  express  the  wishes  of 
citizen  Trudaine,"  he  said,  addressing  Madame 
Daaville,  **  if  I  recommend  this  lady  not  to 
press  for  too  public  an  answer  to  her 
questions.'' 

"  Pray  who  are  you,  sir,  who  take  it  on 
yourself  to  advise  me  ?"  she  retorted  haugh- 
tily. "  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  you,  except 
thai  I  repeat  those  questions,  and  that  I  in- 
sist on  their  being  answered." 

*^  Who  is  this  man  ?"  asked  the  general,  ad- 
dreemng  Trudaine,  and  pointing  to  Lomaque. 

''*  A  man  unworthy  of  credit,"  cried  Dan- 
ville, speaking  audibly  for  the  first  time,  and 
darting  a  look  of  deadly  hatred  at  Lomaque. 
<'  An  agent  of  police  under  Robespierre." 

^*  And  in  that  capacity  capable  of  answering 
qaestiona  which  refer  to  the  transactions  of 
Robespierre's  tribunals,"  remarked  the  ex- 
chief-agent  with  his  old  olflcial  self-possession 

**  True  1"  exclaimed  the  general :  "  the  man 
is  right — ^let  him  be  heard." 

<*  There  is  no  help  for  It,"  said  Lomaque, 
looking  at  Trudaine ;  "  leave  it  to  me — it  is 
fittest  that  I  should  speak.  I  was  present," 
be  continued.  In  a  louder  voice,  '*  at  tbe  trial 
of  citizen  Trudaine  and  his  sister.  They  were 
brought  to  the  bar  through  the  denunciation 
of  citizen  Danville.  Till  the  confession  of 
the  male  prisoner  exposed  the  fact,  I  can 
answer  for  Danville's  not  being  aware  of  the 
real  nature  of  the  offences  charged  against 
Trudaine  and  his  sister.    When  it  became 


known  that  they  bad  been  secretly  helping 
this  lady  to  escape  from  France,  and  when 
Danville's  own  head  was  consequently  in 
danger,  I  myself  heard  him  save  it  by  a  false 
assertion  that  he  hod  been  aware  of  Trudaine's 
conspiracy  from  the  first — " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  interrupted  the 
general.  '*  that  he  proclaimed  himself  In  open 
court,  as  having  knowingly  denounced  the 
man  who  was  on  trial  for  saving  his  mother? " 

"  I  do,"  answered  Lomaque.  (A  murmur 
of  horror  and  indignation  rose  from  all  the 
strangers  present,  at  that  reply).  "  The  re- 
ports of  the  Tribunal  are  existing  to  prove 
the  truth  of  what  I  say,"  he  went  on.  *'  As 
to  the  escape  of  citizen  Trudaine  and  the 
wife  of  Danville  from  the  guillotine,  it  was 
the  work  of  political  circumstances,  which 
there  are  persons  living  to  speak  to,  if  neces- 
sary ;  and  of  a  little  stratagem  of  mine,  which 
need  not  be  referred  to  now.  And,  last,  with 
reference  to  the  concealment  which  followed 
the  escape,  I  beg  to  Inform  you  that  it  was 
abandoned  the  moment  we  knew  of  what  was 
going  on  here ;  and  that  it  was  only  perse- 
vered in  up  to  this  time,  as  a  natural  meoeure 
of  precaution  on  the  part  of  citizen  Tru- 
daine. From  a  similar  motive  we  now  ab- 
stain fh>m  exposing  his  sister  to  the  shock 
and  the  peril  of  being  present  here.  What 
man,  with  an  atom  of  feeling,  would  risk 
letting  her  even  look  again  on  rach  a  husband 
08  that?" 

Ue  glanced  round  him,  and  pointed  to 
Danville,  as  he  put  the  question.  Before  a 
word  could  be  spoken  by  any  one  else  in  the 
room,  a  low  wailing  cry  of,  *'  My  mistress  I 
my  dear,  dear  mistress  1"  directed  all  eyes 
first  on  the  old  man,  Dubois,  then  on  Madame 
Danville. 

She  had  been  leaning  against  tbe  wall, 
before  Lomaque  began  to  speak;  but  she 
stood  perfectly  upright  now.  She  neither 
spoke  nor  moved.  Not  one  of  the  li^ht 
gaudy  ribands  flaunting  on  her  disordered 
head-dress  so  much  as  trembled.  The  old 
servant  Dubois  was  crouched  on  his  knees  at  • 
her  side,  kissing  her  cold  right  band,  chafing 
it  in  his,  reiterating  his  UAni  mournful  cry, 
" Oh  my  mistress!  my  dear,  dear  mistress! " 
but  she  did  not  appear  to  know  that  he  was 
near  her.  It  was  only  when  her  son  advanc- 
ed a  step  or  two  towards  her  that  she  seemr- 
ed  to  awaken  suddenly  from  thatdeath-tranoe 
of  mental  pain.  Then  she  slowly  raised  the 
hand  that  was  f^ee,  and  waved  him  back  from 
her.  He  stopped  in  obedience  to  tbe  gesture, 
and  endeavoured  to  speak.  She  waved  her 
hand  again,  and  the  deathly  stillness  of  het 
face  began  to  grow  troubled.  Her  lips  mov- 
ed a  little — she  spoke. 

<'  Oblige  me,  sir,  for  the  last  time,  by  keep- 
ing silence.  You  and  I  have  henceforth  no-' 
thing  to  say  to  each  other.  I  am  the  daughter 
of  a  race  of  nobles,  and  the  widow  of  a  man 
of  honour.  You  are  a  traitor  and  a  false 
witness ;  a  thing  from  which  all  true 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


and  trae  women,  turn  with  contempt.  I  re- 
noiince  jou!  Publicly,  In  the  presence  of 
these  gentlemen,  I  say  it — I  have  no  son." 

She  turned  her  back  on  him ;  and  bowing 
to  the  other  persons  in  the  room,  with  the 
old  formal  courtesy  of  bygone  times,  walked 
slowly  and  steadily  to  the  door.  Stopping 
there,  she  looked  back;  and  the  artificial 
courage  of  the  moment  failed  her.  With  a 
faint,  suppressed  cry  she  clutched  at  the  hand 
of  the  old  servant,  who  still  kept  faithfully 
at  her  side ;  he  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  her 
head  sank  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Help  him  I "  cried  the  general  to  the 
servants  near  the  door.  '*  Help  him  to  take 
her  into  the  next  room  I" 

The  old  man  looked  up  suspiciously  from 
his  mistress  to  the  persons  who  were  assisting 
him  to  support  her.  With  a  strange,  sud- 
den jealousy  he  shook  his  hand  at  them. 
"  Home,"  he  cried,  "  she  shall  go  home,  and 
I  will  take  care  of  her.  Away!  you  there — 
nobody  holds  her  head  but  Dubois.  Down- 
stairs !  down-stairs,  to  her  carriage  I  She  has 
nobody  but  me  now ;  and  I  say  that  she  shall 
be  taken  home." 

As  the  door  closed,  General  Berthelin  ap- 
proached Trudaine,  who  had  stood  silent  and 
apart  firom  the  time  when  Lomaque  first  ap- 
peared in  the  drawing-room. 

"  I  wish  to  ask  your  pardon,"  said  the  old 
soldier;  '* because  I  have  wronged  you  by 
a  moment  of  unjust  suspicion.  For  my 
daughter's  sake,  I  bitterly  regret  that  we 
did  not  see  each  other  long  ago ;  but  I  thank 
you,  nevertheless,  for  coming  here,  even  at 
the  eleventh  hour." 

While  he  was  speaking,  one  of  his  friends 
came  up,  and  touching  him  on  the  shoulder, 
said: 

'<  Berthelin,  is  that  scoundrel  to  be  allowed 
to  go?" 

The  general  turned  on  his  heel  directly, 
and  beckoned  contemptuouslv  to  Danville  to 
follow  him  to  the  door.  When  they  were 
well  out  of  earshot,  he  spoke  these  words : 

"  You  have  been  exposed  as  a  villain  by 
your  bpother-in-law,  and  renounced  as  a  liar 
by  your  mother.  They  have  done  their  duty 
l^r  you  ;  and  now  it  only  remains  for  me  to 
do  mine.  When  a  man  enters  the  house  of 
another  under  false  pretences,  and  compro- 
^mises  the  repotation  of  his  daughter,  we  old 
army  men  have  a  very  expeditious  way  of 
making  him  answer  for  it.  It  is  just  three 
o'clock  now  ;  at  five  you  will  find  me  and  one 
of  my  friends — " 

He  stopped,  and  looked  round  cautiously — 
then 'Whispered  the  rest  in  Danville's  ear — 
threw  open  the  door,  and  pointed  down- 
stairs. 

"  Our  work  here  is  done,"  said  Lomaque, 
laying  his  hand  on  Trudaine's  arm.  "  Let  us 
give  Danville  time  to  get  clear  of  the  house, 
and  then  leave  it  too." 

"My  sister  I  where  is  she?"  asked  Tru- 
^  daine,  eagerly. 


"  Make  your  mind  etLFj  about  her.  I  will 
tell  you  more  when  we  get  out." 

**  You  will  excuse  me,  I  know,"  said  Gen- 
eral Berthelin,  speaking  to  all  the  persons 
present,  with  his  hand  on  the  library  door, 
*'  if  I  leave  you.  I  have  bad  news  to  break 
to  my  daughter,  and  private  business  after 
that  to  settle  with  a  friend." 

He  saluted  the  company,  with  his  usual 
bluff  nod  of  the  head,  and  entered  the  library. 
A  few  minutes  afterwards,  Trudaine  and 
Lomaque  left  the  house. 

"  You  will  fiod  your  sister  waiting  for  you 
in  our  apartment  at  the  hotel,"  said  the  latter. 
"  She  knows  nothing,  absolutely  nothing,  of 
what  has  passed." 

"But  the  recognition?"  asked  Trudaine, 
amazedly.  "His  mother  saw  her.  Surely 
she—?" 

"  I  managed  it  so  that  she  should  be  seen,, 
and  should  not  see.  Our  former  experience 
of  Danville  suggested  to  me  the  propriety  of 
making  the  experiment,  and  my  old  police- 
office  practice  came  in  useful  in  carrying  it 
out  I  saw  the  carriage  standing  at  the  door, 
and  waited  till  the  old  lady  came  down.  I 
walked  your  sister  away,  as  she  got  in,  and 
walked  her  back  again  past  the  window,  as 
the  carriage  drove  off.  A  moment  did  it ; 
and  it  turned  out  as  useful  as  I  thought  it 
would.  Enough  of  that  I  Go  back  now  to 
your  sister.  Keep  in  doors  till  the  night- 
mail  starts  for  Rouen.  I  have  had  two  places 
taken  for  you  on  speculation.  Go  I  resume 
possession  of  your  old  house,  and  leave  me 
here  to  transact  the  business  which  my  em- 
ployer has  entrusted  to  me,  and  to  see  how  mat- 
ters end  with  Danville  and  his  mother.  I  will 
make  time  somehow  to  come  and  bid  you 
good-bye  at  Rouen,  though  it  should  only  be 
for  a  single  day.  Bah  I  no  thanks.  Give  us 
your  hand.  I  was  ashamed  to  take  it  eight 
years  ago — I  can  give  it  a  hearty  shake  now  I 
There  is  your  way ;  here  is  mine.  Leave  me 
to  my  business  in  silks  and  satins ;  and  go 
you  back  to  your  sister,  and  help  her  to  pack 
up  for  the  night-mail." 


Three  more  days  have  passed.  It  is  evening. 
Rose,  Trudaine,  aud  Lomaque  are  seated  to- 
gether on  the  bench  that  overlooks  the  wind- 
ings of  the  Seine.  The  old  familiar  sceue 
spreads  before  them,  beautiful  as  ever — un- 
changed, as  if  it  were  but  yesterday  since 
they  had  all  looked  on  it  for  the  last  time. 

They  talk  together  seriously  and  in  low 
voices.  The  same  recollections  fill  their 
hearts— recollections  which  they  refrain  from 
acknowledging,  but  the  influence  of  which 
each  knows  by  instinct  that  the  otiier  par- 
takes. Sometimes  one  leads  the  conversation, 
sometimes  another ;  but  whoever  speaks,  the 
topic  chosen  is  always,  as  if  by  common  con- 
sent, a  topic  connected  with  the  future. 

The  evening  dHrkens  in,  and  Rose  is  the 
first  to  rise  from  the  bench.    A  secret  look 


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BABY  BEATRICR 


3(^ 


of  intelligence  passes  between  her  and  her 
brother ;  and  then  she  speaks  to  Lomaque. 

*•  Will  70a  follow  me  into  the  house,"  she 
asks,  *<with  as  little  delay  as  possible?  I 
have  something  that  I  very  much  wish  to 
show  you." 

Her  brother  waits  till  she  is  out  of  hearing : 
j  then  inquires  anxiously  what  has  happened 
;  at  Paris  since  the  night  when  he  and  Rose 
left  it. 

"Your  sister  is  free,"  Lomaque  answers. 

"The  duel  took  place,  then? " 

"  The  same  day.  They  were  both  to  fire 
together.  The  second  of  his  adversary  asserts 
that  he  was  paralysed  with  terror :  his  own 
second  declares  that  he  was  resolved,  how- 
ever he  might  have  lived,  to  confront  death 
courageously  by  offering  bis  life  at  the  first 
fire  to  the  man  whom  he  had  injured.  Which 
account  is  true,  I  know  not.  It  is  only  certain 
that  he  did  not  discharge  his  pistol ;  that  he 
fell  by  his  antagonist's  first  bullet ;  and  that 
he  never  spoke  afterwards." 

"And  his  mother?" 

"  It  is  hard  to  gain  information.  Her  doors 
are  closed ;  the  old  servant  guards  her  with 
jealous  care.  A  medical  man  is  in  constant 
attendance,  and  there  are  reports  in  the  house 
that  the  illness  from  which  she  is  suffering 
affects  her  mind  more  than  her  body.  I  could 
ascertain  no  more." 

After  that  answer  they  both  remain  silent 
for  a  little  while— then  rise  from  the  bench 
and  walk  towards  the  house. 

"Have  you  thought  yet  about  preparing 
your  sister  to  hear  of  all  that  has  hap- 
pened?" Lomaque  asks,  as  he  sees  the  lamp- 
light glimmering  in  the  parlour-window. 

"I  shall  wait  to  prepare  her  till  we  are 
settled  again  here — till  the  first  holiday  plea- 
sure of  our  return  has  worn  off,  and  the  quiet 
realities  of  our  every-day  life  of  old  have  re- 
sumed their  way,"  answers  Trudaine. 

They  enter  the  house.  Rose  beckons  to 
Lomaque  to  sit  down  near  her,  and 
places  pen  and  ink  and  an  open  letter  be- 
fore him. 

"I  have  a  last  favour  to  ask  of  you,"  she 
Hiys,  smiling. 

"  I  hope  it  will  not  take  long  to  grant,"  he 
rejoins;  "for  I  have  only  to-night  to  be 
with  you.  To-morrow  morning,  before  you 
are  up,  I  must  be  on  my  way  back  to 
Chalons."  , 

"  Will  you  sign  that  letter?  "  she  continues, 
still  smiling,  **  and  then  give  it  to  me  to  send 
to  the  post  ?  It  was  dictated  by  Louis,  and 
written  by  me,  and  it  will  be  quite  com- 
plete if  you  will  put  your  name  at  the  end 
of  it." 

"  I  suppose  I  may  read  it  ?  " 

She  nods,  and  Lomaque  reads  these  lines  :— 

"CiTisicN,— Ibegrespeotfollj  to  apprlat  you  that 
theeommiMion  70a  entraited  to  me  at  Paria  haa  been 
pcrfonned. 

"I  have  alw  to  bej^that  you  win  accept  my  reelg- 
nation  of  the  plaoe  I  hold  in  your  counting-houae. 


The  kindneaa  ahown  me  by  you  and  your  father 
emboldena  me  to  hope  that  you  will  learn  with  pleasure 
the  motire  of  my  withdrawal  Two  frienda  of  mine 
who  conaider  that  they  are  under  aome  obligation  to 
me,  are  auxioua  that  I  ahould  paan  the  reat  of  my  day  a 
in  the  quiet  and  protection  of  their  home.  Troubles 
of  former  yeara  have  knit  ua  together  aa  cloaely  aa  if 
we  were  all  three  members  of  dne  fiamily.  I  need  the 
repoae  of  a  happy  flreaide  aa  much  aa  any  man,  after 
the  life  I  hare  led ;  and  my  frienda  aaaure  me  ao  ear- 
neatly  that  their  whole  hearta  are  aet  on  eatabli&hing 
the  old  man'a  eaay  chair  by  their  hearth,  that  I  cannot 
gammon  reaolutlon  enough  to  turn  my  back  on  them 
and  their  offer. 

**  Accept  then,  I  beg  of  you.  the  reafgnation  which 
thia  letter  contains,  and  with  it  the  aaaurance  of  my 
aincere  gratitude  and  reapect. 

*'  To  Citizen  Olairfait.  SUk  Mercer, 
Ghalona-8ur«Marne." 

After  reading  those  lines,  Lomaque  turned 
round  to  Trudaine  and  attempted  to  speak ; 
but  the  words  would  not  come  at  command. 
He  looked  up  at  Rose,  and  tried  to  smile ; 
but  his  lip  only  trembled.  She  dipped,  the 
pen  in  the  ink,  and  placed  it  in  his  hand.  He. 
bent  his  head  down  quickly  over  the  paper 
so  that  she  could  not  see  his  face ;  but  still 
he  did  not  write  his  name.  She  put  her  hand 
caressingly  on  his  shoulder,  and  whispered  to 
him:  — 

V  Come,  come,  humour  *  Sister  Rose.'  She 
must  have  her  own  way  now  she  is  back 
again  at  home." 

He  did  not  answer—his  head  sank  lower 
— he  hesitated  for  an  instant — then  signed 
his  name  in  faint,  trembling  characters  at  the 
end  of  the  letter. 

She  drew  it  away  from  him  gently.  A  few 
teaiHlrops  lay  on  the  paper.  As  she  dried 
them  with  her  handkerchief  she  looked  at  her 
brother. 

'*  They  are  the  last  he  shall  ever  shed, 
Louis ;  you  and  I  will  take  care  of  that !  " 

BABY  BEATRICE. 

Who  brought  Beatrice  t 
Out  of  the  cold,  out  of  the  rain. 
Out  of  the  March-guat  wet  and  hollow, 
Twittering  faint  like  a  neatling  awallow; 
Ruflaed  and  acared  by  the  mad  atorm'a  kiaa. 
She  came  and  tapp'd  at  the  window  pane ; 
Down  from  Ood'a  garden  the  rough  wind  brought  her, 

With  ailken  winga  aching. 

And  timid  heart  quaking. 
So  gladly  we  open'd  our  anna  and  caught  her, 
And  the  wild  bird  changed  to  a  tiny  daughter  I 

Who  found  baby  Beatrice  ? 
Under  the  briara  and  graaa-tufta  wet. 
Under  the  larch-conea  pink  and  pouting. 
Half  puracd  up  with  a  ahy  miadoubting 
Whether  fwcre  wiser  to  cry  or  kias. 
She  sate,  like  a  aweet  March  violet 
Down  from  God'a  chaplet  an  angel  brought  her, 

With  dewy  eyea  gleaming, 

And  leafy  heart  dreaming. 
So  softly  we  parted  the  boughs,  and  sought  her. 
And  the  hedge-flower  changed  to  a  tiny  daughter. 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCoatfKttdif 


All  know  baby  Beatrice  I 
With  her  clear  ejea,  nor  sly  nor  simple. 
And  merry  bright  curls  of  saostreak'd  brown. 
Her  broad  brow  arch'd  for  a  laurel  crown. 
Her  shy  lip  curved  for  a  mother's  kiss. 
Ankle  and  wrist  that  a  foy  might  own. 
Waxen  cheeks  with  a  larking  dimple, 
A  two  years' shape,  a  «ix;  years*  air, 
A  neck  as  white  as  the  lily's  wimple. 
And  better  and  happier  far  than  this. 
To  keep  her  from  doing  or  dreaming  amiss, 
Two  guardian  spirits  hold  her  in  care, 
Whom  wizard's  twain  of  matchless  mind. 
The  greatest  that  ever  hare  witch'd  mankind, 
Saag  into  being  from  ether  and  flame. 
And  gare  to  the  nursling  to  brighten  her  name  ; 
D^nte  for  Italy,  where  her  life  groweth, 
Shakespeare  for  Bogland,  whence  her  blood  floweth. 
She  has  Beatrice  dark,  and  Beatrice  fair, 
Beatrice  saint,  and  Beatrice  woman. 
One  throned  with  the  angels  in  deep  blae  air, 
One  sporting  and  jesting  with  all  things  human. 
The  wand  of  dominien  they  hold  by  tarns. 
Calling  glad  smiles  to  the  eyes  that  loTe  her. 
Whether  of  this  one  or  that  she  learns. 
?or  her  little  bright  soul,  like  a  glassy  stream. 
Changing  and  ranging  from  shade  to  beam. 
Tells  which  of  her  name-saints  bends  abore  her. 

Now  'tis  graye-eyed  Beatrice  ! 
And  tender  and  still  as  a  new-made  bride. 
Her  baby  Saintship  pats  aside 
Her  frolicsome  freaks,  with  deep  eyes  glistening. 
And  sits  as  her  inner  sense  were  listening 
To  a  heartful  of  plain  tiTe  melodies. 
Or  orer  tlie  cups  of  the  wind-flowers  pied, 
After  her  sweet  and  earnest  fashion. 
She  folds  soft  hands  of  adoration. 
With  such  pure  worship,  through  lawn  and  dell 
The  st<drn  world-poet  of  heaven  and  hell 
Saw  Beatrice  the  angel  glide 
Over  the  golden  and  crimson  blossoms 
Of  the  penal  mount,  whose  clear  deep  tide 
*'  The  brown  perpetual  shade"  embosoms. 
A  lonely  maiden  who  roamed  along. 
Choosing  fresh  flowers  to  match  her  song. 

Anon  'tis  madcap  Beatrice  I 
Hasel-eyed  Beatrice — flirt  and  sinner ! 
And  straight  her  baby  highness  pleases 
To  banter  her  subjects,  and  twits  and  teases, 
(Shrieking  with  laughter  and  wild  caprice.) 
Her  luckless  Benedicks,  frocked  and  belted. 
Who,  spite  of  their  sighs,  get  pinch'd  and  pelted. 
Tet  warm  sweet  womanhood  buds  within  her, 
Making  her  heJpfuU  and  kind,  and  tender 
To  all  weak  creatures  that  chance  may  send  her. 

Kitten  and  cur 

Call  friends  with  her, 
And  she  riglits  their  wrongs  with  a  mighty  stir, 
protecting  directing,  and  making  them  share 
Her  pretty  provisions  nf  motherly  care. 
With  such  warm  service  at  Sicily's  court. 
The  wise-world  poet  of  sooth  and  sport 
Saw  Beatrice,  the  madcap,  stand 
(To  never  a  jest  nor  a  gibe  replying). 
And  wring  the  glore  from  her  Amall  cleneh'd  hand, 
LfK>kini{  hot  scorn  on  the  courtiers  bland. 
At  sight  of  her  "  sweet  cos  "  wroog'd  and  dying. 
A  brave  true  woman  who  sobb'd  and  spake. 


*0  were  I  mad  for  my  eoosln's  sake  I " 

Bless  thee,  baby  Bea^ce  I 
Bright  little  lode  star  of  many  a  love 
Cherish'd  and  cherishing,  priceless  | 
Say  an  amen  to  my  heart's  profession  ;— 
The  pretty  so  be  It  of  one  sweet  kiss  I 
Then  sleep,  to  the  music  that  lall'd  thee  abort. 
For  once  on  hiH  bosom  an  angel  wore  thee. 

Therefore  thou  earnest 

Smiles  from  the  sternest ; 
Therefore  God's  garden  yet  blooms  befofs  ibn, 
Roek'd  in  thy  dream  on  the  heart  that  bore  thet 

PHYSIO  A-FIELD, 


Phtsio  was  all  a-fleld  with  the  learned  fn 
or  three  centuries  ago,  and  it  is  bo  still  w'.i 
the  unlcaraed  ia  our  villages  and  eoostrr 
towns.  > 

Here  is  a  book  printed  in  black  Icttff 
which  contains  nearly  eight  hundred  pre- 
scriptions, under  the  title  or  **  A  Rich  St^ 
house  or  Trcasurie  for  the  Diae«i 
wherein  are  many  approved  medicines  k 
divers  and  sundrie  diseases  which  have  bos 
long  hidden,  and  not  come  to  light  befoitib^ 
time.  First,  set  forth  for  the  benefit  of  d. 
poorer  sorte  of  people,  that  are  not  of  abil> 
to  goe  to  the  Physicians."  The  book  wis  paV 
lisbed  upwards  of  two  centuries  ago,  i^ 
marvellous  as  its  Ideas  may  now  wcm  v 
educated  people,  it  is  proper  to  state  that  fef 
of  them  arc  altogether  obsolete,  that  at  Itt^ 
every  one  can  be  matched  with  some  oota: 
of  its  kind  that  will  look  quite  as  absurd c 
the  light  of  existing  knowledge. 

Physic  a-field  did  not  overlook  even  t- 
blades  of  meadow-grass.  And  who  that  to^^ 
note  of  the  grass  would  overlook  the  liuV 
modest,  crimson-tipplt  flower  which  a  g^ 
modern  poet  has  characterised  in  a  tootb- 
breaking  line  as : — 

*'  Fringed  with  pink-tipped  petals  piled." 

"  Take  a  good  quantitie  of  small  d»ya» 
says  Master  Blower,  author  of  the  Treaairie 
*'  and  boyle  them  in  a  little  faire  ruDoiai 
water,  and  straine  them,  and  let  the  patit-^' 
drinke  the  ju vce  thereof  and  it  will  care  hi 
of  the  ague." 

Such  being  the  strength  of  daisies,  of  coois 
primroses  assert  their  power.  It  was  not  Ik: 
fault  of  the  simple  gatherer  if  the  ^ 
talked  of  The  rath  Primrose  that  fomk<c 
blooms  ;  by  him.  at  least,  its  blosoms  w«^ 
sought  after.  Powder  of  primroses  blor. 
into  the  nose  through  a  quill,  is  recomnfo^ 
by  Master  Blower,  as  a  certain  cure  for  *t 
page  in  the  nose  and  head  resulting  froB  * 
cold. 

When  a  man  feels  weak  in  the  back  let  bis 
"  Take  a  quart  of  sacke,  a  top  of  rosenai? 
winter-sucory,  and  peniroyall,  of  eachilii 
quantitie,  ginger  and  nuttmeggs,  as  mocb »' 
will  buriie  the  wine :  then  take  two  newM 
egs,  yolkes  and  all,  and  temper  them  ^^ 
three  or  foure  spoonefulU  of  red  rose-witti 
and  put  thereto  a  good  piece  of  6ne  »^^ 


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CbKteDkkeH] 


PHYSIC  A-FIELD. 


S05 


then  take  the  burnt  sacke  and  burn  it  again 
with  the  egges,  and  put  into  it  a  little  mace, 
and  it  will  be  in  manner  of  a  caudle,  and  let 
the  patient  drinke  this  thrice  a  day  (that  is 
to  say)  in  the  morning  fasting,  after  dinner, 
and  when  he  goeth  to  bed,  and  this  will  help 
him  in  a  short  space.  For  it  bathe  beene 
well  proved.''  A  sort  of  thing,  in  fact, 
which  nobody  would  be  remiss  in  putting  to 
good  proof.  Very  good  stuff  to  recommend 
poor  people  to  get  themselves,  and  sure 
enough  to  do«them  good.  So  is  this  excel- 
lent good  jelly  to  be  made  and  had  for  one 
that  is  in  a  consumption : — "  Take  a  cocke 
or  capon  that  is  new  killed,  and  scalde 
him  and  wash  him  clean,  then  take  a  legge 
of  Teale  and  cut  away  all  the  fat  from  it, 
and  let  the  cocke  and  veal  lye  in  water  for 
the  space  of  foure  or  five  houres,  and  seethe 
them  together  in  a  gallon  of  faire  running 
water,  and  as  it  doth  seethe  still  scum  off 
the  fat,  until  you  have  left  no  fat  at  all  upon 
it,  and  let  it  seethe  continually  over  a  soft 
fire  nntill  halfe  the  broth  bee  consumed: 
then  pot  into  it  rackt  rbennish  wine  or  else 
white  wine,  to  the  quantitie  of  a  pottle,  and 
then  let  it  boyle  ail  together  untill  it  bee 
come  to  a  quarto,  and  then  put  therein  the 
whites  of  three  or  four  new-laid  egs,  and  then 
clarifle  it,  and  let  it  run  thorow  a  ielly-bag, 
and  pot  into  it  an  ounce  of  synnamou  grosse 
beaten  and  a  pound  of  fine  suger,  and  make  a 
ielly  thereof,  and  let  the  ]>atient  eat  thereof 
cold,  and  hee  shall  receive  much  comfort 
thereby.  This  tdao  good  for  many  other  dis- 
eases." A  quart  of  jelly  made  out  of  a  whole 
leg  of  veal,  a  capon,  and  a  pottle  of  hock  or 
moeelle— to  say  nothing  of  the  eggs  thrown 
into  it-ought  certainly  to  do  a  poor  man  good. 
Here  is  a  physio,  expressly  contrived  by  Mas- 
ter Blower,  to  relieve  the  fatigues  of  workings 
men :— "An  approved  medicine  for  one  that  is 
molten  with  over  much  trauell  or  labour ; 
talce  a  quart  of  good  claret  wine  and  seethe 
therein  a  good  quantitie  of  barley,  and  make 
apoflsetwith  the  same  wine,  and  let  the  pa- 
tient drinke  three  or  foure  times  thereof 
warm  (bedward)  and  it  will  help  him." 

Ralph  Blower  looked  upon  poor  people  as 
a  rather  jolly  set  of  dogs,  but  he  was  sorry  to 
think  that  their  health  ^ould  be  sometimes 
injared  by  high  feeding,  and  he  therefore  tells 
them  of  some  remedies  in  case  of  "  surfeit ;" 
lor  example,  he  says:^*'  Take  a  good  thick 
piece  of  white  bread  and  toast  it,  and  then 
dip  the  same  In  aqua-vite  very  well,  and  that 
being  done,  apply  it  to  the  stomache  of  the 
P&rtie  grieved,  as  hotte  as  possible  hee  may 
abide  it,  and  let  him  be  kept  very  warme,  and 
this  will  presently  help  him." 

To  him  who  has  sore  eyes,  Ralph  Blower, 
greetbg  :—'*  Take  rotten  apples  and  distill 
tbem  in  a  common  stillatory,  and  with  the 
water  thereof  wtoh  your  eyes  often,  and  it 
will  both  dense  and  clear  your  sight" 

It  is  well  at  the  same  time  to  know  by 
what  things  the  eyes  are  damaged.  They  are 


the  eating  of  garlic,  onions,  and  leeks ;  or  too 
much  lettuce,  travelling  or  moving  about  too 
sudden  after  meat;  hot  wines,  cold  air,  milk, 
cheese;  overmuch  beholding  of  white  and 
colours  ;  much  sleep  after  meat ;  too  frequent 
blood-letting ;  coleworts ;  dust,  fire,  weeping 
and  watching.  Things  good  for  the  sight 
follow,  and  are  **  measurable  sleep,  red  roses, 
vervain,  fennel,  celandine,  pimpernell,  oculus 
christi,  rue,  betony  ;  to  wash  your  eyes  often 
with  faire  running  water ;  to  look  upon  any 
greene  or  pleasant  colours — to  look  often  in  a 
faire,  pleasant  and  perfect  glasse,  and  to 
wash  your  hands  and  feet  very  often."  As 
for  the  washing  of  the  body  often,  that  was 
too  much  to  ask. 

Among  things  good  for  the  heart  are 
<' saffron,  cloves,  muske,  mirthe  and  glad- 
nesse."  And  among  things  *M11  for  the 
heart,"  are  '^l>eans,  pease,  sadness,  anger, 
onions,  evil-tidings,  fosse  of  friends,"  &c. 
Prescriptions  are  given  whereby  **  to  open 
the  pipes  of  the  heart,  being  stopped,"  and 
also  **  to  comfort  the  heart  that  is  weak." 
Thev  are  not  stupidly  conceived,  inasmuch 
as  tneir  base  consists  of  **  a  pinte  of  sacke, 
also  a  pinte  of  malmesie." 

*^  A  rule  to  know  what  things  are  good  and 
wholesome  for  the  braines  and  what  are  not. 
Good  for  the  braines : — To  eat  sage,  but  not 
overmuch  at  a  time ;  to  smell  to  camomill  or 
musk ;  to  drink  wine  measurably ;  to  sleepe 
measurably  ;  to  hear  but  little  noysc  of  mu- 
sicke  or  singers."  Learn,  therefore,  all  peo- 
ple to  absent  themselves  from  operas  and 
oratorios,  and  "  to  eat  mustard  and  pepper ; 
to  keep  the  head  warme ;  to  wash  the  nandd 
often ;  to  walke  measurably ;  to  wash  ye 
temples  of  the  head  often  with  rose-water ;  to 
smell  to  red  roses." 

"Bad  for  the  braines: — ^To  sleepe  much 
after  meat ;  all  manner  of  braines ;  gluttonie, 
drunkennesse  ;  corrupt  ayres ;  overmu.ih 
watching ;  overmuch  colde  ;  overmuch  bath- 
ing; late  suppers;  anger;  heavinesse  of 
mind ;  to  stand  much  bare-head ;  milke, 
cheese,  garlicke,  onions ;  to  eat  overmuch  or 
hastily ;  overmuch  heat  in  trauelling  or  la- 
bouring; overmuch  knocking  or  noyse  ;  to 
smell  to  a  white  rose." 

Our  forefathers  and  foremothers  did  not  go 
a-fleld  for  physic  onlv  to  find  plants.  Pre- 
cious to  them  was  the  iuyce  of  an  eel,  a 
hedgehog's  fat,  goose-grease,  the  fat  of  mice, 
cats,  raboits,  moles  and  dmcks,  and  doves ; 

Erecious  the  fat  that  lies  under  the  manes  of 
orses.  The  gall  of  a  goat  or  raven,  the  pith 
of  an  ox's  back,  the  milk  of  a  red  cow,  or  of  a 
cow  all  of  one  colour,  a  buck's-horn,  the  brain 
of  a  weazel,  the  blood  of  a  stock-dove,  and  the 
"  little  bone  that  is  in  the  knee-ioynt  of  the 
hinder  legge  of  a  hare,  which  will  speedily 
help  the  crampe,"  all  belong  to  Ralph 
Blower's  pharmacy,  and  are  still  sought  as 
remedies  by  many  in  our  rural  districts. — 
"  A  herring  that  is  well-pickled  and  split  on 
the  belly-side,  and  warmed  very  hot,  and 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[OadoflMkr 


layed  on  to  both  the  soles  of  the  feet,  will 
helpe  an  agae.'' 

Also,  "snales  which  bee  in  shells,  beat 
together  with  bay  salt  and  mallowes,  and 
laid  to  the  bottomes  of  your  feet,  and  to  the 
wristes  of  your  hands,  before  the  fit  commeth, 
appease th  the  ague."  **  Twenty  garden  snales, 
beaten  shells  and  all,  in  a  morter,  until  you 
perceive  them  to  be  come  to  a  salue,  will  both 
heale  a  bile  and  drawe  it."  "  A  drop  or  two 
of  the  inycc  of  a  black  snale,  dropped  on  a 
come,  with  the  powder  of  sandphere  (sam- 
phire), will  take  it  away  speedilie.-' 

A  wine  of  earthworms,  with  a  little  scraped 
ivory  and  English  saffron,  will  do  a  man  who 
has  the  iannai(^e  "  maraellous  much  good." 
Earthworms  are  also  an  infallible  test  in  the 
diagnosis  of  king's  eulL  *'  Take  a  ground 
worme,  and  lav  it  aliue  upon  the  place, 
grieued,  then  tase  a  greene  dock-leafe  or  two, 
and  lay  them  upon^he  worme,  and  then  binde 
the  same  about  the  necke  of  the  partie  diseas- 
ed, at  night  when  hee  goeth  to  bed,  and  in 
the  mominff  when  hee  riseth  take  it  off 
againe,  and  if  it*be  the  king's  euil  the  worme 
will  tume  into  a  powder  or  duste ;  otherwise 
the  worme  will  remaine  dead  in  his  own  foi^ 
mer  forme,  as  it  was  before  aliue."  For  the 
cure  of  hooping-cough,  ^*  take  a  mouse  and 
flea  it,  and  drie  it  in  onen,  and  beate  it  to 
powder,  and  let  the  partie  grieued  drinke 
it  in  ale,  and  it'  will  help  him."  For  the 
cure  of  deafness,  *^  take  an  hedgehog,  and 
flea  him  and  roste  him,  and  let  the  patient 

Eut  some  of  the  grease  that  commeth  from 
im,  into  his  ear,  with  a  little  liquid  storax 
mingled  therewith,  and  he  shall  recover  his 
hearing  in  a  short  space.    This  hath  holpen 
some  that  could  not  heare  almost  any  thing  j 
at  all  for  the  space  of  twentie  yeares,  and  yet 
were    holpen   with   this    medicine."     Or,  , 
"  Take  a  goode  siluer  eele  (if  possibly  shee  i 
may  bee  gotten)  or  else  some  other  bright 
eele,  and  roste  her  upon  a  spltte,  and  let  the 
dripping  of  her  be  kept  very  cleane  in  some  | 
earthen  veesell,  and  when  you  do  goe  to  bed  { 
put  the  quantitie  of  a  quarter  of  a  spoonfulle 
thereof  at  a  time  into  your  eare,  and  then 
stop  it  up  with  a  little  of  the  wool  that  grow- 
eth  betwixt  the  two  eares  of  a  black  sheepe, 
and  the  next  night  foUowihg  use  the  con- 
trary eare,  as  afore  is  said,  and  so  continue 
this  for  the  space  of  nine  or  ten  dayes^  and  it 
will  helpe  you." 

The  marrow  of  swine's  feet  is  a  cosmetic  if 
applied  with  the  juice  of  a  lemon,  cow's  milk, 
and  rose-water.  Master  Blower  diows  also, 
how  by  the  use  of  compounds  similar  to  these 
already  described,  "  to  take  away  the  pimples 
and  high  colour  out  of  one's  face,  be  it  never 
80  fkrre  spent  and  gone" — **to  make  one's 
face  faire,  cleare,  and  to  shine  " — **  to  cause 
one  to  looke  with  a  fidre  and  goode  colour, 
be  hee  never  so  pale-faced  and  wanne." 
Gout  is  cured  by  an  oil  got  from  moles  that 
have  been  potted  and  buried  for  a  month. 
This  too,  is  "An  excellent  goode  oyntment 


for  the  gowt — ^Take  a  Cat  goose  and  pkcke 
her,  and  dresse  her  as  if  shee  should  be  etteo: 
then  stuife  the  belly  of  her  ¥rith  three  or  four 
younge  cats,  well  chopped  into  small  pieces, 
with  a  handfnlle  of  bdy  salt,  and  twentj 
snales,  and  then  sewe  up  her  belly  againe, 
and  roast  her  at  a  smaU  fire,  and  saue  all  the 
dripping  of  her,  and  keepe  it  for  a  preciooi 
oyntment."  The  use  of  young  cats  "well 
chopped  into  small  pieces,"  oertidnly  is  not 
extinct  among  the  "  poorer  swrte  of  people,'^ 
but  thev  belong  now  to  food  catber  than  me 
dicine,  being  not  seldom  supplied  in  the  fon 
of  saveloys. 

"  A  very  good  medicine  to  staundi  blood, 
when  nothing  else  will  doe  it,  by  reason  the 
velne  is  cut,  or  that  the  wound  is  great :~ 
Take  a  toad  and  drie  him  verv  well  in  the 
sunne,  and  then  put  him  into  a  linnen  bigge, 
and  hang  him  about  the  necke  of  him  that 
bleedeth  with  a  string,  and  let  it  hang  so  lot 
that  it  may  touch  his  brest  on  the  left  nde 
neere  unto  his  heart:  and  commonly  this  will 
stay  all  manner  of  bleeding  at  the  month, 
nose,  wounde,  or  otherwise  whatsoever.'' 

Ralph  Blower,  who  finds  "  the  poorer  sort 
of  people  "  able  to  surfeit  upon  claret,  sack, 
and  capons,  is  a  man  able  to  get  blood  ootof 
a  stone.  "  Take,"  he  says,  **  a  stone  tiiat  is 
white,  and  hath  red  veines  in  it,  and  boyje  it 
in  a  quart  of  new  milk,  until  one  halfe  of  the 
milke  be  consumed,  and  then  let  the  patient 
drinke  often  thereof  and  he  shall  find  great 
virtue  therein."  A  wine  made  of  flint  Bjonw 
he  recommends  also  as  a  good  thing  to  drini 
in  case  of  gout. 

Potable  gold  was  sUll  remembered  as  a 
medicine  in  those  days.  This  is  a  "  sovereign 
drink  for  any  infected  person,"  in  E.i>-J 
opinion.  "  Take  a  piece  of  fine  gold,  tnd  pw 
it  into  the  iuyce  of  lemmons,  for  the  space  w 
foure  and  twentie  houres,  and  pnt  *«  '*  * 
little  powder  of  angelica-roots,  mingled  wi» 
white-wine,  and  let  the  patient  dmkej 
good  draught  thereof.  This  is  a  mw  £^ 
clous  drinke,  and  it  is  greatly  to  be  wonderw 
at  what  helpe  and  remediesome  thatw 
this  drinke  have  had  thereby,  ^^^.^ 
hath  beene  supposed  by  many  learned  poy 
sicians  that  sicke  persons  were  past  all  nope 
of  remedy ;  yet  by  God's  providence  wej 
have  recovered  againe."  That  was  a  remedy 
as  good  as  gold  against  infection.  Boj*^ 
fection  being  taken,  here  we  are  told  oi,^»" 
"experienced  medicine  for  the  pl»ff-^ 
"  Take  a  cocke,  a  chicken,  or  •  FS^^^T 
pull  oflf  aU  the  feathers  cleane  oif  the  w^ 
so  that  the  pumpe  may  be  bare,  and^ 
hold  the  bare  place  to  the  sore,  and  m^ 
ately  you  shall  see  the  cocke,  ^^^..^ 
puUet  gape  and  labour  for  life,  and  to  the  eo 
ft  wUl  dye  :  then  take  anotiier  oooke,  ^^ 
en,  or  pullet  againe,  and  doe  the  M*^' ""j^^ 
the  same  dye,  then  take  another,  •"f^  ^ 
as  aforessJd,  and  let  the  pai^^  g««^^  ^s 
applyed  therewith  as  aforesaid,  as  mh 
any  of  them  doe  dye." 


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ClwtalNekeiM.] 


THE  BOVINa  ENGLISHMAN. 


307 


That  is  abominable.  Now  for  something 
horrible. 

.  "  It  is  saide  many  men  have  been  cured  of 
the  falling  enill  (epilepsy)  by  drinking  of 
the  powder  of  dead  men's  skuUes  burnt 
The  skuUe  of  a  dead-man  whereon  mosse 
groweth,  being  taken  and  washed  very  cleane, 
and  drjed  in  an  ouen,  and  tiien  beaten  to 
powder,  will  cure  this  infirmitie^  although  the 
partie  grieued  have  been  troubled  therewith 
many  yeares  before.  But  this  skulle  must 
be  the  skulle  of  one  that  hath  beene  slaine, 
or  of  one  that  was  hanged,  or  that  came  to  a 
sadden  death,  and  not  the  Bkulle  of  one  that 
dyed  of  any  sicknesse,  or  else  by  other  mala- 
dies growing  of  long  continuance  in  the 
head." 

By  this  spectre  of  a  prescription  we  are 
Mnj  frij^tened  out  of  Mr.  Blower's  church- 
yard. It  is  not  a  very  long  way  in  the  church- 
yard f^om  the  daisy  to  the  dead  man's  skull, 
and  just  so  deeply  we  have  dug,  through 
soailiB  and  moles  and  worms.  Therefore,  at 
least,  if  for  no  worse  reason,  *'  the  Rich  Store 
House  "  filled  by  Mr.  Blower's  wit  may  be  as 
fairly  called  a  chnrcbyai]^  as  a  surgery. 


THE  ROVINa  ENGUSHMAN. 

FROM  VABNA  TO  BU8TCHDK. 

I  HAD  a  uniform  in  a  tin  box— a  Grerman 
tin  box,  which  of  course  would  neither  shut 
nor  open.  I  had  that  most  awkward  of  all 
things  to  pack,  a  cocked-hat-case,  and  a  long 
frail  slender  sword.  I  was  perfectly  right  in 
resolving  to  take  these  things,  encumbrances 
B8  they  are ;  for,  in  passing  through  a  war- 
country,  I  might  come  to  grief,  and  in  all 
lands  under  despotic  governments — in  Russia, 
or  in  lands  semi-Russianised,  such  as  Walla- 
chla,  Moldavia,  the  Banat,  Poland  and  Hun- 
guy,  as  well  as  in  Austria,  Prusda,  and  even 
Bayaria  and  Saxony — a  uniform  goes  a  great 
^y ;  and  whichever  route  I  might  finally  de- 
cide on  taking  to  England,  it  was  extremely 
probable  that  my  uniform  might  come  in  very 
Beasonably  in  the  case  of  any  untoward  oc- 
corrence.  I  had  also  two  leather  pormanteaus 
which  might  have  been  dispensed  with,  if 
British  friends  and  relatives  were  not  always 
80  anxious  to  receive  presents  from*  the  East. 
I  had  two  carpet  bags,  one  oke  (about  two 
British  pounds)  of  Constantinople  tobacco, — 
^  ^eat  treat  to  any  one  living  away  from  the 
^itaL  I  had  six  game  pies  as  a  provision 
for  the  road,  and  which  turned  out  to  be 
worse  than  unnecessary.  I  had  a  short  great- 
coat, a  mackintosh  and  a  thick  Albanian 
^o*k  which  were  very  well  worth  their  car- 
P&ge.  If  I  were  going  to  make  the  same 
joomey  again  I  would  take  a  uniform,  most 
certainly,  a  complete  oversnit  of  mackintosh 
or  oilskin,  including  leggings  and  coverings 
for  the  feet ;  but  I  would  unhesitatingly  re- 
dace  the  rest  of  my  luggage  to  the  smallest 
of  all  possible  carpet-bags,  and  buy  such 


:L^ 


things  as  I  wanted  for  immediate  use  lb  the 
towns  upon  mv  way. 

However,  there  these  things  were  now, 
piled  up  (a  disheartening  heap  1)  in  the  court 
of  a  dirty  inn  at  Varna,  and  the  difiQculty 
was  how  to  get  them  away.  The  luggage  de- 
layed us  at  least  six  and  thirty  hours  in  the 
comparatively  short  distance  between  Yama 
and  Kustchuk.  We  could  not  go  more  than 
three  miles  an  hour  because  of  tiiem,  and  we 
might  have  gone  always  five,  and  sometimes 
seven  or  eight  The  portmanteaus  were  par- 
ticularly dSficult  things  to  gird  on  the  pack- 
horses;  but  at  last  we  contrived  means  by 
which,  with  a  great  expenditure  of  time  and 
rope,  we  succeeded  in  lashing  them  on  with 
some  degree  of  security.  To  be  sure  they 
galled  the  horses  cruelly  wherever  their  sharp 
edges  and  angles  happened  to  touch  them ; 
but  we  could  get  along,  and  that  is  the  most 
which  can  be  fairly  said. 

We  started  flrom  Varna  long  before  day- 
light, and  I  could  not  help  reflecting  that  the 
style  in  which  we  were  £*avelling  was  very 
much  the  same  as  that  which  was  usual  in 
England  during  the  reign  of  Elizabeth.  So 
rode  ttke  courtly  Raleigh  nourishing  ambitious 
dreams  and  fancies  of  new  worlds.  So  rode 
bluff  Suffolk  and  the  stately  Earl  of  Leices- 
ter when  he  sped  upon  his  stolen  visits  to  his 
hidden  bride,  and  so  came  Master  Shakespeare 
from  Stratford  to  London  in  fifteen  hundred 
and  eighty-seven.  The  usages  of  all  countries 
are  the  same  in  the  same  stage  of  history. 
Ay !  even  to  the  food  the  people  eat,  and  the 
manner  of  dressing  it.  The  clothes  they  wear ; 
their  houses,  and  their  very  minds. 

Our  Sourondjee,  or  hired  groom,  sent  to 
take  care  of  the  horses,  rode  first.  Then  came 
our  pack-horses,  the  halter  of  the  foremost 
tied  on  to  the  tail  of  the  Sourondjee's  horse, 
and  the  second  pack-horse's  halter  made  fast 
in  the  same  way  to  the  tail  of  the  other.  To 
this  one  again  was  lashed  on  an  extra  horse, 
on  which  to  shift  the  whole  or  any  portion  of 
another's  burthen  if  it  should  prove  too 
heavy,  or  if  a  horse  should  by  mischance  fall 
lame ;  our  Tartar  or  armed  guide,  guard  and 
courier,  brought  up  the  rear.  In  his  hand 
he  carried  a  long  whip,  and  with  this  some- 
times he  lashed  the  post-horses,  sometimes 
their  owner. 

Lastly,  rode  we,  a  merry  company  smoking 
and  chatting  along  the  wild  romantic  road, 
but  also  having  a  sort  of  crook  in  our  lots 
with  respect  to  our  saddles,  which  were  Turk- 
ish wooden  saddles,  bought  at  Varna,  and 
made  up  of  galling  red  cloth  and  fringe,  ex- 
asperatmg  brass  nails  rudely  stuck  in  the 
most  impossible  places,  and  unexpected 
bumps  wherever  they  ought  not  to  have  been. 
We  mought  natundly  enough  of  the  testy  in- 
valid who  cursed  his  bed,  because  the  longer 
he  lay  in  it  the  harder  It  grew.  As  for  the 
Turkish  stirrups  they  were  neither  more  nor 
less  than  a  pair  of  excruciating  stocks  for  the 
feet,  and  their  mere  weight  and  shortness 


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308 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CflsdMiM  by 


kept  them  so  close  to  the  horses'  sides  and 
forced  oar  knees  into  so  torturing  and  unna- 
tural a  position  that  it  is  odd  they  were  not 
dislocated.  The  horses, which  cost  two  piastres 
and  a  half  each  per  hour,  were  small,  wiry 
little  things  of  wonderful  endurance,  though 
not  much  courage  and  action.  They  were 
half-starved  also,  and  quite  worn  out  by  the 
marchings  and  counter-marchings  of  officers 
speeding  hither  and  thither  on  military  ser- 
vice, and  couriers  carrying  despatches  from 
the  seat  of  war  on  which  the  fate  of  a  be- 
leaguered city  or  an  army  might  depend.  In 
any  case,  however,  they  would  have  been  in- 
ferior to  the  horses  of  Asia  Minor  or  Syria, 
and  other  parts  of  Turkey. 

Upon  the  whole  I  do  not  remember  to  have 
ever  travelled  through  a  country  more  unin- 
teresting to  the  mere  wayfarer  than  Bulgaria. 
It  is,  indeed,  comparatively  untrodden,  and 
I  dare  say  that  a  person  who  was  disposed  to 
spend  any  considerable  time  in  exploring  it, 
would  be  extremely  well  rewarded  for  the 
trouble  and  the  many  privations  he  would 
be  obliged  to  experience  in  so  doing. 
Many  curious  ancient  games  and  customs, 
I  know,  may  still  be  witnessed  lingering 
among  the  inhabitants  of  its  rarely-dis- 
turbed villages,  and  some  singular  glimpses 
of  a  society  and  local  institutions  of  which 
we  absolutely  know  nothing,  would  repay 
him  at  every  step.  The  country  abounds 
with  game,  and  tne  sportsmen  would  hear 
the  echo  of  few  guns  but  his  own  in  its 
boundless  covers  and  marshes,  which  are 
quite  alive  with  water-fowl.  The  vil- 
lagers also,  knowing  nothing  of  the  com- 
mon golden  British  traveller,  are  hospitable, 
without  thought  of  gain;  and  a  shilling 
or  two  a-day  would  be  the  utmost  he  could 
spend. 

A  passenger,  however,  who  is  obliged  to 
keep  the  high  road  eigoys  none  of  these  ad- 
vantages. All  the  richest  and  pleasantest  of 
the  villages  are  built  in  secluded  nooks,  as 
far  away  from  the  road  as  possible.  It  is  dif- 
ficult to  find  them  without  careful  inquiry ; 
and  a  stranger  would  excite  as  much  aston- 
ishment as  he  felt.  If  any  consular  dignitary 
or  tax-gathering  Pasha  had  recently  passed 
that  way,  he  would  also  create  some  alarm ; 
so  that,  if  alone,  he  might  be  in  danger.  He 
should  therefore  go  with  one  or  two  attached 
attendants,  perfectly  familiar  with  the  coun- 
try, as  well  as  with  the  language  and  habits 
of  the  people, 

The  Greek  population  is,  of  course,  far  the 
most  numerous ;  but  they  are  said  to  have 
well  deserved  a  very  ill  reputation.  They  are 
generally  considered  as  cunning,  insincere, 
and  dishonest,  so  that  it  would  be  well  to  so- 
journ among  the  Turks,  whenever  a  prefer- 
ence was  possible.  The  Bulgarians  and  the 
Arabs  are  remarkable  as  being  the  best 
grooms  in  Turkey,  and  the  Bulgarians,  as  a 
rule,  are  even  better  than  the  Arabs.  I  am 
unable  to  explain  this  on  any  supposition 


save  the  extraordinary  value  that  horses  ac- 
quire in  a  flat  marshy  country,  where  the 
distances  between  the  towns  and  villages  ar» 
very  great,  and  not  easily  traversed  on  foot. 
Bulgaria  is  also  a  com  country,  where  bones 
are  in  much  demand  for  field-labour  and  are 
cheaply  kept.  It  is  worthy  of  observation 
that  they  are  comparatively  seldom  hamesB- 
ed :  the  ploughs  and  small  agricultural  wag- 
gons of  the  country  are  almost  entirelj 
drawn  by  oxen. 

The  post-houses  are  usually  about  five  or 
six  miles  apart,  and  it  is  seldom  indeed  that 
a  house  intervenes,  or  that  any  object  of  in- 
terest whatever  is  seen  upon  the  road.  The 
postmasters  are  required  by  law  to  fnmisii 
food  to  travellers  on  demand,  and  at  mode^ 
ate  prices.  It  is  seldom,  however,  tbat  any- 
thing eatable  is  to  be  obtained  from  them, 
and  any  traveller  of  even  minor  importance 
will  therefore  do  well  to  ask  for  the  nouse  of 
the  first  man  in  the  village  at  which  he  halts; 
and,  riding  unhesitatingly  up  to  it,  ask  en- 
tertainment for  himself  and  suite.  It  will  be 
readily  accorded.  Food  is  excellent  and 
plentiful  eyerywhere  except  at  the  post- 
houses  ;  and,  as  any  person  other  than  a  con- 
sular magnate,  would  take  care  to  gi^e  a  pre- 
sent in  proportion  to  his  consumption  and  the 
trouble  he  occasioned,  no  party  concerned 
would  have  the  smallest  reason  to  be  dissat- 
isfied with  the  result  of  the  visit 


THE  MUSE  IN  LIVERY. 

Thebe  is  a  volume  of  verse  too  little  known 
for  which  I  must  express  a  particular  liking. 
It  is  a  thin  octavo,  printed  at  London,  in 
seventeen  hundred  and  thirty-two.  The  front- 
ispiece is  curious.  It  represents  a  young  man 
who,  although  his  right  leg  is  tied  to  a  log 
inscribed  Despair,  and  his  left  leg  is  tied  by  a 
chain  of  Poverty  to  a  never-ceasing  circle  of 
Misery,  Folly,  and  Ignorance,  is  grasping  at 
the  tree  of  Happiness,  Virtue,  and  Know- 
ledge. His  left  hand,  with,  which  he  is^ger* 
ly  reaching  at  what  he  sees  before  him,  is 
winged  with  Desire.  His  face  is  full  of  hon- 
est earnestness,  and  the  title  of  his  book  w 
A  Muse  in  Livery,  or  the  Footman^s  Miscel- 

This  humble  Miscellany  is  dedicated  to  tte 
subscribers.  "I  have  not,"  he  says,  the 
vanity  to  think  it  is  to  any  merit  in  myseu, 
or  these  poor  performances,  that  I  owe  in 
honour  of  being  allowed  to  place  eo  mm 
great  names  at  the  beginning  of  them.  ^Oj 
I  am  veiT  sensible  it  is,  in  some,  <eho  wow 
my  condition,  from  charity ;  in  others,  irm 
generosity:  and  by  many  it  is  int«°^7 J°'i 
as  a  compliment  to  the  person  wl»<>f  Wri- 
the honour  and  (as  I  have  just  cause  to  eoww 
it)  the  happing  to  serve."  Few  in  bis  stauoa 
of  life,  he  justly  remarks,  are  aWejo  »^ 
leisure  for  verse  ;  *'  and  what,"  he  eAl«^ 
"can  be  expected  from  the  P«noT»]^j 
footaian  ?— a  character  that  expresses  a  ww 


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THE  MUSB  IN  LIVERy. 


ChwleiDlekeiM.] 

both  of  friends,  fortune,  and  all  the  advan- 
tages of  a  liberal  edacation  ;  but  I  will  seek 
no  other,  excuse  for  what  follows,  than  the 
candour  and  good  nature  of  my  readers  will, 
I  hope,  supply,  when  they  recollect  that  the 
author  lies  under  all  the  disadvantages  of  an 
uDcoltivated  mind ;  his  natural  genius  sup- 
pressed by  the  sense  of  his  low  condition — a 
condition  from  which  he  never  hopes  to  rise, 
bot  by  the  goodness  of  Providence  influencing 
some  generous  mind  to  support  an  honest 
and  a  gratefal  heart." 

This  honest  and  grateful  heart  was  a 
oatlve  of  Mansfield,  in  Nottinghamshire,  and 
a  footman  in  the  service  of  Lady  Lowther, 
aont  to  that  rich  Lord  Lonsdale  who  died  in 
eighteen  hundred  and  two,  with  a  small  por^ 
tion  of  his  property— fifty  thousand  pounds— 
in  gold,  in  his  house.  His  name  was  Robert 
Dodsley ;  and  the  noble  nature  that  assisted 
bim  to  rise,  and  made  him  what  be  after- 
wards became — one  of  the  most  eminent  pub- 
lishers of  his  time — was  no  less  a  person  than 
the  poet  Pope.  When  Dodsley  doffed  his 
!  liTery,  and  sought  to  establish  himself  as  a 
bookseller,  Pope  lent  him  one  hundred 
pounds,  to  open  a  shop,  and,  better  still,  made 
him  his  own  publisher. 

But  I  am  forestalling  events ;  for  I  have 
not  yet  done  with  the  Uttle  volume  of  verse, 
A  Muse  in  Livery.  The  most  characteristic, 
if  not  the  best  poem  in  his  Footman's  Miscel- 
lany, is,  The  Footman :  an  epistle  to  his 
friend,  Mr.  Wright,  in  which  he  describes, 
with  graphic  power,  and  great  ease  of  ver- 
sification, his  daily  life  during  a  London 
season. 


Bear  Friend,— Since  I  am  now  at  leisure, 
And  in  the  coantrj  taking  pleasure. 
If  it  be  worth  jour  while  to  hear 
A  silly  Footman's  business  there, 
m  tnr  to  tell  in  easy  rhyme 
How  I  In  London  spend  my  time. 

And  first. 
Ai  soon  as  lasiness  will  lot  me, 
I  rise  from  bed  and  down  I  sit  me, 
To  cleaning  glssses,  knives  and  plate. 
And  snch  IUlo  dirty  work  as  that, 
Which,  by-the-bye,  is  what  I  hate. 
This  done,  with  expeditions  care. 
To  dress  myself  I  straight  prepare. 
I  clesn  my  backles.  black  my  snoes. 
Powder  my  wig  and  brush  my  clothes- 
Take  off  my  beard  and  wash  my  face. 
And  then  I'm  ready  for  the  chase. 

Down  comes  my  lady's  woman  straight : 
Where's  Bobin7    Here  !  Pray  take  your  Hat, 
And  go— and  go— and  ^— and  go— ; 
And  this — and  that  desire  to  know. 
The  charge  received,  away  run  I, 
And  here,  and  there,  and  yonder  fly, 
With  Services,  and  How-d'ye-does ; 
Then  home  return  fall  fraught  with  news. 

Here  some  short  time  does  interpose. 
Till  warm  effluvias  greet  my  nose. 
Which  from  the  spits  and  kettles  fly, 
Declaring  dinner-time  is  nigh. 
To  lay  the  cloth  I  now  prepare, 
With  uniformity  and  care ; 
In  order  knives  and  forks  are  laid. 
With  folded  napkins,  salt,  and  broad : 
The  side  boards,  flittering,  too,  appear. 
With  plate,  and  gtaos,  and  china-wnre. 


809 


Then  ale.  and  beer,  and  wine  decanted. 
And  all  things  ready  which  are  wanted, 
The  smoking  dishes  enter  in. 
To  stomachs  sharp  a  giateful  scene ; 
Which  on  the  table  being  placed, 
And  some  few  ceremonies  paat. 
They  all  sit  down  and  fidl  to  eating. 
Whilst  I  behind  stand  silent  waiting. 

This  is  the  only  pleasant  hour 
Which  I  have  in  the  twenty-four ; 
For  whilst  I  unregarded  stand. 
With  ready  salver  in  my  hand, 
And  seem  to  understand  no  more 
Than  just  what's  called  for,  out  to  pour; 
I  hear,  and  mark  the  courtly  phrases. 
And  all  the  elegance  that  passes ; 
Disputes  maintained  without  digression, 
With  ready  wit,  and  fine  expression; 
The  laws  of  true  politeness  stated. 
And  what  good-breeding  is,  debated ; 
Where  all  unanimously  exclude 
The  vain  coquet,  the  formal  prude. 
The  ceremonious,  and  the  rude. 
The  flattering,  (awning,  praising  train ; 
The  fluttering,  empty,  noisy,  vain ; 
Detraction,  smut,  and  what's  profane. 
This  happy  hour  elaps'd  and  gone, 
The  time  of  drinking  tea  comes  on. 
The  kettle  fiU'd.  the  water  boll'd. 
The  cream  provided,  biscuits  pll'd. 
And  lamp  prepar'd ;  I  straight  engage 
The  Lilliputian  equipage 
Of  dishes,  saucers,  spoons,  and  tongs. 
And  all  th'  etcetera  which  there  to  belongs. 
Which  rang'd  in  order  and  decorum, 
I  carry  In,  and  set  before  'em ; 
Then  pour  or  Green,  or  Bohea  out, 
And,  as  commanded,  hand  about. 
This  business  over,  presently"^ 
The  hour  of  visiting  draws  nigh ; 
The  chairmen  straight  prepare  the  chair, 
A  lighted  flambeau  I  prepare ; 
And  orders  given  where  to  go. 
We  march  along,  and  bustle  thro' 
The  parting  crouds,  who  all  stand  off 
To  give  us  room.    0  how  you'd  laugh. 
To  see  me  strut  before  a  chair. 
And  with  a  sturdy  voice  and  air 
Crying,  By  your  leave,  sir  I  have  a  care 
From  place  to  place  with  speed  we  fly. 
And  rat-ta-tat  the  knockers  cry : 
Pray,  is  your  lady,  sir,  within? 
If  no,  go  on ;  if  yes,  we  enter  in. 

Then  to  the  Hall  I  guide  my  steps 
Amongst  a  croud  of  brother  skips. 
Drinking  small  beer,  and  talking  smut. 
And  this  fool's  nonsense  putting  that  fool's  out; 
Whilst  oaths  and  peals  of  laughter  meet. 
And  he  who's  loudest  is  the  greatest  wit. 
But  here  amongst  us  the  chief  trade  is 
To  rail  against  our  lords  and  ladlos ; 
To  aggravate  their  smallest  failings, 
T'  expose  their  faults  with  saucy  railings. 
For  my  part,  as  I  hate  to  practice, 
And  see  in  them  how  base  and  black  'tis, 
To  some  bye  place  I  therefore  creep. 
And  sit  me  down,  and  feign  to  sleep ; 
And  could  I  with  old  Morpheiu  bargain 


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310 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDa 


COatectodkr 


'Twonld  wKf  mj  •&»  much  noi«6  »od  Jargon. 

But  down  mj  Udj  oom««  again. 

And  I'm  released  from  mj  pain. 

To  lomenew  place  oar  atepe  we  bend. 

The  tedious  erening  oat  to  spend ; 

Sometimes,  perhaps,  to  see  the  plaj. 

Assembly,  or  the  opera ; 

Then  home  and  snp»  and  thos  we  end  the  day* 
There  are  many  yerslflers  considered  as 
poets  by  the  charity  of  criticism,  whose 
rhymes  have  foand  a  plac^  in  the  ereat  body 
of  English  poetry,  whose  onlivened  mases 
have  written  infinitely  worse  than  Lady 
Lowther's  footman. 

No  one  has  told  us  when  and  how  the 
Muse  in  Livery  became  acquainted  with  the 
Muse  at  Twickenham.  '*  All  fly  to  Twick- 
enham'' is  Pope's  own  bill  of  complaint 
against  the  fraternity  of  scribblers  who  mo- 
iested  him  on  Sunday;  and  it  is  probable 
that  Dodsley  introduced  himself  to  the  poet 
by  a  copy  of  complimentary  verses,  for  the 
little  nightingale  was  not  averse  to  flattery. 
But  an  easier  mode  of  introduction  may  rea- 
sonably be  inferred.  The  Muse  in  Livery 
left  the  service  of  Lady  Lowther,  and  entered 
that  of  Charles  Darti^ueneuve,  Esq.,  a  great 
epicure,  whose  ham  pie  is  made  immortal  bj 
Pope.  Darty — for  so  he  was  called  by  his 
acquaintances  as  well  as  by  the  poet — is 
described  by  Swift  in  his  Journal  to  Stella 
tiius  briefly :  "  Do  you  not  know  Dartique- 
neuve  ?  That  is  the  man  that  knows  every- 
thing and  that  everybody  knows — the  greatest 
punner  of  the  town  next  mvself."  Here  he 
easily  attained  that  relish  for  good  bits  and 
good  sups  which  he  continued  to  like,  though 
never  to  any  excess  of  indulgence.  Darty 
was,  it  is  said,  the  natural  son  of  Charles  the 
Second  by  a  foreign  lady,  and  his  portrait  in 
the  Kit-Kat  series  seems  to  support  a  belief 
(unless  it  suggested  it)  that  was  once  very 
general.  But  he  has  other  claims  to  our  re- 
membrance :  he  is  the  author  of  one  of  tiie 
best  papers  in  The  Tatler. 

While  still  in  service,  and  anxiously  long- 
ing for  that  time  when  he  could  emerge 
fi*om  a  position  distasteful  to  his  feelings 
and  cultivate  the  natural  ambition  of  bet- 
tering himself  in  the  world,  the  Muse  in 
Livery  produced  a  farce  called  The  Toy- 
shop, which  b^  Pope's  interest  Rich  was 
induced  to  exhibit  on  the  stage.  The  Toyshop 
took  the  town ;  and  though  it  has  more  merit 
in  dialogue  than  construction,  and  is  fltter  for 
perusal  than  representation,  it  continued  a 
stock-piece,  and  was  acted  at  Drury  Lane 
within  the  memory  of  many  who  are  now 
alive.  The  first  night  was  the  third  of 
February,  seventeen  hundred  and  thirty-five, 
and  the  place  of  representation  Covent 
Garden  Theatre. 

It  was  in  the  same  year  (when  George  the 
Second  was  king)  that  the  Muse  ia  Livery  ap- 
peared as  a  publisher  in  Pall  Mall  There  was 
something  of  the  footman,  as  well  as  of  the 
sensible  shopman,  in  this  seleotion  of  a  locality. 


This  was  the  first  move  westward  of  the  pob- 
lishlng  interest,  for  Lintot  lived  in  fleet 
Street,  and  Tonson,  his  rival,  in  the  Strand. 
Oddly  enough,  both  Lintot  and  Tonson  were 
removed  by  death  almost  within  a  vear  of 
the  appearance  of  Dodley  as  a  publisher. 
There  was  therefore  a  good  opening  for  an 
enterprisinff  successor,  and  Dodsley  availed 
himself  of  the  opportunity  with  equal  energy 
and  prudence.  Tully*s  head  was  the  sign  of 
his  snop,  and  an  epic  in  quarto  his  first  pob- 
lication. 

In  the  present  state  of  poetry,  neither  Hr. 
Murray  nor  Mr.  Moxon  would  recommend  t 
young  publisher  to  have  anything  whatever 
to  do  with  an  epic  in  any  shape.  But  when 
Dodsley  flourished,  poetry  was  not,  as  now,  t 
drug  in  the  market,  and  the  epic  put  forth 
fh>m  TuUy's  head — ^it  was  the  Leonidas  of 
Glover — ^was  a  successful  hit  Glover  wis  a 
young  merchant  in  the  City,  of  wealth  sod 
family,  and  with  a  good  West-end  and  Court 
interest.  His  book  sold,  and  Dodsley  was 
encourage  into  other  ro^ulations. 

Pope,  who  seems  to  have  employed  more 

Enblishers  than  any  other  poet,  came  to 
>odsley's  assistance,  and  the  second  publica- 
tion of  the  Muse  out  of  Livery  was  **  The 
Second  Epistle  of  the  Second  Book  of 
Horace,  translated  by  Mr.  Pope,"  printed  in 
folio,  price  one  shilling.  This  was  followed 
the  next  year  by  "The  Universal  Prayer, 
by  the  author  of  the  Essay  on  Man."  The 
Prayer  was  published  in  folio  and  octavo, 
and  had  a  large  and  immediate  run.  The 
folio  price  was  sixpence.  Another  publica- 
tion which  Pope  entrusted  the  same  year  to 
Dodsley  was  his  Satire  by  way  of  a  Second 
Dialogue,  called  One  Thousand  Seven  Hun- 
dred and  Thirty-eight,  of  which  the  sale  was 
very  large  and  very  profitable. 

In  the  year  in  which  these  poems  were 
publidied,  two  men— whose  names  are  now 
known  wherever  letters  are  known— found 
their  way  to  Tullv's  Head  in  Pall  Mall,  both 
bringing  poems  for  publication.     One  was 
Richard  Savage,  with  a  Volunteer  Laureat; 
the  other  was   Samuel  Johnson,  with<  his 
London,  a  Poem  in  imitation  of  the  Third    r 
Satire  of  Juvenal.    Dodslev  published  both    ! 
poems.     Johnson  read  his  London  to  Doddy 
— as  he  delighted  to  call  him — and  observed    , 
with  proper  pride,  that  the  Tonson  of  TuUy's    ; 
Head  had  spoken   of  it   as   a   creditable    ' 
thing  to  be  concerned  in.    At  a  fUture  con- 
ference  he  bought  it  outright  for  ten  guineas.    | 
"  I  might  perhaps  have  accepted  less,"  said 
Johnson  to  Boswell:  ''but  that  Paul  White- 
head had  a  little  berore  got  ten  guineas  for  a 
poem,  and  I  would  not  take  less  than  Paul 
Whitehead."     Dodsley  did  well  with  thU 
purchase ;  for  London  was  in  a  second  edition 
within  a  week,  and  in  a  fourth  edition  within    ^ 
a  year. 

Dodsley  was  not  so  happy  with  his  next  pub- 
lication. This  was  a  satire,  entitled  Manners,    , 
by  Paul  Whitehead— a  small  poet--for  which 


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Google 


CterlM  iMdteu.3 


THE  BITTSB  IN  LIVERY. 


Sll 


both  poet  and  pnblii^er  were  BaBunoned  be- 
fore the  HoQse  of  Lords.  Whitehead,  who 
hung  loose  on  society,  scolked  and  escaped, 
bat  Dodsley's  shop  and  family  made  his  ap- 
pearance necessary.  After  a  week's  confine- 
ment, and  on  his  petition,  he  was,  on  his 
knees,  reprimanded. by  the  Lord  Chancellor, 
and  discharged  on  paying  the  fees.  The 
whole  process,  it  is  thonght,  was  intended 
rather  to  intimidate  Pope  than  punish 
Whitehead.  Pope  understood  it  as  such,  and 
Eoppressed  a  third  Dialogue.  The  complaint 
was  made  by  Sherlock,  Bishop  of  Salisbory. 
The  fees  were  seventy  pounds 

The  money  lost  by  this  prosecution  was 
more  than  made  up  by  tne  active  sym- 
pathy expressed  in  his  behalf.  The  next 
morning,  as  he  told  Dr.  Warton,  the  neigh- 
bonring  street  was  crowded  with  the  carriages 
of  some  of  the  first  noblemen  and  gentlemen, 
who  came  to  offer  him  their  services  and  to 
be  his  bail.  Among  those  who  thus  honoured 
him,  he  named  to  Warton,  five  lords,  Chester- 
field, Marchmont,  Granville,  Bathurst,  and 
Essex,  and  two  well-known  members  of  the 
House  of  Commons,  Mr.  PuUehey  and  Mr. 
Lyttelton. 

Dodsley's  next  publications  of  note  were 
the  Nieht  Thoughts  of  Dr.  Young  (of  which 
he  pabiiBhed  the  first  six),  and  The  Pleasures 
of  imagination,  of  Dr.  Akenside.  For  the 
first  three  Night  Thoughts  he  gave  two  hun- 
dred guineas,  and  for  Akenside's  poem  one 
hnndred  and  twenty  pounds.  Speaking  of 
Akensides'spoem,  Johnson  observes,  "  I  have 
heard  Dcdslev,  by  whom  it  was  published, 
relate,  that  when  the  copy  was  offered  him, 
the  price  demanded  for  it,  which  was  a  hun- 
dred and  twenfy  i>ounds,  being  such  as  he 
was  not  inclined  to  give  precipitately,  he  car- 
ried the  work  to  Pope,  who,  having  looked 
into  it,  advised  him  not  to  make  a  niggardly 
offer,  for  this  was  no  every-day  writer.^' 

His  business  as  a  bookseller  did  not  alto- 
gether interfere  with  his  cultivation  of  the 
Hose.  In  seventeen  hundred  and  forty- 
three  he  published  The  Cave  of  Pope— a 
Prophecy— in  which  he  foretells  the  interest 
and  veneration  with  which  the  grotto  of  the 
poet  will  be  viewed  hereafter  by  pilgrims 
^m  all  parts  of  the  world ;  and  the  next  year, 
on  the  death  of  Pope,  he  produced  a  copy  of 
verses,  in  which  he  speaks  of  himself  as  the 
poet's  humble^  friend,  and  of  the  grateftil 
tear  he  has  to  pay  to  so  honoured  a  memory. 

As  a  publisher  he  did  not  confine  his  at- 
tention to  the  manuscripts  submitted  to  his 
judgment :  but  carried  out  happy  suggestions 
or  his  own.  Thus  we  owe  to  him  that  excel- 
j«nt  coUection  of  our  old  plays,  known  as 
podsley'sCoUection,  of  which  the  first  edition, 
in  ten  neat  pocket-volumes,  included  fifty 
plays.  To  this  sensible  and  industrious  man 
^e  are  indebted  for  that  collection  of  scattered 
poetry  of  bis  own  time,  still  known  as  Dods- 
ieys  Collection,  to  which  he  was  fond  of 
appealing,  and  of  which  the  first  edition, 


in  three  volumes,  appeared  in  seventeen  hun- 
dred and  forty-eight.  To  the  same  tact  in 
supplying  the  pnblic  we  were  indebted  for  an 
evening  newspaper— The  London  Chronicle, 
or  Universal  Evening  Post,  that  rendered 
admirable  service  in  its  day;  it  was  pub- 
lished thrice  a  week,  and  had  the  lar^st  con- 
tinental sale  of  any  newroaper  of  its  time. 
But  a  greater  obligation  that  we  owe  to  him 
is  that  of  the  Annual  Register,  which  still 
usefully  exists,  and  which  Robert  Dodsley 
had  the  sense  to  start,  and  to  employ  as  its 
editor  a  young  man  then  but  little  known- 
Edmund  Burke.  Few  booksellers  have  been 
more  happy  in  their  judgment  of  what  is 
good  than  the  livery-servant  turned  publisher. 
"  Dodsley,"  said  Johnson,  <'  first  mentioned  to 
me  the  scheme  of  an  English  Dictionary,  but 
I  had  long  thought  of  it" 

It  has  been  well  remarked  that  the  sue-. 
ce8s<N:8  of  The  Spectator  and  the  Tatler,  even 
those  that  have  oeen  most  popular,  have  not 
been  fortunate  in  their  titles.  There  is,  how- 
ever, an  exception,  and  that  is  in  the  title  of 
The  World,  to  which  Lord  Chesterfield  and 
Horace  Walpole  were  among  the  earliest  and 
most  constant  contributors.  This  significant 
title  was  given  to  it  by  the  sensible  publisher 
of  it,  Mr.  Robert  Dodsley,  who  at  a  meeting 
held  for  the  purpose  of  a  name,universally  gave 
the  preference  to  his  proposal  to  any  they  had 
suggested  themselves,  or  had  heard  suggested. 

It  was  the  good  fortune  of  Dodsley  to  rank 
among  his  friends  the  best  authors  of  the  aee 
in  which  he  lived,  and  to  have  been  the  pub- 
lisher of  some  of  the  best  I  have  already 
enumerated  Pope,  Dr.  Toung,  Akenside,  the 
two  Wartons,  and  Dr.*  Johnson ;  I  have  now 
to  add  Shenstone,  Bishop  Percy,  Spence,  and 
John  Dyer  to  the  list  of  authors  who  were 
often  at  Tully's  Head,  and  that  firom  Dods- 
ley's  shop  in  Fall  Mall  issued  the  first  editions 
of  Gray's  Elegy,  of  Gray's  Odes,  of  John- 
son's Vanity  of  Human  Wishes,  of  Gold- 
smith's first  work,  of  Sterne's  Tristram 
Shandy,  and  of  Percy's  Reliques. 

Johnson  was  particularly  partial  to  Dodsley, 
or  Doddy,  as  he  delighted  to  call  him.  Doddy 
gave  him  one  hundred  pounds  for  his  tragedy 
of  Irene,  and  fifteen  guineas  for  his  Vanity 
of  Human  Wishes ;  the  former  sum  was  too 
much,  the  latter  too  little. 

Whilst  Dodsley  was  busy  concocting  new 
publications  to  take  the  taste  of  the  town,  he 
published  apoem  of  his  own  in  blank  vei*se  call- 
ed Public  Virtue,  and  sought  to  pit,  box,  and 
gallery  it  by  a  tragedy  called  Cleone.  The 
poem  was  a  failure,  (Public  Virtue  he  dis- 
covered was  not  a  subject  to  interest  the  age), 
but  the  tragedy  was  a  hit  Cleone  had  been 
refused  by  Garrick,  then  manager  supreme  at 
Drury  Lane.  This  was  galling  to  a  man  who 
had  given  laws  to  letters  for  some  twenty 
years,  and  was  still  a  judge  looked  up  to 
bv  young  and  old.  But  the  success  of  the 
nlay  was  not  a  little  annoying  to  Garrick. 
'hey  had  quarrelled  about  its  appearance, 


i 


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HOUSEHOLD  WOBDa 


they  had  now  a  new  qaarrel  about  its  suc- 
cess, and  it  was  said  by  Johnson  could  not 
conveniently  quarrel  any  more.  The  first 
night  of  Cleone,  a  tragedy,  was  Saturday, 
the  second  of  December,  one  thousand  seven 
hundred  and  fifty-eight,  and  on  Sunday 
morning  the  manager  wrote  to  the  bookseller 
sincerely  congratulating  him  upon  his  last 
night's  success.  In  the  same  brief  letter 
Garrick  expressed  the  concern  with  which 
he  had  heard  from  some  of  Dodsley's  friends, 
that  his  appearance  in  a  new  part  on  the 
same  night  was  designed  to  be  detrimental 
to  his  play,  and  a  wish  to  be  informed 
how  he  could  best  support  his  interest  in 
its  continued  success.  To  this  Dodsley  re- 
plied somewhat  haughtily  wishing  that  he 
could  have  thanked  him  lor  contributing  in 
any  way  to  its  success.  Gurick  acknow- 
ledges the  peevish  answer  of  the  poet-pub- 
lisher to  his  well-meant  proposal,  and  sinks 
In  his  address  from  "  Dear  Sir  "  to  "  Master 
liobert  Dodsley."  The  letters  may  be  seen 
in  the  Garrick  Correspondence,  though 
wrongly  dated  there.  In  any  future  edition 
of  Boswell  they  should  be  particularly  re- 
ferred to  in  illustration  of  Johnson's  letter 
about  Garrick  and  Cleone. 

Dodsley  was  present  the  first  night,  and  could 
not  have  failed  to  contrast  his  then  appear- 
ance, rich  and  successful  and  his  own  master, 
with  his  early  attendance  in  livery  in  the  foot- 
man's gallei^,  to  carry  a  flambeau  in  the 
streets  before  his  mistress's  chair.  "  Cleone 
was  well  acted,"  says  Dr.  Johnson,  \^Titing  to 
Langton,  "  but  Bellamy  left  nothing  to  be  de- 
sired. I  went  the  first  night,  and  supported 
it  as  well  as  I  might ;  for  Doddy  you  know 
is  my  patron,  and  I  would  not  desert  him. 
The  play  was  very  well  received.  Doddy,  after 
the  danger  was  over,  went  every  night  to  the 
stage-side,  and  cried  at  the  distress  of  poor 
Cleone."  To  this  account  we  are  enabled  to 
add  two  illustrations  new  to  the  editors  of 
Boswell.  Dodsley  dedicates  his  play  to  the 
witty  Earl  of  Chesterfield,  and  I  have  seen  a 
letter  from  the  earl  to  the  poet,  in  which  he 
says,  **  you  should  also  instruct  the  actors  not 
to  mouth  out  the  y  in  the  name  of  SiflVoy,  as 
if  they  were  crying  oysters."  The  other  il- 
lustration is  more  important.  Johnson's  pic- 
ture of  Doddy  at  his  own  play  is  supported 
by  Churchill. 

Let  them  with  Dodtlej  wall  Cleone's  woes 
Whilst  he,  fine  feeling  creatare,  all  in  tears. 
Melts  as  they  molt,  and  weeps  with  weeping  peers. 

Long  after  Dodsley's  death,  Mrs.  Siddons 
appeared  as  Cleone.  Doddy  would  have  died 
of  mixed  grief  and  delight  had  he  lived  to  see 
Mrs.  Siddons  in  his  favourite  character.    But 


Mrs.  Siddons  could  not  support  tiie  play,  and 
Cleone  has  joined  the  limbo  of  abdicated  aod 
rejected  pieces. 

Doddy  was  now  rich  and  well  to  do,  with 
a  brother  as  a  partner,  to  assist  him  in  bis 
lousiness ;  keeping  good  company,  and  enjoy- 
ing himself  at  his  own  table,  in  the  society  of 
the  best  authors.  His  liberality  was  long  re- 
membered. Three-and-thirty  years  after  his 
deeth,  the  elegance  and  hospitality  of  the 
house  at  Tullv's  Head  are  recorded,  in  print, 
by  the  elder  Warton.  "  I  reflect  with  plea- 
sure," he  says,  *'  on  the  number  of  eminent  men 
I  have  met  at  Dodsley's  table."  *•  The  tnie 
Noctes  Atticffi,"  Johnson  used  to  sav.  "  are 
revived  at  honest  Dodsley's  house."  Kor  was 
he  ashamed  of  his  early  condition  in  the  world. 
When  Boswell  observed,  that  Mr.  Robert 
Dodsley's  life  should  be  written,  ♦•  I  doubt," 
said  Johnson,  '*  whether  Dodsley's  brother 
would  thank  a  man  who  should  write  his 
Life  ;  yet  Dodslev  himself  was  not  unwilling 
that  his  original  low  condition  e^ould  be 
recollected.  When  Lord  Ly  ttleton's  Dialogoes 
of  the  Dead  came  out,  one  of  which  is  between 
Apicius,  an  ancient  epicure,  and  Dartiquen- 
euve,  a  modem  epicure,  Dodsley  said  to  me 
*  I  knew  Dartiqueneuve  well,  for  I  was  once 
his  footman.' " 

This  modest,  clever,  and  useful  man  (whose 
features  have  been  preserved  by  the  pencil  of 
Sir  Joshua)  died  at  Durham,  in  the  year 
seventeen  hundred  and  sixty-four,  while  on 
a  visit  to  his  friend,  Mr.  Spence,  then  a  pre- 
bendary of  that  cathedral,  and  was  buried  on 
the  north  side  of  the  cathedral,  oeneath  a  stone 
recently  repaired  by  the  interposition  of  the 
R0V.  James  Raine,  the  friend  of  Sortee?, 
and  the  learned  continuator  of  his  History  of 
Durham.  If  Dodsley  were  but  a  poor  poet, 
he  did  not  die  of  a  poet's  complaint  The 
disease  that  carried  him  off  was  gout.  His 
old  master  could  not  have  died  of  a  more 
epicurean  complaint. 

I  cannot  quit  this  subject  without  referring 
to  another  case  of  a  man  emancipating  himself 
from  the  badge  of  livery  and  soaring  hito  pub- 
lic distinction— of  one  who  rose  from  being 
footman  to  a  duchess,  to  be  his  M^esty's  post- 
master-general, and  whose  only  child  was 
that  secretary  of  state, — to  whom  Addison  be- 
queathed his  works,  in  an  exquisite  Dedica- 
tion, well  known  to  all  readers  of  a  classic 
author,  and  whose  early  death  Pope  bewailed, 
in  a  poem  of  great  beauty.  The  father  of  Mr. 
Secretary  Craggs  was  nothing  more  con8ide^ 
able  at  his  first  appearance  in  the  world  than 
footman  to  Lady  Mary  Mordaunt ;  and  yet, 
as  Lady  Wortley  Montague  informs  us,  the 
meanness  of  his  education  never  appeared  in 
his  conversation. 


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'^FamOiarintheirMouihiaBBOUSEffOLD  WORDS."- 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
COHDTJCTED   BT   CHARLES   DICKEHS. 


No.  U.] 


J.   A.   DIX,   PUBLISHER, 

OvTioi,  No.  10  Pamb  Pwos.  Nbw-Yobs. 


[Whole  No.  267. 


THE  THOUSAND  AND  ONE 
HUMBUGS. 

On  the  following  night,  Hansardadade  pro- 
ceeded with 

THE  8T0RT  OF  THE  TALKATlVK  BARBEB. 

In  the  great  plain  which  lies  at  the  feet  of 
the  moaDtains  of  Caegar,  and  which  is  seven 
weeks'  journey  across,  there  is  a  city  where  a 
lame  youog  man  was  once  invited,  with  other 
guests,  to  an  entertainment.  Upon  his  en- 
tnoce,  the  company  already  assembled  rose 
ap  to  do  him  honour,  and  the  host  taking 
him  by  the  hand  invited  him  to  sit  down 
with  the  rest  upon  the  estrade.  At  the 
same  time  the  master  of  the  house  greeted 
his  visitor  with  the  salutation,  Allah  is 
Allth,  there  is  no  Allah  but  Allah,  may 
his  name  be  praised,  and  may  Allah  be  with 
you  I 

Sire,  the  lame  young  man,  who  had  the 
appearance  of  one  that  htid  suffered  much, 
wu  about  to  comply  with  the  invitation  of 
the  ma&ter  of  the  house  to  seat  himself  upon 
the  estrade  with  the  rest  of  the  company, 
when  he  suddenly  perceived  among  them,  a 
Barber.  He  instantly  flew  back  with  every 
token  of  abhorrence,  and  made  towards  the 
door.  The  master  of  the  house,  amazed  at 
this  behaviour,  stopped  him.  Sir,  exclaimed 
the  young  man,  I  adjure  you  by  Mecca,  do 
not  stop  me,  let  me  go.  I  cannot  without 
horror  look  npon  that  abominable  Barber. 
I'poa  him  and  upon  the  whole  of  his  relations 
he  the  curse  of  Allah,  in  return  for  all  I  have 
endured  from  his  intolerable  levity,  and  from 
his  talk  never  being  to  the  point  or  purpose ! 
^Vith  these  words,  the  lame  young  man  again 
made  violently  towards  the  door.  The  guests 
l^ere  astonished  at  this  behaviour,  and 
^gaa  to  have  a  very  bad  opinion  of  the 

The  master  of  the  house  so  courteously 
entreated  the  lame  young  man  to  recount  to 
the  company  the  causes  of  this  strong  dislike, 
that  at  length  he  could  not  refuse.  Avert- 
ing bis  head  so  that  he  might  not  see  the 
Barber,  he  proceeded.  Gentlemen,  you  must 
wow  that  this  accursed  Barber  is  the  cause 
Oj  my  being  crippled,  and  is  the  occasion  of 

•xJ^S  °^i**'o'^une8.  I  became  acquainted 
With  bim  in  the  following  manner. 


I  am  called  Pcblbek,  or  the  Many  Headed. 
I  am  one  of  a  large  family,  who  have  under^ 
gone  an  infinite  variety  of  adventures  and 
afflictions.  One  day,  I  chanced  to  sit  down 
to  rest  on  a  seat  in  a  narrow  lane,  when  a 
lattice  over  against  me  opened,  and  I  obtained 
a  glimpse  of  the  most  ravishing  Beauty  in 
the  world.  After  watering  a  pot  of  budding 
flowers  which  stood  in  the  window,  she  per- 
ceived me  and  modestly  withdrew  ;  but  not 
before  she  had  directed  towards  me  a  glance 
so  full  of  charms,  that  I  screamed  aloud  with 
love  and  became  insensible  for  a  considerable 
time. 

When  I  came  to  myself,  I  directed  a  fa- 
vourite slave  to  make  enquiries  among  the 
neighbours,  and,  on  pain  of  death,  to  bring 
me  an  exact  account  of  the  young  lady's 
family  and  condition.  The  slave  acquitted 
himself  so  well,  that  he  informed  me  within 
an  hour  that  the  young  lady's  name  was 
Fair  Guvawnmknt,  and  that  she  was  the 
daughter  of  the  chief  Cadi.  The  violence  of 
my  passion  became  so  great  that  I  took  to 
my  bed  that  evening,  fell  into  a  fever,  aad 
was  reduced  to  the  brink  of  death,  when  an 
old  lady  of  my  acquaintance  came  to  seeme. 
Son,  said  she,  after  observing  me  attentively, 
I  perceive  that  your  disease  is  love,  inform 
me  who  is  the  object  of  your  affections,  and 
rely  upon  me  to  bring  you  toget*er«  This 
address  of  the  good  old  lady's  h*d  such  an 
effect  upon  me  that  I  immediately  arose 
quite  restored  in  health,  and  oegan  to  dress 
myself. 

In  a  word  (continued  the'ame  youn^  man, 
addressing  the  company  assembled  in  the 
house  of  the  citizen  of  «e  plain  at  the  feet 
of  the  mountains  of  Ca«ar,  and  always  keep- 
ing his  head  in  such  »  position  as  that  he 
could  not  see  the  pwber),  the  old  lady  ex- 
erted herself  in  vf  behalf  with  such  effect, 
that  on  the  very  ^ext  day  she  returned,  com- 
missioned by  tb*  enchantress  of  my  soul  to 
appoint  a  mee^ng  between  us.  I  arranged 
to  attire  my«elf  iu  my  richest  clothes,  and 
dispatched  the  same  favourite  slave  with 
instructio«8  to  fetch  a  Barber,  who  knew  his 
business  and  who  could  skilfully  prepare  me 
for  the  interview  I  was  to  have,  for  the  first 
time  m  all  my  life,  with  Fair  Guvawnment. 
GcBClemen,  the  slave  returned  with  the  wretch 
whom  you  see  here. 

267 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Condoctedbj 


Sir,  began  this  accursed  Barber  whom  a 
maligDant  destiny  Uius  inflicted  on  me,  how 
do  jou  do,  I  hope  you  are  pretty  well.  I  do 
not  wish  to  praise  myself,  but  you  are  lucky 
to  have  sent  for  me.  My  name  is  Pratmjah. 
In  me  you  behold  an  accomplished  diploma- 
tist, a  first-rate  statesman,  a  frisky  speaker, 
an  easy  shaver,  a  touch-and-go  joker,  a  giver 
of  the  go-by  to  all  complainers,  and  above  all 
a  member  of  the  aristocracy  of  Barbers.  Sir, 
I  am  a  lineal  descendant  of  the  Prophet,  and 
consequently  a  born  Barber.  All  my  relations, 
friends,  acquaintances,  connexions,  and  asso- 
ciates, are  likewise  lineal  descendants  of  the 
Prophet,  and  consequently  born  Barbers 
every  one.  As  I  said,  but  the  other  day, 
to  Latabdeen,  or  the  Troublesome,  the  aris- 
tocracy— May  Allah  confound  thy  aristocracy 
and  thee  1  cried  I,  will  you  begin  to  shave 
me? 

Gentlemen  (i^roceeded  the  lame  young 
man),  the  Barber  had  brought  a  showy  case 
with  him,  and  he  consumed  such  an  immense 
time  in  pretending  to  open  it,  that  I  was  well 
nigh  fretted  to  death.  I  will  not  be  shaved  at 
all,  said  L  Sir,  returned  the  unabashed  Bar- 
ber, you  sent  for  me  to  shave  you,  and  with 
your  pardon  I  will  do  it,  whether  you  like  it 
or  not.  Ah,  Sir  I  you  have  not  so  good  an 
opinion  of  me  as  your  father  had.  I  knew 
your  father,  and  he  appreciated  me.  I  said  a 
thousand  pleasant  things  to  him,  and  render- 
ed him  a  thousand  services,  and  he  adored 
me.^  Just  Heaven,  he  would  exclaim,  you  are 
an  inei^austible  fountain  of  wisdom,  no  man 
can  plumb  the  depth  of  your  profundity  I  My 
dear  Sir,  I  would  reply,  you  do  me  more  ho- 
nour than  I  deserve.  Still,  as  a  lineal  de- 
icendant  of  the  Prophet,  and  one  of  the 
artstocracv  of  bom  Barbers,  I  will,  with  the 
helj  of  Allah,  shave  you  pretty  close  before 
I  ha^  done  with  you. 

You  may  guess,  gentlemen,  in  my  state  of 
expectancy,  with  my  heart  set  on  Pair  Guv- 
awnment^and  the  precious  time  running  by, 
how  I  cursid  this  impertinent  chattering  on 
the  part  of  i|e  Barber;  Barber  of  mischief. 
Barber  of  sin,^arber  of  false  pretence,  Barber 
of  froth  and  bubble,  sidd  I,  stamping  my  fopt 
upon  the  ground,  will  you  begin  to  do  your 
work?  Fair  and  softly.  Sir,  said  he,  let  me 
count  you  out  first.  With  that,  he  counted 
from  one  up  to  thirt^eight  with  great  delib- 
eration, and  then  laug>ed  heartily  and  went 
out  to  look  at  the  weatl^r. 

When  the  Barber  returned,  he  went  on 
prattling  as  before.  You  tee  in  high  feather. 
Sir,  said  he.  I  am  glad  to  ^e  you  look  so 
well.  But,  how  can  you  be  x)therwise  than 
flourishing,  after  having  sent  iytme!  I  am 
called  the  Careless.  I  am  not  like  Dizzee, 
who  draws  blood;  nor  like  Dt^bee,  who 
claps  on  blisters;  nor  like  JohLnee,  who 
works  with  the  square  and  rule ;  1  am  the 
easy  shaver,  and  I  care  for  nobody.  I  ^jan  do 
anything.  Shall  I  dance  the  dance  of  Mlstapit 
to  please  you,  or  shall  I  sing  the  song  of 


Mistafoks,  or  Joke  the  joke  of  Jomlllab! 
Honor  me  with  your  attention  while  I  do  all 
three. 

The  Barber  (continued  the  lame  young 
man,  with  a  groan,)  danced  the  dance  of  Mls- 
tapit, and  sang  the  song  of  Mistafoks,  and 
joked  the  joke  of  Jomillah,  and  then  began 
with  fresh  Impertinences.  Sir,  said  he,  with 
a  lofty  flourish,  when  Brltteen  first,  at  Hea- 
ven's command,  arose  from  out  the  azure 
main,  this  was  the  charter  of  the  land,  and 
guardian  angels  sang  this  strain  :  Singing,  as 
First  Lord  was  a  wallerklng  the  Office-gar- 
dlng  around,  no  end  of  bom  Barbers  he  pick- 
ed up  and  found.  Says  he  I  will  load  tiiem 
with  sllvler  and  gold,  for  the  country's  a  don- 
key, and  as  such  is  sold. — At  this  point  I 
could  bear  his  insolence  no  longer,  but  start- 
ing up,  cried,  Barber  of  hollowness,  by  what 
consideration  am  I  restrained  from  fallbg 
upon  and  strangling  thee  ?  Calmly,  Sir,  said 
he,  let  me  count  you  out  first  He  then  play- 
ed his  former  g^ame  of  counting  from  one  to 
under  forty,  and  again  laughed  heartily,  and 
went  out  to  take  the  height  of  the  sun,  and 
make  a  calculation  of  the  state  of  the  wind, 
that  he  might  know  whether  it  was  an  aoqii- 
clous  time  to  begin  to  shave  me. 

I  took  the  opportunity  (said  the  young 
man)  of  fiying  f^om  my  house  so  darkened  by 
the  fatal  presence  of  this  detestable  Barber, 
and  of  repairing  with  my  utmost  speed  to  the 
house  of  the  Oadl.  But,  the  appointed  boor 
was  long  past,  and  Fair  Guvawnment  had 
withdrawn  no  one  knew  whither.  As  1  stood 
in  the  street  cursing  my  evil  destiny  and  exe- 
crating this  intolerable  Barber,  I  heard  a  hue 
and  cry.  Looking  In  the  direction  whence 
it  came,  I  saw  the  diabolical  Barber,  attend- 
ed by  an  immense  troop  of  his  relations  and 
friends,  the  lineal  descendants  of  the  Prophet 
and  aristocracy  of  bom  Barbers,  all  ofi'ering  a 
reward  to  any  one  who  would  stop  me,  and  all 
proclaiming  the  unhappy  Publeek  to  be  their 
natural  prey  and  rightful  property.  I  turned 
and  fied.  They  jostled  and  bruised  me  cruelly 
among  them,  and  I  became  maimed,  as  jon 
see.  I  utterly  detest,  abominate,  and  abjure 
this  Barber,  and  ever  since  and  ever  more  I 
totally  renounce  him.  With  these  concluding 
words,  the  lame  young  man  arose  in  a  sullen 
way  that  had  something  very  threatening  in 
it,  and  left  the  company. 

Commander  of  the  Faithful,  when  the  lame 
young  man  was  gone,  the  guests  turning  to 
the  Barber,  who  wore  his  turban  very  mu(^ 
on  one  side  arid  smiled  complacentlv,  asked 
him  what  he  had  to  say  for  himself?  The 
Barber  immediately  danced  the  dance  of 
Mistapit,  and  sang  the  song  of  Mistafoks,  and 
joked  the  joke  of  Jomillah.  Gentlemen,  said 
he,  not  at  all  out  of  breath  after  these  per- 
formances, It  is  true  that  I  am  called  the 
Careless :  permit  me  to  recount  to  you,  as  ^ 
lively  diversion,  what  happened  to  a  twin- 
brother  of  that  young  man  who  has  so  unde- 
servedly abused  me,  in  connexion  with  a  near 


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CbvtaiDlckaM.] 


THE  THOUSAND  AND  ONE  HUMBUGS. 


315 


relation  of  mine.    No  one  objecting,  the  Bar- 
ber related : 

THE  STORT  OF  THB  BABMICIDB  FEAST. 

The  young  man's  twin-brother,  Guld  Pub- 
leek,  was  in  very  poor  circumstances  and 
hardly  knew  how  to  live.  In  his  reduced 
condition  he  was  fain  to  go  about  to  great 
men,  begging  them  to  take  him  in — and  to 
do  them  justice,  they  did  it  extensively. 

One  day  in  the  course  of  his  poverty- 
stricken  wanderings,  he  came  to  a  large  house 
with  two  high  towers,  a  spacious  hall,  and 
abundance  of  fine  gilding,  statuary,  and 
painting.  Althongh  the  house  was  far  from 
finished,  he  could  see  enough  to  assure  him 
that  enormous  sums  of  money  must  be  lavish- 
ed upon  it.  He  inquired  who  was  the  mas- 
ter of  this  wealthy  mansion,  and  received 
for  information  that  he  was  a  certain  Bar- 
mecide. (The  Barmecide,  gentlemen,  is  my 
near  relation,  and,  like  myself,  a  lineal 
descendant  of  the  Prophet,  and  a  bom 
Barber.) 

The  young  man's  twin  brother  passed 
through  the  gateway,  and  crept  submissively 
onward,  until  he  came  into  a  spacious  apart- 
ment, where  he  descried  the  Barmecide  sit- 
ting at  the  upper  end  in  the  post  of  honour. 
TheBarmecide  asked  the  young  man's  brother 
what  he  wanted  ?  My  Lord,  replied  he,  in  a 
pltifol  tone,  I  am  sore  distressed,  and  have 
none  but  high  and  mighty  nobles  like  vour- 
self,  to  help  me.  That  much  at  least  is  true, 
returned  the  Barmecide,  there  is  no  help  save 
ifl  high  and  mighty  nobles,  it  is  the  appoint- 
ment of  AlUh.  But  what  is  your  distress? 
Hy  Lord,  said  the  young  man's  brother,  I 
am  f&sting  from  all  the  nourishment  I  want, 
*nd~whatever  you  may  please  to  think — 
Ml  in  a  dangerous  estren>ity.  A  very  little 
inore  at  any  moment,  and  you  would  be  as- 
tonished at  the  figure  I  should  make.  Is  it 
Bo,  indeed?  inc^uired  the  Barmecide.  Sir, 
returned  the  .young  man's  brother,  I  swear 
by  Heaven  and  Earth  that  it  is  so,  and  Hea- 
ven and  Earth  are  every  hour  drawing  nearer 
*o  the  discovery  that  it  is  so.  Alas,  poor 
J»anl  replied  the  Barmecide,  pretending  to 
have  an  interest  in  him.  Hoy  boy  I  Bring  us 
of  the  best  bere»  and  let  us  not  spare  our 
liberal  measures.  This  poor  man  shall  make 
good  cheer  without  delay. 

Thongh  no  boy  appeared,  gentlemen,  and 
though  there  was  no  sign  of  the  liberal  mea- 
^res  of  which  the  Barmecide  spoke  so  osten- 
wtioualy,  the  young  man's  brother,  Guld 
rubleek,  endeavoured  to  fall  in  with  the  Bar- 
mecide's  humour.  Come!  cried  the  Barme- 
cide, feigning  to  pour  water  on  his  hands, 
let  us  begin  fair  and  ftresh.  How  do  you  like 
WW  purity?  Ah,  my  Lord,  returned  Guld 
Jlnbleck,  imitating  the  Barmecide's  action, 
this  is  Indeed  purity  :  this  is  in  truth  a  de- 
tk '*^S?  ^ginning.  Then  let  us  proceed,  said 
the  Barmecide,  seeming  to  dry  his  hands, 
with  this  smoking  diah  of  Reefawm.    How  do 


you  like  it  ?  Fat  ?  At  the  same  time  he  pre- 
tended to  hand  choice  morsels  to  the  young 
man's  brother.  Take  your  fill  of  it,  exclaim- 
ed the  Barmecide,  there  is  plenty  here,  do 
not  spare  it,  it  was  cooked  for  you.  May 
Allah  prolong  your  life,  my  Lord,  said  Guld 
Publeek.  you  are  liberal  indeed  I 

The  Barmecide  having  boasted  in  this 
pleasant  way  of  his  smoking  dish  of  Reefawm, 
which  had  no  existence,  afl'ected  to  call  for 
another  dish.  Ho  I  cried  he,  clapping  hif^ 
hands,  bring  in  those  Educational  Kabobe. 
Then,  he  imitated  the  action  of  putting  some 
upon  the  plate  of  the  young  man's  brother, 
and  went  on,  How  do  you  Tike  these  Educa- 
tional Kabobs  ?  The  cook  who  made  them  is 
a  treasure..  Are  they  not  justly  seasoned? 
Are  they  not  so  honestly  made,  as  to  be 
adapted  to  all  digestions  ?  Ton  want  them 
very  much,  I  know,  and  have  wanted  them 
this  long  time.  Do  you  enjoy  them  ?  And 
here  is  a  delicious  mess,  called  Foreen  Leejun. 
Eat  of  it  also,  for  I  pride  myself  upon  it,  and 
expect  it  to  bring  me  great  respect  and  much 
friendship  from  distant  lands.  And  this  pil- 
lau  of  Church-endowments-and-duties,  which 
you  see  so  beautifully  divided,  pray  how  do 
you  approve  of  this  pillau  ?  It  was  invented 
on  your  account,  and  no  expense  has  been 
spared  to  render  it  to  your  taste.  Ho,  boy, 
bring  in  that  ragout  I  Now  here,  mj  friend, 
is  a  ragout,  called  Law-of-Partnership.  It  is 
expressly  made  for  poor  men's  eating,  and  I 
particularly  pride  myself  upon  it  This  is 
indeed  a  dish  at  which  you  may  cut  and 
come  again.  And  boy !  hasten  to  set  before 
my  good  friend,  Guld  Publeek,  the  rare  stew 
of  colonial  spices,  minced  crime,  hashed  pover- 
ty, swollen  liver  of  ignorance,  stale  confusion, 
rotten  tape,  and  chopped-up  bombast,  steeped 
in  official  sauce,  and  gw*nished  with  a  great 
deal  of  tongue  and  a  very  little  brains—the 
crowning  dish>  of  which  my  dear  friend  never 
can  have  enough,  and  upon  which  he  thrives 
so  well  I  But,  you  don^t  eat  with  an  appe- 
tite, my  brother,  said  the  Barmecide.  I  fear 
the  repast  is  hurdly  to  your  liking  ?  Pardon 
me,  my  benefactor,  returned  the  g^est,  whose 
jaws  ached  with  pretending  to  eat,  I  am  full 
almost  to  the  throat. 

Well  then,  said  the  Barmecide,  since  you 
have  dined  so  well,  try  the  dessert.  Here  are 
apples  of  discord  from  the  Horse  Guards  and 
Admiralty,  here  is  abundance  of  the  famous 
fruit  from  the  Dead  Sea  that  tivns  to  ashes 
on  the  lips,  here  are  dates  fsom  the  Penin- 
sula in  great  profusion,  and  here  is  a  fig  for 
the  nation.  Eat  and  be  hapy  1  My  Lord,  re- 
plied the  object  of  his  merriment,  I  am  quite 
worn  out  by  your  liberality,  and  can  bear  no 
more. 

Gentlemen  (continued  the  loquacious  Bar- 
ber), when  the  humorous  Barmecide,  my 
near  relation  lineally  descended  from  the 
Prophet,  had  brought  his  guest  to  this  pass, 
he  clapped  his  hands  three  times  to  summon 
around  him  his  slaves,  and  instructed  them 


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to  force  in  reality  the  vile  stew  of  which  he 
had  spokea  down  the  throat  of  the  hungry 
Gold  Fubleek,  together  with  a  nauseous  mess 
called  Dlblinccmtax,  and  to  put  bitters  in 
his  drink,  strew  dust  on  his  head,  blacken  his 
face,  shave  his  eyebrows,  pluck  away  his 
beard,  iusult  him  and  make  merry  with  him. 
He  then  caused  him  to  be  attired  in  a  shame- 
ful dress  and  set  upon  an  ass  with  his  face  to 
the  tail,  and  in  this  htate  to  be  publicly  expos- 
ed with  the  inscription  round  bis  neck,  This  is 
the  punishment  of  Guld  Publeek  who  asked 
for  nourishment  and  said  he  wanted  it.  Such 
is  the  present  droll  condition  of  this  person  ; 
while  my  near  relation,  the  Barmecide,  sits 
in  the  post  of  honour  with  his  turban  very 
much  on  one  side,  enjoying  the  joke.  Which 
1  think  you  will  all  admit  is  an  excellent 
one. 

Hansardadade  having  made  an  end  of  the 
discourse  of  the  loquacious  Barber,  would 
have  instantly  begun  another  story,  had  not 
Brothartoon  shut  her  up  with,  Dear  Sister,  it 
will  be  shortly  daybreak.  Get  to  bed  and  be 
quiet. 


PLAGUES  OF  LONDON. 

Harrowing  accounts  of  the  great  plague 
are  familiar  to  all  readers.  We  do  not  wish 
to  add  to  their  number,  and  mean  only  to 
suggest  some  analogies  between  the  plague 
of  sixteen  hundred  and  sixty-five  and  the 
plague  of  our  own  times,  say  of  eighteen 
hundred  and  flfty-five,  by  showing  how  a  sen- 
sible man  talked  about  it.  There  are  extant 
a  number  of  unpublished  letters  from  the 
Rev.  Patrick  Symon,  Rector  of  St.  PauFt, 
Covent  Garden,  afterwards  Lord  Bishop  of 
Ely.  He  addressed  these  letters  to  a  lady 
who  had  retired,  for  safety's  sake,  into  the 
country.  On  the  ninth  of  August,  sixteen 
hundred  and  sixty-five,  he  wrote  to  his  ft'iend 
in  a  tone  used  certainly  by  many  who  wrote 
from  London  in  the  same  month  of  last  year. 
**  There  is  some  danger,  no  doubt,  in  this 
place,  and  it  increases  a  little  :  but  I  am  not 
in  any  fear,  which  will  make  the  danger  less. 
There  died,  as  you  will  see  by  the  bills  of 
mortality  to-morrow,  twenty  in  this  parish, 
whereof  sixteen  of  the  plague.  This,  I  know, 
will  debar  me  of  the  liberty  of  seeing  you, 
and  I  submit  to  that  restraint  For  though 
you  will  be  inclined,  I  believe,  to  give  me 
that  freedom,  yet  it  will  not  be  either  civil 
or  kind  to  accept  of  that  grant  till  we  be  in  a 
better  condition  of  health.''  But  he  went  on 
to  suggest  a  terror  happily  banished  from  the 
current  history  of  London  pestilence.  '*lf 
you  think  there  is  any  danger  from  those 
papers  which  you  receive,  the  fire,  I  suppose, 
will  expel  It,  if  you  let  them  see  it  before 
they  come  into  your  hands.  You  see  how 
cautious  1  am  grown."  In  the  month  follow- 
ing says  the  g(M>d  pastor — **  Last  week  I  was 
more  than  ordinary  feeble,  which  was  a  thing 


common  to  me  with  others,  the  effects  of 
which  you  see  in  the  vast  increase  of  the  sick- 
ness. It  was  a  lovely  season  yesterday,  aod 
we  hoped  for  some  sweet,  clear  wctther,  bat 
it  pleases  God  the  wind  is  changed  again,  aod 
brings  abundance  of  rain  with  it;  and,  in- 
deed, we  have  had  no  settled  weather  sioce  I 
saw  you,  which  hath  made  the  sickoen,  1 
believe,  rage  more.  For  south  winds  are 
always  observed  to  be  bad  in  such  times,  and 
the  wind  stays  not  long  out  of  that  quarter.  It 
(the  plague)  decreases  in  some  places  aod 
grows  very  much  in  others.  I  hope  that 
there  will  not  so  many  die  here  as  did  last 
week,  and  yet  we  have  twenty-one  or  twenty- 
two  dead  already.  I  suppose  you  think  that 
I  intend  to  stay  here  still,  though  I  nnder- 
stand  by  your  question  yon  would  not  bare 
me.  But,  my  friend,  what  am  I  belter  than 
another  !  Somebody  must  be  here,  and  is  it 
fit  I  should  set  such  a  value  upon  myself  a! 
my  going  away  and  leaving  another  will 
signify  ? "  [Here  you  speak,  Mr.  Symon,  like 
a  minister  right  worthy  of  your  calling.]  "I 
preach  to  those  who  are  well,  and  write  to 
those  who  are  ill  (I  mean,  print  little  papers 
for  them,  which  yet  are  too  big  to  send  to 
you  by  the  post) ;  but  I  am  sure  while  I  suj 
here  I  shall  do  good  to  their  bodies,  and  pe^ 
haps  save  some  from  periling." 

The  terrible  phantom  which  was  the  esp^ 
cial  horror  of  the  plagues  of  our  forefathers 
rises  in  this  passage  from  a  letter  written 
later  in  the  autumn ;  *'  May  1  not  buy  a  pair 
of  stockings  of  a  friend  whom  I  can  be  cop 
fident  is  not  infected,  and  which  have  laia 
long  in  his  shop?  I  want  nothing  else  at 
present,  and  how  should  it  be  more  dangerooi 
than  to  receive  beer  and  wine,  the  vessels 
being  capable  of  infection ;  but,  especially 
bread,  they  say,  is  the  most  attracti?e  of  it. 
which  I  am  forced  to  buy,  fori  have  no  other 
ways  to  have  it"  Upon  the  daily  bread  of 
the  poor  with  how  terrible  a  curse  must  ibis 
notion  have  rested  I 

"  I  saw  last  Tuesday,"  says  the  Rector  of 
St  Paul's,  Covent  Garden,  "  about  thirty 
people  in  the  Strand,  with  white  sticks  m 
their  hands,  and  the  doctor  of  the  pest-house, 
in  his  gown,  walking  before  them.  The  fir*t 
woman  rid  on  an  horse,  and  had  a  paper  m 
on  the  top  of  her  stick  with  Lacs  Dbo  writ 
ten  in  it  They  were  going  to  the  justice  «j 
being  poor  people  sent  thither  and  recoferw 
by  him  "  (the  doctor)  "  of  the  plague.  Me 
seemed  to  take  no  small  content  inhisstakiy 
march  before  them."  | 

Dr.  Patrick  tells  how  he  took  treacle  as  w 
antidote,  and  grew  fat,  although  many  ciw- 
gymen  were  dying  round  about  him.  ^^ 
depression  of  his  mind,  probably,  cawed  "« 
slovenly  manner  of  his  letters,  full  of  m^r* 
I  believes  and  I  supposes.  The  main  eJcm 
cause  of  the  old  plagues  as  of  the  B«<»'r 
cholera  was,  beyond  doubt,  confinement  i 
foul  air,  living  among  the  filth  of  towns  o^ 
villages  in  ill-constructed  houses.   Wiiefl"^ 


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PLAGUES  OP  LONDON. 


317 


foul  air  in  a  house  was  bad  enough  to  kill 
birds  In  their  cages,  plague  was  pretty  sure 
to  follow.  "  The  death  of  birds,"  says  Dr. 
SjmoD,  ^'in  houses  where  they  are  caged, 
ordinarily  precedes  the  death  of  the  inha- 
bitants." 

A  good  many  auspices  were  at  that  time 
drawn  from  birds,  and  signs  were  watched 
far  not  from  birds  alone.  *'  There  are  people 
who  rely  on  pitiable  things  as  certain  tokens 
of  the  plague's  going  very  shortly.  I  have 
been  told  more  than  once,"  says  the  good 
Rector,  *'  of  the  falling  out  of  the  clapper  of 
the  great  bell  at  Westminster,  which  they 
saj  it  did  before  the  last  great  plague  ended  ; 
and  this  they  take  for  a  very  comfortable 
Ngo.  Others  speak  of  the  daws  more  fre- 
qaentiDg  the  palace  and  abbey,  which,  if 
tnie,  is  a  better  sign,  supposing  the  air  to 
bare  been  infected ;  for  the  books  I  read  tell 
me  that  the  going  away  of  birds  is  the  fore- 
ronner  of  a  plague,  and  that  we  shall  see  few 
in  a  plague  year." 

When  the  plague  was  declining,  the  Rector 
wrote  to  his  friend — "In  a  month's  time, 4 
l^elieve,  the  town  will  fill,  and  then,  if  the 
sickness  do  not  increase,  you  may  venture  not 
long  after  that  to  come  to  your  habitation. 
Yet,  if  yoa  consult  your  brother  he  will  tell 
yon  the  physician's  rule  is  composed  in  three 
words  when  they  advise  what  to  do  in  the 
plague,  which  in  English  are,  Quickly — far- 
off— slowly  ;  that  is.  Fly  soon  and  far  enough, 
and  return  late.  To  his  counsel  and  opinion 
I  refer  you.  Set  a  watch  at  your  door,  and 
let  it  be  known  that  you  admit  of  no  visits 
—not  even  mine." 

,  Another  plague  of  London,  that  has  made 
it  necessary  enough  for  people  to  set  watch 
at  their  doors,  remains  with  us ;  but  in  a  less 
Timlent  form  than  that  which  it  took  in  the 
olden  time — the  plague  of  street  rogues  and 
sharpers.  Very  long  ago,  it  was  necessary  to 
dismantle  the  forest  of  Middlessex,  to  widen 
tlie  roads,  to  fill  ditches,  to  remove  treen  ^^^ 
otherwise  to  take  measures  to  deprive  the 
thicTes  of  cover.  Hanging,  and  other  mea- 
wres  taken  against  the  rogues  of  London, 
having  failed  to  produce  any  good  result,  in 
the  year  one  thousand  five  hundred  and 
sixty-three,  the  most  awful  scheme  was  de- 
^j^  of  appointing  beadles  for  the  appreben- 
won  of  vagabonds  and  sturdy  beggars.  The 
headles,  armed  with  their  own  inherent 
terrors,  went  briskly  to  work,  carried  the 
rogues  to  Bridewell,  and  conveyed  to  hospital 
the  blind,  the  lame  and  impotent,  and  sick 
»nd  sore.  Children  aged  sixteen  were  re- 
ceived into  Christ's  Hospital ;  and  citizens 
Were  earnestly  entreated  to  give  employment 
to  such  men  and  women  as  were  able  and 
dttpoaed  to  work. 

In  the  year  fifteen  hundred  and  eighty-one, 
Recorder  Fleetwood  established  a  body  of 
detective  police,  or  privy  searchers,  who 
banted  up  loose  vagabonds  and  sharpers,  then 
Itt  great  number  pestering  the  city.     Not 


very  long  afterwards,  in  spite  of  detectives, 
and  of  arrests  of  rogues  by  the  hundred  in  a 
batch,  a  company  of  vagabonds  encompassed 
Queen  Elizabeth's  coach  while  she  was  riding 
abroad  in  the  evening,  to  take  the  air."  They 
hovered  before  her  face  in  a  swarm,  like 
summer  gnats,  and  **on  that  night  and  the 
next  day  seventy-four  were  taken."  I  am 
afraid  the  justice  done  on  these  occasions  was 
but  rough,  and  that  many  of  these  vagabonds 
had  sorrows  greater  than  arrest  to  vex  their 
hearts.  Towards  the  close  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  a  year  of  plague,  and  consquent  dis- 
tress, Uirongh  loss  of  occupation,  was  followed 
by  a  year  in  which  the  cit^,  as  also  other 
parts  of  the  country, "  was  grievously  pestered 
with  beggars,  and  there  were  many  of  them 
disbanded  soldiers,  become  poor  and  maimed 
by  the  war  with  the  Low  Countries  and 
Spain."  Against  these  and  worse  rascals,  by 
whom  their  distress  was  counterfeited,  glori- 
ous Queen  Bess  issued  a  proclamation. 

Soon  afterwards,  the  thieves  of  London 
almost  succeeded  in  a  plan  of  robbery  upon 
her  Majesty's  person,  in  St.  Paul's  Church- 
yard, and  quite  succeeded  in  robbing  an 
alderman  on  his  way  home  from  a  City  feast. 
As  Sidney  Smith  hoped  for  a  little  safety  in  a 
railway  carriage  after  a  bishop  had  been 
burnt,  so  there  was  hope  for  safety  in  the 
streets  of  London  after  an  alderman  bad  been 
waylaid  and  robbed.  The  proper  measures 
were  then  taken,  which  consist  always  cot  so 
much  in  multiplying  penalties  against  crime, 
as  in  removing  the  facilities  for  its  commis- 
sion. An  alderman  having  been  robbed,  at 
night,  in  a  dark  street,  it  was  ordered  that, 
in  the  close  London  streets  and  alleys,  more 
lamps  should  be  hung.  There  was  an  imme- 
diate decrease  in  the  number  of  offences. 

But  the  most  troublesome  and  filthy  of  the 
London  plagues  of  this  description  is  not  one 
to  be  removed  by  putting  light  into  a  lantern ; 
it  needs,  rather,  the  putting  of  light  into 
men's  heads.  The  best  way  to  abolish  knaves 
is  to  abolish  fools.  It  is  only  because  tens  of 
thousands  traverse  London  streets,  who  are 
grossly  ignorant  and  stupid,  that  the  same 
streets  abound  in  sharpers  ever  ready  to 
delude.  Education  most  effectually  lessens 
crime ;  not  by  direct  conversion  of  vice  into 
virtue,  but  checks  it,  as  gas-light  does,  by 
.baulking  it  of  one  of  the  conditions  under 
which  it  works.  As  you  may  kill  a  plant  by 
depriving  it  of  air  or  water,  although  you 
leave  the  plant  itself  untouched,  so  you  may 
kill  crime  by  removing  all  the  ignorance  on 
which  it  feeds.  It  is  only  because  men  are  less 
stupid  than  they  used  to  be  that  they  are  less 
willing  to  go  down  the  small  streets  in  the 
Strand  with  gentlemen  who  whisper  pronrises 
of  fine  smuggled  cigars  and  handkerchiefs,  or 
less  disposed  to  go  down  on  their  knees  to 
pick  up  the  choke-pears,  scattered  by  a  coster- 
monger,  at  the  cost  of  their  hats  and  other 
personals,  which  become  liable  to  seizure  by 
the  oostermonger's  friends. 


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Highway  robbery  is  a  plague  nearly  extinct 
Mr.  Porter  mentions  (in  his  work  on  the  Pro- 
gress of  the  Nation),  on  the  authority  of 
E arsons  who  formerly  lived  in  the  enrirons  of 
ondon,  that  it  was  their  uniform  practice 
to  rendezvous  every  evening,  after  the  day's 
work  was  over,  and  proceed  to  their  homes  in 
a  body — especially  those  whose  road  lay  south 
of  the  Thames;  at  Dulwich  and  Norwood — 
for  mutual  protection.  A  physician,  who 
resided  at  Btackheath,  and  had  to  cross  the 
country  at  all  hours  of  the  night,  had,  at 
different  times,  been  obliged  to  shoot  several 
robbers,  by  whom  his  carriage  was  attacked. 
Highwaymen's  horses  stood  at  livery,  at  the 
different  stables  in  town,  as  openly  as  the 
horses  of  honest  men.  Nor  was  it  always  easy 
to  distinguish  the  one  from  the  other ;  for 
the  old  amusement  of  Prince  Henry,  prac- 
tised on  Gad's  Hill  and  elsewhere,  was  not 
quite  extinct  late  in  the  last  century.  Re- 
spectable tradesmen — reputed  respectable 
until  they  were  found  out — took  to  the  road 
after  business  hours,  booted  and  masked,  and 
made  the  lieges  stand  and  deliver  in  the 
manner  of  professional  highwaymen.  The 
Newgate  Calendar  is  not  without  instances 
of  flourishing  retailers  being  taken  in  the  fact 
of  highway  robbery,  tried,  and  hanged. 
Pathetic  stories  were  also  current  in  the 
magazines  of  that  time  respecting  decayed 
gentlemen  robbing  from  distress;  and,  on 
being  expostulated  with  by  their  victims, 
bursting  into  tears,  telling  a  piteous  tale  of 
distress,  courting  corroboration  of  it  by 
ushering  them  into  some  garret  to  behold 
a  dying  wife  and  starving  children,  and 
finally  being,  not  only  forgiven,  but  put  into 
a  good  way  of  life  on  the  spot.  Tnis  sort 
of  plague  has  been  thoroughly  eradicated. 
Happily  there  are  few  respectable  shop- 
keepers who  do  not  now  possess  money  in  the 
funds,  a  suburban  villa,  and  a  one-horse  car- 
riage. The  modern  refuge  for  decayed  gen- 
tlemen is  employment  in  one  or  other  of  our 
great  National  Red  Taperies. 

Amateur  felony  is  not  of  so  old  a  date  as 
professional  thieving.  Three  hundred  years 
ago,  there  was  a  London  thieves'  slang, 
not  unlike  the  present;  and  there  were 
men  who  maintained  schools  of  vice.  There 
was  *<one  Woolton,  a  gentleman  born,  and 
some  time  a  merchant  of  good  credit,  but 
falling  by  time  into  decay."  This  man  kept 
an  ale-house,  at  Smart's  Key,  near  Bil- 
lingsgate, which,  being  suppressed,  he  "  reared 
up  a  new  trade  in  life.  And  in  tbe  same 
house  he  procured  all  the  cut-purses 
of  the  city  to  repair  to  him.  There  was  a 
school-house  for  young  boys  to  cut  purses. 
Two  devices  were  hung  up :  the  one  was  a 
pocket,  the  other  was  a  purse.  The  pocket 
had  in  it  certain  counters,  and  was  hung 
about  with  hawks'  bells,  and  over  the  top  did 
hang  a  little  sacristy  bell.  The  purse  had 
silver  in  it;  and  he  that  could  take  out,  a 
counter,  without  any  noise,  was  allowed  to  be 


a  public  foister ;  and  be  that  could  take 
a  piece  of  silver  out  of  the  purse  was  adjudged 
a  judicial  nipper,  according  to  their  terms  of 
art."  A  foister  being  a  cutter  of  pockets ;  a 
nipper,  a  picker  of  the  same.  A  lifter  was  a 
robber  of  shops  or  chambers;  a  shaver,  a 
filcher  of  cloaks,  swords,  or  spoons,  that 
might  happen  to  lie  unwatched  ;  and  a  night 
burglar  was  a  mylken  ken.  Mr.  Woolton, 
who  was  a  professor  of  thieving,  in  the  year 
fifteen  hundred  and  eighty-five,  hung  mottoes 
on  his  school-room  wall,  rogues'  texts,  soch  as 
the  following : — 

8i  tple.  si  mon  spie,  foytte,  nippe, 
Lyfte,  ahave  and  spare  not. 

The  writer  of  a  Trip  through  Town,  fdx 
score  years  ago,  tells  how,  in  the  parish  of 
Saint  Giles-ln-the-Fields,  among  other  sights 
that  he  saw,  was  a  place  called  the  Infant 
Office,  where  young  children  stand  at  livery, 
and  are  let  out  by  the  day  to  the  town  men- 
dicants. After  some  description  of  the  hiring 
of  boys,  girls,  and  infants  at  this  office,  the 
wiiter  says  that  "An  ancient  matron,  who 
had  the  superintendence  of  the  place,  held 
forth  in  her  arms  a  pretty  poppet  of  about  a 
year  old,  telling  her  customers  there  was  a 
sweet,  innocent  picture,  a  moving  countenance 
that  would  not  fail  making  a  serjeant-at-law 
feel  for  his  half-pence."  A  beggar-woman, 
who  was  vastly  in  arrear  for  the  hire  of 
children,  was  refused  credit  until  she  bad 
paid  off  the  old  score,  and  so  forth. 

In  a  form,  I  trust  somewhat  abated,  this 
plague  remains,  and  a  thousand  small  street 
rogueries,  known  to  most  of  our  readers,  are 
as  old  as  those  to  which  we  have  referred. 
Knaves  in  this  country  follow  the  old  path  of 
tradition  quite,  as  blindly  as  right  honourable 
ministers  of  state  ;  so  that  if  it  were  not  that 
the  knaves,  through  cunning,  acquire  now 
and  then  a  new  idea,  and  that  anything  of 
that  nature  dawns  less  frequently  upon  the 
modeui  statesman,  we  should  be  disposed  to 
say  that,  evil-intcntioned  as  is  the  one  class, 
and  good-intentioned  as  is  the  other,  there  is 
one  way  to  them  both.  There  used  to  be 
thieves  of  genius  who  conceived  bold  prefects 
of  their  own,  and  achieved  great  triumphs 
over,  difficulty  that  appeared  insuperable. 
The  world  has  also  known  great  statesmen 
who  could  do  and  dare,  and  justify  tbeir 
daring.  Now,  again,  as  the  noble  so  are  the 
ignoble.  Few,  indeed,  escape  infection  by  the 
newest  of  the  plagues  of  London,  known  as 
the  Routine.  Who  does  not  know  how,  when 
a  man  catches  anywhere  the  routine  dis- 
ease, he  becomes  feeble  and  wastes  to  a 
shadow  of  himself,  how  rapidly  he  becomes 
blotted  over,  and  goes  the  way  of  allfle^  into 
rottenness?  Who  does  not  know  how  dread- 
fully infectious  this  new  sickness  is?  How  it 
is  communicated  by  papers  and  docunents, 
lurks  in  the  horsehair  of  stools,  and  how  it 
clings  to  tape  (especially  to  tape  of  a  red 
colour)  with  so  much  energy  that  no  known 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Chuta  Dickon.] 


YADACfi. 


819 


disiofectant — and  the  strongest  have  been 
freely  tried — is  able  to  remove  it?  For  very 
many  years  this  pestilence  has  waged  its  war 
against  humanity,  being  most  dangerous  in 
the  more  central  parts  of  the  citv  of  London, 
and  in  the  districts  of  Whitehall  and  West- 
mioster.  It  is  also  our  decided  opinion, 
whatever  the  Rector  of  Saint  PauPs,  Covent 
Garden,  may  have  thought  of  it  in  his  day, 
that  one  popular  opinion  of  the  year  sixteen 
hondred  and  sixty-five,  to  which  that  excel- 
lent man  advertj^,  still  holds  its  place  fast  in 
the  public  mind.  We  are,  for  our  own  parts, 
not  ashamed  to  confess  our  belief  that  if  the 
clapper  were  to  fall  out  of  the  bell  at  West- 
minster there  would  be  good  hope  of  some 
speedy  abatement  of  this  plague. 


GOD'S   GIFTS. 

OoD  gare  »  gift  to  earth :— a  child. 
Weak,  innoc«iitf  and  undefiled. 
Opened  ita  ignorant  ejes  and  smiled. 

It  lay  so  helpless,  so  forlorn, 
Barth  took  it  coldlj  and  in  scorn, 
Oarsiog  the  daj  when  it  was  bom. 

She  gave  It  first  a  tarnished  name, 
7or  heritage,  a  tainted  fame, 
Then  cradled  it  in  want  and  shame. 

All  influence  of  Good  or  Right, 
All  ray  of  God's  most  holjr  light. 
She  cartained  closely  from  its  sight. 

Then  tamed  her  heart,  her  eyes  away, 
Beady  to  Lpok  again,  the  day 
Its  little  feet  began  to  stray. 

In  dens  of  s^il^  the  baby  played. 
Where  sin,  and  sin  alone,  was  made 
The  law  that  all  aroand  obeyed. 

Witli  ready  and  obedient  care. 

Be  learnt  the  tasks  they  tanghthim  there; 

Black  sin  for  lesion— oaths  for  prayer. 

Then  Earth  arose,  and,  In  her  might, 
To  vindicate  her  injured  right. 
Thrust  him  In  deeper  depths  of  night 

Branding  him  with  a  deeper  brand 
Of  shame,  he  could  not  understand. 
The  felon  outcast  of  the  land. 


Ood  gare  a  gift  to  Barth :— a  child. 
Weak,  innocent,  and  undefiled. 
Opened  its  ignorant  eyes  and  smiled. 

And  Earth  received  the  gift,  and  cried 
Her  joT  and  triumph  far  and  wide, 
Till  echo  answered  to  her  pride. 

She  blest  the  hour  when  first  he  came 
To  take  the  crown  of  pride  and  fame, 
Wreathed  through  long  ages  for  his  name. 

Then  bent  her  utmost  art  and  skill 
To  train  the  supple  mind  and  will, 
And  guard  it  from  a  breath  of  ill 

She  strewed  his  morning  path  with  fiowers, 
And  Loye.  in  tender  dropping  showers. 
Nourished  the  blue  and  dawning  hours. 


She  shed,  in  rainbow  hues  of  light, 
A  halo  round  the  Good  and  Right, 
To  tempt  and  charm  the  baby's  sight 

And  erery  step.  6f  work  or  play, 
Was  lit  by  some  such  dassling  ray. 
Till  moming  brightened  into  day. 

And  then  the  World  arose,  and  said- 
Let  added  honours  now  be  shed 
On  such  a  noble  heart  and  head  1 

0  World,  both  gifts  were  pure  and  bright, 
Holy  and  sacred  In  God's  sight : 
God  will  judge  them  and  thee  aright ! 


YADACfi. 

Now  yadace  is  a  game.  There  are  required 
to  play  it  neither  cards  nor  dice,  cues,  balls, 
checquer-board,  counters,  fish,  pawns,  castles 
nor  rooks.  It  can  be  played  in  winter  or  in 
summer,  at  home  or  abroad,  in  perfect  silence, 
amidst  the  greatest  hubbub.  The  race  is  to 
the  swift  in  yadace,  for  the  most  skilful 
player  must  win.  Tou  cannot  cheat  at 
yadac6  ;  and  it  is  a  game  that  a  child  of  nine 
may  begin,  and  may  not  have  finished  when 
he  finds  himself  an  old  man  of  ninety. 

To  give  you  a  proper  notion  of  yadac^  I 
must  take  you  to  Algiers. 

Are  YOU  acquainted  with  that  strange 
town?  the  aspect  of  which — ^half  Oriental 
hcdf  Parisian — puts  me  in  mind  fantastically 
of  a  fierce  Barbary  lion  that  has  had  his 
claws  pared  and  his  teeth  drawn,  and  has 
been  clipped,  shaven,  and  curled  into  a  semi- 
similitude  of  a  French  poodle.  I  never  was 
in  Algiers  myself.  I  mean  to  go  there,  of 
course,  (when  I  have  visited  Persia,  Iceland, 
Tibet,  Venice,  the  ruined  cities  of  Central 
America,  Heligoland,  and  a  few  other  places 
I  have  down  in  my  note-book),  but  my  spirit 
has  been  there,  and  with  its  aid,  that  of  my 
friend  Doctor  Cieco,  who  was  formerly  a  sur- 
geon in  the  Foreign  Legion  out  there,  .and  a 
file  of  the  Akbar  newspaper  I  can  form  a 
tolerably  correct  mind-picture  of  the  capital 
of  Algeria.  A  wonderful  journal  is  the 
Akbar,  and  the  magic  mirror  of  Algiers  in 
itself.  Commandants  d'etat  major,  chefs 
d'escadron.  and  chirugiens  mcjor  are  mixed 
up  with  sheikhs,  mollahs,*  dervishes  and 
softas ;  spahis  and  zouaves  indigenes.  There 
are  reports  of  trials  for  murder  where 
Moorish  women  have  been  slain  in  deserted 
gardens,  by  choked  up  wells,  under  the  sha- 
dows of  date-trees — slain  by  brothers  and 
cousins  El  This,  Ben  That,  and  Sidl  Some- 
body— for  the  unpardonfible  eastern  offfence 
of  appearing  in  the  presence  of  Christians 
without  their  veils  ;  the  witnesses  are  sworn 
on  the  Koran;  the  prisoner  ^appears  at  the 
bar  in  a  snowy  burnous ;  the  galleries  are  full 
of  Moorish  ladies  in  white  yashmaks  or  veils, 
and  Jewish  women  in  jewelled  turbans ;  and 
the  prosecution  is  conducted  by  a  Procureur 
Imperial  in  such  a  square  toque  or  cap,  and 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


320 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS! 


[Coodaetedby 


black  gown,  as  you  may  see  any  day  in  the 
Salle  des  Pas  Perdus  of  the  Paris  Palais  des 
JuAtice  for  a  twenty-eight  shilling  return- 
ticket.  There  is  a  Monsieur  le  President, 
flib  clerks,  to  read  the  code  Napoleon ;  gen- 
armes  to  keep  order,  and  outside  the  court  a 
guillotine,  spick  and  span  uew  from  Paris,  to 
which  the  bearded  prisoner  is,  in  due  course 
of  time,  led  for  execution  in  a  costume  the 
very  counterpart  of  that  which  Jacob  wore 
when  he  went  a-courting  Laban's  daughters. 
In  the  Akbar  you  may  read  advertisements 
of  mosques  to  be  sold,  and  milliners  just 
arrived  from  Paris  with  the  latest  fashions  ; 
of  balls  at  the  ancient  palace  of  the  Dey  ;  of  a 
coffee-house  to  be  let  on  lease  close  to  the 
shambles  in  the  Jews'  quarter ;  of  an  abjudica- 
tion in  the  bankruptcy  of  Skeikh  El  Haschum 
£1  Gouti  Mogrebbin,  and  the  last  importation 
of  Doctor  Tintamarre's  Infallible  Pectoral 
Paste.  In  one  column  there  is  an  announce- 
ment of  the  approachih^  sale  by  auction  of 
the  entire  household  furniture,  wearing  appa- 
rel and  jewellery  of  Sultana  Karadja.  de- 
ceased—I suppose  about  an  equivalent  to  the 
honourable  Mrs.  Smithers,  here.  Sofas, 
divans,  clocks,  jewelled  pipes,  dresses  of  cloth 
of  gold,  turbans  and  gauze  bonnets  are  to 
be  sold.  The  whole  reads  like  an  execrable 
French  translation  of  a  tale  in  the  Arabian 
Nights.  Altogether,  reading  the  Akbar,  I 
fancy  that  I  know  Algiers.  I  seem  to  see  the 
deep  blue  skies,  the  low  white  houses  with  pro- 
jecting balconies  and  porticoes  painted  a  vivid 
green,  and  roofs  fanastically  tiled.  The  pur- 
ple shadows  that  the  houses  cast  The  nar- 
row dark  lanes  where  the  eaves  meet,  and 
where  you  walk  between  dead-walls,  through 
chinks  of  which,  for  aught  you  know,  bright 
eyes  may  be  looking.  The  newer  streets  with 
tall  French  houses  and  pert  French  names ; 
where  caf^  brilliant  with  plate-glass,  gilding 
and  arabesque  paintings,  quite  outstare  the 
humble  little  shieling  of  the  Moorish  cafejee 
with  his  store  of  pipes  and  tiny  fillagree  cups 
of  bitter  coffee  full  of  dregs.  The  sandy  up-hill 
ground.  The  crowded  port,  where  black  war- 
steamers  are  moored  by  ptrange  barques  with 
sails  of  fantastic  shapes  and  colours.  The 
bouncing  shop  of  the  French  epicier,  who 
sells  groceries,  wines,  and  quack  medicines, 
and  whose  smart  young  shopman,  with  an 
apron  and  a  spade-cut  beard,  stands  at  the 
door ;  and  the  dusky  unwindowed  stall  of  the 
native  merchant  who  sits  cross-legged,  smok- 
ing on  a  bale  of  goods  in  an  odour  of  drugs, 
perfumed  leather,  and  fragrant  tobacco.  The 
motley  throng  of  officers  with  cigars,  and 
clanging  spurs  and  kepis  knowingly  set  on 
one  side  of  they  head ;  of  zouaves,  dandies 
from  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens  ;  grisettes  in 
lace  caps ;  commandant^s  wives  in  pink  bon- 
nets ;  orderly  dragoons,  Bedouins  ihounted  on 
fleet  Arabs,  date  and  sherbet  sellers,  Jews, 
fezzes,  cabs,  turbans,  yashmaks,  burnouses, 
lancers'  caps,  and  felt-hats,  and  the  many 
mingled  smells  of  pitch,  tar,  garlic,  pot-au-feu, 


attar  of  roses,  caporal  tobacco,  ha&chish,  salt 
water,  melons  and  musk. 

Is  this  Algiers  I  wonder.  I  fkncy,  erro- 
neously, perhaps,  that  I  can  divine  a  city 
from  a  newspaper — a  flask— a  shoe, — the  most 
inconsiderable  object.  I  have  a  clear  and 
counterfeit  presentment  in  my  mind  of 
Leipeic,  from  a  book— which  I  am  unable  to 
read — a  dimly  printed,  coarse-papered  pamph- 
let stitched  in  rough  blue  paper.  I  can  see 
in  it  high  houses,  grave,  fat-faced  children, 
a  predominance  of  blue  in  th^colour  for  stock- 
ings,— dinners  at  one  o'clock — much  beer — 
much  tobacco — a  great  deal  of  fresh  boiled- 
beef,  soup,  and  cabbage, — early  beds — ^straw- 
coloured  beards — green  spectacles — large  um- 
brellas, and  a  great  many  town  clocks.  I 
should  like  to  know  whether  Leipsic  really 
possesses  auv  of  these  characteristics.  A 
worthy,  weather-beaten  old  sea-captain  once 

Eive  me  a  perfectly  definite  notion  of  Sierra 
eone,  in  one  little  anecdote.  **  Sierra  Leone, 
sir,"  he  said:  VPll  tell  you  what  Sierra 
Leone  is  like.  A  black  fellow,  sir,  goes  into 
the  market.  It's  as  hot  as wijll, — any- 
thing. He  buys  a  melon  for  three  farthings 
— and  what  does  he  do  with  it?  The  black 
fellow,  sir,  hasn't  a  rag  on.  He's  as  bare  as 
a  robin.  He  buys  his  melon,  cuts  it  in 
halves,  and  scoops  out  the  middle.  He  sits 
in  one  half,  covers  his  head  with  the  other, 
and  eats  the  middle.  That's  what  be  does, 
sir." — I  saw  Sierra  Leone  in  all  its  tropical 
glory,  cheapness  of  produce,  darkness  of  popu- 
tion,  gigantic  vegetation,  and  primitive  state 
of  manners  imm^iately. 

All  this,  although  you  may  not  think  so, 
bears  upon,  concerns,  is  yadac^.  But  to  give 
you  yadac^  at  once,  we  will  quit  Sierra 
Leone,  and  come  back  to  Algiers. 

Few  would  imagine,  while  watching  in  a 
Moorish  coffee-house  the  indigenes,  as  the 
native  inhabitants  arc  called,  playing  with  a 
grave  and  apparently  immovable  tranquillity, 
at  draughts,  chess,  or  backgammoa — not 
speaking,  scarcely  moving — that  men,  seem- 
ingly so  impassible  to  the  chances  of  loss  or 
gam,  were  capable  of  feeling  the  most  violent 
effects  of  the  passion  for  gaming.  Yet  these 
passions  and  these  effects  they  feel  in  all 
their  Intensity.  They  lack,  it  is  true,  the 
varied  emotions  that  winners  or  losers  express, 
at  the  green  baize  table  of  the  treote-et- 
quarante,the  particoloured  wheel  of  roulette, 
the  good-intention  paved  court  of  the  Stock 
Exchange,  or  the  velvety  sward  of  the  area 
before  the  Grand  Stand  at  Ep»om.  But  do 
bull  or  bear,  no  caster  or  punter,  no  holder  of 
a  betting-book  who  has  just  lost  thousands 
and  his  last  halfpenny,  could  ever  show  a 
visage  so  horribly  aghast,  so  despairingly 
downfallen,  so  ferociously  miserable,  as  that 
unlucky  Algerine  player,  to  whom  his  adver- 
sary has  just  pronounced  the  fisital  and  tri- 
umphant word — Tadac^. 

The  game  is  of  the  utmost  simplicity,  and 
consists  solely  in  abstaining  f^om  receiving 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ChariMUokaM.] 


YADACfi. 


321 


anythiog  whatsoever  from  the  person  with 
whutn  70U  play.  In  order  to  ratify  the  coo- 
TeatioQ  which  is  established  between  the  par- 
ties at  the  commencement  of  a  game,  each 
player  takes  by  the  end  a  morsel  of  straw,  a 
slip  of  paper,  or  even  a  blade  of  grass,  which 
is  broken  or  torn  in  two  between  them,  the 
sacramental  formula  "Yadac^"  being  pro- 
Doimced  at  the  same  time.  After  this  the 
law  of  the  game  is  in  full  force.  In  some 
cases,  when  one  of  the  players  imagines  that 
be  has  to  deal  with  an  inejEperienced  or  inat- 
teative  player,*  he  immediately  attempts  to 
catch  him  by  presenting  him  with  the  piece 
of  straw  or  paper  which  has  remained  on  his 
side,  uader  pretence  of  having  it  measured 
against  the  other.  Should  the  novice  be" 
foolish  enough  to  accept  the  fragment,  the 
terrible  yadac6  is  forthwith  thundered  forth, 
and  the  game  is  lost  in  the  very  outset  But 
it  rarely  happens,  save,  perhaps,  when  one  of 
the  players  is  a  European,  totally  a  stranger 
to  the  traditions  of  the  game,  that  any  one  is 
fouud  thoughtless  enough  to  be  caught  in 
this  gross  palpable  trap.  Much  more  fre- 
quently a  struggle  of  mutual  astuteness, 
caution,  and  circumspection  begins,  which  is 
prolonged  for  days,  weeks,  months,  and,  in 
many  cases,  years. 

As  It  is  almost  impossible  that  persons  who 
live  habitually  together  should  not  sometimes 
find  it  unavoidable  to  take  something  from  one 
another,  it  is  agreed  upon,  in  the  yadac^n 
hypothesis,  that  mutual  acceptation  may  be 
maide  of  articles,  on  condition  that  before  an 
object  is  touched  the  person  who  accepts 
should  say  to  the  person  who  offers,  •*  Fi  ball," 
or  "Ala  ball,"  literally,  "with  (or  by)  my 
knowledge  ;  "  that  is  to  say,  I  receive,  with 
knowledge  of  reception.  It  is  aIso  agreed 
tbat  all  things  appertaining  to  the  body  may 
be  received  without  prejudice  to  a  state  of 
yadac6.  The  Moorish  authorities  mention 
specially  a  kiss  or  a  grasp  of  the  hand,  but 
they  sav  nothing  of  a  blow.  Perhaps  they 
think  that  with  a  Moslem  such  a  gift  could 
never,  under  any  circumstances,  be  received, 
but  must  naturally  be  returned  as  soon  as 
given. 

Yadac^  may  more  properly  be  looked  upon 
as  a  game  of  forfeits  thsui  as  one  adapted  to 
gambling  purposes ;  but  the  Algerines  make 
—or  rather  used  to  make— it  subservient  to 
the  good  service  of  mammon  to  a  tremendous 
extent.  Before  the  French  conquest,  in.  the 
old  times  of  the  Dey  and  his  jewelled  fan, 
with  which  he  was  wont  to  rap  the  fingers  of 
European  consuls  when  they  were  imperti- 
nent— when  the  Mussulman  population  ot 
Algiers  was  both  numerous  and  wealthy, 
yadace  was  in  the  highest  fashion  :  husbands 
played  at  yadac^  with  their  wives :  brothers 
with  their  sisters ;  friends  among  themselves 
— and  enormous  sums  were  frequently  won 
and  lost.  Houses,  gardens,  farms,  nay,  whole 
estates  were  often  staked ;  aud  many  a  weal- 
thy Moslem  saw  his  fortune  depart  from  him 


for  having  had  the  imprudence  to  accept  a 
pipe  of  tobacco,  a  cup  of  coffee,  a  morsel  of 
pailaff,  without  having  pronounced  the  talis- 
manic  words,  "Fi  ball."  However,  there 
were  many  players  at  yadac^  so  cautious  and 
attentive,  that  they  were  enabled  to  continue 
the  mutual  struggle  for  many  years,  in  spite 
of  the  most  ingenious  ruses,  and  the  most 
deeply-laid  plots  to  trap  one  another.  One 
devoted  amateur  of  yadac^,  a  venerable 
Turk,  carried  his  caution  and  determination 
not  to  be  taken  in  to  such  an  extent,  that  he 
never  helped  himself  to  a  pinch  of  snuff,  of 
which  he  was  immoderately  fond,  without 
repeating  to  himself  the  formula,  "Ala 
ball  I " 

If,  during  the  nights  of  the  Ramadhan,  you 
happen  to  stroll  into  any  of  the  Moorish  cof- 
fee-bouses in  Algiers,  you  will  find  yadac^  to 
be  a  favourite  theme  with  the  kawis,  or' story  • 
tellers,  and  groups  of  attentive  indigenes 
listening  to  their  animated  narrations  of  feats 
of  intellectual  dexterity  in  yadaci-players, 
and  hairbreadth  escapes  by  flood  and  tield  in 
that  adventurous  game.  The  mio^rl^J  ^^ 
these  stories  are  quite  untranslateable  into 
western  language,  and  unsuitable  for  western 
ears  to  hear.  I  think,  however,  I  can  find 
two  little  anecdotes  that  will  five  you  some 
idea  of  the  subtleties  of  yadace. 

Karamani-oglon,  the  son  of  Tehoka-oglou, 
was  a  rich  cloth-merchant  of  Algiers.  Five 
long  years  had  Karamani-oglou  been  playing 
at  yadac^  with  his  wife,  but  without  success. 
The  wife  of  Karamani  was  young  and  beau- 
tiful ;  but  as  yet  Allah  had  not  blessed  their 
union  with  children.  Suddenly  it  occurred 
to  the  cloth-merchant  to  make  a  pilgrimage 
to  the  holy  city  of  Mecca.  He  was  absent 
just  two  years  and  nine  months;  but  you 
must  know  that  the  pilgrimage  was  under- 
taken purely  with  a  view  towards  yadac^. 
For  the  cunning  Karamani  reasoned  within 
himself  thus  :  "  When  I  return  home  after  so 
long  an  absence,  my  wife  will  be  glad  to  see 
me.  She  will  have  forgotten  all  about  yadac^. 
or  at  least  will  be  thrown  off  her  guard.  She 
will  accept,  I  will  wag^r  my  beard,  a  present 
from  her  long  absent-husband,  particularly  if 
that  present  happens  to  be  a  diamond  riugof 
great  value.  Bismillah,  we  will  see."  Kara- 
mani-oglou  bought  the  ring— a  most  gorgeous 
one — and  returning  safe  and  sound  to  Algiers, 
entered  the  court-yard  of  his  own  house  just 
in  the  cool  of  the  evening.  Fathma,  his  wife, 
was  standing  in  the  inner  porch.  She  looked 
younger  and  more  beautiful  than  ever  ;  but 
she  was  dandling  a  sturdy,  curly-headed  little 
bov,  some  two  years  old ;  and  all  at  once  a 
golden  arrow  shot  through  the  heart  of  the 
cloth-merchant,  and  a  silver  voice  cried, 
** Karamani-oglou,  you  have  a  soul"  The 
delighted  Mussulman  rushed  forward :  his 
faco  was  bathed  with  tears  of  joy.  "  I  have 
a  son!  "  he  gasped.  "  You  have,  0  Oglou !  '• 
replied  bis  blushing  spouse.  He  held  out  his 
arms  for  the  precious  burden;  he  covered 


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the  child  with  kisses ;  he  called  him  whole 
vocabularies  of  endearing  names;  when  all 
at  once  be  heard  a  peal  of  laughter  that 
sounded  like  the  mirth  of  ten  thousand  djinns, 
afrits,  and  ghoules  :  and  looking  up,  he  saw 
Fathma  his  wife,  aancing  about  the  court- 
yard in  her  baggy  trowsers,  and  shaking  the 
strings  of  sequins  in  her  hair.  From  her  had 
emanated  the  c^inn-like  laughter,  and  she 
was  crying,  *'  Yadac^ !  Karamani-oglou  ! 
Yadac6 !  O  my  lord!  Yadac6!  O  my  caliph  ! 
Tadac6,  O  my  effendl !  Yadac6  !  yadac^ ! 
yadac^ !  Thou  saidst  not, '  Fi  ball  r  when 
thou  tookest  the  child  from  my  arms. 
Yadac^ !  " 

"  Go  to  Eblisl "  roared  the  enraged  Kara- 
mani-oglou, letting  the  little  boy  fall  flop 
upon  the  pavement  of  the  court,  where  he 
lay  howling,  with  nobody  to  pick  him  up. 

From  the  foregoing,  and  especially  from 
the  following  anecdote,  it  would  appear  that 
it  is  in  the  highest  degree  dangerous  to  play 
at  yadac^  with  your  wife. 

Uassan-el-Djeninah  was,  thirty  years  since, 
vizier  and  chief  favourite  to  the  Pasha  of 
the  Oudjak  of  Constantine.  He  was  the  fat- 
test man  in  the  pachalic,  and,  more  than 
that,  was  reckoned  to  be  the  most  jealous 
husband  in  the  whole  of  Barbary.  It  is  some- 
thing to  be  the  most  jealous  in  a  land  where 
all  husbands  are  jealous.  Gay  young  Mussul- 
man sparks  trembled  as  they  saw  Hassan-el- 
Djeninab  waddle  across  the  great  square  of 
Constantine,  or  issue  from  the  barl>er's,  or 
enter  the  coflfee-house.  He  walked  slowly, 
and  with  his  legs  very  wide  apart  His 
breath  was  short,  but  his  yataghan  was  long, 
and  he  could  use  it.  Once,  and  once  only,  he 
had  detected  a  young  Beyjzade,  Ibrahim-el- 
Majki,  sacrilegiously  attempting  to  accost  his 
wife  as  she  came  from  the  bath,  and  having 
even  the  hardihood  to  lift  a  corner  of  h^r 
veil.  "  Allah  Akbar !  God  is  great!  "  Hassan 
the  vizier  was  wont  to  say,  pulling  from  a 
small  green  silk  purse  in  his  girdle  a  silver 
skewer,  upon  which  appeared  to  be  three 
dried-up  shrivelled  oysters.  "This  is  the 
nose,  and  these  are  the  ears  of  Ibrahim-el- 
Majki."  Whereupon  the  beholders  would 
shudder,  and  Hassan-el-Djeninah  would  re- 
place his  trophies  in  his  girdle  and  waddle 
away. 

Hassan  had  four  wives,— Zouluki  Ehanoum, 
Suleima  Khanoum,  Gaza  Rbanoum  and  Leila 
Khanoum.  Khanoum, be  it  understood,  means 
Lady,  Madame,  Donna,  Signora.  Now,  if 
Hassan-el-Djeninah  was  jealous  of  his  wives, 
they,  you  may  be  sure,  were  jealous  of  each 
other, — save  poor  little  Leila,  the  youngest 
wife  (the  poor  child  was  only  sixteen  years 
old),  who  was  not  of  a  jealous  disposition  at 
all ;  but  who,  between  tiieenvy  of  her  sister- 
wives,  who  hated  her,  and  the  unceasing 
watchfulness  of  her  husband,  who  loved  her 
with  inconvenient  fondness,  led  a  terrible  life 
of  it  Leila  Khanoum  was  Hassan's  favourite 
wife.    He  would  suffer  her,  but  no  one  else. 


to  fill  his  pipe,  to  adjust  the  jewelled  month- 
piece  to  his  lips,  and  to  tickle  the  soles  of  bis 
august  feet  when  he  wished  to  be  lolled  to 
sleep  He  would  loll  for  hours  upon  the 
cushions  of  his  divan,  listening  while  she 
sang  monotonous  love-longs,  rocking  herself 
to  and  fro  the  while,  and  accompanying  her- 
self upon  the  little  guitar  called  a  quoithrah, 
as  it  is  the  manner  of  Moorish  ladies  to  do. 
He  gave  her  rich  suits  of  brocade  and  cloth 
of  gold  ;  he  gave  her  a  white  donkey  from 
Spain  to  ride  on  when  she  went  to  the  bath; 
he  gave  her  jewels  and  Spanish  doubloons  to 
twine  in  her  tresses ;  scented  tobacco  to 
smoke,  and  hennah  for  her  eyelids  and  fingei^ 
nails  ;  finally,  he  condescended  to  play  with 
her  for  a  princely  stake — nothing  less  than 
the  repudiation  of  the  other  three  wives,  and 
the  settlement  of  all  his  treasures  upon  her 
first-born — at  yadac6. 

At  the  same  time,  as  I  have  observed,  he 
was  terribly  jealous  of  her,  and  watched  her, 
night  and  day,  with  the  patience  of  a  beaver, 
the  perspicuity  of  a  lynx,  the  cunning  of  a 
fox,  and  the  ferocity  of  a  wolf.  He  kept 
spies  about  her.  He  bribed  the  tradesmen 
with  whom  she  dealt,  and  the  attendants  at 
the  baths  she  frequented.  He  caused  the 
menfonce,  or  little  round  aperture  in  the  wall 
of  the  queublou,  or  alcove  of  her*  apartment 
(which  menfonce  looked  into  the  street)  to 
be  bricked  up.  He  studied  the  language  of 
flowers  (which  in  the  east  is  rather  more  ner- 
vous and  forcible  a  tongue  than  with  us)  in 
order  that  he  might  be  able  to  examine 
Leila's  bouquets,  and  discover  whether  any 
floral  billet-doux  had  been  sent  her  from  out- 
side. To  complete  his  system  of  espionage, 
he  cultivated  a  warm  and  intimate  fHcndship 
with  All  -ben  Assa,  the  opium  merchant, 
whose  house  directly  faced  his  own,  in  order 
that  he  might  have  the  pleasure  of  sitting 
secretly  at  the  window  thereof,  at  periods 
when  he  was  supposed  to  be  miles  away,  and 
watching  who  entered  or  left  the  mansion 
opposite. 

One  daj,  as  he  was  occupied  in  this  manner, 
he  saw  his  wife's  female  negro  slave  emerge 
from  his  house,  look  round  cautiously,  as  if 
to  ascertain  if  she  were  observed,  and  beckon 
with  her  hand.  Then,  Arom  a  dark  passage,  he 
saw  issue  a  young  man  habited  as  a  Frank. 
The  accursed  giaour  looked  round  cautiously, 
as  the  negro  had  done,  crossed  the  road, 
whispered  to  her,  slipped  some  money  into 
her  hand;  and  then  the  treacherous  and 
guilty  pair  entered  the  mansion  together. 

Hassan-el-Djeninah  broke  out  in  a  cold  per- 
spiration. Then  he  began  to  bum  like  live 
coals.  Then  he  foamed  at  the  mouth.  Then 
he  got  his  moustachios  between  his  teeth,  and 
gnawed  them.  Then  he  tore  his  beard.  Then 
be  dug  his  nails  into  the  palms  of  his  bands. 
Then  he  clapped  his  hand  upon  the  hilt  of  the 
scimetar,  and  said — 

"  As  to  the  black  slave,  child  of  Jchanum 
and  Ahriman  as  she  is,  she  shall  walk  on  the 


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parms  of  her  bftnds  all  the  days  of  her  life ; 
for  if  there  be  any  virtue  in  the  bastioado,  I 
will  leave  her  do  feet  to  walk  upon.  As  to 
the  giaour,  by  the  beard  of  the  Prophet,  I 
will  have  his  head." 

Loog  before  this  speech  was  flniehed,  he 
bsd  crossed  the  road,  traversed  his  court- 
yard, entered  his  house,  ascended  the  stair- 
case, and  gained  the  portal  of  his  wife's  apart- 
meat.  He  tore  away  the  sillcen  curtains,  and 
nished  into  the  room,  livid  with  rage,  just  as 
Leila  Khanoum  was  in  the  act  of  beudiog 
over  a  large  chest  of  richly-carved  wood,  in 
which  she  kepi  her  suits  of  brocade  and  cloth 
of  gold,  her  jewels  and  her  sequins.  Has- 
lan-el-Djeninah  saw  the  state  of  affairs 
at  a  glance.  The  giaour  must  be  in  that 
chest! 

He  knocked  over  the  wretched  black  slave 
as  one  might  a  ninepin,  rushed  to  the  chest, 
and  tried  to  raise  the  lid.    It  was  locked. 

"  The  key,  woman !— The  key !"  he  roared. 

*'My  lord,  I  have  it  not,'^  stammered  Leila 
Khafioam.  '^  I  have  lost  it — I  have  sent  it  to 
be  repaired." 

"  The  key ! "  soreamed  Hassan-el-Djenlnah, 
looking  ten  thousand  Bluebeards  at  once. 

With  tears  and  trembling  Leila  at  length 
handed  him  the  key,  and  then  flung  herself 
00  her  knees,  as  if  to  entreat  mercy.  The 
infuriated  Hassan  opened  the  chest.  There 
was  somebody  inside,  certainly,  and  that 
somebody  was  habited  as  a  giaour ;  but  be- 
neath the  Frank  habit  there  were  the  face 
and  form  of  Lula,  Leila  Khanoum's  Georgian 
slave. 

"What  is  this?"  asked  the  bewildered 
Hassan,  lookinground.  "  Who  is  laughing 
at  my  beard?    What  is  this?" 

"Yadac^!"  screamed  Leila  Khanoum. 
throwing  herself  down  on  the  divan,  and 
rolling  about  in  ecstasy.  "  Yadac4,  oh,  my 
lord,  for  you  took  the  key !" 

"Yadac^,"  repeated  the  Georgian  slave, 
making  a  low  obeisance. 

"  Yadac^,"  echoed  the  negress,  with  a  hor- 
rible grin,  and  ehowing  her  white  teeth. 

"Allah  Akbar!"  said  Hassan-el-Djenhiah, 
looking  very  foolish. 

And  such  is  the  game  of  Tadac^. 


TRADE. 


How  trade  has  expanded  since  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  time,  when  Billingsgate  was  the  sole 
London  wharf  for  the  discharge  of  ships' 
cargoes:  how  British  commerce  has  grown 
from  the  small  beginnings  of  the  Norman 
period :  how  it  has  struggled  on  and  augmented 
in  spite  of  royal  decrees  and  ordinances 
promulgated  for  its  protection,  but,  in  reality, 
fettering  and  crippling  it  in  every  directiou, 
woald  require  more  pages  than  can  be 
here  spared.  One  king  prescribed  the 
prices  at  which  certain  goods  should  be 
bqnght  and  sold :  another  declared  in  what 
places  trade  should  be  carried  on :  a  third 


forbade  merchants,  under  heavy  penalties, 
to  deal  in  more  than  one  kind  of  merchan- 
dise. Foreign  merchants  were  compelled,  by 
another  sovereign,  to  expend  all  the  proceeds 
of  the  goods  they  sold  in  the  purchase  of 
English  merchandise, — a  kingly  method  of 
settling  the  balance  of  trade.  Thus,  law  was 
heaped  upon  trade,  until  trade  was  almost 
overwhelmed,  and  the  merchant  felt  puzzled 
as  to  the  legal  mode  of  conducting  his  busi- 
ness. It  need  not  therefore  be  matter  for 
surprise  that,  in  the  days  of  the  white  and  red 
roses,  the  whole  community  did  not  transact 
as  much  business  as  is  now  done  by  any  single 
high  class  commercial  firm  in  London,  Man- 
chester, or  Liverpool. 

But  some  faint  and  disconnected  ideas  may 
be  gathered,  of  the  present  growth  of  our 
commerce,  in  a  morning  stroll  through  the 
city  towards  the  docks,  and  past  the  busy 
haunts  of  trade.  The  incessant  rumble  of 
waggons  groaniflg  beneath  the  weight  of 
valuable  goods,  in  their  transit  from  ^ip  to 
warehouse  or  railway:  the  crowded  river 
with  its  endless  forest  of  spars;  the  mass 
of  shipping  within  our  docks:  the  hum 
of  the  busy  hives  which  stretch  beyond  our 
sight  in  all  directions,  teeming  with  goods, 
wares,  and  merchandise,  from  all  quarters  of 
the  globe ;  the  stately  fabrics  reared  for  the 
purposes  of  trade  and  banking,  afford  a  glim- 
mering. Indistinct  conception  of  what  is  going 
on  around  us ;  but,  there  is  a  book  issued 
from  the  official  press,  from  which  may  be 
obtained  a  clear  and  definite  account  of 
our  enormous  commerce.  It  is  a  Public 
Ledger  opened  periodically  by  the  Board  of 
Trade. 

This  volume  of  figures  is  the  Annual 
Statement  of  the  Trade  and  Navigation  of 
the  United  Kingdom,  for  the  year  eighteen 
hundred  and  fifty-three,  much  improved 
upon  its  predecessors;  indeed,  there  seems 
little  more  to  be  desired  in  the  way  of  infor- 
mation concerned  with  the  subject  of  the 
work.  Whilst  in  every  other  branch  of  the 
executive,  affairs  are  managed  on  the  old 
cramped  routine  system  of  a  middle-age 
period,  this  department  alone  keeps  pace  with 
the  wants  of  a  progressive  age.  The  expla- 
nation of  this  IS,  that  the  Board  of  Trade 
is  brought  into  such  intimate  relation  with 
the  stirring  minds  of  the  day— merchants  and 
men  of  business— that  it  has  caught  from 
them  the  spirit  of  the  time,  and  moves  onward, 
whilst  all  around  it  has  been  standing  still 

Great  as  is  the  mass  of  figures  in  this  volume, 
there  is  no  confusion.  The  tables  of  abstracts, 
general  imports  and  exports,  transit-trade, 
principal  imports  and  exports,  general 
shipping,  are  classified  and  marshalled 
with  the  regularity  and  precision  of  the 
divisions  and  regiments  of  a  well-trained 
army.  An  index  to  the  whole  presents  a 
bird's-eye  view  of  all  the  remarkable  data 
connected  with  our  trade  and  navigation,  not 
alone  for  the  year  under  special  notice,  but 


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for  the  four  previous  years.    The  staff  of  ^ 
officers  employed  ia  getting  up  the  yearly 
chronicles  of  our  trade  would  suffice  to  carry 
on  the  entire  government  of  many  petty 
German  states. 

Not  only  legislative  reform  but  science  has 
brought  facilities  for  trade,  the  bare  mention  , 
of  which  tends  to  show  its  extent    Railways 
bring  people  and  goods  together,  which  before 
were  always  separated.    A  cask  of  sugar  to 
get  from  Glasgow  to  Carlisle  had  formerly 
to  circumnavigate  England  In  a  ship ;  now  it 
reaches  its  destination  In  a  few  hours  by  rail- , 
way.     Merchants  living  at  a  distance  from  < 
one  another  corresponded  for  years  and  never 
once  met.     Now,  the  Glasgow,  Liverpool,  or  | 
United  States   merchant    makes   bis  jour- 
neys   to    London    or   to   other   centres  of 
trade  as  often  as  need  arises.     The  intro-  { 
duction  of  the  electric  telegraph  has  also  ! 
helped    to   work    a    gpreat    chanse  in    the  { 
mode  of  transacting  business.     Instead  of 
the    day's   operations    being   as   formerly, ' 
entirely  carried  on  upon  Change,  bargains 
are  struck  between  Liverpool,  London,  and 
continental  firms  of  many  thousand  pounds'  , 
value — from  morning  till  evening— through  ! 
the  agency  of  electric  wires.     A  ship  laden  | 
with  cofi^  from  Costa  Rica,  or  sugar  from 
the  Brazils,  arrives   off  some  port  in  the 
English  Channel  consigned  to  the  order  of  a 
London  nt^rchant.  on  account  of  a  firm  abroad. 
The  captain  does  not  come  to  an  anchor 
and  wait  an  exchange  of  posts  with  London  | 
for  his  orders  ;  he  simply  puts  his  sails  aback,  l 
pulls  ashore  In  his  boat,  sends  a  few  words 
by  electric  telegraph  announcing  his  arrival, ' 
and,  by  the  time  he  has  finished  a  glass  of 
grog  at  his  favourite  inn,  a  reply  reaches  him 
from  town,  to  this  effect :    *'  The  London 
market  is  depressed ; — go  on  to  Hamburg." 
At  the  end  of  an  hour,  from  first  stepping ' 
into  his  boat,  he  is  making  all  sail  for  the  new 
destination.  , 

What   would  the  shade    of  Edwxtrd  the  ! 
Third  say  to  the  entry,  inward  and  out-  I 
ward,  of  upwards  of  twenty  thousand  ships 
at  the  port  of  London  alone,  when,  in  hisdav,  I 
the  cu^tomtf  receipts  amounted  to  about  eight ' 
thousand  pounds  a  year  of  the  coin  of  that 
period  ?    The  encouragement  given  to  trade 
by  Elizabeth,  and  the  state  of  peace  in  which 
this  country  remained  from  her  accession  to 
the  reign  of  Charles  the  First,  caused  the  ! 
customs  revenue  of  London,  in  the  last  period, 
to  amount  to  one  hundred  and  nine  thousand 
pouuds  in  one  year.     A  century  later,  it 
reached  half  a  million  sterling;  in  the  year  ; 
eighteen  hundred  and  thirty-seven  it  amounted 
to  ten  millions  and  a  quarter,  being  precisely  ' 
half  of  the  entire  customs  revenue  of  the  [ 
United  Kingdom.    According  to  the  blue  j 
book  before  us,  there  were  upwards  of  four  ] 
million  tons  of  shipping  entered  both  ways 
at  the  port  of  London  in  eighteen  hundred 
and    fifty-three,  against   one  hundred  and  | 
eighty  thousand  in  the  middle  of  the  last  | 


century.  The  declared  value  of  the  goods 
exported  f^om  this  country  in  eighteen 
hundred  and  forty-nine  was  upwa^  of 
sixty  three  millions  sterling ;  showing,  that 
within  twenty  years,  our  trade  beyond 
sea  had  increased  by  fifty  per  cent  Thanks 
to  free  trade,  steam,  and  electricity,  we 
are  now  advancing  with  more  rapid  strides ; 
and  we  have  accomplished,  in  four  years, 
what  had  previousljr  required  twenty  io 
bring  about.  In  eighteen  hundred  and 
fifty-three,  our  exports  amounted  to  nearlj 
one  hundred  millions  sterling ;  being  an  in- 
crease of  more  than  fifty  per  cent  upon  the 
trade  of  eighteen  hundred  and  forty-nine, 
and  equalling  the  yearly  revenue  of  the  whole 
of  continental  Europe,  with  the  exception  of 
France. 

Of  our  entire  export  trade,  one-third  goes 
to  the  British  colonies ;  and  more  than  another 
third  is  shipped  to  the  United  6tate&  In 
casting  our  eyes  over  the  shipments  of 
eighteen  hundred  and  fifty-three  to  various 
parts  of  the  world,  we  did  not  fail  to  remark 
that  the  British  manufactures  n^d  produce 
exported  to  the  gold  colony  of  Victoria 
amounted,  within  a  few  thousands,  to  the 
value  of  the  whole  of  the  imports  to  British 
India,  viz.  seven  millions  sterling.  The 
population  of  the  two  being  respectively  two 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  and  one  hundred 
and  forty  millions,  it  follows  that  the  pro- 
portionate consumption  per  head  was  twenty- 
eight  pounds  sterling  in  Victoria,  and  one 
shilling  in  British  India. 

The  ratio  in  which  our  manufactures  are 
taken  hv  different  places  is  interesting,  and 
instructive.  Thus  gold-digging  would  appear 
to  be  a  thirsty  occupation  and  gold-digger?  a 
jovial  community  ;    seeing  that  one-half  of 
the  wine  and  beer  sent  out  of  this  country  is 
taken  by  the  Australian  colonists, — in  other 
words,  if  they  drink  it  all  in  one  year,  they 
will  absorb  two  hundred  thousand  barrels  of    I 
strong  beer,  and  nearly  one  million  and  a  half    ' 
gallons  of  wine.    This  is  exclusive  of  spirits, 
which  were  exported  to  Australia  at  the  rate    ! 
of  seven  gallons  for  each  colonist   The  chief 
occupations  in  Australia  are  those  of  bbep-    | 
herds,  stock-keepers,  and  gold-diggers ;  and 
one  would  imagine  that  such  kind  of  work, 
being  none  of  the  cleanest,  would  create  a    , 
demand  for  the  stoutest  description  of  cloth- 
ing.    Yet  it  would  appear  that  sheep  are 
tended,  cattle  herded,  and  gold  dug  for,  in 
light  evening  costume:  silks  having  been    , 
taken  to  the  value  of  nearly  half  a  mil-    , 
lion,  and  muslins  and  cambrics  to  the  extent 
of  a  million  and  a  half  yards:   whilst   of    ; 
vulgar  fustians,  only  one  hundred  and  twenty-    ' 
four  thousand  yards  were  required. 

In  strange  contrast  with  the  steady  pro-  | 
gress  of  our  own  trade  and  that  of 
other  European  states,  is  the  convul- 
sive starts  of  countries  without  the  reach 
of  Saxon  influence.  Thus  we  find  Mo- 
rocco taking  in  one  year  seven  hundred 


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TRADE. 


325 


and  eighty-seven  thousand  yards  of  our 
cottons;  two  years  latter,  as  much  as  six 
millions  aad  a  half  yards.  In  eighteen  hun- 
dred and  forty-niue,  that  state  took  only  five 
thousand  yards  of  our  linens ;  in  the  year 
follovvtng,  nearly  three  hundred  thousand 
yards ;  and  three  years  later,  it  fell  back  to 
nearly  the  original  quantity.  From  this  in- 
stance of  fickleness  in  trade,  it  is  edify- 
ing to  turn  to  the  commercial  equanimity 
apd  immovability  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  ter- 
ritory,—a  country  equal  in  extent  to  the 
whole  of  Europe,  excepting  Russia.  Many 
mercantile  failures  or  panics  are  not  to 
be  looked  for  in  that  sni^g  continent 
of  private  property.  In  eighteen  hun- 
dred and  forty-nine,  the  shipments  of 
hardware  to  Hudson's  Bay  amonated  to  two 
hundred  and  thirty-two  hundredweights  ;  in 
eighteen  hundred  and  fifty  three,  they  had 
reached  exactly  one  hundred  weight  more. 
Woollens  were  shipped  to  the  extent  of  one 
thousand  nine  hundred  and  fifty  pieces  in 
eighteen  hundred  and  forty-nine  ;  four  years 
latter,  they  amounted  to  two  tbouHand  two 
hundred  pieces ;  whilst  linens  have  declined 
to  the  extent  of  six  thousand  yards.  The 
Hndwn's  Bay  Company  are  evidently  cautious 
traders. 

The  requirements  of  some  countries  amount 
almost  to  eccentricities.  Thns  Aden  (the 
coaling  station  for  Indian  steamers),  for 
several  years,  took  nothing  but  a  vast  quan- 
tity of  coal  and  some  hundred  barrels  of 
beer;  when  suddenly  it  required  one  hun- 
dred and  thirty  thousand  yards  of  cotton 
good8,~nothlng  else.  Persia,  In  the  year 
eighteen  hundred  and  forty-nine,  took  from 
our  merchants  six  guns ;  after  a  respite  of 
years,  employed  probably  in  testing  the 
quality  of  the  weapons,  the  descendants  of 
<^yru8  imported  from  us  nearly  seven  thou- 
sand guns  and  twenty-five  hnndred weights  of 
hardware  and  cutlery.  The  Falkland  Islands 
are'not  less  peculiar  in  their  requirements. 
In  one  year  their  inhabitants  were  content 
with  linen  goods  to  the  amount  of  eight 
pounds,  and  cottons  of  the  value  of  twenty 
pounds;  whilst  they  consumed  nearly  two 
hnndred  pounda'  worth  of  pickles,  seven 
hundred  and  sixty-nine  gallons  of  rum,  and 
two  thousand  nine  hundrol  and  twenty-three 
pounds  of  tobacco.  English  clothing  would 
appear  to  wear  and  wash  well  in  that  remote 
part  of  the  world,  since  the  eight  pounds' 
worth  of  linens  sufficed  for  three  years,  at  the 
end  of  which  period  a  farther  small  quan- 
tity was  imported. 

On  the  west  coast  of  Africa  there  is  a 
British  settlement  called  Fernando  Po,  re- 
markable for  negroes,  palm-oil,  ivory,  and 
fever.  One  would  not  look  in  that  unpromis- 
ing spot  for  any  rapid  development  of  British 
coDjmerce.  or  the  increasing  wants  of  civilized 
society.  Yet  in  eighteen  hundred  and  forty- 
nine,  there  were  shipped  thither  two  hundred 
guns  and  four  thousand  gallons  of  spirits.    In 


eighteen  hundred  and  fifty-three,  we  had  so 
far  civilised  the  dusky  tribes  of  that  country, 
that  they  took  from  us  one  hundred  and 
twenty-five  thousand  gallons  of  spirits  and  ten 
thousand  five  hundred  muskets.  During  the 
same  period  the  imports  of  gun|TDwder  had 
increased  from  seven  thousand  to  two  hun- 
dred and  twenty-two  thousand  eight  hun- 
dred pounds.  All  this  ammunition  could 
scarcely  have  been  required  for  elephant 
shooting,  since  the  tusks  of  ivory  shipped 
thence  in  those  five  years  amounted  to  but 
little  more  than  three  hundred. 

Turning  to  Egypt,  we  feel  sorely  puzzled 
at  the  amounts  opposite  items  which,  to  our 
minds,  could  scarcely  have  been  found  there 
at  all.  We  might  conceive  the  modern  Egyp- 
tians growing  tired  of  using  the  same  primi- 
tive papyrus  for  their  correspondence,  as  was 
employed  by  Rameses  and  Cheops ;  accord- 
ingly eight  thousand  two  hundred  pounds^  for 
stationery  does  not  altogether  perplex  us.  But 
what  are  we  to  say  to  printed  books  to  the 
value  of  thirty-three  thousand  pounds  1 
Are  they  fiting  up  another  Alexandrian 
library?  Have  the  dwellers  among  the 
pyramids  taken  to  Bulwer's  novels,  Scott's 
lays,  and  Macaulav's  histories  ?  Have  they 
circulating  libraries  in  Thebes  and  book- 
societies  at  Memphis?  What  can  the  de- 
Fcendants  of  the  Pharaohs  want  with 
haberdashery  to  the  value  of  fifty-four  thou- 
sand eight  hundred  pounds?  or  watches 
and  jewellery  to  the  amount  of  eighty- 
six  thousand  pounds?  There  must  be 
indeed  corn  in  Egypt  to  pay  for  all  this. 
The  secret  oozes  out,  tfter  a  careful 
scrutiny  of  the  Trade  Returns.  The  im- 
mense quantities  of  millinery,  novels,  note- 
paper,  and  gold  repeaters,  entered  out- 
wards for  Egypt,  are  shipped  to  Alexandria 
by  steamer,  but  only  en  route  by  overland 
for  India,  China,  and  Australia,  which  coun- 
tries should,  amongst  them,  receive  credit  for 
this  traffic  of  valuable,  perishable,  or  faf^hlon- 
able  articles.  It  seems  but  a  year  or  two 
ago.  when  the  indefatigable  Waghorn  crossed 
Egypt  with  his  first  batch  of  letters  to  India. 
Now,  every  young  lady  in  the  Presidencies 
must  need  have  her  wedding-dress  and  her 
novels  sent  out  by  the  overland  route. 

Queen  Elizabeth  found  some  difficulty 
in  collecting  and  manning  a  few  hundred 
ships  to  repel  the  Spanish  armada.  In  the 
year  eighteen  hundred  and  filty-three  Great 
Britain  owned  upwards  of  twenty-five  thou- 
sand sailing-vessels  and  thirteen  hundred 
steam-ships,  independently  of  the  royal 
navy.  But  a  better  indication  of  the  extra- 
ordinary rate  at  which  commerce — in  the 
most  extended  sense  of  that  word-7-has  ad- 
vanced, exists  in  the  increase  of  correspon- 
dence by  post  From  the  recently-published 
report  of  the  Postmaster-general  it  appears 
that,  a  century  ago,  the  annual  revenue  of  the 
Post  Office  was  only  one  hundred  and  forty 
thousand  pounds.    It  now  amounts  to  two 


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326 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCootfocttdby 


millions  and  a  half  sfcerllng.  The  Increase  in 
the  transmisBton  of  money  through  the  Post 
Office  has  been  even  more  prodigioas.  Fifteen 
years  ago  the  number  of  money-orders  issued 
from  that  establishment  was  one  hundred 
and  ninety  thousand.  Last  year  the  number 
almost  exceeds  belief.  It  amounted  to  ten 
millions  and  a  half. 

The  centre  of  British  trade  is  the  Royal 
Exchange.  Although  the  most  commercial 
people  in  the  world,  except  the  Dutch,  we 
were  the  last  to  provide  our  merchants  with 
a  building  suitable  for  the  daily  transaction 
of  their  business.  To  so  late  a  period  as  the 
reign  of  Elizabeth,  the  merchants  of  London 
were  wont  to  assemble  in  Lombard  Street ; 
where,  in  the  open  air,  in  all  weathers,  and  at 
all  seasons,  they  were  content  to  gossip  and 
make  their  bargains.  In  those  familiar  days, 
when  our  streets  were  wider  and  far  less 
frequented,  it  may  not  have  greatly  interfered 
with  the  traffic  of  the  city.  Those  open-air 
meetings  had  prevailed  for  several  centuries, 
and  it  may  appear  still  more  singular  that,  at 
the  present  time,  three  centuries  later,  there 
are  many  of  our  larger  manufacturing  towns 
in  the  north  possessing  stately  exchanges, 
but  where  the  dealers,  brokers,  and  spinners, 
prefer  dissembling  around  some  time-honoured 
iron  pump,  or  about  some  decaying  wooden 
post,  in  the  badly-paved,  weather-beaten 
street. 

The  first  Royal  Exphange  was  erected, 
by,  and  at  the  chief  cost  of,  Sir  Thomas 
Gresham,  whose  business-sign,  the  grass- 
hoppei^— still  adorns  the  summit  of  the  build- 
ing. It  consisted  of  two  floors,  in  the  upper  of 
which  was  a  species  of  bazaar  in  which  were 
exposed  for  sale  every  conceivable  article, 
from  Venetian  silk  to  mouse-traps,  and  Jews' 
trumpets.  The  royal  Elizabeth,  to  encourage 
this  new  ''burse,''  as  it  was  termed,  paid  it  a 
visit,  and  christened  it  the  Royal  Exchange. 
Sir  Thomas,  we  read,  aware  of  the  importance 
of  the  occasion,  went  twice  round  the  Upper 
Pawne,  and  besought  the  few  venders  of  goods 
already  located  there,  ''  that  they  would  fur- 
nish and  adorn,  with  wares  and  wax-lights,  as 
many  shoppes  as  they  coulde  or  woulde ;  and 
they  shoulde  have  all  those  shoppes  so  fur- 
nished rent  free,  that  yeare." 

The  effect  of  royal  patronage  was  not  less 
marked  in  those  times  than  in  the  present 
day.  The  shops  that  were  thus  given  rent 
tree  paid  within  a  year  or  two  afterwards  as 
much  as  four  pounds  ten  shillings  per  annum, 
a  large  rental  at  that  period :  and  traders 
were  most  solicitous  for  room  in  the  Upper 
Pawne. 

The  building  was  originally  constructed  of 
timber  apd  slate,  and  it  was  no  irreparable 
calamitjr  that  it  fell  amidst  the  general 
destruction  of  the  Great  Fire  of  sixteen  hun- 
dred and  sixty-six.  Three  years  later  the 
second  building  was  opened  on  the  old  site 
— greatly  improved  in  appearance,  solidity, 
and  utility.    In  January,  eighteen  hundred 


and  thirty-eight,  this  second  Exchange  was 
burnt  down.  Four  years  precisely  from  that 
date  the  first  stone  of  the  present  building 
was  laid  by  Prince  Albert. 


BREAD  OAST  ON  THE  WATERS. 

A  TOUNo  man  (see  his  description  in  any 
lady-novel  of  any  year),  eminently  handsome, 
and  mounted  on  a  fiery-eyed  black  horse,  rode 
slowly  down  the  aventtfe  of  a  gentleman's 
"  place,"  in  the  pastoral  oounty  of  Lanark. 
It  was  not  a  domain — not  an  estate  ;  it  was 
merely  a  moderate-sized  property,  with  a 
pretty  square-built  house  situated  on  the 
banks  of  a  picturesque  river,  and  protected 
from  east  and  north  b;^  an  abrupt  elevation, 
which  in  most  countries  would  be  called  a 
mountain,  but  here  was  known  as  the  Falder 
Bill.  His  dress  (see  the  same  authorities  for 
the  becoming  costume  of  the  year  seventeen 
hundred  and  eighty)  set  off  his  splendid 
figure  to  the  greatest  advantage.  But  Charles 
Harburn  (that  was  the  young  man's  name) 
owed  less  to  any  other  personal  advantage 
than  to  the  fine,  open  expression  of  his  face. 
It  does  not  matter  whether  this  expression 
arose  from  features  or  not;  there  it  waa. 
You  couldn't  look  at  him  without  wishing  to 
shake  him  by  the  hand,— he  was  so  jolly,  so 
radiant,  so  manly  in  all  his  looks ;  and  his 
looks  did  no  more  than  justice  to  the  inner 
man.  Everyl)ody  liked  him,  except  old  care- 
ful fathers  and  mothers  who  had  rich  and 
only  daughters;  and  even  in  that  case  I 
doubt  whether  the  mothers  could  have  re- 
tained their  enmity  after  the  first  week. 
Fathers  are  such  harsh  and  unsentimental 
brutes,  that  I  believe  they  would  bare  hated 
him  more  and  more.  They  could  see  nothing 
to  admire  in  him  at  all.  He  hadn't  distin- 
guished himself  at  school  half  so  much  as 
young  Pitsgothic  of  Deanvale ;  nor  at  college 
so  much  as  Polwoody  of  Drumstane  ;  and  yet 
nobody  made  any  fuss  about  those  very  esti- 
mable youths,  though  they  had  two  thousand 
a-year  each,  and  were  exactly  the  same  age 
as  Charles  Harburn.  Lord  bless  us!  how 
old  fogies  of  fifty  will  reason  upon  love  and 
beauty!  and  prove  that  the  snub  nose  of 
Polwoody  and  the  bandy  legs  of  Pitsgothic 
are  every  bit  as  pleasant  to  look  on  as  the 
Grecian  outline  and  classic  figure  of  the  very 
charming  young  man  we  have  left  so  long  on 
bis  great  black  charger,  in  the  avenue  of  ' 
Falder  Mains.  Reason  away,  old  blockheads ! 
It's  pleasant  to  hear  your  silly  remarks!  Jane, 
and  Susannah,  and  I,  know  better,  though 
these  fair  maidens  are  both  under  twenty, 
and  I  never  passed  for  a  philosopher ;  but  if 
a  small  bet  will  be  any  satisfaction,  I  am 
ready  to  deposit  a  moderate  amount  of  coin 
on  the  correctness  of  the  judgment  of  these 
two  ignorant  young  girls,  and  leave  the  de- 
cision of  the  wagpr  to  the  oldest  profenor 
in  Edinburgh  College,  provided  be  has 
no    marriageable   daughters    of  his    own, 


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CbvtetDlckeni.] 


BREAD  CAST  ON  THE  WATERS. 


327 


and  is  not  himself  on  the  look-oat  for  a  third 
wife. 

At  last,  Charles  Harbum  got  to  the  foot  of 
the  avenae ;  and,  on  closing  the  swing-gate 
i>ehiQd  him,  and  entering  on  the  high-road, 
lie  gave  Tent  to  the  ezal^rance  of  his  spirits 
by  touching  the  courser's  flank  with  his  whip, 
aad  dashing  off  at  a  gallop  on  the  narrow 
grass  border  that  bounded  the  public  way. 
I  am  ready  to  depose,  that  at  the  same  time, 
he  gave  utterance  to  certain  words  which 
sounded  rery  like  these — "  Nancy  Cleghorn 
is  the  nicest  girl  in  the  world,— the  best,  the 
loveliest,  the  most  accomplished,  the  kindest; 
and  I  wish  her  father  had  brol^en  his  neck, 
or  been  drowned  in  the  Falder,  with  all  my 
heart."  Now,  to  look  at  him,  you  would  not 
suppose  that  such  murderous  sentiments 
could  find  room  in  the  heart  of  so  radiant  a 
youth.  Yet  he  distinctly  wished  poor  old 
George  Cleghorn,  of  Falder,  to  meet,  or 
rather  to  have  met,  at  some  previous  date, 
with  an  untimely  end.  So  little  can  one 
judge,  fVom  countenance,  of  the  depravity  of 
the  human  mind !  Perhaps  Thurtell  smiled 
joyously,  in  the  course  of  his  drive,  in  that 
dreadful  gig,  with  Mr.  Weare.  Listen,  a  little 
farther,  to  what  this  horrid  Charles  Harburn 
is  saying  to  himself—**  If  the  antiquated 
ruffian  would  say  *  No'  at  once,  I  could  bear 
his  opposition,  and  know  how  to  behave  ;  but 
now,  with  his  talks  about  Dumbarton  being 
of  rock,  and  Ailsa  Craig  of  granite,  while  I 
and  Nancy  are  only  flesh  and  blood, — ^who 
can  make  head  or  tail  of  what  he  means?  If 
I  am  Dumbarton,  he  says,  for  seven  years, 
and  Nancy,  for  the  same  period,  is  Ailsa 
Craig,  he  will  not  refuse  his  consent.  I  can't 
lee,  for  my  part,  how  Ailsa  Craig  and  Dum- 
barton are  ever  to  come  together,  if  all  the 
fathers  in  Scotland  approve  the  banns ;  and 
i  as  to  being  flesh  and  blood,  of  course  we  are, 
aod  not  tanned  leather  and  fiddle-strings, like 
himself!  I  will  marry  Nancy  Cleghorn  as 
soon  as  I  can,  and  let  the  aged  pump- 
Hallo!  little  boy  I"  he  cried  out,  interrupting 
bis  soliloquy,  and  pulling  up  the  black  steed, 
which  snorted  with  the  excitement,  and  pawed 
the  ground  with  impatience  to  proceed. 
"  What's  the  matter,  my  wee  man?  Has  any- 
body hurt  you,  that  you'r  greetin'  so  loud  ?" 

A  little  boy  of  ten  years  old  was  sitting  on 
the  fence  at  the  side  of  the  road,  and  crying 
as  if  his  heart  would  break.  Before  him  lay 
the  fragments  of  a  small  wooden  tray,  and  a 
torn  old  red  cotton  handkerchief  wrapt  round 
a  pair  of  rery  clouted  shoes.  He  had  never 
taken  the  trouble  to  pick  up  a  few  rolls  of 
cotton  thread  and  a  broken- toothed  comb, 
^hich  lay  mixed  with  other  articles  of  the 
same  kind  in  the  mud  of  the  narrow  footpath. 

"  Do  you  hear  ?"  said  Charles.  "  What  has 
happened  to  you  ?  and  why  are  you  in  such 
grief?" 

The  little  boy  took  the  backs  of  his  hands 
from  his  eyes,  which  he  had  apparently^  been 
trying  to  push  deeper  into  his  head  with  the 


knuckles,  and  presented  a  countenance  of 
utter  despair  mixed  with  a  good  deal  of  dirt, 
and,  at  first,  a  little  alarm. 

"Twa  men,"  he  sobbed  out,  "have  robbed 
me  and  run  awa'  with  my  stock-in-trade." 

"  It  couldn't  be  very  large,"  said  Charles, 
*♦  and  maybe  yon  will  find  friends  who  will 
set  you  up  again." 

**  1  have  no  friends,"  said  the  boy,  whose 
face,  when  undisturbed  by  spasms  of  grief, 
was  very  clear  and  honest.  "I  never  had 
any  friends,  and  I  am  thinking  I  never  will 
have  any  friends." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  will — never  fear.  Tell  me  all 
about  it,  and  perhaps  something  may  be  done." 

**  I  started  from  Glasgow,"  said  the  boy, 
"three  days  since,  with  my  pack." 

"  How  did  you  get  your  pack,  and  what 
was  in  It  ?" 

'*!  got  the  pack  bv  saving.  I  was  an 
orphan, — a  fundi  ing  they  call  it,  because  I 
was  left  in  a  field  on  a  farmer's  ground  at 
Patrick ;  and  when  I  grew  to  working  age" — 

"  When  might  that  be  ?"  asked  Charles. 

"  When  I  was  four  year  auld :  I  left  the 
byre,  where  I  lived  with  the  calves,  and  gaed 
out  to  frighten  craws  wi  a  rattle.  I  got 
threepence  a  week,  and  a  feed  o'  sowans 
every  day  ;  and  so,  ye  see,  I  began  to  lay  by 
a  little  silver.  The  farmer's  name  was  Dou- 
glas ;  and  there  was  a  mark  on  my  arm  of  an 
anchor  and  a  sinking  boat,  which  they  called 
a  brand, — so  my  name  was  Douglas  Brand  ; 
forbye  that  the  minister  that  christened  me 
said  I  was  plucked  from  the  burning,  and 
put  half-a-crown  into  a  wooden  box  with  a 
slit  at  the  top,  to  set  an  example  to  charitable 
friends ;  and  when  I  got  to  be  ten  year  old — 
last  month,  sir — I  thought  it  time  to  go  out 
Into  the  world,  and  seek  my  fortune.  I  can 
read  and  write,  and  ken  a'  the  New  Testa- 
ment by  heart,  beside  the  Shorter  Catechism 
and  a  half  o'  the  Pilgrim's  Progress ;  so  with 
the  help  of  the  minister,  and  the  saved-up 
siller  in  the  box,  I  bought  a  stock  of  knives, 
and  combs,  and  reels  of  cotton,  and  thimbles 
and  shears,  and  needle-cases  and  boxes  o'  pins, 
and  pincushions  and  writing-paper,  and  sticks 
o'  wax  and  pocket-books,  and  tape  and  twine. 
It  cost  four  pound,  fourteen,  and  four-pence, 
and  it's  a'  gane !  Twa  shearers,  wi'  heuks  in 
their  hands,  asked  to  see  my  stock,  and  when 
I  showed  it,  they  took  everything  I  had, — 
five  knives  and  sixteen  thimbles,  and  twenty 
reels  of  thread.  It's  a'  gone — clean  awa' — 
and  I  have  naithing  left  but  the  broken  tray 
and  the  auld  trapkin  wi*  my  Sabbath-day 
shoon."  And  at  the  contemplation  of  his 
great  losses,  he  again  lifted  up  his  voice  and 
wept. 

"And  how  much  would  it  take  to  replace 
you  as  you  were  before  the  rascals  robbed 
you  ?" 

"  Do  you  mean  cost  price  ?"  said  the  boy, 
his  eye  brightening  up  with  the  spirit  of 
mercantile  enterprfse,  "  or  what  it  would  be 
worth  if  it  was  a^  sold  ?" 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


328 


HOUSKUOLD  WORDS. 


[Coodvctcd  by 


**  Cost  price,  of  course.  How  macb,  out  of 
the  original  four  pouuds,  fourteen,  and  four- 
pence-worth,  had  you  disposed  of?" 

'*  I  bad  cleared  one  pound  three,"  said  the 
boy,  "  and  not  parted  with  a  twelfth  part  of 
the  stock ;  but  they  found  the  money  in  my 
stocking  sole—IUl  never  wear  stockings  again, 
for  they^re  just  a  waste — and  took  It  all,  sir. 
I  hae  na  a  lartbing  in  the  world." 

"Poor  lad !"  said  Charles  Harburn.  "Here's 
all  your  life  perhaps  broken  In  your  hand, 
and  nobody  to  help  you.  But  cheer  up, 
man.  I'm  not  very  rich  ;  but  I'm  very  happy 
just  now, — and  here,  we'll  share  what  I've 
got."  So  saying,  he  drew  out  a  purse,  and 
finding  there  were  nine  golden  guineas  in  it, 
he  gave  four  to  the  boy,  and  said,  "  I  told 
you  we  would  share  it ;  but  you  see  it's  not 
very  easy,  as  here  are  nine  Georges,  and 
neither  qjl*  us  has  any  chaug-." 

<'  We  could  toss  may  be  for  the  half  one," 
said  Douglas  Brand ;  but  so  low.  that  the 
words  escaped  the  ear  of  his  benefactor,  and 
a  blush  came  to  his  own  check  when  he 
thought  what  an  ungrateful  proposition  it 
was.  "  Oh,  what  can  I  do  for  you,  sir  ?"  he 
said  ;  *'  you've  restored  me  to  all  my  hopes. 
My  gratitude  to  you  shall  know  no  end,  and 
I'll  think  on  ye  and  pray  for  ye  till  I  die." 

"Make  a  good  use^f  your  luck,  my  little 
friend,"  said  Harburn,  "  and  that  is  all  the 
thanks  I  require.  But,  bv  the  by,  you  said 
you  would  pray  for  me.  Now  you  are  a  very 
innocent  lad:  you  know  your  Bible,  and 
you're  grateiul  to  the  good  minister  who 
stood  your  friend ;  bow  down  on  your  knees, 
Douglas  Brand,  up  with  your  hands,  my  wee 
laddie,  and  pray  that  I  may  be  Dumbarton 
for  seven  years,  if  required,  and  finally  be 
joined  to  Ailsa  Craig." 

"  It's  something  like  asking  a  mjracle,"  said 
the  boy ;  "  but  if  the  heart's  wishes  have  any 
power,  my  petition  will  be  heard,  and  many 
more  that  I  will  not  cease  to  make  for  bless- 
ings on  you  and  yours." 

I  am  very  happy,  that  you  and  I  did 
not  see  the  scene  that  then  occurred, — 
Charles  sitting  on  the  back  of  his  now  quiet 
horse,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand,  and  his  head 
bent  reverently  down,  and  Douglass  Brand  on 
his  knees  in  the  public  road,  with  closed  eyes 
and  clasped  hands,  uttering  prayers  about 
Dumbarton  and  Ailsa  Crai^,  which  he  did  not 
quite  understand,  but  which  rose  earnestly 
and  sincerely  f^om  a  thankful  heart,  because 
he  believed,  in  some  way  or  other,  tiese  pre- 
cipitous elevations  were  connected  with  the 
happiness  of  his  friend.  We  might  have  been 
tempted  to  see  something  laughable  in  the 
attitudes  of  the  two :  but  perhaps,  in  the 
apprehension  of  a  Higher  Intelligence,  there 
might  have  been  something  not  quite  worthy 
of  our  contemptuous  smiles  in  the  sincerity 
and  fervent  trust  of  the  young  man  of  twenty- 
one  and  the  pedler  boy.  Who  knows?  A 
slight  shake  of  the  rein,- and  a  merry  "Fare- 
well I  and  success  attend  you,"  set  Harburn 


forward  on  his  homeward  way  at  a  pace 
that  soon  took  bim  out  of  sight  of  Douglas 
Brand. 

"I'll  writedown  on  the  tables  o'  my  heart," 
said  the  youth,  "  the  name  o'  the  kind  gen- 
tleman,— but  wae's  me,  I  never  asked  his 
name.  Oh,  how  I  wit^h  I  had  asked  who  he 
was  I— but,  at  any  rate,  I  will  never  forget 
Dumbarton  and  Ailsa  Craig."  And  he  took 
from  a  secret  pocket  in  his  jacket  a  tattered 
old  pocket-book  that  had  escaped  the  notice 
of  his  assailants,  and  wrote  down  the  names 
of  these  two  well-known  rocks,  determming 
to  take  steps,  as  soon  as  he  was  able,  to 
unravel  the  mystery  that  connected  them 
with  his  generous  friend. 

After  a  rapid  career  of  six  or  seven  miles, 
the  black  horse  turned  of  its  own  accord  op 
a  narrow  side-road,  that  lay  in  a  very  narrow 
valley  between  two  hills.  The  country  grew 
wilder  as  he  continued  his  course  along  the 
winding  banks  of  a  branching  stream  ;  hedges 
soon  ceased:  enclosures  disappeared  from 
fields  ;  huge  nills  rose  up  on  either  side,  with 
no  attempt  at  cultivation  destroying  the 
primitive  desolation  of  their  surface,— but 
suddenly,  at  an  opening  of  the  valley,  a  little 
white  gate  pointed  out  a  path  leading  round 
a  promontory  of  the  mountain  oh  the  leTt, 
and  at  tiie  end  of  a  small  level  space,  forming 
a  peninsula  of  very  rich  land,  surrounded  on 
three  sides  by  a  sinuosity  of  the  burn,  was 
seen  a  low  white-washed  mansion,  with 
smooth  green  turf  on  the  little  lawn  in  front, 
and  supported  on  one  side  by  a  large  orchard, 
at  this  moment  filled  with  the  richest  fruit, 
and  at  the  other  by  an  ornamental  garden,  to 
which  there  was  a  descent  by  a  few  steps 
from  a  room  at  the  west  end  of  the  house. 
Standing  on  those  steps,  as  if  arrested  in  the 
act  of  descending  into  the  garden,  a  ladj 
waved  her  hand  to  the  advancing  horseman, 
who  leaped  lightly  from  his  horse,  and  putting 
j  the  reins  on  his  neck,  watched  him  trot 
I  off  in  a  very  sedate  and  business-like  manner 
i  to  a  stable  abutting  on  the  orchard,  where 
I  a  groom  was  waiting  for  his  arrival.  A 
minute  saw  Charles  in  the  garden  by  the 
side  of  his  mother,  with  his  arm  round  her 
waist. 

"  Before  I  ask  you  how  you  have  sped,"  she 
said,  "I  must  tell  you  the  great  event  has 
happened.    You  are  lieutenant  in  the  regi- 
ment we  desired,  and  must  leave  me  in  a 
week." 
A  start  of  gratification  at  the  first  part  of  th^ 
'  news  was  checked  by  the  tone  of  his  mother'f 
voice.    It  conveyed  to  him  as  clearly  as  if 
I  the  idea  had  been  expressed  in  words,  "  Tod 
know  how  desolate  I  am,  and  yet  you  are  de- 
lighted to  leave  me."    He  was  not  at  all 
delighted  to  leave  her.    He  could  have  stayed 
with  her  all  his  life  ;  only  it  looked  sucti  » 
shrinking  from  the  duties  of  his  age  and 
station — such  a  selfish  gratification  of  bis 
love  of  home,  if  he  continued  for  ever  to 
I  reside  with  his  mother,  that  he  had  applied 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CharlMDickeM.] 


BREAD  CAST  ON  THE  WATERS. 


829 


for  a  lieatenaat's  commission  (it  was  not 
absolutel?  necessary  in  those  days  to  begin 
with  the  lower  grade)  in  a  regiment  at  that 
time  engaged  in  bringing  the  revolted  Ame- 
ricaos  to  submission.  And.  accordinglj,  in 
all  his  day-dreams  about  Nancy  Clegborn 
there  had  been  a  perpetual  glitter  of  epau- 
lettes on  his  shoulders  and  a  clank  of  sword 
and  Rpar,  which,  however,  only  intruded 
themselves  in  a  prominent  manner  when  his 
thoughts  dwelt  on  that  young  lady's  imper- 
turbable papa,  whose  insight  into  the  human 
heart  we  have  observed  was  greatly  strength- 
ened by  his  knowledge  of  geography. 

"  In  a  week  ?  "  he  said.  *'  Well,  we  have 
seven  davs'  happiness  before  us,  dear  mother, 
aud  I  will  not  allow  a  cloud  to  pass  over  a 
smgle  hour." 

"  And  therefore  you  won't  tell  me  how  you 
proffered  to^ay  at  Falder  Mains." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  will  not  conceal  a  syl- 
lable of  all  that  passed.  Old  George  is  as 
great  a  millstone  as  ever,  but  Nancy  is  true 
as  steel  She  says  if  we're  not  rich  enough 
to  live  without  employment,  she  can  make  as 
much  money  as  we  require  by  her  paintings. 
And  how  beautiful  they  are,  mother !  What 
likenesses! — what  finish!  You  should  see 
what  she  has  made  of  me  on  Black  Angus. 
By-the-bye,  I  wonder  if  they'll  let  me  take 
him  as  my  charger!  I  feel  sure  if  Tom 
Splinders  at  the  turnpike  saw  the  picture  at 
his  gate,  he  would  charge  toll  as  if  it  were 
alive." 

"  But  painting  is  a  very  precarious  profes- 
sion; and,  besides,  it  is  not  quite  the  occupa- 
tion for '' 

"Ah!  there's  some  of  your  nonsensical 
family  pride,  because  you  claim  from  Robert 
Bruce.  I  don't  see  why  painting  isn't  as 
geutle  a  craft  as  wearing  a  uniform  or  plead- 
ing at  the  bar.  But  we  shan't  require  it. 
She  has  only  two  sisters — I  am  an  only  child. 
Glen  Bara  is  not  very  valuable ;  but  we 
could  live,  mother — ^we  could  be  happy :  we 
could  read,  and  draw,  and  walk,  and  ride, 
and  farm,  and  feed  cattle  till  they  couldn't 
move— only  Greorge  Clegborn  talks  such 
nonsense  about  Dumbarton !  How  the  deuce 
can  I  be  such  a  great  ugly,  frowning  mass 
of  Whin !  And  Nancy — she's  to  be  Ailsa 
Craig— and  then,  when  we  have  been  petrified 
for  seven  years,  we  are  to  marry.  Seven 
jears!— only  think  of  what  an  immense  time 
that  is!" 

And  then  the  young  soldier  poured  out  all 
his  indignation  on  the  head  of  poor  old 
George  Clegborn  of  Falder  Mains.  And  the 
mother  thought  it  very  unkind  of  Mr.  Cleg- 
oorn  to  be  so  very  careful  and  distrusting. 
And  many  attempts  all  the  week  were  made 
^  shorten  the  period  of  probation.  Would 
Jnree  years  do?-— would  five?  But  no! 
George  Clegborn  was  as  obstinate  as  a  mule, 
and  Charles  Harburn  at  the  appointed 
time  took  his  way  for  London  to  embark 
for  foreign  service,  with  a  charming  minia- 


ture of  Nancy  suspended  by  a  ribbon  and 
resting  night  and  day  upon  his  heart,  and 
leaving  with  her  his  whole-length  portrait, 
mounted  on  Black  Angus,  and  bearing  at 
one  corner  the  signatures  in  white  paint  of 
the  two  lovers,  under  the  hated  names  of 
Dumbarton  and  Ailsa  Craig,  with  the  date, 
in  fainter  letters,  seventeen  hundred  and 
eighty. 

Now,  did  Charles  Harbum  ever  see  Falder 
Mains  again?  Did  he  marry  Nancy  Cleg- 
horn?  Did  the  fiinty-bearted  father  of  that 
accomplished  maiden  relent,  and  send  over 
the  sea  to  tell  Charles  that  as  none  but  the 
brave  deserve  the  fair,  he  had  determined  to 
bestow  his  daughter's  hand  where  her  heart 
bad  so  long  been  placed,  in  reward  of  the 
gallantry  he  had  shown  in  many  a  dashing 
charge  ?  And  that  his  mother,  the  dear  and 
honoured  Mrs.  Harburn,  was  in  earnest  ex- 
pectation of  his  return  to  Glen  Bara,  which 
she  had  had  newly  painted  and  decorated  in 
honour  of  the  approaching  happy  event? 
It  is  a  pity,  my  good  and  curious  reader,  that 
you  can't  examine  my  countenance  before 
you  put  these  questions.  Do  you  see  any 
symptom  of  fatuity,  or  even  insanity,  in  my 
light  grev  eyes? — any  wandering  of  intel- 
lect in  the  corners  of  this  rather  well-cut 
mouth  ?  In  short  do  you  suppose  I  am  such 
a  very  egregious  Tom  Noddy  as  to  tell  vou 
whether  any  of  these  incidents  occurred  at 
this  particular  part  of  the  story  ?  Don't  you 
see  that  I  have  to  ^o  to  America  with  my 
hero,  and  describe  his  achievements  at  Cam- 
den and  Eutaw  Springs  and  Yorktown — 
at  the  latter  of  which  he  received  that  sword- 
cut  on  his  temple  which  made  him  so  inter- 
esting, and  left  a  mark  that  most  people 
considered  a  great  increase  to  the  manliness 
of  his  beauty?  Then  I  have  to  describe 
his  disagreement  with  his  genera],  and  his 
duel  with  the  insulting  aide-de-camp ;  his 
rescue  of  his  colonel's  daughter  from  the 
hands  of  the  wild  Indians,  who  were  about  to 
tomahawk  her  first  and  eat  her  afterwards. 
Then  his  long  detention  in  America  by  cir- 
cumstances over  which  he  had  no  control 
— his  appointment  to  a  difficult  and  dan- 
gerous command  in  Canada —  his  adven- 
ture in  the  boat  at  the  edge  of  Niagara 
Falls — all  these  things  I  shall  relate  in  the 
order  here  set  down,  if  I  see  any  necessity  for 
doing  so ;  and  I  do  most  positively  decline 
to  depart  from  what  I  consider  the  proper 
course  of  my  narrative  merely  to  gratify  a 
petulant  curiosity  as  to  whether  certain 
things  happened  at  a  certain  time,  with 
which  it  strikes  me  the  reader  has  nothing 
whatever  to  do,  except  to  read,  with  pro- 
found admiration,  when  the  secret  is  at 
last  confidentially  communicated.  How  do 
I  know  that  if  he  were  discontented  with 
the  answer  I  g^ve  him,  he  wouldn't  at  once 
shut  up  the  page,  and  perhaps  fiy  to  an 
iaccount  of  the  Queen's  last  Drawing  Room 
in  the  Morning  Post  ?    It  is  therefore,  i)er- 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


330 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CMdnctcdby 


haps,  mj  best  policy  to  be  as  ancommanica- 
tive  as  posisible. 

I  will  only  saj  that  when  Charles  had 
been  about  two  years  absent  he  received  a 
letter  from  his  mother,  in  which,  allading  to 
her  communication  of  the  month  before,  she 
says,  "  You  have  recovered  the  shock  of  my 
sad  intelligence,    I  dare    say.    In   fact,  I 
always  wondered  you  were  so  particular  in 
that  quarter — but  there  is  no  accounting  for 
tastes.    Last  Sunday  it  was  so  fine  that  I 
ventured  once  more  into  the    saddle  and 
rode  over  to  Falder  Church.    An  excellent 
sermon  from  Mr.  M'Tavish,  but  in  so  strong 
an  accent  that  if  I  bad  not  spent  some  part 
of  my  youth  in  the  Highlands,  I  should  not 
have  understood  what  he  said.    For  the  first 
time,  I  saw  Major  Nobbs.    He  Is  very  yellow, 
and  has  been  thirty  years  in  India  in  the 
service  of  a  Nizam  of  some  place  which  I  can- 
not spell,  and  very  rich,  they  say.  He  would 
wed.    They  say,  also,  he  came  into  the  kirk 
under  protest,  as  he  has  imbibed  some  very 
strange  notions  in  the  East,  and  some  people 
say  he  is  a  Mahommedan,  and  proposed  for 
all  three,  but  Oeorge  would  only  consent  to 
his  marrying  Nancy.    So  they  are  off  next 
week  for  their  honeymoon  in  a  ship  that  sails 
from  Liverpool ;  and  Nancy  leaves  a  portrait 
of  him,  dressed  in  a  very  wonderful  uniform. 
It  is  to  hang  over  the  dining-room  mantel- 
piece, and  looks  very  like  the  sign  of  the 
Saracen's  Head.    The  bride  seems  quite  hap- 
py, and  I  hope  this  letter  will  find  you  the 
same.''    It  did.    The  last  mail  had  knocked 
him  down  for  a  whole  week.    But  now  he 
was  in  such  exuberant  spirits  that  a  report 
got  spread  in  the  regiment  that  he  had  suc- 
ceeded to  a  baronetcy  and    ten  thousand 
a-year.    He  attended  every  ball  that    was 
given  far  or  nfear — flirted  in  a  very  violent 
manner  with    any  girl  who  would  listen, 
talked  disparagingly  of  love  and  constancy 
on  all  occasions,  and  was  ol»erved  one  night 
suddenly  to  burst  hito  a  fit  of  laughter  and 
something  very  like  sobs.  Then  he  laid  aside 
for  the  first  time  a  small  miniature  of  a  blue- 
eyed,  red-lipped,  light-haired  female,  which 
he  had    always  sedulously  concealed,  but 
which  he  now  swore  was  a  likeness  of  an  aunt 
who  died  young.    So  he  was  thought  a  youth 
of  strong  family  affection  to  be  so  moved  by 
a  portrait  of  his  mother's  sister  ;  and,  besides, 
I  have  always  heard  his  mother  was   an 
only  child.    I  have  very  little  doubt,  there- 
fore, that  the  ringlets  and  bright  eyes  be- 
longed to  Nancy  Cleghom,  now  Mrs.  Major 
Nobbs. 

CHAPTER  n. 

There  was  a  man  of  the  name  of  Napoleon 
Bonaparte,  the  son  of  a  pettifogging  lawyer 
in  Ajaccio,  who  made  a  remarluible  distur- 
bance at  the  beginning  of  this  century.  He 
upset  several  thrones  and  set  them  up  again- 
altered  the  balance  of  power,  kept  the  world 


in  awe,  and  also  made  the  fortunes  of  Brand, 
Bustle,  and  Co.,  the   army   contractors  ia 
Wapping.    That  little  Corsican  adventurer 
never  raised  an  army  without  putting  bun- 
dreds  of  thousands  of  pounds  into  the  pockets 
of  this  respectable  firm.    If  he  won  a  battle 
in  Italy,  there  came  such  a  flood  of  wealth 
into  Wapping  that  it  seemed  as  If  he  must  be  a 
sleeping  partner  in  the  concern,  and  thrashed 
the  Austrians  merely  on  purpose  to  increase 
the  profits  of  trade.  Mr.  Brand  lived  in  Gro»- 
venor  square,and  went  down  to  Wapping  every 
day  in  a  splendid  carriage,  with  two  footmen 
on  the  box  beside  the  coachman,  and  two 
more  hanging  on  behind.    The  aristocracv 
felt  some  surprise  that  a  man  of  Mr.  Brandos 
family  should  condescend  to  trade,  but  they 
were  reconciled  to  it  by  the  immensity  of  the 
income  he  realised,  and  the  great  scale  on 
which  his  transactions  were  carried  on.  If  be 
had  dealt  in  single  hams  or  disposed  occa- 
sionally of  a  stone  or  two  of  beef,  he  would 
have  been  viewed  in  a  very  different  light- 
but  a  man  who  filled  three  large  ships  with 
hams,  which  never  reached  their  dcstlDatioo, 
and  three  more  with  powdered  beef,  which 
always,  by  some  unaccountable  means,  was 
paid  for  before  it  started,  and  never  was 
heard  of  again,  either  by  the  estimable  govern- 
ment officer  who  handed  over  the  money,  or 
the  army  for  whose  benefit  it  was  supposed  to 
be  shipped.    A  man  who  did  business  by  the 
shipload  and  received  his  payments  by  the 
twenty  thousand  pounds,  rose  out  of  the 
category  of  tradesmen  altogether,  and  he- 
came  a  potentate — a  power — a  visible  repre- 
sentative of  the  inexhaustible  wealth  of  Eng- 
land. So  Mr.  Brand  was  looked  on  as  an  em- 
bodiment of  all  the  taxes;  and  it  was  felt, 
while  we  had  twenty  or  thirty  armv-contract- 
ors  rolling  in  such  countless  wealth  from  the 
mere  profits  of  supplying  beef  and  hams,  that 
Britons  never,  never,  never  could  be  slaves. 
I  have  said  the  aristocracy  were  at  first  a 
little  scandalised  by  pigs  and  oxen  being 
salted  and  sold  by  a  person  of  Mr.  Brand's 
family.    And  this  may  perhaps  be  accepted 
as  an  answer  to  the  celebrated  question  of 
"What's  in  a  name?"    If  Mr.  Brand  had 
been  Mr.  Snooks— nay,  if  Mr.  Douglas  Brand 
had  been  Mr.  Snooks  Brand,  no  one  would 
have  wondered  at  his  trading  in  oxen  and 
pigs.    But  having  had  the  opportunity  some 
'years  before  of  lending  a  little   temporary 
assistance  to  one  of  the  chiefs  of  the  Douglas 
family,  he  received  various  letters  of  thaoks 
from  that  grateM  nobleman,  asking  farther 
time  for  the  payment  of  interest,  and  ackDOW- 
lodging  the  near  relationship  that  existed  be- 
tween them ;  and  as  the  younger  branches  of 
that  wide-spread  clan  applied  for  similar  as- 
sistance and  made  their  acknowledgment  in 
the  same  way,  it  came  at  last  to  be  univer- 
sally known  that  Mr.  Brand  was  a. cousin, 
more  or  less  removed,  to  many  of  the  beads 
of  that  illustrious  house ;  and  I  happen  to 
know  he  acted  the  part  of  "  uncle  "  to  some 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ClMrks  Dtekeot.] 


BREAD  CAST  ON  THE  WATERS. 


331 


who  were  not  so  high  op  on  the  family-tree, 
bat  who  still  were  in  possession  of  some  of 
the  ancestral  jewels,  and  had  inherited  por- 
tions of  the  family  plate.  But,  uncle  or  cou- 
sin, he  was  equally  a  relative,  and,  therefore, 
when  in  eighteen  hundred  and  fifteen,  to  mark 
the  country's  appreciation  of  his  services  in 
having  amassed  a  fortune  of  half  a  million  of 
money,  he  was  created  a  baronet,  by  the  style 
and  title  of  Sir  Douglas  Brand,  there  was  a 
pretty  general  feeling  that  the  days  of  chi- 
valry were  restored,  and  that  Britannia  had 
less  to  fear  than  ever  on  the  subject  of  slave- 
ry, or  of  any  interruption  in  her  hereditary 
occopation  of  ruling  the  waves. 

Among  the  strongest  believers  in  the  sta- 
bility of  his  country  and  the  perfection  of 
all  her  institutions,  was  Sir  Douglas  Brand 
himself.  A  nation  which  gave  such  an  open 
career  to  all  her  sons — which  enabled  a  per- 
son, as  he  said  at  public  dinners,  to  rise  from 
obscurity  and  insignificance  to  the  highest 
positions  in  church  and  state, — a  nation  that 
did  this  was  the  glory  of  her  own  children 
and  the  envy  of  surrounding  states.  It  was 
a  clearly  demonstrated  fact,  therefore,  to  him 
and  others  of  his  class,  that  the  dignitv  and 
power  of  England  consisted  in  the  number  of 
people  who,  by  dint  of  lucky  contracts  and 
judicious  purchases  in  the  funds,  rose  to 
wealth  and  eminence.  They  looked,  accord- 
ingly, on  the  Helder  Expedition  of  seventeen 
hundred  and  ninety-nine,  where  the  com- 
missariat was  enriched  though  the  army 
was  forced  to  capitulate;  and  the  still 
more  brilliant  expedition  to  Walcheren  in 
eighteen  hundrea  and  nine,  when  the 
armv  was  exterminated,  but  the  variations 
of  the  funds  doubled  the  fortunes  of  fifteen 
or  twenty  jobbers  in  Wapping  and  elsewhere, 
—as  the  noblest  trophies  of  a  free  constitu- 
tion, and  they  rolled  off  to  church  in  their 
respective  carriages  on  the  day  of  fast  and 
hamiliation  (which  was  appointed  by  authori- 
ty) to  throw  upon  Providence  the  blame  for 
the  want  of  quinine  in  the  marshes  of  Hol- 
land, and  of  military  skill  in  the  Earl  of 
Chatham.  Waterloo  was  a  sad  day  for  Lom- 
bard Street  and  nearly  shut  up  the  counting- 
hooses  in  Wapping.  Sir  Douglas  withdrew 
his  capital  from  the  food-market,  and  nursed 
it  in  mortgages  and  loans.  He  came  to  an  ar- 
rangement with  Brand,  Bustle  &  Co.,  by  which 
he  bereft  them  of  the  glory  of  his  name,  and 
retired  from  any  responsibility.  He  left, 
however,  a  considerable  amount  of  capital  in 
their  hands,  and  stipulated  for  a  weekly  in- 
spectioif  of  their  books,  and  a  voice  in  the 
conduct  of  their  business.  Money  in  this  man- 
ner accumulating— rank  secured — friends  ga- 
thered round  him — and  a  long  career  appa- 
rently open  before  him  if  he  chose  to  enter 
Parliament,  by  the  purchase  of  half-a-dozen 
boroughs, — it  is  curious  to  say  that  by  one  of 
those  odd  eccentricities  of  the  human  mind 
for  which  nobodv  can  account,  the  honoura- 
ble baronet  sickened  of  the  grandeurs  of 


Grosvemor  Square,  neglectM  sometimes  for 
a  whole  week  the  alternations  of  the  funds, 
and  the  sales  of  exchange,  and  kept  his  mind 
perpetually  fixed  on  a  vision  of  the  Lanark- 
shire hills,  and  a  young  horseman  who  had 
been  useful  to  him  on  a  certain  interesting 
occasion.  He  recalled  the  features  and  the 
form  \  the  name,  if  he  had  ever  known  it,  he 
had  entirely  forgotten.  Thirty-five  years  had 
passed,  and  such  thirty-five  years  of  war  and 
struggle,  and  hopes  and  fears,  and  rises  and 
falls,  and  eventual  success,  as  were  sufficient, 
one  would  think,  to  have  buried  the  transac- 
tion altogether.  But  no — clear  as  if  before 
his  bodily  eyes,  arose  the  outline  of  Falder 
Hill, — the  long  high  road,  bordered  with  a 
strip  of  grass, — the  coal-black  horse, — the 
kind-faced  cavalier, — the  four  golden  guineas! 
and  one  day  there  appeared  in  the  Times 
newspaper,  an  advertisement,  stating  that 
"  If  the  gentleman  who,  in  seventeen  hundred 
and  eighty,  bestowed  his  generous  aid  on  an 
unfortunate  pedlar  boy,  was  still  alive,  and 
would  apply  at  Messrs.  Dot  and  Carry's, 
Broad  Street,  London,  he  would  hear  of  some- 
thing to  his  advantage'.'' 

Ah  I  Charlie  Harbum,  why  don't  you  read 
the  Times  newspaper?  but  what  use  would 
there  be  in  reading  it  from  end  to  end?  Has 
your  life  been  less  adventurous  than  Sir 
Douglas  Brand's  ?  Has  your  memory  retain- 
ed its  freshness  more  than  his?  Alas!  not 
the  faintest  line  remains  of  pedlar  boy  or  gen- 
erous aid  \  you  might  hear  the  story  told  and 
never  recognise  yourself  as  the  performer  of 
that  good  deed.  Many  a  good  deed  have  you 
I>erformed  since  then ;  much  generous  trust 
you  have  shown ;  many  a  friend  you  have 
helped,  and  met  with  little  gratitude  in  re- 
turn ;  and  now  your  heart  has  got  rather 
hard, — you  don't  believe  in  the  fresh  impulses 
of  youth  and  the  tender  sympathy  of  the  yet 
unwasted  feelings.  You  would  say,  if  you 
heard  of  a  young  man  dividing  his  moder- 
ately-filled purse  with  a  weeping  pedlar  boy, 
"  What  a  fool  the  fellow  was!  I'll  bet  you  he 
came  to  poverty  in  his  old  age,  and  he  deserv- 
ed it,  the  thoughtless  coxcomb !"  Is  that  the 
way  you  teach  your  own  son — another 
Charles  Harburn,  now  eighteen  years  of  age 
a  cadet  at  Woolwich,  and  handsomer,  if  possi- 
ble, than  his  fother,  nearly  as  kind  to  all,  and 
as  radiant  and  full  of  hope  as  you  yourself 
were  on  that  August  day  in  seventeen  hun- 
dred and  eighty,  when  you  rode  black  Angus, 
and  were  so  filled  with  admiration  for  Nancy 
Cleghorn ! 

Major  Harbum  lived  the  life  of  a  hermit  in 
liis  poor  old  dwelling  of  Glen  Bara.  His  wife, 
the  daughter  of  his  colonel,  had  died  some 
sixteen  years  before,  and  as  he  sat  over  the 
fire  on  winter  nights,  a  confusion  sometimes 
came  into  his  head  between  the  maiden  he 
had  loved  so  ardently  at  home,  and  the  gen- 
tle Canadian  girl,  whom  be  had  married,  and 
who  had  left  him  so  soon,  llieir  features  got 
mixed  on  the  wondrons  canvas,  whereof  our 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


382 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CtnintttAbr 


fancy  paints  the  incidents  of  the  past :  for 
Fancy  has  more  to  do  with  the  scenes  of  our 
joyous  youth,  than  mere  prosaic  recollection. 
Imagination  and  memory  are  twins,  and 
amazingly  like  each  other.  Sometimes  he 
took  a  meditative  ride  over  the  scenes  of  his 
early  happiness,  and  wandered  with  loosened 
rein  and  thoughts  flying  far  back  into  the 
past,  among  the  fields  of  Falder  Mains. 
Greorge  C leghorn  had  long  passed  away,  and 
the  property  now  belonged  to  a  captain  in  the 
Indian  army  of  the  name  of  Nobbs— only  son 
of  the  late  Sir  Hildebrand  Nobbs,  who  had 
died  full  of  honours  and  the  liver  complaint, 
leaving  the  estate  which  he  bad  obtained  in 
right  of  bis  wife  to  his  sole  representative ; 
and  his  picture — a  full  length  In  the  uniform 
of  the  Nizam's  body-guard— painted  by  Lady 
Nobbs.  to  be  hung  in  the  town  hall  of  his 
native  town,  where  it  is  still  to  be  seen  by  the 
curious,  and  where  the  fk'ame  is  very  much 
admired.  It  chanced  one  day  in  August  of 
the  memorable  year  one  thousand  eight  hun- 
dred and  fifteen,  to  which  I  have  now  brought 
this  narrative,  that  Mi^or  Harburn,  under  the 
impulse  of  one  of  those  fits  of  sentiment, 
which  in  the  intervals  of  more  serious  fits  of 
gout  and  rheumatism,  sometimes  seize  even 
an  old  gentleman  of  fifty-six,  had  ridden  over 
hills  and  valleys,  and  was  sauntering  up  the 
avenue  of  Falder  Mains,  when  his  attention 
was  attracted  by  an  unusual  bustle  at  the 
door  of  that  usually  quiet  and  deserted  man- 
sion. There  was  a  post-chaise  in  the  stable- 
yard,  there  was  a  gig  on  the  lawn  ;  and  pa- 
cing in  front,  were  two  men  measuring  the 
ground,  and  one  man  still  perched  in  the  gig, 
was  taking  down  the  number  of  feet,  as  as- 
certained by  the  measurer's  tape;  all  the  win- 
dows were  open,  the  hall-door  was  wide  ajar. 
There  were  men  in  the  different  rooms  ma- 
king a  great  noise  with  hammers,  and  trun- 
dling about  of  old  chairs  and  sofas.  The  major 
dismounted,  and  for  the  first  time  for  five  and 
thirty  years,  entered  the  well-known  house. 
Alas  I  that  stone  and  mortar,  timber  and 
glass,  even  paint  and  paper  should  remain  so 
unchanged  when  time  htA  such  an  effect  upon 
our  noble  selves.  There  was  the  old  piano, 
there  were  the  oaken  chairs,  hero  were  the 
glazed  prints,  all  recognisable ;  and  standing 
among  them  all,  bent  in  the  back,  dim  in  the 
eyes,  short  in  the  breath,  and  bald  in  the 
head — more  out  of  tune  than  the  piano,  more 
old-fashioned  than  the  furniture  —  was 
Charles  Harbum,whom  nobody  could  identify 
with  the  young  lover  of  other  days — no,  not 
his  mother,^  if  she  were  still  alive — no,  nor 
Nancy,  who  once  had  all  his  features  by  heart 
—scarcely  indeed  himself  if  he  had  suddenly 
seen  in  the  glass,  some  morning  when  he  was 
shaving,  the  presentment  of  the  merry-eyed 
young  man,  who  had  been  so  happy  and  so 
admired  in  these  old  rooms  before  he  joined 
the  army. 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  visit,  and  he  turned 
to  go.  In  the  passage  were  three  or  four  peo- 


ple carrying  parcels,  work-boxes,  footstools, 
and  other  things ;  and  be  drew  back  to  let 
them  pass.  The  post-chaise  was  drawn  up  to 
the  door.  He  heard  a  voice  say :  "  You'll 
pack  up  all  the  framed  pictures,  and  send  them 
to  my  address  at  Cheltenham.  The  prints  are 
to  be  taken  at  a  valuation.^'  And  the  major 
saw  the  speaker  mount  into  the  chaise  with 
some  difficulty.  Her  back  was  very  broad ;  ^e 
wore  a  Ixmnet,  big  enough  and  hig^  enough 
to  have  done  duty  as  an  umbrella ;  she  wore 
a  brown  velvet  pelisse,  though  the  thermom- 
eter was  at  eighty  in  the  shade ;  and  when 
her  maid  bad  followed  into  the  carriage,  and 
sat  down  on  the  top  of  various  packages,  with 
which  the  seat  was  encumbered,  the  chaise 
drove  off,  and  Harburn  went  out  to  mount  his 
horse.  A  man  who  had  left  off  the  measure- 
ments, held  the  bridle  while  he  mounted. 

"  Great  doings  here,  apparently,"  said  the 
mi^or,  giving  the  man  a  billing. 

**  'Deed,  aye,  sir.  A'  th'  auld  folk  is  get- 
ting rooted  out,  and  the  Londoners  will  come 
down  in  a  body,  and  tak'  Lanarkshire  a'  to 
themselves." 

"  The  place  is  sold  then  ?" 

*•  Have  you  no  heard  that  ?"  said  the  la- 
bourer, involuntarily  despising  the  old  man 
for  his  ignorance,  in  spite  of  the  shilling  which 
he  still  kept  in  his  hand.  '*Sir  Douglas  Brand 
has  bought  it,  and  Middenstrae  Haughs,  and 
as  far  on  as  the  Duke's ;  and  they  say  he's  in 
treaty  for  half  the  countv  to  the  north,  so 
he'll  hae  mair  land  than  a'  the  nobility  ;  and 
so  he's  measuring  here  for  a  house  that's  to 
be  the  size  o'  Drumlayrig,  and  the  family  is 
going  to  have  a  sale,  and  very  nice  lots 
there'll  be,  though  I  dinna  think  that  the  pic- 
tures will  be  much  missed,  notwithstandin' 
the  auld  woman  seems  to  think  they're  worth 
a'  the  rest  of  the  goods." 

**  The  auld  woman  ?"  enquired  Major  Har- 
burn. 

**Aye,  Leddy  Nobbs,  that  was  her  that 
stickit  sae  long  in  ^the  coach  door ;  she  was 
aneo'tfuld  George  Cleghoro's  daughters,  and 
was  married  on  upon  a  black  man  that  lived 
far  awa'  in  India.  Some  folk  think  he  was  a 
cannibal,  but  I  canna  think  that,  tho'  he's  an 
awful  sicht*to  look  on.  That's  him  wi'  the 
row  of  yellow  teeth,  and  the  brown  skin, 
hanging  above  the  mantel-piece.  She  canna 
hae  been  a  great  judge  o'  beauty,  or  men 
maun  hae  been  unco  scant" 

Major  Harburn  made  no  reply,  but  slowly 
rode  down  the  avenue.  It  is  astonishing  how 
little  impression  this  curious  incident  made 
on  him.  He  had  heard  his  Nance's  voice 
again,  he  had  seen  her  figure,  and,  instantly, 
all  the  past  disappeared.  He  did  not  believe 
in  the  reality  of  his  insane  admiration  for  a 
broad-backed  woman  of  sixteen  stone,  who 
had  to  be  pushed  by  main  force  through  the 
door  of  a  post-chaise  :  and  one  resolution  be 
immediately  made  and  carried  into  effect  the 
moment  he  got  home,  which  was  to  take,  bum, 
or  otherwise  destroy  the  miniature  of  his 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CtartM  Dkkena.] 


BREAD  CAST  ON  THE  WATERS. 


333 


aant— the  fair-haired,  small-waisted,  blue- 
ejed  female — which  had  hung  by  a  sillc  ribbon 
so  loDg  about  his  neck,  and  which  was  still 
pre8er?ed  in  a  very  secret  drawer  of  bis 
escritoire,  and  occasionally  looked  at  when  he 
wanted  to  recal  the  air,  the  features,  the  ex- 
pression of  Nancy  C leghorn. 

Impatient  to  visit  his  purchases  in  Lanark- 
shire ;  impatient  to  see  once  more  the  Falder- 
Hill— in  sight  of  which  hts  broken  fortunes 
had  been  restored — Sir  Douglas  Brand 
posted  down  from  London,  and  alter  sleeping 
on  the  previous  night  at  Moffat,  proceeded 
along  the  road  towards  his  newly  acquired 
property  on  this  very  day,  the  anniversary  of 
that  in  seventeen  hundred  and  eighty,  to 
which  he  always  looked  back  as  the  founda- 
tion of  his  fortune.  lie  got  out  of  the  car- 
riage, which  he  ordered  to  go  slowly  on,  and 
walked  along  the  footpath  for  several  miles. 
Looking  on  the  right  hand,  looking  on  the 
krt,  he  thought  at  last  he  identified  the  very 
spot  where  the  men  had  robbed  him,  where 
his  whole  possessions  lay  in  fragments  at  his 
feet,  and  where  the  young  horseman  had  re- 
stored him  to  wealth  and  hope.  To  verify  it 
still  more,  he  paused  at  what  he  considered 
the  identical  scene ;  there  was  a  hedge-row 
there  as  before  ;  he  stept  quietly  off  the  road, 
and  sat  down  on  the  grassy  bank.  He  sank 
into  himself,  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands, 
giving  himself  up  to  the  contemplation  of  the 
years  that  had  passed  since  then.  He  heard 
nothing,  saw  nothing,  but  sat  immoveable 
with  his  hands  over  his  face. 

"  I  hope  you're  not  unwell,  sir,"  said  a  kind 
voice  at  the  side  of  the  road. 

*'  Not  at  all,''  said  Sir  Douglas  Brand,  rising 

np,  as  if  ashamed  of  his  emotion.    **  I  was 

only  resting  after  having  walked  a  few  miles 

'  to  see  the  beautiful  scenery.    My  carriage  is 

gone  on." 

"It  is  waiting  at  the  turn  of  the  road," 
said  Major  Harbum,  a  little  repelled  by  the 
coldness  of  the  stranger's  tone,  and  his  osten- 
tatious allusion  to  his  carriage.  He  lifted 
his  hat  and  rode  on.  On  this  very  day  ap- 
peared a  second  advertisement  in  the  Times. 
"  The  gentleman  who,  in  seventeen  hundred 
and  eighty,  gave  his  generous  aid  to  a  pedlar 
hoy,  on  the  high  road  in  Lanarkshire,  is  pro- 
,  babiy  dead  j  but  if  his  son,  if  any,  will  address 
Messrs.  Dot  and  Carry,  Broad  Street,  London, 
^  and  verify  the  incident,  he  will  hear  of  some- 
thing very  much  to  his  advantage." 

"  1  will  pay  over  twenty  thousand  pounds 
to  him  at  once,"  said  Sir  Douglas,  as  he  step- 
ped into  his  carriage, "  and  if  he  takes  a  fancy 
to  Mary—ah,  well  I  there's  no  saying  what 
might  be  done." 
j  Now  I  have  forgot  to  tell  you  that  in  the 
year  eighteen  hundred  the  rich  contractor 
married— for  love.  Yes,  the  bright  flashing 
eyes  of  Signora  Estrella  Nunez,  the  daughter 
of  a  Spanish  refugee  from  Cadiz,  conquered 
the  susceptible  heart  of  Douglas  Brand.  Her 
father  had  had  every  farthing  of  his  fortune 


confiscated,  and  certain  bills  on  the  Spanish 
treasury  were  ignominiously  repudiated,  and 
his  estates,  which  were  of  considerable  extent, 
seized  as  the  goods  of  a  traitor,  so  that  Don 
Jacinto  Nunez  was  very  glad  to  convey  all 
these  valueless  documents  and  nominal  secu- 
rities as  a  portion  to  his  only  child,  receiving 
from  his  generous  son-in-law,  in  the  mean- 
time, an  annuity  of  one  hundred  a  year.    It 
is  so  good,  and  sometimes  so  politic,  to  be 
generous.    When  a  few  years  had  passed,  and 
Don  Jacinto  had  died,  and  Trafalgar  bad  been 
fought,  and  Holy  Juntas  were  established  in 
the  Peninsula,  the  bills  upon   the   Spanish 
treasury  were  acknowledged  by  the  liberating 
government,  and  paid  for  out  of  the  English 
subsidies  advanced  by  Brand,  Bustle,  and 
others.     The  lands  were  restored,  and  sold 
for  ready  money,  and  Mrs.  Brand's  allow- 
ance increased  to  a  thousand  a  year,  in  con- 
sequence of  her  turning  out  an  heiress.    Her 
enjoyment  of  this  sum  was,  however,  very 
short,  and  the  widower  turned  all  his  affec- 
tion upon    his  only  child — christened,  out 
of  compliment  to  Don  Jacinto,  Marie   de 
Compostella,    but    known    by  the  father's 
heart,  only  as  his  little  Mary.    Deep  founda- 
tions were  dug,  high  strong  walls  were  raised, 
fences  were  thrown  down,  whole  farms  were 
turned  into  a  park,  and  thousands  of  acres  of 
valuable  land  ;  and  millions,  I  was  going  to 
say,  of  mountain  and  heath,  formed  the  do- 
main round  Falder  Castle.    Other  lands  were 
added.     Small  proprietors  bought  out— or 
their  tenures  made  uncomfortable  by  quarrels 
about  boundaries,  and  law-suits  about  mano- 
rial rights.    And  among  the  rest,  persecution 
raged  fierce  and  hot  against  poor  old  Major 
Harbum,  who  declined  to  part  with  his  little 
esUte  of  Glen  Bara,  though  he  was  invited 
to  fix  his  own  price.    He  liked  the  place,  his 
son  liked  it.    It  had  been  in  their  family  four 
hundred  years — so  they  said  and  believed — 
and  no  amount  of  money  that  an  honest  man 
could  ask,  would  repay  them  for  the  loss  of 
the  hereditary  soil.    Sir  Douglas  Braiid  had 
distanced  all  competitors  in  making  money 
by  an  inadequate  supply  of  beef  and  ham  to 
th«5  British  army.    His  efforts  had  put  aj 
least  twenty  thousand  gallant  men  to  death, 
who  might  have  lived  long  and  happily,  if  the 
stores  had  been  of  prime  quality,  or  properly 
distributed  where  required  ;  and  he  was  not 
to  be  defeated  now  by  a  proud  old  major, 
whose  worldly  substance  would  not  have  pur- 
chased the  bristles  of  the  pigs  on  whose  car- 
cases Sir  Douglas  had  grown  so  fat,  and  the 
Walcheren  expedition  so  lean.    So  he  bullied 
and  threatened,  and  fortunately  discovered 
that  not  many  years  before  this,  the  proprietor 
of  Glen  Bara  had  mortgaged  his  estate  to  en- 
able him  to  lend. some  money  to  a  friend,  for 
the  purchase  of  his  step,  which  money  had 
never  been  repaid,  for  his  friend  had  perished 
in  battle,  and  the  noble  and  paternal  British 
government  had  kept  the  money  he  had  paid 
for  his  promotion.    The  army  contractor  was 


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334 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Caoioetadhy 


in  his  element  again.  He  found  out  the  holder 
of  the  mortgage,  he  had  it  transferred  into 
his  own  name,  with  all  the  arrears.  He  wrote 
a  notice  that  he  should  require  the  money  at 
once  or  that  he  would  be  forced  to  foreclose. 
And  the  major,  who  bj  this  time  was  more 
bent  than  ever,  more  rheumatic,  more  gouty, 
more  short  in  the  breath,  more  bald  in  the 
head,  and  quite  as  ignorant  of  business,  was 
thrown  into  great  distress.  He  grew  ill,  a 
fever  made  him  for  a  few  days  delirious,  and 
then  left  him  so  weak,  that  the  farrier,  who 
came  over  to  see  a  lame  cart-horse,  thought 
he  couldn't  live  long,  and  advised  the  house- 
keeper to  send  for  Master  Charles. 

Three  years  had  passed  since  Sir  Douglas's 
first  appearance.  It  was  now  the  warm  and 
genial  month  of  August  once  more ;  and 
while  poor  Major  Harburn  was  dying  at 
Glen  Bara,  the  baronet  was  in  the  noble 
library  of  Falder  Castle,  with  a  map  of  his 
territory  before  him,  in  the  centre  of  which, 
coloured  bright  red,  to  distinguish  it  from 
the  Brand  property,  was  enclosed  the  angular, 
independent-looking,  and  diminutive  Glen 
Bara.  This  was  the  Mordecal  at  the  gate 
that  made  all  Sir  Haman's  happiness  of  no 
effect.  He  struck  his  band  on  the  red-coloured 
enclosure.  "  I  will  have  you  in  green,  like 
the  rest,  before  a  week  is  out.  I  will  turn 
this  proud  mtgor  out  of  house  and  home.  If 
he  refuses  the  price  I  offer,  I  will  seize  it  by- 
legal  process;"  and  he  looked  in  a  very  selr- 
satisfied  manner  towards  a  tin  case  on  one  of 
the  shelves,  in  which  reposed  the  mortgage 
he  had  lately  bought.  As  if  the  business 
were  already  concluded,  by  means  of  this 
energetic  declaration  of  his  intention,  he  de- 
termined to  go  out  for  a  walk  among  his 
newly-planted  gardens  and  newly-levelled 
fields.  On  passing  the  housekeeper's  room, 
he  heard  voices.  Sir  Douglas  was  never 
above  picking  up  information.  He  paused 
and  listened. 

**  He  is  the  handsomest  man  I  ever  saw," 
said  the  housekeeper :  *^  don't  you  think  so, 
Miss  Mary?" 

"  The  horse,  Mrs.  Elgett,  the  horse,  is 
handsomer  than  the  man.  I  never  saw  such 
a  noble  horse.    Where  did  you  get  it  ? " 

"  1  found  it  with  a  great  deal  of  rubbish 
left  by  the  late  familjr  in  a  room  above  the 
stable.  I  was  struck  with  the  beautiful  man, 
and  have  pasted  it  on  the  wall.  I  wish  just 
such  another  youth  would  present  himself 
here.  Miss  Mary.  What  would  you  do 
then?" 

"  You  are  a  foolish  old  woman,"  said  Sir 
Douglas,  entering  the  room,  "and  you, Mary, 
I'm  ashamed  of  you  listening  to  such  non- 
sense." 

"  See,  papa,"  said  Mary,  "  it  is  only  a  daub 
of  a  young  man  and — " 

But  here  the  beautiful  lips  of  Mary  Brand 
grew  rigid  with  surprise,  the  blood  left  her 
cheek,  and  she  said, 

"  Father  I  what's  the  matter?  are  you  ill  ? " 


'*  Who  did  this?"  said  Sir  Douglas,  gazing 
on  the  portrait  *'  The  same  look  and  form! 
Have  I  been  ungrateful  ?  Have  I  forgotten 
you  ?  No  I  not  for  an  hour.  Come,  take  all! 
you  shall  share  it  with  me !  " 

"Father,  father!  oh!  what  does  this 
mean? " 

"  It  means  that  he  is  there  1  That— Uut's 
the  man  I  have  longed  to  see  for  forty  years ! 
Who  is  he  ?  What  is  his  name?  Ten  Uiou- 
sand  pounds  to  the  person  who  brings  me  to 
his  presence  I " 

"Alas!  sir,  see  the  date,"  said  Mary, 
"seventeen  hundred  and  eighty;  and  the 
name's  in  white  paint — Dumbarton,  Ailsa 
Craig." 

"I  remember,"  cried  Sir  Douglas,  *'he 
made  me  pray  that  they  might  be  united.  I 
had  forgotten  the  names  ;  but  now  it  is  a]l 
clear.  Do  you  know  whose  likeness  it  is? 
Does  any  one  on  the  estate  ?  Find  out,  and 
I  will  reward  them  beyond  their  dreams." 

And  for  an  hour  he  gazed  on  the  poor  old 
presentment  of  Charles  Harburn,  mounted 
on  black  Angus,  painted  in  the  joyous  time 
by  Nancy  Cleghorn,  and  -shamefully  left 
neglected  in  a  lumber-room  of  Falder  Mains 
by  the  much-changed  Lady  Nobbs.  After  be 
had  set  all  engines  at  work  to  find  out  tiie 
original,  he  ordered  the  carriage,  and,  by  way 
of  diverting  his  thoughts,  determined  to  take 
his  daughter  with  him,  and  show  her  tbe 
small  property  he  was  so  soon  to  get  posses- 
sion of;  though  we  most  remark,  that  he 
never  informed  the  young  lady  of  the  means 
by  which  he  hoped  to  obtain  Glen  Bara. 

Meanwhile,  faint  and  slow  came  the  breath 
of  Major  Harburn.  He  lay  on  a  sofa  in 
the  parlour  and  looked  out  upon  the  opposite 
hill  apparently  counting  the  shadows  of  the 
clouds  that  flitted  over  its  face.  An  unpro- 
fitable occupation  if  he  had  been  engaged  in 
it;  but  his  thoughts  were  elsewhere— with 
his  young  wife  in  Canada.  Beside  his  bed, 
there  she  lay,  cold— in  the  little  churchyard. 
Then  they  went  farther  back,  and  be  was 
running  out  and  in  at  Falder  Mains.  Nancy 
met  him  at  the  door,  and  made  up  by  kind 
looks  and  Warm  hand-^akes,  for  the  cold  re- 
ception of  old  George.  He  walked  with 
her  in  the  woods,  and  they  exchanged  thetf 
vows;  and  then  a  great  broad-backed  old 
lady  stuck  in  the  doorway  of  a  post -chaise; 
and  a  lawyer's  letter  presented  itself,  with 
threats  of  immediate  expulsion  from  hii 
home. 

"  I  must  die  here,"  he  cried  of  a  sudden. 
"  I  will  die  nowhere  else.  Will  Charlie  never 
come  ? "  . 

As  if  in  answer  to  his  wish,  wheels  stopi 
at  the  door.  His  son.  now  aged  twenty-one. 
dressed  in  his  blue  frock  and  stiff  red  collar 
and  cuffs  of  his  regiment,  entered  the  room, 
and  knelt  at  the  side  of  the  sofa. 

"You  come,  Charlie,"  said  the  major,  »o 
late  to  lengthen'out  my  life,  but  not  too  law 
to  let  me  <Se  in  peace.    "^"^    .M-*nP*Ider 


Ride— ride  to  Falder 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ChwiM  Dlckeaa.] 


THE  ROVING  ENGLISHMAN. 


S35 


Mains— thej  call  it  Castle,  now— but  ride,  I 
tell  you.  Tell  the  proud  man  there  that  I  am 
djing  fast,  but  that  I  wish  to  die  where  1 
haYe  lived — where  my  mother — where  we 
have  all  died.  Aak  him  not  to  refuse  me 
this.  It  wouH  delay  him  long.  Go,  go  ^he 
black  horse  is  kept  saddled  on  purpose,  i  ou 
will  be  back  again  in  two  hours." 

Sir  Douglas  Brand  sate  silent  by  the  side 
of  his  daughter  Mary.  Ah!  what  a  pretty 
girl  she  was  I  What  Spanish  eyes  spreading 
Andalnsian  sunshine  over  English  cheeks  I 
For  she  was  surprisingly  foir  in  the  com- 
plexion, and  yet  dark  as  midnight  in  eyes  and 
hair.  And  good,  too ;  and  clever.  And,  at 
the  present  moment,  very  much  surprised  at 
her  father^s  behaviour.  That  hard  man's 
heart  had  been  touched  by  the  sight  of  the 
picture.  He  now  was  absorbed  in  happy 
recollections.  He  told  bis  daughter  as  much 
of  his  previous  history  as  his  pride  would  let 
him  reveal  He  said,  that  at  a  certain  part 
of  the  road  a  piece  of  ffood  fortune  had 
befallen  him,  from  which  ne  dated  all  his 
prosperity.  He  did  not  say  what  it  was,  but 
he  pulled  up  the  carriage,  and  helped  her  to 
dismount,  and  took  her  arm  lovingly  in  his, 
and  walked  along  the  foot-way :  and  when 
they  came  to  the  grass  bank  ne  had  sat 

upon tramp!     tramp!     tramp!     There 

comes  the  sound  of  a  horse's  hoofs  at  speed ! 
The  horseman,  as  he  approached,  pulled  up, 
oat  of  respect  to  the  lady ;  and  Sir  Douglas, 
taming  round,  gazed  on  the  exact  counter- 
part of  the  scene  that  had  filled  his  heart  for 
80  many  a  year.  There  was  the  same  noble- 
looking  youth— the  same  kind  expression— 
the  same  graceful  figure.  The  black  horse 
was  moving  slowly  on. 

*'  In  the  name  of  Heaven! ''  cried  Sir  Douglas, 
"tell  me  who  you  are !  You  have  haunted 
me  from  that  hour  to  this ! — aye,  since  the 
time  when  you  gave  me  the  four  golden  guineas 
until  now  that  I  am  Sbr  Douglas  Brand,  with 
half  the  lands  of  the  county  in  my  hands ! " 

"You,  then,  are  Sir  Douglas  Brand,'*  said 
Charles,  dismounting.  "  I  was  on  my  way  to 
wait  on  you,  with  a  most  humble  petition." 

"  No,  no !  -'  said  the  old  man,  still  wander- 
ing in  his  thoughts,  *'not  a  petition  to  me ;  I 
cannot  hear  it.^ 

"  Perhaps  the  voung  lady,"  said  Charles, 
"  will  exert  her  influence  on  behalf  of  my 
poor  father.  He  is  dying,  sir,— dying  in 
poverty,  and  without  a  friend — except  myself ; 
and  I  am  as  powerless  as  he.  Ail  he  asks 
is,  leave  to  die  at  home.  Oh !  don't  turn  him 
oat  for  the  few  days  he  may  have  to  live  I " 

"Your  father?  Your  fother?  Aye!  It 
was  nearly  forty  years  ago.    His  name  ? " 

"The  same  as  my  own,"  said  the  young 
soldier,  "  Charles  Harburn,  of  Glen  Bara." 

."  We  are  on  our  way  to  Glen  Bara,"  replied 
Sir  Douglas.  "  We  will  go  with  you.  This 
must  be  done  by  no  bands  but  mine." 

"  Father,"  said  Charles,  gently  opening  the 


parlour-door,  ^'  don't  let  the  news  agitate  you. 
Sir  Douglas  Brand  and  his  daughter  are  come 
here  to  see  you." 

"  He  is  a  tyrant— an  oppressor.  I  won't 
see  him,"  said  the  major,  raising  his  head 
from  the  sofa  where  he  lay. 

**Btii  he  repents — he  is  changed  and  soft- 
ened, now,"  said  the  baronet  himself,  going 
up  to  the  invalid.  "We  have  met  before. 
It  is  not  my  fault  we  have  not  discovered  we 
were  friends.'" 

"  May  I  die  in  my  own  house  ?  "  inquired 
the  mtgor,  scarcely  comprehending  his  visit- 
or's language. 

"  If  wealth  can  keep  yon  alive — ^if  kindness 
can  prolong  your  days — you  shall  not  die,  my 
truest  friend  and  earliest  benefactor.  I  have 
discovered  you  at  last !  Don't  you  remember 
our  prayer  together,  in  the  road,  near  Falder 
Hill,  that  heaven  would  join  Dumbarton  and 
Ailsa  Craig?" 

A  light  shone  in  the  major's  eye— a  smile 
came  to  his  lips.  *^  I  remember,"  he  said ; 
"it  all  comes  back  to  me  at  once.  I  was 
ridinff  black  Angus.  There  was  a  little  boy 
in  misery.  I  relieved  him.  And  Nancy — 
you  wouldn't  believe  it,  sir, — she  went  off 
and  married  an  old  piece  of  mahogany,  of  the 
name  of  Nobbs ;  and  three  years  ago  I  saw 
her  in  Falder  Mains.  She  was  Ailsa  Craig. 
We  never  came  together.  So  the  prayer,  you 
see,  was  useless." 

**  Perhaps  not,"  said  Sir  Douglas,  looking  to- 
wards Charles  and  Mary  :  "it  seems  to  me 
quite  possible,  M%jor  Harburn,  that  the  union 
may  still  take  place.  But  in  the  meantime  we 
must  devote  ourselves  to  the  restoration  of 
year  health.  You  shall  find  Glen  Bara  as  clear 
from  debt  as  on  the  day  when  you  took  posses- 
sion. The  sum  you  advanced  me  was  a  loan 
which  has  prospered  greatly.  As  the  first 
Instalment,  I  will  pay  over  to  your  son,  to- 
morrow, twenty  thousand  pounds — and  I  am 
ready  to  mortgage  Mary  as  security  for  the 
rest'^' 

THE  ROVING  ENGLISHMAN. 

▲  BULOARUN  P03T-B0CSB. 

It  is  in  the  gray  of  the  dawn  that  we  ride 
through  the  gates  of  Rasgrad,  having  already 
travelled  a  stage  before  daylight  The  mighty 
clang  of  many  anvils  forging  instruments 
of  warfare,  nevertheless,  smites  harshly 
on  our  ears,  and  the  fierce  glow  of  the 
furnaces  strikes  ruddily  on  our  sight ;  for 
the  trade  of  the  armourer  is  the  busiest  in 
Rasgrad. 

Our  tired  horses  go  steaming  along  through 
the  heavy  morning  dews,  and  our  breath 
comes  in  mimic  clouds  through  our  damp 
beards  and  comforters  sprinkled  over  wim 
watery  jewels.  The  ground  is  wet  and  slip- 
pery, and  we  feel  sufficiently  chilled  and 
hungry  as  we  thread  the  tortuous  filthy 
streets,  and  at  last  come  abruptly  on  the 
post-house. 


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336 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


It  is  a  little  lofl  of  a  place,  bailt  upon  an 
open  wooden  foundation,  not  unlike  the 
guard-houses  of  the  froutier  troops  near  the 
Danube  ;  or  an  elevated  boat-bouse,  to  use  a 
more  familiar  simile.  Nobody  is  up ;  but,  by 
means  of  much  knocking  and  a  loud  hulla- 
baloo, in  which  our  Tatar  distinguishes  him- 
self considerably,  we  rouse  the  tenants  of 
the  post-house  at  last,  and  the  lumbering 
door  revolves  sulkily  on  its  groaning  hinges. 
A  fierce  gaunt  man,  the  very  personification 
of  slothful  worthlessnesB,  now  appears,  and 
looks  at  us  with  a  contemptuous  i  scowl. 
Brutal  ignorance  and  savage  passions  are 
written  on  every  coarse  line  of  his  sensual 
countenance.  He  has  small  dangerous  eyes, 
which  shun  the  daylight;  a  long,  straight, 
fox-like  nose,  sharpening  at  the  point, 
such  as  I  have  often  noticed  in  cunning 
thieves;  a  low,  lowering  forehead;  and  an 
immense  thick-lipped  mouth.  His  projecting 
lower  jaw  is  of  immense  power.  He  wears 
enormous  rusty  mustachios;  but  the  rest 
of  his  beard,  now  of  a  week's  growth,  appears 
as  if  it  were  shaved  sometimes.  His  dress  is 
the  common  dress  of  the  vulgar  Turks,  save 
that  he  is  girded  with  a  thick  roll  of  dirty- 
white  woollen  stuff  of  some  kind.  For  the 
rest,  he  is  a  large,  loosely-built,  -hulking 
fellow.  He  stoops  in  his  gait :  and  has  great 
awkward  hands  and  arms.  He  is  armed  to 
the  teeth,  not  figuratively,  but  literally  ;  for 
the  hilt  of  his  straight  sword  projects  from 
his  waist,  beyond  «ven  his  bare  bull  neck ; 
and  his  drowsy  half-awakened  air  announces 
that  he  had  just  risen  from  sleep. 

Our  Tatar  dismounted,  and  bustled  up  the 
rotten  wooden  steps  with  holes  in  them, 
pushing  his  great  bulky  body  aside  to  pass 
the  doorway  at  the  top.  'We  followed  him 
without  question  ;  and  then  another  hulking 
fellow  got  up  from  the  straw-stuffed  divan  or 
mattrass,  which  was  laid  on  the  floor  along 
two  sides  of  the  room,  and  began  to  wind 
some  twenty  yards  of  dirty  whity-brown 
serge  round  his  loins.  The  post-house  was  a 
foul  den,  so  full  of  vermin  that  we  were 
afraid  to  sit  down  and  rest  ourselves;  but 
the  warmth  of  a  large  wood  fire  burning 
on  an  ample  open  hearth,  was  grateful  to  us, 
coming  in  from  the  bleak  twilight  without. 
A  long,  dirty  hobbledehoy  was,  however,  coiled 
up  and  sleeping,  almost  among  the  embers,  so 
that  we  could  not  get  very  close ;  and  after 
lighting  fresh  cigars,  we  were  glad  enough  to 
go  out  of  doors  and  escape,  leaving  to  our 
Tatar  the  general  management  of  our  further 
affairs.  We  found  that  the  poethouse  was 
situated  in  the  centre  of  a  sort  of  farm-yard, 
knee-deep  in  mud  and  slosh.  It  was  quite  a 
picture  of  rustic  plenty ;  and  unthriit  oxen 
and  sheep  were  wandering  about  in  it 
whither  they  pleased.  A  multitude  of  fowls, 
ducks,  and  geese,  kept  them  company ;  and 
the  shrill  clauon  of  a  cock  sounded  bravely 
at  intervals  to  greet  the  approaching  day. 
A  few  stolid  peasants  lounged  about,  and 


a  little  way  off,  another  was   lazily  har- 
nessing  a   yoke  of   oxen    to   a   primitive    | 
waggon,  crusted  over  with  the  mud  of  many 
roads.    In  the  village  streets  some  children    , 
began  to  appear,  rubbing  their  eyes   and 
munching :  and  one  Christian  woman  looked 
palely  fortu  from  the  low  doorway  of  ber  hut,    , 
— a  ^  picture  of  patient  hopelessness.    We 
bad  scarcely  time  to  make  these  obserra- 
tions  before  our  Tatar    appeared    with    a 
blank  face,  and  announced  to  us  that  we 
could  get  no  horses  on.  Breakfast  also  seemed 
entirely  out  of  the  question  ;  and  the  loutish 
tenants  of  the  post-house  looked  on  scorn- 
fully, enjoying  our  discomfiture.    When  we    ' 
offered  them  money  (about  twice  as  much  as 
usual),  they  turned  insultingly  away,  and  left    . 
us  talking ;  but,  when  our  Tatar  at  last  lost 
patience,  and  laid  his  whip  about  them,  and 
v/hen  I  shouted  in  a  voice  of  thunder  that 
I  would  cause  the  severest  punishment  to    ' 
be  infiicted  on  them  if  we  were  detained,  one 
of   them  lurched  sulkily  off   in  search  of    | 
horses,  and  the  Tatar  assured  us,  with  a  sly 
wink,  that  the  other  would  very  soon  manage 
to  find  us  something  to  eat. 

The  hobbledehoy  also  now  woke  up  from 
his  sleep  among  the  ashes,  and  began  to  pre- 
pare us  some  coffee.  It  is  a  weary  conclusion    i 
to  come  to,  but  really  nothing  can  be  done 
in  Turkey  without  hectoring ;  and  all  things   * 
but  truth  may  be  found  with  harsh  words 
and  a  whip.    As  daylight  stole  slowly  in,  we 
began  to  look  round  us  and  examine  the 
poBt-hut,  to  which  we  had  returned,  more   t 
attentively.    Its  sole  furniture  was  the  straw-   ' 
stuffed  divan,  quite  alive  with  vermin,  and 
two  little  brass  coffee-pots.    The  nnglazed 
windows   were    barred   with    little    rotten 
rails  of  wood.     Small  rude  shutters,  which   ' 
rattled  to  every  breeze,  were  placed  in  them,   i 
The  walls  and  ceiling  were  of  one  uniform 
smoke  colour.    You  could  have  traced  your 
name  or  a  fancy  portrait  of  your  enemy  upon 
any  part  of  them  with  the  point  of  a  stick. 

We  did  not  wait  long  before  one  of  the 
truculent-looking  men  came  in,  and  laid  a  little 
round  red  earthenware  dish  before  us.  It  was 
full  of  eggs,  warmed  rather  than  cooked  in  oil. 
and  seasoned  with  garlic.  He  was  quite  Cowed 
now,  and  moved  silently  to  get  us  some  salt 
and  black  bread  to  make  up  the  banquet 
When  we  had  eaten,  he  afforded  us  every 
assistance  to  make  some  decoction  of  tea  in 
one  of  the  little  coffee-pots,  and  then  he 
brought  us  pipes  from  some  house  in  the 
village.  His  companion  had  also  mysteriously 
found  us  horses ;  and  they  both  recommended 
themselves  earnestly  to  us  when  we  rose  to 
go,  and  held  our  rusty  stirrups  as  we  mounted. 
Our  loud  words,  indeed,  had  raised  us  g  ne- 
rally  in  the  estimation  of  the  neighbourhood, 
ana  there  assembled  quite  a  little  crowd  of 
respectful  admirers  to  see  us  ride  upon  onr 
way.  Misrule  and  violence  can  have  bat 
one  effect, — it  makes  men  either  slaves  or 
rebels. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


"FamOiar  inthdr  MotOht  0$  BOUSEHOLD  WORDS,"- 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
COHDUCTES   BY   CHARLES  DICEEHS. 


No.  15.] 


J.  A.   DIX,   PUBLISHES, 

Omoi,  No.  10  Pau  Plavb,  Niv-Tobk. 


[Whole  No.  268. 


DEATH'S  CIPHERING-BOOK. 

Ax  assembly  of  maDufactorers  in  the 
North  met,  last  month,  for  the  purpose  of  com- 
bining in  what  they  are  pleasant  enoagh  to  call 
a  National  Association  for  resistance  to  the 
law,  which  requires^iccidents  to  be  prevented 
by  the  fencing  of  their  dangeroas  machinery. 
It  80  happened  that  just  before  their  meeting 
was  held,  attention  had  been  called,  in  this 
joamal,  to  the  subject  of  preventible  accidents 
in  factories,  and  to  the  proper  determination 
now  shown  b^  the  government  (Heaven 
knows  it  does  little  enough  that  is  proper),  to 
enforce  those  clauses  of  the  Factory  Act  which 
aim  at  their  prevention. 

We  could  not,  indeed,  pass  over  without 
mention,  or  mention  with  admiration,  the 
active  resistance  offered  by  a  large  body  of 
mill-owners  to  the  order  for  the  fencing  of 
shafts,  which,  being  unfenc'ed,  destroy  and 
mutilate  every  year  a  large  number  of  work- 
men. At  the  same  time,  however,  we  did 
by  no  means  bring  against  mill-owners  as  a 
class  a  sweeping  accusation  of  barbarity,  but, 
on  the  contrary,  gave,  what  we  thought,  just 
prominence  to  several  facts,  showing  how 
benevolent  and  noble  it  was  in  their  power — 
and  not  seldom  in  their  will — to  be.  Though 
—not  very  unreasonably,  we  hope — adverse 

I  to  that  particular  system  of  fencing  with 

I  humanity,  of  which  we  spoke,  and  which  this 
National  Association  of  factory  occupiers  is 
intended  to  maintain,  we  were,  and  still  are, 
disposed  generally  to  agree  with  the  opinion 
expressed  by  one  speaker,  at  the  aggregate 
meeting  which  produced  such  an  association, 
that  <'  among  the  cotton  manufacturers  of  this 

I  country  there  is  as  much  kindness,  benevo- 
lence, charity,  and  philanthropy,  as  amongst 
any  other  class  of  her  Majesty's  subjects." 

But,  our  agreement  in  any  such  opinion  can 
by  no  means  be  founded  on  the  evidence  pro- 
duced at  the  said  meeting.  It  was  held,  as 
we  said  before,  very  soon  after  we  had  called 
attention  to  the  present  state  of  the  dispute 
over  the  lives  and  limbs  of  operatives  ;  and 

I  we  are  indebted  to  this  chance  for  getting 
from  those  who  disagree  with  us  the  best 
specific  answer  they  could  ^ive  to  the  case,  as 
8et  forth  by  ourselves,  chiefly  in  the  shape 
of  a  statement  offered  by  the  chairman  of  the 

I   meeting,  which  it  was  hoped,  by  a  speaker, 

-__TOL.  XI. 


'*  would  travel  through  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  land,  and  prove  an  antidote  to 
the  trash,  the  poison,  published  on  Saturday 
in  Household  Words."  We  have  procured 
the  antidote,  and  by  no  means  intend  to 
withhold  it  from  our  readers.  It  was  pro- 
duced as  a  grievance,  at  this  meeting,  that 
such  offences  as  those  which  the  National 
Association  undertook  to  justify  should  be 
**  poetised  in  twopenny  publications  for  the 
benefit  of  pseudo-philanthropists."  The  real 
philanthropists  (who  we  suppose  are  the  men 
not  squeamish  about  a  few  spots  of  spilt 
brain,  or  a  leg  or  an  arm  more  or  less  upon  a 
poor  man's  body),  shall  plead  in  justification 
all  that  they  have  to  plead:  poetising  for 
themselves,  not  only  in  the  Manchester  Town 
Hall,  but  also  more  immediately  before  our 
pseudo-philanthropic  readers. 

The  cnairman  of  the  National  Association, 
and  of  the  aggregate  meeting  at  which  it  was 
formed,  on  the  seventeenth  of  April  last, 
began  his  introductory  address  with  a  brief 
account  of  the  course  taken  by  the  Home 
Office  with  reject  to  the  clauses  in  the  Fac- 
tory Act,  relating  to  the  fencing  of  machinery, 
and  of  the  **  storm"  in  Manchester,  produced 
by  the  recent  determination  that  this  portion 
of  the  Act  shall  be  enforced  more  thorough!  v 
than  heretofore.  Thus  far  the  chairman's 
account  tallied  exactly  with  our  own ;  and  he 
went  on  to  say  that,  as  deputations  had  failed 
at  the  Home  Office,  an  aggregate  meeting  of 
the  trade  had  been  summoned  to  meet  on  the 
tenth  of  April,  had  been  adjourned  for  a 
week,  and  was  the  meeting  then  before  him. 
The  chairman  next  dwelt  on  the  prejudice 
entertained  against  mill-owners  as  a  class, 
which  he  showed  to  be  manifested  by  the 
circulars  of  Uie  Home  Office,  by  the  prosecu- 
tions of  unfenced  machinery,  bv  the  almost 
carrying  through  the  House  of  Oommons  of  a 
bill  whieh  they  opposed — for,  as  another 
speaker  put  it,  '*  in  a  pretty  full  house,  they 
were  only  in  a  majority  of  eight,"  (Pity  the 
sorrows  of  a  persecuted  interest  I) — and  by 
an  article  in  this  journal,  on  nnfenced  ma- 
chinery, part  of  which  he  proceeded  then  to 
read,  out  of  a  morning  paper.  The  statements 
derived  by  us,  ft'om  the  re^rts  of  the 
factory  inspectors,  and  the  opinions  founded 
on  them^  he  then  proceeded  to  answer.  The 
main  point  of  his  answer  was.  Look  not  at  the 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


338 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoBdoctedhr 


number  and  seriousness  of  the  accidents  in 
factories,  talten  alone,  bat  at  their  percentage 
on  the  whole  population  of  the  fkctory  opera- 
tives in  this  country.  He  began  by  attribut- 
ing to  '^wilful  blindness  or  Ingenious  per- 
versity," the  constant  omission  to  state  the 
number  of  people  among  whom  factory  acci- 
dents occurred.  He  proceeded  to  state  that 
number,  upon  the  authority  of  the  very 
people  whom — unless  he  meant  ourselves — he 
was  accusing  of  suppression.  "  The  last  re- 
port," he  believed,  **  which  was  made  by  the 
factory  inspectors,  was  about  four  ^ears  ago : 
jind  at  that  time  there  were  about  six  hundred 
report  in  which  the  inspectors  number  acci- 
dents, contains  also  a  careful  numbering  of 
the  new  mills  opened,  of  the  old  mills  en- 
larged, or  become  unoccupied,  and  of  the 
thousand  people  employed  in  the  inspected 
'  factories."  Very  well.  Since  that  time,  every 
increase  of  horse-power  In  every  district. 
There  is  no  concealment,  therefore,  through 
wilful  blindness  or  ingenious  perversity,  of 
the  extent  of  the  factory  system,  on  the  part 
of  the  gentlemen  whose  reports  suggest  to 
the  Home  Office  and  to  the  public  those 
conclusions  against  which  the  cnairman  was 
protesting. 

As  for  ourselves,  we  admit  freely  that  it 
never  did  occur  to  us  that  it  was  possible  to 
justify,  by  arithmetic,  a  thing  unjustifiable 
by  any  code  of  morals,  civilized  or  savage. 
By  land  and  sea,  thousands  of  our  countrymen 
are  killed  or  maimed  every  year,  in  conse- 
quence of  accidents  that  are  distinctly  pre- 
ventible.  Every  such  accident  lies  at  the 
door  of  the  man  by  whose  neglect  or  indiff'er- 
ence  it  is  permitted  to  occur  ;  and  every  such 
man  ought  to  be  made,  by  society,  to  feel,  In 
a  substantial  way,  the  seriousness  of  the 
responsibility  he  has  incurred.  This  opinion 
we  have  expressed  frequently  and  strongly, 
and  not  by  any  means  with  exclusive  re- 
ference to  cotton-manufacturers.  We  have 
urged  it  with  reference  to  ships,  with  refer- 
ence to  house-building,  with  reference  to 
sewerage,  with  reference  to  town  church- 
yards, with  reference  to  sundry  trades,  with 
reference  to  railwiys,  mines,  and  quarries, 
as  well  as  with  reference  to  factories ;  and 
we  have  not  forgotten  that  there  are  some 
sources  of  preventible  accident  to  be  discussed 
more  fully  than  heretofore,  each  in  its  own 
convenient  season. 

It  happens  that  no  season  can  be  so  conve- 
nient as  the  present  for  directing  the  atten- 
tion of  the  public  to  that  class  of  preventible 
accidents  which  is  attached  to  labouf  in  the 
factories ;  simply  because,  at  this  time,  means 
are  being  used  for  their  prevention,  and  a 
powerful  interest  combines  for  the  purpose 
of  produoingdepntations,  aggregate  meetings, 
and  associations,  to  frustrate  the  hope  of  the 

Sublic  that  such  means  will  be  effectual, 
[aving  explained  so  much,  and  added  our 
private  belief,  that  if  there  occurred  annually 
throughout  England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland, 


among  twenty  or  thirty  millions  of  people, 
only  one  accident  preventible  by  law,  it  would 
be,  nevertheless,  the  business  of  the  law  to 
prevent  it,  we  will  go  on  to  the  arithmeti- 
cal demonstration  of  the  right  of  bruising, 
tearing,  maiming,  battering  or  crushing,  four 
thousand  operatives  per  annum,  which  should 
be  vested  in  an  interest  employing  a  total  of 
seven  hundred  thousand  persons.  This  is,  in 
fact,  the  Manchester  Chairman's  requife- 
ment;  we  hope  we  are  not  totally  blind, 
but,  that  it  is  an  argument  on  that  gen- 
tleman's part,  we  confess  we  cannot  see.  K 
it  be  an  argument  for  anything,  it  is  an 
argument  in  addition  to  all  that  have  hither- 
to urg^ed  upon  the  government  a  strict 
upholding  of  the  factory-law.  We  will  not 
call  it  inhumanitv — it  is  not  that — but  it  is 
surely  a  strange  illustration  of  the  power  of 
self-interest  and  habit,  that  a  gentleman  of 
high  character,  who  well  deserves  all  the 
respect  attaching  to  his  oame,  could  think  a 
point  of  this  kind  settled  by  the  calculation, 
that  four  thousand  accidents,  great  and  small, 
yield  only  one  to  every  hundred  and  seventy- 
five  persons,  and  that  the  number  of  horrible 
deaths  caused  yearly  being  only  forty- two- 
seven  hundred  thousand,  divided  by  forty- 
two,  gave  a  product  of  sixteen  thousand  and 
sixty-six,  or,  in  round  numbers,  one  in  seven- 
teen thousand. 

What  if  you  were  to  carry  out  this  method 
of  arguing  by  products?  There  is  a  kind  of 
death  which  the  law  seeks  to  prevent, 
although  it  is  scarcely  found  to  be  prevent- 
ible, and  that  is,  death  by  wilful  murder. 
Perhaps  there  may  be  about  forty-two  who 
suffer  death  in  that  way,  annually,  through- 
out Great  Britain  ;  and  the  population  of  the 
whole  country  is  immensely  greater  than  the 
population  of  the  factory-world  contained 
within  ii  Perhaps,  also,  there  may  occur  in 
the  year  four  thousand  burglaries  of  greater  or 
less  moment,  or  some  ,other  nnml^r  which 
would  go  certainly  oftener  than  a  hundred 
and  seventy-five  times  into  the  whole  popula- 
tion. Why,  then,  let  it  be  asked,  are  honest 
men  to  be  taxed  for  the  maintenance  of  ex- 
pensive systems  of  law  and  police  when  the 
per  centage  of  burglary  and  murder,  upon  the 
sum  total  of  men  who  are  neither  murderers 
nor  burglars^  is  represented  only  by  such  a 
ridiculous  fraction  as  may  be  received  at  an 
aggregate  meeting  like  the  Manchester  chair- 
man's with  laughter  and  applause  ?  He  spoke 
of  a  third  of  a  man  per  cent.  Burglary  and 
murder  put  together  do  not  touch  a  third  of 
a  man  per  cent,  or  anything  approaching  to 
it.  What  right  then  has  the  home  govern- 
ment to  concern  itself  about  such  trifles  as 
burglary  and  murder?  This  is  the  sort  of 
argument  to  which  we  arc  reduced  when  Uie 
moral  element  is  exchanged  for  the  arith- 
metical. 

Besides,  what,  may  be  said,  arithmetically 
considered,  is  a  murder  or  a  robbery?  A 
man,  aged  thirty,  is  guilty— If  he  can  be 


^    Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CiMriei  Dickens.] 


DEATH'S  CIPHERING-BOOK. 


339 


ctUed  guiltj— of  a  murder,  which  he  has 
Bpent  oalj  live  minates  in  committiDg.  He 
has  lived  about  seven  million  nine  hundred 
thousand  minutes,  during  only  five  of  which 
he  has  been  committing  murder.  His  guilt  is 
but  a  fifteen  thousand  eight  hundreth  per 
cent,  or,  as  the  Manchester  chairman  would 
have  put  it  before  his  meeting  even  more 
triumphantly  in  decimals,--decimal  nought, 
nought,  nought,  nought,  six  upon  his  inno- 
cence. What  right  has  society  to  hang  him  ? 
Besides,  in  those  thirty  years,  if  he  has  been 
living  in  towns,  and  moving  much  in  streets, 
he  must  have  come  within  murdering 
distance,  at  the  lowest  computation^  of  three 
hundred  thousand  people  whom  he  has  not 
hurt  His  crime,  as  an  individual,  we  have 
already  put  into  figures,  and  now  it  appears 
that,  by  as  much  as  one  in  three  hundred 
thousand  is  less  than,forty-two  in  seven  hun- 
dred thousand,  by '  so  much  is  such  a 
murderer  less  justly  liable  to  public  interfer- 
ence than  an  unfenced  shaft.  All  this  is 
absurd,  of  course ;  but,  iii'  this  excessive  ab- 
surdity lies  the  whole  weakness  of  the  case 
which  was  triumphantly  hailed  by  the  aggre- 
gate meeting  at  Manchester  as  an  answer  to 
our  trash  and  poison, — namely,  the  assump- 
tion that  arithmetic  will  ever  work  out  ques- 
tions of  moral  right  and  wrong. 

The  chairman  of  the  Manchester  meeting 
next  justified  the  preventible  accidents  in 
factories,  by  comparing  them  with  the  much 
greater  proportionate  number  of  preventible 
accidents  in  coal  mines.  A  man  living  in 
Piccadilly  might  in  the  same  way  consider 
himself  entitled  to  pick  pockets  withimpunity, 
on  account  of  the  very  small  number  of  pick- 
pockets among  the  population  living  in  that 
thoroughfare,  as  compared  with  the  popula- 
tion of  Field  Lane  or  Saffron  Hill.  He  went 
on  to  direct  attention  to  the  large  amount  of 
preventible  misery  and  death  caused  by  the 
neglect  of  government  in  the  Crimea,  and 
considered  that  **  a  member  of  a  cabinet  which 
was  committing  all  these  mistakes  with  such 
fatal  results"-— one  of  a  "  delinquent  govern- 
ment*'— had  no  right  to  bear  heavily  at  home 
against  neglect  and  delinquencies  which  were 
to  be  expressed  by  figures  incomparably 
smaller.  In  other  words  he  was  of  opinion  that, 
being  itself  unquestionably  answerable  for  dis- 
organisation and  loss  of  life  on  a  vast  scale  in 
the  Crimea,  the  government  has  no-just  right 
to  enforce  petty  authority  and  a  care  for  your 
mere  single  lives  in  England ;  that,  having 
destroyed  an  army  abroad,  it  ought  not  at 
home  to  regard  with  terror  anything  so 
trifling  as  the  smash  of  a  few  bodies,  and  the 
wrench  of  a  few  limbs;  that  the  country, 
having  experienced  a  great  preventible  dis- 
aster— for  which.it  is  indeed  taking  measures 
to  find  out  what  persons  were  immediately 
responsible — is  bound  to  clear  the  road  for 
every  kind  of  small  disaster,  and  to  put  up 
quietly  with  anything  that  is  not  by  more 
than  ninety-nine  and  nine-tenths  per  cent,  as 


bad  as  the  winter  affiictlons  of  our  troops  in 
the  Crimea ! 

Most  seriously  we  have  to  state  that  we 
have  here  faithfully  detailed  the  entire  argu- 
ment of  the  chairman  of  the  National  Asso- 
ciation for  resistance  to  the  factory  law,  and 
yet  he  was  certainly  the  most  argumentative 
speaker  at  the  late  aggregate  meetiag,  and 
the  advocate  to  whose  speech  speaker  after 
speaker  pointed  most  frequently  as  a  tri- 
umphant reply  to  the  *•  philanthrophic  writers 
and  publishers  of  twopenny  publications  who 
wished  to  add  grist  to  their  mill — so  that  the 
one  wrote  and  the  others  published  for  the 
prejudices  of  the  people."  Even  the  pre- 
judices of  the  people,  probably,  are  less 
astonishing  than  the  prejudices  of  a  very  little 
class  contained  among  them.  It  was  to  the 
prejudices  of,  we  hope,  a  very  small  per 
centage  of  the  people  (let  us  by  all  means 
reason  by  figures)  that  the  chairman  appealed 
when  he  summed  up  with  his  opinion  that 
"  in  looking  at  these  facts,  he  must  say  it  was 
high  time  to  form  a  National  Association  of 
the  factory  Interests  of  the  three  kingdoms." 
The  National  Association  formed  accordingly, 
is  now  alive,  and— may  we  venture  to  add — 
kicking. 

Among  the  addresses  of  the  other  speakers 
we  find  repetitions  of  the  preceding  arguments, 
and  of  others  to  which  we  have  referred  on 
a  previous  occasion.  The  great  fire  of  Man- 
chester, which  was  to  be  caused  by  fenced 
machinery,  was  not  indeed  threatened  on  this 
occasion ;  but,  disobedience  of  orders  on  the 
part  of  the  men  (by  no  means  disobedience 
of  law  on  the  part  of  the  masters)  was  of 
course  duly  put  forward  as  the  ordinary 
cause  of  accident.  There  was  a  good  man 
known  to  a  good  poet  who  had  much  to  do 
with  sufferers,  "  and  quite  forgot  their  vices  in 
their  woe."  There  are  reasoners  who  can 
discuss  the  widow's  and  orphans  of  mangled 
operatives,  the  disabling  for  life  of  hundreds  of 
men,  and  the  wounds  of  others,  quite  forgetful 
of  their  woe,  over  a  setting  forth — not  of  theur 
vices— but  of  their  trivial  faults  of  careless- 
ness ;  the  playftilness  of  children,  who  fling 
thoughtlessly  about,  and  are  admonished  by 
the  tearing  oflf  of  arms  and  legs,  the  thought- 
lessness of  a  whitewasher  who  forgets  to  tuck 
his  coat  tails  carefully  up,  and  as  a  just  con- 
sequence is  caught  by  the  said  tails,  dragged 
by  a  shaft,  and  has  his  brains  dashed  out 
against  a  beam.  The  poet  said  of  his  good 
man  that  "  to  relieve  the  wretched  was  his 
pride,  and  ev'n  his  failings  leaned  to  virtue's 
side."'  The  Manchester  reasoner  prides  him- 
self, in  this  case,  on  resistance  to  attempts 
Tor  the  relief  of  wretchedtiess,  which  resist- 
ance springs  out  of  a  failing  of  his  that 
leans  not  to  the  side  of  virtue  as  in  the 
three  and  a  half  per  cents.  "From  the 
return  of  the  coroners  in  the  factory  districts," 
the  reasoner  says,  "it  appeared  that  out 
of  eight  hundred  and  fifty-eight  accidents 
occasioning  lose  of  life,  only  twenty-nine,  or 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


340 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoDdoctcdby 


three  aad  a  half  pnercent  had  been  occasioned 
bj  factory  machinery/'  Three  and  a  half 
per  cent.  1  The  argument  is  of  a  substantial 
character. 

There  is  a  kind  of  fencing  for  the  preven- 
tion of  accident  with  which  inhabitants  of 
towns  are  all  veiy  familiar— the  fencing  of 
areas  with  iron  railing.  Let  us  suppose  that 
this  were  not  now  an  established  system,  but 
an  innovation  proposed  by  some  pseudo- 
philanthropists.  Is  it  not  manifest  that  the 
house-owning  interest  would  have  as  good  a 
case  of  grievance  to  make  out,  as  that  which 
is  put  forward  by  the  factory  owners  who  are 
asked  to  fence  their  dangerous  machinery? 
Areas  being  unfenccd — in  London,  let  us  say 
— all  people  who  are  prudent  would  avoid 
walking  too  close  to  the  edge  of  them :  the 
danger  would  be  patent,  the  means  of  avoid- 
ance obvious ;  it  would  be  a  man's  own  foult 
if  he  allowed  himself  to  tumble  into  an 
area.  Nevertheless,  accidents  would  occur ; 
probably  in  something  less  than  the  per 
centage  usual  in  factories.  We  will  suppose 
that  the  per  centage  of  accidents  would  be 
nearly  the  same ;  that  would  give  ten  or 
twelve  thousand  great  and  small  disasters 
annually,  from  contusions  up  to  broken  heads 
and  ribs  and  limbs,  with  a  hundred  or  a 
hundred  and  twenty  persons  killed.  The 
pseudo-philanthropist  would  of  course  cry  to 
a  prejudiced  public,  Here  is  a  great  yearly 
waste  of  life  and  limb,  preventible  by  the 
most  simple  expedient  of  binding  every 
hQUse-owner  by  law  to  put  a  fence  about  his 
areal  Ilouse-owners  might  then  get  up  de- 
putations, form  aggregate  meetings,  and  hold 
forth  upon  the  platform,  generally  to  this 
effect :  That  the  proposed  law  would  put 
them  to  a  great  expense  without  just  cause ; 
that  the  deaths  by  tumbling  into  areas,  went 
into  the  whole  population  so  as  to  give  a  pro- 
duct representing  only  one  in  about  seven- 
teen thousand  ;  that  the  persons  in  London 
suffering  from  accident  of  any  kind  through 
unopened  areas,  amounted  only  to  one  in 
one  hundred  and  seventv-five  ;  that  the  acci- 
dents commonly  took  place  in  spite  of  warn- 
ing and  through  obvious  imprudence:  that 
children  foolishly  played  on  the  edge  of  deep 
areas,  knowing  that  they  had  no  right  to  be 
there ;  and  that  in  spite  of  all  warning,  the 
said  children  would  tumble  in.  By  what 
principle  of  justice,  then,  should  the  owner  of 
the  area  be  made  responsible  for,  and  put  to 
expenses  by,  their  disobedience  and  folly? 
That  a  great  many  more  deaths  had  been 
caused  by  mismanagement  in  the  Crimea,  and 
that  there  were  more  accidents  in  coal-mines 
than  in  London  areas :  that  the  government 
had  therefore  no  rignt  to  protect  life  at 
home;  and  that  the  London  house-owners 
were  a  persecuted  interest.  Besides,  it  could 
be  urged,  that  if  the  fencing  were  established 
it  would  lead  to  dangers  of  the  most  alarming 
kind.  It  would  not  of  course  put  a  stop  to 
accidents,  because  children  would  fix  tneir 


heads  between  the  railings  and  impale  them- 
selves in  endeavouring  to  climb  over  the 
spikes,  which  would  at  the  same  time  offer 
serious  obstacle  to  escape  from  the  house  in 
case  of  fire.  But,  what  is  infinitely  worse, 
they  would  unquestionably  lead  to  a  great 
English  revolution,  which  would  be  a  con- 
flagration far  more  to  be  dreaded  than  the 
fire  of  Manchester,  producible  by  fencing 
horizontal-shafts.  For,  let  any  one  only  con- 
sider what  might  be  the  consequence  of 
lining  the  streets  of  our  large  towns  with 
heavy  weapons — pointed  iron  spikes — of  the 
most  formidable  character.  Little  more  than 
six  years  have  elapsed  since  special  constables 
were  sworn,  and  revolutionists  were  feared,  in 
London.  Everyone  knows,  too,  how  high  the 
excitement  often  rises  at  a  general  election. 
Let  the  time  come,  when  in  case  of  any  such 
turmoil  the  disputants,  not  left  to  their  mere 
fibts  and  sticks,  are  tempted  by  the  sight  of 
stands  of  arms  lining  the  streets,  and  what 
will  be  the  consequence  I  The  iron  railings 
will  be  torn  up  and  distributed  among  the 
populace ;  torrents  of  blood  will  flow :  the 
military  will  be  necessarily  summoned ;  and 
the  most  furious  combats  will  begin.  Barri- 
cades will  be  thrown  up,  and  the  passions  of 
the  populace,  stimulated  to  the  utmost,  will 
finally  hurl  the  British  empire  over  the 
brink  of  an  abyss.  Surely  it  is  a  lesser  evil 
that  a  little  boy  should  tumble  down  an 
area!  Which  sentiment  the  aggregate  meet- 
ing of  house-owners  would  receive  with 
cheers  and  laughter;  and  it  would  then 
wisely  resolve  itself  into  a  national  association 
of  house-owners  for  the  maintenance  of  open 
areas. 

We  turn  from  the  wisdom  of  the  platform 
to  the  wisdom  of  the  press,  which  renders 
homage  to  the  platform.  A  Manchester  news- 
paper has  *'  practical  evidence  demonstrating 
that  secure  fencing  might  vary  the  character 
of  the  accidents  occurring,  and  nothing  more. 
Of  the  two  thousand  accidents  in  the  last 
factory  inspectors'  report,  we  find  that  exactly 
thirty-nine  proved  fatal ;  but  of  these  no  less 
than  eighteen,  or  nearly  one-half,  are  described 
by  the  inspectors  as  accidents  not  arinng  from 
machinery.  The  fatal  accidents  fVom  ma- 
chinery were  as  one  in  two  hundred  of  the 
whole  number  ;  while  the  fatal  accidents  nU 
arising  from  machinery  were  as  many  as  one 
in  every  five." 

The  reports  of  the  factory  inspectors  are 
half-yearly.  They  separate,  in  every  case,  the 
accidents  arising  from  machinery  fVom  the 
accidents  which  arise  in  other  ways  :  placing, 
them  in  distinct  tables.  From  our  comment 
and  calculation  we,  as  a  matter  of  course,  in 
the  article  to  which  this  newspaper  refers, 
excluded  wholly  those  accidents  not  arising 
from  machinery,  which  are  triumphantly 
produced  as  an  answer  to  our  case.  Many  of 
them  being  preventible,  some  of  them  might 
have  gone  by  way  of  addition  to  a  sum  of 
wretchedness  already  great  enough ;  but,  we 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ChftriM  Dickens.] 


MOTHER  AND  STEPMOTHER. 


S41 


neither  said  nor  hinted  anything  to  that  ef- 
fect, and  took  no  more  note  of  the  accidents 
in  factories  with  which  machinery  had  no- 
thing to  do,  than  of  the  yellow  fevers  in 
Jamaica  or  of  deaths  by  apoplexy  anywhere. 
If  the  newspaper  to  which  we  refer  had 
obliged  us  with  the  statistics  of  yellow  fever 
as  an  answer  to  our  case,  they  would  have 
been  as  relevant  as  the  above-quoted  para- 
graph. 

The  writer  then  asks  whether  we  should 
like  to  be  held  responsible  for  the  death  of 
persons  mangled  by  our  printing  machines, 
and  wishes  to  know  why  printers  are  not 
called  upon  to  fence  their  presses.  Simply, 
because  nobody  is  aware  of  any  accidents 
that  could  in  that  way  be  prevented.  If 
skulls  were  smashed  and  limbs  torn  off  in 
printing  offices  by  machines  which  could  be 
rendered  harmless,  we  should,  we  trust,  if  we 
were  printers,  not  think  it  a  hardship  to  per- 
form our  duty  by  preventing  what  we  could 
prevent,  or  quarrel  with  a  Taw  that  ordered 
us  to  do  so.  Having  propounded  this  most 
sapient  appeal  direct,  the  Manchester  news- 
paper reverts  to  its  pet  idea  of  the  accidents 
that  have  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  the  ques- 
tion, as  forming  staple  for  an  argument  as 
weighty,  probably,  as  any  other.  While 
Household  Words,  it  says,  is  thus  hounding 
on  the  government  to  inflict  upon  the  manu- 
facturers penalties  from  which  other  trades 
arc  entirely  free,  we  subjoin  a  sample  of  the 
kind  of  accident  which  helps  largely  to  make 
up  the  factory  inspectors'  formidable  table. 
It  is  supplied  by  a  correspondent  of  a  Brad- 
ford paper : 


I  hftTe  Jott  bMQ  told  bj  a  inil1oini«r  of  three 
Mcidonta,  which  no  doabt  form  part  of  the  half-yearlj 
two  thoasand  which  are  regalarlj  reported.  Duriog 
the  dinner  hour  the  lad't  had  made  a  Ree-iftw  on  an 
emptj  oil-caek  in  the  jnill-yard ;  one  of  the  lads  waa 
thrown  off  and  hurt  hie  head.  Another  daj  a  namber 
of  donkeys  which  brooght  combers  work  were  in  the 
same  jard.  The  lads  teased  the  donkejs,  and  one  got 
a  severe  kick  from  one  of  them.  On  another  occa- 
sion some  lads  were  climbing  op  the  crane-rope^  when 
one  fell  and  was  hart.  These  occurred  all  in  one 
mill-jard,  in  this  towii.  and  are  serred  ojp  bj  Dickens 
as  part  of  the  horrible  matilations  of^the  factory 
occopiers. 


The  total  number  of  accidents  of  this  kind, 
not  arising  from  machinery,  mentioned  in 
the  last  half-yearly  report  of  the  inspectors, 
is  eighty-seven,  among  which  eighteen  ended 
in  death,  and  twenty-two  or  more  in  broken 
bones.  The  whole  number  of  accidents  re- 
ported as  having  arisen  from  machinery 
during  the  same  half-year — and  of  those 
only  we  have  spoken — ^was  one  thousand 
nine  hundred  and  seventy-one.  The  Brad- 
ford paper  knows  very  well  that  wo  have 
not  served  up  the  nonsense  of  its  correspon- 
dent to  the  public,  and  regarded  donkey's 
kicks  as  dreadful  mutilations.  We  have 
reason  to  know  better.  Fresh  from  the  read- 
ing of  such  a  paragraph  as  that  just  cited, 


we  are  privileged  to  say  that  we  can  place 
ourselves  in  the  position  of  the  lads  who, 
under  the  shadow  of  a  factory,  teased  don- 
keys, and  got  a  severe  kick  f^om  one  of  them. 
The  effect  of  it  is,  by  no  means,  horrible 
mutilation. 


MOTHER  AND   STEP-MOTHER. 

IN  FOUBTEEN  CHAPTEBS.  —  CHAPTER  I. 

"  Well,  after  all,  I  suppose  it  is  not  very 
much  to  be  wondered  at  I  Your  disconsolate 
widowers  are  always  the  first  to  take  comfort 
Poor  dear  Ann  I  not  dead  two  years  till  Sep- 
tember, and  Edward  married  again.  The 
doctors  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  themselves, 
putting  it  into  one's  head  that  he  was  going 
into  a  decline.  I  am  sure  I  couldn't  rest  day 
or  night  for  thinking  of  him." 

"I  congratulate  you  on  the  relief  this  news 
must  be  to  you,  Fanny.  Thomson  says  your 
brother  is  looking  better  than  he  ever  did  in 
his  life ;  and  he  tells  me  his  wife  is  a  decided 
beauty." 

'*  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  he  might' 
have  given  us  warning  of  his  intentions 
earlier.  It  looks  so  awkward  to  know  no- 
thing of  one's  own  brother's  afifairs.  I  talked 
so  much  about  his  grief  that  I  shall  get  finely 
laughed  at  when  he  comes  home  with  a  young 
wife." 

"  You  must  endure  with  your  usual  pa- 
tience, Fanny.  I  do  not  think  he  has  used 
us  particularly  well ;  but  it  seems  she  was 
furious  for  him,  and  when  a  beauty  of  eigh- 
teen falls  violently  in  love  with  a  man  of  six- 
and-thirty,  it  must  be  allowed  that  it  is  suffi- 
cient to  turn  his  head." 

**  Oh  I  you  men  always  attach  sot  much  im- 
portance to  youth.  For  my  part,  I  should 
have  thought  Edward  would  have  had  too 
much  sense  to  be  caught  by  a  miss  in  her 
teens ;  besides,  what  can  such  a  girl  know 
about  the  management  of  children  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  she  cannot  know  very  much  at 
present ;  but  that  comes  by  instinct  I  do 
not  think  she  is  likely  to  make  the  worse  step- 
mother because  she  is  young ;  and  Frank  is 
such  a  pretty  child  that  the  danger  will  be 
of  her  spoiling  him." 

"  O,  it  will  be  well  enough  till  she  has 
children  of  her  own.  Poor  little  Frank's 
good  looks  will  not  do  him  much  service 
then ;  and  you  may  take  my  word  for  it,  Wil- 
ton, that  it  was  a  bad  day  for  the  poor  child 
when  his  father  first  saw  this  Helen  Mac- 
donald." 

Sir  Edward  Irwin,  the  subject  of  the  fore- 
going tete-a-tete,  was  a  baronet  descended 
from  a  respectali>lo  family,  and  possessed  of 
very  considerable  estates  in  the  North  of  Eng- 
land. He  had  married,  early  in  life,  a  lady  of 
a  sweet  and  amiable  temper,  and,  eschewing 
fashionable  gaieties,  had  found  his  happiness 
in  domestic  enjoyment,  and  in  literary  and 
scientific  pursuits.  The  premature  death  of 
his  wife  startled  him  from  the  even  tenor  of 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


342 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  hj 


his  life.  It  was  the  first  sorrow  that  had  b^ 
fallen  him,  and  he  was  overwhelmed  by  it. 
His  wife  bad  been  so  constantly  his  compan- 
ion ;  she  had  met  all  his  requirements  with  a 
sympathy  so  ready  and  so  intelligent ;  that 
he  Mi  as  though  the  dearer  half  of  his  soul 
were  taken  away,  and  as  if  it  were  impossible 
for  the  other  half  to  linger  behind.  The  ca- 
resses and  necessities  of  his  son,  a  child  of 
some  three  years  old,  were  p|werle8S  to  rouse 
him.  He  was  unhappy  in  having  nothing  to 
force  him  from  his  sorrow.  His  ample  means, 
his  obsequious  retainers,  his  anxious  friends — 
all  ministered  to  it.  Toil,  the  hard  but  sweet 
necessity  of  the  sorrowing  multitude,  brought 
no  aid  to  him  :  he  nursed  his  woe  and  fed  it, 
till  his  bodily  strength  gave  way.  Friends 
interfered  ;  doctors  were  consulted  ;  his  affec- 
tion for  his  child  was  appealed  to ;  and  he 
submitted  passively  to  be  sent  to  Italy,  that 
change  of  scene  and  change  of  climate  might 
be  tried.  He  went  without  hope — without 
desire  of  recovery.  Italy  or  England — what 
mattered  it  to  him?  The  world  was  one 
grave-yard,  with  one  barren  mound  of  earth 
by  which  his  heart  sat  and  wept.  So  he  Eaid, 
and  so  he  thought. 

He  took  his  child  with  him ;  for,  though  in 
his  saddened  mood  the  sight  Qf  the  pretty 
boy  only  served  to  whet  his  sorrow,  he  clung 
to  him  as  all  that  remained  of  her  he  had 
lost ;  and  watched  over  him  with  a  nervous 
solicitude  grievous  to  behold.  The  contrast 
between  the  healthy  child  and  the  sorrow- 
stricken  father  could  hardly  fail  to  strike 
the  most  careless  observer  ;  it  very  quickly 
awakened  the  attention  of  Mrs.  and  Miss 
Macdonald,  who  happened  to  occupy  an  ad- 
joining palazzo  in  Florence,  whither  Sir 
Edward  bad  betaken  himself  by  the  direc- 
tion of  his  physicians.  The  simple  story 
of  his  bereavement  roused  the  interest 
of  both  ladies — an  interest  which,  in  the 
younger,  quickly  assumed  the  character  of 
passion, 

Young,  beautiful,  and  undisciplined,  Helen 
Macdonald  revelled  in  wild  notions  of  an  all- 
consuming  and  imperious  love.  Her  ardent 
temperament  had  been  exaggerated  by  the 
loose  morality  of  the  unprincipled  South,  and 
she  easily  accepted  the  handsome  stranger  as 
the  incarnation  of  an  ideal,  which  already  at 
eighteen  she  had  despaired  Of  meeting.  Sir 
Edward's  sunken  eye  and  wan  cheeks,  his  tall, 
worn  person,  and  his  rare  and  sorrowful 
smile,  moved  her,  as  the  perfection  of  health 
and  manly  vigour  might  have  failed  to  move 
her.  What  was  not  the  love  worth  which 
could  set  such  a  mark  on  the  bereaved  one  ? 
She  sympathised  with,  she  admired  his  sor- 
row ;  and  to  soften  it,  to  pour  balm  into  the 
wound  which  he  loved  to  keep  open,  became 
the  ambition—the  object  of  her  life. 

Occasion  is  rarely  wanting  to  those  who 
heartily  seek  it.  In  the  present  instance  the 
child  naturally  opened  the  way  to  the  father. 
The  little  boy's  heart  was  easily  won  by  the 


smiles  and  caresses  of  the  beautiful  stranger, 
who  spoke  to  him  in  the  language  of  his  mo- 
ther, and  folded  him  in  her  arms  almost  as 
tenderly.  The  name  of  Helen  Macdonald  was 
constantly  on  his  l|ps,  until  it  became  familiar 
and  grateful  to  his  father's  ears.  Courtesy 
required  that  Sir  Edward  should  rouse  him- 
self to  show  some  sense  of  the  kindness 
lavished  on  his  child.  The  first  step  taken, 
the  rest  followed  naturally.  Secure  in  his 
grief,  Sir  Edward  submitted  to  the  attentions 
of  his  neighbour.  Her  profound  admiration, 
her  sympathy  unuttered,  but  spoken  in  every 
look,  in  every  gesture,  were  a  fiattery  which 
he  accepted  without  suspicion.  The  meeting 
with  her  became  the  event  of  the  day,  until 
the  sweet  pale  image  of  his  lost  love  passed 
from  his  mind  like  breath  from  the  face  of  a 
mirror,  and  the  living  passionate  Helen 
reigned  supreme.  One  bitter  struggle  he  en- 
dured— one  sickening  attempt  to  return  to 
his  past  state  of  feeling  ;  but  the  flesh  over- 
came the  spirit,  and  with  a  sigh,  half  of  sor- 
row at  his  insensibility,  half  of  relief,  he 
yielded  himself  to  the  intoxicating  rapture  of 
his  new  passion. 

Helen  was  so  very  beautiful ;  so  tender, 
yet  withal  so  jealous,  so  imperious,  that  she 
kindled  for  a  time  his  more  placid  temper 
into  a  semblance  of  her  own.  She  was  bis 
tyrant  and  his  slave ;  but  in  all  her  moods,  so 
full  of  witchery,  that  she  left  him  no  time  for 
backward  thought,  but  filled  him  heart  and 
soul  with  her  own  image. 

No  obstacles  stood  in  the  way  of  their  union 
except  such  imaginary  difficulties  as  the  rest- 
less fancy  of  Helen  created.  Her  mother, 
who  in  many  respects  resembled  her  daughter, 
was  still  in  the  meridian  of  her  beauty,  and 
was  not  ill-pleased  to  be  relieved  of  a  child 
whom  she  could  not  govern,  and  who  had 
become  a  rival,  and  to  have  her  creditably 
established  as  the  wife  of  one  of  the  oldest 
baronets  .in  England.  Sir  Edward,  on  his 
side,  had  no  near  relations  but  his  sister,  and 
he  had  been  so  little  in  the  habit  of  consult- 
ing her,  that  it  was  only  on  the  eve  of  bis 
marriage  that  he  wrote  to  her.  And  the  same 
letter  which  announced  to  her  his  complete 
recovery  and  approaching  marriage,  inform- 
ed her  of  his  intention  of  bringing  his  wife 
immediately  to  England. 

CHAPTER  n. 

Is  spite  of  the  dissatisfaction  which  Mrs. 
Wilton  Brook  had  expressed  at  her  brother's 
marriage,  she  was  by  no  means  deficient  in 
anxiety  to  see  her  new  sister-in-law,  and  she 
appreciated  her  brother's  position  too  highly 
not  to  be  anxious  to  ingratiate  herself  with  a 
wife  who  she  felt  would  exercise  a  strong  in- 
fluence over  him.  She  accordingly  dressed 
her  pretty  person  in  the  most  approved 
fashion,  and  prepared  her  lips  for  smiles  and 
compliments,  as  she  drove  to  visit  the  bride 
at  Mivart's  Hotel. 

If  her  prejudice  had  been  stronger  than  it 


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343 


was,  it  must  have  yielded  to  the  grace  aad 
beauty  of  the  stranger.  Mrs.  Brook,  too, 
could  not  but  be  struck  by  the  improvement 
in  her  brother's  appearance,  and  she  was 
grateful  to  her  who  had  effected  it ;  for, 
though  a  worldly  woman,  she  was  not  defl- 
cicnt  in  natural  affection.  Sir  Edward  was 
her  only  brother,  the  bead  of  her  family,  and 
she  almost  forgot  poor  Ann  when  she  gazed 
on  his  renovated  form,  and  saw  the  tender 
pride  with  which  he  watched  the  move- 
ments and  listened  to  the  words  of  his  young 
wife. 

The  appearance  of  the  child  awoke  the 
train  of  old  recollections  in  the  mind  of  his 
aunt,  and  when  she  had  admired  his  growth 
and  caressed  his  fair  long  hair,  she  could  not 
refrain  from  whispering  to  his  father : 

"  How  like  poor  Ann !" 

Lady  Irwin  caught  the  whisper;  her  lip 
quivered,  and  the  colour  deepened  in  her 
cheek ;  she  drew  the  child  closer  within  the 
circle  of  her  arm,  and  said  aoflly— "  I  think 
him  so  like  Edward." 

"So  he  is,"  returned  Mrs.  Brook.  "  He  is 
like  Edward  about  the  nose  and  mouth  ;  but 
he  has  his  mother's  eyes," 

It  did  not  please  Lady  Irwin  that  the 
child*s  eyes  were  so  large  and  tender. 

"  They  are  verv  beautiful,"  she  said,  with 
an  anxious,  half  fearful  look  at  her  husband  ; 
but  there  was  no  sorrowful  recollection  in  his 
countenance — nothing  but  present  love  and 
happiness. 

**  You  can  form  no  idea,  Fanny,  of  what  a 
mother  Frank  has  in  this  dear  little  sister  I 
have  brought  you.  I  cannot  understand  it, 
such  a  child  as  she  is.  Well  might  the  poet 
say 

^iXoTSHPoy  Ttrns  Ttav  yovaateiov  ywoff."* 

"  What !  you  haven't  cured  him  yet  of  his 
abominable  habit  of  quoting  what  nobody 
can  understand,  Helen?'' 

"  O  nol  I  don't  wish  to  do  it,  either. 
You  will  laugh  at  us,  I  dare  say,  when  I  tell 
you  that  he  is  to  give  me  regular  lessons 
when  we  get  home.  I  know  a  little  Latin 
already,  but  not  enough  to  be  of  any  use. 
We  have  arranged  our  occupations  for  the 
winter.  Edward's  wife  ought  not  to  be  a 
smatterer,  you  knoW." 

**  But  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  let  him 
bury  you  and  himself  down  at  Swallowfield. 
It  was  bad  enough  before,  but  to  hide  you 
in  the  country  would  be  a  crying  scandal 
indeed." 

**  0,  we  have  not  the  smallest  intention  of 
doing  anything  of  the  kind— have  we,  Ed- 
ward? Do  not  alarm  yourself,  dear  Mrs. 
Brook,  I  am  quite  as  fond  of  society  as  you 
can  desire." 

**  Well,  that's  some  comfort.  I  only  hope 
and  trust  that  you  do  not  intend  to  lay 
yourself  out  for  a  literary  lady  ;  that  will  do 

*  The  lore  of  children  Ib  a  woman'i  inBtinct, 


some  twenty  years  hence ;  at  present  it  would 
be  a  positive  sacriflce.  I  am  not  sorry  that 
you  are  only  passing  through  town  now  ;  it 
would  not  have  done  to  take  off  the  gloss  of 
your  debut  by  appearing  at  Uie  end  of  the 
season." 

"  O  no  I  that  would  be  an  improvidence  in- 
deed," returned  Helen,  laughing,  "  I  haven't 
tired  Edward  out  yet,  and  we  intend  to  live 
demurely  and  properly  this  winter,  that  I 
may  come  out  span  new  with  country  cheeks 
next  spring.  We  are  going  home  to-morrow. 
It  sounds  so  strange  to  talk  of  going  home  to 
a  place  one  has  never  seen,  but  I  almost  seem 
to  know  it,  I  have  made  Edward  tell  me  so 
much  about  it,  from  the  lime  avenue  by 
the  river  side  to  the  old  oak  cabinet  in  his 
study.  I  shall  soon  know  the  ways  of  the 
house,  and  then  I  hope  you  will  come  and 
see  us."  I 

"  That's  a  very  civil  speech  of  yours,  my 
dear,"  said  Mrs.  Brook,  in  nigh  good  humour ; 
"  and  you  may  trust  to  my  discretion  not  to 
break  in  upon  ^ou  too  soon.  But  what  do 
you  say  to  leaving  me  the  boy  for  the  pre- 
sent ?  I  will  take  great  care  of  him.  and  my 
girls  will  be  nice  playmates  for  him." 

This  invitation  was  declined  with  thanks, 
but  with  a  haste  which  showed  that  neither 
Sir  Edward  nor  his  wife  were  inclined  to 
forego  the  pleasure  each  derived  from  the 
presence  of  the  child.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Brook 
had  given  the  invitation  to  test  the  real  state 
of  her  sister-in-law's  feelings  towards  her 
little  nephew ;  certainly  she  did  not  seem 
displeased  that  it  was  not  accepted,  and  took 
her  leave,  enraptured  with  the  bride,  and 
perfectly  reconciled  to  her  brother. 

CHAPTBB  m. 

A  PEW  weeks  saw  Sir  Edward  Irwin  and 
his  lady  established  for  the  winter  in  their 
handsome  country  mansion.  When  the  plea- 
sant task  of  showing  his  estates  to  his  wife 
was  over,  and  the  excitement  of  returning  in 
joy  to  the  home  which  he  had  left  in  sorrow 
and  weakness,  had  subsided,  Sir  Edward  re- 
sumed his  old,  but  long  interrupted  pursuits  \ 
and  his  wife,  true  to  her  intention,  entered 
on  a  course  of  study  which  should  enable  her 
to  share  thenu  Nor  did  her  energies  flag 
after  a  few  weeks  of  strenuous  exertion  ;  her 
mind,  vigorous  and  enquiring,  demanded  a 
pursuit  which  called  its  powers  into  action, 
and  her  proud  spirit  rose  with  the  diflSculties 
which  presented  themselves.  Her  husband 
smiled  at  her  eagerness,  and  was  delighted 
at  her  intelligence :  so  that  the  hours  he 
spent  in  assisting  her  in  the  severe  studies 
she  undertook,  were  the  pleasantest  of  his 
day. 

And  Lady  Irwin  was  happy.  Her  husband 
had  no  thought  beyond  her  ;  the  boy  throve 
and  loved  her ;  but  yet  her  happiness  was 
not  perfect.  Mere  passion  never  brings  hap- 
piness ;  it  is  of  the  earth,  earthy,  and  bears 
the  elements  of  corruption  in  itself.  The  love 


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344 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Condtarted  bj 


that  does  not  come  f^om  Heaveo,  that  does 
not  look  to  Heavea  for  its  perfection,  cannot 
raise,  cannot  purify  the  heart — it  is  a  restless 
wind  that  stirs  the  troubled  soul,  and  will 
not  let  it  be  at  peace — it  is  unquiet  and 
ingenious  as  self-torture.  So  it  was  with 
Helen  Irwia  ;  between  her  and  her  happiness 
came  a  shadow,  the  phantom  of  one  who  had 
ceased  to  be. 

The  picture  of  the  first  Lady  Irwin  hung 
in  the  drawing-room,  and  she  would  sit  and 
gaze  at  it  until  the  canvas  seemed  to  glow, 
and  the  sweet  thoughtful  face  to  live,  smiling 
down  upon  her  in  secure  triumph.  She  tor- 
tured herself  by  imagining  the  tenderness 
with  which  those  large  gray  eyes  had  hung 
upon  her  husband,  the  loving  words  which 
those  lips  had  uttered.  If  at  any  time  his 
eyes  dwelt  on  the  picture,  or  if  he  involun- 
tarily compared  the  features  of  his  son  with 
it,  she  could  hardly  control  her  impatience  ; 
and  she  would  break  from  the  boy  in  the 
midst  of  his  caresses,  if  the  resemblance 
he  bore  to  his  mother  happened  to  strike 
her. 

So  time  passed  till  a  little  girl  was  bom  to 
her,  and  the  disquiet  of  her  soul  was  hushed 
for  awhile ;  the  infant  stole  the  trouble  from 
its  mother^s  heart,  and  wakened  in  her  bosom 
strange  yearnings  for  someUiing  better  and 
purer  than  she  had  yet  known.  The  great 
mystery  of  that  new  life,  made  so  dear  by 
suffering,  and  still  so  dependent  on  her, 
stirred  her  to  meditation  on  the  great  mystery 
of  our  being — the  weakness  incidental  to  her 
condition,  while  it  humbled  her  pride,  soft^ 
ened  her  heart  to  receive  with  meekness  the 
only  doctrine  that  can  explain  it.  But  in  a 
few  months  the  frail  infant  sickened  and  died. 
No  tear  wetted  the  mother^s  cheek,  she 
endured  in  silence  the  affliction  to  which  she 
would  not  submit,  impiously  arraigning  the 
Hand  that  send  it,  and  the  vague  conception 
of  religious  truth  which  she  had  begun  to 
entertain  vanished,  and  darkness  closed  in 
upon  her  soul. 

She  had  her  child  buried  in  a  quiet  corner 
of  the  churchyard,  away  from  the  vault 
where  Lady  Irwin  lay,  and  thither  she  would 
wander  at  lonely  hours,  and  sit  on  the  little 
mound  with  dry  eyes  and  an  angry  heart. 
The  harebells  that  grew  spontaneously  about 
it  she  plucked  and  bore  away,  but  she 
hung  no  garlands  on  the  stone  and  planted 
no  flowers  over  the  place  of  her  infant's 
rest. 

Her  studies,  which  she  had  rather  neglected 
during  the  little  one's  life,  she  now  resumed 
with  increase  ardour,  seeking  distraction  for 
her  aching  heart  in  mental  exercise.  Her 
husband,  aware  that  all  was  not  as  it  should 
be,  though  far  from  apprehending  the  true 
nature  of  the  grief  of  which  she  never  spoke, 
willingly  lent  her  bis  aid,  hoping  that  the 
pursuits  which  yielded  him  such  satisfaction 
would  act  with  medicinal  virtue  upon  her. 
Her  mind  thus  acquired  strength,  ^but  her 


heart  did  not  keep  pace  with  its  progress ; 
the  circle  of  her  affections  narrowed,  no 
interchange  of  friendly  sympathies  with 
her  equals  drew  her  from  herself,  no  tender 
acts  of  personal  charity  to  the  poor  about  her 
softened  her  sorrow.  She  became  cold  and 
stately,  and  proud  of  her  secret  grief  un- 
profaned  by  common  pity  and  unlike  that  of 
any  other. 

A  young  woman  in  the  village,  who  had 
been  married  shortly  after  Lady  Irwin's 
arrival  at  Swallowfield,  lost  her  baby  soon 
after  the  death  of  Helen's  daughter.  She  was 
a  simple  creature,  and  the  affliction  lay  sore 
upon  her,  for  her  husband  was  often  rough, 
'sometimes  unkind  to  her,  and,  being  from  a 
distant  part  of  the  country,  she  bad  few 
friends  m  the  village.  Many  a  summer 
evening  did  she  spend  in  the  churchyard,  and 
many  a  tasteful  garland  of  wild  flowers  did 
she  weave  to  dress  her  baby's  grave.  More 
than  once  Lady  Irwin  passed  her  in  the 
gloaming,  but  her  heart  never  softened  with 
a  feeling  of  kindred  sorrow  ;  she  rather 
despised  the  grief  which  could  find  relief  in 
such  childish  demonstrations,  and  the  poor 
woman — with  the  one  thing  that  loved  her 
laid  in  the  dust,  with  clothes  barely  sufficient 
to  cover  her,  and  a  cold  hearth  at  home — was 
richer  and  happier  than  the  beautiful  lady 
whose  costly  robes  brushed  her  as  she 
passed,  for,  in  the  depth  of  her  desolation, 
she  could  look  to  One  who  had  promised 
to  bear  her  sorrow,  in  the  light  of  wh(»e 

Eresence  she  might  hope  to  be  reunited  to 
er  darling. 

The  world,  as  it  is  called,  occupied  a  due 
share  of  Lady  Irwin's  time  and  attention ; 
her  tastes  inclined  her  to  magnificence,  her 
beauty  and  her  talents  to  display,  while  her 
husband's  fortune  justified  her  in  assuming  a 
leading  position  in  society.  No  parties  were 
more  brilliant,  no  dinners  better  appointed 
than  hers.  Science,  literature,  and  art  were 
duly  honoured  at  her  house  ^  her  husband  was 
an  accomplished  conversationalist,  and  she 
herself  possessed  the  rarer  virtue  of  being  an 
excellent  listener.  Thus  her  house  was  the 
resort  of  men  of  the  highest  intellectual 
attainments  in  town,  and  when  at  Swallow- 
field  she  was  rarely  without  visitors  whose 
names  were  known  and  honoured. 

But  though  Lady  Irwin  had  many  admirers 
she  had  no  frietids  ;  she  asked  no  sympathy, 
and  had  none  to  give — none,  at  least,  for  the 
sorrows  and  joys  of  dailv  life — she  was  self- 
contained.  In  a  man  such  a  character  is  hard 
and  sad  —  how  much  harder,  how  much 
sadder,  in  a  woman,  whose  vocation  it  is  to 
temper  the  stem  realities  of  life,  who,  to 
be  strong,  must  have  some  touch  of  weak- 
ness, who,  if  by  too  easy  credulity  she  opened 
the  way  to  sin  and  death,  should  also  point 
the  road  to  life  by  faith  perfected  in  the  sense 
of  her  infirmity. 

Aware  of  the  violence  of  her  passions,  and 
falsely  believing  that  unsubdued  vigour  of 


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345 


natural  iostinct  was  a  proof  of  greatnefis'  of 
character,  there  was  nothing  of  which  Lady 
Irwin  stood  in  such  dread  as  the  compassion 
of  people  of  a  tamer  temperament.  She, 
therefore,  learnt,  not  indeed  to  govern  her 
feelings,  but  to  repress  ail  outwaiS  manifeB^ 
ation  of  them,  and  to  hide  the  tomult  of  her 
bosom  under  a  cold  and  stately  bearing.  She 
became  silent  and  inclined  to  solitude,  or 
to  the  dangerous  intimacy  of  Agnese,  a  wait- 
ing-woman who  had  followed  her  from  Italy, 
and  to  whom  more  than  to  any  other  crea- 
ture she  was  in  the  habit  of  unveiling  her 
emotions. 

It  seems  to  be  an  imperative  law  of  our 
nature  that  the  heart  should  unburthen  itself 
to  some  one.  When  he  whom  we  trust  is  in- 
deed a  friend,  faithful  in  counsel  and  strong 
in  comfort,  obedience  to  this  law  is  the  sweet- 
est solace  of  our  earthly  pilgrimage;  but 
when  we  hide  the  ugly  portions  of  our  charac- 
ter ft-om  those  who  love  us,  and  expose  them 
only  to  thoae  of  whose  judgment  we  stand  in 
no  awe,  who,  our  inferiors  in  intellect  and 
station,  pander  to  our  passions  and  foster 
our  evil  tendencies,  there  is  no  perverted 
blessing  which  may  bo  turned  to  more  deadly 
account. 

Agnese  Pistorella  was  the  natural  daughter 
of  a  Venetian  nobleman,  who  had  been  assas- 
sinated by  her  mother  In  a  fit  of  jealous  de- 
^ir.  Having  accomplished  her  crime,  the 
murd«*re88  was  overwhelmed  with  remorse, 
and.  far  from  attempting  to  make  her  escape, 
herself  sent  to  summon  the  officers  of  justice, 
aud  lay  with  her  loosened  hair  falling  like  a 
pall  over  her  victim  till  they  arrived.  Her 
youth,  her  beauty,  and  the  violence  of  her 
p  i&^ions,  drew  much  attention  to  her  case,  but 
she  was  executed — submitting  to  her  fate  with 
the  constancy  of  one  who  knew  it  to  be  the 
natural  consequence  of  her  deed,  the  compen- 
sation due  to  the  Manes  of  her  lover.  The 
child  she  left  was  completely  abandoned  by 
its  father's  friends,  and  became  dependent  on 
its  maternal  grandmother — a  woman  of  infa- 
mous character.  Taking  advantage  of  the  in- 
terest excited  by  her  daughter,  this  woman 
made  a  loathsome  traffic  by  exhibiting  her 
child;  but  curiosity  soon  died  away — the 
sooner,  as  the  grand-mother  thought,  that  the 
girl  inherited  the  swarthy  countenance  and 
beetling  brows  of  her  father.  Nursed  early  and 
often  with  the  terrible  story  of  her  parents, 
and  tutored  to  assume  a  look  of  melancholy, 
Agnese  graduallv  aoqufared  that  low  cun- 
ning with  which  Nature  arms  the  oppressed, 
passing  from  infancy  to  womanhood  subject 
to  the  caprices  of  the  abandoned  old  woman 
who,  even  in  her  dotage,  meditated  crime. 

A  deep-lying  love  for  her  mother  was  the 
poetry  of  Agnese's  life  ;  whatever  was  sweet 
or  soft  in  her  memories  gathered  round  the 
image  of  the  beautiful,  sumptuously-apparel- 
led woman  dwelling  in  luxurious  chambers, 
who  had  fondled  and  caressed  her ;  of  those 
sunny,  fu-ott  times  she  had  a  vague  reeolleo- 


t'ton,  but  well  did  she  remember  the  last  time 
her  mother's  arms  were  folded  about  her — 
well  did  she  remember  the  bare  dungeon 
walls,  the  darkness,  the  bloodshot  eyes,  the 
pale,  haggard  cheeks,  and  the  long,  lingering 
kiss  of  the  white  tremulous  lips. 

On  her  grandmother's  death  she  was  forced 
to  seek  the  means  of  living,  and  accident 
placed  her  in  the  family  of  Mrs.  Macdonald, 
where  she  filled  one  of  the  lowest  grades  in 
the  household.  Here  her  haughty  silence, 
while  it  made  her  unpopular  among  the 
servants,  but  excited  the  interest  of  Helen, 
who,  in  the  loneliness  of  spirit  engendered 
by  the  absence  of  confidence  between  herself 
and  her  mother,  readily  turned  her  thoughts 
to  the  outcast,  and  made  it  her  earnest 
request  that  the  girl  might  be  given  to  her 
as  her  special  attendant— a  request  which 
her  mother,  ever  careless  of  her  true  in- 
terests, and  blameably  lax  where  her  dis- 
cipline should  have  been  the  strictest,  never 
thought  of  denying  her.  The  kindness  thus 
unexpectedly  shown  to  her,  Agnese  repaid 
with  blind  devotion.  To  Helen,  in  the  dark 
twilight  of  a  winter  night,  she  told  the  story 
of  her  parents,  lingering  with  fond  minute- 
ness over  all  the  details  with  which  her  me- 
mory was  stored.  It  was  a  story  Helen  well 
loved  to  hear  ;  she  never  pointed  out  the 
heinous  sin,  and  how  the  last  evil  was  the 
ftruit  of  the  first,  —  neither  for  herself 
nor  for  the  poor  orphan  did  she  read  this 
lesson. 

Through  Helen-s  courtship,  Agnese  had 
watched,  with  jealous  eare,  for  the  smallest 
sign  of  faithlessness  in  Sir  Edward,  resolved, 
if  need  were,  to  prove  her  devotion  to  her 
mistress  by  sacrificing  herself  to  avenge  her : 
but  the  need  did  not  arise.  He  had  loved 
before — dearly  loved,  it  was  said ;  but  she 
and  Helen  were  both  persuaded  that  true 
passion  was  now,  for  the  first  time,  awakened 
in  his  bosom.  When  they  were  married,  and 
Sir  Edward  gradually  relapsed  into  his  old 
habits,  the  ascendancy  which  his  wife  exercis- 
ed over  him  left  no  room  for  jealousy,  how- 
ever much  she  might  fret  at  the  evenness 
and  placidity  of  his  temper. 

How  mutually  injurious  these  two  women 
were,  may  easily  be  conjectured.  Neither 
acted  as  corrective  to  the  other ;  but  each 
strengthened  and  confirmed  the  other's  eril 
tendencies. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

LrrrLB  Frank  Irwin  would  haye  been  sadly 
starved  for  affection  and  sympathy,  if  he  had 
been  entirely  dependent  for  both  on  his  step- 
mother :  for,  though  at  tijnes  she  oppressed 
him  witn  her  caresses,  and  indulged  him  even 
beyond  what  was  wholesome  for  him,  she 
grew  so  capricious  in  her  treatment  of  him, 
after  the  death  of  her  infant,  that  his  natur- 
ally sweet  and  trustful  temper  must  have 
been  injured.  But  when  they  were  in  the 
country,  which  was  generally  for  nine  months 


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346 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCondactcd  by 


in  the  year,  Frank  found  a  plajfellow  and 
friend  in  the  little  daughter  of  the  clergy- 
man, a  blue-eyed  child,  something  less  than 
a  year  his  junior. 

The  rectory  was  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
from  the  gates  of  Sir  Edward's  park ;  and 
Mr.  Birkby,  the  rector,  was  a  distant  relative 
of  the  Irwins  ;  so  the  intimacy  of  the  children 
was  quite  natural ;  and  whenever  his  mamma 
was  busy — ^whenever  Agnese  was  cross — 
whenever,  in  short,  anything  happened  to 
disquiet  him  at  home— away  ran  little  Frank, 
to  forget  his  trouble  in  the  company  of 
Kitty  Birkby ;  and  many  a  sunny  after- 
noon did  they  sit  together,  under  the  large 
apple-tree,  in  the  orchard,  or  in  the  sha- 
dow of  the  old  cedar,  making  daisy  gar- 
lands, and  mingling  their  hearts  in  innocent 
prattle. 

Frank  was  a  great  hero  to  Kitty.  Frank 
went  to  London  and  to  all  kinds  of  places 
with  long  names,  which  he  knew  quite  well, 
and  could  repeat  as  easily  as  she  could  repeat 
the  names  of  the  field  and  hedge  flowers. 
Frank  went  to  the  theatres,  where  he  saw  all 
sorts  of  wonderful  things,  which  he  described 
to  her  with  indefatigable  patience.  There 
was  not  a  marvellous  feat  of  harlequin  that 
she  was  not  familiar  with ;  and  she  even 
dreamt  of  the  fairy — In  pink,  with  silver 
wings — who  always  came  down  in  a  chariot, 
drawn  by  peacocks,  just  in  time  to  save  the 
prince  and  princess  Arom  the  deep-laid  plots 
of  the  cruel  ogre  with  green  hair,  a  bulbous 
nose,  and  a  cavernous  mouth,  who  had  an- 
nounced it  be  his  intention  to  dine  off  the 
prince,  and  promote  the  little  trembling  prin- 
cess to  the  honour  of  Mrs.  Ogress.  O,  with 
what  eloquence  did  he  describe,  to  the  round- 
eyed,  eager  auditress,  the  final  scene  of  the 
drama,  when  the  fairy,  having  made  the 
prince  and  princess  happy,  and  consigned 
their  wicked  aunts  and  ancles  to  well-merit- 
ed punishment,  ascended  out  of  mortal  ken, 
seated  on  a  many-colonred  cloud  which 
seemed  heavily  charged  with  electricity, — a 
mode  of  travelling  highly  nnpleasant  to  any 
one  but  a  fairy,  but  which,  of  coarse,  afford- 
ed her  unalloyed  delight,  as  she  took  care  to 
communicate  to  the  prince  and  princess  that 
they  must  expect  nothing  further  f^om  her: 
it  being  her  intention  to  retire  into  private 
life,  among  the  stars,  where  she  (very  ration- 
ally, as  the  world  goes),  did  not  wish  to  be 
disturbed. 

By  the  time  he  had  related  the  story  six 
or  seyen  times  to  Kitty,  Frank  became  so 
enamoured  of  it,  that  he  conceived  the  bold 
idea  of  acting  it ;  he  was  to  be  the  prince, 
Kitty  the  pnncess,  and  Sarah,  her  nurse,  a 
particularly  solid  young  woman,  the  fairy ;  the 
other  dramatis  persons  might  be  imagined. 

Kitty  took  very  kindly  to  beinf;  the  prin- 
cess ;  we  stuck  a  flower  in  her  hair ;  sat  her- 
self down  on  a  bank,  and  pretended  it  was  a 
throne  ;  but  when  Frank  tried  to  induce  her 
to  personate  the  agony  of  the  princess  when 


her  lover  was  torn  away  from  her  by  the 
savage  o^e,  here  represented  by  a  crabbed 
old  tree,  he  was  almost  discomfited.  Very 
much  urged,  Kitty  rushed  fiercely  up  to  the 
tree,  and  beating  its  knotty  stem  with  her 
chubby  hands,  cried,  "  Naughty  ogre,  take 
away  my  prince  I "  It  was  in  vain  that 
Frank  explained  the  truculent  nature  of  the 
ogre,  and  the  timid  character  of  the  princess. 
This,  however,  was  nothing  in  comparison  to 
the  trouble  he  had  with  Sarah,  who  was  al- 
ways deeply  encraged  in  reading  a  dilapidat- 
ed copy  of  the  Old  English  Baron,  in  devour- 
ing sour  apples,  or  darning  stockings,  when 
she  was  required  to  make  her  graceful  de- 
scent upon  earth. 

But  there  were  other  things  which  Frank 
delighted  to  impart  to  Kitty  :  the  grand  mys- 
tery of  hie,  haec,  hoc,  in  which  he  was,  at  an 
early  age,  indoctrinated :  yet  Kitty  was  no 

Erodigy,  at  five  years  ola  she  hardly  knew 
er  letters ;  and  if  any  one  had  told  her  that 
the  earth  was  like  an  orange,  flattened  at  the 
poles,  she  would  have  opened  her  blue  eyes 
in  most  profound  astonishment.  Like  Frank, 
she  had  lost  her  mother  in  her  infancy,  and 
was  in  great  measure  dependent  on  a  maiden 
sister  of  her  father,  who  resided  with  him, 
and  who  loved  her  dearly.  But  Miss  Selina 
Birkby  was  now  in  the  winter  of  her  days, 
and  having  spent  the  prime  of  her  life  in  the 
dreary  state  called,  in  derision,  single  bless- 
edness, she  knew  no  more  of  the  rearing  and 
training  of  children  than  a  day-labourer,  ac- 
customed to  no  sort  of  horticulture  bat  the 
sowing  of  turnips,  might  be  supposed  to  know 
of  the  rearing  of  delicate  exotics. 

Kitty,  nevertheless,  had  a  most  charming 
little  countenance,  which  changed  from  smiles 
to  tears  with  the  rapidity  of  an  April  day. 
She  was  a  great  favourite  with  Sir  Edward 
Irwin,  who  liked  to  take  her  on  his  knee,  and 
to  play  with  her  soft  curls ;  but  she  never 
pleased  Lady  Irwin — perhaps  becaose  the 
sight  of  her  wakened  the  memories  of  her  own 
lost  little  girl—perhaps  from  the  increasing 
jealousy  of  her  disposition,  which  nothing 
seemed  too  small,  nothing  too  innocent,  to 
excite.  She  wondered  what  Sir  Edward  and 
Frank  could  see  to  interest  them  in  a  little 
creature  neither  remarkable  for  beauty,  nor 
distinguished  for  intelligence ;  and  Kitty,  for 
her  part,  had  an  instinctive  dread  of  Lady 
Irwin ;  she  was  almost  completely  silent  in 
her  presence,  and  approached  her  only  with 
effort  and  unwillingneaa. 

But  if  her  instinct  led  her  to  avoid  Lady 
Irwin,  it  operated  yet  more  strongly  in  the 
case  of  Agnese.  The  child  absolutely  trem- 
bled if  Agnese  touched  her ;  and  once,  when 
she  insisted  on  kissing  her,  she  was  almost 
convulsed  with  terror.  Agnese,  as  may  be 
imagined,  was  not  slow  to  repay  dislike  with 
disUlce.  She  chose  to  believe,  that,  being  the 
child  of  an  ecclesiastic,  Kitty  was  peculiarly 
under  the  ban  of  Heaven ;  for,  though  desti- 
tute of  anything  like  true  religion,  she  clung 


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Charlca  Dickena.] 


MOTHER  AND  STEP-MOTHER. 


347 


with  pertinacity  to  the  snperatitionB  which  she 
had  been  tangbt  in  childhood,  and  especially 
delighted  to  believe  that  the  marriage  of  a 
priest  was  a  sacrilegious  thing,  and  that, 
therefore,  little  Kitty  was  nothing  but  a  fore- 
doomed child  of  Satan. 

OHAFTSa  V. 

Frank  was  just  nine  years  old,  and  in  the 
middle  of  the  veritable  history  of  Py ramus 
and  Thisbe,  which  he  read  with  Mr.  Birkby, 
and  duly  performed  with  Kitty,  when  Lady 
Irwin  again  became  a  mother,  the  mother  of 
a  son  of  singular  promise  and  beauty.  Her 
heart  swelled  with  joyful  pride,  but  it  seemed 
as  if  happiness  for  her  was  never  to  be  with- 
out alloy.  A  conversation  which  she  over- 
heard between  the  nurse  and  Agnese  com- 
pletely damped  her  pleasure,  and  awakened 
discontented  thoughts  in  her  bosom. 

They  were  speaking  of  the  child,  admiring 
his  beauty,  and  conmienting  on  the  joy  of  his 
parents. 

*' Ah  I"  cried  the  old  nurse,  "  Sir  Edward's 
well  pleased  enough  now ;  but,  Lord  love  ye, 
if  you'd  seen  the  fuss  there  was  when  Master 
Frank  was  born — he  woru't  nothing  to  com- 
pare to  this  here  lamb,  but  then  he  was  the 
heir — Lord,  the  ringing  of  bells  and  the  driv- 
ing up  of  carriages!  I  made  nigh  twenty 
pound  at  the  christening — and  all  the  village 
was  invited  to  dine  :  there  was  an  ox  roasted 
whole — and,  as  to  tne  ale,  it  was  quite  a  sin 
to  see  it  flowing  about  everywhere  like 
water." 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  tenderness  of 
Sir  Edward;*  he  could  not  have  shown  more 
joy  at  the  birth  of  his  eldest  son ;  the  in- 
quiries were  numerous,  the  christening 
splendid :  but  the  old  nurse's  words  rankled 
in  Lady  Irwin's  heart.  She  still  loved  Frank, 
but  she  could  not  at  all  times  bear  to  see  him 
caress  his  half-brother,  though,  if  he  showed 
the  least  indifference,  she  tortured  herself  by 
thinking  how  much  the  child's  fcite  depended 
on  his  affection.  As  soon  as  the  baby  began 
to  take  notice,  he  showed  a  very  decided 
affection  for  Frank  ;  there  was  only  one  per- 
son whom  he  preferred,  and  that  person  was 
Kitty  Birkby. 

With  all  her  passionate  affection,  Lady 
Irwin  wanted  the  art  to  accommodate  her- 
self to  the  weaknesses  of  a  little  child  ; 
she  could  not  talk  the  fond  nonsense  which 
the  ordinary  mother  makes  the  vehicle  of  her 
tenderness,  and  by  which  she  wakes  the 
dimples  in  her  infant's  cheek.  Kitty,  on  the 
other  hand,  was  distinguished  by  an  extraor- 
dinary power  of  sympathy;  she  seemed  to 
know  intuitively  what  was  wanted  of  her, 
and  with  happy  and  unconscious  gntce  to 
meet  the  requirement  She  loved  all  children, 
so  it  was  verv  natural  that  she  should  feel 
especial  delight  in  the  beautiful  child  who 
crowed  and  clapped  his  little  hands  at  her 
appearance. 


In  spite  of  her  dissatisfaction  that  her  son 
was  not  his  father's  heir.  Lady  Irwin  was 
made  much  happier  by  his  birth ;  the  boy 
was  all  her  own — he  hod  her  fitfnl  eyes,  her 
square  brow,  the  shape  of  his  mouth  was  like 
hers,  with  a  shadow  of  bis  father*s  smile  ;  and 
before  long  it  became  evident  that  he  in- 
herited her  temper.  He  was  wilful  and 
impatient,  he  never  let  his  mother  tret  her- 
self for  want  of  excitement ;  it  was  never 
possible  to  tell  in  what  mood  the  young  auto- 
crat might  choose  to  show  himself;  he  was 
like  a  mountain-girdled  lake,  now  langhing  to 
the  summer  sun,  now  lashing  its  crested 
billows  into  fury.  Kitty  Birkby  was  the 
only  person  whose  influence  with  him  never 
failed  ;  his  mother  might  waste  her  strength 
in  the  attempt  to  storm  him  down ;  the  never 
gained  her  point :  he  would  scream  till  she 
was  terrified  for  his  health,  but  he  would  not 
yield ;  yet  Kitty,  without  violence,  by  some 
subtle  charm  in  her  touch  or  in  her  voice, 
brought  back  the  smiles  in  five  minutes,  and 
won  him  to  obedience. 

For  two  years  longer  Frank  Irwin  pursued 
his  studies  at  home,  under  the  direction  of 
Mr.  Birkby  ;  he  was  then  sent  to  Rugby,  at 
that  time  under  the  wise  government  of 
Dr.  Arnold.  His  departure  caused  Kitty 
great  sorrow,  but  it  made  little  interruption 
in  her  visits  to  the  hall ;  for  Edward,  as  the 
boy  was  named  from  his  father,  was  growing 
fast,  and  became  daily  more  imperious  in  his 
demands  upon  her  time.  It  was  not  in  the 
nature  of  things,  that  Lady  Irwin  should  not 
feel  some  touch  of  tenderness  to  the  sweet 
child  to  whom  she  owed  so  much  ;  perhaps 
she  regretted  that  she  oould  not  love  her, 
and  strove  by  the  lavish  profusion  of  her 
gifts  to  atone  for  the  want  of  real  affec- 
tion. In  one  rcBpect  only  did  the  little 
girl  and  the  woman  svmpathlze.  Ladv 
Irwin  possessed'  a  musical  genius  of  a  high 
order ;  her  knowledge  of  the  art  was  profound, 
and  the  harp  or  piano  under  her  hand  pro- 
duced thrilling  or  stirring  harmonics,  the 
transcript  of  her  state  of  feeling ;  she  was  a 
poet  of  sound,  and  the  pulsations  of  her  pas- 
sionate temperament  thus  found  immediate 
and  ample  expreFsion. 

Now,  Kitty  Birkby  early  evinced  great 
taste  for  music ;  her  voice  was-  peculiarly 
clear  and  sweet ;  she  owed  much  to  the  care- 
ful instruction  of  Lady  Irwin,  who  was  pleased 
to  have  a  pupil  so  docile  and  so  apt  in  her 
favourite  science.  In  other  respects,  Kitty's 
education  was  not  systematised ;  her  aunt 
taught  her  needlework  and  what  she  knew  of 
French ;  while  her  father  instructed  her  in 
arithmetic,  and  formed  her  taste  in  literature. 
His  eyes  failin|^  him  he  was  often  glad  to  use 
her  younger  sight,  and  thus  she  learned  to 
read  with  expression  and  without  fatigue, 
while  she  imbibed  a  fund  of  general  know- 
ledge, which  lay  in  her  mind  like  seed 
destined  to  bring  forth  a  rich  harvest  in 
future  years.    And  thus  her  childhood  passed 


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348 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoedacMdby 


in  ever-recurring  works  of  tenderness  and 
love.  She  was  so  gentle  and  so  modest  that 
it  was  only  by  her  absence  that  her  Ariends 
knew  how  much  they  needed  her. 

BOOTS  AND  CORNS. 

"Boots!"  There  is  something,  to  my 
thinking,  particularly  imposing  in  that  simple 
monoByllable.  It  conveys,  to  my  mind, 
an  idea  of  solidity,  strength,  swiftness, 
power  of  endurance,  personal  capabi  ity  ;  it 
images  all  the  energetic  and  active  pro- 
perties of  our  nature.  There  may  be  other 
integuments,  equally  indicative  of  manhood, 
but  there  are  none  of  which  a  male  wearer  is 
so  proud  as  of  his  boots.  To  indue  the 
femoral  garment,  on  one's  first  entry  into 
life,  is  something ;  but  to  be  booted  is  to 
have  life  itself  at  the  point  of  the  toe — a  foot- 
ball to  be  kicked  whithersoever  it  may  please 
the  fantasy  of  the  kicker.  The  man  walks 
not  on  two  legs  who  has  forgotten  the  joy 
and  pride  with  which  he  put  on  his  first 
pair  of  boots,  particularly  if  he  be  old 
enough  to  remember  the  palmy  days  of 
Hessians  and  Tope,  when  the  natural  termi- 
nus of  humanity  was  a  shining,  well-shaped 
boot ;  oven  in  the  more  than  half  concealed 
Wellington  there  was  a  consciousness  of  sta- 
bility and  grace  which  nothing  else  that  was 
wearable  could  impart  Hats  and  gloves 
are  temporary  adornments ;  other  articles  of 
clothing  depend,  more  or  less,  on  the  skill  of 
the  tailor,  but  boots  depend  upon  themselves ; 
self-reliant,  they  stand  alone. 

What  a  wretched,  slip-shod  creature  a 
human  being  Is  without  boots!  In  that 
forlorn  condition  he  can  undertake  nothing  ] 
all  enterprise  is  impossible;  he  is  without 
motion ;  a  thing  fit  only  to  have  his  toes 
trodden  on.  But,  if  the  thought  flashes 
through  his  brain  that  he  must  be  up  and 
doing,  what  are  the  first  words  that  rush  to 
his  lips  7  *'  My  boots !"  Nothing  else  could 
express  the  fixedness  of  his  new-born  pur- 
pose. Suppose  be  called  for  his  horse  or 
his  arms,  what  sort  of  figure,  having  them 
only,  would  he  out  without  his  boots  ?  He 
could  not  ride  a  furlong,  or  hold  his  ground 
against  his  foe  a  single  inch.  But  give  him 
time  enough  to  draw  on  his  boots,  and  a 
new  man  starts  at  once  into  existence,  ready 
for  anything.  You  have  only  to  say — 
in  language  that  savours  rather  of  blank- 
verse  or  the  Elizabethan  period — that  an 
effort  is  bootless,  and  the  folly  of  attempting 
any  adventure  without  boots  becomes  at 
once  apparent. 

It  was  at  a  very  early  period  of  my  exist- 
ence that  I  was  first  smitten  by  the  magni- 
ficence of  Boots.  I  was  a  juvenile  schoolboy 
at  Richmond-on-Thames,  which  ''pleasant 
place  of  all  festivity,"  was  at  that  time  still 
filled  with  French  emigrants,  very  many  of 
them  of  high  degree  ;  who — to  keep  the  wolf 
from  the  door — gave  lessons  in  their  own 


tongue.  At  our  school  the  French  master 
was  a  nobleman  bearing  the  title  of  Count  de 
Sainte  Marguerite,  and  he  fully  imprei«ed  us 
with  the  idea  of  his  being  a  count  by  bii 
very  grand  manner,  his  very  high  nose,  aod 
bis  extremely  meagre  person.  Of  this  last 
attribute  he  appeared  to  l^  wholly  uncon- 
scious, for  he  invariably  wore  Hessian  boots, 
and  close-fitting  white  web  pantaloons.  Sur- 
rounded by  his  class,  his  natural  hauteur 
melted  Into  confidence  and  kindness;  bat 
when  the  master  of  the  school — who  ivas  a 
vulgar-minded  man — presumed  on  their  rela- 
tive^ positions,  the  latent  fire  of  the  old 
patrician  made  itself  evident,  and  a  few 
words  usually  sufficed  to  vindicate  his  offended 
dignity.  But  it  is  the  last  straw  that  breaks 
the  camel's  back,  and,  arriving  a  little  too 
late  one  afternoon — the  numerous  splashes 
on  his  Hessians  attested  bow  fkst  be  had 
walked — he  was  taken  to  task  so  coarsely 
that,  in  the  heat  of  reply,  he  showed  more 
independence  than  was  agreeable.  One  word 
begot  another,  until  **  pauper"  fell  from  the 
lips  of  the  master.  It  was  no  sooner  spoken 
than  the  Count,  white  with  fury — *'  methinks 
I  see  him  now" — rose  from  his  seat,  hurled  at 
the  offender's  head  the  book  he  had  just  opened 
for  our  lessons,  dashed  on  his  hat,  and  stood 
for  a  moment  glaring,  with  clenched  bands, 
as  if  he  meditated  following  up  the  attack. 
The  intention,  however,  if  he  entertained  it, 
passed  away  ;  he  drew  up  his  spare  form  to  its 
full  height — we  thought  him  excessivelv  tell, 
a  common  mistake  at  that  age — and  with  an 
expression  of  the  utmost  contempt,  syllabled 
the  epithet,  **cannaille,"  and  strode,  boots  and 
all,  from  the  schoolroom.  It  was  the  first 
time  I  had  heard  the  phrase,  and  though  it 
has  since  greeted  my  ears  times  innumerable, 
the  effect  has  been  tame  and  weak  by  com- 
parison. The  poor  Count  could  ill  afford 
to  indulge  in  the  luxury  of  anger,  for  he 
almost  wanted  the  necessaries  of  life ;  not 
merely  on  his  own  account,  but  on  that  of 
his  motherless  children.  But  I  suppose 
he  found  friends  somewhere ;  for  we  often 
saw  him  afterwards  in  our  walks,  and  the 
grandeur  of  his  high  nose,  the  purity  of  his 
white-web  pantaloons,  and  the  splendour  of 
his  Hessian  boots  were  unabated.  A  few 
years  later,  a  very  painful  event  became  asso- 
ciated with  his  name  ;  but  even  when  I  ihii^ 
of  his  fftte,  the  association  is  always  Boors. 

One  of  the  first  plays  I  ever  saw  was 
Kotzebue's  Stranger.  But  neither  the  tears 
of  Miss  O'Neil,  nor  the  severe  dignity  of 
Mr.  Young,  excited  such  emotions  in  my 
bosom  as  the  boots  in  which  the  outraged 
husband  stalked  across  the  stage.  Had  be 
worn  anything  but  Hessians,  I  might  have 
arrived  then  at  the  conclusion  which  I  have 
since  formed,  that  the  Stranger  is,  after  all. 
nothing  more  than  a  tremendous  sentimental 
prig,  but  each  of  those  boots  was,  in  my  esti- 
mation, the  very  cothurnus  of  the  serious 
drama ;  there  was  a  solemnity  about  thea 


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BOOTS  AND  CORNS. 


349 


which  I  am  coaviDced  nothiDg  else  could 
have  imparted.  Aboat  the  same  time  I  saw 
the  youug  Roscius — no  longer  young,  it  in 
true,  nor  any  thing  of  a  Roitcius,  but  still  a 
star  at  country  theatres.  He  played  Alex- 
ander the  Great,  of  course  in  unapproachable 
Btjle;  but  none  of  his  rolling  periods,  his 
tire,  his  fury,  his  lore,  his  madness  —  though 
be  lore  every  passion  to  tatters,  to  very  rags 
—weighed  anything  in  the  balance  against 
bimseif  when  I  saw  him  the  next  day,  in 
private  life,  sublimely  swaggering  across 
Richmond  Green  in  a  shining  pair  of  tas- 
s<'lled  Medians!  To  this  very  hour  Mr. 
William  Henry  West  Betty,  in  boots,  infi- 
nitely transcends  whatever  idea  I  may  have 
formed  of  Alexander  the  Great.  The  Mace- 
donian phalanx  turned  out,  I  dare  say,  a  very 
formidable  set  of  fellows,  but  I  could  better 
bare  understood  the  prestige  which  attended 
them  bad  their  nether  limbs,  instead  of  bus- 
kins, been  arrayed  in  Hessian  boots.  Alas 
for  the  decadence  of  all  that  is  great  and 
grand!  I  believe  that  at  this  moment  only 
two  pair  of  Hessians  can  be  found  in  daily 
perambulation  of  our  vast  metropolis — one 
pair  devoted  to  the  service  of  the  excise,  the 
other  to  that  of  the  medical  profession.  What 
mast  be  the  feelings  of  liie  owners  of  these 
boots,  as  they  pass  the  celebrated  mart  of 
Warren  in  the  Strand,  where  the  chief  at- 
traction in  the  windows  used  to  be  the  well- 
known  picture  of  a  tomcat  showing  himself 
before  the  mirror-like  surface  of  a  polished 
Uessian  I  Exultation,  perhaps,  at  the  thought 
that  they  only,  out  of  all  the  peripatetic 
multitude,  are  still  masters  of  the  situation  ; 
sorrow,  possibly,  to  think  that  when  their 
boots  have  ceased  to  shine,  none  will  be  left 
to  replace  them. 

But,  lament  as  we  may  the  decline  of  this 
particular  boot,  the  philosopher,  who  knows 
that  all  that's  bright  must  fade,  the  brightest 
still  the  fleetest-^ can  yet  derive  consolation 
from  the  fact— especially  if  his  legs  be  none 
of  the  straightest — that  Hessians  are  not 
adapted  to  everybody's  wear.  It  is  true 
there  are  other  boots  which  come  very  nearly 
under  the  same  category  ;  but  who,  for  ex- 
ample, ever  saw  a  philosopher  in  a  neat  pair 
of  tops?  I  am  not,  however,  presenting  this 
subject  for  the  consideration  of  philosopher 
who,  of  all  people,  ought  to  be  content  to 
take  things  as  they  find  them,  although  they 
very  seldom  are  so.  Setting  them,  then,  aside, 
I  proceed  with  the  sort  of  boots  which  I  have 
just  mentioned.  The  wearers  of  tops  at  the 
present  day  are  almost  entirely  sporting 
characters  (including,  of  oonr»e,  grooms  and 
tigers),  obsolete  farmers,  and  heavy  graziers. 
Yet  it  requires  no  great  stretch  of  memory  to 
recal  the  time  when  some  of  the  leading  men 
about  town  never  appeared  abroad  without 
them.  The  Duke  of  Dorset,  Sir  Francis 
Burdett,  and  Mr.  Byng,  well-known  as  their 
persons  were,  would  hardly,  I  think,  have 
been  recognised  had  they  pariatded,  what  Sam 


Slick  calls  their  larger  limbs,  in  any  other 
integuments.  It  Is,  indeed,  reported  of  the 
first  named  of  these  three  gentlemen,  thai  he 
always  flept  in  his.  If  we  go  back  a  little 
further — say,  to  the  Tom  and  Jerry  era — we 
shall  find  that  there  was  scarcely  a  Fprig  of 
fashion,  or  a  sprig*s  imitator,  who  did  not 
sport,  as  the  chief  article  of  his  costume,  an 
unexceptionable  pair  of  tops.  A  little  earlier 
still,  and  we  find  the  top-boot  holding  almost 
equal  sway  with  the  Hessian  over  the  legs  of 
the  lieges.  It  was  commended  to  fashionable 
use  by  the  special  coquetry  of  being  worn  with 
a  grey  silk  stocking,  the  top  being  pushed 
down  just  far  enough  to  reveal  a  finger's 
breadth  of  the  glistening  hose.  But  general  as 
the  custom  was  of  appearing  in  top-boots, 
there  were  not  wanting  many  who  considered 
it  an  act  of  great  daring,  not  to  say  a  sort  of 
tempting  of  Providence,  to  put  them  on  for 
the  first  time.  The  sensations  caused  by  the 
first  pair  of  tops  were  singularly  strange.  Thev 
were  something  akin  to  intoxication,  but  with 
a  heavier  sense  of  responsibility.  As  to  walk- 
ing straight  in  them,  for  the  first  hour  or  two, 
the  thing  was  Impossible ;  the  knees  seemed 
to  give  way,  the  legs  to  divaricate,  and  one 
had  a  confused  notion  that  the  joints,  like 
those  of  puppets,  worked  inversely,  to  the 
design  of  nature.  Even  at  the  best  of  times, 
when  use  had  made  them  familiar,  there  was 
a  kind  of  swaggering  bow-leggedness  which 
did  not  arise  from  continuous  contact  with 
the  pigskin,  but  appeared  to  be  a  necessary 
result  of  wearing  top-boots.  It  was,  perhaps, 
owing  to  this  independent  flourish  of  the 
booted  extremities,  that  the  articles  which 
imparted  it  were  so  much  in  request.  With 
regard  to  the  general  effect  of  top-boots  upon 
the  juvenile  or  feminine  mind,  as  compared 
with  that  produced  by  Hessians,  I  should  say, 
it  was  as  the  distinction  between  graceful 
agility  and  ponderous  magnificence.  The  first 
was  the  impen*onation  of  light  comedy,  the 
last  of  gorgeous  tragedy ;  one  was  a  brilliant 
scintillation,  the  othpr  a  sombre  reality.  But 
both  were  adored. 

The  imperial  jack-boot,  to  which  the  eye  is 
now  beginning  to  accustom  itself,  was  until 
within  the  last  few  years  almost  a  tradition. 
It  was  associated  dimly,  but  grandly,  with 
Jonathan  Wild,  the  Marquis  of  Granby, 
Bagshot  Heath,  Her  Majesty's  Horse  Guards, 
and  the  Field  of  Fontenoy.  To  think  of 
drawing  on  or  plunging  into  boots  so  im- 
posing, even  had  they  been  available  for 
general  use  —  which  they  were  not  —  never 
entered  into  the  scheme  of  the  sober-minded 
man  of  the  first  half  of  the  nineteenth 
century.  One  could  not  bring  oneself  to  be- 
lieve that  such  boots  were  made  of  mere 
leather,  they  savoured  so  much  of  the  ogre, 
their  aspect  was  so  intensely,  so  preter- 
naturally  warlike;  rhinoceros  skin,  or  the 
hide  of  the  castle-bearing  elephant,  seemed 
the  more  appropriate  materiaL  To  have 
imagined  them  without  the  clank  of  iron 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CmtndHbj 


heels  and  rattling  sabres  would  scarcelj  have 
been  possible.  They  were  not  the  boots  we 
envied,  for  we  knew — what  all  the  world 
have  since  found  out  —  that  we  were  not  a 
military  nation.  Let  such  boots  be  worn  by 
our  foes,  men  formed  by  nature  as  well  as 
art  for  trampling  and  kicking ;  we  mild  and 
helpless,  as  our  representative  rulers  have 
made  us,  are  content  to  lie  in  the  mud  to  be 
trodden  upon  and  spurned.  Like  Mawworm, 
we  like  it.  Such  indignities  are  best  suited 
to  our  national  capacities,  unless  indeed  we 
are  labouring  beneath  the  weight  of  a  hideous 
nightmare!  But,  politics  apart,  the  jack-boot 
has  not  an  indigenous  character  in  England, 
though  huntsmen  have  re-introduced  it  at 
the  cover-side.  - 1  am,  for  my  own  part,  more 
familiar  with  its  appearance  in  shop-windows 
and  pictured  advertisements,  than  in  the 
haunts  of  the  sportsman.  I  have,  it  is  true', 
when  at  Brighton,  been  lost  in  wonder  at 
the  high-booted  gents  who  turn  out  on  Mr. 
Roberts's  horses,  to  join  a  meet  —  which  is 
not  invariable  a  find — at  the  Devil's  Dyke  or 
Newtimber  Gate;  but  my  admiration  has 
chiefly  been  reserved  for  the  works  of  art  of 
which  Mr.  Medwin,  of  Regent  Street,  makes 
so  splendid  an  exhibition.  There  the  jack- 
boot may  be  seen  in  all  its  glory,  on  limbs 
which  a  good  many  of  us,  very  likely,  would 
be  proud  to  call  ours.  But  a  true  and  parti- 
cular account  of  the  jack-boot  can  onlv  be 
given  by  one  of  our  Crimean  heroes,  for  they, 
at  last,  have  had  the  privilege  of  testing  its 
utility. 

The  boots  I  have  spoken  of,  however  am- 
bitious their  pretensions,  still  fall  very  far 
short  of  the  Wellington  in  public  estimation. 
The  Hessian  and  the  Top  had  their  day,  but 
—except  for  special  purposes — it  was  only  for 
a  day  ;  while  the  Imperial  Jack  was  always 
caviare  to  the  million.  But  the  Wellington 
took  root  at  once.  Like  the  man  whose  name 
it  bears,  it  fixed  itself  firmly  as  one  of  the 
institutions  of  the  country.  Old-fashioned 
folks  objected,  at  first,  to  what  they  considered 
the  anomaly  of  wearing  leather  under  cloth 
—  of  making  the  trowser  protect  the  boot ; 
but  this  crotchet  soon  vanished,  for,  as  the 
poet  says, 

Thus  a  new  set  of  Darbtat,  when  first  thej  ur«  worn, 
Makes  tho  goal-bird  nneaaj,  though  spleadid  their 
raj; 
But  the  links  will  grow  lighter  the  longer  thej're 
borne, 
And  the  comfort  increase  as  the  skine  Csdes  awaj. 

Besides,  the  Wellingtons  had  this  immense  ad- 
vantage over  all  other  previously  established 
boots.  No  matter  how  unproducible  the  leg, 
its  want  of  symmetry  was  entirely  hidden 
beneath  the  sheltering  trowser,  which,  like 
charity,  covered  a  multitude  of — defects. 
Some  few — a  very  small  minority,  I  take  it- 
might  exclaim  against  this  protection,  and 
clamour  for  free  trade  in  the  matter  of  legs ; 
but  these  were  quite  at  liberty  to  follow  their 


own  devices,  on  which  account  the  memorj 
of  Romeo  Coates,  amongst  others,  is  Etill 
**  green  in  our  souls."  The  majority  cleaved 
to  the  Wellington  — if  I  may  be  allowed  the 
expression— like  wax;  and  the  WelliDgtoo 
returned  the  compliment.  When  a  benefit 
becomes  universal  we  cease— such  is  the  in- 
gratitude of  our  nature — to  make  any  accooot 
of  it.  The  sun  that  shines  every  day— fiom^ 
where,  if  not  in  England ;  the  sleep  that 
comes  eveiT  night — to  most  of  us,  if  not  to 
all — WQ  look  upon  as  things  that  are  oars  hj 
indefeasible  right ;  and  this  profonnd  and 
novel  remark  holds  good  of  Wellington  boots. 
Whether  we  paid  for  them,  as  in  oar  mlmj 
days,  the  sum  of  three  pounds  five  in  Bond- 
street,  or  in  more  economical  and  wiser 
moments,  only  one  pound  one  in  Cranboarne 
Alley,  the  fact  that  we  were  dealing  with  a 
simple  necessity  alone  occupied  us.  Not  a 
syllable  of  gratitude  was  breatiied  in  honour 
of  the  illustrious  inventor  of  the  boots  that 
rendered  us  such  "  yeoman's  service."  Kaj, 
a  spirit  of  baseness — ^I  can  call  it  nothing 
else— has  gradually  crept  over  the  pnblic 
mind,  whereby  it  has  been  sought  to  sapplant 
the  fame  of  the  immortal  WeUington.  Tbii 
has  shown  itself  in  all  sorts  of  mean  con- 
trivances—in the  clumsy  Blucher,  tbeclnm- 
sier  Ankle  Jack,  or  Highlow,  the  skimping 
half-faced  sacerdotal  Oxford,  and  in  that 
miserable  substitute  for  an  honest  boot,  the 
pert  Bottine,  half  cloth,  half  buttons— neither 
leather  nor  prunella— anything  but  what  it 
ought  to  be. 

I  havepainted  the  bright  side  of  thepicture; 
but  the  tapestry  has,  alas!  its  reverse.  Boots 
are  the  ne  plus  ultra,  the  Hercules*  Pillars  of 
civilisation,  and  civilisation,  I  am  sorrj  to 
say  is,  in  this  instance,  only  another  word  for 
corns.  As  the  old  song  says,  ever?  white 
must  have  its  black,  and  everv  sweet  its  foot. 
And  again,  Strife  comes  mih  manhood  as 
waking  with  day ;  and  a  most  unhappy  da;  it 
is  when  he,  the  proudly-booted  one,  awakes 
to  the  consciousness  of  being  the  victim  of 
corns.  I  am  afraid  it  would  be  vain  to  deny 
that  corns  are  a  natural  consequence  of  boots. 
The  Greeks,  who  wore  sandals,  never  salfered 
from  coms,.for  they  have  left  no  word  in  their 
language  to  express  what  they  mean.  The 
Persians  do  not  seem  to  have  been  so  forta- 
nate,  their  vocabulary  being  full  of  the  m<*t 
expressive  terms  significant  of  this  calamity. 
Some  of  these,  however,  are  at  variance 
with  others,  one  of  the  natural  consequences  of 
a  language  which  allows  of  one  word  mean- 
ing several  different  things.  Thus,  a  com.  in 
Persian,  may  be  called  ei&er  namwar,  charm, 
or  sakht.  The  first  of  these  implies  some- 
thing more  dignified  than  we  are  in  the  habit 
of  ascribing  to  corns,  the  literal  interpreta- 
tion of  namwar  being,  having  a  name,  cele- 
brated, renowned.  These  are  epithets  which 
might  very  well  apply  to  a  skilful  chiro- 
podist; but  although  the  thing  itself  has  & 
name,  and  one  only  too  well  known,  it  ^ 


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CturlM  Dickens.3 


BOOTS  AND  CORNS. 


351 


rather  uaasaal  to  Bpeak  of  a  man's  coma  as 
cerebrated  or  renowned.  Something  of  Per- 
sian hyberbole  may  be  supposed  in  this 
matter  to  influence  the  speiaker.  In  the 
second  word,  charm,  we  come  a  little  nearer 
to  the  actual  foot,  its  meaning  being  leather,  a 
ddn,  a  hide.  This  symbolises  well  enough 
the  external  aspect  of  a  corn  ;  but  it  is  in  the 
third  form,  sakht,  that  we  get  the  full 
BigQiQcance  of  the  phrase.  Could  any- 
b^y  bat  a  confirmed  martyr  to  corns  have 
heaped  up  such  a  series  of  adjectives  as 
these:  Salcht,  hard,  painful,  strong,  rigid, 
austere,  disturbed,  unfortunate,  aiOUcted, 
severe,  cruel,  stubborn,  obstinate,  wretched, 
intense,  violent,  base,  worthless— stingy,  even, 
and  sordid  1  As  you  read  this  long  string 
of  vitaperatives  you  immediately  picture  to 
yoarself  the  state  of  mind  of  one  who  is  groan- 
ing oat  his  soul  in  the  agony  of  corns.  At  first, 
his  expressions  are  short,  quick,  incisive, 
and  speak  of  initiatory  sharp  twinges.  The 
pain  increases;  he  begins  to  pity  himself, 
and  gradually  loses  |hi8  temper.  At  last 
come  the  indescribable  throes,  and  then  he 
loses  all  self-command—he  foams  at  the 
mouth,  and  raves  in  all  the  impotence 
of  madness.  I  am  not  at  all  astonished 
at  the  violence  of  his  language,  having  paid 
the  penalty  myself  of  wearing  over-tight 
boot^.  Indeed,  I  am  clearly  of  opinion  that 
more  cases  of  lunacy  have  arisen  from  corns 
than  from  any  other  physical  malady.  We 
all  remember  the  story  of  the  old  Scotch- 
woman, who,  being  reminded,  on  her  death- 
bed, that  a  number  of  mercies  had  been 
vouchsafed  to  her  during  her  long  career, 
replied,  "  It's  a*  very  true,  but  they  Ve  been 
takkea  out  o^  me  in  cor-r-ms  I  "  The  empha- 
sis which  she  laid  on  the  last  word,  no  less 
than  the  general  conclusion  at  which  she 
had  arrived,  sufficiently  denoted  the  absorb- 
ng,  over-mastering  character  of  the  torture 
she  most  have  endured. 

How  many  a  man  has  sufi'ered,  not  in 
person  merely,  but  in  reputation,  owing  to 
corns.  I  defy  anybody,  however  stoical,  "  to 
keep  the  even  tenor  of  his  way"  under 
^e  visitation.  Equanimity  is  not  possible 
with  corns.  The  moroseness  of  a  husband, 
the  snappishness  of  a  friend,  the  severity  of  a 
n»Mter,  the  impertinence  of  a  dependant,  the 
overweening  insolence  of  an  official — say  of  a 
poet-office  clerk  who  only  shows  his  head 
through  a  trap  and  answers  in  monosyllables 
—are  all  more  or  less  attributable  to  these 
painful  callosities. 

,  But  perhaps  the  worst  feature  of  this  sad 
infliction  is  the  indifference  which  those  who 
a^  scatheless,  manifest  towards  the  afflicted. 
Like  toothache,  rheumatism,  gout,  sea- 
sickness, and  many  other  of  the  commoner 
"uls  that  flesh  is  heir  to,"  corns  are 
never  objects  of  commiseration.  You  hobble 
wwards  the  friend  whom  you  accidentally 
meet;  your  countenance  assumes  the  most 
piteous  expression;  you  are  about  to  tell 


him  what  dreadful  agony  you  undergo, 
when — guessing  at  once  what  is  the  matter — 
he  cuts  you  short  by  saying,  **  Ah,  corns,  I  see, 
bad  things,  why  don't  you  get  rid  of  'em  ? " 
and  away  he  strides,  glorying  in  his  immunity 
fh)m  the  pain  you  suflfer,  **  Why  don't  you 
get  rid  of  'em?"  just  as  if  you  wouldn't  if 
you  could !  **  What  a  heartless  lieast  that 
fellow  is! "  you  say  to  yourself;  but  he  sets 
you  thinking.  Is  it  possible  to  do  what  he 
so  cavalierly  suggests  ?  Haven't  you  tried 
rasping,  and  cutting,  and  plastering  till  you 
are  positively  sick  at  heart?  Haven't  you 
gone  about  the  house  in  slippers — dirty  old 
slippers — a  shame  to  be  seen  f  Haven't  you 
patched  up  your  feet  in  every  possible  kind 
of  way,  buying,  for  thir teen-pence-halfpenny, 
including  the  stamp  (that  very  word  makes 
you  quake),  Sadbuck's  Superior  Solvent, 
uuggles's  Annihilator,  Bnllpett's  Infallible 
Destroyer,  Campkin's  Certain  Cure,  and  I 
know  not  how  many  more  invariable  reme- 
dies? Haven't  you,  moreover,  fed  upon  Tes- 
timonials till  they  coloured  all  your  objects  ? 
Listen  to  this  plain,  unvarnished  tale,  and 
then  doubt  if  you  can : — 

Sir,— Few  penoni  hare*  suffered  more  through 
corns  than  mj  wife.  She  had  eighteen  hard  ones  on 
{the  joints  of  her  toes  for  upwards  of  twenty  years; 
they  had  white  specks,  attended  with  fiery  redness 
and  infiammation,  which  often  extended  all  over 
her  feet  and  ankles.  In  one  hour  your  corn- 
plasters  reliered  the  pain,  and  entirely  subdued  the 
fiery  redness.  It  gives  me  great  pleasure,  sir,  to  add, 
that  in  less  than  three  days  her  corns  were  totally 
removed.  Job*  Surra,  Yorkshire. 

Or  take  this,  a  case  of  personal  experi- 
ence : —  ' 

**It  wonld,  perhaps,  be  difficult  to  find  one  who 
has  endured  more  lh>m  corns  than  J  have.  I  had 
eleven  soft  corns  between  my  toes  for  thirty-eight 
years,  which  caused  me  perpetual  torment  and  inde- 
scribable misery.  I  tried  many  remedies  without  Any 
real  benefit,  tUl  the  application  of  your  Gliokaiou* 
skoiene,  or  Boot-and- Branch  Exterminator,  effected  an 
instantaneous  cure.  Make  any  use  you  please  of  this 
for  the  advantage  of  my  suffering  fellow-creatures. 
Samitil  tioOKIT, 
47i  A,  Little  Upper  John-street,  London  • 
If  you  have  been  too  hard  of  belief  to  accept 
these  Testimonials  for  facts,  I  haven't.  To 
such  a  state  of  servility  have  I  been  reduced 
by  corns,  that,  though  nothing  ever  did  me 
any  good,  I  grasped  at  every  new  announce- 
ment in  the  same  spirit  of  undiminished  con- 
fidence. My  credulity,  indeed,  extended  to 
things  utterly  foreign  to  the  malady  by 
which  I  was  afflicted.  Maria  Jolly's  f^i^tful 
account  of  her  fifty  year^'  indescribable 
agony,  from  every  known  disease,  which  were 
cured  by  one  canister  of  De  Bowski's  Deli- 
clous  Deglutionatory  Drops,  was  received  by 
me  as  pure  gospel.  The  same  with  Professor 
Howlaway's  Magnum  Bonum  Boluses,  for 
renovating  the  constitution,  which  combine 
the  elements  of  granite  and  starch  with  other 
simple  ingredients.    I  even  pinned  my  faith, 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoDdactrd  b; 


though  I  never  tried  them,  on  somebody 's 
Azoesis  Pericranii;  and  if  I  had  been  in 
waut  of  full  and  luminous  whiskers  (which  I 
am  not),  or  had  required  something  to  check 
the  grayness  (which  I  do  not),  without  doubt 
I  should  have  gone  through  a  course  of  Rosa- 
bella de  Mowbray's  inimitable  Criuopuffaline, 
and  have  written  her  a  grateful  letter,  like 
Major  Slasher  of  the  Hundredth  Hussars, 
who  tells  her,  and  all  the  world,  that  he  has 
now  got  a  splendid  pair — a  fact  of  the  deepest 
interest  to  all  who  dwell  in  country  quarter^. 

To  return,  however,  to  my  corns.  Nothing, 
as  I  have  said,  was  of  the  slightest  service.  I 
had  gone  through  my  twenty,  thirty,  forty — 
no  matter  how  many — years  of  fearful  torture, 
when,  doundering,  one  morning,  in  that  ocean 
of  advertisements  which  spread  over  the  vast 
e.tpaase  of  the  Times'  Supplement,  I  bap- 
polled  to  light  on  the  unobtruding  intimation 
put  forth  by  Professor  Leichdornsch lager,  to 
the  elt'oct  that  by  his  system  the  most  invet- 
erate corns  are  instantaneously  and  effectually 
eradicated  without  cutting  or  the  slightest 
paiu  ;  and  that  if  anybody  doubts  his  asser- 
tion, they  have  only  to  appeal  to  all  the 
crowned  heads  in  Europe,  who  will  certify 
the  fact  with  their  own  royal  and  imperial 
signs-manuaL 

My  first  impulse,  of  coarse,  was  to  exclaim, 
JEurekal  (that  word  has  rendered  the  public 
immense  service  since  it  first  appeared  in 
Ghilde^  Harold) ;  my  next,  to  send  for  a  cab, 
and  drive  down  to  Professor  Leichdorn- 
Bcji  lager's.  It  was  a  grand-looking  bouse, 
perched,  as  it  were,  on  an  eminence  of  several 
high  steps ;  and,  had  I  seen  it  in  Germany, 
I  must  intuitively  have  called  it  Schloas- 
Buuiouberg.  There  was  an  enormous  orifice 
in  the  middle  of  the  door,  for  the  receipt  of 
the  countless  letters  which  the  crowned  beads 
were  alwaya  sending;  an  imposing  brass 
plate,  which  bore  the  Professor's  style  and 
titles ;  a  ponderous  knocker  for  the  powdered 
footmen  of  the  nobility :  a  bell  for  visitors, 
and  another  forthcoipolloi, — the  chiropodal 
and  gastronomic  departments  being  by  this 
means  carefully  separated.  As  my  business 
was  up-stairs,  I  pulled  the  visitors'  bell ;  and 
the  wire  had  scarcely  ceased  to  vibrate  before 
the  door  was  thrown  open  by  an  individual 
arrayed  in  one  of  the  most  gorgeous  liveries  I 
ever  had  the  good  fortune  to  behold.  There 
was  a  great  deal  of  white  and  a  great  deal  of 
scarlet  applied,  as  it  seemed  to  me— but  my 
eyes  might  have  been  dazzled — in  wrong 
places.  There  were  a  great  number  of  tags, 
and  points,  and  buttons,  and  an  overlaying  of 
parti-coloured  worsted  lace,  after  a  fashion 
which,  in  the  indignation  of  his  heart,  a  demo- 
cratic French  friend  of  mine  used  to  call 
"  barbouill^  a  la  maitre  d'hotel,"  in  other 
words,  bedaubed  with  parsley  and  batter. 
To  my  inquuy  if  Professor  Leichdornschliiger 
were  disengaged,  the  hero  of  this  splendid 
livery  replied  by  asking  my  name.  Now,  as 
I  am  not  one  of  the  crowned  heads  of  Europe, 


and  did  not  imagine  that  the  mere  die«triiable 
— we  will  say  Thompson — would  cruaie  ah? 
very  extraordinary  impression,  1  said,  as  I 
have  said  on  numerous  other  occasions,  that 
my  name  was  of  no  consequence.  It  loilowed. 
therefore,  that  the  brass  band  at  the  top  of 
the  staircase,  which  my  imagination  supposed 
to  be  there,  as  a  corollary  to  the  wiptrb 
footman,  did  not  strike  up  an  appropriate 
tune,  and  I  was  marshalled  up  stairs  witboat 
anv  ovation. 

He  of  the  tags  and  lace  conducted  me  into 

an  apartment  on  the  first  fioor— bacli— aod 

withdrew,  with  the  intimation  that  bu  wooid 

let  me  know  when  the    professor  watt  tt 

I  leisure.    I  was  allowed  plenty  of  time  to 

examine  the  room  into   which  I  bad  been 

shown.     It  was  of  the  kind  of  which  I  mtj 

term  gloomily  grand,  the  gloom  being  caased 

by  the  high  dead  wall  of  a  narrow  court- jard, 

partial  ly  obscured  by  claret-coloured  curtaioi, 

[  and  the  grandeur  arising  from  a  great  nooh 

I  ber  of  gilt  picture-frames,  inclosing  subjeets 

I  which,  although  invisible,  were,  I  talce  it  for 

,'  granted,  Rem  brand ts  of  the  brownest  water. 

'  Of  course,  such  an  apartment  could  oot  be 

without  its  appropriate  furniture  of  mai«i?e 

I  sideboard,  &c.,  diniug-table,  and  a  regular 

1  regiment  of  heavy  chairs.    I  rather  gueftcd 

at  the  sideboard,  but  about  the  table  aod 

chairs  there  could  be  no  mistake,  for  Iran 

against  the  first,  and    stumbled  over  the 

others,  convincing  myself  anew,  if  I  ever 

entertained  any  doubt  on  the  subject,  that  I 

certainly  was  troubled  with  corns. 

We  are  told  by  men  of  science  that  the 
human  eye  possesses  the  faculty  of  adapting 
itself  to  every  modification  of  light,  which 
may  account  for  the  reason  why  Mr.  Spigot, 
your  butler,  visits  the  wine-cellar  (privately) 
without  a  candle.  Owing  to  this  circum- 
stance, after  having  succeeded  in  finding  t 
seat,  I  began  by  degrees  to  accustom  myself 
to  the  chiar'oscuro  in  which  everything  »'»8 
enveloped,  and  even  to  make  out  something 
of  surrounding  objects.  I  was  then  able  to 
discern  that  the  table  was  plentifully  strew 
with  newspapers  and  periodicals ;  but  I  mn«t 
confess  I  think  it  would  require  a  long  tp- 
prenticeship  to  darkness  to  enable  any  one  to 
profit  by  these  publications.  As  far  aa  any 
immediate  enjoyment  was  to  be  derived  from 
their  perusal,  they  might  as  well  have  been 
dummies,  or— what  amounts  to  the  saiw 
thing — copies  of  certain  journals  (I  need  nw 
mention  names)  which  faithfully  record  the 
news  of  Itot  week.  But  whether  their  intellJ- 
gence  were  fresh  or  stale,  made  little  difference, 
since,  before  I  succeeded  in  deciphering  one 
word— though  the  interval  was  by  no  means 
brief— the  splendid  footman  reappeared,  to 
inform  me  that  the  professor  was  now  disen- 
gaged. I  am  rather  inclined  to  believe  that 
he  had  been  disengptged  all  along,  and  that 
my  detention  in  the  dark  dining-room  wai 
only  a  coup  de  theatre,  for  the  purpose  « 
heightening  the  subsequent  efleci   At  au 


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BOOTS  AND  CORNS. 


353 


events,  such  was  the  resalt ;  for  on  entering 
ibe  professor's  saloon,  I  was  literally  dazzled 
with  the  blaze  of  magnificence  which  suddenly 
burst  upon  me.  If  Rembrandt  reigned  in 
murky  dignity  in  the  dining-room,  here 
Rubens,  or  some  extremely  florid  artist  who 
did  duty  for  him,  covered  the  walls  in  a  style 
that  was  truly  regal.  There  was  one  well- 
filled  canvas — it  faced  me  on  entering  the 
ealoon — which,  at  the  first  glance,  I  unhesi- 
tatingly ascribed  to  the  great  Fleming,  on 
Account  of  the  many  solid,  yet  undressed, 
beauties  it  developed  ;  but  I  bad  occasion  to 
alter  this  opinion  when  I  became  better 
acquainted  with  the  professor's  features,  and 
detected  so  strong  a  resemblance  to  him- 
self in  the  half-dozen  rolling  cherubs  that 
were, -with  difficulty,  sustaining  a  very  stout 
Madonna  in  her  ascent  to  the  realms  of  bliss. 
But,  indeed.  It  needed  no  physiognomical  skill 
on  my  part  to  make  the  discovery,  for  Herr 
Leichdornschlager  himself  informed  me,  when 
he  saw  my  eyes  fixed  upon  the  picture,  that 
the  subject  was  the  Apotheosis  of  the  Profes- 
sorian.bis  wife,  tbougn  the  event  was,  at  the 
least,  forestalled,  since  he  added,  on  seeing  me 
look  grave,  that  she  and  her  children  were 
all  alive  and  well  (it  would  not  have  been 
out  of  keeping  with  the  picture  if  he  had 
^id  kicking),  at  that  moment,  at  Leipsic. 

But  besides  Rubens,  or  his  substitute,  there 
was  more  first-rate  talent  from  Wvdle  Street. 
Cujp  with  cattle,  Berghem  with  beeches, 
Hobbema  as  green  as  grass,  Breughal  as 
bright  as  flame,  and  in  every  single  instance 
the  frames  of  these  pictures  were  worth,  I 
should  siay,  five  pounds  a-plece.  Think  of 
the  enormous  value,  then,  of  the  entire  col- 
lection! It  is  well  for  us  that  we  have 
»  National  Ga.Uery  j  but  when  we  want 
another  I  reconnmcnd  an  early  applica- 
tion to  Professor  Leichdornschlager.  The 
wealth  of  this  apartment,  however,  did  not 
consist  in  pictures  only.  There  were  full- 
length  looking-glasses  which  were  quite  as 
costly ;  or-molu  clocks  of  the  present  time, 
that  completely  took  the  shine  out  of  those 
of  the  Louis  Quinze  period  ;  artificial  fiowers 
under  glass  cases,  orange  lilies,  dahlias,  and 
the  like,  which  left  nature  verv  far  behind  ; 
sofasand  fauteuils  of  crimson  velvet,  consoles, 
gu^ridons,  porcelain  —  evervthing,  in  short, 
that  could  attest  the  lucrative  nature  of  the 
professor's  calling ;  and  in  the  middle  of  the 
room  was  a  circular  table,  covered  with  what 
seemed  to  be  the  Jabard  of  Garter-king-at 
arms,  on  which  reposed,  beside  a  burnished 
inkstand,  a  thick  folio  superbly  bound  in 
purple  velvet  and  garnished  with  clasps  and 
corners  like  one  of  the  Guinea  Bibles  that 
one  sees  the  portraits  of  in  omnibuses. 

I  have  called  myself  Thompson,  and,  such 
being  my  name,  any  one  may  readily  imagine 
the  state  of  mind  I  must  have  been  in  when 
this  real  blaze  of  triumph—as  they  say  in  the 
Piaybills— flashed  upon  my  astonished  vision. 
It  was  BO  overwhelming  that,  in  the  first 


instance,  it  quite  eclipsed  the  distinguished 
professor— a  little,  tightrmade  man,  and,  phy- 
sically speaking,  easily  eclipsed.  He  it  was 
who,  to  a  certain  extent,  recalled  me  to  my- 
self, though  my  eye  still  travelled  round  the 
saloon,  and  my  thoughts  still  wandered. 

''What,''  he  said,  ''was  be  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  knowing  about  my  business?" 

It  may  appear  very  ridiculous,  but,  as  my 
desire  is  to  state  facts,  I  jnust  accept  the 
ridicule  that  attaches  to  my  conduct :  I  could 
not  tell  him  what  I  wanted — not,  at  least,  in 
direct  tenns.  Before  me  was  the  mighty 
book,  half  filled,  I  could  perceive,  with  the 
imperial,  royal,  noble,  and  episcopal  auto- 
graphs of  individuals  whose  incomes — to  say 
nothing  of  their  personal  dignity — ranged 
(like  silks  and  shawls  in  shop-windows)  from 
ten  thousand  a-year  upwards.  Every  object 
in  the  room  was,  no  doubt,  a  testimonial 
from  some  long-suflering  ambassador,  some 
heretofore-hobbling  marquis,  some  tender- 
toed  prelate.  And  in  the  midst  of  this  army 
of  illustrious  martyrs  I.  Thompson,  bad  ven- 
tured to  intrude ;  I  who,  work  as  hard  as 
I  will,  can't  make  a  guinea  a-day,  and  yet 
am  charged  with  double  income-tax.  It 
had  never  struck  me  till  that  moment  bow 
much  I  might  be  called  upon  to  pay  for 
the  relief  I  sought.  It  was  necessary,  how- 
ever, that  I  should  reply  to  the  professor's 
question. 

"  I  wished  to  know,"  I  returned,  with  con- 
siderable hesitation,  and  a  strong  sense  of 
shame,  "  what  —  that  is  to  say  —  how  —  at 
least  —  what — are  your  teraas  for  —  for  — 
looking  at  my  —  that  is  to  say — extracting 
corns?'' 

The  professor  gave  a  quick  glance  at  my 
feet,  and  answered  as  quickly : 

"I  cannot  tell  till  I  see  dem  ;  till  I  know 
how  many  dere  was.  You  must  show  me  dem, 
dat  I  examine  deir  badness.  It  is  not  pos- 
sible to  conceive  in  boots." 

"  If,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  I  once  take  off  my 
boots,  I  am  done  —  I  shall  be  operated  upon, 
in  spite  of  myself,  and  then  comes  the 
reckoning  I" 

The  professor  appeared  to  divine  my 
thoughts. 

"Mein  GottI"  exclaimed  the  little  pro- 
fessor, in  a  pet,  "can  I  see  drough  dick 
ledder?  If  your  corns  was  on  de  outside  of 
your  boots,  perhaps  I  might  telll  It  is 
odderwise  unmdglich — unpossiblel  Komon, 
komon,"  he  continued,  soothingly,  "  let  me 
see,"  and  he  rubbed  hiB  hands  with  a  sort  of 
(as  it  seemed  to  me)  inhuman  glee;  "  let  me 
see  how  many  corns  you  has;  sit  down 
in  dis  arm-chair,  it  will  be  only  an  aflfair  of  a 
moment  I" 

The  professor  little  knew  what  words  be 
made  use  of.  They  were  the  very  same 
which  a  dentist  addressed  me  with,  many 
years  ago,  when  I  was  troubled,  like  lago, 
with  "  a  raging  tooth."  He  only  promised  to 
look,  but  the  forceps  were  on  the  fang  before 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoBdocted  by 


my  mouth  was  well  open.  I  took,  therefore, 
a  sudden  resolution. 

"  I  cannot,"  said  I,  "  afford  the  time  to-day; 
besides,  the  truth  is,  I  only  called  to  enquire, 
and  I  haven't,  in  fact — any  money  I " 

"  Aha !"  returned  the  professor  with  a 
low  leonine  growl,  *'  in  dat  case,  I  was  not 
desire  the  pleasure  to  see  you  no  more.  I 
vill  save  myself  some  trouble,  and  you  vill 
keep  your  corns!" 

Professor  Leichdornschlager  "was  a  true 
prophet — I  have  them  still. 


EMBARKATION. 

We  are  all  embarking  here  everybody — 
some  into  the  Baltic  fleet,  but  most  of  us  to 
the  Ionian  Islands,  Smyrna,  Scutari,  and  the 
East ;  detachments  of  the  line,  troops  of  horse 
artillery,  entire  militia  regiments,  myriads  of 
seamen  are  embarking  daily.  If  you  take 
train  by  either  of  our^  two  great  lines  from 
town,  and  travel  second  class,  you  will  know 
something  of  us  and  our  embarkations :  files 
of  marines,  militia,  and  regulars,  with  parti- 
coloured ribbons  in  their  caps,  and  parti- 
coloured bundles  in  their  hands,  with  budding 
moustachioB,  cropped  hair,  and  cutty  pipes, 
will  be  your  comrades;  whole  ships'  com- 
panies of  sailors,  with  hats  miraculously 
balanced  on  their  left  ears,  with  bundles  and 
pipes  also,  with  profusion  of  ringlets,  and 
tattoed  like  Otaheitans,  will  be  your  mates. 
These  last  are  under  the  charge  of  two  or 
three  experienced  seamen  in  authority,  who 
must  have  magic  powers ;  our  blue  jacketed 
friends  are  locked  in  on  both  sides,  unlike  the 
rest  of  us,  and  are  only  dissuaded  by  extreme 
entreaty  and  quids  from  getting  out  of  the 
windows.  On  arrival  at  a  station  everybody 
else  is  well  packed  off  before  our  tars  are  let 
loose ;  they  rush  with  terrible  accord  upon 
the  busses,  board  them  irresistibly,  and  take 
perilous  post  upon  their  roofs;  nobody  in- 
side, and  forty  outside,  make  an  omnibus  to 
roll,  so  that  it  is  almost  as  good  as  on  board 
ship — moreover,  only  let  the  horses  be  got 
into  a  gallop  as  they  cross  the  drawbridge, 
and  it  will  be  perfection. 

Our  cargo  is  taken  to  the  dockyard  and 
goes  into  a  receiving  ship,  thence  to  be 
drafted  into  the  Baltic  fleet.  Our  streets 
are  now  almost  impassable — ^blocked  up  by 
the  outfitters,  who  turn  all  their  heavier 
goods  out  on  the  pavement — ^barricades  of 
iron  bedsteads  with  arrangements  for  mus- 
quito  curtains,  hot  water  apparatus  machine 
to  destroy  bugs,  in  a  case  that  makes  it  all 
look  like  a  little  cottage  piano ;  something 
labelled  Indispensable,  which  seems  to  con- 
tain the  concentrated  effects  of  a  cook,  black- 
smith, carpenter,  tent  maker,  and  of  an  Ita- 
lian warehouseman,  meets  us,  in  particular, 
at  every  turn.  The  Cotopaxl  mt^,  Indeed, 
convey  such  articles,  but  in  a  forced  march 
on  pick-a-back,  I  fancy  they  voald  be  cum- 


brous. The  great  art  of  construction  appears 
to  be  In  making  everything  appear  something 
else  than  it  is — a  perfectly  flat  piece  of  iron- 
work, evidently  and  outwardly  a  gridiron,  is 
shown  to  be,  in  reality,  a  chair,  a  rest,  a  ham- 
mock, and  a  reading  desk,  enhanced  by  adnla- 
tion  from  the  vender  at  every  stage  of  trans- 
formation, reminding  us  of  the  proprietors  of 
Protean  fans  at  Goodwood  and  Ascot  Cor 
young  friend  Calm,  of  the  Royal  Rampshire, 
has  been  let  in  for  several  ships'  full  of  these 
things — "without  which  no  officer  shonld 
embark  on  foreign  service."  He  has  a  certain 
cast-iron  umbrella  which  forms  a  sword  and 
a  toasting-fork,  a  fishing-rod  and  a  mini£ 
rifle,  weighs  little  more  than  thirteen  hundred- 
weight, said  to  be  very  useful  in  the  Crimei, 
which  Calm  is  not  going  to  at  all.  Enorinoas 
heaps  of  these  things  lie  on  the  dockyard 
jetties  beside  their  destined  vessels,  or  are 
pitched  about  in  obscure  holes  in  a  way  not 
reckoned  upon  by  their  manufacturers.  The 
Cotopaxi,  we  see,  has  had  positively  too  much 
of  them,  and  will  have  no  more,  and  the 
seven  hundred  and  fifty  surplus  arks  remain 
immoveable  on  the  wharf  until  this  day. 
She  took  some  three  hundred  horses  on  board 
yesterday,  beside  a  whole  army  of  human 
beings.  These  first  were  brought  to  the  jetty 
in  most  excellent  condition,  and  led  up  the 
ships'  side  along  a  sawdust  plane,  after  the 
manner  of  the  circus.  None  were  slung  oa 
board  by  the  ancient  process  of  great  bands 
under  their  bellies,  with  the  head  and  feet  of 
the  unhappy  quadruped  dangling  down  he- 
twixt  heaven  and  earth,  like  that  most  noble 
order  of  the  Golden  Fleece,  but  each  had  his 
comfortable  pew  allotted  to  him  on  the  main 
deck,  well  pa^dded  and  covered  in  on  all  sides, 
with  his  head  inwards  and  his  tail  to  the 
sea.  As  we  walked  up  through  that  long 
double  line,  it  almost  seemed  that  they  were 
the  spectators  and  we  the  spectatees— an 
opera-glass  and  a  white  neckerchief  wonld 
have  inverted  them  into  occupants  of  opera 
stalls,  now  yawning  with  ennui,  now  an- 
noying us  with  observations  to  their  next 
neighbour. 

Nevertheless,  it  was  necessary  to  convey 
some  of  their  high  mightinesses  between  decks 
after  all ;  a  square  box  opening  at  two  ends, 
well  padded,  and  without  a  lid,  swung  by 
strong  ropes  from  a  pulley,  was  placed  on 
deck ;  and  into  this  machine,  either  backwards 
or  forwards,  as  they  least  objected,  the  animals 
were  enticed.  They  disliked  this  process 
much,  and,  when  once  shut  in,  cast  the  most 
piteous  glances  over  the  assembled  company, 
nay,  even  in  some  instances,  as  they  were 
heaved  aloft,  screamed  with  terror ;  yet  for 
the  most  part,  it  was  remarkable  what  con- 
fidence and  perfect  truth  each  seemed  to  have 
in  his  owner  who  never  lost  hold  of  the  bridle, 
and  guided  the  unhappy  swinging  carcase 
safe  down  the  narrow  hatchway. 

The  Royal  Rampshire  are  off  at  last:  they 
are  gone  to 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Chtflef  Dtekena.] 


EMBARKATION. 


355 


Tbe  land  where  the  cyprras  and  myrtle 
▲re  emblema  of  deeds  that  are  done  in  its  clime ; 
Wh«re  the  rage  of  the  Tulture,  the  love  of  thetartle, 
Nov  melt  into  sorrow,  now  madden  to  crime. 

But  I  hope  the  Royal  Rampshire  will  resist 
both  thoee  sentiments — they  have  been  ased, 
at  mess,  to  the  love  of  the  turtle  already. 
No ;  the  R.  R.  R.— the  first  regiment  that 
volunteered  in  England  for  foreign  serTice — 
will  never  miscondnct  itself. 

Putting  aside  the  hideons  disasters  that 
necessitated  that  act  of  patriotism — forgetting 
all  negligences,  recklessnesses,  idiotcies  that 
have  deprived  us  of  fifty  thousand  disciplined 
fighting  men,  and  called  forth  from  their 
peaceful  lives  the  labourer  and  the  artisan, 
the  depw^ure  of  these  voluntary  exiles  was  a 
proud  sight  and  full  of  pleasant  promise. 
They  are  not,  indeed,  bound  for  that  vast 
harlal-f^ouod  before  Sebastbpol ;  they  are  not 
aboat  to  be  dependent  for  their  existence 
upon  nonchalant  lords  in  office,  all  too-placid 
generalissimos,  devil-may-care  gentlemen  of 
the  staff,  acting-deputy-assistant-commissary- 
generals,  red  tape  interest  and  routine ;  but 
they  are  men  leaving  their  country  two 
thousand  miles  behind  them  who  never  con- 
templated crossing  the  confines  of  their 
county — men  embracing  the  profession  of 
anns,  who  only  intended  to  have  passed  six 
weeks'  holiday  in  playing  at  soldiers,  and 
giving  up  pursuits  at  least  equally  lucrative 
and  far  more  congenial ;  mostly,  too,  and 
with  the  exception  of  here  and  there  an  old 
Peninsular  or  PaDJaub  Serjeant,  a  regiment 
of  very  young  men  (for  the  flower  of  the  corps 
volunteered  long  since  from  the  Royal  Ramp- 
shire into  the  line),  with  syren  attractions  of 
their  sweethearts,  and  afi'ectionate  solicitude 
of  their  mothers  to  bind  them  to  their  native 
shores.  With  the  officers— particularly  in 
the  case  of  the  married  officers — it  seems  a 
yet  more  creditable  thing.  Leaving  country 
houses  in  the  early  spring  time,  to  be  let 
or  unlet  as  it  may  be,  and  to  succumb  before 
alien  lodging-house  keepers  for  an  unknown 
period ;  taking  ladies  and  little  children  out 
of  drawing-rooms  and  nurseries  to  be  tossed 
for  five  weeks  in  a  government  transport 
across  the  Bay  of  Biscay  and  through  Gib- 
raltar Gut. 

We  confess,  then,  to  feeling  grateful  to 
J?'  ^'  ^*'  ^^^  interested  much  in  their 
JJ^'^^^ation.  Let  us  accompany  them  down 
the  High  Street;  let  us  be  borne  up  by 
^^ciy  description  of  True  Briton  that  runs 
»J  their  side  down  to  the  dockyard  gate ;  for 
Jiere  the  mass  of  their  fellow-countrymen  is 
constrained  to  bid  them  adieu,— an  impor- 
*nt,  but  apocryphal,  business  with  the 
Pprt-admiral  (for  it  is  just  as  well  to  tell  a 
oig  one  while  we  are  about  it)  alone  ensures 
gs  aamittance  through  the  enchanted  door. 
r^M  ^  *  glance  upon  the  unimaginative 
Zw  A  ^'^^oat— rach  a  glance  as  the  boy 
&fb»^°  k*^^  carriage  throws  on  those  toiling 
a'wr  the  revolving  wheels ;  such  a  glance 


as  a  late  nnder-secretary  thought  to  have 
cast  upon  his  former  colleagues,  but  for 
some  cry  of  whip  behind — we  proceed  to 
the  dock-yai'd  jetty,  where  the  transport 
Obstinate  lies  moored.  There  the  Royal 
Rampshire  stand  at  ease  for  hours  until, 
company  by  company,  they  are  gradually 
absorbed  into  the  big  ship.  Each  man  carries 
a  tin  mug — generally  suspended  from  his 
bayonet — a  pannikin  and  a  havresack.  With- 
out disorder,  without  hurry,  almost  keeping 
time  with  the  beautiful  march  that  the  band 
is  playing,  each  finds  his  narrow  sleeping 
place,  puts  by  his  arms  and  slender  baggage, 
and  gives  his  name  (which  is  a  number)  to 
the  snip's  mcssman. 

Standing  upon  the  poop  amidst  the  crowd 
of  officers,  let  us  survey  the  leave-takings 
—  some  jovial,  some  pathetic  —  from  the 
Good-bye,  old  girl!  enhanced  by  a  slap  on 
the  back,  to  the  almost  inarticulate  God 
bless  you !  In  that  little  array  of  flys  and 
private  carriages  are  some  poor  left-behind 
ladies,  tearful  and  hysterical,  and  a  crowd 
of  soldiers'  wives  who  have  no  equipages, 
but  who  are  to  the  full  as  ill  and  sor- 
rowful ;  also,  it  must  be  confessed,  here  and 
there  are  some  young  females,  more  in 
a  state  of  beer  than  anything  else,  and 
maudlin  rather  than  melancholy,  whose  part- 
ings are  not  heart-rending.  On  board  the 
old  transport  Obstinate  such  brave  officers* 
wives  who  accompany  the  regiment  sit 
disconsolate  on  their  boxes  (which  will  not 
enter  their  cabin  doors),  or  on  their  cots 
withinside,  wondering  TiTiether  they  ever  saw 
so  small  a  room,  or  such  an  apology  for  a 
window  as  that  duskv  bull's-eye.  The  beds 
in  the  Obstinate  are  laid  athwart  instead  of 
along,  so  that  the  ship  being  *'  a  roller,"  the 
sleepers  (?)  will  lie  head  downwards  with 
every  lurch— but  they  are  yet  in  blissful 
ignorance  of  this.  Forbear,  therefore,  to 
divulge  this  little  circumstance  to  the  mother 
with  her  three  fair  children  for  whose 
comfort  she  is  providing  regardless  of  her 
own;  forbear  to  warn  the  major's  valet  de 
cham^bre,  who  has  curled  hair  and  a  scent 
bottle,  and  thinks  he  shall  rather  enjoy  the 
voyage  I 

The  crew  are  mustered  aft  to  hear  their 
orders  read  ;  the  soldiers,  with  white  smocks 
(sea  dress,  worn  over  their  regimentals),  are 
swarming  on  the  forecastle:  the  word  is 
given  to  cast  loose — let  us,  at  least,  get  out  of 
H.M.S.  the  Obstinate  while  there  is  yet  time — 
the  steam-tug  forges  a-head,  and  drags  her 
slowly  forward  —  three  grand  hurrahs  are 
given  fVom  every  throat,  and  the  band  strikes 
up  their  favourite  Cheer,  boys,  cheer!  and 
the  excitement  grows  tremendous.  Along 
the  loaded  wharves,  and  past  grinning  bat- 
teries, and  close  in-shore  by  the  crowded 
beach,  the  mighty  ship  goes  on;  with  her 
sails  set  and  her  colours  flying,  she  threads 
that  great  armada  in  the  offing — the  ships 
that  are  our  title-deeds  to  the  empire  of  the 


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356 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


seas— she  rounds  the  beaatifal  island  in  the 
distance,  she  lessens  in  the  dim  horizon,  and 
tiie  Royal  Rampshire  is  gone. 

AN  OLD  PICTURE  OP  JUSTICE. 

I  WILL  tell  in  as  few  words  as  possible 
the  history  of  a  French  criminal  process  in 
the  year  one  thoasand  six  hundred  and 
ninety.  A  detailed  account  of  it  is  included 
by  M.  Oscar  Honor^  in  an  interesting  book, 
entitled  Sketches  of  Private  Life  in  the  Old 
Times. 

,  In  one  of  the  ancient  streets  of  I^aris,  near 
the  Sorbonne,  there  stood,  until  lately,  a 
house  of  four  stories,  built  in  the  first  years  of 
the  reign  of  Louis  Quatorze.  Huge  gates 
studded  with  iron  led  into  the  coach-house, 
they  were  locked  by  a  heavy  key  which, 
when  the  house  was  occupied  as  a  mansion, 
used  to  be  entrusted  to  the  coachman,  and  as 
an  appanage  of  his  domestic  estate  hung  on  a 
large  hook  in  the  kitchen.  From  the  kitchen, 
stabling,  and  other  offices  on  the  basement 
story,  a  great  staircase  led  up  to  the  business- 
hall,  the  reception-saloon,  and  the  card- room. 
In  the  business-hall  was  a  massive  chest 
which  contained  the  family  plate. and  a  close 
alcove  built  over  the  street  which  could  be 
used  as  the  sleeping  apartment  of  a  servant. 
The  great  staircase  continued  its  way  to  the 
floor  above,  and  there — since  a  brief  descrip- 
tion of  the  house  is  essential  to  a  proper  com- 
prehension of  the  narrative — it  is  to  be  un- 
derstood that  there  was  a  spacious  ante- 
chamber leading  to  the  bedroom  of  the  master 
or  mistress,  which  was  the  only  other  room 
upon  that  floor,  and  that  the  windows  of  these 
apartments  opened  on  the  court  In  the  bed- 
room there  were  two  doors  opening  upon  a 
small  private  staircase,  one  door  being  in  the 
alcove  of  the  bed,  and  the  other  in  a  dressing 
closet,  which  was  the  place  in  which  the 
strong-boj — the  cash-box  of  a  period  when 
men  had  to  keep  much  money  in  a  bulk  upon 
their  premises — was  kept  The  floor  above 
was  similar  as  to  the  arrangement  of  its 
rooms.  On  a  floor  above  Uiat  were  the 
sleeping  apartments  of  the  servants,  and  at 
the  top  of  all  was  an  enormous  loft 

In  the  year  sixteen  hundred  and  eighty- 
nine  this  house  was  inhabited  by  Madame 
Hazel,  a  wealthy  card-playing  widow,  frivo- 
lous, luxurious,  and  full  of  little  and  great 
enmities.  She  had  three  sons,  named  Savon- 
ni^res-R^n^,  a  counsellor  to  the  parliament ; 
Greorges,  treasurer  of  France  in  the  generality 
of  Paris ;  and  Michael,  major  of  the  regiment 
of  Piedmont. 

The  wife  of  her  eldest  son  Rln^  was  pur- 
sued by  Madame  Mazel  with  an  Implacable 
hatred.  Thirteen  or  fourteen  years  before 
the  date  of  the  events  here  to  be  detailed, 
this  poor  girl,  Madame  de  Savonni^res,  had 
been,  sj-rested  in  the  public  street,  by  an 
order  of  which  the  king  had  been  beguiled,  and 
hurried  off  to  a  provincial  convent,  which  had 


continued  Arom  that  time  to  be  her  prisoB. 
She  had  made  several  efforts  to  etcape,  once 
or  twice  even  with  a  temporary  saccesE.  It 
afterwards  became  known  that  three  months 
before  the  event  on  which  this  narrative  tBras, 
Madame  de  Savonniires  had  effected  one  of 
her  escapes,  and  was  concealed  in  Paris  at  a 
house  in  the  Rue  du  Colombier,  where  she 
was  heard  by  some  one  to  declare  that,  in 
three  months  more,  she  would  be  free  to  go 
back  to  her  husband. 

Madame  Mazel's  household  consisted  of 
two  young  footmen  who  were  brothers,  of  two 
chambermaids  who  were  sisters,  of  an  elderly 
female  cook,  a  coachman,  a  sort  of  major- 
domo  named  Le  Brun,  and  .of  a  parasitic 
priest,  the  Abb^  Boulard,  who,  after  spending 
twentv  years  among  the  Jacobins,  had  beea 
transferred  to  the  order  of  Cluny,  but  had 
transferred  himself,  by  preference,  to  the 
luxuries  of  the  rich  widow's  household.  He 
ate  the  daintiest  fare  at  madame's  table,  and 
occupied  in  the  guest's  bed-chamber  a  huge 
soft  bed,  where  he  slept,  under  hangings  of 
blue  velvet  and  cherry-coloured  satin.  Eccle- 
siastical proceedings  of  various  kinds  bad 
been  instituted  against  him,  but  he  con- 
trived to  bear  tiiem  patiently,  wad  in  spite  of 
all  that  the  church  or  the  world  might  say  or 
do,  held  to  his  post  as  madame's  almoner 
and  favourite. 

The  Abb^  Poulard  was  maintained  in  his 
place,  not  onlv  by  the  favour  of  Madame  MaseL 
Through  a  sister  of  his,  who  was  the  fttsci- 
nating  widow  of  a  counsellor,  he  secured  for 
himself  the  brotherly  regard  of  M.  Georges 
de  Savonni^res,  second  son  of  his  patroness. 
R^n6  the  elder  son  was  not  unwilling  that  bis 
brother  should  be  mated  to  the  widow  of  so 
old  associate,  and  the  thurd  son  was  absent 
upon  milltaiT  service.  By  help  therefore  of 
this  lady  —  ism^nie  Chapelun — who  re- 
ceived from  Georges  de  Savonniires  rich  pre- 
sents of  dresses  brocaded  in  gold  and  silter, 
costly  headgear,  silk  stockings  and  embroi- 
dered shoes,  the  Abb^  Poulard  was  upon 
good  terms  with  all  the  family.  Madame 
Mazel,  however,  was  in  no  such  happv  case. 
Whatever  tenderness  she  may  have  herself 
felt  for  the  Abb^,  it  is  certain  that  she  set 
her  face  most  obstinately  against  the  idea  that 
her  son  Georges  should  pay  court  seriously  to 
the  Abba's  sister.  A  marriage,  much  desired 
by  Madame  Chapelain  was,  therefore,  to  be 
regarded  as  impossible  during  the  lifetune  of 
Madame  Mazel. 

I  have  said  that  the  male  servants  in 
madame's  employment  were  two  footmen,  t 
coachman,  and  the  steward  or  major-domo 
Jacques  Le  Brun*  There  had  been  another 
footman,  named  Berry,  who  had  been  dis- 
missed under'  strong  suspicion  of  baring 
robbed  his  mistress  of  one  thousand  five  bon- 
dred  livres.  Le  Brun  had  served  the  houae 
during  twenty-nine  years  as  a  confiden- 
tial servant,  and  was  known  to  be  so  strict 
in  his  fidelity,  that  he  refused  to  accept  the 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Charic*  DicktiM.] 


AN  OLD  PICTURE  OF  JUSTICE. 


357 


Qsnal  commifliioiis  paid  bj  upholsterers  and 
others,  for  the  orders  given  by  him  on  behalf 
of  his  employers.  The  old  man  had  a  wife 
— Magdeleine  ^isierelie,  and  two  daughters, 
who  were  engaged  as  hair-dressers  at  the 
palace  ;]there  were  also  two  younger  children, 
and  the  whole  of  Le  Brunts  family  dwelt  toge- 
ther in  a  lodging  of  its  own,  to  which  the 
father  went,  from  time  to  time,  as  he  was  able. 
Sometimes  he  slept  at  his  own  lodging,  and 
lometimes  under  the  roof  of  Madame  Mazel, 
at  the  hotel  Savonni^res. 

On  the  twenty-seventh  of  November,  six- 
teen hundred  and  eighty-nine,  that  day  being 
the  first  Sunday  m  Advent,  Le  Brunts 
daughters  visited  Madame  Mazel  after  her 
dinner,  were  received  hj  her  and  bidden  to 
come  at  a  moce  convenient  hour.  She  was 
then  going  to  reside  in  the  Rue  Hautefeuille. 
Thither,  according  to  usage,  she  was  accom- 
panied by  Master  Jacques,  he  carrying  her 
foot-warmer  and  book  of  devotions,  she  tak- 
ing his  arms.  At  the  door  of  the  church  he 
quitted  her  to  attend  vespers  elsewhere  on  his 
own  account.  After  finishing  his  spiritual 
exercises  M.  Le  Brpn  sought  exercise  for  his 
body  in  a  game  of  bowls.  That  over,  he  met 
with  a  crony  named  Lague,  who  had  married 
one  of  Madame  Mazel's  cooks.  The  friends 
purchased  together  the  materials  necessary 
for  a  social  supper ;  and  while  supper  was  pre- 
paring the  old  m^jor-domo  trotted  off  on  sun- 
dry errands,  first  to  see  that  all  was  right  at 
the  hotel  de  Savonni^re,  then  to  take  a  peep 
at  hlB  own  family,  and  then  to  go  with  the 
carriage,  coachman,  and  two  footmen  to  take 
up  his  mistress,  at  eight  o'clock,  at  the  house 
of  a  female  friend.  All  these  duties  properly 
performed,  he  rejoined  his  firiend  Lague  and 
went  to  sapper. 

His  supper  was  long,  and  Madame  Mazel 
was  being  undressed  by  her  two  maids  when 
Le  Bran  tapped  at  the  small  door  in  the 
alcove  of  the  bed-room  to  obtain  his  orders 
for  the  next  day  (Monday)  when  she  was  to 
hold  a  grand  reception. 

"  This  is  a  fine  time  of  night,  Monsieur  Le 
Brun,  for  such  a  question  I  " 

The  old  man  went  round  to  the  main 
staircase,  entered  his  mistress's  room  from  the 
antechamber,  and  received  his  orders.  Then 
he  came  out  again  followed  by  the  maids,  who 
closed  the  door  and  put  the  key,  as  usual,  on 
an  adjacent  chair.  Madame  pushed  her  bolt 
inside,  jmd  all  was  safe.  The  three  servants 
chattered  for  a  short  time  in  whispers, 
madame's  good-will  to  Le  Brun's  daughters 
being  the  theme  of  their  gossip ;  and  they 
then  parted,  the  maids  mounting  the  staircase 
to  their  rooms,  the  old  man  descended  to  the 
kitchen.  There— as  he  stated  afterwards— he 
seated  himself  by  the  fire  for  a  last  warming 
of  his  feet  before  he  went  to  bed,  and  while 
so  seated  fell  asleep.  It  was  long  past  midnight 
when  he  awoke,  and  startled  at  the  lateness 
of  the  hour,  hurried  to  lock  the  coach-house 
door,  which  had  been  all  the  while  left  open 


Having  fastened  it  he  took  the  key  up  to  his 
bed  in  the  alcove  attached  to  the  business- 
hall. 

On  the  succeeding  morning  his  first  duty 
was  to  go  to  market  On  his  way  he  met  a 
bookseller,  with  whom  he  talked  in  his  usual 
mood  about  the  weather,  and  on  his  return  he 
entered  the  house  jesting  with  three  acquaint- 
ances, one  of  whom  had  put  on  his  cloak  and 
was  receiving  for  that  reason  sundry  thumps 
upon  the  back  from  the  old  man,  who  said 
that  he  was  entitled  to  beat  his  own  clothes. 
The  friends  gone,  Le  Brun  attended  to  some 
business  in  the  kitchen,  and  gave  wood  to  the 
footman,  whose  duty  it  was  to  light  the  fire  in 
madame's  chamber.  Bat  madame  was  at 
at  that  hour  not  awake,  although  it  was 
already  seven  in  the  morning. 

In  the  meantime  Le  Brun  visited  his  wife, 
and  left  with  her  a  few  pieces  of  gold,  his 
latest  savings.  When  he  returned  to  the 
hotel  Savonni^res  he  called,  as  he  was  enter- 
ing, to  a  footman  who  stood  at  the  window  of 
the  second  story,  and  learnt  from  him  that 
his  mistress  had  not  risen.  The  domestics 
were  alarmed.  Much  noise  had  been  made 
in  depositing  the  wood  at  her  door,  without 
effect.  Endeavours  were  made  to  arouse  her, 
still  without  effect.  *'  Then,"  said  Le  Brun, 
*^  something  bad  must  have  happened.  I  am 
distressed  that  the  coach-house  door  should 
have  been  left  open  so  late  last  night." 

Madame's8on,thc  Counsellor  deSavonni^res, 
was  summoned.  By  his  authority  a  locksmith 
was  fetched.  The  room  was  opened,  and 
Le  Brun— who  was  the  first  to  enter — ran  to 
the  bed,  crying  meanwhile,  to  his  mistress, — 
lifted  the  coverlid,  and  exclaimed,  "  Ah,  she 
is  murdered ! "  Directly  afterwards  he  went 
to^the  dressing-closet,  opened  the  shutter,  and 
saw  that  the  strong  box  was  intact  "  She  is 
not  robbed ! "  he  cried.  "  What  does  this 
mean?" 

Surgical  and  legal  help  was  sent  for.  The 
condition  of  things  found  in  the  room  was 
carefully  noted  in  a  proc^s-verbal.  On  the 
bed  was  a  fragment  of  a  lace  cravat,  and  a 
table-napkin,  belonging  to  the  house,  rolled 
into  the  form  of  a  cap,  like  the  caps  used  by 
tennis-players.  The  body  of  madame  was 
already  cold,  and  pierced  by  fifty  knife 
wounds. 

The  assassin  had  tied  the  bell-pulls  above 
reach,  and  knotted  them  among  the  curtains 
of  the  bed,  so  that  if  even  they  had  been 
grasped  they  would  only  have  moved  the 
drapery.  There  were  no  traces  of  disorder 
in  the  bedroom  or  the  antechamber  ;  no  door 
had  been  forced.  The  key  of  the  plate-chest, 
in  the  business-hall,  was,  as  usual,  under 
madame'S  pillow.  Card  m»ney  was  kept  in 
that  chest;  and  on  opening  it  there  were 
found  nearlv  two  hundred  and  seventy-eight 
livresjn  gold.  It  contained  also  the  key  of 
the  strong  box,  in  madame's  dressing-closet. 
In  the  strong  box  there  were  found  four  bags 
containing  one  thousand  livres  a-plece,  and 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[C«4ncMt| 


some  other  bags  of  smaller  size,  among  which 
one  was  addressed  "To  Monsieur  de  Abb^ 
Poulard.''  The  box  contained  al80  a  large 
purse  that  was  entirely  empty,  and  an  escri- 
toire in  red  morocco,  g^lt,  upon  which  laj  a 
half-louis,  and  within  which,  under  a  false 
bottom,  Madame  Mazel  kept  fifteen  thousand 
livres  worth  of  jewels.  Finally,  in  the  pockets 
of  the  dress  madame  had  last  worn,  there 
were  found  eighteen  pistoles  in  gold. 

Every  act  and  word  of  his  that  we  have 
detailed  was  at  once  held  to  point  suspicion 
to  Le  Brun.  At  least,  thought  the  criminal- 
lieutenant,  who  occupied  the  place  of  our 
detective, — he  may  be  a  party  to  the  murder, 
if  not  the  actual  perpetrator  of  the  crime. 
The  leaving  of  the  coach-house  door  open, 
during  a  midnight  sleep,  was  an  especially 
suggestive  circumstance.  Le  Brun  and  his 
wife  were  both  arrested,  and  confined  in 
separate  cells. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  all  moral  pro- 
bability was  against  the  notion  that  Le  Brun, 
for  twenty-nine  years  honoured  as  a  pattern 
steward,  should  have  been  the  author  of  the 
crime.  He  drew  profit  from  the  life  of  his 
mistress.  Madame  Chapelain  had  reason 
enough  to  wish  her  dead ;  still  more  reason 
bad  Madame  R6n^  de  Savonniires ;  and  then 
there  was  the  Abb^  Poulard,  a  priest  of  bad 
character,  who  had  a  house-key  to  himself, 
and  whose  bed-room  communicated  by  the 
private  stair  with  the  alcove  in  the  chamber 
of  madame.  Of  him  no  questions  were  asked, 
though  ten  hours  were  occupied  in  question- 
ing the  servants  of  the  house.  The  Abb^ 
Poulard  went  about  the  town,  affirming 
Le  Brun's  guilt,  and  adding  fabulous  particu- 
lars as  to  the  manner  of  it.  He  had  admitted 
to  his  mistress  the  discharged  footman,  Berry ; 
and  Berry  had  demanded  of  madame  that  she 
should  recognise  him  as  her  son.  Upon  that 
she  seized  him  by  the  throat  in  a  frenzy  of 
rage,  and  Berry  used  the  poinard  in  self- 
defence.  The  story  found  believers,  who  had 
not  wit  to  put  to  themselves  or  their  informant 
the  most  obvious  question — How  had  Mon- 
sieur the  Abb4  come  by  so  much  information  ? 

Additional  evidence,  capable  of  use  against 
the  offender,  had  come  into  the  hands  of 
justice.  The  remains  of  a  pocket-knife  had 
been  found  in  the  ashes,  on  the  hearth  of 
madame's  bed-chamber.  A  rope-ladder  had 
been  found,  also  \  and  a  shirt,  stained  with 
blood,  and  bearing  the  marks  of  bloody 
fingers,  had  been  taken  from  under  a  bundle 
of  straw  in  the  loft.  A  few  hairs,  torn  from 
the  head  of  the  murderer,  were  drawn  from 
the  grasp  of  the  dead  body.  Barbers  pro- 
nounced these  to  be  too  few  to  enable  them 
to  assert  whether  or  not  they  had  been  torn 
from  the  head  of  Jacques  Le  Brun.  The 
napkin  rolled  into  a  cap.  which  lay  upon  the 
bed,  was  too  small  for  Le  Brun ;  and  I  should 
say  that  the  old  man's  hands  were  examined, 
and  found  to  be  free  from  all  trace  of  their 
having   been   imbrued   In   blood.    It   was  I 


observed  that  if  the  assassin  had  entered  bj 
either  of  the  secret  doors,  he  ooold  not  bare 
passed  out  by  them,  because  they  were  hoM 
from  within.  Nothing,  however,  hindered 
him  from  passing  out  by  the  door  \nAm 
into  the  antechamber;  and  it  was'prord 
that  the  mere  jar,  caused  by  his  clodiog  it 
after  him,  might  be  enongh  to  posh  the  iimer 
bolt  a  little  forward. 

On  the  fourteenth  of  Jannary,  sixteen  bou- 
dred  and  ninety,  the  Counsellor  M.  R^o^  de 
Savonni^rcs  petitioned  the  crimiDal-lieateo- 
ant,  in  the  name  of  his  brother  and  himself, 
for  a  declaration,  **  that  Le  Bran  was  ittaiot^d 
and  convicted  of  having  killed  and  mas^crf^ 
the  lady  Mazel,  his  mistress,  and  of  bsvinf 
robbed  from  her  the  gold  contained  in  tbe 
purse  found  empty  at  the  bottom  of  the 
strong-box,  with  the  exception  of  tbe  balf- 
louis  found  upon  the  escritoire." 

Barbier  d'Aucourt,  a  celebrated  adTocitc 
was  charged  with  Le  Brun's  defence.  He 
urged  the  many  points  which  tended  to  direct 
suspicion  against  others.  The  cook,  not  long 
before  the  murder,  had  moved  her  bed  to » 
room  on  the  ground-floor,  from  which  it  was 
possible  for  her  to  admit  whom  she  would 
into  the  house.  The  footmen  were  joalbi 
not  likely  to  strike  home ;  and  the  victim  was 
found  slain  by  fifty  thrusts  upon  neclr,  ficc, 
arms,  and  breast,  not  one  of  them  mortal- 
Then  there  was  the  Abb^  Poulard,  a  mool^of 
bad  repute,  more  open  than  any  other  person 
to  suspicion.  D'Aucourt  urged  such  points 
and,  of  course,  displayed  with  all  his  |ikill  the 
weakness  of  the  case  against  Le  Brun.  The 
advocate  was,  moreover,  possessed  bj  an  idea 
of  his  own,  namely,  that  the  discharged  foot- 
man. Berry,  could  throw  light  upon  the  cm 
if  he  were  once  confronted  with  the  prisoner. 
He  insisted  that  this  man  should  he  sought 
and  arrested ;  but  his  place  of  abode  beinf 
unknown,  he  was  not  found. 

On  Wednesday,  the  twenty-second  of  F^ 
bruary,  a  decision  on  the  case  was  arrired  at. 
by  a  court  of  two-and-twenty  judges.  Two 
only  confirmed  the  accusation,  four  defirw 
time  for  further  information,  and  the  other 
sixteen  formed  the  majority,  by  whom  It  ^ 
decreed  that  Jacques  Le  Brun  should  be  pot 
to  the  provisory  question  ordlnaiy  and  extrj- 
ordinary.  In  obedience  to  this  order.  M- 
Jean  le  Nain,  an  honest  magistrate,  accomp*- 
nied  by  M.  Fraguier,  a  counsellor,  supeno- 
tended  the  application  of  the  torture  toiw 
poor  old  steward.  Le  Brun  bore  the  ordrti 
like  a  brave  man  and  a  Christian,  sought  no 
temporary  relief  by  self-accusation,  and  m 
only  maintained  his  own  innocence,  but  wonw 
allow  no  word  to  be  wrung  fW)m  n'"  """ 
tended  to  shift  suspicion  upon  the famiiyw 
his  mistress,  or  to  refiect  in  any  degrw  m 
her  reputation.  He  was  acqaainlcd  i"« 
intrigues  and  quarrels,  that,  if  known,  vonw 
have  strenghtened  the  case  as  against  oww 
persons ;  but  he  knew  what  was  due  to  w 
honor  of  his  calling  as  a  faithful  major- 


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CiMrica  DickcML] 


AN  OLD  PICTURE  OF  JUSTICE. 


359 


domo.  He  carried  his  scrapie  so  far,  that, 
when  he  was  interrogated  on  the  subject  of 
an  J  coinmaDication  that  there  might  be  be- 
tween the  apartments  occupied  by  the  Abb^ 
Foulard  and  that  of  Madame  Hazel,  he 
replied  only  that  this  question  had  nothing  to 
do  with  the  suit  against  him.  Brave  old  man  1 

Very  different  was  the  behaviour  of  the 
parasite  who  had  already  blackened  the  cha- 
racter of  his  patroness,  and  was,  in  the  next 
place,  pursuing  the  old  steward  to  his  death, 
with  a  remorseless  violence. 

Le  Brun  was  condemned  to  die  ;  and  it  was 
adjudged  that  his  estate  should  pay  ten  thou- 
sand livres  as  damages  to  the  heirs  of  Madame 
Mazel,  as  well  as  the  usual  amends  of  a  hun- 
dred livres  to  the  church,  for  the  establish- 
ment of  prayers  for  the  soul  of  the  deceased. 
It  was  at  the  same  time  privately  stated  that 
the  judges  arrived  at  this  decision  not  with  a 
view  to  its  being  finally  carried  out,  but  for 
the  purpose  of  terrifying  the  accused,  by  a 
new  form  of  torture,  into  a  full  statement  of 
what  he  knew.  Most  of  them  believed  Le 
Brun  himself  to  be  not  guilty ;  and  as  tbey 
all  knew  that  their  sentence  could  be — and 
DO  doubt  would  be — reversed  in  a  higher 
court,  tbey  gave  false  judgment  by  way  of 
stratagem,  hoping  that  some  good  might 
accrue  from  it. 

The  appeal  to  the  higher  tribunal  was  of 
coarse  made  by  Barbier  d'Aucourt,  who 
repeated  all  his  arguments  before  new  judges 
with  redoubled  energy.  A  French  criminal 
tale  of  this  period,  founded  on  mistaken  iden- 
tity, has  recently  been  dramatised,  and  per- 
formed in  many  French  and  English  theatres, 
as  "The  Courier  of  Lyons,"  and  under  other 
titles.  When  the  M.  Lesurques,  who  was  in 
that  case  the  victim  of  an  error,  came  before 
the  court  to  obtain  his  restoration  to  society, 
his  advocate  was  the  same  Barbier  d'Aucourt 
—not  only  a  famous  lawyer,  but  also  a  member 
of  the  French  Academy — who  bestirred  him- 
self with  so  much  energy  on  behalf  of  Jacques 
LeBrun. 

Before  the  upper  tribunal  D^Aucourt's 
arguments  tended  to  direct  the  attention  of 
the  public  in  no  favourable  way  towards  the 
Abl]H&  Poulard.  That  disgraced  ecclesiastic, 
consequently,  felt  it  to  be  right  that  he  should 
defend  bis  own  character  in  a  pamphlet :  and 
a  pamphlet,  accordingly,  was  published  by 
bim,  in  which  he  called  the  attention  of  Pari- 
sians to  the  forced  presumptions  upon  which 
the  argoment  for  the  defence  of  De  Brun  was 
fomided,  and— quite  in  accordance  with  the 
humour  of  the  time — criticised  the  style  of 
M.  d'Aucourt,  whom  he  accused  of  not  form- 
ing his  sentences  with  the  grace  to  be  looked 
for  from  a  member  of  the  Academy,  and 
against  whom  he  revived  an  old  joke  which 
bad  long  done  duty  in  the  salons  of  Paris. 
l>'Aacourt,  at  an  early  stage  of  his  career, 
bad  on  one  occasion  rebuked  what  he  held  to 
he  an  indecent  use  made  of  their  church  by 
the  Jesuits,  and  doing  so  in  Latin,  said 


'*  sacrus,"  when  he  ought  to  have  said  *'sacer." 
The  holy  men  were  tickled  by  the  blunder, 
and  D'Aucourt  was  called  "  lawyer  sacrus  " 
for  a  long  time  after.  The  Abb^  Poulard,  in 
his  pamphlet,  made  the  most  of  this.  The 
joke  arose  over  a  question  of  profanity,  and 
was  kept  alive  over  a  question  of  murder. 
But,  indeed,  the  murder  of  a  nominative  case 
was  at  that  time  nearly  as  bad,  in  the  eyes  of 
dainty  speakers  as  the  murder  of  a  woman. 
*'  You  tell  me  that  I  murdered  my  patroness," 
cried,  in  effect,  the  Abb^  Poulard;  "well, 
sir,  and  what  then,  who  murdered  his  own 
Latin?" 

The  pleadings  of  D'Aucourt  had  aroused 
public  feeling  on  behalf  of  the  white-headed 
steward,  who  was  faithful  even  in  the  last 
extremity  to  which  he  had  been  brought. 
He  had  been  tortured  beyond  his  strength, 
and  his  life  was  despaired  of.  Just  at  that 
time  oflScial  intelligence  was  sent  from  Sens 
that  a  man,  calling  himself  Geolet,  had  estab- 
lished himself  as  a  horse-dealer  in  that  town ; 
that  he  was  the  same  Berry,  discharged  from 
the  service  of  Madame  Mazel,  for  whom 
search  had  been  instituted,  and  that  he  was 
accordingly  arrested.  His  arrest  took  place 
on  the  twenty-seventh  of  March. 

The  expectation  of  Barbier  d'Aucourt  was 
then  strangely  fulfilled,  for  the  capture  of 
this  man  set  at  rest  a  world  of  doubt  and 
terrible  suspicion  in  an  altogether  unex- 
pect<'d  way.  When  Berry  was  taken  he 
offered  to  the  men  who  arrested  him  a  purse 
full  of  louis-d'ors  for  the  opportunity  of  mak- 
ing his  escape,  and  he  was  found  possessed 
of  a  watch  which  had  been  worn  by  Madame 
Mazel  on  the  very  last  day  of  her  life.  He 
was  sent  at  once  to  Paris,  where  many  testi- 
fied to  having  seen  )iim  in  town  at  the  time 
of  the  assassination  ;  a  woman  identified  him 
as  a  man  whom  she  saw  quitting  the  hotel 
Savonniires  on  the  night  of  the  murder,  soon 
after  midnight.  A  surgeon  deposed  that  he 
had  shaved  him  (those  being  the  days  of  bar- 
ber surgeons),  on  the  morning  following, 
and  noticed  that  his  hands  were  scratched. 
Finally  the  blood-stained  shirt  and  fragment 
of  cravat  were  proved  to  have  belonged  to 
him.  While  these  facts  were  being  elicited, 
on  the  nineteenth  of  July  the  Abb^  Poulard 
was  arrested,  and  lodged  in  the  Conciergerie. 
By  confronting  him  with  the  real  murderer, 
no  proof  of  complicity  was  obtained,  and  it 
was  determined  by  the  civil  authorities  that 
be  should  be  handed  over  to  his  ecclesiastical 
superiors,  by  whom  he  was  subjected  to  strict 
discipline  and  meagre  diet  in  a  monastery 
throughout  the  remainder  of  his  days. 

Ism^nie  Chapelain  profited  nothing  by  the 
death  of  Madame  Mazel ;  for  Georges  de  Sa- 
vonni^res  died  during  the  course  of  the  sub- 
sequent proceedings.  The  name  of  Madame 
R6n^  de  Savonni^res  had  been  carefully  kept 
out  of  the  inquiry  ;  but  Berry,  condemned  to 
be  broken  alive  upon  the  wheel,  and  to  pay 
eight  thousand  livres  of  restitution,  was  put 


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360 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


to  the  tortare  previooB  to  his  ezecation,  and 
apoQ  the  rack  he  named  as  accomplices  Ma- 
dame de  Sayooni^res  and  Jacqaes  Le  Brun. 

Le  Bran  was  already  dead.  Imprisonment 
and  tortare  had  destroyed  him,  and  three 
weeks  before  this  fresh  accasation  he  bad 
been  bnried  solemnly  before  the  altar  in  the 
eharch  of  St.  Bartholomew,  having  been  fol- 
lowed to  his  grave  by  an  Immense  conconrse 
of  people.  His  wife  Magdeleine  had  been 
taken  from  prison,  and  was  conducted  home 
with  her  two  daughters,  in  solemn  procession, 
by  the  same  persons  who  had  been  present 
at  her  husband's  funeral. 

The  murderer's  breath  did  not  long  taint  the 
old  man's  fame.  In  presence  of  actual  death. 
Berry  sent  for  M.  le  Nain,  formally  retracted 
his  charges  against  others,  and  in  a  conference 
which  lasted  for  an  hour,  confessed  his  crime. 

His  story  was,  that  on  the  Wednesday  be- 
fore the  murder,  he  had  come  to  Paris  on  the 
business  of  robbing  Madame  Mazel,  and  took 
a  lodging  at  the  Golden  Chariot  That  on 
the  Friday,  at  dusk,  he  entered  the  lady's 
house,  seemg  the  door  then  open,  and  meet- 
ing no  one,  ascended  to  the  loft,  by  way  of 
the  private  staircase.  He  remained  in  the 
loft,  hidden  behind  some  hay,  and  feeding 
upon  bread  and  apples  that  he  took  with  him. 
At  eleven  o'clock  on  Sunday  morning,  know- 
ing that  Madame  was  then  at  mass,  he  de- 
scended to  her  bed-chamber,  of  which  the 
door  was  open.  The  maids  must  have  just 
then  only  finished  cleaning  it,  because  when  be 
went  in  the  dust  was  flying.  Attempting  to 
creep  under  the  bed,  he  found  there  was  not 
space  for  him  to  pass  under  with  his  coat  on. 
He,  therefore,  remounted  to  the  loft,  and  there 
deposited  his  two  outer  garments,  then,  de- 
scending in  his  shirt,  he  re-entered  the  room, 
and  achieyed  his  purpose.  After  dinner  Ma- 
dame came  to  her  chamber,  which  she  left 
again  to  go  to  vespers.  Berry,  who  had  found 
his  hat  uncomfortable,  then  came  out  and  made 
a  cap  for  himself,  with  a  table  napkin  that  he 
found  behind  the  mirror.  Afterwards  he 
knotted  up  the  bell-pulls,  and  warmed  him- 
self at  the  fire,  antil  he  heard  the  wheels  of 
Madame's  carriage.  Then  he  crept  back  to 
his  hiding,  from  which  he  emerged  at  mid- 
night to  make  his  demand  of  money.  Madame, 
of  course,  screamed  and  felt  for  the  bell-pulls. 
Berry  warned  her  that  she  could  not  ring, 
and  that  if  she  cried  out  he  would  kill  her.  If 
she  had  not  cried  out,  he  said,  she  would  not 
have  been  killed.  He  stabbed  her  at  hazard, 
till  she  ceased  to  struggle  with  him,  after 
which  he  stabbed  on  till  he  knew  that  she  was 
dead.  Until  then,  all  had  been  dark,  and  it 
was  not  until  after  the  murder  that  he  struck 
a  light.  He  took  the  key  of  the  plate-chest, 
and  sought  in  the  plate-chest  for  the  key  of 


the  strong  box.  He  took  from  that  box,  six 
thousand  livres  in  gold,  which  he  emptied  oat 
of  a  purse,  but  left  the  purse,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded to  restore,  everything  to  its  former 
state.  He  went  out  by  way  of  the  ante- 
chamber, closing  the  door  with  a  key  that  lay 
on  a  chair,  lest  by  forcible  shutting  he  might 
awaken  some  one  of  the  servants.  Then  he 
remounted  to  the  loft,  washed  his  hands  there, 
took  off  and  concealed  his  shirt,-  put  on  his 
other  clothes,  and  descended.  The  coach- 
house door  was  open,  and  he  went  oat  by  it 
Had  it  been  closed  he  should  have  made  use 
of  his  rope  ladder,  and  have  escaped  by  one 
of  the  windows.  On  getting  out  into  the 
street,  he  observed  the  brightness  of  the  mooo^ 
and  the  extreme  coldness  of  the  night.  Be- 
fore he  bad  gone  far  he  heard  a  clock  strike 
one. 

In  this  way  it  happened  that  the  prophecy 
of  Madame  de  Savonnl^res  was  falfilled  to 
the  letter  ;  and  that  the  man  named  by  the 
Abb^  Poulard  was,  after  all,  the  caase  of  its 
fulfilment.     May  not  the  priest  who  slept  in 
the  room  above  that  of  his  mistress,    hare  | 
been  wakened  by  her  cries,  and  was  it  not  i 
possible  that  the  cowardly  parasite  rfiivered  I 
in  his  bed,  while  the  deed  was  done  that  he  * 
d^red  not  prevent  ?    May  he  not  have  heard  i 
afterwards  the  footsteps  of  the  murderer,  and  i 
timidly  peeping  through  some  chink,  have 
seen  Berry  ascending  the  great  staircase, 
torch  in  hand,  wearing  the  shirt  still  wet 
with  blood  ?    Too  much  a  coward  to  confess 
his  cowardice,  may  he  not  have  connected  ! 
this  sight  with  the  story  of  the  open  coach-  ! 
house  door,  and  believing  that  he  understood 
the  plot,  have  told  a  story  that  might  serre, 
in  some  mean  and  imperfect  sense,  the  ends 
of  truth? 

Upon  this,  and  other  mysteries  connected 
with  the  history,  it  is  now  scarcely  worth 
while  to  dwell.  Berry  bore  with  stabbom 
impassiveness  the  dreadful  punishment  of 
breaking  on  the  wheel.  The  law  made  all  the 
reparation  in  its  power  to  the  family  of 
Jacques  Le  Brun,  and  there  was  paid  to  it  also 
a  handsome  legacy,  bequeathed  by  the  will  of 
Madame  Mazel  to  her  faithful  steward.  Best 
end  of  all  to  such  a  story,  the  events  here  nar- 
rated made  at  the  time  so  strong  an  impression 
on  the  public  mind  in  France,  that  Le  Bran's 
case  is  to  be  ran  Iced  as  one  of  those  by  which 
society  has  been  assisted  in  its  progress.  For 
it  helped  much  to  prepare  the  way  for  a  good 
time,  which  came  when  rack  and  screw 
ceased  to  be  part  of  the  machinery  of  justice. 
And  of  all  methods  by  which  "man  doth 
ransack  man,"  or  ever  hath  attempted  to  ran-  ] 
sack  him,  their  method  is.  I  think,  not  the  ' 
most  cruel,  but  assuredly  the  one  least  likely 
to  gain  the  end  proposed. 


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" Famaiar  in  their  Mauihi  as  HOVSEHOLD  WORDS,"-^ 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
CONDUCTED   BT   CHARLES   DICKENS. 


No.  16.] 


J.   A.   DIX,   PUBLISHER, 

Orrtcu,  No.  10  Fam*  Plao*.  N«w-YomK. 


[Whole  No.  269. 


COGNAC. 

It  would  not  be  difficalt  for  a  geographical 
tjTO  to  lose  himself  amongst  the  act.  A  large 
portion  of  the  map  of  France  is  overlaid  with 
proper  names  which,  with  whatever  consonant 
or  vowel  thej  may  begin,  have  all  of  them  a 
c  for  their  final  letter,  preceded  either  by  an 
«  or  an  0 ;  bat  more  commonly  by  an  a,  to 
Tocalise  their  altimate  syllable.  It  is  clear 
that,  to  steer  your  way  with  safety  throngh 
this  archipelago  of  synograms,  you  mnst  not 
fix  yoor  rudder  at  the  stem  of  the  word, 
bat  at  the  prow,  or  even  at  midships.  Yon 
must  catch  the  topographical  eel»  not  by 
the  tail,  but  by  the  head  and  shoulders, 
whereon  good  luck  and  skill  may,  perhaps, 
enable  you  to  fix  some  lasso  of  artificial 
memory  to  hold  it  with.  Thus,  there  is  Bal- 
zac, which  gives  its  title  to  two  famous  De 
Balzacs,  to  Jean-Louis  Guez,  the  artist  who 
moaldcd  the  French  language  into  shape,  and 
to  Honor^,  whose  masterpieces  of  fiction  are, 
for  want  of  translation,  almost  unknown  to 
the  British  public  Balzac,  besides,  is  a  black 
variety  of  grape  in  considerable  esteem  for 
the  brandy  it  makes.  There  is  Blaozac, 
where  the  people  revolted  because  salt  was 
taxed  too  heavily;  where  they  plundered 
the  salt  stores,  and  killed  the  tax-gatherers. 
There  is  Jaraac,  remarkable  for  its  mag- 
nificent avenue  of  poplars  which  con- 
ducts you  out  of  town  on  the  road  to 
Cognac.  There  is  Ruffec,  a  rising  little  place 
(it  stands  on  a  hillock),  frequented  for  its 
markets  of  grain  and  cattle,  but  whose  most 
exquisite  articles  of  export — ^I  intend  writing 
an  article  about  them — ^it  might  be  injurious 
to  the  public  service  to  specify  now.  There 
is  Moossac,  which  has  been  sleeping  in  the 
night  of  obscurity  from  past  eternity  to  the 
present  day,  and  which  would  have  slept  on 
'laknown  for  an  eternity  to  come,  if  the  railway 
had  not  waked  it  up  and  forced  it  to  become 
a  member  of  active  society.  There  is  N6rac, 
famous  for  terrlnes  (or  partridge  pies  with  an 
earthen  crust  of  pottery  instead  of  paste) ; 
Chierzac,  where  asses  and  oxen  wear  coats 
and  breeches  in  summer  time  to  save  them 
from  the  stings  of  flies,  gnats,  and  cousins ; 
Cubzac,  with  its  suspension  bridge  of  iron  and 
wood ;  Riberac,  where  you  may  eat  good  pat^s 
of  liver  stolen  ftom  the  insides  of  ducks  that 


quack ;  and,  lastly,  there  is  Cognac  itself, 
where  you  taste  excellent  brandy  with  lips 
that  involuntarily  smnck.  Cognac — ^now 
world-famous — is  a  small  town  with  some 
nine  or  ten  thousand  inhabitants,  which 
stands  partly  on  a  plain,  but  principally  on 
a  gentle  slope,  forming  one  side  of  the  valley 
of  the  river  Charente. 

When  I  passed  throngh  Saintes — a  pic- 
turesque, Italian-looking  place,  built  on 
broken  ground,  with  a  genuine  Roman  arch 
by  the  side  of  the  river,  which  is  crossed 
by  a  smart  suspension-bridge — when  I  passed 
through  Saintes  on  my  way  to  Cognac,  they 
were  feting  the  Immaculate  Conception  of  the 
Virgin  with  so  dense  a  procession,  that  the 
diligence  could  scarcely  pass.  The  leaders 
had  to  nod  and  say,  "How  do  you  do  ?  "  to 
the  gilt  and  silvered  image  that  was  carried 
along,  for  several  minutes  before  we  could 
reach  the  coach  office.  Before  I  could  get  out 
of  the  coup6, 1  was  torn  in  pieces  by  six  or 
eight  male  and  female  touters  (the  latter 
with  flatulent  and  bursting  caps),  who  wanted 
each  of  them  to  cram  a  dmner  down  my 
throat.  I  amused  myself  by  not  deciding  for 
a  quarter  of  an  hour,  but  walked  about  the 
town,  with  this  amiable  tail  following  me,  as 
I  examined  the  shop  windows  and  hunted  for 
points  of  view.  At  last,  I  put  myself  under 
the  protection  of  a  lady  who  persisted  in 
inviting  me  with,  "This  way.  Captain" — a 
title  which  tickled  my  ears  as  much  as  "  My 
Lord  "  does  those  of  other  folks  on  the  ninth 
of  November.  She  carried  me  off  in  triumph, 
fed  me  very  respectably,  and  then  packed  me 
snugly-  in  the  diliKcnce  for  Cognac,  without 
Insistmg  too  violently  that  I  should  stop  and 
sleep  at  her  inn  at  Saintes. 

Cognac  stands  on  a  foundation  of  rock,  and 
Is  solidly  built  with  stone ;  and  so  it  had  need 
be ;  for  if  it  were  once  to  catch  fire  at  any  point, 
it  would  explode  like  a  mountain  of  lucifer 
matches  struck  by  lightning,  and  would  blaze 
afterwards  like  an  ever-burning  omelette-au- 
rhum,  which  was  meant  to  be  gazed  at  but 
never  eaten.  Some  of  the  narrow  side-streets 
look  as  if  they  were  hewn  out  of  the  rock 
itself.  The  vines  in  front  of  the  houses  there, 
seem  to  climb  for  the  sake  of  reaching  the 
summit  of  a  natural  cliff.  This  rude  and 
rough  external  appearance  is  partly  caused 
by  the  alcoholic  fumes  that  float  in  the  air. 

269 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCoodoctcdby 


A  new  stone  house  turns  black  ontside 
from  three  to  ten  years  after  its  erection, 
by  the  chemical  action  of  the  vapours 
from  brandy  stores.  Otherwise,  there  is  no 
want  either  of  good  houses  in  the  town — 
surrounded  by  that  symptom  of  wealth, 
luxurious  gardens— or  of  handsome  villas  out 
in  the  country.  The  names  of  many  of  these 
narrow  little  streets,  such  as  Street  of  the 
Gardens,  and  Street  of  the  Golden  Island, 
are  inviting  enough,  if  the  reality  did  but 
answer  to  the  title.  Great  confpiaints  are 
made  just  now  of  want  of  employment 
amongst  the  working-classes.  The  merchants 
are  obliged  to  discharge  most  of  their  men. 
There  has  been  no  wine  lately  to  make  into 
brandy ;  and  everything  vinous  and  spirituous 
is  so  dear  that  every  accustomed  purchaser 
is  afraid  to  buy.  Still,  Arthur  Young's  test 
of  a  town's  prosperity  is  manifestly  visible ; 
public  and  private  buildings  are  being  erected 
and  restored  on  a  liberal  scale. 

The  Pare,  or  promenade,  is  a  public 
strolling-place  that  any  town  might  be 
proud  of.  You  mount  a  gentle  slope,  which 
leads  you  to  what  is  in  the  w»y  of  being 
made  a  formal  terrace,  looking  down  into 
the  well-watered  valley  below.  To  clear 
the  view  a  little,  they  talk  of  cutting  down 
some  half-a-score  of  evergreen  oaks,  against 
which  I  took  the  liberty  of  firmly  protesting. 
The  authorities,  if  aware  of  my  opinion  that 
the  trees  should  stand,  would  doubtless  treat 
it  with  a  deal  of  deference.  You  pass  the 
stone  monument  which  stands  on  the  spot 
where  Francis  the  First  first  saw  the  light 
beneath  a  spreading  tree,  rather  earlier  than 
his  mamma  intended ;  you  cross  a  bridge 
which  will  soon  be  built  over  a  wooded  hollow, 
and  then  you  may  stroll  all  day  long  in  a 
tangled  thicket  of  shrube,  evergreens,  and 
timber  trees,  with  winding  paths  cut  through 
the  wood  and  native  wild  flowers  springing 
up  amongst  the  grass,  making  it  look  more 
like  an  English  pleasure-ground  than  any- 
thing I  have  yet  seen  in  France. 

Estimating  the  intellectual  spirit  of  Cognac 
by  the  literary  supply  attainable  there,  it  is 
certainly  above  proof,  when  compared  with 
other  French  towns  of  the  same  size.  It  has 
at  least  one  weekly  newspaper,— -Llndicateur 
de  Cognac.  There  are  several  well-supplied 
booksellers'  shops;  although  here,  as  else- 
where, the  trade  is  often  made  to  combine 
with  other  professions  in  a  way  that  looks  odd 
in  English  eyes.  Thus,  Monsieur  Gerard, 
on  the  Place  d'Armes,— an  obllginff  and 
well-informed  gentleman, — writes  himself 
Libraire  et  Opticien,  over  his  door.  He 
also  takes  photographic  portraits,— a  fact 
which  is  humorously  indicated  by  the  pic- 
ture of  an  ugly  fellow  grinning  for  a  wager, 
and  making  faces  at  a  daguerreotype  bat- 
tery ;  the  operator  being  behind  it.  Besides 
books  and  striking  likenesses,  he  also  deals 
in  instruments  that  are  of  service  to  dealers 
in   things  spiritaooa.     For  InBtaoce,    for 


thirty-seven  francs,  he  will  sell  you  a  prett? 
little  experimental  toy,  called  Sulleron^s 
alembic,  which  in  ten  minutes  will  tell  you 
how  much  brandy  will  be  produced  by  any 
given  hogshead  of  wine.  A  measured  quantity 
of  white  wine  is  put  into  a  little  glass  balloon ; 
a  spirit-lamp  is  lighted  under  it ;  the  fomei 
pass  through  an  India-rubber  tube  and  a  zbc 
or  leaden  worm,  into  a  copper  cooler  filled 
with  cold  water,  and  the  spirit  drops  into  tbe 
same  graduated  glass  receiver  from  which  the 
wine  was  measured  out  A  simple  sum  of 
the  rule  of  three  tells  you  what  your  cask  of 
wine  is  worth,  in  respect  to  its  brandy-giTing 
capabilities.  Coarser  implements,  worms  for 
practical  distillation,  creep  out  at  the  foot  of 
many  of  the  shop-doors,  and  beg  you  to  boj 
them  as  you  wa]k  through  the  streets. 

Brandy  we  know,  in  comparison  with 
wine,  is  a  mere  modem  upstart, — a  mush- 
room of  the  day  before  yesterday ;  and  so, 
Cognac,  its  grand  metropolis,  is  of  very  re- 
cent date,  as  a  commercial  town,  though  not  as 
a  mere  cluster  of  human  dwellings.  Twenty 
years  ago,  Cognac  was  only  a  village ;  the 
same  dull,  steady-going  place  that  it  bad  been 
ever  since  the  dawn  of  time.  Now,  not  to 
speak  of  the  merchants,  the  peasantry  of  tbe 
arrondis&cment  of  Cognac  are  the  richest  in 
all  France.  Some  few  are  worth  as  much  as 
sixty  thousand  pounds  sterling ;  many  are 
worth  from  twenty  to  five-and-twenty  thoa- 
sand  pounds.  Remember  that,  not  long  since, 
they  had  a  succession  of  abundant  vintages. 
Instead  of  selling  their  wine  at  a  ruinous  low 
price,  they  distilled  it  and  kept  it  By  that  pro- 
cess, it  was  very  easy  to  pack  a  great  deal  of 
wine  into  a  very  little  space.  Then  followed 
a  run  of  failing  crops  of  grapes,  and  up  went 
their  wares, — ^up— up — ^up,  till  it  b  to  be  toped 
that  they  have  reacned  theur  climax  at  last, 
and  that  the  present  spring,  summer  and 
autumn  will  prove  more  propitious  to  Jean 
Raisin's  health. 

These  wealthy  peasants  still  remain  pea- 
sants,  scarcely  changing  their  former  mode  of 
life, — a  hfuxly  preneration  of  men  addicted  to 
sky-blue  clothing,  and  of  hale  women  with 
caps  in  various  stages  of  goitreism,  and  with 
complexions  so  tanned  by  the  summer's  son 
as  not  even  to  be  bleached  by  the  past  long 
winter.  These  head-dresses,  like  flattened 
and  squeezed  paper  fire-balloons,  appear  to 
be  their  pride  and  glory.  Some  ladies  seem 
to  protect  their  caps  in  damp  weather  with  a 
woollen  covering,  as  if  to  prevent  them  (the 
bonnets)  from  catching  cold  ;  the  whole  ap- 
paratus being  large  enough  to  be  a  cradle 
for  a  new-born  h^by,  in  the  case  of  soch 
need  as  that  which  happened  to  Francis 
the  First,  Charente  is  altogether  a  rich  de- 
partment; and  the  Charentoia,  unlike  the 
Poitevins,  not  only  make  the  most  of  their 
fertile  soil,  but  welcome  agricultural  and  other 
improvements  which  penetrate  so  far  into 
the  interior. 

One  trifling  oircumstanoe  strack  me  as  a 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Ch«rl«f  Dickena.] 


COGNAC. 


r.63 


corioos  coincidence.  These  strangely  bon- 
neted females  agree  with  the  Norfolk 
(banners'  wi7A  in  making  their  batter  into 
exactly  similar  "pints"  —  omly  smaller  — 
which  they  call  marottes  (marotte  also  means 
%  fool's  baable),  weighibg  half  a  French  pound 
each.  Thns,  there  is  an  oleaginous  bond  of 
alliance  between  East  Anglia  and  Saintonge, 
and  Angoumois.  Will  the  children,  I  ask 
myself,  of  these  peasant  capitalists,  be  content 
to  jog  on  in  the  (tame  humble  routine  of  life? 
"Will  they  be  wise  enough  to  know  that  true 
happiness  lies  in  a  quiet  conscience,  and  eai>y 
fortune,  a  healthy  body  and  a  contented  mind  ? 
and  will  they  leave  the  vanities  and  strifes  of 
the  world  to  the  vast  multitude  who,  clutch- 
ing after  gewgaws,  lose  their  hold  of  solid 
and  priceless  possessions  ?  Probably  not ; 
ambitioas  notions  will  inoculale  their  quiet 
existence,  and  break  out  in  various  forms  of 
display.  They  will  follow  the  beaten  track 
of  self-advancement,  though  their  French  fru- 
gality may  possibly  save  them.  Full  occu- 
pation will  also  come  to  their  aid ;  for  brandy 
IS  distilled,  as  well  as  grown,  not  in  the  town 
of  Cognac  itself  (where  there  Are  no  distiller- 
ies), but  on  the  premises  of  the  respective 
Tinegrowing  proprietors;  where  they  are 
called  briileriee,  or  burning-places,  the  pro- 
vincial e3q[>re88ion  being  to  oruler,  or  burn 
wine,  not  to  distil  it. 

The  discovery  of  eau-de-vie  is  referred  to 
the  twelfth  century.  In  the  thirteenth 
wntnry,  Amaud  de  Velleneuve  and  Ray- 
mond Lulle  made  known  the  process  of  the 
fabrication  of  alcohol ;  but  its  manufaoiure 
did  not  begin  to  assume  importance  until 
after  the  close  of  the  fourteenth  century. 
Wbe  was  drunk  age  after  age,  without  the 
least  suspicion  being  entertained  that  it  was 
possible  to  disengage  from  its  mass  the  spirit- 
nons  portion  which  alone  gives  its  intoxi- 
cating powers.  The  Arabs  having  taught 
ns  the  art  of  distillation,  which  they  had  in- 
vented to  extract  the  perfume  of  flowers— of 
the  rose  especially — so  lauded  in  their  litera- 
tore.  the  plossibility  suggested  itself  that  we 
might  discover  the  essence  which  gives  to 
wine  its  spiecial  flavour  and  effect.  After  re- 
peated attempts  and  experiments,  alcohol, 
spirits  of  wine,  and  eau-de-vie  appeared. 

Alcohol  is  the  monarch  of  potable  liquids, 
and  carries  palatal  excitement  to  the  highest 
pitch.  By  entering  into  the  composition  of 
liqneors,  it  has  lopened  to  epicures  a  new 
aeries  of  pleasures,  as  well  as  to  merchants 
anewbranA  of  commerce;  and  by  helping 
to  fabricate  tinctures  and  elixirs,  it  has  im- 
parted to  certain  medicaments  an  energy  in 
which  they  were  before  deficient.  It  has  act- 
ed as  the  gunpowder,  when  they  were  merely 
dead,  ineffective  shot.  It  has  also  furnished 
onr  aggressive  hand  with  a  formidable  and 
deadly  weapon  The  unhappy  aborigines  of 
new-found  lands  have  been  exterminated  al- 
most as  much  bv  the  influence  of  fire-water, 
M  by  the  use  of  fire-armB. 


The  processes  which  helped  to  discover 
alcohol  have  led  us  to  other  important  re- 
sults. For,  as  they  consist  in  separating  and 
sorting  the  particles  of  which  a  body  is  com- 
posed, and  by  the  combination  of  which  it  is 
distinguished  f^om  every  other,  they  served 
as  a  pattern  and  a  guide  to  inquisitive  inves- 
tigators, who  were  anxious  to  pursue  analo- 
gous researches.  Hence,  we  have  a  long  list 
of  completely  new  substances,  the  results  of 
distillation  and  sublimation,  discovered,— or 
to  be  so,  one  of  these  days — such  as  quinine, 
morphine,  and  a  host  of  others. 

I  am  no  spirit-drinker  myself,  and  might, 
therefore,  consistently  decry  the  use  of  ardent 
spirits.  But  the  use,  and  the  abuse,  of  a 
thing  are  two.  There  are  many  persons  in 
France,  both  French  and  English,  both  men 
and  women — but  mostly  people  in  the  miser- 
able condition  of  having  little  or  nothing  to 
do— who  will  drink  you  a  quart  of  brandy,  or 
more,  per  day,  regularly.  It  is  a  marvel  that 
they  can  live  to  the  end  of  a  month,  or  that 
they  can  blow  out  a  candle  without  catching 
fire  at  the  mouth,  like  a  gas-burner  when 
the  gas  is  turned  on.  On  the  other  hand, 
there  are  innumerable  industrious  workmen 
and  tradesfolks  who  simply  swallow  their 
gonttc,  or  dram,  before  the  labours  of  the 
day  commence,  taking  no  more  afterwards, 
>and  who  say  that  it  gives  them  great  powers 
of  endurance.    There  are    countless    aged 

Eersons  and  invalids,  whose  stomachs  cannot 
ear  either  wine  or  beer,  to  whom  pure^ 
brandy,  or  brandy-and-water,  is  an  indispen- 
sable sustenance.  There  are  crises  in  the 
history  of  humanity — such  as  excessive  loss 
of  blood,  protracted  exposure  to  wet  and 
cold,  violent  and  long^ontinued  sea-sickness, 
or  overwhelming  mental  agitation  threaten- 
ing prostration  of  the  intellectual  powers — 
wherein  the  judicious  administration  of 
brandy,  or  other  alcoholic  draught,  is  the 
only  means  of  saving  life.  We  are  therefore 
interested  in,  and  obliged  to,  a  district  which 
supplies  stores  for  our  medicine-chest  as  well 
as  for  our  cellar.  If  men  yield  to  temptation, 
and  transfer  the  boon  to  their  corner-cup- 
board, on  themselves  alone  the  fault  must 
rest. 

Although  Cognac  brandy  is  made  from 
wine,  the  culture  of  vines  for  making  eau-de- 
vie  differs  considerably  ftom  the  management 
of  mere  wine-making  vines,  It  is  also  more 
careless  or  slovenly  in  appearance.  The  level 
or  slightly-inclined  vineyards  of  Charente 
contrast  strongly  with  the  steep  cotes  of  Bur- 
gundy. The  soil,  too,  is  of  a  more  heteroge- 
neous nature,  comprising  clay,  loam,  and 
calcareous  earths.  A  slope  to  the  north  is 
rather  preferred,  as  less  liable  to  injury  from 
spring  frosts.  The  Cognac  vines,  before  they 
begin  to  shoot,  look  like  a  legion  of  great 
black  worms  writhing  to  make  their  escape 
to  the  surface,  to  get  out  of  the  wav  of  some 
gigantic  mole  that  la  devouring  their  lower 
extremities  under  ground.    Although   the 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Cooducted  bf 


vine-stools  are  cut  down  to  within  a  few 
inches  of  the  ground,  the  shoots  remain  un- 
Bustained  by  props,  and  trail  along  the  surface 
of  the  earth,  exposing  the  grapes,  at  all  stages 
of  their  growth,  to  dirt,  wet,  insects,  and 
vermin.  True,  that  in  long  warm  summers, 
they  get  thoroughly  ripened  on  the  heated 
soil.  Brandy  grapes,  thus  matured  and 
shrivelled,  form  a  delicious  winter  dessert 
The  most  esteemed  varieties  of  grape  for 
eaux-de-vic,  are,  the  Folic,  or  rather  the 
FoUe-Blanche  (for  there  is  black  Folic,  or 
Madcap,  in  lower  estimation),  a  very  common 
vine  in  Charente  and  Lower  Charente,  which 
produces  excellent  but  short-lived  wine,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  the  wine  that  contributes 
the  most  to  make  good  brandy.  The  berries 
are  middle-sized,  and  yellowish  in  colour. 
The  wood  is  rather  stout,  and  is  pruned  to 
three  or  four  eyes,  if  the  stool  is  vigorous. 
It  adapts  itself  to  every  soil.  The  St.  Emil- 
lion.  or  Semillon,  is  a  variety  introduced  from 
the  Fouth,  easily  recognized  by  its  very  stout 
reddish -brown  wood,  its  high-sliouldcred 
bunches  of  considerable  length  and  breadth, 
composed  of  large  berries  of  an  uncom- 
mon hue,  for  they  are  beautifully  yellow 
when  perfectly  ripe.  In  pruning,  no  more 
than  three  eyes  arc  left ;  and  all  soils  suit  it. 
The  Colombar  is  a  charming  grape,  yellowish 
when  quite  ripe.  It  makes  a  heady,  clear,  well-, 
keeping  wine.  Mixed  with  black  grapes,  it 
makes  a  tolerable  wine  to  drink.  It  may  be 
pruned  almost  at  discretion,  though  more 
than  five  or  six  eyes  are  seldom  left.  The 
bunches  are  long  and  well  shouldered ; 
the  berries  are  rather  oblong,  and  rarely 
decay  while  hanging  on  the  vine.  It  is  an 
abundant  bearer,  resists  frost  well,  and  suc- 
ceeds in  almost  any  situation.  The  stools 
rise  to  a  considerable  height.  It  is  not  rare 
for  a  single  cep  of  Colombar  to  give  seven  or 
eight  quarts  of  wine.  These  are  all  so-called 
white  grapes;  Charente  brandy  being  mostly 
made  of  white  wine,  The  before-mentioned 
Balzac,  a  black  grape,  is  also  in  great  favour, 
and  very  common,  producing  tolerably  good, 
but  rather  strong  wine,  and  is  best  mixed 
with  other  varieties.  The  bunch  is  beauti- 
fully black,  the  stalk  red,  the  wood  reddish- 
brown.  It  is  pruned  to  two  or  three  eyes,  at 
most.  It  shoots  late,  and  very  vertically, 
and  requires  a  clayey  soil. 

These  varieties  are  mentioned,  because 
they  are  quite  distinct  from  those  which  pro- 
duce either  burgundy  or  champagne  wine. 
A  few  others  are  cultivated,  though  less  gene- 
rally and  indispensably.  The  grapes  are 
pressed  immedlatelv  from  the  vineyard,  with- 
out fermenting  in  the  tub  ;  so  that  no  colour- 
ing matter  is  extracted  from  the  skin  of 
wliatever  black  grapes  may  enter  into  the 
mealey,  and  no  alcoholic  vapours  are  lost. 
The  wine  from  which  brandy  is  made  is  not 
an  agreeable  beverage ;  it  is  harsh,  deficient 
in  Moma,  and  very  treacherous  as  to  its  tip- 
sy fylng  powers.    Mixed  with  several  times 


its  bulk  of  water,  it  may  serve  to  slake  the 
thirst  of  a  weary  man.    That  is  all  it  is  good 
for  in   the  way  of  drink.    Indeed,  "were  it 
really  good  wine,  it  would  be  too  valaableto 
burn  into  spirit;  and,  as  a  rule,  districu 
which  produce  the  best  brandy  also  furnish 
the  least  palatable  wines.    Nevertheless,  ih* 
Department  of  Charente  supplies  very  drink- 
able, though   not  luxurious  red  winep.  aad 
cheap.    It  sustains  the  industrious  laboanng 
man  with  needful  support,  though  it  cannot 
pamper  the  voluptuous  epicure.    Most  vine- 
yards are  planted  with  a  mixture  of  black  and 
white  grapes  ;  because,  although  white  vin« 
are  supposed  to  be  longer-lived  than  black, 
their  wine  is  believed  to  be  improved  by  the 
addition  of  juice  from  their  dark-skinntd 
brethren.    Moreover,  the  idea  is  prevalent 
that  white  vhies  do  not  feed  on  the  same 
substances  as  black  ;  that  the  former  mainly 
absorb  sulphureous  elements,  and    contaia 
more    spirituosity  in    proportion    as    tho» 
matters   are    in    greater    abundance,  while 
black  vines  prefer  to  assimilate  the  ferrugi- 
nous particles  contained  in  the  soil,  and  that 
the  depth  of  colour  in  red  wine  is  relative  to 
the  iron  that 'lurks    in  the  vineyard.    In 
short,  were  Jean  Raisin  to  go   to  war,  his 
fair,    Caucasian,    white  -  skinned    regiments 
would  fight  with  a  burning  brimstone  match, 
while    his    black  and   dingy  negro   honks 
would  transfix  you  through  and  Uiroagh  with 
daggers  of  steel.    The  strength  of  Charente 
lies  in  its  liquid  fire,  and  the  most  famous 
spot  for  brandy  in  the  Arrondissement  of 
Cognac  is  a  tract  of  land  named  La  Cham- 
pagne.   "But  why  do  you  call   it  Cham- 
pagne?"  I  asked.    "Ma  foil  I  don't  know." 
was  the  answer  I  got ;  "  I  suppose  for  the 
same  reason  that  this  place  is  called  Cognac' ' 
The  reader,  however,  will  please  to  note  that 
Champagne  brandy  is  not  brandy  from  the 
province  which  produces  champagne  wine, 
but  from  this  favourite  locality  near  Cognac 
Wines    (white    having    the    preference; 
though  any  cheap  wine  in  little  request  will 
do,  since  the  best  brandy  comes  from  the 
worst  wine)  are  ready  for  distillation  in  the 
course  of  a  month  after  their  fermentation  is 
completed,    without   waiting   for    them   to 
clear  themselves.    December  is  generally  the 
mouth  to  begin  burning, — the  gloomy  season, 
when  poor  Jean  Raisin  is  lu'ought  to  the 
stake,  and  is  treated  quite  in  the  orthodox 
style  of  cooking  heretics,  and  converting  them 
by  fire.    Unhappy  Jean  may  say  of  Uie  «» 
what  Rabelais,  at  Rome,  said  #o  the  Pope, 
touching  his  native  place :  "Most  Holy  Father, 
I  am  a  Frenchman,  belonging  to  a  little  town 
named  Chlnon,  where  people  are  very  sulyect 
to  the  faggot  disease.    A  great  many  respect- 
able people  have  already  been  burnt  there, 
and,  amongst  them,  some  of  my  own  rela- 
tions."   A  speedy  execution  of  the  Raisin 
family  is  not  only  mercy,  but  economy.  New 
wine  furnishes  considerably  more  ^irit  than 
it  would  do  at  the  end  of  a  twelve  month; 


-:l 


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COGNAC. 


365 


i^ines  that  have  fermented  in  large  bodies, 
IS,  yield  more  lil)erally  than  those  from 
casks.  In  cold  seasons,  wine  gives  ordi- 
f  \q^  eau-de-vie,  but  then  it  is  of  better 
iy  ;  after  hot  summers,  the  wine  is  more 
uous,  and  the  eau-de-vie  less  agreeable, 
arse,  all  flat,  over-fermented,  and  acidu- 

wine  gives  an  inferior  and  deficient 
ie  of  brandy. 

J  whole  art  of  brandy-distilling  depends 
I  founded  on  the  circumstances  that  wine 
iquid  consisting  of  fluid  elements,  a  cer- 
portion  of  which  are  more  volatile,  or 
'  ia  vapour  at  a  lower  temperature  and 
rapidly  than  the  others.  But  matter  is 
>tle  as  well  as  a  solid  form  of  created 
nee,  or  entity ;  and  the  light-winged 
lies  of  spirit,  as  they  take  their  depart- 
kre  apt  to  be  joined  by  the  evil  com- 
nship  of  essential  oils,  mouldy  germs, 
mpyreuraatic  odours,  which,  if  they  do 
corrupt  good  manners,  certainly  f^poil 
eau-de-vie. 

rein  consists  the  why  and  the  wherefore 
ill  brandy  is  not  the  same  brandy.  The 
tmeat  of  Charente  is  renowned  for  the 
mih  which  it  draws  off"  the  cream  of  the 
y  fumes,  leaving  all  the  good-for-no- 
^rcfuse,  or  bouillies,  behind.    The  appa- 

is  not  complicated.  A  copper  alembic 
that  is  required.  It  is  composed  of  four 
ipal  parts  ;  the  boiler  or  chaudiire,  of 
UBsize  and  form,  and  frequently  pretend- 
)  smartness  of  fashion,  but  ordinarily  a 
ated  cone  some  thirty-one  inches  in  per- 
cular  height,  and  thirty-one  inches  in 
iter  at  the  circle  of  the  base ;  the  cap  or 
fau,  hermetically  fixed  to  the  top  of  the 
r,  to  prevent  the  fumes  of  ardent  spirit 
citcaping  ;^  the  beak,  or  bee  du  chapeau, 
ther  its  tail,  a  tube  some  twenty-seven 
8  long,  and  equally  vapour-tight ;  and 
Tpentine,  or  worm,  formed  of  five  circles 
ig  with  a  regular  Inclination  one  beneath 
ther,  the  prolongation  of  the  spiral  being 
)rted  by  thin  iron  props  furnished  with 

through  which  the  circling  worm   is 

to  pass.  The  lower  extremity  of  the 
J,  where  it  issues  from  its  water-tub,  of 
bath,  is  met  by  a  funnel  whose  lower  end 
unged  in  the  bassiot,  or  vessel  which 
es  the  eau-de-vie.  The  greater  the  sur- 
of  the  boiler,  the  more  rapid  the  distilla- 
m\\  be,  and  the  eau-de-vie  will  incur  less 
of  being  tainted  with  ill  savours  and 
ars.  For  the  same  reason,  the  most  com- 
ble  wood  must  be  employed  to  heat  the 
ice  and  set  the  boiler  going  at  double 
L  step.  Various  little  precautions  have  to 
served  ;  amongst  others,  not  to  set  the 
iees  on  fire.    The  first  eau-de-vie  which 

is  the  strongest.  If  you  wish  to  keep 
trong  brandy  separate,  you  must  remove 
)assiot  after  a  certain  time,  and  replace 

another, 
ferior  brandy  is  also  obtained  from  the 


solid  mass  of  squeezed  grapes  from  the  press  is 
crumbled  and  broken  up  as  finely  as  possible. 
So  divided,  it  is  put  into  tuns  to  ferment.  As 
the  marc  still  retains  a  certain  amount  of 
sweetness,  in  spite  of  the  pressure  to  which 
it  has  been  subjected,  a  few  buckets  of  water 
are  thrown  upon  it  to  moisten  the  whole. 
Gradually,  vinous  fermentation  is  established, 
and  more  water  is  added  from  day  to  day, 
but  with  due  discretion.  For,  if  the  saccha- 
rine particles  were  too  much  diluted,  the  vi- 
nous fermentation  would  soon  change  to  the 
acetous,  and  putridity  would  speedily  follow. 
The  vessel  must  be  closely  covered  all  the 
while.  When  the  fermentation  is  complete, 
the  best  plan  to  avoid  bad  tasted  spirit 
is  to  draw  off  the  vinous  water  from  the 
tun,  to  put  it  in  hogsheads,  to  press  the  marc, 
and  add  what  comes  away  to  the  rcFt ;  in 
short,  to  treat  this  small  wine  exactly  like 
ordinary  wine,  being  careful  to  stop  the  hogs- 
heads as  quickly  as  possible.  When  the  little 
wine  has  settled,  or  towards  the  close  of 
winter,  it  is  racked  off.  distilled,  and  gives  a 
soft  and  pleasant  eau-de-vie.  If  wine  is  down 
to  zero  in  price,  and  wood  is  up  to  fever-heat 
in  dearness,  the  distillation  of  small  marc 
wine  will  afford  but  small  profit ;  but  when 
wine  is  dear  and  wood  is  cheap,  marc  dis- 
tillation pays  well. 

When  a  peasant-proprietor  out  in  the  coun- 
try has  burnt  his  wine  into  eau-de-vie,  if  the 
markets  put  on  an  inviting  aspect,  he  loads 
the  chariot  before  his  door  with  precious 
tubs,  he  then  washes  his  face  and  hands,  puts 
on  a  clean  shirt  and  blouse,  and  takes  his 
Sunday  broad-brimmed  hat  out  of  the  closet, 
lie  proceeds  slowly  on  his  way  with  stately 
step,  and  enters  the  narrow  crooked  passages 
which  Coghac  dignifies  with  the  name  of 
streets,  announcing  his  arrival  by  a  long  suc- 
cession of  what  you  might  take  for  pistol- 
shots,  but  which  are  no  more  than  harmless 
cracks  of  the  whip.  He  stops  at  the  gate  of 
the  establishment,  say  of  Messrs.  R.  and  Co., 
his  cargo  is  set  down,  taken  in,  rolled  up 
an  inclined  plan,  and  measured  at  once  bv 
transfusion  into  a  cylindrical  vessel  which 
has  outride  it  a  glass  tube,  to  which  a  grad- 
uated scale  is  attached,  communicating  with 
the  interior,  and  therefore  showing  exactly 
how  full  the  measure  is.  That  settled,  he 
walks  off  with  the  empty  casks,  goes  on  his 
way  rejoicing,  leaving  the  rustic  eau-de-vie  to 
be  converted  in  to  gentlemaaly  Cognac  brandy. 
The  purchased  liquor  is  let  off  from  the 
cylinder  by  means  of  a  tap,  and  is  either  re- 
ceived into  the  merchant's  casks  and  rolled 
into  a  cellar-cave  hewn  in  the  rock  for  the 
temporary  reception  of  ordinary  brandies,  or 
is  made  to  pass  through  a  tube  into  lower 
regions,  where  its  further  education  is  to  be 
completed. 

Before  leaving  the  reception-room,  cast  a 
glance  at  the  little  adjoining  apartment  whi^re 
the  sugar  is  burnt  to  colour  the  brandy ; 


or  refuse  from  the  wine  press ;  thus :  The  |  then  stroll  through  the  series  of  basement- 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[C«DdoctH^ 


rooms  rather  than  cellars,  aod  the  whole 
secret  or  Cognac-makiDg  is  explained  to  the 
dullest  apprehension.  You  see  multitades  of 
barrels  of  stout  oakwood,  quarter-casks  and 
bogBheads  —  two  hogsheadti  making  a  pun- 
cheon aud  two  puncheons  constituting  a  tun 
—  you  peep  into  a  little  circular  room  in 
which  iron-hoops  are  prepared  on  an  anvil 
to  bold  fast  and  steady.  You  gaze  wist- 
fully at  the  closed  doors  of  a  little,  mysteri- 
ous, sealed  apartment,  where,  you  are  told," 
is  treasured  up  the  most  ancient  eau-de-vie 
de  Cognac  on  the  premises,  numbering  some 
fifty  summers  and  winters.  You  watch 
workmen  clarifying  the  eau-de-vie  by  passing 
it  through  a  jelly-bag,  and  you  fancy  they 
must  inhale  so  liberal  an  allowance  of  spirit  at 
every  breath,that  if  they  want  to  make  brandy 
and  water  in  their  stomachs,  they  have  only 
to  go  to  the  nearest  pump.    Your  guide  now 

{)roduce8  an  authoritative  bunch  of  keys,  un- 
ocks  the  door  of  a  special  storehouse,  and 
gives  you  to  taste,  from  an  enormous  cask,  a 
glass  of  the  burnt-su^r  syrup  which  browni- 
fies  the  brandy  (English  customers  admiring  a 
gypsy  complexion),  and  which  syrup  is  not 
nice  at  all ;  and  also  a  glass  of  softening  syrup, 
made  of  one-fourth  sugar  and  three-fourths 
eau-de-vie,  which  sweetens  and  smooths  the 
cordial  for  lickerish  lips,  and  which  is  so  de- 
licious that  you  would  not  have  the  heart  to 
reproach  your  bitterest  enemy  if  you  caught 
him  indulging  in  a  drop  too  much.  You  start 
before  an  awful  trap-door  through  which  the 
country  eau-de-vie  is  run  down  into  im- 
mense tuns  that  stand  firm  on  fixed  pillars 
painted  white  and  black,  each  tun  being 
devoted  to  a  peculiar  quality  of  spirit.  It 
is  here  that  they  perform  the  all-important 
operation,  called  the  Coupe,  by  mixing  seve- 
ral sorts  of  eau-de-vie  together  to  improve 
them,  with  the  addition  of  syrups  according 
to  taste. 

The  stirring-up,  or  amalgamation,  is  m 
long-continued  and  laborious  operation  which 
has  made  many  a  stalwart  fellow's  arms  ache. 
They  give  you  to  taste  a  perfect  sample, 
drawn  up  from  the  middle  of  a  cask  by 
means  of  a  little  sample-fetching  phial,  which 
puts  you  in  mind  of  the  thimble  and 
thread  by  which  caged  and  trained  gold- 
finches, vulgarly  called  draw-waters,  are 
taught  to  supply  themselves  with  drink.  It 
is  no  thimbleful  of  brandy  which  is  ofiered  to 
you,  but  a  bumping  wineglass.  Sip  and  taste 
as  much  as  you  please  ;  but  beware  how  you 
swallow  the  whole,  unless  your  head  is  as 
hard  and  insensible  as  a  cocoa-nut  with  the 
outer  rind  on.  You  admire  a  collection  of 
choice  bottles,  ranged  on  shelves  and  screened 
by  a  curtain,  as  if  they  were  an  invaluable 
library  of  book  rarities  and  illuminated  ma- 
nuscripts. (Bjr  the  way,  some  French  authors 
have  the  habit  of  calling  a  well-stored  wine- 
cellar  a  biblioth^que.)  You  march  through  the 
Sailed' Expedition  or  expediting-room,whence 
the  most  strongly  exciting  missives  of  the 


world  are  sent  off  to  stir  the  blood  of  Britoos 
and  North  Americans,  principally.  MM.  B. 
&  Co.  annually  cause  to  emigrate  from  Fruce 
some  five  thousand  volumes — bottlee,  I  meai. 
— bound,  that  is  to  say,  packed,  in  woodea 
one-dozen  cases.  And  look !  there  Is  the  book- 
binder at  work  on  his  boxes.  He  boasts  that 
he  can  make,  at  a  stretch,  from  thirty  to  forty 
cases  a  day.  And  there,  in  the  next  room, 
is  a  high-crowned  dame — whose  cap  odIt 
wants  the  slash  of  a  sabre  at  the  top  to  convert 
it  into  a  pontifical  mitre  —  whose  peaceful 
occupation  consists  in  braiding  straw  plaiti 
to  prevent  her  touchy  pupils,  the  faraody 
bottles,  from  serious  quarrels  during  their 
voyage  across  the  seas.  She  also.  I  l^liere, 
decorates  their  -ardent  bosoms  with  gilt  and 
many  coloured  breastplates,  on  which  an 
imprinted  the  words  old  brakdIt  on  eitba 
tiide  of  a  perspective  Tiew  of  the  establifb- 
ment  She  likewise  may  have  eometbiDg 
to  do  with  the  putting  them  to  bed  after 
wards  in  clean  sheets  of  delicate  paper.  It 
is  pleasant  to  see,  lying  about,  hygrometric 
instruments  bearing  the  name  of  their  maker, 
who  lives  in  that  arcadian  spot,  the  LfOodoB 
Poultry  ;  pleasant  also  to  say  **  Boojour!''  to 
the  English  machine  which  cunningly  cletu 
bottles  by  the  force  of  an  oblique  jet  of  water 
that  spins  twisting  round  their  empty  sto- 
machs, and  rinses  them  out. 

The  corking-machine  is,  apparently,  a 
cruel  mode  of  forcibly  stopping  a  vessel's 
mouth  ;  but  they  say  fewer  fractures  art 
made  by  it  than  by  the  more  common  and 
tenderer  mode,  while  the  operator  is  in  do 
danger  of  being  maimed  by  broken  glass.  A 
Cognac  inventor  claims,  and  has  patented,  bli 
clever  machine  for  capsuling  the  alreadj 
sated  and  gagged  individual.  The  patient  is 
laid  in  a  reclining  position,  a  leaden  oigbt- 
cap  is  slipped  over  his  head,  he  is  hitched 
a  little  forward,  exactly  like  a  man  presented 
to  the  axe  of  the  guillotine,  the  executioner 
pulls  a  lever,  which  acts  upon  a  set  of  wheels 
and  strings,  and  the  imprisoned  spirit  is  n 
completely  secured  from  breathing  a  breath 
of  the  external  air,  as  if  it  were  buried  in  a 
leaden  coffin.  In  the  little  room  where  vesels 
are  branded,  another  Cognac  invention  claims 
a  laudatory  word.  The  brands  themselres 
are  not  thrust  into  the  fire,  butare  contrived  to 
receive,  immediately  behind  their  letters,  a 
red-hot  cylindrical  heater,  which  communi- 
cates a  sufficiency  of  caustic  beat  to  mark 
a  sharp,  deep,  and  durable  impression  on  the 
wood-  The  brand-fire,  too,  is  economised,  to 
heat  the  water  wherewith  new  puncheons  are 
scalded  and  purified. 

If  yon  walk  through  the  premises  of  the 
Soci^t^  Vinicole,  a  company  of  brandy- 
growers,  who  English  themselves  as  The 
United  Vineyard  Proprietors,  you  will  oiil/ 
see  the  same  sights  on  a  more  pgVDi>^ 
scale ;  and  Cognac  contains  wi&io  its 
limits  four  or  five  establishments  of  | 
equal  magnitude.    You  will  be  introduced 


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MOTHER  AND  STEP-MOTHER. 


367 


into  a  vast  hall  contalDioff  two-and-forty 
coUoaal  vats,  ranged  in  doable  rows,  bo  mas- 
sive  and  towering,  that  they  make  you  feel 
as  if  yoa  had  entered  some  old  Egyptian 
cave,  and  with  an  iron  tramway  running 
between  them,  on  whose  rails  glides  a  tre- 
mendous tub  for  mixing  or  making  the  coupe, 
as  an  easy  way  of  fetcMng  samples  from  the 
different  reservoirs  of  eau-de-vie.  When  I 
was  there,  four  men  were  hard  at  work 
agitating  the  contents  of  this  moveable 
vat  by  means  of  a  central  paddle-wheel 
whose  handles  were  bent  at  right  angles  down- 
ward, round  from  the  top  of  the  tub,  in  order 
to  reach  the  level  of  ordinary  humanity.  But. 
besides  mixing  by  force  of  arm?,  there  is 
machinery  which  is  kept  acting  by  quadruped 
strength ;  so  that  it  may  be  correctly  stated 
that  it  requires  a  two-horse  power  to  make  a 
single  glass  of  brandy.  The  very  same  mill 
works  a  set  of  pumps ;  the  horses,  therefore, 
are  able  to  produce  either  simple  water — the 
aqua  pura  of  learned  apothecaries — or  water 
oMife-and  death,  at  will.  Robert  Houdin 
himself  cannot  do  much  more. 

Good  brandy  is  not  cheap,  even  at  Cognac. 
My  landlady  strongly  urged  me  to  carry  off  a 
bottle  from  her  stores,  at  the  cost  of  seven 
francs,  to  give  a  taste  of  the  genuine  article  to  , 
my  friends  at  liome.  But  I  replied  that  I  had 
BO  long  a  journey  before  me.  that  the  bottle 
would  probably  get  cracked  on  the  road,  and 
the  seven  frames  be  consequently  spilt,  like 
water.  So  I  contented  myself  with  sticking 
in  my  buttonliole  a  sprig  of  evergreen  from 
the  pleasant  Pare,  as  a  material  token  where- 
by to  remember  oc-land. 

Cognac  haa  a  future  before  it  to  which  it 
may  look  wit"h  complacency.  One  of  these 
days  it  will  have  a  railway,  connecting  An- 
gouleme  with  Rochefort  and  La  Rocbellc ; 
and  will  then  get  gas,  which,  in  the  interior  of 
France,  follows  the  iron  road,  and  is  only  to 
be  found  along  its  lines.  Cognac  will  then 
be  glad  to  receive  coals  and  many  other 
things  besides,  from  England;  especially 
if  England  could,  in  her  wisdom,  spare  her 
own  grain  from  distillation  and  devote  it  to 
feeding  man  and  beast,  by  diminishing  the 
duties  on  foreign  spirit.  Between  England 
and  Cognac  there  is  a  friendly  feeling,  which 
is  not  likely  to  be  the  less  permanent  because 
it  rests  on  the  foundation  of  the  pocket  The 
brandy-merchants  of  this  generous  little  town 
sent  as  a  present  to  the  English  army 
in  the  Crimea  one  thousand  pounds'  ster- 
ling worth  of  good  brandy,  to  keep  the 
cold  out  of  our  poor  soldiers'  stomachs. 
If  I  were  one  of  the  Roebuck  Committee, 
I 'Would  try  and  find  out  whether  it  ever 
reached  them,  how  they  liked  it,  and 
whether  they  knew  where  it  came  from? 
A  friend's  good  deeds  ought  not  to  be  hid 
under  a  bushel.  But  between  England  and 
Cognac  there  is  more  than  friendly  inter- 
course :  there  are  matrimonial  alliances.  A 
gentleman  whose  ample  fortune  has  some 


connection  with  puncheons  of  brandy,  has 
espoused  a  lady  whose  handsome  dowry  is 
not  entirely  alien  to  pots  of  porter.  It  is  pos- 
sible even,  that  the  example  may  spread  ;  for, 
at,  and  after  the  Paris  Ebrposition,  Cognac 
will  offer  hospitable  reception  to  not  a  few 
English  visitors.  May  their  fetes,  dinners, 
balls,  and  picnics,  go  off  to  perfection,  with- 
out a  badly-cooked  dish,  an  unbecoming 
toilette,  or  an  envious  shower  of  rain  I  I 
heartily  drink  them  success  (in  wine)  before- 
hand and  at  a  distance,  in  remembrance  of 
the  civility  I  met  with  in  the  land  of 
spirits. 


MOTHER  AND  STEP-MOTHER. 

IN  FOURTEEN  OHAPTERS. — CHAPTER  VI. 

'•Mother,"  cried  Edward  Irwin,  now  a 
fine  boy  of  fourteen,  "  why  does  every  one 
think  so  much  more  of  Frank  than  of  me  ? '' 

'*  He  is  the  heir,  and  is  just  come  of  age, 
and  when  the  heir  comes  of  age  there  is 
alway  great  rejoicing." 

*'  It  must  be  a  fine  thing  to  be  the  heir  I  " 
exclaimed  Edward,  after  a  pause,  fixing  his 
eyes  thoughtfully  on  his  mother's  face. 

**  Why  do  you  think  so  ? "  inquired  she. 

''Why?  What  a  question?  Why,  the 
world  is  before  you  to  be  sure  ;  you  can  do 
exactly  what  you  please,  and  everybody 
thinks  you  are  a  fine  fellow." 

"  It  is  better  to  make  a  fortune  than  barely 
to  inherit  one.'" 

"  0  yes,  of  course  ;  but  that  takes  such  a 
time.  Just  fancy,  mother,  how  splendid  it 
must  be  for  Frank.  Every  one  says  how  hand- 
some he  is.  and  every  one  admires  his  clever- 
ness and  his  riding,  and  everything  he  does. 
Now  I'm  every  bit  as  handsome  and  as  clever 
for  my  age,  and  father  says  Frank  couldn't 
have  ridden  Mad  Tom  before  he  went  to 
Rugby ;  yet  nobody  takes  the  trouble  to  find 
out  my  perfections." 

"  Would  you  rather  have  been  your  father's 
heir  than  my  son?  "  As  Lady  Irwin  asked 
the  boy  the  question,  her  cheek  flushed,  and 
her  brow,  to  which  a  slight  frown  had  become 
habitual,  darkened. 

"  Why,  no,  mother,  I  don't  mean  that.  I'd 
rather  have  my  own  stately  mother,  for  all 
her  fierce  looks  and  angry  words,  than  the 
pretty  pale  lady  in  the  picture  ;  but  suppose 
there  had  been  no  Lady  Irwin  before  you, 
I'm  sure  you're  wife  enough  for  one  man  any 
day." 

♦*  I  should  never  have  known  your  father  if 
he  had't  come  to  Florence  when  he  was  in 
sorrow  for  the  loss  of  Frank's  mother," 

**  Which  proves,  I  suppose,  that  it  didn't 
please  the  Fates  that  I  should  be  an  eldest 
son.  I  always  thought  them  a  stupid  set 
of  spinsters.  Don't  you  know  any  rickety 
old  Earl  or  Duke  who  might  be  coaxed 
into  adopting  me  ? " 

"  Do  not  talk  so  foolishly,  Edward,"  re- 
turned his  mother,  with  displeasure  ;  "  learn 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Condoclctf  k7 


to  have  some  respect  for  those  to  whom  you 
owe  your  being ;  learn  to  have  some  regard 
for  the  talents  with  which  you  are  endowed, 
and  the  legitimate  exercise  of  which  cannot 
fail  to  make  you  known  and  distinguished." 

"In  spite  of  all  that,"  pursued  the  boy, 
recklessly,  *•  I  believe,  mother,  you  would  like 
to  see  me  in  Frank's  shoes.  Only  think,  this 
grand  old  house,  the  woods,  the  lands,  all 
mine.  But  there,  don't  bring  down  the  thun- 
derclouds I  Fm  sure,  if  the  old  Parcap  have 
ill-used  me  in  condemning  me  to  be  a  hewer 
of  wood  and  a  drawer  of  water,  they  are  ten 
times  more  to  blame  for  making  you  anything 
but  an  empress.  If  they'd  only  done  you 
justice  now,  I  could  have  accommodated  my- 
self nicely  to  the  character  of  a  royal  duke." 

"  Doubtless,  you  foolish  boy,"  said  his 
mother,  caressing  his  full  dark  curls. 

"But  only  fancy,  mother,  you  sweeping 
along  in  velvet  and  diamonds,  issuing  your 
commands  to  your  generals  and  counsellors  ; 
ordering  one  man  to  lose  his  head,  making  a 
governor  of  a  province  of  another  j  and  me 
riding  about  on  a  cream-coloured  Arabian 
pony,  at  the  head  of  an  army,  going  to 
chastise  some  rebellious  barbarians." 

"  Silly  boy!  "  cried  Lady  Irwin,  "  what  a 
shock  you  will  feel  when  you  descend  from 
your  Pegasus,  and  know  yourself  nothing 
but  plain  Edward  Irwin,  with  not  a  sou  to 
help  vou  but  what  your  father  or  brother 
may  choose  to  give  you." 

"  Considering  the  state  of  the  case,  mother. 
I  think  you  might  have  \jBt  me  give  the  reins 
to  my  fancy  a  littlelonger.  I  wish  you  hadn't 
pulled  me  up  with  such  a  jerk.  I  declare  I 
felt  the  Arab  under  me,  and  the  air  fanning 
my  cheek,  and  you  and  all  your  court  ladies 
looking  down  from  your  balcony.  It  was  too 
bad  to  bring  me  down  such  a  thump  into  this 
seedy  old  room,  with  nothing  out  of  doors 
but  that  wet  blanket  of  a  sky.  I  don't 
believe  it  ever  intends  to  leave  off  raining 
till  all  the  branches  are  washed  off  the  trees. 
Why,  if  there  isn't  Kitty  I  Only  think, 
mother,  of  her  coming  all  through  this  rain. 
See  how  daintily  she  holds  up  her  dress,  and 
what  little  pools  of  water  her  pretty  pattering 
feet  leave  every  step  she  takes.  She's  worth 
my  cloud  palace,  Arab  pony  and  all  I  There's 
a  smile,  now.  would  make  sunshine  anywhere. 
0  mother,  stir  the  fire  and  make  it  blaze, 
while  I  run  down  and  help  her  off  with  her 
cloak." 

Away  he  ran,  leaving  his  mother  sunk  in 
gloomy  meditation.  The  impatience  he  had 
expressed,  and  forgotten  as  soon  as  expressed, 
awakened  the  discontent  in  her  own  heart, 
and  roused  the  old  bitterness  and  jealousy 
that  slumbered  in  her  bosom.  She  was  essen- 
tially an  ambitious  woman;  her  very  love 
partook  of  the  passion  by  which  the  angels 
feel ;  and  the  beauty  and  promise  of  her  son, 
while  it  increased  the  idolatrous  affection 
which  she  bore  him,  aggravated  her  dis- 
content at  the  inferior  position  to  which  he 


was  destined.    But  the  Arc  smouldered  in  her   i 
own  bosom,  and  even  Agnese  knew  not  into 
how  fierce   a  blaze  a   little  breath    might 
kindle  it 

When  Edward  returned,  bringing  in  Oath-   , 
erine  Birkby,  despoiled  of  her  wet  garments.   I 
and   glowing  with  exercise,  the  cloud  had 
passed  from  Lady  Irwin's  countenance,  if  not 
from  her  spirit,  and  she  welcomed  her  young 
visitor  with  courtesy,  even  with  kindness.         | 

*'  And  now,  mother,"  said  Edward,  when  i 
he  had  established  the  guest  in  m  warm  corner  ' 
of  a  sofa,  and  supplied  her  with  a  footstool  i 
and  all  imaginable  comforts ;  "  and  now,  i 
mother,  would  you  like  to  know  what  bu  • 
brought  my  princess  out  this  fine  November  ' 
morning?  It's  a  good  story,  and  I'll  tell 
Frank  as  sure  as  fate." 

**  Suppose  you  begin  by  telling  me,"  said 
his  mother,  smiling. 

**  You  tell  her,  Kitty.  Doesn't  she  look  a  ; 
nice  tutor,  now?  Just  look  at  her;  she  | 
wants  nothing  but  a  pair  of  spectacles  and  a  | 
stout  cane."  | 

"The  boy's  distracted,"  said  Lady  Irwin.  ,' 
"  He  is  so  delighted  that  you  are  come  to 
break  the  dull  tete-a-tete  with  his  prosy  old   i 
mother,  Kate,  that  be  can't  speak  an  mtel-   '' 
ligible  word." 

"  Well,  then,  mother — neither  prosy  nor 
old,  much  younger  than  Kitty,  I'll  be  bound 
— would  you  believe  it?  the  abominable 
creature  has  come  out  through  this  weather 
to  bring  me  my  Arnold's  Exercise  book."         i 

"  She  is  a  great  deal  too  good  to  you,  sir ;  j| 
and  we  must  get  Mr.  Birkby  to  be  more  l 
strict  with  you,  if  you  continue  so  careless." 

"  But  only  think  of  her  malignity,  mother, 
when  I   had  forgotten  the  stupid  book  so    j 
cleverly,  and  persuaded  myself  that  it  would    I 
be  cruel  to  send  Brade  and  the  ragged  old    ' 
pony  for  it,  she  must  come  through  the  cold 
and  wet  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  make 
me  ashamed  of  myself.    There's  only  ooe    | 
thing  to   be  said  for   her ;   she  never  did 
Arnold  herself,  and  so  she  doesn't  know  what 
a  tremendous  bore  he  is." 

"  Now  I  have  brought  the  book,  I  hope 
you  intend  to  do  the  exercise,"  said  Kitty,   i 
smiling. 

•*  Well,  that  depends.     You  must  fold  the    ^ 
paper  and  mend  the  pens,  and  look  out  the 
words  in  the  index.      But  no,  let's  go  aod 
have  a    game    at  billiards.      I'll    hunt  up 
Frank,  and  mother  will  come." 

"No,  no,"  said  Kitty.  "I'll  play  no  bU- 
liards  till  you  have  done  your  exercise."  i 

"  Well,  we  can  play  without  you,  yoa  J 
know."  ' 

"  You  will  have  to  play  by  yourself  then,"  | 
said  his  mother.  "  You'll  find  no  one  here  < 
to  play  with  you,  if  you  are  rude  to  Kitty." 

"  Rude  to  Kitty?  "  repeated  the  boy,  the    [ 
colour  flushing  to  bis  cheek.      "  Rude   to    ' 
Kitty,  whom  I  love  better  than  anything  in 
the  whole  world  ?     I  don't  know  what  you    ! 
mean,  mother."  i 


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MOTHER  AND  STEP-MOTHER. 


369 


**  Ue  only  wanted  to  show  me  that  I 
was  not  quite  so  important  as  I  thought 
rojself.*'  said  Kate  apologetically.  ^'Come, 
Edward,  let  us  go  iu to  the  school-room  ;  the 
exercise  woa't  take  half  an  hour,  and  there 
will  be  plenty  of  time  for  billiards  after- 1 
wards." 

The  boy  obeyed,  but  his  cheek  still  glowed. 
He  got  together  what  was  necessary  for  his 
work  in  silence^  and  wrote  quickly  and , 
attentively  for  some  time ;  then  suddenly 
flinging  down  his  pen,  he  A^w  himself  on 
the  floor,  and  hiding  his  face  on  Catherine's 
knees,  burst  into  tears. 

**  Hush,  Edward,  is  this  right — is  this 
Christian?'' remonstrated  Kitty. 

"  Rude  to  you,  my  own  dearest  Kitty  ?"  j 
sobbed  the  boy.    "  If  I  was,  I  didn't  mean  it.  i 
Of  course  you  know  we  can't  play  without 
you — at  least,  I  can't ;  and  I'm  sure  Frank 
wouldn't.    O,  you  don't  know  how  dull  and  . 
stupid  the  house  is  when  you  are  not  here. 
Father  sits  in  his  study  making  discoveries 
al>out  meteoric  phenomena  or  something  or  i 
other;  and  Frank  thinks  he's  doing  a  great  deal  { 
with  Plato,  though  I  believe  halt*  the  time  he 
does  nothing  but  smoke  and  dream ;   and 
mother  and  I  talk  ourselves  into  a  horrible  < 
dislike  of  everything.    O  Kitty,  I  hate  my- 
self so  sometimes,  and  you  would  hate  me  ! 
too,  if  you  knew  what  wicked  thoughts  come 
into  my  head." 

**  Wicked  thoughts  come  to  all  of  us,  Ed- 
ward j  and  you  know  there  is  only  one  mode 
of  driving  them  away." 

•*  If  I  were  only  Frank,  now,"  said  the 
boy,  **  I  should  be  quite  happy." 

•*  Oh  no,  you  would  not,  if  you  are  discon- 
tf»nted  now.  And  your  brother  loves  you  so 
dearly.  I  cannot  think  how  you  can  find  it 
in  your  heart  to  envy  him." 

••  I  do  though,  Kitty.  I  envy  him  his 
fortune  and  his  rank  ;  but  that  is  not  what  I 
envy  him  most.  I  envy  him  because  every- 
body loves  him.  Why.  even  you  love  him 
more  than  you  love  me." 

**  Don't  you  know  what  good  reason  I  have 
to  love  him?"  returned  Kitty,  firmly,  but 
with  some  little  embarrassment.  "  1  have 
often  told  you  what  a  friend  he  has  been  to 
me  all  my  life  long." 

*'  Yes,  I  know  that  you  don't  love  him 
because  be  is  rich  and  will  be  called  Sir 
Francis,  O,  I  wish  he  had  been  cross  and 
ujcly.  for  then  you  could  not  have  loved 
him." 

•*  O,  dear  Edward,  think  how  wrong  it  is 
to  be  vexed  that  your  brother  is  loved." 

*•  Well  it's  not  exactly  that  I  don't  want 
people  not  to  like  Frank,  for  I  know  he's  a 
^lendid  fellow;  but  I  do  wish  somebody 
would  love  me  better  than  him  or  anybody 
or  anything  else  in  the  whole  world." 

•*  You  know  your  mother  does ;  and  for 
her  sako  you  should  try  to  be  contented  and 
happy." 

•*  Well,  I  am  very  happy,  if*  the  days  were 


not  so  confoundedly  long  and  everything  so 
stupid.  Do  you  know,  I  did  something  this 
morning.  I  am  sure  you  will  say  it  was  very 
wrong— I  felt  it  was  wrong  myself.  I  didn't 
mean  to  do  it,  but  somehow  I  couldn't  stop. 
I  told  mother  I  wished  I  was  Frank.  She 
did  look  so  vexed — there  Came  a  strange 
fierceness  into  her  face.  Don't  you  think 
she  is  very  handsome,  Kitty? " 

**  Yes,  especially  when  she  smiles." 

*'  No,  when  she  frowns :  it's  my  treasure 
of  a  Kate  that  looks  lovely  when  ^hc  smiles. 
Mother  looks  magnificent  when  she's  fierce. 
I  feel  a  sort  of  creeping  of  the  flesh  and  burn- 
ing at  the  heart  when  she  looks  like  that. 
Is  it  wrong  to  like  to  see  her  so  ?  " 

"  It  must  be  wrong,"  replied  Kitty,  gravely. 
"  She  cannot  look  so  unless  she  feels  un- 
happy ;  besides,  I  do  not  think  it  reverent 
in  you  to  speculate  on  your  mother's  looks, 
and  to  put  your  own  interpretation  on  a 
passing  expression." 

"  Do  not  look  so  sorry,  Kate— I  can't  bear 
to  see  you.  I  know  I  am  very  wicked,  but 
you  must  not  hate  me.  I  try  to  pray,  indeed 
I  do,  and  I  will  yet  more.  Is  it  not  strange," 
he  added  presently,  in  a  lower  tone — *'  is  it 
not  very  strange  that  I  never  like  to  make 
vou  look  sorry  ?  but  when  1  vex  mother  the 
blood  leaps  in  my  veins,  and  I  feel  as  if  I 
couldn't  stop,  it  makes  me  feel  so  near  to 
her.  Look  at  my  forehead  :  don't  you  see  I 
am  getting  a  frown  like  mother's?  I  frown 
60  at  night  sometimes  that  it  wakes  me  out 
of  my  sleep.  I  dre|im  of  nothing  but  battles 
and  fighting.  Dear  Kitty,  do  you  think  I 
could  ever  go  to  heaven  ?" 

"  Remember  who  gave  His  precious  life  a 
ransom  for  sinners,  Edward!  Remember 
Him  who  loves  you,  and  who  is  touched  with 
a  feeling  for  your  infirmities." 

*•  Sometimes,"  said  the  boy,  looking  out  of 
the  window,  and  speaking  in  a  soft,  dreamy 
tone — "  sometimes  all  that  is  written  in  the 
Testament  seems  so  true,  that  I  feel  strong  for 
anything ;  but  then,  all  in  a  moment,  away 
it  goes,  and  the  old  bad  thoup:hts  come  back. 
I  suppose,  Kitty,  it  is  the  Devil  taking  away 
the  Word  out  of  my  heart." 

Thus,  in  the  dark  November  day,  they 
talked  together. 

CHAPTER  vn. 

"  Mr  dear  Kitty,  we  must  think  of  getting 
you  some  new  clothes  to  go  to  London  with. 
Of  course,  you  will  like  to  buy  the  principal 
things  there  ;  but  you  must  have  a  new  gown 
to  go  in.  Morley  has  a  lovely  dove-coloured 
silk,  which  I'm  sure  would  just  become  you, 
and  he  only  wants  three-and-ninepence  a 
yard  for  it.  It's  rather  a  short  length,  but 
he  said  if  I'd  take  it  he'd  allow  me  some- 
thing." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  London,  my  dear  aunt," 
replied  Catherine,  in  a  low  voice. 

*'  Not  going  to  London  I  "  exclaimed  Miss 
Birkby,  looking  over  her  spectacles  in  amaze- 


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370 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[C«Ddactedby 


ment.  "Why  Lady  Irwin  has  been  hero 
herself,  and  your  papa  and  I  accepted  the 
invitation.'^ 

"  I  told  Lady  Irwin  I  was  not  going.  I  did 
not  know  she  would  ask  me  till  just  now. 
Edward  talked  of  it,  but  she  never  mentioned 
it  before." 

**  But  why  you  won't  go,  I  can't  understand," 
pursued  Mi8S  Birkby.  "  You  may  never  have 
such  another  opportunity  in  your  life.  You 
would  see  everything  and  be  in  the  first  society 
without  aoy  trouble  or  ftitigue.  I'm  sure 
Lady  Irwin  won't  be  pleased.  I  can't 
understand  it.  Why,  when  I  was  your  age, 
I  used  to  go  wherever  any  one  asked  me.  I 
hope  you  are  not  thinking  about  leaving 
your  papa  and  me,  because,  you  know,  wc 
could  manage  perfectly  well  by  ourselves,  and 
of  course  we  can't  expect  to  keep  you 
always." 

*'  1  think  you  and  papa  would  be  lonely  if 
I  went,"  returned  Catherine,  slowly ;  "  but 
that  is  not  the  only  reason — that  is  not  the 
principal  reason.  I  don't  think  it  would  be 
well  for  me  to  go,  and  I  hope  you  and  papa 
will  let  me  stay  at  home." 

"  Of  course,  dear,  we  are  only  too  glad  to 
have  you.  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  we 
should  do  without  you  for  three  months ;  I 
am  only  sorry  about  Lady  Irwin." 

"  Well,  now,  this  is  too  bad,"  cried  Edward 
Irwin,  brushing  into  the  room,  his  face  flushed 
and  his  eyes  bright  with  tears  of  vexation. 
*'  Only  thmk.  Miss  Birkby — only  imagine — 
mother  says  Kitty  won't  eo." 

**  She  has  just  been  telling  me  so,  my  dear, 
and  I  am  quite  as  much  surprised  as  you 
can  be." 

"But  she  doesn't  know  what  she's  refus- 
ing," returned  Edward  impetuously — "  how 
should  she?  »She  has  never  been  out  of  this 
stupid  little  village  in  her  life  :  and  you  can't 
think  what  trouble  father  and  I  had  to  get 
mother  to  ask  her.  She's  horribly  cross  now, 
and  says  she  knew  she  wouldn't  come,  though 
how  she  could  tell  that  I  can't  think.  Why 
won't  you  come,  Kitty  dear  ?  "  he  continued, 
changing  at  once  from  anger  to  entreaty. 
"You  don't  know  what  a  splendid  place 
London  is.  Mother  goes  everywhere,  and 
everyone  comes  to  our  house ;  and  I'll  work 
so  hard — I'll  do  my  lessons  every  morning 
before  I  go  out.    Do  come,  that's  a  dear  1 " 

"  I  should  like  it  very  much,"  said  Cathe- 
rine, making  an  attempt  to  conceal  the  sad- 
ness with  which  she  spoke.  "I  should  like 
to  see  what  we  have  so  often  talked  of,  and 
to  hear  the  clever  and  famous  men  whom  you 
know,  but  I  do  not  think  it  would  be  right 
for  me  to  go." 

"But  why,  Kitty,  why?  We  won't  do 
anything  wrong.  You  can  ffo  to  church  three 
times  on  a  Sunday,  if  you  Tike;  and  there's 
a  church  close  to  us  where  they  have  service 
every  day.  Then  there  are  lots  of  beggars, 
ten  times  more  miserable  than  any  you 
can  find  at  Swallowfield,  who  come  and  ask 


you  for  money  without  you're  having  the 
trouble  of  hunting  them  up.  Isn't  she  tire- 
some. Miss  Birkby?  She  thinks  it's  such  a 
clencher  to  say  she  does  not  think  it  would 
be  right  There's  no  good  to  be  got  out  of 
her  after  that ;  and  the  beauty  of  it  is,  she 
does  not  condescend  to  tell  us  why  she  does 
not  think  it  would  be  right — O,  Kitty  I 
you  canH  think  what  a  rage  Frank  is  in.  He 
turned  as  white  as  a  sheet,  and  got  up  from 
the  table  where  we  were  all  sitting  at  lunch. 
He  didn't  say  a  word  j  but  I  wouldn't  be  in 
your  shoes  for  something  1" ' 

"It  does  seem  a  pity,  doesn't  it,  Kitty ?'^ 
put  in  her  aunt  "  I'm  sure  your  papa  and  I 
could  manage  very  well.  I  could  get  Jane 
Thorpe  to  read  to  him :  she  reads  particularly 
well  for  a  person  in  her  condition,  and  be 
would  soon  get  accustomed  to  her." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Birkby,  it's  of  no  use,"  cried 
Edward,  sorrowfully.    He  had  been  studying    * 
Catherine's  half-aYerted  face.     "  3he  doo't 
wish  to  come,  and,  of  course,  we  cannot  wish    , 
to  compel  her,  however  sorry  we  may  be." 

Kitty  sighed  heavily,  but  said  nothing. 

"If  you'd  only  give  a  reason,"  pursued 
Edward,  after  a  pause,  and  in  a  softer  tone. 
"  If  you  would  only  say  why  you  don't  wish 
to  come," 

"  That  I  cannot  do,  Edward ;  but  will  you 
not  put  faith  in  me?  Will  you  not  believe 
me  when  I  say  that  it  is  not  for  want  of  love 
to  you  that  I  have  refused, — that  I  should 
have  enjoyed  it  more  than  I  can  tell  ?  Will 
you  not  believe  this  on  my  simple  word,  and 
trust  and  love  me  still  ?  i  ou  do  not  know 
how  sad  it  will  make  me  when  you  are 
away,  to  think  that  you  are  judging  hardly 
of  me." 

The  boy  was  silent,  his  face  worked  with 
various  emotions.    At  length  it  grew  cl^r 
and  firm.    He  took  Kitty's  hand,  and  pressing  ; 
it  firmly  l}etween  his  own,  exclaimed, 

"  It  is  hard,  but  I'll  do  it  I'll  do  it  for  yon, 
Kitty.  I'll  believe  what  you  say ;  I  won't  ' 
think  hardly  of  you  myself ;  and  I  won't  let 
any  one  else  think  hardly  of  you.  You  never 
deceived  me ;  you  have  always  been  detrer 
and  kinder  than  any  sister  could  have  been,  I  | 
am  sure  ;  so,  if  you  say  it's  not  for  want  of 
love,  I  will  believe  you  and  love  you  all  the 
same  ;  but  you  won't  mind  writing  to  me  ? "    i 

Catherine  assured  him  that  she  looked  for- 
ward to  his  letters  as  a  great  source  of 
amusement  during  his  absence  ;  and  the  boy 
at  last  departed,  much  comforted,  and  firmly 
resolved  to  maintain  the  virtue  of  Kitty  s 
incomprehensible  determination  against  all 
assailants. 

But  another  and  a  harder  struggle  yet 
awaited  her — a  struggle  she  would  gliully  have 
avoided,  had  it  been  possible.  The  intimate  { 
friendship  which  had  subsisted  from  infancy  , 
between  herself  and  Frank  Irwin  gave  him  a 
right  to  some  further  explanation  of  the 
motives  of  her  conduct—a  right  which,  what- 
ever the  diJQteulty  in  which  she  might  be 


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Charlea  Uickens.] 


MOTHER  AND  STEP-MOTHER. 


371 


placed  by  the  assertion  of  it,  she  felt  no  in- 
clination to  question. 

To  avoid,  or  at  least  postpone,  her  meeting 
with  Frank,  she  took  occasion  to  pay  a  visit 
to  her  old  nurse,  who,  with  her  husbaud, 
occupied  a  small  farm,  at  some  distance  from 
Swallowfield.  She  did  not  leave  Mrs.  Price^s 
dwelling  till  past  five,  and  the  early  spring 
day  was  waaing  fast,  as  she  sadly  bent  her 
steps  homeward.  The  soft  and  humid  air 
was  fragrant  from  banks  of  violets  and 
primroses,  and  the  distant  moon  hung  in  the 
e  ther.  It  was  an  evening  for  tender  thoughts, 
and  as  Catherine  pursued  her  way,  her  mind 
'wandered  back  to  the  old  days  of  her  child- 
hood, and  to  the  countless  pleasant  hours 
'which  she  and  Frank  had  spent  together. 

When  a  turn  in  the  road  brought  her  face 
to  face  with  him  of  whom  she  was  thinking, 
she  beheld  him  without  surprise,  though  the 
tide  of  blood  setting  tumultuously  to  her 
Iieart  deprived  her  for  the  moment  of  speech 
or  motion. 

**  I  came  to  meet  you,  Kitty,"  said  Frank 
Irwin,  "your  aunt  told  me  where  you  were 
gone — she  asked  me  to  come — I  hope  you  are 
not  displeased." 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Catherine,  trembling- yet 
more,  and  only  daring  to  deprecate  his  anger 
by  a  look  of  supplication ;  for  there  was  a 
restraint  and  haughtiness  in  his  tone  and 
manner  which  were  quite  new  to  her.  He 
turned  to  walk  with  her,  and  they  had  pro- 
ceeded some  way  before  he  again  addressed 
her.    At  length  he  said, 

**  I  want  to  say  a  few  words  to  you  Cathe- 
rine." He  spoke  slowly  and  with  manifest 
eifort.  **  I  need  not  tell  you  that  your  refusal 
to  accompany  my  mother  to  London  was  a 
sad  disappointment,  yes,  and  an  unexpected 
disappointment  to  me.  I  am  not  going  to 
distress  you  by  an  inquiry  into  the  motives  of 
your  refusal.  You  act  upon  them  so  deci- 
dedly that  you  must  be  satisfied  with  them. 
I  only  wish  to  say  that  I  am  aware  from  your 
conduct  on  this  occasion,  and  from  the  manner 
of  your  behaviour  to  me  since  my  return 
from  Germany,  that  I  have  been  so  unhappy 
as  to  Incur  your  displeasure.  I  have  in  vain 
examined  myself  to  discover  the  reason ;  you 
have  given  me  no  clue,  though  I  daily  feel 
how  strong  that  displeasure  must  be  which 
has  so  completely  changed  our  mutual  rela- 
tions and  destroyed  a  friendship  so  close,  so 
old.  You  must  not  imagine  that  I  am  so 
preposterously  conceited  as  to  suppose  that 
your  refusal  to  go  to  London  was  entirely 
occasioned  by  your  unwillingness  to  be  dis- 
tressed by  my.  presence.  If  that  were  the 
only  obstacle,  you  need  no  longer  hesitate,  for 
I  have  to-day  asked  and  obtained  my  father's 
permision  to  make  an  extensive  tour  in 
America  5  I  hope  even  to  extend  my  travels 
as  far  as  the  Rocky  Mountains." 

He  had  spoken  in  a  hard,  dull  tone,  never 
once  looking  at  his  companion,  but  nervously 
switching   his  riding-cane   to  and  fro  and 


following  its  motion  with  his  eyes.  Each 
sentence  struck  harder  and  harder  on  poor 
Catherine's  heart,  and  when  the  last  abrupt 
announcement  was  made,  she  was  compelled 
to  stop,  for  her  faltering  limbs  refused  to 
support  her,  a  deadly  pallor  overspi  ead  her 
countenance,  and  her  lips  quivered  with  the 
vain  attempt  to  articulate  a  sound. 

Terrified  out  of  his  anger,  Frank  hastened 
to  support  her,  and  gazed  with  stupified 
amazement  on  an  emotion  such  as  he  had 
never  before  witnessed,  while  his  heart  smote 
him  for  the  selfishness  of  his  reproaches. 

"0,  Kitty,"  cried  Frank,  passionately, 
"  forget  what  I  have  said.  Of  course,  I  know, 
dear,  you  can't  help  it ;  I  was  a  fool  to  hope 
it ;  but  you  know,  Kittv,  every  one  in  this 
world  is  selfish  but  yon." 

^'  You  shall  know  the  whole  truth,"  said 
Kitty,  who,  in  her  anxiety  to  master  her 
emotion,  hardly  understood  the  import  of  his 
words;  "I  have  never  trusted  you  and  re- 
pented of  it,  and,  hard  as  it  is,  I  will  trust 
you  now." 

"  No,  Kitty ;  I  will  know  nothing ;  you 
shall  put  no  force  upon  yourself,  dear.  I 
know  that  I  am  in  every  respect  unworthy 
your  regard.  I  can  well  understand  what  a 
distasteful  companion  I  must  be  to  a  gentle 
and  accomplished  woman  like  you," 

"  Frank,  how  can  you  talk  so  strangely  ? 
you  know  the  inequality  is  all  on  my  side. 
Listen  to  me  a  few  moments,  and  I  will  try 
to  tell  you  my  reasons,  that  you  may  not 
think  me  altogether  capricious  and  unworthy 
your  friendship.  You  see  my  father  has 
spent  his  life  In  such  retirement  that  he 
thinks  and  cares  little  about  what  is  said  or 
done  in  the  world.  He  is  accustomed  to  see 
you,  and  l?e  loves  you  dearly.  My  aunt  knows, 
perhaps,  something  more  about  such  things : 
but,  I  daresay,  if  either  of  them  thought  about 
it  at  all,  they  would  consider  that  I  was  quite 
your  equal." 

"  Well,"  said  Frank,  earnestly,  though  not 
impatiently. 

"  You  see  their  affection  for  me  would  blind 
them  to  the  truth."  Kitty  spoke  with  in- 
creasing effort,  but  still  with  a  certain  energy. 
"  I  tried  to  speak  to  Lady  Irwin,  and  to  ask 
her  help  ;  but  I  could  not  I  do  not  think  it 
is  right  to  speak  to  you,  Frank  ;  but  you  will 
help  me,  as  you  always  have  done,  all  your 
life,  and  for  the  sake  of  our  old,  old  friend- 
ship.   I  cannot  lose  your  friendship. 

"  Come  what  may,  that  will  never  be, 
Kitty,"  said  Frank,  earnestly. 

"Thank  you  for  that  comfort.  And  now 
you  understand  my  motives." 

"  Forgive  me,  dear,  I  do  not  understand 
them  in  the  least.  You  talk  about  the  world 
and  about  your  father  being  blinded  by  his 
affection  for  you  j  but  I  honestly  confess 
myself  unable  to  make  out  the  sequence  of 
ideas,  or  to  see  what  bearing  your  observa- 
tions have  on  your  refusal  to  go  to  London 
with  my  mother." 


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372 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Cowtoctcdb; 


**  Don't  you  see  that,  if  I  were  to  go,  I 
should  iHi.  almost  of  necessity,  a  great  deal  in 
your  company,  and  people  might  think — or, 
to  Fpcak  the  nimple  truth,  it  might  not  be 
"well  for  me.'' 

"  Oh  !  why  did  you  not  tell  me  that  before  ? 
Of  course,  it  was  hard  for  you  to  say  it.  I 
was  a  lilockhead  not  to  think  of  it  myself. 
But  I  am  going  away,  now,  you  know,  Kitty, 
so  far,  to  another  hemisphere  j  you  will  go 
now  ?  No  one  can  make  observations,  no  one 
can  misinterpret  you  now  I  " 

*•  I  will  go  if  you  wish  it,"  she  replied,  in  a 
very  low  heart-broken  voice. 

'*  There  is  something  still  which  you  hide 
from  me,"  said  Frank,  looking  steadily  at  her, 
**and  it  is  something  which  makes  you  un- 
happy. Even  if  I  go  to  America,  you  do  not 
wisli  to  go  to  London." 

"How  can  1  wish  to  go  if  you  are  not 
there  ? "  returned  Catherine,  almost  angrily  ; 
*•  would  not  every  thing  I  saw  remind  me  of 
you  and  of  your  kindness  long  ago  ?  " 

'*  And  yet  you  deny  me  the  pleasure  of 
being  there  with  you?  I  have  heard  that 
women  are  riddles  ;  and  I  have  been  puzzled 
sometimes  to  understand  my  mother  ;  but  it^s 
new  to  me  to  find  you  incomprehensible  and 
inconsistent." 

'*  Only  let  me  stay  at  home,"  sl&id  Kitty, 
entreatiugly  ;  •*  don't  ask  me  to  go  to  London 
— don't  show  any  interest  about  me ;  and, 
when  you  come  back,  you  will  find  me  once 
more  your  old  friend  and  playfellow." 

'*  No.  Kate  do  not  let  us  deceive  ourselves. 
That  can  never  be  again.  The  happy  time 
when  we  were  all  in  all  to  each  other  is  gone; 
and  the  cold  friendship  you  offer  me  is  but  a 
sorry  substitute  for  the  love  you  once  bore 
me.  As  for  me,  I  cannot  cease  to  love  you  ; 
but  I  cannot  pretend  to  be  satisfied  with 
being  less  than  all  to  you.  Time  may  possibly 
modify  my  feelings,  and  I  may  grow  accus- 
tomed to  the  thought  that  I  am  nothing  to 
you ;  but  we  cannot  become  children  again, 
and  the  memory  of  those  jovous  days  only 
makes  the  sorrow  of  to-day  the  heavier." 

"  Do  not  say  so ! "  said  Kitty,  in  a  tre- 
mulous tone  ;  "  we  may  be  as  brother  and 
sister  to  each  other  " 

"  Brother  and  sister ! "  he  replied,  almost 
fiercely.  *'  Do  not  deceive  yourself,  as  you 
cannot  deceive  me,  by  that  miserable  delusion  1 
Brother  and  sister  I  Brother  and  sister  we 
never  have  been,  and  never  can  be.  I  love  you, 
Kitty,  cruel  as  you  are.  You  know  that  I 
love  you, — not  with  the  temperate  afiection 
born  of  habit  and  of  instinct,  which  knits 
together  those  of  kindred  blood  ;  but  I  love 
you  with  that  pas»ion  which,  if  you  do  not 
know,  you  have  at  least  read  of  You  were 
the  dream  of  my  boyhood,  the  hope  of  my 
youth.  All  that  sisters  are  or  may  be  to 
others,  you  are  a  thousand  times  to  me.  I  do 
not  importune  you  to  do  impossibilities.  I 
love  you  too  dearly  to  seek  to  influence  you 
by  appeals  to  your  compassion.    Yes,  and  I 


value  myself  too  much  for  that ;  but  do  not 
mock  me  by  comparing  that  which  is  life  of 
my  life  to  a  feeling,  however  pure  and  sacred, 
which  may,  without  difficulty,  be  divided 
among  half-a-dozen.  Some  day,  Kitty,  yoa 
may  know  what  it  is.  Grod  grant  that  when 
you  love  you  may  never  know  the  bitterness 
of  having  your  passion  unrequited ! " 

"  There  are  many,  many,  worthier  your 
affection  than  I ! " 

"  If  there  are,  I  donH  care  for  them.  I  love 
yon.  I  have  loved  you  from  the  hour  when  I 
first  steadied  your  infant  steps  in  your  fathers 
orchard.  I  never  called  you  sister.  I  never 
felt  the  love  of  m  brother  towards  yon.  The 
love  I  then  bore  you  was  a  faint  fgreshadow- 
ing  of  that  which  now  possesses  me.  I,  pre- 
sumptuously, made  sure  of  my  happiness. 
Till  this  winter,  1  never  questioned  that  yoa 
returned  my  love,  absurd  as  it  may  appear  to 
you.  Never,  till  this  winter — never,  fallj, 
till  to-day—did  I  contemplate  the  possibility 
of  this  agony." 

"  If  I  were  but  nearer  to  you  in  any  one 
thing,"  faltered  Kitty. 

"What  then?"  said  Frank  impatiently; 
"  it  would  not  bring  your  heart  nearer  to  me. 
I  should  love  you  like  a  lover,  and  you  would 
look  upon  me  as  a  brother." 

**  How  little  you  know  !  "  exclaimed  Kate. 
**  Do  you  think  I  have  had  no  struggles?  Do 
you  think  I  have  shed  no  tears?  Do  yon 
think  it  is  easy  to  me  to  lose  one  turn  of  ^ 
your  countenance — one  tone  of  your  voice ! 
0,  you  must  not  think  that  all,  or  even  the 
heaviest  of  the  pain  is  on  your  side.  You  will 
have  much  to  comfort  you — much  to  drive 
me  from  your  thoughts.  I  shall  have  only  i 
the  memory  of  the  past,  and  prayer,  to  help 
me." 

*'You   are  more  and  more  inexplicable,    j 
Kitty.    If  I  could  trust  the  seeming  sense  of 
your  words,  I  should  almost  hope  that  you    , 
Indeed  love  me,  even  as  I  would  be  loved.    , 
Yet  you  make  the  confession  in  a  voice  so  6»o, 
and  with  a  look  so  hopeless,  that  I  dare  not    , 
rejoice  at  it.     What  barrier  is  there  between 
us?    What  unknown  hindrance  which  turns 
this,  which  should  be  the  sweetest  moment  of 
our  lives,  into  sorrow  and  bitterness?" 

"  You  know  1      Oh,  why  compel  me  to 
repeat  what   you  know  so  well?     I  *°*  *    ' 
simple  country  girl,  without  protection,  witl^    , 
out  accomplishments.    You  have  talents  and 
rank  which  fit  you  to  form  an  alliance  witft 
any  of  the  noblest  families  of  the  land ;  and    j 
such  an  alliance  Sir  Edward  and  Lady  Irwin    ■ 
naturally  expect  you  to  form."  ^u^^r^ 

"And  is  this  the  only  hindrance,  Ki»y-      ' 

"  Yes.     Even  for  your  sake  I  would  not    , 
creep  into  your  family  by  stealth :  or  enter  i 
only  on  sufferance.     I  will  not  deserve  tje 
reproaches  of  those  to  whom  I  owe  gratituae 
and  affection."  . ' 

«  By  Heaven,  Kitty,  you  wrong  my  f^^^l 
and  mother  if  you    think  that  they  wouw    , 
value  rank  or  fortune  in  comparison  wiw 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Charlei  Dickeni.  ] 


MOTHER  AND  STEP-MOTHER. 


373 


such  a  true  and  pare-heart — such  a  cultivated 
mind— as  yours !  Besides,  if  they  were  blind 
to  your  merit,  do  you  think  they  set  no 
Talac  on  my  happiness — that  they  have  no 
regard  to  my  wishes  ?  Put  such  unworthy 
thoughts  away  from  you !  My  mother  may 
sometimes  seem  capricious — she  may  be  un- 
certain in  trifles,  but  her  own  affections  are 
too  strong  to  allow  her  to  endanger  the  hap- 
piness of  both  our  lives  for  a  prejudice.  I 
am  sare  both  she  and  my  father  will  welcome 
with  delight  a  prospect  so  full  of  reasonable 
happiness  for  both  of  us." 

But  Catherine  could  not  think  so.  In  the 
midst  of  her  tremulous  joy  her  heart  remained 
heayy  with  foreboding.  She  felt  that  Lady 
Irwin  would  disapprove  of  their  union,  and  a 
prescience  of  sorrow  weighed  upon  her  spirit. 

Frank,  though  not  entirely  free  from  the 
same  instinctive  apprehension,  could  not  re- 
strain his  delight  at  the  acknowledgment  he 
had  drawn  from  her ;  he  overwhelmed  her 
with  endearing  words,  demanded  explana- 
tions of  a  thousand  trifles  which  had  pained 
him,  as  evidences  of  indifference,  and  learned 
with  rapture,  that  they  were  so  many  tokens 
of  conscious  love.  Then  he  had  arguments — 
unanswerable  arguments — to  prove  the  absur- 
dity of  her  apprehension  of  Lady  Irwin's  dis- 
approval, till  Catherine,  though  unconvinced, 
waii  soothed  into  a  sympathy  in  bis  delight ; 
and  when  they  parted  at  her  father's  gate, 
it  would  have  been  hard  to  tell  which  was 
the  happier  of  the  two. 

CHAPTER  vm. 

Sm  Edward  was  reading  when  his  son 
entered  the  dining-room.  He  was  not  a  man 
who  habitually  wasted  much  of  his  conversa- 
tion on  his  children ;  and  he  hardly  looked 
up  on  Frank's  entrance,  merely  showing  his 
consciousness  of  his  presence,  and  his  satis- 
fiwtion  thereat  by  a  comonplace  question 
about  the  weather.  Having  replied  to  this, 
and  taken  a  seat  on  the  oppasite  side  of  the 
fire,  Frank  began  to  cast  about  in  his  mind 
how  to  introduce  the  great  subject  which 
engrossed  his  thoughts.  He  did  not  doubt 
that  his  father  would  hear  him  with  indul- 
gence and  interest  j  but  it  was  with  consider- 
able difficulty  that  he  at  length  stammered 
out  a  request  that  he  would  give  him  his 
serious  attention  for  a  few  minutes. 

*' What,  again,  Frank  I"  said  Sir  Edward, 
laying  down  his  book,  with  a  look  of  amaze- 
ment. "  You  seem  very  impatient.  Not  that 
I  blame  you.  I  think  travel  does  a  young 
man  good,  provided  he  travels  with  a  pur- 
pose, and  not  merely  for  the  sake  of  wasting 
time  and  money.  I  was  speaking  to  your 
mother  about  your  plan  just  now.  She  thinks 
I  ought  to  have  taken  time  to  consider  it 
pefore  I  consented  to  your  undertaking  a 
journey  so  long  and  perilous  ;  but,  as  I  proved 
w  her,  it*8  nothing  to  the  Argonautic  expe- 
dition. Notwithstanding  the  danger  of  the 
adventure,  I  confess  I  am  not  sorry  you 
have  fixed  on  the  Rocky  Mountains  as  your 


Ultima  Thule ;  for  I  phall  be  glad  to  have 
some  geological  specimens  from  them ;  and 
an  authentic  account  of  Mormonism. — one  of 
the  most  remarkable  phenomena  of  the  age. 
The  accounts  we  have  must  be,  to  a  certain 
extent,  partial.  Now,  you  will  take  a  clear 
head  and  young  eyes  with  you.  All  I  would 
warn  you  against  is  too  strong  a  leaning 
to  the  old-world  prejudices,  fpith  which  our 
good  friend  Birkby  has  taken  such  pains  to 
fortify  you." 

"  I  have  just  parted  from  Kitty,  sir,"  said 
Frank,  breaking  in,  at  last,  with  desperate 
resolution. 

ii  Yfhj  didn't  you  bring  her  up  here  ?  The 
little  puss,  I  don't  wonder  she's  ashamed  to 
show  her  face.  Your  mother  is  by  no  means 
pleased,  I  can  tell  you.  She  never  was  very 
fond  of  poor  Kitty.  Very  strange,  though  I 
don't  know — perhaps  it's  natural,  after  all. 
I  dare  say  Portia  would  have  thought  Imogen 
rather  milk-and-waterish,  I  really  begin  to 
apprehend  that  my  little  A*iend  is  putting  on 
her  womanhood.  Kitty,  the  sweetest  piece 
of  Nature's  handiwork  that  ever  gladdened 
human  heart,— it  is  too  bad  for  her  to  be 
having  her  whimsies  and  caprices." 

Here  was  a  good  opening  for  Frank.  These 
warm  expressions  of  tenderness  and  affection 
loosened  the  powers  of  speech.  He  defended 
Catherine  from  the  charge  of  caprice.  He 
then,  with  more  diflBculty,  explained  the 
motive  which  had  led  her  to  refuse  Lady 
Irwin'a  invitation,  and  concluded  with  an 
eamept  avowal  of  his  own  passion,  and  an 
entreaty  that  his  father  would  aid  him  with 
his  countenance. 

"  So  I  am  to  remain  in  my  present  benighted 
ignorance  of  the  real  state  of  the  Mormon 
colon  V,"  said  Sir  Edward  when  his  son  at 
length  ended  ;  *•  and  I  shall  not  be  able  to 
enrich  my  collection  with  specimens  from  the 
Rocky  Mountains !  Do  you  think  that  Kitty 
could  be  persuaded  to  make  it  her  bridal 
tour?  But  seriously.  Master  Frank,  this  is 
a  grave  matter.  You  and  Kitty  are  over 
young  to  be  running  your  heads  into  the 
yoke  matrimonial.  Kitty  is  a  wife  for  an 
emperor  ;  and  you'll  be  a  lucky  fellow  if  you 
get  her.  Still,  you  know  it  is  a  matter  to  be 
carefully  considered  for  both  your  sakes." 

"  Certainly,  sir,  if  you  will  only  give  us 
your  countenance,  we  shall  be  willing  to 
wait." 

"Oh,  yes!  I  dare  say  I  As  willing  as 
the  hoar-frost  when  the  sun  is  shining.  I 
wasn't  many  months  older  than  you  when  I 
married  your  mother.  I  was  very  happy 
*  bouse  sub  Cynarse  regno.'  Kitty  is  not  unlike 
her  in  many  things.  But  I'll  tell  you  what, 
Frank,  we  must  talk  to  Lady  Irwin  ;  she  does 
not  like  to  have  things  done  without  her.  I 
wish  Kitty  hadn't  had  her  pretty  fit  of  pru- 
dery just  now.  Helen  does  not  like  to  have 
her  invitations  refused,  especially  when  she 
fancies  she  is  conferring  a  favour  in  giving 
them." 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


374 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


When  the  matter  was  broached  to  Lady 
Irw'm,  fhe  listened  with  mingled  astonish- 
ment and  indignation.  Her  countenance  suf- 
ficiently expres8ed  her  displeasure,  though 
she  controlled  her  utterance,  and  replied 
only  in  a  lew  cold  words  of  disapprobation, 
to  her  hu8band*s  kindly  representations  of 
the  wishes  of  the  lovers.  Strange  as  it  may 
seem,  she  had  never  contemplated  the  proba- 
bility of  Frank's  marriage,  or  only  as  a  pos- 
sible distant  evil,  to  be  prevented  when  it 
arose.  That  he  would  form  an  attachment 
to  Catherine  Birkby  had  never  once  occurred 
to  her.  Indeed,  she  held  Kitty's  beauty  and 
accomplishments  in  very  low  esteem,  and 
hardly  thought  of  her  except  as  a  useful 
playfellow  for  £klward — an  agreeable  domes- 
tic animal,  whom  it  was  convenient  to  have 
about  the  house.  To  discover  in  this  soft- 
voiced  tender  girl  the  enemy  whom  she  should 
most  sedulously  have  guarded  against,  was  a 
bitter  aggravation  of  her  annoyance. 

Turn  the  subject  which  way  she  would,  she 
could  discover  no  reasonable  hope  of  averting 
the  evil ;  Sir  Edward  had  already  given  a 
quasi  consent ;  she  knew  that,  though  gene- 
rally complaisant,  he  was  occasionally  capable 
of  firmness  ;  that  his  affection  for  his  eldest 
son  was  strong,  his  sense  of  justice  strict,  and 
that  he  had  always  regarded  Kitty  herself 
with  peculiar  tenderness.  But  none  of  these 
considerations  shook  her  resolution  to  pre- 
vent the  marriage,  cost  what  it  might ;  on 
the  contrary,  the  difficulties  that  lay  in  her 
way  rather  strengthened  her  determination, 
and  sharpened  her  ingenuity. 

The  sympathetic  indignation  of  Agnese,  to 
whom  she  disclosed  the  subject  of  her  un- 
easiness during  her  evening  toilette,  con- 
firmed her  in  the  idea  that  Catherine  had 
abused  her  hospitality,  and  under  the  guise 
of  innocence  had  successfully  carried  out  her 
wily  designs  upon  the  heir.  She  determined 
to  meet  craft  with  craft,  and,  by  using  her 
great  influence  with  her  husband,  to  retard 
the  union  of  the  lovers,  and,  while  seeming  to 
be  only  anxious  for  their  welfare,  to  coun- 
teract, and  finally  to  subvert  their  designs. 

The  youth  of  the  lovers  naturally  formed 
the  burden  of  her  objections ;  she  touched 
slightly  on  Catherine's  want  of  fortune,  and 
inferior  rank ;  she  urged  the  curtailment  of 
Sir  Edward's  expenses  which  would  become 
necessary  if  two  families  were  to  be  supported 
on  an  income,  handsome  indeed,  but  every  six- 
pence of  which  was  annually  spent ;  she  dwelt 
on  the  injury  it  would  be  to  Edward,  if  he  were 
deprived  of  the  advantages  of  suchi  an  educa- 
tion as  his  brother  had  enjoyed, — advantages 
more  necessary  to  him,  since  his  position 
must  depend  on  his  own  exertions.  She 
frankly  acknowledged  she  could  not  compre- 
hend Frank's  attachment,  and  insinuated  a 
doubt  of  its  continuance,  urging  how  of  ton 
the  pretty  face  and  sweet  temper,  which 
were  sufficient  for  the  youth,  palled  upon  the 
matured  taste    of   the  man.    To  this   Sir 


Edward  replied,  that  It  was  not  probable  that 
an  attachment  founded  on  such  intimate 
knowledge,  and  so  fortified  by  esteem,  would 
be  of  a  transitory  character ;  he  said  that  for 
his  part  be  was  quite  satisfied  with  little 
Kitty  for  a  daughter-in-law,  but  he  acknow- 
ledged that  be  had  not  contemplated  the 
necessity  of  a  separate  establishment,  and 
ended  by  expressing  his  belief  that  the  young 
ptople  were  in  no  hurry,  and  would  make  no 
difficulty  of  waiting  a  year  or  two. 

When  Frank  found  that  Catherine's  appre- 
hensions were,  in  a  measure  at  least,  realised, 
and  that  Lady  Irwin  seemed  determined  to 
retard,  if  not  openly  to  oppose  their  umon. 
the  antagonism  of  his  nature  was  roused,  and 
he  could  not  altogether  control  his  impatience 
in  replying  to  her  representations.  He  rejected 
with  indignation  the  idea  that  his  feelings 
might  change :  he  thought  the  house  was 
large  enougn  for  him  and  Kitty,  but  if  his 
father  and  mother  thought  otherwise,  his 
father  had  interest  to  get  him  some  appoint- 
ment which  would  enable  him  to  take  the 
burden  of  his  own  maintenance,  and  that  of 
his  wife,  upon  himself ;  he  had  no  idea  of  an 
immediate  marriage,  but  he  could  see  no 
reason  to  justify  him  in  submitting  Catherine 
to  the  anxieties  of  an  engagement  of  uncer- 
tain duration. 

In  Catherine  herself  Lady  Irwin  found  the 
most  pliant  listener.  She  was  so  prepared  for 
anger  in  the  dreaded  Lady  of  the  Manor, 
in  the  event  of  her  passion  becoming  known, 
that  when  she  assailed  her  with  arguments, 
persuasion,  and  entreaties,  coupled  even  with 
caresses,  she  yielded  only  too  readily,  and, 
grateful  for  permission  to  love,  assented  to 
any  terms,  thinking  delay  scarcely  an  evil 
in  the  greatness  of  her  unhoped-for  happi- 
ness. 

They  were  betrothed,  and  it  was  an  ac- 
knowledged fact  in  the  neighbourhood,  that 
Miss  Birkby  was  engaged  to  Mr.  Irwin. 
One  or  two  sour  spinsters  and  intrigaing 
mammas  were  highly  indignant,  but  by  the 
community  at  large,  it  was  regarded  as  a 
very  natural  and  desirable  arrangement* 

Mr.  Birkby,  when  asked  for  his  consent, 
gave  it  heartily,  telling  Frank,  with  tears  of 
pleasure,  that  he  was  glad  to  show  the  love  be 
bore  him.  by  giving  into  his  keeping  bis  dear- 
est earthly  treasure ;  he  was  a  little  displeased 
at  Lady  Irwin's  desire  for  the  postponement 
of  the  marriage,  for  his  affection  took  alana 
at  the  idea  that  his  child's  excellence  was  not 
duly  appreciated ;  but  a  few  words  fhfflu 
Catherine  tranqnillised  his  doubts,  and  be 
could  not  be  long  angry  at  what  gave  him 
longer  possession  of  her  who  was  so  dear,  so 
necessary  to  him. 

As  to  Miss  Birkby,  the  intelligence  threw 
her  into  a  flutter  of  delight.  She  bad  , 
a  happy  knack  of  never  seeing  what  was 
going  on  before  her  eyes ;  of  course  she  knew 
that  Kitty  and  Frank  liked  each  other  vciy 
much,  but  as  to  anything  more  than  ttitaA- 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbtrlea  DIckena.] 


MOTHER  AND  STEP-MOTHER. 


376 


ship,  the  idea  had  never  suggested  itself  to  her. 
She  wished  them  happy  with  all  her  heart, 
and  could  see  no  reason  whj  they  should  not 
be  happy,  since  they  had  always  been  dear 
good  children,  both  of  them. 

And  so  the  matter  rested.  Lady  Irwin, 
satisfied  with  having  averted  the  evil  for  the 
present,  revolved  her  plans  at  her  leisure, 
and  was  content  to  bide  her  time.  She  was 
not. however,  permitted  to  ciyoy  much  repose, 
for  she  was  harassed  by  the  mute  solicitations 
of  Frank's  anxious  looks,  and  by  the  open 
remonstrances  of  her  own  son. 

Edward  heard  the  news  at  first  with  dis- 
pleasure, and  was  inclined  to  feel  himself 
aggrieved  because  Catherine  loved  any  one 
better  than  himself ;  but  when  the  first  emo- 
tions of  dissatisfaction  were  over,  he  entered 
with  spirit  into  the  interests  of  the  lovers, 
and,  having  espoused  their  cause,  he  support- 
ed it  with  a  warmth  characteristic  of  his 
temperament,  and  which  increased  with  op- 
position. Proud  of  the  victory  he  had  gained 
over  himself,  and  irritated  by  a  suspicion 
that  his  mother  was  actuated  by  love  to  him, 
he  was  never  weary  of  urging  his  brother's 
claims,  till  bis  galling  solicitations  goaded 
her  to  madness,  and  confirmed  her  in  her  re- 
solation. 

**  Iftconsiderate  and  thankless  boy !  "  she 
exclaimed  one  day,  thrown  oflf  her  guard  by 
his  importunity ;  "blind  to  your  own  inter- 
est, as  you  are  careless  of  the  affections  of 
your  mother." 

"My  interest!"  retorted  Edward,  "how 
can  it  afiect  my  interest ;  except  that  it  must 
he  my  interest  to    see  Frank    and    Kitty 


And  yourself  a  beggar,  and  your  mother 
a  pensioner  on  the  bounty  of  a  country  par- 
son's daughter!  Foolish  child,  how  will  it 
be  with  you  when  you  are  but  an  inmate  on 
sofferance  in  the  house  beneath  whose  roof 
yon  were  born  ?  " 

"Mother,  that'll  never  be!  You  don't 
know  of  what  true  stuff  Kitty  *s  heart  is  made ; 
if  I  ever  want  a  home,  and  she  has  one,  never 
fear  that  she'll  grudge  me  a  share  of  her's. 
Besides,  have  I  not  hands,  arms,  and  wits  ; 
can't  I  hire  myself  out  for  so  much  a  day  to 
he  shot  at,  or  get  a  handsome  income  for 
wearing  a  fine  coat  and  a  sword  at  some 
foreign  court,  and  writing  lying  letters  about 
nothing!  Frank  and  Mr.  Birkby  both  say 
I've  capital  abilities,  and  I'm  sure  if  I  take 
after  you,  I  must  be  a  long-headed  fellow 
^Ui  a  first-rate  genius  for  politics.  Only 
think  now,  mother,  would  it  not  be  more 
gratifying  to  be  pointed  out  as  the  mother  of 
the  eminent  diplomatist  Mr.  Edward  Irwin, 
in  time  Sir  Edward,  and  soon  my  lord  vis- 
ponnt,  or  what  not,  than  to  look  handsome 
m  your  black  velvet  and  diamonds  as  the 
maternal  relative  of  Sir  Francis?  " 

"  It  is  because  I  long  to  see  you  crowned 
^th  self-won  honours,  that  I  am  impatient  of 
this  preposterous  scheme  of  your  brother's. 


Hampered  with  him,  his  wife,  and  perhaps  a 
host  of  children — women  who  bring  their  hus- 
bands no  fortune,  always  have  large  families 
— how  is  your  father  to  give  you  the  neces- 
sary start?  How  is  he  to  put  you  properly 
forward  in  the  world?  On  the  next  ten  years 
the  fortunes  of  your  life  must/lepend." 

"  Ten  years  I  then  Frank  and  Kitty  are  to 
wait  ten  years?  Come,  mother,  that's  too  bad 
— why  she'll  be  quite  elderly  by  that  time  ; 
just  think,  you  are  only  five-and-thirty  now, 
and  you've  been  married  these  sixteen  years. 
Depend  upon  it,  I  shall  never  get  on  the 
better  for  Kitty's  fretting  herself  to  fiddle- 
strings.  No,  no,  mother,  it  won't  do ;  there's 
no  romance  in  a  bride  over  twenty.  If  I  were 
Frank,  I'd  carry  her  off  in  a  chaise  and  four 
and  bring  her  home  a  married  wife — I  declare 
it  would  be  splendid — I'd  be  postilion,  and  I 
don't  think  you'd  have  much  chance  of  over- 
taking us,  unless  you  swept  after  us  in  a 
whirlwind." 

The  idea  of  an  elopement,  and  the  exciting 
adventures  by  which  it  could  not  fail  to  li 
accompanied,  was  so  agreeable  to  Edward 
that,  though  iVhad  occurred  to  him  as  a  just, 
he  did  not  fail  to  suggest  it  seriously  to  hia 
brother. 

"  You  may  look  as  grave  as  you  please, 
Frank,"  he  said,  impatiently  :  "I  toll  you  my 
father  would  be  delighted  to  have  it  settled— 
the  dear  old  fellow  is  as  fond  of  Kitty  as  she 
deserves — you'd  be  gone  just  a  couple  of 
days,  and  I'd  undertake  to  draw  mother  off 
while  you  begged  pardon  ;  he'd  forgive  you 
almost  before  you  could  ask  h^.  Mother  is 
splendid  for  holidays,  but  you  know  we  sadly 
want  a  little  household  deity  to  nurse  us 
when  we  are  ill,  and  put  us  in  good-humour 
when  we  are  cross.  Mother  couldn't  say  any- 
thing when  it  was  done,  or  it  she  did,  it 
wouldn't  so  much  matter." 

"She  would  never  forgive  us,  Edward." 
returned  Frank,  with  a  grave  smile  ;  '*  and 
we  should  feel  that  we  hiS  given  her  reason 
for  her  diRpleasure.  Kitty's  heart  would 
break  under  the  weight  of  such  a  resentment 
as  my  mother  can  feel,  and  all  my  love  and 
yours  would  not  supp(^t  her  under  it.  It 
is  hard,  but  we  must  be  patient." 

"  Then  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Frank,  you'll 
have  plenty  of  exercise  for  your  patience ; 
you  may  wait  and  wait  till  you  are  both  old 
and  cross.  Mother  will  not  give  her  consent;, 
she'll  mock  you  with  vain  hope,  like  that 
scoundrel  Pygmalion  and  his  poor  sister  Dido > 
in  Virgil.  She  has  made  up  her  mind — she 
says  you  are  too  young  now ;  she'll  find 
reasons  just  as  good  to  keep  you  asunder  till 
she  can  say  you  are  too  old,  and  ought  to  be 
thinking  of  the  other  world." 

*<  Kitty  would  never  consent,"  said  Frank, 
not  unimpressed  by  the  boy's  representations.. 
The  thought  was  not  new  to  him,  the  shadow 
of  such  a  fear  had  been  darkening  on  his 
mind  for  some  time. 

"Don't   ask   her!"  crjed   Edward,   with 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


376 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coflihirtrtby 


animation ;  **  of  course,  I  know  as  well  as 
*you  that  she  won't,  if  she  can  help  it ;  but 
you  know  she  loves  you  with  all  her  heart — 
you  know  that  though  she  tries  to  be  gay. 
and  d'ceivcB  her  poor  old  aunt  and  her  father 
who  is  always  dreaming  about  some  old  Greek 
lovcrH  instead  of  minding  his  own  dear  little 
girl ;  you  kno?f  that  when  she  thinks  no  one 
sees  her  the  tears  come  welling  up  into  her 
eyes,  and  she  is  grown  so  thin  that  I  could 
almost  span  her  waist,  which  used  to  be  of  a 
proper  natural  size.  I  do  not  doubt  that  she 
would  protest  and  be  very  miserable,  but  you 
are  her  natural  guardian  now,  and  it  is  your 
busineas  to  take  care  of  hgr  health.  Now,  if 
you  carry  her  off,  and  marry  her  against  her 
will,  she  can't  blame  any  one  but  you  and 
me,  and  I  don't  think  she  can  be  long  angry 
with  either  of  us," 

Frank  smiled,  and  loved  his  brother  very 
dearly  for  his  vehemence.  And  when  he  de- 
tailed to  Catherine  his  proposal  in  all  its  ex- 
travagant wildnesa,  there  was  a  touch  of  sad- 
ness in  the  smile  with  which  he  related  it, 
and  in  that  with  which  she  listened — a  sad- 
ness perhaps  inseparable  from,  love  so  deep 
as  theirs,  yet  showing  that  a  foreboding  of 
evil  was  in  the  heart  of  each. 


A  FIRST  SORROW, 

Arise  !  this  da7  shall  shm« 

For  ever  more. 
To  thoe  a  star  divine 

Oq  Time's  dark  shore. 

Till  DOW  thy  sonl  hu  been 

All  glad  and  ga j : 
Bid  it  awake,  and  look 

At  grief  to-daj  I 

No  shade  ban  come  between 

Thee  and  the  sun  ; 
Like  some  long  childish  dream 

Thy  lir«  has  run : 

But  now.  the  stieam  hat  reached 

A  dark  deep  sea. 
And  sorrow,  dim  and  crowned, 

Is  waiting  thee. 

Each  of  God's  soldiers  bears 

A  sword  divine : 
Stretch  out  thj  trembling  hands 

To-day  for  thine ! 

To  each  anointed  Priest 
Qod*s  summons  came: 

Oh,  soul,  he  speaks  to-day, 
And  calls  thy  name. 

Then,  with  slow  reverent  step. 

And  beating  heart, 
From  out  thy  joyous  days. 

Thou  must  depart. 

And,  leaving  all  behind. 

Come  forth,  al«no. 
To  join  the  chosen  band 

Around  the  throne. 


Raise  up  thine  eyes — be  strong, 

Nor  cast  away 
The  crown,  that  God  has  given 

Thy  soul  to-day  I 


IMPORTANT  RUBBISH. 

We  have,  in  one  of  our  former  nnmhers,* 
shown  how  art  and  science  have  been  brought 
to  bear  upon  things  before  thought  worthies*: 
how  the  refuse  of  the  smithy,  the  gas-works, 
and  the  slaughter-house,  have  been  made  to 
yield  products  the  most  valuable,  results  the 
most  beautiful.  We  are  now  about  to  relate 
how  another  useful  step  has  been  made  in 
our  Penny  Wisdom. 

The  iron  wealth  of  England  is  a  proverb  in 
the  most  remote  corners  of  the  world.  It 
produces  the  enormous  amount  of  three  mil- 
lions of  tons  annually.  We  export  to  all  parts 
of  the  world  iron  and  steel  to  the  yearly 
value  of  ten  millions  sterling,  and  machinery 
and  tools  to  the  extent  of  two  millions ;  sums 
that  equal  the  revenue  of  more  than  one 
kingdom. 

In  travelling  through  the  iron  districts  of 
England,  it  is  impossible  to  avoid  being  struck 
with  the  vastness  of  the  works  carried  on  in 
those  places.  A  journey  through  our  mining 
districts — where  undying  flames  leap  forth 
from  hundreds  of  volcanoes,  and  aromnd 
which  nothing  is  discoverable  but  blackened 
piles  of  cinders  and  unsightly  slag — will  not 
be  easily  forgotten.  For  scores  and  scores 
of  miles,  the  traveller  beholds  these  appa- 
rently interminable  heaps  of  refuse  ore. 
Carts,  wagons,  and  trucks  may  be  seen  on 
all  sides,  occupied  in  the  endless  task  of  re- 
moving this  metallic  encumbrance  of  the 
smel ting-works.  Hundreds  of  labourers  are 
engaged  in  conveying  to  remote  and  undis- 
turbed spots,  the  enormous  piles  of  black, 
friable,  clinkery-looking  stuff, — the  slag,  that 
day  by  day  and  hour  by  hour  is  produced  by 
the  smelters  of  iron  ore.  Some  is  flung 
down  deep  gullies,  and  hidden  in  the  dark 
yawning  recesses  of  ravines,  when  haply  any 
such  are  to  be  found.  Some  is  employed  ia 
the  hardening  of  rotten  roadways,  where  it 
is  made  to  perform  a  very  unsatisfactory 
sort  of  duty  for  stone.  Occasionally  it  is 
shot  into  the  sea,  when  near  enough  for 
that  purpose,  which,  however,  is  not  often  the 
case. 

Of  the  actual  extent  of  this  rubbish  pro- 
duction some  idea  may  be  formed,  when  it  is 
stated,  as  it  has  been,  on  very  good  authority, 
that  in  the  removal  of  all  this  waste  slag  from 
the  furnace-mouths  of  the  United  Kingdom, 
not  much  less  than  half-a-million  sterling  is 
annually  expended.  Indeed,  it  has  been  cal- 
culated that  in  round  numbers  there  are,  at 
the  present  time,  fully  six  millions  of  tona  of 
this  refuse  material  produced  in  one  year. 
At  this  rate  it  would  be  easy  to  imagine  tlie 

♦Penny  Wisdom,  voL  vi.  p.  OT. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Chariet  Dicketu.] 


IMPORTANT  RUBBISH. 


377 


gulUes,  pit*,  and  ravines  of  the  iron  districts 
becoming  filled  up  at  no  very  remote  period, 
when  iron-masters  would  have  to  go  farther 
in  search  of  secluded  spots  whereon  rubbish 
might  be  shot. 

The  philosopher  who,  by  the  aid  of  scien- 
tific observation  and  research,  can  point  out 
lo  us  how  to  turn  all  this  perplexing  mass  of 
unproductive  refuse  to  good  and  profitable 
account — how,  by  a  simple  method,  we  may 
convert  this  ugly,  useless  clinker  into  a  beau- 
tiful means  of  ornamentation,  and  make  it 
an  indestructible  and  economical  agent  in 
the  construction  of  public  works  and  dwel- 
ling-houses,— surely  the  man  who  can  ac- 
complish this  deserves  some  thanks  at  our 
hands. 

All  this  has  been  accomplished  by  the 
patient  research  of  Dr.  W.  H.  Smith  of  Phila- 
delphia, United  States,  who  recently  deli- 
Tered  a  lecture  on  the  subject  to  the  members 
of  our  Society  of  Arts.  In  this  interest- 
ing discourse,  the  lecturer  pointed  out  the 
brittle  and  useless  character  of  the  mineral 
refuse  of  smelting  furnaces,  as  at  present 
known  under  the  name  of  slag.  A  careful 
anal^is  of  this  hitherto  rejected  product  of 
our  iron- works  shows  that  it  is  composed,  in 
the  main,  of  lime,  silica,  and  alumina,  with 
an  occasional  admixture  of  magnesia  and 
sulphur.  In  all  parts  of  the  world  the  same 
results  are  arrived  at  Th??  slag  of  France  or 
Sweden  differs  in  no  essentials  from  that  of 
Britain  or  the  United  States.  It  is  scarcelv 
necessary  to  remind  the  reader  of  the  simi- 
larity in  the  process  of  smelting  ores,  and  the 
vast  operations  of  natpre  beneath  the  crust 
of  the  earth,  where,  by  a  like  agency  of  heat, 
mountainous  deposits  of  igneous  rocks  are 
constantly  being  thrown  off. 

The  rocks  of  this  origin  are  met  with  in 
stupendous  masses  in  most  parts  of  the  world. 
Whilst  Nature,  on  the  one  hand,  employs 
her  igneous  products  in  the  construction  of 
gigantic  mountain- palaces,  man,  well  aware 
of  their  great  value,  equally  applies  those 
rocks,  under  the  names  of  granite,  felspar, 
basalt,  greenstone,  syenite,  porphyry,  serpen- 
tine, &c.,  in  the  construction  of  his  most 
elaborated  architectural  edifices.  High  geo- 
logical authorities  tell  us  that  if  we  examine 
the  composition  of  the  crust  of  the  globe,  we 
shall  find  that  of  all  the  earths  and  earthy 
substances  therein,  three  only  will  be  ascer- 
tained to  constitute  its  great  bulk,  namely, 
silica,  alumina,  and  lime,  precisely  those 
which  mainly  compose  the  slag  of  the  smelt- 
iup-house. 

The  worker  in  ores,  when  he  is  occupied 
with  his  blast-furnace  is,  in  fact,  but  re- 
peating, on  a  small  scale,  the  grandest 
operations  of  nature,  deep  in  the  bowels  of 
the  earth.  Heat  is  the  great  first  agency 
employed  by  nature  and  by  the  philosopher 
m  the  decomposition  and  re-combination 
which  produce  some  of  the  most  beautiful 
and  useful  products  with  which  we  are  ac-  f 


quainted.  Dr.  Smith  has  shown  that  the 
rubbish  of  the  smel ting-house  is  identical  in 
character,  and  equally  valuable,  with  most  of 
the  igneous  rocky  substances. 

Like  many  other  valuable  discoveries,  this 
result  was  arrived  at  whilst  searching  for 
something  else.  It  is  well  to  relate  how  this 
truth,  so  interesting  in  itself  apart  from  com- 
mercial ,  results,  was  seized  upon  by  the 
American  philosopher,  since  it  may  tend  to 
eucourage  such  as  may  be  toiling  in  other 
fields  of  research.  Impressed  with  a  convic- 
tion of  the  influence  of  electricity  upon  life, 
health,  and  disease.  Dr.  Smith,  at  that  time  a 
practitioner  in  Philadelphia,  commenced  a 
series  of  experiments  in  electro-agencies  on 
the  human  frame.  Success  in  that  question 
induced  him  to  carry  his  researches  to  vege- 
table life,  and  from  animate  he  was  led  to  direct 
his  observations  to  inanimate  objects.  Mineral 
matter  received  attention  from  him,  and, 
weighing  well  the  geological  facts  alluded  to 
above.  Dr.  Smith  bent  the  energies  of  his 
mind  to  trace  the  effects  of  electricity  in  all 
these  combinations  and  reproductions. 

Comparing  the  condition  and  character  of 
slag  with  that  of  the  igneous  rocks  of  nature, 
he  felt  that  to  electric  agency  must  be  attri- 
buted the  cause  of  the  great  differenco  existing 
between  them.  In  order  to  test  this,  he  took 
a  piece  of  the  vitrified  mass  of  slag  hot  from 
the  furnace-mouth,  and  applied  to  it  a  metallic 
rod.  At  the  point  where  this  electric  con- 
ductor came  in  contact  with  the  substance, 
the  vitrified  mass  assumed  a  pulverulent 
character ;  several  rods  were  employed,  and 
at  each  point  of  contact  similar  changes  in 
the  condition  of  the  slag  were  observable. 
The  electricity  rapidly  engendered  during  the 
smelting  process  was  parted  with  as  quickly 
on  the  application  of  the  metal  conductors, 
and  hence  the  sudden  and  marked  change  in 
the  condition  of  the  mineral. 

In  order  more  fully  to  test  this  theory,  the 
experimenter  threw  a  quantity  of  the  molten 
slag,  fresh  from  the  ftirnace-mouth,  into 
water.  Every  atom  of  the  liquid  being  a 
good  conductor  of  electricity  rapidly  absorbed 
it  as  it  lowered  the  temperature  of  the  mass, 
and  the  immediate  consequence  was,  that  the 
mineral  matter  fell  into  a  coarse  powder, 
entirely  deprived  of  its  former  cohesion  or 
solidity. 

From  these  trials  Dr.  Smith  felt  convinced 
that  his  electrical  theory  was  correct,  and 
that  it  was  to  the  rapid  giving  forth  of  its 
electricity  by  sudden  cooling  in  contact  with 
conducting  media  that  slag  owed  its  brittle 
character — in  other  words,  its  want  of  co- 
hesion and  its  tendency  to  pulverise.  He 
reflected  that  the  great  masses  of  igneous 
rocks  upheaved  from  the  centre  of  heat  were 
in  a  favourable  position  for  gradually  cooling, 
their  gigantic  extent  would  ensure  that 
result — hence  their  extreme  hardness  and 
durability. 

With  the  view  of  completely  testing  the 


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378 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoBdoctodty 


accuracy  of  his  electrical  theory,  Dr.  Smith 
caused  a  quantity  of  slag,  fresh  from  the 
smeltiog-house,  to  flow  upon  a  non-conducting 
substance,  where  it  was  allowed  to  cool  much 
more  gradually  than  was  usually  the  case. 
To  his  great  delight  he  found  that  he  had 
obtained  a  most  complete  verification  of  his 
opinion.  The  product  thus  obtained  had 
entirely  lost  its  semi-vitreous  and  friable 
character,  and  assumed  a  dense,  solid,  and 
rocivy  nature,  capable  of  resisting  the  heaviest 
blows,  and  altogether  assuming  the  peculi- 
arities of  the  igneous  rocks. 

Having  obtained  this  result,  the  experi- 
menter proceeded  to  other  trials.  By  contin- 
uing the  molten  slag,  when  removed  from 
the  furnace,  at  a  high  temperature,  in  an 
oven,  where  it  was  afterwards  allowed  to 
cool  very  gradually,  and  then  run  into  moulds 
of  a  non-conducting  substance,  the  material 
was  found  to  have  become  altogether  de-vitri- 
fied, and  to  have  taken  a  beauUfuUy  veined 
and  granulated  character  of  extreme  bad- 
ness, approaching  to  the  solidity  and  strength 
of  the  finest  marble.  By  varying  the  heat 
applied,  by  the  admixture  of  colourin^r  mat- 
ters, and  by  a  subsequent  polish  applied  to 
the  surface,  the  experimenter  has  succeeded 
in  producing  a  perfect  imitation  of  cornelian, 
agate,  malachite,  or  any  other  of  the  more 
valuable  mineral  products. 

Here  then  we  see  how  an  inquiry  having 
for  its  object  the  elucidation  of  a  purely 
scientific  theory,  has  led  the  inquirer,  by 
imperceptible  steps,  to  a  most  valuable  disco- 
very, by  means  of  which  many  million  of  tons 
of  hitherto  refuse  matter  may  be  converted 
into  really  useful  and  valuable  materials 
for  the  builder,  the  architect,  and  the  deco- 
rator. 

Already,  in  America,  the  slag  of  iron  fur- 
naces, in  its  new  character,  is  employed  for 
paving  purposes  with  the  most  complete  suc- 
cess, whole  thoroughfares  having  been,  for 
several  years,  laid  down  with  this  material, 
without  any  perceptible  wear  of  the  surface. 
In  the  form  of  building-bricks  it  is  likewise 
in  considerable  use  ;  and  builders  in  some  of 
the  principal  cities  of  the  United  States  testify 
to  the  perfect  adaptation  of  such  bricks,  and 
to  their  great  superiority  and  economy  over 
the  common  clay  brick. 

It  is  not  easy  to  limit  the  application  of 
this  valuable  rubbish.  Wherever  durability 
is  required,  united  with  peculiarity  of  form, 
there  the  prepared  slag  will  be  K>und  per- 
fectly adapted ;  for,  inasmuch  as  it  can  be 
cast  into  moulds  of  an^  shape,  all  labour 
spent  in  hewing  and  cutting  marble  or  stone 
is  avoided.  It  is  perfectly  compact  and  im- 
pervious, and  therefore  admirably  suited 
for  the  construction  of  aqueducts  of  any 
size.  It  remains  unacted  on  by  chemi- 
cals of  the  greatest  8tren|^th,  consequently 
may  be  employed  for  making  gas-piping,  as 
it  will  last  out  may  of  the  ordinary  iron 
pipes. 


When  wrought  in  its  higher  character,  ma 
into  suitable  moulds,  and  polished  more  bril- 
liantly than  marble  or  porphyry,  it  will 
furnish  pillars,  facades,  slabs,  &c.^  for  the 
ornamentation  of  mansions,  halls,  and  public 
buildings,  at  m  price  and  in  a  style  not 
hitherto  attained.  We  have  specimens  of 
this  beautifully  polished  material  before  us, 
and  certainly  we  can  see  in  it  that  which  is 
likely  to  bring  about  a  complete  revolutioii 
in  house  architecture.  Who  will  be  conteat 
with  porous  bricks,  perishable  stucco-work,  or 
soft  crumbling  stone,  when  such  adamantine 
cornelian-like  material  is  to  be  had,  that 
shall  defy  the  action  of  London  smoke  and 
factory  vapours?  We  can  picture  in  oar 
mind's  eye  a  new  Belgravia,  a  second  Tybor- 
nia,  rising  up  at  the  bidding  of  some  advezi> 
turous  Cubitt  or  Peto,  built  with  slag  bricks, 
and  faced  with  a  polished  front  of  surpass- 
ing brilliancy,  in  the  most  exquisite  forms, 
aud  apparently  composed  of  marble,  agate, 
cornelian,  porphyry,  and  malachite.  If  a 
shade  of  dust  or  smoke  settle  on  it,  the  first 
shower  of  rain  restores  it  to  its  original 
brilliancy.  Time  will  have  little,  if  any, 
efi*ect  on  it ;  and  as  for  repairs  or  beauti- 
fying every  third  or  fourth  year,  such  care 
would  never  be  needed.  All  this  we  expect 
to  see  before  many  seasons  shall  have  passed 
over  us. 

It  is  impossible  to  over-estimate  the  advan- 
tages likely  to  arise  from  this  new  branch  of 
industry,  so  simple  in  its  application,  yet  so 
widely  available  in  most  European  countries, 
not  only  with  the  refuse  products  of  iron- 
works, but  with  those  resultfng  from  the 
smelting  of  copper,  lead,  and  zinc  ores.  The 
rough  slabs  or  tiles  for  pavements  or  roofing 
can  be  sold,  with  a  Iftrgc  profit,  at  fourpence- 
halfpenny  the  foot.  When  highly  poliFhed, 
at  eighteenpence.  In  its  more  finished  and 
ornamented  forms,  for  architectural  purposes, 
this  material  possesses,  of  course,  a  much 
greater  value,  dependent  on  its  durability  and 
beauty. 

Regarding  this  important  discovery  from 
whatsoever  point  of  view,  whether  in  refer- 
ence to  the  vast  quantity  of  now  useles 
refuse  that  may  be  made  valuable,  to  the 
many  interests  that  will  be  benefited  by  it, — 
iron-masters,  copper-smelters,  builders,  archi- 
tects, house-decorators,  and  water-companies, 
— ^we  cannot  but  look  upon  it  as  one  of  the 
most  promising  results  of  modern  science  in 
an  age  peculiarly  fruitful  in  marvellous 
inventions,  and  rich  in  its  daily  Penny 
Wipdom. 

We  have,  in  a  previous  paper,  shown  the 
marvellous  powers  of  electricity,  in  the  pro- 
duction of  light.  Here  we  find  the  same 
subtle  element  busily  employed  in  making 
mere  rubbish  a  beautiful  and  useful  adjunct 
to  the  arts.  How  far  the  same  agency  may 
be  made  subservient  to  the  improving  of 
our  smelted  metals  and  other  products  of  the 
furnace,  we  dare  not  venture  to  predict.    We 


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Cbwlei  DlckeiM.3 


CHIPS. 


379 


will  content  ourselves  with  directing  the  at- 
tention of  founders,  assayers,  and  all  work- 
ers in  metal,  glass,  and  porcelain,  to  the  sub- 
ject 

CHIPS. 


A  RIVER  PICTURE  IN  SUMMER. 

Summer  at  last :  gay,  glowing,  exuberant 
summer ;  laughing  through  windows,  sport- 
ing up  staircases,  playing  at  hide  and  seek  in 
ivied  turrets,  tripping  in  roguish  elfin  fa^ion 
through  thicket  and  wood,  and  here,  from  the 
smooth  mirror  of  this  tranquil  river  in  dizzy 
reflections  of  light,  till  the  letters  on  the  page 
of  my  book  scud  away  altogether,  and  reading 
is  out  of  the  question.  There  now,  the  win- 
dow is  open,  and  that  wa^ard  spirit  of  a 
breeze  tbat  has  been  whining  for  admittance 
is  at  liberty  to  gambol  at  its  wild  will  among 
my  papers.  As  1  droop  my  head  over  my 
hand,  half  for  laziness  and  half  for  shade,  I 
am  conscious  of  all  sorts  ef  summer  influ- 
ences. Now  I  lie  captive  in  the  folds  of  that 
scarf-like  haze  that  floats  and  trembles  lover- 
like over  the  glassy  translucent  surface ;  then 
the  white  petal-Jike  sail  of  some  tiny  boat 
catches  me,  and  I  float  with  It  as  confiding  as 
a  nautilus,  till  I  am  lost  and  melted  down  in 
the  broad  horizon  ;  then  I  mix  with  the  blue 
coils  of  light,  and  clamber  up,  after  two  or 
three  sunny  falls,  the  black  veil  of  some  mo- 
tionless leviathan,  that  with  yards  crossed, 
and  sails  all  loose,  lies  asleep  on  its  watery 
shadow ;  then  I  hear  the  gradual  clank  of  the 
anchor,  and  the  blithe  rollicking  troll  of  the 
sailors  as  they  skip  round  the  polished  cycle 
of  the  windlass,  singing  not  of  Mount  Abora 
but  Alabama.  Now  a  long  creamy  line  bisects 
the  expanse  of  blue.  I  hear  the  splash  and 
hiss  of  the  paddle,  and  a  gust  of  metallic 
music  thrills  the  stagoant  air  by  me,  and  I 
turn  to  watch  the  jaunty  little  ferrv-boat,  as 
it  coquettishly  flirts  and  curtseys  through  an 
arcana  of  foam.  What  a  delicious  medium 
of  sounds  water  is  I  how  it  mitigates  and  idea- 
lises the  rude  work-day  world  tones:  the 
hubbub  of  a  town,  the  splash  of  a  steamer, 
the  monotone  of  a  ship-bell,  when  translated 
by  this,  all  lose  their  original  dissonance,  and 
gain  an  idiom,  which,  if  not  music,  is  inter- 
spersed with  sounds  nearly  allied  with  it. 
See !  a  puff"  of  thin  blue  smoke,  and  a  quick 
bright  snake-like  dart  of  yellow  flame,  fol- 
lowed by  a'deep  sullen  boom  that  rattles  the 
window  panes,  and  all  but  spills  my  ink. 
Ha !  there  is  a  sight  worth  looking  at  How 
statelily—nay  imperially — she  subdies  the 
water ;  not  flinging  it  off  in  scorn  with  an  im- 
patient angry  face,  but  trampling  it  under  her 
keel  noiselessly,  like  a  conqueror.  How  the 
stars  and  stripes  at  her  fore,  flaunt  out  against 
the  sky  :  and  the  huge  red  funnel  and  the 
glittering  brass  rail  of  her  crowded  quarter- 
deck—what salient  points  are  they  for  the 
light!   As  I  bend  forward  to  listen  I  can  al- 


most distinguish — so  still  is  it — the  parting 
huzzas  from  the  light  little  satellite  tbat 
slowly  drops  behind  to  let  her  roqse  all  her 
strength  up  for  a  battle  with  tl)e  Atlantic. 

It  is  a  bright  noon  now,  and  the  green  field 
below  looks  cool  and  inviting.  Why  should 
I  not  bask  there,  and  gladden  mine  eye  with 
a  wider  range  ?  The  half-alive  lapping  of  the 
tide  in  the  rocks,  and  the  swaying  of  the  gro* 
tesque  knots  of  black  sea- weed,  like  so  many 
jelly-fish,  and  the  careless  follow-my-leader- 
like  dipping  of  the  white  gulls,  and  the  bob- 
bing gasping  struggle  of  the  buoys,  and  the 
tenacious  resistance  of  the  vessels  at  anchor, 
and  their  tory-like  dislike  to  turn  round  with 
the  tide  ;  these  are  so  many  pleasant  bits 
of  side-play  that  I  amuse  myself  with 
observing.  And  then,  on  some  little  sandy 
promontory  or  isthmus  some  blithe  seven- 
years* -old  heroes  are,  Canute -like,  defy- 
ing the  sea ;  and,  when  cut  off  at  last,  re- 
gaining terra  firma  with  a  leap  that  has 
all  the  mimicry  if  not  the  importance  of 
heroism. 

For  the  main  figures  of  my  cimvass  I  have 
variety  enough  :  here  a  zig-zag  line  of  clum- 
sy canal-boats  in  tow  ;  there  a  New  York 
clipper  with  its  tall  taper  masts  and  snow- 
white  flat  cotton  sails ;  then  a  yacht,  with  its 
blue  pendant  and  main-sheet  all  but  dipping 
the  water ;  here  the  red,  blue,  and  white  of 
the  Dutchman,  with  his  porpoise-like  prow, 
and  yellow  oily  hull;  or  the  sumptuous 
orange  of  the  Spaniard  or  Portuguese,  with 
its  Columbus-like  recollections  and  Dolci 
hombre  di  Jesu !  A  bright  busy  scintillating 
water-picture  enough,  when  I  have  added  the 
lighthouse  and  the  fort  in  the  distance,  and 
the  clock  tower  with  its  shining  dial  opposite^ 
and  the  forest-like  line  of  masts  on  the  shore, 
and  the  dome,  and  the  church  towers,  and 
the  labyrinthine  interlacing  of  warehouses 
and  chimneys  that  rise  tier  after  tier  along 
the  miles  of  shore  on  the  other  side  till  the 
smoke  is  clear,  and  you  discern  a  blue  ridge, 
when,  may  be,  if  you  had  an  eagle's  eye,  you 
might  be  conscious  of  a  clear  reservoir  and  a 
secret  underground  pathway,  which,  though 
not  under  protection  of  nymph  or  naiad,  is 
surely  not  without  the  tutelage  of  some  as 
benign  spirit,  if  it  be  the  engineer  of  a  water 
company ;  when,  with  the  hints  of  cool  baths, 
and  of  sunbeams  that  have  not  the  life 
crushed  out  of  them  by  falling  too  far  from 
the  clouds,  I  leave  you  to  rest  or  to  wander 
at  your  pleasure. 

THE  SCALE  OP  PROMOTION. 

It  was  not  many  months  since  that  the 
prime-minister  of  one  of  the  Italian  sove- 
reigns was  an  Englishman  ;  who  had  in  days 
gone  by  served  his  ducal  master  in  the  capa- 
city of  groom. 

It  is  not  many  years  since  that  the  prime- 
minister  of  the  King  of  Oude — the  arbiter  of 
fortune,  of  life  and  death,  at  Lucknow — was 
an  Englishman  also,  who  had  first  entered 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


380 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coodactcd  by 


the  service  of  the  Indian  monarch  in  the  I 
humble  station  of  barber.    In  the  course  of 
time  the  barber-minister  retired  to  his  native 
land  with  an  oriental  fortune,  independent  of 
rojal  curls  or  royal  smiles.  I 

At  this  present  moment  promotions  quite  | 
as  singular,  though  not  quite  so  lofty,  are  ' 
made  in  one  of  our  Indian  Presidencies ;  and, 
seeing  that  the  Honourable  Court  of  Direc- 
tors have  very  recently  published  a  list  of  | 
such  qualifications  as  they  consider  necessary 
for  the  future  aspirants  for  civil  service  in 
India,  it  may  not  be  amiss  to  state  what  is  ' 
looked  upon  in  the  City  of  Palaces  as  the  i 
best  passport  to  high  office.  | 

The  gentleman  who  is  now  the  Governor 
of  the  Presidency  alluded  to,  is  an  ardent 
lover  of  music  ;  a  taste  for  which  when  pro- 1 
perly  shown  is  a  credit  to  the  possessor,  and 
a  pleasure  to  his  friends.    His  excellency  is  ' 
anxious  to  collect  about  him  others  of  a  like  : 
taste,  a  commendable  desire  if  properly  car-  ' 
ried  out.    But  it  so  happens  that  this  is  not  ' 
the  case.    Civilians  of  the  poorest  capacity,  \ 
or  greatest  -inactivity,  but  performers    on  i 
some  instrument,  are  retained  at  the  seat  of 
government  in  posts  requiring  superior  qua-  | 
lifications,  for  the  simple  gratification  of  a  ! 
musical  taste.    It  is  thought  necessary  that  i 
the  governor's  concerts  be  well  got  up  even 
at  the  risk  of  jeopardising  the  smooth  work- 
ing of  the  machinery  of  government. 

Let  the  crowd  of  young  candidates  who  In 
August  next  present  themselves  for  examina- 
tion before  the  East  India  Company's  exa- 
miners bear  the  above  well  in  mind.  To 
enable  a  youth  to  pass  the  ordeal  on  this 
side  of  the  hemisphere,  classics,  mathematics, 
or  modern  languages,  may  be  necessary  ;  but 
that  he  should  pass  the  ordeal  on  the  other 
side  with  equal  success,  proficiency  in  some 
branch  of  the  musical  art,  will  be  absolutely 
essential ;  for  there  the  scale  of  promotion  is 
regulated  by  the  gamut. 

WHAT  IT  IS  TO  HAVE  FORE- 
FATHERS. 
It  was  a  dark  winter's  night,  of  which  we 
have  no  doubt  there  were  many  in  the  year 
fifteen  hundred  and  fifty-five.  This  was  the 
darkest,  the  windiest,  the  coldest  night  of 
them  all.  There  was  no  moon ;  if  there  had 
been  any  in  the  almanac,  it  would  have  been 
blown  ont  like  a  candle  in  a  broken  lantern. 
There  was  the  sound  of  a  roaring  river  that 
mingled  with  the  crashing  of  leafless  branch- 
es. A  dog  at  a  considerable  distance  occa- 
sionally added  fresh  horror  to  the  hideous 
sounds  by  a  melancholy  howl.* Sir  Reinhold, 
or  Rennold,  or  Ranald;  for  orthographjr 
even  in  proper  names  was  not  a  settled  sci- 
ence in  those  days,  was  sitting — but  we  had 
better  tell  some  little  about  him  first,  and 
also  where  he  was. 

Twenty  years  before  this  time  he  had  become 


the  owner  of  the  Black  Scawr  Tower  by  mar- 
riage with  the  heiress.  At  first  he  had  been 
the  companion — some  said  the  favourite  man- 
at-arms — of  her  father,  Sir  Torquil  of  the 
Scawr.  Immense  in  size,  unequalled  in 
strength,  unapproachable  in  mastery  of  his 
weapons,  the  young  Reinhold  created  terror 
and  admiration  almost  in  an  equal  degree. 
Sir  Torquil  himself  became  afraid  of  him,  and 
for  many  years  before  he  died  he  seemed  to 
have  surrendered  his  vast  estates  into  the 
hands  of  his  retainer,  and  followed  his  direc- 
tions as  if  he  had  been  a  slave.  The  estate 
was  vast  but  sterile.  The  tower  that  gave 
name  to  the  property  lay  at  some  twenty  or 
thirty  miles  from  the  capital  of  Scotland  ;  a 
dreary  wilderness  extended  for  miles  on  every 
side,  with  here  and  there  a  small  patch  of 
arable  or  grass  land  on  the  side  of  some 
brawling  burn,  which  in  sammer  perhaps  was 
dry.  and  in  the  winter  flooded  all  the  coun- 
try like  a  lake.  In  the  very  middle  of  the 
estate,  in  a  district  of  com  and  barley,  and 
amid  fields  of  grass,  and  miles  of  park-like 
land,  stocked  with  sheep  and  deer,  rose  the 
stately  towers  of  the  great  monastery  of 
Strathwoden— originally,  from  the  name,  a 
Danish  establishment,  but  rescued  from  hea- 
thendom by  the  early  church,  -and  placed 
under  the  guardianship  of  Saint  Bridget  of 
Dumfries.  It  was  a  perfect  land  of  Goshen 
compared  to  the  rest  of  the  country ;  a  fat 
island  surrounded  by  a  hungry  sea  ;  a  money- 
changer's window,  with  all  its  puzzling  vari- 
eties of  coin  and  paper,  within  sight  of  all  the 
convicts  from  Botany  Bay;  in  slvort,  as  a 
poet  might  say — but  never  yet  has  said— it 
was  like  an  oasis  in  the  desert.  And  the 
church  had  got  it — had  put  her  wide  arms 
round  it  and  embraced  it  on  every  side ;  had 
fertilised  its  fields,  and  added  beauty  to  its 
scenery  by  splendid  architecture,  and  scared 
away  lightning  and  fiends  from  it  by  perpe- 
tual ringing  of  bells  and  singing  of  psalms; 
and  had  fattened  fifty  monks  to  a  point  that 
it  was  painful  to  witness,  for  they  were  all 
afflicted  with  asthma,  and  many  had  the  goat, 
and  sometimes  the  half  of  them  were  laid  up 
with  jaundice,  and  a  few  of  them  occasionally 
died  of  their  religious  exercises,  and  also 
some  of  delirium  tremens.  Strathwoden 
Abbey  was  the  centre  of  an  ecclesiastical  ter- 
ritory of  four  or  five  miles  square,  strong, 
comfortable,  thick-walled,  low-placed  upon 
the  banks  of  the  pastoral  Woden  ;  and  half 
an  hour's  ride  from  it — a  good  horse  would 
go  at  the  rate  of  ten  miles  an  hour — gaunt, 
grim,  dark,  scowling,  and  perched  defyingly 
on  the  precipitous  banks  of  a  tumbling, 
splashing,  sunless  water,  called  the  Naddera- 
fang,  rose  the  walls  of  Black  Scawr  Tower. 
Sir  Torquil  had  looked  for 'forty  years  at 
that  wonderful  domain,  sacred  to  Ceres  and 
St.  Bridget,  which  would  have  lain  like  a 
brooch  of  inestimable  value  on  the  breast  of 
his  threadbare  plaid,  but  which  he  was 
forced  to  behold  firmly  fixed  on  the  golden 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbarlei  Dickens.] 


WHAT  IT  IS  TO  HAVE  FOREFATHERS. 


381 


garment  of  Mother  Church,  and  guarded  from 
hostile  approach  by  bell,  book,  and  candle, 
fifty  slightly  apoplectic  monks,  and  the  tute- 
lary name  of  the  patroness  of  Dumfries. 
There  came  over  from  foreign  parts — from 
the  valleys  of  Savoy,  and  from  Geneva,  a  sort 
of  subdued  whisper  that  a  reformation  of 
heart  and  life  was  universally  required ;  that 
the  purity  of  the  original  law  had  been 
departed  from;  that  Christianity  consisted  in 
forgiveness  of  injuries,  love  to  our  fellow  men, 
nnselfishness,  and  doing  unto  others  as  we 
would  they  should  do  unto  us ;  and  Sir 
Torquil  at  once  became  a  reformer,  and 
determined  if  he  could  to  get  possession  of 
the  church's  lands,  and  starve  out  the  Abbot 
of  Stratbwoden  and  all  his  monks.  Accord- 
ingly, after  deep  consultation  with  Sir  Rein- 
hold,  who  had  been  knighted  by  the  Regent 
at  Linlithgow  after  slaying  a  gentleman  in 
single  combat,  whose  horse  he  bad  borrowed 
and  declined  to  return,  Sir  Torquil  deter- 
mined to  lay  claim  to  a  snug  little  farm  of  a 
thousand  acres  or  so,  that  lay  next  his 
western  march,  and  looked  about  for  some 
perjured  witnesses  to  swear  they  remem- 
bered the  land  in  his  father's  possession,  and 
that  they  had  seen  the  lease  for  nineteen 
years,  under  which  it  was  held  by  the  monas- 
tery. The  abbot  was  a  fat  man — a  jolly  man 
—overflowing  with  good  nature,  and  a  sort 
of  Christian  charity  which  consisted  in 
making  himself  and  everybody  else  as  com- 
fortable as  he  could.  He  was  very  much 
shocked  at  the  audacious  attempt.  He 
dediaed  for  a  while  to  take  legal  notice  of 
the  claim,  and  determined  therefore  to  pro- 
ceed in  a  strictly  clerical  and  Christian  man- 
ner. Thereupon  he  procured  some  of  the 
peasantry,  and  one  or  two  of  the  chief  farmers 
op  his  demesne,  to  give  formal  notice  to  the 
bishop  of  the  diocese  that  Sir  Torquil  was 
pa*se8sed ;  that  they  had  on  several  occasions 
seen  him  accompanied  by  a  large  black  dog, 
and  that  it  was  very  well  known  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood that  he  had  sold  himself  to  the 
devil.  So.  while  the  retainers  of  the  abbey, 
well  armed,  and  commanded  by  the  liveliest  of 
the  monks,  under  a  banner  in  which  was 
sewn  a  portion  of  the  petticoat  of  their  patron 
saint,  ejected  the  intruders  with  many  a 
whack  and  many  a  bang,  a  body  of  more  aged 
and  reverend  divines  started  in  solemn  pro- 
cesKion  across  the  moor,  with  a  great  quantity 
of  holy  relics,  and  several  ceusers  swaying 
about  with  sweet-smelling  perfumes,  and  on 
arriving  in  the  courtyard  of  the  Tower  pro- 
ceeded to  exorcise  the  evil  spirit  out  of  the 
unfortunate  knight. 

It  waq  a  very  evil  spirit  that  had  got  pos- 
session of  that  worthy  man— a  violent  spirit 
—an  angry  spirit  —  a  moat  irreverent  spirit ; 
and  it  incited  him  to  do  a  variety  of  tnings 
unbecoming  a  Christian  gentleman  in  any 
business  he  may  have  to  transact  with  a 
mitred  abbot  and  eighteen  venerable  monks. 
He  rushed  forth  from  his  hall,  where  he  had 


been  refreshing  himself  with  a  half-ox 
roasted  and  a  kilderkin  of  ale,  and  with  his 
quarter-stafl",  which  fortunately  was  the  wea- 
pon he  first  laid  bauds  on,  he  performed 
such  feats  on  the  heads  and  bodies  of  the 
reverend  cavalcade  as  never  since  that  time 
has  been  achieved  by  a  troop  of  French 
tambours  upon  the  regimental  drums.  It 
was  a  shower  of  blows;  a  hailstorm  of 
cracks  on  the  head  ;  an  avalanche  of  thumps 
on  the  shoulders ;  a  hurricane  of  kicks  on  all 
parts  of  the  body.  A  threshing  of  corn  with 
fifty  flails  was  nothing  to  it;  a  beating  of 
carpets  by  a  thousand  hands  on  the  outskirts 
of  a  great  town  was  nothing  to  it:  it  fell  — 
is  squashed  —  it  battered  —  it  bruised  —  it 
bounded,  and  fell  again  —  till  there  was 
limping,  and  howling,  and  holding  up  of 
arms,  and  entreaties  to  cease,  and  apolo- 
gies for  the  intrusion  and  finally  retreat 
—  dispersion  —  disappearance;  and  nothing 
was  left  but  an  old  man  out  of  bn^ath, 
with  a  broken  quartcr-stafi'  in  his  hand, 
surrounded  by  fragments  of  centers,  and 
relic-chests,  and  white  surplices,  and  square 
caps,  and  chasubles,  and  copes,  and  a  sweet- 
smelling  savour  exhaling  frankincense  and 
myrrh. 

Sir  Reinhold  saw  the  abl>ot  that  night. 
He  had  a  black  patch  on  his  nose,  and  his  left 
eye  was  bunged  up  entirely.  His  arm  was 
in  a  sling,  and  his  left  leg  lay  swathed  in 
cloths,  and  reclining  on  a  cushion  ;  the  foot 
and  ankle  were  bare,  red,  and  inflamed,  like 
a  baby  ill  of  the  measles. 

"From  Sir  Torquil  of  the  Scawr?"  said 
the  abbot,  in  answer  to  Sir  Reiuhold's  an- 
nouncement of  the  object  of  his  visit.  '•  He 
is  given  over  to  the  evil  one,  body  and  soul, 
and  must  expiate  his  blasphemy  at  the 
stake." 

'•In  the  meantime  his  followers  will  take 
forcible  possession  of  the  fat  acres  along  the 
banks  of  the  Speith,  and  the  corn  and  wine 
and  oil  of  the  holy  fathers  will  be  ^much 
diminished  thereby." 

"We  have  an  enlightened  and  contented 
tenantry,  and  feed  fifty  poor  folks  every  day 
at  noon.  They  will  fight  in  defence  of  their 
abbot  and  SU  firidget" 

'*  We  have  two  hundred  men-at-arms 
ready  to  trample  on  abbot,  and  saint,  and 
lo  hold  the  lands  in  spite  of  devil  and 
pope." 

"We?"  said  the  abbot.  "  Is  it  possible 
that  our  son  Sir  Reinhold  has  joined  him- 
self to  the  army  of  Satan!  Has  not  the 
abbey  for  five  years  past  put  itself  under  your 
powerful -protection,  paying  you  for  the  same 
with  much  yellow  gold  and  store  of  fat 
cattle  ?  And  now  you  say  '  We ! '  For 
shame,  my  son  I  Your  friend  Sir  Torquil  is 
possessed  by  an  infinite  number  of  demons — 
I  should  say  five  thousand,  at  least,  from  the 
noise  they  made  this  morning,  and  the  blows 
they  inflicted  from  a  countless  number  of 
sticks  and  quarter-staflfs ;  and  it  would  be 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


S82 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coodnetcd  by 


more  coDSonant  with  yoar  duty  as  an  obedient 
Bon  of  the  church  to  resist  his  unjust  aggres- 
sion than  to  come  hither  as  an  ambassador  to 
maintain  his  cause.'' 

*'  Sir  Torquil  of  the  Scawr,"  replied  Sir 
Reinhold,  **is  a  learned  man,  though  his 
studies  have  been  few,  and  his  powers  of 
reading  are  of  the  plightest,  like  my  own. 
He  has  betaken  himself  to  a  science  called 
theology." 

'-And  therefore  he  rebels  against  the 
church  I    Go  on." 

"  He  thinks  the  Pope  of  Rome  a  presump- 
tuous priest." 

"  And  therefore  he  breaks  the  heads  of  the 
monks  of  Strathwoden." 

"He  doth  not  approve  of  a  celibate 
clergy." 

"  And  therefore  he  seizes  fifteen  hundred 
aqres  of  our  best  land.  Saints  of  old!  what 
logic  is  this  I*' 

*<  And  it  is  our  Intention  to  guard  and  keep 
the  same,  be  the  acreage  more  or  less,  by 
sword  and  shield,  horse  and  spear." 

**  And  all  the  haughs  and  broad  meadows," 
said  the  abbot  With  a  sigh,  *^must  go  to 
reward  that  evil-doer !  Perish  the  land,  so 
he  gets  no  benefit  from  it — yea,  let  Satan 
himself  possess  the  rich  holms  and  swelling 
meadows  so  that  that  man  of  Belial  is  left  to 
his  poverty  and  pride." 

"  You  speak  well  and  wisely,  holy  father," 
said  Sir  Reinhold.  "And  it  was  with  a 
proposition  of  the  sort  I  came  to  visit  your 
reverence  this  day.  1  am  not  Satan.  I  wish 
indeed  1  were  if  be  is  to  be  put  in  possession 
of  the  valleys  of  the  Speith.  But  I  am  Sir 
Reinhold  of  the  greys — by  reason  of  the 
colour  of  my  destriers — a  devout  Christian, 
and  a  true  friend  of  the  abbey  of  Strath- 
woden; and  am  ready^  to  aid  you  in  your 
just  design  of  keeping  Sir  Torquil  from 
fattening  on  the  results  of  his  own  violence. 
Give  me  the  broad  lands  at  a  peppercorn 
rent,  with  right  of  purchase  when  I  can  pay 
you  a  hundred  merks,  and  Sir  Torquil  shall 
swing  from  the  turret  of  his  own  tower 
sooner  than  lay  his  sacrilegious  hands  on  a 
blade  of  grass  or  stack  of  corn  that  ever 
belonged  to  holy  church.  If  you  refuse,  we 
take  the  lands  to-morrow,  and  lay  claim  to 
the  neighbouring  Grange.  For  Sir  Torquil 
thinks  the  cardinals  of  Rome  are  insolent 
churls" 

"  And  therefore  may  justly  confiscate  the 
lands  of  a  Scottish  abbey  I  Oh,  Bridget,  what 
logic  again ! " 

Sir  Reinhold  on  riding  home  late  that  night 
was  observed  towrapaclosely-writtfen  parch- 
ment carefully  next  his  breast  within  his 
steel  cuira<^  He  stepped  into  the  hall  of  the 
tower.  Sir  Torquil  was  asleep  by  the  side  of 
the  fire.  His  daughter  Sibylla  was  engaged 
at  a  tambour-frame  embroidering  a  whimple 
for  the  image  of  St.  Bridget. 

♦*  I  have  seen  the  holy  abbot,"  said  Sir 
Reinhold,  "  and  you  stand  in  great  danger, 


Sir  Torquil  of  the  Scawr,  of  encountering  the 
thunders  of  the  church." 

"  It's  like  other  thunder,"  said  the  old  man, 
rubbing  his  eyes ;  **  it  turns  small-beer  boot, 
but  passes  harmless  over  the  t«n-bushel  malt. 
We  shall  keep  the  Speith  pastures,  in  spite    ; 
of  crosier  and  crown." 

"  The  lands  round  the  Grange  arc  richer 
and  wider,"  said  Sir  Reinhold  quietly. 

"  But  they  never  were  mine,  nor  my  pre- 
decessors'." 

"  The  more  reason  your  successors  should 
become  proprietors  of  the  same." 

"  But  I  am  satisfied  with  the  Speith,"  said 
Sir  Torquil. 

"  So  am  I,  and  with  more  reason ;  for  the  ' 
domain  is  mine  on  payment  of  two  pepper-   ' 
corns  at  Lady-day  and  Christmas.    No  man 
shall  trespass  on  my  lands ;  and  I  warn  you,   , 
Sir  Torquil,  that  the  Grange,  and  all  its  close 
fields,  and  nice  fir  planungt,  and  yellow- 
roofed  cottages,  are  far  more  easily  obtained    , 
from  the  gloved  fingers  of  a  trembling  priest   , 
than  my  own  poor  possession,  even  from  so 
weak  a  hand  as  this." 

"  The  Grange  be  it,  then.  Tell  our  wit-  , 
nesses  they  mistook  one  river  for  the  other; 
it  was  the  Woldbeck  I  meant,  and  not  the 
Speith.  The  thrashing  the  monks  received 
to-day  will  do  for  one  as  well  as  the  other;  , 
so  my  conscience  is  at  rest  on  th&t  score. 
Wine  here !  and  ale  I  —  you  must  be  hot  and 
hungry.  Sit  down.  Sir  Reinhold  of  the 
Speith.  To  our  good  father  the  holy  pope ! " 

Scotland  fell  more  and  more  into  anarchy 
and  disorder.     There  was  no  law,  and  little    • 
security  for  life  or  land.    The  church  alone 
retained  some  appearance  of  organisation; 
but,  unsupported  by  civil  authority,  its  in- 
fiuence  declined.    It  spoke  more  proudly  ts 
its  strength  decayed.    Sir  Torquil  laid  cltun   , 
to  the  Grange,  seized  the  farms,  carried  off 
the  crops,  and  broke  the  bones  of  any  clerical- 
looking   gentleman  he  encountered  in  the  , 
course  of  his  rides.     Some  of  the  monks 
retired  to  the  capital,  and  starved  in  Canon- 
gate  and  High  Street,  instead  of  in  their 
ancient  cells.    Fasting  became  a  much  more 
real  thing  Uian  it  had  ever  been  before ;  hot   |. 
the  abbot  and  some  few  bolder  spirits  were 
still  unsubdued.    They  hurled  an  excommn-  > 
nication  at  the  head  of  the  old  knight ;  and  | 
as  the  death-agony  g^ves  strength  unknown 
even  in  youth  and  hei^th,  the  blow  seemed 
overwhelming  in  the  midst  of  bis  apparent 
success.  Excommunication  was  still  a  fVigfatftil 
word,  though  the  power  of  carrying  it  out 
had  vanished  from  all  other  parts  of  the  land. 
Sir  Reinhold  was  prostrated  with  terror,  and   i 
preached  the  most  rigid  obedience.    He  grew   < 
a  devoted  son  of  the  church  the  moment  the 
sentence  was  passed.  The  weather  was  cold;   i 
but  he  threatened  death  to  any  servitor  who 
should  have  the  unchristian  wickedness  to 
kindle  a  fire  for  poor  old  Sir  Torquil.    Meat 
was  rigorously   refused,  —  water    was  not 
allowed.  Parched  with  thirst,  weakened  with   i 


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WHAT  IT  IS  TO  HAVE  FOREFATHERS. 


383 


hunger,  shivering  with  cold,  pining  in  soli- 
tude and  darkness.  Sir  Torquil  would  have 
gurrendered  house  and  land,  in  addition  to 
his  usurped  territory,  to  have  the  curse 
lifted  from  his  head ;  but  Sir  Reinhold  per- 
severed in  preferring  the  soul's  health  of  his 
patron  to  the  mere  satisfving  of  his  bodily 
wants.  And  at  length,  shpieking  for  food, 
and  staggering  through  hall  and  corridor, 
and  finding  no  one  to  comfort  him,  he  sat 
down  in  his  arm-chair  by  the  side  of  the 
empty  grate,  and  in  the  morning  was  fonnd 
dead,— a  striking  example  of  the  punishment 
that  invariably  pursues  the  unjust  appro- 
priators  of  the  wealth  of  the  church.  His 
will  was  found  and  duly  proved.  It  left  all 
he  had  to  Sir  Reinhold,  now  Sir  Reinhold  of 
the  Speith,  who  had  saved  his  life  on  several 
occasions,  and  bad  been  his  friend  and  sup- 
porter to  the  last.  It  left  him  the  guardian- 
ship of  his  daughter  Sibylla,  and  the  disposal 
of  her  hand  in  marriage, — a  hand  which,  as 
it  carried  with  it  the  possession  of  the  Black 
Scawr  Tower  and  a  whole  county  of  barren 
land,  he  instantly  bestowed  upon  himself. 
No  sooner  legally  clothed  in  Sir  Torquil 's 
rights  than  he  prosecuted  that  conscientious 
individual's  claims  to  the  Grange  with  such 
skill,  that  a  peppercorn  compromise  was 
again  had  recoarse  to,  and  the  memory  of 
Sir  Torquil  cleansed  by  a  solemn  retractation 
of  all  demoniacal  possession  and  a  withdrawal 
of  the  penalty  of  excommunication .  Sir  Rein- 
hold of  the  Scawr  was  now  the  professed 
patron  and  defender  of  the  abbey  of  Strath- 
woden,  and  in  a  few  yeare  had  established 
rights  of  ownership  over  more  than  half  of 
the  much-coveted  lands.  Fiercer  and  fiercer 
in  the  meantime  grew  the  religious  troubles 
in  Scotland.  There  were  Lords  of  the  Articles 
and  Lords  of  the  Congregation;  but  all 
anxious  for  the  spoil  of  the  Romish  Church. 
As  long  as  Sir  Reinhold  was  paid  with  broad 
acres  for  his  defence  of  that  failing  cause,  he 
was  the  most  zealous  votary  of  the  faith.  His 
belief  in  bones  of  martyrs  and  thumb-nails  of 
saints  knew  no  bounds,  except  the  fences  of 
the  rich  fields  still  belonging  to  the  monks ; 
but  when  matters  grew  worse  and  worse,  and 
civil  government  entirely  died  out,  and  ec- 
clesiastical factioiis  carried  on  an  internecine 
war,  a  sudden  light  of  reformation  shone  in 
on  the  darkened  eyes  of  the  papistical  Sir 
Reinhold.  He  became  a  Lord  of  the  Congre- 
gation, snufled  through  the  nose  as  if  he 
laboured  under  a  perpetual  cold,  and  with 
inany  allusions  to  Amalekites  and  smitiogs 
on  hip  and  thi^h,  he  seized  all  the  remaining 
territories  of  his  neighbour  the  Abbot  of 
Straihwoden,  and  enclosed  that  jolly  eccle- 
siastic and  his  now  greatly-depleted  monks 
within  the  narrowest  limits.  There  was 
nothing  left  to  them  of  all  their  gorgeous 
estates  but  a  narrow  strip  round  the  Abbey 
itself ,— not  enough  for  their  maintenance,  but 
quite  enough  to  excite  the  cupidity  of  so 
zealous  a  Protestant  as  Sir  Reinhold  of  the 


Scawr.  Many  of  the  brethren  had  died  ;  the 
abbot  was  old  and  feeble ;  the  peasantry  had 
been  draughted  off  into  the  armed  companies 
required  to  support  Sir  Reinhold's  import- 
ance, and  at  leisure  hours  had  started  as 
freebooters  and  robbers  on  their  own  account. 

It  was  at  this  period  we  introduced  Sir 
Reinhold  to  our  readers.  The  night  was 
dark,  the  wind  blew,  the  river  roared,  as  we 
said  at  the  beginning  of  this  tale ;  and  Sir 
Reinhold  sat  in  his  great  old  hall  absorbed  ii) 
thought. 

"It  is  so  much  pleasanter  a  situation,*'  he 
said,  **  than  this  gruesome  tower  :  a  fruitful 
orchard  at  the  west,  instead  of  tne  scrubby 
planting  here, — a  soft-blowing,  clean-watered 
stream  on  the  north,  instef^  of  this  wild, 
noisy  Naddersferry  below  the  Scawr,— and 
when  the  lazy,  mumbling  shavelings  are  all 
driven  out — by  this  time  they  ought  to  be  in 
the  middle  of  the  river — " 

A  louder  blast  than  usual  shook  the  win- 
dow-frame, as  he  spoke,  and  a  sharp  shower 
of  sleet  sounded  on  the  panes. 

*'  It's  lucky,"  he  said,  "  their  reverences  are 
so  fat  and  well-fed  :  they  will  stand  the  wea- 
ther better  than  tne  thin  sides  of  a  poor 
trooper  like  myself." 
.   The  door  now  gently  opened. 

"  Well,"  said  Sir  Reinhold,  **  what  news  of 
the  holy  monks?  Have  you  turned  them 
out  of  house  and  home?  What  I  you,  my 
lady  wife  ?  I  thought  I  spoke  to  John  of  the 
Strong  Arm.  Why  bo  late  up?  to  bed,  to 
bed!" 

**  Not  till  you  revoke  the  cruel  order  and 
replace  the  good  priests  in  their  own  walls." 

^*  Good  priests,  forsooth  I  who  made  you  a 
judge  of  goodness?  Lazy  lurdans,  sworn 
servants  of  the  Man  of  Sin,  soldiers  of  Anti- 
christ, and  holders  of  ground  I  want." 

*^  The  last  the  greatest  of  their  sins,  I  know 
full  well.  Oh  I  man  of  blood  and  violence, 
have  you  no  relentings  in  that  iron  heart  ? 
Have  you  no  hour  vouchsafed  you  by  pitying 
saints,  to  turn  your  thoughts  to  penitence  and 
fear?" 

"  No !  Of  what  should  I  repent?  of  what 
should  I  be  afraid?" 

*'  Look,  Sir  Reinhold  of  the  Scawr,  on  this 
wasted  form ;  look.  Sir  Reinhold,  on  these 
haggard  features.  Have  I  repined?  have  I 
complained  ?  have  I  let  the  world  know  that 
cruelties,  and  crimes,  and  basenesses  innum- 
erable have  marked  your  life  for  the  twenty 
years  of  our  union  ?" 

**  'Twere  safer  not  now  to  begin,"  said  Sir 
Reinhold,  with  compressed  lips  and  knitted 
brow. 

'*  I  bore  all— neglect,  contumely,  indigni- 
ties, and  even  violence  of  your  hand.  For 
who  am  I  that  I  should  complain  when  greater 
evil  than  these  are  heaped  on  holy  church  ? 
What  I  have  suffered  I  have  deserved,  for 
who  is  free  from  sin  ?  But  for  others  I  will 
speak.    Ton  shall  not  drive  out  tho  holy 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


brethreo  to  perish  in-  the  cold.  You  shall 
not  fliag  insult  and  wrong  on  the  head  of  the 
graciouii  abbot ;  if  you  persist,  I  have  secreta 
which  you  would  be  loth  to  have  revealed.  I 
know  of  deeds  you  would  fain  die  rather  than 
to  have  published  in  the  ears  of  men  !  In 
the  cars  of  men  they  phall  be  published. 
These  feeble  limbs  shall  carry  me  to  the 
Council  of  the  Lords ;  there,  in  the  great 
hall  of  Linlithgow,  in  the  presence  of  all,  I 
will  proclaim  you  murderer — traitor — " 

*•  You  will?  Hark!  the  Naddersferry  is 
Jouder  than  usual  to-night.  So  you  will  be- 
try  my  secrets,  wife  Sibylla?  You  will  find 
the  journey  long  and  toilsome — you  will  never 
reach  the  walls  of  Lithgow  town — " 

''  The  secrets  will  uphold  me  ;  but  if  I  fail, 
there  are  ears  even  here  into  which  I  can 
pour  the  talc — to  all,  to  man-at-arms,  to 
serving-man,  to  hind,  and  shepherd,  I  will 
tell  all,  unless  you  rescind  that  fatal  order 
against  the  holy  men  at  Strathwoden — ** 

*'  Hush  I  here  comes  John  of  the  Strong 
Arm,  who  drove  the  drones  forth  into  the 
night—" 

**  To  him  I  will  tell  all  I  Come  John  of 
the  Strong  Arm,  look  well  on  your  lord — " 

'•  How  loud  the  Naddersferry  brawls  I  I 
scarce  can  hear  yonr  sweet  voice.  See,  from 
this  window  we  can  look  sheer  down  upon 
the  water — black,  pitch  black.  Tis  twenty 
fathoms  down,  and  yet  its  noise  is  troublesome. 
Look  down,  madam, — nay,  shrink  not,  my 
fingers  don't  hurt  your  lily  shoulders;  you 
struggle  ;  how  foolish,  when  all  J  wish  you  to 
do  is  to  watch  the  torrent's  course.  'Tis  deep, 
they  say,  just  under  this  window;  screams 
cau't  be  heard ;    white    garments  can^t   be 


The  window  was  closed  again,  and  there 
was  silence  in  the  hall.  A  tap  came  in  a  few 
minutes  to  the  door.  John  of  the  Strong 
Arm  entered.  His  master  sat  as  before  in 
the  arm-chair  beside  the  fire.    He  was  alone. 

Now,  gentle  reader,  here  is  a  man  more 
ruthlessly  cruel  than  the  late  Mr.  Rush — 
more  unredeemably  wicked  than  Mr.  Man- 
ning— more  false  and  dishonest  than  any 
ruffian  described  in  the  Newgate  Calendar. 
Yet.  see  what  happens  to  us  in  our  love  of 
the  good  old  times !  Oh !  we  are  a  genera- 
tion of  snobs,  and  glory  in  our  shame  I 

In  a  good  old  age  the  Knight  of  the  Scawr 
died.  Ue  was  childless.  His  great  estates 
were  scrambled  for  by  the  powerful  men  of 
the  day,  and  fell  into  many  hands.  A  hun- 
dred years  after  his  death  —  in  sixteen 
hundred  and  seventy-five — the  Black  Scawr 
Tower  and  its  original  domain  had  been 
greatly  modernised.  A  dwelling-house  of 
modest  proportions  was  added  to  it ;  and  as 
woods  had  been  planted  around  it,  and  roads 
had  been  made,  connecting  it  with  other 
parts  of  the  country,  and  coail  had  been  found 
on  the  estate,  the  proprietor— the  third  in 
descent  from  the  person  who  had  bought  it 


of  the  executors  of  Sir  Reinhold,  was  richer, 
as  regarded  mere  income,  than  Sir  Reinhold 
had  bijen  when  he  possessed  the  whole  estate. 
The  man's  name  was  Brown.  He  had  got  the 
lands  for  little.  A  hundred  years  of  natioaal 
progress,  and  the  increase  of  wealth  and  po- 
pulation, had  done  the  rest 

Family  pride  grows  by  degrees.  Brown 
the  first  remembered  his  origin,  and  attended 
to  the  business  of  his  farm.  Brown  the 
second  looked  back  on  fifty  jrears'  possession 
in  his  family,  sind  began  to  imagine  that  bj 
some  intermarriage  of  ancestors  four  or  fire 
generations  back,  he  was  connected  with  the 
old  line  of  the  Knights  of  the  Scawr  Tower ; 
and  Brown  the  third  felt  no  doubt  upon  tbc 
subject, — sealed  with  a  seal  impressed  with 
Sir  Reinhold's  arms,  and  talked  with  ill-dis- 
guised gratification  of  the  Tragedy  of  the 
Scawr,  and  the  death  of  one  of  his  female 
ancestors  by  being  flung  out  of  a  window  of 
the  castle  into  the  river  below.  In  another 
hundred  years — in  seventeen  hundred  and 
seventy-five — still  further  improvements  had 
taken  place  in  the  land.  A  town  bad  spnmir 
up  on  a  part  of  the  estate  ;  the  houses  had 
been  doubled  in  size,  and  the  old  tower  was 
still  left  at  one  side  of  the  mansion,  as  a  sort 
of  sentinel  to  keep  off  modern  times. 

The  Browns  had  gone    to  the  dogs  ly 
gambling  and  extravagance.    A  Smith,  from 
India,  h&d  bought  the  estate.    He  spoke  of 
rupees    and    pagodas,    and    had     narrowly 
escaped  being  put  into  the  Black-hole  of 
Calcutta,    Smith  the  second  stood  for  the 
county,  on  the  Tory  side,  and  said  ihe  country 
was  ruined  by  the  increase  of  the  mercantile 
interest.    The  son  of  Smith  the  second  took 
higher  ground  still,  and  was  heart-broken  to 
perceive  that  the  old  territorial  aristocracy 
were  getting  mixed  up  with  a  set  of  low 
fellows,  who  came  from  no  one  knew  where, 
and  brow-beat  the  men  who  had  succeeded 
to  their  estates  in  a  direct  line  from  the  tunc 
of  Bruce  and  Wallace.    Jones,  an  ironmaster,  , 
from  Wales,  who  had  risen  from  the  anvil 
and  hammer  to  great  wealth,  during  the 
American  War,  married  the  heiress  of  the 
Smiths.    The  old    house  was  deserted.   A 
splendid  Grecian  hall  was   built  near  the 
remains  of  the  ancient  monastery.  The  Scawr 
Tower  was  kept  in  repair  (as  a  ruin),  and  the 
country  for  miles  and  miles  drained,  planted, 
fenced,  manured,  and  beautified,— till,  ten 
years  ago,  the  grandson  of  the  original  Jones,    ' 
who  had  put  an  h  in  bis  name,  and  claimed 
to  be  descended  from  Slewellgr,  was  created 
Sir  Arthur  Johnes  Ranald,  Baronet,  of  Speith    i 
and  Scawr.    The  "Ranald''  he  had  assumed 
by  special  permission,  as  lineal  descendant- 
through  Smith,  through  Brown— of  Sir  Bein- 
hold  of  the  Scawr.  Knight,  temp.  Jac  V., 
who  married  the  heiress  of  Sir  Torquil  of  the    | 
Scawr, — deceased  fifteen  hundred  and  thirty- 
four. — Will  anybody,  in  two  thousand  one 
hundred  and  fifty,  trace  his  descent  from 
Thurtell? 


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''Ihmiaiar  in  their  Mouthi  a$  HOUBEBOLD  WORDS: 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
COKDUCTED   BT   CHABLES   DICKENS. 


,17.] 


J.   A.  DIX,   PUBLISHER, 

Ofnoa.  No.  10  Pakb  Plaob.  Naw-Tou. 


[Whole  No.  270. 


THE  TOADY  TREE. 

T  is  not  a  new  remark,  that  any  real  and 
e  change  for  the  public  benefit,  must  de- 
e  its  vitality  fVom  the  practice  of  consist- 
people.  Whatever  may  be  accepted  as 
i  meaning  of  the  adage,  Charity  begins  at 
ne — ^which  for  the  most  part  has  very  little 
aning  that  I  could  ever  discover — it  is 
itty  clear  that  Reform  begins  at  home.  If 
had  the  lungs  of  Hercules  and  the  elo- 
ence  of  Cicero,  and  devoted  them  at  anv 
tnber  of  monster-meetings  to  a  cause  which 
ieserted  in  my  daily  lire  whensoever  the 
portanity  of  desertion  was  presented  to  me 
^y  on  an  average  fifty  times  a  day),  I  had 
*  better  keep  mv  lungs  and  my  eloquence 
myself,  and  at  all  times  and  seasons  leave 
at  canse  alone. 

The  humble  opinion  of  the  present  age,  is, 
at  no  privileged  class  should  have  an  in- 
ritance  in  the  administration  of  the  public 
airs,  and  that  a  system  which  fails  to  en- 
t  in  the  service  of  the  country,  the  great- 
;  fitness  and  merit  that  the  country  pro- 
ces,  most  have  in  it  something  inherently 
x)ng.  It  might  be  supposed,  l£e  year  One 
viog  been  for  some  time  in  the  calendar  of 
9  past,  that  this  is  on  the  whole  a  mod- 
ate  and  reasonable  opinion — not  very 
:  in  advance  of  the  period,  or  of  any 
riod,  and  involving  no  particularly  un- 
ristian  revenge  for  a  great  national 
eak-down.  Yet,  to  the  governing  class 
the  main,  the  sentiment  is  altogether  so 
vel  and  extraordinary,  that  we  may  ob- 
rve  it  to  be  received  as  an  incompre- 
nsible  and  incredible  thing.  I  have 
en  seriously  asking  myself,  whose  fault  Is 
is  ?  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  it 
the  fault  of  the  over-cultivation  of  the 
eat  Toady  Tree  ;  the  tree  of  many  branches, 
lich  grows  to  an  immense  height  in 
igland,  and  which  overshadows  all  the 
ad. 

My  name  is  Cobbs.  Why  do  I,  Cobbs,  love 
Bit  like  a  Patriarch,  in  the  shade  of  my 
)ady  Tree  7  What  have  1  to  do  with  it  ? 
hat  comfort  do  I  derive  from  it,  what  fruit 
self-respect  does  it  yield  to  me  ?  What 
iAuty  is  there  in  it  7  To  lure  me  to  a 
abllc  Dinner,  why  must  I  have  a  Lord  in 
e  chair?    To  gain  me  to  a  Subscription- 


list,  why  do  I  need  fifty  Barons,  Marquises, 
Viscounts,  Dukes,  and  Baronets  at  the 
head  of  it,  in  larger  type  and  longer  lines 
than  the  commonalty  ?  If  1  don't  want  to 
be  perpetually  decorated  with  these  boughs 
from  the  Toady  Tree — if  it  be  my  friend 
Dobbs,  and  not  I,  Cobbs,'  in  whose  ready 
button-hole  such  appliances  are  always 
stuck — why  donH  I  myself  quietly  and 
good-humouredly  renounce  them?  Why 
not?  Because  I  will  be  always  garden- 
ing, more  or  less,  at  the  foot  of  the  Toady 
Tree. 

Take  Dobbs.  Dobbs  is  a  well  read-man, 
an  earnest  man,  a  man  of  strong  and  sincere 
convictions,  a  man  who  would  be  deeply 
wounded,  if  I  told  him  he  was  not  a  true 
Administrative  Reformer  in  the  best  sense 
of  the  word.  When  Dobbs  talks  to  me  about 
the  House  df  Commons,  (and  lets  off  upon 
me  those  little  revolvers  of  special  o£Bcial 
intelligence  which  he  always  carries,  ready 
loaded  and  capped),  why  does  he  adopt 
the  Lobby  slans,  with  which  he  has  as 
much  to  do  as  with  any  dialect  in  the  heart 
of  Africa?  Why  must  he  speak  of  Mr. 
Fizmaili  as  '^  Fizzy,''  and  of  Lord  Gamboroon 
as  *'  Gam  ?''  How  comes  it  that  he  is  ac- 
quainted with  the  intentions  of  the  Cabinet 
six  weeks  beforehand— often,  indeed,  so  long 
beforehand  that  I  shall  infallibly  die  before 
there  is  the  least  sign  of  their  having  ever 
existed?  Dobbs  is  perfectly  clear  m  his 
generation  that  men  are  to  be  deferred  to  for 
their  capacity  for  what  they  undertake,  for 
their  talents  and  worthy  and  for  nothing  else. 
Aye,  aye,  I  know  he  is.  But,  I  have  seen 
Dobbs  dive  and  double  about  that  Royal 
Academy  Exhibition,  in  pursuit  of  a  noble- 
man, in  a  marvellously  small  way.  I  have 
stood  with  Dobbs  examining  a  picture,  when 
the  Marquis  has  entered,  and  I  have  known 
of  the  Marquis's  entrance  without  lifting  my 
eyes  or  turning  my  head,  solely  by  the  in- 
creased gentility  in  the  audible  tones  of 
Dobb's  critical  observations.  And  then,  the 
Marquis  approaching,  Dobbs  has  talked  to 
me  as  his  lay  figure,  at  and  for  the  Marquis, 
until  the  Marquis  has  said,  ^*Ha,  Dobbs?'' 
and  Dobbs,  with  his  face  folded  into  creases 
of  deference,  has  piloted  that  illustrious 
nobleman  away,  to  the  contemplation  of 
some  pictorial  subtleties  of  his  own  dis- 
^  270  


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


386 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Condrwtodbf 


covery.  Now,  Dobbs  has  been  troubled 
and  abashed  in  all  this ;  Dobb's  voice,  face, 
and  manner,  with  a  stubbornness  far  be- 
yond his  control,  have  revealed  his  nneasi- 
ness  ;  Dobbs,  leading  the  noble  Marquis  away, 
has  shown  me  in  the  expression  of  his  very 
shoulders  that  he  knew  I  laughed  at  him,  and 
that  he  knew  he  deserved  it ;  and  yet  Dobbe 
could  not  for  his  life  resist  the  shadow  of  the 
Toady  Tree,  and  come  out  into  the  natural 
air  I 

The  other  day,  walking  down  Piccadilly 
from  Hyde  Park  Corner,  I  overtook  Hobbe. 
Hobbe  bad  two  relations  starved  to  death 
with  needless  hunger  and  cold  before  Sebas- 
topol,  and  one  killed  by  mistake  in  the  hos- 
pital at  Scutari.  Hobbe  himself  had  the 
misfortune,  about  fifteen  years  ago,  to  invent 
a  very  ingenious  piece  of  mechanism  highly 
important  to  dockyards*  which  has  detained 
him  unavailingly  in  the  waiting-rooms  of 
public  offices  ever  since,  and  which  was  in- 
vented last  month  by  somebody  else  in 
France,  and  immediately  adopted  there. 
Hobbs  had  been  one  of  the  public  at  Mr.  Roe- 
buck's committee,  the  very  day  I  overtook 
him,  and  was  burning  with  indignation  at 
what  be  had  heard.  "  This  Gordian  knot  of 
red  tape,"  said  Hobbs,  *<  must  be  cut.  All 
things  considered,  there  never  was  a  people 
89  abused  as  the  English  at  this  time,  and 
there  never  was  a  country  brought  to  such  a 
pass.  It  will  not  bear  thinking  of— (Lord 
Joddle)."  The  parenthesis  referi%d  to  a  pass- 
ing carriage,  which  Hobbs  turned  and  look- 
ed after  with  the  greatest  interest.  "The  sys- 
tem," he  continued, "must be  totally  changed. 
We  must  have  the  right  man  in  the  right 
place,(Duke  of  Twaddleton  on  horseback) .and 
only  capability  and  not  family  connexions 
placed  in  office  (brother-in-law  of  the  Bishop 
of  Gorhambury).  We  must  not  put  our  trust 
in  mere  idols  (how  do  you  do ! — Lady  Gold- 
veal — little  too  highly  painted,  but  nne  wo- 
man for  her  years),  and  we  must  get  rid  as  a 
nation  of  our  ruinous  gentility  and  defers 
ence  to  mere  rank.  (Thank  you,  Lord  Ed- 
ward, I  am  quite  well.  Very  glad  indeed  to 
have  the  honour  and  pleasure  of  seeing  you. 
I  hope  Lady  Edward  is  well.  Delighted  I  am 
sure)."  Pending  the  last  parenthesis,  he 
stopped  to  shake  hands  with  a  dim  old  gen- 
tleman in  a  flaxen  wig,  whose  eye  he  had  been 
exceedingly  solicitous  to  catch,  and,  when 
we  went  on  again,  seemed  so  refreshed  and 
braced  by  the  interview  that  I  believe  him  to 
have  been  for  the  time  actually  taller.  This 
in  Hobbs,  whom  I  knew  to  be  miserably  poor, 
whom  I  saw  with  my  eyes  to  be  prematurely 
gray,  the  best  part  of  whose  life  had  been 
changed  into  a  wretched  dream  firom  which 
he  could  never  awake  now,  who  was  in 
mourning  without  and  in  mourning  within, 
and  all  through  causes  that  any  half-dozen 
shopkeepers  taken  at  random  from  the  Lon- 
don Directory  and  shot  into  Downing  Street 
out  of  sacks  could  hav9  turned  aside — this, 


I  say,  in  Hobbs,  of  all  men,  gave  me  so 
much  to  think  about,  that  I  took  little  or 
no  heed  of  his  further  conversation  until  I 
found  we  had  come  to  Burlington  House. 
"  A  little  sketch  "  he  was  saying  then,  **  by 
a  little  child,  and  two  hundred  and  fifty 
pound^  already  bid  for  it  I  Well,  it's 
very  gratifyhig,  isn't  it?  Really  it's 
very  gratii^yingl  Won't  you  come  in?  Do 
come  in!"  I  excused  myself,  and  Hobbs 
went  in  without  me :  a  drop  in  a  swollen 
current  of  the  general  public.  I  looked 
into  the  courtyard  as  I  went  by,  and 
thought  I  perceived  a  remarkably  fine  spe- 
cimen of  the  Toady  Tree  in  full  growth 
there. 

There  is  my  friend  Nobbs.  A  man  of  eof- 
ficient  merit,  one  would  suppose,  to  be  calm- 
ly self-reliant,  and  to  preserve  that  manly 
equilibrium  which  as  little  needs  to  assert  it- 
self overmuch,  as  to  derive  a  sickly  reflected 
light  from  any  one  else.  I  declare  in  the 
face  of  day,  that  I  believe  Nobbs  to  be  mo- 
rally and  physically  unable  to  sit  at  a  table 
and  hear  a  man  of  title  mentioned,  whom  he 
knows,  without  putting  in  his  claim  to  the 
acquaintance.  I  have  observed  Nobbe  under 
these  circumstances,  a  thousand  times,  and 
have  never  found  him  able  to  hold  his  peace. 
I  have  seen  him  fidget,  and  worry  himself 
and  try  to  get  himself  away  from  the  Toady 
Tree,  and  say  to  himself  as  plainly  as  he 
could  have  said  aloud,  "  Nobbs,  Nobbs,  is  not 
this  base  in  you,  and  what  can  it  possibly 
matter  to  these  people  present,  whetber  you 
know  this  man,  or  not?"  Yet,  there  has 
been  a  compulsion  upon  him  to  say,  *■*■  Lord 
Dash  Blank  ?  Oh,  yes  I  I  know  him  very 
well ;  veiy  well,  indeed.  I  have  known  Dai 
Blank — let  me  see — really  I  am  afraid  to  say 
how  long  I  have  known  Dash  Blank.  It  must 
be  a  dozen  years.  A  very  good  fellow,  Dash 
Blank !"  And,  like  my  friend  Hobbs,  he  has 
been  positively  taller  for  some  moments  after- 
wards. I  assert  of  Nobbs,  as  I  have  already 
in  effect  asserted  of  Dobbs,  that  if  I  could  be 
brought  blindfold  into  a  room  full  of  compa- 
ny, of  ^hom  he  made  one,  I  could  tell  in  a 
moment,  by  his  manner  of  speaking,  not  to 
say  by  his  mere  breathing,  whether  there 
were  a  title  present.  The  ancient  Egyptians, 
in  their  palmiest  days,  had  not  an  enchanter 
among  them  who  could  have  wrought  such  a 
magical  change  in  Nobbs,  as  the  incarnation 
of  one  line  from  the  book  of  the  Peerage  can 
effect  in  one  minute. 

Pobbs  is  as  bad,  though  in  a  different  way, 
Pobbs  affects  to  despise  these  distinctions. 
He  speaks  of  his  titled  acquaintances,  in  a 
light  and  easy  vein,  as  "  the  swells."  Accord- 
ing as  his  humor  varies,  he  will  tell  you  that 
the  swells  are,  after  all,  the  best  people  a  man 
can  have  to  do  ^ith,  or  that  he  is  weary  of 
the  swells  and  has  had  enough  of  them.  But, 
note,  that  to  the  best  of  my  kaowledge. 
information,  and  belief,  Pobbs  would  die  of 
chagrin,  if  the  swells  left  off  asking  him  to 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Charle*  Dlckens-J 


MOTHER  AND  STEP-MOTHER. 


387 


dinner.  That  he  would  rather  exchange  nods 
m  the  Park  with  a  semi-idiotic  Dowager,  than 
fraternise  with  another  Shakespeare.  That 
he  woold  rather  have  his  sister,  Miss  Pobbs, 
(he  is  greatly  attached  to  her,  and  is  a  most 
excellent  brother),  received  on  sufferance  by 
the  swells,  than  hold  her  far  happier  place  in 
the  outer  darkness  of  the  untitled,  and  be 
loved  and  married  by  some  good  fellow,  who 
could  daff  the  world  of  swells  aside,  and 
bid  it  pass.  Yet,  O,  Pobbs,  Pobbsl  if  for 
once— only  for  once — ^you  could  hear  the 
magnificent  patronage  of  some  of  those 
Dachesses  of  yours,  casually  making  men- 
tion of  MisB  Pobbs,  as  '^a  rather  pretty 
person  I" 

I  say  nothing  of  Robbs,  Sobbs,  Tobbs,  and 
BO  on  to  Zobbe,  whose  servility  has  no  thin 
coating  of  disguise  or  shame  upon  it,  who 
groTel  on  their  waistcoats  with  a  sacred  joy, 
and  who  turn  and  roll  titles  in  their  mouths 
as  if  they  were  exquisite  sweetmeats.  I  say 
nothing  of  Mayors  and  such  like; — ^to  lay  on 
adulation  with  a  whitewashing  brush  and  have 
it  laid  on  in  return,  is  the  function  of  such 
people,  and  verily  they  have  their  reward. 
I  say  nothing  of  County  families,  and  pro- 
Tincial  neighbourhoods,  and  lists  of  Stewards 
and  Lady  Patronesses,  and  electioneering, 
and  racing,  and  flower-showing,  and  demarca- 
tions and  counter-demarcations  in  visiting, 
and  all  the  forms  in  which  the  Toady 
Tree  is  cultivated  in  and  about  cathedral 
towns  and  rural  districts.  What  I  wish 
to  reoiark  in  conclusion  is  not  that,  but 
this: 

If,  at  a  momentous  crisis  in  the  his- 
tory and  progress  of  the  country  we  all  love, 
we,  the  bulk  of  the  people,  fairly  embodying 
the  general  moderation  and  sense,  are  so  mis- 
taken by  a  class,  undoubtedly  of  great  intel- 
ligence and  public  and  private  worth,  as 
that,  either  they  cannot  by  any  means  com- 
prehend our  resolution  to  live  henceforth 
under  a  €rovernment,  instead  of  a  Rustle- 
ment  and  Shufflement ;  or,  comprehen(rmg  it, 
can  think  to  put  it  away  by  cocking  their 
hats  in  our  faces  (which  is  the  official  exposi- 
tion of  policy  conceded  to  us  on  all  occasions 
^  oar  chief  minister  of  State) ;  the  fault  is 
oar  own.  As  the  fault  is  our  own,  so  is  the 
remedy.  We  do  not  present  ourselves  to 
these  personages  as  we  really  are,  and  we 
have  no  reason  for  surprise  or  complaint,  if 
tney  take  us  for  what  we  are  at  so  much 
pains  to  appear.  Let  every  man,  therefore, 
fPPjy  his  own  axe  to  his  own  branch  of 
^e  Toady  Tree.  Let  him  begin  the  essential 
Keform  with  himself,  and  he  need  have  no 
'ear  of  its  ending  there.  We  require  no 
ghost  to  tell  us  that  many  inequalities  of 
condition  and  distinction  there  must  a\- 
^*y8  be.  Every  step  at  present  to  be 
2*M?^  in  the  great  social  staircase  would  be 
^^  there,  though  the  shadow  of  the  Toady 
"te  were  cleared  away.  More  than  this,  the 
^^ole  of  the  steps  would   be   safer   and 


stronger ;  for,  the  Toady  Tree  is  a  tree  in- 
fected with  rottenness,  and  its  droppings  wear 
away  what  they  fall  upon. 


MOTHER  AND  STEP-MOTHER. 

IN  FOURTEEN  CHAPTBBS.  CHAPTER  IX. 

Sm  Edward,  observing  that  his  son^s  habits 
had  become  unsettled,  and  that  his  old  pur- 
suits now  seemed  to  have  lost  their  interest 
for  him,  became  anxious  that  he  should 
employ  the  time  which  was  to  intervene  before 
his  marriage  in  acquiring  a  more  extensive 
acquaintance  with  foreign  countries,  and  tlius 
complete  his  educrflion  before  sinking  down 
into  the  even  tenor  of  a  country  gentleman's 
life.  Lady  Irwin  eagerly  caught  at  and 
seconded  the  proposal ;  she  was  weary  of  the 
mute  appeals  of  Frank's  anxious  looks,  and 
of  the  importunity  of  her  own  son.  Frank 
would  be  employed,  interested,  and  amused, 
his  passion,  the  fruit  of  effervescent  youth, 
might  cool  down,  he  would  see  other  women 
of  a  very  different  stamp  from  the  modest 
country  girl  to  whom  he  was  betrothed, 
women  with  glorious  eyes,  every  glance  of 
which  must  make  a  man's  blood  leap  in  his 
veins,  and  who  would  not  disdain  to  flatter 
and  court  the  handsome  and  accomplished 
heir  to  an  English  baronetcy,  women  skilled 
with  specious  talk  to  sap  the  groundwork  of 
principle,  and  to  beguile  their  victim  into  a 
slough  of  treacherous  delight,  after  which  the 
simple  Kitty  -would  have  entirely  lost  her 
power  to  charm  him.  Failing  this,  there 
was  ambition,  there  were  a  thousand  allure- 
ments to  bring  out  the  evil  of  his  nature  and 
render  him  unfit  or  unwilling  to  fulfil  his 

engagement.  At  all  events,  it  was  delay at 

all  events  it  was  separation;  it  would  be 
strange,  she  thought,  if  in  a  year  or  eighteen 
months  some  occasion  of  mistrust  did  not 
arise,  which  she  could  foster  into  lasting 
estrangement. 

The  idea  of  travel  was  not  without  attrac- 
tions to  Frank.  The  irritation  excited  by  his 
passion,  and  by  the  obstacles  thrown  in  his 
way,  had  given  him  a  distaste  for  his  old 
studies,  the  vapid  life  of  the  fashionable  world 
in  London  was  wearisome  to  him,  bodily 
activity  would,  he  thought,  counteract  his 
nervous  restlessness  of  mind  and  allay  the 
feverish  excitement  under  which  he  laboured. 
True,  he  must  part  from  Kitty,  but  he  hoped 
that  his  mother  might  soften  to  her  when  he 
was  away,  and  that  when  he  returned  she 
would  be  his  own  for  ever.  Now,  the  dark 
shadow  of  his  step-mother  seemed  to  come  be- 
tween them,  even  when  they  were  alone,  so 
powerfully  was  each  impressed  by  the  con- 
sciousness of  her  unavowed  purpose,  though 
even  to  each  other  they  hardly  ventured  to 
breathe  the  fear,  lest,  by  uttering  it,  they 
should  give  it  substance. 

For  one  long  happy  week  before  he  went 
abroad,  Frank  stayed  alone  atSwallowfield — 
for  one  week  of  glorious  sunshine  his  feet 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


388 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


COoodactedlf 


bnished  the  dew  from  the  grass  as  he  came 
across  the  field  to  the  Parsonage — for  one 
week  of  soft  summer  weather  the  leaves  of 
the  old  elm  outside  the  garden-gate  whispered 
over  his  nightly  farewell,  and  then  he  went, 
with  smiles  on  his  lips,  though  with  tears  in 
his  eyes,  to  be  away  until  another  spring  and 
summer  were  past,  and  until  the  leaves  of 
that  other  summer  were  yellow  with  decay. 

Catherine  composed  herself  to  wait,  and 
devoted  herself  with  increased  earnestness  to 
her  various  occupations.  But  though  she 
conscientiously  employed  her  time  and  in- 
dulged in  no  vain  repiniugs,  she  could  not 
restrain  a  feeling  of  joy  when  a  day  was  past, 
at  the  thought  that  the  term  of  their  separa- 
tion was  by  so  much  shortened.  Her  prayers 
seemed  always  to  bring  her  near  to  him,  and 
she  had  his  letters,  long,  frequent,  and  inex- 
pressibly delightful  for  the  evidence  they  bore 
of  a  heart  turning  ever  truly  to  her.  Once  in 
the  winter  there  was  an  interval  of  sad 
anxiety — a  long  three  weeks,  and  no  letter; 
then,  at  last,  a  short  note,  written  from  a  sick 
bed,  but  in  ^ood  spirits,  and  in  the  near  hope 
of  approaching  restoration  to  health. 

Sir  Edward  and  Lady  Irwin  remained  in 
town  until  the  end  of  the  summer,  and 
when  ihej  did  return  their  attention  was 
occupied  by  a  succession  of  visitors.  Edward 
was  gone  to  Rugby,  so  Catherine  was  left 
with  little  interruption  to  the  enjoyment  of 
her  own  thoughts,  and  to  her  ordinary  occu- 
pations. 

'*  You  donH  mean  to  say,  Helen,  that  that 
quiet  little  thing  is  Frank's  fiancee?''  said 
Mrs.  Wilton  Brook,  Sir  Edward's  fashionable 
sister,  now  a  well-preserved  matron,  who, 
with  two  full-blown  daughters,  was  on  a  visit 
to  her  brother.  "  What  a  sacrifice  I  A  man 
of  his  expectations,  such  a  handsome  fellow, 
too— why  he  might  have  married  any  one." 

'<  He  is  going  to  marry  according  to  his 
choice,"  replied  Lady  Irwin,  drily. 

**  Oh  I  that's  well  enough  for  an  old  man 
with  a  broken  constitution,  a  country  curate, 
or  something  of  that  sort— but  in  Frank's 
position,  with  such  opportunities,  it's  inexcus- 
able. Really,  a  man  owes  something  to  his 
family.  No  one  cares  less  for  money  than  I 
do,  but  rank,  fashion,  beauty,  or  something, 
surely  he  should  require." 

*♦  Your  brother  and  your  nephews  consider 
Catherine  BIrkby  beautiful  I  believe  ?" 

'*  Beautiful  I  What?  A  girl  who  has  no 
idea  of  setting  herself  off— no  air — no  manner ! 
Her  cjres  are  certainly  not  bad,  if  she  had  the 
least  idea  how  to  use  them  :  and,  I  dare  say, 
something  might  be  made  of  her  hair ;  it  looks 
soft,  and  it  certainly  is  a  pretty  colour,  just 
the  brun-dor^  which  was  all  the  rage  last 
year.  Clementina  has  it  almost — ^her's  is  a 
trifle  too  light,  but,  when  properly  brushed 
and  oiled,  it  has  very  much  the  shade,  I 
assure  you.  Really,  Helen,  you  should  give 
the  poor  child  a  hint  or  two — it  is  high  time 
something  should  be  done  to  civilise  her." 


^<  I  confess  I  cannot  avoid  feeling  lome 
regret  that  Frank  did  not  look  about  lu'm 
a  little  before  be  tied  himself  down,"  sud 
Lady  Irwin.  '*  Catherine  Birkby  is  jiut  tbe 
sort  of  barley-sugar  sweetheart  that  a  boj 
fancies  himself  in  love  with.  I  would  hare 
saved  him  if  I  could ;  but  he  must  buy  his 
experience  like  the  rest  of  us." 

*'  His  father  ought  not  to  have  given  bis 
consent.  I  wonder  you  did  not  stop  it  before 
it  came  to  a  declaration,  Helen." 

'*  How  could  I  apprehend  the  danger?  Sbe 
has  been  backwards  and  forwards  it  the 
house  ever  since  I  married.  I  never  drfimt 
of  anything  more  than  brotherly  regard. 
However,  it  is  no  affair  of  mine :  wben 
Edward  ctows  up  I  shall  do  my  best  to 
avoid  such  a  catastrophe." 

*'  Edward  will  make  a  handsome  fellow, 
Helen.  He  will  make  many  a  heart  ache. 
He  will  beat  Frank  out-and-out— he  has » 
much  more  of  the  devil  in  him.  I  am  heartily 
glad  my  girls  have  a  dozen  years  tbe  start  of 
him." 

*•  Edward's  good  looks  will  not  avail  him 
much.  A  younger  son  has  little  chance  of 
distinguishing  himself  in  this  age  of  gain  and 
calculation." 

Mrs.  Brook  replied  by  extolling  Edward's 
talents  and  acquirements.  Lady  Irwin, 
•pleased  to  hear  nis  praises  even  from  ooe 
whose  judgment  she  despised,  incited  her  to 
further  commendation  by  affecting  to  fpeak 
slightingly  of  him.  Mrs.  Brook  was  easen- 
tially  a  worldly-wise  woman,  though  of  a 
low  order  of  mind,  and  debased  by  perpetoil 
striving  after  petty  ends.  She  was  not  with- 
out a  certain  acuteness,  which  enabled  her  to 
discover  the  assailable  points  of  those  chara^ 
ters  the  dignity  and  strength  of  which  she 
could  not  appreciate.  She  was  an  adroit  aiid 
unscrupulous  flatterer;  and  Lad^  Irwin, 
because  she  saw  through  and  despised  her, 
thought  she  could  listen  uninjur^  to  her 
well-bred  toadyism.  She  never  perceived  how 
lowering  to  the  moral  feelings  intercourse 
with  persons  of  Mrs.  Wilton  Brooks'  clis 
must  always  be — how  it  helped  to  mamtain  in 
her  an  extraordinary  opinion  of  her  own  en- 
dowments, and  kept  her  in  suicidal  ignorance 
of  her  true  moral  state. 

Catherine,  meanwhile,  grew  daily  more  and 
more  conscious  of  the  dislike  with  which  Lady 
Irwin  regarded  her,  and  she  conse^nently 
became  more  silent  and  depressed  m  th*t 
lady's  presence.  It  was  a  great  relief  when 
Edward  came  home  from  school,  full  of  ha 
new  experience,  overflowing  with  anecdote* 
of  masters  and  companions,lnvitb  of  carcaes 
to  his  mother,  and  imperiously  affectionatcto 
Kitty.  The  jealousy  which  had  at  one  tine 
characterised  his  love  to  her  had  now  qujW 
passed  away ;  she  was  no  longer  the  principal 
object  of  his  thoughts,  and  he  began  to  hares 
perception,  that  charming  as  she  wa^  »« 
might  be  more  desirable  as  a  sister  thw  m 
a  wife.     And  now  Frank  was  away  K»»f 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ChadeiDickeiM.} 


MOTHER  AND  STEP-MOTHER. 


389 


coald  always  listen  to  his  stories ;  she  was 
neyer  too  much  engaged  to  walk  or  ride  with 
him;  she  was  a  better  listener  than  ever, 
and  soon  knew  the  distinctiye  characters  of 
Brown,  Sinclair,  and  Tomlins,  Edward's  par- 
ticular friends,  and  conld  talk  about  them  as 
if  she  were  familiarly  acquainted  with  them 
herself;  while  the  arguments  she  employed  to 
mollify  his  indignation  against  ''that  bully" 
Houseman,  and  to  qualify  his  contempt  for 
"Uncle"  Bobbins,  the  pawnbroker's  son, 
only  gave  additional  gusto  to  the  conyersa- 
tion  by  supplying  the  spice  of  a  little  contra- 
diction. 

Catherine's  altered  looks  had  struck  Ed- 
ward on  his  first  arrival,  and  it  was  not  long 
before  he  discovered  that  her  spirits  had  lost 
much  of  their  elasticity,  and  that  in  his 
mother's  company  she  was  always  depressed 
and  nervous.  With  unusual  self-command, 
he  kept  his  thoughts  to  himself,  and  carried 
on  his  observations  in  silence  for  several 
days,  when  he  had  ascertained  that  a  cold- 
ness and  distance  in  his  mother's  manner 
aggravated,  if  it  did  not  cause  this  suffering, 
he  resolyed  at  once  to  appeal  to  her  better 
nature,  and  to  plead  with  her  for  worthier 
treatment  of  his  brother's  affianced  wife. 
Accordingly,  he  entered  her  dressing-room 
one  morning,  and  flinging  himself  on  the  rug 
at  her  feet,  laid  his  head  in  her  lap— an  old 
childish  habit  of  his,  which  she  loved — and 
stroking  her  hand,  caressingly,  said, 

"What  a  charminff  Christmas  party  we 
have,  mother  ?    I  wish  Frank  were  nere." 

"  Frank  is  much  better  where  he  is,"  replied 
Lady  Irwin. 

"  Of  course,  it's  very  nice  to  be  at  Rome ; 
and  if  Kitty  were  with  him,  I  don't  suppose 
he  would  be  in  any  hurry  to  get  back.    But 

as  it  is " 

"  Don't  distress  yourself,  Edward ;  Frank's 
love  will  never  break  his  slumbers,  or  spoil 
his  appetite.  Catherine  did  not  give  him 
much  trouble,  you  know." 

"No,  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by 
that,  mother.  If  Kitt^  loved  him  with  all 
her  heart,  as  it  was  just  and  natural  she 
should,  would  you  have  had  her  tell  a  lie,  and 
say  she  didn't  care  for  him?" 

"  I  do  not  blame  her.  I  say  nothing.  Your 
brother's  honour  is  engaged.  I  only  say  that 
he  does  not  appear  to  suffer  much  from  home- 
sickness." 

•'  I  don't  think  you  can  tell  that,  unless  you 
were  to  see  the  letters  he  writes  to  Kitty.  Of 
course  he  doesn't  let  out  his  feelings  to  you, 
or  my  father :  but  if  he  is  so  happy  in  Rome, 
which  I  don't  believe,  you  can  hardly  say  the 
same  of  her.  O  mother,  I  do  so  wish  you 
would  take  pity  on  her,  and  comfort  her  with 
a  few  kind  words.  She  will  have  quite  lost 
her  pretty  looks  before  Frank  comes  back." 
"  You  are  veiy  much  mistaken,  Edward,  if 
you  think  that  Cfatherine's  happiness  depends 
at  all  on  me ;  and  as  to  her  fretting,  I  do 
not  believe  she  has  sufficient  depth  of  feeling 


to  fret  for  more  than  half  a  day  about  any- 
thing or  any  one.  Agnesc  tells  me,  that  on 
the  very  day  of  Frank's  departure  she  went 
and  took  tea  with  that  stupid  paralytic  old 
woman  who  lives  at  Hopwood." 

*'  Is  that  the  onlj  bit  of  scandal  Agnese 
has  been  able  to  pick  up?  She'd  be  much 
better  employed  in  putting  bows  into  yout 
caps,  instead  of  poking  her  ugly  face  into  all 
the  poor  people's  cottages,  and  prying  into 
the  affairs  of  her  betters.  What  comfort 
Kitty  could  have  found  in  going  to  see  that 
cross  old  woman,  I  can't  pretend  to  say.  Poor 
child,  what  a  sorrowfnl  heart  she  must 
have  had  comine  all  down  Hopwood  Lane  in 
the  gloaming,  with  no  Frank  to  meet  her  I  I 
tell  you  mother,  I  can  see  the  trouble  in  her 
eyes ;  and  take  mv  word  for  it,  three  nights 
out  of  the  seven  her  pillow  is  not  dry  when 
she  goes  to  sleep." 

"  What  an  extraordinary  infatuation  it  is 
that  you  labour  under  about  such  a  matter  of 
fact  person  as  Kitty.  If  she  does  look  pale 
sometimes,  it  can  be  no  wonder,  when  Mr. 
Blrkby  keeps  her  so  many  hours  reading  to 
him.  Tou  should  appeal  to  him,  not  to  me. 
Catherine's  feelings  are  never  likely  to  injure 
her  health," 

"  Oh,  my  dear  mother,  if  you  did  but  know 
her!" — cried  Edward  rising  on  his  knees  in 
his  eagerness,  and  looking  with  earnest  en- 
treaty into  his  mother's  face—"  if  you  would 
but  open  your  heart  to  her!  It  would  make 
you  so  much  happier." 

"  My  happiness  is  beyond  her  reach,  either 
to  diminish  or  increase,"  replied  Lady  Irwin, 
haughtily.  It  cut  her  to  the  heart  to  hear 
her  boy  pleading  for  the  tender  girl  whom 
she  bated. 

"  Only  look  at  her,  mother,"  pursued  Ed- 
ward, undaunted  by  her  coldness.  "  Where 
did  you  ever  see  a  sweeter  smile  ?  And  as 
to  her  hands  and  feet,  they  are  fifty  times 
smaller  and  prettier  than  Clementina's,  that 
Aunt  Fanny  is  always  making  such  a  fbss 
about.  Then,  for  a  companion, — who  is 
always  sweet-tempered,  always  at  leisure, 
like  Kitty?  I'm  sure  you  have  reason  to 
thank  her,  mother;  I  don't  know  what  I 
should  have  been,  if  she  hadn't  taken  so 
much  trouble  with  me.  I  never  heard  any 
one  teach  a  fellow  his  duty  to  his  neighbour, 
as  Kitty  does  ;  and  it's  all  the  better  because 
she  does  not  seem  to  be  teaching  at  all.  Oh, 
mother!  you  do  not  know  what  you  do 
when  you  shut  her  from  your  heart  She 
would  be  a  dear  daughter  to  you." 

"  I  had  a  daughter  once,"  returned  Lady 
Irwin,  bitterly,  "  who  might  have  been  what 
it  seems  my  son  will  never  be." 

"  Do  not  be  angry,  mother.  I  love  you — 
'  you  know  I  love  you  dearly ;  but,  as  Kitty 
<  says,  love  opens  and  does  not  narrow  the 
1  heart." 

*'  That  is  just  the  sort  of  speech  I  should 

I  have  expected  her  to  make— just  the  idea 

I I  should  suppose  her  to  entertain.    Those 


Digitized  by  LjOOQIC 


390 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coadoeted  by 


who  are  incapable  of  profound  passion  gene- 
rally seek  to  hide  the  Bhallowneas  of  their 
feelings  by  high-sounding  theories  of  catholic 
aflFection." 

"I  wanted  to  persuade  you,  mother, — I 
wanted  to  entreat  you  ;  but  it  seems  I  only 
make  you  stronger  in  your  own  opinion.  I 
am  going  down  to  have  my  lesson,  now ; 
perhaps  I  may  not  be  home  to  dinner." 

Lady  Irwin  said  nothing.  Edward  lin- 
gered at  the  door,  probably  in  expectation  of 
a  conciliatory  word  or  look ;  then,  with  a 
heavy  heart,  he  turned  on  his  heel,  and  went 
bis  way. 

CUAPTEB  X. 

In  spite  of  his  resolution  to  keep  his  un- 
easiness to  himself,  Edward  was  too  much 
irritated  by  the  ill  success  of  his  interference 
to  conceal  from  Catherine  all  his  disquiet ; 
and  he  told  her  enough  to  add  weight  to 
her  former  conviction,  and  to  increase  the 
burden  of  her  sorrow.  Loving  her  the  better 
from  the  consciousness  of  the  effort  he  had 
made  to  defend  her,  and  dreading  his  mother's 
displeasure,  he  remained  at  the  Parsonage 
until  late  in  the  evening ;  and,  having  spent 
a  few  minutes  in  the  drawing-room,  where 
Lady  Irwin's  manner  gave  him  little  encour- 
agement to  remain,  he  went  off  to  his  own 
room.  There  he  wrote  the  following  letter  to 
his  brother,  which  he  carried  to  the  post  next 
morning  himself. 

DiAR  Brotbir,— I  cftme  home  la«t  Tueidaj  week. 
I  dare  nj  jou  know  that  I  didn't  do  so  badlj  at  the 
examination,  after  all.  I  brought  home  a  prize  which 
pleaaed  mother  and  delighted  dear  old  Birkbj.  Father 
did  not  say  much,  but  he  looked  as  if  he  liked  it,  and 
made  me  bring  it  out  to  show  Lord  ^llason  when  he 
called.  I  found  all  well  at  home :  going  on  much  aa 
usual ;  father  deep  in  some  stratum  or  other  at  the 
bottom  of  the  Dead  Sea— I  shouldn't  much  wonder  if 
he  wore  off  to  Palestine  next  week.  I  wish  to  Hearen 
he  would,  and  take  mother  with  him  I  A  pilgrimage 
would  do  her  a  tremendous  deal  of  good  Just  now.  I 
wish  with  all  m^  heart  you  and  Kitty  were  married ! 
What  is  the  reason  It  would  pustle  a  much  wiser 
head  than  mine  to  diacover ;  but  of  this  I'm  sure : 
she— mother,  I  mean— haa  taken  a  positive  dislike  to 
Kitty.  The  worst  of  it  is  that  Kitty  knows  it ;  and 
jou  may  believe  that  she  looks  none  the  better  for 
it.  Of  course,  it's  bad  enough  for  her  to  have  you 
so  long  away,  and  if  any  one  sees  her  look  sad,  she 
pats  it  upon  that :  but  mother  has  more  to  do  with 
It.  Aunt  Fanny  is  here  with  Clem  and  Ada,  all 
flounces  and  finery  as  usual.  If  it  wasn't  for  father,  no 
one  would  take  any  notice  of  dear  Kitty,'  but  he's  as 
true  as  steel,  and  mother  dares  not  say  a  word  against 
her  to  him.  I'm  sure  he  has  a  notion  that  there's 
something  wrong,  for  he  pets  Kitty  like  a  child— much 
more  than  he  pets  mc,  which  does  not  please  mother. 
If  you  had  only  taken  my  advice,  all  the  trouble  would 
have  been  over  by  this  time ;  you  may  take  my  word 
for  it,  that  if  you  don't  do  something  yourself,  and 
before  long,  mother  will  find  some  means  to  break  it 
off  yet.  You  hare  no  idea  what  a  timid,  nervous 
creature  Kitty  is  become  in  her  presence. 


I  dare  say  you  find  it  extremely  jolly  at  Roin« ;  h 
must  be  nice  to  have  lots  of  money  and  notbin$i^  to  do-  I 
suppose  I'm  not  likely  to  have  much  experience  of 
either  of  these  pleasures.  Father  asked  me,  tlie  other 
day,  if  I  should  like  to  be  a  parson.  I  suppose  he  vas 
in  joke ;  I  took  it  so,  for  I  onlr  made  a  wry  fkc«.  Fsary 
mother  sitting  demurely  to  hear  her  son  deal  out  divi- 
nity I  Don't  forget  dear  Kitty,  and  when  you  write 
don't  say  a  word  of  what  I  have  told  von.  BCother 
always  likes  to  read  my  letters,  and  It  won't  do  to 
make  her  angry.  Do  you  get  any  skating  T  The  ice 
is  four  inches  thick  on  the  pond.  Tomlins,  a  firvt-rate 
fellow,  who  works  in  my  room,  is  coming^  down  next 
week ;  if  the  frost  only  holds  on,  we  shsU  l^re  glorious 
fun.  Good  night,  old  fellow  :  I'm  so  sle^pj  I  caa 
hardly  see,  I  wish  you'd  send  me  something  aboot 
some  of  the  temples— the  ruins,  I  mean.  Finch  dote* 
on  ruins. 

Tour  ajr«etionat6  brother, 

Edward  Irnvnt 

When  this  letter  reached  Frank  be  was 
recovering  from  an  attack  of  fcTcr,  brought 
on  by  the  climate,  apd  perhaps  hy  anxiety. 
He  was  consequently  labouring  under  severe 
depression  of  spirits.  His  fears  had  already 
been  excited  by  a  coldness  and  constraint 
in  the  letters  he  received  from  his  mother, 
and  by  the  plaintive  tenderm;s8  which 
struggled  through  the  assumed  cboerful- 
ness  of  Catherine's.  He  had  promised  his 
father  to  traveL  He  was  to  visit  Greece 
and  parts  of  Asia,  perhaps  to  penetrate 
even  to  the  land  of  joy  and  desolation — 
the  glorious  and  wasted  Palestine.  He  had 
been  as  yet  only  three  quarters  of  a  year 
absent,  and  this  was  his  second  illness.  It 
was  evident  that  the  climate  of  Italy  did  not 
agree  with  him.  The  image  of  her  he  loved 
pining  for  him,  and  crushed  by  the  dislike  of 
his  step-mother,  rose  vividly  before  him.  He 
saw  her  paler  and  thinner,  watching  with 
tearful  eyes  the  embers  as  they  fell,  and 
thinking  of  him  so  far  away,  with  a  heart 
growing  daily  fainter,  and  wearying  fcM*  the 
comfort  of  his  cheering  voice.  He  read 
those  parts  of  his  brother's  letter,  which 
related  to  her,  again  and  again.  To  be  so 
clear  to  the  e^res  of  the  boy,  it  must  be  bad 
indeed.  He  himself,  too,  was  lonely  and  sor- 
rowful. The  sweet  communion  of  thought 
and  feeling  to  which  he  had  become  habitu- 
ated, was  checked,  and  the  deepest  emotions 
of  his  soul  lay,^unexpre88ed.  a  heavy  burden 
on  his  spirit.  One  bold  stroke  and  she  was 
his  own  for  ever.  He  knew  his  father^s 
indulgence,  and  that  his  mother's  influence, 
though  great,  was  not  unlimited. 

The  yearning  to  England  once  indulged, 
became  irresistible.  Arguments  readily  pre- 
sented themselves,  not  only  excusing,  but 
justifying,  the  apparent  disobedience ;  and 
the  next  morning  saw  him  already  on  his 
return.  Once  started,  his  impatience  knew 
no  bounds.  No  railway,  no  steamboat,  was 
suflBciently  expeditious  for  him ;  almost  be- 
fore an  answer  could  have  been  received  to 
his  brother's  letter,  he  arrived  in  person  at 
his  father's  door. 

Amazement  was  the  first  emotion  produced 
by  his  unlooked-for  appearance — amazement. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cb«rlM  Oickcnt-J 


MOTHER  AND  STEP-MOTHER. 


391 


quickly  sacceeded  by  pleasurable  sensations 
ia  the  breast  of  his  father,  by  angry  conster- 
nation in  that  of  Lady  Irwin,  while  Edward 
coald  hardly  restrain  his  admiration  and 
satisfaction  at  a  promptitude  so  much  in 
harmony  with  his  wishes. 

The  tumult  of  feeling  with  which  he  beheld 
bis  son.  travel- worn  and  haggard  from  recent 
illnesB,  prevented  Sir  Edward  from  remark- 
ing the  uncontrollable  emotion  of  Lady 
Irwio.  But  Frank,  whose  perception  was 
sharpened  by  anxiety,  read  her  unspoken 
anger.  His  quivering  lip:4  hardly  touched 
the  cheek  she  mechanically  presented  to  him; 
and  she  felt  that,  if  not  before,  now,  at  least, 
he  knew  the  purpose  lying  in  her  heart.  As 
hy  mutual  consent,  they  shrunk  from  each 
oiher's  gaze ;  for  each  felt  the  need  of  con- 
cealment. But  Lady  Lrwin  was  stung  almost 
to  madness  by  the  unrestrained  joy  with 
which  his  brother's  return  was  welcomed  by 
the  child  for  whose  aggrandisement  she  was 
prepared  to  jeopardise  soul  and  body. 

*'  Helen,  you  look  pale,  love,''  said  Sir  Ed- 
ward, when  the  first  excitement  was  over, 
and  he  had  leisure  to  think  of  his  wife. 
"  This  mad  freak  of  Frank's  has  startled  the 
blood  from  your  cheeks.  No  wonder,  either, 
—the  silly  fellow  to  come  back  without  a  single 
word  of  warning.  Bringing  such  haggard 
looks,  too.  Your  mother  was  growing  anxious 
about  you,  Frank,  and  had  just  persuaded 
me  that  it  would  be  pleasant  to  go  and  have  a 
look  at  the  old  places  again,  when  you  must 
needs  come  blundering  back.  I  am  heartily 
glad  to  see  you,  nevertheless ;  and  Kate,  I've 
a  shrewd  guess,  will  not  be  sorry.  She  is  not 
quite  so  rosy  as  she  was,  poor  little  girl,  but 
your  absence  has  told  more  on  yourself  than 
on  her." 

"  She'll  be  all  right  now,"  exclaimed  Ed- 
ward, unable  to  keep  silence  longer.  "  I'll  be 
up  betimes  in  the  morning,  and  run  over  and 
give  her  a  hint.  ,She  is  not  a  colossus  of 
strength  ;  and  there's  no  telling  what  might 
happen  if  she  saw  you  all  at  once  and  unex- 

Sectedly.  She  might  take  you  for  a  pallida 
nago,  instead  of  a  true  flesh  and  blood 
•  lover." 

*^  I  have  not  heard  Catherine  complain  of 
illness,"  said  Lady  Irwin  ;  "you  should  not 
frighten  your  brother  without  reason,  Ed- 
ward." 

"Yes,  yes ;  Kitty  will  be  well  enough  now," 
said  Sir  jEdward,  •*  never  fear,  Frank.  Love 
tortures,  but  he  seldom  kills,  if  the  poor 
victims  only  continue  of  one  mind." 

**  I  acknowledge  that  I  was  drawn  home, 
in  great  measure,  by  anxiety  for  Catherine," 
said  Frank,  cheered  by  his  father's  cordial 
kindness.  "Not  that  I  doubted  your  indul- 
gence to  one  so  very  dear  to  me,  or  that  I 
should  have  ventured  to  return  without  your 
permission  if  I  had  been  in  health  to  use  my 
time  either  profitably  or  agreeably." 

"  Well,  we  should  have  liked  a  little  notice. 
if  it  were  only  to  have  the  opportunity  of  wel- 


coming you  with  proper  honour ;  but  who  has 
a  greater  right  to  be  here  than  you  ?  I  thought 
a  little  travelling  would  be  of  use  to  you. 
Besides,  I  had  a  fancy  to  test  the  quality  of 
your  love,  which  your  mother  thought  might 
possibly  have  no  more  stuff"  in  it  than  first 
attachments  often  have.  But  since  it  was 
strong  enough  to  render  Italy,  with  all  its 
charms  of  climate  and  association,  distasteful, 
we  are  quite  satisfied,  are  we  not,  Helen  ?" 

"  I  assert  no  authority  over  Frank,"  said 
Lady  Irwin,  "however  my  interest  in  his 
welfare  may  have  induced  me  to  offer  him 
unpalatable  advice." 

*•  So  the  young  signer  is  returned,"  said 
Agnese,  as  she  combed  her  lady's  hair, 
"  without  warning,  and  unexpected ! " 

"He  knows  that  he  can  insult  me  with 
impunity,"  returned  Lady  Irwin,  "  and  that 
my  influence  over  his  father  is  gone." 

"His  love  for  the  Curb's  daughter  has 
made  him  mad,"  said  Agnese. 

'*  Yes ;  and  not  him  alone.  She  has  won 
my  husband  from  me.  My  very  child  she 
would  not  leave  to  me." 

"He  knows  not  what  he  does.  She  has 
won  him  with  her  false  smiles,  and  he  is 
entangled  in  her  meshes ;  but  fear  not, 
Madonna ;  we  are  not  yet  overcome." 

"  The  joy  of  life  is  gone,"  returned  Lady 
Irwin,  with  fierce  depression ;  "  it  were  well 
for  me  to  die." 

"  Be  not  troubled.  Madonna,  or  let  your 
purpose  be  shaken  by  the  pride  of  this  self- 
willed  boy.  Rouse  your  great  heart.  Let  it 
never  be  said  that  you  have  been  wronged 
with  impunity." 

"Do  not  tempt  me,  Agnese.  Leave  the 
dark  thoughts  in  my  soul,  and  do  not  make 
them  more  familiar  by  clothing  them  in  words. 
I  am  sick  and  weary.  I  am  alone — my  very 
child  arrays  himself  with  my  Qpemies." 

"01  he  knows  not  the  interests  at  stake  ; 
he  is  still  a  child.  No  blood  of  mine  flows  in 
his  veins  ;  yet  for  your  sake.  Madonna,  and 
for  the  memory  of  the  long  days  and  nights 
when  he  lay  cradled  in  my  arms,  I  would 
count  life  little  to  serve  him  t" 

"Senseless  as  you  are  I"  cried  Lady  Irwin, 
with  an  impatience  not  unlike  that  of  an 
untamed  horse  excited  beyond  endurance  by 
the  application  of  the  spur,  "  do  you  talk 
of  what  you  would  do,  you,  who  have  never 
borne  a  child — who  have  only  rocked  to  rest 
the  child  of  others  ?  Is  he  not  mine — mine 
in  mind  and  body  ?  The  hair  that  clusters 
on  his  brow  he  had  from  mc;  and  in 
which  of  the  tame  Irwins  would  you  see 
the  flash  of  such  an  eye  as  his?  He  is 
the  one  thing  on  earth  that  is  mine;  and 
do  you  think  there  is  anything  I  would  not 
do  for  his  sake  ?  But  were  he  nothing.  I 
have  still  sufficient  motives.  They  have 
treated  me  with  scorn — almost  with  open 
defiance.  They  have  turned  from  me  the 
affections  of  my  husband!  But  if  I  must  be 
miserable,  they  at  least  shall  not  rejoice." 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


392 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


ZCmAmettdhj 


"  There  the  Signora  spoke  worthily  of  her- 
self," cried  Agnese,  her  dark  eyes  flashing ; 
"  but  strong  deeds  are  the  lan^age  that  she 
mast  learn  to  use  to  her  enemies.  The  blood 
of  the  south  is  hot  as  its  sun ;  that  of  the 
north  cold  as  its  winter  streams." 

"  Agnese,"  replied  Lady  Irwin,  rising  and 
fixing  a  look  upon  her  that  made  her  quail, 
so  stern — so  cruel — it  was,  "  there  is  blood 
flowing  in  my  veins  hot  and  impetuous  as  in 
those  of  the  fiercest  barbarian  of  the  south. 
There  are  tales  told  of  the  clansmen  of  my 
house  which  would  make  even  your  Italian 
heart  stand  still.  The  snows  of  ten  thousand 
winters  will  nevor  cool  the  blood  of  the  fiery 
Celt.  The  days  of  strong  deeds  are  past,  and 
this  puny  generation  drags  the  chain  its 
fathers  burst.  Nevertheless  fear  not.  I  am 
no  unworthy  daughter  of  the  Macdonalds." 

CHAiTTER  XI. 

It  was  a  bright  morning ;  the  sky  was 
cloudless,  and  the  genial  west  wind  sweeping 
over  the  grass,  crisped  with  hoar  frost, 
seemed  to  antedate  the  return  of  spring.  In 
some  sheltered  nooks,  which  Catherine  well 
knew,  the  violets  were  already  in  blossom, 
and  she  was  returning  from  an  early  ramble, 
with  a  small  bunch  of  these  precious  flowers, 
when  Edward  came  bounding  along  to  meet 
her;  now  followed,  now  preceded  by  his 
favourite  hound,  who  had  caught  the  joyous- 
ness  of  his  master's  spirit,  and  emulated  his 
activity. 

*'  Good  news,  Kitty ! "  he  cried,  as  soon  as 
she  came  within  earshot.  "  Good  news,  little 
sister;  what  will  you  give  me  for  my 
news  ? " 

*•  Have  you  got  your  pony  ? "  asked  Kate 
in  reply. 

"Pony!"  retorted  Edward,  scornfully. 
"  Don't  I  tell  you  it's  great  news  —  news  for 
you,  my  darling!"  and  he  flung  his  arms 
about  her  and  kissed  her. 

There  was  a  fluttering  motion  at  Kitty's 
heart ;  the  colour  left  her  cheeks,  and  she 
looked  at  him  trembling. 

*'  Well,  why  don't  you  guess  ?  Why  don't 
jrou  laugh,  or  cry,  or  do  something,  Kitty  ? 
You  couldn't  look  worse  if  I  had  said  the 
news  was  bad.  Come,  have  n't  you  a  bit  of 
Pandora's  curiosity  ?  Must  I  take  my  glorious 
news  home  again,  because  you  won't  give  the 
least  touch  to  the  lid  ? " 

"  I  know  you  are  going  to  see  Frank,"  said 
Kitty,  tremulously.  "  Lady  Irwin  told  me 
about  it  yesterday  morning." 

'<No,  that's  not  it  Guess  again.  But 
there,  I  won't  torture  you,  dear.  Strange, 
is  n't  it,  Kate,  that  a  man  of  taste  like  Frank, 
should  n't  like  Italy?" 

"If  that's  your  news,  Edward,  I  had  a 
shrewd  guess  of  it  before." 

"Why,  of  course,  you  had,  when  he  began 
at  the  top  of  the  sheet  with  0 !  how  am  I  to 
exist  another  day  without  you !  and  ended  at 
the  bottom  of  the  fourth  side  with — I  feel 


convinced  I  must  expire  if  I  don't  see  yoo 
to-morrow— all  four  sides  written  close  and 
crossed,  and  all  to  the  same  tune." 

"  You  are  a  saucv  boy,  Edward,  and  want 
to  provoke  me  to  show  you  Frank's  letters. 
You  know  well  enough  he  never  crosses 
them,  and  that  there  is  often  room  for  a 
great  deal  more  when  he  finishes." 

"  With  *  Yours  till  death,  eternally  and  for 
ever."  Well,  Tm  sure  I  don't  know  what  a 
love-letter  is  like,  and  I  don't  suppose  I  ever 
shall.  I  daresay  Frank's  letter  are  just 
what  they  should  be,  or  that  you  think  them 
so— which  is  quite  as  good ;  but  I  can  tell  you, 
you're  not  likely  to  have  any  more  of  them 
just  at  present,  so  you'd  better  make  the  mort 
of  what  you  have.  I'll  bet  you  Mad  Tom  to 
your  father's  old  cob  that  he  won't  write  to 
you  for  a  month  to  come." 

"  Have  they  heard  from  him  at  the  Hall, 
then  ?  "  said  Kate,  bewildered. 

"  Yes,  truly,  have  they.  In  a  most  sub- 
stantial manner  has  he  forced  on  their 
astounded  minds  the  fact  that  he  has  a 
good  stout  will  of  his  own,  and  that  he  has 
no  idea  of  being  sent  out  of  the  way  that 
people  may  worry  his  little  bride  out  of  her 
pretty  looks.  I'll  tell  you  what,  Kitty,  Frank 
has  a  great  deal  more  spirit  than  I  ever 
gave  him  credit  for.  You  ought  to  be  proud 
of  him  He  has  done  the  very  thing  I  uiould 
have  done  myself! " 

"  But  what  has  he  done?"  cried  Catherine, 
impatiently. 

"  0  you're  coming  up  at  last,  are  you,  like  a 
shy  bottle  of  ale  when  it  is  held  to  the  fire  ? 
Know,  0  sweet  Kitty,  that  your  future 
lord  has  shown  himself  a  fine  fellow,  and 
won't  be  hoodwinked  by  my  revered  and 
incomprehensible  mamma,  and  that  I  came 
oflf  this  morning  to  impart  to  you  the  intelli- 
gence, that  he  came  home  last  night,  to  the 
confusion  of  his  enemies,  the  delight  of  his 
affectionate  father,  of  hi«  devoted  brother, 
and  of  his  blushing  bride.  But  I  say,  dear, 
what's  the  matter  ?  Kitty,  I  say,  dear  Kitty, 
don't  be  a  little  fool  please,  dear !" 

The  abrupt  announcement  of  the  return  of. 
her  lover—a  joy  so  sudden,  so  unlooked  for, 
was  indeed  too  much  for  Catherine's  strength, 
enfeebled  as  she  was  by  long  separation,  and 
by  the  wearing  sickness  of  hope  deferred ; 
she  would  have  fallen,  had  not  the  bo7 
caught  her  in  his  arms.  He  bore  her  with 
difficulty  to  the  bank  at  the  side  of  the  road, 
and  was  running  to  seek  assistance,  when  bia 
brother,  whose  impatience  had  become  un- 
controllable, and  wno  had  wandered  thus  far 
in  search  of  his  betrothed,  came  up.  A  little 
water,  brought  fipom  a  neighbouring  rivulet 
in  Edward's  cap,  and  dashed  on  Catherine's 
face,  aided  in  reviving  her ;  the  sight  of  her 
lover  bending  over  her  with  a  look  of  earnest 
solicitude  did  more.  He  folded  her  in  his 
arms,  and  all  the  troubled  past  seemed  to 
vanish  like  a  dream,  or  only  to  be  remembered 
to  intensify  the  happiness  of  the  re-unioii. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CbvlM  Dick«iia.3 


MOTHER  AND  STEP-MOTHER. 


393 


There  was  a  long  sileQce.  Tears  falling 
like  genial  rain,  and  a  joy  so  solemn,  that 
they  held  their  breath  as  they  stood  locked 
band  in  hand  beneath  the  arch  of  the  spring 
heavens. 

When  the  first  rapture  of  their  meeting  was 
over,  Catherine's  anxious  eyes  detected  marks 
of  uncontrollable  sufiering  in  her  lover's  coun- 
tenance. His  eyes,  which  looked  larger  and 
brighter  than  they  were  wont  to  look,  were 
circled  with  black  rings,  his  hands  were 
parched,  and  the  bronzed  hue  of  his  com- 
plexion told  of  fatigue  and  exposure  rather 
than  of  health. 

The  imprudence  with  which  he  had  acted 
was  too  evident.  The  marsh  fever  was  still 
hanging  about  him  when  he  set  out  on  his 
hasty  journey.  The  excitement  produced  by 
Edward's  letter,  which  confirmed  his  worst 
fears,  had  rendered  him  for  the  time  superior 
and  insensible  to  his  bodily  infirmity.  A 
troubled  night,  hardly  visited  by  rare  snatches 
of  sleep,  at  last  brought  the  morning,  when 
be  was  once  again  to  see  her,  made  so  much 
dearer  by  absence  and  by  sorrow,  borne  for  his 
sake.  The  cold  water  with  which  he  bathed 
his  burning  temples  stilled  their  throbbing 
for  awhile  j  the  fresh  air,  and  the  near  hope  of 
seeing  his  beloved,  deadened  the  aching  of  his 
limbs  and  the  fever  in  his  throat ;  but  now  that 
the  first  joy  of  meeting  was  over,  that  he  had 
held  ber  in  his  arms,  and  felt  her  still  all  his 
own,  he  was  obliged  to  succumb  to  the  lassi- 
tude that  oppressed  him,  and  to  acknowledge 
the  too  evident  fact  that  he  was  not  well. 

He  returned  home  in  the  hope  that  a  few 
hours'  rest  naight  restore  him  :  but  Nature  is 
a  stern  avenger,  and  exacts  a  heavy  fine  for 
over-taxed  or  abused  powers.  The  excitement 
and  disquietude  In  which  he  had  lived  for  the 
last  eighteea  months  had  gradually  undermin- 
ed bis  vigorous  constitution.  The  unexpressed 
displeasure  of  his  step-mother  weighed  upon 
his  heart  with  a  foreboding  which  defied  all 
his  eflbrts  to  shake  it  off,  and  filled  him  with 
vague  and  paralysing  alarm.  During  the 
first  few  months  of  his  residence  abroad  the 
variety  of  interests  which  crowded  upon  h!m 
bad  distracted  his  attention;  Catherine's 
letters,  full  of  hopeftil  tenderness,  quieted  his 
anxiety  on  her  account;  while  Lady  Irwin 
herself,  relieved  by  his  absence,  wrote  with 
cordiality,  almost  with  affection.  But  when 
the  novelty  of  foreign  life  began  to  wear  off. 
when  Lady  Irwin  had  returned  to  Swallow- 
field,  and,  irritated  by  Catherine's  frequent 
presence,  and  by  the  affection  with  which  Sir 
Edward  treated  her,  either  ceased  to  write 
to  the  traveller,  or  wrote  only  letters  so  hard 
and  dry,  that  the  effort  they  had  cost  was  too 
palpable  to  be  mistaken ;  when  Catherine's 
depression  became  evident  in  spite  of  her 
attempted  cheerfulness ;  Frank's  buoyancy 
of  spirit  gave  way,  and  he  began  to  succumb 
to  the  effects  of  the  climate,  which,  trying  as 
it  is  to  many  English  constitutions,  did  not 
Kut  him,  and  neglected  such  precautions  as 


might,  perhaps,  have  preserved  him  in  health 
and  inured  him  to  it. 

So,  now  the  fever,  which  had  been  checked, 
flew  to  the  head  :  the  overtaxed  brain  ceased 
to  discharge  its  healthy  office  ;  his  ravings 
were  wild  and  incessant ;  his  heart  troubles 
mixed  themselves  up  incongruously  with 
scenes  of  foreign  adventure ;  he  called  often 
and  piteously  on  the  name  of  his  beloved,  who 
seemed  to  his  distempered  fancy  to  be  in 
fearful  danger ;  with  wild  supplication  or 
stormy  menace  he  sought  to  protect  her 
from  a  powerful  but  unnamed  enemy.  The 
whole  household  was  filled  with  consterna- 
tion. Sir  Edward  stood  gazing  on  his  fiery 
vacant  eyes  with  an  anguish  too  big  for  tears. 
Poor  Edward  ran  vainly  to  and  fro,  over- 
whelming himself  with  reproaches  for  the 
heedless  rashness  with  which  he  had  commu- 
nicated his  suspicions  to  his  brother.  Cathe- 
rine, pale  and  tremulous.  Crept  from  the 
Parsonage  to  the  Hall,  seeking  for  tidings  she 
dared  not  ask  for;  her  still  woe-begone 
countenance,  and  eager  tearless  eyes,  were 
not  the  least  grievous  sight  in  all  those 
grievous  days.  Sir  Edward  meeting  her,  lost 
the  recollection  of  his  own  sorrow,  and  wept 
for  the  poor  child  who  had  no  tears  for 
herself. 

Strange  and  strong  was  the  conflict  of 
Lady  Irwin's  feelings.  The  moment  when  the 
dear  wish  of  her  heart  would  be  gratified 
seemed  to  have  arrived  ;  the  life  which  stood 
between  her  son  and  the  inheritance  was 
fluttering  on  the  verge  of  eternity.  Agnese 
did  not  fail  to  offer  congratulations,  and  with 
dark  pupils  distending  to  suggest  that  a 
slight  mbtake  in  the  giving  of  a  potion  might 
make  that  certain  which  was  already  pro- 
bable. Lady  Irwin  rejected  the  suggestion 
with  indignation,  and  devoted  herself  with 
energy  to  the  oare  of  the  sufferer :  she  shrunk 
A*om  the  presence  of  ber  confidant,  and  if 
by  chance  they  met,  she  hurried  by  her  as  if 
she  had  been  some  venomous  creature :  above 
all,  she  sedulously  guarded  the  -approach  to 
the  sick  man's  chamber,  gave  him  his  medi- 
cines herself,  and  administered  nothing  with- 
out previously  subjecting  it  to  a  careful 
examination. 

She  seemed  insensible  to  fatigue.  Hour 
after  hour,  day  after  day,  she  went  to  and  fro 
in  the  sick  room,  with  pale  set  features,  like 
one  acting  under  strong  excitement,  or  afraid 
to  break  a  spell.  She  hardly  spoke,  either 
in  answer  to  the  grateful  thanks  of  her 
husband,  or  to  the  passionate  caresses  of  her 
son ;  but  one  day,  when  Catherine  crept  to 
her,  and  kissed  her  hand  in  token  of  the  grat- 
itude she  could  not  speak,  Lady  Irwin  stop- 
ped as  she  was  traversing  the  corridor,  and 
bending  her  head,  pressed  her  lips  on  the  brow 
of  the  trembling  girl. 

"  Poor  child,''  she  said,  "  go  and  pray,  and 
see  if  that  will  comfort  thee." 

It  was  at  the  time  when  the  fever  was  at 
its  height ;  the  Doctors,  of  whom  two  had 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


894 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


been  fetched  fh>m  London,  had  almost  given 
up  hope.  The  patient's  strength  seem^  ex- 
haosted ;  he  lay  motionless,  almost  lifeless, 
his  nervooB  hands  were  wan  and  passive,  or 
convalsed  by  feeble  twitchings ;  the  wavy 
hair,  which  used  to  fall  in  such  comely  masses 
about  his  face,  was  all  gone;  his  manly  beauty 
withered  like  the  leaves  in  autumn. 

Who  can  tell  what  were  Lady  L*win*s 
thoughts  as  she  sat  through  those  long  nights 
and  days  by  the  wreck  of  him  whom  she  had 
taught  herself  by  slow  degrees  to  regard  as 
the  enemy  of  her  son?  Who  can  tell  how 
much  of  her  old  tenderness  to  the  fair 
motherless  boy  returned ;  how  the  helpless- 
ness of  the  suffSering  man  recalled  the  weaJc- 
ness  and  dependence  of  the  child ;  how  the 
fever-parched  lips  awakened  memories  of  the 
sweet  firm  lips  that  had  so  often  pressed  hers, 
and  the  joyous  love  of  the  child's  close  em- 
brace. Prostrate— helpless— there  was  nothing 
antagonistic  there.  Helen  Irwin  was  of  a  tem- 
per too  lofty  to  war  with  the  powerless. 

After  a  long  time  there  came  a  dawn  of 
hope.  The  youthful  constitution,  the  careful 
tending,  the  earnest  prayers,  prevailed,  and 
Death  released  his  prey.  Deep  thankfulness 
and  silent  joy  succeeded  to  despair  in  Cathe- 
rine's heart  Sir  Edward  came  out  of  his 
study  and  walked  again  among  his  trees ; 
Edward  scampered  over  hill  and  dale,  to 
tame  the  spirit  of  his  horse,  wanton  with 
too  long  idleness.  The  crisis  was  past; 
Frank  would  recover — slowly,  tediously — but 
he  would  recover. 

With  the  danger.  Lady  Irwin's  care  ceased. 
No  sooner  did  he  open  his  eyes  upon  her, 
animated  by  intelligence;  no  sooner  did 
health-bringing  sleep  return  to  him,  than  she 
withdrew  firom  his  chamber,  leaving  him  to 
the  attendance  of  the  hired  nurses,  and  onlv 
paying  occasional  visits  to  his  room,  which 
became  shorter  and  rarer  as  he  progressed  in 
his  recovery.  His  convalescence  was  tedious 
and  wearisome,  with  many  lets  and  hin- 
drances, much  lassitude  and  fre(^uent  suffer- 
ing ;  but  whatever  aid  art  or  science  could 
afford  to  alleviate  the  one  or  remove  the 
other  was  used  unsparingly,  and  the  light  of 
love  gladdened  him.  Catherine  seemed  to 
have  lost  all  recollection  of  her  own  worn 
health  and  spirits  in  the  necessity  for  en- 
couraging and  strengthening  him.  Full  of 
gratitude  for  the  great  mercy  vouchsafed  to 
her  in  his  preservation,  her  joy  manifested 
itself  in  a  sweet  and  innocent  gaiety — a  cheer- 
ful lovingness  of  spirit,  that  shed  sunshine 
over  the  life  of  her  betrothed,  and  helped 
him  more  than  anything  else  to  the  recovery 
of  his  strength .  Her  gratitude  to  Lady  Irwin 
was  so  warm  that  it  overcame  the  dread  she 
had  been  accustomed  to  feel  in  her  presence  ; 
and  though  Lady  Irwin  was  still  cold  and 
stately  in  ner  manner  towards  her,  Catherine 
had  won  something  upon  her  regard.  She 
could  no  longer  look  upon  her  as  a  being  with- 
out passion ;  the  feeUng  she  had  shown  was 


unmistakable  and  just  of  the  kind  which  Lady 
Irwin  could  appreciate.  Loud  lamentations  . 
or  stormy  grief  she  would  have  despised ;  ' 
but  she  sympathised  with  the  stony  agony 
of  her  countenance  and  her  voiceless  despair.  | 
She  could  no  longer  think  her  impassive  or  ; 
commonplace.  She  might  hate,  but  she  could  > 
not  now  despise  her. 

Her  mind  at  that  period  was  in  a 
struggling,  combating,  fluctuating  condition. 
Agnese  revenged  her  late  slight  by  almost 
unbroken  silence,  which  Lady  Irwin,  too 
proud  to  make  concessions,  repaid  with 
haughty  contempt.  Sir  Edward  charmed 
out  of  all  suspicion  by  the  extraordinary 
devotion  of  her  attendance  on  his  son, 
had  returned  to  something  like  a  lover^ 
tenderness.  It  seemed  almost  as  if  the  evU 
thought  which  had  long  nestled  in  the 
depths  of  her  heart  might  be  crushed — per- 
haps, but  for  the  Italian  woman,  it  might 
have  been.  But  Satan  little  loves  to  quit  a 
tenement  in  which  he  has  been  welcomed  and 
cherished ;  and  evil  acts  are  the  legitimate 
of&pring  of  evil  thoughts. 

CHiPTERXn. 

It  was  some  two  months  since  the  favour- 
able turn  had  taken  place,  and  Frank  had 
begun  to  amend,  when,  coming  home  from 
bis  usual  evening  stroll  to  the  Parsonage,  he 
met  his  father,  smoking  his  cigar,  under  the 
lime-trees,  by  the  river-side. 

"  Well,  my  boy,"  said  Sir  Edward,  "  you 
don't  look  very  brilliant  yet  A  month  or  so 
in  Devonshire  would  set  you  up  nicely." 

"  Indeed,  sir,  I  am  perfectly  well,"  returned 
his  son  in  alarm.  "  The  evening  is  unusually 
warm,  and  we  walked  a  little  too  far.  I  hope 
you  are  not  thinking  of  sending  me  away 
again  so  soon?" 

**Why,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I've  been 
hatching  a  little  plan  that  I  don't  think  yonll 
object  to.  You  know  there  is  a  small  estate 
in  Devonshire,  which  belonged  to  your  mother. 
The  house  is  not  much  more  thim  a  cottage, 
but  it  is  very  pretty  ttnd  compact  Captain 
Martyn,  who  has  rented  it  for  these  fifteen 
vears,  has  been  for  some  time  in  failing 
health  ;  and  I  have  this  evening  received 
intimation  of  his  death.  As  I  supposed  pro- 
bable, his  widow  does  not  wish  to  continue 
my  tenant ;  and  it  has  occurred  to  me  that  if 
the  house  were  brightened  up  a  little — it's 
very  pretty,  and  the  scenery  about  it  splen- 
did— it  might  not  be  so  bad  for  you  and 
Kitty,  just  for  a  year  or  two,  till  my  Aoes 
are  ready  for  you.  This  would  make  every- 
thing smooth.  Not  that  I  want  to  send  you 
away,  mv  dear  fellow.  God  knows,  the  house 
will  be  dull  enough  without  you  both ! " 

**  We  cannot  expect  you  to  make  such  a 
sacrifice  for  us,  sir,"  said  Frank,  hla  cheek 
glowing  with  surprise  and  pleasure. 

^<  0,  as  to  that,  the  less  we  say  of  that,  the 
better.  The  property  was  your  mother's;  so 
it  is  a  matter  of  mere  justice.    My  idea  is» 


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395 


that  if  I  allow  jou  three  hundred  a-jear,  you 
may  manaf^e  to  live  quietly  down  there.  The 
estate  itself  is  not  unproductive,  and  might  be 
improved  if  any  one  were  resident  upon  it 
who  would  undertake  to  study  agriculture  as 
a  science.  So  much  is  doing  In  that  way 
now,  that  extraordinary  obstinacy  and  stu- 
pidity may  soon  cease  to  be  regarded  as 
necessary  quafifications  for  a  farmer.'' 

This  scheme  had  been  maturing  for  some 
time  in  Sir  Edward's  mind.  The  anxiety  he 
bad  endured  during  his  son's  illness,  and 
daring  his  rather  slow  recovery,  had  deter- 
mined him  to  expedite  a  marriage  which  he 
saw  to  be  indispensable  to  his  happiness.  It 
had  been  his  purpose  to  communicate  his 
project  to  his  wife,  and  to  obtain  her  concur- 
rence before  mentioning  it  to  his  son ;  but 
coming  unexpectedly  on  Frank  just  when  he 
bad  received  intelligence  of  the  removal  of 
the  only  obstacle  that  stood  in  his  way,  he 
had  yielded  to  the  impulse  of  the  moment, 
and  bad  spoken  to  him  of  a  plan  which 
be  knew  would  g^ve  him  extreme  pleasure, 
and  which,  he  hoped,  would  accelerate  his 
recovery. 

When  they  had  discussed  the  subject  for  a 
little  while.  Sir  Edward  went  ill  search  of  his 
wife,  while  Frank  retired  to  his  chamber. 
Lady  Irwin  sat  by  the  fire,  drawing.  She 
drew  finely,  and  she  loved  the  art.  Sir 
Edward  stood  over  her  for  a  while,  and 
admired  the  design,  pointing  out  at  the  same 
time  some  defects  In  the  execution:  then, 
tnrning  to  the  fire,  he  stood  some  time  in 
silence,  and,  taking  up  a  book,  seemed  lost  in 
the  perusal  of  it,  till  at  last  he  suddenly  said, 
not  without  a  slight  tremor  in  his  voice, 

**  By  the  way,  Helen,  did  I  tell  you  Martyn 
was  dead  ?" 

Lady  Irwin  answered  in  the  negative ;  but 
she  did  not  feel  sufficient  interest  in  the 
intelligence  to  interrupt  her  occupation. 

"  Yes,  poor  fellow  I  he  is  gone  at  last,"  con- 
tinued Sir  Edward.  '*  It  is  surprising  that 
be  lasted  so  long,  considering  the  rough  usage 
the  French  gave  him  in  the  last  war.  He 
must  have  been  nearly  eighty.  He  was  a 
bit  of  true  British  oak,  tough  to  the  last  chip. 
Of  course,  Mrs.  Martyn  does  not  stay  at 
EUngton.  Her  nephew  writes  me  word  that 
she  wishes  to  give  it  up  at  once,  which  is 
fortunate,  for  I  could  not  well  have  turned 
her  out." 

"Do  you  think  you  are  likely  to  get  a 
higher  rent  for  the  place,  then  ?" 

"  0,  no !  the  rent  Martyn  paid  was  well 
enough.  I  have  been  thinking  it  would 
do  for  Frank  and  Kitty.  To  be  sure,  the 
bouse  is  small,  and  I  dare  say  will  want  some- 
thing done  to  it;  but  it  is  a  snug  little 
place,  and  Devonshire  will  probably  suit 
Frank,  now  that  terrible  fever  has  made  him 
delicate.  You  know  it  is,  in  a  manner,  his 
native  air.  His  mother  was  bom  and  brought 
np  there." 

Lady  Irwin  bent  lower  over  her  drawing. 


Sir  Edward  continued  speaking  fast,  but  with 
a  sense  of  growing  uneasiness. 

"  I  know  that  you  are  as  anxious  as  I  am 
to  promote  his  happiness ;  and  it  is  very  for- 
tunate that  we  are  able  to  gratify  him  with- 
out trenching  materially  on  our  income.  For 
my  own  part,  I  acknowledge  that  at  first  I 
did  not  feel  the  necessity  of  a  second  estab- 
lishment. But  I  dare  say  you  were  right,  and 
I  am  sure  you  will  share  my  satisfaction  in 
an  arrangement  which  meets  all  the  require- 
ments of  the  case."  . 

**They  cannot  live  there  without  an  in- 
come," said  Lady  Irwin,  after  a  long  pause. 

^^As  to  that,  I  should  wish  to  consult  you ; 
for  YOU  know  so  much  better  than  I  do  what 
would  be  necessary.  I  do  not  think  they  will 
require  more  than  two  hundred  and  fifty,  or 
three  hundred  at  first :  for  Frank  must  take 
care  of  himself;  and  Kitty. has  no  extrava- 
gant notions.  I  suppose  they  can  stay  with 
us  when  they  come  to  town." 

Lady  Irwin  made  no  reply.  Her  husband, 
oppressed  by  the  ominous  silence,  drew  his 
chair  closer  to  the  hearth,  and  stirred  the 
fire  with  an  attempt  to  seem  unconcerned. 
There  was  something  irresistibly  overwhelm- 
ing in  Ladjr  Irwin's  silence,  and  in  the  con- 
tinued but  irregular  movement  of  her  pencil. 
After  some  minutes,  she  gathered  her  draw- 
ing-materials together,  and  was  leaving  the 
room,  when  Sir  Edward,  taking  her  by  the 
hand,  looked  up  into  her  face  with  an  attempt 
at  a  smile,  saying, 

*^  Come,  sit  down,  Helen,  and  let  us  talk  it 
over." 

"  There  can  be  no  need  to  talk  over  what 
you  have  already  arranged,"  she  returned, 
coldly  disengaging  her  hand  ;  and,  without 
another  word,  or  a  backward  look,  she  left 
the  room. 

"Here's  a  pretty  storm,"  muttered  Sir 
Edward.  *'  If  Helen  did  but  know  how  like 
Tisiphone  she  looks  in  that  angry  mood  of 
her's,  she  would  not  be  angry  so  often.  Who 
could  have  anticipated  such  a  reception  of  a 
plan  which  sets  everything  to  rights?  O, 
woman,  woman,  incomprehensible,  irrational, 
contradictory!" 

So  saying,  or  rather  so  thinking,  he  turned 
for  consolation  to  his  book,  and  contrived  to 
lose,  for  a  while,  the  sense  of  domestic  dis- 
quiet in  the  brilliant  and  witty  pleading  of 
one  of  his  favourite  essayists. 

Not  so.  Lady  Irwin.  The  burning  indigna- 
tion which  she  had  violently  repremed,  burst 
out  in  fiery  words  as  soon  as  she  reached  her 
chamber,  and  stood  face  to  face  with  Agnese, 
busied  there  with  duties  of  her  office. 

"Urge  what  you  will  now,  Agnese,  you 
shall  not  find  me  flagging.  I  was  a  fool  to 
spurn  your  advice  before ;  but  his  weakness 
made  me  childish.  Now,  all  that  is  past,  and 
you  need  not  fear  me ;  I  am  despised,  and 
counted  as  nothing  by  my  husband  and  by  the 
boy  I  saved  from  the  jaws  of  death.  They 
hold  their  consultations ;  they  determine  what 


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396 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  ^     i 


they  will  do ;  and,  when  it  la  done,  they  bid 
me  receiTe  with  joy  the  intelligence  that  my 
child  is  counted  as  nothing  in  his  father's 
sight,  and  that  we  are  to  be  robbed  of  a  third 
of  our  income.  0!  had  I  but  barkened  to 
the  voice  that  bade  me  listen  to  you,  when 
he  lay  senseless  and  powerless — when  disease 
had  done  the  work  ready  to  my  hand,  and 
only  to  leave  undone  was  needful.  Now,  he 
is  strong  again  in  mind  and  body,  and  the 
strength  he  has  regained,  through  my  help, 
he  uses  to  insult  and  injure  me!  He  must 
needs  enter  on  the  estate  at  once.  He  must 
sow  enmity  between  me  and  my  husband. 
When  was  it  before,  since  the  day  when  he 
first  called  me  wife,  that  Sir  Edward  decided 
on  even  the  smallest  of  his  affairs  without 
me !  Now  he  consults,  he  decides,  he  por- 
tions out  his  income ;  and  when  it  is  done, 
he  tells  me  thus  and  thus  it  is  to  be.  Devise 
what  you  will — fear  no  flinching  in  me,  now." 

"  Noble  Madonna,"  cried  Agnese,  with 
a  look  of  triumph,  "  now  you  are  yourself 
again,  all  will  be  well ;  the  daughter  of  the 
Cur6  shall  never  queen  it  here  ;  and  Edward 
shall  inherit  the  lands  of  his  father." 

**  We  must  be  careful  what  we  do,  Agnese ; 
we  must  be  subtle  and  secret.  Sir  Ed- 
ward has  given  to  his  son,  to  this  Frank,  who, 
but  for  me,  might  be  lying  in  the  vault 
beside  his  mother,  the  house  in  Devonshire, 
because  it  was  his  mother's,  and  he  is  quite 
sure  that  I  must  approve  of  so  equitable  an 
arrangement.  The  poor  simpleton,  Ann 
Irwin,  left  the  house  to  her  husband,  think- 
ing, I  suppose,  that  no  second  love  would 
banish  her  pale  image  from  his  heart,  and 
that  he  could  soar  to  no  higher  passion.  This 
house  is  to  be  rendered  back  to  her  son,  that 
he  may  live  there  with  his  wife ;  and  that 
they  may  enjoy  their  Paradise,  three  hun- 
dred pounds  a-year  is  to  be  taken  from 
our  income.  Listen,  Agnese,  I  will  urge 
my  husband  to  send  his^n  to  Elington  ;  he 
shall  alter  and  furnish  to  his  taste.  I  will 
have  liberal  means  placed  at  his  disposal ; 
the  garden  and  the  pleasure-grounds  shall  be 
rc-arranged  to  his  fancy  ;  and  he  shall  dream 
of  the  happiness  he  is  never  to  know,  as  he 
wanders  through  the  newly-adorned  rooms, 
and  lingers  under  the  trees.  He  shall  return 
to  fetch  his  bride — she  shall  twine  the  orange- 
flowers  in  her  hair— the  wedding  guests  shall 
assemble — but  the  ringers  who  were  to  ring 
out  the  wedding  peal  shall  toll  for  a  death." 

"  Will  you  not  destroy  the  girl  with  her 
lover  ?"  inquired  Agnese,  eagerly. 

**  No,  I  hate  her  too  much ;  she  has  won 
from  me  the  hearts  of  all  I  love',  but  for 
her  smiles  and  soft  voice  I  might  have 
lived  happy  and  innocent.  She  loves  him, 
Agnese  ;  he  is  as  dear  to  her  as  the  light  of 
heaven.  She  shall  live  to  pine  for  him  in 
hopeless  sorrow." 

♦*We  must  be  wise  and  secret,"  said 
Agnese.  •*  The  crime  shall  be  mine,  the  ven- 
geance yours." 


"  Never  fear,  Agnese.  The  vengeance  I 
will  take,  shall  be  sudden  and  certain  as  the 
swoop  of  the  eagle.  But  enough,  we  have 
time  to  spare ;  to  deceive  them  into  eecnrity 
must  be  our  present  labor." 

CHAFTBR  Xni. 

"  Kmr,"  cried  Edward  bursting  into  the 
drawing-room,  at  the  Parsonage,  where 
Catherine  sat  with  an  open  book  before  her, 
but  thoughts  wandering  far  away  ;  '*  Kitty, 
my  dear  sister,  what  am  I  to  do?  Here  I 
have  been  puzzling  my  brain  for  tbe  last  ten 
days  to  compose  an  Epithalamium  for  you  and 
Frank !  I  tried  Greek  flrst,  but  you  know 
I've  only  read  the  Prometheus,  and  Iambics 
don't  come  easy.  I  tried  Latm  next,  bat 
I  couldn't  determine  whether  it  should  be  in 
Sapphics  or  Alcaics,  and  owing  to  the  con- 
fusion of  my  mind,  half  the  stanza  was  in  one 
and  half  in  the  other;  so  down  I  fell  to 
English,  plain,  wholesome  English,  as  father 
calls  it — which  is,  after  all.  the  most  Christian 
language  of  the  three.  I  shall  have  a  couple 
of  hours'  hard  fighting  with  the  Muse,  by  and 
by,  and  1*11  bring  her  coy  ladyship  to  terms, 
depend  upon  it.  If  you  could  but  help  me  to  a 
rhyme,  now  ftid  then — but,  of  course,  that  is 
not  to  be  expected.  Mother  is  tremendously 
grand  to  day.  I  can't  get  a  word  out  of  her, 
or  I'd  have  pressed  her  into  the  service.  She 
is  glorious  at  finding  rhymes.  She  has  got  a 
splendid  gown  for  to-morrow,  and  a  bonnet 
my  aunt  would  give  her  ears  for." 

**  I  wish  I  could  show  her  how  grateful  I 
am  for  all  her  goodness  to  us,"  said  Catherine. 

"  I  don't  think  you  need  feel  oppressed  by 
the  weight  of  the  obligation,"  replied  Edward 
gaily :  "though  I  must  say  mother  has  behaved 
splendidly  about  Elington  ;  and  one  must  not 
mind  her  being  a  little  cross  sometimes.  But 
come,  Kitty !  If  I  go  and  fetch  the  horses, 
you'll  have  one  more  ride  with  me,  won't 
you,  before  you  join  the  formidable  corps  of 
matrons.    Just  one  last  ride  T" 

Catherine  not  unwillingly  consented,  for 
she  loved  the  boy  dearly ;  and  in  tbe  hear 
approach  of  an  event  so  important,  she  felt 
herself  unable  to  exercise  her  habitual  control 
over  her  thoughts.  It  was  a  day  in  early 
autumn.  The  foliage  had  lost  nothing  of  its 
summer  fulness,  though  it  was  colourei  here 
and  there  with  the  beautiful  shades  that 
herald  its  decay.  Roses  clustered  round  the 
cottage  doors,  and  the  air  was  fragrant  with 
clematis,  while  the  stately  autumn  flowers 
nodded  queenly-greetings  to  each  other,  and 
the  ripe  fruits  basked  in  the  sunshine.  The 
fresh  wind,  the  blue  sky,  the  rich  landscape, 
combined  to  raise  the  spirits  of  the  riders. 
Never  had  Edward  looked  so  handsome; 
never  had  the  play  of  his  mind  been  so  grace- 
ful. Catherine  could  not  help  gazing  with 
admiration  on  his  dark  animated  countenance, 
and  on  the  supple  grace  of  his  movements. 

**  I  will  be  with  you  before  breakfast  to- 
morrow, Kitty,"  he  gaily  cried,  as  he  rode 


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MOTHER  AND  STEP-MOTHER. 


397 


awaj,  leading  the  pony  she  had  been  riding 
"  as  soon  as  ever  Frank  is  off  my  hands  I  And 
neyer  fear  bat  I'll  finish  the  Epithalaminm. 
if  I  invoice  all  the  Nine,  at  once,  to  my  aid.'' 
She  lingered  to  look  after  him  as  he  rode 
down  the  lane,  on  his  glossy  chestnut  hnnter, 
singing  jovonsly,  and  with  many  a  bright 
backward  look  and  glad  farewelL 

CHAFTBB  Xiy. 

Thb  antnmn  day  had  long  since  closed. 
Lnrid  clonds  shat  in  the  horizon ;  and  the 
full  harvest  moon  waded  through  majestic 
cloada— now  walled  in  denne  masses — now  in 
fragments  of  grotesqne  shape.  Lady  Irwin 
stood  on  the  Mcony  on  which  her  dressing- 
room  opened.  The  heavy  shade  of  the  trees ; 
the  stillness,  broken  fltfally  hj  the  meanings 
of  the  rising  wind,  and  the  jagged  clonds ; 
were  in  grand  harmony  with  lier  spirit.  The 
weight  at  her  heart  seemed  a  little  lightened 
as  she  contemplated,  in  the  deepening  night, 
this  tempest  hatching  In  apparent  calm,  and 
ready  to  burst 

The  door  of  the  chamber  opened,  but  so 
softly,  that  it  was  only  by  the  cnrrent  of  air 
produced  that  Lady  Irwin  was  aware  of  it. 
Affnese  entered  the  room,  her  olive  cheek 
pale,  and  her  thin  lips  compressed. 

Lady  Irwin  stepped  slowly  from  the  bal- 
cony, her  eyes  fixed  in  eager  inquiry  on  her 
attendant 

"  It  is  done,''  said  the  Italian,  speaking  with 
difficulty  from  her  parched  throat.  Then, 
after  a  pause,  she  aidded,  more  quickly,  "  it 
was  quite  easy.  The  glass  was  on  the  table 
where  Elton  bad  placed  it,  with  the  Seltzer 
water.  It  was  all  as  usual.  The  night  is 
hot ;  he  will  certainly  drink." 

"If  he  should  discover  it,"  said  Lady 
Irwin. 

*'  I  placed  the  powder  in  the  glass  as  you 
bade  me.  It  is  impalpable, — if  there  Is  only 
enough." 

"  What  I  gave  you  would  destroy  half-a- 
dozen  lives.  But  what,  if  he  should  not 
drink?" 

"  I  do  Aot  fear  that.  He  will  be  weary. 
And  lest  that  cold  drink  should  be  insuf- 
ficient to  tempt  him,  I  got  some  claret,  and 
placed  it  hard  by.  The  Cur4  has  no  great 
choice  of  wines.    He  will  not  fail  to  drink." 

<•  Is  he  not  yet  come  home  7  He  lingers  to- 
night. I  wish  it  were  over.  This  suspense 
is  unendurable.  Did  you  hear  nothing 
then!" 

*'  Only  the  sighing  of  the  wind  through  the 
trees.  There  will  be  wild  work  among  them 
to-night.  Wild  work  within,  and  wild  work 
without :  stout  young  branches  rent  and 
snapped,  like  a  tulip  by  the  hand  of  a  child." 

"Be  silent,  Agnese,"  cried  Lady  Irwin, 
fiercely :"  the  sonnd  of  your  voice  makes  me 
mad  1    Be  silent,  and  let  me  listen." 

In  obedience  to  her  command  Agnese  was 
silent  The  agony  of  expectation  became 
every  moment  more  intense.    Yet  there  was 


no  touch  of  remorse — no  timely  repentance. 
Every  nerve  was  stimulated  to  the  highest 
pitch  of  sensibility.  Sounds,  in  general 
scarcely  audible,  seemed  so  loud  and  impor- 
tunate, as  to  be  almost  unendurable.  Every 
pulsation  of  tl^e  great  clock  on  the  staircase, 
the  fluttering  of  a  moth  against  the  window, 
the  whizzing  of  a  bat's  wing  in  its  tortuous 
flight,  were  all  so  many  sources  of  agony. 

*'  The  glass  mnst  be  changed,  and  the  wine 
taken  away,"  said  Lady  Irwin,  at  last,  unable 
longer  to  endure  the  silence.     **Have  you  ^ 
thought  of  tha^  Agnese  T    They  will  betray 
us." 

**  I  shall  not  dare  to  go  in,"  cried  Agnese, 
shrinking  with  terror. 

**  Not  dare  to  go  in  I "  repeated  Lady  Irwin, 
with  surprise.  **Why  not?  What  should 
you  fear ! " 

"  When  he  is  dead ! "  said  Agnese,  in  a  low 
voice. 

**What  harm  can  the  poor  clay  do  you, 
simpleton?"  cried  Lady  Irwin,  scornfully. 
"What  I  the  daughter  of  Beatrice  Pistorellal" 

Agnese  hungner  head,  and  was  silent 

"  He  will  only  look  like  one  in  a  deep  sleep- 
like  one  in  a  deep  leaden  sleep.  We  have  only 
lulled  him  to  sleep— to  the  sweet  dreamless 
sleep  that  knows  no  waking.  His  individual 
essence — that  In  him  which  groaned  and 
suffered — will  1^  resumed  into  the  great  all- 
pervading  sonl.  He  is  but  rocked  to  sleep  a 
little  before  his  time,  to  be  reproduced  In  some 
other  form  of  being.  It  is  she  who  will  suffer  ] 
the  pain  and  the  woe  will  be  all  hers.  But 
hark  I  I  hear  Sir  Edward's  door  open.  He 
will  be  amazed  to  flnd  me  still  dressed.  Quick, 
Agnese.  Give  me  my  dressing-gown,  and  let 
down  my  hair." 

As  she  hastened  the  operations  of  her  wait- 
ing-woman, whose  hands,  cold  and  clammy 
with  excitement,  were  little  apt  to  render  her 
service,  the  clock  struck  eleven. 

"He  cannot  be  long  now,"  said  Lady  Irwin, 
assisting  her  maid  to  nnfasten  the  long  coils 
of  her  hair.  "  If  you  are  afraid  to  go  alone, 
wait  for  me,  and,  when  Sir  Edward  is  askep, 
I  will  come  to  your  room,  and  we  will  go 
together.  How  awkward  you  are  to-night, 
Agnese.  Comb  my  hair  carefully  instead  of 
tearing  it  Do  you  forget  we  are  to  have  a 
wedding  to-morrow  ?  " 

At  this  moment  Sir  Edward  came  through 
the  dressing-room.  He  paused  to  say  a  few 
words  to  his  wife,  and  to  make  some  inquiries 
as  to  the  arrangements  for  the  morrow. 
Lady  Irwin's  face  reflected  in  the  mirror, 
shaded  though  it  was  by  the  profuse  masses 
of  her  hair,  struck  him  by  its  extreme  pallor, 
made  the  more  remarkable  by  the  feverish 
brilliancy  of  her  eyes.  He  lingered  to  observe 
her,  and,  tenderly  chiding  her  negligence  of 
her  health,  closed  the  window. 

It  seemed  to  Lady  Irwin  and  to  Agnese 
that  he  would  never  go.  In  vain  she  re- 
turned short  answers.  He  was  evidently 
disturbed  about  her.     He  would  not  go, 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


bat  began  to  talk  of  otber  things.  Awart 
of  the  extreme  danger  of  awakening  his  sas^ 
picions,  she  did  her  best  to  simulate  an 
interest  she  did  not  feel.  Bat  when  she 
became  aware  that  some  one  was  moving  in 
the  room  above,  which  was  Frank's,  her 
excitement  became  uncontrollable.  At  length, 
shaking  her  hair  over  her  fM^e,  so  as  almost 
to  conceal  her  features,  she  said,  with  a 
desperate  attempt  at  plavfulness, 

'*Come  Edward,  I  shall  ouarrel  with  you, 
if  you  do  not  go  quickly.  Here  I  have  kept 
poor  Agneee  for  half-an-hour  over  mv  hair. 
Kemember  we  must  be  np  betimes  in  the 
morning." 

As  she  spoke  there  was  a  slight  tumnlt  over 
head,  and  a  sound  as  of  something  fUling. 

'*  Frank  is  noisy,"  said  Sir  Edward,  with  a 
smile.  **  I  suppose  he  doesn't  feel  particularlv 
sleepy.  I  didn't  know  he  was  come  homo." 
And  so  sayiuff,  he  took  up  his  candle  and 
went  into  the  bedroom. 

When  he  was  gone.  Lady  Irwin  closed  the 
door,  and  turned  her  face  towards  Agnese. 
The  two  guilty  creatures  looked  at  each  other 
in  speechless  but  eager  inquiry.  They  listened 
breathlessly,  but  there  was  nothing  more  to 
break  the  stillness  above.  The  great  clock 
ticked^  the  wind  wailed  among  the  trees,  and 
the  rain  came  ia  heavy  drops,  splashing  on 
the  terrace  and  ploughing  up  the  earth.  With 
these  sound8,ming]ed  the  peaceful  movements 
of  Sir  Edward  as  he  prepared  for  repose.  The 
lightning  flashed  across  the  windows  in  fierce 
succession,  disclosing  the  ruffled  landscape 
and  the  pale  eager  faces  of  the  wicked 
women. 

All  at  once  there  was  a  noise  of  opening 
and  shutting  doors :  a  quick  step  mounted 
the  stairs ;  it  passed  Lady  Irwin's  door,  and 
ascended  to  the  room  above.  The  women 
looked  at  each  other  in  an  agony  of  expecta- 
tion; who  can  imagine  the  inexpressible 
terror  of  that  moment  I 

Who  was  it-  that  oaime  so  swiftly  T~who 
had  fallen  a  few  minutes  before  7  The  steps  in 
th%  chamber  above  went  rapidly  to  and  IVo. 
Then  there  was  a  momentary  pause — a  great 
cry  of  surprise  or  terror—hasty  movements— 
the  flinging  open  of  a  window— the  violent 
.  ringing  of  a  bell — the  heavy  step  of  one 
carrying  a  burden ;  then  a  hasty  running 
down  stairs,  and  a  pause  at  Sir  Edward's 
door. 

"For  God's  sake,  get  up,  sir  I"  cried 
Frank's  voice,  in  a  whisper,  a  whisper  terribly 
audible  to  Lady  Irwin.  **  Don't  alarm  my 
mother ;  Edward  is  ill." 

"Where?  What  is  the  matter?"  cried 
Sir  Edward,  starting  np  in  alarm. 

"  I  don't  know— he  seems  to  have  fainted. 
He  is  in  my  room.    Til  go " 

But  here  he  was  interrupted  hy  a  shriek 
so  loud,  so  terrible,  that  it  seemed  like  the 
rending  asunder  of  soul  and  body,  and  Lady 
Irwin  rushed  in  with  flerce  desperate  eyes, 
demanding  the  truth. 


Wildly  raving,  and  followed  by  Sir  Ed- 
ward and  his  son,  who  strove  in  vain  to 
restrain  her,  and  wondered  at  her  strange 
and  terrible  words,  she  rushed  to  the  chamber 
where  the  awful  pnnlriiment  of  her  crime 
awaited  her.  Little  wonder  that  the  sight 
which  there  blasted  her  vision  overthrew  her 
reason ;  for  there  he  lay,  the  gallant  boy  jnst 
on  the  ver^e  of  manhood,  not  half  an  hour  ago 
so  full  of  joy  and  promise,  dead  on  a  couch 
beside  the  opened  window,  the  stormy  wind 
blowing  his  long  hair  wildly  to  and  fra 

On  thetable  stood  the  class,  and  by  it  lay 
the  copy  of  verses  which  bad  beea  the  occa- 
sion of  his  visit  to  his  brother's  room.  He 
had  gone  to  rest  early,  as  his  mother  thought, 
but  he  had  set  his  heart  on  finishiof^  his 
poem,  and  having  succeeded  beyond  bis  ex- 
pectation, bad  taken  it  to  read  to  his  brother : 
entering  his  room  by  a  study  common  to 
the  two.  The  wine  which  was  to  eosore 
the  destruction  of  his  brother  had  tempted 
the  boy,  weary  with  excitement,  and  he  had 
drunk. 

Consternation  and  dismay  spread  through 
the  house  and  village.  The  facts  of  the  case 
were  too  notorious  to  be  concealed.  Lady 
Irwin's  reason  was  destroyed  by  the  frightful 
catastrophe ;  and  she  now  bemoaned  her 
child — now  demanded  vengeance  on  his 
murderess.  Agnese,  overwhelmed  by  her 
reproaches,  attempted  neither  escape  nor 
defence.  With  a  curious  self-devotion,  she 
found  some  solace  in  her  miserv  by  arrogating 
to  herself  the  guilt  which  she  shared  with 
her  mistress :  and  in  her  shamefhl  death  felt 
a  glow  of  triumph  in  the  thought  that  she 
suffered  for  the  only  being  she  loved. 

Sir  Edward,  overwhelmed  by  the  loss  of 
his  child  and  by  the  crime  of  his  wife, 
humbled  himself  at  the  foot  of  the  cross, 
and  in  the  depth  of  his  misery  learnt  to 
prize  the  light  which,  if  he  had  not  despised, 
be  had  disregarded.  The  marriage  between 
Frank  and  Catherine  was  solemnised  by  his 
desire,  when  a  year  had  passed ;  and  they 
retired  to  Devonshire,  where,  in  works  of 
active  benevolence,  and  in  a  fervent  bat 
humble  spirit,  they  endeavoured  to  live  hy 
the  precepts  of  the  great  Master,  whose  king- 
dom is  yet  to  come. 

CHIP. 

BRIMSTONI. 

In  stating,  in  the  article  on  Electric  Light,' 
that  there  are  no  deposits  of  sulphur  in  this 
country,  and  that  it  derives  its  supplies 
wholly  fr^m  Sicily,  a  correspondent  is  good 
enough  to  inform  us  that  we  overlooked  the 
produce  of  the  Irish  mines. 

It  appears,  f^om  his  statement,  that  the 
Wicklow  mines  have,  for  the  last  fifteen  years, 
produced  a  large'  quantity  of  iron  pyrites 


*  At  p«c«  9U  of  the  preMDt  Tolom*. 


%^ 


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CfawkiDfekcBa.] 


POULTRY^  ABROAD. 


899 


containing  aboat  fortj-flve  per  eent  of  snl- 
phur :  the  prodace  has  amounted,  in  part  of 
that  period,  to  one  hundred  thousand  tons 
per  annum,  and  is  capable  of  increase.  This 
ore  has  been  extenmyely  used  by  the  rarlous 
alkali  manufacturers  instead  of  Sicilian  brim- 
stone, and  has  greatly  reduced  the  cost  of  the 
latter.  It  is  now  considered  an  important 
product,  aud  has  been  the  means  of  giving 
employment  to  great  numbers  of  otherwise 
destitute  persons.  If  this  substitute  for 
Sicilian  brimstone  had  not  been  found,  that 
article  would  now  be  at  an  enormous  price, 
instead  of  f^om  five  ta  six  pounds  sterling 
per  ton. 


POULTRY  ABROAD. 

Whin  a  fear  was  expressed  to  a  very  high 
personage  that  the  late  revolutionary  pro- 
ceeding in  Spain  might  have  the  effect  of 
unsettling  things  in  France,  he  sagaciously 
replied  that  there  was  no  real  cause  for  anx- 
iety. "France,"  he  said,  "often  gives  the 
plague,  but  never  catches  iV  Still,  there 
are  several  remarkable  exceptions  to  the 
general  truth  of  this  imperial  dictum.  The 
notorious  aqd  historical  Anglomania  which 
naturalised  such  things  and  words  as  jockei, 
theboxe,  redingote,  sport,  boulingrin,  bifstik. 
plompudding,  stupide,  and  coufbrtable,  is  one 
of  them.  English  seeds  for  French  gardeners, 
English  pigs  and  oxen  for  French  farmers, 
English  needles,  pins,  and  thread  for  French 
leamstresses,  English  muslins  and  print  dress- 
es for  French  budding  demoiselles,  are  all  mat- 
ters of  desure  in  their  absence,  and  of  pride  in 
their  possession.  Two  items  of  live  stock — 
sheep  and  poultry — have  as  yet  remained  in 
the  primitive  state  in  which  chance  and  nature 
left  them  two  or  three  hundred  years  ago. 

It  may  be  as  well  to  state  that  on  the  con- 
tinent poultry-fancying  is  a  thing  unknown. 
Whatever  national  i^vancement  may  be 
made  in  the  education  of  young  men  and 
women  by  means  of  polytechnic  and  other 
schools  and  colleges,  the  bringing  up  of  cocks 
and  hens  is  sadly  and  grievously  neglected. 
They  are  allowed  to  run  about  and  do  just  as 
they  like,  without  control  or  discipline. 
Breeds,  strains  and  distinctive  markings  thus 
become  confusion  worse  confounded.  The 
seaports  often  contain  two  or  three  households 
of  respectable  game  fowls,  brought  over  by 
steampacket  captains,  messengers,  and  other 
EngUdi  birds  of  passage ;  but  thev  are  soon 
lost  and  merged  in  the  multitude  of  mongrels, 
when  their  importers  and  owners  take  their 
flight  elsewhere.  There  are  districts  in  France 
which  are  (locally)  celebrated  for  their  poul- 
try ;  but,  as  has  appeared  to  our  judgment, 
generally  without  sufiScient  cause.  On  eating 
them,  an  ordinary  amateur  would  say  they 
were  hardly  so  good  as  the  average  of  far- 
mers' fowls  at  home ;  and  as  to  looking  at 
them,  they  will  not  bear  the  looking  at. 


Le  Mans  in  Maine,  the  Pays  de  Caux,  and  the 
neighbourhood  of  Le  Havre  in  Normandy, 
and  other  parts  of  France,  are  loudly  vauut- 
ed  for  the  poultry  they  produce.  The  kinds 
reared  are  either  ill-bred  Polands,  an  offshoot 
of  the  Spanish  breed  called  Grevecosur  fowls, 
or  barndoors  of  unaccountable  extraction. 
The  immense  multitude  of  eggn  laid,  the 
surplus  onlv  of  which  bent  to  England  is 
astounding  m  its  numliers,  is  to  be  account- 
ed for  without  attriubting  any  unusual  merit 
to  the  hens,  first,  by  the  warmer  and  drier 
climate  of  France ;  and,  secondly  (what  is 
too  often  forgotten  when  the  respective  pro- 
duce of  France  and  England  is  compared), 
by  the  immensely  greater  area  which  affords 
the  supply.  Englishmen,  until  they  begin 
to  travel,  do  not  suspect  how  much  greater 
in  extent  than  their  own  snug  little  Island 
are  the  interminable  plains  of  the  conti- 
nent. 

The  best  species  of  poultry  id  France,  with 
reference  both  to  the  eve  and  the  palate,  are, 
first,  the  turkeys,  which  are  excellent,  being 
pure  types  of  the  genuine  old  black  Norfolk 
breed.  Mainly  in  consequence,  it  may  be 
presumed,  of  the  dry,  warm,  and  long  sum- 
mer, they  attain  very  considerable  average 
weights,  and  appear  very  early  on  the  table 
in  Uie  shape  of  poults.  They  might  easily 
be  kept  and  fattened  up  to  great  weights; 
but,  it  is  not  the  fashion  of  French,  and  es- 
pecially of  Parisian  dinners,  to  take  pride  or 
pleasure  in  mountains  of  meat  A  moder- 
ate-sized hen  turkey,  stuffed  with  truflfies, 
if  possible,  is  there  the  acme  of  excellence. 
Prime  Ministers  are  reputed  to  have  been 
bribed  by  the  timely  present  of  a  dinde  truf- 
fle. Turkeys,  too,  are  almost  the  only  birds 
which  can  be  advantageously  imported  into 
England  as  stock  j  and  they  run  so  equal 
and  so  high  in  merit,  that  the  merest  tvro  can 
hardly  go  wrong  in  making  his  selection. 
We  therefore  strongly  advise  all  persons 
whose  turkeys  have  not  done  well  for  the  last 
few  years,  most  likely  on  account  of  some 
hereditary  weakness,  entirely  to  get  rid  of 
their  ailing  patients,  to  make  a  careful  In- 
spection, reparation,  and  cleansing  of  their 
poultry-houses,  and  then  to  repeople  them 
with  healthy  birds  obtained  direct  from  the 
north  of  France.  Perhaps,  as  will  be  seen 
from  what  we  have  further  to  say,  facilities 
will  be  hereafter  afforded  in  the  way  of  ex- 
change. 

The  next  best  volatile  thing  which  our 
Gallic  neighbours  have  to  boast  of,  but  which 
they  do  not  sufficiently  appreciate  them- 
selves, are  the  wild-coloured -call-ducks,  or 
canards  de  rappel,  which  are  to  be  found  in 
several  of  tiie  northern  departments.  They 
are  not  seen  further  in  the  interior,  simply 
because,  as  a  general  rule^  central  France  is 
comparafively  deficient  m  water.  These 
French  call-ducks  (the  Introduction  of  which 
would  prove  a  valuable  acquisition  at  home) 
are  both  admirable  mothers  and  excellent 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


eating ;  their  plamage,  in  its  kind,  is  perfect; 
their  flirtations  and  gambols  on,  under,  and 
over  the  water,  arc  most  amusing  ;  and  their 
ralue  as  decoy-birds,  on  account  of  their 
sonorous  and  unwearied  quack,  is  second  to 
no  other  flat-foot  in  the  world.  Colonel 
Hawker  truly  says  that  three  French  ducks, 
like  three  Frenchmen,  will  make  about  as 
much  noise  as  a  dozen  English.  French 
geese  are  in  little  esteem  ;  they  are  not  a 
fashionable  dish.  They  are  looked  upon  as 
food  for  the  common  people,  rather  than  for 
the  rich  bourgeois,  or  fbr  the  gentleman  with  a 
de  before  his  name.  The  Parisian  workman, 
when  he  has  a  mind  for  a  treat,  buys  at  a 
roti8seur*s,  or  roaster's,  a  ready-roasted  joint 
of  goose.  From  the  baker's  shop  next  door 
he  fetches  sundry  sous'-worth  of  bread.  He 
then  enters  a  Commerce  de  Yins,  or  wine- 
shop, protected,  like  the  baker's,  by  an  out- 
side front  of  strong  iron  bars,  which  conyert 
them  into  so  many  little  fortresses,  and  ren- 
der each  man's  shop  his  citadel,  in  case  any 
popular  outbreak  should  make  the  multitude 
too  desirous  of  a  gratuitous  supply  of  the 
two  principal  articles  of  a  Frenchman's  diet, 
bread  and  wine.  The  only  stylish  morsel 
contained  in  a  goose  is  the  liyer,  which  may 
make  its  appearance  in  a  pat^,  especially 
when  enlarged  by  disease  to  unnatural  di- 
mensions, on  any  table,  and  which  the  proud- 
est nobleman  of  the  legitimate  party  may 
condescend  to  taste  without  losing  caste.  To 
add  to  the  French  goose's  humiliations,  its 
feathers  are  in  but  minor  request  Every- 
body sleeps  either  on  wool  mattrasses,  straw 
beds,  or,  in  the  south,  on  sacks  stuffed  with 
the  husks  of  Indian  com.  Feather  beds  to 
lay  over  you  in  winter  are  yery  general  ar- 
ticles of  chamber  furniture,  and  yery  com- 
fortable when  you  are  not  restless,  and  do 
not  kick  them  off  in  the  dead  of  the  night 
But  these  are  filled,  not  with  goose-feathers, 
but  with  eider-down. 

Thirdly,  the  French  domestic  pigeons  are 
large,  plump,  and  succulent,  in  their  season. 
Amon£^t  them,  birds  of  the  colour,  form,  and 
size  of  runts,  are  not  unfrequent  in  tolerable 
purity.  Good  carriers  are  to  be  found  in 
many  of  the  large  towns,  especially  the  sea- 
ports. But  the  electric  telegraph  has  in 
great  part  superseded  them,  and  has  ruined 
ihe'iT  prospects  as  professional  birds.  Other 
fancy  pigeons  are  almost  non-existent..  Traces 
of  turbits  and  trumpeters  are  to  be  seen 
rarely,  here  and  there.  The  only  poultry 
curiosity  which  the  Jardin  des  Plantes  at 
present  contains,  are  some  pure  white  silk- 
fowls,  with  good  silky  top-knots,  also  pure 
white.  We  may  call  them  silky-Polish,  if  we 
please,  and  yery  pretty  indeed  they  are. 
They  would  attract  attention  in  any  exhibi- 
tion where  the  mania  of  the  day  did  not 
blind  amateurs  to  the  merits  of  all'  but  one 
special  breed. 

This  premised,  it  will  be  belieyed  that  we 
were  agreeably  struck  by  the  announcement 


of  a  poster  that  on  Thursday,  Friday,  Satur- 
day, and  Sunday,  the  twenty-sixth,  twenty- 
seyenth,  twenty -eighth,  and  twenty-ninth  of 
October  last,  the  Agricultural  Society  of 
Boulogne-sur-Mer  would  glye  an  exposition 
of  cereal  grains,  implements,  plants  for  for- 
age roots,  yesetables,  fruits,  and  *'  foreign 
poultry."  It  Is  thus,  in  what  may  be  called 
frontier  towns,  that  the  first  specimens  of 
transmarine  taste  are  displayed,  to  find  their 
way  gradually  further  inland.  As  peculiari- 
ties of  ,this  exposition,  it  may  be  recorded 
that  the  middle  of  one  day,  Saturday,  from 
twelve  until  three,  was  devoted  to  a  public 
six-monthly  sitting,  in  which  several  usefsl 
reports  were  read ;  that  the  admission  during 
all  the  four  days  was  gratuitous ;  you  had 
nothing  to  do  but  to  walk  in,  and  behave 
yourself  respectably ;  and  that  the  place  of 
exhibition  was  the  library  in  the  building 
which  contains  the  Boulogne  Museum, — two 
institutions  to  whose  value,  richness,  and  con- 
venience many  a  passing  literary  stranger 
will  cheerfully  bear  testimony. 

Amongst  other  articles  which  made  their 
appearance  in  the  great  room  of  the  library, 
were  the  seed  and  fibre  of  the  white-blos- 
somed flax ;  enormous  red  and  yellow  beet- 
root, important  hitherto  for  the  sugar  crqi 
in  France,  and  big  enough  to  serve  as  clubs 
for  the  protection  of  the  town  f^om  foreign 
invasion ;  amongst  these,  were  beet-root  for 
cows,  the  third  crop  this  summer  after  rye 
cut  green,  and  flax  ;  great  variety  of  red  and 
yellow  carrots,  like  enormous  sticks  of  vege- 
table barley-sugar ;  enormous  drum-head 
and  red  cabbages,  solid  enough  to  serve 
as  cannon-balls ;  specimens  of  oats,  wheat, 
rye,  and  escourgcon,  or  four-rowed  barley, 
in  the  straw,  including  some  double-ker- 
nelled  bearded  wheat,  all  tending  to  calm 
the  public  mind  touching  any  possible 
scarcity  of  grain ;  and  five  tables  foil 
of  apples  and  pears,  calculated  to  make 
streams  of  water  rush  into  incalculable 
mouths. 

The  collection  of  stranger  fowl,  which  re- 
presented Birmingham  and  all  England,  was 
small ;  let  it  not,  therefore,  be  thought  un- 
important Twelve  wicker-baskets  contain- 
ed the  whole.  The  favourite,  perhaps,  were 
the  drake  and  two  Aylesbury  ducks,  so  deli- 
cate and  sleepy  that  they  looked  as  if  they 
longed  to  be  boiled  and  served  up  with  white 
sauce  to  match  their  plumage.  N3. — If  you 
don't  know  the  merits  of  boiled  ducks,  we 
pity  (without  offence)  your  ignorance.  A 
pair  of  white  turkeys  gave  general  satisfac- 
tion ;  and  it  was  announced  that  their  owner 
had  several  couplets  to  sell,  at  the  not  extra- 
vagant price  of  thirty  ftrancs  the  couple.  A 
pair  of  yellow  bantams  required  tight-lacing 
before  they  could  have  shown' their  faces  in 
the  Midland  Counties;  but  all  the  poultry 
was  far  too  novel  a  sight  for  native  connois- 
seurs to  be  over  particular.  Then  there  were 
a  pair  of  rilver-spangled  Poli^ — white  fbwls 


J 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Clwrtca  Diekena.] 


POULTRY  ABROAD. 


401 


Cftnght  in  a  shower  of  ink-drops :  and  a  cock 
and  two  Brahma  Pootra  hens.  The  rest  were 
ordinary  Cochin  Chinas. 

"  Look,  mj  hnsband,  at  the  cock  with  the 
gross  voice,  and  without  any  tail.  Look,  too, 
at  the  wonderful  red  eggs  which  his  hens  have 
laid,"  said  a  farmeress  of  mj  acquaintance. 

"Yes,  my  wife,  I  hare  been  looking  at 
him.    IsnH  he  droll  T    Isn't  he  ugly  ?" 

**UglyI"  said  L  "He's  the  model  of 
beauty.  If  you  only  knew  the  sums  that 
have  been  paid  for  cocks  and  hens  the  like  of 
those !" 

'*  How  much  ?  "  asked  madame,  carelessly. 
"  I  suppose  they  would  sell  for  fifty  sous 
each." 

"Fifty  sons  I  You  would  make  ama- 
teurs faint  to  bear  such  words  proceed 
from  your  lips.  I  dare  not  tell  you  how 
much  they  have  sold  for.  You  would  treat 
me  as  one  of  your  labourers  did  the  other 
day,  when  I  told  him  that  the  world  was 
round  like  an  apple,  and  not  flat  like  a  plate. 
You  would  not  believe  me." 

»'  Tell  me,  tell  me  I "  insisted  the  lady, 
whose  curiosity  rose  with  my  reluctance  to 
speak. 

I  whispered  a  sentence  or  two  in  her  ear, 
for  fear  of  being  overheard  bv  the  bystanders 
and  being  turned  out  of  the  room  as  an 
impudent  impostor. 

"Really?  On  your  word  of  honour?" 
she  asked,  incredulously. 

**  Really.  Upon  my  word  of  honour,"  I 
seriously  replied. 

"Tiens!  my  husband!"  she  said,  seizing 
firm  hold  of  his  arm,  to  make  the  announce- 
ment the  more  impressive.  "  Monsieur  tells 
me,  on  his  word  of  honour,  that  a  fowl  like 
this  has  been  sold  in  England  for  one  hun- 
dred sterling  English  pounds,  and  that  many 
other  fowls  have  been  acquired  for  prices  not 
much  inferior." 

The  farmer  looked  hard  at  me,  and  said, 
'*  Monsieur  is  not  a  liar,  I  know :  although 
monsieur  is  often  a  farcer ;  but  if  monsieur 

gives  his  word  of  honour "  The  shoulders 

finished  the  sentence  which  the  mouth  had 
begun. 

**  Only  think,  Louis,"  she  continued,  •*  for 
one  sncn  fowl  as  this,  we  could  have  two  or 
three  thousand  plump  young  fowls.  Wouldn't 
yonr  brother,  the  captain,  be  glad  of  them,  to 
put  into  his  pot-a-feu  before  Sebastopol.  And 
our  poor  son  Andr^  is  almost  sure  to  fall  to 
the  conscription  next  year.  If  we  had  a 
Cochin  China  cock,  we  could  sell  him,  and 
purchase  a  substitute  with  the  money.  The 
life  of  a  man  is  worth  the  price  of  a  fowl ! 
I  wish  I  had  a  Cochin  China  fowl  1" 

"  Will  you  buy  one  cheap — for  five  hundred 
francs  ?  I  dare  say  I  can  procure  you  one 
from  England,  now  that  the  market  is  a  little 
lowered." 

'*  Do  yon  think  me  ripe  for  the  asylum, 
monsieur?" 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  Louis  to  his  wife  in 


an  explanatory  tone;  "these  English,  you 
know,  are  always  eccentric." 

"And  so  were  the  Dutch,  when  they  went 
mad  after  tulips ;"  I  retorted.  "And  so  were 
the  French  when  they  prostrated  themselves 
before  the  Scotchman  who  blew  the  South  Sea 
bubble." 

"  True,  true ;"  concluded  Louis.  "  Those 
follies  have  passed  ;  and  so  will  this." 

Such  was  the  poultry-show  at  Boulogne- 
sur-Mer— which  we  travelled  several  leagues 
out  of  our  way  to  see — a  small  beginning 
which  may  have  pleasant  results,  with  all  the 
greater  probability  now  that  the  red  heat  of 
enthusiasm  is  cooling  down  to  a  more  tem- 
prate  degree.  We  should  be  sorry  to  be  the 
historians  to  record  the  utter  decline  and  fall 
of  the  fowl  empire  ;  and,  perhaps,  the  con- 
tinent may  sustain  the  fortunes  which  are 
already  beginning  to  fail  in  Great  Britain. 
An  early  attempt,  like  this  at  Boulogne, 
often  gives  no  measure  of  ultimate  suc- 
cess. When  six  bunches  of  rhubarb  were 
taken  to  Covent  Garden  Market,  as  a  venture, 
and  three  of  them  were  brought  back  unsold, 
who  would  have  dared  to  prognosticate  the 
acres  devoted  to  cultivate,  and  the  waggons 
and  horses  employed  to  fetch,  the  stalks  Of 
this  plant  to  make  tarts  for  the  Londoners? 
Who,  seeing  the  disfavour  with  which  seakale 
was  first  received,  would  have  ventured  to 
predict  the  place  it  now  holds  on  the  list  of 
vegetable  delicacies  ? 

Who  would  have  thought  that  the  poultry- 
shows  of  the  north  of  England,  excited  by  the 
breath  of  a  popular  book,  would  have  grown 
to  their  dimensions  and  importance  of  to-day? 
— perhaps  we  ought  to  write — of  yesterday  ? 
And  who  will  say  what  may  not  be  the  con- 
sequence of  these  dozen  cages  of  foreign  fowl  ? 
It  is  known  that  the  French  government 
pays  great  attention  to,  and  does  all  in  its 
power  to  encourage  country  pursuits;  and  that 
if  Europe  were  but  once  blessed  with  peace, 
the  energies  of  that  great  country  would  be 
more  devoted  to  agriculture  than  they  can  be 
now.  We  know  the  sums  that  foreigners, 
comparatively  less  wealthy  than  ourselves  as 
they  are,  will  give  to  possess  first-rate  British 
bulls,  cows,  horses,  and  swine,  for  breeding 
purposes ;  and  it  is  probable  that  if  once  their 
eyes  are  opened  and  their  taste  awakened, 
they  will  be  equally  anxious  to  acquire  what- 
ever we  have  of  good  (and  we  have  much  that 
is  superior) ,  in  the  shape  of  poultry.  There  is 
no  doubt  that  a  market  may  be  opened  on  the 
continent  for  the  sale  of  many  specimens  which 
we  can  well  spare  now;  because,  with  us,  choice 
sorts  have  increased  and  multiplied.  If  only  as 
a  pocket  question  and  a  matter  of  interest,^  the 
subject  deserves  a  little  attention.  We  might 
take  higher  ground,  and  urge  the  value  of 
the  international  acquaintance  and  intimacy 
which  would  result  from  the  two  nations  pur- 
suing one  and  the  same  hobby.  The  Great 
Exhibition  at  Paris,  this  year,  will  afibrd 
innumerable  opportunities  to  any  who  choose 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


402 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[COBdtKtcdkr    l| 


to  take  ap  oar  biat,  and  follow  it.  It 
would  be  a  graceful  waj  of  making  friends, 
as  well  as  of  iairoduciag  a  novel  article,  were 
wealthy  amateurs  to  scad  over  a  few  lots  for 
the  next  poultry-show  in  France  ;  presenting 
them  to  the  Institution,  or  the  town,  to  be 
raffled  for,  for  the  benefit  of  the  poor, — a 
favourite  form  of  French  charity. 


THE  STORY  OF  A  KING. 

Lv  all  countries  the  stories  on  which  legend 
dwells  most  fondly  are  those  which  relate  the 
Bafferings  of  lovers.  The  incidents  which 
compose  them  are  generally  few  and  bear  a 
marked  similarity  in  all  cases.  This  is  partly 
because  the  same  passion  naturally  produces 
the  same  fruit,  partly  because  the  world 
rarely  obtains  new  revelations  of  this  kind. 
The  sufferings  of  lovers  commonly  take  place 
on  a  scene  far  removed  from  the  public  gaze, 
in  the  innermost  recesses  of  the  mind ;  and 
true  afiection  is  sh^  and  reserved,  keeping  both 
its  pangs  and  its  joys  to  itself.  It  is  only  by 
some  extraordinary  accident — now  and  then, 
at  intervals  perhaps  of  a  century  or  so,  that  we 
are  admitted  into  this  kind  of  secret ;  but  then 
ttie  people — ^preceding  literature — instantly 
seize  upon  all  the  moral  details  and  make  them 
their  own,  and  relate  them,  sometimes  in  con- 
nection with  one  series  of  material  incidents, 
sometimes  with  another,  and  so  many  stories 
gradually  spring  from  one,  are  all  incor- 
porated in  the  repertory  of  legend,  become 
part  of  the  world's  belief,  and  raise  and  purify 
its  conception  of  human  nature.  The  influence 
of  these  narratives  indeed  has  much  to  do 
with  the  progress  of  true  civilisation.  They 
humanise  and  soften  us ;  they  quicken  the 
pulse  and  open  the  heart  I  am  sure  that  the 
Arabs  who  listened  with  me  attentively, 
under  the  sycamore,  at  Tel-el- Amarna,  to  the 
story  of  King  Zakariah  and  the  Maiden 
Salameh,  must  to  tome  extent  have  been 
made  better  if  sadder  men  by  meditating  on 
its  simple  incidents. 

In  former  days,  said  the  narrator,  pointing 
with  his  meagre  finger — for  he  was  an  old 
and  withered  man — to  the  broad  and  desolate 
valley  at  the  entrance  of  which  the  ruins  of  a 
great  city  were  visible,  this  was  the  capital  of 
a  mighty  king,  named  Zakariah.  It  contained 
mosques,  and  baths,  and  palaoes,  and  market- 
places, and  lofty  gateways. 

(It  was  evident  at  once  that,  according  to 
the  peculiar  habit  of  Egyptian  story-tellers, 
the  real  circumstances  and  protMtbilities  of  the 
scene  around  had  vanished  from  his  mind, 
and  that  he  was  thinking  of  Cairo,  the  only 
type  of  a  living  seat  of  empire  with  which  he 
was  acquainted.  In  all  the  subsequent  part 
of  his  narrative,  therefore,  the  listeners  were 
compelled  to  localise  the  incidents  in  the  city 
of  Victory ;  and  sometimes  even,  as  he 
warmed,  he  mentioned  the  names  of  well- 
known  streets,  and  otherwise  allowed  it  to  be 
understood  that  he  had   no    authority  fori 


choosing  that  ruined  place  of  the  Gentiles  as 
the  scene  of  his  story,  but  that  he  did  » 
merely  to  increase  the  impression  of  veracity.) 

King  Zakariah  was  wise  though  youn^. 
good  though  powerful.  He  was  l^loved  kj 
his  subjects,  and  dreaded  by  none  but  tht 
wicked.  The  land  resounded  with  his  pratsos. 
Widows  confidently  committed  their  orpbaa 
children  to  his  care ;  and  the  poor  scarcely 
considered  themselves  poor  as  long  as  his 
treasury  was  unexhausted.  Popular  affectioa 
therefore  became  busy  about  h\k  happioess ; 
and  many  hearts  mourned  when  it  bogan  to 
be  whispered  that  the  King,  who  lavbhed  joy 
BO  plentifully  on  others,  was  himself  sad  in 
mind,  troubled  with  visions  and  uosatisfied 
longings,  and  deprived  by  some  mysterious 
cause  of  the  power  to  taste  those  family  de- 
lights which  the  humblest  of  his  subjects 
under  the  wing  of  his  protection  could  indolf^ 
in.  When  he  issued  from  his  palace  to  go  la 
procession  to  the  mosque,  or  to  the  bath,  or 
to  some  of  his  gardens  in  the  country,  women 
holding  their  babies  in  their  arms  crowded 
before  nis  steps,  and  looking  anxiously  in  his 
careworn  countenance,  blest  him,  and  prayed 
aloud  that  his  sorrows  might  be  taken  away, 
and  that  he  might  preserve  his  life  for  his  own 
sake  and  for  that  of  his  people.  It  had  indeed 
been  whispered  abroad  that  a  mighty  malady 
beyond  the  reach  of  the  physician's  skill  w&s 
gnawing  the  heart  of  this  good  King — that 
he  was  without  hope,  and  without  care  for 
anything  in  this  world  ;  and  as  good  kings 
were  not  common  in  those  ancient  days,  there 
was  perhaps  something  of  selfishness  in  the 
anxiety  of  his  people.  Yet  this  thought  could 
scarcely  have  occurred  to  him  when  he  smiled 
benevolently  on  the  crowds  that  lined  hii 
path,  and  hastened  on  to  be  out  of  reach  of 
their  sympathy. 

The  only  person  who  knew  the  secret  of 
the  King's  melancholy  was  his  mother,  then 
far  stricken  in  years.  Many  of  the  courtiers, 
moved,  some  by  sympathy,  and  some  by 
curiosity,  had  frequently  questioned  her 
women,  who,  not  to  lose  the  opportunity  of 
garrulity,  gave  them  surmises  instead  of  facta. 
But,  in  truth,  what  they  said  only  increased 
the  geiieral  ignorance.  The  mysteiy  remained 
hidden,  because  those  uho  knew  it  spoke  of 
it  only  between  theni^elves — ^not  that  they 
cared  much  for  secrecy,  but  that  they  knew 
that  the  sufferings  of  King  Zakarian  were 
such  as  the  world  with  difficulty  appreciates 

Zakariah  had  found  the  source  of  his  nnhap- 
piness  within  himself.  His  was  not  a  manly 
but  a  maidenly  frame  of  mind.  His  soul 
thirsted  for  love,  but  he  would  not  accept 
love  which  might  even  seem  to  be  directed 
towards  his  station  and  not  solely  towards 
himself.  By  lonj^  dwelling  on  the  delightsof 
pure  passion,  entirely  separated  in  origin  and 
in  expression  from  all  worldly  consideratioos,  I 
he  had  learned  perhaps  somewhat  to  ove^  ' 
estimate  them.  He  came  to  believe  that  msD 
was  created  only  for  that  eigoyment,  and  tbst  < 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbariei  Dlckeni.] 


THE  STORY  OF  A  KING. 


403 


everything  else  was  waste  of  time,  a  kind  of 
malady  of  existence.  The  arts  of  government 
and  the  duties  of  power  he  exercised  only  in 
obedience  to  the  will  of  God ;  and  perhaps 
he  was  a  good  King  because  nothing  that  his 
station  could  give  him  he  considertd  to  be 
worth  haying.  "  They  say,  my  friends," 
qaoth  the  philosophical  narrator,  '^  that 
Ibrahim  the  Cruel,  when  he  came  to  decide 
on  the  differences  between  poor  peasants,  was 
the  best  judge  that  ever  existed,  because  he 
had  no  interest  to  serve  on  one  side  or  the 
other.''  However  this  may  be,  it  seemed 
certain  that  King  Zakariah  was  naturally 
endowed  with  all  good  qualities  save  one — 
the  wisdom  of  the  bee  which  settles  on  the 
flowers  it  finds  on  its  flight,  and  is  content 
with  the  honey  it  finds. 

The  King  used  often  to  sit  at  his  mother's 
feet  and  talk  to  her  of  his  sad  case.  She  was 
a  wise  woman  and  understood  what  he  meant. 
Her  advice  was,  that  af^  the  hour  of  sunset, 
when  the  King  was  supposed  to  have  retired 
to  rest,  he  should  disguise  himself  and  go 
forth,  like  the  famous  Haroun-el-Rashed,  and 
seek  adventures  in  the  city.  For  fear,  how- 
ever, that  danger  should  befall  him,  she  re- 
quired that  he  should  conceal  the  true  pur- 
pose of  his  wanderings,  and  pretend  simply  to 
be  anxious  to  see  that  justice  was  duly  ad- 
ministered, and  that  he  should  take  as  com- 
panions Mansour,  the  chief  eunuch  of  the 
palace,  and  Kaad,  a  faithful  servant.  It  is 
true  that  in  conniving  at  these  nocturnal 
EtroUs,  the  Queen  Zibcydeh  did  not  expect 
that  her  son  would  find  what  he  desired ; 
for,  being  old,  whilst  she  understood  the 
longings  of  youth,  ^e  disbelieved  in  their 
accomplishment 

It  became,  accordingly,  a  common  thing 
for  Mansour,  who  pretended  to  be  a  merchant 
from  Abbysainia,  with  two  attendants,  to 
visit  the  various  quarters  of  the  city,  and 
encounter  all  manner  of  adventures.  One 
night,  the  King  walking  a  Little  in  advance 
of  his  companions  down  a  dark  narrow  street, 
in  the  northern  part  of  the  city,  where  the 
Christians  inhabited,  was  arrested  in  his  pro- 
frress  by  hearing  the  voice  of  lamentation. 
He  paused  to  listen,  and  made  out  the  follow- 
ing words  : — "  Oh !  my  master,  Naomi,  when 
wilt  thou  return  ?  What  have  I  done  that  I 
Bhoald  be  left  alone  with  my  own  heart  full  of 
wild  fancies  and  desires  ?  My  life  is  incomplete. 
I  am  like  a  lake  which  has  no  heaven  to  re- 
flect, like  a  burd  singing  after  its  nest  has  been 
spoiled,  like  a  mother  rocking  an  empty 
cradle,  like  a  saint  praying  in  a  world  where 
there  is  naGod  I  I  rise  in  the  morning,  and 
daylight  seems  horrid  to  me ;  the  night  ap- 
proaches, and  darkness  becomes  full  of  terrors. 
There  is  nothing  delightful  to  my  mind  in 
thy  absence — silencft  is  no  longer  sweet,  and 
the  murmuring  of  nature  wearies  me.  Come 
back,  Naomi,  ft'om  the  far  country  whither 
thou  hast  gone,  or  thou  wilt  come  back  only 
to  weep  over  my  tomb." 


When  King  Zakariah  heard  this  song,  he 
said  to  himself,  "  Evidently  the  case  of  this 
maiden  is  as  mine  own.  Her  Naomi  is  an 
unreal  personage,  for  it  is  impossible  that  the 
love  she  describes  can  really  exist  in  the 
world."  He  listened  some  time  longer,  but 
the  house  from  which  the  sound  had  come 
had  returned  to  silence  ;  so  he  proceeded,  and 
having  wandered  some  hours  through  the 
city,  went  back  to  his  palace  more  sad  in 
heart  than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life. 

Mansour  had  noticed  the  attention  which 
the  King  had  paid  to  the  song  of  the  unknown 
maiden,  and  thinking  that  he  might  wish  to 
exercise  his  power  in  order  to  behold  her,  had 
marked  the  wall  of  the  house  with  a  piece  of 
chalk.  When  day  came,  therefore,  he  sent  Kaad 
to  ascertain  who  the  maiden  might  be,  what 
were  her  parents,  and  what  was  her  story. 
The  faithAil  servant  diligently  performed  his 
task,  and  brought  a  full  report  to  the  eunuch. 
The  maiden's  name,  he  said,  was  Salameh, 
and  she  was  the  daughter  of  a  Copt,  one  of 
the  principal  accountants  of  the  King's  trea- 
sury. Of  Naomi,  however,  no  news  could  be 
l^tu>ned  from  the  neighbors,  who  said  that 
Salameh  had  reached  the  marriageable  age. 
but  that  her  father  had  not  yet  thought  of 
choosing  a  husband  for  her  fVom  among  the 
people  of  his  race.  "  Verily,"  thought  Man- 
sour, "  this  is  a  piece  of  great  good  fortune. 
Our  master  will  love  this  maiden,  and  will 
seize  her  and  indemnify  her  father,  and  make 
her  his  companion,  and  dismiss  his  melan- 
choly, and  gladden  the  hearts  of  his  people." 
The  worthy  man  rubbed  his  hands,  believing 
that  he  had  found  a  great  combination. 

Next  night  the  Eling  went  out  again  with 
his  usual  companions,  and  proceeded  straight 
towards  the  quarter  where  he  had  heard  the 
song  of  Salameh.  He  did  not  know  that  the 
interest  the  maiden  had  aroused  in  him  had 
been  noticed  by  any  one ;  so  that  he  amused 
Mansour  with  various  shallow  reasons  which 
he  gave  why  on  two  succeeding  nights  he 
wandered  in  the  same  direction.  The  house 
this  time  was  silent,  and  a  certain  feeling  of 
jealousy  visited  the  King,  because  he  thought 
that  Naomi  might  have  returned.  In  his  ex- 
citement he  exclaimed  aloud,  "Woe  be  to 
him  who  treadeth  on  the  path  I  have  chosen !" 
This  was  the  first  time  that  he  understood 
what  had  taken  place  within  him.  He  had 
believed  until  then  that  the  sentiment  which 
this  invisible  n^aiden  had  aroused  was  simply 
one  of  compassion  or  curiosity.  He  now 
found  that  she  had  taken  possession  of  his 
soul,  that  without  having  seen  he  had  in- 
vested her  with  all  manner  of  beauty,  of 
loveliness,  and  grace,  that  he  had  set  her  apart 
for  himself,  and  that  the  fljret  enemy  that  had 
ever  crossed  his  life  was  that  mysterious 
Naomi.  Mansour,  noticing  his  trouble, 
thought  this  was  a  good  opportunity  to  speak, 
and  said,  "  The  maiden  of  the  song  is  called 
Salameh,  and  she  is  the  daughter  of  thy  ao- 
countant  Gerges,  who  happens  now  to  be 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


404 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCoDdocted  ky     ! 


at  Damiai.  Shall  we  knock  at  the  door,  and 
pretend  to  be  strangers,  and  ask  for  hospi- 
tality!  Perhaps  we  may  see  the  maiden  by 
accident,  and  ii  not,  we  can  exert  authority /' 
The  good  King  forbade  Mansour  to  use  any 
means  but  cunning ;  but,  without  reflecting 
that  part  of  his  secret  Was  now  discovered, 
consented  to  the  proposed  stratagem. 

Mansour  smote  the  door  of  the  house,  and 
it  was  presently  opened  by  a  black  slave 
girl,  who  screamed  slightly  at  seeing  them, 
and  would  have  closed  it  again.  But  Man- 
sour, standing  on  the  threuiold,  prevented 
her,  and  told  the  story  he  had  prepared, 
begging  to  be  allowed  to  enter  the  courtyard, 
and  spend  the  night  with  his  servants  in  the 
takhtabosh.  They  had  just  arrived,  he  said, 
and  could  find  no  lodging.  The  slave-girl 
would  not  have  allowed  herself  to  be  per- 
suaded, although  the  blackness  of  the  speaker 
was  a  recommendation  to  her,  but  another 
woman  came  down  the  passage,  and  said  that 
her  mistress  had  overheard  the  altercation, 
and  would  by  no  means  refuse  hospitality  to 
strangers  from  Habesh.  They  accordingly 
entered,  and  sat  some  time  in  the  takhtalx^b, 
which  is  a  great  room,  or  rather  alcove,  open- 
ing into  the  courtyard.  The  slave-girl  brought 
them  a  lamp,  and  presently  afterwards  asked 
them  if  they  would  sup.  Mansour  and  Kaad, 
who  were  hungrr,  instantly  accepted  the 
oflfer.  and  although  the  young  King,  fearing 
to  give  trouble,  pulled  them  by  the  sleeve  to 
check  them,  they  paid  no  arttention  to  him. 
Soon,  therefore,  the  dishes  were  set  before 
them,  and  they  ate.  The  King,  it  is  true, 
would  have  refrained,  but  in  order  to  conceal 
their  own  greediness,  they  persuaded  him 
that  his  abstinence  would  seem  to  be  an  in- 
sult to  the  house. 

Whilst  the  supper  was  going  on,  Salameh, 
who  was  sole  mistress  in  that  house  during 
the  absence  of  her  father,  came  out  into  the 
gallery  opposite  the  takhtabosh,  and  being  in 
darkness  herself,  could  see  everything  that 
passed  in  the  well-lighted  chamber  below. 
The  reason  of  the  interest  she  felt  in  the 
strangers  was  this :  Naomi,  whom  she  loved, 
and  to  whom  she  was  betrothed,  had  departed 
with  his  father,  a  merchant,  more  than  a  year 
before,  to  trade  in  Abbyssinia,  and  since  that 
time  no  news  of  him  had  come.  She  rejoiced, 
therefore,  in  this  opportunity  of  conversing 
with  people  from  that  country,  and  felt  more 
confidence  than  she  would  have  done  on 
beholding  the  dignified  mien  of  King  Zaka- 
riah.  When  the  strangers,  therefore,  had 
washed  their  hands,  she  ordered  coffee  to  be 
made,  and  descending,  offered  it  first  to  Man- 
sour, and  then  to  the  King,  and  then  to 
Kaad.  She  took  back  the  cups  in  the  same 
order,  and  kissed  the  hand  first  of  the 
eunuch,  and  afterwards  of  the  King;  but 
Kaad,  warned  by  a  terrible  glance  of  jealousy, 
affected  awkwardly  to  drop  his  cup.  Then 
Salameh  sat  down  before  the  strangers,  and 
questioned  them,  addressing  herself  prmci- 


pally  to  Zakariah.  But  the  yoang  King  knew 
little  of  foreign  countries,  whilst  Manaour, 
who  was  old,  had  travelled  much,  and  could 
support  his  character  without  chance  of 
discovery.  It  was  the  eunuch,  therefore,  who 
replied,  giving  information  on  the  history, 
and  manners,  and  customs,  and  productions 
of  Abyssinia.  It  length  Salameh  asked  if  in 
their  travels  they  had  met  a  yoang  mer- 
chant named  Naomi.  To  this  the  King, 
silencing  his  companions  by  a  gesture,  re- 
plied, obeying  the  suggestions  of  an  evil 
spirit  who  whispered  at  his  elbow :  **  Yea, 
lady,  we  met  that  merchant  two  months  ago 
in  the  desert  of  Dankah.  He  was  proceed- 
ing towards  a  port  on  the  ocean,  where  he 
intended  to  embark,  and  to  sail  with  his  wife, 
the  daughter  of  a  king,  for  the  isles  of  the 
Indian  ocean."  He  bad  scarcely  uttered 
these  words,  when  Salameh  rose  to  her  feet 
with  a  great  cry,  and  then  fell  senseless  on 
the  ground.  The  Sing,  repentant  of  what 
he  had  done,  stepped  forward  to  assist  fn 
raising  her ;  but  her  women  came  and  took 
her  away,  cursing  him  as  the  bearer  of  ill 
news.  Her  veil,  however,  had  fallen  aade, 
and  Zakariah  had  seen  that  she  was  marvel- 
lously beautiful.  His  heart  burned  with  love 
and  jealousy ;  and  without  saying  another 
word  he  hastened  forth  into  the  street,  fol- 
lowed by  his  two  companions. 

A  great  change  now  came  over  the  cha- 
racter of  Zakariah.  He  began  to  think 
that  moderation  would  be  folly  on  bis  part, 
or  at  any  rate  that  the  gentlenera  with 
which  he  had  exercised  power  until  then, 
would  justify  or  excuse  an  act  of  violence 
now.  There  could  be  no  happiness  for  him 
if  Salameh  were  given  to  another.  He 
had  but  to  speak  the  word  and  she  would 
be  brought  to  his  palace.  The  people,  far 
iVom  blaming,  would  doubtless  applaud. 
Did  they  not  every  day  besiege  him  with 
wishes  for  his  happiness?  What  would  tiiey 
care  for  the  grief  of  a  bereaved  father,  or 
the  despair  of  *an  absent  lover?  His  ex- 
clusive devotion  for  Salameh  would  render 
all  fathers  and  lovers  safe.  Such  were  the 
thoughts  that  passed  through  his  mind ;  but 
he  could  not  summon  courage  to  act  When, 
however,  he  told  his  troubles  to  his  mother, 
she,  in  her  absolute  fondness  for  him,  laughed 
at  his  scruples,  and  issued  orders,  so  that 
one  day  the  house  of  Gerges  was  surrounded, 
he  was  sent  into  banishment,  and  Salameh 
was  brought  a  prisoner  to  a  chamber  of  the 
palace.  Strict  Lojunctions  were  given  to  the 
watchers  of  the  roads  also  to  look  out  for 
Naomi,  and  prevent  his  return  even  by 
death. 

When  Salameh  knew  that  among  the  sham 
strangers  who  had  visited  her  house,  was  the 
King  himself,  and  that  it  was  he  who  had 
spoken  of  the  faithlessness  of  Naomi,  she 
understood  that  she  had  been  deceived,  and 
was  more  than  half  consoled  for  ihe  misfor- 
tune that  had  befallen  her.    When  Zakariah 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbarlei  DickcM.] 


THfc  STORY  OF  A  KING. 


405 


come  to  visit  her — incited  by  his  mother,  who 
declared  that  no  maiden  would  avert  her 
face  from  him — she  received  him  in  Bullen 
silence,  and  turning  her  face  to  the  wall,  de- 
prived him  of  the  sight  of  her  beauty.  He 
dared  not  approach,  and  scarcely  dared  to 
speak,  but  sat  on  a  carpet  near  the  door-way, 
sighing  and  beating  his  breast.  These  visits 
were  repeated  every  day  ;  at  length  Salameh, 
understanding  that  her  danger  was  less  than 
she  had  feared,  began  to  feel  more  compas- 
sion towards  the  young  King.  She  spoke  to 
liim  once  of  Naomi ;  but  then  his  eyes  flash- 
ed with  anger,  so  that  she  perceived  that  her 
only  protection  was  her  own  beauty^,  and  the 
King's  natural  goodness.  Becommg  wise, 
therefore,  in  her  own  defence,  she  spoke 
merely  of  the  cruelty  of  imposing  love  by 
force,  and  found  that  she  could  always  drive 
Zakariah  to  despair  and  humility,  by  saying 
that  hearts  must  be  given,  not  stolen,  and 
that  princes  could  command  everything  but 
smiles. 

Meanwhile  the  sentiments  of  the  people 
were  undergoing  a  great  change.  At  first 
they  had  allowed  the  oppression  of  Gerges 
and  bis  daughter  to  pass  unnoticed ;  and 
many  even  approved.  But  punishment  soon 
overtook  them.  The  King,  whose  thoughts 
were  occupied  day  and  night  with  Salameh, 
ceased  to  administer  justice  in  his  own  per- 
son, and  abandoned  that  care  to  others,  who 
look  the  opportunity  to  servo  their  own 
interests.  Wrong  began  to  be  practised,  and 
increased  every  day  in  intensity.  Just  claims 
were  disregarded,  violence  was  allowed  to 
go  unpuni£ed,  corruption  spread,  the  judges 
took  bribes,  and  traffickers  in  bribes  became 
rich.  In  the  midst  of  all  this  a  man,  dressed 
as  a  beggar,  began  to  go  about  the  streets 
complaining  and  prophesying.  It  was  Gerges, 
the  lather  of  Salameh,  who  had  become  mad 
in  banishment,  and  had  returned  to  demand 
'  vengeance  on  the  unjust  Zakariah.  The  offi- 
cers of  the  court  one  day  offered  to  beat  him; 
but  the  people  took  his  part,  and  carried  him 
away  in  triumph.  Insurrection  was  threaten- 
ed ;  and  the  watchword  became  Naomi  and 
Salameh. 

For,  the  young  man,  evading  the  watchers, 
(being  warned  by  messengers),  had  returned 
likewise ;  and  hearing  that  the  maiden  he 
loved  had  been  tlolently  seized,  and  taken  to 
the  king's  palace,  resolved  to  be  revenged. 
He  told  his  story  in  the  market-places; 
pointed  to  the  miserable  Gerges,  who  follow- 
ed him,  weeping  ;  and  was  soon  chosen  as  the 
chieftain  of  the  people.  The  captains  of  the 
soldiers  were  dismayed,  and  began  to  talk  of 
flight,  and  already  it  was  whispered  that 
Naomi  should  be  made  king. 

But,  the  mother  of  Zakariah  understood  the 
danger  in  time.  Without  consulting  her  son 
she  caused  all  unjust  judges  and  oppressors 
of  the  people  to  be  seized,  and  either  put  to 
death  or  cast  into  prison  ;  she  sent  criers 
About,  promising  that  all  grievances  should 


be  redressed :  she  opened  the  treasury  and 
scattered  gold ;  she  remitted  the  taxes  for  a 
year;  and  then  collecting  an  armed  force, 
ordered  Mansour  to  mardi  against  Naomi. 
A  single  battle  in  the  streets  decided  the  for- 
tune of  the  day.  Naomi  was  taken  prisoner, 
his  followers  were  put  to  the  sword  ;  and  he 
himself  was  condemned  to  die  by  public  ex- 
ecution. 

-  King  Zakariah,  shut  up  in  the  innermost 
recesses  of  his  palace,  knew  nothing  of  these 
things;  but  continued  to  visit  Salameh,  no 
longer  in  the  hope  of  winning,  but  because  in 
her  presence  he  felt  less  unhappy  than  else- 
where. One  day,  as  he  was  about  to  lift  up 
the  curtain  that  closed  the  door  of  her  apart- 
ment, he  heard  her  lamenting  aloud,  and 
saying  :  *'  And  hast  thou  returned,  Naomi, 
only  to  taste  the  bitter  waters  of  death? 
Better  for  thee  to  have  remained  in  a  far 
country,  and  for  us  to  have  communed  at  a 
distance  with  our  hearts.  I  think  I  could  be 
happy,  knowing  that  another  had  thy  love,  if 
only  thy  life  could  be  saved." 

*^  And  what  danger,"  said  the  King,  enter- 
ing, *^  hath  crossed  the  path  of  this  Naomi  ? " 

"  Thou  knowest  best,  0  King  I "  replied  the 
maiden.  "  By  thy  orders  is  he  to  die  this 
day." 

Then  she  related  what  she  had  heard  of  the 
revolt  of  Naomi  from  one  of  her  attendants ; 
and  wept  aloud,  and  beat  her  breast  and  im- 
plored for  mercy. 

"  Grant  this  boy  his  life,"  said  she,  trying 
to  make  it  seem  of  small  importance,  "  grant 
me  his  life,  0  mighty  King ;  and  I  will  for- 
get him  and  become  thy  slave." 

She  had  seized  the  knees  of  Zakariah,  who 
stood  struggling  with  strong  emotions  before 
her. 

"  Mv  child,"  said  he  at  length,  with  trem- 
bling lips,  *^  this  is  a  thing  that  cannot  be.  I 
cannot  take  thy  love  at  that  price;  but  I  will 
save  the  life  of  NaomL" 

The  King  felt  a  pang  when  he  had  uttered 
these  words,  because  Salameh  withdrew  a 
little  from  him,  and  retired  as  it  were  once 
more  within  her  love ;  but,  he  had  at  length 
understood  that  affection  cannot  be  forced, 
and  that  so  far  from  finding  what  he  had 
sought  in  Salameh,  he  had  only  found  a  new 
proof  of  the  truth  that  had  made  him  miser- 
able. All  that  he  had  done,  now  seemed 
odious  to  him ;  and  he  determined  to  spend 
the  rest  of  his  life  in  repairing  the  mischief 
he  had  occasioned.  He  could  not,  however, 
consent  to  allow  the  happiness  of  Salameh 
and  Naomi  to  take  place  under  the  windows 
of  his  citadel.  The  young  man  was  released, 
but  banished  with  Gerges  and  the  maiden, 
to  an  island  in  the  sea,  where  they  lived  to 
the  end  of  their  days  in  joy  and  tranquillity. 
Zakariah  became  again  popular  with  all 
classes  of  men  ;  and*  learned  to  appear  con- 
tent. 

But  his  love  for  Salameh  never  slept. 
Every  year,  in  the  summer  season,  did  he 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


406 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


iCamimeUAbf 


repair  to  one  of  the  ports  of  his  kingdom,  and 
causing  a  ship  to  be  fitted  oat,  sailed  towards 
the  island  where  she  dwelt.  He  would  ap- 
proach the  shore  at  the  hour  of  sunset,  when 
land  and  sea  appeared  to  be  all  of  purple 
spotted  with  gold  ;  and,  standing  at  the  prow 
of  the  vessel,  would  gaze  on  the  valleys,  and 
the  hills,  and  the  plains  until  all  form  disap- 
peared. Then  he  would  give  orders  to  draw 
nearer.  A  kiosque  built  on  a  point  of  rock 
at  the  entrance  of  the  bay  used  always  to  be 
lighted  up  :  and  Zakariain  sometimes  heard  a 
voice,  the  tones  of  which  he  well  knew,  sing- 
ing, unconscious  of  his  presence.  By  and  by, 
the  prattle  of  children  came  to  his  ears ;  and, 
until  time  had  chastened  his  regret,  he  would, 
when  he  heard  it,  instantly  order  the  pilot  to 
put  about,  and  sail  towards  the  open  sea,  in 
quest  of  storms  and  dangers.  At  length, 
however,  these  voyages  gave  him  more  plea- 
sure than  pain  ;  so  that  ho  continued  them 
until  he  became  a  very  old  man.  One  night 
the  kiopque  was  not  lighted  up ;  a  strange 
thought  came  into  Zakariah's  mind :  instead 
of  sailing  away,  he  landed — for  the  first  time. 
He  found  some  young  people  sitting  sadly 
beneath  a  great  tree,  and  asked  them  what 
was  the  news. 

"  Stranger,"  they  replied,  "  the  mother  of 
our  mother  isdead,  and  we  are  watching  near 
her  grave." 

"  What  was  she  called  t "  inquired  the 
King,  in  a  cheerful  voice. 

**Salameh." 

"  And  she  lies  here  T " 

"  Ay,  stranger." 

He  stooped  down  to  kiss  the  earth,  and  as 
he  remained  very  long  in  that  position,  his 
companions  shook  him,  and  found  that  he 
was  dead. 

A  LEVIATHAN  INDEED. 

We  are  in  the  habit  of  making  occasional 
marine  excursions  to  Woolwich,  by  Water- 
man Number  One  to  Six  inclusive.  Some- 
times, on  a  bright  sunny  day,  we  extend  our 
aquatic  trips  as  far  as  Erith  or  Gravcsend, 
where,  doubtless,  many  of  our  readers  accom- 
pany us.  Like  us,  they  will  not  fail  to  have 
noticed  an  indiffferent-looking,  half-occupied 
spot  of  land  jutting  into  the  river  opposite 
Greenwich,  known  as  the  Isle  of  Dogs,  but 
having  no  sort  of  connection  with  Barking 
Creek. 

Scattered  over  this  island,  at  irregular  dis- 
tances, are  factories,  shipyards,  store-houses, 
and  timber-sheds,  all  unmistakeable  enough 
in  character.  There  is  one  object,  however, 
which  has  perplexed  us  not  a  little — a  huge 
metallic  erection,  on  which  may  be  seen  em- 
ployed any  day  in  the  working  week,  hun- 
dreds of  busy  craftsmen,  clustering,  and  hum- 
ming, and  buzzing  about  it  like  tiles  around 
a  sugar  hogshead. 

It  has  puzzled  a  good  many  aquatic  tra- 
vellers besides  the  writer.    We  have  heard 


scores  of  guesses  made  by  wondering  passen- 
gers on  board  Waterman  Number  Two,  per- 
fectly at  variance  with  the  opinions  of  those 
on  board  Waterman  Number  Four.  Some 
have  not  the  slightest  doubt  as  to  its  being  a 
new  sort  of  gasometer  for  supplying  London 
with  pure  gas.  Others  believe  it  to  be  a  pile  of 
fireproof  warehouses,  on  the  Milner  Safe  prin- 
ciple, for  the  better  custody  of  the  national 
state  papers  and  crown  jewels.  By  some,  it 
is  said  to  be  an  enormous  oven  for  baking 
bread  and  roasting  coflee  for  our  troops  in 
the  Crimea.  One  or  two  have  heard  on  good 
authority  that  it  is  intended  for  Wombwell^ 
menagerie,  to  be  moved  on  a  hundred  wheels. 
Others,  again,  have  the  firmest  belief  in  its 
being  an  iron  incarnation  of  Lord  Dundo- 
nald^s  mysterious  plan  for  destroying  Cron- 
stadt  and  Sebastopol. 

Now,  it  happens  that  none  of  these  opin- 
ions are  correct.  Not  one  of  the  man  j  guess- 
ers  have  ever  dreamed  of  this  object  being  the 
mid  portion  of  a  ship,  which  we  have  since 
learnt  is  really  the  case.  A  ship  I  Talk  of 
the  Great  Harry  or  the  Great  Bntain,  or  any 
other  great  craft  of  the  middle  age  or  modem 
period !  They  shrink  into  utter  insignificance 
by  the  side  of  our  metal  monster  of  the  Ida 
of  Dogs. 

The  wooden  walls  of  old  England  are  fast 
becoming  myths  of  a  by-gone  age,  embalmed 
in  the  ballad-poetiy  of  Dibdin.    They  have 

given  place  to  the  iron-sides  of  young  Britain, 
anvas  has  yielded  the  palm  to  steam  ;  and 
paddle-wheels  in  their  turn  are  shaking  their 
bearings  in  auxiliary  fear  of  screws. 

It  is  not  so  many  years  ago,  but  we  remem- 
ber it,  that  when  a  steamer  of  three  thousand 
tons  was  first  placed  on  the  North  American 
line,  one  of  our  then  greatest  scientific  autho- 
rities predicted  certain  failure :  it  was  hinted 
in  a  friendly  way  to  passengers  proceeding 
by  her  to  the  United  States,  that  thej  had 
better  insure  their  lives  and  make  their  wills 
before  leaving  the  country.  The  ship  was 
said  to  be  too  long  for  a  heavy  sea :  she  would 
break  her  back  from  the  excessive  weight  of 
machinery  in  her  centre,  and  would  inevit- 
ably encounter  a  variety  of  other  unpleasant 
contingencies.  But,  people  remembered  that 
similar  failure  was  predicted  thirty  years 
before  that  time,  when  the  first  steamers  plied 
between  London  and  Calais.  The  General 
Steam  Navigation  Company  nevertheless  pros* 
pered,  and  so  likewise  have  the  American 
lines  prospered  ;  for  one  of  which  there  are 
at  the  present  moment  iron  steamers  building 
on  the  Clyde  larger  than  any  yet  afloat 

The  huge  fabric  erecting  at  the  Isle  of 
Dogs,  as  yet  bears  no  resemblance  to  any 
known  kind  of  craft  At  a  distance  the  eye 
is  unable  to  detect  any  particular  propor- 
tions about  it,  and  if  we  were  to  be  pressed 
on  the  point,  we  should  say  that  it  bad  no 
shape  at  all.  A  closer  inspection,  however, 
shows  a  line  of  uprights  at  each  end,  which 
mark  the  shelving  proportions  of  stem  and 


J' 


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Charlcc  Dickent.] 


A  LEVIATHAN  INDEED. 


407 


Item,  and  then  one  can  perceiTe  that  the 
object  before  us  is  really  intended  for  a  ship. 

Standing  on  the  banks  of  the  river  Thames, 
with  a  Yast  open  space  on  one  side  and 
Greenwich  Hospital  on  the  other,  it  is  not 
easy  to  form  a  just  conception  of  this  marine 
monster,  which,  for  want  of  a  better  name, 
we  call  the  Leviathan.  It  is  being  built  by 
Scott  Russell  and  Company,  Arom  designs 
by  Mr.  Brunei,  the  engineer,  whose  con- 
ception the  entire  fabric  is.  When  we  re- 
mind our  readers  that  the  Royal  Albert 
line-of-battle  ship,  of  one  hundred  and  twenty 
guns,  is  something  under  four  thousand 
tons,  and  about  two  hundred  and  twenty 
feet  in  length  ;  and  that  the  Simla  and  Hima- 
laya, at  present  the  largest  steamers  afloat, 
are  only  three  hundred  and  twenty  feet  in 
length,  or  thereabouts ;  they  may  form  some 
idea  of  the  proportions  of  this  Eastern  Steam 
Navigation  Company's  ship,  when  they  are 
told  that  it  will  be  six  hundred  and  eighty 
feet  in  length  and  of  twenty-five  thousand 
tons  burthen  ;  in  other  words  of  more  than 
six  times  the  capacity  of  our  largest  men-of- 
war,  and  above  double  the  length  of  the 
largest  steam-ship  afloat. 

Our  readers  will  have  frequently  heard 
discussions  as  to  the  relative  merits  of  paddles 
and  screws.  In  the  Leviathan,  the  screw 
will  be  combined  with  the  paddle,  worked  by 
engines  nominally  of  two  thousand  six  hundred 
horse  power,  but  in  reality  capable  of  being 
worked  up  to  ten  thousand  horse  power.  To 
guard  against  accidents  at  sea  to  machinery, 
and  to  prevent  any  detention  f^om  such  a 
cause,  the  paddle-wheels  will  not  only  be 
perfectly  distinct  from  each  other  in  their 
working,  but  each  will  be  set  in  motion  by 
several  sets  of  machinery  of  superabundant 
power,  so  that  at  all  times  derangements  or 
cleaning  of  one  or  two  cylinders  or  boilers 
will  not  interfere  with  the  progress  of  the  ship. 

Steam  will  be  the  sole  propelling  power,  no 
canvas  being  contemplated  in  this  vessel.  In 
fixing  the  great  size  of  the  Leviathan,  its  pro- 
jector believes  that  he  has  obtained  the  ele- 
ments of  a  speed  hitherto  unknown  in  ocean- 
going steamers.  It  is  confidently  predicted 
that  by  the  great  length  of  the  Leviathan  she 
will  be  enabled  to  pass  through  the  water  at 
an  average  speed  in  all  weathers  of  fifteen 
knots  an  hour,  with  a  smaller  power  in  pro- 
portion to  tonnage  than  ordinary  vessels 
now  require  to  make  ten  knots.  The  con- 
tract speed  of  most  ocean  mail-carrying 
steamers  is  eight  knots. 

We  believe  that  the  Eastern  Steam  Navi- 
gation Company  intend  making  their  first 
voyage  to  Australia.  The  actual  distance 
from  Milford  Haven,  the  company's  starting- 
point,  to  Port  Philip,  is  less  than  twelve 
thousand  miles,  if  no  ports  be  touched  at.  A 
speed  of  fifteen  knots  or  miles  an  hour 
averaged  firom  land  to  land  would  take  the 
Leviathan  to  the  golden  colony  in  about 
thirty-two  days.     This  can  only  be  accom- 


plished, even  at  that  high  speed,  by  avoiding 
all  stoppages  for  coals,  which,  besides  detain- 
ing a  ship  many  days  in  the  difierent  ports, 
carries  her  a  great  distance  out  of  the  direct 
steaming  course.  Here  we  find  another 
novelty  brought  to  bear  by  Mr.  Brunei.  A 
ship  of  this  huge  capacity  can  carry  twelve 
thousand  tons  of  coals :  quite  sufficient  it  is 
stated,  for  her  consumption  on  the  outward 
and  homeward  voyages.  Space  will  still  be 
left  for  five  thousand  tons  of  cargo,  the  mas- 
sive machinery,  and  four  thousand  passengers 
with  their  luggage  and  all  necessary  stores  for 
use. 

The  advantage  of  this  arrangement  is  two- 
fold. Besides  the  avoidance  of  stoppages  for 
coalings  on  the  voyage,  the  ship  earns  all  the 
freight  whicfi  must  otherwise  have  been  paid 
to  sailing  vessels  for  the  conveyance  of  the 
fuel  to  the  coaling  depots,  which,  on  three- 
fourths  of  the  quantity  consumed  on  one 
voyage  would  amount  to  a  sum  sufficient  to 
build  and  equip  a  steamer  of  two  or  three 
hundred  tons.  In  order  to  compensate  for 
the  great  loss  of  weight  caused  by  all  this 
enormous  consumption  of  fuel,  and  to  main- 
tain an  equal  immersion  of  the  paddles,  the 
coal  will,  to  a  certain  extent,  be  replaced  by 
water  pumped  into  the  water-tight  compart- 
ments forming  the  skin  of  the  ship,  and  of 
which  we  shall  presently  have  occasion  to 
speak.  In  addition  to  this  arrangement  the 
paddles  have  been  so  adjusted  on  the  wheels 
as  to  be  as  efficient  at  one  draught  of  water 
'as  at  another. 

It  is  impossible  to  judge  of  the  future 
finish  or  accommodation  of  such  a  gigantic 
ship  as  the  Leviathan  from  the  present  state 
of  the  iron  hulL  Immense  divisions  of  metal 
plates,  ref^hing  to  an  incredible  height,  with 
sub-compartments  at  right  angles,  appear  to 
divide  the  monster  fabric  into  a  number  of 
square  and  oblong  spaces,  each  of  which 
would  contain  an  eight-roomed  house  of 
Camden  Town  build,  or  a  semi-detached  villa 
from  Stockwcll,  at  fortv  pounds  per  annum. 

We  inspected  a  model  of  the  ship  in  wood, 
and  could  scarcely  believe  that  the  unsightly 
mass  of  iron  plates,  rivets,  and  joints,  just  be- 
held, could  by  anv  possible  ingenuity  be 
wrought  imto  anything  so  beautifully  symme- 
trical as  the  long,  arrow-like  little  craft  before 
us,  tapering  off  forward  as  sharply  as  a 
woodman's  hatchet  or  a  Thames  wherry. 
From  that  model  we  were  enabled  to  under- 
stand where  the  engines,  coals,  stores,  and 
cargo  would  be  placed,  and  moreover,  where 
the  two  thousand  first-class  passengers  would 
be  berthed,  in  their  five  hundred  state  cabins, 
and  where  the  two  thousand  second-class  and 
steerage  passengers  would  be  placed,  without 
nearly  as  much  crowding  as  in  an  ordinary* 
passenger  or  emigrant  ship. 

Large  indeed  must  that  steamer  be  which 
can  provide  a  main  deck  saloon  sixty  feet  in 
length,  and  forty  in  width,  and  fifteen  in 
height:  with  a  second  class  saloon  only  twenty 


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408 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


feet  shorter,  aQd  a  foot  or  two  less  in  height. 
The  Leviatbaa  has  these,  and  tbej  appear 
but  as  small  compartments  of  the  huge  in- 
terior. 

It  would  prove  a  fortunate  circumstance 
for  our  military  authorities,  who  are  so  much 
in  want  of  steam  transports  to  the  seat  of 
war,  if  this  monster  ship  were  read^  for  sea 
at  the  present  moment  There  are  just  now 
two  divisions  of  the  French  armj,  of  ten 
thousaod  men  each,  ready  to  be  conveyed  to 
the  scenes  of  their  future  operations.  The 
Leviathan,  with  just  sufficient  fuel  for  so 
short  a  voyage,  could  take  on  board  one  of 
those  diviKions  entire,  with  horses,  fodder, 
artillery,  and  ammunition:  it  could  land 
those  ten  thousand  men,  witn  proper  arrange- 
ments, in  the  Crimea;  could  return  and  carry 
the  second  of  those  small  armies  ;  and  could 
arrive  back  at  Marseilles  for  the  second  time 
withia  onu  month  from  her  first  starting. 

It  hai4  been  deemed  an  achievement  worthy 
of  mention,  to  convey  an  entire  regiment  of 
light  cavalry  from  Bombay  to  the  Crimea,  by 
way  of  the  Red  Sea  and  Kgypt,  in  about  two 
months.  If  the  calculations  us  to  speed  of  the 
Leviathan  be  correct — which  mure  learned 
heads  than  ours  declare  them  to  be — then 
the  iron  ship  could  have  conveyed  at  lea^t 
half  a  dozen  regiments  of  cavalry  from  Bom- 
bay to  Balaklava,  by  way  of  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope  and  the  Straits  of  Gibraltar,  in  two- 
thirds  of  the  time,  and  at  not  much  greater 
cost  than  was  required  for  the  one  regiment 
conveyed  through  Egypt. 

Had  the  old  system  of  ship-building  still 
prevailed  with  regard  to  sea-going  steamers, 
— had  our  shipwrights  worked  on  the  wooden- 
wall  principle  instead  of  the  plate-and  rivet 
method,  we  should  never  have  possessed  such 
noble  steam-ships  as  are  owned  by  our  large 
commercial  companies.  Certain  it  is  that  the 
Leviathan  could  not  have  been  built,  on  the 
wooden  system.  The  mightiest  giants  of 
Indian  forests,  of  fabulous  age,  in  countless 
numbers,  would  not  have  sufficed  to  produce 
a  ship  of  half  her  size.  Strength  enough 
could  not  have  been  obtained  with  the  most 
ponderous  masses  of  timber-work,  braced  as 
they  might  have  been  with  iron  and  copper, 
to  have  floated  so  mighty  a  load  of  cargo,  ma- 
chinery, and  living  &ing8.  Yet  the  monster 
of  which  we  are  now  writing,  so  new  in  its 
various  appliances  of  power,  so  wonderful 
in  its  unheard-of  capacity,  is  composed  of 
plates  of  iron,  less  than  one  inch  in  thickness. 

The  secret  of  the  great  strength  attained 
by  this  comparatively  small  amount  of  metal 
is  in  the  peculiar  structure  of  the  hull.  It  is 
built  throughout,  in  distinct  compartments, 
on  the  principle  of  the  Britannia  Tubular 
Bridge,  and  wnen  finished  will  be  in  fact  a 
huge  tubular  ship.  The  principles  of  that 
structure  need  not  here  be  dwelt  upon.  It 
will  suffice  to  explain  that  the  whole  of  this 
vessel  will  be  divided  into  ten  huge  water- 
tight compartments,  by  means  of  iron-plate 


bulkheads  carried  up  to  the  upper  deck, 
thereby  extending  far  above  the  water-line. 
In  addition  to  this  great  safeguard  against 
accident,  the  whole  length  of  the  ship,  except 
where  she  tapers  off  at  either  end,  is  protected 
by  a  double  skin  of  metal  plating,  the  outer 
one  being  distant  three  feet  from  the  interior. 
These  double  tubular  sides  are  carried  so  far 
above  the  deepest  water-mark,  and  inaamnch 
as  the  transverse  bulkheads  extend  to  the 
outer  of  these  skins,  the^  are  divided  into 
many  water-tight  subdivisions,  any  one  or 
two  of  which,  though  torn  or  fractured,  and 
filled  with  water,  would  not  affect  the  buoy- 
ancy or  safety  of  the  ship. 

Besides  the  great  transverse  divisions 
before  alluded  to,  there  are  two  enormously 
strong  longitudinal  bulkheads  of  iron  mnniog 
from  stem  to  stern,  each  forty  feet  from  the 
inner  skin,  and  carried  to  the  upper  deck : 
adding  greatly  to  the  solidity  and  safety  of 
the  vessel.  The  main  compartments  thus 
formed  by  the  bulkheads,  have  a  means  of 
communication  by  iron  sliding  doors  near  the 
top,  easily  and  effectually  closed  in  time  of 
need.  In  this  way,  not  only  are  all  the 
most  exposed  portions  of  the  ship  douhle- 
Hkinned,  but  the  body  is  cut  up  into  a  great 
number  of  very  large  but  perfectly  distinct 
fire-and-water-proof  compartments,  forming, 
indeed.  So  many  colossal  iron  safes.  If  we 
can  imagine  a  rock  to  penetrate  the  double 
skin,  and  make  its  sharp  way  into  any  one 
of  these  compartments,  it  might  fill  with 
water  without  any  detriment  to  the  rest  of 
the  ship. 

One  of  the  most  terrible  calamities  that 
can  befal  a  vessel  at  sea  is  undoubtedly  a  fire. 
The  iron  water-tight  bulkheads  would  seem 
to  defy  that  destructive  element  sufficiently ; 
but,  in  order  to  make  assurance  doubly  sore, 
the  builders  are  experimenting  with  a  view 
to  employing  only  prepared  uninflanunable 
wood  for  the  interior  fittings. 

Such  is  the  Leviathan.  She  is  to  be 
launched,  unlike  any  other  ship,  broadside  on 
to  the  water  by  means  of  hydraulic  power, 
and  early  in  next  spring,  is  expected  to  make 
a  trial  trip  to  the  United  States  and  back, 
in  less  than  a  fortnight.  In  contemplating 
this  Brobdingnag  vessel,  our  small  acquaint- 
ance with  things  nautical,  dwarfs  down  to 
Lilliputian  insignificance.  Before  reaching 
the  Isle  of  Dogs,  we  had  imagined  that  we 
possessed  some  acquaintance  with  ship-build- 
ing and  marine  engineering.  One  of  the 
Leviathan  cylinders  was  sufficient  to  extin- 
guish our  pretensions. 

With  a  Brunei  for  designer ;  with  a  Ste- 
phenson for  approver ;  a  Scott  Russell  for 
builder ;  with  Professor  Airey  in  charge  of 
the  compasses,  and  Sir  W.  S.  Harris  looking 
after  the  lightning  conductors;  the  Leviathan 
may  well  he  expected  to  turn  out  the  fioating 
marvel  of  the  age.  Fancy  the  astonishment 
of  the  South  Sea  islanders  when  they  behold 
her,  rushing  past  their  coral  homes! 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


"  limaiar  in  their  Moutht  <u  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS."- 


9UAMM99mA*M. 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
COHDUCTED   BY   CHAELES   DICKENS. 


No.  18.] 


J.  A.   DIX,   PUBLISHER, 

O?noa,  No.  10  Paes  Fi.aos,  N>«-Y«u. 


[Whole  No.  271. 


MECHANICS    IN    UNIFORM. 

Therb  is,  associated  with  the  British  army, 
a  body  of  traiQed  men,  who  combine  tbe  dis- 
cipline and  daring  of  the  soldier  and  the 
sailor  with  the  dexterity  of  the  artisan. 
This  body,  which  is  now  known  as  the  corps 
of  Royal  Sappers  and  Miners,  began  with  a 
very  small  beginning  less  than  eighty  years 
ago,  and  had  at  first  as  limited  a  sphere  of 
action  as  ooald  well  be  chosen,  the  Rock  of 
Gibraltar.  But  since  its  first  institntion, 
recent  as  that  is,  it  has  sent  men  out  to 
labour  in  all  corners  of  the  earth,  at  works  of 
peace  as  well  as  of  war ;  it  has  sent  men  up 
above  the  clouds  to  do  their  work,  as  Ser- 
geant Steele  can  testify,  who  on  Ben  Lomond, 
making  observations  with  Professor  Airy's 
zenith  sector,  saw  the  clouds  in  a  white  plain 
of  glittering  silver  five  hundred  feet  beneath 
him.  .Some  tourists  went  up  through  the 
clouds  for  the  express  purpose  of  saying  that 
they  bad  done  so  ;  but  above  the  clouds  they 
found  an  encampment  of  Sappers  and  Miners 
going  quietly  about  their  usual  work.  As 
they  go  up  into  the  air,  so  they  go  down  into 
the  sea.  They  were  Sappers  and  Miners  who 
were  busy  ia  removing  the  submerged  wreck 
of  the  Royal  George,  about  whose  timbers 
and  guns  at  tbe  bottom  of  the  sea  they 
worked,  under  a  pressure  that  cracked  the 
strongest  cask  sent  down  empty  as  If  it  were 
an  egg-shelL  There  Corporal  Jones  of  the 
Sappers  and  Miners,  while  at  the  bottom  of 
the  sea  in  his  Siebe's  dress,  happened  to  come 
close  upon  his  friend,  Private  Skelton,  and 
could  hear  him  singing  at  his  work, — 

Bright,  bright  are  the  beams  of  the  morning  skj. 
And  sweet  are  the  dews  tbe  red  blossoms  sip  ; 

which  was  the  first  intimation  of  the  fact 
that  the  voice  of  a  diver  could  be  heard 
under  the  wave.  As  for  the  burrowing  of 
these  brave  men  under  the  earth,  notoriously 
that  is  their  most  ordinary  duty.  But  it  is 
not  only  in  sapping  and  mining  for  the  de- 
struction of  the  hostile  towers  of  ofi*ence, 
that  the  Sappers  and  Miners  work  under  the 
surface  of  the  earth.  The  works  of  peace  are 
as  familiar  to  them  as  the  works  of  war. 
When  there  was  a  sewer  at  Woolwich  poi- 
soning the  troops,  and  ordinary  workmen 
dared  not  venture  upon  its  repairs,  volunteers 


from  the  Sappers  and  Miners  made  it  sound 
and  whole,  and  did  not  suffer  in  health  by 
their  act  of  courage. 

Sappers  and  Miners  have  approved  them- 
selves bold  men  upon  the  water.  Once, 
when  the  storm -flag  was  hoisted  at  GoBport, 
and  no  boats  would  venture  out,  the  Success 
frigate,  with  a  part  of  a  detachment  of  this 
corps  on  board,  was  in  danger  of  parting 
from  her  anchors  and  drifting  to  sea.  Uer 
lieutenant  was  on  shore,  anxious  to  get  on 
board  and  save  her;  but  the  civil  divers, 
used  to  perilous  boat  service,  said  that  no 
boat  could  live  in  such  a  sea,  and  the  Port 
Admiral  would  not  permit  the  lieutenant  to 
go  out,  except  on  his  own  responsibility.  He 
braved  the  perils  of  the  deep  with  four 
Sappers  to  help  him ;  they  managed  the  sail ; 
they  lay  down  in  the  boat  to  convert  them- 
selves into  ballast ;  they  baled  out  the  water 
with  their  boots.  They  reached  the  frigate ; 
and,  by  intrepid  exertion,  got  on  board,  while 
their  boat  was  being  dashed  like  a  log  against 
the  vessel's  hull.  So  the  good  ship  was  saved. 
When,  during  the  Peninsular  war,  small 
vessels  were  sent  facing  a  wintry  sea,  to  form 
a  pontoon  bridge  near  the  mouth  of  the 
Adour,  a  high  surf  was  found  foaming  on  the 
bar,  tbe  tide  was  furious,  the  native  crews 
were  terrified  and  ran  below  to  prayers,  refus- 
ing to  navigate  the  boats.  But  the  Engineers 
and  Sappers  on  board,  by  their  firmness,  got 
the  small  fieet  through.  The  sea  swallowed 
up  one  vessel,  and  another  was  dashed  to 
pieces  by  a  mighty  wave,  but  the  hazardous 
duty  was  performed.  The  bridge  was  punc- 
tually built  by  labour  night  and  day ;  and 
although,  from  the  violent  heaving  of  the 
vessels,  it  was  unsafe  to  fix  the  planks  in  the 
intervals  between  them,  yet  there  were  not 
wanting  Sappers  and  Miners  who  thought 
less  of  tbe  danger  than  of  the  prompt  execu- 
tion of  tbe  service. 

How  bold  they  have  shown  themselves 
to  be  in  the  deadly  and  perilous  breach, 
how  courteous  and  active  in  such  service 
as  that  of  our  great  Hyde  Park  Exhibition  ; 
how  faithful  and  enduring  when  in  the 
train  of  travellers  who,  under  govern- 
ment patronage  or  direction,  have  explored 
the  deadly  Niger,  traversed  the  deserts  of 
Africa,  or  dry  Australian  wilds,  this  country 
partly  knows,  and  ought  wholly  to  know. 

271 


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410 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoDdoctcil  by 


From  one  of  Ihcir  ow^  number  the  whole 
story  of  the  corps  may  now  be  learned  j  for 
its  approved  intelligence  has  lately  led  to  the 
production  of  a  history  of  the  corps  by  one 
of  its  own  number,  a  non-commissioned 
officer,  Quartermaster-Sergeant  T.  W.  J. 
CoxoLLT.  And  this  historian  who  steps  forth 
from  the  ranks  has  gathered  his  materials 
with  diligence  for  twenty  years;  has  con- 
sulted documents  and  sought  information 
with  the  zeal  of  a  Macaulay  or  a  Milman ; 
has,  in  fine,  made  himself  master  of  his  sub- 
ject: having  done  which,  he  has  set  down 
his  knowledge  with  a  thoroughness  and  a 
straightforward  soldierly  precision  that  main- 
tains the  credit  of  his  corps.  Whether  he 
dives  into  the  sea  to  fetch  up  a  ship  piece- 
meal, or  dives  into  old  papers  to  fetch  up  bit 
by  bit  a  history,  your  Sapper  and  Miner,  it 
would  seem,  does  what  he  undertakes  to  do. 
A  few  years  ago  there  was  a  wooden  house 
balanced  on  the  topmost  pinnacle  of  Saint 
Paul's,  and  wc  were  told  that  the  Sappers 
and  Miners  were  up  there,  carrying  on  a 
survey  of  London.  We  knew  then  that  not 
an  alley  would  escape  attention.  Quarter- 
master ConoUy  has  been  instituting  a  survey 
of  his  own  corps,  and  we  dare  answer  for  its 
completeness.  We  are  pleased  to  see  that  his 
officers  and  commanders  answer  for  it  too, 
and  that  Sir  John  Burgoyne  has  given  due 
encouragement  to  a  right  honourable  enter- 
prise by  recommending  Mr.  Conolly's  History 
of  the  Royal  Sappers  and  Miners  to  the  study 
of  officers  of  the  Royal  Engineers,  as  heartily 
as  we  here  recommend  it  to  the  warm  appre- 
ciation of  the  public,  for  its  value  as  a  manly, 
useful,  and  most  interesting  publication. 

The  first  idea  of  a  body  of  military  artisans 
— perfected  si  nee  into  the  corps  of  Sappers  and 
Miners — arose,  as  we  have  said,  at  Gibraltar  ; 
where,  before  the  year  seventeen  hundred  and 
seventy-two,  the  ^orks  were  being  executed 
by  civil  mechanics  from  the  continent  and 
England,  who  were  hired  in  the  ordinary 
way,  and  were  at  liberty  to  leave  the  Rock 
whenever  they  pleased.  These  workmen  had 
their  occupation  to  themselves ;  taking  their 
own  way,  they  became  disorderly,  and  a 
great  plague  to  the  authorities;  and,  to 
replace  those  who  were  dismissed  became 
inconvenient  and  expensive.  Thus  it  hap- 
pened that  Lieutenant  -  Colonel  William 
Green  was  led  to  suggest  the  formation  of  a 
company  of  military  artificers  who  should 
supersede  the  civil  workmen.  Mechanics 
attached  to  regiments  in  garrison  had  always 
been  found  good  workers.  What,  then,  if  a 
little  regiment  were  formed,  consisting  wholly 
of  trained  workmen.  The  Governor  and  Lieu- 
tenant-Governor of  Gibraltar  assenrted  to  the 
suggestion,  and  submitted  it  to  the  Home 
Government.  The  result  was,  that ^oa  the 
sixth  of  March,  seventeen  hundred  and 
seventy-two.  a  warrant  was  issued  for  raising 
a  company  of  sixty-eight  men — namely,  sixty 
privates,  who  were  to  be  stonecutters,  masons, 


miners,  limeburners,  carpenters,  smiths,  gar- 
deners or  wheelers,  one  sergeant-major,  thr« 
sergeants,  three  corporals,  and  a  drummer,  to 
be  called  the  Soldier  Artificer  Company. 
This  was  the  corps  of  Royal  Sappers  and 
Miners  in  the  first  year  of  its  life. 

Very  good  fellows,  at  first,  these  Foldier 
artificers  were — at  first ;  for,  they  became  ai 
last,  while  still  excellent  workmen,  rather 
sottish  men.  But  before  that  time  came,  the 
idea  represented  by  their  constitution  had 
begotten  new  Sappers  and  Miners,  which  are 
the  more  direct  progenitors  of  those  now  in 
existence.  It  was  a  fine  company  at  the  very 
first,  nevertheless.  By  it  was  built  the  KiopV 
Bastion  on  the  Gibraltar  Rock.  By  it.  io  the 
memorable  siege  of  Gibraltar  by  the  aliiid 
forces  of  France  and  Spain,  the  defence  df  the 
fortress  was  maintained  with  wonderful  effect 
*-A  thousand  dollars,"  cried  the  Govemor. 
one  day,  "  to  the  man  who  will  say  how  I 
can  get  a  flanking  fire  on  the  works  of  the 
enemy."  After  a  modest  pause,  forth  stepped 
from  the  ranks  Scrgeant-Major  IrKJe,  of  the 
company  of  Soldier  Artificers,  and  suggested 
the  formation  of  those  subterranean  galleries 
and  batteries,  like  that  of  St  George's  Hall 
within  the  bowels  of  the  mountain,  which 
constitute  now  the  most  noted  marvels  of  the 
place. 

These  men  and  their  families  often  bad  no 
little  experience  of  the  outer  world.  One  of 
them  had  a  High- Admiral  for  nephew.  Thb 
nephew,  Peter  Lisle,  entered  into  the  gcrvice 
of  the  Bashaw  of  Tripoli,  and  was  appointed 
gunner  of  the  castle,  under  the  name  of 
Mourad  Reis.  He  throve  as  an  African,  was 
nominated  captain  of  a  zebeck  of  eighteen 
guns,  and  in  the  course  of  time,  throngh  bis 
ability  as  a  seafaring  man,  became  High- 
Admiral  of  the  Tripoline  Fleet  and  Minister 
of  Marine.  He  married  one  of  the  Baj-haw's 
daughters,  had  a  fine  family,  wore  a  fine  dres. 
lived  in  a  palace  in  the  midst  of  date-groves. 
and  spoke  with  a  broad  Scotch  accent.  This 
dignitary  used  to  pay  visits  to  Gibraltar ;  and 
whenever  he  did  so,  he  fired  a  salute  in  hononr 
of  his  uncle,  Sergeant  Blyth,  of  the  Soldier 
Artificers.  He  was  not  by  any  means 
ashamed  of  his  relation  ;  but  was  obliged  to 
change  his  method  of  saluting  after  having 
once,  in  a  burst  of  aflection,  fired  by  mistake, 
shot  along  with  his  powder. 

If  anybody  wants  to  know  all  that  was 
done  by  the  Soldier  Artificers  at  the  gre*t 
siege  of  Gibraltar,  let  him  read  Drink- 
water.  To  Sergeant  ConoUy,  however,  we 
will  be  indebted  for  the  rest  of  the  story  pi 
the  two  boys  mentioned  by  Drinkwaterm 
the  succeeding  passage.  In  the  course  of  j 
certain  day,  we  are  told,  a  shot  came  tbroagn 
a  capped  embrasure  on  Princess  Amelias 
Battery  ;  and,  by  that  one  shot,  four  mtn  haa 
seven  legs  taken  off*  and  wounded.  "  The  wj 
who  was  usually  stationed  on-the  worKs 
where  a  large  party  was  employed,  to  inform 
the  men  when  the  enemy's  fire  was  directed 


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MECHANICS  IN  UNIFORM. 


411 


towards  that  place,  had  been  reproving  them 
for  their  carelessness  in  not  attending  to  him, 
and  had  jost  turned  his  head  towards  the 
enemy,  when  he  observed  this  shot,  and  in- 
stantly called  for  them  to  take  care ;  his 
caution  was,  however,  too  late;  the  shot 
entered  the  embrasure,  and  had  the  above- 
recited  fatal  effect.  It  is  somewhat  singular 
that  this  boy  should  be  possessed  of  such  un- 
common quickness  of  sight  as  to  see  the 
enemy's  shot  almost  immediately  after  they 
quitted  the  guns.  He  was  not,  however,  the 
only  one  in  the  garrison  possessing  this  quali- 
fication ;  another  boy,  of  about  the  same  age, 
was  as  celebrated,  if  not  his  superior.  Both 
of  them  belonged  to  the  Artificer  company, 
and  were  constantly  placed  on  some  part  or 
the  works  to  observe  the  enemy's  fire  ;  their 
names  were  Richmond  (not  Richardson,  as 
Drinkwater  has  it,)  and  Brand  ;  the  former 
was  reported  to  have  the  best  eye."  Thomas 
Richmond  and* John  Brand  went,  for  this  vir- 
tue of  theirs,  by  the  nicknames  of  Shot  and 
Shell.  Richmond  was  called  ShpU,  his  being 
the  better  eye  at  a  look-out  The  fathers  of 
these  two  "boys  were  sergeants  in  the  com- 
pany. Richmond's  was  killed  at  the  siege. 
After  the  siege,  the  boys,  noted  for  their 
good  service  at  the  batteries,  were  sent  to 
the  best  school  at  Gibraltar  ;  where,  by  their 
quickness  and  ingenuity,  they  earned  the 
patronage  of  certain  officers  of  Engineers. 
They  became  in  their  own  corps  corporal 
and  lance-corporal,  were  discharged,  and 
appointed  by  the  commander-in-chief  assist- 
ant-draughtsmen, for  they  had  already 
distinguisned  themselves  by  their  skill  as 
modellers.  ,  After  several  trial-models  of 
various  subjects,  these  young  men  com- 
pleted, on  a  large  scale,  a  model  of  Gibral- 
tar, which  obtained  so  much  repute  that 
they  were  ordered  to  make  two  other  models, 
one  in  polished  stone  of  the  King's  Bastion, 
and  one  of  the  North  front  of  the  rock. 
When  these  were  completed  they  obtained 
the  warm  approbation  of  the  highest  autho- 
rities of  the  fortress ;  and  Richmond  and 
Brand,  still  going  through  the  world  toge- 
ther, were  recommended  to  the  Duke  of  Rich- 
mond, for  commissions.  They  were  sent  then 
to  Woolwich  for  preparatory  training,  where 
they  were  so  apt  at  learning  that  few  months 
sufficed  to  qualify  them  for  appointments 
as  second-lieutenants  in  the  Royal  Engineers. 
Their  commissions  were  both  dated  on  the 
one  day — the  seventeenth  of  January,  seven- 
teen 'ninety-three.  Before  the  year  was 
out,  both  young  men  died,  in  the  West 
Indies,  of  the  same  disease.  These  are  the 
only  instances  of  commissions  having  been 
l^iven  from  the  ranks  of  Sappers  and  Miners 
into  the  corps  of  Engineers.  The  great  model 
of  Gibraltar  (on  a  scale  of  an  inch  to  twenty- 
five  feet),  executed  by  these  youths,  was 
brought  from  the  rock  in  the  year  of  their 
death,  and  deposited  in  the  museum  of  the 
Royal  Arsenal,  at  Woolwich.    Nine  years 


afterwards  the  museum,  and  the  model  in  it, 
was  destroyed  by  fire.  The  other  two  models 
mentioned  in  this  story  are  now  to  be  seen  in 
the  Rotunda,  at  the  Royal  Military  Reposito- 
ry, Woolwich,  and  are  the  most  beautiful 
things  in  the  place. 

Through  changes  which  it  is  not  requisite 
for  us  to  specify,  we  come  to  a  period  in  the 
history  of  the  bappers  and  Miners,  when  the 
Duke  of  Richmond,  being  Master-General  of 
the  Ordnance,  and  having  extensive  plans  of 
fortification  for  the  defence  of  the  country, 
did  not  see  how  they  could  be  efllected  econo- 
mically with  the  ordinary  labour  of  the  coun- 
try, and  suggested  to  Mr.  Pitt  the  necessity 
of  raising  a  corps  of  Military  Artificers  on  the 
model  of  the  companies  employed  at  Gibral- 
tar. E.^perience  was  in  favour  of  the  propo- 
sition, and  without  reference  to  the  House  of 
Commons,  the  warrant  for  the  first  embody- 
ing of  such  a  corps  was  aigued  on  the  tenth 
of  October,  seventeen  'eighty-seven,  not,  of 
course,  wholly  unquestioned,  but  sheltered 
under  cover  of  more  stirring  topics,  the  inno- 
vation slipped  through  the  fingers  of  the 
Commons  easily  enough.  Country  gentle- 
men did  not  fail  to  declare  that  "  if  the  house 
should  agree  to  put  six  hundred  Englishmen 
under  martial  law,  merely  for  the  paltry  con- 
sideration of  saving  two  thousand  a-year, 
they  would  betray  their  constituents,  and 
would  be  devoid  of  those  feelings  for  the  con- 
stitution, which,  &c.  &c.  &c."  Lord  (Carlisle, 
in  the  upper  house,  pointed  out  that  "  if  the 
rights  aod  liberties  of  six  hundred  artificers 
were  worth  just  two  thousand  pound;^,  they 
would  see  that  the  Noble  Duke  valued  the 
rights  of  every  individual  exactly  at  three 
pounds  ten  shillings  a-piece."  The  sugges- 
tion, nevertheless  was  adopted,  and  the  corps 
of  Royal  Military  Artificers — consisting  of 
six  companies  of  a  hundred  men  each,  com- 
manded by  officers  of  Royal  Engineers— was 
duly  constituted. 

Civil  artisans  in  the  government  service 
showed,  at  first,  grave  discontent  at  the  au- 
thorised employment  of  Military  Artificers  j 
and  the  Dock  workmen  at  Plymouth  interfer- 
ing in  a  trifling  dispute  between  a  member  of 
the  new  service  and  a  sailor,  brought  about 
a  quarrel  between  the  Military  Artificers  on 
the  one  side,  and  the  dock  labourers  and 
sailors  on  the  other,  which  ended  in  serious 
battles,  the  killing  of  three  or  four  men,  and 
the  wounding  of  many.  The  courage,  good 
conduct  and  efficiency  of  the  new  corps,  as 
well  as  the  tender  nursing  of  the  Duke  of 
Richmond,  made  it  easy  to  surmount  such 
difficulties.  Military  Artificers,  living  only 
at  stations  in  England,  were  in  fact  treated 
more  like  citizens  than  soldiers,  until  the  war 
broke  o(it  with  France  in  seventeen  hundred 
and  ninety-three :  then  men  were,  for  the  first 
time,  demanded  from  the  English  companies 
for  active  service  in  Flanders  and  the  West 
Indies.  The  demand  was  made  in  pursuance 
of  an  agreement  that  had  almost  fallen  into 


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412 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCwHkictcdbj 


obHyion  among  the  men.  Many  resisted  it  by 
desertion ;  others  bought  discharges  by  pro- 
viding substitutes  at  a  great  cost.  The  first 
foreign  detachment  of  the  corps  was  sent  to 
the  West  Indies,  and  every  man  but  one  died 
there  of  fever  before  the  year  came  to  a  close. 
The  one  man  survived  his  comrades  only  for 
about  two  years  and  a  half;  and  eventually 
the  whole  band  was  destroyed.  The  com- 
panies that  were  sent  to  Flanders  did  excel- 
fect  service  in  the  aid  of  siege  works,  as  true 
Sappers  and  Miners.  Therefore  the  Duke  of 
Richmond  represented  to  the  king  the  benefit 
that  would  result  to  the  service  if  a  corps  of 
artificers  and  labourers  were  formed  expressly 
for  service  abroad.  In  September,  seven- 
teen hundred  and  ninety-three,  a  warrant 
was  signed  for  the  raising  of  four  such  com- 
panies, each  of  a  hundred  men,  two  to  serve 
in  Flanders,  one  in  the  West  Indies,  one  in 
Upper  Canada,  and  they  were  to  be  station- 
ary in  those  countries.  The  whole  legal  es- 
tablishment of  Military  Artificers  at  home 
and  abroad  was  thus  raised  to  the  number  of 
a  thousand  men. 

In  June,  seventeen  hundred  and  ninety- 
seven,  the  soldier  artificer  corps,  at  Gibraltar 
— which  bad,  up  to  that  date,  maintained  a 
separate  position,  and  had  lost  much  of  its 
good  character — was  incorporated  with  the 
main  body  in  England  and  elsewhere.  At 
that  time,  detachments  for  miscellaneous 
foreign  duty  were  generally  formed  by  selec- 
tions from  the  stationary  companies ;  and,  as 
the  commanding  engineers  at  the  several 
fixed  stations  were  glad  in  this  way  to  get 
rid  of  their  most  ignorant  and  untrustworthy 
men,  these  detachments  did  not  always  reflect 
much  honour  on  the  corps. 

A  detachment  of  Military  Artificers  was 
sent  to  Turkey,  where  a  private  was  attacked 
by  a  Turk,  who  attempted  to  stab  him  with 
his  yataghan.  The  capitan  pacha  ordered  the 
Turk,  who  belonged  to  his  retinue,  to  be  be- 
headed ;  but,  by  the  mediation  of  Lord  Elgin, 
a  mitigation  of  this  punishment  was  obtained, 
and  the  ofiender,  after  receiving  fifty  strokes 
of  the  bastinado  on  the  soles  of  his  feet,  was 
sentenced  to  twenty  years'  imprisonment  in  the 
College  of  Fera,  to  learn  the  Arabic  language. 

While,  in  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and 
four,  the  companies  in  the  West  Indies  were 
losing  one  man  out  of  every  two  by  yellow 
fever,  deeds  of  daring  were  done,  which  Ser- 
geant ConoUy  thinks  most  worthy  of  record. 
**  Private  John  Inglis."  he  says,  *'  performed 
the  important  duty  of  orderly  to  the  sick  in 
the  hospital  at  Windmill-hill,  and,  to  assid- 
uous attention,  united  marked  kindness 
and  tenderness,  shrinking  from  no  difficulty, 
and  dreading  no  danger.  Private  James 
Lawford  undertook  the  melancholy  service 
of  receiving  the  dead,  both  for  the  Artificers 
and  the  Artillery,  and  conveying  them  to  the 
burying-ground,  near  the  grand  Parade. 
Horrible  and  hazardous  as  was  this  duty,  he 
persevered  in  its  performance  with  a  coolness 


and  intrepidity  that  was  perfectly  amazing. 
Private  James  Weir  was  the  principal  grare- 
digger,  and  attended  to  his  appointment  with 
unfi inching  ardour  and  self-possession.  Sur- 
rounded by  the  pest  in  its  worst  forma,  aod 
inhaling  the  worst  effluvia,  he  never  fori  mo- 
ment forsook  the  frightful  service,  bat 
laboured  on,  inspiriting  those  who  occaflioo* 
ally  assisted  him,  until  the  neceasi^  for 
his  employment  no  longer  existed."  And 
all  these  men  the  plague  spared.  Athoo- 
sand  fell  at  their  side,  and  ten  thonsuid  at 
their  right  hand,  but  it  did  not  come  nigh 
them. 

We  think  it  a  most  admirable  feature  io 
Quartermaster  Conolly's  histoiy  that  vbile 
it  is  full  of  stirring  narratives  of  war  and 
curious  adventure,  it  never  fails  to  record 
deeds  such  as  these ;  and,  througboat,  chro- 
nicles the  names  even  of  the  humblest  laboor- 
ers  attached  to  the  corps,  who  have  dooe 
deeds  worthy  to  be  borne  in  remembrance  bj 
their  comrades. 

At  Torres  Vedras,  Corporal  Wilson  M 
charge  of  a  work,  and  a  party  of  the  Portu- 
guese Ordenenza  Militia  was  placed  under 
his  orders  to  execute  it  He  assigned  to  two 
of  the  men  a  task,  to  be  completed  in  a  ce^ 
tain  time.  They  refused  to  do  it,  and  com- 
plained to  their  officer  that  it  was  too  moclu 
The  officer  agreed  witii  them,  and  was  inclin- 
ed to  censure  the  corporal.  Straightway  the 
corporal  offered  to  bet  the  officer  a  dollar  that 
he  could  do  the  assigned  work  himself  within 
the  given  time.  The  bet  was  accepted;  the 
corporal  stripped,  and,  going  to  work  like  s 
Briton,  won  bis  dollar  easily  enough.  There 
were  no  more  complaints  during  the  progreis 
of  the  lines. 

Major  Pasley,  of  the  Royal  Engineer*, 
having  been  appointed  to  the  command  of 
Military  Artificers,  at  the  Plymouth  statioo. 
took  unusual  pains  with  his  men,  and  was  the 
first  officer  who  represented  the  advantage 
of  training  the  corps  in  the  construction  of 
military  field  works.  After  the  failure  of 
Badajoz,  in  eighteen  hundred  and  eleven,  the 
adoption  of  such  a  measure  was  strongly  ad- 
vocated by  the  war  officers.  It  was  recom- 
mended then  to  form  a  corps  under  the  name 
of  Royal  Sappers  and  Miners,  to  be  formed 
of  six  companies 'chosen  from  the  Roy»i 
Military  Artificers;  which,  after  receiring 
some  instruction  in  the  art,  was  to  be  sent  to 
the  Peninsula.  Early  in  the  succeeding  yetf. 
the  idea  was  ftirther  supported  by  the  autho- 
rity of  Sir  Richard  Fletcher  and  Lord  Wel- 
lington ;  and  Lord  Mulgrave,  Master-General 
of  the  Ordnance,  founded  aocordinglyt  * 
school  at  Chatham,  of  which  Major  Piag 
was  appointed  the  director.  A  few  montte 
afterwards  the  name  of  the  corps  was 
changed,  in  accordance  with  these  new  TiewR. 
and  became  the  corps  of  Royal  HiUtag 
Artificers  or  Sappers  and  Miners.  On  tw 
sixth  of  March,  in  the  succeeding  yctf 
eighteen  hundred  and  thirteen,  the  style  wi« 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


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MECHANICS  IN  UNIFORM. 


413 


again  changed  to  Royal  Sappers  and  Miners. 
Some  mistrust  was  occasioned  bj  the  altera- 
tion ;  confidence  was,  however,  soon  restored. 
Four  more  years  elapsed  before  this  mili- 
tary class  of  working-men,  long  subjected  to 
drill,  was  armed.  ''  On  pne  occasion,''  Bays 
the  Quartermaster,  **  near  St.  Denis,  all  the 
Sappers  of  the  army,  nearly  a  thousand 
gtroQg,  were  assembled  to  witness  an  execu- 
tion, and  strange  to  add,  In  that  imposing 
force,  there  was  not  a  single  firearm.  At 
aaotber  time  there  was  an  inspection  of  the 
pontoon-train  of  eighty  pontoons  and  other 
carriages,  with  horses,  drivers,  and  pon- 
teeners,  occupying  a  line  of  road  nearly  two 
miles  in  length.  The  Sappers  were  present 
ia  their  whole  strength,  but  without  a  musket 
in  their  ranks  to  show  the  quality  of  pro- 
tection they  could  afibrd  to  the  immense 
charge  entrusted  to  them.  Fifty  men  with  fire- 
arms could  easily  have  destroyed  the  whole 
force  in  ten  minutes.  These  instances,  and 
others  equally  striking,  occurring  in  an 
enemy's  country,  were  strongly  brought 
under  the  notice  of  the  higher  powers ;  but, 
where  representations  and  remonstrances 
founded  on  the  necessities  of  the  service 
fiiiled,  accidental  circumstances  at  last 
gained  the  desired  object."  What  it  was 
impossible  to  get  done  for  the  help  of  a 
war,  was  done  promptly  enough  for  the  help 
of  a  show.  **  At  the  great  reviews  in 
Prance,  the  bridges  required  for  the  pas- 
sage of  the  army  were  thrown  the  evening 
previously,  and  the  Sappers  consequently 
were  firee  for  any  other  duty.  Usually  they 
were  employed  to  represent  the  enemy ;  and, 
to  show  the  line  of  the  enemy's  pontoon  to 
advange  it  was  considered  best  to  efifect  it 
by  musketry  fire.  Orders  were  therefore 
given  to  supply  the  companies  with  firearms : 
aud.  from  this  trivial  incident  may  be  dated 
the  period,  from  which  the  corps  was  properly 
and  uniformly  armed." 

or  the  admirable  service  since  done  b^ 
the  Royal  Sappers  and  Miners  in  all  cli- 
mates and  many  lands — in  wars  and  in  ex- 
peditions —Quartermaster  John  Conolly  tells, 
bringing  his  tale  down  to  the  siege  of  Sebas- 
topol,  whereof  he  has  much  information  to 
convey.  The  auality  of  their  labour  we 
have  already  indicated.  A  fine  fellow  was 
Lance-corporal  Greenhill,  who  in  eighteen 
Hhirtv-six  was  with  the  exploring  party  upon 
the  Eupbratcs,  when  the  natives  marvelled 
j  greatly  at  his  hair,  which  was  white  like 
I  silver,  while  his  beard  was  black  as  soot. 
•  He  was  seized  by  Arab  banditti,  who  tore 
I  the  gilt  buttons  from  his  coat.  One  button 
remained  upon  a  cuff;  and,  tearing  ofif  his 
coat,  he  threw  it  at  them  to  be  quarrelled  over, 
while  he  hi m<telf  scampered  away  up  the  hills. 
Greenhill  collected  ancient  coins,  which,  like 
a  good  Perthshire  man,  he  presented  to  the 
Perth  MuseunL  He  became  at  last  a  volun- 
teer to  the  Niger  expedition;  for  which  he  set 
to  work  so  vigorously  about  the  inuring  of 


his  body,  that  by  exposure  and  self-denial  he 
brought  on  himself  erysipelas,  and  died. 

A  tine  fellow  was  Corporal  Coles,  who  en- 
dured with  Captain  Grey,  in  the  deserts  of 
Western  Australia,  terrible  suffering.  When 
he  had  been  picked  up  by  a  boat,  and  found 
his  captain,  "Have  you  a  little  water?" 
asked  the  captain  as  he  entered.  "  Plenty, 
sir,"  answered  Coles,  handing  a  very  little, 
that  was  swallowed  eagerly.  That  drop 
of  water  was  all  that  was  in  the  boat  when 
Coles  was  found  :  and  although  he  suffered 
severely  from  thirst,  he  would  not  taste  a 
drop,  as  long  as  he  retained  any  hope  that 
his  chief  might  be  found,  and  he  in  want  of 
it.  Brave  Corporal  Coles,  at  the  end  of  all 
the  suffering  and  labour,  bv  which  Captain 
Grey  and  his  party  were  almost  destroyed, 
was  in  a  dreadful  plight  ''  Corporal  Coles,'' 
the  Captain  wrote,  ''  my  faithful  and  tried 
companion  In  all  my  wandermgs,  could 
scarcely  crawl  along.  The  flesh  was  com- 
pletelv  torn  away  from  one  of  his  heels ; 
and  the  Irritation  caused  by  this,  had  pro- 
duced a  large  swelling  in  the  groin.  Nothing 
but  his  own  strong  fortitude,  aided  by  the 
encouragement  given  him  by  myself  and  his 
comrades,  could  have  made  him  move  under 
his  great  agony."  He  was  then  walking  for 
his  life,  twenty-ono  miles  in  the  day  under  a 
fierce  sun,  without  food,  or  water,  to  sleep  at 
night  in  the  darkness,  under  drenching  rain, 
and  rise  next  morning  to  resume  his  toil. 
Then  we  may  reeul  in  the  Quartermaster's 
book,  of  Sappers  attached  to  an  Arctic  expe- 
dition, making  soup  of  their  boots  boiled  with 
a  bit  of  buffiuo  grease.  Running  on  to  the 
year  eighteen  hundred  and  fifty-one,  we  find 
the  Sappers  constituting  an  important  and 
most  interesting  feature  of  the  human  ma- 
chinery connected  with  the  Great  Exhibition, 
and  passing  over  the  sapping  and  mining 
work  done  at  the  Cbobham  Camp  we  come 
to  the  great  siege  of  Sebastopol,  whereat  what 
work  was  done  by  the  Royal  Sappers  and 
Miners,  the  Quartermaster  industriously 
laboured  to  make  out  from  many  private 
sources. 

We  have  said  nothing  of  General  Colby's 
classes  for  the  training  of  men  up  to  the 
highest  state  of  eflQciency  in  execution  of  the 
national  surveys.  Of  the  twenty- two  com- 
panies into  which  the  present  number  of 
two  thousand  six  hundred  and  fifty-five  Sap- 
pers and  Miners  of  all  ranks  is  divided,  four 
are  set  apart  for  the  duties  of  the  national 
surveys.  The  number  of  officers  upon  the 
survey  has  been  reduced  from  forty-five  to 
nine.  Nevertheless,  the  men  are  so  efficient, 
that  they  can  be  safely  intrusted  with  the 
charge  of  difficult  and  important  works; 
concerning  which  they  cannot  always  receive 
directions  from  officers. 

We  have  not  yet  accepted  the  whole  les- 
son taught  us  by  the  admirable  result  of 
the  introduction  of  mechanics,  as  constituent 
members  of  the  British  army.     It  has  been 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


414 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCoDdactc4  by 


shown  for  many  year?  past  by  the  working 
of  the  corps  of  Sappers  and  Miners,  and  the 
idea  upon  which  it  was  founded  has  been 
further  acted  upon  during  the  last  months 
by  the  dcppatch  of  railway  labourers  to  the 
Crimea.  It  is  not  simply  of  fighting  men 
that  a  perfectly  organized  army  ought  in 
these  days  to  consist.  The  formation  of  the 
corps  of' Royal  Sappers  and  Miners  was  the 
first  official  recognition  of  the  fact ;  other 
recognitions  of  it,  doubtless,  are  to  follow. 


POETRY  ON  THE  RAILWAY. 

Ip  I  succeed  in  the  object  I  have  proposed 
to  myself  in  this  paper,  I  shall  consider  that 
I  am  entitled  to  the  gratitude  of  all  poets, 
present  and  to  come.  For  I  shall  have  found 
them  a  new  subject  for  verse  :  a  discovery,  I 
submit,  as  important  as  that  of  a  new  metal, 
or  of  a  new  motive  power,  a  new  pleasure,  a 
new  pattern  for  shawls,  a  new  colour,  or  a 
new  strong  drink.  Xo  member  of  the  tuneful 
craft ;  no  gentleman  whose  eyes  are  in  the 
habit  of  rolling  in  a  fine  frenzy ;  no  senti- 
mental young  lady  with  an  album  will  deny 
that  the  whole  present  domain  of  poetry 
is  used  up  : — that  it  has  been  surveyed, 
travelled  over,  explored,  ticketed,  catalogued, 
classified,  and  analysed  to  the  last  inch  of 
ground,  to  the  last  petal  of  the  last  flower,  to 
the  last  blade  of  grass.  Every  poetical  sub- 
ject has  been  worn  as  threadbare  as  Sir  John 
Cutler's  stockings.  The  sea,  its  blueness, 
depth,  vastness,  raininess,  freedom,  noisiness, 
calmness,  darkness,  and  brightness;  its 
weeds,  and  waves,  and  finny  denizens;  its 
laughter,  wailings,  sighings.  and  deep  bellow- 
ings ;  'the  ships  that  sail,  and  the  boats  that 
dance,  and  the  tempests  that  howl  over  it  ; 
the  white-winged  birds  that  skim  over  its 
billows ;  the  great  whales,  and  sharks,  and 
monsters,  to  us  yet  unknown,  that  disport 
themselves  in  its  lowest  depths,  and  swinge 
the  scaly  horrors  of  their  folded  tails  in  its 
salt  hiding  places ;  the  mermaids  that  wag 
their  tails  and  comb  their  tresses  in  its  coral 
caves ;  the  sirens  that  sing  fathoms  farther 
than  plummet  ever  sounded  ;  the  jewels  and 
gold  that  lie  hidden  initscavems,measureless 
to  man  ;  the  dead  that  it  is  to  give  up : — the 
sea,  and  all  appertaining  to  it,  have  been  sung 
dry  these  thousand  years.  We  heard  the 
roar  of  its  billows  in  the  first  line  of  the  Iliad, 
and  Mr.  Sharp,  the  comic  singer,  will  sing 
about  it  this  very  night  at  the  Tivoli  Gar- 
dens, in  connection  with  the  Gravesend 
steamer,  the  steward,  certain  basins,  and  a 
boiled  leg  of  mutton. 

As  for  the  Sun,  he  has  had  as  many  verses 
written  about  him  as  he  is  miles  distant  from 
the  earth.  His  heat,  brightness,  roundness, 
and  smiling  face;  his  incorrigible  propensi- 
ties for  getting  up  in  the  east  and  going  to 
b  'd  in  the  west ;  his  obliging  disposition  in 
tipping  the  hills  with  gold,  and  bathing  the 
evening  sky  with  crimson,  have  all  been  sung. 


Every  star  in  the  firmament  has  bad  a  stanza  ; 
Saturn's  rings  have  all  bad  their  poesies,  and 
Mars,  Bacchus,  Apollo,  andVirorum,  have  all 
been  chanted.  As  for  the  poor  illnsed  Moon, 
she  has  been  ground  on  every  barrel-orjran  in 
Parnassus  since  poetry  existed.  Her  pallid 
complexion,  chastity  or  lightness  of  condact, 
treacherous,  contemplative,  or  secretive  dis- 
position, her  silver  or  sickly  smile,  have  all 
been  over-celebrated  in  verse.  And  everr- 
thing  else  belonging  to  the  sky — the  cloads. 
murky,  purple,  or  silver  lined,  the  hail,  the 
rain,  the  snow,  the  rainbow,  the  wind  in  its 
circuits,  the  fowls  that  fly,  and  the  insects  that 
hover — they  have  all  bad  their  poets,  and  too 
many  of  them. 

Is  there  anything  new  in  poetry,  I  ask,  to  be 
said  about  Love  ?  Surely  that  viand  has  been 
done  to  rags.  We  have  it  with  every  variety  of 
dressing.  Love  and  madness;  love  and  smiles, 
tears,  folly,  crime,  innocence, and  charily.  We 
have  had  love  in  a  village,  a  pal  ace.  a  cottage, 
a  camp,  a  prison,  and.a  tub.  We  have  had  the 
loves  of  pirates,  highwaymen,  lords  and  ladies^, 
shepherds  and  shepherdesses ;  the  Loves  of 
the  Angels  and  the  Loves  of  the  New  Police. 
Canning  was  even  good  enough  to  imprt^ss 
the  abstruse  science  of  mathematics  into  the 
service  of  Poetry  and  Love ;  and  to  sing  about 
the  loves  of  ardent  axioms,  postulates,  tan- 
gents,   oscillation,   cissoids,    conchoids,  the 
square  of  the  hypothenuse,  asymptotes,  para- 
bolas and  conic  sections,  in  short,  all  the  Loves 
of  the  Triangles.  Dr.  Darwin  gave  us  the  Loves 
of  the  Plants,  and  in  the  economy  of  vegetation 
we  had  the  loves  of  granite  rocks,  argillaceons 
strata,  noduled  flints,  blue  clay,  silica,  chertz, 
and  the  limestone  formation.  We  have  had  in 
connection  with  love  in  poetry  hearts,  darts, 
spells,  wrath,  despair,  withering  smiles,  burn- 
ing tears,  sighs,  roses,  posies,  pearls  and  other 
precious  stones ;    blighted  hopes,    beaming 
eyes,  misery,  wretchedness,  and  unutterable 
woe.  It  is  too  much.  Everything  is  worn  out 
The  whole  of  the  flower-garden,  from  the  braz- 
en sunflower  to  the  timid  violet,  has  been  ex- 
hausted.    All  the  birds  in  the  world  could 
never  sing  so  loud  or  so  long  as  the  poets 
have  sung  about   them.     The   bards  have 
sung  right  through  Lempri^re's  Classical 
Dictionary,  BuflTon's  Natural  History,  Ma]l« 
Brun's  Geography  (for  what  country,  city, 
mountain,  or  stream,  remains  unsung),  and 
the  Biographic  Universelle.      Every    hero, 
and   almost  every  scoundrel,  has  bad  bis 
epic.    We  have  had  the  poetical  Pleasures  of 
Hope,  Memory,  Imagination,  and  Friendship ; 
likewise  the  Vanity  of  Human  Wishes,  the 
Fallacies   of   Hope,   and  the  Triumphs  of 
Temper.     The  heavenly  muse  has  sung  of 
man's  first  disobedience,  and  the  mortal  fruit 
of  the  forbidden  tree,  that  brought  Death  into 
the  world  and  all  our  woes.    The  honest  mose 
has  arisen  and  sung  the  Man  of  Ross.    All 
the  battles  that  ever  were  fought — all  the 
arms  and  all  the  men — have  been  celebrated 
in  numbers.  Arts,  commerce,  laws,  learning. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbarln  Dickens.] 


POETRY  ON  THE  RAILWAY. 


415 


and  our  old  nobility,  have  had  their  poet. 
Suicide  has  found  a  member  of  the  Court  of 
Apollo  musical  and  morbid  enough  to  eing 
Belf-murder ;  and  the  Corn  Laws  have  been 
rescued  from  Blue  Books,  and  enshrined  in 
Ballad:?.  Mr.  Pope  has  called  upon  my  lord 
Bolingbroke  to  awake,  and  "  expatiate  free 
o'er  all  this  scene  of  man  ;'^  and  the  pair  have, 
together.passed  the  whole  catalogue  of  human 
virtues  and  vices  in  review.  Drunkenness 
has  been  sung ;  so  has  painting,  so  has  music. 
Poems  have  been  written  on  the  Art  of 
Poetry.  The  Grave  has  been  sung.  The 
earth,  and  the  waters  under  it,  and  the  fear- 
some region  under  that;  its  ** adamantine 
chains  and  penal  fire,*'  its  "  ever-burning 
sulphur  unconsumed,"it8  "  darkness  visible, '^ 
its  burning  marl  and  sights  of  terror.  We 
have  heard  the  last  lays  of  all  the  Last  Min- 
strels, and  the  Last  Man  has  had  his  say, 
or  rather  his  song,  under  the  auspices  of 
Campbell.  The  harp  that  once  hung  in  Tara*s 
halls  has  not  a  string  left,  and  nobody  ought 
to  play  upon  it  any  more. 

Take  instead,  oh  ye  poets,  the  wires  of  the 
Electric  Telegraph,  and  run  your  tuneful 
fingers  over  those  chords.  Sing  the  poetry  of 
Railways.  But  what  can  there  be  of  the 
poetical,  or  even  of  the  picturesque  element 
in  a  railway?  Trunk-lines,  branch  -  lines, 
loop-lines,  and  sidings;  cuttings,  embank- 
ments, gradients,  curves,  and  inclines ;  points, 
pwitchc.«,  sleepers,  fog-signals  and  turn-tables: 
locomotives,  break-vans,  bufiers,  tenders,  and 
whistles;  platforms,  tunnels,  tubes,  goods- 
sheds,return-ticket8,axle-grease,cattle-trains, 
pilot-engines,  time-tables,  and  coal-trucks : 
all  these  are  eminently  prosaic  matter-of-fact 
things,  determined,  measured  and  maintained 
by  line  and  rule,  by  the  chapter  and  verse  of 
printed  regulations  and  by-laws  signed  by 
Directors  and  Secretaries,  and  allowed  by 
Commissioners  of  Railways.  Can  there  be 
any  poetry  in  the  Secretary's  office  ;  in  divi- 
dends, debentures,  scrip,  preference-shares, 
and  deferred  bonds  ?  Is  there  any  poetry  in 
Railway  time — the  atrociously  matter-of-fact 
system  of  calculation  that  has  corrupted  the 
half-past  two  o^clock  of  the  old  watchman 
into  two-thirty  ?  Is  Bradshaw  poetical  ?  Are 
Messrs.  Pickford  and  Chaplain  and  Home 
poetical  ?  How  the  deuce  (I  put  words  into 
my  opponent's  mouths)  are  you  to  get  any 
poetry  out  of  that  dreariest  combination  of 
straight  lines,  a  railroad :— straight  rails, 
straight  posts,  straight  wires,  straight  sta- 
tions, and  straight  termini. 

As  if  there  could  be  anything  poetical 
about  a  railroad!  I  hear' Gusto  the  great 
fine  art  Critic  and  judge  of  Literature  say 
this  with  a  sneer,  turning  up  his  fine  Roman 
nose  meanwhile.  Poetry  on  a  Railway ! 
cries  Proseycard,  the  man  of  business — non- 
sense I  There  may  be  some  nonsensical  verses 
or  80  in  the  books  that  Messrs.  W.  H.  Smith 
and  Sons  sell  at  their  stalls  at  the  different 
stations ;  but  Poetry  on  or  in   the  Railway 


itself — ridiculous!  Poetry  on  the  Rail! 
echoes  Hcavypace,  the  commercial  traveller 
—fudge !  I  travel  fifteen  thousand  miles 
by  railway  every,  year.  I  know  every  line, 
branch,  and  station  in  Great  Britain.  I  never 
saw  any  poetry  on  the  RaiL  And  a  crowd  of 
passengers,  directors,  shareholders,  engine- 
drivers,  guards,  stokers,  station-masters, 
signal-men,  and  porters,  with,  I  am  ashamed 
to  fear,  a  considerable  proportion  of  the 
readers  of  Household  Words,  seem,  to  the 
ears  of  my  mind,  to  take  up  the  cry,  to  laugh 
scornfully  at  the  preposterous  idea  of  there 
being  possibly  any  such  a  thing  as  poetry 
connected  with  so  matter-of-fact  an  institu- 
tion as  a  Railway,  and  to  look  upon  me  in 
the  light  of  a  fantastic  visionary. 

But  I  have  tied  myself  to  the  stake  ;  nailed 
my  colours  to  the  mast ;  drawn  the  sword  and 
thrown  away  the  scabbard :  in  fact,  I  have 
written  the  title  of  this  article,  and  must 
abide  the  issue. 

Take  a  Tunnel— in  all  its  length,  its 
utter  darkness,  its  dank  coldness  and  tem- 
pestuous windiness.  To  me  a  Tunnel  is  all 
poetry.  To  be  suddenly  snatched  away  from 
the  light  of  day,  from  the  pleasant  com- 
panionship of  the  fleecy  clouds,  the  green 
fields  spangled  with  flowers,  the  golden 
wheat,  the  fantastically  changing  embank- 
ments,— now  geological,  now  floral,  now 
rocky,  now  chalky  ;  the  hills,  the  valleys,  and 
the  winding  streams  ;  the  high  mountains  in 
the  distance  that  know  they  are  emperors  of 
the  landscape,  and  so  wear  purple  robes  right 
imperially ;  the  silly  sheep  in  the  m*'adow8, 
that  graze  so  contentedly ,unweeting  that  John 
Hinds  the  bj^tcher  is  coming  down  by  the 
next  train  to  purchase  them  for  the  slaughter- 
house ;  the  little  lambs  that  are  not  quite  up 
to  railway  trains,  their  noise  and  bustle  and 
smoke,  yet.  and  that  scamper  nervously  away, 
carrying  their  simple  tails  behind  them  ;  the 
sententious  cattle  that  munch,  and  lazily 
watch  the  stream  from  the  funnel  as  it  breaks 
into  fleecy  rags  of  vapour,  and  then  fall  to 
munching  again ;  to  be  hurried  from  all 
these  into  pitchy  obscurity  seems  to  me 
poetical  and  picturesque  in  the  extreme.  It 
is  like  death  in  the  midst  of  life,  a  sudden 
suspension  of  vitality — the  gloom  and  terror 
of  the  grave  pouncing  like  a  hawk  upon  the 
warmth  and  cheerfulness  of  life.  Man  v  an  ode, 
many  a  ballad  could  be  written  on  that  dark 
and  gloomy  tunnel — the  whirring  roar  and 
scream  and  jar  of  echoes,  the  clanging  of 
wheels,  the  strange  voices  that  seem  to  make 
themselves  heard  as  the  train  rushes  through 
the  tunnel, — now  in  passionate  supplication, 
now  in  fierce  anger  and  loud  invective,  now  in 
an  infernal  chorus  of  fiendish  mirth  and  de- 
moniac exultation,  now  in  a  loud  and  long- 
continued  though  inarticulate  screech  —  a 
meaningless  howl  like  the  ravings  of  a  mad- 
man. To  understand  and  appreciate  a  tunnel 
in  its  full  aspect  of  poetic  and  picturesque  hor^ 
ror,  yon  should  travel  in  a  third-class  carriage. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


416 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Candoctodk7 


To  first  and  second  class  passengers  the 
luxury  of  lamplight  is  by  the  gracious  favour 
of  the  Directors  of  the  company  condescend- 
ingly extended;  and  in  pa^ping  through  a 
tunnel  they  are  enabled  dimly  to  descry 
their  fellow-travellers ;  but  for  the  third 
class  voyager  darkness  both  outer  and 
inner  are  provided — darkness  so  complete 
and  so  intense,  that  aa  wo  are  borne 
invisibly  on  our  howling  way,  dreadful 
thoughts  spring  up  in  our  minds  of  blind- 
ness ;  that  we  have  lost  our  sight  for  ever  I 
Vainly  we  endeavor  to  peer  through  the 
darkncps,  to  strain  our  eyes  to  descry  one 
ray  of  light,  one  outline — be  it  ever  so  dim — 
of  a  human  figure  \  one  thin  bead  of  day 
upon  a  panel,  a  ledge,  a  window-sill,  or  a 
door.  Is  there  not  matter  for  bards  in  all 
this? — in  the  length  of  the  tunnel,  its  dark- 
ness and  clamour ;  in  the  rage  and  fury  of 
the  engine  eating  its  strong  heart,  burnt  up 
by  inward  fire  like  a  man  consumed  by  his 
own  passions ;  in  the  seemingly  everlasting 
duration  of  the  deprival  from  light  and  day 
and  life ;  but  a  deprival  which  ends  at  last. 
Ah,  how  glad  and  welcome  that  restoration 
to  sunshine  is!  We  seem  to  have  had  a 
sore  and  dangerous  sickness,  and  to  be 
suddenly  and  graciously  permitted  to  rise 
from  a  bed  of  pain  and  suffering,  and 
enter  at  once  into  the  enjoyment  of  the 
rudest  health,  with  all  its  comforts  and  en- 
joyments, with  all  its  cheerful  pleasures 
and  happy  forgetfulness  of  the  ills  that  are 
gone,  and  unconscious  nescience  of  the  ills 
that  are  to  come,  and  that  must  come,  and 
surely. 

Whenever  I  pass  through*  a  tunnel  I 
meditate  upon  these  things,  and  wish  heartily 
that  I  were  a  poet,  that  I  might  tune  my 
heart  to  sing  the  poetry  of  railway  tunnels. 
I  donH  know  whether  the  same  thoughts 
strike  other  people.  I  suppose  they  do, — I 
hope  they  do.  It  may  be  that  I  muse  more 
on  tunnels,  and  shape  their  length  and  black- 
ness, and  coldness  and  noise,  to  subjects  fit 
to  be  wedded  to  immortal  verse ;  because  I 
happen  to  reside  on  a  railway,  and  that 
iEilmost  every  morning  and  evening  through- 
out the  week  I  have  to  pass  through  a  tunnel 
of  prodigious  length, — to  say  the  truth,  near- 
ly as  long  as  the  Box  Tunnel,  on  the  Great 
Western  Railway.  Morning  and  evening  we 
dash  from  the  fair  fields  of  Kent,— ft*om 
the  orchards  and  the  hop-gardens, — from  the 
sight  of  the  noble  river  in  the  distance,  with 
its  boats  and  barges  and  huge  ships,  into  this 
Erebus,  pitch-dark,  nearly  three  miles  long, 
and  full  of  horrid  noises.  Sometimes  I  travel 
in  the  lamp-lit  carriages,  and  then  I  find 
it  poetical  to  watch  the  fiickering  gleams  of 
the  sickly  light  upon  shrouded  figures,  muffled 
closely  m  railway  nigs  and  mantles,  and 
shawls, — the  ladies,  who  cower  timidly  in 
corners ;  the  children,  who,  half-pleased, 
half-frightened,  don't  seem  to  know  whether 
to  laugh  or  cry,  and  compromise  the  matter 


by  sitting  with  their  mouths  wide  open,  and 
incessantly  asking  why  it  is  so  dark,  and  why 
there  is  such  a  noise.    Sometimes,  and,  I  am 
not   ashamed    to    confess,  much  more   fre- 
i  quently,  1  make  my  jonmev  in  the    poor 
\  man's  carriage— the  **  parly,'' or  third  claa^ 
In  that  humble  "  parly''  train,  believe  me, 
1  there    is   much   more   railway    poetry    at- 
tainable   than    in    the    more    aristocratic 
compartments.    Total  darkness,  more  noise 
(for  the  windows  are  generally  open,  and  the 
i  reverberation  consequently  much  greater), 
,  more  mocking  voices,  more  mystery,  and  more 
romance.    I  have  even  gone  through  tunnels 
;  in  those  vile  open  standing-up  cars,  called 
by  an  irreverent  public  "pig-boxes,"  and 
seemingly  provided  by  railway  directors  as  a 
cutting  reproach  on,  and  stern  punishment 
for,  poverty.    Yet  I  have  drunk  deeply  of 
railway  poetry  in  a  *' pig-box."    There  is 
something  grand,  there  is  something  epic ; 
there  is  something  really  sublime   in    the 
gradual  melting  away  of  the  darkness  into 
light ;  in  the  decadence  of  total  eclipse  and 
the  glorious  restoration  of  the  sun  to  bis 
golden  rights  again.    Standing  up   in   the 
coverless  car  you  see  strange,  dim,  fantastic 
changing  shapes  above  you.    The  daylight 
becomes  irriguous,  like  dew,  upon  the  ateam 
from  the  tunnel,  the  roofs  of  the  carriages, 
the  brickwork  sides  of  the  tunnel  itself     Bat 
nothing  is  defined,  nothing   fixed  :  all   the 
shapes  are  irresolute,  fieeting,  confused,  like 
the  events  in  the  memory  of  an  old  man. 
The  tunnel  becomes  a  phantom  tube— a  dry 
Styx — the  train  seems  changed  into  Charon's 
boat,  and  the   engine-driver  turns  into  the 
infernal  ferryman.    And  the  end   of   that 
awful  navigation  must  surely  be  Tarlanis. 
You  think  so,  you  fancy  yourself  in  the  boat, 
as  Dante  and  Virgil  were  in   the   Divine 
Comedy ;  ghosts  cling  to  the  sides,  vainly 
repenting,  uselessly  lamenting  ;  Francesco  of 
Rimini  floats  despairing  by  ;  far  off,  mingled 
with  the  rattle  of  wheels,  are  heard  the 
famine-wrung  moans  of  Ugolino's  children. 
Hark  to  that  awful  shrilly,  hid  30us, prolonged 
yell — a  scream  like  that  they  say  that  Cathe- 
rine of  Russia  gave  on  her  deathbed,  and 
which,  years  afterwards,  was  wont  to  haunt 
the  memories  of  those  that  had  heard  it 
Lord  be  good  to  us!  there  is  the    scream 
again ;  it  is  the  first  scream  of  a  lost  spirit^s 
last  agony ;  the  cry  of  the  child  of  earth 
waking  up  into  the  Ever  and  Ever  of  pain  ; 
it  is  Facinata  screaming  in  her  sepulchre  of    I 
flames — no,  it  is  simply  the  railway  whistle 
as  the  train  emerges  from  the  tunnel  into    I 
sunlight  again.    The  ghosts  vanish,  there  are    ' 
no  more  horrible  sights  and  noises,  no  flying    - 
sparks,  no  red  lamps  at  intervals  like  demon    ' 
eyes.    I  turn  back  in  the  *'pig-box.''  and    , 
look  at  the  arched  entrance  to  the  tunnel  we 
have  just  quitted.    I  seemed  to  fancy  there    , 
should  be  an  inscription  over  it  bidding  all    > 
who  enter  to  leave  Hope  behind  ;  but  Instead 
of  that  there  is  simply,  hard  hj,  a  placard    f 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbarlet  Oickeu.] 


POETRY  ON  THE  RAILWAY. 


417 


on  a  post  relative  to  cattle  straying  on  the 
railwaj. 

A  railway  accident !  Ah,  poets  I  how  much 
of  poetry  could  you  find  in  that,  were  you  so 
minded.  Odes  and  ballads,  sapphics,  alcaics, 
and  dactylics,  strophes,  chorusses  and  semi- 
chorusses  might  be  sung— rugged  poems, 
roagh  as  the  rocky  numbers  of  Ossian, 
soothing  poems,  **  soft  pity  to  infuse,'-'  running 
"  softly  sweet  in  Lydian  measure  "  upon  the 
woes  of  railway  accidents,  the  widowhoods 
and  orphanages  that  have  been  made  by  the 
carelessness  of  a  driver,  a  faulty  engine,  an 
unturned  **  point,''  a  mistaken  signal.  Think 
of  the  bride  of  yesterday,  the  first  child  of 
oar  manhood,  the  last  child  of  our  age ;  think 
of  the  dear  friend  who  has  been  absent  for 
years,  who  has  been  estranged  from  us  by 
tbose  whispering  tongues  that  poison  truth, 
and  is  coming  swiftly  along  the  iron  road  to 
be  reconciled  to  us  at  last.  Think  of  these 
all  torn  from  us  by  a  sudden,  cruel,  unpre- 
pared-for  death  ;  think  of  these,  falling  upon 
that  miserable  battle-field,  without  glory, 
without  foes  to  fight  with,  yet  with  fearfuller, 
ghastlier  hurts,  with  more  carnage  and  horror 
lu  destruction  than  you  could  meet  with 
even  on  those  gory  Chersonean  battle-fields 
after  storms  of  shot  and  shell,  after  the  fierce 
assaults  of  the  bayonet's  steel,  and  the  tramp- 
ling of  the  horses,  and  the  stroke  of  the  sharp 
sword.  There  are  bards  to  wail  over  the 
warrior  who  falls  in  the  fray,  for  the  horse 
and  his  rider  blasted  by  the  scarlet  whirl- 
wind. There  are  tears  and  songs  for  the 
dead  that  the  sea  en^lfs,  to  cradle  them  in 
its  blue  depths  till  Time  and  Death  shall  be 
no  more.  There  are  elegies  and  epitaphs 
and  mourning  verses  for  those  that  sleep  in 
the  churchyard,  that  have  laid  their  heads 
upon  a  turf,  that  eat  their  salad  from  the 
roots,  that  dwell  with  worms  and  entertain 
creeping  things  in  tb'e  cells  and  little  cham- 
bers of  their  eyes.  There  is  poetry  even  for 
the  murderer  on  his  gibbet ;  but  who  cares  to 
sing  the  railway  victims !  who  bids  the  line 
restore  its  dead  ?  who  a4j urates  the  engine 
to  bring  back  the  true  and  brave  ?  They  are 
killed,  and  are  buried ;  the  inquest  meet ;  the 
jurymen  give  their  verdict,  and  forget  all 
about  it  two  days  afterwards.  Somebody  is 
tried  for  manslaughter  and  acquitted,  for,  of 
course,  there  is  nobody  to  blame!  It  is  all 
over,  and  the  excursion  train,  crammed  with 
jovifld  excursionists,  sweethearts,  married 
couples,  clubs  of  gay  fellows,  laughing  chil- 
dren, baskets  of  prog,  bottles  of  beer,  and 
surreptitious,  yet  officially  connived  at,  pipes ; 
the  engine  dressed  in  ribbons,  the  stoker — 
Oh,  wonder  1 — in  a  clean  shirt ;  the  excursion 
train,  I  say,  rattles  gaily  over  the  very  place 
where  a  month  since  the  accident  took  place ; 
over  the  very  spot  where  the  earth  drank  up 
blood,  and  the  rails  were  violently  wrenched 
and  twisted,  and  the  sleepers  were  ensan- 
guined, and  death  and  havoc  and  desolation 
were  strewn  all  around,  and  the  wild  flowers 


in  the  embankment  were  scalded  with  the 
steam  from  the  shattered  boiler. 

Can  you  form  an  idea,  poets,  of  a  haunted 
line?  Suppose  the  same  excursion  train  I 
was  speaking  of  to  be  on  its  way  home,  late 
at  night,  say  from  Cripplegate-super-mare  or 
Buffington  Weils.  Everybody  has  epjoyed 
himself  very  much— the  children  are  tired, 
but  happy.  The  bonnets  of  the  married 
ladies  have  made  their  proper  impression 
upon  the  population  of  Cripplegate-super- 
mare,  and  they  are  satisfied  with  them,  their 
husbands,  and  themselves.  The  married 
gentlemen  have  found  out  of  what  the  con- 
tents of  the  black  bottles  consisted — they 
smoke  pipes  openly  now,  quite  defiant,  if  not 
oblivious,  of  bye-laws  and  forty  shilling  fines. 
Nobody  objects  to  smoking — not  even  the 
asthmatical  old  gentleman  in  the  respirator, 
and  the  red  comforter— not  even  tie  tall 
lady,  with  the  severe  countenance  and  the 
peen  umbrella,  who  took  the  mild  fair  man 
in  spectacles  so  sharply  to  task  this  morning 
about  the  mild  cigar  which  he  was  timidly 
smoking  up  the  sleeve  of  his  poncho.  Even 
the  guards  and  officials  at  the  stations  do  not 
object  to  smoking.  One  whiskered  individual 
of  the  former  class,  ordinarily  the  terror  of 
the  humble  third-class  passenger,  whom  he, 
with  fierce  contempt,  designates  as  "you,  sir," 
and  hauls  out  of  the  carriage  on  the  slightest 
provocation,  condescends  to  be  satirical  on 
the  smoke  subject ;  he  puts  his  head  in  at  the 
window,  and  asks  the  passengers  *'  how  they 
like  it — mild  or  full  flavoured?"  This  is  a 
joke,  and  everybody,  of  course,  laughs  im- 
mensely, and  goes  on  smoking  unmolested. 
Bless  me  I  how  heartily  we  can  laugh  at  the 
jokes  of  people  we  are  afraid  of,  or  want  to 
cringe  to  for  a  purpose.  ^ 

Surely  a  merrier  excursion  train  than  this 
was  never  due  at  the  Babylon  Bridge  station 
at  eleven-thirty.  Funny  stories  are  told.  A 
little  round  man,  in  a  grey  coat  and  a  hat 
like  a  sailor's,  sings  a  comic  song  seven  miles 
long,  for  he  begins  it  at  one  station  and  ends 
it  at  another  seven  miles  distant.  A  pretty, 
timorous  widow  is  heard  softly  joining  in  the 
chorus  of  "  tol  de  rol  lol."  A  bilious  man  of 
melancholy  mien,  hitherto  speechless,  volun- 
teers a  humorous  recitation,  anek  promises 
feats  of  conjuring  after  they  have  passed  the 
next  station.  Strangers  are  invited  to  drink 
out  of  strange  bottles,  and  drink.  Everybody 
is  willing  to  take  everybody's  children  on  his 
knee.  People  pencil  down  addresses  by  the 
lamplight,  and  exchange  them  with  people 
opposite,  hoping  that  they  shall  become  better 
acquainted.  The  select  clubs  of  jolly  fellows 
are  very  happy — they  even  say  "  vrappy." 
There  is  laughing,  talking,  jesting,  courting, 
and  tittering.  None  are  silent  but  those  who 
are  asleep.  Hurrah  for  this  jovial  excursion 
train  for  the  Nor-Nor-West  by  Eastern  Rail- 
way Company,  its  cheap  fares,  and  admirable 
management ! 

Suppose  that  just  at  the  spot  where  this 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


418 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coodoctedbj 


allegro  ^'^^^  ^^^  ^"'  there  occurred  the  great 
accident  of  last  July.  You  remember,  the 
excursion  train,  through  some  error,  the 
cause  of  which  was  unfortunately  never  dis- 
covered, raa  into  the  luggage  train;  the 
driver  and  stoker  of  the  former  were  dashed 
to  pieces — thirty-three  persons  were  killed  or 
wounded.  Suppose  some  man  of  poetical 
temperament,  of  fantastic  imagination,  of 
moody  fancies,  were  in  the  carriage  of  this 
merry  train  to-night,  looking  from  the  win- 
dow, communing  with  the  yellow  moonlight, 
the  li^t  clouds  placidly  floating  along  the 
sea  of  heaven  as  if  sure  of  a  safe  anchorage 
at  last.  He  knows  the  line,  he  knows  the 
place  where  that  grim  accident  was— he 
muses  on  it — yes  ;  this  was  the  spot,  there 
laid  the  bodies. 

Heavens  and  earth  I  suppose  the  line  were 
haunted!  See,  from  a  siding  comes  slowly, 
noiselessly  along  the  rails  the  PhantovTrain  1 
There  is  no  rattle  of  wheels,  no  puffing  and 
blowing  of  the  engine,  only,  from  time  to 
time,  the  engine  whistle  is  heard  in  a  fitful, 
murmuring,  wailing  gust  of  sound ;  the  lamps 
in  front  burn  blue,  sickly  lambent  flames 
leap  from  the  funnel  and  the  furnace  door. 
The  carriages  are  lamplit  too,  but  with  corpse 
candles.  The  carriages  themselves  are  mere 
skeletons — they  are  all  shattered,  dislocated, 
ruined,  yet,  by  some  deadly  principle  of  co- 
hesion, they  keep  together,  and  through  the 
interstices  of  their  cracking  ribs  and  frame- 
work you  may  see  the  passengers.  Horrible 
sight  to  see  1  Some  have  limbs  bound  up  in 
splinters,  some  lie  on  stretchers,  but  they  have 
all  faces  and  eyes ;  and  the  eyes  and  the  faces, 
together  with  the  phantom  guard  with  his 
lantern,  from  which  long  rays  of  ghastly  light 
proceed  ;  together  with  the  phantom  driver, 
with  his  jaw  bound  up  ;  the  phantom  stoker, 
who  stokes  with  a  mattock  and  spade,  and 
feeds  the  fire  as  though  he  were  making  a 
grave ;  the  phantom  commercial  travellers 
wrapped  in  shrouds  for  railway  rugs ;  the 
pair  of  lovers  in  the  first-class  coupS,  locked 
in  the  same  embrace  of  death  in  which  they 
were  found  after  the  accident ;  the  stout  old 
gentleman  with  his  head  in  bis  It^,  the  legs 
of  the  man  the  rest  of  whose  tKxIy  was  never 
found,  but  who  still  has  a  face  and  eyes, 
the  skeletons  of  horses  in  the  horseboxes, 
the  stacks  of  coffins  in  the  luggage-vans  (for 
all  is  transparent,  and  you  can  see  the  fatal 
verge  of  the  embankment  beyond,  through 
the  train.)  All  these  sights  of  horror  flit 
continually  past,  up  and  down,  backwards 
and  forwards,  haunting  the  line  where  the 
accident  was. 

But,  ah  me  I  these  are,  perhaps,  but  silly 
fancies  after  all.  Respectability  may  be 
right,  and  there  may  be  no  more  poetry  in  a 
railway  than  in  my  boots.  Yet  I  should  like 
to  find  poetry  in  everything,  even  in  boots. 
I  am  afraid  railways  are  ugly,  dull,  prosaic, 
straight;  yet  the  line  of  beauty,  honest 
Hogarth  tells  us,  is  a  curve,  and  curves  you 


may  occasionally  find  on  the  straightest  of 
railways— and  where  beauty  is,  poetry,  you 
mayT)e  sure  of  it,  is  not  far  off.  I  am  not 
quite  sure  but  you  may  find  it  in  ugliness 
too,  if  there  be  anything  beautiful  in  your 
own  mind. 


WHAT  MY  LANDLORD  BELIEVED. 

Mt  Bohemian  landlord  in  Vienna  told  me 
a  story  of  an  English  nobleman.  It  mar 
be  worth  relating,  as  showing  what  my  lana- 
lord,  quite  in  good  faith  and  earnest  believed. 
You  know,  Lieber  Herr,  said  Vater  Bohm, 
there  is  nothing  in  the  whole  Kaiserstadt 
so  astonishing  to  strangers  as  our  sign- 
boards. Those  beautiful  paintings  that  yoa 
see — Am  Graben  and  Hohe  Markt,  real  works 
of  art,  with  which  the  sign-boards  of  other 
countries  are  no  more  to  be  compared  than 
your  hum-drum  English  music  is  to  the 
delicious  waltzes  of  Lanner,  or  the  magic 
polkas  of  Strauss.  Imagine  an  Englishman, 
who  knows  nothing  of  painting,  finding  him- 
self all  at  once  in  front  of  one  of  those 
charming  compositions;  pictures  that  thcT 
would  make  a  gallery  of  in  London,  but  which 
we  can  afford  to  put  out  of  doors  ;  he  is 
fixed,  he  is  dumb  with  astonishment  and 
delight — ^he  goes  mad.  Well,  Lieber  Herr, 
this  is  exactly  what  happened  to  one  of  year 
English  nobility.  Milor  arrived  in  Vienna ; 
and  as  he  had  made  a  wager  that  he  would 
see  every  notability  in  the  city  and  its 
environs  in  the  course  of  three  days,  which 
was  all  the  time  he  could  spare,  he  hired  a 
fiaker  at  the  Tabor-Linie,  and  drove  as  fast 
as  the  police  would  let  him  from  church  to 
theatre ;  from  museum  to  wine-cellar ;  till 
chance  and  the  fiaker  brought  him  into  the 
Graben.  Milor  got  out  to  stretch  himself, 
and  to  see  the  wonderful  shops,  and  after  a 
few  turns  came  suddenly  upon  the  house  at 
the  sign  of  the  Joan  of  Arc 

*' Goddam  I'^  exclaimed  Milor,  as  his  eye 
met  the  sign-board. 

There  he  stood,  this  English  nobleman,  in 
his  drab  coat  with  pearl  buttons,  his  red 
neckcloth,  blue  pantaloons  and  white  hat, 
transfixed  for  at  least  five  minutes.  Then 
swearing  some  hard  oaths,  a  thing  the 
English  always  do  when  they  are  particularly 
pleased,  Milor  exclaimed, '* It  is  exquisite! 
Holy  Lord  Mayor,  it  Is  unbelievable!" 

Mein  Lieber,  you  have  seen  that  painting 
of  course,  I  mean  Joan  of  Arc,  life-size,  clad 
in  steel,  sword  in  hand,  and  with  a  wonderful 
serenity  expressed  im  her  countenance,  as  she 
leads  her  flagging  troops  once  more  to  the 
attack  upon  the  walls.  It  has  all  the  sofLnesi 
of  a  Coreggio,  and  the  vigour  of  a  Rubens. 
Milor  gave  three  bounds,  and  was  in  the 
middle  of  the  shop  in  a  moment. 

**  That  picture  !"  he  exclaimed. 

"What  picture,  —  Eurer  Gnaden?"  en- 
quired the  shopkeeper,  bowing  in  the  most 
elegant  manner. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ClwrleiDlckeiii.] 


WHAT  MY  LANDLORD  BEUEVED. 


419 


*•  It  hangs  at  your  door — ^Joan  of  Arc,  I 
wish  to  buy  it." 

*♦  It  is  not  for  sale,  Eurer  Gnaden." 

"Bah!"  ejaculated  Milor,  *'Imu8t  have 
it.    I  will  cover  it  with  guineas." 

"  It  is  impossible." 

"How  impossible?"  cried  Milor,  diving 
into  the  capacious  pocket  of  the  drab  coat 
with  the  pearl  buttons,  and  drawing  forth  a 
heavy  roll  of  English  bank-notes,  "  I'll  bet 
you  anything  you  like  that  it  is  possible." 

You  know,  mein  Lieber,  that  the  English 
settle  everything  by  a  wager  ;  indeed,  betting 
and  swearing  is  about  all  their  language  is 
fit  for.  For  a  fact,  there  were  once  two  Eng- 
lish noblemen,  from  Manchester  or  some  such 
ancient  place,  who  journeyed  down  the  Rhine 
on  the  steam-boat.  They  looked  neither  to 
the  right  nor  to  the  left ;  neither  at  the  vine- 
fields  nor  the  old  castles  ;  but  sat  at  a  table, 
silent  and  occupied,  with  nothing  before  them 
but  two  lumps  of  sugar,  and  two  heaps  of 
guineas.  A  little  crowd  gathered  round  them 
wondering  what  it  might  mean.  Suddenlv 
one  of  them  cried  out, "  Goddam,  it's  mine  I" 
"  What  is  yours  ? "  inquired  one  who  stood 
by,  gaping  with  curiosity.  "  Don't  you 
see,"  replied  the  other, "  I  bet  twenty  guineas 
level,  that  the  first  fly  would  alight  upon 
my  lump  of  sugar,  and  by  God,  I've  won 
it!" 

To  return  to  Milor.  "  I'll  bet  you  anything 
you  like  that  it  is  possible,"  said  he. 

"Your  grace,"  replied  the  shopkeeper, 
"  my  Joan  of  Arc  is  beyond  price  to  me.  It 
draws  all  the  town  to  my  shop ;  not  forget- 
ting the  foreigners." 

"  I  will  buy  your  shop,"  said  the  English- 
man. 

"  Milor  I  Graf  Schweinekopf  von  Pimple- 
stein  called  only  yesterday  to  see  it,  and  Le 
Comte  de  Barbebiche." 

"  A  Frenchman!  "  shouted  Milor. 

"  From  Paris,"  your  grace. 

"  Will  you  sell  me  your  Joan  of  Arc  ? "  was 
the  furious  demand.  "  I  will  cover  it  with 
pounds  sterling  twice  over." 

"  Le  Comte  de  Barbebiche  " — 

"  You  have  promised  it  to  him  T " 

"  Yes !  "  gasped  Herr  Wechsel,  catching  at 
the  idea. 

"  Enough ! "  cried  the  English  nobleman ; 
and  he  strode  into  the  street.    With  one  im- 

gassioned  glance  at  the  figure  of  La  Pncelle, 
e  threw  himself  into  his  fiaker,  and  drove 
rapidly  out  of  sight. 

On  reaching  his  hotel,  he  chose  two  pairs 
of  boxing  gloves,  a  set  of  rapiers,  and  a  case 
of  duelling  pistols ;  and,  thus  loaded,  de- 
scended to  his  fiaker,  tossed  them  in,  and 
started  off  in  the  direction  of  the  nearest 
hotel.  "  Le  Comte  de  Barbebiche  " — that  was 
the  pass-word ;  but  everywhere  it  failed  to 
elicit  the  desired  reply.  He  passed  from 
street  to  street— from  gasthaus  to  gasthaus— 
everywhere  the  same  dreary  negative ;  and 
the  day  waned,  and  his  search  was  still  un- 


successful. But  he  never  relaxed ;  the  morn- 
ing found  him  still  pursuing  enquiries ;  and 
mid-day  saw  him  at  the  porte  coch^re  of  the 
Hotel  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  in  the  Rothenthurm 
Strasse,  with  his  case  of  duelling  pistols  in 
his  hand,  bis  set  of  rapiers  under  his  arm, 
and  his  two  pairs  of  boxing-gloves  slung 
round  his  neck. 

"  Deliver  my  card  immediately  to  the 
Comte,"  said  he  to  the  attendant ;  "  and  tell 
him  I  am  waiting."  He  bad  found  him  out. 
Luckily,  the  Comte  de  Barbebiche  happened 
to  be  in  the  best  possible  humour  when  this 
message  was  conveyed  to  him,  having  just 
succeeded  in  dyeing  his  mustache  to  his  en* 
tire  satisfaction.  He  glanced  at  the  card — 
smiled  at  himself  complacently  in  the  mirror 
before  him,  and  answered  in  a  gracious 
voice,  "Let  Milor  Mountpleasant  come 
up." 

Milor  was  soon  beard  upon  the  stairs ;  and, 
as  he  strode  into  the  room,  he  flung  his  set  of 
rapiers  with  a  clatter  on  the  floor,  dashed  his 
case  of  duelling  pistols  on  the  table,  and  with  a 
dexterous  twist  sent  one  pair  of  boxing-gloves 
rolling  at  the  feet  of  the  Comte,  while,  pull- 
ing on  the  other,  he  stood  in  an  attitude  of 
defence  before  the  astonished  Frenchman. 

"What  is  this?"  enquired  the  Comte  de 
Barbebiche. 

"  This  is  the  alternative,"  cried  the  Eng- 
lishman. "Here  are  weapons;  take  your 
choice — pistols,  rapiers,  or  the  gloves.  Fight 
with  one  of  them  you  must,  and  shall,  or 
abandon  your  claim  to  Joan  of  Arc." 

"Mon  Dieu!  What  Joan  of  Arc?  I 
do  not  have  the  felicity  of  knowing  the 
lady." 

"  You  may  see  her,  Am  Graben,"  gravely 
replied  Milor,  "  outside  a  shop  door,  done  in 
oil." 

"  Heh  I  "  exclaimed  the  astonished  Comte, 
"  in  oil — an  Esquimaux,  or  a  Tartar,  pray  ?  " 

"  Monsieur  le  Comte,  I  want  no  trifling. 
Do  you  persist  in  the  purchase  of  this  pic- 
ture ?  I  have  set  my  heart  upon  it :  I  love 
it ;  I  have  sworn  to  possess  it.  Make  it  a  mat- 
ter of  money,  and  I  will  give  you  a  thousand 
pounds  for  your  bargain  ;  make  it  a  matter 
of  dispute,  and  I  will  fight  you  for  it  to  the 
death ;  make  it  a  matter  of  friendship,  and 
yield  up  your  ri^ht,  and  J  will  embrace  you 
as  a  brother,  and  be  your  debtor  for  the  rest 
of  my  life." 

The  Comte  de  Barbebiche— seeing  that  he 
had  to  do  with  an  Englishman  a  degree,  at 
least,  more  crazed  than  the  rest  of  his  coun- 
trymen— ^ntered  into  the  spirit  of  the  matter 
at  once,  and  chose  the  easiest  means  of  extri- 
cating himself  from  a  difficulty. 

"  Milor,"  he  exclaimed,  advancing  towards 
him,  "  I  am  charmed  with  your  sentiments, 
your  courage,  and  your  integrity.  Take  her, 
Mi  lor—take  your  Joan  of  Arc  ;  I  would  not 
attempt  to  deprive  you  of  her  if  she  were  a 
real  flesh  and  blood  Puoelle,  and  my  own 
sister." 


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420 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCoadoctcd  bf 


The  EnglishmaD,  with  a  ^nd  oath,  seized 
the  Corote's  hand  in  both  his  owd,  and  shook 
it  heartily  ;  then  scrambling  np  bis  parapha- 
nalia  of  war,  spoke  a  hurried  farewell,  and 
disappeared  down  the  stairs. 

Tne  grey  of  the  morning  saw  Milor  in  full 
evening  costume,  pacing  the  Graben  with 
hurried  steps,  watching  with  anxious  eyes  the 
shop  front  where  his  beloved  was  wont  to 
hang.  He  saw  her  carried  out  like  a  shutter 
Arom  the  house,  and  duly  suspended  on  the 
appointed  hook.  She  had  lost  none  of  her 
charms,  and  he  stood  with  arms  folded  upon 
his  breast,  entranced  for  a  while  before  the 
figure  of  the  valiant  maiden. 

"  Herr  Wechsel,"  said  he  abruptly,  as  he 
entered  the  shop  ;  "tieComte  de  Barbebiche 
has  ceded  his  claim  to  me.  I  repeat  my  offer 
for  your  Joan  of  Arc — decide  at  once,  for  I 
am  in  a  hurry.'' 

It  certainly  does  appear  surprising  that 
Herr  Wechsel  did  not  close  in  with  the  offer  at 
once  ;  perhaps  he  really  had  an  affection  for 
his  picture  ;  perhaps  he  thought  to  improve 
the  bargain  ;  or,  more  probably,  looking  upon 
his  strange  customer  as  so  undoubtedly  mad, 
as  to  entertain  serious  fears  as  to  his  ever 
receiving  the  money.  Certain  it  is,  that  he 
respectfully  declined  to  sell. 

*•  You  refuse !  "  shouted  Milor,  striking  his 
clenched  fist  upon  the  counter ;  "  then,  by 
Jove !  I'll— but  never  mind ! "  and  he  strode 
into  the  street. 

The  dusk  of  the  evening  saw  Milor  in  the 
dress  of  a  porter,  pacing  the  Graben  with  a 
steady  step.  He  halted  in  front  of  his  cherish- 
ed Joan ;  with  the  utmost  coolness  and  de- 
liberation unhooked  the  painting  from  its 
nail,  and  placing  it  carefully,  and  with  the  air 
of  a  workman,  upon  his  shoulder,  stalked 
away  with  his  precious  burden. 

Imagine  the  consternation  of  Herr  Wechsel 
upon  the  discovery  of  his  loss.  His  pride, 
his  delight,  the  chief  ornament  of  his  shop 
was  gone ;  and,  moreover,  he  had  lost  his 
money.  But  his  sorrow  was  changed  into 
Burpnse,  and  his  half-tearful  eyes  twinkled 
with  satisfaction  as  he  read  the  following 
epistle,  delivered  into  his  hands  within  an 
hour  after  the  occurrence : — 

**  Sib.— Ton  will  find  placed  to  your  credit  in  tb« 
Imperial  Bank  of  Tienna  the  sum  of  five  thousand 

?)unds,  the  amount  proffered  for  TOur  Joan  of  Are. 
our  obatioacj  has  driven  mo  Into  the  commission  of  a 
misdemeanor.  God  forgive  jou.  ^at  I  have  kept  mj 
word. 

••lamalreadv  beyond  your  reach,  and  you  will 
search  In  vain  for  my  trace.  In  consideration  for  your 
fMlincrs,  and  to  cause  you  aa  little  annoyance  as  poa> 
iible.  I  have  placed  my  Joan  of  Arc  into  the  hands  of 
a  skilful  artist ;  and  I  trust  to  forward  you  as  accurate 
a  copy  as  can  be  made. 

*'Yoara,  MouvrpLiASAirT.*' 

And  Milor  kept  his  word,  meln  Lieber,  and 
the  copy  hangs,  Am  Graben,  to  this  da^  in 
the  place  of  the  original.  The  original  shines 
among  the  paintings  in  the  splendid  collec- 
tion of  Milor  at  Mountpleasant  Castle. 

I  will  not  pretend  to  say,  concluded  Yater 


I  Bohm,  reloading  his  pipe,  that  the  English 
'  have-  any  taste,  but  they  certainly  have  a 
!  strange  passion  for  pictures :  and,  let  them 
j  once  get  an  idea  into  their  neads,  they  are 

the  most  obstinate  people  in  the  world  in  the 

pursuit  of  it. 


THE  WIND. 

TBI  wind  went  forth  o'er  land  and  tea. 
Loud  and  free ; 
Foaming  waves  leapt  up  to  meet  it. 
Stately  pines  bow'd  down  to  greet  It, 

While  the  wailing  sea. 
And  the  forest's  mnrvared  sigh 
Joined  the  cry, 
Of  the  wind  that  swept  o'er  land  and  tea. 

The  wind  that  blew  upon  the  ae* 
Fierce  and  free. 
Cast  the  bark  upon  the  shore. 
Whence  it  saU'd  the  night  before 

Full  of  hope  and  glee ; 
And  the  cry  of  pain  and  death 
Was  but  a  breath. 
Through  the  wind  that  roar'd  upon  the  eea^ 

The  wind  was  whispering  on  the  lea 
Tenderly ; 
But  the  white  rose  felt  it  pass. 
And  the  fragile  stalks  of  graas 

Shook  with  fear  to  see 
All  her  trembling  petals  shed. 
As  it  fled, 
80  gently  by,— the  wind  upon  the  lea. 

Blow,  thou  wind,  upon  the  sea 
Fierce  and  f^, 
And  a  gentler  message  send, 
Where  tnil  flowers  and  grasses  bend. 

On  the  sunny  lea ; 
For  thy  bidding  still  is  one, 
Be  it  done 
In  tenderness  or  wrath,  on  land  or  sea  I 

AUSTRALIAN  CARRIERS. 

I  AH  one  of  a  strong  body  of  many  hun- 
dred carriers  over  Keilor  plains,  towards  the 
diggings  of  Victoria,  whose  two  horse  drays 
and  wagons  do  the  work  that  may,  some  day, 
be  done  by  the  Melbourne  and  Mount  Alex- 
ander Railway.  On  us  depend  some  eighty 
thousand  diggers,  whom  we  serve  by  carrying 
their  houses  of  canvas,  wood,  or  iron,  their 
clothes,  made  of  all  sorts  of  materials,  their 
food,  their  tools,  their  simple  machinery, 
sometimes  themselves.  We  form  an  endless 
chain  between  the  city  and  the  digging^a — one 
side  continually  going  up  full,  and  the  other 
coming  down  empty.  Our  work  never  stops. 
One  of  us  rarely  stays  two  nights  in  the  same 
place,  and  only  when  in  town  sleeps  under  a 
roof,  or  on  a  bed.  Wandering  Uius  inces- 
santly, we  encounter,  of  course,  many  ad- 
ventures. Each  trip  has  a  story  of  its 
own  ;  but  what  I  wish  now  to  do  is  to  give 
only  a  general  idea  of  our  mode  of  life.    It 


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Cbariea  DtekeM.] 


AUSTRALIAN  CARRIERS. 


421 


has  a  summer  and  a  winter  aspect.  Many  a 
summer  carrier  vanishes  like  a  fair  weather 
friend  during  the  winter,  to  re-appear  only 
when  he  can  travel  without  being  compelled 
to  wade  knee-deep  during  the  day,  and  sleep 
at  night  in  six  inches  of  water.  Y ictoria,  let 
all  geographers  be  careful  to  record,  is  famous 
for  producing  mud  and  dust  When  one  of 
these  products  is  not  to  be  met  with,  there  is 
certainty  of  finding  plenty  of  the  other.  I 
write  this  in  December,  our  midsummer, 
bedazed  with  sun,  and  dust,  and  flies.  Mel- 
bonrne,  as  we  leave  it,  is  totally  hidden  iVom 
us  by  the  gritty  cloud  that  her  increasing 
traffic  raises,  that  hangs  above  her  as  the 
smoke  hangs  over  London. 

The  road,,  for  a  few  miles  out  of  the  city 
(barring  dust)  is  very  good.  It  is  bordered  by 
cultivated  lands  and  is  tolerably  pleasant  tra- 
velling. We  pass  through  the  thriving  town- 
ships of  Flemmington,  Moonee  Ponds,  and 
Es^ndon ;  and,  descending  a  steep  hill,  nine 
miles  from  town,  we  cross  a  small  stream  by 
a  massive  timber  bridge.  The  bridge  is 
something  more  than  massive ;  not  content 
with  forming  a  stout  road-way,  its  heavy 
beams  rise  high  above  our  cart,  in  three  huge 
wooden  walls,  and  roof  us  over ;  making  of  the 
bridge  two  lofty  tunnels,  that  might  be  a  por- 
tion of  a  bomb-proof  citadel.  There  is  good 
reaRoo  for  this.  The  thread  of  water  that  now 
trickles  below,  will  swell,  and  rush,  and  roar ; 
and,  during  the  heavy  winter  rains,  become  a 
giant  against  which  a  giant  only  could  con- 
tend. Beyond  the  bridge,  a  little  encampment 
of  tents,  a  few  houses  of  wood  and  two  or 
three  of  stone,  form  the  township  of  Keilor. 
We  fill  our  water-kegs  at  the  stream  :  and, 
after  climbing  a  long  steep  hill,  road  and 
fences  end  abruptly,  and  we  are  turned  out 
opon  the  open  plain.  A  way  its  stretches 
back  towards  Melbourne,  its  boundary  there 
^ing  the  masts  of  the  shipping  in  the  bay,  of 
which  we  have  not  yet  lost  sight  On  either 
hand  it  touches  the  horizon,  and  it  rolls  be- 
fore ns  to  break  at  the  foot  of  a  low  range  of 
wooded  hills,  beyond  which  Macedon  heaves 
his  dark  head. 

Now  we  feel  the  worst  of  summer.  The 
thick  grass  of  the  plains  is  parched  and 
Withered,  and  the  heat  lies  visibly  tremulous 
over  the  brown  surface  as  it  does  over  a 
burning  kiln.  Along  the  hundreds  of  tracks 
^hich  intersect  the  plain,  vehicles  are 
Jjoving,  all  accompanied  by  clouds  of  dust. 
^m  the  early  part  of  the  day  the  air  is 
"111,  and  the  dust  falls  where  It  rises ;  but,  as 
^ne  sun  climbs  higher,  the  land-breeze  comes 
flown,  hot  and  unrefV^shing ;  and,  as  it  gathers 
atrength,  It  catches  up  the  heavy  clouds  of 
P''t,  and,  dashing  them  together,  sweeps 
across  the  open  ground,  half-smothering  both 
™en  and   horses,  and  producing   a   thick 

!^     T'   ^^^^   ^'^^^    ^^^^    ®^    *   London 

^-    The  wind  usually  starts  up  in  sudden 

Pj'w.  and,  sometimes  twisted  in  a  creek  or 

oiiow,  it  becomes   a  whirlwind,  erecting 


in  a  moment  a  tall  monument  of  dust, 
which  dances  down  the  road  until  its  breaks 
upon  a  line  of  drays,  startling  the  horses  from 
their  steadjr  pace,  and  throwing  everything 
into  confusion. 

Along  the  line  of  the  government  road  a 
few  refreshment  tents  and  one  or  two  public 
houses  stand.  A  notice  is  posted  outside  one 
of  the  tents  to  the  effect  that  water  may 
be  had  within,  at  sixpence  a  bucket  Beer, 
I  should  say,  rises  to  two  shillings  a  pint  at 
the  distance  of  only  two  hours  journey  from 
Melbourne.  We  halt  for  an  hour  to  refresh 
our  horses  and  Ourselves,  and  then  plod  on, 
over  the  plain.  By  sunset,  we  have  reached 
the  Gap  Inn,  where  there  is  a  small  settle- 
ment, and  where  the  road  is  about  to  cross, 
by  a  low  saddle,  the  hills  that  we  have  had 
in  sight  all  day.  Here  we  turn  off  into  the 
bush,  to  camp  down  for  the  night 

The  three  great  requisites  for  a  camping- 
ground  are,  grass,  water,  and  fire-wood  ;  yet, 
in  summer,  grass  and  water  are  not  always 
to  be  found,  and  the  horses  suffer.  On  the 
chosen  spot,  we  draw  the  dray  over  a  smooth 
place,  unharness  the  horses,  and,  first  having 
fastened  their  fore-legs  together  by  a  short 
chain  and  two  straps,  turn  them  adrift,  to 
graze.  Then  the  fire  is  to  be  lighted,  and,  in 
order  to  prevent  it. from  running  through  the 
dry  grass,  we  prepare  the  fire-place  by  first 
burning  a  circle,  and  then  beating  it  out 
Over  the  lighted  fire  we  sling  the  billy,  or.  in 
home  phrase,  put  the  kettle  on ;  the  kettle 
being  nsually  a  tin  pan  with  a  loose  wire 
handle,  which  attaches  it  to  the  dra^  during 
the  journey.  Whilst  the  water  is  boiling,  we 
retire  to  our  apartments.  The  sheet  of  can- 
vas, which  is  doubled  over  the  load  during 
the  day,  is  opened  out  to  its  full  extent,  and, 
falling  over  both  wheels  and  the  back  of  the 
dray,  converts  the  space  between  the  wheels 
and  beneath  the  body  into  a  room.  The 
shafts  of  the  dray  are  raised,  resting  upon  the 
crossed  prop-sticks,  and — as  we  approve  of 
ventilation — this  part  of  the  enclosure  is  not 
covered.  The  door  of  our  impromptu  bed- 
room is  thus  left  open,  and  occupies  one 
entire  side  of  the  enclosure.  But  as  we  take 
care  to  keep  the  wind  at  the  back,  and  the 
fire  at  the  front,  the  open  door  is  no  source 
of  discomfort  The  worst  of  our  room  is, 
tljat  the  axletree  crosses  the  centre  of  the 
ceiling  at  a  rather  low  elevation,  and  thus  a 
sleeper,  suddenly  awakened,  is  not  unlikely  to 
knock  his  head  against  it.  In  rainy  weather, 
too.  we  get  water  beds,  and  do  not  like  them  ; 
while,  in  dry  weather,  the  ants  moisten  their 
clay  too  frequently  at  the  expense  of  ours. 
They  appear  by  hundreds,  and  are  industrious 
insects,  each  about  half-an-inch  long,  being 
usually  of  the  species  distinguished  as  the 
bull-dog  ant,  from  the  tenacity  with  which 
they  retain  their  hold  of  anything  on  which 
they  fasten.  The  pain  of  their  bite  may  be 
compared  to  the  pricking  of  a  red-hot 
pin.    The  whole  country  swarms  with  them. 


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422 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coaaoctcdkr 


la  summer^  it  is  almost  impossible  to 
find  a  square  yard  of  ground  in  the  bush, 
wholly  free  from  them.  Allowance  made  for 
these  exceptions,  and  the  occasional  visit  of 
a  tarantula  or  a  centipedei  we  find  ourselves 
quite  comfortable  in  our  room  under  the 
dray.  An  opossum-skin  rug  laid  upon  the 
pound,  and  a  couple  of  blankets  spread  over 
it,  make  a  famous  bed ;  such  preparations 
completed,  billy  boils,  the  frying  pan  is  splut- 
tering and  screeching  on  the  fire,  and  our 
supper  of  bread,  meat,  and  tea  is  ready. 
Frying-pan  and  billy  are  then  brought  under 
the  dray,  where  we  dip  our  tin  pannikins 
into  the  tea,  and  carve,  with  our  clasp-knives, 
chops  placed  upon  huge  lumps  of  bread. 

By  the  time  supper  Is  over,  the  horses  have 
come  back,  and  are  standing  round  the  dray, 
expectant  of  their  oats.  The  nose-bags  are 
put  on  ;  and,  whilst  they  feed,  we  light  our 
candle,  fix  it  cleverly  between  the  spokes  of 
the  wheel  which  constitutes  a  side  wall  of 
our  chamber,  fill  our  pipes,  and  are  at  ease. 
In  the  box  appropriated  to  the  wants  of  the 
road,  I  generally  carry  a  favourite  book  or 
two,  or  a  late  English  newspaper,  if— through 
some  oversight  of  the  post-office  clerk,  who 
usually  makes  himself  a  present  of  each  of 
my  papers — I  receive  one  of  a  tolerably  recent 
date.  By  and  by  the  grinding  of  oats  ceases, 
and  the  chains  of  the  hobbles  rattle  as  the 
nags  begin  to  move  awa^.  The  nose-bags 
are  removed,  and  a  bell  is  strapped  round 
the  neck  of  one  of  the  horses ;  then,  after  a 
few  minutes  occupied  in  noting  the  direction 
they  take,  we  creep  into  our  bed-room  again. 
Each  putting  his  heavy  boots  into  a  bag, 
this  is  used  for  a  pillow,  and,  in  two  mi- 
nutes, all  of  us  are  fast  asleep.  Some- 
times, if  feed  is  scarce,  and  the  horses  are 
likely  to  stray  far,  we  turn  out  once  during 
the  night,  and  look  them  up,  as  otherwise 
they  are  not  easily  recovered  in  the  morning. 
Indeed,  it  is  a  common  accident  for  a  carrier 
to  lose  his  horses  for  some  days,  often  alto- 
gether ;  though  in  places  where  this  accident 
is  likely  to  occur,  or  where  horse-thieves  are 
suspected,  it  is  customary  to  tether  them  to  a 
tree,  sometimes  even  to  watch  them  through 
the  night. 

At  sunrise  we  are  up,  the  horses  fed,  billy 
and  frying-pau  again  in  requisition.  The 
tarpaulin  is  doubled  and  lashed  over  the  load, 
and,  hastily  swallowing  breakfast,  we  yoke 
up,  and  are  away  again.  The  birds  occupy 
our  vacated  oett  to  pick  up  any  crumbs  we 
may  have  scattered  ;  the  grass,  bent  down  by 
our  weight,  springs  up  again  ;  and,  in  a  day, 
the  only  mark  of  our  encampment  is  the 
handful  of  white  ashes  which  the  next  shower 
will  wash  away. 

We  pass  on  over  a  few  miles  of  rough  road, 
crossing  three  awkward  creeks,  which  in 
winter  are  bogs,  dreaded  by  carriers ;  and 
then  we  come  again  upon  a  bit  of  government 
road,  made  and  macadamised ;  another  public 
house  ;  more  refreshment-tents  or  sly  grog- 


shops ;  and  then  we  descend,  by  a  steep  bill, 
into  the  pretty  township  of  Gisborne,  better 
known  by  the  name  of  its  chief  hotel,  at 
the  Bush  Inn.  Here  is  a  tolerable  collec- 
tion of  shops  and  stores,  with  several  good 
inns:  and  here,  ai  atKeilor  and  other  places 
on  toe  road,  we  are  assailed  by  a  string  of 
youngsters,  who  torment  us  to  buy  milk  (and 
water)  from  them,  at  a  diilling  a  pint.  In 
the  neighborhood  the  land  is  being  rapidly 
brought  into  cultivation  ;  and  there  is  every 
indication  that  Gisborne  will  soon  become  a 
populous  town,  especially  as  it  possesses  that 
rare  natural  curiosity  in  victoria — a  conet&nt 
supply  of  pure  water. 

We  water  our  horses  at  the  stream,  fill  our 
kegs,  add  a  fresh  loaf  and  a  few  pounds  of 
steaks  to  our  store,  and  then  climb  slowly  the 
steep  ascent  leading  from  the  township.  In 
a  few  minutes  we  enter  the  Black  Forest. 

This  place  is  much  dreaded  by  carriers,  for, 
winter  or  summer,  it  is  the  worst  part  of  the 
road,  and,  in  the  earlier  days  of  the  diggings, 
was  dreaded  by  all  travellers  as  a  pl^ 
infested  by  bushrangers — terrible  as  the 
banditti  in  the  Black  Forest  of  Germany. 
Many  a  poor  fellow,  returning  to  town  with 
his  hard-earned  gold,  was  compelled  to  stand 
and  deliver  here,  and  not  a  few  were  coolly 
shot  down  when  they  ventured  to  resist  the 
plunderers.-  Sometimes,however,  these  thieves 
caught  a  Tartar.  I  was  acquainted  with  one 
of  four  diggers  who,  having  obtained  a  con- 
siderable quantity  of  gold  at  Bendigo,  un- 
wisely determined  to  convey  it  to  town  them- 
selves, and  thus  save  the  escort-fees  demanded 
by  the  government.  They  engaged  aretorning 
dray  to  take  them  down,  and  reached  the 
Black  Forest  without  interruption.  Aware 
of  the  dangerous  nature  of  the  passage  throngh 
it,  they  prepared  themselves  for  an  attack, 
one  man  being  seated  on  each  side  of  the 
dray,  one  on  the  front  of  it,  and  one  behind. 
The  gold  was  placed  in  the  middle  of  the  cart, 
covered  with  blankets  and  bundles.  In  the 
heart  of  the  forest,  five  horsemen  suddenly 
burst  upon  the  diggers,  and,  galloping  up  to 
the  dray  pistol  in  hand,  called  upon  them 
to  stand.  The  sudden  reply  was  repeated 
volleys  of  revolvers.  Three  of  the  robbers 
rolled  from  their  saddles.  Two  of  them 
were  shot  dead,  the  other  was  serioosly 
wounded,  and  one  of  the  horses  killed.  Their 
companions  did  not  wait  for  the  remaining 
barrels  of  the  four  revolvers,  but  rode  off, 
leaving  the  diggers  masters  of  the  field.  The 
whole  engagement  did  not  occupy  two 
minutes.  The  attack,  the  repulse,  and  the 
retreat  were  over  before  the  smoke  of  the 
pistol-shots  had  cleared  away. 

But  such  stories  are  fast  becoming  legends 
of  the  past.  The  exploits  of  some  three  years 
ago,  when  a  gang  of  armed  men  posted  them- 
selves on  the  high  road  to  Brighton,  at  a  dis- 
tance of  only  three  miles  from  the  city  of  Mel- 
bourne, and  held  possession  of  it  for  a  whole 
afternoon,  stopping  all  travellers,  plundering 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbarlfa  Dickent.] 


AUSTRALIAN  CARRIERS. 


423 


them, and  biDding  them  to  trees  along  the  road- 
side, are  now  rendered  impracticable  by  the 
unceasingstream  of  traffic  which  is  everrolling 
along  all  the  main  roads,  and  the  number  of 
mounted  troopers  to  be  met  with  in  all  parts  of 
the  country.  But  even  now  the  whole  colony 
is  occasionally  startled  and  dismayed  by  some 
daring  outrage,  the  very  bravery  of  which 
robs  us  of  the  disgust  we  ought  to  feel  at 
villainy— as  the  attack,  last  year,  upon  the 
escort,  when  the  whole  of  the  gold  in  its 
charge  was  captured  by  a  gang  of  armed 
men— and  the  still  more  recent  robbery  of  the 
bank  at  Ballarat,  when  four  men,  in  the 
middle  of  the  da^,  entered  a  bank  situated  in 
a  populous  diggings,  and  locking  themselves 
in,  bound  and  gagged  the  manager  and  all 
his  clerks,  cleared  out  its  stores,  and  walked 
quietly  away  with  a  booty  of  some  fourteen 
thousand  pounds.  The  coolness  of  these  men 
is  till  further  expressed  by  the  fact  that  one 
of  them  actually  lodged  his  share  of  the 
money  in  the  very  bank  at  Melbourne  of 
which  he  had  robbed  the  branch  at  Bailarat, 
thus  getting  an  exchange  of  notes.  But,  with 
all  their  daring,  such  men  commonly  want 
the  tact  and  prudence  necessary  to  ensure  an 
ultimate  escape  ;  for,  in  the  nrst  of  these 
instances,  the  robbers  were  all  taken  and 
hung,  and  in  the  last  they  are  now  In  Mel- 
bourne gaol  awaiting  trial.  In  each  instance, 
one  of  the  gang  turned  queen's  evidence,  so 
that,  as  might  be  supposed,  they  are  not 
more  wanting  in  tact  than  in  the  instincts  of 
generosity  and  honour. 

But  to  return  to  our  dray.  The  main  road 
through  the  forest  has  become  so  impassable 
that  we  prefer  the  tracks  of  our  own  making 
which  lie  near  to  the  foot  of  Mount  Macedon, 
and  upon  which,  from  the  division  of  the 
traffic,  the  ruts  are  not  particularly  deep ; 
where,  also,  we  may  venture  to  cross  the 
creeks  without  any  fear  of  being  swallowed 
up  in  the  holes,  which  are  left  wherever  a 
bullock-dray  may  nave  been  dug  out  during 
the  preceding  winter.  Under  the  shade  of 
the  trees  the  grass  retains  some  of  its  verdure, 
and  we  camp  in  a  green  spot  for  dinner. 
During  the  whole  time  that  we  are  resting, 
vehicles  and  foot  passengers  are  continually 
passing.  Long  American  wagons  on  Fprings, 
with  three  or  four  horses  in  light  harness, 
well  matched  and  well  managed  by  a  driver, 
who  sits  on  the  top  of  his  high  load,  holding 
the  reins,  smoking  a  cigar,  and  talking  to  his 
cattle  in  a  language  Greek  to  English  dray- 
men. English  wagons,  heavier  and  more 
unmanageable,  fitted  in  the  old-fashioned 
Btyle,  with  double  shafts  and  heavy  chain 
traces,  the  driver  compelled  to  walk  by  the 
side  of  his  horses,  and  consequently  unable 
to  manage  them  half  so  well  as  the  Yankee, 
who  twists  his  team  through  narrow  openings 
in  the  timber,  just  shaves  the  numerous 
stumps  and  logs,  runs  his  wheels  within  an 
inch  of  the  deep  holes,  trots  down  the  steep 
hills  with  his  foot  upon  the  patent  break,  and 


climbs  up  them  with  a  steady  pull,  a  touch 
on  his  leader's  flanks,  and  a  **  Hi  I  hi !  git  on 
thar !"  calculating  that  "  no  human  on  airth 
can  take  a  team  through  thir  openings,  'cept 
he's  been  raised  in  the  States.  No,  sm  I  " 
After  him  come  colonial  drays  of  all  shapes 
and  sizes,  drawn  by  one,  two,  three,  or  four 
horses — occasional  spring-carts,  containing 
passengers,  ripe  fruit,  or  even  fresh  fish — and 
sometimes  vehicles  of  unknown  name,  com- 
bining all  the  others  in  themselves.  Then 
there  come  also  ponderous  drays  piled  up 
with  heavy  goods,  drawn  by  four,  six,  or 
eight  bullocks,  crawling  along  at  snail's  pace, 
urged  by  continual  shouts  and  heavy  latches, 
machines  that  pt'oduce  more  noise  than  work. 
Presently,  perhaps,  a  shout  of  "Clear  the 
way  I"  passes  along  the  line,  and  two  of 
the  conveyances  that  run  dailv  between  Mel- 
bourne and  Castlemaine  dash  by  us  at  full 
gallop — American  again  ;  low,  light  vehicles 
that  seem  utterly  unfitted  for  such  roads,  but 
which,  nevertheless,  can  run  all  others  off 
them.  Behind,  comes  the  Argus,  a  vehicle  of 
the  same  kind,  with  its  daily  load  of  newsr 
papers  for  the  diggings.  All  at  full  speed. 
This  is  the  country  for  a  man  who  would 
learn  how  to  drive  four  in  hand.  Another 
cloud  of  dust  in  the  opposite  direction  clears 
off,  and  four  troopers,  with  their  swords 
drawn,  come  into  view.  Two  light-carts, 
each  drawn  by  four  horses,  follow  j  more 
troopers  riding  at  the  side  of  them,  whilst 
others  gallop  through  the  bush  for  fifty  yards 
about,  and  four  more  follow  in  the  rear. 
This  is  the  Bendigo  and  Castlemaine  escort, 
with  its  precious  cargo.  Numerous  foot 
passengers  fill  up  the  intervals.  Old  diggers 
returning  from  town  with  a  light  compact 
pack,  or  swag,  fitting  closely  and  well  up 
upon  the  shoulders.  New  chums,  with  heavy 
loads  lashed  badly  and  carried  awkwardly — 
carpet-bags  stuffed  full  of  all  manner  of  un- 
necessaries,  rolls  of  blankets,  tents,  guns, 
tools,  and  all  sorts  of  things  which  they  will 
live  to  learn  are  almost  as  cheap  on  the  dig- 
gings as  in  town.  Sometimes,  a  very  new  man 
passes,  in  black  coat  and  Wellington  boots, 
and,  worst  of  all,  wearing  a  tall  black  hat,  an 
abomination  quite  as  rare  upon  the  roads  as 
an  umbrella.  Then  a  party  of  Germans  with 
their  wives,  each  woman  having  a  small  pack 
tied  on  her  shoulders,  and  the  children 
carrying  as  their  share  of  the  common  burden 
the  kettle  and  frying-pan  or  the  provision 
bag.  I  once  passed  a  German  family,  in  the 
middle  of  winter,  when  the  mud  was  vards 
deep.  One  man  was  dragging  a  small  hand- 
cart, in  which  were  stowed  four  very  young 
children  and  a  regular  assortment  of  picks, 
shovels,  and  other  tools;  another— an  old 
man — pushed  behind :  he  wore  a  curious 
coat,  much  too  short  for  him,  and  as  he 
stooped  to  push,  there  peeped  Arom  the  shallow 
pockets  the  brass-mounted  butts  of  two  huge 
horse-pistols  with  flint  and  pan.  Twp  women 
and  several  children  of  all  sizes  walked  beside 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


424 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoBdnrtcdbr 


them.  Poor,  bold  hearts  I  Though  they  were 
oaiy  bbuQd  to  Forest  Creek  (about  eighty 
miles  from  Melbourne),  yet,  in  the  then  con- 
dition of  ttie  roads,  it  was  almost  impossible 
that  tbcy  could  ever  reach  their  destination, 
and  tlie  miseries  of  such  a  journey  cannot  be 
imagined.  Following  the  Germans  come, 
perhaps,  specimens  of  a  race  from  another 
corner  of  the  world — a  train  of  Chinamen,  in 
single  file,  extending  for  some  miles  along  the 
road ;  others  appear,  long  after  we  had 
thought  the  whole  procession  past  They  jog 
along  at  a  slow  trot,  bending  under  immense 
loads,  which  they  carry  hanging  from  each 
end  of  a  long  bamboo,  the  middle  resting  on 
the  shoulder.  Their  slight  figures,  smooth 
brown  faces,  hair  carefully  twisted  up  into  a 
huge  tail,  the  coila  of  which  are  hidden 
beneath  their  immense  hatsj  their  short 
frocks  and  Toluminous  petticoat-trowsers, 
form  a  strange  contrast  to  the  stout  forms, 
long  beards,  and  close-fitting  dresses  of  the 
European  diggers,  who  are  sometimes 
mingled  with  them.  Each  party  has  its  own 
leader,  and  they  usually  travel  in  such  num- 
bers, that  their  small  tents  form,  when  they 
camp  for  the  night,  quite  a  little  township  on 
the  roadside.  Such  are  a  few  only  of  the 
pa^ngers  and  yehicles  who  usually  pass  us 
whilst  we  eat  our  bread  and  mutton  in  the 
forest. 

Dinner  over,  we  ourseWes  go  with  the 
train,  and  are  soon  deep  in  the  labyrinth  of 
trees,  our  whole  attention  fully  engaged  by 
the  difficulties  of  the  road.  Occasionlly  we 
pass  some  unlucky  fellow  who  has  had  the 
misfortune  to  start  from  town  with  a  jibbing 
horse — a  very  common  animal  here — which 
does  not  kick,  or  rear,  or  perform  any  of  the 
evolutions  common  with  English  horses  in 
such  case,  but  stands  stock  still,  bis  feet 
advanced,  his  head  down,  ears  drawn  back, 
lips  slightly  apart,  eyes  dull,  half  closed,  and 
turned  back  towards  the  dray,  and  his  whole 
body  hanging  heavily  in  the  breechings. 
Stroking  and  swearing,  kind  words  and  hard 
blows,  might  as  w^ll  be  expended  on  a  gum- 
tree  as  upon  this  statue  of  a  horse.  At  length, 
some  carrier  unyokes  his  leaders  and  hooks 
on  to  the  stuck  dray ;  the  stubborn  animal  is 
fairly  drawn  out  of  his  strong  position,  and, 
once  on  the  move,  goes  on  until  another  soft 
place  brings  him  up,  or  another  fit  of  the 
sturdies  comes  upon  him. 

The  Black  Forest  is  one  succession  of  hills, 
short  and  steep,  with  swampy  creeks  between 
them.  Sometimes,  in  order  to  avoid  these 
creeks,  we  run  along  the  sides  of  the  hills, 
and  thus  subject  ourselves  to  another  common 
accident  of  the  roads.  As  we  are  paid  for 
carrying  by  the  ton,  our  loads — when  they 
consist  of  light  goods — are  piled  high  above 
the  dray,  which  thus  becomes  rather  top- 
heavy.  When  siding  a  hill,  this  tendency  to 
capsize  necessitates  great  care,  but  in  spite  of 
all  that  can  be  exercised  the  lower  wheel  will 
occasionally  drop  into  a  hole,  or  the  upper 


one  rise  over  a  stone  or  a  log  large  enoagh  to 
destroy  the  wavering  equUibriam.  Then. 
away  goes  the  dray,  turning  completely  over, 
the  wheels  spin  in  the  air,  and  the  shaft- 
horse,  thrown  on  the  broad  of  his  back,  twbtg 
and  untwists  bis  huge  legs,  with  a  force  that 
threatens  to  demolish  harness,  .dray,  &nd 
driver.  Then  there  is  cutting  of  straps  and 
unhooking  of  chains,  with  all  the  usual  accom- 
paniments of  such  accidents,  including  plenty 
of  advice  gratis.  The  dray  is  turned  orer, 
and  the  load,  left  on  the  ground,  is,  bj  the 
willing  help  of  many  handis,  afterwards  re- 
stored to  Its  original  position.  Then  we 
go  on  again. 

We  meet  many  returning  drays,  but  all 
make  way  for  us,  for  it  is  a  tacitly  ttDdentood 
rule  of  the  road  here,  that  no  loaded  dray  shall, 
on  any  account,  make  way  for,  or  be  impeded 
by,  an  empty  one.  But  this  rule  scarcely  ex- 
tends to  the  bullock-drays— of  which  there 
are  vast  numbers,  so  long  as  the  grass  lasts,— 
for  their  long,  unmanageable  teams  take  apeo 
much  room,  and  occupy  so  much  time  la  leav- 
ing and  returning  to  the  track,  that  we  are 
generally  glad  enough  to  leave  it  clear  for  them. 
How.  it  may  well  be  asked,  do  their  driven 
steer  lumbering  vehicles  and  awkward  cattle 
through  the  narrow  openings  betwiit  the 
trees  without  very  frequent  accidents?  Tbej 
draw  immense  loads,  and  the  worse  the  roads 
are,  the  greater  is  their  advantage  over 
horses,  for  they  are  continually  on  the  move, 
crawling  slowly  through  th^  mud,  or  creeping 
up  the  steep  hills,  getting  the  ground  by 
inches,  it  Is  true,  but  still  getting  it.  Somt- 
times  they  stick  fast,  and  then,  if  teams  are 
toffetber.  Babel  breaks  loose.  The  other 
drivers  range  themselves,  with  their  long 
heavy  whips  on  each  side  of  the  team,aQd 
then  commences  such  shouting  and  yeIliQg> 
such  long  rolls  of  strangely-worded  oaths  and 
whip-cracks  that  go  off  like  pistol-shots,  thai 
even  the  opossums  own  themselves  startled, 
and  come  out  into  the  daylight  At  first  the 
bullocks  only  turn  mild  eyes  on  their  to^ 
mentors,  and  bend, down  their  heads  to  avoid 
the  heavy  shower  of  blows.  By  degrees, 
however,  they  get  into  line,  and  one  after 
another  throws  bis  weight  into  the  iron  yoke, 
the  long  chain  tightens,  strains,  the  wheels 
move,  and  with  a  deafening  crash  the  dray 
rises  slowly  out  of  the  mud,  and  is  safely 
lifted  on  the  comparatively  dry  patch  beyood. 
Then  the  word  is  ♦'  Spell,  oh  I "  The  liUle 
keg  is  turned  out  from  its  resting-place  in  the 
back  of  the  dray,  and  a  pint  pot  filled  with 
rum  passes  round  the  party,  each  one  of 
whom  accompanies  his  nobbier  with  the 
usual  toast  of  our  colony,  "Here's luck. 
Occasionally,  when  the  dray  has  sunk  very 
deep  and  its.  own  team  is  unable  to  extri- 
cate it,  others  are  added  ;  I  have  thus  wen 
four  teams  or  thirty-two  bullocks  yoked 
before  a  single  dray.  The  drivers  attach 
strips  of  silk  twisted  into  a  haircord  to 
their  long  lashes,  and,  in  the  hands  of  mea 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ChaHea  Dickens.] 


AUSTRALIAN  CARRIERS. 


425 


accastomcd  to  their  use,  these  whips  became 
terrible  InBtruments  of  torture.  It  is,  indeed, 
horrible  to  witness  the  savage  brutality  with 
which  the  cattle  are  treated,  and  the  merci- 
leBsnesR  of  the  drivers.  These  men  are  gene- 
rally of  the  lowest  class,  and  though  I  have 
met  with  son.e  very  good  exceptions,  they 
certainly  are  not  raised  by  their  occupation. 
For  deep  drinking  and  hard  swearing  they 
may  challenge  the  world,  though  for  the 
latter  practice  they  say  that  they  have  an  ex- 
press privilege.  The  story  runs,  that  a  cleri- 
cal settler,  in  New  South  Wales,  overtaking 
his  bullock-driver  on  the  edge  of  a  creek, 
stood  for  a  few  minutes  to  watch  the  crossing 
of  the  team.  This  was  accomplished  with 
the  assistance  of  the  usual  number  of  exple- 
tives, and  the  parson,  shocked  by  their  abun- 
dance, remonstrated  with  his  man  for  his 
profanity. 

"  It's  no  use,"  said  John,  "  bullocks  won't 
go  without  swearing.    Just  you  try  'era." 

The  master  dismounted,  and  taking  the 
whip  from.  John,  walked  on  by  the  team. 
Strawberry,  and  Damper,  and  Blackbird,  and 
Nobbier,  and  their  brethren  in  the  yoke, 
stepped  along  very  quietly  on  the  level  road, 
probably  wondering  at  the  meaning  of  the 
gentle  tones  of  their  new  driver.  But, 
another  creek  appeared.  The  dray  ran  down 
the  bank,  the  wheels  sunk  in  the  mud,  moved 
through  it  a  few  inches,  and  stopped.  In  vain 
the  reverend  driver  expostulated  with  his  un- 
grateful charges,  and  twisted  the  long  lash 
round  his  own  face  in  his  endeavours  to  reach 
the  leaders  with  it.  Indeed,  when  the  end  of 
it  did  fall  harmlessly  upon  them— as  Sterne 
says  of  the  mules  of  the  Abbess  of  Andoui- 
lettes,  under  similar  circumstances — they 
simply  lashed  their  tails,  and  stood  stock 
still.  At  length  the  parson  gave  up  in  de- 
spair, and  resigned  the  whip  to  his  bullock- 
driver.  A  sharp  crack,  a  few  well-directed 
blows,  and  a  torrent  of  loud  oaths,  and  the 
chain  tightened  again,  the  dray  moved,  and 
the  whole  team  were  soon  standing  on  the 
opposite  bank.  "  Well,  John,"  said  the  par- 
son, mounting  his  horse, '' bullock-drivers  are 
allowed  to  swear  ;  but  only,  mind,  when  they 
have  a  creek  to  cross." 

The  Black  Forest  differs  much  ft-om  the 
gum  and  box  forests  common  in  Australia. 
They  are  usually  more  lightly  timbered, 
spread  over  extensive  flats,  and  seldom  pos- 
sess much  undergrowth  beyond  a  wiry  gra-ss 
and  a  few  flowering  shrubs.  But  in  the 
Black  Forest  the  majority  of  the  trees  are 
rough,  stringy  barks,  which  haVe  their  loose 
fibrous  covering  blackened  by  the  frequent 
bush  fires,  that  take  no  such  hold  on  the 
smooth  bark  of  the  white  and  blue  gums. 
Many  of  the  huge  trees  are  completely  hol- 
lowed by  the  Are,  the  massive  trunk  and  lofty 
branches  being  upheld  only  by  a  thin  shell, 
burned  through  in  many  places,  and  covered 
on  its  Inner  side  with  a  thick  coat  of  char- 
coal.   A  strong  blast  of  wind  rarely  sweeps 


through  the  forest  without  levelling  some  of 
these  sooty  veterans;  and  the  numbers  of 
fallen  logs,  in  every  stage  of  decay,  show 
that  the  wind  here  is  no  rare  visitor.  New 
saplings  spring  from  all  the  ruins — their  tall, 
tapering  barrels  become  blackened  in  their 
turn  ;  but  thick  masses  of  brush-wood  and 
green  patches  of  fern  and  silky  grass  spread 
over  the  blackened  surface  that  the  fires  have 
left  upon  the  soil.  Here  and  there  a  huge 
white  gum  will  stand  out  in  startling  con- 
trast with  the  blackness  round  about  it ;  and 
the  dark-leaved  black-wood,  feathery  shiac, 
light  tea-tree,  silver  wattle,  and  gnarled 
honeysuckle  grow  singly,  or  in  groups,  be- 
neath the  forest  shadow.  Though  many  tra- 
vellers have  bewailed  the  scentless  nature  of 
Australian  flowers,  few  have  spoken  of  the 
rich  fragrance  that  pervades  Australian  for- 
ests. Near  a  group  of  forest  young  gums, 
with  the  dewy  jewels  of  a  recent  shower 
glistening  on  their  broad  leaves,  the  scent  is 
almost  overpowering.  The  rich  aromatic 
odour  spreads  through  the  whole  fores,  and 
amply  compensates  us  for  the  absence  of  the 
spice  groves  which,  Easterns  tell  us,  make  the 
air  of  Indian  Islands  heavy  with  perfume. 
It  is  a  libel,  too,  on  our  Flora  to  say  that  it 
is  all  scentless.  I  have  gathered  violets  in 
Australia  as  sweet  as  if  they  had  been  born 
under  a  hedge  of  hawthorn.  Many  of  our 
shrubs  have  the  grateful  perfume  of  the  al- 
mond-blossom, and  the  thousand  yellow 
flowers  of  the  mimosa  spread  around  them  a 
perpetual  fragrance.  Even  the  slight  scent 
emitted  by  many  of  our  small  wild  flowers — 
fleeting  though  it  be — is  sufficient  to  redeem 
them  from  the  sweeping  charge  that  has  been 
so  oft^n  brought  against  them.  The  most 
common,  and  the  dearest  of  home  flowers,  are 
plentiful  in  some  parts  of  the  country.  I 
nave  travelled  for  miles  over  plains  white 
with  daisies,  and  over  rich  alluvial  flats 
thickly-powdered  with  the  yellow  buttercup. 
Only  once — on  the  banks  of  London — have  I 
met  with  another  home-flower,  the  dandelion; 
it  was  a  solitary  stalk,  crowned  with  its 
light  globe  of  feathery  seeds.  We  were 
camped  near  the  spot  and  I  could  not  resist 
the  inclination  to  lie  down  on  the  grass 
beside  it — as  we  used  to  do  in  the  meadows — 
and  try  what  o'clock  it  was,  in  the  old  boyish 
way. 

The  Black  Forest  is  twelve  miles  through, 
and  in  wet  weather  several  days  are  often 
occupied  in  travelling  that  distance.  But, 
as  the  roads  are  now  dry,  we  get  along 
rather  faster,  and  as  the  sun  leaves  us  to 
show  his  broad  face  in  an  English  winter  pic- 
ture, we  emerge  from  the  forest,  and  get  to 
the  township  of  Woodend,  or  Five-mile 
Creek,  which  marks  the  forest  boundary  on 
this  side,  as  Gisborne  marked  it  on  the  other. 
Passing  through  Woodend,  we  follow  the 
metalled  road,  which  appears  here  again  for 
a  couple  of  miles,  and  then  turn  ofl"  into  the 
bush,  where  there  is  plenty  of  grass,  and 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


once  more  choose  oar  bed  for  the  night  In 
the  morning,  a  short  pull  of  three  miles 
through  a  swampy  g^m-forest  brings  us  again 
upon  the  road,  which  now  lasts  as  far  as 
Castlemaiue.  We  pass  through  Carlsrhue 
and  the  large  and  rapldlj-increasing  town- 
ship of  Kyneton,  where  we  cross  the  little 
river  Campaspie,  the  banks  of  which^  in  the 
unfrequented  portions  of  it,  abound  with 
game — teal,  black-duck,  plover,  black  swans, 
water-hens,  Ac.  The  road  skirts  next  along 
the  edge  of  a  green  flat,  which  in  winter  is  a 
boggy  swamp— and  enters  on  a  small  tract  of 
the  beautiful  park-like  scenery  for  which 
Victoria  is  famous,  but  which  is  rarely  met 
with  on  the  road  to,  or  in  the  nighbourhood 
of,  the  diggings. 

Patches  of  bright  green  in  the  distance, 
and  long  dark  lines  of  fences  show  that  cul- 
tivation has  commenced  in  earnest,  and,  with 
the  large  steam  flour-mill  at  Kyneton,  give 
hopes  that  Victoria  will  not  long  be  depen- 
dant upon  other  countries  for  her  bread. 
A  few  miles  farther  we  pass  another  town- 
ship— Malmesbury,  and,  rare  pleasure,  ano- 
ther river—the  Coliban:  though  I  fear 
that  Ouse  or  Trent  woulcT  shame  to  call  it 
sister,  for  it  is,  in  summer,  but  a  thread 
indeed. 

From  hence,  passing  through  an  occasional 
turnpike — for  Civilisation,  having  no  fear  of 
Rebecca  before  her  eyes,  has  advanced  so  far 
— we  go  on  to  Taradale,  or  Back  Creek,  and 
passing  through  it,  push  forward  to  Eiphin- 
stone,  or  Saw-pit  Gully.  Nearly  all  the 
townships  on  the  road  have  two  names — one 
given  by  the  bushmen  in  old  times,  the  other, 
the  new  baptism  of  some  government  survey- 
or. The  most  remarkable  feature  in  Elphin- 
stone  is  the  number  of  wine  and  spirit  mer- 
chants it  contains.  They  seem  to  constitute 
the  majority  of  the  inhabitants.  This  is  ac- 
counted for,  by  the  fact  of  this  being  the 
nearest  township  to  the  diggings;  and  before 
townships  were  formed  upon  the  diggings 
themselves,  it  became  the  depot  from  which 
the  grog-cart  started  on  illicit  traffic.  Before 
licenses  to  retail  liquors  were  granted  on  the 
diggings,  a  heavy  penalty  was  attached  to 
their  sale  there  ;  but  each  man  was  allowed 
to  have  not  more  than  two  gallons  in  his 
tent  at  one  time.  Of  cour.se,  neither  this  nor 
any  other  law  could  totally  prevent  the  sale 
of  spirits;  and  by  every  refreshment  tent- 
keeper  as  well  as  by  the  majority  of  the  store- 
keepers, a  supply  was  kept  for  the  use  of  cus- 
tomers. In  order  to  prevent  the  seizure  of 
the  drays  which  carried  in  the  liauor,  it  was 
usual  to  take  it  all  up  in  two-gallon  kegs  or 
cases.  Any  person  ordering  spirits  gave  at 
the  same  time  a  list  containing  as  many 
names  as  there  would  be  kegs  in  his  cart- 
load. ^  The  names  were  those  of  friends  or 
acquaintances  on  the  diggings;  and  in  the 
event  of  the  drayman  being  stopped  and  ac- 
companied by  a  trooper,  these  men  were 
always  ready  to  step  forward,  claim  the  kegs 


bearing  their  respective  names,  and  carry 
them  off  to  their  tents,  whence  they  were 
restored  to  the  person  who  had  sent  for  them 
when  the  squall  was  over.  The  same  system 
was  successfully  adopted  with  whole  dray- 
loads,  brought  up  on  speculation  for  chance 
sale  ;  but  it  sometimes  happened  that  the 
names  .being  taken  at  random,  no  owners 
could  be  found  ;  forfeiture  of  the  grog  and 
a  heavy  fine  were  then  the  results  of  the 
speculation.  The  same  plan  is  still  adopted 
when  spirits  are  smuggled  into  the  diggings. 

Leaving  Elphinstone  and  its  grog-sellers, 
we  turn  to  the  left  over  a  small  bridge,  the 
other  branch  of  the  road  continuing  to  Ben- 
digo  ;  and  in  a  sheltered  gully  once  more  fix 
our  temporary  resting-place.  We  have  had 
a  long  day's  journey  of  about  twenty-six 
miles,  and  are  now  within  five  miles  of  Fore«t 
Creek, 

As  we  travel  on  in  the  morning,  indications 
of  the  neighbourhood  of  a  gold-field  become 
more  striking.  We  see  barren  ranges  stretch- 
ing to  the  north  thickly  strewn  with  small 
quartz  and  intersected  by  numerous  little 
gullies :  at  the  points  of  which,  holes  have 
been  sunk  by  prospecting  parties.  Occasion- 
ally, a  short  line  of  holes  running  up  the 
gully  show  that  gold  has  been  struck,  pro- 
bably, but  not  in  sufficient  quantities  lo  pay 
for  working.  Ridges  of  laminated  stone,  crop 
out  from  the  surface,  all  resting  on  their 
edges ;  and  where  the  road  has  been  cut 
along  the  side  of  the  hill,  the  exposed  stone 
seems  to  have  been  violently  pitched  out  of 
its  bed,  and  the  slaty  layers  are  raised  up- 
right or  recline  at  any  angle. 

After  running  thus  for  a  short  distance 
along  the  side  of  the  hill,  the  road  descends 
into  a  narrow  flat,  then  turns  abruptly  round 
the  foot  of  another  hill,  and  the  wide  diggings 
of  Forest  Creek  lie  suddenly  before  us.  la 
a  few  minutes  we  are  passing  between  lines 
of  tents  and  wooden  houses,  every  one  of 
which  bears  an  announcement  that  some  sort 
of  trade  is  carried  on  within.  The  whole  of 
the  road  through  the  Forest  Creek  diggings 
— about  five  miles — is  a  succession  of  ascents 
and  descents,  every  little  hill  having  its 
name— as  the  Old  Post  Office  Hill,  the  Argu? 
Hill,  the  Red  Hill,  and  so  on.  On  the  right 
stretches  an  extensive  flat,  which  runs  away 
up  to  the  celebrated  Golden  Point  at  the  foot 
of  Mount  Alexander.  Every  inch  of  this 
ground  is  turned  over.  The  hills  on  the  left 
are  in  the  same  condition.  The  whole  coun- 
try seems  to  be  turned  inside  out,  and  pre- 
sents only  a  broken  and  irregular  surface 
of  many-coloured  earths.  In  various  plactjs 
horse  puddling  machines  are  at  work  break- 
ing up  and  re-washing,  for  the  second  or 
third  time,  auriferous  earth  from  which  Ibe 
earlier  diggers  had,  as  they  thought,  ex- 
tracted all  the  gold,  but  which  is  still  foaod 
to  contain  quite  sufficient  to  repay  their  suc- 
cessors. Some  are  employed  in  throwing 
out  the  fallen  earth  from  old  holes  in  onltr 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cb»rte«  Dickenc] 


THE  ROVING  ENGLISHMAN. 


427 


to  obtain  what  has  been  left  beneath  the 
"walls'*  that  separate  them.  Others  are 
sinking  new  holes  on  spots  that  have  hitherto 
escaped,  probably  because  tents  were  pitched 
there  daring  former  rushes.  Numbers  of 
Chinamen  are  busily  washing  over  again  old 
**  stuft*,"  or  paring  off  about  six  inches  of  the 
surface  of  some  untouched  hill — surfacing,  as 
this  operation  is  called,  being  more  to  their 
taste  than  the  heavier  toil  of  sinking  holes. 
Oar  sketch,  however,  is  of  the  roads,  not  of 
the  diggings,  which  must  by  this  time  be 
familiar  to  every  reader. 

We  pass  through  Forest  Creek,  and  find  at 
Castlemaine— which  joins  it — a  neatly  laid 
out  township,  with  streets  and  squares,  stone, 
brick,  and  iron  stores  and  houses,  a  church 
and  chapels,  large  substantial  inns,  and  all 
the  essential  of  an  old  community.  Across 
a  nnall  bridge — which  has  occupied  the  ener- 
getic government  rather  more  than  two  years 
in  building — stands  the  government  camp,  a 
very  extensive  establishment,  and  there  it  is 
that  a  commissioner  lives  and  reigns  over 
his  subject  diggers.  We,  being  carriers, 
require  no  license  from  him,  and  are  there- 
fore not  within  his  jurisdiction  ;  we  may  feel 
his  power  though,  if  we  forget  ourselves 
so  far  as  to  stay  for  a  couple  of  days 
within  his  territory ;  for  in  that  case  some 
armed  and  mounted  digger-hunter  may 
pounce  down  upon  us  unawares,  drag  us  be- 
fore his  majesty,  and  in  a  moment  sixty  of  our 
hard-earned  shillings  fall  due  to  her  majesty's 
exchequer. 

Here  ends  my  ordinary  journey  at  the  store 
to  which  our  load  has  been  directed.  The 
dray  is  at  once  discharged,  a  receipt  is  given 
which  acknowledges  the  delivery  of  our  ma- 
terial in  good  condition.  Without  loss  of 
time  the  horses'  heads  are  turned,  and  we 
go  back  empty  to  Melbourne. 


THE  ROVING  ENGLISHMAN. 

RUSTCHUK. 

Tnocon  I  am  getting  an  elderly  gentleman, 
I  do  not  remember  to  have  ever  witnessed  a 
scene  of  such  filthy  and  disorderly  wretched- 
ness as  that  presented  by  the  Sultan's  good 
town  of  Rustchuk,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Danube. 

The  approach  to  it  is  over  some  romantic 
hills ;  and  the  land  on  all  sides,  agriculturally 
speaking,  is  as  rich  and  grateful  a  soil  as 
could  be  found  anywhere.  There  is  no 
natural  reason,  therefore,  for  the  horrible 
squalor  of  a  town  which  might,  and  ought  to 
be,  one  of  the  first  cities  in  the  Turkish 
empire. 

To  see  it,  however,  now  is  positively  dis- 
heartening. On  the  morning  we  arrived 
there,  a  fine  drizzling  rain  was  falling,  and  it 
wa<?  bitterly  cold.  There  was  a  deadly  pene- 
trating chill  about  the  weather,  which  gave 
you  a  sort  of  beau  ideal  of  thorough  irre- 
deemable discomfort.     There  was  a  hllght 


fog,  also :  one  of  those  raw  fogs  which  haunt 
the  marshy  banks  of  the  Danube  in  winter 
time. 

So,  cheerless  exceedingly,  we  rode  through 
the  broad  street  on  to  the  Pacha's  house,  or 
Kouak,  as  it  is  locally  called.  Our  hands 
were  feo  wet  and  cold  that  the  bridle  slipped 
through  our  powerless  fingers  whenever  our 
horses  stumbled,  and  they  did  stumble  with 
most  disagreeable  frequency.  It  would  have 
been  odd  if  they  had  not.  The  broad  high 
street  of  Rus^tchuk  was  neither  more  nor 
less  than  a  deep  and  dangerous  mud-pond. 
Safe  footing  for  man  or  beast  did  not  extend 
more  than  a  few  feet  immediately  in  front  of 
the  dirty  little  wooden  traps  of  shops  which 
were  situated  on  either  shore.  The  remainder 
of  the  road  was  really  and  truly  a  perilous 
pond.  The  inhabitants,  however,  had  placed 
great  blocks  of  stones  at  irregular  intervals 
to  mark  where  the  pond  was  fordable  ;  and 
if  you  went  aside  from  the  narrow  line  of 
safety  a  single  yard,  your  horse  had  hard 
work  to  struggle  and  flounder  back  again. 
A  ride  is  not  so  pleasurable  a  thing,  under 
such  circumstances,  as  an  amateur  traveller 
would  desire.  But  fancy  two  English  gentle- 
men struggling,  on  sorry  hacks,  against  drift 
and  wind  with  a  little  cloud  of  servants  and 
pack-horses,  and  so  jolting  slowly  through  a 
blinding  rain,  completely  wet  through  and 
dispirited,  and  you  will  have  us  to  a  hair. 

Rustchuk,  like  most  Turkish  towns  in 
Bulgaria  or  elsewhere,  covers  a  large  extent 
of  ground ;  for  the  houses  are  scattered  about 
here  and  there,  and  the  shops  and  the 
dwelling-houses  of  the  shopkeepers  are  often 
wide  apart.  The  great  Turks  also  often  live 
in  a  house  completely  separate  from  that  in 
which  the  harem  resides  ;  and  if  any  great 
Turk  has  more  than  one  wife  (a  rare  occur- 
rence), each  wife  has  often,  perhaps  I  may 
write  usually,  a  house  and  servants  of  her 
own.  The  Turks,  indeed,  are  fond  of  having 
a  good  deal  of  house-room.  A  grand  Turk 
will  rarely  ofifer  a  guest  apartments  in  his 
own  house,  but  he  will  provide  him  with  a 
distinct  establishment,  visiting  him  every  day 
and  perhaps  dining  and  breakfasting  with 
him,  but  not  residing.  This  arises,  of  course, 
chiefly  from  the  jealous  seclusion  of  their 
women.  The  near  relatives  of  Turkish 
ladies— their  sons  and  brothers,  for  instance — 
are  of  course  allowed  to  enter  the  harem ; 
but  as  a  Moslem  guest  would,  of  course,  be 
horror-stricken  at  his  womankind  being 
beheld  by  the  relatives  of  his  friend's  wife  or 
wives,  this  disagreeable  chance  is  duly  pro- 
vided against  by  giving  them  a  separate 
bouse.  The  relations  of  host  and  guest  are 
almost  as  clearly  defined  among  the  Turks  as 
they  were  among  the  ancient  Greeks  and 
Romans ;  for  every  traveller  of  respectability 
claims  the  ho<(pitality  of  his  acquaintance,  as 
there  are  uo  hotels,  and  the  khans  are  merely 
refuges  for  the  destitute. 
Then  again  the  size  of  oriental  towns  of 


Digitized  by  LjOOQIC 


428 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CMtecMW 


the  smallest  importance  may  be  explained  by 
the  fact,  that  almost  every  trade  is  carried  on 
in  some  special  quarter ;  and  a  few  rows  of 
little  shops  (like  so  many  corn  bins  turned 
sideways)  are  set  apart  for  this  craft  only. 
Then  again  there  is  always  a  good  deal  of 
space  taken  up  by  fountains  and  the  intra- 
mural gardens  of  the  wealthy. 

The  poverty  and  wretchedness  of  Rust- 
chnk,  however,  in  spite  of  its  size,  was  suffi- 
cient to  make  one  quite  melancholy.  Not  a 
single  house,  perhaps,  was  in  perfect  repair. 
The  dirt  and  squalor  of  the  inhabitants  were 
sad  to  see ;  though  here  and  there  the  splendid 
horses  of  some  overfed  Pacha  pawed  their 
statelv  way  up  to  his  kouak,  half-smothered 
in  golden  housings  and  gaudy  horsecloths ; 
or  the  pasha  himself  panted  fussily  along  with 
his  jewelled  scimitar  at  his  side,  and  attended 
by  a  posse  of  bravoes  and  pipe-bearers. 

As  we  drew  near  to  the  bazaars  it  was  easy 
to  perceive  that  they  wore  an  unusual  air  of 
business.  Here  and  there  a  Frank  strutted 
about  in  an  astounding  uniform,  or  paused 
contemptuously  before  a  bearded  seller  of 
kabobs  or  dates,  and  addressed  him  in  a 
British  West  Country  Turkish  quite  won- 
derful to  hear.  If  you  watched  the  Turk 
who  might  be  thus  accosted,  his  face  would 
gradually  assume  a  look  of  endurance  and 
patience  that  was  almost  touching,  while  per- 
haps his  sons  and  hangers-on,  less  subdued 
by  years  and  circumstances,  would  look  mar- 
velling up  at  the  gay  stranger,  with  thoughts 
unfriendly  enough ;  and  women  as  they 
shuffled  past  would  cry  with  shrill  surprise 
that  God  was  great,  and  hastily  draw  their 
veils  closer  when  they  saw  the  jaunty  Frank. 
Leaving  the  bazaar  we  passed  down  a  narrow 
street.  Before  a  door  there  stood  three  gaunt 
horsemen.  They  were  in  a  picturesque  atti- 
tude enough  though  dripping  with  rain ;  but 
their  arms -were,  of  course,  rusty  and  unser- 
viceable, and  their  horses  were  leaner  than 
themselves.  They  were  waiting  for  somebody, 
and  we  drew  rein  to  speak  to  them.  They 
told  us  that  Omer  Pacba  had  just  arrived  at 
Rustchuk,  and  that  we  should  find  him  with 
the  governor.  They  added  that  they  belonged 
to  his  army,  but  had  only  just  joined.  As 
they  spoke  their  chief  came  out  of  the  house. 
He  was  the  usual  low-browed  savage  in  em- 
broidered clothes,  and  girt  with  silver  arms. 
He  was  a  Bashi-Bouzouk — probably  the  chief 
of  a  little  company  of  banditti  from  some  far 
away  Albanian  village,  and  he  had  joined  the 
Turkish  army  in  the  hope  of  plunder — 
whether  friends  or  foes  it  would  matter 
little. 

On  then  by  baggage  waggons  drawn  by 
oxen  creeping  along  their  devious  and  painftil 
way,  no  matter  where.  An  awkward  little 
squad  of  soldiers  with  their  trowsers  turned 
up  to  their  knees,  and  their  muskets  carried 
nohow,  slouched  beside  every  waggon,  and 
some  were  stretched  on  the  top  of  the  load 
asleep,  and  careless  of  Uie  rain  and  jolting. 


All  belonged  likewise  to  Omer  Pacba's 
army,  and  were  a  very  fair  specimeD  of 
it.  It  is  an  undisciplined  horde  of  irre- 
gulars— sullen,  nerveless,  useless,  apaUietic- 
in  a  shocking  state  of  disorganisation  and 
inefflciencT  5  so  that  we  may  fairly  say  tiat 
Omer  Pacha  is  a  great  captain,  to  We  been 
able  to  do  anything  at  all  with  them.  A 
more  wretched  army,  physically  or  morally 
speaking,  perhaps,  never  confounded  the 
plans  of  a  generaL  Every  man  composiDgit 
is  as  troublesome  and  dangerous  to  hie  own 
unprotected  countrymen  as  insignificant  be- 
fore the  enemy.  There  is  no  enthuaasm— no 
martial  ideas  of  glory.  Our  friends  march 
listlessly  into  battle  and  listlessly  out  of  it 
They  will  fight  as  all  men  will  fight  when 
compelled  to  do  so  in  self-preservation ;  bat 
they  do  not  fight  or  do  anything  els«  with  a 
will;  and  in  degradation  of  mind  they  are 
scarcely  on  a  level  with  the  beasts  of  the 
field. 

I  know  that  in  saying  this,  I  am  not  r^ 
cording  a  popular  or  agreeable  senUmept 
The  romantic  notions  of  a  Moslem  warriof 
are  very  different ;  but  I  know  the  Tarkiah 
soldier  pretty  well,  and  pity  him  sincerely, 
for  I  know  the  causes  which  have  sank  him 
so  low.  As  I  have  seen  and  known  him,  so 
I  describe.  Let  Conrad  Mazeppa,  Eflquire, 
who  has  just  passed  a  month  at  Constan- 
tinople, and  who  knows  all  about  this  matter 
and  every  other,  correct  me  where  he  sees  fit. 

We  found  Omer  Pacha  at  the  Kouak,  as 
we  expected,  and  were  at  once  introduced  to 
his  presence.  He  was  then  going  to  join  the 
allied  army  in  the  Crimea.  He  seemed  con- 
siderably disgusted  with  the  state  of  things 
in  general.  It  appeared  that  he  had  been 
detained  by  the  intrigues  of  the  Austrian 
generals  at  Bucharest,  till  so  late  in  the 
season,  that  the  line  of  his  march  would  be 
strewed  with  the  corpses  of  his  army,  and 
that  his  co-operation  with  the  Allies  would 
be  difficult  and  valueless.  A  few  mouths 
before  his  troops  were  in  far  better  hopes 
and  condition. 

The  Wallachians  had  been  anxious  to  join 
with  him  and  march  on  the  disaflfected  Rus- 
sian province  of  Bessarabia,  where  they  woold 
have  been  joined  by  thousands  of  their  coon- 
trymen,  who  waited  only  for  the  signal  to 
rise.  Also,  if  Omer  Pacha  had  been  allowed 
to  act  earlier,  and  if  the  Austrians  had  not 
so  perseveringly  thwarted  him,  he  might  have 
diverted  a  large  portion  of  the  Russian  army 
which  had  been  permitted  to  concentrate 
itself  in  the  Crimea.  The  Austrian  com- 
manders had  designedly  rendered  the  Turkish 
army  useless,  and  retained  Omer  Pacha  In 
fretful  inactivity  at  Bucharest  For  the  rest, 
the  renowned  Turkish  general  was  a  pleasM* 
vigorous  looking  man,  somewhat  past  middle 
life,  but  hale  and  hearty.  Both  he  and  his 
family  have  discreetly  adopted  the  manner? 
of  the  Turks ;  but  it  is  pretty  well  known 
that  the  great  pachas  at  Constantinople  (the 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CharlHlNckeiM.] 


DOCTOR  DUBOIS. 


329 


Turkish  aristocracy  in  short)  are  endowed 
with  the  same  short-sighted  cunning  as  else- 
where. It  is  known  well  enough  that  thej 
tliwart  and  harry  the  great  soldier  who  is 
fighting  for  their  worthless  existence  with 
that  ungenerous  enmity  and  ignorant  perse- 
yerance  which  is  a  part  of  their  craft — the 
inherent  quality  of  their  whole  species.  We 
mast  not  think  that  Britain  is  the  only  land 
which  has  such  precious  work  with  little 
great  men.  Uuffl  Pacha  and  Scruffi  Effendi 
are  to  the  full  as  wicked  and  wrong-headed 
as  our  own  white-gloved  cousinocracy.  Omer 
Pacha  has  found  this  out  long  ago,  but  be 
seems  to  have  got  used  to  it — as  we  shall 
perhaps  some  day — and  recognises  it  as  one 
of  the  immutable  laws  of  human  afifairs. 


DOCTOR  DUBOIS. 

Doctor  Dubois  had  just  finished  a  dinner 
which,  if  not  served  up  according  to  the 
philosophical  principles  of  Brillat-Savarin, 
was  at  any  rate  both  succulent  and  sub- 
stantiaL  He  had  turned  his  feet  towards 
the  fire — it  was  in  the  month  of  December — 
and  was  slowly  cracking  his  nuts  and  al- 
moods,  and  occasionally  moistening  them 
with  a  glass  of  genuine  Beaune.  Evidently 
he  considered  that  his  day  had  been  well 
employed ;  and  fervently  hoped  that  the  god- 
dess Hygeia  would  watch  for  that  evening  at 
least  over  his  numerous  patients.  A  pair  of 
comfortable  slippers — presented  by  a  ner- 
voos  lady  for  his  assiduous  attendance  upon 
a  scratch  on  the  little  finger  of  her  left 
haod^adomed  his  small  fat  feet.  A  black 
velvet  skullcap  was  pulled  half  over  his 
ears,  and  a  brilliant  morning  gown  fell  in 
graceful  folds  about  his  legs.  Bobonne  had 
retired  to  prepare  the  customary  coffiee. 
The  evening  paper  .had  arrived.  Fraught 
with  interesting,  because  as  yet  unknown 
intelligence,  it  was  waiting  on  the  edge  of 
the  table  to  be  opened.  There  might  be 
news  of  a  new  war  or  of  an  unexpected  peace ; 
Bome  miraculous  rise  or  fall  of  the  funds 
might  have  taken  place.  The  worthy  doctor 
had  abready  thrice  glanced  at  the  damp 
parallelogram  of  folded  paper ;  but  it  was 
bis  custom  to  tantalise  himself  agreeably 
before  satisfying  his  curiosity.  He  dallied 
with  the  little  stone-coloured  strips  that  held 
the  journal  in  a  cross,  and  bore  his  name  and 
address,  before  he  liberated  it;  and  was 
glancing  at  the  first  column  when  he  was 
startled  by  a  melancholy  shriek  of  wind  that 
came  up  the  Rue  de  Sevres,  mingled  with  the 
cra^h  of  falling  tiles  and  chimneypots,  the 
dashing  of  shutters,  and  the  loud  splashing  of 
the  rain. 

"Whew  I  peste!"  ejaculated  Doctor  Dubois, 
in  a  tone  of  pleasant  wonder, "  what  a  night  I 
How  fortunate  it  is  that  I  am  not  called  out. 
This  weather  will  protect  me.  All  my  friends 
are  going  on  nicely,  bless  them !     No  one  is 


in  danger  of  a  crisis.  Madame  Favre  has 
promised  to  wait  till  to-morrow.  Nothing 
but  a  very  desperate  case  could  make  people 
disturb  me  at  such  a  time.  Decidedly,  I  shall 
have  one  quiet  evening  this  week. 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  the  doctor^s 
mouth  when  the  bell  of  the  apartment  rang 
violently.  A  physiognomist  would  have  been 
delighted  with  the  sudden  change  from  com- 
placent security  to  peevish  despair  that  took 
place  on  the  doctor's  countenance.  He  placed 
both  his  hands  firmly  on  his  knees ;  and,  turn- 
ing round  towards  the  door,  waited  for  the 
announcement  that  was  to  chase  him  from  his 
comfortable  fireside. 

*'  My  poor  gentleman,"  said  Bobonne, 
bustling  in  with  a  platter,  on  which  was  the 
expected  coffee:  **you  must  be  off  at  once. 
Here  is  a  lad  who  will  not  believe  that  you 
are  out,  although  I  told  him  ^ou  are  from 
bome,  twice.  He  says  that  his  mother  is 
dying." 

**  Diable !  "  exclaimed  Doctor  Dubois,  half 
in  compassion,  half  in  anger.  "Give  me  my 
coffee — tell  him  to  come  in.  Where  are  my 
boots  ?  Indeed  if  she  be  dying — really  dying 
— I  am  scarcely  wanted.  A  priest  would 
have  been  more  suitable.  However,  duty, 
duty,  duty." 

*'  We  shall  be  eternally  grateful,"  said  a 
young  man,  who,  without  waiting  to  be  sum- 
moned, had  entered  the  room,  but  who  had 
only  caught  the  last  words.  *•  When  duty  is 
willingly  performed,  it  is  doubly  worthy." 

•'  Certainly,  sir,"  replied  the  doctor,  ques- 
tioniDg  Bobonne,  with  his  eyebrows,  to  know 
whether  bis  previous  grumbling  could  have 
been  overheard.  *'  I  shall  be  with  you  di- 
rectly. Warm  yourself  by  the  fire,  my  dear 
young  man,  whilst  I  arm  myself  for  combat." 

The  youth — who  was  tall  and  slight,  not 
more  than  eighteen  years  of  age — walked  im- 

Eatiently  up  and  down  the  room,  whilst  Doctor 
Dubois  pulled  on  his  boots,  swallowed  his 
scalding  coffee,  wriggled  into  bis  great  coat, 
half  strangled  himself  with  his  muffler,  and 
received  his  umbrella  from  the  attentive 
Bobonne. 

♦*  I  have  a  fiacre,"  said  the  youth. 

**  So  much  the  better,"  quoth  Doctor  Du- 
bois ;  **  but  precautions  never  do  any  harm. 
Now  I  am  ready.  You  see  a  man  may  still 
be  sprightly  at  fifty.  Go  to  bed,  Bobonne  ; 
and  take  a  little  tisane — that  cough  of  yours 
must  be  cared  for — hot,  mind." 

The  buxom  housekeeper  followed  her  master 
to  the  door;  and  no  old  bachelor  who  witnessed 
the  little  attentions  with  which  she  perse- 
cuted him-^buttoning  his  coat  tighter,  pulling 
his  muffler  higher  over  his  chin,  giving  a  tug 
to  the  brim  of  his  hat,  and,  most  significant 
of  all,  stopping  him  in  the  passage  to  turn  up 
his  trousers  nearly  to  the  knees,  lest  they 
might  be  spoiled  by  the  mud — no  one  of  the 
doctor's  bachelor  friends  who  witnessed  all 
this  (and  the  occurrence  was  frequent)  failed 
to  envy  the  doctor  his  excellent  housekeeper. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


The  youth  saw  nothing.  He  had  gone  down- 
Btairs  three  steps  at  a  time,  and  was  in  the 
vehicle  and  angry  with  impatience  long 
before  the  man  of  science  bustled  out, 
thinking  that  he  had  been  extraordinarily 
energetic,  and  wondering  how  much  more 
decision  of  character  was  required  to  make 
a  general  of  division  or  an  emperor. 

*•  Now  that  we  are  in  full  march,"  quoth 
he,  as  the  driver  was  endeavouring  to  make 
his  drenched  hacks  step  out  briskly,  "I 
should  like  to  know  something  of  the  case  ; 
not  the  particular  symptoms,  but  the  general 
facts.     What  is  your  mother's  age  ?  " 

The  youth  replied  that  she  was  about 
forty,  and  had  been  ill  some  time.  Her 
family  had  supposed,  however,  until  then, 
that  her  disease  was  rather  mental  than 
physical.  lie  said  other  things ;  but  the 
doctor  felt  certain  that  there  was  something 
behind  which  shame  had  concealed. 

The  vehicle  continued  to  roll ;  but  it  had 
left  the  Rue  de  Sevres,  and  was  threading 
some  of  the  sombre  streets  between  that  and 
the  Rue  de  Varennes. 

"  You  came  a  long  way  to  look  for  me," 
said  the  physician,  half  enquiringly. 

The  youth  muttered  some  answer  that  was 
unintelligible,  and  was  saved  from  further 
questioning  by  the  stopping  of  the  cabriolet. 
On  getting  out,  the  doctor  recognised  the 
house  as  one  of  the  largest  private  hotels  in 
that  quarter.  He  had  often  passed  by,  and 
thought  it  was  uninhabited.  The  porte 
cochere  was  opened  by  an  elderly  serving- 
man,  who  looked  sad  and  sorrowful. 

"  She  is  not  yet — "  exclaimed  the  youth, 
not  daring  to  utter  the  word  of  the  omen. 

^'No,  no  I  but  she  has  begun  to  talk 
reasonably." 

•'  Be  frank,"  whispered  Doctor  Dubois,  as 
they  crossed  the  court  under  the  hastily 
opened  umbrella.  **  Has  your  mother's  mind 
been  affected  ?  It  is  necessary  that  I  should 
know  this." 

"  Yes — in  one  particular — in  one  particular 
only.  I  will  explain  all ;  but — it  is  very 
humiliating." 

"  Medical  men  are  confessors,"  said  the 
Doctor,  sententiously. 

"Well,  you  shall  know  everything;  but 
first  let  me  entreat  you  to  come  in  and  see 
my  poor  mother,  and  tell  us  whether  there  is 
any  immediate  danger.  I  think — ^yes,  I  am 
sure,  that  if  we  can  prolong  her  life— but  just 
a  little — health  will  return ;  and  we  shall 
have  her  with  us  for  many  happy  years." 

"Let  us  hope  so,"  Doctor  Dubois  ejaculated, 
as,  after  stamping  his  feet  and  shaking  his  hat, 
muffler  and  coat,  and  depositing  his  umbrella, 
he  crossed  a  scarcely  furnished  hall,  and 
entered  at  once  upon  a  large  apartment  on 
the  ground-floor,  preceded  by  his  guide. 

The  inmates  of  the  room  were  two,  beside 
the  sick  person,  who  lay  in  a  bed  at  the 
further  extremity.  There  was  first  an  old 
man—a  very  old  man—sitting  in  a  chair, 


with  his  knees  advanced  towards  the  rem- 
nant of  a  fire,  which  he  was  watching 
intently  with  lack-lustre  eye.  His  garment 
were  scanty  and  threadbare,  but  it  was  no: 
difficult  for  a  practised  eye  to  see  that  be  had 
formerly  lived  amidst  wealth  and  ease.  He 
rose  when  the  doctor  entered,  made  a  graceful 
bow,  and  then  sank  back  into  his  chair  as  if 
exhausted  with  fatigue. 

A  girl  of  about  seventeen  sat  by  the  bed- 
side of  the  sick  person,  in  whose  hand  ber 
hand  was  clasped.  She  was  evidently  tbe 
sister  of  the  youth  who  had  disturbed  Doctor 
Dubois  from  his  comfortable  dessert.  Tbe 
invalid  was  deadly  pale  and  fearfully  thin; 
but  traces  both  of  beauty  and  intelligence 
remained  on  her  countenance.  At  least  so 
thought  the  doctor,  whilst  at  tbe  same  time 
he  was  detaching  as  it  were  from  those  sickly 
features  the  expression  which  formed  their 
chief  characteristic,  and  which  indicated  to 
him  the  state  of  her  mind.  Combining  what 
he  had  already  heard  with  what  he  saw,  be 
easily  came  to  the  conclusion  that  one  at 
least  of  the  mental  faculties  of  his  new 
patient  was  in  abeyance.  He  sat  down  in  a 
chair  which  the  youth  had  placed  for  him. 
felt  the  lady's  pulse,  put  on  his  nsoal  wise 
look,  and  after  having  received  answers  to  a 
variety  of  questions,  seemed  to  fill  the  apart- 
ment with  life  and  joy  by  announcing  that 
there  was  no  immediate  danger.  The  old 
man  near  the  fire-place,  who  bad  been  looking 
eagerly  over  his  shoulder,  clasped  his  hands, 
and  cast  up  a  rapid  glance  to  heaven.  Tbe 
servant,  who  still  remained  in  the  room, 
muttered  a  prayer  of  thanksgiving ;  and  tbt^ 
two  young  people  absolutely  sprang  into 
'each  other's  arms,  embracing,  laughing,  and 
crying.  The  person  who  seemed  least  in- 
terested in  this  good  news  was  the  sick  ladj 
herself. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  enquired  ai 
length,  in  a  tone  of  mingled  tenderness  and 
pride.  "  Why  are  you  so  pleased  with  what 
this  good  man  says?  You  will  make  n»e 
believe  I  have  really  been  in  danger.  But 
this  cannot  be ;  or  else  the  Duchess  of 
Noailles  would  have  come  to  see  me,  and  the 
Countess  of  Malmont,  and  the  dowager  of 
Montsorrel.  They  would  not  let  me  be  in 
danger  of  dying  without  paying  me  one  viat 
By  the  way,  what  cards  have  been  left  to- 
day, Valerie  ?  " 

These  words,  most  of  which  were  rather 
murmured  than  spoken,  were  greedily  canght 
by  the  observant  doctor,"who  began  dimly  to 
perceive  the  true  state  of  the  case.  He  re- 
ceived further  enlightenment  from  the  answer 
of  Valerie  j  who,  glancing  furtively  at  him 
and  becoming  very  red,  recited  at  random  a 
list  of  names ;  some  of  them  belonging  to 
persons  whom  he  knew  to  be  in  the  country 
or  dead. 

"I  wish  to  write  a  prescription,"  s»» 
Doctor  Dubois. 

"Will  you  step  this  way?"  replied  the 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Charles  Dickem.] 


DOCTOR  DUBOIS. 


431 


youQg  man  who  had  brought  him  to  that 
place,  and  who  now  conducted  him  to  a  little 
room  furnished  with  only  one  chair  and  a 
table  covered  with  books.  Other  books,  and 
a  variety  of  papers,  were  scattered  about  the 
floor. 

"A  student,  I  see ; "  Doctor  Dubois  smiled. 
He  wished  to  intimate  that  he  attributed  the 
disorder  and  nudity  he  could  not  but  per- 
ceive, to  eccentricity  rather  than  to  poverty. 

"  We  must  do  what  we  can,"  eagerly  replied 
the  youth,  as  if  delighted  at  the  opportunity 
of  a  sudden  confession.  '•  We  are  too  poor  to 
be  otherwise  than  you  see." 

Doctor  Dubois  tried  to  look  pompous  and 
conceited.    "  Madame  de— de — " 

"Jarante." 

"Madame  de  Jarante,"  he  continued,  "has 
been  undermined  by  a  slow  fever,  the  result 
of—what  shall  I  say? — an  insufiBcient  supply 
of  those  necessaries  of  life  which  humble  peo- 
ple call  luxuries.  You  need  not  hang  your 
head,  my  young  friend.  These  things  happen 
every  day,  and  the  proudest  of  us  have  pass- 
ed through  the  same  ordeal.  How  long  has 
this  state  of  things  lasted  ?  •* 

"Two  years." 

"  A  long  time.  It  seems  to  me  that  your 
mother  has  been  kept  in  a  state  of  delusion 
as  to  her  position.  She  believes  herself  to  be 
still  wealthy,  still  to  form  part  of  the  world 
of  fashion,  in  spite  of  the  accident  which  re- 
moved her  from  it." 

"You  know  our  history,  then?" 

"One  incident  I  know,  in  common  with  all 
Paris.  Every  one  read  in  the  papers  the  re- 
port of  the  trial  by  which  your  family  lost  its 
immense  fortune.  I  thought  you  had  quitted 
Paris ;  and  never  dreamed  that  after  that  dis- 
aster—" 

"  Yon  mean  disgrace,"  put  in  the  youth, 
bitterly. 

"  That  after  that  disaster  you  continued  to 
mhabit  your  old  hotel  in  the  Faubourg  St. 
Germain.  Whenever  I  pass  I  see  the  shutters 
closed.  I  see  no  one  come  in  or  go  out.  I  am 
not  inquisitive.  Indeed  I  have  noticed  these 
symptoms  without  even  reflecting  upon  them. 
1  h^d  forgotten  your  name.  I  now  under- 
stand that  you  have  remained  here  ever  since; 
living  on  the  ruins  of  your  fortune,  and  keep- 
ing your  poor,  mother  in  the  illusion  that 
nothing  has  been  changed— that  she  is  still 
rich,  honoured,  and  happy." 

"  All  this  is  true,"  exclaimed  the  youth, 
seizing  the  hand  of  the  doctor :  "but  you  do 
not  know  all." 

"  1  know  enough,"  was  the  reply, "  to  make 
me  honour  and  respect  you." 

The  story  which  the  young  man  in  the  ful- 
ness of  his  heart  now  told  was  curious  and 
painful.  M.  de  Chesnel,  his  grandfather,  the 
old  man  whom  Doctor  Dubois  had  seen  in  the 
other  room,  was  one  of  the  nobles  who  had 
emigrated  during  the  first  French  revolution. 
He  had  gone  to  America,  where  he  married 
the  daughter  of  a  Virginian  planter,  and  set- 


tled down  quite  hopeless  of  ever  returning  to 
his  native  country.  After  a  time  his  wife 
died,  and  left  him  with  an  only  daughter. 
He  came  to  Paris ;  where,  although  his  for- 
tune was  small,  he  was  able  to  give  his  child 
a  complete  education.  After  eighteen  hun- 
dred and  thirty  news  came  to  him  from  Ame- 
rica that  his  father-in-law  had  died,  leaving 
all  his  property  to  him.  He  again  crossed  the 
Atlantic  with  his  daughter,  then  nineteen 
years  of  age.  On  the  voyage  out  he  'made 
the  acquaintance  of  M.  de  Jarante,  a  young 
French  nobleman  of  great  wealth,  who  was 
going  to  the  west  in  order  to  expend  his 
superabundant  activity  in  travel.  An  affec- 
tion sprang  up  between  this  young  man  and 
M.  de  Chesners  daughter.  The  consequence 
was  that,  some  time  after  their  arrival  in 
America,  they  were  married.  But  M.  de 
Jarante  bad  not  entirely  lost  his  wandering 
propensities.  Whilst  M.  de  Chesnel  was  en- 
gaged in  an  unexpected  lawsuit  with  the  re- 
lations of  his  father-in-law — which  ended  in 
the  will  being  utterly  set  aside — the  young 
couple  travelled  together  in  various  direc- 
tions. This  lasted  some  years.  Victor,  the 
youth  who  related  the  story  to  the  Doctor, 
and  Valerie  were  born,  and  the  mother  found 
it  necessary  to  remain  more  stationary  than 
before,  to  look  after  her  children.  Then  M. 
de  Jarante  undertook  to  explore  the  Cordil- 
leras of  the  Andes  alone,  and  sent  his  wif6 
and  family  back  to  France. 

Victor  evidently  slurred  over  certain  do- 
mestic quarrels  here ;  but  it  came  out  that 
M.  de  Chesnel  had  reproached  his  son-in-law 
with  neglecting  his  daughter,  and  seemed  to 
think  that  it  was  partly  because  the  fortune 
which  she  had  expected  had  been  taken  from 
her.  M.  Jarante  afterwards  returned  in  safe- 
ty, and  led  a  very  quiet  life  in  Paris.  His 
wife  thought  that  his  restlessness  was  now 
quite  worn  out ;  but  at  length  he  again  start- 
ed for  South  America,  wrote  home — frequent- 
ly sending  valuable  collections  which  he 
made  by  the  way — and  was  last  heard  of 
when  about  to  undertake  a  voyage  across  the 
Pacific.  This  happened  six  years  before  the 
period  at  which  Doctor  Dubois  became  ac- 
quainted with  the  story.  For  some  time 
Madame  de  Jarante  suffered  no  misfortune 
but  separation  from  her  husband;  but  at 
length  his  relations  had  reason  to  consider 
him  to  be  dead.  They  asked  his  wife  to  give 
an  account  of  his  immense  fortune.  She  re- 
fused, saying  that  it  devolved  upon  her  chil- 
dren. Then,  to  her  surprise,  they  asked  for 
proofs  of  her  marriage.  She  hud  none  to 
give.  A  trial  took  place ;  and,  although 
some  corroborative  testimony  was  brought 
forward,  it  did  not  satisfy  the  law,  and  Ma- 
dame de  Jarante  was  not  only  deprived  of 
her  husband's  fortune,  but  was  called  upon 
to  give  an  account  of  many  large  sums  she  had 
spent  M.  de  Chesnel  sacrificed  "all  that  re- 
mained to  him  to  protect  her.  The  hotel  in 
which  thty  lived  had  luckily  been  taken  in 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


bis  name.  They  sold  thefuraiture  piecemeal 
to  enable  them  to  live.  Then  it  was  that 
Madame  de  Jarante  first  showed  symptoms  of 
her  mental  disorder.  She  could  not  believe 
in  the  disaster  that  had  overtaken  her  :  and. 
to  save  her  from  complete  insanity,  her  father 
and  children  found  it  necessary  to  commence 
the  system  of  deception  which  they  had  ever 
afterwards  been  compelled  to  carry  on. 
Victor  gave  many  details  of  the  extraordina- 
ry means  they  took  for  this  purpose— always 
successfully.  His  mother  invariably  kept 
her  room.  Only  within  the  last  few  weeks, 
however,  had  she  shown  signs  of  bodily  de- 
cay. Assistance  had  not  been  called  in,  sim- 
ply on  account  of  their  poverty. 

"  And  what,  may  I  now  inquire,"  said  the 
doctor,  deeply  interested,  "  are  the  grounds 
of  hopes  of  better  times  which  you  seem  to 
entertain  ?  " 

"  I  am  certain,"  replied  Victor,  "  that  my 
father  is  not  dead.  He  will  return,  there  is 
no  doubt,  and  restore  us  to  our  former  posi- 
tion. All  that  I  ask  is  that  my  mother's  life 
shall  be  preserved  until  then." 

Doctor  Dubois  did  not  entertain  the  same 
confidence.  "  Little  stress,"  he  said,  "  must 
be  laid  on  presentiments  of  that  kind.  Mean- 
while, your  mother  must  not  be  allowed  to 
want  for  anything.  You  must  borrow  money 
of  some  friend." 

'•We  have  no  friends,"  said  the  young 
man. 

"  Then  I  shall  write  a  prescription,"  mut- 
tered the  doctor,  as  he  seized  pen  and 
paper. 

What  he  wrote  was  as  follows : 

M058IKDB,— I  am  in  want  of  monej  immediatelj ; 
please  send  mo  three  hundred  francs  by  the  bearer. 
Alphonsr  Dubois. 

"  There,"  said  he,  getting  up,  *•  take  that 
to  its  address  to-morrow  morning,  and  do  not 
let  me  hear  from  you  again  until  you  have 
used  what  you  receive.  I  will  come  again 
to-morrow  evening." 

So  saying,  the  doctor  bustled  away  to  es- 
cape the  thanks  of  Victor,  and  crossed  the 
court  in  so  great  a  hurry  that  he  forgot  to 
put  up  his  umbrella. 

In  the  evening  Doctor  Dubois  returned  to 
the  hotel,  and  felt  his  heart  warmed  by  the 
evidences  of  greater  comfort  he  beheld.  He 
now  ventured  to  prescribe  medicine,  and, 
succeeded  eventually  in  restoring  his  patient's 
health.  There  was  no  change,  however,  in 
her  mental  condition.  She  still  believed  her- 
Bslf  to  be  surrounded  by  wealth ;  only  she 
thought  her  children  were  more  attentive 
than  before.  The  little  comforts  they  now 
gave  her  excited  not  surprise  but  gratitude. 
The  doctor  continued  his  visits  and  his 
loans!  ^'You  shall  pay  me  all  back  with 
interest,"  he  said,  when  Victor  hesitated  to 
accept 

*^  Good  works  are  never  lost,"  remarked 
Bobonne,fall'uig  in  with  her  master's  humour. 


One  evening  in  the  following  summei, 
when  the  physician  happened  again  to  be 
making  ready  for  a  comfortable  eveoiDg 
with  his  feet  in  the  same  slippers;  with  the 
usual  plate  of  nuts  and  almonds  before  bi>ii 
and  an  uncorked  bottle  of  Beaune,  with  which 
he  took  alternate  draughts  of  Seltzer  water; 
with  the  same  black  velvet  skullcap  tbrast 
to  the  back  of  his  head,  and  the  same  mora- 
ing-gown  thrown  back  in  graceful  folds. 
Bobonne  had  just  come  in  with  the  coffee  and 
the  evening  paper.  The  bell  rang  again. 
Doctor  Dubois  again  exclaimed  **  Diable^ 
and  "  Peste."    It  was  Victor  as  before. 

"  Come,"  he  exclaimed,  "  to  save  us  from 
the  consequences  of  excess  of  joy  !  " 

"  They  are  never  very  serious,"  quoth  the 
doctor,  without  moving.  "  What  is  the 
matter?" 

"  My  father  has  returned." 

Bobonne  instantly  understood  the  signi- 
ficance of  these  words,  was  the  first  to 
urge  her  master  to  be  up  and  doing,  and 
lost  no  time  in  handing  him  his  hat.  "M 
for  your  coffee,  my  dear  doctor,  I  will  ketp 
that  warm  for  you,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  of 
afiectionate  familiarity  which  was  new  to 
Victor. 

Doctor  Dubois  learned,  as  he  Tsalked  to- 
wards the  hotel,  that  Monsieur  de  Jarante  bad 
suddenly  appeared  without  giving  any  waro- 
ing  whatever.  His  wife  became  insensible  oa 
beholding  him,  and  Victor  had  instantlr 
rushed  away  for  medical  assistance.  When 
tbcy  reached  the  hotel,  all  danger  seemed  to 
have  passed,  and  the  returned  traveller  was 
listening  with  astonishment,  anger,  and  con- 
trition to  the  story  of  the  sufferings  of  bl^ 
family.  For  his  own  part,  he  had  met  with 
many  perils  and  fatigues,  which  had  disgust- 
ed Mm  at  last  with  a  wandering  life.  He 
had  been  shipwrecked  on  a  remote  island, 
scalped,  and  escaped  with  his  life  only  by  a 
miracle.  He  admitted  that  he  had  been 
neglectful.  His  future  life,  however,  should 
atone  for  the  past. 

He  naturally  resumed  possession  of  his  for- 
tune, and  established  the  legality  of  hI8ml^ 
riage,  and  the  legitimacy  of  his  childroL 
Madame  de  Jarante  at  length  underst<A)d  all 
that  happened  to  her,  and  might  have  return- 
ed into  the  society  which  had  so  readily  cast 
her  off;  but,  instead  of  seeking  pleasure,  rfj< 
occupies  herself  in  relieving  the  poor; 
in  which  benevolent  occupation  she  is  much 
assisted  b^  Doctor  Dubois.  Her  son  and 
daughter  both  married  well ;  and  altboog^ 
M.  de  Chcsnel  recently  died  in  the  fa^ 
ness  of  years,  the  whole  family  now  en- 
joys a  happiness  which  it  had  never  before 
known. 

It  may  as  well  bo  mentioned  that  Doctor 
Dubois  went  the  other  day,  with  rather  a  con- 
fused look,  to  ask  Victor  to  stand  godftither 
to  a  son  and  heir  which  Bobonne— we  t^jf 
her  pardon— which  Madame  Dubois,  had  pre- 
sented him  with. 


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"  FanUliar  in  their  Mouths  as  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS."- 


OBABMrBAU. 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
CONDUCTED   BT   CHABLES   DICKENS. 


No.  19.] 


J.   A.   DIX,   PUBLISHER, 

Omot,  No.  10  Pakk  Plaob,  N«w-York. 


[Whole  No.  272. 


CHEAP  PATRIOTISM. 

When  the  writer  of  this  paper  states  that 
he  has  retired  from  the  civil  service  on  a 
superannuation  fund  to  which  he  contributed 
daring  forty  years,  he  trusts  that  the  pre- 
judice likely  to  be  engendered  by  the  admis- 
sion that  he  ha-s  been  a  Government-clerk, 
will  not  be  violently  strong  against  him. 

In  short,  to  express  myself  in  the  first 
person  at  once — for,  to  that  complexion  I 
feel  I  must  come,  in  consequence  of  the 
great  difficulty  of  sustaining  the  third—I 
l)eg  to  make  it  known  that  I  have  no  longer 
tny  connexion  with  Somerset  House.  lam 
a  witness  without  bias,  and  will  relate  my 
experience  in  an  equitable  manner. 

Of  my  official  career  as  an  individual  clerk, 
I  may  soon  dispose.  I  went  into  the  office 
at  eighteen  (my  father  having  recently 
'•plumped  for  Grobus,"  who,  under  the  less 
familiar  designation  of  The  Right  Honour- 
able Sir  Gilpin  Grobus  Grobus,  Bart.,  one  of 
His  Majesty ^s  Most  Honourable  Privy  Coun- 
cil, retired  into  remote  space  and  unap- 
proachable grandeur  immediately  after  his 
election),  and  began  at  ninety  pounds  a-year. 
I  did  all  the  usual  things.  I  wasted  as  much 
writing-paper  as  I  possibly  could.  I  set  up 
all  my  younger  brothers  with  public  pen- 
knives. I  took  to  modelling  in  sealing-wax 
(l>eing  hopeless  of  getting  through  the 
quantity  I  was  expected  to  consume  by  any 
other  means),  and  I  copied  a  large  amount 
of  flute  music  into  a  ponderous  vellum- 
covered  book  with  an  anchor  outside  (sup- 
posed to  be  devoted  to  the  service  of  the 
Hojal  Navy),  on  every  page  of  which  there 
Was  a  neat  water-mark,  representing  Bri- 
tannia with  a  sprig  in  her  hand,  seated  in  an 
oval.  I  luncbcd  at  the  office  every  day 
when  I  stayed  till  lunch  time,  which  was  two 
o'clock,  at  an  average  expense  of  about  sixty 
pounds  per  annum.  My  dress  cost  me  (or 
cost  somebody — I  really  at  this  distance  of 
time  cannot  say  whom),  about  a  hundred 
roore ;  and  I  spent  the  remainder  of  my 
^lary  in  general  amusements. 

We  had  the  usual  kind  of  juniors  in  the 
offiot;,  when  I  was  a  junior.  We  had  young 
O'Killamollybore,  nephew  of  the  Member, 
and  son  of  the  extensive  Irish  Proprietor  who 
had  killed  the  other  extensive  Irish  Proprietor 


in  the  famous  duel  arising  out  of  the  famous 
quarrel  at  the  famous  assembly  about  dancing 
with  the  famous  Beauty — with  the  whole 
particulars  of  which  events,  mankind  was 
acquainted.  O'Killamollybore  represented 
himself  to  have  been  educated  at  every  seat 
of  learning  in  the  empire— and  I  dare  say  had 
been ;  but,  he  had  not  come  out  of  the  ordeal, 
in  an  orthographical  point  of  view,  with 
the  efficiency  that  might  have  been  expected. 
He  also  represented  himself  as  a  great  artist, 
and  used  to  put  such  capital  imitations  of  the 
marks  they  make  at  the  shops,  on  the  backs 
of  his  pencil-drawings,  that  they  had  all  the 
appearance  of  having  been  purchased.  We 
had  young  Percival  Fitz-Legionite,  of  the 
great  Fitz-Legionite  family,  who  "  took  the 
quarterly  pocket-money,''  as  he  told  us,  for  the 
sake  of  having  something  to  do  (he  never 
did  it),  and  who  went  to  all  the  parties  in 
the  morning  papers,  and  used  to  be  always 
opening  soda-water  all  over  the  desks.  We 
had  Meltonbury,  another  nob  and  our 
great  light,  who  had  been  in  a  crack  regi- 
ment, and  had  betted  and  sold  out,  and  had 
got  his  mother,  old  Lady  Meltonbury,  to 
"stump  up,"  on  condition  of  his  coming  into 
our  office,  and  playing  at  hockey  with  the 
coals.  We  had  Scrivens  (just  of  age),  who 
dressed  at  the  Prince  Regent ;  and  we  bad 
Baber,  who  represented  the  Turf  in  our 
department,  and  made  a  book,  and  wore  a 
speckled  blue  cravat  and  top-boots.  Finally, 
we  had  one  extra-clerk  at  five  shillings  a-day, 
who  had  three  children,  and  did  all  the  work, 
and  was  much  looked  down  upon  by  the 
messengers. 

As  to  our  ways  of  getting  through  the 
time,  we  u?ed  to  stand  before  the  fire,  warm- 
ing ourselves  behind,  until  we  made  ourselves 
faint ;  and  we  used  to  read  the  papers,  and, 
in  hot  weather,  we  used  to  make  lemonade 
and  drink  it.  We  used  to  yawn  a  good  deal, 
and  ring  the  bell  a  good  deal,  and  chat  and 
lounge  a  good  deal,  and  go  out  a  good  deal, 
and  come  back  a  little.  We  used  to  compare 
notes  as  to  the  precious  slavery  it  was,  and 
a3  to  the  salary  not  being  enough  for  bread 
and  cheese,  and  as  to  the  manner  in  which 
we  were  screwed  by  the  public — and  we 
used  to  take  our  revenge  on  the  public  by 
keeping  it  waiting  and  giving  it  short  an- 
swers, whenever  it  came  into  our  office.    It 

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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Condocttdl? 


has  been  matter  of  continuous  astonishment 
to  me,  during  many  years,  that  the  public 
never  took  me,  when  I  was  a  junior,  bj  the 
nape  of  my  neck,  and  dropped  me  over  the 
banisters  down  three  stories  into  the  hall. 

However,  Time  was  good  enough  without 
any  assistance  on  my  part,  to  remove  me 
from  the  juniors  and  to  hoist  me  upward. 
I  shed  some  of  ray  impertinences  as  1  grew 
older  (which  is  the  custom  of  moj»t  men), 
and  did  what  I  had  to  do,  reasonably  well. 
It  did  not  require  the  head  of  a  Chief  Jus- 
tice, or  a  Lord  Chancellor,  and  I  may  even 
say  that  in  general  I  believe  I  did  it 
very  well.  There  is  a  considerable  flourish 
just  now,  about  examining  candidates  for 
clerkships,  as  if  they  wanted  to  take  high 
degrees  in  learned  professions.  I  don't 
myself  think  that  Chief  Justices  and  Lord 
Chancellors  are  to  be  got  for  twenty-two 
pound  ten  a  quarter,  with  a  final  prospect 
of  some  five  or  six  hundred  a  year  in  the  ripe 
fulness  of  futurity — and  even  if  they  were,  I 
doubt  if  their  abilities  could  come  out  very 
strongly  in  the  usual  work  of  a  government 
office. 

This  brings  me  to  that  part  of  my  experi- 
ence which  1  wish  to  put  forth.  It  is  surprir^ing 
what  I  have,  in  my  time,  seen  done  in  our  De- 
partment in  the  reforming  way—but  always 
beginning  at  the  wrong  end — always  stopping 
at  the  small  men — always  showing  the  public 
virtue  of  Two  Thousand  a  year  M.P.  at  the 
expense  of  that  wicked  little  victim,  Two  hun- 
dred a  year.    I  will  rccal  a  few  instances. 

The  head  of  our  Department  came  in  and 
went  out  with  the  Ministry.  The  place  was 
a  favourite  place,  being  universally  known 
among  place-people  as  a  snug  thing.  Soon 
after  I  became  a  Chief  in  the  office,  there  was 
a  change  of  Ministry,  and  we  got  Lord 
Stumplngton.  Down  came  LordStumpington 
on  a  certain  day,  and  1  had  notice  to  be  in 
readiness  to  attend  him.  I  found  him  a  very 
free  and  pleasant  nobleman  (he  had  lately 
had  great  losses  on  the  turf,  or  he  wouldn't 
have  accepted  any  public  office),  and  he  had 
his  nephew  the  Honourable  Charles  Random 
with  him,  whom  he  had  appointed  as  his  offi- 
cial private  secretary. 

**Mr.  Tapenham,  I  believe?"  said  His 
Lordship,  with  his  hands  under  his  coat-tails 
before  the  fire.  I  bowed  and  repeated,  *'  Mr. 
Tapenham."  "  Well,  Mr.  Tapenham,"  said 
His  Lordship,  "  how  are  we  getting  on  in  this 
Department  ?"  I  said  that  I  hoped  we  were 
getting  on  pretty  well.  '*  At  what  time  do 
your  fellows  come  in  the  morning,  now?" 
said  His  Lordship.  ''Half-past  ten,  my 
Lord."  "The  devil  they  do!"  said  His 
Lordship.  "  Do  you  come  at  half-past  ten  ? " 
**  At  half-past  ten,  my  Lord."  -'Can't  im- 
agine how  you  do  it,"  said  His  Lordship. 
"Surprising!  Well,  Mr.  Tapenham,  we  must 
do  something  here,  or  the  opposition  will  be 
down  upon  us  and  we  shall  get  floored. 
WhaA  can  we  do?     What  do  your  fellows 


work  at  ?  Do  they  do  sums,  or  do  ther 
write,  or  what  are  they  usually  up  to?''  1 
explained  the  general  duties  of  our  Depart- 
ment, which  seemed  to  stagger  His  Lord>hip 
exceedingly.  "  Ton  my  soul,"  he  said,  lura- 
ing  to  hia  private  secretary,  "I  am  afraid 
from  Mr.  Tapenham's  account  this  is  a  hor- 
rible bore,  Charley.  However,  we  must  do 
Fomething,  Mr.  Tapenham,  or  we  shall  hare 
those  fellows  down  upon  ua  and  get  floored 
Isn't  there  any  Class  (you  spoke  of  the 
various  Classes  in  the  Department  just  now), 
that  we  could  cut  down  a  bit?  Couldn't  we 
clear  oft"  some  salaries,  or  superannuate  a  few 
fellows,  or  blend  something  with  somethiag 
else,  and  make  a  sort  of  an  economical  fonoB 
somewhert?  ?  "  I  looked  doubtful,  and  felt 
perplexed.  "  I  tell  you  what  we  cm  di\ 
Mr.  Tapenham,  at  any  rate,"  said  His  Lord- 
ship, brightening  with  a  happy  idea.  '*Ve 
can  make  your  fellows  come  at  ten— (Charley, 
you.must  turn  out  in  the  middle  of  the  night 
and  come  at  ten.  And  let  us  have  a  Minute 
that  in  future  the  fellows  must  know  some- 
thing— Miy  French,  Charley  :  and  be  up  ia 
their  arithmetic— Rule  of  Tnree,  Tare  aod 
Tret,  Charley,  Decimals,  or  something  c-r 
other.  And  Mr-  Tapenham,  if  you  will  be  » 
good  as  to  put  yourself  in  communication 
with  Mr.  Random,  perhaps  you  will  be  abk 
between  you  to  knock  out  some  idea  in  tbc 
economical  fusion  way.  Charley,  I  am  sure 
you  will  find  Mr.  Tapenham  a  most  invaluable 
coadjutor,  and  T  have  no  doubt  that  witi 
such  assistance,  and  getting  the  fellows  here 
at  Ten,  we  shall  make  quite  a  Model  Depart- 
ment of  it  and  do  all  sorts  of  things  to  promote 
the  efficiency  of  the  public  service."  Here 
His  Lordship,  who  had  a  very  easy  and  cap- 
tivating manner,  laughed,  and  shook  bandi 
with  me,  and  said  that  he  needn't  detain  me 
any  longer. 

That  Government  lasted  two  or  thref 
years,  and  then  we  got  Sir  Jasper  J»nu5. 
who  had  acquired  in  the  House  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  a  remarkable  man  of  basines?. 
through  the  astonishing  confidence  with  which 
he  explained  details  of  which  he  wasentirelj 
ignorant,  to  an  audience  who  knew  no  more 
of  them  than  he  did.  Sir  Jasper  had  been  in 
office  very  often,  and  was  knpwn  to  be  a  Drag- 
on in  the  recklessness  of  his  determinfttion  to 
make  out  a  case  for  himself.  It  was  our 
Department's  first  experience  of  him,  and  I 
attended  him  with  fear  and  trembling.  "Mr. 
Tapenham,"  said  Sir  Jasper,  **  if  your  mPBio- 
randa  are  prepared,  I  wish  to  go  through  the 
whole  business  and  system  of  this  Depart- 
ment with  you.  I  must  first  master  it  com- 
pletely, and  then  take  measures  for  conso- 
lidating it."  He  said  this  with  severe  official 
gravity,  and  I  entered  on  my  statement;  be 
leaning  back  in  his  chair  with  his  feet  on  the 
fender,  outwardly  looking  at  me,  and  in- 
wardly (as  it  appeared  to  me),  paying  po 
attention  whatever  to  anything  I  ^ 
'*  Very  good,  Mr.  Tapenham,"  he  observed, 


Digitized  by 


Google 


Cbarlca  DlekciM.  j 


VESUVIUS  IN  ERUPTION. 


435 


when  I  liad  done.  '*Now,  I  gather  from 
your  exposition  " — ^whereas  I  knmo  he  had 
got  it  out  of  the  Court  Calendar  before  he 
came — "  that  there  are  forty-seven  clerks  in 
this  Department,  distributed  through  four 
classes,  A,  B,  C,  and  D.  This  Department 
must  be  consolidated,  by  the  reduction  of  those 
forty-seven  clerks  to  thirty-four — in  other 
words,  by  the  abolition  of  thirteen  juniors — 
the  substitution  of  two  classes  and  a  Re- 
move for  four — and  the  construction  of  nn 
entirely  new  system  of  check,  by  double 
entry  and  countersign,  on  the  issue  at  the 
oatports  of  fore-top-gallant-yards  and  snatch- 
blocks  to  the  Royal  Navy.  You.  will  be  so 
good.  Mr.  Tapenham,  as  to  furnish  me  with 
the  project  you  would  recommend  for  carry- 
ing this  consolidation  into  effect,  the  day 
after  to-morrow,  as  I  desire  to  be  in  a  condi- 
tion to  explain  the  consolidation  I  propose, 
when  the  House  is  in  committee  on  the  Miscel- 
laneous Estimates.-'  I  had  nothing  for  it  but 
to  flounder  through  an  impracticable  plan 
that  would  barely  last  Sir  Jasper  Janus's  time 
(which  I  knew  perfectly  well,  was  all  he 
cared  for),  and  he  made  a  speech  upon  it 
that  would  have  set  up  the  Ministry,  if  any 
effort  could  have  made  such  a  lame  thing 
walk.  I  do  in  my  conscience  believe  that  in 
every  single  point  he  touched  arising  out  of 
our  Department,  he  was  a.s  far  from  accuracy 
as  mortal  man  could  possibly  be  ;  yet  he  was 
inaccurate  with  euch  an  air,  that  I  almost 
doubted  my  own  knowledge  of  the  facts  as  I 
sat  below  the  bar  and  heard  him.  I  myself 
observed  three  admirals  cheering  vigorously 
when  the  fore-top-gallant-yards  and  snatch- 
blocks  came  into  play ;  and,though  the  effect 
of  that  part  of  the  consolidation  was,  that  no 
ship  in  the  Navy  could  under  any  conceiv- 
able circumstances  of  emergency  have  got 
riggfd  while  it  lasted,  it  became  so  strong 
a  card  in  Sir  Jasper*s  favour  that  within  a 
fortnight  after  the  coming-in  of  the  opposi- 
tion, he  gave  notice  of  his  intention  to  ask  his 
successor  "  Whether  Her  Majesty's  Govern- 
ment had  abandoned  the  system  of  check 
by  double-entry  and  countersign,  on  the 
issiue  at  the  outports  of  forc-top-gallant- 
yards  and  snatch-blocks,"  amidKt  vehement 
cheering. 

The  next  man  of  mark  wo  got,  was  the 
Right  Honourable  Mr.  Gritts,  the  member 
for  Sordust.  Mr.  Gritts  came  to  our  De- 
partment with  a  Principle  ;  and  the  principle 
was,  that  no  man  in  a  clerkship  ought  to  have 
more  than  a  hundred  a-year.  Mr.  Gritts 
held  that  more  did  such  a  man  no  good  ;  that 
he  didn't  want  it;  that  he  was  not  a  pro- 
ducer— for  he  grew  nothing  ;  or  a  manufactu- 
rer— for  he  changed  the  form  of  nothing ;  and 
that  there  was  some  first  principle  in  figures 
which  limited  the  income  of  a  man  who  grew 
nothing  and  changed  the  form  of  nothing,  to 
a  maximum  of  exactly  one  hundred  pounds 
a-year.  Mr.  Gritts  had  acquired  a  reputation 
for  unspeakable  practical  sagacity,  entirely 


on  the  strength  of  this  discovery.  I  believe  it 
is  not  too  much  to  say,  that  he  bad  destroyed 
two  Chancellors  of  the  Exchequer  by  ham- 
mering them  on  the  head  with  it,  night  and 
day.  Now,  I  have  seen  a  little  jobbery  in 
forty  years ;  bnt,  such  a  jobber  as  .Mr.  Gritts 
of  Sordust  never  entered  our  Department. 
He  brought  a  former  book-keeper  of  his  with 
him  as  his  private  secretary,  and  I  am  abso- 
lutely certain,  to  begin  with,  that  he  pocket- 
ed one-half  of  that  unfortunate  man's  public 
salary,  and  made  it  an  exalted  piece  of  patron- 
age to  let  him  have  the  other.  Of  all  the 
many  underfed,  melancholy  men  whom  Mr. 
Gritts  appointed,  I  doubt  if  there  were  one 
who  was  not  appointed  corruptly.  We  had 
consolidations  of  clerkships  to  provide  for 
his  brother-in-law,  we  had  consolidations  of 
clerkships  to  provide  for  his  cousin,  we 
had  amalgamations  to  increase  his  own 
salary,  we  had  immolations  of  juniors  on  the 
altar  of  the  country  every  day— but  I  never 
knew  the  country  to  require  the  immolation 
of  a  Gritts.  Add  to  this,  that  it  became  the 
pervading  characteristic  of  our  Department 
to  do  everything  with  intense  meanness  ;  to 
alienate  everybody  with  whom  it  had  to  deal; 
to  shuffle,  and  chaffer,  and  equivocate  ;  and  be 
shabby,  suspicious,  and  huckstering ;  and  the 
Gritts  administration  is  faithfully  described. 
Naturally  enough,  we  soon  got  round  to  Lord 
Stumpington  again,  and  then  we  came  to  Sir 
Jasper  Janus  again ;  and  so  we  have  been 
ringing  the  changes  on  the  Stumpingtons  and 
Januses,  and  each  of  them  has  been  undoing 
the  doings  of  the  other,  ever  since. 

I  am  in  a  disinterested  position,  and  wish 
to  give  the  public  a  caution.  They  will  never 
get  any  good  out  of  those  virtuous  changes 
that  are  severely  virtuous  upon  the  juniors. 
Such  changes  originate  in  the  cheapest  pa- 
triotism in  the  world,  and  the  commonest. 
The  official  system  is  upside  down,  and  the 
roots  are  at  the  top.  Begin  there,  and  the 
little  branches  will  soon  come  right 


VESUVIUS  IN  ERUPTION. 

The  stranger  who  should  walk  round  by  | 
Santa  Lucia,  in  Naples,  by  night,  would  at 
the  present  moment  be  astonished  by  seeing 
the  entire  heavens  in  the  direction  of  the 
north  lighted  up  by  a  blazing  fire.  The 
little  fishing-boats,  indicated  by  the  lights  at 
the  bows,  and  which  dart  like  fire-flies  across 
the  tranquil  sea,  are  lost:  and  even  the 
Lighthouse,  with  its  revolvmg  fires,  which 
give  courage  to  the  distant  mariner,  is  dim- 
med by  that  outburst  of  light  which  seta  the 
whole  sky  in  a  rnddy  glow..  A  path  of  fire 
lies  across  the  sea,  and  curiosity  rapidly  run- 
ning along  it,  pierces  the  mystery,  and  finds 
that  Vesuvius  has  broken  out,  and  is  filling 
the  people  with  consternation.  All  N/iples 
quickly  turns  out  to  gaze  on  this  wondrous 
spectacle.  Santa  Lucia,  the  Mola,  and  the 
Carmine,  are  thronged  with    anxious  and 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


436 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


£Coiidoetc4  hf 


awe-struck  multitades.  Should  the  night 
be  cloudy,  little  is  to  be  seeu  except  the 
lurid  clouds,  which,  like  huge  masses  of  red- 
dyed  wool,  lie  piled  one  upon  the  other  ;  but 
should  a  land  wind,  as  it  did  last  night,  sweep 
away  these  threatening  volumes  of  smoke, 
the  cone  may  be  seen  with  its  north  side 
seamed  with  fires,  and  the  stream  of  lava  may 
be  watched,  like  a  broad  crimson  ribbon,  pur- 
suing its  silent  and  almost  imperceptible 
course  down  to  the  base  of  the  mountain. 
Not  a  sound,  however,  is  to  be  heard — no 
thunder — no  distant  cannonade. 

This  eruption,  which  has  now  continued  for 
upwards  of  a  week,  broke  out  on  the  first  of 
May — the  month  when  birds  are  singing  and 
flowers  are  opening  their  bosoms  to  the  sun. 
The  well-known  guide,  Cozzolino,  reported 
early  in  the  morning  that,  on  ascending  the 
mountain,  he  had  heard  a  noise  like  thunder, 
and  that  a  new  mouth  had  been  immediately 
formed,  from  which  were  ejected  flames  and 
stones.  In  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day 
the  eruption  was  more  decided,  and,  as  night 
approached,  the  mountain  assumed  the  ap- 
pearance I  have  described.  A  grand  specta- 
cle even  at  a  distance :  how  much  grander 
must  it  be  on  the  summit! 

So  thought  I,  and  so  thought  thousands  of 
others ;  during  the  whole  of  the  night  car- 
riages were  astir  in  taking  ofl*  the  curious  to 
the  Hermitage.  For  myself,  I  did  not  go  up 
till  the  following  evening.  Carriages  were 
of  course  quadrupled  in  price  j  the  Neapoli- 
tans are  too  knowing  not  to  take  advantage 
of  any  extraordinary  incident;  and  it  was 
with  diiBculty  that  we  could  get  any  vehicle 
at  any  reasonable  price.  But  the  obstacles 
are  overcome,  and  my  friend  and  I  have  at 
length  lighted  our  cigars,  and  are  bowling 
along  the  Carmine  at  eight  o'clock  p.  m.,  at 
a  good  round  pace. 

On  getting  out  of  the  city  we  fall  into  one 
continued  line  of  carriages,  all  bent  in  one 
direction.  On  either  side  of  the  road  is  a 
crowd  of  pedestrians,  who  accompany  us 
like  a  body-guard.  Sometimes,  indeed,  they 
linger  at  the  stftlls  with  their  little  paper 
light,  to  lay  in  the  luxuries  of  the  seasou  as 
a  supply  for  the  night,  such  as  dried  peas 
and  beans,  or  melon  seed,  or  shrivelled  black 
olives,  or  nuts  in  their  several  varieties; 
and  then,  running  on  to  make  up  for  lost 
time,  shout,  or  sing,  or  utter  some  joke 
which  sets  them  all  a-laughing.  I  should  not 
be  at  all  surprised,  at  its  being  at  our  ex- 
pense, if  I  read  their  looks  and  signs  aright. 
There  is  a  species  of  etiquette  which  prevents 
carriages  of  high  degree  from  passing  one 
another  on  such  an  occasion  as  this,  ^fe  jog 
on,  therefore,  very  properly  and  orderly  for 
the  most  part,  except  when  corricoli  shoot 
by  us  like  a  mail-train.  See,— one  has  just 
passed  us  ;  the  cOachman,  a  tall,  laughing- 
looking  devil,  in  a  Phrygian  cap,  stands  up 
behind,  and  rubs  the  reins  against  the 
shoulders  of  a  fat  priest.    There  are  fifteen 


passengers,  three  of  whom  han^  in  a  net 
attached  to  the  bottom  of  the  carriage ;  and 
what  is  most  remarkable  of  all,  the  single 
horse  dashes  along  at  a  pace  which  would 
make  you  believe  that  he  could  carry  doable 
the  number.  On  arriving  at  Re&ina  we  find 
a  motley  crowd  of  guides  and  donkeys,  fac- 
chini,  and  torchbearers,  all  insisting  on  the 
necessity  of  their  services,  and  forthwith  at- 
taching themselves  to  our  persons.  *'  Let  os 
be  ofl',  let  us  be  otT,  Signore,"  says  a  sly- 
looking  rogue  ;  '*  Giacchimo  is  the  guide  for 
you  ;  I  know  every  step  of  the  way,  and  can 
lead  you  into  the  crater  if  you  will.''  *•  Bat, 
Giacchimo,  caro,"  I  argue,  *'  we  are  in  a  c»^ 
riage,  and  have  no  want  of  a  guide."  •*  Very 
well,  Signore,  I  will  get  up  at  the  back."  So 
there  he  is,  standing  between  the  spikes, 
and  here  we  are  dragging  up  through  the 
accumulation  of  fine  sand,  nearly  axle  deep 
in  the  debris  of  lava.  "  They'll  be  up  to- 
morrow morning,"  says  one.  ''Ah!"  cries 
another,  "  the  mountain  will  stop  for  then, 
of  course ;  don't  you  see  they  are  English! "' 
The  taunts  were  not  encouraging  certainly : 
so,  quickly  dismounting,  we  took  to  our 
legs. 

I  remember  feeling  almost  a  sense  of  dis- 
appointment as  we  ascended,  for  the  shape  of 
the  mountain  caused  the  cone,  with  its  mag- 
nificent display  of  fire,  to  retire  altogether 
from  our  sight  We  had  a  better  view  a: 
Naples,  I  thought ;  wiser  to  bare  remained 
there,  and  strolled  about  Santa  Lucia.  How- 
ever, there  we  were ;  another  efl'ort  and  wo 
should  see  what  we  should  see.  Torches  wen* 
blazing  all  about  us  as  we  went  on,  and  in  a 
blaze  of  light,  and  a  cloud  of  smoke  we  ar- 
rived at  the  Hermitage.  What  a  scene  of  bus- 
tle and  confusion  it  was  this  night.  Hundreds^ 
of  vehicles,  of  every  kind  of  build  under  the 
sun,  were  assembled  here,  whilst  their  tem- 
porary proprietors  and  their  various  hangers 
on,  were  spread  about  the  mountain,  or  else  | 
tending  by  a  rugged  path  in  the  direction  of 
the  cone.  Over  this  blasted  plain,  covert-u 
with  strata  of  lava,  we  followed  the  stream  o' 
people.  The  whole  cone  was  now  apparent 
to  us,  irradiating  every  object  with  it*  ruddy 
light  It  seemed  like  a  huge  giant,  whose 
side  was  seamed  with  wounds,  from  out  of 
which  poured  forth  his  very  life-blood. 
Sometimes  the  upper  new  crater  shot  np 
stones  and  flames  of  fire,  which,  rising  and 
subsiding  at  intervals,  reminded  one  of  the 
action  of  a  forge.  And  then,  from  the  other 
craters,  the  lava  gurgled  out,  which,  flowing 
down  in  two  distinct  streams,  united  at  tht 
bottom,  and  running  along  the  valley  between 
Somma  and  Vesuvius,  were  lost  to  us.  To 
solve  the  mystery  of  its  course  was  our  greai 
object,  and  we  pushed  on  through  the  crowd 
who  were  coming  and  going  until  we  saw 
them  turn  off"  sharp  to  the  left.  It  was  a  bed 
of  recent  lava  over  which  we  now  passed. 
Last  night  it  had  been  thrown  out  of  the 
bowels  of  the  mountain,  and  had  beenranniag 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Chsrles  Dtckena] 


VESUVIUS  IN  ERUPTION. 


437 


down,  a  stream  of  liviDg  Are,  and  tbongh  for  a 
moment  its  course  was  arrested,  we  had  only 
to  stoop  and  pick  up  its  loose  scoria?,  and 
find  the  fire  glowing  beneath  our  feet.  We 
lighted  our  cigars  at  it;  and  throwing  in  paper 
and  other  inflammable  materials,  created  a 
bright  flame.  What  if  this  mass  had  again 
moTed  on  ?  •  A  little  more  pressure  at  its 
source,  and  we  should  have  started  on  our 
last  trip ;  even  since  that  night  it  has  actually 
recommenced  its  journey.  To  stand  still  on 
some  spots  was  impossible,  so  excessive  was 
the  heat  and  so  strong  the  odour  of  the  sul- 
phur ;  besides,  a  certain  respect  for  our  boots 
and  our  nether  garments  kept  us  in  motion. 
The  former  we  gave  up  in  despair,  and  the 
latter  we  tucked  up  to  our  knees,  only  to  add, 
however,  one  more  to  the  many  ills  which 
flesh  is  heir  to,  for  our  legs  were  scorched. 
So  onward,  onward,  over  fissures,  breathing 
forth  flame  and  smoke — over  glowing  masses 
of  fire,  with  a  long  jump  ;  stepping  now  from 
one  piece  of  scoriiB  to  another,  like  dftinty 
cats  shod  with  nutshells  ;  until  we  stood  by 
the  glowing  river  of  lava.  It  was  an  inap- 
preciable line  which  divided  us  from  it ;  and 
it  seemed  like  a  freak  of  nature,  which  had 
split  the  bed  of  scoriaj  in  two.  and  that  so 
finely  as  to  be  imperceptible.  Grand  as  the 
spectacle  was  to  the  outward  eye,  it  was 
not  that  which  impressed  me  so  deeply  as 
the  idea  of  power  which  was  conveyed  by 
the  silent,  majestic,  irresistible  course  of  the 
miraculous  stream.  I  could  understanTl  what 
must  be  the  feelings  of  a  savage  at  seeing  a 
steam-vessel  move  over  a  sea  unruffled  by  a 
breath  of  wind,  or  a  mail-train  dashing  along 
through  fertile  plains.  Where  is  the  motive 
power?  None  but  the  Great  Spirit  could 
have  put  them  in  movement.  And  such  was 
my  feeling  as  I  looked  down  on  that  vast 
body  of  moving  liquid  fire.  Where  the  surface 
was  undisturbed  for  a  few  moments,  and  be- 
came black  as  the  surface  of  a  coal  fire,  the 
appearance  of  the  scoria3  was  as  that  of  coke 
which  had  been  well  burnt  out  j  and  the  noise 
which  was  made  by  the  pieces  rolling  over 
one  another,  was  just  like  that  of  a  load  of 
coke  being  thrown  out — with  this  difference, 
however,  that  there  was  a  continuity  in  the 
sound:  grinding,  grating,  crashing  against 
one  another — over  and  on  they  went  until 
they  arrived  at  the  brink  of  a  precipice. 

We  could  not  see,  to  a  greater  depth, 
perhaps,  than  from  forty  to  fifty  feet ;  yet  the 
grandeur  of  the  spectacle  was  indescribable. 
A  large  mountain  of  lava  accumulated  gra- 
dually until  it  rose  to  nearly  a  hundred  feet 
m  height.  The  pressure  from  behind  in- 
creased with  every  fresh  quantity  that  was 
thrown  out  from  the  distant  crater.  At 
length  it  could  no  longer  maintain  its  equi- 
librium. Small  pieces  began  to  drop  away  5 
^hen  a  fine  sand  poured  out ;  then  larger 
masses  were  detached,  disclosing,  as  it  were, 
JJf^°»outb3  of  so  many  furnaces,  which 
threw  out  a  heat  and  light   that  scorched 


and  blasted  us ;  and  then  the  whole  body 
poured  over  in  a  continuous  stream  into  the 
abyss  beneath.  Whither  it  went  or  what 
course  it  took,  was  hidden  from  the  eye, 
but  a  thick  lurid  smoke  ascended  continually, 
realising  the  most  vivid  descriptions  with 
which  poetry  or  painting  have  ever  presented 
us  of  the  infernal  regions.  The  illusion  was 
not  a  little  assisted  as  we  stood  behind  in 
the  distance  and  watched  the  groups  who 
were  standing  on  the  edge  of  the  precipice. 
Everv  line  of  their  figures  was  drawn  dis- 
tinctly on  the  lurid  smoke ;  and,  glowing  with 
the  ruddy  reflected  light,  they  appeared  like 
the  presiding  demons  of  the  scene.  Curious 
demons,  however,  many  of  theih  proved  to 
be,  and  most  unspiritually  occupied.  Some 
were  baking  eggs,  or  lighting  cigars,  or  hook- 
ing out  lava  to  stick  their  coppers  in.  Some 
had  brought  baskets — ham  and  chicken, 
and  such  like  luxuries — and  had  stowed 
themselves  away  under  a  mass  of  coke  of 
some  hundreds  weight.  Some,  again,  were 
changing  their  shirts  behind  heaps  of  cinders 
for  the  walk  up  the  mountain  had  made 
them  hot;  and  there  is  nothing  which  the 
Neapolitan  so  much  dreads  as  a  neglect  of  this 
precaution  of  changing.  Others,  again,  were 
descanting  on  what  they  had  had  for  supper. 
And  there  were  a  few,  too,  who  stood  by  me, 
who  appeared  to  be  under  the  influence  of  a 
deeper  sentiment ;  for  I  heard  them  exclaim- 
ing as  they  looked  on  the  wondrous  spectacle. 
Judgment  of  God  I  Chastisement  of  God! 
Generally,  however,  a  Neapolitan  crowd  is 
noisy,  whatever  may  be  the  cause  of  their 
getting  together,  and  there  was  laughing, 
singing,  and  shouting  enough. 

"  Birra,  birra !  who  will  have  some  beer  ?  *' 
roared  out  a  double-bass. 

"Fresh  water,  signore?"  insinuated  a 
tenor,  as  he  rattled  his  barrel.  "With  or 
without  sambuca,  signore  ?  " 

The  orange  man  and  the  man  with  cheap 
pastry,  too,  made  their  rounds  continually  ; 
and  last,  though  not  least,  the  man  with 
pieces  of  lava,  which  he  was  liberally  offering 
for  thirty  grains  each. 

*•  Thirty  grains  I  why,  you  are  mad,  my 
good  fellow ! " 

"  Well,  what  will  the  signore  give  ? " 

"Five  grains." 

"Five  grains!  Then  go  yourself  to  the 
crater,  and  expose  yourself  to  the  danger 
to  which  I  have  exposed  myself.  Five  grains, 
indeed!  ■' 

And  so  we  moved  oflT,  when  my  hero  cried, 
"  Well,  signore,  take  it  for  five  grains,  for  the 
sake  of  friendship.  And  would  the  signore 
like  to  go  up  to  the  crater? " 

"  Why,  you  have  just  told  us  that  it  would 
be  dangerous  to  go  up !  " 

"  Si,  signore,  and  so  it  would  be  without 
my  assistance  ;  but  I  know  a  path  over  the 
lava,  and  can  conduct  you  safely." 

There  were  several  parties  near  us  discuss- 
ing and  arranging  the  same  trip.  Some  were 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


opposed  to  it.  Several  persons  had  already 
bi'en  driven  baclc  bj  a  cliangc  in  the  wind, 
which  had  brought  down  upon  them  the 
clouds  of  sulphurous  smoke.  New  craters 
were  continually  opening,  and  a  fountain  of 
fire  springing  up  beneath  one*s  feet  was  not 
so  agreeable  ;  bosidep,  the  crust  of  the  moun- 
tain was  so  thin  that  it  might  fall  in  at  any 
time.  Having  struclc  our  bargain  with  our 
man,  however,  away  we  started,  over  a 
ruggpd  bed  of  lava,  for  upwards  of  a  mile. 
Plunging  and  tumbling  over  heaps  of  scoria?, 
on  we  went,  riBing  gradually  until  the  mag- 
nificent scene  began  to  open  upon  ua  in 
all  its  splendour.  On  our  left,  and  between 
us  and  the  mountain  of  Somma,  which 
was  irradiated  with  reflected  light,  ran 
a  river  of  lava,  pursuing 'its  course  to  the 
cascade  we  had  just  left ;  then  making  a 
bend  to  the  right,  till  we  got  to  the  base 
of  the  cone,  we  perceived  two  streams  of 
lava  flowing  down  its  sides,  and  uniting 
below  in  that  great  body  of  Are.  It  was  a  stiU' 
pull  through  the  Ore  and  ashes  ;  and  we  sunk 
to  the  knees  in  cinders.  Fortunately  the  wind 
was  from  us,  or  we  should  have  the  entire 
mass  of  red-hot  stones  upon  our  heads.  After 
strong  effort,  having  most  magnanimously 
refus^  the  assistance  of  our  guides,  we  stood 
by  the  edge  of  one  of  the  most  active  of  the 
new  craters.  How  many  there  are,  it  is  impos- 
sible to  say.  One  day's  report  differs  from  an- 
other, and  no  two  people  behold  the  mountain 
under  the  same  aspect,  so  continual  are  the 
changes.  I  have  heard  that  there  were  four,  and 
seven,  and  ten,  and  twenty  craters.  1  should 
prefer  saying  that  the  mountain  is  riddled 
with  craters  and  fissures,  that  it  is  like  an  in- 
verted colander,  and  that  a  stranger  is  in  doubt 
and  fear  lest  a  mouth  may  open  beneath  him 
and  swallow  him  up.  1  knew  one  party  of 
friends  who  watched  a  rotatory  motion  in  some 
smoke  ascending  from  the  ground,  which 
grew  into  a  whirlwind  of  dust  and  smoke 
and  flame,  and  then  the  earth  cracked  and 
opened,  giving  them  barely  time  to  fly.  A 
Spanish  family,  too,  were  in  Imminent  peril 
of  a  similar  accident.  However,  here  we  were 
after  our  struggle  through  the  ashes,  and  our 
catlike  walk  over  burning  scoria?,  by  one  of 
the  new  craters.  The  lava  was  running  over 
the  sides  like  a  cup  over-filled  with  treacle, 
and  it  seemed  purer,  finer,  and  more  liquid 
than  it  did  in  the  river  below.  I  explain  it 
by  the  fact  of  its  having  come  immediately 
from  the  furnace,  and  not  having,  as  yet, 
been  exposed  to  the  action  of  the  air.  There 
were  other  tributary  streams  more  towards 
the  back  of  the  mountain,  but  only  two  main 
streams  flowed  into  the  valley,  and  nothing 
could  be  more  beautiful  than  their  move- 
ment. As  the  descent  was  rapid,  they 
flowed  down  like  water,  their  surface,  like 
that  of  a  crisped  lake,  being  ruffled  with 
gentle  undulations.  Near  the  base  of  the 
cone  they  united,  and  then  they  ran  along  in 
one  great  some  thing— for  no  word  can  describe 


it — until  they  shot  over  the  precipice.  From 
our  stapding-placc  we  had  a  view  of  its  entire 
course  until  it  was  lost  below,  and  never  can  I 
forget  that  semicircle  of  fire  which  half  girdled 
us  about.  So  many  were  the  mouths,  either 
opened  or  opening,  that  attention  beeaoM 
distracted  amon;^t  them.  Some  fizzed  and 
smoked,  others  flamed,  others  threw  Btones. 
(though  not  large  ones,)  to  a  great  height,  and 
some  of  these  fell  over  as.  The  noLse  near  the 
surface  was  as  the  sound  of  many  forges  at 
work,  but  deep  in  the  bowels  of  the  mouotain 
it  sounded  like  acontinued  distant  cannonade, 
whilst  the  ground  vibrated  and  shook  be- 
neath us,  as  if  every  fresh  effort  must  ppHt  it 
open.  Yet  there  was  a  fascination  in  the 
scene  which  was  irresistible;  and  still  we 
stood  by  the  boiling  caldron,  fixed  as  the 
bird  by  the  eye  of  the  serpent.  Like  a 
copper  cauldron,  too,  it  appeared :  glowing  at 
the  rim  and  edges  with  red  heat«  In 
the  background,  piled  up  against  the  d:y, 
were  mountains  of  lurid  clouds,  full  of  sul- 
phurous exhalations  and  everything  deadly 
and  destructive  to  human  life.  A  change 
of  wind  had  driven  them  back,  and  they 
hung  suspended ;  but  if  another  change  of 
wind  had  taken  place  on  this  inconstant,  fitful 
night,  we  must  have  fallen  dead  on  the  spot. 

As  we  descended,  we  gazed  back  continu- 
ally on  the  scene.  There  has  since  been 
a  cordon  of  soldiers  drawn  across  the  moun- 
tain, not  far  from  the  Hermitage,  and  no  one 
is  permitted  to  pass  beyond.  The  ground 
is  riddled  with  boles ;  ail  the  upper  part  of 
the  mountain,  including  the  cone  and  the 
ground  around  it  is  like  a  sponge  or  a  col- 
ander. The  crust  breaks  continually  beneath 
the  feet,  and  the  expectation  is  that  the  whole 
of  the  upper  part  of  the  mountain  will  fall  in. 
Should  such  a  crash  come,  it  is  impossible  to 
calculate  what  the  conseqnences  may  be, 
immediate  and  remote.  The  ruin  and  suf- 
fering it  may  involve — the  altered  aspect  of 
the  country — a  lake  where  there  is  now  a 
picturesque  cone — the  possible  change  in 
the  climate  of  Naples  when  the  bulwark 
against  the  easterly  wind  is  removed, — all 
these  are  pure  speculations  as  yet ;  mean- 
while the  lava  is  spreading  ruin  far  and  wide 
over  the  lower  parts  of  the  mountain,  down 
amongst  smiling  vineyards  and  perfumed 
bean  fields,  folding  cottages  and  palaces  in  its 
fiery  embraces,  and  filing  the  inhabitants 
of  a  populous  district  with  consteruatioo. 
More  of  this,  however,  in  another  article. 

On  going  down  the  mountain,  we  met  the 
king  and  the  royal  family,  encircled  by 
guards,  and  lighted  by  blazing  torchea  It 
was  near  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and 
yet  the  tens  of  thousands  of  people  who  were 
coming  and  going,  gave  the  scene  the  appear- 
ance of  a  iair.  Perhaps  the  women  and 
the  children  outnumbered  the  men.  There 
were  troops  of  the  fair  sex  without  any 
escort,  and  babies  innumerable  in  arms.  In 
short,  a  madness  had  seized  on  every  one, 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CbATlfls  Dickenc] 


STRICTLY  FINANCIAL. 


439 


and  no  wonder,  for  the  spectacle  is  grand 
and  terrific  in  the  extremtf.  What  a  contrast 
it  was  as  we  turned  our  backs  on  the  flames 
and  rattled  down  the  mountain !  The  moon, 
which  had  been  a  nullity  all  night,  began  to 
assert  her  power  ;  softly  and  faintly  her  beams 
fell  on  the  8oa  beneath  us,  bringing  into  a 
spectral  kind  of  life  the  beautiful  coast,  and 
the  i}*lands  looming  up  coldly  in  the  distance. 
The  day  was  beginning  to  dawn,  Portici  was 
peached,  and  we  approached  the  Carmine. 
Here  and  there  an  early  calfe  had  opened  its 
doors,  and  slipshod,  uncombed,  unshaven  men 
were  serving  out  the  precious  cup  of  black 
coffee  to  sleepy  customers.  The  sambuca  and 
Fpirf t  boys  were  also  in  movement,  why  should 
they  not  dispenj^e  their  liquid  fires  as  well  as 
the  mouutaiu  ?  Just  in  the  gray  of  the  morn- 
ing, too,  were  perceptible  the  small  white  sails 
bringing  in  tbe  fish  for  the  morning's  market; 
and  so,  one  after  another,  wokt;  up  every  com- 
ponent part  of  the  vast  mass  of  human  life. 


STRICTLY  FINANCIAL. 

For  more  than  two  years  we  have  been 
indulging  in  a  hope  of  relief  from  the 
high  duties  on  the  produce  of  foreign  vine- 
yards. Ever  since  we  waded  through  the 
ponderous  blue  volumes  containing  the  evi- 
dence given  before  the  wine  committee  in 
eighteen  hundred  and  fifty-two,  a  portion  of 
which  we  eml>odied  in  an  article*  at  the 
time,  we  have  lived  in  the  expectation  of  a 
one-shilling  duty  from  the  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer. 

We  confeFS  that,  although  not  picturing 
John  Smith  of  London  suddenly  abandoning 
brown  stout  for  Romance  Conti  or  Clos 
Vongeot,  Hollands  for  Chateau  Lafitte,  or 
three-and-fourpenny  mixed  for  sparkling 
Moselle  at  the  breakfast-table,  we  certainly 
did  indulge  in  dreams  of  shrimps  and  Sau- 
tcrne  at  Gravesend,  of  water-cresses  and 
Frontignao  at  Ilampton  Court,  and  of  cool- 
ing libations  of  Pomys  Medoc  on  a  hot 
August  afternoon  at  Heme  Bay.  These 
pleasant  imaginings  have  been  scattered  to 
the  winds  by  Sir  Emerson  Tennent,  of  the 
Board  of  Trade,  who,  in  a  bookf  just  pub- 
lished, has  shown  how  little  hope  there  is  left 
for  us  on  this  score. 

Like  Sancho  Panza  at  the  memorable  ban- 
quet, we  have  been  sitting  down  to  the  anti- 
cipated enjoyment  of  a  long  array  of  good 
things,  only  to  see  them  one  by  one  borne 
away  at  tbe  inexorable  fiat  of  our  Board  of 
Trade  physician.  Casting  our  eyes  on  a 
bottle  of  exquisite  Tokay,  and  mentally  in- 
quiring if  it  be  really  a  luxury,  or,  as  some 
maintain,  only  a  necessary,  our  relentless 
guardian  waves  his  thin  volume  of  azure 
blue,  repeats  the  cabalistic  words  Pitt  and 
Iluskisson,  and  the  coveted  beverage  dis- 

•  Really  a  Tcmperanco  Qurslion.    No.  142. 
t  Wine,  its  L'se  and  Taxation.     Madden. 


appears  across  the  British  Channel.  We  re- 
gard a  flagon  of  brilliant  Rousillon  with  the 
eyes  of  a  thirsty  man,  and  fancy  it  is  already 
ours,  when,  lo  I  Sir  Emerson  mutters  some- 
thing about  popular  prejudice  and  national 
taste,  and  the  vessel  melts  into  thin  air.  We 
turn  to  a  flask  of  the  veritable  Xeres,  from 
Spain  ;  but,  as  we  stretch  forth  our  hand  to 
seize  it,  hear  the  same  voice  exclaim,  **  Malt- 
duty  and  hops,"  and  we  are  again  disap- 
pointed. We  make  a  last  desperate  eflfort 
for  a  bottle  of  light  Italian  wine,  with  a 
bright  Inscious  look  and  a  soft  liquid  name  ; 
but,  once  more,  our  physician  interposes  with 
the  fatal  words,  British  and  colonial  spirit 
duties,  and  we  are  left  in  despair.  It  is  in 
vain  that  we  protest  against  this  scurvy  treat- 
ment, and  insist  that  the  whole  thing  is 
purely  a  temperance  and  social  question.  Onr 
political  physician  replies  that  it  is  a  strictly 
nnancial  question. 

We  have  been  endeavouring  to  fight 
against  this  terrible  conclusion,  but  find  the 
facts  and  arguments  ranged  against  us  by 
Sir  Emerson  are  overwhelming  ;  and  for  the 
present  we  confess  to  being  beaten.  In  other 
words,  whilst  the  great  desirableness  of  ad- 
mitting foreign  wines  for  consumption  in 
this  country  at  the  almost  nominal  duty  of 
one  shilling  per  gallon  in  place  of  the  pre- 
sent duty  of  five  shillings  and  ninepence,  is 
not  denied,  it  is  shown  clearly  enough  that 
the  step  cannot  be  taken  without  dealing 
with  other  taxes  of  a  similar  nature  ;  that  if 
we  confer  a  boon  on  the  British  consumer 
and  the  foreign  wine-grower,  we  cannot  do 
so  without  a  proportionate  concession  to  the 
British  and  colonial  distillers,  the  brewers, 
the  maltsters,  and  tbe  hop-growei^s.  And, 
inasmuch  as  the  present  revenue  derived 
from  all  these  sources  amounts  to  nineteen 
millions  sterling,  it  will  be  manifestly  impos- 
sible for  some  time  to  come  to  interfere  with 
so  large  a  portion  of  the  national  income. 
Here  we  feel  at  once  the  financial  evils  of 
war — be  it  ever  so  just  or  needful.  While 
war  lasts  dear    inc  will  last  also. 

We  state  this  with  no  little  reluctance  and 
considerable  disappointment.  The  perusal 
of  Doctor  Ilassell'a  book  on  Food  and  its 
Adulterations  has  materially  quickened  our 
vinous^  predilections.  Coflfee,  that  was  once 
our  pride — tea,  that  was  our  solace — stout, 
in  which  once  upon  a  time  we  placed  such 
implicit  faith,  have  become  suspected  abomi- 
nations—  embodiments  of  vile  drugs  and 
insidious  chemicals.  We  turned  from  the 
contemplation  of  green  vitriol,  gypsum, 
arseniatc  of  copper,  black  lead,  catechu  and 
cocculus  indicus,  to  a  mental  survey  of  the 
sunny  slopes  of  Burgundy,  the  green,  warm 
banks  of  the  Rhone,  the  vine-clad  heights  of 
the  Alto  Douro,  rich  in  all  that  can  gladden 
the  heart  and  invigorate  the  frame  of  man. 
We  had  hoped  that  all  this  was  within  our 
reach  on  greatly  reduced  terms,  but  find  that 
it  cannot  be  so  for  reasons  strictly  financial. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


440 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[COBdoCtbl^ 


Iq  deducing  this  result,  the  author  of  this 
little  blue  book  has  skilfully  grouped  to- 
gether some  interesting  facts  Ix'aring  on  the 
consumption  of  beverages  in  this  and  other 
countries.  It  is  bhown  that  the  population 
of  Great  Britain  and  France  consume  almost 
precisely  the  same  aggregate  quantity  of 
wineSj  spirits,  and  beer — namely,  twenty-two 
gallons  for  the  latter  and  twenty-two  gallons 
and  a-half  for  the  former  per  annum  per  per- 
son. These  quantities,  however,  arc  made  up 
of  widely-disproportionate  elements.  The 
particular  consuming  powers  of  each  popula- 
tion amount,  for  every  Frenchman,  to  nine- 
teen gallons  of  wine,  two  gallons  and  a-half 
of  beer,  and  half  a  gallon  of  spirits  ;  for  every 
Englishman,  Scotchman,  and  Irishman,  a 
quarter  of  a  gallon  of  wine,  twenty-one 
gallons  and  a  quarter  of  beer,  and  one 
gallon  of  spirits.  In  this  country,  then,  it  is 
evident  that  beer  takes  the  place  which  wine 
holds  in  France.' Yet  it  must  not  be  lost  sight 
of,  that,  whilst  we  are  so  anxious  to  procure 
the  cheap  light  wines  of  France,  they,  in  their 
turn,  are  becoming  more  attached  to  malt 
liquor.  Large  breweries  are  fast  multiplying 
in  Paris  and  other  principal  cities,  and  the 
imports  of  beer  from  Great  Britain  are  greatly 
on  the  increase.  Something  of  this  may  no 
doubt  be  caused  by  the  prevalence  of  the 
vine  disease  in  the  wine  districts  of  France, 
and  the  consequent  small  vintages. 

Comparing  our  consumption  of  other  beve- 
rages, such  as  tea  and  cotfee,  it  will  be  seen 
that  whilst  the  population  of  this  country 
consume  at  the  rate  of  three  pounds  and  a 
half  of  the  foregoing  articles,  in  France  the 
consumption  of  the  same  amounts  to  but  one 
pound  and  three-quarters  per  head.  It  is  at 
the  same  time  gratifying  to  find  that  whilst 
the  average  consumption  in  this  country  of 
tea  and  coffee  since  eighteen  hundred  and 
thirty-five  has  increased  by  nearly  fifty  per 
cent.,  the  aggregate  of  spirits,  wine,  and  beer 
has  fallen  from  twenty-five  and  a-hulf  to 
twenty-two  and  a-half  gallons  for  each  indi- 
vidual. During  the  period  of  the  great  Ex- 
hibition in  eighteen  hundred  and  fifty-one, 
it  was  expected,  and  with  some  reason,  that 
the  demand  for  spirituous  and  fermented 
drinks  would  prove  greatly  in  excess  of 
former  seasons.  The  actual  result  was  pre- 
cisely the  reverse  of  this — the  consumption 
for  the  first  eight  months  of  eighteen  hun- 
dred and  fifty-one  having  been  considerably 
below  that  of  previous  years. 

Returning  to  the  subject  of  wine,  it  is  ap- 
parent that  the  taste  for  this  article  varies 
very  considerably  in  different  countries.  In 
France,  the  consumption  of  Paris  and  other 
large  towns  is  given  as  about  twenty-seven 
gallons  each  person,  and  in  the  country  dis- 
tricts sixteen  gallons.  In  other  countries 
that  are  non-producers  of  wine,  the  use  of  it 
is  not  much  greater,  and  often  still  more 
limited,  than  in  England.  "WTailst  we  con- 
sume at  the  rate  of  one  quart  each  person 


annually,  with  a  high  duty,  Belgium,  with  a 
nominal  duty  of  one  penny  a  gallon,  uses  kt 
three  bottles  per  head.  In  IloUand,  wine  h 
free  of  all  duty  in  the  cask,  and  pays  but  two- 
pence the  gallon  in  bottle  ;  yet  there,  sontar 
to  the  finest  wine  countries,  the  individual 
consumption  is  but  one  pint.  In  Norway,  wp 
find  a  similar  low  demand,  with  a  duly  of 
sixteen-x)ence  a  gallon.  In  Sweden,  the  dutr 
is  a  little  higher,  and  the  consumption  ooe- 
twelfth  of  a  gallon  per  head.  Denmark,  with 
the  low  duty  of  seven-pence  halfpenny  lb? 
gallon,  takes  about  the  same  quantity  as  oa^ 
selves.  Russia,  with  less  than  half  our  dutj. 
consumes  half-a-pint;  whilst  in  the  Unittd 
States,  whore  the  duty  is  equal  to  eighteen- 
pence  a  gallon,  the  individual  consumption 
is  under  a  quart. 

There  is  a  singular  fact  connected  with  tlie 
consumption  of  wine  in  France.  In  Pari?, 
the  various  duties  and  licenses  levied  on  wine?* 
bring  up  the  amount  levied  to  about  the  same 
as  our  present  import  duty  ;  yet  we  find  Ibe 
individual  consumption  in  that  city  amouDt? 
to  twenty-seven  gallons  yearly,  giving  a 
higher  average  than  that  for  the  rest  of  Ibe 
country.  But  this  proves  nothing  more  be- 
yond the  fact  that  there  is  more  money  afloat 
in  the  capital  of  every  nation  than  in  its  pro- 
vinces ;  and  that  much  of  it  will  be  spent  in 
social  enjoyment,  whatever  the  cost. 

France  produced  on  an  average,  before  the 
ravages  of  the  vine  disease,  upwards  of  nine 
hundred  millions  of  gallons  of  wine,  worth, 
on  an  average,  sixpence-halfpenny  a  gallon, 
— about  equal  to  our  common  beers.  Bui  this 
produce  varies  greatly  in  quality.  About 
one-sixth  of  the  whole  may  be  called  good ; 
another  sixth  may  be  considered  as  middling: 
a  third  of  the  vintage  will  be  inferior ;  whilst 
the  remaining  third  embraces  all  kinds  of 
low,  poor  wines,  between  bad  and  dettsl- 
ablc. 

Of  her  wines,  France  regularly  exports 
thirty-two  millions  of  gallons  ;  whilst  about 
two  hundred  millions  of  gallons  are  employed 
in  the  distillation  of  brandy,  to  the  extent  of 
twenty-five  millions  of  gallons.  Of  this  quan- 
tity, ten  millions  of  gallons  are  exported, 
leaving  fifteen  millions  for  use,  of  which  a 
large  quantity  is  employed  in  fortifying 
wines  for  shipment  abroad,  leaving  less  than 
half  a  gallon  for  individual  consumption.  In 
this  country,  brandy  forms  but  a  trifling it^in 
amongst  the  spirits  consumed,  bardj  a  fif- 
teenth. Omitting  that  article,  and  taking 
only  colonial  and  British  spirits  it  has  been 
shown  that  the  relative  individual  use  of 
these  in  the  three  kingdoms  ranges  from  ha" 
a  gallon  in  England,  to  more  than  three- 
quarters  of  a  gallon  in  Ireland,  and  above 
two  gallons  and  a  half  in  Scotland  j  and  sup- 
posing the  use  of  spirits  to  be  confined  to 
adult  males,  the  figures  would  stand  thus  :— 
England,  two  gallon^  ;  Ireland,  three  gallons 
and  a  half;  Scotland,  eleven  gallons. 

If  the  question  of  reducing  the  duty  on 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CharlM  Dickens.] 


STRICTLY  FINANCIAL. 


Ul 


forei^  wines  were  simply  a  matter  of  sapplj, 
quantity  onlj  being  considered,  the  advocates 
of  a  redaction  would  find  an  abundance  of 
figures  to  support  their  case.  We  have  already 
observed  that  France  has  been  in  the  habit 
of  producing  above  nine  hundred  millions  of 
gallons  yearly.  Austria  makes  annually  five 
hundred  millions  of  gallons.  Portugal  yields 
one  hundred  and  fifty  millions;  Spain,  a 
hundred  and  twenty  millions:  Prussia  and 
other  German  States,  fortv-nve  millions; 
Maderia  and  Sicily,  four  millions.  Here  there 
is  an  aggregate  of  upwards  of  two  thousand 
millions  of  gallons ;  besides  which,  we  are 
told  that  there  are  still  immense  tracts  of 
land  in  the  wine-producing  countries  capable 
of  vine  cultivation. 

Unfortunately, however,  quality  has  to  be 
considered  as  an  important  element  in  the 
calculation  ;  and  keeping  that  in  view,  we 
are  driven  to  results  directly  opposed  to  what 
we  might  have  expected  on  a  fost  view  of  the 
subject.  Setting  aside  the  extremely  con- 
flicting evidence  as  to  the  probability  of  suc- 
ceeding in  so  augmenting  the  demand  for 
foreign  wines,  under  a  low  duty,  as  to  realise 
an  equal  amount  of  duty  with  the  present, 
and  which  may  well  be  doubted — at  least  for 
many  a  long  period — we  come  to  the  question 
as  to  the  obtaining  the  needful  quantity,  of  a 
quality  adapted  to  English  palates. 

Surelv  a  sufficient  portion  of  the  nine  hun- 
dred millions  of  gallons  yearly  made  in  France 
could  be  spared  for  us.  Surely  the  peerless 
vintages  of  the  Marne  and  the  Gironde,  the 
medium  vineyards  along  both  banks  of  the 
Rhone,  from  Js^re  to  Vaucluse,  and  the  more 
humble  produce  of  the  Garonne,  Herault,  and 
Uie  Oriental  Pyrenees,  can  be  made  to  yield 
us  a  sufiicient  supply  of  good  sound  wine. 
This  is  debateable  ground.  There  was  evi- 
4ence  enough  given  before  the  Wine  Com- 
mittee to  show  that  all  this  could  be  accom- 
plished ;  but  according  to  the  statement 
before  us,  which  appears  to  be  carefully  col- 
lected, and  thrown  together  in  a  masterly 
manner,  we  should  fail  to  obtain  the  supply 
of  wine  from  France  of  a  suitable  character  ; 
whilst  any  large  quantity  taken  would  have 
the  effect  of  raising  the  first  cost  of  the 
article  more  than  equal  to  the  reduction  of 
the  duty. 

We  turn  next  to  Austria  and  Italy,  full  of 
hope  ;  but  there  again  are  disappointed.  The 
bulk  of  their  wines  are  either  too  costly  to 
benefit  by  a  low  duty,  or  too  poor  to  meet 
any  favour  witii  a  people  so  long  accustomed 
to  the  fortified  wines  of  *Spain  and  Portugal. 
The  Peninsula,  then,  is  evidently  our  resting- 
place — our  forlorn  hope.  There,  we  were 
told  in  eighteen  hundred  and  fifty-two,  are  to 
^  found  sherries  of  marveljous  quality, — 
ports  of  surpassing  richness,  well  suited  to 
our  tastes,  and  equally  adapted  to  our  pockets. 
Our  author  is  once  more  against  us  in 
opinion  and  fact.  That  there  is  an  abundance 
of  good  wines  in  both  countries,  though  not 


nearly  equal  to  what  has  been  stated,  is  not 
questioned ;  but  the  great  distance  of  the 
majority  of  the  wine  districts  of  Spain  from 
sea-ports,  the  absence  of  roads,  the  want  of 
coopers  and  casks,  added  to  the  use  of  skins 
on  mules'  backs  for  conveying  wines,  which 
destroy  their  flavour,  all  preclude  the  hope 
of  gaining  any  sensible  supply  from  Spain, 
until  an  Industrial  revolution  shall  nave 
taken  place  in  that  benighted  land.  Under 
the  most  favourable  circumstances,  the  two 
kingdoms  might  between  them  furnish  four- 
teen million  gallons  of  wines, — but  a  small 
portion  of  what  would  be  needed  under  the 
new  order  of  things. 

Turning  once  more  to  France,  we  find,  at 
the  present  moment,  a  state  of  things  in  rela- 
tion to  the  wine  trade  which  of  itself  is  quite 
sufficient,  without  any  other  cause,  to  put  out 
of  reach,  for  a  long  period,  the  realisation  of 
our  hopes  in  respect  of  cheap  wines  in  abun- 
dant quantities.  Between  eighteen  hundred 
and  forty-eight  and  eighteen  hundred  and 
fifty-one,  there  was  a  succession  of  disastrous 
vintages  throughout  the  greater  part  of  the 
French  wine  districts.  From  eighteen  hun- 
dred and  fifty-two  to  the  present  year,  the 
vine  disease  has  committed  fearful  havoc, 
and  the  stocks  of  wine,  diminished  in  quan- 
tity, and  greatly  lowered  in  quality,  have 
been  reduced  to  the  lowest  ebb.  whilst  prices, 
affected  by  these  combined  causes,  have 
reached  unheard-of  prices.  In  eighteen  hun- 
dred and  forty-eight,  the  total  yield  of  all 
the  French  vineyards  was  above  eleven  hun- 
dred millions  of  gallons :  in  eighteen  hundred 
and  fifty-four,  it  has  fallen  to  two  hundred 
and  thirty  millions.  The  export  of  wines, 
during  the  same  period,  has  declined  to  one- 
half,  and  that  of  brandv,  from  seven  millions 
of  gallons,  in  eighteen  hundred  and  fifty-two, 
to  three  millions  of  gallons  in  last  year. 

A  still  more  striking  proof  of  the  lowness 
of  the  French  supply  of  wines  is  to  be  found 
in  the  fact  of  France  becoming  a  considerable 
importer  of  wine  and  t^pirits  from  other 
countries.  In  eighteen  hundred  and  fifty-two, 
France  imported  seventy-six  thousand  gallons 
of  forei;?n  wines  ;  last  year  she  took  upwards 
of  two  millions  of  gallons.  During  the  same 
period,  her  imports  of  foreign  spirits  rose 
from  less  than  three  hundred  thousand  gal- 
lons to  upwards  of  a  million  gallons.  For 
some  years  to  come,  then,  this  terrible 
scourge  of  the  vineyards  will,  we  fear,  place 
the  realisation  of  our  hopes  out  of  the  ques- 
tion; and,  at  all  times,  its  possible  recurrence 
must  form  a  serious  element  in  our  calculations. 

Before  concluding,  we  will  remark  that 
tobacco  forms  a  remarkable  exception  to  the 
rule  of  high  taxation  discouraging  consump- 
tion. Whilst  wine  feels  the  effect  of  a  duty 
equal  to  three  hundred  per  cent,  on  Its  value, 
tobacco,  in  spite  of  the  duty  amounting  to 
twelve  hundred  per  cent  on  its  cost,  has 
increased,  from  an  average  consumption  of 
I  less  than  twelve  ounces  per  head,  in  eighteen 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


442 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[C«MrfDetc4^ 


hundred  and  twenty-one,  to  not  quite  seren- 
teen  ounces  per  head  in  eighteen  hundred 
and  fifty-one.  This  has  taken  place  concur- 
rently with  a  decided  decrease  in  the  use  of 
ardent  spirits ;  and  it  is  worthy  of  note  that 
Lane,  the  annotator  of  the  Arabian  Nights, 
and  Layard,  the  explorer  of  Assyria,  state, 
as  the  result  of  their  observations,  **  that  the 
growth  of  the  use  of  tobacco  amongst  oriental 
nations  has  gradually  reduced  the  resort  to 
intoxicating  beverages." 

FRENCH  LOVE. 

I  HAVE  seen  a  French  lover.  I  have  even 
watched  the  process  of  French  love-making, 
and  traced  the  course  of  an  affaire  from  its 
birth  to  its  decay.  Which  thing  hath  not 
been  given  to  every  Anglo-Saxon.  It  was  a 
curious  study  ;  almost  worth  a  woman's 
heart-ache  to  master.  So  at  least  I,  not  being 
the  sufferer,  felt  during  this  psychological 
experience.  Harriet  was  probably  of  a  dif- 
ferent opinion  ;  for  few  like  to  learn  patho- 
logy by  their  own  ailments,  or  to  study 
human  nature  by  their  own  sufferings. 

A  French  love  affair  is  the  most  scientific 
matter  in  the  world.  It  can  be  reduced  to  as 
positive  rules  as  an  Aristotelian  drama,  and 
follows  as  certain  a  course  of  progressive 
development  as  an  historical  essay  or  a  three- 
volumcd  novel.  It  has  a  beginning,  a  middle, 
and  an  end,  all  distinctly  planned  and  fore- 
seen :  and  combinations  of  feelings  and  cir- 
cumstances are  previsionally  arranged  and 
deliberately  "  played  for,"  as  If  a  love  affair 
were  a  game  of  chess,  where  all  was  science 
and  nothing  chance.  Consequently  it  is  not 
impulsive  in  its  action,  like  a  Spanish,  or 
even  an  English,  matter  of  the  kind ;  it  is 
purely  mathematical,  and  requires  a!s  keen  an 
intellect  to  manage  properly  as  the  conduct 
of  an  army  or  the  leadership  of  a  party. 

No  French  lover  who  understands  what  he 
is  about  is  precipitate.  He  is  aa  deliberate 
and  cautious  in  love  as  he  is  passionate  and 
inconsequential  in  politics.  The  man  who 
would  organise  a  revolution  because  he  dis- 
approved of  the  court  liveries,  would  spend 
months  in  planning  the  surprise  of  certain 
minute  evidences  of  interest  which  an  Anglo 
Saxon  would  demand  bluntly  in  a  few  days, 
and  think  very  little  of  when  obtained.  A 
faded  rose,  a  crumpled  ribbon,  exalta  a 
Frenchman  into  the  highest  realms  of  bliss. 
To  see  him  with  such  a  token  in  his  posses- 
sion, one  would  believe  that  he  had  attained 
the  extreme  point  of  human  happiness,  and 
that  nothing  now  was  left  to  fate  or  the 
future.  And  it  is  so.  His  opening  has  given 
him  the  game.  An  Englishman  would  neither 
feel  such  security  nor  show  such  raptures  if 
all  the  preliminaries  had  been  signed,  and 
mammas  and  aunts  were  "  agreeable ;"  for 
we  are  generally  chary  of  our  emotional  ex- 
pressions, and  few  of  us  think  love  suflScient 
cause  for  madness. 


A  Frenchman's  love  will  live  on  food  as 
unsubstantial  ae  the  cameleon's.    The  colour 
of  his  lady's  hair  will  ke^  it  in  good  condi- 
tion for  a  month  ;  the  perfume  she  affects,  tlie 
turn  of  her  Up,  the  pink  nail  with  its  half- 
moon,  the  delicate  finger,  her  smile,  and  tbe 
little  foot  so  neat  and  shapely — nay,  even  the 
ribbons  she  prefers,  her  shawl,  and  her  bonnet 
— will  be  as  robust  diet  as  it  will  need  in  the 
earlier  days  of  its  existence.    You  will  never 
meet  a  French  lover  among  the  educated 
classes,  who  has  not  made  an  artistic  study 
of  his   mistress,  and  who  does   not  Imow 
every  line  of  her  face,  and  every  change 
of  her  countenance.     He  would  be  only  a 
bungling  journeyman  else,  incapable  of  all  the 
fine  work  of  his  profession.    But  this  gives  a 
certain  poetic  charm  to  a  woman's  intercourse 
with  him,  which  few  fail  to  appreciate ;  ap- 
pealing as  it  does  to  that  vague  sentim^it 
which  all  women  possess,  and  the  want  of 
which  they  so  sadly  complain  of  in  men  of 
business  and  of  actual  life.  Thus  then  the  first 
step  in  French  love  making  is  artistic  admira- 
tion.the  profound  knowledge  of  every  personal 
peculiarity  sliding  into  the  respectful  adora- 
tion of  a  devotee,  and  the  spiritual  apprecia- 
tion of  a  poet.  It  is  a  long  slow  step,  bat  sure 
and  irremovable.  Every  day  sees  the  smallest 
possible  advance  in  his  suit ;  but  everyday  is 
an  advance.  As  nothing  is  left  to  chance,  the 
progress  of  each  week  is  mapped  out  months 
ago:   and  what   he  will  have  dared,  and 
what  obtained,  by  such  and  such  a  time,  is 
as  definitely  arranged  as  the  manceuvres  of  a 
squadron.    He  seldom  deceives  himself ;  and 
seldomer   fails  by  undue  familiarity.    His 
lady-love  is  a  saint  that  he  worships  Chinese 
fashion — kneeling,  but  ever  advancing  nearer 
to  her  shrine ;  the  means  of  humility  giving 
him  the  end  of  success.    He  instals  her  like  a 
godded  that  he  may  reverence  while  conquer- 
ing. He  makes  her  feel  that  to  understand  her 
aright  is  his  business;  that  he  has  not  a  tJbougfat 
nor  a  wish  distinct  fh)m  her ;  that  her  happi- 
ness is  the  one  unfailing  endeavour  of  his  life ; 
her  love  the  one  adored  hope  of  his  heart 
Absent,  his  every  thought  belongs  to  her; 
present,  his  whole    being   is   merged   and 
f\ised  into  hers.    He  becomes  her  own  best 
interpreter    to   herself;    for    these    Iovcts 
are  wonderful  readers  of  character — with 
perceptive    faculties   almost  like  clairvoy- 
ance.    Not   a   glance    but   he   reads   and 
replies  to;   not  a  smile  but  has  its  mean- 
ing, such    as  she  herself  perhaps  did  not 
half  understand ;  not  a  word  but  receives  its 
amplification  and  the  revealing  of  its  myste- 
rious import.    He  impresses  on  her  that  he 
reads  the  hidden  secrets  of  her  heart  and 
brain,  and  that,  to  be  understood  in  half  her 
beauty,  she  nvist  be  interpreted  by  him.  Antf, 
as  no  woman  lives  on  this  earth  who,  at 
some  time  of  her  life,  does  not  think  herself 
(if  she  thinks  at  all),  misunderstood  and 
unappreciated   as   no   woman   was    before 
her,  this  peculiar  tact  and  power  of  the 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


rlcaDickMM.] 


FRENCH  LOVE. 


443 


3zich  loyer  generally  carries  all  before 
d.  For  it  is  so  sweet  to  be  under- 
odf  aad  yet  idealised — to  have  all  that 
3e8t  in  her  magnified  and  exalted,  and  to 
!  herself  in  a  mirror  that  blots  oat  all 
"ects  and  heightens  all  beauties.  It  is  so 
llcious  to  hear  those  dumb  inarticulate 
►ughts  of  ours,  struggling  confusedly  within 
r  brains,  brought  forth  and  set  in  due 
ipe  and  order  bv  one  who  makes  himself 
t  hierophant  of  the  mysteries  of  our  being ; 

0  interprets  us  so  as  to  make  us  almost  a 
iv  creation.  Talk  of  flattery  I  Our  coarse 
rsonal  compliments  deserve  as  little  to  be 
led  so  by  the  side  of  this  supreme  essence 
flattery,  as  an  Irish  stew  to  l^  called  cook- 
r  by  the  side  of  the  carte  of  the  Maison 
r^e.  No  flattery  can  equal  in  subtile 
tency  that  which  takes  the  form  of 
ritual  interpretation — which  reveals  to  us 
le  w  self  superior  in  beauty  and  goodness  to 
it  outer  husk  which  the  uninitiated  only  see 
i/rhlch  heightens,  glorifies,  idealises,  vet 
^serves  our  individuality,  and  which  makes 
our  own  embodiment  of  the  beautiful  and 
i  ^ood.  This  is  French  flattery.  It  is 
mncndable  for  its  wisdom  and  ingenuity, 
say  the  least  of  it. 

To  exalt  his  mistress  in  her  own  eyes,  yet 
iv  to  hold  himself  higher  than  she — a  hero 
[nl>ling  his  strength  before  beauty — this  is 
i  flrst  great  success  on  the  French  chess- 
ird.  Pride  in  h^r  lover,  pleased  vanity  in 
-self,  dumb  greatness  made  articulate,  and 
lied  beauty  brought  to  light — what  more 

1  tbe  soul  of  woman  need,  to  lure  her  to  the 
ar  of  her  own  sacrifice — to  the  place  of  her 
n  bondage  ? 

Vh  en  this  heroic  love  and  spiritual  devotion 
70  been  carried  out  to  their  sufficient  limit, 
1  when  monotony  would  soon  begin  to  take 
t  place  of  constancy,  the  French  lover  ad- 
aces  another  step.  He  offers  pleasures  in 
ice  of  spiritualities.  Flowers — even  if 
nparatively  a  poor  man — winter  bouquets 
five  francs,  or  more ;  violets,  bonbons,  a 
diniire,  or  flowers  in  pots.  On  New  Year's 
f  his  expenditure  must  be  magnificent :  not 
getting  the  servants ;  above  all  the  femme 
chambre,  if  he  wishes  to  be  considered 
nme  il  faut,  and  un  vral  Monsieur.  For 
^anta  have  vast  influence  in  France. 
Fta  are  necessities  in  French  love-making : 
ucmber  this  my  brother  Englishman,  ye 
o  would  attempt  Gallic  successes,  and  who 
uld  hear  yourselves  called  gentils  and  char- 
mtg,  by  Gallic  lips :  make  presents  above 
things,  and  begin  with  bouquets  and 
obons.  Then  come  gaities.  Theatres,  balls, 
r^s,  petit  soupers,  and  petit  coupes,  all  in 
e  order  and'succesaion :  also  in  due  propor- 
>n  to  the  rank  of  the  contracting  parties ; 
r  a  marquise  and  a  grisette  would  be  wooed 
Herently  of  course.  And  now  the  divinity 
respectfully  idolised,  begins  the  life  of  a 
Leen  dowered  with  gaiety  and  gladness. 
>  the  time  of  spiritual  adoration  succeeds  I 


that  of  social  endowment.  Every  pleasure 
within  his  reach  the  French  lover  showers  on 
his  mistress.  And  all  are  gay  and  sparkling 
pleasures ;  nothing  heavy  or  gross.  A  day 
down  among  the  stately  trees  of  Saint  Ger- 
main, or  between  the  leafy  walls  of  Versailles, 
is  a  day  of  unmingled  happiness  to  both ; 
though  they  do  nothing  but  sit  so  well  dressed 
under  the  shade  for  hours  together— in  full 
view  of  the  monde — he  smoking  a  cigar,  and 
she  embroidering  a  collar  ]  talking  sentiment 
and  love.  And  a  fauteuil  de  balcon,  or  a  place 
in  the  baignoires  beneath,  where  the  lady 
receives  a  bouquet  or  acien,  either  in  the 
dark  box,  or  out  in  the  foyer  with  the 
world,  makes  a  pleasure  rivalling  that  of 
children  for  freshness  and  intensity.  And 
we  may  add  innocence.  Then,  they  love 
the  hippodrome,  and  the  Jardin  des  Plantes, 
the  Jardin  d'hiver,  and  the  Tuileries  and  the 
Luxembourg;  and  they  drive  out  into  the 
wood,  and  walk  through  its  alleys,  bidding  the 
carriage  wait  or  follow  them ;  and  they  dine 
at  those  charming  restaurants  among  the  trees 
of  the  Champs  Ely^^es,  6r  in  the  Bois  itself 
at  a  certain  famous  place  which  rU  the  world 
knows ;  and  they  hear  music  and  see  bright 
dresses,  and  eat  good  things,  and  feel  the  sun- 
shine, and  believe  that  their  lives  are  to  be 
for  ever  after  as  bright  and  happy  as  the 
scene  around  them,  and  are  sceptic  as  to  all 
future  sufferings  in  any  shape.  In  fact, 
French  love  in  its'  second  stage,  means 
pleasure. 

This,  then,  is  the  middle  stage  of  a  French 
love  affair.  In  the  beginning  the  unknown  and 
the  mute  found  a  revealer  and  an  inter- 
preter, and  tbe  femme  incomprlse  was  un- 
derstood *'for  the  first  time  in  her  life.'' 
In  the  second  stage,  the  femme  ennuy^e, 
desolee,  triste,  was  amused ;  and  smiles  and 
gaieties  sprang  up  beneath  her  lover's  hand 
as  flowers  beneath  the  footsteps  of  a  god.  The 
sun  has  risen  to  his  zenith.  The  next  changes 
will  be  decline:  the  setting;  and  then  night. 

The  third.  Ah !  the  gray  that  will  mingle 
with  the  shining  locks  of  youth ! — the  autumn 
that  must  come  after  the  springtide  promise 
and  the  summer  gladness ! — tbe  waning  moon 
that  will  turn  into  darkness — the  fading 
French  love  that  cannot  learn  friendship,  and 
80  attain  a  second  growth,  another  youth. 
The  third :  the  term  of  doubt,  of  suspicion, 
of  jealousy,  of  dictation,  of  quarrellings,  of 
weariness,  of  hatred,  of  separation;  yes, 
this  third  term  comes  too,  inevitable  as 
storms  after  tropical  heat;  and  then  the 
game  is  played  out,  the  drama  is  acted  to  its 
end,  the  idol  is  displaced,  the  queen  de- 
throned, and,  after  a  few  hours  of  tears  and 
a  few  days  of  grief,  the — 


Heartt  lo  Utely  mingled,  seem 

Like  broken  cloudt— orat  thettreom. 

Which  nmiling  left  the  moantain's  brow. 

An  though  itd  waters  ne'er  should  serer; 
Tet  ere  it  reach  the  plain  below, 

Breaks  into  floods  that  part  for  erer. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


444 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


COoBdactMl^ 


The  fused  iodividualitics  separmte;  the 
joined  lives  break  arander,  like  one  of  Prince 
Kupert*8  drops ;  each  goes  on  a  separate 
way ;  each  finds  new  hierophants  and  new 
divinities ;  and  so  the  ball  of  life  and  love  is 
kept  up  with  other  plavers — ^but  the  same 
marker.  What  a  pity  it  is  that  the  third 
term  should  ever  come  I 

Now,  Englishwomen  do  not  understand 
this  kind  of  love  making ;  we  have  no  national 
equivalent  for  it,  even  among  the  most  in- 
considerate of  our  flirting,  charming,  bewitch- 
ing coquettes.  I  cannot  saj  it  is  a  national 
loss  to  be  filled  up. 

The  worst  characteristic  of  a  French  lover 
is  bis  suspiciousness.  It  is  the  worst  charac- 
teristic 01  French  society  generally.  Profound 
ineradicable  scepticism  is  the  plague  spot,  the 
festering  sore  of  the  modern  French  mind. 
That  no  man  is  honest  and  no  woman  faithfUl, 
are  the  Alpha  and  Omega  of  the  popular 
creed ;  to  believe  that  his  trusted  friend  will 
betray  him  for  self-interest,  his  wife  deceive 
him  for  the  most  paltry  pleasures,  that  the 
man  who  ofi'ers  him  a  service  does  so  for  some 
sinister  motive,  and  that  the  caresses  of  his 
betrothed  hide  some  fault  planned  or  commit- 
ted ;  to  believe  that  he  lives  in  the  midst  of 
snares  and  enemies,  and  that  he  must  trust 
to  bis  Intellect  alone  to  help  him  out  of  them 
— this  is  the  creed  of  the  modem  Frenchman, 
and  this  he  calls  wisdom  and  knowledge  of 
the  world. 

His  suspicions  know  no  limit,  and  no  rest. 
A  bouquet  which  he  has  not  given,  a  soiree 
to  which  he  is  not  invited,  friends  that  h^ 
does  not  know ;  even  a  new  gown  or  a  new 
mode  of  dressing  the  hair — are  all  indi- 
cations that  the  lady  is  betraying  him, 
and  that  he  must  bend  his  mind  and  tax  all 
his  faculties  to  ''find  her  out^'  He  is 
never  unconvinced;  for,  even  if, he  "finds 
out "  nothing,  he  says  only  that  he  has  been 
tricked,  and  that  Madame  Is  more  skilful 
than  himself ;  more  artful  he  says,  If  very 
angiy.  French  women  are  generally  sub- 
missive to  this  kind  of  thing.  They  are  mar- 
vellously patient  and  forbearing,  those  gay 
little  creatures;  and  they  ezpostcuate  and  ges- 
ticulate, and  affirm  and  disclaim  with  avolu- 
bility  and  a  ffrace  and  an  earnestness  that  few 
men  can  resist.  So  the  storms  blow  over  ; 
and  Madame  (for  all  that  has  been  written  re- 
fers chiefly  to  widows),  Madame  only  shrugs 
her  shoulders,  and  laughs,  and  says,  *'  Mon 
Dieu,  quel  homme  I ''  as  she  dries  her  eyes  and 
settles  her  smooth  bands  of  glossy  hair.  But, 
they  don't  much  mind,  they  say,  and  would 
rather  have  a  French  lover— with  all  his  fire 
and  fury  and  jealodsy  and  suspicion,  with 
whom  they  can  have  a  dramatic  scene,  and 
then  a  poetic  reconciliation — than  a  stiff' som- 
bre Anglais,  cet  homme  severe,  who  takes  np 
his  hat  and  wishes  them  good  day,  and  won't 
be  bronght  to  hear  reason  any  how.  An 
Englishman  is  the  horror  of  most  French 
women. 


And  Frenchmen  too.  they  have  tiie  same 
horror  of  English  pride  and  independence 
in  Englishwomen.  They  almost  all  say  thai 
they  would  rather  be  deceived  with  smiles, 
than  treated  with  the  coldness,  the  pride,  the 
disdain,  the  iron  wilfulness  of  a  faithful  Eng- 
lishwoman. They  cannot  understand  it.  It  is 
a  new  experience,  and  they  don't  admire  it 
Anything  but  this :  Italian  revenge,  Spanish 
passion,  and  French  inconstancy,  all  rather 
than  the  cold  severity  and  marble  pride  of  Eng- 
li^women.  It  Is  a  riddle  to  them.  It  is  long 
before  they  can  be  brought  to  understand  It 
and  longer  still  before  they  will  accept  the  posi- 
tion—une  peu  basse,  they  say— that  our  women 
assign  them.  There  is  generally  terrible  con- 
fusion between  French  and  English  lorers  at 
the  first,  and  very  seldom  any  real  union  of 
heart  and  life  even  if  they  marry;  unless 
the  wife  has  been  so  long  abroad  as  to  lof^e 
her  nationality,  and  to  adopt  foreign  views 
and  foreign  feelings. 

Another  pecnliarity  among  the  French 
Is  their  strictness  with  the  unmarried 
women.  They  cannot  understand  the  liberty 
of  our  young  ladles.  It  is  a  crime  in 
their  eyes — a  premium  for  immoralitj.  A 
French  fiancee  is  never  allowed*  a  moment's 
unrestricted  intercourse  with  her  lover. 
Perhaps  she  sees  him  onl^  once  or  twice  before 
her  marriage — for  marriage  is  a  commercial 
affiftir  In  France ;  and  so  much  a  year  with 
my  daughter,  is  married  to  so  much  a  year 
with  your  son :  but  it  is  the  marriage  portion 
and  uie  income  that  marry ;  the  daughter 
and  the  son  are  merely  accessories.  Which 
makes  it  very  easy  for  our  unmarried  women 
to  be  totally  misunderstood  in  France^— and 
sometimes  painfully  sa  For  liberty  recognised 
among  us  as  natural  and  proper,  is  there  con- 
sidered dangerous  and  immoral.  I  knew  an 
instance  of  this. 

In  the  comer  yonder,  just  under  that 
broad-leaved  palm  of  the  Jardin  d'HiTcr— 
are  M.  Auguste  and  Miss  Harriet ;  Made- 
moiselle Henriette  as  he  calls  her.  Hiss 
Harriet  is  about  thirty,  an  orphan  of  good 
family,  tolerably  well* looking,  lady-like  and 
rich.  She  is  a  little  original,  and  passes  even 
in  England  for  being  eccentric  and  too  inde- 
pendent. M.  Auguste  is  the  possessor  of  some 
five  or  six  hundred  a  year  (he  is  rich  for  a 
Parisian) ;  possessor  too  of  certain  small 
properties  beside.  They  met  by  accident : 
they  were  travelling  together  flrom  Avignon, 
and  they  first  met  at  Yaucluse,  by  the  Foun- 
tun.  An  acquaintance  sprang  up  between 
them:  very  naturally:  which  left  them 
mutually  pleased  with  each  other.  It  was 
an  adventure ;  and.  Miss  Harriet  being  an 
impulsive  lady  on  the  verge  of  her  wane, 
liked  adventures.    All  Englishwomen  do. 

M.  Auguste  received  permission  to  vhit 
her.  They  both  adroitly  gave  each  otbo* 
such  proofs  of  their  mutual  respectability 
as  took  off  all  that  might  nave  been 
equivocal  in  their  acquaintance.     H.  Aa. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbariea  Dlckess.] 


FRENCH  LOVE. 


445 


guste  was  ravished  at  Mademoiselle's  con- 
descension. She  was  truly  charming ;  her 
boudoir  was  delicious,  Mademoiselle  herself 
was  perfectly  id^ale,  and  was  the  realisation 
of  all  M.  Auguste's  dreams  of  female  per- 
fection :  compliments  paid  with  the  pro- 
foundest  reverence,  but  with  an  exal  tation 
of  feeling  that  bewildered  poor  Harriet  A 
neglected  daughter,  shut  up  in  a  remote 
country  village  in  the  west  of  England,  her 
independence  gained  only  when  her  first 
youth  had  fled — it  was  no  wonder  that  these 
new  and  strange  devotiong  bewildered  and 
unsettled  her.  A  kind  of  startled  gratitude, 
gratified  vanity  and  personal  admiration — 
for  M.  Angnste  was  exceedingly  handsome — 
made  up  together  a  feeling  which  the  world 
calls  love,  and  which  she  herself  mistook  for 
the  same. 

Up  to  a  certain  point  in  their  intercourse 
nothing  could  be  more  delightful  than  M. 
Auguste.  The  refinement  and  spirituality  of 
bis  tone  and  conversation  completed  the 
charm  which  his  wonderful  knowledge  of  the 
human  heart,  and  his  good  looks  had  begun  ; 
and  Harriet  was  desperately  in  love — much 
to  the  edification  of  her  maid,  who  watched 
that  she  might  take  lessons.  Flowers,  gifts, 
pleasures  of  all  kinds  were  showered  fast  and 
thick  on  the  Englishwoman's  path,  and  per- 
petual sunshine  was  over  her.  Poor  Made- 
moiselle Henrietta  in  her  weary  past  had 
never  dreamed  of  such  happiness. 

One  day  Harriet  had  bought  a  large  bunch 
of  lilies  of  the  valley,  and  placed  them  in  the 
Tase  from  which,  she  took  M.  Auguste^s  last 
and  now  decidedly  faded  bouquet.  These 
were  very  simple  acts.  No  one  would  have 
thoui^ht  them  stormsecds  sown  broadcast. 
M.  Auguste  called.  His  eye  glanced  to  the 
lillies  before  it  saw  the  smiling  face  eager 
to  greet  him.  His  countenance  changed ;  his 
address  was  cool,  constrained,  and  distress- 
ingly polite.  Harriet  could  not  understand 
this  ;  and,  at  first,  was  too  timid  to  ask ;  for 
Bhe  dreaded  bad  news  of  his  own  affairs  or 
some  terrible  catastrophe.  At  last  she  did 
summon  up  courage  enough.  M.  Augnste 
gmiled  gloomily.  He  pointed  to  the  vase  and 
bit  out  a  few  w'ords  spitefully,  in  which  Har- 
riet distinguished  "un  autre — pr^tendant — 
Infame — sc^l^rat — trahi  —  trich6  —  adieu — 
Madame."  Not  very  intelligible  to  the  inno- 
cent Englishwoman,  who  did  not  see  any  in- 
famy or  treachery  in  a  handful  of  lillies  of 
the  valley  bought  by  herself  for  twelve  sous 
at  the  Madeleine.  After  a  time  he  condescend- 
ed to  be  more  explicit;  and  then  he  expressed 
his  conviction  that  another  Monsieur— one  of 
Mademoiselle's  milor  friends  doubtless — had 
given  her  this  bouquet  to  replace  his  own — 
that  his  was  not  choice,  not  rich  enough  for 
Mademoiselle's  taste — ^he  apologized  for  its 
poverty  ;  but  he  was  only  a  poor  Frenchman 
with  a  heart — ho  must  leave  the  means  and 
the  power  to  make  Mademoiselle  happy  to 
her  rich  compatriots,  with  a  good  deal  more. 


And  then  he  ended  by  taking  np  his  hat  and 
gloves  and  saying  in  a  tragic  voice,  "  Adieu 
for  ever  ? "  Of  course  that  storm  blew  over 
and  fine  weather  was  restored ;  but  this  was 
the  beginning  of  long  days  of  jealousy  as 
groundless  and  as  worthless.  Harriet  bore 
np  against  them  heroically.  She  was  the 
essence  of  good  temper  to  him,  and  soothed 
his  wavwardness  and  bore  with  his  follies, 
until  he  himself  confessed  that  her  temper 
was  wonderful,  and  that  he  tried  it  sorely. 
However  he  went  too  far  once.  He  was  in  a 
bad  humour,  and  he  forgot  himself ;  and  then 
the  English  pride  woke  up ;  and  she  called 
him  "  Monsieur,"  and  bade  him  adieu  tear- 
lessly,  and  never  so  much  as  sighed  when  he 
closed  the  door,  as  she  believed  for  ever. 
But  he  wrote  to  her  after  this,  and  apologized 
for  his  violence  :  (it  was  all  because  she  had 
walked  in  the  Tuileries  garden j<  with  a  cer- 
tain relative  of  hers,  who  was  too  young  and 
well-looking  for  M.  Auguste's  taste ;  and  as 
Frenchmen  cannot  understand  the  liberty  of 
our  unmarried  women  it  was  grand  ground 
for  a  quarrel).  In  his  letter  he  besought  a 
reconciliation  with  her;  who  was  the  life  of 
his  soul,  and  the  star  of  his  Aitnre :  promis- 
ing better  things,  aqd  the  profoundest  con- 
fidence in  her  integrity.  So  Harriet  relent- 
ed, and  the  wheel  of  love  went  round  once 
more.  But  he  never  forgot,  nor  whollv 
forgave  her  passionate  burst  of  English 
pride  ;  and  he  told  her  more  than  once 
that  Frenchwomen  were  much  more  submis- 
sive, and  that  he  did  not  approve  of  this 
Roman  pride,  this  classic  haughtiness,  of 
the  English  women.  So  they  quarrelled 
again,  l^cause  he  was  impertinent  and  sar- 
castic. 

The  third  term  had  come,  even  to  M. 
Auguste  and  Mademoiselle  Henriette. 

Quarrels,  still  healed  by  love,  but  becoming 
daily  more  numerous  and  more  fierce,  and  the 
love  less  powerful  in  the  healing-— doubts  and 
suspicions  for  ever  renewed  and  passionately 
resented — these  were  the  dying  throes  of  the 
afiair,  painful  enongh  to  witness.  His  pride 
was  now  wounded  as  well  as  hers :  he  could 
not  forgive  her  strength  of  will,  and  she  could 
not  forgive  his  want  of  trust.  He  waa  cer- 
tain, she  had  deceived  him.  Yes,  Madame — 
deceived,  betrayed,  tricked  him — the  confid- 
ing French  gentleman,  the  loyal  man  of  ho- 
nour 1  "Which  indignity  Mademoiselle  resent- 
ed in  real  earnest  So  the  matter  ended,  and 
they  parted  really  for  ever.  Which  was  the 
best  thing  both  could  have  done,  if  they 
looked  to  happiness  and  peace. 

Yet  M.  Auguste  was  a  fine  fellow.  Bril- 
liant, generous,  witty,  kind,  brave,  romantic, 
and  not  harshly  egotistical  though  extreme- 
ly vain.  He  was  a  pearl  beyond  price 
among  his  countrymen,  and  would  have 
made  any  Frenchwoman  Hving,  the  proudest 
and  happiest  of  her  sex.  For,  she  would 
have  yielded  to  his  dictation,  and  have  ma- 
naged his  jealoosy:  she  would  have  soothed 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


446 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


bim  bj  flattery  aod  amused  bim  bj  her  wit ; 
hip  suBpicioQ  would  not  have  fired  her  pride — 
fihe  would  have  taken  it  as  a  thing  of  course, 
and  perhaps  have  felt  neglected  If  she  had 
not  seen  it ;  and  bis  anger  would  have  been 
turned  aside  by  coaxing  and  submission. 
Wbcn  in  the  wrong  he  would  have  been 
adroitly  flattered  into  the  right ;  and  so  his 
own  sensitive  self-love  would  never  have 
been  wounded  by  an  over  hard  or  fierce  in- 
tegrity. Yield  and  flatter,  and  his  wife  would 
be  superior ;  oppose  and  reasoDi  and  she 
would  be  slave. 

Reflect  on  this,  ye  Englishwomen  who  tra- 
vel in  France,  and  who  believe  in  the  perpet- 
ual sunshine  of  French  love.  It  is  the  true 
and  literal  description  of  the  general  French 
mind  in  love  matters ;  and  all  who  are  not 
prepared  to  be  suspected,  watched  and  dis- 
believed as  a  matter  of  course,  had  best  es- 
chew the  charms,  even  of  flattery,  gaiety, 
generosity,  affectionate  forethought,  exqui- 
site politeness,  and  such  keenness  of  percep- 
tion as  seems  to  give  an  added  sense,  and  to 
open  a  new  world. 

STRIVE,  WAIT,  AND  PRAY. 
8TRITB ;  yet  I  do  not  promise 

The  priie  you  dream  of  tonUy, 
Will  not  Cade  when  yon  think  to  graep  it. 

And  melt  in  your  hand  away ; 
But  another  and  holler  treasare, 

Ton  would  now  perchance  diedain. 
Will  come  when  your  toil  ii  orer, 

And  pay  yon  for  all  your  pain. 

Wait ;  yet  I  do  not  tell  yon 

The  hour  you  lonj:  for  now, 
Will  not  come  with  its  radiance  Taniihed, 

And  a  shadow  upon  its  brow ; 
Yet  far  through  the  misty  future, 

With  a  crown  of  starry  light. 
An  hour  of  joy  you  know  not 

Is  winging  her  silent  flight 

Pray ;  though  the  gift  yon  ask  for 

May  nerer  comfort  your  fears. 
May  nerer  repay  your  pleading. 

Yet  pray,  and  with  hopeful  tears ; 
An  answer,  not  that  yon  long  for, 

But  diriner,  will  eome  one  day ; 
Yonr  eyes  are  too  dim  to  see  it, 

Yet  strive,  and  wait,  and  pray. 

INDIA  PICKLE. 

If  some  earthquake  or  sea  volcano  were 
suddenly  to  add  a  hundred  square  miles 
of  fertile  soil  to  our  coast ;  if  it  escaped  the 
depressing  influences  of  the  Woods  and  For- 
ests, and  fell  into  the  hands  of  landowners 
of  the  stamp  of  the  owners  of  the  Brocklesby, 
Lowestoff,  Holkham,  or  Woburn  estates ;  it 
is  easy  to  imagine  how  rapidly  and  com- 
pletely the  new  territory  would  be  put  in  a 
condition  to  employ  labour,  grow  crops,  and 
pay  rent  It  would  be  surveyed,  intersected  | 
with  hard  roads,  accommodated  with  branches  | 


from  neighbouring  railroads,  provided  with 
coasting  ports,  and  in  the  shortest  possible 
time  brought  as  near  as  possible  to  the 
centres  of  population  where  more  is  eaten 
than  grown.  The  lords  of  the  manor  to 
whom  the  new  land  had  fallen  would  think 
it  well  worth  while  to  mnk  a  capital  in 
the  improvements,  or  raise  a  loan  for  that 
purpose  on  mortgage,  if  ready  money 
were  wanting :  capital  being  to  land  to  be 
cultivated  as  essential  as  fire  and  knives  and 
forks  and  plates  are  to  turn  i|iw  food  into  a 
decent  dinner. 

We  need  not  draw  from  fhncy  a  plctore  of 
what  an  English  speaking  race  would  do  witk 
a  new  country  in  the  United  States  of  Ame- 
rica, Every  year  for  the  last  twenty  years, 
has  seen  the  steam-boat  and  the  canal,  the 
railroad  or  the  plankroad,  penetrating  the 
most  savage  regions,  and  opening  the  way 
for  new  colonies  and  new  cities.  By  such 
means,  in  a  wonderfully  short  space  of  time, 
the  eastern  aod  western,  the  nortiiem  and 
southern  ports  of  the  Republic  have  been 
united,  and  the  cultivable  lands  lying  be- 
tween rendered  accessible  and  profitable  for 
the  labours  of  a  tide  of  emigrants — the  pro- 
duce of  com  and  cotton  fields  carried  to  the 
best  market. 

But,  if  we  turn  fh>m  the  works  of  the 
vigorous  colonists  of  America,  and  the  wise 
improving  landowners  of  England,  to  India— 
a  country  whose  richest  provinces  have  been 
for  exactly  one  hundr^  years  sutgect  to 
British  rule — ^we  find  ourselves  almost  trans- 
ported back  to  the  dark  ages,  when  our  skin- 
clad  ancestors  were  content  to  feed  swine  on 
acorns,  and  barter  with  a  few  adventurous 
foreigners  a  little  wool  and  a  little  com. 
On  the  rich,  fertile  soil  of  India,  there  is 
scarcely  a  single  solid  monument  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  enterprise  to  be  found.  The  Indian 
peasant  tills  the  earth  with  the  implements 
of  his  ancestors  a  thousand  years  removed ; 
and  the  ten  thousand  white  rulers  seem  con- 
tent to  accept  with  the  Eastern  territory 
Eastern  traditions  of  government — native 
principles  with  native  sul^'ects. 

India  is  like  Ireland  in  the  good  old  times 
of  Ireland,  before  the  potato  famine  and  tite 
Encumbered  Estates  Act  had  sent  the  bank- 
rupt holders  of  great  estates  to  live  by  work 
instead  of  credit.  There,  in  Tipperary  and 
Gralway,  and  Gonnaught,  were  thousands  on 
thousands  of  acres  where  no  farm-building, 
bam,  or  beast-steading — no  hut,  no  fence,  no 
drain,  no  road — had  ever  been  made  at  the 
cost  of  the  landlord,  who  drew  from  a  half- 
naked  peasantry  a. rack-rent  for  permissioii 
to  grow  the  potatoes  on  which  they  vegetat- 
ed, and  to  feed  the  pig  they  never  ate. 

India  Is  one  great  rack-rented  Irish  estate, 
conquered  from  conquerors,  and  administered 
(with  rare  exceptions)  on  purely  native  prin- 
ciples. The  govemment  is  virtually  the  land- 
lord ;  and  the  whole  efforts,  the  utmost  intel- 
ligence, of  the  ten  thousand  white  officials 


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CbarlM  Dlckena.3 


INDIA  PICKLE. 


447 


settled  amoQg  these  dark  millions,  seem 
coooentrated  on  the  best  mode  of  taxing  this 
cooquered  empire — shifting  and  balancing 
the  burdens  under  which  the  peasants  totter 
through  their  weary  lives,  with  the  one 
object  of  preserving  an  even  account  between 
income  and  expenditure.  For  the  conside- 
ration of  those  public  works  which  form  the 
living  essence  of  Anglo^axon  colonisation 
and  culture,  there  seems  to  have  been  no 
time  in  a  century  which  has  elapsed  since 
Olive  made  the  title-deed  of  Bengal  the  prize 
of  bis  victories. 

Although  our  Indian  empire  is  within 
thirty  days'  post  of  England,  it  is  so  little 
known  that  it  will  be  best  to  begin  at  the 
beginning.  Italy,  with  its  Alpine  barrier,  is 
on  a  small  scale,  not  unlike  India.  On  the 
northern  base  of  a  pyramid-shaped  territory, 
rise  the  range  of  Himalaya  mountains,  a 
barrier  of  snow-covered  mountains,  rocky 
defiles,  and  narrow  valleys,  dividing  India 
from  the  tablelands  of  Thibet  and  China. 
On  the  extreme  west  lies  one  of  our  later 
conquests,  the  Punjaub — the  flat  country 
of  the  five  rivers — hemmed  in  by  the  moun- 
tain barriers  known  to  us  by  the  terrible 
names  of  the  Khyber  and  the  Bolan  Passes. 
On  the  extreme  east  are  Assam  and  Pegu, 
our  latest  acquisitions.  On  the  north  and 
west,  a  tract  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
of  plain  intervenes  between  the  base  of  the 
sub^Himalayas  and  a  column  of  mountains— 
the  Ghauts— which  run  parallel  to  the 
western  coast,  and  form  a  barrier,  uninter- 
rupted except  by  three  huge  clefts,  down  to 
Cape  Camorin. 

From  this  range  of  Ghauts  the  whole 
country  inclines  towards  the  eastern  coast ; 
at  first  by  a  series  of  steppes,  or  table-lands, 
and  then  by  a  gradual  incline  throughout 
the  whole  length  of  the  peninsula,  ending  in 
flat  plains.  From  the  Himalaya  range  flow, 
beside  many  minor  streams,  six  great  rivers, 
namely,  the  Ganges,  the  Godavery,  the 
Kistnab,  the  Cauvery,  the  Hindus,  and  the 
Ncrbudda— the  one  exception  traversing  the 
country  in  a  single  stream,  unlike  the 
many-branched  Ganges  and  Godavery. 

When  we  examine  a  map,  or,  still  better, 
a  relief  model  of  India,  we  see  a  country  in 
which  nature  has  provided  everv  resource 
for  the  support  of  a  dense  population  and 
the  growth  of  enormous  exports.  Under  an 
Indian  sun,  water  alone  has  the  fertilising 
virtues  of  the  most  powerful  manures  in 
Europe.  Great  rivers,  with  their  multitude 
of  iHnmches  and  affluents,  and  thousands  of 
minor  streams,  fed  by  the  Monsoon  rains  and 
the  melting  of  Himalayan  snows,  rush  first 
through  the  narrow  valleys  of  descending 
table-lauds,  and  then  flow  gently  along  the 
flat  plains  and  delta  islands  of  richest  feiv 
tility  at  the  sea's  mouth— thus  affording 
extraordinary  facilities  for  storing  in  the 
high  grounds  in  seasons  of  flood,  and  dis- 
tributing, through  canals  and  rivers,  channels 


raised  by  weirs  to  a  convenient  height  for 
navigation  and  irrigation  in  times  of  drought. 

More  than  five  hundred  years  ago  the 
then  rulers  of  India  vigorously  availed  them- 
selves of  the  irrigating  powers  of  the  Indian 
rivers,  and  employed  a  syptem  of  cultivation 
brought,  perhaps,  from  Egypt,  which  tra- 
velled on  with  the  Moors  to  Spain  and  Italy, 
where  it  still  survives,  and  in  Italy  flourishes. 
But  the  minor  streams— so  valuable  when 
properly  used  in  a  tropicid  climate— if  the 
art  of  the  road-maker  and  the  bridge-builder 
are  not  brought  into  operation,  form  a  terri- 
ble impediment  to  internal  commerce.  Thus 
it  comes  to  pass  that  not  only  in  Central 
India,  but  within  comparatively  short  dis- 
tances of  the  coast  and  of  river  ports,  great 
fertile  tracts  are  cut  ofl*  from  all  but  the 
most  expensive  means  of  transit ;  and  large 
populations,  for  want  of  markets  for  the 
produce  of  their  labour,  drag  on  a  miserable 
existence,  with  no  other  knowledge  of  Euro- 
pean rule  than  the  punctual  demands  of  the 
tax-gatherer. 

Easy  means  of  communication  by  land  and 
water  are  all  the  essential  elements  of  civilisa- 
tion. In  India,  save  a  few  slow  trifling  efibrts, 
which  barely  touch  the  course  of  communi- 
cation, this  great  work  is  all  to  be  done.  Eng- 
land, which  contains  an  area  of  about  fifty- 
six  thousand  square  miles  and  twenty-six 
million  inhabitants,  with  a  sea-coast  not 
far  from  its  most  central  city,  has  of  high- 
ways thirty  thousand  miles;  canal)  and 
navigable  rivers  about  three  thousand  miles : 
railroads  between  five  and  six  thousand 
miles.  The  United  States,  besides  its  many 
rivers,  and  a  vast  canal  system,  has  already 
upwards  of  ten  thousand  miles  of  railroad. 
But  India,  with  an  area  of  one  million  two 
hundred  thousand  square  miles  and  a  popula- 
tion of  one  hundred  and  sixty  millions — of 
which  an  important  part  is  distributed  with  a 
density  equal  to  the  best  agricultural  dis- 
tricts of  Europe — has  less  than  eighteen 
thousand  miles  of  communication  beyond  the 
unmade  tracks  and  footpaths  ;  that  is  to  say, 
coastwise,  on  a  dangerous,  surf-beaten  coast, 
from  the  mouth  of  the  Hindus  to  the  Ganges, 
three  thousand  five  hundred  miles  ;  river 
navigation,  two  thousand  miles ;  complete 
roads,  two  thousand  miles ;  imperfect  roads, 
about  ten  thousand  miles.  Two  railroads, 
one  from  Bombay,  the  other  from  Calcutta, 
equal  in  construction  to  those  of  Europe,  are 
now  open  to  the  extent  of  about  two  hun- 
dred miles,  creeping  slowly  on,  further  ex- 
tension of  one  thousand  miles  is  promised 
by  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  sixty. 
Yet  fifty  thousand  miles  would  barely  place 
our  Eastern  Empire  on  an  equality  with  the 
French  in  roads. 

But  when  we  speak  of  two  thousand  miles 
of  complete  and  ten  thousand  miles  of  in- 
complete roads,  our  readers  must  not  think 
of  the  works  of  Telford  and  Macadam,  or  the 
French  Roman-like  military  roads  of  solid 


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448 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoB4acte4br 


Rtoae,  or  even  of  ordinary  parish  roads.  The 
bcBt  roads,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  miles 
near  one  or  two  militarj  stations,  are  some- 
thing like  what  the  Herefordshire  lanes 
would  be  (where  the  deep  ruts,  if  too  deep, 
are  tilled  with  faggots  in  winter  and  ploughed 
up  level  in  the  spring),  if  Herefordshire  were 
under  a  tropical  sun,  rank  with  tropical 
weeds,  and  intersected  by  deep,  unbridged 
watercourses — dry  in  summer—roaring  tor- 
rents after  a  few  nours*  rain. 

For  instance,  in  the  Bombay  district  of 
the  Koukan,  just  twenty-seven  per  cent  of 
one  yearns  revenue  has  been  spent  in  twenty 
years  on  seven  hundred  miles  of  roads.  Of 
thc»e  roads,  five  hundred  and  sixty  miles 
are  impracticable  for  half  the  year  :  seventy 
more  are  second  class  roads — that  is  to  say, 
full  of  ruts  from  one  foot  to  two  in  depth ; 
and  out  of  one  hundred  and  thirty  miles  of  the 
best  roads,  half  are  only  useful  for  military 
purposes,  as  they  go  across  instead  of  along 
the  line  between  the  produce  district  and  the 
market  ports.  It  took  the  late  Mr.  Mackay, 
the  Manchester  cotton-commissioner,  seven 
hours  to  travel  twelve  miles  in  a  bullock-cart, 
at  the  cost  of  bruises  from  head  to  foot, 
from  a  cotton  district  to  the  port  of  Tun- 
keria,  where  the  produce  of  that  district  was 
regularly  shipped.  On  the  road  the  driver 
amused  him  with  the  story  of  a  man  who,  in 
a  sudden  jolt,  bit  off  half  his  tongue.  In 
Malabar  the  proprietors  of  some  sugar- 
works  told  Mr.  Mackay  that  they  required 
sixty  thousand  pounds'  worth  of  sugar-cane 
(an  amount  equal  to  half  the  revenue  of  the 
province)  to  keep  their  manufactory  at  work. 
For  want  of  roads  it  was  frequently  impos- 
sible for  the  carts  laden  with  canes  to  come 
in  from  the  sugar-plantations.  When  the 
sugar  was  made,  it  required  twelve  days  to 
travel  seventy  miles  to  the  port.  For  five 
months  of  the  rainy  season,  no  sugar  could 
be  i>oot  down,  as  it  wduld  be  melted  in  pass- 
ing the  Nullah's  watercourses.  During  that 
time  forty  thousand  pounds  were  locked  up 
totally  unprofitable.  Common  roads  would 
largely  increase  the  growth  and  fabrication 
of  sugar — complete  roads,  with  bridges, 
would  keep  the  factory  at  work  the  whole 
year  round. 

It  is  true,  that  within  the  last  century  here 
and  there  a  revenue-collector  or  an  enter- 
prising governor,  embued  with  European 
notions,  has  made  detached  spasmodic  efforts 
to  execute  main  roads  in  divers  districts;  but, 
unfortunately,  these  efforts  were  generally 
entrusted  to  gentlemen  who  knew  no  more  of 
the  art  of  road-making  than  what  they  had 
learned  while  walking  to  school  as  boys  in 
Eugland.  For  instance— one  offlceri  com- 
manding a  road-party  of  pioneers,  deyised  the 
following  plan  of  roads  through  a  cotton 
country  of  black  alluvial  mud,  then  of  sand 
or  gravel :-"  First,  a  complete  layer  of  large 
stones  about  a  fbot  thick  over  the  intended 
surface  of  the  road  ;  then  three  feet  of  the 


black  cotton  soil,  to  raise  the  way  abore  the 
floods."  As  the  stones  had  all  to  be  brougbt 
from  a  distance,  the  cost  was  magnificent : 
but,  the  upper  crust  of  mud  was  eamt 
degrees  worse  than  a  paUi  over  the  naturml 
country  it  had  been  dug  from.  This  plan 
received  the  high  approval  of  the  head  of  Qte 
road  department,  the  quarter-master-general. 
and  was  circulated  by  him  for  the  gaida&ce 
of  the  officers  under  his  command.  Under 
this  system  of  irresponsible  ignorance,  a  few 
miles  of  road  in  different  detached  directicMis 
cost  from  one  thousand  to  five  thooeand 
pounds  a  mile  ;  and  the  Court  of  Directors, 
not  unnaturally  alarmed  at  such  oselesB  ex- 
travagance, took  a  decided  and  effectual  step 
for  preventing  further  expense,  ordering  that 
no  new  road  should  be  made.  In  one  cam, 
eighty  thousand  pounds  were  spent  on  a 
line  of  two  hundred  and  twenty  miles,  be- 
tween Masnlepatam,  on  the  coast  of  Byderm- 
bad  ;  and,  for  this  sum,  no  stones  bad  been 
laid  down,  so  that  it  was  not  practicable  at 
all  in  wet  weather,  and  scarcely  better  than 
before,  in  dry. 

After  a  pause  of  a  few  years,  another  effort 
was  made.  In  the  Madras  Presidency  a  road 
department  of  one  engineer  officer,  wiUi  two 
assistants,  was  constituted,  to  attend  tbe 
main  roads  of  a  province  of  one  hundred  and 
sixty  thousand  square  miles,  with  a  popula- 
tion of  fourteen  millions.  Of  conrse,  tbe 
officer  was  lost  in  his  duties.  He  had  not  the 
assistance  of  the  county  newspapers,  wbich 
in  England  weekly  daguerreotype  the  local 
wants  of  every  county.  However,  he  was 
soon  saved  one  source  of  anxiety,  for  the 
local  government  refused  to  take  the  re- 
sponsibility of  spending  the  money  tbe 
directors  had  authcnrised,  and  so  road-makiag 
efforts  ceased. 

The  native  population  is  essentially  agn- 
cnltural.  A  ton  of  cotton  is  worth  fifteen 
pounds ;  a  ton  of  sugar,  twelve  ponnds ;  a  ton 
of  rice  or  grain,  three  pounds.  Where  it  takes 
twelve  days  to  travel  seventy  miles,  with  only 
seven  months  of  possible  travelling  in  the 
year,  it  is  easy  to  imagine  that  there  are  mil- 
lions of  acres,  hundreds  of  miles  from  the 
coast,  where  the  cost  of  conveyance  eats  np 
the  whole  value  of  the  article,  while  the  sav- 
ing of  ten  shillings  alone  on  the  one,  and  one 
pound  on  the  other,  would  leave  a  profit 
What  would  farms  be  worth  in  oar  Attest 
counties,  if  everything  was  carried  on  the 
backs  of  Welsh  ponies— if  the  best  agricnltn- 
ral  roads  were  like  the  winter  tracks  on  Dart- 
moor and  Exmoor  ?  What  would  half  ow 
coal  mines  be  worth,  worked  on  Indian 
principles,  wit^  stream-pumps,  and  with  only 
cart  roads  to  market  ? 

To  give  India  common  roads,  in  proportion 
to  those  of  England,  would  require  half  a 
million  miles.  Ceylon,  where  European 
coffee-growers  are  sufficiently  nomeroos  to 
create  a  public  opinion,  and  where  rebellioas 
are  formidable,  has,  in  addition  to  its  coast 


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Cbarlea  DlckencJ 


INDIA  PICKLE. 


449 


navigatioa,  on  twenty-four  thousand  six  hun- 
dred and  sixtj-foui  square  miles,  with  a 
population  rather  over  a  million, — five  hun- 
dred and  fifty-four  miles  of  carriage-road, 
of  which  one-third  are  first-rate,  and  the  rest 
are  in  good  order  all  the  year  round.  In  like 
manaer,  twenty  years  ago,  the  Ceylonese 
government  offered  to  join  the  Indian  govern- 
ment in  deepening  a  dangerous  strait,  Paum- 
baum  Pass,  between  Ceylon  and  the  mainland. 
The  Indian  government  refused  to  join,  and 
the  project  fell  to  the  ground.  Three  years 
ago,  a  governor  of  Madras,  more  enlightened, 
expended  twenty-four  thousand  pounds  in  ob- 
taining ten  feet  of  water ;  and  already  the 
saving  to  Madras  in  imported  food  is  equal 
to  a  hundred  thousand  pounds  a-year. 

Berar  is  a  magnificent  cotton  district, 
spoiled  by  want  of  communication  with 
Rajahmundry,  on  the  Godavery.  It  costs 
a  million  of  people  of  Berar  two  or  three 
millions  sterling  every  year  to  grow  rice 
for  themselves,  which,  with  easy  commu- 
nications, they  could  purchase  for  seventy 
thousand  pounds  in  Rajahmundry  ;  and,  by 
employing  the  surplus  labour  in  growing 
cotton  for  Manchester  (provided  always  that 
a  cheaper  road  than  the  backs  of  bullocks 
was  open  for  the  cotton),  the  people  would 
save  more  than  a  million  in  their  food,  and 
would  pay  with  ease  those  taxes  which  now 
leave  the  Indian  peasant  nothing  beyond  a 
cotton  rag  round  his  loins,  and  a  little  rice  or 
grain  for  his  sustenance. 

From  time  to  time  drought  occurs  in  every 
district;  famine  follows  drought ;  the  people 
perish  by  hundreds  of  thousands.  To  multiply 
instances  would  be  too  painful.  One  will  be 
sufficient.  In  the  province  of  Guntoor,  very 
recently,  out  of  a  population  of  five  hun- 
dred thousand,  half  perished  by  famine.  Se- 
venty thousand  marched  into  Madras,  and 
compelled  the  government  to  feed  them. 
These  seventy  thousand  were  all  men.  They 
had  left  their  weaker  wives  and  childn  n 
dead  or  dying  in  their  huts.  This  famine 
cost  the  East  Indian  government  a  vast 
sum  for  food,  and  a  loss  in  revenue  in  the 
following  year  of  eight  hundred  thousand 
pounds.  Yet  within  a  hundred  miles  of 
starving  Guntoor  there  was  abundant  food 
in  Tanjore,  a  province  secured  by  irrigating 
works  and  roads  from  the  curse  of  drought. 
With  due  use  of  the  natural  resources  of 
India,  with  the  exercise  of  wise  liberality, 
and  comprehensive  plans,  famine  might  be 
rendered  impossible. 

Water  is  the  great  solvent  of  the  Indian 
difficulties  that  have  tormented  Indian  states- 
men and  statists  from  the  time  of  Lord  Corn- 
wallis  to  the  publication  of  the  book  of  Mr. 
Campbell.  Water  is  to  India  what  coal- 
mines and  the  coasting-trade  have  been  to 
England.  So  says  Colonel  Arthur  Cotton* 
in  his  bundle  of  Notes  and  Axioms  on  the 

*  Pablks  Work*  in  India,  bj  Li6at-0olou«l  A.  Cotton. 


Development  of  Indian  Resources.  He  speaks 
with  the  earnestness  of  a  patriot  and^hilan- 
thropist,  and  the  authority  of  twenty  years' 
engineering  experience,  and  twenty  years  of 
struggling  agaln&t  supine  indifiference  to 
everything  except  rent  and  dividends,  victo- 
ries and  annexation. 

The  rivers  of  India,  turned  to  their  full 
use,  would  render  transit  through  three,  if 
not  five,  most  important  regions  cheap  and 
easy,  the  supply  of  cotton  ample  and  certain, 
the  people  prosperous  and  happy.  Engineer- 
ing skill  in  the  Madras  district  can  store, 
on  a  vast  scale,  the  torrents  of  the  rainy 
season ;  would  reduce  full  harvests  to  a  cer- 
tainty, and  would  produce  in  rent  and  reve- 
nue one  hundred  pounds  for  each  five  pounds. 
"  Every  puddle,"  says  Colonel  Cotton,  *'  is  a 
valuable  thing  in  a  dry  season  " — an  axiom 
which  ought  to  head  the  instructions  issued 
to  Indian  rulers  and  rent-collectors,  and  be 
inscribed  in  the  office  of  the  Board  of  Control 
and  the  council  chamber  of  the  Governor- 
General.  In  irrigation  we  might  have  taken 
a  lesson  from  the  conquerors  whom  he  suc- 
ceeded. Five  hundred  years  ago.  Anno  Do- 
mini, thirteen  hundred  and  fifty-one,  a  canal 
of  irrigation,  near  Delhi,  was  constructed  by 
Feroze  Toglah,  a  monarch  of  whom  it  is  re- 
corded that  he  built  *'  fifty  dams  across  rivers 
for  irrigation,  and  thirty  reservoirs,  forty 
mosques,  thirty  colleges,  one  hundred  cara- 
vanserais, one  hundred  hospitals,  one  hun- 
dred public  baths,  and  one  hundred  and  fifty 
bridges."  In  fifteen  hundred  and  sixty-eight 
the  Emperor  Akbar,  in  a  decree,  which  is  our 
earliest  specimen  of  a  canal  ordinance,  recites 
that  "  The  Chetang  river,  by  which  the  Em- 
peror Feroze  brought  water  from  the  streams 
and  drains  in  the  vicinity  of  Sudhoura,  at 
the  foot  of  the  hills,  to  Ilansi  and  Hissar, 
by  which,  for  four  or  five  months  of  the  year, 
water  was  available,  has  become  so  choked 
up  that  for  the  last  hundred  years  the  water 
has  not  flowed  past  the  boundary  Khy  thul ; 
and  the  Emperor  declares  that  his  order  has 
gone  forth  that  the  waters  of  the  rivers  and 
streams  at  the  foot  of  the  hills  at  Khurzabad 
be  brought  by  a  canal  deep  and  wide,  by  the 
keep  of  dams,  into  the  Chetang.  &c."  Then 
follows  a  list  of  irrigation  oflicers.  And  the 
decree  farther  directs  that, — "  On  both  sides 
of  the  canal,  down  to  Hissar,  trees  of  every 
description,  both  for  shade  and  blossoms,  be 
planted  so  as  to  make  it  like  the  canal  under 
the  tree  in  Paradise,  and  that  the  sweet 
flavour  of  the  rare  fruits  may  reach  the 
mouths  of  every  one,  and  that  from  these 
luxuries  a  voice  may  go  forth  to  travellers, 
calling  them  to  rest  in  the  cities,  where 
their  every  want  will  be  supplied."  Seventy 
years  later,  in  the  reign  of  Shah  Jehan, 
his  architect,  Murdan  Khan,  brought  a 
channel  from  Feroze's  Canal  to  Delhi,  by 
works,  including  a  masonry  aqueduct  and  a 
channel  cut  sixty  feet  deep  through  solid 
rock,  until  it  reached  a  point  where,  flowing 


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through  the  city  in  a  masonry  bed,  It  divided 
into  minor  Ptrt'ams,  which  abundantly  Bup- 
plied  th('  residences  of  the  nobles  of  the  city. 
A  great  stream,  flowing  through  the  palace, 
supplied  fountains,  basins,  and  baths,  and 
irriffated  the  trees  and  flowers  of  the  splendid 
gardens.  Water-courses  still  existing  along 
the  line  of  this  Delhi  Canal  are  monuments 
of  the  luxuriant  agriculture  called  into  exist- 
ence by  Shah  Jcban.  According  to  a  tradi- 
tion in  Delhi,  the  returns  from  the  canal 
were  sufficient  for  the  maintenance  of  twelve 
thousand  horsemen.  The  permanent  estab- 
lishment for  repair  and  protection  consisted 
of  a  large  body  of  workmen,  and  one  thou- 
eand  foot  and  five  hundred  horse-police, 
stationed  at  points  three  or  four  miles  apart. 
Two  hundred  years  later,  this  canal,  in  the 
course  of  intestine  wars,  became  filled  up. 
When  the  Mogul  empire  fell  under  our 
dominion,  a  Mr.  Brewer  offered  to  restore  it, 
if  the  profits  were  secured  to  him  by  a  lease. 
His  offer  was  rejected,  and  a  long  period 
elapsed  before  any  eff"ective  steps  to  restore 
irrigation  were  attempted. 

Nothing  is  more  lamentable,  in  the  history 
of  our  eastern  empire,  than  the  neglect  of 
the  examples  left  us  by  Ackbar  and  Shah 
Jehan.  To  develop  India,  the  most  profit- 
able stop  that  could  be  taken  would  be  to 
expend  money  in  adapting  streams  for  irriga- 
tion, and,  where  possible,  for  navigation, — to 
husband  every  drop  of  superfluous  water  in 
the  rainy  season,  in  order  to  distribute  it 
in  the  dry.  In  England,  we  use  irrigated 
meadows  to  grow  green  crops ;  in  the  south 
of  Europe,  rice  is  grown  in  pale  meadows ; 
but  in  India,  almost  every  crop,  in  a  series  of 
years,  has  need  of  water,  more  or  less,  in  the 
long  uncertain  intervals  that  prevail  between 
the  rains — the  seed  time  and  the  harvest — 
besides  the  rice  or  paddy  fields,  which  re- 
quire, for  several  weeks,  a  constant  covering 
of  water. 

There  are  two  ways  of  obtaining  water 
for  irrigation :  the  one  practised  for  many 
hundred  years,  is,  to  dam  up  a  river,  and 
then  lead  canals  ft*om  either  side  through 
the  district  to  be  irrigated.  If  it  be  a  delta, 
the  work  of  each  cultivator  is  comparatively 
ea!*y  ;  he  has  only  to  level  the  slight  irregu- 
larities of  his  laud,  and  cut  the  small  channels, 
by  which  he  can  lead  his  share  of  the  stream 
over  every  part  of  his  fields.  If  the  level  of 
the  canals  or  stream  should  be  lower  than 
his  land,  then  he  must  make  use  of  some  of 
the  many  simple  irrigating  pumps,  wheels, 
and  scoops,  in  use  in  all  Eastern  climates. 
Another  mode  is,  to  take  advantage  of  a 
valley  among  the  hills,  or  other  slope,  in  the 
way  of  the  fall  of  monsoon  rains,  and,  by 
erecting  a  wall  or  bund,  catch  and  store 
the  flood  of  rain  for  use  in  the  dry  season. 
These  two  operations  are  done  on  large  and 
small  bcales,  ft-om  a  few  yards  to  fifty  miles 
in  length ;  but  the  principle  is  always  the 
same. 


The  rivers  available  for  irrigation  are  also 
more  or  less  available  for  navigation,  if  not 
by  steamers,  by  boats,  canoes,  or  rafto. 

While  the  Marquis  of  Tweedalc,  wboK 
name  is  well  known  in  this  country  as  an 
agricultural  Improver,  was  Governor  of 
Madras,  he  sanctioned,  and  still  more  extra- 
ordinary, induced  the  home  government  to 
sanction,  the  expenditure  of  some  three  faan- 
dred  thousand  pounds  on  irrigation  worki 
on  the  Godavery  river,  planned  by  Coloael 
Cotton.  These  works  have  since  been  exe- 
cuted. The  result  is  an  increase  of  revenue, 
from  various  sources,  of  three  hundred  tboo- 
sand  pounds  a-year,  besides  the  prospective 
advantage  of  a  thousand  miles  of  navigaiioQ 
from  the  cotton  districts  of  Berar  to  the  e^ea. 
The  whole  sytetem  of  agriculture  over  eome 
hundred  square  miles  has  been  changed  by 
these  works.  Cultivators  who  only  grew 
dry  grain  before,  have,  within  two  yeara, 
laid  out  thousands  of  acres  in  rice  fielda  In 
others,  the  steady  supply  of  water  was  used 
to  moisten  the  earth  before  ploughing  the 
land  for  grain  or  oil  seeds,  without  waiting 
for  rain.  In  a  word,  it  increased  the  ra- 
riety  and  the  produce  of  the  irrigated  dis- 
trict, and  eftectually  protected  it  from 
drought  or  famine.  The  operations  gave 
irrigation  to  twelve  hundred  thousand  acres. 
This  acreage  was  not  only  protected  from 
famine,  but  became  a  granary  for  surround- 
ing districts  in  eighteen  hundred  and  fifty- 
three,  when  all  the  surrounding  cooutry 
suflTered  from  drought.  The  revenue  of  the 
irrigated  district  increased  by  fifty  thousand 
pounds ;  and  the  exports  by  sea  were  one 
hundred  and  seventy  thousand  pounds 
against  thirty  thousand  pounds,  the  average 
export  before  the  irrigation  works  had  been 
executed.  A  gentleman  who  had  charge  of 
the  district  adjoining  that  just  described 
writes :  '*  No  one  could  have  seen,  as  I  did, 
the  wretched  condition  of  the  people  and  the 
crops  on  the  Kistnah  side  of  the  district,  the 
diflicuUies  of  obtaining  even  the  scantiest 
supplies  of  moderately  pure  water,  and  then 
have  passed  to  the  Godavery  ^de,  and  wit- 
nessed the  contrast — the  abundance  of  pure 
water,  the  splendid  crops,  the  comfort  of  the 
people— without  being  deeply  sensible  that  no 
statistics  can  convey  an  idea  of  the  priceleM 
blessing  which  the  waters  of  the  Godavery 
— carried  by  weirs  and  channels  through  wich 
an  extent  of  delta — have  conferred  upon  the 
people.  In  May,  I  was  encamped  at  Aven- 
guddah,  on  the  banks  of  a  large  branch  of 
the  river  Kistnah,  reduced  to  a  dry  sheet  of 
sand.  The  cattle  were  dying ;  no  signs  of 
vegetation  were  apparent ;  the  water  foul. 
Never  did  I  see  so  much  poverty  and  misery. 
In  the  month  of  June  I  was  at  Akced.  more 
than  thirty  miles  from  the  nearest  point  of 
the  Godavery ;  but  here,  fresh  water  and 
forage  were  abundant.  The  water  of  the 
Godavery,  which  had  passed  through  the 
,  head  sluice  fifty  miles  up  channel,  flowed 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ClMrles  Dickem.] 


INDIA  PICKLE. 


451 


past   my  tent,  and  namerous  boats  loaded 
with  produce  went  dailj  to  and  fro." 

The  most  remarkable  instance  of  the  effect 
of  works  of  public  utility  on  an  Indian  soil  is 
to  be  found  in  the  Province  of  Tanjore — a 
province  well  known  as  the  scene  of  the  la- 
boars  of  the  celebrated  Moravian  missionary, 
Schwarz  ) whose  monument  in  the  palace  of 
Tanjore  was  executed  by  Flaxman  for  the 
Raja,  his  pupil,  and  by  Bacon,  in  St.  Mary's 
Church,  Madras,  for  the  East  India  Directors). 
Tanjore  is  an  example  of  the  revenue  value 
of  money  laid  out  on  irrigation  and  roads.  It 
was  an  irrigation  dispute  between  the  Raja  of 
Tanjore  and  the    Nabob  of  the  Kamatic, 
which  eventually  resulted  in  the  absorption 
of  the  former  province  with  Nfelompaug.  By 
the    terms  of  the  treaty  the  reigning  Raja 
had  beside  an  annual  allowance  a  fifth  share 
of  the  surplus  revenue.    Without  works  of 
irrigation  the  province  would  soon  have  boen 
a  loss  instead  of  a  profit  to  the  company.  The 
situation  of  the  capital  and  the  civiliaing  re- 
sults of  the  labours  of  Schwarz  have  made 
Tanjore  so  agreeable  a  residence  that,  unlike 
most   other  collectorates   (collector  is  the 
modest  name  of  an  Indian  satrap  or  prefect), 
the  officer,  once  appointed,  seldom  di-sires  to 
leave  ;  in  fact,  from  the  time  of  its  ces-^ion. 
Tanjore,  with  its  fine  capital  an<J  Protestant 
church,  has  been  a  pet  province.    Instead  of 
a  constant  succession,  not  more  than  four 
or  five  collectors  have  administered  the  re- 
vennes  in  fifty  years,  and  each  has  followed 
In  the  footsteps  of  his  predecessor.    About 
eight  thoui^and  pounds  a-ycar  have  been  ex- 
pended in  rudely  constructing  and  repairing 
common  roads,  bridges,  and  irrigation  works. 
The  result  has  been,  that  while  other  dis- 
tricts around,  especially  Guntoor  with  equal 
natural  advantages  for  irrigation  and  roads, 
have  been  starving,  Tanjore  has  been  able  to 
export  to  famine-stricken  districts;  that  while 
the  lands  of  the  Presidency  of  Madras  are  ge- 
nerally valueless,  the  land  of  Tanjore  is  solely 
at    twenty-five  years*  purchase  ;  that  while 
the  population  and  revenue  of  other  districts 
have  remained  stationary,  the  population  of 
Tanjore  has  increased  from  eight  hundred 
ihou.«and  to  a  million  and  a  half,  and  the 
revenue  has  Increased  from  three  to  five  hun- 
dred thousand. 

About  twenty-five  miles  northward  of  the 
City  of  Ajmeer,  is  Mairwara,  on  the  country 
of  the  Mairs.  a  hilly,  jungly  district,  inhabit- 
ed by  a  race  who  bear  or  bore  a  wonderful 
resemblance  to  the  Highland  clans  of  Rob 
Boy's  time.  In  religion  they  are  a  sort  of 
wet  Hindoos,  regardless  of  ablution,  prepa- 
ration of  food,  and  other  set  ceremonies. 
They  live  on  Indian  corn  and  barley  bread, 
with  the  flesh  of  sheep,  goats,  cows,  and  buf- 
faloes, when  they  can  get  them ;  but  hog*s 
flesh,  venison,  fish,  and  fowl  they  reject. 
Faithful,  generous,  and  brave,  with  strong 
clannish  feeling,  the  sword  was  the  Mair's 
constant  companion.    Robbery  was  the  pro- 


fession of  the  whole  race.  Their  strip  of  wild 
hilly  country  enabled  them  to  dash  into  the 
heart  of  the  surrounding  lowland  country. 
Each  district  of  Mairwara  had  its  assigned 
field  of  plunder ;  after  the  execution  of  a 
raid,  all  shared  alike.  It  was  a  republic, 
military,  social,  democratic,  and  larcenous. 
The  horsemen,  in  small  bands,  on  the  high- 
ways, levied  tribute  on  marriage  cavalcades 
and  pilgrims.  The  footmen  devoted  their 
energies  to  cattle-lifting,  taking  aUo  in  hand 
such  travellers  as  fell  m  their  way.  Brah- 
mins, proft'ssed  devotees,  aud  women,  were 
exempt  from  robbery  under  their  laws,  and 
blood  was  never  shed,  except  for  strictly  pro- 
fessional reasons. 

In  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty-three  this 
colony  of  caterans.  having  been  conquered, 
was  placed  under  the  command  of  Captain 
Hall.  For  thirteen  years  he  devoted  himself 
to  their  civilisation,  and  so  far  secured  their 
good  will  that  he  was  able  to  arrest  and 
punish  criminals,  where,  from  the  nature  of 
the  country,  two  thousand  policemen  would 
be  helpless.  When  compelled  by  ill-health  to^ 
retire,  he  was  succeeded  by  Captain  Dixon.* 
Captain  (afterwards  Colonel)  Dixon  saw  that 
the  people  could  not  continue  honest,  with 
no  sufficient  means  of  earning  a  livelihood  at 
home,  and  plenty  of  cattle  feeding  on  the 
plains  below.  Water  was  the  great  need ; 
rains  are  precarious,  bad  seasons  the  rule  ;  in 
some  years  no  rain  falls  at  all  ;  and,  from  the 
hilly  character  of  the  country,  the  rain  flows 
rapidly  away,  without  sufficiently  saturating 
the  earth.  So,  Colonel  Dixon  set  to  work 
with  three  clearly-defined  objects  in  view. 
First,  to  insure  a  sufficient  supply  of  water 
for  the  permanent  cultivation  of  tbe  soil ;  se- 
cond, the  cultivation  of  tracts  of  land  covered 
by  jungle  ;  third,  the  abolition  of  cattle-steal- 
ing by  turning  every  inhabitant  into  a  land 
cultivator.  To  obtain  a  constant  supply  of 
water,  the  main  watercourses  of  the  country 
were  banked  up,  aud  great  tanks  were 
formed;  small  tanks  aud  wells  were  made  by 
the  Mairs,  as^istf^d  by  loans  of  about  twenty 
shillings  for  each  work,  and  of  tools.  At  first 
the  people  would  not  sink  wells,  because  they 
found  there  was  no  water.  An 'example  was 
set  by  causing  the  battalion  of  Mairs,  a  sort  of 
local  militia  formed  by  Colonel  Hall,  to  sink 
fifty  wells,  which  were  handed  over  to  the  vil- 
lages complete  when  finished.  This  gave  them 
heart,  and  was  the  first  step  towards  encou- 
raging habits  of  self-reliance.  Wherever  vil- 
lages showed  themselves  industrious  in  erect- 
ing these  public  works,  they  were  rewarded 
by  a  remission  of  land  rent.  The  next  step 
was  to  found  villages  on  waste  land,  of  which 
there  were  thousands  of  acres.  The  bead 
men  of  the  new  villages  were  selected  from 
the  sons  of  the  pretel:?  or  head  men  of  adja- 
cent villages,  and  their  connexions  formed 
the  nucleus  of  the  new  colony.  The  set- 
tlers were  furnished  with  loans  for  the  pur- 
chase of  bullocks  ;  tools  were  furnished  free, 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


452 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


tCMdoctoA  kr 


but  the  st^ttlera  had  to  build  the  houses.  The 
loans  were  repayable  in  four  or  fix  instal- 
ments, within  three  years  after  the  village 
was  established.  Wells,  tauk^^,  and  terrace- 
wells  for  gardens  on  the  steep  hill  sides  fol- 
lowed. And  thus,  within  twelve  years,  a  hun- 
dred and  six  nourishing  hamlets  were  found- 
ed in  the  midst  of  what  had  previously  been 
jun^ile  waste.  The  superintendent  took  care 
to  warn  his  subjects  that,  now  that  an  ample 
field  for  industry  had  been  opened,  cattle- 
stealing  and  similar  crimes  would  be  punish- 
ed more  rigorously  than  before.  The  village 
smith,  the  barber,  the  potter,  the  carpenter, 
the  leather-dresser,  and  other  haudi-crafts- 
mon,  who  are  'usually  remunerated  in  kind 
for  their  services,  and  who  do  not  usually 
engage  in  field  labour,  were  turnedfinto  food 
growers.  Even  the  minstrel  yielded  to  the 
influence  of  the  engineer  officer,  and  became 
a  husbandman.  Colonel  Dixon  went  further. 
The  villagers  under  his  control  attacked  a 
band  of  robbers,  from  whose  depredations 
they  had  sulfered,  and  made  twenty-nine  of 
them  prisoners,  after  slaying  twelve.  These 
•prisoners  were  confined  in  the  Mairwara  gaol 
under  sentence  for  four  years ;  but  before 
the  time  had  expired,  a  piece  of  waste  land, 
near  Majari,  was  marked  out ;  the  prisoners 
were  permitted  to  leave  the  prison  every 
morning  unfettered  to  dig  wells  and  prepare 
for  settlement ;  on  the  expiration  of  their 
sentence  they  were  joined  by  their  families ; 
and  a  prosperous  village  of  twenty-seven 
families  was  the  result  of  the  robbers'  foray. 
This  village  has  since  been  r<'markable  for 
the.orderly  conduct  and  indufctry  of  its  in- 
habitants. 

As  the  improvements  advanced,  the  eager- 
ness of  the  peasantry  to  partake  of  these  im- 
provements advanced  also ;  it  became  so 
intense,  indeed,  that  the  authorities  were 
enable  to  keep  pace  with  it.  One  village 
(Soorcan)  having  been  deferred  until  the 
next  season,  a  few  months  afterwards  they 
requested  a  visit  from  the  superintendent, 
without  assigning  a  reason,  lie  went,  and 
was  pleased  and  surprised  to  find  that,  out  of 
their  own  resources,  by  the  sale  of  cattle  and 
the  betrothal  of  their  daughters,  they  had 
constructed  a  great  embankment  for  a  tank. 
They  were  rewarded  by  a  donation  of  one 
half  the  expense — forty  pounds.  In  one 
instance,  a  jungle  waste  has  been  converted 
into  fertility  by  a  series  of  tanks  connected 
by  weirs  for  an  unbroken  distance  of  twenty- 
six  miles. 

A  town  was  found  to  be  needed  as  a  centre 
of  this  new  colony,  and  (Nya  Nuggar — new 
city)  was  founded,  where  at  the  date  of  the  re- 
port, two  thousand  souls  of  every  caste  and 
profession  were  settled  in  handsome,  solid 
dwellings  and  shops.  The  example  of  the 
more  solid  architecture  spread  to  the  neigh- 
bouring villages.  The  average  annual  value 
of  merchandise  passing  through  Nya  Nuggar 
in  three  years  waa  one  hundred  and  forty- 


seven  thousand  pounds.  The  number  of 
carts  increased  to  six  hundred  and  eighty 
from  forty, — the  whole  number  in  the  local 
district  before  the  founding  of  the  city. 

Colonel  Dixon  next  proceeded  to  fonnd  an 
annual  fair,  fixed  the  fair  day  in  the  begin- 
ning of  the  autumn,  when  the  whole  country 
is  covered  with  the  rain  crop,  when  the  tanks 
are  overflowing,  and  agricultural  prosperity 
at  its  height  The  invitation  of  the  Grealt 
Chief,  equal  to  a  command,  was  cheerfully 
accepted.  **  The  men  decked  out  in  their 
best  attire,  accompanied  by  their  wives  and 
children,  attended  by  their  minstrels.  Claii& 
kept  apart  by  ancient  feuds,  met  and  made 
friends.  More  tha^  ten  thousand  Mairs  at- 
tended these  fairs." 

All  this  has  been  done  by  the  zeal  intelli- 
gence, and  perseverance  of  two  men.  Colonels 
Hall  and  Dixon,  without  other  aissihtaDce 
than  the  acquiescence  of  the  Indian  Govern- 
ment. The  total  expense  of  Colonel  Dixon's 
improvements  was  only  twenty-four  thousand 
pounds,  and  this  sum  produced  in  Mairwara, 
between  eighteen  hundred  and  thirty-five 
and  eighteen  hundred  and  forty-seven,  an  in- 
crease of  revenue  of  from  nine  thousand 
pounds  to  twenty-one  thousand  pounds  ;  an 
increase  in  the  value  of  agricultural  produce, 
from  twenty-nine  thousand  i>ounds  to  sixty- 
three  thousand  pounds;  of  the  population 
from  thirty-nine  thousand  six  hundred  to  one 
hundred  thousand  two  hundred.  In  a  neigh- 
bouring district  of  Ajmeer,  with  less  favour- 
able soil,  and  less  available  land,  the  same 
system  has  produced  most  satisfactory  re- 
sults ;  the  people  being  stimulated  by  the 
example  of  their  neighbours,  and  encouraged 
by  the  support  of  Colonel  Sutherland,  who 
commenced  improvements  without  waiting 
for  the  sanction  of  Government. 

Wherever  money  has  been  wisely  spent  on 
reproductive  works  in  India,  the  condition  of 
the  people  has  improved,  and  the  revenue 
returns  have  been  enormous.  But  such 
works,  which  altogether  have  not  cost  more 
than  twenty  millions  sterling,  or  about  one 
year  of  the  revenue  of  India,  are  but  specks 
upon  so  vast  a  country.  They  are  the  acci- 
dents of  an  enlightened  collector,  an  enthu- 
siastic engineer,  or  a  governor  acting  con- 
trary to  all  the  precedents.  It  has  not  yet 
become  part  of  the  fixed  policy  of  the  Indian 
government  to  spend  a  certain  minimum 
per-centage  of  the  annual  revenue  in  road 
or  river  improvements,  or  in  works  of 
irrigation.  And  if  it  were  the  theory, 
it  could  not  be  carried  out  without  sweep- 
ing away  a  wilderness  of  forms,  and  en- 
listing an  army  of  intelligent  engineers. 
General  Routine  lives  and  floari&es  in 
India,  in  liCadenhall  Street,  and  in  Cannon 
Row,  as  well  as  in  Downing  Street  and 
Whitehall.  Each  Presidency  is  most  ab- 
surdly placed  in  leading  strings,  Bengal 
at  the  head,  and  Bengal  under  a  hundred 
checks.    Matters  of  simple  detail,  which  the 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Charles  Dickens.] 


PETITION  EXTRAORDINARY. 


453' 


agent  of  a  nobleman  would  settle,  on  a 
Scotch  or  Eoglisb  estate,  on  his  own  respon- 
sibility, or  at  one  interview  with  his  chief, 
are  obliged  to  be  referred  from  the  local  gov- 
ernor of  Madras  or  Bombay  and  bis  Council, 
to  the  Governor-General  and  bis  Council, 
from  the  Govemor-Greneral  to  the  Court  of 
Directors,  from  the  Court  of  Directors  to  the 
Board  of  Control — each  power  having  its  own 
consulting  engineers  and  lawyers,  and  its  own 
reports :  so  that,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  the 
matter  is  buried  in  paper.  For  instance,  when 
the  Godavery  River  Works  were  nearly  com- 
pleted, the  engineer  applied  for  five  hundred 
pounds  to  take  a  steamer  up,  and  ascertain 
what  were  the  obstructions  in  the  way  of 
opening  a  regular  communication  of  five  hun- 
dred miles  of  water,  with  the  cotton  growing 
country  of  Berar.  Water  commuuication 
had  been  used  by  a  private  firm,  years  pre- 
viously, and  it  was  calculated,  by  those  who 
had  travelled  over  it  in  boats,  that  fifty  thou- 
sand pounds  would  open  it  the  whole  way, 
or  a  cost  of  one  thousand  pounds  a  mile. 
The  local  government,  afraid  of  the  responsi- 
bility, estimated  the  expense  of  a  survey  at 
one  thousand  pounds — a  sum  beyond  its  con- 
trol ;  and  so  shifted  the  responsibility  to  the 
Governor-General.  The  Governor-General 
considered  the  object  too  unimportant  to  risk 
one  thousand  pounds  upon,  in  the  then  state  of 
the  Indian  finances — there  being  only  thirteen 
millions  sterling  in  the  treasury.  On  another 
occasion,  a  request  for  one  hundred  pounds  to 
dredge  away  a  bar  of  sand,  which  was  ruin- 
ing a  harbour,  after  a  delay  during  which 
the  harbour  was  quite  destroyed,  shared  the 
same  fate.  If  a  question  arise  as  to  repairing 
a  few  panes  of  glass  in  a  barrack,  a  mountain 
of  correspondence  accumulates;  if  the  en- 
gineer of  an  Indian  railway  desires  to  turn  a 
skew  bridge  into  a  straight  one,  he  has  to  run 
the  gauntlett  of  about  thirteen  ofticers  and 
their  reports.  He  cannot  alter  the  form  of 
his  sleepers,  without  consulting  the  Board  of 
Control  in  London. 

The  coast  of  India  is  sorely  in  want  of 
ports,  piers,  and  breakwaters.  The  terminus 
of  the  Madras  Railway  will  be  a  black  man's 
raft,  or  a  Masoola  boat.  India  wants  com- 
mon roads :  rivers  cleared  and  embanked  ; 
railroads  of  all  kinds,  from  the  best  to  the 
lightest  and  cheapest :  from  the  centre  to  the 
sea  ;  canals  of  navigation  wherever  possible  ; 
irrigation  everywhere.  But,  India  wants 
these  immediately;  thirsty  for  water,  she 
cannot  afford  to  wait  until  a  vineyard,  not 
yet  planted,  shall  grow  wine. 

England  wants  millions  of  pounds  of  cot- 
ton, at  four-pence  a  pound  ;  wants  wheat  at 
two  guineas  a  quarter ;  wants  sugar,  rice, 
spice,  oils,  fibres  and  dyes.  Between  Eng- 
lish and  Indian  marts,  stand  a  morass  of 
forms,  an  avalanche  of  paper  reports,  a  moun- 
tain range  of  old  Indian  blockhead  prejudices, 
the  flippancy  of  Sir  Chatter  Chatterer,  the 
supercilious    ignorance  of  the  Honourable 


Wiehy  Washy,  the  tax-grinding  tradition, 
that  black  fellows  ought  to  pay  their  rent 
and  give  no  trouble  to  the  Court  of  Direc- 
tors, and  the  general  delight  of  Govern- 
ment Councils  to  talk  and  write,  and  do 
nothing. 

O,  if  in  the  next  parliamentary  game  of 
puss  in  the  corner,  the  experiment  were 
tried  of  choosing  for  the  autocrat  of  one 
hundred  and  sixty  millions,  instead  of  a  lord, 
or  a  lawyer,  or  a  talker,  a  worker  and  a 
doer!  O,  how  a  Stephenson,  or  Peto,  or 
Brassey,  installed  in  Cannon  Row,  would 
civilize  the  Blacks  and  astonish  the  Browns ! 

PETITION    EXTRAORDINARY. 

Unto  the  Lords  and  Gentleipen  in  the  House 

of  Common-Sense  a<*sembled,  the  Petition 

of  Hercules  Tully,  Clerk,  humbly  showeth  : 

That  your  petitioner  is  six  feet  high,  with 

broad  shoulders  and  strong  back-bone,  sound 

in  wind  and  limb,  of  unfailing  appetite   at 

meal    times,    and    of    undoubted    personal 

courage  and  pluck ;  that  thereby  he  might 

have  been  serviceable  to  his  country  as  heavy 

dragoon,    grenadier,   navy,   or    coal-heaver, 

but   is  rendered  useless  and  burdensome  to 

himself  and   others   by  circumstances   over 

which  he  has  no  control. 

That,  at  an  early  age,  your  petitioner 
was  placed  by  his  guardians  at  a  royal  public 
school,  and  distinguished  himself  greatly  in 
the  demolition  of  heavy  tarts  and  the  deglu- 
tition of  apples  and  other  fruits — as  also  intlie 
games  of  peg-top,  cricket,  football,  racket, 
and  fives  ;  that  in  seven  years  and  a-half  he 
acquired  some  knowledge  of  Homer,  Virgil, 
Horace,  -^<chylus,  and  Terence,  with  thi; 
rules  of  syntax,  and  the  compos^ition  of  hex- 
ameters and  pentameters',  but  remained  in 
profound  ignorauco  of  Chaucer  and  I^ope, 
and  Blackstone  and  Shaks^peare,  and  Hume 
and  Smollett;  that  by^eans  of  a  powerful  ^ 
memory  he  retained  the  dates  of  Marathon 
and  Pharsalia,  the  foundation  of  Rome,  and 
the  consulship  of  Plancus ;  but  knew  nothing 
whatever  of  the  Norman  Conquest,  the 
Magna  Charta,  the  battle  of  Trafalgar,  or  the 
ministry  of  Lord  Chatham.  That  he  knew 
the  value  of  sestertia  and  oboli,  but  was  ig- 
norant of  the  multiplication  table  and  the 
rule  of  three  ;  that  he  knew  the  partition  of 
the  world  among  the  Triumvirate,  but  had 
never  heard  of  the  settlement  of  Europe  at 
the  Congress  of  Vienna  ;  that  with  those 
acquirements  and  qualifications  he  proceeded, 
in   bis  nineteenth  year,   to  the    University 

of ,  with  an  exhibition  from  his  school  of 

fifty  pounds  a-year : 

TuAT  a<*  his  reputation  had  preceded  him 
to  Alraa  Mater,  he  fought  with,  and  com- 
pletely thrashed,  a  bargeman  (in  three 
rounds)  on  the  first  evening  of  bis  going  into 
residence,  and  on  the  following  morning  was 
requested  to  be  •*  stroke"  in  the  college 
boat : 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


454 


HOUSEUOLD  WORDS. 


[Condttded  ^j 


That  he  coa?^trued  Heeiod,  Thucydides, 
Lucretius,  audPlautus,  entirely  to  Lis  tutor's 
satistaction,  and  took  len^ons  iu  pugilism 
from  a  tir^t-rate  professor  of  the  art ;  that  he 
got  publicly  thanked  at  his  "  little  go,*'  and 
ran  a  race  with  the  Flying  Butcher,  beating 
him  by  twenty  yards  iu  the  half-mile  on  the 
8ame  day :  that  he  afterwards  translated 
John  Gilpin  into  Greek  Iambics,  and  wrestled 
for  twenty  pounds  a-sido  with  Joe  Pullen, 
the  lleadington  Giant,  giving  the  said  giant 
a  throw  which  strained  his  back,  whereby 
the  said  Joe  Pullen  has  been  an  inmate  of  the 
poorhouse  ever  since : 

TflAT  your  petitioner,  at  the  request  of  one 
of  his  guardians,  the  Reverend  Sir  TruUiber 
Western,  baronet  (whose  name  must  be  known 
to  many  members  of  your  honourable  house 
as  the  most  successful  feeder  of  pigs  and  fat- 
teuer  of  oxen  of  his  time),  entered  deeply 
into  the  study  of  divinity,  and  "  did"'  the 
Fathers  of  the  first  three  centuries  in  six 
mouths  }  at  the  same  time  he  reduced  him- 
self to  one  bottle  and  a-half  of  port  wiiie  a 
day,  and  seldom  exceeded  nine  cigars  : 

That  in  a  very  short  time  he  mastered  the 
Oriental  controversy,  and  gave  up  the  prac- 
tice of  driving  tandems : 

That,  when  the  proper  time  came,  he  took* 
his  degree  (high  in  honours),  and  after  a 
festive  meeting  at  the  principal  hotel,  to 
celebrate  the  event,  he  took  the  opportunity 
of  a  town-and-gown  riot,  which  suddenly 
occurred  at  that  time,  to  wipe  off  some  old 
scores  with  the  college  dean  of  chapel,  whom 
he  encountered,  by  accident,  on  the  way 
home  ;  and  that  in  the  effort  of  wiping  off  the 
said  old  scores,  a  rib  of  the  said  dignitary  was 
uufortunately  broken — either  the  detergent 
being  applied  too  roughly,  or  the  osseous  fab- 
ric of  the  said  dean  being  more  brittle  than 
usual : 

That  he  then — again  by  the  advice  of  one 
of  his  guardians,  the  reverend  Sir  Trulliber 
Western — established  himself  in  the  house  of 
a  respectable  clergyman,  in  order  to  acquire 
experience  in  the  management  and  working 
of  a  parish  before  he  himself  took  orders ; 
that  with  this  purpose,  he  occupitd  a  bed- 
room in  the  parsonage  of  the  reverend  Am- 
brose Grovel,  at  a  rent  of  a  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds  a-year,  and  prepared  to  take 
useful  lessons  in  ecclesiastical  and  parochial 
affairs : — 

That  he  found  the  said  Reverend  Ambrose 
Grovel  the  most  eloquent  preacher  he  ever 
heard —particularly  when  he  inculcated  the 
duties  of  submission  and  resignation,  and  re- 
verence to  the  old  family  and  immense  estates 
of  the  Duke  of  Gaudeston,  whose  steward 
occupied  the  main  pew  in  church ;  that  of 
his  preaching  there  was  no  end,  for  he  believed 
the  whole  value  of  parochial  ministration 
consisted  in  what  he  called  the  pulpit  ser- 
vices ;  that  he  left  the  visiting  of  the  sick 
and  comforting  of  the  afflicted  to  an  assistant 
of  sixty  years  of  age,  who  had  not  the  gift  of 


fluency,  and  was  therefore  only  fit  for  the 
lower  offices  of  the  church  ;  and  that  thereby 
your  petitioner,  so  far  from  acquiring  any 
insight  into  the  working  of  a  pari&b,  merely 
saw  the  method  of  working  a  curate,  and  was 
not  particularly  edified  by  the  same  : 

That  the  family  of  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Grovel,  consisted  of  a  wife  and  daughter — 
Miss  Thcodosia  Grovel— who  was  iu  the  en- 
joyment of  surprising  spirits,  and  laughed 
and  giggled  in  the  flow  of  her  innocent  nurtb 
in  a  very,  captivating  and  agreeable  manner ; 
that  her  attentions  were  great  and  incessant 
to  your  petitioner  ;  that  she  played  your  peti- 
tioner favourite  tunes  on  harp  and  piano : 
that  she  praised  your  petitioner's  horse  and 
horsemanship;  that  she  said  &be  thought 
your  petitioner  was  certain,  as  soon  as  he  vis 
old  enough,  to  be  Archbishop  of  Canterbury, 
and  that  if  she  were  queen  she  would  appoint 
him  to  that  high  office  at  once.  That  there- 
upon her  father,  the  Reverend  Amhroce 
Grovel,  used  to  chuck  her  under  the  chin, 
and  Fay, — "Silly  girl — what  an  innocent  lit- 
tle fool  you  arcF' 

That  your  petitioner  is  informed  and  be- 
lieves that  the  said  Reverend  Ambrose  Grovel 
had  been  in  the  habit  of  chucking  the  chins 
of  the  four  senior  sisters  of  Miss  Tbeodoeia. 
in  presence  of  four  previous  clerical  appren- 
tices (as  they  were  irreverently  called)  ;  and 
that  the  result  was  that  the  said  four  clerical 
apprentices  married  the  said  four  senior 
sibters  of  Miss  Thcodosia  Grovel,  whereby 
the  said  Reverend  Ambrose  Grovel  had  ob- 
tained, among  those  wbo  were  acquainted 
with  the  proceedings,  the  name  of  "the 
Judicious  Uooker :" 

That  your  petitioner  was  heedless  of  chin- 
chucking  and  tune  playing,  by  reason  the 
young  lady  had  already  a  double  chin,  and 
was  a  very  poor  musician  j  that  before  the 
year  had  expired  your  petitioner  was  not  on 
friendly  terms  with  any  of  the  family ;  wa* 
preached  at  by  the  Reverend  Ambrose 
Grovel,  sometimes  under  the  name  of  Judv, 
sometimes  under  that  of  Gallio,  and  once  in 
an  unmistakcable  manner  under  the  coin- 
pound  name  of  Sampson  Eutychus,  because 
he  was  gifted  with  great  bodily  strength,  and 
was  in  the  habit  of  falling  asleep  during  the 
sermon.  That  the  mother  also  withdrew  from 
your  petitioner  all  the  little  amenities  which 
make  residence  in  the  same  house  agreeable , 
his  tea  was  weak  and  cold,  his  beer  sour,  his 
dinners  scanty,  his  wine  withdrawn,  his 
linen  unwashed ;  that  Miss  Thcodosia  never 
listened  if  your  petitioner  made  a  remark  ; 
never  giggled,  or  even  smiled  ;  informed  her 
mother  that  personal  power  was  symptomatic 
of  intellectual  weakness;  and  occasionally 
received  at  tea  a  neighbouring  attorney  of 
remarkably  small  person,  whom  she  had  pre- 
tended to  forget,  and  not  to  know  even  by 
sight,  during  the  first  four  months  of  your 
petitioner's  residence  at  the  rectory  : 

That,  under   these   circomstancea,   yoor 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Chtftea  Dickcna.] 


PETITION  EXTRAORDINARY. 


456 


petitioner  left  the  house  of  the  Reverend 
Ambrose  Grovel,  and  betook  himself,  for  the 
remaiuder  of  the  year  of  preparation,  to 
Mangold- Wurzel  Hall,  the  seat  of  the 
Reverend  Sir  TruUiber  Western  ;  that  there 
he  acquired  considerable  skill  in  fattening 
pigs,  and  the  crossing  of  breeds  ;  and,  as  he 
was  known  to  excel  in  the  training  and 
breaking  of  horses,  did  train  and  break  in 
both  to  hounds  and  harness,  several  of  the 
best  bred  hunters  and  carriage  horses  in  the 
county  of  Hants ; 

That  being  now  upwards  of  thrce-and- 
twenty  years  of  ago,  full  of  health  and  spirits, 
anxious  to  volunteer  for  the  exploration  of 
Africa,  or  the  extermination  of  hostile  nations 
by  the  sword,  your  petitioner — by  the  persua- 
sion and  promises  of  his  guardians  aforesaid  ; 
that  is  to  say,  of  his  two  aunts,  each  with  five 
huQdrcd  a-ycar  ait  her  absolute  disposal ;  of 
Sir  Trul liber  Western,  Baronet,  aforesaid  ; 
and  further,  of  an  old  bachelor  cousin,  who 
was  reported  to  have  murdered  and  robbed 
an  Indian  princess  at  the  taking  of  Seringa- 
patara,  who  was  honoured  and  respected  ac- 
cordiugly,  and  who  strongly  urged  the  neces- 
sity of  the  contemplated  step,  merely  to  keep 
fo  much  animal  courage  and  robust  enterprise 
in  order— was  presented  to  the  J)is-hop  as  a 
simple  esquire,  and  came  out  with  a  handle 
to  bis  name,  and  the  pcrpo'lual  obligation  to 
wiar  white  neckcloths  and  a  black  coat : 

That  your  petitioner  now  found  himself 
established  iu  a  parish  where  there  was  no 
pargonage-house,  and  where  no  resident 
minister  had  been  heard  of,  either  before  or 
after  the  Reformation  ;  where  the  population 
was  80  pnrely  agricultural,  that  it  could 
neither  read  nor  write,  nor  do  anything  but 
drink  and  swear ;  where  the  roads  were  im- 
passable for  half  the  year;  and  a  school, 
which  had  once  been  founded  by  a  benevolent 
blackpmith,  for  the  promulgation  of  Mormon- 
ism,  was  converted  into  a  cock-pit.  That  in 
this  pari&h — without  rectory,  without  school, 
without  rector,  with  a  pauper  population, 
and  untravellablc  roadj — your  petitioner 
spent  upwards  of  seven  mouths,  with  no 
society,  no  visitor,  no  comfortable  lodging,  no 
enconragcment  from  bi>hop,  no  superintend- 
ence from  archdeacon ;  and  was  rapidly 
falling  into  habits  of  private  gin-and-water 
and  innumerable  meerschaum-pipes,  but  for- 
tunately was  prevented  from  further  degra- 
dation by  the  death  of  one  of  the  maiden 
aunts  already  mentioned,  as  having  the  abso- 
lute disposal  of  five  hundred  a-year : 

That  your  petitioner's  said  aunt  had  pur- 
chased for  his  benefit  the  next  presentation 
to  a  valuable  living,  in  a  favourite  county, 
Within  easy  distance  of  three  packs  of  hounds, 
and  with  excellent  shooting,  easily  procured, 
in  the  neighbourhood : 

That  to  make  this  purchase  legal  (which  it 
would  not  have  been  if  it  had  been  effected 
during  the  vacancy  of  the  said  valuable  llv- 
^^fS)i  jour  petitioner's  said  aunt  had  insisted 


on  the  patron  communicating  to  the  vacant 
cure  of  souls  the  oldest  and  most  unhealthy 
clergyman  that  could  be  discovered  in  the 
diocese  ;  and,  for  this  end,  had  recommended 
a  man  of  upwards  of  eighty,  who  had  had 
three  ditt'ereut  strokes  of  paralysis,  had  been 
for  forty  years  a  martyr  to  the  gout,  and  was 
pronounced  not  likely  to  survive  longer  than 
was  absolutely  necessary  to  read  into  tho 
said  valuable  living,  and  so  make  the  pur- 
chase of  it  a  legal  transaction : 

That  scarcely  had  the  said  old  man  been 
inducted,  and  thereby  put  in  possession  of 
the  temporalities— to  the  great  increase  of 
fame  and  reputation  to  the  patron,  who  was 
described  in  the  county  newspapers  as  a 
model  of  kindness  and  generosity,  in  at  last 
rewarding  the  services  of  a  curate  who  had 
been  neglected  for  sixty  years — than  a  re- 
markable change  took  place  in  the  new  in- 
cumbent's health  :  that  he  grew  fat  and  rosy, 
drove  out  in  a  nice  phaelou  with  a  pair  of 
ponies,  and  smiled  in  a  significant  manner  j 
that  then  the  possibility  of  a  bride  and  a  spe- 
cious nursery  in  the  parsonage,  was  hinted 
at  by  his  friends  : 

That  your  petitioner  felt  a  most  injurious 
change  taking  place  in  his  Christian  senti- 
ments ;  that  he  hated  the  said  new  incumbent 
in  a  manner,  and  to  a  degree,  in  which  he 
had  never  hated  any  one  before ;  that  he 
looked  every  morning  into  the  list  of  deaths 
in  the  newspapers,  and  gave  way  to  execra- 
tions and  ejaculations  of  the  bitterest  and 
most  vulgar  kind,  when  he  failed  to  perceive 
the  old  gentleman's  name  in  the  said  list ; 
that  he  detested  all  old  persons  whatever, 
and  wished  a  law  to  be  passed  making  it 
penal  for  any  one  to  live  beyond  sixty  years : 
or,  that  so  much  of  the  Hindoo  faith  hhould 
be  engrafted  on  (he  Christian  as  consi.vted  in 
putting  aged  individuals  to  an  honourable 
death.  That  his  feelings  of  objection  to  the 
longevity  of  the  said  new  incumbent  were 
excited  nearly  to  frenzy,  when  Miss  Sophia 
Western,  the  youngest  daughter  of  the 
before-mentioned  Sir  Trulliber  Western,  to 
whom  your  petitioner  was  engaged  by  tho 
most  formal  promises  and  vows,  declared  she 
could  not  wait  any  longer  for  an  old  par5^on'8 
demise,  who  would  probably  exist  till  the 
frame  of  all  things  was  dissolved  in  universal 
destruction  at  the  end  of  the  world:  and, 
accordingly,  married  her  cousin.  Jack  All- 
worthy,  who  had  bought  some  land  in. 
Canada,  and  was  going  out  to  settle  upon  bis 
estate : 

That  your  petitioner,  on  the  occurrence  of 
this  blow,  determined  to  console  himself  for 
the  delay  in  his  anticipated  increase  of 
income,  by  buying  a  share  in  some  lucrative 
and  respectable  business ;  that  with  that  view, 
he  applied  the  remainder  of  the  succe.^sion 
of  his  said  aunt  to  the  purchase  .of  one-sixth 
part  of  a  banking  concern,  long  established, 
and  holding  out  great  advantages  to  any 
person  of  good  education  and  steady  habits 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


456 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


who  would  enter  personally  into  the  manage- 
ment of  the  business : 

That  your  petitioner,  on  these  premises, 
paid  the  sum  of  five  thousand  pounds  for  the 
said  slmro ;  and,  besides  his  proportion  of 
the  net  profits,  was  to  be  paid  a  further  sum 
of  three  hundred  a-year  in  consideration  of 
being'  an  active  and  not  a  sleeping  partner  ; 
but  a  hitch  was  soon  discovered,  after  the 
transference  of  the  said  sum  of  five  thousand 
pounds,  namely,  that  being  a  clergyman,  with 
cure  of  souls,  your  petitioner's  interference 
would  vitiate  any  business  transactions  of  the 
firm,  making  its  debts  and  credits  alike  irre- 
coverable at  law ; — whereupon  your  peti- 
tioner being  threatened  by  the  other  partners 
with  a  bill  of  ejectment,  resigned  his  mana- 
gerial functions,  and  has  not,  nor  ever  has 
lind.  any  control  over  his  own  money  since 
that  tlrao : 

That  your  petitioner,  after  waiting  five 
yfans  more,  coming  round  to  the  opinion  of 
Miss  Sophia  Wes^tern,  now  Mrs.  John  All- 
worthy,  that  the  new  incumbent,  the  Reverend 
Methusaleh  Parr,  would  probably  survive 
him  by  many  years,  and  be  the  last  man 
alive  of  all  the  generations  of  mankind,  Fold 
the  next  presentation  at  a  diminished  price, 
and  resumed  his  rural  and  stall-feeding  pur- 
suits, and,  at  the  same  time,  commenced 
acquaintance  with  the  poets,  historians,  and 
orators  of  his  own  country : 

That  your  petitioner's  circumstances  were 
now  greatly  improved ;  that  his  other  aunt  fol- 
lowed her  sister's  excellent  example,  both  in 
dying  and  in  leaving  him  her  money  5  that  his 
distant  cousin,  also,  who  had  been  present  at 
the  siege  of  Seringapatam,and  was  reported 
to  have  enriched  himself  with  the  spoils  of  a 
murdered  Begum,  departed 4his  life,  leaving 
your  petitioner  his  sole  heir ;  that  being  at 
this  period  thirty-three  years  old — possessing 
four  thousand  five  hundred  a-year — married 
to  a  charming  wife — and  anxious  to  make 
himself  useful  to  his  country — your  petitioner 
founded  schools  and  built  a  church  and  sub- 
scribed to  societies,  and  conducted  himself  in 
all  respects  as  befits  a  country  gentlemen  of 
ample  fortune  and  philanthropic  mind  : 

That  your  petitioner  has  portions  of  his 
estate  in  several  parishes ;  that  the  clergy- 
men of  the  said  parishes  consider,  each 
respectively,  that  the  w^hole  of  your  peti- 
tioner's income  ought  to  be  devoted  to  the 
particular  purposes  of  each  individual  paflsh  ; 
and,  furthermore,  that  as  each  of  the  said 
clergymen  holds  very  decided  and  exclusive 
opinions,  your  petitioner  has  the  misfortune 
to  be  viewed  in  the  following  lights  by  the 
said  clergymen  respectively ; 

By  Dr.  Dry,  of  Bolster-cum-Plllow,  as  a 
revolutionary  radical  and  an  enemy  to  the 
church ; 

By  the  Reverend  Mr.  Narrowpath,  of 
Needles,  as  a  castaway,  encumbered  in  filthy 
rags,  and  blindly  shutting  his  eyes  to  the 
truth ;  > 


By  the  Reverend  Reginald  Fltz-All,  as  a 
latitudinarian  and  a  despiser  of  ecclesiastical 
authority : 

That  your  petitioner,  labouring  under  this 
amount  of  obloquy  among  the  clergymea  of 
his  own  persuasion,  has  the  misfortane  to 
ofiend  in  an  equal  degree  all  the  dissenters 
with  whom  he  comes  in  contact ;  being  con- 
sidered by  them  an  amalgamation  of  all  the 
various  sections  of  the  church — high  and 
dry — narrow  and  weak — archaeological  and 
8entim(?ntal.  That  he  is  hated  and  distrcsted 
accordingly,  his  schools  (maintained  entirely 
at  his  expense)  ;  denounced  as  seminaries  of 
revolution  and  retrogression — of  unmitigated 
orthodoxy  and  German  neologism — for  the 
simple  and  sufficient  reason,  that  in  the  eaid 
schools  neither  orthodoxy  nor  neologism  is 
taught  at  all ;  but  the  Bible  is  reverently 
read,  and  the  universal  precepts  of  the 
Christian  faith  unfailingly  inculcated  : 

That  your  petitioner  is  severely  animad- 
verted on  by  each  and  all  of  the  above- 
named  clergymen,  as  false  to  his  cloth  in  not 
devoting  all  his  means  to  strictly  church 
purposes  ;  and  by  the  dissenters  aforesaid  as 
a  great  deal  too  true  to  the  said  cloth,  and 
afi'ecting  a  little  apparent  liberality  for  a 
purpose  which  they  can  well  understand  : 

That  your  petitioner  being  qualified,  as  he 
conceives,  to  add  some  little  information  to 
the  moderate  fund  of  that  article  possessed  by 
the  members  of  the  legislature,  would  have 
great  pleasure  in  devoting  himself  to  the 
service  of  his  country  in  the  character  of  a 
senator,  but  that  such  a  proceeding  is  ren- 
dered impossible  by  a  law  which  exclude 
from  the  representation  of  the  people  any 
one  who  has  ever  officiated  in  a  church, 
although  he  may  glow  with  as  holy  a  wisdom, 
and  as  heroic  a  heart,  as  Sidney  Godolpbin 
Osborne,  be  as  benevolently  sagacious  as 
Sidney  Smith,  and  as  practically  instructive 
as  Dean  Dawes  of  Hereford : 

That  debarred  from  trade  and  from  par- 
liament, bv  law ;  from  amusement  by  public 
opinion  ;  from  active  exertions  in  any  sphere 
of  life,  by  professional  narrowness  and  seclu- 
sion ;  your  petitioner's  energies  are  either  not 
excited  for  the  good  of  his  fellows,  or  are  en- 
tirely misapprehended  and  thrown  away : 

That  great  benefit  would  accrue  if  your 
Honourable  House  would,  therefore,  take 
some  steps  to  remedy  this  state  of  things, 
either  by  ensuring  active  ecclesiastical  em- 
ployment, with  decent  remuneration,  to  all 
persons  entering  the  church,  or  by  enabling 
them  to  cast  aside  the  handle  to  their  names, 
and  the  white  neckcloth,  which  impedes  their 
respiration;  and  by  permitting  thtm  to 
endue  the  plain  blue  coat  and  brass  buttons, 
which  to  them  would  be  the  passport  to  the 
shop,  the  counting-house,  the  judicial  ermine, 
the  benches  of  parliament,  or  the  councils  of 
her  Majesty  the  Queen. 

And  your  petitioner  (as  a  clergyman) 
would  never  pray,  &c.,  <fcc.,  Ac 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


''FktmOinrinihiirMiMiOiMMEOUSEBOLD  WORDS."- 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
COSDTJCIES   BT  CHAKLES  BICEEVS. 


No.  20.] 


J.   A.  DIX,   PUBLISHER, 

Omoa,  No.  10  Fabb  Plaos,  N*w-Te«K. 


[Whole  No.  273 


SPECIMENS  OF  THE  ALCHEMISTS. 

IN  TWO  OHAFTBBS.      CSAFTBB  I. 

It  is  the  custom  in  these  days  to  speak  of 
alchemy  as  a  **  dream ; "  but  it  was  by  no 
means  one  of  those  dreams  that  come  in  sleep. 
It  Tvas,  on  the  contrary,  the  hard  work  and 
the  hard  watching  of  a  lifetime.  The  angels 
and  "  the  giants  who  were  upon  the  earth  in 
those  days,"  are  handed  down  by  tradition 
as  the  earliest  possessors  of  the  secrets  of 
alchemy,  but  they  all  went  out  with  Noah's 
deluge,  and  their  labors  followed  them.  The 
early  Egyptians  are  quite  ancient  enough, 
and  as  far  back  in  antiquity  as  any  "  little 
candle  "  which  we  possess  "  can  shed  its  rays." 
The  emerald  tablet  found  in  the  tomb  of 
Hermes  Trismegistus  by  Alexander  the  Great 
is  the  earliest  record,  and  Hermes  Trismegis- 
toB  is  the  first  patriarch  of  the  science  whose 
name  has  been  handed  down,  though  of 
course,  he  must  have  had  masters  and  teach- 
ers who  were  before  him.  This  emerald  ta- 
blet, however  is,  we  are  sorry  to  say — one 
would  have  been  so  glad  to  have  believed  in 
its  existence — if  not  a  pious,  at  least  a  scien- 
tific, fraud,  and  belongs  to  a  much  later  date. 
It  contained  an  inscription  in  thirteen  prop- 
ositions, upon  which  tne  alchemists  bestowed 
great  pains  to  discover  the  meaning.  As  they 
are  not  very  long,  we  subjoin  them  as  they 
have  come  down,  for  the  benefit  of  such  of 
our  readers  as  love  to  study  the  dark  sayings 
of  old : 

I.  I  ipeak  not  fiction,  but  what  is  certain  and  most 
true. 

II.  What  ia  below  ia  like  that  which  ia  abore,  and 
what  ia  abore  ia  like  that  which  ia  below,  for  perform- 
ing the  miracle  of  one  thing. 

in.  And  aa  all  thinga  were  prodoced  from  one,  by 
the  meditation  of  one,  ao  all  tkinga  were  produced 
from  thia  one  thine  bj  adaptation. 

IT.  Ita  father  ia  the  aan,  its  mother  waa  the  moon, 
the  wind  carried  it  in  ita  belljr,  ita  norae  is  the  earth. 

T.  It  ia  the  caoae  of  all  perfection  througboat  the 
whole  world. 

TL  Ita  power  ia  perfect  if  it  bo  changed  into  the 
earth. 

TIL  Separate  the  earth  from  the  fire,  the  aabtle 
from  the  groaa,  gently  and  with  jaUgment. 

Tin.  It  aacenda  from  earth  to  heaven,  and  de- 
scends again  to  earth.  Thus  yon  will  possess  the 
glory  of  the  whole  world,  and  all  obscurity  will  fly 
awmy  from  you. 

nc.  Thia  thing  ia  the  fortitude  of  all  fortitude,  be- 
cauae  it  overcomea  all  subtile  things,  and  penetratea 
erery  solid  thing. 

VOL.  XI. 


X.  Thus  were  all  things  created. 

XL  Hence  proceed  wonderful  adaptations,  which 
are  prodnoed  in  thia  way. 

Xil.  Therefore  am  I  called  Hermea  Triamegistus 
possessing  the  tliree  parts  of  the  philosophy  of  the 
whole  world. 

XHI.  That  I  had  to  say  concerning  the  operation 
of  the  sun  is  completed. 

These  thirteen  mysterious  sayings  nearly 
drove  the  followers  of  alchemy  to  distrac- 
tion. They,  however,  religiously  followed 
the  example  of  their  master,  and  enveloped 
whatever  knowledge  they  possessed  in  the 
most  impenetrable  coat  of  darkness,  but  it 
was  a  coat  embroidered  and  spangled  with 
such  seducing  figures  of  speech,  such  mys- 
tical birds,  beasts,  and  flowers,  that  the  read- 
er is  enticed  by  their  strange  beauty.  We 
have  now  at  our  elbow  a  pile  of  old  alchem- 
ical tracts  and  treatises.  They  are,  one  and 
all,  profoundly  unintelligible,  but  they  speak 
their  unknown  tongue  with  so  much  g^ave 
and  earnest  emphasis  that  it  is  difficult  not 
to  believe  tiiey  are  pointing  out  the  road  to 
a  mysterious,  unknown  world,  full  of  strange 
beauty — if  one  only  could  understand  their 
directions! 

The  authentic  records  of  alchemy  that  have 
come  down  to  us  do  not  begin  before  the 
eighth  century.*  It  was  the  Arabians  who 
gave  it  the  shape  and  dignity  of  a  science. 
The  Arabians  came  into  Egypt,  which  they 
overran  as  they  did  other  countries  like  a 
swarm  of  locusts,  they  destroyed  the  great 
library  of  Alexandria,  and,  by  so  doing,  seem- 
ed to  have  extinguished  the  last  s^k  of 
learning ;  but  if  ever  that  savage  belief  that 
the  virtues  of  the  conquered  foe  pass  into  the 
person  of  the  conqueror,  seemed  to  be  borne 
out  by  the  result,  it  was  so  in  this  instance. 
The  Arabians  absorbed  and  assimilated  the 
knowledge  of  the  people  they  conquered. — 
They  were  themselves  set  on  fire  with  the 
ardor  of  their  own  swift  energy,  and  they  set 
on  fire  whatever  they  touched.    They  in- 

*  The  destruction  of  ancient  manuscripts  had,  pre- 
riouBly  to  this,  taken  place  on  a  large  scale.  Diode* 
tian  has  the  credit  of  having  bnmcdthe  books  of  the 
Bgyptians  on  the  chemistry  of  gold  and  silver.  Caosar 
is  said  to  have  burned  a«  many  aa  aeven  hundred 
thousand  rolls  at  Alexandria ;  and  Leo  Isanma  three 
hundred  thouaand  at  Oonstantinople,  in  the  eighth 
century,  about  the  time  the  Arabians  burned  the 
library  at  Alexandria. 

278 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


458 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCoBd«ctedbf 


spired  with  a  living  force  every  branch  of 
learning,  and  this  knowledge  they  carried 
witii  them  and  spread  abroad  in  every  coun- 
try whithereoever  they  went.  The  good  they 
did  to  mankind— ^ot  by  their  genius  only, 
but  by  the  industry  with  which  they  worked 
out  the  results  of  learning,  and  the  intense 
vitality  which  fertilised  their  industry — am- 
ply atoned  for  the  loss  sustained  by  the  de- 
struction of  the  great  library.  Chemistry 
was  the  science  into  which  they  threw  them- 
selves with  the  greatest  ardour,  and  is  the 
one  in  which  we  can  best  judge  of  what  they 
effected.  Many  words  of  their  invention  re- 
tain their  place  in  oup>  present  nomencla- 
ture— such  are,  alchemy  itself,  alkali,  alco- 
hol, alembic,  algaroth,  alembroth,  and  others. 
They  brought  into  mechanical  operation  ma- 
ny natural  processes ; — such  as  distillation, 
sublimation,  filtration,  crystallisation.  They 
invented  the  retort,  the  alembic,  the  cruci- 
ble, the  water  bath,  and  the  sand  bath.  The 
Arabians  did  something  greater  than  all  these 
things — they  changed  the  whole  method  of 
conducting  scientific  enquiry ;  the  ancient 
mode  was  to  reason  from  abstract  principles, 
which,  in  matters  of  fact,  was  like  beginning 
to  build  a  house  from  the  roof  downwards. 
The  Arabians  set  to  work  by  observing  fiicts 
and  making  experiments,  thus  endeavoring 
to  raise  their  theories  from  a  foundation  of 
reality  alone ;  but,  as  they  were  men  and 
not  gods,  of  course,  they  were  liable  to  error, 
and  often  set  out  upon  their  investigations 
entangled  in  a  web  of  previously-conceived 
abstract  Ideas,  which  they  set  up  as  "  laws 
of  nature.''  But  this  does  not  alter  the  fact 
that  the  Arabians  were  the  first  who  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  method  by  which  alone  nat- 
ural science  can  be  conducted  with  any  cer- 
tainty or  success— it  is  the  great  step  which 
separates  ancient  science  from  modem  re- 
search. Before  we  commence  our  stories  of 
the  alchemists  our  readers  may  possibly  like 
to  know  something  of  what  alchemy  professed 
to  be  and  to  do,  but  truly  it  is  sucn  a  wide 
subject,  not  only  as  regards  its  general  prin- 
'ciples  and  modes  of  practice,  but  also  in  its 
digresslye  tendencies,  which  are  infinite,  that 
the  information  we  give  is  indeed  superficial. 
There  is  scarcely  anything  the  imagination 
has  ever  conceived  or  questioned  concerning 
the  operations  of  nature  that  is  not  to  \i 
found  in  the  records  of  alchemy.  We  must 
pick  our  way  through  the  labyrinth  as  well 
as  we  can,  and  shall  only  give  what  seems  to 
us  necessuy  for  the  better  understanding  of 
the  life  and  labours  of  the  class  of  men  of 
whom  we  purpose  to  treat. 

Alchemy  had  two  great  objects  in  yiew ; 
the  first  was  the  conversion  of  the  metals  into 
one  another  by  means  of  a  single  substance  ] 
the  second  was,  the  cure  of  all  diseases  what- 
eyer  by  the  application  of  a  single  remedy : 
the  first  to  acquire  an  unlimited  supply  of 
FortunatuB-purses  of  gold,  and  the  second  to 
secure,  if  not  an  Immortality,  at  least  a  ter- 


ribly long  lease  of  this  mortal  life.  It  was 
supposed  by  the  alchemists — and  traces  of 
the  idea  are  to  be  seen  in  the  earliest  %gea — 
that  all  metals  were  mutaallj  conyertible. 
Seven  metals  were  knows — namely  :  gold, 
silver,  quicksilver,  copper,  iron,  tin,  and 
lead.  These  numbers,  corresponding  with 
the  number  of  the  planets,  were  generally 
called  by  alchemists  Sol,  Luna,  Mercury, 
Venus,  Mars,  Jupiter,  and  Saturn.  The  al- 
chemists believed  that  each  planet  stood  in 
such  close  relation  and  communication  with 
its  appropriate  metal,  as  to  be  coastjuitly 
generating  fresh  quantities  of  it  in  the  depUu 
of  the  earth.  Each  of  these  metals  was  sop- 
posed  to  consist  of  sulphur  and  mercury  in 
different  proportions  and  in  different  degrees 
of  purity ;  hence,  by  adding  what  was  defi- 
cient or  subtracting  what  was  superfluous  in 
the  composition  of  each  metal,  it  might  be 
changed  into  another.  Common  mercury 
and  common  sulphur  were  found  not  to  an- 
swer the  purpose,  and,  by  degrees,  became 
two  spiritual  or  elemental  principles  called, 
for  the  sake  of  convenience,  by  those  com- 
mon names.  The  mercury  was  supposed  to 
impart  to  metals  their  lustre  and  ductility — 
their  fixed  properties ;  whilst  the  sulphur  con- 
ferred upon  them  their  changeable  nature. 
Both  elements  were  united  in  each  metal  in 
different  proportions  and  in  different  degrees 
of  purity  and  fixation — which  latter  term 
had  a  very  indefinite  meaning  :  sometimes  it 
was  merely  the  degree  in  wuidi  the  fusi- 
bility of  the  metals  was  affected,  and  some- 
times it  was  meant  to  shadow  forth  what  we 
now  call  afllnity.  Of  the  metals,  gold  and 
silver  were  called  perfect,  the  others  were, 
more  or  less,  imperfect,  and  the  great  object 
was  to  convert  these  imperfect,  into  the  per- 
fect metals ;  yet,  singularly  enough,  the  great 
masters  of  alchemy  disclaimed  all  sordid  mo- 
tives. This  conversion  of  the  metals  was  to 
be  effected  by  what  was  compendiously  term- 
ed the  philosopher's  stone  ;  but  the  word 
stone  must  be  taken  figuratively,  for  it  was 
not  conceived  to  be  a  stone  at  all,  but  a  pow- 
der ;  and  in  some  of  the  processes,  a  fluid — 
generally,  the  successful  adepts  represented 
it  as  a  red  powder  with  a  faint  smell.  Be- 
fore we  have  done,  the  reader  shall  have  the 
benefit  of  some  of  the  directions  for  obtain- 
ing this  precious  powder,  and  an  account 
of  the  different  appearances  it  took  during 
the  course  of  the  work,  before  the  moment 
when  it  touched  perfection.  One  of  the  al- 
chemists thus  describes  the  result  of  his  la- 
bor : — '*  Our  stone  is  nothing  but  an  odone- 
ous  spirit  and  a  living  water  (which  we  baye 
also  called  dry  water)  purified  by  a  natural 
proportion,  and  united  in  such  a  way  tliat 
it  can  in  nowise  be  absent  f^m  iteelf .'' 
The  alchemists  were  dreadfully  afraid  of  ma- 
king their  instructions  intelligible  to  gen- 
eral readers  ;  and  from  the  name  of  one  of 
their  chief  writers — Geber — Dr.  Johnson  de- 
riyes  the  word  gibberish,  which  was  formerly 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cltariea  Blduna.] 


SPECIMENS  OP  THE  ALCHEMISTS. 


459 


'WTitten  geberisb.  Their  red  powder,  when 
found,  was  capable  of  conTerting  all  metals 
into  gold,  even  when  nsed  in  the  minutest 
particle.  There  was  also  a  second  prepara- 
tion, called  the  white  tincture,  not  so  difficult 
to  obtain,  and  it  could  convert  every  metal 
into  silver,  and  could  itself  be  converted  into 
^old  by  the  red  powder.  The  red  powder 
also  could,  if  administered  in  homoeopathic 
doses,  cure  all  diseases,  from  its  quality  of 
being  able  to  change  everything  imperfect 
and  unhealthy  into  wnat  was  pure  and  perfect. 

What  we  have  already  said  may  afford 
some  general  idea  of  the  nature  of  the 
study  of  alchemy ;  we  proceed  to  give  some 
account  of  the  most  learned  and  noted  adepts 
whose  fame  has  been  transmitted  to  us,  and 
to  whose  dreams  we  are  indebted  for  many 
valuable  realities  little,  if  at  all,  inferior  to 
the  red  powder. 

Synesius,  Bishop  of  Ptolemais,  one  of  the 
earliest  adepts,  was  bom  in  three  hundred 
and  slzty-flve.  He  was  a  learned  and  excel- 
lent man  ;  more  of  a  Pagan  than  a  Christian, 
but  a  good  bishep  notwithstanding;  His 
portrait  has  been  restored  to  us  in  Mr. 
KIngsley's  Hypatia,  and  our  readers  are 
referred  to  his  pages.  Geber— or  more  cor- 
rectly Dah-ad-far  al  Softe — is  the  first  who 
giTes  a  full  account  of  the  science  of  alchemy ; 
but,  although  his  works  have  come  down  to  us 
— having  been  translated  into  both  Arabic  and 
Liatin — and  although  he  attained  the  greatest 
celebrity  in  the  age  when  he  lived,  which  was 
the  eighth  century  ,yet  little  is  known  of  his  life 
except  that  he  was  born  in  Mesopotamia,  and 
passed  into  Spain,where  he  spent  some  time. 

The  story  of  Morieu  reads  like  one  of  the 
Arabian  Night^s  Entertainments,  and  may, 
perhaps,  repav  the  reader  for  any  tediousness 
he  may  have  indulged  in.  Morieu  was  bom 
in  Rome,  in  the  tenth  century,  he  was  a  good 
Christian,  and  we  are  told  extremely  duti&l  to 
his  parents ;  but,  hearing  of  Aldar,  a  famous 
Arabian  philosopher,  who  lived  at  Alexandria, 
and  some  of  his  writings  having  fallen  into 
his  hands,  they  so  took  hold  of  his  imagination 
that  he  ran  away  from  home  and  made  for 
Alexandria.  Arrived  there,  he  had  great 
difficulty  in  finding  the  house  of  the  learned 
man,  but  he  had  not  come  so  far  to  fall  then ; 
and,  at  length,  having  found  the  man  he 
sought,  he  made  known  to  him  his  country, 
his  religion :  and  his  desire  to  become  a 
disciple.  Aafar  was  glad  of  a  disciple  who 
showed  great  zeal,  docility,  and  intelligence, 
and  Morieu  was  happy  to  have  found  a 
master  who  promised  to  unveil  for  him  the 
scarce  of  all  treasures.  Th«  gentleness  of 
Morieu  so  won  upon  his  master  that  he  con- 
cealed nothing  from  him.  But  all  Adfar's 
immenseTiches,  his  learning,  and  his  genius, 
could  not  keep  him  from  dying,  like  the  most 
ignorant  of  men.  Morieu  mourned  his  death 
paid  the  last  duties  to  his  remains,  and 
then  quitted  Alexandria  to  go  to  Jerasalem. 
He  settled  himself  in  a  hermitage  a  little  way 


out  of  the  city,  and  there  determined  to 
end  his  days.  He  took  with  him  a  pupil, 
whom  he  intended  to  train  in  his  own  know- 
ledge. In  this  retreat  Morieu  heard  of  Kalid, 
the  Soldan  of  Egypt — "  a  wise  and  curious 
prince,^'  lieutenant  of  the  caliph.  One  of  the 
books  of  Adfar  having  fallen  into  his  hands, 
he  made  great  inquiries  and  offered  immense 
rewards  to  any  one  who  would  enable  him  to 
understand  it  Many  persons  presented 
themselves,  but  they  were  not  tme  teachers : 
only  persons  greedv  of  reward,  and  seeking 
for  gain  and  not  wisdom. 

Morieu  heard  with  pain  how  much  this 
good  Soldan  was  deceived  by  false  professors, 
and  he  determined  to  leave  his  retreat  and  to 
undertake  a  journey  to  Egypt,  as  much  with 
the  design  of  converting  the  Soldan  to  the 
blessed  faith  of  Christianity  as  of  instructing 
him  in  the  knowledge  of  Adfar.  The  Soldan 
received  him  with  gladness,  and  gave  him  a 
house ;  where  Morieu  remained  until  he  had 
finished  his  process.  The  work  being  brought 
to  perfection,  he  poured  the  precious  elixir 
into  a  vase,  and  wrote  upon  it,  **  He  who  has 
all,  has  no  need  of  others."  He  then  de- 
parted secretly,  and  returned  to  his  hermitage 
near  Jerusalem.  Kalid  went  to  the  house 
where  Morieu  had  dwelt,  and  there  found  the 
vase  containing  the  elixir  :  but  that  did  not 
console  him  for  the  loss  of  his  master.  He 
was  filled  with  great  indignation  against  the 
false  pretenders  who  had  deceived  him ;  be 
put  to  death  all  who  remained  within  his 
reach,  and  made  an  edict  that,  in  future,  who- 
ever dared  to  come  before  him  with  false 
pretences  should  die.  He  kept  this  law 
rigidly ;  but  it  did  not  bring  back  Morieu. 
He  one  day  called  Galip,  his  tavourite  slave, 
and  said  to  him,  *'  Oh  I  Galip)  what  are  we  to 
do  further?" 

Galip  replied,  "  My  lord,  it  is  good  to  be- 
lieve that  God  will  make  us  know  the  con- 
duct we  ought  to  pursue." 

Kalid  passed  many  years  regretting  the 
loss  of  Morieu ;  until  one  day  when  he  was 
engaged  in  the  chase,  accompanied,  as  usual, 
by  Gralip;  they  were  separated  by  some 
accident,  and  Galip  came  upon  a  hermit  who 
was  devoutly  praying  in  a  solitude. 

"  Who  are  you !"  said  Gralip  to  him  : 
"  whence  come  you,  and  whither  do  you  go?" 

''I  come  from  Jerusalem,"  replied  the 
hermit,"  where  I  was  bom,  and  I  remained 
long  with  a  holy  man  amongst  the  mountains 
near  to  that  city.  I  heard  there  how  Kalid 
was  in  pain  to  know  how  he  might  finish  the 
mystery  of  Hermes.  That  holy  man  is,  I 
know,  skllfhl  in  that  science,  and  I  quitted 
my  country  to  inform  the  prince  of  him*" 

"  Oh.  my  brother  I  what  is  this  you  say?" 
cried  Galip:  "it  is  enough— I  do  not  wish 
you  should  ale  as  the  imposters  have  died, 
who  presented  themselves  to  my  master." 

"  I  fear  nothing,"  replied  the  hermit,  "  let 
me  see  the  prince,  if  you  know  where  he  may 
be  found." 


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HOUSiraOLD  WORDS. 


[C««d«cMhf 


Galip  took  him  to  his  master,  and  the 
hermit  informed  him  that  he  had  made  thii 
long  journey  on  parpoee  to  tell  him  that,  in 
the  solitudes  of  Jerusalem,  dwelt  a  holy  man 
who  had  received  this  supreme  wisdom  of 
God— the  knowledge  of  the  hermetic  work. 
''  He  has  confessed  to  me  that  he  has  this 
precious  gift,  and  I  have  seen  the  proof  of  it 
in  the  immense  treasures  of  gold  and  silver 
he  took  each  year  to  Jerusalem.^' 

Kalid  cautioned  him  of  the  risk  he  ran  of 
being  put  to  death  like  many  others  before 
him,  if  he  made  promises  he  could  not 
perform ;  but,  as  the  hermit  seemed  very 
confident  and  not  in  the  least  afraid,  Kalid 
grew  sanguine,  and  his  desire  to  see  Morieu 
again  increased,  if  possible,  in  ardour.  For, 
he  had  no  doubt,  from  the  description,  that 
this  holy  man  at  Jerusalem  was  Morieu 
himself. 

Kalid  desired  Galip  to  take  an  escort  and 
accompany  the  hermit.  After  many  difficulties 
they  came  to  the  mountains  of  Jerusalem, 
where  they  found  Morieu ;  who,  in  a  rude 
hair  garment,  lived  in  perpetual  youth  and 
the  most  austere  penance.  He  made  no 
difficulty  about  gomg  back  to  Eg^ptwith 
Galip.  The  Soldan  received  him  with  great 
joy,  and  would  have  made  him  his  vizier  j 
but  Morieu  had  no  other  desire  than  to  con- 
vert the  prince  to  the  true  religion.  He 
preached  all  the  truths  of  Christianity,  but 
Kalid  would  not  be  converted ;  he,  however, 
treated  Morieu  as  his  dearest  friend,  and  he 
seems  to  have  been  a  very-  gpod  man,  if  we 
may  judge  from  the  fact  that  Morieu  at  last 
instructed  him  in  all  the  secrets  which  he 
had  so  long  and  so  ardently  desired  to  learn. 
The  remainder  of  his  life  is  not  known,  but 
so  far  his  history  and  his  conversations  have 
been  written  both  by  himself  and  by  Galip, 
the  faithful  slave.  Kalid  wrote  some  little 
treatises  on  hermetic  philosophy,  which  are 
printed.  Bacon  and  Arnold  both  cite  Morieu 
as  one  of  the  hermetic  philosophers,  and 
Robertus  Gastrensis  translated  Morieu's 
book  into  Latin  from  the  Arabic  in  the  year 
eleven  hundred  and  eighty-two. 

Most  of  the  alchemists  had  a  history  at- 
tached to  them.  Raymond  Lully  had  a  romance 
— The  reader  will  find  all  we  tell,  written 
in  heavy  biographical  dictionaries  and  musty 
books  of  reference,  innocent  of  the  least  ten- 
dency to  levity  or  novel-writing.* 

Raymond  Lully  was  born  at  Mtgorca,  in 
the  year  twelve  hundred  and  thirty-five.  His 
father  was  of  a  noble  familv,  seneschal  to 
James  the  First  of  Arragon,  wht)  had  enriched 
him  with  lands  in  the  isles  of  Majorca  and 
Minorca,  when  they  were  taken  from  the 
Saracens  in  twelve  hundred  and  thirty. 
Raymond  was  brought  up  at  court  after  the 

*  He  may  consult  for  hima«lf.  if  he  pleases,  the  fol- 
lowing works  upon  the  Life  of  Bajmond  LuUy  :—Bj- 
orius  Annal.  Eccles.  torn.  14,  ann.  1372;  Boll&nd  Act. 
Sancta.  torn.  23 ;  Mariana  de  Rebus  Hispania,  lib.  15, 
c  4 ;  Peroquet  Tie  de  R.  Lully,  Tendome,  1667  ; 
Uist.  de  Raymond  LuUy,  Paris,  1668, 12mo. 


fttshion  of  the  young  noblemen  of  that  age. 
He  received  little  instruction  of  any  kind, 
except  in  the  arts  and  accomplishments  of  a 
cavalier.  He  was  handsome,  graceful,  excel- 
lent in  all  knightly  exercises,  and,  we  are 
sorry  to  add,  eminently  a  mauvais  sojet.  He 
led  a  gambling,  dissipated,  disreputable  life, 
enjoying  great  favour  at  court,  where  Jamei 
the  Second  of  Arragon  continued  the  fivoor 
that  his  fftther  had  shown  to  the  father  of 
Raymond.  He  made  him  seneschal  of  the 
isles  and  grand  provost  of  the  palace.  Ray- 
mond increased  his  fortune  by  a  great 
marriage  ;  bat  the  more  money  he  bad, 
the  more  he  spent  He  led  the  life  of  a 
grand  seigneur,  and  carried  on  his  afiaiisin 
grand  style.  He.  fell  in  love  at  last  with  a 
beautiful  woman  of  the  court.  Donna  Am- 
brosia Eleanora  di  Castello.  She  was  married 
and  considered  as  remarkable  for  her  virtoe 
as  her  beauty.  For  some  time  the  declara- 
tions and  assiduities  of  Raymond  took  w 
effect ;  but  one  day  it  so  happened  that, 
whilst  ^e  was  leaning  from  a  window  the 
wind  blew  aside,  her  handkerchief,  and  di»> 
played  her  bosom.  Raymond,  who,  of  conne, 
was  hanging  about  wherever  she  was  to  be 
seen,  was  so  struck  with  her  beauty,  that  he 
wrote  some  passionate  verses  on  the  white 
bosom  he  had  beheld.  This  poem  took  so 
effect  he  had  scarcely  dared  to  hope.  The 
Lady  Eleanora  sent  him  a  message,  desiriog 
his  company.  It  may  be  imagined  with  what 
alacrity  he  obeyed  her  commands.  He  was 
shown  into  her  presence ;  he  fell  at  her  feet; 
and  began  at  once  to  expand  into  expreaooni 
of  gratitude  and  passion ;  but  she  desired  hia 
to  rise,  and  told  him  that,  having  tried  io 
vain  to  repulse  his  passion,  and  to  cure  his 
by  her  coldness  and  indifference,  she  bad  sow 
resolved  to  requite  him  by  allowing  bim  to 
look  upon  the  beautiful  white  bosom  be  had 
celebrated  in  his  yerse  ;  saying  which,  she  diEr 
closed  her  bosom  and  half  her  side,  and  henv 
a  hideous  cancer.  The  shock  was  so  terrible, 
that  he  forsook  the  court  and  entirely  changed 
his  mode  of  life.  He  had  a  remarkable  vieiofl, 
in  which  he  imagined  he  beheld  The  Savioor. 
who  said  to  him,  Ravmond,  follow  me  froo 
henceforth.  This  vision  he  saw  twice  ;  be 
then  delayed  no  longer,  but  arranged  his 
affia,irs  and  divided  his  property  amoog^t  his 
family.  What  became  of  his  wife  we  are  not 
told ;  but  he  himself  retired  to  a  bovel  on 
mount  Aranda,  near  his  estate,  and  there  he 
devoted  himself  to  study  Arabic,  and  to  pre- 
pare for  the  conversion  of  the  in6del^  fl« 
was  at  that  time  about  thirty  years  of  aga 
People  did  notl^ng  by  halves  in  tho»;  dajs. 
If  their  profligacy  and  violence  were  eDO^ 
mous,  their  devotion  and  austerity,  when  tbef 
threw  themselves  into  religion,  was  io  the 
same  proportion.  He  remained  in  tbi*  it- 
treat  for  six  years;  and  Chen  set  ont  with  a 
servant — ^who  could  speak  Arabic,  and  wa«a 
Mahomedan — to  convert  the  infidels  wherefcr 
he  n^ight  find  them.    But  the  servant  t» 


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461 


sooner  understood  what  were  his  master's 
designs  against  the  Koran,  than  he  took  the 
earliest  opportunity  of  endeavouring  to  mur- 
der him.  The  wound,  fortunately  was  not 
mortal ;  and,  before  he  could  repeat  the  blow, 
a  pious  anchoret,  we  are  told,  passed  the  spot 
and  assisted  Raymond  to  disarm  him.  Ray- 
mond refused  to  kill  his  assassin,  and  only 
consented  with  reluctance  that  he  should  be 
pat  in  prison ;  where  he  strangled  himself  in 
rage  and  fury. 

When  Raymond  had  recovered  ftom  his 
wound,  he  remained  a  little  while  longer  in 
his  beloved  solitude,  and  then  once  more 
began  his  wanderings.  In  twelve  hundred 
and  seventy-six  he  founded  a  professorship  in 
the  Convent  of  St  Francis,  at  Palmes,  for  the 
Arabic  language,  to  serve  towards  converting 
the  infldela  In  twelve  hundred  and  eighty- 
one,  be  weni  to  Paris,  and  there  became  ac- 
quainted with  Arnold  of  Villa  Nova,  or  Ar- 
nand  de  Yilleneve,  one  of  the  great  alche- 
mists—a man  whose  immense  reputation 
filled  all  the  age  with  wonder ;  in  his  day  he 
perhaps  eiyoyed  more  renown  than  any  other 
man  ever  did.  Lully's  genius  for  science 
8eems  to  have  been  developed  by  his  six  years' 
solitude  and  his  study  of  Arabic  manuscripts. 
For  the  present,  his  zeal  to  convert  the  in- 
fidels slackened,  and  he  became  the  disciple 
of  Arnold,  and  invented  a  new  mode  of  teach- 
iog  and  learning  philosophy  and  the  sciences 
—afterwards  called  from  him  the  Lulllan  art. 
From  Paris  he  went  to  Rome.  His  object 
was  to  obtain  from  the  Pope  the  establish- 
ment of  a  college  for  the  study  of  the  oriental 
languages,  for  the  purpose  of  propagating  the 
tme  faith  amongst  the  infidels ;  but  the  Pope 
had  jast  died,  and  he  could  meet  with  no  at- 
tention to  his  desires.  He  was  received 
with  much  distinction,  however,  wherever 
he  went,  and  wrote  and  taught  publicly. 
Disappointed  at  Rome,  he  returned  to  Paris, 
continuing  always  to  teach  philosophy.  In 
twelve  hundred  and  ninety-one,  he  went  to 
visit  the  King  of  Majorca,  at  Montpellier, 
and  there  he  found  his  friend  Arnold  es- 
tablished at  the  head  of  the  faculty  of  medi- 
cine in  that  city.  He  was  well  received, 
but  his  old  longing  to  convert  the  infidels 
came  back  upon  him  in  all  its  force — indeed 
it  bad  never  entirely  slumbered — and  all  the 
fame  he  obtained  for  himself  he  only  con- 
sidered as  the  means  to  further  his  great 
object  He  set  out  once  more  for  Rome, 
and  remained  some  months  at  Geneva,  where 
be  wrote  and  taught  and  disputed  as  was  the 
fashion  amongst  learned  men  of  that  time. 
When  at  length  he  reached  Rome,  he  could 
by  no  means  obtain  f^om  Nicholas  the 
Second,  who  was  the  then  pope,  the  estab- 
lishment he  desired  for  the  study  of  the 
oriental  languages,  and  he  considered  that 
he  ought  to  go  in  person  and  preach  the 
true  faith  to  the  infidels.  He  went  to  Genoa 
and  hired  a  passage  to  Africa :  but,  when 
the  vessel  was  on  tiie  point  of  sailing  he 


took  a  sudden  panic  and  let  the  vessel  sail 
without  him.  His  remorse  and  regret  threw 
him  into  a  fever.  He  looked  upon  himself 
as  a  Jonah,  trying  to  escape  from  the  divine 
command.  When  he  recovered,  he  lost  no 
time  in  repairing  his  fkult  and  sailed  to  Tunis. 
This  sudden  panic  in  a  man  of  such  high 
courage  and  firm  purpose  is  remarkable,  and 
may  serve  to  make  us  charitable  in  our 
judgments  upon  those  who  seem  for  a  time 
to  fail.  Lully's  courage  never  again  falter- 
ed. On  his  arrival  at  Tunis,  he  began  to 
speak  and  to  dispute  with  the  Mahomedan 
doctors,  and  was  immediately  arrested  for 
his  pains  and'  condemed  to  death ;  but,  a 
learned  Arabian  who  loved  him  for  his  science 
and  learning,  interceded  for  him,  and  remon- 
strated with  the  sultan  upon  the  scandal  it 
would  be  to  slay  so  great  a  man.  His  life 
was  spared  ;  but  he  was  commanded  to  leave 
Tunis  without  delay,  under  the  penalty  of 
death  if  he  returned. 

He  went  to  Genoa,  and  thence  to  Naples, 
where  he  disputed  against  his  master,  Arnold, 
denying  the  possibility  of  transmutine  metals; 
but  nothing  distracted  his  mind  from  his 
earnest  desire  to  convert  the  infidels ;  and  he 
used  all  his  eloquence  to  prevail  on  Pope 
Boniface  the  Eighth  to  encourage  the  study 
of  Eastern  languages  ;  but  the  Pope  had  other 
afliairs  on  hand,  and  Raymond  retired  to 
Milan,  where  the  house  in  which  he  lived  is 
still  to  be  seen.  In  thirteen  hundred  and 
eight  he  went  to  Paris,  and  made  acquaint- 
ance with  the  famous  Duns  Scotus,  and  prac- 
tised alchemy ;  but  his  beloved  infidels  pre- 
vented him  from  resting  in  this  learned 
leisure.  He  tried  to  get  up  a  crusade,  and  to 
persuade  Ferdinand  of  Castile  to  join  King 
Philip  of  France  for  the  recovery  of  the  Holy 
Land.  To  prove  his  own  zeal,  he  once  more 
crossed  from  Spain  to  Africa,  and  landed  at 
Bona — Saint  Augustin's  old  bishopric.  Here 
he  had  the  satisfaction  of  converting  seventy 
of  the  followers  of  Averroes — a  great  phy- 
sician— ^more,  we  should  imagine,  by  the  re- 
putation he  had  acquired  as  a  man  of  science 
than  from  the  superiority  of  his  theology.  He 
went  next  to  Algiers,  where  he  also  made 
converts ;  but  the  persecution  rose  to  such  a 
height  that  he  was  thrown  into  prison,  and 
had  a  bridle  placed  in  his  mouth.  Some  ac- 
counts say  that  a  padlock  was  fastened  upon 
his  lips  to  prevent  him  from  speaking,  which 
was  only  removed  when  he  ate  his  food.  At 
the  end  of  forty  days,  however,  he  was  severe- 
ly bastinadoed,  and  then  expelled  from  the 
city.  He  had  no  road  except  through  Tunis, 
where  sentence  of  death  awaited  him ;  but, 
when  he  arrived,  although  he  was  thrown  into 
prison,  the  Inhabitants  were  still  deterred 
by  his  reputation  from  putting  him  to  death. 
They  contented  themselves  with  trying  if 
they  could  not,  in  their  turn,  convert  him  ; 
but  as  they  did  not  succeed,  they  shipped  him 
on  board  a  vessel  sailing  for  Genoa.  Ho  was 
shipwrecked  in  sight  of  Pisa ;  and,  although 


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^2 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCoDdvetodbf 


he  and  the  crew  escaped  to  land,  he  had  a  rio- 
leot  illneBs,  through  which  he  was  narsed  by 
some  Dominicans. 

A  general  council  was  then  sitting  at  Yien* 
na,  and  so  soon  as  he  was  able  to  travel,  he 
went  there  to  solicit  assistance  for  the  conver- 
sion of  the  infidels.  He.  made  several  propo- 
sitions which  he  could  get  no  one  to  listen  to. 
Whilst  at  Vienna  he  received  flattering  letters 
from  Edward  the  Second,  King  of  England, 
and  from  Robert  Bruce,  King  of  Scotland,  en- 
treating him  to  visit  them.  He  had  also,  in 
the  course  of  his  travels,  met  with  John  Cre- 
mer.  Abbot  of  Westminster,  with  whom  he 
formed  a  strong  friendship ;  and  it  was  more 
to  please  him  than  the  king,  that  Ravmond 
consented  to  go  to  England.  Gremer  bad  an 
intense  desire  to  learn  the  last  great  secret  of 
alchemy — to  make  the  powder  of  transmuta- 
tion— and  Raymond,  with  all  his  friendship, 
had  never  disclosed  it.  Gremer,  however,  set 
to  work  very  cunningly ;  he  was  not  long  in 
discovering  the  object  that  was  nearest  to 
Raymond's  heart — the  conversion  of  the  infi- 
dels. He  told  the  king  wonderful  stories  of 
the  gold  Lully  had  the  art  to  make ;  and  he 
worked  upon  Ravmond  by  the  hope  that  King 
Edward  would  be  easily  induced  to  raise  a 
crusade  against  the  Mahomedans,  if  he  only 
had  the  means.  Raymond  had  appealed  so 
often  to  popes  and  kings  that  he  bad  lost  all 
faith  in  them ;  nevertheless,  as  a  last  hope, 
he  accompanied  his  ftriend  Gremer  to  England. 
Gremer  lodged  him  in  his  abbey,  treating 
him  with  distinction ;  and  there  Lully  at  last 
instructed  him  in  the  powder,  the  secret  of 
which  Gremer  had  so  long  desired  to  know. 
When  the  powder  was  perfected,  Gremer  pre- 
sented him  to  the  king,  who  received  him  as 
a  man  may  be  supposed  to  receive  one  who 
could  give  him  boundless  riches.  Raymond 
made  only  one  condition ;  that  the  gold  he 
made  should  not  be  expended  upon  the  lux- 
uries of  the  court  or  upon  a  war  with  any 
Ghristian  king;  and  that  Edward  himself 
should  go  in  person  with  an  army  against 
the  infidels.  Edward  promised  everything 
and  anything.  Raymond  had  apartments 
assigned  him  in  the  Tower,  .and  there  he 
tells  us  he  transmuted  fifty  thousand  pounds 
weight  of  quicksilver,  lead,  and  tin,  into  pure 
gold,  which  was  coined  at  the  mint  into 
six  millions  of  nobles,  each  worth  about 
three  pounds  sterling  at  the  present  day. 
Some  of  the  pieces  said  to  have  been  coined 
out  of  this  gold  are  still  to  be  found  in 
antiquarian  collections.  To  Robert  Bruce 
he  sent  a  little  work  entitled  Of  the  Art 
of  Transmuting  Metals.  Dr.  Edmund  Dick- 
enson relates  that  when  the  cloister  that 
Raymond  occupied  at  Westminster  was 
removed,  the  workmen  found  some  of 
the  powder,  wiCh  which  they  enriched 
themselves.  During  Lully's  residence  in 
England,  he  became  the  Ariend  of  Roger 
Bacon. 

Nothing,  of  course,  could  be  Airther  from 


King  Edward's  thoughts  than  to  go  on  a  cm- 
sadc.  Raymond's  apartments  in  the  Tower 
were  only  an  honourable  prison;  and  he 
soon  perceived  how  matters  were.  He  de- 
clared that  Edward  would  meet  with  nothing 
but  misfortune  and  misery  for  bis  breach  of 
faith.  He  made  his  escape  from  England  in 
thirteen  hundred  and  fifteen,  and  set  off  once 
more  to  preach  to  the  infidels.  He  was  now 
a  very  old  man,  and  none  of  his  friends  conld 
ever  hope  to  see  his  face  again.  He  went 
first  to  Egypt,  then  to  Jerusalem,  and  thence 
to  Tunis.  There  he  at  last  met  with  the  mar- 
tyrdom he  had  so  often  braved.  The  people 
fell  upon  him  and  stoned  him.  Some  G^moese 
merchants  carried  away  his  body,  in  whkh 
they  discerned  some  feeble  signs  of  life. 
They  carried  him  on  board  their  vessel ;  bat, 
though  he  lingered  awhile,  he  died  as  they 
came  in  sight  of  Majorca,  on  'the  twenty- 
eighth  of  June,  thirteen  hundred  and  fifte^ 
at  the  age  of  eighty-one.  He  was  buried 
with  great  honour  in  his  family  chapel 
at  St.  Ulma,  the  viceroy  and  all  the  principal 
nobility  attending. 

He  left  many  works  behind  him — some  are 
in  manuscript  and  some  in  print — the  greater 
number  are  to  be  found  in  the  Royal  LitM^oy 
at  Paris.  Amongst  the  discoveries  of  Lnlly 
we  may  mention  the  preparation  of  sweet 
nitre ;  but  his  chief  merit  was  that  he  per- 
fected and  spread  the  knowledge  of  scientific 
discoveries  which  were  but  little  known  be- 
fore his  time. 

Alexander  Sethon  was  a  Scotchman,  and 
lived  at  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  and  the  be- 
ginning of  the  seventeenth  century.  Tra- 
dition credits  him  with  having  succeeded  in 
becoming  master  of  the  secret  of  making  gold. 
Whatever  might  have  been  his  life  before  that 
period,  it  is  certain  that  at  the  moment  which 
seemed  to  crown  him  with  the  highest  foi^ 
tune,  he  might  have  quoted  old  Gammer  Gor- 
ton's lamentation,  and  said  : — "This  first  day 
of  my  sorrow  is  the  last  day  of  my  pleasure," 
for  he  knew  no  comfort  afterwards.  He  passed 
into  Holland,  and  remained  some  time  in  the 
house  of  one  John  Haussen,  a  mariner,  in  the 
town  of  Erkusen.  whom  he  bad  once  hospita- 
bly received  and  entertained  when  he  was 
shipwrecked  on  the  coast  of  Scotland,  near  to 
where  he  lived.  He  made  several  transmuta- 
tions in  the  house  of  this  man,  binding  him  to 
secresy,  which  John  Haussen  kept  pretty  well; 
although  he  thought  it  no  barm  to  mention 
the  circumstance  to  Doctor  Yandervelden,  a 
physician  of  Erkusen.  He  gave  him  also  a 
piece  of  gold  on  which  he  mark^  the  hoar 
and  the  date  of  the  reputed  transmutation, 
March  thirteenth,  sixteen  hundred  and  two, 
at  four  o'clock.  Sethon  proceeded  on  his 
travels,  making  transmutations  from  time  to 
time ;  but  news  did  not  travel  fast  in  those 
days,  and  he  might  have  escaped  mitH^bance 
for  a  pretty  long  while,  if  his  evil 
genius  had  not  led  him  into  Saxooy. 
Here  he   made   an   imprudent  di^lay   of 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbufet  Dkkeua.] 


SPECIMENS  OF  THE  ALCHEMISTS. 


468 


his  art  to  some  persons  who  reported  him 
to  the  Elector  of  Saxony.  This  prince  fan- 
cying that  he  had  now  got  hold  of  a  living 
and  inexhaostible  treasure,  seized  upon  his 
person,  and  put  him  in  prison ;  setting  a  strong 
guard  of  soldiers  over  him,  with  orders  to 
keep  him  always  in  si^ht.  At  first,  the  Elec- 
tor endeavoured  by  fair  words  and  fine  pro- 
mises to  persuade  Sethon  to  make  gold ;  and, 
perhaps  he  might  in  time  have  consented  to 
ransom  himself,  but  the  Elector  was  also  de- 
termined to  obtain  his  secret,  and  this,  as  all 
adepts  of  alchemy  know,  was  a  secret  not  to 
be  revealed  to  any  under  the  penalty  of  their 
eternal  salvation ;  they  did  not  dare  to  reveal 
it  even  to  their  dearest  friend ;  only  when  they 
grew  old  might  they  select  some  one  man  as 
their  heir  and  instruct  him  in  their  method  of 
working,  under  the  most  solemn  oath  of  se- 
crecy. Their  works  were  always  written  in 
enigmas,  to  mislead  purposely  all  who  came 
with  vain  curiosity,  and  who  were  not  elected 
to  the  knowledge  of  the  mystery.  Sethon, 
therefore,  could  by  no  means  purchase  his 
own  deliverance  at  the  price  of  his  secret. 
Patience  and  fortitude  were  the  qualities 
which  were  developed  by  the  pursuit  of 
alchemy,  if  nothing  else,  and  Sethon  was  a 
match  for  his  noble  jailor. 

When  fair  means  could  not  induce  him  to 
speak,  the  Elector  began  bv  making  his  cap- 
tivitv  more  rigorous,  and  tried  what  privation 
would  effect.  When  that  failed  he  resorted 
to  more  active  measures,  and  Sethon  was  sub- 
jected to  a  variety  of  tortures  in  the  hope  of 
extorting  his  secret,  which  even  if  he  could, 
or  would  have  imparted,  the  Elector  would 
not  have  been  able  to  apply,  for  Sethon  could 
not  have  given  his  own  skill.  Nevertheless, 
he  remained  obstinately  silent,  enduring  what- 
ever It  was  the  good,  or  rather,  evil  pleasure 
of  the  Elector  to  inflict,  and  the  tortures  grew 
more  and  more  intolerable.  Even  fire  was  ap- 
plied to  make  him  speak.  This  treatment 
jw  continued  at  intervals  for  many  raontiis, 
hut  all  in  vain. 

At  length  one  Michael  Seudigovius,  a 
Polish  nobleman,  himself  also  a  seeker  after 
the  philosopher's  stone,  obtained  from  the 
elector  the  liberty  to  visit  Sethon  in  his 
prison. 

Feeling  pity  for  Sethon's  sufferings,  and 
also  a  hope  that  he  might  be  induced  to  do 
from  gratitude,  what  he  had  refused  to  com- 
P°J*ion,  Michael  offered  to  aid  him  to  escape, 
which  offer  of  course  Sethon  gladly  ac- 
cepted. Seudigovius  came  again  in  a  few 
^*y8,  and  gave  a  feast  to  the  soldiers 
Jho  guarded  him.  This  he  did  more 
wan  once.  At  last  he  regaled  them  better 
•^*^  jsual,  and  having  made  them  drunk,  he 
^^^Sethon  escaped  in  disguise ;  he  had  a 
carriage  in  waiting.  They  stopped  at  the 
nouse  where  Sethon's  wife  still  lived,  and  got 
^e  powder  of  transmutation,  which  her  hus- 
»jnd  had  confided  to  her  keeping.  Whether 
Btte  accompanied  them  in  their  flight  is  un- 


certain. Probably  she  remained  in  Dresden, 
that  the  escape  of  her  husband  might  appear 
more  mysterious. 

Sethon  and  his  deliverer  escaped  toCracow, 
where  Seudigovius  had  a  castle.  He  now  re- 
minded Sethon  of  his  promise  to  assist  him  in 
his  alchemical  pursuit  Sethon  presented  him 
with  an  ounce  of  his  powder  of  transmuta- 
tion, which  he  declared  was  amply  sufficient, 
if  used  with  prudence.  But  as  regarded  the 
secret  of  making  this  powder,  he  said :  "  You 
see  what  I  have  suffered ;  my  nerves  are 
shrunk,  my  limbs  are  dislocated,  emaciated 
to  an  extremity,  and  mv  body  almost  cor- 
rupted ;  even  to  avoid  all  this  I  did  not  dis- 
close the  secrets  of  philosophy."  It  was  clear 
there  was  nothing  to  be  done  with  such  a 
man ;  and,  after  trying  every  species  of  en- 
treaty and  persuasion  in  vain,  Seudigovius 
allowed  him  reluctantly  to  depart. 

Sethon  did  not  long  enjoy  his  liberty.  He 
was  old,  and  the  hardships  he  had  endured 
had  worn  him  out.  He  died  In  sixteen  hundred 
and  four,  only  two  years  after  he  had  left  his 
peaceful  laboratory  in  Scotland.  Seudi^vius 
married  his  widow,  but  she  knew  nothmg  of 
her  husband's  secrets.  She  however  possessed 
some  of  his  manuscripts,  and  these  Seudigo- 
vius published  under  the  name  of  the  "  Cos- 
mopolitan," which  was  the  title  under  which 
Sethon  was  generally  known. 

The  powder  which  Seudigovius  had  re- 
ceived from  Sethon  is  said  to  have  done 
him  very  little  good  in  the  end.  It  en- 
abled him  for  a  while  to  live  extravagantly, 
and  to  waste  his  substance  in  riotous  living. 
He  made  no  secret  of  the  present  he  had 
obtained.  He  presented  himself  at  Prague 
before  Rudolph  the  Second,  and  made  a 
"projection"  for  him,  for  which  the  Em- 
peror appointed  him  to  be  Counsellor  of 
State.  Seudigovius  narrowly  escaped  the 
fate  of  Sethon  upon  one  occasion.  He  was 
travelling  through  Moravia,  and  a  nobleman 
of  the  country  having  heard  rumours  of  his 
proceedings  at  Prague ;  and,  believing  that 
he  had  a  great  quantitjr  of  the  transmuting 
powder  in  his  possession,  seized  upon  him 
and  put  him  in  prison,  threatening  that  ho 
should  not  obtain  his  liberty  until  he  had 
given  up  all  his  treasure.  Seudigovius  was 
not  an  alchemist,  but  he  knew  other  secrets, 
and  "  obtained  some  matters  with  which  he 
cut  through  the  iron  bar  of  his  prison-win- 
dow ;"  and  making  a  rope  of  his  clothes  es- 
caped almost  naked.  He  summoned  the  little 
tyrant  before  the  Emperor's  Court  to  answer 
for  what  he  had  done ;  the  nobleman  was 
fined,  and  a  village  on  his  estate  was  confis- 
cated, which  Seudigovius  gave  to  his  daugh- 
ter as  a  dowry. 

By  this  time  the  ounce  of  powder  was 
nearly  expended.  Seudigovius  had  run 
through  an  enormous  fortune,  and  beggary 
stared  him  in  the  face.  Sethon  must  have 
seen  in  his  character  that  he  was  not  worthy 
to  possess  the  "  Great  Secret,"  and  that  his 


Digitized  by 


Google 


464 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[e«Bdactedk7 


only  idea  of  usiDg  it,  or  desiriog  to  know  it, 
was  that  he  might  be  able  to  carry  on  a  life 
of  profiigacj,  without  measure  or  bounds. 

SeudigOTius  thought  that  he  would  turn 
the  few  grains  tiiat  remained  to  him  of  the 
powder  into  medicine ;  for  it  was  quite  as 
powerful  to  core  sickness,  or  whatever  disease 
a  man  might  ha^^.  as  it  was  to  transmute 
base  metals  into  ^old.  He  accordingly  put 
all  that  remained  into  rectified  spirits  of  wfnc, 
and  astonished  the  regular  physicians  by  the 
marvellous  cures  it  effected.  It  cured, 
amongst  others,  Sigismund  the  Third,  King 
of  Poland,  "of  a  very  grievous  accident." 
At  length  the  elixir  came  to  an  end,  as  the 
gold  had  done,  and  Seudigovius  found  himself 
without  money  or  property  of  any  kind.  He 
then  began  the  life  of  an  adventurer.  He 
obtained  large  sums  from  various  noblemen, 
under  the  pretence  of  making  the  powder, 
but  he  produced  no  result  save  smoke  and 
cinders.  He  then  subsided  into  a  deliberate 
imposter,  and  played  tricks  of  sleight  of  hand 
worthy  only  of  a  mountebank.  He  silvered 
over  a  piece  of  gold,  and  pretending  that  he 
had  the  true  powder,  made  the  silver  disap- 
pear by  a  common  chemical  operation  easy  to 
execute,  and  sold  his  worthless  preparation 
at  large  prices ;  a  thine  quite  obvious  and  re- 
pugnant to  the  principles  of  all  true  adepts, 
who  never  sold  their  knowledge. 

He  died  at  Guvernu,  on  the  frontiers  of 
Poland,  in  sixteen  hundred  and  forty-six,  at 
the  age  of  eighty-four,  having  seen  great 
vicissitudes,  and  been  Counsellor  of  State  to 
three  Emperors,  Rudolph,  Matthias,  and 
Ferdinand. 

We  add  an  extract  from  the  work  of  Eire- 
nseus  Philalethes,  called  The  Shut  Palace 
Opened,  which  may  serve  to  show  what  it 
really  was  to  possess  a  secret  which  it  was 
forbidden  to  reveal,  and  which  it  was  dange- 
rous to  exercise :  it  takes  the  shine  out  of  the 
gold.  Few  would  desire  to  obtain  it,  if  gold 
alone  bad  been  the  object  of  the  Great 
Work.  Eirenseus,  we  should  tell  the  reader, 
was  an  Englishman,  who  lived  in  sixteen 
hundred  and  forty-five  (at  least  that  is  the 
date  of  one  of  his  works),  his  true  name  has 
never  been  distinctly  ascertained.  The  follow- 
ing may  be  accepted  as  his  account  of  his  own 
lot,  after  the  discovery  of  the  Stone.  ''  All 
alchemical  books  abound  with  obscure  enig- 
mas, or  sophistical  operations;  I  have  not 
written  in  tnis  style,  having  resigned  my  will 
to  the  Divine  pleasure.  I  do  not  fear  that 
the  art  will  be  dis-esteemed  because  I  write 
plainly,  for  true  wisdom  will  defend  its  own 
honour.  I  wish  sold  and  silver  were  as  mean 
in  esteem  as  earth,  and  then  we  need  not  so 
strictly  conceal  ourselves.  For  we  are  like 
Cain,  driven  from  the  pleasant  society  we 
formerly  had  without  fear.  Now  we  aN 
tossed  up  and  down,  as  if  beset  with  furled, 
nor  can  we  suppose  ourselves  safe  in  any  one 
place  long.    We  weep  and  sigh,  complaining 


to  the  Lord.  '  Behold  whosoever  bhall  find 
me,  shall  slay  me ! '  We  travel  through  many 
nations  like  vagabonds,  and  dare  not  take 
upon  us  the  care  of  a  family,  neither  do  we 
possess  any  certain  habitation  ;  although  we 
possess  all  things,  we  can  use  but  a  few ; 
what,  therefore,  do  we  enjoy  except  the  ^)e- 
culation  of  our  minds?  Many  strangers  to 
art  imagine  that  if  they  enjoyed  it  they 
would  do  great  good.  So  I  believed  formerly, 
but  the  danger  I  have  experienced  has  taught 
me  otherwise.  Whoever  encounters  the  im- 
minent peril  of  his  life,  will  act  with  more 
caution  henceforward.  An  adept  cannot 
effect  the  works  of  mercy  to  an  uncommoo 
extent,  without  in  some  degree  conOding  to 
the  secrecy  of  others;  and  this  is  at  the  haz- 
ard of  imprisonment  and  death.  I  lately  had 
a  proof  of  it,  for  being  In  a  foreign  place  I 
administered  the  medicine  to  some  di!^tress«^d 
poor  persons  who  were  dying,  and  they  hav- 
ing miraculously  recovered,  there  was  imme- 
diately a  rumour  spread  abroad  of  the  Elixir 
of  Life,  in&omuch  that  I  was  forced  to  flee  by 
night,  with  exceeding  great  trouble  ;  having 
changed  my  clotbcB,  shaved  my  head,  put  on 
other  hair,  and  altered  my  name ;  ehe  I 
should  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  wicked 
men,  that  lay  in  wait  for  me,  merely  on  sus- 
picion excited  by  the  thirst  of  gold.  I  could 
mention  other  dangers  which  would  seem 
ridiculous  to  those  who  did  not  stand  In  a 
similar  situation.  They  think,  they  would 
manage  their  affairs  better,  but  they  do  not 
coni^ider  that  all  those  intelligent  people 
whose  society  is  chiefiy  desirable  are  ex- 
tremely discerning ;  and  a  Blight  conjecture 
is  sufficient  to  produce  a  conspiracy,  for  the 
iniquity  of  men  is  so  great  that  I  have  known 
a  person  to  be  strangled  with  a  halter  on  sus- 
picion, although  he  did  not  possess  the  art,  it 
was  sufficient  that  a  desperate  man  heard  are- 
port  of  it.  This  age  abounds  with  alchemista, 
however  ignorant  of  science,  they  know  suffi- 
cient to  discover  an  adept,  or  to  suf^pect  bin. 
An  appearnce  of  pecrecy  will  cause  them  t» 
search  and  examine  every  circumstance  of 
your  life.  If  you  cure  the  eick,  or  sell  a  large 
quantity  of  gold,  the  news  is  circulated  aU 
through  the  neigbbourhootl.  The  goldsmith 
knows  that  the  metal  is  too  fine,  and  it  is  con- 
trary to  law  for  any  one  to  alloy  it,  who  is 
not  %  regular  metallurgist.  I  once  sold  pore 
silver  worth  six  hundred  pounds  in  a  foreign 
country  ;  the  goldsmith,  nothwithstanding  I 
was  dressed  as  a  merchant,  told  me — *this 
silver  is  made  by  art.^  I  asked  the  reasoo 
he  said  so,  he  replied,  *I  know  the  silver  that 
comes  from  Spam,  England,  &c.,  this  is  porer 
than  any  of  these  kinds.'  Hearing  this  I 
withdrew.  There  is  no  better  silver  m  trade 
than  the  Spanish  ;  but  if  he  had  attempted 
to  reduce  my  silver,  from  its  superior  quality, 
and  were  discovered,  I  would  be  hanged  for 
felony.  I  never  called  again  for  my  silver, 
or  the  price  of  it  The  transmission  of  gold 
and  silver  from  one  country  to  another  is 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Charles  Dickcna.] 


THE  ROVING  ENGLISHMAN. 


465 


regulated  by  strict  laws,  and  this  is  enough  to 
condemn  the  adept,  who  appears  to  have  a 
quantity  of  it.  Thus,  being  taught  by  these 
difficulties,  I  have  determined  to  lie  hid,  and 
wiil  communicate  the  art  to  thee,  who 
dreamest  of  performing  public  good,  that  we 
may  see  what  you  will  undertake  when  you 
obtain  it." . 


THE  ROVING  ENGLISHMAN. 

THE   PASSAGE  OF  THE  DANUBE. 

A  WILD  wind  was  blowing,  and  a  drifting 
elect  beat  in  our  faces  as  we  waded  through 
mud  and  mire  down  to  the  water  side.  Here 
were  baies  of  goods  and  heaps  of  military 
ptores,  crowds  of  dirty,  ragged,  desponding 
Turkish  soldiers,  waiting,  seemingly,  to  be 
rained  upon,  and  for  no  other  purpose  what- 
ever. Weary,  jaded-looking  oxen,  rudely 
yoked  to  the  most  primitive  waggons,  rumi- 
nated in  patient  wretchedness,  wet  through. 
There  was  a  great  multitude  of  people  and  a 
great  number  of  things,  but  there  was  no  life 
and  bustle.  Everybodv  and  everything  ap- 
peared to  be  waiting  for  some  unexplained 
event,  and  to  be  wasting  time,  meanwhile,  in 
listless  discomfort.  The  broad  river  teemed 
with  craft  of  all  descriptions,  from  the  rattling 
Austrian  steamer,  tugging  long  rafts  laden 
with  warlike  implements,  and  the  rakish 
Greek  merchantman,  down  to  the  heavy  Bul- 
garian barges  which  serve  as  ferry-boats,  and 
the  most  trumpery  little  cockleshells  used  for 
coasting  in  fine  weather  or  in  bobbing  about 
from  ship  to  ship. 

The  aspect  of  affairs  generally  was  un- 
satisfactory. Even  our  old  friends,  the 
officprs  lately  in  the  service  of  the  king  of 
Candy,  who  much  delight  in  the  gay  uniforms 
allowed  to  Omer  Pasha's  staff,  and  who  were 
consequently  assembled  here  in  considerable 
force,  appeared  to  lose  all  their  usual  vivacity 
and  strutting  importance  amidst  the  com- 
plete and  perfect  chcerlessness  around  them 
here. 

We  try  to  get  a  boat,  and  thus  pass  over  to 
Giurgevo  and  the  regions  of  civilisation  at 
once-,  but  the  thing  is  absolutely  impossible. 
There  are  plenty  of  boats,  as  we  have  said, 
but  they  seem  to  belong  to  nobody,  and  no- 
body, visible  at  least,  appears  to  belong  to 
them.  They  have,  indeed,  the  freedom  of 
the  waterside,  and  keep  bobbing  about  and 
bumping  against  each  other  amidst  the  short 
fat  waves  of  the  Danube,  but  nobody  heeds 
them,  and  the^  may  creak  and  groan,  and 
bob  and  strain  at  their  cables  for  ever, 
precisely  like  a  man  with  a  grievance. 
So,  after  touting  for  some  time,  and  get- 
,  ting  into  a  boat  or  two,  just  to  try  if  our 
apparent  appropriation  of  it  will  arouse 
any  apathetic  owner  to  assert  his  rights,  and 
then  getting  out  of  it  in  despair  at  not  being 
able  to  attract  the  smallest  attention,  we 
finally  clamber  up  a  mud  hill  and  elbow  our 
way  through  a  listless  crowd  of  soaking 


bumpkins,  then  we  toil  up  some  rotten 
wooden  stairs  to  a  ricketty  platform,  and  so 
into  a  Bulgarian  coffee-house  which  is  there 
situated. 

It  is  full  to  suffocation  of  military  idlers  of 
every  description,  from  the  last  dashing 
courier  who  has  posted  down  with  despatches 
from  Bucharest,  to  the  loosest  hanger-on  of 
the  Turkish  army,  on  the  look-out  for  a 
little  quiet  game  of  robbery  whenever  an 
occasion  may  turn  up  favourable  to  the 
exercise  of  his  talents  in  that  direction. 
An  immense  fire  of  damp  wood  and  ashes 
slumbers  and  moulders  in  an  ample  grate. 
The  hobs  and  hearthstone  are  garnished  with 
little  black  invalid  coffee-pots,  one  without  a 
handle,  another  with  its  handle  tied  on  by  a 
piece  of  dirty  twisted  linen,  a  third  with  a 
great  bit  knocked  off  its  rim,  a  fourth  used 
and  battered  out  of  all  shape,  suggesting  an 
idea — perhaps  true  enough— that  it  may  have 
been  frequently  applied  to  the  hard  pates  of 
refractory  customers. 

Everybody  is  smoking — not  the  long,  ma- 
jestic pipes  of  Constantinople  and  Asia  Minor, 
nor  the  light  fancv  article  covered  with  glass 
beads  and  gay  silk  or  gold  and  silver  ^vire, 
which  are  of  common  use  in  Syria  and  Pales- 
tine, nor  the  costly  implement  of  silver  and 
precious  wood  which  solaces  the  idleness  of 
our  lazy  allies  on  the  frontiers  of  Persia  and 
in  Kurdistan.  The  Bulgarian  pipe  appears 
to  the  most  uninterested  observer  to  belong 
to  a  people  addicted  to  the  pursuits  of  agri- 
culture. It  is  short,  fat,  sturdy,  unpolished : 
it  is  made  of  a  stick  cut  out  of  a  hedj^'c. 
A  large  round  hole  is  burnt  or  whittled 
through  it — this  forms  the  stem  ;  the  bowl 
is  made  of  a  piece  of  the  root  of  a  tree 
with  a  receptacle  for  tobacco  and  a  dumpy 
exit  for  smoke  punched  irregularly  into  it. 
It  is  stuck  on  the  stick  as  much  on  one  side 
as  the  rowdy  white  hat  of  a  medical  stu- 
dent, and  looks  not  unlike  it  in  the  eycn 
of  any  one  gifted  with  a  good  serviceable 
amount  of  ready  imagination.  The  Bul- 
garian pipe  is  dirty,  as  all  Bulgarian  things 
are :  it  is  covered  over  with  several  layers 
of  various  coloured  muds,  dried  by  time, 
and  blending  not  inharmoniously  the  one 
with  the  other.  It  has  no  mouth-piece  as 
other  pipes  have,  but  the  smoker  puts  his 
lips  to  the  hole  and  sucks  at  it  ardently  till 
satiated.  The  tobacco  is  coarse,  rough,  un- 
trac table,  and  bitter,  but  this  does  not  seem 
to  diminish  in  any  way  the  visible  enjoyment 
experienced  from  the  use  of  it,  as  may  bo 
witnessed  by  the  attentive  examination  of 
any  gentleman  present  as  he  sits  behind  his 
cloud  of  smoke,  somnolent  and  surly. 

It  is  a  quaint  scene.  The  Bulgarians  dress 
in  a  more  primitive  fashion  than  is  even 
usual  among  the  Turks,  whose  dress  is 
always  quaint  and  primitive.  They  do  not 
wear  beards  like  the  rest  of  their  countrymen. 
They  shave  theur  heads  and  every  part  of 
the    face   except  the  upper  lip ;    and,  the 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


mustaches  being  allowed  to  grow  as  long  as 
thej  will,  give  a  peculiar  wild  air  to  their  dark, 
lowering  countenances,  and  adds  an  expres- 
sion very  military  and  ferocious.  It  is  not 
till  you  get  quite  close  up  to  them  and  ex- 
amine their  mces,  till  you  have  grown  per- 
fectly familiar  with  the  ferocious  moustaches, 
that  the  lion-look  wears  off,  and  the  mere 
dull,  listless,  sulky  lout  is  plainly  revealed 
beneath  it. 

After  we  have  passed  some  time  smoking 
and  drinking  coffee,  which  occupation  is  the 
indispensable  preliminary  to  all  Turkish 
affairs,  our  Tartar  (courier)  comes  in,  dripping 
and  steaming,  to  tell  us  that  he  has  at  last 
routed  out  a  man  who  has  something  to  do 
with  one  of  the  boats,  and  who  will  undertake 
to  find  his  companions  in  the  course  of  the 
day,  and  transport  us  Into  Wallachia  for  the 
consideration  of  a  golden  ducat,  or  about  nine 
shillings  and  sixpence  of  our  money.  We 
agree  to  the  proposal  of  the  boatman  who  has 
thus  been  discovered,  and,  when  our  Tartar 
has  duly  shouted  from  the  platform  our 
acquiescence  in  this  arrangement^  he  returns 
and  sits  down  to  enjoy  a  pipe  and  to  join  us 
in  the  agreeable  pastime  of  waiting  upon 
Providence  meanwhile.  He  is  a  Tartar  who 
has  had  so  much  to  do  with  Britons,  that  he 
has  at  last  acquired  something  of  our  air  and 
manners.  Yerj  wonderful  and  instructive  it 
is  to  see  him  displaying  the  attdnments  he 
has  gradually  picked  up  amongst  us.  Ecesto 
is  his  name,  Turkey  is  his  nation ;  Belgrade 
is  his  dwelling-place  (when  he  is  at  home, 
which  is  but  seldom).  By  a  long  intercourse 
with  Englishmen,  and  those  usually  of  a 
pretty  highly  connected  sort,  my  friend 
Kcesto  has  acquired,  not  only  a  little  English, 
but  he  speaks  it  with  a  fashionable  accent 
really  remarkable  to  hear.  I  once  knew  an 
Arab  who  had  learnt  the  British  language  in 
the  county  of  Gonnanght,  but  I  am  bound  to 
say  his  attainments  were  not  more  extraordi- 
nary than  those  of  Reesto.  Then  my  friend 
has  a  red  face  and  a  certain  bluff  frce-and- 
easiness  of  bearing  which  are  also  English  in 
their  way. 

Upon  the  whole,  we  are  very  much  enter- 
tained with  him,  and  his  discourse  suffices  to 
pass  an  hour  or  two  not  disagreeably  while 
we  are  still  detained  at  the  coffee-house.  He 
says  he  can  sit  on  horseback  for  five  days  and 
five  nights  at  a  time,  merely  dismounting  at 
the  post  houses.  In  summer  he  ea^s  bread 
and  grapes  on  the  road ;  in  winter  he  substi- 
tutes olives  for  grapes.  He  seldom  takes  any 
other  food.  He  can  sleep  in  his  saddle  as 
easily  as  in  bed.  He  is  fifty-eight  years  old. 
He  has  passed  all  his  life  travelling.  He 
finds  no  diminution  of  his  strength.  He  feels 
indeed  a  little  stiffer,  but  not  much,  and 
quite  as  beartv,  only  he  can  never  remain 
long  in  one  place.  He  was  employed  for  a 
long  time  by  the  British  Government  He 
made  a  good  deal  of  money  at  that  time. 
Most  people  do.    He  made,  indeed,  about 


three  thousand  pounds  of  our  money ;  kt 
the  devil  was  at  his  elbow,  and  prompted 
him  to  build  a  fine  hotel  near  Belgrade,  foi 
the  accomodation  of  the  queen-s  messengoi 
who  then  passed  that  way.  He  fitted  it  op 
very  expensively,  and  just  as  it  was  finished, 
the  queen's  messengers  ceased  to  go  that 
way.  So  did  most  other  people,  and  he  foimd 
that  he  had  sunk  his  capital  in  the  No  per 
cents.  Poor  Reesto  I  Thou  wert  not  formed 
for  a  moneyed  man,  and  art  justly  reprored 
for  having  wished  to  barter  thy  merry  con- 
tent for  gold. 

There  was  some  difficulty  in  wading  down 
to  the  boat  when  it  was  ready  at  last,  and 
still  more  difficulty  in  getting  our  lagga^ 
together.  Many  of  the  Bulgarian  agncol- 
tural  gentlemen  cast  a  sly  glance  at  oor 
effects,  and  I  noticed  that  a  short  heavy  stock 
whip  I  carried,  attracted  such  very  marked 
attention  that  it  appeared  only  courteous  to 
leave  it  behind  me,  and  I  did  so.  I  wonder 
how  many  shoulders  have  smarted  beneath 
its  application  since  my  departure.  I  remem- 
ber that  its  new  owner  eyed  it  with  a  joyM 
appreciation  of  its  customary  uses  in  Turkey, 
which  was  cheerful  and  suggestive  to  a  de- 
gree very  far  beyond  description. 

As  soon  as  our  friends  by  the  water  side  dis- 
covered that  we  had  hired  a  boat  and  paid 
for  it,  they  began  to  flock  into  it  in  snch 
numbers  that  we  had  some  difficulty  in  keep- 
ing our  seats,  and  were  obliged  to  spend  a 
considerable  time  in  reducing  our  volunteer 
companions  to  a  cipher  at  lul  safe ;  for  the 
wind  was  blowing  almost  a  hurricane,  and 
the  sullen  angry  look  of  the  Danube  was  by 
no  means  inviting.  '  We  got  off  at  last,  how- 
ever, with  an  egg-merchant,  a  Jew  pedlar,  an 
old  woman,  and  a  little  cluster  of  idlers  ^o 
sat  together  at  the  prow,  waiting  upon 
Providence.  We  had  also  four  rowers,  each 
manoeuvring  a  single  oar,  so  that  the  size  of 
our  barge  may  be  imagined. 

Our  boatmen  do  not  sit  down  and  row  like 
English  rowers.  They  could  not  move  our 
clumsy  barge  an  inch  by  such  a  process. 
They  stand  up,  therefore,  and  leaning  for- 
ward, thrust  their  oars  as  far  back  in  tiic 
water  as  possible ;  then  they  plant  their 
right  feet  firmly  against  a  footboard  made  for 
the  purpose,  and  throw  the  whole  strength  of 
their  arms,  and  the  weight  of  their  bodies 
into  the  stroke.  If  one  of  them  happens  to  | 
be  ever  so  little  out  of  time,  he  gets  a  Wow 
on  the  chest,  enough  to  fell  an  ox,  from  we  , 
sudden  impetus  given  to  the  boat  by  the 
rest,  and  his  feet  are  up  in  the  air,  before  yw 
can  say  Jack  Robinson.  At  every  stroto 
the  rowers  make  a  sovid  in  tetoS^^'jJ!!! 
breath  like  that  which  emanates  from  the  stoat  , 
chests  of  Irish  labourers  engaged  in  paving  a 
street.  There  is  a  good  deal  of  incidental 
practical  joking  going  on  also.  I  notice  that 
one  of  the  rowers  appears  to  be  especially  tne 
butt  of  the  rest.  He  isachubby  yonngW  , 
withascantyred  bewd,andIthUikhei8an  ij 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbarlec  Dlckou.} 


THE  ROVING  ENGLISHMAN. 


467 


amateur.  The  efTorts  of  the  other  rowers 
appear  to  me  to  be  directed  almost  as  much 
to  throwing  this  fellow  down  as  often  as  pos- 
sible, as  to  the  progress  of  the  boat.  Every 
time  he  is  knocked  the  wrong  end  uppermost 
there  is  a  hoarse  laugh,  in  which  the  idlers, 
of  course  distin^ish  themselves.  When  the 
young  boatman  is  overthrown  also  they  begin 
to  splash  him,  and  as  they  splash  us  also  this 
occasions  rather  a  warm  discussion. 

The  joking,  however,  would  probably  have 
died  away  without  our  interference  as  we  got 
farther  out  into  the  centre  of  the  river,  for, 
to  say  truth,  the  Danube  is  by  no  means  an 
agreeable  customer  when  he  blusters. 

The  current  in  the  middle  of  the  stream 
ran  with  fearful  violence  5  we  could  not  breast 
it  and  go  straight  across,  but  were  oblged  to 
turn,  and  tack,  and  twist  not  a  little,  while 
the  large  full  waves  rolling  down,  struck  us 
blows  which  made  our  timbers  shiver  as  if 
they  had  been  hit  with  a  rock.  Our  immense 
heavy  boat  was  tossed  and  blown  about  as  if 
it  had  been  a  mere  wherry,  and  for  at  least 
ten  minutes,  the  chances  appeared  very  small 
of  our  being  able  to  reach  the  opposite* coast 
without  swimming  for  it  The  water  swept 
over  us  in  blinding  spray,  and  we  were  obliged 
to  cling  on  to  the  sides  of  the  boat  for  dear 
life.  The  amateur  waterman  lay  motionless 
where  he  was  last  knocked  down,  and  the 
remaining  rowers  toiled  at  their  oars ; 
beards  bristling  at  the  imminence  of  our 
danger.  As  for  the  egg-merchant,  the  Jew 
pedlar,  and  the  old  woman,  they  coiled  them- 
selves up  into  balls  as  small  as  possible,  and 
cowered  lu  the  wet  at  the  bottom  of  the  boat, 
groaning  piteously.  At  last,  after  a  tremen- 
dous struggle  with  the  wind  and  waters,  we 
were  beaten  away  considerably  down  stream 
to  leeward  of  a  small  island,  opposite  Glur- 
gevo,but  then  fortunately  we  got  into  smooth 
water,  and  so  crept  up  the  shore,  till  at  last 
we  got  among  the  shipping  which  lay 
anchored  in  the  little  Wallachian  port ;  and 
then,  but  not  till  then,  did  we  feel  safe,  and 
light  the  pipes  of  mutual  relief  and  congratu- 
lation, feeling  that  we  had  escaped  a  danger 
which  has  been  fatal  to  so  many  in  these 
piping  times  of  war. 

The  first  words  we  hear  on  the  "Walla- 
chian  shore  are  German.  There  is  an  ha- 
rangue about  passports  and  formalities  of  all 
sorts,  which  at  once  assures  me,  if  I  had  had 
the  smallest  doubt  on  the  subject,  that  I  am 
in  the  near  neighbourhood,  and  under  the  do- 
mmation,  not  to  say  in  the  custody  of,  my 
old  friends,  the  Austrians. 

There,  indeed,  are  the  smart  white  liveries, 
which  distinguish  the  servants  of  the  Impe- 
rial Royal  Apostolic  Emperor  of  that  joyous 
country,  strutting  about  in  all  directions. 
They  have  evidently  taken  possession  of  the 
land,  and  all  that  m  it  is,  and  they  have  in- 
doctrinated the  inhabitants  thereof,  with 
their  cheerful,  but  peculiar  tenets.  If  you 
were  to  turn  round  a  corner,  and  say,  '*  how 


do  you  do  ? "  to  the  first  man  you  met,  that 
man  would  be,  without  doubt,  an  Austrian. 

Foi>  the  rest,  the  difference  between  the 
Wallachian  town  on  this  side  of  the  Danube, 
and  the  Turkish  town  on  the  other  is  very 
striking  and  remarkable.  Ruetschuk,  we 
have  already  attempted  to  describe.  Let 
us  now,  therefore,  say  something  about 
Giurgevo. 

In  the  first  place,  there  is  an  excellent  Eu- 
ropean hotel,  kept  by  an  Italian.  All  the 
principal  inhabitants  are  dressed  in  Frank 
clothes,  very  oddly  made,  certainly,  but  still 
Frank  clothes.  There  are  even  some  dandies 
in  varnished  boots,  strutting  about,  and  the 
only  thing  which  still  reminds  us  of  Turkey, 
is,  that  we  have  a  litte  Greek  consul,  who  is 
always  in  hot  water,  and  having  a  game  at 
braggadocio  with  everybody,  after  the  custom 
of  his  craft  and  countrymen. 

Giurgevo  is  a  large,  straggling,  rambling 
place.  Some  of  the  streets  are  paved,  and  Eome 
are  not.  There  are  a  good  many  imposing 
houses,  also  some  churches.  It  was  immedi- 
ately in  front  of  the  churches,  that  the  Rus- 
sians planted  their  guns,  and  took  up  their 
position,  that  they  might  cunningly  raise  the 
cry  of  Sacrilege,  when  Omer  Pacha  fires  at 
them.  Giurgevo  still  shows  many  traces  of 
the  recent  Russian  occupation.  It  is  rich  in 
spirit  shops ;  and  there  is  that  air  of  tinsel 
and  immorality  about  it,  which  is  one  of  the 
most  marked  characteristics  of  all  semi-Rus- 
sianised  places.  The  small  gentry  of  the 
place  are  fond  of  playing  the  Grand  Seigneur. 
They  are  rather  too  affable  and  epigrammatic 
in  their  conversation.  There  is  a  rude,  semi- 
barbaric  splendour  about  their  doings,  which 
is  half-laughable  and  half-sad.  Otherwise, 
they  are  as  pertinacionslv  good  humoured, 
and  easy  going,  as  all  Wallachians  are.  Most 
of  them  speak  French  in  a  naive,  quaint  sort 
of  way,  but  still  French.  As  I  am  standing 
at  the  door  of  the  hotel,  a  Wallachian  gent 
enters  into  conversation  with  me  in  this  lan- 
guage. He  is  a  curious  compound  of  the 
walking  gentleman  at  a  provincial  theatre,  a 
Polish  huzzar,  and  the  Brompton  brigand. 
He  wears  a  white  hat,  and  yellow  gloves. 
His  moustachios  are  waxed  and  pointed,  till 
they  stand  out  like  a  pair  of  lady's  scissor- 
blades,  used  for  very  fine  work.  His  frock- 
coat  is  frogged,  rabbit-skinned,  and  braided. 
His  trowsers  are  of  an  exaggerated  green 
pattern,  and  his  small,  gray,  jean  boots,  are 
of  French  origin,  and  lacquered. 

"  Eh  bien !  Well,"  he  says,  with  that  good 
humoured,  droll  impertinence,  which  belongs 
to  his  race.  "  What  do  you  think  of  our 
country?"  Being  satisfied  with  respect  to 
my  ideas  on  this  important  subject,  he  pro- 
ceeds to  examine  me  with  much  curious  atten- 
tion. I  perceive  now,  that  his  first  question 
was  merely  an  excuse  for  further  researches. 
He  takes  out  my  studs,  looks  at  them  closely, 
weighs  them,  asks  what  they  cost,  and  puts 
them  back  again.     Then  he  takes  out  my 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


468 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Condaeted  bf 


watch,  and  pats  it  through  the  same  process. 
Then  ho  twiddles  the  collar  of  my  waistcoat 
between  his  finger  and  thumb,  to  satisfy  him- 
Belf  as  to  the  quality  of  its  texture.  Then  he 
examines  the  lining  of  my  coat,  points  out 
that  it  is  neither  so  pretty,  nor  of  so  fine  a 
fabric  as'his  own,  and,  finally  proposes  a  walk 
about  the  town,  and  to  smoke  a  few  ci<?arettos. 
a  luxury,  in  the  preparation  of  which,  by 
means  of  tobacco  and  tissue  paper,  he  pro- 
mises duly  to  instruct  me. 

I  accept  the  proferred  cigar.  It  convincos 
me  at  once  that  I  am  no  longer  in  Turkey 
properly  speaking.  The  tobacco  is  dftest- 
able.  With  respect  to  promenading  about 
the  town,  I  must  first  see  about  my  pa«^s- 
port.  A  rusty  individual  attached  in  some 
way  to  the  British  Consulate,  is  promptly 
summoned,  and  courteously  offers  his  ser- 
vices to  relieve  me  of  this  difficulty.  I  am 
grateful  suflSciently,  and  confide  my  farther 
interests  in  this  respect  to  his  care.  When  I 
join  my  new  acquaintance,  who  I  learn  is  one 
of  the  notabilities  of  the  place,  he  lets  off  a 
little  French  joke,  not  the  less  blythe  from 
being  perfectly  unintelligible,  and  apropos  to 
nothing.  Thenin  the  midst  of  our  cousequent 
hilarity,  we  strut  down  the  street  in  company. 

Acquiring  information  as  1  go  on,  I  gra- 
dually ascertain  that  the  Wallachian  gent  was 
anxious  to  make  my  acquaintance  for  the 
purpose  chiefly  of  affording  a  little  harmless 
morning  entertainment  to  his  friends.  He 
trots  me  out  with  much  diligence  to  all  sorts 
of  places  We  pay  visits  as  though  for  a 
wager,  and  I  am  glad  to  see  thi  pretty 
Greek  custom  of  serving  sweetmeats  and 
strong  waters  to  all  comers,  still  existing 
here.  In  some  houses  they  also  maintain 
the  Turkish  fashion  of  pipes  and  coflee.  Our 
visits  do  not  occasion  any  surprise.  Hospi- 
tality is  one  of  the  national  virtues  of  Wal- 
lachia.  I  might  take  up  my  quarters,  there- 
fore, permanently  in  almost  every  house  we 
enter,  without  such  a  decision  on  my  part 
calling  for  any  observation  beyond  a  general 
welcome.  They  are  curious  about  me  indivi- 
dually, and  every  successive  host  asks  all 
manner  of  odd  home  questions,  my  visit  as  a 
perfect  stranger,  appearing  to  be  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world.  The  ladies 
are  particularly  frank  and  delightful,  and 
I  feel  some  regret  as  the  day  wanes,  and 
I  am  obliged  to  refuse  everybody's  invita- 
tion to  dinner,  to  see  about  my  pa&sport, 
and  prepare  for  my  departure.  When  I 
get  back  to  the  hotel,  therefore,  with  this 
heroic  object  resolutely  in  view,  the  Con- 
sular individual  who  undertook  to  manage 
my  affairs  is  no  where  to  be  found,  and  I 
am  occupied  for  the  next  three  hours  in 
the  most  refreshing  and  invigorating  pur- 
suit of  endeavouring  to  discover  hi?;  retreat. 
It  is  not  easy  to  find  him.  Now  I  get 
scent  of  him  at  one  place,  now  at  another, 
half  a  mile  off,  and  away  I  hasten  flushed  and 
astonished.      At    last,    I    run    him    down 


at  a  rakee  shop.  He  has  forgotten  the  whole 
transaction.  Did  he  receive  my  passport, 
and  promise  to  submit  it  to  the  Austrian 
authorities?  Impossible!  If  he  did  he 
must  have  cither  lost  it,  or  left  it  at-home, 
one  or  tlie  other.  He  will  go  and  see, 
and  I  can  return  to  my  hotel  meanwhile. 
Not  a  bit  of  it,  my  Consular  acquaintance. 
Now  that  I  have  found  you,  at  last,  we  will 
go  together,  if  you  please.  We  do  so,  and  the 
pa'isport  at  last  turns  up  safe,  but  almost 
obliterated,  in  the  lining  of  his  hat. 


THE  FIRST  DEATH.* 

ScEXE — A  solitary  place  in  ilte  midst  of  Trea.— 
Kabkkl  fiUing  moodily  upon  a  Stone.— 
Ebijs  (a  shapdets  gloom)  standing  in  front 
of  him.  The  setting  sitn  close  upon  thefionson. 

Kabed.  What  art  thou,  that  thou  atandest  in  m-^ 
path, 
Thou  shaiK'Uss  and  dilating  Mysterrl 
I've  felt  tlipo  in  my  heart  a  weary  while. 
And  in  still  places  I  have  talk'd  with  thee. 
Muttering  strange  worda:  but,  till  this  moment,  iwTcr 
Hast  thou  upon  these  eyebalU  laid  the  weight 
Of  thy  rao«t  awful  presence.     Speak  to  me  ! 
I  f»'ar  thy  silence,  and  that  eyeless  face 
With  which  thou  starest  at  me !    Art  thou  dumb  1 
I  feel  thee  rising  out  of  mine  own  soul. 
As  a  black  smoke  goes  ui)wardf  from  a  fire. 
And  hangs  in  the  lagging  wind.     I  know,  oh  Fhade, 
That  thou  hast  lived  within  me  like  vaj  blood ; 
Yet  wherefore  dost  thou  load  the  dying  day 
With  such  enormous  darkness?  wherefoxe  rise 
Like  a  new  Chaos,  blacker  than  the  old. 
Making  a  void  of  the  sweet  face  of  things  f 

Eblis.  I  am  the  Evil  Spirit  in  thy  heart. 
I  am  a  part  of  thee  ;  and  well  thou  gays't 
That  thou  hnst  parley 'd  with  me  in  dim  nooks. 
I  am  a  part  of  thee  ;  jet,  not  alone 
Of  thee,  but  of  the  orb^d  universe,— 
A  drop  of  the  unconquer'd  primal  Night 
Wherefrom  this  world  arose.    In  everything 
Below  the  swift  heavens,  and  the  hom'e  of  God, 
A  wonder  and  a  misery  to  myaelC 
I  blend  most  strangely  with  my  opposite — 
Darkness  and  light,  discord  and  harmony, 
Mix'd  in  unceasing  strife  I 

KaheeL  Thy  words  Ikll  down 

Into  the  joyless  chasms  of  my  soul, 
Like  stones  into  abysses  of  the  hills. 
Walking  stupendous  murmurs.    Oh,  thou  Gloom! 
My  spirit  lies  before  thee  in  a  trance, 
And  must  to  thee  yield  up  her  inmost  self. 
Alas !  I  feel  thou  art  a  part  of  me. 
And  yet  I  melt  beneath  thee  like  a  dew! 
Why  (Jost  thou  grow  upon  me  day  by  day, 
Companioning  my  dreadful  solitudes? 

Eblis.  Eaboel,  thou  host  a  brother. 

Kahed.  Lo  I  thy  shade 

Grows  heavier  at  that  word.    Thou  speakest  fiUse. 


♦  An  Arabian  tradition  connected  with  the  Maho- 
metan version  of  the  story  of  Cain  and  Abel  faran 
the  substance  of  this  dramatic  seeDe.  Arcording  W 
the  Arabian  narrativc,EbIia,(theGvil  Principle)  taagkt 
Kaboel  (Cain)  the  way  to  slay  his  brother  by  sugf«rt- 
ing  to  him  the  dashing  in  of  his  skull  with  a  stoee. 
In  the  present  instance,  tl>lis  is  represented  as  sothiiif 
more  than  an  outward  reflection  of  the  Inner  evil  la 
Kabeel's  nature  ;  and  therefore  the  device  of  the  stona 
becomes  a  subtlety  of  his  own  disturbed  brain. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbarles  Dlckenik 


THE  FIRST  DEATH. 


469 


I  hare  a  clinging  curso,  they  call  my  brother: 
I  have  a  heavy  pain,  they  call  my  brother : 
I  hare  a  desolation  in  my  heart, 
They  call  my  brother !    And  my  s^ul  is  sad. 

EblU,  Thy  brother*!  highly  favoar'd,  lor'd,  and 
praiaM : 
The  hearena  smile  on  him,  and  dull  thinga  of  earth 
Rejoice  to  bo  the  servants  of  hifl  will 
The  vapour  of  his  spicM  sacrifice 
Made  yesterday  upon  the  skyey  hills, 
Took  wings  for  the  eternal  land  aboye, 
While  thine  was  beaton  back  into  thy  face, 
And  dash'd  upon  the  dost,  and  made  as  naught : 
And  yet  hU  offering  had  Murder  in't. 
And  innocent  blood  of  meek  and  trusting  Iambs 
Accuse  him  to  the  vast,  eternal  akj. 

KabeeL  Thoo  speakest  duskily.    What  thing  is  this 
Which  thou  call'at  murder?  for  I  know  It  not. 

EbUs.  Thou  wilt  soon  know  it,  more  than  words 
can  tell: 
Thj  hand  is  heary  with  a  weight  of  doom. 
— Kabeel,  bethink  thee  of  thy  many  wrongs. 
Thy  father  and  tby  mother  turn  from  thee : 
She  whom  thou  loveat,  and  would'st  call  thy  wife, 
Swoons  when  she  hearii  thy  step. 

KabetL  No  more  I  no  more  I 

There  is  a  dark  tide  rising  in  my  brain, 
And  I  am  borne  upon  it    The  glad  heavens 
Are  gone— the  sweet  earth  vanish'd ;  and  I  stand 
Within  a  vast  and  melancholy  blank, 
Listening  to  thy  far-sounding  words,  which  burst 
l^pward,  like  bubbles  from  tho  deep  black  wells. 

Eblig.  Thou  wouldst  be  happier  if  thou  htdst  no- 
brother. 

Kabeel.  What  is  it  that  thus  shakes  tho  darkness 
round 
As  with  a  hand  ?    What  groping  thing  is  this  t 

Eblit.  There  ia  a  God  called  Death,  whom  thou 
know'st  not ; 
Yet  is  he  ever  hovering  in  thy  floah, 
And  in  all  flesh  ;  and  whosoe'er  he  takes 
Within  his  stiflf  embrace,  turns  faint  and  pale, 
And  lies  him  down  upon  hia  mother  earth, 
Kiwing  with  dreary  Ups  the  foot-apurn*  dust, 
And  never  speoketh  more  to  friend  or  foe, 
Nor  eats,  nor  drinks,  nor  moveth  any  limb, 
No,  though  you  taunt  him  loudly  in  the  ear : 
And  so  he  fades  away  into  a  thing 
That  his  own  kindred  hide  in  very  shame. 
And  the  earth  takes  him  back  unto  herself. 
Thus  will  it  bo,  though  it  hath  not  been  yet, 
With  aU  thy  father's  race. 

^obeeL  What  prayers,  what  tows  I 

^^Tiat  devilish  sacriflces.  what  loud  cries, 
What  raging  dances,  what  fierce  ecstacy. 
What  gashings  of  the  limbs,  what  sumptuous  pain, 
Will  draw  this  God,  like  lightning,  from  his  heaven, 
To  do  my  bidding? 

Ebiis.  He  needs  none  of  these ; 

Thou  hold'st  him  in  thy  hand-this  unknown  God— 
With  many  a  harmless  seeming  thing,  wherein 
He  larks,  like  fire  within  the  cold  flint  stone. 
^^»s  forth  I    What  seest  thou?    Look  I 


Kabeel.  The  darkness  stirs ; 

And  in  one  spot,  flush'd  with  white,  tremulous  beams, 
Like  night  before  the  morning,  languishes ! 
And  now,  within  a  broad  and  luminous  space, 
I  see  my  brother  sleeping  in  the  shade 
Of  mingling  palm-trees.    Very  still  he  lies : 
Idly  his  hu(;e  arm  drops  along  his  side ; 
His  strengthful  fingers  feebly  clutch  the  grass; 
His  open  mouth  is  speechless ;  and  the  soul 
That  look'd  out  of  his  eager  eyes  has  fled. 
Is  this  the  God  thou  speak'st  of?    Is  this  Death  1 

Eblis.  Death  comes  upon  the  tempest  of  his  might ! 
The  upper  air  is  ruflled  with  his  step  1 
What  see'st  thou  now? 

Kabeel  I  see  the  darkness  yearn 

From  side  to  side,  and  strangely  palpitate : 
And  now  it  gathers  form,  and  glares  aloft, 
A  living  blackness  1    Now— oh,  horrible  ! — 
It  is  myself  I  look  upon,  with  eyes 
That  peer  into  their  own  tremendous  depths. 
And  startle  at  themselves  !— Light,  light,  oh,  light ! 
Ye  winged  ministers  of  the  One  Supreme  I 
I  am  alone  in  darkness ;  and  my  heart 
Is  traitor  to  itself^  and  mocks  at  mo  !— 
Alas !  thev  hear  me  not— they  know  me  not ! 
My  thought  stands  f^ll  between  me  and  the  heavens ; 
The  shadow  of  my  soul  is  on  all  things ! 

Eblis.  The  great  god  Death  comes  nearer— nearer 
still! 
B««k  up,  and  give  him  welcome ! 

Kabeel.  Now,  strange  shape, 

Thou  boldest  in  thy  hand  a  jaggod  stone, 
And  smil'st  on  it  I    And  now,  with  upward  whirl 
Of  that  avenging  arm— Ha,  ha  1  the  bolt 
Has  fallen,  and  m^  heart  cries  out !    My  breath 
Scorns  snatch'd  from  me!    My  ears  are  loud  with 

noise ! 
My  sight  daisies  I    Bear  me  up !    The  rooted  earth 
Bolls  hither  and  thither,  and  1  faint— I  sink  ! 
There  is  a  crim^ion  something  in  my  eyea^ 
Which  dances  like  the  motes  before  the  sun !    ^ 
I  have  a  sense  of  a  distorted  face, 
And  of  a  silence  that  shall  live  for  age. 
And  of  a  satisfaction  and  deep  ease 
To  the  very  bones,  like  that  which  comes  to  us 
At  quenching  of  a  g^eat  and  tyrannous  thirf^t ! 
I  could  even  weep ;  but  not  for  grief— not  grief  I 

EbUs.  The  mighty  Death  shall  set  his  seal  on  the 
world ! 
Rejoice,  Kabeel  I    The  great  god  Death  shall  come ! 


[ffe  vanishes  like  a  slow  cloud.  Kabul,  ttho  has 
/alien  to  the  earthy  starts  up  xcith  a  great  cry. 
A  red  sunset  is  looking  through  the  trees. 

Kabeel.  Spread  yourselves  out,  ye  hills !    Leap  up, 
ye  heavens ! 
Sink,  thou  firm  earth,  below  me  1  fbr  my  joy 
Oannot  contain  itself  within  your  bounds  1 
My  heart  is  giant-like,  and  knocks  against 
The  framework  of  the  world  '    Arise,  thou  dust. 
And  triumph  over  that  which  treads  on  thee  ! 
Shout  to  the  scornful  and  down-looking  stars. 
Ye  stones,  and  ye  contemned,  lowly  things  I 
I  will  avenge  the  wrongs  of  such  as  ye. 
Nature,  to  (Hscord  and  confusion  haste ! 
Roar  to  the  many-Csced  and  threatful  sea. 
T«  cloud  compelling  and  ^reat-voic^d  winds! 
Answer,  ye  billows,  from  the  vast  abyss 
In  thunderous  laughter  I— I  will  do  this  deed. 

[Observes  the  sunset. 
Thou  fierce,  red  sunset,  staining  all  the  west, 
And  splashing  the  tree-tops  witn  wicked  light ! 
Thou  shalt  to  me  be  as  an  influence, 
Onlv  I  will  surpass  thee.    I  will  fling 
A  light  far  down  the  weltering  stream  of  years, 
Crimson  as  thine,  but  not  so  briefly  ^one, 
Which  man  shall  quake  to  see.    I  will  glare  out 
From  the  recesses  of  the  cavernous  Past, 
A  bloody  star,  more  dreadM  than  those  glooms 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


470 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Condoctedt? 


Br  night  beneftth  the  iron  cedar  woods 
When  the  moon  drops  below  the  hills,  and  all 
The  world  lies  night  mared.    And,  for  erer  and  erer, 
The  Rpurn'd  and  trampled  man  shall  torn  to  me, 
As  to  gome  glorious  terror  in  the  i>kies. 
And  shall  cry  out,  **I  thank  thee,  oh,  Kabsell 
I  thank  thee  for  the  deed  which  thou  hast  done, 
And  for  the  deed  which  I  will  do,  thus  taught 
By  thj  supreme  example !  "—Oh,  thou  Night, 
NowdarkeniDR  down  with  the  utmost  peak  of  HeaTCo, 
And  closing  with  black  lids  upon  the  west! 
I  charge  thee,  stare  out  with  thy  million  eyes 
To  see  the  advent  of  this  myaterjr,  Death. 
For  Death  is  coming  to  wed  the  virgin  world  ! 
This  hand  holds  Death  I    There  shall  bo  Death  ero 
morn ! 


A  VERY  LITTLE  HOUSE. 

It  was  my  fortune,  not  long  ago,  to  spend 
a  few  weeks  with  a  certain  Miss  Oldtown — 
a  kind  old  maiden-lady,  residing  in  one  of 
those  miraculously  small  bouses  which  spe- 
culating builders  are  so  profusely  scattering 
all  over  England.  These  little  abodes  haunt 
the  outskirts  of  all  our  towns,  and  occasionally 
startle  the  traveller  by  appearing  with  ex- 
traordinarily white,  new,  and  glaring  fronts, 
between  the  tallest,  oldest,  and  dingiest  houses 
in  the  very  midst  of  the  towns  themselves. 
They  spring  up  in  our  lanes  and  our  turnip 
fields,  and  surround  every  railroad  station, 
presenting  to  the  eye  confusing  rows  of  little 
street  doors,  and  little  knockers,  and  little 
stone  steps,  and  little  chimneys,  and  little 
gardens ;  but,  however  numerous,  they  are  all 
inhabited  as  soon  as  built.  It  was  long  a  ques- 
tioft  with  me,  whether  the  inhabitants  of  these 
little  houses  were  real  full-grown  substan- 
tial English  people  ?  How  could  they,  and 
their  sofas,  and  tables,  and  piano-fortes  get 
into  them  through  such  tiny  doors  ?  Could 
they  stand  upright  in  the  sitting  rooms? 
Could  they  lie  at  full  length  in  the  bed- 
rooms? Where  do  they  stow  their  spare 
clothes,  theur  coals,  and  the  "  few  friends  " 
they  so  often  invite  to  tea  ? 

I  could  not  answer  these  questions  satis- 
factorily until  Miss  Oldtown  invited  me  to 
stay  with  her.  I  packed  up  the  smallest 
trunk  I  could  by  any  means  persuade  to  con- 
tain my  clothes,  and  started  for  number 
sixty-three.  High  Street,  Knollington,  Surrey, 
fully  determined  to  penetrate  to  the  very 
bottom  of  the  mystery,  or  perish  in  the 
attempt. 

I  alighted  from  the  train,  at  the  Knolling- 
ton station,  and  found  myself  in  a  very  young 
outskirt  of  the  town.  Buildings  which  had 
evidently  been  once  upon  a  time  picturesque 
cottages,  had  made  themselves  square  and 
smooth,  and  had  put  up  smart  window 
blinds,  and  slate  roofs,  and  were  in  short 
aping  their  betters  in  every  possible  way. 
Tnen  I  passed  a  very  new  church  of  very  old 
architecture,  a  new  rectory  of  very  uncomfor- 
table architecture,  and  a  new  school-house  of 
no  architecture  at  all :  then,  of  course,  you 
come  to  the  inevitable  "  semi-detached  villas'' 


that  turn  so  sulkUy  away  from  each  other,  as 
if  they  had  been  attached  once  but  had 
thought  better  of  it  and  parted.  Thej 
are  so  bright,  neat,  new,  and  resplendent, 
with  such  fine  plate-glass  windows,  that 
they  make  you  feel  quite  shabby  in  your  tra- 
velling dress,  and  you  long  to  hide  your  dimin- 
ished rays  as  you  pass  them.  Then  an  BDclent 
house  will  come  Into  sight :  an  old  rambOng 
two-storied  building,  the  first  floor  beginning 
far  below  the  present  level  of  the  street,  and 
the  second  threatening  to  fall  down  into  it 
Then  come  poor  shops,  then  grander  ones; 
then  a  few  scattered  private  houses,  neither 
young  nor  old,  rich  nor  poor — strange,  dall, 
silent,  curtain-drawn  places.  Are  they  ware- 
houses? or  whht  sort  of  people  live  in  those 
old  fashioned,  comfortable,  independent-look- 
ing buildings,  that  make  blanlu  so  often  in 
the  busiest  parts  of  the  busiest  streets  of  oor 
country-towns? 

But  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  them. 
Miss  Oldtown  is  my  firiend,  and  she  Irrcs  in 
one  of  the  doll's  houses  of  which  there  are 
three  in  the  very  middle  of  the  High  Street, 
squeezed  into  small  gaps  between  the  shops. 
Two  of  these  are  on  one  side  of  the  street,  and 
one — Miss  Oldtown's — stands  in  solitary  gran- 
deur on  the  other.  It  is  intensely  white,  and 
has  about  three  feet  and  ahalf  of  lawn  m  front 
of  it,  protected  by  intensely  green  iron  railings, 
It  is  three-storied,  displaying  three  windows, 
one  above  the  other ;  the  lowest  containing  a 
canary  cage  with  a  very  old  canary— which  I 
long  believed  to  be  stuflTed — inside  itj  the 
next  containing  a  small  table  supporting  a 
vase  of  artificial  flowers,  for  the  better  dis- 
play of  which  ibe  muslin  blind  is  removed; 
and  the  third  permitting  a  glimpse  of  a  toilet 
looking-glass.  These  signs  sufficiently  indi- 
cate to  the  intelligent  observer,  that  on  the 
ground  floor  there  is  a  small  dining-room, 
with  a  small  kitchen  behind  it,  and  a  smaller 
scullery  behind  that:  a  small  drawing-room 
over  the  small  dining-room,  with  a  very 
small  bed-room  .behind  it  (my  castle  daring 
my  visit)  j  a  small  bed-room  over  the  small 
drawing-room,  with  a  small  cupboard  called  a 
dressing-room,  behind  U ;  and,  over  all,  a  small 
loft,  with  a  small  window  at  the  back, where- 
from  the  small  maid  Susan,  whose  apartment 
it  is,  enjoys  an  extensive  view  of  small  hw* 
premises,  scullery  yards,  wet  linen,  dirty 
windows,  chimneys  and  soot.  In  short,  the 
only  difference  between  the  rooms  is  that 
which  exists  between  the  words  small, 
smaller,  and  smallest.  The  fUmiture  is  » 
little,  that  one  cannot  help  thinking  ft  most 
be  very  young  and  will  grow  up  bv  and  hyj 
and  become  stronger  and  more  robust ;  ana 
everything  is  so  tiny  and  delicate  th***!^"! 
midst  thereof,  one  feels  one's  self  a  wrt « 
giant  A  lion  in  a  canary  cage  could  not  ftei 
more  out  of  place  than  I  did  at  first  in  Ju» 
Oldtown's  house.  I  felt  so  much  too  larp; 
I  was  quite  ashamed  of  my  height  (I  am  BTe 
feet  two),  and  began  to  think  that  I  mof* 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbarles  OlckeiuO 


A  VERY  LITTLE  HOUSE. 


471 


have  grown  during  mj  two  hours  journey  in 
the  train. 

In  my  little  sleeping-room  I  was  quite 
overwhelmed  by  this  sensation,  and  looked 
with  some  dismay  at  the  little  white  bed,  in 
which  I  should  certainly  have  discovered  by 
experience  what  are  the  feelings  of  a  bodkin 
in  a  bodkin-case,  had  it  not  proved  so  deli- 
cioualy  soft.  There  was  a  pretty  pale  brown 
paper  on  the  walls,  blossoming  with  bunches 
of  pink  flowers  (of  a  kind  unknown  to 
botanists)  ;  there  was  a  picture  representing 
Hubert  the  jailor,  with  legs  like  walking- 
sticks,  in  the  act  of  seizing  an  instrument 
strongly  resembling  a  poker,  and  exclaim- 
ing, •*Heat  me  these  irons!"  evidently 
a  work  of  yonthful' genius,  carefully  framed 
and  glazed  for  everlasting  preservation. 
There  was  a  coloured  print,  representing 
a  lady  and  gentleman  and  a  child,  with  pink 
cheeks  and  short  waists,  walking  with  three 
cows  near  a  stream  and  a  ruined  castle,  and 
labelled  "  connubial  bliss."  There  was  a  diffi- 
culty in  getting  round  the  bed  without  knock- 
ing down  the  towel-stand,  breaking  the  look- 
ing-glass, and  upsetting  the  fire-irons.  My 
trunk  was  pushed  into  the  only  available 
corner  behind  the  door;  so  that  when  I  wanted 
to  open  the  trunk  I  must  shut  the  door,  and 
when  I  wanted  to  open  the  door  I  must  shut 
the  trunk ;  and,  finally,  there  was  myself, 
Btanding  at  the  foot  of  tlie  bed,  and  feeling  a 
great  deal  too  large  for  it. 

Miss  Old  town's  household  is  Susan,  the  little 
mald-of-all-work — and,  let  me  tell  you,  that  a 
maid-of-all-work  is  the  highest  domestic  offi- 
cial known  in  KnoUington  High  Street,  and 
that  Susan  is  quite  a  pattern  to  her  class.  She 
is  a  pretty  little  country  girl,  very  black-eyed 
and  very  red-cheeked,  very  brisk  and  very 
fresh,  and  terribly  quick  and  energetic.  She 
gets  up  every  morning  at  an  incredible  hour, 
and  picks  up  all  the  country  news  from  the 
milkman,  and  all  the  town  news  from  the 
postman,  which  she  retails  to  her  mistress  at 
all  eonvenient  times.  Miss  Oldtown  herself 
is  the  daughter  of  a  clergyman,  at  whose 
death  she  was  turned  loose  on  the  world, 
with  a  very  limited  independence.  She  chose 
eixty-three,  Knollington  High  Street,  as  her 
place  of  abode  because  it  was  near  the  scene 
of  her  father's  labours,  and  she  was  well- 
known  and  respected  there.  None  of  her  new 
neighbours  ventured  to  call  upon  her,  so  she 
had  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  they  are 
conscious  of  her  grandeur  and  superiority, 
and  of  looking  down  on  them  all  from  inac- 
cessible heights  of  gentility.  This  she  does 
pretty  frequently  through  her  plate- glass 
drawing-room  window,  where  she  spends  the 
greater  part  of  her  life.  She  knows  everyone 
"  hy  sight ;"  but  deems  none  worthy  of  closer 
acquaintance,  for  as  she  says,  "  though  her 
name  is  not  in  the  peerage  (a  peculiarity 
which  she  shares  with  a  good  many  other 
people),  she  is  not  a  hairdresser  nor  a  lawyer's 
clerk."    This  is  an  illusion  to  the  occupants 


of  the  two  doll's  houses  opposite ;  in  whose 
proceedings  Miss  Oldtown,  nevertheless,  feels 
much  interest.  She  knows  when  they  dine, 
and  what  they  have  for  dinner ;  when  they  ge  t 
up,  and  when  they  go  to  bed.  There  is,  how- 
ever, a  mystery  m  the  life  of  the  lawyer's 
clerk  and  his  dashing,  black-ringleted  bride 
which  Miss  Oldtown  cannot  penetrate.  It  is 
this :  they  are  constantly  getting  into  flys  at 
about  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  attired  in 
Sunday  clothes  and  white  kid  gloves,  and  not 
cominghome  till  daylightdoth  appear— so  Miss 
Oldtown  declares.  We  see  them  sometimes  at 
their  drawing-room  window  ;  but  they  never 
appear  in  the  fVont  garden — ^Miss  Oldtown 
supposes,  because  the  back  one,  being  more 
sheltered  and  private,  offers  greater  facilities 
for  kissing— *he  hopes  the  hairdresser's  young 
fiamily,  next  door,  are  not  witnesses  of  these 
scenes  (for  she  calls  kissing  "  scenes").  This 
haurdresser  is  a  very  dignified  gentleman,  of 
whom  Miss  Oldtown  has  bought  her  fronts 
for  the  last  ten  years.  Every  afternoon,  at 
about  five  o'clock,  he  leaves  his  shop  and  re* 
pairs  to  the  little  house  opposite  number 
sixty-three,  where  he  keeps  his  innumerable 
children.  He  does  not  seem  to  practice  his 
art  upon  their  hair,  for  it  is  always  in  more 
curlpapers  than  I  would  undertake  to  count ; 
except  on  Sundays,  when  the  curls  appear 
without  the  paper,  and  flow  over  dresses  of 
unparalleled  splendour.  Miss  Oldtown  says 
it  is  very  bad  taste  in  them  to  make  such  a 
grand  display  at  church,  but  I  think  that  the 
lavender  silk  which  she  wears  on  Sundays, 
although  it  is  so  shabby  and  crumpled,  is  ?ier 
best  dress. 

The  only  person  Miss  Oldtown  thoroughly 
approves  of  is  her  landlord.  He  is  quite  a 
young  man — a  chemists  shop-boy,  and  the 
son  of  a  late  rethred  and  ambitious  butcher. 
Miss  Oldtown  says  he  is  very  gentlemanly  : 
but  he  is,  a  little  too  gentlemanly  for  me,  and 
rather  overpowers  me  with  his  respect  and 
politeness.  He  keeps  himself  awfully  stiff, 
and  never  smiles,  and  continually  lets  off  the 
word  madam,  like  a  minute-gun,  or  a  royal 
salute,  when  he  speaks  to  you.  I  hope  a 
tender  sentiment  for  this  young  man  may  not 
be  sprouting  in  Miss  Oldtown's  sensitive 
bosom — she  is  certainly  very  careful  of  his 
property,  and  she  sends  bones  every  evening 
to  his  dog — "  Love  me,  love  my  dog."  Dear 
me  1    Really  it  is  rather  alarmmg. 

Next  to  looking  out  of  the  window,  Miss 
Oldtown's  greatest  delight  is  in  dusting  and 
rubbing  up  the  drawing-room  furniture, 
which  she  does  at  odd  moments  all  day  long. 
The  fact  is  the  room  is  so  very  small  that 
everything  in  it  is  quite  close  to  the  window ; 
so  that  she  cannot  help  seeing  the  least  little 
spot  that  rests  upon  anything,  and  then  off 
she  trots  for  the  duster  and  wipes  it  away. 
The  flrst  thing  to  be  done  every  morning, 
however,  is  to  go  out  marketing ;  but  before 
we  start,  a  great  ceremony  has  to  be  gone 
through.    First,  Susan   is  called   up,  and 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


472 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[C«Ddact(ilb; 


Folemnly  charged  to  "  take  care  of  the  house," 
during  our  abgence — who  it  is  that  ie  expected 
to  run  away  with  it,  I  have  never  been  able 
to  ascertain — but  somebody  is,  that  is  quite 
clear.  Then  a  dark  cupboard  under  the  stair- 
case is  opened,  from  the  depthsof  which  aGuy 
Fawkes  is  carefully  taken  to  be  placed  in  a 
chair  by  the  window  in  order  to  frighten  away 
this  ill-dipposed  somebody,  by  showing  him 
that  the  house  is  not  "  unprotected."  Miss 
Old  town  cctastructcd  this  Guy  with  infinite 
pains  and  labour  for  this  express  purpose,  and 
she  looks  upon  him — especially  in  his  face — 
as  a  triumph  of  art.  She  has  given  him  very 
short  Icffs,  being  constructed  of  a  pair  of 
child's  trousers  stuffed  with  straw,  and  a  very 
large  body,  covered  with  the  variegated  and 
cut-out  paper  which  is  used  to  decorate  fire- 
places in  summer  time.  His  head  is  adorned 
with  black  crape  flowers,  to  Imitate  fiercely 
dishevelled  locks;  he  has  eyes  made  with 
ink,  one  very  high  up,  and  the  other  very  low 
down ;  and  a  terrible  moustache,  made  of 
bright  yellow  ribbon,  to  obviate  the  diflBculty 
of  painting  a  mouth.  "And  you  see,"  says 
Miss  Oldtown,  "  I  have  put  a  red  satin  rosette 
on  one  check  to  give  him  a  colour.  I  was 
obliged  to  make  his  nose  of  blue  crape,  be- 
cause I  had  nothing  else,  and  you  have  no 
idea  how  diflBcult  it  is  to  dress  up  a  figure 
when  you  have  nothing  to  dress  it  with.  It 
requires  so  much  management — and  you  see 
I  have  given  him  the  Order  of  the  Garter 
and  everything,  just  like  Guj  Fawkes." 
There  is  great  difficulty  in  making  him  sit 
upright  in  his  chair,  because,  of  course,  he 
has  no  anatomy.  To  seat  him  requires  a  vast 
amount  of  coaxing  and  punching,  and  patting, 
and  his  head  so  often  requires  fixing  on 
tighter,  that  his  neck  must  contain  quite  a 
small  fortune  in  pins  by  this  time.  And  there 
he  sits,  with  his  back  to  the  window,  and  a 
hat  on,  perusing  with  deep  interest  the  Times 
advertisements  for  eighteen  hundred  and 
thirty-two,  whenever  we  go  out.  The  windows 
oppqsite  are  full  of  curl-papers  every  morning 
for  two  or  three  hours — first  waiting  to  see 
Guy,  and  then  gazing  at  him  with  wrapt  and 
terrible  interest.  Then  we  lock  up  Susan  so 
securely  that  if  the  house  took  fire  she  could 
not  possibly  escape,  but  must  inevitably 
perish  miserably  in  the  flames  with  poor 
Guy,  and  then,  at  last,  we  go  forth  ;  and  very 
clever  marketers  we  think  we  have  been 
when  we  return.  We  are  always  quite  satis- 
fled  with  the  result  of  our  labours,  and  when 
we  sit  down,  at  two  o^clock,  to  enjoy  it,  we 
say  very  sincerely  with  Goldsmith,  **  I  like 
these  here  dinners,  so  pretty  and  small."  It 
is  very  fortunate  that  we  do,  for  there  are  no 
means  of  making  them  larger.  Even  if  an 
extra  chicken  has  to  be  roasted,  Miss  Oldtown 
is  obliged  to  give  up  her  knitting-needles  to 
act  as  skewers  ;  and  Susan  cannot  cook  any- 
thing but  chickens,  legs  of  mutton,  soles,  and 
a  limited  number  of  vegetables  and  puddings. 
Of  an  evening  Miss  Oldtown  likes  a  rubber. 


Susan  has  to  come  up  and  take  a  hand,  Mis 
Oldtown  having  instructed  her  in  the  art-i 
very  good  notion  (though  troublesome),  for. 
as  Miss  Oldtown  says,  "when  a  scmmt 
spends  the  evening  in  the  same  roomvith 
yourself,  you  know  where  fihe  is."  I  ihak 
our  games  must  be  rather  singular,  for  I 
never  could  distinguish  kings  from  knares, 
and  Miss  Oldtown  is  constantly  "  provoking." 
she  says,  but  I  suppose  she  means  "  revoking. ' 
and  I  donH  think  Susan  has  quite  maetered 
the  subject  yet ;  especially  with  regard  to 
dummy. 

Miss  Oldtown's  subjects  of  conversation 
are  generally  supplied  by  what  happens  to 
be  going  on  in  the  street  at  the  moment  On 
week-days  it  is  really  very  bustling  and  gaj. 
Of  a  morning  we  see  all  the  genteel  littit 
boys  and  girls  walking  demurely  off  to  school. 
books  in  hand,  and  all  the  ungcntecl  little 
boys  and  girls  going  with  coppers  to  tlie  stile 
greengrocer's  round  the  comer.  Then  female 
heads  of  families  issue  forth  in  straw  bonnets 
and  large  plaid  shawls,  followed  by  tbfir 
maid,  with  a  cook's  basket  on  her  arm.  Bt- 
and-by  they  return  home  ;  and  then  preaentir 
you  will  see  the  maids  rushing  alone  across 
the  street  in  frantic  haste— their  little  cap^ 
nearly  flying  off  their  heads— to  purebase 
a  pat  of  butter,  or  two  or  three  egg?. 
Then,  as  the  dinner -hour  approaches,  a 
solemn  stillness  settles  on  our  street ;  m 
would  think  that  every  one  had  gone  to  t*e 
buried.  But  at  about  half-past  two  a  great 
stir  commences.  Unaccountable  people  walk 
on  the  foot-pavement,  and  look  in  at  Uie 
shop-windows  —  *'  Gentry,"  Miss  Oldtown 
says,  but  where  can  they  come  from?  Froa 
those  queer,  dull,  curtain-drawn  hours' 
Are  they  the  lawyer  and  the  doctor.  I 
wonder?  Presently  Mrs.  Vickerton  drires 
in  from  the  Rectory,  in  her  little  broughfln. 
that  is  so  much  too  small  to  hold  all  li^ 
children.  She  stops  at  the  shoemakers,  and 
then,  from  unknown  recesses  of  thebroogijaa- 
out  come  one,  two,  three,  and  three  are  fii. 
and  two  are  eight — yes,  eight  children !  Poor 
Mr.  Vickerton !  Eight  pairs  of  shoes  at  one 
fell  swoop ! 

Then,  a  gentleman  in  a  long  coat,  and  » 
low-crowned  hat,  goes  into  the  booksellers. 
opposite,  and  comes  out  of  it,  presently,  with 
a  great  bundle  of  tracts  and  pamphlets.  I 
say  to  Miss  Oldtown,  "  Who  is  that?'-  and  hk 
replies,  "A  most  extraordinary  man.  Mr. 
Lower,  the  dissenter  ;  apparently  under  tw 
happy  delusion  that  there  is  only  one  dissen- 
ter in  the  world,  and  that  Mr.  Lower  istba. 
singular  being.  Then  comes  a  magnificent 
sight.  Lady  Proudleigh  dashes  down  the 
street  in  her  great  barouche,  as  bip  «s  ^^ 
house  ;  with  a  powdered  footman  reclining  m 
a  graceful,  supercilious,  used-up  sort  of  ajlj 
tude,  in  the  rumble.  He  seem?  to  \o» 
straight  over  the  top  of  our  chimney  mIh" 
passes.  They  stop  at  the  lincn-draoers-- 
quite  a  grand  shop  ;  and  Messrs.  Valentine 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbarici  Dicktm.2 


A  VERY  UTTLB  HOUSE. 


473 


and  Orsoucome  out,  bare-headed  and  bowing, 
and  receive  her  lady&hip's  orders.  Mr.  Va- 
lentine is  (^aite  a  gentleman ;  he  has  grayish 
hair,  standing  upright  all  over  his  head,  and 
very  white  shirt  cuflfe,  always  turned  back 
over  his  coat-sleeves,  and  he  is  most  stately 
and  polite  in  his  manners.  When  we  go  to 
his  shop  he  always  puts  chairs  for  us,  and 
bows  quite  low;  but  Mr.  Orson  looks  as  if 
he  was  laughing,  and  thinking  one  very 
poor,  and  very  impertinent  for  coming  to  buy 
things  of  him.  He  is  so  disagreei^e;  he 
looks  at  one's  cotton  gown,  and  old  cloak, 
and  says,  '*  Can  we  show  you  any  French 
shawls  to-day,  ma'am  ?  just  fresh  from  Paris. 
Or  any  silks?  We  have  some  beautiful 
Lyons  silks,  ma'am,  very  cheap— twelve 
guineas  the  dress."  Miss  Oldtown  says,  "  Oh, 
thank  you,  not  to-day.  Another  time  I"  and 
we  get  up  quite  nervous,  and  are  sure  to 
tread  on  each  other's  dress,  or  on  somebody 
else's  toes,  and  to  stumble  out  of  the  shop 
awkwardly — quite  hot  and  flurried.  It  is 
astonishing  and  delightful  to  see  how  cool 
and  composed  Lady  Proudleigh  is  with  him. 
Miss  Oldtown  and  I  like  to  see  her,  and  we 
wonder  at  her  nerve  and  her  courage,  and 
her  grand  off-hand  manner,  as  if  she  cared  no 
more  for  Mr.  Valentine,  or  Mr.  Orson  either, 
than  for  a  fly  or  a  pea.  Then  they  step 
backwards  into  the  shop;  the  footman 
jumps  up  behind  again ;  the  coachman  waves 
his  whip;  the  horses,  that  have  stood  for 
five  minutes  like  statues,  suddenly  stu*t 
into  life  and  dash  away.  What  a  fine  thing 
it  is  to  have  a  big  barouche  I 

Well,  after  this,  very  often  there  is  a  great 
commotion,  a  groom  gallops  up  to  the  organ- 
man,  and  roars  out  to  him  to  stop  his  noise ; 
and  chases  a  boy  with  a  wheelbarrow  into  a 
sidestreet ;  and  we  see  Miss  Blxley  coming, 
on  her  chestnut  horse,  that  always  will  dance 
all  down  the  street  on  the  foot-pavement,  to 
the  terror  of  all  the  mothers  in  the  neighbor- 
hood.   I  do  not  envy  her. 

On  Sunday  mornings  our  street  is  very 
quiet  indeed,  until  the  bells  begin  to  ring  for 
church ;  and  then,  by  degrees,  it  fills.  The 
few  people  who  frequent  distant  churches 
start  first ;  those  who  patronise  nearer 
preachers  next  set  out ;  and,  last  of  all,  we, 
St.  Johnites,  issue  forth,  and  then  the  street 
swarms  like  an  ant-walk.  After  service,  as 
we  step  home,  we  meet  hastv  figures  rushing 
from  the.  bakers',  with  smoking  joints  and 
puddings  in  their  hands.  Then,  tnere  is  peace 
for  a  time ;  but,  as  soon  as  the  eatables  are 
deniolished,  out  come  all  our  neighbours 
Again.  There  are  no  carriages  now,  as  on 
week-days,  and  no  carts,  as  on  Saturday 
liights  ^  nothing  but  people,  people,  people, 
streammg  towards  a  strawberiy-garden,  a 
mile  out  of  town ;  nothing  but  artisans  and 
workmen  of  all  sorts,  with  their  wives  and 
habies,  idling  along  like  gentlemen  at  large, 
scarcely  knowing  what  to  do  with  their 
hands.    What  a  wonderful  state  of  things  I 


Then,  too,  we  observe  a  number  of  young 
ladies,  in  muslin  dresses,  and  black  silk- 
cloaks,  and  straw-bonnets  trimmed  quite  in 
the  faishion,  I  assure  you;  and  these  are 
Susan  and  the  maids-of-all-work.  The  chil- 
dren, too,  are  not  sent  on  errands  to-day,  but 
walk  out  ceremoniouslv  with  their  parents  in 
a  state  of  dress  that  is  positively  dazzling, 
even  to  themselves. 

By-and-by,  Susan's  fatiier  and  mother 
arrive,  to  take  charge  of  the  house;  for 
Susan  has  a  half-holiday,  and  we  are  going 
out  for  a  country  walk.  They  are  very  old, 
and  so  deaf,  that,  once  out  of  uie  house,  I  am 
sure  we  should  never  be  able  to  gain  admit- 
tance into  it  again,  if  we  did  not  take  the  key 
with  us.  Then  we  walk  to  ihe  little  village 
of  Brooklyn,  through  the  still  and  golden 
evening  light  that  makes  the  hills  look  so 
soft  and  misty.  We  often  turn  to  look  at  them 
as  we  stroll  up  the  steep  lane,  by  the  Rectory 
garden,  to  the  ancient  little  church.  It  is  a 
very  sweet  and  peaceful  spot,  and  the  rooks, 
circling  round  the  ivy-CQvered  tower,  are 
cawing  an  accompaniment  to  the  pleasant 
bells.  How  quiet  everythitig  is  here  T  The 
clergyman  mounts  into  the  pulpit,  and  I 
rejoice  to  see  such  a  good  and  kind  face  there. 
The  wind  sighs  gently  among  the  trees, 
changing  the  shadows  on  the  foot-worn  pave- 
ment, over  which  many  generations  have 
passed,  and  we  are  passing,  to  death.  We 
look  up  at  the  clergyman,  whose  white  hair 
stirs  in  the  breeze :  he  lays  his  hand  on  the 
book,  looking  kindly  round  upon  us,  to  in- 
clude us  all,  and  addresses  us  all  personally, 
and  begins.  There  is  not  a  wotd  of  contro- 
versy in  his  sermon.  It  is  very  simple ;  all 
about  kindness,  and  charity,  and  tender-heart- 
edness, and  the  pleasant  duty  of  loving  one 
another ;  and  the  preacher's  voice  is  full  of 
earnestness  and  sincerity,  and  his  face  of 
kindness  and  benevelence.  We  depart  from 
the  little  church  inezpressibly  soothed  and 
calm,  and  peacefully  happy.  The  current  of 
our  ideas  is  changed ;  we  no  longer  think  of 
our  street  and  its  siffhts ;  of  our  little  vanities 
and  vyings.  Our  hearts  smite  us  for  not 
having  been  to  see  Susan's  old  aunt  in  the 
village,  fthd  we  go  and  see  her  ihe  moment 
after  leaving  the  church.  She  is  sitting 
alone,  with  speotfttles  on  nose,  and  a  Bible 
on  her  knees,  and  is  to  pleased  to  see 
us  I  We  tell  her  all  about  ihe  sermon, 
and  she  says  it  does  her  heart  good.  Then 
we  walk  briskly  home,  and  the  night  steals 
on  by  imperceptible  degrees.  Standing  by 
the  window,  I  am  surprised  to  see,  so  soon, 
^  it  appears  to  me,  lamp  after  lamp  throw 
out  red  rays  on  the  smart  clothes,  and  wearr 
homeward-bound  figures  which  pass  beneath 
them,  until  not  one  remains  unlit  up  and 
down  our  street.  At  ten  o'clock  all  is  quiet 
and  silent.  There  are  no  lights  in  the 
windows ;  ihe  stars  look  coldly  down  upon 
us,  and  must  think  it  a  very  dull  prospect 
indeed.    Every  High  Streetite  is  in  bed ;  and 


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474 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCCBdQCtcd  bjr 


we  are  helpless  ia  the  hands  of  the  policeman, 
our  stout-guardian-angel,  in  a  shiny  hat  and 
a  blue  uniform  with  white-buttons. 


QUITE   REVOLUTIONARY. 

A  STAUNCH,  thoroughgoing  revolutionist 
am  I,  and  I  have  not  the  least  hesitation  in 
avowing  it.  Not  a  Red  Republican  either, 
nor  yet  a  promoter  of  a  general  world- 
wide Agapemone,  with  funds,  food,  and 
families  in  common;  nor  even  a  modest, 
levelling  Five-pointer,  according  to  the  stan- 
dard of  the  People's  Charter ;  nor  a  cool 
annexer  of  reluctant  states,  by  means  of 
Lynch  law  and  piratical  expeditions,  I  may 
be  a  revolutionist  to  the  backbone  neverthe- 
less, with  a  firm  belief  that  the  welfare  of 
nations  greatly  depends  on  the  special  form 
of  revolutionary  faith  which  they  entertain. 

For  revolution  means  the  act  of  going 
round, — but  there  are  various  different  ways 
of  revolving.  You  have  seen  your  groom 
clean  the  wheal  of  your  cab,  by  tilting  it  up 
and  spinning  it  in  the  air,  after  having 
washed  it  well  with  his  mop.  If  it  were  to 
perform  a  thousand  revolutions  in  a  minute 
for  a  whole  day  long,  like  the  beet-sugar 
whirligigs,  it  would  still  remain  exactly 
where  it  was, — ^working  hard,  but  doing 
nothing  except  scattering  a  small  quantity  of 
dirty  water.  It  would  have  neither  got  on 
an  inch  itself,  nor  have  helped  others  to 
advance  in  the  world.  It  is  the  pattern  of  a 
busybody,  of  a  laborious  fussy  idler,  who 
worries  himself  and  everybody  around  him 
to  death,  with  no  other  result  whatever  than 
that  of  possibly  sprinkling  the  bystanders 
with  a  few  small  spots  of  verv  diluted  mud. 
But  the  same  wheel  firmly  planted  on  the 
ground,  with  the  vehicle  upon  it  and  the 
horse  before  it,  by  revolving  at  a  much  less 
phrensied  rate,  will  progress.  At  the  end  of 
every  complete  revolution,  it  will  no  longer 
be  exactly  where  it  was  before.  It  has  gone 
round,  but  it  has  also  gone  forward.  'Whe- 
ther it  likes  it  or  not,  it  has  shifted  its  place, 
and  has  made  an  advance  into  the  realms  of 
the  future.  There  is  change  and  the  means 
of  improvement  in  that  wheel,  altfiough  it 
may  not  be  aware  of  it. 

There  are  also  revolutions  improperly  so 
called,  wherein  the  act  of  going  round,  instead 
of  fully  completing  its  orbit,  sticks  half-way, 
or  thereabouts.  The  top  of  the  wheel  de- 
scends to  the  bottom,  and  remains  there, 
turning  everything  belonging  to  it  topsy- 
turvy for  want  of  strength  or  directing 
purpose  on  the  part  of  those  who  give  the 
rotatory  impulse.  Such,  in  fact,  are  not  revo- 
lutions, but  abortions,  whose  ultimate  home 
is  Limbo.  If  the  young  lady  at  the  show  in 
the  fair,  who  spins  a  glass  of  water  in  a  hoop 
without  spilling  a  drop,  were  to  check  the 
movement  just  at  the  moment  when  the 
vessel  is  poised  with  its  bottom  upwards,  that 
imperfect  mode  of  revolution  would  only  get 


her  ladyship  into  a  mess ; — as  happens  to 
every  one  else,  whether  nations  or  indi?i- 
duals,  who  undertake  mighty  feats  and 
changes,  and  then,  when  the  work  is  just 
half-done,  lazily  put  their  hands  in  their 
pockets,  leaving  matters  to  take  their  own 
course,  and  get  round  again  as  best  tbej 
may. 

Revolutions,  therefore,  and  revolutionists,  , 
ought  to  be  spoken  of  with  careful  discrimi- 
nation ;  because,  while  some,  like  the  last- 
mentioned,  may  be  mischieTOOS   and  dan-  i 
gerous,  others,  belonging  to  the  former  cits,  | 
are  necessary  to  the  prosperity  and  existence 
of  society.    The  earth  itself  is  very  revola- 
tionary ;  yet  no  sensible  man  finds  fault  with 
her  for  that.    She  spins  on  her  axle,  and  ^ 
rolls  round  her  orbit,  in  most  obstinate  pro-  , 
gressively  conservative  style,  procuring  ns 
thereby  a  greater  variety  of  produce  than  the  , 
boldest  free-trader  ever  enumerated  on  ha 
tariff,  and  Introducing  us  to  more  startling  di- 
versities of  scene  than  the  most  roving^  Eng-  • 
lishman  would  have  dared  to  dream  of  without 
her  aid.    The  blazing  sun,  in  the  midst  of 
the  heavens,  is  even  more  revolutionary  still ; 
compelling  us  minor  dancing  dervishes  to  , 
pirouette  around  him,  cycle  on  epicycle,  orb 
on  orb,  all' the  while  dragging  us  after  bim. 
no  one   knows  whither,  through   uniTeraal 
space,  with  the  mere  object,  if  we  beliere 
what  wise  men  tell  us,  of  joining  in  one  vast  j 
celestial  round,  performed  by  the  combined  ^ 
totality  of  things  that  have  been,  are,  and  are 
to  be  created. 

Note,  too,  that  all  these  mighty  move-  , 
ments, — which  have  made  men  believe  the   , 
universe  to  be  a  living  thing  whose  existence 
is  one  continual  series  of  revolutions,— are   , 
most  complex  and  intricate.    They  are  not 
like  a  simple  fly-wheel  which  swings  its  roand   i 
In  stately  solitude;  they  are  a  nice, well- 
balanced  chronometer,  with  due  compensa-  | 
tions  for  expanding  and  contracting  metals, 
wheel  within  wheel    in   reciprocal  action.   | 
Break   a   single  tooth  of   a  single  wheel, 
and  your  once  beautiful  watch  no  longer  | 
serves   as   a   measure    of  time.    Only  if*  | 
one  of  Saturn's  satellites  to  spin  the  wrong  , 
way  round  his  principal,  and  you  put  the  | 
solar  system  out  of  order.    And,  to  tumble 
headlong  ft-om  heaven  to  earth,  If  you  compel  i 
one  set  of  men  and  things  to  fulfil  the  offices  | 
for  which  Nature  never  intended  them,  and  , 
to  refrain  from  those  for  which  she  has  made  | 
them  fit,  the  social  machine  cannot  revolve    , 
steadily ;  wheel  within  wheel  cannot  turn  as 
it  ought,  but  sooner  or  later  must  come  to  a 
dead  stop.    It  is  of  no  use  for  any  political  j 
watch-doctor,  any  self-sufficient  chronometm 
charlatan,  to  say,  "  It  will  suit  me  bctttf  for  , 
such  a  wheel  to  go  in  such  a  way,  and  m  I 
such  other  to  stop  entirely,  or,  perhaps,  to  ^  j 
double-quick  time."    He  may  trytbe  expert-  , 
ment,  but  it  will  fail  abruptly.    With  the  in-  , 
numerable  springs,  and  chains,  and  catcDtf,  | 
with  which  the  world^s  mechanism  Iscoom-  . 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbartes  Dlekeu.] 


QUITE  REVOLUTIONARY. 


476. 


tated,  to  have  it  go  well,  and  keep  correct 
time,  every  single  wheel  and  pivot  must 
receive  dae  respect  and  attention,  and  be 
allowed  free  liberty  to  move  according  to 
the  great  original  design. 

Therefore,  the  nations  of  the  world  had 
much  better  agree  to  lend  each  other  a  help- 
ing band,  than  to  make  disdainful  and  repul- 
sive gestures,  or  even  to  shake  their  fists  in 
eacb  other^s  faces.  I  say  emphatically,  a  help- 
ing hand ;  for  what  is  any  exchange  of  bene- 
fits or  goods  but  an  exchange  of  concentrated 
labour  ?  Does  not  the  Chinaman  who  gathers, 
dries,  and  twists  the  tea-leaves,  give  a  hand's 
turn  to  the  English  seamstress  who  drinks 
the  infusion  made  from  them!  Do  not  the 
farmers  who  grow  Norfolk  barley,  and  the 
iM^wers  who  brew  it  into  pale  bitter  ale,  lend 
a  helping  hand  to  their  friends  in  India,  who 
are  to  drink  and  eigoy  it  at  the  end  of  its 
voyage  ?  Is  not  the  exportation  of  the  wine 
and  brandy  of  France  a  simple  export  of  the 
labour  of  Frenchmen  and  the  sunshine  of 
France,  for  which  we  can  return  a  friendly 
day's  work  in  the  shape  of  flannels,  coals, 
cutlery,  sugar,  calicoes,  and  muslins? 

But  our  governors  have  not  allowed  us  to 
perform  these  neighbourly  oflBces ;  at  least 
not  of  late  years.  In  former  days,  there  might 
be  found  in  Great  Britain  such  a  thing  as 
a  claret  jug ;  not  a  smart  cut-glass  decanter 
with  no  other  honorary  distinction  than  a 
glass  handle  and  a  glass  spout,  but  a  real 
earthen  claret  jog,  to  fetch  up  wine  from  the 
cellar  to  the  parlour.  At  present,  claret  is 
not  drunk  in  parlours,  only  in  dining-rooms. 
Bat, — say  the  anti-revolutionists^— you  have 
plenty  of  beer.  Why  can't  you  be  con- 
tent with  that?  Would  you  open  the  flood- 
gates to  a  deluge  of  cider  and  wine ;  thereby, 
probably,  diminishing  the  consumption  of 
oar  national  beverages,  ale  and  porter,  and 
raining  the  brewers,  the  malsters,  and  the 
farmers  ? 

Yes!  And  should  rejoice  were  such  dimin- 
ished consumption  the  consequence.  There 
are  plenty  of  ways  in  which  we  could  avoid 
the  "  ruin,"  and  plenty  of  shapes  in  which  we 
might  repay  the  debt  to  our  creditors  on  the 
other  side  of  the  water.  Consider  this.  We 
are  all  of  us,  both  French  and  English,  loudly 
complaining,  with  too  good  reason,  of  the 
scarcity  and  dearness  of  our  solid  viands. 
At  the  very  same  time,  we  English  alone  are 
obliged  to  have  recourse  to  our  very  best 
lands  to  supply  our  drink.  The  French,  by 
favour  of  thehr  super!  or  climate,  derive  nearly 
all  their  beverage  either  from  their  worst 
soils,  or  from  a  crop  of  apples  growing  in  the 
air,  which  prevent  neither  culture  nor  pas- 
turage. The  sands  of  the  Sologne,  as  barren 
as  those  of  Norfolk  and  Sufiblk,  which  serve 
only  for  rabbit  warrens,  yield,  by  tiie  agency 
of  the  vine  and  genial  summers,  as  many 

f rounds'  worth  per  acre  as  ours  do  shillings, 
n  England,  the  greater  part  of  the  wheat- 
producing  lands  m  every  course  yield  also 


barley,  sometimes  as  often  as  once  in  four 
years.  If  our  hills,  rocks,  sand,  shingle,  and 
our  steep  declivities  gave  us  our  liquor,  could 
we  not  apply  these  richer  soils  to  something 
better  than  the  production  of  malt?  But  a 
band's  turn  from  France  will  help  us  to  do 
so  to  a  certain  degree ;  although,  perhaps,  not 
so  effectively  as  was  once  supposed^  And  I 
only  require  an  answer  to  this  question :  With 
one-fourth  nearly  of  our  best  lands  occupied 
by  barley,  can  we  grow  as  much  mutton,  beef, 
and  bread,  as  if  we  were  under  no  necessity  of 
growing  any  barley  at  all  ?  This  wheel,  at 
least,  in  the  European  machinery  wants  well 
oiling,  and  freedom  of  action  to  set  it  going 
in  right  good  earnest. 

Clans,  cliques,  and  classes  of  society,  of 
whatever  importance  they  majr  consider 
themselves,  are  no  more  than  individual 
members  of  the  great  bodv  of  a  nation ;  and 
nations,  also,  however  mighty — whether  Eng- 
ird, Russia,  or  America — are  simply  mem- 
bers of  the  body  of  the  world ;  just  as  the 
world  itself  is  a  member  of  the  body  of  the 
solar  system,  and  the  solar  system  a  member 
of  the  body  of  the  universe.  No  clan,  clique, 
or  class,  can  any  more  absolve  itself  from  the 
dnfy  of  reciprocating  good  offices  with  other 
clans,  cliques,  and  classes,  than  the  earth  can 
detach  itself  from  the  gravitathig  influences 
either  of  its  humble  follower  the  moon,  or  of 
its  princely  leader  the  sun.  Destroy  gravity 
in  the  realms  of  space— destroy  social  and 
national  interchange  on  earth,  and  in  both 
cases  you  come  to  chaos  speedily. 

Even  if  the  world  were  so  constituted  that 
"  I "  could  care  for  "  nobody,"  most  certainly 
"  nobody  "  would  care  for  "  I ;"  and,  conse- 
quently "I"  would  soon  be  brought  to 
death's  door  from  mere  starvation  and 
neglect  from  others.  But  we  are  naturally 
mfKle  to  be  beggars  and  recipients,  one  from 
the  other,  in  fQl  kinds  of  ways.  We  are  all 
athirst  to  imbibe  some  advantage  which 
springs  from  the  jet  of  a  foreign  fountain. 
The  moon  drinks  the  rays  of  the  sun :  the 
sun  drinks  the  vapours  of  the  sea :  the  sea 
drinks  the  waters  of  the  rivers ;  the  rivers 
drink  the  moisture  that  oozes  from  the 
earth ;  and  the  earth  drinks  the  dews  that 
distil  from  the  air.  Pride  tries  to  iso- 
late herself;  in  vain.  She  intrenches  her- 
self within  a  ring-fence  to  drive  off  the 
profane  vulgar ;  but  her  best  inclosure  is  no 
better  than  an  old  park-paling,  full  of  loop- 
holes and  gaps  through  which  all  sorts  of 
small  deer  creep  in,  not  to  say  a  word  about 
poachers.  Pride  tries  to  elevate  herself  on 
a  Babel  Tower ;  but  the  higher  she  builds, 
the  more  does  her  haughty  dwelling-place 
approach  the  condition  of  a  brazen  colossus 
with  feet  of  clay,  which  the  merest  trembling 
of  the  earth,  or  even  injurious  nibbling  by 
mice,  is  sufficient  to  lay  for  ever  postrate. 
Men  have  often  tried  to  separate  themselves 
from  humanity  and  have  never  succeeded. 

Yet,  with  all  this  legibly  visible  as  we 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


476 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoBdactod  kf 


walk  through  the  streets  or  ride  over  the 
country,  good  Justice  ^Tilfourd's  djing  words 
remain  unheeded  ;  class  looks  upon  class  with 
cold  and  stony  gaze  ;  and  England  is  almost 
the  only  country  where  a  man  dares  not 
associate  on  friendly  and  familiar  terms  with 
perf^ons  whom  he  presumes  to  call  his 
inferiors.  Not  many  days  since,  I  spent  the 
evening  in  a  public  room,  where  wealthy 
employtT"*,  around  scattered  tables,  were 
playing  their  games,  smoking  their  pipes, 
and  drinking  their  beer,  their  brandy,  or 
their  wine,  as  the  ease  might  be.  In  the 
same  room,  around  similar  tables,  were 
assembled  sundry  of  their  workmen,  engaged 
in  the  very  same  amusements.  Solid  capitalists 
and  hand-to-mouth  earners  to  the  amount  of 
a  few  «hiHing8  per  week  were  thus  congre- 
gated, and  civil  words  exchanged,  without 
any  sense  of  intrusion  on  the  one  hand  or 
pollution  on  the  other.  The  main  formality 
appeared  to  be  that  every  new-comer,  on 
entering  the  apartment,  uncovered  his  head 
to  salute  the  company.  It  is  hardly  necessary 
to  make  the  statement  that  this  strange 
scene  was  not  acted  within  the  limits  of 
Albion.  But  why  not?  There  are  a  few  ex- 
planations of  the  fact  which  I  could  suggest, 
but  will  not  venture.  Some  trifle  may  be 
owing  to  the  lingering  influence  of  a  foolish 
set  of  books  called  fashionable  novels,  and  the 
silver-fork  school  of  literature,  I  have  often 
wondered  why  the  inferiors  don't  turn  round 
and  pet  up  a  system  of  exclusiveness  on 
their  part  also.  I  once  tried  it  myself,  with 
very  satisfacbory  success. 

"Come  and  dine  with  us  this  evening," 
said  a  superfine  lady  and  gentleman  whose 
acquai.'itance  I  had  lately  made  during  a  run 
through  Italy. 

"I  thank  you,  I  can't,"  was  my  quiet 
reply. 

"  To-morrow,  then." 

*'  I  cannot,  to-morrow." 

"  The  day  after  to-morrow  we  shall  qaite 
expect  you." 

*'  I  thank  yon,  no." 

"In  short,"  said  the  gentleman,  turning 
very  red,  "  you  will  not  dine  with  us.  You 
do  not  think  us  fit  society.  It  is  almost  an 
insult." 

"  I  will  not  dine  with  you ;  and  I  will  tell 
you  why.  I  have  not  the  slightest  wish  to 
insult  you ;  but  I  do  not  know  whether  you 
are  fit  company  for  me.  Your  town-house  is 
in  Highflyer  Square  ;  my  town-lodgings  are 
in  Little  Crinkum  Street,  and  I  do  not  belong 
to  any  Club.  Several  young  men  of  good 
family  do  lodge  in  Little  Crinkum  Street, 
but  also  merchants'  clerks  and  at  least  one 
lailor's  foreman.  If  you  should  meet  me 
hereafter  in  London,  and  discover  there,  that 
the  world  to  which  I  belong  is  less  decorated 
with  gilt  and  varnish  than  your  own,  you 
would  cut  me  dead  the  first  time  you  met 
me,  though  I  had  dined  with  you  every  day 
during  your  stay  in  Naples.     Bat  I  have  a 


slight  objection  to  being  cut,  and  nobody  baa 
ever  cut  me  twice." 

''  The  hit  is  a  fair  one,"  said  tbe  lady, 
langhing.  "  Come,  come  ;  jump  into  the  car- 
riage, and  drive  with  us  to  the  Elysiao  Fields. 
On  the  way,  we'll  arrange  the  cutting  qaee- 
tion,  I  promise  you,  to  our  mutual  eatisfae- 
tion." 

Suppose,  however,  that,  instead  of  decliniog 
to  partake  of  a  dinner,  plebeians,  like  myself, 
were  to  ref\i8e  to  take  part  in  a  battle,  anlea 
commissions  and  decent  treatment  were  made 
indispensable  conditions  of  acceptance !  We 
surely  want  a  little  revolution  here.  ClaaKt 
constituting  at  least  three-fourths  of  tbe  pop- 
ulation are  ref^ised  the  privilege  of  fighting 
for  their  country.  And  so,  even  in  battle  for 
life  and  death,  for  honour  and  freedom,  we 
cannot  allow  villainous,  that  is  low-borD, 
dead  bodies  to  come  between  the  wind  and 
our  nobility.  Your  father  is  Mayor  of  Swil- 
ton  this  year;  mine  was  "his  Worship," 
three  hundred  years  ago,  and  afterwards  re- 
tired to  his  landed  estates.  Therefore,  it  is 
not  to  be  tolerated  that  yon  should  bold  a  com- 
mission in  the  same  regiment,  and  eat  at  the 
same  mess  table  with  me.  If  you  get  in  by 
hook,  or  by  crook,  we  will  make  the  barradn 
too  hot  to  hold  you.  Yes,  were  yoa  stationed 
at  Windsor  itself,  your  epaulet  &all  be  no  in- 
troduction to  aristocratic  curcles.  Yoa  have 
no  marshals'  batons  bidden  in  your  knap- 
sack. Unless  you  are  born — not  with  a  silver 
spoon  in  your  mouth,  that  is  not  safflclent— 
but  with  a  crest  on  your  bead,  a  coat  of  arms 
on  the  pit  of  your  stomach,  and  a  label  bear- 
ing the  motto  *'excludo"  twisted  round  yoor 
feet  and  ankles,  presume  not  to  put  on  a 
British  officer's  uniform.  A  French  officer's 
uniform  is  altogether  a  different  thing.  The 
French  are  strange  in  many  matters.  But,  a 
multitude  of  their  singularities,  depend  upoo 
it,  are  the  result  of  that  horrid  first  Revo- 
lution. 

Yes  I  I  repeat  it  seriously  ;  that  awfiil 
word  Revolution  is  not  to  be  despised,  but 
understood.  What  has  brought  Rusai, 
for  another  instance,  into  her  present  awk- 
ward antagonism  with  the  Western  Powers, 
but  the  misfortuAe  of  having  conceived  a 
wrong  idea  of  what  Revolution  ought  to 
mean  ?  Russia  would  revolve  after  tbe  fashion 
of  a  whirlpool,  sacking  in,  at  first,  stray  sticks 
and  straws,  to  be  followed  soon  b^  more  valu- 
able prey.  And  then,  as  the  tide  of  time 
flows  on,  the  whirlpool,  increasing  its  circuit 
hourly,  would  swell  into  a  mighty  and  irre- 
sistible Maelstrom,  engulphing  whole  fleets 
laden  with  the  treasores  of  nations.  Bat  tbe 
bed  of  this  Maelstrom  is  a  faithless  quicksand. 
Too  fierce  and  long-continoed  a  rotation  may 
make  the  bottom  give  way  algother,  and 
precipitate  the  whole  insatiable  whirl  of 
waters  deep  down  into  the  fathomless  abpa 
All  vital  movement  in  a  healthy  organization, 
is  founded  on  the  principles  of  **  give  and 
take."    Russia  will  take,  but  will  notgivt. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbatlca  DiokeM.] 


BY  RAIL  TO  PARNASSUS. 


477 


Roasia  is  thus  a  nuisanoe,  a  pest,  a  noxions 
animal,  a  Bpecies  of  mopstrously  overgrown 
vennin,  a  ravenous  crab  whose  carapace,  or 
body-shell,  is  composed  of  large  portions  of 
the  continents  of  Europe  and  Asia,  with  two 
grasping  claws,  called  Sebastopol  and  Cron- 
stadt,  ready  to  seize  the  first  convenient  prey, 
and  annex  it  as  a  material  guarantee  of  fu- 
ture plunder  and  partitions  of  Poland.  The 
Pope  Emperor,  with  proper  papistical  as- 
sumption and  arrogance,  gives  himself  out 
for,  and  perhaps  believes  himself  to  be,  a 
sort  of  sacred  scarabccus,  whose  ofBoe  is  to 
mould  the  globe  which  he  has  clutched  in 
the  embrace  of  his  holy  claws.  This  worth- 
less, case-hardened  beetle  has  crept  into  the 
midst  of  the  European  clock-work,  prevent- 
ing it  from  keeping  good  time,  and  hinder- 
ing many  of  its  internal  movements.  Shall 
we  wonder  if  some  tooth,  or  cog,  of  the  ma- 
chinery catch  the  intruder,  crush  him,  and 
utterly  break  him  up  on  the  wheels  whose 
equilibrium  he  has  thus  destroyed? 

Once  upon  a  time,  there  was  a  tolerably 
healthy  Body,  with  no  other  complaint  than 
a  tendency  to  pethora,  whose  Members  had 
heard  of  the  famous  revolt  raised  against  the 
Belly  by  a  former  generation  of  Members  two 
or  three  thousand  years  ago.  They  thought 
they  would  get  up  a  littler  insurrection  of 
their  own,  and  manage  it  better  than  their 
ancestors.  Their  pride  had  taken  serions 
offence,  because  a  certain  central  ruling 
Power,  who  called  himself  the  Heart,  had 
urged  upon  them  that,  in  his  eyes,  all  the 
Members  were  of  equal  rank.  They  loudly 
murmured  that  the  stream  of  life  should  be 
forced  to  flow  through  all  alike.  The  Legs 
said — '*  Shall  we  receive  blood  that  has  min- 
gled with  the  Feet,  who  have  walked  in  the 
dirt !"  The  Arms  said — "  Shall  we  who  labor 
receive  blood  from  the  Legs,  who  do  nothing 
but  carry  burdens?"  The  Hands  said — 
*'  Shall  we — who  are  artists,  musicians,  sculp- 
tors— shall  we  deign  to  adnut  the  slightest 
admixture  from  the  Arms,  who  are  merely 
vulgar  workman  ? "  The  Head  said — "  Shall 
I,  who  think  and  govern,  suffer  contamination 
by  arterial  introduction  from  all  sorts  of  in- 
ferior Members  ?— from  the  Feet,  who  daily 
plod  through  the  mire — from  the  Legs,  who 
earn  their  livelihood  by  a  porter*s  trade — 
from  the  Arms,  who  are  artisans,  and  barely 
that — from  the  Hands,  whom  I  patronize, 
and  to  whom  I  give  commissions  for  works 
of  art  ?  No  I  Sooner  let  me  perish,  than  stoop 
to  such  degradation  as  that  I "  So  they  each 
decided  to  keep  themselves  quite  to  them- 
selves, and  to  get  up  a  private  and  exclusive 
circulation,  that  should  be  strictly  confined 
within  their  own  circle.  For  a  little  while — 
a  very  little  while — all  went  apparently  well. 
But  soon,  each  Member  became  livid  and  cold, 
a  clammy  sweat  broke  out  over  their  surface, 
and  a  deadly  crisis  was  fast  impending,  when 
the  Heart  spoke  out  in  severe  and  threaten- 
ing tones  of  warning. 


"Fools!  know  ye  not  that  ye  are  one? 
That  ye  are  many  Members  of  one  Body, 
though  all  Members  have  not  the  same  office, 
and  that  ye  are  every  one  Members  one  of 
another?  The  life  of  one  is  the  life  of  all, 
and  the  blood  of  one  is  the  blood  of  all. 
Cease,  then,  your  impious  jealousies.  Receive 
cheerfully  the  common  life-blood,  from  what- 
ever quarter  it  may  travel  through  your 
veins.  Only  obey  the  dictates  of  the  Heart, 
and  ye  shall  live  ;  ye  shall  not  die ! '' 


BY  RAIL  TO  PARNASSUS. 


I  AM  a  poor  clerk,  who,  being  out  of  em- 

Eloyment,  was  on  that  morning  travelling  to 
outbampton  to  present  myself  to  the  firm  of 
Heav^oy  Brothers,  in  some  little  hope  of 
procuring  occupation  in  their  counting-house. 
To  my  eyes  things  were  dreary  down  below, 
for  I  am  thirty-five  years  old,  and  do  not 
sec  my  way  yet  to  a  marriage  with  poor  Lucy 
Jane  whose  first  love-letter  to  me  was  dated 
in  the  year  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and 
thirty-nine.  I  have  been  earning  my  own 
living  for  seventeen  years,  and  have  saved  up 
to  this  date  eighty-one  pounds  two  shillings 
and  nincpence.  Nevertheless,  Lucy  Jane's 
friends,  who  are  exceedingly  respectable,  con- 
sider me  unable  to  keepmyself,  and  still  less 
able  to  keep  a  wife.  What  does  the  great 
world  care  about  that  ?  Nothing  at  all,  to  be 
sure,  and  yet  it  is  to  my  purpose  to  say  so 
much,  for  I  desire  it  to  be  seen  whether  I 
had  not  full  reason  to  be  dismal  on  that 
morning  of  which  I  sjpeak.  Hopes  and  fears 
as  to  the  success  of^  my  application  to  the 
Heavahoys  had  kept  me  awake  all  night. 
There  are  foreign  agencies  connected  with 
their  house  for  which  my  ambition  was,  if  I 
once  entered  the  service  of  the  firm,  to  become 

?ualified.  With  a  view  to  some  such  opening 
had  been  learning  Spanish.  My  hope  had 
come  to  be  that  I  might  some  day  carry  Lucy 
Jane  to  Buenos  Ayres,  or  some  other  distant 
place.  No  matter.  I  lay  awake  all  night 
and  rose,  unrefreshed,  at  an  uncomfortable 
hour.  I  left  a  half  eaten  breakfast  to  hurry 
to  the  Waterloo  Road,  running  through  rain 
in  close  May  weather,  with  a  great  coat  on 
my  back,  a  carpet-bag  in  one  hand  and  an 
umbrella  in  ihe  other.  I  arrived  at  the  station 
hot,  damp,  weary,  wretched,  and  took  my 
place  in  a  third-class  carriage  with  a  discon- 
tented man  close  at  my  elbow  and  a  crowd 
of  noisy  market  people  round  about.  I  looked 
forward  to  the  journey  with  dread.  I  was  ea- 
ger to  be  at  the  other  end,  and  we  were  bound 
to  lag  on  the  road,  stopping  at  every  station. 
The  first  bell  had  rung.  Suddenly  it  oc- 
curred to  me  that  I  would  have  a  book.  It 
was  long  since  I  had  added  one  to  the  small 
stock  firom  which  I  got  solace  of  evenings  in 
my  lodgings.  I  had  saved  two  shillings  in 
cab-hire,  and  I  was  saving  more  than  five 
shillings  by  travelling  third-class.  For  my 
run  through  ihe  wet  and  my  discomfort  on 


JJ 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


478 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coodnctedbj 


the  road  I  would  repay  myself  by  spending 
on  a  book  half  of  what  I  had  saved  in  travel- 
ling expense.  That  would  be  three  shillings 
and  sixpence.  I  had  only  time  to  jump  upon 
the  platform,  hurry  to  the  railway-stall  and 
take — partly  for  the  name's  sake  of  its  au- 
thor, partly  because  the  price  was  fitted  to 
my  notion — a  volume  of  Leigh  Hunt's  Stories 
in  Verse.  With  that  in  my  hand  I  regained 
my  seat;  the  door  was  beaten  in  after  me : 
the  second  bell  rang,  and  the  engine  heaved 
us  out  into  the  misty  weather. 

For  a  time  my  sad  thoughts  were  my  only 
company.  I  paid  no  attention  to  the  chim- 
neys among  which  we  passed,  or  to  the  mean- 
ing of  the  noise  made  by  my  companions,  or 
to  the  talisman  against  dullness  that  reposed 
upon  my  lap.  A  stench  aroused  me  sud- 
denly. The  train  was  passing  near  the 
Thames  at  Lambeth,  and  getting  among  the 
pest  manufactories.  I  looked  out  of  the  win- 
dow, and  saw  them  through  the  rain.  Close 
by  the  line  of  the  rail  were  miserable  garret 
windows ;  back  yards  choked  with  enormous 
dust-heaps  ;  tumble-down  sheds  and  despond- 
ent poultry. 

"  Call  this  May,  sir  ?  "  cried  my  neighbour, 
shivering  uncomfortably.  "  I  hope  you  don't 
object  to  tobacco?" 

I  smiled  faintly.  Nothing  disgusts  me 
more  than  the  addition  of  the  smoke  of  bad 
tobacco  to  an  atmosphere  already  loaded  with 
the  smoke  out  of  the  damp  bodies  and  clothes 
of  dirty  men.  But  I  am  bound  to  love  my 
fellow-creatures,  and  be  courteous  to  them. 
I  smiled  faintly  and  opened  my  book,  to  be- 
gin Leigh  Hunt's  Story  of  Rimini. 

**  The  sun  is  up,  and  'tis  a  mom  of  May 
round  old  Ravenna's  clear-shown  towers  and 
bay — a  morn  the  loveliest  which  the  year  has 
seen,  last  of  the  spring,  yet  fresh  with  all  its 
green.  For  a  warm  eve  and  gentle  rains  at 
night  have  left  a  sparkling  welcome  for  the 
light  And  there's  a  crystal  clearness  all 
about — the  leaves  arc  sharp,  the  distant  hills 
look  out  A  balmy  briskness  comes  upon 
the  breeze,  the  smoke  goes  dancing  from  the 
cottage  trees :  and  when  you  listen  you  may 
hear  a  coil  of  bubbling  springs  about  the 
grassier  soil ;  and  all  the  scene,  in  short — 
earth,  sky,  and  sea,  breathes  like  a  bright- 
eyed  face,  that  laughs  out  openly." 

Thereat  I  was  myself  almost  ready  to 
laugh  out  openly  with  ease  and  pleasure ; 
for  my  heavens  and  my  earth  were  changed. 
I  did  not  raise  my  eye  from  the  page  of  the 
poet  to  look  freely  out  u^on  the  broad  hori- 
zon whence  my  heart  was  gladly  stirred  to 
see  *'  the  far  ships,  lifting  their  sails  of  white 
like  joyful  hands,  come  up  with  scattered 
light— come  gleaming  up,  true  to  the  wished- 
for  day,  and  chase  the  whistling  brine  and 
swirl  into  the  bay." 

Those  words  stand  in  the  book  line  under 
line  because  they  are  poetry  :  but  they  speak 
quite  as  well  to  the  heart  written  like 
prose,  straight  on  together — also    because 


they  are  poetry.  Never  mind  that  Wlitt 
do  the  ships  bring  ? — why  are  the  people  who 
make  hoHdav  all  crowding  to  Ravenna?  It 
is  because  there  *'  peace  returning  aod  pro- 
cessions rare,  princes  and  donatives  and  faces 
fair,  and,  to  crown  all,  a  marriage  in  Maj 
weather,  are  summonses  to  bring  blithe  soals 
together.  For  on  this  great  glad  day  Ra- 
venna's pride,  the  daughter  of  their  prinee, 
becomes  a  bride,  a  bride  to  ransom  an  exhaoit- 
ed  land  ;  and  he  whose  victories  have  obtain- 
ed her  hand  has  ti^en  with  th^awn— so  flies 
report— his  promised  journey  to  the  expect- 
ing court,  with  hasting  pomp  and  sqaires  of 
high  degree,  the  bold  Giovanni,  lord  of  Bim- 
ini."  And  having  told  me  this,  the  poet 
took  me  down  into  the  streets  of  the  gaj 
city,  filled  my  ears  with  the  stir  of  feet,  tlie 
hum,  the  talk,  the  laugh,  callings  and  clap- 
ping doors  :  filled  my  eyes  with  the  specta- 
cle of  armed  bands  making  important  waj, 
gallant  and  grave,  the  lords  of  holiday  caus- 
ed me  to  note  the  greetingn  of  the  neigli- 
bors ;  to  pass  through  the  crowds  of  pil- 
grims chanting  in  the  morning  sun ;  to  aee 
the  tapestry  spread  in  the  windows,  sod 
the  fair  dames  who  took  their  scats  with 
upward  gaze  admired — some  lookmg  down, 
some  forwards  or  aside  ;  some  rea^jost- 
ing  tresses  newly  tied  ;  some  turning  a  trim 
waist,  or  o'er  the  flow  of  crimson  cloths 
hanging  a  hand  of  snow ;  but  all  with  smiles 
prepared  and  garlands  green,  and  all  in 
fluttering  talk  impatient  for  the  scene.  Glo- 
rious fortune  for  a  poor  fallow  like  me  to 
chance  to  be  at  Ravenna  on  a  day  like 
that!  The  train  stopped.  ''Clapham!- 
Claphaml"  shouted  a  far  distant  voice. 
Strange  that  I  should  have  been  able  to 
hear  at  Ravenna  the  voice  of  a  man  shoot- 
ing at  Clapham ! 

I  paid  not  much  heed  to  the  marvel;  for 
there  was  Duke  Guido  seated  with  his  fair 
daughter  over  the  marble  gate  of  his  palace; 
there  was  the  square  before  them  kept  with 
guards:  there  were  knights  and  ladies  on  a 
grass  plot  sitting  under  boughs  of  rose  and 
laurel,  and  in  the  midst,  fresh  whistling 
through  the  scene,  a  lightsome  fountain  starts 
from  out  the  green,  clear  and  compact,  till  at 
its  height  o'ermn,  it  shakes  its  loosening 
silver  in  the  sun.  The  courtly  knights  are 
bending  down  in  talk  over  the  ladies,  and  the 
people  are  all  looking  up  with  love  and  won- 
der at  the  princely  maid,  the  daughter  of 
Duke  Guido,  the  bride  sought  with  so  moch  , 
pomp  by  a  bridegroom  whom  she  never  saw, 
the  sad  and  fair  Francesca. 

Now  the  procession  comes  with  noise  of 
cavalry  and  trumpets  clear,  a  princely  muac 
unbedinned  with  drums ;  the  mighty  brass  i 
seems  opening  as  it  comes ;  and  now  it  iills  | 
and  now  it  shakes  the  air,  and  now  it  bursts  ^ 
into  the  sounding  square.  I  saw  the  whole  ,| 
of  it  In  magic  verse  the  story-teller caosed  i 
trumpeter  and  heralds,  squires  and  knights,  ,| 
to  prance  before  me.   Mine  was  a  fh>nt  plic<    I 


Digitized  by 


Google 


Cliarlet  DlckeiM.] 


BY  RAIL  TO  PARNASSUS. 


479 


for  looking  at  the  show.  I  noted  the  dresses 
and  the  jewels,  and  the  ladies'  favours  of  the 
knights;  the  action  of  the  horses  and  the 
faces  of  the  riders;  the  life,  the  carelessness, 
the  sudden  heed :  the  body  curving  to  the 
rearing  steed ;  tne  patting  hand,  that  best 
persuades  the  check,  makes  the  quarrel  up 
with  a  proud  neck— the  thigh  broad-pressed, 
the  spanning  palm  upon  it,  and  the  jerk'd 
feather  flowing  on  the.  bonnet  Then  came, 
after  an  interval  of  stately  leneth,  a  troop  of 
steeds,  milk-white  and  unattired,  Arabian 
bred,  each  by  a  bloomiug  boy  lightsomely 
led.  What  next?  The  pages  of  the  court, 
in  rows  of  three — of  white  and  crimson  is 
their  livery.  Space  after  space,  and  still 
the  trains  appear — a  fervid  whisper  fills  the 
general  ear.  Ah  I  yes— no — His  not  he,  but 
'tis  the  squires  who  go  before  him  when  his 
pomp  requires.  And  now  his  huntsman 
shows  the  lessening  train — now  the  squire 
carver  and  the  chamberlain.  And  now  his 
banner  comes,  and  now  his  shield,  borne  by 
the  gquire  that  waits  him  to  the  field.  And 
then  an  interval — a  lordly  space — a  pin- 
(lrop*s  silence  strikes  o'er  all  the  place.  The 
princess  from  a  distance  scarcely  knows 
which  way  to  look;  her  colour  comes  and 
goes,  and  with  an  impulse  and  affection  free, 
she  lays  her  hand  upon  her  father's  knee, 
who  looks  upon  her  with  a  laboured  smile, 
gathering  it  up  into  his  own  the  while. 
When  some  one^s  voice,  as  if  it  knew  not 
how  to  check  itself,  exclaims,  "The  Prince! 
Now — now  I  "  And  on  a  milk-white  courser, 
like  the  air,  a  glorious  figure  sprinffs  into 
the  square.    Up  with    a  burst  of  thunder 

goes  the  shout ["  Whimbledon  and  Mal- 

don  I    Wimbledon  and  Maiden  I    Passengers 

for  Wimbledon  and  Maiden! "] and  rolls 

the  the  ecl^oing  walls  and  peopled  roofs 
about. 

The  noble  youth,  at  sight  of  whom  sur- 
prise, relief,  a  joy  scarce  understood,  some- 
thing perhaps,  of  very  gratitude,  and  fifty 
feelings,  undefined  and  new,  danced  througn 
the  bride  and  flushed  her  faded'  hue,  was 
Paulo.  And,  alas  for  a  fair  maiden's  love,  he 
was  to  be  no  more  to  her  than  the  brother  of 
the  bridegroom,  by  whom  he  had  been  sent 
as  proxy  to  be  wedded  in  his  name  and  to 
convey  the  bride  to  Rimini.  To  Paulo  poor 
Francesca  gave  her  hand  iu,  mockery,  her 
heart  in  truth.  And  as  I  read  more  of  her 
tale  the  rainy  weather  found  its  way  into  my 
e^es,  so  that  I  even  murmured  to  myself  after 
Giovanni  when  he  stood  over  the  dead  youth, 
"And,  Paulo,  thou  wert  the  completest 
knight  that  ever  rode  with  banner  to  the 
fight ;  and  thou  wert  the  most  beautiful  to 
see  that  ever  came  in  press  of  chivalry ;  and 
of  a  sinful  man  thou  wert  the  best  that  ever 
for  his  friend  put  spear  in  rest ;  and  thou 
wert  the  most  meek  and  cordial  that  ever 
among  ladies  ate  in  hall ;  and  thou  wert  still, 
for  all  that  bosom  gor'd,  the  kindest  man 
that  ever  struck  with  sword." 


<'I  could  walk  faster  tiian  this  train  is 
going,"  said  my  discontented  neighbour; 
"  we  shall  never  see  our  journey's  end — it's 
shameful ! " 

I  had  the  end  to  see  of  Francesca,  and  I  did 
not  answer  him.  How  could  IT  I  knew  no- 
thing about  the  journey — it  was  his  journey, 
not  mine — why  should  he  talk  to  me  about 
it  ?  But  I  had  not  remained  much  longer  ab- 
sorbed in  my  book  before  my  discontented 
neighbour  put  his  head,  pipe  and  all,  into  my 
face  to  say, — 

"  Esher,  sir !  We  have  been  twenty  minutes 
coming  from  Kingston  Junction — twcn-ty 
minutes !  I  ask  you,  sir  is  it  not  shameful  ?  " 

"  Doubtless ;  I  have  not  noticed." 

"  Not  noticed,  sir  I  Perhaps  you've  an  ob- 
jection to  fast  travelling  ?  " 

"I — ^I  don't  think  we've  been  sitting  in 
the  same  train.  I  was  just  thinking  now 
agreeable  it  was  to  be  carried  in  one  minute 
from  Rimini  to  the  Hellespont,  only  to  see 
Hero  and  Leander." 

"  0 1  where  next ! " 

*'  Why,  sir,"  I  said,  turning  a  leaf  or  two. 
"my  next  station,  I  see.  Is  in  Sherwood 
Forest ;  I  am  to  stop  there  to  make  friends 
with  Robin  Hood." 

"  The  writer  of  that  book  drives  along  ex- 
cursion-train. I  wouldn't  mind  a  word  with 
Robin  Hood  myself,  God,  bless  him !  but,  as 
for  your  poets,  I  hate  them  all :  they  tie 
their  English  into  knots,  and  want  a  mile  of 
it — knots  and  all — to  say  '  fine  weather  for 
the  ducks,'  as,  truly,  it  is  this  morning— 
Ugh  I" 

"  I  say  nothing  of  that,  sir ;  I  have  nothing 
just  now  in  my  mind  except  this  book  of 
stories — which  is  just  a  book  of  stories,  all  of 
them  good  ones,  written  in* such  verse  as  may 
be  read  by  rich  and  poor  with  almost  equal 
pleasure.  They  are  only  told  in  verse  in 
order  that  the  music  may  give  force  and 
beauty  to  the  sense ;  read  them  or  print  them 
how  you  will,  you  cannot  destroy  their  music 
or  convict  them  of  being  by  a  syllable  too 
wordy ;  they  discharge  their  burden  in  plain 
sentences,  without  even  going  out  of  their 
way  to  avoid  expressions  common  in  the 
mouths  of  the  people.  Every  picture  in  them 
is  poetical  in  its  conception,  and  in  its  ex- 
pression musical.  There  is  nothing  far- 
fetched— there  is  no  mystification ;  these  are 
just  stories  in  verse  which  may  be  enjoyed  by 
the  entire  mass  of  the  people.  There  is  even 
as  little  as  possible  of  simple  meditation  in 
them,  though  that  would  have  been  welcome 
from  the  mind  of  a  pure-hearted  man,  beloved 
of  poets  in  his  youth  and  in  his  prime,  now 
worthy  to  be  loved  of  all  mankind.  Of  him 
there  are  fewer  to  speak  ill  than  even  of 
Robin  Hood,  when  not  a  soul  in  Loclgsley 
town  would  spe^  him  an  ill-word;  the 
friars  raged;  but  no  man's  tongue  nor 
even  feature  stirred ;  except  among  a  very 
few,  who  dined  in  the  abbey  halls ;  and  then 
with  a  sigb  bold  Robin  knew  his  true  friends 


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480 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


from  his  false."  I  was  not  talking  or  reading 
to  mj  neighbour  with  the  pipe.  I  do  not 
know  at  what  stage  of  my  discourse  or  medi- 
tation I  had  left  my  hold  upon  his  ear.  I 
had  been  thinking  about  Leigh  Hunt  to  my- 
self, and  went  on  reading  to  myself  of  those 
unfaithful  comradep,  Roger  the  monk,  and 
Midge,  on  whom  Robin  hful  never  turned  his 
face  laut  tenderly ;  with  one  or  two,  they  say, 
besides — Lord !  that  in  this  life's  dream  men 
should  abandon  one  true  thing,  that  would 
abide  with  them. 

We  c&anot  bid  oor  strength  remain, 

Our  cheeki  continue  round ; 
We  cannot  say  to  an  aged  back, 

Stoop  not  towards  the  ground : 
We  cannot  bid  our  dim  eyes  see 

Tilings  as  bright  as  ever, 
Nor  tell  our  friends,  though  friends  from  youth, 

That  they'll  forsake  us  nerer: 
But  we  can  say,  I  nerer  will, 

false  world,  be  false  for  thee; 
And  oh,  Sound  Truth  and  Old  Regard, 
Nothing  shall  part  us  three. 

*: Woking  Junction!  Woking  I  Passengers 
for  Guildford,  Godalmlng,  and  Alton,  change 
here!" 

I  did  not  change  there,  but  sat  reading  the 
brave  legend  of  the  knight  who  cured  a  lady 
of  disdain  by  doing  battle  in  a  shift  against 
three  warriors  in  steel — a  story  with  a  pure 
and  tender  moral  for  the  innocent,  the  noble, 
and  the  wise.  And  when  the  train  was  otf 
again  I  was  not  travelling  by  train  at  all,  but 
humming  to  myself—'*  The  palfrey  goes,  the 
palfrey  goes,  merrily  well  the  palfrey  goes ; 
he  carrieth  laughter,  he  carrieth  woes,  yet 
merrily  ever  the  palfrey  goes.'*  For  I  was 
reading  then  of  Sir  Grey  and  Sir  Guy,  the 
proper  old  boys,  who  met  with  a  world  of 
coughing  and  noise,  to  mar  young  love  like 
mine  and  Lucy  Janes's.  O  I  if  we  had  but 
a  horse  that  could  in  our  behalf  take,  like 
the  palfrey,  vigorous  courses!  Well,  but 
never  mind  that.  The  palfrey  carried  me 
merrily  well  to  Farnborough,  where  there 
was  a  great  tournament  with  lions  in  the 
presence  of  King  Francis,  and  a  knight 
taught  vanity  a  lesson.  The  rest  of  the  jour- 
ney was  a  feast  of  little  stories.  I  was  shown 
what  passed  between  Abou-ben-Adhem  and 
the  Angel,  told  how  the  brave  Mondeer,  in 
pplte  of  the  sultan's  order  that  no  man  should 
praise  the  dead  JafTar,  stood  forth  in  Bagdad 
daily  in  the  square  where  once  had  stood  a 
happy  house,  and  there  harangued  the  trem- 
l)K'r8  at  the  scimetar  on  all  thev  owed  to 
the  divine  JaflFar.  *'  Bring  me  this  man," 
the  caliph  cried.  The  man  was  brought — 
was  gazed  upon — the  mutes  began  to  bind 
hi*  arms.  "  Welcome,  brave  cords  I  "  cried 
he  J  "  from  bonds  far  woiee  Jaffar  delivered 
me }  from  wants,  ft*om  shames,  from  loveless 
household  fears ;  made  a  man's  eyes  friends 
with  delicious  tears;  restored  me — loved 
me—put  me  on  a  par  with  bis  great  self. 


How  can  I  pay  Jaffar  ?  "  Haroun,  who  felt 
that  on  a  soul  like  this,  the  mightiest  ven- 
geance could  but  fall  amiss,  now  deigned  to 
smile,  as  one  great  lord  of  fate  might  emile 
upon  another  half  as  great.  He  said,  ^  Let 
worth  grow  frenzied  if  it  will :  the  caliph's 
judgment  shall  be  master  still.  Go:  and 
since  gifts  thus  move  thee,  take  this  gem. 
the  richest  in  the  Tartar's  diadem,  And  bold 
the  giver  as  thou  deemest  fit." — •*  Gifts ! " 
cried  the  friend.  He  took;  and  holding  it 
high  tow'rds  the  heavens,  as  though  to  meet 
his  star,  exclaimed,  **  This,  too,  I  owe  to  the«, 
Jaff'ar!" 

More  stories,  as  fnll  of  pleasant  wit  and 
noble  feeling,  were  told  me  after  this ;  and 
when  we  got  to  Basingstoke,  where  my  neigh- 
bour swore  a  good  deal  at  a  crowd  of  market 
people  who  had  blocked  him  (and  I  suppose 
me)  up  with  huge  baskets  and  wet  umbrellas, 
I  had  been  introduced  to  Chaucer,  and  was 
riding  on  the  brazen  horse  of  Cambos  Khan. 
The  brazen  horse  which  in  a  day  and  night 
through  the  dark  half  as  safely  as  the  ligbt, 
o'er  sea  and  land,  and  with  your  perfect  ease, 
can  bear  your  body  wheresoe'er  you  please. 
(It  matters  not  if  skies  be  foul  or  fau* ;  the 
thing  is  like  a  thought,  and  cuts  the  air  so 
smoothly,  and  so  well  observes  the  track, 
the  man  that  will  may  sleep  upon  his  back). 
This  brazen  horse,  I  say,  suddenly  dropp«d 
me  at  Southampton.  There  were  some  stones 
told  by  the  Italian  poets  told  again  in  Eng- 
lish waiting  to  be  heard,  Dante's  own  Paolo 
and  France? ca :  his  story  of  Ugolino ;  Ariosto's 
Medora  and  Cloridano.  I  was  vexed  that  I 
had  reached  my  journey's  end,  and  must  in 
that  day  read  no  more;  began  to  observe 
with  surprise  that  it  was  raining ;  to  look 
for  the  first  time  at  some  of  my  deparUng 
fellow-passengers  ;  to  resent  tha  smell  of  dt 
neighbour's  bad  tobacco,  that  impregnated 
my  clothes ;  to  think  about  my  carpet  btf , 
and  all  my  troubles;  not  resenting  them, 
because  my  book  had  tuned  me  to  a  hrsre 
endurance  of  the  troubles  of  this  worid; 
with,  I  believe,  the  sole  exception  of  ibs 
smell  of  stale  tobacco.  I  had  made  two  jou^ 
ncys  at  one  time,  by  packing  off  my-  body  as 
a  parcel  to  Southampton,  while  all  the  rest 
of  me,  having  paid  a  trifling  sum  for  a  per 
petual  ticket  (which  I  shall  take  heed  to 
keep  by  me)  set  out  in  company  with  a  right 
genial  and  noble  story-teller  to  Parnassus. 
Nevertheless,  there  was  the  whole  of  me  at 
Hcavohoy's  when  wanted ;  and  I  am  happj  ' 
to  say  that  from  the  counting-house  of  that 
substantial  firm  I  date  the  present  commou- 
cation.  I  have  told  a  plain  traveller's  tale 
about  traveller's  tales,  which,  as  the  teller  oi 
them  hopes,  will  be  read  and  diown  to  one 
another  by  travellers  who  are  descendants  of  ' 
those  travellers  abont  whom  Chaucer  dis- 
coursed: men  who  beguiled  each  other's 
way  with  tales  as  they  rode  side  by  side  oa 
horseback,  while  yet  all  horses  in  existence 
were  of  flesh  and  blood. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


"  F<mtaMr  in  their  Mouthtoi  HOUSEHOLD  TTOiZDA'^— SmAsu»Mm>. 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
CONDUCTED   BT   CHABLES   DICKEBTS. 


No.  21.] 


J.  A.   DIX,  PUBLISHER, 

Otrtc;  No.  10  Pai«  Plaoi,  lf»w-Yo««. 


[Whole  No.  274. 


SMUGGLED  RELATIONS. 


When  I  was  a  child,  I  remember  to  have 
had  my  ears  boxed  for  informing  a  lady- 
visitor  who  made  a  morning  call  at  our 
house,  that  a  certain  ornamental  object  on  the 
table,  which  was  covered  with  marbled-paper, 
"  wasnH  marble."  Years  of  reflection  upon 
this  injury  have  fully  satisfied  me  that  the 
honest  object  in  question  never  imposed  upon 
anybody ;  further,  that  mjr  honoured  parents, 
though  both  of  a  sanguine  temperament, 
never  can  have  conceived  it  possible  that  it 
might,  could,  should,  would,  or  did,  impose 
upon  anybody.  Yet,  I  have  n8  doubt  that  I 
had  my  ears  boxed  for  violating  a  tacit  com- 
pact in  the  family  and  among  thd  family 
visitors,  to  blink  the  stubborn  fact  of  the 
marbled  paper,  and  agree  upon  a  fiction  of 
real  marble. 

Long  after  this,  when  my  ears  had  been 
past  boxing  for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  I 
knew  a  man  with  a  cork  leg.  That  he  had  a 
cork  leg — or,  at  all  events,  that  he  was  at  im- 
mense pains  to  take  about  with  him  a  leg 
which  was  not  his  own  leg,  or  a  real  leg— was 
80  plain  and  obvious  a  circumstance,  that  the 
whole  universe  might  have  made  affidavit  of 
it.  Still,  it  was  always  understood  that  this 
cork  leg  was  to  be  regarded  as  a  leg  of  flesh 
and  blood,  and  even  that  the  very  subject  of 
cork  in  the  abstract  was  to  be  avoided  in  the 
wearer's  society. 

I  have  had  my  share  of  going  about  the 
world  ;  wherever  I  have  been,  I  have  found 
the  marbled  paper  and  the  cork  leg.  I  have 
found  them  in  many  forms  j  but,  of  all  their 
Protean  shapes,  at  once  the  commonest  and 
strangest  has  been—Smuggled  Relations. 

I  was  on  intimate  terms  for  many,  many 
years,  with  my  late  lamented  friend,  Cogs- 
ft)rd,  of  the  great  Greek  house  of  Cogsford 
Brothers  and  Cogsford.  I  was  his  executor. 
I  believe  he  had  no  secrets  from  me  but  one 
—his  mother.  That  the  agreeable  old  lady 
who  kept  his  house  for  him  was  his  mother, 
most  be  his  mother,  couldn't  possibly  be 
anybody  but  his  mother,  was  evident :  not 
JO  me  alone,  but  to  everybody  who  knew 
Jiim.  She  was  not  a  refugee,  she  was  not 
proscribed,  she  was  not  in  hiding,  there  was 
no  price  put  upon  her  venerable  head  ;  she 
was  invariably  liked  and  respected  as  a  good 

- VOL.   XI. 


humoured,  sensible,  cheerful  old  soul.  Then 
why  did  Cogsford  smuggle  his  mother  all  the 
days  of  his  life  ?  I  have  not  the  slightest 
idea  why.  I  cannot  so  much  as  say  whether 
she  had  ever  contracted  a  second  marriage, 
and  her  name  was  really  Mrs.  Bean :  or 
whether  that  name  was  bestowed  upon  her  as 
a  part  of  the  smuggling  transaction.  I  only 
know  that  there  she  used  to  sit  at  one  end  of 
the  hospitable  table,  the  living  image  in  a 
cap  of  Cogsford  at  the  other  end,  and  that 
Cogsford  knew  that  I  knew  who  she  was. 
Yet,  if  I  had  been  a  Custom-house  officer 
at  Folkestone,  and  Mrs.  Bean  a  French 
clock  that  Cogsford  was  furtively  bring- 
ing from  Paris  in  a  hat-box,  he  could  not 
have  made  her  the  subject  of  a  more  deter- 
mined and  deliberate  pretence.  It  wbs  pro- 
longed for  years  upon  years.  It  survived  the 
gocS  old  lady  herself.  One  day,  I  received  an 
agitated  note  from  Cogsford,  entreating  me 
to  go  to  him  immediately  ;  I  went,  and  found 
him  weeping,  and  in  the  greatest  affliction. 
"  My  dear  friend,"  said  he,  pressing  my  hand, 
"  I  have  lost  Mrs.  Bean.  She  is  no  more."  I 
went  to  the  funeral  with  him.  He  was  in 
the  deepest  grief.  He  spoke  of  Mrs.  Bean,  on 
the  way  back,  as  the  best  of  women.  But, 
even  then  he  never  hinted  that  Mrs.  Bean 
was  his  mother  ;  and  the  first  and  last  ac- 
knowledgment of  the  fact  that  I  ever  had  from 
him  was  in  his  last  will,  wherein  he  entreat- 
ed **  his  said  dear  friend  and  executor  "  to 
observe  that  he  requested  to  be  buried  be- 
side his  mother — whom  he  didn't  eveff  name, 
he  was  so  perfectly  confident  that  I  had  de- 
tected Mrs.  Bean. 

I  was  once  acquainted  with  another  man 
who  smuggled  a  brother.  This  contraband 
relative  made  mysterious  appearances  and 
disappearances,  and  knew  strange  things.  He 
was  called  John— simply  John.  I  have  got 
into  a  habit  of  believing  that  he  must  have 
been  under  a  penalty  to  forfeit  some  weeklv 
allowance  if  he  ever  claimed  a  surname.  He 
came  to  light  in  this  way ; — I  wanted  some 
information  respecting  the  remotest  of  the 
Himalaya  range  of  mountains,  and  I  applied 
to  my  friend  Bentlng  (a  member  of  the  Geo- 
graphical Society,  and  learned  on  such  points), 
to  advise  me.  After  some  consideration, 
Benting  said,  in  a  half  reluctant  and  con- 
strained way,  very  unlike  his  usual  frank 

274 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


482 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


rCondocted  ky 


manner,  that  he  **  thought  he  knew  a  man  " 
who  could  tell  me,  of  his  own  experience, 
what  I  wanted  to  learn.  An  appointment 
was  made  for  a  certain  evening  at  Benting's 
house.  I  arrlTed  first,  and  had  not  observed 
for  more  than  five  minutes  that  Benting  was 
under  a  curious  cloud,  when  his  servant 
announced — in  a  hushed,  and  I  may  say, 
unearthly  manner — **  Mr.  John."  A  rather 
stiff  and  shabby  person  appeared,  who  called 
Benting  by  no  name  whatever  (a  singularity 
that  I  always  observed  whenever  I  saw  them 
together  afterwards),  and  whose  manner  was 
curiously  divided  between  familiarity  and  dis- 
tance. I  found  this  man  to  have  been  all  over 
the  Indies,  and  to  possess  an  extraordinary 
fund  of  traveller's  experience.  It  came  from 
him  drily  at  first ;  but  he  warmed,  and  it  flow- 
ed freely  until  he  happened  to  meet  Benting's 
eye.  Then,  he  subsided  again,  and  (it  ap- 
peared to  me),  felt  himself,  for  some  unknown 
reason,  in  danger  of  losing  that  weekly  allow- 
ance. This  happened  a  dozen  times  in  a  cou- 
ple of  hours,  and  not  the  least  curious  part  of 
the  matter  was,  that  Benting  himself  was  al- 
ways as  much  disconcerted  as  the  other  man. 
It  did  not  occur  to  me  that  night,  that  this  was 
Benting's  brother,  for  I  had  known  him  very 
well  indeed  for  years,  and  had  always  under- 
stood him  to  have  none.  Neither  can  I  now 
recall,  nor,  if  I  could,  would  it  matter,  by 
what  degrees  and  stages  I  arrived  at  the 
knowledge.  However  this  may  be,  I  knew  it, 
and  Benting  knew  that  I  knew  it.  But,  we 
always  preserved  the  fiction  that  I  could 
have  no  suspicion  that  there  was  any  sort  of 
kindred  or  affinity  between  them.  He  went 
to  Mexico,  this  John— and  he  went  to  Aus- 
tralia—and he  went  to  China— and  he  died 
somewhere  in  Persia — and  one  day,  when  we 
went  down  to  dinner  at  Benting's,  I  would 
find  him  in  the  dining  room,  already  seated 
(as  if  he  had  just  been  counting  the  aUowance 
on  the  table-cloth),  and  another  day  I  would 
hear  of  him  as  being  among  soarlet  parrots  in 
the  tropics ;  but,  I  never  knew  whether  he 
had  ever  done  anything  wrong,  or  whether  he 
had  ever  done  anything  right,  or  why  he  went 
about  the  world,  or  how.  As  I  have  already 
signified,  I  get  into  habits  of  believing ;  and 
I  have  got  into  a  habit  of  believing  that  Mr. 
John  had  something  to  do  with  the  dip  of  the 
magnetic  needle — ^he  is  all  vague  and  shad- 
owy to  me,howev6r,  and  I  only  know  him  for 
certain  to  have  been  a  smugeled  relation. 

Other  people,  again,  put  these  contraband 
commodities  entirely  away  from  the  light,  as 
smugglers  of  wine  and  brandy  bury  tuba.  I 
have  heard  of  a  man  who  never  imparted,  to 
his  most  intimate  friend,  the  terrific  secret 
that  he  had  a  relation  in  the  world,  except 
when  he  lost  one  by  death ;  and  then  he 
would  be  weighed  down  by  the  greatness  of 
the  calamity,  and  would  refer  to  his  bereave- 
ment as  if  he  had  lost  the  very  shadow  of 
himself,  from  whom  he  had  never  been  sepa- 
rated since  the  days  of  infancy.    Within  my 


own  experience,  I  have  observed  smuggled 
relations  to  possess  a  wonderful  qoalitj  of 
coming  out  when  they  die.  My  own  dear 
Tom,  who  married  my  fourth  sister,  and  who 
is  a  great  Smuggler,  never  fails  to  speak  to 
me  of  one  of  his  relations  newly  deceased,  as 
though,  instead  of  never  having  in  the  r^ 
motest  way  alluded  to  that  relative's  exist- 
ence before,  he  had  been  perpetually  discours- 
ing of  it  "  My  poor,  dear,  darling  Eoimy," 
he  said  to  me,  within  these  six  months,  <'  she 
is  gone — I  have  lost  her."  Never  until  that 
moment  had  Tom  breathed  one  syllable  to 
,  me  of  the  existence  of  any  Emmy  whomso- 
ever on  the  face  of  this  earth,  in  whom  be 
had  the  smallest  interest  He  had  ecarcelj 
allowed  me  to  understand,  very  distantlj  aod 
generally,  that  he  had  some  relations— "my 
people,"  he  called  them— down  in  Yorkshire. 
"  My  own  dear,  darling  Emmy,"  says  Tom, 
notwithstanding,  ''  she  has  left  me  for  a  bet 
ter  world."  (Tom  must  have  left  her  for  hfe 
own  world,  at  least  fifteen  years).  I  repeat- 
ed, feeling  my  way,  "  Emmy,  Tom?''  "My 
favourite  niece,"  said  Tom,  in  a  reproachfiLl 
tone,  "  Emmy,  you  know.  I  was  her  god- 
father, you  remember.  Darling,  fair-haircd 
Emmy !  Precious,  blue-eyed  child ! "  Tom 
burst  into  tears,  and  we  both  understood  that 
henceforth  the  fiction  was  established  be 
tween  us  that  I  had  been  quite  familiar  witli 
Emmy  by  reputation,  through  a  series  of 
years. 

Occasionally,  smuggled  relations  are  dis- 
covered by  accident :  just  as  those  tabs  may 
be,  to  which  I  have  referred.  My  other  half 
— I  mean,  of  course,  my  wife — once  discov- 
ered a  large  cargo  in  this  way.  which  bad 
been  long  concealed.  In  the  next  street  to 
us,  lived  an  acquaintance  of  ours,  who  was  a 
Commissioner  of  something  or  other,  and 
kept  a  handsome  establishment  We  used  to 
exchange  dinners,  and  I  have  frequeolly 
heard  him  at  his  own  table  mention  his  father 
as  a  "  poor  dear  good  old  boy,"  who  had 
been  dead  for  any  Indefinite  period.  He 
was  rather  fond  of  telling  anecdotes  of  his 
very  early  days,  and  from  them  it  appeared 
that  he  had  been  an  only  child.  One  summer 
afternoon,  mv  other  half,  walking  in  our  im- 
mediate neiguborhood,  happened  to  perceive 
Mrs.  Commissioner's  last  year-s  bonnet  (to 
every  inch  of  which,  it  is  unnecesary  to  add 
she  could  have  sworn),  going  along  before 
her  on  somebody  else's  head.  Having  heard 
generally  of  the  swell  mob,  my  good  lady's 
first  impression  was,  that  the  wearer  of  this 
bonnet  belonged  to  that  fraternity,  had  just 
abstracted  the  bonnet  from  its  place  of  rep(^, 
was  in  every  sense  of  the  term  walking  olTwilh 
it,  and  ought  to  be  given  into  the  custody  of 
the  nearest  policeman.  Fortunately,  howem. 
my  Susannah,  who  is  not  distinguished  by 
closeness  of  reasoning  or  presence  of  niiQd, 
reflected,  as  it  were  by  a  flash  of  inspiration, 
that  the  bonnet  might  have  been  given  away. 
Curious  to  see  to  whom,  she  quickened  her 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CharlciDickena.3 


FRENCH  SOLDIERS  IN  CAMP. 


483 


steps,  aad  descried  beneath  it,  an  ancient  lady 
of  an  iron-bound  presence,  in  whom  (for  my 
Sosannah  has  an  eye),  she  instantly  recognised 
the  lineaments  of  the  Commissioner !  Eagerly 
pursuing  this  discovery,  she,  that  very  after- 
noon, tracked  down  an  ancient  gentleman  in 
one  of  the  Commissioner's  hats.  Next  day 
she  came  upon  the  trail  of  four  stony 
maidens,  decorated  with  artificial  flowers  out 
of  the  Commissioner's  epergne  j  and  thus  we 
dug  up  the  Commissioner's  father  and 
mother  and  four  sisters,  who  had  been  for 
some  years  secreted  in  lodgings  round  the 
comer  and  never  entered  the  Commissioner's 
bouse  save  in  the  dawn  of  morning  and 
the  shades  of  evening.  From  that  time  forth, 
whenever  my  Susannah  made  a  call  at  the 
Commissioner's,  she  always  listened  on  the 
doorstep  for  any  slight  preliminary  scuffling 
in  the  hall,  and,  hearing  it,  was  delighted  to 
remark,  "  The  family  are  here,  and  they  are 
hiding  them !" 

I  have  never  been  personally  acquainted 
with  any  gentleman  who  kept  his  mother-in- 
law  in  the  kitchen,  in  the  useful  capacity  of 
Cook ;  but  I  have  heard  of  such  a  case  on 
good  authority.  I  once  lodged  in  the  house 
of  a  genteel  lady  claiming  to  be  a  widow,  who 
had  four  pretty  children,  and  might  be  occa- 
sionally overheard  coercing  an  obscare  man 
in  a  sleeved  waistcoat,  who  appeared  to  be 
coQ&ned  in  some  Pit  below  the  foundations 
of  the  house  where  he  was  condemned  to  be 
always  cleaning  knives.  One  day,  the  smallest 
of  the  children  crept  into  my  room,  said, 
pointing  downward  with  a  little  chubby 
ftoger,  '* Don't  tell!  It's  Pa !"  and  vanished 
on  tiptoe. 

One  other  branch  of  the  smuggling  trade 
demands  a  word  of  mention  before  I  conclude. 
My  friend  of  friends  in  my  bachelor  days, 
became  the  friend  of  the  house  when  I  got 
married.  Ho  is  our  Amelia's  godfather ; 
Amelia  being  the  eldest  of  our  cherubs. 
Through  upwards  of  ten  years  he  was  back- 
wards and  forwards  at  our  house  three  or 
four  times  a  week,  and  always  found  his 
kaife  and  fork  ready  for  him.  What  was  my 
adtonishment  on  coming  home  one  day  to  find 
Susannah  sunk  upon  the  oil-cloth  in  the  hall, 
holding  her  brow  with  both  hands,  and  meet- 
ing my  gaze,  when  I  admitted  myself  with 
my  latch-key,  in  a  distracted  manner !  *•  Su- 
sannah," I  exclaimed,  **  what  has  happened?" 
She  merely  ejaculated, "  Larver" — that  being 
the  name  of  the  friend  in  question.  "  Susan- 
nah!" said  I,  **what  of  Larver?  Speak! 
Has  he  met  with  any  accident  ?  Is  he  ill  ?" 
Susannah  replied  faintly, "  Married— married 
before  we  were!"  and  would  have  gone 
into  hysterics  but  that  I  make  a  rule  of 
never  permitting  that  disorder  under  my 
roof. 

For  upwards  of  ten  years,  my  bosom  friend 
Larver,  In  close  communication  with  me 
every  day,  had  smuggled  a  wife  ?  He  had  at 
last  confided  the  truth  to  Susanni^,  and  had 


presented  Mrs.  Larver.  There  was  no  kind 
of  reason  for  this,  that  we  could  ever  find 
out.  Even  Susannah  had  not  a  doubt  of 
things  being  all  correct.  He  had  "run" 
Mrs.  Larver  into  a  little  cottage  in  Hert- 
fordshire, and  nobody  ever  knew  why,  or 
ever  will  know.  In  fact,  I  believe  there  was 
no  why  in  it. 

The  most  astonishing  part  of  the  matter  is, 
that  I  have  known  other  men  do  exactly  the 
same  thing.  I  could  give  the  names  of  a 
dozen  in  a  footnote,  if  I  thought  it  right. 


FRENCH  SOLDIERS  IN  CAMP. 

I  HAVE  paid  two  visits  to  the  Camp  of 
Honvault,  near  Boulogne ;  one  -in  the  sum- 
mer, another  in  the  winter.  The  sandhills 
in  that  neighborhood  are  diversified  by  stray 
patches  of  verdure  and  cultivation.  I  don't 
think  Mr.  Mechi,  Mr.  Philip  Pusey,  or  the 
author  of  Talpa  would  bestow  much  com- 
mendation upon  what  the  French  farmers 
have  here  laid  out  for  public  inspection. 
Whatever  seed  first  came  to  hand  seems  to 
have  been  sown ;  the  worthy  agriculturists 
appear  to  have  been  rather  desultory  and 
capricious  in  their  operations;  wandering 
firom  turnips  to  cabbage,  and  from  artichokes 
to  cereals,  much  as  the  bee  wanders  from 
flower  to  flower.  Sometimes  they  throw  in  a 
patch  of  mangel-wurzel  as  a  makeweight ; 
sometimes  they  do  a  bit  of  lazy  ploughing,  as 
a  young  lady  would  take  up  a  morsel  of 
crochet  work  pending  the  arrival  of  her 
Adolphus ;  more  frequently  they  appear  to 
be  convinced  of  the  futility  of  farming  alto- 
gether, and  throw  themselves  into  marigolds 
and  other  unprofitably  gay  flowers  with  a 
curious  zeal. 

As  I  proceed,  various  phases  of  camp  life 
begin  to  break  upon  me.  Little  boy  soldiers 
with  sunburnt  faces  and  atrociously.made 
trousers  pass  me,  carrying  baskets  of  charcoal 
between  them,  huge  loads  of  bread,  tin  cans 
called  gamcUes,  holding  the  mysterious  but 
savoury-smelling  stews  with  which  French 
soldiers  sustain  nature ;  bunches  of  cirrots 
(our  neighbours  cauH  get  on  in  any  state  of 
life  without  carrots),  sacks  of  meal,  earthen 
pipkins,  and  above  all  black  bottles.  For 
the  camp  at  Honvault,  though  strictly  sober, 
is  a  very  thirsty  camp.  It  is  the  sand  perhaps 
that  provokes  the  drought.  It  must  be  the 
sand,  for  very  soon  I  get  thirsty  too. 

There  are  no  tents  at  Honvault.  Long 
parallel  lines  of  comfortable,  cottage-looking 
huts,  built  of  mud,  clay,  and  wattles,  and 
neatly  thatched,  the  lines  crossed  at  right 
angles  by  other  lines  of  huts,  extend  along 
the  coast  for  an  immense  distance.  A  great 
sandy  esplanade  runs  along  in  front ;  and, 
under  a  long  shed  in  the  midst,  some  hun- 
dreds of  recruits  are  being  initiated  ipto  the 
goose-step.  Here  is  the  broadest  avenue — 
the  Regent  Street  of  the  camp,  and  here 
the  offlcers  have  their  quarters,  which  are 


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484 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coodnctcd  tj 


huts  like  those  of  the  privates,  but  have 
neatly  -  glazed  windows,  doors,  aud  snug 
porches,  and  are  plastered  over,  and  white- 
washed outside  quite  in  the  London  suburban 
style. 

All  the  theories  of  the  noisy  recklessness  of 
camp-life  are  blown  to  the  winds  in  a  moment. 
The  greatest  characteristic  of  the  camp  is  its 
quietude.  In  this  mud  city  holding  thousands 
of  men  at  arms  you  can  hear  the  plashing  of 
the  sea  and  the  lark  high  up  in  the  empyrean. 
Oft  in  the  stilly  day  come  soft  sounds  of  the 
military-bands  practising,  the  tread  of  the 
sentry,  a  stray  horse's  hoof,  the  clanking  of  a 
stray  pair  of  spurs  (for  this  is  an  infantry 
camp).  Soldiers  brushing  their  clothes  or 
cleaning  their  accoutrements,  digging  in  little 
gardens,  and  doing  odd  jobs  of  carpentry, 
glazing  and  housepainting,  the  dulcet  clinking 
of  bottles  and  glouglouing  of  ordinary  wines 
into  glasses,  the  puffing  of  stertorous  smokers 
at  their  pipes,  the  scratching  of  the  pen  with 
which  the  young  corporal  is  writing  home  to 
his  mother ;  the  mazurka  air — a  reminis- 
cence of  the  last  camp-ball  —  which  the 
bearded  sergeant  is  placidly  whistling — these 
sounds  of  a  verity  you  can  hear.  But  no 
brawling,  no  rattling  of  diceboxes,  no  roaring 
chorusses,  no  oaths,  no  fights.  The  licence  of 
the  camp  is  a  most  excellently  conducted 
licence,  and  is  oqe  that  might  be  granted, 
renewed,  or  transferred,  nem.-con.,  by  the 
rlgidest  bench  of  Middlesex  magistrates. 

Another  little  sound  I  hear.  I  am  standing 
in  front  of  one  of  the  officer's  huts  and  watch- 
ing his  servant  who  is  training  some  pretty 
creeping  plant  over  the  door.  The  officer  is  a 
lieutenant ;  for  his  surtout-coat  with  its  one 
epaulette  is  hung  on  a  pole  ontside.  Through 
the  half-opened  door  I  can  just  discern  a 
figure  in  scarlet  trousers  in  its  shirt-sleeves, 
and  a  scarlet  k^pi  edged  with  gold  lace.  On 
one  arm  he  wears,  not  a  military  gauntlet, 
but  a  leathern  article  of  wearing  apparel  that 
has  a  heel,  a  sole,  and  an  upper  leather  j  with 
the  other  he  holds  a  blacking-brush,  which  he 
moves  vigorously  to  and  fro.  And  I  hear  a 
little  sound  of  hissing  and  friction  as  of 
bristles.  And  the  lieutenant  is  cleaning  his 
own  boots  I 

By  and  by  the  great  third  question  assumes 
graver  proportions,  and  I  find  that  thirst  can 
be  assuaged  at  the  Estaminet  de  Bomarsund, 
where  one  gives  to  eat  and  to  drink  ^  at  the 
Vieux  Soldat  de  VEmpire ;  at  the  Pierre 
NapoUon ;  at  the  Repose  of  the  Honest  So- 
ciety, and  at  Oh^ !  Marie  Jeanne  Gannebiere, 
which  last  sign  requires  explication,  which  I 
am  not  able  to  ^ord;  for  I  do  not  know 
who  Marie-Jeanne  Gannebiere  was,  or  why 
she  should  have  been  addressed  with  the 
interjection  Oh^  I — anglice  :  Hi  I  I  find  Ma- 
ria-Jane represented  inside  the  caf6,  restau- 
rant, auberge,  hostellerie,  cabaret,  cantine, 
estaminet,  or  whatever  this  camp  hotel  may  be 
called,  by  a  very  large  bearded  man  in  a 
blouse,  very  like  a  sapper  and  miner  who, 


fatigued  with  gabions,  fascines,  mining  and 
countermining,  went  into  the  public  line  for 
quietness.  He  is  sleeping  in  a  corner,  and  I 
have  some  difficulty  in  making  him  under- 
stand that  my  throat  desire th  white  wine 
which,  together  with  crusty  loaf  and  some 
old  Roquefort  cheese  will  make  no  contempt- 
ible mid-day  meal.  Rough  as  the  whole 
apartment  is,  bare  as  the  walls  are,  mud  for 
floor,  and  planks  on  tressels  for  tables,  Maria- 
Jane  supplies  that  other  one  thing  needful  in 
the  economy  of  French  life  : — some  attempt 
at  artistic  decoration.  Some  tastefully  drawn 
and  coloured  scroll-work,  rough  but  vigorous, 
is  painted  along  the  walls.  Over  the  door 
there  is  a  vile  (in  execution)  but  meritorioos 
(in  design)  representation  of  the  flags  of 
Enp^land,  France,  and  Turkey  ;  and  opposite 
to  it,  on  the  wall,  is  painted  an  elaborate  and 
vividly-coloured  ft"ame  ;  in  the  centre  of 
which  appears,  in  letters  of  uniform  size  bj 
no  means,  and  in  orthography  the  reverse  of 
pure, 
lEs  amis  Son  PRIEZ  dE  SE  rettirbez 

A  9   HEDRS.   M0IN8   VAIXCINQCK  LE   SOIRRE.— 

The  friends  are  prayed  to  retire  themselves 
at  nine  hours  less  twenty-five  the  evening. 

I  am  the  only  civilian  present  among 
Maria-Jane's  customers.  Of  the  twenty  other 
pairs  of  moustaches  present  all  the  rest  be- 
long to  the  twenty-third  of  the  line,  the 
thirteenth  14ger,  the  artillery,  and  the  sap- 
pers. Some  are  playing  dominoes,  some  pi- 
quet ;  some  drink  beer,  others  wine  ;  all  are 
smoking  vigorously,  and  though  very  grave 
and  quiet,  appear  to  enjoy  themselves  im- 
mensely. How  they  can  afibrd  to  do  it  oat 
of  their  munificent  allowance  of  pocket- 
money,  amounting  I  am  informed  to  one 
copper  sou  per  diem,  I  am  hugely  puzzled  to 
make  out.  I  can  understand  the  possibility 
of  existing  upon  midshipman's  half-pay ;  I 
can  conceive  how  Golonel  Rawdon  managed 
to  live  upon  "  nothing  a  year :"  but  how  my 
friend  private  Tourlourou  ana  his  comrades 
contrive  to  drink  Bourdeaux,  to  smoke  the 
Indian  weed,  and  to  play  piquet  (luxuries  of 
life  demanding  at  least  five  hundred  a-year 
in  London)  upon  a  surplus  income  of  a  half- 
penny a  day  is  beyond  my  ken. 

Such  was  my  summer  visit.  My  winter  viat 
occurred  on  the  morning  of  the  twenty-third 
of  February,  which  opened  with  a  fall  of  fine 
snow.  At  noon  it  had  ceased ;  and  I 
left  off  letter-writing  to  walk  through  the 
streets  of  huts  which  constitute  this  fTesl^ 
built  military  town.  The  soldiers  were  work- 
ing hard  to  expel  ft*om  their  precincts  every 
member  of  Jack  Frost's  familv  that  bad 
invaded  them.  Icicles,  snow,  hailstones,  and 
candied  sleet,  were  carried  out  In  barrows, 
baskets,  biers;  and  where  the  work  did 
not  go  ofi"  fast  enough  to  the  men's  liking 
they  seized  some  of  the  four-wheeled  car- 
riages called  equipages  militaires,  loaded 
them  with  frozen  sweepings,  and,  themselves 
acting  the  part  of  horses,  dragged  the  con- 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbaria  INckeM.3 


FRENCH  SOLDIERS  IN  CAMP. 


485 


teats  to  the  spot  where  uncleaQ  things  are 
shot  oat,  till  all  was  tidy  and  dry  around 
them. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  a  rapid  thaw  came 
on.  The  men,  instead  of  being  up  to  their 
knees  in  sludge,  could  instantly  resume  the 
occupations  which  the  late  severe  weather 
had  completely  interrupted.  Aspirant  trum- 
peters and  embryo  drummers  made  the  hills 
vocal  with  "rat-tat-tats  "  and  **  too-too-toos," 
resounding  from  the  little  green  knolls  of 
rising  ground  which  constitute  their  practi- 
slng-place.  Last  year's  batches  of  conscripts 
and  inveterate  members  of  the  awkward 
squad  had  to  submit  to  the  hated  rigours  of 
drill,  which  now  was  possible  in  the  open  air. 
A  gleam  of  sunshine,  that  good-naturedly 
broke  forth  to  aid  the  sudden  rise  of  tempera- 
ture, allowed  the  airing  of  bedding  and  the 
brushing  of  habiliments  without  fear  of  their 
taking  more  harm  than  good  from  splashes 
of  mud  and  soakings  of  half-melted  snow. 
Admiring  groups  were  looking  on  at  the 
feats  of  stick  exercise  performed  by  a  couple 
of  corporals,  whose  manipulation  of  the 
wooden  weapon  was  enough  to  make  one  dread 
the  sight  of  a  broom-handle  ever  afterwards. 
Farther  down,  the  dark-blue  chasseurs,  or 
riflemen,  were  practising  hand-to-hand  en- 
counters with  their  formidable  cutlass- 
bayonets,  so  earnestly  that,  although  the 
points  were  corked,  an  officer  had  occasionally 
to  warn  them— "Gentlv,  gently ;  you  will  do 
yourselves  harm."  The  band  resumed  its 
repetitions,  or  rehearsals,  which  were  pos- 
sible now  that  the  pistons  did  not  freeze  fast 
in  the  cornets  before  half-a-dozen  bars  allegro 
were  played.  In  short,  throughout  the  camp, 
when  the  great  fhaw  came  at  last,  things 
marched  as  usual,  without  the  slightest 
delay ;  and  all  because  the  trifling  precaution 
had  been  taken  to  remove  the  snow  as  it  fell. 

I  mav  here  remark  at  once  that  the  bar- 
rack-soldier and  the  camp-soldier  are  quite  a 
different  race  of  beings.  The  former  figures 
exceedingly  well  in  the  mess-room,  the 
parade,  the  review,  the  country-town  market- 
place, or  the  county  ball-room.  The  latter 
shines  forth  and  shows  his  value  in  the  open 
country,  when  he  is  out  a-gypseying,  where 
he  has  to  make  use  of  the  most  unexpected 
expedients — to  saw  with  a  gimlet  or  to  fry  in 
a  tea-kettle.  The  soldier  who  has  not  had 
Bome  little  training  In  turning  makeshifts  to 
the  best  advantage  before  he  is  engaged  in 
actual  warfare,  has  to  learn  the  lesson  there 
at  last,  and  that  under  unfavourable  circum- 
Rtances ;  because  he  has  then  two  things  to 
do  at  once — to  fight  as  well  as  to  attend  to 
his  housekeeping.  Although,  therefore,  it 
may  seem  cruel  to  turn  a  man  out  of  warm 
barracks  when  there  is  nothing  to  prevent 
his  staying  there,  and  to  compel  him  to  do 
as  well  as  he  can  amidst  the  rough  discom- 
forts that  have  to  be  bafllcd  with  in  camp,  it 
really  is  a  preparatory  school  whose  instruc- 
tion will  serve  him  in  good  stead  by-and-bye, 


when  he  most  needs  it,  and  when  even  life 
and  death  may  hang  on  the  power  of  endur- 
ance thus  acquired. 

It  is  Quite  a  mistake  to  snppose  that  fight- 
ing is  the  only  trade  a  soldier  has  to  exer- 
cise ;  he  is  obliged  to  practice  the  details  of 
almost  every  other  trade  in  turn.  It  is  to 
little  purpose  to  land,  or  let  drop  from  the 
skies,  a  helpless  army  on  any  given  spot  of  an 
enemy's  territory,  to  let  them  fight  a  famous 
battle  or  two,  and  then  to  trust  their  future 
welfare  to  the  care  of  chance  and  the  elements, 
as  if  they  stood  in  no  more  need  of  creature 
comforts  than  a  set  of  chess-men  whom  you 
leave  on  the  board,  uncared  for,  when  your 
game  la  done.  A  private  soldier  who 
marches  in  the  ranks,  is  a  man,  of  like  pas- 
sions and  feelings  with  ourselves,  and  not  a 
bit  of  boxwood,  bone,  or  ivory.  Ho  is  a 
young  man,  too,  more  susceptible  of  the  evil 
mfluences  of  fatigue,  cold,  and  malaria,  than 
tougher  veterans  forty  or  fifty  years  of  age. 
Hath  not  a  soldier  fiesh?  Hath  he  not  blood, 
nerves,  lungs,  brains,  a  skin,  a  heart,  and 
finally  a  stomach?  If  you  tickle  him  will 
he  not  laugh?  If  you  wound  and  torture 
him  will  he  not  suffer?  If  you  leave  him 
without  shelter  and  clothing  will  he  not, 
possibly,  take  a  slight  cold  ?  If  you  stick 
him  for  weeks  up  to  the  middle  in  mud  is 
there  no  chance  of  his  catching  a  fever  ?  If 
you  starve  him  will  not  his  strength  fail? 
And  if,  when  he  is  a-cold,  a-fevered,  and 
an-hungered,  you  do  not  provide  him,  before 
it  is  too  late,  with  medicine  or  food,  with 
nursing  and  a  hospital,  will  he  not  die,  just  as 
you  and  I  would?  French  army  adminis- 
trators answer  "  Yes." 

In  the  French  army,  therefore,  besides  the 
military  duties  that  each  soldier  has  to  per- 
form, care  is  taken  to  make  the  most  of  any 
civil  accomplishment  or  talent  he  may  pos- 
sess, even  in  matters  that  appear  to  be  tnfiing. 
The  handicraft  trade  a  man  has  been  brought 
up  to,  his  peculiar  fitness  for  one  occupation 
more  than  another, 'even  the  hobby  which 
it  best  pleases  him  to  ride,  are  all  swept 
into  the  general  fund,  as  contributions  of 
labour.  Individual  specialities  are  noted  and 
cultivated,  to  be  brought  into  play  in  time  of 
need.  For  instance,  the  huts  of  which 
the  winter  camp  is  composed  are  almost 
entirely  the  work  of  the  men's  own  hands. 
Some  men  fetched  the  wood  in  artillery 
wagons,  from  the  forest  of  Boulogne,  to  make 
the  framework ;  others  puddled  with  chopped 
straw  the  clay  to  make  the  walls;  others 
plastered  the  pnddle  so  prepared,  cunningly 
making  it  stick  in  its  place.  All  the  help 
they  had  was,  assistance  in  thatching.  Then 
when  the  huts  were  made,  there  were  the 
streets  to  pavo,  the  drainage  to  be  attended 
to,  decorations  to  add,  and  comforts  and 
necessary  adjuncts  to  be  gradually  got  to- 
gether. From  the  pitching  of  the  first 
summer  tents  to  the  present  occupancy  of 
clay-built   huts  (wherein  each  soldier  has 


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486 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoodoctedbT 


his  own  little  home,  bis  little  place  for  stand- 1 
ing,  sitting,  or  lying  down,  exactly  as  he  has 
his  post  in  the  ranks),  innumerable  extras 
have   been  superadded  to   requirements  of 
absolute  necessity,  and  all  by  means  of  the  | 
self-helping    habits    to    whicn    the    French  j 
soldier    is    constantly    trained.    After    the 
makioff  of   the    first   camp-kitchens  (mere 
holes  in  the  ground,  with  chimneys  of  turf,  ] 
or  no  chinmeys  at  all,  and  a  few  boards  or ! 
bits  of  canvas  to  screen  and  cover  them, ' 
but    which,    nevertheless,    are    well    worth , 
studying,  because  they  do  their  work  effec- 
tually) general  attention  was  next  bestowed  ! 
on  the  construction  of  open-air  ball-rooms 
with  verdant  sofas  and  orchestras ;  for  amuse- 
ment in  camp  is  a  matter  of  serious  im- 
portance.   To  let  men  grow  weary,  dull, 
and    home-sick,  is    not  the  way  to    make 
good  soldiers.    Therefore,  at  Uonvault  and 
Wimereux,  fiddlers  and  clarionet-players  in 
uniform  soon  emerged  from  the  general  mass. 
Proficients  in  dancing  instantly  asserted  their 
ability  to  unite  the  graces  of  Terpsichore 
with  the  valour  of  Mars,    Such  high  preten- 
sions are  commonly  tested  by  what  are  called 
"assauts  de  danse,^'  or,  dancing  matches, 
which  excite  as  much  interest  in  the  saltatory 
world  as  a  steeplechase  or  a  prize-fight  would 
amongst  the  fancy  in  England. 

Regimental  cooking  is  done  in  turns  by  the 
privates.  The  supervision  and  criticism  of 
culinary  processes  falls  to  the  lot  of  the  cor- 
porals in  rotation.  All  other  labour  which 
is  not  comprised  in  the  calls  of  military 
service  is  paid  for.  The  French  soldier  is  not 
made  to  work  hard  without  the  encourage- 
ment of  pecuniary  reward.  There  are  soldiers 
in  the  camp  of  Honvault  who  earn,  besides 
their  pay,  as  much  as  forty  francs  amonth.  The 
soldier-bakers  who  make  the  camp-bread — ex- 
cellent leavened  bread  it  is — receive  eighteen 
centimes  per  batch,  besides  their  pay.  If  the 
bread  turn  out  good,  and  the  red-legged 
bakers  conduct  themselves  properly,  they 
have  a  further  gratification  of  six  centimes, 
making  in  all  twenty-four  centimes,  or  nearly 
twopence-halfpenny  per  batch.  The  result  is, 
that  at  the  end  of  the  week  the  bakers  have 
a  nice  little  purse  of  pocket-money,  and 
perhaps  Maria-Jean's  summer  customers 
were  rolling  in  riches  acquired  by  baking, 
or  tailoring,  or  cobbling,  or  other  handicraft. 
The  French  soldier  is  a  perfect  Jack-of-all- 
trades.  Only  the  day  before  yesterday,  the 
bit  of  road  under  my  window  was  a  strip 
of  loose  sand;  yesterday,  artillery  wagons 
discharged  their  thunder  by  means  of  large 
round  pebbles,  fetched  from  the  beach. 
A  party  of  scarlet-pantalooued,  red-capped, 
blue-coated  young  fellows,  smash  the  afore- 
said thunder  to  shivers.  My  landlord 
seems  to  appreciate  the  exertions  they  are 
makine  in  tne  improvement  of  his  ways ;  for 
he  gaily  mixes  with  the  gang,  a  litre  bottle 
of  eau-de-vie  in  one  hand,  and  a  glass  in  the 
other,  and  pours  out  a  petit  verre  for  whom- 


soever will.  The  militaiT  macadamites  are 
not  teetotalers;  some  tase  two,  some  even 
swallow  three,  without  coughing  or  making 
wry  faces.  But  only  mark  with  what  levity 
they  treat  the  task  of  breaking  stones !  One 
has  knocked  off  the  head  of  his  hammer,  and 
is  fencing  with  the  handle  with  his  nest-door 
neighbour.  Human  versatility  is  tried  to  the 
utmost ;  and  those  who  are  ignorant  of 
such  accomplishments  gradually  learn  road- 
making,  cookery,  hut-building,  paving,  wood- 
cutting, stick-fencing,  dancing,  and  the  grand 
art  of  making  shift. 

Leading  qualities  which  honourably  mark 
the  administration  of  the  French  army 
(and  why  can  they  not  equally  belong  to  our 
own  ?),  are  simplicity,  directness  of  action, 
forethought,  responsibility,  fair  and  equal 
treatment  excluding  favouritism,  and  recom- 
pense bestowed  in  proportion  to  merit.  Whe- 
ther for  soldier,  sailor,  tinker,  or  tailor,  to 
labour  for  nought  is  melancholy  work.  In 
money-payment,  as  well  as  m  honorary 
rewards,  the  industrious  and  well-faebaTed 
French  soldier  is  better  treated  than  the  idle 
and  disorderly  one.  Small  services  are  re- 
munerated with  small  gratuities,  while  larger 
ones  are  honoured  with  larger.  What  might 
be  called  domestic  services,  necessary  for  the 
common  welfare,  are  all  strictly  performed  in 
rotation.  No  one  can  reasonably  complain  of 
carrying,  to-day,  a  heavy  burden  to  spare  his 
comrades'  shoulders,  when  those  same  com- 
rades will  bear  for  him  exactly  the  Eame 
number  of  pounds  to-morrow  and  next 
day.  The  cooking,  we  have  seen,  is  done  in 
turn.  A  man  serves  his  month  in  the  kitchen, 
and  while  thus  employed  in  making  6onp 
from  beef,  vegetables,  water,  and  bread, 
remains  exempt  from  other  service.  In  a  fev 
exceptional  cases  (only  in  the  administra- 
tions), the  soldiers  are  permitted  to  ra'we 
amongst  themselves  a  stipend  of  ten  sous  a 
day  to  give  to  their  cook,  as  an  inducement 
for  him  to  remain  a  permanent  manufacturer 
of  broth,  and  to  prevent  its  being  spoiled  by 
too  frequent  a  change  of  hands.  The  corpo- 
rals take  their  month's  turn  of  officiating  as 
master  cooks.  Theirs  is  the  office  to 'taste 
and  pronounce  judgment  in  contests  about 
pepper  and  salt,  fat  and  lean,  big  bits  or 
little,  thicker  or  thinner  siloings  of  bread,  and 
coarser  or  finer  shreddings  of  cabbages  and 
leeks. 

Forethought  is  surely  indispensable  when 
the  welfare  of  thousands  of  men  is  at  stake, 
and  when  those  men  are  the  defenders  of  a 
nation.  Sad  experience  has  taught  us  what  a 
perishable  thing  an  army  is.  From  the  first 
moment  when  the  component  parts  of  an  army 
begin  to  draw  together  towards  their  co^ 
mon  centre,  even  before  they  form  one  united  , 
body,  they  have  a  daily  tendency  and  liability 
to  suffer  diminution  of  their  aggregate  nu^ 
ber.  When  the  army  is  actually  formed,  and 
begins  to  move  either  in  one  or  in  several 
large  masses,  the  tendency  greatly  increases. 


Digitized  by  LjOOQIC 


Clmia  Dtckena.-] 


FRENCH  SOLDIERS  IN  CAMP. 


487 


la  both  cases  there  are  idlers,  stragglers,  and 
dronkar^,  who  are  left  behind,  are  missing 
for  a  time,  and;  perhaps,  join  their  company 
subsequently,  perhaps  do  not.  Even  in  the 
native  land  of  the  troops,  or  in  a  friendly 
country,  all  snch  as  these  are  virtual 
deserters,  and  many  of  them  would  become 
really  so  if  they  happened  to  be  in  a 
hostile  territory.  Join  to  this  cause,  disease 
and  slaughter,  the  attacks  of  the  weather, 
as  well  as  of  the  enemy,  and  we  need 
indeed  admire  the  wise  forethought  which 
^distinguishes  the  French  war  administration. 
The  loan,  by  Greneral  Canrobert,  of  ten  thou- 
sand great  coats  to  our  shivering  troops,  was 
a  noble  triumph  and  a  proof  of  superiority 
which,  in  the  eyes  of  many  Frenchmen,  almost 
compensates  for  the  reverse  of  Waterloo. 
"Were  a  French  army  required  to  move,  say 
to  the  Prussian  frontier  only,  oflBcial  pre- 
cursors would  be  sent  forward,  to  see  that 
stores  and  all  other  things  required  were 
ready  there,  before  the  men  would  be  suf- 
fered to  stir.  We  have  been  enjoying  a  peace 
of  some  forty  years ;  in  our  first  war  after- 
wards we  threw  away  in  a  few  months  some 
forty  thousand  noble  soldiers.  In  other  words, 
red-tape  mismanagement  cost  us  at  the  rate 
of  a  thousand  fine  men  a  year  for  forty 
years.  An  awful  hecatomb  to  have  immo- 
lated before  the  shrine  of  privileged  and 
exclusive  incompetency ! 

But,  a  good  war  administration  is  not 
formed  in  a  single  year.  The  French  military 
organisation  has  been  gradually  and  care- 
fully perfected.  Its  first  grand  step  towards 
improvement  was  the  annihilation  of  aris- 
tocratic privileges  in  the  first  revolution, 
when  the  profession  of  arms  became  an 
open  career,  and  honours  and  rewards  were 
attainable  by  all  who  deserved  them,  irre- 
spective of  birth.  English  soldiers  now  in 
the  East  are  astonished  at  its  efficacy,  and 
are  compelled  by  sad  experience  and  compa- 
rison to  envy  it. 

John  Bull,  at  the  present  day,  can  hardly  be 
so  prejudiced  as  to  refuse  to  adopt  a  good 
thing,  simply  because  it  is  taught  him  by  the 
French.  It  might  answer  the  purpose  of  an 
honest  government,  to  translate  and  publish 
the  army  regulations  of  our  allies,  for  the  be- 
nefit of  Englishmen  who  cannot  read  French. 
Those  of  September,  one  thousand  eight  hun- 
dred and  twenty-five,  "  Rcglemens  sur  le  ser- 
Tice  des  subsistences  militairles,  ou  Reglement 
d^administration  approuv^  par  le  Roi,''  are  a 
master* piece  in  which  all  the  best  ideas  are 
embodied  after  careful  searching  out.  Alter- 
ations have  since  been  made ;  but,  as  they 
tend  to  still  greater  centralisation,  the  origi- 
nal twenty-five  regulations  might  be  more 
favourably  received  in  England.  Then  there 
is  the  **Anauaire  Militaire,"  each  year's 
number  of  which  is  published  in  June. 
Above  all,  a  good  **  personnel,"  well-selected 
individuals  for  the  office  they  hold,  is  a  sine- 
ua-non  in  France.  A  man  who  has  served  ten 


years  in  Algeria,  fighting  the  Arabs  with  one 
hand  and  provisioning  his  troops  with  the 
other,  is  thought  more  likely  to  manage  mat- 
ters in  the  Crimea  than  a  youngster  whose 
only  field .  of  glory  has  been  the  gardens 
of  the  Tuilleries  and  the  Champ  de  Mars. 

The  outward  aspect  of  the  Hon  vault  camp  in 
winter,  is  that  of  a  long  town  of  mud-built 
cabins,  which  might  constitute  a  village  of  In- 
dian wigwams,  but  for  their  number  and  the 
order  in  which  they  are  ranged.  The  front  of 
the  camp,known  as  the  Front  de  bandi^re,  faces 
the  sea,  at  no  great  distance  from  the  edge  of 
the  cliflf ;  and  it  is  to  be  observed  that  this 
front  oocunies  the  same  extent  of  ground  as 
would  be  Avered  by  the  men  in  battle  array. 
The  number  of  huts  is  above  a  thousand, 
comprising  the  stables  and  other  accessories. 
Streets  of  different  width  run  backward 
at  a  right  angle  to  the  front.  Each  camp 
is  divided  into  two  brigades  separated 
by  an  interval  of  thirty  metres.  Between 
the  regiments  of  the  same  brigade  there  opens 
a  street  twenty  metres  wide ;  between  two 
battalions  one  of  fifteen  metres,  and  between 
two  companies  there  runs  a  little  lane  some- 
thing like  a  couple  of  paces  broad.  By  these 
various  outlets  the  men  can  start  forth 
almost  instantly  to  their  place  in  the  ranks, 
when  summoned  to  it  by  trumpet  and  drum. 
Each  hut  is  calculated  to  lodge  a  dozen  men. 
Each  man  has  a  pound  and  a  half  of  bread  per 
day  to  eat,  besides  half  a  pound  to  put  in  his 
soup,  which  contains  also  half  a  pound  of 
meat,  with  rice  and  vegetables.  He  has  a 
daily  allowance  of  sugar  and  coffee.  The 
bread,  baked  in  the  camp,  is  not  given  out 
till  it  is  twenty-four  hours  old.  Amongst 
the  comforts  distributed  when  winter  com- 
menced, were  a  pair  of  wooden  shoes  and  a 
fiannel  cincture  to  every  man.  The  former 
articles  are  most  effectual  preventives  of 
colds,  rheumatism,  chilblains,  and  toothache. 
Gratuitous  theatrical  performances,  at  the 
cost  of  the  Emperor's  privy  purse,  by  a 
clever  company  of  comedians,  are  organised 
for  the  amusement  of  the  troops  during  the 
long  dark  evenings. 

As  to  the  management  of  this  and  other 
camps,  the  war  administration  in  France 
comprises  the  service  of  the  hospitals,  the 
provisioning,  and  the  encampment.  A  gene- 
ral direction,  whose  seat  is  at  the  war 
minister's  office,  transmits,  for  each  service, 
the  orders  of  the  minister.  All  projects,  re- 
gulations, instructions,  are  elaborated  in 
the  bureaux  of  the  general  direction.  It 
includes  in  Its  privileges  the  appointment  of 
the  personnel  and  the  management  of  the 
materiel :  it  directs,  in  one  word,  under  the 
approbation  of  the  minister,  every  movement 
which  circumstances  render  expedient  Each 
service  has  distinct  bureaux,  personnel,  money 
dealings,  transport.  Each  also  has  its 
chief,  sub-chief,  and  clerks.  The  general 
direction  is  also  charged  with  the  verification 
and  the  liquidation  of  the  accounts  produced 


Digitized  by 


Google 


488 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


by  the  accoan table  officers ;  it  points  out  and 
rectifies  errors,  if  any  such  exist ;  allows  the 
expenses  which  it  recognises  as  regular,  and 
puts  a  veto  on  such  as  do  not  appear  to  its 
judp:ment  to  be  suflBciently  justifiable.  The 
vetos  which  it  exercises  the  power  of  pro- 
nouncing are  not  definitive  ;  for  the  parties 
can  appeal  to  the  council  of  state,  which 
gives  a  final  decision. 

The  administrative  personnel  is  composed 
of  intendants,  sub-inteudaots,  and  officers  of 
administration.  Besides  these,  there ^  are 
troops  of  administration,  composed  of  infir- 
micrs,  balcers,  butchers,  masons,  and  so  on,  in 
short,  of  all  the  artificers  and  workmen  who 
are  required  to  execute  diflferetft  services. 
The  intendanta  are  placed,  one  in  each  chef- 
lieu  de  division,  or  military  divisional  central 
town,  one  for  each  corps  d'arm^e.  The  sub- 
intendants  under  their  orders  are  distributed 
amongst  the  ditTerent  garrison  towns,  and 
have  to  act  as  overseers  of  the  administrative 
services.  One  or  more  ofllcers  of  administra- 
tion, according  as  there  is  a  ^'  hopital  majeur,'-' 
a  provision  magazine  or  an  encampment,  are 
placed  in  each  of  these  garrisons  to  perform 
the  administrative  services.  The  intendants- 
major  receive  the  orders  of  the  minister ; 
they  transmit  them  to  the  sub-intendants 
placed  under  their  orders,  who  transmit  them 
to  be  executed  by  the  accountable  officers 
whose  duty  it  is  to  execute  those  services. 

The  services  are  organised  in  such  a  way 
that  when  a  corps-d*arm^e  departs  from  one 
point  to  march  to  another,  the  soldier  has  to 
carry  with  him  nothing  but  his  arms  and 
his  knapsack.  Before  its  departure,  notice  is 
given  to  all  the  places  which  the  troops  have 
to  traverse,  to  hold  in  readiness  everything 
required  for  their  subsistence,  so  that  a  dis- 
tribution is  made  immediately  it  arrives  by 
means  of  the  officers  of  administration.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  intendant-major  of  the 
military  division  towards  which  the  corps- 
d'arm^e  is  travelling,  assembles  at  that  point 
the  necessary  provisions,  which  are  placed  at 
the  disposal  of  an  accountable  officer,  who 
causes  them  to  be  manutentioned  and  dis- 
tributed. 

But  even  French  army  management  is  not 
quite  perfect.  The  same  complaint  is  made, 
though  to  a  less  extent,  as  is  charged  against 
our  lords  of  the  admiralty  in  Sir  G.  Cock- 
burn's  remarkable  posthumous  manifesto; 
namely,  that  those  who  have  the  direction  of 
the  whole  vast  machine,  are  wanting  in  the 
knowledge  of  practical  details.  French  officers 
of  experience  state  that  though  the  military 
administration  of  France  is  superior  to  that  of 
many  other  countries,  it  is  still  deficient  in 
the  important  respect  that  it  does  not  possess 
a  single  practical  man  in  its  highest  region, 
Thus,  the  artillery,  the  engineering,  the 
infantry,  and  the  cavalry,  has  each  its  com- 
mittee at  the  War  Office,  composed  of 
officers  belonging  to  each  service ;  but  the 
general  direction  does  not  cbmprise  in  its 


[CoBdnctcd  b 

y 


body  one  single  officer  of  administration  who 
has  actually  managed  either  hospital  estj^ 
lishments,  or  a  manutentional  service,  or, 
lastly,  magazines  of  encampment  —  duties 
most  favourable  for  the  acquirement  of  the 
knowledge  and  experience  that  are  requisite 
to  judge  whether  certain  innovations  cm  be 
introduced  without  inconvenience,  whether 
the  services  of  the  interior,  or  of  the 
armies  are  properly  executed,  and  what  ame- 
liorations are  most  expedient  in  case  of  need. 
The  absence  of  such  men  compels  the  general 
direction  to  derive  its  theoretical  knowledge 
from  the  mere  reading  of  the  relations. 
Consequently,  when  it  desires  to  mlrodoce 
Improvements,  it  issues  orders  impossible  to 
execute  in  all  their  details  ;  it  saps,  withoat 
intending  it,  the  admirable  edifice  of  the 
"  service  des  subsistences,'^  as  given  in  the 
Reglement  of  September,  'twenty-seven ;  and 
it  renders  intricate,  instead  of  simplifying,  a 
system  of  accounts  which  can  never  be  othc^ 
wise  than  complicated.  | 


SPECIMENS  OF  THE  ALCHEMISTS. 

IX  TWO  CHAFTEBS.     CH1.PTBB  U. 

Nicholas  Flamel  was  bom  at  Pontoise, 
near  Paris,  in  thirteen  hundred  and  twentj- 
eight.  His  father  had  left  him  nothing  bat 
the  house  in  which  he  lived,  and  where  he 
carried  on  the  business  of  a  serif  cner,  which,  \ 
in  those  days,  consisted  in  copying  deeds  and 
writings  in  Latin  and  French.  Printing  not 
being  then  invented,  to  be  a  scribe  or  ccri- 
vener  was  a  regular  profession. 

Flamel  was  a  man  of  genius — ^he  had  some 
skill  in  painting,  and  wrote  poetry  — bnt 
chemistry  was  the  art  which  most  attracted 
him.  In  those  days  chemistry  was  a  mjste 
rious  semi-supernatural  study,  which  pro- 
mised to  its  followers  an  entrance  into  all  the 
hidden  secrets  that  cause  the  appearances  of  i 
things;  it  would  lead  them  into  the  rery 
presence  of  the  invisible  powers  of  nature, 
and  give  knowledge  to  controul  them. 

Nicholas  Flamel  became  an  hermetic  stadent 
towards  the  year  thirteen  hundred  and  fiftj- 
seven.     All  the  seekers  after  the  hermetic 
mystery  cultivated  great  piety  and  humility 
of  heart.     After  a  prayer  and  thanksgiving, 
very  good  but  too  long  to  quote,  Nicholas  , 
proceeds  to  give  some  account  of  his  progrea 
to  the  great  secret,  as  follows :— I,  Nicholas 
Flamel,    scrivener,    living    in    Paris,  ann. 
thirteen    hundred    and  ninety-nine,  in  the  , 
Notary  Street,  near  St.  Jacques  de  la  Bou- 
cherie,  though  I  learned  not  much  Latin  , 
because  of  the  poorness  and  meanness  of  my 
parents,  who,  notwithstanding,  were  (even  by  | 
those  who  envy  me  most),  accounted  good, 
honest,  people ;  yet,  by  the  blessing  of  God.  I 
have  not  wantea  an  understanding  of  the  ^ 
philosophers,  but  learned  them   and  eren 
attained  to  a  certain  kind  of  knowledge  even    . 
of  their  hidden  secrets.     For  which  can*  [I 
sake  there  shall  not  any  moment  of  my  lif^  , 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CbarlM  DIckcw.] 


SPECIMENS  OF  THE  ALCHEMISTS. 


489 


pass,  whcreia  remembering  this  so  vast  good» 
I  will  not,  on  my  bare  kneet!,  If  the  place  will 
permit  it,  or  otherwise  in  mj  heart,  with  all 
the  cntireness  of  my  affections,  render  thanks 
to  this  my  most  good  and  gracious  God. 

After  the  deaths  of  my  parents,  I,  Nicholas 
Flamel,  got  my  living  by  the  art  of  writing, 
engrossing  inventories,  making  ap  accounts, 
keeping  of  books,  and  the  like. 

lu  the  course  of  living  there  fell  by  chance 
into  my  hands  a  gilded  book,  very  old  and 
large,  which  cost  me  only  two  florins.  It  was 
not  made  of  paper  or  parchment,  but  of  admi- 
rable rinds  (as  it  seemed  to  me)  of  young 
trees.  The  cover  of  it  was  of  copper  ;  it  was 
well  bound  and  graven  all  over  with  a 
Btrange  kind  of  letters,  which  I  take  to  be 
Greek  characters  or  some  other  ancient  lan- 
guage. All  I  know  is  that  I  could  not  read 
them,  and  they  were  neither  Latin  nor  French. 
As  to  the  in&ide,  the  leaves  of  bark  were  en- 
graved upon,  and  with  great  industry  writ- 
ten all  over  as  with  a  paint  of  iron,  in  clear 
and  beautiful  Latin  letters  of  divers  colours. 
It  contains  three  times  seven  leaves,  the 
Kventh  being  always  left  without  writing, 
but  instead  there  was  painting.  Upon  the 
first  seventh  there  was  painted  a  virgin,  and 
serpents  swallowing  her  up.  Upon  the  sec- 
ond seventh  there  was  a  cross  with  a  ser- 
p-mt  nailed  thereon.  Upon  the  last  seventh 
tht*re  was  represented  a  desert  or  wilderness, 
in  the  midst  of  which  were  several  beautiful 
foaatains,  with  serpents  coming  out  of  them, 
and  running  about  hither  and  thither.  In 
the  first  page  was  written  in  large  gilt  let- 
ters,— '•  Abraham  the  Jew,  Prince,  Priest, 
Levite,  Astroloi^r  and  Philosopher  to  the 
people  of  the  Jews  by  the  wrath  of  God 
amongst  the  Grauls — greeting."  He  who  sold 
me  this  book  knew  its  value  as  little  as  I, 
who  bought  it.  I  fancied  that  he  had  either 
stolen  it  from  some  of  the  miserable  Jews,  or 
found  it  concealed  in  some  of  their  old  dwel- 
linj?a.  In  the  second  leaf  of  this  book  he  con- 
Boled  his  nation.  Upon  the  third  and  all  the 
following  ones,  written  to  enable  his  captive 
nation  to  pay  -their  tribute  to  the  Roman  em- 
perors, also  to  do  another  thing,  which  I  will 
not  utter ;  he  taught  them  In  plain  words  the 
art  of  the  transmutation  of  metals.  He  paint- 
^  the  vessels  upon  the  margin  of  the 
leaves,  and  described  all  the  colours  as  they 
would  appear  in  the  progress  of  the  work. — 
He  told  everything  except  the  first  agent,  the 
prima  materia  of  which  he  told  not  one  word, 
only  he  declared  that,  upon  the  fourth  and  fifth 
leaves  ho  had  minutely  painted  it.  (This  pri- 
ma materia  it  should  be  observed,  was  the 
heart  of  the  great  secret  which  no  adept  would 
tejl.  Each  had  to  work  to  discover  it  for  him- 
^If.)  These  fourth  and  fifth  leaves  were  with- 
out any  writing,  but  covered  with  fair  figures 
very  bright  and  shining,  as  it  were,  illumi- 
nated. The  workmanship  was  most  exqui- 
site. There  was  first  a  young  man  with 
wmgs  to  his  ankles,  having  in  his  hand  a 


rod  with  two  serpents  twining  round  it,  and 
with  this  he  appeared  to  be  striking  the  hel- 
met which  covered  his  own  head.  In  my 
poor  opinion  this  seemed  to  be  Mercury. — 
Against  him  came  flying  a  great  old  man 
with  an  hour-glass  upon  his  head  and  a 
scythe — like  Death — in  his  hands,  with  which 
he  would  cut  off  the  head  of  Mercury.  On  the 
other  side  of  the  page  was  seen  a  fair  flower 
upon  the  top  of  a  high  mountain,  shaken  by 
the  north  wind.  Its  foot-stalk  was  blue,  its 
flowers  white  and  red,  and  its  leaves  shining 
like  fine  gold :  round  about  it  the  dragons 
and  gprifflns  of  the  north  made  their  nests  and 
habitations.  Upon  the  fifth  leaf  there  was 
seen  a  rose-tree  in  full  flower  growing  beside 
a  hollow  oak-tree,  at  the  foot  of  which  there 
bubbled  up  a  fountain  of  very  white  water 
which  fell  headlong  into  an  abyss  below,  run- 
ning through  the  hands  of  a  crowd  of  people 
who  were  busily  seeking  for  it  by  digging 
into  the  ground,  but  who,  by  reason  of  their 
blindness,  could  not  discern  it,  except  a  few 
who  considered  its  weight.  On  the  other  side 
of  the  fifth  leaf  there  was  a  king,  with  a 
great  faulchion  in  his  band,  causing  his 
soldiers  to  kill  before  him  a  multitude  of 
infants,  the  mothers'  weeping  at  their  feet. 
The  blood  of  these  slain  children  was  then 
gathered  up  by  other  soldiers  and  put  into  a 
great  vessel  wherein  the  sun  and  the  moon 
came  to  bathe. 

All  this  was  painted  upon  the  five  leaves, 
but  as  for  what  was  written  upon  the  rest  of 
the  book,  in  good  and  intelligible  Latin,  I  dare 
not  say  a  word,  lest  God  should  punish  me. 
Having  then  got  possession  of  this  fine  book 
I  did  nothing  but  study  it  night  and  day  ;  for, 
though  I  understood  perfectly  the  mode  of 
conducting  the  operations,  I  did  not  know 
with  what  substance  I  was  to  begin  the  work, 
which  caused  me  great  sadness,  kept  me  in 
solitude,  and  caused  me  to  sigh  incessantly. 
My  wife,  Perronelle,  whom  I  loved  like  my- 
self, and  whom  1  had  but  lately  married,  was 
much  concerned  to  see  me  thus,  and  endea- 
voured to  console  me,  asking  with  all  her 
heart  if  she  could  do  nothing  towards  deliver- 
ing me  from  this  torment.  I  could  not  refrain 
any  longer.but  told  her  every  thing,and  show- 
ed her  my  beautiful  book,  which  she  had  no 
sooner  Le!ijld  than  she  became  as  much  en- 
chanted with  it  as  myself  ;  but  she  under^ 
stood  the  signification  as  little  as  I  did  my- 
self. Nevertheless,  it  was  an  unspeakable 
comfort  to  converse  with  her  and  consult 
what  we  must  do  to  find  out  the  meaning. 

Flamel  goes  on  to  tell  the  various  consul- 
tations be  had  with  the  most  learned  men 
and  scholars  of  Paris.  Setting  about  it  with 
great  discretion,  for  he  neither  parted  with 
his  precious  book  out  of  his  hand,  nor  allow- 
ed any  one  so  much  as  to  look  upon  it,  only 
he  copied  exactly  all  the  figures  and  hiero- 
glyphics. 

At  length  he  met  with  a  student  named 
Anselm,  who  set  up  a  plausible  theory  of  an 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


4iN) 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoBdMteA  by 


ezplfl^DatioD,  which  Flaroel,  declares, "  caused 
me  to  wander  for  one  aod  twenty  years  in  a 
perfect  meander  from  the  verity,  I  went 
through  a  thousand  processes,  yet  never  with 
the  blood  *of  infants,  for  that  I  accounted 
wicked  and  villainous.' '  At  length,  wearied 
out  bv  his  ill-success  he  determined  upon  a 

Eilgrimage  to  Spain,  with  the  full  consent  of 
is  wife.  He  made  a  vow  to  God  and  to 
Monsieur  St.  Jacques  de  Gallicia.  and  deter- 
mined also  to  consult  some  learned  Jew  in 
Spain.  Accordingly  he  made  an  exact  copy 
of  all  the  figures  in  the  book.  Putting  in  a 
few  key-words  for  the  benefit  of  the  scholars, 
and  taking  up  his  scrip  and  staff,  be  set  out 
on  his  journey,  and  in  due  time  reached  the 
shrine  of  St  James,  where  he  accomplished 
his  vow  with  great  devotion.  On  his  way 
home  he  met  with  a  merchant  who  introduced 
him  to  a  Jewish  physician  who  bad  embraced 
Christianity — a  most  learned  roan — Canches, 
by  name,  who  no  sooner  beheld  the  copy  of 
figures  than  he  was  transported  with  ioy,  and 
began  to  ask  many  questions  about  the  book, 
of  which  he  had  heard,  but  feared  it  was 
irrevocably  lost  As  he  evidently  understood 
the  meaning  of  the  enigmas,  Flamel  spared 
no  entreaties  to  induce  him  to  return  with 
him  to  France,  in  which  he  succeeded,  and 
they  set  off  together. 

Upon  the  journey,  says. Flamel,  he  truly 
interpreted  to  me  the  greater  part  of  m^ 
figures,  in  which  even  to  the  points  he  found 
great  mysteries,  but  when  we  reached  Or- 
leans this'  learned  man  fell  ill  from  the 
effects  of  sea-sickness.  At  the  end  of  the 
seventh  day  he  died,  at  which  I  was  much 
affected.  I  buried  him  as  well  as  I  could  in 
the  Church  of  the  Holy  Cross  of  Orleans, 
where  he  still  lies.  God  rent  bis  soul,  for  he 
died  a  good  Christian,  and  certainly,  if  I  am 
not  prevented  by  death,  I  will  give  this 
church  some  alms,  that  it  may  say  daily 
masses  for  his  soul !  And  now,  if  any  one 
would  see  the  manner  of  my  arrival  at  home 
and  the  joy  of  Perronelle,  let  him  look  upon 
us  both  as  we  are  represented  upon  the  door 
of  the  Chapel  of  St  Jacques  de  la  Boncherie 
in  the  City  of  Paris,  on  the  side  that  is  neareet 
to  mv  house,  where  we  are  both  represented 
knet- ling  down  and  giving  thanks  at  the  feet 
of  M.  St.  Jacques  of  Gallicia,  and  Perronelle 
at  the  feet  of  H.  St  John,  whom  she  had  so 
often  invoked.  Well,  although  I  now  possess- 
ed the  prima  materia,  the  first  principle,  I  was 
still  ignorant  of  the  first  mode  of  preparation, 
which  is  of  all  things  the  most  difficult  For 
the  ppace  of  three  years  I  wandered  in  a  lab- 
yrinth of  errors.  X  studied  diligently,  pray- 
ing always  to  God — guessing  my  way  by 
the  words  of  the  philosophers,  and  trying 
eudlt;s8  experiments,  I  at  length  found  what 
I  desired,  which  I  easily  recognised  by  its 
strong  smell.  I  easily  accomplished  the  ma- 
glstery,  for  knowing  the  prime  agents  and  fol- 
lowing the  instructions  of  my  book,  I  could 
not  now  have  failed  in  the  work  even  if  I 


would.  The  first  projection  I  made  was  upon 
mercury,  of  which  I  converted  a  pound  or 
a  pound  and  a  half  into  pure  nlver,  better 
than  any  from  the  mine,  as  I  proved  man  j 
times  by  assay.  This  was  done  in  the  year 
of  our  Lord,  January  thirteenth,  thirteen 
hundred  and  eightv-two,  about  noon,  bein^ 
Monday,  Perronelle  alone  being  present. 
Afterwards  I  made  int)jection  of  the  red  stone 
upon  the  like  quantity  of  mercury  in  the  pre- 
sence of  Perronelle,  in  the  April  of  the  same 
year,  about  five  in  the  afternoon.  This  mer- 
cury I  transmuted  into  almost  an  eqaal 
quantitv  of  ^Id,  but  much  better  than  com- 
mon gold,  being  softer  and  more  pliable.  I 
did  this  three  times  with  the  assistance  of 
Perronelle,  who  could  have  done  it  quite  ma 
well  by  herself.  Truly,  I  had  enough  gold 
when  I  had  once  done  it,  but  I  found  exceed* 
ing  great  pleasure  and  delight  in  seeing 
the  admirable  works  of  nature  within  the 
vessels.  At  first  I  was  afVaid  lest  Perronelle 
should  not  be  able  to  conceal  her  extreme  joy 
and  felicity,  which  I  measured  by  my  ovn. 
I  feared  lest  she  should  drop  some  word  to 
her  relatives  about  the  treasures  we  posses- 
sed, but  the  goodness  of  God  had  not  only 
given  me  a  chaste  and  virtuous  wife,  who 
was  capable  of  understanding  reason,  but 
able  also  to  do  what  was  reasonable,  and 
more  discreet  and  secret,  than  other  women. 
Above  all,  she  was  religious  and  devout, 
and  therefore,  seeing  herself  without  hope 
of  children  and  well  stricken  in  years,  she 
made  it  her  duty,  as  I  also  did,  to  think 
of  God— to  do  works  of  mercy  and  char- 
ity. Up  to  this  year  fourteen  hundred  and 
thirteen,  when  I  write  this  commentary,  three 
vears  after  the  death  of  my  faithful  compan- 
ion— whom  I  shall  never  cease  to  regret  all 
the  days  of  my  life — she  and  1  together  have 
founded  and  endowed  fourteen  hofpital«  in 
the  city  of  Paris  ;  we  have  built  three  new 
chapels;  decorated  and  endowid  seven 
churches,  and  repaired  three  cemeteries; 
besides  what  we  have  done  at  Boulogne, 
which  is  scarcely  less  than  what  we  have  done 
here  ;  not  to  speak  of  acts  of  charity  which 
we  did  to  widows  and  orphans  ;  which,  it  I 
should  divulge,  my  reward  would  be  only  in 
this  world,  besides  being  unpleasant  to  ibe 
perwns  whom  we  benefited.  Upon  the  fourth 
arch  in  the  Cemetery  of  the  Innocents,  is 
you  go  through  the  great  gate  of  St  DeniA, 
upon  the  right  hand  side,  f  caused  to  be  np- 
resented  the  true  and  esbcntial  meaning  of 
the  art— disguised  under  veils  and  bieroglj- 
phics,  like  those  in  my  book — so  that  ac- 
cording to  men's  capacity  they  may  uudt^ 
stand  either  the  mysteries  of  our  retium^c- 
tion  at  the  day  of  judgment,  or  they  may 
discern  all  the  principles  and  necessafy  ope- 
rations of  the  magistery,  and  see  their  w«x 
direct  to  the  great  work. 

Notwithstanding  their  modesty  and  secrfcj 
the  report  of  the  riches  and  mnniflctot 
charities  of  Flamel  and  his  wife  came  to  ibe 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CbuiM  DlekcB*.] 


SPECIMENS  OF  THE  ALCHEMISTS. 


4»1 


ears  of  the  kin^— Charles  the  Sixth.  He 
860^  M.  Cramoisi,  maitre  des  rq^aetSs,  to 
inquire  into  the  matter.  This  magistrate 
went  to  Flamel's  house,  where  he  found  them 
at  dinner.  A  wooden  platter  of  boiled  green.<< 
was  placed  upon  a  stool :  Perronelle  sat  upon 
one  side  and  Flamel  upon  the  other — this 
did  not  look  like  unlimited  riches.  M.  Cra- 
moisi  reported  to  the  king  that  he  believed 
them  absolutely  in  indigence,  and  they  were 
left  in  peace.  Flamel  died  about  March  in 
the  year  fourteen  hundred  and  nineteen. 
The  most  remarkable  part  of  their  history 
remains  to  be  told,  though  it  can  of  course 
be  only  a  legend.  Paul  Lucas,  who  travelled 
in  the  East  by  the  order  of  Louis  the  Four- 
teenth— to  whom  hie  book  is  dedicated — gives 
the  following  account  of  a  curious  adventure 
which  befel  him.  I  was  at  Broussa,  in 
Katolia,  and  going  to  take  the  air  with  a 
person  of  distinction,  we  came  to  a  little 
mosque  which  was  adorned  with  fountains 
and  gardens  for  a  public  promenade.  We 
were  introduced  into  the  cloisters,  and  there 
we  found  four  dervishes,  who  received  us 
with  civility.  They  were,  we  were  toldj  all 
persons  of  the  greatest  worth  and  learning  : 
ooe  of  them«  a  man  of  extraordinary  learning, 
seemed  in  appearance  to  be  about  thirty 
years  old,  but.  from  his  discourse,  I  am  con- 
vinced he  must  have  lived  a  century.  He 
told  me  he  was  one  of  seven  friends  who  tra- 
velled to  perfect  their  studies,  and  every 
twenty  years  met  together  in  a  place  pre- 
viously agreed  upon.  Broussa  was  the  place 
of  their  present  meeting,  and  four  of  them 
were  already  arrived.  We  discoursed  upon 
many  things  ;  at  length  we  fell  upon  che- 
mistry, alchemy,  and  the  cabala.  I  told  him 
that  all  these,  especially  the  philosopher's 
Btone,  were  regarded  bv  all  men  of  sense  as 
a  fiction.  **  The  sage,"  replied  he,  **  hears 
the  ignorant  without  being  shocked.  When  I 
fipeak  of  a  sage  I  mean  one  who  sees  all  things 
die  and  revive  without  concern  :  he  has  more 
riches  in  his  power  than  the  greatest  kings ; 
hut  he  lives  temperately  above  the  power 
of  events."  "  With  all  these  flue  maxims," 
^id  I,  interrupting  him,  *<  the  sage  dies 
like  other  men."  **  You  are  ignorant  of  the 
Bublime  science,"  replied  he.  "  Such  a  one  as 
I  describe  dies  indeed,  for  death  is  inevitable, 
but  he  does  not  die  before  the  utmost  limits 
of  mortal  existence.  The  sage,  by  the  use  of 
the  true  medicine,  can  ward  off  whatever 
may  hinder  or  impair  life  for  a  thousand 
years."  «'  Would  you  persuade  me,"  said  I, 
"that  all  who  possessed  the  philosopher's  stone 
have  lived  a  thousand  years."  He  replied 
gravely  :  "  Without  doubt,  every  one  might: 
^  depends  upon  themselves."  I  named 
rlamel,  who  was  said  to  possess  the  philoso- 
pher's stone,  but  who  was  dead.  He  smiled 
and  said :  "  Do  you  really  believe  this  T  No, 
my  ftriend  ;  neither  Elamel  nor  his  wife  is 
dead.  It  is  not  three  years  since  I  left  them 
m  the  Indies :  he  is  one  of  my  best  ft^iends. 


When  Charles  the  Sixth  sent  M.  Cramoisl 
to  him  to  inquire  the  origin  of  bis  riches,  he 
saw  the  danger  he  was  in.  He  soon  after 
spread  the  report  of  his  wife's  death,  and  sent 
her  away  to  Switzerland  to  wait  for  him. 
He  celebrated  her  funeral,  and  a  few  years 
after  ordered  his  own  coffin  to  be  interred. 
Since  that  time  they  have  lived  a  philosophic 
life,  sometimes  in  one  country  and  sometimes 
in  another." 

Cela  sent  la  Patchouli  is  very  different 
ftrom  the  truthful  simplicity  of  Flamel 
himself ;  but  no  one  can  be  responsible 
for  what  is  said  of  them  by  others.  This 
legend  may,  however,  be  found  in  the  first 
volume  of  Lucas's  Travels,  page  seventy- 
nine.  Flamel  gave  a  quantity  of  his  powder 
to  Perronelle's  nephew,  M.  Perrier  :  from 
him  it  descended  to  Dr.  Perrier  :  and  some 
of  it  was  found  by  his  grandson  Dubois,  who 
was  destitute  of  his  grandfather's  prudence 
and  moderation,  and  exhibited  the  sacred 
miracle  to  improper  persons.  He  was  brought 
before  Louis  the  Thirteenth,  and  transmuted 
a  quantity  of  base  metal.  He  pretended  he 
could  make  the  powder,  but  he  failed  of 
course,  being  vainglorious  and  ignorant.  The 
king  suspected  him  of  wilfiilly  withholding 
the  secret,  and  he  was  hanged  for  his  pains  ; 
leaving  a  warning  to  all,  to  manage  their 
secrets  with  discretion. 

Count  Bernard  of  Treviso,  with  whom  we 
shall  close  our  specimens  of  this  curious  body 
of  learned  men,  was  born  at  Padua,  in  four- 
teen hundred  and  six,  and  died  in  fourteen 
hundred  and  ninety,  although  the  adepts 
declare  that  he  lived  for  four  hundred  years. 
He  has  left  a  very  naive  account  of  his  tribu- 
lations in  search  of  the  great  secret,  which 
might  well  discourage  less  courageous  adepts. 
The  first  author,  says  he,  who  fell  into  my 
hands  was  Rhases,  when  I  was  about  fourteen 
years  of  age.  I  employed  four  years  of  my 
life,  and  spent  better  than  eight  hundred 
crowns  in  proving  it.  Then  I  took  up  Geber, 
who  cost  me  again  two  thousand  crowns  and 
upwards  ;  besides  which,  numbers  of  people 
came  about  me,  who  pretended  to  be  adepts, 
to  lure  me  on.  The  book  of  Archelaua  occu- 
pied me  for  three  years.  Whilst  engaged 
upon  it  I  met  with  a  monk,  and  we  both 
worked  together  for  the  space  of  three  years. 
We  followed  the  instructions  of  Rupecissa, 
and  worked  with  alcohol,  while  we  rectified 
more  than  thirty  times,  until  no  glass  that 
we  could  find  was  strong  enough  to  hold  it 
We  spent  in  this  work  three  hundred  crowns. 
After  living  thus  twelve  or  fifteen  years, 
finding  nothing,  after  making  experiments  to 
dissolve,  congeal,  and  sublime  common  salt, 
sal-ammoniac,  all  kinds  of  alum  and  copperas, 
marchasites  (all  stones  containing  metal  of 
any  kind  were  called  thus),  blood,  hair,  all 
species  of  animal  or  vegetable  secretion.  I 
proceeded  by  eveir  means— distillation,  sub- 
limation, circulation,  hj  separation  of  the 
elements  both  by  alembic  and  athanor  (this 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


492 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


«*y 


was  a  close  inDer  funiaoe  which  was  kept 
carefullj  at  the  same  temperature.  It  was 
heated.  Dot  with  vulgar  fuel,  but  with  a  cer- 
tain matter,  about  which  every  philosopher 
made  a  great  secret  It  produced  a  fire  not 
liable  to  be  extinguished.  It  was  called 
philosopher's  fire,  and  generally  produced  by 
animal  matter),  by  putrefaction,  by  circula- 
tion, by  decoction,  and  by  an  infinitude  of 
other  modes.  All  these  operations  I  pur- 
sued for  twelve  years,  by  which  time  I  was 
thirty-eight  years  old.  I  had  spent  besides 
upon  the  extraction  of  mercury  from  herbs 
and  animals  about  six  thounuid  crowns. 

We  ought  to  tell  the  reader  that  Count  Ber- 
nard was  somewhat  credulous.and  was  victim- 
ised by  pretenders  to  the  science,  who  spent 
his  money  for  nothing.  Had  he  been  a  poorer 
man  be  might  have  carried  on  his  work  at 
much  less  expense.  He  relates  in  a  piteous 
tone  how  he  spent  twenty  years  in  calcining 
egg-shells,  in  calcining  copperas  with  vinegar, 
dissolving  silver  with  aquafortis,  but  all  with- 
out any  result.  Then,  says  he,  I  abandoned 
my  attempts,  for  all  my  relations  tormented 
and  blamed  me  to  snch  a  degree  that  I  could 
not  either  eat  or  drink.  I  had  become  so 
emaciated  and  disfigured  that  everybody  who 
saw  me  believed  I  bad  been  poisoned.  I  was 
more  than  fifty-eight  years  old  ;  and  alas,  all 
these  years  I  have  been  working  in  the  wrong 
direction  I  He  then  set  off  on  his  travels  to 
see  if  the  philosopher's  stone  were  concealed 
in  any  other  corner  of  the  world.  He  tra- 
velled into  every  known  country,  trying  an 
infinity  of  experiments  wherever  he  went 
But,  says  he,  I  found  only  people  work- 
ing in  the  wrong  direction,  and  I  spent  upon 
these  things,  in  goings,  and  comings,  and 
trying  experiments,  more  than  ten  thousand 
three  hundred  crowns.  He  was  reduced  to 
extreme  poverty  by  this  time,  and  all  his  re- 
lations and  friends  forsook  him,  as  a  disgrace 
to  his  family  ;  and  he  records  that  in  great 
pain  and  shame  he  was  obliged  to  quit  his 
country,  trusting,  however,  always  in  the 
mercy  of  God,  who  never  forsakes  those  who 
work  faithfully.  He  went  to  Rhodes,  where 
he  hoped  to  live  unknown,  and  ^*  there  I 
sought  if  I  might  find  anything  to  comfort 
me.''  He  found  a  learned  and  religious 
man,  who  again  caused  him  to  lose  both 
time  and  money.  Bernard  contrived  to 
borrow  eight  hundred  crowns,  and  in  three 
years  it  was  all  gone.  He  took  then  to  ob- 
serving the  operations  of  nature,  and  reading 
the  works  of  tbe  old  alchemists,  such  as 
Arnold,  Villa  Nova,  The  Tarba,  Ac.  He 
was  by  this  time  seventy-three  years  old — his 
patience  and  courage  still  invincible.  His 
last  effort  was  crowned  with  success.  At  the 
age  of  seventy-five  he  discovered  the  Great 
Secret !  He  wa*  old,  and  the  natural  infirmi- 
ties of  age  were  aggravated  by  the  life  of 
hardship  ne  had  led.  exposed  to  the  noxious 
vapours  of  his  furnace,  and  still  more  by 
the  corroding  anxiety  and  inquietude  of  his 


pursuits.    He,  however,  lived  several  years 
to   enjoy    his  success,    and    by  no    mean« 
regretted  bis  pains  and  labours.      He   left 
behind  him  an  apophthegm  conataotly  cited 
by  the  masters  of  the   Mu;red  art  :  Katnre 
contains  nature — Nature  rejoices  in  its  own 
nature.      His  works   were  greatly   H>ugfat 
after  by  adepts.     His  most  important  one  is 
entitled,   Of  the  Great  Secret  of  Philoso- 
phers.    It  is  tbe  one  from  which  we  have 
quoted  his  life.    The  Antwerp  edition  is  in 
Latin— fifteen  hundred  and  sixty-seveD — an 
excellent  and  cnrious  work.    It  is  divided 
into  four  parts  :  first,  of  those  who  first  dis- 
covered this  precious  art ;  in  the  second  be 
narrates  his  own  pains,  experience,  and  per- 
severance ;   in  the  third  part  be  expoftes  tbe 
principles  and  elements  of  metaU  ;  in   tbe 
fourth  be  professes  to  tell  the  great  secret, 
which  we    transcribe  for  our   readers.    Of 
coarse  it  is  in  the  form  of  a  parable.    *'  I  one 
day  was  wandering  in  the  fields,  and  I  came 
upon  a  fair  fountain  surroundtd  with  palli- 
sades.    None  except  the  king  of  tbe  country 
has  the  right  to  approach  and  bathe  therein. 
The  king  goes  into  it  by  himself :  none  may 
accompany  him.    So  soon  as  he  nas  entend 
the  enclosure,  he  takes  off  bis  robe  of  cloth 
of  fine  beaten  gold,  and  hands  it  to  his  bead 
man  who  is  named  Saturn.     Saturn  takes  it 
and  keeps  it  for  forty  days.      The  king  then 
takes  off  his  undergarment  of  fine   black 
velvet,  and  hands  it  to  his  second  man,  who 
is  Jupiter,  who  keeps  it  for  twenty  long  daysi 
Then  Jnpiter,  at  the  command  of  the  king, 
gives  it  to  the  Moon,  who  is  his  third  atten- 
dant, beautiful  and  reFplendent ;  (he  keeps 
it  twenty  days  also.    The  king  is  now  in  his 
shirt — pure  and  white  like  snow.    Then  he 
takes  off  his  shirt,  and  gives  it  to  Mars, 
who  keeps  it  forty  days.     After  that  Mars 
bands  it  to  the  Sun.   It  has  become  yellow  and 
not  clear.     The  sun  keeps  it  twenty  days^ 
when    it   becomes    beautifbl  and    red.     I 
met  with  an  old  priest,  who  told  me  therc 
thiuffs.    I  said  to  him,  <  Of  what  use  is  all 
this  7 '      He  replied, '  God  made  both   oae 
and  ten,  a  hundred  and  a  thousand,  and  mal- 
tiplied  the  whole  ten  times.      I   said,  *  I  do 
not  understand  this.'    He  answered,  *  I  will 
tell  thee  no  more,  for  I  am  weary.'     I  then 
perceived  that  he  was  tired.      I,  too,  felt  aa 
inclination  to  sleep  1 " 


FIEND-FANCY. 


Unless  our  memory  be  so  slippery  as  to 
have  lost  all  tenacity  whatever,  it  was  Hein- 
rich  Heine  who  dwelt  with  great  onctioa 
upon  the  difference  between  the  sopematnral 
beings  who  inhabit  German  moantains  and 
forests  and  those  that  spring  up  so  decorously 
in  the  fiend  salons.  In  Germany,  horrtbW 
old  women,  rich  in  whirlwinds,  hideoos 
dwacfs — hideous  even  when  beneyolent— 
dwell  in  lonely  ravines ;  wild  hnntsmes 
clatter  through  the  air.    The  fiend  flitry,  ob 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CbttlctDlckaM.] 


FIEND-FANCY. 


493 


tbe  other  hand,  moves  in  good  society,  she 
uses  her  handsome  carriage  when  she  pa^s  a 
visit  to  a  royal  prot6g6,  and  if  she  is  received 
with  reppectful  awe  it  is  not  because  she  is 
excessively  terrific,  but  because  she  is  exces- 
sively dlstlngnfee.  Among  tbe  writers  of 
fiend  fairy  tales  :  from  the  Countess  d*Aulnoy 
(recently  brought  before  the  world  by  Mr. 
Planch^^s  new  edition,  of  which  more  anon)  to 
Mademoiselle  De  la  Force,  the  fancy  that  pre- 
vails is  rather  of  the  tasteful  and  decorative 
than  of  the  wild  and  roaming  kind.  No  child 
would  go  to  bed  frightened,  after  reading  any 
one  of  the  Countess  d'Aulnoy's  tales,  unless  we 
make  an  exception  in  disfavour  of  the  Golden 
Branch,  as  being  a  fiction  well  fitted  to  cause 
unpleasant  dreams.  Mr.  Planch^  says  of  this 
strange  story, — that  it  is  one  of  the  most 
elaborate  and  original  of  the  series, — and  we 
heartily  assent  to  his  opinion  ;  but  we  trust 
that  he  will  tell  us  some  day  how  such  a  ter- 
ribly grotesque  invention  round  its  way  into 
a  collection  of  such  genteel  and  courtly  fables. 

The  beautifying  process  of  the  fiend  mind. 
in  dealing  with  popular  superstition,  is  no> 
where  more  clearly  t^hown  than  in  the  case  of 
Sante  Klass — the  supernatural  patron  of 
good  children  in  Germany.  The  name  of  this 
being  is  a  corruption  of  Saint  Nicholas,  and 
this  saint  is  no  doubt  the  personage  he  is 
made  to  represent,  though  popular  tradition 
in  handing  him  down  haa  nsed  him  very 
roughly,  and  he  comes  to  us  all  the  worse  for 
wear.  According  to  ecclesiastical  tradition, 
which  is  very  different  from  the  folk-lore  on 
the  subject,  he  flourished  some  time  in  the 
fourth  century,  and  greatly  distinguished 
himself,  while  yet  a  child  in  arms,  by  refusing 
to  imbibe  the  maternal  nutriment  on  Wed- 
nesdays and  Fridays.  In  course  of  time  he 
became  Archbishop  of  Myra,  in  Syria;  he  is 
said  to  have  suffered  imprisonment  during  the 
persecution  of  Diocletian  ;  and  is  mentioned 
among  the  assistants  at  the  great  council  of 
Nice. 

The  Rev.  Alban  Butler,  though  he  records 
the  fact  that  St.  Nicholas  is  particularly  the 
saint  of  children  Judiciously  omits  the  anec- 
dote by  which,  during  his  lifetime,  he  con- 
spicuously manifested  his  protecting  care  for 
wronged  innocence.  In  the  course  of  his 
travels  he  fell  in  with  an  avaricious  inn- 
keeper, who  not  only  coveted  the  property  of 
three  children  committed  to  his  charge,  but 
slew  them  all,  and,  after  cutting  them  up. 
put  their  limbs  in  a  pickling-tub,  on  the  pre- 
tence that  they  were  pork.  The  worthy 
bishop  had,  however,  an  ogre-like  scent  for 
fresh  meat,  and  sniffing  out  the  crime,  sum- 
moned the  three  children  to  rise  from  the 
tub,  whence  they  issued,  safe  and  sound,  to 
the  terror  and  confusion  of  the  wicked  inn- 
keeper. In  England  the  glory  of  the  saint 
was  long  celebrated  by  a  well-known  festival, 
on  Innocent's  Day  (twenty-eighth  December), 
at  which  a  youngster  was  dressed  up  as  a 
boy-bishop,  and  received  episcopal  honours 


as  a  representative  of  Saint  Nicholas.  One 
of  these  youths  having  the  good  fortune  to 
die  during  the  brief  period  of  his  exaltation, 
obtained  a  monument  in  Salisbury  Cathedral. 
At  Ratisbon  there  was  a  similar  ceremony, 
and  also  at  Mayence  :  with  this  distinction  at 
the  latter  place,  that  tbe  boy-bishop  was 
elected  on  the  sixth  of  December,  being  the 
day  dedicated  to  Saint  Nicholas  himself. 

It  will  be  observed  that  both  by  his  own 
day  and  by  Innocent's  Day,  which  is  con- 
nected with  him  by  an  odious  association  of 
ideas,  the  good  archbishop  presses  very  close 
upon  Christmas.  Now.  Uhristmas,  with  all 
its  jollity,  is  a  gloomy  season  of  the  year,  and 
a  supernatural  benefactor  who  confers  his 
blessings  on  dark  nights  is  very  likely  to  be- 
come among  a  people  like  the  Germans  a 
source  rather  of  terror  than  of  gratification, 
— especially  if  he  be  discriminating  in  his 
kindness,  and  punish  infantine  delinquency, 
while  he  rewards  juvenile  virtue.  In  Upper 
Suabia,  where  the  power  of  St.  Nicholas 
seems  to  be  more  firmly  establised  than 
elsewhere  by  popular  tradition,  he  becomes 
with  all  his  kindness  as  arrant  a  bogie  as 
ever  was  domiciled  in  a  coal-hole  by  the 
legendary  lore  of  a  London  nurse-maid.  Hav- 
ing shown  himself  a  little  on  the  two  or  three 
previous  Sundays,  he  fairly  comes  out  on 
Uhristmas-eve:  his  usual  characteristics  being, 
a  black  smutty  face,  a  dress  of  pea-straw,  a 
basket  on  the  back,  and  a  stick  and  chain  in 
the  hand.  In  some  places  he  varies  his 
costume  by  wearing  a  fur-cap  and  carrying  a 
bill, — and  it  is  probably  on  account  of  the 
former  article  that  he  is  sometimes  named 
Pelzmarte  or  Pelzmichel  (that  is,  Fur-Martin 
or  Michael  (instead  of  Sante  Klass.  At  a 
place  called  Marbach  he  once  rode  on  horse- 
back, and  his  discriminating  nature  was  here 
80  well  established  that  parents  gave  him  the 
naughty  children  on  purpose  to  be  whipped. 
He  faithfully  executed  his  office,  but,  when  it 
was  performed,  the  benevolent  side  of  hia 
character  was  brought  forward,  and  the 
chastised  urchin  received  a  donation  of  nuts 
and  cakes  from  the  grim  dispenser  of  justice. 
When  the  saint  came  on  horse-back,  the 
children  were  expected  to  set  out  a  large  dish 
of  oats,  which  they  had  previously  collected 
in  their  shoes,  for  the  entertainment  of  the 
steed.  It  may  be  observed  generally  that  the 
Christmas  visitor  is  no  mere  creation  of  the 
imagination  or  even  of  the  memory.  Some 
strapping  fellow  assumes  the  awful  guise 
of  tbe  patron,  and  thus  the  promises  of  re- 
ward and  the  threats  of  punishment  are 
easily  fulfilled. 

Wander  from  Germany  to  the  French 
border,  to  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Jura,  and 
obf^rve  bow  light  and  gay  the  patron  of 
infancy  becomes.  A  bell  is  heard  to  ring  at 
Christmas  time,  as  in  the  case  of  Sante  Klaas, 
but  it  is  the  little  bell  ordinarily  used  as  a 
donkey-courant.  and  it  announces  that  Aunt 
Arie*-a  beautiful  being— has  arrived  at  the 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


494 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CC«HMhiet<4  Vy 


boune,  and  the  children  catering  an  inner 
apartmeot  find  a  store  of  toys  and  delicacie?. 
Compare  La  Sante  Aric,  whose  verj  name 
denotes  a  light  etherial  nature,  and  whose 
kindly  face  is  one  of  her  essential  charac- 
teristics, with  the  moody  Klaas,  who  will 
not  deign  to  look  engaging,  even  when  he 
comes  to  perform  a  friendly  action,  but  is  in- 
variably black  and  repelling !  Auot  Arie  is 
a  declared  enemy  to  idleness,  but  her  method 
of  correcting  is  widely  remote  from  the  rude 
corporeal  chastisement  iaflicted  by  the 
Suabian  masterpiece  of  morals.  When  the 
carnival  has  arrived,  a  notable  damsel  is  ex- 
pected to  have  all  the  flax  spun  off  her  distaff ; 
and  when  any  is  left,  Aunt  Arie  testifies  her 
displeasure  by  entangling  the  threads.  She 
can  do  mischief,  but  she  cannot  become 
frightful. 

Such  is  the  graceful  courtly  manner  in 
which  fiend  fancy  exerts  itself  in  influencing 
the  juvenile  mind.  Possibly  our  younger 
readers  may  like  to  be  informed,  that  in  the 
nursery  legends  of  France  there  appears  a 
whole  family,  composed  of  such  delicacies  as 
appeal  to  the  infantine  palate.  Possibly  they 
may  even  like  to  drop  a  tear  over  the  tragical 
history  of  Madame  Tartine,  the  head  of  the 
family  in  question,  which  we  thus  freely  do 
into  English : — 

The  mighty  Lady  Bread^and-Batter 

Dwelt  ia  a  tow*r  of  daintiea  made ; 
The  wnlla  of  puddiog-cnist  were  fathioii*d, 
The  floors  with  cracknels  orerlaid. 
SpoDge-cake  was  her  mattress 

Well  soften 'd  with  milk ; 
Her  bed  bad  for  curtains 
Span  sugar  like  silk. 

Great  Master  Mnffln  did  she  marry. 

Whose  cloak  was  make  of  toa«ted  cheese ; 
His  hat  was  framed  of  nicest  fritters ; 
In  pie-crust  coat  he  walk'd  at  ease  ; 
In  chocolate  waistcoat 
He  look'd  Tery  funny, 
With  stockings  of  candy 
And  slippers  of  honey. 

The  fair  Angelica,  their  daughter,— 

Ah  me  I  what  sweets  the  maid  compose  I— 
Jot  truth  she  was  the  choicest  comfits — 
Of  hardbake  is  her  loTely  nose. 
I  see  her  arraying 

Her  gown  with  i>uch  taste ; 
She  decks  it  with  flowers 
Of  best  pippin-paste. 

Young  Lemonade— that  stately  sor'reign — 

Once  came  tbe  lady  to  adore, 
large  pendant  gems  of  roasted  apples 
Twin'd  in  his  marm'lade  locks  he  wore. 
With  diadem  royal 

Of  cakes  he  was  deck'd ; 
The  circlet  of  raisins 
Oommanded  respect. 


A  guard  of  cneumbers  and  capers 

Accompanied  the  mighty  lord ; 
Their  muskets  were  all  charged  with  mustard. 

Of  onion-peel  was  erery  sword. 
Upon  a  throne  sublime  of  pancakes 

llie  royal  couple  proudly  sat  I 
Bonbons  were  flowing  from  their  pockets 

From  mom  till  ere — and  after  that 
But  wicked  fairr  Oarabos«a, 

Inspired,  no  doubt,  by  Jealous  spite, 
Just  lifted  up  her  ugly  bump^ajid 

Upset  the  palace  of  delight 


MoBALiTi.— (Spoken  by  the  children  ) 

Some  sugar  pray  gire  us. 
Dear  father  and  mo'her, 

And  we'll  do  our  utmost 
To  build  up  another. 


CHIPS. 


DEADLY  SHAFTS. 

Wb  have  been  calling  attention  lately  to 
the  preventible  accidents  arising  out  of  no- 
fenced  shafts;  and  the  last  words  we  said 
upon  the  subject  were  in  reference  to  tbe 
misstatement  of  a  Bradford  newspaper,  by 
which  we  were  accused  of  serving  up  the 
tumbles  and  kicks  falling  to  the  lot  of  boys 
at  play,  as  cases  of  death  and  mutilation  in 
the  mills.  Our  comment  bad  been  bat  a  few 
days  before  the  world,  when  we  were  favoured 
by  a  Bradford  correspondent  with  a  specimen 
of  the  degree  of  attention  which  a  newspaper 
of  that  town  (our  censor,  if  we  mistake  not), 
thinks  that  those  little  incidents  of  factory 
life — the  deaths  and  mutilations — ought  to 
get  from  the  public.  It  devotes  two  lines 
and  a  half — one  sentence — eight-and  twenty 
words — of  small  type,  in  an  out-of-the-way 
column,  to  the  narration  of  the  latest  tragedy. 
To  another  correspondent,  who  sends  ns  a 
slip  from  a  Leeds  paper  relating  to  the  same 
event,  we  are  indebted  for  some  published 
particulars  of  this  extremely  inconsiderable 
little  accident.  A  young  man  of  eighteen, 
the  only  son  of  his  father,  was  bookkeeper  to 
a  firm  owning  a  certain  mill.  On  the  last 
Saturday  in  May  the  weaving-rooms  were 
white-washed ;  and.  on  the  succeeding  Tues- 
day, this  young  man— whose  position  of  trust 
is  evidence  that  he  was  not  an  idle  fellow,  of 
whom  Manchester  may  argue  that  he  de- 
served to  be  smashed  alive — this  young  man 
was  helping  others  who  were  engaged  in 
clearing  off  the  marks  of  lime  that  had  been 
left  by  the  whitewashers  upon  some  parts  of 
the  machinery.  While  he  was  so  doing,  in 
stepping  from  one  loom  to  another,  "  his  foot 
accidentally  slipped;  he  attempted  to  seize  the 
gas-pipe  to  preserve  his  balance,  bat  instead 
of  the  pipe  he  grasped  the  side  shaft  which 
drove  the  loom.  His  loose  dress  was  immedi- 
ately caught,  and  he  was  then  drawn  np  and 
twisted  round,  the  shaft  revolving  a  hundred 
and  twenty-five  times  per  minute,  and  his 
head  and  feet  with  eveiy  revolution  coming 
in  contact  with  the  ceiling.''    We  are  fdrther 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ClMrlet  DlekMM.] 


CURIOSITIES  OP  LONDON. 


49  5 


old  that  he  was  dashed  against  the  ceiling  in 
this  way  about  one  hundred  and  eighty  times, 
and  that  he  was  then  released,  with  his  legs 
broken,  his  boots  beaten  off,  and  '*  his  heels 
and  feet  torn  and  battered,  his  head  seyercly 
craBbed,  and  his  arms  and  body  also  much 
braised.''  He  had  suffered  all  that  torture 
without  being  killed ;  he  was  taken  up  alive 
and  sent  to  the  infirmary,  where  he  endured  a 
few  more  hours  of  suffering  before  he  died. 
Well,  what  is  this  to  Bradford?  What  can  the 
factory  owners  care.  Little  enough,  thinks 
the  local  editoi^and  therefore  he  takes  care  to 
put  the  trifle  in  a  corner  among  other  trifles, 
wasting  not  more  than  one  sentence  upon  it, 
thus:   '*An  accident  occurred  on  Tuesday 

morning    at mill,  whereby  a  boy  was 

so  severely  injured  by  the  machinery, 
that  be  died  at  the  infirmary  the  same  after- 
noon.'* 

When  the  details  of  the  case  were  sent  to 
08,  there  were  already  two  letters  on  our 
table,  from  gentlemen  who  were  determined 
that  we  should  not  be  convinced,  against  the 
evidence,  by  anything  that  our  antagonists 
might  say.  Never  mind  what  they  say,  we 
were  told  ;  note  what  they  do.  In  these  letters 
came  the  details  of  another  case.  This  victim 
was  a  man  aged  forty-nine,  whose  steadiness  of 
character  is  assured,  one  may  hope,  by  the  fact 
that  he  bad  been  tirirty-five  years  in  the  ser- 
vice of  the  employers  by  whose  unfenced 
shaft  he  was  at  last  beaten  to  death.  He  was 
working  in  the  waf^ihouse  of  some  bleach- 
works  owned  by  a  firm  in  very  high  repute, 
and  was  fastening  one  of  the  clams,  when  his 
woollen  apron  was  caught  h^  an  upright 
shaft  but  eighteen  inches  from  a  wall ;  he 
was  dragged  round,  beaten  against  the 
wall,  and  also  against  an  iron  pipe  in 
the  same  neighbourhood,  and  killed  upon  the 
spot. 

In  each  case  an  inquest  was  held,  and 
the  affair  was  taken  quietly,  quite  as  a 
thing  of  course,  accounts  being  squared  with 
society  by  a  matter-of-fact  verdict :  **  Acci- 
dental death.''  Upon  this,  nevertheless,  must 
follow  that  which  the  National  Association 
(for  the  Protection  of  the  Right  to  Mangle 
Operatives)  calls  the  unjust  and  scandalous 
interference  of  the  law.  That  law,  hitherto 
half  dormant,  is  awake,  and  bent  upon  en- 
forcing the  command  that  all  these  deadly 
shafts  shall  no  longer  mangle  or  murder,  every 
year,  two  thousand  human  creatures ;  but  that 
they  shall  be  henceforward  securely  fenced. 
If  it  were  usual  to  have  an  unfenced  bhaft 
in  the  counting-house,  and  if  only  one  highly 
renpectable  capitalist  had  his  head  beaten 
flat,  his  ribs  cracked,  and  his  feet  wrenched 
from  his  shins  by  it,  the  idea  might  possibly 
occur  to  the  National  Association  that 
there  are  dangers  connected  with  machinery 
against  which  human  life  could  be,  and  there- 
fore ought  to  be,  protectt'd.  Or  will  the 
Association  depute  one  of  its  body  to  try  a 
turn  or  two  about   an  nnfenced  shaft,  and 


thereafter  report  practically  against  the  poet- 
ising vein  of  men  who  pander  to  a  spurious 
humanity  ! 

THB  BIGHT  If  AX  IN  THB  BIGHT  PLAOB. 

The  following  letter  was  addressed  by  a 
candidate  for  office,  to  a  Board  of  Guardians. 
It  is  exactly  copied.  ^ 

8ir— I  have  seen  an  adTertUement  for  a  Master  and 
Matron  for  the  Workhouse.  Now  I  mean  to  try  for 
the  Job  if  >oa  think  Sir,  that  I  can  manage  the 
bnsiness  I  will  leave  it  to  jour  Judgement  wether  I 
can  do,  and  whether  is  it  anjr  use  for  me  to  try 
because  there  will  be  many  otherers  I  supose  now  y  o  u 
see  my  hand  writeing  it  is  rather  bad  and  you  cun  get 
wat  I  can  tolk  of  englis  as  for  Irish  let  me  a  lone  f<>r  is 
I  am  48  yeare  of  age  and  my  wife  is  4b  Khee  can  so 
and  net  and  she  had  far  beter  educasion  thau  I  ever 
had,  I  was  a  farmer  for  80  years  in  the  same  farm  that 
my  Father  and  Grand  Father  was,  pay d  all  the  rent 
in  the  dwe  years,  I  sold  all  my  stock  for  America  an  d 
went  to  Liverpool  and  my  wife  went  poorly  and  we 
put  back  her  i  am  now  doing  nothing  as  for  a  caritor  I 
dont  now  what  to  say  I  am  a  member  of  the  calv  in 
methodist  church  and  was  chost  as  a  Diacon  15  yeare 
ago,  and  I  wel  poove  oil  wat  I  say  and  will  put  £iOQ 
down  for  my  honesty  I  have  no  acwlutance  with 
your  gwardians  a  tol  I  wil  leve  it  to  you  I  have 
a  cooson  I  dont  now  whether  he  belongs  to  your 
Uunion  or  not,  all  that  I  am  afraid  b  of  making  the 
aecouts  yp  I  can  work  single  rul  of  three  but  I  a 
afraid  of  Practice, 

Now  Sir  {  wil  leve  it  to  you,  and  if  you  please  show 
this  to  som  of  the  Qwardiiins  I  dont  now  the  namei 
of  either  of  tht-m.  fie  so  good  as  to  send  me  few 
lines  wether  you  think  better  for  me  to  try  or  no^ 
and  you  think  there  will  be  sum  chance  I  will  Come 
to  the  milling  on  the  10th  of  this  month 

I  am  your  obedient  Sarvant         *    *    * 
Direct  ss  follows       •       •       ♦ 
oil  wat  I  say  is  ia  emest,  and  in  my  own   hand 
writing  and  my  own  words  and  Langwage      Look 
inside  for  the  Stamp 


CURIOSITIES  OF  LONDON. 

Ik  tbe  course  of  tbe  not  unadventurous  life 
of  the  bua.ble  individual  wbo  bas  tbe  honour 
of  addressing  you,  it  was  once  his  fortune  or 
misfortune  to  reside  in  a  small  seaport  town 
of  tbe  Levant  Oranges,  grapes,  dirt,  and 
rascals,  were  the  chief  products  of  tbe  town  I 
will  call  Cattivacane.  There  were  some 
public  buildings  in  tbe  place, — a  little  church, 
than  which  I  have  seen  some  pigsties  hand- 
somer in  England;  tbe  ruins  of  an  old  castle ; 
a  monastery,  dedicated  lo  San  Birbante, 
held  in  peculiar  veneration,  for  not  only  did 
the  best  red  wine  on  tbe  coast  come  from 
its  vineyards,  but  it  was  positively  reported 
to  number  among  its  brotherhood  a  monk 
wbo  could  read  and  write.  There  was  also 
an  infamous  little  den  of  robbery,  extortion, 
indolence,  incompetence,  ignorance,  cheating, 
foul  smells,  and  lies,  called  the  dogona,  or 
custom-bouse ;  and  attached  to  this — like  a 
carbuncle — was  a  miserable  little  shed,  where 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDa 


CGotadocted  by 


all  the  castom-boose  chano  teriBtics  were  to  be 
found  reproduced  apoa  a  smaller  scale — the 
post-office  of  Cattivacane. 

When  any  of  my  friends  in  England  chose 
to  remember  that  I,  the  individual,  was  alive, 
and  out  foreign,  and  were  good  enough  to 
write  to  me,  tbeir  letters,  after  having  paid  a 
prodigious  outward  postage  in  England- 
after  having  been  fumigated  with  nauseous 
odours  in  abominable  lazarettos,  scorched, 
branded  with  hot  irons,  blistered,  punctured 
with  needles,  and  cut  through  and  through 
with  scissors,  greased,  stamped  all  over  with 
illegible  gibberish  in  many-coloured  inks, 
blacltened,  defaced,  and  crumpled  —  were, 
long  after  the  time  of  their  due  delivery, 
brought  to  Cattivacane,  when,  if  they  were 
not  thrown  overboard  in  the  passage  of  the 
boat  from  the  ship  to  the  shore,  or  eaten  by 
the  rats,  or  stolen,  or  used  by  the  sailors 
for  pipe-lights,  thev  were  transferred  to 
our  disgraceful  little  post-office,  to  await 
the  persons  to  whom  they  were  addressed 
coming  to  claim  them.  There  were  no  post- 
men in  the  wretched  place.  There  was  no 
delivery  ;  and  all  that  could  be  done  was  to 
make  periodical  voyages  of  discovery  to  the 
post-office,  and  hunt  diligently  among  the 
letters,  rags,  shavings,  sacks,  and  baskets,  till 

fou  found  the  missive  addressed  to  you. 
lenty  of  letters  directed  to  Malta,  Syria, 
Gallipoli,  and  even  Constantinople,  were 
always  to  be  found  among  our  letters ;  as  to 
newspapers,  they  were  kicking  about  the 
Levant  for  months— mere  flotsams  and  jet- 
sams of  journalism ;  and  report  did  say,  that 
if  a  resident  of  Cattivacane  were  disappointed 
in  receiving  an  expected  communication,  he 
not  unfrequently  indemnified  himself  by  ap- 
propriating as  many  letters  and  newspapers, 
addressed  to  other  places,  as  he  could  find. 

There  were  almost  as  many  difficulties  in 
sending  letters  to  England  as  in  receiving 
them.  You  had  first  to  hunt  for  the  post- 
master, who,  when  be  was  not  asleep,  was 
hunting  fleas,  or  smoking,  or  fuddling  himself 
with  rosolio,  but  lying  and  swindling  always. 
Then,  when  you  had  recovered  from  the  pes- 
tiferous odour  of  rank  oil,  garlic,  and  tobacco 
smoke  which  ordinarily  bung  about  this 
government  officer  (what  a  government  and 
what  an  officer  I),  you  had  the  pleasure  of 
struggling  with  him  as  one  might  struggle 
with  wild  beasts  at  Ephesus,  about  the  date 
of  the  mail-steamers  calling  for  letters,  and 
specially  about  the  amount  of  homeward 
postage.  Much  screaming  in  that  horrible 
compound  of  Italian,  French,  Romaic,  Turk- 
ish, and  thieves'  Latin,  known  as  Lingua 
Franca ;  much  violent  gesticulation ;  much 
expectoration ;  and,  in  many  cases,  threats  of 
personal  violence:  were  always  necessary 
before  a  letter  could  bo  definitely  posted  at 
Cattivacane.  The  altercations  I  have  had 
with  that  postmaster  make  me  tingle  with 
irritation  even  now.  He  cheated  like  a 
thimble-rigger;  he  peijured  himself  like  a 


witness  in  a  running-down  case ;  yet  withal, 
at  last,  he  cringed  like  one  of  Mr.  Van  Am- 
burg's  wild  animals  after  he  has  been  well 
chastised  with  the  crowbar,  and,  wishing  to 
rend  him,  fciwns  upon  him  pitifully.  The 
chief  cause  of  dispute  between  myself  and  the 
postmaster  was  the  (by  him  considered 
undue),  amount  of  manuscript  that  I  chose  to 
send  for  a  single  rate  of  postage.  I  happen 
to  write  a  very  small,  cramped,  microf>copic 
hand,  and  I  ordinarily  use,  when  abroad,  the 
very  thinnest  of  foreign  letter-paper.  It 
used  to  cause  the  knavish  postmaster  of  Cat- 
tivacane the  most  exquisite  annoyance  to 
have  to  receive  and  weigh  my  letters— to  see 
through  the  transparent  envelope  the  close- 
set  lines  crossed  and  re-crossed — to  feel  bow 
many  sheets  of  paper,  closely  written  upon, 
there  were  inside,  and  yet  to  know  that  the 
amount  of  postage  chargeable  upon  this  vast 
quantity  of  written  matter  was  ridiculoasly 
small  I  always  got  the  best  of  him  in  argu- 
ment and  action :  but  only  after  the  abuse, 
gesticulation,  ana  threats  of  which  I  have 
made  mention.  His  favourite  objection — 
dancing,  screaming,  and  pawing  the  air  mean- 
while— was,  "  Troppa  scrlttura  Kyrie  Inglia 
— Troppa  scrittnra  I "  (too  much  writing.  Oh, 
English  Lord — too  much  writing!)  by  which 
I  suppose  he  meant  that  I  wrote  too  small 
a  hand  to  satisfy  the  revenue  of  the  govern- 
ment:  that  there  was  too  much  writing  in 
my  letters,  and  for  too  little  money. 

Now  this  brief  objection,  troppa  scrittura 
(to  explain  the  origin  of  which  I  have  inflicted 
on  yon  the  foregoing  little  apologue),  appears 
to  me  applicable  to  many  other  things  be- 
sides closely-written  letters.  Frequently, 
watching  the  world  as  it  wags,  and  tiie 
dupers  and  duped  walking  up  and  down,  and 
going  to  and  fro  on  it,  I  find  persons.  Institu- 
tions, books,  that  tempt  me  sorely  to  call  out 
troppa  scrittura! — too  much  writing!  The 
eighteenth  of  Gloriana,  cap  six,  sec  four,  with 
its  endless  be  it  further  enacted  and  provided 
always,  will  make  me  cry  out,  almost  dis- 
loyally, troppa  scrittura.  The  filling  of  five 
columns  of  a  newspaper  for  which  I  have 
paid  fivepence,  with  the  five  thousand  names 
of  the  noble  and  honourable  personages  who 
attended  Gloriana's  last  levee  (Long  may^he 
reign !),  all  of  whose  names  I  have  seen  five 
thousand  times  before,  and  never  want  to  see 
again ;  the  correspondence  in  which  I  am  at 
present  engaged  with  her  Migesty's  Post- 
master-C^neral  relative  to  the  banknote  I 
sent  hj  post  last  Christmas  twelvemonth, 
and  which  never  reached  its  destination,  and 
which  correspondence,  bound,  would  make  a 
handsome  folio  volume  already  ;  the  novels, 
tales,  romances,  essays  and  facetious  sketches 
sent  to  me  as  editor  of  the  Boomerang, 
monthly  magazine,  for  perusal ;  the  abomi- 
nable mass  of  roundhtmd  MS.  written  on 
folio  fooolscap  and  stitched  with  green  ferret, 
which  Messrs.  De  Murrev  and  Plee  have  sent 
me,  and  call  their  bill  of  costs ;— these,  and  a 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Charlea  Dlckena. 


CURIOSITIES  OF  LONDON. 


497 


thoasand  things  besides,  move  me  to  exclaim 
in  anger  and  bitterness  of  spirit,  troppa  scrit- 
tora !  troppa  scrittura!  too  much  writing  I 

I  have  before  me  a  work  written  by  Mr. 
JoHX  Times,  F.S.A.,  called  Curiosities  of 
London.  Before  I  commenced  its  perusal, 
and  glancing  merely  at  its  title,  I  found 
myself  sorely  tempted  (being  perchance 
somewhat  bilious  and  hypochondriacal  that 
morning,)  to  ask  Mr.  Timbe  and  myself  the 
question  if  we  had  not  had  troppa  scrittura, 
already  about  London,  its  curiosities,  his- 
tory, antiquities,  topography,  and  general 
social  aspect.  London  past,  London  present, 
London  even  to  come  ;  Koman  London,  Saxon 
London,  Norman  London ;  old  London 
Bridge  ;  the  Tower  of  London  ;  Newgate, 
Whitehall,  Whitefriars  and  Whitechapel;  the 
Strand,  the  squares,  the  streets,  the  lanes, 
the  courts,  the  alleys,  the  suburbs  and  the 
slums  ;  London  characters ;  the  heads  of  its 
people  ;  the  statistics  of  its  trade,  commerce, 
shipping,  consumption  of  provisions,  crime, 
population,  dirths,  deaths  and  marriages ;  the 
mus  of  London,  the  clubs  of  London,  the 
theatres  of  London,  and  the  dens  of  London; 
the  Silent  Highway ;  Smithfield,  the  Parks, 
Vauxhall  Gardens,  and  Highbury  Barn; 
Sunday  in  London  ;  Figaro  in  London  ;  BelPs 
Life  in  London,  Giovanni  in  London  ;  Lon- 
don cries,  London  sights,  London  noise  and 
bustle  J  the  tricks  of  London  trade,  would 
all  seem  to  have  been  written  about  up  to  the 
troppa  scrittura  point.  There  is  scarcely  a 
writer  at  the  present  day,  I  believe,  connect- 
ed with  the  periodical  press,  but  who  has 
written  picturesque,  humourous,  or  descrip- 
tive sketches  upon  the  sights,  characters,  and 
curiosities,  moral  and  physical,  of  the  Great 
Metropolis,  the  Great  Wen,  the  Modern  Ba- 
hylon,  the  World  of  London,  the  Giant  City, 
tlie  Monster  Metropolis,  the  Nineveh  of  the 
nineteenth  century,  et  cetera,  et  cetera,  et 
cetera.  I  even  think  that  desultory  essays 
upon  some  London  curiosities  have  from  time 
to  time  found  their  way  into  this  journal ; 
and  I  am  afraid  I  must  myself  plead  guilty 
spontaneously  to  having  from  time  to  time 
had  something  to  say  in  a  garrulous,  discur- 
sive, rambling,  digressive  manner,  about  the 
bricks  and  mortar,  the  men  and  women,  the 
yps  and  downs,  the  Lords  and  Commons,  of 
London. 

The  question  is,  whether  we  are  yet  arriv- 
ed at  the  troppa  scrittura,  or  too  much  writ- 
ing stage ;  whether  in  the  ponderous  folios 
of  Stow,  Camden,  Pennant,  Strype,  Maitland, 
and  Burgess ;  the  thousand  and  one  guide- 
books; the  lucubrations  of  Ned  Ward  and 
Pierce  Egan ;  the  charming  sketches  of  Ad- 
dison. Steele,  and  Goldsmith;  the  stern 
Vigorous  satire  of  Johnson  ;  the  elaborate  yet 
compendious  handbook  of  Mr.  Peter  Cun- 
ningham; the  positively  innumerable  sketches 
and  essays  upon  London  men,  London  man- 
Dcrs,  and  London  things  that  have  poured 
unceasingly  from  the  press  since  the  time 


of  the  Great  Kevolution,  there  has  been 
yet  sufficient  information  promulgated  upon 
London  topics;  whether,  in  a  word,  there 
was  an  inch  of  ground  left  to  stand  upon 
in  the  field  of  London  literature  when 
Mr.  John  Timbs,  F.S.A.,  came  forward  with 
more  curiosities  than  Mr.  Roach  Smith  and 
Mr.  Bernal  ever  possessed  in  their  collec- 
tions. , 

After  an  amusing  and  instructive  journey 
through  the  book  I  incline  to  the  opinion : 
not  only  that  the  author  of  Curiosities  of 
London  has  done  well,  and  deserves  well  of 
his  country  in  having  said  and  written  the 
things  therein  set  down,  but  also  that  not 
half— nay,  not  one-quarter — nay,  not  one 
tithe  enough  has  yet  been  written  about 
London;  and  that  a  legion  of  novelists, 
essayists,  humourists,  artists,  archseologists 
and  antiquaries  might  forthwith  sit  down 
and  write  volumes  more  on  the  subject  of 
London,  and  that  without  exhausting  the 
subject.  This  is  said  without  the  slightest 
idea  of  disrespect  or  dic^paragement  to  the 
labours  of  Mr.  Timbs.  What  he  has  done  he 
has  done  excellently  well.  He  has  given  us 
much  valuable  information  respecting  the 
monuments,  public  buildings,  streets  and 
parks  of  London  ;  much  curious  gossip  about 
old  taverns  and  coffee-houses,  odd  characters 
and  customs.  We  live  in  half-a-dozen  Londons 
while  strolling  through  Mr.  Timbs's  kindly, 
chatting,  shady-green-lane  sort  of  a  book. 
We  see  the  quaint  Elizabethan  London  with 
its  peaked  gables,  diamond-latticed  windows, 
ruffs,  farthingales,  trunkhose,  floors  strewn 
with  rushes,  streets  infested  by  footpads, 
cavalcades  on  horseback,  clergymen  with 
beards  and  moustachios,  twelve-oared  barges, 
carved  ceilings,  stately,  formal  furniture, 
flat-capped  'prentices,  and  cozy  merchants 
in  velvet  doublets  and  golden  chains.  We 
walk  with  Sir  Thomas  Gresham  on  the  Burse, 
or  take  oars  at  Essex  House ;  or  attend  a 
broad  daylight  performance  at  the  Globe 
Theatre  ;  or  go  to  the  Bear  Garden,  hear  bad 
language  and  see  Sackerson  loose  ;  or  dine  at 
the  French  ordinary;  or  watch  those  hard- 
featured  country  gentlemen  going  to  the 
Commons  House  at  Westminster  to  pass  that 
famous  statute  of  Elizabeth — the  English 
Poor  Law.  Or,  by  a  great  favour,  and  much 
bribery  of  porters  and  guards,  we  are  enabled 
to  penetrate  to  the  sacred  court  itself,  and  see 
a  court  masque,  with  moving  towers ,  ships, 
sailing  on  dry  land,  dancing  fawns  and  satyrs, 
and  fantastic  masquers,  addressing  the  court 
in  paraphrastic  bombast  from  Chapman's 
Homer,  and  bringing  all  the  gods  and 
goddesses  in  Olympus  to  bear  up«n  the 
queen's  highness,  her  virtues,  beauty,  and 
awful  might.  It  is  very  pleasant  to  think  of 
these  things,  cutting  the  leaves  of  this  new 
old  book' ; — pleasant  to  glide  from  the  London 
of  Elizabeth  to  the  London  of  James — Ben 
Jonson's  masques,  Inigo  Jone's  fine  scene- 
painting;    the  powder-plot;  the  suppers  at 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Conducted  bf 


the  Mitre,  the  Mermaid;  and  the  Devil, — that 
Raleigh  and  sturdy  Ben,  and  gentle  Shaks- 
peare,  and  melodious  Hcrrick,  and  antitheti- 
cal, quaint,  half-fanatical,  half-humourous, 
whole  hypochondriac  Doctor  John  Donne 
attended  :  pleasant  and  sad  to  see  the  first 
Charles's  London — the  Star  Chamber ;  Hol- 
lar's House  by  the  river ;  Master  Rubens, 
soon  to  be  Sir  Peter  Paul,  painting  the  ceil-  i 
ing  of  the  Banqueting  House — the  Banquet- 
ing Hou<:e  !  ah  me ! — with  the  apotheosis  of ; 
King  James ;  Henrietta  Maria's  French 
priests  and  shavelings  prowling  about  White- ' 
hall,  and  mobbed  by  zealous  but  somewhat 
intolerant  Protestants  ;  the  Trainbands,  the 
«  melting  of  the  citizen's  plate ;  the  fatal  thir-  , 
tieth  of  January  with  the  Banqueting  House  i 
again ;  the  stiff,  starched,  puritanical,  gloomy 
but  firm  and  iron-willed  London  of  Oliver 
Cromwell ;  theatres  closed,  maypoles  hewn 
down,  superstitious  pictures  burnt  j  commit- 
tees of  sequestration  sitting  out  sermons  four  ' 
hours  long ;  Don  Pantaleon  Sa  going  to 
Tower  Hill  to  be  beheaded;  the  reign  of  the 
Saints  upon  earth :  and  the  luturgy  of  the 
Church  of  England  read  furtively  and  sur- 
reptitiously in  holes  and  corners.  And  then 
a  pleasant,  riotous,  naughty  London ;  coffee- 
houses, the  Mall,  with  the  witty  worthless 
king  walking  faster  than  his  courtiers, 
whistling  to  his  spaniels,  losing  them  too, 
as  often  as  he  lost  his  honour,  and  advertis- 
ing for  their  recovery  in  the  London  Guzette  ; 
feeding  the  ducks,  visiting  the  aviary  in 
the  "  Birdcage  ^'  walk,  giving  Dryden  a  hint 
for  his  poem  of  the  Medal,  riding  about 
among  the  ruins  of  the  Fire  of  London — 
the  only  brave  and  manly  thing  he  ever  did, 
— dicing,  chambering,  and  cheating  Dei 
gratia.     This  London  is  a  brave,  wicked 

glace.  Hackney  coaches,  basset-tables  ;  the 
>uke  of  Buckingham's  chymistries,  paint- 
ings, fiddlings,  and  buffooneries ;  Dryden 
cudgelled  ;  Elkanah  Settle  writing  odes  for 
Lord  Mayor's  day ;  Dr.  Oates's  flowing  peri- 
wig, lodgings  at  Whitehall,  and  atrocious 
perjuries  ;  the  crowds  following  the  body  of 
Sir  Edmondbury  Godfrey  to  the  tomb,  and 
howling  death  to  the  papists ;  the  Plague ; 
the  Fire  ^  the  rebuilding  of  the  mighty  city : 
the  mutinous  sailors  round  Mr.  Samuel 
Pepys'  house,  frightening  the  worthy  Clerk 
of  the  Acts  to  such  an  extent,  that  he  scarce- 
ly dared  send  a  pie  to  the  bakehouse ;  Mr. 
Pepys  himself  oniering  new  clothes  of  his 
tailor,  and  resolving  henceforward  to  "go 
like  himself,"  and  l^  shabby  no  more ;  pot-  | 
tering  about  the  court,  making  that  famous 
speech  of  his  at  the  bar  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  which  lie  records  to  have  been  de- 
clared the  best  speech  that  ever  was  made  ; 
singing  in  duets  of  his  own  composition  ; 
bustling  about  the  theatres,  hearing  Knipp 
her  part  while  Nelly  "  was  all  unready,  and 
was  cursing  because  there  were  so  few  people  ^ 
in  the  pit."  But  we  must  not  tarry  in  this 
London ;  it  has  as  many  curiosities  and  anec- ; 


dotes  as  there  are  grains  of  sand  in  an  boor- 
glass.  Evelyn's  house  at  Deptford,  Ladj 
Castlemaine's  fine  linen,  Dunkirk  House,  the 
Duke  of  Ormond  kidnapped,  and  well-nigh 
assassinated  in  Piccadilly;  Dryden's  boose 
in  Gerrard  Street :  farewell,  thou  wicked, 
witty,  swash-buckling,  roystering,  unprin- 
cipled London  of  the  two  last  Stuart 
kings  I 

The  book  to  which  I  have  referred,  is  per- 
haps richest  in  curiosities  and  chatty  anec- 
dotes relative  to  London  during  the  last  half 
century.  The  writer  shows  us  the  Chapter 
Coffee  House  in  Saint  Paul's  Churchyard,  with 
all  the  wits  and  booksellers  who  were  wont  to 
congregate  there,  and  Alexander  Stevens^s 
favourite  box,  and  Macklln's  gold-laced  cock- 
ed hat.  The  Chapter  was  the  last  house  in 
London  where  you  could  have  a  real  **  dish  of 
tea."  It  more  resembled  a  bason  full  of  tea 
than  anything  else  ;  but  it  was  still  known, 
called  for,  and  recognised,  as  a  dish.  The 
Chapter  also  within  these  very  latter  days 
was  the  house  of  call  for  clergymen  out  of 
place— jobbing  parsons,  as  they  were  expres- 
sively, though  not  very  respectfully  called. 
These  reverend  men  were  accustomed  to  as- 
semble at  the  Chapter  early  on  Sunday  moi^ 
niilgs  ;  with  a  surplice  (not  very  clean  some- 
times), a  pair  of  bands,  and  a  cassock  and 
hood,  conveniently  stowed  in  a  blue  bag.  If 
there  happened  to  be  a  hitch  at  any  metro- 
politan or  even  suburban  church  of  the  Es- 
tablishment any  Sunday  morning  through  the 
absence  or  illness  of  the  incumbent,  forth- 
with an  express  was  sent  down  to  the  Chap- 
ter for  a  jobbing  parson ;  a  bargain  was 
struck  :  and  the  reverend  gentleman  started 
off  to  tne  church  where  he  was  to  do  duty — 
to  read  the  service  or  to  preach  the  sermon 
(which  he  had  ready  written,  and  sometimes, 
I  am  afraid,  ready  printed,  in  his  pocket),  as 
the  case  might  be.  The  usual  fee  was  a 
guinea,  but  half  that  amount  was  sometimes 
accepted ;  and  instances  have  been  known, 
under  peculiar  circumstances,  for  bargains 
to  be  concluded  for  the  performance  of  t 
whole  service,  complete,  including  clean  ca- 
nonicals, for  three  half  crowns  and  a  pint  of 
sherry  wine. 

Considering  that  Mr.  Timbs's  work  forms 
a  thick  and  closely-printed  octavo  volume.  I 
cannot  reasonably  be  expected  to  compress 
into  the  limits  of  this  paper  anything  like  a 
proportion  of  the  Curiosities  mentioned  by 
the  author,  whose  labours  form  the  subject 
of  my  text.  The  ground  is  moreover  so 
tempting,  that  were  I  to  begin  to  discourse 
upon  some  subjects  that  I  love,  I  should  find 
myself  at  the  end  of  my  literary  tether  be- 
fore I  had  half  accomplished  the  task  I  had 
proposed  to  myself.  So  I  must  say.  Farewell 
to  Piccadilly,  Knightsbridge,  Chelsea,  Bromp- 
ton  and  Kensington,  with  all  their  recollec- 
tions, fraught  as  they  are  with  antiquaritn  '. 
and  historical  interest  Farewell  to  more  . 
enticing  Fleet  Street;  Johnson,  Goldrautb;  ; 


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CbwUa  DIckeiM.] 


CURIOSITIES  OF  LONDON. 


499 


Temple  Bar  with  Townley  and  Fletcher's 
skolls  there,  grinniDg  on  spikes  far  into 
George  the  Third's  reign.  Farewell  to  the 
blood-stained  meadows— the  "Field  of  Forty 
Footsteps."  Farewell  to  the  Strand,  Charing 
Cross,  Whitehall,  the  Haymarket,  Pall  Mall, 
and  St.  James's  Street  Much,  and  much 
that  is  interesting,  Mr.  Timhs  has  told  us 
about  these  familiar  haunts  ;  the  old  man- 
sions, old  legends  and  traditions,  old  denizens 
and  frequenters.  More,  however,  much  more 
remains  to  be  said  ;  and  legions  of  Cun- 
ninghams and  Timbs's  yet  unborn  may  write 
octavo  volumes,  thick  and  closely  printed,  as 
useful  and  entertaining  as  their  predecessors, 
before  the  great  well  of  London  curiosity  and 
London  anecdote  can  be  dried  up.  Even  as 
there  are  more  fish  in  the  sea  than  ever  came 
out  of  it,  so  there  are  more  wonders  in  Lon- 
don than  the  most  patient  searcher  for  curi- 
osities has  yet  been  enabled  to  discover. 

I  know  a  few  of  the  curiosities  of  London, 
which  I  shall  be  happy  to  catalogue  for  the 
behoof  of  some  future  museum  of  metropo- 
litan antiquities.  I  think  I  have  seen  London 
under  as  many  aspects  as  most  men,  and 
know  it  tolerably  well ;  its  stony  streets,  its 
heart  of  marble,  and  its  entrails  of  brass.  I 
have  seen  London  from  the  windows  of  a  gilded 
carriage  (not  my  own  though),  I  have  seen  it 
from  the  kerb  where  on  cold  days  I  have  been 
standing  shivering ;  I  have  looked  at  London 
through  the  doors  of  mean  coffee-shops,  and 
through  bars  and  gratings.  The  doors  of 
London  have  been  shut  in  my  face,  and  then, 
after  a  season,  they  have  been  opened  to  me 
with  great  pomp  and  ceremony,  and  I  have 
passed  into  Dives'  house  as  a  guest.  I  have 
seen  London  asleep  and  awake  in  the  early 
morning,  and  in  the  dead  night ;  in  rags, 
aod  in  state  liveries,  in  sickness  and  in 
health,  in  murder  and  sudden  death.  I  have 
gone  up  the  Grand  Staircase,  and  have 
taken  an  ice  from  John  the  footman's  tray, 
and  I  have  gone  down  into  the  cellar  in  Low 
Lane,  and  slept  there  among  the  rags  and 
oones.  I  have  ridden  a  tall  horse  in  the  park, 
and  drawn  up  at  Achilles'  statue  among  the 
dandy  horsemen,  and  taken  off  my  hat  as  the 
Queen  went  by.  And  I  have  gone  up  Hol- 
hom  Hill— in  a  cart — though  I  have  not  yet 
exactly  taken  my  gill  at  St.  Giles's,  or  made 
njy  will  at  Tyburn.  For  I  have  had  the  key 
of  the  street,  and  have  known  the  secrets  of 
^e  gas,  and  have  communed  with  the  paving- 
stones.  And,  perhaps  with  some  fifty  thousand 
others,  I  may  be  a  curiosity  of  London  myself. 
Of  men  and  women  who  are  curiosities  of 
London  there  are  thousands.  To  my  mind, 
a  certain  worthy,  honourable,  and  gallant 
member  of  parliament,  colonel  of  militia,  and 
extensive  landowner,  is  to  the  full  as  curious 
?8  any  of  the  odds  and  ends  of  antiquarian- 
ism  :  asLondon  Stone,  at  St.  John's  Gate  ; 
^  padlock  House,  at  Knightsbridge  ;  as 
old  Bartlemy  Fair — shows,  sausages,  sweeps 
and  all  5  as  a  Wardonr  Street  man-in-armour, 


or  as  (the  hirsute  appearance  of  our  dear 
colonel  being  taken  into  consideration)  one  of 
the  by-gone  lions  in  the  Tower.  Old  people 
down  in  Lincolnshire,  too,  will,  in  after  years, 
relate  how  the  gallant  colonel,  disdaining  and 
denouncing  bribery  and  treating  at  elections, 
nevertheless  gave  each  voter's  wife  a  pound 
of  green  tea  on  his  own  septennial  return  to 
Parliament,  and  how  he  boldly  avowed  the 
fragrant  gift  in  Mr.  Speaker's  presence,  and 
announced  his  intention  of  repeating  it  at 
every  general  election  until  his  (the  colonel's) 
dissolution,  an  event  that  may  be  expected  at 
about  the  same  time  as  the  Greek  Calends. 
Veterans  in  Chelsea  and  Kilmainham — 
veterans  in  large  cuffed  greatcoats,  with 
wooden  legs,  with  patches  over  their  eyes — 
"  shonldermg  their  crutches  and  showing  how 
fields  were  won  " — will  tell  how  their  first 
essays  at  soldiering  were  made  in  the  gallant 
colonel's  own  regiment  of  militia,  and  how, 
after  arduous  field-days,  he  was  wont  to  treat 
each  rank  and  file,  down  to  the  very  drum- 
mers, to  a  pint  of  strong  ale.  Parliament  and 
Palace  Yard  will  tell  how  the  colonel  strode 
over  its  broad  pavement,  his  umbrella  under 
his  arm,  his  wide-hemmed  trousers  flapping 
over  his  Wellingtons,  his  unbru&hed  hat  at 
the  back  of  his  head,  bis  huge  shirt  collars  so 
stiff  and  sharp  and  pointed  en  avant,  that  they 
seemed  couched  like  lances,and  ready  to  charge 
any  number  of  windmills ;  his  eye-glass,  with 
its  broad  bl(^k  ribbon  fluttering  in  the 
breeze  ;  his  eyes  wild  staring  ;  his  marvellous 
unkempt  locks  tangling,  flying,  eddying  over 
his  face.  His  praises  will  be  sung  in  the 
Grand  Avenue  of  Covent  Garden  Market, 
and  fruiterers  and  florists  will  tell  how  he 
smelt  melons,  and  tasted  grapes,  and  bought 
bouqjuets  of  their  grandsires.  White-headed 
auctioneers  will  recount  how  he  bought 
ancient  weapons  and  armour,  strange  curiosi- 
ties and  knicknacks  at  public  sales.  Ah  ! 
could  he  but  have  sold,  could  he  but  sell . 
himself  as  a  curiosity  !  What  Bernal,  what 
Hope,  what  Soane,  what  Roach  Smith  collec- 
tion could  vie  with  the  Museum  where  he 
was  placed ! 

It  is  strictly  in  accordance  with  our 
colonel's  being  a  curiosity  of  London  that  he 
is  strictly  indigenous  to  it,  and  is  not  known 
abroad.  Every  Frenchman  is  familiar  with 
the  names  of  Sir  Peel  and  Lor  Russell. 
Wellington's  name  is  known  all  over  the 
world.  Balmerson  (vide  Mr.  Borrow),  apd 
Palmerstoni  (vide  Mr.  Lear),  both  familiar 
corruptions  of  a  certain  old  joker  in  a  high 
place  are  yet  affectionately  remembered  la 
Spain  and  Italy.  But  I  question  if  a  hundred 
educated  foreigners,  abroad,  ever  heard  of  our 
colonel. 

The  man  and  woman  curiosities  of  London 
are  not  all  public  property,  like  our  gallant 
friend  just  dismissed.  There  are  some  human 
curiosities  of  London,  however,  whom  I  may 
allude  to  without  offence.  There  is  the  won- 
derful old  gentleman  who,  in  the  present 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoDdactedbT 


advanced  state  of  civilisatioo,  will  persist  id 
wearing  a  pig-tail  and  hessian  boots.  It  is 
only  on  sunshiny  mornings  that  you  can  see 
thin  resppctable  old  relic  of  days  gone  by.  He 
shuns  bad  weather,  for  rain  would  doubtless 
impair  the  lustre  of  those  (I  think  I  may 
call  them,  without  exaggeration,  matchless), 
hrpsians,  and  the  stiffness  of  his  well-tied 
pig-tail.  He  is  a  curiosity  now.  The  butcher 
boy  puts  down  his  tray  to  look  at  him  ;  the 
town-made  dog  cocks  up  his  ears  at  him  ; 
the  adult  servant-maid  stands  agape  at  him, 
with  the  latch  key  in  one  band,  and  the  beer- 
juj?  in  the  other.  Yet  we  wore  hesj^ian  boots 
ourselves  in  our  youth,  and  our  fathers  wore 
pig-tails.  It  must  be  always  so.  A  wide- 
awake hat  and  an  all-round  collar  may  be 
curiosities  in  eighteen  hundred  and  eighty. 
I  dare  say  the  mob  stared  and  gaped  at  the 
last  coat-of-mail,  the  last  ruff  and  pair  of 
trunk  hose,  the  last  pinked  doublet,  the  last 
Tandyked  collar,  the*  last  Steenkerk  cravat, 
the  last  Ramilies  wig,  or  the  last  hoop  (a 
ladies'  hoop  I  mean)  that  appeared  in  London 
streets.  There  are  many  bad  things,  which, 
thank  Heaven,  are  curiosities  of  London  now: 
the  rack,  the  thumb-screw,  the  scavenger's 
daughter,  the  little  ease,  the  boot,  the  peine 
forte  et  dure,  the  pillory,  Tyburn,  the  Star 
chamber,  the  Palace  Court,  the  stocks,  the 
penal  laws  against  Catholics.  Let  us  hope 
that,  in  a  few  years  more,  that  baby  chronicler 
we  spoke  of  may  have  to  record,  in  his  list  of 
London  curiosities  gone  by,  much  red  tape, 
more  rusty  parchment,  the  whip,  gin,  sour- 
Sundays,  dirt,  rags,  much  parliamentary 
pork  as  exhibited  in  gammon,  and  much 
parliamentary  vegetation  as  exemplified  in 
spinach. 

Who  may  his  hessian-booted  old  gentle- 
man (without  curiosity)  be  ?  Sometimes  I 
find  him  sunning  himself  in  Long  Acre,  that 
curious  stream  of  the  highest  commercial 
resp  »ctability  running  between  vile  shores — 
•  the  horrors  of  Seven  Dials  and  St  Giles's  on 
one  side,  the  slums  of  Covent  Garden  on  the 
other — the  river  that  rises  from  the  dubious 
spring-head  of  St.  Martin's  Lane,  aflects  a 
junction  with  the  Ohio  of  Drury  Lane,  and 
then,  as  a  broad  estuary,  changing  its  name 
to  Great  Queen  Street,  falls  at  last  into  the 
ocean  of  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  When  I  meet 
hessian  boots  in  the  Acre,  I  take  him  some- 
times for  a  retired  coachmaker,  immensely 
wealthy,  lingering  about  his  old  haunts ; 
sotaetimes  for  a  descendant  of,  if  not  that  very 
nabob  who  ordered  his  groom  to  go  round  to 
the  stables  and  order  "  more  curricles  "  for 
his  guests.  But,  the  next  dajr  perhaps,  I 
meet  him,  still  sunning  himself,  in  the  street 
of  Esculapius,  the  doctors*  walk — SavileRow. 
Then  I  set  him  down  as  Queen  Charlotte's 
apothecary,  or  as  one  of  George  the  Third's 
medical  attendants  during  his  lunacy.  I  can't 
help  it,  but  I  fancy  him,  too,  sometimes  as 
the  Doctor  Fell  whom  Doctor  Johnson 
didn't  like,  though,  to  the  best  of  my  belief, 


Doctor  Fell  was  a  college  don  and  not  a 
medico. 

Curiosities  upon  curiosities  I  are  not  IIlc 
coachmakers'  shops  In  Long  Acre — no  ;  I  can- 
not call  them  shops— warehouses  :  no  ;  sheds, 
covered  yards,  I  have  it,  repositories,  ciirIo:»i- 
ties  of  London?  There  is  nothing  more 
curiousyoumaysay  in  numerous  member?  of 
the  same  trade  congregating  in  the  same 
street  than  that  watchmfd^ers  should  live  in 
Clerkenwell.  Italian  image-sellers  and  organ- 

frinders  in  Leather  Lane,  silk- weavers  in 
pital fields,  butchers  in  Clare  Market,  and 
lawyers  in  the  Temple.  Yet  the  coachmakers 
in  Long  Acre  are  to  me  curious  among  the 
curious.  Here,  in  this  sorry  neighbour- 
hood, crime  and  sorrow  and  hunger  pacing 
up  and  down  ;  the  gin-palaces  yawning 
like  the  horse-leech's  daughters  for  prey ;  the 
pawnbrokers'  boxes  ever  open,  like  graves  ; 
shabby  trades  and  tenements  squeezed  in 
between    the    huge    repositories,  like    thin 

{passengers  riding   bodKin    between   corpn- 
ent   ladies    in    a    stage-coach  ;    steaming 
eating-houses   and  pudding  and  pie  shops ; 
dim  chandleries,  and  places  where   tailors' 
trimmings  are  sold  ;  here,  among  the  cabbage- 
stalk  remse  of  the  adjoining  market,  the  lees 
of  wort  ft-om  the  brewery  hard  by,  the  on- 
accountable  gutter-muck  heaps  of  back^um 
poverty  (for  those  who  have  nothing,  always 
seem  to  throw  away  the  most)  ;  here  are  the 
carriages  drawn  up  in  trim  array,  painted, 
varnished,  seated  on  gossamer  springs,  gilt, 
furbished,    decorated,    silk-lined,  squabbed, 
matted — with  silver  axle-boxes,   plate-glaas 
windows,  crimson  curtains,  bearskin  hammer- 
cloths,  coats  of  arms,  plated 'Crests — that  are 
to  carry  rank  and  beauty,  gold  and  blood,  to 
court  and  opera,  concert  and  ball,  Ascot  race 
and  horticultural  show.    A  few  more  days' 
sojourn  in  the  repository,  a  little  more  dusting, 
mopping,  brushing,  and  polishing,  and  my    ! 
lord*^8  carriage  will  be  ready  for  removal  to    I 
the  mews  near  Belgrave    Square  ;  for  the 
high-priced  horses  (jobbed)   to  be  hameseed 
before  j  for  the  fat,  curly-wigged  coachman  to 
mount  atop  ;  for  the  ambrosial  footmen  with 
the  large  calves  and  the  gold-headed  sticks  to 
get  up  behind.    The  carriage  will  be  ready 
then  for  the  reception  of  my  lord  and  of  my 
lady,  of  my   lady's   daughters,    my  lady's 
governess,  my  lady's  nurse,  my  lady's  balxes, 
and  my  lady^s  lapdogs,    0  !  lords  and  ltdi« 
who  ride  about  in  carriages.      O  !  countess 
lolling  on  the  cushions  ;  0  I  noble  lord  going 
down  to  the  house  to  split  hairs  with  yoar 
noble  friend;  O!  young  nobility  .moustachioed, 
chained,  and  ringed,  rattling  to  the  club  in 
your  broughams ;  0 1  loungers  over  silver- 
fork  novels,  holders  of  parasols,  nodders  to 
acquaintances   in    the   Ring,  condescending 
interlocutors  of  the  honey-spoken  young  men 
in  the  employ  of  Messrs.  Swan  and  Edgar 
and  Messrs.  Rundell  and  Bridge ;  O !  drivers 
up  to  banking-houses,  drivers  out  to  Rich- 
mond, "  stoppers  of  the  way"  on  rainy  nights 


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CURIOSITIES  OP  LONDON. 


501 


before  theatres  and  great  boases,  card- leav- 
ers at  Park  Lane  mansions,  book-singers  at 
Buckingham  Palace ;  0  I  carriage  people, 
titled  and  untitled ;  do  you  know  what  sort  of 
men  and  women  have  seen  your  carriages  in 
Long  Acre  before  they  were  brought  to  the 
mews  near  Belgrave  Square?  Do  you  know 
anything  of  tha  feeding,  tending,  lodgement, 
raiment,  of  the  miserable  beings  who,  crossing 
the  Acre  to  buy  a  red  herring  or  a  bundle  of 
firewood  at  the  chandler's  shop,  have  stopped 
to  stare  at  the  coachmakers'  men  dusting  the 
grand  carriages?  Do  you  know  anything  of 
3ie  ragged  G  willims  and  d'Hoziers  who  have 
commented  upon  the  harlequinaded  heraldry 
on  your  coach  panels,  who  have  glozed  over 
the  griffins  and  winged  birds,  the  bends  and 
lozenges,  the  crests  and  mottoes,  which  they 
could  not  have  read  had  they  been  even  in 
English  instead  of  dog-latin— all  with  the 
same  dull,  stony,  helplessly  envious  glare  as 
that  which  they  bestow  upon  the  penn'orths 
of  pudding  they  have  no  pence  to  buy,  in  the 
shop  opposite  ?  Do  you  know  what  sort  of 
humanity  it  is  that  paces  the  Acre  after 
nightfall,  up  and  down  in  the  rain,  up  and 
down  in  bedraggled  shawls,  long  after  the 
great  iron  shutters  of  the  repositories  have 
been  put  up?  Take  physic,  Pomi>,  in  Long 
Acre.  Look  at  the  fever  palanauin  turning 
round  the  corner ;  consider  the  children  com- 
ing out  of  the  pawnbrokers',  and  the  women 
going  into  the  gin-shops;  glance  up  the  infa- 
mous courts  ;  lean  against  the  posts^make  one 
of  the  hungry  band  before  the  pudding-shop : 
ponder  well  upon  your  carriage-wheels,  ana 
remember  when  they  roll  swiftly,  almost 
noiselessly,  down  the  Acre  towards  Belgravia, 
how  much  of  the  mud  beneath  them  is  human. 
Let  me  glance  at  a  few  more  of  the  living 
curiosities  of  London.  There  is  the  bare- 
footed man  with  the  enormous  red  beard, 
ragged  in  his  person,  spasmodic  in  his  de- 
meanour, who  is  supposed  to  have  a  mlesion, 
who  is  reported  to  be  one  hundred  and  ten 
years  of  age,  and  who,  I  was  once  told,  on  very 
excellent  authority,  was  a  bill-discounter  of 
the  sharpest  order.  •  There  is  the  gentleman 
in  seedy,  but  continually  changing  costumes, 
who  seems  to  me  to  be  Proteus  aud  Briareus 
combined ;  for  he  is  always  appearing  in  dif- 
ferent shapes  and  dififerent  phases  of  manipu- 
lative labour  in  different  parts  of  the  metro- 
polis— now  selling  sealing-wax,  now  pens, 
now  vermin-annihilators,  now  removing  the 
cjease  stains  from  the  cuffs  and  collars  of 
little  boys' jackets,  but  always  haranguing  his 
audiences  in  a  loud,  confident,  alcobolically- 
sonorous  voice ;  from  time  to  time  propound- 
ing riddles  and  conundrums,  such  as,  If  the 
devil  were  to  lose  his  tail,  where  would  he 
go  to  get  a  new  one  ?  Answer :  To  the  gin- 
3iop,  because  there  they  rc-tail  the  worst  of 
spirits.  Or  (this  was  during  the  corn-law 
unpopularity  of  Sir  Robert  Peel),  Why  is 
Sir  Robert  Peel  like  a  counterfeit  shilling? 
Answer:  Because  he's  a  bad  Bob!    These 


riddles  an  poor  and  bald,  but  the  inflections 
and  deflections  of  the  Protean  man's  voice 
during  their  delivery  are  humorous.  lie  has  a 
ready  wit,  too,  has  my  Protean  friend ;  he  is  as 
ready  at  repartee  as  at  legerdemain,  and  has  as 
many  quick  rejoinders  and  retorts,  more  or  less 
courteous,  as  he  has  avocations.  He  is  a  diffi- 
cult man  to  tackle.  I  once  heard  him  shut-up 
(to  continue  the  indulgence  of  another  curio- 
sity of  London,  slang)  a  friend  of  mine  who  had 
trod  the  Thespian  waggon,  shod  now  with  the 
cothurnus,  now  with  the  sock,  now  with  the 
buskin ;  who,  in  other  words,  had  once  been 
a  country  actor.  My  friend,  witnessing  his 
performance,  essayed  to  "chaff"  him. 

**  You  needn't  laugh,"  said  Proteus,  "  I 
was  one  of  you  once." 

My  friend  blushed  deeper  than  red-ochre  ; 
he  remembered  what  he  had  himself  done  in 
the  low-comedy  and  general-utility  lines ;  and 
sneaked  down  Carlisle  Street,  Soho  (at  the 
corner  of  which  the  performance  was  taking 
place),  in  a  humiliated  manner. 

There  are  many  men  about  London — na- 
tives of  a  metropolitan  province  I  mean  to 
describe  some  day.  Lower  Bohemia — whom  I 
will  not  recognise  as  curiosities  because  they 
are  either  quacks  or  mendicants.  Such  are 
the  fellows  who  sell  herbs  and  nostrums  and 
medicated  ginger  cakes  about  the  streets; 
such  are  the  knavish  vendors  of  sealed  packets 
and  straws,  of  brass  medals  of  the  devil  flying 
away  with  the  Kingof  Hanover,  as  sovereigns 
for  a  wager ;  such  even  the  professors  of  out- 
door chromo-lithography, — the  artists  who 
draw  tinted  portraits,  and  maekerel.  and 
broken  plates,  and  flourishing  specimens  of 
caligraphy  on  the  pavement  I  used  formerly 
to  entertain  some  respect  and  sympathy  for 
these  latter  industrials;  but  I  found  out 
early  one  morning,  while  watching  a  profes- 
sor commencing  art  for  the  day,  just  outside 
the  Surrey  toll-gate,  of  Waterloo  Biidge, 
that  he  made  use  of  a  series  of  stencilled  pat- 
terns for  his  outlines ;  knew  nothing  whatso- 
ever of  design ;  and  only  possessed,  in  tint- 
ing and  finishing,  a  paltry  degree  of  mechan- 
ical ingenuity,  which  might  have  been  far 
better  employed  in  some  honest  trade. 
Avaunt  ye  quacks !  in  whatsoever  guise  ye 
may  be  found. 

Eccentricity,  however,  though  combined 
with  a  slight  dash  of  Lower  Bohemianism, 
may  charitably  be  ranked  among  things 
curious.  The  gentleman  known  to  the  ioiti- 
ated  as  Porky  Clark,  was  a  curiosity.  The 
man  in  rags  and  a  cocked  hat,  who  to  this  day 
is  to  be  found  on  Epsom  Downs  at  race  meet- 
ings, who  tells  you  that  he  is  a  Master  of 
A^s,  quotes  scraps  of  Homer  and  Virgil,  and 
prefaces  and  terminates  every  quotation  by 
this  talismauio  exclamation  :  —  "  Another 
bottle  of  sherry — plop !  " — is  a  curiosity. 
Curiosities,  too,  are  most  of  the  professors  of 
hard-lines :  the  man  who,  with  marvellous 
quickness  and  accuracy,  cuts  out  the  black 
profiles ;  the  man  who,  with  a  piece  of  chalk 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


602 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coodactedbj 


on  a  public-house  floor,  will  delineate  in  very 
tolerable  heraldry,  the  coat-of-arms  and  motto 
of  any  noble  family  you  like  to  name  ;  the 
thin,  haggard,  moustached,  restless-eyed  man 
who  sells  the  tasty  little  roulette-boxes,  and 
who  looks  as  if  he  had  lost  some  thousands  at 
that  cuticing  game  himself;  and  specially 
that  leather-lunged  Lablache  of  the  streets 
in  the  guise  of  a  sweet-stuff  seller,  whose 
deep  bass  solo 

My  bra-a-ndj  bawl« ! 
My  bra-a-ndy  bawlal 
Mj  slap  up,  slftp  np  brandy  bawls  1 
yet  rings  in  my  ears.    These  indlWdnals  I 
consider  curiosities,  and  respectfully  recom- 
mend them  to  the  notice  of  the  compiler  of 
Curiosities  of  London  against  the  publication 
of  his  tenth  edition. 

I  am  sorry  that  I  have  not  the  advantage 
of  a  thick  octavo  volume,  as  a  museum  for 
my  curiosities.  A  poor  little  essayist,  I  am 
limited  to  columns.  I  can  offer  no  mighty 
sirloin  to  my  readers,  but  must  be  content 
with  a  modest  cut  off  the  joint.  Yet,  to  em- 
ploy the  homely  language  of  the  proprietor 
of  the  ham-and-beef  warehouse  opposite,  I 
am  privileged  to  ^'  cut  and  come  again,''  and 
when  other  curious  things  and  people  occur 
to  me,  I  shall  not  fail  to  trespass  on  your 
patience  once  more. 

U>T)ER  THE  SEA. 

The  town  in  which  I  am  now  living  is 
much  changed  from  that  it  ^as  some  sixty 
years  since.  My  great  aunt  and  her  chamber- 
maid were  almost  the  sole  inhabitants  of  a 
district  that  now  numbers  forty  thousand 
souls.  It  was  at  the  very  window  at  which 
I  write  this,  she  sat  (I  have  her  letter  by  me), 
and  wrote  these  words  to  her  sister,  dwelling 
inland — a  sheperdess,  with  a  satin  gown 
without  a  waist,  according  to  this  picture 
over  the  mantelpiece  :  "  The  day  is  calm  and 
pleasant,  and  the  great  vessel  in  the  offing 
betwixt  us  and  the  fair  island  sways  not  a 
handsbreadth,  nor  can  flutter  a  single  pen- 
nant.'' Then,  in  quite  another  trembling 
hand,  and  yet  the  same,  is  added :  **  When  I 
had  written  that  sentence,  Dorothy,  I  looked 
again,  southwards,  and  the  sea  was  as  still  as 
before,  and  the  fair  island  sparkled  in  the 
sun  ;  but  betwixt  us  and  it  I  saw  no  trace  of 
the  great  three-decker.  I  thought  my  brain 
was  wrong,  and  rang  the  bell  for  Agnes ;  but 
when  she  too  could  see  nothing  of  the  ship,  a 
horrid  fear  took  hold  of  me.  Moreover,  from 
the  seaport,  a  mile  away,  there  cani^  a  solemn 
murmur,  and  a  fleet  of  fishing-boats  put  off— 
too  late,  too  late,  I  fear — ^from  every  creek 
and  cove,  so  that  we  knew  the  glorious  ves- 
sel was  gone  down,  with  all  her  company.  I 
hear  near  a  thousand  men  were  aboard  of  her; 
but  at  present  we  know  nothing  certain." 

Even  to  this  day  this  thing  is  interesting  to 
ns;  and  furniture  enough  to  stock  a  hundred 


warehouses,  not  to  mention  snuff-boxes,  card- 
cases,  candlesticks  and  knife-handles  by  thoa- 
sands,  have  been  made  out  of  the  timber  uf 
the  sunken  ship.  Accounts  of  the  Mreadfal 
accident,  describing  how  she  canted  over  on 
one  side,  bound  in  boards  taken  from  the  res- 
sel,  are  raffled  for  at  all  our  watering-places. 
The  very  walking-stick  I  ase  was  rescaed 
from  her  hulk,  beneath  the  sea, — or,  at  lea«t. 
it  has  a*  brazen  biography  upon  it  that  aesertj 
BO  much.  If  a  quarter  of  these  thmgs  be 
genuine,  there  can  be  little  left  of  her.  Two 
shi^  were  anchored  over  her  for  years,  with 
diving  apparatus;  and  fathoms  deep,  and 
miles  away  from  shore,  the  divers  plic^  their 
trade.  It  is  with  some  of  these  we  have  to 
do. 

The  Seven  Cricketers,  over  against  this 
house,  was  kept,  until  a  few  years  back,  by 
an  old  diver.  I  often  used  to  wonder,  when 
I  was  a  boy,  how  he  managed  to  accomiDO- 
date  himself  to  that  airy  situation  and  dry 
skittle-^ound  after  his  restricted  sphere  of 
action  m  his  great  bell  and  helmet,  ooder  the 
midst  of  the  sea.  Thomas  Headforst  was 
very  communicative  to  me  in  these  early 
days  indeed,  and  I  was  very  grateftiL  I 
could  sit  in  his  red-curtained  back  parlour 
for  hours  together,  under  a  fusillade  of  sbi; 
tobacco-smoke,  to  hear  him  tell  of  the  won- 
ders of  the  deep ;  and  he  never  balked  my 
wishes  in  that  respect  His  family,  he  toM 
me,  had  been  divers  for  centuries,  long  be- 
fore science  had  interfered  with  that  profes- 
sion— when  the  poor 

Cejlon  Direr  held  his  breath. 

And  went  all  naked  to  the  hongrx  ihaik; 

when  stark,  nude  athletes,  with  sponges 
dipped  in  oil,  to  hold  more  air  than  loogs 
could  carry,  staid  their  five  and  ten  minote! 
in  the  caves  of  the  sea ;  when  Sicilian  Nicho- 
las, surnamed  the  Fish,  and  webbed  in  handi 
and  feet  like  a  duck,  plunged  fathoms  deep 
after  a  single  oyster,  a  .terribly  exhausting 
process  before  even  the  smallest  of  barreh 
should  have  been  completed, — ^who  went  ii 
for  pearls  and  coral,  however,  also,  and  lost 
his  life  in  Charybdis  By  a  cnp  too  much, 
having  already  obtained  one  gold  one  (ton 
the  whirlpool,  and  dipping  for  another  to 
please  the  king  of  the  Two  Sicilies.  One  of 
Mr.  Headfurst^s  ancestors,  it  may  be,  was  of 
that  party  described  by  a  savant  of  ^^^ 
hundred,  "  who  descended  into  the  sea  in  » 
large  tin  kettle  with  a  burning  light  in  it 
and  rose  up  without  being  wet,"  a  feat  seen- 
ingly  as  adventurous  as  Uiat  of  the  wise  men 
of  Gotham  in  their  bowl.  Who  knows  b«t 
that  Thomas's  great-great-grandfather  (or 
even  grandmother)  may  have  dipped, inhw 
(or  her)  time  for  the  wrecks  of  the  ^^"'Jjjj 
in  "  a  square  box  bound  with  iron,  fUmiaed 
with  windows,  and  having  a  stool  in  it  ? '  '^ 
that  is  the  description  of  a  gigantic  strong 
box  given  us,  by  which  two  hundred  thonsaw 
pounds  worth  of  property  was  fished  up  i^ 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbtrici  Dickem.] 


UNDER  THE  SEA. 


603 


the  Duke  of  Albemarle,  the  son  of  Monk 
who  had  drawn  prises  trom  vexed  waters 
before  him.  Nay,  whether  our  heroes  family- 
tree  had  been  bearmg  this  submarine  fruit  so 
very  long  or  not,  it  is  certain  his  father  fol- 
lowed the  trade  before  him ;  and  off  the  Irish 
coast,  near  Cork,  his  brother  is  or  was  a  most 
distinguished  diver.  Whene^^er  there  was  an 
adventure  to  be  described  a  leetle  too  strong 
for  even  my  infant  faith,  the  narration  was 
made  oblique,  and  became  a  family  incident 
instead  of  a  personal  reminiscence,  as : 

"  It  Mras  in  the  year  fourteen,  or,  it  may  be, 
fifteen,  when  the  Diomede  went  down,  off 
Deal,  and  the  guv'nor  and  a  chum  of  his 
named  Bluffy,  was  appointed  to  be  under  the 
sea ;  for  we  be  captains,  like,  and  masters 
and  all,  when  a  ship  once  goes  to  the  bottom, 
and  wears,  by  consequence,  a  very  singular 
oniform.  Now,  there  was  no  better  water- 
workmen  in  the  Channel  than  them  two: 
and  they  would  have  been  employed  still 
more  constantly,  and  been  yet  better  to  do  in 
the  world,  but  for  being  so  precious  fond  of 
their  game  of  cribbage.  All  day  long,  in 
Bome  little  parlour  like  this  present,  thev'd 
he  knobbing,  and  heeling,  and  going,  so  that 
they  was  seldom  ready  when  they  was  wanted, 
and  went  by  the  name  of  the  Fifteen  Two. 
However,  the  Diomede  had  bars  of  gold  in 
her,  and  it  was  of  the  utmost  consequence  to 
work  at  her  as  hard  and  fast  as  might  be. 
So  Bluffy  and  the  guv'nor  was  hauled  out  of 
their  snug  parlour  to  the  minute,  never  mind 
where  the  game  was,  and  out  they  was  rowed 
to  the  lugger  moored  above  the  wreck,  and 
down  they  was  lowered  in  the  bell.  On  one 
of  those  mornings,  especially,  they  had  a  great 
^ind  to  throw  up  their  commissions,  and  go 
on  pegging  away  all  their  lifetimes ;  but  they 
thought  better  of  it,  and  went  aboard.  Now, 
they  was  accustomed  to  be  below  a  good  long 
time,  only  this  ^ay  they  stayed  a  precious 
deal  longer,  and  the  crew  above  began  to  be 
alarmed,  and  to  think  there  was  something 
wrong  with  the  air-tube.  Howsomever,  as 
no  signal  had  been  given  to  draw  up,  they 
sent  down  a  third  man  in  a  helmet,  to  see 
what  had  become  of 'em,  and  a  precious  sight 
he  Bees:  Bluffy  and  the  guv'nor  in  their 
diving-dresses,  sitting  in  the  bell  like  a  couple 
of  magnified  tadpoles,  and  cutting,  and 
showing,  and  cribbing,  with  the  cards  and 
the  board  between  them,  just  as  though  th^y 
were  in  the  inn  parlour,  except  that  now  and 
then  they  was  nearly  being  suffocated,  having 
forgoiten  to  turn  the  air-cock.  So  the  end  of 
it  was.  Fifteen  Two  was  never  allowed  to  go 
down  in  the  bell  together  no  more." 

'* Dear  me! "  said  I,  "  Mr.  Headfurst,  that 
seems  a  very  extraordinary  story." 

"  Xtromiry,  I  believe  you,"  said  he,  "  but 
nothing  like  a  fight  I  had  once  with  a  'lectrical 
|el,  in  fifty  fathom  of  water,  west-by-south  of 
St.  MichaePs  Mount,  in  Cornwall,  It  was 
one  of  my  earliest  jobs,  and  I  wasn't  thorough- 
ly used  to  the  work  at  that  time ;  and  I  hadn't 


a  mate,  either,  to  go  down  with  me.  It's  a 
f^iffht'ning  thing  that  sinking  sinking  out  of 
sight  of  everything,  a'most,  without  knowing 
where  you're  going  to,  nor  what  you  may 
find  when  you  get  there.  This  time  the 
bell  missed  the  wreck  I  was  arter,  entirely 
(which,  as  it  happen'd,  however,  was  a  very 
lortunate  circumstance),  and  I  was  lowered 
down  to  the  very  bottomu  Half  way  down, 
Master  James,  what  should  come  into  the 
machine  but  an  enormous  'lectrical  eel.  He 
came  in,  young  master,  and  he  stopped  in ; 
and  the  higher  the  water  rose  in  the  bell,  the 
nigher  I  got  to  the  'lectrical  eel.  I  pulled  my 
precious  legs  up  on  the  seat,  I  promise  you, 
and  sat  tailor  fashion  all  the  rest  of  the  way  j 
but  when  we  touched  ground  at  last,  I 
wasn't  above  an  inch  or  two  off  the  beast, — 
boxed  up  under  the  ocean,  within  a  couple  of 
inches  of  being  shocked  to  death.  Well,  as  I 
said,  I  was  new  to  the  work,  and  having 
banged  at  him  with  a  pickaxe  till  I  was  tired, 
and  he  slipped  away  from  me  just  like  oil,  I 
thought  it  would  be  an  easier  thing  to  suffo- 
cate him  than  me  ;  so  I  didn't  turn  no  air  on 
for  ever  so  long,  and  found  myself  getting 
black  in  the  face,  while  the  animal  was  swim- 
ming and  gliding  like  a  gentleman  in  easy 
circumstances  eiyoying  the  spectacle,  and 
every  now  and  then  a-splashing  with  his  tail 
for  moderate  applause.  So  I  gave  up  that 
dodge  just  in  time,  and  resumed  my  pick. 
The  more  I  picked,  however,  the  less  he 
chose,  which  was  an  unappreciated  joke  I 
made  to  myself  during  those  trying  events 
themselves,  and  I  was  obliged  to  try  summut 
else.  I  laid  bare  the  floor  of  the  bell  (which 
we  can  do  within  an  inch  or  so),  got  him 
into  shallow  water,  and  very  soon  finished 
him  off.  The  skin  is  in  the  big  chest,  in 
my  bed-room,  and  measures  a  hundred  and 
twenty  feet  from  tip  to  tip.  I  regret  to  say 
that  the  key  is  lost,  or  I  should  have  great 
pleasure  in  showing  it  to  you." 

Once  upon  a  time  I  persuaded  Mr.  Head- 
furst to  let  me  accompany  him  on  one  of  his 
submarine  visits  to  the  great  three-decker 
which  I  first  spoke  of  as  sunken  opposite.  I 
was  in  a  flutter  of  fright  and  jov  such  as 
youths  who  have  only  been  down  in  the  bell 
at  the  Polytechnic  can  form  no  idea  of.  I 
had  the  pcrfectcst  confidence  in  the  machine, 
and,  above  all,  in  my  friend  Thomas,  but 
still  I  was  in  a  greater  state  of  "  blue  funk  " 
than  most  boys  of  fifteen  have  ever  any 
reason  to  be.  The  bell  could  hold  but  two, 
so  I  took  the  place  of  the  other  diver — though, 
of  course,  without  a  helmet — oppositeThomas. 
I  had  become  quite  accustomed  by  this  time 
to  his  hideous  apparel  above-board  and  on 
land,  but  as  we  sank  lower  and  lower,  and  the 
light  grew  dimmer  and  dimmer,  that  terrible 
shako  of  his,  and  his  pipes,  and  his  parapher- 
nalia grew  frghtfully  unnatural  to  my  per- 
turbed vision,  and  I  thought  whether  he 
might  not  be  Davv  Jones  himself,  and  the 
bell   his    **  locker.'*    Now   and   then  some 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


504 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


strange  and  dreadfal  fish  glided  in  upon  ns, 
but  one  glimpse  of  Thomas  drove  him  out  in 
an  Instant,  and  I  didn't  wonder.  Neverthe- 
less, it  was  far  worse  when  I  was  left  in  the 
machine  alone— -with  the  fullest  instruction, 
of  course,  as  to  air  tubes,  but  also  la  the 
deadliest  terror  of  forgetting  them — while  my 
friend  (the  only  friend  I  had  in  all  the  sea) 
went  about  his  business  over  the  wreck — a 
very  wondrous  experience  that,  and  not  easily 
forgotten.  Many  reflections  of  an  original 
character  ought  to  have  occurred  to  me,  with- 
out doubt,  which  I  should  have  now  descrllsed, 
but,  as  I  said  before,  I  was  far  too  frightened 
to  think  of  anything  except  air  tubes  and 
getting  up  again.  After  the  longest  half-hour 
anybody  ever  passed  in  their  lives,  my  mer- 
man reappeared.  He  had  fixed  his  hooks 
and  eyes  round  a  great  brass  carronade,  and 
was  extremely  buoyant  in  consequence. 

"  But,"  said  he,  when  we  were  in  his  snug 
parlour  again  that  evening,  and  he  had  been 
congratulating  me  on  my  prowess ;  "  but. 
Master  James,  you  must  come  down  with  a 
helmet  some  day,  and  then  you  will  see 
wonders." 

"Thank  you,  Thomas,"  said  I,  *-all  the 
same,  but  enough  is  as  good  as  a  feast ;  I 
have  had  my  duck,  and  enjoyed  it,  nor  do  I 
want  another.  I  should  like,  however,  to 
hear  of  anything  interesting  you  may  have 
met  with  under  those  circumstances." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  and  he  turned  his  quid  in 
his  mouth,  and  brought  his  right  eye  to  bear 
steadfastly  upon  me.  as  was  his  wont  during 
compilation  ;  '*  I  will  tell  you  of  an  occur- 
ence that  happened  to  my  brother  within 
the  last  few  years  ;  he  hsis  become  an  altered 
man  since,  I  assure  you,  and  generally  takes 
a  religious  work  down  in  the  bell  with  him. 

"  There  was  a  friend  of  his,  mate  to  a  West 
Indiaman  that  was  outward  bound  in  a  few 
days  from  Cork,  and  Bill,  my  brother,  and  he 
had  had  a  difference  ;  what  the  quarrel  began 
about  I  don't  rightly  know,  but  the  mate 
abused  Bill's  profession,  and  called  him  an 
amphiberous  lubber,  or  something  like  that, 
and  Bill  abused  the  mate  and  wished  him 
under  the  sea,  with  never  an  air-tube ;  and 
the  ship  sailed  without  making  it  up.  My 
brother  was  very  sorry  when  it  was  too 
late — for  amphiberous  lubbers  has  their 
feelings  like  other  folks— and  greatly  shook 
when  news  was  brought,  next  morning,  that 
the  vessel  had  gone  down  not  three  miles 
from  shore,  with  every  soul  on  board.  Just 
at  starting,  as  it  might  be — with  all  her  pas- 
sengers so  full  of  hope,  agoing  to  join  their 
friends  again— she  struck  upon  a  rock  off  Earl  v 
Point,  and  settled  down,  as  it  was  supposed, 
about  midnight  in  a  few  minutes.  There  was 
a  good  cargo  of  spice,  and  Bill  was,  of  course, 
sent  for  immediate  ;  there  was  but  few  bodies 
floated  to  shore,  and,  knowing  he  would  see 
some  terrible  sights,  he  was  not  over-pleased 
at  the  job ;  but  until  they  could  get  more 
divers  there  was  no  choice,  so  down  he  goes 


to  the  vessel,  and  finds  her  fallen  betwixt 
two  reefs  of  rock,  bolt  upright,  with  masts 
standing  and  sails  set,  just  as  she  settled 
down.  She  looked,  he  said,  for  all  the  world 
like  any  ship  upon  the  surfaoe,  except  that 
there  was  a  hole  broken  in  her  side,  where 
she  had  struck  ;  her  boats  were  slung  almost 
uninjured,  coils  of  rope  were  lying  on  the 
main  deck,  the  hatches  were  open  and  the 
door  above  the  chief  cabin  stairs ;  the  wet^ 
swift  fishes  darted  in  and  out  of  it,  and  the 
qrabs  were  going  about  their  work  already 
when  my  brother  descended.  There  were 
six  or  seven  men  in  the  cabin,  gentlemen  pas- 
sengers, and  a  card  or  two  that  floated  about 
showed  they  had  been  playing  when  the 
vessel  struck ;  some  of  them  were  even 
standing  upright,  just  as  thoy  started  from 
their  seats  when  they  felt  the  shock,  and  one 
had  a  dreadful  look,  with  pale,  paried  lips,  as 
though  a  cry  of  agdny  had  just  e»^aped 
them  ;  a  yo^og  man  and  a  girl— so  like  as  to 
be  sworn  brother  and  sister — were  embracing 
for  the  last  time ;  the  heaving  of  the  sea, 
scarce  felt  at  such  depth,  swayed  all  the 
figures  to  and  fro — without  a  touch  of  decay^ 
and  instinct  with  all  but  life,  was  that  ship's 
company.  The  captain  in  his  cabin,  slept 
his  last  sleep  quite  placidly.  The  sailors,  for 
the  most  part,  were  drowned  within  their 
hammocks,  only  those  whose  duty  necessi- 
tated their  being  on  deck  were  washed  off 
and  driven  ashore.  The  darkness  had  been 
so  deep  as  to  render  the  best  look  futile,  the 
strongest  swimming  of  no  avail.  All  these 
things  were  sad  enough,  and  Bill's  nerves, 
iron  as  they  were,  were  shaken  sadly.  Wan- 
dering about  that  living  charnel-house, 
attired  so  unnaturally,  seeking  for  gold  in 
the  very  heart  of  ocean,  it  was  terrible,  and 
yet,  Master  James,  though  you  look  so 
shocked,  it  was  his  honest  business  so  to  do. 
and  a  far  less  hateful  way  of  getting  on  to 
the  world  than  is  practised  in  high  places 
daily;  still,  when  he  had  found  what  he 
wanted  and,  laden  with  as  many  bags  as  be 
could  carry,  was  returning  to  the  mam-deck 
by  another  way,  it  seemed  to  him  the  worst 
job  he  had  been  ever  set  to  do — and,  lo  I  at 
the  foot  of  the  companion-ladder,  he  met  the 
man  he  knew  so  well,  and  parted  with  in 
wrath  so  lately,  with  one  hand  on  the  round, 
as  if  in  the  act  of  flight.  The  look  upon  the 
drowned  man's  face  seemed  to  reproach  him 
for  his  latest  wish,  so  that  he  dared  not  pat 
him  aside  and  pass  by,  but  turned  back  and 
went  upon  deck  by  the  road  he  came ;  nor 
ever  after  that  dreadful  sight  could  brotbCT 
Bill  be  brought  to  venture  down  into  the 
sunk  West  Indiaman." 

"  Dear  me,  Mr.  Headfurst,"  I  said,  "  I  never 
heard  so  frightful  a  tale  in  all  my  life." 

"Nor  I  neither,  Master  James,  but  Ws 

true  enough,  and  so  my  brother  will  tell  you 

if  you  ask  him.  I  don't  happen,  ju?t  at  present, 

to  remember  his  address,  but  he  dives  a  good 

I  deal  still,  off  the  east  coast  of  Ireland." 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


**  Ibmahr  in  their  Mouths  04  nOUSEEOLD  WORDS  J 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
COVDTTCTEB  BT   CHASLES  BICKEVS. 


No.  22.] 


}.  A.  DIZ,  PUBLISHER, 

Ovnca,  No.  10  Paks  Fuoa,  Naw-Ton. 


[Whole  No.  275. 


A  DEAR  CUP  OP  COFPEE. 

Most  ef  oar  readers  must  have  read  tlie 
Btory  of  a  noble  army,  sent  oat  to  wrestle 
with  Russia,  which  had  a  pleasant  variety  of 
work  to  do.  Sometimes  it  had  to  fight  all 
day,  and  to  dig  in  the  trenches  all  night ; 
and  at  other  times  It  had  to  labour  in  the 
trenches  all  day,  and  to  fight  the  Russians 
all  night.  But  even  this  became  monoto- 
nous at  last.  Change  of  work  is  as  good  as 
play;  so  some  kind  firiends  hit  upon  a  haopy 
mode  of  furnishing  our  soldiers  with  a  little 
amusement.  They  sent  out  to  them  a  suffi- 
cient snpply  of  raw  coffee  to  roast  and  grind. 
The  smell  of  roasting  coffee  is  known  to  be  an 
eiliilarating  fumigator,  and  the  operation  of 
turning  the  handle  of  a  coffee-mill  is  noto- 
riously a  first-rate  calisthenic  exercise.  How 
often  is  benevolence  misapprehended!  The 
ungrateful  military,  instead  of  thankfully  ac- 
cepting the  sportive  recreation  thus  provided, 
threw  their  nice  raw  coffee  away,  strewing  it 
over  the  ground  in  front  of  their  tents,  as  if  it 
had  been  so  much  horse-beans  or  pebbles;  they 
went  on  sulkily  with  their  fighting  and  work- 
ing ;  and  showed  their  temper  by  going  with- 
out coffee,  rather  than  enter  into  the  inten- 
tions manifested  by  their  thoughtful  well-wish- 
ers, the  commissariat.  The  commissariat  had 
good  reason  to  complain  of  the  insult  implied 
by  so  marked  a  slight ;  but  I  have  not  yet 
heard  of  any  steps  being  seriously  taken  to 
punish  the  offending  parties.  However, 
I  have  another  true  talc  about  coffee  to 
tell,  which  may  perhaps  afford  a  useful  hint, 
shoald  our  authorities  hereafter  be  troubled 
with  similar  annoyances  on  the  part  of  a 
thankless  soldiery. 

In  a  pleasant,  well-known  watering-place 
in  Prance,  the  handsomest  archway  in  one  of 
its  handsomest  streets,  serves  as  the  entrance 
to  the  magazines  of  one  of  the  wealthiest  ne- 
gotiants, whom  I  respect  too  highly  to  desig- 
nate otherwise  than  a  Monsieur  Le  Vendeur, 
or  Mister  The-Seller,  because  the  French  verb 
"  vendre"  fully  implies  every  shade  of  mean- 
ing conveyed  by  our  own  **  to  sell."  How 
many  thousand  francs  a  day  are  M.  Leven- 
deur's  business  re  turns,  I  cannot  precisely  eay, 
though  I  saw  his  books  produced  and  unsealed 
in  open  court.  Of  course.  Monsieur  L.  does 
not  reside  in  the  buildhig  approached  by  the 


aforesaid  archway ;  he  has  a  handsome 
villa  outside  the  town,  at  the  foot  of 
the  hill  which  slopes  down  to  the  river. 
Well  —  one  day,  some  two  months  since, 
when  this  honourable  merchant  of  Venice, 
like  the  nursery  king,  was  sitting  in  his 
counting-house,  counting  out  his  money,  and 
while  the  queen,  madame,  mademoiselle,  or 
whatever  she  may  be,  was  in  her  chamber  in 
the  suburban  villa  eating  bread  and  honey, 
pop  came — not  a  black  bird,  but  a  couple  of 
blue  and  yellow  men,  with  cocked  hats  on 
their  heads  and  swords  by  their  sides,— indi- 
viduals whom  the  gods  call  gendarmes,  but 
whom  the  vulgar  style  red  herrings,— and 
snapped  off  not  merely  M.  L.'s  nose, 
but  his  whole  body  corporate,  through  the 
instrumentality  of  a  piece  of  paper  drawn 
up  ]^  the  minister  of  war,  and  bearing 
the  Imperial  signature,  which  ordered  the 
immediate  arrest  of  the  eminent  commer- 
cial speculator.  In  short,  he  was  walked 
off,  handcufibd,  to  prison.  After  a  few 
weeks  sojourn  therein,  he  was  transferred 
to  another  prison,  to  the  city  where  the 
assizes  are  held,  there  to  be  dealt  with  ac- 
cording to  law.  The  worst  of  It  was,  that 
poor  Monsieur  was  not  alone  in  his  unmerited 
troubles.  A  valued  acquaintance — ^how  dear, 
how  valued,  it  is  impossible  to  say  exactly, 
because  the  amount  of  the  figure  did  not 
appear,  though  it  must  have  been  con- 
siderable,— ^but  a  highly  estimated  iWend,  one 
Monsieur  Rougepain,  a  near  relative  of  the 
English  family  of  Nibbleloafs,  an  offieier 
eomptabU  or  accountable  officer,  whose  duty 
was  to  receive  and  take  care  of  everything 
belonging  to  the  army  (the  provision  espe- 
cially), was  also  carried  off  and  clapped  into 
prison;  not  into  the  same  prison,  where 
Pylades  might  soothe  the  sorrows  of  Orestes, 
but  into  quite  a  different  prison,  with  a  neat 
little  chamber  all  to  himself. 

A  little  bird  (though  with  rather  long  legs, 
a  hawk's  bill,  and  jet-black  moustaches) 
having  whispered  in  my  ear  that  on  a 
certain  Thiu^ay  the  Levendeur  •  Rouge- 
pain  affair  would  come  on  and  off,  at  the 
Cour  des  Assizes  of  Si  Eloi,  I  determined  to 
fly  thither,  on  wings  of  steam.  At  nine  in  the 
morning,  one  of  the  twelve  jur6s  took  me 
under  Ws  wing,  and  also  my  bird  (who  talked 
so  well  that  he  was  irfterwards  called  upon  to 

376  


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


606 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


C0MdKtMib7 


speak,  In  public),  marched  with  as  through 
the  etreete  of  St.  Eloi,le<i  us  into  the  court  of 
the  Palais  de  Justice,  left  my  biped  to  shift 
for  himself,  but  put  me  into  a  seat  where  I 
could  both  see  and  hear  well ;  and  then  dis- 
appeared into  his  own  proper  Salle  de  Deli- 
beration, or  deliberating  room. 

As  a  French  court  of  justice  differs  mate- 
rially from  an  English  one,  while  the  of&cial 
personages  are  putting  on  their  robes,  I  will 
describe  that  at  St.  Eloi— which,  generalised, 
will  give  an  idea  of  the  rest.  Outside,  the 
building  is  plain  Ionic  ;  inside,  Roman  Doric, 
as  far  as  bastard  and  unpretending  archi- 
tecture can  be  specified.  The  aspect  of  the 
room  is  something  composite  between  a  the- 
atre, a  concert-room,  and  a  catholic  church. 
Where  the  altar  would  be,  are  the  seats  of 
the  president,  with  those  of  the  judges  on 
cither  side.  Behind  the  president,  by  way  of 
altar-piece,  hangs  a  large  picture  of  the 
Saviour  on  the  cross,  apparently  intended  to 
look  the  witnesses  full  in  the  face  at  the 
moment  when  they  come  forward  to  be 
sworn.  Further  to  the  president's  right,  is 
the  seat  and  writing-table  of  the  greffier, 
secretary,  or  clerk  of  the  court ;  further  to 
bis  left  are  the  same  articles  of  furniture 
belonging  to  the  procureur-imperial,  the 
nearest  English  for  which  official  is,  attorney- 
general.  All  these  may  be  considered  as 
placed  within  the  sacred  precincts  and  as 
appertaining  to  the  altar  itself.  Dismiss  now 
the  idea  of  a  church,  and  think  of  a  stage ;  or 
combine  the  two  by  imagining  the  scene  to  be 
an  ecclesiastical  interior  looking  towards  the 
altar.  The  wings  on  the  imperial  procureur 's 
side  are  entirely  occupied  by  the  jury,  in  two 
rows,  half-a-dozen  in  each,  one  above  the 
other,  with  schoolboys'  writing-desks  before 
them,  furnished  with  pens,  ink,  and  paper. 
The  procureur  may  thus  easily  play  the  part 
of  a  pedajB;ogue ;  he  can  keep  an  eye  upon 
their  motions,  frown  them  into  good  beha- 
viour— give  them  a  scolding,  which  he  often 
does — and  even  administer  a  severe  beating, 
not  to  them — that  would  not  do— but  to 
his  own  manly  breast,  the  balustrade  before 
him,  the  piles  of  documents  on  his  table, 
or  the  crown  of  his  own  black  gold-laced 
bonnet.  On  the  opposite  side  are,  at  the 
back,  the  bench  of  the  accusedv  entered 
by  a  mysterious  door  from  the  interior  of 
the  building.  At  the  end  of  that  sad  seat, 
nearest  the  audience,  is  a  chair  for  the  bri- 
gadier of  gendarmes,  who  sits  to  watch  his 
subordinates  and  the  supposed  criminals 
under  their  charge.  In  front  of  the  bench  of 
the  accused  Is  the  bar,  seats,  and  desks  for 
the  avou^s  and  avocats,  the  attorneys  and 
counsel,  concerned  In  the  case  on  either  side, 
both  for  defence  and  prosecution ;  but  not,  as 
with  us,  affording  room  for  all  the  members 
of  the  bar  belonging  to  the  circuit.  Where 
the  foot-lights  would  be  is  a  step  or  two 
separating  the  stage  from  the  audience  part 
of  the  house.    On  the  stage  itself,  one  of  the 


most  conspicuous  objects  Is  an  isolated  arm- 
chair, raised  on  two  or  three  steps  like  a 
throne,  and  in  the  very  centre,  in  abeat  the 
spot  which  a  prima  donna  chooses  to  warble 
the  grand  bravura  of  the  evening.  This  chair 
is  the  witness-chair.  But  though  Amina, 
Norma,  Rosina,  and  the  rest  of  them,  in- 
variably turn  their  faces  to  the  pit — notwith- 
standing that  their  singing  is  supposed  to  be 
addressed  to  a  chorus  of  peasants,  a  Roman 
legion,  or  a  party  of  Spanish  nobles — the 
witness-chair  turns  its  back  on  the  public, 
to  the  great  advantage  of  the  parties  meet 
concerned,  the  accused,  the  advocates,  the 
jury,  and  the  president,  and  to  the  equal  dis- 
advantage of  the  respectable  mob  who  come 
into  court  simply  for  amusement,  not  to  men- 
tion the  difficulty  occasioned  to  reporters, 
who  have  to  listen  close  to  catch  the  flood  of 
syllables  that  sometimes  gush  forth  fh>m  the 
lips  of  Gallic  volubility.  The  orchestra  is  a 
row  of  pew-like  seats,  with  stuffed  ciuhions, 
to  receive  witnesses  who  have  been  examined 
unemployed  advocates,  and  such  like.  What 
would  be  the  pit  boxes  is  an  open  pasnge 
leading  to  the  witnesses'  waiting-room^  which 
takes  the  place  of  a  refreshment-saloon  or 
cloak-room.  The  orchestra  stalls,  gained  bj 
a  door  inscribed  **  Entree  prlv^,*'  are  open 
to  anjT  well-dressed,  well-behaved  persons. 
The  pit  to  which  you  are  admitted  by  the 
'*  Entree  publique''  (literally,  a  inrterre,  or 
on  the  ground),  has  no  seats,  like  Shaike- 
speare's  Globe  Theatre  and  the  existing  one 
at  Rouen,  where  the  "  groundlings''  had  and 
have  to  stand  during  the  performance.  This 
compartment  is  the  usual  resort  of  men  in 
blouses,  mechanics,  and  common  soldiers. 
Here  let  me  mention  a  bit  of  etiquette. 
During  the  trial,  the  president  called  ont  to 
some  soldiers  there  to  take  off  their  caps, 
which  they  instantly  obeyed;  only  those 
on  duty,  he  said,  had  the  right  to  keep  them 
on.  These  sentinels,  acting  as  door-keepers, 
are  characteristic  of  the  military  ^irit 
of  the  nation;  while  the  rest  of  the  cos- 
tumes tell  at  a  glance  that  we  have  crossed 
to  the  south  side  of  the  Channel.  Oar 
own  pacific  blue-bottle  policemen,  are  re- 
placed by  severe,  respectable,  military  gen- 
darmes, m  cocked  hats,  llght^blue  trowsen, 
and  yellow  bands  across  their  breasts.  There 
are  hulsslers  flitting  to  and  fro— a  superior 
sort  of  sheriff's-officers— officials  casting  im- 
portant glances  over  the  tops  of  their  white 
cravats,  otherwise  clad  throughout  in  Uack, 
with  short  stuff  cloaks,  like  the  cut-down 
gowns  of  fast  collegians,  or  the  mantles  of 
noble  seducers  in  melodramas.  There  are  the 
avocats  on  either  side,  with  their  long,  crim- 
ped, cravat-bands,  high-crowned  black  caps, 
and  full-sleeved  gowns :  the  procureur-impe- 
rial, with  a  sky-blue  silk  sash  beneath  his 
robe;  the  black-robed  judges,  with  high  silver- 
laced  caps,  which  they  scrupulously  keep  on, 
to  show  their  dignity ;  and  between  thera  the 
president,  in  open  scarlet  robe,  leaving  fuUy 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CiMrka  JMckent.] 


A  DEAR  CUP  OP  COFPEE. 


607 


visible,  on  the  left-hand  button-hole  of  his 
coat,  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Hononr,  pen- 
dant from  its  crimson  attachment  He  also 
keeps  on  bis  gold-laced  cap. 

First  enter  by  the  mysterious  door  the  two 
accused,  as  closely  attended  as  if  they  were 
mice,  to  be  tried  by  a  cats'  court-martial. 
Levcndeur,  tall  and  elegant  in  manner, 
is  thinner  than  when  at  liberty ;  yon  guess 
him  to  be  supported  by  a  secret  presen- 
timent that  the  worst  will  not  come  to  the 
worst,  after  all.  Rougepain  has  an  idea  that 
the  worst  will  really  happen  to  him ;  that  he 
shall  have  five,  ten,  or  twenty  years  of  forced 
labour,  dragging,  perhaps,  a  cannon-ball 
after  him,  in  a  convlcf s  coat.  His  face  is 
swollen  and  red  with  weeping  j  he  weeps 
still ;  he  has  evidently  wept  all  night;  not  a 
wink  of  sleep  has  healed  those  wretched  eye- 
lids. He  wears  no  gaud^  uniform  now ;  he 
and  his  companion  in  disgrace,  are  clad  in 
suits  of  funeral  black.  He  is  in  retreat ;  he 
is  no  longer  in  employment  as  officier  compt- 
able.  Some  one  has  said,  **  Make  me  an  ex- 
ample of  these  two  men ;  my  brave  army 
shall  not  be  poisoned,  that  furnlBhers  may 
make  a  dishonest  sou.  The  life  of  one  private 
is  of  more  importance  to  Europe  than  the 
pleasures,  the  villas,  and  the  mistresses  and 
the  debts,  of  a  hundred  negotiants  and  ac- 
countable officers.  Things  may  have  been 
mismanaged  in  Algeria ;  Rougepain,  perhaps, 
has  taken  lessons  there.  Algerian  medical  offi- 
cers, with  appointments  of  only  two  thousand 
francs  a-year,  could  do  no  more  than  keep 
soul  and  body  together,  although  leading  a 
quiet  bachelor  life  ;  while  comptable  officers 
drank  champagne,  ate  truffles,  kept  their  car- 
riages and  something  else.  It  shall  not  be 
so  in  France." 

It  seems  curious  to  an  Englishman  that 
many  facts  should  be  perfectly  well  known  in 
France,  which  are  never  mentioned,  nor  even 
hinted  at  in  the  new^pers.  All  this  passed 
about,  in  whispers,  which  people  felt  as  un- 
mistakeably  as  they  feel  the  summer  breeze 
that  dances  far  and  wide  over  the  face  of  the 
land.  Then  there  were  counter-whispers, 
from  the  friends  of  the  parties  implicated. 
"Ah!  this  is  something  new.  We  have 
always  had  our  way  with  the  provisions, 
more  or  less,  though  other  descriptions  of 
army  materials  have  been  difficult  or  impos- 
sible to  tamper  with.  He  wants  to  curry 
favour  with  the  army;  he  is  hunting  after  po- 
pularity ;  he  would  like  to  show  England  how 
just  and  energetic  he  is.  He  is  going  to  sacri- 
fice poor  Levendeur  and  Rougepain,  who  have 
done  no  worse  than  others  have  done  before 
them,  on  the  altar  raised  to  the  idol  of  Gallia 
Protectrix.  Dear  departed  Louis  Philippe 
would  never  have  dreamed  of  such  unheard-of 
harshness.  And  the  matter,  it  seems,  is  to 
be  prosecuted,  although  Levendeur  has  offered 
the  minister  of  war  a  hundred  thousand  Arancs 
of  damages,  to  settle  the  business  amioablvl" 
And  then,  again,  there  were  rejoinder  whis- 


pers from  people — not  a  few— who  have 
brothers,  cousins,  sons,  and  grandsons,  at  the 
mercy  of  such  worthies  as  Levendeur  and 
Rougepain.  *'  He  is  right  to  insist  that  trick- 
ing traders  shall  be  punished.  Suppose  that 
he  is  endeavouring  to  ingratiate  himself  with 
the  army,  what  of  that  ?  The  army  has  done 
its  duty  to  himself  and  to  France ;  one  good 
turn  deserves  another ;  an  plaistr  en  vaut  un 
autre.  Why  should  my  brother  and  my 
child  be  dosed  with  detestable  drinks,  while 
Levendeur  and  Rougepain  daily  eojoy  their 
wine  and  coffee  unadulterated?  He  is  right 
I  wish  they  may  both  of  them  be  condemned. 
We  don't  like  fortunes  made  so  fast;  and 
besides,  the  douaniers  and  the  commissary  of 
police  have  hinted  some  anecdotes  which  do 
not  entirely  belong  to  ancient  history." 

So  the  whispers  buzzed  about ;  some- 
times they  were  shot  from  eye  to  eye,  with- 
out distinct  or  audible  utterance  by  the  lips, 
— ^when  a  side-door  in  the  altar  opened ;  a 
loud  voice  announced  "  La  Cour ;"  everybody, 
the  audience  included,  rose,  and  remained 
standing  till  the  president  had  taken  his  seat, 
and  the  actual  business  of  the  day  began. 
The  jury,  who  had  entered  previously,  rose, 
answered  to  their  names  one  by  one,  raised 
their  right  hands  as  an  oath  to  do  their  duty, 
and  re-seated  themselves.  The  accused  also 
rose,  answered  to  their  name,  employment, 
and  dwelling,  and  resumed  their  places  on 
the  penitential  bench.  The  greffier  read  a 
long  act  of  accusation,  to  the  effect  that  pro- 
vision belonging  to  The  State  had  been  misap- 
plied, and  that  the  parties  indicted  were 
accomplices  in  the  crime.  Through  another 
mouthpiece.  The  State  also  put  in  a  claim  that 
whatever  might  be  the  result  of  the  criminal 
trial,  it  should  have  the  benefit  of  a  civil 
action  against  the  same  offenders,  for  damaged 
interests. 

Then  came  the  shameful  exposure  that 
Levendeur,  the  merchant,  was  possessed 
of  a  stock  of  coffee  which  his  customers 
sent  back  as  fast  as  he  sent  it  out  Some 
said  it  was  abominable,  others  detestable, 
others  had  at  first  suspected  it  derived  its 
fiavour  and  smell  from  polluted  water,  and 
had  given  it  a  second  trial  with  the  result 
that  it  proved  undrinkable.  Li  short,  Leven- 
deur was  proved  to  be  possessed  of  a  large 
amount  of  poison  that  nobody  would  swallow. 
At  the  same  time  it  was  made  manifest  that 
Rougepain,  the  officer,  who  kept  the  key  of 
the  soldier's  cupboard,  had,  in  his  stock  in 
camp,  an  abundant  supply  of  excellent  coffee, 
bat  that  it  suddenly  clianged  its  character,- 
becoming  the  very  identical  sample  of 
filth  that  Levendeur's  clients  had  disdain- 
fully rejected.  How  the  pantomime  trick 
was  performed  was  sworn  to  by  porters  who 
helped  to  transfer  the  good  camp  coffee,  not 
to  Levendeur — oh,  dear,  nol  that  was  too 
bad— but  to  an  accommodatjng  widow  lady  at 
Dunkerque,  who  gave  Levendeur  credit  in  her 
books  for  upwards  of  six  thousand  firancs,  for 


Digitized  by  VjOQQIC 


508 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Condncted  bj 


she  coald  not  say  wbat»  nor  to  be  paid  how 
or  when ;  bat  who  looked  and  spoke  as  if  she 
wonld  have  given  six  times  six  thousand 
francs  to  be  six  leagues  away,  or  to  make  the 
witness-chair  sink  gently  with  her  weight 
six  feet  beneath  the  stage,  into  the  cave 
below.  **  Take  off  your  glove,  madam,''  said 
the  president,  as  she  advanced,  half-fainting, 
to  give  evidence.  "  Lift  your  hand  higher, 
madam;"  when,  ordered  to  tell  the  truth, 
she  replied,  *^I  swear."  "Speak  louder, 
madam;  I  cannot  hear  you;"  when  her 
voice  failed,  and  her  memory  also.  It  is  a 
sad  thing  to  see  a  woman  self-accused  as  the 
tool  of  an  artful  man  in  a  shabby  affiiir. 
Porters  and  carters  also  deposed  to  the  trans- 
fer of  certain  bags  of  coffee  from  Levendeur^s 
warehouse  to  Rougepaln's  camp-store.  It 
was  droll  that  the  bags  should  be  laid  in  the 
carts  with  their  names  and  numbers  down- 
wards ;  droll,  too,  that  the  hour  selected  for 
delivery  siiould  be  the  soldiers'  breakfast 
time,  when  the  men  were  all  absent  from  the 
manutention ;  not  droll  that,  at  the  second 
delivery,  the  porters  should  prefer  to  arrive 
at  that  hour,  to  escape  being  insulted  by  the 
military. 

Those  of  our  readers  who  feel  surprised 
that  so  much  fuss  should  be  -made  about 
co£fee.  should  remember  that  coffee  is,  to 
Frenchmen  in  general,  what  tea  and  gin  are 
to  the  London  charwoman,  what  his  bottle 
of  port  is  to  the  English  squire,  what 
his  drop  of  whisky  is  to  the  Irishman  or 
Scotchman,  what  his  porter  is  to  the  brick- 
layer's hodinan.  We  never  drink  healths  in 
tea ;  the  French  often  pledge  each  other  in  a 
cup  of  coffee,  of  course  with  the  gloria  of 
brandy  in  it.  If  you  wanted  your  harvest-men 
to  get  in  your  com  in  good  condition,  and  not 
be  nice  about  working  over-hours,  would  you 
mix  nauseous  substances  with  their  harvest- 
ale  ?  And  if  you  were  placed  at  the  head  of 
the  French  empire,  requiring  your  troops  to 
fight  a  good  cainpaign.  would  you  allow  Leven- 
deurs  and  Rougepains  to  compel  them  to 
wash  down  their  rations  with  detestable  or 
odious  coffee  ? 

The  procureur-imperial  seemed  to  be  of 
opinion  that  you  would  not  think  of  doing 
any  such  thing,  nor  advise  its  being  done :  for 
he  first  called  on  the  military  sul^intenaant, 
in  his  embroidered  uniform  and  parti-coloured 
saeh,  to  take  his  seat  on  the  evidential 
ttirone,  and  explain  to  the  jury  what  were 
the  duties  of  offlciers  comptables  in  general ; 
—whether  amongst  them  be  included  the 
•  pouring  out  of  nauseous  coffee  from  polluted 
biggins,  even  to  oblige  a  friend  by  a  disin- 
terested exchange,  through  the  agency  of  ob- 
liging widows  at  Dunkerque,  or  elsewhere. 
The  militaiy  sub-intendant  seemed  to  be  la- 
bouring under  the  prejudice  that,  considering 
the  moral  responsibility  of  offlciers  comptables, 
the  fidelity  expected  firom  them, the  honourable 
position  they  hold,  the  handsome  pay  they 
receive,and  the  circumstance  fhat  all  losses  fall 


— not  on  themselves,  but  on  the  government — 
they  are  bound  to  ascertain  that  every  article 
received  for  military  use  is  good,  and  that 
none  but  good  articles  are  distributed  to  the 
men.  Certainly,  that  they  have  no  right  to 
exchange  good  for  bad. 

**  And  then,"  insisted  the  procureur,  in  the 
most  malignant  hard-mouthed  way,  "(^ 
that  coffee  had  been  sent  to  the  Crimea,  what 
would  have  been  the  consequence?"  He 
could  not  get  that  idea  out  of  his  head,  but 
enlarged  upon  it  repeatedly.  It  showed  that, 
however  learned  in  the  law,  the  procureur 
was  ignorant  of  contemporary  historr,  which 
proves  that  there  is  something  in  the  Crimean 
air  that  enables  an*  army  to  go  without — 
not  coffee  merely,  but  many  other  things. 
^'What  would  have  been  the  disastrous 
result,"  he  Tehemently  inquired,  "  if  those 
two  accused  persons — ^traltors  to  the  state — 
traitors  to  the  soldier  I" — ^pointing  to  them 
with  a  vibrating  fore-finger,  looking  at  them 
as  if  they  had  been  a  couple  of  toads,  and 
speaking  in  a  tone  of  scorn  which  ought  only 
to  be  used  towards  the  vilest  of  the  vile, — 
"  what  would  have  been  the  unhappy  result, 
if  the  execrable  coffee  substituted  by  the  two 
accused  for  the  good  coffee  of  the  State,  bad 
gone  to  the  army  before  Sebastopol?" 
Rougepain  covered  his  face  with  his  handker- 
chief, and  wept  away  even  more  profusely 
than  before  ;  Levendeur  looked  down  at  the 
floor,  and  could  not  look  up  again  for  some 
little  time. 

There  were  plenty  of  witnesses ;  they  had 
answered  to  their  names  from  various  parts 
of  the  court  before  the  trial  began ;  and  were 
then  shut  up  in  their  place  of  retirement,  till 
they  were  produced— one  by  one — by  the 
huissiers,  as  wanted.  Many  of  them  came  to 
speak  to  Levendenr's  « commercial  mora- 
lity ;"  and  as  each  witness  makes  his  state- 
ment, without  beinff  led  on  by  questions 
ftom  counsel,  as  ^th  us,  some  of  them 
indulged  in  pretty  long  discussions  in  a  con- 
versational tone  and  manner,  and  gave 
biographical  memoirs,  that  would  make  a  nice 
little  pamphlet  each.  No  doubt,  a  certiun 
personage  may  be  painted  blacker  than  he  is ; 
but,  "  See  how  he  dresses  him  up ! "  was  the 
remark  made  by  my  little  bird,  when  a  wit- 
ness took  a  moment's  breath  in  the  midst  of 
an  eulogistic  flourish.  The  preddcnt  heard  all 
with  great  patience,  kindly  refreshing  the 
memory  of  tiiose  who  had  not  their  depo^- 
tions  well  by  heart.  Then  came  the  struggle 
of  the  advocates,  of  whom  I  will  only  say 
that  whatever  fees  they  got  were  richly 
earned  by  the  exercise  of  their  most  8we«t 
voices. 

As  national  peculiarities,  there  may  be 
signalised  the  reception  of  hearsay  evidence ; 
the  reading  of  written  testimonials,  even  from 
deceased  persons.  In  favour  of  the  accm^ 
Rougepain ;  the  droll  attitudes,  such  as  6to<^ 
ing  to  the  ground  ;  the  hand-clappings,  vio- 
lent gestures  and  tones  of  voice  ;  the  trembling 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ClurlM  OickoM.] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  THE  FAIRIES. 


509 


of  the  fore-finger  raised  over  the  head ;  the 
almoet  abosive  language  and  ironical  laagh : 
the  direct  appeals,  apostrophes,  too,  <M*atoricai 
questionings  and  palling  to  pieces  of  the  ao- 
cosed,  by  the  arocats;  one  avocat  addressing 
the  other  personally  and  pointedly,  mimick- 
ing his  manner  and  answering  his  supposed 
objections  in  a  completely  cb^nged  tone  of 
▼Dice — yentriloquist-llke ;  their  indiscreet 
suppositions — as  we  should  consider  them — 
by  an  iigudioious  use  of  the  argumentum  ad 
absurdum,  because  many  things  are  absurd, 
and  yet  are  true  ;  and,  in  short,  real  acting, — 
fit  for  the  stage,  rather  than  what  we  call 
eloquence.  A  foreigner  can  be  no  judge  of 
good  or  bad  taste  in  conventional  matters, 
and  is  incompetent  to  pronounce  how  far 
such  means  are  likely  to  produce  the  effect 
intended. 

The  president  summed  up  shortly ;  the  jury 
retired  to  their  room;  the  president  and 
judges  to  theirs.  The  accused  were  taken 
out  of  court  After  a  short  interval  a  little 
bell  announced  that  the  jury  had  made  up 
their  mind.  They  re-entered.  Another  bell 
announced  the  return  of  the  court  The  jury 
gave  their  verdict  in  the  absence  of  the 
accused.  The  president,  after  consultation 
with  the  judges,  sent  for  them,  and  informed 
them  that  the  verdict  was  negative— *in  other 
words — that  they  were  acquitted.  Levendeur 
expressed  his  joy  by  slapping  his  thigh: 
Rougepain  ceased  from  blubbering  and  wiped 
his  moustachios  clean  and  dry.  For  the  nrst 
time  during  the  day,  they  permitted  signs  of 
mutual  recognition  to  escape  them.  But,  in- 
terposed the  president,  Levendeur  will  pay 
a  fine  of  so  many  thousand  francs  damages  to 
the  State,  as  he  has  already  offered,  besides 
the  expenses ;  otherwise,  he  will  be  caught 
by  the  body. 

Friend  Levendeur,  it  is  a  costly  cup  of 
coffee  that  they  make  you  swallow  I  The 
president,  judges,  and  other  officials  left  the 
court;  the  procureur-imperial  giving  the 
acquitted  just  such  a  look  as  the  renowned 
terrier,  BiUy,  darts  at  a  rat  that  he  has  not 
been  allowed  to  worry  to  his  mind.  The 
friends  of  the  white-washed,  crowded  up  to  the 
bar,  and  showered  upon  them  various  forms 
and  degrees  of  congratulation,  from  kisses  on 
both  cheeks  to  a  shake  of  the  hand  and  a  not 
too  cordial  bow. 

"  You  were  not  long  about  it,'*  I  said  to 
my  sworn  friend  (the  juryman)  at  supper ; 
'^  and  I  expected  tlie  result  would  have  been 
different" 

"  Yes ; "  he  said, "  we  were  unanimous.  It 
was  impossible  we  could  condemn.  There 
was  no  evidence  of  any  pecuniary  considera- 
tion whatever,  hjtving  passed  between  Leven- 
deur and  Rougepain ;  besides,  one  must  have 
a  little  pity  on  human  weakness.  It  was  a 
tripotage  commercial^  that's  alL  They  have 
had  BIX  weeks  in  prison,  and  an  excellent 
lesson  has  been  given.  Rougepain  will,  per- 
haps, remain  in  retreat :  perhaps  will  be  re- 


moved to  another  militarv  division.  If 
Levendeur  plays  tricks  with  coffee  again, 
he  will  not  get  off  so  easily." 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  THE  FAIRIES. 

For  the  first  time,  thanks  to  Mr.  Planch^, 
we,  children  of  every  growth  in  this  country, 
have  the  fairy  tales  of  the  Countess  D'Anois 
(whom  we  are  now  ordered  to  call  D^Aulnoy) 
set  fairly  before  us.  Mr.  Planch^  has  treated 
them  with  all  due  reverence,  translated  them 
with  strict  fidelity,  illustrated  with  notes 
their  allusions  to  the  persons  and  habits  of 
the  time  when  they  were  written,  and  issued 
them  adorned  with  pretty  pictures,  in  a 
cheap  volume  that  will  enable  any  one  to 
read  up,  thoroughly  and  easily,  this  section 
of  fairy  lore.  ] 

And  fairy  lore  is  not  lore  only  in  a  playful  i 
sense.  An  ample  knowledge  of  it  implies 
education  of  a  great  deal  more  than  the  fancy. 
The  fields  on  which  ogres,  fairies,  genii,  giants, 
and  enchanters  are  at  home,  are  to  be  looked 
back  upon  by  nobodv  as  "  fields  beloved  in 
vain,  where  once  his  careless  childhood 
strayed,  a  stranger  yet  to  pain."  They  are 
not  beloved  in  vain  ;  and  if  grave  parents  or 
grave  pundits,  who  instruct  the  young,  would 
take  half  as  much  pains  upon  their  cultiva- 
tion as  they  spend  on  backboards,  drill 
lessons,  delectuses  and  Lindley  Hurrays, 
they  would  be  beloved  assuredly  to  all  the 
best  of  purposes. 

For,  there  is  in  all  literature  nothing  that 
can  be  produced  which  shall  represent  the 
essential  spirit  of  a  man  or  of  a  people  so 
completely  as  a  legend  or  a  fairy  tale.  The 
wild  freaks  of  fancy  reveal  more  of  the  real 
inner  life  of  man  than  the  well-trimmed  ideas 
of  the  judicious  thinker.  The  inventor  is 
completely  off  his  guard  when  he  has  set  his 
fancy  loose,  to  play  among  impossibilities ; 
but  while  he  sports  with  the  affairs  of  life  by 
twisting  them  into  odd  forms,  gives  unre- 
strained license  to  his  ingenuity,  for  the 
invention  of  any  conceivable  picture  of  what 
seems  to  him  most  beautiful  and  desirable,  or 
the  reverse ;  his  unstudied  dealing  with  ideal 
things  shows  all  that  is  most  unalterable  and 
essential  in  his  own  mind,  or  the  minds  of 
those  whom  his  inventions  are  designed  to 
please.  Everybody  knows  that  fairy  tales 
and  other  compositions  of  that  kind  re- 
present the  spirit  of  the  age  and  nation 
out  of  which  they  spring;  there  are  few 
who  trouble  themselves  to  consider  seri- 
ously why,  or  to  how  great  a  degree  that 
is  thp  case,  or  to  reflect  upon  the  use  that 
might  be  made  of  this  fact  in  the  education 
of  a  child. 

The  fancy  of  a  child  is — for  the  first  six  or 
seven  years  at  least,  of  childhood— by  a  great 
deal  the  broadest  channel  through  which 
knowledge  and  wisdom  can  be  poured  into 
the  mind.  The  flower  comes  before  the  fruit, 
in  man  as  in  the  tree  ;  and  in  each  case  Ae 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


510 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCondaetod  by 


fruit  is  developed  from  the  flower.  To  clip 
faocj  itt  youth  for  the  sake  of  getting  more 
wisdom  from  age,  is  about  as  wise  a  scheme 
of  mental  culture  as  it  would  be  wise  in  agri- 
culture to  pick  off  the  leaves  of  apple-blossom 
in  the  spring,  for  the  sake  of  getting  monster 
apples  in  the  autumn.  The  mind  has  its  own 
natural  way  of  growing,  as  the  body  has,  and 
at  each  stage  of  growth  it  asks  for  its  own  class 
of  food.  We  injure  minds  or  bodies  by  deny- 
ing either.  Just  as  some  people  deny  fairy 
tales  to  their  children,  others — or  the  same-— 
deny  them  sugar,  which  would  help  their 
perfect  bodily  development,  or  even  tne  free 
supply  of  milk,  which  is  essential  to  it.  Sugar, 
they  say,*  spoils  the  teeth  ;  milk  sits  heavy  on 
the  stomach;  fairy  tales  (monstrous  delu- 
sion I)  make  the  mind  idle  and  too  languid 
for  other  work.  The  truth  being,  in  the  last 
case,  that  they  make  the  mind  active,  and 
indisposed  for  other  work  that  does  not  give 
it  enough  exercise. 

Let  us  suppose  somebody  with  different 
opinions,  who  nonestly  allows  himself  to  be 
instructed  by  the  hints — or  more  than  hints 
— that  nature  gives,  and  admits  fairy  lore  as 
an  important  element  in  the  instruction  of 
his  children.  He  makes  the  admission  unre- 
servedly, and  forms  as  perfect  a  collection  as 
he  can,  of  the  popular  fairy  tales  and  legends 
of  all  lands  under  the  sun ;  of  a  very  great 
number,  translations  already  exist.  There 
are  cheap  or  dear  editions  of  the  Indian 
fables  of  Bidpai  or  Pilpay  ;  there  are  Persian 
Rose-gu^ens,  that  have  been  transplanted 
into  our  language  by  able  scholars ;  there  are 
Arabian  tales ;  fables,  and  legends,  that  speak 
to  us  the  thoughts  of  ancient  Greece  and 
Rome ;  legends  and  traditions  of  the  middle 
ages  ;  Itidian  stories ;  Spanish  ballads  and 
traditions ;  Scandinavian  sages ;  German  fairy 
tales  and  legends :  both  those  written  by  the 
finest  of  the  Grerman  authors,  and  those  cur- 
rent among  the  people  and  committed  to  the 
press  by  students  in  every  German  state; 
there  are  French  fables  and  fairy  tales  having 
their  own  distinctive  character ;  there  is  Hans 
Christian  Andersen ;  there  are  our  own  popu- 
lar stories,  and  many  more ;  for  even  the 
un^enial  Russia  furnishes  a  fabulist.  Every 
main  period  -of  history  and  every  clime  can 
send  a  magic  representation  to  the  Child's 
Parliament  of  creatures  of  the  fancy.  Let  us 
suppose  that  the  same  parent  who  has,  in  his 
wisdom,  called  this  parliament  together,  shall 
constitute  himself  its  president — its  Mr. 
Speaker.  Let  him  know  all  the  members, 
and  enough  of  the  constituencies  represented 
by  them,  to  be  able  to  place  his  children 
behind  the  scenes  by  help  of  a  few  brisk 
comments  that  will  be  always  welcome. 
When  the  honourable  knights  the  members 
for  Arabia  are  upon  the  floor,  attention  may 
be  called  to  the  Orientalism  of  their  mode  of 
speech,  and  of  Uieir  manners ;  to  the  kind 
of  relation  in  which  caliphs  must  have  stood 
towards  theur  viziers  and  subjects  among  the 


faithfal ;  to  the  Eastern  ideas  of  diopping 
and  domestic  life.  It  is  not  necessary  in  the 
least  to  lecture  about  everything  that  has  to 
be  observed.  Very  few  hints  will  suggest  to 
a  child  what  sort  of  things  are  noticeable  in 
this  way,  and  he  will  be  glad  to  find  in  a 
pleasure-book  fresh  matter  for  comparison 
and  amusements,  riddles  to  guess,  and  so 
forth.  If  the  honourable  member  for  early 
modern  Italy,  Mr.  Boccaccio,  be  not  excluded 
from  the  company,  he  will  tell  of  the  pesti- 
lences that  afflicted  towns  in  his  time  ;  and 
while  he  teaches,  as  every  outspoken  soul 
must  teach,  something  of  the  beauty  and 
worth  that  lies  concealed  in  the  corrupteei 
heart  of  man,  he  will  show  how  the  great 
Italy,  which  once  gave  laws  to  the  known 
world,  could  grovel  in  the  days  of  its  abuse- 
ment.  When  a  fair  member  for  France  in 
the  days  of  Louis  Quatorze — say  Madame 
d'Aulnoy — ^has  possession  of  the  children's 
ears,  the  inner  life  of  France,  as  it  was  then, 
becomes,  with  a  few  words  of  help  from  Mr. 
Speaker,  clear  to  them.  They  may  be 
taught  to  observe  usefully,  too,  how  the 
fancy  that  disports  itself  with  princes  and 
princesses,  diamonds  and  shepherdesses  with 
gilt  crooks,  differs  from  the  more  spiritual 
fancy  which  has  produced  the  most  popular 
of  fairy  tales  in  our  own  day.  With  a  little 
of  such  help  as  might  be  given  by  a  parent 
reasonably  educated,  and  not  grudging  now 
and  then  a  search  even  in  adult  life  for  some 
occasional  additions  to  his  knowledge,  a  child 
having  access  to  a  library  of  fairy  lore,  might 

genetrate  much  farther  into  the  true  soul  of 
istory,  acquire  a  much  truer  perception  of 
the  life's  language  of  men  of  every  race, 
Greeks  and  Arabians,  Christians  and  Jews — 
of  the  difference  between  men  of  the  north 
and  of  the  south,  and  of  the  east  and  of 
the  west — and  of  the  one  spirit  that  is  in 
them  all — than  thousands  ever  get  who  have 
had  grammars  and  catechisms  only  for 
their  mental  spoon-meat,  and  who  enter  their 
graves  without  having  once  come  fairly  into 
contact  with  the  warm,  quick  heart  of  human 
knowledge. 

We  shall  retuni  to  Madame  d'Aulnoy 
presently,  and,  with  her  stories  for  text,illa»- 
trate  rather  more  ftilly  what-  has  been  said. 
They  are  delightful  tales :  but  we  would 
have  nobody  who  buys  tnem  think  that 
when  he  has  put  Madame  d'Anlnoy  on  his 
shelf  he  has  set  up  his  family  with  fairy  litera- 
ture. It  is  essential  to  the  true  theory  of  the 
use  of  fairy  lore  that  it  should  be  allowed  to 
run  with  a  full  sweep,  in  something  like  all 
its  variety,  through  a  child's  mind.  Madame 
d'Aulnoy,  as  one  of  a  happy  company  of  tale- 
tellers, is  brilliant  and  charming  whenever  it 
becomes  her  turn  to  speak ;  but  if,  instead  of 
speaking  in  her  turn,  she  were  suffered  to 
engross  attention,  she  would  become  liable  to 
a  good  deal  of  adverse  criticism.  Strength 
and  vivacity  of  intellect,  healthy  feelings 
and  wide  sympathies,  could  never  be  pro- 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Chartet  JMekens.] 


THE  SCHOOL  OF  THE  FAIRIES. 


511 


duced  oat  of  the  reading  of  her  stories  alone, 
bowerer  maoh  they  may  help,  taken  with 
others,  to  produce  them.  Madame  d'Aulnoy 
frolioked  with  mnch  liyeliness  and  grace 
within  a  Terj  narrow  circle.  Let  the  child, 
familiar  not  with  that  alone,  find  live- 
liness and  grace  in  other  circles,  and  in 
energy  and  massiye  strength.  With  the 
whole  playground  of  fancy  open  to  him,  let 
bim  exercise  all  faculties,  and  so  acquire 
perfect  agility  of  mind. 

There  are  certain  qualities  common  to  all 
fairy  tales — ^by  which  term  we  would  be  sup- 
posed to  express  all  short,  brisk  narratives, 
of  an  extremely  fanciful  description — some 
respects  in  which  the  teachings  of  them  all 
concur.    They  all,  for  example,  nearly  or 

Jiulte  without  exception,  suggest  thoughts  of 
amiliarity  and  kindness  towards  animals. 
Of  course,  it  is  difficult  for  «ny  person  gifted 
with  a  prompt  and  active  fancy  to  be  cruel. 
They  are  the  dull  of  wit  who  can  inflict  tor- 
ture or  see  torture  inflicted  without  wincing 
at  their  own  conception  of  the  suffering  a 
helpless  creature  feels.    The  spirit  of  kind- 
ness, therefore,  animates  all  ta\ry  lore,  and  j 
must,  as  well  as  the  activity  of  thought  at- . 
tached  to  it,  become  commiftiicated  in  some  j 
measure  to  the  faithful  student 

It  is  curious,  too,  to  observe  how  com- 1 
pletely  the  traces  of  their  Oriental  origin  is  i 
to  be  seen  underlying  national  peculiarity  in  ! 
almost  all  tales  of  enchantment    From  one  > 
of  the  oldest  civilisations  in  the  world,  and 
from  the  remotest  times,  from    the   earlv 
mythology  of  India,   the  attendants  which 
adorned  the  court  of  the  god  Indra  as  with 
flowers,  found  their  way  in  a  new  form  to 
Persia.    The  Persian  deevs  and  peris  date 
almost  from  the  time  of  Zoroaster,  and  per- 
haps the  wife  of  Artaxerxes,  in  Greek  Pari- 
satis,  was  in  Persian,  Pari-zadeh,  Peri-born. 
The  Persian  story-tellers  found  their  way  to  1 
the   hearts   of  the  Arabians,  and  by  the 
crusaders   the  magic   lore  of  the  Mussul- 
men  was  brought  to  the  west,  especially  to 
England  and  to  France.    One  idea  .of  the 
origin  of  the  word  fairy,  is  that  it  is  de- 
rived from  the  Persian  peri,  and  that  our 
fairyland  is  thus  nothing  else  but  the  charmed  ; 
country  of  Ginnistan  seen  from  a  western  j 
border. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  eastern  ideas  of  mag-  \ 
nificence  accepted  and  amplified  by  the  de- 1 
light  which  the  old  knights  of  the  middle  j 
ages  took  in  pomps  and  e£ows,  fairly  belong  i 
to  the  genius  of  most  fairy  tales.  It  does  not , 
appear  in  the  tales  of  Ireland,  and  in  some  , 
others,  for  reasons  which  we  need  not  stop  to  | 
specify.  It  does  appear  in  the  tales  of  the  | 
Countess  d'Aulnoy,  and  that  in  a  grotesque 
form  which  is  very  charming.  She  belonged 
to  a  court  that  had  abundant  relish  for  ex- ! 
ternal  glitter ;  though,  when  she  wrote,  Louis  | 
the  Fourteentb  was  following  the  footsteps  of  | 
Madame  Maintenon  to  heaven,  princes  of  the  i 
blood  were  being  educated  by  Bossuet  and  1 


Fenelon,  and  furnished  by  the  prudish  and 
the  wise  with  special  editions  of  the  classics, 
and  small  libraries  of  learned  and  moral 
works.  Harmless  amusement  was  sought 
for  the  young,  and  found  also  by  the  old,  in 
little  stories.  Following,  but  in  no  case  we 
think  sharing  the  lead  of  Perrault,  the  author 
of  Cinderella,  several  ladies  of  the  court, 
among  whom  the  most  justly  popular  was 
the  Countess  d^Aulnoy,  produced  tales  of 
which  not  a  few  will  go  down  from  one 
generation  of  children  to  another,  until 
childhood  shall  be  no  more.  This  lady  died 
a  century  and  a  half  ago,  at  the  age  of 
fifty-six.  She  wrote  several  books,  but  no- 
thing of  hers  has  lived  except  the  fairv  tales ; 
not  even  one  of  the  novels  in  which  these 
tales  were  embedded  when  they  first  ap- 
peared. 

One  of  the  main  charms  of  them,  apart 
Arom  higher  qualities  already  named,  is  the 
completeness  with  which  the  writer  shakes 
00"  all  common  regard  for  possibilities,  and 
gives  up  her  entire  mind  without  reserve  to 
the  extravagance  of  fairyland.  If  a  very 
little  dwarf  appears,  he  probably  comes 
mounted  on  an  elephant  If  a  lady  weeps, 
her  eyes  are  like  two  fountains  playing  in 
the  sun,  or  there  is  a  brook  upon  the  floor 
created  by  her  tears.  When  King  Charmant 
was  entrapped  by  the  fairy  Sousslo,  and 
the  hideous  Truitonne,  and  the  two  ladies 
hoped  to  talk  him  into  marrying  the  Aright, 
"  twenty  days,"  we  are  told,  "  and  twenty 
nights  passed  without  their  ce»Euing  to  talk : 
without  eating,  sleeping,  or  sitting  down.'^ 
As  you  would  commend  a  novelist  for  never 
swerving  from  the  possible,  so  you  commend 
and  love  a  teller  of  fairy  tales  who  never 
swerves  flrom  the  impossible.  Let  the  real 
world  be  mixed  up  with  the  unreal  and  a 
discord  is  produced,  comparisons  are  bred, 
and  readers  are  flattered  with  the  notion  that 
they  have  a  right  to  cry,  "  How  so?"  at  what 
is  told  them.  There  is  no,  how  so?  in  fairy 
history;  it  is  all  so,  and  so  because  it  is  so. 
Wlien  King  Charmant's  friend  the  enchanter 
set  out  to  look  for  him  he  went  a  little  more 
than  eight  times  round  the  world  upon  his 
search.  When  Leander,  the  invisible  prince, 
or  prince  sprite,  was  attacked  by  the  followers 
of  Faribon,  he  made  nothing  of  killing  every 
man,  though  he  had  scarcdy  recovered  his 
wind  after  a  combat  with  a  furious  lion, 
which,  of  course,  was  "of  an  enormous  size." 
When  the  same  prince  committed  ravages 
among  the  apricots  and  cherries  (all  fruits 
are  ripe  at  all  seasons,  of  course),  in  the 
queen's  parterre,  his  was  a  remarkably  bold 
act ;  they  were  fruits  that  "  it  was  death  to 
touch."  It  is  a  genuine  fact,  too,  as  relating 
to  this  prince  that  he  "  had  always  nice" — no, 
we  misquote  that — "  the  nicest  sweetmeats  in 
the  world  in  his  pocket,"  and  even  a  more 
genuine  fact  is  narrated  of  another  person  in 
the  story,  who  being  teased  by  excess  of  his 
wife's  aflfection,  "  went  off  one  fine  morning 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


612 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


£Coai«ciedtaT 


with  post-horses,  and  trayelled  a  very,  very 
great  distance,  in  order  to  hide  himself  in  a 
deep  cave  at  the  bottom  of  a  mountain  where 
she  should  not  be  able  to  find  him/'  Then, 
what  shall  we  say  of  the  revenge  of  the  fairy 
Carabossa  on  the  king  who,  when  he  was  a 
little  boy,  played  her  the  trick  of  putting 
brimstone  into  her  broth,  and  whose  infant 
daughter  she  came  down  the  chimney  to 
blight  ?  She  was  blighted  with  a  threat  that 
forced  her  parents  to  shut  her  up  in  a  tower, 
where  she  nad  reason  "  to  cry  so  much — so 
much — that  her  eyes  swelled  as  big  as  one's 
list.''  The  wicked  fairy  Carabossa  I  whom 
the  king  could  not  appease,  nor  even  the 
queen.  '*  In  vain,"  cried  the  queen,  **  have  1 
sent  her  fifty  pounds  of  sweetmeats,  as  much 
double-refined  sugar,  and  two  Mavence  hama  ; 
they  have  gone  for  nothing  with  her  I"    Alas, 

Cr  princess!  Is  it  not  mournful  to  think 
r  she  was  misled  into  running  away  with 
Fanfarinet  to  that  desolate  Island,  where 
**  they  passed  three  days  without  eating  any- 
thing but  some  leaves  and  a  few  cockchafers." 
And  how  indignant  we  must  all  feel  at  the 
selfish  Fanfarinet,  who  ate  up  all  the  honey- 
comb that  a  good  fairy  showed  his  lady-love, 
and  then  drank  up  the  milk  she  sent,  because 
he  was  so  thirs^,  '*  after  eating  more  than 
fifteen  pounds  of  honey."  There  was  a  glut- 
ton for  you!  Different,  indeed,  were  his 
notions  of  a  feast  f^om  those  of  the  Princess 
Rosette,  who,  in  her  innocent  joy  at  hesuring 
from  her  brother  that  the  King  of  the  Pea- 
cocks was  discovered,  and  desired  to  marry 
her,  gave  to  "  every  one  who  came  to  see  her, 
for  three  days,  a  slice  of  bread  and  butter 
with  some  jam  on  it." 

When  the  CountesB  d'Aulnoy  does  descend 
into  the  region  of  every-day  fact  she  manages 
to  do  it,  as  in  that  last  instance,  with  a  deli- 
cious absurdity  that  makes  it  more  enchanting 
than  enchantment.  This  lady  had  heard 
from  her  brothers,  too,  in  an  extremely  mat- 
ter-of-fact way.  They  had  travelled  beyond 
human  ken,  through  the  kingdom  of  Maj^flies, 
to  the  land  of  Peacocks,  and  in  the  capital  of 
that  land  they  '*  wrote  by  the  post  to  the 
princess,  requesting  her  to  pack  up  her 
clothes  immediately  and  to  come  with  all 
speed,  as  the  King  of  the  Peacocks  was 
waiting  for  her.''  As  for  the  wicked  king, 
who  came  in  complete  armour  to  the  chamber 
of  poor  Queen  Joyeux,  of  course  he  carried 
her  off  wickedly  enough ;  twisting  her  beau- 
tiful hair  *' three  times  round  his  hand,  he 
threw  her  over  his  shoulders  like  a  sack  of 
corn,  carried  her  thus  down  stairs,  and 
mounted  with  her  upon  his  large  black 
horse."  It  is  a  comfort  that  when  afterwards 
''he  dragged  the  poor  queen  into  a  wood, 
climbed  up  a  tree,  and  was  going  to  hang  her, 
the  fairy,  having  rendered  herself  invisible, 
gave  him  a  violent  push,  and  he  fell  from  the 
top  of  the  tree,  knocking  out  four  of  his  front 
teeth."  There  is  a  pretty  touch,  let  us  remark, 
too,  when,  in  treating  of  the  grief  of  the 


mother  of  Prince  Cheri,  the  countesB  suddenly 
becomes  cautious,  and,  by  avoiding  aa  uper- 
lati  ve,  gets  at  a  climax  of  exaggeration.  Her 
majesty,  <'  who  doted  on  her  son,  was  nearly 
dissolved  in  tears."  Dissolved  in  tears  would 
have  meant  nothing  at  all,  but  nearly  dis- 
solved— poor  lady  I  It  was  lucky,  aa  it  hap- 
pened, that  the  ogre  had  not  made  a  salad  of 
Finette  Oendron  and  her  sisters^  and  by  a» 
doing,  destroyed  the  prince's  happiness  for 
ever. 

One  of  our  great  objections  to  the  Swiss 
guard  always  has  been  that  it  would  net 
admit  the  royal  ram  to  the  king's  palace  when 
he  wanted  to  see  lierveilleuse.  Had  thai 
not  been  so,  never  would  Merveilleose,  aa  she 
issued  from  the  palaoe  gates,  have  seen  her 
dear  ram  stretched  breathless  on  the  pave- 
ment And,  now  that  we  have  come  to  talk 
about  the  royal  guard,  we  get  back  to  his 
Majesty  King  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  and  to 
the  Countess  d'Aulnoy  as  a  memb^  of  hla 
court.  Utterly  as  the  countess  abandoned 
herself  to  the  free  play  of  fancv,  she  could  not 
abandon  her  own  nature.  It  is  not  neoeasary 
to  accept  the  traditions  of  despotism  which 
have  filled  all  eastern  tales  with  only  royal 
heroes ;  the  faiiy  tales  of  other  countries  and 
of  freer  meoT  have  spoken  to  the  people  of 
themselves — the  countess  spoke  of  courts  to 
courtiers.  Her  heroines  were  all  princes  and 
princesses.  '-The  eldest,"  as  she  says  of 
Rosette's  brothers,  "was  called  the  Great 
Prince,  and  the  younger  the  Little  Prince.-' 
Hers,  too,  is  a  courtly,  Louis  Fourteenthly, 
notion  of  grandeur,  which  displays  how  '*  the 
dukes  and  marquises  of  the  lungdom  seated 
the  Great  Prince  on  a  throne  of  gold  and 
diamonds,  with  a  magnificent  crown  on  his 
head,  and  robes  of  violet  velvet  embroidered 
all  over  with  suns  and  moons."  And  look 
at  Finette  in  her  best  clothes,  when  **her 
gown  was  of  blue  satin,  covered  with  stars  in 
diamonds.  She  had  a  sun  of  them  in  her  hair, 
and  a  full  moon  on  her  back  ;  and  all  these 
jewels  shone  so  brightly,  that  one  conldn't 
look  at  her  without  winking."  There  is  the 
glitter  of  fancy  in  all  this,  but  there  is  alio 
more  than  a  little  of  the  court  lady's  love  of 
dress.  Fine  dresses  and  rags  define  one  of 
the  differences  between  good  and  evil,  beauty 
and  ugliness  another.  Occasional  {necept 
does,  indeed,  tend  another  way ;  and  we  are 
shown  how  the  Princess  Trognon,  who  was 
the  most  amiable  creature  in  the  world,  was 
hideous,  and  "  always  went  about  in  a  bowl : 
her  legs  being  out  of  joint  j "  Prince  Torticcdi 
being  as  good,  and  no  whit  handsomer.  But 
this  wrong  state  of  things  preys  on  the  coun- 
tess's mind,  and  before  she  has  done  with 
them,  she  turns  them — Prince  and  Princess 
— out  in  their  true  figures,  models  of  beanty, 
with  their  names  changed  into  Sana-pair  and 
Brilliante.  Again,  though  she  does  trj  them 
with  poverty,  and  make  them  shepherds,  she 
shrinks  from  the  rags,  and  dresses  them  thus 
playfully  in  true  Louis-Quatorae  style.  ''  She 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CharUa  Dlckena.] 


LATEST  INTELLIGENCE  FROM  SPIRITS. 


513 


had  on  a  white  dress,  trimmed  with  fine  lace, 
neater  tbaii  any  shepherdess  had  ever  been 
seen  in.  Her  waist  was  encircled  by  a  band  of 
little  roses  and  iasmine ;  her  hair  was  adorned 
with  flowers;"  and  she  had  '*a  gilt  and 
painted  croolc."  As  for  Sans-pair,  '<  he  was 
himself  attired  in  a  dress  of  rose-coloured 
taffety,  covered  with  English  point,  and 
carried  a  crook  adorned  with  ribands ;  and  a 
small  basket ;  and  thus  equipped,  noGeladon 
in  the  world  had  dared  to  appear  before 
him.^' 

The  degree  of  tolerance  for  ugliness  shown 
by  the  countess  is  very  well  displayed  in  the 
case  of  Princess  Laidronette,  who  was,  like 
Trognon,  good  but  ugly ;  and  *'  having  arrived 
at  twelve  years  of  age,  went  and  threw  her- 
self at  the  feet  of  the  king  and  queen,  and 
Implored  them  to  permit  her  to  go  and  shut 
herself  up  in  the  Lonely  Castle,  that  she 
might  afBict  them  no  longer  with  the  con- 
templation of  her  ugliness.  As,  notwith- 
standing her  hideous  appearance,  they  could 
not  help  being  fond  of  her,  it  was  Dot  without 
some  pain  they  consented.'^  But  they  did 
consent.  Here,  then,  we  have  fixed  points, 
from  which,  in  all  her  flights,  the  woman's 
mind  of  the  Countess  d'Aulnoy  could  not 
swerve.  Love  of  dress,  jewellery,  pretty  faces, 
princes  and  princesses,  the  fancy  shepherds 
and  shepherdesses,  with  other  fashions  of  the 
oourt  of  the  great  king,  abided  by  her.  Her 
range  of  invention,  too,  was  limited.  Her 
fairies  are  all  very  much  alike ;  the  majority 
of  her  princes  and  princesses  are  shut  up  in 
towers  ;  and  so  forth.  Within  her  range, 
nevertheless,  and  according  to  her  manner. 
the  use  made  by  her  of  her  material  was  per- 
fect. The  White  Cat,  the  Fair  with  Golden 
Hair,  and  half-a^ozen  more  of  her  tales,  are 
immortal.  But,  we  would  have  the  works  of 
the  countess  gathered,  as  they  have  been 
by  Mr.  Planche,  the  best  ftiend— next  to  her 
friends  the  children — that  she  has  in  our 
own  day ;  we  would  have  them,  as  we  said  at 
starting,  set  in  their  places  among  others, 
read  in  their  turn  with  the  legends  gathered 
by  the  brothers  Grimm,  with  choice  tales 
from  Musseus,  and  such  more  spiritual  freaks 
of  fancy  as  the  fairy  tales  of  Tieck  and  Goethe 
furnish  ;  with  the  wild  stories  of  HoS'man  ; 
of  course,  with  our  own  Red  Riding  Hood, 
and  others  of  its  class ;  with  the  Irish  fairy 
legends  ;  the  story  of  King  Arthur  and  his 
Round  Table ;  with  the  Seven  Champions  of 
Christendom,  and  all  the  legends  of  the  days 
of  chivalry  ; — fiurther  back  still,  with  all  the 
good  fables  ever  written,  up  to  ^sop.  and  up 
farther,  to  Pilpay ;  with  the  Arabian  Nights ; 
Greek  and  Roman  legends ;  with  choice  ^old 
of  the  fancy  coined  of  old  in  Persia,  China, 
Hindostan.  The  ways  through  which  a  happy 
child  to  guide,  "  in  this  delightful  land  of 
Faery," 

Axt  M  exceeding  spaeloas  and  wide, 
And  aprinkled  with  taeh  iweet  rarietj, 


that  we  desire  to  claim  for  children  right  of 
way  through  all  of  them,  with  privilege  to 
pick  the  flowers  on  all  sides. 

LATEST  INTELLIGENCE  FROM 
SPIRITS. 

SmJT  your  eyes  and  open  your  mouth, 
teachable  public,  for  the  instruction  hereby 
to  be  given  you.  Facts  are  to  be  set  before 
you  which  you  may  hardly  be  disposed  to 
accept,  unless  you  qualify  lor  the  receipt  of 
them  by  having  the  eyes  of  a  mole  and  the 
swallow  of  a  hippopotamus.  The  Rappers, 
who  adopt  in  America  the  name  of  iSpiri- 
tualists,  profess  to  number  now  nearly  two 
millions  of  believers,  fed  upon  humbug  by  no 
less  than  twenty  thousand  mediums  and 
twelve  or  fifteen  periodicals.  Two  numbers 
of  a  new  Rappers'  newspaper,  published  at 
Boston  on  the  fourteenth  and  twenty-first  of 
April  last,  are  now  before  us,  and  if  anybody 
wishes  to  be  edified  let  him  give  ear. 

The  paper  is  denominated  the  New  Eng- 
land Spiritualist,  and  the  first  thing  we  reiul 
in  it — a  discourse  at  the  Melodeon  through 
the  Reverend  Miss  Emma  Jay,  by  some  one 
of  the  saints  in  heaven— has  a  touch  of  the 
Yankee  spirit  in  it.  "  Is  there  not,"  he 
through  her  says,  *'  also  the  same  voice 
teaching  you  to  regard  the  interests  of  your 
brother  man  ?  And  though,  in  a  worldly 
point  of  view,  you  cannot  be  expected  to  love 
your  neighbour  as  yourself— that  is,  in  the 
sense  of  seeking  mi  the  interests  of  your 
neighbour  pecuniarily,  rather  than  your  own 
—yet, so  far  as  spiritual  gifts  are  concerned, 
of  that  which  has  been  dispensed  to  you,  you 
should  be  willing  to  impart  to  others." 

And  how  do  we  have  the  obedient  Yankee 
taking  care  of  number  one  pecuniarily,  while 
imparting  spiritual  gifts?  See  advertise- 
ment^, see  leading  articles,  see  paragraphs, 
see  the  whole  Spiritualist  newspaper. 

TB8T  MIDIUX. 

ChvOROB  A.  BssMAir  hma  rooms  at  No.  46  Oarver 
Street,  wh«re  he  will  receive  company  from  9  to  12 
AX.,  2  to  6.  and  from  7  to  9,  p.m.  daily.  Suodtiyii  ex- 
cepted. ManifeatatioDS  are  made  by  ratiping,  tipping, 
and  writing.  1  rivate  cirolee,  one  dullar  each  person. 
Pnblio  circle!  (ereniog  only)  fifty  cents. 

Another  gentleman  is  ready  to  clear  away 
any  little  difficulties  between  man  and  wife, 
by  producing  what  is  called  among  the  Rap- 
pers conjugal  adaptations ;  and  those  surely 
are  things  worth  any  money  to  the  henpecked 
and  the  crestfallen.  The  next  advertiser  is  a 
clever  man  who  has  an  article  for  sale  which 
is,  indeed,  the  whole  art  of  drawing  and 
painting— taught  in  one  lesson.  Then  a  quack 
of  the  established  sort  advertises,  Purifying 
Syrup,  Nerve-Soothing  Elixir,  and  Healing 
Ointment,  which  have  such  virtues  as  only 
Doctor  Dulcamara  knows  how  to  recapitu- 
late, with  the  additional  recommendation 
that  they  are  prepared  from  Spirit  directions 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


614 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coadoctrd  by 


— ^heaven-sent  potions.  More  quacks  of  this  | 
sort  advertise  tbeir  wares  to  a  select  audience 
of  the  gullible.  And  then  John  M.  Spear 
and  his  daughter  announce  that  they  have  j 
taken  rooms  for  educational  (alas,  for  the 
word !)  and  healing  purposes,  and  also  for 
the  delineation  of  character.  Hours  for  the  ^ 
public  will  be  from  nine  a.m.  to  one  p.m.  At 
other  hours,  they  will  visit  and  counf>el  the 
sick  and  the  disharmonised  at  their  habita- 
tions. While  charges  will  not  be  made, 
offerings  of  gratitude  will  be  thankfully  re- 
ceived. Love's  labours  should  be  without 
hope  of  fee  or  reward.  Did  ever  comedian 
invent  a  clumsier  cant  of  hypocrisy.  Ar- 
rangements (J.  M.  S.  and  daughter  add)  may 
be  made  at  their  rooms,  for  discourses  on  the 
facts,  philosophy,  ends  and  aims  of  Spiri- 
tualism. The  advertisement  itself  is  discourse 
enough  upon  its  ends  and  aims.  They  shine, 
as  we  have  said,  through  every  column  of  the 
paper.  The  following,  which  we  are  unable 
to  distinguish  from  the  announcement  that 
has  just  been  quoted,  appears  not  as  an 
advertisement  at  all,  but  in  large  type  among 
the  leading  articles : 

"Mr.  E.  M.  Mayo,  of  Waltham,  Mass., 
writes :  About  three  years  ago,  I  became  a 
writing  medium,  very  unexpectedly  to  me. 
I  sat  making  sport  of  the  spirits,  when  sud- 
denly my  hand  caught  a  pencil  and  wrote 
me  a  communication,  which  I  trust  I  never 
shall  forgft.  It  purported  to  be  from  my 
mother.  Since  that  time  the  spirit  of  a 
departed  physician,  through  me,  has  exa- 
mined eight  hundred  and  sixty-five  different 
diseased  persons.  I  have  received  no  fee, 
until  the  commencement  of  the  present  year. 
Now  the  charge  is — nothing  for  the  poor, 
twenty-five  cents  for  those  in  moderate  cir- 
cumstances, and  fifty  cents  for  the  wealthy. 
So  you  see  that  it  is  not  for  money  that  I 
believe  in  Spiritualism."  Spiritualism  itself 
is  not  more  clearly  demonstrated  1 

That  was  a  leading  article,  but  we  will 
take  another  advertisement  or  two,  before 
looking  at  the  other  columns  of  this  gulFs 
gazette.  Several  chemists  are  prepared  to 
put  up  with  care  spiritual,  clairvoyant,  and 
other  prescriptions.  A  physician  and  surgeon 
advertises  himself,  and  adds  that  he  has  be- 
come developed  as  aclairvovantmedinm,  and 
can  perfectly  describe  the  locale  of  disease ; 
also  the  feelings  experienced  by  the  patient 
Consultation  fee,  one  dollar.  Charles  Main 
cures  by  laying  hands  on  the  sick,  and  in- 
forms those  sending  locks  of  hair  to  indicate 
their  disease,  that  thev  should  inclose  a  dollar 
with  them.  At  T.  H.  I'eabody's  is  to  be  found 
a  rapping,  writing,  and  test  medium ;  also  the 
best  trance  medium  for  the  examination  of 
diseases  la  Boston.  Miss  Gay,  a  reliable 
clairvoyant  and  healing  medium,  is  to  be 
found  at  Dr.  Channing's  (alas,  for  another 
desecrated  name  \)  the  great  cancer,  scrofula, 
and  humour  doctor;  and  she  is  prepared  to 
give  advice  on  business,  &4i.    Thus  it  is  that 


the  Spiritualists  manage  to  attend  to  number 
one  pecuniarily,  while  they  impart  of  their 
gifts  to  others. 

Of  the  correspondence  of  the  New  England 
Spiritualist,  a  part  is  made  up  in  support  of 
the  gentlemen  and  ladies  who  have  advertised. 
Mr.  Charles  Main  having  advertised  himself 
as  a  layer-on-of-bauds,  a  letter  io  auotber 
part  of  the  paper,  signed  *'  Yours  fraternally, 
L.N."  (Leader  of  Noodles?)  tells  of  two  won- 
derful cures  by  brother  Charles  Main's  truly 
apostolic  mode.  G.  A.  Redman,  being  an 
advertiser  of  his  business  in  the  rapptDg  tip- 
ping, and  writing  line,  is  helped  by  a  wonder- 
ful paragraph,  detailing  how  the  spirit  of  the 
late  Mr.  Andrews  used  Mr.  Redman's  band 
for  writing  backwards,  in  a  style  free  from 
stiffness,  having  bold  and  easy  flouriKbes. 
Very  bold  and  easy  are  indeed  the  flourishes 
of  all  these  mediums,  and,  if  we  may  judge  by 
the  New  England  Spbitualist,  of  the  editors 
who  back  them. 

*•  Thine  for  progress,  Warren  Chase,"  before 

starting  for  his  prairie  home  In  Wisconsta, 

advertises  his  movements  asa  lecturer  on  ''the 

light  from  the  spirit  sphere  which  is  now  so 

geniallv  flowing  (though  often    refracted) 

through  many  mediums ;  "  and  he  makes  bis 

announcements  cheaply,  if  he  pays  nothing 

for  the  privilege  in  the  form  of  a  letter  to  tbe 

editor,  dear  brother  Newton.    Brother  New- 

j  ton,  by-the-bye,  edits  his  paper  upon  exceed- 

I  ingij  i^ood  Spiritualist  principles  advertising 

that,  in  its  conduct,  although  for  the  presi-nt 

I  the  pecuniary  responsibility  is  asf-omi^  by 

I  the  editor's  personal  friendn,  this  is  expect<A 

I  to  continue  ouly  until  such  time  as  the  Mjccess 

I  of  the  enterprise  shall  enable  him  to  take  it 

I  upon  himself. 

We  find  it  very  difficult  to  keep  tbe  dollars 

I  out  of  sight  in  observing  the  contents  of  the 

I  Yankee  Spiritualist,  but  we  will  endeavour  to 

do  so  henceforward  ;  and  so  go  back  to  Miss 

I  Emma  Jay.  from  whose  reported  lecture  at 

\  the  Melodeon  we  started.      Miss  Emma  F. 

Jay,  we  find  by  another  communication,  ad- 

I  vertises  herself  not  only  as  furnishing  the 

'  entertainment  of  a  spiritual  sermon  deliverer 

I  in  the  state  of  trance,  but  she  announces  that 

!  she  will  wind  up  with  a  song.      An  admirer 

'  from  among  her  audience  reports  that  she 

was  tastefully  dressed  in  a  black  silk  skirt 

'  and  black  velvet  basque  with  flowing  sleeves, 

without  collar  or  undersleeves,  or  adornment 

of  any  kind,  except  a  plain  dark  brooch.  Ucr 

hair  bung  in  short  curls  down  her  neck.  Her 

voice  was  strong  and  clear  to  the  very  end  of 

her  discourse,  which  occupied  about  an  hour 

and  a  half.    Her  eyes  were  closed  during  the 

whole  time.    So  we  get  back  to  the  good 

Rapper's  doctrine— keep  your  eyes  well  hhot 

and  your  mouth  open.    This  lady,  before 

preaching,  sits  down  and  goes  through  sundry 

gyrations,  whereby  she  is  supposed  to  put 

herself  into  the  state  of  trance ;   then   her 

eyes  shut,  and  she  goes  glibly  through  the 

whole  of  her  oration.    At  the  conclusion  of 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Charica  Dlekem.] 


A  VISION  OF  HOURS. 


615 


her  lectnre,  says  the  correppondeot,  after  a 
beautiful  and  eloquent  prajer,  Miss  Jay  sang 
(still  in  a  state  of  trance?).  Her  voice  wa8 
woaderfully  clear  and  sweet.  She  conflned 
herself  to  no  words  nor  tune,  but  sang  in  a 
sort  of  inspiration,  ranging  from  an  alto  tone 
as  higb  as  B  flat.  Of  course  this  brought 
down  thunders  of  applause,  by  which  the 
lady  tastefully  attired  in  the  black  silk  skirt 
could  be  awakened  from  her  trance  in  time 
to  make  her  obeisance  to  the  public. 

Will  our  readers  bear  with  us  a  little  longer. 
We  are  ourselves  beginning  to  grow  tired  of 
this  humiliating  nonsense,  and  must  forbear 
from  t«^lling  the  whole  story,  the  doings  of 
Natty  Putnam,  whose  true  name  was  Young, 
and  who  was  indeed  the  youngest  of  physi- 
cians, having  been  only  five  days  old  when  he 
died.  But  he  would  now  be,  if  he  had  not 
died,  thirty-five  or  forty  years  of  age.  It  is 
bis  pleasure  to  present  himself  as  an  infant  in 
size,  though  he  gives  evidence  of  having  an 
old  head  on  his  young  shoulders.  This  young 
doctor  prescribed  some  medicines  to  Mrs. 
Sisf^on  for  a  person  unknown  to  her,  and  by  a 
series  of  miracles,  the  person  for  whom  they 
were  meant  was  discovered  ;  Mrs.  S.  being 
led  by  the  spirit  to  ring  his  bell  five  minutes 
before  the  dinner-hour  and  enter,  medicine 
in  hand,  to  dine  with  him.  The  aflair,  which 
is  very  complicated,  must  have  cost  the  spirits 
an  infinity  of  trouble,  and,  after  all.  the  reci 
pient  of  tbe  celestial  dose  cannot  say  that  he 
is  much  the  better  for  it.  He  only  states  (we 
use  his  own  italics)  that  the  effects  of  the 
remedies  have  not  been  bad;  for  I  and  my 
wife  are  both  in  better  health  than  when  we 
began  to  take  them ;  the  case,  however,  is 
described  much  less  for  the  purpose  of  show- 
ing the  value  of  the  medicines  than  for  fur- 
nishing evidence  of  the  fact  that  there  was 
an  invisible  physician. 

Then,  again,  there  are  more  than  three 
columns  occupied  by  tha experience  of  Doctor 
Phelps,  in  whose  bedroom  a  sheet  was 
spread  out  upon  the  floor,  the  washstand  laid 
upon  its  back  upon  the  sheet,  a  candlestick 
set  upon  tbe  stand,  the  wa.sh-bowl  placed 
upon  one  side,  and  the  pitcher  upon  the  other. 
A  nightgown  and  chemise  were  found,  one  in 
the  bowl,  the  other  in  the  pitcher.  We 
suspect  that  must  have  been  done  by  the 
spirit  of  son.e  officer  lately  belonging  to  the 
gallant  Forty-fifth,  or  lodged  in  Canterbury 
barracks.  Pitchers  of  water  were  poured  by 
the  same  spirit  into  the  doctor's  bed.  His 
windows  were  broken.  His  umbrella,  stand- 
ing at  the  end  of  the  hall,  leaped  without 
visible  assistance,  a  distance  of  at  least  twen- 
ty-five feet ;  a  book  leapt  from  his  shelf  into 
the  middle  of  the  room,  and  at  the  breakfast 
table,  on  one  occasion,  a  remarkably  large 
raw  potatoe  fell  directly  by  the  side  of  Doc- 
tor P.-s  plate.  The  doctor  thereupon,  being  a 
scientific  man.  took  up  the  potatoe  and  let  it 
fall  from  different  heights,  in  order  to  deter- 
miue  how  ^iur  i^  must  have  fallen  to  have 


made  the  concussion  that  it  did  ;  and  it  was 
adjudged  by  all  that  the  distance  could  not 
have  been  more  than  twelve  or  fifteen  inches. 
So  it  must  have  dropped  from  just  under  the 
doctor's  nose. 

We  have  not  patience  to  write  more  of  this 
foolery,  with  which  we  are  told  that  in  Ame- 
rica two  millions  of  months  are  gaping  to  be 
fed.  Even  as  nonsense,  it  is  scarcely  to  be 
heard  patiently  by  any  roan  —  except  a 
rogue  who  has  the  dullest  glimmering  of 
reason  in  his  brains.  We  shall  cite  only  one 
thing  more.  In  his  first  leading  article'  in 
each  of  the  two  papers  before  us,  the  editor 
of  the  New  England  Spiritualist,  endeavours 
to  account  for  the  extreme  stupidity  and  pro- 
siness  of  thespirits  of  great  wits,  philosophers, 
and  poets,  to  show  how  it  is  that  Shakes- 
peare, seen  through  a  rapping  medium,  lathe 
same  dull  dog  as  the  medium  himself.  He 
explains  this  by  telling  us  that  lofty  ideas  and 
refined  conceptions  cannot  be  apprehended  by 
infantile  and  undeveloped  miuds.  Can  you, 
he  asks,  pour  the  magnificent  tones  of  a 
cathedral  organ  through  a  simple  fife  ?  For 
Sir  Francis  Bacon  to  exhibit  himself  now, 
equal  to  what  he  was  in  the  body  (to  say 
nothing  at  all  of  what  he  may  now  be  in  the 
spirit)  would  require  a  medium  of  physical 
and  mental  endowments  equal  to  thoKe  which 
Bacon  then  possessed — and  such  are  very 
rare.  Mediums  with  the  wit  of  a  Bacon  in 
them  certainly  are  rare  ;  and  if  we  must  have 
a  medium  who  is  a  Bacon  of  our  own  times  to 
speak  for  the  Bacon  of  our  forefathers,  and  a 
new  Shakespeare  to  speak  for  the  old  one, 
snrely  we  think  it  can  need  no  ghost  at  all  to 
tell  them  what  they  ought  to  say. 


A  VISION  OF  HOURS. 

Wbbm  the  bright  pfars  eime  out  lut  night. 

And  thtt  dfw  lay  on  the  flowtrs, 
I  bad  a  ▼iM'in  of  dell^bt- 

A  dream  of  by-gone  hoars. 

Tboae  honn  tbat  came  and  fled  to  Hut 

Of  plMKore  or  of  pain. 
A»  phantomn  n>iie  from  oat  the  past 

Before  mj  ejes  again. 

With  beating  heart  did  I  bebold 

A  train  of  Joyoaii  bnam. 
Lit  with  the  radiant  light  of  old. 

And,  emiliug,  crowned  with  flowen. 

And  some  w^re  hoan  of  ohildiah  aorrow, 

A  mim'cry  of  pHin, 
Thnt  throagh  their  tears  looVd  for  a  morrow 

They  linew  must  smile  again. 

Those  hours  of  hope  that  long'd  for  life, 

And  wish'd  their  part  begun. 
And  e'er  the  summons  to  the  strife, 

Dream'd  that  the  field  was  wan. 

I  knew  the  echo  of  their  mice, 

Th«  scarry  crowns  the?  wore  ; 
The  Ti»ioo  mad«»  my  soiil  rejoice 

With  the  old  thrill  of  yore. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


616 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCoDdactcAby 


I  knew  the  p  erf  a  me  of  their  flowers. 

Tbt*  f^Iorious  shtniDg  ra^s 
Around  these  happy  smiiing  honrs 

Were  lit  In  h/-gODe  days. 

O  stay,  I  cried— bright  visions,  stay, 

Anl  leave  me  not  forlorn  I 
Bnt.  smiiinf  still,  they  pass'd  «w«y. 

like  shadows  of  the  morn. 

One  spirit  still  remain *d,  snd  cried, 
••  Thy  soul  shall  ne'er  forget  1" 

He  stands th  ever  br  my  side'- 
The  phantom  called  Regret 

Bnt  still  the  spirits  rese.  and  there 

Were  woarv  honrs  of  pain. 
And  anxious  hoars  of  fear  and  oare, 

Boand  by  an  iron  chain. 

Dim  shadows  came  of  Innely  honrs. 
That  shuon'd  the  liicht  of  day. 

And  in  the  opening  smile  of  flowers 
Saw  only  quick  decay. 

Oalm  hoars  that  sought  the  starry  skies 
For  hearen'y  lore  were  there ; 

Wiih  folded  hands  and  earnest  eyes, 
I  knew  the  hours  of  prayer. 

Stem  honrs  that  darken*d  the  son's  Ught, 

Heralds  of  coming  woes, 
With  trailing  wings  before  my  sight 

From  the  dim  past  arose. 

As  each  dark  vision  passM  and  spoke 

I  pray'd  it  to  depart : 
At  each  some  buned  sorrow  woke 

And  stirr'd  within  my  heart. 

Until  these  hoars  of  pain  and  cu^ 

Liftfd  their  tearful  eyes. 
Spread  tbeir  dark  pinions  in  the  air 

And  passM  into  the  skies. 


CATS  AND  DOGS. 


With  deep  ghame  aod  hamiliatioD  I  confess 
that  I  am  not  great  in  argument— oral  argu- 
ment, at  least.  I  have  strong  lungs,  suffi- 
cient impudence,  a  tolert^le  memory,  a 
temper  that  does  not  broil  under  an  extra- 
ordinary degree  of  provocation,  and  I  have 
seen  some  things  and  read  some  books.  Yet  I 
am  continually  being  worsted  in  argument. 
There  must  be  something  wrong  with  my 
major  or  my  minor ;  there  must  a  screw 
loose  in  my  postulates.  Perhaps  my  manner 
of  argument  is  aggressive,  and  my  language 
abusive,  for  nine  out  of  ten  arguments  in 
which  I  engage  myself  always  end  in  violent 
personal  altercation.  One  of  the  subjects 
of  dispute  I  remember — one  on  the  defen- 
sibility  of  paradoxes  in  literature,  and  one 
in  which  I  really  believe  that  I  was  shining 
considerably— was  suddenly  cut  short  by 
my  adversary  seizing  and  throwing  at  my 
head,  from  the  other  end  of  the  room,  a  pew- 
ter pot.  holding  one  pint,  imperial  measure. 
The  missile  fortunately  struck  me  trans- 
versely—bad it  hit  me  point  blank  I  should 


never  have  held  any  more  arguments  on  this 
earth.  I  escaped  with  a  tremendous  bruise ; 
but  thoagh  I  collared  my  aesatlant  and 
threatened  to  give  blm  in  charge  to  the 
police,  and  though  I  was  confident  that  I  was 
right  about  the  paradoxes,  the  wbol^  com- 
pany seemed  evidently  to  think  that  he  had 
the  best  of  the  argument,  and  that  he  had 
proved  more  with  his  pewter  pot  than  I  with 
my  periods. 

Pattlepot,  the  professor  of  modem  lan- 
guages in  the  university  of  Bincumbancura, 
treated  me  very  ill  in  argument.  I  maintained 
that  Eiagabalus  was  a  dissolute  tyrant, 
and  proved  it,  as  I  thought,  by  argument 
and  illustration.  What  did  Pattlepot  do 
but  threaten,  if  I  called  Eiagabalus  a  tyrant 
again,  to  kick  me  down  stairs!  And  he  is 
over  six  feet  in  height,  and  as  strong  as 
Milol 

The  mortifications  and  humiliations  I  have 
sustained  in  argument  are  innumerable,  and 
almost  incredible.  Lyman  H.  Waterdame, 
snpercargo  of  ihe  United  States  ship,  Wolfert 
Webber,  whom  I  met  at  a  hotel  in  Hull,  toM 
me  quietly  that  if  I  were  to  repeat  any  fine 
morning,  at  Saratoga  Springs,  what  I  had 
said  to  him  concerning  the  execution  of  Major 
Andr6, 1  should  very  soon  have  a  bowie-knifb 
in  me.  Professor  Bopp  of  Schinkenhausen 
was  very  rude  to  me.  He  was  a  man  of  very 
strong  and  somewhat  free  opinions  was  Pro- 
fessor Bopp,  aod  was  especially  fiunous  among 
his  North  German  colleagues  for  having,  in  a 
qaarto  treatise,  finished  up  the  moon — that 
is,  confuted  and  put  to  rout  the  last  remnant 
of  believers  in  that  luminary.  I  had  a  letter 
of  introduction  to  Bopp  fit>m  Bulderahrag, 
the  good-natured  bookseller  of  Todgraben.  I 
was  told  that  I  must  expect  to  find  the  pro- 
fessor somewhat  brusque  and  blunt  in  argu- 
ment, but  that  he  was  strictly  just,  and  un- 
flinchingly logical.  I  went  to  Bopp.  and  found 
him  in  a  little  room  .on  the  fourth  story  of  a 
bouse.  There  were  some  books  in  the  room — 
not  many  ;  a  seraphine ;  several  beer-mugs ; 
some  bones,  pof^bly  antediluvian,  but  appa- 
rently of  beef,  and  of  a  recent  date ;  a  tremen- 
dous smell  of  onions,  and  a  no  less  tremendous 
smell  of  tobacco  smoke.  I  found  Bopp  to  he 
indeed  all  that  he  had  been  described— ex- 
ceedingly brusque  and  blunt.  He  was  that 
day  occupied  in  finishing  up, — not  the  moon, 
but  bis  dinner.  He  did  not  ask  me  to  have 
any;  he  did  not  ask  me  to  sit  down ;  but  he 
began  imniediately  to  question  me  about  the 
manners,  customs,  and  social  state  of  Eng- 
land. 

"  You  have  no  four-story  houses  in  your 
country :"  he  asked  me,  '^  none  so  nigh, 
eh?" 

"  Pardon  me,'^  I  replied,  "  we  buiW  them 
in  some  cases  to  a  greater  height.  We  have 
large  warehouses  six  and  even  seven  stories 
high." 

He  looked  at  me  steadily,  shut  np  his  book 
(he  had  been  reading  all  through  the  coo- 


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GATS  AND  DOGS. 


517 


yersatioii)  with  %  baog,  tpat,  and  finished  me 
up  aa  he  might  have  flnithed  the  moon. 

"  Yoo  Lib  !"  said  Professor  Bopp. 

How  could  I  continue  the  argument  nnder 
these  distressing  oircumstauees  !  The  lie  was 
not  given  to  me  oflfensively,  hot  merely  in  the 
gaiae  of  a  syllogism,  which  the  professor  was 
prepared  to  defend  and  prove ;  and  sorely  a 
man  who  could  finish  up  the  moon  must  have 
been  strong  enough  in  argument  to  conyiot  me 
of  falseho^.  So  I  merely  sighed,  withdrew 
from  the  professional  presence,  and  left 
Schinkenhansen  that  very  night,  more  con* 
yinced  than  ever  that  argument  was  not  my 
forte. 

One  more  anecdote  and  we  shall  go  to  the 
dogs — to  the  cats  and  dogs,  I  mean.  What 
anecdote  shall  it  be  ? — that  of  the  strong  young 
man  in  Westmoreland  with  whom  I  htA  an  ar- 
gument about  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  and  reallv 
did  defeat  and  rout,  but  who,  as  usual, 
finished  me  up,  by  saying,  **  Thee  mayst  know 
a  deal  aboot  Boneypartey,  but  V\\  jump  thee 
for  two  pund ! ''  No ;  that  anecdote  does  not 
bear  on  cats  and  dogs :  we  must  try  another. 
I  was  arguing-  with  a  gentleman  fh>m  Scotland. 
I  had  stndied  the  subject  of  our  argument 
deeply,  and  for  a  long  time,  and  really  fan- 
cied that  I  was  making  some  impression  upon 
my  opponent.  The  gentleman  from  Scotland 
heard  me  very  patiently  out,  and  when  I  had 
come,  as  I  thought,  to  a  triumphant  perora- 
tion, he  said,  quietly : 

''  Sir,  ye  are  jest  themaist  ignorant  pairson 
I  eyer  met,  but  ye  have  some  pairoeption  of 
what  ye  are  talking  aboot" 

Now  this  is  exactly  my  case  with  reference 
to  cats  and  dogs.  Of  them,  as  oats  or  as  dogs, 
I  am  as  superlatiyely  ignorant  as  the  Scotch 
gentleman  found  me  in  argument  I  declare, 
upon  my  honour,  that  I  don't  know  how 
many  teeth  a  dog  has,  or  why  there  should  be 
electricity  in  a  cat's  back.  I  haye  heard  that 
a  cat  has  nine  lives ;  but  I  am  distressingly 
ignorant  of  the  average  duration  of  those 
lives.  I  have  heard  of  BufTon,  Cuvier,  and  the 
Zoological  Gardens  in  the  Regent's  Park  ;  bnt 
I  know  little  about  Natural  History — not  so 
much  even,  as  poor  Goldsmith,  who,  though 
engaged  to  write  an  Animal  Creation  for  the 
booksellers,  was  so  ignorant  of  the  conforma- 
tion and  habits  of  animals,  that  every  friend 
who  called  npon  him  was  laid  under  contri- 
bution to  describe  some  member  of  the  brute 
creation ;  and  the  walls  of  the  Doctor's  study 
were  scrawled  over  with  charcoal  memoranda 
about  lions  and  tigers,  otters  and  jackals, 
guinea-pigs,  and  hippopotami. 

Tet,  still  keeping  my  Scotch  friend  in  mind, 
though  a  most  ignorant  person,  I  think  that  1 
have  some  perception  of  the  subject  I  am 
writing  about — cats  and  dogs.  I  don't  know 
anything  about  them,  but  I  feel  a  good  deal 
about  them.  I  have  studied  cats  and  dogs  as 
I  study  most  things— in  a  rambling,  discur- 
sive, and  to  say  the  truth,  somewhat  vagabond 
fashion-^by  neglecting  those  parts  of  the  sub- 


ject ordinarily  adopted  by  sensible,  stodions 
men,  and  addicting  myself  instead  to  the  con- 
sideration of  those  parts  which  khey  generally 
neglect  I  have  taken  cats  and  dogs  as  oba- 
raoters,  not  as  mammalia :  I  have  looked  at 
them, — not  with  reference  to  the  number  of 
teeth  in  their  head  or  the  electricity  in  their 
baoks^bat  in  their  social,  pictnresque,qualnt, 
eccentric  character.  I  wish  to  treat  of  cats 
and  dogs,  not  in  a  zoological  light — not  in  a 
mutton-pie  light,  bnt  simply  a$  characters,  for 
oharacteristio  they  decidedly  are,  and  in  a 
very  eminent  degree. 

I  have  less  to  say  about  cats  than 
about  dogs.  The  former  have  less  charac- 
ter than  the  latter:  besides,  I  do  not  like 
them  so  well  as  dogs*  There  is  to  me 
something  inexpressibly  sly,  slowly  cruel, 
patiently  treacherous,  in  a  eat  The  stealthy 
walk,  the  velvet  paw  with  the  sharp  fangs 
beneath,  the  low,  hypocrltloal  pnrr,  the  sud- 
den noiseless  leaps  on  to  high  plaoeSv— the 
blinking  eye,  the  shadowy,  slow- moving  ges- 
tures—ugh !  I  know  oats  that  give  me  the 
horrors. 

Gats,  generally  speaking,  are  proud  in 
their  disposition,  rtfusiag  to  associate  with 
strangers,  repudiating  fjuniliarity,  daintily 
turning  up  their  noses  at  cat's-meat,  bones, 
and  the  like,  that  dogs  wonld  be  glad  to  get ; 
there  is  a  chilling  haughtineea  about  them, 
even  to  persons  they  have  known  for  years, 
exceedingly  repulsive  and  disgusting.  You 
may  play  with  them,  you  may  fondle  them, 
?ou  may  stroke  their  backs  and  scratch  their 
heads,  and  call  them  **poor  pussy?"  but 
beware!  Sometimes  they  will  arch  their 
backs,  and  pnrr,  and  seemingly  respond  with 
gratitude  to  your  caresses;  but  at  other 
times  a  hair  stroked  the  wrong  way,  a  par- 
ticularly tender  part  of  the  skull  inadver- 
tently touched  while  scratohing,  and  all  the 
soft  complaisance,  purring,  back-arching  of 
Puss  vanishes.  She  becomes  a  fury,  a  fiend. 
Prompt  as  the  stiletto  of  an  Italian  brigand 
to  quit  its  sheath,  so  prompt  are  her  steel- 
like  claws  toquit  Uieir  velvet  sheathing, — or, 
to  use  another,  and  perhaps  apter  simile,  as 
prompt  as  that  hideous  instrument  of  torture, 
the  cupping-machine  of  the  snrgeon-dentist 
is  to  quit  its  tortoiseshell  caee,  and  drive  into 
your  flesh  its  bristling  hedge  of  bayonet- 
like lancets.  The  kitten  is  innoisent  and 
sportive,  yon  will  say,  and  will  play  with  a 
slipper,  a  ball  of  cotton,  a  glove,  quite  in  an 
arcadian  and  unsophisticated  manner.  True, 
but  young  tiger-cubs  are  playful,  young 
leopards  are  playftil.  Yon  may  see  them  in 
their  cage  at  the  Zoological  Gardens,  gam- 
bolling, romping,  playfully  sprawling  on  their 
backs  on  the  floor,  with  their  feet  turned 
upwards,  wide  apart,  as  that  tbmous  never- 
to-be-surpassed  leopard  does,  which  is 
tearing  the  vine4eaYes  in  Sir  Peter  Paul 
Ruben's  picture  of  Peace  and  War.  Yet, 
for  all  the  playfulness  of  the  tiger  and 
leopard   cubs,   do    you   think   when   they 


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618 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[COBdMttdkj 


have  AtiaiDed  tbe  full  glorj  of  tiger  or 
leopard-bood,  tbey  will  roar  ooe  wbit  less 
fiercely  than  their  papas  or  mammas;  that 
they  would,  had  tbey  their  liberty,  be  at  all 
backward  to  tbe  sudden  spring,  tbe  howling, 
roaring,  rending,  craunchiog,  eranching,  tear- 
ing, rending,  of  some  unhappy  because  too 
corpulent  buffalo,  some  indiscreet  antelope, 
some  luckless  negro,  or  some  benighted  of- 
ficer of  Bengal  I  u  fan  try  t  Or,  cooped  up  as 
tbey  are  In  a  den  of  tbe  Zoological  Gardens 
even,doyou  think  for  all  their  playful  gambols 
when  the  keeper  makes  his  rounds  at  dinner- 
time, they  will  refrain  from  the  shin-bone  of 
beef — nay,  from  devouring  it  with  glaring 
eyes,  and  low,  menacing  bowls  ?  Don't  think 
it.  DonH  think  either,  that  if  the  keeper, 
entering  the  den,  were  to  be  suddenly  seized 
with  a  fainting  fit.  or  vertigo,  or  an  aneurism, 
or  were  to  lose  his  footing,  and  fall  down  on 
tbe  flooring  of  the  cage,  that  tbe  leopard  and 
tiger-cubs  would  refrain  from  falling  on  him 
and  tearing  his  fiesh,  and  orauncbing  bis 
bones.  So  it  is  with  the  kitten.  It  is  pretty 
to  see  tbe  little  thing  lapping  its  milk,  gam- 
bolling round  its  mother,  playing  with  the 
ball  of  worsted,  the  slipper,  or  the  glove,  with 
now  and  then  a  gesture  of  apparently  real 
affection  towards  its  parent ;  or  of  a  weak 
mew,  more  of  annoyance  than  pain,  as  it 
knocks  itself  up  against  tbe  leg  of  a  table,  or 
gets  \i»  little  feet  entangled  with  an  odd  skein 
of  cotton.  But  this  little  innocent,  sportive, 
playful  kitten,  this  interesting  orphan  and 
sole  survivor  of  a  numerous  family  of  brothers 
and  sisters  who  have  all  perished  in  that 
grave  of  Grimalkin's  household,  a  water-butt, 
will,  within  a  very  few  weeks,  play  with  as 
much  delight — nay  more — with  something 
very  different  from  a  ball  of  cotton,  a  skein 
of  silk,  a  glove,  or  a  slipper.  The  plaything 
will  be  a  wretched,  timorous,  half-frigbtened- 
to  -  death,  half-  lacerated  -  to  -  death  mouse. 
Hither  and  thither  will  tbe  playful  cat  toss 
it ;  ndw  high,  now  low,  now  to  the  right,  now 
to  tbe  left,  now  on  one  side,  now  on  the  other, 
now  deluding  it  with  fallacious  hopes  of 
escape. — allowing  it  to  run  to  an  exactly 
sulBcient  distance  to  be  i'ecaptured,  re- played 
with,  and  re-tortured.  This  is  sportiveness, 
this  is  playfulness,  this  is  what  the  kitten 
does  with  the  ball  of  cotton,  and  will  do  with 
the  mouse. 

No!  I  cannot  abide  oats.  Pet  cats,  wild 
cats,  tom  oats,  gib  eats,  Persian  cats.  Angola 
cats,  tortoiseshell  cats,  tabby  oats,  black  cats, 
Manx  cats,  brindled  cats,  mewing  once,  twice, 
or  thrice,  as  the  case  may  be,— none  of  these 
cats  delight  me.  They  are  associated  in  my 
mind  with  none  but  disagreeable  ol^ects  and 
remembrances:  now  old  maids,  witchcraft, 
dreadful  sabbaths  with  old  women  fiving  up 
tbe  chimney  upon  broomsticks  to  drink  hell 
broth  with  the  evil  one,  charms,  incantations, 
sorceries,  sucking  children's  breaths,  stopping 
out  late  on  the  tiles,  catterwauling  and  mol- 
rowing  in  the  night  season,  prowling  about 


the  streets  at  unseasonable  hours,  and  a  va- 
riety of  other  things  too  numerous  and  too 
unpleasant  to  mention. 

Don't  tell  me  about  the  dogs  of  Stambonl, 
— those  mangy,  ill-favoured,  ferocious  curs, 
are  simply  nui>*ances  of  tbe  most  abominable 
description,  and  have  no  claim  to  be  con!<i- 
dered  curiosities.  The  dogs  of  Paris  are  all 
alike ;  they  all  belong  to  somebody  ;  tlnry  are 
mean-spirited  mediocre  animals,  submitUng 
to  be  shaved  and  curled,  to  be  led  about  in 
strings  and  ehaine,  to  be  governed  by  dog- 
whips,  and  to  wear  some  wretched  muzzling 
apparatus,  more  humiliating  than  thecaudioe 
forks — sometimes  like  a  strawberry  pottle, 
sometimes  like  a  coal-scoop  of  wire-work. 
The  French  dogs  are  cowed  by  tbe  tyrannical 
surveillance  of  tbe  police;  by  tbe  horrible 
threats  promulgated  against  them  bj  tbe 
authorities  in  placards  on  the  walls  during 
the  hot  weather.  Poisoned  boulets,  and 
arsenicated  sausages  are  plaeedat  the  corners 
of  tbe  streets  to  tempt  them  to  eat  and  die. 
They  dare  not  bark  without  offending  ag^nat 
some  of  the  provisions  of  the  penal  code. 
Their  spirit  is  broken.  I  wonder  the  govern- 
ment in  France,  which  is  so  fond  of  stamping 
everything,  from  a  passport  to  a  tailor's  polf^ 
does  not  take  it  into  its  head  to  stamp  tbe 
dogs.  Tbe  "  Timbre  Imperial  "  would  com- 
plete their  degradation. 

But  the  dogs  of  London :  they  are  free ; 
they  roam  where  tbey  will ;  tbey  laugh  to 
scorn  the  feeble  enactments  relative  to  mua- 
zliog  that  do  still  occasionally,  during  tike 
dog  days,  come  out  from  municipal  and  paro- 
chial authorities.  They  cry,  with  an  ironical 
yelp.  "  first  catch  your  dog ! "  Every  dog  la 
London  has  a  character.  There  are  ricU  dogs, 
poor  dogs,  good  dogs,  bad  dogs,  merry  dogs, 
and  sad  dogs  ;  dogs  that  have  lost  their  taila 
as  Alcibiades'  dog  did  his ;  dogs  that  steal, 
and  dogs  that  fight,  and  dogs  that  dance  for 
a  livelihood.  There  are  theatrical  dogs  (I 
had  one  myself  once),  and  pious  dogs :  there 
are  dogs  essentially  aristocratic  in  habit,  de- 
meanour, and  (I  was  going  to  say)  thought ; 
and  there  are  dogs  whom  a  century  of  U^kck- 
ing,  example,  high  feeding,  and  aristocratic 
associations  would  not  render  anything  bat 
low-life  dogs.  There  are  parvenu  dogs  who 
have  originally  been  curs,  and  have  after- 
wards, by  accident  er  favouritism,  beeu  ele- 
vated into  tbe  position  of  pets,  but  still  main- 
tain traces  of  their  currish  origin— -of  tbe 
days  when  they  slept  in  a  dust-heap,  aii4 
promenaded  in  a  gutter,  and  fought  with  a 
tinker's  terrier  for  the  stump  of  a  cabbage- 
stalk.  There  are  dogs  for  day  and  dogs  for 
night,  dogs  fbr  businera  and  dogs  for  pleas- 
ure, industrious  dogs  and  lazy  dogb. 

Tbe  latter  class,  I  am  afraid  far  outnumber 
the  industrious  section  of  the  dog  community. 
Few  things  I  think,  can  equal  the  luxuriously 
contented,  apathetically  enjoying,  gravt^ly 
sensual  manner  in  which  a  dog  abandons  him- 
self to  idleness  and  repose.    I  douH  mean  to 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Clartct  DlckeuL  j 


BACK  AT  TRINITY. 


519 


needful  rest,  for  theo  he  coils  himself  up,  and 
goes  to  sleep  serenely.  Ue  has  dreams,  and 
gives  short  barks  in  his  sleep  as  though  he 
were  dreaming  of  thieres,  or  strange  dogs,  or 
disputed  bones.  But,  to  see  a  dog  when  he 
is  determined  to  be  lazy,  stretch  himself  out 
at  full  lengih,  with  his  bead  thrown  back  and 
his  tail  quiescent,  now  on  his  side,  now  on  his 
back,  with  his  heels  upwards — this  is  Indeed 
a  sight  good  for  sore  eyes.  The  enjoyment  is 
60  intense,  so  unalloyed  by  any  after  thought 
or  pre-occupation,  so  perfect  aud  so  complete. 
The  ears  are  thrown  lightly  off  his  head.  His 
eyes  are  not  quite  closed — he  is  too  lazy  to  do 
that ;  but  he  keeps  them  as  It  were  %jar,  in  a 
lazy,  winking,  blinking  manner,  as  if  to  inti- 
mate that  be  is  not  tired — that  he  does  not 
want  to  go  to  sleep — that  he  merely  wishes 
to  enjoy  bis  dolce  far  niente  like  a  gentleman, 
and  that  should  anything  turn  up  in  the  way 
of  a  rat-hunt,  a  marrow-bone,  a  lady,  or  a 
flgbt,  be  will  he  found  wide  awake  aud  ready 
fur  action.  There  is  a  smile  on  his  doggish 
mouth  that  could  scarcely  be  surpassed  in 
contented  benignity  by  the  smile  of  a  child 
in  its  sleep — save,  perhaps,  by  that  of  a 
young  sucking-pig,  ready  for  roasting  in  a 
dairyman's  shop-window.  The  mouth  looks 
a:*  tUough  it  never  could  bark — far  less  bite — 
least  of  all  attack  the  calves  of  unoffending 
people  passing  by,  and  kill  a  given  number 
of  rats  in  a  given  number  of  minutes. 

Next  to  the  lazy  dog  I  will  take  as  a  cha- 
racter the  comic  dog.  As  a  rule,  the  comic 
dog  is  a  brown  dog.  I  have  known  shaggy 
white  dogs  with  a  sense  of  the  humorous,  aud 
I  have  heard  of  sundry  black  dogs  who 
could  make  a  joke  or  two.  I  was  evun  once 
honored  with  the  acquaintance  of  a  jocular 
bulldog ;  but  these  are  only,  believe  me,  ex- 
ceptions to  the  rule,  and  you  will  find  the 
great  majority  of  comic  dogs  to  be  brown. 
The  comic  dog  is  moreover  very  nearly 
always  an  exceedingly  ugly  dog.  Ue  is  not  a 
very  intellectual  dog.  He  cannot  do  tricks 
on  the  cards,  walk  up  a  ladder,  jump  through 
a  hoop,  pretend  to  walk  lame,  go  through  the 
manual  exercise,  halt  at  the  word  ol"  com- 
mand, or  go  to  market  for  sausages,  beefsteaks, 
or  French  rolls  with  halfpence  in  his  basket. 
He  is  not  a  quarrelsome  dog,  a  vicious  dog, 
and  I  am  afraid,  on  the  other  hand,  he  cannot 
lay  any  very  g^eat  claim  to  generosity  or 
fidelity.  He  is  simply  an  irresistibly  comic 
dog— 80  comic  that  one  wag  of  his  prepos- 
terous tail,  one  cock  of  his  bizarre  head,  one 
twinkle  of  his  grotesque  eyes,  one  wrinkle  of 
his  egregious  mouth,  one  wriggle  of  his  eccen- 
tric body,  is  sufficient  to  send  you  into  a  pro- 
longed and  hearty  roar  of  laughter.  You 
can't  help  it :  you  must  laugh  at  the  comic 
dog.  Moreover,  he  never  descends  to  low 
comedy  ;  to  unmeaning  tricks  of  buffoonery 
and  tomboyism.  He  disdains  to  run  round 
and  round  after  his  tail,  to  stand  on  his  hind 
legs,  aud  then  tumble  backward,  to  pretend 
to  catch  flies,  to  bark  at  himself  in  a  glass,  or 


to  worij  the  cat  He  is  more  of  a  humorist 
than  a  joker.  He  is  more  of  a  comedian  than 
a  farce  actor.  Yet  he  can  be  grave  occasion- 
ally ;  though  in  his  very  gravity  there  is 
sometimes  humour  so  broad,  so  shining,  so 
incomprehensibly  ludicrous,  that  you  must 
either  laugh  or  burst. 

The  melancholy— or  as  I  bad  perhaps 
better  call  him — the  sad  dog,  is  ordinarily 
black.  He  is  generally,  too,  a  mongrel.  The 
fact  of  his  obscure  birth  aud  ignoble  blood 
seems  to  haunt  him  and  sit  heavy  upon  him. 
He  had  a  master  once,  but  he  was  unkind  to 
him,  or  ran  away  from  him.  or  died,  so  that  he 
is  ownerless  now.  He  has  a  fragile  tenure  of 
ownership  in  a  few  establishments,  mostly 
those  of  small  tradesmen,  and  tries  to  per- 
suade himself  that  these  are  his  masters  ;  but 
the  effort  is  not  successful.  He  would  fain 
belong  to  some  one,  but  nobody  will  have 
anything  to  do  with  him.  He  cares  for  a 
great  many  people,  but  nobody  cares  for 
him. 

These  circumstances  have  embittered  the 
life  of  the  sad  dog.  He  mopes.  He  is  miser- 
able. He  becomes  thin.  He  is  frequently 
kicked,  and  dares  not  resent  th"  injury.  His 
sides  become  attenuated,  and  his  ribs  show 
through  his  lissome  skin.  He  tries  to  eetab- 
litih  himself  somewhere,  to  get  somebody  to 
own  him.  He  hides  under  counters  in  shops, 
under  dressers  in  kitchens,  In  remote  areas  and 
backyards.  He  follows  gentlemen  home  to 
their  houses  at  night ;  but  nobody  will  have 
anything  to  do  with  him.  His  reception  is 
always  the  same — the  one  irrevocable  boot. 
At  last  he  subsides  into  an  empty  potatoe- 
basket  in  Coven  t  Garden  Market,  or  the  lee- 
side  of  a  tarpaulin,  and  there  he  lies  quietly, 
and  mopes:  uncomplainingly,  unresistibly, 
without  friends,  without  food,  till  he  dies, 
and  has  his  lying-in-state  in  the  gutter,  and 
his  cenotaph  in  the  dustcart.  Have  you 
never  known  men  and  women  who  have  been 
meek  and  mild,  uncomplaining  and  unresist- 
ing, who  have  had  neither  fo^  nor  friends, 
and  who  have  gone  and  laid  down  in  a  corner 
somewhere,  and  died  ?  Shame  on  me !  'some 
of  you  will  cry.  that  I  should  compare  a 
Christian  to  a  dog.  Alas!  not  a  day  will 
pass  but  we  can  dnpcry  human  qualities  in 
the  brute,  and  brute  qualities  in  the  human 
being ;  and,  alas,  again,  how  often  we  find  a 
balance  of  love,  fidelity,  truth,  generosity,  on 
the  side  of  the  brute. 

BACK  AT  TRINITY. 

I  AM  the  rector  of  a  little  parish  in  the 
wilds  of  Cumberland,  and  have  been  so  this 
ten  years;  my  parinhioners  live  upon  hill- 
sides, and  in  secluded  valleys,  over  a  space  of 
many  score  square  miles ;  but  their  number 
is  not  over  fifty  rouls  :  I  have  alHO  just  fifty 
pounds  a  year  for  curing  them.  When  I  say 
that  my  churchvrarden  and  myself— the  best 
informed  men  in  the  parish,  and  the  fountain- 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


cc< 


head  of  infonnation  to  the  daleemen— have 
differed  within  the  last  fortnight  aboat  the 
capacity  of  ministers,  and  the  management  of 
the  war,  it  may  be  concluded  that  Wasteland 
foll£  are  somewhat  behind  public  opinion. 
Were  I  met,  as  I  go  about  my  duties,  over  the 
hills,  with  my  dog  and  my  long  crook,  I  might 
well  be  taken  for  a  literal  shepherd  of  my 
flock.  It  was  not  always  thus  with  me. 
There  is  an  old  three-cornered  cap,  the  won- 
der of  the  ancient  dame  who  "  does''  for  me, 
which,  broken  and  battered  as  it  is,  looks  dis- 
dainfully at  its  neighbour  of  black  straw  that 
now  forms  my  pastoral  covering.  Amidst 
the  simple  clothing  in  my  old  oak  wardrobe, 
there  hangs,  tattered  and  torn  enough,  a  long  i 
blue  Trinity  gown ;  and  among  the  homely 
crockery  of  my  cupboard,  there  shines  resplen- 
dent, with  the  college  arms  on  one  sideband  a 
glass  at  the  bottom,  a  **  pewter"  that  was  the 
reward  of  victory  upon  the  silver  Cam.  | 

I  had  failed  to  get  my  fellowship,  and  spent 
most  of  my  little  capital  in  dear — too  dear^- 
old  Cambridge,  but  the  memory  of  ray  col- 
lege days  seemed  worth  it  alL  When  my 
daily  work  was  over,  and  my  evening  pipe 
was  lit,  I  loved  to  recline  in  the  chimney- 
corner  of  my  sitting  room  and  recall  the  an- 
cient days ;  and  the  scenes  of  that  happy  time, 
though  they  grew  dimmer  and  dimmer  with  | 
every  backward  glance,  shone  not  lees  glo- 
rious through  the  haze.  I  had  always  a  vagne 
longing  to  revisit  the  fading  halls  and  ''  Tes- 
sening  towers"  once  more,  and,  this  last 
May,  having  received  an  invitation,  hospita- 
ble and  kind  as  only  a  college  friend's  can 
be,  it  fairly  overset  all  considerations  of  eco- 
nomy, and  down  to  Trinity,  like  an  escaped 
bird  I  flew ;  that  being  a  poetical  ezprest'ion 
for  the  state  of  my  feelinjns  rather  than  the 
speed  of  my  journey,  for  Wasteland  is  over 
forty  miles  from  the  railroad  station,  across 
the  mountain  by-roads,  and  I  accomplished 
them  in  a  gig  like  Doctor  Syntax's.  | 

I  came  through  London,  and  so  by  the 
Eastern  Counties'  line,  and  as  we  drew  near 
the  low  flat  country  with  the  **  Brobdignags" 
— I  used  to  think  so  high  before  I  came  to 
Cumberland— I  thought  I  recognised  the 
roads  and  walks  about,  and  coupled  each  with 
some  remembrance  of  old.  There  was  the 
windmill  whereat  Jones'  skewbald  shied  and 
threw  him  ;  and  there  were  the  post  and  rails 
over  which  Brown,  in  scarlet,  thought  to  have 
escaped  f^om  the  sporting  proctor ;  and  there 
the  broad  bright  stream  where  we  three 
ducked  the  gamekeeper.  I  would  rather  it 
had  been  the  coaching  days  again,  to  have 
lingered  a  little  longer  on  our  way,  to  have 
driven  the  four  greys  into  Trumpiogton,  and 
to  have  eat  beside  Jack  Hall.  Jack  had  the 
road  between  the  two  universities,  and  used 
to  be  a  noted  character ;  he  artfully  contrived 
to  sympathise  now  with  one,  and  now  with  the 
other,  as  his  box  companion  happened  to  be 
Cantab  or  Oxonian,  but  I  remember  one  mis- 
take of  his.    Robinson  of  Trinity  had  been 


staying  up  at  Christchurch,  and  was  Uken  hj 
Jack  to  be  of  that  college ;  after  some  ecm- 
versation,  tending  still  more  to  strengthen 
that  impression,  Jack  observed: — ''  WelL  rir, 
I  dinna  how  it  is,  but  I  can  alius  tell  a  Hox- 
ford  from  a  Cambridge  gent.  The  H oxford 
gent  says,  *  Hall'  when  he  speaks  to  me,  as 
you  do,  sir,  and  asks  me  to  take  a  glass  of 
wine  here  (as  it  may  be),  and  another  there, 
and  'your  health  Hall,'  says  he,  and  when  he 
gets  off,  says  he,  *  here's  half-a-crown,  Hall 
(at  least),  for  you.'  But  your  Cambridge 
chap  says,  *  Jack,  my  boy,  a  pot  o'  beer  ?'  and 
*  I  look  towards  you.'  and  gives  me  a  begi^y 
shilling  to  end  with."  When  Robinson,  there- 
fore, got  down  at  Trinity,  he  said  with  em- 
phasis, '*  Jack,  my  boy,  here's  a  shilling  for 
you — I  am  a  (Cambridge  man."  Poor  Jack  is 
dead  now,  and  we  came  through  the  town  In 
an  omnibus ;  through  the  town  that  is  being 
all  rebuilt  and  by  way  of  Pembroke,  Corpus, 
and  Cat's  Hall,  past  the  long  screen  of  King's 
College,  through  which  the  organ  peals,  and 
close  by  the  stately  Senate  House  where  my 
heart  beat  high  and  hopefully  for  days,  and 
where  at  least  it  sank  to  zero ;  when  the  long 
list  came  out,  and  wrangler  after  wrangler 
was  called  forth,  and  I,  the  last,  was  called— 
the  Golden  Spoon ! 

I     Show  roe  thine  ancient  front,  old  Cains,  I 
pray,  for  brick  thou  art  behind,  but  three 
months  piled,  and  hide  thy  next  door  neigh- 
bour's firesh  red  face  ;  the  street  is  new  too, 
I  dare  say  improved,  but  I  would  rather 
have  the  tumbling  shops  and  all  their  sloreys 
nodding   overhead.      Thank    Heaven,    the 
grand  old  gate  is  where  it  was,  and  the  old 
martin  builds  in  Harry's  crown,  and  still 
makes  entry  hazardous ;  the  porter  looks  the 
same,  but  not  so,  I ;  he  does  not  know  me 
from  a  chorister,  or  credulous  father  bringing 
up  a  son  to  first  matriculation — for  the  Pchtsoii 
prize  and  all  the  rest— or  haply  ftom  some 
I  dun  importunate,  passing  his  days  without 
I  the  '*  sported"*  oaks ;  **  in  the  middle  leaps 
the  fountain,"  shaking  coolness  through  the 
j  court,  and  the  pigeons  tamely  trot  upon  the 
level  shaven   lawn,  and  from  the  ancient 
clock  turret  peals  forth  the  passing  hour  **  la 
the  male  and  female  voice"  as  was  wont  to 
,  be  of  old  ;  up  the  stone  steps  past  the  butte- 
^  ries  and  the  great  dark  swinging  doors,  and 
!  into  Neville's  Court,  unchanged  and  fair,  with 
echoing  cloisters  upon  either  side,  and  through 

,  its  open  gates  the  pleasant  stream :  hot 

I  here  is  a  new  wonder ;  groups  of  men— so 

;  strangely  like  the  friends  of  mine  own  days,  I 

scarce  can  think  them  quite  unknown  to  me, 

with  the  same  bright  hopeful  faces  and  the 

same  light  grace  of  limb— with  photographic 

^  apparatus  and  the  favouring  sun  limning  each 

I  other's  features ;    thus  may  these  portrait 


galleries  be  formed  of  all  whom  it  may  please 


them  to  keep  fl^sh  in  memory ;  ah  me.  i 

*  The  (•Qter  door  of  UnlveniQr  roooM.  vhoo  clMti 
(or  aportHl)  Ptands  for  a  lort  of  material  **  not  at 
homo"  to  all  oomera. 


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BACK  AT  TRINITY. 


521 


would  before  death  and  distant  climes  bad 
taken  tbem  I  had  made  me  such  a  book  in  my 
blithe  college  days!  This  man,mY  cheery  host, 
seems  stouter,  older,  andyby  my  life!  not  quite 
un tinged  with  ^ay,  but  still  the  same  frank 
smile,  warm  gnp,  and  the  good  heart  within 
all  sound  and  YOung  I  A  man  who  never  mis- 
used his  time  here ;  a  Fellow  of  his  Colleges, 
M-A.,  Lecturer,  Don ;  with  vasty  rooms,  oak- 
paneled,  hung  with  pictures,  stored  with 
books,  a  palace  of  a  place  ;  my  name,  alas  is 
not  upon  the  board — my  poverty,  indeed, 
not  will,  prevented  it,  and  so  beneath  his 
wing  I  dine  at  the  "  high  table  "  with  the 
reverend  deans,  and  hobnob  with  professors. 
The  grand  old  hall  is  filled  from  end  to  end 
with  sounds  of  feasting ;  the  undergraduates 
have  not  learnt  to  carve,  but  hack  and  hew 
as  in  the  olden  time  ;  the  B.A.S  criticise  their 
food  and  frown  as  usual  on  their  caterer ; 
and  in  the  oaken  gallery  stare  the  dames,  or 
young  or  old,  in  wonder  at  the  scene,  while 
through  the  painted  panes  the  Mayday  sun 
chequers  with  rainbow  hues  the  pictures  old 
and  dim.  In  Combination  Room,  where  once 
I  sat  at  viva  voce,  wretched,  ignorant,  the 
wine  goes  round,  and  wit,  and  pleasant  talk, 
and  everywhere  beams  kindness  and  a  friend ; 
a  saint's  day  this,  so  from  the  upper  rows  in 
chapel  where  the  magnates  sit,  I  see  the 
white-robed  youths  come  breathless  in,  the 
whisi>ered  talk  of  some  behind  their  books,with 
cue  eye  watchful  lest  the  outraged  dean  swoop 
from  his  eyrie  on  their  dove-like  forms,  and 

H««r  one*  mora  in  college  fanes 
One  ttona  their  hJgh-bailt  oifftos  make, 
And  thander-miuie  rolling  shake 
The  prophets  blazon'd  on  the  panes. 

Next  night  is  a  race  night  on  the  Cam,  and 
hurrying  to  the  barge  which  every  even- 
ing toils  down  the  narrow  stream,  I  stand 
amidst  the  crowd  about  her  bows,  and 
mark  the  crews  as  they  pass.  No  eight-oars 
are  there,  elsewhere,  such  as  these  ;  their 
stroke  together,  and  the  bending  backs  to- 
gether, as  they  run  before  the  wind :  and  he 
with  the  tiller-ropes,  who  also  bends,  albeit 
standing  on  the  frailest  plank,overbalanced  by 
an  ounce  on  either  side ;  the  thin  keel  cleaves 
the  stream  as  an  arrow-head  cleaves  the"view- 
less  air,"  and  the  music  dies  away  from  their 
oars,  in  distance  lost  at  half  a  score  of 
strokes,  which  presently  some  rival  boat 
takes  up,  and  so  the  linked  sweetness  is 
drawn  out  through  all  the  voyage.  We  leap 
upon  the  bank,  and  join  the  walkers  to  the 
starting-point.  Thence  at  the  third  gun- 
fire the  racers  spring — two  dozen  at  full 
8p(^d.  Then  twice  four  hundred  feet  tumul- 
tuously  start  upon  the  path;  and  ''  Now 
you're  gaining  r'  or  "  Well  pulled — ^well 
pulled  !"  is  shouted  like  one  voice.  Ah, 
Trinity,  First  Trinity,  it  is  vain.  The  long 
keen  prow  overlaps  you  even  now.  See, 
your  victor  sets  up  his  conquering  flag,  nor 
wastes  his  strength,  but  leisurely  draws  on, 


or  hugs  the  river  bank  on  rested  oais,  and 
marks  the  panting  rivals  racing  by — a  long, 
long  line,  with  gaps  made  here  and  there, 
where  other  conquerers  and  conquered  strove 
— of  flashing  oars  and  foam  and  coloured 
caps,  and  forms  half-naked  striving  for  their 
lives  ;  while  on  the^  waters  floats  triumphal 
music,  and  falls  and  rises  the  increasing 
cheer.  So  eve  by  eve  alternate  through  the 
May,  the  measured  pulse  of  racing  oars  beats 
on  beside  the  willows,  and  the  great  throng 
returns  on  barge  or  horseback,  or  winds  home 
on  foot  along  the  meadows. 

Every  day  some  joyous  plan  awaited  me. 
I  breakfasted  with  jovial  undergraduates, 
on  dishes  with  strange  names  and  stranger 
tastes,  and  drank  the  cup  of  Cossas  like 
a  boy.  I  heard  old  talk  of  men  as  bats 
and  oars— a  clever  bat,  a  first-rate  oar,  they 
said  ;  of  Smith's  (young  Smith's,  of  Corpus) 
last  good  thing  ;  of  Unionic  speakers  elo- 
quent ;  the  red-hot .  Chartist  speaker  Robin- 
son (as  in  my  time  were  Smiths  and 
Robinsons)  ;  of  Lord  CJlaude  LoUypops  who 
beard  the  deans  ;  of  Admirable  Crichtons, 
great  at  beer,  greater  at  classics  ;  new  modes 
of  cutting  chapels  were  discussed^  excuses 
new,  as,  **  Trying  on  my  boot  on  the 
wrong  foot,  dear  Mr.  Dean,  I  could  not  get  it 
off,  and  so  was  late  for  service  :"  and  for  the 
next  day,"Ti^htness  of  left  boot  still,Mr.D6an. 
continues,*' with  quite  a  racy  smack  about  them 
yet,  though  ancient  as  the  everlasting  hills. 

Adown  the  Backs,  the  stream  behind  the 
town,  where  half  the  College  gardens  bloom 
on  either  side  and  half  the  lawns  slope  down, 
we  floated  dreamily : 

Okie  firiend  polled  stroke,  another  bew, 
And  I,  I  steered  them  anyhow. 

We  played  on  many  a  hidden  college  plat, 
fast  barred  from  me  in  undergraduate  days, 
at  grand  old  games— at  quoits  and  Bacon's 
game  of  bowls,  turned  Heaven  knows  how 
many  centuries  ago,  with  half  the  bias 
dropped  out  'and  the  numbers  dim  with 
cobwebs  and  time.  The  long  loud  laugh  I 
learnt  in  Westmoreland  rang  out  and  echoed 
round  the  monkish  walls  most  strangely.  It 
seems  to  me,your  fellows  sooner  age  in  mouldy 
cloisters  than  we  dwellers  on  the  windy  hills 
do.  And  yet  they  are  a  glorious  set.  Their 
dinners  every  day  are  like  a  king's ;  but  when 
they  have  their  audit  I — ah  me  I  here  in  this 
unfruitful  valley,  as  I  eat  my  mutton  and  my 
oatmeal  cake  alone,  I  think  upon  those  audits 
with  a  sigh. 

Fish,  flesh,  fowl,  ftruit — in  shoals,  herds, 
flocks,  and  gardens-full ;  wine,  of  what  dim 
vice-chancellorship  in  blythe  King  Harry's 
time  I  know  not ;  and  (as  my  northern  fancy 
ill-concealed)  far  better  than  all  wine,  old 
audit  ale.  The  dinner  prefaced  and  con- 
cluded by  a  grace,  read  by  two  scholars  in 
dramatic  parts  in  the  best  Latin  ^  the 
tankards  and  the  salt-cellars  of  gold  pre- 
sented by  the  foundress.    There  she  stands. 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


£CoiiducCMl  by 


albeit  she  looks  white  and  stern  enough,  and, 
as  it  is  said,  repented  of  her  love  to  this  good 
college,  and  left  her  wealth  to  others  ere 
she  died.  *^  I  look  towards  yon,  madain, 
Your  health  !''  Indeed,  the  master's  self 
did  put  his  lips  to  a  huge  golden  goblet  full 
of  port,  and  the  rest  all  rose  up  after  him  with 
solemn  bow,  one  after  one,  three  standing  at 
a  time,  and  drank  her  memory ;  **  In  piam 
memoriam  fnndatricis."  Well  for  me  I  had 
not  first  to  quote  the  Latin,  or  surely  I  had 
mauled  the  long  penultimate  1  So,  after  that 
the  rosewater  and  graces,  and  then  in 
Milton's  garden  we  wandered,  and  kept  his 
mulberry  free  enough  from  blight,  I  warrant 
it,  with  good  tobacco  smoke. 

Thus  my  last  day  at  Alma  Mater.  May- 
hap, I  shall  not  see  her  any  more  :  but  while 
old  fViends  find  harbour  in  my  heart,  and 
recollections  of  blythe  days  are  dear,  to  her 
in  piam  memoriam  will  I  drink,  and  towards 
her  will  I  look  with  loving  eyes. 

RICE. 

Those  who  have  only  seen  rice  as  exposed 
for  sale  in  grocers'  windows,  or  who  have 
tasted  it  in  no  other  shape  than  as  puddings, 
may  with  truth  be  said  to  know  nothing  of 
it  as  an  article  of  food.  In  this  country, 
indeed,  little  is  understood  of  the  important 
part  this  grain  performs  in  employing  and 
feeding  a  large  portion  of  the  human  family. 
Cultivated  in  all  four  quarters  of  the  globe, 
but  chiefly  in  America  and  Asia,  it  is  no 
exaggeration  to  say  that  it  forms  the  food  of 
three-fourths  of  the  human  race ;  in  other 
words,  of  between  six  and  seven  hundred 
millions  of  the  population  of  the  world. 

It  is  not  merelv  that  the  densely-packed 
inhabitants  of  China,  Siam,  British  India, 
and  the  Eastern  islands,  employ  this  grain  in 
lieu  of  wheat.  It  stands  them  in  place  of  all 
the  varied  food  of  European  countries :  of 
bread,  vegetables,  flesh,  and  fowl.  The  rice- 
dealer  is  at  once  their  baker,  greengrocer, 
butcher,  and  poulterer.  It  is  impossible  to 
enter  the  most  remote  village  In  the  East 
without  seeing  piles  of  rice  stored  in  half- 
open  granaries,  or  heaped  up  for  sale  in 
bazaars  in  such  boundless  profusion  as  to 
bewilder  a  traveller  from  the  west,  who  Is  apt 
to  wonder  what  will  become  of  It  all.  Three- 
fourths  of  the  warehouses  in  town  and 
country  the  traveller  may  depend  on  being 
rice  stores;  three-fourths  of  the  lumbering 
native  craft  that  steal  along  the  coast,  and 
quite  that  proportion  of  the  lazy  bullock- 
carte  that  are  to  be  met  with  toiling  over 
Indian  roads,  are  certain  to  be  laden  with  rice. 

Of  rapid  growth,  and  easily  adapting  itself 
to  many  varieties  of  soil,  irrespective  of  cul- 
ture, rice  appears  to  be  the  most  suitable  for 
the  countries  in  which  it  is  found.  The  abun- 
dant rains  which  periodically  fall  within  and 
ab<Ait  the  tropics,  are  precisely  what  is  needed 
by  this  semi-aquatic  plant.  Sometimes,  how- 


ever, the  rainy  season  ceases  before  Its  time, 
or  fsiils  altogether ;  in  which  case  the  cropa 
will  assuredly  perish,  should  there  exist  no 
means  of  procuring  a  supply  from  elsewhere, 
by  aqueducts  and  dams,  or  cmnds,  as  they  are 
termed.  The  construction  of  works  of  irriga- 
tion has,  from  the  earliest  periods  occupied  the 
attention  of  Indian  monarchs,  who  spared 
no  efforts  to  keep  their  subjects  well  supplied 
with  water.  It  long  formed  a  reproach  to 
the  British  government  of  India,  that  whilst 
the  Hindoo  and  Mahometan  rulers  of  Hin- 
dostan  had  been  alike  mindful  to  spend  a 
portion  of  the  (axes  on  works  of  this  kind, 
they  allowed  the  bunds  and  canals  to  fall  into 
neglect  and  ruin. 

The  want  of  those  means  of  Irri^tlon  has 
often  been  fatally  felt  in  some  districts  of 
India.  A  sudden  and  severe  drought  will 
destroy  the  growing  crops  ;  and  when,  as  is 
unfortunately  the  case  in  some  parts,  there 
are  no  roads  by  which  to  convey  grain  firom 
more  fortunate  districts,  the  consequences  are 
frightful.  In  this  way  we  read  that  in  the 
year  eighteen  hundred  and  thirty-three,  fifty 
thousand  persons  perished  in  the  monUi  of 
September,  in  Lucknow  ;  at  Kanpore  twelve 
hundred  died  of  want ;  in  Guntoor,  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  thousand  human  beings, 
seventy-four  thousand  bullocks,  a  handnd 
and  sixty  thousand  cows,  and  an  incredible 
number  of  sheep  and  goats,  died  of  starvatioo; 
fifty  thousand  people  perished  from  the  same 
cause  in  Marwa  ;  and  in  the  north-west  pro- 
vinces half  a  million  of  lives  are  snppoecd  to 
have  been  lost.  During  that  year  a  million 
and  a  half  of  human  beings  are  believed  to 
have  perished  from  want  of  food. 

In  some  parts  of  India  the  monsoon  rains 
fall  heavily  for  a  short  period,  and  very 
slightly  at  other  times,  yielding  a  greater 
supply  than  Is  needed  in  the  first  instance, 
and  too  little  afterwards.  To  meet  this  irre- 
gularity, and  store  up  the  too  copious  rains 
of  the  early  monsoons-bunds  were  built  across 
valleys  to  form  artificial  lakes,  often  of  nst 
extent,  whence  the  adjacent  country  was  irri- 
gated by  means  of  water-courses  carried  fre- 
quently for  many  miles  along  the  flanks  of 
mountains,  across  ^rges  and  valleys,  and 
through  the  most  difficult  country ;  opera- 
tions, which  would  have  sorelv  puzzled  oor 
best  European  engineers  to  nave  accom- 
plished without  a  great  and  rninoas  outlay. 

We  have  been  long  accustomed  to  regard 
the  magnificent  ruins  yet  remaining  in  the 
prostrate  land  of  the  mighty  Pharaohs,  with 
feelings  of  mingled  awe  and  admiration, 
looking  upon  them  as  the  crumbling  types  of 
a  bygone  reign  of  architectural  and  engineer 
lug  greatness.  Further  eastward,  still  nearer 
the  rising  of  the  sun,  there  are,  however, 
ruins  quite  as  vast :  monumental  vestiges  of 
former  greatness  fully  as  astounding.  The 
remains  of  ancient  works  of  Irrigation  in  the 
Island  of  Ceylon  alone,  are  suflScient  to  fliDtr 
Into  the  shade  the  boasted  labours  of  the  old 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Iiarlca  DickciM.] 


RICE. 


623 


^ptlan  kings,  to  dwarf  to  the  flimsiest  in- 
gnificance  the  proudest  enginecriDg  works 
f  the  present  rulers  of  India. 

Situated  amidst  the  wildest  solitudes,  or 
I  the  depths  of  unhealthy  jungle  districts, 
lese  rains  hare  remained  almost  unknown 
>  Europeans.  Surrounded  by  stagnant 
nramps  or  dense  forests  and  jungle,  where 
nee  were  fertile  plains  or  luxurious  valleys, 
Ich  with  waving  rice-fields,  that  in  those 
smoto  ages  fed  a  vast  population,  those 
ained  bunds  are  now  the  resort  of  wild 
lepfaaota,  buffaloes,  and  innumerable  water- 
)wl.  Here  and  there  a  cluster  of  mise- 
ible  huts,  termed  out  of  mere  courtesy 
village,  may  be  seen  vegetating  in  the  less 
rergrown  corners  of  this  great  jungle-water 
lain,  like  islands  in  some  oriental  Dead  Sea, 
at  how  they  came  there,  or  what  their  in- 
lates  do  is  not  easily  defined. 

Of  the  extent  of  these  tanks  some  idea  may 
•e  formed  from  the  fact  of  there  being  at  the 
iresent  day  not  fewer  than  fifteen  villages 
Fithin  the  dried  up  bed  of  one  of  them.  The 
iilapidated  wall  of  this  great  artificial  lake 
B  fifteen  miles  in  length,  extending  as  it  did  at 
>ne  time  completely  across  the  lower  end  of 
k  ppacions  valley.  Built  up  of  huge  blocks 
if  stone  strongly  fixed  with  cement  work, 
ind  covered  with  turf,  it  formed  a  solid  bar- 
ier  of  one  hundred  feet  in  width  at  the  base, 
iielving  off  to  forty  feet  wide  at  the  top.  The 
nagnitude  of  these  works  bear  ample  testi- 
nony  not  only  to  the  ability  of  the  former 
craftsmen  of  this  island,  but  to  the  extent  of 
be  then  population ;  and  the  resources  and 
mblic  spirit  of  the  Cinghalese  monarchs,  who 
tould  successfully  undertake  works  of  such 
nagnitude  and  utility.  In  the  early  period  of 
he  Christian  era,  when  Britain  was  in  a 
icmi-barbarous  state,  when  her  nobles  dwelt 
n  rude  edifices  but  little  removed  from 
mts,  and  when  her  navigators  had  not  learnt 
io  tempt  the  perils  of  an  over-sea  commerce, 
^ylon,  then  known  as  ''the  utmost  Indian 
ale,  Taprobane,"  possessed  cities  of  vast  ex- 
ient — as  large  as  the  present  London — and 
loosed  her  monarchs  and  priests  in  edifices 
hat  would  astonish  the  architects  of  our  mo- 
lem  Babylon,  that  would  leave  our  proudest 
)alaccs  far  behind,  that  would  need  a  Milton 

0  describe  and  a  Martin  to  delineate.  She 
was  also  a  liberal  exporter  of  rice  to  distant 
Jountries.     In  the    present  day,  with  but 

1  fourth  of  her  former  population,  Ceylon 
s  compelled  to  purchase  grain  fVom  Indian 
producers  in  consequence  of  the  decay  of  her 
(Torks  of  irrigation. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  by  European 
readers,  that  rice,  in  the  larger  acceptation 
»f  the  word,  is  represented  by  the  "finest 
^rolina,'-  or  even  **  the  best  London  Cleaned 
Patna."  There  is  no  more  affinity  between 
those  white  artificial  cereals,  and  the  "  real, 
original"  staple  food  of  India  and  the 
Bast,  than  is  to  be  fonnd  between  a  sponge- 
'ake   and   a   loaf  of  genuine    farm-house 


bread.  The  truth  is,  people  in  this  part  of 
the  world,  have  no  conception  of  what  good 
rice  is  like.  If  they  had,  there  would  not  be 
such  a  lively  demand  for  the  produce  of  the 
Southern  American  States.  But  such  is  pre- 
judice, that  if  a  merchant  were  to  introduce 
into  any  port  of  Great  Britain,  or  Ireland,  a 
cargo  of  the  real  staple  food  of  orientals,  he 
would  not  find  a  purchaser  for  it,  so  inferior 
is  it  in  appearance,  in  its  colour,  shape,  and 
texture,  to  the  better-known  and  tempting 
looking  grain  of  South  Carolina. 

Perhaps,  no  greater  fallacy  exists,  than  tjie 
common  belief  in  the  poverty  of  the  nutri- 
tive qualities  of  rice.  That  may  hold  good 
in  regard  to  the  rice  consumed  in  this  country, 
but  certainly  not,  if  applied  to  the  common 
rice  of  many  parts  of  the  East.  A  hard- 
working Indian  labourer  would  not  make  a 
meal  on  our  "  Finest  Carolina,"  if  he  could 
get  it  as  a  present :  he  would  know  that  he 
could  not  do  half-a-day^s  work  on  it,  even 
though  he  swallowed  a  lull  Indian  allowance, 
and  that  is  saying  a  good  deal :  an  English- 
man in  the  West,  can  have  no  conception  of 
the  prodigious  quantities  of  rice  a  working- 
man  in  the  eastern  tropics  will  dispose  of  at 
one  sitting.  A  London  alderman  might  well 
envy  him  his  feeding  capacity. 

Perhaps,  it  may  be  thought,  that  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  a  hard  day's  work  in  India : 
and  that,  therefore,  there  can  be  no  good 
grounds  for  vouching  for  the  nutritive  pro- 
perties of  the  grain  of  those  countries.  If  so, 
it  makes  another  of  the  rather  long  list  of 
popular  modern  fallacies.  I  have  seen  as 
hard  work,  real  bone  and  muscle  work,  done 
by  citizens  of  the  United  Kingdom  in  the 
East,  as  was  ever  achieved  in  the  cold  West, 
and  all  upon  rice  and  curry — not  curry  and 
rice — in  which  the  rice  has  formed  the  real 
meal,  and  the  curry  has  merely  helped  to 
give  it  a  relish,  as  a  sort  of  substantial  Kit- 
chener's Zest,  or  Harvey's  Sauce.  I  have 
seen,  likewise,  Moormen,  Malabars,  and  others 
of  the  Indian  labouring  classes  perform  a 
day's  work  that  would  terrify  a  London  por- 
ter, or  coal-whipper ;  or  a  country  navvy,  or 
ploughman  5  and  under  the  direct  rays  of  a 
sun,  that  has  made  a  wooden  platform  too 
hot  to  stand  on,  in  thin  shoes,  without  liter- 
ally dancing  with  pain,  as  I  have  done  many 
a  day,  within  six  degrees  of  the  line. 

It  would  be  a  matter  of  no  little  difficulty, 
and,  perhaps,  of  double  interest,  to  tell  how 
many  varieties  exist  of  the  rice  family,  in 
eastern  lands,  iVom  the  whitest,  most  deli- 
cately-formed table-rice  of  Bengal^  to  the 
bold,  red,  solid  grain  of  the  Madras  coast, 
and  the  sickly-looking,  transparent,  good-for- 
nothing-but-starch  rice  of  Arracan.  Making 
a  rough  guess  at  their  number,  there  cannot 
be  less  than  two  hundred  varieties.  These 
may  be  thrown  into  two  great,  widely-differ- 
ent classes,  viz.,  field  rice  and  hill  rice :  the 
distinctive  features  of  which  are,  that  the 
former  is  grown  in  cultivated  fields  by  the 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


624 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


ICMdwMk) 


aid  of  water,  the  latter  on  dry  hill  Blopes. 
without  irrigation.  The  one  yields  a  rich, 
nutritious  grain,  In  great  abundance,  the 
other,  a  thin,  and  husky  rice,  fit  only  for  the 
food  of  cattle,  or  the  very  poorest  class  of 
natives.  With  this  last-mentioned  descrip- 
tion of  grain,  there  is  scarcely  any  attempt 
at  cultivation,  in  a  European  sense  of  the 
word,  nor  is  there  any  feature  about  it,  worthy 
of  notice ;  so  that  the  reader  will  readily  ex- 
cuse me  for  passing  to  the  more  interesting 
subject  of  the  ordinary  field  rice  of  the  East. 

A  cornfield  in  the  ear,  a  hop  plantation  in 
bitd,  a  cherry  orchard  in  full  blossom,  a 
bean  field  in  flower,  are  lovely  sights  to 
look  upon ;  yet,  I  have  beheld  one  more 
beautiful.  A  rice  field  half  grown  in  age, 
but  fully  developed  in  the  rich  velvet  beauty 
of  its  tropic  (preen,  bending  to  the  passing 
sea-breeze,  amidst  a  cooling  bath  of  limpid 
water,  with  topes  of  cocoa-palms  cluster mg 
about  its  banks,  and  here  and  there  groves 
of  the  jrellow  bamboo  sweeping  its  bosom 
with  their  feathery  leaves ;  above,  flights  of 
gaily  plumed  paroquets,  or  gentle-voiced 
doves,  skimming  in  placid  happiness  across 
the  deeply  rich  azure  of  the  tropical  sky, 
is  a  scene  worth  all  the  toils  and  privations 
of  an  eastern  voyage  to  gaze  upon. 

A  more  unpromising  or  uninviting  prospect 
can 'scarcely  be  imagined  than  the  same 
fields  when  being  prepared  for  the  grain,  at 
the  usual  sowing  time,  just  as  the  first  rains 
of  the  changing  monsoon  begin  to  falL  Sa- 
turated with  water,  the  soil  wears  all  the 
attributes  of  slushiness.  Far  as  the  eye  can 
reach  along  the  ample  valley  lays  one  dull, 
unbroken  vista  of  rice-land,  ankle-deep  in  rich 
alluvial  mud.  No  cheerful  hedgerows; 
nothing  by^  which,  at  a  distance,  one  can 
distingui^  one  field  from  another.  Here 
and  there  a  long,  irregular  earth-mound, 
crowned  with  rambling  stones,  marks  the 
boundary-line  of  Abrew  Hickrema  Apooha- 
mey,  and  divides  his  humble  forty  ammomuns 
of  rice-land  from  the  princely  domains  of 
Adrian  Hejeyrasingha  Seneratane  Modliar. 

Heavy  showers  have  fallen ;  the  fat,  thirsty 
soil  has  drunk  deep  of  the  welcome  down- 
pourings  from  above,  and  thus,  whilst  it  is 
m  rich  unctuous  humour,  the  serving-men  of 
the  humble  Apoohamey,  and  the  lordly 
Modliar,  ply  it  liberally  with  potations  of  the 
buffalo-plough.  It  is  quite  as  well  that  the 
stranger  traveller  is  informed  of  the  nature 
of  the  operation  which  is  going  on  before  his 
perplexed  eyes,  otherwise  he  would  be  sorely 
puzzled  to  know  what  it  all  meant :  why  the 
pair  of  sleepy-looking  buffaloes  were  so  pa- 
tiently wading,  up  to  their  portly  stomacns, 
In  regular  straight  walks,  through  the  sea  of 
slushy  quagmire,  and  why  the  persevering 
native  followed  them  so  closely,  holding  a 
crooked  piece  of  stick  in  his  hand,  and  urging 
them,  occasionally,  with  a  few  oriental  bene- 
dictions. On  drawing  near  to  the  muddy, 
nude  agriculturist,  you   perceive  that  the 


buffiekloes  are  tied,  with  slight  pieces  of  string 
to  the  tother  end  of  a  long,  rambling,  queer- 
looking  slip  of  wood,  which  they  are  &ggmg 
deliberately  through  the  slimy  ground,  a  fev 
inches  below  the  surface,  and  at  the  otha  eod 
of  which  ap]^ears  to  be  tied  likewise,  ik 
apathetic  Indian  ploughman. 

It  needs  all  the  faith  one  can  master  to 
believe  that  this  actually  constitutes  th« 
ploughing  operations  of  eastern  ooontriea. 
1  ou  have  no  doubt  about  the  man,  nor  the 
buffaloes ;  it  is  the  plough  that  is  so  inteaeelj 
questionable.  It  bears  no  likeness  to  asj 
kind  of  implement — agricultural,  manafac- 
turing,  or  scientific— in  any  part  of  the  world. 
Still,  there  is  a  faint,  glimmering,  indistifiet 
impression  that  you  have  somewhere  met 
with  something  of  the  sort,  or  that  yoa  have 
dreamed  of  something  like  it.  A  sadds 
light  bursts  upon  you,  and  you  recognise  tb« 
thing, — the  entire  scene, — man,  buifidocs. 
and  sticky  plough.  Tou  have  seen  then 
represented  in  plates  of  Belzoni's  discoveries 
in  Egypt,  and  in  Layard's  remains  of  Kioe- 
veh.    There  they  all  are— as  veritable,  u 


formal  and  as  strange — as  were  the  Egjptaa 
and  Ninevite  agriculturists,  I^m  afraid  to  aj 
how  many  centuries  ago.  It  was  pretiseij 
the  same  set  of  cattle,  man,  and  plough,  thai 
sowed  the  corn  that  Joseph's  brethren  weni 
down  from  the  laud  of  Canaan  for,  when  tbe; 
heard  there  was  corn  in  Egypt  It  was  jost 
such  culture  as  this,  thousands  of  years  sioce. 
that  raised  the  ears  of  corn,  that  were  foai^ 
entombed  in  the  mummy's  hand,  hj  Mr. 
Pettigrew  some  few  years  ago. 

There  is  nothing  peculiar  in  the  Cinghalose 
mode  of  sowing  their  grain,  further  tiiao  tint 
like  other  orientals,  they  blend  a  eertaii 
portion  of  superstition  and  religious  obserr- 
ance  with  every  operation  of  their  primitin 
agriculture.  The  village  priest  must  be  m- 
sulted  as  to  the  lucky  day  for  scattering  tts 
seed ;  and  an  offering  at  the  shrine  of  Baddk 
is  necessary  to  secure  the  protection  of  b^ 
Indian  godship:  in  addition  to  which,  ai^l 
bouquets  of  wild  flowers,  and  the  tender  leaf- 
lets of  the  cocoa  palm  are  fastened  on  stict^ 
at  each  corner  of  the  newly-sown  field,  is 
order  to  scare  away  any  evil  spirits  lliat 
might  otherwise  take  it  into  their  mi8cbieT(n> 
heads  to  blight  the  seed. 

In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time,  tb« 
rice-blades,  of  a  lovely  pale  green,  maj  ^ 
seen  peeping  above  the  dushy  soil,  and,  in  i 
few  more  days,  the  tiny  shoots  will  be  wntf 
inches  high.  Then  they  are  treated  to  a  eoM 
bath,  from  the  nearest  tank,  bund,  or  riTff. 
as  the  case  may  be,  the  supply  of  watff 
necessarv  to  cover  the  field  as  high  as  ti 
tops  of  the  growing  com  being  brought  to  it 
by  means  of  water-courses,  or  mud-and-»toae 
aqueducts.  In  the  hilly  country  of  the  m^ 
rior,  as  before  stated,  these  water-conrses 
even  as  now  existing,  and  of  a  comparatiTcly 
humble  description,  are  marvellously  iw^ 
and  managed.    For  many  miles  the  tb; 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


larles  Dickena.|] 


RICK 


625 


irgling  stream  flows  on  through  the 
ildest  parts  of  the  country;  and  the  tra- 
>ller  on  his  horse  may  ride  a  good  day's 
omey  without  reaching  the  end  and  desti- 
ition  of  one  of  those  simple  but  most  useftil 
laeducts. 

In  hilly  country  the  field  paddy  is  often 
rown  on  steep  ground  cut  into  narrow  ter- 
tces,  which  rise  prettily  above  each  other, 
ten  to  a  considerable  height.  In  such  situa- 
ODs  the  plough,  small  and  light  though  it 
;,  cannot  be  used,  and  the  loosening  and 
imlng  up  of  the  ground  has  to  be  performed 
r  hand-labour.  Weeding,  by  women  and 
lildren,  takes  place  whilst  the  rice  plants 
"8  but  a  few  inches  in  height ;  after  which 
le  growth  and  maturity  of  the  corn  becomes 
iry  rapid. 

•file  period  which  elapses  between  the 
wing  and  the  harvesting  varies  according 
>  the  particular  kind  of  rice  that  may  be 
Qdcr  cultivation.  From  three  to  five  months 
the  usual  time  ;  and,  in  this  way,  two  har- 
ests  are  secured  during  each  year  in  favour- 
t)Ie  situations,  though  in  much  of  the  poor 
ght  soil  of  the  sea-^ard  not  more  than  one 
rop  can  be  taken,  and  then  only  after  manur- 
ig,  or  the  ground  must  lie  fallow  for  an  entire 
ear.  I  have  known  many  fine  fields,  in 
levated  positions,  where  the  supply  of  water 
'as  abundant,  yield  two  fall  crops  every  year 
» succession  without  the  aid  of  manure,  and 
bis  they  had  continued  to  do  since  the  earliest 
ecoUection  of  that  universal  patriarch,  the 
Idest  inhabitant. 

The  harvest-home  of  Indian  farmers  is,  as 
^ith  us,  an  important  operation,  though 
wried  on  in  a  widely  different  manner, 
lere,  again,  a  lucky  day  must  be  found ;  and, 
rhen  obtained,  the  prior  cuttings  of  the  ripe 
jld  are  carefully  set  aside  for  an  oflfering  of 
hankfulness  to  Buddha.  There  is  not  any 
ttempt  at  stacking  up  the  com  in  the  straw : 
t  is  removed  to  the  threshing-fioor  as  fast  as 
Qt— the  said  threshing-floor  being  neither 
Qore  nor  less  than  a  very  dry,  smooth,  and 
Jjrd  comer  of  the  nearest  meadow.  There 
ne  operation  of  threshing  goes  on  in  precise- 
y  the  same  ancient  fashion  as  the  ploughing, 
"he  cattle  that,  treading  out,  unmuzzled,  the 
orn  of  the  Cinghalese  cultivation,  In  the 
^ign  of  Queen  v  ictoria,  are  employed  pre- 
jsely  in  the  same  manner  as  the  cattle  were 
raring  the  sway  of  King  Cheops  of  the  Nile ; 
iDd,  for  aught  we  know,  may  be  lineal  de- 
cendants  of  the  same  cattle.  It  is  quite  cer- 
^n  that  the  agricultural  societies  eastward 
n  the  Pyramids  have  accomplished  very  little 
II  the  improvement  of  farming  implements 
md  processes  during  the  last  few  thousand 
rears. 

When  trodden  out  by  the  hoofs  of  cattle, 
?«  grain  is  winnowed  from  the  chaff  by 
'iniply  letting  it  fall  from  a  light  shallow 
>asket  raised  to  some  height  from  the  ground. 
I  he  wind  blows  the  chaff  away  whilst  the 
!orn  falls  in  a  heap  below.    It  is  then  stored 


in  dry  rooms,  or  buried  in  pits  below  the 
ground,  under  cover,  till  required.  In  that 
state  it  is  called  "  paddy,'^  having  a  rough 
husk,  which  must  be  removed  before  it  be- 
comes rice,  and  Is  fit  for  cooking.  This  re- 
moval is  accomplished  by  simply  pounding 
the  grain  in  a  lar^  wooden  mortar,  after 
which  it  is  again  winnowed  and  transformed 
into  edible  rice. 

It  was  during  one  of  my  long  rides  through 
an  exclusive  rice  producing  district  of  the 
interior  of  Ceylon  that  I  encountered  a  most 
unexpected  and  remarkable  object — a  white 
coolie.  I  was  walking  my  horse  towards  the 
nearest  halting-place  through  a  beautifully 
wooded  valley  intersected  with  running 
streams,  rice-grounds,  and  bamboo  topes, 
when,  at  some  distance  below  me,  I  perceiv- 
ed, staggering  along  under  a  load  of  ripe 
plantains,  swung  in  the  ordinary  native  man- 
ner by  means  of  a  "  pingo,"  or  yoke  across 
the  shoulders,  a  white  man  dressed  in  the 
common  garb  of  the  country,  and  in  every 
way  resembling  a  native,  save  in  the  colour 
of  his  skin.  He  was  soon  lost  in  the  distance, 
and  I  rode  on  pondering  over  the  strange  sight 
Half-an-hour  took  me  to  a  little  plateau  at 
the  extremity  of  one  of  the  many  gorges  in 
that  wild  country,  in  the  midst  of  -which  was 
one  of  the  prettiest  little  cottages  and  gardens 
it  would  be  possible  to  see  in  any  couptry. 
Half  hidden  amidst  waving,  green  clusters  of 
plantains  and  pomegranates,  the  little  white 
cottage  might  have  belonged  to  some  Cingha- 
lese Paul  and  Virginia,  some  oriental  Savoy- 
ards, so  sweetly  picturesque  was  it,  amidst 
that  savage  but  fertile  country. 

I  made  my  way  to  it ;  and,  pulling  up  at 
the  little  verandah  in  front  for  a  cup  of 
water,  was  startled  at  being  addressed  by  a 
young  English  woman  clad  in  the  loose,  flow- 
ing robe  of  the  Kandyan  females.  There  were 
one  or  two  dusky-white,  sunburnt  little  chil- 
dren gambolling  about  under  some  shady 
bread-fruit  trees  in  the  rear  of  the  house, 
playing  with  a  motley  assemblage  of  young 
pigs,  kids,  dogs,  and  no  end  of  long-legged, 
tail-less  fowls.  My  new  acquaintance  was 
very  reserved,  and  apologised  for  the  absence 
of  her  husband,  who,  she  said,  had  gone  to 
the  next  bazaar  for  supplies.  A  good  draught 
of  milk  satisfied  my  thirst ;  and,  flinging  a 
handful  of  small  coin  amongst  the  children 
and  farmyard  inhabitants,  I  bade  the  mother 
good  moming,  and  rode  on  my  way  pondering 
how  it  could  be  that  these  fellow  countrymen 
were  thus  singularly  placed  amongst  the 
Cinghalese  peasantry  of  the  land. 

I  learnt  from  the  keeper  of  the  nearest 
rest-house  for  travellers,  the  little  history  , 
of  this  couple :  and,  touching  as  it  was,  I 
felt  glad  that  I  had  not  put  any  questions 
on  the  subject  to  the  young  woman  at  the 
cottage — ^the  real  heroine  of  the  brief  story. 
She  had  been  engaged  to  her  present  hus- 
band for  some  years  before  he  came  out  to 
Ceylon  as  a  coffee-planter.    He  was  pros- 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoadocteJlf 


perous,  and  wrote  home  for  her  to  join  him, 
which  she  did  ;  but,  to  her  sorrow,  foand  that 
he  had  giren  way  to  the  bane  of  the  East — 
drink.  Her  love  for  him,  however,  underwent 
no  change  :  strongly  reliant  on  her  persuasive 
and  guiding  influence  over  him,  she  became 
his  wife  in  the  full  hope  of  saving  him  from 
degradation  and  earl;^  death.  The  sacrifice 
was  made  in  vain.  His  career  was  soon  run : 
from  one  situation  to  another  he  passed, 
down  and  down,  still  lower,  though  manj 
would  have  helped  and  saved  him  for  his 
wife's  sake  and  his  children's.  At  length 
there  was  no  refuge  for  them  but  to  try  and 
cultivate  a  plot  of  ground,  and  rear  food  for 
themselves.  A  friendly  chief  gave  them  a 
field  for  rice,  a  garden,  and  a  cottage,  and 
the  wife  still  clinging  to  her  old  fond  faith 
of  saving  him  from  evil,  followed  him  to  the 
jungle,  and  with  her  own  bands  tended  his 
wants.  My  Informant  tqld  me  that  the ''  white 
master"  had  left  off  drinking  arrack,  and 
was,  in  fact,  a  sober,  hard-working  man,  but 
so  beaten  down,  so  cowed,  and  hopeless  of  his 
future,  that  he  cared  for  nothing  beyond  his 
present  life.  They  grew  all  they  needed, 
and,  from  time  to  time,  he  carried  a  load  of 
fruit  to  the  nearest  bazaar  to  barter  it  for 
salt,  or  a  piece  of  cotton  cloth.  And  so  they 
lived  in  the  midst  of  their  gardens  and  their 
rice-fields. 

TWO  NEPHEWS. 

At  the  parlour  window  of  a  pretty  villa, 
near  Walton-on-Thames,  sat,  one  evening  at 
dusk,  an  old  man  and  a  young  woman.  The 
age  of  the  man  might  be  some  seventy; 
whilst  his  companion  had  certainly  not  reach- 
ed nineteen.  Her  beautiful,  blooming  face, 
and  active,  light,  and  upright  figure,  were  in 
strong  contrast  with  the  worn  countenance 
and  bent  frame  of  the  old  man ;  but  in  his 
eye,  and  in  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  were 
indications  of  a  gay  self-confidence,  which  age 
and  suffering  had  damped,  but  not  extin- 
guished. 

**  No  use  looking  any  more,  Mar^,^'  said  he ; 
''  neither  John  Meade  nor  Peter  Fmoh  will  be 
here  before  dark.  Very  hard  that,  when  a 
sick  uncle  asks  his  two  nephews  to  come  and 
see  him,  they  can't  come  at  once.  The  duty 
is  simple  in  the  extreme, — only  to  help  me  to 
die,  and  take  what  I  choose  to  leave  them  in 
my  will !  Pooh  I  when  I  was  a  young  man, 
I'd  have  done  it  for  my  uncle  with  the  utmost 
celerity.  But  the  world's  getting  quite 
heartless ! " 

"Oh,sb'I"saidMarv. 

"And  what  does  *0h,  sir  I'  mean?  "said 
he.  '  *  D'^e  think  I  sh^'n't  die  ?  I  know  bet- 
ter. A  little  more,  and  there'll  be  an  end  of 
old  Billy  Gollett  He'll  have  left  this  dirty 
world  for  a  cleaner — to  the  great  sorrow, 
(and  advantage)  of  his  affectionate  relatives ! 
Ugh  1    Give  me  a  glass  of  the  doctor's  stuff." 

The  girl.poured  some  medicine  into  a  glass, 


and  Gollett,  after  having  contemplated  it  for 
a  moment  with  Infinite  disgust,  managed  U 
get  it  down. 

"  I  tell  you  what.  Miss  Mary  Sutton,"  sail 
be,  "  I  don't  by  any  means  approve  of  yocr 
*  Oh,  sir  I '  and  *  Dear  sir,'  and  the  rest  of  it. 
when  I've  told  you  how  I  hate  to  be  called 
*8ir'  at  all.  Why  you  couldn't  be  more 
respectful  if  you  were  a  charity-girl  and  1 1 
beadle  in  a  gold-laced  hat  None  of  year 
nonsense,  Marv  Sutton,  if  you  please.  Itc 
been  your  lawful  guardian  now  for  six  moQtbs, 
and  you  ought  to  know  my  likings  and  dla- 
likings." 

"  My  poor  father  often  told  me  how  yon  da- 
liked  ceremony,"  said  Mary. 

**  Your  poor  father  told  you  quite  riglit^ 
said  Mr.  Gollett.  ''  Fred  Sutton  was  a  am 
of  talent— a  capital  fellow!  His  only  &ult 
was  a  natural  inability  to  keep  a  farthing  ia 
his  pocket.  Poor  Fred!  he  loved  me— Fa 
snre  he  did.  He  bequeathed  me  his  oolj 
child — and  it  isn't  every  friend  would  do 
that ! " 

"  A  kind  and  generous  protector  you  hart 
been !" 

"Well,  I  don't  know;  I've  tried  not 
to  be  a  brute,  but  I  dare  say  I  have  beex 
Don't  I  speak  roughly  to  you  sometime?? 
Hav'n't  I  given  you  good,  prudent,  worlij 
advice  about  John  Meade,  and  made  mrself 
quite  disagreeable,  and  like  a  guardian^ 
Come,  confess  you  love  this  penniless  nepbe* 
of  mine." 

"  Penniless  indeed ! "  said  Mary. 

"  Ah,  there  it  is ! "  said  Mr.  Gollett  «  Aad 
what  business  has  a  poor  devil  of  an  artist  to 
fall  in  love  with  my  ward?  And  what  bash 
ness  has  my  ward  to  fall  in  love  with  i 
poor  devil  of  an  artist?  But  that's  Frt4 
Sutton's  daughter  all  over!  Hav'n't  I  tw« 
nephews?  Why  couldn't  you  fall  in  loTCwi± 
the  discreet  one — the  thriving  one?  Peta 
Finch— considering  he's  an  attorney— is  ■ 
worthy  young  man.  He  is  industrious  in  the 
extreme,  and  attends  to  other  people's  hoai- 
ness,  only  when  he's  paid  for  it  He  despia^ 
sentiment,  and  always  looks  to  the  nuin 
chance.  But  John  Meade,  my  dear  Harr, 
mav  spoil  canvas  for  ever,  and  not  grow  rid. 
He's  all  for  art,  and  truth,  and  social  reform. 
and  spiritual  elevation,  and  the  Lord  knovs 
what  Peter  Finch  will  ride  in  his  carritgt, 
and  splash  poor  John  Meade  as  he  trudges  oo 
foot! " 

The  harangue  was  here  interrupted  bji 
ring  at  the  gate,  and  Mr.  Peter  Finch  wis  an- 
nounced. He  had  scarcely  taken  his  s^t 
when  another  pull  at  the  bell  was  heard,  aod 
Mr.  John  Meade  was  announced. 

Mr.  Gollett  eyed  his  two  nephews  with  » 
queer  sort  of  smile,  whilst  they  made  speech-js 
expressive  of  sorrow  at  the  nature  of  tb&r 
visit    At  last,  stopping  them, 

" Enough,  boys,  enough! "  said  he,  *''^ 
us  find  some  better  subject  to  discoai  thai 
the  state  of  an  old  man^s  health.    I  want  \a 


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Chtflat  Dickens.] 


TWO  NEPHEWS. 


527 


know  a  little  more  about  you  both.  I  hav'n't 
seen  much  of  70a  up  to  the  preseat  time, 
and.  for  anythiag  I  know,  you  may  be  rogues 
or  fools." 

John  Meade  seemed  rather  to  wince  under 
this  address ;  but  Peter  Finch  sat  calm  and 
confident 

**  To  put  a  case  now,"  said  Mr.  CoUett ; 
^*  this  morning  a  poor  wretch  of  a  gardener, 
came  begging  here.  He  could  get  no  work, 
it  seems,  and  said  he  was  starving.  Well,  I 
knew  something  about  the  fellow,  and  I  be- 
lieve he  only  told  the  truth  :  so  I  gave  him  a 
shilling,  to  get  rid  of  him.  Now  I'm  afraid  I 
did  wrong.  What  reason  had  I  for  giving 
him  a  shilling  ?  What  claim  had  he  on  me  ? 
What  claim  has  he  on  any  body  ?  The  value 
of  hia  labour  in  the  market  is  all  that  a 
working  man  has  a  right  to ;  and  when  his 
labour  is  of  no  value,  why,  then  he  must  go 
to  the  Devil,  or  wherever  else  he  can.  Eh, 
Peter  ?  That's  my  philosophy — ^what  do  you 
think  ? " 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,  sir,"  said  Mr. 
Finch  ;  "perfectly  agree  with  you.  The  valut 
of  their  labour  in  the  market  is  all  that  la- 
bourers can  pretend  to — all  that  they  should 
have.  Nothing  acts  more  perniciously  than 
the  absurd  extraneous  support  called  charity." 

"  Hear,  hear  I ' '  said  Mr.  CoUett.  *•  You're 
a  clever  fellow,  teter.  Gro  on,  my  dear  boy, 
go  on ! " 

"  What  results  from  charitable  aid  ? "  con- 
tinued Peter.  "  The  value  of  labour  is  kept 
at  an  unnatural  level.  State  charity  is  state 
robbery  :  private  charity  is  public  wrong." 

"  That's  it,  Peter  I"  said  Mr.  CoUett.  "What 
do  you  think  of  our  philosophy,  John  ?" 

"  I  don't  Uke  It,  I  don't  bielicve  it  I  "  said 
John.  "You were  quite  right  to  give  the 
man  a  shilling.  I'd  have  given  him  a  shilling 
myself." 

"  Oh,  you  would — would  you  ? "  said  Mr. 
Collett.  "You're  very  generous  with  your 
shillings.  Would  you  fly  in  the  face  of  all 
orthodox  political  economy,  you  Vandal  ? " 

"  Yes,"  said  John :  "  as  the  Vandals  flew 
in  the  face  of  Rome,  and  destroyed  what  had 
become  a  falsehood  and  a  nuisance." 

"  Poor  John !"  said  Mr.  Collett.  "  We  shaU 
never  make  anything  of  him,  Peter.  Really, 
we'd  better  talk  of  something  else.  John, 
tell  us  all  about  the  last  new  novel." 

They  conversed  on  various  topics,  until  the 
arrival  of  the  invalid's  early  bed-time  parted 
uncle  and  nephews  for  the  night. 

Mary  Sutton  seized  an  opportunity,  the 
next  morning,  after  breakfast,  to  speak  with 
John  Meade  alone, 

"  John,"  said  she  "  do  think  more  of  your 
own  interest— of  our  interest  What  occasion 
for  you  to  be  so  violent,  last  night,  and  con- 
tradict Mr.  Collett  so  shockingly?  I  saw 
Peter  Finch  laughing  to  himself.  John,  you 
mast  be  more  careful,  or  we  shall  never  be 
married." 

"  WeU,  Mary  dear,  I'll  do  my  best,"  said 


John.  "  It  was  that  confounded  Peter  with 
his  chain  of  iron  maxims,  that  made  me  flj 
out.    I'm  not  an  iceberg,  Mary." 

"  Thank  heaven  you're  not !"  said  Mary  ; 
"  but  an  iceberg  floats — think  of  that  John. 
Remember — every  time  you  ofibnd  Mr.  Col- 
lett, you  please  Mr.  Finch." 

"So  I  do!"  said  John.  "Yes;  I'U  re- 
member that." 

"  If  you  would  only  try  to  be  a  little  mean 
and  hard-hearted,"  said  Mary  ;  "justaUttle, 
to  begin  with.  You  would  only  stoop  to 
conquer,  John — and  you  deserve  to  conquer." 

"  May  I  gain  my  deserts,  then  I"  said  John. 
"Are  you  not  to  be  my  loving  wife,  Mary  ? 
And  are  you  not  to  sit  at  needle-work  in  my 
studio,  whilst  I  paint  my  great  historical  pic- 
ture ?  How  can  this  come  to  pass  if  Mr.  Col- 
lett will  do  nothing  for  us  ?" 

"Ah,  how  indeed?"  said  Mary.  "But 
here's  our  friend,  Peter  Finch,  coming  through 
the  gate  f^om  his  walk.  I  leave  you  togeth- 
er."   And,  so  saying,  she  withdrew. 

"  What,  Meade  ?"  said  Peter  Finch,  as  he 
entered.  "  Skulking  in-doors  on  a  fine  morn- 
ing like  this  I  I've  been  all  through  the  vil- 
lage. Not  an  ugly  place — ^but  wants  looking 
after  sadly.  Roads  shamefully  muddy  I  Pigs 
allowed  to  walk  on  the  footpath !  " 

"  Dreadful  I"  exclaimed  John. 

"  I  say— you  come  out  pretty  strong  last 
night,"  said  Peter.  "  Quite  defied  the  old 
man!    But  I  like  your  spirit." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  do,"  thought  John. 

"Oh,  when  I  was  a  youth,  I  was  a  little 
that  way  myself,"  said  Peter.  "But  the 
world — the  world,  my  dear  sir — soon  cures 
us  of  all  romantic  notions.  I  regret,  of  course, 
to  see  poor  people  miserable  ;  but  what's  the 
use  of  regretting  ?  It's  no  part  of  the  busi- 
ness of  the  superior  classes  to  interfere  with 
the  laws  of  supply  and  demand ;  poor  people 
must  be  miserable.  What  can't  be  cured  must 
be  endured." 

"  That  is  to  say,"  returned  John,  "  what  we 
can't  cure,  they  must  endure?" 

"  Exactly  so,"  said  Peter. 

Mr.  Collett  this  day  was  too  ill  to  leave  his 
bed.  About  noon  he  requested  to  see  his 
nephews  in  his  bedroom.  They  found  him 
propped  up  by  pillows,  looking  very  weak, 
but  in  good  spirtts  as  usual. 

"  Well  boys,"  said  he,  "  here  I  am  you  see : 
brought  to  an  anchor  at  last  I  The  doctor 
will  be  here  soon,  I  suppose,  to  shake  his 
head  and  write  recipes.  Humbug,  my  boys ! 
Patients  can  do  as  much  for  themselves,  I 
believe,  as  doctors  can  do  for  them ;  they're 
all  in  the  dark  together— the  only  difference 
is,  that  the  patients  ^ope  in  English,  and  the 
doctors  grope  in  Latm !  " 

"  You  are  too  skeptical,  sir,"  said  John 
Meade. 

"  Pooh  !  "  said  Mr.  Collett.  "  Let  us 
change  the  subject.  I  want  your  advice, 
Peter  and  John,  on  a  matter  that  concerns 
your  interests.    I'm  going  to  make  my  will 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


to-day— and  I  don't  know  bow  to  act  about 
y oar  coasin ,  Emma  Br iggs.  Emma  disgraced 
us  by  marrying  an  oilman." 

"An  oilman!''  exclaimed  Jobn. 

"A  vulgar,  Bbocking  oilman!"  said  Mr. 
Collet,  '*  a  wretcb  who  not  only  sold  oil,  but 
soap,  candles,  turpentine,  black-lead,  and 
birch-brooms.  It  was  a  dreadful  blow  to  the 
family.  Her  poor  grandmother  never  got 
over  It,  and  a  maiden  aunt  turned  meUiodist 
in  despair.  Well  I  Briggs,  the  oilman  died  last 
week,  it  seems :  and  his  widow  has  written 
to  me,  asking  for  assistance.  Now,  I  have 
thought  of  leaving  her  a  hundred  a-year  In 
my  will.  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  I'm  afraid 
she  don't  deserve  it.  What  risht  had  she 
to  marry  a^inst  the  advice  of  her  friends? 
What  have!  to  do  with  her  misfortunes?" 

**My  mind  Is  quite  made  up,"  said  Peter 
Finch,  **  no  notice  ought  to  be  taken  of  her. 
She  made  an  obstinate  and  unworthy  match 
— and  let  her  abide  the  consequences  1" 

"Now  for  your  opinion,  John,"  said  Mr. 
Collett. 

**Upon  my  word  I  think^I  must  say  the 
same,"  said  John  Meade,  bracing  himself  up 
boldly  for  the  part  of  the  worldly  man. 
**What  right  had  she  to  marry— as  you 
observed  with  great  justice,  sir.  Let  her 
abide  the  consequences— as  you  very  properly 
remarked.  Finch.  Can't  she  carry  on  the 
oilman's  business  ?  I  dare  say  it  will  support 
her  very  well." 

"  Why,  no."  said  Mr.  Collett :  "  Briggs  died 
a  bankrupt,  and  his  widow  and  children  are 
destitute." 

"  That  does  not  alter  the  question,"  said 
Peter  Finch.  •  "  Let  Briggs's  family  do  some- 
thing for  her." 

"  To  be  sure ! "  said  Mr.  Collett.  *♦  Briggs's 
family  are  the  people  to  do  something  for  her. 
She  mustn't  expect  anything  from  us — must 
she,  John  ?" 

"Destitute,  isfshe?"  said  John.  "With 
children,  too  1  ^  Why,  this  is  another  case,  sir. 
You  surely  ought  to  notice  her — to  assist  her. 
Confound  it,  I'm  for  letting  her  have  the 
hundred  a-vear." 

"  Oh,  John,  John  I  What  a  break-down  I " 
said  Mr.  Collett.  "So  you  were  trying  to 
follow  Peter  Finch  through  Stony  Ara- 
bia, and  turned  back  at  the  second  step! 
Here's  a  brave  traveller  for  you,  Peter! 
John,  John,  keep  to  your  Arabia  Felix, 
and  leave  sterner  ways  to  very  diflferent 
men.  Good  bye  both  of  you.  I've  no  voice 
to  talk  any  more.  I'll  think  over  all  you 
have  said.'' 

He  pressed  their  hands,  and  they  left  the 
room.  The  old  man  was  too  weak  to  speak 
the  next  day,  and,  in  three  days  after  that  he 
calmly  breathed  his  last. 

As  soon  as  the  funeral  was  over,  the  will 
was  read  by  the  confidential  man  of  business, 
who  had  always  attended  to  Mr.  Collett's 
afiairs.  The  group  that  sat  around  him  pre- 
served a  decorous  appearance  of  disinterest- 


edness ;  and,  the  usual  preamble  to  the  will 
having  been  listened  to  with  breatbless  atten- 
tion, the  man  of  business  read  the  foUowing 
in  a  clear  voice : 

"  I  bequeath,  to  my  niece,  Emma  Brign. 
notwithstanding  that  she  shocked  her  family 
by  marrying  an  oilman,  the  sum  of  four 
thousand  pounds ;  being  fhlly  persuaded  tbal 
her  lost  dignity,  if  she  could  even  find  it 
again,  would  do  nothing  to  provide  her  witii 
food,  or  clothing,  or  shelter. 

John  Meade  smiled,  and  Peter  Ffaid 
ground  his  teeth— but  in  a  quiet  respectable 
manner. 

The  man  df  business  went  on  with  his  read- 
ing. 

"  Having  always  held  the  opinion  that 
woman  should  be  rendered  a  rational  tod 
independent  being, — and  having  duly  oonsid- 
ered  the  fact  that  society  practically  denia 
her  the  right  of  earning  her  own  living— I 
hereby  bequeath  to  Mary  Sutton,  the  oalj 
child  of  my  old  friend,  Frederick  Sutton,  the 
sum  of  ten  thousand  pounds,  which  will  ena- 
ble her  to  marry,  or  to  remain  single,  as  As 
may  prefer." 

John  Meade  gave  a  prodigious  start  upca 
hearing  this,  and  Peter  Finch  ground  his 
teeth  again — but  in  a  manner  hardly  respect- 
able. Both,  however,  by  a  violent  effort,  kept 
silent. 

The  man  of  business  went  on  with  his 
reading. 

"  I  have  paid  some  attention  to  the  cha^a^ 
ter  of  my  nephew,  John  Meade,  and  have  been 
grieved  to  find  him  much  possessed  with  a 
i^ellng  of  philanthropy,  and  with  a  general 
preference  for  whatever  is  noble  and  trae 
over  whatever  is  base  and  false.  As  the» 
tendencies  are  by  no  means  such  as  can 
advance  him  in  the  world,  I  bequeath  him 
the  sum  of  ten  thousand  pounds — hoping  that 
he  will  thus  be  kept  out  of  the  workhoose. 
and  be  enabled  to  paint  his  great  historical 
picture — ^which,  as  yet,  he  has  only  talked 
about. 

"  As  for  my  other  nephew,  Peter  Knch,  he 
views  all  things  In  so  sagacious  and  selfish  a 
way,  and  is  so  certain  to  get  on  in  life,  that 
I  should  only  insult  him  by  offering  an  aid 
which  he  does  not  require ;  yet,  from  his  af- 
fectionate uncle,  and  entirely  as  a  testinooj 
of  admiration  for  his  mental  acuteness.  I  Ten- 
ture  to  hope  that  he  will  accept  a  beqnert  of 
five  hundred  pounds  towards  the  conroletion 
of  his  extensive  library  of  law-books." 

How  Peter  Finch  stormed,  and  called 
names — ^how  John  Meade  broke  into  a  deliri- 
um of  joy — ^how  Mary  Sutton  cried  first,  and 
then  laughed,  and  then  cried  and  laughed  to- 
gether ;  all  these  matters  I  shall  not  attempt 
to  describe.  Mary  Sutton  is  now  Mrs,  John 
Meade  ;  and  her  husband  has  actually  began 
the  great  historical  picture.  Peter  Finch  has  ; 
taken  to  discounting  bills,  and  bringing  ac- 
tions on  them;  and  drives  about  in  hii 
brougham  already. 


!i 


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**  F^mOiar  in  their  Moutfa  at  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS:^ 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
COVDUCTED   BT   CHASLBS   DI0KEV8. 


No.  23.] 


J.  A.  DIX,  PUBLISHER, 

Omoa,  N«.  10  Paeb  Pi.a«i,  Nbw-T*sb. 


[Wholb  No.  276. 


THE  YELLOW  MASK. 

IN  TWELVE  CHAPTERS.     CHAPTER  I. 

Abodt  a  centuiy  ago,  ihere  lived  in  the 
ancient  city  of  Pisa  a  famous  Italian  milliner, 
who,  by  way  of  vindicating  to  all  oustomera 
her  familarity  with  Paris  fashions,  adopted 
a  French  title,  and  called  herself  the  Demoi- 
selle GrifonL  She  was  a  wizen  little  woman, 
with  a  miflchievons  face,  a  qnick  tongae,  a 
nimble  foot,  a  talent  for  business,  and  an 
uncertain  disposition.  Rumour  hinted  that 
she  was  immensely  rich ;  and  scandal  sug- 
gested that  she  would  do  anything  for  money. 

The  one  undeniable  good  quality  which 
raised  Demoiselle  Grifoni  above  all  her  rivals 
in  the  trade  was  her  inexhaustible  fortitude. 
She  was  never  known  to  yield  an  inch  under 
any  pressure  of  adverse  circumstances.  Tlius 
the  memorable  occasion  of  her  life  on  which 
she  was  threatened  with  ruin  was  also  the 
occasion  on  which  she  most  triumphantly 
asserted  the  energy  and  decision  of  her  cha- 
racter. At  the  height  of  the  demoiselle's  pros- 
perity, her  slulled  forewoman  and  cutter-out 
basely  married  and  started  in  business  as  a 
rivaL  Such  a  calamity^  as  this  would  have 
rained  an  ordinary  milliner ;  but  the  invin- 
cible Grifoni  rose  superior  to  it  almost  with- 
out an  eflbrt,  and  proved  incontestably  that  it 
was  impossible  for  hostile  Fortune  to  catch 
her  at  the  end  of  her  resources.  While  the 
minor  milliners  were  prophesying  that  she 
would  shut  up  shop,  she  was  quietly  carrying 
on  a  private  correspondence  with  an  agent  in 
Paris.  Nobody  knew  what  these  letters  were 
about  until  a  few  weeks  had  elapsed,  and 
then  circulars  were  received  by  all  the  ladies 
in  Pisa,  announcing  that  the  best  French 
forewoman  who  could  be  got  for  money  was 
engaged  to  superintend  the  great  Grifoni 
establishment.  This  master-stroke  decided 
the  victory.  All  the  demoiselle's  customers 
declined  giving  orders  elsewhere  until  the 
forewoman  from  Paris  had  exhibited  to  the 
natives  of  Pisa  the  latest  fashions  from  the 
metropolis  of  the  world  of  dress. 

The  Frenchwoman  arrived  punctual  to  the 
appointed  day, — glib  and  curt,  smiling  and 
flippant,  tight  of  face  and  supple  of  figure. 
Her  name  was  Mademoiselle  Virginie,  and 
her  family  had  inhumanly  deserted  her.  She 
was  set  to  work  the  moment  she  was  Inside 


the  doors  of  the  Grifoni  establishment.  A 
room  was  devoted  to  her  own  private  use  : 
magnificent  materials  In  velvet,  silk,  ana 
satin,  with  due  accompaniment  of  muslins, 
laces,  and  ribbons,  were  placed  at  her  disposal; 
she  was  told  to  spare  no  expense,  and  to  pro- 
duce, in  the  shortest  possible  time,  the  finest 
and  newest  specimen-dresses  for  exhibition  in 
the  show-room.  Mademoiselle  Virginie  under- 
took to  do  everything  required  of  her.  pro- 
duced her  xK>rtfollos  of  patterns  and  her 
book  of  coloured  designs,  and  asked  for  one 
assistant  who  could  speak  French  enough  to 
interpret  her  orders  to  the  Italian  girls  in 
the  work-room. 

"  I  have  the  very  person  you  want,"  cried 
Demoiselle  Grifoni.  "A  workwoman  we  call 
Brigida  here — the  idlest  slut  in  Pisa,  but  as 
sharp  as  a  needle — has  been  in  France,  and 
speaks  the  language  like  a  native.  I'll  send 
her  to  you  directly." 

Mademoiselle  Y  irginie  was  not  left  long 
alone  with  her  patterns  and  silks.  A  tall 
woman,  with  bold  black  eyes,  a  reckless 
manner,  and  a  step  as  firm  as  a  man's,  stalked 
into  the  room  with  the  gait  of  a  tragedy- 
queen  crossing  the  stage.  The  instant  her 
eyes  fell  on  the  French  forewoman,  she 
stopped,  threw  up  her  hands  in  astonishment, 
and  exclaimed,  "  Finette  I" 

••  Teresa  I"  cried  the  Frenchwoman,  casting 
her  scissors  on  the  table,  and  advancing  a 
few  steps. 

«  Hush !  call  me  Brigida." 

"  Hush  I  call  me  Virginie." 

These  two  exclamations  were  uttered  at 
the  same  moment,  and  then  the  two  women 
scrutinised  each  other  in  silence.  The  swarthy 
cheeks  of  the  Italian  turned  to  a  dull  yellow, 
and  the  voice  of  the  Frenchwoman  trembled 
a  little  when  she  spoke  again. 

"  How,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  have  you 
dropped  down  in  the  world  as  low  as  this?" 
she  asked.  **  I  thought  you  were  provided  for 
when " 

"Silence!"  Interrupted  Brigida.  "You 
see  I  was  not  provided  for.  I  have  had  my 
misfortunes;  and  you  are  the  last  woman 
alive  who  ought  to  refer  to  them." 

"  Do  you  think  I  have  not  had  my  mis- 
fortunes, too,  since  we  met!"  (Brigida-s 
face  brightened  maliciously  at  those  words.) 
"You  have  had  your  revenge,"  continued 

276 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CMdKtdhy 


Mademoiselle  Virgiaie  coldlj,  tornlDg  mway 
to  the  table  and  taking  up  the  eclsBon  again. 

Brigida  followed  ner,  threw  one  arm 
roughly  round  her  neok,  and  kiflsed  her  on 
the  cheek.  ''  Let  us  be  friends  again,''  she 
said.  The  Frenchwoman  laughed.  "Tell me 
how  I  have  had  mj  revenge,"  porsaed  the 
other,  tightening  her  ^rasp.  Mademoiselle 
Yirginie  signed  to  Brigida  to  ttoop,  and 
whispered  rapidlj  in  her  ear.  The  Italian 
whiroered  eagerly,  with  sospicioos  eres 
fixed  on  the  door.  When  the  whispering 
ceased,  she  loosened  her  hold ;  and,  with  a 
sigh  of  relief,  poshed  back  her  heavjr  black 
hair  from  her  temples.  **  Now  we  are  friends," 
she  said,  and  sat  down  indolently  in  a  chair 
placed  by  the  work-table. 

''Friends,"  repeated  Mademoiselle  Yir- 
ginie, with  another  laugh.  '*And  now  for 
business,"  she  contlnoed,  getting  a  row  of 
pins  ready  for  use  bv  pntting  them  between 
her  teeth.  "  I  am  here,  I  believe,  for  the 
purpose  of  ruining  the  late  forewoman,  who 
has  set  up  in  opposition  to  us?  Goodl  I 
mil  ruin  her.  Spread  out  the  yellow  bro- 
caded silk,  my  dear,  and  pin  that  pattern  on 
at  your  end,  while  I  pin  at  mine.  And  what 
are  your  plans,  Brigida?  (Mind  you  donH 
forget  thatFinette  is^ead,  and  that  Yirginie 
has  risen  from  her  ashes.)  Tou  oan't  possibly 
intend  to  stop  here  all  your  life !  (Leave  an 
inch  outside  the  paper,  all  round.)  Tou  must 
have  projects  ?    What  are  they  T" 

"  Look  at  my  fl^re,"  said  Brigida,  placing 
herself  in  an  attitude  in  the  middle  of  the 
room. 

"Ah  I"  r^oined  the  other,  **  it's  not  what 
it  was.  There's  too  much  of  it.  You  want 
diet,  walking,  and  a  French  staymaker," 
muttered  Mademoiselle  Yirginie  through  her 
chevaux-de-frise  of  pins. 

"  Did  the  goddess  Minerva  walk,  and  em- 
ploy a  French  staymaker?  I  thought  she 
rode  upon  clouds,  and  lived  at  a  period  be- 
fore waists  were  invented." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  This— that  mv  present  project  is  to  try  if 
I  can't  make  my  fortune  by  sitting  as  a  model 
for  Minerva  in  the  studio  of  the  best  sculptor 
in  Pisa." 

''And  who  is  he  ?  (Unwind  me  a  yard  or 
two  of  that  black  lace.)" 

'*  The  master  sculptor,  Luca  Loml, — an  old 
family,  once  noble,  but  down  in  the  world 
now.  The  master  is  obliged  to  make  statues 
to  get  a  living  for  his  daughter  and  himself." 

'*More  of  the  lace — double  it  over  the 
bosom  of  the  dress.  And  how  is  sitting  to 
this  needy  sculptor  to  make  your  fortune!" 

"  Wait  a  mlnnte.  There  are  other  sculp- 
tors beside  him  in  the  studio.  There  is, 
first,  his  brother  the  priest— Father  Rocco, 
who  passes  all  his  spare  time  with  the  master. 
He  is  a  good  sculptor  in  his  way— has  oast 
statues  and  made  a  font  for  his  church— a 
holy  man,  who  devotes  all  his  work  in  the 
studio  to  the  cause  of  piety." 


"Ah,  bah  I  we  should  think  him  a  droU 
priest  in  France.  (More  pins.)  Yon  don't 
expect  kirn  to  put  money  in  your  pocliet 
surely  ?" 

'^Wait,  I  say  ayaln.  There  is  t  third 
sculptor  in  the  studio— actually  a  noblemao ! 
His  name  is  Fabio  d'Ascoli.  He  is  rich, 
young,  handsome,  an  only  diild,  and  little  bet- 
ter than  a  fooL  Fancv  his  working  tt  8Ctilp> 
ture,  as  if  he  had  his  bread  to  get  by  ii-and 
thinking  that  an  amusement !  Imagine  t 
man  belonging  to  one  of  the  best  familiea  in 
Pisa  mad  enough  to  want  to  make  a  rqtota- 
Uon  as  an  artist!— Wait  I  wait!  the  best  is 
to  come.  His  fkther  and  mother  are  detd- 
he  has  no  near  relatives  in  the  world  to  exer- 
cise authority  over  hira^ — ^he  is  a  bachelor, 
and  his  fortune  is  all  at  his  own  dispotti; 
going  arbegging,  my  firiend ;  absolutely  going 
a-begging  for  want  of  a  clever  woman  to  hold 
oat  her  hand  and  take  it  fhmi  hioL" 

"  Yes,  ye»— now  I  understand.  The  god- 
dess Minerva  is  a  clever  woman,  and  she  will 
hold  oat  her  band  and  take  his  fortone  from 
him  with  the  utmost  docility." 

*<The  first  thing  is  to  get  him  to  ofe  It 
I  mast  tell  you  that  I  nm  not  going  to  at  to 
him,  but  to  hhs  master,  Luca  Lomi,  who  is 
doing  the  statue  of  Biinerva.  The  ftee  is 
modelled  from  his  daughter :  and  now  he 
wants  somebody  to  sit  for  the  bust  and  uidb. 
Maddalena  Lomi  and  I  are  as  nearlru  possi- 
ble the  same  height,  I  bear,— the  diilereDce  be- 
tween us  being  that  I  have  a  good  figure  tod 
she  has  a  be^  one.  I  have  offered  to  at, 
throogh  a  friend  who  is  employed  in  the 
studio.  If  the  master  accepts,  I  am  sore  of 
an  introduction  to  our  rich  yonng  gentleman; 
and  then  leave  it  to  my  good  looks,  mj  nri- 
ous  accomplishments,  and  my  ready  tosgoe 
to  do  the  rest" 

"  Stop  I  I  won't  have  the  lace  doubled,  (ffl 
second  thoughts.  I'll  have  it  single,  tod 
running  all  round  the  dress  in  con-es-*)- 
Well,  and  who  is  this  friend  of  yours  m- 
ployed  in  the  studio?    A  fourth  sculptor f 

"Nol  no!  the  strangest,  simplest  Uttle 
creature " 

Just  then  a  faint  tap  was  audible  ittbe 
door  of  the  room.  >  . 

Brigida  laid  her  fluffcr  on  her  lip8.«M 
called  impatiently  to  the  person  ontside  to 
come  in.  . , 

The  door  opened  gently,  and  a  7^^'^^ 
poorly  but  very  neatly  dressed,  entered  tw 
room.  She  was  rather  thin,  and  undtf  »» 
average  height  j  but  her  head  and  figaj 
were  in  perfect  proportion.  S^^*"^!^  I 
that  gorgeous  auburn  colour,  her  eyes  oftDM 
deep  violet  blue,  which  the  portraits  rf  W- 
glone  and  Titian  have  made  famous  u  mcvS 
of  Yenetian  beauty.  Her  features  V^^ff^ 
the  deflniteness  and  regularity,  the  *  gjw 
modelling"  (to  use  an  artist's  term),  wtoch  b 
the  rarest  of  all  womanly  charms,  i"/**][l 
elsewhere.  The  one  serious  defect  of  her d^ 
was  its    paleness.    Her    cheeks,  wmw*  i 


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THE  YELLOW  MASK. 


531 


nothing  in  form,  wanted  eyerything  in  colour. 
That  look  of  health,  which  is  the  essential 
crowning-point  of  beauty,  was  the  one  attrac- 
tion which  her  face  did  not  possess. 

She  came  into  the  room  with  a  sad  and 
weary  expression  in  her  eyes,  which  changed, 
however,  the  moment  she  observed  the  mag- 
nificently-dressed French  forewoman,  into  a 
look  of  astonishment,  and  almost  of  awe.  Her 
manner  became  shy  and  embarrassed;  and 
after  an  instant  of  hesitation,  she  turned  back 
dlently  to  the  door. 

^'Stop,  stop,  Nanina,''  said  Briglda,  in 
Italian.  "  Don't  be  afraid  of  that  lady.  She 
is  our  new  forewoman  ;  and  she  has  it  in  her 
power  to  do  all  sorts  of  kind  things  for  you. 
Look  up,  and  tell  us  what  vou  want.  You 
were  sixteen  last  bbrth-day,  Nanina,  and  you 
bi^ve  like  a  baby  of  two  years  old  I '' 

'*I  only  came  to  know  if  there  was  any 
work  for  me  to-day,"  said  the  girl,  in  i^ery 
sweet  voice,  that  trembled  a  little  as  she  tried 
to  face  the  fashionable  French  forewoman 
again. 

'*  No  work,  child,  that  is  easy  enough  for 
you  to  do,"  said  Briglda.  **  Are  you  going  to 
the  studio  to-day  ?  " 

Some  of  the  colour  that  Nanina's  cheeks 
wanted  began  to  steal  over  them  as  she 
answered  **  Yes." 

''  Don't  forget  my  message,  darling.  And 
if  Master  Luoa  Lomi  asks  where  I  live,  an- 
swer that  vou  are  ready  to  deliver  a  letter  to 
me ;  but  that  you  are  forbidden  to  enter  into 
any  particulars,  at  first,  about  whom  I  am,  or 
where  I  live." 

»*  Why  am  I  forbidden  ? "  inquired  Nanina, 
innocently. 

'*  Don't  ask  questions,  Baby  t  Do  as  you  are 
told.  Bring  me  back  a  nice  note  or  message 
to-morrow  ftom  the  studio,  and  I  will  inter- 
cede with  this  lady  to  get  you  some  work. 
You  are  a  foolish  child  to  want  it,  when  you 
might  make  more  money,  here  and  at  Flo- 
rence, by  sitting  to  painters  and  sculptors: 
though  what  they  can  see  to  paint  or  model 
in  you  I  never  could  understand." 

^'  I  like  working  at  home^  better  than  going 
abroad  to  sit,"  said  Nanina,  looking  very 
much  abashed  as  she  faltered  out  the  answer, 
and  escaping  from  the  room  with  a  terrified 
farewell  obeisance,  which  was  an  eccentric 
compound  of  a  start,  a  bow,  and  a  curtsey. 

"  That  awkward  child  would  be  pretty," 
said  Mademoiselle  Yirginie,  making  rapid 
progress  with  the  cutting  out  of  her  dress, ''  if 
she  knew  how  to  give  herself  a  complexion, 
and  had  a  presentable  gown  on  her  back. 
Who  is  she  ?^' 

''The  friend  who  is  to  get  me  into  Master 
Luca  Lomi's  studio,"  replied  Brigida,  laugh- 
ing. ''Rather  a  curious  ally  for  me  to  take 
up  with,  isn't  she  ?  " 

"  Where  did  you  meet  with  her  ? " 

"Here,  to  be  sure.  She  hangs  about  this 
place  for  any  plain  work  die  can  get  to  do ; 
and  takes  it  home  to  the  oddest  little  room  in 


a  street  near  the  Campo  Santo.  I  had  the 
curiosity  to  follow  her  one  day,  and  knocked 
at  her  door  soon  after  she  had  gone  in,  as  if  I 
was  a  visitor.    She  answered  my  knock  in  a 

freat  flurry  and  flight,  as  you  may  imagine, 
made  myself  agreeable,  affected  immense 
interest  in  her  a&irs,  and  so  got  into  her 
room.  Such  a  place  1  A  mere  comer  of  it 
curtained  off  to  make  a  bedroom.  One  chair, 
one  stool,  one  saucepan  on  the  fire.  Before 
the  hearth,  the  most  grotesquely-hideous,  un- 
shaven poodle-dog  you  ever  saw ;  and  on  the 
stool  a  fbir  little  girl  plaiting  dinner-mats. 
Such  was  the  household — furniture  and  all 
included.  '  Where  is  your  fiekther  ? '  I  asked. 
— 'He  ran  away  and  left  us,  years  a^o,' 
answers  my  awkward  little  firiend  who  has 
just  left  the  room,  speaking  in  that  simple 
way  of  hers,  with  all  the  composure  in  the 
world.  *  And  your  mother  ? ' — *  Dead.' — She 
went  up  to  the  little  mat-plaiting  girl,  as  she 
gave  that  answer,  and  began  playing  with 
her  long  fiaxen  hair.  '  Your  sister,  I  suppose,' 
saidL  'What  is  her  name!'— -'They  call 
me  La  Biondella,'  says  the  child,  looking  up 
from  her  mat  (La  Biondella,  Yirginie,  means 
The  Fair). — 'And  why  do  you  let  that  great, 
shaggy,  ill-looking  brute  lie  before  your  fire- 
place?' I  asked.— '  01'  cried  the  little  mat- 
plaiter, '  that  is  our  dear  old  dog,  Scaram- 
muccla.  He  takes  care  of  the  house  when 
Nanina  is  not  at  home.  He  dances  on  his 
hind  legs,  and  jumps  through  a  hoop,  and 
tumbles  down  dead  when  I  cry  bane  1  Sca- 
rammuocia  followed  us  home  one  night,  years 
ago,  and  he  has  lived  with  us  ever  sdce.  He 
goes  out  evefy  day  by  himself,  we  can't  tell 
where,  and  generally  returns  licking  his 
chops,  which  makes  us  aflraid  that  he  is  a 
thief ;  but  nobodv  finds  him  out,  because  he 
is  the  cleverest  dog  that  ever  lived  ? '—The 
child  ran  on  in  this  way  about  the  great  beast 
by  the  fireplace,  till  I  was  obliged  to  stop 
her ;  while  that  simpleton  Kanina  stood  by, 
laughing  and  encouraging  her.  I  asked  them 
a  few  more  questions,  which  produced  some 
strange  answers.  Thev  did  not  seem  to  know 
of  any  relations  of  theirs  in  the  world.  The 
neighbours  in  the  house  had  helped  them, 
after  their  father  ran  away,  until  they  were 
old  enough  to  help  themselves ;  and  they  did 
not  seem  to  think  there  was  anything  in  the 
least  wretched  or  pitiable  in  their  way  of 
living.  The  last  thing  I  heard  when  I  left 
them  that  day,  was  La  Biondella  crving 
'  Bang  1 '  then  a  bark,  a  thump  on  the  floor, 
and  a  scream  of  laughter.  .  If  it  was  not  for 
their  dog  I  should  go  and  see  them  oftener. 
But  the  lU-conditioned  beast  has  taken  a  dis- 
like to  me,  and  growls  and  shows  his  teeth 
whenever  I  come  near  him." 

"  The  girl  looked  sickly  when  she  came  in 
here.    Is  die  tdways  like  that  ?  " 

"No.  She  has  altered  within  the  last 
month.  I  suspect  our  interesting  young 
nobleman  has  produced  an  impression.  The 
oftener  the  girl  has  sat  to  him  lately,  the 


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paler  and  the  more  oat  of  spirits  she  has  be- 
come." 

*'  O !  she  has  sat  to  him,  has  she  ? " 

**  She  is  sitting  to  him  now.  He  is  doiag  a 
bust  of  some  Pagan  nymph  or  other ;  and  he 
prevailed  on  Kanina  to  let  him  copy  from  her 
head  and  face.  According  to  her  own  acconnt 
the  little  fool  wasfrip^htened  at  first,  and  gave 
him  all  the  trouble  in  the  world  before  she 
would  consent." 

*^  And  now  she  has  consented,  don't  you 
think  it  likely  she  may  turn  out  rather  a  dan- 
gerous rival?  Men  are  such  fools,  and  take 
such  fancies  into  their  heads " 

''  Ridiculous!  A  thread-paper  of  a  girl  like 
that,  who  has  no  manner,  no  talk,  no  intelli- 
gence ;  who  has  nothing  to  recommend  her  but 
an  awkward  babyish  prettinesel — Dangerous 
to  me?  No  1  no  1  If  there  is  danger  at  all, 
I  have  to  dread  it  from  the  sculptor's  daugh- 
ter. I  don't  mind  confessing  that  I  am  anxi- 
ous to  see  Maddalena  Lomi.  But  as  for 
Nanina,  she  will  simply  be  of  use  to  me.  All 
I  know  already  about  the  studio  and  the  art- 
ists in  it,  I  know  through  her.  She  will 
deliver  my  message,  and  procure  me  my  in- 
troduction ;  and  when  we  have  got  00  far,  I 
shall  give  her  an  old  gown  and  a  shake  of  the 
hand ;  and  then,  good-bye  to  our  little  Inno- 
cent 1 " 

**  Well,  well,  for  your  sake  I  hope  you  are 
the  wiser  of  the  two  in  this  matter.  For  my 
part,  I  always  distrust  innocence.  Wait  one 
moment  and  I  shall  have  the  body  and  sleeves 
of  this  dress  ready  for  the  needlewomen. 
There,  ring  the  bell,  and  order  them  up ;  for 
I  have  directions  to  give,  and  you  must  inter- 
pret for  me." 

While  Brigida  went  to  the  bell  the  ener- 
getic Frenchwoman  began  planning  out  the 
skirt  of  the  new  dress.  She  laught^  as  she 
measured  off  yard  after  yard  of  the  silk. 

**  What*  are  you  laughing  about  ? "  asked 
Brigida,  opening  the  door  and  ringing  a  hand- 
bell in  the  passage. 

'<  I  can't  help  fancying,  dear,  in  spite  of  her 
Innocent  face  and  her  artless  ways,  that  your 
young  fViend  is  a  hypocrite." 

"  And  I  am  quite  certain,  love,  that  she  is 
only  a  simpleton." 

CHAPTER   IL 

The  studio  of  the  Master-Sculptor,  Luca 
Lomi,  was  composed  of  two  large  rooms, 
unequally  divided  by  a  wooden  partition, 
with  an  arched  doorway  cut  in  Uie  middle  of 

it- 
While  the  milliners  of  the  Grifoni  establish- 
lishment  were  industriously  shaping  dresses, 
the  sculptors  in  Luca  Lomi's  workshop  were, 
in  their  way,  quite  as  hard  at  work  shaping 
marble  and  clay.  In  the  smaller  of  the  two 
rooms  the  young  nobleman  (only  addressed  in 
the  studio  by  his  Christian  name  of  Fabio) 
was  busily  engaged  on  his  bust,  with  Nanina 
sitting  before  hSn.  as  a  model.  His  was  not 
one  of  those  traditional  Italian  faces  from 


which  subtlety  and  suspicion  are  alw^jB  sop- 
posed  to  look  out  darkly  on  the  world  at 
large.  Both  countenance  and  expression  pro- 
claimed his  character  frankly  Mid  freely  to 
all  who  saw  him.  Quick  intelligence  mk^ 
brightly  from  his  eyes ;  and  easy  good-luiiiKnir 
laughed  out  pleasantly  in  the  rattier  quiot 
curve  of  his  lips.  For  the  rest,  his  face  ex- 
pressed the  defects  as  well  as  the  merits  of  his 
character,  showin^^  that  he  wanted  resolatioD 
and  perseverance  just  as  plainly  as  it  slioved 
also  that  he  possessed  amiability  and  intelli- 
gence. 

At  the  end  of  the  large  room,  nearest  to 
the  street-door,  Luca  Lomi  was  standing  b; 
his  life-size  statue  of  Minerva,  and  was  isso- 
ing  directions,  from  time  to  time,  to  some  of 
his  workmen  who  were  roughly  chiselling  tiie 
drapery  of  another  figure.  At  the  opposite 
side  of  the  room,  nearest  to  the  partition,  bis 
brothiir,  Father  Rocco,  was  taking  a  cut 
from  a  statuette  of  the  Madonna ;  while 
Maddalena  Lomi,  the  sculptor's  daughter, 
released  from  sitting  for  Minerra's  fan, 
walked  about  Uie  two  rooms  and  watched  the 
work  that  was  going  on  In  them.  There  was 
a  strong  family  likeness  of  a  certain  kind 
between  father,  brother,  and  daughter.  All 
three  were  tall,  handsome,  dart[-haired,  aod 
dark-eyed ;  nevertheless,  they  differed,  in  ex- 
pression, strikingly  as  they  resembled  one 
another  in  feature.  Maddalena  Lomi'sface 
betrayed  strong  passions,  but  not  an  unge- 
nerous nature.  Her  faUier,  with  the  same 
indications  of  a  violent  temper,  had  some 
sinister  lines  about  the  mouth  and  forebe«l 
which  suggested  anything  rather  than  m 
open  disposition.  Father  Rocco's  countf- 
nance,  on  the  other  hand,  looked  like  tb« 
personification  of  absolute  calmness  and  Id- 
vincible  moderation ;  and  his  manner,  wbicb. 
in  a  very  firm  way,  was  singularly  qoi^t  ^ 
deliberate,  assisted  in  carrying  out  the  im- 
pression produced  by  his  face.  The  daughter 
seemed  as  if  she  oould  fly  into  a  passion  at  t 
moment's  notice,  and  forgive  also  »*  *  ®^ 
ment's  notice.  The  father,  appearing  to  be 
just  as  irritable,  had  something  in  his  &ce 
which  said,  as  plainly  as  if  in  words,  **Angtf 
me,  and  I  never  pardon."  The  priest  lookw 
as  if  he  need  never  be  called  on  cither  to  a* 
forgiveness  or  to  grant  it,  for  the  douWe 
reason  that  he  could  irritate  nobody  else,  and 
that  nobody  else  oould  irritate  him. 

"  Rocco,^'  said  Luca,  looking  at  the  face  of 
his  Minerva,  which  was  now  finished ;  "  ws 
statue  of  mine  will  make  a  sensation.' 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  r^oined  the  pnest 
drily.  ^, 

'<  It  is  a  new  thing  in  art,"  continued  Loc* 
enthusiastically.  "  Other  sculptors,  with » 
classical  subject  like  mine,  limit  themsejj^ 
to  the  ideal  classical  face,  and  never  think « 
aiming  at  individual  character.  Nowl^ 
precisely  the  reverse  of  that  I  get  mr  barw- 
some  daughter,  Maddalena,  to  sit  fbr  Miwrri 
and  I  make  an  exact  likeness  of  her.   1  n^J 


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THE  TEILLOW  MASK, 


633 


lose  in  ideal  beauty,  bnt  I  gain  io  individaal 
character.  People  may  accuse  me  of  disre* 
gardiug  established  rules — but  my  answer  is. 
that  I  make  my  own  rules,  ^y  daughter 
looks  like  a  Minerva,  and  there  she  is  exactly 
as  she  looks.'' 

'^  It  is  certainly  a  wonderful  likeness,''  said 
Father  Rocco,  approaching  the  statue. 

"  It  is  the  girl  herself,"  cried  the  other. 
"Exactly  her  expression,  and  exactly  her 
features.  Measure  Maddalena,  and  measure 
Minerva,  and,  from  forehead  to  chin,  yon 
won't  find  a  hair's  breadth  of  difference 
between  them." 

*^  But  how  about  the  bust  and  arms  of  the 
figpure,  now  the  face  is  done?"  asked  the 
priest,  returning,  as  he  spoke,  to  his  own 
work. 

"  I  may  have  the  very  model  I  want  for 
them  to-morrow.  Little  Nanina  has  just 
given  me  the  strangest  message.  What  do 
you  think  of  a  mysterious  lady-admirer  who 
offers  to  sit  for  the  bust  and  arms  of  my 
Minerva?" 

"  Are  you  going  to  accept  the  offer  ?"  in- 
quired the  priest 

"  I  am  going  to  receive  her  to-morrow  :  and 
if  I  really  find  that  she  is  the  same  height  as 
Maddalena,  and  has  a  bust  and  arms  worth 
modelling,  of  course^I  shall  accept  her  offer ; 
for  she  will  be  the  very  sitter  I  have  been 
looking  after  for  weeks  past.  Who  can  she 
be  ?  That's  the  mystery  I  want  to  find  out 
Which  do  you  say,  Rocco — an  enthusiast  or 
an  adventuress  ?" 

*'  I  do  not  presume  to  say,  for  I  have  no 
means  of  knowing." 

^<  Ah !  there  you  are,  with  your  moderation 
again.  Now,  I  do  presume  to  a^ert,  that 
she  must  be  either  one  or  the  other— or  she 
would  not  have  forbidden  Nanina  to  say  any- 
thing about  her,  in  answer  to  all  my  first 
natural  inquiries.  Where  is  Maddalena?  I 
though  she  was  here  a  minute  ago." 

"  She  is  in  Fabio's  room,"  answered  Father 
Rocco,  softly.    «  Shall  I  call  her  ?" 

"  No,  no  1"  returned  Luca.  He  stopped, 
looked  round  at  the  workmen,  who  were 
chipping  away  mechanically  at  their  bit  of 
drapery ;  then  advanced  close  to  the  priest, 
with  a  cunning  smile,  and  continued  in  a 
whisper  :  "  If  Maddalena  can  only  get  from 
Fabio's  room  here  to  Fabio's  palace  over  the 
way,  on  the  Arno— come,  come,  Rocco,  don't 
shake  your  head.  If  I  brought  her  up  to 
your  church-door,  one  of  these  days,  as 
Fabio  d'Ascoli's  betrothed,  you  would  be  glad 
enough  to  take  the  rest  of  the  business  off 
mv  hands,  and  make  her  Fabio  d'Ascoli's 
wife.  You  are  a  very  holy  man,  Rocco,  but 
you  know  the  difference  between  the  clink  of 
the  money-bag  and  the  clink  of  the  chisel,  for 
aUthat!" 

"  I  am  sorry  to  find,  Luca,"  returned  the 
priest,  coldly,  **  that  you  allow  yourself  to 
talk  of  the  most  delicate  subjects  in  the 
coarsest  way.    This  is  one  of  the  minor  sins 


of  the  tongue  which  Is  growing  on  you.  When 
we  are  alone  in  the  studio  I  will  endeavour 
to  lead  you  into  speaking  of  the  young  man 
in  the  next  room  and  of  your  daughter  in 
terms  more  becoming  to  you,  to  me,  and  to 
them.  Until  that  time,  allow  me  to  go  on 
with  my  work." 

Luca  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  went 
back  to  his  statue.  Father  Rocco,  who  had 
been  engaged  during  the  last  ten  minutes  in 
mixing  wet  plaster  to  the  right  consistency 
for  taking  a  cast,  suspended  bis  occupation, 
and,  cro^ng  the  room  to  a  corner  next  the 
partition,  removed  from  it  a  cheval-glass 
which  stood  there.  He  lifted  it  away  gently, 
while  his  brother's  back  was  turned,  carried  It 
close  to  the  table  at  which  he  had  been  at  work, 
and  then  resumed  his  employment  of  mixing 
the  plaster.  Having  at  last  prepared  the 
composition  for  use,  he  laid  it  over  the  ex- 
posed half  of  the  statuette  with  a  neatness 
and  dexterity  which  showed  him  to  be  a 
practised  hand  at  cast-taking.  Just  as  jie4)ad 
covered  the  necessary  extent  of  surface,  Luca 
turned  round  from  his  statue. 

"  How  are  you  getting  on  with  the  cast,  ?" 
he  asked.    "  Do  you  want  any  help?" 

"  None,  brother.  I  thank  you,"  answere(^ 
the  priest  "Pray  do  not  disturb  either 
yourself  or  your  workmen  on  my  account." 

Luca  turned  again  to  the  statue :  and,  at 
the  same  moment.  Father  Rocco  softly  moved 
the  cheval-glass  towards  the  open  doorway 
between  the  two  rooms,  placing  it  at  such  an 
angle  as  to  make  it  reflect  the  figures  of  the 
persons  in  the  smaller  studio.  He  did  this 
with  significant  quickness  and  precision.  It 
was  evidently  not  the  first  time  he  had  used 
the  glass  for  purposes  of  secret  observa- 
tion. 

Mechanically,  stirring  the  wet  plaster  round 
and  round  for  the  second  casting,  the  priest 
looked  into  the  glass,  and  saw,  as  in  a  picture, 
all  that  was  going  forward  in  the  inner 
room.  Maddalena  Lomi  was  standing  be- 
hind the  young  nobleman,  watching  the  pro- 
gress he  made  with  his  bust  Occasionally 
she  took  the  modelling-tool  out  of  his  hand, 
and  showed  him,  with  her  sweetest  smile, 
that  she,  too,  as  a  sculptor's  daughter,  under- 
stood something  of  the  sculptor's  art ;  and, 
now  and  then,  in  the  pauses  of  the  conver- 
sation, when  her  interest  was  especially 
intense  in  Fabio's  work,  she  suffered  her 
hand  to  drop  absently  on  his  shoulder,  or 
stooped  forward  so  close  to  him  that  her  hair 
mingled  for  a  moment  with  his.  Moving  the 
glass  an  inch  or  two  so  as  to  bring  Nanina 
well  under  his  eye.  Father  Rocco  found  that 
he  could  trace  each  repetition  of  these  little 
acts  of  familiarity  by  the  immediate  effect 
which  theyproduced  on  the  girl's  face  and 
manner.  Whenever  Maddalena  so  much  as 
touched  the  young  nobleman — no  matter 
whether  she  did  so  by  premeditation,  or  really 
by  accident — Nanina's  features  contracted, 
her  pale  cheeks  grew  paler,  she  fidgetted  on 


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her  cbair,  and  her  fingers  nervously  twisted 
and  untwisted  the  loose  ends  of  the  ribbon 
fastened  round  her  waist. 

''  Jealous,"  thought  Father  Rocco ;  "■  I  sus- 
pected it  weeks  ago." 

Ue  turned  away,  and  gave  his  whole  at- 
tention, for  a  few  minutes,  to  the  mixing  of 
the  plaster.  When  he  looked  baek  again  at 
the  glass,  he  was  just  in  time  to  witness  a 
little  accident  which  suddenly  changed  the 
relative  positions  of  the  three  pertons  in  the 
inner  room. 

He  saw  Maddalena  take  up  a  modelling- 
tool  which  lay  on  a  table  near  her,  and  begin 
to  help  Fabio  in  altering  the  arrangement  of 
the  hair  in  his  bust  The  young  man  watched 
what  she  was  doing  earnestly  enough  for  a 
few  moments;  then  his  attention  wandered 
away  to  Nanina.  She  looked  at  him  reproach- 
fully, and  he  answered  by  a  sign  which 
brought  a  smile  to  her  face  directly.  Mad- 
dalena surprised  her  at  the  instant  of  the 
change ;  and  following  the  direction  of  her 
eyes,  easily  discovered  at  whom  the  smile  was 
directed.  She  darted  a  glance  of  contempt  at 
Nanina,  threw  down  the  modelling-tool,  and 
turned  indignantly  to  the  young  sculptor, 
who  was  afrecting  to  be  hard  at  work  again. 

"  Signor  Fabio,"  she  said,  *'  the  next  time 
you  forget  what  is  due  to  your  rank  and 
yourself  warn  me  of  it,  if  you  please,  before- 
hand, and  I  will  take  care  to  leave  the  room." 
While  speaking  the  last  words  she  passed 
through  the  doorway.  Father  Rocoo,  bending 
abstractedly  over  his  plaster  mixture  heard 
her  continue  to  herself  in  a  whisper,  as  she 
went  by  him :  "  If  I  have  any  influence  at  all 
with  my  father,  that  impudent  beggar-girl 
shall  be  forbidden  the  studio  1" 

"  Jealousy  on  the  other  side,"  thought  the 
priest.  *'  Something  must  be  done  at  once, 
or  this  will  end  badly." 

He  looked  a^in  at  the  glaas,  and  saw 
Fabio,  after  an  instant  of  hesitation,  beckon 
to  Nanina  to  approach  him.  She  left  her 
seat,  advanced  half-way  to  his,  then  stopped. 
He  stepped 'forward  to  meet  her,  and,  taking 
her  by  the  hand,  whispered  earnestly  in  her 
ear.  When  he  had  done,  before  dropping  her 
hand,  he  touched  her  cheek  with  his  lips,  and 
then  helped  her  on  with  the  little  white  man- 
tilla which  covered  her  head  and  shoulders 
out  of  doors.  The  girl  trembled  violently, 
and  drew  the  linen  close  to  her  face  as  he 
walked  into  the  larger  studio,  and,  addressing 
Father  Rooco,  said : 

'*  I  am  afraid  I  am  more  idle,  or  more 
stupid,  than  ever  to-day.  I  canH  get  on  with 
the  bust  at  all  to  my  satisfaction,  so  I  have 
cut  short  tiie  sitting,  and  given  Nanina  a  half 
holiday." 

At  the  first  sound  of  his  voice,  Maddalena, 
who  was  speaking  to  her  father,  stopped ;  and, 
with  another  look  of  scorn  at  Nanina,  stand- 
ing trembling  in  the  doorway,  left  the  room. 
Luca  Lomi  called  Fabio  to  him  as  she  went 
away,  and  Father   Rocco,  turning   to    the 


statuette,  looked  to  see  how  the  plaster  was 
hardening  on  it  Seeing  them  thus  engaged, 
Nanina  attempted  to  escape  from  the  studio 
without  being  noticed ;  but  the  priest  stoj^wd 
her  just  as  she  was  hurrying  by  him. 

"  My  child,"  said  he,  in  his  gentle,  quiet 
way,  "  are  you  going  home  ?" 

Nanina's  heart  beat  too  fast  for  her  to  reply 
in  words — she  could  only  answer  by  bowing 
her  head. 

*^  Take  this  for  your  little  sister,"  pursued 
Father  Rocco,  putting  a  few  silver  coins  ia 
her  hand ;  "  I  have  got  some  customers  for 
those  matd  she  plaits  so  nicely.  Yon  need 
not  bring  them  to  my  rooms — 1  will  come 
and  see  you  this  evening,  when  I  am  going 
my  rounds  among  my  parishioners,  and  will 
take  the  mats  away  with  me.  You  are  a 
good  girl,  Nanina — you  have  always  been  a 
good  girl— and  as  long  as  I  am  alive,  my 
child,  you  shall  never  want  a  friend  and  an 
adviser." 

Nanina's  eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  drew 
the  mantilla  closer  than  ever  round  her  face 
as  she  tried  to  thank  the  priest.  Father 
Rocco  nodded  to  her  kindly,  and  laid  lui 
hand  lightly  on  her  head  for  a  moment,  then 
turned  round  again  to  his  cast. 

**  Don't  forget  my  message  to  the  lady  who 
is  to  sit  to  me  to-moi¥ow,"  said  Luca  to 
Nanina,  as  she  passed  him  on  her  way  out  (^ 
the  studio. 

After  she  had  gone,  Fabio  returned  to  the    , 
priest,  who  was  still  busy  over  his  cast. 

^'  I  hope  you  will  get  on  better  with  the  bast 
to-morrow,"  said  Father  Rocco,  politely ;  "  I 
am  sure  you  cannot  complain  of  your  model." 

"  Complain  of  her!"  cried  the  young  man, 
warmly  ;  *'•  she  has  the  most  beautiful  nead  I 
ever    saw.     If  I  were    twenty  times   the    , 
sculptor  that  I  am,  I  should  despair  of  being 
able  to  do  her  justice."  1 

He  walked  into  the  inner  room  to  look  at 
his  bust  again — lingered  before  it  for  a  little 
while — and  then  turned  to  retrace  his  steps 
to  the  larger  studio.  Between  him  and  ^ 
doorway  stood  three  chairs.  As  be  went  by 
them,  he  absently  touched  the  backs  of  the 
first  two,  and  passed  the  third ;  but  just  is 
he  was  entering  the  larger  room,  stopped,  ts  > 
if  struck  by  a  sadden  recollection,  returned  . 
hastily,  and  touched  the  third  chair.  Raising 
his  eyes,  as  he  approached  the  large  studio 
again  after  doincr  this,  he  met  the  eyes  of  the 
priest  fixed  on  him  in  unconcealed  astonish- 
ment 

**  Signor  Fabio ! "  exclaimed  Father  Rocco, 
with  a  Farcastic  smile ;  *'  who  would  ever  iMve 
imagined  that  you  were  superstitious?  " 

"My  nurse  was," returned  the  young  mao,  \ 
reddening,  and   laughing   rather    uneaaly.  { 
'*  She  taught  me  some  bad  habits  that  I  have 
not  got  over  yet."    With  those  words  he 
nodded,  and  hastily  went  out 

"  Superstitious  I "  said  Father  Rooco  sofUy 
to  himself.  He  smiled  again,  reflected  for  a 
moment,  and  then,  going  to  the   window, 


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Charlei  IMckcM.3 


THE  YELLOW  MASK. 


535 


looked  into  the  street  The  way  to  the  left 
led  to  Fabio's  palace,  and  the  way  to  Uie 
right  to  the  Campo  Santo,  in  the  nei^^bonr- 
hood  of  which  Nanina  lived.  The  pnest  was 
jnst  in  time  to  see  the  yoong  scatptor  take 
the  way  to  the  right. 

After  another  half-honr  had  elapsed  the 
two  workmen  quitted  the  studio  to  go  to 
dinner,  and  Luca  and  his  brother  were  left 
alone. 

"  We  may  return  now,"  said  Father  Rocco, 
*'  to  that  conversation  which  was  suspended 
between  us  earlier  in  the  day." 

*'I  have  nothing  more  to  say,"  rejoined 
Luca,  sulkily. 

<<  Then  you  can  listen  to  me,  brother,  with 
the  greater  attention,"  pursued  the  priest 
'*I  objected  to  the  coarseness  of  your  tone  in 
talking  of  our  young  pupil  and  your  daughter 
— I  Direct  still  more  strongly  to  your  in- 
sinuation that  my  desire  to  see  them  married 
(provided  always  that  they  are  sincerely 
attached  to  each  other)  springs  from  a  mer- 
cenarv  motive." 

**  You  are  trying  to  snare  me,  Rocco,  in  a 
mesh  of  fine  phrases:  but  I  am  not  to  be 
caught.  I  know  what  my  own  motive  is  for 
hoping  that  Kaddalena  may  get  an  offer  of 
marriage  from  this  wealthy  young  gentle- 
man— soe  will  have  his  money,  and  we  shall 
all  profit  by  it  That  is  coarse  and  mercenary, 
if  you  please ;  but  it  is  the  true  reason  wh^  I 
want  to  see  Maddalena  married  to  Fabio. 
Yoa  want  to  see  it,  too—and  for  what  reason, 
I  should  like  to  know,  if  not  for  mine  ? " 

**  Of  what  use  would  wealthy  relations  be 
to  me  7  What  are  people  with  monev — ^what 
is  money  itself— to  a  man  who  follows  my 
calling?" 

<<  Money  is  something  to  everybody." 

'^  Is  it  7  When  have  you  found  that  I  have 
taken  any  account  of  it?  Give  me  money 
enough  to  buy  my  daily  bread  and  to  pay  for 
my  lodging  and  my  coarse  cassock— and 
though  I  may  want  much  for  the  poor,  for 
myself  I  want  no  more.  When  have  you  found 
me  mercenary?  Do  I  not  help  yon  in  this 
studio  for  love  of  you  and  of  the  art  with- 
out exacting  so  much  as  journeyman's  wages? 
Have  I  ever  asked  you  for  more  than  a  few 
crowns  to  give  away  on  feast-days  among  my 
parishioners?  Money!  money  for  a  man  who 
may  be  summoned  to  Rome  to-morrow,  who 
may  be  told  to  go  at  half  an  hour's  notice  on 
a  foreign  mission  that  may  take  him  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth,  and  who  would  be  ready  to 
go  the  moment  when  he  was  called  on  I  Money 
to  a  man  who  has  no  wife,  no  children,  no 
interests  outside  the  sacr^  circle  of  the 
church  t  Brother  1  do  you  see  the  dust  and 
dirt  and  shapeless  marble-chips  lying  around 
your  statue  there  I  Cover  that  floor  instead 
with  gold— and,  though  the  litter  may  have 
changed  in  colour  and  form,  in  my  eyes  it 
would  be  Utter  stilL" 

"A  yetj  noble  sentiment,  I  dare  say, 
Rocco,  but  I  can't  echo  it    Granting  that 


you  care  nothing  for  money,  will  you  explain 
to  me  whv  you  are  so  anxious  that  Madda- 
lena should  marry  Fabio?  She  has  had  offers 
from  poorer  men— you  knew  of  them— but 
you  have  never  ta^en  the  least  interest  in  her 
accepting  or  rejecting  a  proposal  before." 

"  I  hinted  the  reason  to  you,  months  ago, 
when  Fabio  first  entered  the  studio." 

"  It  was  rather  a  vague  hint,  brother— can't 
you  be  plainer  to-day  ?  " 

**  I  think  I  can.  In  the  first  place,  let  me 
begin  by  assuring  you,  that  I  have  no  objec- 
tion to  the  young  man  himself.  He  may  be 
a  little  capricious  and  undecided,  but  he  has 
no  incorrigible  faults  that  I  have  discovered." 

"  That  is  rather  a  cool  way  of  jMraising  him, 
Rocco." 

**  I  should  speak  of  him  warmly  enough  if 
he  were  not  the  representative  of  an  in- 
tolerable cormption  and  a  monstrous  wrong. 
Whenever  I  think  of  him  I  think  of  an  injury 
which  his  present  existence  perpetuates,  and 
if  I  do  speak  of  him  coldly  ft  is  only  for  that 
reason." 

Luca  looked  away  quickly  firom  his  brother, 
and  began  kicking  absently  &t  the  marble 
chips  which  were  scattered  over  the  floor 
around  him. 

•*  I  now  remember,"  he  sidd,  "  what  that 
hint  of  yours  pointed  at  I  know  what  you 
mean." 

**  Then  you  know,"  answered  the  priest, 
"  that  while  part  of  the  wealth  which  Fabio 
d'Ascoli  possesses  is  honestly  and  incontes- 
tably  his  own :  part,  also,  has  been  inherited 
by  him  from  the  spoilers  and  robbers  of  the 
church " 

''  Blame  his  ancestors  for  that ;  don't  Uame 
him." 

''  I  blame  him  as  long  as  the  spoil  is  not 
restored." 

^^Hqw  do  you  know  that  it  was  spoil, 
after  aSl?" 

'M  have  examined  more  carefully  than 
most  men  the  records  of  the  Civil  Wars  in 
Italy;  and  I  know  that  the  ancestors  of 
Fabio  d'Ascoli  wrung  from  the  church,  in  her 
hour  of  weakness,  proper^  which  they  dared 
to  claim  as  their  right.  I  know  of  titles  to 
lands  signed  away,  in  those  stormy  times, 
under  the  influence  of  fear,  or  through  false 
representations  of  which  the  law  takes  no 
account ;  I  call  the  money  thus  obtained,  spoil 
—and  I  say  that  it  ought  to  be  restored,  and 
shall  be  restored  to  the  church  from  which  it 
was  taken." 

"And  what  does  Fabio  answer  to  that, 
brother?" 

« I  have  not  spoken  to  him  on  ihe  snlject" 

"  Why  not  ?'^ 

"  Because,  I  have,  as  yet,  no  influence  over 
him.  When  he  is  married,  his  wife  will  have 
influence  over  him ;  and  she  shall  speak." 

*' Maddalena,  I  suppose?  How  do  you 
know  that  she  will  speak  ? " 

"  Have  I  not  educated  her  ?  Does  she  not 
understand  what  her  duties  are   towards 


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536 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[CoB4wic4ky 


the  church,  in  wboee  bosom  she  haa  been 
reared  ? " 

Laca  hesitated  uneasily,  and  walked  away 
a  step  or  two  before  be  i>poke  again. 

"  Does  this  spoil,  as  yon  call  It,  amount  to 
a  large  sum  of  money ! ''  he  asked  in  an 
anxious  whisper. 

"  I  may  answer  that  question,  Luca,  at  some 
future  time,''  said  the  priest.  "  For  the  pre- 
sent, let  it  be  enough  that  you  are  acquainted 
with  all  I  undertook  to  inform  you  of  when 
we  began  our  conversation.  You  now  know 
that  if  I  am  anxious  for  this  marriage  to 
take  place,  it  is  from  motives  entirely  uncon- 
nect^  with  self-interest.  If  all  the  property 
which  Fabio's  ancestors  wrongfully  obtained 
from  the  church,  were  restored  to  the  church 
to-morrow,  not  one  paulo  of  it  would  go  into 
my  pocket  I  am  a  poor  priest  now,  and  to 
the  end  of  my  days  shall  remain  so.  You 
soldiers  of  the  world,  brother,  fight  for  your 
pay — I  am  a  soldier  of  the  church,  and  I 
fignt  for  mj  caase." 

Saying  these  words,  he  returned  abruptly 
to  the  statuette ;  and  refused  to  speak,  or 
leave  his  employment  again,  until  he  had 
taken  the  mould  off,  and  had  carefolly  put 
away  the  various  fragments  of  which  it  con- 
sisted. This  done,  he  drew  a  writing-desk 
from  the  drawer  of  his  working-table,  and 
taking  out  a  slip  of  paper,  wrote  these  lines : 

"  Gomtt  down  to  th«  studio  to-morrow.  Fabio  wiU 
be  with  tu,  bat  NAoixiA  will  return  no  more." 

Without  signing  what  he  had  written,  be 
sealed  it  up,  and  directed  it  to — ^' Donna 
Maddalena.''  Then  took  his  hat,  and  handed 
the  note  to  his  brother. 

"  Oblige  me  by  giving  that  to  my  niece," 
he  said. 

"  Tell  me,  Rocco,"  said  Luca,  turning  the 
note  round  and  round  perplexedly  between 
his  finger  and  thumb.      *'  Do  you  think  Mad- 
dalena  will  be  lucky  enough  to  get  married  to 
Fabio?" 
^*  Still  coarse  in  your  expressions,  brother  1 '' 
"  Never  mind  my  expreaiions.  Is  it  likely  ?  " 
"  Yes,  Luca,  I  think  it  is  likely." 
With  these  words  he  waved  his  hand  plea- 
santly to  his  brother,  and  went  out. 

OHJlPTXB  ul 

Frox  the  studio.  Father  Rocco  went 
straight  to  his  own  rooms,  hard  by  the  church 
to  which  he  was  attached.  Opening  a  cabinet 
in  his  study,  he  took  from  one  of  its  drawers 
a  handful  of  small  silver  money— con- 
sulted for  a  minute  or  so  a  slate  on  which 
several  names  and  addresses  were  written — 
provided  himself  with  a  portable  inkhorn 
and  some  strips  of  paper,  and  again  went 
out. 

He  directed  his  steps  to  the  poorest 
part  of  the  neighbourhood ;  and  entering 
some  very  wretched  houses,  was  greeted 
by  the  inhabitants  with  great  respect 
and  affection.  The  women,  especially,  kissed 


his  hands  with  more  reverence  than  tliey 
would  have  shown  to  the  highest  crowned 
head  in  Europe.  In  return,  he  talked  to 
them  as  easily  and  unconstrainedly  as  if  they 
were  his  equals ;  sat  down  cheerfully  on  dir^ 
bed-sides  and  rickety  benches;  and  distri- 
buted his  little  gifts  of  money  with  the  air  of 
a  man  who  was  paying  debts  rather  than  be- 
stowing charity.  where  he  enconntocd 
casesof  illness,  ne  pulled  out  his  inkhorn  and 
slips  of  paper,  and  wrote  simple  prescriptionB 
to  be  made  up  from  the  medlcine-cbest  of  a 
neighbouring  convent,  which  served  the  same 
merciful  purpose  then  that  is  answered  by 
dispensaries  in  our  days  When  he  had  ex- 
hausted his  money  and  had  got  through  his 
visits,  he  was  esccnrted  out  of  the  poor  quarter 
by  a  perfect  train  of  enthusiastic  foliowere. 
The  women  kissed  his  hand  again,  and  the 
men  uncovered  as  he  turned,  and,  with  a 
friendly  sign,  bade  them  all  farewelL 

As  soon  as  he  was  alone  again,  he  walked 
towards  the  Campo  Santo ;  and  passing  the 
house  in  which  Nanina  lived,  saunter^  np 
and  down  the  street  thoughtfully,  for  some 
ndnutes :  when  he  at  length  ascended  the  steep 
staircase  that  led  to  ue  room  occupied  bj 
the  sisters,  he  found  the  door  i^ar.  Pushing 
it  open  gently,  he  saw  La  Biondella,  sitting 
with  her  pretty  fair  profile  turned  towards 
him,  eating  her  evening  meal  of  bread  and 
grapes.  At  the  opposite  end  of  the  room, 
Scaramnmccia  was  perched  up  on  his  hind 
quarters  in  a  comer,  with  his  mouth  wide 
open  to  catch  the  morsel  of  bread  which  he 
evidently  expected  the  child  to  throw  to  him. 
What  the  elder  sister  was  doing  the  priest 
had  not  time  to  see  ;  for  the  dog  bark^  the 
moment  he  presented  himself ;  and  Naidia 
hastened  to  the  door  to  ascertain  who  the  in- 
truder might  be.  All  that  he  could  observe 
was  that  die  was  too  confused,  on  catcbhig 
sight  of  him,  to  be  able  to  utter  a  word.  La 
Biondella  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Thank  you,  Father  Rocco.''  said  the  duld, 
jumping  up,  with  her  bread  in  one  hand  and 
her  grapes  in  the  other :  '^  Thank  you  for 
giving  me  so  much  money  for  my  dinner-mate. 
There  they  are  tied  up  together  in  one  liUle 
parcel  in  the  comer.  Nanina  said  she  was 
ashamed  to  think  of  your  carrying  them ;  and 
I  said  I  knew  where  you  lived,  and  I  shoold 
like  to  ask  you  to  let  me  take  them  home." 

"  Do  you  think  you  can  carry  them  all  the 
way,  my  dear  ?  a^ed  the  priest. 

*'  Look,  Father  Rocco,  see  if  I  can't  cany 
them  I"  cried  La  Biondella,  cramnung  1^ 
bread  into  one  of  the  pockets  of  her  little 
apron,  holding  her  bunch  of  gn^ies  by  the 
stalk  in  her  mouth,  and  hoisting  the  packet 
of  dinner-mats  on  her  head  in  a  moment 
"  See,  I  am  strong  enough  to  carry  doable,*' 
said  the  child,  looking  up  proudly  into  tbe 
priest's  face. 

"  Can  von  trust  her  to  take  them  home  for 
me  ? "  asked  Father  Rocco,  turning  to  Nanina. 
"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  alone ;   and  her 


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ClurlM  IMckeDt.  j 


THE  YELLOW  MASK. 


637 


absence  will  give  me  the  opportuaitj.  Can 
you  trust  her  out  by  herself?  " 

''Tee,  Father  Rocco,  she  often  goes  out 
alone.''  Nantna  gave  this  answer  in  low, 
trembling  tones,  and  looked  down  confusedly 
on  the  ground. 

"  Go  then,  my  dear,"  said  Father  Rocco 
patting  the  child  on  the  shoulder.  ^'And 
come  back  here  to  your  sister,  as  soon  as  you 
have  left  the  mats.'' 

La  Blondella  went  out  directly  in  great 
triumph,  with  Scarammuocia  walking  by  her 
side,  and  keeping  his  muzzle  suspiciously 
close  to  the  pocket  in  which  she  had  put  her 
bread.  Father  Rocco  closed  the  door  after 
them ;  and  then,  taking  the  one  chair  which 
the  room  possessed,  motioned  to  Nanina  to 
sit  by  him  on  the  stool. 

"  Do  you  believe  that  I  am  your  friend,  my 
child  ;  and  that  I  have  always  meant  well 
towards  you  ?  "  he  began. 

''  The  best  and  kindest  of  friends,'7an8wered 
Nanina. 

*'  Then  you  will  hear  what  I  have  to  say 
patiently ;  and  you  will  believe  that  I  am 
peaking  for  your  good,  even  if  my  woi^s 
should  distress  you  ?"  (Nanina  tHrned  away 
her  head.)  **Now,  tell  me :  should  I  be  wrong, 
to  begin  with,  if  I  said  that  my  brother's 
pupil,  the  young  nobleman  whom  we  call 
•  Signor  Fabio,'  had  been  here  to  see  you  to- 
day ?  "  (Nanina  started  up  affrightedly  from 
the  stool.)  **Sit  down  again,  my  child; 
I  am  not  going  to  blame  you.  I  am  only 
going  to  tell  you  what  you  must  do  for  the 
niture.*' 

He  took  her  hand;  it  was  cold,  and  it 
trembled  violently  in  his. 

"  1  will  not  ask  what  he  has  been  saying  to 
you,"  continued  the  priest ;  *'  for  It  might  dis- 
tress you  to  answer ;  and  I  have,  moreover, 
bad  means  of  knowing  that  your  youth  and 
beauty  have  made  a  strong  impression  on 
him.  I  will  pass  over,  then,  all  reference  to 
the  words  he  may  have  been  speaking  to  you; 
and  I  will  come  at  once  to  what  I  have  now 
to  say,  in  my  turn.  Nanina,  my  child,  arm 
yourself  with  all  your  courage,  and  promise 
me,  befbre  we  part  to-night,  Siat  you  will  see 
Si^or  Fabio  no  more." 

Nanina  turned  round  suddenly,  and  fixed 
her  eyes  on  him,  with  an  expression  of  terri- 
fied incredulity.    •*  No  more  1 " 

"  Ton  are  very  young  and  very  innocent," 
said  Father  Rocco ;  '*  but  surely  you  must 
have  thought,  before  now,  of  the  difference 
between  Signor  Fabio  and  you.  Surely  you 
must  have  often  remembered  that  yon  are 
low  down  among  the  ranks  of  the  poor,  and 
that  he  is  high  np  among  the  rich  and  the 
nobly  born  ? '' 

Nantna's  hands  dropped  on  the  priest's 
knees.  She  bent  her  head  down  on  them,  and 
began  to  weep  bitterly. 

*'  Surely  you  must  have  thought  of  that  ?" 
reiterated  Father  Rocco. 

*'  0, 1  have  often,  often  thought  of  that  I " 


murmured  the  girl.  "  I  have  mourned  over 
it.  and  cried  about  it  in  secret  for  many 
nights  past.  He  said  I  looked  pale,  and  ill, 
and  out  of  spirits  to-day :  and  I  told  him  it 
was  with  thinking  of  that?  " 

"  And  what  did  he  say  in  return  ? " 

There  was  no  answer.  Father  Rocco  looked 
down.  Nanina  raised  her  head  directly  from 
his  knees,  and  tried  to  turn  it  away  again. 
He  took  her  hand  and  stopped  her, 

"Come  I "  he  said ;  "  speak  frankly  to  me. 
Say  what  you  ought  to  say  to  your  father  and 
your  friend.  What  was  his  answer,  my  child, 
when  you  reminded  him  of  the  difference  be- 
tween you  ? " 

"  He  said  I  was  born  to  be  a  lady,"  faltered 
the  girl,  still  struggling  to  turn  her  face  away, 
"  and  that  I  might  make  myself  one  if  I  would 
learn  and  be  patient.  He  said  that  if  he  had 
all  the  noble  ladies  in  Pisa  to  choose  from  on 
one  side,  and  only  little  Nanina  on  the  other, 
he  would  hold  out  his  hand  to  me,  and  tell 
them,  *  This  shall  be  my  wife.'  He  said  Love 
knew  no  difference'of  rank ;  and  that  if  he 
was  a  nobleman  and  rich,  it  was  all  the  more 
reason  why  he  should  please  himself.  He 
was  so  kind  that  I  thought  my  heart  would 
burst  while  he  was  speaking;  and  my  little 
sister  liked  him  so,  that  she  got  upon  his  knee 
and  kissed  him.  Even  our  dog,  who  growls 
at  other  strangers,  stole  to  his  side  and  licked 
his  hand.  0,  FaUier  Roccol  Father  Roc- 
co I "  The  tears  burst  out  afresh,  and  the 
lovely  head  dropped  once  more,  wearily,  on 
the  priest's  knee. 

Father  Rocco  smiled  to  himself,  and  waited 
to  speak  again  till  she  was  calmer. 

"  Supposing,"  he  resumed,  after  some  min- 
utes of  silence,  *' supposing  Signor  Fabio 
really  meant  all  he  said  to  you " 

Nanina  started  up  and  confronted  the  priest 
boldly  for  the  first  time  since  he  h^d  entered 
the  room. 

.'**  Supposing  I  "  she  exclaimed,  her  cheeks 
beginnmg  to  redden,  and  her  dark-blue  eyes 
flashing  suddenly  through  her  tears.  '^  Sup- 
posing!  Father  Kocco,  Fabio  would  never  de- 
ceive me.  I  would  die  here  at  your  feet,  rather 
than  doubt  the  least  word  he  said  to  me ! " 

The  priest  took  her  by  the  hand  and  drew 
her  back  to  the  stool.  *'I  never  suspected 
the  child  had  so  much  spirit  in  her,"  he 
thought  to  himself. 

"  I  would  die,"  repeated  Nanina,  in  a  voice 
that  began  to  falter  now.  ''I  would  die, 
rather  than  doubt  him." 

'*  I  will  not  ask  you  to  doubt  him,"  said 
Father  Rocco,  gently ;  "  and  I  will  believe  in 
him  myself  as  firmly  as  you  do.  Let  us  sup- 
pose, my  child,  that  you  have  learnt  patiently 
all  the  many  things  of  which  you  are  now 
ignorant,  and  which  it  is  necessary  for  a  lady 
to  know.  Let  us  suppose  that  Signor  Fabio 
has  really  violated  all  the  laws  mat  govern 
people  in  his  high  station,  and  has  taken  you 
to  him  publicly  as  his  wife.  You  would  be 
happy,  then,  Nanina ;  but  would  he  ?     He 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


638 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


haa  no  father  or  mother  to  control  bim,  it  is 
true  ;  but  be  has  friends— many  friends  and 
intimates  in  his  own  rank — ^proud,  heart- 
less people,  who  know  nothing  of  jour 
worth  and  goodness  who,  hearing  of  your 
low  birth,  would  look  on  you  and  on  your 
husband,  too,  my  child,  with  contempt,  He 
has  not  your  patience  and  fortitude.  Think 
how  bitter  it  would  be  for  him  to  bear  that 
contempt — to  see  you  shunned  by  proud  wo- 
men, and  carelessly  pitied  or  patronised  by 
insolent  men.  Yet  all  this,  and  more,  he 
would  have  to  endure,  or  else  to  quit  the 
world  he  has  lived  in  from  his  boyhood — ^the 
world  he  was  born  to  live  in.  You  love  him, 
I  know " 

Nanina's  tears  burst  out  afresh.  "  0,  how 
dearlv ! — how  dearlv ! "  she  murmured. 

"  Yes,  you  love  him  dearly,"  continued  the 

Eriest ;  "  but  would  all  your  love  compensate 
im  for  everything  else  that  he  must  lose  ? 
It  might,  at  first ;  but  there  would  come  a 
iitue  when  the  world  would  assert  its  influ- 
ence over  him  again ;  when  be  would  feel  a 
want  which  you  couid  not  supply— a  weari- 
ness which  you  could  not  solace.  Think  of 
his  life,  then,  and  of  yours.  Think  of  the 
first  day  when  the  first  secret  doubt  whether 
he  had  done  rightly  in  marrying  you  would 
steal  into  his  mind.  We  are  not  masters  of 
all  our  impulses.  The  lightest  spurits  have 
their  moments  of  irresistible  depression ;  the 
bravest  hearts  are  not  always  superior  to 
doubt.  My  child,  my  child,  the  world  is 
strong,  the  pride  of  rank  is  rooted  deep,  and 
the  human  will  is  frail  at  best  1  Be  warned ! 
For  your  own  sake  and  for  Fabio's,  be  warned 
in  time." 

Nanina  stretched  out  her  hands  towards  the 
priest  in  despair. 

'<0,  Father  Roeco!  Father  Rocco !  "  she 
cried;  "  why  did  you  not  tell  me  this  before  ? ' ' 

*'  Because,  my  child,  I  only  knew  of  the 
necessity  for  telling  you,  to-day.  But  it  is  not 
too  late,  it  is  never  too  late,  to  do  a  good 
action.  You  love  Fabio,  Nanina?  Will  you 
prove  that  love  by  making  a  great  sacrifice 
for  his  good  ?  " 

"  I  would  die  for  his  good  L " 

"  Will  you  nobly  cure  him  of  a  passion 
which  will  be  his  ruin,  if  not  yours,  by  leav- 
ing Pisa  to-morrow  T  " 

'^ Leave  Pisa!"  exclaimed  Nanina.  Her 
face  grew  deadly  pale :  she  rose  and  moved 
back  a  step  or  two  firom  the  priest. 

'^Listen  to  me,"  pursued  Father  Rocco. 
"  I  have  beard  you  complain  that  you  could 
not  get  regular  employment  at  needlework. 
You  shall  have  that  employment,  if  you  will 
go  with  me — ^you  and  your  little  sister  too,  of 
course — to  Florence  to-morrow." 

"  I  promised  Fabio  to  go  to  the  studio," 
began  Naninft  afi^ightedly.  "  I  promised  to 
go  at  ten  o'clock.    How  can  I " 

She  stopped  suddenly,  as  if  her  breath  were 
failing  her. 

"  I  myself  will  take  you  and  your  sister  to 


Florence,"  said  Father  Rocco,  without  notic- 
ing the  interruption.  '*  I  will  place  yoa  un- 
der the  care  of  a  lady  who  will  be  as  kind  as 
a  mother  to  you  both.  I  will  answer  for  your 
getting  such  work  to  do  as  will  enable  you  to  ' 
keep  yourself  honestlv  and  independently; 
and  I  will  undertake,  if  you  do  not  like  your 
life  at  Florence,  to  bring  you  back  to  fisa 
after  a  lapse  of  three  months  only.  Three 
months,  Nanina.    It  is  not  a  long  exile." 

*'  Fabio !  Fabio ! "  cried  the  girl,  nnking 
again  on  the  seat,  and  hiding  her  face. 

*<It  is  for  his  good,"  said  Fathw  Rocoo 
calmly ;  **  for  Fabio's  good,  remember." 

"  What  would  he  think  of  me  if  I  went 
away?  O,  if  I  had  but  learnt  to  write.  If  I 
could  only  write  Fabio  a  letter  I " 

^*  Am  I  not  to  be  depended  on  to  explain  to 
him  all  that  he  ought  to  know? " 

*'  How  can  I  go  away  from  him  ?  O,  Father 
Rocco,  how  can  you  ask  me  to  go  away  from 
him?" 

"I  will  ask  you  to  do  nothing  hastily.   I 
will  leave  yon  till  to-morrow  morning  to 
decide.    At  nine  o'clock  I  shall  -  be  in  the 
street ;  and  I  will  not  e^en  so  much  as  enter    > 
this  house,  unless  I  know  beforehand  that  yon 
have  resolved  to  follow  my  advice.    Give  me 
a  sign  from  your  window.    If  I  see  you  ware 
your  white  mantilla  out  of  it,  I  shall  know 
that  you  have  taken  the  noble  resolution  to 
save  Fabio  and  to  save  yourself.    I  wHl  lay     , 
no  more,  mv  child )  for,  lihlfeB  I  am  griev- 
ously mistaken  in  you  t  have  already  said    ' 
enough."  ' 

He  went  out,  leaving  h^  still  weeping  bit-  | 
terly.  Not  far  from^the  house,  he  met  Ia 
Biondella  and  the  dog  on  their  way  back. 
The  little  girl  stopped  to  report  to  him  Uie 
safe  delivery  of  her  dinner-mats;  but  he 
passed  on  quickly  with  a  nod  and  a  smile.  , 
His  interview  with  Nanina  had  left  some 
influence  behind  it  which  unfitted  him  jost 
then  for  the  occupation  of  talking  to  a  child. 

Nearly  half-an-hour  before  nine  o'clock  on 
the  following  morning.  Father  Rocco  set  forth 
for  the  street  in  which  Nanina  lived.  On  his 
way  thither  he  overtook  a  dog  walking  lazily 
a  few  paces  a-head  in  the  road- way ;  and  saw, 
at  the  same  time,  an  elegatotly-dressed  lady 
advancing  towards  him.  The  dog  stopped 
suspiciously  as  she  approached,  and  growled  ' 
and  showed  his  teeth  when  she  pas^  him. 
The  lady,  on  her  side,  uttered  an  exclamntioa 
of  disgust ;  but  did  not  seem  to  be  either 
astonished  or  frightened  by  the  animal's 
threatening  attitude.  Father  Rocco  looked 
after  her  with  some  curiosity,  as  she  wtdked 
by  him.  She  was  a  handsome  woman,  and  he 
admired  her  courage.  *'  I  know  that  growl- 
ing brute  well  enough,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  but  who  can  the  lady  be  ?  " 

The  dog  was  Scarammuccia,  returning  fmrn 
one  of  his  marauding  expeditions.  The  lady 
was  Brigida,  on  her  way  to  Luca  Lomi^s 
studio. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Ctaarlw  Oicken*.] 


WHITTINGTON  IN  SERVIA. 


539 


Some  minutes  before  nine  o'clock,  the  priest 
took  his  post  in  the  street,  opposite  Nanina's 
window.  It  was  open ;  but  neither  she  nor 
her  little  sister  appeared  at  it.  He  looked 
up  anxiously  as  the  church-clock  struck  the 
hoar  ;  but  there  was  no  sign  for  a  minute  or 
so  after  they  were  all  silent.  "  Is  she  hesitat- 
ing still?  "  said  Father  Rocco  to  himself. 

Just  as  the  words  passed  his  lips,  the  white 
mantilla  was  waved  out  of  the  window. 

WHITTINGTON  IN  SERVIA. 

Thb  fact  that  the  Londoners  have  no  right 
to  monopolise  Richard  Whittington  was 
proved  long  ago  by  Grimm's  Popular  Stories, 
where  we  find  the  happy  owner  of  the  cat 
flourishing  in  Grermany,  as  the  third  of  three 
lucky  brothers,  and  making  his  fortune  by 
precisely  the  same  meaps  as  those  that 
brought  wealth  and  civic  honour  to  him  who 
discovered  prophetic  meaning  in  the  sound  of 
Bow  bells. 

It  certainly  gives  symmetry  to  the  legend 
of  Whittington  to  make  him  the  youngest  of 
three  brothers.  A  German  proverb  declares 
I  that  **all  good  things  are  three,"  and  through- 
out the  whole  course  of  Teutonic^legends  we 
find  that  three  adventurers  are  usually  neces- 
sary to  carry  out  any  great  purpose ;  and 
that  those  are  usually  achieved  by  a  third 
son,  who  has  previously  been  an  olject  of 
contempt  to  his  stronger  seniors.  Even  the 
English  Whittington  is  connected  with  the 
mystical  number.  Not  only  was  he  thrice 
Lord  Mayor  of  London,  but — what  is  not 
generally  known — he  was  thrice  buried. 
''  This  Richard  Whittington,"  says  an  old 
history  of  the  city,  "was  three  times  buried ; 
first,  by  his  executors,  under  a  fine  monument ; 
then,  in  the  reign  of  Edward  YI.,  the  parson 
of  the  Church  (St.  Michael  Paternoster) 
thinking  some  great  riches  to  be  buried  with 
him,  caused  his  monument  to  be  broken,  his 
bodv  to  be  spoiled  of  his  leaden  sheet,  and 
again  the  second  time  to  be  buried ;  and  in 
the  reign  of  Queen  Mary,  the  parishioners 
were  forced  to  take  him  up  to  lap  him  in  lead 
as  before,  to  bury  him  a  third  time,  and  to 
place  his  monument,  or  the  like,  over  him 
again ;  which  remained,  and  so  he  rested,  till 
the  great  fire  of  London  violated  his  resting- 
place  again." 

Whittmgton  is  not  only  to  be  found  in 
Grermany,  but  in  Servia — a  land  of  wild 
legends — and  there,  though,  as  with  us,  he  is 
a  brotherless  individual,  his  moral  aspect  is 
completely  changed.  With  us  the  lesson 
taught  by  the  tnple  mayorality  is  that  of 
hopefulness  under  misfortune.  Whittington 
holds  a  lowly  position  in  the  social  scale,  and 
is  ill-used  by  the  tyrannical  cook ;  but,  the 

Erophecy  of  Bow-bells,  which  he  heard  while 
e  rested  on  his  walk  from  London,  calling 
to  him  to  turn  again,  still  rings  in  his 
ears,  and  cheers  him  through  his  troubles. 
There  is,  of  course,  a  sort  of  fatality  in  the 


tale,  but  it  is  not  of  a  sort  that  makes  a  per- 
son sit  with  his  hands  before  him  and  do 
nothing.  On  the  contrary,  it  Inrings  with  it 
that  presentiment  of  success  which  is  the 
stimulus  to  exertion,  and  the  tone  of  the  story 
is  such  as  to  justify  it  for  the  popular  myths 
of  an  energetic  and  ambitious  people  like  the 
citizens  of  London. 

The  Servian  Whittington  has  nothing  Ger- 
man or  English  in  Jiis  nature,  and  It  is 
singular  to  observe  how  a  story  nearly 
the  same  as  that  of  the  Lord  Mayor  of 
London  can  be  told  with  so  complete  a  varia- 
tion of  moral  purpose.  The  Servian  Whit-  " 
tington  bears  the  strongest  marks  of  an 
Eastern  origin.  An  utter  prostration  before 
the  Supreme  Will,  as  the  fountain  of  all  jus- 
tice, and  a  thorough  cenvlotion  of  his  own 
unworthiness,  are  his  characteristics.  He  is 
described  as  a  poor  man,  who  has  hired  him- 
self out  as  a  labourer  to  a  rich  man,  but 
makes  no  compact  as  to  wages.  Here,  already, 
we  find  an  indication  of  that  same  feeling 
which  makes  the  Turk  look  ui>on  insurance 
against  fire  as  an  act  of  impiety,  proving  a 
want  of  trust  in  the  discriminating  justice  of 
Providence.  The  poor  man  makes  no  com- 
pact, flrmlv  believing  that  a  higher  power  will 
id«ltfure  his  reward  by  his  deserts.  At  the 
end  of  a  year  he  goes  to  his  master,  and  re- 
quests him  to  pay  what  is  due,  without 
naming  an  amount.  The  churlish  employer 
gives  the  poor  fellow  a  penny,  but  so  sensitive 
are  the  feelings  of  gratitude  in  the  latter,  that 
he  will  not  venture  to  enjoj  his  miserable 
reward,  until  Heaven  proves  bv  a  miracle 
that  he  has  deserved  it  He  takes  the  coin 
with  him  to  the  margin  of  a  brook,  and  then, 
after  expressing  his  wonder  that  the  labour  of 
a  year  has  rendered  him  possessor  of  so  great 
a  treasure  as  a  penny,  prays  to  Heaven  to 
allow  the  coin  to  float  on  the  surface  of  the 
brook  if  he  be  worthv  to  retain  it.  When  his 
prayer  is  finished,  he  flings  his  penny  into 
the  brook,  and — naturally  enough — it  sinks  at 
once  to  the  bottom.  He,  accordingly  dives 
after  it,  fetches  it  up,  returns  it  to  his  master 
with  an  avowal  of  his  own  unworthiness,  and 
goes  to  work  for  another  year  on  precisely 
the  same  principle  as  before.  At  the  end  of 
the  second  year  he  receives  the  same  reward, 
and  makes  the  same  experiment  with  the 
same  result.  Indeed,  it  may  be  remarked 
that,  through  the  whole  course  of  legendary 
lore,  a  second  trial  is  of  no  service,  save  as  a 
stepping-stone  to  a  third.  However,  the  end 
of  another  year  brings  with  it  a  change  of 
fortune.  The  coin  which  he  now  receives, 
floats  on  the  surface  of  the  brook :  therefore 
Heaven  has  plainly  declared  that  a  penny 
has  been  rightfully  earned  by  the  labour  of 
three  years. 

After  a  while,  the  master  sets  out,  like 
Lord  Bateman,  to  see  some  foreign  country, 
and  the  labourer  gives  him  the  hardly- 
earned  penny,  that  he  may  lay  it  out  to  good 
advantage  m  parts  beyond  seas.    The  master 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


540 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCoBteMby 


promises  to  execute  faithfally  the  important 
trust,  bat  in  his  way  to  the  riiip  meets  a 
number  of  children  oa  the  sea-thore  who  are 
ill-using  a  eat  He  rescues  the  unfortunate 
animal  with  the  liJ>ourer*s  penny,  and  takes 
it  on  board.  The  value  of  Uie  oat  is  soon 
manifested,  exactly  as  in  the  London  tale. 
A  land  is  reached,  where  rats  and  mice  are 
the  plague  of  the  population,  and  where  cats 
are  unknown.  The  •traveller  produces  his 
feline  treasure,  the  vermin  are  destroyed,  and 
a  ship-load  of  gold  and  silver  purokases  the 
destroyer. 

The  London  hero  has  simply  to  put  the 
proceeds  of  his  investment  into  his  strong 
box,  and  become  a  great  man  at  onoe  ;  but 
they  manage  things  otherwise  in  Servia.  The 
Ser?ian  Whlttington  is  not  a  mere  instance 
of  that  eminently  prosaic  form  of  destiny, 
which  goes  by  the  name  of  luck.  His  piety 
and  rectitude  having  been  firmly  established 
by  his  extreme  conscientiousness  in  earning 
the  penny,  the  tale  would  show  that  so  indu- 
bitably righteous  an  acquisition  could  not 
under  any  circumstanoes  be  encroached  upon 
by  any  human  power.  The  feudal  lord  is 
less  honest  than  the  London  merchant ;  and 
when  he  comes  home  he  keeps  the  history  of 
the  oat  to  himself,  and  gives  the  labourer  a 
piece  of  polished  marble  as  the  value  of  his 

Eenny.  The  poor  fellow  is  delighted  with 
Is  bargain;  and  certainly,  when  we  find 
that  it  is  large  enough  to  serve  him  for  a 
table,  we  must  admit  that  he  has  no  reason 
to  be  dissatiBfled.  On  the  following  day,  how- 
ever, he  finds  his  table  turned  into  a  mass  of 
?ure  goM,  so  that  it  illumines  his  whole  hut. 
rue  to  bis  old  character,  he  rushes  to  his 
master,  describes  the  metamorphosis,  and 
declares  that  he  caa  have  no  right  to  such  a 
treasure.  However,  the  master  sees  in  the 
miracle  an  unmistakeable  sign  of  Heaven's 
wilL  Confessing  his  own  transgreasion,  he 
gives  to  his  honest  labourer  the  ship-load 
of  precious  metal  which  he  had  received  as 
theprioe  of  the  cat. 

We  would  not  lose  our  relish  for  our  old 
stories ;  but  we  think  few  of  our  readers  will 
deny  that  the  honest  Servian  peasant  is  a 
grander  figure,  and  more  effectually  carries 
out  a  moral  purpose,  than  the  lucky  Lord 
Mayor  of  London. 


THE  ANGEL. 

Wht  ihottld'it  fhou  fMur  th«  bMmilfal  angel,  DMth, 
Who  Wftltf  th99  at  the  portala  of  the  sUei, 

Readj  to  kiss  away  thj  •trngffUng  broath : 
Ready  with  gentle  hand  to  eloie  thine  eyea. 

How  maitj  a  tranqail  iool  haa  paaa'd  awaj, 
Fled  gladlj  firom  fleroe  pain  and  pleaanrea  dim, 

To  the  eternal  splendour  of  the  daj, 
And  manj  » trembled  heart  ittU  oalla  for  him. 

Splrlta  too  tender  fbr  the  battle  here 

Have  tttrn'd  fh>m  life,  its  hopes,  its  fears,  its  chaima. 
And  children,  shaddering  at  a  world  so  drear, 

Have  smiling  passed  awaj  into  his  arms. 


He  whom  thou  foarest  wlU.  to  ease  its  pain. 

Lay  his  cold  hand  upon  tbr  aching  heart: 
Will  soothe  the  terrors  of  thy  troubled  brain. 

And  bid  the  shadow  of  earth's  grief  depart 

He  will  give  back  what  neither  time,  nor  might, 
Nor  pasBionate  prayer,  nor  longing  hope  restore 

(Deer  as  to  long  blind  eyes  recoveyd  li^t) 
He  will  give  back  those  who  are  gone  befoit. 

0,  what  were  llCs,  if  life  were  all  %   Thine  vjtt 
Are  blinded  by  their  tears,  or  thon  woald'it  Mfl 

Thy  treasures  wait  thee  in  the  br-off  skiM, 
And  Death,  thy  friend,  will  give  them  aU  to  tbM. 


MORE  ALCHEMY. 

It  cannot,  of  course,  be  expected  that  in 
the  course  of  a  ^ort  article,  we  should  be 
able  to  give  our  readers  any  deep  iiuight 
into  the  writings  of  the  alcfaemists— tbisj 
were  the  lifelong  studies  of  men  who  gave 
themselves  a  living  sacrifice  to  their  art; 
each  had  to  discover  for  himself  his  own 
knowledge, — ^for  the  writings  left  bj  the 
most  revered  adepts  were  ul  skilfolly  de 
rigned  to  conceal  their  secret  The  boou  of 
Rbasis,  by  their  subtle,  perplexing,  and  in- 
tentionally misleading  direotioofi,Dearljbroke 
the  heart  of  Bernard  of  Treviso^and  of  manj 
another  beside  him.  To  compel  the  real 
intention  of  the  writings  of  the  alcbeoufts 
was  scarcely  less  difficult  than  the  great 
work  itself ;  and  the  fabled  procen  of  eom- 
pelling  Proteus  to  utter  his  oracles,  was 
simple  in  comparison  to  getting  at  the  mean- 
ing hidden  in  the  dark  sayings  of  the  maaten 
of  "  holy  alchemy,"  as  it  was  called.  If  oor 
readers  find  our  extracts  sometimes  hard  to 
be  understood,  they  may  have  the  comfort  of 
assuring  themselves  that  they  find  them-what 
they  were  originally  intended  to  bo  I  HiK 
Ashmolo  published,  in  sixteen  handred  and 
fifty-two,  a  book  which  he  called  "Theatrem 
Gbemicum  Britanicum,"  containing  the  me- 
trical works  of  the  English  philosophen  who 
have  written  concerning  Hermetic  myBteriei 
The  book  is  somewhat  rare,  and  we  ^^J^j^ 
could  transfer  some  of  the  wonderful  wood- 
cuts with  which  it  is  adorned  to  our  pag» 
In  the  preface,  speaking  of  himself,  AaiuB^e 
says,— I  must  profess  I  know  enongh  tohwd 
my  tongue,  but  not  enough  to  spetkr^ 
the  no  less  Real  than  Miracoloua  Froits  1 
have  found  in  my  diligent  inquiry  into  »« 
aroana,  lead  me  on  to  such  degrees  of  adw- 
ration  they  command  alence,  and  force  ae 
to  lose  my  tongue.  Howbeit  there  are  few 
stocks  that  are  fitted  to  inoculate  the  grans 
of  science  upon ;  they  are  mysteries  nn^ 
municable  to  all  but  adepts,  and  those  that 
have  been  devoted  firom  their  cradle  to  serrc 
and  wait  at  this  altar— and  th«y,  perwpfit 
were  with  St  Paul  caught  up  into  ^•'•J*' 
and  as  he  heard  unspewtble  words--w  wj 
wrought  Impossible  works,  such  as  it  m  "^ 
lawful  to  utter.  _ ^^_, 

The  first  whose  work  he  reprints  m  Thoma* 


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ChariM  Dlekeiu.] 


MORE  ALCHEMY. 


641 


Norton  of  Bristol :  a  man  of  high  repute ; 
whose  family  lived  In  great  esteem  under 
Henry  the  Eighth.  He  died  in  fifteen  hun- 
dred and  sixty-two,  at  the  age  of  one  hundred 
and  thirteen.  There  were  nine  brothers 
named  Norton,  who  lived  much  respected  ; 
one  of  them,  Sir  Sampson  Norton,  lies  buried 
in  Fuiham  Church;  his  tomb  is  adorned 
with  Hermetic  paintings.  He  was  master 
of  the  horse  to  Henry  the  Eighth.  "The 
Ordinal,"  Thomas  Norton's  chief  work,  which 
was  written  in  fourteen  hundred  and  seventy- 
seveB,  opens  thus : 

Maifltryeftil,  merreloos,  and  Archimaiattye 

la  the  tincture  of  hoTf  alkimy. 

A  wonderfnl  acience,  aecrete  phlloaophie, 

A  ainrnlar  gift  and  grace  of  the  Almlghtie, 

Which  never  waa  found  hj  the  laboarof  mann ; 

Bat  hj  teaching  or  revelation  begann. 

It  waa  never  for  monej  sold  or  bought. 

By  anjr  man  which  for  it  hath  aought, 

But  given  to  an  able  man  by  grace* 

Wrought  with  great  coat,  by  long  laisir  and  space. 

It  belpeth  a  man  when  he  hath  neede ; 

Itvoldeth  vain-glory,  hope,  and  also  dreade; 

It  Toidetb  ambitiouaneas,  extortion  and  excesae ; 

It  fenceth  adversity  that  shee  doe  not  oppreaae. 

#  ♦  *  •  • 

This  science  waa  never  tought  to  man. 

But  he  were  proved  perfectly  with  apace 

Whether  he  were  able  to  receive  this  grace. 

Tor  his  trewth,  vertue,  and  for  his  stable  wttt, 

Which  if  ho  fault  be  shall  never  have  It,— 

Also  no  man  could  yet  this  science  reach 

But  if  God  send  a  master  him  to  teach ; 

For  il  is  so  wonderful,  and  so  seloouth, 

That  it  must  needs  be  taught  &om  mouth  to  mouth. 

Also  he  moat  (be  he  never  so  loath) 

Receive  it  with  a  most  secret  dreadful  oath, 

That  aa  we  refiise  great  dignities  and  fame. 

So  must  we  needs  revise  the  same. 

Also  that  he  shall  not  be  ao  wilde 

To  teach  this  secret  to  his  ownechilde, 

Tor  nighnesa  of  blood,  nor  consanguinity 

Hay  not  accepted  be  to  this  dignity. 

So  that  noe  man  may  leave  thia  arte  behind, 
Bat  he  an  able  and  approved  man  can  flnde 
When  age  shall  grieve  him  to  ride  or  goe, 
One.  he  may  teach,  but  then  never  no  moo, 
Tor  this  science  must  ever  secret  be. 
The  cause  whereof  is  this,  as  ye  may  see ; 
All  Christian  pease  he  might  hastily  spill, 
And  with  his  pride  he  might  pull  downe 
Bightftil  kings  and  princes  of  renowne. 
Wherefore  this  sentence  of  peril  and  jeopardy 
Upon  the  teacher  resteth  dreadfully. 

The  following  lines  are  curious.  What 
mines  of  treasure  there  would  be  in  old 
marine  store  shops  if  Raymond  Lully  had 
only  left  his  secret,  if  he  had  a  secret,  plainly 
written : 

^In  a  city  of  Catllony 

William  Baymond  Lully,  knight,  men  suppose, 
Made  in  seven  images  the  trewth  to  disclose ; 
Three  were  good  sliver,  in  shape  like  ladies  bright, 


Everie  each  of  four  were  eold.  and  like  a  knight. 
In  bordera  of  their  clothing  letters  did  appear, 
Signifying  in  aentences  as  it  showeth  here : 
L  Of  old  hobnails  (ftaid  one)  I  was  yre, 

Now  I  am  eood  silver  as  good  as  ye  desire, 
%  I  was  (said  another)  iron,  set  from  the  mine, 

But  now  I  am  gold,  pure,perfoct,  and  flue. 

3.  Whilome  waal  copper,  of  an  old  red  pann. 
Now  I  am  good  silver,  said  the  third  woman. 

4.  ^e  fourth  said,  I  waa  eopper  grown  In  the  filthy 

place. 
Now  am  I  perfect,  God  made  by  God^a  grace. 
6.  The  fifth  said,  I  was  silver,  perfect  thro'  fine, 
Now  I  am  perfect  gold,  excellent,  better  than  the 
prime. 

6.  I  was  a  pipe  of  lead  nigh  two  hundred  year, 
And  now,  to  all  men.  good  silver  I  appear. 

7.  The  seventh  aaid,  I  leade,  I  am  gonfd  made  for  the 

maistrie, 
But  trewlv  my  fellows  are  nearer  thereto  than  L 
Covetixe  and  cunning,  have  diacorde  by  kinde. 
Who  lucre  coveteth,  this  science  shall  not  find. 

Norton  is  eloquent  about  the  piety,  pru- 
dence, and  temperance  a  man  must  possess 
to  study  the  science  with  any  probability  of 
success — which  may  perhaps  account  for  the 
fact  that 

Amooffst  millions  millions  of  mankinds, 
ScarceUe  aeven  men  may  this  science  find. 

The  seven  planets  fall  that  were  known  in 
those  days)  had  eacn  an  especial  influence 
over  the  corresponding  seven  metals.  Whe- 
ther any  of  tiie  more  recently-discovered 
planets  have  accepted  the  character  of  pre- 
siding spirits  to  the  newly-discovered  metals, 
we  do  not  know.  The  stone  passed  through 
many  phases  during  the  progress  of  the  great 
work— the  adepta  are  eloquent  in  their  de- 
scription of  the  "  great  pleasure  and  delight" 
it  was  to  watch  the  *^  admirable  works  of 
Nature  within  the  vessels.'*  We  are  sorry 
that  we  cannot  tell  the  reader  what  the 
matter,  or  substance  was,  upon  which  the 
masters  set  to  work,  at  once  so  difficult  and 
so  indispensable  ;  but  the  truth  is,  that  this 
First  Piinciple  was  the  citadel  of  the  great 
secret  of  nature,— the  resting  point  upon 
which  the  lever  might  be  fixed,  which  would 
be  able  to  move  the  whole  natural  world. 
This  secret  each  master  religiously  guarded ; 
they  all  speak  of  it  under  different  names 
— almost  innumerable — as.  The  Green  Lion, 
Litharge,  Heavy  Water,  Dry  Water,  Burn- 
ing Water,  The  Son  blessed  of  the  Fire, 
The  Brother  of  the  Serpent,  The  Egg, 
Mizadir,  The  Tears  of  the  Eagle,  Mozha- 
cumia,  Xit,  Zaaf,  Life,  Mercury,  and  so 
forth.  The  masters  speak  freely  of  the  sub- 
sequent processes  to  which  this  matter  was 
subjected,  but  upon  the  method  of  acquiring 
this  secret  of  secrets  they  maintained  a  silence 
like  death.  In  a  treatise  that  bears  the 
candid  title  of  Secrets  Revealed,  this  encour- 
aging sentence  is  found  at  the  onset: 
"  Having  prepared  our  Sol  and  our  Mercury, 
shot  them  in  our  vessel,  and  govern  them 
with  our  fire,  and  within  forty  days  thou 
shaltsee,Jsc.  *  *  but  if  thou  be  vet  igno- 
I  rant  both  of  our  Sol,  and  of  our  Mercurr, 
I  meddle  not  in  thi«  our  work,  for  expense  only 


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642 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


will  be  thy  lot,  and  no  gain  nor  profit." 
This  is  literally  the  flret  sentence ;  we  fold 
our  hands  humbly,  and  follow  the  advice 
contained  therein.  Haying  thus  cunningly 
locked  up  the  secret,  the  master  has  no 
further  scruple  about  becoming  communica- 
tive—but always  in  emblematic  lan^age, 
and  at  great,  indeed  almost  interminable 
length.  We  fear  the  reader  would  not  de- 
rive any  other  profit  than  the  trial  of  his 
patience,  which,  however,  was  the  cardinal 
virtue  called  forth  in  alchemy.  The  Substance 
passed  through  various  colours  on  its  pro- 
gress towards  perfection;  and  these  colours 
were  the  indications  whether  the  workers 
were  in  the  right  track,  and  also  whether  the 
fires  and  furnaces  were  of  the  proper  tempe- 
rature. The  first  process  was  called  Putre- 
faction— "  the  engendering  of  the  crow," — 
and  the  matter  became  "  black,  blacker  than 
black  itself."  Sometimes  it  appeared  dry, 
but  at  the  end  of  forty  days  it  boiled  like 
melted  pitch :  but  it  was  essential  to  keep 
the  vessel  tightly  closed.  After  this,  for  the 
space  of  three  weeks  there  appeared  all  the 
colours  that  can  possibly  be  imagined  in  the 
world ;  these  at  last  gave  place,  and  a  white- 
ness showed  itself  at  the  sides  of  the  vessel, 
most  beautiful  to  behold — "  like  unto  rays  or 
hairs;"  this  was  the  second  stage  of  the 
work.  At  the  end  of  the  fourth  month  the 
matter  again  assumed  many  beautiful  colours, 
but  momentary,  and  soon  vanishing,  and 
more  akin  to  white  than  black.  This  stage 
of  the  process  endured  for  about  three  wee]&, 
during  which,  the  matter  began  to  change 
into  many  forms ;  it  melted  and  grew  hard 
again  many  times  a  day ;  '*  sometimes,"  says 
one  of  the  masters,  **  it  will  appear  like  to 
the  eyes  of  a  fish, — sometimes  like  a  pure 
silver  tree,  shining  with  branches  and  leaves ; 
in  a  word,  about  this  season  the  hourly 
marvels  shall  overwhelm  the  sight,  and  at  the 
last  thou  Shalt  have  most  pure  and  spark- 
ling grains,  like  unto  atoms  of  the  sun,  more 
glorious  than  that  which  human  eyes  ever 
saw."  This,  however,  was  not  the  end.  The 
congealed  mass— the  White  Stone,  as  it  was 
called — was  then  taken  out  of  the  vessel,  and 
put  into  a  fresh  one,  an  operation  very  diffi- 
cult, and  "  only  to  be  done  by  the  will  of 
God  ;"  the  least  error  would  spoil  the  whole 
work,  and  to  regulate  the  fire  at  this  critical 
period  required  something  like  inspiration. 
This  critical  period— the  progress  from  the 
White  Stone  to  the  Red  endured  forty  days, 
during  every  instant  of  which  the  philosopher 
was  liable  to  see  all  his  work  spoiled.  The 
white  gradually  assumed  many  transitory 
colours — green,  at  first,  which  was  looked  on 
as  the  sign  of  the  animation  and  germinat- 
ing virtue  of  the  substance  ;  purple,  yellow, 
brown,  successively  followed;  at  length  it 
assumed  '*  the  colours  of  the  rainbow  and  the 
peacock's  tail,  which  show  most  gloriously." 
At  this  period,  the  substance  assumed  many 
strange  shapes.    At  the  end  of  thirty  days  a 


citrine  or  golden  colour  began  to  tinge  the 
mass  withbi  the  vessel.  The  work  was  now 
near  the  close.  *'  Now,"  says  the  master, 
"  to  €rod,  the  giver  of  all  good,  you  mittt 
render  immortal  thanks,  who  hath  hroo^t 
on  this  work  so  far,  and  beg  earnestly  of  hini 
that  thy  counsel  may  be  so  goTemed  tbat 
thou  mayest  not  endeavour  to  hasten  thj 
work  so  as  to  loose  all."  After  about  fourteen 
days-  further  expectation,  the  ffolden  eoloor 
was  tinged  with  violet,  and  the  substaooe, 
after  taking  various  forms,  and  being  cob- 
gealed  and  liquified  again  many  times  a  day 
for  the  space  of  another  month — the  end 
came  within  the  space  of  three  days  the 
matter  became  converted  into  fine  grahis, 
"  as  ^e  as  the  atoms  of  the  min,"  and  (he 
colour  the  highest  bed  imaginable,  like  the 
soundest  blood  when  it  is  congealed."  This 
was  the  crown  of  the  work — the  ''  king  that 
had  triumphed  over  the  horrors  of  the 
tomb."  There  still  remained  some  furth« 
manipulation  before  projection,  or  the  act 
of  transmutation  could  be  accomplished,  bat 
having  attained  thus  far,  the  remainder  was 
comparatively  easy,  and  we  conclude  this 
portion  of  our  chapter  with  the  counsel  of 
one  of  the  masters  :  '*  Whosoever  enjojeth 
this  talent,  let  him  be  sure  to  employ  it  for 
the  glory  of  God,  and  the  good  of  his  neigh- 
bours, lest  he  be  found  ungrateful  to  God 
his  creditor,  who  has  blest  him  with  so  great 
a  talent,  and  so  be  in  the  last  day  found 
guilty  of  misproving  of  it,  and  so  con- 
demned." 

Amongst  the  hieroglyphics  with  whidi 
Nicholas  Flamel  adorned  the  fourth  arch  of 
the  Cemetery  of  the  Holy  Innocents  in  Paris, 
and  which,  as  he  declared,  indicated  both  the 
truths  of  religion  and  the  secrets  of  alchemj, 
there  was  the  figure  of  a  black  man  kneeling 
with  a  scroll  coming  from  his  mouth,  opon 
which  was  written,  "  Take  away  my  black- 
ness." The  true  philosophers  were  recog- 
nised by  the  matter  which  they  employed 
for  the  work  of  the  magistry.  They  spoke  of 
their  matter  as  '*  one,  although  it  was  fonnd 
everywhere  and  in  everything,  and  it  could 
only  be  drawn  thence  by  its  own  virtue."  U 
was  the  quintessence  which  contained  the 
principle  out  of  which  all  things  are  made. 
A  modem  German  physiologist  has  dechired 
that  if  we  could  understand  the  process  of 
Nutrition,  we  should  have  seized  upon  the 
secret  of  Life.  The  alchemists  worked  in  this 
idea.  The  aim  they  professed  was  to  discoTer 
the  seed  or  germinating  principle  of  metals, 
and  to  discover  the  conditions  under  which 
this  seed  grew  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  and 
became  lead,  silver,  gold,  &q. — and  the  dif- 
ferent influences  by  which  one  metal  became 
more  precious  and  perfect  than  another; 
weary  work  they  had  with  their  meltings, 
and  distillations,  and  coagulations,  and  fiia- 
tions,  and  evaporations,  and  precipitations. 
It  is  quite  in  vain  for  any  one  to  hope  by 
following  the  directions  left  in  the  wntings 


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Cbarln  INckoMJ 


THE  AUDIT  BOARD. 


543 


of  the  great  masters,  to  i>erfcct  the  lower 
metals  into  the  higher  ones.  They  who  poa- 
eeseed  the  secret — ^kept  it !  All  that  modern 
chemistry  can  say,  is,  that  metals  do  certainly 
grow  in  the  earth  ;  but  under  what  laws  and 
conditions  originated,  is  not  known.  As  re- 
gards gems,  which  was  also  an  oliject  of 
alchemical  research,  modern  science  has  re- 
cognised that  it  is  absolutely  practicable  to 
make  gems  by  art,  although  hitherto  the  result 
has  not  been  perfect. 

We  are  not  writing  a  treatise  npon  al- 
chemy ;  all  we  purpose  to  ourselves  is  to  give 
the  point  of  riew  from  which  the  great  old 
masters  of  the  art  contemplated  it.  To  speak 
of  archemy  flippantly  and  compendiously  as 
a  delusion,  or  an  imposture, — and  to  speak 
of  the  adepts  themsclyes  only  as  either  dupes 
or  impostors,  is  to  show  a  yery  small  and  nar- 
row spirit,  a  spirit  in  which  no  sort  of  wisdom 
can  take  root  and  grow.  '^Seest  thou  a 
man  wise  in  his  own  conceit,"  says  King  Solo- 
mon, *'  there  is  more  hope  of  a  fool  than  of 
him."  Basil  Valentine's  instructions  to  those 
aboat  to  address  themselyes  to  the  Great 
Work  shows  that  alchemists  were  at  least 
in  earnest.  "  First,  therefore,  the  name  of 
God  oueht  to  be  called  on  reliffiously  with 
a  pare  heart  and  soond  conscience,  with- 
out ambition,  hypocrisy,  and  other  abuses, 
such  as  are  pride,  arrogance,  disdain,  worldly 
boasting,  and  oppression  of  our  neighbours, 
and  other  tyrannies  and  enormities  of  that 
kind,  all  which  are  to  be  totally  eradicated 
out  of  the  heart  .  .  .  For,  seeing  that  man 
hath  nothing  but  what  his  most  bounteous 
Creator  bestows  upon  him  ...  it  is  most 
just  that  his  first  Father  (who  hath  created 
the  heayen  and  the  earth,  things  visible  and 
inyisible)  be  with  most  inward  humble 
prayers,  sought  to  for  the  obtaining  of  them 
.  .  .  Whosoever,  therefore,  hath  resolved 
within  himself  to  seek  the  top  of  terrestrials, 
that  is,  the  knowledge  of  the  good  lodging  in 
every  creature  lying  dormant,  or  covered  in 
stones,  herbs,  roots,  seeds,  living  creatures, 
plants,  minerals,  metals,  and  the  like ;  let 
him  cast  behind  him  all  worldly  cares  and 
other  appurtenances,  and  expect  release  with 
his  whole  heart,  by  humble  prayer,  and  his 
hope  shall  not  fail."  Men  who  began  and 
pursued  their  life-long  toil  in  this  spirit,  are 
not  to  be  spoken  of  without  great  respect 

The  mixture  in  the  works  of  the  alche- 
mists of  religious  analogies  and  fanciful 
allusions,  with  philosophical  facts,  would 
provoke  a  smile,  so  we  will  nat  go  into 
their  speculations  upon  the  New  Jerusalem 
as  described  in  the  Apocalypse.  With  its 
twelve  gates  of  precious  stones — its  streets  of 
gold,  with  the  Tree  of  Life  growing  in  the 
midst,  "  the  leaves  of  which  were  for  the 
healing  of  the  nations," — the  "  sea  of  glass 
mingled  with  fire ;"  and  the  Fountain  of  the 
Water  of  Life,  at  which  whosoever  is  athirst 
may  hope  to  drink.  We  will  conclude  our 
^ecimens  and  extracts  from  the  alchemists, 


by  the  following  scrap  f^om  Sir  Greorge 
Ripley,  who  wrote  the  Twelve  Gates  of 
Alchemy,  in  fourteen  hundred  and  seventy- 
one,  which  he  dedicated  to  King  Edward  the 
Fourth.  He  was  Canon  of  Bridlington,  in 
YorlLshire,  and  exempted  from  the  rules  of 
his  cloister  in  order*  that  he  might  travel  in 
search  of  knowledge.  He  was  dignified  by 
the  Pope,  and  enjoyed  a  great  reputation ; 
he  died  in  fourteen  hundred  and  ninety . 

The  Bird  of  Hermes*  is  mj  name. 

Bating  my  winga  to  make  me  tame. 

In  the  lea  withoaten  leise 

Standeth  the  Bird  is  Hermes— 

Sating  hia  winga  Tariable, 

And  thereby  makete  himaelf  more  stable. 

When  all  his  feathers  be  agone 

He  standeth  still  there  as  a  stone ; 

Here  fa  now  both  white  and  red. 

And  also  the  stone  to  qaickon  the  dead ; 

All  and  some,  withoaten  Ceible, 

Both  hard,  and  nesh,  and  malleable. 

Understand  now  well  aright, 

And  tbanke  Ood  of  thia  Light. 

The  following,  which  is  signed  W.  D.  D- 
Rkdman  and  is  called  an  Enigma  Philo- 
sophicum,  is  not  one  whit  more  easy  to 
be  understood  than  the  clear  and  candid 
explanations ;  and  with  this  we  take  leave  of 
our  readers. 

■XIGMA  PBILOSOPHIOITM.. 

There  is  no  light  bnt  what  lives  in  ihe  sun ; 

There  is  no  sun  but  which  is  twice  begott. 
Nature  and  Arte  the  parents ;  first  begonne 

By  Nature  'twas,  but  Nature  perfects  not ; 
Arte,  then,  when  Nature  left,  in  hand  doth  take, 
And  out  of  one,  &  twofold  work  dothe  make. 

A  twofold  worke,  but  such  a  worke 
As  doth  admit  dirislon  none  at  all, 

(See  here  wherein  the  secret  most  doth  lurk), 
Unless  it  be  a  mathematical. 

iVmust  be  two.  yet  make  it  one  and  one, 

And  you  do  take  the  way  to  make  it  none. 


THE  AUDIT  BOARD. 

Thb  Board  of  Audit  has  a  history  which — 
thanks  to  an  oflOcial  document — it  will  not 
cost  us  much  trouble  to  tell. 

Before  the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth  the 
accounts  of  the  crown  were  examined  by 
auditors  specially  constitated  for  the  purpose, 
or  by  the  auditors  of  the  land  revenae ;  or  at 
times,  as  in  the  case  of  eheriffs,  collectors  of 
revenue,  the  customs,  the  mint,  and  the 
keeper  of  the  wardrobe,  by  the  auditors  of  the 
exchequer.  Certain  accounts,  however,  were 
examined  in  the  office  of  the  lord  high  trea- 
surer, as  some  few  accounts  are  to  this  day 
examined  there. 

In  the  second  year  of  the  reign  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  two  auditors  of  the  imprests  (an 
imprest  is  an  advance  of  public  money)  were 
appointed,  and  these  offices  continued  in 
existence  till  the  year  one  thousand  ^even 

*  The  "  Bird  of  Hermes'*  was  one  of  the  names  by 
which  Uie  masters  spoke  of  their  matter  or  substance. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


5U 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[OMtectoitf 


huAdred  uid  eighty-fiye.  The  aaditora  were 
paid  hy  fees  on  the  accoiinU  they  exarn'med. 
The  fees  were  at  eetablished  rates,  bat  were 
BometimeB  increased  by  the  lord  high  trea- 
surer on  a  memorial  from  the  auditors  that 
the  accounts  were  more  voluminous  than  they 
had  formerly  been,  or  by  a  voluntary  grant 
from  the  lord  high  treasurer  for  the  pains 
which  the  auditors  had  been  at  in  making  up 
particular  accounts.  The  accounts  of  the 
treasurer  of  the  navy  aopear  to  have  occa- 
sioned the  first  memorial  from  the  auditors 
for  an  increased  allowance.  This  was  upwards 
of  two  hundred  years  ago. 

The  two  auditors  of  the  imprests,  as 
originally  appointed,  had  no  power  to  call 
upon  parties  to  render  account,  but  were  de- 
pendent on  the  treasury  for  gettmg  them. 
This  state  of  dependence  on  the  treasury  con- 
tinued during  the  struggle  with  Charles  the 
First ;  but,  in  the  ^ear  sixteen  hundred  and 
forty-nine  the  auditors  were  empowered  by 
the  committee  of  public  revenue,  sitting  at 
Westminster,  to  call  before  them  all  such 

Eersons  as  had  received  any  moneys  upon 
nprests  or  otherwise,  to  pass  their  accounts 
according  to  the  usual  course  of  the  exchequer. 
Fees  were  abolished  by  the  same  committee, 
and  the  two  auditors  were  allowed  a  fixed 
salary  of  five  hundred  a-year  each  for  them- 
selves, as  it  was  stated  ;  and  their  clerks,  in- 
cluding all  charge  for  house-rent,  pens,  ink, 
paper,  and  parchment,  and  all  other  incidental 
expenses. 

With  the  restoration  of  Charles  the 
Second,  the  two  auditors  returned  to  the 
former  system  of  payment  by  fees,  and  de- 
pendence on  the  treasury — a  practice  which 
remained  in  force  until  the  abolition  of  their 
duties  sixty  years  since.  The  accounts  had  bv 
that  time  increased  so  much,  however,  both 
in  number  and  bulk,  that  each  of  the  auditors 
was  receiving  not  less,  but  even  more  than 
sixteen  thousand  a-year,  and  retired  when  the 
office  was  abolished  upon  an  annuity  of  more 
than  half  that  sum.  Each  auditor  had  his 
deputy  and  staff  of  six  or  seven  clerlLS ;  and,  as 
an  example  of  the  scale  of  ren^uneration  to 
the  auditors  of  the  imprests,  the  account  of 
the  chief  cashier  of  the  bank  of  England  may 
l^  quoted .  for  the  audit  of  which  there  was 
anowed  a  hundred  pounds  for  every  million 
of  capital  stock  managed  by  that  company. 
The  fees  paid  for  auditing  the  bank  account 
for  the  year  seventeen  hundred  and  eighty- 
four  exceeded  twenty  thousand  pounds. 

The  first  attempts  by  the  House  of  Com- 
mons to  establish  a  control  over  the  ^ants  of 
parliament,  and  to  check  the  appropriation  of 
supplies  was  made  in  sixteen  hundred  and 
sixty-seven :  when  it  was  determined  by  the 
house,  that  the  money  voted  for  the  Dutch 
war  should  be  applied  only  to  the  purposes  of 
the  war.  Commissioners  for  this  purpose 
were  appointed  by  an  act  for  taking  the  ac- 
compts ;  and,  by  these  commissioners  the 
strictest  scrutiny  was  made,  as  is  observed  by 


Pepys,  who  was  minutely  examined  before 
them  on  the  expenditure  of  the  navy.  **  That 
supplies  granted  by  parliament  are  only  to  be 
expended  for  particular  objects  specified  fay 
itself,  became,'.'  'says  Mr.  Hallam,  *^from 
this  time  an  undisputed  principle  recof- 
nised  by  fr^uent  and,  at  length,  constant 
practice.''  This  may  be  considered  the  first 
establishment  of  a  parliamentary  audit ;  or, 
in  other  words,  of  an  audit  to  a  certain  extent 
independent  of  the  government  The  com- 
missioners specially  appointed  in  snbe^aent 
reigns  under  various  acts,  to  take  and  state 
the  public  accounts  of  the  kingdom,  were 
independent  of  the  treasury,  and  generally 
consisted  of  persons  who  were  not  members 
of  parliament.  The  functions  of  these  com- 
missioners interfered  in  no  way  with  the 
duties  of  the  auditors  of  the  Imprest 

As  yet,  except  by  these  temporary  coat- 
missions,  there  was  no  general  scheme  of  con- 
trol or  superintendence  over  the  whole  of  the 
public  accounts  ;  and  the  system  of  allowing 
the  office  which  regulated  and  controlled  the 
issue  of  public  money  the  power  of  separately 
inditing  the  expenditure,  remained  in  force. 
Money  was  issued  by  the  treasury,  without 
account,  apart  from  the  control  of  parli»> 
ment  By  degrees,  however,  fresh  attempts 
were  made  to  obtain  comprehensive  audit 
of  all  public  accounts.  With  this  object 
the  office  of  the  commissioners  for  aaditing 
the  public  accounts  was  created  at  the  sug- 
gestion of  Pitt  after  the  American  war,  on 
the  abolition  of  the  two  auditors  of  the  im- 
prestSi  sixty  years  ago.  The  board  coofflsted 
then  of  five  commissioners  (two  of  them  being 
comptrollers  of  army  accounts)  paid  at  fixed 
salaries;  fees  for  auditing  accounts  haying 
been  abolished  by  the  same  act  which  ap- 
pointed them. 

But  even  by  these  Improvements  no  uni- 
form plan  of  audit  was  obtained  ;  for  there 
still  existed  other  offices  independent  of  one 
another,  and  responsible  to  the  treasoiy. 
They  were  the  following.:— auditor  of  the 
exchequer ;  auditor  of  the  land  revenue ; 
auditor  of  excise ;  comptrollers  of  army  ac- 
counts, and  commissioners  for  the  accounts 
of  Ireland.  Other  offices  subsequently  arose 
out  of  the  exigencies  of  war  and  other  cir- 
cumstances ;  namely,  those  of  the  commis- 
sioners for  West  India  accounts,  in  eighteen 
hundred  and  six ;  and  of  the  commiasioneis 
for  colonial  accounts,  eight  years  later.  The 
accounts  of  the  subordinate  officers  of  the 
arm;^,  navy,  and  ordnance  were  examined  by 
the  respective  departments,  to  whom  alone 
those  officers  were  responsible,  but  no  general 
account  was  made  up  for  audit  until  twenty- 
two  years  ago  in  the  case  of  the  navy,  and  nine 
years  ago  in  the  case  of  the  army  and  ordnance. 
Since  that  time  an  audited  account  of  the  ap- 
propriation of  the  votes  of  parliament  for 
each  service,  and  also  for  the  oommiseariat 
service,  has  been  laid  before  the  House  of 
Commons  by  the  commissioners  of   audit, 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbariea  Dickens] 


THE  AUDIT  BOARD. 


545 


nnder  tbe  act  nine  and  ten  Victoria,  chapter 
ninety-two. 

The  disadvantage  and  expense  attendant  on 
a  subdivided  form  of  audit  managed  in  so 
manj  unconnected  offices — the  want,  in  fact, 
of  compact  organisation,which  is  still  felt  more 
or  less  in  all  departments  of  the  government- 
led  from  time  to  time  to  fresh  consolidations. 
In  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  thirteen 
one  of  the  commissioners  for  auditing  the 
public  accounts  was  appointed  auditor- 
general  of  accounts  in  the  Peninsula.  He 
returned  from  Lisbon  six  years  afterwards, 
and  bis  establishment  was  then  reduced. 
The  extraordinary  expenditure  arising  out 
of  the  famine  In  Ireland,  in  eighteen 
hu^^dred  and  forty-seven,  rendered  it  neces- 
sary for  the  commissioners  of  audit  to  send 
two  officers  to  Dublin,  to  examine  the 
accounts  of  the  relief  commissioners  during 
the  progress  of  the  expenditure.  It  was  also 
at  about  the  same  time  considered  necessary 
by  the  government  to  appoint  a  special  com- 
mission to  sit  in  Dublin,  to  examine  the 
accounts  of  the  expenditure  for  the  labouring 
poor  in  Ireland. 

Various  duties  have  from  time  to  time 
been  assigned  to  the  commissioners  for  audit- 
ing the  public  accounts  by  the  Lords  of  the 
Treasury,  thereby  mailing  them  general 
advisers  of  the  government  in  mattei^  of 
account,  in  addition  to  their  duties  as  au- 
ditors. The  duty  of  making  up  and  pre- 
paring an  annual  account  of  the  transactions 
of  the  commissariat  chest  has  also  been 
assigned  to  the  commissioners  of  audit,  by 
treasury  minute  dating  nine  or  ten  years 
back.  The  Lords  of  the  Treasury  have 
expressed  an  opinion,  that  all  accounts  of  the 
expenditure  of  public  money  should  be 
audited  by  the  commissioners  for  auditing 
the  public  accounts,  and  there  are  now  not 
many  exceptions  to  that  rule. 

The  board  of  audit  now  consists  of  five 
commissioners ;  there  were  once  nine.  The 
chairman  has  a  salary  of  fifteen  hundred 
a-year;  the  four  others,  twelve  hundred 
a-year  each.  They  are  appointed  by  the 
crown ;  but,  with  a  view  to  secure  their  inde- 
pendence, ihe  appointment  is  a  patent  one, 
and,  having  once  been  made,  can  only  be 
revoked  on  an  address  from  both  Houses  of 
Parliament  to  the  Crown.  The  salaries  of  these 
national  auditors  are,  for  the  same  reason, 
settled  as  fixed  charges  upon  the  consolidated 
fund.  Before  entering  on  his  duties,  each  com- 
missioner swears  he  will  faithfully  perform 
them  ;  and  he  is,  in  his  turn,  authorised  to 
administer  to  all  subordinates  oaths  in  assur- 
ance of  their  true  and  faithful  demeanour  in 
all  things  relating  to  the  performance  of  the 
trust  reposed  in  them.  No  audit  commis- 
sioner can  sit  in  parliament.  Down  to  the 
year  last  expured,  the  cost  of  the  whole  estab- 
lishment was  charged  on  the  consolidated 
fund.  But,  with  a  view  to  the  annual  revi- 
siou  of  the  main  expenses  of  the  department 


by  the  House  of  Gonmions,  it  has  now  to  be 
provided  for  by  annual  estimate  and  vote  of 
that  assemblv.  The  estimated  vote  last 
year  was  nearly  fifty  thousand  pounds.  The 
cost  of  the  department,  including  the  salaries 
of  the  commissioners,  being  about  fifty-four 
thousand  a-year. 

The  board,  attended  by  its  secretary,  meet 
at  least  three  times  a  week  for  the  transaction 
of  the  higher  kind  of  business.  But,  in  addi- 
tion to  board  meetings,  the  commissioners 
divide  themselves  in  committees  of  two,  for 
the  despatch  of  details  not  requiring  general 
consideration.  Each  of  these  committees  takes 
under  its  more  immediate  control  one  or  two 
of  the  interior  departments  into  which  the 
work  is  distributed,  and  the  heads  of  those 
departments  attend,  to  bring  before  the  com- 
mittees to  which  they  are  subject  iJl  questions 
of  doubt  and  difficulty. 

The  establishment  consists  of  a  secretary 
with  eight  hundred  a-year  rising  to  a  thou- 
sand; an  inspector  of  naval  and  military 
accounts  with  six  hundred  a-year,  rising  to 
eight;  ten  inspectors, with  five  hundred  a- 
year  rising  to  six  hundred  and  fifty ;  fifteen 
first-class  senior  examiners  with  four  hundred 
a-year  rising  to  five ;  one  book-keeper,  with 
four  hundred  aryear  rising  to  five  hundred 
and  fifty ;  one  supernumerary  first-class 
senior  examiner  with  four  hundred  a-year 
rising  to  five  hundred ;  twenty  second-class 
senior  examiners,  and  two  supernumeraries, 
all  with  salaries  of  three  hundred  rising  to 
three  hundred  and  fifty  pounds ;  moreover 
thirty  junior  examiners  and  two  supernume- 
raries whose  salaries  amount  from  a  hundred 
and  fifty  to  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds ; 
finally,  thirty  assistant  examiners  and  one 
supernumerary,  whose  salaries  rise  from 
ninety  pounds  a-year  to  one  hundred  and 
forty. 

The  patronage  of  these  officers  is  with  the 
treasuiy;  but,  with  two  exceptions,  all  enter 
in  the  lowest  rank,  as  assistant  examiners, 
find  rise  according  to  a  rule  laid  down  by  the 
commissioners.  The  exceptions  are  the  se- 
cretary and  the  inspectors  in  charge  of  naval 
and  military  accounts.  These  two  officers 
receive  a  direct  appointment  from  the  trea- 
sury, and  do  not  rise  by  gradations  through 
the  lower  ranks.  The  whole  establishment 
is  divided  into  twelve  branches  or  depart- 
ments : — 

1.  The  secretary's  department.  This  con- 
ducts the  general  business  of  the  board,  such 
as  the  preparation  of  minutes,  reports,  cor- 
respondence, and  is  the  department  through 
which  all  tbe  business  transacted  by  the 
other  departments  may  be  said  to  be  filtered 
in  its  passage  to  the  Board.  The  appropria- 
tion audit  of  the  commissariat  chest  ac- 
count, for  presentation  to  parliament,  is  com- 
piled under  the  secretary's  superintendence. 
This  leading  branch  conmsts  of  the  secretary, 
the  book-keeper,  the  chief  clerk,  three  senior 
decond-class,  and  six  assistant  examiners. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


546 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


CCODdsctedby 


2.  Naval  and  military  accoants. 

3.  Ke venae  acconnts  branch;  for  anditing 
the  customs,  post-office,  inland  revenue,  and 
sheriffs'  accounts. 

4.  The  public  debt  and  pay-office  accounts 
branch.  This  takes  cognisance  of  the  ao- 
counts  of  the  Bank  of  England,  of  the  national 
debt,  of  the  paymaster-general,  the  pay- 
master of  the  civil  service  in  Ireland,  and  the 
queen  and  lord  treasurer's  remembrancer  in 
Scotland. 

5.  The  woods  and  works  account  branch. 
5.  The  first  section  of  the  commissariat 

branch.  This  attends  to  commercial  aflkirs 
at  and  beyond  the  Cape  of  €k>od  Hope, 
namely,  at  the  Gape  and  at  Ceylon,  Hong 
Kong,  the  Mauritius,  New  South  Wales, 
New  Zealand,  South  Australia,  Western 
Australia,  and  Van  Diemen's  Land. 

7.  The  second  section  of  the  commissariat 
branch.  This  deals  with  the  tmsiness  of  the 
commissariat  on  this  side  of  the  Cape. 

8  and  9.  Are  formed  by  a  like  division  into 
two  sections  of  the  colonial  account  branch. 

10.  The  police  and  prisons  branch.  Attends 
to  the  accounts  of  the  London  and  Dublin 
police,  the  Irish  constabulary,  county-courts, 
the  convict  service,  and  all  prisons. 

11  and  12.  Are  the  first  and  second  section 
of  the  miscellaneous  account  branch.  The 
business  of  the  first  includes  the  accounts  of 
all  poor-law  commissions,  of  Irish  lunatic 
asylums,  hospitals  and  infirmaries,  of  the 
board  of  trade,  the  diplomatic  and  the  secret 
service.  The  other  section  of  this  branch 
takes  cognisance  of  all  other  small  accounts 
of  the  public  service,  some  thirty  or  forty  in 
number,  and  is  manned  with  one  inspector, 
one  senior  first-class,  two  senior  second-class, 
three  junior  and  two  assistant  examiners,  and 
one  temporary  clerk. 

The  number  of  persons  in  the  establish- 
ment averages  one  hundred  and  fifty  persons. 
The  temporary  clerks  receive  according  to 
their  standing,  from  five  to  eleven  shillings 
a-day.  The  retiring  allowances  are  the  same 
as  in  other  departments  of  the  civil  service. 
Against  every  one  who  receives  public  money 
a  charge  of  the  amount  imprested  to  him  is 
entered  on  the  books  of  the  audit  board,  and 
the  board  then  calls  on  the  receiver  to  dis- 
charge himself  of  the  sum — first,  by  showing 
proper  vouchers  for  the  money  he  has  spent, 
and  then  by  proof  that  he  was  duly  autho- 
rized to  spend  it. 

When  the  examination  of  an  account  is 
completed  at  the  audit  office,  the  commission- 
ers make  what  is  called  a  *<  state  of  the  ac- 
count," which  briefiy  includes  the  charge  and 
discharge.  This  they  transmit  to  the  trea- 
sury, which,if  satisfied  therewith,  grants  a  war- 
rant to  prepare  it  for  declaration.  The  state  of 
the  account  so  warranted  is  then  made  into  a 
declared  account,  declared  by  the  commis- 
sioners of  audit,  and  signed  by  the  chancellor 
of  the  exchequer.  A  record  of  it  is  entered 
at  the  trearary ;  but  it  is  in  the  audit  office 


that  the  document  is  finally  deposited.    The 
fact  is  then  notified  to  the  accountant.    If 
there  is  no  balance  in  his  hands,  the  accoimt    1 
is  pronounced  even  and  quit    If  there  be  a   * 
balance,  it  is  notified  that  the  charge  against 
the  accountant  is  so  much  and  the  discharge 
BO  much,  and  the  accountant  is  declared  to  be 
indebted  to  the   amount  of  whatever  the    | 
balance  may  be.     This  is  the  accountant's    { 
formal  acqmttance  to  the  extent  stated.   On 
the  other  side,  for  balances  improperly  de- 
tained in  the  accountant-s  hands  the  boiLrdof 
audit  has  power  to  charge  him  interest ;  and 
both  it  and  the  treasury  have  large  and 
prompt  remedies  at  law  against  all  debtors  to 
the  crown. 

The  duties  and  powers  of  the  audit  oflke  | 
are  partially  enacted  by  various  statutes,  and 
partly  the  result  of  treasury  orders .  In  those 
of  its  duties  for  which  authority  is  derived  by 
statute  the  audit  board  acts  independently  of 
the  treasury,  and  will  not  admit  of  its  inter- 
ference ;  but  in  all  other  respects  the  audit 
board  is  sul^ject  to  the  treasury  as  its  superior 
power.  At  present,  the  laws  under  which 
the  board  acts  are  confused  and  dispersed ; 
but  it  is  intended  shortly  to  consolidate  and 
bring  them  all  into  one  general  statute.  It  is 
probable  that  these  changes  will  tend  to 
render  the  audit  board  more  independent  of 
the  treasury  than  it  now  is. 


THE  OLD  BOAR'S  HEAD. 

In  no  history  of  London  that  has  ever 
been  written,  firom  the  remote  time  of  the  old 
author,  Fltz-Stephen,  up  to  that  of  our  present 
Peter  Cunningham,  has  the  gradual  downfall 
of  any  ancient  house  been  so  minutely  de- 
scribed ae  that  of  the  Old  Boar's  Head  Ta- 
vern, Eastcheap,  by  Shalcspeare.  GoutsMriH 
and  Washinoton  Ibyixo  have,  each  in  bis 
own  delightful  way,  treated  of  the  Old  Boar's 
Head.  Let  me  follow  its  decline  and  fall, 
through  Shakspeare. 

It  was,  and  for  years  had  been,  a  respectable 
and  well-to-do-house  at  the  time  Prince  Hal 
and  his  boon  companions  frequented  it;  for  the 
host.  Quickly,  was  a  thorough  man  of  bnsinesi, 
and  had  everybody's  good  word,  even  that  of 
his  wife :  but  after  his  death  there  was  a  great 
change  for  the  worse,  and,  in  the  end,  utter 
ruin.  Falstaff  and  his  followers  got  into  the 
widow's  debt  He  borrowed  money  of  her, 
and  even  got  her  to  sell  her  goods  and  chat- 
tels ;  introduced  such  characters  as  Doll  Tear- 
^eet  into  the  house,  promised  to  marry  her, 
then  went  off  into  the  country  to  beat  about 
for  recruits,  and  when  he  returned  found  her 
in  prison.  The  character  of  the  old  tavern 
sank  lower  and  lower ;  a  man  was  killed 
during  a  brawl  in  the  house ;  Widow  Quickly 
took  in  common  lodgers ;  married  that  bounc- 
ing, cowardly,  **  swaggering  rascal,"  PlstoL 
Then  Falstaff  died  in  it  Her  new  horiMmd 
left  her  and  went  to  the  wars;  and  finally 
she  died  in  the  hospital. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


qbarlea  Dtckeiu.] 


THE  OLD  BOARDS  HEAD. 


547 


It  stood  in  a  oommandlng  sitaation — the 
high  road  from  the  Tower  to  Westminster. 
All  the  royal  processtons — and  there  were 
a  many  in  its  palmy  days— passed  the  door  of 
the  Old  Boar's  Head,  before  turning  into 
Grass-church  Street,  and  on  to  the  Conduit  and 
Standard  on  CornhilL  Behind  it  and  near  at 
hand  was  the  river,  old  London  Bridge,  Bil- 
iBgs-gate,  with  its  fishermen  and  watermen, 
who  had  only  to  step  a  few  yards  up  the  gra- 
dual ascent,  and  in  at  the  back  door  of  the 
tavern  to  obtain  whatever  they  pleased  to  call 
for,  from  those  obliging  drawers,  Tom,  Dick, 
and  Francis :  and  from  the  latter  they  were 
sure  to  obtain  a  civil  '^Anon,  anon,  sirs,"  how- 
ever busy  he  might  be.  Nor  was  it  any  great 
distance  from  Leadenhall  Market,  where  the 
artificers  worked  who  prepared  the  pageants ; 
and  these,  we  may  be  sure,  often  ^pped  in 
to  pick  up  what  news  they  could  from  the 
followers  of  the  Prince,  and  to  ascertain 
when  they  were  likely  to  have  a  job  to 
repaint  the  Nine  Worthies,  silver  the  angels, 
and  gild  the  dragons,  which  had  been  bat 
little  used  during  the  reign  of  Richard  the 
Second,  who  parsed  the  old  tavern  when 
he  was  led  a  prisoner  to  the  Tower  by  HaPs 
ftttber,  the  ambitious  Bolingbroke.  Host 
Quidcly  was  a  man  of  business,  and  would 
never  lose  an  opportunity  of  contributing  to 
these  pageants,  and  of  showing  his  loyalty 
— ^whoever  might  be  king — by  throwing  over 
the  balustrades  of  his  gallery  the  tapestry 
that  decorated  his  dining  chambers,  which 
would  haqg  down  as  low  as  the  *'  red-lattice,'' 
where  Bardolph  often  stood  to  cool  his  nose, 
which  was  of  the  same  colour  as  the  painted 
casement.  He  would  not  even  allow  his  busi- 
ness to  be  interrupted  by  so  coveted  a  cu»- 
tomer  as  Prince  Hal :  for  when  he  and  Poins 
were  both  calling  tne  drawer  at  the  same 
time,  and  simple  sugar-stick-loving  Francis 
stood  amazed,  not  knowing  which  way  to  go, 
Host  Quickly  stepped  up  with  a  brief  sharp 
<'  What !  stand'st  thou  still,  and  hear'st  such 
a  calling  7  Look  to  the  guests  within."  Then 
as  if  he  had  not  seen  their  mad  pranks  with 
the  drawer,  he  politely  acquainted  the  Prince 
that  FalstuT  and  some  half-dozen  more  are 
at  the  door,  and  asked  if  it'was  his  pleasure 
they  should  be  let  in.  Such  a  man  was 
sure  to  get  on,  and  deserved  the  encourage- 
ment he  received ;  for,  the  Prince  when  speak- 
ing of  him  to  Dame  Quickly,  said,  **  I  love 
him  well;  he  is  an  honest  man."  And  when 
Falstaff  complained  of  having  had  Ms  pocket 
picked  in  the  tavern,  he  indignantly  said, 
»'  the  tithe  of  a  hair  was  never  lost  in  my 
house  before."  He  allowed  no  Doll  Tear- 
sheets,  or  swaggering  Pistols,  or  butchers' 
wives  to  come  in  and  ''borrow  vinegar," 
hang  about  the  tavern,  or  be  familiar  with 
his  wife,  while  he  was  alive  ;  but  made  the 
Old  Boar's  Head  one  of  the  most  respectable 
houses  in  the  City  of  London,  while  his  wife 
was  known  far  and  wide  as  <*  a  most  sweet 
wench,"  and  was  compared,  by  Hal  himself. 


no  mean  authority,  to  the  "  honey  of  Hybla." 
His  Pomegranate-room  was  always  kept  a 
rich  warm  orange  colour,  where,  by  the 
winter  fire,  such  guests  as  Smooth  the  silk- 
man  loved  to  congregate ;  while  the  Half? 
moon-parlour  had  a  cool  look  in  the  hottest 
day  of  summer,  with  its  silver  white  walls ; 
and  in  the  Dolphin-chamber  you  might  sit  for 
the  long  hour  together,  and  admire  the 
tapestry  on  which  Arion  sat  on  the  sea-green 
monster's  back,  while  the  waves  looked  almost 
as  natural  as  those  which  were  ever  roiling 
about  the  confined  arches  of  old  LondonBr  idge. 
No  marvel  that  such  a  man  had  parcel-gilt 
cups,  plate  of  every  description,  rooms  hung 
with  arras,  and  ''  noblemen  of  the  court  at  the 
door."  He  lived  in  days  when  the  City  was 
the  West-end,  and  the  neighbourhood  of  the 
Tower  was  covered  with  the  mansions  of  the 
nobility ;  and  many  of  those,  no  doubt,  like 
Prince  Hal,  "loved  him  well,"  and  knew  him 
to  be  an  "honest  man,"  though  he  did  occa- 
sionally, like  the  hosts  of  the  present  day, 
adulterate  his  liquors,  and  put  *'  lime  in  his 
sack."  He  died  before  Prince  Hal  ascended 
the  throne,  and  though  the  heir-apparent 
still  used  the  house  occasionally,  the  Old 
Boar's  Head  was  never  again  what  it  had 
been  daring  the  lifetime  of  Mine  Host 
Quickly. 

After  his  death  there  was  a  great  change 
in  the  Old  Boar's  Head.  Falstaff,  who  seldom 
let  slip  the  opportunity  of  ingratiating  him- 
self in  the  good  graces  of  Dame  Quickly,  even 
in  her  husband's  lifetime,  called  her  his 
"  tristful  queen,"  when  enacting  the  part  of 
the  king  before  Prince  Hal,  and  otherways 
complimented  her  on  many  similar  occasions : 
and  now  he  not  only  lived  at  "  rack  and 
manger"  himself,  bat  quartered  his  lawless 
followers  on  the  too-easy  widow.  After  his 
exploits  of  Shrewsbury,  about  which  he  used 
to  tell  as  many  untruths  as  he  formerly  had 
told  of  the  men  in  buckram  at  Gradshill,  he 
sat  where  he  liked,  and  not  only  called  for 
what  he  pleased  without  paying  for  it,  but 
getting  the  fond  foolish  woman  into  the  Dol- 
phin-chamber, he  would,  while  sitting  at  the 
round  table,  at  a  sea-coal  fire,  borrow  her 
money,  and  talk  about  marrying  her,  then 
spend  it  before  her  face  on  such  disreputable 
characters  as  Doll  Tear-sheet  Then  she 
became  Irritable,  maudlin,  and  fond  to  foolish- 
ness ;  at  one  hour  abusing  him,  the  next  sue- 
ing  him  for  what  he  owed  her,  and  almost  in 
the  same  breath,  offering  to  pawn  her  very 
gown  to  support  him  in  his  extravagance : 
though  at  the  same  time,  as  she  said,  **  he  was 
eating  her  out  of  house  and  home."  Worse 
than  all,  she  sat  down  and  drank  with  the 
disreputable  company  Falstaff  brought  to 
the  tavern,  talked  sad  nonsense  over  her  cups 
about  what  Master  TLsick  the  deputy  and 
Master  Dumb  the  minister  said  of  her  honesty 
and  respectability:  and  this  to  the  very 
persons  who  made  her  house  ini^Eimous.  As 
for  Falstaff,  instead  of  pitying  and  protecting 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


648 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coadncted^ 


her,  ho  added  Insalt  to  injarj;  epoke  of  ber 
before  the  chief  justice  as  having  become 
distranght,  said  that  she  had  beea  m  **  good 
case"  once,  bat  that  poverty  had  distracted 
her ;  and  then  before  that  dignitary's  face 
took  the  poor  fond  weak-minded  creature 
aside,  and  persuaded  her  to  pawn  her  plate 
and  arras,  which  he  told  her  was  only  "  bed- 
hangings  and  fleabitten  tapestry,"  and  that 
any  "  slight  drollery"  in  water  works  was 
worth  a  thousand  of  these  ancient  heirlooms ; 
white  glass  was  better  than  those  parcel-gilt 
cups,  which  had  so  long  been  the  pride  of  the 
Old  Boar's  Head.  The  master's  eye  was  no 
longer  there  to  overlook;  the  master-mind 
that  reduced  all  to  order  was  gone.  Smooth 
the  silkman  would  fight  shy  of  the  house,  for 
the  rumoured  change  would  soon  reach  Lom- 
bard Street  Tisick  the  deputy  would  shun  it. 
Dumb  the  minister,  after  a  few  sharp  remon- 
strances, in  which  Falstaff  would  laugh  him  to 
scorn,  would  cross  over  the  way  whenever  he 
went  past ;  and  even  Eecch  the  butcher's  wife 
would  steal  in  at  the  back  door,  for  but  few 
of  the  female  neighbours  would  care  to  claim 
acquaintanceship  with  a  woman  who  drank 
canary  with  Mistress  Tear-sheet;  and  was  con- 
tinually having  the  city-watch  at  the  door  to 
quell  some  brawl.  Francis  the  drawer  bad, 
no  doubt,  longbefore  things  came  to  this  pass, 
taken  Prince  Hal's  advice,  shown  his  inden- 
tures a  fair  pair  of  heels,  and  left  some  other 
to  cry  *'Anon,  anon,  sir,"  through  the  deafen- 
ing clinking  of  pewter.  The  plate  was  melted, 
the  tapestrv  pawned ;  the  Pomegranate-room 
was  the  colour  of  a  November  fog,  the  Half- 
moon  parlour  a  dead  dirty  white.  Arion  and 
his  dolphin  had  gone — ^having  been  carried  off 
and  sold.  The  green  ceiling,  which  gave  such 
a  cool  sea-like  look  to  the  apartment,  was 
peeling  off;  the  quaintly-carved  mantel-piece 
clogged  with  dust ;  and  instead  of  that  look 
of  cleanliness  which  gave  such  a  charm  to  the 
Old  Boar's  Head,  nothing  would  be  seen  but 
neglect,  decay,  and  dirt  Falstaff,  as  he  told 
Shallow,  still  saw  old  Jane  Nightwork ;  she 
was  then  very  old,  and  it  could  only  have 
been  as  charwoman  at  the  tavern  in  East- 
cheap  where  he  met  her  ;  for,  the  Windmill 
in  St  George's  Fields  went  to  the  dogs  after 
old  John  Nightwork  died.  And  now  old 
Jane  went  out  to  clean,  ate  broken  victuals 
in  the  scullery,  and  ran  errands,  perhaps  for 
Doll  Tear-sheet,  hunting  up  Sneak  the  street 
musician  when  he  was  wanted,  or  running 
for  Fang  to  arrest  some  customer  who  kicked 
up  a  disturbance,  and  refused  to  pav  his 
reckoning.  '^Oh,  what  a  falling  off  was 
there !" 

The  large  chair  in  which  Falstaff  sat  to 
enact  the  part  of  king,  when  he  drank  a  cup 
of  sack  to  make  his  eyes  look  red,  before 
rebuking  Prince  Hal,  was  by  this  time  either 
broken  up  or  sold.  The  cushion  which  he 
placed  on  his  head  for  a  crown,  had  long  lain 
under  one  of  the  benches ;  and  many  a  cur 
had  coiled  itself  up,  and  slept  on  it  for  hours 


together  unheeded.  Bardolp^'s  nose  now 
stood  boldly  out  in  its  fiery  crimson  from  the 
weather-stained  and  unpainted  lattice ;  and 
as  for  Nell,  as  Mistress  Quicklv  was  too 
familiarly  called,  she  would  sit  neglecting  her 
business,  sipping  with  Doll  Tear-sheet,  and 
telling  her  *'  that  she  had  known  Falstaff 
twenty-nine  years  come  peascod-time ;  and 
that  an  honester  or  truer-hearted  man  never 
lived."  Jack  meantime,  with  Nym  and  Pistol, 
were  having  the  run  of  the  house,  while  tiiat 
villainous  boy  was  ever  plaguing  Bardolph 
about  his  nose  :  and  the  poor  old  man,  me 
truest  friend  Falstaff  had,  and  who  had  served 
him  faithfully  "  forty  years,"  would  sit  apart 
and  sigh  over  the  good  old  times  which  had 
departed  never  to  return  again :  sometimes 
saying  to  his  master,  "  you  cannot  live  long," 
though  such  kindly  warnings  were  unheeded 
bv  the  gormandismg  kni^t :  while  as  for 
Nell  Quickly  ^e  sat  with  closed  eyes,  and 
went  drifting  headlong  to  ruin. 

Lower  and  lower  fell  the  character  of  the 
Old  Boar's  Head  ;  almost  every  hour  of  the 
day  and  night  would  the  maudlin  widow,  in 
hopes  of  quelling  the  riot,  brawling,  and 
drunkenness,*'  forswear  keeping  house,  rather 
than  be  in  those  tirrits  and  fri^^hts."  FalsUff 
and  Bardolph  were  '<  on  his  Majesty'^s  sertice^ 
in  the  country,  making  all  the  money  they 
could  for  themselves,  out  of  the  Mouldjs  and 
Bullcalfs,  they  were  enlisting,  and  living  on 
the  fat  of  the  land,  in  Gloucestershire,  with 
Justice  Shallow :  while  at  home  those  tho> 
rough-paoed  rascals,  Pistol  and  Ij^ym,  were 
(]iuarrelling  for  the  hand  of  Dame  Quickly, 
like  wreckers  over  a  salvage.  The  old  tavern 
had  now  become  a  conunon  lodging-house, 
**  there  had  been  a  man  or  two  killed  in  it" 
and  it  had  become  dangerous  to  go  into  the 
place.  A  watch  was  set  about  the  dark  courts 
and  alleys  which  lay  around  the  spot,  espe- 
cially such  as  led  to  the  foot  of  the  bridge, 
for  there  were  suspicious  whisperings  afloat 
dark  hints  of  foul  play,  and  dead  bodies  that 
had  been  thrown  into  the  river,  to  dioot  the 
bridge,  and  be  drawn  by  the  boiling  eddies 
deep  down,  never  more  to  arise  until  the 
sound  of  Doom.  The  gallery  fh>m  which 
Quickly  used  to  hang  out  his  tapestry  on  gala* . 
days,  was  now  broken  and  dangerous,  and 
looked  as  if  it  would,  at  any  hour,  topple 
down  upon  the  heads  of  the  passengers  below ; 
the  round  table  which  stood  on  it  and  had 
formerly  been  the  ornament'  of  the  Dolphin- 
chamber,  was  covered  with  dust  and  the 
marks  of  muddy  ale,  while  one  broken  leg 
was  spliced  with  unsightly  rope,  the  work  ^ 
some  waterman.  Low  fellows,  employed  on 
the  wharves  and  river,  porters,  costardmim- 
gers,  and  fishmongers,  and  such  as  plied  in 
the  streets,  now  occupied  it,  played  at  shovel- 
grote,  drinking,  and  quarrelling  all  day  long, 
and  insultmg  evei^  passenger  in  the  street 
Doors  were  hanging  half-off  the  hinges, 
balustrades  were  broken,  windows  patched 
and  stopped  up  with  paper  and  rags,  behind 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cluurlea  Dlcket*.] 


THE  OLD  BOAE»S  HEAD. 


549 


which  sat  women — even  a  grade  lower  than 
Doll  Tear-sheet,  who  had  ran  her  race,  and 
was  then  in  the  hospital.  It  was  a  bad 
house,  shunned  by  every  one  who  respected 
himself,  and  only  frequented  by  thoBe  who 
bad  no  character  to  lose.  Nym  and  Pistol, 
when  not  quarrelling  were  gambling,  then 
disputiog  about  their  bettings ;  and,  though 
both  arrant  cowards,  threatening  to  ♦♦  scour 
their  rapiers"  on  each  other,  then  compound- 
ing in  money  and  drinis ;  and  patching  up  a 
hollow  peace,  while  Dame  Quickly  was  ever 
threatening  to  shnt  up  the  house.  Even  she 
had  been  ragged  oflf  to  prison  to  account  for 
the  death  of  some  customer,  and  what  little 
she  possessed  had  gone  to  obtain  her  liberty. 
After  this,  she  feU  so  low,  that  she  mar- 
ried Pistol :  a  fellow  whom  Doll  had  many  a 
time  called  "  cut-purse,  cheat,  and  juggler." 
And,  now,  she  could  no  longer  lift  up  her 
head,  and  savwith  pride,  as  when  Quickly 
was  alive,  "  I  am  an  honest  man's  wife  ;"  for, 
a  greater  cur,  and  a  more  thorough-grained 
rogue  than  Pistol,  had  never  set  foot  on  the 
causeway  of  Eastcheap. 

Last  scene  of  all — amid  all  this  vice, 
t*Tetchednes8,  poverty,  and  misery — poor, 
broken-hearted  Falstaff,  was  one  day  brought 
in  from  the  Fleet  prison,  by  Bardolph,  to  die. 
Prince  Hal  was  now  king,  and  had  not  only 
shaken  off  all  his  old  companions,  bnt  had 
threatened  them  with  punishment,  If  they 
came  a-near  him.  Poor  Jack  was  lying  up- 
stairs in  a  dilapidated  chamber,  on  a  bed,  the 
hangings  of  which,  had  long  before  been  sold 
by  Nell,  to  supply  him  with  money.  On 
that  April  day,  when  his  old  boon  companion 
rode  by  on  his  way  from  the  Tower,  to  be 
crowned  king  at  Westminster,  Bardolph,  his 
nose  paler  than  in  former  days,  stood  on  the 
broken  balcony,  and  sighed  as  the  procession 
passed,  while  he  thought  of  his  kind  old  mas- 
ter, dying  neglected  within.  Even  the  young 
king,  after  raising  his  eyes  for  a  moment  to 
glance  at  the  house  where  he  had  held  so 
many  of  his  mad  merrymakings,  seemed  sad- 
dened when  he  beheld  its  altered  condition; 
nor  did  he  raise  his  head  again,  until  his  at- 
tention was  roused  by  the  surrounding  nobles, 
to  the  gaudy  pageant  which  stretched  across 
Grass-church  Street. 

There  was  a  smell  of  May  in  the  "  simple 
market  of  Bucklersbury,"  and  whenever  Fal- 
staff sat  amid  the  buzzing  of  flies  in  his 
stifling  chamber,  **  babbling  of  green  fields," 
thither  faithful  Bardolph  would  go,  if  he 
could  either  beg,  or  borrow,  a  groat,  and 
purchase  flowers  to  deck  and  sweeten  his 
apartment;  for  they  set  the  poor  invalid 
talking  of  the  snmmer-arbour  in  which  he 
had  eaten  last  year's  pippins  with  Shallow, 
and  of  the  pleasant  head-lands  that  were  then 
waving  with  red  wheat.  And  now  his  clothes 
were  a  world  too  wide  for  him;  he  could 
have  buckled  that  villainous  boy  within  his 
belt,  who  had  no  pity  for  him,  but  when 
he  complained  of  feeling  cold,  would  with 


a  grin,  bid  Bardolph  '-  pat  his  nose  between 
the  sheets,  and  do  the  office  of  a  warming- 
pan."  The  low  lodgers  were  ever  running 
in  and  out.  slamming  the  doors  all  day 
long.  Pistol  was  constantly  quarrelling  with 
Nym,  and  his  own  wife,  and  begrudging 
every  little  kindness  she  showed  to  Falstaff : 
and  she,  in  her  half-crazed  way,  muddled 
with  drink,  and  ill-clad,  would,  every  now 
and  then,  come  hurrying  in,  with  her  hair 
hanging  abont  her  face ;  fbnd,  foolisbt  and 
mandlin  ;  telling  him  how  she  should  never 
be  happy  any  more,  since  she  couldn't  have 
him ;  and  he,  feeUng  that  he  had  brought 
her  into  that  state,  would  sit  and  wish  that 
he  had  his  life  to  live  over  again,  while  he 
vowed  within  himself,  if  such  a  thing  could 
be,  how  differently  he  would  act.  Some- 
times Sneak,  the  street  musician,  would  half 
madden  him,  by  the  horrible  noise  he  made, 
while  playing  to  the  drunken  guests  in  the 
broken  balcony :  and  old  Jane  Nightwork, 
would  be  constantly  moving  about  him  in 
her  dirt  and  ugliness.  Sometimes  he  would 
repeat  to  himself  the  words  Prince  Hal 
uttered,  when  he  thought  he  was  dead,  while 
lying  beside  Percy  on  the  battle-fleld  of 
Shrewsbury,  and  say  with  a  sigh,  **  I  could 
have  better  spared  a  better  man."  Then 
Nell  would  bid  him  be  of  good  cheer,  and 
as  he  ''  fumbled  with  the  sheets,  and  played 
with  the  flowers,"  would,  poor  simple  soul, 
try  to  amuse  him,  by  telling  him.  of  the  mad 
pranks  he  and  Hal  played  in  her  younger 
days,  unconscious  that  the  awakening  of  such 
recollections  pierced  him  like  the  wounds  of 
a  dagger.  All  those  hollow  Ariends,  who  had 
buzzed  about  him  like  summer  flies  in  the 
sunshine  of  his  prosperity,  had  now  forsaken 
him,  leaving  only  Nell  and  Bardolph  behind, 
while  the  nose  of  the  latter  paled  and  grew 
sharper,  through  weary  vigils  and  affectionate 
offices,  smoothing  his  pillf^w,  straightening 
his  white  hair,  and  holding  the  sack-cup  to 
his  lips.  When  he  expired,  true-hearted  Bar- 
dolph, with  the  tears  in  his  eyes,  exclaimed — 
**  Would,  I  were  with  him,  wheresome'er  he 
is,  either  in  heaven  or  in  hell."  A  godless 
prayer,  which  the  accusing  angel  would  see 
recorded  with  a  sigh,  for  there  must  have  been 
something  loveable  about  poor  Jack,  to  have 
awakened  such  a  wish. 

They  would  bury  him  in  the  old  City 
churchyard,  at  the  foot  of  the  bridge,  for  he 
would  be  too  heavy  a  corpse  to  carry  far. 
Bardolph  and  Nell  would  be  chief  mourners 
at  the  funeral,  though  Nym  and  Pistol  would 
make  some  pretended  show  of  grief.  Even 
by  the  grave-side,  that  evil  boy  would 
keep  on  jesting  abont  Bardolph's  nose  ;  and 
the  good-natured  fellow,  who  had  served 
Falstaff  faithfully  for  near  forty  years,  would 
answer,  that  "  the  fuel  was  gone  that  main- 
tained that  flre,"  for  his  drink  "  was  all  the 
riches  he  got  in  his  service.".  Ketch  the 
butcher's  wife,  and  Smooth  the  silkman, 
would,  in  remembrance  of  the  many  merry 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


[Coodocted  ¥j 


dinners  he  and  the  deoeaaed  had  eiyoyed  at 
the  LabberVhead  in  Lombard  Street,  follow  ; 
and  Dumbleton,  who  wonld  not — with 
Bardolph  for  security  —  tmst  him  satin 
enough  to  make  a  cloak,  would  be  a  looker- 
on.  Dumb,  the  minister,  wonld  read  the 
solemn  burial  service,  and  between  the  pauses 
would  be  heard  the  roaring  of  the  river,  as  it 
rushed  through  the  narrow  arches  of  old 
London  Bridge.  Old  Jaae  NightworiL,  in 
her  shabby  attire,  would  mingle  with  the 
assembled  crowd.  Then  the  funeral  proces- 
sion would  return,  and  that  would  be  the  last 
time  a  respectable  company  assembled  in  the 
Old  Boar's  Head. 

On  an  after  day,  Henry  the  Fifth  would 
ride  by.  with  the  plaudits  of  assembled  thou- 
sands rmging  in  his  ears,  after  the  great  vic- 
tory he  had  won  at  Agincourt.  Perhaps  he 
would  look  at  the  old  house,  as  he  passed,  then 
shut  up,  and  in  ruins,  and  wonld  think  of  his 
old  hostess,  who  had  died  in  the  hospital — of 
Falstaff,  who  slept  his  long  sleep  in  tne  green 
churchyard  by  the  river-side — of  the  happy 
days,  when  he  played  the  part  of  drawer, 
within  those  deoa^g  walla — and  sigh  for  the 
sound  sleep  he  enjoyed  there,  before  he  found 
his  kingly  crown  a 

Polished  pertarbation,  golden  eare, 
That  kept  tht  porta  of  ilamber  open  wide 
To  many  a  watchful  night, 

and  bringing  troubles  he  never  dreamed  of 
while  he  was  called  '^  a  Corinthian,  a  lad  of 
mettle,  a  good  boy,"  by  every  drawer  in  the 
Old  Boar's  Head. 


ROUTINE. 

What  is  this  Roctinb,  of  which  we  hear 
so  many  loud  complaints?  It  is  merely  a 
fijced  order  of  managing  the  details  of  any 
business,  and  is  not  only  harmless,  but  useful 
in  its  proper  subordinate  place.  Then  what 
do  we  mean  by  stupid,  mischievous,  fatal 
Routine.  The  greatest  disorder  carried  on 
under  an  appearance  of  order ;  the  culture  of 
forms  with  a  neglect  of  realities ;  the  em- 
ployment of  means  without  a  reference  to  the 
end ;  the  part  setting  up  itself  as  indepen- 
dent of  the  whole  to  which  it  belongs ;  the 
automaton  imitating  the  work  of  the  living, 
thinking  man  ;  these  are  so  many  contribu- 
tions to  a  full  definition  of  bad  routine.  It  is 
the  work  of  grave  fools  employed 
*'  In  dropping  backeta  into  empty  wells. 
And  growing  old  in  drawing  nothing  up." 

He  was  an  old  routinier  who  locked  the 
stable-door,  after  the  horse  had  been  stolen. 
Another  of  the  same  family  started  a  slow- 
coach to  compete  with  the  rail.  Routine, 
when  he  wears  the  black  gown,  goes  on 
mumbling  to  Thirteenthly,  while  the  congre- 
gation snores.  In  other  characters,  he  plays 
the  organ  while  nobody  blows  the  bellows ; 


marches  up  the  hill  in  order  to  march  down 
again ;  fixes  pumps  where  there  is  no  water ; 
sinks  shafts  where  there  is  no  coal;  serves 
out  rations  of  beef  to  vegetarians ;  and  has 
always  a  good  supply  of  heavy  clothings  and 
Witney  blankets  ready  for  hot  weather. 

The  ancestry  of  Routine  is  respectable,  and 
may  generally  be  traced  to  some  relation- 
shin  with  reality.  As  an  example — it  is 
said  that  among  the  Mongol  Tatare,  prayers 
are  offered  to  Buddha  by  means  of  small 
wheels  placed  across  streams,  and  turned  by 
the  water.  So  many  turns;  so  many 
prayers  I  The  devout  routinier  sets  his  little 
wheel  in  motion,  then  smokes  his  pipe,  or 
goes  to  sleep,  and  wakes  with  a  consciousness 
of  having  prayed  so  long.  Most  probably, 
in  earlier  times,  the  water-wheel  served  as  a 
rosary,  or  as  an  accompaniment  to  some  real 
act  of  piety.  The  reabty  was  forgotten ;  the 
form,  or  routine,  remained.  Would  the  reader 
understand  how  the  kernel  may  perish  while 
the  shell  is  carefully  hoarded  ;  how  the  life, 
the  informing  spirit  may  depart,  and  leave  in 
good  preservation  all  the  red  tape,  parch- 
ment, and  other  integuments  of  the  body; 
let  him  read  our  simple  parable  of  the  Water 
Carriers. 

THE  WATER  OiSRIEBS. 

In  the  land  of  Routine — a  rather  extensive 
region — the  people  had  long  suffered  from  a 
scarcit^p'  of  pure  water,  and  it  was  well-known 
that  diseases  and  deaths  were  caused  by 
drinking  from  polluted  streams.  To  remedy 
the  evil,  a  few  benevolent  and  laborious  ex- 
plorers devoted  themselves  to  the  work  of 
bringing  down  pure  water  from  a  neighbour- 
ing hilly  count^.  The  results  of  their  oiter- 
prise  were  hailed  with  the  greatest  deUght, 
and  men,  women,  and  children,  who  were 
dying  of  thirst,  revived  when  they  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  sparkling  fluid.  The  original 
water-carriers  were  decKed  witii  badges  and 
honoured  as  saviours  of  the  people;  while 
the  yokes  and  buckets  Tised  in  the  first 
journey  to  the  springs  were  preserved  among 
national  trophies. 

Thus  the  original  Guild  of  Water  Carriers 
was  founded. '  It  became  numerous  and 
powerful,  and,  in  the  course  of  time,  made 
great  improvements  in  its  resources.  Instead 
of  the  simple  means  first  used,  pipes  and 
cisterns  were  laid  down,  to  conduct  water 
from  the  hills  into  the  dwelling  of  every  man 
in  the  land,  and  reasonable  rates  for  the  use 
of  these  advantages  were  che^rftilly  paid  by 
the  people.  The  water  company  was,  indeed, 
the  chief  organ  of  life,  industry,  and  progress 
all  over  the  country. 

But  when  public  spirit  had  declined, 
and  indolence  had  followed  success,  the 
members  of  the  guild  began  to  regard 
their  own  welfare  as  something  separate 
from  that  of  the  people.  They  preserved 
their  badges,  made  a  parade  of  the  original 
buckets,  and  asserted  their  own  exclusive 


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Charles  Dickens.] 


ROUTINB. 


651 


right  of  sappljing  water  throughout  the  land 
of  Routine.  Meanwhile,  they  allowed  their 
works  to  fall  into  a  ruinous  condition.  Foun- 
tains were  choked,  pipes  hurst,  and  cisterns 
became  leaky :  but  tiie  old  rates  for  expenses 
of  buckets,  badges,  and  other  insignia  of  the 
fulld  were  still  levied ;  and,  indeed  increased 
m  amount,  proportionately  as  the  supply  of 
water  diminished.  The  so-called  watermen, 
extended  their  organieation,  and  appointed 
each  other  as  chief  overseers,  surveyors  of 
cisterns,  inspectors  of  pipes,  and  other  offi- 
cials, too  numerous  to  be  mentioned.  They 
met  together,  dined,  made  speeches  on  the 
fine  qusdities  of  their  water,  and  defined  the 
proper  shapes  and  sizes  of  buckets.  As  they 
ei^joycd  wealth  and  leisure,  they  became  scien- 
tific and  metaphysical ;  they  analysed  water, 
discussed  the  conditions  of  its  purity,  and 
found  that  the  most  essential  was,  tliat  it 
should  be  supplied  by  the  men  who  wore  the 
badges.  They  instituted  a  course  of  lectures 
on  buckets,  held  discussions  on  the  modes  of 
wearing  the  badge ;  and,  at  last,  carried  their 
refinements  so  far  as  to  assert,  tiiiat  the  people 
wanted,  not  more  wat^,  but  a  grand,  original, 
decorated  wateivcompany.  So,  in  talk,  at 
least,  therewasaplentlAil  supply  of  the  fluid. 
It  was— 

♦*  Water,  water  erwTwhen, 
And  not  a  drop  to  drink  I  " 

But,  while  the  guild  was  flourishing,  the 
people  were  again  sufiforing  fi*om  thirst,  and 
drii^dng  from  muddy  streams.  Several  ad- 
venturers went  out  to  find  the  pure  fountains 
in  the  hilly  country.  They  were  simple,  prac- 
tical men,  rather  rudely  dressed,  without 
badges :  and,  having  no  permission  to  use  the 
original  buckets,  they  carried  the  precious 
fluid  in  all  kinds  of  vessels — ^rude  crockery, 
tins,  pans — anything  that  would  hold  water. 
These  irregularities  offended  the  brethren  of 
the  guild,  who  cosmxenced  actions  of  trespass 
against  the  adventurers,  criticised  the  new 
buckets,  laughed  at  the  inelegant  shapes  of 
the  crockery,  and  cited  several  cases  of  ex- 
tremely old  people,  who  had  died  some  few 
years  after  drinking  the  heterodox  water. 

It  would  be  unfair  to  represent  that  the 
old  routinlers  had  been  altogether  idle  and 
indifferent  during  the  time  of  general  distress 
from  drought.  It  is  true,  they  did  not  mend 
their  pipes  and  cisterns:  but  they  found  em- 
ployment of  another  kind.  Besides  their  com- 
mon quarrel  with  the  Irregular  Watermen, 
tiiey  had  among  themselves  a  family-feud  be- 
tween the  two  parties  of  Blue  and  Yellow,  so 
named  from  the  colours  of  their  respective 
empty  buckets;  and  it  unfortunately  hap- 
pened that,  just  in  the  time  of  the  great 
drought,  this  quarrel  had  become  curiously 
complicated  and  highly  interesting.  On  the 
outside  of  the  Guild  Hall,  nothing  could  be 
heard  but  loud  complaints  of  the  want  of 
water,  and  the  ruinous  condition  of  ihe  aque- 
ducts :  while,  in  the  chamber,  the  blue  and 
yellow  controversy  seemed  interminable.   In 


the  street  it  was  common  to  see  some  irregu- 
lar watermen,  stopping  a  routinier  to  inquire 
if  anything  had  been  done  for  the  works,  and 
the  latter  would  reply  by  giving  the  latest 
news  of  a  sub-division  among  the  yellows. 
By  some  chance,  an  irregular  man  gained 
admission  to  the  hall,  and  asked  the  presi- 
dent to  flx  a  time  when  the  state  of  the  pub- 
lic waterworks  would  be  considered.  The 
president—a  jocular  old  gentleman— replied, 
that  that  question  must  be  postponed  sine 
die,  or  until  the  ^'yellow  buckets  shall  have 
ended  their  dispute ;  "  and  he  added,  with  a 
smile,  ''Though  now  in  good  health  and 
q>irits,  I  can  hardly  hope  to  survive  that 
day.''  The  complamts  of  the  people  at  last 
compelled  the  guild  to  go  through  the  form 
of  a  discussion  on  the  state  of  the  water- 
works ;  but  it  was  so  managed  as  to  lead  to 
nothing  more  than  the  old  question  of  blue 
and  ydilow.  The  dwellers  in  the  Land  of 
Boutine  rose  in  the  morning,  after  the  grand 
debate,  and  eagerly  perused  their  papers, 
hoping  to  ind  some  plan  for  mending  pipes 
and  cisterns ;  but  they  found  nothing  better 
than  a  blue  speech  of  five  columns — all.  about 
yellow  buckets  1 

Here  ends  our  parable ;  for  it  describes  the 
present  state  of  the  water-question  in  the 
Land  of  Routine.  If  any  reader  doubts  it,  let 
him  visit  the  country  (it  is  not  ftir  off),  and 
there,  in  the  time  of  sultry  weather,  he  will 
see  the  broken  pipes  and  leaking  cisterns ; 
while,  among  these  ruins,  he  will  observe  how 
numerous  are  **  the  true  original "  (but  very 
dry)  watermen,  who  wear  badges,  carry 
empty  buckets,  and  go  about  declaiming 
against  aU  irregular  proceedings. 

THE  TERRICES. 

In  a  certain  colony,  the  land  was  arranged 
in  terraces,  or  as  steps,  one  rising  a  few  feet 
above  another.  The  base  was  a  level,  having 
a  subsoil  of  clay,  which  received  the  drainage 
from  the  terraces,  and  was,  consequently, 
very  unwholesome.  The  safety  of  the  whole 
colony  depended  on  the  firmness  of  the  dikes 
or  embankments,  which  held  back  an  immense 
bodv  of  water,  and  in  old  times  had  been  so 
well  constructed  that  it  was  supposed  they 
would  last  for  ever. 

Each  terrace  was  occupied  by  a  certain 
class  of  settlers :  the  people  on  the  Clay  Level 
lived  in  mean  cottages ;  above  them,  the  set- 
tlers on  the  first  platform,  styled  Comfort 
Terrace,  inhabited  rather  small  but  conveni- 
ent houses,  and  were  mostly  employed  in 
trade.  On  the  higher  ground,  Grolden  Ter- 
race had  its  mansions,  gardens,  carriage- 
roads,  and  other  si^  of  opulence.  Above, 
Rank  Terrace  was,  in  reality,  not  better  than 
the  golden  platform ;  but  its  occupiers  were 
allowed  to  wear  certain  badges,  greatly 
coveted  by  the  C^oldeners.  On  the  highest 
platform,  Government  Terrace,  by  its  august 
symbols  of  power  and  dignity,  cast  a  shade 
over  all  inferior  grandeur. 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 


It  was  the  main  featare  of  society  throagfa- 
out  the  colony,  that  on  ercry  terrace,  the 
residents  visited  among  themselves,  refused 
to  awociate  with  the  lower  orders,  and  indus- 
triously strove  to  find  certain  zigzag  paths 
up  to  the  next  higher  platform.  Upward — 
ever  upward  I  This  was  the  constant  move- 
ment of  the  terrace-people — fh>m  Cosifort  to 
Gold,  from  Gold  to  Rank,  and  from  this  (by 
a  very  easy  flight  of  stairs)  to  Government 
Terrace.  Everywhere,  it  was  a  point  of 
etiquette  to  avoid  allusions  to  the  Clay  Level 
— excepting  some  special  occasions,  when  it 
was  recognised  as  an  inevitable  nuisance. 
But,  in  almost  every  country,  we  find  some 
remarlcable  anomaly  in  the  customs  of  society. 
In  the  terrace-colony  there  was  a  strange 
ceremony,  now  and  then  performed  by  the 
higher  classes,  when  they  descended  ftrom 
their  terraces,  entered  the  cottages  of  the 
dwtiiiers  on  Clay  Level,  shook  hands  with  the 
lower  orders,  fondled  their  dirty  children,  and 
distributed  sums  of  money.  It  was  a  farce, 
acted  in  commenu>ration  of  cer|pun  institu- 
tions otherwise  forgotten. 

In  ordinary  times  the  terrace-people  were 
all  so  busy  in  climbing,  or  finding  out  the  ziz- 
zag  paths  leading  upward,  that  they  almost 
forgot  the  fact  that,  in  former  ages,  the  dikes 
had  been  sometimes  broken  down  by  inunda- 
tions, and  had  required  for  their  repair  the 
lalK)ur  of  every  man  in  the  colony.  Once, 
there  had  been  a  spade  in  every  house ;  but 
on  the  terraces  the  rude  implement  had  been 
exchanged  for  a  tiny  toy-spade,  made  of 
gold  or  silver,  and  tied  as  a  badge  to  a  button- 
hole. 

Meanwhile,  the  higher  people  boasted  of 
the  glorious  constitution  of  the  dikes  which 
were  leaking  at  their  foundations.  The  water, 
flowing  through  subterraneous  channels, 
found  its  way  down  to  the  Clay  Level,  and 
made  that  district  very  unwholesome.  For 
a  time,  this  served  only  as  a  stimulant  to  the 
climbing  process.  Every  one  endeavoured  to 
go  upward,  as  far  as  possible,  from  the  mal- 
aria of  the  swampv  land.  But  the  water  rose, 
higher,  and  still  higher,  until  the  people  of 
Comfort  Terrace  began  to  complain  of  their 
damp  houses.  Up  from  Clay  Level  to  Golden 
Terrace  rose  the  stream  of  stagnant  pools, 
and  even  Rank  complained  of  an  oppressive 
quality  of  the  air.  Then  came  plans  of  re- 
form ;  but  the  little  silver  spades  could  do 
nothing.  Many  theories  were  propounded. 
Waterproof  floors  were  laid  down  for  the 
comfort  of  the  higher  classes,  *'  But/*  said 
one,  '^  it  is  not  the  rising  of  the  water  that 
hurts  us ;  it  is  the  bad  evaporation  from  the 
Clay  Level." — "  We  must  pump  back  the 
water  into  the  Level,"  said  another.  A  coal- 
merchant  recommended  large  fires ;  a  practi- 
cal man,  who  hated  all  new  and  comprehen- 
sive measures,  advocated  mops!  ''Let  it 
come,  aod  mop  it  up  as  it  comes ! "  said  this 
genius.  Anotner  man,  of  a  merry  disposi- 
tion, declared  that  the  evil  was  partly  imagi- 


nary. A  melancholy  man  asserted,  thtt  it 
was,  like  many  other  grievances,  simply  in- 
evitable. Many,  however,  traced  sjmptom! 
to  their  causes,  and  complained  that  ''the 
dikes  had  been  neglected;"  bat  the  com- 
plainants had  formerly  voted  in  favour  of  the 
scheme  of  setting  aside  the  real  workam 
with  the  real  spades,  and  giving  the  costodj 
of  the  dikes  into  the  hands  of  the  idlers  on 
Rank  Terrace,  who  wore  silver  spades  at  their 
button-holes.  The  question  of  the  d^ce-«7^ 
tem  could  hardly  be  mooted  without  recall- 
ing unpleasant  recollections:  for  exsmple; 
that  ▲.  B.  and  a,  on  Comfort  Terrace,  bid 
voted  for  the  infant  son  of  d.  on  Bank  Ter- 
race, when  he  wais  appointed  as  Grand  Dike 
Conservator  and  High  Gnardlan  of  the  Silrer 
Spade.  Ail  the  terraces  had  combined  in 
enacting  a  law,  that  none  of  the  men  of  Claj 
Level,  however  well  they  might  handle  real 
spades,  should  meddle  with  Sie  stmctnre  of 
the  dikes. 

In  the  neighbooriiood  of  the  colonj.  there 
lived  an  eccentric,  old  hermit— 41  student  of 
geology — who  loved  to  pore  beneath  the  mt 
faces  of  things.  From  time  to  time,  be  bad 
sent  warnings  to  the  dwellers  on  the  terraces, 
telling  them  that  the  embankments  were  in 
an  unsound  condition ;  but  his  theories  bad 
been  commonly  reject^  as  too  wide  and  im- 
practicable. In  the  present  emergencj,  he 
repeated  his  admonitions  :  "  Your  plan  of 
separate  interests  on  your  several  terraces," 
said  he,  "  is  very  pretty,  and  the  silver  spades 
are  neat  decorations;  but^—  the  dikes  are 
leaking  1  Their  repair  requires  the  united 
efforts  of  the  whole  colony.  Forget  Comfort 
Terrace,  Golden  Terrace,  and  Rank  Terrace. 
Ask  not  on  what  platform  a  man  maj  dwell: 
but  demand,  as  the  great  qnalification  in 
every  public  officer,  that  he  shall  handle  veil 
a  real  spade.  Throw  away  the  silver  iojt 
with  the  ribbons  and  other  tnunpeiy,  sad 
march  away  —  shoulder  to  shoulder— fiw 
broad-cloth  and  fustian,  to  the  repair  of 
the  dikes ;  or,  as  surely  as  water  finds  iW 
level,  you  will  be  all  drowned!  "-"He  is  a 
revolutionist!  "  said  the  men  of  Rank  Te^ 
race ;  and  the  old  man's  counsel  was  r^ 
jected.  , 

So  the  leak  continued,  growing  wider  m 
wider,  from  day  to  day,  and  sapping  the  fouM- 
ations  of  the  dike.  There  it  stood  under 
mined,  wearing  away,  trembling  with  cTcry 
pulsation  of  the  great  mass  of  water,  unuljt 
last,  it  fell,  and  down  came  the  roarmg  flood, 
covering  the  Clay  Level  and  dashing  w»« 
after  wave,  higher  and  higher,  on  the  *er- 
races.  Now,  from  Cpmfort,  Gold  andBaaK 
Terraces  the  people  ran  to  the  old  hcram 
begging  for  advice.  But  his  calm  admoniUoo 
was  changed  to  bitter  mockery.  '*  Why  ^ 
to  me  ?"  said  he, "  it  is  too  late  for  philosoplj 
Words  can  do  nothing  now.  But  oem 
despair  I  PuU  your  pretty  little  sUver  spadw 
from  your  button-holes,  and  slop  the  inmt 
tionl^' 


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'*  FkmOiar  in  their  JfwUu  as  HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.* 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
COVDirCTBD   BT   CHASLES   OICKEBS. 


24.] 


J.  A.  VIX,  PUBLISHER, 

Ovnoa,  No.  10  Pass  F%ao9,  Nt«*YoBK. 


[Whole  No.  277. 


MR.  PHIUP  STUBBES. 

he  new  palace  at  Westmiiifiter  is  a 
r    magnificent  building,  in  (I  am  qnite 

Ing  to  believe  Sir  Charles  Barry)  the 
est  style  of  Gothic  architecture  ;  and  the 
:e,  not  to  say  extravagant,  sums  of  money 
ch  have  been,  and  will  be  for  the  next 
f-centurv  or  so,  expended  in  Its  erec- 
I,  speak  highly  for  the  wealth  and  re- 
rces  of  this  favored  empire.  The  Horse 
uxis  Blue,  also,  are  a  splendid  body  of 
1.  I  scarcely  know  what  to  admire  most 
their  equipment :  Uieir  black  horses  with 

long  tails,  their  bright  helmets — likewise 
h  long-tails— theur  jack-boots,  or  their 
nlj  moustachibs.  Among  the  officers  of 
!  saperb  corps  are  to  be  found,  I  have  been 
1,  some  of  the  brightest  ornaments  of  our 
enile  aristocracy.  But,  admiring  them,  I 
iDot  quite  withhold  my  meed  of  admiration 

the  Queen's  beefeaters — for  the  Royal 
.chmen,  the  Royal  footmen,  the  Royal  out- 
ers, and  the  Honourable  Corps  of  Gentle- 
n-at-Arms.  In  all  these  noble  and  expen- 
ely-dressed  institutions,  I  am  proud  to  re- 
pulse signs  of  the  grandeur  and  prosperity  of 

country.  Likewise  in  the  Elder  Brethren 
the  Trinity  House,  the  Lord  Mayor's  barge 
1  the  Lord  Mayor's  court ;  the  loving  cup, 

Old  Bailey  black  cap,  the  Surrey  Sessions 
George's  Hall  at  Liverpool,  the  Manchester 
henseum,  the  Scott  monument  at  Edin- 
*gh,  special  juries,  the  Board  of  Health, 
1  the  Crystal  Palace  at  Sydenham.  What 
>ity  it  is  that,  in  the  face  of  all  these 
md  and  flourishing  establishments,  there 
>uld  be  an  inevitable  necessity  for  the 
stence  of  Model  Prisons,  Reformatories, 
gged  Schools,  Magdalen  Hospitals,  and 
imlnistrative  Reform  Associations  I  What 
>ity  it  is  that,  with  our  fleets  and  armies 
kt  cost  so  many  millions  of  money,  and  look 
uid  are — so  brave  and  serviceable,  there 
>ald  be  incompetent  commanders,  ignorant 
ministrators,  and  imbecile  subordinates  I 
How  many  other  pities  need  to  be  re- 
unted  to  show  that  we  are  in  a  bad  way  ? 
;ed  we  turn  to  the  collective  wisdom  assem- 
y,  the  house  of  Parler  and  Mentir,  with  its 
ible  jokes,  logic  chopping,  straw-splitting, 
pe-tying,  tape-untying  to  tie  again ;  double- 
uffling,  word-eating,quipping-quirking,and 


wanton-wileing?  Need  we  notice  the  recur- 
rence of  that,  to  me,  fiendishly-insolent  word 
"  laughter,"  that  speckles  parliamentary  de- 
bates like  a  murrain  7  Are  we  not  in  a  bad 
way  while  we  have  Chancery  suits  sixty 
yean^old,  and  admirals  and  generals  on  active 
service,  eighty  7  Are  we  not  in  a  bad  way 
when  working  people  live  in  styes  like  hogs, 
and,  with  little  to  eat  themselves,  have  always 
a  knife  and  fork  laid  (by  the  chief  butler, 
Neglect)  ftr  the  guest  who  may  be  expected 
to  dine  with  them  from  day  to  day — the 
cholera  ?  Is  it  not  to  be  in  a  bad  way  to  be 
at  war,  to  pay  double  income  tax,  to  be 
afflicted  with  a  spotted  fever  in  the  shape  of 
gambling  that  produces  a  delirium— sending 
divines  f^om  their  pulpits  to  stoctgobblng, 
and  turning  English  merchants  and  bankers, 
whose  integritv  was  once  proverbial,  into 
cheat*  and  swindlers  ?  Surely,  too,  it  must 
be  a  bad  way  to  be  in,  to  see  religion 
painted  upon  banners,  and  temperance  carted 
about  like  a  wild-beast  show,  and  debauchery 
in  high  places :  to  have  to  give  courts  and 
church,  arts  and  schools,  laws  and  learning, 
youth  and  age,  the  lie  ;  and  as  the  old  ballad- 
ist  sings  in  &e  '<  Soul's  Errand," 

"  If  itill  they  •houM  reply, 
Then  glre  them  itiU  the  Ue." 

But  bad  as  is  the  state  of  things  now' 
a-days,  it  was  an  hundred  times  worse, 
I  opine,  in  the  days  of  the  six  acts, 
the  fourpenny  stamp,  the  resurrection  men, 
the  laws  that  were  made  for  every  de- 
gree, and  so  hanged  people  for  almost 
every  degree  of  crime.  It  was  worse  when 
there  were  penal  enactments  against  Catholics, 
and  arrests  by  mesne  process.  It  was  worse 
before  steam,  before  vaccination,  before  the 
Habeas  Corpus,  before  the  Reformation ;  it 
was  certainly  an  incomparably  more  shocking 
state  of  things  in  the  days  of  Mr.  Philip 
Stubbes. 

And  who  was  Mr.  Philip  Stubbes  ?  Dames 
and  gentles,  he  flourished  circa  Anno  Domini 
fifteen  eighty-five,  in  what  have  been  hitherto, 
but  most  erroneously,  imagined  to  be  the 
palmy  days,  of  Queen  Elisabeth.  Lamentable 
delusion  7  There  never  could,  according  to 
Mr.  Stubbes,  have  existed  a  more  shocking 
state  of  things  than  in  the  assumed  halcyon 
age  of  good  Queen  Bees.    For  what,  save  a 

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profound  conviction  of  the  wickedness  and 
immorality  of  the  age,  could  have  moved  our 
author  to  write  and  publish,  In  the  year 
eightyiive,tbat  famous  little  twelvemo  volume 
called — The  Anatomie  of  Abuses:  being 
a  Discourse  or  Brief  Summarie  of  such 
Notable  Vices  and  Corruptions  as  now  raigne 
in  many  Christian  Countreys  in  the  Worlde  : 
but  (especially)  in  the  Countrey  of  Ailgna : 
Together  with  most  Fearful  Examples  of 
God's  Judgements,  executed  upon  the  Wicked 
for  the  same,  as  well  in  Ailgna  of  late  as  in 
other  Places  elsewhere.  Very  Godlye  :  To 
be  read  of  all  True  Christians  everywhere, 
but  most  chiefly  to  be  regarded  in  England. 
Made  Dlaloguewise.    Bv  Philip  Stubbes. 

Ailgna,  it  need  scarcely  be  said,  is  England, 
and  the  abuses,  vices,  and  corruptions  anato- 
mised and  denounced  are  all  English.  Mr. 
Stubbes  must  have  been  a  man  of  some 
courage,  both  moral  and  physical,  for  he  has 
not  hesitated  to  attack,  not  only  the  vices  and 
follies  of  the  day,  but  also  some  very  ticklish 
matters  of  religion  and  government.  That 
be  did  so  with  impunity  is  to  be  presumed  as 
we  hear  nothing  of  the  Anatomie  of  Abuses 
having  been  made  a  Star  Chamber  matter,  or 
that  Mr.  Stubbes  ever  suflTered  in  his  own 
anatomy  by  stripes  or  imprisonment,  the 
**  little  ease,"  the  scavenger's  daughter,  the 
pillory,  the  loss  of  ears,  or  the  loss  of  money 
by  fine. 

I  must  state  frankly,  that  I  have  not  been 
wholly  disinterested  in  adverting  to  Mr. 
Stubbes  in  this  place.  Something  like  envy, 
something  resembling  democratic  indignation 
prompted  me  to  mi^e  the  old  Elizabethan 
worthy  a  household  word  ;  for  Stubbes  is  very 
scarce.  He  has  never  to  my  knowledge,  been 
reprinted,  and  none  but  the  rich  can  possess 
an  original  copy  of  the  Anatomie  of  Abuses. 
He  sells— musty  little  twelvemo  as  he  is — 
for  very  nearly  his  weight  in  fold ;  and  it 
was  the  fieust  of  a  single  Stubbes  having 
fetched,  a  month  since,  at  the  sale  of  the 
Bakerian  collection  of  rare  books  and  auto- 
graphs, no  less  a  sum  than  nine  pounds  ten 
uiiliings  sterling,  that  induced  me  to  hie 
instanter  to  the  reading-room  of  the  British 
Museum ;  to  search  the  catalogue  anxiouslv ; 
to  find  Stubbes  triumphantly  ;  to  anatomise 
his  Anatomie  gail^,  and  with  a  will.  May  the 
shadow  of  the  Sritidi  Museum  library  never  be 
less !  I  don't  care  for  the  defective  catalogue ; 
I  can  suffer  the  attacks  of  the  Museum  flea ; 
I  have  Stubbes;  and  Lord  Viscount  Dives 
can't  have  any  more  of  him,  save  the  power 
of  tearing  him  up  to  light  his  pipe  with.  I 
don't  envy  Dives.  My  library  is  as  good  as 
his,  with  all  its  Turkey  carpets,  patent  read- 
ing-desks, busts,  and  red  morocco  trimmings 
to  the  shelves. 

The  interlocutors  or  speakers  in  the 
Anatomie  of  Abuses  in  Ailgna  are  Philoponus 
and  Spudeus.  Spudeus,  Philoponus,  and 
Stubbes  to  boot,  being  long  since  gone  the 
way  of  all  twelvemo  writers,  I   need  not 


trouble  my  readers  with  what  they  severally 
said.  A  summary  of  the  substance  of  their 
discourse  will  be  sufficient  I  may  premise, 
however,  that  Spudeus  opens  the  dialogue  bj 
wishing  Philoponus  good  morrow :  adding  to 
bis  salutation  the  pithy,  though  scarcelj  ap- 
propriate, apophtheem  that  *'  flying  fame  is 
often  a  liar.''  To  which  answers  Pbilopooos, 
that  he  wishes  Spudeus  good  morrow,  too, 
with  all  his  heart  The  interchange  of  ciTili- 
ties  being  over,  Philoponus  informs  hisfHend 
that  he  has  been  lately  travelling  in  a  oertaiD 
island,  once  named  Ainabla  after  Ainaiib, 
but  now  presently  called  Ailgna,  and  forth- 
with launches  out  into  a  tremendous  diatribe 
on  the  abuses  of  that  powerftil  bat  aban- 
doned country. 

Ailgna.  savs  Stubbes,  through  his  eidoloo 
Philoponus,  is  a  famous  and  pleasant  land, 
immured  about  by  the  sea,  as  it  were  with  a 
wall ;  the  air  is  temperate,  the  grooDd  fe^ 
tile,  the  earth  abounding  with  all  things  for 
man  and  beast  The  inhabi  tants  are  a  atroog 
kind  of  people,  audacious,  bold,  pQisaaDt,  and 
heroical;  ofgreat  magnanimity,  valiancy,  and 
prowess,  of  an  incomparable  feature,  an  ex- 
cellent complexion,  and  in  all  hnmanitj  infe- 
rior to  none  under  the  sun.  Bat  there  b  a 
reverse  to  this  flattering  picture.  It  griereth 
Stubbes  to  remember  their  licences,  to  make 
mention  of  their  wicked  ways ;  yet,  anaccos- 
tomed  as  he  is  to  public  abuse,  he  most  aaj 
that  there  is  not  a  people  more  corrapt,  lying. 
wicked,  and  perverse,  living  on  tiie  face  of 
the  earth. 

The  number  of  abuses  in  Ailgna  is  infinite, 
but  the  chief  one  is  pride.  The  Ailgplan  pride 
is  tripartite :  pride  of  the  heart,  pride  of  the 
mouth,  and  pride  of  apparel ;  and  the  last, 
according  to  our  anatomiser,  is  the  deadliest, 
for  it  is  opposite  to  the  eye,  and  viable  to  the 
sight,  and  enticeth  others  to  sin. 

Stubbes  says  little  about  pride  of  tbe  heart, 
which  he  defines  as  a  rebellious  elation,  or 
lifting  oneself  up  on  high.  The  worthy  old 
reformer,  probably  remembered,  and  in  good 
time,  that  pride  of  heart  was  an  abofi^ 
slightly  prevalent   among  the  princes  and 

Seat  ones  of  the  earth ;  among  brothers  of 
e  sun  and  moon,  and  most  Christian  kingSr 
and  defenders  of  faiths  they  bad  trampled 
on,  and  sovereigns  hj  the  grace  of  the  God 
they  had  denied.  The  g<^  man  hel^htf 
tongue,  and  saved  his  ears.  But,  on  pride  of 
the  mouth— in  less  refined  Ailgnian,bi«ggingf 
— he  is  very  severe.  Such  pride,  he  says, » 
the  saying  or  crying  aperto  ore,  with  op« 
mouth,  <*  I  am  a  geotleman,  I  am  worshlpfDi. 
I  am  honourable.  I  am  noble,  and  I  cannot 
tell  what  My  father  did  tbia  My  grwd- 
father  did  that  I  am  sprung  of  this  stock, 
and  I  am  sprung  of  that ;  whereas  Dwe 
Nature,  Philoponus  Stubbes  wisely  remaro, 
bringeth  us  all  into  the  world  after  w>«?J^ 
and  receiveth  us  all  again  into  the  wwnhoj 
our  mother— the  boweU  of  the  eartlH-»ii 
in  one  and  the  same  manner,  without  any 


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dlfferenoe  or  diyersity  at  all. ''  It  is  somewhat 
strange  that  with  these  healthy  notions  of 
equality,  and  contempt  of  mere  rank,  Phllo- 
ponos  shoald  condescend  to  dedicate  his  book 
to  ''  the  Right  Honourable,  and  his  very  ein- 
gular  good  Lord,  Philip,  J^arl  ofArnndel," 
and  that  he  should  conclude  his  dedication  in 
this  fashion.  '*  Thus  I  cease  to  molest  your 
sacred  ears  any  more  with  my  rude  speeches, 
beseeching  your  good  Lord&ip,  not  only  to 
admit  this,  my  book,  into  your  honour's  pa- 
tronage and  protection,  but  also  to  persist, 
the  fint  offender  thereof,  against  the  swinish 
crew  of  railing  Zoilus  and  floutiuK  Momus, 
with  their  complies  of  bragging  Thrasoes,  and 
barking  Phormicons>  to  whom  it  is  easier  to 
deprave  all  things  than  to  amend  them- 
selves.'' Oh !  loaves  and  fishes !  Oh !  mighty 
power  of  a  Lord's  name  1  Sacred  ears  I  Oh  I 
vanity  of  heart,  and  mouth,  and  dress,  and 
Stabbes,  and  all  things  human  I 

Circe's  cups  and  Medea's  pots,  Mr.  Stubbes 
pertinently,  but  severely  remarks,  have  made 
England  drunken  with  pride  of  apparel.  Not 
the  Athenians,  the  Spaniards,  the  Hungarians, 
(known,  as  they  are,  according  to  Mr.  In- 
goldsby,  as  the  proud  Hungarians,)  the  Cal- 
deans,  the  Helvetians,  the  Zuitzers,  the  Mos- 
covlans,  the  Cantabrigians,  the  Africanes,  or 
the  Ethiopians — (Mercy  on  us  I  what  a  salad 
of  nations!)— no  people,  in  short,  under  the 
zodiac  of  heaven  have  half  as  much  pride 
in  exquisite  bravery  of  apparel,  as  the  Inha- 
bitants of  Ailgna  No  people  is  so  curious 
in  new  fangles,  wearing,  merely  because  it  is 
new,  apparel  most  unhandsome,  brutish  and 
monstrous.  Other  countries  esteem  not  so 
much  of  silks,  velvets,  taffeties,  or  grograms, 
but  are  contented  with  carzies,  frizes,  and 
nigge&  Nobles,  Philoponus  Stubbes  main- 
tains, may  wear  gorgeous  attire,  and  he  gives 
the  why;  magistrates  may  wear  sumptuous 
dresses,  and  he  gives  the  wherefore ;  but  he 
complains  bitterly  that  it  is  now  hard  to 
know  who  is  noble,  who  is  worshipful,  who  is 
a  gentleman;  for  those  that  are  neither  of 
the  nobility,  gentry,  or  yeomanry,  no  nor,  yet 
any  magistrate  or  officer  of  the  commonwealth 
(not  even  a  beadle,  I  suppose),  go  daily  in 
Bilks,  satins,  damasks,  and  taffieties,  notwith- 
standing that  they  be  both  ba^  by  birth,  mean 
by  estate,  and  servile  by  calling.  And  tbis^ 
Mr.  Stubbes  counts  a  great  confusion  in  a 
Christian  commonwealth. 

Of  a  different  opinion  toPhilipPhiloponns 
Stubbes  regarding  exquisite  bravery  of  appa- 
rel, was  Michael  Equihem,  Seigneur  of  Mon- 
taigne, who,  at  about  the  same  time  that 
Stubbes  was  fulminating  his  anathemas 
against  pride  of  dress  in  England,  was  writ- 
tiog  his  immortal  essays  in  his  quiet  home  in 
France.  Montaigne  deprecates  sumptuary 
laws  in  general;  but  he  would  seek  to  dis- 
courage luxury,  by  adv^ing  kings  and 
princes  to  adopt  simplicity.  '*^As  long," 
be  says,  "as  it  is  possible  only  for  kings 
to  eat  turbot,  and  for  kings'  sons  to  wear 


cloth  of  gold,  torbot  and  cloth  of  gold  will  be 
in  credit,  and  objects  of  envy  and  ambition. 
Let  kings  abandon  these  signs  of  grandeur. 
They  have  surely  enough  without  them.  Or 
if  sumptuary  laws  are  needed,  let  them  re- 
loember  how  Zeleucus  purified  the  corrupted 
manners  of  the  Locrians.  These  were  his 
ordinances :  That  no  lady  of  condition  should 
have  her  train  held  up,  or  be  accompanied  by 
more  than  one  page  or  cham1>ermaid,  unless 
she  happened  to  be  drunk;  that  no  lady 
should  wear  brocades,  velvet,  or  pearls,  unless 
she  happened  to  be  disreputable ;  and  that  no 
man  should  wear  gold  rings  on  his  fingers  or 
a  velvet  doublet  on  his  back,  unless  he  could 
prove  himself  to  be  a  cheat  and  cnt-throat. 
It  is  astonishing  how  plain  the  Locrians 
dressed  after  these  edicts. 

After  descanting  awhile  upon  Adam  and 
Eve,  their  mean  attire — Diogenes,  his  aus- 
terity— and  a  certain  Grecian  who,  coming 
to  court  in  his  philosopher's  weed  (query,  a 
German  meerschaum),  was  repulsed  there- 
from, Mr.  Stubbes  favours  us  with  an  excel- 
lent apothegm,  concerning  another  philo- 
sopher who  was  invited  to  the  king's  banquet, 
and  wishing  for  a  spittoon,  and  seeing  no 
place  of  expectoration  (for  every  place  was 
hanged  with  cloth  of  gold,  cloth  of  silver, 
tinsel,  arase,  tapestry,  and  the  like),  coolly 
expectorated  in  the  king's  face,  saying  :  *'  It 
is  meet,  0  king,  that  f  spit  in  the  plainest 
place !  "  After  this,  Mr.  Stubbes,  taking  the 
apparel  of  Ailgna  in  degrees,  discharges  the 
vials  of  his  wrath  upon  the  **  diverse  kinds 
of  hats." 

Sometimes,  he  says,  they  use  them  sharp 
on  the  crown,  peaking  up  like  the  shaft  of  a 
steeple,  standing  a  quarter  of  a  yard  above 
the  crowns  of  their  heads — some  more,  some 
less,  as  pleases  the  phantasy  of  their  incon- 
stant minds ;  others  be  flat  and  broad,  like 
the  battlements  of  a  house.  These  hats  have 
bands — now  black,  now  ^hite,  now  russet, 
now  red,  now  green,  now  yellow,  now  this, 
now  that — ^never  content  with  one  colour  or 
fashion^  two  days  to  an  end.  **  And  thus," 
says  Philip,  **  they  spend  the  Lord,  his  trea- 
sure— their  golden  years  and  silver  days  in 
wickedness  and  sin,''-— and  hats."  Some  hats 
are  made  of  silk,  some  of  velvet,  taffety, 
sarsenet,  wool,  or  a  certain  kind  of  fine  hair 
fetched  from  beyond  seas,  whence  many  other 
kinds  of  vanities  do  come  besides.  These  they 
call  beuer  (beaver)  hats,  of  many  shillings 
price.  And  no  man,  adds  Phillip,  with 
melancholy  indignation,  is  thought  of  any 
account,  unless  he  has  a  beuer  or  tafi'ety  hat, 
pinched  and  cunningly  carved  of  the  best 
fashion.  Wore  Philip  Philoponus  Stubbes 
such  a  tile,  I  wonder— beuer  or  taffety — ^when 
he  went  to  pay  his  respects  to  the  sacred 
ears  of  his  singular  good  lord,  the  Earl  of 
Arundel? 

Feathers  in  hats  are  sternly  denounced,  as 
stems  of  pride  and  ensigns  of  vanity — as 
fluttering  sails,  and  feathered  flags  of  defiance 


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to  Tirtue.  And  there  are  Bome  rogues  (sar- 
castic Philip !)  that  make  a  living  by  dyeing 
and  selling  these  cockscombs,  and  many  more 
fools  that  wear  them. 

As  to  ruffs,  Philip  Philoponus  roundly 
asserts  that  they  are  an  iuTention  of  the 
Devil  in  the  fullness  of  his  malice.  For  in 
Ailgna,  look  you  they  have  great  monstrous 
rufib  of  cambric,  lawn,  bolland,  or  fine  cloth — 
some  a  quarter  of  a  yard  deep— standing 
forth  from  their  necks,  and  banging  over 
their  shoulder  points  like  a  veil.  But  if 
.£olus,  with  his  blasts  (malicious  Stubbes!)— 
or  Neptune,  with  his  storms,  chance  to  bit 
upon  the  crazy  bark  o^  their  bruised  ruffs, 
then  go  flip-flap  in  the  wind,  like  rags  that 
go  abroad ;  or  hang  upon  their  shoulders  like 
the  disbclout  of  a  slut  (ungallant  Philip  I). 
This  is  a  shocking  state  of  things  enough,  but 
this  is  not  all.  The  arch  enemy  of  mankind, 
not  content  with  his  victory  over  the  children 
of  pride  in  the  invention  of  rufi^,  has  malig- 
nantly devised  two  arches  or  pillars  to  under- 
prop the  kingdom  of  g^eat  ruffs  withal — 
videlicet,  supportasses  and  staboh.  Now, 
supportasses  are  a  certain  device  made  of 
wires  crested,  whipped  over  with  gold,  silver 
thread,  or  silk,  to  be  applied  round  tbe  neck 
under  the  ruff,  upon  Ihe  outside  of  the  band, 
to  bear  up  the  whole  frame  and  body  of  the 
ruff  from  hanging  and  falling  down.  As  for 
starch,  it  is  a  certain  liquid  matter  wherein 
the  Devil  hath  willed  the  people  of  Ailgna  to 
wash  and  dip  their  ruffs  well,  which  being 
dry,  will  then  stand  stiff  and  inflexible  about 
their  necks.  In  another  portion  of  the 
Anatomic,  Stubbes  calls  starch  the  Devil's 
liquor. 

This  persistent  denunciation  of  tbe  harm- 
less gluten  of  wheat  flour,  on  the  part  of  this 
quaint  old  enthusiast,  is  very  curious  to  con- 
sider. How  an  educated  Englishman — a 
scholar  too,  as  Stubbes  undoubtedly  was — 
could,  in  the  Augi^tan  age  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth— in  the  very  days  when  Shakspeare  was 
writing  his  plays,  and  Bacon  his  essays — 
gravely  sit  down  and  affirm  that  the  Devil 
had  turned  clearstarcher,  and  lured  souls  to 
perdition  through  the  medium  of  the  wash- 
tub,  passes  my  comprehension.  I  should  be 
inclined  to  set  Philip  down  at  once  as  a  crazy 
fanatic,  did  I  not  remember  with  shame,  tbat 
in  this  present  year  of  the  nineteenth  century 
there  are  educated  Christian  mistresses  in 
our  present  Ailgna  who  look  upon  ringlets 
and  cap-ribbons  in  their  female  servants  as 
little  less  than  inventions  of  the  Evil  One  ; 
that  there  are  yet  schoolmasters  who  sternly 
forbid  the  use  of  steel  pens  to  their  pupils  as 
dangerous  and  revolutionary  implements:  that 
there  are  yet  believers  in  witchcraft;  and  cus- 
tomers to  fortune-tellers,  and  takers  of  Profes- 
sor Methusaleh's  pills.  I  dare  say  Stubbes  and 
his  vagaries  were  laughed  at  as  they  deserved 
lo  be  by  the  sensible  men  of  Queen  Elizabeth's 
time ;  but  that  on  the  mass  of  the  people,  his 
fierce  earnest  invectives  against  the  fopperies 


of  dress  made  a  deep  and  lasting  impreasoa. 
This  book-baby  twelvemo  of  Philip  Philo- 
ponus is  but  a  babe  in  swaddling-clothes  no7; 
but  he  will  be  sent  anon  to  the  school  of 
stem  ascetic  puritanism,  and  Mr.  PrynDe'i 
Unloveliness  of  Lovelocks  will  be  his  born- 
book.  Growing  adolescent  and  advanced  in 
his  humanities,  his  soul  will  yearn  for  stronger 
meats,  and  the  solemn  league  and  oofeout 
will  be  put  into  his  hand.  He  will  read  that, 
and  graduate  a  Roundhead,  and  fight  tt 
Naseby,  and  sit  down  before  Basing  House, 
and  shout  at  Westminster,  and  clap  his  han^ 
at  Whitehall.  So  Philip  Stubbes'  denuocia- 
ciations  will  be  felt  in  their  remotest  eoo- 
sequences,  and  starch  will  stiffen  roond  the 
neck  till  it  cuts  off  King  Charles  the  Firsts 
head. 

Our  reformer's  condemnation  of  stareb  is 
clenched  by  a  very  horrible  story— lo  fea^ 
some  that  I  scarcely  have  courage  to  tran- 
scribe it :  yet  remembering  how  many  joang 
men  of  the  present  day  are  giving  themBelrei 
up  blindly  to  starch  as  applied  to  sUnaround 
collars,  and  wishing  to  bring  them  to  a  sense 
of  their  miserable  condition,  and  a  knowledge 
of  what  they  may  reasonably  expect  if  the/ 
persist  in  their  present  pernicious  comae  of 
life  and  linen,  I  will  make  bold  to  tell  tbe 
great  starch  catastrophe. 

The  fearful  judgment  showed  upon  a  gen- 
tlewoman of  Eprautna  (?)  (in  the  margin. 
Antwerp)  of  late,  even  the  twenty-second  of 
May,  fifteen  hundred  and  elghtv-two.  TbU 
gentlewoman  being  a  very  rich  merchant- 
man's daughter,  upon  a  time  was  invited  to  i 
wedding  which  was  solemnized  in  that  town, 
against  which  day  die  made  great  prepara- 
tion for  the  "pluming  of  herself  in  gorgcoos 
array "  (this  reads  like  Villiklns  and  b» 
Dinah),  that,  as  her  body  was  most  beautifol 
fair,  and  proper,  so  that  her  attire,  in  every 
respect  might  be  correspondent  to  the  sam^ 
For  the  accomplishment  of  which  she  cojrW 
her  hair,  she  dyed  her  locks,  and  laid  theo 
out  after  the  best  manner.  Also,  she  colonwd 
her  face  with  waters  and  ointments.  Bnt  in 
no  case  could  she  get  any  (so  cnriouB  aw 
dainty  was  she)  that  would  starch  and  m 
her  ruffs  and  neckerchief  to  her  mind,•wfie^^ 
fore  she  sent  for  a  couple  of  laundresaej^w 
did  their  best  to  please  her  humours,  wt  m 
any  case  they  could  not  Then  fell  mw 
swear  and  tear  (oh!  shocking  sUte  w 
things  in  Antwerp,  when  gentlewomen  ww 
and  swore  I),  and  curse  and  ban,  cuUng  wc 
ruffs  under  feet,  and  wishing  tiiat  thedeii^ 
might  take  her  when  she  wore  any  of  wor 
ruffs  again.  In  the  meantime,  the  de^ 
transforming  himself  into  a  young  mW'^  I 
brave  and  proper  as  she  in  every  pou"  ; 
outward  appearance,  came  in,  fcigjm?  ^  I 
self  to  be  a  lover  and  suitor  w»*^i*^'„  ^ij.  ' 
seeing  her  thus  agonised,  and  in  such  »  PV 
ing  chafe,"  he  demanded  of  ner  "CJ^  i 
thereof.  Who  straightway  told  m^  | 
women  can  conceal  nothing  tha'  v^**  ^^  } 


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their  etomaohs)  how  she  was  abased  in  the 
setting  of  her  raffs,  which  hearing,  he  pro- 
mised to  please  her  mind,  and  thereto  took  in 
hand  the  setting  of  her  raflb,  which  he  formed 
to  her  great  contentation  and  liking,  inso- 
mach  as  she,  looking  at  herself  in  the  glass 
(as  the  deyil  bade  her),  became  greatly  en- 
amoured of  him.  This  done,  the  young  man 
kissed  her,  and  in  doing  whereof,  he  '*  writhe 
her  neck  in  sonder : "  so  she  died  miserably, 
her  body  being  metamorphosed  into  bine  and 
black  colonrs,  (this  black  and  blue  metamor- 
phosis has  a  Buspioioudy  walking-stick  ap- 
pearance, and  in  these  days  would  have  sim- 
ply rendered  the  yonng  man  amenable  to  six 
months'  hard  labour  under  the  aggravated 
assaults  act)  The  gentlewoman's  fioe,  too, 
becanae  "  oggelsome  to  behold."  This  being 
knowm,  preparations  were  made  for  her 
bnriaJ ;  a  rich  coffin  was  prepared,  and  her 
fearful  body  laid  therein,  covered  up  very 
sumptnously.  Four  strong  men  immediately 
essayed  to  lift  up  the  corpse,  but  could  not 
movo  it  Then  iive  attempted  the  like,  but 
could  not  once  stir  it  from  the  place  where  it 
stood.  Whereat,  the  standers-by  marvelling, 
caused  the  coffin  to  be  opened,  to  see  the  cause 
thereof.  "  Where  they  found  the  body  to  be 
taken  away,  and  a  black  cat,  very  lean  and 
deformed,  sitting  in  the  coffin,  a-setting  of 
great  mffii,  and  frizzling  of  hair  to  the  great 
fear  and  wonder  of  all  the  beholders."  An 
ogglesome  and  fearful  sight  I 

The  next  article  of  apparel  to  which  Mr. 
Stubbes  takes  exception  is  the  doublet.  Oh ! 
he  cries ;  the  monstrous  doublets  in  Ailgna  I 
It  appears  that  it  is  the  fashion  to  have  them 
hang  down  to  the  middle  of  the  thighs,  and 
80  hard-quilled,  stuffed,  bombasted,  and  sewed, 
that  the  wearers  can  neither  work  nor  play 
in  them.  Likewise  are  there  "  big-bellied 
doublets,"  which  betokens  "  gormandice, 
gluttony,  riot,  and  excess."  And  he  has 
heard  of  one  gallant  who  had  his  doublet 
stu£fed  with  four,  five,  or  six  pounds  of  Bom- 
bast That  kind  of  stuffing  has  not  quite 
gone  out  among  our  gallants  yet  He  says 
nothing  of  what  their  doublets  may  be  made, 
—velvet,  satin,  gold,  silver,  chamlet,  or  what 
not,  bat  he  lifts  up  his  voice  plaintively 
against  the,  slashing,  carving,  jagging,  cut- 
ting, and  snipping  of  these  garments.  We 
almost  fancy  that  we  are  listening  to  Petru- 
chio  rating  the  tailor  In  the  Taming  of  the 
Shrew. 

There  is  a  **  great  excess  in  hosen,"  Stubbes 
is  sorry  to  remark  in  Ailgna.  Some  are 
called  French  hosen,  some  Venetian,  and 
some  Gaily  hosen.  They  are  paned,  cut,  and 
draped  out  with  costly  ornaments,  with  can- 
nions  annexed,  reaching  down  below  the 
knees.  And  they  cost  enormous  sums ;  Oh, 
shameless  Ailgna!  '<In  times  past,"  says 
Mr.  Stubbes,  rising  almost  to  sublimity  in  his 
indignation :  <  Kings  (as  old  historiographers 
in  their  books  yet  extant  do  record)  would 
not  disdain  to  wear  a  pair  of  hosen  of  a  noble. 


ten  shillings  or  a  mark-piece;  but  now  it  is 
a  small  matter  to  bestow  twenty  nobles,  ten 
pounds,  twenty,  forty,  fifty,  nay  a  hundred 
pounds  on  one  pair  of  breeches  (Lord  be 
merciful  to  us!)  and  yet  this  is  thought  no 
abuse  neither."  Add  to  these  costly  hosen  the 
diversity  of  netherstocks  in  Ailgna ;  "  corked 
shoes,  pantoffles,  and  pinsnets ; ''  tlie  variety 
of  vain  cloaks,  and  jerkins ;  the  *'  Turkish 
Impietie  of  costly  clokes ; "  bulled  cloaks, 
ruffling  swords,  and  daggers,  gilt  and  da- 
masked, and  you  will  have  some  idea  of  the 
shocking  state  of  things  in  Ailgna  in  the  year 
fifteen  hundred  and  eighty-five,  or,  as  Philip 
pathetically  expressed  it,  the  "miserie  of 
these  dales." 

Presently  comes  this  sumptuary  censor  to 
a  particular  description  of  woman's  apparel 
in  Ailgna.  I  have  not  space  to  follow  him 
step  by  step  through  the  labyrinthine  region 
of  rcmale  costume,  and,  indeed,  he  is  often  so 
very  particular  that  it  would  often  be  as  in- 
convenient as  difficult  to  follow  him.  Cur- 
sorily I  may  remark,  that  Philip  is  dreadfully 
severe  upon  the  colouring  oi  ladies'  faces 
with  oils,  unguents,  liquors,  and  waters ;  that 
he  quotes  St.  Cyprian  against  face-painting ; 
and  Hieronymus,  Cbrysostom,  Calvin,  and 
Peter  Mart^,  against  musks,  civets,  scents, 
and  such-like  **  slibbersauces."  Trimmings 
of  ladies'  heads  are  the  devil's  nets.  Nought 
but  perdition  can  come  to  a  people  who  make 
boles  in  their  cars  to  hang  rings  and  wells  by, 
and  who  cut  their  skins  to  set  precious  stones 
in  themselves.  And  is  it  not  a  glaring  shame 
that  some  women  in  Ailgna  wear  doublets 
and  jerkins,  as  men  have,  buttoned  up  the 
breast,  and   made  with  wings,  welts,  and 

Binions  on  the  shoulders,  as  man's  apparel  is. 
0  you  remember  the  ladies'  paletots,  the 
ladies'  waistcoats  of  two  years  since?  How 
little  times  do  altar,  to  be  sure!  As  for 
costly  gowns,  impudent  rich  petticoats  and 
kirtles ;  stockings  of  silk,  Teamsey,  Crewell, 
and  fine  cloth,  curiously  indented  at  every 
point  with  quirks,  clockees,  and  open  seams, 
cawked  shoes,  slippers  powdered  with  gold, 
devil's  spectaicles  in  the  shape  of  looking- 
glasses  ;  sweeted  cloves  ]  nosegays  and  posies; 
curious  smells,  that  annubilate  the  spirits, 
and  darken  the  senses ;  masks  and  visors  to 
ride  abroad  in ;  fans,  which  are  the  devil's 
bellows,  add  similar  enormities  of  female  at- 
tire,— the  number  of  them  is  infinite,  and 
their  abomination  utter. 

I  need  scarcely  say  that  the  apparel  of  the 
people  of  Ailgna  forms  but  one  section  of  the 
abnses  anatomised  by  old  Stubbes.  If  my 
reader  should  have  any  curiosity  to  know 
aught  concerning  the  vices  and  corruptions  of 
hand-baskets,  gardens,  and  covetousness ; 
how  meats  bring  destruction ;  the  discommo- 
dities of  drunkenness ;  what  makes  things 
dear :  the  manner  of  church  ales ;  the  tyran- 
ny oi^  usurers ;  how  a  man  ought  to  swear ; 
the  condemnation  of  stage  plays  ;  the  ob- 
servance of  the  sabbath,  and  the  keeping 


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HOCSEHOLD  WORDS,  Jcly  14,  1855. 


[OnIkM^ 


of  wakes  in  Ai]gQa->all  as  ooDdacive  to  a 
shockiDg  state  of  tbiags— he  may  draw  opon 
me  at  sight,  and  I  will  honour  the  draft 


THE  ROVING  ENGLISHMAN. 

FBOM  OIUBQEVO  TO  BUCHABEST. 

Mr  chief  ol^'ect  in  writing  these  papers  is 
to  fiimish  sach  useful  information  as  I  am 
able,  to  those  who  may  be  disposed  to  return 
to  England  from  the  Crimea  by  way  of 
Varna  and  the  Principalities.  I  have  no 
more  ambitious  design  in  the  present  in- 
stance, than  I  venture  to  hope  that  the  facts 
and  incidents  to  which  I  may  eodeayour  to 
call  observation  will  not  seem  obtrusive  or 
superfluous ;  because  they  will  refer  to  a  part 
of  Europe  comparatively  little  known,  and 
record  events  such  as  are  likely  to  happen  to 
any  traveller  who  may  decide  on  making  the 
same  jovrney.  If  I  shall  sometimes  set  down 
trivial  or  unimportant  matter,  let  me  plead 
in  extenuation  that  in  such  cases  (and  per- 
haps in  such  cases  only)  it  is  better  to  say  too 
much  than  too  little.  A  traveller  is  not  al- 
ways the  best  judge  as  to  what  ma^  most  in- 
terest his  readers,  or  which  part  of  his  expe- 
riences may  be  of  the  most  value  to  those 
who  are  to  tread  the  same  ground  after  him. 
Men  travel  with  objects  varying  widely,  and 
some  little  event  which  was  deemed  scarcely 
worthy  of  notice  by  one,  may  perhaps  form 
the  strongest  link  in  a  chain  of  argument  by 
which  another  shall  be  able  to  prove  some 
great  and  valuable  fact.  Most  important 
discoveries  and  sound  conclusions  have,  in- 
deed, been  based  on  a  multitude  of  petty 
facts,  most  of  them,  taken  separately,  insig- 
nificant enough.  Before,  therefore,  we  con- 
demn minute  details  as  trifling,  let  us  remem- 
ber that  perhaps  every  one  taken  in  conjunc- 
tion with  others  of  a  similar  nature  may 
hereafter  serve  to  establish  some  new  truth, 
and  ultimately  make  mankind  either  wiser  or 
happier. 

To  go  en  with  my  journey,  let  me  say 
that  the  passport  affair  was  settled  at  last ; 
not  easily,  however,  for  the  official  charged 
with  that  department  was  enjoying  a  siesta 
after  the  custom  of  ihe  country,  and  a  good 
deal  of  angry  shouting  and  blustering  was 
necessary  to  persuade  him  to  give  it  up  and 
attend  to  his  duty.  I  really  do  believe  that 
persons  in  the  public  service  are  very  much 
the  same  all  over  the  world ;  they  seem 
licensed  to  be  lazy,  and  paid  to  be  indif- 
ferent. 

Our  hotel  bill  was  moderate ;  and  it  is  but 
fair  to  say,  the  principal  hotel  at  Ginrgevo  is 
a  very  good  one.  It  is  kept  by  an  Italian 
of  robust  and  promising  appearance.  His 
wife  is  a  fresh,  brisk,  good-natured  German 
body,  such  as  one  may  meet'  with  often 
enough  in  the  pleasant  road-side  inns  of 
Bavaria  and  Saxony.  He  has  also  a  mother- 
in-law,  a  lady  with  whom  I  enjoyed  much 


improving  discourse.  She  told  me,  howerer, 
that  though  Wallacbia  was  a  good  coantrj 
enough,  she  dared  say,  and  the  Wallicbiaoi 
were  as  canny  folk  as  elsewhere,  yet  she 
could  never  get  altogether  reconciled  to  it, 
and  she  lon|^  after  the  fatherland  witk  a 
feeling  very  much  resembling  home-sicbee. 
It  was  not  easy  to  realise  the  idea  tb&t  the 
worthy  old  lady  was  a  political  refogei 
What  she  could  nave  done  to  incur  the  lif^ 
long  vengeance  of  the  Austrian  goTenmeot 
must  be  surel  v  a  mystery,  only  to  be  read  fa^ 
Austrian  policemen ;  but  I  was  giren  to 
understand,  that  both  she  and  her  wbok 
family  had  been  supposed,  at  eome  foroer 

Eeriod,  to  entertain  treasonable  designs,  ud 
ad  fled  from  the  homeland  to  escape  a 
dungeon,  or  a  shameful  death.  Hetven  for- 
bid that  I  should  say  anything  agaiost  the 
Anstrians.  I  have  passed  some  of  the  iiap- 
piest  years  of  my  life  among  them.  Thne 
are  many  gentlemen  of  that  natioD  for 
whom  I  feel  the  profonndest  respect  and 
the  most  affectionate  esteem.  I  looi[  on  the 
political  conduct  of  Austria  merely  »s  & 
mournful  mistake.  It  seems  to  me  that 
her  rulers  have  been  stricken  of  late  yean 
with  a  horrid  unhealthy  panic  That  they 
are  acting  under  the  influence  of  a  acklj 
dream,  or  strange  delusion;  and  so  that 
they  start  at  shMlows,  and  wage  nnseemlj 
war  with  singers,  actors,  books,  and  feeble 
women !  Mercy  on  us,  are  such  worthy  foes 
of  the  Royal  and  Imperial  Hoose  of  Ba|0- 
burg  Lorraine !  It  sickens  one  to  see  their 
plumed  pride;  to  bear  their  clashing cynt- 
bals,  and  their  warrior's  march,  and  thea 
reflect  on  the  Italian  book  and  poor  otd 
women,  who  are  not  beneath  their  eonitj 
even  here. 

Now,  the  mode  of  travelUng  througboot 
Turkey  is  on  horseback ;  but  the  moment  yoa 
pass  the  Danube,  you  have  at  once  theoptioa 
of  carriages.  To  be  sure  they  are  carria|es 
of  rather  a  strange  «uid  unusual  descripaM 
at  Giurgevo ;  and  those  which  were  hrooglit 
to  convey  us  to  Bucharest  presented  an  ap- 
pearance anything  but  invitmg.  There  fffj 
three  of  them :  one  for  my  companion,  one  w 
myself,  and  one  for  the  luggage.  "^7^ 
scarcely  larger  than  wheelbarrows.  Tber 
were  insufferably  dirty,  dangerous  and  un- 
comfortable. It  required  considerable  ej|«- 
rience  to  sit  In  them  at  all.  They  had  neithff 
springs  nor  seats,  nor  anything  to  t^f^' 
of ;  while  to  each,  four  very  vicious-looWg 
ponies  were  attached,  quite  equal  to  ten  nm« 
an  hour,  and  something  over.  Indeed,  toe 
Wallachian  post  is  perhaps  at  this  tome  tw 
most  expeditious  mode  of  travelling  (»>" 
horses)  known  in  the  world.  It  is  wt,  bo*' 
ever,  agreeable,  and  the  brief  trial  wbien 
had  of  it  was  more  than  sufficient  topw^J^' 
my  ever  again  undergoing  voluntarily  ^ 
same  pains  and  perils.  Innocently  mpP^ 
ing  that  to  travel  in  a  postwt  m^ 
after  all,  be  a  less  arduous  undertaking  ui» 


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559 


it  seemed,  I  rashly  entered  mine,  and  having 
firmlj  wedged  myself  in  among  the  loose 
sticks  and  boards  of  which  it  was  composed, 
I  courageously  gave  the  word  to  start,  and 
prepared  to  suflTer  patiently,  trusting  in  Pro- 
Tidence  for  the  rest. 

We  went  off  at  a  furious  gallop  over  ruts, 
stones,  holes  in  the  earth,  anything  that  came 
in  our  way.  I  was  bumped  about  like  a  tennis- 
ball  in  the  hands  of  a  juggler.  When  I  lit- 
erally dared  not  hold  out  any  longer  I  shout- 
ed to  the  post-boy  to  stop.  Unaccustomed 
to  such  a  command  at  the  beginning  of  a 
journey,  he  misinterpreted  it  into  an  angry 
order  to  go  on,  and  plied  his  whip  with  such 
vigour  and  good  will,  that  we  flew  over  the 
uneven  ground  faster  than  ever,  and  mv 
shouts  were  drowned  in  wind  and  rain,  with 
the  clatter  of  hoofs,  and  the  whirr  of  wheels. 
At  last,  however,  when  a  little  i)atch  of  mud 
deeper  than  the  rest  compelled  a  momentary 
halt,  I  made  one  more  desperate  effort  to 
make  m^lf  heard  and  succeeded.  I  really 
felt  as  if  rescued  from  serious  and  certain 
danger  when  I  got  out  of  that  fattling,  chat- 
tering, abominable  little  cart  I  do  not  even 
now  believe  that  I  could  possibly  have  reach- 
ed Bucharest  alive  in  ft.  My  companion, 
however  (some  fifteen  years  younger  than  I 
am),  was  of  a  different  opinion,  and  leaving 
me  to  find  my  way  back  to  Giurgevo,  and 
look  for  a  better  carriage,  he  determined  to 
go  on  in  the  post-cart.  So,  we  parted,  and 
I  returned :  making  rather  a  sorrjr  figure  as 
I  plodded  on  through  mud  and  rain  cloaked 
and  great-coated  to  the  chin. 

And  now  I  found  the  benefit  of  having 
formed  so  agreeable  an  acquaintance  with 
mine  host's  moUier-in-law.  That  excellent 
old  lady  received  me  with  every  demonstra- 
tion of  satisfaction  at  my  return.  She  dried 
my  clothes  and  condoled  with  me  on  my 
bumping :  the  more  readily  that  it  gave  her 
an  opportunity  of  contemptuously  contrasting 
the  mad  little  Wallachian  post-carts,  with 
the  dark,  snug,  slow,  drowsy  diligences  of 
her  own  country.  She  invited  me  into  the 
kitchen  to  eigoy  a  glass  of  kirsch  wasser,  and 
dlscnss  these  subjects  more  at  large.  I  found 
it  a  perfect  rendezvous  for  the  gossips  of  the 
town.  I  had  quite  an  invigorating  talk  with 
them,  and  soon  learned  all  the  scandal  and 
private  histories  of  the  neighbourhood. 

It  appeared  to  me  that  the  Wallachians 
considered  scandalous  gossip  the  great  busi- 
ness of  life.  I  never  heard  so  much  good- 
humoured  laughing  abuse  of  absent  people. 
They  used  the  strongest  and  bitterest 
language  in  the  vocabulary,  yet  there  was 
no  spite  in  it.  They  would  call  a  man  a 
scoundrel  in  such  a  gay,  pleasant,  debonnaire, 
way,  that  if  he  were  present  even  he  could 
hardly  feel  offended  at  it.  Perhaps  the 
worst  part  of  all  this  was,  that  no  person's 
acts  or  words  ever  seemed,  among  them,  to 
be  fair  evidence  of  his  real  intentions.  Their 
quick  penetrating  minds,  and  lively  imagina- 


tions were  always  straining  to  discover  some 
hidden  motive  very  far  beyond  tiie  compre- 
hension of  ordinarv  people.  Here,  and  hero 
only,  they  resembled  the  Greeks.  In  fact, 
the  Wallachians  writhed  so  long  under  the 
disastrous  rule  of  those  amazing  rogues  the 
Greek  Phanarlote  princes,  that  one  can 
scarcely  wonder  they  should  have  doubted 
the  sincerity  and  honesty  of  all  mankind  ever 
since.  Doubt,  indeed,  has  become  the  natural 
habit  of  their  minds ;  they  doubt  of  every- 
thing merely  because  they  really  cannot 
help  it 

Growing  tired  of  my  company  at  last,  I  set 
about  hiring  a  more  convenient  carriage. 
There  was  no  difliculty  in  this;  a  covered 
leathern  conveniency,  without  brings,  such 
as  is  used  by  the  more  substantial  and  well- 
to-do  Wallachians,  was  soon  obtained ;  but  it 
was  by  no  means  an  easy  afiur  to  get  horses. 
The  constant  movement  of  troops  in  these 
countries  has  literally  used  up  all  the  horses 
Unhappily,  the  same  wretched  system  of 
giving  government  orders  for  horses,  and 
compelling  the  poor  peasantry  to  furnish 
them  at  a  price  altogether  beneath  their  Mr 
value,  exists  here,  as  that  which  is  called 
"  vorspann  "  in  Hungary.  Every  person  of 
the  smallest  importance  is  furnished  with 
one  of  these  infamous  orders  for  horses  when- 
ever he  pleases  to  traveL  The  peasantry 
dare  not  disobey  them,  and  so  their  horses  are 
dragged  from  ploughing  the  land  or  carting 
home  the  harvest,  to  be  harnessed  to  a  travel- 
ler's carriage  at  an  hour's  notice,  and  are 
made  to  gallop  over  a  rough  country  at  such 
a  pace,  that  they  are  often  useless  for  days 
afterwards,  while  the  remuneration  fixed  by 
law  is  shamefully  inadequate.  I  mention  this, 
because  I  trust  that  any  of  our  countrymen 
who  ma}r  obtain  government  orders  for 
horses,  will  always  consider  it  absolutely 
their  duty  to  pay  at  least  double  the  price 
required  of  them.  After  spending  the  re- 
mainder of  the  afternoon,  therefore,  in  a  vain 
search  for  horses,  a  tradesman  was  at  length 
induced  to  lend  us  his,  on  the  distinct  under- 
standing that  they  should  be  fed  and  rested 
hulf-way.  They  were  a  sorry  pair,  all  skin 
and  bone  and  crookedness.  It  may  be  as  well 
to  mention  that  the  Wallachian  horses  are 
smaller  than  those  common  in  Turkey; 
and  although  they  possess  much  endurance, 
and  can  live  on  the  hardest  and  scantiest 
fare,  have  neither  fire  nor  vigour.  And,  in- 
deed, it  is  very  notable  that  there  is  a  general 
weakness  and  want  of  courage  observable 
among  all  the  animals  of  the  Principalities. 
Even  the  Wallachian  wolf;  the  wild  boar,  and 
the  bear,  are  not  the  savage  and  ferocious 
animals  which  are  found  under  corresponding 
names  in  other  countries.  Perhaps  the  damp 
climate,  and  the  exhalations  from  the  endless 
marshes,  may  have  an  enervating  effect  on 
them  ;  at  least,  this  is  the  cause  to  which  Mr. 
Consul  Wilkinson,  I  perceive,  has  traced  this 
remarkable  peculiarity. 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS,  July  14,  1855. 


[OoodMtodby 


It  was  eyeniog  when  I  set  out  from  Gioiv 
gevo,  at  last  The  rain  still  fell  heayily,  and 
3ie  wind  blew  in  wild  goats  at  intervals, 
making  the  leather  sides  of  my  carriage  flut- 
ter as  if  beaten  with  a  stick.  I  was  much 
better  off  than  in  the  poet-cart,  bat  I  was  still 
far  from  comfortable.  The  carriage  with 
which  I  was  now  provided  was  neither  more 
nor  less  than  a  light  wagon  without  springs, 
and  covered  over  with  a  flat  leathern  roof. 
It  had  no  seats,  and  the  head  being  of  course 
badly  fixed,  whenever  I  attempted  to  lean 
against  it,  it  gave  way  or  tore.  It  also  speed- 
ily got  wet  t&ougfa;  and  subsequently,  when 
the  rain  ceased,  froze,  so  that  I  might  as  well 
have  been  in  an  ice-house.  Unluckily,  also, 
Uiough  there  was  some  damp  straw  at  the 
bottom,  the  wagon  was  not  long  enough  to 
lie  down  in.  However,  I  huddled  m^pelf  up 
in  cloaks  and  furs ;  I  was  provided  with  some 
brandy,  and  some  bread  and  cheese — all  of 
which  I  found  very  useful ;  and  I  had  no  rea- 
son to  complain. 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  journey.  There  ap- 
peared to  be  no  road,  and  the  whole  count^ 
was  under  water.  The  wheels  were  always 
up  to  their  tires  in  slosh  and  mud.  It  was 
quite  dark,  and  it  seemed  to  me  really  a  mar- 
vel that  we  did  not  get  out  of  the  track,  and 
so  wuider  out  into  the  bog,  and  come  to 
grief.  The  cold  was  intense,  and  the  only 
sound  I  could  hear,  save  the  downward  rush 
of  the  rain  and  the  wild  wailing  of  the 
wind,  was  the  groaning  and  sighing  of  my 
miserable  post-boy,  a  poor  half-starved  lad 
of  fifteen  or  sixteen  years  of  age.  I  offered 
him  my  brandy  flask  verr  often  to  console 
him,  but  he  would  not  drink,  though  he  de- 
voured some  of  my  bread  and  cheese  greedily 
enough. 

Bo  we  went  on.  It  was  impossible  to  go 
faster  than  a  walk— firstly,  because  we  could 
not  see  three  yards  before  us ;  and  secondly, 
because  the  horses  were  so  thoroughly  used 
up,  that  no  whip,  rein,  or  cheeriDg  hallo 
would  put  any  more  speed  into  them.  Now 
and  then  as  we  floundered  onward,  some  be- 
nighted horseman  would  plash  past  us,  or  the 
hoarse  shout  of  the  patrol — ^looking  shadowy 
and  gigantic  through  the  darkness — would 
assure  us  that  we  hi^  not  wandered  from  the 
right  track ;  and  once  we  met  the  mail  coming 
down  from  Bucharest.  First  came  a  courier 
with  a  poet-cart  and  four  horses  clearing 
the  way,  and  galloping  with  the  speed  of  a 
phantom.  A  torrent  of  oaths  warned  us  to 
pull  aside  and  watt  for  the  mail ;  we  did 
so,  and  the  ftirious  ^llop  of  the  twelve 
little  horses  that  drew  it  was  soon  heard  com- 
ing nearer  and  nearer,  through  the  darkness. 
Then  there  was  a  flashing  of  lights,  and  it 
whirled  past  us  (a  mere  post-cart  like  the 
other),  with  the  post-man  fast  asleep,  and 
propped  up  in  a  bearskin  coat  that  defied  the 
weather. 

Shortly  after  this  mv  coachman  fairly 
knocked  up.    He  got  off  the  box  and  came 


trembling  and  groaning  to  entreat  that  I 
would  alu)w  him  to  stop  and  pass  the  night 
at  the  next  post-house.  He  looked  a  miser- 
able object,  and  chattered  out  his  request  so 
imploringly,  that  I  at  once  agreed,  little 
knowing  what  was  in  store  for  us. 

We  crawled  along  that  sloppy,  broken 
road,  tiien,  for  about  half  an  hour  longer,  and 
then  stopped.  Attentive  observation  enabled 
me  to  perceive  that  a  dim  light,  coming 
through  a  very  small  and  dirty  window,  was 
just  visible  through  the  rain  and  darknesB. 
Alighting,  therefore,  I  traced  it  to  a  poor, 
solitary  hovel  by  the  road-dde,  I  entered  and 
inquired  for  a  bed.  Mine  host  looked  ap 
surprised  and  wondering.  "A  bed,"  I  re- 
peated,—■"  a  place  to  rest  In."— "Oh I"  an- 
swered mine  host  There  was  but  one,  aod 
that  was  occupied  by  his  wife,  family,  *nd  es- 
tablishment— "Could  I  have  a  room«  then, 
and  some  supper?"  Mine  host  shook  hia 
head ;  there  was  evidently  nothing  to  eat  in 
the  neighbourhood,  but  I  might  have  shelter 
with  his  wife,  family  and  establishment,  who 
were  all  lying  down  in  their  clothes  together ; 


or  I  might  go  into  the  other  room  (there  i 
but  two),  which  was  occupied  by  a  Tnrkldi 
pacha,  coming  fh>m  Bucharest,  and  who  had 
been  benighted,  and  obliged  to  seek  refuge 
from  the  weather.  To  this  I  agreed.  It  was 
a  wretched  little  room  heated  by  an  immenae 
iron  stove,  which  was,  nevertheless,  insuf- 
ficient protection  against  the  cold  that  rushed 
in  through  every  chink  and  cranny.  Here 
were  esti3)lished,  the  pacha,  his  coffee-boy  and 
pipe-bearers,  two  travelling  French  soldiers, 
and  a  Wallachian  merchant.  They  were  all 
drunk.  The  pacha,  having  a  great  f^ar  of 
cholera,  which  was  then  raging  fearfully,  was 
constantly  drinking  brandy  to  keep  it  oC 
This  was  the  first  and  only  time  I  had  ever 
seen  a  Turkish  gentleman  of  rank  drink  wine 
or  spirits  in  the  presence  of  strangers  and  in 
public.  Here, however, feeling probablythat 
any  licence  would  pass  unnoticed  in  a  Chria- 
tian  country,  he  enjoyed  himself— apparently 
without  the  smallest  scruple.  He  wns  a  fat, 
portly,  dignified  old  gentleman,  and  it  was 
an  odd  sight  enough  to  see  him  in  his  cups. 
I  grew  weary  of  his  antics  at  last,  however, 
and,  partly  to  escape  from  them— partly  to 
study  manners — ^I  went  into  the  other  roosL 
There  lav  the  post-master,  his  wife  and  farnOy 
all  huddled  together.  An  assistant  was  sort- 
ing and  arranging  a  rabble  rout  of  strangely- 
folded  letters,  by  the  light  of  a  flaring  oil- 
lamp  :  while  one  or  two  chance  travellers, 
including  my  coachman,  were  stretched  in 
their  sheepskin  coats  upon  the  floor.  Nothing 
but  the  happy  abilitr  of  smoking  at  all  hours, 
could  have  enabled  me  to  support  audi  an 
atmo^here  as  clouded  this  room.  Fortu- 
nately, however,  my  pipe  rendered  me  insen- 
sible to  it,  and  so  I  remained  to  wile  away 
the  night  in  quaint  talk  about  Omer  Pacha, 
and  such  notabilities  among  mankind,  as  in- 
terested this  simple  party.    Time  passes  not 


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ClMriM  UlckeitfO 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  U,  1855. 


561 


nnpleasantly,  'wben  yoa  are  listened  to  as  an 
oracle,  be  the  listeners  who  they  may ;  and 
the  dawn  broke  in  npon  us  quite  unex- 
pectedly. My  journey  has  little  else  worth 
recording.  We  drove  for  some  six  hours 
through  a  trackless  waste  of  bogs  and  water ; 
I  expected  every  moment  that  the  horses 
would  come  to  a  dead  halt,  but  they  held  on, 
and  at  about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  we 
approached  Bucharest.  The  capital  of  Wal- 
lachia  covers  a  very  large  extent  of  ground, 
and  the  entrance  to  it  on  this  side  Is  pretty  and 
even  imposing  to  the  traveller  who  is  accus- 
tomed to  the  wretched  appearance  of  the 
Turkish  cities  beyond  the  Danube.  There  is 
an  air  of  wealth,  comfort,  and  cleanliness 
about  the  European-looking  white  houses 
with  their  verandas,  balconies,  and  coneervar 
tories,  which  is  very  pleasant.  Carriages 
and  servants  in  gay  liveries,  too,  flaunting 
about  the  streets,  with  crowds  of  glittering 
uniforms,  told  me  plainly  enough  that  I  had 
passed  back  into  the  world  of  civilisation 
again. 

I  had  an  opportunity,  now,  of  contrasting 
the  advantages  of  travelling  in  Wallachia, 
by  post-cart,  with  the  plan  1  adopted.  The 
result  was  certainlv  unfavourable  to  the  post- 
cart.  My  companion  had  also  been  delayed 
on  the  road  by  a  general  breakdown.  He 
arrived  in  Bucharest  only  one  hour  before 
me,  and  he  was  subsequently  confined  to  his 
bed  for  two  months  by  a  severe  illness 
brought  on  by  the  fatigue  and  exposure  of 
the  journey. 


A  DIP  IN  THE  BRINE. 

Let  no  one  be  charged  with  levity  until  he 
has  had  a  dip  in  the  brine.  It  is  then  that 
his  levity  is  indeed  apparent.  He  flounders 
abont,  and  tries  to  sink,  but  cannot;  his 
gravity  is  too  little,  his  levity  too  much  j  the 
brine  buoys  him  up,  with  or  without  his  own 
consent, — and  float  he  must. 

But  where  and  what  is  this  brine  ?  Even 
at  Droitwich,  and  perhaps  elsewhere.  Brine, 
however,  is  not  intended  mainly  to  float  upon, 
but  mainly  to  prepare  salt  from  ;  and  there- 
fore its  bathing  qualities  must  be  regarded  in 
a  secondanr  sense.  Droitwich  is  one  of  the 
spots  enriched  with  our  invaluable  stores  of 
salt.  Worcestershire  is  for  inferior  to  Cheshire 
as  a  salt-producing  country ;  still  is  the  supply 
in  and  around  the  districts  of  Droitwich  and 
Bromsgrove  very  important.  If  Worcester 
town  has  a  fashionable  neighbour  on  the  one 
side,  Malvern,  it  has  a  sober,  industrious 
neighbour  on  the  other,  Droitwich.  The  one 
spends  money,  the  other  makes  money  :  Wor- 
cester acts  as  a  metropolis  for  both. 

All  the  world  knows  what  table  salt  is ; 
but  some  portions  of  the  world  do  not  know 
that  much  of  this  salt  is  procured  from  liquid 
transparent  brine,  pumped  up  from  the  bow- 
els of  the  earth.    Droitwich  makes  its  salt 


in  this  way ;  while  Cheshire  both  pumps  up 
the  brine,  and  digs  up  the  rock-salt.  In 
Cheshire  there  are  two  beds  of  salt  under- 
lying the  river  Weaver  and  tributaries ;  the 
lowermost  being  the  richer  of  the  two,  is  the 
one  most  worked,  at  a  depth  of,  perhaps, 
three  hundred  feet.  Miners  dig  down  to  the 
salt,  as  they  would  to  coal  or  iron ;  they  use 
the  pick  and  the  shovel,  the  blast  and  the 
for^e,  just  as  other  miners  do.  The  material 
which  thev  dig  up,  rock-salt,  is  a  very  hard, 
dirty  whitish  substance,  requiring  great  force 
to  separate  it  ftom  the  parent  bed,  and 
brought  up  to  the  surface  in  lumps  of  various 
size  and  shape.  Almost  the  whole  of  this 
rock-salt  is  exported  to  foreign  countries, 
where  it  is  applied  to  various  uses.  If  a  sub- 
terranean stream  flow  over  any  part  of  the 
bed  of  salt,  the  water  becomes  saturated  with 
salt,  and  converted  into  brine.  It  is  from  such 
brine  that  by  far  the  largest  quantity  of  English 
salt  is  obtained ;  for,  it  is  cheaper  to  pump 
up  the  liquid  than  to  dig  up  the  solid. 

A  picture  of  an  old  town  placed  in  juxta- 
position to  a  picture  of  a  new  town, — or 
rather  two  pictures  of  the  same  town  in  dif- 
ferent periods  of  its  career — will  tell  us  manv 
things  which  pictorial  people  do  not  think 
about.  Are  there  tall  chimneys  in  the  newer 
picture  and  none  in  the  old  ?  Then  is  there 
some  manufacturing  process  carried  on  which 
has  had  its  birth  since  the  sketching  of  the 
earlier  picture.  A  safe  conclusion,  certainly, 
in  many  respects,  but  as  certainly  unsafti  in 
respect  to  Droitwich.  In  Nash's  Worcester- 
shire, the  first  edition  of  which  appeared 
about  seventy  years  ago,  Droitwich  is 
honoured  with  a  copper-plate  engraving,  in 
which  there  are  two  tranquil  churches,  four 
tranquil  sheep,  many  stiff,  tranquil  trees,  and 
a  few  quaint,  tranquil  houses;  but  of  tall 
chimneys  we  can  see  none.  There  are  it  is 
true,  a  few  slender  bits  rising  from  certain 
lowlsh  roofs  to  a  height  a  little  above  the 
ordinary  houses  ;  but,  if  these  be  chimneys, 
they  are  humble  indeed  to  the  pretentious 
brick  stalks  now  visible  in  that  town.  And 
yet  Droitwich  was  busily  making  salt  in 
those  days  as  in  the  present.  Changes  of 
process  have  much  to  do  with  these  changes 
of  chimney, 

Nash  was  terribly  puzzled  to  determine 
the  meaning  of  Droitwich,  The  town  was 
first  named  Wic  or  Wich.  Then  some  say 
that  Wic  is  derived  from  the  Roman  vicus,  a 
street  or  village  ;  and  others  say  that  it  comes 
from  the  Saxon  wic,  a  station  or  mansion ; 
while  others  will  have  it  that  wic  is  a  trans- 
formation of  wi,  or  wye,  a  sanctuary  or  holy 
spot,  and  that  all  salt-springs  were  in  early 
times  held  almost  sacred ;  but,  that  wic, 
or  wich  signifies  a  salt-spring  in  its  primi- 
itive  sense,  was  more  than  Nash  could  take 
upon  himself  to  determine.  Then  what  is 
Droit,  and  why  was  Droit  married  to  Wick  ? 
After  roaming  among  Druids  and  Romans, 
Saxons  and   Danes,  our   antiquary    settles 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    Jult  14,  1855. 


CCoadQctod.lr 


down  among  the  Normans,  and  tells  us  that 
brine-springs  of  a  weaker  qualltj  in  several 
parts  of  Worcestershire  being  stopped  up  to 
revent  the  ezcessiye  consum  ption  of  wood, 
and  the  inhabitants  only  allowed  to  draw 
brine  from  this  town,  it  came  to  be  dis- 
tinguished by  the  a^janct  Droit^  legal  or 
allowed. 

The  information  collected  by  Nash  and 
other  county  historians  respecting  the  salt 
springs  at  Droitwlch,  is  in  many  respects 
very  curious.  It  has  been  traced  through  a 
period  of  eight  centuries  and  a  half.  The 
redoubtable  Kenulph,  king  of  the  Mercians, 
in  the  year  eight  hundred  and  sixteen,  gave 
to  the  Church  of  Worcester,  ten  houses  at 
Wick,  with  salt  furnaces;  and  about  a  cen- 
tury and  a  half  afterwards,  King  Edwy 
endowed  the  same  church  with  five  more  salt 
furnaces.  There  seems  to  be  some  doubt  as 
to  the  meaning  which  the  old  chroniclers 
attach  to  the  names  salt  furnaces,  seales, 
and  salinee  ]  but  at  any  rate,  the  old  Saxon 
kings  gave  to  the  church  at  Worcester  an 
interest  in  the  Droitwlch  salt-springs^  and 
this  is  enough  for  our  present  purpose.    At 


loads  yearly.    It  Is  yonge  pole  wood,  easy  to 
be  cloven. 

In  those  days,  every  share  in  the  brine,  as 
a  property  was  called  a  phat ;  and  as  for  the 
manner  of  distributing  the  brine,  it  became 
almost  necessary  to  have  as  many  boiling 
vcdseis  as  there  were  shares,  one  to  each;  there 
is  at  least  a  possibilitv,  if  not  a  probability, 
that  share,  phat,  scale,  salina,  and  furnace, 
were  often  used  as  convertible,  or  practically 
equivalent  terms  :  sometimes  implying  &  salt- 
making  vessel,  and  at  other  times  such  a 
quantity  of  brine  as  that  vessel  could  contain. 
The  vessels,  made  of  lead,  were  aboui  six  feet 
\  in  length,  four  in  breadth,  and  one  in  depth. 
It  was  the  forest  of  Feckenham,  stripped  to 
supply  Droitwlch  with  fuel,  that  Ih^yton 
adrressed  thus  as  a  di^evell^  nymph : 


fond  nymph,  tb  j  twisted  eorli  on  which  were  all  mf 

care. 
Thou  lettest  the  AirnM«  watto ;  that  mlMraUa  bara 
I  bop«  to  lee  thee  left,  which  bo  dost  me  desioae ; 
Whose  beautiM  many  a  morn  hare  blest  mj  longixkg 

eyea 
And  till  the  weary  ran  gnnk  down  Into  th»  west, 
Th6u  still  my  object  wast,  thou  once  my  only  beat. 


the  time  of  Domesday  survey,  shares  in  these    The  time  shall  quickly  come,  thy  groTes  and  pi 

springs  were  annexed  to  many  estates  in  the         -«-«•*— 

county,  although  the  estates  were,  in  some 

instances,  several  miles  distant    Under  what 

condition  the  right  to  the  brine  became  thus 

curiously  held,  does  not  clearly  appear :  but, 

each  of  these  landowners  had  a  share  of  orine 

apportioned  to  him,  proportionate  to    the 

timber  which  his  estate  afforded.    The  fuel 

used  in  the  evaporating  houses,  was  wood ; 

and  it  is  probable  that,  when  the  neighbour- 


springs, 
I  Where  to  the  mlrthfal  merle  the  warbling  mavis  aiagi, 
j  The  painfal  labourer's  hand  shall  stack  tha  roota  to 
I         burn ; 

I  The  branch  and  body  spent,  yet  could  not  terre  his 
I        turn  I 


About  two  centuries  and  a  half  ago,  the 
brine-ownership  at  Droitwlch  was  thus  re- 
gulated. There  were  about  four  hundred 
phats  or  shares.    Each  phat  was  represented 


hood  of  Droitwich  became  stripped  of  its  wood  '  by  two  hundred  and  sixteen  large  vessels  ftill 
to  feed  these  fires,  aright  to  some  of  the  brine  |  of  brine ;  and  in  order  that  no  person  flhoald 
was  awarded  to  the  more  distant  landowners  have  stronger  brine  than  his  neighbour,  ser- 
on  condition  of  their  furnishing  wood  for  fuel.  !  vice  ofQcers  called  ties-men  were  appointed 
Other  landowners  sold  their  wood  to  the  '  to  manage  the  distribution.  Each  shareholder 
salt-makers,  being  paid  in  money  or  in  salt,  gave  notice  to  the  ties-men  of  the  nnmber  of 
In  those  days  there  appears  to  have  been  '  M^ares  held  by  hiuL  All  the  holders  made 
five  wells  of  brine  in  and  near  Droitwich.  I  their  salt  about  the  same  time :  and  the  ties- 
Edward  the  Confessor  and  Earl  Edwin  had  i  men  meted  out  an  equal  measure  for  the  tc^ 
possessed  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  salinee  the  bottom  and  the  middle  of  the  well,  to 
at  these  wells,  all  of  which  passed  over  to  >  each  shareholder,  that  all  might  share  equally 
William  the  Conqueror.  Whether  a  salina  |  in  the  strongest  brine.  They  gave  out  dx 
meant  a  definite  quantity  of  brine,  or  a  vessel  vessels  full  for  the  top,  six  for  the  middle, 
in  which  the  brine  was  boiled,  is  a  point  and  six  for  the  bottom ;  these  eighteen  con- 
whereupon  learned  doctors  differ.    The  royal    stituted  one  wicken  brine ;  there  were  twelve 


property  in  the  Droitwich  brine  was  held 
until  the  time  of  King  John,  who  leased  it 
forever  to  the  Burgesses,  at  a  fee-farm  rent 
of  one  hundred  pounds  per  annum.  The 
crown  had  to  interfere,  in  the  time  of  Henry 
the  Third,  to  see  that  the  salt-works  were 
not  allowed  to  become  dilapidated.  In  the 
time  of  Leland  there  were  about  four  hundred 
seales  or  brine-vessels  at  Droitwich :  and 
wood  for  fuel  had  become  so  scarce,  that  it 
had  to  be  brought  from  Worcester,  Broms- 
grove,  and  Alcester.  Leland  *'  asked  a  saultcr 
howe  much  would  he  suppose  yearly  to  be 


of  these  wickens  served  out  in  about  half-a- 
year,  at  intervals  of  fourteen  or  fifteen  days 
each :  and  the  total,  making  a  quantity  of* 
two  nundred  and  sixteen  large  vessels  foil, 
was  the  brine  received  in  respect  to  each 
share  in  one  year.  The  salt-making  was  con- 
fiiied  to  the  latter  half  of  each  year. 

That  every  man  should  like  his  own  cakes 

and  ale,  is  well  enough ;  but,  nnfortnnately, 

man  looks  too  often  with  an  eager  eye  to  the 

I  cakes  and  ale  of  his  neighbours.    There  was 

something  in  the  brine-spring  system  which 


led  almost  of  necessity  to  monopoly.    Each 


spent  at  the  fonrnaces.  and  he  answered  that    phat,  or  share  was  a  definite  qoantl^ ;  and 
by  estimation  there  was  spent  six  thousand  I  if  the  number  of  i^ares  became  also  definite, 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  14,  1855. 


563 


the  sbareholdera  woald  form  a  shng  little 
body  among  themselves.  In  the  time  of 
Charles  the  Second  there  were  about  foar 
hundred  and  eighty  pbats,  held  hj  about 
a  hundred  and  fifty  shareholders.  These 
holders  claimed,  not  only  the  brine  in  the 
three  existing  pits,  but  also  the  right  to  pre- 
vent any  one  else  from  sinking  any  other  pit, 
even  on  his  own  freehold  ground.  But,  one 
stout  Mr.  Stegnor,  stout  in  heart  and  in 
pocket,  defied  all  the  corporate  shareholders 
and  all  their  phats ;  he  dug  for  brine  on  his 
own  ground ;  he  found  it,  he  defended  his 
right  in  all  sorts  of  law  courts  and  equity 
courts,  and  finally  conquered ;  whereupon 
the  phatsmen  lost  their  monopoly,  and  salt 
fell  gradually  from  two  shillings  to  fourpence 
per  bushel. 

But,  the  strangest  stage  in  the  history  of 
the  Droitwich  Works  occurred  during  the 
time  of  George  the  First.  The  mayor  of  the 
town,  hearing  that  the  brine-pits  of  Cheshire 
were  very  much  deeper  than  those  of  Droit- 
wich, bethought  him  that  it  might  be  well  to 
have  the  corporate  pits  bored  or  dug  deeper ; 
it  was  done ;  when  up  rushed  such  a  flood 
of  brine  that  two  of  the  well-sinkers  were 
drowned  before  they  could  get  out  of  the 
way :  and  the  supply  became  henceforward 
80  aoundant  that  tnere  was  no  occasion  to 
limit  the  phats  to  a  definite  quantity,  or  to 
limit  the  working  to  half-yearly  spells.  In 
fact,  what  with  the  lawyers  on  the  one  side, 
and  the  well-diggers  on  the  other,  the  phats- 
men completely  lost  their  monopoly:  and 
many  annuities,  many  widows'  jointures, 
many  funds  for  schools  and  hospitals  and 
almshouses,  many  pensions,  many  charities, 
were  interfered  with,  causing  a  good  deal  of 
distress  in  the  town,  until  matters  had  righted 
themselves. 

During  the  same  century  many  additional 
pits  were  sunk.  Generally  they  went  through 
forty  or  fifty  feet  of  marl,  then  a  hundred  or 
more  of  gypsum,  and  then  was  found  a  sub- 
terranean river  of  brine,  about  two  feet  in 
depth,  flowing  over  a  bed  of  rock-salt  of  un- 
known thickness :  when  the  boring  penetrated 
quite  through  the  stratum  of  gypsum,  then 
did  the  brine  burst  upward  with  great  force 
to  the  surface.  Time  was,  when  men  dipped 
up  the  brine  with  hand- worked  buckets ;  then 
they  used  horse-wheels ;  and  now  they  use 
Bteam-^ngines.  Time  was,  when  the  neigh- 
-bouring  forests  were  stripped  of  their  trees 
to  supply  fuel  for  the  salt-pans :  but  canals 
and  railways  now  bring  a  plentiful  supply  of 
good  coal,  and  Drayton's  wood-nympu  need 
not  be  ftirther  dishevelled. 

In  one  of  the  earliest  volumes  of  the  Philo- 
sophical Transactions,  not  much  less  than  two 
centuries  back,  when  the  Royal  Society  was 
just  beginning  to  feel  its  way,  the  salt-springs 
of  Cheshire  and  Worcestershire  came  in  for 
a  reasonable  share  of  very  reasonable  specu- 
lation. Some  searcher  for  knowledge  pro- 
pounded a  long  string  of  queries :— What  is 


the  depth  of  the  salt-springs?  What  kind  of 
countiy  His  thereabouts  7  What  plants  grow 
near  them?  Whether  there  be  any  hot 
springs  near  the  salt  ones?  Whether  the 
water  of  the  salt-springs  be  hotter  or  cooler 
than  other  spring  water  ?  Whether  they  find 
any  shells  about  those  springs ;  and  what 
kind  of  earth  it  is  ?  How  strong  the  water 
is  of  salt?  What  is  the  manner  of  their 
working  ?  Whether  the  salt  made  of  these 
springs  be  more  or  less  apt  to  dissolve  in  the 
air  than  other  salt  ?  Whether  it  be  as  good 
to  powder  beef  or  other  flesh  with,  as  French 
salt?  Whether  those  salt-springs  do  yield 
less  water,  and  more  of  the  salt,  in  great 
droughts  than  in  wet  seasons  ?  How  long 
before  the  spring,  or  in  the  spring  it  may  be, 
before  the  fountains  break  out  into  their 
fullest  sources '  How  much  water  the  springs 
yield  daily?  At  what  distance  are  the  springs 
from  the  sea?  How  near  the  foot  of  any  hill 
is  to  those  springs,  and  what  height  the  next 
hill  is  of?  To  all,  or  nearly  all  of  these 
queries  very  sensible  answers  were  given  by 
one  "  learned  and  observing  William  Jackson, 
Doctor  of  Physick."  It  is  easy  to  see  that  the 
querist  had  the  salt  salt  'seas  in  his  mind 
tracing  his  questions :  and  many  others  would 
naturally  associate,  in  some  indefinite  way, 
the  salt  of  the  brine  with  the  salt  of  the 
ocean.  But,  Doctor  Jackson  only  knew  about 
Cheshire  salt,  and— -like  a  good  philosopher- 
limited  his  replies  to  that  which  was  within 
his  own  knowledge.  A  Droitwich  authority. 
Doctor  Thomas  Rastell,  afterwards  took  up 
the  matter,  and  ^ave  a  similar  string  of  re- 
plies to  the  queries,  in  relation  to  the  brine- 
springs  of  Worcestershire.  One  of  his  answers 
gives  as  clear  a  notion  of  the  saline  strength 
of  the  brine  as  anything  we  can  imagine.  He 
says  that  at  the  Upwich  pit,  there  were  three 
sorts  of  brine,  which  were  drawn  from  three 
diflferent  depths,  and  were  called  by  the  work- 
people First-man,  Middle-man,  and  Last- 
man.  A  measure  that,  when  filled  with  dis- 
tilled water,  would  weigh  twenty-four  ounces, 
was  filled  with  First-man,  and  then  weighed 
thirty-one  ounces  ;  it  was  filled  with  Second- 
man,  and  then  weighed  thirty  ounces ;  It  was 
filled  with  Last-man,  and  then  weighed  twen- 
ty-nine ounces.  So  that  the  average  of  the 
brine  was  one-fourth  heavier  than  distilled 
water  ;  and  as  this  weightiness  was  produced 
wholly  by  the  salt,  it  followed  that  four  tons 
of  brine  would  yield  one  ton  of  salt. 

Brine-boiling  and  salt-making,  is  hot  steam- 
ing work.  Go  into  any  one  of  the  works, 
and  you  will  see  men  naked  to  the  waist,  em- 
ployed in  an  atmosphere  only  just  bearable 
by  strangers.  You  see  that  the  brine  is 
pumped  up  from  the  pits  Into  reservoirs :  you 
see  ranges  of  large  shallow  quadrangular  iron 
pans,  placed  over  fiercely  heated  furnaces : 
you  see  the  brine  fiow  into  the  pans,  and  in 
due  time  bubble  and  boil  and  evaporate  with 
great  rapidity:  you  see  that  the  salt  evi- 
dently separates  by  degrees  from  the  water, 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  U,  1866. 


and  granulates  at  the  bottom  of  the  pan :  yoa 
see  meu  lade  up  this  granulated  salt  with 
flattish  shovels,  and  transrer  it  to  draining 
vessels :  and  you  see  it  finally  put  into  oblong 
boxes,  whence  it  is  carried  to  the  stoFC-room 
to  be  dried.  Observing  a  little  more  closely, 
you  see  that  a  nicety  of  manipulation  leads 
to  a  nice  classification  of  salt.  If  the  brine 
be  rapidly  and  violently  boiled,  one  kind  of 
salt  is  produced, — the  finest  and  best;  of 
slower  lK)iling,  a  moderately  good  kind  of  salt 
comes ;  of  still  slower,  a  strong  but  coarse 
kind,  used  in  salting  herrings  and  other  fish. 
The  coarsest  salt  is  often  the  strongest ;  and 
thus  all  demands  for  quality  are  easily  met. 
The  blocks  of  salt  we  see  in  the  London  shops, 
are  taken  from  wooden  moulds,  containing 
about  thirty  pounds  each.  It  is  in  these 
moulds  that  the  salt  consolidates ;  and  then 
the  white  oblong  quadrangular  masses  are 
removed  fk'om  the  moulds,  and  taken  into  the 
stove-house  to  dry. 

A  Battle  of  the  Brine  was  fought  at  Droit- 
wich  about  four  years  ago,  and  a  very  singular 
battle  it  was,  in  reject  both  to  its  cause  and 
its  tactics.  One  of  the  salt-works  had  been 
carried  on  by  a  companv,  which  company 
fell  into  difficulties,  and  the  operations  were 
suspended  for  a  considerable  time.  During 
this  period,  other  persons  sank  new  pits  and 
established  new  works.  On  the  renewal  of 
the  company's  operations,  there  were,  of 
course,  more  salt-makers  than  before.  They 
competed  with  one  another,  and  prices  fell 
below  the  remunerating  point  The  makers 
met,  and  talked,  and  wrangled,  but  effected 
nothing  in  a  peace-making  direction.  Then 
the  companjf  declared  war.  The  companv 
had  their  brine-pits  at  their  works ;  but  all, 
or  nearly  all,  the  other  manufacturers  derived 
their  brine  f^om  pits  at  a  greater  or  lesser 
distance  from  their  works ;  and  it  seems  to 
have  been  a  custom  in  the  district  to  assume 
that  the  salt-makers  might  carij  their  brine- 
pipes  through  any  estate,  provided  they  did 
not  interfere  with  the  surface.  Now,  it  hap- 
pened that  the  company  possessed  the  ground 
through  which  some  of  these  brine-pipes  ran ; 
and  hence  the  plan  of  campaign.  On  a 
selected  occasion — perhaps  on  a  dark  night, 
for  this  reads  better— a  body  of  men  belong- 
ing to  the  company  cut  off  the  pipes  of  one 
unfortunate  salt-maker,  stopped  nis  brine, 
and  thereby  stopped  his  trade.  After  a  time, 
he  plucked  up  spirit  and  showed  fight  He 
procured  men  from  the  little  salt-works  to 
come  and  help  him  re-lay  his  pipes  in  the 
night,  while  other  men  from  the  big  salt- 
works came  to  prevent  them.  Constables 
came  and  looked  on,  ready  to  interfere  if 
matters  became  serious.  After  a  struggle, 
the  little  party  drove  off  the  big  party,  and 
succeeded  in  re-laying  the  pipes.  A  few  days 
afterwards,  at  midnight,  the  company's  men 
a^ain  went  and  cut  off  the  pipes.  In  another 
direction,  by  an  extraordinary  stroke  of 
genius,  the  company  managed  to  cut  off  a 


brine-pipe  by  numlng  a  kind  of  tunnel  or 
gallery  from  a  cellar  belonging  to  a  tenant 
of  theirs,  and  so  intersecting  the  pipe  under- 
neath the  turnpike  I'oad — for  this  particular 
brine-pipe  did  not  run  through  may  ground 
belonging  to  the  company.  At  it  they  went, 
Russians  and  Turks,  big  salters  and  little 
saltcrs,  until  matters  began  to  look  serious. 
It  was  fancied  that  each  party  woold  injure 
the  other,  and  that  the  trade  of  the  town 
wouH  suffer.  At  length  peace  was  proclaimed, 
on  what  terms  we  do  not  exactly  know  ;  but 
peace  was  proclaimed, — and  ma^  it  fioorish ! 
For  it  is  a  very  peculiar  and  critical  system 
this,  the  obtainment  of  brine  in  snob  a  way  ; 
it  requires  that  all  should  work  in  harmony. 

There  is  a  knotty  problem  in  the  Post-oflSce 
Directory  of  Worcestershire.  A  certain  in- 
habitant of  Droitwich,  whom  we  may  perhaps 
designate  John  Salt,  is  set  down  as  *'  salt-pan 
maker  and  New  Rising  Sun.''  It  might  at 
first  be  supposed  that  John  Salt  is  the  Coming 
Man  who  is  so  much  talked  of,  about  to  rise 
and  bless  the  world  :  but  a  humbler  theory 
is,  that  he  keeps  the  New  Rising  Sun  hoetelrj, 
or  perhaps  that  his  better-half  keeps  it,  while 
he  busies  himself  in  making  salt-pans.  Ttie 
neighbouring  country  of  Stafford  is  abundant- 
1 V  rich  in  similar  examples,  principally  among 
the  lock-makers  of  Wolverhampton  and  Wll- 
lenhalL 

At  Droitwich  alone,  as  many  as  sixty 
thousand  tons  of  salt  are  made  annoally ;  bot 
this  is  a  trifle  compared  to  the  Cheshire  make. 
Taking  the  two  counties,  with  a  sprinkling 
in  a  few  other  counties,  it  is  supposed  that 
there  are  about  a  hundred  salt-works  in 
England, — producing  about  eight  hundred 
thousand  tons  of  salt  per  annum, — ^giving  aa 
average  produce  of  about  eight  thooaand 
tons  from  each  work.  The  price  varies  from 
about  five  shillings  per  ton  for  the  commonest 
kind  in  times  of  competition,  to  about  twen^ 
shillings  per  ton  for  the  finest  kind  in  times 
of  mutually-arranged  tariffs.  Twelve  to  fif- 
teen shillings  per  ton  is  about  a  medium 
price  for  fair  average  table-salt,  sold  at  the 
works.  It  is  a  great  blessing  to  the  country 
that  good  salt  can  thus  be  obtained  at  twelve 
to  sixteen  pounds  for  a  penny.  Merchants' 
profits,  shopkeepers'  profits,  and  the  charges 
for  ship  and  canal  and  railwav  conveyance, 
raise  the  price  to  the  level  with  which  we 
are  familiar.  After  supplying  all  our 
home  wants,  we  have  something  like  half  a 
million  of  tons  to  spare  annually  for  other 
countries. 

The  Royal  Hotel  at  Droitwich  has  a  series 
of  baths  connected  with  it  The  cisterm  of 
these  baths  are  connected  by  pipes  with  the 
brine-pits  of  a  neighbouring  nilt-work ;  and 
pump  are  set  to  work  to  supply  the  baths. 
As  the  brine  would  very  nearlv  excoriate  aa 
unlucky  bather  if  used  in  its  first  rude 
strength,  it  is  mollified  and  rendered  gentle. 
Hot  clear  water  is  tmingled  with  cold  clear 
brine.    The  specific  gravity  is  great,  and  the 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  14,  1865. 


666 


bather  floats  aboai  with  strange  liveliness^ 
enjoying  the  mimic  sea-bath.  Stories  are 
told  concerning  gouty  old  gentlemen  and 
rheumatic  old  ladies  who  have  derived  won- 
derful benefit  herefrom ;  but  of  this  we  know 
nothing. 


TIMERS   CURK 

MouBS,  0  rtjoicing  heart, 

The  hoari  are  fljiog. 
Each  one  lome  treaanre  takes, 
laoh  one  some  blosaom  breaks. 

And  leaves  it  djing ; 
The  chill  <Urk  night  draws  near, 

Thy  sun  will  soon  depart. 

And  leare  thee  sighing ; 
Then  monm,  rejoicing  heart, 

Th«  hoars  are  fijing  1 

Bejoiee,  0  grieying  heart. 

The  hours  flj  fast, 
With  each  some  sorrow  dies, 
With  each  some  shadow  flios. 

Until  at  last 
The  red  dawn  in  the  east 

Bids  weary  night  depart. 

And  pain  is  past 
R^Joiee,  then,  grieving  heart, 

The  hoars  fly  ftut  1 

THE   YELLOW   MASK. 

in  TWELVE  CHAPTERS.       CHAPTER  IV. 

Even  the  master-stroke  of  replacing  the 
treacherous  Italian  forewoman  by  a  French 
dressmaker,  engaged  direct  from  Paris,  did  not 
ftt  first  avail  to  elevate  the  great  Grifoni  esta- 
blishment above  the  reach  of  minor  calamities. 
Mademoiselle  Yirginie  had  not  occupied  her 
new  situation  at  Fisa  quite  a  week,  before 
Bhe  fell  ill.  All  sorts  of  reports  were  circu- 
lated as  to  the  cause  of  this  illness ;  and  the 
Demoiselle  Grifoni  even  went  so  far  as  to 
suggest  that  the  health  of  the  new  forewoman 
had  fallen  a  sacrifice  to  some  nefarious  prac- 
tices of  the  chemical  sort,  on  the  part  of  her 
rival  in  the  trade.  But  however  the  misfor- 
tune had  been  produced,  it  was  a  fact  that 
Mademoiselle  Yirginie  was  certainly  very  ill. 
and  another  fact  that  the  doctor  insisted  on 
her  being  sent  to  the  Baths  of  Lucca  as  soon 
as  she  could  be  moved  from  her  bed. 

Fortunately  for  the  Demoiselle  Grifoni,  the 
Frenchwoman  had  succeeded  In  producing 
three  specimens  of  her  art  before  her  health 
broke  down.  They  comprised  the  evening 
dress  of  yellow  brocaded  silk,  to  which  she 
had  devoted  herself  on  the  morning  when  she 
first  assumed  her  duties  at  Pisa ;  a  black  cloak 
and  hood  of  an  entirely  new  shape ;  and  an 
irresistibly-fascinating  dressing-gown,  said  to 
have  been  first  brought  into  fashion  by  the 
princesses  of  the  blood-royal  of  France.  These 
articles  of  costume,  on  l)eing  exhibited  in  the 
show-room,  electrified  the  ladies  of  Pisa ;  and 
orders  from  all  sides  fiowed  in  immediately 
on  the  Grifoni  establishment    They  were,  of 


course,  easily  executed  by  the  inferior  work- 
women, from  the  specimen-designs  of  the 
French  dressmaker.  So  that  the  illness  of 
Mademoiselle  Yirginie,  though  it  might  cause 
her  mistress  some  temporary  inconvenience, 
was,  after  all,  productive  of  no  absolute 

lOfrS. 

Two  months  at  the  Baths  of  Lucca  restored 
the  new  forewoman  to  health.  She  returned 
to  Pisa,  and  resumed  her  place  in  the  private 
work-room.  Once  re-established  there,  she 
discovered  that  an  important  change  had 
taken  place  during[  her  absence.  Her  friend 
and  assistant,  Brigida,  had  resigned  her  situa- 
tion. All  inquiries  made  of  the  Demoiselle 
Grifoni  only  elicited  one  answer :  the  missing 
workwoman  had  abruptly  left  her  place  at  five 
minutes'  warning,  and  had  departed  without 
confiding  to  anyone  what  she  thought  of 
doing,  or  whither  she  intended  to  turn  her 
steps. 

Months  elapsed.  The  new  year  came ;  but 
no  explanatory  letter  arrived  from  Brisida. 
The  spring  season  passed  off,  with  all  its 
accompaniments  of  dress-making  and  dress- 
buying  ;  but  still  there  was  no  news  of  her. 
The  fi^  anniversary  of  Mademoiselle  Yir- 
ginie's  engagement  with  the  Demoiselle 
Grifoni  came  round ;  and  then,  at  last,  a  note 
arrived,  stating  that  Brigida  had  returned  to 
Pisa,  and  that,  if  the  French  forewoman  would 
send  an  answer,  mentioning  where  her  private 
lodgings  were,  she  would  visit  her  old  friend 
that  evening,  after  business-hours.  The  in- 
formation was  gladly  enough  given ;  and, 
punctually  to  the  appointed  time,  Brigida 
arrived  in  Mademoiselle  Yirginie's  little  sit- 
ting-room. 

Advancing  with  her  usual  indolent  stateli- 
ness  of  gait,  the  Italian  asked  after  her 
friend's  health  as  coolly,  and  sat  down  in  the 
nearest  chair  as  carelessly,  as  if  they  had  not 
been  separated  for  more  than  a  few  days. 
Mademoiselle  Yirginie  laughed  in  her  live- 
liest manner,  and  raised  her  mobile  French 
eyebrows  in  sprightly  astonishment. 

"Well,  Brigida  I"  she  exclaimed,  "they 
certainly  did  you  no  injustice  when  they  nick- 
named you  *  Care-Fo]>Nothing,  in  old  Gri- 
foni's  work-room.  Where  have  you  been? 
Why  have  you  never  written  to  me  ?" 

*'  I  had  nothing  particular  to  write  about ; 
and  besides,  I  always  intended  to  come  back 
to  Pisa  to  see  you,''  answered  Brigida,  lean- 
ing back  luxuriously  in  her  chair. 

*<  But  where  have  you  been,  for  nearly  a 
whole  year  past  ?    In  Italy  ?" 

**  No  ;  at  Paris.  You  know  I  can  sing  ?^ 
not  very  well ;  but  I  have  a  voice,  and  most 
Frenchwomen  (excuse  the  impertinence)  have 
none.  I  met  with  a  friend,  and  got  intro- 
duced to  a  manager ;  and  I  have  been  singing 
at  the  theatre — not  the  great  parts,  only  the 
second.  Your  amiable  countrywomen  could 
not  screech  me  down  on  the  stage,  but  they 
intrigued  against  me  successfully  behind  the 
scenes.    In   short,   I  quarrelled   with    our 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


666 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  14, 1866. 


principal  ladj,  quftrrelled  with  tht  muiageri 
quarrelled  with  my  friend ;  and  here  I  am 
back  at  Pisa,  with  a  little  money  saved,  in  my 
pocket,  and  no  great  notion  what  I  am  to  do 
next." 

"  Back  at  Pisa !    Why  did  you  leave  it  ?" 

Brigida's  eyes  began  to  lose  their  indolent 
expresgion.  She  sat  up  suddenly  in  her  chair, 
and  set  one  of  her  hands  heavily  on  a  little 
table  by  her  side. 

"Why!"  she  repeated,  "because  when  I 
find  the  game  going  against  me,  I  prefer  ffiv- 
ing  it  up  at  once  to  waiting  to  be  beaten  J' 

"Ah  1  you  refer  to  that  last  year's  project 
of  yours  for  making  vour  fortune  among  the 
sculptors.  I  diould  like  to  hear  how  it  was 
you  failed  with  the  wealthy  young  amateur. 
Remember  that  I  fell  ill  before  you  had  any 
news  to  give  me.  Your  absence  when  I 
returned  ftom  Lucca,  and,  almost  immediately 
afterwards,  the  marriage  of  your  intended 
conquest  to  the  sculptor's  daughter,  proved 
to  me,  of  course,  that  you  must  have  failed. 
But  I  never  heard  how.  I  know  nothing  at 
this  moment  but  the  bare  fact  that  Maddalena 
Lomi  won  the  prize." 

"  Tell  me,  fii^t,  do  she  and  her  husband  live 
together  happily  ?" 

"  There  are  no  stories  of  their  disagreeing. 
She  has  dresses,  horses,  carriages,  a  negro 
I>age,  the  smallest  lap-dog  in  Italy^n  short, 
all  the  luxuries  that  a  woman  can  want ;  and' 
a  child,  by-the-by,  into  the  bargain." 

"A  child  I" 

"  Yes ;  a  child,  born  little  more  than  a  week 
ago," 

"Not  a  boy,  I  hope?" 

^*No;  a  girl." 

'*  I  am  glad  of  thai  Those  rich  people 
always  want  the  first-born  to  be  an  heir. 
They  will  both  be  disappointed.  I  am  glad 
of  that  I" 

"Mercy  on  us,  Brigida,  how  fierce  you 
look  I" 

"Dolt  It's  likely  enough.  IhateFablo 
d'Ascoli  and  Maddalena  Lomi— singly  as 
man  and  woman,  doubly  as  man  and  wife. 
Stop !  I'll  tell  you  what  you  want  to  know 
directly.  Only  answer  me  another  question 
or  two  first  Have  you  heard  anyUiing  about 
her  health?" 

"  How  should  I  hear  ?  Dress-makers  can't 
inquire  at  the  doors  of  the  nobility." 

"  True.  Now,  one  last  question :  That  little 
simpleton,  Nanina  t" 

"  I  have  never  seen  or  beard  anything  of 
her.  She  can't  be  at  Pisa,  or  she  would  have 
called  at  our  place  for  work." 

"Ah !  I  need  not  have  asked  about  her  if 
I  had  thought  a  moment  beforehand.  Father 
Rocco  would  be  sure  to  keep  her  out  of 
Fabio's  sight  for  his  niece's  sake." 

"  What,  he  really  loved  that  *  thread-paper 
of  a  girl,"  as  you  called  her  ?" 

"Better  than  flftv  such  wives  as  he  has 
got  now  I  I  was  in  the  studio  the  morn- 
ing he  was  told  of  her  departure  from  Pisa. 


A  letter  was  privately  given  to  bim,  (elliog 
him  that  the  girl  had  left  the  place  out  of  a 
feeling  of  honour,  and  had  hidden  herself 
beyond  the  possibility  of  discovery  to  prevent 
him  fVom  compromi^g  himself  with  all  bifl 
friends  by  marrying  her.  Naturally  enough 
be  would  not  believe  that  this  was  her  own 
doing;  and,  naturally  enough,  also,  when 
Father  Rocco  was  sent  for,  and  was  not  to  be 
found,  he  suspected  the  priest  of  being  at  the 
bottom  of  the  business.  I  never  saw  a  man 
in  such  a  fury  of  despair  and  rage  before. 
He  swore  that  he  would  have  all  Italy 
searched  for  the  girl,  that  he  would  be  the 
death  of  the  priest,  and  that  he  would  never 
enter  Luca  Lomi's  studio  again " 

"And,  as  to  this  last  particular,  of  course 
being  a  man,  he  failed  to  keep  his  word?" 

"  Of  course.  At  that  first  visit  of  mine  to 
the  studio  I  discovered  two  things.  The  first, 
as  I  have  said,  that  Fabio  was  really  in  lore 
with  the  girl — the  second,  that  Maddalena 
Lomi  was  really  in  love  with  him.  You  may 
suppose  I  looked  at  her  attentively  while  the 
disturbance  was  going  on,  and  while  nobody's 
notice  was  directed  on  me.  All  women  are 
vain,  I  know,  but  vanitv  never  blinded  my 
eyes.  I  saw  directly  that  I  had  bat  one 
superiority  over  her— my  figure.  She  was 
my  height,  but  not  well-made.  She  had  hair 
as  dark  and  as  glossy  as  mine:  eyes  as 
bright  and  as  black  as  mine  ;  and  the  rest  of 
her  face  better  than  mine.  My  nose  is  coarse, 
my  lips  are  too  thick,  and  my  upper  lip  over- 
hangs my  under  too  far.  She  had  none  of 
those  personal  fteiults ;  and,  as  for  capacity, 
she  managed  the  voungfool  in  his  passion,  as 
well  as  I  could  have  managed  hun  in  her 
place." 

"How?" 

"  She  stood  silent,  with  downcast  eyes,  and 
a  distressed  look  all  the  time  he  was  raving 
up  and  down  the  studio.  She  must  have 
hated  the  girl,  and  been  r^oiced  at  her 
disappearance ;  but  she  never  showed  iL 
*  You  would  be  an  awkward  rival,'  (I  thooght 
to  myselO  *  even  to  a  handsomer  woman  than 
I  am.'  However,  I  determined  not  to  despair 
too  soon,  and  made  up  my  mind  to  follow  my 
plan  Just  as  if  the  accident  of  the  girl's  dis- 
appearance had  never  occurred.  I  smoothed 
down  the  master  sculptor  easily  enough — 
flattering  him  about  his  reputation,  assuring 
him  that  the  works  of  Luca  Lomi  had  been 
the  objects  of  my  adoration  since  childhood, 
telling  him  that  I  had  heard  of  his  difiBculty 
in  finding  a  model  to  complete  his  Minerva 
from,  and  offering  myself  (if  he  thooght  me 
worthy)  for  the  honour — ^laying  great  stress 
on  that  word — for  the  honour  of  ^tting  to 
him.  I  don't  know  whether  he  was  altogether 
deceived  by  what  I  told  him ;  but  he  was 
sharp  enough  to  see  that  I  really  could  be  of 
use,  and  he  accepted  my  offer  with  a  profusion 
of  compliments.  We  parted,  having  arranged 
that  *I  was  to  give  him  a  first  sitting  in  a 
week's  time." 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CtMrietDklMML] 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  14,  1866. 


667 


"  Why  put  it  off  80  long  ? "  | 

"  To  allow  our  young  gentleman  time  to  cool 
down  and  return  to  tne  studio,  to  be  sure.  , 
What  was  the  use  of  my  being  there  while  ! 
he  was  away?''  i 

**  Yes,  yes— I  forgot  And  how  long  was  it 
before  ho  came  back  ? " 

'*  I  had  allowed  him  more  time  than  enough.  ; 
When  I  had  given  my  first  sitting,  I  saw  him  \ 
in  the  studio,  and  heard  it  was  his  second 
visit  there  since  the  da^  of  the  girl's  disap-  I 
pearance.  Those  very  violent  men  are  always 
changeable  and  irresolute."  . 

"  Had  he  made  no  attempt,  then,  to  die- 
cover  Kanina  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  I    He  had  searched  for  her  him- 
self, and  liad  set  others  searching  for  her,  but  ! 
to  no  purpose.    Four  days  of  perpetual  dis-  j 
appointment  had  been  enough  to  bring  him  i 
to  his  senses.    Lnca  Lomi  had  written  him  a 
peact-maldng  letter,  asking  him  what  harm  > 
he  or  his  daughter  had  done,  even  supposing 
Father  Rocco  was  to  blame.     Maddalena  i 
Lomi  had  met  him  in  the  street)  and  had 
looked  resignedly  away  from  him,  as  if  she 
expected  him  to  pass  her.    In  short,  they  had 
awakened  his  sense  of  justice  and  his  good- 
nature (you  see  I  can  impartially  give  him  ! 
his  due) ;  and  they  had  got  him  back.    He  ' 
was  silent  and  sentimental  enough  at  first, 
and  Bhockiogly  sulky  and  savage  with  the  : 
priest " 

"  I  wonder  Father  Bocco  ventured  within 
his  reach."  I 

"  Father  Booco  is  not  a  man  to  be  daunted 
or  defeated  by  anybody,  I  can  tell  you.    The 
same  day  on  which  Fabio  oame  back  to  the  , 
studio,  he  returned  to  it.    Beyond  boldly  > 
declaring  that  he  thought  Nanma  had  done 
quite  right,  and  had  acted  like  a  good  and 
virtuous  girl,  he  would  say  nothing  about  her 
or  her  disappearance.    It  was  quite  useless  | 
to  ask  him  questions— he  denied  that  any  one  ' 
had  a  right  to  put  them.    Threatening,  en- 
treating, flattering— all  modes  of  appeal  were 
thrown  away  on  him.    Ah,  my  dear  I  depend 
upon  it,  the  cleverest  and  politest  man  in  Pisa,  [ 
the  most  dangerous  to  an  enemv  and  the 
most  delightful  to  a  friend,  is  Father  Roceo.  | 
The  rest  of  them,  when  1  began  to  play  my  , 
cards  a  little  too  openly,  behaved  with  brutal  ; 
rudeness  to  me.    Father  Rocco  from  first  to 
last  treated  me  like  a  lady.    Sincere  or  not,  I  | 
don't  care— he  treated  me  like  a  lady  when 
the  others  treated  me  like "  | 

*' There  1  there!  don't  get  hot  about  it 
now.    Tell  me,  instead,  how  you  made  your  I 
first   approaches  to  the  young    gentleman  ' 
whom   you  talk  of  so  contemptuously  as 
Fabio." 

*'  As  it  turned  out,  in  the  worst  possible 
way.  First,  of  course,  I  made  sure  of  in- 
teresting him  in  me  by  telling  him  that  I  had 
known  Nanina.  So  &r,  it  was  all  well 
enough.  My  next  object  was  to  persuade 
him  that  she  could  never  have  gone  away  if 
she  had  truly  loved  him  alone ;  and  that  he 


must  have  had  some  fortunate  rival  in  her 
own  rank  of  life,  to  whom  she  had  sacrificed 
him,  after  gratifying  her  vanity  for  a  time  by 
bringing  a  young  nobleman  to  her  feet.  I 
had,  as  jovl  will  easily  imagine,  difficulty 
enoagh  m  malung  him  take  this  view  of 
Nanina's  flight.  His  pride  and  his  love  for 
the  ^irl  were  both  concerned  in  refusing  to 
adnut  the  truth  of  mv  suggestion.  At  last  I 
succeeded.  I  brought  him  to  that  state  of 
ruffled  vanity  and  fretful  self-assertion  in 
which  it  is  easiest  to  work  on  a  man's  feel- 
ings,— ^in  which  a  man's  own  wounded  pride 
makes  the  best  pitfall  to  catch  him  in.  I 
brought  him,  I  say,  to  that  state,  and  then — 
ihe  stepped  in,  and  proflted  by  what  I  had 
done.  Is  it  wonderful  now  that  I  rejoice  in 
her  disappointments ;  that  I  should  be  glad 
to  hear  any  ill  thing  of  her  that  any  one 
could  tell  me?" 

**  But  how  did  she  first  get  the  advantage 
of  you  T" 

*'  If  I  had  found  out.  she  would  never  have 
succeeded  where  I  failed.  All  I  know  is  that 
she  had  more  opportunities  of  seeing  him 
than  I,  and  that  she  used  them  cunningly 
enough  even  to  deceive  me.  While  I  thought 
I  was  gaining  ground  with  Fabio,  I  was 
actually  losing  it.  Hy  first  suspicions  were 
excited  by  a  change  in  Luca  Lomi's  conduct 
towards  me.  He  grew  cold,  neglectful — at 
last  absolutely  rude.  I  was  resolved  not  to 
see  this;  but  accident  soon  obliged  me  to 
open  my  eyes.  One  morning  I  heard  Fabio 
and  Maddalena  talking  of  me  when  they 
imagined  that  I  had  left  the  studio.  I  can't 
repeat  their  words,  especially  hers.  The 
blood  files  into  my  head,  and  the  cold  catches 
me  at  the  heart,  when  I  only  think  of  them. 
It  will  be  enough  if  I  tell  you  that  he  laughed 
at  me,  and  that  she " 

"Hush!  not  so  loud.  There  are  other 
people  lodging  in  the  house.  Never  mind 
about  telling  me  what  you  heard;  it  only 
irritates  you  to  no  purpose.  I  can  guess  that 
they  had  discovered " 

"  Through  her,  remember — all  through 
her  I" 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  understand.  They  had  dis- 
covered a  great  deal  more  than  you  ever 
intended  them  to  know,  and  all  through 
her." 

"  But  for  the  priest,  Virginie,  I  should  have 
been  openly  insulted  and  driven  from  their 
doors.  He  had  insisted  on  their  behaving 
with  decent  civility  towards  me.  They  said 
that  he  was  afraid  of  me,  and  laughed  at  the 
notion  of  his  trying  to  make  them  afraid  too. 
That  was  the  last  thine  I  heard.  The  fury  I 
was  in,  and  the  necessity  of  keeping  it  down, 
almost  suffocated  me.  I  turned  round,  to 
leave  the  place  for  ever,  when  who  should  I 
see,  standing  close  behind  me,  but  Father 
Rocco.  He  must  have  discovered  in  my  face 
that  I  knew  all :  but  he  took  no  notice  of  it. 
He  only  asked,  in  his  usual  quiet,  polite  way, 
if  I  was  looking  for  anything  I  had  lost,  and 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


668 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    Jons  U,  1855. 


CCaadoctod  by 


if  he  could  help  me.  I  managed  to  thaok 
him  and  to  get  to  the  door.  He  opened  it 
for  me  reBpectfully,  and  bowed— he  treated 
me  like  a  ladj  to  the  last  I  It  was  evening 
when  I  left  the  studio  in  that  way.  The 
next  morning  I  threw  up  my  situation,  and 
turned  my  l»ck  on  Pisa.  Now  you  know 
everything." 

''Did  you  hear  of  the  marriage?  or  did 
vou  only  assume,  from  what  you  knew,  that 
it  would  take  place?" 

''  I  heard  of  it  about  six  months  ago.  A 
man  came  to  sing  in  the  chorus  at  our  theatre, 
who  had  been  employed  some  time  before  at 
the  grand  concert  given  on  the  occasion 
of  the  marriage. — But  let  us  drop  the  sub- 
ject now.  I  am  in  a  fever  already  with 
talldng  of  it.  You  are  in  a  bad  situation 
here,  my  dear — I  declare  your  room  is  almost 
stifling." 

**  Shall  I  open  the  other  window  ?  " 

"  No :  let  us  go  out  and  get  a  breath  of  air 
by  the  river-side.  Come  I  take  your  hood  and 
fan — it  is  getting  dark — nobody  will  see  us, 
and  we  can  come  back  here,  if  you  like,  in 
half  an  hour." 

Mademoiselle  Virginie  acceded  to  her 
friend's  wish,  rather  reluctantly.  They 
walked  towards  the  river.  Th^  sun  was  down 
and  the  sudden  night  of  Italy  was  gathering 
fast.  Although  Brigida  did  not  say  another 
word  on  the  subject  of  Fabio  or  his  wife, 
she  led  the  way  to  the  bank  of  the  Amo, 
on  which  the  young  nobleman's  palace 
stood. 

Just  as  they  got  near  the  great  door  of 
entrance,  a  sedan-chair,  approaching  in  the 
opposite  direction,  was  set  down  before  it ;  and 
a  footman,  after  a  moment's  conference  with 
a  lady  inside  the  chair,  advanced  to  the  por- 
ter's-lodge,  in  the  court-yard.  Leaving  her 
iViend  to  go  on,  Brigida  slipped  in  after  the 
servant  by  the  open  wicket,  and  concealed 
herself  in  the  shadow  cast  by  the  great  closed 
gates. 

"  The  Marchesa  Melani,  to  inquire  how  the 
Contessa  d'Ascoll  and  the  infant  are,  this 
evening,"  said  the  footman. 

<*  My  mistress  has  not  changed  at  all  for 
the  better,  since  the  morning,"  answered  the 
porter.    "  The  child  is  doing  quite  well." 

The  footman  went  back  to  the  sedan-chair; 
then  returned  to  the  porter's  lodge. 

''The  Marchesa  desires  me  to  ask  if 
fresh  medical  advice  has  been  sent  for  ? "  he 
said. 

"  Another  doctor  has  arrived  from  Florence 
to-day,"  replied  the  porter. 

Mademoiselle  Virginie,  missing  her  friend 
suddenlv,  turned  back  towards  the  palace  to 
look  afier  her,  and  was  rather  surprised  to 
see  Brigida  slip  out  of  the  wicket-gate.  There 
were  two  oil-lamps  burning  on  pillars  outside 
the  door-way,  and  their  light  glancing  on  the 
Italian's  face,  as  she  passed  under  them, 
showed  that  Bhe  was  smiling. 


CHAPTKB  V. 

While  the  Marchesa  Melani  was  raakimg 
inquiries  at  the  gate  of  the  palace,  Fabio  was 
sitting  alone  in  the  apartment  which  his  wife 
usually  occupied  when  she  was  in  healtk. 
It  was  her  favourite  room,  and  had  beea 
prettily  decorated,  by  her  own  desire,  with 
hangings  in  yellow  satin,  and  furniture  of  the 
same  colour.  Fabio  was  now  waiting  in  iito 
hear  the  report  of  the  doctors  after  their 
evening  visit 

Although  Maddalena  Lomi  had  not  been 
his  first  love,  and  although  he  had  rauried 
her  under  circumstances  which  are  generally 
and  rightly  considered  to  aflford  few  chances 
of  lasting  happinera  in  wedded  life,  still  thej 
had  lived  together  through  the  one  rear  of 
their  union,  tranquilly,  if  not  fondly,  bhe  had 
moulded  herself  wisely  to  his  peculiar  hn- 
mours,  had  made  the  most  of  his  easy  disposi- 
tion, and,  when  her  quick  temper  had  got  tbe 
better  of  her,  had  seldom  hesitated  in  her 
cooler  moments  to  acknowledge  that  she  bad 
been  wrong.  She  had  been  extravagant,  it  is 
true,  and  had  irritated  him  by  fits  of 
unreasonable  jealousy ;  but  these  were  faults 
not  to  be  thought  of  now.  He  could  only  re- 
member that  she  was  the  mother  of  his  child, 
and  that  she  lay  ill  but  two  rooms  away  from 
him — dangerously  ill,  as  the  doctors  had 
unwilllngTy  confessed  on  that  very  day. 

The  darkness  was  closing  in  upon  him,  and  he 
took  up  the  hand-bell  to  ring  for  lights.  Wh^i 
the  servant  entered,  there  was  genuine  sorrow 
in  his  face,  genuine  anxiety  in  his  voice,  as  he 
inquired  for  news  from  the  sick-room.  The 
man  only  answered  that  his  mistress  was  still 
asleep ;  and  then  withdrew,  after  first  leaving 
a  sealed  letter  on  the  table  bv  his  ma^ter^ 
side.  Fabio  summoned  him  back  into  ti»e 
room,  and  asked  when  the  letter  had  arrived. 
He  replied  that  it  had  been  delivered  at  the 
palace  two  days'  since,  and  that  he  had 
observed  it  lying  unopened  on  a  desk  in  his 
master's  study. 

Left  alone  again,  Fabfo  remembered  that 
the  letter  had  arrived  at  a  time  when  the 
first  dangerous  symptoms  of  his  wife's  illness 
had  declared  themselves,  and  that  he  bad 
thrown  it  aside  after  observing  the  address  to 
be  in  a  handwriting  unknown  to  him.  In  his 
present  state  of  suspense,  any  occupation  was 
better  than  sitting  idle.  So  he  took  up  the 
letter  with  a  sigh,  broke  the  seal,  and 
turned  inquiringly  to  the  name  signed  at  the 
end. 

^^  It  was,  "  Ni.NINA." 

He  started  and  changed  colour.  "A  letter 
from  her  I  he  whispered  to  himself.  **W1^ 
does  it  come  at  such  a  time  at  this?" 

His  face  grew  paler  and  the  letter  tr^n- 
bled  in  his  fingers.  Those  supersUtious  feel- 
ings which  he  had  ascribed  to  the  nursery  in- 
fluences of  his  childhood,  when  Father  Roceo 
charged  him  with  them  in  the  studio,  seemed 
to  be  overcoming  him  now.    He  hesitated 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS,  July  14,  1856. 


669 


Dd  listened  anxiously  in  the  direction  of  his 
rife's  room,  before  reading  the  letter.  Was 
ts  arrival  ominous  of  «rood  or  evil !  That 
ras  the  thoaght  in  his  lieart,  as  he  drew  the 
amp  near  to  him  and  looked  at  the  first 
ines. 

**  Am  I  wrong  in  writing  to  you  T  "  (the 
etter  began  abruptly)  "  If  I  am,  you  have 
mt  to  throw  this  little  leaf  of  paper  into  the 
ire,  and  to  tliink  no  more  of  it,  after  it  is 
rnrnt  up  and  gone.  I  can  never  reproach 
rou  for  treating  my  letter  in  that  way  j  for 
ve  are  never  likely  to  meet  again. 

"  Why  did  I  go  away  ?— Only  to  save  you 
'torn  the  consequences  of  marrying  a.  poor 
?irl  who  was  not  fit  to  become  your  wife.  It 
atlmoet  broke  my  heart  to  leave  you ;  for  I 
bad  nothing  to  keep  up  my  courage  but  the 
remembrance  that  I  was  going  away  for  your 
Aake.  I  bad  to  think  of  that,  morning  and 
night — to  think  of  it  always,  or  I  am  afraid 
I  sboald  have  faltered  in  my  resolution,  and 
have  gone  back  to  Pisa.  I  lons^ed  so  much  at 
first  to  see  you  once  more — only  to  tell  you 
that  Nanina  was  not  heartless  and  ungrate- 
ful, and  that  you  might  pity  her  and  think 
kindly  of  her,  though  you  might  love  her  no 
longer. 

*'  Only  to  tell  you  that  I  If  I  had  been  a 
lady  I  might  have  iold  it  to  you  in  a  letter ; 
but  I  had  never  learnt  to  write,  and  I  could 
not  prevail  on  myself  to  get  others  to  take 
the  pen  for  me.  All  1  could  do  was  to 
learn  secretly  how  to  write  with  my  own 
hand.  It  was  Ions,  long  work ;  but  the 
uppermost  thought  in  my  heart  was  always 
the  thought  of  justifying  myself  to  you,  and 
that  made  me  patient  and  persevering.  I 
learnt,  at  last,  to  write  so  as  not  to  be 
ashamed  of  myself,  or  to  make  you  ashamed 
of  me.  I  began  a  letter — my  first  letter  to 
you — ^but  I  heard  of  your  marriage  before  it 
was  done,  and  then  I  had  to  tear  the  paper 
up,  and  put  the  pen  down  again. 

*'  I  ha4  no  rignt  to  come  between  you  and 
vour  wife  even  with  so  little  a  thing  as  a 
letter — ^I  had  no  right  to  do  anything  but 
hope  and  pray  for  your  happiness.  Are  you 
happy  ?  I  am  sure  you  ought  to  be ;  for  how 
can  your  wife  help  loving  you  ? 

It  is  very  hard  for  me  to  explain  why  I 
have  ventured  on  writing  now,  and  yet  I  can't 
think  that  I  am  doing  wrong.  I  heard  a  few 
days  ago  (for  I  have  a  friend  at  Pisa  who 
keeps  me  informed,  bv  my  own  desire,  of  all 
the  pleasant  changes  in  your  life) — I  heard  of 
your  child  being  bom  ;  and  I  thought  myself, 
after  that,  justified  at  last  in  writing  to  you. 
No  letter  from  me,  at  such  a  time,  as  this,  can 
rob  your  child's  mother  of  so  much  as  a 
thought  of  yours  that  is  due  to  her.  Thus, 
at  least,  it  seems  to  me.  I  wish  so  well  to 
your  child,  that  I  cannot  surely  be  doing 
wronff  in  writing  these  lines. 

**  I  have  said  already  what  I  wanted  to  say 
—what  I  have  been  longing  to  say  for  a  whole 
year  past.    I  have  told  you  why  I  left  Pisa ; 


and  have  perhaps  persuaded  you  that  I  have 
gone  through  some  suffering,  and  borne  some 
heart-aches  for  your  sake.  Have  I  more  to 
write  ?  Only  a  word  or  two  to  tell  you  that 
I  am  earning  my  bread,  as  I  always  wished 
to  earn  it,  quietly  at  home — at  least,  at  what 
I  must  call  home  now.  I  am  living  with  re- 
spectable people,  and  I  want  for  nothing.  La 
Biondella  has  grown  very  much,  she  would 
hardly  be  obliged  to  get  on  your  knee  to  kiss 
you  now ;  and  she  can  plait  her  dinner-mats 
faster  and  more  neatly  than  ever.  Our  old 
dog  is  with  us,  and  has  learnt  two  new  tricks ; 
but  you  can't  be  expected  to  remember  him, 
although  you  were  the  only  stranger  I  ever 
saw  him  take  kindly  to  at  first 

*'  It  is  time  I  finished.  If  you  have  read 
this  letter  through  to  the  end,  I  am  sure 
you  will  excuse  me,  if  I  have  written  it 
badly.  There  is  no  date  to  it,  because  I 
feel  that  it  is  safest  and  best  for  both  of 
us,  that  you  should  know  nothing  of  where 
I  am  living.  I  bless  you  and  pray  for  you, 
and  bid  you  affectionately  farewell.  If  you 
can  think  of  me  as*  a  sister,  think  of  me 
sometimes  still." 

Fabio  siffhed  bitterly  while  he  read  the 
letter.  '-Why,"  he  whispered  to  himself, 
"  why  does  it  come  at  such  a  time  as  this, 
when  I  cannot,  dare  not  think  of  her  7 "  As 
he  slowly  folded  the  letter  up,  the  tears  came 
into  his  eyes,  and  he  half  raised  the  paper  to 
his  lips.  At  the  same  moment,  some  one 
knocked  at  the  door  of  the  room.  He  started, 
and  felt  himsalf  changing  colour  guiltily,  as 
one  of  his  servants  entered. 

"My  mistress  is  awake,"  the  man  said, 
with  a  very  grave  face,  and  a  very  con- 
strained manner ;  "  and  the  gentlemen  in 
attendance  desired  me  to  say " 

He  was  interrupted  before  he  could  give 
his  message,  by  one  of  the  medical  men,  who 
had  followed  him  into  the  room. 

"  I  wish  I  had  better  news  to  communicate," 
began  the  doctor  gently. 

"  She  is  worse,  then?  "  said  Fabio,  sinking 
down  into  the  chair  from  which  he  had  risen 
the  moment  before. 

''She  has  awakened  we&ker  instead  of 
stronger  after  her  sleep,"  returned  the  doctor, 
evasively.  • "  I  never  like  to  give  up  all  hope, 
till  the  very  last,  but " 

**  It  is  cruel  not  to  be  candid  with  him," 
interposed  another  voice— the  voice  of  the 
doctor  from  Florence,  who  had  just  entered 
the  room.  **  Strengthen  yourself  to  bear  the 
worst,"  he  continued,  addressing  himself  to 
Fabio.  "  She  is  dying.  Can  you  compose 
yourself  to  go  to  her  l^-side !  " 

Pale  and  speechless,  Fabio  rose  from  his 
chair,  and  made  a  sign  in  the  affirmative.  He 
trembled  so,  that  the  doctor  who  had  first 
spoken  was  obliged  to  lead  him  out  of  the 
room. 

"  Your  mistress  has  some  near  relations  in 
Pisa,  has  she  not?"  said  the  doctor  from 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS,  July  14,  1866. 


CCamlactedby 


Florence,  appealing  to  the  servant  who  wait- 
ed near  him. 

"  Her  father,  sir,  Signor  Luca  Lomi ;  and 
her  unole,  Father  Rocco,"  answered  the  man. 
"  They  were  all  here  through  the  day,  until 
my  mistress  fell  asleep.'' 

*•  Do  you  know  where  to  find  them  now  ?  " 

'*  Signor  Luca  told  me  he  should  be  at  his 
studio  ;  and  Father  Rocco  said,  I  might  And 
him  at  his  lodgings.'' 

"  Send  for  ttiem  both  directly.  Stay !  who 
is  your  mistress's  confessor  T  He  ought  to  be 
summoned  without  lose  of  time." 

"  My  mistress's  confessor  is  father  Rocco, 
sir." 

"  Very  well— send,  or  go  yourself,  at  once. 
Even  minutes  may  be  of  importance,  now." 
Saying  this,  the  doctor  turned  away,  and  sat 
down  to  wait  for  any  last  demands  on  his  ser- 
vices, in  the  chair  which  Fabio  had  just  left. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Beforb  the  servant  could  get  to  the  priest's 
lodgings  a  visitor  had  applied  there  for  ad- 
mission, and  had  been  immediately  received 
by  Father  Rocco  himself.  This  favoured 
guest  was  a  little  man,  very  sprucely  and 
neatly  dressed,  and  oppressively  polite  in 
his  manner.  He  bowed  when  he  first  sat 
down,  he  bowed  when  he  answered  the  usual 
inquiries  about  his  health,  and  be  bowed 
for  the  third  time,  when  Father  Rocco  asked 
what  had  brought  him  from  Florence. 

**  Rather  an  awkward  business,"  replied  the 
little  man,  recovering  himself  uneasily  after 
his  third  bow.  ''The  dressmaker,  named 
Nanina,  whom  you  placed  under  my  wife's 
protection,  about  a«year  ago—" 

*'Whjt  of  her?"  inquired  the  priest, 
eagerly. 

•*  I  regret  to  say  she  has  left  us,  with  her 
child-sister,  and  their  very  disagreeable  dog, 
that  growls  at  everybody." 

"When  did  they  go?" 

"  Only  yesterday.  I  came  here  at  once  to 
tell  you,  as  you  were  sO  very  particular  in 
recommending  us  to  take  care  of  her.  It  is 
not  our  fault  that  she  has  gone.  My  wife  was 
kindness  itself  to  her,  and  I  always  treated 
her  like  a  duchess.  I  bought  dinner-mats  of 
her  sister  ;  I  even  put  up  with  the  thieving 
and  growling  of  the  disagreeable  flog—" 

**  Where  have  they  gone  to  ?  Have  you 
found  out  that  ?  " 

"  I  have  found  out,  by  application  at  the 
passport-offlce,  that  they  have  not  left  Flo- 
rence—but what  particular  part  of  the  city 
they  have  removed  to,  I  have  not  yet  had 
time  to  discover." 

"  And  pray  why  did  they  leave  you  in 
the  first  pUice  7  Nanina  is  not  a  girl  to  do 
anything  without  a  reason.  She  must  have 
had  some  cause  for  going  away.  What  was 
it?" 

The  little  man  hesitated,  and  made  a  fourth 
bow. 

**  You  remember  your  private  instructions 


to  my  wife  and  myself,  when  you  first  broagfat 
Nanina  to  our  house  ? "  he  said,  looking  away 
rather  uneasily  while  he  spoke. 

"Yes.  You  were  to  watch  ber,  but  to 
take  care  that  she  did  not  suspect  you.  It 
was  just  possible,  at  that  time,  that  she  migbt 
try  to  get  back  to  Pisa  without  my  knowing 
it ;  and  every  thing  depended  on  her  remaining 
at  Florence.  I  think,  now,  that  I  did  wrong 
to  distrust  her  ;  but  it  was  of  the  last  import- 
ance to  provide  against  all  possibilities,  utd 
to  abstain  firom  putting  too  much  faith  in 
my  own  good  opinion  of  the  girl.  For  these 
reasons  I  certainly  did  instruct  you  to  watch 
her  privately.  So  far,  you  are  quite  right ; 
and  I  have  nothing  to  complain  of.    Go  on." 

"  You  remember,"  resumed  the  little  man, 
"  that  the  first  consequence  of  our  following 
your  instructions  was  a  discovery  (which  we 
immediately  communicated  to  you)  that  she 
was  secretly  learning  to  write  ?  " 

"  Yes.  And  I  also  remember  sending  you 
word,  not  to  show  that  you  knew  what  she 
was  doing ;  but  to  wait  and  see  if  she  turned 
her  knowledge  of  writing  to  account,  and 
took,  or  sent,  any  letters  to  the  post.  Yon 
informed  me  in  your  regular  monthly  report, 
that  she  never  did  anything  of  the  kind." 

"  Never,  until  three  days  ago.  And  then, 
she  was  traced  from  her  room  in  my  house  to 
the  jfost-offlce  with  a  letter,  which  she  drop- 
ped into  the  box." 

"  And  the  address  of  which  you  discovered 
before  she  took  it  from  your  house  ?  " 

"  Unfortunately  I  did  not,"  answered  the 
little  man,  reddening  and  looking  askance  at 
the  priest,  as  if  he  expected  to  rec^ve  a 
severe  reprimand. 

But  Father  Rocco  said  nothing.  He  was 
thinking,  Who  could  she  have  written  to  ? 
If  to  Fabio,  why  should  she  have  waited  for 
months  and  months,  after  she  had  learnt  how 
to  use  her  pen,  before  sending  him  a  letter  ? 
If  not  to  Fabio.  to  what  other  person  could 
she  have  written  ? 

"I  regret  not  discovering  the  address — 
regret  it  most  deeply,"  said  the  little  man, 
with  a  low  bow  of  apology. 

"  It  is  too  late  for  regret,"  said  Father 
Rocco,  coldly.  "  Tell  me  how  she  came  to 
leave  your  house  ;  I  have  not  heard  that  yet 
Be  as  brief  as  you  can.  I  expect  to  be  called 
every  moment  to  the  bedside  of  a  near  and 
dear  relation,  who  is  suffering  from  severe 
illness.  You  shall  have  all  my  attention ; 
but  you  must  ask  it  for  as  short  a  time  as 
possible." 

"I  will  be  briefhess  itself.  In  the  first 
place,  you  must  know  that  I  have— or  rather 
had— an  idle,  unscrupulous  rascal  of  an  ap- 
prentice in  my  business." 

The  priest  pursed  up  his  mouth,  con- 
temptuously. 

"  In  the  second  place,  this  same  good-fbr- 
nothing  fellow  had  the  impertinence  to  fall  in 
love  with  Nanina" 

Father  Rocco  started,  and  listened  eagerly. 


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ChtfleiDlekeiis.3 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS,  July  14,  1855. 


671 


"  But  I  must  do  the  girl  the  justice  to  say 
that  she  never  gave  him  the  slightest  encou- 
ragement ;  and  that,  whenever  he  ventured 
to  speak  to  her,  she  always  quietly,  but  very 
decidedly  repelled  him." 

"A  good  girl  I"  said  Father  Rocco.  "I 
always  said  she  was  a  good  girl.  It  was  a 
mistake  on  my  part  ever  to  have  distrusted 
her." 

^  "Among  the  other  offences,"  continued  the 
little  man,  "  of  which  I  now  find  my  scoundrel 
of  an  apprentice  to  have  been  guilty ,  was  the 
enormity  of  picking  the  lock  of  my  desk,  and 
prying  into  my  private  papers." 

"  You  ought  not  to  have  had  any.  Private 
papers  should  always  be  burnt  papers." 

"  They  shall  be  for  the  future  ;  I  will  take 
good  care  of  that." 

"Were  any  of .  my  letters  to  you  about 
Nanina  among  these  private  papers  T" 

"  Unfortunately,  there  were.  Pray,  pray, 
excuse  my  want  of  caution  this  time.  It  shall 
never  happen  again." 

"  Go  on.  Such  imprudence  as  yours  can 
never  be  excused ;  it  can  only  be  provided 
against  for  the  ftiture.  I  suppose  the  appren- 
tice showed  my  letters  to  the  girl  ?" 

"  I  infer  as  much  ;  though  why  he  should 
do  so — " 

"  Simpleton  1  Did  you  not  say  that  he  was 
in  love  with  her  (as  you  term  it),  and  that  he 
got  no  encouragement  T" 

"  Yes  :  I  said  that— and  I  know  it  to  be 
true." 

"  Well  t  Was  it  not  his  Interest,  being 
unable  to  make  any  impression  on  the  girPs 
fancy,  to  establish  some  claim  to  her  grati- 
tude ;  and  try  if  he  could  not  win  her  that 
way  T  By  showing  her  my  letters,  he  would 
make  her  indebted  to  him  for  knowing  that 
she  was  watched  in  your  house.  But  this  is 
not  the  matter  in  question  now.  You  say 
you  infer  that  she  had  seen  my  letters.  On 
what  grounds  !" 

"  On  the  strength  of  this  bit  of  paper," 
answered  the  little  man,  ruefully  producing 
a  note  from  his  pocket  "  She  must  have  had 
vour  letters  shown  to  her  soon  after  putting 
her  own  letter  into  the  post.  For,  on  the 
evening  of  the  same  day,  when  I  went  up 
into  her  room,  I  found  that  she  and  her  sister 
and  the  disagreeable  dog  had  all  gone,  and 
observed  this  note  laid  on  the  table." 

Father  Rocco  took  the  note,  and  read  these 
lines : — 

■*  I  hare  Jait  dlteorered  that  I  have  been  watched 
axkd  satpeoted  erer  eiooe  mj  staj  under  your  root  It 
is  impossible  that  I  can  remain  another  night  in  the 
hoase  of  a  spj.  I  go  with  niT  sister.  We  owe  you 
nothing,  and  we  are  free  to  lire  honestly  where  we 
please.  If  yon  see  Vather  Rocco,  tell  bim  that  I  can 
forgiTe  his  distrust  of  me,  but  that  I  can  never  forget 
it.  r,  who  had  full  faith  in  him,  had  a  right  to  expect 
that  ho  should  have  full  faith  in  me.  ft  was  alwnys 
an  encouragement  to  me  to  think  of  him  as  a  father 
and  a  friend.  I  have  lost  that  encouragement  for  ever 
—and  It  was  the  last  I  had  left  to  me  f 


The  priest  rose  from  his  seat  as  he  handed 
the  note  back,  and  the  visitor  immediately 
followed  his  example. 

"  We  must  remedy  this  misfortune  as  we 
best  may,"  he  said,  with  a  sigh.  "Are  you 
ready  to  go  back  to  Florence  to-morrow  ?" 

The  little  man  bowed  again. 

"  Find  out  where  she  is,  and  ascertain  if  she 
wants  for  anything,  and  if  she  is  living  in  a 
safe  place.  Say  nothing  about  me,  and  make 
no  attempt  to  induce  her  to  return  to  your 
house.  Simply  let  me  know  what  you  dis- 
cover. The  poor  child  has  a  spirit  that  no 
ordinary  people  would  suspect  in  her.  She 
must  be  soothed  and  treated  tenderly,  and 
we  shall  manage  her  yet.  No  mistakes, 
mind,  this  time  I  Do  just  what  I  tell  you, 
and  do  no  more.  Have  you  anything  else  to 
say  to  me  ? 

The  little  man  shook  his  head  and  shrugged 
his  shoulders. 

"  Good  night,  then,  said  the  priest. 

"  Good  night,"  said  the  little  man,  slipping 
through  the  door  that  was  held  open  for  him 
with  the  politest  alacrity. 

"  This  is  vexatious,"  said  Father  Rocco, 
taking  a  turn  or  two  in  the  study  after  his 
visitor  had  gone.  "  It  was  bad  to  have  done 
the  child  an  injustice — it  is  worse  to  have 
bedfe  found  out.  There  is  nothing  for  it  now 
but  to  wait  till  I  know  where  she  is.  I  like 
her,  and  I  like  that  note  she  left  behind  her. 
It  is  bravely,  delicately,  and  honestly  written 
— a  good  girl — a  very  good  girl  indeed  I" 

He  wallced  to  the  window,  breathed  the 
fresh  air  for  a  few  moments,  and  quietly  dis- 
missed the  subject  from  his  mind.  When  he 
returned  to  his  table,  he  had  no  thoughts  for 
any  one  but  his  sick  niece. 

**  It  seems  strange,"  he  said,  "  that  I  have 
had  no  message  about  her  yet.  Perhaps  Luca 
has  heard  something?  It  may  be  well  if  I  go 
to  the  studio  at  once  to  find  out" 

He  took  up  his  hat  and  went  to  the  door. 
Just  as  he  opened  it,  Fabio's  servant  con- 
fronted him  on  the  threshold. 

"  I  am  sent  to  summon  you  to  the  palace," 
said  the  man.  "  The  doctors  have  given  up 
all  hope." 

Father  Rocco  turned  deadly  pale,  and  drew 
back  a  step.  "  Have  you  told  my  brother  of 
this  T"  he  asked. 

"I  was  just  on  my  way  to  the  studio," 
answered  the  servant. 

'<  I  will  go  there  instead  of  you,  and  break 
the  bad  news  to  him,"  said  the  priest. 

They  descended  the  stairs  in  silence.  Just 
as  they  were  about  to  separate  at  the  street- 
door.  Father  Rocco  stopped  the  servant 

"  How  is  the  child  T"  he  asked,  with  such 
sudden  eagerness  and  Impatience  that  the 
man  looked  quite  startled  as  he  answered 
that  the  child  was  perfectly  well. 

**  There  is  some  consolation  in  that,"  said 
Father  Rocco,  walking  away,  and  speaking 
partly  to  the  servant,  partly  to  himself. 
"  My  caution  has  misled  me,"  he  continued, 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


672 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS,  July  14,  1865. 


CCWiirtrily 


pausing  thoaghtfullv  when  be  was  left  alone 
1  n  the  roadway.  "  I  should  have  risked  using 
the  mother's  influence  sooner  to  procure  the 
righteous  restitution.  All  hope  of  compass- 
ing it  now  rest^  on  the  life  of  the  child.  Infant 
as  she  is,  her  father's  ill-gotten  wealth  may 
vet  be  gathered  back  to  the  church  by  her 
hands.'' 

He  proceeded  rapidly  on  his  way  to  the 
studio,  until  he  reached  the  rirer-side  and 
drew  close  to  the  bridge  which  it  was  neces- 
sary to  cross  in  order  to  get  to  his  brother's 
house.  Here  he  stopped  abruptly,  as  if 
struck  by  a  sudden  idea.  The  moon  had  just 
risen,  and  her  light,  streaming  across  the 
river,  fell  full  upon  his  face  as  he  stood  by 
the  parapet-wall  that  led  up  to  the  bridge. 
He  was  so  lost  in  thought  that  he  did  not 
hear  the  conversation  of  two  ladies  who 
were  advancing  along  the  pathway  close 
behind  him.  As  they  brushed  by  him,  the 
taller  of  the  two  turned  round  and  looked 
back  at  his  face. 

•*  Father  Bocco  I"  exclaimed  the  lady,  stop- 
ping. 

"  Donna  Brigida  I"  cried  the  priest,  look- 
ing surprised  at  first,  but  recovering  himself 
directly,  and  bowing  with  his  usual  quiet 

Eoliteness.  "  Pardon  me  if  I  thank  you  for 
ononring  me  by  renewing  our  acquaintance, 
and  then  pass  on  to  my  brother's  studio.  A 
heavy  affliction  is  likely  to  befal  us,  and  I  go 
to  prepare  him  for  it" 

"  You  refer  to  the  dangerous  illness  of  your 
niece?"  said  Brigida.  "I  heard  of  it  this 
evening.  Let  us  hope  that  your  fears  are 
exaggerated,  and  that  we  may  yet  meet  under 
less  distressing  circumstances.  I  have  no 
present  intention  of  leaving  Pisa  for  some 
time,  and  I  shall  alwavs  be  glad  to  thank 
Father  Rocco  for  the  politeness  and  consider- 
ation which  he  showed  to  me,  under  delicate 
circumstances,  a  year  ago." 

With  these  words  she  curtseyed  deferen- 
tially, and  moved  away  to  rejoin  her  friend. 
The  priest  observed  that  Mademoiselle 
Yirginie  lingered  rather  near,  as  if  anxious 
to  catch  a  few  words  of  the  conversation 
between  Brigida  and  himself.  Seeing  this, 
he,  in  his  turn,  listened  as  the  two  women 
slowly  walked  away  together,  and  heard  the 
Italian  say  to  her  companion — 

"  Virginie,  I  will  lay  you  the  price  of  a  new 
dress  that  Fabio  d'Ascoli  marries  again." 

Father  Rocco  started  when  she  said  those 
words  as  if  he  had  trodden  on  fire. 

"My  thought  I"  he  whispered  nervously 
to  himself.  *'  My  thought  at  the  moment  when 
she  spoke  to  me  I  Marry  again?  Another 
wife,  over  whom  I  should  have  no  influ- 
ence !  Other  children,  whose  education  would 
not  be  confided  to  me  I  What  would  become, 
then,  of  the  restitution  that  I  have  hoped 
for.  wrought  for,  prayed  for  ?" 

He  stopped,  and  looked  fixedly  at  the 
skjr  above  him.  The  bridge  was  deserted. 
His  black  figure  rose  up  erect,  motionless, 


and  spectral,  with  the  white  still  light  fi& 
ing  solemnly  all  around  it.  Standing  lo  to 
some  minutes,  his  first  movement  was  to 
drop  his  hand  angrily  on  the  parapet  of  Ue 
bridge.  He  then  turned  round  slowly  hi  Ik 
direction  by  which  the  two  womea  bd 
walked  away. 

•* Donna  Brigida,"  he  said,  "I  will  hjjn 
the  price  of  fifty  new  dresses  that  Ftbio 
d'Ascoli  never  marries  again  I" 

He  set  his  face  once  more  towards  tk  | 
studio,  and  walked  on  withoat  stopping  iiuil 
he  arrived  at  the  master-sculptor's  door. 

"  Marry  again  ?"  he  thought  to  huDself  m 
he  rang  the  bell :  *'  Donna  Brigida,  wis  j<Rr 
first  failure  not  enough  for  you?  Arejm 
going  to  try  a  second  time  t" 

Luca  Lomi  himself  opened  the  door.  He 
drew  Father  Rocco  hurriedly  into  the  itadio. 
towards  a  single  lamp  burning  on  a  sUai 
near  the  partition  between  the  two  rooms. 

''  Have  you  heard  anything  of  ov  poor 
child?"  he  asked.  ''Tell  me  the  tntb!- 
tell  me  the  truth  at  once  I" 

"  Hush !  compose  vourself.  I  have  heui" 
said  Father  Rocco,  m  low,  mournful  torn. 

Luca  tightened  his  hold  on  the  prieit'i 
arm,  and  looked  into  his  face  withbreathla. 
speechless  eagerness. 

''  Compose  yourself,"  repeated  FatilerB«^ 
CO.  "Compose  yourself  to  hear  the  wont 
My  poor  Luca,  the  doctors  have  gireo  up  lU 
hope." 

Luca  dropped  his  brother's  arm  with  t 
groan  of  despair.  "Oh,  Maddaleuf  dj 
child — my  only  child  I" 

Reiterating  these  words  agidn  and  tgiis- 
he  leaned  his  head  against  the  partiUoo  ud 
burst  into  tears.  Sordid  and  coarse  is  bs 
nature  was,  he  really  loved  his  daughttf. 
All  the  heart  he  had  was  in  his  statoeiafid 
in  her. 

After  the  first  burst  of  his  gnefwii 
exhausted,  he  was  recalled  to  himself  bf  i 
sensation  as  if  some  change  had  taken  plac« 
in  the  lighting  of  the  studio.  He  looked  «p 
directly,  and  dimly  discerned  the  priest 
standhig  far  down  at  the,  end  of  the  root 
nearest  the  door,  with  the  lamp  in  his  hioi 
eagerly  looking  at  something. 

" Rocco  1"  he  exclaimed— "Rocco I  wty 
have  you  taken  the  lamp  away?  Whitiw 
you  doing  there  ?" 

There  was  no  movement  and  no  ans*^ 
Luca  advanced  a  step  or  two,  and  calW 
again — "  Rocco,  what  are  you  doing  there. 

The  priest  heard  this  time,  and  cane  ad- 
denly  towards  his  brother  with  the  Isap  «a 
his  hand— so  suddenly  that  Luca  attrtrf. 

"What  is  It?"  he  asked, in  astoiifihmeDi 
"  Gracious  God  1  Rocco,  how  pale  yo^  ire  • 

Still  the  priest  never  said  a  ^".Jf ' 

Eut  the  lamp  down  on  the  nearest  »Wfc 
.uca  observed  that  his  hand  shook,  ne 
had  never  seen  his  brother  violently  agj»M* 
before.  When  Rocco  had  announced,  bai» 
few  minutes  ago,  that  Maddalcna's  lift  " 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbarlei  Diekena.] 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS,  July  U,  1866. 


673 


despaired  of,  ife  was  in  a  voice  which,  thoagh 
sorrowful,  was  perfectly  calm.  What  was 
the  meaning  of  this  sadden  panic  —  this 
strange,  silent  terror? 

The  priest  observed  that  his  brother  was 
looking  at  him  earnestly.  **Come,"  he 
said  in  a  faint  whisper — **  come  to  her  bed- 
side ;  we  have  no  time  to  lose.  Get  your 
hat,  and  leave  it  to  me  to  put  out  the 
laim)." 

He  hurriedly  extinguished  the  light  while 
he  spoke.  They  went  down  the  studio  side  by 
side  towards  the  door.  The  moonlight 
streamed  through  the  window  full  on  the 
place  where  the  priest  had  been  standing 
alone  with  the  lamp  in  his  hand.  As  they 
passed  it,  Luca  felt  his  brother  tremble,  and 

saw  him  turn  away  his  head.  • 

*  «  «  « 

Two  hours  later,  Fable  d'Ascoll  and  his 
wife  were  separated  in  this  world  forever ; 
and  the  servants  of  the  palace  were  anticipa- 
ting in  whispers  the  order  of  their  mistress's 
funeral  procession  to  the  burial-ground  of  the 
Campo  Saukto. 


CHIP. 


PENSIONERS. 

Therb  is  no  picture  more  successful  in  ap- 
pealing to  general  sympathy  than  that  of  a 
disabled  soldier  or  sailor.  He  presents,  at 
once,  ideas  of  dangers  encountered,  hardships 
endured,  bravery,  obedience,  patriotism,  and 
suffering.  He  has  perhaps  served  abroad 
long  enough  to  sever  ties  which,  when  he 
left  home,  connected  him  with  it.  Those 
relatives  and  friends  who  remain  to  him,  he 
is  too  often  obliged  to  address  as  a  suppliant 
for  help  and  compassion.  His  pension  is  too 
small  for  subsistence,  and  his  health  or  his 
habits  unfit  him  for  many  occupations  which 
other  men  find  no  difficulty  in  obtaining. 

A  society  is  in  course  of  formation  for  the 
employment  of  Naval  and  Military  Pension- 
ers. It  has  received  the  approval  and  en- 
couragement of  many  distinguished  men  who 
are  well  entitled  to  a  hearing  j  among  others,  of 
Mr.  Gleio,  the  chaplain-general  to  the  Forces, 
who  is  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  Eog- 
lish  soldier  in  all  his  aspects.  Its  objects,  as 
stated  in  a  prospectus,  are : 

To  call  upon  the  Nobility,  Gentry,  Batlwar  and 
other  Companiea,  Bankers,  Ship-owners,  Merchants, 
Affricnltnrists,  Uanufactorert,  and  EmploTers  gener* 
ally,  throagh  the  medium  of  CircnUrs  ana  Advertise- 
ments, to  intimate  to  the  Officers  of  the  Society  when 
they  have  a  vacancy  in  their  relative  establisbments, 
with  a  description  of  the  sort  of  person  they  wish  to 
employ,  whether  as  Qrooms,  Helpers,  Gardeners,  Por- 
ters, Messengers,  Game-keepers,  Watchmen,  Door,  or 
Office-keepers,  dec.,  &«..  the  duties  of  which  condi- 
tions may  be  adequately  performed  by  men  who, 
thoagh  unfit  for  active  Military  or  Naval  Service,  are 
perfectly,  and,  in  certain  cascf,  peculiarly  qualified 
for  many  of  the  ordinary  avocations  of  labour. 


To  keep  on  the  books  of  the  Association  the  names 
of  the  men  discharged,  with  good  characters  fh>m  her 
Majesty's  Service,  specifying  their  condition  as  to 
wounds,  &c.,  the  kind  of  employment  for  which  they 
may  be  considered  physically  capable,  their  age,  their 
late  position  in  the  Army  or  Navy,  and  ^eir  occupa- 
tion before  entering  her  MBJeBtj'B  Service,  with  a  copy 
of  Testimonials  of  conduct,  sobriety,  and  general  cha- 
racter whilst  bearing  arms. 

On  the  receiot  of  intimations  from  employers  of  any 
vacancy,  the  Societv  will  search  their  Register  and 
complete  their  inquiries,  with  a  view  of  recommending 
such  a  man  as  they  think  in  every  way  eligible  to  fill 
the  situation  in  a  satisfactory  manner. 

The  Society  will,  in  cases  where  they  may  deem  it  ad- 
visable, advance  small  sums  of  money  to  the  men  in 
order  to  enable  them  to  reach  places  at  a  distance,  or 
to  meet  any  other  urgent  necessities. 

It  frequently  happens  that  employers  have 
far  to  seek  for  persons,  of  whom  the  requisite 
qualities  of  steadiness  and  l^onesty  can  be 
readily  certified.  In  such  cases  the  Society 
offers  an  immediate  resource  j  and  will  there- 
fore doubtless  succeed  in  its  object.  It  must 
not  however  be  forgotten,  that  there  is  no 
line  of  life  which  does  not  cast  upon  the  be- 
nevolence or  the  poor  laws  of  this  country, 
its  disabled  and  unpensioned  candidates  for 
such  situations  as  the  society  seeks  for  its 
prot^g^s.  How  far  these  will  fall  into  com- 
petition and  rivalry  with  them,  cannot  be 
easily  determined. 


ALllXANDER  THE  FIRST. 

I  HAVE  recently  met  with  a  strictly  Russian 
account  of  the  death  of  the  Emperor  Alex- 
ander. It  was  written  evidently  by  one  of 
his  attendants,  and  disseminated  through 
Grcrmany,  for  the  purpose  of  contradicting 
the  opinion  then  generally  entertained  that 
he  had  been  poisoned.  The  German  publica- 
tion in  which  it  occurs  is  very  guarded  in  the 
expression  of  its  sentiments  on  this  still  mys- 
terious subject,  and  I  think  there  are  some 
circumstances,  even  in  this  quasi-official  docu- 
ment, which  are  not  quite  clearly  reconcile- 
able  with  the  theory  it  intends  to  support. 
The  immediate  interest  of  this  question  has 
now  passed  away,  but  the  diary  (which  is  the 
form  this  writing  sometimes  assumes)  is  so 
full  of  the  names  of  places  about  which  our 
curiosity  is  now  daily  excited ;  and  the  con- 
trast between  the  past  and  present  condition 
of  the  IXnds  in  which  Alexander  made  his  last 
expedition,  and  ended  his  days,  is  so  strange ; 
that  I  have  thought  a  translation  of  the  whole 
description  of  his  journey  and  death  would 
not  be  without  its  value  at  a  time  when  our 
eyes  are  so  anxiously  turned  to  the  Crimea 
and  the  Sea  of  Azoff. 

ELVIOES    t^BER    DIE    LETZTEK  LEBENSTAGE  DES 
kaiser's  ALEXANDER. 

General  DiebitK^h  has  remarked,'  that  when 
the  Emperor  was  leaving  St.  Petersburg,  he 
looked  at  the  quays,  which  he    generally 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


674 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS,  July  14,  1856. 


[CooAacM^ 


admired  so  mach,  with  a  dark  and  Borrowfal 
expression,  and  even  turned  away  from  them 
to  look  at  the  citadel;  that  he  then  sank 
deep  in  thought,  and  even  when,  at  last,  he 
broke  the  silence,  made  no  observation  on  the 
magnificence  of  the  view  before  him. 

Some  days  before  he  commenced  his  jour- 
ney to  the  Crimea  the  Emperor  was  working 
in  his  cabinet,  in  the  finest  possible  weather. 
Suddenly  such  a  cloud  enveloped  the  sun  that 
he  could  not  see  to  \iTite.  He  rang  for  candles. 
Ariclmoff  entered  and  received  the  order  ] 
but,  as  the  darkness  suddenly  cleared  off,  he 
came  again  but  without  bringing  the  lights. 

"  You  don't  bring  in  the  candles,"  said  the 
emperor,  giving  way  to  some  dark  foreboding, 
to  which  he  had  been  sutyect  for  some  time. 
**  Is  it  because  people  would  say,  if  you  burnt 
candles  by  daylight,  that  a  corpse  was  in  the 
room?    1  thought  of  this  myself." 

A7hen  the  emperor  came  to  Taganrog,  on 
his  return  from  the  Crimea,  where  everything 
had  given  him  satisfaction,  he  went  to  his 
room,  and  said  to  Aricimoff :  "  Do  you  re- 
member your  refusing  to  bring  in  the  candles, 
and  what  I  said  on  the  occasion  !  Who  knows 
but  very  likely  the  saying  may  come  true  T  " 

At  dinner  one  day,  at  Saksbiserai,  the  em- 
peror, who  hated  physic,  and  never  spoke  of 
it,  especially  at  table,  took  it  into  his  head  to 
ask  Wylie,  his  physician,  if  he  had  any  strong 
antidote  against  fever. 

'*  Yes,  sire,"  said  Wylle. 

"  Good ;  let  it  be  brought  in." 

The  medicine-chest  was  brought,  and  the 
emperor,  who  was  in  perfect  health,  took  a 
pinch  or  two  of  the  specific,  though  it  had  a 
strong,  disagreeable  smell. 

Whenever  he  stopped  at  a  town,  it  was  his 
custom  to  go  straight  to  the  principal  church 
to  say  his  prayers.  When  tbe  empress  arrived 
at  Taganrog,  the  emperor  led  her,  as  if  under 
the  impulse  of  a  presentiment,  into  the  Greek 
monastery  instead  of  into  the  High  Church. 
And  this  monastery  is  the  same  in  which  his 
body  was  laid  in  state,  on  the  twenty-third  of 
December.  On  his  arrival  he  expressed  his 
anxiety  to  visit  the  Crimea  at  onee.  This 
anxiety,  however,  seemed  to  decrease  as  the 
time  of  his  departure  drew  near.  The  expe- 
dition, indeed,  was  nearly  put  off  till  the 
next  spring  ;  but  Woronzoff's  arrival  altered 
this  idea.  Once  he  ordered  Diebitsch  to  draw 
out  a  plan  of  the  journey,  and  bring  it  to  him. 
Diebitsch  soon  prepared  one,  as  he  was 
ordered,  but  the  emperor  said,  "  This  is  too 
long  a  route — make  me  a  shorter  one."  Next 
day  Diebitsch  brought  one  which  he  thought 
would  please. 

*•  Twenty  days !"  said  the  emperor ;  "  you 
have  altered  nothing — shorten  it  I  shorten 
it ! "  And  at  last,  with  diflSculty,  he  con- 
sented to  a  route  reduced  to  little  more  than 
a  fortnight. 

All  the  time  the  emperor's  illness  lasted, 
the  dogs  in  Taganrog,  as  many  people  re- 
marked, howled  in  a  strange  and  frightful 


manner.  Some  had  established  th«iiBelT«s 
under  the  windows  of  the  imperial  cabittS,  ! 
and  made  more  hideous  noises  than  tbe  rest. 
Prince  Wolkousky  told  me  he  bad  bad  i 
hundred  and  fifty  of  them  killed  in  tlff» 
days. 

[After  these  preparatory  Etatements,  whiek 
are  all  of  very  sinister  augury,  we  get  totfe 
emperor's  visit  to  the  Crimea.] 

On  the  first  of  November,  eighteen  hanitri 
and  twenty-five,  the  emperor  began  his  jfm- 
ney,  and  was  gay  and  talkatlTe  ibr  tbe  fe: 
few  days. 

He  was  evidently  happy  and  contented 
with  everything.  On  the  sixth  he  left  Simple 
ropol  on  horseb^ick,  and  rode  five-cmd-tlurtj 
versts  to  Yoursouff,  on  the  soutii  coast  Tk 
carriages  were  ordered  to  wait  for  him  tvo 
days  in  Baidar.  The  maitre  d^hotel  wasKst 
off  with  the  carriages,  and  this,  in  Dr.  Wjbr'i 
opinion  was  one  of  the  chief  causes  of  tk 
emperor's  illness,  because,  dnrlsg  lus  ahteoee, 
the  food  was  of  an  inferior  qoiallty,  or,  it 
least,  ill-prepared.  On  his  arrival  at  Yoa- 
souff,  on  the  sixth,  he  dined  late  ;  oa  the  fol- 
lowing day,  he  went  to  Alnpka,  oelon^iif  to 
Prince  Worronzoff;  he  visited  ihegaiisAci 
Nikita  on  his  way,  and  walked  a  great  de^ ; 
then  he  went  to  Orienda,  which  he  ^ 
bought  of  Bezborodka  ;  and,  from  that  i^aee. 
went  alone  to  Princess  Galitzin.  Diebitid 
has  told  me  that  the  Ohol  colony  of  the  pHs- 
cess  was,  at  that  very  time,  afflicted  vitfa 
fever.  He  spent  the  night  in  a  Tartar  but 
He  dined  very  late  on  his  arrival  at  Alopka, 
and  had  eaten  fhiit  on  the  journey.  Herat 
early,  and  walked  some  time  before  leaving 
Alupka,  and  then  rode  at  least  forty  ver^ 
During  this  ride  he  was  in  bad  homour,  tai 
very  much  discontented  with  his  hofrse.  It 
was^  necessary  to  mount  a  very  steep  hlU  t* 
get  to  Marderinoff's  estate  in  the  interis. 
and  without  tasting  food  he  came  to  Batdir, 
He  was  in  a  profuse  perspiration  and  gr^; 
tired ;  then,  at  last,  he  got  into  the  carrii^ 
to  go  to  Sebastopol.  At  tbe  po9t>lM»ise.  tvs 
versts  from  Balaclava,  he  again  got  on  ham- 
back,  and  rode  out  with  Diebitsch  to  revi^ 
a  Greek  battalion,  commanded  by  Ravallistt:; 
with  him  he  breakfasted,  and  ^te  a  lap 
quantity  of  rich  fislu  He  resumed  he  ea^ 
riage  at  the  post-house,  and  at  the  last  statks 
rode  alone  to  visit  a  Greek  monastery  dedi- 
cated to  St  George,  wearing  neither  gret: 
coat  nor  cloak,  though  the  sun  was  set  tai 
there  was  a  cold  wind  blowing.  He  sUrd 
perhaps  two  hoars  in  the  monastery,  t£4 
then  rode  back  to  the  carriage,  and  re^cbt^ 
Sebastopol  between  eight  and  nine  o^cloeL 
He  betook  himself  immediately  by  torehlii^t 
to  the  church,  and  getting  into  the  c«nu|?. 
again  drove  to  his  quarters,  near  whieb  be 
reviewed  (also  by  torchlight)  the  miriaefi. 
He  ordered  dinner  on  his  arrival,  but  tn 
nothing.  He  then  busied  himself  abost  tk 
arrangements  for  the  following  day. 

On  that — namely  the  nintb--he  saw  a  sbip 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


iharlM  Dkkeu.] 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS,  July  14,  1866. 


676 


aancbed,  and  then  yisited  the  Military  Hos* 
lital,  about  three  versta  from  the  town.  On 
lis  retnm  he  received  the  authorities  till 
lalf-past-two,  and  then  walked  down  to  the 
easide.  He  embarked  in  a  boat,  and  visited 
.  line-of-battle  ship,  and  then  crossed  thehar- 
»our  to  see  the  Marine  Hospital.  After  this 
16  inspected  the  barracks,  which  were  ex- 
»osed  to  a  cold  damp  wind,  and  then  went, 
boat  four  versts  farther,  to  inspect  the  Alex- 
inder  battery,  where  he  ordered  some  prac- 
ice  with  red-hot  balls.  At  a  late  hour,  the 
mperor  dined  with  all  his  generals,  and 
etboured  longer  than  usual  with  Diebitsch. 

On  the  tenth,  he  sent  over  his  carriages  to 
he  other  side,  and  himself  crossing  in  a  boat 
nd  inspecting  the  Constantine  battery  and 
be  citadel,  rejoined  them  where  they  had 
cen  ordered  to  wait. 

In  the  citadel  an  officer,  poorly  clothed, 
nd  without  his  sword,  threw  himself  at  the 
mperor^s  feet,  saying  he  was  in  arrest  by 
entence  of  a  court-martial,  and  applied  for 
•ardon.  The  man's  uninviting  appearance 
nd  manner  made  a  very  unpleasant  impres- 
ion  on  the  emperor,  who  was  probably  already 
eized  with  illness,  and  he  got  no  sleep  all 
light.  Shortly  after  this  incident,  he  got 
Qto  an  open  carriage,  and  proceeded  to  Bak- 
hiserai,  with  which  he  was  not  nearly  so 
duch  pleased  on  this  visit  as  he  had  been  on 
be  last  He  did  not  show  the  same  liveliness 
•s  he  had  done  hitherto,  but  seemed  though t- 
ul  and  depressed.  He  slept  in  the  carriage, 
nd  ate  by  himself. 

On  the  eleventh,  he  rode  to  Yonfoul  Kale 
Schefet  Kale),  a  Jewish  town,  where  he 
isited  several  synagogues ;  and  before  he 
eached  Bakshiserai,  he  visited  a  Greek  mo- 
lastery. 

As  he  ascended  the  steps,  he  felt  himself  so 
reak,  that  he  was  forced  to  rest,  and  then  he 
eturned  to  Youfoul  Kale),  where  he  took 
efreshments  with  some  of  the  principal  Ma- 
lommedans.  In  the  evening,  he  visited 
everal  of  the  mosques,  and  attended  a  reli- 
gious solemnity  at  the  house  of  one  of  the 
Qhabitants.  In  the  same  night  he  sent  for 
V'ylie,  and  consulted  him  about  the  health  of 
he  empress,  regretting  very  much  he  had 
ot  been  with  her  when  she  received  news  of 
be  death  of  the  King  of  Bavaria.  On  this 
ccasion,  also,  he  confessed  he  had  for  some 
ime  suffered  from  diarrhoea,  and  otherwise 
5lt  indisposed ;  but  indeed,  **  In  spite  of  it 
11, 1  don^t  want  you  or  your  medicines.  I 
now  how  to  cure  myself."  Wylie  answered 
e  was  wrong  to  trust  so  much  to  tea  and 
um  and  water-gruel,  for  rhubarb  was  far 
•etter. 

"  Leave  me  alone,"  said  the  emperor ;  "  I 
ave  told  you  often  I  will  take  none  of  your 
^^."  From  that  time  till  they  arrived  in 
larienpol,  Wylie,  who  daily  Inquired  how 
be  emperor  was,  received  only  the  same 
eply :  "  1  am  quite  well,  douH  talk  to  me  of 
hysic."     From   Bakshiserai,    the  emperor 


went  in  his  open  carriage  to  KoEloff,  and  ex- 
posed himself  to  the  frightful  exhalations 
near  that  place.  In  Kozloff  he  visited  the 
churches,  the  mosques,  the  synagogues,  the 
barracks,  and  the  quarantine  establishments. 
He  allowed  the  captain  of  a  Turkish  mer- 
chantman which  had  not  performed  quaran- 
tine to  come  on  shore,  and  spbke  with  him 
for  some  time.  He  was  even  angry  with 
Wylie,  who  remonstrated  with  him  on  his 
imprudence. 

It  was  only  on  his  arrival  at  Marienpole,  on 
the  sixteenth,  that  for  the  first  time  he  called 
in  his  physician,  and  consulted  him  on  the 
serious  state  of  his  health.  Wylie  found  him 
in  a  state  of  strong  fever,  with  blue  nails ; 
the  cold  affected  him  greatly.  Some  days 
afterwards  the  fever  left  nim,  but  till  his  arri- 
val in  Taganrog  he  ate  almost  nothing,  and 
felt  constantly  unwell. 

On  the  seventeenth,  the  emperor  reached 
Taganrog.  Prince  Volkousky  asked  him  how 
he  felt.  **I've  caught  a  fever,"  he  said,  "  in 
the  Crimea,  in  spite  of  its  boasted  climate.  I 
am  now  more  than  ever  persuaded  that  we 
were  wise  to  fix  on  Taganrog  as  the  residence 
of  the  empress."  He  added,  that  since  he 
left  Bakshiserai  he  had  had  a  fever  ;  he  bad 
asked  there  for  something  to  drink,  and  Fed- 
eroff  had  given  him  a  cup  of  acid  barberry 
syrup.  "  I  drank  it  off,"  he  said,  "  and  im- 
mediately felt  acute  pains  in  my  limbs.  I 
became  more  feverish  when  I  visited  the  hos- 
pital at  Perekop." 

Volkousky  observed  in  reply,  he  did  not 
take  care  enough  of  himself,  and  should  not 
run  the  risks  he  did  with  impunity  when  he 
was  twenty  years  younger. 

He  felt  much  worse  on  the  following  day, 
and  was  forced  to  desist  fVom  transacting 
business  with  Volkousky.  At  three  o'clock 
be  dined  with  the  empress. 

The  chamberlain  told  the  prince  that  the 
emperor  perspired  in  an  extraordinary  man- 
ner j  and  Wylie  being  summoned,  accom- 
panied Volkousky  into  the  room.  They  found 
him  sitting  on  a  sofa,  with  his  feet  covered 
with  flannel,  and  very  feverish.  The  physician 
induced  him  to  take  some  pills,  but  afterwards 
it  was  with  difficulty  he  could  be  dissuaded 
from  renewing  his  labours.  At  seven  in  the 
evening  he  felt  better,  and  thanked  Wylie 
for  his  attentions.  He  then  sent  for  the 
empress,  who  remained  with  him  till  ten 
o'clock.  The  emperor  had  a  quiet  night,  and 
at  seven  in  the  morning  took  a  mixture, 
which  did  him  good.  The  night  of  the  twen- 
tieth was  restless :  he  had  had  an  attack  of 
the  fever,  and  had  been  prevented  from  at- 
tending mass.  The  emperor  seemed  shocked 
at  the  number  of  papers  placed  before  him  : 
but  Volkousky  recommended  him  to  attend 
first  to  the  restoration  of  his  health,  before  he 
busied  himself  with  despatches..    The  em- 

Eress  was  again  sent  for,  and  stayed  with 
im  till  ten. 
On  the  twenty-first  he  felt  worse,  and  al- 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


676 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS,  July,  14,  1856. 


lowed  a  report  of  his  condition  to  be  sent  to 
the  Emprees-mother  and  the  Grand  Doke 
Constantine. 

The  night  of  the  twenty-second  was  tole- 
rably easy,  but  in  the  morning  he  felt  very 
ilL  At  eleven  he  had  an  alarming  fainting 
fit,  and  all  day  a  burning  skin,  with  strong 
perspiration  in  the  evening.  He  never  spoke 
unless  when  he  wanted  anything,  and  appear- 
ed almost  always  in  a  comatose  state. 

On  the  twenty-third  he  felt  somewhat  bet- 
ter, and  the  empress  remained  with  him  till 
dinner-time ;  but  on  standing  up,  he  fainted 
again. 

On  the  twenty-fourth  he  exgoyed  some 
orange  lemonade  very  much,  and  seemed  con- 
siderably relieved. 

On  the  twenty  fifth  his  skin  was  burning, 
and  all  day  he  did  not  apeak  a  word.  As  the 
lemonade  made  him  sick,  they  gave  him 
cherry  syrup. 

On  the  twenty-sixth  he  was  so  much 
stronger,  that  he  sat  up  and  shaved  himself ; 
but  at  twelve  had  another  access  of  fever. 
The  physician  recommended  leeches,  but  he 
would  not  hear  of  them ;  and  in  case  of  irri- 
tating him  by  the  attempt,  they  were  not 
alluded  to  again.  On  the  recurrence  of  a 
fainting  fit,  at  eight  o'clock,  Wylie  told  Yol- 
kousky  that  his  life  was  in  great  danger. 
The  latter  went  at  once  to  the  empress,  and 
told  her  no  time  was  to  be  lost  if  she  wished 
the  emperor  to  perform  his  last  Christian 
duties.  The  unhappy  empress  found  herself 
strong  enough  to  go  without  delay  to  the 
emperor,  to  speak  to  him  on  the  subject 

*^  Am  I  indeed  so  ill? "  he  asked. 

"My  dearest  friend,"  answered  the  em- 
press, *^  you  have  refused  every  means  sug- 
gested by  the  doctors ;  let  us  now  make  an 
experiment  with  this." 

"  With  all  my  heart,*'  said  the  emperor,  and 
called  in  the  physician. 

"  I  am  then  so  ill? "  he  said. 

"Yes,  sire,"*  replied  Wylie,  with  tears. 
"  You  would  not  follow  my  prescriptions,  and 
now  I  must  tell  you — not  as  your  physician, 
but  as  an  honerable  and  Christian  man — there 
is  not  a  moment  to  lose." 

The  emperor  pressed  his  hands,  which  he 
held  a  long  time  in  his,  and  sank  into  deep 
thought.  Wylie  was  now  asked  If  the  confes- 
sion might  be  delayed  till  the  morning,  and 
to  this  he  agreed.  At  eleven  o'clock  the  empe- 
ror besought  his  wife  to  go  and  take  some  rest. 

Between  four  and  five  of  the  morning  of 
the  twenty-seventh,  the  emperor  was  much 
wor^e,  and  the  empress  was  summoned.  The 
confessor  came. 

"  I  must  now  be  left  alone,"  said  Alexan- 


der. And  when  he  had  finished  his  confes- 
sion, the  empress  returned  and  joined  in  the 
communion.  She  then,  throwing  herself  on 
her  knees  alouff  with  the  confessor,  besought 
hiita  to  let  leeches  be  applied.  He  promised 
his  consent,  and  turning  to  the  empress,  said : 
*'  Never  did  I  find  myself  more  perfectly  at 
peace,  and  for  this  I  am  eternally  indebted  to 
you."  Thirty  leeches  were  applied,  but  took 
more  than  two  hours  to  bite,  and  drew  little 
blood. 

The  night  of  the  twenty-eighth  was  very 
restless,  and  the  emperor  greatly  exhausted. 
He  took  a  spoonful  of  lemonade,  and  in  qnte 
of  all  applications  was  ill  the  whole  day.  On 
the  twenty-ninth  a  blister  was  applied  to  hb 
back.  At  ten  o'clock  he  came  to  himself 
again,  spoke  a  little,  and  recognised  every- 
body. He  wished  to  drink,  and  said  to  Yol- 
kousky,  "Edrean,  nisire."  On  which  the 
other  replied,  "  Tino?  Konackambe."  "  Bat 
Yolkoufi&y  saw  that  he  had  no  strength  to 
take  the  gargle,  and  he  was  now  in  the  great- 
est danger. 

On  the  thirtieth  he  seemed  tolerably  strcmg, 
but  the  fever  increased,  and  the  danger  grew 
more  threatening  all  day.    Every  time   he 
opened  his  eyes  he  looked  to  the  empress,  I 
took  her  hands,  kissed  them,  and   pressed  | 
them  to  his  heart.    Yolkousky  approached  to 
kiss  his  hand,  but  he  did  not  seemed  pleased, 
as  he  never  liked  kissing  of  hands.    He  lost  , 
consciousness  at  twenty  minutes  to  twelve  1 
and  never  recovered  it.  ' 

On  the  first  of  December  he  breathed  his  , 
last,  at  ten  minutes  to  eleven  in  the  morning.  ' 
The  empress  closed  his  eyes. 

The  priest  to  whom  he  confessed  is  called 
Alexis,  and  is  arch-priest  of  the  high  church 
at  Taganrog.    The  Archbishop  of  ^[^ttherin- 
oslaff  read  the  prayers  when  the  emperor 
was  laid  out.    The  corpse  of  the  emperor  lay  | 
nine  days  in  his  cabinet,  while  it  was  as- 
balmed.  During  this  time  the  empress  resided 
in  the  town.    The  body  was,  however,  not  so  i 
well  embalmed  as  could  be  wished.    It  was 
necessary  to  dip  it  constantly  in  ice,  and  to 
moisten  the  face  with  an  acid  by  which  his 
features  became  dark  and  unrecognisable.  In 
the  head  some  wrong-placed  membranes  were 
found,  at  the  exact  spot  which  he  used  to 
touch  when  we  was  in  pain.    The  emperor 
had  sufi'ered  greatly  in  his  last  moments;  he   \ 
breathed  fast,  and  with  difficulty.    He  died 
in  his  cabinet,  on  a  divan.    The  persons  in  i 
the  next  room  heard  his  struggles.    During  | 
his  illness,  he  often  lay  in  ther  little  room  at   , 
the  front  of  his  cabinet.    A  moment  was  | 
seized,  while  the  empress  was  out  of  the   : 
chamber,  to  administer  the  last  sacraments. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


'  FmOiar  in  their  Mwtht  oi  EOUSEHOLD  WORDS,"- 


HOUSEHOLD  WOEDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
COVDirCTBD   BT   CHABLE8   DICKBBS. 


io.  26.] 


3.  A.  VIX,  FUBLISHEB, 

OvtMv,  N«^  10  Fabk  FLA«t,  ICbw>Tobx. 


[Wholb  No.  278. 


INFANT  GARDENS. 

Skvbmtt  or  eighty  yeaTB  ago  there  was  a 
on  bom  to  the  Pastor  froebeC  who  exercised 
lis  calling  in  the  Tillage  of  Oberweissbaoh,  in 
he  principality  of  Schwartaburg-Rodolstadt 
rhis  son,  who  was  called  Frederiok,  proved  to 
»e  a  child  of  unosaally  quick  sensibilities, 
leenlj  alive  to  all  impressions,  hurt  by  dis- 
ords  of  all  kinds ;  by  (^quarrelling  of  men, 
vomen  and  children,  by  ill-assorted  colours, 
nharmonions  sounds.  He  was,  to  a  morbid 
extent,  capable  of  receiving  delight  from  the 
>eautie8  of  nature,  and,  as  a  verv  little  boy, 
Fould  spend  much  of  his  time  in  studying 
tnd  ec^oying,  for  thefar  own  sake,  the  lines  and 
ingles  in  the  gothic  architecture  of  his  father's 
;hurch.  Who  does  not  know  what  must  be 
be  central  point  of  all  the  happiness  of  such 
i  child  ?  The  voice  of  its  mother  is  the 
iweetest  of  sweet  sounds,  the  face  of  its  mother 
e  the  fairest  of  fair  sights  the  loving  touch  of 
ler  lip  is  the  symbol  to  tt  of  aU  pleasures  of 
he  sense  and  the  souL  Against  the  tbou- 
»nd  shocks  and  terrors  that  are  ready  to 
ifflict  a  child  too  exquisitely  sensitive,  the 
nother  Is  the  sole  protectress,  and  her  help  is 
dl-sulficlent.  Frederick  Froebel  lost  his 
nother  in  the  first  years  of  his  childhood,  and 
lis  youth  was  tortured  with  incessant  craving, 
or  a  sympathy  that  was  not  to  be  found. 

Ijhe  Pastor  Froebel  was  too  bu^  to  attend 
;o  all  the  little  fancies  of  his  son.  It  was  his 
pod  practice  to  be  the  peaceful  arbiter  of  the 
lisputes  occurring  in  the  village,  and,  as  he 
x>ok  his  boy  with  him  when  he  went  out,  he 
nade  his  child  familiar  with  all  the  quarrels 
>f  the  parish.  Thus  were  suggested,  week  after 
?eek,  oompMisons  between  the  harmony  of  na- 
,nre,  and  ue  spite  and  scandal  current  amonff 
nen.  A  dreamy,  fervent  love  of  Grod,  a  fanciful 
x>y's  wish  that  he  could  make  men  quiet  and 
kffectloniite,  took  strong  possession  of  young 
^''redortck,  and  grew  with  his  ad  vancing  years, 
ae  studied  a  good  deaL  Following  out  his 
ove  of  nature,  he  sought  to  become  acquainted 
^th  the  sciences  by  which  her  ways  and 
igpects  are  explained :  his  contemplation  of 
^e  architecture  of  the  village  churcn  ripened 
into  a  thorough  taste  for  mathematics,  and  he 
enjoyed  aemultural  life  practicallv,  as  a 
worker  on  his  father's  land.  At  last  he  went 
to  PestaloKzi's  school  in  Switzerland. 


Then  followed  troublous  times,  and  patriotic 
war  in  Germany,  where  even  poets  fought 
against  the  enemy  with  lyre  and  sword. 
The  quick  instincte,  and  high,  generous  im- 
pulses of  Frederick  Froebel  were  engaged  at 
once,  and  went  out  to  battle  on  behalf  of 
Fatherland  in  the  ranks  of  the  boldest ;  for 
he  was  one  of  LCtzow's  regiment^-a  troop  of 
riders  that  earned  by  its  daring  an  immortal 
name.  Their  fame  has  even  penetrated  to 
our  English  concert-rooms,  where  many  a  fair 
English  maiden  has  been  made  familiar  with 
the  dare-devil  patriots  of  which  it  was  com- 
posed, by  the  refrain  of  the  German  soDg  in 
honour  of  their  prowess—Das  ist  Lt^tzow's 
fliegende,  wilde  Jagd.  Having  performed  his 
duty  to  his  country  in  the  ranks  of  its 
defenders,  Froebel  fell  back  upon  his  love  of 
nature  and  his  study  of  triangles,  squares,  and 
cubes.  He  had  made  interest  that  placed 
him  in  a  position  which,  in  many  respects, 
curiously  satisfied  his  tastes— that  of  Inspector 
to  the  Mineralogical  Museum  at  Berlin.  The 
post  was  lucrative,  its  duties  were  agreeable 
to  him,  but  the  objects  of  his  life's  desire  was 
yet  to  be  attained. 

For,  the  unsatisfied  cravings  of  his  child- 
hood had  borne  fruit  within  him.  He  remem- 
bered the  quick  feelings  and  perceptions,  the 
incessant  nimbleness  of  mind  proper  to  his 
first  years,  and  how  he  had  been  hemmed  in 
and  cramped  for  want  of  right  encouragement 
and  sympathy.  He  remembered,  too,  the  ill- 
conditioned  people  whose  disputes  had  been 
made  part  of  his  experience;  the  dogged  chil- 
dren, cruel  fathers,  sullen  husbands,  angry 
wives,  quarrelsome  neighbours ;  and  surely  he 
did  not  err  when  he  connected  the  two  memo- 
ries together.  How  many  men  and  women 
go  about  pale-skinned  and  weak  of  limb, 
because  their  physical  health  during  infancy 
and  childhood  was  not  established  by  judicious 
management.  It  is  just  so,  thought  Froebel, 
with  our  minds.  There  would  be  fewer 
sullen,  quarrelsome,  dull-witted  men  or 
women,  if  there  were  fewer  children  starved 
or  fed  improperly  in  heart  and  brain.  To 
improve  society— to  make  men  and  women 
better — it  is  requisite  to  begin  quite  at  the 
beginning,  and  to  secure  for  them  a  whole- 
some education  during  infhnoy  and  childhood. 
Strongly  possessed  with  this  Idea,  and  feeling 
that  the  usual  methods  of  education,  by 

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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  21, 1855. 


[Coodo 


restraint  and  penalty,  aim  at  the  accompllah- 
ment  of  far  too  little,  and  by  checking  natural 
development,  even  do  positive  mischief,  Froe- 
bel  determined  upon  the  devotion  of  his 
entire  energy,  throughout  his  life,  to  a  strong 
effort  for  the  establishment  of  schools  that 
sboald  do  justice  and  honour  to  the  na- 
ture of  a  child.  He  resigned  his  appoint- 
ment at  Berlin,  and  threw  himself  with 
onlj  the  resources  of  a  fixed  will,  a  full 
mind,  and  a  right  purpose,  on  the  chances  of 
the  future. 

At  Keilbau,  a  village  of  Thuringfa,  he  took 
a  peasant's  cottage,  in  which  he  purposed  to 
establish  his  first  school :  a  village  bojs' 
BohooL  It  was  necessary  to  enlarge  the  cot- 
tage ;  and,  while  that  was  being  done,  Froebel 
lived  on  potatoes,  bread,  and  water.  So 
■canty  was  his  stock  of  capital  on  which  his 
enterprise  was  started,  that,  in  order  hoaestly 
to  pay  his  workmen,  he  was  forced  to  carry 
his  principle  of  self-denial  to  the  utmost. 
He  iMught  each  week  two  large  rye-loaves, 
and  marked  on  them  with  chalk  each 
day's  allowance.  Perhaps  he  is  the  only 
man  in  the  world  who  ever,  in  so  literal 
a  way,  chalked  out  for  himself  a  scheme  of 
diet. 

After  labouringformany  years  among  the 
boys  at  Keilbau,  Froebel— married  to  a  wife 
who  shared  his  seal,  and  made  it  her  labour 
to  help  to  the  utmost  in  carrying  out  the  idea 
of  her  husband's  life— felt  that  there  was 
more  to  be  accomplished.  His  boys  came  to 
him  with  many  a  twist  in  mind  or  temper, 
caught  by  wriggling  op  through  the  bewilder- 
ments of  a  neglected  infancy.  The  first 
sproutings  of  the  human  mind  need  thought- 
ful culture ;  there  is  no  period  of  life,  indeed, 
in  which  culture  is  so  essential.  And  yet,  in 
nine  out  of  ten  cases,  it  is  precisely  while  the 
little  blades  of  thought  and  buds  of  love  are 
frail  and  tender,  that  no  heed  is  taken  to 
maintaim  the  soil  about  them  wholesome,  and 
the  air  about  them  free  from  bliffht.  There 
must  be  Infant  Gabdbns,  Froebel  said ;  and 
strai^tway  formed  his  plans,  and  set  to  work 
for  their  accomplishment. 

He  had  become  familiar  in  cottages  with 
the  instincts  of  mothers,  and  the  facilities 
with  which  young  children  are  endowed  by 
nature.  He  never  lost  his  own  childhood 
from  memory,  and  being  Sealed  the  blessing 
of  an  infant  of  his  own,  regarded  all  the  little 
ones  with  equal  love.  The  direction  of  his 
boys'  school— now  flourishing  vigorously — 
he  committed  to  the  care  of  a  relation, 
while  he  set  out  upon  a  tour  through  parts 
of  Germany  and  Switzerland  to  lecture  upon 
Infant  training,  and  to  found  Infant  Gar- 
dens where  he  could.  He  founded  them  at 
Hamburg,  Leipsic,  Dresden,  and  elsewhere. 
While  labouring  in  this  way  he  was  always 
exercising  the  same  spirit  of  self-^eatal  that 
had  marked  the  outset  of  his  educational 
career.  Whatever  he  ^M)uld  earn  was  for  the 
children,  to  promote  their  cause.     He  would 


not  spend  upon  himself  the  money  that  would 
help  in  the  accomplishment  of  his  desire,  that 
childhood  should  be  made  as  happy  as  God  in 
his  wisdom  had  designed  it  should  be,  and 
that  full  play  should  be  given  to  its  energies 
and  powers.  Many  a  night's  lodging  be  took, 
while  on  his  travels,  in  the  open  fields,  with 
an  umbrella  for  his  bedroom,  and  a  knapsack 
for  his  pillow. 

So  beautiful  a  self-devotion  to  a  noble 
cause  won  recognition.  One  of  the  best 
friends  of  his  old  age  was  the  Dueheas  Ida  of 
Weimar,  sister  to  Queen  Adelaide  of  England, 
and  his  death  took  place  on  the  twen^-first 
of  June,  three  years  ago,  at  a  country  seat  of 
the  Duke  of  Meiningen.  He  died  at  the  age 
of  seventy,  peaceably,  upon  a  summer  day, 
delighting  in  the  beautiful  scenery  that  lay 
outside  his  window,  and  in  the  flowers 
brought  by  friends  to  his  bedside.  Nature, 
he  said,  bears  witness  to  the  promises  of  rere- 
lation.    So  Froebel  passed  away. 

And  Natare'a  pleasant  rob«  of  gr«en, 
Hamanity'a  appointed  throud,  enwnps 
Hia  monnment  and  kii  memory. 

Wise  and  good  people  have  been  endeavonr- 
ing  of  late  to  obtain  in  this  country  a  bearing 
for  the  views  of  this  good  teacher,  and  a  trial 
for  his  system.  Only  fourteen  years  haTe 
elapsed  since  the  first  Idfant  Ghsrden  was 
established,  and  already  inlunt  gardens  have 
been  introduced  into  most  of  the  larger  towns 
of  Germany.'  Let  us  now  welcome  them  with 
all  our  hearts  to  England. 

The  whole  principle  of  Froebel's  teaching 
is  based  on  a  perfect  love  for  children  and  a 
fUll  %nd  genial  recognition  of  their  natore,  a 
determination  that  their  hearts  shall  not  be 
starved  for  want  of  sympathy,  that  since  they 
are  by  infinite  wisdom  so  created  as  to  find 
happiness  in  the  active  exercise  and  dere- 
lopment  of  all  their  faculties,  we,  who  have 
children  round  about  us,  shall  no  longer  re- 
press their  energies,  tie  up  their  bodies,  sbat 
their  mouths,  and  declare  that  they  worry  us 
by  the  incessant  putting  of  the  qnestioos 
which  the  Father  of  us  all  has  placed  in  their 
mouths,  BO  that  the  teachable  one  for  ever 
cries  to  those  who  undertake  to  be  its  guides 
— "  What  shall  I  do  ?  "  To  be  ready  at  all 
times  with  a  wise  answer  to  that  question, 
ought  to  be  the  ambition  of  every  one  upon 
whom  a  child's  nature  depends  for  the  meaas 
of  healthy  growth.  The  frolic  of  chlMbood 
is  not  pure  exuberance  and  wasto.  "  There 
is  often  a  high  meaning  in  childisb  play," 
said  Froebel.  Let  us  study  it,  and  act  upon 
hints-^r  more  than  hinto— that  nature  gives. 
They  fall  into  a  fatal  error  who  despise  all 
that  a  child  does,  as  frivolous.  Nothing  is 
trifling  that  forms  part  of  a  child's  Ufe. 

That  which  the  mother  awakena  azid  fbttara, 
When  ahe  Jojoaalj  aings  and  pUj% ; 

That  whieb  her  loTe  ao  tenderij  ahelten. 
Bean  a  bleiaing  to  tetare  daya. 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  21,  1855. 


579 


We  quote  Froebel  a^aln,  in  these  lines,  and 
\re  quote  others  in  which  he  bids  us 

Break  not  laddanlf  the  dze«m* 

The  bleMed  dream  of  infkncr ; 
In  which  the  soul  unites  with  all 
In  earth,  or  heayen,  or  sea,  or  pky. 

Bat  enough  has  already  been  said  to  show 
what  he  would  have  done.  How  would  he 
dolt? 

Of  course  it  must  be  borne  in  mind, 
throughout  the  following  sketch  of  Froebel's 
scheme  of  infant  training,  that  certain  quali- 
ties of  mind  are  necessary  to  the  teacher.  Let 
nobod  J  suppose  that  any  scheme  of  education 
can  attain  its  end,  as  a  mere  scheme,  apart 
from  the  qualifications  of  those  persons  by 
whom  it  is  to  be  carried  -out.  Very  young 
children  can  be  trained  successfully  by  no 
person  who  wants  hearty  liking  for  them,  and 
who  can  take  part  only  with  a  proud  sense  of 
restraint  in  their  chatter  and  their  play.  It  is 
in  truth  no  condescension  to  become  in  spirit 
as  a  child  with  children,  and  nobody  is  fit  to 
teach  the  young  who  holds  a  different  opinion. 
Unvarying  cheerftilness  and  kindness,  the  re- 
finement that  belongs  naturally  to  a  pure, 
well-constituted  woman's  mind  are  absolute- 
ly necessary  to  the  management  of  one  of 
Froebel's  infant  gardens. 

Then,  again,  let  it  be  understood  that 
Froebel  never  wished  his  system  of  training 
to  be  converted  into  mere  routine,  to  the  ex- 
clusion of  all  that  spontaneous  action  in 
which  more  than  half  of  every  child's 
education  must  consist  It  was  his  pur- 
pose to  show  the  direction  in  which  it  was 
most  usefiil  to  proceed,  how  best  to  assist  the 
growth  of  the  mind  by  following  the  indica- 
tions nature  furnishes.  Nothing  was  farther 
from  his  design,  in  doing  that,  than  the  im- 
position of  a  check  on  any  wholesome  energies. 
Blindman's  buff,  romps,  puzzles,  fttiry  tales, 
everything  in  fact  that  exercises  soundly  any 
set  of  the  child's  faculties,  must  be  admitted 
as  a  part  of  Froebel 's  system.  The  cardinal 
point  of  his  doctrine  is, — take  care  that  you 
do  not  exercise  a  part  only,  of  the  child's 
mind  or  body ;  but  take  thorough  pains  to 
see  that  you  encourage  the  development  of 
its  whole  nature.  If  pains— and  great  pains- 
be  not  taken  to  see  that  this  is  done,  probab- 
ly it  is  not  done.  The  Infant  Gardens  are 
designed  to  help  in  doing  it. 

The  mind  of  a  young  child  must  not  be 
trained  at  the  lexpense  of  its  body.  Every 
muscle  ought,  if  possible,  to  be  brought  daily 
into  action;  and,  in  the  case  of  a  child  suffered 
to  obey  the  laws  of  nature  by  free  tumbling 
and  romping,  that  Is  done  in  the  best  manner 
possible.  Every  mother  knows  that  by  car- 
rying an  infant  always  on  the  same  arm  its 
growth  is  liable  to  be  perverted.  Every 
father  knows  the  child's  delight  at  being 
vigorously  danced  up  and  down,  and  much  of 
this  delight  arises  firom  the  play  then  given 
to  its  muscles.    As  the  child  grows,  the  most 


unaccustomed  positions  into  which  it  can  be 
safely  twisted  are  those  from  which  it  will 
receive  the  greatest  pleasure.  That  is  be- 
cause play  is  thus  given  to  the  muscles  in  a 
form  they  do  not  often  get,  and  nature, 
— always  watchful  on  the  child's  behalf- 
cries,  We  will  have  some  more  of  that.  It 
does  us  good.  As  it  is  with  the  body  so  it  is 
with  the  mind,  and  Froebel 's  scheme  of 
infant  education  is,  for  both,  a  system  of 
gymnastics. 

He  begins  with  the  new-born  infant  and 
demands  that,  if  possible.  It  shall  not  be  taken 
from  its  mother.  He  sets  his  face  strongly 
against  the  custom  of  committing  the  child 
during  the  tenderest  and  most  impressible 
period  of  its  whole  life  to  the  care  and  com- 
panionship of  an  ignorant  nurse-maid,  or  of 
servants  who  have  not  the  mother's  instinct, 
or  the  knowledge  that  can  tell  them  how  to 
behave  in  its  presence.  Only  the  mother 
should,  if  possible,  be  the  child's  chief  com- 
panion and  teacher  during  at  least  the  first 
three  years  of  its  life,  and  the  should  have 
tbouffbt  it  worth  while  to  prepare  herself  for 
the  right  fulfilment  of  her  duties.  Instead  of 
tambour  work  or  Arabic,  or  any  other  useless 
thing  that  maybe  taught  at  girls' schools, 
surely  it  would  be  a  great  blessing  if  young 
ladies  were  to  spend  some  of  their  time  in  an 
infant  garden,  that  miffht  be  attached  to 
every  academy.  Let  them  all  learn  from 
Froebel  what  are  the  requirements  of  a  child, 
and  be  prepared  fbr  the  wise  performance  of 
what  is  after  all  to  be  the  most  momentous 
business  of  their  lives. 

The  carrying  out  of  this  hint  is,  indeed, 
necessary  to  the  complete  and  general  adop- 
tion of  the  infant-garden  system.  Froebel 
desired  his  infants  to  be  taught  only  by  wo- 
men and  required  that  they  imould  be  women 
as  well  educated  and  refined  as^ptfssftle ;  pre- 
ferring amiable  unmarried  girls.  Thus  he 
would  have  our  maidens  spending  some  part 
of  their  time  in  playing  witn  little  ones,  learn- 
ing to  understand  them.teaching  them  to  un- 
derstand ;  our  wives  he  would  have  busy  at 
home,  making  good  use  of  their  experience, 
developing  carefully  and  thoughtfully  the 
minds  of  their  children,  sole  teachers  for  the 
first  three  years  of  their  life ;  afterwards 
either  helped  by  throwing  them  among  other 
children  in  an  infant  garden  for  two  or  tliree 
hours  every  day,  or,  if  there  be  at  home  no 
lack  of  little  company,  having  infant  gardens 
of  their  own. 

Believing  that  It  is  natural  to  address 
infants  in  song,  Froebel  encouraged  nursery 
songs,  and  added  to  their  number.  Those 
contributed  by  him  to  the  common  stock  were 
of  course  contributed  for  the  sake  of  some  use 
that  he  had  for  each ;  in  the  same  spirit — 
knowing  play  to  be  essential  to  a  child — he 
invented  games  ;  and  those  added  by  him  to 
the  common  stock  are  all  meant  to  be  used 
for  direct  teaching.  It  does  not  in  the  least 
follow,  and  it  was  not  the  case,  that  he  would 


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HOUSEHOLD  WOBD&    Jvlt  21,  186S. 


COoBteetadtf 


have  OS  make  all  noraerj  rhymes  and  garden 
sports  abstruselj  didactic  He  meant  no 
more  than  to  pat  his  own  teaching  into  songs 
and  games,  to  show  olearly  that  whatever  is 
necessary  to  be  said  or  done  to  a  younff  child, 
may  be  said  or  done  merrily  or  playfaUy,  and 
although  he  was  essentially  a  schoolmaster, 
he  had  no  faith  in  the  terrors  commonly  as- 
sociated with  his  calling. 

Froebel's  nursery  songs  are  associated 
almost  invariably  with  bodily  activity  on  the 
part  of  the  child.  He  is  always,  as  soon  as  he 
becomes  old  enough,  to  do  something  while 
the  song  is  going  on,  and  the  movements 
assigned  to  him  are  cunningly  contrived  so 
Chat  not  even  a  joint  of  a  little  finger  shall  be 
left  unexercised.  If  he  be  none  the  better, 
he  is  none  the  worse  for  this.  The  child 
is  indeed  unlucky  that  depends  only  on  care 
of  this  description  for  the  full  play  of  its 
body ;  but  there  are  some  children  so  unfor- 
tunate, and  there  are  some  parents  who  will 
be  usefully  reminded  by  those  songs,  of 
the  necessity  of  procuring  means  for  the  free 
action  of  every  joint  and  limb.  What  is  done 
for  the  body  is  done,  in  the  same  spirit  for 
the  mind,  and  ideas  are  formed,  not  by  song 
only.  The  beginning  of  a  most  ingenious 
course  of  mental  training  by  a  series  of 
playthings  is  made  almost  from  the  very 

A  box  containing  six  soft  balls  differing  in 
colour,  is  ffiven  to  the  child.  It  is  Froebel's 
"first  gift."  Long  before  it  can  speak  the  infant 
can  hold  one  of  these  little  balls  in  its  fingers, 
become  familiar  with  its  spherical  shape  and 
its  colour.  It  stands  still,  it  spring,  it  rolls. 
As  the  child  grows,  he  can  roll  it  and  run 
after  it,  watch  it  with  sharp  eves,  and  com- 
pare the  colour  of  one  ball  with  the  colour  of 
another,  prick  up  his  ears  at  the  songs  con- 
nected with  his  various  games  with  it,  use  it 
as  a  bond  of  playfeUowship  with  other  chil- 
dren, practice  with  It  first  efforts  at  self- 
denial,  and  so  forth.  One  ball  is  suspended 
by  a  string,  it  jumps, — it  rolls — ^here— there 
—over — ^up, — turns  left — ^tums  right — ding- 
dong — tip-tap — falls— spins ;  fifty  ideas  may 
be  connected  with  it.  The  six  balls,  three 
of  the  primary  colours,  three  of  the  second- 
ary, may  be  built  up  in  a  i>yramid ;  they 
may  be  set  rolling,  and  used  iu  combination 
in  a  great  many  wa^s  giving  sufficient  exer- 
cise to  the  young  wits  that  have  all  know- 
ledge and  experienoe  before  them. 

l^oebel's  **  second  gift"  is  a  small  box  con- 
taining a  btiU,  cube  and  roller  (the  two  last 
perforated),  with  a  stick  and  string.  With 
these  forms  of  the  cube,  sphere,  and  cylinder, 
there  is  a  great  deal  to  be  done,  and  learnt 
They  can  be  played  with  at  first  according  to 
the  child's  own  humour :  will  run,  jump,  re- 
present carts  or  anything.  The  ancient 
SjB^tians,  in  their  young  days  as  a  nation, 
pued  three  cubes  on  one  another  and  called 
them  the  three  Graces.  A  child  will,  in  the 
same  way,  see  fiidies  in  stones,  and  be  content 


to  put  a  cylinder  upon  a  cube,  and  say  that  is 
papa  on  horseback.  Of  this  element  of  ready 
fancy  in  all  childish  sport,  Froebel  took  full 
advantage  The  ball,  cube,  and  cylindo-  may 
be  spun,  swung,  rolled,  and  balanced,  in  so 
many  ways  as  to  display  practically  all  their 
properties.  The  cube,  spun  upon  the  stick 
piercing  it  through  opposite  edges,  will  look 
like  a  circle,  and  so  forth.  As  the  child 
grows  older,  each  of  the  forms  may  be  ex- 
amined definitely,  and  he  may  learn  from  ob- 
servation to  describe  it.  T%e  ball  m»j  be 
rolled  down  an  inclined  plane  and  the  acoe- 
leration  of  ito  speed  observed.  Most  of  the 
elementary  laws  of  mechanics  may  be  made 
practically  obvious  to  the  child's  aiider- 
standing. 

The  "  third  dft"  is  the  cube  divided  once 
in  every  direction.  By  the  time  a  child  geto 
this  to  play  with,  he  is  three  years  old:  of  age 
ripe  for  admission  to  an  Infant  Garden.  The 
infant  garden  is  intended  for  the  hdp  of 
children  between  three  years  old  and  seven. 
Instruction  in  it— always  by  meana  of  play — 
is  given  for  only  two  or  three  hoars  in  the 
day;  such  instruction  sets  eaeh  child,  if 
reasonably  helped  at  home,  in  the  right 
train  of  education  for  the  remaiader  of  its 
time. 

An  infant  earden  must  be  held  in  a  large 
room  abounding  in  clear  space  for  ehild's 
play,  and  connected  witha  garden  into  whkh 
the  children  may  adjourn  whenever  weather 
will  permit  The  garden  is  meant  chie^  to 
assure,  more  perfectly,  the  asaooiatioa  of 
wholesome  bodily  exercise  with  mental  ac- 
tivity. If  climate  but  permitted,  Froebel 
would  have  all  young  children  tan^t  eatirelj 
in  the  pure,  fresh  air,  while  frodkling  in  son- 
shine  among  flowers.  By  his  system  be  aimed 
at  securing  for  them  bodily  as  well  aa  mental 
health,  and  he  held  it  to  be  unnatural  that 
they  should  be  cooped  up  in  close  rooms,  and 
glued  to  forms,  when  all  their  limha  twit^ 
with  desire  for  action,  and  there  is  a  warm 
sunshine  out  of  doors.  The  garden,  too,  should 
be  their  own ;  every  child  the  master  or  mis- 
tress of  a  plot  in  it,  sowing  seeds  and  watohing 
day  by  day  the  growth  of  plants,  instraetel 
playfully  and  simply  in  the  meaning  of  what 
is  observed.  When  weather  forbids  use  of  the 
garden,  there  is  the  great,  airy  room  which 
should  contain  cupboards,  with  a  plaoe  fbr 
every  child's  toys  and  implemento ;  so  that  a 
habit  of  the  strictest  neatness  may  be  property 
maintained.  Up  to  the  age  of  seven  thm  is 
to  be  no  book  work  and  no  ink  work ;  bnl 
only  at  school  a  free  and  brisk,  but  systematie 
strengthening  of  the  body,  of  the  senaea,  of 
the  intellect,  and  of  the  affections,  managed 
in  such  a  way  as  to  leave  the  diild  prompt  for 
subsequent  instruction,  already  compreb»d- 
ine  the  elementoof  a  good  deal  of  knowledge. 

We  must  endeavour  to  show  in  part  how 
that  is  done.  The  third  gift— the  oobe 
divided  once  in  every  direction — enablea  the 
child  to  begin  tiie  work  of  constrootioa  in 


Digitized  by  VjJOOQIC 


Ctaartes  DlekcBa.] 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  21,  1865. 


681 


accordance  with  its  own  ideas,  and  insensiblj 
brings  the  ideas  into  the  control  of  a  sense  of 
harmony  and  fitness.  The  cube  divided  into 
eight  parts  will  mannfactnre  many  tilings ; 
and,  while  the  child  is  at  work  helped  by 
qniet  suggestion  now  and  then,  the  teacher 
tallcs  of  what  he  is  aboat,  asks  many  ques- 
tions, answers  more,  mixes  up  little  songs 
and  stories  with  the  play,  miliars,  ruin^ 
castles,  triumphal  arches,  city  gates,  bridges, 
crosses,  towers,  all  can  be  completed  to  the 

Serfect  satisfaction  of  a  child,  with  the  eight 
ttle  ctibes.  They  are  all  so  many  texts 
on  which  useful  and  pleasant  talk  tan  be 
established.  Then  they  are  capable  also  of 
harmonious  arrangement  into  patterns,  and 
this  is  a  great  pleasure  to  the  child.  He 
learns  the  charm  of  symmetry,  exercises  taste 
in  the  preference  of  this  or  that  among  the 
hundred  combinations  of  which  his  eight 
cubes  are  susceptible. 

Then  follows  the  <' fourth  gift,"  a  cube 
dirided  into  eight  planes  out  lengthways. 
More  things  can  be  done  with  this  than  with 
the  other.  Without  strain  on  the  mind, 
in  sheer  play,  mingled  with  sonn,  nothing  is 
wanted  but  a  liberal  supply  of  little  cubes,  to 
make  clear  to  the  children  the  elements  of 
arithmetic.  The  cubes  are  the  things  num- 
bered. Addition  is  done  with  them ;  they  are 
subtracted  from  each  other:  they  are  multi- 
plied ;  they  are  divided.  Besides  these  four 
elementary  rules  they  cause  children  to  be 
thoroughlv  at  home  in  the  principle  of 
fractions,  to  multiply  and  divide  fractions— as 
real  things :  all  in  good  time,  it  will  become 
easy  enougn  to  let  written  figures  represent 
them  —  to  go  through  the  rule  of  three, 
square  root,  and  cube  root.  As  a  child  has 
instilled  into  him  the  principles  of  arithmetic, 
so  he  acquires  insensibly  the  groundwork  of 
geometry,  the  dster  science. 

Froebel's  "  fifth  gift"  is  an  extension  of  the 
third,  a  cube  divid^  into  twenty-seven  equal 
cubes,  and  three  of  these  farther  divided  into 
halves,  three  into  quarters.  This  brings  with 
it  the  teaching  of  a  great  deal  of  geometry, 
much  help  to  the  lessons  in  number,  magnifi- 
cent accessions  to  the  power  of  the  little 
architect ;  who  is  provided,  now  with  pointed 
roofs  and  other  glories,  and  the  means  of  pro- 
ducing an  almost  infinite  variety  of  symme- 
trical patterns,  both  more  complex  and  more 
beautiful  than  heretofore. 

The  "  sixth  gift"  is  a  cube  so  divided  as  to 
extend  still  farther  tlie  child's  power  of  com- 
bining and  discusdng  it.  When  its  resources 
are  exhausted  and  combined  with  those  of  the 
"  seventh  gift"  (a  box  containing  every  form 
supplied  in  the  preceding  series),  the  little 
pupil— seven  years  old — ^has  had  his  inventive 
and  artistic  powers  exercised,  and  his  mind 
stored  with  facts  that  have  been  absolutely 
comprehended.  He  has  acquired  also  a  sense 
of  pleasure  in  the  occupation  of  his  mind. 

But  he  has  not  been  trained  in  this  way 
only.    We  leave  out  of  account  the  bodily  , 


exercise  connected  with  the  entire  round  of 
occupation,  and  speak  only  of  t)ie  mental 
discipline.  There  are  some  other  "gifts" 
that  are  brought  into  service  as  the  child 
becomes  able  to  use  them.  One  is  a  box 
containing  pieces  of  wood,  or  pasteboard,  out 
into  sundry  forms.  With  these  the  letters 
of  the  alphabet  can  be  constructed :  and,  after 
letters,  words,  in  such  a  way  as  to  create  out 
of  the  game  a  series  of  pleasant  spelling 
lessons.  The  letters  are  arranged  upon  a 
slate  ruled  into  little  squares,  by  which 
the  eye  is  guided  in  preserving  regularity. 
Then  follows  the  gift  of  a  bundle  of  small 
sticks,  which  represent  so  many  straight 
lines :  and,  by  laying  them  upon  his  slate, 
the  child  can  make  letters,  patterns,  pic- 
tures ;  drawing,  in  fact,  wiUi  lines  that 
have  not  to  be  made  with  pen  or  pencil,  but 
are  provided  ready  made  and  li^d  down  wl^ 
the  fingers.  This  kind  of  Stick-work  having 
been  brought  to  perfection,  there  is  a  capital 
exten^on  of  the  idea  with  what  la  called 
Pea-work.  By  the  help  of  peas  softened  in 
water,  sticks  may  be  Joined  together,  letters, 
skeletons  of  cubes,  crosses,  prisms  may  be 
built ;  houses,  towers,  churches  may  be  con- 
structed, having  due  brei^dth  as  well  as 
length  and  hei^t,  strong  enough  to  be  car- 
ried about  or  kept  as  specimens  of  ingenuity. 
Then  follows  a  gift  of  flat  sticks,  ta  be  used 
in  plaiting.  After  that,  there  is  a  world  of 
ingenuity  to  be  expended  on  the  plaiting, 
folding,  cutting,  and  pricking  ef  plain  or 
coloured  pi4>er.  Children  five  years  old, 
trained  in  the  Infrint  Garden^  will  delight  in 
plaiting  dips  of  paper  variously  coloured  into 
patterns  of  their  own  invention,  and  will 
work  with  a  sense  of  symmetry  so  much 
refined  by  training  as  to  produce  patterns  of 
exceeding  beauty.  By  cutting  paper,  too, 
patterns  are  produced  in  the  Cifant  Garden 
that  would  often,  though  the  work  of  very 
little  hands,  be  received  in  schools  of  design 
with  acclamation.  Then  there  are  games  by 
which  the  first  truths  of  astronomy,  and 
other  laws  of  natare,  are  made  as  familiar  as 
they  are  interesting.  For  our  own  parts,  we 
have  been  perfectly  amazed  at  the  work  we 
have  seen  done  by  children  of  six  or  seven — 
bright,  merry  creatures,  who  have  all  the 
spirit  of  their  childhood  active  in  them, 
repressed  by  no  parent's  selfish  love  of  ease 
and  silence— «owed  by  no  duU-^tted  teacher 
of  the  A  B  0  and  the  pot-hooks. 

Froebel  discourages  the  cramping  of  an 
infant's  hand  upon  a  pen,  but  his  slate  ruled 
into  little  squares,  or  paper  prepared  in  the 
same  way,  is  used  by  him  tor  easv  training  in 
the  elements  of  drawing.  Modelling  in  wet 
clay  is  one  of  the  most  important  occupations 
of  the  children  who  have  reached  about  the 
sixth  year,  and  is  used  as  much  as  possible, 
not  merely  to  encourage  imitation,  but  to 

five   some   play   to   the   creative   power, 
inally,  there  is  the  best  possible  use  made  of   \ 
the  paini-box,  and  children  engaged  upon  the    i 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


682 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    Jolt  21,  1855. 


[Coatectedlv 


colouring  of  picturea  aod  the  arrangement  of 
nosegays,  are  further  taught  to  eojoj,  not 
merely  what  la  bright,  but  also  what  is  har- 
monious and  beautiful. 

We  have  not  left  ourselves  as  much  space 
as  is  requisite  to  show  how  truly  all  such 
labour  becomes  play  to  the  child.  Fourteen 
years'  evidence  suffices  for  a  demonstration 
of  the  admirable  working  of  a  system  of  this 
kind ;  but  as  we  think  there  are  some 
parents  who  may  be  willing  to  inquire  a  little 
further  into  the  subject  here  commended 
earnestly  to  their  attention,  we  will  end  by 
a  citation  of  the  source  from  which  we  have 
ourselves  derived  what  information  we 
possess. 

At  the  educational  exhibition  in  St  Mar- 
tin's Hall  last  year,  there  was  a  large  dis- 
play of  the  material  used  and  results  pro- 
duced In  Infant  Grardens,  which  attracted 
much  attention.  The  Baroness  von  Maren- 
holtz,  enthusiastic  in  her  advocacv  of  the 
childrens'  cause,  came  then  to  England,  and 
did  very  mnch  to  procure  the  establish- 
ment in  this  country  of  some  experimental 
infant  gardens.  By  her,  several  months  ago— 
and  at  about  the  same  time  by  M.  and 
Madame  Ronge  who  had  already  established 
the  first  English  infant  garden-*our  atten- 
tion was  invited  to  the  subject.  We  were 
also  made  acquainted  with  M.  Hoffman,  one 
of  Froebel's  pupils,  who  explained  the  system 
tbeoreticallv  at  the  Polytechnic  Institution. 
When  in  this  country,  the  Baroness  von 
Marenholtz  published  a  book  called  Woman's 
Educational  Mission:  being  an  explanation 
of  Frederick  Froebers  System  of  Infant 
Gardens.  We  have  made  use  of  the  book 
in  the  preceding  notice,  but  it  appeared 
without  the  neoeasary  illustrations,  and  is 
therefore  a  less  perfect  guide  to  the  sub- 
ject than  a  work  published  more  recently 
by  M.  and  Madame  Ronge;  A  Practical 
Guide  to  the  English  Kindergarten.  This 
last  book  w«  exhort  everybody  to  consult 
who  is  desirious  of  a  closer  insight  into 
Froebel's  system  than  we  have  been  able  here 
to  give.  It  not  only  explains  what  the 
system  is ;  but,  by  help  of  an  unstinted  supply 
of  little  dcetches,  enables  any  one  at  once  to 
study  it  at  home  and  bring  it  into  active 
operation.  It  soffgests  conversations,  games : 
gives  manv  of  Froebel's  songs,  and  even 
furnishes  the  music  (which  usually  consists 
of  popular  tunes— Mary  Blane,  Rousseau^s 
Dream,  &o.)  to  which  they  may  be  sung. 
Furthermore,  it  is  well  to  sav  that  any  one 
interested  in  this  subject,  whom  time  and 
space  do  not  forbid,  may  see  an  Infont  Garden 
in  full  work  by  calling  on  a  Tuesday  morning 
between  the  hours  of  ten  and  one  on  M.  and 
Madame  Ronge,  at  number  thirty-two,  Tavis- 
tock Place,  Tavistock  Square.  That  day 
these  earliest  and  heartiest  of  our  established 
infant  gardeners  have  set  apart,  for  the  help 
of  a  good  cause,  to  interruptions  and  investi- 
gations fk>om  the  world  without :  trusting,  of 


course,  we  suppose,  that  no  one  will  dis- 
turb them  for  the  satisfaction  of  mere  idle 
curiosity. 


UNFORTUNATE  JAMES  DALEY. 

Through  what  inadvertent  misapprehen- 
sion relative  to  the  laws  of  mine  and  thine 
the  late  unfortunate  Mr.  James  Daley  came  to 
be  exiled  from  his  native  country,  Ireland,  to 
which  he  was  so  bright  and  conspicuous  an 
ornament,  I  have  had  no  means  of  ascertain- 
ing. That  he  was  bo  exiled — that  is. to  say, 
transported  beyond  the  seas,  does  not  admit 
of  a  doubt,  for  I  find  him  to  have  been  a  con- 
vict in  the  penal  settlement  of  Botany  Bay, 
in  or  about  the  year  seventeen  hundred  and 
eighty-eight. 

Anno  Domini  seventeen  hundred  and 
eighty-ei^ht  was  a  real  annus  miraUlua. 
Many  millions  of  persons  were  bom  and 
died  in  every  month,  week,  day,  boor, 
minute,  and  second  of  that  year:  the  sua 
shone  with  great  brilliancy  over  an  im- 
mense space  of  territory;  copious  diowen 
of  rain  fell  from  the  heavens ;  and  it  is  on 
indisputable  record  that  at  one  period  of  the 
winter,  snow  covered  a  considerable  portion 
of  the  earth's  surface.  In  the  year  eighty- 
eight  departed  fVom  Rome  all  that  was  im- 
mortal from  that  miserably  immortal  amalgam 
of  the  lees  of  wine,  the  bitter  ashes  of  I>ead 
Sea  apples,  the  weeds  and  tares  of  unchecked 
passions,  the  withered  flowers  of  hope,  and 
youth,  and  honour,  that  was  once  Charles 
Edward  Stuart,  to  the  vast  majority  of  hia 
contemporaries  the.  young  pretender :  but,  on 
some  cherished  medals,  and  on  Canova^a 
tombstone,  and  in  some  stout  Scottish  hearts, 
still  Charles  the  Third,  King  of  Great  Britain, 
France,  and  Ireland.  This  same  'eighty-eight, 
too,  flourished,  in  New  South  Wales,  the 
unfortunate  James  Daley. 

The  life  and  motives  of  iJr.  Daley  are 
enveloped  in  mystery  which  no  person  bas 
vet  thought  it  worth  his  while  to  solve. 
Mr.  Daley  waa  transported,  but  for  what 
crime  even,  does  not,  as  I  have  premised, 
appear.  Whether  he  was  a  defender,  a 
thrasher,  a  whiteboy,  a  peep  o'  day  boy,  or 
a  member  of  any  other  occult  society  of 
Irish  Philadelphi ;  or  whether  with  a  noble 
disdain  of  the  factious  acrimonies  of  politics 
he  had,  inverting  Goldsmith's  remark  on 
Burke,  given  up  for  mankind  what  waa 
meant  for  party,  and  so  confined  himself  to 
larceny ;  whether  he  was  a  victim  whose 
expatriation  is  to  be  numbered  among  Ire- 
land's wrongs,  or  a  scoundrel  of  whom  his 
country  was  well  rid,  must  remain  a  doubt, 
subject  to  the  everlasting  If,  the  everlasting 
perhaps,  and  the  everlasting  why.  Unless, 
indeed,  any  bod^  should  take  the  trouble  to 
rout  out  the  Irish  sessions  papers,  or  gaol 
returns  (if  any  existed),  for  the  year  seventeen 
hundred  and  eighty-eight. 

James  Daley's  misfortunes  are  over,  and 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ChwlM  OickflM.] 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  21,  1856. 


583 


the  kangaroo  hops  over  hU  gnve ;  his  name 
would  never,  probably,  have  found  a  place  in 
print,  even  in  the  Biographia  Flagitiosa,  had 
1  not  the  other  day  stumbled  across  a  passage 
in  an  old  book  that  led  me  to  ask  myself  the 
question,  whether  he  may  not  have  been  the 

FIRST  DISCOVBBBA  OF  THB  GOLD  FIELDS  OP  AUS- 
TRALIA I  In  page  thirty-six  of  a  quarto 
volume,  published  fifty-one  years  ago,  en- 
titled ''  An  Account  of  the  English  Colony  of 
New  South  Wales,''  by  Lieutenant  Colonel 
Collins,  I  find  the  following  passage : — 

"  The  settlement  of  Sydney  Cove  was  for 
some  time  amused  with  the  account  of  the 
existence  and  discovery  of  a  gold  mine ;  and 
the  impostor  had  ingenuity  enough  to  impose 
a  fabricated  tale  on  several  of  the  people  for 
truth.  He  pretended  to  have  discovered  it 
at  some  distance  down  the  harbour;  and 
offering  to  conduct  an  ofiOcer  to  the  spot,  a 
boat  was  provided  ;  but  Immediately  on  land- 
ing, having  previously  prevailed  upon  the 
officer  to  send  away  the  boat,  to  prevent  his 
discovery  being  made  public  to  more  than 
one  person,  he  made  a  pretence  to  leave  him, 
and  reaching  the  settlement  some  hours 
before  the  officer,  reported  that  he  had  been 
sent  up  by  him  for  a  guard.  The  fellow  knew 
too  well  the  consequences  that  would  follow 
on  the  officer's  arrival,  to  wait  fop  that,  and 
therefore  set  off  directly  into  the  woods,  but 
bein^  brought  back  was  punished  for  his  im- 
position with  fifty  lashes.  Still,  however, 
persisting  that  he  had  discovered  a  metal,  a 
specimen  of  which  he  produced,  the  governor 
ordered  him  to  be  taken  again  down  the  har- 
bour, with  directions  to  bis  adjutant  to  land 
the  men  on  the  place  which  he  should  point 
out,  and  keep  him  in  sight ;  but  on  being 
assured  by  that  officer,  that  if  he  had  at- 
tempted to  deceive  him  he  would  put  him  to 
death,  the  man  confessed  that  his  story  of 
having  found  a  gold  mine  was  a  falsehood 
which  he  had  propagated  in  the  hope  of  im- 
posing upon  the  people  belonging  to  the 
Fishbourn  and  Golden  Grove  Storeships, 
from  which  he  expected  to  procure  clothing 
and  other  articles  in  return  for  his  promised 
gold  dust ;  and  that  he  had  fabricated  the 
specimens  of  the  metal  which  he  had  ex- 
hibited, from  a  guinea  and  a  brass  buckle : 
the  remains  of  which  he  then  produced,  and 
was  rewarded  for  his  ingenuity  with  a  hun- 
dred lashes.  Among  the  people  of  his  own 
description  there  were  man^  who  believed, 
notwithstanding  his  confession  and  punish- 
ment, that  he  had  actually  made  the  dis- 
covery which  he  pretended,  and  that  he  was 
Induced  to  say  it  was  a  fabrication  merely 
to  secure  it  to  himself,  to  make  use  of  it  at 
a  future  opportunity :  so  easy  is  it  to  im- 
pose on  the  minds  of  the  lower  classes  of  the 
people." 

Easy  it  is,  indeed,  to  impose  on  the  minds 
of  this  same  lower  class :  the  imposition  has 
been  tried  on  the  largest  scale,  and  with  the 
most  enlivening  success  during  a  long  series 


of  years ;  yet  the  judgment  even  of  the  supe- 
rior orders  is  occasionally  fallible,  and  the 
great  ones  of  the  earth  sometimes  make  fools 
of  themselves.  Fifty-one  years  ago  unfortu- 
nate James  Daley  was  flogged,  threatened 
with  death,  and  sneered  at  by  lieutenant- 
governors,  judge-advocates,  soldier-officers, 
overseers,  and  free  settlers.  Only  a  few  con- 
victs, miserable  and  despised  as  himself,  be- 
lieved in  him  and  his  gold  mine :  he  got  not 
his  deserts,  yet  'scaped  he  not  the  whipping ; 
but  in  this  day  and  hour  how  many  of  the 
superior  classes  will  be  bold  enough  to  aver 
that  the  wretched,  contaminated,  brutalised, 
crime-stained,  flagellated  Irish  convict  may 
not  have  discovered  arold — may  have  been 
within  the  arcana  of  Mammon— -may  have 
stood  on  the  shores  of  that  wonderful  Pacto- 
lus  to  whose  golden  sands  myriads  of  men  and 
women  are  rushing  now  iu  frenzied  concupis- 
cence of  wealth  1 

I  am  fond  of  believing  strange  things,  and 
I  therefore  register  my  opinion  that  Daley 
did,  if  not  actually  discover  gold,  know  of  its 
existence  somewhere  in  the  vicinity  ofSydoey. 
I  think  the  guinea  and  brass-buckle  story 
was  a  blind ;  that  the  lower  class  of  people 
were  rieht  in  their  estimation  of  theur  com- 
rade's character ;  and  that  unfortunate  James 
Daley,  after  his  one  imprudent  avowal  that 
he  had  a  secret,  determined  to  keep  it  thence- 
forward unrevealed,  because  he  hated  his  mas- 
ters in  his  heart,  and  loathed  the  idea  of 
placing  wealth  at  their  command.  The  mon- 
keys, ihej  say,  have  the  gift  of  speech,  but  will 
not  use  it  lest  man  shoiUd  set  them  to  work ; 
unfortunate  James  Daley,  perhaps,  kept  mute 
for  a  parallel  reason.  <*  Here  I  am,"  he  may 
have  said,  *^  lagged — a  lifer.  I  have  found 
gold.  What  good  will  it  do  to  me  to  tell  the 
lieutenant-governor  and  the  judge-advocate 
where  to  find  it  too  ?  I  shall  get  a  ticket-of- 
leave,  perhaps,  and  a  few  guineas ;  and  I  shall 
get  drunk,  and  knife  a  man,  and  be  lagged 
again,  or  scragged;  while  the  lieutenant- 
governor  goes  home  to  be  made  a  lord  of,  and 
the  judge-advocate  is  thanked  by  the  parlia- 
ment-house," So  James  Dale^  held  bis 
tongue,  and  was  rewarded  for  his  ingenuity 
with  a  hundred  lashes. 

His  ultimate  reward  on  earth,  and  one  that 
fairly  earns  him  the  title  of  unfortunate,  was 
yet  to  come.  He  is  flogged  at  page  thirty- 
six  of  the  book  I  have  quoted ;  at  page  forty- 
one  he  is  hanged.  In  the  case  of  the  unfor- 
tunate Miss  Bailey,  the  captain  who  behaved 
so  ill  to  her  was.  I  believe,  an  officer  in  the 
Marines.  In  the  case  of  the  unfortunate 
James  Daley,  the  judge  who  sentenced  him 
to  death  was  also  in  the  Marines— Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Collins,  judge-advocate  of  the  colony. 
Bailey  was  throttled  in  her  garters ;  Daley 
in  an  orthodox  halter.  Here  is  the  entry  of 
the  discoverer's  crowning  reward : 

«<  In  December,  James  Daley,  the  convict, 
who,  in  August,  pretended  to  have  discovered 
an  inexhaustible  source  of  wealth,  and  who 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


684 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    Jclt  21,  1865. 


CCwtaHiily 


kad  been  ofaeerred  from  that  time  to  neglect 
his  labour,  and  to  loiter  aboat  from  hat  to 
hnty  while  others  were  at  work,  waa  at  laat 
conricted  of  breaking  into  a  hoose  and  plun- 
dering it,  for  whioh  ht  suffered  death.  Before 
he  was  turned  off,  he  oonfened  that  he  had 
committed  several  thefts,  into  which  he  had 
been  Induced  by  bad  connections." 

Here  is  an  end  of  James  Daley,  his  misfor- 
tunes, his  discoveries,  and  his  Crimea  His 
secret,  if  he  had  any,  died  with  him.  It  is 
doubtful  whether  he  diflcovered  gold  or  not. 
It  is  certain  that  he  broke  into  a  house,  and 
that  he  was  rewarded  for  his  ingenuity  by  a 
hundred  and  fifty  lashes  and  a  gibbet  He 
was  whipped  like  a  dog,  and  hanged  like  a 
dog,  according  to  law.  The  only  question  is, 
whether  he  deserves  a  niche  in  the  temple  of 
the  marWrs  of  discovery  by  the  side  of  Chris- 
topher Columbos,  Salomon  de  Casle,  and 
Galileo ;  or  whether  I  myself  ought  to  be 
put  in  the  pillory  (supporing  such  a  ma- 
chine to  exist),  for  desecrating  these  respec- 
table pages  with  the  apotheods  of  an  unmit- 
igated raecaL  Pertiaps,  after  all,  it  does  not 
matter  much  whether  ihe  Australian  gold- 
fields  were  in  reality  first  discovered  by 
James  Daley.  We  as  seldom  see  the  right 
amount  of  praise  given  to  the  right  man,  as 
ihe  right  man  in  the  right  place.  I  dare  say 
Gadmus  didn't  invent  letters  himself.  I 
imagine  that  he  bought  the  patent  right  for  a 
few  drachms  from  some  poor  wretch  wno  lived 
in  an  attic  and  had  no  soles  to  his  sandals. 
"  That  man  is  not  the  discoverer  of  any  art," 
writes  Sydney  Smith,  "who  first  says  the 
tiling ;  but  he  who  says  it  so  long,  and  so 
loud,  and  so  clearly,  that  he  compels  mankind 
to  hear  him." 


SARDINIAN  FORESTS  AND  FISHERIES. 

As  the  time  for  over-eea  excursions  ap- 
proaches, it  may  be  a  charity  to  give  a  short 
account  of  an  island  that  has  hitherto  almost 
escaped  that  British  invasion  whioh,  corrupt- 
ing the  cookery  of  France,  and  raising  the 
tolls  of  innkeepers,  postboys,  muleteers,  don- 
key-boys, and  camel-drivers,  has  extended 
fbom  the  Straits  of  Dover  to  the  Pyramid 
of  Oheops :  from  the  snows  of  Lapland  to 
the  hot  sands  of  Algeria  :  and  spreads  all 
over  tiie  world. 

With  so  much  of  the  kingdom  of  Sardinia 
as  consists  of  what  the  islanders  call  terra 
firma,  English  travellers  are  tolerably  fami- 
liar. Bu^  the  island  which  has  given  the 
best  known  European  name  to  the  territory 
which  includes  such  famous  cities  as  Turin 
and  Genoa,  has  been  ventured  npon  by  few 
except  antiquaries  of  the  true  DryMdust 
order — careful,  industrious,  fearfully  histo- 
rical, and  perfectly  unreadable.  A  reputation 
for  marsh  fevers  and  absence  of  decent  inns, 
and  a  more  than  ordinary  richness  in  ento- 
mological specimens  of  the  more  disagreeable 
kind,  have,  we  presume,  protected  Island 


Sardinia  Arom  the  bartaians  who  wear  made- 
intosh  and  plaids,  and  walk  lilEe  mad  dogs  hi 
the  heat  of  the  day. 

And  yet  it  is  the  largest  bland  in  ttie 
Mediterranean— as  long  as  fh>m  London  to 
Liverpool,  and  as  broad  as  from  London  to 
Southampton;  with  mountains  eight  thou- 
sand feet  high;  torrents  and  waterfklls  on  a 
proportionate  scale,  swarming  with  delictoos 
trout ;  groves  of  orange  and  lemon  trees  ii 
full  bearing;  forests  of  oak  and  chestnut, 
alive  with  great  deer,  wild  sheep^  and  fieree 
wild  boar ;  a  people  as  yet  uncormpted  by 
alms  or  soap,  hospitable  and  dirty,  in  cos- 
tumes of  picturesqueness  and  brilliancy  which 
would  make  ihe  fortune  of  a  baUei-master. 
The  men  armed  to  the  teeth,  perpetrating 
poems  and  murders  (not  of  strangers),  on 
the  slightest  provocation.  The  women  beau- 
tiful, fierce,  falthfol,  and  quite  unspoiled  bj, 
writing  or  reading.  There  are  also  anti- 
quities; but,  as  no  one  knows  what  they 
mean,  or  bv  whom  or  for  what  purpose  Hie 
rivals  of  the  Round  Towers  were  bailt,  we 
will  say  nothing  about  tiiem:  especially  as 
our  present  notions  are  rather  vulgar,  eoB»- 
meroial,  and  sanitary,  thM&  romantio  or  anti- 
quarian. 

For  the  same  reason  we  say  nothing  about 
the  history  of  the  island,  or  its  line  of  sove- 
reigns, but  recommend  it  to  melodraBa 
writers  as  full  of  assassinations,  abdications, 
love-matches,  monks,  Jesuits,  armour,  plumes, 
and  velvet  jackets. 

Grovernment  steamers  run  between  Cknoa 
and  the  two  ports  of  Sardinia.  In  fine 
weather,  whole  fleets  of  the  naatilos,  and 
shoals  of  dolphin,  sail  and  sport  upon  and  in 
the  really  blue  Mediterranean :  uTording  to 
those  who  have  previously  only  known  the 
seas  of  Holyhead  or  of  Folkstone,  visible 
signs  of  the  sunny  south.  Besides  tiiese  or- 
namental denizens  of  the  Sardinian  riiores* 
there  are  also  to  be  found,  in  season,  shoals  of 
tunny  tiiat  we  do  not  eat  in  England,  except 
a  few  choice  spirits,  tempted  to  patronise 
Fortnum  and  Mason's  pickled  specimens  by 
Brillat  Savarin's  celebrated  story  of  the 
AJbb^'s  Omelette  au  Thou;  also  sardines, 
which  we  do  eat  in  quantity,  thanks  to  Sir 
Robert  Peel's  tariff  Then  tho^  is  abun- 
dance of  the  finest  coral,  in  symbol  of  which 
the  town  of  Oagliari  has  from  time  immesM)- 
rial  borne  as  its  arms,  a  tower  nirontinff  witb 
a  branch  of  coral.  Also  the  Pinna  Marina, 
a  silk-producing  bivalve  of  vast  aiae,  some- 
times three  feet  in  length ;  not  bom  wrmppeA 
in  silk  like  the  Ghina  worm,  but  endowed 
with  a  sort  of  beard,  or  bimch  of  lines, 
which,  having  first  allocated  himself  to  a 
rock  by  his  hinge  end,  he  throws  out,  like  a 
fly-fisher,  until  some  small  fidi,  attracted  bj 
the  fioating  brilliancy,  approach,  nibble,  are 
caught  in  the  gigantic  trap  of  the  c^pen 
valves,  and  silently  absorbed.  Bnt,  by  tbe 
retribotary  or  reactionary  law  of  natures, 
the  pinna  himself  at  times  iklls  to  an  enemx 


Digitized  by  LjOOQIC 


Ctawlet  Dtakoki.] 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  21,  1865. 


685 


even  more  oraftjand  skilful  than  himself. 
The  Polypus  Octopedla  (what  a  dreadful 
name !)  may  be  seen  in  calm  weather,  b^  a 
curious  observer,  looking  down  a  Sardinian 
rock  into  the  dear  waten,  stealing  along  to- 
ward the  open-mouthed  pinna,  until  within  a 
convenient  distance,  when  he  flings,  with 
wonderful  dexterity,  a  pebble  he  has  carried 
in  two  of  his  claws  into  the  shell  of  the 
hungry  pinna.  The  pinna  shuts  or  tries  to 
shut  his  trap  and  crush  the  stone ;  in  vain, 
he  is  wedged  open,  and  the  polypus  devours 
him  at  leisure.  The  Sardes,  in  their  turn, 
drag  the  pinna  ftom  rocks,  cut  off  bis  beard, 
wash  it,  dry  it,  comb  it  out,  get  obout  three 
ounces  of  fine  silk  from  a  rough  pound,  and 
weave  four  ounces  into  a  pair  of  gloves  **  of 
a  beautiful  yellow  brown,  like  the  burnished 
gold  of  certain  beetles'  backs.''  Such  gloves 
in  the  country  are  worth  nearly  five  shillings 
a  pair. 

The  land,  as  far  as  nature  goes,  seems  not 
less  rich  than  the  sea.  It  is  grievous  to  hear 
of  magnificent  forests  of  oak,  chestnut,  ilex, 
and  cork,  out  down  as  recklessly  as  though 
they  bad  been  in  English  crown  forests,  and 
of  a  large  percentage  lost  or  destroyed  for 
want  of  roads,  and  machinery.  Beautiful  com 
is  grown,  although  not  nearly  to  the  extent 
that  would  be  possible  if  the  country  were 
opened,  and  cultivation  encouraged  by  a  ra- 
tional svstem  of  commerce.  A  few  years  ago, 
finest  wheat  was  to  be  had  at  thirty-two  shil- 
lings a  quarter,  but  there  were  then  export 
duties,  a  barbarism  that  we  once  applied  to 
Irish  corn  and  cattle.  The  citizens  of  Bristol 
turned  out  the  great  Edmund  Burke  for  sup- 
porting their  repeal ;  so  we  may  find  excuses 
for  the  Piedmontese  king.  Fowls  are  four- 
pence  each,  and  the  best  olive  oil  only  three 
shillings  and  sixpence  a  gallon.  With  white 
bread,  fowls,  eggs,  and  oil  to  fry  them  in,  no 
traveller  can  starve.  Then,  there  are  ten  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  wines,  of  wonderful  flavour, 
and  euphonious  names.  Malvaglia,  like  strong 
white  hermitage,  which,  when  old  and  verv 

?;ood,  costs  four  shillings  and  sixpence  a  gal- 
on.  Torbato,  like  Manzanilla  of  Spain,  at  half 
that  price.  Giro,  like  the  Tinto  of  Alicante; 
also  Muscato  and  Monaco,  of  which  the  for- 
mer is  perfumed  and  delicate:  the  latter 
strong.  Gannonnau,  sweet  for  the  ladies ;  and 
excellent  vino  di  paeee  at  tenpence  a  gallon  1 
We  grieve  to  add  that  part  of  the  stronger 
wines  are  exported  to  Genoa  and  France,  to 
doctor  the  weaker  kinds.  The  grapes  of  the 
province  of  Alghero  make  not  only  wine,  but 
most  delicious  raisins,  by  a  secret  process. 
They  are  not  sold,  but  sent  as  presents  to 
select  friends.  Every  year,  the  grape-ship, 
into  which  nothing  but  budiels  upon  bushels 
of  raisins  are  admitted,  sails  to  Gagliari,  with 
thousands  of  baskets  for  friends. 

After  thdse  carnal  temptations,  it  is  right 
to  mention  that  the  interior  forest  tracts — 
roads  there  are  none — are  frequented  by  a 
sort  of  Robin  Hood  outlaws,  of  various  de- 


grees of  felony,  who  under  the  general 4itle 
of  Fuoriciti,  are,  if  merely  guilty  of  man- 
slaughter, pitied  and  supported  by  the  pea- 
sanky,  and  occasionally  persecuted  by  the 
police. 

Hospitality  flourishes,  as  it  does  in  all 
thinly  peopled  countries,  where  food  is  cheap 
and  news  is  scarce.  A  traveller  is  introduced 
from  village  to  village,  sure  of  hearty  wel- 
come. The  one  serious  drawback  consists  in 
the  ceremonv  of  eating.  The  polite  Hingis, 
to  partake  of  every  dish ;  and  this,  when  there 
are  eight  or  ten,  except  for  an  English  alder- 
man of  experience,  is  rather  difficult  Mr. 
Tynedale,  to  whom  we  are  indebted  for  many 
of  our  plums  relates  how,  when  weary,  sleepy, 
and  exhausted  by  tasting  of  ten  dishes,  his 
host  exclaimed, "  Well,  as  you  have  eaten 
nothing,  von  shall  have  something  really 
nice."  The  door  presently  opened,  and  the 
servant  entered  with  a  whole  roasted  wild 
boar ;  and  in  spite  of  every  effort,  our  travel- 
ler was  obliged  to  dispose  of  a  considerable 
slice  before  he  was  permitted  to  retire  to  bed 
and  the  nightmare. 

For  travelling  in  Sardinia  there  is  an  om- 
nibus, running  over  the  one  road  which  tra- 
verses the  island  from  end  to  end,  from 
Gagliari  to  Port  Torres ;  a  most  unenviable 
conveyance,  if  we  are  to  believe  the  French 
gentlemen  who,  for  photographic  purposes, 
passed  six  uncomfortable  weeks  there.  But 
then  there  are  fUso  to  be  had,  capital  little 
horses  of  Arab  style,  fiery,  docile,  sure-footed, 
and  hardy.  Surely  he  is  unworthy  to  be  a 
traveller  in  wild  countries,  who  does  not  pre- 
fer a  good  horse  to  any  omnibus,  even  though 
as  luxurious  as  those  of  Manchester  and  Glas- 
gow. Perhaps  this  race  came  with  the  Car- 
thaginians. At  any  rate,  Roman  emperors  had 
hunting  studs  in  we  island.  The  Sardes  are 
fiunons  horsemen,  in  that  one  respect  unlike 
the  highlanders.  To  sneer  at  a  Sarde's  horse 
is  as  dangerous  as  to  praise  his  wife.  Horses 
are  so  cheap  that  every  peasant  has  one, 
which  keeps  itself,  running  loose  in  the  woods 
and  wild  lands.  The  best  are  trained  to 
amble  with  each  pair  of  fore  and  hind  feet 
following  at  the  same  time,  thus  producing  a 
most  easy  smooth  motion.  An  Italian  writer 
declares  that  travelling  on  horseback  in  Sar- 
dinia is  one  of  the  most  agreeable  things  in 
the  world — "  I  prefer  it  to  going  in  a  boat 
with  the  wind  astern."  A  few  thus  educated 
would  be  invaluable  for  stout  ladies  or  alder- 
men requiring  exercise.  Mr.  Tynedale  paid 
ten  shillings  and  sixpence  a  day  for  three 
hrases  and  a  man,  who  found  the  animals  and 
fed  them  himself.  One  of  these  horses  was  to 
carry  baegage. 

Near  the  town  of  Sassara  are  to  be  found 
gardens  rich  in  fruit,  fiowers  and  shrubs ;  in 
one,  our  traveller  saw  a  myrtle  tree,  the  stem 
of  which,  at  some  height  from  the  grojund, 
was  fifty-six  inches  in  circumference;  the 
branches,  extending  twenty-six  feet,  rested 
on  orange  trees.    The  fruit  trees  were  in  full 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


686 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.   July  21,  1865. 


bloom ;  almond,  cherry,  orange,  and  pome- 
granate, lighted  ap  the  dark  foliage,  over 
which  the  Roman  pine  and  palm  reigned 
migesticallj.  One  orange  tree  bore  on  an 
average  foar  thoosand  five  hondred  fmit 
Bv  waj  of  contrast  to  oranee  and  tobacco 
plantations,  further  on  in  the  interior,  bejond 
the  wretched  village  of  Bolzi — throngh  a  de- 
solate ondrained  country,  abounding  in  cork, 
wild  olive,  and  pear  trees,  the  coarse  ^^rass 
brilliant  with  asphodel — the  river  Perfbjas  is 
reached ;  where  trout,  which  may  be  seen  in 
shoals  in  the  summer,  from  three  to  four 
pounds  weight  each,  are  sold  atSempio  for  a 
nalf^penny  a  pound. 

If  our  traveller,  after  travelling  and  fish- 
ing, should  desire  the  refreshment  of  a  week 
at  the  Baths,  he  can  be  accommodated  on 
easy  terms.  In  a  gorge  of  the  river  Coghinas, 
are  mineral  baths  of  considerable  Sarde  cele- 
brity, and  perhaps  as  simple  and  economical 
as  any  in  Europe.  The  patient  finds  neither 
hotel  nor  bad-haus,  kOrsaal,  but  carries  with 
him  a  fortnight's  provisions  and  a  hatchet, 
sets  to  work,  and  cuts  down  enough  boughs 
to  build  him  a  hut ;  then,  takes  four  horizon- 
tal poles,  and  having  discovered  with  naked 
foot  or  hand,  the  lot  of  sand  of  the  right 
beat,  sticks  the  four  poles  in  at  the  four  cor- 
ners, and  fills  up  ttre  sides  with  boughs  to 
keep  off  the  sun  or  the  wind ;  then  scratches 
up  the  sand  into  a  sort  of  grave,  long 
enough  and  broad  enough  to  receive  bis 
body.  The  hollow  is  immediately  filled  with 
the  warm  mineral  water,  which  flows  con- 
stantly through,  at  an  even  temperature.  As 
thus,  in  the  primitive  style  of  the  Omoo  and 
TjTpee  Islanders  of  the  Pacific,  he  luxuriates, 
he  may  see  herds  of  swine,  the  tame  and  the 
wild  together,  refreshing  themselves  in  the 
same  manner :  wallowing  in  the  river,  which 
is  cold  at  top  and  boiling  hot  at  bottom,  and 
burying  themselves  in  the  sand. 

A  few  years  ago,  before  the  Western  prai- 
ries, California,  Australia,  New  Zealand,  not 
to  speak  of  Egypt  and  Palestine,  had  become 
familiar  to  our  sportsmen  and  travellers,  ^is 
wild  wood  life  would  have  been  considered 
decidedly  eccentric ;  but,  in  Sardinia,  judg- 
ing by  the  following  description  of  a  forest 
bivouac,  luxury  and  savagery  are  deliciously 
combined.  Our  traveller  laid  in,  three 
pounds  of  eels,  at  fourpenoe  halfpenny;  a 
whole  lamb,  one  shilling  and  threepence 
halpenny ;  half  a  wild  boar  (very  small,  we 
presume),  two  shillings ;  twelve  eggs,  at  two- 
pence ;  two  quarts  of  wine,  twopence  half- 
penny ;  a  pound  of  cheese,  twopence  half- 
penny— as  a  supply  for  the  dinner  and  sup- 
per of  himself,  two  servants,  and  an  extra 
guide.  On  arriving  at  a  suitable  place  for  a 
mid-day  halt,  the  horses  were  unsaddled  and 
turned  loose  to  graze ;  branches  of  arbutus, 
cistus,  lavender,  myrtle,  and  thyme  were  cut 
down  for  firewood,  lighted,  and  reduced  to  a 
heap  of  live  ashes ;  these  being  ^led  eighteen 
Inches  high  and  two  feet  square,  a  stone  at 


each  comer  supported  four  long  arbatoi 
stakes,  on  which  the  lamb  and  boar  were  spit- 
ted, and  turned  as  occasion  required :  while 
in  the  traveller's  small  fryingp-pan,  fidi  and 
omelette  were  artistically  prej^uied.  Ice-cold 
water  was  drawn  flrom  a  stream  flowing  close 
bv,  from  the  snow-capped  mountaina  above. 
Not  unftequently,  excellent  wild  honey  is  to 
be  found  in  the  hollows  of  ancient  trees, 
equal  in  taste  and  perftune  to  honey  of 
Uybla  and  Hymettus.  As  bees  abound  and 
flourish,  so  does  the  bee-eater,  the  gorgeous 
bird  described  by  Virgil,  of  green  and  azure 
plumage.  These,  honey-fed  like  their  vic- 
tims, are  caught,  roasted  in  vine  leaves,  and 
eaten  with  kale  and  toast,  like  woodcocks : 
rivalling  in  beauty  and  exceeding  in  flavour 
our  painted  pheasant. 

The  greatest  curiosity  in  wild  game  is  flie 
muffler,  with  a  bead  and  horns  l&e  a  dieep, 
and  a  bodjr  and  coat  like  a  deer  about  two 
feet  eight  inches  high :  running  In  flocks  &f 
from  flve  or  six  to  fifty,  Uvenr,  active,  and 
timid.  Thev  are  found  on  rorest-eovered 
hills,  especially  on  Monte  Argratu,  and  the 
mountain  districts  of  Patada,  Budduso,  Ten- 
ladu,  Iglesias,  and  Nurra.  Their  flesh  has 
the  taste  of  venison ;  their  bleat  a  sound  like 
that  of  the  sheep :  they  are  easily  tamed,  and 
playful  and  mischievous  as  pet  goats. 
Another  animal  peculiar  to  this  islud  Is 
the  boccamele:  a  honev-hunter  kind  of 
weasel :  a  beautiful,  easily-tamed,  and  en- 
gaging little  creature,  free  from  any  ofEenave 
smell,  full  of  endearing  tricks  and  naboU, 
so  delicate  in  its  eating  that  it  wiU  starve 
rather  than  touch  impure  food.  Honey  is  • 
its  favourite  dish,  to  obtain  which  It  hunts  ; 
out  the  wild  nests,  and  nibbles  through  the  ! 
cork  hives  of  the  peasants ;  thus  sometimes 
starving  out  the  bees. 

Monstrous  eagles  abound,  and  cany  off  ; 
many  a  lamb  and  squeaking  pig.    Thte  shep-   I 
herds  lay  baits  fof  them,  and  shoot  them  as 
they  settle  down  to  feed. 

These  are  not  the  only  temptations  to  the 
sportsman  youth  of  zoological  tastes,  who 
form  our  most  adventurous  travellers.  Near 
Cagliari,  within  twelve  hours  of  African 
shores,  are  certain  stagni — half  lake,  half 
marsh,  where  shelter,  climate,  and  food,  at- 
tract a  wonderful  number  of  water-fowl,  both 
waders  and  swimmers — in  water,  perhaps  the 
greatest  variety  of  northern  and  southen 
birds  in  tiie  world.  There,  even  in  summer, 
are  to  be  found  wild  swans  and  geeae,  heroos 
of  various  kinds,  sizes,  and  colours,  l^ack 
cormorants,  and  countless  teal,  widgeoa, 
cootes,  dabcbicks,  water  ouzles.  Strangest 
of  all,  the  bird  of  our  boyish  dreams— the 
flamingo,  with  his  crimson  back,  pale  pink 
breast,  and  long  legs— a  sort  of  attenuated 
young  lady  in  a  rose-coloured  ball-drefls.      * 

These  migestic  creatures  arrive  about 
the  month  of  September,  and  remain  until 
ApriL  Their  flocks  are  ranged  like  armies 
of  from  one  to  flve  thousand,  In  a  broad 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  21.  1866. 


687 


red  wedge;  with  their  wings  waving  as 
evenly  as  guardsmen  march,  thej  float  awaj, 
a  cloud  of  living  fire.  They  were  named 
flamingo  from  flamma.  Not  less  interest- 
ing than  their  flight  is  to  see  from  a  dis- 
tance thousands  stalking  gracefully  along  the 
shores  of  the  stAgni.  like  a  fringe  of  crimson 
silk  fanned  by  the' evening  breeze.  They 
seldom  breed  in  the  stagni.  They  probablv 
prefer  Africa;  but,  occasionally  a  nest  is 
foand — a  conical  pile  of  weeds,  shells.  &c.f 
raised  about  two  feet  and  a  half  high ;  on 
which,  having  deposited  their  eggs,  they  sit 
astride,  with  their  long  legs  hanging  down,  a 
la  fonrohette.  as  the  French  would  say.  and 
hatch.  The  Romans  considered  flamingoes' 
brains  and  tongues  a  delicacy.  The  m<^em 
Sardes  seldom  eat  them,  but  make  a  musical 
pipe  of  the  shank  bone  for  their  national  in- 
strument— a  sort  of  abominable  bagpipe. 

At  another  point  of  the  Sardinian  coast, 
near  Oristana.  are  lagunes.  which  afford 
very  remarkable  fishing,  only  second  in  im- 
portance to  that  of  the  tunny  described  in 
Household  Words.  These  lagunes  are  about 
seven  miles  long,  and  four  and  a  half  wide, 
divided  off  by  thick  fences  of  reeds  into  three 
partitions,  some  of  which  are  lifted  up  to 
admit  the  dioals  of  fish  that  come  from 
the  sea.  On  the  occasion  of  a  battue  for  the 
amusement  of  the  viceroy,  all  the  fences 
were  closed  up.  Across  the  first  and  lowest 
division,  a  long  net.  drawn  by  a  hundred 
men,  preceded  by  a  few  yards  an  immense 
barge,  which,  gradually  moving  forward, 
drove  all  the  fish  to  the  next  division,  when 
the  doors  were  closed ;  and  so  on,  till  arriving 
at  the  third,  ihe  slaying  process  commenced. 
Fifty  men,  nearly  naked,  each  with  a  net 
bag  round  the  waists,  a  bludgeon  in  the  right 
hand,  leaped  into  the  water,  and  proceeded 
to  seize  and  slay,  until  the  mass  had  disap- 
peared from  the  surface  ;  and  then  they  dived 
and  struggled  for  more.  Some  active  fish 
leaped  into  the  boat ;  some,  over  the  nets  in 
the  rear ;  some,  falling  plump  in  the  fishers' 
faces,  overturned  them  heavily.  At  length  the 
wallets  were  full,  and  the  mermen  ceased  for 
a  short  rest,  then  recommenced  until  the 
whole  harvest  was  gleaned. 

After  the  fishing  came  a  breakfast  of  count- 
less kinds  of  fish,  dressed  in  various  manners 
most  delicious,  but  to  be  imagined  rather 
than  described.  The  viceroy  declared  that  he 
should  never  forget  a  Gabras  fish  feast,  and 
the  traveller  said  the  same.  This  Oabras 
fishery  was  rented  at  two  thousand  three 
hundred  and  four  pounds  a  year,  and  "was 
offered  for  sale  at  forty-two  thousand  two 
hundred  and  forty  pounds.  The  value  of  each 
battue  varies  from  two  pounds  to  forty  pounds 
sterlinff. 

Sardmia  is  not  less  rich  in  flocks,  and 
herds,  and  corn-fields,  than  in  game.  fish, 
and  fruit.  The  ground  has  sometimes  been 
manured  with  unsold  cheese.  The  people 
are  good  people,  of  whom,  with  roads  and 


other  means  of  communication  and  civilisa- 
tion, combined  with  useful  suitable  education, 
much  might  be  made.  We  may.  perhaps, 
another  time,  say  someUiing  of  their  manners, 
customs,  habits,  costumes,  poems,  legends, 
and  laws.  There  are  few  countries  in  ^rope 
that  offer  more  promising  results  for  com- 
merce and.  agriculture,  wisely  encouraged, 
than  the  island  of  the  Sardes.  It  might  be 
well  worth  the  attention  of  some  of  those 
who  seek  profits  and  adventures  on  the  other 
side  of  the  world.  The  Sardes  can  produce  a 
mass  of  the  forest  and  >  field  produce  we  most 
require ;  and  they  are  rather  prejudiced  in 
favour  of  Englislimen  than  disposed  to  object 
to  their  company. 

THE  YELLOW  MASK. 

IN  TWELVB  GHAFTEBS.   CHAPTER  Vn. 

Anoirr  eight  months  after  the  Oountess 
d'Ascoli  had  been  laid  in  her  grave  in  the 
Gampo  Santo,  two  reports  were  circulated 
through  the  gay  world  of  Pisa,  which  excited 
curiosity  and  awakened  expectation  every- 
where. The  first  report  announced  that  a 
Stind  masked  ball  was  to  be  given  at  the 
alani  Palace,  to  celebrate  the  day  on  which 
the  heir  of  the  house  attained  his  majority. 
All  the  friends  of  the  feimilv  were  delighted 
at  the  prospect  of  this  festival ;  for  the  old 
Marquis  Melani  had  the  reputation  of  being 
one  of  the  most  hospitable,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  one  of  the  most  eccentric  men  in  Pisa. 
Every  one  expected,  therefore,  that  he  would 
secure  for  the  entertainment  of  his  guests,  if 
he  really  gave  the  ball,  the  most  whimsical 
novelties  in  the  way  of  masks,  dances,  and 
amusements  generally,  that  had  ever  been 
seen. 

The  second  report  was.  that  the  rich  wi- 
dower, Fabio  d'Ascoli,  was  on  the  point  of 
returning  to  Pisa,  after  having  improved  his 
health  and  spirits  l^  travelling  in  foreign 
countries ;  and  that  he  might  be  expected  to 
appear  again  in  society,  for  the  first  time 
since  the  death  of  his  wife,  at  the  masked 
ball  which  was  to  be  given  in  the  Melani 
Palace.  This  announcement  excited  special 
interest  among  the  young  ladies  of  Pisa. 
Fabio  had  only  reached  his  thirtieth  year; 
and  it  was  universally  agreed  that  his  return 
to  society  in  his  native  ci^  could  indicate 
nothing  more  certainly  than  his  desire  to  find 
a  second  mother  for  his  infant  child.  All  the 
single  ladies  would  now  have  been  ready  to 
bet,  as  confidently  as  Brigida  had  offered  to 
bet  eight  months  l>efore,  ^at  Fabio  d'Ascoli 
would  many  again. 

For  once  in  a  way,  report  turned  out  to  be 
true,  in  both  the  cases  just  mentioned.  Invi- 
tations were  actually  issued  from  the  Melani 
Palace,  and  Fabio  returned  from  abroad  to 
his  home  on  the  Amo. 

In  settling  all  the  arrangements  connected 
with  this  masked  ball,  the  Marquis  Melani 
showed  Uiat  he  waa  determined  not  only  to 


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588 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  21,  1856. 


deseire,  bot  to  inereMe,  his  reputation  tor 
odditT.  He  Invented  the  meet  eztntTaguit 
disgaiaee,  to  be  worn  hj  aome  of  his  more 
iniimate  (Hendn;  he  arranged  grotesque 
dances,  to  be  performed  at  stated  periods  of 
itke  evening  bj  professional  baffbons,  hired 
from  Florence.  He  composed  a  to j  sympbonj^ 
which  inchided  solos  on  everr  noisy  plajthing 
at  that  time  mannfisetnred  for  ohUdren's  nse. 
And,  not  content  with  thus  avoiding  the 
beaten  track  in  preparing  the  entertainments 
at  the  ball,  he  determined  also  to  show  de- 
cided originality,  even  in  selecting  the  attend- 
ants who  were  to  wait  on  the  company. 
Other  people  In  his  rank  of  life  were  accos- 
tomed  to  employ  their  own  and  hired  foot- 
men for  this  purpose  :  the  marquis  resolved 
that  his  attendants  snonld  be  composed  of 
young  women  only ;  that  two  of  his  rooms 
should  be  fitted  up  as  Arcadian  bowers ;  and 
that  all  the  prettiest  giris  in  Pisa  should  be 
placed  in  tiiem  to  preside  over  the  refresh- 
ments, dressed,  in  accordance  with  the  mock- 
classioal  taste  of  the  period,  as  shepherdesses 
of  the  time  of  Virgil. 

The  only  defect  of  this  brilliantly  new  idea 
was  the  difficulty  of  executing  it  The  mai^ 
quis  had  expressly  ordered  that  not  fewer 
than  thirty  mepherdesees  were  to  be  engaged, 
fifteen  for  each  bower.  It  would  have  been 
easy  to  find  double  this  number  in  Pisa,  if 
beauty  had  been  the  only  quality  required  in 
the  attendant  damsels.  But  it  was  also  abso- 
lutely neoessaiT,  for  the  securl^  of  the  mar- 
quis's gold  and  silver  plate,  that  the  shep- 
herdesses should  possess,  besides  good  looks, 
the  very  homely  recommendation  of  a  fair 
character.  This  last  qualification  proved,  it 
Is  sad  to  say,  to  be  the  one  small  merit  which 
the  majority  of  the  ladies  willing  to  accept 
engagements  at  the  palace,  did  not  possess. 
Day  after  day  passed  on ;  and  the  marquis's 
steward  only  found  more  and  more  difficulty 
in  obtaining  the  appointed  number  ef  trust- 
worthy beauties.  At  last,  his  resources  failed 
him  altogether ;  and  he  i^peared  in  his  mas- 
ter's presence,  about  a  week  before  the  night 
of  the  ball,  to  make  the  humiliating  acknow- 
ledgment, that  he  was  entirely  at  his  wits' 
end.  The  total  number  of  fair  shepherdesses 
with  fair  characters,  whom  he  had  been  able 
to  engage ,  amounted  only  to  twenty-three. 

*' Nonsense  I"  cried  the  marquis,  irritably, 
as  soon  as  the  steward  had  made  his  confession. 
*'  I  told  you  to  get  thirty  girls,  and  thirty  I 
mean  to  have.  What's  the  use  of  shakmg 
your  head,  when  all  their  dresses  are  ordered  ? 
Thirty  tunics,  thirty  wreaths,  thirty  pairs  of 
sandals  and  silk  stockings,  thirty  crooks,  you 
scoundrel — and  you  have  the  impudence  to 
offer  me  only  twenty-three  hands  to  hold 
them.  Not  a  word  I  I  wonH  hear  a  word  I 
Get  me  my  thirty  girls,  or  lose  your  place." 
The  marquis  roared  out  this  last  terrible  sen- 
tence at  the  top  of  his  voice,  and  pointed  per- 
eznptorily  to  the  door. 

The  steward  knew  his  master  too  well  to 


remonstrate.  He  took  his  bat  and  cane,  and 
went  out  It  was  nseleas  to  look  throo^  the 
ranks  of  rejected  volunteers  again;  ihtrewas 
not  the  slightest  hope  In  that  quarter.  The 
only  chance  left  was  to  call  on  all  his  friends 
in  risa  who  had  dau^ters  out  at  merviet, 
and  to  try  what  he  could  aocomplklv  by 
bribery  and  persuasion,  that  way. 
After  a  whole  da^  occupied  in  solicitations, 

E remises,  and  patient  smoothing  down  ef 
inumerable  diificulties,  the  result  of  his 
eiforts  in  the  new  direction,  was  an  acceesioa 
of  six  more  shepherdesses.  This  brought  him 
on  iNravely  from  twenty-three  to  twenty-nine, 
and  left  him,  at  last,  with  only  one  anxiety— 
where  was  he  now  to  find  shepherdess  num- 
ber thirty? 

He  mentally  asked  himself  that  important 
question,  as  he  entered  a  riiady  by-etreet  in 
the  neighbourtiood  of  the  Campo  Santo,  on 
his  way  back  to  the  Melani  Palace.  Saun- 
tering slowly  along  In  the  middle  of  the  road, 
and  mnning  himself  with  his  bandkerchi^ 
after  the  oppressive  exertions  of  the  day,  be 
passed  a  young  girl  who  was  standing  at  the 
streetdoor  of  one  of  the  houses,  apparently 
waiting  for  somebody  to  join  her  before  die 
entered  the  buildUig. 

"  Body  of  Bacchus !"  exclaimed  the  steward 
(using  one  of  tiioee  old  Pagan  cijaculatioos 
which  survive  in  Italv  even  to  the  present 
day).  *<  There  stands  tne  prettiest  girl  I  have 
seen  yet  If  she  would  only  be  shepherdess 
number  thirty,  I  should  go  home  to  auppo 
with  mv  mind  at  ease.  Til  ask  her,  at  any 
rate.  Nothing  can  be  lost  by  asking,  and 
everything  may  be  gained.  Stop,  my  dear," 
he  continued,  seeing  the  girl  turn  to  go  into 
the  house,  as  he  approactied  her.  "  Don't  be 
afraid  of  me.  I  am  steward  to  the  Marqiis 
Melani,  and  well  known  in  Pisa  aa  an  emi- 
nently respectable  man.  I  have  something  to 
say  to  you  which  may  be  greatly  for  your 
benefit  Don't  look  surprised  ;  I  am  eomisg 
to  the  point  at  once.  Do  you  want  to  earn  a 
little  money? — honestly,  of  course.  Yon 
don't  look  as  if  you  were  very  rich,  child." 

''  I  am  very  poor,  and  very  much  in  want 
of  some  honest  work  to  do,"  answered  the 
girl,  sadly. 

**  Then  we  shall  suit  each  other  to  a  nicety ; 
for  I  have  work  of  the  pleasantest  kind  to 
give  you,  and  plenty  of  money  to  pay  for  it 
But  before  we  sav  anything  more  about  that, 
suppose  you  tell  me  first  something  ahoot 
yourself— who  you  are,  and  so  torfh.  Yon 
know  who  I  am  already." 

**!  am  only  a  poor  work-girl,  and  my  name 
is  Nanina.  I  have  nothing  more,  tir,  to  say 
about  myself  than  that" 

**  Do  you  belong  to  Pisa  ?  " 

"Yea,  sir— at  least,  I  did.  But  I  have 
been  away  for  some  time.  I  was  a  year  at 
Florence,  employed  in  needlework." 

"Allbyyouroelf?" 

<<No,  sir,  with  my  little  sister.  I  was 
waiting  for  her  when  yon  came  up." 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  21,  1856. 


689 


'*  Have  YOU  never  done  anything  else  bnt 
needlework  ?— never  been  oat  at  eervice!  *' 

"  Yes,  sir.  For  the  last  eight  months  I 
have  had  a  situation  to  wait  on  a  lady  at 
Florence,  and  my  sister  (who  is  turned 
eleven,  sir,  and  can  make  herself  verv  osefnl) 
was  allowed  to  help  in  the  nursery.'' 

**  How  came  yon  to  leave  this  situation!" 

"  The  lady  and  her  fcimily  were  going  to 
Rome,  sir.  They  would  have  taken  me  with 
them,  but  they  could  not  ii&ke  my  sister.  We 
are  alone  in  the  world,  and  we  never 
have  been  parted  Arom  each  other  and  never 
shall  be— so  I  was  obliged  to  leave  the 
situation." 

"And  here  you  are  back  at  Pisa— with 
nothing  to  do,  I  suppose  ? " 

"  Nothinff  yet,  sir.  We  only  came  back 
yesterday." 

"  Only  vesterday  I  You  are  a  lucky  girl, 
let  me  tell  you,  to  tiave  met  with  me.  I  sup- 
pose you  nave  somebody  in  ^e  town  who 
can  speak  to  your  character?  " 

'<  The  landlady  of  this  house  can,  sir." 

"  And  who  is  she,  pray!  " 

"  Marta  Angrisani,  sir." 

"  What  I  the  well-known  sick  nurse  !  You 
could  not  possibly  have  a  better  recommenda- 
tion, ohild.  I  remember  her  being  employed 
at  the  Melani  Palace  at  the  time  of  the 
marquis's  last  attack  of  gout ;  but  I  never 
knew  that  she  kept  a  lodging-house." 

"She  and  her  daughter,  sir,  have  owned 
this  house  longer  than  I  can  recollect  My 
sister  and  I  have  lived  in  it  since  I  was  quite 
a  little  child,  and  I  had  hoped  we  might  be 
able  to  live  here  again.  But  the  top  room 
we  used  to  have,  is  taken,  and  the  room  to 
let  lower  down  is  far  more,  I  am  afraid,  than 
we  can  afford." 

"How  much  is  it!" 

Nanina  mentioned  the  weekly  rent  of  the 
room  in  fear  and  trembling.  The  steward 
burst  out  laughing. 

"  Suppose  I  offered  you  money  enough  to 
be  able  to  take  that  room  for  a  whole  year  at 
once ! "  he  said. 

Nanina  looked  at  him  in  speechless  amaze- 
ment 

"Suppose  I  offer  you  that!"  continued 
the  steward.  "And  suppose  I  only  asked 
you  in  return  to  put  on  a  fine  drees  and  serve 
refreshments  in  a  beautiful  room  to  the  com- 
pany at  the  Marquis  Melani's  grand  ball! 
What  should  you  say  to  that! " 

Nanina  said  nothing.  She  drew  back  a 
step  or  two,  and  looked  more  bewildered 
than  before. 

"  You  must  have  heard  of  the  ball,"  said 
the  steward  pompously.  "The  poorest 
people  in  Pisa  have  heard  of  it  It  Is  the 
talk  of  the  whole  city." 

Still  Nanina  made  no  answer.  To  have 
replied  truthfully,  she  must  have  confessed 
that  "  the  talk  of  the  whole  city"  had  now  no 
Interest  for  her.  The  last  news  from  Pisa  that 
had  appealed  to  her  sympathies  was  the 


news  of  the  Countess  d'Asooli's  death,  and  of 
Fabio's  departure  to  travel  in  foreign  coun- 
tries. Since  then,  she  had  heard  noth&ig  more 
of  him.  She  was  as  Ignorant  of  his  return  to 
his  native  city  as  of  all  the  reports  connected 
with  the  marquis's  balL  Something  in  her 
own  heart— some  feeling  which  die  had 
neither  the  desire  nor  the  capacity  to  ana- 
lyse—had brought  her  back  to  Pisa  and  to 
the  old  home  which  now  connected  itself 
with  her  tenderest  recollections.  Believing 
that  Fabio  was  still  absent,  she  felt  that  no 
ill  motive  could  now  be  attributed  to  her 
return ;  and  she  had  not  been  able  to  resist 
the  temptation  of  revisiting  the  scene  that 
had  been  associated  with  the  first  great  happi- 
ness as  well  as  with  the  first  great  sorrow  of 
her  life.  Among  all  the  poor  people  of  Pisa, 
she  was  perhaps  the  very  last  whose  onrioeity 
could  be  awakened,  or  whoae  attention  could 
be  attracted,  by  the  rumour  of  gaieties  at  the 
Melani  Palace. 

But  she  could  not  confers  all  this;  she 
could  only  listen  with  great  humility  and  no 
small  surprise,  while  the  steward,  in  compas- 
sion for  her  ignorance,  and  with  the  hope  of  I. 
tempting  her  into  accepting  his  offered  en-  | 
gagement,  described  the  arrangements  of  the 
approaching  festival,  and  dwelt  fondly  on  the 
magnificence  of  the  Arcadian  bowers,  and 
the  beauty  of  the  shepherdesses'  tunics.  As 
soon  as  he  had  done,  Nanina  ventured  on  the 
confession  that  she  should  feel  rather  nervous 
in  a  grand  dress  that  did  not  belongr  to  her, 
and  that  she  doubted  very  much  ner  own 
capability  of  waiting  properly  on  the  great 
people  at  the  ball.  The  steward,  however, 
would  hear  of  no  objections,  and  called  per- 
emptorily for  Marta  Angrisani  to  make  the 
necessary  statement  as  to  Nanina's  character. 
While  this  formality  was  being  complied  with 
to  the  steward's  perfect  satisfaction,  La  Bion- 
della  came  in,  unaccompanied  on  this  occa- 
sion by  the  usual  companion,  of  all  her  wMlcs, 
the  learned  poodle,  Scarammuccia. 

"This  is  Nanina's  sister,  sir,"  said  the 
good-natured  sick-nurse,  taking  the  first 
opportunity  of  introducing  La  Biondella  to 
the  great  marquis's  great  man.  "A  very 
good,  industrious  little  girl ;  and  very  clever 
at  plaiting  dinner-mate,  in  case  his  excellency 
should  ever  want  any.  What  have  you  done 
with  the  dog,  my  dear?  " 

"  I  couldn't  get  him  past  the  pork-butcher's 
three  streets  off,"  replied  La  Biondella. 
"  He  would  sit  down  and  look  at  the  sausages. 
I  am  more  than  half  afraid  he  means  to  steal 
some  of  them." 

"  A  very  pretty  child,"  said  the  steward, 
patting  La  Biondella  on  the  cheek.  "We  ought 
to  have  her  at  the  ball.  If  his  excellency 
should  want  a  Cupid,  or  a  vouthfnl  nymph, 
or  anything  small  and  light  in  that  way,  I 
shall  come  back  and  let  you  know.  In  the 
meantime,  Nanina,  considtf  yourself^  Shep- 
herdess number  Thirty,  and  come  to  the 
housekeeper's  room  at  the  palace  to  try  on 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


590 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    Jult  21,  1855. 


[0M4«cte4by 


yoar  drees  to-morrow.  Nonsense  1  don't  talk 
to  me  about  being  afraid  and  awiEward.  All 
yonVe  wanted  to  do  is  to  look  pretty ;  and 
your  glftss  must  hare  told  you,  you  could  do 
that  long  ago.  Remember  the  rent  of  the 
room,  my  dear;  and  don't  stand  in  your 
light  and  your  sister's.  Does  the  little  girl 
like  sweetmeats!  Of  course,  she  does  I  Well, 
I  promise  you  a  whole  box  of  sugar-plums 
to  take  home  for  her,  if  you  will  come  and 
wait  at  the  ball." 

''  Oh,  go  to  the  ball,  Nanina,  go  to  the 
ball!"  cried  La  Biondella,  clapping  her 
hands. 

<<0f  courw  she  will  go  the  ball,"  said 
the  purse.  "She  would  be  mad  to  throw 
away  such  an  excellent  chance." 

Nanina  looked  perplexed.  She  hesitated  a 
little,  then  drew  Marta  Angrisani  away  into  a 
corner,  and  whispered  this  question  to  her: — 

**  Do  you  think  there  will  be  any  priests 
at  the  palace  where  the  marquis  lives  T  " 

'*  Heavens,  child,  what  a  thing  to  ask !" 
returned  the  nurse.  **  Priests  at  a  masked 
ball!  You  might  as  well  expect  to  find 
Turks  performing  high  mass  in  the  cathedral. 
But  supposing  you  did  meet  with  priests  at 
the  palace,  what  then  T  " 

*'Nothinff,"  said  Nanina,  constrainedly. 
She  turned  pale,  and  walked  away  as  she 
spoke.  Her  great  dread  in  returning  to  Pisa, 
was  the  dread  of  meeting  with  Father  Rocco 
again.  She  had  never  forgotten  her  first  dis- 
covery at  Florence,  of  his  distrust  of  her. 
The  bare  thought  of  seeing  him  any  more, 
after  her  faith  in  him  had  been  shaken  for 
ever,  made  her  feel  faint  and  sick  at  heart 

"  To-morrow,  in  the  house-keeper's  room," 
said  the  steward,  putting  on  his  hat,  "you 
will  find  your  new  dress  all  ready  for  you." 

Nanina  curtseyed,  and  ventured  on  no 
more  oljections,  The  prospect  of  securing  a 
home  for  a  whole  year  to  come,  among  peo- 
ple whom  she  knew,  reconciled  her— influ- 
enced as  she  was,  also,  by  Ifarta  Angrisani's 
advice,  and  by  her  sister's  anxiety  for  the 
promised  present— to  brave  the  trial  of  ap- 
pearing at  the  balL 

"  What  a  comfort  to  have  it  all  settled  at 
last/'  said  the  steward,  as  soon  as  he  was  out 
again  in  the  street  "  We  shall  see  what  the 
marquis  says,  now.  If  he  doesn't  apologise 
for  calling  me  a  scoundrel  the  moment  he 
sets  eyes  on  Number  Thirty,  he  is  the  most 
ungrateful  nobleman  that  ever  existed." 

Arriving  in  front  of  the  palace,  the  steward 
found  workmen  engaged  in  planning  the 
external  decorations  and  illuminations  for 
the  night  of  the  balL  A  little  crowd  had 
already  assembled  to  see  the  ladders  raised, 
and  the  scaffoldings  put  up.  He  observed 
among  them,  standing  near  the  outskirts  of 
the  throng,  a  lady  who  attracted  his  atten- 
tion (he  was  an  ardent  admirer  of  the  fair 
sex),  by  the  beauty  and  symmetry  of  her 
figure.  While  he  lingered  for  a  moment  to 
look  at  her,  a  shaggy  poodle  dog  (licking  his 


chops,  as  if  he  had  just  had  something  to  eat), 
trotted  by,  stopped  suddenly  close  to  the 
lady,  sniffed  suspiciously  for  an  instant,  and 
then  began  to  growl  at  her  without  the  slight- 
est apparent  provocation.  The  steward  ad- 
vancing politely  with  his  stick  to  drive  the 
dog  away,  saw  the  lady  start,  and  heard  her 
exclaim  to  herself,  amazedly  : — 

"  Tou  here,  you  beast!  Oan  Nanina  have 
come  back  to  Pisa  ?  " 

This  last  exclamation  gave  the  steward,  as 
a  gallant  man,  an  excuse  for  speaking  to  the 
elegant  stranger. 

"  Excuse  me,  madam,"  he  said  ;  "  but  I 
heard  you  mention  the  name  of  Nanina.  May 
I  ask  whether  you  mean  a  pretty  little  work- 
girl,  who  lives  near  the  Gampo  Santo  ?  " 

**  The  same,"  said  the  lady,  looking  very 
much  surprised  and  interested  immediately. 

**  It  may  be  a  gratification  to  you,  madam, 
to  know  that  she  has  just  returned  to  Pisa," 
continued  the  steward  politely ;  ^  and,  more- 
over, that  she  is  in  a  fair  way  to  rise  in  the 
world.  I  have  just  engaged  her  to  wait  at 
the  marquis's  grand  ball,  and  I  need  hardly 
say,  under  thoFC  circumstances,  that  if  she 
plays  her  cards  properly,  her  fortune  is  made." 

The  lady  bowed,  looked  at  her  informant 
very  intently  and  thoughtfully  for  a  moment, 
then  suddenly  walked  away  without  uttaing 
a  word. 

"  A  curious  woman,"  thought  the  steward, 
entering  tlie  palace.  "  I  must  ask  Number 
Thirty  about  her  to-morrow." 

CHAPTER  vm. 

The  death  of  Maddalena  d'Ascoli  produeed 
a  complete  change  in  the  lives  of  her  father 
and  her  uncle.  After  the  first  shock  of  tiie 
bereavement  was  over,  Luca  Lomi  bad  de- 
clared that  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to 
work  in  his  studio  again—for  some  time  to 
come,  at  least— after  the  death  of  the  beloved 
daughter,  with  whom  every  comer  of  it  was 
now  so  sadly  and  closely  associated.  He 
accordingly  accepted  an  engagement  to  assist 
in  restoring  several  newly-discovered  works 
of  ancient  sculpture  at  Naples ;  and  set  forth 
for  that  city,  leaving  the  care  of  his  work- 
rooms at  Pisa  entirely  to  his  brother. 

On  the  master-sculptor's  departare,  Father 
Rocco  caused  the  statues  and  bosta  to  be 
carefully  enveloped  In  linen  cloths,  locked  the 
studio  doors,  and,  to  Uie  astonishment  of  all 
who  knew  of  his  former  industrv  and  dexterity 
as  a  sculptor,  never  approached  the  place 
again.  His  clerical  duties  he  performed  with 
the  same  assiduity  as  ever ;  but  he  went  out 
less  than  had  been  his  custom,  hiUierto,  to  the 
houses  of  his  friends.  His  most  regular  visits 
were  to  the  Ascoli  Palace,  to  enquire  at  the 
porter's  lodge  after  the  health  of  Maddaloia's 
child,  who  was  always  reported  to  be  thriving 
admirably  under  the  care  of  the  best  nurses 
that  could  be  found  in  Pisa.  As  for  any 
communications  with  his  polite  little  friend 
fh>m  Florence,  they  had  ceased  months  ago. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Clurlei  Diekeni.] 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  21,  1855. 


591 


The  information — speedily  conveyed  to  him— 
that  Nanina  was  in  the  service  of  one  of  the 
most  respectable  ladies  in  the  city,  seemed  to 
relieve  any  anxieties  which  he  might  other- 
wise have  felt  on  her  accoant.  He  made  no 
attempt  to  justify  himself  to  her ;  and  only 
required  that  his  over-courteous  little  visitor 
of  former  days  should  let  him  know  whenever 
the  girl  might  happen  to  leave  her  new 
situation.  The  admirers  of  Father  Rocco, 
seeing  the  alteration  in  his  life,  and  the  in- 
creased quietness  of  his  manner,  said,  that  as 
he  was  growing  older  he  was  getting  more 
and  more  above  the  things  of  this  world.  His 
enemies  (for  even  Father  Rocco  had  them) 
did  not  scruple  to  assert  that  the  change  in 
him  was  decidedly  for  the  worse,  and  that  he 
belonged  to  the  order  of  men  who  are  most 
to  be  distrusted  when  they  become  most  sub- 
dued. The  priest  himself  paid  no  attention 
either  to  his  eulogists  or  his  depreciators. 
Nothing  disturbed  the  regularity  and  disci- 
pline of  his  daily  habits ;  and  vigilant  Scandal, 
though  it  sought  often  to  surprise  him,  sought 
always  in  vain. 

Such  was  Father  Rocco's  life  from  the 
period  of  his  niece's  death  to  the  period  of 
Fabio's  return  to  Pisa. 

As  a  matter  of  course,  the  priest  was  one 
of  the  first  to  call  at  the  palace  and  welcome 
the  young  nobleman  back.  What  passed 
between  them  at  this  interview  never  was 
precisely  known ;  but  it  was  surmised  readily 
enough  that  some  misunderstanding  had 
taken  place,  for  Father  Rocco  did  not  repeat 
his  visit  He  made  no  complaints  of  Fabio, 
but  simply  stated  that  he  had  said  something, 
intended  for  the  young  man's  good,  which 
had  not  been  received  in  a  right  spirit ;  and 
that  he  thought  it  desirable  to  avoid  the 
painful  chance  of  any  ftirther  collision  by  not 
presenting  himself  at  the  ]>alace  again  for 
some  little  time.  People  were  rather  amaased 
at  this  'j  they  would  have  been  still  more  sur- 
prised if  the  subject  of  the  masked  ball  had 
not  just  then  occupied  all  their  attention,  and 
prevented  their  noticing  it,  by  another  strange 
event  in  connection  with  the  priest  Father 
Rocco,  some  weeks  after  the  cessation  of  his 
intercourse  with  Fabio,  returned  one  morning 
to  his  old  way  of  life  as  a  sculptor,  and 
opened  the  long-closed  doors  of  his  brother's 
studio. 

Luca  Lomi's  former  workmen,  discovering 
this,  applied  to  him  immediately  for  employ- 
ment ;  but  were  informed  that  their  services 
would  not  be  needed.  Visitors  called  at  the 
studio,  but  were  always  sent  away  again  by 
the  disappointing  announcement  that  there 
was  nothing  new  to  show  them.  So  the  days 
passed  on  until  Nanina  left  her  situation  and 
returned  to  Pisa.  This  circumstance  was 
duly  reported  to  Father  Rocco  by  his  corre- 
spondent at  Florence ;  but,  wheuier  he  was 
too  much  occupied  among  the  statues,  or 
whether  it  was  one  result  of  his  cautious 
resolution  never  to  expose  himself  unneces- 


sarily to  so  much  as  the  breath  of  detraction, 
he  made  no  attempt  to  see  Nanina,  or  even 
to  justify  himself  towards  her  by  writing  her 
a  letter.  All  his  mornings  continued  to  be 
spent  alone  in  the  studio,  and  all  his  after- 
noons to  be. occupied  by  his  clerical  duties, 
until  the  day  before  the  masked  ball  at  the 
Melani  Palace.  Early  on  that  day,  he  covered 
over  the  statues,  and  locked  the  doors  of  the 
work-rooms,  once  more  ;  then  returned  to  his 
own  lodgings,  and  did  not  go  out  again.  One 
or  two  of  his  friends  who  wanted  to  see  him 
were  informed  that  he  was  not  well  enough 
to  be  able  to  receive  them.  If  they  had 
penetrated  into  his  little  study,  and  had  seen 
him,  they  would  have  been  easllv  satisfied 
that  this  was  no  mere  excuse. .  They  would 
have  noticed  that  his  face  was  startlingly 
pale,  and  that  the  ordinary  composure  of  his 
manner  was  sin^arly  disturbed. 

Towards  evening  this  restlessness  increased  ; 
and  his  old  housekeeper,  on  pressing  him  to 
take  some  nourishment,  was  astonished  to 
hear  him  answer  her  sharply  and  irritably 
for  the  first  time  since  she  had  been  in  his 
service.  A  little  later  her  surprise  was  in- 
creased by  his  sending  her  with  a  note  to  the 
Ascoli  Palace,  and  by  the  quick  return  of  an 
answer,  brought  ceremoniously  by  one  of 
Fabio's  servants.  **  It  is  long  since  he  has 
had  any  communication  with  that  quarter. 
Are  they  going  to  be  friends  again  ? "  thought 
the  housekeeper  as  she  took  the  answer  up 
stairs  to  her  master. 

*'  I  feel  better  to-night,"  he  said  as  he  read 
it :  ''  well  enough,  indeed,  to  venture  out  if 
any  one  inquires  for  me  tell  them  that  I  am 
gone  to  the  Ascoli  Palace."  Saying  this,  he 
walked  to  the  door—then  returned,  and 
trying  the  lock  of  his  cabinet,  satisfied  himself 
that  it  was  properly  secured — then  went  out 

He  found  Fabio  in  one  of  the  large  drawing- 
rooms  of  the  palace,  walking  irritably  back- 
wards and  forwards,  with  several  little  notes 
crumpled  together  in  his  hands,  and  a  plain 
black  domino  dress  for  the  masquerade  of  the 
ensuing  night  spread  out  on  one  of  the 
tables. 

'<  I  was  just  going  to  write  to  you,"  said 
the  young  man,  abruptly,  **  when  I  received 
your  letter.  You  offer  me  a  renewal  of  our 
flriendship,  and  I  accept  the  offer.  1  have  no 
doubt  those  references  of  yours,  when  we 
last  met,  to  the  subject  of  second  marriages, 
were  well  meant,  but  they  irritated  me ;  and, 
speaking  under  that  irritation,  I  said  words 
that  I  had  better  not  have  spoken.  If  I 
pained  you  I  am  sorry  for  it.  Wait  I  pardon 
me  for  one  moment  I  have  not  quite  done 
yet  It  seems  that  you  are  by  no  means  the 
only  person  in  Pisa  to  whom  the  question  of 
my  poasibl;^  marrying  again  appears  to  have 
presented  itself.  Ever  since  it  was  known 
that  I  intended  to  renew  my  intercourse  witii 
society,  at  the  ball  to-morrow  night,  I  have 
been  persecuted  by  anonymous  letters—infa- 
mous  letters,   written   from   some   motive 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


5n 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  21,  1866. 


which  it  is  impOMible  for  me  to  nndenUnd. 
I  want  joor  advice  on  tiie  beet  means  of  dis- 
covering  the  writers ;  and  I  have  also  a  Tery 
important  question  to  ask  too.  Bnt  read 
one  of  the  letters  first  yourself :  any  one  will 
do  as  a  sample  of  the  rest'' 

Fixing  his  eyes  searchingly  on  the  priest, 
he  handed  him  one  of  the  notes.  Still  a  little 
paler  than  usual,  Father  Roooo  sat  down  by 
the  nearest  lamp,  and  shading  his  eyes,  read 
these  lines:— 

'*  Count  Fabio  :— It  is  the  common  talk  of 
Pisa  that  you  are  likely,  as  a  young  man  left 
with  a  motherless  child,  to  marry  again. 
Tour  having  accepted  an  invitation  to  the 
Melani  Palace  gi^es  a  colour  of  truth  to 
this  report.  Widowers  who  are  true  to  the 
departed,  do  not  go  amon^  all  the  hand- 
somest single  women  in  a  city,  at  a  masked 
ball.  Reconsider  your  determination,  and 
remain  at  home.  I  know  you,  and  I  knew 
your  wife,  and  I  say  to  you  solemnly,  avoid 
temptation,  for  ^ou  must  never  marry  again. 
Neglect  my  advice,  and  you  will  repent  It  to 
the  end  of  your  life.  I  have  reasons  for  what 
I  say — serious,  fatal  reasons,  which  I  cannot 
divulge.  If  you  would  let  your  wife  lie 
ea^  in  her  grave,  if  you  would  avoid  a 
terrible  warning,  go  not  to  the  masked 
baU!" 

*'  I  ask  you,  and  I  ask  any  man,  if  that  is 
not  infamous  T  "  exclaimed  Fabio,  passion- 
ately, as  the  priest  handed  him  back  the 
letter.  *'An  attempt  to  work  on  my  fears 
through  the  memory  of  my  poor  dead  wife  I 
An  insolent  assumption  that  i  want  to  marry 
again,  when  I  mvself  have  not  even  so  much 
as  thought  of  the  subject  at  all  t  What  is 
the  secret  object  of  this  letter,  and  of  the 
rest  here  that  resemble  it !  Whose  interest  is 
it  to  keep  me  away  from  the  ball?  What  is 
the  meaning  of  such  a  phrase  as — '  if  you 
would  let  your  wife  lie  easy  in  her  grave  T' 
Have  you  no  advice  to  give  me?  No  plan  to 
propose  for  discovering  the  vile  hand  that 
traced  these  lines  ?  Speak  to  me !  Why,  in 
Heaven's  name,  don't  von  speak?  " 

The  priest  leant  his  head  on  his  hand,  and, 
turning  his  face  from  the  light  as  if  it  dazzled 
his  eyes,  replied  in  his  lowest  and  quietest 
tones : 

"I  cannot  speak  till  I  have  had  time  to 
think.  The  mystery  of  that  letter  is  not  to 
be  solved  in  a  moment  There  are  things  in 
it  that  are  enough  to  perplex  and  amaze  any 
man  I " 

"What  tilings?" 

**  It  is  impo^ble  for  me  to  go  Into  details 
— at  least,  at  the  present  moment" 

*<  You  speak  with  a  strange  air  of  secresy. 
Have  you  nothing  definite  to  say  ?  No  ad- 
vice to  give  me  ? '' 

''I  should  advise  vou  not  to  go  to  the 
ball." 

"You  would  I    Why?" 

"  If  I  gave  you  my  reasons,  I  am  afrufd  I 
should  only  be  irritating  you  to  no  purpose." 


"  Father  Rocoo  I  Neither  your  words  net 
your  manner  satisfy  me.  Yon  speak  in  rid- 
dles :  and  you  sit  there  in  the  dark,  with  your 
Amc  hidden  from  me " 

The  priest  instantly  started  up,  and  turned 
his  face  to  the  light 

"  I  recommend  you  to  control  your  temper, 
and  to  treat  me  wiUi  common  courtesy,"  he 
said  in  his  quietest,  firmest  tones,  looking  at 
Fabio  steadily  while  he  spoke. 

"  We  will  not  prolong  tbis  interview,"  said 
the  young  man,  calming  himself  by  an  evident 
effort.  "  I  have  one  Question  to  ask  yon,  and 
then  no  more  to  say.'' 

The  priest  bowed  his  head,  in  token  that 
he  was  ready  to  listen.  He  still  stood  up, 
calm,  pale,  and  firm,  in  the  ftill  light  of  the 
lamp. 

"It  is  just  possible,"  continued  Fabio, 
"  that  these  letters  may  refer  to  some  incau- 
tious words  which  my  late  wife  might  have 
spoken.  I  ask  you,  as  her  spiritual  director, 
and  as  a  near  relation  who  eigoyed  her  confi- 
dence, if  you  ever  heard  her  express  a  wish, 
in  the  event  of  my  surviving  hw,  that  I 
should  abstain  from  marrying  again  ?  " 

"  Did  she  never  express  such  a  wirii  to 
you  ? " 

"  Never.  But  why  do  you  evade  my  ques- 
tion by  asking  me  another? " 

"  It  is  impossible  for  me  to  reply  to  your 
question." 

"  For  what  reason  ? " 

**  Because  it  is  impossible  for  rae  to  give 
answers  which  must  refer,  whether  they  are 
affirmative  or  negative,  to  what  I  have  heard 
in  confession." 

"  We-  have  spoken  enough,"  said  Fabio, 
turning  angrily  from  the  priest  "  I  expected 
you  to  help  me  in  clearing  up  these  mys- 
teries, and  you  do  your  best  to  thicken  tiM. 
What  your  motives  are,  what  your  condoct 
means,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  know  ;  bat 
I  say  to  you,  what  I  would  say  in  far  other 
terms,  if  they  were  here,  to  the  villains  who 
have  written  these  letters — ^no  menaces,  no 
mysteries,  no  conspiracies,  will  prevent  me 
from  being  at  the  ball  to-morrow.  I  oaa 
listen  to  persuasion,  but  I  scorn  tiireati. 
There  lies  my  dress  for  the  masquerade :  no 
power  on  earth  shall  prevent  me  from  wea^ 
ing  it  to-morrow  night  1 "  He  pointed,  as  be 
spoke,  to  the  black  domino  and  half-maafc 
lying  on  the  table. 

"No  power  on  earth  f*^  repeated  Father 
Rooco,  with  a  smile,  and  an  emphasis  on  the 
last  word.  "  Superstitious  still ,  Count  Fabto ! 
Do  you  suspect  the  powers  of  the  other 
world  of  interfering  with  mortals  at  mas- 
querades?" 

Fabio  started,  and,  turning  from  the  table, 
fixed  his  eyes  intently  on  the  prteet's  f^e. 

"  Yon  suggested  just  now  that  we  bad 
better  not  prolong  this  interview,"  said 
Father  Rooco,  still  smiling.  "  I  think  yos 
were  right :  if  we  part  at  onoe,  we  may  still 
part  friends.    You  have  had  my  advice  not 


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ClMarlMlMckeM.] 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  21,  1855. 


593 


to  go  to  the  ball,  and  joa  decline  following  it. 
I  have  nothing  more  to  say.  Good  night !'' 
Before  Fabio  coald  ntter  the  angry  re- 
joinder that  rose  to  his  lips,  the  door  of  the 
room  had  opened  and  closed  again,  and  the 
priest  was  gone. 

OHAFTEB  IZ. 

The  next  night,  at  the  time  of  assembling 
specified  in  the  inyitations  to  tlie  masked 
ball,  Fabio  was  still  lingering  in  his  palace, 
and  still  allowing  the  black  domino  to  lie  un- 
tonched  and  unheeded  on  his  dressing  table. 
This  delay  was  not  produced  l^  any  change 
in  his  resolution  to  go  to  the  Melani  Palace. 
His  determination  to  be  present  at  the  I>all 
remained  unshaken ;  and  yet,  at  the  last  mo- 
ment, he  lingered  and  lingered  on,  without 
knowing  why.  Some  strange  influence  seem- 
ed to  be  keeping  him  withm  the  walls  of  his 
lonely  home.  It  was  as  if  the  great,  empty, 
silent  palace  had  almost  recoTered  on  that 
night  the  charm  which  it  had  lost  when  its 
mistress  died. 

He  left  his  own  apartment  and  went  to  the 
bedroom  where  his  infimt  child  lay  asleep  in 
her  little  crib.  He  eat  watching  her,  and 
thinking  quietly  and  tenderly  of  many  past 
eyents  In  his  life  for  a  long  time :  then  re- 
turned to  his  room.  A  sudden  sense  of 
loneliness  came  upon  him  after  his  yisit  to 
the  child's  bedside  ;  but  he  did  not  attempt 
to  raise  his  spirits,  even  then,  by  going  to  the 
ball.  He  descended  instead  to  his  study, 
lit  his  reading  lamp,  and  then,  opening  a 
bureau,  took  from  one  of  the  drawers  in  it 
the  letter  which  Nanina  had  written  to  him. 
This  was  not  the  first  time  that  a.sndden 
sense  of  his  solitude  had  connected  itself 
inexplicably  with  the  remembrance  of  the 
work-glrPs  letter. 

He  read  it  through  slowly,  and  when  he 
had  done,  kept  it  open  in  his  hand  "  I  have 
youth,  titles,  wealth,"  he  thought  to  himself 
sadly;  '* everything  that  is  envied  and 
sought  after  in  this  world.  And  yet,  if  I  try 
to  think  of  any  human  beinr  who  really  and 
truly  loves  me,  I  can  remember  but  one — the 
poor,  faithful  girl  who  wrote  these  lines !" 

Old  recollections  of  the  first  day  when  he 
met  with  Nanina,  of  the  first  sittinff  she  had 
given  him  in  Luca  Lomi's  studio,  of  the  first 
visit  to  the  neat  little  room  in  the  liye-street, 
began  to  rise  more  and  more  vividly  in  his 
mind.  Entirely  absorbed  by  them,  he  sat 
absently  drawing  with  pen  and  ink,  on  some 
sheets  of  letter-paper  lying  under  his  hand, 
lines  and  circles,  and  fragments  of  decora- 
tions, and  vague  remembrances  of  old  Ideas 
for  statues,  until  the  sudden  sinking  of  the 
flame  of  his  lamp  awoke  his  attention  ab- 
ruptly to  present  things.  He  looked  at  his 
watch.    It  was  close  on  midnight 

This  discovery  at  last  roused  him  to  the 
necessity  of  immediate  departure.  In  a  few 
minutes  he  had  put  on  his  domino  and  mask, 
and  was  on  his  way  to  the  ball. 


Before  he  reached  the  Melani  Palace  the 
first  part  of  the  entertainment  had  come  to 
an  end.  The  "Toy-Symphony"  had  been 
played,  the  grotesque  dance  performed,  amid 
universal  laughter;  and  now  the  guests  were 
for  the  most  part  fortifying  themselves  in  the 
Arcadian  bowers  for  new  dances,  in  which  all 
persons  present  were  expected  to  take  part 
The  Marauis  Melani  had,  with  characteristic 
oddity,  divided  his  two  classical  refreshment- 
rooms  into  what  he  termed  the  Light  and 
Heavy  Departments.  Fruit,  pastry,  sweet- 
meats, salads,  and  harmless  drinks  were  in- 
cluded under  the  first  head,  and  all  the  sti- 
mulating liquors  and  solid  eatables  under  the 
last.  The  thirty  shepherdesses  had  been,  ac- 
cording to  the  marauiss's  order,  equally  divi- 
ded, at  the  outset  of  the  evening,  between  the 
two  rooms.  But,  as  the  company  began  to 
crowd  more  and  more  resolutely  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Heavy  Department,  ten  of  the  shep- 
herdesses attached  to  Uie  Light  Department 
were  tolled  off  to  assist  in  attending  on  the 
hungry  and  thirsty  minority  of  guests  who 
were  not  to  be  appeased  bv  pastry  and  lemon- 
ade. Among  the  five  girls  who  were  left  be- 
hind in  the  room  for  the  light  refreshments, 
was  Nanina.  The  steward  soon  discovered 
that  the  novelty  of  her  situation  made  her 
really  nervous,  and  he  wisely  concluded  that 
if  he  trusted  her  where  the  crowd  was  greatest 
and  the  noise  loudest,  die  would  not  only  be 
utterly  useless,  but  also  very  much  in  the  way 
of  her  more  confident  and  experienced  com- 
panions. 

When  Fabio  arrived  at  the  palace,  the 
jovial  uproar  in  the  Heavy  Department  was 
at  its  height,  and  several  gentlemen,  fired  by 
the  classical  costume  of  the  shepherdesses, 
were  beginning  to  speak  Latin  to  them  with 
a  thick  utterance  and  a  valorous  contempt 
for  all  restrictions  of  gender,  number,  and 
case.  As  soon  as  he  could  escape  from  the 
congratulations  on  his  return  to  bis  friends, 
which  poured  on  him  from  all  sides,  Fabio 
withdrew  to  seek  some  quieter  room.  The 
heat,  noise,  and  confusion,  had  so  bewildered 
him,  after  the  tranquil  life  he  had  been  lead- 
ing for  many  months  past,  that  it  was  quite  a 
relief  to  stroll  through  the  half-deserted  dan- 
cing-rooms, to  the  opposite  extremity  of  the 
great  suite  of  apartments,  and  there  to  find 
himself  in  a  second  Arcadian  bower  which 
seemed  peaceful  enough  to  deserve  its 
name. 

A  few  guests  were  in  this  room  when  he 
first  entered  it;  but  the  distant  sound  of 
some  first  notes  of  dance-music  drew  them  all 
away.  After  a  careless  look  at  the  quaint 
decorations  about  him,  he  sat  down  alone  on 
a  divan  near  the  door,  and  beginning  already 
to  feel  the  heat  and  discomfort  of  bis  mask, 
took  it  off".  He  bad  not  removed  it  more 
than  a  moment,  before  he  heard  a  faint  cry  In 
the  direction  of  a  long  refreshment-table, 
behind  which  the  five-waiting-girls  were 
standing.    He  started  up  directly,  and  could 


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hardly  believe  his  Bcnses,  when  he  foand  him- 
self Btandiog  face  to  face  with  NaDina. 

Her  cheeks  had  turned  perfectly  colourless. 
Her  astonishment  at  seeing  the  young  noble- 
man appeared  to  have  some  sensation  of  ter- 
ror mingled  with  It  The  waiting-woman, 
who  happened  to  stand  by  her  side,  instinc- 
tively stretched  oat  an  arm  to  support  her, 
observing  that  she  caught  at  the  edge  of  the 
table  as  Fabio  hurried  round  to  get  behind  it 
and  speak  to  her.  When  he  drew  near,  her 
bead  drooped  on  her  breast,  and  she  said, 
faintly,  **  I  never  knew  you  were  at  Paris :  I 
I  never  thought  you  would  be  here.  Ob,  I  am 
true  to  what  I  said  in  my  letter,  though  I 
seem  so  false  to  it !  " 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about  the  letter — 
to  tell  you  how  carefully  I  have  kept  it,  how 
often  I  have  read  it,''  said  Fabio. 

She  turned  away  her  head,  and  tried  hard 
to  repress  the  tears  that  would  force  their 
way  into  her  eyes.  "  We  should  never  have 
met,"  she  said,  *'  never,  never  have  met 
again! " 

Before  Fabio  could  reply,  the  waiting- 
woman  by  Nanina's  side  interposed. 

'^  For  heaven's  sake  don't  stop  speaking  to 
her  here !  "  she  exclaimed  impatiently.  "  If 
the  steward  or  one  of  the  upper  servants  was 
to  come  in»70u  would  get  her  into  dreadful 
trouble.  Wait  till  to-morrow,  and  find  some 
fitter  place  than  this." 

Fabio  felt  the  justice  of  the  reproof  imme- 
diately. He  tore  a  leaf  out  of  his  pocket- 
book,  and  wrote  on  it :  "  I  must  tell  you  how 
I  honour  and  thank  you  for  that  letter.  To- 
morrow— ten  o'clock — the  wicket-gate  at  the 
back  of  the  Ascoli  gardens.  Believe  in  mv 
truth  and  honour,  Nanina,  for  I  believe  impli- 
citly in  yours."  Having  written  these  lines, 
he  took  from  among  his  bunch  of  watch-seals 
a  little  key,  wrapped  it  up  in  the  note,  and 

Sressed  it  into  her  hand.  In  spite  of  himself 
is  fingers  lingered  around  hers,  and  he  was 
on  the  point  of  speaking  to  her  again,  when 
he  saw  the  waiting-woman's  hand,  which  was 
just  raised  to  motion  him  away,  suddenly 
drop.  Her  colour  changed  at  the  same 
moment,  and  she  looked  fixedly  across  the 
table. 

He  turned  round  immediately,  and  saw  a 
masked  woman  standing  alone  in  the  room, 
dressed  entirely  in  yellow,  from  head  to  foot. 
She  had  a  yellow  hood,  a  yellow  half-mask 
with  deep  fringe  hanging  down  over  her 
mouth,  and  a  yellow  domino,  cut  at  the 
sleeves  and  edges  into  long  flame-shaped 
points,  which  waved  backwards  and  forwards 
tremulously  in  the  light  air  wafted  through 
the  doorway.  The  woman's  black  eyes  seemed 
to  gleam  with  an  evil  brightness  through  the 
sight-holes  of  the  mask ;  and  the  tawny  fringe 
hanging  before  her  mouth  fluttered  slowly 
with  every  breath  she  drew.  Without  a  word 
or  a  gesture  she  stood  before  the  table,  and 
her  gleaming  black  eyes  fixed  steadily  on 
Fabio,  the  instant  he   confronted  her.    A 


sudden  chill  struck  through  him,  as  he  oV 
served  that  the  yellow  of  the  strtnger's 
domino  and  mask  was  of  precisely  the  nme  ! 
shade  as  the  yellow  of  the  hangings  and  fur- 
niture which  his  wife  had  chosen  after  thdr 
marriage,  for  the  decoration  of  her  faTOorite 
sitting-room. 

"  The  Yellow  Mask  I "  whispered  the  wiit- 
ing-girls  nervously,  crowding  together  betiiod 
the  table.    "  The  Yellow  Mask  again! '' 

"  Make  her  speak ! " 

'^  Ask  her  to  have  something! " 

''This  gentleman  will  ask  her.  Spctk 
to  her,  sir.  Do  speak  to  her!  She  glide 
about  in  that  fearful  yellow  dress  like  i 
ghost." 

Fabio  looked  round  mechanically  at  tlte 
girl  who  was  whisperine  to  hiuL    He  aaw  at 
the  same  time  that  Nanina  still  kept  her  bead  i 
turned  away,  and  that  she  had  her  haodke^ 
chief  at  her  eyes.    She  was  evidently  strug- 
gling yet  with  the  agitation  produced  bj  . 
their    unexpected   meeting,  and  was,  moat 
probably  for  that  reason,  Uie  only  peraon  in  |, 
the  room  not  conscious  of  the  presence  of  the 
Yellow  Mask. 

"Speak  to  her,  sir.  Do  speak  to  her!' 
whispered  two  of  the  waiting-girls  together,   i 

Fabio  turned  again  towards  the  table.  The  | 
black  eyes  were  still  gleaming  at  him,  from 
behind  the  tawny  yellow  of  the  mask.  He 
nodded  to  the  girls  who  hadjust  spoken,  cast 
one  farewell  look  at  Nanina,  andmeved  dowD 
the  room  to  get  round  to  the  side  of  the  table 
at  which  the  Yellow  Mask  was  standing. 
Step  by  step  as  he  moved,  the  bright  eyes 
followed  him.  Steadily  and  more  steadily 
their  evil  light  seemed  to  shine  through  m 
througli  him,  as  he  turned  the  corner  w 
the  table,  and  approached  the  still,  epcctial 
figure. 

He  came  close  up  to  the  woman,  hut  she 
never  moved  j  her  eyes  never  wavered  for  an 
instant.  He  stopped  and  tried  to  ^; 
but  the  chill  struck  through  him  again.  An 
overpowering  dread,  an  unutterable  loathiig.  ^ 
seized  on  him ;  all  sense  of  outer  tbing^-the 
whispering  of  the  waiting-girls  behind  tw 
table,  the  gentle  cadence  of  the  dance-miBij 
the  distant  hum  of  joyous  talk— suddenly  ie» 
him.  He  turned  away  shudderhig,  and  quit- 
ted the  roouL  . 

Following  the  sound  of  the  music,  and  o^ 
siring  before  all  things  now  to  join  the  ctow 
wherever  it  was  largest,  he  was  stopped  m 
one  of  the  smaller  apartments  by  ^p^JJ^ 
man  who  had  just  risen  from  the  card-laW^ 
and  who  held  out  his  hand  with  the  cordiality 
of  an  old  friend.  ^     .  «^ 

**  Welcome  back  to  the  world,  Connt  !•- 
bio !  "  he  began  gaily,  then  suddenly  checW 
himself.  "  Why  'yOu  look  pale,  and  yoar 
hand  feels  cold.  Not  ill  I  hope  ?"  ^_  . 
*'No,  no.  I  have  been  rather  startWM 
can't  say  why— by  a  very  strangely-dreasw 
woman,  who  fairly  stared  me  out  of  counie- 
nance." 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Chwlct  IHekMM.} 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    Jdlt  21,  1855. 


595 


''  You  don't  mean  the  Yellow  Mask?" 
*•  Yes,  I  do.  Have  you  seen  her  t  • ' 
''  Everybody  has  seen  her ;  bat  nobody  can 
make  her  nnmask  or  get  her  to  speak.  Oar 
host  has  not  the  slightest  notion  who  she  is ; 
and  oar  hostess  is  horribly  frightened  at  her. 
For  my  part,  I  think  she  has  given  us  quite 
enough  of  her  mystery  and  her  grim  dress ; 
and  if  my  name,  instead  of  being  nothing  but 
plain  Andrea  d'Arbino,  was  Marquis  Melani, 
I  would  say  to  her,  *  Madam,  we  are  here  to 
laugh  and  amuse  ourselves ;  suppose  you 
open  your  lips,  and  charm  us  by  appearing  in 
a  prettier  dress  I ' " 

During  this  conversation  they  had  sat 
down  together,  with  their  backs  towards  the 
door,  by  the  side  of  one  of  the  card-tables. 
While  d'Arbino  was  speaking,  Fabio  sud- 
denly felt  himself  shuddering  again,  and 
became  conscious  of  a  sound  of  low  breathing 
behind  him.  He  turned  round  instantly, 
and    there,    standing    between    them    and 

Seering  down  at  them,  was  the  Yellow 
[ask  I 

Fabio  started  up,  and  his  friend  followed 
his  example.  Agam  the  gleaming  black  eyes 
rested  steadily  on  the  young  nobleman's 
face,  and  again  their  look  chilled  him  to  the 
heart 

**  Yellow  lady,  do  you  know  my  friend? " 
exclaimed  d'Arbino,  with  mock  solemnity. 

There  was  no  answer.  The  fatal  eyes  never 
moved  from  Fabio's  face. 

"  Yellow  lady.'^  continued  the  other,  'listen 
to  the  music.    Will  you  dance  with  me  I " 

The  eyes  looked  away,  and  the  figure  glid- 
ed slowly  from  the  room. 

"My  dear  count,"  said  d'Arbino,  "that 
woman  seems  to  have  quite  an  effect  on  you. 
I  declare  she  has  left  yon  paler  than  ever. 
Come  into  the  supper-room  with  me,  and 
have  some  wine ;  you  really  look  as  if  you 
wanted  it." 

They  went  at  once  to  the  large  reft*esh- 
ment-room.  Nearly  all  the  guests  had  by 
this  time  begun  to  dance  again.  They  had 
the  whole  apartment,  therefore,  almost  entire- 
ly to  themselves. 

Among  the  decorations  of  the  room,  which 
were  not  strictly  in  accordance  with  genuine 
Arcadian  simplicity  was  a  large  looking-glass, 
placed  over  a  well-furnished  sideboard. 
d'Arbino  led  Fabio  in  this  direction,  ex- 
changing greetings,  as  he  advanced,  with  a 
gentleman  who  stood  near  the  glass  looking 
into  it,  and  carelessly  fanning  himself  with 
his  mask. 

"  My  dear  friend  I "  cried  d'Arbino,  "  you 
are  the  very  man  to  lead  us  straight  to  the 
best  bottle  of  wine  in  the  palace.  Count 
Fabio,  let  me  present  to  you  my  intimate  and 
good  friend  the  Cavaliere  Finello,  with  whose 
family  I  know  you  are  well  acquainted. 
Finello,  the  coant  is  a  little  out  of  spirits, 
aud  I  have  prescribed  a  good  dose  of  wine. 
1  see  a  whole  row  of  bottles  at  your  side,  and 
I  leave  it  to  you  to  apply  the  remedy. — 


Glasses  there  1  three  glasses,  my  lovely  shep- 
erdess  with  the  black  eyes— the  three  largest 
you  have  got."  • 

The  glasses  were  brought ;  the  Cavaliere 
Finello  chose  a  particular  bottle,  and  filled 
them.  All  three  gentlemen  turned  round  to 
the  sideboard  to  use  it  as  a  table,  and  thus 
necessarily  faced  the  looking-glass. 

*' Now,  let  us  drink  the  toast  of  toasts." 
said  d'Arbino.  "  Finello,  Count  Fabio— the 
ladies  of  Pisa!" 

Fabio  raised  the  wine  to  his  lips,  and  was 
on  the  point  of  drinking  it,  when  he  saw  re- 
flected m  the  glass  the  figure  of  the  Yellow 
Mask.  The  glittering  eyes  were  again  fixed 
on  him,  and  the  yellow-hooded  head  bowed 
slowly,  as  if  in  acknowledgment  of  the  toast 
be  was  about  to  drink.  For  the  third  time, 
the  strange  chill  seized  him,  and  he  set  down 
his  glass  of  wine  untasted. 

"  What  is  the  matter  t "  asked  d'Arbino. 

"  Have  you  any  dislike,  count,  to  that  par- 
ticular wine?"  inquired  the  Cavaliere. 

*'The  Yellow  Mask!"  whispered  Fabio. 
"  The  Yellow  Mask  again  I " 

They  all  three  turned  round  directly  to- 
wards the  door.  But  it  was  too  late — the 
figure  had  disappeared. 

"  Does  any  one  know  who  this  Yellow  Mask 
is  ? "  asked  Finello.  "  One  may  guess  by  the 
walk  that  the  figure  is  a  woman's.  Perhaps 
it  may  be  the  strange  colour  she  has  chosen 
for  her  dress,  or  perhaps  her  stealthy  way  of 
moving  from  room  to  room ;  but  there  is  cer- 
tainly something  mysterious  and  startling 
about  her." 

"  Startling  enough,  as  the  count  would  tell 
you,"  said  d'Arbino.  "The  Yellow  Mask 
has  been  responsible  for  his  lose  of  spirits 
and  change  of  complexion,  and  now  she  has 
prevented  him  even  iVom  drinking  his 
wine." 

"I  canH  account  for  it,"  said  Fabio,  look- 
ing round  him  uneasily ;  "  but  this  is  the 
third  room  into  which  she  has  followed  me — 
the  third  time  she  has  seemed  to  fix  her  eyes 
on  me  alone.  I  suppose  my  nerves  are  hardly 
in  a  fit  state  yet  for  masked  balls  and  adven- 
tures :  the  sight  of  her  seems  to  chill  me. 
Who  can  she  be  ? " 

"  If  she  followed  me  a  fourth  time,"  said 
Finello,  "  I  diould  insist  on  her  unmasking." 

"And  suppose  she  refased?"  asked  his 
friend. 

"  Then  I  should  take  her  mask  off  for  her." 

"  It  is  impossible  to  do  that  with  a  woman," 
said  Fabio.  "  I  prefer  trying  to  lose  her  in 
the  crowd.  Excuse  me,  gentlemen,  if  I  leave 
you  to  finish  the  wine,  and  then  to  meet  me, 
if  you  like.  In  the  great  ball-room." 

He  retired  as  he  spoke,  put  on  his  mask, 
and  joined  the  dancers  immediately,  taking 
care  to  keep  always  in  the  most  crowded 
corner  of  the  apartment.  For  some  time 
this  plan  of  action  proved  successful,  and  he 
saw  no  more  of  the  mysterious  yellow  domino. 
Ere  long,  however,  some  new  dances  were 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


596 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  21,  1866. 


arraDged  in  which  the  great  majoritj  of  the 
persons  in  the  ball-room  took  part;  the 
flgares  resembling  the  old  English  country 
dances  in  this  revpect,  that  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen  were  pl^M^ed  in  long  rows  opposite 
to  each  other.  The  seta  consisted  of  about 
twenty  conpleseaoh,  placed  sometimes  across, 
and  sometimes  along  the  apartment ;  and  the 
spectators  were  all  required  to  move  away  on 
either  side,  and  range  themscWee  close  to  the 
walls.  As  Fabio  amone  others  complied  with 
this  necessity,  he  looked  down  a  row  of 
dancers  waiting  during  the  performance  of 
the  orchestral  prelude ;  and  there,  watching 
him  again,  f^om  the  opposite  end  of  the  lane 
formed  by  the  gentlemen  on  one  side  and  the 
ladies  on  the  other,  he  saw  the  Yellow 
Mask. 

He  moved  abruptly  back  towards  another 
row  of  dancers,  placed  at  right  angles  to  the 
first  row ;  and  there,  again,  at  the  opposite 
end  of  the  gay  lane  of  brightly-dressed 
figures,  was  the  Yellow  Mask.  He  slipped 
into  the  middle  of  the  room ;  but  it  was  only 
to  find  her  occupving  his  former  position  near 
the  wall,  Mid  still,  m  spite  of  hia  disguise, 
watching  him  through  row  after  row  of 
dancers.  The  persecution  began  to  grow  in- 
tolerable ;  he  felt  a  kind  of  angry  curiosity 
mingling  now  with  the  vague  dread  that  had 
hitherto  oppressed  him.  Finello's  advioe  re- 
curred to  his  memory;  and  he  determined 
to  make  the  woman  unmask  at  all  hazards. 
With  this  intention  he  returned  to  the  supper- 
room  in  which  he  bad  left  his  friends. 

Thev  were  ffone,  probably  to  the  ball-room 
to  look  for  him.  Plenty  of  )i^ne  was  still 
left  on  the  side-board ;  and  he  poured  himself 
out  a  glass.  Finding  that  his  hand  trembled 
as  he  did  so,  he  drank  several  more  glasses  in 
quick  succession,  to  nerve  himself  for  the  ap- 
proaching encounter  with  the  Yellow  Mask, 
while  he  was  drinking,  he  expected  every 
moment  to  see  her  in  the  looktng-glass  again ; 
but  she  never  appeared — and  yet  he  felt 
almost  certain  that  he  had  detected  her  glid- 
ing out  after  him  when  he  left  the  ball- 
room. 

He  thought  it  possible  that  she  might  be 
yraiting  for  him  In  one  of  the  smaller  apart- 
ments: and  taking  off  his  mask  walked 
through  several  of  them,  without  meeting  her, 
until  be  came  to  the  door  of  the  refreshment- 
room  in  which  Nanina  and  he  had  recognised 
each  other.  The  waiting  woman  behind  the 
table,  who  had  first  spoken  to  him,  caught 
sight  of  him  now,  and  ran  round  to  the 
door. 

"Don't  come  in  and  speak  to  Nanina 
again,"  she  said,  mistaking  the  purp^  which 
had  brought  him  to  the  door.  <'  What  with 
fHghtening  her  first  and  making  her  cry 
afterwards,  you  have  rendered  her  quite  unfit 
for  her  worK.  The  steward  is  in  there  at  this 
moment ;  very  good-natured,  but  not  very 
sober.  He  says  die  is  pale  and  red-eyed  and 
not  fit  to  be  a  shepherdess  any  longer,  and 


that,  as  she  will  not  be  missed  new,  ibe  mj 
go  home  If  she  likes.  We  have  got  ber  u 
old  cloak,  and  she  is  going  to  tiy  aod  dip 
through  the  rooms  unobserred,  to  gtt  dowi 
stairs  and  change  her  dress.  iWt  tpetk  ta 
her,  pray— or  you  will  only  make  kr  aj 
again,  and  what  is  worse,  make  the  ttewui 
fancy—" 

She  stopped  at  that  last  word,  and  poioted 
suddenly  over  Fabio's  shoulder.'' 

«  The  Yellow  Mask  I "  she  exclaiined,  "Oi 
sir!  draw  her  away  into  the  ball-room ih 
give  Nanina  a  chance  of  getthig  oat! '' 

Fabio  turned  directly,  and  approached  tbe 
Mask,  who,  as  they  looked  at  each  otber, 
slowly  retreated  before  him.  Tbe  waitmg- 
woman,  seeing  tbe  yellow  figure  retirt 
hastened  back  to  Nanina  in  the  refireihmeot- 
room. 

Slowly  the  ma^ed  woman  retreated  froo 
one  apartment  to  another  till  die  entered  t 
corridor,  brilliantly  lit  up  and  bea^ltif«Uyo^ 
namented  with  fiowers.  On  the  right  hind, 
this  corridor  led  to  tbe  ball-room :  on  tbekft, 
to  an  ante-chamber  at  the  head  of  the  palic« 
sUiroase.  The  Yellow  Made  went  oa  i  fet  : 
paces  towards  the  left ;  then  stopped.  TV 
bright  eyes  fixed  themselves  as  before  oo 
Fabio's  face,  but  only  for  a  moment  He 
heard  a  light  step  behind  him,  and  tbeo  be 
saw  the  eyes  move.  Following  the  diwotioB 
they  took  he  turned  round,  and  diecovered 
Nanina,  wrapped  up  In  the  old  eloak  whiM 
was  to  enablo  her  to  get  down  itairs  nnob- 
served. 

"Oh,  how  can  I  get  out  I  bowcaalget 
out ! "  cried  the  girl  drinking  backaffiigiited, 
as  she  saw  the  Yellow  Mask. 

"  That  way,"  said  Fabio,  pointing  in  tie 
direction  of  the  Bull-room.  "  Nobody  iffl 
notice  you  in  the  cloak:  it  will  onljbe 
thought  some  new  disguise."  He  took  bff 
arm,  as  he  spoke,  to  reassure  her;  i» 
continued  in  a  whisper,—"  Don't  fwge*  ^ 
morrow." 

At  the  same  moment  he  felt  a  hand  laid 
on  him.  It  was  the  hand  of  tbe  m^ed 
woman,  and  it  put  him  back  ftro«  Nmim^ 
In  spite  of  himself  he  trembled  at  her  twcj, 
but  still  retoined  presence  of  mindenengbto 
sign  to  the  girl  to  make  her  escape.  Witi» 
look  of  eager  inquiry  in  the  direction  rf  tw 
Mask,  and  a  half-suppressed  ezcUun^ofi  oi 
terror,  she  obeyed  him,  and  hastened  my 
towards  th^  ball-room.  ^ 

"  We  are  alone,"  said  Fabio,  oonfirwhBg 
the  gleaming  black  eyes,  and  reachntf  w 
his  hand  resolutely  towards  the  YeUow  M»6t 
"Tell  me  who  you  are,  and  why  you  ftuot 
me,  or  I  will  uncover  your  face,  and  ioIti  w 
mystery  for  myself."  , 

The  woman  pushed  his  hand  ••«»J^ 
drew  back  a  few  paces,  but  never  spow  a 
word.  He  followed  her.  There  was  not  ij 
instant  to  be  lost,  for  just  then  the  eoond  « 
footsteps  hastily  approaching  the  oorrmor 
became  audible. 


Digitized  by  VJjOOQIC 


ChtflM  Dkkem.] 


HOUSEHOLD  WOBDa    Jult  21,  1855. 


597 


'*  Now  or  never,"  he  whispered  to  himselfy 
aDd  BDatched  at  the  mask. 

His  arm  was  again  thrust  aside;  bat  this 
time  the  woman  raised  her  disengaged  hand 
at  the  same  moment,  and  removed  the  yellow 
mask. 

The  lamps  shed  their  soft  light  fall  on  her 
face. 

It  was  the  face  of  his  dead  wife. 

SIgnor  Andrea  d' Arbino,  searching  vainly 
through  the  various  rooms  in  the  palace 
for  Count  Fabio  d'Ascoll,  and  trying,  as 
a  last  resource,  the  corridor  leading  to 
the  ball-room  and  grand  staircase,  dis- 
covered his  fViend  lying  on  the  floor  in  a 
swoon,  without  any  living  creature  near  him. 
Determining  to  avoid  alarming  the  guests,  if 
possible,  d'Arbino  first  souffht  help  in  the 
ante-chamber.  He  found  there  the  mar- 
quis's valet,  assisting  the  Oavaliere  Finello 
(who  was  just  taking  his  departure)  to  put 
on  his  cloak. 

While  Finello  and  his  friend  carried  Fabio 
to  an  open  window  in  the  ante-chamber,  the 
valet  procured  some  iced-water.  This  simple 
remedy,  and  the  ohange  of  atmosphere, 
proved  enough  to  restore  the  fainting  man  to 
his  senses,  but  hardly— 4b8  it  seemed  to  his 
Mends — to  his  former  self.  They  noticed  a 
cliange  to  blankness  and  stillness  in  his  face, 
and,  when  he  spoke,  an  indescribable  altera- 
tion in  the  tone  of  his  voice. 

"  I  found  you  in  a  room  in  the  corri- 
dor," said  d'Arbino.  ^^What  made  you 
faint  7  Don't  you  remember  7  Was  it  the 
heat?" 

Fabio  waited  for  a  moment,  painftilly 
collecting  his  ideas.  He  looked  at  the 
valet ;  and  Finello  signed  to  the  man  to 
withdraw. 

»  Was  it  the  heat  7"  repeated  d' Arbino. 

«  No,"  answered  Fabio,  in  strangely-hushed, 
steady  tones.  **  I  have  seen  the  face  that  was 
behind  the  TeUow  Mask." 

"Well?" 

"  It  was  the  face  of  my  dead  wife-" 

**  Your  dead  wife  I" 

"  When  the  mask  was  removed  I  saw  her 
face.  Not  as  I  remember  it  in  the  pride  of 
her  youth  and  beauty — not  even  as  I  re- 
member her  on  her  siclE^bed— but  as  I  re- 
member her  in  her  coffin." 

"  Count  1  for  God's  sake^  rouse  yourself  I 
CoUect  your  thoughts— remember  where  you 
are — and  free  your  nund  of  its  horrible  de- 
lusion." 

"Spare  me  all  remonstranoes-^I  am  not 
fit  to  bear  them.  My  life  has  only  one  otgect 
Bow^-the  pursuing  of  this  mystery  to  the 
end.  Will  you  hSp  me?  I  am  scarcely  fit 
to  act  for  myself." 

He  still  spoke  in  the  same  unnaturally 
hashed,  deliberate  Umm.  D'Arbino  and 
Finello  exchanged  glances  behind  him  as  he 
rose  from  the  ma  on  which  he  had  hitherto 
been  lying. 


"  We  will  help  you  in  everything,"  said 
d'Arbino,  soothingly.  "Trust  in  us  to  the 
end.    What  do  you  wish  to  do  first  ?" 

"  The  figure  must  have  gone  through  this 
room.  Let  us  descend  the  staircase,  and  ask 
the  servants  if  they  have  seen  it  pass." 

(Both  d'Arbino  and  Finello  remarked  that 
he  did  not  say  her). 

They  inquired  down  to  the  very  court- 

?ird.  Not  one  of  the  servants  had  seen  the 
ellow  Mask. 

The  last  resource  was  the  porter  at  the 
outer  gate.  They  applied  to  him;  and  in 
answer  to  their  questions,  he  asserted  that  he 
had  most  certainly  seen  a  lady  In  a  yellow 
domino  and  mask  drive  away,  about  half  an 
hour  before,  in  a  hired  coach. 

"Should  you  remember  the  coachman 
again?"  asked  d'Arbino. 

"  Perfectly ;  he  is  an  old  friend  of  mine." 

"And  you  know  where  he  lives?" 

"  Yes,  as  well  as  I  know  where  I  do." 

"Any  reward  you  like,  if  you  can  get 
somebody  to  mind  your  lodge,  and  can  take 
us  to  that  house." 

In  a  few  minutes  thev  were  following  the 
porter,  through  the  dark,  silent  streets.  "We 
had  better  try  the  stables  first,"  said  the 
man.  "  My  friend  the  coachman  will  hardly 
have  had  time  to  do  more  than  set  the  lady 
down.  We  shall  most  likely  catch  him  just 
putting  up  his  horses." 

.The  porter  turned  out  to  be  right.  On 
entering  the  stable-yard,  they  found  that 
the  empty  coach  had  just  driven  into  it. 

'"  You  have  been  talcing  home  a  lady  in  a 
yellow  domino  from  the  masquerade,"  said 
d'Arbino,  patting  some  money  into  the 
coachman's  hand. 

"Yes,  sir;  I  was  engaged  by  that  lady 
for  the  evening-engaged  to  drive  her  to  the 
ball,  as  well  as  to  drive  her  home." 

"  Where  did  you  take  her  ft^m  ?" 

"From  a  very  extraordinary  place— from 
the  gate  of  the  Gampo  Santo." 

During  this  colloquy,  Finello  and  d'Arbino 
had  been  standing  with  Fabio  between  them, 
each  giving  him  an  arm.  The  instant  the 
last  answer  was  given,  he  reeled  back  with 
a  cry  of  horror. 

"Where  have  you  taken  her  to  now?" 
asked  d'Arbino.  He  looked  about  him  ner- 
vously as  he  put  the  question  and  spoke,  for 
the  first  time  in  a  whisper. 

"To  the  Campo  Santo,  again,"  said  the 
coachman. 

Fabio  suddenly  drew  his  arms  out  of  the 
arms  of  his  friends,  and  sank  to  his  knees  on 
the  ground,  hiding  his  face.  From  some 
kn^ken  ejaculations  which  escaped  him,  it 
seemed  as  if  he  dreaded  that  his  senses  were 
leaving  him,  and  that  he  was  praying  to  be 
preserved  in  his  right  mind. 

"Why  is  he  so  violently  agitated  7"  said 
FineUo,  eagerly,  to  his  friend. 

"  Hush?"  returned  the  other.  "You  heard 
him  say  that  when  he  saw  the  face  behind 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


698 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  21,  1855. 


[CoDdiifted  I7 


the  Yellow  llask,  it  was  the  face  of  hU  dead 
wife?" 

"Yes!    Bat  what  then?" 

*^  His  wife  was  buried  in  the  Campo  Santo." 


A  LEGAL  FICTION. 

There  is  no  fiction  in  the  Arabian  Nights' 
Entertainments,  in  the  Memoirs  of  the  Baron 
Munchausen,  or  in  the  Journey  to  the  Moon, 
more  wildly  extravagant  than  some  of  the 
fictions  of  English  law.  Perversions  of  truth 
and  nature,  more  grotesque  than  the  griffins 
and  dragons  of  old  story-books,  have,  for  ages, 
been  poured  forth  out  of  the  tight  curls  and 
hoary  records  of  that  rusty  institution.  Some, 
have  been  slowly  and  painfully  worn  away 
from  the  rock  of  bigotrv  by  the  droppings  of 
common-sense ;  but  others  remain,  which  no 
power  of  ridicule,  no  amount  of  conviction, 
no  strength  of  reasoning,  can  overcome. 
Amongst  them,  few  represent  injustice  pushed 
to  the  extreme  of  absurdity  more  vividly 
than  that  legal  fiction— an  English  wife. 

Neither  statute  law  nor  equitv  law  can  be 
brought  to  acknowledge  that  the  spring  of 
.our  being  and  of  our  best  affections  Uves  and 
breathes  in  that  part  of  Great  Britain  called 
England.  Law  is  totally  blind  to  its  exist- 
ence within  that  limit  There  are  English 
daughters,  sisters,  aunts,  nieces,  widows  and 
mistresses.  There  are  also  English  mothers 
— they  having  been  recently  brought  within 
the  range  of  the  Great  OwVb  vision — ^but 
there  are  no  English  wives.  The  proclaiming 
of  bans  in  an  English  church  is  a  proclama- 
tion of  outlawry — a  due  notice  that  the 
woman  is  to  be  banned  from  the  protection 
of  the  law.  When  she  marries,  die  dies ;  being 
handed  over  to  be  buried  in  her  husband's 
arms,  or  pounded  and  pummelled  into  the 
grave  with  his  arms.  Not  only  she  herself, 
but  every  semblance  of  property  she  pos- 
sesses, is  handed  over  to  her  lord;  unless 
she  has  previously  passed  it  away  to  some- 
body else.  In  the  curious  ey£  of  the  law 
(which  does  not  see  her,  but  sees  her  natural 
or  acquired  rights  plainly  enough  to  deprive 
her  of  them)  a  wife — like  a  convict — cannot 
have  or  hold  one  iota  of  anvthing  that  has 
value.  Even  the  clothes  she  wears  at  the 
altar,  the  ornaments  with  which  her  friends 
have  decked  her,  the  ring  the  bridegroom 
pretends  to  give  her,  belong  to  him  from  that 
time  forward.  The  law  does  not  forbid  him 
to  cut  off  the  hair  of  her  head,  and  to  sell  it 
to  adorn  the  heads  of  other  women.  Time 
was,  when  her  very  children  might  be  torn 
from  her  breast,  without  any  fault  on  her 
part  There  is  one  instance  in  which  a  hus- 
band did  actually  seize  and  carry  away  a 
suckling  infant,  as  his  wife  sate  nursing  it  in 
her  own  mother's  house.  Another,  in  which 
the  husband  being  himself  in  prison  for 
debt,  gave  his  wife's  legitimate  child  to  the 
woman  he  cohabited  with.  A  third  (in 
which  the  parties  were  of  high  rank),  where 


the  husband  deserted  his  wife ;  claimed  the 
baby  born  after  his  desertion ;  and  left  her 
to  learn  its  death  from  the  newspapers.  In 
all  these  cases,  the  claim  of  the  father  was 
held  to  be  indisputable.  There  was  no  law 
then  to  help  the  mother,  as  there  ia  no  law 
now  to  help  the  wife.  It  is  only  recently 
that  this  has  been  altered,  so  as  to  give  a  wife 
a  partial  power  over  her  children. 

Having  nothing  for  herself,  the  wife  can 
leave  nothing  to  others:  consequently,  if  die 
make  a  will,  it  is  void ;  and  if  she  made  awiU 
before  marriage,  that  ceremony  annuls  it 
She  cannot  legally  claim  her  own  earnings, 
whether  she  weed  potatoes,  or  paint  pictures, 
or  mangle  Unen,  or  educate  other  peopled 
children,  or  make  shirts,  or  sing  operas,  or 
knit  purses,  or  write  poems.  Every  farthing 
she  eains  belongs  to  her  husband ;  and,  if  the 
employer  pay  her  without  his  sanction,  he 
can  compel  a  second  payment  to  himaelf.  The 
English  wife  cannot  make  a  contract  with 
her  husband  binding  upon  him ;  her  dgnatare 
to  any  bill,  warrant,  quittance,  or  obligation, 
is  so  much  wasted  ink.  Any  person  may  pnb- 
licly  vilify,  libel,  cheat  her-— do,  in  abort,  any 
injury  to  her,  out  of  the  reach  of  the  crimi- 
nal law — with  impunity,  if  her  husband  re- 
fuse to  prosecute  the  offender.  She  must  not 
leave  her  husband's  house  under  the  cruellest 
persecution,  and  he  may  force  her  out  of  any 
other  house  with,  if  he  pleases,  the  aid  <tf  the 
police.  If  she  be  accused  of  infidelity,  and 
her  alleged  lover  be  sued  for  pecuniary 
damages — ^in  accordance  with  a  chivalrous 
custom  of  this  country->she  is  allowed  00 
voice  in  the  proceedings,  although  it  is 
her  reputation  that  is  always  the  point  in 
discussion.  She  cannot  claim  support  as  a 
matter  of  personal  right  from  her  husband; 
for,  although,  nominally,  he  is  bound  to 
maintain  her,  he  is  not  bound  to  her 
to  do  so  \  he  is  only  bound  to  the  country; 
and  to  see  that  she  does  not  cumber  the 
parish.  If  parochial  relief  be  denied  ber, 
because  she  luus  help  f^om  friends,  or  for  other 
sufficient  reason,  he  need  not  contribate  a 
sixpence  towards  her  support,  however  large 
the  fortune  she  may  have  lurought  him,  and 
which  he  enjoys. 

The  short  cut  to  the  Grordian  knot  of  mise- 
ries. Divorce,  is  impossible  cither  to  wife  or 
husband,  unless  the  wife  or  husband,  yeamiBg 
for  that  release  from  misery,  can  commsod 
several  thousand  pounds  to  obtain  an  set 
of  parliament  Even  if  there  be  riches,  tbe 
wife  cannot  divorce  the  husband,  except 
under  circumstances  of  extreme  atrocity- 
only  four  eases  of  the  kind  having  beeo 
successful  in  a  century — althovg^  the  bos- 
baud  can  divorce  the  wife.  ^  In  lower  life 
a  respectable  tradesman  was  tried  for  bigamy, 
and  convicted.  The  second  wife  deposed,  thtt 
he  had  courted  her  for  six  years ;  had  no 
money  with  her ;  on  the  contrary,  supplied 
her  with  money  since  his  apprehension ;  bad 
always  been  very  kind ;  and  that  they  had  t 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Charlca  Dickenc] 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  21,  1855. 


599 


child  of  his  residing  with  them.     The  andi- 
Torced  wife  was  living  with  an  omnibas  man, 
and    had   been   in  a  lanatic  asyiam.    Mr. 
RnsecU  Gnrnej,  in  deciding  the   case,  ob- 
served, with  epigrammatic  truth,  that  *thi8  i 
was  one  of  those  unfortunate  cases,  in  which, 
in  the  present  state  of  the   law,  if  a  man  ' 
was  not  Imssessed    of  wealth,  he  had  no 
power  to  remedy  his  situation : '  and  know- 
ing (as  we  do  know),  that  if,  instead  of 
plain  Mr.  Gray  and  obscure  Mary  Adams, 
these  people  had  been  Lord  Gray  ton  and  Ladv 
Mary,  we  should  simply  have  had '  Gray ton^s 
Divorce  Bill'  going  quietly  through  the  House 
of  Lords;  we  can  scarcely  wonder  if  murmurs 
arise  against  this  wonderful  system  of  legisla- 
tion.    Another  case :  A  Mrs.  Adsett  claimed 
support  ftom  her  husband,  a  gun-maker.  The 
husband  very  coolly  informed  the  magistrate 
that  he  could  not  support  her ;  on  £e  con- 
trary, for  some  months  she  had  supported 
him;    but   she   might  come  back  to  him. 
The  wife  replied  that  he  had  a  mistress,  and 
she  had  three   children.     The  magistrates 
remarked  that  they  were  very  sorry,  but  the 
wife  must  go  to  the  home  provided  for  her,  misr 
tress  or  no  mistress — the  law  of  Bogland  not 
making  that  a  ground  of  special  protection.''* 
If  anything  could  add  to  the  ridicule  and 
absurdity  of  this  part  of  the  law,  it  is  the 
fact  that,  although  it  is  law  in  England,  it  is 
not  law  in  Scotland.    In  that  country  divorce 
is  obtainable  by  a  simple    process,  and    is 
open  to  the  appeal  of  either  party.    A  wife 
accused  of  infidelity  defends  herself  when 
her  presumed  paramour  may  be  prosecuted : 
her  property  is  protected  ;  alimony  is  allotted 
to  her  ]  and  her  clothes  and  '*  paraphernalia,'' 
cannot  be  seized  by  the  husband. 

What  golden  magic  is  there  in  the  silver 
Tweed,  that,  dividing  the  Scottish  from  the  . 
English  matron,  throws  over  the  one  the 
shield  of  the  law,  and  overlooks  the  other  | 
as  a  legal  fiction  T     The  opponents  to  easy  . 
and  equal  divorce   declare,  with   treml^ing 
voice  and  prophetic  solemnity,  that  it  would  | 
be  productive  of  the   grossest   immorality. 
Therefore  England  is  virtuous,  and  *'  Gale-  i 
donia,  stem  and  wild,"  a  nursery  of  vice.  ' 
Everybody    who    knows    that   hot-blooded 
nation,  knows  that,  solely  in  consequence 
of  its  protection  of  women,  it  i)i  a  land 
dedicated  to  Cupid.      ''Statues  of  Yenus 
are    set   up   in   all    the  principal  squares 
of  Edinburgh.     The  marriage-tie  is  a  mere 
true  lovers"  knot     The  ladies  who  present 
themselves  at  Holyrood  are  triumphant  Mes- 
saliuas.    And  on  the  decks  of  the  emigrant 
vessels  which  crowd  the  harbour  of  Leith, 
groups  of  melancholy  cast-ofif  husbands  may 
be  seen,  bidding  reproachful  farewell  to  that 
inhospitable  countrv  where  they  only  exist  to 
be  repudiated  I  "*  The  Scotch  ladies  will  deny 
their  guilt.    They  will  deny  that  the  upper 

*  Letter  to  the  Qaeen  on  Lord  Ob&ncellor  Or^n- 
worth'i  Marriage  and  pirorce  Bill.  Bj  the  Hon.  Mra. 
Morton,  p.  43. 


classes  of  their  nation  have  proved  themselves 
more  immoral  than  the  upper  classes  in  Eng- 
land. They  will  prove,  that  in  five  years,  only 
twenty  Scottish  couples  have  availed  them- 
selves of  the  privilege  of  divorce.  In  vain.  The 
Lord  Chancellor  and  the  House  of  Peers  have 
pronounced  that,  to  permit  women  in  England 
to  enjoy  the  privileges  accorded  to  women  in 
Scotland,  would  be  productive  of  the  grossest 
immorality  and  of  multitudinous  divorce. 

Nevertheless,  the  Solicitor-General  pro- 
mises to  acknowledge  the  existence  of  English 
wives,  some  of  these  fine  days.  He  said  he 
would  bring  forward  a  measure  with  that  object 
immediately  after  the  Easter  recess.  But 
Easter,  Whitsuntide, Midsummer,  have  passed, 
and  still  the  English  matron  remains  a  legal 
fiction. 

If  the  eloquence,  energy,  and  wrongs  of  one 
English  wife  could  dispel  it,  her  sisters  in 
adversity  would  not  have  to  wait  until  after 
'^  Parliament  had  expressed  an  opinion  on  the 
Testamentary  Jurisdiction  Bill  "•  (the  Greek 
Calefads  to  which  the  Solicitor-General  post- 
poned the  matter  ftom  Easter,  or  Whitsuntide, 
or  any  other  definite  time),  until  the  eye  of 
the  law  condescends  to  open  itself  to  their 
existence.  The  spirited  letter  to  the  Queen 
which  we  have  here  quoted — written  by  a 
lady  whose  statements  of  her  own  case  include 
almost  every  moral  wrong  and  deprivation, 
I  suffered  in  her  own  person,  that  a  wife  can  be 
subjected  to — ought  to  give  such  a  stimulus  to 
public  opinion  and  sense  of  right,  as  will 
hasten  the  slow  operations  of  law-making. 

COUNTY  GUY. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  has  a  refrain  to  one  of 
his  charming  ballads,  in  the  form  of  an  inter- 
rogation. The  guests  are  met ;  the  bride  is 
ready  (as  far  as  I  can  recollect), but  the  bride- 
groom is  missing ;  and  the  poet  plaintively 
asks : 

"  Where  ii  County  Gay  ?  *» 

I  shall  be  glad  to  inform  the  literary  execu- 
tors and  assigns  of  the  Wizard  of  the  North 
of  the  whereabouts  of  the  Guy  so  anxiously 
inquired  after.  It  needs  not  an  advertise- 
ment in  the  second  column  of  the  Times  to 
move  him  to  return  to  his  allegiance.  County 
Guy  is  to  be  found,  in  great  variety  of  form, 
and  in  most  flourishuig condition  in  the  County 
Militia. 

Now,  I  do  not  object  abstractedly  to  Guys 
in  their  proper  place.    If  bigotry  and  intole- 
rance never  found  a  more  dangerous  outlet 
I  for  their  cruel  passions,  than  the  forlorn  straw- 
'  stuffed  old  scare-crow,  with  steeple  hat,  pipe 
[  in  mouth,  outward  turned  fingers,  and  inward 
I  turned  toes,   that  with  dark    lanteca  and 
,  matches,  and  dogged  rhymes,  is  paraded  about 
i  London,  every  fifth  of  November,  we  should 
hear  far  less  about  Maynooth,  and  Peter  Dens, 
Orange  processions,  and  the  Scarlet  Woman. 

*  Mrs.  Norton's  Letter. 


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HOUSEHOLD  WOBDa    July  II,  1865. 


I  don't  mind  a  Gay  stuck  on  a  pole,  in  a  field, 
to  frighten  the  crows  away.  I  can  bear  with 
that  Gaj  of  Gajs,  the  seijeant-at-armB,  when, 
with  a  gilt  poker  over  his  shoulder,  he  pre- 
cedes Black-rod  to  the  table  of  the  house, 
with  a  message  from  the  Lords.  He  is,  there, 
the  right  Gav  in  the  right  place.  Guildhall, 
too,  is  properly  graced  by  the  two  Guy  Giants, 
Gog  and  Magog.  So  is  a  pantomime  by  the 
Guys  in  huge  masks.  But  I  must,  and  do 
solemnly  protest  against  the  Introduction  of 
the  Guy  element  into  the  British  Army,  I 
think  it  foul  scorn  that  the  brave  men  who 
are  ready  to  roill  their  blood  for  us  like  water, 
as  their  brethren  in  the  line  have  already 
done,  and  to  carry  the  glory  of  tht  meteor 
flag  of  England  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  should 
be  swathed— -for  they  are  not  dressed— in  ha- 
biliments needlessly  and  oflfensively  ugly  and 
ridiculous.  , 

A  vear  since,  I  essayed,  in  ''Mars  k  la 
Mode,^'*  to  point  out  the  errors  into  which  we 
were  in  danger  of  running.  Cheerfully  ad- 
mitting the  necessity  for  an  immediate  and 
radical  reform  of  the  dress  and  accoutrements 
of  the  army ;  recognising  in  all  their  indefen- 
sibility the  abominations  of  the  stock,  the 
coatee,  the  tight  dioulder  straps,  the  heavy 
shakos,  the  unwieldy  brown  beas ;  I  yet  fore- 
saw how  our  glorious  routiners  would  run — 
straight  as  a  bull  at  a  gate — into  the  opposite 
extreme ;  how,  while  reforming,  they  would 
destroy  ;  how,  while  simplifying,  they  would 
ugllfv.  Behold  the  result.  Koutine,  clothing 
boards,  sealed  patterns,  army  tailors,  have 
done  their  work.  The  tailor's  goose  has 
cackled,  and  we  have  an  army  of  Guys. 

Let  any  man  walk  the  streets  of 
any  county  town,  or  of  the  suburbs  of  the 
metropolis,  and  look  at  the  Militia.  The  eye 
hath  not  seen,  the  ear  hath  not  hear  of,  such 
Guys.  They  canH  help  being  raw  lads,  loatish 
in  aspect  and  awkward  in  gai t.  Time  and  the 
drill  Serjeant  will  set  all  that  right.  I  grant 
the  tunic  in  which  the  militiaman  is  dressed, 
properly  fashioned  and  proportioned,  is  a 
sensible,  serviceable  garment:  but,  shades  of 
good  taste,  symmetry  and  common-sense  I  is 
there  any  necessity  for  the  unhappy  County 
Guy  to  wear  a  hideous  blanket-rag  which  is 
in  shape  neither  a  tnnio,  a  Arock,  a  blouse,  a 
smock,  a  jacket,  a  jerldn,  nor  a  vest,  but 
which  vaocilates  imbecilely  between  all  these 
stools,  and  must  fall  to  the  ground  at  last,  as 
a  preposterous  absurdity  ?  Is  there  anything 
in  the  articles  of  war  that  renders  it  im- 
perative for  this  miscalled  tunic  to  be  dyed  a 
dingy  briekdnst  oolonr— likea  bad  wine  stain 
or  an  old  iron-mould— and  for  the  monstrosity 
to  be  finished  off  with  facings  that  give  the 


♦  Vol  X.,  page  193. 


wretched  militiaman  the  appearance  of  having 
a  sore  throat.  Where  is  l£r.  D.  R.  Hayand  his 
theory  of  the  harmony  of  colours  ?  Where  is 
the  School  of  Design  ?  Where  are  the  com- 
missioners of  nuisances  7  Is  there  any  passage 
in  the  Queen's  Regulations  that  points  out  as 
necessary  to  the  good  discipline  of  the  army 
that  the  militiaman's  tunic  shall  not  fit  him, 
and  that,  in  accordance  with  the  approved 
Treasury  Bench  system  of  the  square  men 
being  put  into  the  round  holes,  the  tall  men 
should  oe  put  into  the  short  men's  coats,  and 
vice  versa  T  Why,  because  military  costnme 
is  so  reformed,  should  the  miserable  militia- 
man be  thrust  into  shrunken  troosera,  baggy 
at  the  knees,  and  too  short  in  the  calf?  W^ 
should  his  head  be  extinguished  by  an  unsuc- 
cessful modification  of  the  Albert  nat  ? 

Why  should  he  be  made  ten  thounod  times 
more  forlorn  and  Indicroua  In  appearaDoe 
than  Bombastes'  army,  than  any  of  FalstelTs 
ragged  regiment ;  than  any  of  the  awk^irc^ 
squad? 

It  would  be  quite  bad  enough  if  tilings 
ended  here ;  but  County  Cruy,  brave  fellow, 
is  ready  to  volunteer  into  the  line,  the  cavaby, 
or  the  guards,  so  the  costume  of  the  line,  the 
cavalry,  and  the  guards  has  been  expressly 
Gu^ified  to  suit  him.  I  have  seen  stalwart 
Serjeants  in  line  regiments— erst  trim  sol- 
dierly men— wandering  furtively  about  ^ 
recruiting  districts  in  the  pnriiens  of  West- 
minster, In  the  new  costume,  and  manifestly 
ashamed.  When  Louis  Napoleon  went  to 
the  City  I  saw,  in  his  escort,  some  cavalry 
officers  dressed  in  the  new  costume.  They 
hovered  in  appearance  somewhere  between 
foreign  couriers,  horse-riders  at  Franconi's, 
and  Lord  Mayor's  postilions.  Only  last 
Sunday,  crossing  Trafalgar  Square,  I  saw  the 
Foot  Guards  marching  home  to  their  bar- 
racks on  their  way  ftt)m  Church.  I  declare 
that  their  appearance  gave  me  the  horrors  for 
the  rest  of  the  day.  Their  "  togs  "  (no  word 
out  af  the  domain  of  slang  will  at  all  convey 
an  idea  of  their  ugliness),  ill-made,  ill-flttiBg, 
their  bearskins,  so  boastfiilly  cut  down  awhile 
since,  manifestly  more  cumbrons  and  un- 
shapely than  before.  There  was  one  juvenile 
officer— quite  a  little  boy— who  slunk  along ; 
his  head,  poor  child — aching  and  fevered, 
perhaps,  by  last  night's  Haynuuket  fh>lics— 
quite  buried  and  weighed  down  by  his  enor- 
mous muff-cap.  When  the  regiment,  on  sa 
omnibus  passing,  broke  into  a  quick,  rannhif 
step,  to  see  this  little  officer  trotting  aoroa 
the  square,  his  little  legs  kickinff  np  tke 
dust,  his  puny  sword  flickering  in  his  band, 
and  the  skirts  flip-flapping  In  the  sonmier 
breeze,  was  a  sight  to  make  the  friends  of 
bad  taste  laugh. 


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^ limUiar  in  their  MwtJuiuEOVSFEOLD  W0RD8.^^—8mAnan^. 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS. 

A  WEEKLY  JOURNAL. 
COITDTTCTED   BT   CHABLES   DICKEITS. 


No.  26.] 


J.   A.   DIX,   PUBLISHER, 

Owncm,  N<k  10  Pass  Flaos,  Nbw-Yo»k. 


[Whole  No.  279. 


MY  GARDEN  WALKS. 

"  Gardens,"  says  Sir  Thomas  Brown, "  were 
before  gardeners,  and  but  some  hoars  after 
the  earth."  A  passion  for  gardening  seizes 
ns  before  we  know  what  horticnlture  means, 
and,  bat  some  months  after  we  come  into  the 
world.  On  mj  first  visit  to  London,  when  a 
tiny  child,  an  early  qaestion  which  a  relative 
pat,  was,  "  Won't  you  like  to  walk  round  the 
garden  ? "  Of  course  I  liked.  But  fancy  a 
country  babe's  astonishment  to  find  the  gar- 
den no  other  than  Covent  Garden  Market, 
then  unadorned  by  architectoral  devices. — 
Still,  a  market  makes  an  excellent  garden- 
walk,  as  we  shall  see  by-and-by.  Instruction 
may  be  gained,  whether  you  eat  your  break- 
fast of  bread  and  grapes  while  strolling 
amidst  the  waggon-loads  of  tomatoes,  the 
bushels  of  red  and  yellow  funguses,  the  piles 
of  gourds,  the  sweet  and  stickey  basketfuls 
of  figs,  which  encumber  the  surface  of  an 
Italian  piazza ;  or  whether  you  fortify  your 
stomach  against  the  cold  with  a  *^  drap  o' 
whuskey"  previons  to  contemplating  the 
ragged  kale  and  the  snow-white  bonnets 
which  flutter  in  the  markets  of  granite-built 
Aberdeen. 

The  land  o'  cakes  is  the  land  of  gardeners, 
— or  rather  the  land  which  sends  forth  hordes 
of  gardeners  to  invade  the  southern  wilder- 
ness with  fork  and  spade.  As  the  pictured 
negro,  praying  for  emancipation,  had  a  label 
streaming  from  his  mouth,  inscribed  ^*Am  I 
not  a  man  and  a  brother  7 "  So  I,  wanting  to 
procure  a  seed  or  scrap  of  something  rare, — 
a  nice  healthy  cutting  with  a  little  bit  of  root 
to  it,  to  borrow  the  famous  habitual  phrase 
of  Mrs.  Bloomwell,  Fellow  of  the  Royal  Hor- 
%  ticoltural  Society, — ^I  would  shout  to  make 
myself  heard,  '*Am  I  not  a  Scotchman  and  a 
brother-gardener  T "  I  have  poisoned  myself 
with  boiled,  dahlia-roots,  potato-nasturtiums, 
and  new-invented  yams.  I  have  flayed  the 
inner  coat  of  my  stomach  in  attempts  to 
revive  salads  of  garden-rocket,  American 
cress,  and  blessed  (cursed  T)  thistle.  I  have 
not  obtained  a  black  rose  by  budding  a  white 
one  on  a  black-currant  bush — and  never  tried 
to  do  so ;  but  I  have  grown  early  tuberoses 
by  starting  the  bulbs,  when  potted^  in  an 
oven ;  and  have  raised  palm-trees  from  date- 
stones  by  a  happy  combination  of  steaming 


and  roasting  in  a  cooking-stove.  I  have 
worked  away  with  the  watering-pot  (full  of 
mystic  soup,  more  invigorating  m  its  effects 
than  viper-broth),  while  the  first  drops  of  a 
heavy  shower  were  descending ;  aod  I  have 
swept  the  snow  over  a  bed  of  alpines,  while 
the  white  flakes  were  falling  fast.  In  short, 
sketch  any  sort  of  caricature  you  please,  put 
•*  Very  fond  of  gardening  "  under  it,  and  I'll 
not  deny  that  it  may  apply  to  me. 

Whither  shall  we  firat  direct  our  steps? 
Let  us  take  a  turn  in  the  Flemish  garden,  for 
the  sake  of  its  convenient  proximity,  after 
having  put  up  our  horse  and  carriole  at  the 
sign  of  the  Belle  Jardiniere,  or  the  Pretty 
Gardeness.  The  word  has  need  of  a  modi- 
fied termination  in  a  land  where,  of  innu- 
merable horticultural  agents,  it  may  be 
sung,  "And  she's  of  the  feminine  gender." 
My  opposite  neighbour  complains  of  a  bad 
back-ache,  because,  his  wife  being  without  a 
domestic,  he  is  obliged  himself  to  weed  and 
dig — work  which,  otherwise,  he  would  no 
more  be  expected  to  do,  than  to  wash  up  the 
dishes  or  suckle  the  baby.  Our  own  little 
maid,  such  a  neat-handed  Phyllis  in  the 
kitchen,  is  not  less  adroit  in  our  garden  of 
herbs ;  and,  to  complete  our  successions,  she 
absolutely  insists  on  some  purslane  and  gol- 
den-leaved sorrel  from  Flanders.  Also  some 
belle  dame  or  beautiHil  lady  (orache)  to  put 
into  the  soup:  also  some  good  salad  seed, 
with  a  baskei  of  the  full-grown,  autumn- 
sown  plants  therefrom,  called  grandmeres,  or 
grandmothers,  on  which  she  will  subsist  as 
long  as  a  morsel  remains.  All  fiesh  is  grass; 
all  French  men's  and  women's  fiesh  is  the 
concentrated  substance  of  ^rden-vegetables. 
Without  billions  and  trillions  of  leel^s  and 
carrots,  mountains  of  cabbage,  Egyptian  great 
pyramids  of  sorrel,  and  salading  enough  to 
smother  a  whole  country  beneath  its  weight, 
the  grand  French  nation  would  droop,  and 
would  soon  fall  into  an  ailing  state.  An 
English  village,  suffering  under  the  sup- 
posed visitation  of  an  overwhelming  ava- 
lanche of  lettuce  and  endive,  would  con- 
sider the  dreadful  accident  as  hopeless,  and 
would  submit  to  its  fate  with  becoming  re- 
signation. A  French  community,  like  the 
rat  imprisoned  in  the  cheese,  would  deliber- 
ately and  resolutely  set  to  to  eat  its  way 
out  of  it.    An  English  farm-lad  ran  away 

279 


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HOUSEUOU)  WORDS.    July  21,  1855. 


[Coodsctedbr 


from  service,  because — ^as  tbcj  gave  bim  salad 
every  day  daring  summer — he  feared  that, 
when  the  winter  came,  tbey  would  make  bim 
eat  hay.  A  French  gar9oa  would  consent  to 
consume  a  certain  portion  of  bay — perhaps 
silly  smoking  it  in  bis  pipe — provided  be  was 
also  allowed  access  to  an  inexhaustible  salad- 
bowl  ;  bread,  oil,  and  vinegar,  of  course,  being 
clauses  in  the  bargain.  *<  How  often  a  day 
would  you  like  to  eat  salad  ?'"  I  inquired  of  a 
servant. — '<  Oh  t  five  or  six  times ;  ca  m'est 
6gal,  Monsieur.    It's  all  the  same  to  me." 

And  then  sorrel  I — with  balf-a-dozen  notes 
of  admiration  after  It,  if  the  printer  will  put 
them.  Who,  that  has  never  quitted  England, 
knows  anything  of  the  inestimable  value  of 
that  much-loved  acetarious  plant  T  Look  at 
the  little  boy  and  girl  sitting  on  the  step  of 
yonder  door,  the  entrance  of  the  wayside  inn, 
au  dernier  sou,  or,  the  last  halfpenny.  With 
a  slice  of  bread  grasped  in  one  fist,  and  a 
buncb  of  fresh  sorrel-leaves  in  tbe  other, 
those  children  are  making  a  contented  meal 
bv  taking  an  alternate  bite  at  each.  Their 
place  in  natural  history  is  a  little  ambiguous ; 
for  on  one  band  they  are  herbivorous,  and  on 
the  other  graminivorous.  Enter,  to  call  for 
a  glass  of  white  beer.  The  mistress  cannot 
attend  to  you;  she  makes  you  wait*  a  little 
instant  She  is  busy  stewing  down  a  whole 
rick  of  sorrel,  salting  it  for  winter  soup. — 
Next  to  the  capture  of  Sebastopol,  the  French 
army  in  the  Crimea  would  be  most  delighted 
to  conquer  a  vast  plain  of  broad-leaved  sorrel. 
My  landlady  thinks  me  an  openhanded  Eng- 
lishman, because,  instead  of  selling  to  others 
a  barrowful  of  sorrel-leaves  out  of  my  garden, 
I  give  them  to  her.  Witb  sorrel,  hot  water, 
butter,  and  bread,  no  poor  French  household 
consider  themselves  pinched  for  a  repast ; 
and  wealthy  peasants  are  often  content  witb 
no  better  fare  for  dinner  and  supper.  Now, 
if  an  English  Lady  Bountiful  were  to  call  on 
some  not-too-well-off  mother  of  a  family,  and 
say,  *'  I  am  going  to  send  you  a  present  which 
will  be  useful  during  the  coming  winter,"  and 
tbeQ  were  to  f^PP^ar  with  a  cart-load  of  green 
sorr6l-leaves,  what  would  the  object  of  bene- 
volence say  at  tbe  sight  of  a  stock  of  such 
provision  ?  As  soon jis  the  first  surprise  was 
over,  would  she  not  give  vent  to  her  angry 
disappointment  (if  she  did  not  charitablv  pro- 
nounce Lady  B.  to  be  crazy).?  And  if  she 
had  sufficient  strength  to  pitch  the  cart  with 
its  verdant  contents  into  the  nearest  ditch, 
would  not  her  neighbours  think  she  was  pro- 
perly vindicating  the  rights  and  iionour  of 
insulted  poor  folks!  But  suppose  themisiress 
of  a  French  chateau  were  to  make  a  similar 
offer  to  the  wife  of  one  of  her  labouring  men, . 
how  the  dame's  eyes  would  ^arkle  I  how  her 
hands  would  cla^p !  aud  wJiat  a  stamp  of  joy , 
would  be  imprinted  on  the  earthen  floor  I  As 
soon  as  the  welcome  cargo  had  arrived,  it 
would  be  carefully  picked  and  shreded  into  a 
tub.  The  half-extinguished  logs  on  the  hearth 
would  be  set  blazing  afresh  ;  the  iron  pot, 


or  chaudron,  would  be  bitched  up  into  its 
suspensory  mechanism ;  and  tbe  tall  stone- 
ware jar  would  be  filled  to  tbe  brim  with  bot- 
tle-green paste  for  byliemal  pottage.  A 
French  garden,  without  a  large  plot  of  sorrel, 
would  be  as  incomplete  as  a  Christmas  diih 
ner-table  without  a  plum-pudding. 

With  the  exception  of  the  indispensable 
salad,  and  occasionally  sorrel  and  onions,  tbe 
vegetables  thus  admitted  to  the  national 
stomach  give  but  little  trouble  to  the  diges- 
tive organs,  enormous  as  is  their  aggregate 
mass,  in  consequence  of  the  aid  which  th« 
soup-pot  renders.  '*  Give  me,"  exclaims  a 
Frenchwoman,  *'  leeks,  sorrel,  turnips,  car- 
rots, butter,  bread,  and  a  few  fried  onions, 
and  I  will  make  you  a  soupe-maigre  that  shall 
ravish  you !  It  shall  all  be  boUd  down  so  di- 
vinely smooth  and  tender,  that  you  will  not 
feel  the  want  of  meat''  Soup  that  is  not 
meagre  contains  good  st<»^e  of  animal  ingre- 
dients y  but  there  must  be  practical  truth  and 
wisdom  in  administering  to  the  human  frame 
the  essence  of  all  those  roots  and  greena.  All 
vegetables  are  more  or  less  m^iciniU ;  al- 
though, in  such  as  we  usually  consume,  the 
nutritious  particles  have  the  upper  hand. 
Men  cannot  live  on  medicine,  any  more  than 
on  poison.  But,  medicines  are  most  healthily 
efficient  when  taken  in  minute  *and  oft-re- 
peated doses.  Witness  the  iodine,  or  salt,  or 
whatever  it  is,  which  gives  a  sea-side  resi- 
dence its  beneficial  effect  Deprive  a  man  of 
all  access  to  herbage,  or  its  extracts ;  shut 
him  in  a  ship  for  a  twelvemonths'  discovery- 
voyage,  and  you  will  soon  learn  that,  after 
all,  soupe-mai^e  is  not  a  thing  to  be  safely 
despised. 

Do  not,  however,  suppose  that  the  Flem- 
ings care  nothing  about  the  ideal  of  garden- 
ing ;  that  the  limit  of  their  admiration  is  a 
Daniel  Lambert  turnip,  or  a  fat-fair-and- 
forty  cabbage.  On  the  contrary,  they  grow 
even  ornamental  grass  in  pots,  and  treat 
flowers  as  tenderly  as  if  they  were  sentient 
beings.  A  notary  who  should  get  up  a  society 
for  the  prevention  of  cruelty  to  helpless  pot- 
plants,  might  enroll  a  respectable  number  of 
members.  Tender-hearted  Flemings  would 
be  just  as  ready  as  benevolent  Chinese  to  pur- 
chase ill-treated  koo-shoo,  or  trees  dwarfed 
by  stunting  and  starving,  for  the  pleasure  of 
liberating  ^em  into  the  open  ground.  They 
pet  their  flowers,  and  introduce  them,  like  . 
spoiled  children,  into  places  where  they  really 
have  no  business.  In  a  milliner's  shop-win- 
dow, the  silks,  satins,  and  artificial  flowers, 
at  ten  francs  the  bouquet,  are  pushed  on  one 
side,  to  make  way  for  a  real  pompone  rose^ 
which  the  artiste  in  personal  adornment  has 
bought,  for  ten  sous,  of  a  nurseryman.  The 
cobbler  sweeps  away  his  seedy  collection  of 
boots  and  shoes,  to  display  three  or  four  beau- 
tiful calceolarias  in  bloom,  at  tbe  mouth  of 
tbe  cellar-habitation  which  serves  as  bis  den. 
His  children  are  dying  by  inches  of  asphyxia ; 
himself  and  his  wife — to  judge   from  the 


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603 


hue  of  their  complexioos — might  pass  for 
having  been  barried  and  dag  up  again ;  which 
happens  to  them  daily,  barring  the  digging 
up.  Still,  he  takes  the  trouble  to  bring  up 
and  down,  every  morning  and  night,  that 
collection  of  flower-pots  and  those  two  long 
boxes ;  each  of  which  contains  a  row  of  seed- 
ling  Queen  Margarets  or  German  asters.  He 
is  more  anxious  to  provide  air  and  sunshine 
for  them  than  for  his  own  progeny ;  because 
his  progeny,  he  thinks,  can  run  about  and 
take  care  of  themselves,  which  poor  sedentary, 
stationary  flowers  cannot  do.  Do  you  feel 
tempted  to  mount  a  ladder,  and  pluck  the 
bright-yellow  tuft  of  wall-flowers  whose  roots 
are  displacing  the  tiles  on  that  roof?  Tou 
had  better  not.  The  grow  in  full  view  of 
a  score  of  garret-windows,  and  their  perfume 
id  wafted  to  at  least  a  dozen  garetteers.  The 
populace  would  execrate  yon  and  stone  vou 
out  of  the  town,  as  certainly  as  if  yon  had 
killed  a  stork  in  Holland,  or  eaten  a  dish  of 
robin-redbreasts  in  England. 

We  are  crossing  the  great  place  at  Dun- 
kerque.  It  is  a  bright,  breezy  spring  morning, 
which  puts  the  women^s  caps  into  a  flutter,  as 
it  has  brought  the  colour  into  their  cheeks. 
We  carry  each  a  spacious  basket,  to  amuse 
ourselves  with  a  little  out-door  shopping. 
Leaving  the  interesting  group  of  fishwomen, 
who  entreat  us  to  buy  with  an  energy  of 
gesture  that  would  make  us  fear  they  were 
going  to  tear  us  to  pieces,  here  we  are  in  the 
midst  of  the  vegetables,  all  fresh,  clean,  and  I 
bad  almost  said  perfumed.  The  Department 
da  Nord  may  well  be  proud  of  her  markets ;  for 
the  articles  exposed  are  more  inviting  to  look 
at  than  ever  they  were  when  growing  in  the 
open  ground,  or  than  they  ever  will  be  again, 
unless  they  fall  into  the  hands  of  a  merciful 
and  artistic  cook.  At  Le  Havre,  and  else- 
where the  vegetables  ofl'ered  for  sale  look  as 
if  they  had  been  kept  a  week  under  the  green- 
grrocer's  bed,  to  bring  them  to  a  proper  state 
of  ripeness.  But  here,  the  piles  of  ivory  leeks, 
with  their  green  tails  tied  up  in  a  knot,  like 
horses  on  their  way  to  a  country  fair,  would 
safflce  to  make  Ancient  Pistols  mouth  water, 
if  it  had  not  ceased  watering  long  ago.  What 
tiny  white  turnips  to  economise  I  not  bigger 
than  pullets'  eggs :  an  English  gardener 
would  have  tossed  tnem  to  his  pigs.  What 
queer  little  bunches  of  tiny  celery  and  other 
pot-herbs,  all  to  flavour  the  soup,  soup,  soup ! 
And  sorrel,  everlasting  sorrel  (a  touch  of 
Hervey),  green  and  tender  in  the  first  spring 
leaves,  claiming  to  take  its  place  at  present 
on  the  tables  of  the  luxurious  only.  By-and- 
by  it  will  condescend  to  the  multitude,  and 
will  then  liberally  make  up  for  its  present 
reserved  behaviour.  And  what,  in  Heaven's 
name,  are  those  T  Thongs  to  administer  a 
dose  of  knout  T  No,  no ;  simply  dried  eel- 
skins,  for  whips  wherewith  to  thrash  out 
seed,  gentle  flails  whose  upper  half  is 
I  composed  of  tough  and  elastic  flsh-leather. 
Blanched  dandelion,  for  salad  I    Gould  yon 


make  up  your  mind  to  eat  it  ?  And  lo !  pun- 
gent horse-radish,  a  rarity  on  the  continent, 
starts  milk-white  and  cane-like  from  unsus- 
pected beds  to  satisfy  the  cravings  of  English 
captains.  The  baskets  shaped  like  broad- 
brimmed  hats  standing  on  their  crowns,  are 
sadly  deceptive  in  respect  to  their  contents ; 
but  precocity  in  herbs  ought  to  be  paid  for. 
Already  there  are  little  precursors  of  the 
great  Spanish  radishes  that  are  to  be ;  besides 
lovely  bouquets  of  pleasing  bonne-dame  and 
cooling  purslane  and  brilliant  bunches  of 
small  short-horn  carrots,  that  bave  all  the 
ornamental  effect  of  cornelian  and  coral. 
The  nymph  who  sits  in  front  of  her  legless 
wheelbarrow,  which  is  turned  edgewise, 
standing  on  one  side,  to  serve  as  the  gar- 
den-wall by  which  she,  the  lovely  passion- 
flower is  supported  and  sheltered — that  full- 
blown nymph  might  string  those  golden  car- 
rots as  a  diadem,  and  form  a  green  bird-of- 
paradise  plume  out  of  their  delicate  waving 
leaves. 

Step  now  to  the  other  side  of  the  big,  un- 
meaning statue  of  Jean  Bart,  who  looks  as 
if  he  were  about  to  break  bis  nose  by  tum- 
bling over  the  cannon  that  lies  between  his 
leg^,  to  a  quite  difi'erent  department  of  the 
market.  Not  that  we  want  to  bother  our- 
selves with  butter  and  eggs,  with  fatted  fowl, 
or  rabbits  trussed  to  represent  tailors  sitting 
at  ease,  with  their  legs  a-kimbo.  A  truce  to 
housekeeping  cares,  for  a  while.  There,  in 
orderly  row,  are  Flemish  wives  and  maidens, 
each  with  a  little  assortment  of  blooms  and 
flower-roots ;  for  in  the  early  sunshiny  days 
of  the  year,  it  is  a  natural  and  instinctive 
duty  to  be-flower  one's-self.  We  have  under- 
taken to  arrange  a  young  ladv's  pleasure- 
ground ;  here  are  a  few  materials  to  begin 
with.  Forget-me-not,  for  one  sou,  after  a 
little  bargaining  about  the  son-venir.  Hen-^ 
and-chicken  daisy,  for  two  sous,  the  price  de-* 
manded.  White  and  crimson  double  daisy ; 
ditto,  ditto  each.  Beautiful  shortlegged, 
round-headed,  double  stock,  *'  five  sous,  ma- 
demoiselle 1 ''  ''  You  are  pleasanting,  I  will 
give  you  three."  "  Impossible ;  imposseeble  1 " 
**  Not  a  liard  more  than  three  sous.  I  will 
go  and  look  at  those  on  the  other  side." 
"  Take  it,  my  brave  man.  To  the  pleasure ; 
to  the  next  time."  Double  violet,  two  sous  ; 
double-scarlet  anemone  (perfect),  two  sous, 
also.  And  then,  here's  the  great  flowrist  all 
the  way  from  Lille,  by  railway.  Alas,  alas, 
that  such  temptations  must  be  resisted  1  New- 
fashioned,  round-leaved,  Dutch  tree-mignon- 
ette, covered  with  bloom,  and  I  dare  not  re- 
member how  tall,  onlv  a  franc  and  a  few  score 
centimes !  But  we  should  break  it  to  smash, 
and  pound  it  into  spinach  before  we  got  it 
home.  "This,"  I  knowincly  remarked  to 
myself,  "  is  a  very,  very  cnnoas  double  prim- 
rose ;  in  England  it  would  be  worth—"  and, 
before  I  can  mentally  say  another  syllable,  a 
straw-hatted,  elderly  lady  whips  the  whole 
of  the  sample  into  her  capped  domestic's 


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CC«Mteet«abT 


wicker  ark.  How  greedllj  8he  iMtes  at  a 
floral  bait!  Were  she  a  flae  fat  tnrbot,  I 
ehoald  know  how  to  catch  her.  Bat  the 
shall  not  have  the  next  lot,  the  eburk !  She 
entombs  flowers  In  her  maid's  vast  basket  as 
fast  as  a  mUch-cow  swallows  blades  of  grass. 
This  loyelj  crimson  doable  primrose  shall  be 
mine,  for  the  monstroasly  extravagant  price 
of  twentj-flve  centimes,  withont  haggling. 
Match  that  in  Covent  Garden,  for  two-pence- 
half-penn  J,  if  yon  can !  Oar  vessels  are  laden, 
we  can  stow  no  more  on  board  with  safety. 
For  eightpence  halfpenny,  English  monev,  I 
am  possessed  of  a  nice  little  basket-fol  of 
flowers,  each  with  its  roots  so  workmanly 
packed  in  a  ball  of  earth,  that  they  will 
travel  from  the  Place  Jean  Bart  to  mademoi- 
selle's parterre,  without  being  aware  of  the 
change,  unless  you  are  so  indiscreet  as  to  tell 
them  of  it. 

To  discover  in  part  whence  all  this  horti- 
culturai  abundance  comes,  we  will  quietly 
follow  that  fat  old  women,  who  is  going  home 
from  market  on  donkey -back  with  her 
empty  butter-box  behind  her  sheep's-fleece 
saddle.  Immediately  on  leaving  the  gates  of 
Dunkerque,  by  crossing  a  bridge  to  the  left, 
we  are  in  Rosendael.  It  is  not  a  dale,  but  a 
sandy  flat.  A  few  roses  may  be  found  by- 
and-by,  but  hi  more  vulgar  vegetables  pre- 
dominate. Ton  enter  a  series  of  kitchen 
gardens,  in  which  the  art  is  carried  to  tbe 
utmost,  with  tiie  least  possible  artificial  aid. 
No  cloches,  or  bell-glasses,  are  visible.  The 
neighbouring  sea  prevents  extreme  severity 
of  fh)st ;  and  melons,  and  such  like  Indians 
on  short  ftirlongh,  are  not  taken  in  and  done 
for  here.  In  almost  every  garden,  the  indis- 
pensable fixture  is  a  tank  of  brick  for  liquid 
manure.  This  ambrosial  soup  (which  scatters 
o'er  the  dael  anything  but  rosy  odours)  is 
brought  from  the  town  in  long  locomotive- 
Hke  barrels  on  wheels,  drawn  by  pairs  or 
leashes  of  sach  handsome  grey  horses,  that, 
after  seeing  them,  no  lady  need  feel  offended 
at  being  called  a  Flanders  mare  by  sneering 
royalty.  Liquid  manure  is  the  grand  secret, 
the  powder  of  projection  in  Flemish  garden- 
ing ;  it  converts  sand  into  gold.  If  personally- 
untidy  Hervey  had  travelled  in  Flanders,  he 
would  have  been  caught  and  washed  clean 
for  the  sake  of  the  excellent  fertiliser,  the 
fluid  result  of  his  ablutions. 

High  culture  and  well-contrived  shelter 
have  converted  a  sandbank  into  a  wilderness 
of  esculents ;  there  are  forests  of  asparagus 
(as  yet  in  Its  early  drumstick  phase),  and 
prairies  of  salading.  The  hedges  are  kept  beau- 
tifully clean  at  foot  by  digging,  not  hoeing,  the 
earth  on  each  side  of  their  roots.  The  ber- 
ceaux,  or  arbours  composed  entirely  of  fruit- 
trees,  would  g^ve  our  country  gardeners  some 
trouble  to  prune  them  into  shape.  The  diffi- 
culty is  here  got  over  bv  a  double  ladder,  like 
the  letter  A  without  the  cross-stroke.  The 
sandy  soil  is  warm  and  dry,  and  therefore 
early.    Superabundant  moisture  soon  filters 


away,  and  is  let  off  at  the  first  ebb-tide  into 
Fumes  canal.  Long  rows  of  short  stunted 
pollard  willows  serve  for  boundaries,  and 
afford  protection,  by  acting  as  the  colomn  to 
which  are  attached  fragile  walls  of  reed, 
straw,  and  even  of  asparagus  halm.  Within 
the  incloenres,  by  a  cunning  device,  the 
stronger  things  are  made  to  shelter  and 
nurse  the  weaker.  Rows  of  low  apple-trees, 
with  rank-and-file  underwood  of  currant 
and  gooseberry  bushes—the  latter  now  and 
then  so  tall  and  luxuriant  as  to  acquire  the 
character  of  weeping  gooseberries — temper 
the  wind  to  the  tender  s^diings.  In  the  area 
of  these  fruit-encircled  squares,  not  a  weed  is 
to  be  seen,  ifyou  would  give  a  five-franc 

Eiece  for  it.    Horticultural  cleanliness  is  ex- 
ibited  in  Flemish   perfection.    Amidst   a 
tribe  consisting  of  gai^ners  only,  it  becomes 
a  social,  quite  as  much  as  an  individual  duty. 
The  thistle,  which  scatters  its  down-winged 
seeds  undisturbed,  inflicts  a  greater  amount 
of  harm  on  the  community  at  large,  than  on 
the  sluggard  who  harbours  it.    I  do  believe 
that,  in  Rosendael,  the  apparition  of  a  good 
large  tuft  of  groundsel  run  to  seed  in  the 
midst  of  any  vegetable  crop — supposing  so^ 
an  enormi^  possible— would  cause  its  pro- 
prietor to  he  cbarivari'd  as  a  public  nuisance 
by  his  disgusted  neighbours.    On  the  same 
principle,  poultry  are  tabooed.  Not  a  solitaiy 
cock  and  hen  did  I  see  in  all  Roeendael, 
though  I  heard  plenty  of  nightingales.    As 
the  ancients  sacriflced  goats  to  Bacchus,  be- 
cause they  devour  vines  so  greedily  as  to  put 
an  effectual  stopper  on  wine-growing,  so  the 
Rosendaelers  feel  it  a  matter  of  duty  to  im- 
molate cocks  and  hens,  even  cochin-chinas, 
before  the  altar  of  the  garden  god.    Some 
tradition  of  the  tulip  mania  may  be  current 
amongst  them ;  but  they  are  stlU  in  incredu- 
lous ignorance  of  the  fact  that  an  egg,  in 
England,  will  sell  for  as  much  as  a  puUet  in 
France.    A  few  snarling,  yapping  dogs,  of 
only  moderate  size  and  savageness,  are  re- 
garded as  more  profitable  live  stock  to  keep. 
A  striking  feature  of  Rosendael,  common 
to  all  good  kitchen  gardens,  is  the  close  and 
hard-pressed  succession  of  crops.    Little  cab- 
bages and  cauliflowers  of  progressive  ages, 
pricked  out  for  gradual  transplantation  ;  for- 
ward lettuces  quincunxed  amongst  iMM^kward 
greens :  radishes  broadcast  amongst  straight 
rows  of  over-year's  onions :  little  lettuces, 
loosely  broadcast  amongst  platoons  of  sum- 
mer cabbages ;  double  stocks,  and  other  po- 
pular flowers,  grown  on  a  large  scsde  as 
crops ;  carrots  intended  to  produce  seed  this 
summer,   planted    amongst     autumn-eown 
onions  Uiafc  are  meant  to  be  drawn  green  ; 
spUiach  sown  amongst  autumn-planted  cab- 
bages;  continuous  thickets  of  leeks,  like 
bamboo  jungles  in  miniature,  whose  standing- 
place,  as  fast  as  the  quit  it,  is  occupied  by 
another  generation  of  greens ; — these  are  a 
few  of  the  ways  and  means  by  which  the 
Rosendaelers  pay  their  rent. 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    Jclt  28,  1855. 


605 


There  is  another  famous  Flemish  garden 
about  which  I  cannot  walk,  but  am  obliged 
to  swim  from  bed  to  bed.  But  we  have  had 
enough  garden-walking  for  once ;  should  you 
like  another  stroll  before  the  summer  is  gone, 
we  wtll  take  a  turn  together  on  a  f\iture  oc- 
casion ;  whether  in  mid-air,  or  through  the 
water,  time  and  the  editorial  nod  will  decide. 
And  so,  quoting  Cjmbeline,  more  or  less 
ejcactlj : 
Here's  a  tow  flowen  ;  bat  about  next  month,  more. 

MORE  GRIST  TO  THE  MILL. 

A  BOY  aged  fifteen  was  killed  the  other 
day  in  a  cotton-mill  in  this  manner:— Two 
persons  were  mending  a  strap  that  turned 
the  dressing^-fhkmes,  and  ran  upon  a  hori- 
zontal shaft,  four  feet  firom  the  ceiling.  He 
took  hold  of  the  strap  to  help  them,  and  was 
instantly  pulled  up,  and  carried  round  the 
main  line  shaft  (seven  feet  from  the  floor). 
When  taken  down,  both  his  legs  were  off 
at  the  knees,  and  an  arm  was  fractured. 
He  died  shortly  afterwards.  It  was  stated 
at  the  inquest  that  this  boy  was  to  blame — 
that  he  ought  not  to  have  touched  the 
strap,  and  haid  frequently  been  cautioned  by 
the  firm,  as  it  was  observed  (the  reprobate !) 
that  he  was  too  much  disposed  to  assist 
others. 

A  youth  aged  twenty-two  was  smashed 
the  other  day  in  a  cotton-factory.  We 
find  the  facts  recorded  in  the  Manchester 
Guardian  of  the  fifth  of  July  last  past. 
The  case  preceding  it  was  recorded  in 
the  Manchester  Examiner  and  Times  of  the 
same  dav.  In  the  instance  of  the  second 
victim,  the  machine  being  in  motion,  it  was 
the  poor  fellow's  duty  to  throw  one  end  of  a 
strap  over  a  pulley  eight  feet  from  the  floor 
and  near  the  ceiling.  The  pulley  worked  on 
a  horizontal  shaft,  unfenced  in  defiance  of 
the  law ;  and,  alighting  by  accident  on  the 
shaft,  began  to  wrap  round  it.  The  youth 
when  he  threw  the  strap  had  (as  people  out 
of  factories  almost  invariablv  do  when  they 
throw  a  rope)  given  one  end  a  turn  round 
his  hand  to  prevent  the  chance  of  its 
slipping  from  his  hold.  By  that  end  he  was 
suddenTy  drawn  up,  ai^d  squeezed  so  tightly 
against  a  beam  in  the  ceiling  that  it  was  very 
difficult  to  extricate  his  body.  His  head 
was  scalped ;  his  left  arm  was  torn  out  by 
the  socket — so  was  one  leg;  the  other  arm 
and  leg  were  broken,  and  the  bodv  was  much 
crushed.  An  enlightened  jury,  finding  that 
the  vouth  had  held  the  strap  so  that  he  was 
unable  to  let  go  in  an  instant,  determined 
that,  "under  these  circumstances,  the  jury 
were  of  opinion  that  no  one  but  the  deceased 
himself  was  to  blame  in  the  matter,  and 
that  the  occurrence  was  accidental."  Blame 
was  accordingly  cast  upon  the  mangled  body 
of  the  victim ;  and  the  gentlemen  who,  in 
open  defiance  of  the  law,  refuse  to  protect 


life  against  such  accidents  by  fencing  their 
machinery,  are  supposed  to  have  no  more  to 
do  with  the  affair  than  the  archangel 
Gabriel. 

But,  the  factory  inspectors  will  proceed  for 
penalties?  Certainly  they  will;  and  then 
if  these  gentlemen  be  members  of  the 
National  Association  of  Factory  Occupiers, 
they  will  have  their  case  defended  for  them 
and  their  fine  immediately  paid. 

It  is  only  because  such  an  association  has 
been  formed  that  we  revert  to  this  distressing 
topic.  If  factory  occupiers  organise  a  strike 
against  the  law— which  is  an  expression 
of  the  righteous  will  of  civilised  society 
— they  have  to  be  opposed;  and,  to  that 
end,  what  ihej  do  shall  be  done  openly, 
so  far  as  we  can  cause  it  to  be  done 
so.  They  are  now  actively  engaged  among 
themselves  in  raising  money.  The  papers 
which  they  circulate  among  themselves  are 
in  our  hands,  and  contain  matter  to  this 
effect :  That  they  will  labour  to  procure  a 
repeal  of  the  inspectors  power  of  examining 
operatives  privately,  that  they  may  speak 
without  fear  of  the  wrath  of  their  em- 
ployers. That  they  will  get  rid.  if  they  can, 
of  the  chief  office  of  factory  inspectors  in 
London.  That  they  will  put  a  stop,  if  pos- 
sible, to  the  right  vested  in  in^ctors,  of 
instructing  wounded  operatives  how  they 
may  proc^  for  damages  agidnst  employers, 
by  whose  wilful  negligence  they  have  been 
maimed.  That  the  certifying  surgeon  shall, 
if  they  can  manage  it,  be  got  into  the  power 
of  the  petty  sessions  of  his  district,  and  not 
remain  responsible  to  the  inroeoior  for  his 
conduct.  l%at  no  shafts  more  than  seven  feet 
from  the  floor  shall  require  fencing.  That 
nothing  else  shall  be  fenced,  if  arbitrators 
overthrow  the  opinion  of  the  inspector  that 
it  ought  to  be  fenced ;  and  that  no  such  pro- 
tection of  operatives  shall  be  held  necessary 
in  the  case  of  adult  males;  but  onl^  in  the  case 
of  women,  young  persons,  and  children.  That 
the  clause  in  the  Factory  Act  which  excludes 
a  millowner  from  deciding  upon  points  closely 
affecting  his  own  money-interests,  in  dealings 
with  the  operatives,  ought  to  be  repealed,  in- 
dicating as  it  does  "an  unwarrantable  sus- 
picion upon  the  honourable  conduct  of  that 
portion  of  the  magistracy  who  are  engaged  in 
manufacturea"  Human  natare  is  purely 
disinterested  In  the  north,— witness  the  ex- 
istence of  this  very  National  Association, 
by  which  the  unwarrantable  sospicion  is, 
among  other  measures  for  the  taking  care  of 
Nnml^  One,  cunninglv  spumed!  Finallv, 
the  representatives  of  this  body— who  would 
seem  to  go  so  far  as  to  oppose  evervthing 
that  might  tend  to  save  an  operative's  life, 
for  they  "beg  to  caution  the  trade  against 
the  adoption  of  any  compromise,  whether  of 
hooks  or  otherwise,"— these  gentlemen  have 
arrived  at  the  following  conclusion :  "  With 
these  views,  the  deputation  are  of  opinion 
that  a  ftind  of  not  less  than  five  thousand 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  28, 1866. 


CC«adKtadkr 


ponnds  riioald  be  immedlatelj  raised ;  and 
tbev  BDggeet  that  all  caaes  of  prosecution 
which  the  committee  of  management  may  be 
of  opinion  can  be  legitimately  dealt  with  by 
the  A»ociation,  shall  be  defended  by,  and  the 
penalties  or  damages  paid  out  of  the  funds  of 
the  Association." 

Who,  after  this,  can  share  the  indignation 
of  the  cotton  owners  when  poor  operatives 
strike, — when  they  subscribe  moneV  to  sus- 
tain each  other  in  a  combination  against  what 
they  believe — though  not  always  rightly — 
to  be  grievous  wrong.  The  operative  strikes 
against  hunger,  against  what  ne  thinks  hard 
dealing  on  the  part  of  his  employers.  The 
employer  strikes  against  humanity,  and  shows 
how  hardly  he  can  deal,  by  subscribing  to 
help  and  be  helped  in  a  struggle  against  the 
necessity  of  furnishing  protection  to  the  lives 
of  his  workpeople.  The  operative  has  a 
right  to  withnold  his  labour  when  he  is  not 
satisfied  with  its  reward :  the  master  has  no 
right  to  leave  his  machinery  unfenced,  when 
the  law  orders  him  to  fence  it ;  and,  in  spite 
of  the  phrase  **  cases  that  can  be  legitimately 
deaft  with,''  it  Is  evident  that  he  associates 
with  other  masters  that  he  may  successfully 
oppose  the  law  by  the  payment  of  a  slight 
annual  subscription.  Application  Is  made 
for  it  by  the  Association  to  all  factory 
owners,  at  the  rate  of  one  shilling  per  no- 
minal horse-power.  This  subscription  will 
enable  him  to  persist  in  doing  wrong  and 
to  take  all  the  consequences,  without  any 
great  harm  to  his  pocket.  Penalties  are 
to  be  paid  out  of  the  funds  of  the  Asso- 
ciation. Should  the  struggle  prove  expensive, 
there  is  a  provision  made  in  the  rules  of 
the  Association  for  the  maintenance  of  fUnds 
to  an  unlimited  amount ;  for,  says  the  eighth 
rule,  '*when  the  balance  In  the  hands  of 
the  treasurer  shall  be  less  than  the  sum 
produced  by  a  rate  of  sizpence  per  horse- 
power, the  committee  shall  make  a  further 
call." 

We  do  not  know  whether  the  employer  of 
the  youth  who  was  crushed  the  other  day  by 
an  unfenced  shaft,  in  the  manner  stated  by 
the  newspaper  report  to  which  we  have  re- 
ferred, had  paid  his  money  to  the  Association. 
If  he  had,  we  suppose  he  will  have  his  pocket 
carefully  defended  from  any  of  the  conse- 
quences which  may  fall  upon  it  should  he 
be  sued  under  the  act  in  that  case  made  and 
provided. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  now,  we  think,  of 
the  direction  that  will  have  eventually  to  be 
taken  hy  the  law, — is  it  too  much  to  hope  that 
it  can  be  taken  with  the  proper  promptitude  ? 
A  time  should  be  fixed,  after  which  the  mill- 
owner  will  leave  shafts  unfenced  at  his  peril. 
Being  liable,  as  he  now  is,  and  must  be  made 
to  feel  that  he  is,  to  penalties  only  too  small 
upon  conviction  \»f  the  simple  fact  that  he 
defies  the  law,  he  must  be  held  lesally,  what 
he  is  actually,  guilty  of  Manslaughter,  when- 
ever it  is  proved  that  his  illegal  practice  has 


destroyed  a  life.    At  least,  the  body  of  the 
National  Association  could  not  undertake  to    ■ 
go  to  prison  for  its  members.  i 

CRIES  FROM  THE  PAST.  j 

In  my  hedge-side  wallet  there  are  yet  more    j 
curiosities  of  London  left,  though  I  may  bid    ; 
Mr.    Timbs  farewell,  with   hearty    thanks.    { 
There  are  some  curious  things  and  curious 
people  about  town  that  are  within  my  ken, 
and  whose  acquaintance  I  should  like  my 
readers  to  make.    But  they  are  of  a  humbler,    | 
meaner,  less  historical  order  than  the  curi-    | 
osities  of  Mr.  Timbs.*    They  bear,  perhaps, 
about  the  same  relation  to  the  archeologi<^,    < 
artistic,  or  literary  curioaities  of  the  metro- 
polis, that  one  of  those  grotesque  old  pew-    | 
ledges  or  ludicrously  carved  bench-ends  you    ; 
find  in  medieval  cathedrals,  bears  to  the  grand    | 
groined  and  fretted  roof,  the  pillared  aislee,    ' 
the  altar-screen  decussated  with  sculptured    | 
tracery,  the  storied  windows  staining  the    ! 
marble  of  the  tombs  beneath  with  their  dim 
religious  light,  or  flashing  on  the  epitaphs  of 
the  good  and  the  brave  with  many-colonrel   , 
glories— echoes  of  the  Glory  to  which  they   • 
are    gone.     Mine    are    the    curiosities  of  | 
obscurity,  poverty,  and  the  paltry  devices  of  i 
a  cankered  civilisation.  To  others  I  leave  the 
memorials  of  arts  and  learning,  and  hntHC 
achievements,  and  pious  deeds. 

The  cries  of  London  are  exceeding  curious, 
and  have  been  so  for  ages.    But  those  I 
allude  to  are  scarcely  commercial.    They  are 
not  such  as  you  will  find  recorded  with  pencil 
as  well  as  pen  in  old  books.    They  do  not 
enter  into  the  same  category  as  '*  laly-white 
muffins  I "  "  Hearth-stones  and  Silver-sand !  -^ 
"  Umbrellas  to  mend  I "  *'  Knives  and  scisson  ; 
to  grind.  01"  "  Maids,  have  you  any  coney- 
skins  ?  "    "  Cherry-ripe ! "    *'  Sparragrass  1  "^ 
"  Hot  gre^  pease  and  a  suck  of  bacon  I  **   (I   ' 
have  a  picture  of  this  cry  in  action,  rqve- 
senting  the  pease  merchant  holding  to  the   . 
eager  lips  of  a  town-made  boy  a  small  lump 
of  bacon  secured  to  the  end  of  a  string— a    < 
taste  of  this  porcine  delicacy  serving  as  a 
"  relish"  to  the  hot  grey  pease ;  but  the  siring  , 
being  provided  lest  the  boy  in  an  ecstasy  i 
of  epicurean  delight,  should  incontinently   ! 
bolt  it  altogether.)  They  are  not  of  the  saae 
order  of  cries  as  "  Tiddy-iddy-doll !"  as  **  Pity 
the  poor  Prisoners  in  the  dark  Dungeon  1^ 
— a  cry  popular  when  the  infamous  cl^ 
gates  were  standing,  and  used  as  plac^  of 
confinement — or  as  that  well-known,  long- 
continued  cry  of  the  man  who  sold  the  little 
cakes  with  currants  in  them,  crying : 

If  rd  as  maeh  monej  m  I  could  tell, 
I  would  not  cry  young  lambs  to  aeU. 

Nor  are  my  cries  to  be  confounded  with  the 
homelier  and  more  modem  ones — the  cries 
that  come  home  to  our  ears,  bosoms  sad 
pockets  every  day  in  the  week  save  Sunday : 

•  Seo  Oorlositlei  of  London,  ptge  495. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


0  hwlM  Mekeu.] 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  28,  1856. 


607 


cries  Bach  as  "  Butcher ! "  "  Baker ! "  *♦  Dust, 
O!"  "Milk  below  I"  "Beer!"  "Water- 
cresseal"  and"CloI" 

Mj  cries  range  over  a  space  of  some 
twenty  years  (I  only  quote  those  that  are 
within  my  own  recollection),  yet  many  of 
them  are  obsolete  now.  They  have  had  their 
day,  like  dogs,  and  have  died.  Each  year 
has  produced  its  new  cry  simultaneously 
with  its  new  bonnet.  I  can  no  more  trace 
the  exact  chronological  succession  of  cries 
than  I  can  set  down  (without  reference 
to  the  Mode  and  the  Belle  Assemble), 
the  rigorous  scale  of  descent  from  the 
monster-brimmed  bonnet  with  all  its  bows, 
feathers,  and  streamers  of  William  the 
Fourth's  time,  to  the  incomprehensible 
mockery,  delusion  and  snare  of  gauze,  ribbons 
and  artificial  flowers,  that  ladies  are  now 
wearing  in  a  mid  region  between  their  back 
hair  and  their  cervical  vertebrae.  This  last 
thing  is  called  and  charged  for  in  milliners' 
bills  as  a  bonnet.  The  vulgar  have  other 
names  for  it,  such  as  "  kiss-me-quick ! "  "  fly- 
by-night  I "  "  fantail ! "  and  the  like.  Study- 
ing it  philosophically,  myself,  I  am  inclined 
to  regard  it  as  a  species  of  feminine  porter's 
knot. 

When  I  was  a  very  little  boy  indeed,  whose 
chief  knowledge  of  the  curiosities  of  London 
was  confined  to  the  contents  of  the  various 
fruit-stalls  and  the  theatrical  "  characters"  of 
that  benefactor  of  youth,  Mr.  Marks — one 
penny  plain,  and  twopence  coloured — I  re- 
member that  the  fashionable,  or  at  least 
popular,  London  cry  was  "  Flare  up ! "  The 
boys  shouted  it  to  one  another ;  they  screamed 
it  round  old  ladies  as  a  war-whoop,  accom- 
panying the  same  with  a  war-dance ;  they 
hurled  it  round  street  corners  at  the  then 
very  unpopular  police  force  ;  hackney  coach- 
men on  their  boxes  bade  each  other  "  flare 
up."  In  the  darkest  depth  and  stillness  of 
the  night  "flare  up"  came  floating  on  the 
wind  like  the  cry  of  a  wolf  with  slang  propen- 
sities, whose  "  howl's  his  watch."  "  Flare  up" 
sparkled  in  the  chorus  of  every  comic  song  ; 
low  comedians  of  transpontine  theatres  found 
it  invaluable  in  helping  a  dull  farce  along ; 
the  gallery  shrieked  it;  it  came  back  from  the 
pit  like  a  vocal  boomerang.  The  cads,  the 
linkboys,  the  ham-sandwich,  pig's-trotter,  and 
play-bill  sellers,  the  lurchers  outside  the 
theatres  and  public-houses  roared  it  among 
themselves  for  warmth  and  pulmonary  exer- 
cise. The  cry  was  heard,  not  only  at  public- 
house  bars,  in  the  streets,  and  courts,  and 
low  places,  but  in  society.  Comic  members 
of  parliament  quoted  it  in  the  house ; 
ministers  and  members  of  the  opposition 
"flared  up"  in  elliptical  labels  proceeding 
from  their  months  in  high-priced  political 
caricatures;  horses  were  entered  for  cups 
and  plates  and  sweepstakes  under  the  name 
of  "  Flare  up !"  It  passed  into  the  language. 
From  an  imperative  inteijeotion  (excuse  the 
grammatical  solecism)it  became  a  substantive. 


A  disturbance,  a  riot,  an  altercation,  a  joyous 
orgy — these  were  called  •*  flare-ups."  The 
substantive  remains,  and  the  term  "  a  jolly 
flare-up"  is  yet  used  to  express  a  reckless 
merry-making ;  such  a  combination  of  punch, 
gin,  bludgeons,  dooi>knockers,  constables, 
ensanguined  noses,  lobsters,  torn  clothes, 
watch-houses,  bad  characters,  and  tobacco- 
pipes  as  were  formerly  the  delectation  of 
Corinthian  Tom,  Bob  Logic,  and  Jerry  Haw- 
thorn. Such  "flare-ups"  flourished  about 
the  year  thirty-eight  in  the  *•  salad  days — 
when  he  was  green  of  judgment,"  of  the 
nobleman  yet  afiectionately  remembered  in 
the  police-courts  and  the  cab-stands  as  "  the 
marqis."  But  the  cry  is  dead.  You  don't 
hear  the  boys  cry  "  flare  up ! "  now.  It  is  no 
longer  the  favourite  sarcastic  expletive  of 
hackney  coachmen,  cabmen,  and  omnibus 
conductors.  Nay,  there  are  no  hackney  coach- 
men left  to  "  flare  up"— dissipatl  sunt  They 
are  gone  to  the  Limbo  of  Jehus :  their  tomb- 
stones are  their  licenses,  their  cofl^-plates 
their  badges.  To  limbo  are  gone  the  purblind 
old  watchmen  whom  Tom  and  Jerry  used  to 
beat ;  to  limbo  the  old  House  of  Lords,  its 
shabby  throne,  and  dingy  Spanish  Armada 
tapestry.  They  are  gone :  they  have  vanished 
with  the  fourpenny  newspaper  stamp.  Gram- 
pound  and  (^atton,  the  mews  at  Charing 
Cross,  the  resurrection-men,  the  Spanish 
legion ;  with  the  yearly  procession  of  mail- 
coaches  ;  Mr.  Cobbett's  pepper-and-salt  suit, 
and  scores  of  good  fellows  who  "flared 
up"  merrily  twenty  years  since ;  but  have 
burnt  to  the  socket,  and  are  quite  guttered 
down  and  extinguished  now. 

Now,  how  and  with  what  did  "  flare  up" 
originate  T  Who  was  to  flare  up,  and  when, 
and  why?  Were  mankind,  twenty  years 
since,  pitch,  or  tow,  or  turpentined  oakum,  or 
greasy  rags,  that  they  were  to  "  flare  up"  in- 
continently at  the  mere  lucifer-match  bidding 
of  rude  boys  ?  Was  it  possible  for  a  bishop  to 
"  flare  up  ?  "  for  a  dean  of  the  Court  of  Arches  ? 
Tet  how  frequently  was  the  ribald  behest 
hooted  in  his  ears,  drive  as  fast,  or  pull  up 
his  carriage  windows  as  tightly,  as  he  would  ? 
It  is  my  candid  opinion — tracing  things  to 
their  mean  first  cause,  as  I  am  fond  of  doing, 
and  knowing  how  many  mountains  give  birth 
to  mice,  and,  again,  how  many  mice  are  often 
parturient  with  mountains— that  the  slang  cry 
"  flare  up"  arose  from  the  incendiary  exploits 
of  Captain  Swing,  and  was  kept  alive  with  the 
great  European  commotions  that  followed  the 
French  Revolution  of  eighteen  hundred  and 
thirty ;  that  it  was  it  the  Carmagnole, 
the  yoke-off-throwing  verb  that  had  kin- 
dred gerunds  and  supines,  potentials  and 
subjunctives  among  French  Philadelphi, 
Italian  Carbonari,  Crerman  Illumlnati,  and 
English  Tradesunion  men  ;  and  that,  in  other 
moods  and  tenses,  it  was  often  unavailingly, 
hopelessly,  despairingly  conjugated  in  the 
cachots  of  Mont  St.  Michel,  and  the  dungeons 
of  the  Spielberg,  and  the  Piombi  of  Venice. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


608 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    Jclt  28,  1856. 


CCa»i«ctedk7 


The  cry  is  a  slang  one.  Granted.  But  bow 
many  great  and  noble  names  have  been  cor- 
rupted to  mean  and  base  uses  ?  There  is  a 
family  in  existence  now,  lineal  descendants  of 
the  Plantagenets,  who  have  degenerated  into 
Plant.  Has  not  the  chivalrous  sign  of  the 
Landgrave  Maurice*  tavern,  in  the  White- 
chapel  Road,  subsided  into  the  Grave  Uorris? 
Were  not  the  Chequers  once  the  bearings  of 
the  proud  Earls  of  Arundel  T  Was  not  the  Bull 
and  Mouth,  the  Boulogne  Mouth  ;  the  Goat 
and'  Compasses,  God  enoompasseth  us:  the 
Salutation,  in  Newgate  Street,  that  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin ;  the  Cock,  the  cognizance 
of  St.  Peter?  ''Great  Cscsar  dead  and 
turned  to  clay:" — Uie  proverb  is  somewhat 
musty. 

Who  does  not  remember  the  curious  cry 
"What  a  shocking  bad  hat?"  Being,  as  I 
have  before  confessed,  rather  loose  in  my 
chronology,  I  cannot,  with  anv  degree  of  cer- 
tainty, decide  whether  it  followed  or  pre- 
ceded "Flare  up!"  It  was  a  master  cry. 
It  appealed  to  all  bosoms,  or  rather  to  eA\ 
heads  ;  for  a  hat  might  be  a  "  shocking  bad 
one"  if  it  had  cost  five  guineas  instead  of  five 
pence.  No  man  was  safe  from  the  imputation 
of  shocking  badness  to  his  hat;  and  the 
ruffians  who  wore  caps  had  every  hat-wearer, 
good,  bad,  and  indifferent,  on  the  hip.  Look 
at  a  bishop's  shovel  hat ;  a  judge^s  three- 
cornered  cock ;  the  misshapen  monstrocity 
like  a  pancake  cut  in  half,  which  had 
been  thrust  up  the  chimuey,  called  an  opera 
hat,  which  fools  were  wont  to  carry  into 
Fop's  Alley  for  wags  to  laugh  at ;  the  beadle's 
gold-laced,  tasselled,  cocked  absurdly ;  the 
miserable  delusion  of  beaver  and  bullion-cord 
that  lieutenants  in  the  navy,  under  hideous 
coercive  threats  from  the  port  admiral,  were 
forced  to  wear;  the  preposterous,  crushed, 
battered,  maniacal  figment  of  a  cocked  hat, 
vacillating  in  shape  between  that  of  a  mounte- 
bank in  a  farce,  a  French  travelling  dentist, 
and  my  lord  on  May-day,  which  the  Lords 
Commissioners  donned  (do  they  don  it  still?) 
on  the  prorogation  of  parliament.  Were  not 
each  and  every  of  these  hats  amenable  to  the 
"  Mene,  mene,  tekel"  of  shocking  badness? 
I  will  quite  pass  over  the  postman's  hat,  the 
footman's  hat,  and  the  footpage's  hat, — and 
yet  they  were  shocking  bad,  every  one  of 
them. 

A  man  may  wear  bad  boots,  but  he 
can  escape,  or  at  least  avert,  the  detection  of 
their  badness  by  an  adroit  shuffling  of  the 
feet  along  the  ground,  a  quick  flinging  gait, 
aided  by  a  dexterous  flank  movement  of  a 
swinging  glove  or  a  jaunted  cane,  or  (and  this 
is  perhaps  the  best  mode  of  all)  by  looking 
every  person  he  meets  steadily  in  the  face. 
A  bad  coat  may  be  carried  off  by  darning, 
conscious  merit,  and  the  honest  pride  of 
unbegging  poverty,  ink,  or  impudence.  A 
faulty  shirt  may  be  disguised  and  defended 
by  masked  batteries  of  buttons  and  cufis, 
breastworks  of  clean  dickies,  or  rifle-pits  of 


wristbands  false.  But  yon  cannot  disguise  a 
shocking  bad  hat.  It  is  thirx.  It  is  the 
head  and  troai  of  your  offending.  It  is  as 
conspicuous  as  a  black  eve.  A  man  who  has 
no  brim — nav,  no  band— to  his  hat  mi^t 
just  as  well  have  no  nose  to  his  face.  The 
badness  of  a  hat  will  make  itself  felt  at  firrt 
sight,  like  the  badness  of  an  eye ;  and  the 
eye  is  the  fanlight  in  the  back  door  of  the 
heart 

The  "  shocking  bad  hat"  cry  was  very  pre- 
valent in  my  hot  youth.  I  have  been  moved 
to  tears  frequently  by  its  application  to  my 
own  personal  headgear.  I  have  an  idea  that 
I  was  once  cruelly  put  upon  (and  this  is 
nearly  the  only  Instance  of  infantile  ill-treat- 
ment I  can  remember),  in  being  made  to  wear 
the  hat  of  a  Master  Sims  (calling,  appearanoe, 
and  subsequent  fate,  as  unknown  to  me  as 
the  lost  books  of  Livy),  which  was  either  too 
large,  or  too  small,  or  too  good,  or  too  bad 
for  oim.  I  dare  say  the  hat  was  quite  good 
enough  for  me ;  but  I  was  made  to  wear  it 
in  public;  and,  being  naturally  a  nervous 
child,  and  suffering  besides  the  additional 
misery  of  gold  ear-rings  (my  ears  had  beoi 
pierced  for  weakness  of  sight),  I  never 
walked  abroad  without  feeling  that  I  was 
tied  to  a  stake  with  buflklo  tiiongSy  and  baited 
by  ten  thousand  wild  Indians.  And  Iwaa 
staked  and  baited,  morally.  The  boys  used 
to  career  about  me  exactly  as  the  striped  pig, 
the  yellow  fish,  and  the  spotted  eagle  of  ^ 
Pawnee  persuasion  used,  in  the  sUHT'-book, 
to  career  about  their  prisoner  of  the  C^ioctaw 
way  of  thinking.  They  scorched  my  feet  with 
fires  of  sarcasm  ;  they  threw  tomahawks  of 
insult  at  me ;  they  discharged  poisoned 
arrows  of  invective  at  me ;  and  their  war- 
whoop  was  always  and  ever  "Oh!  what  a 
shocking  bad  hat!  Oh!  what  a  blocking 
bad  hat!" 

We  lived  in  the  country  before  this.  How 
long  before,  I  can  no  more  call  to  mind  than  I 
can  the  winners  of  the  Derby  and  Oaks  for  the 
last  half  century.  I  know  it  was  something 
Tree-House;  that  there  was  a  large  garden 
smelling  very  sweet,  and  curiously  associated 
in  my  mind  with  domestic  brewing  and  some- 
body having  his  ears  boxed  (I  may  have 
been  that  culprit),  for  drinking  sweet  wort 
without  permission;  and  that,  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  garden,  there  was  a  ruinous 
outhouse,  where  there  were  several  empty 
boxes;  a  dusty,  never-used  garden-chair; 
and  a  vast  <^uantity  of  wine-bottles.  Thers 
was  a  tradition,  too,  that  somebodv  "  used 
to  cut  his  throat"  here,  a  long  tune  a^. 
Some  of  the  wine-bottles  were  fSn,  and  we 
boys  drew  the  corks  of  a  few,  one  day ;  bat 
the  contents  had  turned  quite  sour,  and, 
throwing  the  bottles  on  the  ground,  we  ssw 
the  lees  run  out  like  blood,  and  ran  fri^t- 
ened  back  to  the  house. 

What  something  Tree-Honae  had  to  do 
with  "  a  shocking  bad  hat"  shall  preeentlv 
appear.    We  kept  a  carriage.    I  don't  think 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


CiMrlctDicktiML] 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.   July  28,  186fi. 


609 


it  would  have  been  called  a  carriage  in 
London:  and  it  was  nothing  to  be  at  all 
proad  oi^  for  it  was  a  superannnated,  rickety, 
nnpainted  old  box  npon  wheels,  something 
between  an  obsolete  bj  and  a  poet-chaise  that 
had  seen  better  days.  None  of  the  wheels 
were  of  a  size ;  and  they  might  all*  have 
belonged  to  Ixion  for  any  progress  they 
made,  worth  mentioning.  One  of  the  Ant- 
ter-blinds  was  irremovably  fixed  in  its  win- 
dow by  age,  or  stifTness,  or  obstinacy;  and 
there  it  was  like  a  wall-eye.  The  thing  was 
intended  to  1.0  dr«..vn  by  two  horses,  bat  we 
never  had  more  than  one,  and  he  was  a 
rough  colt  of  all-work,  without  a  hap'orth 
of  breeding  in  him.  He  was  troubled 
with  a  perpetual  cough ;  was  suspected  of 
havinpf  once  eaten  a  ginger-beer  bottle,  which 
had  disagreed  with  him ;  had  a  strong  dash 
of  the  mule  in  his  appearance ;  had  a  face 
very  like  a  cow ;  and  would  not  have  at  all 
surprised  us  by  turning  out  a  donkey,  some 
fine  day.  When  he  had  nothing  to  do,  he 
used  to  loaf  about  a  paddock,  resting  his 
foolish  nose  on  the  paUngs ;  and  the  blue- 
bottles used  to  come  and  chaff  him,  asking 
him,  no  doubt,  whether  he  had  enough  com 
to  eat,  and  how  he  liked  the  ginger-beer 
bottle.  Before  we  became  possessed  of  our 
carriage,  it  used  to  stand  forlorn  in  the  middle 
of  the  village  street,  stranded,  high  and  dry, 
like  a  boat.  The  boys  used  to  play  games  on 
its  box ;  and  there  was  a  report  that  hens 
were  accustomed  to  roost  in  its  interior.  But 
it  served  our  turn ;  for  we  lived  a  long  dist- 
ance from  a  town,  and  there  were  no  railway 
stations  in  those  days.  Our  coachman,  who 
was  a  man  of  all-work,  like  the  horse,  was 
half-ashamed  of  our  vehicle.  He  had  not  the 
hardihood  to  call  it  the  "carriage" — ^he 
spoke  of  it  as  the  **  conveyance.''  At  all 
events,  he  had  to  convey  us  all  to  the  races. 
A  lovely  day  it  was ;  and  happy  all  we  chil- 
dren were,  and  brave  I  thought  the  coachman 
looked,  in  a  new  coat  and  a  new  hat, — ^not 
quite  a  bran  new  hat,  perhaps ;  for  it  had 
originally  been  a  riding-bat  of  my  mother's — 
very  broad  in  the  brim,  as  all  ladies'  hats 
were  worn  then.  It  had  since  been  cut  down, 
and  had  lain  about  and  knocked  about  a 
little,  and  had  at  last  been  furbished  up 
anew,  with  a  smart  diver  band,  for  the  coach- 
man. The  man  wore  it,  and,  I  verily  believe, 
was  proud  of  it  But  woe  is  me  1  we  had  to 
pass  Doctor  Strong'i'th'arm's  establishment 
for  young  gentlemen  (Sampson  House,  Birch- 
hampstead),and  DoctorStrong'i'th'arm's  four- 
and-twenty  bourders  were  drawn  up  to  see 
the  company  go  to  the  races ;  and,  from  the 
four-and-twenty  throats  of  those  unfeeling 
boys,  there  came  as  we  passed,  a  scream — a 
ell— of  '<What  a  shocking  bad  hat  I"  I 
ear  it  now.  It  was  years  ago.  The  Reform 
Bill  has  passed  since  then.  .1  am  nearly 
the  only  one  of  that  carriage  party  who 
has  not  gone  another  journey  in  another 
carriage,  with  plumes ;  but  the  coachman's 


hi 


silver-laced  hat,  and  Doctor  Strong'i'th'arm's 
boarders'  criticisms  thereupon,  will  never  be 
effaced  from  my  mind. 


A  POET'S  HOME. 

A  post's  home  I    On  earth  what  spot 
!■  that  where  lodf  e  the  UoBee  t 

A  tropic  iile,  a  warm  loath  plot 
Bound  which  freth  aonlight  cmlsea. 

WalXrT  which  a  aleeping  oeean  honnd* 
VFiUi  hinta  of  worl£  hereafter : 

Bare  acents  of  wild  flowers,  and  the  sonndi 
Of  bacchant  girlish  laughter. 

A  hill  that  hides  a  drowsj  town, 
A  great  doad  sannterlng  bj  it : 

A  streamlet  poured  in  sunshine  down 
In  almost  Tisible  quiet 

Ah  me  1 1  fear  Greek  tales  are  lies ; 

We  lire  a  life  too  real 
To  dallr  "neath  Arcadian  skies. 

And  list  to  sounds  ideaL 


A  poet's  home  I    What  wospeot  hath 
His  eye— what  sights  Qjslan  f 

A  rough  hiffhwaj,  a  dusty  path 
Where  brick-kilns  blur  the  Tlsion. 


A  want  of  light,  a  want  of  air, 

A  want  of  poet-neighbour : 
A  wooing  of  all  wishes  fkir, 

A  winning  but  of  labour. 

Sing  on,  0  poet  I    Time  is  just. 

Sing,  'mid  the  city  shadows : 
A  flower  that  beautifles  the  dust, 

Shame's  blooms  that  droop  in  meadows. 

Better  than  poet-firiend  to  thee. 

And  dearer  is  employment : 
Thr  duty  is  an  Arcady 

More  glorious  than  ei^oyment. 

Where  common  eyes  nought  rare  can  scan 

Thou  findest  angel  fitces. 
And  in  each  highway  trod  by  man 

Oreetest  holy  places. 


THE  YELLOW  MASK. 

IN  TWELVB  GHAFTEBS.     OBAPTBB  X. 

Op  all  the  persons  who  had  been  present, 
in  any  capacity,  at  the  Marquis  Melani's  ball, 
the  earliest  riser,  on  the  mofning  after  it,  was 
Nanina.  The  agitation  produced  by  the 
strange  events  in  which  she  had  been  con- 
cerned, destroyed  the  very  idea  of  sleep. 
Tlirough  the  hou^of  darkness  she  could  not 
even  close  her  eyes ;  and,  .as  soon  as  the  new 
day  brolce,  she  rose  to  breathe  the  early  morn- 
ing air  at  her  window,  and  to  think  in  perfect 
tranquillity  over  all  that  had  passed  since  she 
entered  the  Melani  Palace  to  wait  on  the 
guests  at  the  masquarade. 

On  reaching  home  the  previous  night,  all 
her  other  sensations  had  been  absorbed  in  a 
vague  feeling  of  mingled  dread  and  curiosity. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


610 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  28,  1856. 


[Coodoctedbr 


produced  by  the  sight  of  the  weird  figure  in 
the  yellow  mask,  which  she  had  left  standiDg 
alone  with  Fabio  in  the  palace  corridor.  The 
morning  light,  however,  suggested  new 
thoughts.  She  now  opened  the  note  which 
the  young  nobleman  had  pressed  into  her 
hand,  and  read  the  hurried  pencil  lines 
scrawled  on  the  paper,  over  and  over  again. 
Could  there  be  any  harm,  any  forgetfuTness 
of  her  own  duty,  in  using  the  key  enclosed  in 
the  note,  and  keeping  her  appointment  in  the 
Ascoll  gkrdens  at  ten  o'clock  ?  Surely  not 
— surely  the  last  sentence  he  had  written— 
"  Believe  in  m^  truth  and  honour,  Nanina,  for 
I  believe  implicitly  in  yours  " — was  enough 
to  satisfy  her,  this  time,  that  she  could  not  be 
doing  wrong  in  listening  for  once  to  the 
pleading  of  her  own  heart  And,  besides, 
there,  in  her  lap,  lay  the  key  of  the  wicket- 
gate.  It  was  absolutely  necessary  to  use  that, 
if  only  for  the  purpose  of  giving  it  back 
safely  into  the  hands  of  its  owner. 

As  this  last  thought  was  passing  through 
her  mind,  and  plausibly  overcoming  any 
faint  doubts  and  difficulties  which  she  might 
still  have  felt,  she  was  startled  by  a  sudden 
knocking  at  the  street-door ;  and,  looking  out 
of  window  Immediately,  saw  a  man  in  livery 
standing  in  the  street,  anxiously  peering  up 
at  the  bouse  to  see  if  his  knocking  had  aroused 
anybody. 

"Does  Marta  Angrisani,  the  sick-nurse, 
live  here  ? ''  inquired  the  man,  as  soon  as 
Nanina  showed  herself  at  the  window. 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "Must  I  call  her 
up  ?    Is  there  some  person  ill? " 

"  Call  her  up  directly,"  said  the  servant. 
"  She  is  wanted  at  the  Ascoll  Palace.  My 
master.  Count  Fabio " 

Nanina  waited  to  hear  no  more.  She  flew 
to  the  room  in  which  the  sick-nurse  slept, 
and  awoke  her,  almost  roughly,  in  an  instaot. 

"  He  is  ill  I "  she  cried,  breathlessly.  "  Oh, 
make  haste — make  haste  I  he  is  ill,  and  he 
has  sent  for  you ! " 

Marta  inquired  who  had  sent  for  her  ;  and, 
on  being  informed,  promised  to  lose  no  time. 
Nanina  ran  down  stairs  to  tell  the  servant 
that  the  sick-nurse  was  getting  on  her  clothes. 
The  man's  serious  expression,  when  she  came 
close  to  him,  terrified  her.  All  her  usual 
self-distrust  vanished ;  and  she  entreated  him, 
without  attempting  to  conceal  her  anxiety, 
to  tell  her  particularly  what  his  master's  ill- 
ness was,  and  how  it  had  affected  him  so  sud- 
denly after  the  ball. 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it,"  answered  the 
man,  noticing  Nanina's  manner  as  she  put 
her  question,  with  some  surprise ;  "  except 
that  ray  master  was  brought  home  by  two 
gentlemen,  friends  of  his,  about  a  couple  of 
hours  ago,  in  a  very  sad  state  ;  half  out  of 
his  mind,  as  it  seemed  to  me.  I  gathered 
from  what  was  said,  that  he  had  got  a  dread- 
ful shock  from  seeing  some  woman  take  off 
her  mask  and  show  her  face  to  him  at  the 
ball,    ilow  that  could  bo  I  don't  in  the  least 


understand ;  but  I  know  that  when  the  doctor 
was  sent  for,  he  looked  very  eeriooB,  and 
talked  about  fearing  brain  fever." 

Here  the  servant  slopped ;  for,  to  his  aston- 
ishment, he  saw  Nanina  suddenly  turn  away 
from  him,  and  then  heard  her  crying  bitterly 
as  8h6  went  back  into  the  house. 

Marta  Angrisani  had  huddled  on  her 
clothes,  and  was  looking  at  herself  in  the 
glass,  to  see  that  she  was  sufficiently  pre- 
sentable to  appear  at  the  palace,  when  she 
felt  two  arms  flung  round  her  neck ;  and,  be- 
fore she  could  say  a  word,  found  Nanina  sob- 
bingon  her  bosom. 

"He  is  Ul— he  is  in  danger  I"  cried  the  girl 
"I  must  go  with  vou  to  help  him.  Yon 
hitve  always  been  kind  to  me,  Marta— be 
kinder  than  ever  now.  Take  me  with  you  t 
Take  me  with  yon  to  the  palace  I " 

"  You,  child! "  exclaimed  the  nuioe,  gently 
unclasping  her  arms. 

"Yes— yes  1  if  it  ia  only  for  an  hour," 
pleaded  Nanina — "  if  it  Is  onlv  for  one  little 
hour  every  day.  You  have  only  to  say  that  I 
am  your  helper,  and  thev  would  let  me  in. 
Marta  I  I  shall  break  my  neart  if  I  can't  see 
him  now,  and  help  him  to  get  well  again." 

The  nurse  still  hesitated.  Nanina  clasped 
her  round  the  neck  once  more,  and  laid  her 
cheek — burning  hot  now,  though  the  tears 
had  been  streaming  down  it  but  an  instaat 
before— close  to  the  good  woman's  face. 

"  I  love  him,  Marta — great  as  he  is,  I  lore 
him  with  all  my  heart  and  soul  and  Btrength," 
she  went  on,  in  quick,  eager,  whispering 
tones.  "  And  he  loves  me.  He  woold  have 
married  me  if  I  had  not  gone  away  to  save 
him  from  it.  I  could  keep  my  love  for  him 
a  secret  while  he  was  well— I  could  stifle  it, 
and  crush  it  down,  and  wither  it  up  by  ab- 
sence. But  now  he  is  ill,  it  gets  beyond  ae; 
I  can't  master  it.  Oh,  Marta  1  don't  break 
my  heart  by  denying  me !  I  have  enflcred 
so  much  for  his  sake  that  I  have  earned  the 
right  to  nurse  him ! " 

Marta  was  not  proof  against  this  last 
appeal.  She  had  one  great  and  rare  sMrit 
for  a  middle-aged  woman — she  had  not  for- 
gotten her  own  youth. 

"  Come,  child,"  said  she,  soothingly.  "I 
won't  attempt  to  deny  you.  Diy  your  eyes, 
put  on  your  mantilla,  and,  when  we  get  face 
to  face  with  the  doctor,  try  to  look  as  old  and 
ugly  as  you  can,  if  you  want  to  be  let  toto 
the  sick-room  along  with  me." 

The  ordeal  of  medical  scmtiny  was  passed 
more  easily  than  Marta  Angrisani  had  anti- 
cipated. It  was  of  great  importance,  in  the 
doctor's  opinion,  that  the  sick  man  should 
see  familiar  faces  at  his  bedside.  Nanina  bad 
only,  therefore,  to  state  that  he  knew  her 
well,  and  that  she  had  sat  to  him  as  a  model 
in  the  days  when  he  was  learning  the  art  of 
sculpture,  to  be  immediately  accepted  as 
Marta's  privileged  assistant  in  the  sick-room. 

The  worst  apprehensions  felt  by  the  docUft 
for  the  patient,  were  soon  realised.   The  fever 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbarlc*  Dlekcni,] 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    Jolt  28,  1856. 


611 


flew  to  his  brain.  For  nearly  six  weeks  he 
lay  prostrate,  at  the  mercj  of  death ;  now 
raging  with  the  wild  streugth  of  deli- 
rium, and  now  sank  in  the  speechless,  mo- 
tionless, sleepless  exhaustion  which  was  his 
only  repose.  At  last  the  blessed  day  came 
when  he  enjoyed  his  first  sleep,  and  when  the 
doctor  began,  for  the  first  time,  to  talk  oC 
the  future  with  hope.  Even  then,  however, 
the  same  terrible  peculiarity  marked  his 
light  dreams,  which  had  previously  shown 
itself  in  his  fierce  delirium.  From  the  faintly- 
uttered,  broken  phrases  which  dropped  from 
him  when  he  slept,  as  from  the  wild  words 
which  burst  from  him  when  his  senses  were 
deranged,  the  one  sad  discovery  inevitably 
resulted — that  his  mind  was  still  haunted, 
day  and  night,  hour  after  hour,  by  the  figure 
in  the  yellow  mask. 

As  his  bodily  health  improved,  the  doctor 
in  attendance  on  him  grew  more  and  more 
anjdous  as  to  the  state  of  his  mind.  There 
was  no  appearance  of  anv  positive  derange- 
ment of  intellect,  but  there  was  a  mental 
depression — an  unaltering,  invincible  prostra- 
tion, produced  by  his  atoolute  belief  in  the 
reality  of  the  dreadful  vision  that  he  had 
seen  at  the  masked  ball — which  suggested  to 
the  physician  the  gravest  doubts  about  the 
case.  He  saw  with  dismay  that  the  patient 
showed  no  anxiety,  as  he  got  stronger,  except 
on  one  subject.  He  was  eagerly  desirous  of 
seeing  Nanina  every  day  by  his  bed-side ; 
but,  as  soon  as  he  was  assured  that  his  wish 
should  be  faithfully  complied  with,  he  seemed 
to  care  for  nothing  more.  Even  when  they 
proposed,  in  the  hope  of  rousing  him  to 
an  exhibition  of  something  like  pleasure, 
that  the  girl  should  read  to  him  for  an 
hoar  every  day  out  of  one  of  his  favourite 
books,  he  only  showed  a  lan^id  satisfaction. 
Weeks  passed  away,  and  still,  do  what  they 
woald,  they  could  not  make  him  so  much  as 
smile. 

One  day,  Nanina  had  begun  to  read  to 
him  as  usual ;  but  had  not  proceeded  far 
before  Marta  Angrisani  informed  her  that 
he  had  fallen  into  a  doze.  She  ceased,  with 
a  sigh,  and  sat  looking  at  him  sadly,  as 
he  £ky  near  her,  faint,  and  pale  and  mourn- 
fal  in  his  sleep— miserably  altered  from 
what  he  was  when  she  first  knew  him.  It 
had  been  a  hard  trial  to  watch  by  his  bedside 
in  the  terrible  time  of  his  delirium  j  but  it 
was  a  harder  trial  still  to  look  at  him  now, 
and  to  feel  less  and  less  hopeful  with  each 
succeeding  day. 

While  her  eyes  and  thoughts  were  still 
compassionately  fixed  on  him,  the  door  of  the 
bed-room  opened,  and  the  doctor  came  in, 
followed  by  Andrea  d^Arbino,  whose  share  in 
the  strange  adventure  with  the  Yellow  Mask 
caused  him  to  feel  a  special  interest  in  the 
progress  towards  recovery, 

**  Asleep,  I  see ;  and  sighing  in  his  sleep," 
said  the  doctor,  going  to  the  bedside.  "  The 
grand  difficulty  with  him,"  he  continued, 


turning  to  d'Arbino,  '*  remains  precisely  what 
it  was.  I  have  hardly  left  a  single  means 
untried  of  rousing  him  from  that  fatal  de- 
pression ;  yet,  for  the  last  fortnight,  he  has 
not  advanced  a  single  step.  It  is  impos- 
sible to  shake  his  conviction  of  the  reality  of 
that  face  which  he  saw  (or  rather,  which  he 
thinks  he  saw)  when  the  yellow  mask  was 
removed ;  and,  as  long  as  he  persists  in  bis 
own  shocking  view  of  the  case,  so  long  he 
will,  lie  there,  getting  better,  no  doubt,  as  to 
his  body,  but  worse  as  to  his  mind." 

"  I  suppose,  poor  fellow,  he  is  not  in  a  fit 
state  to  be  reasoned  with." 

"  On  the  contrary,  like  all  men  with  a  fixed 
delusion,  he  has  plenty  of  intelligence  to  ap- 
peal to  on  every  point,  except  the  one  point 
on  which  he  is  wrong.  I  have  argued  with 
him  vainly  by  the  hour  together.  He  pos- 
sesses, unfortunately,  an  acute  nervous  sensi- 
bility and  a  vivid  imagination ;  and  besides, 
he  has,  as  I  suspect,  been  superstitioasly 
brought  up  as  a  child.  It  would  be  probably 
useless  to  argue  rationally  with  him,  on  cer- 
tain spiritual  subjects,  even  if  his  mind  was 
in  perfect  health.  He  has  a  good  deal  of  the 
mystic  and  the  dreamer  in  his  composition ; 
and  science  and  logic  are  but  broken  reeds  to 
depend  upon  with  men  of  that  kind." 

**  Does  he  merely  listen  to  you,  when  you 
reason  with  him,  or  does  he  attempt  to 
answer?" 

"  He  has  only  one  form  of  answer,  and 
that  is  unfortunately  the  most  difficult 
of  all  to  dispose  of.  Whenever  I  try  to 
convince  him  of  his  delusion,  he  invariably 
retorts  by  asking  me  for  a  rational  expla- 
nation of  what  happened  to  him  at  the  masked 
ball.  Now,  neither  you  nor  I,  though  we  be- 
lieve firmly  that  he  has  been  the  dupe  of 
some  infamous  conspiracy,  have  been  able,  as 
yet,  to  penetrate  thoroughly  into  this  mys- 
tery of  the  Yellow  Mask.  Our  common  sense 
tells  us  that  he  must  be  wrong  in  taking  his 
view  of  it,  and  that  we  must  be  right  in 
taking  ours:  but  if  we  cannot  give  him 
actual,  tangible  proof  of  that — If  we  can  only 
theorise,  when  he  asks  us  for  an  explanation 
— it  is  but  too  plain,  in  his  present  con- 
dition, that  every  time  we  remonstrate  with 
him  on  the  subject,  we  only  fix  him  in  his  de- 
lusion more  and  more  firmly." 

*'  It  is  not  for  want  of  perseverance  on  my 
part,"  said  d'Arbino,  after  a  moment  of 
silence,  "  that  we  are  still  left  in  the  dark. 
Ever  since  the  extraordinary  statement  of 
the  coachman  who  drove  the  woman  home,  I 
have  been  inquiring  and  investigating.  I  have 
ofifered  a  reward  of  two  hundred  scudi  for  the 
discovery  of  her :  I  have  myself  examined 
the  servants  at  the  palace,  the  night-watch- 
men at  the  Campo  Santo,  the  police-books, 
the  lists  of  keepers  of  hotels  and  lodging- 
houses,  to  hit  on  some  trace  of  this  woman  ; 
and  I  have  failed  in  all  directions.  If  my 
poor  friend's  perfect  recovery  does,  indeed, 
depend  on  his  delusion  being  combattcd  by 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  28,  1856. 


[Coiteetetfkj 


actoal  proof,  I  fear  wo  have  but  little  chance 
of  restoring  him.  So  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
I  confess  mjself  at  the  end  of  my  resonrces.'^ 

"  I  hope  we  are  not  quite  conqaered  yet," 
retomed  the  doctor.  "  The  proofs  we  want 
may  turn  np  when  we  least  expect  them.  It 
is  certainly  a  miserable  case."  he  continued, 
mechanically  laying  his  fingers  on  the  sleep- 
ing man's  palse.  *' There  he  lies,  wanting 
nothing  now  but  to  recover  the  natural  elas- 
ticity of  his  mind  ;  and  here  we  stand  at  his 
bedside,  nnable  to  relieve  him  of  the  weight 
that  is  pressing  his  flKcalties  down.  I  repeat 
it,  Signer  Andrea,  nothing  will  roose  him 
firom  his  delosion  that  he  is  the  victim  of  a 
sapematnral  interposition,  bat  the  prodnction 
of  some  startling,  practical  proof  of  his  error. 
At  present,  he  is  in  the  position  of  a  man  who 
has  been  imprisoned  firom  his  birth  in  a  dark 
room,  and  who  denies  the  existence  of  day- 
light. If  we  cannot  open  the  shutters,  and 
show  him  the  ^y  outside,  we  shall  never  con- 
vert him  to  a  knowledge  of  the  truth." 

Saying  these  words,  the  doctor  turned  to 
lead  the  way  out  of  the  room,  and  observed 
Nanina,  who  had  moved  from  the  bedside  on 
his  entrance,  standing  near  the  door.  He 
stopped  to  look  at  her,  shook  his  head  good- 
humouredly^  and  called  to  Marta,  who  hap- 
pened to  be  occupied  in  an  acyoining  room. 

"  Si^ora  Marta,"  said  the  doctor, « I  think 
you  told  me.  some  time  ago,  that  your  pretty 
and  careful  little  assistant  lives  in  your  house. 
Pray  does  she  take  much  walking  exercise  ?  " 

"  Very  little,  Signor  Dottore.  She  goes 
home  to  her  sister  when  she  leaves  the  palace. 
Very  little  walking  exercise  indeed." 

"I  thought  SOI  Her  pale  cheeks  and 
heavy  eyes  told  me  as  much.  Now,  my  dear," 
said  the  doctor,  addressing  Nanina,  <*  you  are 
a  very  good  girl,  and  I  am  sure  you  will 
attend  to  what  I  tell  you.  Go  out  every 
morning  before  vou  come  here,  and  take  a 
walk  in  the  ftesh  air.  You  are  too  young 
not  to  suffer  bj  being  shut  up  in  close  rooms 
every  day,  unless  you  get  some  regular  exer- 
cise. Take  a  good  long  walk  in  the  morning, 
or  vou  will  fall  into  my  hands  as  a  patient, 
and  be  quite  unfit  to  continue  your  attend- 
ance here. — ^Now,  Signor  Andrea,  I  am  ready 
for  you. — Mhid,  my  child,  a  walk  every  day 
in  the  open  air,  outside  the  town,  or  you  wlU 
fall  ill,  take  my  word  for  it  I " 

Nanina  promised  compliance ;  but  she  spoke 
rather  absently,  and  seemed  scarcely  coniicious 
of  the  kind  familiarity  which  marked  the 
dector's  manner.  The  truth  was,  that  all  her 
thoughts  were  occupied  with  what  he  had 
been  saying  by  Fabio's  bedside.  She  bad 
n«C,lost  one  word  of  the  conversation  while 
the  doctor  was  talking  of  his  patient,  and 
of  the  conditions  on  which  his  recovery  de- 
pended. '*0h,  if  that  proof  which  would 
cure  him,  could  only  be  found!  "  she  thought 
to  herself,  as  she  stole  back  anxiously  to  the 
bedside  when  the  room  was  empty. 

On  getting  home  that  day,  she  found  a 


letter  wuting  for  her,  and  was  greatly  sur- 
prised to  see  that  it  was  written  by  no  kat  a 
person  than  the  master-sculptor,  L^oca  LomL 
It  was  very  short ;  simply  infonung  hv  that 
he  had  iust  returned  to  Pisa ;  and  tiiat  be 
was  ansous  to  know  when  she  could  sit  to 
him  for  a  new  bust — a  oommlasioB  from  a 
rich  foreigner  at  Naples. 

Nanina  debated  with  herself  f9r  a  moraeot 
whether  she  should  answer  the  letter  is  the 
hardest  way,  to  her,  by  writing,  or,  in  the 
easiest  wav,  in  person ;  and  decided  ob  going 
to  the  studio  and  telling  the  master-sculptor 
that  it  would  be  impossible  for  her  to  serve 
him  as  a  model,  at  least  for  some  time  to 
come.  It  would  have  taken  her  a  long  hour 
to  say  this  with  due  proprie^r  on  paper ;  it 
would  only  take  her  a  few  minutes  to  say  it 
with  her  own  lips — so  she  put  on  her  mantilla 
again,  and  departed  for  the  studio. 

On  arriving  at  the  gate  and  ringing  the 
bell,  a  thougnt  suddenly  occurred  to  her, 
which  she  wondered  had  not  stmck  her  be- 
fore. Was  it  not  possible  that  she  might 
meet  Father  Rocco  in  his  brother's  work- 
room? It  was  too  late  to  retreat  now,  but 
not  too  late  to  aak,  before  she  entered,  if  the 
priest  was  in  the  studio.  Accordingly,  wh^ 
one  of  the  workmen  opened  the  door  to  her, 
she  inquired  first,  very  confusedly  and 
anxiously,  for  Father  Rocoo.  Hearing  that 
he  was  not  with  his  brother  then,  she  went 
tranquilly  enough  to  make  her  i^olo^es  to 
the  master-sculptor. 

She  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  tell 
him  more  than  that  she  was  now  occupied 
every  day  by  nursing  duties  in  a  sick-room, 
and  that  it  was  consequently  out  of  her  power 
to  attend  to  the  studio.  Luca  Lomi  exprossed, 
and  evidentlv  felt,  great  disappointraeot  at 
her  failing  him,  as  a  model,  and  tried  hard  to 
persuade  her  that  she  might  find  time  enough, 
if  she  chose,  to  sit  to  him,  as  well  as  to  nurse 
the  sick  person.  The  more  she  resisted  his 
arguments  and  entreaties,  the  more  obsti- 
nately he  reiterated  them.  He  was  dusting 
his  favourite  busts  and  statues  after  his  long 
al)6ence,  with  a  feather-brush  when  she  cane 
in ;  and  he  continued  this  occupation  all  the 
while  he  was  talking — urging  a  flnesh  plea  to 
induce  Nanina  to  reconsider  her  refhsal  to  fit, 
at  every  fresh  piece  of  sculpture  he  eame  to ; 
and  always  receiving  the  same  resolute 
apologv  from  her,  as  she  slowly  followed  hia 
down  the  studio  towards  the  door. 

Arriving  thus  at  the  lower  end  of  the 
room,  Luca  stopped  with  a  firedi  argument 
on  his  lips  before  his  statue  of  Minerva.  He 
had  dusted  it  already,  but  he  lovingly  re- 
turned to  dust  it  again.  It  was  his  fiavourite 
work— the  only  good  likeness  (although  it 
did  assume  to  represent  a  classical  su1^t)of 
his  dead  daughter  tiiat  he  possessed.  He 
had  refused  to  part  with  it  for  Maddalena's 
sake ;  and,  as  he  now  approached  it  with 
his  brush  for  the  second  time,  he  absently 
ceased  speaking,  and  mounted  on  a  stool  to 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  28,  1865. 


613 


look  at  the  face  near  and  to  blow  some  specka 
of  dust  off  the  forehead.  Nanina  thought  this 
a  good  opportunity  of  escaping  from  further 
importunities.  She  was  on  the  point  of  slip- 
ping away  to  the  door  with  a  word  of  fare- 
well when  a  sudden  exclamation  from  Luca 
Lomi  arrested  her. 

"  Plaster  1 "  cried  the  master-sculptor,  look- 
ing intently  at  that  part  of  the  hair  of  the 
statue  which  lay  lowest  on  the  forehead. 
"Tlaster  here  1 "  He  took  out  his  penknife, 
as  he  spoke,  and  removed  a  tiny  morsel  of 
some  white  substance  from  an  interstice  be- 
tween two  folds  of  the  hair  where  it  touched 
the  face.  "  It  is  plaster  I "  he  exclaimed  ex- 
citedly. "  Somebody  has  been  taking  a  cast 
from  the  face  of  my  statue!  " 

He  jumped  off  the  stool,  and  looked  all 
round  the  studio  with  an  expression  of  sus- 
picious inqubry.  '*  I  must  have  this  cleared 
up,"  he  said.  "  My  statues  were  left  under 
Rocco's  care,  and  he  is  answerable  if  there 
has  been  any  stealing  of  casts  from  any  one 
of  them.    I  must  question  him  directly.'' 

Nanina  seeing  that  he  took  no  notice  of  her, 
felt  that  she  might  now  easily  effect  her  re- 
treat. She  opened  the  studio  door,  and  re- 
peated, for  the  twentieth  time  at  least,  that 
she  was  sorry  she  could  not  sit  to  him. 

**  I  am  sorry  too,  child,"  he  said,  irritably 
looking  about  for  bis  hat.  He  found  it, 
apparently,  just  as  Nanina  was  going  out; 
for  e^e  heard  him  call  to  one  of  the  workmen 
in  the  inner  studio,  and  order  the  man  to  say, 
if  anybody  wanted  him,  that  he  had  gone  to 
Father  Rocco's  lodgings. 

CHAPTER  XI. 

Thk  next  morning,  when  Nanina  arose,  a 
bad  attack  of  headache,  and  a  sense  of  lan- 
guor and  depression,  reminded  her  of  the 
necessity  of  following  the  doctor's  advice, 
and  preserving  her  health  by  getting  a  little 
fresh  air  and  exercise.  She  had  more  than 
two  hours  to  spare  before  the  usual  time 
when  her  daily  attendance  began  at  the  As- 
coli  palace  :  and  she  determined  to  employ 
the  interval  of  leisure  in  taking  a  morning 
wfldk  outside  the  town.  La  Biondella  would 
have  been  glad  enough  to  go  too,  but  she  had 
a  large  order  for  dinner-mats  on  hand,  and 
was  obliged,  for  that  day,  to  stop  in  the  house 
and  work.  Thus  it  happened,  that  when  Na- 
nina set  forth  from  home,  the  learned  poodle, 
Scarammuccia,  was  her  only  companion. 

She  took  the  nearest  way  out  of  the  town ; 
the  dog  trotting  along  in  his  usual  stead;^, 
observant  way,  close  at  her  side,  pushjng  his 
great  rough  muzzle,  from  time  to  time,  affec- 
tionately into  her  hand,  and  trying  hard  to 
attract  her  attention,  at  intervals,  by  barking 
and  capering  in  front  of  her.  He  got  but 
little  notice,  however,  for  his  pains.  Nanina 
was  thinking  again,  of  all  tnat  the  physi- 
cian had  said  the  day  before,  by  Fabio's 
bedside :  and  these  thoughts  brought  with 


them  others,  equally  absorbent,  that  were 
connected  with  the  mysterious  story  of  the 
young  nobleman's  adventure  with  the  Yel- 
low Mask.  Thus  preoccupied,  she  had  little 
attention  left  for  the  gambols  of  the  dog. 
Even  the  beauty  of  the  morning  appealed 
to  her  in  vain.  She  felt  the  refreshment 
of  the  cool,  fragrant  air,  but  she  hardly 
noticed  the  lovely  blue  of  the  sky,  or  the 
bright  sunshine  that  gave  a  gaiety  and  an 
interest  to  the  commonest  (n>jects  around 
her. 

After  walking  nearly  an  hour,  she  began 
to  feel  tired,  and  looked  about  for  a  shady 
place  to  rest  in.  Beyond  and  behind  her 
there  was  only  the  high  road  and  the  flat 
country:  but,  by  her  side,  stood  a  little 
wooden  oullding,  half  inn,  half  coffee-house, 
backed  by  a  lar^e,  shady  pleasure-garden, 
the  gates  of  which  stood  invitingly  open. 
Some  workmen  in  the  garden  were  putting 
up  a  stage  for  fireworks,  but  the  place  was 
otherwise  quiet  and  lonely  enough.  It  was 
only  used  at  night  as  a  sort  of  rustic  Rane- 
lagh,  to  which  the  citizens  of  Pisa  resorted 
for  pure  air  and  amusement  after  the  fatigues 
of  the  day.  Observing  that  there  were  no 
visitors  in  the  ground^  Nanina  ventured  in, 
intending  to  take  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  rest 
in  the  coolest  place  she  could  find,  before 
returning  to  Pisa. 

She  had  passed  the  back  of  a  wooden 
summer-house  in  a  secluded  part  of  the  gar- 
dens, when  she  suddenly  missed  the  dog  from  - 
her  side ;  and,  looking  round  after  him,  saw 
that  he  was  standing  behind  the  summer- 
house  with  his  ears  erect  and  his  nose  to  the 
ground,  having  evidently  that  instant  scented 
something  that  excited  his  suspicion. 

Thinking  it  possible  that  he  might  be 
meditating  an  attack  on  some  unfortunate 
cat,  she  turned  to  see  what  he  was  watch- 
ing. The  carpenters  engaged  on  the  fire- 
work stage,  were,  just  then,  nammering  at  it 
violently.  The  noise  prevented  her  from 
hearing  that  Scarammuccia  was  growling,  but 
she  could  feel  that  he  was,  the  moment  she 
laid  her  hand  on  his  back.  Her  curiosity 
was  excited,  and  she  stooped  down  close  to 
him,  to  look  through  the  crack  in  the  boards, 
before  which  he  stood,  into  the  summer- 
house. 

She  was  startled  at  seeing  a  lady  and 
gentleman  sitting  inside.  The  place  she  was 
looking  through  was  not  high  enough  up 
to  enable  her  to  see  their  faces :  but  die  re- 
cognised, or  thought  she  recognised,  the  pat- 
tern of  the  lady's  dress,  as  one  which  she  bad 
noticed  in  former  days  in  the  Demoiselle 
Grifoni's  show-room.  Rising  quickly,  her 
eye  detected  a  hole  in  the  boards  about  the 
level  of  her  own  height,  caused  by  a  knot 
having  been  forced  out  of  the  wood.  She 
looked  through  it  to  ascertain,  without 
being  discovered,  if  the  wearer  of  the  fami- 
liar dress  was  the  person  she  had  taken  her 
to  be ;  and  saw,  not  Brigida  only,  as  she 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  28,  1855. 


[OooiMMIr 


had  expected,  bat  Father  Rocoo,  as  well.  At 
theRame  moment,  the  carpenters  left  off  ham- 
mering and  began  to  saw.  The  new  sonnd 
Arom  the  firework  stage  was  regular  and  not 
loud.  The  rolces  of  the  occupants  of  the 
summer-house  reached  her  through  it,  and 
she  heard  Brigida  pronounce  the  name  of 
Count  Fabio. 

Instantlj  stooping  down  once  more  by  the 
dog^s  side,  she  caught  his  muzzle  firmly  in 
both  her  hands.  It  was  the  only  way  to  keep 
Scarammnccia  from  growling  again,  at  a  time 
when  there  was  no  din  of  hammering  to  pre- 
vent him  from  being  heard.  Those  two  words, 
"Count  Fabio,"  in  the  mouth  of  another 
woman,  excited  a  jealous  anxiety  in  her. 
What  could  Brigida  have  to  say  in  connec- 
tion with  that  name  ?  She  never  came  near 
the  Ascoli  Palace — what  right,  or  reason, 
could  she  have  to  talk  of  Fabio  ? 

**  Did  you  hear  what  I  i*aid  ?  "  she  heard 
Brigida  ask.  in  her  coolest,  hardest  tone. 

**  No,"  the  priest  answered.  "  At  least,  not 
all  of  it." 

"  I  will  repeat  it  then.  I  asked  what  had 
so  suddenly  determined  you  to  give  up  all 
idea  of  making  any  future  experiments  on 
the  superstitious  fears  of  Count  Fabio?  " 

"  In  the  first  place,  the  result  of  the  expe- 
riment already  tried,  has  been  so  much  more 
serious  than  I  had  anticipated,  that  I  believe 
the  end  I  had  in  view  in  making  it,  has  been 
answered  already." 

**  Well ;  that  is  not  vour  only  reason  ? " 

"  Another  shock  to  his  mind  might  be  fatal 
to  him.  I  can  use  what  I  believe  to  be  a  jus- 
tifiable fraud  to  prevent  his  marrying  again ; 
but  I  cannot  burthen  myself  with  a  crime." 

'*  That  is  your  second  reason  :  but  I  believe 
you  have  another  yet.  The  suddenness  with 
which  jovL  sent  to  me  last  night,  to  appoint 
a  meeting  in  this  lonely  place ;  the  emphatic 
manner  in  which  you  requested — I  may  al- 
most say  ordered — me  to  bring  the  wax  mask 
here,  suggest  to  my  mind  that  something 
must  have  happened.  What  is  it?  I  am  a 
woman,  and  my  curiosity  must  be  satisfied. 
After  the  secrets  you  have  trusted  to  me  al- 
ready, you  need  not  hesitate,  I  think,  to  trust 
me  with  one  more." 

"Perhaps  not.  The  secret  this  time  is. 
moreover,  of  no  great  importance.  You  know 
that  the  wax  mask  you  wore  at  the  ball,  was 
made  in  a  plaster  mould  taken  off  the  face  of 
my  brother's  statue.'' 

"  Yes,  I  know  that" 

"  My  brother  has  just  returned  to  his  studio ; 
has  found  a  morsel  of  the  plaster  I  used  for 
the  mould  sticking  in  the  hair  of  the  statue ; 
and  has  asked  me,  as  the  person  left  in  charge 
of  his  work-rooms,  for  an  explanation.  Such 
an  explanation  as  I  could  offer,  has  not  satis- 
fied him,  and  he  talks  of  making  ftirther  in- 
quiries. Considering  that  it  will  be  used  no 
more,  I  think  it  safest  to  destroy  the  wax 
mask ;  and  I  asked  you  to  bring  it  here  that 
I  might  see  it  burnt  or  broken  up,  with  my 


^  own  eyes.  Now  you  know  all  yon  wwted 
to  know ;  and  now,  therefore,  it  is  mr  ton 
to  remind  you  that  I  have  not  yet  bad  t 
direct  answer  to  the  first  question  I  id- 
dressed  to  you  when  we  met  here.  Hare  70a 
brought  the  wax  mask  with  you,  or  hare  too 
not  ? " 

**  I  have  not" 

"And  why?" 

Just  as  that  question  was  put,  Nanina  felt 
the  dog  dragging  himself  free  of  her  gnsp 
on  his  mouth.  She  had  been  listening  bitber 
to  with  such  painful  intenrity,  with  socb 
all-abeorbing  emotions  of  suspense,  terror. 
I  and  astonishment,  that  she  had  not  noticed 
bis  efforts  to  get  away,  and  had  contioaed 
mechanically  to  hold  his  month  shot.  Bot 
now  she  was  aroused,  by  the  violence  of 
his  struggles,  to  the  knowledge  that  nnles 
'  she  hit  upon  some  new  means  of  qoieting  bio, 
he  would  have  his  mouth  free,  and  wodd  be- 
tray her  by  a  growl.  In  an  agony  of  ap- 
prehension lest  she  should  lose  a  word 
of  the  momentous  conversation  abe  made 
a  desperate  attempt  to  appeal  to  the  do^'i 
fondness  for  her,  by  suddenly  flinging  boA 
her  arms  round  his  neck,  and  kianng  hii 
rough  hairy  cheek.  The  stratagem  8o^ 
ceeded.  Scarammnccia  had,  for  many  years 
past,  never  received  any  greater  marts  of 
his  mistress-s  kindness  for  him  than  sBcb  u 
a  pat  on  the  head,  or  a  present  of  a  loap 
of  sugar  might  convey.  His  dog^s  natnre 
was  utterly  confounded  by  the  unexpected 
warmth  of  Nanina's  caress,  and  he  straggled 
up  vigorously  in  her  arms  to  try  and  retimi 
it  by  licking  her  face.  She  coald  eaalj 
prevent  him  from  doing  this,  and  conld 
so  gain  a  few  minutes  more  to  listen  be 
hind  the  summer-house  without  danger  of 
discovery. 

She  had  lost  Brigida's  answer  to  Father 
Rocco's  question  ;  but  she  was  in  time  to 
hear  her  next  speech. 

"  We  are  alone  here,"  said  Brigida.  "  I  «■ 
a  woman,  and  I  don't  know  that  you  may  not 
have  come  armed.  It  is  only  the  commonest 
precaution  on  my  part,  not  to  give  yon  » 
chance  of  getting  at  the  wax  mask  till  I  bare 
made  my  conditions." 

"  You  never  said  a  word  about  conditwos 
before."  ^  ^ . 

"  True.  I  remember  telling  you  that  l 
wanted  nothing  but  the  novelty  of  goingw 
the  masquerade  in  the  character  of  my  dnd 
enemy,  and  the  luxury  of  being  able  to  terrify 
the  man  who  had  brutally  ridiculed  me  in  oW 
days  in  the  studio.  That  was  the  truth,  m 
it  IS  not  the  less  the  truth,  that  our  cspw;- 
ment  on  Count  Fabio  has  detained  me  m  tw 
city  much  longer  than  I  ever  intended,  that 
I  am  all  but  penniless,  and  that  I  deserve  to 
be  paid.  In  plain  words,  will  you  buy  u* 
mask  of  me  for  two  hundred  scudi? " 

"I  have  not  twenty  scudi  in  the  worid,« 
my  own  free  disposal."  . 

«  You  must  find  two  hundred  if  you  warn 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  28,  1855. 


615 


the  wax  mask.  I  don't  wish  to  threaten— 
but  money  I  mnst  have.  I  mention  the  sum 
of  two  handred  scndl,  because  that  is  the 
exact  amoant  offered  in  the  pablic  handbills 
by  Connt  Fabio's  friends,  for  the  discovery  of 
the  woman  who  wore  the  yellow  mask 
at  the  Marquis  Melani's  ball.  What  have  I  to 
do  but  to  earn  that  money  if  I  please,  by  going 
to  the  palace,  taking  the  wax  mask  with  me, 
and  telling  them  that  I  am  the  woman.  Sup- 
pose I  confess  in  that  way  I  they  can  do 
nothing  to  hurt  me,  and  I  should  be  two 
hundred  scndi  the  richer.  You  might  be 
ii^ored,  to  be  sure,  if  they  insisted  on 
knowing  who  made  the  wax  model,  and  who 
suggested  the  ghastly  disguise—'' 

**  Wretch  1  do  you  believe  that  my  character 
could  be  injured  on  the  unsupported  evidence 
of  any  words  from  your  lips? " 

"  Father  Rocco !  for  the  first  time  since  I 
have  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of  your  acquain- 
tance, I  find  you  committing  a  breach  of 
good  manners.  I  shall  leave  you  until  you 
become  more  like  yourself.  If  you  wish  to 
apologise  for  calling  me  a  wretch,  and  if  you 
want  to  secure  the  wax  mask,  honour  me 
with  a  visit  before  four  o'clock  this  afternoon, 
and  bring  two  hundred  scudi  with  you.  De- 
lay till  after  four,  and  it  will  be  too  late." 

An  instant  of  silence  followed?  and  then 
Nanina  judged  that  Brigida  must  be  departing, 
for  she  heard  the  rustling  of  a  dress  on  the 
lawn  in  front  of  the  summer-house.  Unfor- 
tunately Scarammuccia  heard  it  too.  He 
twisted  himself  round  in  her  arms  and  growled. 

The  noise  disturbed  Father  Rocco.  She 
heard  him  rise  and  leave  the  summer-house. 
There  would  have  been  time  enough,  perhaps, 
for  her  to  conceal  herself  among  some  trees, 
if  she  could  have  recovered  her  self-possession 
at  once  ;  but  she  was  incapable  of  making  an 
e£fort  to  regain  it.  She  could  neither  think 
nor  move — her  breath  seemed  to  die  away  on 
her  lips — as  she  saw  the  shadow  of  the  priest 
stealing  over  the  grass  slowly,  from  the  front 
to  the  back  of  the  summer-house.  In  another 
moment  they  were  face  to  face. 

He  stopped  a  few  paces  from  her,  and 
eyed  her  steadily  in  dead  silence.  She  still 
crouched  against  the  summer-house,  and 
still  with  one  hand  mechanically  kept  her 
hold  of  the  dog.  It  was  well  for  the  priest 
that  she  did  so.  Scarammuccia's  formidable 
teeth  were  in  full  view,  his  shaggy  coat  was 
bristling,  his  eyes  were  starting,  his  growl 
bad  changed  from  the  surly  to  the  savage 
note  ;  he  was  ready  to  tear  down,  not  Father 
Rocco  only,  but  all  the  clergy  in  Pisa,  at  a 
moment's  notice. 

'^  You  have  been  listening,"  said  the  priest, 
calmly.  "  I  see  it  in  your  face.  You  have 
beard  all." 

She  could  not  answer  a  word :  she  could 
not  take  her  eyes  fVom  him.  There  was  an  un- 
natural stillness  in  his  face,  a  steady,  unre- 
pentant, unfathomable  despair  in  his  eyes,  that 
struck  her  with  horror.     She  would  have 


given  worlds  to  be  able  to  rise  to  her  feet  and 
fly  from  his  presence.  * 

**  I  once  distrusted  you  and  watched  you  in 
secret,"  he  said,  speaking  after  a  short  silence, 
thoughtfully,  and  with  a  strange  tranquil 
sadness  in  his  voice.  *'  And  now,  what  I  did 
by  you,  you  do  by  me.  You  put  the  hope  of 
your  life  once  in  my  hands.  Is  it  because 
they  were  not  worthy  of  the  trust,  that  dis- 
covery and  ruin  overtake  me,  and  that  you 
are  the  instrument  of  the  retribution  ?  Can 
this  be  the  decree  of  heaven?  oris  it  nothing 
but  the  blind  justice  of  chance  ? " 

He  looked  upward,  doubtingly,  to  the  lus- 
trious  sky  above  him,  and  sighed.  Nanina's 
eyes  still  followed  his  mechanically.  He 
seemed  to  feel  thehr  influence,  for  he  suddenly 
looked  down  at  her  again. 

"What  keeps  you  silent?  Why  are  you 
afraid?"  he  said,  I  can  do  you  no  harm, 
with  your  dog  at  vour  side,  and  the  workmen 
yonder  within  call.  I  can  do  you  no  harm, 
and  I  wish  to  do  you  none.  Go  back  to  Pisa, 
tell  what  you  have  heard,  restore  the  man 
you  love  to  himself,  and  ruin  me.  That  is 
your  work.  Do  it !  I  was  never  your  enemy 
even  when  I  distrusted  you.  I  atta  not  your 
enemy  now.  It  is  no  fault  of  yours  that  a 
fatality  has  been  accomplished  through  you — 
no  fault  of  yours  that  I  am  rejected  as  the 
instrument  of  securing  a  righteous  restitution 
to  the  church.  Rise,  child,  and  go  your  way, 
while  I  go  mine  and  prepare  for  what  is  to 
come.  If  we  never  meet  again,  remember 
that  I  parted  from  you  without  one  hard  say- 
ing or  one  hfursh  look — ^parted  from  you  so, 
knowing  that  the  first  words  you  speak  in 
Pisa  will  be  death  to  my  character,  and  de- 
struction to  the  great  purpose  of  my  life." 

Speaking  these  words,  always  with  the 
same  calmness  which  had  marked  his  manner 
from  the  first,  he  looked  fixedly  at  her  for  a 
little  while — sighed  again — and  turned  away. 
Just  before  he  disappeared  among  the  trees, 
he  said  "  Farewell ; "  but  so  softly  that  she 
could  barely  hear  it.  Some  strange  confusion 
clouded  her  mind  as  she  lost  sight  of  him. 
Had  she  injured  him  ?  or  had  he  icgured  her  ? 
His  words  bewildered  and  oppressed  her 
simple  heart  Yagne  doubts  and  fears,  and  a 
sudden  antipathy  to  remaining  any  longer  near 
the  summer-house,  overcame  her.  She  started 
to  her  feet,  and,  keeping  the  dog  still  at  her 
side,  hurried  from  the  garden  to  the  high 
road.  There,  the  wide  glow  of  sunshine,  the 
sight  of  the  city  lying  before  her,  changed 
the  current  of  her  thoughts,  and  directed 
them  all  to  Fabio  and  to  the  future. 

A  burning  impatience  to  be  back  in  Pisa 
now  possessed  her.  She  (fastened  towards  the 
city  at  her  utmost  speed.  The  doctor  was  re- 
ported to  be  in  the  palace  when  she  passed 
the  servants  lounginis  in  the  courtyard.  He 
saw,  the  moment  sEe  came  into  his  pre- 
sence, that  something  had  happened ;  and  led 
her  away  from  the  sick-room  into  Fabio's 
empty  study.    There  she  told  him  all. 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    Jclt  28,  1855. 


[CaadBCtedfar 


'^Toa  have  saved  bim,"  said  the  dootor* 
joyftilly.  "I  will  answer  for  bis  recorery. 
Only  let  tbat  woman  come  bere  for  the  reward; 
and  leave  me  to  deal  with  ber  aa  she  deserves. 
In  tbe  mean  time,  mj  dear,  don't  go  away  from 
tbe  palace  on  any  account  until  I  give  you 
permission.  I  am  going  to  send  a  message 
immediately  to  Signer  Andrea  d'Arblno  to 
come  and  bear  tbe  extraordinary  disclosure 
tbat  yon  have  made  to  me.  Go  back  to 
read  to  tbe  count,  as  usual,  until  I  want  yon 
again ;  but,  remember  you  must  not  drop 
a  word  to  him  yet,  of  what  you  have  said 
to  me.  He  must  be  careiuUy  prepared 
for  all  tbat  we  have  to  tell  him ;  and  must  be 
kept  quite  in  tbe  dark  until  these  prepara- 
tions are  made.'' 

D'Arbino  answered  the  doctor's  summons 
in  person ;  and  Nanina  repeated  ber  story 
to  him.  He  and  the  doctor  remained 
closeted  together  for  some  time  after  she  bad 
concluded  her  narrative,  and  had  retired.  A 
little  before  four  o'clock  they  sent  for  ber 
again  into  tbe  study.  Tbe  doctor  was  sitting 
by  the  table  with  a  bag  of  money  before  him, 
and  d'Arbino  was  telling  one  of  tbe  servants 
tbat  if  a  lady  called  at  the  palace  on  tbe  sub- 
ject of  the  handbill  which  he  had  circulated,  she 
was  to  be  admitted  into  the  study  immediately. 

As  the  clock  struck  four,  Nanina  was  re- 
quested to  take  possession  of  a  window-seat, 
and  to  wait  there  until  she  was  summoned. 
When  she  bad  obeyed,  tbe  doctor  loosened 
one  of  the  window  curtains,  to  hide  ber  from 
the  view  of  any  one  entering  the  room. 

About  a  quarter  of  an  hour  elapsed ;  and 
then  the  door  was  thrown  open,  and  Briglda 
herself  was  shown  into  the  study.  The  doctor 
bowed,  and  d'Arbino  placed  a  chair  for  her. 
She  was  perfectlv  collected,  and  thanked 
them  for  their  politeness  with  her  best  grace. 

"I  believe  I  am  addressing  confidential 
friends  of  Count  Fabio  d'Ascoli  7  "  Brigida 
began.  ^*  May  I  ask  if  you  are  authorised  to  act 
for  the  count,  in  relation  to  the  reward  which 
this  handbill  offbrs?'' 

The  doctor  having  examined  the  handbill, 
said  that  the  lady  was  quite  right,  and  pointed 
significantly  to  the  bag  of  money. 

*^  Ton  are  prepared  then,"  pursued  Brigida, 
smiling,  "  to  give  a  reward  of  two  hundred 
scudi  to  any  one  able  to  tell  you  who  the 
woman  is  who  wore  the  yellow  mask  at  tbe 
Marquis  Melani's  ball,  and  how  she  contrived 
to  personate  tbe  face  and  figure  of  the  late 
Countess  d'Ascoli?" 

*•  Of  course  we  are  prepared,"  answered 
d'Arbino,  a  little  irritably.  As  men  of 
honour  we  are  not  in  the  hal>it  of  promising 
anything  that  we  are  not  perfectly  willing, 
under  proper  conditions,  to  perform." 

*i  Pardon  me,  my  dear  friend,"  said  the 
doctor ;  '*  I  think  you  speak  a  little  too 
warmly  to  the  lady.  She  is  quite  right  to 
take  every  precaution.  We  have  tbe  two 
hundred  scudi  here,  madam,"  he  continued, 
patting  the  money-bag.    *'  And  we  are  pre- 


pared to  pay  that  sum  for  the  liiformatio&  we 
want  But"  (here  the  doctor  sosplcioasly 
moved  the  bag  of  scudi  frx>m  the  table  (o  his 
lap)  **  we  must  have  prooft  that  the  person 
claiming  the  reward  is  really  entitled  to  it'^ 

Brigida's  eyes  followed  the  money-bag 
greedily. 

"Proofs!  "  die  exclaimed,  taking  a  small 
flat  box  from  under  her  cloak,  and  padiing 
it  across  to  the  doctor.  "  Prooft !  there  yoo 
will  find  one  proof  tbat  estabUdies  my  claim 
beyond  the  possibility  of  doubt." 

The  doctor  opened  the  box,  and  looked  at 
the  wax  mask  inside  it ;  then  handed  it  to 
d'Arbino,  and  replaced  the  bag  of  scad!  on 
the  table. 

**  The  contents  of  that  box  seem  certainly 
to  explain  a  great  deal,"  he  said,  pushing  the 
bag  gently  towards  Brigida,  bat  always 
keeping  his  hand  over  it  **  The  woman  who 
wore  the  yellow  domino  was,  I  presume,  of 
the  same  height  as  the  late  countess  !  " 

"  Exactly,''  said  Brigida.  "  Her  eyes  were 
also  of  the  same  colour  as  the  late  countess's ; 
she  wore  vellow  of  the  same  shade  as  the 
hangings  in  the  late  countess's  room,  and 
she  had  on,  under  her  yellow  mask,  tiie 
colourless  wax  model  of  &e  late  countess's 
face,  now  in  vour  friend's  hand.  So  much  for 
that  part  of  the  secret  Nothing  remains  now 
to  be  cleared  up  but  the  mystery  of  who  the 
lady  was.  Have  the  goodness,  sir,  to  poah 
that  bag  an  inch  or  two  nearer  my  way,  az^ 
I  shall  be  delighted  to  tell  you." 

"Thank  you,  madam,"  said  the  doctor, 
with  a  very  perceptible  change  in  bis  manner. 
"  We  know  who  the  lady  was  already." 

He  moved  the  bag  of  scudi  while  he  spoke 
back  to  his  own  ride  of  the  table.  Brigidi's 
cheeks  reddened,  and  she  rose  from  her  seat 

"Am  I  to  understand  sir,"  she  said, 
haughtily,  "  that  you  take  advantage  of  my 
position  here,  as  a  defenceless  woman,  to 
cheat  me  out  of  the  reward  ?  " 

"  By  no  means,  madam,"  rejoined  the  doc- 
tor. "We  have  covenanted  to  pay  the 
reward  to  the  person  who  could  give  us  the 
information  we  required." 

"  Well,  sir  I  have  I  not  given  jon  part  of 
it  ?  And  am  I  not  prepared  to  give  you  tiie 
whole?" 

"  Certainly ;  but  the  misfortune  is,  that 
anotherperson  has  been  beforehand  with 
yon.  We  ascertained  who  the  lady  in  the 
yellow  domino  was,  and  how  she  contrived 
to  personate  the  face  of  the  late  Countess 
d'Ascoli,  several  hours  ago,  from  another 
informant  That  person  has,  consequently, 
the  prior  claim;  and,  on  eveir  principle  of  i 
justice,  that  person  must  also  have  the 
reward.  Nanina,  this  bag  belongs  to  yoa—  ' 
come  and  take  it" 

Nanina  appeared  from  the  window-seat 
Brigida,  thunderstruck,  looked  at  her  in 
silence  for  a  moment ;  gasped  out,  "  That 
girl  1 " — then  stopped  again  breathless. 

"  That  girl  was  at  the  back  of  the  summer-    i 


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HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  28,  1856. 


617 


hoose  this  morninff,  while  yoa  and  jour 
accomplice  were  talMng  together,"  said  the 
doctor. 

D'Arbino  had  been  watching  Brigida's 
face  intently  from  the  moment  of  Nanina's 
appearance,  and  had  quietly  stolen  close 
to  her  side.  This  was  a  fortunate  move- 
ment ;  for  the  doctor's  last  words  were  hardly 
out  of  his  mouth  before  Brigida  seized  a 
heavy  ruler  lyinff,  with  some  writing  mate- 
rials, on  the  table.  In  another  instant,  if 
d'Arbino  had  not  caueht  her  arm,  she  would 
have  hurled  it  at  Nanma's  head. 

"  You  mav  let  go  your  hold,  sir,"  she  said, 
dropping  the  rmer,  and  turning  towards 
d'Arbino  with  a  smile  on  her  white  lips  and 
a  wicked  calmness  in  her  steady  eyes.  "  I 
can  wait  for  a  better  opportunity." 

With  these  words,  die  walked  to  the  door; 
and,  turning  round  there,  regarded  Nanina 
fixedly. 

''  I  wish  I  had  been  a  moment  quicker, 
with  the  ruler,"  she  said,  and  went  out. 

"There  I"  exclaimed  the  doctor:  "I  told 
you  I  knew  how  to  deal  with  her  as  she  de- 
served. One  thing  I  am  certainly  obliged  to 
her  for:  she  has  saved  us  the  trouble  of 
going  to  her  house,  and  forcing  her  to  give 
up  the  mask.  And  now,  my  child,"  he 
continued,  addressing  Nanina,  *'  you  can  go 
home,  and  one  of  the  men  servants  shall  see 
yoa  safe  to  your  own  door,  in  case  that 
woman  should  still  be  lurking  about  the 
palace.  Stop !  you  are  leaving  the  bag  of 
Bcudi  behind  you." 

"  I  can't  take  it,  sir,"  said  Nanina,  very 
quietly  and  firmly. 

*'And  why  not?" 

"  She  would  have  taken  money  I "  she  said, 
reddening,  and  looking  towards  the  door. 

The  doctor  glanced  approvingly  at  d'Ar- 
bino.  "Well,  well,  we  won't  argue  about 
that  now,"  he  said.  '*I  will  lock  up  the 
money  with  the  mask  for  to-day.  Come  here 
to-morrow  morning  as  usual,  my  dear.  By 
that  time  I  shall  have  made  up  my  mind  on 
the  right  means  for  breaking  your  discovery 
to  Count  Fabio.  Only  let  us  proceed  slowly 
and  cautiously,  and  I  answer  for  success." 

The  next  morning,  among  the  first  visitors 
at  the  Ascoli  Palace  was  the  master-sculptor, 
Luca  LomL  He  seemed,  as  the  servants 
thought,  agitated,  and  said  he  was  especially 
desirous  of  seeing  Count  Fabio.  On  being  in- 
formed that  this  was  impossible,  he  reflected  a 
little,  and  then  inquired  if  the  medical  at- 
tendant of  the  Count  was  at  the  palace,  and 
could  be  spoken  with.  Both  questions  were 
answered  in  the  affirmative,  and  he  was 
ushered  into  the  doctor's  presence. 

"I  know  not  how  to  preface  what  I 
want  to  say,"  Luca  began,  looking  about  him 
confusedly.  "May  I  ask  you,  in  the  first 
place,  if  the  work-girl,  named  Nanina,  was 
here  yesterday?" 

"  She  was,''  said  the  doctor. 

«  Did  she  q>eak  in  private  with  any  one?" 


"Yes;  with  me." 

"Then,  you  know  everything?" 

"  Absolutely  everything." 

"  I  am  glad  at  least  to  find  that  my  object 
in  wishing  to  see  the  eount  can  be  equally 
well  answered  by  seeing  you.    My  brother,  I 

regret  to  say "    He  stopped  perplexedly, 

and  drew  from  his  pocket  a  roll  of  papers. 

"You  may  speak  of  your  brother  in  the 
plainest  terms,''  said  the  doctor.  "  I  know 
what  share  he  has  had  in  promoting  the  in- 
famous conspiracy  of  the  Yellow  Mask." 

"  My  petition  to  you,  and  through  yon  to 
the  count,  is,  that  your  knowledge  of  what 
my  brother  has  done  may  go  no  fiirther.  If 
this  scandal  becomes  public  it  will  ruin  me 
in  my  profession.  And  I  make  little  enough 
by  it  already,"  said  Luca,  with  his  old  sordid 
smile  breaking  out  again  faintly  on  his  face. 

"Pray,  do  you  come  from  your  brother 
with  this  petition  7"  inquired  the  doctor. 

"  No ;  I  come  solely  on  my  own  account 
My  brother  seems  careless  what  happens. 
He  has  made  a  full  statement  of  his  share  in 
the  matter  fVom  the  first ;  has  forwarded  it 
to  his  ecclesiastical  superior  (who  will  send  it 
to  the  archbishop),  and  is  now  awaiting  what- 
ever sentence  they  choose  to  pass  on  hiuL  I 
have  a  copy  of  the  document,  to  prove  that 
he  has  at  least  been  candid,  and  that  he  does 
not  shrink  from  consequences  which  he  might 
have  avoided  by  flignt.  The  Law  cannot 
touch  him,  but  the  church  can — and  to  the 
church  he  has  confessed.  All  I  ask  is,  that 
he  may  be  spared  a  public  exposure.  Such 
an  exposure  would  do  no  good  to  the 
count,  and  it  would  do  dreadful  injury  to 
me.  Look  over  the  papers  yourself,  and 
show  them,  whenever  you  think  proper,  to  the 
master  of  this  house.  I  have  every  confi- 
dence in  his  honour  and  kindness,  and  in 
yours." 

He  laid  the  roll  of  papers  open  on  the 
table,  and  then  retired  with  great  humility 
to  the  window.  The  doctor  looked  over  them 
with  some  Jrurlosity. 

The  statement  or  confession  besan  by 
boldly  avowing  the  writer's  conviction  that 
part  of  the  property  which  the  Count  Fabio 
d' Ascoli  had  inherited  ftom  his  ancestors  had 
been  obtained  by  fhiud  and  misrepresentation, 
from  the  church.  The  various  authorities  on 
which  this  assertion  was  based  were  then 
produced  in  due  order;  along  with  some 
curious  particles  of  evidence  culled  from  old 
manuscripts,  which  it  must  have  cost  much 
trouble  to  collect  and  decypher. 

The  second  section  was  devoted,  at  great 
length,  to  the  reasons  which  induced  the 
writer  to  think  it  his  absolute  duty,  as  an 
aflSectionate  son  and  futhful  servant  of  the 
church,  not  to  rest  until  he  had  restored  to 
the  successors  of  the  Apostles,  in  his  day,  the 
property  which  had  been  fraudulently  taken 
from  them  in  days  gone  by.  The  writer  held 
himself  justified,  in  the  last  resort,  and  in  that 
only,  in  using  any  means  for  effecting  this 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


618 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    July  28,  1856. 


[CaodoctedbT 


restoration,  except  such  as  might  involye  him 
in  mortal  sin. 

The  third  question  described  the  priest's 
share  in  promoting  the  marriage  of  Maddar 
Icna  Lomi  with  Fabio ;  and  the  hopes  he 
entertained  of  securing  the  restitution  of  the 
church  property  through  his  influence  over 
his  niece,  in  the  first  place,  and,  when  she  had 
died,  through  his  influence  over  her  child,  in 
the  second.  The  necessarj  failure  of  all  his 
projects,  if  Fabio  married  again,  was  next 
glanced  at ;  and  the  time  at  which  the  first 
suspicion  of  the  possible  occurrence  of  this 
catastrophe  occurred  to  his  mind,  was  noted 
with  scrupulous  accuracy. 

The  fourth  section  narrated  the  manner  in 
which  the  con^iracy  of  the  Yellow  Mask 
had  originated.  The  writer  described  himself 
as  being  in  his  brother^  studio,  on  the  night 
of  his  niece's  death,  harassed  by  forebodings 
of  the  lilcelihood  of  Fabio's  marrying  again, 
and  filled  with  the  resolution  to  prevent  any 
such  disastrous  second  union  at  all  hazards. 
He  asserted  that  the  idea  of  taking  the  wax 
mask  from  his  brother's  statue  flashed  upon 
him  on  a  sudden,  and  that  he  knew  of  nothing 
to  lead  to  it,  except,  perhaps,  that  he  had 
been  thinking,  just  before,  of  the  superstitious 
nature  of  the  young  man's  character,  as  he  had 
himself  observed  it  in  the  studio.  He  further 
declared  that  the  idea  of  the  wax  mask  ter- 
rified him  at  first ;  that  he  strove  against  it 
as  against  a  temptation  of  the  devil ;  that, 
from  fear  of  yielding  to  this  temptation,  he 
abstained  even  from  entering  the  studio 
during  bis  brother's  absence  at  Naples,  and 
that  he  first  faltered  in  his  good  resolution 
when  Fabio  returned  to  Pisa,  and  when  it 
was  rumoured,  not  only  that  the  young  noble- 
man was  going  to  the  ball,  but  that  he  would 
certainlv  marry  for  the  second  time. 

The  fifth  section  related,  that  the  writer, 
upon  this,  yielded  to  temptation  rather  than 
forego  the  cherished  purpose  of  his  life,  by 
allowing  Fabio  a  chance  of  marrying  again — 
that  he  made  the  wax  mask  in  a  plaster 
mould  taken  from  the  face  of  his  brother's 
statue— and  that  he  then  had  two  separate 
interviews  with  a  woman  named  Brigida  (of 
whom  he  had  some  previous  knowledge)  who 
was  ready  and  anxious,  from  motives  of 
private  malice,  to  personate  the  deceased 
countess  at  the  masquerade.  This  woman 
had  suggested  that  some  anonymous  letters 
to  Fabio  would  pave  the  way  in  his  mind  for 
the  approaching  impersonation,  and  had 
written  the  letters  herself.  However,  even 
when  all  the  preparations  were  made,  the 
writer  declared  that  he  shrank  from  proceed- 
ing to  extremities ;  and  that  he  would  have 
abandoned  the  whole  project,  but  for  the 
woman  Brigida  informing  him,  one  day,  that 
a  work-girl  named  Manina  was  to  be  one  of 
the  attendants  at  the  ball.  He  knew  the 
count  to  have  been  in  love  with  this  girl,  even 
to  the  point  of  wishing  to  marry  her ;  he  sus- 
pected that  her  engagement  to  wait  at  the 


ball  was  preconcerted ;  and,  in  consequence, 
he  authorised  his  female  accomplice  to  per- 
form her  part  in  the  conspiracy. 

The  sixth  section  detailed  the  proceedings 
at  the  masquerade,  and  contained  the  writer^s 
confession  that,  on  the  night  before  it,  he  bad 
written  to  the  count  proposing  the  reoonei- 
liation  of  a  difference  that  had  taken  place 
between  them,  solely  for  the  parpose  of 
guarding  himself  against  suspicion.  He  next 
acknowledged  that  he  had  borrowed  the 
key  of  the  Campo  Santo  gate,  keeping  the 
authority  to  whom  it  was  entrusted  In  per- 
fect ignorance  of  the  purpose  for  which  be 
wanted  it  That  purpose  was  to  carry  oat 
the  ghastly  delusion  of  the  wax  mask  (in  the 
very  probable  event  of  the  wearer  being  fol- 
lowed and  enquired  after)  by  having  the 
woman  Brigida  taken  up,  and  set  down,  at  the 
gate  of  the  cemetery  in  which  Fabio's  wife 
had  been  buried. 

The  seventh  section  solemnly  averred  that 
the  sole  object  of  the  conspiracy  was  to  pre- 
vent the  young  nobleman  from  marrying 
again,  by  working  on  his  superstitious  fi^rs : 
the  writer  repeating,  after  this  avowal,  that 
any  such  second  marriage  would  necessarily 
destroy  his  project  for  promoting  the  ultimate 
restoration  of  the  church  possessions,  by 
diverting  Count  Fablo's  property,  in  great 
part,  from  his  first  wife's  child,  over  whom 
the  priest  would  always  have  influence,  to 
another  wife  and  probably  other  children, 
over  whom  he  could  hope  to  have  none. 

The  eighth  and  last  section  expressed  the 
writer's  contrition  for  having  allowed  his 
zeal  for  the  church  to  mislead  him  into 
actions  liable  to  bring  scandal  on  his  cloth ; 
reiterated  in  the  strongest  language,  his 
conviction,  that,  whatever  might  be  thought 
of  the  means  employed,  the  end  be  had  pro- 
posed to  himself  was  a  most  righteous  one  ; 
and  concluded  b^  a£»i.rting  his  resoluti  **  to  i 
suffer  with  humility  any  penalties,  h'.  .ever  j 
severe,  which  his  ecclesiastical  superiors 
might  think  fit  to  inflict  on  him. 

Having  looked  over  this  extraordinary 
statement,  the  doctor  addressed  himself  again 
to  Luca  Lomi. 

"I  agree  with  you,"  he  said,  "that  no 
useful  end  is  to  be  gained  now  by  mention- 
ing your  brother's  conduct  in  public— always 
provided,  however,  that  his  ecclesiastical 
superiors  do  their  duty.  I  shall  show  these 
papers  to  the  count  as  soon  as  he  is  fit  to 
peruse  them,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  he 
will  be  ready  to  take  my  view  of  the  matter.- ' 

Thisassur  anoe  relieved  Luca  Lomi  of  a  great 
weight  of  anxiety.    He  bowed  and  with^w. 

The  doctor  placed  the  papers  in  the  same 
cabinet  in  which  he  had  secured  the  wax 
mask.  Before  he  locked  the  doors  again,  he 
took  out  the  flat  box,  opened  it,  and  looked 
thoughtfully  for  a  few  minutes  at  the  mask 
inside ;  then  sent  for  Nanina. 

**  Now,  my  child,"  he  said,  when  she  ap- 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Cbarlct  Dickens.] 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.    Jult  28,  1865. 


619 


peared,  ♦*  I  am  going  to  try  our  tot  experi- 
ment with  Count  Fabio ;  and  I  think  it  of 
great  importance  that  you  should  be  present 
while  I  speak  to  him." 

He  took  up  the  box  with  the  mask  in  it, 
and,  beckoning  to  Nanina  to  follow  him,  led 
the  way  to  Fabio's  chamber. 

CHAPTER  xn. 
About  six  months  after  the  events  already 
related,  Signor  Andrea  d'Arblno,  and  the 
Cavaliere  Finello  happened  to  be  staying  with 
a  friend,  in  a  seaside  villa  on  the  Gastellamare 
shore  of  the  Bay  of  Naples.    Most  of  their 
time  was  pleasantly  occupied  on  the  sea,  in 
fishing  and  sailing.  A  boat  was  placed  entirely 
at  tlieir  disposal.    Sometimes  they  loitered 
whole  days  along  the  shore ;  sometimes  made 
trips  to  the  lovely  islands  in  the  Bay. 
I       One  evening  they  were  sailing  near  Sor- 
i  rento,  with  a  light  wind.    The  beauty  of  the 
•  coast  tempted  them  to  keep  the  boat  close  in 
I  shore.     A  short  time  before  sunset,  they 
rounded  the  most  picturesque  headland  they 
had  yet  passed;  and  a  little  bay  with  a  white 
sand  beach  opened  on  their  view.    They  no- 
ticed tot  a  villa  surrounded  by  orange  and 
olive  trees  on  the  rocky  heights  inland^then 
a  path  in  the  cliff-side,  leading  down  to  the 
sands— then,  a  little  family  party  on  the 
beach,  enjoying  the  fragrant  evening  air. 

The  elders  of  the  group  were  a  lady  and 
gentleman,  sitting  together  on  the  sand.  The 
lady  had  a  guitar  in  her  lap,  and  was  playing 
a  simple  dance  melody.  Close  at  her  side,  a 
young  child  was  rolling  on  the  beach  in 
high  glee :  in  front  of  her  a  little  girl  was 
dancing  to  the  music,  with  a  very  extraordi- 
nary partner  in  the  shape  of  a  dog,  who  was 
capering  on  his  hind  legs  in  the  most  gro- 
tesque manner.  The  merry  laughter  of  the 
Jirl,  and  the  lively  notes  of  the  guitar  were 
^»j;^  difttinctly  aorosfl^jtie  still  water. 
.  ^;^se  a  little  nearer  in  shore,"  said  d'Ar- 
buio  to  his  ft-iend,  who  was  steering.  *'  And 
keep  as  I  do  in  the  shadow  of  the  sail.  1 
want  to  see  the  faces  of  those  persons  on  the 
beach,  without  being  seen  by  them." 

Finello  obeyed.  After  approaching  just 
near  enough  to  see  the  countenances  of  the 
party  on  shore,  and  to  be  barked  at  lustily 
l3y  the  dog,  they  turned  the  boat's  head  again 
towards  the  ofling. 

**  A  pleasant  voyage,  gentlemen,"  cried  the 
clear  voice  of  the  little  girL  They  waved 
their  hats  in  return ;  and  then  saw  her  run 
to  the  dog  and  take  him  by  the  fore  legs. 
"Play,  Nanina,"  they  heard  her  say.  "I 
bavo  not  half  done  with  my  partner  yet" 
The  guitar  sounded  once  more,  and  the  gro- 
tesque dog  was  on  his  hind  legs  in  a  moment. 
"  I  had  heard  that  he  was  well  again,  that 
he  had  married  her  lately,  and  that  he  was 
away  with  her,  and  her  sister,  and  his  child 
by  the  first  wife,"  said  d'Arbino.  "  But  I 
bad  no  suspicion  that  their  place  of  retb*e- 
ment  was  so  near  us.    It  is  too  soon  to  brei^ 


in  upon  their  happiness,  or  I  should  have  felt 
inclined  to  run  the  boat  on  shore." 

« I  never  heard  the  end  of  that  strange ' 
adventure  of  the  Yellow  Mask,"  said  Finello. 
'*  There  was  a  priest  mixed  up  in  it,  was  there 
not?" 

'*  Tes ;  but  nobody  seems  to  know  exactly 
what  has  become  of  him.  He  was  sent  for  to 
Rome,  and  has  never  been  heard  of  since. 
The  report  is,  that  he  volunteered  to  serve 
on  the  new  mission,  despatched  some  months 
since  to  Japan.  In  that  case,  he  has  gone  to 
almost  certain  death — for  the  last  mission 
perished  under  torture  in  the  hands  of  the 
natives.  I  asked  his  brother,  the  sculptor, 
about  him,  a  little  while  ago,  but  he  only 
shook  his  head,  and  said  nothing." 

*<And  the  woman  who  wore  the  yellow 
mask?" 

"She,  too,  has  ended  mysteriously.  At 
Pisa,  she  was  obliged  to  sell  off  everything 
she  possessed  to  pay  her  debts.  Some  friends 
of  hers  at  a  milliner's  shop,  to  whom  she 
applied  for  help,would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
her.  She  left  the  city  alone  and  penniless." 
The  boat  had  approached  the  next  headland 
on  the  coast,  while  they  were  talking.  They 
looked  back  for  a  last  glance  at  the  beach. 
Still  the  notes  of  the  guitar  came  gently 
across  the  quiet  water;  but  there  mingled 
with  them  now,  the  sound  of  the  lady's  voice. 
She  was  singing.  The  little  girl  and  the  dog 
were  at  her  feet,  and  the  gentleman  was  still 
in  his  old  place,  close  at  her  side. 

In  a  few  minutes  more,  the  boat  rounded 
the  next  headland,  the  beach  vanished  from 
view,  and  the  music  died  away  softly  in  the 
distance. 


WIGS. 

A  CORRESPONDENT  of  the  Gentleman's 
Magazine,  in  some  back  number — I  am  not 
antiquary  enough  to  desire  more  recondite 
authority— says  that  the  first  wig  was  made 
of  a  goat's  skin  and  was  worn  by  Saul.  In 
the  British  Museum  there  is  an  Egyptian  wig 
with  flowing  ringlets,  manufactured,  as  I 
think,  before  Saul's  time.  If  I  were  myself 
the  wearer  of  the  last  wig  I  would  burn  it, 
and  so  put  an  end  to  as  unhandsome  a  race  of 
cheats  as  ever  discredited  humanity. 

Fcr  the  head  of  hair  is  the  most  worshipful 
and  noble  part — the  very  crown — of  the 
whole  human  body.  Hair  is  also  set  over 
the  eyes,  which  speak  the  language  of  the 
soul,  and  over  the  mouth,  which  speaks 
the  language  of  the  understanding.  Some 
nations  have,  indeed,  attempted  to  conceal 
the  dominance  of  hair  over  the  lips  of  man ; 
but  it  has,  persistently,  continued  to  de- 
mand its  place.  The  Greeks  and  Ro- 
mans offer^  the  first-fruits  of  the  human 
temples  to  the  temples  of  the  gods.  I 
say  no  more.  When  Christians  were  primi- 
tive, a  man  swore  by  his  beard  as  by  the 
most  precious  thing  ho  had,  and  the  man 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


620 


HOUSEHOLD  WORDS.  Jult,  28,  1855. 


who  lied  by  his  beard  was  of  all  liars  the 
most  wicked.  I  say  no  more.  In  those  good 
times  the  act  of  salutation  never  was  so 
graceful  as  when  it  was  accompanied  by 
plucking  a  hair  flrom  the  head,  and  presenting 
it  as  the  most  worthy  of  all  human  offerings 
to  the  person  so  respectfully  saluted.  But  I 
say  no  more.  There  was  a  time  when  the 
offering  of  the  hab*  to  be  cut  was  an  acknow- 
ledgment of  sovereignty;  now,  we  sell  our- 
selves thus  into  the  hands  of  any  fellow  who 
is  base  enough  to  refuse  an  offer  by  which  he 
is  honoured  so  enormously,  unless  we  pay  him 
sixpence  for  accepting  it.  Enough ;  I  feel  veir 
strongly  on  such  subjects.  Short  hair  used, 
in  the  good  old  times,  to  be  the  mark  of  serfs 
or  bondsmen,  as  indeed  it  is  now  partly  to  be 
taken  as  the  mark  of  persons  lately  come 
from  gaol.  The  insolvent  debtor,  who  for- 
feited himself  as  a  slave  to  his  creditor,  cut 
off  the  flowing  locks  that  were  his  glory,  and 
should  not  be  made  partakers  of  his  shame. 
I  say  no  more — positively  not  another  word. 
Long  hair  was  the  mark  of  nobility  and 
royalty  in  England  till,  in  the  time  of  the 
most  contemptible  of  all  our  monarchs, 
Charles  the  Second,  when  there  was  nothing 
but  a  goat  upon  the  throne,  goat's  hair 
usurped  the  place  of  man's  hair  on  the  throne 
of  a  man's  body,  and  full-bottomed  wigs 
came  in. 

Louis  the  Twelfth  of  France  was  noticeable 
for  bis  flowing  locks  until  disease  compelled 
him  to  replace  them  with  a  wig.  His  loyal 
subjects  instantly  shaved  their  heads,  and, 
abdicating  nature's  crown,  because  it  had 
been  taken  from  their  master,  warmed  their 
brains  in  the  tails  of  horses  and  the  fleece  of 
goats.  Louis  Quatorze  knew  how  despicable 
he  had  made  his  own  head  when  he  staked 
his  dignity  on  a  peruque;  and,  with  an  instinct 
that  betrayed  his  sense  of  the  height  A*om 
which  he  bad  fallen  through  the  realms  of 
hair,  allowed  no  roan  but  the  barber  who 
shaved  it  to  behold  the  poll  that  was  stewed 
daily  within  the  close  oven  of  his  enormous 
wig.  Not  even  his  most  familiar  valet  ever 
beheld  Louis  Quatorze  bareheaded.  He  was 
undressed,  and  retired  to  bed  with  his  wig 
on,  and  it  was  only  when  the  curtains  had 
been  closely  drawn  around  him  tiiat  his  royal 
hand  protruded  from  beneath  their  folds, 
deposited  the  thatch  of  his  sublime  skull  in 
the  arms  of  a  page,  and  received  in  exchange 
a  nightcap.  In  the  morning  the  same  page 
attended  to  receive  from  the  same  protruded 
hand  the  nightcap  and  restore  the  awftil  wig. 
When,  shortly  afterwards,  the  curtains  were 
withdrawn,  his  majesty  was  seen  between  the 
sheets  with  his  head  already  baking  in  its 
oven,  and,  as  usual,  offering  to  the  gaze  of  his 
awe-stricken  valet  a  majestic  fWz. 

When  false  crowns  were  made  of  human 


hair,  it  was  commonly  of  hair  cut  Arom  corpeesL 
In  the  timi  of  the  Plague,  wigs  were  in 
fashion,  and  were,  therefore,  even  a  muck 
greater  source  of  terror  to  their  wearers  than 
they  are  just  now  to  me.  On  the  third 
of  September,  sixteen'  sixty-four,  eajs  Mr. 
Pepys : — "  (Lord's  day)  Up,  and  put  on  my 
coloured  silk  suit,  very  fine,  and  my  new 
periwig,  bought  a  good  while  since,  but  durst 
not  wear,  because  the  plague  was  in  West- 
minster when  I  bought  it;  and  it  is  a  wonder 
what  will  be  the  fEuhion  after  the  plague  is 
done,  as  to  periwigs,  for  nobody  will  boy  any 
hair  for  fear  of  infection,  that  it  had  been  cat 
off  the  heads  of  people  dead  of  the  plague." 

In  the  time  of  Queen  Anne  and  (xeorge 
the  First,  full-bottomed  wigs,  <'hlgfa  on  the 
shoulders  in  a  basket  borne,"  inasmuch  as 
they  were  worth  some  pounds  a-piece,  were 
thought  worth  stealing  in  the  streets  fnym 
the  heads  of  their  wearers.  I  shall  not  talk  of 
Dr.  Johnson's  wigs  :  either  of  his  work-a-day 
or  of  the  dress  wig  that  he  kept  at  Mis. 
Thrale's,  and  put  on  in  the  hall  before  makiog 
his  appearance  in  the  parlour.  But  I  wiS 
dissect,  tear,  separate,  and  divide,  all  wigs, 
because  I  hate  them.  I  wish  I  had  been  a 
critic  in  the  day  when  these  appeared.  The 
Storehouse  of  Armoury  and  Blazon,  contain- 
ing the  several  variety  of  Created  BeingB^ 
and  how  borne  in  Coats  of  Arms,  both  Foreign 
and  Domestic:  with  the  Instruments  used  m 
all  Trades  and  Sciences,  together  ^th  thdr 
Terms  of  Art,  by  Handle  Holme  of  Chester, 
Gentleman  Sewer  to  his  late  Migesty  King 
Charles  the  Second.  I  would  have  massacred 
this  book  unmercifully;  especially  for  the 
following  passages : 

*'  A  border  of  hair  is  only  locks  to  cover 
the  ears  and  neck,  and  is  fixed  in  a  cap, 
having  no  head  of  hair. 

"  A  short-bob— a  head  of  hair,  is  a  wig'^(ih^ 
villain  dares  to  call  a  head  of  bafr  a  wjg)    . 
<<  that  hath  short  locks  and  a  hairv  crown. 

**  A  long  perawick,  with  side  hair  and  a 
poll  lock  l^hind. 

"  A  campaign  wig  hath  knots  or  bobs  on  \ 
each  side,  with  a  curled  forehead.  A  travel-  ; 
ling  wig." 

He  goes  on  to  "  a  grafted  wig,"  "  drakes'    , 
tails,"  "frizzes,""  thoughts  of  hair,"  "thread 
wafts,"  "two-thread  mOts,"  "three-thread    , 
wafts!"    What!  Is  a  man's  own  head  thus  to 
be  cobbled  for  him  with  needles,  silk  thread, 
tape,  and  a  "  perawick  thimble  ?  "    If  all  my 
hair  falls  off,  let  me  go  bald.    As  man,  I  am 
a  king ;  and  if  it  be  my  fate  ever  to  lose  the 
crown  of  silver  that  is  now  set  on  my  brow, 
I  will  not  seek  unworthy  consolation  by  re- 
placing it  with  any  sham  that  can  be  stitched 
together.    If  ever  the  day  comes  for  me  to  be 
ashamed  to  show  my  head  among  my  fellows,    < 
I  will  hide  it  from  them. 


END  OF  yOLUMB  THB  ELEVENTH. 


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