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Full text of "The new monthly magazine"

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THB 



NEW MONTHLY 

MAGAZINE. 



n>RBD BT 



WmiAM HARRISON AINSWORTH. 



VOL. 104. 



LONDON: 
CHAPMAN AND HALI^ 198, PICCADILLY. 

1866. 



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^ i 



CONTENT& 



Thk MiLnxBT BxsoinMss ov Gsaoukinr l 

MoQB Park, AB XT Was Ajn> Is 15 

A YoioB vBOM THB Cbowd. Bt Mabt C. F. Mohck 21 

Sarah Bbauglbbo. Btthb Authobof "TheIJrholt Wuh" . 23 
LiTBRABT Lbaitlets. Bt Sib Nathabibl. No. ±2UL1.— Owbh Mbbbduh's 

POBMB 39 

Anolomabia in Dbbmark. a Social Sretch. Ebom thb Dabish. Bt 
Mrs. BuBHBT 46 

Thb Exohtbebth Grbtctrt; ob, Illustratiohs of thb Mabbbrs abb Cub- 
tomb OF OUR GrabbbatHerb. Br Albxabbbb Abdrbwb 49, 222, 327, 485 

DiART OW A FiRBT WlBTBB IN BoHB— 1854. Bt Florbbtxa 57, 207, 363, 439 

Thb Parafluib Ybrt 71 

Qbb or Two Habitb of Youbo Frabcb 75 

Mhjtabt pROMonoB bt Pubchabb 83 

The Women and thb Salobb of France 88 

Skbtcheb op thb Italian Bbtolution. Bt an Eib-Wixnbbb 95, 240, 282, 490 

A Danubian Odtbbbt 110 

TheZouaybb 121 

Thb Aubtbiab Abmt 127 

Ebbion Pbfper'b Lbttbbb from thb Crimba. Batch thb Sixth . . . 141 

Wbbtwood'b <^ Bbrribb AND Blobbomb" 156 

Lrerart Leaflets. Bt Sir Nathaniel. .No. XYXTT. Jameb Thomson 159 

Ck>MMON Thinob 167 

Thb Baptibm of the Poor. From thb Frbnch of H^oisiPPB Morbau. 
BtMrb. Bubhbt 179 

The Cribib. Bt thb Author of ** The Unholt Wibh" . . 181 

Mt Firbt Etbnino ON Circuit. Bt '* Warrdtoton" . . .195 

The Gipbt Girl. Bt Mart C. F. Monck 201 

A YiBTT to thb Home of Goethe. Bt an Old Tbaybllbr .203 

The Stort of Qubnttn Matbtb 221 

The Anoleb and hib Fribnd 232 

The Pbusbian Abmt ^53 

Human Lohobtitt ^^7 



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IV OOKTBITTS. 

PA0K 

A KiHG OCT or Habxbw 276 

To M188 Niohuhgale 896 

Wolvbrt'b Boost 297 

A Talb of Jutland. Fbox the Daki^u of S. S. Blichbb. By Mb8. 

BUBHBT 300 

The Sigk-Chajcber. Bt the Autbob of *< The Unbolt Wish" . . 312 

StOKB DoTTBBBLL ; OB, ThB LiVBBPOOL ApPBENTICE, a HI8TOBT 336, 423 

LiTBBABT Leaflets. Bt Sib Nathaniel. No. XXXIIL— Life and 
Lbttebs of Sydney Smith 351 

Thb Abhibs of the Smalleb Gebman Powers 379 

A Day in the Desebt 393 

Thb Comfobtbbs. By William Piokebsgill ...... 403 

]>BATH IN Battle 417 

The Last Yisrr to the Tbystixg-Pli.ce. By Maey C. F. Monck . . 421 

Sbbtghes of Gebman Student-Life. By Eybb Lloyd . . . • « 433 

• Occasional Notes on Litbbatube in Fbancb. By Sib Nathanibl. 
£— Fbilab^te ChasLes 458 

The Reception. By the Authob op •* The Unholy Wish" . . . 467 

Lyrics. By T. Westwood 463 



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NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 



THE MILITARY EESOURCES OF GERMANY. 

At the present moment, when we are all anxiously awaiting whether 
Austria will declare herself our firm and honourable ally, and so furnish 
a counterpoise to the daily growing Prussian sympathy tor the Czar, it is 
most certainly an interesting question — at least to our readers of the 
sterner sex — to know what the available resources of Germany, in a 
military point of view, really are. With the view of furnishing such 
statistics as may be relied on, we have, therefore, been at some trouble 
in collecting information on this highly important subject irom such 
sources as were at our command; and among these we may mention 
more especially the numerous and excellent military papers which 
periodically appear in Germany. But a difficulty occurs to us at the 
outset, as to which will be the most fitting way of treating our subject - 
the Germans ridicule us for our gross ignorance when we divide Ger- 
many into Austria, Prussia, and Germany ; but can they suggest any 
more sensible division ? It is impossible to be continually repeating the 
names of thirty-seven royalets and dukes, whenever we wish to write of 
Germany, minus the two great Powers, and, consequently, the simplest 
plan will be for us, in our resume, to adhere to such a division, and treat 
of the forces of Austria, Prussia, and the army of the Confederation. 

It must be borne in mind that the two Powers are only BundeS' 
pflichtxgy or boiftad to supply forces to the Confederation for those 
countries which form an integral part of Germany proper ; that is to say, 
Austria, for the kingdom of Austria, Bohemia, Styria, Carnia and 
Carinthia, Austrian Friuli with Trieste, the County of Tyrol with the 
Vorarlberg, Moravia and Austrian Silesia. Prussia, on the other hand, 
for Pomerania, the Marks, Saxony, Silesia, Westphalia, and the Rhenish 
Provinces. It will, therefore, be advisable to regard the military 
strength of these two great Powers in detail, and defer any statement of 
their Bundes- Contingent till we arrive at that section of our paper. 

THE AUSTRIAN ABMT. 

1. Infantby. — Austria has 77 regiments and 26 battalions of in- 
fantry, of which 62 are regiments of the line, 14 regiments and 1 
battalion of border infantry (Grflnzer), and 1 regiment and 25 battalions 
of chasseurs. Each battalion of the line is composed of 1324 effectives 
of all grades, and each reg^iment contains 5 battalions. After making the 
necessary deductions, we bring the strength of each regiment to 5964 men, 
and, consequently, the entire strength of the 62 line infantry regiments 
will amount to 369,800 men, including depdts. In the border regiments 
each regiment contains 3847 men, and the entire strength of this branch 
of the service, with reserves, may be estimated at 55,200 men. In all 
these regiments, 2 corporals and 16 tirailleurs in each company are 

if ay— TOL. CIV. HO. ccccxni. b 



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2 The Military Resources of Germany. 

anned with rifles and sword-bayonets ; the remainder of the company 
with percussion muskets and bayonets. Each battalion of chasseurs 
contains about 1200 men, and their whole strength with dep6t, including 
the imperial chasseur regiment of 7 battalions, is 32,500 men. The 
chasaeiin are all armed with rifles and sword-bayonets. 

Mecapiiulaium, 

62 Eegiments of the line 369,800 men 

14 Regiments of the granzer 55,200 „ 

1 Begiment and 25 battalions chasseurs 32,500 „ 

457,500 „ 

2. Cayauit. — ^The Austrian cavalry amounts altogether to 40 ragi« 
ments, of which 16 are heavy — ^viz., 8 cuirassier and 8 dragoon; and 
24 light — 12 hussar and 12 uhlan. Each cuixassicDr or dragoon regi- 
ment, without dep6t, contains 1204 of all grades, with 1025 horses, and, 
consequently, the strength of the heavy cavalry is 19,264 men, 16,400 
horses. The light hussar or uhlan regiments each contain 1808 meniy 
with 1596 horses; and their total strength, without depdts, is equal to 
43,392 men, with 38,304 horses. In the cuirassier, dragoon, and uhlan 
regiments, 16 men are armed with rifled carbines and one pistol; the 
remainder with two pistols. In the hussars one-half has smooth-bored 
carbines ; the other half, rifles, and, in addition, one pistol apiece. 

BeeapituUUum, 

The heavy cavahry regiments 19,264 men 

The light cavalry regunents ^392 „ 

62,656 „ 
The dep6ts bring up this strength to 67,000 men, with 57,300 horses. 

3. Artillery. — In Austria a distinction is made between field 
artillery, fortress artillery, and technical artillery. Very recently, the 
artillery has been reorganised as follows : • 

12 Field-artillety regiments 

1 Rocket re«nment 

1 Coast-artiUery regiment 

8 Battalions of fortress artillery 

and the entire strength of the artillery, with reserve, may be estimated at 
135 batteries, 8 battalions, and about 47,000 men. Each artillery regi- 
ment on a war footing has four 6-pounder foot, six cavalry, three 12- 
pounder foot batteries, and one long howitzer battery of eight guns, and 
the strength of each regiment may be estimated at 4000 men and 2340 
horses. 

4. Ekgikesbs. — The engineers* corps is dirided into the engineers' 
staff and the engineer troops. The former contains 13 generals, 5^ staff 
officers, and 150 general omoers* An engineer regiment if made up as 
follows : 

3 Battalions of 6 companies of 220 men \ ^RoiyA m_ 

1 Dep6t battalion of 6 companies of 1334 men J —^^'^ ™^ 
The companies are composed of one-quarter miners and three-fourths 
sappen, and the entire strength of the engineers' ooips may be estimated 
at 11,100 men« 

5. Pioneers. — This branoh is made up of 4 battalions^ each of 6 
oompaniesy which are instnicted in fnoneeriDg and pontooning, and 



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The MSitary Besatirces of Germany. 8 

« 

attached to the odrps d'ann^e in the field. Each battalion oohtains 
1376 efieoiiTes; Each dinsion haa 16 pontoons, and b able to build 
bridges twenty-eieht yards long. The two first ranks are armed -mA. 
diaweor rifles and sword-bayonets : the third rank only with sabres. The 
pioneer corps, with « staff of 2 colonels, 1- lieutenant-colonel, and 1 
Adjutant, amounts to 6600 men. Very recently, the flotilla corps ap- 
pointed in 1848 for Lake Gruarda, the Danube, the Po, and the Lai^nes 
of Venice, has been attached to the pioneers. It amounts to 1600 men, 
with 10 steam-vessels and 60 tiigs. 

It will not be necessary to enter into all the details of the various other 
•corps attached to the Austrian army, but we may arriYe at once at the 
following i^proximaitive statement. The strength of the Austrian armies 
('without d^ts) is equal to 476,000 men, with 1140 guns; including 
depdts, it would reach the enormous amount of 693,000 men. 

The whole of the forces are divided into 4 armies, or 13 corps d'arm^ 
as follows : 

1st aimj, consisting of the Ist, 2nd, 8rd, and 9th corps d'azm^ 

2nd „ „ 5th, 6th, 7th, and 8th 

3rd „ „ 10th, 11th, 12th, and 1st cavahy corps d'arm^ 

4th „ „ 4th corps d'arm^ 

The period of service is eight years in peace, commendng from the 
nineteenth year, with two years of reserve duty attached ; and a substi- 
tute may be provided, in the shape of soldiers who have already served, 
or volunteers, by a pajrment of 600 to 700 florins. The reserve (since 
1862 in lieu of the former militia) can be called out in a strength of 
100,000 to 120,000 men, but are not generally summoned to exercise. 
The Borderers serve from the twentieth to the fiftieth year in the field, 
«nd to tiie sixtieth in house service. They are employed during peace 
to prevent smuggling, &c. ; and nearly 10,000 of them are stationed at 
sll the firontiers of Croatia and tiie Banat in . watch-houses : they are 
relieved every ten or twelve days ; and in war they serve as light 
infantry. In case of need, they can be raised to a strength of 200,000 
men. 

THB PBUSSIAN ABlfT. 

The history of Prussia and her army is of so curious a nature, when 
we take into consideration that but a century ago she took rank among 
.the continental great Powers by the definitive occupation of Silesia, that 
we think it advisable to precede our account of the army by a slight 
glance at its origin and progress. The first Electors of Brandenburg 
did not maintain regular troops ; they had, for their personal security, 
a guard of 100 horse, and a few companies of Lansquenets divided 
among their strong towns. In case of war they called out the popula- 
tion to arms, and it was nearly a levy en masse. When the Elector 
John Sisismond, the ninth Elector of the House of Brandenburg, in* 
herited tibe ducbies of Julius and Berg, he determined on defending his 
rights by main force, and raised a small army, composed of 400 horse 
and 1000 footmen, as well as 2600 militia. The same elector, in 1611, 
attached the duchy of Prussia to the Electorate of Brandenburg, and so 
obtained a very valuable addition to his foroes, in men capable of bearing 
all the wiaties of climate, fisitigues, and privations. 

It was not the enstom, at that period, to provide for the subsistence of 

b2 



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4 T/ie Military Resources of Germany* 

the troops by means of storehouses filled beforehand, or by contracts : 
thus, in 1620, under the active government of the Elector George 
William, when the States of Brandenburg raised troops, they gave them 
the prinlege of begging through the country to obtain their food : tho 
peasants were ordered to give them a groschen each time they begged, 
and blows with a stick if they were not satisfied — a singular arrange- 
ment, in which, we may be sure, it was not always the soldiers who 
received the thrashing. In 1623 a levy was made among all the subjects 
of the Electorate — save the priests and notaries — of 3900 men, who were 
divided into twenty-five companies of infantry and ten squadrons. In 
1638, the Brandenburg army was commanded by a general — the first 
mentioned in the history of the Electorate — and was composed of 8000 
foot and 2900 horse; a very considerable effective, in proportion to the 
population, but much too weak to protect Brandenburg against the evils 
to which it was subjected durine the Thirty Years' War both from Swedes 
and Imperialists, for friend and foe alike pillaged this unhappy country. 
On the death of George William, in 1640, the figures just quoted were 
reduced to 3600 infantry and 260!o cavalry. 

Frederick William, successor of George William, recognised the 
necessity of maintaining a regular army. In 1653, on his dispute with 
the Palatine Count of Meuburg, relative to the succession of Cleves, he 
raised fifty-two companies of cavalry and eighty-two companies ai 
in&ntry. In 1665, when preparing to support the Swedes against the 
Poles, ne raised his army to 10,600 infantiy and 14,400 horse : a very 
respectable number. At the head of this army were a marshal, a grand- 
master of the ordnance, four lieutenant-generals, and seven major- 
generals. During the war of 1672 he had 26,000 soldiers, with whom 
he made his glorious campaigns in Pomerania and Prussia, which have 
given him a high place in history, and obtained for him the title of the 
Great Elector. On his .death, in 1688, the Brandenburg army was 
composed of 

17 Eegiments of infantry 21,000 men 

14 Regiments of cavalry 4,800 „ 

18 Gamson companies 2,700 „ 

28,500 „ 

The Brandenburg infantry was drawn up at that period in formation 
of six deep, two of pikemen and four of musketeers. At this time, too, 
no magazines were kept up for the support of the troops, in such a manner 
that, according to a celebrated expression, '< they quitted a country after 
having eaten it up." The son of the Great Elector, who became in 
1701 the first King of Prussia, under the name of Frederick I., augmented 
or diminished his army, according to the subsidies he received from his 
allies. At his death, in 1713, he left an army of about 30,000 com- 
batants, forming 38 battalions, 53 squadrons, and 18 garrison companies. 
During his reign the Prussian army was brought to a very consiaerable 
degree of efficiency and discipline, and the troops were cul armed with 
muskets. The second Ring of Prussia, Frederick William I., was brutal 
in the interior of his family, economic in the administration of his finances, 
minute in military exercises. The King of England, his brother-in-law, 
never called him anything but " my brother the sergeant.*' Frederick 
William only thought of two things ; having a good army, and forming 



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The Military Resources of Germany. 5 

a treasaiy, by means of which he could, in case of need, immediately 
molnlise this army. These two motives for the second King of Prussia 
and his successor contain the whole secret of the prompt elevation of 
Prussia to the rank of the great Powers. The economy of Frederick 
William was produced by the exaggerated luxury of his father, Frede« 
rick I., who tried to imitate in everything his contemporary, Louis XIV. 
This economy is depicted by a single fact : he gave a dozen Japan vases 
for a regiment of dragoons which the King of Poland proposed to dis- 
band, and which was afterwards known by the name of the Porcelain 
Regiment The augmentation of his army was produced by the follow 
ing causes, as an historian assures us : When crown prince, he was annoyed 
by hearing two Eugltsh generals say that Prussia could not keep up more 
than 20,(X)0 men without subsidies. He proved the falsehood of this in 
the first year of his reign by raising 50,000 men by his own unaided 
resources. The discipline and elementary tactics of his iu&Dtry left little 
to desire ; it was the only body then to be found in Europe able to fire 
six rounds in a minute; it was still formed four deep, but eventually was 
altered to three. The cavalry was only remarkable for the great height 
of the men and horses. Frederick William manifested at an early date 
his mania for tall soldiers : the smallest foot soldier in his army must be 
five feet six inches. Imagining that he would be able to perpetuate a 
race of giants in his states, he even sought to marry his soldiers to the 
tallest women he could find. A comical accident happened to him in 
this matter. Perceiving one day, at the gates of Berlin, a young g^i 
almost gigantic, he gave her a crown, and ordered her to hand a note he 
wrote to the commandant of Potsdam, on her return home. The young 
girl had her doubts, so she entrusted the note and the dollar to a poor 
old woman, who, that very evening, in conformity with the note, was 
married to an enormous soldier, who grumbled a long while before sub^ 
mitting to this unexpected connubial tie. The next day the monarch 
discovered the deception ; but what was to be done ? The young girl, a 
native of Saxony, had recrossed the frontier ; so he ordered an imme« 
diate divorce of the ill-assorted couple. Frederick William, too, as 
respects his troops, went into excesses bordering on the ridiculous. All 
his soldiers, tall, well built, dressed in new uniforms every year, resembling 
each other in the slightest details, toup^ed and powdered with care, car* 
lied arms, brilliant in cleanliness, and boots shining like mirrors, follow- 
ing the expression of a contemporary ; but to attain this result, they 
passed all their time in polishing, pipe-claying, and varnishing. The 
Prussian soldiers were all cast in a mould ; seeing one was seeing all. 
In the cavalry, the horse was kept with the same care as the rider. In 
spite of these absurdities, already introduced by him during his father^s 
lifetime, corps belonging to the Prussian army distinguished themselves 
at Hochstedt and Turin ; but never, during the reign of Frederick Wil- 
liam, were the whole of the Prussian forces assembled, eitiier for a cam- 
paign or for manoeuvres. This king left, on his death, an army composed 
as follows : 

34 Eegiments of infantry 46,900 men 

19 Regiments of cavalry 13,320 „ 

5 Ganrison battalions 3,500 „ 

Militia 5,000 „ 

68,720 „ 

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9 The HxUtary Bemurees rf Gkrmany. 

ThoB total ooatams 26,000 foreign ioldiera xeeniiied in variotia 
•ouMkries. It 18 impofliible to deny the remarkable talent displayed by 
King of Froisia, aa military organiaer and inetniotor ; he it 



waa who founded the army whidi his eon led eo fipeqnently to victory. 
He watdied himself oyer the manner in which the inimtry officers exer- 
dsed their troops. He was easy of aeeess to every soldier, and admitted 
oonplaiatB against his officers, whom he frequently chastised. An author 
has gone so far as to say that he knew all his soldiers by thw names ; 
we nuy assame that he was acquainted with a great number of them. 
A peculiarity relatiye to Frederick William deserves to be mentioned : 
he was hioMelf inspector-general of his own army, which he reviewed at 
least once a year lumself. In this manner, it was difficult to deceive him 
as to the instruction of his soldiers, to which he adhered the more strictly, 
as under his reign and influence was introduced this famous method of 
eserciaing, imitated afberwaxds by several nations, and to which the 
majority of his soooeflsor's victories were attributed. 

Frederick II., on mounting the throne, gave up the gigantic soldiers 
of his father, brought their discipline within reasonable limits, and kept 
op the mUatige of coimtrymen and strangers, which composed his arm^ ; 
he emiid do no otherwise, for die population of the kingdom of Prussia, 
only amounting at the lame of his aeoession to the throne to 3,000,000 
infaabttants, the anny kept up by his father was in itself an effort, and to 
conquer Silesia at the expense of Austria, he was obliged to angment his 
efiective force. He soon raised it to 100,000 and 120,000 men: during 
the course of the Seven Years' War it even amounted to 200,000 men* 
In consequence of the great number of strangers enrolled for life which 
it contained, the Prussian army could only be formed into a regular 
machine by the pressure of severe discipline. And so Frederick II. kept 
up the strictness of his father: he also took every possible measure to 
prevent the desntioD, which decimated the army, and had its souroe in 
the system of foreign recruiting, which procured him that complement of 
troops which the population of his states could not furnish him. 

On the death of Frederick IL, the whole strength of the Piussisn army 
atmounted to about 200,000 men, costbg about 10,000,000 thalers 
per annum, or 50 thalers per man, proving with what economy the adr 
ministration of the Prussian army was carried on. The fourth king of 
PrusBia, Frederick William II., entered France in 1792, at the head of 
66,000 men, penetrated into Champagne, and took Verdun ; but defeated 
by DumourieK at Valmy, he was compelled to retreat. This monarch 
greatly improved the condition of the Prussian soldiers, and at his dealli 
the army was increased to 235,000 men (182,000 ini^try, 41,000 
cavalry, 12,000 artillery). Frederick William III., who mounted the 
throne in 1797, maintained the strictest neutrality during the wars of the 
French revolntion ; but in 1806 he could not resist the torrent of oj^oo, 
and consequently declared war against France. Prussia at that time had 
an army oi 250,000 men, proud of its military reputation, and remember- 
ing with pride that the great king, in his will, had called it <' an army 
educated for victory." It was, however, badly commanded, and utterly 
defeated in the battles of Jena and Auerstadt. The foUowing year (1807) 
the treaty of Tilsit stripped the King of Prussia of half his territory, and 
reduced his army to 40,000 men. In 1809 a commission, presided over 
by Prince WilUam, was charged with the organisation of the Prussian 



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The MSStary Buaurces of Germany. t 

srn^. So suooessfjil were its labouts, that, in 1813, Fnutia oonld bring 
into the field, during the Wax of Liberation, nearly 250,000 men.. Tbt 
new organisaUon given to the Frusmm troops by Frederick William III. 
was accepted by the population of Frossia without a murnmr, this being 
more especially due to the moment of its introduction, for at diat period 
the very existence of ihe country was at stake ; and during Ihe forty odd 
years that it has been in use, it has passed into the manners of the people 
and become national, although no great war has as yet set the sou upon 
its value. This result is most praiseworthy for the Prussians ; for, as* 
suredly, the military burdens weigh upon them more than they did pre- 
viously. In 1854 the Prussian army was made up as £>Uows : 

Infantry. — The Prussian infimtry is composed of (a) the regular 
iroopsy consbting of 4 regiments of the guards, and 1 reserve r^;imeot; 
1 battalion of diasBenrs of the guard, and 1 of rifles of the guard; 32 lino 
and 8 reserve regimenti ; 8 combined reserved and 8 chasseur battalions ; 
or, altogether, 144 battalions, (b) The Landwekr ; 4 guard Land- 
wehr regifloents of the 1st levy; 32 provincial Landwehr regiments of 
the Ist levy; 8 Landwehr battalions of the reserve regiments of the Ist 
levy ; 1 16 battalions of the 2nd levy; or, altogether, 232 battalions. 

Line and Landwehr consequently amount to 376 battalions, eadi com- 
posed of 1002 men, induding 81 under officers, and 120 corporals, and 
18 noo-efieettves. As a portion of the battalions are reserved for the 
defence of the fortresses, &c., Prussia can only bring into the field 228 
battali<Kis. Altogether, however, Prussia has 228 field-battalions of 
228,400 men; 60 battalions (reserved) of 60,000 men ; 2\ supplemental 
battalions of 1200 aaen; and 116 Landwehr battalions of the 2nd levy, 
amounting to 82,900 men. 

The entire strength of the Prussian infemtry may, consequently, be 
«Btimated at 372,000 men. 

The troops are armed with muskets and bayonets, and about one- 
seventh carry Minie rifles. All the fusilier battalions and the regiments 
of the guard, or about 42,000 men, are armed with the light percussioa 
or needie-gun ; 10 chasseur battalions, amounting Xo 10,000 men, witii 
Thouvenin's chasseur rifle ; and finally, all the musketeer battaliofis widi 
the. new pattern percussion musket. 

2. Cavalkt.— (a) Permanent Troops : 6 guard and 32 cavahy line 
regiments; among Uiem 10 cniiasner regiments (1 garde dn corps, 1 
cuirassier of the guard, and 8 cuirassier), 5 dragoon regiments (1 of the 
gnard), 13 hussar regiments (1 of the guard), and 10 uhlan regiments 
(1 of the guard). 

(b) Zandioehr: 2 guard and 32 provincial Landwehr cavalry regi- 
ments (2 guard, 8 heavy, 12 knssars, 8 uhlan regiments, 8 squadrons — one 
to each reserve regiment) = 136 squadrons of the Ist levy. 

Each cavalry regiment is 741 strong, with 702 horses (without oflEuezs). 

A Landwelir regiment contains only 602 hones. 

In addition to the reserve squadrons, 55 newly-formed depdt squadnnu^ 
with 6350 horses, are detaebed for garrison duty. Of the Landwehr 
cavalry, 2nd levy, 104 squadrons of 120 horses can be called out, and, 
consequently, the line cavalry will amount to 38 xegiments, or 152 
squadrons with 26,700 horBes; the Landwehr caralry, 1st levy, to 34 
■cgiments, or 136 aquadrons wiHi 20,500 hones; Ae nmaining laaerve, 



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8 77ie Military Resources of Germany. 

tlepdt, and Landwehr cavaliy, 2nd levy, to 167 squadrons widi 19,942 
horses. 

The whole strength of the Prussian cavalry amounts, therefore, to 455 
squadrons with 67,100 horses. Of these, 292 squadrons (line and Ist 
levy), with a strength of 49,000 men, can march into the field. 

In the cuirassier, uhlan, and Landwehr cavalry, SO men of the regi- 
ment are armed with carbines; the remainder with pistols. Dragoon 
and hussar regiments are armed, two-sevenths with rifles, four-sevenths 
with carbines, and one-seventh with pistols. 

3. Abtillebt. — Prussia has 9 artillery re^ments (1 of the guard), 
the combined fortress artillery division, and a laboratory division of 2 
companies. Each regiment contains 4 6-pounder batteries, 3 12-pounder 
batteries, 1 7-pounder howitzer battery, 3 6-pounder mounted batteries, 
each of 8 guns ; or 1 1 batteries, with 88 guns. Although the Landwehr 
are incorporated to keep the regiments on a war-footing, they do not 
form a special corps. 

The whole strength of the artillery may be estimated at 99 batteries, 
or 792 guns with 18,891 men. 

4. Engineers and Pioneers. — The engineer corps is divided into 
the staff of the engineer corps, 9 pioneer divisions; of which 1 is 
attached to the guard, and 2 reserve pioneer companies. The staff is 
composed of 216 officers of all grades, of whom a portion is attached to 
the pioneer divisions. The 9 pioneer divisions, wiUi dep6t and reserve 
companies, form a strength of 6343 men. If we add to these about 
1400 of the Landwehr pioneers of the 1st and 2nd levy, who form no 
special division, the total strength of the pioneers amounts to 7743 men. 

5. The Train. — This branch during peace is only organised as a 
depdt, but in time of war it is formed into several subdivisions ; 3000 men 
are attached to each corps d*arm6e, which gives us 30,000 for the whole 
army. 

Omitting subordinate detachments, we may, therefore, estimate the 
Prussian army as composed of 580,800 men, with 932 guns, of whom 
299,500 men, with 732 guns (including the 1st levy), could march into 
the field. 

The army is composed of 9 corps — 1 corps of the guard and 8 pro- 
vincial corps d'arm^e. 

The time of service commences with the 20th year, and no substitu- 
tion is allowed. The standing army contains all those from 20 to 25 
years of age; the Landwehr of the 1st levy, those from 26 to 32 ; the 
Landwehr of the 2nd levy, all capable of bearing arms up to their 39th 
year ; and lastiy, the Landsturm, all those up to their 50th year who are 
not attached to the standing army or the Landwehr, as well as all above 
17 and under 20 years of age. The standing army allows men to go 
on furlough after three years' service, after which they must serve two 
years longer as reserve for the arm^ in case of war. The Landwehr of 
the 1st levy, bound to serve both m and out of the country, only keep 
up in peace their dep6ts. Every two years they are called out for driu 
in connexion with the standing army. The Landwehr of the 2nd levy, 
during war, reinforces the garrisons as well as the standing army; 
hitherto it has not been call^ out to exercise. The Landsturm, which 
has not been specially organised since 1815, is only called out in a case 
of urgent necessity. Volunteers can complete their time of service in the 



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Hub MtUtary Resources of Germany. 



9 



standing army in a year, as soon as tbey equip themselves and pass the 
requisite examination. The officers are ohtameilpartly from the militaiy 
schools, and are partly selected from the under officers and privates, who, 
between the ages of 17 and 23, and after at least sixteen months* service, 
can pass the requisite examination. When a person has distinguished 
himself in the field, the examination is not required. 

THE ARMT OF THE CONVEDERATION. 

By the registration of 1842, each federative state is bound to fumishi 
as simple contingent, one per cent, of its entire population; ten weeks 
after mobilisation one-third per cent, as reserve ; and one-sixth per cent 
to provide for casualties ; or, altogether without train, one and a half per 
cent. The strength of the federative army is thus made up : 

1. Simple contingent (including the garrisons of the fortresses) 303,493 men. 

2. Reserve and supplement 151,767 „ 

Total 455,260 „ 

These forces are divided into ten corps d'armee, and one reserve in- 
fantiy division of 13 battalions, as follows : 



Cosps. 


Infantry. 


Cavalry. 


Artfflery. 


Pioneen. 


Total. 


Guna. 


1st, 2nd, 3rd Austria... 
4th, 5th, 6th Prussia... 
7th Bavaria 


73,501 
61,629 
27,566 
23,369 
17,425 
1,869 
22,246 
11,116 


13,546 
11,355 
5,086 
4,308 
2,525 
362 
3,572 


6,827 
5,705 
2,592 
2,171 
1,554 
280 
1,974 


948 
795 
356 
302 
214 
25 
275 


94,822 
79,484 
35,600 
30,150 
21,718 
2,536 
28,067 
11,116 


192 
160 

72 


SthConw 


60 


(9th Corps 


44 


"' Luxemburg 


6 


18th Coip 


58 


Beserve JDivision 




1st Contingent 


238,721 


40,754 


21,103 


2915 


303,493 


592 






Beserve and Contingent 


119,455 


20,364 


10,510 


1438 


151,767 


298 


Total 


358,176 


61,118 


31,613 


4353 


455,260 


890 



In consequence of the Bundes-Heer being placed on a war footing, 
these contingents have been recentiy very largely increased, and they 
will now amount to 403,362 men of the first contingent, or with the 
reserves to 525,037 men. In this statement we do not include the troops 
which the several states are bound to furnish for the reinforcement of 
the Tarious fortresses, as, for instance, Wurtemberg and Baden 48,000 
men. By a statement, to which we believe credit may be attached, the 
military resources of all Germany may be estimated at 800,000 men, 
with 2400 guns, and within six weeks a reserve of 400,000 men could 
be brought into the field. A truly overpowering force, which does not 
exist merely on paper, like the Russian million, and which, if once con- 
scious of the true state of the case, could easily carry into effect Mr. 
Cobden's threat of crumpling up the Czar. 

Having thus given a statement of the whole strength of the Federal army, 
it will be worth while to inquire into the formation of the various corps. 
Of the first six, supplied by Austria and Prussia, little more need be said, 
except that their contingents are far inferior to the forces they would 



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10 



The MUUary Besouroes of Germany. 



prolMiblj supply in eaie of a genenl war— *eay with Franoe. Thus, for 
mitanoe, FniiBia is expected to supply 79,000 men, but her corps d'azin4ey 
on a war footing, amount to 32,000 men with 96 guns, and, conse- 
quently, her first contingent would amount to 96,000 with 288 guns, or 
16,000 men and 128 guns more than she is bound to funush. 

The 7th Cobps d'Arm^ — This corps is composed exclusively of 
Bavarians, and amounts, as we have seen, to 35,600 men with 72 guns 
as first contingent, and a leeenre of 17,800 men (13,793 infantry, 2543 
caralry, 1286 artillery, with 36 guns and 178 pioneers), or altogether 
53,400 combatants with 106 guns. But the Bavarian army is much 
more numerous than this. It is composed, at the present time, of 1 1 7,360 
in£Euitry, 20,370 cavahy, 20,212 artillery, mgineers, and train, and a 
reserve of 70,439 men. The foot artillery has 224, the horse 32, field- 
ffuns, and there are 13,000 guns for the reserve, fortresses, and siege 
batteries. The Landwehr in Rhenish Bavaria amounts to 5441 infimtry, 
2506 cavalry, and 72 guns. The time of service is from the 21st to the 
27th year, in the line, and from the 27th to the 40th in the reserve. In 
addition, the Landwehr claims the services of the Bavarians till they 
have passed their 60th year. 

The 8th Ck)RF8 D'AsMiE. — ^This corps is composed of the contingents 
of Wurtemberg, Baden, and Hesse Darmstadt, each of which forms a 
division in the following proportions : 



'Ernst CoaeraoissT. 


InJCmtiy. 


GaYihy. 


ArtOlfliy. 


Pioneen. 


Total. 


Omifl. 


Wurtemberg 


10,816 
7,761 
4,802 


1994 

1429 

886 


1006 
720 
446 


140 

100 

62 


13^966 

10,000 

6,196 


28 


Baden "..........x . 


20 


H^^SSfiP . T.T....-..r...... 


12 






Effectives 


23,369 


4308 


2171 


302 


30,150 


60 



To these must be added a reserve contingent of 15,075 men (11,685 
infantry, 2154 cavalry, 1085 artillery, with 32 guns and 151 pioneers), 
so that the whole amount is 45,225 men with 92 guns. But these 
figures do not represent the entire army of these countries, as will be 
seen from the foUowing tables : 

1. WuHTEtfBSRe. — The infimtry amounts to 14,376 men, the cavalry 
to 2949, and the artillery is composed of 7 batteries with 42 guns and 
1764 men. The pioneers amount in the whole to 175 ; so that the 
effective strength of the Wurtemberg army may be calculated at 19,300 
men with 42 guns. The service lasts six years, with the option of pro- 
iiding a substitute, and a Landwehr in these levies up to the 32nd year. 

2. Badkn. — The infimtry is composed of four regiments^ 10,223 
men, without dep6t; three regiments of cavaliT=2451 men; and one 
legiment of artillery with four foot batteries ana one mounted battery= 
40 guns and 1700 men. The pioneers and laboratory corps amount to 
255 ; so that the whole strength of the army may be estimated at about 
15,000 men with 40 g^s. The service lasts six years, two of them in 
the reserve, and substitution is permitted. 

3. Hesssn Dabxstadt. — The infimtry is composed of four regiments, 
amounting to 8041 men ; the cavalry, one regiment of chevau^Ugera^ 
<3ll 1404 men ; the artillery, 847 men ; the pioneers about 120 ; and the 
whole] strength is 10,498 men with 18 guns. The service lasts six 
years, with substitution, two of them in the reserve. 



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Xhe MSHary JSeumrees <jf Germamf. 



11 



Thb 9th Corfs B'AmriE. — ^Tlmi it oompMed of two dmsioni, of 
which SazoDv foniu the first, and Hesaen Catsel and Naasan the aecond, 
in the following proportions : 



FiBST CScmumqbr'. 


la&aAry. 


GcthIij; 


Aimary. 


Piooeen. 


Total. 


Gans; 


Saxony ...,.,... 


9,302 
4,402 
3,721 


1714 
811 


864 
409 
281 


120 
57 
37 


12,000 
5,679 
4,039 


24 


(Hessen 


12 


' Nassau 


8 






EfFectires 


17,425 


2525 


1554 


214 


21,718 


44 



To these must be added a reserve contingent of 10,858 men (8712 
infantiy, 1263 cavahy, 780 artillery with 22 gnns, and 108 pioneers); 
so that die total of combatants to be fbmi^ed amounts to 32,576 men 
with 66 guns. To the 9th corps must also be added the Luzemboi^- 
Lemburg contingent, amounting to 2536 men (1869 in&ntry, 362 
cavalry, 280 artifiery, with 6 guns and 25 pioneers) ; and the half of it 
(1278 men and 3 guns) as reserve. These troops are intended to re- 
inforce the garrison of Luxemburg, and form an integral portion of the 
army of the Netherlands. 

1. Saxont. — This army is composed of 20 battalions of infantry, with 
19,741 effectives; 3180 cavalry, with 3088 horses; 8 batteries of 
artillery, with 50 guns and 1332 men ; 250 pioneers, with 408 horses; 
and the commissariat train company of 560 men — altogether, without 
the reserve, 24,750 combatants and 50 guns. The service is six years, 
with substitution ; three years reserve. 

2. HssssN Casskl.— ^Four regiments=7301 men ; oavahry, 1350 ; 
artilleiy, 812. Total stsength, 11,800 effectives, with 3 batteries or 
19 guns. Term of service from the 20th to 30th year, in two levies ; 
substitution allowed. 

3. Nassau. — Infantry, 7 battalions of 4 companies ^ 6745 men ; 
artillery, 2 companies of 516 men and 12 gnns; pioneers, 56 m»i. 
Total strength, 7317 men, with 12 guns. Sizyears' service and substitution. 

The 10th Cobfs d'Abm^b. — This is the most composite of all the 
divisions^ for it is formed of nine separate oontingents, of which Hanover 
and Brunswick form the 1st division ; Holstein, the Two Mecklenburss^ 
Oldenburg, and the free Towns of Hamburg, Bremen, and Liibeck toe 
2nd divisum ; in the following proportions : 



Fnurr CknniHOSHT. 


I HiyTi^wtr- 


Cavahy. 


Aitmeiy. 


Pionaen. 


TCTAI^ 


Guns. 




' Hanover...... 


10,118 
1,626 

2,791 

538 

2,775 

2,650 

1,007 

376 

316 


1865 
299 

6U 

71 

611 

185 
69 

58 


940 
151 

259 
62 

258 

167 
93 
36 

29 


131 
21 

36 
7 

36 

22 

13 

5 

4 


13,054 
2,096 

3,600 
718 

3,580 

2,829 

1,298 
485 

407 


28 


' 


Bnipj?wick ...T- ....T. 


4 




^Holsiem } 


8 


•4 


Laaenbnrg J * 
Mecklenburg- I 

StreUtz ( "• 
Mecklenburg- / 

Schwerin 5 
OWfflfibnrg 


2 

8 

4 




Q Am bur? ■■■•• ii. •• ■•■ 


^ 




firemen .• 




Xiubeok .- 












22,246 


3572 


1974 


275 


28,067 


68 



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12 The Military Resources of Germany, 

To these must be added a reserve of 14,019 men (11,107 infantry, 
1788 cavalry, 988 artillery, with 29 guns, 136 pioneers), so that the 
10th corps will amount to 42,086 men, with 87 guns. 

1. Hanover. — The infantry, without reserve, amounts to 20 bat- 
talions, or about 17,000 men; the cavalry to 3630 combatants; the 
artillery contains 6 batteries, with 36 guns, and 1118 men. Including 
the pioneer corps of 200 men, the entire strength of the Hanoverian 
troops, without reserve, may be estimated at 21,900 men, with 36 guns. 
The service, commencing at the 20th year, lasts seven years, wiih substi- 
tution, and a good deal of recruiting is, in addition, carried on. 

2. Brunswick: 

T / i. (1 Regiment of 2 horse and 2 Landwehr battalions *) 

""*^*^y-U Battalion of foot guards V = 4157 men. 

Cavalry . . 1 Kegiment of hussars^ and 2 squadrons of Landwehr J 
Artillery . . 502 men, with 12 guns 

Total strength of the Brunswick troops = 5359 men, with 12 guns. 
Seven years of service, including two years reserve; substitution. 

3. Mecklenburg Schwerin. — Infantry, 3460 men; cavalry, 629 
men; artillery and pioneers, 654 men; with 16 g^ns. Total strength 
4752 men, with 16 guns; six years of service; substitution. 

The other contingents do not require any further elucidation, as 
the troops composing them form the effective strength of the various 
countries. 

THE RESERVE INFANTRY DIVISION. 

By a Federation decree of the 11th December, 1840, the contingents 
of the eighteen smaller German States, and the' Free City of Frankfort, 
were combined into a reserved division. These States are : 

The four Saxon (Weimar, Altenburg, Cobure^ Gotha, and Meiningen) ; 
three Anhalts (Dessau, Bemberg, and Gothen); two Schwarzburgs 
(Sonderhausen and Rudolstadt); two Hohenzollems (Hechingen and 
Siffmariugen) ; Lichtenstein ; Reuss, elder and younger line ; Lippe and 
Scmaumburg Lippe ; Hessen Homburg, Waldeck, and the Free City of 
Frankfort Their first contingent amounts to 11,116 men, and 5584 
reserve — total, 16,700 infantry. The first contingent is divided into 13 
battalions, and intended to reinforce the garrisons of the federal fortresses 
in time of war. It will not be necessary to give a table of their respec- 
tive contingents, but we may mention, as a curiosity, that the Lichten- 
stein army amounts to 28 men, and that this is currenUy supposed to be 
the army which its 'gallant commander ordered to bivouac under a plum- 
tree. 

THE FEDERAIi FORTRESSES. 

Mainz, opposite the confluence of the Maine and the Rhine, with 
Caste! on the right bank of the Rhine as tete de pont The town 
belongs to the Grand Duchy of Hessen Darmstadt, and contains 26,000 
inhabitants. The garrison amounts, we hear, to 6000 infantry and 200 
cavalry, equal parts Austrian and Prussian, and one battalion of Hessians. 
The war garrison would amount to 20,682 infantry and 600 cavalry. 
Of these Austria and Prussia each furnish 6700 infantry and 300 cavalry ; 
the remaining 6682 are obtained from the reserve infantry division. The 
governor ana commandant are appointed every five years in turn by 
Austria and Prussia. 



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T%e MSUary Resources of Germany. 



13 



2. Landau, in Rhenish Bavaria, on the Quetch, with 5300 mhabit- 
ants. In peace is held by a Bavarian garrison. The wiur garrison 
amounts to 7000 infantry and 200 cavalry. Of these Bavaria supplies 
5709 infantry and the cavalry ; the remaining 2291 infisntry by the reserve 
division. 

3. Luxemburg. — Capital of the Grand Duchy of the same name, 
on the Alzette, with 10,000 inhabitants. Governor, commandant, and 
garrison are Prussian. War garrison : 7000 infantry and 200 cavalry. 
Of these the Limberg-Luxemburg contingent furnishes 2536, the reserve 
division 1450, and IVussiathe remainder. 

4. Uuf. — Capital of the circle of the Danube, in the kingdom of 
Wurtemberg, on the Danube, with 15,000 inhabitants. Garrisoned by 
Wurtemberg troops in peace, and Austrian detachments are added in 
war. 

5. Rastabt. — In the Grand Duchy of Baden, on the Mourz, a town 
of 4500 inhabitants, garrisoned by Austrians. 

6. Gebmebsheim. — In Rhenish Bavaria, a small town containing 
1500 inhabitants, situated on the left bank of the Rhine, with a tete de 
pont on the other bank. The country between this fortress and Landau 
is a position which the Grermans consider nearly impregnable, and en 
which 100,000 men could be collected* 

Before quitting this branch of our subject, we will venture to add a 
small table, drawn up from the best resources at our command, showing 
at a glance the relative strength of European armies : 



STATES. 



LAND FOECES. 



I 



Other Troopg. 



Total. 



Hen. Guns. 



1. England^... 

2. Fnmoe 



3. Boaiift . 

4. Tark^ 



119,000 



640,000 
100,800 



18,600 
86,000 

80,000 

174S80 



16,182 
67,000 

44,000 

13,000 



2,460 80.000 (militia) «280,200 

8,200 83300 (including 26^000, 

gendarmes) 666,000 

12,000 478,000 (reserve, irregular' 

garrison troops) 1,164.000 

1,600326.000 (reserve, irregulars, 

4a) 467,680 



8. Austria . 
6. Prussia. 



7. Qermany... 
Total of 6, 6» 7. 

8. Sweden and 

Norway.... 

9. Denmark 

10. Belgium 

11. Netherlands 
18. Sardinia^ ... 



467,000 
372,600 

166,000 



67,000 
67,600 

26,000 



47,000 
60,100 

14,600 



16.800 
7,740 

2,027 



6.200 (without train, Ac.) 
72,700 (including 46.000, 

train, Ac.) 

17,000 



698,000 

680.800 
824.600 



120 

1,182 

2,250 

S60 

1,140 

932 

tfiOO 



995,600 



121,600 



94^900 



1.388,400 



163^600 



60,000 
46,000 
48^600 
31,200 



10.600 
6300 
4^400 
6.700 



4,000 
8,000 
7,700 
9,000 
4300 



860 
1,690 

748 
1,169 



6,200 



2,672 



167,600, 
69.000 
62,000 
67,700; 
47,600 



200 
144 
168 
120 
80 



* East ludian army » 348,000 men, including 31,000 Queen's troops. 

t These figures are only approximative. 

t The armies of the four kist states oaa be largely increased in case of war. 

Since the first portion of our paper was written, the news from Vienna 
and Sehastopol has arrived, that the Allies have recommenced operations, 
and that the Russians have broken off the conferences. More unpleasant 
information arrived simultaneously, nameljr, that the Austrians were 



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14 IlkBMiBianfRnomrcegqfGirmmy. 

gndoslly, bat ootainty, withdrawing firom dieir grr«i word, .and that no 
atostanee — ior Ae present at least can be expected from tibem. Sndi 
a lesolt has not taken us by surprise, for we have long entertained the 
qpinion that Gennany was not to be depended, on for a moment as likely 
to aid us in an offensive war ; but the ^t remains the same : there ace 
immense armies^ ready at a few weeks' notice, in the oentn of Europe, 
and no one can yet say to which side in this great contest they will incHiie. 
That Anstria would remain neutral if she could, might be aawimed, as 
she can only be a loser, whtcherer side she takes up arms for ; but 
Prussia, on the other hand, has most especial reasons to refrain from 
joining the allied forces. She is a new Power, without any protecting 
frontier, and could be overrun by the Russian troops as soon as her army 
was set in motion to take part in a war. But there ii one weak point 
common to both Austria and Prussia : and that is their non-German 
provinces^ which are ready, on the least signal from Russia, to throw off 
their allegiance. We know for a &ct, though we are not at liberty to 
mention our authority, that the Hungarians are ready to join the forces 
of the Czar, if they can only have their revenge on the Austrians. The 
argument that appears to be used is, that although the Russians did lie^» 
the Austrians in uie subjugation of Hungary, stOl they never treated tM 
Magyars as rebels, but as honouable foes. How fiu this opinion is 
entertained in the East may be seen from the friet that a report, to our 
knowledge, was very generally prevalent last May in Turkey, that Kos- 
suth bad offered the Czar the assistance of 200,000 men. 

Unfortunately, the preponderance of Austria and Prussia in Grermany 
will prevent any of the smaller kingdoms from joining us ; but at the 
same time, thcor ill-concealed jeakiusy of each other, while serving to 
keep them apart, will also render them excessively cautious as to any 
decisive move. We may safely lay it down as an axiom, that as long as 
neither of the contending Powers gains a great success over the other, so 
long will the German neutrality be maintained, and the Allies kept quiet 
with promises. I^ however, Sebastopol succumbs to our renewed attack, 
Austria may be bribed, by the promise of a large tract of territory on the 
Danube, to render us material assistance^ though only so far as may 
conduce to her own advantage. The way she can best serve us is to 
hold the Prussians in check, for it is certain that nothing could induce 
" le Roi Clicquot" to fight against his relation; and the antecedents of 
Prussian history reveal to us that they have a peculiar talent for taking up 
arms at the wrong moment. The chivalrous monarch mav consequently 
rush to the aid of the Czar, if the Crimea is really imperilled, and such a 
step would lead indubitably to the most peculiar complications. What the 
army of the Confederation would do under such cucnmstances it would 
be difficult to say, but the probability is, the smaller regents would follow 
their long-established practice of joining the stronger party. 



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( U ) 



MOOK PAUK, AS IT WAS AND IS. 

Hy name is Briefless. I am a member of a large, and ancient^ and 
well-known family, dating, I am assm^d, as far back as the Conquest — 
that " ultima Thude,** or stand point (as our German cousins sav)* of 
genealogy. My domicile is in the third flight of a capacious mansion in 
Lincoln's Inn, to which they append the sarcastic sobriquet of Fields. 
More than this, on the score of my individuality, the reader will not 
thank me for troubling him with at present. 

The work of the day was done, if it could be called work that went 
through my hands in die long vacation. I was moodily pacing the floor 
of the garret aforesaid, dight in all the dignity of m-essing-gown and 
slippers. My law books — blessings on them ! — were huddled together in 
a comer in majestic repose, and on my sofa lay the day's number of the 
Times newspaper which I had just been conning. My thoughts were 
not of the most serene. I had been reading the Registrar-General's 
Report of the weekly number of deaths from cholera, and my heart 
sickened at the dreary catalogue. I was growing, in fact, horribly 
morbid, and beset with " spectral lions," as Carlyle somewhere expresses 
it. Lonelier I could not be, for I had no society but my own, and that 
was, perhaps, at the moment, the very worst I could possibly have had to 
do with. I was in a fever, and endeavoured to calm myself as best I 
might, in converse with ray only companion and friend, my cigar, in 
whose comforting arms I had often before taken refuge. But this time 
it wouldn't do. The sorceress tobacco had lost her charm. What was 
to be done ? I walked mechanically to my window and looked out into 
the night It was starlight and peaceful, even in the midst of the world's 
Mammoth, as a child's dream, and the moon was shining benignantly 
on high, as though there were no sorrow on the earth. 

The family of Briefless are not supposed to be given to sentiment, yet 
I plead guilty to the feeling on this one occasion — perhaps I ought to beg 
pcurdon. I know not by what association of ideas, but so it was, that old 
memories came flitting before me, old ghost-like recollections of boy- 
days, green meadows, and wandering streams, the ^' sights, and sounds, and 
smells of the country." '^ I have it !" I cried, suddenly recollecting myself, 
and starting from my chair ; ** to-morrow morning I am off for a two 
days' ramble in the country." At seven o'clock I was steaming off from 
the Waterloo Station, and an hour and a half afterwards was confronting 
my mutton-chop in the inn at Famham, — a pretty little country-town 
situated amid the hop-gardens of Surrey, and where William Cobbett 
first saw the light. 

We are a travelling nation, and some of my countrymen and women 
have the credit of loving locomotion for its own sake. It may be au 
eccentricity on my part, but, although a lover of scenery in and for itself, 
I dislike moving mm home without a more specific object, and my route 
was selected on the present occasion in this wise : It happened by a coin- 
cidence that I had been recently reading Mr. Courtenay's *^ Memoirs of 
Sir William Temple," and contemporaneously, Mr. Thackeray's admirable, 
though caustic, lecture on his secretary, the redoubtable '< Dean of St« 
Patrick's." In the lives of both I found frequent mention of Moor Park 
as the chosen retreat of the former, and the abode where the latter got 
May — ^voL. civ. no. ccccxin. c 



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16 Moor Parkf €uit Was and Is. 

his first insight into politics, and still more, laid the foundation of that 
eventful attachment which was to endure through a long portion of his 
stormy career, and which, however considered, must always he remem- 
bered with a romaatic interest that has few paralkb. Here was motive 
suffiewnt. The place had an historical and a literary reoomaendatioD for 
me, and, with all the foolish fuss and oant about hero-worship with 
which the world has been ringing these many yean, I am not ashamed 
to confess myself a devout hero-worshipper, and a lover of the ^ homes 
and haunts of genius," wherever I can light upon them. 

My breakfast despatched, I forthwith started to have a glimpse of the 
object of my expedition. It was a beautiful morning in September, and 
vividly stereotyped though the memory of my first Italian journey must 
ever remain on my mind, with all its romantic glories of blue sKy and 
vine-dad hills, I do not Imow that the one experience at all tended to 
cast the other in the shade. Rather it was that ihia deHcious English 
scenery brought back the memory of Italy. The sky was as blue, and 
the landscape more variedly picturesque, presenting to the eye the most 
singular combinati<m imaginable of natund wildness and perfect cohiva- 
tion. It was, in fact, Scotland and Italy combined. In the distance was 
a vast tract of mooriand, such as the Cockney does not imagine to exist 
within the confines of his native Surrey ; and more near, I had to walk 
through hop-gardens, whose climbing luxuriance and exquisite bloom 
recalled the picture of the southern vine, without losing by the com- 
parison. Here, too, as in Italy, the *' green alleys windingly allure ;" 
and, to make the resemblance more complete, the eye of the way&rer at 
this season lights upon a population little akin to the normal rustic 
labourer of our agricultural districts. For the nonce the swart gipsy 
takes the place of the ruddy Englishman, and, tatterdemalion as he is, 
Mrith his wiki flashing eyes of jet and vagabond imce, serves to make up 
the picturesque effect of the whole scene. It was through a prospect 
such as this that I gradually made my way towards Moor Park. 

** What is it," I kept asking myself as I went along — *^ what is it in 
genius that invests it with that indefinable power of attraction, even in 
despite, oftentimes, of our better judgments ? Is there not something 
altogether mesmeric and unaccountable about it, alluring and fascinating, 
almost what Goethe used to call damonie f" It is so indeed. The poets 
and philosophers are not only in very truth the unacknowledged 
legislators of the world, they not only fill the earth with wonder and 
beauty while they are on it, but, departing, they leave a flood of 
radiance behind them which does not die. The memory of them seems 
fadeless, not only by what they did, but simply for what they were. 
Hence everything and every place connected with a man of genius has 
its charm — his house, his horse, his very hat and walking-stick — and 
when young ladies in their teens, and elderly spinsters who have reached 
their grand climacteric, squabble for the privilege of sitting in a ffntit 
man's chair when he can sit there no longer, they only illustrate the 
kind of homage which it b the prerogative of genius to compel. And 
now my two miles of journey are over, and my moralisings suddenly cut 
short, for I stand before the house whose roof gave shelter to Temple, and 
Stella, and the author of " Gulliver." 

I am not so learned in architecture as Mr. Ruskin, and I fear I cannot 
talk about palaces or ^* sheep-folds" so well as he. Fortunately, how*- 



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MocT Park^ as it Was and Is^ 17 

ever, this house may be described iritboat any aichHeetnsal initiation, 
real or affected. It is a large, unpretending, qaadxangnlar UuUing, 
beautifiilly situated in the valley through which runs the river Wey. 
But let roe pause a moment in my sketch of the place, while I nairate 
what to me was really a kind of adventure^ and which turned out to be 
far from disagreeable, though unexpected. Approaching the entranee, 
I noticed the first emblem of the former renowned possessor in Temple's 
eoat-of-arms blazoned in bronze above die doorway. I know nothing of 
heraldry, so am in the dark as to what the wild animals in the same^ 
with their rampant attitudes, may possibly signify. No matter. But 
immediately beneath this device, on a marble slab^ stands engraven the 
line of Virgil's Idyll, *' Deus nobis hsDc otia fecit," expressive of the 
repose the weary statesman found here when he had torn himself from 
the din and fever of public affidrs and the metropolis, the ^ fumnm et 
opes strepitumque Roms." I made bold to ring the bdl, and inquire of 
the domestic if I might be privileged to see something of the house and 
grounds, as being a kind of public property, but what was my astonish- 
ment to find that I had entered the threshold of a hydropathic est»- 
biishment! *' Shades of Swifb and Temple," I thought, in my first 
moments of surprise, ** has it come to this ?" The disappointment, how- 
ever, was but that of a moment, and a glance at the interior speedily 
reconciled me to this singular caprice of the good goddess Fortune. It 
was comfort and elegance itself, with a look <^ cheerful well-being quite 
captivating. My name, meanwhile, was announced to the doctor, and I 
found myself presently in that gentleman's study, and deep in the clas^ 
sical associatioDS oi the place, of which I quickly discovered him to be a 
perfect master and intelligent apprcdator. We discussed Temple and 
tiis times, fought the battle of the mat revolution over again, were 
plunging earnestly into the eventful history of Swift, when the doctor 
most kindly volunteered to act as my cicerone over the house and grounds, 
and off we sallied. Here was a beautiful room, with a southern expo- 
sure, and looking out upon the lawn. This Temple occupied as his 
study, and here doubtless he received the Prince of Orange in consulta- 
tion on more occasions than one. We can easily imagine the prim and 
elegant diplomatist at his desk, and we can picture to ourselves, too, the 
uncouth young Irishman at his side acting as his amanuensb, inwardly 
growling at his unworthy fate, with perhaps already the shadow of 
coming events pressing upon him in the proud consciousness of his own 
fiery strength and matchless intellect. Who says that genius is uncon- 
scious? Can Shakspeare walk beside a dwarf or an crdmarj mortal 
and remain ignorant of his own transcendant stature ? It is mere sophis- 
tical sentimentality to imagine it. Greatness, however, be it remem- 
bered, is always relative, and a man may well be cognisant of his own 
intellectual c^uibre when compared with that of his feOows, while he may 
still, and must, if he be genuinely great, confess in modesty how small 
a thing he is in the eye of the universe. And so doubtlesis was it with 
Swift. 

Passing from Temple's apartments, with their elegances, I was next 
conducted to the servants'-hall of old days, and beheld the veritable 
room where Lady Giffard's waiting gentlewoman and Temple's literary 
drudge and roan-of-all-work ate the crumbs that fell from the great man's 
table — the meed of poor relations. A bitter pill, but still wiw a gikling 

c2 



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18 Moor Parky cu it Was and Is. 

upon it that most needs have disg^ed the taste when it came from 
the hand of Love himself. Not many years had to pass before Swift was 
**• the observed of all observers," and could command his own company 
from among the proudest and noblest in the land at my Lord Oxford s 
table, having become an intellectual potentate in fact, with the pen in 
his hand for a sceptre, one that both felt his power and was not dbposed 
at times, it must be allowed, to wield it over meekly. 

On the subject of Swifi;'s passion for Stella, which here had its humble 
beginnings, and which has been the theme of so much curious spe- 
culation and critical animadversion, I cannot enter at length here. 
Doubtless he was much to blame in his conduct towards her — and as a 
man of the world he ought to have known it, and probably did — but my 
conviction is unshakable that there were extenuating circumstances in this 
singular history which the world does not and never can know. Swift 
assuredly was not the heartless monster it has been the fashion to depict 
him, nor did Nature ever commit the anomaly — Pope's celebrated couplet 
notwithstanding— of allying pogfvers so stupendously grand to a base moral 
nature and a craven heart. 

On the beaudful lawn before mentioned still stands the sun-dial 
beneath which Temple's heart lies buried in its silver urn, as he willed 
it — a freak of the statesman which, at any rate, demonstrates how much 
he was attached to the place; and it is little wonder. In front of 
the house is a gravel terrace of noble dimensions, in keeping with the 
former grandeur of the place ; and at one end of this promenade is the 
vinery and green-house, and hard by, the large walled garden in which 
Temple so much delighted, and where he loved to spend his days. The 
walls are still covered with the fruit-trees he planted there, and the 
apricot he rendered famous, and which still retains the name of the 
place, is justly celebrated to this day. The Dutch canal, too, is still 
extant, with swans floating on its bosom, and stocked with fish ; but the 
ffreat beauty of the property resides certainly in the raagntflcent park 
m>m which the mansion takes its name. 

This park, which overbrows the valley in which the house is situated, 
is vast in its extent, and beyond everything fine. It is covered through- 
out the whole of its area with old stately trees, chiefly the beech and 
pine, over whose heads two hundred summers have flown, and with a rich 
carpet of heath, and gorse, and fern, endlessly varied and intermingled. 
In every direction by-paths of singular beauty strike off*, leading the 
pedestrian or the rider between rows of young firs, that scent the morning 
air with the wild aromatic odours of the deep forests of America ; and 
from the summit of the park, which slopes gently upwards towards 
Crooksbury Hill, the loftiest eminence in this part of the country, you 
look down over the rich grounds of Waverley Abbey, where are still 
extant, in a condition of wonderful preservation, the remains of one of 
the most interesting monasteries in England. Such is this park, and 
being such, I need hardly say that it is the delightful ramble-ground of 
the patients belonging to the establishment, who have its exclusive use. 
**Oh fortnnati nimium," I thought with Virgil, "sua si bona n6rint :" 
most fortunate the invalids whose lucky fate it is to gather strength amid 
such scenes as these, drinking in health with every breeze that comes 
laden with the balm of this beautiful mountain solitude ! The refrain of 
the wild song which Victor Hugo puts into the mouth of the love-crazed 



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Moor Parkf us it ffas and H^ I* 

carabinier of Toledo kept ringing in my ean, throagh the power of Bomo 
hidden association, during the whole of this delicious walk. '^Le yent 
qui vient k travers la montagne me rendra fou, oui, me rendra fou." 

How keen the pleasure, and how exquisite the delight, which we are 
sometimes permitted to feel in the bare consciousness of animal exist- 
ence ! Hardly any enjoyment can equal it, let moralists fiY>wn as they 
may. Call it sensuous ! I call it divine* And is it not well appointed 
that these poor worn-out tabernacles of ours, jaded and withered as they 
are with travel over the hot and dusty ways of conventional life, should 
at times assert their prerogative to the simple gratification of pleasurable 
being — animal being, if yon will — should enter at times a formal protest 
against the crushing tyranny of mind ? It is Plutarch, I think, who 
says that "should the body sue the mind before a court of judicature for 
damages, it would be found that the mind would prove to have been a 
ruinous tenant to its landlord." And this in the mouth of a Greek ! 
whose countrymen understood better than any other race, before or since, 
how much is due, even as a matter of economy, to the culture of the 
physical powers ; and who gave evidence, in this matter of education, of 
an insight and wisdom which, like their supremacy in art, appear to have 
died with them. What shall be sud of our theory and our practice on 
so important a subject in modem England? Why this — that the 
Englishman of to-day, in the middle ranks of life, is rapidly degeneratmg 
under the suicidal effects of the prevalent contempt of boduy health ; 
that the hungry maw of gain, the insatiable *' amor habendi,'* is eating 
into the vitals of our young men, who are strong men no longer, but 
the bald, and pale, and blear-eyed victims of the ledger and the three* 
l^gg^ stool ! 

Having climbed the summit of Crooksbury, the extreme boundary of 
the park, and revelled in the beautiful prospect extending fiir away over 
the nills into Hampshire, I suppose we had to perform, in the first in- 
stance, the redoubted feat of the Duke of York ; and passing over the 
springy heather and between walls of fern, shoulder-high, the next object 
of interest that presented itself on our homeveard march was Swift's 
cottage, par excellence. This is a small, two-storied house, at the 
eastern extremity of the park, and bears Swiff's name to this day. It 
is of the most unpretending character, bearinfi^ unmistakable signs of age 
and rough treatment, but a picturesque littfe abode withal. Over the 
walls and up to the verge of the moss-clad roof sjpring up the clematis 
and the Virginia creeper, serving to disguise the ravages of time and 
neglect ; and there is still the look of English cleanliness and comfort 
about it ; but, lo ! ** horresco referens," on the shutter tiie eternal sign** 
board, '* Gingex'heer for eale^ Trade here again — trade everywhere ;-— 
verily, an inveterate nation of shopkeepers we ! Ginger-beer, especiaUy 
in cholera-times, is not of my beverages ; but the purchase of a bottie of 
that peppery elixir was an easy introduction, and procured me a hearty 
reception from the genius lociy m the shape of a decent old washerwoman, 
who might almost have seen the light in the days of the ** good Queen 
Anne." She, too, had heard about Dean Swift, and knew, besides, how 
he was a ** maker of books" — a respectable calling! — ^not very much 
below that of a maker o{ boots— the words, in fact, are almost identical t 
The interior of this now humble tenement in no respect differs from 
others of its class ; and the sole memorial of die leviathan whom its walls 



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so Moor Park, as it fFas and Jb. 

onee sbeltered is fomid in a vene from Homoey wfaidi he luid inatrihed 
en a irooden tablet above one of the doorways. It if this : 

Tlenunqne grat» divitibus yioes, 
ICmidBMjTie parvo sub lare paapenua 
Caeim, sine snl»i8 et ostro, 
SdJicitam explicate irootem.— Oi. m. 39. 

Thus rendered bj Franeis : 

Where health-preserving plainness dwells, 

Nor sleeps npon tJie Tyrian dje. 
To frogaL treats and hnmble cells. 

With grateful change the wealth j tj. 
Qnxk seenes have ohanned the pangs of care^ 
And smoothed the clouded foreheaa of despair. 

It would appear, from the existence of this cottage, that Swifib had not 
received his <'bed" as well as his "« board^ at Moor Park; that he acted» 
in tmth, tike a kind of literarv journeyman, retoming home in tke 
evening after his day's work, like any o^er honest labourer. This 
surely was a singular arrangement. But Swifib at the time was young, 
and, but for one attraction in fan patron's mansion, was probably nothing 
loth when the hour came round that relieved him from his mechanical 
dradgery and sent him home, through a walk|of unparalleled beauty, to 
that cottage where at least he was his own master and could commune 
with his own thoughts. 

Over that luxuriant walk, with its bountiful array of wood, and oopse, 
and fern, not forgetting the gorse and its yellow flower, that made the 
old Linnaeus bless God he had been spared to visit England, we must now 
make our hasty return to Moor Park, only pausing on the way to drink 
from the sparkling waters of SL Mary's fVelL Like every other object 
which this place iuherits, this subterranean spring has its own peculiar 
interest So far back as the twelfth century it supplied Waveriev Abbey 
with water, and received from the pious Cistercians the appellation of 
St Mary's Well. But the popular name, and that by whieh it is almest 
universally known, is Mather JjudlanCs WeU. The spring issues from 
the foot of a hill, and in the bed of a natural grotto formed of the sandy 
rock of which that hill is composed. Here, as ever, tradition has it that 
the venerable witch, Mother Ludiam, held her sway, and with the magic 
eflScacy of this water it was her wont and privilege to dispense health to 
all who sought her aid. It was a water of heating — a kind of Jordan to 
all the country round. Like many another popular superstition, however, 
this one of the healing properties of Ludlam's Well has a partial founder 
taon in truth, for the &ct is that this spring is of an extraordinary purity 
and mtist, therefore, be very salubrious. Professor Clark of Aberdeen, 
who analysed it some three years ago, pronounoes it the purest spring- 
water he had yet tried, having only half a degree of hardness, or, in other 
words, of mineral admixture. 

When it is considered diat springs of four and four and a half degrees 
of hardness have attained so much celebrity for their purity as to make 
tiie fortune of watering-places where they are situated, and when it is 
also borne in mind that the ordinary distilled water of the chemists' shops 
is never under half a degree of hardness, it may be imagined bow ze- 
markabie and how healthful this natural spring must be. 

To this spring, and to eveiy nook about the grounds I have hastily. 



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A Voice from Ae Crowd. SI 

sketched^ it was mj good fortune to make many a pUgtimage before I 
left Moor Park ; for the reader has now to be infonned that my intended 
Tisit of a day was unexpectedly prcdonged to a month, during the whole 
of which period I enthusiastic&Uy underwent the rational process of cure 
which is practised in tbe establishmeDt, — that I grew daily more de- 
%hted with the treatment and with the place^ — ^aad that when the shor* 
teniog hours and the close of die long vacation at lenrth recalled me to 
my chambers and my work, I had the sadsCution of bringing to them, 
in a larger degree than I had possessed for many yeaxs, that greatest dT 
mortal blessings, " mens sana in coipore sano.** For this consummation I 
haye heartily to thank the water-cure and the enlightened physician who 
administers it at Moor Park. To both I shall ever remain deeply grate- 
ful ; and if any reader would purcfaase health in a manner not only 
rational but truly luxurious, my parting exhortation to him fearlessly is 
this: " Go thou and do likewise, and the benediction of the good Mother 
liudlam light upon thee as it did on me T 



A VOICE FROM THE CROWD. 

BT MAJtT 0. 7. VOUCK. 

I SAW a piimrose tuft to-day. 

The chesnnt-boughs are mown with buds, 
And arum spathes are heaving up 

The dead leaves lying in the woods ; 
The fields are fresh and green once more. 

The daisy stars are in the grass. 
And fresh soft winds are all abroad. 

Telling of spring-time as they pass. 

Sineing its sweet and happy song. 

The river dances merruy; 
And bursting in the sunny showers. 

The leaves are opening on the tree. 
The rooks are boilding in the elms, 

The robin swells his crimson throat, 
And from the beedi upon the hill 

The bLacklnid sings his happy note. 

Oh Spring ! why wakest thou the flow'rs— 

The senseless things— on hill and phunP 
Why bringest Uiou the buds and leaves^ 

^d wilt not bring the dead again ? 
They talk, with soft and gentle words. 

Of meek submission to my lot ; 
But ancry grief is in ro^ soul : 

I Aaa a son — and he is not. 

I weary at the len^hened day 

That bids the birds again rejoice ; 
T yearn to meet a vanished smile, 

I pine to hair a silent voice. 
This growing verdure aches my sense, — 

I tetter loved the dazzling snow, 
That seemed to me earth's winding-sheet» 

Por <me brave heart too soon laid low. 



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A Voice from the Crowd. 

Myjboy! my fair and fearless one. 

Mow can I bear to know thee dead ? 
To feel that I shall by my hand 

No more in blessing on thy head P 
Why didst thou leave my lonely home P 

what recked I of a nation's fate ? 
Oh, thrice accursed be this war. 

Since it has left me desokte ! 

Dead ! in the gloiy of thy youth. 

With all its prombes untried ! 
What earthly solace hath my heart. 

Since thou, my beautiful f hast diedP 
And how P Not in the battle shock — 

Not in the hot and eager strife, 
Where thou hadst won undying fame. 

And fearless men yield lii^e for life — 

Not thus ! not thus '.-—or I might bear 

With more of strength this sudden blow: 
'Twas wasting want that sapped thy strength, 

Pamine and sickness laid tliee low. 
Famine ! when wealth and poverty 

Alike their sacred off'rings gave. 
The warriors spared by fire and sword 

!From pining misery to save. 

Famine for thee ! my cherished one ! 

When all the good that gold could buy 
Was borne across the wintry sea, 

And all unused lay rotting nigh ! 
I will not hush my neart's despair, 

I mil lay blame where blame is due ; 
Our sons were ours, and living yet. 

If all had told the wrong they knew. 

I had one treasure in the world. 

And it is ever lost to me ; 
Let traitor craven lips be sealed, 

ify thouffkls, my truthful words are free. 
Where is my bov ? I ask of ye 

Who know why Balaklava's shores 
Are cumbered with the perished wrecks 

Of England's richest, choicest stores. 

Think ye the grave shall always keep 

The thousands that your acts have slain P 
Think ye the precious blood thus shed 

For ever silent shall remain P 
No ! let the false in camp and court 

Remember that the truth is known 
To One, whose eye is never closed — 

I trust my wrongs to Him alone. 

He will bind up the broken hearts. 

And bid the mourners cease to weep ; 
His will shall make the grave yield up 

The victims who have sunk to sleep. 
Tremble, ye proud, the day is near! 

The Righteous Judge hath suffered long, 
Yet shall He, in His own good time. 

Restore the Right — destroy the Wrong. 



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( 23 ) 

SAEAH BEATJCLEBjC. 

(cxmrnruxD fbom **thb BscKPnoM of the dead.**) 

Bt ths Authob of ** Ths Umholt Wish." 



Ths grey walb of the Chiteau de Beaufoj basked idly in the evening^ 
gun. In the western drawing-ioom, M. and Madame de Castella, the old 
lady, and Agnes de Beaufoy were playing whist Its large window was 
thrown open to the terrace, or colonnade, and there, were gathered the 
yonnger members of the party, the green-striped awning being let down 
between some of the outer pillars. Mary Carr and Adeline were seated, 
unrayelling a heap of silks, which had got into a mess in the iyory work- 
basket ; Rose Darling flitted about amongst the exotics, her long hair 
shining like threads of gold when, ever and anon, it came in contact with 
the sunlight, as she flirted — it was yery like it — with Mr. St John. But 
Rose began to turn cross, for he teased her. 

** Did you write to England for the song to-day ?" she asked. ** Ah, 
don't answer : I see you forgot it" 

'^ I did not writo,** answered Mr. St John, <<bnt I did not forget it 
You haye not tried the last 1 procured for you." 

** I haye sung it till I am tired," was Rcae's contradictory reply. 

*< Not to me." 

" Most of the writing you are guilty of goes to one person, I expect,'* 
proceeded Rose. " No wonder you forget other matters." 

"Indeed! To whom?" 

•* I won't betray you now," glancing at Adeline. " I will be com- 
passionate." 

" Pray don't trouble yourself about compassion for me, ma belle," re- 
turned Mr. St John, in his slighting manner. " It wiU be thrown 
away." 

" Compassion for you, Mr. St. John ! Don't flatter yourself. I was 
thinkinfif of another." 

Adelme looked up : a sharps perplexed glance. 

** You aro mysterious, Rose," said he, laughing. 

" Yes. But I could speak out if I would." 

" I dare you," answered Mr. St John. ^* Speak away." 

« You know there is one in England, who monopolises all your letters 
—not to speak of your dreams." 

'^Rosel" exclaimed Mary Carr, a dim shadow of Rose's meanings 
coming uneasily across her, ''you are talking nonsense. How can you 
speak so absurdly to Mr. St John V* 

'' He proyoked me. But he knows it is true. Look at his conscious 
iace now I" she saucily continued. 

« The only lady in England honoured with my correspondence," said 
Mr. St John, in a more serious tone than he had hitherto spoken, «ia 
Mrs. St John." 

" That's nearly true," cried the proyoking girl—" nearly. She is not 
Mis. St John yet, only to ht^ 



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24 Sarah Beauelerc. 

A strange, wild pang caught Adeline de Castella's heart Would Bose 
have continued, had she seen it ? Did St. John suspect it ? 

** i spoke of my mother, Rose,** he iidd. ^ She is the only lady who 
daims, or gets, letters from me." 

'^ Honour bright?^ asked Rose. 

** Honour height," repeated Me. St John, ^ the hosour of her only 
son." 

<<0h, flEuthless that you are, then!" burst forth Rose. ''Will you 
Aenj that there b one in £ngland to whom your letters are due, if not 
aeot; one, whose shadow you were for maoyi maay months; one, beauti- 
ful as a painter's dream ?'' 

^ Bah, Bose !" he said, those proud lips of his curliag with a defiant 
amik^ *^ vou are getting into ecstasies." 

'* Shall I tell Ser name-— the name of his own true lady-love?" asked 
Roie^ turning round, with a world of triumph on her bnght, laaghiag 
hrMir. " Muy Carr knows it already." 

** To« are out of your senses !" ejaculated Miss Carr, in a fwet of 
ezoitenient, hoping to stop her. " Don't attempt to impose on vm with 
your fabulous tales.'* 

** Shall I tell it?" repeated Bose, maintaining h«: ground and her 
equanimity. 

*' Tell it," said Mr. St John, carelessly. Did he dunk she knew so 
much? 

'< Tell it," repeated Adeline, but it was the motion of tibe syllables, 
rather than the words, that came from between her white and parted lips. 

'< Sarah Beauelero." 

There was a surprised or startled look observable for a traneieat space 
on St. John's countenance. Adeline saw it, and from that wild, hitter 
moment, a pang of anguish took root within her, whksh was ne^er to be 
erased or lessened during life. 

^' Yott are under a slight misappr^ension, Rose," said Mx. St J(din, 
inth indifference. 

" Am I ? The world was under another, perhaps, when it asserted 
that the honour of Mr. St John's hand would fail to Sarah Beauelerc" 

'< That it certainly was — ^if it ever did assert it And I might belieye 
it possible, were the world peopled with Rose Darlings." 

" Look here," exclaimed Rose, snatching St Jo^'s pocket-handker- 
chief from a gilt cage, where he had thrown it to protect tiie beautiful 
bird it contained from the rays of the setting sun — <Uook at thb, 
^Frederick St John,' worked in hair!" 

It happened to be the handkerchief they had picked up that first OMm- 
ing in the painting-room. Rose talked on, in the recklessness of her 
spirits^ and Adeline sat, drinking in her words. 

^< She did this for him : look how elaborately it is worked, even to the 
finiAings of the crest It is her hair, Sarah Beauclerc's." 

Now this was a random assertion. Rose did not know, or care, whether 
dte was right or not In her present humour, had it taken her in the 
head, she would have stood to it that St. John was in love with the moon. 
But he did not deny it. It is probable she had stumbled upon a bit of 
ftct And on she rattled, in her wild gaiety: 

<(This is his favourite handkerchief: I have noticed that. Ail his 



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Sitrab Jkauclerc 25 

otben me marked with iak. I daxe cay she gave the faandkeiobie^ as 
well as marked it. Let it aloBe, Mr. St. John : I shall show it rom^, if 
I like. A rather sigaificant present from so lorelj a girl ! But it's 
koown she wnsfoOe after him. He reciprooated the complinent liieii : 
I don't know how it may be now/' she added, with a world of roeaning 
in her tone. And, with a aaocy gkmce at Mr* St. John, she sang oat, 
in her deary xich voioei to a tone of her own, 

"It is well to be off with the old love, 
Before you are on witii the new/' 

AAeMtm roae^ and passed quietly into the drawiaff-«00B. Bat did St. 
John read the effinet Boae J>arfing's assertioos had wroi^^ npoo her? 
No; how diould he? for her hiring was ealm. Yet he knew, had he 
thought to apply it, that the still exterior ooveri the deepest nxSennf» 

'^Rose," he said, quoting a French proTerb or axioms **yoaa mam 
Uen k nrtf mais rien n*est beau que le vzai." 

** Ahy" she answered, with anotheiv " ce n'est pas Siie bien aise que 
de rire." Feihaps <he deepest truth she had utteied that ereoing. 

With ootward oaknness ^ens^ but oh ! the whiriwind of deipairiDg 
agony which shook Adeline's frame as she sank down by the bedside in 
her own chamber! That in one short minute, desolation so comidete 
shonU hare swept o?er her heart» and she be able to endure it and ure I 
To have given up her li£s's being to one ; to have bowed before him in 
a loYe, little short of idolatry ; to have forgotten early ties and Idndred 
in the spdl of this strong devotion — and now to he told there was 
another to claim his vows, another to whom they had first been oftred ! 

The dream in which she had been living for months was over— or, at 
least* it had been robbed of its golden colouring. The serpent Doubt 
had found his entrance into her heart : the fiend Jealousy had taken 
pessoooion of it, never to be wholly eradieated. 

Frederick St. John was certaimy one of earth's fiavonred children, with 
his great beauty, his powerful intellect, his refined and well-stored rnind^ 
The world itself might almost worship him as she did, and without a 
hlnsh. He had made her life the elysium that poets tell o£^ and now she 
fimnd that he loved, or had loved, another. Like an avalanche filling 
down the Alps and crushing the hapless traydkr, so had these tidings 
fallen upon her heart, and skmttered it 

Addiae de CasteUa soQMX>thed her brow and returned down etairs. 
She had taken no account of the time, but, by the advanced twilight, it 
would seem she had been away an hour, and Bose inquired whether she 
had been buried. 

Following Adeline on to the colonnade, where the whole parW were 
now seated, came the old Spanish servant, Silva, bearing a letter rar Mr. 
St. John. The ominous words, ^ tres pressee," written on it, had caused 
Madame Baret to de^tch it with haste to the chitean. 

^^Boes any one wait?" ieqcmnd Mr. St John. 

''Senof^a." 

*^ It ia weH," he said, and retreated inside the room. 

"^ You have rseeived bad news!" exdoimed Madame de CaateUa, when 

Mfaav^^eaid,withooBto <' I OHMt depart instantly 

fbrSi^ad." 



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26 Sarah BeaucUrc, 

It was well the shades of evening were gathering, or they would 
inevitably have seen the pallor which overspread Adeline's £ace. 

** My mother—" he began. 

*' Is dead ? Oh, pray don't tell us so !" interropted poor old Madame 
de Beaufoy. 

<« Not dead," sud Mr. St John. << At least, she was not when this 
letter was written. But she has met with a fearful accident, and the 
physicians fear concussion of the brain." 

" An accident ! ' Of what nature ?" they ezdiumed, breathless with 
attention. 

*'The horses of her carriage took fright in the park, and ran away. 
And my mother, in her alarm, opened the door and jumped out." 

*< Oh, that is terrible I" uttered M. de Castella^-*^ worse than foolish. 
And yet, none of us know but we might so act in a moment of fright. 
Remember the Duke of Orleans !" 

"Very hazardous for all," murmured the old lady; <^but next to 
destruction for the aged, Mr. St. John, like your mother and myself." 

<< My mother is not old," said Mr. St. John ; <' not yet fifty/' 

'' Whatever are you talking of?" cried Rose to Mr. St. John. <^Tour 
brother must be fifty." 

" Neariy so," he answered. " He is only my half-brother. Rose." 

^< I am truly sorry to hear these tidmgs," said Madame de Castella, 
'' though we have not the honour of knowing your mother. I sincerely 
hope we may yet have that pleasure." 

" I hope — I trust— I pray you may!" uttered St John, fervently, as 
he held out his hand to M. de Castella. 

"Are you going?" 

'* Yes. I feel every moment wasted that does not speed me on my 
journey." 

And in another instant he was gone. Without a word more of adieu 
to Adeline than he gave to the others. There was no opportunity 
for it. 

An hour passed. Lights were in the room, and all, save Adeline, 
were gathered in it Signer de Castella was playing chess with Mary 
Carr, Madame de Beaufoy ^carte with her younger daughter, Agnes de 
Beaufoy talked with Father Marc, who had dropped in, and Rose was at 
the instrument singing pleasingly, in a subdued voice. Adeline remained 
on the terrace, leaning on its balustrades, looking out into the night 

beware, my lord, of jealousy ! 

It is a green-eyed monster, wnich doth make 

The fo<^ it feeds on. 

That powerful reader of the human heart never put forth a greater 
truth, a more needed warning. Yet, how vainly I We can snme and 
wonder, now, at the '' trifles" which once mocked ourselves, but who 
smiles at the time ? It has been asserted that there is no true love 
without jealousy, and who shall venture to dispute it ? Love is most 
exacting. Its object must not listen to a tender word, or bestow a look 
of admiradon on another. It is probable that, in the want of any other 
suspicion, Adeline de Castella would have become jealous of Rose Dar- 
ling. But Rose was not needed. Sarah Beauderc had been put forth 
wiui sufficient detail to arouse the most refined torments of the distress* 



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Satdh BeaucUre. 27 

ing passion, and let none doubt that they werd pl&yix^g their part well 
npon her heart. And so she stood on; bitterly giving way to this 
strange angoish which had fallen on her, wondering how long it would 
be before he returned from England, and how many times, during hia 
stay there, he would see Sarah Beauderc. 

but what is that movement which her eye has caught at a distance ? 
Who or what is it, advancing, with a hasty step, from the dark trees ? 
Ah ! the wild rising of her pulse has told her, bi^ore the outlines of his 
form become distinct, as he emerges into that plot of pale light ! It was 
St. John — St. John whom she thought to have looked upon at present 
for the last time, and the ecstatic feeling which rushed over her spirit 
was such, as almost momentarily to obliterate the cruel doubts that op- 
pressed her. He had changed his dress, and was habited in costume 
suitable for travelling. His tread over the lawn was noiseless, and little 
less so as he ran up the steps to the colonnade. 

*^ How fortunate that you are here, Adeline !" he whispered. *' I could 
not go without endeavouring to obtain a word with you, though I doubted 
being able to accomplish it" 

Adeline, painfully agitated, and trembling to excess, both in her heart 
and frame, murmured some confused words about the time he was losing. 

'< No," interrupted Mr. St. John, " I should deem myself guilty of the 
deepest filial ingratitude, and which no after repentance could effiEioe or 
^tone for, if I lost one predous moment* I may arrive bar^ to receive 

my mother's dying blessing ; I may anive to find ^" He broke off 

abruptly, and resumed, after a pause : 

'< sAy own preparations were soon made : not so those necessary to 
convey me to Odesque. As it always happens in these emergencies, the 
spring-cart — and there's nothing else to take me — had been lent out to 
Farmer Fichon. Baret is gone for it, and will come on with it here, 
which is all in the way : so, you see, not one minute is being wasted. 
Why do you tremble so, my love ?" he added, as the fit of ague, which 
seemed to possess her, shook even his arm. ^' Are you cold P" 

Cold ! But most men would have had but the same idea. 

<' Now, Adeline, for one moment's grave consultation. Shall I write, 
and lay my proposals before M. de Castella, or shall they wait till I re« 
tum?'^ 

'^ Oh, wait to do so V* she implored, '* in mercy, wait T 

*' I would prefer it myself,** said Mr. St John, " for I feel I ought to be 
present to support you through all that may then occur. But, Adeline, 
should I be detained long, there will be no alternative : the preparations 
for your wedding will soon be actively begun, and render my speaking 
an act of imperative necessity." 

She laid her head upon his arm, moaning. 

^' Cheer up, my darling; I am only putting the worst view of the case. 
I trust that a few days may bring me back to you. Write to me daily,. 
Adeline : everything that (Occurs : I shall then be able to judge how long 
I may be absent with safety. I was thinking, Adeline, as I came along, 
that it might be better if my letters to you are sent under cover to Rose 
or Mary. You are aware that I do not mention this for myself — I should 
be proud to address you without disgmse— but for your own peace. 
Were I to write openly, it might force explanations on you before my 
Tetnin*'' 



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98 Sarah Seamdar. 

Efter tnxioas for ker ! Her heart bounded with gnriitnde. 

** Under eo?er to Mwy Carr," she Mid. 

** We nrast port now, my lore," he whispered, as a Innt TomUing 
broke upon their ears from the distance; '* you bear mj signal. It » 
fiftst approaching.'' 

** You will come back as soon as yon are at liberty ?^ she sighed. 

*^ Ay, the rery instant. Need you question it, Adeline ?" 

He strained her to his heart, and the painfnl tears conrsed down her 
cheek. " God bless yon, and take care of yon, and keep you in peace tUl 
I return, my dear, my dear, my only love !" And when he had passed 
into the room, Adeline asked herself if that last lingering farewell kiss 
which he had pressed upon her lips — she asked henelf, with burning 
blushes, if she were sure it had not been returned. 

n. 

Ths second eyening after Mr. St. John's departure, before they had 
risen from the dinner-table, Silva brought in the letters. Two from 
England amongst them, bearing on their seals, as Rose Darling expressed 
it, the arms and quarterings of all the St Johns. The one was addressed 
to Madame de Castella ; the other was handed to Miss Carr. 

Maiy looked at it with unqualified surprise. The fact was, Adeline, 
not expecting they could hear from Mr. St. John till the following day, 
had put off rae few words of explanation she meant to speak, feehng shy 
at the task. 

" Why should Mr. St. John write to me ?" exclaimed Mary Carr. But 
Adeline, who was sitting next her, laid her hand upon Mary's knee, under 
cover of the tablecloth, pressing it convulsively. 

There was a slight general laugh at the remark. Some of them were 
beginning to think, for the first time, that Mr. St. John might possess a 
tender interest in Miss Carr. 

^' Open it without ceremony, my dear,** said Agnes de Beaufoy. ^< You 
are not amongst strangers." 

Mary Carr raised her hand to break the seal : but that iron clasp of 
Adeline's became more urgent in its pressure. She began dimly to 
understand, and laid the letter down by the side of her dessert-plate. 

" Why don't you open it, Mary Carr?" repeated Rose, impatiently. 

*' No," said Miss Carr, in a ban-joking manner, *' there may be secrets 
in it which I don't care to read before people." And Rose, whose curiosity 
was fully excited, could have boxed her ears. 

*' Mr. St John writes that his mother is better," said Madame de 
Castella ; *' the injuries prove less serious than were at first supposed. By 
the next post, he hopes to send us word that she is out of danger." 

** This letter, Adeline," exclaimed Maiy Carr, when they were alone 
— ** I fancy it may not be meant for me." 

" You can open it," replied Adeline, timidly. " Perhaps — I think- 
there may be one for me raside it." 

Mary Carr opened the letter. It contained but a few polite words 
from Mr. St. John, requesting her to convey the enclosed one to Adeline, 
at a convenient opportunity. 

** You see how it is?" faltered Adeline to her. 

** I have seen it long, Adeline." 



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She ovried As fetter to hot diamber to read, boMog tfce door tiist 
Alt A%lit be free from hitemiptioii. It ww a long letter, written Uet 
move temUj tfam are lov^-epietles in general, for it wme impoaeible to 
Mr. St. Joka to write otherwie^ but there was a v^n ^i imfNMiioneel 
tendemees nnrahtg throD^ it, knplied rather than expretsed, which 
aoroKr ongfat to have satiened even Adeline. .Bat the embittered docdyte 
whi<» had poBseeeed her, sbiee that hXxX night when Rose so randomly 
spoke of Miss Beauclerc, cast their gangrene over all. Not a moment of 
peaee or happinese had she known since. Her tisioos bj day, her dreams 
Dy night, were crowded by images of Mr. St. John, fidthless to her, happy 
with another. Nor did the yonng kdv in qoestion want a ** s h a p e to 
the mind." The day after St Jo&'s departmre, they were looking over 
the last yearns " Book of Beauty,* or '' Portraits of the English NolnUty^ 
— somethinfi; of that, I forget the precise title — when Rose suddenly ex- 
claimed, '* Adeline, we were talking last night of Sarah Beandere : this 
is very I&e her.* 

^ Was it nonsense or sense, Rose, the tale yon were telling ns?** 
qoeetioned Adeline, with a desperate struggle to speak calmly. 

^ Sober sense, and sober truth, so far as I believe," blundered Rose, in 
re^y. " Frank told me. He said St. John had been her shadow for 
months, until — so I understood it — until he came abroad here. Every- 
body thought they were engaged, Frank said ; there was no room to 
think otherwise.^' 

<^ It was only a flirtation," broke in Maiy Carr, who had in vain 
endeavoured to interrupt Rose before. 

^'Yery liMy," assented Rose; ''an attractive §^<fyw like Frederidk 
St. John is allowed to go pretty deep in the game : roaming about, as a 
butterfly, from flower to flower, kissing all, but settling upon none." And 
off danced Rose^ bringing her earless speech to a conclusion with the 
commencing lines of an old song, once in great vogue at Madame de 
Nino's^ 

" The Butterfly was a gentleman 
Of no very ^od repute ; 
And he roved m the sunshine all day long, 

Li his scarlet and purple suit. 
And he left his lady wife at home 

In her own secluded bower, 
Whilst he, like a bachelor, flirted about, 
With a kiss for every flower.** 

Adelme listened to all in silence, gaiing at the portrait It was that 
of a fair girhsh &ee, wearing a peculiarly sweet look of youth and 
innocence. No impartial observer coold have pronounced it so lovely aa 
her own, but the Jealous film just now before her eyes caused her to take 
an exaggerated view of its charms, and to see in it something more. than 
loveliness. It may have been little, if at all, like the young lady to whom 
Rose compared it ; but no matter : to Adeline it was l^ah Beandere 
and no other, and from that moment the image fixed itself indelibly in 
her mind as that of her envied rival. And ;jret she knew that Mr. St. 
John was seeking to win herself for his wife! Truly Aey are un« 
fathomable, the ways and fears of jealousy. 

Mote letters came from St. John to Mary Carr, and answers were sent 
in return to him, the addreu in Mary's handwriting, and the seal heir 



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80 Sarah Beauckrc. 

own ** M. C.y** and a dove with an olWe-hranch. It had bec6me quite a 
joke at the ch&teau: Agnes openly wondered where all their eyes oould 
have been ; Rose, who was at first puzzled, a thing* she detested, curled 
her lip, and asked Mary if she meant to set A«rself up for a rival to the 
beautiful Sarah Beauclerc ; and good old Madame de Beaufoy told Mary 
she should make her a pre^nt of the wedding dress. Mary Carr winced 
sometimes^ but she remembered Adeline's pale cheek and troubled spirit, 
and bore all patiently. 

One day, while they were at dinner, who should arrive unexpectedly 
but the Baron de la Chasse. Some difficulty with the lawyers as to the 
marriage-settlements rendered necessary a personal interview with M de 
Castella. The latter pressed him to remain a few days, and he consented. 
Adeline was boih terrified and dismayed, and she wrote to Mr. St. John 
before she slept. 

Three evenings later, the whole party were assembled in the billiard- 
room. The windows were open, and the hot breeze was whiffing in, 
blowing the lights about, and causing the wax to drop. It was between 
ten and eleven, and the baron and Signer de Castella were finishing their 
last game, when the door opened, ana in walked Mr. St. John. Adeline 
started from her seat with a faint, involuntary cxy ; but, in the universal 
surprise, the movement was not observed. 

He looked very well ; and oh ! how handsome ! It seemed to strike 
them all, after tins short absence, though he had no advantages from 
dress, being in his travelling attire. How could they blame Adeline 
for loving him ? A hundred inquiries were made after Mrs. St. John. 
She was entirely out of danger, he answered, and progressing towards 
recoveiy. 

** Will you allow me the honour of half an hour's interview with you 
to-morrow mommg, sir?" he said, addressing M. de Castella, in a tone 
which the whole room might hear. 

<* Certainly," returned M. de Castella. But he looked somewhat 
surprised. 

" At what hour?" inquired St. John. 

" Any hour. Name your own." 

^< Ten o'clock then." And he took his leave. 

He might well clasp Adeline's hand to reassure her, as he went out, 
for they could have heard her heart beat, as he made that request to her 
father. She retired to her chamber, but not to sleep : the anxiety of the 
coming day prevented rest But, amidst all the suspense that turned her 
heart to sickness — amidst the dread of what the approaching hours might 
bring forth — amidst the strange doubt and agony which had come with 
the image of Sarah Beauclerc, there arose one bright, rapturous gleam of 
sunshine — he was once more with her : she had heard his beloved voice, 
and felt the pressure of his hand, and the world was again Eden. Though 
with that yellow shade over it. 

It was striking ten, the next morning, when Mr. St. John entered the 
house. He brought a roll of music in ins hand for Rose, and presented 
Mary Cair with a handsome writing-case: an acknowledgment, she 
alwavs thought, of the slight service she had rendered him and Adeline. 
He tnen passed into the cabinet of M. de Castella. 

The interview lasted an hour — an hour! — and Adeline in suspense all 
that time. She oould not remtun for an instant in one place — now up- 



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Sarah Beauderc. 31 

stairs, now down. She was crossing the hall, for ahont the hundredth 
time, when the cabinet door opened, and Mr. St John came out. He 
seized her hand and took her into the yellow drawing-room. She trem- 
bled violently from head to foot, like sne had trembled the night of his 
departure for England. It was the first moment of their being alone 
together, and he embraced her tenderly, and held her to his heart. 

" You have ill news for me T' she uttered, at length. " We are to be 
separated !" 

'* We will not be separated, Adeline. Strange ! strange I** he con- 
tinued, leaving her to pace the room, " that people can be so in£Eituated 
as to fancy an engagement of form must necessarily imply an engage* 
ment of hearts ! M. de Castella does not understand — ^he cannot under- 
stand that your happiness is at stake. In short, he laughed at that.'' 

"Is he very angry ?" 

*^No; but vexed. I have not time now to relate to you all that 
passed, liable as we are to interruption. I told him that the passion 
which had arisen between us was not of will — ^that I had not purposely 
placed myself in your path to gain your love — ^that we had been tnrown 
together by circumstances, and thus it had arisen. I pointed out that no 
blame could by any possibility attach to you, but it might be due to me ; 
for I did not deny that when I saw an attachment was growing up 
between us, I might have flown before it was irrevocably planted, and 
did not** 

'^ Did you part in anger?" she shuddered. 

" On tne contrary. M. de Castella is anxious to treat the afiair as a 
jest, and hinted that it might be dropped as such. I did not reply : 
thinking it better not to venture too far at the first interview. Perhaps 
he imagined he had convinced me, for he asked me to dinner." 

" Frederick ! You will surely come ?** 

'' I shall come, Adeline, for your sake." 

** Oh !" she exclaimed, with a shiver, " how will it end }^ 

^' My dearest," he said earnestly, '' you must be calm. Fear nothing, 
now I am by you. Rely upon it, you shall be my wife." 

" Mr. St. John," cried Rose, as they went into the west drawing- 
room, " you have brought the music for me, the writing-case for Maiy 
Carr, but what have you brought for Adeline ?" 

" Myself," he quietly answered. 

" There's many a true word spoken in jest," laughed Rose. " You 
don't think you have been taking me in all this time, Mr. St. John, with 
vour letters to Mary Carr, and her envelopes back again ? Bah ! pas si 
D^te," cried Rose, waltring on to the colonnade. 

Mr. St. John turned to Miss Carr, and thanked her for the very thing 
Rose had named. " I presume you know," he said, *' that our corre- 
spondence was perfectly justified, though I did not wish it declared until 
my return — that we are affianced to each other ?" 

*' I have feared it some lime, Mr. St. John." 

'' Feared ar 

'* Yes. Adeline is promised to another : and the French look upoft 
8U9h engagements as sacred." 

" In a general way. But there are cases of exception. We have your 
good wishes, I hope." 

May — VOL. civ. no. ccccxm. d 



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82 Sarah B^uekrc. 

*^JndeeA jovL bure. For I feat it may be a matter of life aDcl dcsadi 
to Adeline— 89 it is decided. She la a s«iBttive {^nt." 

^ And shall be cherisbed as one." 

It was a roost uneomfortaUe dinner ibat day. Mr. St Jobn was 
present, looking haugbty and resolute, and De la Cbasse fiirious. 
Somebow, tbe pretensions of Mr» St* John bad ooaed out'^Mary 
Carr thought throng poor <M Madame de fieaufoy — and De la 
Cbasse had aspersed St. John, in no measured terms, before tb^a 
all. After dinner, Signor de Caatella led tbe way to the btUiard- 
rooBi, hoping, probably, that the knocking about of balls might 
dissipate the oonstraiat. But it came to an open rupture. Some dif* 
ference of opiraon arose about tbe game : St. John, was calm, but un* 
bending ; De Ul Cbasse gave way to bis anga>, and so fu forgot him- 
self, as personally to attack, by words, Mr. St. John. <' A spendthrift, 
who had run through bis own fortune, to oome hunting aftor Ade- 
line's '' 

'* Vota ^ftes meateur !'' shouted Mr. St. John, turning short vspoit the 
baaon. But what fiirtiier he would have foUowed up with was stopped 
by Adeline, wfao,.tenified outof self-eoutrol^ darted across the room, and 
touching St. John's arm whispered him to be cabn for her sake. De la 
Cbasse advanced and offbred bis hand to remove Adeline, but St. John 
thiew hia arm round her waist with haughty defiance. 

^* Mademoiselle, you are degrading yourself!'' uttered De la Cbasse. 
'* Come from his side." 

There was no anawer from St. John, but a quiet sraila of oontempt, 
and his retaining bold of Adeline. The baron was foaming^ but aa to 
his attempting to semore* Adeline 1^ foroe, he knew he might as weM 
have attempted to move the chftteau, and have got pitched out at win- 
dow, probably, into the bargain. 

** Sir, I appeal to you," he stuttered, turning to M. de Castella, for 
tbe scene had really passed so quickly that tbe latter had found no breath 
to interfere. " la it. fit that m^ promised wife should thua be subjected 
to insult in my presence ?" 

^'Adelitte," interposed M. de Castella, sternly, ^< return to your 
mother." 

'^ She is my promised wife/' said Mn St. John to the baron, ** and I 
have a right to retain her here — the right of affection. A right that 
you will never have." 

<* I will not bandy words with him, I will not," foamed De la Cbasse. 
^< Monsieur de Castella, when your salon shall be freed from that man I 
will re-enter it." He turned upon bis heel, and left the billiard-room, 
bangring die door after him. 

'' Mademoiselle," reiterated M. de Castella to his daughter, who was 
sobbing aloud in her tefror and agstation, " do you disobey me ? Return 
to your mother." 

'* She does not disobey y«m, sir, and never baa done willin^y," cried 
Mr. St. John, as he released Adeline, and conducted her acroea the room 
to Madame de Castelki. 

~ '' These scenes must be put a stop to, B£r. St. John. Tou received 
my answer this morning." 

** Only to re-enter upon it, sir. The particulars which I spared then 
I will relate now." 



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Sarah Beauclerc. 39. 

''I do not wish to hear them," aaid Signer de Castella, initoUj* 

^Sir," ealraiy interposed; Mr. St John, " I demanditas aright. The 
baron has been fnelj femaikiag^ upon me and my cendaci tOKUvy, I 
imdenCaod, in the hearing of all present, a*nd I mast be yanakted to 
JQSIify myseil" 

** Yoo most allow Cor the fading of irritation on the baron's past. Yon 
an neither devoid of coed judgment nor soand sense, Mr. St. Johiwr 

^ That is just what I have allowed for," lepUed Mr. St^ John, fimakly. 
''He- feels, no doidit, that he is an iajoiad man; and so I have been, 
willing to show him oonstderatiea* Any other man, speaking of me aa 
De 1& Chasie has dons, would have got a honewhippiag fintr and tha 
optioa of meetii^ aie afterwards." 

*'Iiet thia nnplesBaat antter be dropped, Mi: St John," was tiie 
resolute answer 

'^ Sir, I beg you to listen to my explanation : it shall be given wiihoni 
diflgiase. Whoi I came of age, I obtained posseMion of a handsoaw 
fortuneu . It is all ctianpated. I was not free firoaa the &ults of youth, 
common to my inezperienoe and rank, and I was as eztvavagani as my 
wosal enemy oould wish. But I solemnly assert that I never have been 
guilty of a dishonourable thought or mean aetion. These is not a man 
or woman living, who can bring a word of reproach against me^ save ^at 
of excessive imprudenee in regwd to my money — and a good part of that 
went to hslp those who wantcHi it worse than I da WeU, about a twelve- 
month ago, I was cleared out, and had liabilities to the amount of a few 
thoosanda besides.'* 

<* Pray do not enter upon these details, Mb. St John," iatexMipted the 
Signor de CastaUa. 

** Sir, I must go on — ^mth your permission. My baotfaer^ Mr. Isaac 
St. Joh% whom you know, by reputation, sent for me to Castle- Wafer* 
He pointed out to naa. the errors o£ my career: told me to refleet upon 
the heedless coinse I was puxamng. I had been reflecting on it, had 
beeome quite as awake to its ills as he could be, and I had firmly resolved 
tiiat it should end : but to a man dee|^ in debt, good resolutaons axe 
sometimes difficult to carry out. My brother offered to set me ftee ; but 
upon two conditions. One was, that I would give him my word of 
honour never to set my name to another bill ; the second, that I should 
take to myself a wife. The first I was quite willing to aocede to, and 
keep; but I demurred to the latter, and my brother explained his 
generous intentions further. He and my mother were extremely anxious 
that I should marry ; not only as a security against my relapsing into 
unsteady habits, but because some superstitious fear diogs to our branch 
of the family, tiiat with us, my brother and myself, will die out the last 
of the St Johns. Isaac proposed to give up to me, at once, Castle* 
Wafer — it has always been hit intention to do so when I married — and 
to resign to bk an iaeome proportioned to it A liberal settlement he 
also offered to make on my infe, whom they had already fixed imon." 

'«Waa it Ifisa BeaudexeP' inteampted Rose, who nevns lost her 
equanimity in her life. 

f It was my cousin Anne^** resumed Mr. St. John, widi scarcely a 
glance at Rose. ^ She and my mother were at that time visiting at 
CastlC'Wafer. But the maniage suited neither her nor me. She was 
engaged, udaiowa to hen firiends, to Captain- SaviUe, and she confided t^ 

d2 



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34 Sardi Beauclere. 

me this attachment. I took upon myself all the hrunt of the refiual — 
for Captain Saville's position, at that period, did not justify his aspiring 
openly to Lady Anne St. John — and informed my brother I could not 
marry Anne. High words rose between us, and we parted in anger. I 
thought then, and always shaU think, that he was very severe upon me 
-*-! mean as to my past follies. He, in the isolated position which his 
infirmity has caused nim to enshrine round himself since childhood, had 
never been exposed to the temptations which attend youth and rank, and 
he could not make allowance for me. He spoke of them as crimes, rather 
than venial errors, and I retorted passionately. I said more than I ought, 
and in this spirit we parted, I returning to London. Just then my 
mother's sister died, leaving me what money was at her disposal. It was 
not much ; but it was sufficient to pay my debts, and to this purpose it 
is being applied, as it is realised. By next November every shilling I 
owe will be discharged. I should have preferred not appearing again 
before my brother until I was a free man, but circumstances have ordered 
it otherwise. I was about setting out for Castle- Wafer the day informa- 
tion reached me that De la Chasse had again made his appearance here, 
and I came off at once, without the credentials I should otherwise have 
brought with me. But you cannot doubt me, M. de Castella ?" 
"Doubt what r 

'^ My ability — my power — ^to offer a suitable position to your daughter." 
" Sir, the question cannot arise. Though I should very much doubt 
it My daughter is not Lady Anne St. John.** 

" I snould have added that Lady Anne is married ; a change having 
occurred in Captain Saville's prospects. She wrote to my brother, on 
her marriage, telling him it was at her instigation I refused her : without 
referring to my own feelings ; and indeed she did not know whether they 
were favourable to her or the contrary : no necessity," he continued, with 
a passing smile, ^'for telling Anne I declined the honoiur of her hand. 
My brother is most anxious to be reconciled to me : I know it from my 
mother. And I can take upon myself to say that all the favourable pro- 
jects and settlements he proposed for Lady Anne, will be renewed for 
Adeline." 

*< Then you would take upon yourself to say too much, Mr. St. John : 
you cannot answer for another. But let this unprofitable conversation 
end. My daughter is promised to Monsieur de la Chasse, and no other 
man will she marry." 

" Sir," cried Mr. St. John, speaking with agitation, <* will you answer 
me one question. If I were in a position to offer Adeline ample settle- 
ments ; to take her to Castle- Wafer as her present home — and you know 
it must eventually descend to me — would you consider me a suitable 
match for her ?" 

'* It is a question that never can arise." 

'*! pray yon answer it me— in courtesy," pleaded Mr. St John. 
" Would you deem me eligible in a pecuniary point of view ?" 

'^ Certainly. It is an alliance that a higher family than mine might 
aspire to." 

" Then, sir, I return this night to England. And will not again pre- 
sent myself to you, until I come armed with these credentials.*' 

<' Absurd! absurd!" ejaculated M. de Castella, wlulst Adeline uttered 
a smothered cry of fear. << I have allowed this conversation to go on. 



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SarcJi JBeauclerc. 35 

oat of respect to you, Mr. St. John, but I beg to tell you, once for all, 
that Adeline never can bo yoors." 

'* I will not urge tbe subject further at present,'* said Mr. St John, as 
he held out his hand to bid adieu to Madame de Castella. " We will 
resume it on my return from England." 

" You surely do not mean to persist in this insane journey I" abruptly 
uttered M. de Castella. 

^< Signor de Castella,'' said Mr. St. John, with a pale cheek but firm 
manner, " I will not resign your daughter. If I could forget my own 
feelings, I must remember hers. To marry her to De la Chasse would 
be to abandon her to the grave. She is not strong ; you know it ; not 
fitted to battle with misery. Adeline, my darling,'* he added, turning 
to her, for she was sobbing hysterically, " why this distress ? I have 
repeatedly assured you, when your fears of these explanations were 
great, that I would never resign you to De la Chasse, or to any other. 
Hear me repeat that assertion in the presence of your parents — by the 
help of Heaven, my love, you shall be my wife." 

'* Meanwhile," said M. de Castella, sarcastically, *' as you are now, at 
least, under my authority, Adeline, permit me to suggest that you retire 
from this room." 

She rose obediently, and went towards the door, sobbing. 
" A moment," cried Mr. St. John, deprecatingly, " if it is from my 
presence you would send her. I am going myself. Adieu to all." 

He opened the door, and stood with it in his hand, glancing hesitatingly 
at Adeline. Her feelings were wrought to a high pitch of excitement, 
control forsook her, and darting forward she clung to the arm of Mr. 
St John, sobbing out hysterically, 

" You will return — ^you will not desert me — you will not leave me to 
7am r* 

He wound his arms round her, just as though they had been alone. 
*' It is only compulsion that takes me from you, Adeline," he whispered. 
'' Be assured I will not let the grass grow under my feet. When three 
days shall have passed, look every minute for my return : and then, my 
darling, we shall part no more." 

Lower yet he bent his head, and kissed her fervently. Then re- 
signed her to them, for they had come flocking round, turned, and was 
gone. 

De la Chasse lefb for Paris the next day. He concluded Mr. St 'John 
had taken himself off for good. He did not appear to lay Uame to 
Adeline : all his superfluous rage was vented on St. John. As to any 
affection Adeline might be suspected of entertaining for Mr. St John, 
that he ihou^t nothing of. A Frenchman does not understand or be- 
lieve in this sort of affection. 

The banns of the marriage were put up, and would shortly be pub- 
lished to the world, according to the custom of the country. '^ Alphonse 
Jean Hippolyte- de la Chasse and Adeline Luisa de CastcJla." The 
ceremony was to take place at the neighbouring chapel ; the dvil portion 
of ity previously, at the Mairie at Odesque. A sumptuous bfmquet- 
dinner was to be given in the evening by M. de Castella at the chiteau, 
and the following morning the bride and bridegroom were to leave it for 
Paris. In the course of a few days, Signor and Madame de Castella 
were to join them, and all four would then proceed to the South together. 



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96 Sarah BeaueUre, 

*^T^ 1»Te seen them fortlier, before they should have made sadi ar- 
rangements for me, with their French ideas !" bluntly exclaimed Rose to 
Adeline. '^ If I coald not to away with my husband on my wedcBng- 
day, Td run away with Mm beforehand.** 

Three days passed, and no Mr. St. John. The fourth morning amsey 
and Afleline was in a distressing state of excitement ^ as lAie Iwd been 
ever since his departure. To what can I compare her restless anxiety? 
Yon aH Tcmember the old tale of Bluebeard. '^ Sister Aane^ Sister 
Anne, do you see anybody coming T* 

" Alas, my sister, I see only the dust from a "fioek of sheep." 
*^ Sister Anne, Sister Anne, can you see anybody coming r' 
Thus tt was with Adeline. When her eyes ached widi looking «vft, 
and she retmd momentarily to Tofiesh them, it would be, " Rose, fioie, 
do jou see -him coming ?'' 
*^ 1^0, I don't eee a sonl.*^ 

And then, "^ Mary ! go to the window. Can you see htm coming?^ 
And the day passed like the others, and he never came. It was, 
indeed, an anxious time with her. Left to herself, the marriage would 
inevitably take place, for, unsupported by St. John, she shoold not dare 
to oppose her father. But, on the fifth morning — ah, what triomph !-— > 
he returned. Adeline, dear girl, look at him, what do you read ? A 
firm, self-possessed step, self-possessed even for him, a proud smile on his 
beautifid foatures, a glance of assured satisfaction in his tmthful «ye. 
He comes, indeed, as St. John of Castle- Wafer. 

Miss de Beaufoy, Adeline, and Mary "were alone; the rest Ind ffone 
over to the hxm. He took Adeline's hands in bis : he saw hoyr rfie had 
been suffering. '' But it is over, over," he whispered to her; *^ I flhall 
never leave yon more.*J 

^< It was unwise of you to come back, Mr. St. John," said Aunt Agnes, 
as she shook hands with him. 

^ It was wise of me to go," he cried, a happy finsh of trimnph on his 
brow. " Ah, dear Miss Beaufoy, you wiH soon pay ns a visit at Castle- 
Wafcr. WItere is Monsieur de la Chasse ?" 
."He has left for Paris." 
"lam sorry for it.** 
AdeliDe looked at him. 

" He styled me an adventurer — a hunter after Adeline's foftme. 
Had he remained till to-day, he might have eaten his words." 
*' What is there to hope ?" whispered Adeline. 
■* Hope all, hope everything, my love," was his reply. " Jtell you 
to do so." 

St. John, like an ambassador, had brought his oredentials with htm. 
All that he had so confidently asserted to M. de Castella was msdieed. 
His brother had received him with open arms, and shed tears of joy over 
the reconciliation. Solicitors were at once emplcn«ed to liquidate Fiederick'e 
remaining debts, and to set free so much of his property as was in tim 
'keeping o!f the Jews. Castle- Wafer would be resigned to hkn on his 
maniage, and a brilliant income. He had represented Adeline in glowing 
collonrs to his brother, not enlarging on her beanty, 'whi<4i he said would 
apei^ for itself, but on her numerous endearing qualities «f mind and 
lieart. And the latter, as he listened, became reconciled to -die firustvation 
t^'fte marriage with Lady Anne St John, and wrote word td Adeline 



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JShsndi Btaucl&ro. ST 

that hb «B8 .-prapared to iove asd weleome Imt bs « dang^hter. His isfiired 
settlemeDts for her wove iiba same wbidi he had pnypoaedfor Lady Amie^ 
and undeniable. 

A letter fn« ktoi to Stgvor de OasteUa^was praented by Mr. St 
John. It contuned fonaal proposab for Aideline, with an espbaatory 
detail o£ what faaa been atated, in aubataaee, above, anbmitting the whole 
to SL de Castetta'a approval. The letter ako oentained a request, which 
Fiedertek was to urge in peram, for M. de CaateHa and his family to at 
once Yisit Castle -Wafer, that he might become acquainted with the home 
to which he comigned ^is child. The marriage eould then take place as 
socm as ww oooyeaieiit, either in Ekigland or France, as might be agreed 
n^n, after -which, Frederick would take her to « warmer dime for the 
winter mouths. 

Annoyed as M. de OasteUa was, he eonld not bat be flattered at the 
howwrdone hhn, for he well knew that Isaac St Jc^ of Castle- Wafer 
might a^re, for his -brother, to a higher allianoe than his would be. 
Bat .he showed his vexation. 

^^ You haye acted improperly, Mr. St. John, both towards me, aad 
towards your brother. Pray did you tell him that Adeline was, all but, 
theirifeofanotlierr 

^' I told him everything," said Mr. St. John, firmly ; ** and he agreed 
with me, that for Adeline's own sake* if ^ot for mine, dbe must be rescued 
from ^e mihappiness whidi threatens her." 

^¥oa«re bdd, sir," cried M. de Castella, a flash of anger nsing'to 
faiB'baow. 

^ I «m/' retoraed Mr. St Jolm, '< bold and determined. You asmt 
pardon the avowal. It would ill become me to be otherwise, when so 
mvoh is at stebe.^ 

M. de OasteUa wheeled back his easy-chair, as he sat, the only direr- 
sion from the uncomfortable, straight-backed seats "vHiich graoed his 
cabinet. ^' listen to me," he eaid ; " I hope finally. Your journey to 
Castle- Wafer, as I wanted you it would be, has been worse than piofit- 
leas : our oonvsrsation is the same. No human entrsaty <h: menaoe-* 
could such be offered me — ^would alter my determination one iota. 
Adeline will marry De la Chasse." 

'^ i have abstained from urging my own ^seUngs," said Mr. St 9ohn, 
warmly, " but you must be aware their happiness is at stake. My ^ole 
future, so to speak, is bound up in Adeline." 

^ Yoa do well not to «rge them ; it would make no diff^nrenee : I am 
Sony, but it would not This must end, Mr. St John, i have already 
expesaed my aeknowkdgments to you fbr the honour done me in your 
wish for an alliance ; I shall express them presently to your brother. 
And I ihave no objection to confess, that, under dBfferent circumstances, 
I might have been tempted to entertain it But the banier between 
JOB aad Adeline is inenperaUe." . 

'<-0h, M. de Castella, pray reAsct. I have been bred with as nice a 
asnse of honour as yon : I venture to say it : and I trust I shall never 
be guilty of aught to tarnish that honour. But I should deem it an 
Wff^hteous thing to saeiiGce to it a fellow^creatuve's happiness, and she 
an only dnid." 

'<^Ob, tush ! Sacrifice 1 — ^haf^ness 1 These chimeras of the imagination 
are not looked upon in a serious light with us. Adeline may rebel in 



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38 Sarah Beauckrc, 

spirit— may repine for a week or two, but when onoe she is married to 
the baron^ she will settle down contentedly enough/' 

*^ You are killing her/' exclaimed St John, excitedly. '^ Tou may 
not see it, but I teU you true. The painful suspense and agitation she 
has been exposed to lately, if continued, would kill her." 

" Then if such be your opinion, Mr. St. John," returned the signer, 
sarcastically, ** you should put an end to it by withdrawing yourself." 

*^ I will not withdraw ; I will not give up Adeline. I am more worthy 
of her than he is." 

'< You have been highly reprehensible throughout the affair. You 
knew that Adeline was promised to another, and it was your duty to fly, 
or at least absent yourself from her, when you found an attachment was 
arising." 

*' I don't know that I was awake to it in time. But if I had been, 
most likely I should not have flown. Had I been needy, as that man 
called me, or one whose rank was inferior to hers, then my duty would 
have been plain ; but the heir to Castle- Wafer has no need to fly like a 
craven." 

** Not on that score— not on that score. Had Adeline been but a 
peasant and engaged to another, you should have respected that engage- 
ment, and left her free." 

^^ I did not set myself out to gain her love. I assure you, M. de 
Castella, that the passion which grew up between us was unsought on 
either side. It was the result of companionship, of similar taste? and 
sympathies ; and it was firmly seated, I am convinced, in both our hearts, 
l>efore I ever uttered a word, or gave way to an action that could be 
construed into a wooing one. And you will forgive me for reminding 
you, that had Adeline regarded M. de la Chasse with the feelings essen- 
tial to render a marriage with him happy, she would have remained 
indifierent to me." 

*< Our conference is at an end,** observed M. de Castella, risine^, <' and 
I beg to state that I can never suffer it to be renewed. Finalfy, I feel 
obliged, flattered, by the honour you would have done Adeline^ but I 
have no alternative but to decline it." 

'* You have an alternative, M. de Castella." 

*^ I have none. I have none, on my honour. Will you be ihe bearer 
of my despatch to Castle- Wafer ?" 

" No. I shall remain where I am for the present." 

'' I cannot pretend to control your movements, Mr. St John, but it 
will be well that you absent yourself until after my daughter's marriage. 
W^ere you to come in contact with the baron, much unpleasantness might 
ensue." 

*^ He is not here," interrupted Mr. St. John, " therefore the question 
cannot arise." 

** I have no wish that our friendship should be interrupted,*' returned 
M. de Castella, *^ for I have always enjoyed your society much. If you 
will but be reasonable, and drop all recollection of this unpleasant 
matter." 

Mr. St. John made no reply. As he left the cabinet, he nearly ran 
over Father Marc, who seemed to be leaning against the door. Could 
the priest have been listening p The thought occurred to Mr. St. John. 



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C 39 ) 
LITERAKY LEAFLETS. 

BY SIB NATHANIEL. 

No. XXXL — Owen Meredith's Poems.* 

Hebe, if not a full-fledged poet, is at least no mere unfledged poetaster. 
If not already gr^t in performance, the poetry of Owen Meredith is 
great in pronuse. Young he evidently ia^ and his verses are not exempt 
^m the liabilities of youth : but that is a kind of fault which every day 
will, or ought to, mend ; and if the present minstrel's strains show in no 
scant measure the unripeness of youth, its lack of restraint, of discipline, 
of chastened judgment, so do they its energy, its glow, the large hope 
which belongs to life's dawn, the rich fancy which to itself a kingdom is. 
He is thoughtful, and gives to his thoughts a serious, earnest expression $ 
a tender pathos frequently marks his lines, of ample power to soften and 
subdue ; vigour is not wantmg, on occasion, even of a dramatic order ; 
he is a close and loving student of Nature and her works, her landscapes, 
her sea-changes, her skyey influences ; and he has an ear for the music 
of rhythm and metrical variations, something over-fond perhaps of the 
free and adventurous in this line of things. 

<* Cly temnestra" may be pronounced a dashingly " grand jimction" of 
the Classical and the Romantic in tragic art. Li much keeping pretty 
close to ^schylus, it is suffused with the glow and colouring of post- 
Shakspearian times. It has choruses, dialogues, and phrases that in 
form may be thought almost too literally (^ecian, but in spirit they 
belong to an age which has been sung to by Keats and Shelley, Tenny- 
son and the Brownings. ** Clytemnestra" is incomparably more spixited, 
powerful, and impressive an imitation of the old Attic type — ^more firee 
in movement, striking in situation, and rich in composition — ^than we 
remember to have seen this many a day in any production of the kind* 
Clytemnestra herself, a gorgeous tragedy queen, in sceptred pall comes 
sweeping by, majestic, strong of will, and hot of passion ; — ^the Clytem* 
nesira of iE^ylus, it has been said by Schlegei, could not with pro- 
priety have been portrayed as a frail seduced woman, but must appear 
with the features of the heroic age, so rife with bloody catastrophes, in 
which all passions were vehement, and men, both the good and the bad, 
surpassed the ordinary standard of later and un-heroic ages : and after 
this .£schylean type is moulded this new impersonation of the royal 
regicide. JSffisthus, beside her, is a veiy foil to set off her energies to the 
utmost — a puny sinner, whose ambitions, purposes, resolves, passions, 
beside hers, 

Are as moonHglit tmto sunlight, and as water unto wine. 

He cringes before her as she wooes him, aghast at her power over his 
fluttering, abject soul, and sees in her a godlike flend, in whose eyes 
heaven and hell seem meeting, and who owns and plies a spell to sway 
the inmost courses of his soul. She can reproach the gods for fashioning 

■ • ■ 

• aytemnestra, The Earl's BetmrL The Artist, and other Poems. By Owen 
Meredith. London: Chapman and Hall. 1855. 



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40 Owen MerediA's Poems. 

her in woman's soft mould, giving her those lengths of silky hair, those 
hands too delicately dimpled, and those arms too white, too weak, the 
while they left th»tDan'« heart in ker, to xsar thdr ^nasterpiece^- 

OHiat I Bhonld perish. 
Who else had won renown among my peers, 
A nan, with inen*-*percha]ioe a god with yoa. 
Had you hot better aex'd me, you biind Gfods ! 

Her |Mrili^6c Meal of the days when J^phigmua neetled in faer boK>m, 
oomes in with simiknr-cflFeet to Ixufy Maekelk^^ jemeaAmmee of her 
fiithec^ flo like the sleeping Duncan, The description of the aaqrifiBe in 
Auks by the Ofaoras is 'vivid and forcible, tkovgph it reads like an «aqMRi^ 
sion of the tene atanaas by Tennysoo^f ^th which the Qw arter^ 
Bemew «aw "fit to noake marry, twenty years stnoe. Of Mr. Meeedith's 
chorases in general we riioald be glad to quote one or two specimens; 
bvt strophes and aniistropkes take np such a deal of room, and we Jiave 
so little to spare, that we must content ourselves with oommending them 
to the attention of the Teader, whether learned in Greek ^ys or not— 
if ihe fermer, ke wiU appreciate something of -^e Engiidi playwrigkt'e 

Elastic art and sympathetic genius — ^if the latter, he (or, being by 
ypothesis ^no sohokrd" in tke Greek, she) has an opportanity ^ 
forming a more lively notion of what die Greek choms was kke, andki a 
style "vastly more readable, enjoydl^e, and remendieraUe, than in * -vast 
majority of similar adaptations. 

Mr. Meredith is possibly a ktde too iond of dealing witk comobial 
diflSeulties. (Leaving '^ C^rtanmestra," the most powerful thing an .die 
voliBne is *' The Wife^ Tragedy"~bat its power ss of dK «8me ok- 
jeodonahle east as diat wlueh nmrks Kotaebue's Mensehtmhan ^und 
Bate (^ The Stranger^' of our stage), and its finale is pitehed in tke aame 
(may*we call it falsetto ?) key. «' Good Night in the Porch" is .ft«eiMn 
am eneh exoepdoo, and is an ailReetiug transcript of housekokl k^re, in 
spnit and manner not without affinity to *^ Bertha in die Lsne" by Mrs. 
Browning, whom indeed our yooog poet has dearly studied, andadmined 
to -tin point of imitation, — that gifted lady's hoskand, and tke poafc- 
kmaeote being also, repeatedly and empkatically, among tke models after 
wkom ke kas formed himself, though with a sufBciant aoeompaaiment «f 
independence, and original character, to warrant tke kelief tkat, in 

* The Thane^ wife must have lieen often in our poet's ej«, while worldng cot 
Ids ideal of flie wife of the Grecian generaitiasina At tiBMB thece isianalaraat 
phigiariBm, Juwofor aaoeiMoioiu, Amn the very laagnage of Shakapeare. The 
faiDOBS ''IfwethonldiaU,''— '<WefidI!"&c., may teem to have suggested the 
point in the following, where Cfyiemnestra is striving to determine the indeter- 
minate nature of her feebler acoomplice: 

Ohft HiB lips oomprest— his eye dikites— heia safsdl 

O, when strong natures into frailer ones 

Have stnudc deep root, if one'cxalt not bodi, 

BothflBust drag downand peridkl 
jSgrnlL Ifweahonldlxve^ 

C^. And we shall live. 
j^pg(h, Tet . . . yet— 

Ci^ What! sfarinkittg still? 

mdothedeedyftc 
t " A Dream of Fahr Women." 



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Owen HisrafiiA's Bmm. 41 

future efforts, he will approve himself capable of a '^8el£-eupportiiig 
system," that shall defy allusion to '* Sordello," or to *' Lady Geraldine's 
Courtship," or to ^ A Dream of Fur Women." The singular poem 
entitled " The Earl's Ketum" is a medley of all his manners and moods 
— alternately wild, dreamy, tender, rouged, stormy, subtle, and gtimly 
humorous. ^ A Soul's Loss** is a forcible but melodions record of stifled 
passion — some of die stanaas breathe deepest thoughts in words that 
bum into the soul, and eomfiel sympathy with that other soul's ^' Loss." 
<* The Artist," again, is ri(^ in meditatire passages, and evidences an 
artwt»»anthor in the Asoothness and sweetness of its metrical flow, while 
it implies a pladge of his inspiration to eschew all seoond-haad trading 
in airtbofsfaip^ and to speak out for himself the poetry that may In in 
hiny.aiid beat out music of his own, nor be 

D egenerate copyist of copies. 

The enthnsiasm with which the sights and sounds of Mother Earth are 
obaenred in these poems, and the fulness with which their diarms, or 
imposing pomps, or lurking mysteries, are chromcled, form one of the 
most note-worthy characteristics of this new poet. He delights to depict 
the stagnant levels, burning in the distant marsh— ^he garden-bowers 
dim with dew — the white-rose thorns twinkling with sparkling drops*- 
to bid us list the bittern's parting call, and the harsh murmurs ot the 
frogs among the low reeds, — or watch the coming and going overhead of 
winnowing bata^ and the snails' dull march adown shining tcail% 

lYiih alow pink cones, and soft wet horns. 

We meet by the score with descriptive fragments such as this : 

From the wann upland comes a gust made fragrant with the brown hay there. 
The meek cows with their white noms thrust above the hedge, stand still and 

stare. 
The steaming horses from the wains droop o'er the tank their phdted manes. 

Or this sea-side sketch : 

And when the dull aky daiken'd down ta the edges, 
And the keen frost kindled in star and apar. 
The sea might be known by a naise on the ledges 
Of the long crags, gathering power from a&r 
Thro' his roaring bays, and erawling back 
Hissing, as o'er the wet pebbles he dragg'd 
Bis skirt of foam firay'd, dripping, and jagged. 

Bvayaea^shove roomer will own the graphic effect of the next extract: 

But when the swallow, that sweet new-comer. 

Floated over the sea in the front of the summer, 

The salt drv sands bum'd white, and sioken'd 

Men's sight in the gLuring horn of .the bay ; 

And all tilings that fasten, or float at eaae 

In the silverv light of the leprous seas 

With the pulse of a hideous life were quieken'd. 

Fell looae from the rooks, and orawl'd ctoaawise amy. 

^ppery siddong crabs, half-strangled 

By tiie white 8ea-;;rasBes in which they were tangled, 

And those half-tivrng creatures, orb'd, ray'd, and shaip«i{^ 

Fan-fish, and star-fish, and polypous fauips, 



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42 Owen MendiJSiz Poems, 

Hueless and boneless, that langaidljr thicken'd. 
Or flat-faced, or spikkl, or ridgM with humps. 
Melting off from their clotted clusters and dompSj 
Sprawled over the shore in the heat of the day. 

Stanzas abound, too, of pictorial power like the following: 

The ozier'd, oozy water, ruffled 

By fluttering swifts that dip and wink : 

Deep cattle in the cowslips muffled. 
Or lazy-eyed upon the orink, &c. 

Several of the minor poems in this collection are as fully stored ^th 
similar descriptive details ; one in particular, whose only title is *^ Song," 
riots in wealth of illustradon from garden-ground — each allusion be- 
tokening a habit of observation on the part of the songster, who testifies 
what he has seen with his eyes, and heard with his ears, and his hands 
have handled, feelingly, in the world of nature, not merely in the echo 
of books — the purple iris hanging its head on its lean stalk, the spider 
spilling his silver thread between the columbines' bells, the drunken 
beetle, that, 

^roused ere night, 

Breaks blundering from the rotten rose, — 

the jasmin dropping her yellow stars 

In mildew'd mosses one by one, — 

the hollyhocks falling off their tops, the lotus-blooms that '^ ail white i' 
the sun," the freckled foxglove fainting and grieving, while 

The smooth-paced slumbrous slug devours 
The dewy leaves of gorgeous flowers. 
And smears the glistering leaves. 

Meanwhile, all to the biurden of the song, '< suns sink away, sweet things 
decay," we mark how 

From brazen sunflowers^ orb and fringe. 

The burning burnish dulls and dies : 
, Sad Autumn sets a sullen tinge 

Upon the scornful peonies : 
The dewy frog limps out, and heaves 

A speckled lump in speckled bowers : 

A reeking moisture clings, and lowers 
The lips of lapping leaves. 

Specimens of Mr. Meredith's imagery it were easier to collect than to 
select, at least so as to do him justice. His similitudes are often striking, 
sometimes a little overstrained. The forlorn Lady in "The EarPs 
Return," weary with watching, and wasted with pining regrets, is de- 
scribed at night as putting by 

^the coil and care 

Of the dav that lay furl'd like an idle weft* 

Of heaped spots which a bright snake hath left. 

Or that dark house, the blind worm's lair. 

When the star-wingM moth from the windows hath crept. 

• •« Weft " is a fiivourite word with Mr. Meredith, who is fond of reiterating a 
pet phrase. We have noted various instances : here is one^ of the recurring use 
of iDQ word '* ripple*' in reference to music: 



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Oioen MerediA^s Poems* 43 

Sir Lftimcelot's '< mighty shield," hacked and worn by dint of knightly 
combat, iB said to have 

Look'd like some crack'd and frozen moon that hangs 
By night o'er Baltic headlands all alone. 

The Greek Herald, obserying the effect of his news on Clytemnestra, 
and awed by ^' that brooding eye whose light is langaage," thus de- 
scribes her reception of his message of Agamemnon's advent : 

Some ffreat thought, I see, 

Mounts up the royal chambers of her blood. 
As a kin^ mounts his palace; holds high pomp 
In her Olympian bosom ; gains her face. 
Possesses all her noble glowing cheek 
With sudden state; and gathers grandly up 
Its alow majestic meanings in her eyes ! 

When dytemnestra finds ^gisthus failing her, and utterly belying her 
hopes of nim, and of her own future in and through him, she bitterly 
exclaims : 

This was the Atlas of the world I built ! 

Alexander Smith is not to have Night and the Stars all to himself ; — 
rather he seems to have provoked to emulation them that are his fellows. 
Here is one of Owen Meredith's many commercings with the imagery of 
the starry firmament on high : 

And when, over all of these, the m'ght 

Among her mazy and milk-white signs. 

And cinster'd orbs, and zig-zag^ lines. 
Burst into blossoms of stars and light. 
The sea was glassy ; the glassy brine ^ 
Was paven with lights — blue, crystalline. 
And emerald green; the dark world hung 
BaUmced under the moon, and swung 
In a net of silver sparkles. 

The pale-fisused lady who awaited so wistfully << the Earl's Return," has 
this among other starry visions of the night : 

Suddenly 

At times a shooting star would spin 
Shell-like out of heaven, and tumole in. 



Again: 
And again; 



** Sometimes, at night, a music was roll*d — 
A ripple of silver harp-strings cold." — The EarVs Betwm, 

*^ Then wave over wave of the sweet silver wires 
'Gan ripple, and the minstrel took heart to hegin it"— 7&u2. 



'* 9ie tum'd and caught her lute, and pensively 
Rippled a random music down the strings."— £2c^tf le Blanc, 

11" is another privileged phrase, employed sometimes with an almost gro* 
tesque effect. We have— 

'* The spider spills his silver thread 
Between the bells of columbines." 



Andagahi; 



" I hear the sandy, shrill cascade 

Leap down upon the vale and spill 

His heart out round the muffled mill," && 



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44 Oieen Aferedith^s Poems. 

And bunt o'er a citj of stars ; bat sbe. 

As he dash'd on the back of the Zodiac^ 

And quiver'd and glow*d down arc and nodo. 

And spiit sparicling into infinity, 

Thou^t that some angel, in bis reveries 

Thinking of earth, as he pensively 

Leaa'd over the star-grated baloony 

In his palace among tiie Pleiades, 

And ffneved for the sorrow he saw in the land, 

Had dropped a white lilj from his loose hand. 

There is danger of' indulging with too wide a poe^cal license in ^* con- 
ceits" of this sort, which verge upon the '^ high fiufitastiaaL" 

'' The Artist" is, perhaps, the best example of our poet's meditative 
habit. It owes something to Emenoo in its cast of thought, but it has 
a " native hue of resolution,'^ and character and pith of its own. It 
t«Bohes the inexhauatiUe teachings of Nature^ animate and inaaimatft— 
haply hid in hraabla blossoms, or shut ^thin the daisy-lid ; it shows 
how the Creator's glory lle^ within reach, so that the mosses we trample 
on, and ^'the pebbles on the wet sea-beach, have solemn meamngs 
strange and sweet." 

The peasant at his cottage door 

May teach thee more than Plato knew : 
See that thou scorn him not : adore 
God in him, and thy nature too. 

We are bid seek more in the woodbine's breadv and the vine's 
woolly tendrils, than in Cato's suicide, or Cicero's wor<ds to Catiline — ^to 
recognise in the wild rose our next of blood, and our sisterhood in the 
kingcups. " Be strong," the would-be Artist is exhorted, " and trust 
high instincts more than all the creeds :" this is Emerson all over — 

Not a]i the wisdom, of the schools 

Is wise for thee. Hast then to speak? 
No man hath spoken for thee. Boies 

Are well : but never fear to break. 

The scafTolding of other souls : 

It was not meant for thee to mount ; 
Though it may serve thee. Separate wholes 

Make up the sum of God's account. 
And so is this : 

Bum catalogues. Write thine own books. 

What need to pore o'er Greece and Rome? 
When whoso thro' his own life looks 

Shall find that he is fully come 

ThrouA^ Greece and Borne, and Middle-Age : 

Hatn been by turns, ere yet full-grown. 
Soldier, and Senator, and Sue, 

And worn the tunic and the gown. 

A& exeerpt or two, ** most musieal most naelaneholy," firom ^ A Soul's 
Loss," will tell their own tale : 

Mourn I may, that from ha: feaioxes 

All the angel light is gone. 
But i chide not. Human cieatnres 

Are not angels. Ske was none. 
Women have so many natures ! 

I think she loved me well with one. 



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Owen Meredith's Poems, 45 

(Surely Uiere is a pent-up beauty in these lines, and a reiled depth of 
feeling, exceedingly rare. But again :) 

Great men reach dead hands unto me 

Erom the graTes to comfort me * 
Shakspeare*s heart is throbbing thro' me. 

All man has been man may be. 
Plato speaks like one that knew me. 

Life is made Philosophy. 

Ah, no, no ! while yet the leaf 

Tnnis, the truths upon it palL 
By the stature of this grief. 

Even ^akspeare shows so small! 
Plato palters with relief. 

Gzief is greater than them all ! 

We have left ourselves no space to give entire any prominant speeimen 
of Mr. Meredith's lyrical genius. But after sj many shredc, scraps, and 
sundries, dislocated and dismembered at our own will and pleasure, it is 
due to him to g^ve some one " copy of verses" unbroken and uumangled 
— and in giving the following, it is also due to lum to add, that our 
choice of it has been controlled by the ** law of limitation'' in a^peiiodical's 
letter^presB. If little, it has, however, the meiit of being (what Hamlet 
calls) a « picture in Uttle :" 

TBE BXnXMD PAZilCB. 

Bkf&en are the Palace windows : 

Rotting is the Palaoe floor. 
Ihe damp wind lifts the arras, 

And swings the creakine door; 
But it only startles the white owl 

Prom his perch on a monarch's throne. 
And the rat that was gnawing the faarp-Btrings 

A Queen once play^ upon. 

Dare yon linger here at midnight 

Alone, when the wind is about. 
And the bat, and the newt, and the viper. 

And the creeping things oome ont ? 
Beware of these ghostlv chambers ! 

Search not what my neart hath been» 
Lest you find a phantom sitting 

Where once there sat a Queen. 



* The repetition of this " me," with a difference in the accentuation, merely to 
accommodate the rhythm, not the sense, is a little awkward. 



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( 46 ) 



ANGLOMANIA IN DENMARK* 

A SOCIAL SKETCH. 

Fbou the DAmsH* Br Mrs. Bushbt. 

Ik order to acquire a thorough knowledge of the age, or rather of the 
day, in which we live, it is not sufficient to study its politics and its 
literature, to he conversant with its mercantile and industrial resources, 
&c., one must make oneself acquainted with all the little facts, which, 
when comhined, hestow upon the period a peculiar character. " Tell me 
what you eat, and I will tell you what you are," is a paradox belonging 
to the celebrated culinary art ; but the paradox becomes true when thus 
explained — " if I do not know how you live, I do not know what you 
are ;" and thus, to be thoroughly acquainted with one's own period, one 
must know how one's contemporaries eat, how they drink, how they 
dress — comport themselves ; in a word, how they conduct and exhibit 
themselves in social life. 

Our contemporaries of the hie-her classes have recently, but somewhat 
energetically, adopted, for the time being, an exclusive stamp — and that 
is the Angiomanuiy or English sickness, as it may be termed. Not to 
know this would betoken dire ignorance of the present period, and it is 
necessary that we study it at once without delay, while we can yet seize 
its diagnoses, or peculiar characteristics ; in short, before it assimilates 
itself to our general condition, and becomes naturalised among us. 

It is always interesting to trace a phenomenon from its earliest ap- 
pearance through the onward steps of its development; to watch its pro- 
gress from its rudimentary state, until it reaches its culminating point, 
especially when that culminating point be the highest work of the 
creation — man. We hope, therefore, that the same interest which is 
bestowed upon the vital functions of insects, toads, fishes, storks, monkeys, 
and human beings, will be vouchsafed to an inquiry into the English 

8ICE:N£SS. 

The Anglomania has raged for many years here in Denmark ; but for 
a long time it did not attract much attention, because it was confined to 
the lower spheres of society. Whilst, in the fashionable world, the 
Gallomania prevailed, and nothing was thought of but French politics, 
French taste, Fraich literature ; whilst the scientific world was drenched 
with German mysticism, German profundity, German vapouring, and 
German bombast ; whilst the young people were far gone in Scandi- 
navianism, occupied with Swedish aflPairs^ and ranging themselves under 
Scandinavian banners, the Anglomania was content with a sort of vege- 
tative existence in stables, and in the homely company of grooms, 
farmers, and small country squires. That was the germ from which the 
Anglomania grew up as vigorous as the plant which springs from a grain 
of mustard-seed. 

W^hat was then the Anglomania's most striking characteristic was its 
extreme anxiety to bring about emancipation from all that goes by the 

* From the *' FoUcekalender for Danmark, 1855.'* 



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Anglomania in Denmark. 47 

name of— -tail. The piss were the fint to be potished in ihifl way. The 
thick, clumgy tail that oetrajed the animal'B yiilgar Danish extraction, 
was metamorphosed into a slender, graceful je ne sais guoiy which, with 
a coqaettish curl, significantly pointed upwa^s — sic itur ad astra ; the 
dog who came under the influence of the Anglomania had its long 
drooping tail transformed into a short waving queue ; and the horse 
subject^ to the same ascendancy was found wiw only a reminiscence of 
that portion of his body. 

But the year 1848, with its increased political and mercantile con- 
nexion with England, gave the Anglomania at once that spring for 
which it had been long, though silently, preparing ; and it did not rest 
until it had taken a high stand among the peculiarities of the day. 
Socrates brought philosophy from heaven into the dwellings of man ; m 
like manner it was a mercantOe enterprise which introduced the Anglo- 
mania, vid Lowestoft, into our community. It first obtained a seat on 
the clerk's high stool at the counting-house, and it af^rwards managed 
io stretch its nonchalant legs on the sofas of a drawing-room. It now 
sits there — proud, stately, and arrogant — resting upon the consdousness 
of its own high merits, and is a leader in the social compact. We shall, 
therefore, note down a few traits of the natural history of Anglomania, 
or, lest some should prefer the expression, we will give some of the 
symptoms of the English sickness. 

In ihe male sex the Anglomania begins to appear about the fifteenth 
year, and gradually increases until it comes to a head, somewhere in or 
near the twentieth year. Where the development is normal, the com- 
plaint evinces itself by the following signs: — ^The limbs shrink to an 
almost terrifying thinness, and are encased in sprey, or in large-chequered, 
tight-fitting unmentionables ; the waistcoat is elongated, and adorned 
with a chain, which forms f^m the lowest button-hole a circle of 180 
degrees in its way to the pocket ; the dark coat — a le^timate *^ Anglo- 
man"* never wears a long frock coat — ^is furnished with buttons in the 
middle of the back, the sleeves expand at the wrist, and tighten at the 
top, near the collar ; an astonishing quantity of white linen is shown 
upon the breast ; the long neck is encompassed by a narrow tie with 
enormous bows, and a stiff shirt collar which prevents the free movement 
of the head. The hair is parted over the left eyebrow, and falls towards 
the right shoulder, and bristles out so at the side that the individual 
resembles a water-dog that had been struggling against a stormy south- 
easter. The pride of man — his beard — timidly mounts his cheek, and 
then shoots out in long whiskers ; and the head is crowned with a little 
tiny bit of a straw hat, or an uncoinmonly laiffe felt hat, or a cap be- 
longing to the antedilurian world. The walk is so swinging, that the 
dangling eye-glass sways back and forwards, and the arms are infected 
with a parallel motion. 

Hitherto ninety-nine per cent, of the '^ Anglomen" have belonged to 
the mercantile class, and when one of them has been so fortunate as to 
have spent two or three months in London or Newcastle, the complaint 
strikes inwardly, and betrays new symptoms. The patient exhibits a 
violent longing for raw bee&teaks, plum-pudding, porter, and ale ; he 
feels indisposed in bright sunshiny weather, but becomes well and 



* One crazy about everything English. 

Jfay— .yOL. CIV. NO. CCOOZUL 



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48 JBtg/wtMnui M XltoiMin'K* 

<Aeerfiil daring thioklbgv*. Ta the gnat tBanopsomot Uwfiraiiljr, he 
makes it^a rule to have a fife of spleen onoe a fertmghl; and spendg die 
day dniddng port wme bjr the aide of a ooal fire^ and nDomieiBg' the 
soothing' oigar. He sfarnge hu shovlden eopt e m p taously at everythiDg^ 
whidi aavours of Damdby especiaity at the Danish lafes, ^ who are onlj 
fit fer cooks'' compared to the EngAsh ladies. And if by chanoe aay one 
touehes his sleere in bnuhing by him, he ez^uras ^ Ged dam !" Finally, 
the patient becomes exceedingly disagreeable to his associates by Ins tire- 
some fittHa£oii8Deas and- oonslant emmi, and he winds np by nsiag a 
plaidf instead of any other enter garment. 

When ihe oompiaint appears in the define of lif% the svffiarer ftoBi 
Anglomanm often involves himarif in iAm maaes of obecm^e theoretical 
doctrines, whose nearest* approach to reason and troth wonld disappear in 
the dear light of' practieal common sense. Bot another phase of this 
Anglomania is evinced at dils advanced period anon^ smidry old gende- 
men who used to flourish in oar belovsd islands in shoes and white 
stockings, at the time i^en to wear large stiff boots was the good 
bnrghei^s first duty, and when to have spcwted an eye*gla8s wovld have 
been an infringement of the moral law. No one has an idea whence 
these elderiy cavaKers come, who wander aboat as solitaries, Hke St. 
John the Baptist in the wilderaess, living not exactly upon loensis, but 
upon quite as curious food — namely, old English beef-Hso gloriously old, 
that none but persons labouring under what may he termed a state of 
break-neek eUfsirticti^nj could hncy it young — so petrified by age, that 
it would not be at all a wild idea to suppose it the flesh of some of the 
pigeons from Noah's Ark. 

Let us DOW turn to the lair sex : and while searching for tmth, which 
is the first duty of the natural historian, let as gkdly make the gallant 
admission that this lovely sex have not hi^erto been seiaed open by the 
Anglomania as by an epidemic disease ; bat we cannot deny that a spo- 
radic case of it is found here and ibere. We do not often see a face 
bordered on each side by long fair ringlets ; we do not often encounter 
the languishing looks of the English ladies : our ladies have fortunately 
not yet learnt to mingle a degree of lodicrous prudeiy, and gloomy 
bigotry, with a bold system of busying themselves about ul afl&irs touch- 
ing on a certain watchword-^-xMAHCiFATioif ; nevertheless we cannot be 
blind to the fact that our Danbh dames and damsels have latterly shown 
a propensity towards eschewing every male creature who has not been 
formally introduced, and this savours of the Anglomania. Further, we 
cannot foil to remark the tender-hearted, charitable fover whidi se^aas to 
be gaining ground. Not indeed quite to tiie extent in which it rages 
among Englishwomen, who get up associations for the relief of the 
distant and toleraUy weU-fed African negroes, whilst they leave their 
own poor neighbours to die of starvation, but whick still as charastensed 
by an extraordinary fonoy for labouring in ladies' committees on account 
of asylums, hospitals, servant-girls, lie, to all of whom and which 
assistance might be more easily rendered with less ostentation. 

However, we must arrest our observations here, that we may not in- 
volve ourselves in any unpleasant collision witii our fair countrywomen. 
Let us condiude with the hope that what is called '^ the weaker sex" 
may continue to be aUe better to withstand the ADgloraania ^idemic 
than the stronger sex base hitherto donsw 



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^ 40i y 



THET MGHTBBNTH C5ENTUET: 

OB» HXmiBiAIOHB OF THS KMmEBS AND 0U8TOMB OV OmL GFEiOHK 

FATHBBS. 

Br AiBXAsnBB Abdbewb. 

FDBLIC OONYKYAirCBS IN THE BIGHTKENTH OEETFUBT* 

Hafiiio takea a glimpse at. th* rtate of the soads dunag the last 
centaiy, it behores as next te see what mamifir of yeiuoiea were cos* 
stmetod for tvaTenio^ theniy and how they weie eontnved to nsist the 
sudden shocks, and withstand the jerking and jolting occaaicuud by sueh 
trifling ineqnalitieB ae- ruts four feet deepi and slougha- of mod i^ to the 
horses' beUiefl* That they could not travel very fast mnst her at once 
apparaniy but the speed to whiek they did attain seems wonderful when 
we cooaider the obstacles in their way. Swif^ in his Journal, mentions 
travellinff fiiom Wycombe to Hyde-park Comer, the distance of twenty- 
seven mues,. in five houi% but tiiis was; no doubt by post or povato con* 
Tcyanoe. 

A few amoancements of the ooack-proprietofs, taken &om various 
periods, will throw some light upon this branch of our sdbieotk. In 18d9 
(and possibly to this hour), a printed card, fhuned and giftied, waa pre- 
served over the bar of the Blaets Swan Inn at York, giving, notice ^t — 

<' Your four days' coach begins. <m Fridi^ the 12th Aj^ 1706. All 
that are desirous to pasafix>m Lo n do n to Yoric, or to any other place on 
that road, in this expeditious manner, let them repair to the Bkok Swan 
in Holboume^ in London, and to the Bladi Swan in Coney-street, York. 
At both places they may be received in a stage-coadi, every Monday, 
Wednesday, and Friday, whidi actually pecfinns the whole journey m 
the short space of four daies (if God permit) ! The coach sets forth at 
five o'clock in the morning, and returns from York to Stamford, by 
Huntingdon, to London, in two dates more^ allowing passengers 141bs. 
weight, and all above, 3d. per lb." 

A weary pilgrimage must it have been frmn Edinburgh to London : 

" 9th Mat, 17S4. — ^A coach will set ont towards the end of next 
week for London, or any place on the road. To be performed in nine 
days, being three days sooner than any other coach that travels the road, 
for which purpose eight stout horses are stationed at proper distances." 

At this period nignt trav^ng was not thought of: it was sufficiently 
hazardous to tnnvel by day, and so great an undertaking was it con- 
sidered, that, about 1720, a lady (Mrs. Manley) published a book of 
travels, under the title of **A Stage Coach Journey from London to 
Exeter," which informs ua that the ooaeh started frvon London at three 
o'clock in the morning. At ten the etxhausted travellers were allowed to 
alight and take their dinner at a zoad-side inn ; and at three o'clock in 
the afternoon the journey waa condndad for the day, and the coach 
drawn into the inn-yard till next morning. This journey from London 
eeoupied four days of twelve hours each ; so that, with., a fair allowance 
for stoppages and meal times, the coach could scarcely have travelled at 

B 2 



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50 Public Conveyancei in ihe Eighteenth Century. 

the rate of four miles and a half in the hour. But if a Sunday intervened 
on the journey, the passengers were detained for the day in the town at 
which it chanced to find them, no stage-coaches being allowed to trayel 
on the Sabbath. With these impediments, our readers will not be suiv 
prised to hear that, in 1745, tne coach from Edinburgh to London, 
<< the Northern Diligence, a huge, old-fuhioned tub, drawn by three 
horses," according to Sir Walter Scott, performed its journey (^< God 
willing," as the bills had it) in the moderate space of Aree weeks I 

The arrangements for "sleeping the passengers" were always an- 
nounced in the bills, thus : 

« Manchester Machine, from the Swan with Two Necks, in two days ; 
on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. Sleep at Derby. 

*' Sheffield and Manchester, from ditto ; same days, in two days. Sleep 
at Nottingham. 

*' Gloucester Post Coach, in one day. Carries four in and one out" 

But, in 1740, an apparition appeared upon the road by ni&fht in the 
shape of a night coach ; but the desperate enterprise seems to have been 
but little favoured at first, and, as late as the 8th of March, 1774, we 
find a post coach started '* to go from the Rose and Crown, in St John's- 
street, London ; to run every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday ; putting 
upy first day at Grantham, second day at York, and third day at New-' 
castle ; to carry six inside and two out ;" the journey performed by nine- 
teen proprietors on the line of road. And, in 1760, the passengers to 
Brighton were detained for the night at East Grinstead ^thirty miles 
from London), where the coach put up, arriving at Brighton m the after- 
noon of the day after its departure ftoia town. 

In 1760, a coach started from London for Liverpool once a week, and 
accomplished the journey in four days; and, in 1765, a ^'flying-coach" 
ran to Dover in one day. This prodigy was drawn by eight horses. But 
even the Dover machines, with six horses, excited a sort of awe at this 
period by their speed. A French traveller, a Mr. Grosley, who travelled 
by one of them to London, says of ihem, " They are drawn by six 
horses, go twenty-eight leagues a day, firom Dover to London, for a 
single guinea. Servants are entitled to a place for half that money, 
either behind the coach or upon the coach-box, which has three places. 

Among a list of the terrific achievements of the coaches, starting from 
the Swan with Two Necks, in London, in April, 1774, we select the 
following as examples : 

'< A Post Coach to Gloucester, in sixteen hours, and a Machine in one 
day, each three days a week. A Machine to Hereford twice a week, in 
a aay and a half. A Machine to Salop evexj Monday, Wednesday, and 
Friday, in two days. A Machine for Wolverhampton every Sunday, 
Tuesday, and Thursday, in one day." 

The bill winds up with the following startling notice : 

<* The Rumsey Machine, through Winchester, hung on steel springs, 
begins flying on the Srd of April, from London to Poole, in one day !" 

The baity Advertiser y of April 9, 1739, furnishes us with several 
characteristic announcements, from among which we may quote the 
following : 

" For Bath..— a good Coach and able Horses will set out from the 



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Public Conveyances in the JEighteenih Century. 51 

Black Swibi Inn, in Holbom, on Wednesday or Thursday, Inquire of 
William Maui" 

^' The old standing, constant Froom Flying Waggon, in three days, 
sets out with goods and passengers, from Froom for London, every 
Monday, by one o'clock in the morning, and will be at the Eing s 
Arms, at Holbom Bridge, the Wednesday following, by twelve o'clock 
at noon, from whence it will set out on Thursday morning, by one 
o'clock, for Amesbury, Shrewton, Chiltem, Heytesbury, Warminster, 
Froom, and all other places a^acent ; and will continue, allowing each 
passenger fourteen pounds, ana be at Froom on Saturday by twelve at 
noon. If any passengers have occasion to go from any of the aforesaid 
places, they shall be supplied with able horses and a guide by Joseph 
Clavey, the proprietor of the said Flying Waggon. The Waggon 
calls at the White Bear, in Piccadilly, coming in and going out," &c. 

The general construction of these vehicles is thus described in the 
'* Tales of an Antiquary :" 

*^ They were principally of a dull black leather, thickly studded, by 
way of ornament, with black broad-headed nails, tracing out the panels, 
in the upper tier of which were four oval windows, with heavy red 
wooden fnunes, or leathern curtains. Upon the doors, also, were displayed, 
in large characters, the names of the places whence the coach started and 
whither it went, stated in quaint and antique language. The vehicles 
themselves varied in shape ; sometimes they were like a distiller's vat, 
somewhat flattened, and hung equally balanced between the immense 
back and front springs. In other instances they resembled a violoncello 
ease, which was, past all comparison, the most fashionable form : and 
then they hung in a more genteel posture, namely, inclining on to the 
back springs, and giving to those who sat within the appearance of a 
stiff Guy Fawkes uneasfly seated. The roofs of the coaches, in most 
cases, rose into a swelling curve, which was sometimes surrounded by a 
high iron guard. The coachman and the guard, who always held nis 
carbine i^ady-cock^ upon his knee, then sat together over a very long and 
narrow boot, which passed under a large spreading hammerdoth, hang^ 
ing down on all sides, and finished with a flowing and most luxuriant 
frmge. Behind the coach was the immense basket, stretching far and 
wide beyond the body, to which it was attached by long iron bars or 
supports pasdng beneath it, though even these seemed scarcely equal to 
the enormous weight with which they were frequently loaded. These 
baskets were, however, never very great favourites, although their dif- 
ference of price caused them to be frequently well filled. The wheels 
of these old carriages were large, massive, ill formed, and usually of a 
red colour, and the three horses that were afi&jced to the whole machine— 
the foremost of which was helped onwards by carrying a huge, long- 
legged elf of a postilion, dressed in a cocked-hat, with a large green-and- 
gold riding-coat — ^were so far parted, by the great length of their traces, 
that it was with no little difficulty that the poor animals dragged their 
unwieldy burden along the road. It groaned and creaked at every fresh 
tug which ihey gave it, as a ship, rocking or beating-up against a heavy 
sea, strains all her timbers, with a low moaning sound, as she drives over 
the contending waves." 



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SS ifaiifeitSbMNgpnBBV int0m.JBifit9udk ■Cluiliwj^ 



1%i8 ileBcniitini «eMi in »Hl: « ate drtds wiAl iii 
exhibited in Hogarth's *^ Country Inn Yard," except that Ae^gaaidiaQ ikt 
latter bean a«w«rd initead •FmcazUae^ aad tbe poitiHMm is adwarf-hoy, 
not '^afai^, lon^leigged «lf," nor ao elegantly oapaaaaaned aB.thewriter 
daeanhea. Intka ^' Nigiit^ of 'diaaaaBe actist we nwaabnikr piotana a£ 
a '< flyings eaach,^ npaet by n bonfiae on tke Fifth of Noiwaaber ; .aad, in 
tb^senes of tiia ^^Elee^n,'' ooe Sjneinaans of Caniafes *^ inclining on to 
Ae hnok 'flprings," wUA girea iham Ae nppearanoeaf iiatiag baaken 



A writer in A» JMmikfy Wtgazme x)£ OetoiMr, 1622, gives a deaodp* 
tion of the old stage-ooadies of his eariy days, vid, m partieidar, »an- 
tioaa ane-^the *' Hc^"— wfaieh ran to Sheffield somewhere afaout 17^0, 
praviauslyio tTie great improvement introduced by Mr. John Pahaar in 
1784. "We efaall quote his lemazks, as he enters upan the suljaet af iiw 
eld oaanenwdced spnnga: 

" The coach consisted, first, of the boot, a tall, dumay, torret-liiaffiBass, 
on the top af winch the ooachaMui sat, /that was eieeted on, and, without 
ibe intenrentieii of any springs, was fixed on Jthe ^sre aadetrae of 'Ae 
carriage; eeeood, of an enormous wicker basket, in like nMBsner dEixed 
en tke hind aiietfee ; and, t^ird, between iAmae masses, tise coach body 
was snspended by thk;k straps fimn four of what aae now, for distin ction a 
aake, eidled crancveBked apiiags. The roads were, at the period aifaided 
to, in general, Tougfa, slooghy, and uneven, and occasioned a ^egnie of 
jolting and tossii^ about of tiae three distinet masses of which a stage- 
coach then consisted, such as those can aoavoely cooMciffe 'v^^mar haie 
aeen only the modem coaches jcoDstrveted of one piaae, and lestmg «l 
what are called grasshopper springs, so contrived and placed, that the 
jeik aecasBooed to either of i»ie wheels by 'coming in contact with a 
projecting stone, or by momentanly sinking into a hole in the araad, is 
received hy, and equahaed amongst four or more sprites, which act, not 
on a single coiner of the coach as the erane-aedced springs need to Aa." 

-fiooh coaches as these— mnwiddy, ill^bolanced, aioid freqnantlyjenrer- 
wfiighted on the roof— drawn by such horses, and traTelling audh -BeadBi 
sraae constantly meeting with accidente — ^overt^zows, breakings down, 
or attekiags mL Bat these ware not the only, and scarccfy thewccst 
dangeis to be dreaded ; the significant hint about the gum'e ready- 
oacked caiinne, and tke com£ni;ahle assuraoce •mtii which tke coach chilla 
wownd up of ^< Each of -these conveyances heing well gnarded," tdl d 
another peril — ^the lughmnajmen by whom the roads were inferted. So 
desperate were these banditti that, sometimes single-handed, theywnold 
attack a^seach, and,. despite tke gnaode carbines, sob the afifiightad'paa- 
sengein of their property. H«e are instances, and we aught M oar 
pagas with simikr ones-: 

^ T b esda y evening, two of tho(>reanwirii stages weie atopped inJiLant* 
8traat«road by a* single highwayman, who robbed the pasaai^gaas tii Htm 



^.--djmtdm JEwmmg Pott, May 1th, 1774. 
lew days ago itbe Ry^pate oaach wasatoppadndittfe way anttof 
town, by a single Ughmayman, who robbed the paaseagais .of -Ifairtf 
poonds.*'— ^astewMter Jimnmiy Oetoker 29th, 1774. 

<< Friday night, the Epping stage-coach was mbbad nn 4ibe {teest» 



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vitUii .a auk «f ^the iawn, bj two Lif^wftvaien, mil mounted .asd 

* of half a I 



xDasked ; they robbed one wMidci pimiangiir of half a guinea; thej jwoee 
hittedly that one of tiba outnde peeeengefi, whom wey pointed at| had 
heea tWday to veeeiTe twenty pouads, aod if he did not immediately 
deiiiur the money he wiae a dead man. The poor man daclaTiTig that he 
had no eucfa earn, one of them atraek hima violent blow aooaa the wiist 
witli the hutft-end of hie whip, and, afW .tolling the coachman he had a 
.get of d d poor paeaengen, gave him a Siting, and rode oE"— 
Old BrUuk Spify January 4^, 1763. 

Wo have eelected theee horn among a host of auch paragraphs which 
vnxf old newsp^er pree^ite, hut one 5 the most dating of these outrages 
was committed on the " Deviaes chaise" on the 3rd of June, 1752} by a 
single highwaymaoi near the Half-way House at Knightsbridge. The 
evidenee of the man who captured the robber gives a graphic aeeount of 
thea£ay. 

« Wiluam Norton examined — The ehaiae to the Devizes havii^ been 
xohhed two or three times, as I was informed, I was dedred to go in it to 
see if I eoiild take the thie( which I did on the 3rd of Jane, about half 
an hour after one in the moniiag. I got into the chaise ; tiie postboy 
told me the plaee where he had been stopped was near the Half-way 
Houae, between Knightsbridge and Kensington. As we came near the 
house, the prisoner came to us on foot, and said, * Driver, stop V He held 
a pistol tinderi)oz to the tduuse, and said, * Tour money directly ! You 
mast not sti^ — this minute your money !' I said, ' Don't frighten us ; 
I have but a tiifle— you shall have it' Then I sud to the gentlemen 
(there were thfee in the cbaise)^ ' Give your money.' I took out a pistol 
fixMu my eoat^poeket, and isom my breeches-pocket a five-shilling piece 
^mid a dollar. I held the pistol conoealed in one hand and the money in 
the other. I held the moi^ jpvetty hard. He said, ' Put it in my naL' 
I kt him take the five-shiUing pieee out of my hand, and, as soon as he 
had taken it, I enmped my pistol at him: it ^ not go off. He 
staggiered bade, and held up his hands, and said, ^ Oh, Lord! oh. Lord !' 
I jumped out i^ the chaise ; he ran away, and I after him, about six or 
seven hmdied yards, and then took him. I hit him a blow on his back ; 
he hc^gged far mercy on his knees : I took his handkerchief off, and tied 
his h^ds with it, and brought him back to the diaise ; then I told the 
gentlemen in the chaise that was the errand I came upon, and wished 
them a good journey, and brought the prisoner to London. 

'' Question by the pcisoaer — Ask him how he lives ? 

'* Norton-^I keep a JtxoD in Wych-street, and sometimes I take a 
thief." 

Not die- least remarkable feature of this affair Lb that this footpad, who 
did not hesitate in stopping a chaise with five individuals in it, ran away 
on having a pistol presented at lum, whieh, aUter all, <^ did not go o£^" 
and neroly erjdi^, << Oh, Lord I oh, Lord 1" aUowed himself to be taken 
by a sbgle .man. If the postboy and passengers had shown some 
lesohtion on the fiiet oeeaooa, the chaise would, one would think, not 
have bean stopped *^wo or th»e times,*' or-on the lait and deeisiTe one. 
It is not in^KMsihle that the eoaehmen might in some instanefls, as the 
charioteers of Mexico at the present day,Jbive had a proper ondantand- 



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64 Public Conveyances in the Eighteenth Century. 

ing with these freebooters — ^bat we will not indulge these unoharitaUe 
thoughts : coachmen were always proverbially honest ! 

Of the stage- waggons, which were the only means of transit for poorer 
passengers, we have said as] yet little, and nothing of the pack-horses, 
which in Roderick Random s time (1739) formed the only goods con- 
veyance in Scotland. By one of the former Random and his friend Strap 
were conveyed to Lonaon from Newcastle-upon-Tyne, in somewhere 
about a fortnight, for the moderate &re of ten shilliDe;s, his fellow-pas- 
sengers being an aged usurer, a lady of pleasure, and a captain in the 
army with his wife—a combination of characters and conditions which 
would seem to argue that the company by these conveyances was «ome^ 
what mixed. 

Of the metropolitan conveyances, hackney-coaches or sedan-chairs 
were the only vehicles in which the streets of London could be traversed, 
as there were few short stages even to the immediate suburbs, and none 
at all from one part of the city to the other ; in frust^ London was then 
scarcely extensive enough to require a public conveyance from the heart 
of it to the outlying districts, or even from the east to the west ends. In 
unfavourable weather, and for short distances or state visits, the chair was 
the favourite vehicle, carried, as we have already described, by two stout 
Irishmen, and of which the fares, in 1724, were one slulling per hour, or 
a guinea if rented by the week. Hackney-coaches almost bdong to our 
own time ; but only in name : their glory departed with the prog^ress of 
improvement in the paving, draining, and lighting of the town. They 
were generally worn-out gentlemen's carriages — ^many of them retaining 
on their panels the richly emblazoned and coroneted armorial bearings 
of their original possessors — drawn by a pair of wretched horses, and 
driven by a many-caped, and heavy-coated Jehu. These old hackney* 
coachmen, to the full as extortionate as modem cabmen, presumed upon 
the impunity which a defective system of police had so long secured to 
outrage, and were desperate characters as any on the road. Passengers 
in private conveyances dreaded meeting a hackney-coachman almost as 
much as encountering a highwayman; for we find that, in 1733, a com- 
bination or conspiracy existed among them for upsetting all private 
carriages of any description which they might meet, under the pretence 
of an accidental collision, as they considered it as a crying grievance, and 
detrimental to their interests, that people should be allowed to ride in 
their own vehicles instead of hiring a hackney-coach. A regular fee was 
established by this body for every carriage upset, or, as it was termed, 
«( brought by the road;" and a premium held out to all postboys, 
postilions, grooms, and coachmen who assisted them in the destruction 
of their masters' carriages ; and if they aided in effecting a collision by 
driving purposely in the way, with the perfect appearance of its being 
accidental, or attributable to the restiveness of the horses, or what not, or 
allowed themselves to be overtaken and upset, they were compensated for 
injury, defended from prosecution, and paid for the ^'Job" out of the 
General Coachmasters' Fund. The Weekly Register of December the 
8th, 1733, fives an account of a hard chase given by one of the body to 
a chaise and pair, which he pursued from Knightsbridge to beyond Brent- 
ford, where he contrived to upset it, and escape ! 



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FitbHc Conveyances m the Etgkteenih Century*^ 55 

Bat there were still other dangers attendant upon hackney-coach 
trayelling, and they were no more nee from the attacks dF highwaymen 
than stage-coaches, although they seldom went &r h^ond the streets of 
London. The Postman of Octoher the 19th, 1729, ^plores the decline 
of the hackney-coach business, " hy the increase of street robbers ; so that 
people, especially in an evening (the use of the word <' especially ** 
would lead us to infer that there was danger even in the daytime), 
« choose rather to walk than ride in a coach, on account that they are in 
a readier posture to defend themselves, or call out for aid, if attacked.*' 

There was also another kind of depredation practised upon hackney- 
coach travellers, against which the Weekly Journal of the 30th of March, 
1717, thus cautions them : — '^ The thieves have got now such a villanous 
way of robbing gentlemen, that they cut holes through the backs of 
hackney-coaches and take away their wigs or the fine head-dresses of 
gentlewomen ; so a gentleman was served last Sunday in Tooley-street, 
and another but last Tuesday in Fenchurch-street ; wherefore this may 
serve as a caution to gentlemen and gentlewomen that ride single in the 
night time, to sit on the fore-seat, which will prevent that way of 
robbing.*' 

As the ladies' wigs were technically called '' heads," it roust have 
sounded strange to hear some disconsolate beauty, on arriving home from 
a ball, complam that she had '* lost her head." We should m tempted to 
reply, it was no more than we had conjectured ever since she haa taken 
to a fSftlse one. 

The " silent highway," as Mr. Knight has happily called the river 
Thames, was a favoured thoroughfare for the barges and pleasure-boats 
of the fashionable world, for many of the nobility had not yet discarded 
their ^' state- barges," as Sir Roger de Coverley's expression shows us : — 
^< If I was a lord or bishop, and kept a barge, I would not put a fellow 
in my livery that had not a wooden leg/' And no other road vras 
thought of by the elite for reaching Vauxhall, or even passing to Chelsea, 
but the water. Probably this may be partly attributable to the dangers 
by which the roads were oeset; but, be that as it may, there were risks even 
to be encountered on this ^' silent highway," for, although, for a wonder, 
we do not remember to have heard of very many river-pirates or water- 
highwaymen, the boatmen contrived to make the journey sufficiently un- 
comfortable, especially to such of their passengers as they might discover 
to be possessed of weak nerves, by playing off mischievous tricks and 
pranks for the purpose of frightening them, and which often put their 
own lives in jeopardy. Daniel De Foe, in his '< Great Law of Subordi- 
nation" (1724), says that he had <' many times passed between London 
and Gravesend with these fellows ;" and, after describing their conduct, 
and on one particular occasion the loss of a tilt-boat with fifty-two pas- 
sengers, which resulted from their foolhardiness and ^' larking" propen- 
sities, adds, '^ I have been sometimes obliged, especially when there have 
been more men in the boat of the same mind, so that we have been 
strong enough for them, to threaten to cut their throats, to make them 
hand their cnils and keep under shore, not to fright, as well as hazard the 
lives of their passengers, where there was no need of it." The fact was, 
no donbt> as he suggests, ^' that tbe less frighted and timorous thdr 



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J^luiUe iJmmgnm iMJtk^ JSigiiemA CktUtay. 



^m, Ae man ontioiu and eftrefid the'imtaaiMi aa^^ aad:the 
<ytto»nMLinfci»4fanger.; whwiam, if tharpMMDMni appear fni|fhtod, 
thm tihe wrtowMm -groir iwgy «ad MiiiaciiaiM, ahowvthemiriHM ^aataaMM 
anivConteDBL ihe liaq^en mdiM they am n^ly cipoied to.'' 

OlM&Dai lif ilM 4rfa«eMttd bwdB, in 1724^ were jumouaoed lo Jw— 
""' hy iali4M>at, ji^penoe" (th^ '' iaJMnrnt*' mm socalied from ite^hfudng a 
tik-ippeed over thepaesengem) ; '^by mimny^yone ehilUag/' — Ihe w hi w t iy 
hemg the £u(ber aad mcnre eelect eonveyaoee. These are two nu>re 
inrtenaw of die mademte tures dni^ged by |MiUie eenTe^nnees in the 
aerly part of the oeatury ; as the aaeommodatieoy eapeditioBy aadsafety 
wate inen ca a pd , l&e poees were raised in enenja gi<enter ratio, tiU.aowy 
whea those casontittls to pleasure or Jmsiaess-traveUtiig are nearest to 
per^sation, die piiees have dro(»ed down to thw <»igiiial rata. 

The Ckeimuford Chromick (£ Stecemher the did, 1784, faints dismally 
at the doinge in the dark on the *^ siknt highway," and at the asistenee 
of a za0B JBoae .to be feared even than the Gravesead boatmen : — *^ The 
merchants ham hired twenty etout men aimed with Uandarbttsses, pistols, 
&c, Ao row in boats up and down the xiver aU night in order to. protect 
their shipping firom being plundered by the fresh-water pirates/' 

How eaggestive is this paragnph of awful scenes by night on ihat 
daik .tkHToagh&re, the Thames — ^then ^mcrossed and lighted by the 
Bumaroas new bridges— K)f midnight murder, the death-atniggk, and ihe 
last heavy splash in which the re^nd of the deed is washed out, and the 
victim of the river-pirates sent floating down the river, if fbuad, only to 
he a doubt te a coroner's jury as to how he came Ahere! 

A sea voyage was an undartaking of the greatest peril. Noval<iiiiio- 
duetions into the art and science of navigation have msarmed it of many 
of the terrors that then huag about it At the time we would ^^wak oi, 
tmm the barometer was not employed to give the warning of a coming 
tempest in dme to prepare the ship to meet it. Enemies and ^xates 
waro on every sea, hssides " dealeie in the contraband," akaost asjtrou- 
hlesome ; th«« were l»wer lighthouses, and many shoals, socks, aandg, 
and daagerous pkoes had to be discovered, perhaps only at the cost of 
mme himdreds of lives, and laid down in the charts. What trouUes befel 
poor Mm. Sterne in her attempt to croas over only to Ireland! Following 
the fiortiuies of her husband (the father of ^ Yoiiek"), she had oeaaaion 
to make two journeys across the Channel, both of which appear to have 
ttearly cost her her life, especially the seoGod one, whidiis w£Jl4aaicuhited 
to ahow the uncertain state of eommuniBation b^ween parts now not a 
day's jouniey asunder. '^ We embarked," says Sterne, in hie '< Sketch 
af his own Life," '< lor Dublin, aad had all been east away by amost 
violent storm ; but, through the intereessioas of my mother, the captain 
was pnevailed upon to turn back into Wales, where we stayed a month, 
aad at lengdi got into Dublin, and travelled by land to Wicklow, vhere 
my father had, for some week«, given us over £or lost" 



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i «7 ) 



DIARY OP A FIBST WINTER IN ROME— 1854. 

BT XLOBSNXIA. 

The JPoruiy 'ly Day— >T3ie CfCttKoni'-^Goldcsi H<ni86 df Iffoo sod tlw "QnMi of 
iJK.Aii9iulte«tw. 

CoirGBBVE makes one of liis dramatis j^enonw declare *^ ihat Iub 
name is Truth, and 4liat ke Ihas very few .acquamtances.** 'Had 1 
Eyed nearer his time 1 should have thougkt he had an eye to me, 
for 1 have all my life steadfastly proposed to tell ihe truth, and hare 
rendered myself unaccountably unpopular by so doing. 1 also pro- 
pose to tell the truth in this rough diary — ^its only merit. I will 
not admire a statue because Winckehnan raises it, or fidl into 
raptures over tottering walls and clumsy pillars because ftej bear 
hlgk-sounding names. In my character of truth-teller I propose to vidt 
the Forum. Now, I am certsdn that no human being ever visited iSiat 
far-iamed valley of glory and misery, /or ^ first time, widiout positive 
disaj^pointment, .such as I felt ; only people are not honest enough to 
own their feelings, or they prefer displaying their reading, by nying 
into high^own classical raptures — raptures in wHch, indeed^ 1 would 
Willingly join, were association and recollections alone the qnesticm ; but 
the Forum, in broad daylight, is in reality a bare, dusty, bald-looking 
place, with veiy littie indeed to see at aU, so entirely are all vestiges of 
its former magnificence destroyed. The Capitoline Hill, crowned hjHtsB 
modem Campidoglio^ built over the remains of the Talralarium, stands 
on a gende eminence, and presents all the incongruities attendant on 
the unfinished back of a building ; the windows and the walls might 
belong to any other house, and be considered rather untidy and un- 
finished ; and the small bell-tower in the x^entre of the roof would 'he 
appropriately placed in front of a dissenting meeting-house. Below, 
among the Kkundations, yawn some arches, formed of uncemented bloda, 
and solid masses of stone-work in deep-down depths — -just sufficient to 
recal to one's memory their fabulous antiquity, and tiiat in those vaiihs 
were religiously preserved the Sibylline books, consulted when there was 
*^ anything rotten in the state" x>f Rome. 

Beneath, and very mndi below the modem road crossing tiieTorum 
on which I take my stand, deep excavations under the base of the hiH 
display ihe columned remains of various temples, masses of stone, fbrmesr 
foundations, capitals, and broken marble pillars, crowded heterogeneoudy 
about the still remaining upright piUars, of which there :aaee not a dozen 
standing, and those, to the eye of a rationalist, piled in^uch confusion, 
that, widiout the aid of bodes and antiquarian theories, h would be im- 
posrible to trace out any imaginable disposition or arrangement. "No 
spot in the wodd has so fruitfully employed the learned pens of anti- 
quarians ; and because it is a Sphinx-riddle no god will reveal, everjF- 
sodj^ wi& equal reason, ctfls them by a new name — Ganinsiy Hurrajr, 
l^iebuhr, Braun, all employ their own nomenclature — wUch imposes we 
scandal of endless *< aiUues^ en the venerable rains. At fiatl was 
80 eoaluaeid I never called them any name — after all, Sie only xeffngs 
fiir gwet people^fixr I was sure to be wroog whatever Iwi, and io 



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58 Diary of a First Winter in Rome^lB5A. 

stand oorrectecly thongh I might, had I loved disputations, have held 
my gromid, haying made antiquity my constant study sbce arriying in 
Rome. 

These temples, then, which must hare stood inconreniently close 
together, are a rexation and a confusion. To the left, on the height 
where once stood the citadel and the Temple of Juno Moneta, on the 
Tarpeian rock, houses and. courts, dirty, bkck, and filthy, a conglome- 
ratcKi mass of biick-work, crowd upon each other ; fowls and poultry 
generally appear to abound, out of respect, I suppose, to the classic 
geese which saved the city from the Grauls. The republican govern- 
ment of andent Rome, after the stem sentence passed on Manlius, razed 
his house, and forbade that henceforth any private dwelling should be 
erected on ihe Capitol or near the citadel. But the long course of ages 
appears to have weakened this decree ; for the fashionable antiquarian, 
Dr. Braun, has arranged a little roost on the forbidden ground, under 
the shadow of the Prussian eagle, whose embassy is perched precisely on 
the site of the ancient citadel on the Tarpeian rock. No rock is to be 
seen, and the elevation is very slight, save on one side (overlooking the 
Piazza del Torre di Speochio), ^' the Traitor's Leap," where a man might 
still break his ankle-bone perhaps if he tried, and certainly would die of 
the suffocating atmosphere and bad smells of the neighbourhood. I 
dare say a gxeat many modem Tarpeias might be found in this quarter 
as ready as tlieir celebrated ancestress to seU their country for gold, did 
modem uniform include such tempting gold armlets as adorned the 
Sabine troops of yore. A steep road descends on this into the Forum ; 
a valley, oblong in shape, extending about 750 feet ; and on the further 
side of the Campidoglio a flight of steps also leads downwards. 

Beyond the Campidoglio a further rise, corresponding to the opposite 
devation of the citadel, indicates the site of the once famous Temple of 
Jupiter Capitolinus, now replaced by the formless and really hideous 
exterior of the church of the Ara Coeli, a mass of browned stones, like 
an architectural chaos, " without form and void," but the accumulated 
earth still faithfully evidences where once stood die magnificent temple. 
Descending the £ght of steps towards the Fomm, — ^which can only 
impose by their historic associations, not from any intrinsic merit, — ^the 
arch of Septimus Severus is passed, a perfect and striking monument, 
covered with basso-relievos, and an inscription, where the name of Geta 
is plainly wanting, having been erased by the fhttricide Caracalla after he 
became emperor; but standing as it does in the excavation, on a level 
with the temples, the arch is so low and deeply sunk it appears utterly 
shorn of its just proportions and dignity. Beneath, and passing through 
it, the large blocks of stone forming the Clivus Capitolinus are still 
visible, proceeding by a winding course tiirough the temples upwards 
towards the Capitol. The position of the Forum is indicated by a large 
square excavation, more remarkable for its filth than for the mmute re- 
mains of broken columns visible — remains conveying neither dignity nor 
interest to the uninformed eye. Another and a smaller excavation, 
strewed with firagments of capitals, blocks of marble, and the remains of 
a few more pillars, include aU pertaining to the Fomm and Comitium 
now visible; and it is books alone, and deep research, and antiquarian 
knowledge, joined to the power of imagination, that can build up these 
arcades, reconstruct these temples, and lend form, symmetry, and splen- 



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Diary of a FtrstWitUer in Rome— 1684. 59 

dour to a scene poritiyely repulsiye in its actual appearance. Nothing 
can be more modem tban the general aspect of the bmldings — mostly 
churches— erected on the traditionary sites of Pagan temples bordering 
the sides of the Forum. The Romans seem to have proposed to them- 
selves in their erection to wage the most determined war against any 
stray recollection which might be evoked by the least vestige of ancient 
remains ; walls, pillars, and porticos are ruthlessly built into the present 
structures, themselves as commonplace and uninteresting in outward ap« 
pearance as can possibly be conceived. 

Proceedmg along what was once the Sacred Way, extending from the 
Arch of Septimus Severus, now a very dusty modem road, first in order 
appears the church of San Giuseppe of the Carpenters, its facade gaily 
pamted with £rescoes, built over tne Mamestine Prisons ; but as I have 
already spoken of these curious vaults I shall now only mention them. 

Next stands the church of Santa Martina, which I have also men- 
tioned as connected with the Accademia di San Luca. It is said to be 
built on the spot where once stood a temple to Mars, or, as some say, the 
" Secretarium Senatus." Mardna, a noble Ronum virgin, who heroic- 
ally sacrificed her life to the Christian faith, now triumphs in death 
within a richly-decorated tomb, in her subterranean church at the foot of 
that Capitol, whose steps her ancestors so often mounted as conquerors, 
senators, and priests. 

The adjoining church of San Adriano is supposed to mark the site of 
the Basilica Emilia, built in the time of Augustus : a portion of the 
front, formed of bricks, is all that remains. 

Immediately following is the church of S.S. Cosimo e Damiano, twin 
brothers, bom in Arabia, who finally suffered martyrdom under Dio- 
desian, after twice miraculously escapmgfrom the sea and the stake, and 
canonised, as it would seem, by the Catholic Church, to recal the popular 
worship of Romulus and Remus (on whose rained temple the church was 
erected), under a Christian aspect. The magnificent mosaic of the apsis 
—one of the most perfect in the world — divides attention with the 
remnants of the original temple, now consecrated as a second and sub- 
terraneous church. 

The church of San Lorenzo in Miranda is &ced by an ancient portico 
composed of ten imposing though much injured Corinthian columns, 
deprived of half their original height, and unmercifully squeezed by the 
facade of the insignificant church, bearing on a frieze an inscription 
showing the ancient temple to have been dedicated to the ^' divine Anto- 
ninus and Faustma." This portico was excavated during the visit of the 
Emperor Charles V. to Rome. 

Standing somewhat back firom the line we have hitherto followed are 
the three huge arches of the immense rain known until lately as the 
Temple of Peace. Many descriptions are come down to us of this stately 
monument The roof was encrusted with bronze gilt and supported by- 
stupendous columns, and the interior adorned and enriched with the 
finest statues and pictures of the Grecian schools. Here were deposited 
the spoils brought firom Jerusalem by Titus, forming a vast public trea- 



ade the three arches of this majestic ruin, now bare and stripped to 
the brick walls, all that remains as evidence of its former splendour is the 



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JBtm^afet Fimi Wk^^Momm^-^aOSu 



in firoBt of dift Banfiisa of SsBta^Mana Ma§gio«B^ beittg^oiM of the eight 
eiqvMke nMcUe piilaw wiuch deeomtod thft lofty intsrioE temple. In 
these litter dftv» tne nii& is knoim ae die Bltnlicfty hegaa by Minteiiti«ii» 
and ftushed hy GooitaaitiB^ after the bafcde o£ Ponto Mdle had endad 
Aat tyrant^ft lin aad.reigii. The TeBeeAUe asiooietiene of mai^ agjBS 
are dierefore ahon frem theee nighty ^wdta^ that liae adeft in a/atate 
of perihet pai M m eiaa a ';g t a fafi i l to tibe ey«> towaeated by the eaAawe^ of 
die Foram. According to the preMat imaioa we must oonaider. dns 
lofty ateQctiim only aahaloiigiiigto ^'aaodem Roma^" for in daa iutermi- 
naUe aaale of ceBturiea^ that unlink befoae one in exanaiiDii^ t^e histonc 
andqoitiea of Roaae^ the third or fiwrth eentmy is bat as yealaeday. 
I for myaelf prefer the Cathdie aecoaaDt, aa^ beiog themoet poadc. Ac- 
cordkig to that^ dlia: edifice was. bidlt by Angostoa in memory of the 
peace given to die world by the batUe of Aodnm. Wishing to know 
now long die solid "malls would standi he eonaolted the oracle,, which 
replied, ^^ Qnoaduaqne yirgo paaiat" (midl a virgin bears a son). The 
Romans cennidofed thia a pcoBUse of inmortafityv and anticipated an 
eternal eziateaee for the new Temple of Peace; but the same ingfat that 
saw the Sanptoor'a birth, in Bedilehem, the walk of the Pagan tem]de 
shook and MH^ and fire suddenly and myateriooaly^ issaing from die 
ground consumed die sumptuous pile. 

The modem chundi of Santa Fraaeesca Romana.is buiit on part of the 
remains of die temple of Venus and of Rome, forming (Hie an^e of the 
long-shaped square marking die valley of tlw Foram. It ia a curious 
coincidence, tbat on.the site of the foBBer tample of <^ Venua the Hi^y," 
Catholic Roaae should have dedicated a chnroh to the memory of a 
Roman matron renowned £or her rigid virtue; True, Santa Franeesca 
was married, but her chaste oonduet as- a wifia, by enlarging her sphere 
of action, increased the. admiration and respeet of her contemporariea. 
At die death of her husband A» became a. nun, and commenced a life o£ 
severe penanoa and renunciadon, devoting herself to the sick and dying 
in the hospitals, with a true Christian fortitude. '* Elegi abjeetus esse in 
domo Dei." A large sisterhood was formed bearine^ her name, where are 
idigiouslv preserv^ some relies, the room in which she prayed, and die 
utensUs she used while tending the sick and wounded. 

Eusebius, the father of eodesiasdcal history, furnishes us with, a curious 
&et in connexion wvdi this churdi. He assures us diat the aposdes St. 
Peter and Paul visited Rome (an historic &ct my own rampant Protes- 
tantism, on first arriving at Rome, made me culpably overlook in speaking 
of the former's tomb at St. Peter's). He recounts that the magician, Simon 
Magus, had preceded them there^ and, in order to neutralise their preach- 
ing, gave himself out as a god. The Emperor Nero admired him, and 
statues were already raised to hb honour. In order to give a convincing 
and visible proof of his divinity, the impostor announced that he would 
publicly raise himself in the air withont asnstaaoe, and selected as die 
spot where the proposed prodigy was to take place die theatre of Nero's 
gplden house. All Rome assembled in ea^ectant wander, and the em- 
peror himself was present in the vestibule of his palace ; but St Peter, 
who had arrived in Rome unknown to Simon Magus, was also present ; 
and as the magieiaii mounted, boldly into mid-air, the aposde prayed 



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Mmyefef^frnt Wiw tm tar itow^^-tSffft 9t 

the hiw^ipiwtilepmyerofliie nglt»e«Bi'iiMm bwBdaad aB Mw i airf ; Sudou, 
Buddenlj and anaooMstaMgr, Ml to die enth and ww kifled, aooi Ae 
staB0<nrwiiiBli SI; Peter kii^-Tetaiiied the i»preMioB of fak knee, and is 
wiUe iMPirin tke inteiior of iheehnfcli, on the ywj spoftivliefe it is sadd 
hi* prafan. wefe ofe id t ■ - » ^ Una 008%**' aa tbe itiJians aaj, ** di gran 



fttaatiil on iligMy rbbb^ ground^ next stands tlM beantiliii Areb of 
IStosy OB a level wHh die aota^ earth, and dieiefofeseen to mneii better 
advaHlage dian its oppoRte- n o ig hboar tbe smA-down Aneb <^ Septimus 
Serenii^ massed op witb tbe muohKKspiiiled temples; Tbe basse-rdieFros 
aore* lemaikabljr ebiar and &tinct^ and die seulptores on die avA indieate 
a psriod belwe tbe de^ne of sort. Under die aaeh Tkm appears in 
basso-relievo, seated on a triumphal car, conducted by the Grenins of 
Bon^ and attended by Vietoij erowmng him widi laurel ; opposite, are 
the spoilt of the temple— 4he taUe of show-bsead, the seven oandlestiehs, 
die Jubilee Ivompete, and die ineense Teasels* 

Tile Jews from the dirty Ghetto never oease to eontemplaite this moan- 
ment with pr ofou md sorrow mingled with violent indignation. They 
hate the Bomaas, past, present, and to oome, as die agents of dieir 
covatty's desivueiioa, tbe derastatorS' of that shriue, more glorioas^ in 
their imag^nadoD^ dian tbe bumisbed pffiars of the golden sunshine 
aupp of tmg the opening vaiidts of monnngf A Jew would lather die 
than pass under tnat arab, which aeeoants icfr the little footpadis formed 
on either side. But it is in vain to dispute die Almighl^ will ; the 
moaument of thev servitude is not to be ignored, or the prophecy for-* 
gotten wfaiefa was wrung from our- Lord by the hard inmiety of the 
Jewish nation — *^ Verily, verily, I say taito yon, tfawe shall not be left 
one stone upon anotber that shall not be throwa dewn*^ 

Coadnuing my tour rovnd die modem Foram, die steep sides of tbe 
Palatine Hill now break tbe views rising abruptly adof^ dadc, ominous^ 
and gloomy— « hill-side on which grow no flowers, whcnre the sun never 
shines^ desolate and uninhabited, crumbling with shapeless ruins of the. 
past, broken into deep chasms, and sepulchral caves yawning in the pre- 
cipitate sides, formed of massive fbundadons^ and broken terraces and 
shattered arches heaped on each other in indeserilMd^le confusion. Grass 
and reeds, and low shrubs and twining vines, orermantle die sombre 
ruins, and on die summi t of the hill rises a sacred wood, dreular in form, 
of evergreen trees, fit diadem for its inky brow. There is a repulsive 
grandeur about the stem, frowning decay of the Palatine^ impressive and 
majesdo in character, diough crumbling into dust, for more exciting to 
my imaginattoa dam the cheerful, sonny, modendy-built and thickly- 
populated quarter of the Capttoline Moant, where the past wresdes in 
vain with the prssent, and loses all dignity in the encounter. 

Under the Paladne a large spaee of muddy, uneven gromd marks die 
place where the oatde-market is held, for (oh, horrible sacrilege !) not 
only its dignity but its very name is passed away, and die anoent Forum 
is now only known to the degenerate modem Bomans by its designation 
of ** Campo Vacenio T 

At all times are to be seen here herds of tbe slate-odlbured oxen — 
me^ quiet-lookii^ beasts with enormous boms, diat perform the labours 



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62 IHary of a First Winter in 2fewn«— 1854. 

of husbandry in ItalV) i:iuninatbg beside the £nune-caiis they diaw**- 
and the ferocioos bufif^oes, bending their heads indeed under the yoke, 
but always rolling round those yidous, untamed eyes. 

Yelletri wine-carts, drawn by single horses, wim thdr odd one-sided 
hoods or screens, to shield the driver from the sun or rain, contain often 
a cross and little image of the Madonna, hung up beside knives, forks, 
bottles, and pistols. The drivers are now resting beside their original 
conveyances, or talking to each other, with their turn-up pcnnted hats 
and handsome sunburnt faces, side by side with the contadini belonging 
to the oxen, dull, stolid-looking barllarians, wearing their jackets thrown 
over one shoulder, that seem to live only to sleep. There they all rest 
in picturesque groups ffor somehow or other the pose of the most 
common and clownish Italian is always picturesque) under the dark 
shadow of the Palatine. 

Further on, where now stand the churches of Santa Maria libera- 
trice and San Teodoro (San Toto), the Curia Julia, first called Curia 
Hostilia, was situated, built by Julius Gesar, and embellished by 
Augustus, being the place where he convoked the senate. In the centre 
sto^ a statue and Temple of Victory, on the site of the house built for 
Valerius Fublicola by a grateful people; while near it was held the 
slave-market of andent Rome-^that numerous and accursed race, which 
BO often threatened, murdered, and oppressed their haughty masters, 
intriguing on the very steps of the throne where they were raised by the 
profligate manners of the age, and sacrificing even the lives of the deified 
Cesars to their lust of power, foul passions, and extravagant caprices. 
The Temple of Vesta stood in this part of the Forum, and the Spo- 
liarium of Sylla, a human slaughter-house, daily filled during his dicta- 
torship by the heads of illustrious senators and patricians, victims of the 
extraordinaiy ambition and incredible cruelty of this terrible rival of 
Marius. Aloft stretched the bridge constructed by the insane Caligula, 
extending from the opposite bills, in order to enable the deified monster 
to pass from the Imperial Palace on the Palatine to offer sacrifices in the 
temple of the Capitol without crossing the Forum. Of all these struc- 
tures no vestige remains. 

The church of San Toto (behind the Roman Forum, on the way to 
the Forum Boarium) stands on the supposed site of the Lupercal^ 
where, says Mark Aiithony, in his famous oration over the body of 
Csesar : '^ I thrice presented him a kingly crown, which he did thrice 
refuse." At hand stood, in early times, the Temple of Romulus, on 
the spot where he and Remus were discovered by the shepherd. 

To the formation of the Cloaca Massima, aud other improvements in 
draining, the marshy ground between the Palatine, Aventine, and 
CapitoUne Hills, once a swampy lake, must be attributed the altered 
current of the Tiber, now certunly full a quarter of a mile distant from 
the traditionary spot where the cradle containing the Alban twins, 
children of Sylvia and Mars (as they loved to be called), touched the 
shore. The river being much swollen, the cradle dashed against a stone 
at a place called Amanum, and was overturned, the cries of the in&nts 
frightening away the shepherds but attracting the she-wolf by whom 
they were tended, together with the friendly w<X)dpecker, as they reposed 
under the shadow of the Palatine woods, then an Arcadian wilderness. 



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Diary of a First fVinter in Rome — 1854. 63 

until Lauientia, the wife of Faastulos, first saw and bore ihem to her 
hut) near the Velabrom. The whole stoij, says Dionynos, was in his 
day recorded in bronze, in a grotto dedicated to Pan, near a wood also 
dedicated to the sylvan deities, on the way to the Circus Maximus. 

The modem church of San Toto convevs little interest. It lies much 
below the level of the present road conducting towards the Ayentme, 
and, darkly overshadowed by the ruins on the summit of the Palatine, 
bears a gloomy aspect In a cortile before the entrance appear some 
slight remiuns of an altar; but otherwise the church, which is circular, 
and about the same size as the Temple of Vesta, siill standing on the 
shores of the river, has a provokingly modem air, espedally the interior, 
glaringly painted and vulgarly decorated. Miraculous powers are sup- 
posed to l^long to this churdi, where the modem Roman ^^ canaglia^ 
to this day constantly bring new*bom infimts whose lives are in dang^ ; 
a superstition which can be readily explained by recollecting that ^e 
ancient inhabitants are known to have believed that the Temple of 
Bomulus possessed nuraculous powers of healing infants. Strange con- 
tradiction ! while dose at hand lay the sombre udce of the Yelabrum, on 
whose marshy shores the ofiBspring of illicit love, the children of slaves, 
and the weak and deformed infants of both patricians and plebeians, were 
barbarously exposed to perish. 

San Teodoro, to whom the church is now dedicated, was a military 
martyr, soldier of Maximian. He suffered martyrdom for setting fire to 
a temple where the sight of some obscene Pagan rite roused his indigna- 
tion. When asked by the magistrate why he had so acted, he replied, 
^^ I am a Christian, and should do the same again." He was torn with 
iron pincers until his veins and muscles were laid bare, and he expired. 
His church is oppoisite that of Santa Martina, on the other dde of the 
Forum. Thus the Christian sol<Uer and the consular virgin, both martyrs, 
stand glorious sentinels at the entrances to the classic valley — both 
victims of imperial butchers, who on these very spots glutted their rage 
with the blood of the saints, and now for centuries venerated and re- 
membered by the whole Catholic Church, who chronicle their deeds with 
reverence. 

The last of the churdies surrounding the Foram, spread as it were 
with a holy garment in memory of the sacred blood which has been 
there spilt, is the small and quite modem church of Santa Maria Libera- 
trice, which, gay in whitewash and colours, certainly does not recal by its 
aspect the Temple of Vesta built by Numa, whose site it occupies. 

I have now completed the '^ giro ' of the modem Forom, and described 
it as at present it appears, giving ** the very age and body of the time 
his form and pressure,'' accompanied by a review of Christian associa- 
tions too much overlooked by tne generality of strangers. If the heroic 
deeds of Roman history rendered this g^und and these ruins famous. 
Christian fortitude and heavenly virtues, recorded in the ecclesiastical 
annals, have also set on them an indelible and immortal imprint. Manv 
of that glorious army of martyrs whom we are taught to associate with 
the highest joys of heaven, who stand beside the great white throney 
holding their crowns and singing eternal hosannahs to the blessed Three, 
once traversed the Foram, passing along the '* Sacred Wa/' to bear their 
cross within the walls of the Flavian Amphitheatre. They, too, gazed 

JUby— VOL, CIV. HO. OCCCXUL • V 



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64 IHary of a FirH fFuUer in Sanw—l^SA. 

if^ the qUtely buildiogs and lofty ptlaioes as ibey.took ihai one last look 
arpund on tne onUrard world uio djtng love to eaafc ere tkey depart 
Jklapj of the RoiDan martyri wese of exalted rank, mod chiwaed nendf 
and relative ajouwg the stem MBatoia aittiag on tihe eande-ehaiEfl. under 
the long-dcawn oolonnadea, or aaaong the awlpturad effima eieotcd for 
worahip by the iapecatitiien of a grateful people in the aunmnding 
templea. The Christian gieatneee ^ Rome jielda neidiar in hflroianiy 
demotion, dxamatic ineid6nt» thalli^g iatenest, or asiflinehiag atoieisao, to 
the mvch^'atudied Pagan aanala^ Weald that my pen nace wordij to 
eelehrate dieae deeds noted by the tecoEdi^g aaagel on dbe haanranly 
taUata ! I do but indicate what eaeh one mvat foUow oat alone. 

I returned into the Fomm ; the afternoon was now come, t eget h er 
wstb a heterogeneous orowd louagbg ahemt in all diredamis. The 
modern Ttomans were easily raec^iaed as they slowly saamtered alongy 
wiihont onee raising their eyas on the ceUbrated.acene of their aneestonf 
grettteat triumphs. No wonder : they simply oonaider it aa a dirty ^laoa 
devoted to the sale of oatde. We ase not sivan to studying £nglish 
histery in Smitiifield ; and to theaa it afioids aa £»w attracrtiona. As 
de(»de^y an the Ea^lUhsiKHignised by thaurtririai and restkas onrkwity, 
the queationi they ask» and the ignoraaee they faetray. Caxnaga aftar 
carriage, filled with extravagantly-dressed ladte% may he aaen diamonat- 
ing in the dkt at various points of peculiar interest, and peeping and 
peering about aa did the fiimoaa I>avis for pwklea in the vaaes of Ponpoi, 
The ve:iatiieus mass of nameless temples partioularly •Bg^ ^^ atten- 
tion, and they stand, '< Hnmy" in hano, resolutely draded on under- 
standing what 18 not understandable. When I see theae antiquarian 
butterflies, attended genially by a aemnt in liv«ry and a pet spamel, I 
jeonfeas I am disguated. Sure to abound in thia high society, where 
quaUrwi are to be piokad up, eome the tomenting vakts-de'^^iaee^ 
whose dogged paaaeveranoa ia really adapiraUe; they aave the indolent 
the trottUe of thouflfat aa ihey ran over ever^ eJaaa of subjects £rem the 
best Roman pearl-^opa to the eolnmn of Tra|an, talking sudi abominable 
£ngliah onea own language in thairinooths beoomea an unintelligible 
jargon. Here and there a quiet, unassuming party of pliuuly-dresaed 
G^nntins appear^ indnatriouahr woridng tbev way along, reaUy sesming 
to apnroaoh the plaee in aright spirit of earnest inquiry ; or some aolitary 
^traveller, «f» sprimde barhe^ and smoking a oigaiv-^ura to be a French 
.«|tian#--«yidently absoriMd imd overwhekned by the rich tide of raed- 
lectiona rising around— <aaiia eyes, sams earn, or sense, for anything else. 
A h>ng proeesmm 6ijrmti, envdoped in hkdc robea, with only amiul slits 
for the eyes virihle, atnam akmg towards the Cdiaeum, carrying a huge 
Uack cross, and chanting sad and dismal hvmns that eeho haxiwmiQusly 
anud the fidlen.and decaying prednofes of tke past Americans abound, 
aetive, talkative^ and unsympathetie. YThat sympathy can youth have 
with decrepitude ? — ^tiie entoprisine yonng worldy apringins into life and 
greatnesa-*iojobing in liberty and medom-^vitii the mouldering remains 
of former tyrants? But whether they eome to an^ they have seen, or in 
;^ity to worship at the fidlen altars of false ffoia, they come kindly, 
CSiriatianly^-^etthair morgue, nor reserve, nor pnde mark their nMnners; 
noc do they a&ct the esdosive indi£Eeranfie of that young English hdy, 
vdho) visiting the Fomm for the^Srstf iMRe, iaaaatadinher oamagede^y 
engaged in reading the Tifnes. 



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JHcoy of a Firtt Wh^r in Bame^l&Si. ^ 

. ' I "was-ijiviled th»^her a^t by Lady Axayb St. G ' to go vUhher 
and 808 the CeliseiiBi lit up by colcnned Ughti, in hooour of some 
Ereneh a^tabilUies arrived at Bone. I thought it sounded wybar- 
baroofl ; b«t I went. It waa a lovely evening in M&y-^that noit ohana- 
ing of all the monthi in Italian elunate. The Ccdueum rose befiue as 
serenely) calmly beautiiu], in the monm&d moonlight, brea&ing « repose 
— « sofewn oontemplative mehneholy, absolut^y pathetic Those aknost 
artioolaAe walls have an unspoken eloqnenoe, felt by all nalions anl 
languages gathoiag here ftom the far-<iff oomers of tne globe; like the 
old Mhmnon statoe they breathe out mono; » chord, a note» a thongh^ 
a memoiyy heie strikes faome^ and an undying reoollection is borne 
avnkjr in every bearL At this season the great voia is envekmed in 
deiiaoBS groves; beautiful walks are form^ around it, plaatad with 
gnaefnl aeaeia-tseesi the branches, now weighed down by snawy blos^ 
eonm, perfuming the night air almost oppressively. As we strolled 
about the gigantie ruins and up and down the avenues, ohequered by the 
£t6il says of the moonlight, unspeakable hope and peaoe came into my 
soul ; angels seemed to look down fiom the star-sown heavens, and the 
iqpbits of the slaughterad saints to sanctify the soene of their gloaoouB 
martyrdom. Looking into the moon, clear and ai^gn^ntine as a nlver 
4nirTor» the ills and troubles of this life fsded away Hke a vain and 
troubled dream emerged from chaos to disturb for « brief space my 
Jhawiness, and thither to retusn. I rejoiced that God had aoade the 
world so fedr, and permitted me thus to aijoy it. Oh ! it was well with 
mie on that peaeefiil night--«nd with so congenial a companion as walked 
beside m»l She bei]^ a devout Catholic, looked on the soene with a 
rel^lioHS enthusiasm I could searcely join in, and recalled to job that 
ounoiv prophecy reooxdad by the venendide Beds^ as ropesitod by the 
Ajoglo-Sazan p^grims.^ his day : 

While stands the Galisenin, Home shaH stand; 
When fiJls the Oofiseiun^ IRome shall fall ; 
And wl^n Borne faUa—ihe world ! 

Standing under the black shadows, cutting the ground widi almost 
palpable lines^ bow dear and bright shone out the snowy walls — beautiful 
as some €ury palace built for a magician's bride, and soft and mellow as 
the heavens above. The partial fight^ half concealing^ half diqilaying 
the interminable succession of arches, and leading the eye down pillared 
aisles, through mysterious vistas, marked but by here and there an 
oUique ray oi light, on to the central space, where the altars, and the 
momdecing gallpines, and the tenraced arcades swam in a sea of subdued 
light Toirards the Baths of Titus, on the riaing ground, a wood of 
pomegxanates descended towards the building, and we could just discern 
the thousand crimson Bowers.among the rich dark leaves. To the right, 
buried in deem shadowy rose the Arch of Constantino (that pregnant 
tealimony of .uio victory achieved by the radiant vision of the cross), 
spanning die Via Triompbalis. Throi^yh the three arches that pierce its 
massive &$ade the moon cast long Imea of light on the ruined mass 
of the once brilliant fountain of die Meta Sudans, where, through a 
perfosDitfid oQlum% surmounted by a statue of Jnpiteiv m abunoaQt 
stream descended into a vast ,m«dble-basin for the use of the athletes 

w2 



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66 Diary of a First Winter in i?<wiw— 1864. 

and gladiators of the amphitheatre. Close by, a few rough stonee indi- 
cate the pedestal where stood the colossal statue that gave its name to 
the beauteous structure. After decorating the golden house of Nero, it 
was removed bj Vespasian beside the amphitheatre he was erecting, to 
perpetuate the Flavian name, at the extremity of the Via Sacra, and 
transformed into the image of Apollo : colossal rays of glory surrounded 
the head. Adrian removed it a second time, and Commodus changed 
it into a likeness of himself. The golden house of Nero and the Coli- 
seum I What a whole history lies in those names ! — what deeds — what 
emperors — ^what saints — what crimes are invoked ! Whole centuries un- 
fola before one pregnant with chronicles ! Where we now stood in the 
peaceful moonlight a lake once existed ; and, enclosing its shores, uprose 
that golden palace of Nero, which was a city in itself. Not satisfied 
with the already overgrown palace which had contented other Caesars, 
on the Palatine, and also findmg his abode at the Vatican too small, he 
enUrged his new palace over the entire extent of the E^uiline (Santa 
Maria Magg^oreX the Ccelian (San Giovanni Laterano), and the Pala- 
tine, with which it was connected by a bridge : within its waUs wero 
'' expansive lakes and fields of vast extent, intermixed with pleasing 
variety ; woods and forests stretched to an interminable length, present- 
ing gloom and solitude amidst scenes of open space, where the eye 
wandered with surprise over an unbounded prospect*** The building 
itself uprose in this elysium, colossal in proportions and £Bibulous in 
splendour. The Temple of Peace formed the vestibule, of prodigious 
height, surrounded by a triple range of columns of the most exquisite 
marble. From the vestibule opened the atrium, a hall of extraordinary 
magnificence, gorgeous with statues, paintings, stucco, mosaics, marbles, 
and gold, large enough to serve for the assembly of die senat^ when it 
suited the caprice of we tyrant to gather them there. A splen£d portal 
opened on the lake; Suetonius says, ''it was like a sea surrounded 
by palaces," which its waters doubled in reflecting. Opposite the portal 
was placed the colossal statue of Nero, 120 feet high, whose subsequent 
vicissitudes I have mentioned. Deified during his life^ his image was 
surrounded by a golden nimbus, and, Hke Nabuchodonosor, Nero ex- 
acted divine honours in his own palace. The ceilings of the different 
halls were covered with plates of gold, set off by diamonds and precious 
stones ; the walls decorated with gilcUng and the most exquisite paint- 
ings and statues, the floors inlaid, as with costly embroidery, with those 
finest mosaics, specimens taken from other ruins still remaining as 
evidences of the unrivalled skill with which they were executed. The 
triclinia, or eating-rooms, were surrounded by turning panels of ebony, 
from whence flowers and perfumes descended on the guests, stretched 
on couches spread witii roses and myrtles, and wearing garlands of 
odoriferous flowers. All that earth, sea, or air furnished most rare and 
delicate, was served up in vases of gold and silver, sometimes to the 
number of twenty-two different courses. Several slaves were placed 
near each guest, to refresh the air by fans, and chase away the flies 
with branches of m3rrt]e. Musicians filled the air with delicious sym- 
phonies, and troops of young children executed voluptuous dances. 



• Tacitus. 



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Diary of a Ftnt Wint^ in jBome— 1854. «7 

einging batiehanalian songs, aceompttiiied b j the merry click of the 
castanets. Anon the walls folded away like a screen, and displayed the 
theatre, where the sight of the gladiators' hloody combats gave the last 
gosto to the banquet ; they were even introduosd into the yery room, 
and slew each other in the imperial presence. Sometimes combats of 
men and animals, at a safe distance^ gare a variety to the entertain* 
ments. Artifidid groves surrounded the lake, where, among the 
branches, silver birds of the finest workmanship represented peacocks, 
swans, and do?es, deceiving the eye. The baths presented every re^- 
finement of luxury, glittering with gold, silver, marble, and mosaic, and 
were often used three times in one day. 

Within these halls of fabulous luxury did the voluptuous Mere— the 
tyrant, comedian, and poet— abandon. himself to every vice; he sang, he 
wrestled, he drove chariots, whilst ordering countless cnid executions ; 
here his passion kindled for Poppgea, during the lifetime of the innocent 
Octavia, who expiated the crime of having thwarted the monster's caprice 
by her speedy banishment and murder in the island of Pandataria. 
Poppsea's voice, which had often woke the echoes of these golden halls 
by her violent reproaches, was heard no more upbraiding ; m becoming 
empress, she was satisfied. Cui bono ? she in her turn soon fell a victim 
to Nero's cruelty. 

Here died Britannicus, poisoned while his brother^s guest at one of 
the epicurian banquets ; and here did Nero meditate over the murder of 
his mother Agrippina, who also thwarted him — ^a crime so unnatural, it 
even startled the depraved and animalised Romans ! But — and what 
remains of this imperial pomp? A few stones and lime, the ruined 
pedestal where pnce stood the colossal image, and some deep-buried 
subtenaneous chambers, filled with bricks and rubbish, under the neigh- 
bouring Baths of Titus, built over part of the golden house— and why ? 
Because die memory of Nero was so execrated that Rome considered it a 
scandal and a dismce to allow one stone to rest upon another of the 
golden mansion which had sheltered him. 

Then there came a great change over that world-stage. A notable 
act was finished in the universal drama, and the curtain of oblivion fell 
on many actors. When it again rose a new dynasty sat on the thnme 
of the (Jssars, and victories and triumphs, the glory of the Roman eagles, 
and the iron bravery of the Legions, filled the heart of the great city 
with loy. 

Where had stood ihe golden house appeared now two remarkable 
objects — ^the Arch of Titus and the Flavian Amphitheatre ; and later 
came the Arch of Constantine, forming a mystic tnangle, standing as it 
were on the confines of ancient and modem Rome, and symbolising 
Judaism and its conquest, Paganiah and its crimes, and Christianity 
bringing down heaven to earth in its angeUc creed. 

l%e mighty ruin standing before me was raised on a theatre of blood, 
and &ithful to the traditions of the former palace, amid blood and tears, 
sorrow and despair, did those gigantic walls arise, under the hands of the 
Jews brought captive by Titus from Jerusalem. Thousands and thou- 
sands laid tham down to die^ wearied out and faint, beside their labour; 
for, incredible though it seems, the vast pile was certamly completed in 
teny if not» accordmg to some authorities, \nfour years. 



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S9 IHary of a tint fFhOer m Bome-^lSdi. 

NovttP were IImi fl>iir oiden of sftMtectaiM so hamiODioair^ comUiied 
as OB thoM Bivhed walb, fonned of large bkMsks of TiToK voBMe, on 
whieb ibm shadows M so heayily in the inooo]i|;lit Suoeeflsive masses 
of gleoin indicate some of die many entrances, of whicli tfiere ars eighl^ 
aH nmibered eieept one — Ae imperial ingresB opposite die Palatine Hill 
«— "Witih a enhtenaaean pasiage oonstracted by Commodns beside 4he royal ' 
entranoe, and in which he was very nearly assassinated. 

Among these openings one was named SandetpiUtrim^ or IdMmMs; 
tke othery Smmenrivaria. Near the fomer was the Spoliariimi, wherothe 
bodies of awn and beasts Idiled on die arena were dirown pell-mdl — an 
awfnl charnel-house, which must have overflowed when imperiid Tkos 
inaogorated Ins aanphidieatre by games which lasted one hondred days, 
when five thousand wild beasts and many tlKwsand gladiators were 
killsd. 

Waiting for die arrival of die company, we had omsdy paced roond 
a»d TOond the Cdiseam. I devoody hoped they would not oom^ bat at 
lart, sfter s long space, Gonnt Z and a whole tribe of Fianch ladies 

made dmr appearance. The Ffendi sentry at first poBitively xeftned to 
let -ns enter. 

*'On no passe pas par ici," edboed throagh the eokmiade. 

'^ Comment," cried one of his countrywomen ; 'Wous ^tss Fraafais et 
d pen gaiant ? Mon Dien," added she, turning to Connt Z ; ^ c^est 
qnii fMt qv^ y ait bien longtemps qu'il a quitt6 la France T 

Coont Z ■ ■ '■ expostulated in Italian, talking as rapidly as Figaro— de^ 
davsd he had ^permetto — ^st last got furious and excited, and swove at 
dia sentry aIas8K»d oadis; but it was of no manner of use, die nnsket 
sdn baned die entrance^ and the man was immovaUe* To be sore, it 
wan enough to aager any one less excitable than an Italian, to have in* 
vited a large party there and not to be able to get in. Ceont Z 
rashed finmtieally about, his hands dutchine his hair, and looked quite 
aaslodramatie, gestioulating in his fidl Spanidi cloak draped around him* 
At last the scena ended in our fiivour by the appearance of die oostode 
iknn within, who at once deared the way. 

''Men ami,'' ssid the Frendi lady to the sentinel as she passed him; 
^sofrrenea-voiis toujours qu'un Franks doit fiiire partoot phce anx 



The Coliseum bymoonligtit is rery beautiful; a dim raysterSons look 
hangs about die walls, half sunk in deepest gloom, half revealed in the 
ebar argentine light of the moon, riding above in the bine heavens ; yet 
I cannot say iAmt to me it appeared more impressive than by day, diough 
eeftamtf more poetical. I had gone with a vague, undefined idea of 
someidung wonderfel, and I was disappointed — the coloured lights were 
baiiiairous, and made the veneraUe rum look like a pamted pasteboard 
scene on the other side of the lake (Anglic^ — poftd) at die Surrey 
Oandens. One only effect was fine torches of pitch, planted under a 
SQvies of arches in die upper stories, bringing out grandly every over^ 
avehing line and pillar, even die long grass trailing in the breeae, wlule 
att near was buried in gloom. To my own tast^ I prefer die Coliseum 
VB- 1 have described it on a Friday sUtemoon, when the black penitents 
ara grouped xpund the altars and about die central cross, mingled widi 



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lioh pJetHZMqiie Areates of tin Bomu womefL, lA kiieelmg in ymmM ai* 
titoM of d«ep devotion, a mdlow wintry sim ligfatmg np the lAtoh.^^ 
Wliile ibs Fraick ladits, attended I7 tiie now ndtant oooot, raMd-aboat 
the 0aUerie% appearing and ^fsppeariog anx>ng the arefaes in the zed 
and mne lig^ita, lookmg Hke a aabbat of witobei, I ask down oi the itaiie 
of the blaek cross fdamted inAecentmof the arena, andfiili to rehniUiBg 
and lepeopling tiiose imgfaty gaUeries. 

Hie epeee around is de^ in sand, and Ae fions, and panthers, and 
beaia hoarselyToar in their barred cages en a level with the arena. The 
imperisd door (which bears no name engrarren on it) opeas, and the eon 

C' eaien, gergsoosty appanriled in tl^ impenal porpie, wearing on his 
« crown of gold. He is foUewed by the court, glistening and tpawet^ 
' — f in asagnifioSDt apparel, like star8» but of in£nior magmtnde. NezI 
^wiag are the teelal Tirgins, robed in white draperies and pnrpk 
atles^ and the sennte arrayed in white togas, wilii enbroidsned IxMrdess 
of geld. These all take their places on the lowest gallery, thepodime^ 
pvoieeted by a golden network. Eigbty-seren thoosand speotatore M 
Aose ranges of seats in an instant, as if by magic ; the mntrean and 
▼iigiDSiei^ttdeiitin scarlet, parple, gold,and diamcsaii; fermii^'a bsQ* 
liaart oirole apart among the darker-robed men. 

After tiM saeii£oes, which always preceded the games, nartiid aaosie 
tfanndcie feaili, and the sladiators appMc, ranging tfasmsehes in two 
panAel Bnes, bearing whips, with whieh they soourge the wretched 
eselMf^ who in a long line pass between then»--4h?es, priseoeiw, Chns« 
tiaae^ eU&en, women, and old men— -all devoted to die in the 
fte ee d e d by a heiald, the ^adiatote now ] 



BBgn 

ibUo^ 



le amphitheatre, bowing to the eaqp^ror, and exdaiasiBg, ^Gsesar, 
' \ aboot to "^ 



cry m the npper gaUeties, and will wait no longer, so ^ 
mgml to begm. The grated doors are rawed, and the ' 
Hhe a hnmoane Ofer m arenai a hnrricane that xnbs la 



tail to esktaBt." (''Cnsar, those aboot to die saluto thes."^ Bat the 
a}rpear iedioas to the impatient plefas, who roarand 

» 1^ t««te/!s giye the 
the wild beasts rash 
arenai a hnrricane Uiat xnbs blood, for see ia 
a moment ih» arms, legs, heads, and entrails thateorer tiss eand I Tioop 
after tsoop of bettiarii appear'--the eseitemeat is inisaed to madness— 
enepefor, people^ women, Tcstals, long for and gloat upon the sight of 
Uood, and appUnid and incite the hideous oarnage. The buiiarii being 
aldeepatehed, next are to come the gladiatore. The attendants, teo^ aaa 
disae, and drag off the bodies into i&Spoliarinm; one of diem is called 
Me ee ury, the oilier Phrto, and i^ bear die attnbotes of diesediviaaties; 
Meseasy toockes die dead with a red hot iroii, and Phito mm the cmip 
d$ grace. Handtome skives, ^gandy dressed, appear and rake orer dks 
sand to obliterate the traces of blood, while ingefnously<<xmtrived gradngs 
exnde showen of perinmes over the amphitheatre to refiresh the aar heavy 
widi dieetrong smell of blood. The vebunnm at the top, arran^ so as 
toekchide the son, nnduiates widi an artificial morement, servmgas a 
gnat fta, or eigando ventilator, while songs and symphonies are 
paaied by an faarmofliooB orchestra, aadbufleens and tomblen an 



dm 

Bat seel lbs gladiators moanted en splsndid can appear, and driving 
round again salute the emperor. <' Caesar, morituri te samaa^' rasoands in 



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?0 Diary of a First ffinter in Rome— 1854:. 

choriM. Thej are dressed in a short red or white tunic, with a cincture 
of worked leather, and bear a small shield, a trident, and a net ; some 
haye only a larger shield, and others cany a noose, or are armed with 
swords. They are mostly Gaols by birth, and are to fight both on horse- 
back and on foot snccessirely, one troop after another, to vaiy the games 
by their particular modes of combat Some there are, ''sine missione,** 
self-doomed to death, and this fiust has been duly noticed on the manifestoes 
in order to draw more company. The trumpets sound — ^the fight has 
begun! The swords cross — ^hmces meet — and blood affain flows in 
copious streams. Yet the people grumUe and hiss— death is too sudden ; 
the combatants are to eke out life oy wounds to the utmost moment — ^not 
. to strike and kilL " There is no amusement in seeing a man die," shouts 
one. '' They are cowards, these fi;ladiator8," cries another. '' They want 
to live," roars a third — but ''They shall die," sounds all around. And 
die they shall, for their life rests on the vox popuU, And that is now 
raised in horrid yells and shouts, hoarse as with blood. The spectators 
en masse rise— -the vestals, too, stretch forth their arms, and threaten with 
gestures worthy of the Furies, terrible, convulsire-^and the wretched 
gladiators are doomed, and £dl to a man. Sometimes ten thousand fall 
on the ground where I now sit. Fresh gladiators appear, and are more 
prodigal of their blood, and as hideous wounds are in^ted, the cry, 
'^ Hoc habet ! — Hoc habet I" flies round. Perhaps when one, who has fought 
nobly and interested the audience, is about to receive a deaih*blow, the 
thumb is raised^ as the just dying gladiator appeak to the people, and he 
is spared ; or, if the thumb be lowered^ it is the sim of instant death, 
and the gladiator, holding in his hand the sword of his advenaiy, must 
direct the point against his own throat 

This is a glorious exhibition, and entrances eyery one as often as it 
occurs. The vestals, more ferocious than the one-breasted Amazons of 
yoi^e, clap their hands in loud applause, and the whole amphitheatre 
thrills with transports of savage satisfaction. Three times have the hand- 
some slaves cleared the sand of the arena, three times the odoriferous 
perfumes have descended. The combats of man to man are over for thia 
day, but yet the audience is not contented— more blood must flow ; blood 
always, but with a variety. Some richly-dressed slaves appear with a 
brazier filled with burning coals. What can this signify? The people 
have heard of the heroic action of Mutius Scsvola, but hetve not seen it ; 
the degenerate descendants of the andent Romans desire to behold repre- 
sented the stoic fortitude of their republican ancestor. A man advances 
into the midst of the arena, dressed in a tunica incendiaUs of sulphur — 
a lifffated torch is held on each side — if he moves, he bums ; and in this 
position he parodies Mutius, and his right hand is burnt off! BestiarU 
are again dragged forth, while, moving from the princijMd entrance, 
appear artificitd mounds covered with trees, shrubs, and herbage; sud- 
denly their sides coUapse, and lions, bears, panthers, and bisons rush 
forward on the arena. The carnage recommenoes — blood again scents 
the air — and men and animals sink down on the sand in hideous death 
embraces. At last no more victims are left. A few savage animals 
remain masters of the field, and quietiy sit down to crack tiie human 
bones around them. 



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7^ Parapbde Vert. 71 

Thas perished St Ignatiag, the Christian bishop, sent from the ftr easi 
expressly to die in the Roman amphitheatre. He kneels in the midst of 
the arena, and the eyes of a hundred thousand spectatws aze bent upon 
him. *' I am the Lord's wheat," exclaims he^ '< and I must be broken by 
the teeth of the beasts before I can become the bread of Jesus Christ. 
While he yet speaks, two lions fling themselves upon him, and in a 
moment noihinff is lefb but a few large bones. Armies of martyrs 
perished within uiese walb — perished by a like death, and died rejoieiDe. 
Already heaven opened before them, and ecstatic visions saluted theur 
closing eyes of ine£hble radiance ! They heard not the cries, the yells 
of the spectators : that holy and sainted band — ^Eustace, and the Viigins 
Martina, Tatiana, and Frisca ; Julius and Marius, and the rest — whose 
spirits now rejoice in glory! Oh! sublime and immortal idea of the 
Catholic Church, to consecrate this detested arena ! and plant a cross in 
the centre ! ^ In hoc signo vici." Here, indeed, is the crosstriumphant ! 



THE PABAPLTJIE VERT. 



Whxn Mr. Sevenoaks (a name now shamefully abbreviated) paid his 
first visit to Paris, on the eve of the great dynastic changes wUch placed 
the younger branch of the Bourbons upon the throne of the elder, he 
determined, in honour of England, that everything he took with him 
should be of the best ouality and description. 

His hat was the finest beaver that Chrisfy could produce. The 
chapeau de soie, now so universal, was then in its infimcy. No one wore 
it but markers, laquais de placcj and those doubtful members of the class 
gefUlemanj who, in various ways, lived upon their wits at the smallest 
possible cost Why should it have gained the ascendant ? It is Lord 
Bacon, I beUeve, who tells us that a state will never decay so long as tiie 
principles which led to its greatness are maintained. The chanceUor^s 
wisdom will equally apply to life's mmor affairs. Had the manu£Eu;turef8 
of beaver been true to the principles which brought it into favour, had 
they been less eager to economise labour to their own profit, and abstained 
from too ready a substitution of the furs of rabbits and of hares, it would 
never have given place to a rival. Alas ! that it should : but those who 
knew it in the latest stages of its decline and hSl may remember, that if 
its wearer walked upon the chain*pier at Brifffaton on a windy day, how 
ever it might have been smootiily brushed, it seemed on his return as if 
'^each particular hair"-— that formed its surface— <* did stand on end,'' 
at the dangers it had encountered. Its glossy rotundity had become 
louffhened into a resemblance of the restiess billows which were danomg 
to ue freshening breexe, imparting, on such occasions, a personal appear- 
ance which was the reverse of hmomng. This g«ve one of its advan- 
tages to the advancing silk ; and the good old British beaver was finally 
superseded. Less important dianges were said to have endan^;ered 
even our gkrious constitution; but that sacred myth seems happdy to 



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72 The Ftgn^kae Vert 



kttve ft xa&te tliin feline pyvrer of vitality ; it luM surmed a good deal $ 
and, if w» get thro«q2;h oar p rowmt di&mlties, it will dottbdeflB still go 0B9 
periodioaUj expirinf , for agea. The beaver was not so fbrtiBiato; t£oagh 
Mr. S., Hke* a trna Eaglishiiiaii, sported and suppcwted it to the last. 

His next fafouaite poaseasion was his wateh. It had beea escpressly 
made for him by Bmraud. Veaj diffarent from the celebrated watdi of 
Captain Cvttle*— it never reqiared setting, but went to a second with pre^ 
gresstve regnlarity ; and Mr. S. was of opinion that it would continue to 
do so to tihe << last sjUaUe of recorded time.'' Of its outside appeanmoe 
I cannot say nnieh. Its exterior was not equal to its virtues. It was 
large, he»vy, and ioeiegsnt ; and his French acquaintance at the cafk 
were in the habit of a^ong him, over and over again, the hoar, with the 
ob}eot of {wovoking a malicious smile when, dilaidng with i^ the imports 
tnoe of l^e posMSSor of something valuable, he gravely produced it in 
reply. Many men wouM have discovered that &ey were laughed at« 
Mr. S. merely noted in his diary that the Parisians had a troublesome 
habit of asking what o'clock it was. 

But the property upon which he prided himsdf more than anything 
else was a green silk umbrella. It must have been made in some happy 
moment ; and was universally admired for its combined elegance, lightness, 
and strength. Mr. S. carried it imder his arm with an air of conscious 
superiority ; but it «ive him an infinitude of trouble. If he mislaid it, he 
was miseraUs. At Iris hotel it wascontinvaliy *< ()d eat mon'partq^uief" 
If fas dined at a taft^ his fizst attempt at French, after a fussying m<iv<»- 
mmaM, was ** Oar^ant Je ehereht m^n pmaphde. C*ewt umpangfimii 
99H, fakrifm AnpknteJ* There was scaieely a rikopkeeper in the Mue 
de la Paix whom he had not addresBed, " Madame^ fai perdu moff 
fntaplme. liOieez vmut vuf Ceei tm pmrajiMe vertj fabrifue 
Atu^meeJ* 

On oneooeanoD he vished the Bf^fma Trou969. I w«nt tiieve n^setf 
alxMit the same time ; and a horrible sight I thought it I may wej^ 
episodieally, that it is truly a {^aee of retribution, where the crimes of the 
flithers sere visited upon the children. They are left at the potter's lodge 
wMioat formaMty or qoestioning, and sometimes as many as tfairfy aie 
deposited in a day. FifWen had been brought in, the momieg 1 waa 
flwre. Jacking ^m tiiose I saw, they have mostly the appearatioe oC 
being the cmldnm of guilt and coaeealment. The nurses handle ihem 

Ey roughly while they fold them up in linen, very much ater the 
on of an Egyptian mummy, and in this state thi^ ai« kid upon the 
iaUe, or passed from hand to hand IHce logs of wood or graven images. 
In the sick-room six or eight of the poor little wretches weie lying, 
t&ni bound-up, upon a tal^ before the fire^ in the agonies of death ;* 
crying and moaning in a concert of misery which only a I>BntB ooold 
dssoribe. I was attracted to a comer of the room by the saaM pitiable 
soends, and upon drawing the curtain of a crib, a Httle olgeet, with the 
shnahen featms of sufi^ng old age, fixed its haggard eyes upon me 
wxtbi one of those looks which it is impossible ever to forget. In a few^ 
nootha those who snrrive the fixst ordeal axw sent to numes in the 
ONmtry ; and, including these out-peiisioner% the i^ole number then en- 
tile eaMliBfamettt was five thousand. I do not knew wbedier it mader 
the same impression upon Mr, Sevenoaks as upon myself. Probably it 



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The Pan^^VerL 73 

cBd: Ak^^nhkx^itmtk^AmliuedeldBMix^ besogadBedbjahily^ who 
mm a gieat adaiier of the institotion be W yvM^ ^ Cammeni Vavez 
vom§ iromfi, mmtkurr '* Comme m emfer,*" MpUsd Mr. a ; conn 
tbraiog) m Ua nuMt itfiofiudc FrenoK '*pour ces et^cmiyje prifhrtrai$ 
letir eot^lMT 2m fforge." ^ Qm/ mofuA^e /^ ittid the lady ; nd Mr. S. jwt 
Aes zvnaBdwod that he had Joft behmd him liis no^ («i] 

finU U'eharcker ban nuUim, I moat go te it» ta dbat\iboannAhfe plaoe» 
bafara breakfast;" and he went << IfeiMtncr," he aaid, addraHuir the 
offiobd St the lodge, '' Je-^^-m m 'venu-^-p^mr^^^^Aereker/' ^^FUt cm 
JUkT* intQcmpted the offidal, for all Fiondnneii are impatieat of a ilow 
er bangfing deliferj of their eaqnii i tel y oonranatioiiai langoage^-'* Fik 
4mJUb,mumemrr '' Ak i no, no, no,"" ctiei Mr. 8. '^ Fiu ^ pm$ 
^a/" ^ Qn'M^etf gue moRmeur ekerehe domef mmured the offiml. 
^'•Jetmi vmm pom okereher urn parmphme fftrt^akfique An^UmfeJ* 
^Ah J.ovL Le votc^ mongieurj' aaid ihe offieial ; and Mr. S. letnned. 
Blade onoe laore happy by its leatofation. 

Other tinngB he saw dim^ his stay at Farm. He witDesaed (yet, 
amioqSj afi lbs tiaae, at haTing to de{ioait his paraphde) the edifying 
speetade of the long eating his dinner in presenoe of bis people^ Wbitt 
aiset have bean a gzati^fing exbibitioit both to his nujestjr and to llieai. 
The Dacbaas d' Aj^f^^me looked poiaon at them ; and, m return, they 
s e eme d tO' glare upon the whole party as their destined Tietims. He waa 
aiao present lot tihe kin^s fke, ivhaa deeayed vocalists vith sedgy voieaa 
tpsre hired to sing hu praises fiom orchestras placed in the Champs 
Elysteu One of the songs mitten for this interestiag ooeaston described 
a being of afai^iiitous beoevoleiice, ^rixiae life was passed in speeadmg 
happmaai aioond hin^ and ereiy verse ended 

Charle% Lix est-il, voila ! 

Yet far a few weda he was on his way to England, leafing to Loois 
Fiafippe a vacant dirone and a similar desdny. '' TtnU change, mom* 
9iimr^ said a peasant, as I was k)oking at a min on the banks of the 
Lobek ^ Om^ moa €Mn," I replied, ^^ H ^mtofut m FranoB.'' 

Bnt we mnst vetom to onr compatriot and his mnbrdku He was 
deniona of seong die galleir of the Loavre on one of dioae days yK^bmm, 
it was tpen to the pofahc It would eniMe him, be said, to know some» 
danr of the manners and hdlnts of the people. Whether the knowledge 
heobtaiBed was sadsfaetory I do not pretend to %kj. Owing to some 
peenlnr drcomstances, the afflnx of visitors was eaceanve; and die 
ramale ftmedonary yAko took charge of sdcks and onbrellas, at the 
eouater of a booth erected near the principal entrance, was overwhelmed 
by die performance of her dudes. Mr. S., as he gave her his parapMe 
9ef% and received in exchange a ticket beanng numiro 688, had a sad 
fiiwabnding that he shovdd never see it again ; and there was somednag 
of tenderness in the last look with winch he regarded it. He wan^ercd 
t hr oa ah the gallery the mere fraetkm of an immense crowd,r^he only 
thing ne couU make his remarks upon was the back of the person imiae* 
diately before him — ^and, issuing from the impure atmosphere by which 
he had been surrounded, be presented his numero at the counter of the 
booth. ^ Le vaUd^ mongieur^'* said die dame in charge, at the same 
time presenting him with one of those rustic red deformities, in the shape 



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74 The Paraphiie Vert. 

of an umbrella, wUdi are carried W the French peasantry, and wUch 
had probably found its way to the Louvre from some distant banlieue, 
Mr. S. thought it so unlikely that this could by any possibility have been 
substituted for his own, that he merely said very mildly that it was not 
his. But when the woman told him that there could not be any mistake^ 
and showed him that numero cinq cent quairC'VingUhfdt was attached to 
it, and therefore it must, of necessity, be the one he had left, his usually 
fiadr complexion deepened into scarlet. JJw, he explained, was a *^para^ 
phae vertj fabrique Anglaiee," *^ Mais void votre numdro^ monsieur" 
** Sacri mUle diables^ madame /" cried Mr. S., to the astonishment of a 
gathering crowd ; and, findmg that rage impeded his utterance of a fordgn 
Unguage, he had recourse to gestici^ations of an alarming description, 
till interrupted by the recommendation of one of the gendarmes tnat if 
he had *' des reclamaiions a/ain^ he had better address himself, the fol- 
lovring morning, to the proper bureau, " Parbleu I" said Mr. S. '* U 
ya£s hnSf n'esi-ce pas P* — " Otft, numsieur^^ he was answered, ^ on en 
fait tous les jours!* Mr. S. had a wholesome horror of the police ; and, 
after again rejecting, with scorn and indignation, the flaming red machine 
of hideous shape, which was once more offered to him, he retired amidst 
the grins of a considerable gathering of lookers-on. But he was not a 
man who would tamely submit to wrong. He implied to the bureau. 
Morning after morning saw him on his way to the Louyre. ^^Je viens 
encore f monsieur, pour chercher ceparapluie vert" Again and again 
he announced himself on the same errand; till at last he was told that 
he could have no redress. He remonstrated. " Monsieur,^ blandly re- 
plied the official, " votre a f aire estfaite:* The " saerd mitte diables'' 
were again upon the lips of Mr. S. ; but he calmed himself by translating 
Shakspeare's " insolence of office" into choice French ; and having ascer- 
tained that the head of the department, the Directeur- General des 
Musses Soyauxy was Monsieur le Comte de Forbin, he brought the 
parapluxe vert, fabrique Anglaise, under the immediate notice of the 
minister. His memorial was favourably received ; orders were given for 
the restitution of his umbrella, or payment of its value. Triumphantly he 
again went down to the Louvre; was asked the amount of his demand ; 
and — now relenting — he said that, although the value of his parapkne 
was thirty-five francs, he did not wish to be hard upon the womtn, and 
would take fifteen. The chefde bureau shrugged hb shoulders with an 
expressive grimace; he could not have conceived that any man, after 
taking so much trouble to gain his object, would forego the advantages 
of his success ; and when Mr. S., receiving his fifteen francs, returned 
them to be given to the poor, " Ma foiT exclaimed the chef, " que ces 
Anglais sont drSles de gens /" 

I was not ashamed, even then, to acknowledge Mr. Sevenoaks as 
my countryman. He took it kindly. Being past mid-day, he pressed 
me to partake of what he was pleased to term a caifs head farcified ; 
and, over a bottie of Sauteme, tie continued his laments on the loss of 
what he assured me was the best umbrella that bad ever been made in 
England. 



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C 76 ) 



ONE OR TWO HABITS OP YOUNG FRANCE. 

Thb Chinese, a people who may he said to have ran the course of 
civilisation and attained its limits, have long ago giren up tohacco for a 
more rapid and de8tnicti?e narcotisation by opium. The French, and 
indeed the English, are following in the same path. The fragrance of 
Shiraz tambal^ inhaled through rose-water ; tne gentle fumes of the 
tetune of Lataldyah, imbibed through a long cherry-stick; mild Ha- 
vannah, or more potent Orinoco, are alike disdained in England for pig- 
tail and Cavendish, in France for Strasbouig and Caporal, smoked 
in short cutty pipes, by which the little furnace where the tobacco bums 
is converted into an alembic, and the cherished smoke is distilled into oil, 
one drop of which, taken inwardly or applied to a 'flesh wound, is suffi- 
cient in most cases to destroy life ! 

No doubt some get so accustomed to it that five drops would not kill 
them ; but there are on record many cases, and one of a French grena- 
dier, who perished from inadvertently swallowing one drop. Some 
people get accustomed to anything, as Mithridates would possibly have 
digested all Orfila ; but the results must be horribly pemi<»ou8. One of 
the princes of Cond6 put some snuff into the wine of the poet Santeuil : 
the poet drank it and died. Ramaszini relates a case of a girl who died 
in convulsions from merely having slept in a room where tobacco was 
ground down into snu£L Helwig narrates another case of two brothers 
who challenged one another to smoke the most One fell asleep never 
to wake up again at his seventeenth, the other at his eighteenth pipe. 

But, supposing life to be preserved by a confirmed smoker, it is at an 
expense that renders it no longer of any value. Stomach and brain are 
alike affected. Will, memory, spirit, passion, intelligence, activity, even 
personal dignity, are all sacrificed* All smokers are drinkers. They 
attempt to dissipate by alcohol the narcotisation of the tobacco. 

In Paris, M. Auguste Luchet tells us,* such is the passion for smoking, 
that home and theatres are alike abandoned for the estaminet On the 
23rd of February, 1848, two men sat down to smoke in the cafe of the Rue 
Jean Jacques Rousseau, and they sat there all day in that happy state of 
unconsciousness that they never knew that a revolution had taken place. 

Walk some fine winter's evening into one of these estaminets — 
beer and tobacco-palaces — and- before you have advanced three steps you 
will find yourself seized with the most extraordinary sensation ; you are 
involved in a dense cloud of smoke, the lungs repel the noxious air by 
provoking a sudden cough, but the brain is stupified, and you have not 
even the power to fly ; you must sit down, and aner a short time become 
habituated to the pernicious poisonous atmosphere. People go to 
ca/es^aneeris now, where what they get is bad and dear, and what they 
hear is a disgrace to art ; but they go because they can smoke. Any 
theatre which would authorise StrasMurg or Caporal between the acts 



♦ Les Moeurs d'Aujourd'hui. Par Auguste* Luchet. Le Tab«>— Le Feu— Le 
Canot— Le Pourboire— La Blague— La Pose-Le Chantage— Le Loyer^Le Bou- 
tique— L'Exil. 



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76 One or Two ffab&M of Young France. 

would make its fortune now-a-days. If you fp on the Bouleyards, your 
predecessor leaves a cloud behind him. It is difficult to get a breath 
of fresh air 2K>w«*a-di^8. If you get into a steamer, your next neighbour 
puffs away like a chimney; and if you mount the top of an omnibus, the 
nst young ^ent who euidvates the friendship of ifae dissipsited-looking 
dxirer, mts in fifont, his smoke poisoBing the atmoepkere, and iht dust 
of his etgar Mowing into yoor eyes. 

Even in a gsrden,- aondst oamelias, kyaeinlhs, and roses, Ike gent smokes 
-—no perfeme to hhn is equal to that of the Nicotkaa Tabaram, nstica 
or repanda. The wife in our times, if she wishes to enjoy the aeciety of her 
hnabmd, nrast toleraAe smokkig at home, if she does not smoke kenel£ 
The contagion of smoking is tmme^te. Exposed to ao artittery of 
throats in eombostion, one must either go out or smoke in setf*defeDoe. 

Napoleon L snuffed, and tried onoe to smoke. The result was, a side 
headaehoj s death-Hke prostration, all the usual symptoms of poisoning 
by tobacco. The sleep of the confirmed smoker is heavy, feccueat, fuE* 
gmous ; he is aroused with diAeully ; a terper, which it as inqMMSibie to 
wake off, binds all his faculties. A oonfinoed smoker beeomes too idle 
to confront the daily battle of life: he gives way before it, imd nnks into 
poverty or imbecility. 

Young Frenchmeii of the rinw geaenrtion not only^amttke^ they have 
tdso taken to boating — posnbly mm Bomedimg they may have seen or 
heard of as peiformed on the Thames, or, still move likely, frsom an ex- 
ample set to them by some fast young Engiishmen upon, the Seise. Other 
Frenchmen of a more i^ughtral oast have also^ as an inevitaUe sesult, 
begun to study, sotis hjwmt de ftm social HpkttosepMqm, what e£Fiect 
the practice ctcanoioffe, as they oall it, has upon die nnaaees, the habitfl^ 
the tastes, and langua^ of tiie said rising generation* 

The first canotier m Pkuis, aocoiding to M. Augiiste Luoket, vras a 
Frendi student, who had a nariced predileetaoii hr ue sea, so mudi. so, 
Ihat all his other studies were neglected. His friends lost patienee, and 
his father stopped his allowanoe ; be would hays starved but fbr his 
mother, who sent him a stock of cheese asid pseserves. ^* One day," 
relates M. Luchet, '^ there was a feast of cntlet»*--good.ihinffs among 
students are always in common — the yom^ mariner brought his dieese 
and his preserves m exchange fer a diop, and he was made welcome. A 
poor girl, an orphan, ^o Md feUeo upon our hands, no one knew hew, 
acted as help. She was sorrowful that day, and had been weeping. The 
porter had scolded her, and said she eould no longer sleep on some <^d 
baskets that lay in the garret, and whidi had hitherto been her plaoe of 
lefrige. She had no pkoe to go to, and she said so. She had alvmys 
been a kmd of sister to us all, loyally and without prsEeresoe ; misery 
exchanged for youth, and youth for misery. We sent her to borrow 
some dominoes, and played for who should provide her with a home. The 
embryo mariner lost ; a smilo beamed forth out of the tears of the £ttle 
p;iri ; she liked the mariner best of us all." It was thus that Paris had 
Its first canotier and its first canoti^, for the mariner had a boat on the 
Sone^ whieh ho^aHed the Grand Sqgamore^ and he took out his jve^ 
ta iMTve a xom m it. Some aiduoolonsts decbize that the Behebub 
•nsted befeee the Gsymd Sagamor€. We cannot decide the question. 
The student canotier is now a capitaine-marchand, and '' la. petite" has s 



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One ^ Two HkUbtof Yawtg FrcmGb. 77 

fine boiuie Mur HonBeur, with anioorway faahm^d out in the flhape efa 
wheny, in commemoration of her early fortunes. The doar it tfaown to 
atrBO|;er8; and the etory of her aoooesa in Hfe li rabted taak vriM vill 
9top and liat«n. 

oinoe these priaitive tiaftes caaotage on the Seine hat heeene the 
fiMbaon, and has its espeeial dab, the assendab tax advmen into wfatdb 
aie to smoke Caporal and dridc beer or via d' ArganteuiL It ia met 
necessary that the candidate should know haw to swin. One avamar's 
day arftctnie-dealer was fishing, ia eoaipaa^ with a wail'*haown artist, 
at the Pont d'Asaaftresi, A fouiHoaMd boat» with fesff l«fiaa«iid a aleen- 
man. Game rapidly down the riTer, van against oaa of tfe arehesy and 
was npaet The whole- party was thrown into the river* The artist 
possessed that kind of tempaaamsAl whieh does aot idlaw itself to be 
easily diataxhei Yet upon this oeeasioa he aould not help ezclanniDg^ 
'< Confraad them, they made Hie lose a bite." Tben» taldoe out Us liaa 
Tssy eooiposedlyi '' Are yoa going to help ihem T* he said, Bist the 
jMctare-dealer was already imdresaed* and ia a moment aCterw a rda gropiog 
about in the water like a Newfbondland dog. The ar^ horing the 
examfde thas set him, carefully deposited his paletoti had; dotfaas, and 
boots, and then took to the water with the utmost gravity. The leader 
of the party had in the mean time reached the ahorei whesB he was dry- 
ing himself in the sun very uneoneeniedly. The two fiflhermen suooeedad 
not only in Mngiag the rest of the crew, bat also the ladies, and even a 
straw liat w^uoh was floatiag down with the stream, safe on shore. Of 
all tbfise would-he manuaers, only* the leader knew how to swiaii, and he 
reserved his knowledge for his oan eapedal benefit. Bat he lest upon 
this Qocasion the a&^ns of his oaiiotiene, and it served hiaot right. 

After poisoning the air whioh they breathe, the nest aaeiMRipliflhment 
most cultivated by the Faiisian oanotiers is aiohestral mngjag, wostl^ of 
St. Laaare or Ia Roquettew A anitaiUe eestame is also a great pointy 
and this is sometimes attMnad by iaalking harelbot with a belt and 
hatehet^ or promenading with a lantern in epast dsj^Ught^ as if about to 
go the rounds. The canotiers have also an argot of their own, in whtdi 
they introdaee a few Enghsh words, as ^'Stapl" ''Hardastemr gene- 
raw in their wrong pbioes. 

The Parisians are celebrated, when ihey do anydiing^ for having soaae 
gveat national object in view. The institution of eanotag« apon iihe 
SaiiM was in antieipatioa of Saiirt INieholBS becoming a sea*port! £a- 
couragemeat to naval oonstmctioB was also anotiier great objeot. There 
9xe now, it is said, some five handred boats on the Seine, and the 
Soeiet6 des Begates Parisienaes h^kk out promises of doubling the nnm- 
bar. The boats are varioualy deaignated, as eanats, dippers, yoles 
(yawls), sigs, skifis, i^^terzies, and godiUes. We uae the orthognphy 
aeoepted by the soeiety. 

M. le Corate de Mawnion has, in the «' livre des Ceni-et-Un/' defined 
die word "blague" as meaning. ^<the art of presenting oasself in a 
£Bivourable lighC of makiqg oaieseif of vahie^ and of doug diat at the 
expense of men and things.^ At tha axpense of troth would have been 
more to the puipose. The word ia dsrived from the name of the sadc or 
bag of the pelicai^ and whidi was once much o^veted for making haga 
for tobacco ; but having been shaioefiiUy coantoAitad fay hbdders of a 



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78 One or Two Habits of Young France. 

more vulgar origin, the word blague became synooymouB with humbug 
and imposture. 

<' Without blague,'' says M. de Maussion, *'one is nobody. One may 
rigorously be a respectable man and a blagiieur, but, as a general rule, 
be a blagueur at all events. The word, limited in its acceptation and 
application in former times, has, we are informed, in our own days been 
taken in its most comprehensive moral expression, and placed on the 
right hand of French civilisation. 

^< Le Fran9ais n'est pas pr^cis^ent menteur," says M. Auguste 
Luchet, '' mais il est essentiellement blagueur, — ^le Parisien surtout." The 
difierence is this : one may be obliged to maintain a falsehood firom feel- 
ings of pride or self-respect, but a blague can be given up without a 
scruple. " My dear £ather-in-law, you are only an old blaraeur," said 
Robert Macaire to the Baron of Wormspire, and they embraced one 
another : M. Proudhon says the same thing to those who controvert him, 
and all parties laugh. La blague is more especially glorified in France 
because it is a pet child of revolutions, and of the egakt6 which is supposed 
to spring from them. ^' Sans ^galite point de blague," says M. de 
Maussion. We do not blaguer to those whom we respect, but in times 
of a general and fraternal equality no one is respected ; therefore is the 
blague a pet offspring of ^galit6. It is essentially a socialist and demo- 
cratic word. Nobody now-a-days tells a falsehood — ^it is only a blague ! 
A falsehood is a thing condemned and despised by all — it is a vice ; la 
blague is not a vice — ^it is an intellectual exercise, an ameable pastime 
between the ingenious who lead, and the ingenuous who are led. A 
blagueur is a iovial impostor, a liar is a melancholy one* 

^rae people are blagueurs by profession; notonously, commercial tra- 
vellers, aentists, horse-dealers, managers of theatres, upholsterers, and 
others. Some are ambulating blagueurs: they call themselves colla- 
borateurs of Alexandre Dumas or Scribe, nephews of Victor Hugo, or 
sons of George Sand : they invent ancestors and inheritances with the 
same indifference that ihey give an age to theur wine and a special fabri- 
cation to their doth. 

Of all blagueurs those to whom precedence is undoubtedly due are 
the politicaL What magnificent displays of virtue, what torrents of 
devotion, what promises of a wondrous future, were not poured forth at 
each successive revolution I What embracings, what cheers, what 
gigantic engagements for the future! There was the suppression 
of the army, the extinction of offices and privileges, the lowering of 
interest, the simplification of law, abolition of imprisonment for debt, 
gratuitous loans, abjuration of the treaties of 1815, reprisals on foreigners, 
the extermination of the maritime commerce of Great Britain by a com- 
pany of national pirates at Havre, the repayment of a milliard to emi- 
grants, obligatory instruction, right to labour, fraternity of the poor with 
the rich, friendship of masters and valets, phalansterianism, Icarianism, 
Proudhomanism — all political blagues ! 

Science has its blagueurs as well as politics, oratory, and poetry. 
Such was the seal that said '< Papa," the toad that had lived two hundred 
years in a stone, the beast seen in the moon by a telescope which had 
never existed, the inhabitants of the sun, so ably depicted by a recent 
visitor— a great literary blagueur. Still more is this the case in medi- 



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One or Two Habits of Younff France. 79 

cine. ^' I mskt the other day to see a friend," M* Anguste Luchet 
relates, ''eman of honour and a loyal tradesman, who manufactures 
chemical products and furnishes pharmaceutical preparations to the homoeo- 
pathists of all countries. He was fi;ravely seated down before a number 
of pretty mahogany boxes, and a still greater number of phials, Aversely 
ana microscopically ticketed, one arnica, the other belladona, the other 
aconite ; and I saw that he was pouring into each, from out of a large 
paper horn, a certain quantity of those globules of sweetstuff, called by 
confectioners nomparetUe blanche, < Why, friend,' I said, struck with 
admiration, ' you put the same thing into all the different bottles ?' ' I 
know it,' he answered; * the doctors know it also. We never do otherwise. 
The sick swaUow them — ^faith does the rest.' " The honest and loyal 
tradesman no doubt treated M. Luchet to a blague — ^at least it is satest 
to suppose so— one more or less is nothing. 

Then there are fashionable blagues, among which mesmerism takes a 
first rank. Imagine a person totally ignorant of pathology or thera- 
peutics suddenly gifted with all the resources of the art of medicine 
merely frx>m bemg mesmerised by a doctor, signalising disorders un> 
detected by experience, and dictating modes of cure which extend the 
domains of science ! 

Granted that a table may be forced to move, or may be carried away 
by the magnetic current generated by a human chain — a yery dubious 
thing — can anything be more absurd than to question that table, and to 
expect prophetic or inspired answers? Suppose if you will — and you 
must have the digestive powers of an ostrich to believe it — that you mtve 
the power to communicate to a table the fluid which belongs to you, and 
to make of it a new instrument, which shall manifest your thoughts. 
Well, agreed ! What can that table tell you that you did not baow 
before ? What other tastes, what fears, what hopes can it entertain but 
those passed from yourself by your own fluid? It is not it that speaks 
or writes, it is you ! If it acted differendy it would be like the Irish 
echo. 

In 1846, a year of renown for good claret, a captain of cavalry was in 
garrison on the Gironde. He was an amiable, educated man, of good 
fisunily, refined manners, and remarkably handsome. Among other houses 
which he frequented was that of a wealthy vine-grower, who had an only 
daughter, a very pretty and a very spoilt child, of about ten years of age, 
but who took wonderndly to the gallant captain, and was playfully called 
his litUe wife. 

Suddenly an order came for the regiment to embark for Africa ; the 
captain had to bid his little friend fetrewell. It is needless to say that he 
covered himself with glory ; he returned to France a major, decorated 
with the legion of honour, but with an arm, which, broken by a ball, had 
been badly set, and had remained ever ance perfectiy immovable. The 
officer had in the interval of six or seven years absence kept up a regular 
correspondence with his friends on the Gironde ; the memory of the 
pretty child, who promised to be so fine a woman, had lost none of its 
charms by absence. On his return he hastened to see her; she had 
grown up more beautiful than he anticipated. He was dazzled ! He pro- 
posed to reward his long-tried constancy by marriage, and the parents 
did not object But it was otherwise witn the young lady. At mst she 

^«ry— VOL. CIV. NO. ccccxm. o 



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80 One <?r Two ffaiiiB of Young France. 

laughed at tha eaptain'a dsad aroft— -a luma mwa u ahrajw fo awkward— 
then she cried a littla ; and at last she took it in horror and aversion. 
Asleep or awake she saw nothing but that tenible» anehylosed, motionless 
arm ; it terrified hor, and notUng oould induce her to mairy a man so 
afflioted. The captain, in despair, went to Parb to consult the professons 
of the art They recommended him to have his useless limh cut o£^ and 
replaced by another of flesh-ooloured, vulcanised caoutchouc, with mother- 
of-pearl nails, of ravishinff resemhlanoe to reality, and which, fixed to die 
elbow joints had established in it by the constant electricity emanating 
from the stump» a magazine of motive power, which the caoutchouc 
entertained ana renewed at certain times, thus ensuring a constant and 
lively movement to the factitious member. The young lady had no 
longer any objections to make, and the gallant soldier won his little wile. 
Needless to say, a mesmeric blague. 

The Exhibition at Paris is about to open ; let us warn our readers 
against what are pompously designated as brevet$ ^invention. The 
generality of manufactures so announced are the veriest blagues in 
existence. This is so well known and understood, that government, 
whilst it accepts the payment of a tax for the registration of a pretended 
discovery, and gives a privilege to the assumed discoverer, carefiilly repu- 
diates ail responsibility, and inscribes upon evexr^ so-called brevet d'inven- 
tion, sam garaniie du gouvemement, or sometmies simply, S. G. D. 6. 

A Parisian manufiaoturer or tradesman— 4K>urgeois and national guard 
— ^if he has what his fellow-citiaens designate in their high-flown lan- 
guage, des conceptions hautee ei le genie da eon eiatf never stops at any- 
thing. If he has a brevet d'invention, and it does not sell, he uses it for 
something else ; so also with a medal or a decoration. Not a bottle, 
nor a box, nor a ticket, is used now-^days in business but is embellished 
with a portrait, a name, and a brevet. Sometimes a foreign medal is 
superadaed. <* Here is somethmg," says the customer, '^ which is better 
than a brevet S. G. D. G. These loaenges have won a medal at the 
Universal Exhibition of London/' *' The man I deal with," says another, 
** has had a prixe for his matches." Confiding customer I The gentleman 
who deals now in chocolai armorie formerly manufactured lamps and 
closets, which had no sale because they were essentially bad ; and the 
medals which were awarded to him in that time by the Academy of 
Industry, the Athenaeum, the Society of Encouragement, and other 
blind and stupid juries, is now used by him to adorn his chocolat with all 
kinds of armorial devices. The use of a medal, even of the croix 
d'honneur, may be borrowed for the benefit of a speculative business in 
ink, blacking, or any other commodity. It suffices that a member of the 
firm is an old soldier, and is entitled to wear Isudi a medal, or that the 
manufacturer can refer to a cousin, an uncle, or a £&ther-in-law, who is 
decore, that he should also decorate his advertisements with the insignia 
of honour. 

A trick well know in the United States is sometimes had recourse to 
in Paris. A man takes out a patent for some marvellous discovery whi<^ 
no one appreciates. He gets a friend to imitate it. To do this he even 
provides him yrith tools, models, and means. The counterfeiter then 
goes about from shop to shop praising his invention, and abusing the 
original. The patented individual is exasperated^ and has the impostor 



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One or Two HakHs of Young Frmmx. 81 

Imniglit before the ooiirts of law. Th«ra la a moek trial, newspapar 
repoiis, discimoiM as to the marits of the inventioQ : it beooiiMB known 
all oyer Paris, and Ae puxinse is answered by the time that the diinovaer 
has to pay the fine which mi aecomplioe is mulcted in. 

In Pans, it should be undentood that ereiy tradeeman (maichand) is 
now afabricamiy and eTciy shop (boutique) is a aia^fOMi •* and as CTeiy 
indiyidual yepresents his trade by himself, so his magaane signalises his 
business. A Parisian keeps a bmdmmgme, but he is not a UnUangerj or 
a boueheriej without being a bomeher; a boUerie cwtle H mUUtttre^ 
without being a boUitr. These refined abstractions must be understood 
to get on courteously in Paris* The indiTidnal is a bourgeois, a national 
guard, or tout bonnement, monsieur— best known at the nearest 
estaminet ; madame does the busineai^ and hence probably the reason 
why there are no longer any bakers, butchers, or shoemakers in Paris. 

The blague of a name is well known. How many Jean Maria 
Farinas in Cologne I The only Anisette de Bordeaux that was per- 
mitted at table was that of Marie Briaard and Boger ; there is no Mary 
Biizaid nor Roger now alive, but the anisette still exists. ^ Tremper en 
hiTcr les bouteiUes un instant dans I'eaa tiMe, pour reikdre 4 eette lujueur 
sensible sa cristalline limpidity'' is inscribed on the bottles. *' Bodbnr 
Fran^ais dee beaox noma !" ezdaims M. Annate Lodiet. Chronometers 
and inaihematical instruments manufactured in Paris are inaeiibed with 
English names, and &rare as the work of Johnson or Simpson, instead of 
Cheyallier or Pore Epic. ^^ French manu&ctniers^" M. Luchet aaya^ 
*' send oyer good and inferior artides to this country. The En^ishman 
divides them into two lotB^ enmves London on the good, Pans on the 
bad r That is certainly not fior. We see that a mail project is under 
discussion, to separate at the forthcoming Exposition the good from the 
bad. Who will yisit the latter department ? If such a diyision were 
possible, it would be as well to do away with the had altogethar. 

A Uagne in haA life has rerealed itself in modem times to Paris 
stnpified! A gendeman arriyes at the cajnftal of the civilised world. 
(The idea entertained by every badaud, that Paris is the centre of the 
world, the point to which all roads are directed, the centre of all railway 
communications, a port de mer^ the rendezvous of all that are wealthy, 
and the place £K>m i^ch no person absenta himself in fevour of Florence, 
Naples, Rome, Vienna, Constantinople, London, or any other <nty, if he 
can heljp it, peculiarly predisposes them to be taken in.) He comes 
from Africa or America, from St. Petersbuig, or from Brives la Gaillarde^ 
with an idea of his own* Natnrally he wishes to make his fortune ; that 
is the least he can do. The gentleman in question is an artist, great 
author of symphonies or harmonies, great player on the violin, or great 
poet ; he has brought snufiF*boxes from Russia, or violets from Toulouse, 
to attest to his wonderful ability. He asks in return praises from the 
Parisian press and a flatterins^ reception from the fashionable world. Or 
it is some young gentleman that arrives, handsome, but without property; 
or some foreign general, with an old name of renown, which he is willing 
to give to a lady for a pecuniary equivalent Speculator, ardst, hand- 
some young pretender, or ancient general, he must give an entertainment; 
without tlutt there is no merit, no talent, no recommendations, no admis- 
sions. One fine morning he summons the elite of the capital, chief 

q2 



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.82 'One or Two HabiU of Young France, 

editors and asnBtant editors, criticsi professois, men of science, and literaipr 
men — ^men who patronise, who weigh a man's brains, and measure his 
intellect Well, they all go. There is a grand ball and a tall Suisse. 
There are spacious rooms, handsome furniture, rich drapery, capital 
carpets, pictures, bronzes, great dog, piano, hooks, and pipes. Dinner is 
sumptuously served up, linen with crest, plate with crest, knives with 
crest, and liveried attendants. The dinner is recherch^ the wines are 
good, the host agreeable and hospitable. It is quite clear all is right. 
There is nothing of the hotel or the restaurant there. The host is a 
charming man ; he must be taken up. It is all blague. Everything can 
be hired in Paris. Your plate, napkins, and knives can be marked just 
as readily as your servant and your carriage. You can hire, if you want 
them, titles, state serrioe, a genealogy, a known friend et une tnaitresse 
clofiseej lion ou lionne. 

Another still more common imposture is that of medical specialities. 
You are unwell; there is in Paris a special doctor for every class of diseases. 
They owe their success to the common belief that one man can only do 
one thing well. There is always a new and important discovery in 
vogue for the treatment of special disorders. You hasten to the point 
indicated by renown. There is a grand house with a great door, a row of 
carriages, the coachmen asleep on the boxes. You w^ in and give your 
card. The ante-chamber is full of patients; you bow and take your place, 
laying in at the same time an unusual stock of patience. After the lapse 
of a wort time, a servant,' who appears to take a friendly interest in you, 
comes up and says he sees you are suffering; he will get you in before the 
others. A bell nngs without : it is a patient dismissed ; the sympathising 
domestic wluspers, ** Follow !" And you are introduced into the presence 
of the great specialist. 

The doctor is busy writing : he asks pardon, will give you his attention 
in a moment. This allows you time to see piles of silver on the mantel- 
piece, not one of which contains less than four five-£ranc pieces. You see 
at once what is expected from you. Well, the whole affair is a blague. 
The carriages at tne door, the crowd in the ante-chamber, the money 
upon the mantelpiece ! The coachroei) are hired, the patients are hired, 
the piles of silver are borrowed ! 

Some persons of a serious turn of mtnd would call all this imposture, 
falsehood, fraud. It is only substituting other words for blague — mere 
play upon synonymes. << li it not," asks our author, " disgraceful to 
both parties, that before one man enters upon a conversation of serious 
import with another, he should be obliged to say to him : ' Ah ! 9a, pas de 
blagues,' when perhaps fortune, honour, or tife are concerned ? Is it 
not an outrage, the acme of reciprocal humiliation ? Is it not a whole 
epoch, a whole generation, a whole people disgraced by a word ?" 



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( 83 ) 



mejItary promotion by purchase. 

One of the many vexed questions which seem now to be engrosnng 
public opinion is militaiy promotion by purchase. The IHmes, and a 
numerous party, are for the immediate annihilation of our present system, 
establishing promotion simply as a cordon of merit, and exemplifying to 
every grade of our community the hackneyed aphorism that each private 
soldier carries a field-marshal's b&ton in his knapsack. The Times is 
very sanguine on its present bantling of reform, and considers the plan 
feasible and easy of realisation. On the other hand. Lord Palmerston, 
and a still more numerous party — carrying with them, on two occasions 
the majority of the Senate House — consider this new idea simply pre- 
posterous, or, in their own words, ** Utopian." 

Before entering into the subject in detail, we take it for granted every 
one of our readers are aware promotion in the army is by purchase — 
that is to say, each grade up to the rank of a lieutenant-colonel is to be 
bought. After that rank an officer is promoted by what is technically 
called " brevet." These commissions are sold by government, who, by- 
the«by, are only brokers in the matter, as the origmal price has been 

appropriated almost a century past. For instance, D is a captain, 

and wants to selL He receives the regulated price of his company firom 
Lieutenant B- (the senior lieutenant), the price of his lieutenancy from 

Ensign C (the senior ensign), and the price of his ensigncy from 

A. £ y '' gei^t," as he is very equivocally styled. It must therefore 

be patent to every understanding government reaps no pecuniary ad- 
vantages from what the Times designates " these mercantile transactions." 
Officers who die in the service, or are dismissed by sentence of courts- 
martial, have the prices of their commissions sequestered, which go 
towards a sinkingp-fund that covers the loss to the country of promotions 
wiihaui purchase. We shall now give a tabular statement of the prices 
of commissions^ with the daily pay of their respective ranks : 



Prices or Commissioiis and Daily Pat or bach Rank. 



Ooipt. 



BttiikB. 



Price of 
Oommiisioiis. 



BailyPij. 



Life Guards.. 



HoTBe Guards, I 
Blue ^ 



Dragoon Guards 
and Dragoons 



Lieutenant-Colonel 

Major 

Captain ; 

Lieutenant 

Comet 

Lieutenant-Colonel . 

M^jor 

Captain 

Lieutenant 

Comet 

Lieutenant-Colonel 

Maior 

Captain 

Lieutenant 

.Cwmet 



£ 
7250 
53o0 
8500 
1785 
1360 
7250 
5850 
8500 
1600 
1200 
6175 
4575 
3225 
1190 

840 



£ s. d. 



Exaet pay not 
obtainable, in- 
cluding con- 
tingents and 
allowances. 



1 







8 
19 3 
14 7 

9 
8 



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84 Military PranuOim h/ Purchase. 

Prioefl of Commissions and Daily Fay of each Bank— <coiifmif«0. 



CorpK 



Prieeof 
CDQuniBSiafiis. 



Daily fay. 



Foot Guards-...' 



lentsofthe 
le 



Lientaaaai-ColDnfll 

MiQor and Iileiit.-Coloiid — 
Captain and Lient-ColoneL. 

Lieutenant and Captidn 

Ensign and Identenant 

Lleutenant.C6Lonel 

Major 

Captain 

Lieutenant 

Ensign 



£ 
9000 

8300 
4800 
2050 
1200 
4540 
3200 
1800 
700 
450 



Szwt pay not 
^obtaiiiafclfik as 
above. 



17 

16 

11 

6 

5 







7 

6* 

S 



It is estimated, that if the 'system of promotioa by purcltue wm. 
annulled, the legislators of such an act would saddle posterity ynAt an 
increaaed debt of between eight to nine milUen pomnda tterUng^ 
totally irrespective of the half-pay list, which may with perfisol safely be 
estimated at four millions more, making, at the very lowest caiculatioay 
a national debt of twelve rmlltom Herling! whilst the annual pay o€ 
officers alone is four hundred thousand a year. The questioii which 
naturally arises to eveiy thinking person is: ''Is Borland justified 
in saddling her posterity with such a sum upon two debates in Ae 
House of Commons, and upon four or five leading artides in the Timet 
newspaper ?" 

At this time, engaged in the greatest war our kingdom ever has seen, 
wlien not only the sword, bat &nine, pestilence^ and neglect are deci- 
mating our ranks^ no lack is found in apphcations for commias i o M i t 
bf»ng notoriously the case that the general commanding-in-chief never 
had his list so full— <and when officers themselves are tdl in favour of 

r notion by purchase, let us ask, '< Is this the very period to select 
annulling the system, for taking a clean wipe out of the slate of 
figures, for saddling posterity with a debt of twelve millions sterfing, and 
for favouring a ^ whim of a moment' of the great Thunderer of Printing- 
house-square 7" 

Let us, however, take it for granted, simply for argument's sake, that 
promotioa by purchase is anniidled — ^that we have saddled the eonntry 
with twelve millions sterlings— shall we, pray, have obtained our ends, and 
have made promotion in the army the standard of merit and not money ? 
Let us see. Are not all our readers aware that there is *' extra money" 
g^ven, nearly equalling the regulation price contained in the tabular form 
given above ? Yes. Are they not aware such is contrary both to civil and 
military law ? Yes. Is it not so laid down, both in tibe Mutiny Act and 
Act 49 George III., cap. 126; sec. 7 ? Yes. And yet most assuredly 
is it as w^ known as that the Nelson column stands in Tra£Edgar* 
square, that in a ^' crack cavaliy corps" a lieutenant-coloDel will give as 
much as fifteen thousand pounds for his command, being in excess over 
the regtdated price of ame thousand eight hundred and twenty- five 
pounds ; and a captain in the same distingmshed branch of the servioei 

* After seven years' sefviee^ one shilling par diena extra.; 



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MSUary PrcmctUm by Purekam. H& 

SIX dioafind poimdsy Mug an ezoeas again of one ihoaaand seTan ban- 
died and ae^entf-fife poonda. Thia la done in the {mm of atrinffoit 
law% eiTil and military, which axe nnable to Testrain thia traffidong. 
Let T18 panae. Let na aak, inqdre, and think wbetfaar an^ meana, 
aave Utopian ones, ooidd be deviaed to proyent oommiasiona oeoominff 
mercantile tranaactions ? It must not, in the fist place, be preaomed 
for a moment that those two aerrioea, where commiasiona aie not 
pmehaaed — namAj^ the Royal Artillery and the Eaat India Company— 
are exempt item me taint of filthy lucre. Far otherwiae : money ia the 
sorest means oi promotion in that intelligent and intdleotoal branch of 
her Majesty's army whose head-quaitera are stationed at Woolwich, 
whilst our good friends the loyal and braye cffieeia of dear dd rich 
Nunky John Company— in many regiments, if not in all— have 
a fund with which the juniors purchase out tiiie senion. Hie JJimes 
may draw invidious comparisons, and pray the military service gene* 
rally might be assimilated to the Indian one, where every officer looks 
npon his profsssion as his home, and his pay and emoluments as his 
patrimony; but rest assured that it is so inherent in our national 
natures, that, whether Royal or Indian officer, he will endeavour with 
tiiat pay to improve that home ; and as each succeeding step entails such 
benefit and comfort, he will endeavour to do that towards hims^ 
whereby he is most benefited, and whereby he is made most comfortable. 
Give an Englishman a mud hovel in the wilds of Ghdway, he will do his 
best with money and exertion to turn it into a cottage om^ and exactiy 
in the same ratio are those effects felt in the British army, 

" Ah I but we shall get a superior man to enlist V exclaims pater- 
familias. Forsooth, we have heard that cry ere this ! Mr. Layara told 
OS of some such thing when in 1846 he reduced the term of service of 
tlie soldier to ten years ; and now, when the popular mania is to do away 
with purchase, we have the same old song. A shilling a day, wito 
deductions, is a vast inducement to any man, surely, to enlist, with even 
the certainty of after some fifty years becoming a major-general— eh, 
good gentleman ? Nay, we will not presume so mucn on our reader^s 
ignorance of human nature, of the world, of Byron's noblest study, 
" man," as to attempt to induce him to believe tiiat yonder youngster, 
<< taking the shilling^' at the side of the Hampshire Hog, in Westminater, 
is calculating how many years he has to serve ere he mounts the ser- 
geant's stripes — how many it will be before he dofis the worsted epaulette 
and dons the golden one— and lastiy, the exact year he finds that 
fiibnlous bftton which we are told is shortiy to be nid in every man's 
knapsack? Nol no! There are other reasons: the knit brow, the 
anllen look, tell of quairels at home. Again : that sigh, those pale and 
haggard cheeks, those downcast, melancholy-looking eyes, bespeak 
poverty and neglect : some village philosopher, who has begged lus way 
to London to earn &me, and honour, and riches, finds but too soon 
his equals and superiors, and reaps only poverty, neglect, and misery. 
Yet agam : look on that merry^faced lad ; his smiling lips, his dark, hazel 

nhis blithesome gait, and ringing whistle, tell of one whose spirit ia 
being chained to the loom or plough and loves the stir, and 
danger, and excitement of war lor aueh feSings themselves; he calcu- 
lates on nought just now save whieh soklier he shall *^ stand" beer far 



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86 Military PramoHon by Purchoie, 

viih die shilling he has taken. And finally, look again : that shaxp- 
featored, emaciated, and trembling wretch, shivering in a nudsummei's 
sun, tells too plainly the spendtmift, the drunkard, and the. criminal. 
There you have, good, worthy, old gentleman, your party. The 
prodigal son, the ^age philosopher, the merry ploughhoy, and the 
drunken criminal. Take a good look at them ; it la the last time you 
will see them so. To-morrow or the next day they will be in scarlet 
coat and blue <* overalls," part and parcel of a huge machine, that, aflter 
all is said and done, is a << wee bit" feared, and laugh when foreigners 
talk of Inkerman, Alma, and Balaklava. ^Well, do you think one or 
^ther of these when they enlisted in that *^ distinguished service, which 
you are now paying double income-tax to keep up, ever gave a thought 
of the field-marshal's b&ton bebg in the valise ? Verily, verily ! no, no I 
Well, to flatter your whim, good old paterCBunilias, we will suppose an 
exception to our rule — we totU suppose a recruit enlists solely for the 
chance of becoming an officer. Does any rational reader suppose that, 
without realising purchase-money, the non-commissioned officer would 
give up his pension which, as one, he receives ? But here let us again 
pause, and explain what '^ pensions" mean, at least for the benefit of our 
civilian readers. Every soldier discharged receives the following rate of 
pension for life : 

Service. Bates. 

«. d. 

Privates, Cavalry | g ^'^:;:::;::;:::i I ^/'"^ 

infantry...! 25 ,, i 3 ,, 

Non-commissioned officers have, in addition to the above pensions, the 
following rates, computed from the date of enlistment, for every year of 
service as non-commissioned officers, viz. : 

1. d. 

Eegimental sergeant-major 2^ 

Troop sergeant-majors and colour-sergeants 1 

Sergeants 1 

Corporab 0^ 

All these are independent of <* blood money," loss of limbs in action, 
blindness, wounds, &c. &c. 

Do you, therefore, good, worthy paterfamilias, suppose that any non- 
commissioned officer would give up the chance of such a comfortable 
retiring pension (which might, as a regimental sergeant-major of cavalry, 
amount to 3s. 6d. per diem) for the honour of being an officer and a 
gentleman, except he was safe of the contingency of uie purchase-money 
of his promotion? Nay, for both the regulation and the sum given over 
that regulation, amounting, as we have already stated, to— in a crack 
cavalry corps — for a lieutenant-colonelcy 15,000l, for a captain 6000/.? 
We fear not ! 

But another difficulty is now thrown in the way of eradicating the system 
of promotion by purchase, by the very pensions to which we have just 
made allusion, and the country must be prepared for an additional burden 
of severd millions sterling to meet or remove this new obstacle as it now 
presents itself. The artillery have large retiring pensions, as we have no 



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MUitary Promotion hf Purchase. 8T 

doubl our readers are aware. Of course tbe line must haye ihe same. 
You oonld not use the best term of a man's life, send lum to eveiy 
dime, making him serve "where the sun never sets," — soldier from 
Canada to the West Indies— and when fairly worn out, and old, and use- 
less, and fit for nothing but cackling of the old Duke of York or the 
iron Wellington, like our inestimable friend Joe Bagshot, we say you 
surely could not turn him to the barrack-gate and bid him " begone'' 
like a drummed-out private ? Nor could you make all generals, nor 
give to all appointments, or districts, or regiments, otherwise there would 
be nothing but " Richmonds in the field ;" nor again could you, now the 
old boys are '^past their work," their occupations, like Othello, ^*gone," 
turn them loose on the streets of London, until, passed to their parishes, 
they are compelled to seek workhouse relief? The idea is preposterous ; 
the Chartists would sin? pseans of ecstasy ! You mtuty therefore, pension 
off these old boys, ana the longer we were at peace, and the younger 
you wished your generals to be, so much the larger would your pension- 
nst swell. Are you prepared, good, worthy John Bull, for all this ? If 
you are — reform by aU means ; if not, if your army is satisfied, wait — 
wait a little longer — ^wait until Burmers petition you for firee trade, until 
peers legislate to be imprisoned for debt, until the Whitechapel thi^ 
sohdts K 15 to take him up for 'Sprigging an old lady's vipe at 'Xter 
'all ;" wait, good John, until " the sky drops, and tne heavens rain 
larks !" 

Merit, a cordon of merit, we must have for our army; education we 
must have, not the farce it is now ; better pay we must have, not the 
miserable pittance you give now, where the private is not so well paid as 
the Irish bogtrotter, nor the officer as a master cotton-spinner. Besides 
all these, we must have a total annihilation of ^' police duty" for our 
troops. We must not send a company to Ballymacrowdy, in Mayo, be- 
cause the poor are starving and the landlord is an absentee ; nor a troop 
to Donkeythome because its captain is cousin to the great duke there. 
But we must concentrate them all at Chobham, or at Aldershott, or at the 
Cnrragh, and teach them what campaigning is really likely to be ; and 
then, when the day of battle is at hand, when the first shot is fired, they 
will be ready prepared for the crisis, and the heartrending tales with 
which our newspapers and periodicals have so teemed with these last six 
months will remain as but legends of the past with the other stories of 
the instruments of torture in use in Great Britain's darker ases. Green 
coffee and the rack, base cloth and the stake, ** ammunition ' boots and 
the thumbscrew, will become relics of barbarity, treasured up in the 
Tower of London for our children's children to see, and mayhap form 
the material for some startling romance for a future Ainsworth! 

If we reform these, and such as these, we shall do not only a great 
social good, but a holy and heavenly one ; our regiments will no longer 
become the charnel-houses for our surplus population; and surrouncKng 
nations will with one accord allow that England's army is not only brave 
and loyal, but wise and moral. 



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( 88 ) 

THE WOMEN AND THE SALONS OF FRANCE, 

UXXXBB TBB »Mynt»^ tHB JKESZOaAXXOir, ASD THB MORABOBT OF JULr. 

Cabdikal Mazabin said to Don Louis de Haro, at die time of the 
peaee of the Pyrenees : ^' How lucky jou are in Spain : diere, women are 
satisfied with being coquettish or devout ; they obey their lover or their 
confessor, and interfere with nothing else. But nere, they wish to govern, 
ihe State. We have three such : the Duchess of Chevieuse, the Princess 
Palatine, and the Duchess of Longueville, women who would overthrow 
emmres by their intrigues.** 

The Chancellor Maupeon used to say that women could not under- 
stand politics more than geese. A Duke of Wurtemberg held the intelli- 
gence of the fair sex in equally low estimation. His wife having ventured 
an observation upon the war which he had to sustain against Swabi% 
^< Madame," he sud, ^' we took you to give us a successor, and not to 
give us advice.** 

Jean V. of Brittany averred that a woman knew all that was wanted of 
her '< quand elle savoit mettre diffiSrence entre la chemise et le pourpoinct 
de son mary.** Moli^re has dramatised tiiis historical saying, related bj 
Montaigne, in his ^' Femmes Savantes :" 

Nos p^es, sur ce point, ^talent ^ns bien sens^. 
Qui aisaient qu'une femme en sait toujours assez 
Quand la capacity de son esprit se haosse 
A oommltre un pourpoint dWec un haut-de-ehausse. 

In a letter of the 6th of November, 1806, the Emperor Napoleon L 
wrote to Josephine : ''You appear to be annoyed at the bad things I say 
of women. It is true I hate intriguing women above all tlungs. I am 
accustomed to women who are good, mild, and conciliating ; tiiose are 
Ibe women I like.** 

Alwiiys ready to enter the lists with the conqueror of Italy, Madame 
de Stael asked him one day, in a large circle of society, who in his 
estimation was the first woman in the world, dead or alive r 

'' Celle qui a fiut le plus d*enfants,** answered Napoleon, smiling. 

Notwithstanding these records of ungallant attacks made by authority 

3>on the fair sex. Dr. Veron justly remarks, that in France women have 
ways exercised a certun empire upon society as it existed in their time; 
they have known how to change their parts, their attitudes, and tbeif 
seductions under different regimes; ana, at many epochs of French 
history, they have even pretended to govern the State.* 

The empire of women was of brief duration at the breaking out of the 
revolution of 1789 : the salons, at that epoch so numerous, so brilliant, 
and a few nights previously so powerful, were speedily dispersed by brutal 
and threatening influences — those of the clubs and the street ; influences 
which put to tne rout all assemblages which required a certain quietude 
for their effective development. 

Madame de Stael, at that time in her premiere Jeunessey made an 
attempt, during tiie administration of M. de Narbonne and of the 
Legislative Assembly, to exercise a certain influence upon that assembly 
in ner salon, and to rally and to direct its principal members, as at a 

* M^noires d'nn Bourgeois de Paris. Far Le Doctenr Y^n. Tome Sixi^me. 

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lU Wanmn and i/mSaM$ of France. 89 

later peiiod ivst done, in the midst of the animatod but vegnlar move* 
menti of % oonstitutioiial monarchj. These preoooiomi politieal remiioiia 
were ovaffthrown b j the same impetaona tomnt which earned away the 
throne of the 10th of August 

The rast iofluenoe of Madame Roland's salon is now a matter of 
history. This remariiaUe woman, clerer and ambitioaB, ruled over the 
men oif her party as if she had been theb diief. She was the first ndio 
endearooiea to organise the bourgeoisie of France of '89. She was in 
llie possession of more gmoes and amiability than is generally supposed, 
but her projects for die fuftare^ perchanee reasonable^ but oertaiiuy pre« 
matore^ were <]uickly upset by eatastrophes. There were no more salona 
when the soafFold became pennanent I 

Women, howerer, began to regain power the moment the days of 
Tenor had gone by. The beautim of me epoch, among whom Madame 
Tallien oocupies historically the first rank, assured tfanr empire by the 
piiy and humanity shown to the victims. The goodness of tneir hearts, 
the cynical ex-Director of the Opera would make us believe, sympathising 
with all forms of suffering, Jes enirahurii mtme a de/aeile9 iendresseg ! 

Under the Directory, Madame de Stael saw, on her return from 
Switaerland, the leaders of all shades of the <^ pAvty reassembled in her 
salons. Her doors were onhr ckwed to the Jacobms. The author of 
<* Corinne" was indebted for this great influence to the vemarinble qualities 
of her heart and intellect, to an indefiitigable activity, and to a certain 
prodigality of herself and of her sentiments. Those even whom she 
pleased least capitulated in the long run. She succeeded in bringing 
within the sphere of her attractions every person of distinction or 
renown. But diese reunions, where Madame de Stael pretended to reign 
and govern, were deemed to be incompatible with the new order of things. 
Exiled to Switaeriand, she regretted there for a long time her salon in 
Pteis, or, as she used to call it, her rivulet of the Rue du Bae. 

The Consulat saw several salons of more or less importance open their 
doora^ and allowed them to exist. Madame de Monteasoo, widow of a 
Duke of Orleans, whose wife she had been, as Madame de Maintenon had 
been the wife of Louis XIV., assembled at her soiriea persons attached 
to different parties, and sought to effect a fusion between different 
regimes. Madame de Montesson, fnend of the Beauhamais, showed 
herself devoted to the Bonapartes, and she made converts among the 
emigrants, and even among the great namee of tlw old nobifity, to the 
new order of things. 

At this epoch, the graces, the charms, and the intelli|;eiiee of Madame 
R^camier, attracted within her cirde a polished and amiable society, but 
more of a literary than of a political cast. 

Under the Empire, the women whose sodomy was most courted, who 
took die first places at the imperial court, and who graced die brilliant 
assemblies of the staff on davs of festivals, revelled in that great and rich 
beauty, which inspires neither elegies, nor madrigals, nor sonnets, but 
whidi mofee the senses before either heart or intelleot know anything 
about il 

Madame la Dnchesse de Bassano, Madame la Comtesse Dnchfttel, Ma- 
dame RegnanU de Saint-Jean-d'Angely, Madame la Duehesse de Vioence, 
M ada me Viseond ; and, in second rank, many a pttf et^s wifo, give us an 
idsa ef dwt beauty which is compadUe with etsgance and gnee^ but 



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90 The Womm and the Sahns of France. 

which, in order to conquer, disdains to borrow anything from the imagi- 
nation, from the refinements of mind, or from all those subtle and studied 
coquetries which are requisite to impart passion in calmer and more 
tranquil epochs. 

The numerous varieties, and different shades of beauty, are in all times 
represented among women ; but the div^w regimes that govern society 
only place in the foremost rank those whose beauty, so to say, shows 
itself to be in perfect accordance with the spirit, with the ideas, it might 
almost be said with the philosophy, of the time. Thus, under the 
Empire, an upright, imposing beanng, a Greek outlioe, a look full of fire, 
a power of attraction which would no more admit of being questioned 
than the bravery of French warriors, some sense and intelligence, — but an 
intelligence unclouded by chimeras or vain misgivings, keeping within 
the circle marked out for it, appreciating only positive things, and pre- 
ferring in love a sustained heroism to a languishing sentimentality, — such 
were, in the first years of the '*entury, the principal moral and physical 
features of the women who were celebrated by their triumphs in salons, 
as also perhaps by the glory of those who loved them. 

The women of the Empire entertained the most tender enthusiasm, the 
most sympathising weakness for living illustrations of the field of battle ; 
for those brilliant officers whose persons revealed force, vigour, and cou- 
rage. The Lauznns of that epoch were so many heroes. 

Nevertheless, towards the end of the imperial regime^ a new group of 
women gathered round Queen Hortense, and, takine after her, came 
under the influence of more refined graces, and more chaste and delicate 
sensibilities. 

A new reign of women was inaugurated with the Restoration. Clever 
women, with some pretensions to beauty, aristocratic manners, and a 
simplicity which took uncommonly, shone with great lustre in the salons, 
where they were surrounded with homages and distinguished by a discreet 
and reputable celebrity. Lamartine came, and the political, the poetic 
and literary woman, once more took the lead. It would be necessary to 
resuscitate the different classes, the different opinions of societies, as at 
that time constituted, to do justice to all the women that were then met 
with, distinguished in their own circles and their own little worlds, and 
who rivalled with one another in charms, in wit, and in emulation. 

After the renowned salons of Madame de Montcalm, Madame de 
Duras, and a few others, which M. de Villemain has lately described, 
with expressions of deep regret for times now gone by, a whole youthful 
world might be quoted, who, bursting into bloom under the Restoration, 
heralded its chief features by a poetic physionomy, a graceful melan- 
choly, and a Christian philosophy. 

Who has not seen a young woman with light hair at the balls of Ma- 
dame the Duchess of Berry, gliding lightly by, scarcely touching the 
ground, every movement impressed with so much elegance that one 
was struck with her ffracefulness before knowing she was a beauty ? 
Who then recognised the youne Marchioness of Castries, and cannot now 
embody the idea of that youthful, charming, aerial beauty, which was 
applauded and honoured in the salons of the Restoration ? The society 
of the time, which had been carried away by the sentimental Elvira of 
the '< Meditations,''^ was less terrestrial and less pagan in its tastes than 
it had been in the time of the Empire* Nevertheless, the grandiose and 



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Tht Women and the Salons of France. 91 

imposing style of beauty was still worthily upheld, with the lud of a cer- 
tain elegance derived ^m blood and descent, by the Duchess of Guiche, 
since Duchess of Grammont. A young girl was also at the same epoch 
much sought after in all the aristocratic salons, where she was not less 
admired for her rare and splendid beauty than she was for that poetic 
talent which made of her '' la Muse de la Patrie." 

Political men were at that time entertained, if not presided over, in 
the salons of Madame de Saint Aulaire and of the young Duchess of 
Broglio. There was in these two distinguished ladies a delightful harmony 
of intelligence and thought, and of elevated and teligious sentiments not 
incompatible with worldly and political pursuits. 

The somewhat despotic power of handsome swordsmen was put down 
in the boudoirs and salons. There were other things to talk about 
besides duels, bulletins of the grande armSe, and cavaliy charges. Cele- 
brated preachers, bishops of a rather worldly turn, people of talent and of 
irreproachable character, and political men of a certain importance, were 
now the chief persons who obtained £Eivour in these eloquent and aristo- 
cratic assemblies. 

Fashionable ladies even attended the more interesting debates of the 
Chamber of Deputies. Each orator filled the g^leries with his friends 
upon the days when he was to address the house. The secret of a femi- 
nine protection could be detected even in the highest political destinies 
of the time ; every minister had lus Egeria. Pnncess Bagration, whose 
beauty, graces, and wit, admired at more than one congress, have become 
a matter of history, encouraged and fostered, by her attendance at the 
tribune, the easy yet spirited eloquence of M. de Martignac. 

A new era commenced with tilie Monarchy of July. The salons of the 
preceding rfgime continued open, but tiliey were filled with regrets, spite, 
and bad humour against the government which had just been installed. 
Then a new and distinct race of women sprang into existence, took the 
impression of the day, and soon imparted a tone to all around. These 
young women, of a beauty which held a middle place between the beauty 
of the Empire and that of the Restoration, making their entrance into the 
world af);er the government of July was established and consolidated, 
knew only it, troubled themselves'very little with the pretensions of those 
who had preceded them, and who were now in no small degree faded, and 
launched forth in a career of their own, full of charms and delights. 
Paris had experienced the reign of the Faubourg Saint Germain, and 
afterwards that of the Faubourg Saint Honor6 ; it was now the turn of 
the Place Sunt Georges. Every quarter of Paris has, in reality, its dis- 
tinctive manners, the contrast between which can neither be calculated 
nor appreciated by distance. Young women made their appearance at 
this moment, and aspired to the fnvolous and evanescent celebrity^ of 
fashion, who were possessed of charms, and always dressed in a style alike 
rich and recherchiy who were intellectual but inclined to the positive, 
and no longer carried away by the imagination, and who were possessed 
of a determination of will, which was sustained without an effort in the 
midst of the most varied and most brilliant disnpation. In the world of 
that time, fortune held as great a place as ever, and even greater than 
heretofore. People took a pleasure m displaying their riches, either by 
costly dress, by Uie splendour of their equipages, or by their luxurious 
fomitare, extending itself to the fine arts and objects of verta. These 



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92 Ji^mmmandtieSakns of France. 

distbdiYe fMiilret of &ihiooaUe iadks, aome of whomattvtofced otml die 
attention of the yoang heir to the throne under the Monaxdhy of Joly, are 
weU known. It would be sufficient to quote a few names, out discretion 
forbids* 

'Vnthout ibe circle of the court of King Louis Philippe it is imposaiUe 
to seize upon and describe the numerous forms whidi yanity assumed in 
the ever-renewing oonfiision and agitation of the da^. - It was the great 
era for dressing for effect and for coquetry without disguise. 

In 1831, tl^ wealthy bourgeoisie made the Opera their home ; diey 
took the plaoe there of the great families and the great names of thb 
Restoration. 

More than one young woman established her reputation as a lady of 
fashion in a box cf the Royal Aeademy of Musie. There are some 
beauties with whom the brilnaiu^ of the lights and the staring of the 
crowd impart additional animation to their oountenanoes and enhance 
thw attractiiHts. 

Who has not had the indiscretioii to allow his lorgnette to rest upon a 
charming lady full of smiles, with black eyes and eyebrows, whose neck 
and shoulders presented ibe most exquisite outlines and the most graceful 
moyements ? Her e^qpressive physiognomy depicted almost instantane- 
ously the Hyely emotions which sne received from the theatre, and the 
^easure which the homage by which she was surrounded gave to her. 
The most wealth}r and distinguished yonnff men, as well as many old men, 
proverbi^ for their gallantry, rivalled wiui one another in ihe vigour of 
their assaults imon her youdi and heart, in despite of ihe foot-lights and 
a husband. I(or was she wanting in q^irit to repel these assiduities. 
<' Take care," she said to a septuagenary one day, wno waa haraaring her 
with his attentions, ^^ je vds vous c6der." 

. This young lady, whose name was in ewery one's mondi, and whose 
position placed her dkmgside of the court, was to be seen at the most 
bshionable baUs as well as in the moat prominent and recherche seat at 
the race-course. Her absence horn any one of these rendezvous of 

aulence, luxury, and firivolity, would have been felt by aU. She eclipsed 
oompetitont wherever she showed hersdi^ and according to the Latin 
historian, " eo magis pnefolgebat quod non videbatur*'' 

During this regime of eighteen years' duration, the romances of Madame 
Sand and of Balaac, and the poetry of Alfred de Musaet, imparted a 
peculiar character to ^oung women. Boldness of conception, cavalier- 
like manners^ a seoaibility susceptible of deep emotions, but only for posi- 
tive thiofi^, or where their interests were concerned, constituted the dis- 
tinctive features of the more or less political and more or less &shionable 
women of the time of Louis Philippe. 

Some, of good birth, diarming manners, and high spirits, indulged in 
eccentricities of conduct not altogether feminine. One of these, who was 
indefatigable in field sports, a first-rate rider, ready to engage any 
Madame Patin who should oross her paih with sword or pistol, who 
smoked egregiously, and never cared to control the fantasies of either 
her heart or her h^id, had still the power to attract round her, whether 
at the theatre^ at the steeple-dbase, or in the salons, serious and im- 
portant personages, as well as ^^the fine flower of onr golden youtii." 
Free-thinker, if you so will it^ untameable in character, tatong life boldly, 



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Tbe Womm and the SabmM of France. 93 

profoaiidly philoi opbieal, abe iroiild» like the Dmheas of Bourgogoe, have 
cheered toe old ag« of Louis XIV. by her witty sayings ; she woold, in 
the early days of l^r youth, haTeroosedy by her nomeroasattnietioiis, the 
worn-out passions of Louis XV. 

All this» let it he said without saieasm for that Tast number of young 
women, amiahle» well-informedi regular, reasonable, and far from yoid of 
beauty, whom die highor dasses and the middle classes riral one another 
in brmgbg up in a style whieh tends every day to confound the two 
dasses more and more together. 

Those exchanges of tides of nobility fiar large fortunes, which were so 
common under &e Restoiation, continued under the Monarchy of July* 
Under this latter regime, the balance to be made in a contract between 
a coat of arms and a dowry was regulated with increased parsimony, and 
not always so much in fiBiTour of the eseutehecn. Many a young woman, 
inheritor of the paternal millions, laboriously accumulated m the practice 
of a more or less liberal pro&ssion, pnrdiased her title of countess, and 
her right of presentation in the sabns of the Faubourg of St Germain, 
for a very modest annuity settled upon the husband, who was in no way 
allowed to interfere with the ei^ital from whence it was derived. Under 
the junior branch, the purchase of a title of nobility experienced a great 
decline in value* 

The parliamentary government upheld, it must be acknowledged, 
if not an elegant and refined phraseology in the salons^ at least a 
certain degree of taste and ability. But still it cannot be gainsaid, that 
among the women who gave themselves the greatest trouUe to lead the 
fashion, no small numW were also ^' women of busmess." Many a 
beauty with charming eyes and most attractive and poetic countenance^ 
in the midst of the emotions of daily life and the thousand cares and 
anxieties inseparable from theur pretensions, would exhibit greater skill in 
detecting the comlnnations of the Bourse than her husband, absorbed in 
stock-exchange speculations, and having little or nothing else to think o£ 

One of the most fesbionable women of the Grovemment of July, and 
whose exceeding beauty would have filled the salons of the Empire and 
the Restoration witii aiuniration, allowed herself to be particulariy carri^ 
away by what, in her case, was a femily passion for gambling in tiie 
funds. She would conceive and follow out combinations of the most 
extensive bearing, and often conduct them to a fertunate result such 
as she herself had alone foreseen ; and all that united to a noble patronage 
of art, and an admirable appreciation kit intelligence and originality of 
views* 

The most modest artist was fevoured with the same delicate attentions 
in the salons of that lady, whose aspect and attitudes were those of a 
duchess, as the leading diplomatists, nnanoiers, or statesmen of the day. 
A strong inclination for all that is beautiful and rare creates the love of 
money, and hence it is that, amidst the progress of commerce and of 
industry, many women, who, one would think, could have nothing better 
to do than to cultivate iheir beauty and study th«r dress, display a 
practical capacity for the most difficult and complicated afiairs. 

In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries the great ladies of the 
court had nothing but gaming with which to ruin or to enrich them- 
selves : in our times, intellect and talent play a far grofiter part in the 



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94 The Women and the Salons of France. 

oombinations which propose to themselves the acquiring of a large fortune 
as a result. The possession of riches has not, however, the effect of 
deadening the sympathies of these great ladies ; on the contrary, their 
natural tendencies are always towards generous and noble actions. 

The women in that numerous gallery of portraits sketched by the 
masterly hand of Saint Simon, ever absorbed in their beauty, their great 
luxury, and their brilliant pleasures, combined with the transaction of a 
serious business, are wanting in this last great feature. None showed 
themselves equal to the task of uniting the imagination of a Law or a 
Colbert with tiie severe and charming attitudes of a Maintenon, the lovely 
coquetry of a Duchess of Bourgogne, or the tender and loving heart of 
a La Valli^re. 

A few political salons flourished under the Monarchy of July. A 
title of nobility, a large fortune, a graceful hospitality, personal charms, 
or the reputation of beauty, do not suffice for a person of distinction, 
loving the world, to draw around her men of standing, occupying or 
having occupied hieh stations, and to create a centre of conversation 
which shall above au things be well informed upon the affairs of the mo- 
ment. It requires, to produce such a result, to have kept up intimate 
relations with the distinguished men of other countries as well as of one's 
own. How clever and ready must the hostess also be, who has always 
at her command the language which is best adapted for those whom she 
has to address, and finds words to gratify every one ? 

Members of the two chambers — ministers, artists, and literary men — 
were among the privileged classes in the salons of the time of Louis 
Philippe, sometimes presided over by a great foreign lady. These 
intimate and familiar reunions brought political men together, and more 
than one result, useful to the country, was thus often brought about 
amidst tiiose confficts of opinion which arise from parliamentary discus- 
sion. Many an academical election was also decided by the influences of 
the salons, and there still exist little groups of academicians, who, by 
their worldly habits, evidently consider themselves as necessary elements 
of fashionable society. 

Women have been sovereigpas, and have seen themselves surrounded by 
flatterers in all ages. In Homer we find old men admiring the graces 
of Helen, exalting her charms and attractions, and grieving over the 
power of such fatal seductions. Theocritus, full of sentiment and passion, 
makes his companions and rivals join with him in singing the beauty of 
the daughter of Tyndarus. The munificence of emperors and kings has 
raised statues and palaces to those whom they have loved. This some- 
what pagan worship for the beauty of women no longer exists in our 
times. Women reign, and always will reign, over the heart ; but in the 
present day the young woman and wife is rather an object of respect 
and esteem than of attentions and gallantry. Clubs, which multiply 
every day, keep men away from female society ; they lose the influence 
of their mild and beneficial example, and they oblige the more refined 
sex to put up with their own rude and masculine habits, even to the 
smoking of cigars. The nineteenth centuiy is very far removed from 
the time when a La Rochefoucauld said to a Duchess of Longueville: 

Pour m^riter son cceur, ijonr plaire k scs beaux yeux, 
Pai finit la gaerre aux rois; je Taiirai faite aox oieax! 



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( 95 ) 

SKETCHES OP THE ITALIAN EBYOLUTION. 

BT AN ETX-WITNS88. 

Pabt I. 

I HAVE ever been a lover of the ** dolce fiur niente/' and I have always 
found this fayourite pnrsuit most to my taste when I conld indulge it 
beneath the blue skies and amidst the balmy breezes of the sweet South. 
This la^ disposition led me into Italy in the winter of 1845 : and I 
was not driven away by the approach of spring— the usual signal for the 
flight of travellers, who, swallow-like, migrate in a body towards the 
chilly North at the first ray of the bright sunslune which ushers in the 
luxurious summer of the &voured peninsula. 

On the morning of the 1st of June, 1846, I was sauntering down 
the Corso at Rome, resolved to lounge away the summer day, until the 
hour at which I was invited, together with the whole Roman society, to 
a fete at Prince Torlonia's villa, beyond the Porta Pia. I happened to 
enter a shop for some trifling purchase^ and I soon learnt, from the eager 
questions of several persons whom I found there, that the expected enter- 
tainment was postponed. Upon inquiring the cause of this sudden 
change of intention, I received the first intimation of an event which 
was totally unforeseen by any person beyond the walls of the Vatican— 
" E morto il Sovrano." 

Gregory XVI. died that morning. No one had been apprised of his 
dan^r. Although he had been confined to his room for a few dap by a 
swelling in the leg, so slight an inconvenience had created no alarm, and 
had scarcely been known to any but his immediate attendants. Mortifi- 
cation came on suddenly ; and in a few hours the good old man had ceased 
to breathe. This Pope had been a monk ; and when visitine his palaces, 
I have often seen, beneath the stately canopies and the gold-embroidered 
coverings which protect the slumbers of the Chief of Catholic Christen- 
dom, the hard sacking upon which he really slept after his elevation to 
the Roman purple, as he had previously done amidst the austerities of 
the cloister. But Gregory was not loved by his people. As a sovereign 
he was justly regarded as a systematic opposer of political reform ; and 
the number of prisoners who crowded the fortresses of the State suffi- 
ciently attested his severity towards all those who strove to introduce in- 
novations on the existing institutions of the county. The Roman States 
were notoriously the worse governed portion of Itafy. Justice was exposed 
to evety sordid influence by which it could be corrupted : the extensive 
briganaage,^which had rendered the country so insecure under the reign 
of Gregory's predecessor, was bfurely repressed by large detachments of 
troops scatteied amidst the hills that surround Rome; and, although 
crime was far less frequent here than in more thickly-peopled countries, 
this circumstance was to be attributed chiefly to the simple habits of the 
people, which reduced their wants within a narrow compass, and to the 
mildness of the climate, which renders the existence, even of the poorest 
classes, almost luxurious, if compared to the terrible destitution of north- 
em countries. 

The absolute necessity for a reformation in the institutions of thd 

May — ^voL. cnr. no. cooczm. h 



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96 Sketches of the Italian Revolution. 

country had been repeatedly urged upon Gregory's consideration ; but 
he resolutely refused to ado^t any measures that tended towards a change. 
Warned by the revolutionary movement which had threatened destruc- 
tion to the Papacy in the mt year of his reqp, he resolved to keep the 
leaders of that formidable insurrection within his power, and to repress 
all attempts at political modifications, especially the long-desired measure 
of the secularisation of the govermneiit. Nor can we refuse to dus pon- 
tiff the praise of political foresight at least, and a just estimate! of the 
dangers that menaced him, whrai we find that the individiwls who took 
a o^ef part in that insurrection, and who were expveesly excAuded from 
the amnesty which Gregory found himself compelled to give, were the 
•ame who drove his successor into exile, and conducted the mischievous 
frioe of die Roman Republic of 1849. He was aware that the country 
was filled with secret associations, professing the most daring and daa- 
gereos nolitioal creeds ; and tiiat if ooce the aystem of repression was 
aaodified, he did not possess sufficient force to control the inevitable 
movem^t Foreign bayonets or internal despotism seemed the only alter- 
natives which their own weakness forced upon the too- willing govern- 
ments of Italy aa their sole refuge against the wfld theorists of revolt^on. 

Immediately after his dei^ the body of Gregwy XVI. was embahned, 
and laid in state in the Sixtine Chapel, invested with tiie royal robes. 
The Noble Guard watched over it by night and day ; and many of their 
number evinced tinoere regret for a master who had shown constant 
kindness and consideration to all who approached him. The body was 
snbsequentiy removed to the chapel of the Holy Sacrament in St. Peter's, 
where it remained until the preparations for the Amoral were completed ; 
and here the people were permitted to kiss the dead pontiff's shos^ as his 
£ciot rested against the graang of the chapeL The funeral ceremony waa 
performed in St Peter's with great pomp, A ^^gantic cata&lque had 
been erected, proportioned to the vast dimensions of the great Basilica, 
and the funeral mass took place with the usual magnificat accompani- 
ments. This ceremony terminated the puUio services of the interment^ 
which was characterised by the accustomed ^lendour of the Catholic 
ritual, and by the frigid indifference which might be expected beside 
tiie grave of a prince who had no family and no fria:ids around him ; 
who died, as he had lived, alone, amidst a pec^le who loved him not, 
surrounded by dependants who sought their personal interests only, or 
by priests whose lives were as lonely and as unoared for as his own. 

The saddeat sight of all was one to which tiie public were not admitted, 
although I chanced to witness it. There is a lofiy doorway near the 
chapel, on the left-hand side of the great entrance to St Peter's, almost 
opposite to tiie tomb, famous as tiie work of Canova, and erected by 
George IV. to the memory of the last princes of the boose of Stuart m 
a cavity over tiiis door is the temporary resting-place of the popes, who, 
in accordance with long usage, are deposited here until the death of his 
suQcessor ejects each occupant in turn ftom bis strange burial-place ; 
after wUch the body is removed, either to the subterranean vaults of St 
Peter's, where many of the pontiffs are entombed, or to the burial-places 
of their femily, if they prefer to sleep amidst the ashes of their own race. 
From this place the boay of Pius VIII. had been removed privately, on 
ibfi pceoading evening, to its final resting*place in the vaults beneath* 



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SS^iet of the MKm Becobtti&u. 97 

At ten o'dodc at nighty the roraains of Gngory XYI. were oonvejad 
from the opposite chapel acroM the dinl^-fi^hteddkuroh. Tbe hody was 
then depoiited in iti ooffias ; afiter which it was placed in a ttiange- 
looking hox of common deal, ^t rasemUed an ordinary paeldng-caae, 
and swung up by ropes into the hole over the door, where the masons 
proceeded to arick it vip. During thia opemtion — it caii&Qt be called a 
ceremony-^there were a few torches to enaUe the woricmen to aoeompliah 
their task ; a •olenon chant burst at intervals from tbe ohoir, and the 
thrilfing tones of the funeral dirge gave some reKaf to ^ dnarineas of 
the vast temple, whose partial Ulnmiaation cast its livid glare vpon the 
features of a coips e bede cked with royal robes. The creaking of the 
machinery by which the coffin was raised ; the absence of all afifttaranoe 
of feeling or respect in the few spectators ; the whispered conversation, 
and not unfireqoent smiles of two cardinals, whose official staticw con^Ued 
them to be present on the occaaon, added a still drearior eieet to the 
cold reality of the scene, and recalled to my menarY the vivid contrast 
of the spectacle whioh I had witnessed but a few weeks before, when he, 
who had be^ consigned with so little reverente to his last dwelHng, 
had bestowed his benediction on a whole population, kneeling be£o?e him 
in the attitude of deepest humility. 

The quaint and antique ceremonies of the Conclave, which was imme- 
diately assembled to proeeed to the electsan of a new Pbpe, are too well 
known to be intareslaiig in detail. Many aad vaiiocis rumours prevailed 
as to tbe candidate who had the beat chance of aucceeding to tM vacant 
chair of St Peter, but he who wsta chosen was, peihaps, the laat that 
was expeeted to obtain a majority of the sofSri^ges. The Conekve, 
often so slow in its deliberations^ consumed but little time upon this oeca'* 
sion, and long before such a result was anticipated^ Rome was aaiXMinded 
by the electbn of Cardinal Jiaatai. Cardinal Giaai, a roan eminent for 
his abihties, and p<^Milar from his liberal opmion^ was the candidate 
towards whom the public wish had turned in anzkyus expectation ; and 
his election was considered probable. The new Fape, though less 
remarkable for talent, waa known to entertain liberal views, and had 
endeared himsetf to the Legation over which he had presided by his 
mild and amiable character. His electiQi& was, theiefore^ hailed with 
gladness, as giving a promise of improvoment and progress. This £ftvonr- 
able augury was further confirmed by the appointment of Cardinal 
Gizzi to the ministry; and seldom has a sovereign ascended the throne 
amidst more vnivmal joy than that which bailed the election of 
Pius IX. 

The ceremony of a pnpal coroBatioia is leas remazkaUe than the ordt« 
nary splettdoor of the Raman oourt would lead to capeeL It is, in fiict^ 
bat a repetition of the high mass which is celebrated in St Peter's three 
times in ereiy year, with sueh imposing efieet, by the Pontiff himself 
and which, considering the nneopalled aMgnificence of the chnreh, the 
antique splendour of we oleneal costnmes, the imposing a^eaEnmee <^ 
tiie solders who line the Icmg and lofty aisles, the solemmt^ of the Ca- 
thoUc ritual, which is here dispkyed in its most imprasttvia mm, is at all 
times one of the most gorgeous eeremoniala that it ia possible to behold. 



h2 



The only ad^tion to the usual serviee, exeeptu^ some jprqrers adapted 
to the oecasion, was the ambbmatio lito of hnrnqg iom ina kxga censer 

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98 Sketches of the Italian RevobOum. 

befeie the Pope, as he was carried up the church in his chair of state, 
whilst a Yoioe in warning tones repeats aloud the words : ^' Sic transit 
gloria mundi;" — a record of the instability of his newly-acquired gran- 
deur that was speedily impressed in a still more enduring manner upon 
the heart of Pius IX. 

The act of inauguration takes place on the " Loggia," or gallery, over 
the great gate of the church, when the mitre is removed by the at- 
tendant bishops, and the triple tiara is placed on the new sovereign's 
head, whilst the cannon of St. Angelo and the bells of a hunted 
churches announce the event to his subjects. But from the great height 
of the porch, and the consequent distance of the spectators assembled in 
the square beneath, the ceremony is imperfectly seen, and produces but 
little effect. 

The absolute necessity for immediate and extensive reforms had now 
become apparent to every rational observer. It was obvious that the 
Roman States had fiedlen rar behind in the march of European progress^ 
and that it would not be possible any longer to refuse a reasonable modi- 
fication of institutions of which the abuses were notorious, and the un- 
popularity deeply rooted. The new Pope was well informed concerning 
the public feeling, and the natural mildness and docility of his character 
disposed him to lend a fieivourable ear to representations of the sufferings 
of his people, whilst he was not, perhaps, suffidently acquainted with 
the evil designs that were mingled with the newly-awakened hopes. It 
would be incorrect to ascribe the events that ensued alone to a deficiency 
of foresight or energy in the Pope ; no degree of firmness or political 
address in the sovereign could have sufficed to stem the torrent, unsup- 
ported as he was by any material force sufficient to resist the movement 
communicated to the masses, and fostered by the revolutionary clubs, as 
soon as the first impulse was given, by raising the cry of reform through- 
out Italy. Be this as it may, there is no doubt that the first liberal act 
of the new pontiff was in effect the first step of the revolution. 

On the Ivth of July, one month after his election was proclaimed, 
Pius gave forth an amnesty, which released upwards of three thousand 
political delmquents, upon the sole condition that the pardoned should 
pledge their honour not to enter into any future plots against the Roman 
government. How far these gentlemen redeemed their plighted words, 
the subsequent career of Sterbini, Galetti, Orioti, and others amongst 
the prisoners then emancipated, has informed the world ! 

No words can describe the wild enthusiasm with which this — tiie first 
popular act that had emanated for so long from any papal government — . 
was received throughout Italy. One universal shout of triumph burst 
fix)m the very heart of the people ; the loud freedom-cry resounded from 
the Alps to the Bay of Naples ; and '< Pio Nono*' became the national 
idol. Processions, composed of every class, rushed by torchlight to the 
Quirinal to express their gratitude, and to receive the Pope's benediction. 
Wherever he appeared his patii was strewed with flowers ; happy voices 
exultingly prodaimed him the saviour of his country ; the people un- 
harnessed his horses that they might themselves draw the carriage of 
their benefactor ; whilst badges of white and yellow — Pius's colours — 
were worn on every breast, so soon to be replaced by the emblem of 
revolution. In every direction, whether at Rome or m the provinces. 



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Sketches of the Italian RevoboAnt. 99 

triomphal arches recorded his services to his people ; hymns of praise 
TOpeated the joy and gratitude that he inspired. Nor is there any 
reason to doubt that this feeling was deep and sincere, until the dan- 
gerous pertorbators, who sought subversion and not reform, gained an un- 
happy ascendancy, which terminated in the ruin of Italian liberty. 

Soon the elements of the comiag storm might be discerned amidst 
the universal gladness. The soldiery were permitted, individually, but 
in full uniform, to join the tumultuous assembla^, which now appeared 
constantly before the papal palace, to express uieir satisfaction for past 
favours, or to pray for more ; even some of the Pope's own guard, men 
of the noblest families in Rome, joined in the disorderly processions. 
Soon banners were displayed before the eyes of the sovereign, on which 
was inscribed the vow for national unity — the lure under cover of which 
the subversion of the existing governments was first indicated to the 
people — and all processions were now preceded by a larg^ flag, covered 
with crape and other funeral ensigns, upon which the name of ^' Alta 
Italia'' was written in black letters. 

At length, when already too late, the government became alarmed at 
the extent and the imcontroUable nature of the demonstrations, which 
were perpetually repeated, and always with indications of 'increasing 
licence. I^ot only were the political functions of the priesthood loudly 
assailed, but the Church itself was openly attacked; and as a first sign of 
hostility, the arms of Cardinal Lambruschini were publicly burnt. The 
most enlightened, and at the same time the most liberal, circles of Rome 
are composed of the second class of the citizens, and it is amongst the 
advocates and men of business that the energy, information, and ability 
of the country are chiefly to be found. In this class the temporal autho- 
rity of the Pope was regarded as an abuse of feudal times, totally opposed 
to the rising spirit of improvement, and they had long looked to Pied- 
mont and her sovereign as the means of restoring liberty to Italy. It 
was, then, from profound calculation amongst the most influential and 
popular persons of the country that the excitement of the people was 
fostered and encouraged ; and no sooner was an attempt made to put a 
stop to the constant meetings, imder cover of which the general effer- 
vescence was gaining m>und, than the enthusiasm which had greeted 
the first acts of Pius IX. vanished at once, and the discontent which 
had been industriously instilled into the public mind by revolutionazy 
agents became immediately apparent. In the month of June, scarcely a 
year after his accession, as I passed the Alps into Switzerland, the Hymn 
of Pio Nono was the last sound that I heard upon Italian ground — the 
name of Pio Nono was carved upon the' rudest rocks of the Simplon : 
when I returned to Rome, in November, I found that the idol had 
already been removed from its pedestal. Such and so fleeting is popular 
applause ! 

The 8th of November had been appointed for the ceremony which, 
from immemorial custom, follows the coronation of a newly-elected Pope^ 
called the ** Possesso," or taking possesion of the cathedral of Rome, the 
ancient Basilica of St. John of Lateran. The procession was very 
numerous, aind of great historic interest, from the dresses worn upon the 
occasion : chamberlains, pages, grooms, all were attired in the costumes 
of Ae earliest ages of the Christian Church ; and the pageant wore 



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IDO Shetekei oftk$ ItaUan RevohOimu 

mare the aspect of a wane in die ConuTal than die graTe oeremoiiial of 
tiie moet ancient Christian buhop aaniining his sapremaey in the prin- 
cipal oathedral of Chriatendom. The whole bodj of the ctergj, of ererj 
nmk, rode on nmlea or ponies, led hj grooms or e(|aeniee. The Pope 
departed firom ancient nsageupon diis occasion, and joined the prooessiaii 
in nis state carriage, wlitlsl hk mnle was led before hias, magnifioeotlj 
caparisoned. This curious and inteiesting sight was romaiUale in a 
politieal point of view, as the occasion on whidb the decUning popularity 
of die Pope was first pabKcly evinced, and some of the prelates wlio 
followed in his train were received with lond exprossions of dissatisfiKdon. 

Tet, in spite of die growing discontent, important meaaoret for im* 
prcmng the condition of the people had made great progress. The Pope 
had given his sanction for die constniction of four difieront lines of nil* 
wflj, destined to cross the conntry in every direction, in which the free- 
dom of the commnnication and the enooaragement of conuneice could be 
ftcUitated. A commission was appointed to revise the criminal code, to 
render die execution of justice more efficient, and to prevent die cor- 
raption of the judges, which had hidierto been open and notorious. 
StMse of die older tribunals were idMlished, and miited to die behest 
ceiDt of Justice, denominated the <*Sacm Consaha;'* nad, finally, a 
oovBMal of state was appointed, empowered to advise and direct the sove* 
imgn in all the measures of lids government. A municipal conncii had 
been accorded, and a senate was instituted. The council of state, into 
which the prince endeavoored to introdnce all the honest intelligenee of 
die country, was inanfurated by a procession, in which the diplomatic 
affevts of Tuscany and Sardinia took dieir pboe, amidst the finntic joy 
of the people, but in opposition to the wish of the minister. Cardinal 
Ferretti had replaced Cardinal Gini, whose failing healdi mcapacitated 
him fbr the tmls of office, amidst so many difficulties and dangers^ and 
whose popularity had gradually faded away before his first attempts to 
repress disorder. Ferretti re m onstr ate d against die perilous licence of 
pe r mittin g the representatives of the Italian sovereigns to associate diem- 
sehres wi£ those popular demonstrations, of which die teBden<7 created 
somndi uneasiness. But his wise Ibreright was disregarded; and) in 
^te of hu remonstrances, the Pope was persuaded to give his consent. 

The reforms which had been so long and so ardendy wished, exA which 
were now conceded, failed to satisfy the people, excited and urged forward 
b^ the emissaries of the revoiutionaxr party. These aetive agents of 
mischief assiduously cireulated fUse and alarming rumours of reaetionaTy 
plots in order to create irritation and dread. Ail those who evinced the 
disposition to resist a headlong career of subversion were secredy mariced 
OQt and threatened with assassinatton ; and accusations of consniracr 
with foreim powers were widely spread to increase die growing ul-wiU 
towards the Pope and the clergy. The people were thus oonstandy 
maddened by fear, and excited to fresh excesses by the arts of the secret 
eaeieties, to whose daring and desperate maohinatkmB Italy owes her 
pwsent slavery. 

But this state of agitation and convulsion was not ooofined to Italy 
alone ; and die success of the popular party in other countries served to 
strengthen and encourage the discontent, especially in Boose, where die 
abolition of the^Nnporel povfer.of the Pi^pacy was the object really enter- 



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iSbAiAer of Oe Itaiian Bevohitim. 101 

tvnitd bj tbe ultm-Gbaml mf^* iBsareetionaiy morvomeniB Ymi tekm 
plaoe in the pioviaoei^ of wiiich tine obyeci wu to obtam a national 
gaud ; and after a iligfat attempt a* leeMtance^ this iimovatieEa was 
yielded to tlwinBhes of die people, altkeagh it was centrarjto the 
opinieo of AiegHo, and majuj of the wiaar aaid mofe far-ogbted fiaaada 
of velbnii. Rome soon followed the example, and on the 5th. of Julji 
1847, thecivio goard was institated theie at die demand «f a mok 

At Napka wad, in Florenoe, in Skaky and Calabiia» aymptoma of a 
Rmilarepiiit had ahown t hca a a e i fna. The Duke of Luoca had ahdi* 
cated, and <3eBQB waa in c^w icnrolt In Switanriaikd, the CathoBe 
eantnis had been espeeted to oppoae a clciparati reaistanee to the de- 
mands «f the mom powerftri States of the Fedemtkn, but they yielded 
after albeUaoeatendoni and ike news was zeaeived in Rome with estea* 
vagant exultation. The town was iUumiaated^ and the tokens ef the 
|mblie joy were load and oniversaL A dmrt time after, when the Pope's 
mtontion of -visiting the Jesints' Cofiege was known, a £aorderhr moh 
radied vp to the Qoiiioal, leeoiTed to prevent the ezeovtion of hirniwiflii 
But thsy found the pafawe-gates ck)8ed» and the Swiss gnaid ki leaJiaeai 
to defettd tile enttance^ M\m some parking, die ^pe consaited to 
leoeive a depwtatiea of his refractory sul^ects ; and toe tmaalt was 
finally appeased by his proatise to appear in the Covsa oa the f oUowiag 
day. Upea thai oecasmn his oaniage was foUowed by the eart of Cicer* 
yaccbio, the popular demagogue, to the exclusion of his attendants. Ii^ 
aidtiag banaers and rebeiiioBS cries arose in erery £rection, and it became 
eompletely obviow that nothing bat fbioe e ioat d avert the dangers whiA 
tbreatsned the pwg w w of eventi. 

In the ataaAhs of Janaary and Febmary, sueeassive revohitioiis broke 

out ia the other ItaUan States. At Palermo die insmgeats obtained 

eoaqpkto wiBeMo, and proefadmed a prorisional government; whilst the 

Doc di Mijo^ Goivamor of Sidly, o&red ao oppoeitkm to die ineuixeo- 

tion. A Coiee of eeven thousand men was dopptttched from Naples to 

ledoee the eoantiy to sabmi8sk>% aader (general Deeaaffet^ an officer of 

snpfiosed ability; but whether unfutfafnl to the cause which he was sent 

to defend, or reaUy iacapaUe, he took no effmtual steps to regain what 

M^o had kMt, and after a ihort delay he evacuated PMermo. With die 

.fort in hk hands and the Neapolitaa deet in die harbour, he prefecreda 

long march, aerois a hostile eoun^, in order to embariE at Messma; 

sustaiaed coasiderable loss amidst some reeky defiles, in which he impnft* 

dently engaged his army, and was attacked by the national forces ; and 

finally, afUr fighting his way to YiUabate, where he defeated tbe Sici- 

fiaas, easbdKrked for Naples^ leavm|^ behmd his horses and guns, whilst 

Sinly remained free under the provisional government. 
The ' - - 



lie example of the SJciKaae gave the signal, which Naples waa not 
stow ia obeying. Calabiia, so long die stronghold of the Carbonari, 
had already risen against the royal authonty; and on tba 37th of 
Jaauary a tumatoions mob thronged the streets of the capital, and da* 
■anded a constitution. The cannon of St. £lino gave a speedy l e epo as D 
to tiM popular cry; and tbe bk)od-red flag, which soared aloft from die 
tawars of the fortress, prodaiased that mardal — and not constitadoBal— 
law was die boon which dwy were aboat to receive. Bat in spito of these 
first energetie maaswes of the govemmsat, a panic seeaM soon to have 



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102 Sketches of the Italian Revolution. 

paralysed the royal couDcils, for subsequent events forbid us to believe 
that they were alive to the wisdom of timely concession. Whatever 
motives led to the sudden change, it is certain that, upon the following 
day, the ministry was dismissed, and a constitution promised, amidst the 
acclamations of me delighted people. Peace seemed restored, although 
order was not in question amidst the tumult of that day. The troops 
were strictly confined to their barracks ; the national guard held all the 
posts of the city ; and the king and his brothers rode through the town 
with no other escort than a few attendants. On the 18th of February 
the promised constitution was promulgated ; and the legislative powers 
were deputed to two chambers, of which one was to be elected by the 
people, and the other to be nominated by the monarch. And the same 
wild disorders, under the name of popular rejoicings, which had disgraced 
Rome, now signalised the political changes at Naples. 

Turin next caught the contagion. The king — ^formeriy distinguished 
by the ultra-liberalism of his views, which had led him into open re- 
sistance to the government — since his aocesdon to the throne of &u^inia, 
had kept aloof from the liberal parbr, whose intentions he mistrusted. 
But seduced by the bright perspective of Italian independence, which 
was to owe its existence to him, and of which the chief recompense was 
reserved for him, Charles Albert soon suffered himself to be drawn into 
the movement ; and on the 8th of February a constitution was ^ven at 
Turin. 

On the 18th of February the Grand-Duke of Tuscany accorded the 
same privileges to his subjects; and the Pope — unable to resist the 
general impulse, but now sincerely alarmed at the force of the torrent, 
which he possessed no material power to control — ^was compelled to pro- 
mise a constitution to the Roman States, whose maxims oi government 
had so long been regarded as totally inconsistent with popular institu- 
tions. How fiur the experiment might have proved practicable, if it had 
been fiurly tried, and a sufficient force had been brought to bear upon 
the new order of things — ^to repress anarchy without smothering liberty — 
is still a problem to be solved, we will yet hope, by the wisdom of future 
statesmen, when the strong chains that now snackle the growtiii of 
Italian freedom shall be removed. At that time the attempt was futile, 
and promised littie success, even had not events occurred in other parts . 
of Europe which kindled into flames the smouldering agitation of Italy ; 
for the spirit of revolution was abroad, strongly and energetically 
fostered by secret societies, which the government was unable to put 
down, and against which it had no means of defence. And the final 
catastrophe of the fall of the French monarchy, and the proclamation of 
a republic at Paris on the 24th of February, gave a power and impetus 
to the revolutionary party which henceforward proved irresistible. 

A tumultuous mob received the news of the flight of Louis Philippe 
witii frantic joy ; they shouted their loud songs of triumph through the 
streets of Rome, and concluded their rejoicings by tearing down the 
Austrian arms from the palace of the embassy, and burning tiiem 
publicly on the Piazia del Popolo. Every vestige of Austrian domination 
was hurled to instant destruction ; and even the escutcheons which were 
placed over the pdace-doors of tiie Roman princes met the same fate, 
wherever the eagle was to be seen in their arms as nobles of the holy 



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Sketches of the Italian Revolution* 108 

Roman Empire. Yet it is wordiy of remark that, even unidst these 
outrages, the characteristic ^ood-nature of ihe Italians was strongly 
OTinced; and I chanced to witness the ready acquiescence of the crowd 
to a proposition made to them hy Prince Chigi, when his ahode was 
attacked in order to remove the obnoxious eagle from his doorway. At 
his suggestion, a &w men consented to go up quietly to the second-floor 
of the palace and remove the arms mm thence without breaking the 
windows or injuring the fa9ade of the house ; and having accomphshed 
their purpose, they left the palace with loud cheers for the master of the 
mansion, in spite of his known opposition to the opinions of the popular 
party. Pursuing their course, ihey proceeded to bum the Chigi arms 
with* those of all the other Roman nobles in which the hated ensign of 
Austria was found. 

The dubs, which had now obtained complete mastery over the public 
mind, had resolved upon the subversion of the Papal power, and had 
already commenced their hostile measures by open attacks upon the clergy, 
who filled every office of importance, in all of which the abuses had long 
been exposed to the highest degree of unpopularity. A long system of 
misgovemment had impressed upon the Iloman people the convicdon 
that priestly rule was the source of all their sufferings; yet no proposition 
can be more inconinstent with fact and experience, tfian that a clerical 
domination is of itself feeble and incompetent. On the contrary, the 
ruler who adds spiritual influence to temporal authority enlists the most 
powerful of human passions in defence of the altar and the throne ; as 
the Prophet of Arabia led the warlike tribes of the Desert to the conquest 
of the East, impelled by the religious £uiaticism which their sagacious 
master recognised as the most invincible spirit that he could evoke to his 
aid. And the priestly ministers of France and Spain have proved to 
the world that some of the shrewdest intellects and the most comprehen- 
sive minds that ever conducted the administration of human aflairs, have 
been found amidst the ranks of the Roman priesthood. Upon a people 
at onoe pious and superstitious, as the mass of the Italian population still 
are, such influence as churchmen can employ is calculated to create a 
profound impression. It is not then because Rome has been governed, 
but because she has been mu-govemed, by priests, that her people have 
been goaded to so just a resentment for the wrongs and oppresuons under 
which they have suffered so long. 

As a political measure, the proclamation of the Roman constitution 
was useless. The moderate party had lost all influence, and sound 
maxims of good government were rejected by the adventurers who domi- 
nated the progress of the revolution. The conflagration was about to 
break forth which threatened destruction, not only to thrones and insti- 
tutions, but to civilisation itself — ^the new social war, which well-nigh 
levelled all order and all governments alike into one sweeping and widely- 
spread ruin. But still Rome presented anotiier imposing ceremonial to 
conceal with its flowery glitter the gulf that yawned beneath her feet. 
It is impossible to behold a finer sight tiian was presented when the 
civic guud, all brilliant in their new arms and accoutrements, marched 
to the Quirinal, to thank tiie sovereign, in the name of the citizens, for 
the constitution that he had bestowed on them. When tiie Pope ap- 
peared upon the balcony of the palace, 7C00men, drawn up in battalions 



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I ihe open apace of Monte Cavalks raied their belmete on the poiat 
their bvfODite to safaite hina, whiist the ezvHiiig "< Vmsl" iMA 
gneted his nppenwwce were evdible far awaj in the solitiideof the desert 
Campefffna, tnd Ihe Gheh of arma vpon the paveBMBt aniMnnieed thad 
ihe aroiy vhjoh he had inst ealled into eziateiice, and upon whkh his 
throne^ aaal parfaapa has hfe, depended, were pro etea t e d, wkh nooovered 
heada^ to reoem hia henediction. An Eogl]^ general offieer, who has 
aeen mocli aeniee, aaid who waa nreaent on the oeeaaioB) ptononneed the 
civic giBud ci Bone, aa it paaaed hefore him that day, to he ihe finest 
hody of men that he had erer seen under anna. Farhapa, if instead of a 
tarboleBl and undiaei{^ned niMtia, these men had heen formed int» a 
well-trained and well-offioered foroe» they might have proved the simiort 
of the throne which they helped to subvert, and of the oonstitntion whioh 
Aat di^ ihey ao gratefully acknowledged, and Rome might have been 
enabled to aubdue anarehy wil^iout being anlijeoted to the diagraee of 
ibitNgtt dietanon. 

On the Idlh of Mardi the ravdntion burst forth at VieBna, and 
MettBRiieh'->-ao king ihe ehief prop of a aystem whiefa his ahilitiea had 
enabled him to uphold against general opcnionh— was foaoed to seek 
aafety in flight On the 18th of the same month the King of PTusain 
was driven from hia oapitaL At the first asnoonoenient of the insnr- 
xaction in Austria, Milan — ^lo^g ripe for revolt — mahed to anaa ; sarf 
Count C^aaati, at the head of a la^ body of the people, demanded of 
the vioe-regai govermaeot the institution of a civie guard and of a 
national rapresentation. The government peremptorily refaaed to hstan 
to diair wiabes; and the inhalNtanta of the capital raaolved to vindicate 
their liberties by the swotd. Bairioadaa aroae in every atreet, to the 017 
of ^ Yivu Fio None;* and for five days and nighta the undiactplined 
Milaaeao fought with lesis^eaa energy against tiie veteran taoops of 
Anattia. TIm Italian women — &eir resolate and fiery spirits arouaed 
by the univeisal feelings— waged war from the windows of their honaes 
OB the hated oppreaaon of timr country. They cast down stonea and 
iilea upon the troops, and poured boilii:^ oil upon their heads aa they 
marched nkyag die streeta, and, rendoed invincible b^ enlhusiaBm for 
the caiase whidi iaapired dKm, iiie Milaneae aueoeeded m driving out of 
their town a garrisan of fifteen thousand men, oommanded by Marahal 
Hadetzky. But, shut up within the walls from wkadi they had expelled 
tiieir oonquerois, they oould hold no communication with the inhabitanta 
of the neighbouring country, whoae aaaiatanee waa absolutely needed to 
complete the great work which they had ao galhmtly commenced. With 
tiie mrtility of inven^n which neceaaity teaches they sent up baHoona, 
filled with proebmationa, from the towers and bdfreys of the oitpr, which 
the Austrian aoldiera from the fortress vainly endeavoured to intereept 
by firing at them as t^ey rose in the air. The peasantry of the surrounding 
country were not alow in coming to the aid of their brave countrymen ; 
afid Radetsky, with his army, was compelled to retreat upon the strong 
fortreaaea of Venetian Lombardy. The Milanese inmedii^ely prodaimaa 
a provisioDftl gov e rnment, of which Caaati waa the president. 

On tile 20th of March, Parma roee againat ita dukoy Chazlea of 
Bouibon, who had htely auoceeded to <lie dominions of tiie Arohduefaeaa 
Maiie Looase. The troopa prepared to defend their prince; weak and 
irresolute, he hesitated to employ the only means of preserving his au- 



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SktiiAesofaeltidiaHBevobaum. 105 

thoritjr. The hereditny pfixxse^ in deepair at ^ ruin which his fatber^s 
iadedrion ww bring^g v^a both, 10 said to htuve torn off his ffea«ral'g 
mnilettet, and to biye flung them at the feel of the duke. The ddce 
then ereated a comaaiiasion, to whom he deputed powers to fMrm a eon- 
statatioiiy whilst he hiaself prepared to escape. But his intended flight 
was disDtfvered and preTented ; and Ae eotnmtssion formed itself into a 
provisional government, instituted a naticMial guard, prochdmed a demo* 
craAie eonstitutiony expelled the Austrian fbroes from the duchj, and 
finally ordered the hereditary jMrinoe to mardi with the Parmesan 
troops to aid the King of Sardmia in the war of independence. The 
prince was arrested on his march by the insurgents, and sent as a 
prisoner to Milan, from whence he afterwards escaped, and embarking in 
disguiBe at Genoa, repaired to Malta, and from thence to England. 

On the 10th of the ensuing April, Charles was eompelletf to fly from 
his dominions, leaving behind his wife and daughterwin-law, who weie 
ttot Me to eflfiMst their escape at that time. The duchess found an 
asylum at Modena, where the revohitionary government afforded her 
psotection, whieh ^e stato of her heakh compelled her to seek, at no 
great distance from the home from which she was expelled. The younj; 
priaeesB, nster to the Duo de Bordeaux, though in a situation which 
rendered a hasty jonmey inconvenient and dangerous lor her, was forced 
to fly in a tempestuous night, and in an uneovend carriage, accompanied 
by only a singie attendant, and without even a dMnge of clothes. She 
was stopped by the insurgents at Bologna, who fortuaatdy did not re* 
cognise her. It was akme, in a guaid-hcuse, at midnight, surrounded 
fay a revv^tionary horde of armed and savage men, that she was found 
1^ Mr. Charles Hamilton, the brother of the English minister in Tus- 
oany, who had gone in search of her ; and the daughter of St. Louis 
was, perhaps threatened with a fote no kss gloomy tl^ that which had 
overwhelmed her race, when she was rescned and conveyed to FkMreDco 
by that gentleman. Pkrma ^n voted its in corp ora t i on with Piedmont, 
as a portion of the projected kingdom of Upper Italy; and a Sardinian 
commission took poss essi on of the duchy in tne name of Charles Albert. 

On the 32nd of March, a republic had been proclaimed within ito 
ancient abod^^Vemiee, The tumuh had commenced on the 17th, by 
Ihe Hberation of two chiefr of the liberal party, Manin and Tomaseo— 
men of estimable character, but who had been subjected to imprisonment 
for the puUicatioD of political worics offensive to the Austrian govern- 
ment. The people donanded that they should be set at liberty ; the 
authorities refused ; and a collision ensued, which, after some fighting, 
ended in the ccmiplete success of the populace. Manin was carried m 
triomph to the {mlace of the Doges ; and the Austrian standard was 
ton down before the eyes of the troops. On the following day the 
people formed themselves into a national guard; and on the 22nd they 
attecked the arsenal, where the troops, idter refosing to fire on the 
people, laid down their arms. General Martini, the Austrian governor, 
was compelled to resign his authority ; and after a foeble resistanoe the 
garrison evacuated the town, and tlie republic was [ntNdaimed. 

In the mean time the disorders at Rome daily assumed a more threat- 
ening aspect. The civic guard attacked the convent of the Jesuits, and 
the lives and properties of its inmates were only saved by &e mtevpon* 



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106 Sketches oftlve Italian BeoolutUm. 

tion of a few men, who opposed themselves successfuUy to the violence 
of the assault The general of the order applied for coonsel to the 
Pope, who informed him in reply, that although he would not command 
iheir expulsion from Rome, vet the defection of the civic guard had 
deprived him of the means of defending them. The chief of the order 
then decreed their dispersion and retirement from the city, in which they 
could no longer hope for safety. 

A new ministry was formed, composed of Recchi, Minghetti, and other 
leaders of the lihsra] party ; and Cardinal Antonelli was chosen as pre- 
sident of the counciL They instantly declared that the Jesuits had heen 
expelled by the Pope's command ; the Pope contradicted the statement 
of nb government. 

The hopes and wishes of Italy had long been directed towards the 
King of Piedmont, as the chief who was to lead her to national inde- 
pendence, and to expel the stranger from the Italian soiL That prince 
had formerly belonged to the poUtical sect of the Carbonari, had &voured 
every liberal movement, and had placed himself at the head of the insur- 
rection in Lombardy. He became king in 1831 ; but after his accession 
to the throne be met the advances of his former partisans with apparent 
coldness ; and he was believed to have rejected the proposition of Mazzini 
and his party, that he should conquer and assume the crown of Italy. 
Yet when the demonstrations of the public will acquired a more deter- 
mined form, and his aid was demanded to forward the great work of 
ItaUan independence, he began to listen to the suggestion, and finally 
acceded to it. But this unfortunate prince was peculiarly ill fitted, by 
his personal character, for an enterprise which required all the energy 
and decision in which he was eminently deficient. Hesitating and 
weak of purpose ; sincere in good intentions, but easily turned aside by 
the persuasions of those who surrounded him, and whose interests and 
opinions pointed in various directions ; true to tiie warlike traditions of 
the house of Savoy — a hero in the field, though a coward in the council 
—he rushed recklessly into a war which at first promised a glorious ter- 
mination; — paused, wavered, and ruined his own and his country's cause. 
But though a bolder and more decisive prosecution of the war so suc- 
cessfully commenced might have prevented the reverses which were so 
soon and so sadly atoned by the lonely and exiled death-bed of the ill- 
fated prince, his want of success must not be too harshly imputed alone 
to hb misconduct as a general, or his indecision as a statesman. On all 
sides harassed by the contentions of hostile factions, whose views were 
at variance, and whose individual interests were too often thw chief 
motive — urged to the prosecution of the war by the partisans of inde- 
pendence — held constantly in check by fear of the republicans, the posi- 
tion of Charles Albert was one of almost insurmountable difficul^. 
When he became master of the whole Lombard kin«lom, by a rapid 
and victorious campaign, the internal jealousies — which nave ever proved 
the cause of ruin to Italy— ^again arose to prevent tiie immediate consoli- 
dation of the state with the Piedmontese monarchy. Milan could not 
consent to be second to Turin ; and after drawing Charles Albert into 
the war, refused to receive him as a sovereign. Venice proclaimed the 
republic, which she had been unable to maintain half a century before ; 
and after having hasorded his army and his crown, the king found ibat 



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Sketches ofUie Italian SevohUian. 107 

he had onlj been forwardiDg the designs of the repnbUcan party to 
destroy both. At ibat period the Austrian government was wuling to 
resign Lombardj — aheady lost — and to accept peace npon the grounds 
of mere financiai remuneration. But Venice — or rather the republicans 
— insisted on being included in the treaty. Austria had time to rally ; 
sent reinforcements into Italy ; and all that had been so rapidly and so 
gallantly g^ned was as speedily lost. The Milanese received the king, 
whom uiey had invited to their rescue, with insult and opprobrium, 
whilst the courage of the officers who surrounded him alone saved Charles 
Albert in a dastardly attack that placed his life in danger ; and Italy 
lost, through the iaiae intrigues of the republican fiaction, all that she 
might have guned from the gallant efforts of the man whom she forced 
into action and then basely betrayed. 

After long hesitation and indecision, Charles Albert declared war 
against Austria. He crossed the frontier of Lombardy on the 23rd of 
March, barricaded the roads, fortified the chief towns through which he 
passed, and on the Slst of the same month his army occupied the town 
of Lodi. Every Italian state sent reinforcements to his aid, and the war- 
cry against the oppressor sounded enthusiastically through the country. 
In the Coliseum at Rome, where the enrolment of the volunteers took 
place, thousands rushed to enlist in the '^ legions" which were destined 
to maroh, without delay, for the expulsion of the << barbarians ;" and the 
Romans of the revolution seemed unconscious of the ridicule which they 
incurred by this adoption of the phraseology of their great forefathers. 
Untrained and disorderly mobs formed themselves hastily into regiments, 
led by officers as completely igfnorant of military discipline as the men 
whom they commanded. Before they had proceeded many miles upon 
their maroh, they became footsore, and a great number of the soldiers fell 
ill. Such as finally escaped from the hospitals and reached their desti- 
nation, proved a serious incumbrance to the army which they were in- 
tended to reinforce— drawing away food and money, already sufficiently 
scarce, and totally incapable of affording any aid. 

The Pope, from the beginning, had firmly and resolutely opposed him- 
self to the unequal and almost hopeless war. He had sanctioned the 
mareh of troops for the purpose of protecting the frontiers of his state, 
but he positively forbade any act of aggression against Austria ; and 
fearing to give an excuse for the infringement of existing treaties, he 
refused tiie earnest prayer of the people that he would bless the banners 
under which they were to set forth. The people then rose simultane- 
ously to overpower the resistance of their sovereign. The civic g^ard 
seized the gates of tiie town, to prevent escape from the wild scenes that 
were soon to be enacted within its walls, and remained under arms day 
and night. The Pope was held a prisoner in his palace on the Quirinal, 
surrounded by the armed fi&ctions, who wielded uie sole remaining au- 
thority ; and it was boldly intimated to him, that if he persisted in reAisin^ 
his asisent to the war, a provisional government would be proclaimed. 
The cardinals were kept prisoners in their own houses, exposed to every 
insult, and in the utmost peril from the fury of the mob. The Pope 
succeeded in procuring the release of four of their number, including 
Cardinal Gizzi, and caused them to be conveyed to his own palace ; but 
when he sent his major-domo to the aid of Cardinals Bemetti and Delia 



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108 SigtekeioftheJialiauBewbitiom. 

Genga, those fveUies were thntieoed by the nraslMts of thedvic gmrd, 
and the rage of the infiuiated populaee. Gardiiial Delia Geaga ms at 
length reioned by the Duke of Samaii, a oolonel of the oifie gnaid, but 
no aarietaoce oould be rendered to Cardinal BemettL The Pope then 
sent Prince Rospigiioei, the civio general, to leleaee tibe prebte, nnt the 
insurgents paid no more respect to the authority of their eonunandant 
ihan to the dignity of the cnnrchmaa. Anidst iasnlte and tfaiests the 
prince persisted in forcing lus way into the preaenee of Cazdinal Bensetti, 
whose gardens had already been denMtated by the peopla. Bat calm 
and unmoved amidst the danger dut surrounded him, toe prelate wisely 
resolTcd not to oonfiront the enraged mob; and it is probable that he owed 
Ids life to this detenninaliDn, as the oirio guard awaited his appearance 
with loaded firelocks. 

Meanwhile tiie dubs voted that their sittings should be permanent 
The Recdd ministry rave in its rerigoation, and a prorirional govern- 
ment was loudly eaUed for by the pec^. In ipite et emj i eflSart of Ae 
ffovemment to p«t an end to the diMsdeis, the tmmults lasted for three 
days and nights. 

A short tnne before dMse events the Pope had been indueedto consent 
to the alienatioa of a krge portion of Church prupei ' tyt under the plea of 
arming the counivv agdnst foreign invasion. He hsa been persuaded to 
this concession chiefly by the influenoe of Count Bossi, at that time 
ambassador firom the court of France at Borne. In the month of May, 
Count Mamiani, formeriy a political prisener, who had recovered his 
liberty by the amnesty, was called upon to form a new ministry, which 
he endeavoured to strengthen and render popular by eiclading priests 
from the high offices m government^ and fay admitting some Roman 
noblemen to official employment ; but the names of Prince Doria and of 
the Duke de Bignano were not caleidated to add much dignity oi inteU 
ligence to the new administration. 

The troops — or, to qwak snore accurately, the mob — which had ^- 
ceeded towards the frontier, had selected as their commander the Pied- 
montese general, Durando. This officer— who subsequently displayed as 
much spirit and conduct as his means permitted him to exert in &vour of 
the liberal cause, to which he was sincerely attached — had no sooner 
reached Ferrara, than setting at defiance the commands of the Pope, he 
save the order to cross the firontier. The Pope^ who had formally for- 
bidden the war, published a fresh order, prohibiting his troops from at- 
tacking the Austrians. But these eommaads were worn than vain, 
rosed as they wera by the determinatioa of the popular leaders, and 
enthusiastic wishes of the people, who blindly folfiUed their purposes; 
and the other governments of Italy, by yielding at once to tiie general 
will, increased to the utmost die danger and mffiodky of the 'pontiff's 
rituation. 

Naples and Florence had sent large reinforcements to the war. Four 
tihousand Tuscan volunteers, amongst whose ranks was the since fomous 
Mootanelli, marched to join the Sardinian army ; the Grand-Duke, in 
the speedi with which he opened the Constitational Assembly, dedared 
wiat Aurtria was now the only enemy of Tuscany, and war was dedared 
•if*^** ™^t power. When Montaneili was wounded at the subsequent 
figbt of Montaoara, and carried prisoner to Mantua, « folae raport of his 



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Sketches of the Italian Revolution. 109 

death which reached Florence was received with every demonstration of 
public grief, and funeral honours were decreed to his memory by his 
feUow-citizens. 

Durando, with his corps, was advancing from Romagna; General 
Pepe Bmi«lied from Na^aet with twelve thomand men ; and a detach- 
nwnt of the Neapolitan army took potsesnon of Bologna. At the same 
time Charits Albert'* progress had been attended by the most signal 
•oooess. At Curtalona and Montanara, at Futrengo aad San Lwsia, 
he defeated the Anstrians. Hie garnson of Como was oomp^ed to 
aairender; ihat of Bergamo fled; Pavia, Pinoalona, and Cremona 
fbreed the Anstrians to retire from before their walls. At Monza, a 
whole battalion of Radetiky's army were taken prisoDera ; at Brescia 
equal snocees crowned 1^ Italian arms ; and tJw welUoontefted victory 
of Goito added the hut laurel-braneh to Gharies Albert's wreath of 
glory. On the field of battle, the gallant king learned diat the strong 
fortress of Pesehieia had capitulated, and was in the possesskm of his 
troops ; and Italy enthoaiastieally faa^ed her deliverar m the conqueror 
of the armies of Austria. 

The Anstrians were everywhere defeated, and everywhere in retreat. 
Lombaidy and Venice were ready to dedare themselves provinces of the 
kingdom of Upper Italy ; Parma and Modena had already given ihem- 
selves to Sardmia; and, in spite of the ardent potnotimn at tnat time dis- 
played by the Gnnid-Doke of Tuscany, it was more than doubtfiil whe- 
ther an Austrian prince would be able to preswve his throne amidst the 
overthrow and abnorrence of German domination. It vn» at this bright 
moment in Uie destiny of the fated King of Sardinia Aat the hydra of 
the revohitkm raised its hundred heads for the oonsummation' of bis 
ruin, and the destruction of the cause to which he had devoted himsel£ 
Mauini and the repuhlican agents busily spread abroad a jealousy of the 
victoi's power, and a miitrust of his authority. Now, as ever, where 
hope gleamed onoe more upon the brighteaing prospects of Italy, dissen- 
sions arose to divide the land, whose only chance or rescue depended on 
unity of action. The anarchists raised a rroublican cry throughout the 
peninsula in order to vdl their own thirst for ruin and disorder ; and 
they soon succeeded in destroying ^ hopes that had davmed so glo- 
riously on their eonnlxy, and as quickly died away beneath thor baneful 



The king, astounded at his own success, did not pursue his triumphs 
with the necessary promptitade. Austria, weakened %t hone, defeated 
abroad, ofeed peaee, with the cessicii of Lombardy, on the sole condi- 
tion of peooniary rennmeration. Venice and the republicans insisted on 
being indnded in tiie treaty. Whilst the fate of his country vras thus 
depending on the turn of a die, the king laid siege to the neariy im- 
pregnable fortress of Mantua, flotuated in an unheal&y country, and sur- 
rounded by impassable morasses. Tlie precious moments flew by in this 
useless attempt, and the hours were lost on which the safety of Italy 
depended. 



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( 110 ) 



A DANUBIAN ODYSSEY. 

Although we have had already many and detailed accounts of the 
allied forces during their first campaign in the Principalities^ all of these 
have been written by persons more or less interested in the issue of the 
struggle. With the Germans it is quite di£Eerent : they take no more 
interest in the war than they do in the production of a new opera ; 
all they care for is the excitement of hearing about gallant feats of arms ; 
but as for their feeling a wish as to which side victory may eventually 
iodine, or realising the fearful perils to which they, as well as all Europe, 
would be exposed by the Russ maintaining the upper hand, that is a 
consummation which we cannot anticipate — at least as long as Germany 
adheres to its present regime. The wish is only too frequently father to 
the thought, and from tiie very commencement of hostilities we have 
been deluding ourselves vrith the idea that Austria, at least, will furnish 
us material assistance. Our operations are at a stand-stiU ; hardly a 
man is being sent from this country to fud Lord Raglan in his embarrass- 
ment. We are compelled to borrow troops, whom the Austrian* regards 
with mmgled contempt and aversion, and thus raise a barrier which will 
eternally keep us separated from him — while, at the same time, com- 
mendng a long series of subsidies which will cripple us and our posterity 
for generations. And yet, so great is our faith in princes, spite of the 
notorious instances we have had heretofore of the trust to be placed in 
them — and more especially is this referable to the House of Hapsburg, — 
that we very oomplacentiy satisfy our doubts by reading in the Times 
that the Austrians are going to commence operations forthwith, for- 
getting that such has been the cry from the commencement of negotia- 
tions up to the present time, and that there is every probability it will 
continue so until one of two events occur— that either of the belligerents 
gain the upper hand, or that an ignominious peace is concluded. So 
strong, in truth, is our disbelief in Austrian honesty, that we feel 
convinced that, if any sudden reverse were to occur to our forces in the 
Crimea — and we appear to be giving every opportunity for such a 
catastrophe — Austria and Prussia would at once coalesce, and help the 
Czar in numbling the pride of two nations, whom they necessarily hate, 
because they fear them. Austria was ever notorious for fishing in 
troubled waters — ^her hopes of gain are founded on her keeping her army 
in such a condition that her sword, when thrown in the balance, must 
turn the scale— and such time will eventually arrive. But, for Heaven's 
sake, let us not biuld on such assistance as certain — ^the only way of 
assuring the aid of Austria is by proving that we can do without ner. 
The Prussian monarch — perhaps through his devotion to. the widow 
Clicquot — showed his hand too soon, and he has been treated by the 
Allies with that withering contempt which is the just lot of all hypocrites 
and double-dealers ; but Austria has fairly beaten us. 

But where are we wandering? — we had meant by this time to have run 
down the Danube as £Eur as Widdin with our good friend Hans Wachen- 
husen, " Own Correspondent" to the AUgemeine Augsburger^ and we 
find ourselves trying conclusions with German potentates, at our writing- 



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A DanuUan Odyssey. Ill 

desk in England (very fortunately for oarselves, by the way, for one 
tithe of soch remarks in Austria would have booked us for Spelberg). 
But what we had intended to say was this : the indifference the Geimans 
display anent the war, renders them, at any rate, impartial observers, and 
it is with the hope of being able to renrd a weli-wom subject from 
another stand-point, that we venture to mtroduce our readers to Hans 
Wacheuhusen's little book, <' Von Widdin nach StambuU^ 

On the 5th of June of the past year, our author left Widdin for 
SiUstria, where he hoped to arrive in time for the great bombardment. 
He therefore hired a kaik, pulled by two sturdy Turks, with the intention 
of going down the Danube as £eur as Sistowa. In vain did the Austrian 
consul try to dissuade him from so perilous an enterprise ; in vain did be 
support his statements by the production of various passports and Wan-* 
derbucher, which had been found on the highway before the war began 
— and what would it be now when bashi«bazuks, and all sorts of 
ragamuffins thronged the roads ? Our author was obstinate, the only 
precaution he took being to leave in the hands of the consul six ducats, 
the half of the passage money, to be pud the Turks when they brought 
him a receipt in our correspondent's lumdwriting, to prove that he had 
been landed safely. This is the description of the beginning of the 
Odyssey: 

Hy bukjis had made me a comfortable seat on a mat of reeds in the stem of 
my nutdieu, which was about two and a half feet broad, and were aheadv at 
their posts. I was provided with my two Amaut pistols, a large bottle holdinj^ 
threeokasof wine, a leg of mutton, and half a dozen Turkish loaves; mykaikjis 
were also armed to the teeth: each had his handjar, his long Albanian gun, his 
pistols, and his knife ; with these a small battle could have been fought, and who 
could imagine that one of the belligerent powers on the banks of the Danube 
would bomWd a wretched author P Ll adoition, the boatmen had for them- 
selves a mountain of loaves, and all sorts of provisions, more especially an entire 
cargo of fragrant garlic, whose perfume I was to have in my nostrils the whole 
journey. I, poor lellow, did not conjecture, however, that probably no one had 
ever jet sailed down the Danube under more inauspicious circumstances than 
awaited me. But, as we make our bed, so we must lie on it. 

The progress of the boat was fearfully slow, for the Turks, af^ row- 
ing a few miles, made it an invariable rule to go to sleep, while our author 
amused himself by firing at wild ducks and herons that slowly sailed past* 
At last, however, they reached the first station. Lorn Palanka, where they 
intended to pass the night. The inquiry aflter a lodging was met with 
the usual " htlmem** ('^ I don't know"), and our author felt at last that 
he would be compelled to keep the Ramazan, for which he felt very little 
iDdination. Aflter a long conversation — if conversation it could be called, 
when neither party understood the other — an elderly man in a Prankish 
costume addressed M. Wachenhusen in execrable French, and offered 
his services. By his interposition a Turkish kavass was hunted up, who 
found lodfi^ngs at the house of the steam-boat agent, though the owner 
had bolted at the outbreak of hostilities. In vain, though, was the at- 
tempt to procure a cup of coffee, which would have been highly beneficial 
after the general repast of sour wine and dry bread ; but it was Ramazan, 
the coffee-houses were closed, and not for a Jew's eye could a cup of 
coffee have been procured. The second day's journey was a repetition of 

May — ^voL. CIV. NO. ccccxin. i 



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112 A Dmnubian OAfuey, 

the fint; bat during the night the following agreeable advantme eo- 
eiirrad: 

Night came in. I was sleepiiig too. Saddenly I was awakened by tiie violent 
tossing of the boat : a stonn had come on us, and the little kaik threatened to 
break away from the thin withies to which it was fastened. I walosd the 
aleeners/who wonld not have stirred on their own acoord i{ the sky had £sllfin in 
on tnem. With ever;f minute the storm grew fiercer, the waves rose higher and 
higher, the storm agitated the willow biuihes and hurled the little boat on to 
the island. Thunder and lightning followed; the rain poured down, the wind 
carried off the thin reed mat, which had hitherto guarded me iwainst the sun ; 
one of the kaikjis leaped out of the boat, and held on firmlv to the withies. The 
water poured into the boat in bucketfuls ; my books which I had been reading 
during the day were already washed out — bread, tobaoeo, all had followed them ; 
my wme-bottie was broken, and I myself sat with my carpeirbaff on my kp, not 
to lose eveiything in the water that was filling the kaik. Suadenly the other 
kaikji also disappeared. I heard a splash andfaii in the water, but sought him in 
vain : at length, I heard his voioe from the ozier-bed — ^he had taken refuge on 
land, but was unable to hold onto the boat. I tried to hand him an oar, but they 
had rolled overboard through the oscillation of the boat, fortunately, the other 
boatman held on to the boat like grim death, or I must infidliblY have been lost. 
This fearful situation lasted four hours ; at length the storm lulled, but the rain 
held on. My clothes, my doak, imng like lead around me : my fez bad been a 
victim of the storm, and m this state we must wait at least three hours for day- 
break ! My teeth chattered from cold ; I sat there helplessly like a shipwrecked 
man ; my boatmen laid themsehes in the bow and stem of tne boat in half a foot 
of water and sl^^. What a Turk can do in this respect I ei^arienoed on my 
voyage. At last day broke. To my great joy I found my Tundsh leosioon, the 
only treasure of my wisdom, thouffh wet through, still sue in a comsr. The 
storm had left a favourable breeie bdnnd ; our sail was hoisted, but preased the 
slight mast to such a nitch, that it broke, and it took us great trouble to repair 
it. Thus we managea to readi the village of Wadin, steering widi a pieoe of 
board (for those little man-traps do not possess rudders), where we procured fieesh 
oars. I asked for some warm food : the BulflBriaa peasants bsonglit me yamtrt. 
Only imagine—after sudi a night, my teetn chattering with cold, unable to 
change my clothes, for my oarpet4)ag was wet through-— in such a condition I 
was expected to drink cola sour milk! After great exertion I at kst sucoeeded 
in obtaming half a jug of warm milk and a botUe of nJdh. 

But GOT author's misadventiiFes were not yet ended. At about a 
kagoe from Nikopoli they came in sight of a Rnaeian entrenchment, 
which pat iJie kaikjis in a state of conffldemhle alarm, for, si^ M. 
Wachenhnsen, ^ I have frequently noticed that the Turk is a coward, or 
at least undecided, unless he has a bftnd of his oountiTmen round him.** 
To humour their prejudioes he pulled nearer lihe Turkish bank, but in 
doing so, only'esoaped from Sc^Ua to rush into <3har}'bdi8 ; while his 
eyes were steadfoady fixed on the Ruasini earthworks, a shot whined 
over his head, and, on looking round to the Bulgarian hank, he notioed 
an Amaut encampment of about rixty tents, which grew on tlie pveokiice 
Hke huge fungi. The sentry had fired tfais shot, which roused the whole 
eamp in a second ; fiffy to sixty AmantB mshed out of Aeir dirty tente, 
all armed widi tiieir long guns and pistols. Bafeire a moment had 
«lap"^> <:^^ cannon were fired, a salvo of small arms followed it instan- 
taneously; and while liie cannon-baUs wfaixEed tiizough lb aor, the 
hullete splashed the water all around the boats. Thus the Turks hnvelj 
hombanU a sins4e, hamdesB skiff! 



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A DanubUm Odyssey. l\% 

This yrsB no sif^ling, this \ras open hostilities ; and had the encampment 
been in a right line with us, yr^ should, aasotedly, not have esoaped so easily. Nb 
bullet had as yet strodL as, but unlms the fellovs oeased finng we shonld in- 
evitably be hit I supposed there was some mistake (for how else would they 
fire att a Turkish boat), so I ordered my men to row straight to the foot of the 
mountain while I waved my white handkerchief as a signal of amity. Possibly 
this was not noticed by the Amauts, possibly thev regarded it as a demonstra- 
tion, for they fired again, and I distinctly felt a blow in the folds of my cloak 
just above mj right arm. My cloak was fearfully torn; two well-ahned Wlets 
nad passed through the folds of my cloak and the sleeve of my coat, and fell on 
the mat at my feet; a qnirter of an inch deq>er, an inch mote to the right, and 
the^ would have been in my arm or side. At the same tiins, thvee other bnlleli 
whistled through the sail. 

Tins was evidendj past a joke ; and so to prevent another salvo, otcr 
author seized an oar, and puHed as hard as be coald towards the rock. 
Tins stopped any further hostilities, for when the Amants saw the boat- 
men obeyed tbeirpoUte invitation, some twenty of them roshed noisiiy 
down the InlL ^ Tne boat had just reached the bank, when our anthor 
heard a hollow scmnd from the WalliKshiaii bank ; one of the six Rnsaian 
-cannon up the river Alnta had been fired, bat was badly aimed, for the 
ball struck against the rocks and fell with a splash in the river. The 
af&dr was m>w growmg serious ; and the Arnauts on the bank were the 
wildest n^muffins M. Wachenhusen had ever had the misfbrtnne of 
seeing anywhere out of a prison. The receptbn he met with was far 
£rom agreeable : four or five hands seized him by the collar, shooting, 
^' MoMOv Gianrr and dsagged fadaa ont of the boat A blow from the 
butt^nd of his pistol, given to the taMest of the band, oMsed the others 
to keep at a more resp^tful distance, and the fortanate idea of producing 
the bottle of rakih occasioned an armistice. Oar author was then 
handed over to the charee of a redif corporal, and off they started for 
ITikopoli, where M. Wachenhusen was inune<£ately set at liberty. Bat 
here he was as badly off as befoee; the Paoha ootM not, or would not, 
give him iMnes to cimtinne his jenmwf, and the ka&jis zefused to take 
him further in their boat Tbe foUewsing eactraet is an amusing instanoe 
of the pursuit of knowledge under difficulties : 

At last I was told that dose to the shore lived a Tartar who spoke " FrankiBh" 
famously. This Tartar^the sole person who could act as interfureter, and by 
whose assistance I hoped to come to a settlement with the obstinate Pacha — 
must now be looked up by means, of a kavass. After much wandering here and 
there, the latter led me to a little wooden hut — a vegetable shop— which was 
dosed, because the Turks, dui^ Bamazan, only open their shops for a few 
hours in the day, or not at all. We drummed the Tartar out, and at last we had 
this wondeiful animal— an elderly man with crafty black eyes — ^before us. I ad- 
dressed him in German; " Nix versteh !" the man replied : this bemnning was 
remarkably prDmistog. I spoke to him in French; he answered, " Wui, mon- 
schir.'' 1 went on; ne continued his "wui monschiring." I addressed him in 
bad Itaiian; he stuck to his ''wm, monsdiir." I spoke to him in English; 
'' Wui, nunsdnr.'' laoade a hst deapecate attempt by attac^iag him m Swedish 
and Danish, witboat esimcstiBg any better reealt, nor didlfindit. Quite hot 
with annoyanoe,.! tamedmy bad£ on 1^ Meczofantl of l^ikopoli, and determined 
on making alasl attack on the Padia on mj own hook. Bathed in perspiration 
I at lastidoinfid^'koBak on the rod^y plateau.; there the Turks were still 
sitting as tney had sat there hours before, and puffed ; not one of them had uro- 
bably moved a limb, " Pacha* wer bane begir*^— (" Pacha, give me horses' )— 

I 2 



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114 A Danubian Odyssey* 

I cried, as I entered without any ceremon^r, and standing Wore the Arnant 
chief. He did not stir, but only smacked his tongue in deniaL I repeated my 
demand. *' Yok," was the dry reply, *' oknas !"— nis ultimatum, after I had dis- 
puted with him for a quarter of an hour in mv broken Turkish, without his losing 
the slightest of his peace of mind, or his " kef." Without doubt the mistrustf lu 
Turk still regarded me as a Russian spy. 

Afiter a yaio attempt to induce the kaikjis to continue their vovagey 
M. Wackenhusen desperately hired an ox-cart to carry him as rar as 
Sistowa. But he did not get any great distance with it, for, at every 
fi^ paces, he found himself surrounoed by Amauts, who held the oxen 
by the horns and stretched out their hands with the categorical demand, 
*^Adamj wer para /" ("Man, ^ve money !") Had our author not given it, 
it was very plain they would have helped themselves, so, after getting rid 
of all his small change and his whole stock of patience, he suddenly 
returned to Nikopoli. On arriving here he sent for his old kaikjis, and 
barg^ed with them to carry him back to Rahova, where he intended to 
await the troops from Widdin and Elala&t, in which the boatmen gladly 
acquiesced. This voyage occupied six days, during which M. Wachen- 
husen was exposed to the utmost misery, though, fortunately, the bullets* 
were on this occasion absent. On arriving at Rahova, however, our 
author discovered that not a single company of Turks had passed through, 
and he decided on returning to Lom Palanka, whence he would proceed 
by land to Widdin. In Lom the following occurred, which is an amusing 
instance how ^' Muscovy ducks" are hatched : 

In the open Tchardagh of the steam-agent's house, I found two well-known 
faces ; they belonged to the two German correspondents of Vienna papers, Br. 

E and Dr. J ^ whose acquaintance I bad formed at Widdin, and who 

had come here with the steamers. I went into the house, and was received by 
my two colleagues with the inquiry, whether an engagement had really tiJcen 
place last Wednesday at Nikopoli, as a trader had brought the news from Islas 
that a violent cannonade had oeen heard in the vicinity of Nikopoli, that the 
Russians had attempted to force a passage, but had been driven back by the 
Turks with considerable loss. I was naturally in a position to confirm the news 
of the cannonade, but as remded the woun(fed they were limited to a singlo 
victim — my injured cloak. Thus, then, report had once again converted a fly 
into an elephant, which will always remain an interesting reminiscence for my- 
self and cloak. 

After a day's rest our author set out with his friends for Tirnova, in 
the heart of the Balkans, which place they reached af)»r a pleasant ride. 
Tirnova was formerly the residence of the Bulgarian kings, the Holy 
City, and a degree of luxury is to be found in the bizistans or bazars 
surpassing Shumla and Varna, and rendering the town a miniature Con- 
stantinople. It contains houses built after a European style, and one 
of them, belonging to a Greek, actually possessed Gothic windows and a 
verandah ! Our readers must know that this is a species of miracle in 
the interior of Turkey. There is also an apothecary's shop, in such ex- 
cellent condition, that those found at Pera might really envy it. After 
a few days' stay here, which was only remarkable for the extraordinary 
length of the reckoning, and off which the kavass very calmly docked 
two- thirds, the party set out again en route for Shumla, where our author 
had the extreme gratification of finding that the Russians had raised the 



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A Danuhian Odyssey. 115 

sieg^ of Silistria on the previous day and recrossed the Danube. He 
was disappointed, as may be anticipated, and he gires yent to his discon- 
tent in the following Jeremiad : '^ I really ought to have seven-leagued 
boots to catch up tlius war. Had I not been sent back up the Danube 
under protest, I should have arrived just in time. I had lost a fortnight 
by this round-about road, and the Russians could not wait so long. I 
could only account for it by presuming there was something extraordi- 
narily peaceable about me : for when I arrived at Widdin the Russians 
fell back on Kalafat: now, when I came to Shumla, with the firm 
intention of getting as near as I could to Silistria, the Russians again 
retreated. I am, consequently, convinced that it would have sufficed to 
send me to Sevastopol, to cause the immediate surrender of that fortress.** 
Such being the case, it was necessary to make the best of a bad job, and 
in this our author was materially aided by finding a German locanda 
kept by an Hungarian. It is the only one in all Turkey worthy of 
mention, of course excepting Constantinople ; there was certainly one 
at Widdin, kept by Alexi, a Greek, which was a miserable hole, and 
the landlord an impudent fellow. On the first evening our author visited 
this locanda he found all the tables occupied by officers and strangers. 
Skender Bey, Jacouba, Omar Bey, and other acquaintances he found 
here, and they were all excessively jolly. The latest events at Silistria 
formed the subject of conversation, and M. Wachenhusen was especially 
pleased with the description given here by a young Turkish captam, Me- 
hemed AU Effendi, who had returned from Silistria on the previous even- 
ing, where he had been very active in the trenches. Mehemed AU was a 
Prussian, bom in Magdeburg, of the name of Detroit, who had run away 
from home as cabin-boy, entered the military school at Constantinople^ 
and so made his fortune. Another interesting acquaintance was Lieute- 
nant Yon der Becke : he is one of those officers who went as artillery 
instructors from Prussia to Turkey seven years ago, and who have done 
so much to l^ace the Turkish artillery on its present excellent bans. 
From these officers, too, M. Wachenhusen contrived to pick up various 
details about Omar Pacha, which possess so much novelty, that we 
transcribe them in their entirety : 

It would be a superfluoos task were I only to repeat the stories hitherto 
told about the generalissimo in the newspapers and elsewhere : my purpose is 
rather to rectify these statements which nave been made known about the life 
of this man, ana in some measure to contradict them, for what I now narrate I 
heard from persons who had been his comrades for years, or at least in his im- 
mediate vicmity. I only propose, however, to tell such anecdotes as are not 
^nerally known, and beg to state that the part relating to Omar's former life 
IS taken from his own lips, and is written in similar terms in bis journal. 

Omar Pacha is descended from a Croatian family, neither rich nor well-bom, 
and served under the name of Latas in the Austrian Grenzer, as sub-officer. In 
consequence of some unpleasantness with one of his superiors, which be probably 
describes differently from the way I heard it from an cud captain on the military 
frontier, who remembered Latas perfectly well, Omar secretly left the service, and 
fled to Turkish Croatia as far as the town of Banyaluka, on the river Yerbas. Here 
he looked for work, and found a Turkish tradesman, who received him into his house, 
as the fugitive understood German, wrote a good hand, and so could be excel- 
lently employed in mercantile affairs. He took him into hb store, appointed him 



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„Bbtaiit, ud Boon grew soiond of him, thai he piopoaed to him to be oonverted to 
Islamism» and many his daughter. Omar aoquiesced, and became a renegade. 
But he was soon assailed by great despondency ; he felt nnhappy in this new 
state, and at last made up his mind to fly privily from Banyaluka^ and proceed to 
Widdin. This design he executed soon after : in the night he set out with only 
SO piastres in hk pocket, and arrived at Gulhissan, a small town on the same 
liver. Here, just oefore the town, he sank exhausted on a stone by t^e wayside ; 
his shoes were burst, he had no money to buy new ones, he knew not whither to 
tum nor what to do. Crying bitterly, he looked, for something to mend his shoes, 
and at last found a little piece of cord, with which he tied them together, ^owl^, 
and plucking up a heart, he continued his journey^ and at last reached Widdin 
with twentyparas Thalf a piastre) in his pocket. 

Here in Widifin he seated liimself in a coffee-house, and heard several persons 
conversing about the oircumstanoe that Ibrahim Pacha wanted to draw a plan 
of Widdin, but could find no one to execute it. Omar here saw a way of release : 
he went to the Turks and stated that he was ready to draw the plan, if they would 
tdl him how to pocure Uie job. The Turks informed Ibrahim that there was a 
young man in tne town who would draw the required nlans. Ibrahim sent for 
him, gave him the necessary materials, and Omar set about his task. He did it 
to Ibrahim's complete satisfaction ; so he gave Omar new clothes, and kept him 
near his person in the capacity of private engineer. "When Ibrahim was after- 
wards removed to Mostar, Omar begged him to make an officer of him. Ibrahim 
possessed great influence in Gonstuitinople ; he wrote to the minister of war, 
aiiid* Omar was a^^mted ksl^aghassi (wii^-major). In a ^ort time he was pro- 
moted to a majority, ami as 6U£n went through tiiie Kuidistan flampaipL He dis- 
tinguished himself greatly in it, was made Ueutenant-ccdoneLand cofond^, and after 
the termination of the campaign returned to Constantinople as oommander of an 
infantry regiment. Here he was made brigadier, and then was attached to the 
RumeluuL corps, but the intrigues of several Pachas compelled him to send in his 
papers. He retired to Adrianople, and lived for three years on a monthly pension 
of ^teen dueats. At the period of the Moldo-Wallachian disturbances ne was 
sotalled to Constantinople, and promoted to the rank of lieutenant field-marshal ; 
he proceeded to the Principalities, and manaeed matters there so entirely to his 
master's satisfaction, that he was made marshal, and received the Nisohan Med- 
jidie, first class, as well as a sword of honour decorated with diamonds. He also 
received a decoration from the Kassians. On the outbreak of the revolution in 
Bosnia he proceeded thither as commander-in-chief of the Rumdian corps, de- 
feated the ^snians on all sides, and sent the two rebellious Pachas prisoners to 
Constantinople. The Sultan made him a present of 3,000,000 piastres to pay 
his debts, for Omar Pacha is always burdened with them. He afterwards sup- 
pressed the Montenegrine insurrection, and finaUy proceeded to Shumla, when 
he was appointed generalissimo of the whole Turkish army, a rao&k which renders 
him in his forty-eighth year the third person in the empire. 

His game of chess with Blsa Pacha^ which plays no inconsiderable part in 
Omar Pacha's career, as well as the share which the Sultana Yalid^ had in his 
advancement, I pass over. Eiza and Omar are deadly foes ; and thus Omar, 
when he heard that Bisa was appointed minister of war, became so excited, 
that he demanded leave to retire. Biza naturally does all in his power to hurl 
Omar from his saddle ; and when from time to time reports are propagated that 
Omar is in disgrace, as was the case last summer, they have generally a good 
foundation. In private life Omar Pacha is moi^t amiable ; he is willing to do 
kindnesses to every one, and is remarkablv affable. He loves the fair sex exces- 
sively, and has had already ten wives, who were generally Circassians and his 
slaves. By his '' penultimate" wife he has one daughter, Etima Hanum, who has 
enjoyed a first-rate education. Since he has been separated from this wife, he 
pays her monthly 12,000 piastres, on condition that she will not marry again ; 
she is said to be very beautiful, and lives in the vicinity of Constantinople. His 
present wife is a German, whom he brought with him from WaUachia ; she was 



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A DaMubioH Odyise^ 117 

soyenuis in the fiumilj of a bo^ «t Bnohaxest, and ia only xemackable for soil 
Eair and fiEBcides. She noir randfls inth her husband at Skomla.* 

Omar Paoha has two nameo, Omar Lndovik; his monetary cutnunstanoea are 
nerer brilliant, though he receives the enarmooB salary of 6000 daoata monthly : 
he has spent a fortune on women ; his sole property consists of a small house in 
Btambul, which the Sultan gave him. Of his own familj, a nephew is now with 
him, who was formerly a journeyman saddler in Trieste, out is now a colonel, uid 
will probably become a general ; he is twenty^three years of age, without vnj 
education, biut has a go<xl share of mother wit, and speaks German and French. 
About a year ago Omar's brother joined him : till 1831 he was in the Polish aor- 
Tiee, and lifed bom that date in lithuania. Omar appears rather yezed with 
his brother because he will not become a convert to iuunissL In his family 
chrde Omar Pacha is very good-humoured and amiable ; his desire to be agree- 
able frequently causes him to promise thin^ he afterwards forgets. During the 
Bosnian campaign, when he once eame to tne spot where he hid sat ^ears b3bre^ 
desdate, weeping, and with torn shoes, he p<»nted out the stone to his oomrades, 
and doBonbea to them what a part this atone had phiyed in his former life. His 
constant oomiade is an Arab maee, now eighteen years o^ age, for which he- onoB 
paid 80^000 piastres, but he would not seU her for a miUion, as he has riddoa 
this beautifnl a ^i*"*^ through all his ^""p i^igngj and is p t^^^^'^^"*^"^ tA±At>)\Mi 
to it 

Just as Httie as I fad £sposed to OYfirestimate Omar Pacha's services, do I 
wish to undervalue them. I heard in Turkey, especially firom militarr men, tiie 
most contradictory opinionB about him: I was even in society waere Omar 
Paeha's name was only mentioned with a sfaxuff of the shoulders, and as that of 
a oonrnvm parvenu. Omar Pacha's career has oeen atremdy fortnoate, liuni^ 
he has akraadY fdt the weight of -the Padishah's displeasure, and spent jears m 
" asykun" — ^tnat is, in exHe. But the same circumstance which proaired him his 
momentary brillianey broujB^ht him once more into active servioe, namely, the 
melanoholy truth, that he is the most conmetent person, among more or less in- 
competent ones. I will not attempt tD juoge how far the present generaliraimD 
pronted byliie protection he enjoyed in a certain well<^known quarter,^ but so 
mudi is certain, he distinguished himself in every campaiffn in winch he has 
taken part He is the Kceatest man among a quantity of amaU fry, bnt heiwould 
obtain an honourable pJace among^ great names ; and every commiwainn, either 
military or diplomatic, which the Porte haa entrusted to him, he has managed to 
p^rffirm \f ith undeniable talent. 

Though Omar Pacha is so amiable as a priwte man, he is abrupt and un- 
courteous in service, more especially (and this is unnardonable') towards those 
Suropeans in the Turkish army, while he behaYCS witn a great oeal more indul- 
gence to ^e national Turkish Pachas. He cannot be charged with tiying to 
enlist European talent in his staff: all these are evidently kept away fcom the 
eouncil of war, for it mig^t be veiy easy for talented men to display their skill 
there. His whole staff is, consequently, composed of Turkish officers, though he 
likes to have German and other dviliims about him : his physician. Dr. Iteden- 
bacher, is a Yiennese, and his artist, Sutter, also a German. He showed the 
same want of courtesy, after his entrance into Wallachia» to the foreign corre- 
spondents, whom he expelled from Bucharest in a yery rude manner. But, for 
all' that, Chnar Pacha is aware how much of Ins European popularity he owes to 
the press, which continually exalted him, but to whose representatives he, out of 
gratitude, gave marching orders. With regard to his personal appeamnoe, it is 
not Yeiy striking : he is. powerfully and eompactly built, and £ur irom stout ; his 
face is marked, without possessing any noble features ; his nose broad and flat ; 
his cheek-bones project in the true Sclavon style; his chin is broad and angular; 
his beard already grey. He is generally very simply dressed, in the soldiers red 
fez, a blue tunic, white trousers, and poUahed boots. The latter are de riguewr 

* The. newspapers have not informed us whether this lady has aooompamed her 
Imsband to Eupatoria. 



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118 A Danuhian Odyssey. 

with Torldsh dignitaries. Such is Omar Pacha, the Turkish Serdar. If I have 
at all assailed my reader's unbounded sympathies for this commander, he must 
remember that things, when closely inspected, frequently look veiy different 
from the aspect they assume at a distance.* 

"Wliile the trumpet was blown in eyeiY quarter in honour of the liying, 
attempts were made here and there to lop the hardly-earned laureb of a 
dead man — ^we mean Mussa Pacha — who was carried off in the mid-career 
of his heroic defence of Silistria. At head-quarters and elsewhere stories 
were told of bribery which the besiegers had attempted : Mussa Pacha 
had been offered 100,000 roubles to give up the fortress. It was even 
stated that Colonel Dieu, a Frenchman, who noticed that negotiations 
were going on between Mussa and the Russians, had publicly stated he 
would shoot the Pacha, if he saw anything suspicious. Such nursery-tales 
were narrated ere the grave had been closed over the brave Mussa! 
Mussa Pacha was one of the most active and boldest Turkish officers of 
artillery. He had declared, prior to the commencement of the siege, that 
he would not leave the fortress alive ; and be kept his word, for, on the 
2nd of June, a piece of shell struck him in the side, just as be was wiping 
his hands, and handing the towel to Lieutenant Grach, his constant 
companion. A few moments later he was dead. None of the officers in 
the fortress could remember the slightest cutsumstance tending to com- 
promise Mussa Pacha ; and Grach repelled the charges with horror, and 
asserted no attempts at corruption had been made by the besiegers. The 
flags sent in always referred to the burial of the dead : only once did the 
Russians summon the commandant to surrender; but the offer was 
laughingly declined. Grach managed all the negotiations. The best 
light is thrown on Mussa Pacha by the following circumstance: General 
Schilder once sent him several bottles of preserved fruit. Mussa received 
the envoy in the presence of all his chief officers, and had the contents 
of the bottles emptied before them, because they might contain something 
suspicious ; but such was not the case. 

At tins period it was a matter of excessive difficulty for a European 
to enter the Turkish service ; and Omar Pacha has made it a sine qud 
non that all applicants should be acquainted with the Turkish language. 
Our author met on his travels a pensioned Austrian officer on his road to 
Shumla, who stated that he would be appointed a captain, he knew that 
for certain : had he understood Turkish, they would have made him a 
major. M. Wachenhusen gave him to understand that he did not share 
in this certainty, for he knew several instances recently of the contrary. 
He met this officer again in Shumla, just as he was on the point of setting 
out for Varna. Finally, he saw him in Constantinople, as porter at the 
Hdtel de Paris. He compliuned that he could not get a situation at 
Shumla ; he was sent to Constantinople ; there he had found notiiing but 
promises ; and, having expended his little capital, he was only too glad to 
fill this humble post. In the same manner, our author met in Varna 
two Holstein officers, who, deceived in their expectations, were awaiting 

* Our extract has grown to an uncoDscionable length, hut it will he excused, 
we trust, from the interest of the subject, aud the unwillingness we felt to take 
any of the responsibility on ourselves. It does certainly seem rather cruel to 
point to the *' feet of day** of such a popular idol as Omar fscha; but our Qerman 
author is to blame for it. We are only the scribe, and leave it to our readers to 
form their own opinion. 



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A Danubian Odyssey. 119 

the formation of a foreign legion by Greneral Yussu^ and had received 
satisfactory assurances from him ; and, lastly, our author met with two 
Prussian artillery officers in Constantinople, on the point of starting for 
Asia, after being deluded by General Stein (Ferhad Pacha) for weeks. 
They went to Kars'in the hope of being appointed, and eventually entered 
the service of the Shah of Persia. 

But we are delaying most shamefully at Shumla, while metal more 
attractive is awaiting us at Varna. Let us then mount and be off at once 
with our author. The first place we meet with Eoglbh troops is at 
Pravadi, where Colonel Newton received M. Wachenhosen most hos- 
pitably, and regaled him with a camp breakfiast, consisting of ship's 
biscuit, a tall, splendid Cheshire cheese, cold mutton, and famous Madeira ! 
What a feast for half-starved men, who had hitherto been glad to get 
yaourt In fact, the brandy and wine had such an effect on our author, 
that, on the road to Varna, he pounded to dust twelve regalias, which a 
Lieutenant Smith, on hospitable cares intent, slipped into his pocket as 
a viaticum. But before leaving Devno we must find room for the fol- 
lowing tribute of respect, probably penned with a grateful reminiscence 
of the brandy : 

We passed five batteries which were planted here in the camp : the- whole 
encampment offered an instance of painful precision, which was the more remark- 
able to me, as I was not at all accustomed to it in the Turkish camps. The 
regularity obtaining in an English camp is almost incredible ! Astomshing to 
me was the colossu load the English soldier has to dra^, and which is heavier 
than that of any other European soldier, for it weighs eignty-two pounds. The 
English soldier carries, in aadition to his knapsack, not only his great-coat with 
its small collar, which gives him a very bourgeois appearance, but abo a heavy 
woollen blanket and provisions for tlu^e days. Equally striking was the size of 
the Englishmen, who were perfect dants. The English guardsman, with his tall 
bearskin schako, appeared to me, when I saw him on guard, a true son of Anak. 
Equally gigantic were their horses— a colossal sight — ^this heav^ English cavalry. 
However, the soldiers complained grievously, not only about their heavy baggage, 
but idso about the uniform, which was not suited to the climate. The tall horses 
were also discovered to be very troublesome, as many of them fell down after 
the shortest march. 

On arriving at Varna, there was an exceeding difficulty about procuring 
lodging. A visit to the Pacha, and another to the town commandant 
were equally firuitless, and, at h»t, our travellers were compelled to take 
a khan by storm, where they put up with a miserable loft over a stable, 
and had a regular engagement with the cimici and /ni/ci— only too glad, 
however, to put up with such a slight annoyance, when compared with 
the previous prospect of sleeping in the street. Varna, at tnis period, 
was a metropolis on a small scale : neither London, New York, nor Con- 
stantinople, could unrol such a picture as could be seen each mom in 
Varna. In the principal streets, especially the one leading to the port, 
with its French, Greek, and Turkish stores, there was a constant passage 
of perspiring, busy men of all nations ; in the centre creaked the ox-carts 
of the Bulgarian, the French muleteers yelled : the whole picture was 
Yeiled in a cloud of dust, surrounded by an atmosphere of schnaps and 
garlic. It would have been a miracle had the epidemic not broken out 
which made such fearful gi^s in the ranks of the Allies. The greatest 
confurion prevailed in the harbour : every hour ships were hden and un- 
laden, guns and ammunition shipped, troops sent off or landed* The 



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120 A Bmxinm Qtfyssey^ 

Englklh/Fxenflli^ sad Tuvkidi Aa^ fluttessd ham iSie ¥esnk of war ia 
port ; BteasMTO cftow snd weiit ; mititaiy fltoieB, saeln of mm^ and pyza* 
mids of Mes weroptled op; «moiig them the sailorB of the TBxiooB natioEB 
walked abowt nogiiig or jdltng* : ^ean were not gmgwa^ enongh to 
kind, handv enough to set about idl tiutt reqairod dou^. In a word, 
Turks, English, French, Egyptians, Greeks, eamek^ oaeii, mukB^ horsey 
and dogs^ all rushed haek and fiDrwards ; all yelled or had idready yelled 
themsehwB hoane ; ail were sober or drunk : and ovw iins Babjrkm 
waved the CieflBeat m^ the St», and ^e French Ea^e, and into Jin 
midst of the eonfonon Manhal St Axnaud hurled every week a pracbw 
nubtion, ** Coaorades, we will conquer or die V* 

Nothing moro surprised M. Waehenhnsen tiian to find that two 
nations who had not been able to agree for nine eentnries, and for whoae 
aUiaDoe a nation Eke the Russian was requisite, could finitffl!ni8e in the 
way the English and Fsench had done. He registers the £Mit, liiat he 
neyer saw En^di and Frenoh soldiers quandling in the Eaaty and 
whenever there was any row, botii parties forgot ttat the TnckswoeBr 
tiieir allies as well, hirt pitohed into uiem in unison. The cwminnsiiiiiitj 
in addition, looked rather queer in Varna. In the khan where oor aniiiar 
leaded of course nothing was to be had, and the sole restaurants were 
fimited to iha restamsant des qffisiers who had first opened Ins estahliab- 
ment, and had written the above sign in letters a foot in length in fmnt 
a£ his horaa. At his house you could, for a ducat, feed on a. tonighi cU 
powhiy wfaioh'was rendered digestible by a deeent BoadettiBU The-seeond 
reetaunmt was kept by an Itafian : and here, at least, it was possible to 
procure potatoes — a native dainty which M. Wachenhuaen had dispensed 
with for three months. Any one, however, who did not arrive at a 
certain half hour in mid'^y, must put up with what was left, or rather 
with what was not left. As a geaend rule, it was possible to feed hans at 
a daaant rata. Breakfast was a very simple affair : you took your seat 
in one of the storas the French bad estaUisfaed, asked for a piaoe of 
efaeese, a sausage, and a glass of Cognac or absmihef and ate out of 
your fist. Oar author, however, generally established his head-quartoia 
at the above-mentioned restaurant des ojfficiers. For when the vermin 
expelled him at night foom his kennel, he retired to the salon of the 
restaurant, laid himself on a bench, and covered hknssif with the first 
taUe-cover he eouid lay hands on. The waiter had received a commis- 
sion to sell their saddles, and they were bound to expend the proceeds ia 
this house, which, unfortunately, was no difficult task. 

Among the most original personages to be seen at this time in Vama^waa 
General Tussuf, the African, who was giving himself all possible trouble 
to form the unbridled bashi-baauks into a regiment. Yussuf, although 
no Afiican by birth (he was, as is well known, carried off by the Bavbarese 
along with his parents, and afterwards entered the French service), is the 
true type of sucii a man : he is short in statore, his^ foee is deeply bronaed, 
and a savage fire flashes from his eyes. In Alg^iers, he was known to be 
the severest as well as bravest French leader. Yussuf 'a portrait will be 
found ver^ faithfully rendered in Horaee Vemolfs ^< Lion Hunt," and our 
readers will, probably, not have forgotten the enthusiasm wiiich took 
possession of the Parisian dames when the handsame African was sum- 
moned to court by Louis Phil^pe. But was it astanishing^— Was these 



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The Z(mamL 121 

mk a fltory emrant abont die amour whieli Yntsiif earned on with the 
fagj au ghtarofthe Bey of Tunis, wfaoie firrouiite he had been ? Hewthe 
vBnauam ms eangfat in Ynwuf 'a anas faj a Greek, i^o liireatened te 
iMtiay tkem, and kow this amour was leallj discove ied, aMiengh Taaraf 
had stabbed the Gcieek, and sent his mamorata ^ the hand which had 
tooGhed her, the toD|^ which had siaodered her, and the eje which had 
aeeat what no mortal was ailowed to see ?^ How Ynssnf was seized and 
would Iwve been pot to death, had he not saved himself bj means of the 
aob ter r an eo us passage of the palaee of Tonis, taken serace with the 
Fnmdi, and perHonned nmoaeles of bra¥evy ? All these are thingv which 
can render a man intenstangv even if he is not so^ handsome as the graee- 
fiil little YnsniE 

Our tafe is neadj toU, Widi lihe deparfcnze of the Rassians from 
Silistiia the campaigB on the Damdw appemed to be terminated. The 
xeeonnoitring parties sent ont from Varna proved that the enemy had 
quitted the Dobmdja, the Tnrks were en route iat the Danube, and 
simaltaneoasly the news was spread-^^ugh rather pfematurely— 4hat 
the Austrians were on the point of entering Wallachia from Transylvania. 
Oar anthor, therefore^ desirous of fresh mds and pastures new, set sail 
for Constantinople, whidier onr hmitB will not allow us to aooompany 



THE ZCnJAYEB. 



Much diffsrence of opinion prevails as to the. nature and diaiaoler of 
the renowned Zouaves ; some assert that they are Africans, edters that 
they aze Europeans, and, strange to s^, both are right, for they are, or 
at least were, a semi-African, semi-European, corps. In their origin 
the Zouaves were almost purely African. When in July, 1880, Louis 
I4iilippe became King of me Fiendi, and Marshal Clansel was appointed 
to the comrnand in Algeria, the Turks had been ezpelkd tbe country, 
but the Fremdi were not sufficiently numerous to keep the Arab and 
Berber populations in subjection. The marshal resolved upon organising 
a native corps of oavaliy and infimtry. A decree, dated October Ist^ 
1830, and approved of by royal prochunation, dated March 21st, 1881^ 
created two battalions^ which received ^e name of Zouaves, fimn the 
Anbic Zouaoua. 

This word is frarfuUy mutilated in its transformation into French. 
Zawawah is the name of a very ancient Berber, or as the French have it, 
Kabyle tribe in Marocco (Mugfaribu TAksaX bvt still more oartknilarly 
in Algiers (Mughribu TAusat). Count Graberg notices this ancient 
tnbe mider this name in his " Yocabnlaiy of Names and Places, iSbc., in 
the Empire of Marocco." (^^ Joomal of the Royal Geographical Society,'' 
vol. vii. p. 270.) Oat of Zawawah, we might by elision make Zawaws 
or Zuaves ; but we cannot make Zouaves, if the ot« is to be pronounced 
as in out, ounce^ hound, mound, or as it is indeed commonly pronounced 
in English* 

The word, however, with its French prouaociatioPy ie now so univer»> 



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122 ITie Zouaves. 

sally accepted, that after protesting against its coirectness, ^e must 
accept it, as we do Bombay for Mambij. The Zouayes of Algiers resided 
chiefly in the most remote parts of the Juijura, and they were particu- 
larly known as an industrious, brave, haughty people, whose suDJection 
to the Turks had never been but nominal, but who often came to 
Algiers to exchange their oils and other produce for such things as their 
ragged mountains did not afford them. As they had the reputation of 
being the best soldiers in the regency, and as they had under certain cir* 
cumstances granted their military services to Barbaresque princes, their 
name was given to the new militia. This corps, however, received into 
its ranks natives of all kinds, without distinction of origin : mountaineers 
or dwellers on the plains, townspeople or countrymen, Kabyles, Arabs, 
or Coulouglis (Kufuglis). French officers were appointed to instruct 
them, and to conunand them. They were volunteers horn the army : 
and among the first were Levullant, at present in command of the 5th 
division of the army of the East ; Verg^ also general of brigade ; 
Holli^re, who died after the siege of Rome ; and Lamorici^re, who has 
made for himself a name in history, albeit an exile. These were all at 
that time young men, ftdl of courage and energy, perfectly disinterested, 
and who, in the charge they entered upon, neither looked to an advance 
of pay or to more comfortable quarters, but embraced cheerfully a career 
of continuous difficulties, certain privations, and incessant perils, sure, in 
the French military system, of promotion for services rendered. 

The command of the 1st battalion was given to a distinguished staff 
officer, M. Maumet; that of the 2nd, to the captain of Engineers, 
afterwards General, Duvivier, who died of his wounds in Paris in 1848. 
As the enlistment of the native population went on very slowly, and as 
it was moreover felt to be dangerous to leave a handftd of officers isolated 
among men in whose fidelity no great confidence could be placed, and 
whose language was even unknown to the Frenchmen, a plan vras adopted 
which might probably be also turned to good account in the constitution 
of a Turkish legion : it was that of enlisting Europeans into the ranks. 
A political body which had been troublesome in France, under the name 
of the Volunteers of the Charter ( Volontairea de la Charte\ had been 
lately transhipped to Algeria, and it was thought that the best thing 
that could be done with these hot-brained politicians would be to incor* 
porate them into the Zouaves. Strangers mm other countries, refugees 
fiom political and other causes, were also admitted into the ranks, till the 
numbers became so great that some sifting took place. The Europeans, 
not of French origin, were incorporated into the foreign le^on, whilst a 
portion of the French were organised into a 67th regiment of the line. 
The first principle of the organisation of the Zouaves remained the same, 
and in the woras of a writer in the Revue des Deux Monties^ to whom 
we are indebted for this information, ** on peut dire que le noyau des 
Zouaves fut compost d'enfans de Paris et dlndigenes des environs 
d'Alger."* 

The corps had been barely organised for six weeks when it was led by 

* This article is attributed to the Due d*Aumale, and it would appear, from 
the predilections of the author to Orleanist generals, with some justice. It is, 
however, in every respect, in an historical and military point of view, as also in 
the credit meted out to each and all, most honourable to its author. 



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The Slaves. 123 

General Clausel on the expedition of Medeah (Mediyah), and the 2iOuaTes 
received what the French call their haptism of fire, and what we com- 
monly designate as the first smell of gunpowder, at the Pass of Mouzala 
(Mosaya), to which they were destined to give renown hy their valour 
upon several subsequent occasions. The circumstances under which the 
Zouaves were placed at first were anything but agreeable. Isolated in 
small parties in the interior of the country, night and day they had only 
to lay down the pickaxe to take up their muskets, and they had the 
greatest difficulty to obtain the commonest necessaries of life ; as to com- 
forts, they had none. One of their captains fell in this first campdgn, 
the fii^st of a long and glorious list, which comprises names illustrious in 
the annals of the army, a son of the Duke d'Harcourt, who had carried 
the knapsack and the musket ; a nephew of Marshal Duke of Istria, the 
gallant Bessieres ; and a grenadier m the island of Elba, Peraguey, who 
had risen from the ranks to be chef de bcUatUon, when he was killed in 
1845, and whose g^y hairs were for a long time the object of the 
respectful affection of nis younger comrades. 

Medeah was evacuated by the French troops early in 1831, but in the 
month of June of the same year General Berthezene had to lead a divi- 
sion there, to enforce the authority of the Bey who had been appointed 
over the district. On returning from this expedition a furious onslaught 
was made upon the rear-guard, at a time when the soldiers, worn out 
with fatigue and excessive heat, were pursuing their painful way along a 
mountain path which only permitted of the passage of one man at a time. 
Duvivier returned to the succour with the 2nd battalion of Zouaves. The 
natives gave their shouts of war ; tiie Volunteers of the Charter, who 
still wore la blouse gatUoisey struck up ^^ La Marseillaise," and falling 
together upon the Kabyles they checked the onslaught, and then retiring 
from eminence to emmence, and covering the march of the wearied 
troops, they enabled the whole force to reach and establish itself at the 
farm of Mouzaia, without the loss of one trophy to the enemy. 

The retreat of Medeah was most honourable to the Zouaves, and they 
assumed from that time a position in the French army. Still recruits 
came in so slowly that the two battalions were reunited into one, and a 
royal decree of the 7th of March, 1833, fixed the number of companies at 
ten, eight French and two native, and it was provided that there should 
be twdve French soldiers in every native company. The command of 
the battalion thus organised was given to De Lamoriciere, he having 
particularly distinguished himself by his gallantry and military capa- 
bilities, b^ his acquaintance with the language of tiie country, and by his 
tact and ludgment, as well as his zeal and audacity. Their head-quarters 
were Dely-Ibrahim (Dali-Ibrahim, Mad Abraham), where they esta- 
blished dwellings, forges, everythins' with their own hands. Frequent 
expeditions into the Sahel (Sahel, plain of grassy pasturage ; S&hil, coast), 
the Mitidja, and into the lower region of the Atlas varied the monotony 
of camp life. Every day the Zouaves became more industrious, more dis- 
ciplined, and more warlike ; they learnt to walk quick, and for a long time, 
to manoeuvre with precision, and to fight with intelligence. Their uni- 
form and equipments were regulated. Tney are now so well known, and so 
popular, that it is almost needless to describe them. Their dress is tiie 
Oriental garb with the colours of the French infantry, and is generally 



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U4 The Zouaves. 

auppomd to be a style of dress better adapted iat aTariaUeeliiiiate,-«Bd for 
active military eaescises, than any that hm yet been adopted. Tlie offioera 
aloae preserved ^ Enropean dressy as an Oriental garb aoited to their 
ank wonld have been too costly. They often exchanged the hdpif Jww- 
ever, for the red cap, called by the Tuixs fss, and by the Moons ohediia. 
M. de Lamoriciere was known in tin peovinoe of Algiers by the name of 
Abu or Bu Chechia, Fadier Cap, bnthe ezehangnd tiiis name in Gtan for 
Abu Axana, Father Stick I De LanMiricieEe was the fennder of the 
Zonaves, a force which, whilst it has pseserved that personal latefiigence 
which is chameteristic of irregular troops, and its monben have con- 
tinued to be tnw childsen of Paris by ti^ir liveliness aad gaiety, has 
attained all the soiidky and precision of the most bimtaat r^ment. 

Marshal Claaselled the Zouaves, whose military value he was one of die 
irst to appnciate^ into Oranin 183IL Th^ came under die eegnisasiee 
of the Ddce of Orleans on the oooaeion of the eKpedbaon of Mascara, and 
so great was the opunen which the prince entertained of their capabili- 
ties, that on his return to Paris he <ditained a deeeee coDstitBtiag the 
battalion into a regiment of two battafioas of su companies esK^ with 
permisnon to raise them to ten. M. de Lamoxiciere retained die conmiand^ 
widi the rank of lieutenant-eolonel. 

On dieir retmsi to the proviaoe of Algeria eaoly in 18d€, tiis Zouaves 
were once move directed upon the old dieatreof dieir esplmts — Mouzaaa. 
The point was more obstinately defended diaa befbve, but tibe marshal 
also knew his territory better, and the Zo nav e o were duu^ed te carry the 
crest of die mountains instead of fevcing the pass — a moat laborious 
enterprise, which diey achieved widi perfect suoeeas. 

The Zouaves did not make part of the first ei^editkm of 18d6, but die 
feUowing year one of their battalinns fivnnd part of die admmoe-guazd 
of the division, which was destined, under t»e ceders of the Dake of 
Nemours, to revenge the cheek received the year before. The siege of 
Constantino is die great feature in the hisftory o£ die Zouaves. The}' 
marched at the head of the first column of assaidt. Horace Vemet has 
immortalised die scene at Versnlles. This was the last qNsode in the 
first epoch of African wsifave : the treaty of Ta&a was concluded, and the 
Turidsh government was fimdly superseded throughout die country. 

Marshal Val^ who had succeeded to the government of Algiers, at- 
tempted to carry out two different systems : one was to govern direcdy a 
certain portion of the territory, die other was to create a Enropean 
society by the side of Arabb institutions^ organised by the genius of Abd 
al Khadr. Placed at die advanced posts, the Zensves had to accomplish 
at Coleah (Kuliyah) what dwy had done at Dali Ibrahim — to erect build* 
ings, open roads, and drain tne lands. But wlben Abd al Khadr, yield- 
ing to the irrseistible infinence by whick he was surrounded on all sides, 
abandoned his allegiance and lit up a Holy Wac, it was more than native 
blood could stand. Large nnmbers of ZeuttFes went over to their 
countrymen, and cacried into the nodes of die enemy the advantages of 
die mOitary inetniction which they had obtained under the French. But 
die regiment did not lose in strength; it had been before l e Hifaafwid by a 
iMttalion of volunteers who had defended the citadd of Tlemoen in 18$6^ 
lienoe called dud; of Meobonur, and on the news of liCBtilitieB I 
^ it received a hay jwoearon of Bsornita> 



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The Zimavei. 12S 

Upon the inraaiazi of Abd al Khadr^s tamtoiy the ensnti^ spnag, the 
FnoBdi hovini^ been ohUged to act cm the de&Dflcve all winter, the Zouaves 
£9niied part (^ ihe fint diTisioii under the Duke of OrieanB^ It is need* 
less to vecapiAnlate the events of that sanguinary campaign, die plains 
soomed h j itie cavahy of all the tr3>es of Algeria and Oran, supported 
hy the <* longes," as they were oalled — Ah^aX Khadr's segular oayaliy-— 
and eveiy d^e obetioat^ defended by a legular in&ntry and myriads 
«f EjHbyles. The Zonsffcs were, npoD efery expedition, engaged in every 
batde, and the well-4nowa gnthering^souods of thrir cbrams and tmimpeti 
were inmiiiaff to the whole army, fivery regiment in Afriea had a paav 
^ular beat by whioh it oonld gather together its men -mhea dispersed by 
sight in a fog, or by the heat of a battle. Sometimes it was adeo seonded 
at a moment of extreme danger. The origin ef this is KttabntBd to the 
2Dd Light Infantry, Generai Changamkr's regiment. 

Winter brought about little wbL The Zensves had snfined severely, 
and were xeorgamsed. Lamorioi^, raised to the rank of a geaend 
offioo', was suooeeded in ike command of the regiment by the then 
Lieutenaat*Colonel Cavrngnac ; and the Gntimandants Regnault, killed 
in Paris, June, 1848, and Renault, now general of divkien, both pro- 
moted, were sueceeded by the then Commandants Lefli6 «id Saint 
Ainaud. Cavsagnac had distinguished himself hy iha heix>ic defeaee of 
the citadel of Tlemoen, at the head of the 2nd African battalioo, and his 
eneofgetic character, his mind fiill of resouncesy and his calm yet effective 
eoaragBj had already obtained for him a high renown in die axmy. 

The Zouaves passed the winter at Medrah, amidst all kinds of priva- 
tions and diffiemties, yet were they rettdv in spring to foUssr Marshal 
Bugeaud on it campaign in the Atlas ; and whilstone battalion proceeded 
in May, under die same marahal, into Onm, anodier remaiuad, under 
General Baraguay d'Hillieis, in AJgiers. The Zouavas dius asristed in 
the war of 1841 at two difiiaffent points* 

The war had assumed proportions which demanded an increase of 
means. The Zouaves were augmouled to thnae battalions, with a com- 
plete regimental staffs but only one company oould reoeive natives, and 
the corps assumed a purely Freooh character. The mixture of Frendi 
and natives dad not work well, and the latter were enrolled in a new 
corps, called that of tirailleurs intSffenes, or native riflemen; and these 
battalions, officered by brave, intrepid men, among yvbam. ave the now 
well-known General Bosquet, as also Gonends Thomas^ Verg^ and 
Bourbaki, all well versed in the language of their men, ha^e testified in 
the Crimea that diey are wordiy younger brothers of die ZouvTes. 

No sooner had the xeeiment of Zouaves diue reconstituted zeeeived the 
colours which the king had sent them, than its three battalions were 
separated to go and serve each in a difieient province. Wac had, in fiict» 
broken out in every direction. The Zouaves were i^vesented by one or 
two of their battalioDs in most of the important hBdrides fimgfat in die 
campaigns of 1843 and 1844, obstinate struggles against the Kabyles, 
long moEohes in the desest, cavalry changes wpeUed, in the Jur^ura, die 
Ouarsenisy among the Beni Menasssv, at die cftpture of die Snudah, in 
the glorious engagements fought by General Bedean agaioBtdie MaraoBO 
cavalry, and la^y, in the memorable batde of Isly. 

Cavaignac was succeeded in the command of the corps in 1844 by 



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126 Th^ Zouates. 

Colonel lAdmirault, now geneial of divisioa. The ensuing year tlie 
Zouayes were the first to sostun, on the frontiers of Marocco, the effects 
of an insurrection which gradually extended itself throughout the whole 
of the regency. The year 1846 gave them as little repose as any that 
had preceded. It was not till ^1847 that the submission of Abd al Khadr 
brought about the entire subjection of the tribes of Algeria. The Zouaves 
were then posted at a site designated after the young prince of that name 
— Aumale. This site was at the extremity of the plain which stretches 
to the east of the Jurjura. It was the point where the submbsion of the 
tribes was the most precarious. The provisional government had replaced 
M. Ladmirault by Colonel Canrobert, now in command in the Crimea. 
Creneral Canrobert began his African career under the auspices of the 
brave Colonel Combes, who fell at the assault of Constantino. He ac- 
quired habits of command, and was engaged in several brilliant feats of 
arms at the head of a battalion of Chasseurs in the districts of Tones and 
Batna, his reputation soon ranking him among the very best officers of 
the army. His lieutenant-colonel, M. de Grandchamp, was so dreadfully 
wounded when captain of the Voltigeurs of the 24th Regiment of the 
Line, that the Arabs used his body as a block upon which to cut off the 
heads of forty of his men. His life was saved by the almost miraculous 
devotion of Commandant Morris, now in command of the cavalry in the 
Crimea. 

tn 1849 the Zouaves were called from their post, near the Jurjura, to 
take a part in the siege of Zaatcha, upon which occasion General Can- 
robert was the first to mount the breach. After this brilliant success they - 
followed thdr gallant commander to the slopes of the Aures, and termi- 
nated a long and sanguinary campaign by the reduction of Narah. 

On their return to their old quarters at Aumale, Canrobert was suc- 
ceeded in the command of this distinguished corps by M. d'Aurelle, now 
general of brigade in the Crimea. A decree of the 13th of February, 
1852, gave to them a new constitution. It was resolved to increase so 
serviceable a force by another regiment, thus making altogether three 
regiments of three battalions each. They were also armed with rifles. 
With these formidable weapons the rebel mountuneers could no longer 
stand before them. They were driven from their fastnesses, and, gather- 
ing together in the town of Laghouat, they hoisted there the flag of re*^ 
bdlion. General P^lissier led a division of the army to besiege this 
remote stronghold, and it was once more the Zouaves who had the 
gpreatest share in the honours and in the losses of the day ; eight officers 
and one hundred and twenty-three men were put hors de combat^ and one 
of their captains, M. Menouvrier Defresne, was the first to enter the 
town. ^ 

This was in 1852. In 1854 they received the reward of their numerous 
exploits by being called upon to serve with the French army in the East. 
Alma, Inkerman, numerous repulses of sorties, and other gallant struggles 
before the walls of Sebastopol, have testified that they are still the same 
gallant corps as in Africa, and their countrymen confidently look to their 
occupying, on the day of assault, the same place which they did at Con- 
stantino and at Zaatcha. 



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NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 



THE AUSTBIAN ABMY. 



Another month has elapsed, and we still are utterly ignorant of the 
course of policy which Austria intends to pursue in the forthcoming 
European struggle. Rumours are prevalent that she has proposed an 
armed neutrality to Prussia, while others assert, with equal confidence, that 
she has offered to join the Allies at the modest price of the Danubian 
Principalities. A paper in the New Monthly Magazine for May will 
have served to show how valuable her alliance would prove to us, for such 
a body of well-organised and efficient troops would indubitably turn the 
scale ; and it b not surprising that the English and French governments 
strive their utmost to fix so vacillating a power. It has been our opinion 
from the outset, as expressed in the pages of this Magazine, that the 
House of Hapsburg will remain true to itself until the last tricky resource 
of diplomacy has been essayed; but, for all that, our readers may feel 
inclined to follow us, when we furnish a few further detfuls about the 
Austrian army, which the more general nature of our previous article pre- 
vented us firom introducing. 

Austria certainly possesses a very splendid army. It is, at present, at 
the period of its greatest possible efficiency, is young, proud of its recent 
successes, and enuiusiastically devoted to we emperor. He went through 
the last war as colonel, and is greatly attached to the trade of war. There 
is not a single soldier but knows that Field-Marshal Radetzky was com- 
pelled to warn the youthful colonel on the battle-field against exposing 
nimself to useless danger ; a warning which, whatever its effect might 
have been, did not, we fancy, injure the present emperor in the opinion 
of his troops. The army has retained all its good qualities; it is enduring, 
and does not lose its eq^rit under the severest misfortunes. It honestly 
fulfils its vocation as a truly civilised corps. In the Austrian officer the 
captured and wounded foeman will always find a protector. The greater 
portion of its defects has been removed ; formerly cumbersome and so 
uncomfortably clothed that the soldier was impeded in marching, the 
troops may now be favourably compared with any in Europe, and the 
accoutrements are the best adapted fer the free movements of the limbs. 
While the supreme command was rendered almost an impossibility bv the 
ambiguous regulations of the supreme council of war, which pointed out 
an undeviating course of operations, the serious events of 1848 led to a 
complete alteration of the system, and the generals now act upon their 
own responsibility. There is, however, another defect in the Austrian 
army wmch it is not so easy to remove. In France, whether the soldier 
is a Fleming, Breton, Norman, or Alsatian, he has been French for cen- 
turies, and the same in laws, customs, and language. In the Austrian 

June — YOU CIV. no. ccocxiv. k 



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128 The Austrian Army. 

army, however, Hungarians, Croats, and Bohemians have retained their 
peculiar nationality, and it is still very prominent ; still, recent events^ 
railways, and the undeniable skill of the government will assuredly hasten 
that fusion which will be of material advantage to the entire population. 
The various nationalities, it is true, are ever prominent} but tiiey are all 
connected by one name^ that of the emperor — the living palpable image 
of the great national unity. Thus, if Dalmatians, Bohemians, or Tyrolese 
are on terms of hostility toward each other, in the name of their emperor, 
king, duke, or count, they will unite for the benefit of their fatherland. 
The terrible events of 1846 fomiah the most salient proof of this. Hun- 
gary in a state of insurrection, its capital in the power of insane revolu- 
tionaries, Italy trinmphant, the monaffchy almost overtiitown, the monarch 
an exile, as it were^ in his own states— such was Austria's position ; but 
on the shout, ^'Long live the Emperor!" the army loae like ooe maoy 
advanced on the fee, and all was saved. 

In order to promote the fusion of all the various hnguages and eom* 
ponents, the government has ordered German to be us«l as the military 
language. The officer may be a Servian, Italian, or Croat, but he 
must be acquainted with the Crerman language, and the soldier under- 
stand it. For the same laudable end the emperor sedolovsly appointed 
many German officers to the non-German divisions, and vice ver9d. 
Though this produces numerous ineonwniencee and much diacnssion, at 
times even duels, it possesses, most undoubtedly, considerable advantages, 
and is of great service in promoting the fusion. For the same purpose 
the government also favours various customs : the officers, for instance, 
whatever nation they may belong to, address each other as ** thou," and 
a species of freemasonry exists among them. More than this, if any 
unmerited misfortune has occurred to an officer, he need only apply to his 
nearest comrade in arms, even if unacquainted with him, and all the others 
will club together and find him the requisite funds to continue his journey, 
or to satis^ any other necessity. By a variety of means of a similar 
nature the government have succeeded in forming one compact whole 
out of heterogeneous, and frequently hostile, elements. 

The recruiting of the army is effected by districts or provinces. At 
the head-quarters of each recruiting district an infismtry officer is attached 
to keep the lists. The several regiments send an officer there, at the 
period of making up their strength, who selects the persons best suited 
for his arm, and takes them to tiie regiment. . They enter the service at 
twenty years of age, and remain ten years in 8ervice~-^igfat active, and 
two reserve. The re-engagements after the time of service has expired 
is promoted by the government by good pay, and is of frequent occur- 
rence, especially among the Hungarians. Substitution is not known in 
Austria. The recruit who does not wish to serve pays in to the state 
treasury 600 florins (50/.) in the hereditary countries; 700 florins (58/1) 
in Italy. This fiscal measure is unjust, as the district has still to provide 
the regular number of men. It is really favouring the rich at the 
expense of the poor, as a greater number of the latter is entered in out 
of their turn. The Fren^ system of conscription, whi<^ is far horn 
being perfect, has this advantage at least, that the rich dasses purchase 
liberty to the profit of the poor, into whose pockets neariiy a million of 
money is annually poured. 



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Tha Auttrian Army, 139 

The mtom of promotion u perfectly fi«e from any aristocratiG privi- 
legefl* Witbout vegaid to birth, the government select the right men for 
the right places ; the only persons at all favoured are the sons of soldiers 
of all grades. So that nothing prevents the son of a private, at a later 
date, from becoming a field-marshaL The children of the regiment 
{Us enjknti de troupe of the French system) are not recognised in 
Austria officially; but the emperor provides most liberally for their 
education. They are sent at his expense to the schools of tiie third and 
fourth rank: those who distinguish themselves are removed to higher 
schools, and thence severd of them are transferred to the academies^ 
which they quit to become o£Bcers in scientific corps. It is impossible to 
devise a scheme less aristocratioal than this ; for it would be equally bad 
policy to promote men of moderate abilitiesi because they are soldiers' 
sons, as it is wise to render their path to promotion dependent on their 
actual or remarkable merit. The greater portion of the second-lieutenants 
is appointed, after passing an examinatimi, from one of the imperial 
military academies. These establishments ar^ most excellent: they 
furnish officers to the engineers, the £tat-major, the artillery, without 
possessing any exclusive monopoly : for every Austrian subject, no matter 
where he has been educated, can sulject himself to the examination, 
which alone gives a claim for a commission. There is also [another 
method by wmch officers are appointed. The sons of military men are 
attaohed to the regiments as cadets. Some of them are appointed 
supernumerary lieutenants, but the maiority serre like privates. Lastly, 
the sergeants furnish their quota to the commissioned officers, and it is 



ily a la]^ one in war times. Thus, during the last campaign as 
many as fifteen sei^geants were promoted in several regiments. 

Tne colonel- possessor of the regiment (Oberst inhaber) had only the 
right to nominate cadets and sergeants. He rarely takes advantage of 
it, but generally promotes those persons who are recommended by the 
colonel commanding. But though the colonel tn cirfgeneniSlj exercises 
his privilege with great justice^ this system of a mmly nominal posses* 
sion has great inconveniences, for a regiment frequently bears the name 
of its owner without haviog ever seen him. At his death it also loses 
his name, and perehanee tl^ renown it acquired is buried and forgotten 
with him. With the change of name the regiment loses in its own eyea 
a portion of its moral strength and self-confidence, and is at the same 
time depreciated by the enemy. As a proof of this, we will quote an 
instance. Archduke Charles, at the battle of Esslingen, saw the old 
dragoon regiment Latour, afterwards Vincent, repeatedly repulsed by a 
French battalion. He galloped up to them, and addressed them in the 
simple words : *^ Ah, ^N^ncent, Vincent ! you are no longer Latours," and 
the abashed regiment, excited and aroused by the recollection of the 
name under which it had been so glorious, rushed on the foe, and did its 
duty. This system is only applicable to the names of provinces, or great 
men, and they should be retained for ever, unless mutiny or any grave 
oflRnice necessitated their withdrawal 

This statement, we fancy, will show that in the Austrian army there is 
no favour shown a separate clas% and that talent and merit can fcrea 
tibeir way there as weU as in the most democratftc states. The govsn^ 
ment placed education above every other standard, and it cannot Imb justly 

K 2 



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130 The Austrian Army. 

reproached for doing so. In Austria, education is not so disseminated 
among the lower classes as it is elsewhere. It is only eeneral among the 
lich ; it must, therefore, he sought where it can be round ; and so, we 
repeat, that only soldiers* sons are favoured in this system, and this is cer- 
tainly the best thing the government could do. 

After describing the mode in which the sub-lieutenancies are filled up, 
we come naturally to the promotion of the officers of all gprades. That 
of the first-lieutenant and captain is effected by seniority in every regi- 
ment To fill up the higher charges, a list of the most deserving cap- 
tains is kept in the chancellerie of the emperor, and from this Hst he 
selects the majors. AH the higher charges depend on election. 

The Austrian soldier receives daily 1^ pounds of ammunition-bread, 
which, if not so good as ours, is of decent quality, and better than the 
bread eaten by the lower classes. The soldier, nowever, is not suffi- 
ciently fed. He has only one meal a day, and this one is scarcely equal 
to one of the two given the French soldier. He generally pays 4 kreuzers, 
or l^. to the mess, and the remainder of his pay is expended in clean- 
ing his accoutrements, or in fruit and other provisions, which are cer- 
tainly not so good for him as another meal. The soldiers dine in parties 
of seven to nine men ; they cook by means of portable stoves, something 
like the Russian tea-machines: charcoal alone is used to heat them. 
This way of living may possibly cost the state and the soldier more than 
our method, but at the same time possesses indubitable advantages. 
Those persons, intimate with each other, share ihe burden of duty more 
easily; the food is prepared in a more cleanly fietshion, and is eaten while 
warm ; in short, this mode of life more resembles a family circle than the 
usual barrack monotony. The Austrian soldier is excellently lodged ; 
he lives in well-ventilated rooms, but does not sleep on mattresses, except 
in hospital and certain quarters in Italy, when this article of furniture is 
provided by the parochial authorities. 

The Austrian officers do not mess together. Each lives separate, or 
with a few chums selected by himself ; it is rare, however, to see four of 
them dining together. They only meet in larger numbers at coffee- 
houses or places of public resort. Undoubtedly this mode of life is more 
convenient for the individual, but the esprit de corps and the military 
feeling must suffer considerably by it. On one hand, the officers are not 
so intimately connected ; and, on the other, they have not such oppor- 
tunities for mutual instruction. Very few subalterns are married, for the 
Austrian government gives widows no pensions except when the husband 
has been killed in action ; but to secure the widow from starvation, the 
sum of 600/. must be paid into the treasury, or the amount made a per- 
manent charge on the estates of one of the couple before permission to 
marry is conceded. This prevents the trick so frequentiy played in France, 
of borrowing the money for a few days to show to the representative 
of the law, and then returning it 

The Austrian armies are under the supreme command of the emperor, 
and the generals receive their orders from his majesty through the war- 
minister. The staff consists of 5 field-marshals, 15 generals of cavalry, or 
quarter-masters, 87 lieutenaut-field-marshals, and 123 major-generals. 
The army is composed of four great corps d'arm^, subdivided into divi- 



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The Austrian Army. 131 

non8» brigadesy &c. The troops aie always ready to march ; the staff, 
ambulances, and various branches are prepared, and can go directly into 
the field. 

The first army is in Austria, and has its head-quarters at Vienna, 
under the command of Count Wratislaw, general of cayalry. 

The second army is in Italy, head-quarters Verona, general-in-chief 
Field-Marshal Radetzky. 

The third army is in occupation of Hungary, head-quarters Ofen, 
general-in-chief iurchduke Albert, general of cavaliy. 

The fourth army b in Gallicia and the Bukovina, commander-in-chief 
Prince Edmund Schwartzenberg, lieutenant-field-marshal, head-quarters 
Lemberg. It is composed of only one corps — the 14th. 

We might add to these four armies that in Croatia, which holds the 
military frontier, the Banate and Servia, under the separate command of 
the Ban JeUachich, but this is such a peculiar, confused, and elasdo 
organisation, that, in order to give an idea of it, we need only to mention 
a smgle fact. These provinces, which in ordinary times are only bound to 
supply the active army with a contingent of from 12,000 to 15,000 men, 
in 1848 sent above 120,000 combatants to Vienna. 

The Austrian army has an 6tat-major corps, composed of very dis- 
tinguished officers, who before the commencement of their career passed 
a fest-rate examination. This corps is less numerous than in France : it 
consists of a lieutenant-field-marsbal as quartermaster-general, 2 major* 
generals, 13 lieutenant-colonels, 20 majors, 81 captains, and 5 first- 
lieutenants. These officers are rarely employed as adjutants, for the 
generals generally select their own from officers of all arms. The officers 
of the etat-major generally restrict themselves to military operations, 
drawing up plans, &c We may mention a hct which will show better 
than any argument the reservation in the employment of the officers 
of this corps, and the simplicity of the machinery of the supreme 
command and the administration. Marshal Radetzky, at the head of 
an army of 100,000 men, and viceroy of a kingdom containing five 
millions of inhabitants, has onlv one chief of the 6tat-major for the 
management of this immense and difficult machine — certainly one of the 
most distinguished officers in Europe, General von Benedek— a colonel of 
the staff as 90us chefj 4 captains, and 8 non-commissioned officers as 
clerks ; and it must be borne in mind that the majority of the official 
documents are written in two languages. 

All the articles the troops require are furnished bv the state in Austria, 
and for this purpose it has large establishments, which are at the same time 
manufactories and central magazines. Some of them are so extensive 
that they rather resemble fortresses than a maganne. The one at 
Stockerau contains thousands of civil and military workmen and a nu- 
merous garrison. Immense quantities of raw material may be seen 
there — ^leather, doth, felt, steel, &c., and the articles already made are 
stored in such large quantities, that if an entire army entered this build- 
ins^ in a state of nudity, it could be turned out a^n in a few hours, 
h&j equipped. This old system will explain the rapidity with which the 
Austrian armies were able to cover the most considerable losses; for, 
most assuredly, the greatest difficulty in forming an army is removed 



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132 The Atatriam Army. 

vfhmk Ab gof«fiimeiit kas the means' at kaad to equip and sniiit : eon- 
aeqneatlyy the Aiiatnao airangemoitB in this respect cannot he too 
strongly recommended to the notice of our clothing-boards. The Ana* 
t^iaii armies possess within themselves all the elements of ezi$tenoey 
maintenance, and suecess. The state i» oontractor and mannfactaorer 
m grog. Arms and ammunition are fumidied bj the Ordnance : the 
military clothing-board provides for all the requir«aienta of the soMiev z 
it ma^es its own bread, and distributes forage through its own Imperial 

Sents. It has always a stock on hand of every possible description, and 
ministers and keeps it up at a remariunbly small expense. 
. In all ages the unifOTm has been an object of great attention in all 
regular armies. An ornament, a strip of doth, as a mark of distinction, 
has produced many a hero. After any military error or misfortune, the 
withdrawal of any mark of distinction impresses on a regimmt the 
terrible necemtj of reoovering from this moral overthrow; and history 
tells us that no troops ever neglected it. In ^e Italian campaign^ 
MBTahal Radetdcy deprived a battaiion, which snfiered the enemy to 
<^aptnre its colours, of the rose on the caako; — the battalion is now 
passionately awaiting die moment to retrieve its character. But, apart 
from this moral view of the subject, the uniform must be a subject of 
earnest thought to eveiy commander, that it may not only please the 
eye, but be at the same time comfortable, not in any way impede the 
free movements of the soldier, protect him i^rainst the severity of the 
weather, cost as little as possible, and give all the various branches of the 
army a certain degree of resemblance. In all these points the Austma 
«my has neariy attained perfection. The only ^n^ that may be 
criticised, periutps, is the tightly-fitting costume of ue Croats and 
Hungarians^ who, however, wear their natiomil garb. The whole army, 
with the exception of the light troops, wears the same light-blue trousers 
and a very convenient and elegant white tunic. The Croats and artilleiy 
are brown. The light infontry are all dressed in peari-grey tunies, and 
wear a tumed-up hat vrith cocks' feathers. The coat of the light cavalry 
varies according to tiie purpose to which they are applied, but in shape 
veiy much resembles the infantry pattern. With the exception of toe 
German cavaky, who wear a helmet of black leather, vrith farass oma* 
ments, and the Hulans^ who wear the czapka, a most riegaat and very 
light ezako has been given to the whole army. The infantry cbak ia oB 
good dark grey cloth, very wide, and so made that it can be wona 
over tile knapsack : it is usually drawn in by a buckle behind. The 
cavalry cloak has no sleeves ; it is very wide and all white, but the eLotk 
is rather thin. The officer wears predsely the same dress as the rank 
and file ; the only distinction is on the front of his czako, and, aocorduig 
to his rank, consists of a ringle or double lace, with the gilded Austrian 
arms, and a gold embroidered peak. In the cavalry regiments the offieer^s 
helmet is almost entirely composed of gilded metal. Among tiie subaltem 
officers ihe marie of distinction through the whole army is die se8r£ It 
is of silk, and is made of the two Austrian colours, black and yellow? 

eye. The "^ 



without being expensive it is excessively plearing to the eve. The difi* 
ference of grade is marked on the collar. The seoond-heutenant has 
one embroidered star, the first^lieutenant two, the captaina tiueaf Steffi* 



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TAft Awdrim Army. lit 

oflSmfS W0W a iicoad lam on the cctfof the sleeTe and' die oolhr, etr Ab 
ksi o£ wluek the mijor has one BtmWj ^e lieotenuii-ooloiiel two^ and Ae 
eoionel three. The generals wear, according to th«r giades, similar 
laoe and stars; bnt in erdinsory servioe die ooAour of their ooat is neailj 
a d^hlue grsj^ and the]r wear a gold-laeed hat ivith gxeen plumes. 

llie officer always wean his aDtfoBnL--*fae is' proud of himself in tbis 
attire — he honooxa it hy obedienee and excellent eonduet ; bnt^ as he 
eonstaatly wean it» some care is paid to the demands of convenieaey, 
and se the offiesr off doty wean a Tery elegant little bine cap, whose 
sole ornament is a rose, with the embroideted imtiala of die emperoi's 
name: this eap is soft, and can be pnt in the pocket; The omcw is 
allowed, when not on duty, to wear any trouaen he pleases^ but diey 
must be either bkie, white, or grey, according to the climate and season. 
He frequently wears a waistcoat too, which may be noticed under hia 
hidf*opened ooat ; and he never lays aside hia sabre, which, exo^t when 
on parade, he wean under his tunio. The dress of die non^oommisaooed 
offioen is of die same cloth as the pnrates, and dieir grades are dis- 
tmguished like the offieen, by stars on die collar, which, howefei^ in 
their case are embroidered in wocd. 

Discipline in the Austrian army is very stricdy observed, and till very 
recendy was maintained by a plentiful use of the stick; It formed a 
peculiar onument of the non-commissioned <^ficen and corporals, who 
carried it attached to their sabres. It has now been abelisiied, and in 
the eyes of the public the reg^ation punidiment of the stick has disap* 
peered. We say purposely '^ in the eyes of the pubKc,'' for we fed con- 
vinced that it still exists in the Austrian army, and will do so fiv a longf 
time hence, as institutions of this nature cannot be abolished in a moment, 
without entailiBg serious dangen. Thus, dien, the punishment has been 
deprived of that humiKatimi which it found in the sight of the Germans 
and foreign amueS'-fnblic disgrace; but it is still flourishing,' The 
common puniahmcDts are oorvees^ guard-mountings, and pamdes. More 
serious faults are punishable with arrest, with or without chains^ and 
bread and water, or else by removal to a disciplinary company. 

The system of rewarda in the Austrian army is a subject of special 
attention for the government. Soldien and ncm-commissiaaed offieen 
can earn their iwials in the field: 1. The gold medaiy to which is 
attached the privilm of drawing the pay for Hfe, of that grade which 
dm soldier hdid at die time of the reception of the medal; 2. The ftfosr 
medaiy 1st ckss, widi the privilege of drawing half-pay; 3. The^ eUvep 
medaij 2nd class, merehr an honorary distinction. There are. inralid 
hospitals' for old or sickly scddien; they have also a daim to a larg« 
number of crril offices ; but the French system of retrake does not exist 
in Austria. The offieen in the time or war can dasm four honoraiy 
distinctions: the Maria Theresa Order, the Leopold Order, the Order of 
the lion Crown, and the Cross of Military Merit Several branches of 
theae ovden eniide the holder to elevation into tiie nobility ; and we may 
repeatedly notice in the official journal the name of some officer, who, as 
commander or knight of one of these oaders, has received the title of 
baron of. the empire. Though not desirous to irrite a Uitory of the 
oiden of die Austrian BMnarel^ we cannot pass by in. ailenoe one of the 



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134 The Austrian Army. 

greatest military institutions of the countiy, and one of the most esteemed 
orders in Europe— the Maria Theresa Order. It was founded on the 
17th of June, 1757, hy the empress of that name, on occasion of the 
hattle of Kollin, gained hy Marshal Daun over Frederick the Great. 
The emperor is grand-master. Officers of all grades, strangers without 
distinction of hirth and religion, can he received into it. The only 
requirement for investiture is the performance of some brilliant deed. 
The Grand Cross is given to those persons who have carried out any 
great operation, through their high position in the command of the 
army. Joseph II. founded a middle class, that of the commanders. It 
is a pity that no class has as yet heen founded for non*commissioned 
officers and privates; for, though there may be a difference of rank 
among brave men, yet they all belong to one family ; they are all brothers, 
and by this title diey have an equal claim, though in different grades, to 
equal public honours. The order possesses a revenue of 400,000 florins, 
out of which the g^and crosses receive a pension of 1600 florins (125/.). 
The remainder of this sum is paid to the elder knights, in pensions of 
50/. and 36/. Widows receive one-half of the pension : those knights 
who are not pensioned receive them according to seniority: only 
foreigners have no claim. Up to the present, the Maria Theresa Order 
has ^en most scantily bestowed, for, in an army of 540,000 men, we only 
find 4 grand crosses (including the emperor as grtfnd-master), 14 com- 
manders, and 43 knights. This amount gives about one knight to every 
9000 men, which is evidently too limited a number. 

The Austrian infantry is of vexy noble appearance, and its behaviour 
under arms exceedingly soldierlike. Their immobility is not merely of 
an automatic nature — a reproach formerly cast on German troops, — but 
it proves the observance of a duty : the strictest silence is ordered. All 
that takes place in thb army bears a dignified character. The highest 
officers, like the commonest soldier, when prayers are offered up for the 
emperor, and salvos are fired in his honour, bow reverentially and salute 
during the whole duration of the prayers or the salvo. 

The infantry are armed with a firelock, much resembling our own in 
weight and calibre. It has neither percussion nor flint-lock ; but the old 
pan has been so altered as to hold a very small cylinder filled with de- 
tonating powder, which is attached to a thin wire. This powder is covered 
hy a spring-rack, after the fashion of the front hammer of the old wheel- 
lock. This spring-rack is provided with a cog pressing on the powder, 
and the gun is immediately discharged by the blow of the hammer on 
the cog. This arm is subjected to repeated trials, and can even be fired 
under water, which is, probably, unnecessary precaution. The regula- 
tion-musket is not the sole arm of the infantry. On the march each 
company has several tirailleurs on its flank, armed with rifles, rather 
shorter than the musket, but of greater range. These soldiers wear the 
regimental uniform, and are only distingiushed by wearing a shoulder- 
strap of the same colour as the facings. The light infantry consists of 
I regiment of imperial chasseurs (Tyrolese), and 25 chasseur battalions, 
who are all first-rate troops, carefully selected from among the recruits. 
Their armament and equipment resembles that of the French chasseurs 
au pied; their uniform is well adapted to the service for which they are 



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The Austrian Army. 135 

intendedy and, in spite of its grey oolour, is pleasant to ihe eye. These 
troops served as the model for the organisation of the French chasseurSy 
who^ however, are far superior to them in every respect. The Austrians, 
though picked men ana well-huilt, have not the broad shoulders, the 
prominent chesty and iron muscles, or the incessant activity which cha- 
racterise the French chasseurs. 

The Austrian artillerymen do not differ much firom the in&ntry. We 
find no giants among them, and the men are not picked for personal ap- 
pearance, but those men are selected at recruiting who have a trade 
adapted for ordnance purposes, as the men are very dever in the manage- 
ment of every sort of tooL The train-horses are very handsome, and re- 
markable for well-formed limbs, and hoofs, and broad chests : they carry 
themselves well, and their heads are generally very small. Even the few 
&ults which might be objected as to their appearances are really good 
qualities for their special service. Thus they have generally a short neck 
and very stout shoulders. The harness is elegant and solid ; iron and 
steel are very much used in it, and are advantageously substituted in 
various portions which in other countries are made of leather or rope. 
Much has been recently done to improve this arm of the service, but any 
chanee is only effected with great caution, that they may not be com- 
pelled to return to the old system. 

The Austrian cavalry enjoys in Europe an old and well-merited reputa- 
tion. To judge ^m the events of tiie great French campaign, in which 
several Austrian cavalry officers who joined the armies of Napoleon dis- 
tinguished themselves highly, we may form a very favourable idea of the 
school in which they were educated. We are speaking of a remote period, 
but, in a matter like this, traditions exercise a great influence on the state 
of the present. In the organisation of armies, more especially in a moral 
respect, nothing can be mvented impromptu. Traditions are of more 
value to a regiment tiian is history : these are its property, its sole in- 
heritance ; it is proud of them, and justly so. In Austria these traditions 
are carefully treasured by the greatest lord and the lowest peasant Some 
possess them in wretched daubs — wretched only with reference to their 
artistic merits — for the thought that created them is one of the most 
noble and honourable : others raise splendid monuments to them, like the 
one which a Prince of Liechtenstein, one of that family of ^at lords and 
heroes, erected in honour of four hussars who saved his life in an engage- 
ment, when the prince was wounded and could not extricate himself from 
his horse. 

The Austrian cavalry is divided into two so materially different parts, 
that they only have the word of command and military regulations in 
common. Men, horses, arms, uniform, language, race and character, 
everything in these two descriptions of cav Jry differ. The cuirassiers, 
drsTOons, and chevaux legus are called << German cavalry," and correctiy 
so, both men and horses being German or Bohemian. The hussars are 
all Hungarians or Transylvanians, and the hulans, Poles. Each of these 
varieties of cavalry possesses the qualities peculiar to its nation and the 
nature of the horses. The German cavalry have large men and horses: 
ihey are regular and solid, but perhaps still rather slow in their movements, 
in ^te of the progress recentiy made under this head. But it must not 



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136 



The Austrian Army. 



be forgottefB that heavy cavalrj eamiot move rapidly for any length 
of time widiout suffering a terrible loss in horses. The Hungarian hussar 
has serred as a model for the hussars of eveiy country, and will xemain 
so for erer. The Hungarian is almost bom in a saddle, and is attached 
to his horse, not like a useful domestic ammal, but as a friend. The 
hussars may be detached without taking any care for their horns, for 
they are sure to find them prorender, and would sooner sleep on the 
hard ground than leave the horse without straw. The hussar is a true 
pattern of the mydiic centaur. In the saddle he manages his weapcoa 
excellently: he has a sharp eye, is very determined, and possesses ua« 
deniable bravery. When 'to all these qualities we can add young and 
talented officers, as is the case at the present moment, this arm must be 
most valuable. The armament of the Austrian cavalry could be greatly im* 
proved. The fire-anns are heavy, clumsy, and of old pattern ; and though 
carbines have been lately served out, of a very great range, they are as awk* 
ward to handle as the others. The sabres are of various patterns, and many 
of them are too light to guard off a blow. Recently, sabres a la Mon^ 
moreney have been introduced; they are straight and fiat, and as the 
Austrian cavalry, especially the hussars, are mu^ more skilled in thrast* 
ing than in cutting, this arm will be of great service to them. The lance, 
with a shorter shsft than the French, is far from being perfect. The peisti 
is fiat, and not hollowed out ; it has also an iron band about seven or 
eight inches from the point, which entirely displaces the centre of gravitr* 
Withrespect to defensive arms, the helmet is of an ungraceful shape, raaae 
of black leather and brass ornaments ; they do not siimoiently protect the 
head of the wearer, and the cuirass only coven them in mnt. The 
Austrian cavalry, however^ has been recently undergoing great changes, 
and it is very probable that they have by thu time been placed on a state 
of equal efficiency with the other arms. 

After having Uius described cursorily the various elements of which the 
Austrian army is composed, we cannot do better than complete our sketch 
by a tabular statement of its effective strength on the 25th of October, 
1852. At that period it amounted to 477,069 men, and 54,620 honei^ 
distributed in the following manner : * 

I. LfFAirrRT. 





Number of 
Battalions. 


Effectiva 
Strength of 

each 
Battalion. 


Total. 


EffiMthfeStSBngUioC 
each Aym-, 




Men. 


Hones. 


62 Line BegimentB, of 4 
Battalions 


248 
25 

17 

6 

4 
1 
6 
6 


1278 
946 

1000 

1000 
1000 
1000 
1000 
1000 


316,944 
23,650 

17,000 

6,000 
4,000 
1,000 
5,000 
6,000 


879,594 




26 Battalions Chasseurs 

17 Acting Battalions 

Orenaer 




1 Tyroleie Chasseur 

Kegiment ^. 

1 Regiment of Pioneers 

1 Battalion CzatWsts.. 

5 Garrison Battalions.. 

BiscipUnaiy Companies 





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Tie Augtritm Army. 

n. CAVALSr, 



m 



S^HlAl^i^^Ma • 


Nvmber 

of 
Sqoa- 

uWHiSi 


fiflhothrs Strsij^gth 
ofeschSqaadion. 


"^^^ """KfASf* 


■ 11 11 


Men. 


Hones. 


Men. 


Hones. 


Men. 


Hones. 


SCoirMsacrBegUBeiili, 
of 6 Squadrons 


48 
42 
88 
96 


162 
162 
IM 
195 


150 
150 
180 
180 


7,776 

6,804 

17,160 

18,720 


7,200 

6,300 

Us840 

17,280 


50 460 




7 Dragoon Regiments, 
of ftSqaadrons 

11 Hulan B^mtnts, of 
8 Sq{oadroiit •.... 

13 Hussar Regineot% of 
8 Squadrons 


46,620 



lii« Abulxjebx jlkd ERGnmats. 





TOTAI^ 


EAeti^Stnogthofeadi 


RSGDCEinB. 






Am. 




Men. 


Horses. 


Men. 


Horses. 


5 Begknents of Artil- 






^ 




lery (132 BatteiieB, 










with 792 Guns) 


18,815 


«••••• 






14 Arsenal Divisiona .... 


8,000 








8 Fortress Battalions... 


3,200 


•••.•• 


^ 31,015 


8000 


2 Regiments of Engi- 










neers, Sappers, Pon- 










tooners, and Miners ... 


5,000 


...... 






Drivers 


6,000 


8000 





IV. QSMDABMSftlB. 

16 Regiments ^ 16,000 men. 

Total eflfectire ttreqg^ of Austrian Anny 477,069 men, M,620 hones* 



Though ponesnng such an impofing force Aostria had, till ver^ reoently, 
no other reserve than the Landwehr, which was not even introdiioed 
thxoagh ihe whole of the empire. The present kaiser, seemg the disad- 
vantage of sooh « system, abolished the Landwehr by a decree dated dOth 
July, 1852, and sabstitiited for it a reserve, which emfaraoes all the crown 
lands. The two last contingents to serve their time are intended to form 
a portion of the reserve. When we assume, then, that from 50,000 to 
60,000 men are annuaUj disdiarged, this new reserve may be safely esti- 
mated at 100,000 to 120,000 men; penons immediately at command, 
and still accustomed to the service, will continne to serve in the same arm 
to which they belonged, and their unifonn and arms are now all in readi- 
ness for them. When we add to these the reserve naturally formed by 
the border re^ments, of whkh only one battalion is attached to the 
active army, we may easik convince ourselves that the present reserve 
is very eoninderable, and that it ooold be inoorpoiBted mth the active 



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138 The Austrian Army. 

army In a few weeks. This measure is Tery £ELr-rig1ited ; for in a military 
respect it is excellent, and in a political aspect it promotes the fusion of 
the various races composing the monarchy. It oyerthrows privileges 
which afforded no advantage to those holcuug them, hut whicn injured 
the true national interests ; and lastly, it show;s that the Austrian fi;ovem- 
ment has cleverly employed the situation into which the events of the year 
1848 brought it. Eight years ago the government would never have dared 
to form such a determination. 

Another and very important measure has also been set about by the 
Austrian government. The emperor commanded the formation of a 
fifth battalion a6ter the 1st of November, 18152 — ^to be called the Dep6t 
Battalion — in every regiment. This battalion consists of 852 men. At 
the same time a dep6t of three companies was formed for the Tyrolese 
Chasseur regiment ; a dep6t company for each chasseur battalion of six 
companies. These. compames have a strength of 213 men. Lastly, the 
emperor formed a dep6t squadron for each cavalry regiment, with an 
effective strength of — Heavy cavalry, 139 men, 113 horses; light 
cavalry, 172 men, 143 horses. Consequently, from the 1st of Novem- 
ber, 1852, the Austrian army received an augmentation of — 

Men. Horses. 

62 battalions of 852 men 52,824 ... — 

18 dep6t companies of Tyrolese Chasseurs of > « go^ «„ 

213 men 3 * *'* 

15 squadrons of 139 men and 113 horses 2,085 ... 1,695 

23 squadrons of 172 men and 143 horses ..... 3,956 ... 3,289 

Total augmentation 62,699 ... 4,984 

Total of active army (already stated) . . . 477,069 . . . 54,620 

Grand total of Austrian army, Nov. 1,> 539^7^3 _ 59^^^^ 

Viribus unttigf Such is the proud motto of renovated Austria, and 
well may she feel her own importance at the present eventful moment, 
when her sword, thrown into the scale, would aecide the future destinies 
of nations. But, whatever may be the intention of the government, we 
believe that the army itself would regard with great distrust any closer 
alliance with the northern neighbour. Leaving out of sight the recent 
wound inflicted on their self-love by the Russian intervention in the 
Hungarian war, the Austrian officers feel great repugnance to the 
Russian system, and that predilection for customs that are derived from a 
period of barbarism. Unfortunately, however^ we cannot, from per* 
sonal experience, hold out any hope liiat they would join cordially with 
the Allies in the prosecution of the war, £Dr hatred of France, and jealousy 
of England, cannot be extirpated at a moment's notice. The present 
ambition of the Austrian army appears to be an armed neutrality in con- 
junction with Prussia — a neutrality which cannot permanently endure. 
The drun on the Austrian exchequer for the maintenance of such a 
gigantic force b too great to allow her to remain passive for any length 
of time^ and she will probably find herself compelled to accept terms 



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The Austrian Army. 139 

eventually ha below those now offered her by the Allies. But in this she 
remains true to her Hapsburg policy. 

But there is one peculiar aspect under which the state of Germany at 
the present moment must be r^^rded— Hiamely, the humiiiatiDg notion 
that petty jealousy and ill-concealed envy should so utterly neutralise the 
power of such armies as Germany can bring into the field. Instead of 
acting as arbitrator, and by a slimt effort of her united strength, com- 
pelling the Czar to refrain from those ambitious projects which her dis* 
memberment induced his predecessor to cherish, she stands on the verge 
of the precipice, uncertain, vacillating, and contemptible— by her obsti- 
nacy preventing that honourable issue on which both parties have set 
their hearts, and by every despicable effort of diplomatic chicanery ren"^ 
dering the embrogUo still more entangled. But we may console ourselves 
with the reflection that the day of reckoning will eventually arrive for 
them : oppressed nationalities will one day find an opportunity for enter- 
ing into a stem reckoning with the monarchs who conceal their autocracy 
under the garb of affected liberality or saintly hypocrisy. When that 
time arrives, V€b victU! and Russia, we ardently trust, will by that 
period have received such a lesson, that she will lack either the ability or 
the will to purchase gratitude and forbearance by the limely assistance 
her cohorts may afford. 

We can hardly believe that the German nation is, of itself, so blinded 
that it cannot receive the inestimable advantages which must accrue to 
it from the humiliation of the Cisaric power : but, alas ! their sympathies 
may be with the right cause, but those ara of little avail in a contest 
where phyncal, and not moral, force must decide. And yet, the early 
events of 1848 might have taught them a salutary lesson ; then, they 
learned what a nation, in the consciousness of right, can. effect, and 
though they lost the advantages they acquired, almost as soon as attained, 
by their own apathy, still, the feeling that, when united, they can over- 
throw the most powerful monarchical combinations, cannot have been 
thoroughly eradicated. The contest between the Allies and the Czar will 
speedily assume gigantic proportions: the whole of Europe must, of 
necessity, be drawn into the vortex, and when that period arrives, it will 
not be a question of Austria or Prussia having their special interests 
jeopardised, but we trust that a common danger will cause the Germans 
to combine and throw off that yoke, which is the more galling as it is 
sedulously concealed from sight. Grermanism and Sclavonism will then 
enter on a contest which must decide the fate of Central Europe, not 
whether it shall be Republican or Cossack in the strict sense of the terms, 
but whether liberty or autocracy shall be the ruling principle. But to 
attain such a result much must be effected: the Allies must develop their 
strength in a manner to which they are yet strangers ; the war must be 
carried on with that stem, uncompromising spirit which characterised a 
" Heaven-bom Minister :" only one object must be kept in view, and to 
that every other feeling must be sacrificed. We have taken the initiative 
in fightine the good fight of liberty, and no consideration of possible 
injury which might accrue to such faint-hearted friends as our German 
aUies have proved themselves to be, must be allowed to bear weight 
for a moment The principle must be distinctly enunciated, that '* he 



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140 Tke Amsirum Army. 



wlio k not £»r ua u igaiatt iii^----oar finands »i]^ 
to be tried in the furnace — ^for we cannot any longer bear with half mea- 
sures. We haxre entered on a eontest fiir whi<£ the whole world will 
owe OS the deepest gmtitod^— we have detecmined on patting a check 
npon the piogress of hatfaarism in Europe— and, thoo^ ibe legeots 
may feel offended at oar integrfnenoe with their prejndioBS and their sym- 
pathies, the etake for which we are playing is so enormoosy and its vesolts 
so incalcalahle^ that we eannot allow any farther hesitation. 

Great hopes wete entertained upon the fonnation of the present Minis- 
try thai the honoor of England was sntnisted to safe hands, and the 
nnanimous Toioe of Ae nation joined in one eiy of satisbctien on the 
appointment of oar new Premier. But how have oar hopes been belied ! 
The same shilly-shallying — the same want of eomprdiension that we are 
engaged in a war of wluch, probaUy, few of the present generation will 
see the resolt-^ppear to rule in Downing<«tceet; and it seems as if there 
were oome peculiar atmosphere pervading those ^lartments, which para- 
lyses the energies of even the most energetic men. We are willing to 
make any sacnfice to bring the war to an honourable, or even satis&ctoxy 
issue, bo^ we do ask, in return, that the conduet of that war should he 
entrusted to men who will keep only that one objeet in view, and consult 
the interests of nations rather than of dynasties, as has hitherto been, 
unfortunately, too much the animating pnnciple in our oonncils. 

But these evils, we confidently hope, will cure themselves: the Jiat 
has gone forth: Carthago est deiemdth-^ask^ no matter the sacrifice. 
Englishmen will not be driven firom their purpose. We ask of ministers 
but a slight Aing— that they will prosecute die war with vigour— and 
for that object we will supply the means, but we will nut endure any 
compromise. The object at stake is immense, and vre will not have it 
said that vre were badcward in attempting to gain it-4ar that both our 
pride and our honour will forbid. If the vrar has, hitherto, beai carried 
on under a mistake, or an erroneous estimate of our opponent's strength, 
the remedy can be easily applied : the means are in the lumds of mimsteFs, 
and to them we look — ^we wish we could say confidently — ^for these means 
being used promptly, energetioally, and successfully. 



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( Ul ) 



ENSIGN PEPPER'S LETTERS PROM THE CRIMEA. 

BATCH THE SIXTH. 

The Trenches, before Sehastopol, April, 1855. 

Dbab Guardian, — I hare just xeceiyed the letters from home^ all 
safe, but I am unable to send you back any news worth readmg. We 
are not a bit nearer taking the stubborn place in front of us than we 
were, before ; or — many of us think, now — ^than we ever shall be. We 
have latterly been very busy, our engineers especially, erecting works 
here, and batteries there, and after they are completed, we always find 
the Russians have been as industrious and watchful as ourselves, and 
have thrown up new works, in the very teeth of ours. We have got the 
old riddle in the camp now, " What's that that's always coming, and 
never comes ?" '' To-morrow : and that's when we are to go in and take 
Sebastopol." 

The weather continues quite as peculiar as Lord Raglan described it 
in his despatch ; the copy of which I sent you. Sometimes it's fine, and 
sometimes it's not. Now, we shall be revelling in a hot sun and clear 
sky, treading on warm grass and other spring flowers ; and then it will 
change into everlasting days of pelting rain ; or, what's worse^ a cold, 
blac^ murky sea-fog, in which you can hardly see your hand at noon- 
day. We hope the frost is gone, for this season, so that we may keep 
our toes and fingers on us for another year, but some of the nights feel 
downright bitter. 

A wonderful change has taken place since I last wrote. Somebody, 
perhaps government, has sent out orders that we are to be turned upside 
down. Lord Raglan comes out, like a brick, and by the help of a good 
glass we may see him almost any day. Even bets are laid that, ere 
long, some of us — a general or even a colonel — will be promoted to the 
honour of exchanging personal salutations with him. General Jones, or. 
some other general, periodically looks us up in the trenches. Admiral 
Boxer is come up, and is turning himself, and everybody else, about 
Balaklava ; and the railroad stan£i out in fall glory amidst its navvies. 
A place is built on the heights of Balaklava for those recovering from 
sickness, which they have called a Sanatorium (as if there could be any- 
thine sanatory in the atmosphere of Balaklava !), and you may count tne 
wooden huts by the score. Illness is very much on the decrease — so we 
are assured— and we are quite revelling in the matter of medicine. 
Several cargoes of *< Dalby's Carminative" have arrived, and several more 
of "Mrs. Johnston's American Soothing Syrup." As they are in&ntUe 
cordials, we expected the next consignment would be a few ship-loads of 
babies; but the doctors, who seemed very savage over the new medicines^ 
said the Soothing Syrup was invoiced to the elderly officers who have got 
fiedse teeth. 

Eupatoria is swarming with Turks, and the country between that place 
and Balaklava is swarming with Russians. The conse(]^uence is pitched 
battles. And between each shindy, they meet, on the plain, and exchange 
courtesies. The Turks offer presents of wine and tobacco, and receive 

«7«n«— TOL. CIV. KO. CCCCXIV. li 



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142 Ensign Pepper^ lAttersfrom the Crimea, 

in exchaxiffe deputations bearing sucking-pigs and calves' hearts, ready 
stuffed and roasted. We thought we smelt sage and onions very strong, 
one day^idhfin the ivind blew direot.to our camp from Eupatooa. If the 
same agreeable odour should aeain set-in, our way, I and Gill and Tubbs 
and Stiffing mean to mount Stiffing^s new horse, and gallop over to 
Eupatozia and see what we can come in for. You are aware, of course, 
that for difficulty it will be something like crossing from London to 
Calais on horseback, as we shall have to dodge the Russians, in gqtting 
round Sebastopol : but Tubbs says he knows a plan and a short cut, so 
we intend to try it on. 

I must not omit to tell you that I have been down to Scutari. It was 
soon after I wrote in Febniary. A friend of mine. Ensign Rendal, was 
ordered down on a mission, but, being ill, he felt himself unequal to the 
hoiTors of the sea passage, so I undertook it for him — for if we did not 
help each other, out here, dear sir, who is there l^t will help us ? But 
I am pleased to tell you that great improvements have taken place in the 
transport-service, and it was better than I had eiq>ected. The vessel 
was uie f but I suppose I must not let it out, for we have been for- 
bidden to mention the names of the sick-transports^ lest those adders 
who write for the newspapers should get hold of something to fiwten on. 
There were a lot of sick on board and some wounded, all veiy w^ pro- 
vided for. There were not any cots, it's trae ; or conveniences f oi: 

washings and the mattresses were well, I didn't go within a lew 

yards of them ; but we had a liberal supply of disinfecting stuff, chloride 
of lime, and the rest. The poor fellows themsdives were in a dreadful 
state, quite eaten up with dirt and live animals, so, if their bedding was 
not perfectly clean and sweet, it could not matter. I stopped on deck^ 
night and day, to sniff the fresh air, for, below, it was ratber stale and 
musty. I am quite proud to tell you we had plenty of fresh meat ; it 
was a little tough, and the men could not eat it, but there it was, ready 
for them, so people cannot grumble now. We had a nice run to Scutari, 
but somehow we couldn't approach the landing-place, and the captain 
ordered boats to come out for the sick. After waiting three or four 
days, they came, and the men were got ashore : but the sick wretches 
were downhearted at b^g kept in the ship — or else their fevers took a 
bad turn, from the long spell in the close quarters — and several of them 
had to be chucked overboard before landing. The hospital is a great 
big giant of a building, very bare and ugly, with a cypress-grove behind 
it, crowded with graves. One of the fellows, as he dragg^ himself up 
the hill, and took his first view of it, said it didn't look a mighty healthy 
spot for an hospital, with them tombstones dose to it. Some men were 
lounging round the entrance, convalescents, we heard, but they looked 
white and puny about the gills. I wanted to find Comet Ellison, who 
had gone down to hospital about a month before, and asked them, but 
they said they had not heard of him, so I went hunting out for myself. 
I might as well have looked fer a needle in a bottle of fifty. Dirty cor- 
ridors, without end, crammed with life, and whole streets of wards, full 
of rows of beds, in which every inmate, when yon could see their heads, 
looked like each other. I should think it must be miles broad and long, 
that hospital. I was pushing along, very glumpy, fearing I should not 
find mudi fun at Scutari, when I came upon some officials, writing at a 



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Ensign' Pq^per 9 Letkr^jrom the CruMtL 143 

baie table, and tfaoogfat paibaps tbey might knaw of EUiaan^ and asked 
tbem. 

'' Who is that^ inqnixuig aftar EUiaoa P** called ant a aqoeakbg, mtk. 
Toioe» from a oomer ; and, turaiog lound, who should I aee^ laaotag for 
support against a heap of rasty fire-armsi but Hunter, one of oos enaigw^ 
who had ffone down firom oamp in December. I did not know him at 
first, for he had got the ague, or palsy, or some shaking disoiderf and 
he'dgot on a white siightcap, coming down to his nose, and a brown 
gown, like a woman's, all loose and easy, and he loobsd seran-and- 
twenty, inatoad of seventeen. 

"^ What has brooght yon hei% Pepper?" he quaked out ^ la it fever 
orfipost-bites?" 

« It's neither, yet^" I said. ^* Rsndal wis kicking it» and got ordered 
down, but they sent me instead. What on earth bxinga fou here stiQ, 
Hrnitsr ? I thought you were at home, weeks ago.** 

<<It's this blessed fever that won't leave me," he said: but I don't 
think " biased" waa quite the woid he used. << They call it the Bala- 
klava fever, and it's as obstinate as an old dromedary, and won't go away» 
drive it as you walL It^s ragiistg gloriously with us, and lots have got it 
who have never been to Balaklava. I was in bed till kat week." 

" Is it veiy jolly, down here ?" 

<< As jolly as groans, and nutrid smells^ and eoip8e% can mate it," 
answered Hunter. ** I know tnis ; it's ao jolly, that if ever I get stmngth 
in my legs to get on board ship and reach home^ I'll make a present of 
my commisaon to any ohap that irill say tfaankye fer iL They won't 
entice me i^gaia into their ' Glorious British Amy.' They flammed ua 
np that we were going to ovectm Russia, and take its cities, and crown 
ourselves with laurela; and when we come out, instead of victorv and 
triumph, they elap us down, and keen us in a pestilential marsh that 
breeds agues and eoffina Is Sebaatopol taken yet r" 

" Is England come to its senses yet ?" I retcffted* ^' The one is about 
as likely as the other. If we are to wait in the Crimea till we take 
Sebastopol, we may send home for our nightcaps (we'll have them of 
your pattern. Hunter), and sleep upon it." And I am.soxry to say I do 
thinJc so, dear rir. ^' Is EUison hero now ?" 

*' WeU, he's here, and he's not here/' returned Hunter. ^ His remains 
have got accommodation in the graveyard, dose by the harbour. He 
caught hospitel gangrene^ after he came down, and that started him. I 
never saw him : he was in the operating ward, and I in one of the 
oorridon ; but Corporal Craggs — who is here, amongst othen — told me 
Ellison had hooked it." 

^ How's the numaffement with you ?" 

'^ Beautiful," said he ; *' especially the government regulations. The 
hospital at Kululee ran short of stores, and the patients were sitting up 
in bed, naked, licking their lips; which had got nothing else to Uck. 
So they sent to onr l^ies to boaow some flannel shirts, and some broth, 
and some brandy. It'a four or five miles o£^. and Aey calculated the 
rem&rcements might be got thera in a ooopb of hours. And they 
could have been, but for the govemaaent forms^ whidii took up duee 
days. So it is probable the broth arrived there i 

<< How'athe grub, here ?" 

l2 



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144 Entign Pepper^s Letters Jrom the Crimea. 

^ Very fiishionable, Pepper. Some of vlb dine at ttght. After break- 
fast — if we are in luck and get any — it's usual to stay our stomachs till 
night. You have been ordered, perhaps, a mutton-chop, and you're 
been looking for it all day. The clock strikes eight, and up it comes, 
singed on one side, saignant on the other, and raw all through. I don't 
care so much about it, for by that hour the appetite has turned into 
sickness; and this ague sets one against eating. The worst is, the 
arrowroot's bad : the patients think it's made of birdlime and oatmeaL" 

" My eye ! I should strike." 

" All very fine to say that ; but where are we to strike to ? Why 
don't you strike, up at . camp ? it's worse there. Do you remember 
Jones, in yours ?" 

'* Don't I ? He tried to purchase his captaincy just before he left the 
camp. . He was a ^well, go on." 

*' Jones was ill for a long while in the second ward," continued 
Hunter, " and when he was well enough to go home, he asked Menzies, 
who was cock of the doctors down here, for a board to sit upon him to 
order him there. Some more fellows, invalided officers, also wanted to 
be sat upon, and be sent home, and Menzies said he would ask for it to 
be done. The application had to be made in writing, by three different 
persons besides Menzies, on so many different sheets of paper '* 

" Who were the papers to go to ?" I interrupted. 

'< Bio wed if ever I heard," answered Hunter. '' Perhaps Lord Strat- 
ford. He is our ambassador here: though we have never seen him. 
Well, the government law is, that these applications shall only be written, 
under pain of beins^ took up for high treason, on a particular sort of 
paper, those long sheets, very thick ; and Menzies was out of it, and the 
surgeons were out of it, and the stationers' shops were out of it. Jones 
was impatient to get off, for he said the bad air of this place was killing 
him, and he pressed them to make it on common writing-paper ; but 
they called him an Atheist, and asked if he thought they would dare to 
fly in the face of the government regulations. Then a fellow, who knew 
of this, came up puffing and blowing in g^at haste from Constantinople, 
and said he had just seen some of this sort of paper in a bazaar. The 
doctors folded their arms and said they shouldn't meddle with it, for 
government would not be pleased if they bought things on their own 
responsibility. So Lieutenant Jones hobbled out, and managed to get 
across to Constantinople, and bought some, and brought it up to Menzies 
and the doctors. And it was such a glorious go, Pepper, they wouldn't 
touch the paper any more than if it had been a horse-stinger, because it's 
ag^nst the government laws to receive stores, except mm their own 
authorised depdts. They were in a rage — rather, those invalids, Jones 
especially." 

"How did it end?" 

" It didn't end," returned Hunter. " Menzies, or some of the rest, 
have written home to government for a supply of the paper, but it may 
be a month of Sundays before it comes, and the invalid officers are airing 
their patience, and looking out for it." And so, dear sir, there's that 
admirable Xieutenant Jones, who was like a father to me and Gill, pro- 
bably still wuting at Scutari. 

I am proud to tell you — and perhaps you'll tell it to Aunt Pris* 



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JEnsiffn Bepper's Letters jrom the Crimea. 145 

cilia, and she to the Beverend — that they are Tery religious in Scutari 
hospital. There's a daily senrice in the harrack-chapel. I went once, 
to see what I mean, to offer up my prayers. I am sorry to state 
that some of those who attend it grumble a little, and are profane 
enough to say they could be better employed uding the sick than in 
dancing attendance on a chapel on week-days, where the smell's bad and 
the malaria worse. I perceived something sot pleasant to the nose 
myself, while I stopped ; the same odour that's exhaled from the wards. 
I saw Miss Nightingale, and spoke witli her. She has a pleasant Toice 
and countenance, and looks very sensible. Hunter thinks half the 
hospital would have died, but for her. 

I did not stay long at Scutari, and a day or two after I got back to 
camp, news was spread through it that the Emperor of Russia was dead. 
Nobody belieyed it, and a regular chaff went through the camp. '< Queen 
Anne's dead," one would say. '' Queen Anne I Peace be to her me- 
mory. Let's put on mourning." ^< But the Emperor of all the Rushers 
is gone." ''Is he ? So's G^rge the Fourth. Come and spread the 
news." Away we'd go to all the tents within reach, and would be 
sainted with '* What do you youngsters want ?" '' If you please, colonel, 
a despatch has just arrived, black edges and seal. William the Fourth's 

fone dead, and is gathered to his forefathers in Windsor Castle." We 
ept the game alive all day, and made some of the old ones very mad. 
But soon we heard that the Emperor really was dead,- and we are all 
speculating upon how long it will be before we are allowed to cut this 
•blessed war, and we hope the Emperor is enjoying his deserts, whatever 
they may be, in the place assigned to Roman Cauiolic souls. I am not 
sure of the name: Gill says it's Paradise, and Stiffing says it's Purgatory. 
No end of things are arriving, now we don't want them, and winter 
clothing is being dealt out from Uie mass of stores at BiJaklava, now it is 
useless. I don't know where they'll stow away all the ship-loads of 
things that disgorge themselves : but it will come in for next winter, if 
they keep the motios out of it. Now, its a cargo of wooden boots ; now of 
• bearskin trousers, with patent straps and bracers ; now of shirts of a new 
make, fur inside and gutta-percha out ; now its rabbit-skin waistcoats ; 
and some lovely white swansdown coats have arrived for the staff, the 
tails lined with yeUow plush. Tubbs saw them. Knitted comforters 
•swarm in, without end, and nightcaps in crochet work. When the 
respirators arrived, they were taken for dogs' muzzles, and a council of 
war was held to decide upon whether or not they should be applied to the 
wild dogs that abound. Lord Raglan thought he had better write home 
for instructions, and whilst he was doing it, a doctor who had been down 
to examine the cargo came back in post-haste to head-quarters, and 
reported that they were not dogs' muzzles at all, but chest-respirators. 
The boas are stunning, and so will the mu£& be, for frostbitten fingers, 
on trench nights, also the pattens for the feet. It's said they purpose to 
build places to stow away the things in, but nobody knows. A little 
while ago our respected government, hearing that Balaklava had got 
into a temporary state of confusion, and having deliberated on it for some 
months, despatched out Mr. Pratt, with a tail of helpers, to get it straight. 
Mr. Pratt arrived — ^gentlemanly man, officer of customs, very efficient, 
practical en^eer, and all that. He was for going to work at once, . 



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146 Ensign Fspper^e Lett&rifrem Ae Crimea* 

wantiDg to build i »Lai 'f< w and landing^pkoes foft gpoodB, roomy stores, irj 
'shelyes, gtK>d oupbonds, 8toe. ; but the mmnagement^ oat here, got jealoas 
and firightmiMl at his aotiTity, and they wodd not ttllow hhn to attempt 
anything. So he's faming at having been aent on a fbol^ enrand, and the 
maaMB of eflfeda lie in piles of bother. 

A great shock has been experienced here. It had been ihonght tfiat 
Captain Christie was going to be presented to her Majesty as a reward 
lor his aerrioesy and be decorated irith the Order of the Garter. Some 
eantankenras, worritinp spirits had been casting blame towards him, for 
that litde afiBib of last November, when the transports weie lost, so he 
thought he had a right to any reward or consolation that might be 
offend him by her Hiugesty personally, and had been practising backing 
out of a room, before a large glass, fonr three hours a day. A formidable 
despatch arrived for him one morning, veiy thick, and seal as red and 
big as the moon in a fog, ** On Hbr BIajistt's Sebyicb." Christie's 
fingers could bardly come to the end of the seal with delight, for he con- 
duded if it had not got the blue ribbon inside, it had got the order for 
him to go home and fetch it, and he made another bow before ^t 
glass of hia, and took another back out, to judge of the effect he should 
produce before dw Queen. Sic transit gloria mnndi ! When he opened 
the despatch, diere was nodiing in it but his eupersedure, and a stem 
command for him to pack himself off home, and stand his trial, by court- 
martial, for hb misdoings at Bakklava. This affidr has considerably 
oowed many brave breasts out here. It is said, though I don't know widi 
what truth, that Commiasary-Greneral Filder has been shaking in his ihom 
ever ainoe, and that another general has experienced a slight trembling. 

A desperate eommotion was caused here when newe came that the 
mimstry had gone out on account of their mismanagement of the war; 
and when we heard that Palmerston was made prime minister, nothing 
could exceed our rejoicings. We said we should be made all right in no 
time, and a general illumination was proposed throughout the camp. But 
when we came to carry it into effect, somebody recoUected that we nad no 
can^Hes, and no windows to put them in. We were waiting anxiously for 
the reform to be commenced, and folt disappointed at the delay which 
seemed to be occurring: and now some of the officers have received 
letters, which hint that this ministry is worse than the last Dear sir, 
perhaps you can settle one point for us— /« Lord P. failing into km 
dotage ? Some of tiie letters affirm so, and the camp are quarrelling 
about It. It is stated he passes his time laughing and joking, Uke a 
childiA old man, and lets the war and ihe countiy go to the de v I 
mean, the dogs. The commissariat and mescal departments are in a 
foaming rage with him, for they hear he has told the House of Commons 
th^ don't dass as gen^emen. His lordship had better not come within a 
mile of them, unless he would like to be tossed in a wet blanket. 

We were sensibly affected, dear sir, when we heard that yon, and the 
irest oF England, had been holding a day of humiliation for us, and shall 
foel under everlasting obligations to the acting members of the govern- 
ment for ordering it T^y eould not have tuen a more effiwtual mode 
of silencing the reproaches which have been thrown at them. The nation 
has been casting it in their teeth that their mismanagement has caused the 
miseriea and mistakes of die war, so they, veiy naturally, turn round and 



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Ensiffn Pepper's Letters from the Crimea. 147 

eidw d» natian and the people to dopenanoe and fiut. Brigadier Coff 
H^ Jf the iaoenae of the f»ay«rs and toe fluting hat ascended aloft as it 
^m^t, Sdbattopol moBt Ml whenever we like to attask it 

We have skirmishes without end, and ofX»sionally a short armistice is 
agreed upon, for the ostensible purpose of burying the 'dead. White flags 
aieihoistod ^m the contending batteries* and then English, French, and 
Russians swarm out, meeting and mingling together on the plain. Tb» 
men collect the bodies, and the officers form knots for conversation. Our 
foes are gentlemanly, well-bred fellows, courteous and cordial, and of 
course we show out the same ; and oflbrings of snuff, cigars, and allu- 
mettes pass freely. The French appear, at these times, in full fig, as if 
they were fi;oing to a court ball, the Russians wear the everlasting grey 
coat over their uniform, and the less that's said about our toggery, the 
better. Tarpaulin attire has not gone clean out with us, neither hirvewe 
noeived reiuforeements of French cambric shirts with iriDed wristbands ; 
many cf our tiles also are more airy than elegant. These eonvenfenees 
in dress are, however, to be discarded, and we have been ordered to appear 
ugain in uniform and a sword. ** How long will it be before we can take 
'fiebostopol P" we asked a Russian officer one day, during a trace. 
'** You'll never take it," he answered : ^you nussed your chance once, and 
jofi 'won't get it agafn." This may not be true, of course, but it has been 
the private opinion of many of us for several montiis past. At the end 
cf the armistice, down go the white flags, both armies scndder back to 
quarters, and the firing begins again. 

A repeirt hflB reached us that Menschikoff is aerionsly wonnded, and 
has lost sill his arms and legs, but that asi^oon as the stumps are 'healed 
he means to come to battle again. We don't see how this will be, unless 
IxBtk brought in. a sedan with onshions, when we shall all flock outtto see 
ihe Sight. 

Easter Monday, the 9th April, will be a memonble day widi us, for 
it wae on diat day the Allies again opened fire on the fornfications and 
defences of Sebastopol. We began at ^ve in the morning, and, in 
weather, it was anotfier Inkerman. The Tain drifted down in (fleets, the 

gosts oi wind blew us to the dev the ground, and rooted up our tents, 

and a thick fog, black as night, enveloped the atmosphere. The ground 
bad previously been tolerably hard, but in a few hours it was over the 
ankles, a thick sea of mud, the entire camp one vast swamp. The firing 
was not kept up very strongly — who was to keep it up, in such weather 
88 that? Since that day, our guns have grown slacker and slacker, and 
at 'the rate they are going on now, we may fire for ever, without making 
any impression on Sebastopol. Some say we are short dF ammunition, 
others tiiat we have got too much of it : we juniors don't know. We may 
-expect some sharp work, for orden have been recently issued to the 
medical officers to make all poesibletpreparation for mons wounded. The 
'BusBians^ meanwhile, have been filling Sebastopol with vidtualling^stores, 
and we watch the heavily-laden waggons 'flocking into it day and night. 

I>ear sir, you desire me to convey a message for you to a captain in 
ifae 69rd, whom yon knew in London, but I am unable to do it, ibr <tiie 
^rdhas gone on a long excursion. I am grieved to infer, 'fi:T>m your 
lMtes*--<where you ask mother the 46th has disgraoed itself again, now 
Vsmikb Crimea — that you must have put some faith in the faaUncina- 



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148 Ensign Pepper^s Letters Jrom the Crimea. 

tions of that barefiftced Perry. Allow me to tell you that the officers of 
tlus distinguiBhed regiment were proTed to have merited reward, instead 
of censure, and Lord Hardinge has g^ren them their promotion. The 
regiment is not here — ^at least, none of it to speak of— haying accom- 
panied the 6drd on its tour. 

Please present my kind love to Aunt Priscilla and Jessie, with compli- 
ments to the Reverend Mr. S., and believe me, dear sir, 

Very dutifiiUy yours, 

1. IrJBPFEB* 



Stationary Trenches, before Sebastopol, April, IS.'iS. 
Mb. 6u8, — Fanny Green may go and be shot, and you with her. She's 
possessed of no more sense than a codfish. I got your letter, inside the 
governor's, with her message. " That the style in which we dressed our- 
selves — in shreds of upper varments, and without shreds of lower — ^was 
disgusting, not to say ungenUemanly ; and that I had fidlen down, besides, 
in her estimation, m common with the rest out here, for shirking the 
storming of Sebastopol !" Who wants to shirk it ? And who cares for 
F. G.'s '^ estimation ?" She had better come out and head us, and see 
how soon she'd go in and storm it. Why don't she set on and knit us 
some trousers, and buy us some stuff for waistcoats, and make it up, in- 
stead of throwing ridicule on our wardrobes ? I should not have given 
you credit for lending yourself to report such girl's trash ; unless you are 
degenerating into a girl yourself, which it is our belief you are— for I 
have shown your letter to Gill and Tubbs and Stiffine. Ill write to 
F. G. and blow her up. Stiffing says he wouldn't have her at a gift. 

A precious chance we have of getting into Sebastopol ! It is well 
known we mieht have taken it in September, when we first came, but 
we have let uie chance slip by for doing it now, and I don't care who 
hears me say it. Tell F. G. to send a despatch by the electric telegn^h 
(it will be open from here to Kensington before you get this) to our 
commander-in-chief, and demand of him and General Canrobert why they 
did not go in, at first, and take it. Marshal St Amaud was chief of the 
French army when we landed in the Crimea ; he's dead, and some re- 
nowned generals of our own are since dead; but if she will send an atmo- 
spheric communication to the world of spirits, and put the same question 
there, perhaps she will be fiivoured with a reply. Tell her to try it on, 
Gus : she's green enough for that, or anything else. Gill says ne does 
not care to know her now, and Tubbs says he wouldn't be introduced to 
her if he could. 

I should like you to see the miles and miles of formidable batteries that 
have i^wn up round Sebastopol since last September. It's believed that 
we might have gone quieUy in then, with a triffing loss of two or three 
thousand men : there would be a loss of thirty thousand now, for the 
whole army will be annihilated if it tries at it That's our opinion, and 
time will prove whether we are right For every fresh gun that we set 
up, the Russians set up five, and as to holding Sebastopol if we did ^t 
in, the thing's not in the range of possibility, as affairs are now. A nice 
condition we have been in aU the winter, to attempt the storming of any 
impregnable place ! In my last two letters I have told you the undis- 



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Ensign Pvpper^s Letters from the Crimea. 149 

goised troth about our state, physical and bodily and ornamental, and 
3ie shameful straits we were reduced to : no food, no dothes, no huts^ 
no beds, no medicine, no sleep ; weak, sick, frostbitten, and feyerish ; 
and our horses working with their heads and tails off. I mean, ears and 
tails ; but your letter ma so put me up, I don't know what I write. And 
now you say you have neyer had my letters I Gus, you are a sneak. If 
you have not had them, where do you think they haye got to — ^into the 
newspapers? No, Spark, it won't do. The post is bad enough, but not 
so bad as all that. 

Take Sebastopol I In the last six months, fifteen thousand men have 
gone down to Scutari, ill, or dying, and about as many have gone into 
their graves. What do you suppose has sent us there ? Warm clothing, 
and good fires, and sumptuous dinners, and air-tight houses, and rooms 
finished off with gilt cornices ? If you choose to look at the returns, 
you'll see that some of the deaths are set down to fever, and some to 
scurvy, and some to dysentery, and some to cholera, and some to frost- 
bites I but who has dared to set down the tbuth — that nine-tenths of 
the whole have died of starvation and despondency ? If you and Eng- 
land and Fanny Green think we ought to have had health and life kept 
in us, so as to hold our ranks entire, and to have been able, any day, to 
march in, with a strong hand, and smash Sebastopol, go and ask your 
high and mighW British government why it was not done. Let censure 
£edl upon them tor their wretched indifference and incapacity, but don't 
reproach us. Who is it that has reduced us to the plight we have been 
in ? Who has exposed us to diseases, and then debarred us of the medi- 
cine to relieve them — who set us down in an unhealthy swamp, water 
above and below us, and would not send us huts to keep us dry — who let 
the frost and the snow of a northern winter come to us, and neglected to 
furnish us with means of shelter — who let our solitaiy suit of clothes 
wear off our backs into rags and live creepers, and gave us none to 
replace them — ^who undertakes to send us out bedsteads, and despatches 
the frames here, and the legs and sacking off to Egypt — who was it sent 
the tops and doors of our huts, and forgot the sides, and the ntdls to put 
them up with — who has kept our beer and our fuel and our physic, and 
our boots and shoes, swinging about in ships, now at Constantinople, 
now at Balaklava, and now biusk again at Woolwich, and never landed 
the cargoes anywhere — ^and who has winked at our mass of steamers 
skulking idly in Balaklava harbour, and doing no earthly thing but 
eating away the nation's money, while provisions were within reach, and 
we were famishing ? Go and ask the war-management who has done aU 
this, and see if they can look you straight in the fiuse, while they answer. 
There has been chaos and confusbn and mismanagement out here, we aXi 
know, to oar eternal cost, but that has not been the root of the evil. 
They'll punish the small fry, poor Christie and Filder, and those who 
were looking out for stars and garters, but your rich and powerful and 
incapable ministers will escape soot-free. They are going to hold up a 
mild general or two, who hiave not the luck of possessing influential 
connexions, to public opprobrium ; but another general, who showed the 
•most perfect and unexplainable indifference during the long weeks of our 
greatest need, they'll decorate, along with themselves! Major Gum 
aedares he shudders to see a finash batch of newspapers arrive in camp, 



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180 JEm^ F^pper^^ Letters from As Crimea. 

fbr the wilftil 'misdoings, the unforimuite mntaket, snd tbe univenal 
hnbecilitj, iliow forth more plainly, day by day. And tbe eflftontety of 
their wanting to shdfle off their responsibiiity upon the nation, and make 
it fast and pniy and humiliate itielf in sadcdoai and ashoB to atone for 
thmr blunders ! The eamp deoided that fast to be the rii^hest jest that 
has oome out yet We wonder England stands it Cuff says ne ihinks 
it can't know the minions of its tin that are beii^ wasted — ^wasted, mind 
you, not used. There are many serious misgivines out here upon die 
aspect of affairs in England : and it is asked, throughout the camp, 
** Can it be that some strange chastening from on High is fidling on it, 
and depiiving its rulers of their faculties and powers ?" ** Quod Deus yult 
perdere, prius dementat* Tell F. G., with my compliments, that if I 
hare not kept my clothes, I have kept my Latin. 

Go in and storm Sebastopol ! Where's the army to do it ? What's 
the good, to us, of the raw recruits they have sent out in place of the 
good regiments which have died away ? To be of service, we must have 
experienced and efficient soldiers — ^but we don't get them. We don't 
bwieve Enriand knows the jolly mess we are in ; or takes acooont of the 
thousands that have gone into hospital, the thousands who have died, and 
the hundreds who have sneaked home and cut it altogether. The gover- 
nor, in the very letter in which he enclosed youn, sends a message to sen 
officer in ihe 68rd Regiment I have written him word bade that the 
6drd is gone on an ezcurskm. So it is : part of it into '8cutari he^ital, 
and the rest into the Crimean sod. The 68rd came out 900 strong, and, 
in a short time, it was reduced to nine men fit fbr duty. Tell that to 
Enghmd. The governor's letter lilso happened to mention that cnidc 
xegnnetit tbe 46th — ^ioto which jolly ooips Gill and I have not yet ghmt 
up hopes of exchanging. It has been annihilated, like the 69rd. It 
came out in November, 1000 strong-; and 800 axe dead or disabled. 
Do you know these facts in England? Yon aie all wonderfully easy if 

rdo. Why, months ago, if ihe government would not do anytiiing 
us, the people ought Yah 1 you are all of a cheeee — you, and F. G., 
snd the country, and its minbten. The camp has, now, got letters thoit 
tfaere'e a commitlee sitting, to see who's in fault about the misdbtngB of 
tiie war; and the staff aie crowing that though the mishaps come out 
pretty strong, the reid authors don^ One offieer (not on the staff) has 
ffot a friend, deep in the confidence of the executive government at 
noma, and fhe has written to say it's all arranged about tihe evidence 
tiny are to give — nobody's to be in fismlt, and nobody to be piwed 
responsible. Ministers, past and present, will deny or explain awmr 
everything that could tell against them — Admiralty, Ordnanoe, Medical 
and all me rest of the dejrartmedts, will do the same. Each set is to 
show out very bright and pure, and brag up the others : the coadoet of 
the war will appear to have gone on idaiirably ; and if the committee 
think to fix a iM^ld upon any one fbr blame, they'll be diddled. This is 
not ntisfaotaiy news to us sufieren ; and it's being asked, out here^ 
<« Will the people of England stand this? Wfll Aey let thiogs go on. 
In this rumble-jamble, for aaother year or two, tin the comitry'e dia- 
graeed and done for, or wiU ikey take ihe rems ef government into 'Aeir 
own hands f As true as that jon are alive, Gus, I hewd thateaid in 
•Captain Canegie^ tent last night Cftmegie was die man who hod the 



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Ensign Pepper^a Letters Jrom ifie Crimed. 161 

confiflBntial letter, and he, and Ghim and Cuff, and some luilMozen 
more, were comparmg other letters and newspapeiB ; and, in talkmg it 
over, ihey got as red, and excited, as fire's hot. Carnegie leans to the 
Lords, hecanse his aunt's grandmother was a marchioness ; hut Gum and 
Cuff and the rest, who have got no interest, don't They think Ihey 
are hardly dealt hy; something about the promotion; theynre obliged 
to stop out and rough it, they say, whilst others can go home and Hve 
at ease, and get promotion over their heads. 

"I think it will now be * Aristocracy versus Inteffigence,'" cried 
Gum, ** and if the trial does come off, intelligence will gain the day." 

Catnegie was indignant: "D'ye call mood nothing?" he asked; 
" look at that which flows in the yeins of the nobility." 

"Blood's good," returned €rum, "but brains are better. Look at 
our merchants and commercial men — ^if their talents had been brought, 
in the first instance, to bear upon the war, do you suppose we should 
have been gasping out our lives here, in nakedness and famine, paralysed 
and incompetent, a byword for other nations to laugh at ?" 

"Don't know about that," grunted Carnegie, " but a duke's a duke, 
and a baron's a baron ; and if they do not display the business talents 
which seem to come natural to common people, their rank makes up for 
it They have had the rule and swing of the country for ages, and 
John Bull, who's an easy, good-natured old soul, ought not to turn tail 
upon theui now/ 

'* We shall see," Tetorted {he major; ** it's turn tail, on the one hand, 
Tcdn on the other ; and he must choose between them." 

And, Gus, we ^uill see. Fm blest if I much care how things torn 
otit,'fbr we can't be worse off than we are. By the way, talking of our 
rulers, I want you to get a song called " Peter bick," and send it out to 
us. We hear it is the crack song, just now, in the Admiralty and go- 
vernment offices ; that the clerks whistle it all day, standing on their 
heads in cocked hats, and beat time with a gold-headed cane. Stiffing 
knows a veiy nice fellow who is in the Ordnance departmenl^ the Ho- 
nourable Tom Fireaway, and he says he is a slap-up wlusiler. 

We had theprimest joke, out here. Bob Rendal, one of our chi^s, 
was in the last stage of camp fever, - and through somebody's unaccount- 
able mistake, my name went up instead of his, and an order came for me 
to go into hospital at Scutari, whilst his name was entered for the 
trenches. I ijodk care to be off before they found it out, and Bob died. 
Tubbs — he was only jealous — said he wouldn't take advantage of ilie 
error. The idea ! I wanted to see the girls who have come out, and 
swKy I went. I ran rushing up to the hospital when we reached Scutari, 
and while I was looking out for the girls, in hopes there were some pretty 
ones, I inquired after Ellison, one of our set who had gone down there, 
but he had made himself scarce, or Ae hospital gangrene had done it fat 
him ; and, instead of him, I came upon Himter, looking like a ghost in 
a white nightcap. I couldn't get up a shadow of flirtation wrai the 
giris ; they were the wrong sort for it, very staid and cranky, especially 
Uie nuns ; and two or three, whom, by way of trying it on, I politely 
accosted with *^ I hope, miss, you are quite well," looked as cross as old 
Nick. It was no go, and there was not a bit of fon going on, and 
Hunter was too shaky to come out * That beast of a Jones was at 



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152 Ensign Fepper^s Letters from the Crimea. 

Scutari ! When he was our lieutenant he had used to lead me and Gill 
the devil's own life, playing the sneak and letting out about us to Gum. 
He wanted to he sent home, but they had no writing-paper to write the 
application on, and I hope he's stopping there yet, praising up the 
Bntish government and all connected with it. ril tell you whkt 1 saw 
one of the nuns do. She was verv busy over a fellow's bed, counting her 
beads, and reading to him, ana praying, and confessing. The chap 
seemed as if he would interrupt her, but the more he tried, the hster she 
prayed and talked. At last she began to think him worthy of the con- 
secrated vrafe]>— or whatever the Roman Catholics call it — ^when he burst 
out with '* Ma'am, I'm deadly obleeged to ye, but I be a Wesleyan 
methodiss." 
. ^' You are a what ?" she said, startbe up and staring at him. 

« A disciple of Wesley, ma'am. Folks call us methodisses." 

*' Your name is O'Connor ; you are a Roman Catholic," cried the nun. 
" I was with you yesterday." 

*' Not a bit on t, ma*am/' perusted the fellow. " I'm John Dobbs. 
O'Connor died in the bed this morning, and they have put me in his 
place." 

The lady gave a gasp of horror, and went away ; and Miss Nightin- 
gale said the nuns ought not to confess the men, for fear of 'these mis- 
takes. 

The telegraph's at work in the camp, from right to left, and across 
again. It's a stunning convenience. Captain Smith wants to send^a 
message to Lieutenant Thompson — goes to telegraph and signals. 
^'Hallo^ old fellow ! how's the grubbings in your quarter to-day ; any* 
thing worth coming for? Short commons here." Back, comes tne 
answer, in a brace of shakes. '^ No go. Devilled scraps from yesterday. 
Out of everything." Smith growls, and tries it again : sends the same 
demand to Captain Dark, on the right attack, and gets the answer. 
^* All right, old brick. Don't lose time. Turkey-pie and broiled ham ; 
Clears and champagne-punch." Captun Smith goes tearing alone, 
riding his pony's tail off, and gets there in time for a capital dinner wim 
his friends. While they are making themselves jolly, afterwards, it 
occurs to them that Lieutenant Thompson would be an agreeable addi« 
tion to the party, as he can sing a good song, so off goes one to the 
telegraph again, and signals the lieutenant ''Lieutenant Thompson 
wanted. Make good speed. Prime smoke ; unlimited grog ; going to 
make a night of it. Smith*s here." *' Can't," is the dolefbl answer, 
'' those confounded trenches. Off at once. Wi^ the plague had the war." 
There are sea-gulls in England innocent enough to believe the telegraph's 
kept for official purposes, confined to Raglan and Canrobert, but I said 
I'd split about it. For, if you'll credit it, Gus, when I went to transmit 
a yery important communication by it, to Stiffing, about some marma- 
lade, the nasty shufflers refused to take it. 

Don't you go writing me such messages again from that little ape, 
F. G. I am about to sit down now, and give ner a blowing-up, and mind 
you smuggle the letter safely to her. — ^Yours, 

ToH Peffeb. 

Augustas Sparkinson, Esquire, junior. 



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Emngn Pepper^s Letters from the Crimea. 153 

Camp-of-the-Braye-WarTiQn, before Sebastopol, April, 1865: 
My bter j>eab Fanny, — IVe eot an epistle from Spark, with the 
dearest message from you, which I &ould be puzzled how to thank you 
sufficiently for, only that I know it comes originally from that ugly pig 
of a governess, ohe has been poisoning your mind with sug^gestions 
that comets and ensigns, airily clad, are not decent society for young 
hdies and London drawing-rooms. For your own darling ignorance on 
war and its tactics, I cannot express admiration enough — though I have 
tried to attempt it, in my answer to Spark. But now I must enlighten 
you. Our governors — I speak of those statesmen who rule in England, 
and enjoy the personal counsels and confidence of her Majesty — are 
txying to make us a hardy race of warriors, like the ancient Britons, and 
imroughout last winter^s severe weather, we had orders to do, as far as 
possible, without garments; no coats, no waistcoats, and no- well, 
continuations; but, now the summer^s approaching, we have to be cased 
in frirs. If your groaning governess could look at us now, she'd see a 
sight. We are smothered in wool from head to foot. Sheepskin widst- 
coats and trou——— continuations, catskin head-dresses, sable muffs, boas, 
and gloves, and white swansdown coats with yellow plush tails. I can 
assure you, and you may assure her, that for warmth and elegance our 
present attire has never been surpassed. If swansdown and yellow silk 
plush are not decent enough for a drawing-room (besides the lovely con- 
trast in the colours), perhaps you'll ask her what is. So you see, my 
little innocent, that if we have gone m puris naturaUbus (which you 
may get your starchy governess to translate for you, if sh^ can do it for 
blushing), it was in obedience to the secret orders of our commanders : 
and a soldier's duty is to obey, and make no bones over it. As to the 
taking of Sebastopol, that does not give us a moment's consideration, it 
is a wmg of course — as you young ladies say, '' cela va sans dire." We 
are quite ready to pounce our claws upon it, and are only playing with 
it, for their torture and our sport, like a cat does with a mouse. I 
remonstrated with a general yesterday (a very exalted one, whom I 
mayn't name in a letter) that it was cruel, thus to keep the poor Russian 
creatures in hourly suspense of the allied attack and their own annihila- 
tion, and he agreed with me, and half proposed that I should go into 
Sebastopol, leading a chosen body, and put an end to it ; but I fear he 
has, for the present, altered his mind. 

The prodigies of valour we perform are incredible. Battles are fought 
continually, and if we have had the misfortune to be winged and legged 
(which means all four taken off, by the cannon-balls) we don't heed it, 
but cause ourselves still to be carried to the thick of the fight, in vehicles 
constructed for the purpose— a new invention, something between a 
sedan-chair and a budget. Occasionally we allow the enemy to come 
out and exchange courtesies with us. Very gentlemanly fellows some of 
the Russian officers are, and speak capital French. They have to make 
offerings of dinners and suppers to the Turks. The savoury smell of the 
dishes is stunning, particularly the sage and onions, and the next time we 
sniff it, which we shall be sure to do, if the wind blows this way, I, and 
Comet Stiffing, and Ensigns Gill and Tubbs, intend to mount our noble 
chargers and ride over to Eupatoria, the Turkish camp, and honour the 
dinner-table with our company. AxA you may judge of the dangers we 



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154 Ensign Pepper's Letters Jraai the Ormea. 

are ready to bfave» wfaflnl tell you tiiat» to efiPeet thi8» ve shall have to 
go right round by Sduutopoly and stand the firing ftoai all tha Riusan 
batteries at onoe. 

We amuse our tune pleasantly here on the whole, and BBOOFa and gire 
dinner-parties. Tha electric telegraph is established in tha oamp. The 
convenienee of this is» that you can summons ar fioand to a spiaad at * 
moment's notice^ obviating all that bothering ceremony ofi invitalioii 
notes and envelopes* We have good qport» too, shooting the nuJlaxd; 
and hare to stana the chance of being shot ouraehres at it, for tha wild 
drake oongrente doae to tha enemy's quartera. Our caterers hove been 
recently landing some wild catde, which causes indsaoribaUe oonfurion 
in our ranks. These sayagss animals are anything but polite: all thay 
do is to tear about the camp, and butt at evaryhody.. A Tery nice younf 
fellow> in the artillery, had the misfortune to maet one^ and the infiniated 
beast took him on his homs, and tossed him such a height into tha air 
that he narer came down again. Tubbs saw it, and cama home and told 
us, and said they wmo stiU looking aloft for tha body when he left. 

We are trei^ to changes in the matter of weather. For days 
together, the camp will be an everlasting show of rain, mud, watai^ wind, 
rheumatism, and felaok Sea fogs ; and next, it will be an emblem of all 
that's pleasant The sky as blue as a pretty girl's eyes (somebody's I 
know), and the sun bright and scorching — makmg us ccmsign (in speech) 
our furs and woollen wrappers to the lower zeffions. I nthered to-day 
a variegated noseffay, hyacinths, crocuses, blua*bells, daffodils, sweet* 
briar, and oth^ with formgn names, and I wished I could waft it as an 
offering to you. I would send you some croou^-patals in a letter, only I 
know diat thundering thief of a post-office would be for boning them out 
of it. I should like to send you a bird — if I knew how to get it to Eng- 
land. We have larks, and spam>ws, and tomtits^ and water-wagtails, 
and shining goldfinches, and golden<-wiens, — ^which would you like ? Or 
would you prefer a vulture ? You could have a great big cage built for 
him, and hang it between the two drawing-room windows, outside. We 
have had a large building run up on Balaklava hmghts, for the reception 
of the recovered troops who are still sickly. They are to go there for 
change of air — ^like your mamma goes to Brighton and Hastings* It is 
called a Sanatorium or place of health ; and if you want to know what 
the real English for that is, as applied to this Sanatorium, it's ^' Hookay 
Walker." 

My dear Fanny, I ha^e gcaat reason to complain. I sent you word to 
come out to Scutari, and I thought I could depend upon you. Two 
months ago, about which time 1 iMlieved you mignt airive, I determined 
to go down to meet you, so I applied at head-quarters for leave of 
absence. There was a deuce of a difficulty to get it granted me^ my 
services are so efficient up in camp : but after about ten days' suspense 
and agitation, and ten signatures and counter-signatures, I got my name 
entered for Scutari. Down I rushed to Balaklava, without a momeni^s 
delay, and it was knee-deep in mud, just then, so you maejr suppose the 
pickle I was in, when I got there, and boarded a transport that was on 
the point of starting. I did not care for the state my lower lags were in, 
or for the inoonvemanoes of the passage, which your ears must be familiar 
with, if you look at tha newspaper^ or for tha groans of the poor sick 



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Engign Pepper's Letters from the Crimea. 155 

and wounded we carried, or for the want of refined food, or for the per- 
fumes of the ship, which were not those of attar-of-rose and layender- 
water, or for the live things which stuck to us all» No : I n^yer felt any 
of these, bat I perched myself on the summit of the chimney, to obtain 
the quickest riew of the place whieh, I fondly hoped, contained you, and 
drying the mud. Arrived at Scutari, I tramped up to the hospital — a 
place as big as all Kensington — and went flying through its- wards and 
corridors, alarming die sick inmates with my finmtic calls after you. 
Alas!' you had. never come. Though I saw Miss Nightingale, and the 
nuns, and sisters, and the charming white vols, I lookaa in vain for 
F. G. Several of the younger ladies cast upon me — ^well, if I must say 
it — ^an eye of favour, but what ^d I care ? The only eye I oared for waa 
not to be seen. I met a friend there, Ensign Hunter, bui he had got the 
palsy, or somediing of that, and shook all over, and a white nk^htcap on, 
which is what they dress in. There was a sinful wretch of a Lieutenant 
Jones down tibere, who, when he was in camp, used to play jackall to 
Mi^or Gum, on purpose to worry the life out of me and Gill. So in- 
dignant were our revered government at his having dared to circumvent 
BIB, Ensign Thomas Pepper, that when they had got him fast at Scutari, 
they would not fill up the necessair forms, in writing, for him to get 
away from it, and we hope he is cooling his heels there stilL 

Now^— «nii0 you come f I can't journey periodieaUv to Scutari, on the 
chance of finding you there, for the camp could am>rd for almoet any- 
body to waste his time better than me ; but if you wiU send a notifica- 
tion of the probable period of your arrival, I'll manage to get down for 
it. I don't see why you should shirk coming. Tall your mamma there 
are ladies of title out there. You need not know anyd»ng of nursing, or 
illness, or hospitals, that's quite superfluous ; and I think you would find 
living there a very agreeable change, if you can stand fleas. Tou would 
live with Miss Nightingale and the lady-nurses, and attend my bed- 
side every day in the ward, for I should borrow Hunter's cap and 
sham sickness. And when I had to go back to camp, you could report 
that your stamina was not equal to the exertion, and tiiey'd thank you for 
what you had done, and escort you back to London again. You would 
get an agreeable trip without cost, and would become familiar with many 
agreeable foreign sights, funerals in particular. When children and 
yoaog ladies die in Constantinople, they are carried to the grave in open 
coffins, with flowers strewing their cold white fiuses, and they are sur- 
rounded with lighted tapers, and the priests and bearers are dressed out 
in purple and scarlet, and go along the streets, nngtng the death- 
chant It is all very romantic, and you could not fail to enjoy the sight 
amazingly ; so you had better make up your mind without delay, and 
come mere you can see it. 

Gill and Tubbs and Stiffing wanted to send their love to you, but I 
would not allow it, which has made them corky. Do let me have a note 
from you ; don't be cruel ; and believe me, my dear Fanny, 

Your ever oevotedy 

Ton. 

Hiss Eanny Green, Kensington. 



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( 156 ) 



WESTWOOFS "BERRIES AND BLOSSOMS."* 

Old in heart must he be, older than the hills — for they, on occasion, can 
skip like young sheep — who shall find himself none the younger, none the 
kinder, none the gladder and wiser too, for a reading in this Verse-Book 
for Young People. There are things in it, which children, now made happy 
with the possession of it, will enjoy at once, but which they will probably 
-^if they liye— enjoy still more, when their children's children are* 
beside them and around them. The book has about it the pervading 
grace of sympathy with childhood, with its fancies and reveries^ its 
sports aud firoucs, its lovings and likings. There is much quaint humour; 
there is many a gleesome sally, many a bit of good-natured satire and 
bantering fun ; there is a finely-touched love of nature, touched to fine 
issues — a healthy delight in venial breeses, and summer meadows, and 
the ways and means of the fish in the sea and the fowl of the air, toge- 
ther with a poetical faculty of giving to these " dumb mouths" an arti- 
culate speech, and interpreting for child-listeners and lookers-on the 
sounds and symbols of the blue heavens above and the green earth 
beneath. 

Mr. Westwood has already submitted his book to one critic, by whose 
judgment he will not be reluctant to abide — *' No solemn elder," he tells 
us, " with a world of dusty wisdom in the wrinkles of his brow, but a 
little frolicsome child, wise only in the freshness of her heart and mind, 
and whose priises and penalties were alike spontaneous and sincere." 
He confesses that, having written books before, never has he written one 
in which he took greater pleasure or more entire interest. He calls it 
a play-book rather ^an a lesson-book, and, to those who shake their 
heads (there are such people, but we suppose they can't help it) at such 
an avowal, he addresses his opinion, that children should sometimes be 
sent Id to poetry, "just as they are sent into the June sunshine with 
hoop and skipping-rope, for pastime and relaxation." Let the mandarin 
heads wag on, if they must ; but let not that deter Mr. Westwood from 
wending his " ain gate" 

To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new, 

and bringing us other clusters of big bright berries, and bonny spring- 
time blossoms that hang on the bough. 

Various enow in subject and in treatment are the contents of this 
Verse-Book. There is the Confession of a Blue BeU, with its ring-a-ting 
obligato ; there is a smart new version of the old fable of the Owl and 
the Hawk, which cleverly differentiates between the tu-whit and the 
tu-whoo of the former bird ; there is a Ballad of Giant Despair and 
the little Prince Goodchild, and another, very notable, of Child Barbara 
and the Dragon ; there is the Tragic History of Fuffskin, the Frofi^, 
and Peter Piper, the Grasshopper ; aud again, in the way of simple 

• Berries and Blossoms: a Verse-Book for Young People. By T. Westwood, 
Author of « The Burden of the BeU," &c London: Darton and Co. 1S55. 



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WestwoocCs *^ Berries and Blossoms" 157 

pathos, there is the <' Lark's Grave," and the '^ Moorland Child," and 
the " Land of Long Ago/* and a " Fireside Story ;" while, in that 
characteristic style of piquant grace and graphic vivacity hy which Mr. 
Westwood is best distinguished, there are such morceaux as '^ Under my 
Window," and " The Proudest Lady," and " Little Bell," and " Lily on 
the Hill-top" — the last a capital outburst of youthful spirits and buoyant 
health, pictured in the tiny maiden's romp with the North Wind himself. 
Some one ** copy of verses" from this Verse-book we must select, to give 
a taste of its quality, and after due hesitation when only one is admissible 
qwxtd our space, and so many quoad their own merit, we fix on the 
piece intituled 

KITTEN GOSSIP. 

Kitten, kitten, two months old, 

Woolly snow-ball, lying snug, 
Gurl'd up in the wannest fold 

Of the warm hearth-rug. 
Turn your drowsy head this way. 
What is life ? Oh, Kitten, say ! 

" LifeP" said the Kitten, winking her eyes, 
And twitching her tail, in a droll surprise — 
" Life ? — Oh, it's racing over the floor. 
Out at the window and in at the door ; 
Now on the chair-back, now on the table, 
'Mid balls of cotton and skeins of silk 
And crumbs of sugar and jugs of milk, 
All so cosy and comfortable. 
It's patting the little dog's ears, and leapmg 
Round him and o'er him while he's sleeping — 
Wakinghim up in a sore affright, 
• Then off and away, like a flash of light, 
Scouring and scampering out of sight. 
Life ? Oh, it's rolling over and over 
On the suramer-ffreen turf and budding clover ; 
Chasing the shadows as fast as they run, 
Down the garden-paths in the mid-day sun. 
Prancing and gamoolling, brave and bold, 
I Climbing the tree-stems, scratching the mould — 
Thafs Life !" said the Kitten two months old. 

Kitten, Kitten, come sit on my knee, 
And lithe and listen. Kitten to me ! 
One by one, oh 1 one by one. 
The slv, swift shadows sweep over the sun — 
Dayliffiit dieth, and-— kittennood's done. 
And, Kitten, oh ! the rain and the wind ! 
For cat-hood cometh, with careful mind. 
And grave cat-duties follow behind. 
Hark ! there's a sound you cannot hear ; 
ril whisper it's meaning in your ear : 

Mice / 
(The Kitten stared with her great green eyes, 
And twitch'd her tail in a queer surprise,—) 

Mice/ 
No more tit-bits, dainty and nice ; 
June — VOL. CIV. no. ccccxiv. m 



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U8 WetkBOods ^' Berries and Bloasoms'* 

'No more misdiief and no more play ; 
Bat watching bj night, and sleeping by daj. 
Prowling wherever the foe doth lurK — 
YeiT short commons and very sharp work. 
And, Kitten, oh ! the hail and the thnnder ! 
That's a blackish cloud, but a blacker's nnder. 
Hark ! bnt you'll fall from my knee, I fear. 
When I whisper that awful word in your r" 

BrT-r-rats ! 
(The Kitten's heart beat with great pit-]^. 
But her whiskers quiver'd, and from their sheath 
Flash'd out the sharp, white, pearly teeth.) 

The scorn of dogs, but the terror of cats ; 
The cruellest foes and the fiercest fighters; 
The sauciest thieves and the sharpest biters. 
But Kitten, I see you've a stoutish heart. 
So, courage ! and play an honest part ; 

Use well your paws. 

And streogthen your claws. 
And sharpen your teeth and stretch your jaws- 
Then woe to the tribe of pickers and stealers. 
Kibblers, and gnawers, and evil dealers ! 
But now that you know Life's not precisely 
The thing your fancy pictured so nicely, 
Off and away 1 race over the floor, 
Out at the window and in at the door ; 
Bx)U on the turf and bask in the son. 
Ere night-time cometh, and kittenhood's done. 

The reader will have admired the highly- wrought effect of that mys- 
terious whisper, Mice I — startling the ear of kittenhood with dim inti- 
mations of an eventful future. The condensed significance of that mono- 
syllable is a masterly hit. But it is nothing to the thrilling revelation 
which follows it — to the awful roll, the ruthless reverberation of that other 
monosyllable, R-r-r-rats ! We warrant, if Mr. Westwood has ever recited 
this piece before a select home circle of little ones, that he has been 
clamorously petitioned (the first sensation over and silence broken) to 
repeat the rolling r's, without bating a jot of the old emphasis. 
" Please do the R-r'T-rate over agun !" And no wonder. 



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( 169 ) 
LITERAKY LEAFLETS 

BY SIB NATHANIEL. 

No. XXXn.— Jambs Thomson.* 

Thsrb IB, perhaps, no English poet of Thomson's kind of rank .and 
jreputationy about whose merits and claims to such distinction thore is so 
little dispute. Wordsworth,t indeed, essayed to show that the MMnal 
admiration expressed for the bard of the Seasons could only at the^est be 
" blind womlerment," and to account for his popularity by, partly, the 
mere title of his chief poem, which seemed to '' bring it home to tlie pse- 
pued sympathies of every one," — ^partly, ihe use of just such a ^'vicious 
style" and just such ''false ornaments,** as would be most likely to ftrike 
the undisoeming, — and partly, the lavish introduction of '' aentimoital 
common-places,'* brought forward with an imposing air of novelty, and 
with palpable success, proved by the fact that in any well-used copy of 
" The Seasons," the book generally c^ens of itself with the Rhapsoay on 
Love, or with one of the episodes, Damon and Musidora, or Palemon and 
Lavinia. But Woidsworth's own disciples have been backward to r«>eat 
his strictnies ; some, on the contrary, have been forward to conftite tnem 
— Wilson, for instance, who kindles into enthusiasm as he intones in that 
poetical-prose of his (medley of the '' laal fine" and << unco' coazse"), the 
praises of his illustrious countryman, and exults in the wide acceptance of 
the Seasons, and their cordial enjoyment, by all orders and degrees of 
men amongst us — telling how he nad seen the hock himself in the ahep- 
herd's shieling, and in the woodsman's bower — ''small, yellow-leaved, 
tattered, mean, miserable, calf-skin bound, smoked, stinking oopies," yet 
pored over by those " humble dwellers, by the winter-ingle or on the 
summ«>brae, perhaps with as enlightened, certainly with as imagination- 
overmastering a delight, as ever enchained the spirits of the high-bom 
and highly-taught to their splendid copies,"^ of ne plus ultra pzetenaons 
as to paper and print, breadth of margin and pomp of illustration, bind- 
ing the most superb and toolins^ the most exquisite. We do not quarrel 
over Thomson as we do over other poets beside or near whom he takes his 
stand. His popularity is less Questionable than almost any other bard's, 
enrolled high on the list of British dassics. It is more a true thing, an 
actual verity, real and practical ; not merely a traditional pretence, not 
merely a hearsay renown, courteous and conventional. Possibly the tide 
has turned now, or is at the turning point ; but for one clear century 
Thomson has enjoyed a degree of fiime which, in quantity and quality, in 
extent and in intensity, deserves to be called " true fame," as Coleridfi;e 
did call it, when he found a tattered copy of the '^ Seasons" lying on the 
window-sill of a littie rustic ale-house. Possibly the next ana succeeding 
generations may have less implicit £Eiith in the accunu^ and unbookish 
freshness of Thomson's descriptions of Nature, and make fewer calls upon 

* Poetical Works of James Thomson. Edited by Bobert BeU. 2 vols. (An- 
notated Edition of the English Poets.) London : John W. Parker and Son. 1855, 
t " Essay, sapplementitfy to the Preface,*' &c. 
I ** Winter Bhapsody. I^tte First (1830)." 

m2 



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160 James Thomson. 

them in their Anthologies, and Elegant Extracts, and Modern Speakers ; 
hut for a round hundred years at least he has heen honoured with '' true 
fame" — ^read (which is more than some greater hards may hoast), marked 
(a new access of superiority), learnt (by heart, and with heart, as an out- 
of-school pleasure as well as an in-school task), and inwardly digested 
(with more or less ease in the process, and benefit in the result, according 
to the eu or <fy«-peptic powers of the agent). And the majority of 
general readers will pro5ably scout our base insinuation that the tide, 
which has home him so buoyantly, so royally, hitherto, has shown any the 
slightest symptom of turning, much less has already turned — and will 
deny that so deep and broad a stream, whose rolling waters wend on to 
immortality, can be subject to the check of tidal laws, or suffer a sea- 
change. 

The truth and freshness of Thomson's transcripts from Nature drew no 
mean part of their effect upon the age, from the contrast they presented 
to the untruth and second-hand staleness of that age's poetry of descrip* 
tion. They had, indeed, an absolute beauty and value of their own ; but 
their relative beauty and value, as compared with contemporary verse 
of a similar design, neightened as well it might the fervour of the welcome 
they received. Now that the same contrast between him and other de- 
scriptive poets no longer exists, now that he is not alone in his glory, now 
that his readers are readers also of Cowper, of Wordsworth, of Tennyson, 
— the relative value of his verse becomes a vanishing quantity, and, for 
his passport to immortality, or his claim to another century's lease of 
*' true fame," it is to its absolute value, to its intrinsic vitality (X<o^ 'cy 
*€avT^\ that regard must now be paid. Few but will recognise in his 
descriptions an absolute beauty, ever fresh and ever fair — and hence may 
be predicated for them a lease of perpetuity — such perpetuity as mortals 
may predicate at all ; his portraiture of Nature is a thing of beauty, and 
that, says another poet, is a joy for ever. How much this absolute beauty 
was seemingly magpiified by relative '^ co-efficients," and to what extent 
the reputation of the '^ Seasons" for descriptive fidelity may be impaired, 
and their " glorious summer" be overshadowed by advent glooms of a 
*^ winter of discontent," it is for time to test ; and time is testing it accord- 
ingly. 

In speaking of Thomson's truthfulness as a descriptive poet, we do 
not here allude to the minor details of his poem, illustrative of zoological 
and vegetable life. Of these illustrations, which are open to the matter- 
of-fact criticism of science, some are demonstrably inaccurate, the most 
are admirably correct. His namesake. Dr. A. T. Thomson, has fur- 
nished many interesting observations on this head ; and Mr. Bell, in his 
careful edition of the poet, draws liberally on the Doctors storehouse, 
and confronts Thomson the man of imagination and song with Thomson 
the man of natural history and fact. Now and then the minstrel is a 
little beside the mark, in his ornithological and kindred researches ; but, 
as a rule, his eye is a seeing eye, and peers inquiringly into the privacies 
of animal life, as well as rolls in a fine frenzy in vision of whirlwind and 
storm. If he is in enx)r when he refers to early Spring the "clammy 
mildew" which does not appear till Autumn, ~K)r when he ranks the 
woodlark among those birds that sing in copses, whereas it sings on the 



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James Thomson, 161 

wing, — or when, in common with so many others, he makes the sunflower 
shut up her yellow leaves in sadness when sets her god, the sun, and, 
when he warm returns, *' point her enamoured bosom to his ray," whereas 
prosy science, or rather plain observation, tells us that if we examine a 
bed of sunflowers at any period of the day we shall find them looking in 
every direction, and only by poetic fiction, and to an Irish melody, turn* 
ing on their god when he sets the same look that they turned, when he 
rose, — or when he derives pestilence from a living cloud of insects, up- 
rising from the hoary fen in putrid streams, — or when he sends the 
swallow to bed and sleep for the winter, whereas that judicious bird, at 
once epicurean in taste and eclectic in philosophy, eschews such an idea 
(much more such a fact) as Winter altogether, and so arranges its 
periodical flittings as to renew in the south what was failing it m the 
north, — if in a row instances of this trivial sort, Thomson is open to the 
demurrers of his learned friends, in how many others does he extort from 
them a homage of admiration for the minuteness of his observance, and 
the accuracy of his details. As where he sketches out the physiology of 
the vegetable tribes, that, wrapt in a filmy net, and clad with leaves, 
draw the live ether and imbibe the dew— -each plant in the twining mass 
of tubes a thing '^ attractive," that sucks, and swells the juicy tide^the 
vernal sun awakening the torpid sap from its wintry root-asylum, till it 
mounts in lively fermentation, and spreads " all this innumerous-coloured 
scene of things ;" — or where he pictures the nightingale in his exemplary 
capacity as a prospective paterfamiliaSy singing away like — like— whom 
or what but himself? — ^by day and night, wliile his mistress gives ear to 
his ditty and eke attends to the hatching ; — or where he notes the white* 
winged plover wheeling her sounding flight, around the head of wander- 
ing swain, and skimming in long excursion the level lawn, to tempt him 
from her nest ; or, with Uke pious fraud, the wild-duok fluttering over the 
rough moss, and the heath-hen over the trackless waste, to delude and 
utterly eonfrise the hot-pursuing spaniel ;^-or where he reports the august 
congress of storks, and their protracted debates ere the motion is carried 
for their long vacation — how, having designed their route, chosen their 
leaders, adjusted their tribes, and cleaned their vigorous wings, they 
wheel round and round (like crafty logicians) '* in many a circle," and 
(like us magaadne scribblers) in " many a short essay," until '^ in con- 
eregation full the figured flight ascends, and, riding high the aerial 
billows, mixes with the clouds;"— or, once again, where he registers the 
indications of a coming storm, from the movements of feathered fowl, 
** the plumy race, the tenants of the sky," — the clamorous rooks, retiring 
in blackening hordes from the downs, thick-urging their weary flight to 
the grove's closing shelter ; and the cormorant on high that wheels from 
the deep and screams along the land, and the heron soaring aloft with 
loud shnek, and the circling sea-fowl that cleave with wild wing the flaky 
clouds. 

These graphic felicities notwithstanding, it is by here and there an 
exacting critic contended, that, after all, Thomson's descriptions of 
Nature are sometimes not quite so fresh and original, but considerably 
more bookish and conventional, than the bulk of his admirers ever have 
suspected or ever will allow. 



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162 JameM Thommnu 

Thftfc) indeed, he lored the fi^e of Nature^ and studied it at thnea with, 
a laver^s^intelligenoe — (and w« know that 

Love adds a preoions seeing to the eye), — 
» not' by the most cross-grained to be gainsaid. His boyish yerses <^ On 
a Country Life," Mr. Bell commends as fresh and real, and as bringing 
before^UB the features of the country without gloss or affectation. " Dis- 
missing the ideal shepherds and shepherdesses who formerly trailed their 
si&s, like the ladies m the portraits of the Restoration, over imaginary 
plains, and rejecting altog^tner the machinery of the heathen mythology, 
Thomson addressed himself directly to Nature, and transferred the land- 
scape] to his canvas with truthfulness and simplicity.'** Mrs. Southey 
has recorded her grateful sense of the '' fresh and real^ interestin Nature, 
excited within her by early commerce with the '^ Seasons"— 

A sensibility .to Nature's charms 
That seems its living spirit to infuse 
(A breathing soul) m tniiigs inanimate ; 
To hold communion with tne stirring air. 
The breath of flowers, the ever shifhng clouds, 
The rustling leaves, the music of the stream 
. . . But best and noblest privilege ! to fed 
Pervading Nature's all-hannonious whole, 
The Qreat Creator's Presence in his works.t 

^Thomson," says M. Villemain, ''has not the grandeur and' pre* 
cision of antiquity, but his heart overflows at the sight of the coontiy; 
He abounds m true images — in simple emotions. He possesses Aat 
poetry of the domestic hea^, in which the English have always excelled, 
and he has blended it with all the beauties of Nature, which for him are 
only shadows of the Creator's hand."| Hb images are tnie ^en thejjr 
are manifestly the fruit of his own observations of the varied year, his 
own out-door studies of the seasons as they roll ; as when, in fab cheesftd 
mom of life, as he tells us, he wandered not unpleased through even grim 
Winter's rough domain, among the hilb within range of hb Mbxe^f^ 
parbh, where he trod the pure virgin snows, and hesord the winds roar 
and the big torrents burst, and saw the deep fermenting tempest gaibsr' 
ito forces in the gloaming, soon to come travelling in the greatness of its 
strength, welcome only to such as could say 

welcome, kindred glooms I 

Congenial honors hail ! 

* Bell's Thomson, i. 46. 

t The Birthday, &c. By Caroline Bowles. 1836. 

% M. Villemain is here comparing Thomson with that once favourite and veiy 
French frihhler, St. Lambert, at whose expense he has the good taste to exalt the 
British bard, thxm^ British, and more fat than bard beseems. Whence the difito-> 
enoe» be asks, between tiie Seasons k la Lambert and the Seasons i la TfaomMW t 
and in part-explanation answers: " It does not arise solely fh>m the inequality of 
their tiUents [though we, who are British, would lay tolerable stress upon ihai^ 
when in the one sode lies a Thomson, and in the other a St. Lambert]. But the 
Bnglith poet, ftom the midst of the loxury and the philosophy of the oapital, seekv 
theooontry, ... and though he dedicates his work to a great ladr» bis feaUngsaBft 
with the people^a people rich and proud of a free fatherland. Like them, he loves 
its pastures, its forests, and its fields. Thence springs his glowing manner; thenocu 
under a gloomy sky, and in^ a period of cold philosophy, is his poetry so fill' of 
freshness and colour."~CWs de LiU&atureJranfaise. 



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Jame» Thomson.. IfiS 

IxkiittDim Bormdes Buller asks North what he thinks of Ae^tkuiidar 
in Thomson's Seasons*, and the repij is that, as all the ^mxAA, thinks^ it is 
ooTTeiy hesfc.Briiish thunder : the poet gives the Gatheiing) the^ General 
Bngag e m ett^ and die Retreat; in< the Qathering there are touohea and 
stnins thsct make all mankind shudder— the foreboding — ^the ominous : 
and the terror, when it comes, aggrandises the premomtoiy symptoms— 
^* FdUow the* loosened aggravated roar" is a tine of power to loong the. 
voioe of thunder upon jour soal on the most peaceable day-^aad the* 
'' prevaiUng poet" shows, too, how be feels the grandeur of the min. 
wnen, instant on the words '< ooaTuising heaven and earth," follow these, 
<<down comes a deluge of sonorous hail, or prone^descending nun/'*- 
We have the same a^ority, in another place, for saying that nothing 
can, be more vivid than such lines as these, on new-fallen snow, wU(£ 
have the very nature of an ocular, spectrum : 

The cherish'd fields 
Fat on tiieir tender robe of purest white. 
'Tis brifihtneBS all ; save wheie the new snow melts 
Along UL6 mazy cuirent 

while' there is a true poet's touch in the following epithet '^ bfonn," 
whflDe all that is motionless is white : 

The foodlesa wilds 
Pour forth their brown iohabitauta. 

When, however, to his <' true images," as VUlemain calls them, Thomson 
seeks to add something beyond '* simple emotions," the same authority 
allows him to have overshot his mark, and ceased to be perfectly natural : 
strivins^ to be strongly pathetical, he becomes suspiciously fJEintastical : for 
eaumple^* 

Drooping, the ox. 

Stands, covered o'er with snow, and then demandi 

The fruit ofaU hi$ toil, 

—a demand highly reasonable on the ox's part, but a tittle eccentric 
maybe on the bard s :— or again — 

The bleating kind 
Eve the bleak heaven, and next the glittering earth, 
Jriiklooiu of dumb despair, 

where, if the second line is perfect, the third, it is agreed by two such 
lovers of Nature, of Scotland and of Thomson, as John Wilson and 
James Hogg, is an exaggeration and a mistake, for sheep do not detiver 

* '^ Thomson had been in the heart of thunderstorms many a time before he- 
left Scotland; and what always impresses me is the want of method— the confii- 
sion, I might almost say— in his description. Nothing contradictory in the pro- 
ceedings of tiie stonn; they all go on obediently to what we know of Nature's 
laws. But the efibcts of their agency on man and nature are given— not according 
to any scheme— but as they happen to come before the Poet's imagination, as 
they happened in reality. The pine is struck first— then the cattto and the sheep^ 
below— and then the castled clifT— and then the 

< Qloomy woods 
Start at the flash, and fh>m their deep recess 
Wide flaming out, their trembling inmates shake.' 
No xegidaE aaoending or descending seale here; but wfaeiever the lightning, 
chooses toso^ there it goee— the Mind agent of indisnrimkiating destwotiop>V'^*>» 
JPwsAwvsteBL 



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164 James Thomson. 

themselyes up to despair under any circumstances ; and in fact Thorn* 
son here transfers what would have been his own feeling in a correspond- 
ing condition y to animals who dreadlessly follow their instincts.* It may 
be questioned, nevertheless, whether Thomson's most graphic passages 
are not rather illustrative of tamer and smoother scenery than the rugged 
and sublime — whether he is not more at home on low level soil this side 
the Tweed, than in his own land of brown heaths and shaggy wood, 
land of the mountain and the flood. As the acute author of a once 
much-vexed essay '^ On tbe Theory and the Writings of Wordsworth** 
observed on this matter, Thomson, although bom in a land of mist and 
mountains, seems to alternate, in his Seasons, between gorgeous but 
vague representations of foreign climes, and faithful transcripts of Eng- 
land's milder scenery ; appearing more pleased 

To taste the smell of dairy, and ascend 

Some eminence, Augusta, in thy plains, 

than to climb the painful steeps of a Scottish mountain. He exclaims, 
indeed, " To me be Nature's volume wide displayed I" — but for what 
purpose ? — '' Some easy passage raptured to translate ."t And sometimes, 
good easy man, full surely, he would pen a description that, in some 
nostrils, either very keen or very dull of scent, have more the smell of 
the lamp than of fresh field or forest life. Mr. Charles Knight, for in- 
stance, roundly asserts that Thomson, professedly a descriptive poet, as- 
suredly described many things that he never saw, but looked at nature 
very often with the eyes of others ; and goes on to say : '^ To our mind 
his celebrated description of morning^ offers not the slightest proof that 
he ever saw the sun rise :" for al^ough in this description we have a 
variety of charming items, the meek-eyed mom, the dappled east, brown 
night, young day, the dripping rock, the muty mountain, the hare 
limping from the field, {he wild deer tripping firom the glade, the wood- 
land hymns of bird choristera, the driving of the flock from the fold, the 
lessening cloud, the kindling azure, and the illumination with fluid gold 
of the mountcdn's brow ; yet, objects our Shakspeare's scholar, *' this is 
conventional poetry, the reflection of books ; — excellent of its kind, but 
still not the production of a poet-naturalist." § Otherwise thought one 

* Winter Rhapsody. Fytte IIL Thomsoo, it is added, redeems himself in 
what immediately succeeds, — 

''Then sad dispersed, 
Dig for the wither'd herb through heaps of snow." 
For as they disperse, they do look very sad—and no doubt are so— but had they 
been in despair, thev would not so readily, and constantly, and uniformly, and 
sucoessfUly have taken to the digging— but whole flocks had perished. 

t Essay on the Theory and the Writings of Wordsworth. (Blackwood. 1829.) 
See BeWa Thomson, ii., p. 57, sq, 

§ Mr. Knight contrasts Thomson's sunrise with one by Chaucer in the 
<* Knight's Tale" (beginning *<The besy larke, the messanger of day,** &c.), in 
which he recognises a brilliancy and freshness as true as they are beautiful — 
e. g, the sun drying the dewdrops on the leaves is no book image: of such stuff, 
he adds, are the natural descriptions of Shakspeare always made. Be is as 
" mmute and accurate as White," and ** more philosophical than Davy.** His 
carrier in the inn-yard at Rochester exclaims, '* An't be not four by the day, Til 
be hanged: Charles' wain is over the new chimney." (L Henry IV. IE. 1.) Here 
is the very commonest remark of a common man ; and yet the principle of ascer- 
taining the time of the night by the position of a star in relation to a fixed object 
must have been the result of observation in him who dramatised the scene. But 
see for illustratire cases in point Kkight's Biography of Shahpeare, p. 187. 



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James Thomsmi. 165 

who, from the internal eTidence alone of the ^' Seasons," would fear- 
lessly affirm that Thomson was, must have heen, an early riser. The 
lamentable fact being, that Thomson lay a-bed till noon, and got up not 
OTer briskly then. 

He was constitutionally sluggish, and became habitually more and 
more averse from exertion. Est qui, says Horace, and Thomson would 
make a very good nominative case for the predicate — 

Est qui uec veteris pocula Massid, 

Nee partem solido aemere de die 

Spemit ; nunc viridi membra sub arbuto 

Stratus^ nunc ad aqnie lene caput sacne.* 
Eating apricots and apricating himself the while on a garden wall, his 
hands in his pockets,')' he forms a pretty pendant to the Horatian picture. 
He had often, moralises Doctor Johnson, felt the inconveniences of idle- 
ness ; but, the Doctor adds, he never cured it. Idleness he loved to 
abuse — ^in blank verse. Lazy lubbers he could rebuke indignantly — ^by 
a poetical fiction. Among the foremost praises he bestows on Lora 
Chancellor Talbot is this-- 

Nor could he brook in studious shade to lie. 
In soft retirement, indolently pleased 
With selfish peace :% 
ntaiff, que votileZ'Vousf when will precept and practice be identical? 
and is it not a curious fieict that the most urgent remonstrant, among all 
Thomson's remonstrant friends, against Thomson's indolence, was himself 
the most indolent, — Dr. Armstrong, to wit, the shy, sequestered, self- 
absorbed, yet kindly, author of the '* Art of Preserving Health?" Let 
who will dispute our poet's competency, by right of personal scrutiny and 
experience, to depict the Seasons, none may deny his fitness to paint the 
Castle of Indolence, con gusto the most appreciative, con amore the most 
sincere. If it was but a Castle in the air, such a thing as dreams are 
made of, when the dreamer is a man of genius, to him it was dear as the 
actual, and dearer ; and so it is to us. Irresbtible is the charm of that 
region, too delicious the languor of that listless climate, — ^the sleep- 
soothing groves, the streamlets bickering through sunny glades with a 
lulling murmur, the lowing of herds along the vale, the bleating of flocks 
from the distant hills, the piping of shepherd dalesmen, the forest-deep 
plaint of the stockdove, the forest itself rustling drowsily to the sighing 
gale — while 

— whate'er smacked of 'noyance or unrest. 
Was far, far off expell'd from this delidons nest. 

Thomson would have made a prize lotos-eater. His sensual tempera- 
ment is traceable in most of his works. Johnson, indeed, fired up once 
when somebody called Thomson a very good man, and declared him to 
have been, on the contrary, a gross sensualist and profligate in private 
life. However this may have l^en — and let us hope the Doctor was in a 
passion when he said it, and irritably irrational accordingly — the poetry 

• Herat. Carm. i-lk ~~ 

t " You woold fancy Thomson an early riser, yet that placid poet, who rented 
the Castle of Indolence, and made it the House Beautiful, so that all who pass are 
fain to tarry, used to rise at noon, and sauntering into the garden, eat fruit ttom 
the ttees with his hands in his pockets, and then and there composed sonorous 
apostrophes to the rising ajinJ'—NUe NoUs, chap. xvi. 
f To the Memory of Lord Talbot." Bell's Thomson, i. 210. 



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IB6 «/a»i«t Tbomsou'. 

ci Thomion is aaytfamg* but ideally refined, when love is the theme. 
Damon's sweet oonfnsion aod dubions flattenngg on die bank,, in soul- 
dislnctingTiew of Musidora hydropathisingv — ^why did not Thomsan live 
in a day when indignant seniors write letters to the Ttmes, at snmmer- 
heat, from Rami^;»te and Margate, to complain of the doings on the 
sands ?— or Palemon, and the passion that through his nerves in mingled 
transport ran, and the blaze of his smothered flame, as he viewed (or 
run) Lavinia, ardent, o'^ and o'er, and pouring out the pious rapture of 
his soul with the query, " And art thou then Acasto's dear remains ?" (a 
vile phrase, an undertaker's phrase:) — how shall we hail such tender pas- 
sages, but as the wag in the pit hailed the immortal apostrophe to 
l^homsba — 

Oh, Jemmy Thomson, Jemmy Thomson, oh ! 
Probably it was some good-natured friend whose voioe de pr<^ndU 
thus stsortled the good-natured bard — a friend who understood him, as 
most of his friends easily might, and who liked him, as they all seem to 
have done ; — Hammond, whom he used to call a burnished butterfly ; and 
Mallet, with whom he had begun life in the *^ tippeny cells" of Edin- 
burgh, and whom he loved inter pocula to nickname Moloch ; and 
Mitchell, the parliament-man and diplomatist ; and Lyttleton, with 
whose worldly fortunes his own were so closely linked ; and the future 
Lords Chatham and Temple, who prized in him the ^^ gentleman" as well 
as the poet ; and that egregious tuft-hunter, Biibb Dodington, whom he 
flattered (as he did many others) with such fulsome and florid words, 
words, words ; and Aaron Hill, another notable subject of his lavish 
panegyrics ; and Parson Cromer, with whom he used to booze at the old 
Orange Tree, in Kew-lane ; and Collins, who tenderly bewailed him in- 
an. elegy known to all; and Shenstone, who, brief as was their ac- 
quaintance, erected an urn to his memory at the Leasowes ; and Quin, 
whom Mrs. Hobart, Thomson's housekeeper, '* ofien wished dead, he 
made Thomson drink so," and who gave him a hundred pounds when 
arrested for a debt of seventy, and who, five months after his death, could 
scarcely speak the prologue to his posthumous tragedy (^' Coriolanus") 
because of the hysterica passio at his own kind heart, and the big/orntcf 
dans sa voix. 

Mr. Robert Bell's edition of the poet should command an extensive, 
not to say universal, sale : those who are without a ^' Thomson" on their 
shelves, cannot do better than supply the defect by & copy so worthy of 
all acceptation; while those who already possess him, even in half a 
dozen or more forms, will not repent the purchase of what costs so little 
and is worth so much. Mr. Bell has been at particular pains in illus- 
trating certain points in the poet's history and poetics, such as his liaison 
with " Amanda," Miss Young — ^the emendations and secunda cures of 
his *' Seasons," &c., — adding, too, an interesting collection of supple- 
mental notes, on the subject of the lines attributed to Thomson in memory 
of Congreve— on ihe poet's connexion with Savage and others — his prose 
dedications — the prices of his copyrights — the sale of his efiBcts at Kew- 
foot-laae — and the " commemoration" at Ednam Hill, in 1791, by that 
whimaioal, fussy, close-fisted (though would-be opan^^handad) Mac- 
Maecenas, — ^David, Earl of Buchan. 



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( 167 ) 



COMMON THINGS:* 

It seems as if it was only just beginning to be genenJly felt and un- 
derstood that tbe common life of man is full of wonders chemical and phy- 
dologicaL It appears as if hosts had passed awaj without seeing or being 
sensible of such, though CTery day our existence and our comforts oueht 
to recal them to our minds. The cause of this it is well known is, that 
our schools teU us nothing about them ; they do not even teack those 
rudiments of science which would fit us for seeing them. Strange to say 
that, what most concerns the things that daily occupy our attention and 
caras is in early life almost sedulously kept from our knowledge. Those 
who would learn anything regarding them must subsequently teach them- 
selves through the help of the press or of lectures. Take» for ezam[de» 
Mr. James F. W. Johnston's admirable little book on the <^ Chemistry of 
Common Life." It treats of the air we breathe, the water we drink, the 
soil we cultivate, and the plant we rear, the bread we eat and the beef we 
Qook, the beverages we infuse, the sweets we extract, the liquors we fer- 
ment^ the narcotics we indulge in, the odours we enjoy, the smells we 
dislike, and the body we cherish. All know Vhat such topics mean, but 
few how much they imply in a philosophical sense ; and still fewer have 
considered them in their true relations to human life and health, merely 
because they wanted the simplest elements of knowledge upon whid 
alone they could proceed. 

The air we breathe, for example, though apparently mve and elemen- 
tary, is a compound. One of its ingredients, separated from the otherSy 
destroys life by excess of excitement ; the other two by aoflbeation. Car- 
bonic acid, the most pernicious ingredient, is also the heaviest, andlineen 
in sheltered hollows, as the Poison Valley in the island of Java, whicn it 
is death to enter, and which is strewn with the bones of its victims. 
Watery vapour also forms a part of the air we breathe ; and were it en- 
tirely deprived of such, a human being would dry up into a withered and 
gbatttly mummy. Added to these, we find also less essential, but ^nerally 
present, ozone and nitric acid ; ozone, the presence of which indicates 
extreme purity of atmosphere, and the absence, according to accumulating 
evidence, a fitness for cholera and other diseases; and nitric add, deve- 
loped by every flash of lightnbg, and supposed to be very favourable to 
vegetable growth when washed down by the shower that follows upon 
the thunderstorm. 

The water we drink is no more a simple substance than the air we 
breathe. It consists partly of oxygen — one of the constituents of the air 
we breathe — and of hydrogen, an inflammable gas. It is interesting to 
consider how much the unheeded property of freedom from smell and 
taste in pure water as well as in pure air, are important to animal corns- 
fort Sweet odours are grateM to our nostrils at times, and pleasant 
savours give a relish to our food; but health fails in an atmoq»here which. 

* The ChemiBtry of Common Life. By James Ek W. Johnston, MJL, FJELSSU 
L. and £., &c. William Blackwood and Sons. 

Food and its Adulteratk>ns. By Ardiur Hill Hassall, BID. Longman, Brown, 
GiecB) and Longmans. 



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168 Common Things. 

19 ever loaded with incense and perfumes, or where the palate is daily pam- 
pered with high-seasoned dishes and constant sweets. The nerves of 
smell and taste do not hear patiently a constant irritation, and the whole 
body suffers when a single nerve is continually jarred. Hence it is diat 
water and air, which have to enter so often into the animal body, and to 
penetrate to its most delicate and most sensitive organs and tissues, are 
made so destitute of sensible properties that they can come and go to any 
part of the frame without being perceived. Noiselessly, as it were, they 
glide over the most touchy nerves ; and so long as they are tolerably 
pure, they may make a thousand visits to the eztremest parts of the body 
without producing the most momentary irritation or sense of pain. These 
negative properties, which are common both to air and water— though 
they are rarely thought of — are, nevertheless, most essential to our daily 
comfort 

In nature, however, water is never found perfectly pure ; even that 
which descends in rain is contaminated by the impurities it washes out of 
the air, and that which rises in springs by the substances it meets with 
in the earth itself. The purest water known — that which flows from 
granite rocks — contains from l-20th of a grain of foreign matter to 4 or 5 
grains in the gallon. The water which is supplied to the city of Edin- 
burgh contains from 7 to 14 grains in the gullon. The water supplied 
to and used in London and its neighbourhood contains : 

New River Company .... 19^ grains in the gallon. 

East London Water Company ... 23 „ „ 

The Thames 27 „ „ 

Kent Water Company 29 1 « • « 

Hampstead Wat^ Company . . . 35^ to 40 „ 

Deep-bore wells' 33 to 38 ,, 

The most common substances in spring and river water are the carbonates 
and sulphates of lime, which impart to it its hardness. The sof^r the water 
the purer it is. The solvent power of water, however, always charges it 
with the more undesirable admixtures, as it has to pass through the 
neighbourhood of dwellings, and still more so of graveyards. The water 
of a well which is close to the old churchyard on the top of Highgate- 
hill was found to contain as much as 100 grains of solid matter to the 
gallon, out of which 57.18 grains were nitrates produced where animal 
matters decay in porous soils. 

Well-waters sometimes contflun vegetable substances also of a peculiar 
kind, which render them unwholesome, even over large tracts of country. 
Waters of rivers and marshy places may be clarified from such by char- 
coal. In Paris they use alum ; in the Landes, chips of oak; in India the 
traveller carries with him a supply of nuts of the strychnos potatorum 
for the same purpose. The muddy water of the Nile is purified by 
rubbing bitter almonds on the sides of the vessel. The Lord showed 
Moses a tree by which the waters of Marah were made sweet. In all 
these the principle is the same : the albuminous matter is coagulated by a 
bitter astringent. Water also absorbs gases, and the presence of carbonic 
acid imparts to it a pleasant briskness. The presence of oxygen in water 
is essential to the life of fish. 

We all know how every variety of soil, in every climate, supports its 
own vegetable tribes ; but every one is not intimate with the influence of 



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Common Things, 169 

artificial changes in the soil, upon the kind, the growth, and the character 
or appearance of the plants which spring up or are sown upon it. Drain 
a peaty soil and heaths disappear. Lime banishes sorrel, and guano the 
daisy. Some substances affect the colour of flowers: charcoal darkens 
the dahlia, the rose, the petunia, &c. ; soda reddens hyacinths, soot turns 
yellow primroses pink ; superphosphate of soda alters in various ways the 
hue or bloom of flowers. Still more important are the effects of pro- 
tracted nursing in plants; all our grains are cultivated grasses, our 
carrot, in a state of nature, is a woody, spindly root, and our potato a 
bitter tubercle. 

'< It is with unconscious reference to these improved condttons that 
certain wild and useless plants attach themselves to and appear affec- 
tionately to linger in the footsteps of man. They follow him in his 
migrations from place to place — advance with him, like the creeping and 
sow thistles, as he hews his way through primeval forests — reappear con- 
stantly on his manure-heaps — spring up, like the common dock, about 
his stables and bams — occupy, lilte the common plantain, the road-sides 
and ditches he makes — or linger, like the nettle, over the unseen ruins of 
his dwelling, to mark where his abode has formerly been. Thus, with 
the European settler, European weeds in hundreds have spread over all 
Northern America, and are already recognised as familiar things, speak- 
ing to them of a far-off home, by the emigrants now landing in thousands 
on the shores of Australia and New Zealand. We cannot say that all 
these have followed the European. Many of them have only accompanied 
him, and, like himself, taken root in what has proved a favourable soil. 
But those which cling closest to his footsteps, which go only where he 
goes — which, like his cat or his dog, are in a sense domesticated — these 
attend upon him, because near his dwelling the appropriate chemical food 
is found, which best ministers to the wants of their growing parts." 

The yeast with which we make our bread is a minute plant, which 
meets with a congenial food in syrups and juice of grapes. The results 
of its prolific vegetation is what is termed fermentation. It is from 
chemical changes witltin the plant that a nimiber of peculiar substances, 
as medicines, perfumes, and things useful in the arts are produced. So 
also are the green of the leaf and the poison of the nettle. Vegetation 
adorns the landscape, purifies the atmosphere, supplies food, comforts, 
and luxuries, and ends by producing mould, or forming deposits of com- 
bustible matter. No one step of its progress and decay but is benefi- 
cently of use to man. 

Bread is truly the staff of life; the Hindoo who lives on rice, the negro 
who lives on the plantain, and the Irishman who lives exclusively on the 
potato, are all described as being more or less pot-bellied. This pecu- 
liarity is to be ascribed in part to the necessity of eating a large bulk of 
food, in order to be able to extract from it a sufficient amount of neces- 
sary sustenance. The onion, like the cheese of the English labourer, 
from the large proportion of gluten it conttdns, helps to sustain strength, 
and adds — beyond what its bulk would suggest — to the amount of 
nourishment. 

As the nutritive properties of vegetables depend upon the presence of 
three different constituents — gluten, starch, and hX — so the most whole- 
some are those in which these constituents are best adjusted, the least 



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170 (kmmon Thmgi. 

wholnjamn those in whioh one or imo pndominate to the ezdnrion of 
oihezs. Wlien the proportion of any one of these ingredientB is too 
emally ohemktry indicates, and ezpenenoe aoggestB, that an addhional 
quantity of the deficient substanoe should be added in the progress of 
cooking, or preparatory to eating. 

^^ Thus we eonsame butter with onr bread, and mix it with our pastry, 
becaose whoaten flour is defi<nent in natural fat ; or we eat cheese or 
onions with the bread, to add to the proportion of gluten it naturally 
contains. So we eat somethiog more nutritive along with our rioe or 
potatoes — we add &t to our cabbage — we enrich our salad with vege- 
table oil — eat oar cauliflowers with melted butter — and beat up potatoes 
and cabbage together into a nutritious kol-cannon. 

^<In all natural Tarieties of vegetable food whioh ars generally 
suitable for eating without cooking, a large per-centage of water is 
present. In preparing food in our kitchens we imitate this natural 
condition. Even in converting our wheaten flour into bread, we, as 
one important result aimed at, mis or unite it with a large proportion of 
water. 

'^ All the kinds of food by which the lives of masses of men are 8us» 
tained being thus constituted, it is obvious that those vegetable sub- 
stances whiSi consist of one only of the constituents of wl^aten bread, 
cannot be expected to prove permanently nutritious ; and experience has 
proved this to be the case. The oils or fats alone do not sustain Mb^ 
neither does staroh or sugar alone. With both-of these classes of sub- 
stanceSy as we have seen, a certain proportion of gluten is associated in 
all our grains, fruits, and nutritive roots. 

^' Hence arrowroot, which is only a variety of staroh, cannot give 
strength without an admixture of gluten in some form or other. To 
condemn a prisoner to be fed on arrowroot alone, would be to put him 
to certain death by a lingering, torturing starvation. The same is true, 
to a less extent, of tapioca, and of most varieties of sago, all of which 
consist of stardi, with only a small and variable admixture of gluten. 
Even gluten, when given alone to dogs, has not kept them alive beyond 
a few weeks ; so that no veeetable production, it may be said, and no 
kind of artificially prepared food, will support life, in which staroh and 
gluten at least are not united. If they oontain at the same time a cer- 
tain proportion of fat, they will admit of more easy digestion, and of a 
more ready application in we stomach to the purposes of nutrition ; and 
if they are either naturally permeated with a large quantity of water, or 
are transfused with it by artificial means, they will undergo a more com- 
plete and easpr dissolution in the alimentary canal, and will produce the 
greatest possible efleot in ministering to the wants of animal life." 

But if the nutritive properties of vegetables depend upon the adjust- 
ment of their various constituents, still more so is this the case when we 
add meat, in the due adjustment of the £Bit^ stareh, or sugar, and gluten 
and fibrine. Many persons will not allow drink during dmn^-time ; but 
Mr. Johnston not only lays it down that a mixed food is most wholesome, 
but that food, if not naturally liquid, should be intimately mixed with a 
large quantity of liquid before it is introduced into the stomach. Old 
ohMse acts as a digester after dinner, by inducmg fermentation. It acts 
jAer the same manner as sour leaven does when mixed with sweet dougk 



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Gnmnan Tkmgs. 171 

Oieoe mould, and the digestm quatifcy wliich accompanies it» may be 
propagated by* inooolation, that is to say, by lemoving a bit of a nen^ 
cheese from me interior and putting a bit of the old in its place. 

Artificial drinks agree in being all prepared from, or by meaau ci^ 
substances of vegetable origin. The love of wann infusionB of heibs 
prevails nniversaUy. The custom, therefore, must meet some nniversal 
want of our poor human nature. Tea exhilarates and yet soothes, stilling 
ihe vascular system: coffee exalts nervous life, and both lessen the waste 
of the system. The cocoas being prepared from oily seeds are more 
properly soups or gruek than infusions. AH, however, diminish die 
quantity of carbonic acid given off from the lime, and that also of urea, 
phosphoric acid, and common salt in the urine. Teas and coffees hove 
come more and xpore into use as the intellectual activity which distin- 
guishes the leading nations of modem times has developed itself. 

^'Besides the mere brickwork and marble, so to speak, by which 
the human body is built up and sustained, there are rarer forms of 
matter upon which the life of the body and the comfort of animal 
existence most essentially depend. This truth is not unworthy the 
consideration of those to whom the arrangement of the dietaries of 
our prisons, and other public institutions, has been entrusted. So many 
ounces of gluten, and so many of starch and fat, are assigned by these 
food-providers as an ample allowance for every-day use. From ihese 
dietaries, except for the infirm and the invalid, tea and coffee are 
for the most part excluded. And in this they follow the counsel of those 
who have hiuerto been regarded as chief authorities on the chemistiy of 
nutrition. But it is worthy of trial whether the lessening of the general 
bodily waste, which would follow the consumption of a daily allowance 
of coffee, would not cause a saving of gluten and starch equal to the cost 
of the coffee ; — and should this not prove the case, whether the increased 
comfort and happiness of the inmates, and the greater consequent facility 
of management, would not make up for the difference, if any. The in- 
quiry is an interesting one in physiological economics, and it is not un- 
deserving of the serious attention of those benevolent minds which, in so 
many parts of our islands, have found in the prisons and houses of cor- 
rection their most favourite fields of exertion. 

*^ I might add, as a stimulus to such experiments, the evident craving 
for some such indulgence as a kind of natural necessity, which is mani- 
fested in the almost universal practice among every people not absolutely 
savage, of preparing and drinking beverages of this sort. If there be in 
the human constitution this innocent craving, it cannot be misplaced 
humanity to minister to it, even in the case of the depraved and con- 
victed. Where reformation is aimed at, the moral sense will be found 
most accessible where the mind is maintained in most healthy activity, 
and where the general comfort of the whole system is most effectuaUy 
promoted." 

In common life the sweets we extract are a constant accompaniment of 
the beverages we infuse. The chemist is familiar with many substances 
which are sweet to the taste and yet not available to the usages of life. 
. Sugar of lead is a well-known poison, which derives its name from the 
sweetness of its taste. Silver, in certain of its compounds, is equaliy 
-sweet. A mineral earth called glncina produces many compounds wfaiai 
have a sugary taste. 



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172 Common Things. 

The number of vegetable substances which can be transformed into 
sugar by means of sulphuric acid is very great. Starch-sugar is exten- 
sively used for sweetening purposes, and for the manufacture of spirituous 
liquors in the north of Europe. Paper, raw cotton and flax, cotton and 
linen rags, sea-weeds, woody fibre, and even sawdust, may be by similar 
means converted into sugar. A distinct kind of sugar, called sorbine, 
has been obtained from the elderberry. 

Neither mechanical nor chemical means have been applied to the 
sugar manufacture of our West India colonies as they have been in 
Europe and elsewhere. The same skill which now extracts seven per 
cent, of refined sugar from the more difficult beet, might easily extract 
ten or twelve from the sugar-cane. 

'^ The means by which this better result is to be attained are, the use 
of improved crushmg rollers, by which 70 and even 75 per cent, of juice 
can be forced from the canes — of better modes of clarifying, which 
chemical research has recently discovered — of charcoal filters before boil- 
ing, which render skimming unnecessary — of steam and vacuum boilers, 
by which burning is prevented, and rapid concentration effected — of 
centrifugal drainers to dry the sugar speedily and save the molasses — and 
of coal or wood as fuel where the crushed cane is insufficient for the 
purpose. By the use of such improvements, planters in Java, in Cuba, 
and, I believe, here and there in our own colonies, are now extracting 
and sending to market 10 to 12 per cent, of raw sugar £rom the 1001b. 
of canes ! Why should our own enterprising West India proprietors 
spend their time in vain regrets and longings for the past, instead of 
earnestly availing themselves of those scientific means of bettering them- 
selves which are waiting to be employed, and which are ready to develop 
themselves to meet every new emergency? It is not the readier or 
cheaper supply of labour which gives the Dutch planter of Java, or the 
Spanish planter of Cuba, 10 per cent, of marketable sug^r, but better 
machinery, and more refined chemical applications. And these are 
surely as much within the reach of British subjects as of any other people 
on the face of the earth." 

The liquors we ferment are all directly produced either from the 
natural sugars which we extract from plants, or from the sugars which 
we prepare by art. The chica, or maize-beer of South America, is 
prepared by moistening the corn, dr}dng it in the sun, and then mashing 
m warm water. 

<* In the valleys of the Sierra, however, the most highly-prized chica is 
made in a somewhat different manner. All the members of the family, 
including such strangers as choose to assist in the operation, seat them- 
selves on the floor in a circle, in the centre of which is a large calabash, 
surrounded by a heap of dried maize (malt). Each person takes up a 
handful of the grain and thoroughly chews it. This is deposited in the 
calabash, and another handful is immediately subjected to the same pro- 
cess, the jaws of the company being kept continually busy until the whole 
heap of corn is reduced to a mass of pulp. This, with some minor ingre- 
dients, is mashed in hot water, and the liquid poured into jars, where it 
is left to ferment. In a short time it is ready for use. Occasionally, 
however, the jars are buried in the g^und, and allowed to remain there 
until the liquor acquires, from age, a considerable strength and power- 
fully intoxicating qualities. 



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Common Things. 173 

'' Chica thus prepared is called chica mascaduj or chewed chica, and 
is considered far superior to that prepared from maize crushed in the 
usual manner. The Serrano helieves he cannot ofFer his guest a better . 
luxury than a draught of old chica mascada, the ingredients of which 
have been ground between his own teeth." 

The ava, a liquor used in the South Sea Islands, and produced from the 

intoxicating long pepper, is obtained in the same way. In the Feejee 

I Islands the preparation of the morning drink of this liquor for the 

king is one of the most solemn and important duties of his courtly 

attendants. 

Narcotics are of universal use. *^ The aborigines of Central America 
rolled up the tobacco-leaf, and dreamed away their lives in smoky 
reveriesy ages before Columbus was bom, or the colonists of Sir Walter 
Raleigh brought it within the precincts of the Elizabethan court. The 
coca-leaf, now the comfort and strength of the Peruvian muletero, was 
chewed as he does it, in far remote times, and among the same moun- 
tains, by the Indian natives whose blood he inherits. The use of opium, 
of hemp, and of the betel-nut among Eastern Asiatics, mounts up to the 
times of most fabulous antiquitv. The same probably is true of the 
pepper-plants among the South Sea Islands and the Indian Archipelaeo, 
and of uie thorn-apples used among the natives of the Andes, and on me 
slopes of the Himalayas ; while in Northern Europe the ledum and the 
hop, and in Siberia the narcotic fungus, have been in use from time 
immemoriaL" 

The consumption of tobacco in the United Kingdom is at present 
about 30,000,000 of pounds annually ! Its effect, as ably and impartially 
discussed by Mr. Johnston, varies with the individual and in different 
countries. For example, in North America the smoldng of tobacco 
provokes to alcoholic dissipation ; in Asia it restrains the use of intoxi- 
cating drinks. The greater and first effect of the use of tobacco, he 
sums up, upon the bulk of mankind, is to assuage, allay, and soothe the 
system in general. The lesser .and second, or after-effect^ is to excite 
and invigorate, and at the same time give steadiness and fixity to the 
powers of thought. The effects of opium are described afUr De Quincey's 
and Dr. Madden's experiences. 
I ** De Quincey took laudanum for the first time to dispel pain, and he 

thus describes the effect it had upon him : — ^ But I took it, and in an 
hour, oh, heavens ! what a revulsion ! what an upheaving, from its lowest 
depths, of the inner spirit ! what an apocalypse of the world within me ! 
That my pains had vanished was now a trifle in my eyes. This negative 
effect was swallowed up in the immensity of those positive effects which 
had opened before me — in the abyss of divine enjoyment thus suddenly 
revealed. Here was a panacea — a (fyapixoKop inprtvBts for all human woes. 
Hero was the secret of happiness, about which philosophers had disputed 
for so many^ages, at once discovered ! Happiness might now be bought 
for a penny, and carried in the waistcoat-pocket; portable ecstasies 
might be had corked up in a pint-bottle ; and peace of mind could be 
sent down in gallons by the mail-coach.' 

" Dr. Madden describes more soberly his sensations when under the 
influence of the drug in one of the coffee-houses at Constantinople. ' I 
commenced with one grain. In the course of an hour and a half it pro- 
duced no perceptible effect. The coffee-house keeper was very anxious 

June — ^voL. CIV. no. ccccxiv. k 

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174 Common Thirigs, 

to g^v« me an addittonal pill of two grains, but I was conteorfced with 
half a one ; and in another half-hour, feeling nothing of the expected 
reyerie, I took half a grain more, making in all two grains in the course 
of two hours. After two hours and a half from the first dose, my spirits 
became sensibly excited ; the pleasure of the sensation seemed to depend 
on a universal expansion of mind and matter. My faculties appeared 
enlarged ; everything I looked at seemed increased in volume ; I had no 
longer the same pleasure when I closed my eyes which I had when they 
were open ; it appeared to me as if it was only external objects which 
were acted on by the imagination, and magnified into images of pleasure : 
in short, it was ^* the funt exquisite music of a dream'' in a waking moment. 
I made my way home as fast as possible, dreading at every step that I 
should commit some extravagance. In walking, I was hardly sensible of 
my feet touching the ground ; it seemed as if I slid along the street^ im- 
pelled by some invisible agent, and that my blood was composed of some 
etheiial fluid; which rendered my body lighter than air. I got to bed the 
moment I reached home. The most extraordinary visions of delight 
filled mj brain all nig^t. In the morning I rose pale and dispirited ; my 
head acned ; my body was so debilitated that I was obliged to remain on 
the sofa all day, dearly paying for my first essay at opium^ating.' " 

Opium is an extraordinary concentration of poisons. It contains mor- 
phine, narcotine, codeine, narceine, meconine, thebaine, opeanine, por- 
phyroxine, papaverine and pseudo-morphine ! 

'* A singular illustration of the effect of mixed substances upon the 
human constitution, when in a state of disease, is presented in the use of a 
mixture of opium with corrosive sublimate by the confirmed opium-eaters of 
the East. The drug, in its usual form, graduidly loses its effect upon the 
habitual consumer, so that the dose must be increased from time to time, 
if the influence of the drug is to be maintained. But at length even 
this resource fails the inveterate opium-eaters of Constantinople, and no 
increase of dose will procure for them the desired enjoyment, or even 
relieve them from bodily pain. In this emergency they have recourse 
to the poisonous corrosive sublimate. Mixing at first a minute quantity 
of this substance with their daily dose of opium, they increase it by de- 
grees, till they reach the limit of ten grains a day, beyond which it is 
usually unsafe to pass. Tins mixture acts upon their long-tortured 
frames, when neither of the ingredients, taken alone, will either soothe 
or exhilarate. But the use of the new medicine only protracts a little 
longer the artificial enjoyment, which has become a necessary of life, 
finally bringing to a more miserable termination die career of the deiHli- 
tated and distorted Theriaki.** 

The efiects of the haschisch, or hemp, ore spoken of from the testimony 
of Dr. O'Shaughnessy, Dr. Moreau, and others. The latter says : 

'' ^ It is really happmess which is produced by the haschisch ; and by 
this I mean an enjoyment entirely moral, and by no means sensual, as 
might be supposed. This is a very curious circumstance^ and some re- 
markable inferences might be drawn from it. For the 

haschisch-eater is happy ; not like the gonrmand, or the famished man 
when satisfying his appetite, or the voluptuary in the gratifieatiou of his 
amative desires — but like him who hears tidings which fill him with joy, 
or like the miser counting his treasures, the gambler who is succassliil 
at play, or the ambitious man who is intoxicated with success.' " 



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Common Things. 175 

Mr. Johnstoa recommends the introdactioD of the coca* — the narcotic 
of the Andes — which combines the virtues of tea, hop^ hem{v and opium, 
withpat the baneful effects of the latter — ^into this country, as a. tonie, 
soothing and nutritiye. The effects of the red-thorn apple are the. most 
cnrions of all the narcotics. 

^ Von Tschudi had an opportunity of observing an Indian unden the 
influenee' of this drug, and he thus describes its e&cts ; ' Shortly afW 
having swallowed the beverage, he fell into a heavy stupor. He sat with 
his eyes vlMsantly &ed on the ground, his mouth convulsively closed, 
and lus nostrils dilated. In the course of about a quarter of an hour Ihs 
eyes began to roll, foam issued from his half-opened lips, and fans whole 
body was agitaled by Mghtful convulsions. These violent symptoms 
having saboded, a profound sleep of several hours succeeded. la the 
evenii^, whuk I saw^ him again, he was relating to a circle of attentive 
listeners the particulars of his vision, during which he alleged he had held 
oommimination with the spirits of his forefathers. He appeared very 
weak and exhausted.' 

^ In former times, the Indian priests, when they pretended to tvans^ 
port themsdves into the presence of tiieir deities, drank the- juice of this 
thorn-apple, ia order to excite themselves to a state, of ecstasy. And 
although the estaUisbment of Christianity has weaned the Indians from 
their idolatey, it has not yet banished their old superstitions. They stiU 
believe that they can hold communication with the spirits of their aaoes- 
tors, and' that they can obtain from them a clue to the treasures con- 
cealed, in the- huaecuy or gprai^es : hence the Indiaa name o£ the thorn- 
api^e, Huae»-eaohu — grave-plant-^er Yerba de huaca* 

" When die decoction is taken very strong, it brings on attacks of 
furious excitement. The wh<de plant is narcotic, but it is ia the seeds 
that tile greatest virtue resides. These are said by some authors to 
have beeni used aiso* by the priests of the* Delphic temple in ancient 
Greeee to* pniduee tlnse ^wnried ravings whieh were- thea called prophe- 
cies. Such a practice certainly obtained in the Temple of fb^ Sun at 
Sogamossa — {Luommy), Tfaist SogamoaBa ia near Bogota^ iw the Andes 
of New Granada. 

** It is sufficientiy strange to see how similar modes and means of 
imposstion were maoe use of by t^ priests of neariy every faJBe religion 
in ancient times, for the purpose of deluding their credulous countrymen. 
But it is truly remarkable that among the mountains of Greece, in the 
palmiest d^ys of tiiat classic country, the same observed effects, of the 
same wild plant, should have been employed by the priests of Apollo to 
deceive the intellectaal Greeks, as at the same* time were daily used by 
the priests oi the sun to deceive the rude and credulous Indians among 
the far distant mountains of the Andes. The pretended second sight, 
and the other msrv^ told of the. old seers of the Scottish Highlands, 
may owe their origin to nothing more noble- or mysterious than a draught 
of tiiom*apple, iiightehade, or belladonna tea.** 

The Kamtschatdale intorieates himself by rolling up, and swallowing 
whole, a kind of fimgus or mushroom, which is harmless in soups and 
sawees. '' No nation so ancient but has had its narcotic sootiier from 
tiiemost distant times — none so remote and isolated but has found within 
ite own borders a pein-allayer and narootic eave-^iispdler of native 
gRmtth— none so ssrage whicn instinct has not bd to seek for, aadsuoi- 

n2 



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176 Common Things. 

cessfully to employ, this form of physiological indulgence." A tendency 
which 18 so evidently a part of our general human nature is not to be 
suppressed or extinguished by any form of mere physical, fiscal, or 
statutory restraint 

But it is not only narcotic poisons for which there esdsts a universal 
craving in the human race, there are other forms of indulgence not less 
wonderful and extraordinary, and among these are the consumption of 
arsenic by the peasants of Austria and Hungary. 

^< Arsenic is thus consumed chiefly for two purposes — FirH. To give 
plumpness to the figure, cleanness and softness to the skin, and beauty 
and freshness to the complexion. Second, To improve the breathing 
and give longness of wind, so that steep and continuous heights may be 
climbed without difficulty and exhaustion of breath. Both these results 
are described as following almost invariably from the prolonged use of 
arsenic either by man or by animals. 

'* For the former purpose young peasants, both male and female, have 
recourse to it, with toe view of adding to their charms in the eyes of each 
other ; and it is remarkable to see how wonderfully well they attain their 
object, for those young persons who adopt the practice are fi;enerally 
remarkable for dear and blooming complexions, for full rounded figures, 
and for a healthy appearance. Dr. Von Tschudi gives the following 
case as having occuired in his own medical practice : ' A healthy, but 

pale and thin milkmaid, residing in the parish of H ^ had a lover 

whom she wished to attach to her by a more agreeable exterior ; she 
therefore had recourse to the well-known beautifier, and took arsenic 
several times a week. The desired effect was not long in showing itself; 
for in a few months she became stout, rosy-cheeked, and all ^t her 
lover could desire. In order, however, to increase the efiect, she in- 
cautiously increased the doses of arsenic, and fell a victim to her vanity. 
She died poisoned, a very painful death.' The number of such fatal 
cases, especiaUy among young persons, is described as by no means 
inconsiderable. 

'' The perusal of the above facts regarding arsenic — ^taken in con- 
nexion with what has been previously stated as to the effects of the resin 
of hemp — recals to our mind the dreamy recollections of what we have 
been accustomed to consider as the fabulous fancies of easy and credulous 
times. Love-philtres, charms, and potions, start up again as real things 
beneath the light of advancing science. From the influence of hemp 
and arsenic no heart seems secure — ^by their assistance no affection un- 
attunable. The wise woman, whom the charmless female of the East 
consults, administers to the desired one a philtre of haschisch, which 
deceives his imagination— -cheats him into the belief that charms exist, 
and attractive beauty, where there are none, and defirauds him, as it 
were, of a love which, with the truth before him, he would never have 
yielded. She acts directly upon his brain with her hempen potion, 
leaving the unlovely object he is to admire really as unlovely as before. 

" But the Styrian peasant-girl, stirred by an unconsciously-growing 
attachment — confiding scarcely to herself her secret feelings, and taking 
counsel of her inherited wisdom only — really adds, by the use of hidri, 
to the natural graces of her filling and rounding form, paints with 
' brighter hues her blushing cheeks and tempting lips, and imparts a new 
and winning lustre to her sparkling eye. Every one sees and admires 



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Common Things. Ill 

the xealitj of her growing beauty : the youn^ men sound her praises, 
and become suppliants for her favour. She tnumphs over the affectioDS 
of ally and compels the chosen one to her feet. 

^* Thus even cruel arsenic, so ofi^en the minister of crime and the 
parent of sonow, bears a blessed jewel in its forehead, and, as a love- 
awakener, becomes at times the harbinger of happiness, the soother of 
ardent longings, the bestower of contentment and peace ! 

'^ It is probable that the use of these and many other love-potions has 
been known to the initiated from very early times — ^now given to the 
female to enhance her real charms — now administered to the lords of the 
creation, to add imaginary beauties to the unattractive. And out of this 
use must oflten have sprung fetal results, — to the female, as is now some- 
times the case in Styria, from the incautious use of the poisonous 
arsenic ; to the male, as happens dally in the East, from the maddening 
effects of the fiery hemp. They must also have given birth to many 
hidden crimes which only romance now collects and preserves — the 
ignorance of the learned having long ago pronounced them unworthy 
of belief." 

The consumption of clay by the Guinea negroes, the Javanese, Swedes, 
Finns, Otomacs, and others, is another extraordinary practice, difficult to 
be satisfactorily accounted for in the present state of science. 

God grants us many things by which we sustain and even cheer life. 
The water we drink, the plant we rear, the bread we eat, the meat and 
fish we cook, the beverages we infuse, the sweets we extract, the liquors 
we ferment, the narcotics we indulge in, the odours we enjoy, are all so 
many examples ; some are necessaries, others luxuries, and all are more 
or less beneficial in their moderate use, and injurious only in their abuse. 
It remained for man to adulterate, and render baneful and poisonous, the 
common things of life. The revelations contained in Dr. Hassall's work 
are podtively appalling. The magnitude and importance of this ques- 
tion have beeu, to some extent, previously acknowledged, as shown by 
the publication of numerous works both in this country and on the 
Continent. But the real extent of the evil has never before been made 
known as it has by the Analytical Sanitary Commission of the Lancet^ 
of which Dr. Hassall was the head. 

It appears from these remarkable revelations that, exceptiog simple 
substances, such as meat and fish, not a thing of common life but is 
more or less adulterated in Loudon. Ground coffee is very generally 
adulterated with chicory, roasted com, beans, and flour of potatoes, of 
horse-chesnut, mangel-wurzel, and aooms. Sugar is adulterated with acari, 
fungi, vegetable matters, woody fibres, saud and grit, and starch and 
flour. Arrowroot is chiefly adulterated with potato flour and sago meaL 
Pepper is adulterated with wheat flour, pea flour, ground rice, and linseed 
meal. Mustard with immense quantities of wheaten flour, highly coloured 
with turmeric. Genuine mustard. Dr. Hassall says, is scarcely ever to 
be obtained, whatever be the price paid for it. Cocoa is adulterated with 
starch and sugar. Oatmeal with barley meal. The principal black teas 
are said to be almost invariably adulterated, the adulteration consisting in 
the glazing of the leaves with plumbago or black-lead ; the caper, Uke- 
wise, being subject to admixture with other substances, as paq^y-husk, 
lie tea, and leaves other than those of tea. The green teas are equally 
invariably adulterated with colouring matters, and the addition of ex- 



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178 Corngmm 2%mg$. 

Iwartad taa-l egroi , made vp wiA gmn, te^ and odaer tnattenu io this 
country, Br. Hawaii fays, theie is veaHy no such tfaiog aa a goeen tea-* 
that is, a tea which po88e8aae4i natuval giean hue. 

Hfiik, it is needless to say, is almost oniTersaUy adaUeratod with wscter. 
Swsh an adnlteration is, at all ewnts, not like that df tea, aalonktedto 
stfibot health injnrionsly, bat the immorality of the piadaoe is flOMeading. 
Vinegars are uniformly adulterated with solfifaane aoid, jnd sometimes 
-with water, sour beer, and cyder. Pickles are almost as unifiannly adul- 
terated with that poisonous metal copper, and this is ^nore paiticttlaiiiy 
the ease when they ooDsist entirely of green vegetables, as gberkins mid 
beans. This is also the case in preserved fruits and TOgetafales. Gayemoe 
pepper and cnrrypowder are made espedal objects of poBscmous adul- 
teration : Cayenne with red lead, cinnabar, Venetian red, and other sub- 
stances ; curry-powder with red lead, and lice^ and salt What are 
called anchovies are in seven cases out of twenty-eight Dutch fish. 
Potted bloaters are almost uniformly coloured by means of red eardi, -as 
is also anohovy paste. Sauces are adulterated iMi treacle, salt, Arme- 
nian bole, and charred wood. Preserves and jams very generaIly«oatain 
co|^r. Lard is frequently extensively adulterated with water and 
potato flour, as well as with certain saline substanoes. The most hurtful 
adulterations are in the case of coloured-sugar oonfeetioneTy, and afiker 
them in vrane, beer, and spirits. 

One of the most common substances used in the adulteration of beer, 
especially porter, is the cocculus indicus, of which a pound is said to *be 
equal to a sack (four bushels) of malt, in giving fulness, ridmess, and 
darkness of colour. 2359 cwt. imported in a year must ihus save to the 
brewers the enormous quantity of 1,056,000 bushels of malt CoeenhB 
indious is poisonous to all animals, and a wdl-known use of it is lor 
stupifying of fish. Mr. Johnston says that it is probable that tbepeoo- 
liarly disgusting forms of intoxication sometimes seen among the lower 
dasses is to be ascribed to the cocculus indicus. 

About 40,000 lbs. of grains of paradise are at present snnnalfy im* 
ported into England for the purpose of imparting a fictitious appearanoe 
of strength to malt and spirituous liquors. They are used piincipally 
alon^ with capsicum and juniper berries, to give a strong, hot flavour -to 
London gin ; and, along with cocculus indicus and other bitters, .to give 
a relish and warmth to beer. 

It is not the retail dealer who adulterates so mueh as Ae manofiio- 
tnrers, and the roasters and grinders of articles of consumption. . Neve^* 
iheless, ihe latter does his part in the way of adulteration, although to a 
mimh less extent Such a state of things is a disgrace to tiie boasted 
civilisation of the country. It is grievous to think how many persons 
have died, and still continue to die, from the neglect of proper sanitary 
precautions, and from living in violation of the fimdamental laws ^anid 
rules of health ; but it is abominable to know that a great part of these 
are slowlv killed and destroyed by the infamous adulteration of their food 
and drink. Now that the magnitude of the mischief has been demon- 
strated, and the methods by which the several adulterations practised 
may be discovered >with ease and certainty have been pointed out, we may, 
it is to hp hoped, expect that but a very short period will be permitted to 
elapse before the subject shall be duly considered and^iisoossed with^riesr 
to some effectiw legidation. 



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( 179 ) 
THE BiJPTESM OF THE VOOR. 

IBOM THE F&BNCH OF HioisiFFB MOREAU. 

Bt Mrs. Bubmbt. 

HioisiPFE MoBEAU was one of the many sons of genius wliom that 
gaunt^ ruthless, desolating tyrant — Poverty — has first cradled and then 
crushed. Had his innate poetical talents been appreciated and fostered, 
he might have become one of the literary stars of his native France ; but 
in the struggle against misery and destitution his energies were over- 
whelmed, his spirit brakes, and he who had dreamed of fame, died the 
death of a pauper-outcast in an hospital supported by charity. This 
unfortunate poet, who w«b bom in 1810, and had beeii an orphan from 
his infancy, after having ^nished his education at a seminary at Fontaine- 
bleau, came to Paris, flushed with all the romantic hopes, the vain aspi- 
rations of youth and enthusiasm, dependiog upon the exercise of his 
mental gifts, not only for success, but for daily bread. " He imagined," 
says his admirer, Felix Pyat, *^ tiiat he had but tosing to live ; and that 
the lyre which in ancient times had the power of making stones move of 
themselves, and of taming wild beasts, would have some effect upon the 
feelings of men. Ysdn hope ! The poet's song is lost amidst the uproar 
of citiea ae that of the bird is lost amidst the storms of heaven.'' 

The busy crowds hearkened not to his lays ; the heir-presumptive of 
B^ranger — the poet of the people — found neither sympathy nor encou- 
ragement ; misery alone haunted his steps ; and he had not the means, 
like De Lamartine and Victor Hugo, to wait for that renown which was 
to make their poems profitable to them. In order to obtain a scanty 
living, he was obliged to give lessons to young children, and waste his 
talents in writing stories to please his little pupils, and their superannuated 
grandmothers. This life became intolerable to him, and he sought for 
employment as a jouzneyman printer. It was while undergoing extreme 
privations that be composed that mnoh-admtred wodk entitled ''Myosotis." 
But want and disappointment are too often the harbingers of disease, and 
poor Moreau was at length compelled to seek refuge within the walls 
of a public hospital. 

Felix Pyat, who had endeavoured to befriend the starving poet, went, 
accompanied by one or two other literary men, to inquire after him at 
the hospital. " It was on the 20th of December, 1838," he says, " that 
we went to the hospital, and having crossed its grass-grown courts, 
gloomy as a churchyard, and its low corridors, vaulted like tombs — we 
found, in the hall of the amphitheatre, .a body lying on a stone table. 
Whose corpse was this ? It was Number Twelve. So many men die 
there that they do not designate them by their names, they merely number* 
them. And who was Nomber Twelve ? A poor poet, the poet Heg^sippe 
Moreau V* 

He had perished in the flower of life, a victim of neglect and poverty ! 
Is this a solitary instance of the extinction of genius under the rouf h 
pressure of iron-handed adversity ? — Alas ! no. — The gay, the busy, the 
self-interested of the world may know nothing of the fate of many to 



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180 The Baptism of the Poor. 

whom Nature had been lavish of her gifts ; but the magic circle of bright 
intelligence would be less limited than it is, if distress, obscurity, and 
the grave, did not too often bury the children of genius ere thdr light 
had dazzled society, and secured a needful pittance for themselves. 

Among the papers which were found at the hospital after the death of 
poor '< Number Twelve," or U^g^ippe Moreau, belonging to him, was 
a little poem, of which the following is a close translation : 

THE BAPTISM OF THE POOB. 

In meditation plunged, an ode my theme, 
Musing I sat — ^wnen nark ! As from the ground 

There came, to chase away my waking dream. 
An infant's cry— a feeble wailing sound. 

Within the porter's humble lodge, a boy 
Is bom unto tiie world, and beauteous he 

Even as a royal child. What chimes of joy 
Are pealing !— Sleep, poor babe— they do not ring for thee ! 

At thy baptismal hour, no pomp presides— - 
A slight repast, some neighbours, and one priest 

To celebrate the rite— there's nought besides 
Needed to make thee heir of heaven at least. 

At yonder font, amidst a gorgeous scene. 
With olessings loud, some prelate bows the knee ; 

Yet with anathemas murmured between — 
Sleep on in peace, poor babe — ^they are not meant for thee. 

No statesmen's ermined robes around thy couch 
Have fluttered, while their wearers hailed thy voice 

In tones that seemed their fealty to vouch, 
And spoke of joy — as sycophants rejoice. 

The world's first noise to reach thy tender ear 
Hath not been words of faithless treachery ; 

If to a cradle dark deceit be near — 
Sleep infant — sleep in peace — it hovers not o'er thee ! 

Sleep, offspring of the poor ! There is an hour 
Which passes slowly o'er a guilty head. 

When conscience sways with her remorseful power, 
And slumber flies the rich man's downy bed. 

When solemn midnight tolls from yonder dome, 
'Tis said they at the louvre phantoms see — 

That make them shudder at that hour of doom — 
But thou mayst sleep, poor babe— God watches over thee. 

Thy tender years within a poorhouse-walls 
To pass— then hurried to far cattle-fields — 

Such is thy fate ; and oft when hun^r calls. 
To start up from the straw no rest that yields-— 

To Rroan — ^to suffer — 'tis the common law ; 
But of the people's mighty mass thou'lt be : 

Though threat'ning storms keep crowned heads in awe. 
Sleep thou in peace, poor babe— they will not injure thee ! 



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( 181 ) 
THE CRISIS. 

(OONTINUED FROM "tHK BEGEPTION OF THK DEAD.") 

By the Author of "The Uwholt Wish." 



It wanted but throe days to the wedding of Adeline de Castella with 
the Baron de la Chasse, when she stole at the dask of evening to her 
Other's shrubbery, to meet Mr. St. John. He had been very little to the 
chateau since Signor de Castella's final and positive rejection of him, but 
had met Adeline elsewhere. He was waiting for her now, as she came 
up, and, after greeting her, drew forth a letter from his pocket. 

*^ It is from my modier, Adeline," he said ; and she broke the seal, and 
they both read it together. 

But we must first of all allude to a portion of the history, upon which 
it is not so pleasant to touch. Mr. St. John, after many nuther efiforts, 
quite ineffectual, to shake the resolution of M. de Castella, had urged 
Adeline, as a last resource, to fly with him from her fiither^s home and 
from the hated marriage. At the first broaching of the subject she was 
inexpressibly shocked, and refused to listen. But he brought forth argu- 
ments of the most persuasive eloquence — and reasoning eloquence is 
convincing when it comes from beloved lips. It is useless to follow 
the matter, or to describe the days, step by step : it is su£Scient to say 
that Mr. St. John spared no exertion to gam his point. He truly 
thought, in all honour, that he was acting for Adeline's happiness and 
welfare, and at lengili he wrung from her a most reluctant consent. 
Which consent, it is probable, he nevbr would have obtained, but that he 
pressed his mother into the service. Now let us read Mrs. St. John's 
letter : it will be seen that it was not the first Adeline had received from 
her: 

'' Mt dear Mademoiselle de Castella, — Frederick tells me that 
you demurred to the arguments of my previous letter, as being only used 
out of courtesy to you. You judge perfectly right in believing I look 
upon elopements in general with a severe eye: every gentlewoman, 
mother, and respecter of social order, does : but your case appears to be 
a most peculiar one. Your whole ^ture happiness, perhaps life, is at 
stake, and it seems to me to be a positive auty to save you from the 
obnoxious marriage which threatens you. But were it not that M. de 
Castella has assured us (in his letter to my stepson, Mr. Isaac St. John) 
that he has no personal objection to Frederick — ^that were it not for this 
unlucky previous contract he should be proud of the alliance, I should . 
never have lent myself to his obtaining you clandestinely. Another 
thought has abo had weight with me : that if the step must be taken 
(and I really see no other way of escape for you) it will be better that it 
be done wim my sanction than without it. I trust, when time shall have 
soothed M. de Castella's anger, he will thank me, and acknowledge that 
I acted for the best 

** I am not suffidently recovered to travel to Folkestone, as Frederick 



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182 The Crim. 

wished, but Lady Anne Saville has offered to supply my place. She 
leaves with her husband for Folkestone the day after to-morrow, and will 
receive you there from Frederick's hands. She will conduct you at once 
to London, to my house, where you will remab my guest until the 
marriage, which of course must take place at once ; after which, you will 
leave for Castfe-Waler, and pass there a brief sojoaim before you start 
£oT the South. The settlements are here, waiting for your sigpaature and 
Frederick's : Mr. Isaac St John has already affixed his. 

^' I am impstieDt to Teoetve and weloome you, And believe xBey^ny dear 
dild, I ^sill^always^eiidenoor to be to you as an >affectianaAe moldber. 

'<S£UKASx.JOHff.^ 

^'.And now, Adeline, my deaMst," he said, ^' you will be in xvadineis 
to-morrow Jiig^." 

^' When are we to be manied ?" she wy^qtered. She might well bend 
her sweet face downwards as she asked it. 

"Adeline, yon see what my mother says. I have written to procure 
it tpeoialliceiise, and tiie Protestant ceremony shall be performed on omr 
lanml, so diat we may at least be secured £raam separation. Should the 
fomis of year own leligion require any dday, which I do not anticipate, 
yon -null jremain *with my mother until they can be oompletad. My home 
401 town is at Mirart^s." 

<< You — ^}'ou will be kind to lae ?" she faltered, bursting into Aeaa. 
^^ I am leaviz^a happy home, my mother, my frther, the fneods of n^ 
dhildhood, I am leaving all for you ; you 'will always be kind to me?" 

^'Adeline,". he intem^»led, as he clasped her tenderiy to bin, "how 
•can you put the question ? I am abont to make you my dear wife $^ I 
will «herish you as you never yet were oherished. Yonr parents have 
loved you dsMriy, but not with suoh a love as mine. I wiU make yoar 
life one dream of happiness. No mother ever watched o¥er her first-'hom, 
as I will watch over and •cherish you." 

Save for the wild beating of her heart, as it lay against his, he might 
have thought her cold, so still did she remain. It was the impassioned 
wJaHnffWS of alUperfiact love, too deep, too pure £or utterance. 

" You ace leamng idiis home for one more beautiful," heoontiBued ; 
^'yon will lorgive me ibr saying so when you see Castle- Wafer ; a hone 
wnece you will mgn its iddL I speak not now of mysd^ Its vetaineis 
ve tried and faithful : they have been ours from generation io genem- 
rion. They served my father, they have served my broidier, they will 
fer«e<me; and you, their mistress, will .be revered and worshipped. It 
will be a happy home : and though we may eojoom occasionally in foreign 
lands, or goto mingle in die gaieties of the world, we shall retum to it 
with A aest that in time will render us loth to quit it. There we will 
bring up our ohildsen, and train them to goodness ; there <we will learn to 
Hve, so that we may .become worthy to inherit a better world ; the -mode 
of worship may be different, but tne faith and end are the same— one 
hope, one heanwn, one God. Oh, Adeline, put away all fear for the 
ftiture, all doubt of me, if indeed you oould have such ! I would bid 
another trust to my honour, I conjure you .to confide in my love." 

Just at the condurion of the interview, a sudden cou^ near them was 
bmwL St. John stepped aside a £sw paoes,.and theie, Gnabttich, was 



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The Critic 183 

■Mitwl the oonftssor, •Father Msrc. Coold ^fae iui?e beoi Aere ikuig-? 
if 60, be nnMrt have henrd more thaa it was espedieQt lie ahouM, loid 
%t, John bit liiB lips with Tezatioii. 

^ I did not hxHm you -were so near, £rther/' 

^' I haye this instant sat down, my son. I am no longer young, and 
my legs pam >me when I stroll far : my walk this evenbg has been a 
long one." 

" fie may have oome iqs but now," was the mental oondmion of 
Mr. St. John. 

Dbe i^an of 1:he getting away was diis. On the fcilowing ni^t 
feline was to retire to her chamber early, nnder the plea of headadie, 
iOT'Sone other slight indisposition ; and, after dismissing Louise, to hafait 
herself as she deemed suitable fbr her journey. <Bhe was then to steal 
dowin 'Stairs and out of the house, before it was locked up for the night, 
into the garden, where Mr. St John would be waiting for her. The 
«ame 'light vehicle, half cart, half gig, which had once before taken 
Mr. Bt John, would be in readiness to convey them to Odesque. There 
Haisf would take the ntght-train, which passed from Amiens to Bou- 
logne, and go at once on board the Folkestone steamer, Mr. St. John 
baving ascertained that the tide served and the steamer started at a 
mBtable hour fbr them, very early in the morning. By these means tiiey 
hoped to get a whole night^s start before the absence of Adeline was 
disoovered. The scheme appeared feasflde enough in theory, ho t i n 
practice ? That remained to be proved. 

What a day it was for Adeline ! She was in wretched spirits, ifre- 
quently in tears. She was a bad one to carry on a dec^tion: if she 
could but have changed places widi Rose Darling for a day! The 
evening arrived, and the family were sitting in the western drawing- 
room, when Mr. St. John came in. Some of them looked up in surprise, 
his visits had of late been so rare. A spirit of dulness seemed to over- 
hang the party. M. do Castella propos^ chess to his sisteiwin-law, and 
Rose opened the piano and began to sing. Now of all songs, what 
should she choose on that identi<^ night but ^* Kathleen Mavoumeen T 
Talk of fatality and ominous coincidences, I am sure there eadst saeh 
tilings. Rose had not sung that song for months, nay, for yean, and 
vet she must hunt it up then. Had any one asked her for it, she would 
have refused, with many a sarcasm at '^ old-fashioned taste," " English 
ideas," and have commenced some Italian or German or Spanish rubbish, 
and screamed it through in defiance. She came to the words, ^< To 
think that from Erin and thee I must part, it may be for years, or it 
may be for ever,'' when deep sobs startled her. 

Adeline had Hstened — ^leaning back in her grandmamma's fimteui], 
for Madame de Beaufoy was knitting, and had taken her seat on a chair 
near the lamp — listened to the song with an oppressed heart. The 
words seemed singularly applicable to her : she was leaving her country, 
her home, and her dear parents, it might be for years, or it might be for 
ever. Her sobs burst forth unchecked, and the whole room lookad up 
in amaaement. Rose brought her song to a sudden stand-still. 

Mr. St. John, who was near the piano, strode suddenly fovwaxd 
towards Adeline, but arrested his steps half-way, and strode as euddealy 
hwk again. Anxious inquiries were pressed upon Adeline, and hit 



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184 The Crisis. 

inother lud down her embroidery, rose and went to her. Adeline 
declared it was nothing ; a sudden fit of low spirits that wonld pass 
awaj, and Mr. St. John whispered Rose to continue her song. When 
it was over, he wished them good night, and soon afterwards, Adeline, 
pleading fatigue, sud she would go to bed. 

^'Do, dear diild," acquiesced her mother; ^'jou don't seem very 
weU." 

''Good night, dear, dear mamma," she said, clinging round her 
mother's neck, while the rebellious tears again streamed from her eyes. 
She would have given half the anticipated happiness of her future life 
for her mother to have blessed her, but she did not dare to ask it. She 
approached her father last, hesitatingly; kissed him — a most unusual 
tmng, for he was not a man to encourage these familiarities, even from 
his daughter — ^and left the room, struggling convulsively to suppress 
her sobs. 

After sitdng in her chamber a few minutes, to recover serenity, she 
rang for Louise. Up came that demoiselle, in open surprise that her 
young lady should have retired so early. Adeline said she had a head- 
ache, let her take off her dress, and then dismissed her. 

Adeline bolted the door and began to look around her. Shock the 
first : her wardrobe was locked and the key gone. The dress and bonnet 
she meant to wear were in it ; so she had to ring again. 

** I want the key of the wardrobe," she said, when Louise entered. 
« It is locked." 

Louise felt in her pocket, brought forth the key, and threw the doors 
back on their hinges. ^' What should she give to mademoiselle?" 

This was a poser. At any other time Adeline would have ordered 
her to leave the wardrobe open, and go. But her self-consciousness and 
dread of discovery caused her to hesitate then. 

** I want — ^a — ^pocket-handkerchief," stammered Adeline. 

Sharp flung the doors to again, were locked, and the key returned 
to Louisa's pocket. "Parbleu, mademoiselle," was her exclamation, 
turning to a chest of drawers, "as if your handkerchiefs were kept in the 
wardrobe !" 

Adeline knew they were not as well as Louise, but just then she had 
not her wits about her. She was growing desperate. 

'' One would think we had a thief in the house, by the way in which 
you keep places locked," she excSimed. " Leave the wardrobe open, 
Louise." 

'^ Indeed, and we have something as bad as a thief," answered Louise, 
grumblingly. " If Susanne wants anything for madame, and thinks she 
can find it here, she makes no scruple of coming and turning about 
mademoiselle's things. Only three days ago it took me an hour to put 
them straight after her." 

*' Well, leave the wardrobe open for to-night," said Adeline, " you can 
lock it again to-morrow, if you will." And Mademoiselle Louise swung 
the doors back agidn, and quitted the room. 

Adeline proceeded to dress herself. She put on a dark silk dress, a light, 
thin, cashmere shawl, and a straw bonnet trimmed with white ribbons. 
She also threw over her shoulders a costly silk travelling cloak, lined and 
trimmed with ermine. It had been a present to her from Madame 
de Beaufoy against her journey to the South. She was soon ready, but 



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The Crisis. 185 

it was scarcely time to go. She was pale as death; so pale that the re- 
flexion of her own face in the glass startled her. Her head swam rounds 
her limbs trembled, and she felt sick at heart. She began to doubt if she 
should have strength to go. She sat down and waited. 

The minutes passed rapidly, and it would soon be time, if she went at 
all. She felt in her pocket : all was there. Her purse, containing a few 
Napoleons, her handkerchief, a small phial of Cologne water, and a little 
case containing his gifts and letters. 

She arose and placed her hands upon the lock of the door, but, too ill 
and agitated to proceed, turned round, drank a glass of water, and sat 
down again* The longer she stopped the worse she grew, and, making 
a desperate e£Fort, she extinguished the light, opened the door, and glided 
to the top of the stairs. 

All seemed quiet. She could hear the murmur of the servants' voices 
in their distant apartments, nothing else, and she stole noiselessly down 
the staircase^ and across the lighted hall. As she was opening the front 
door, some one came out of the western drawing-room, and Adeline, with 
a quick, nervous effort, passed through, before whoever it was E^ould 
be in sight, pulling the door gently after her. 

Oh, misery ! oh, horror ! rlanted at the bottom of the steps, right in 
front of her, as if he had stopped on the spot and fEdlen into a reverie, 
was the priest, Father Marc. He elided up the steps, and seized her 
arm, and Adeline cried out, with a shrill, startled cry. 

It was heard by Mademoiselle de Beaufoy, as she crossed the hall, and 
she came running out. It was heard by Mr. St. John from his hiding- 
place, behind one of the lions of the fountain, and he hastened forward. 

'*0h, Adeline, mistaken child, what is this?" exclaimed her aunt. 
" You would leave your home clandestinely ! you, Adeline de Castella T' 

^* Aunt 1 aunt ! nave mercy on me ! I — I do believe I am dying ! I 
would rather die than go through what I have gone through lately !" 

" And better for you," was the stern replv '* Death is preferable to 
dishonour." 

She was interrupted by Mr. St. John, who now neared them. Adeline 
broke from her aunt and the priest, and fell forward in his arms, shriek- 
ing out, " Oh, Frederick ! Frederick ! protect me in this dreadful hour!" 

Agnes de Beaufoy flew into the drawing-room, crying out that Mr. 
St John was running away with Adeline, and they all went flocking out. 
St. John's first effort was directed to tbothe Adelme : his second to bear 
her into the house. The priest went away in the direction of his chapel. 

For some time all was astonishment and confusion. Every one seemed 
to be talking at once, reproving Mr. St. John. She still clung to him, 
as if to part with him would be to part with life, and he protected her 
valiantly. The first distinguishable words were from Sienor de Castella. 

<' So this is the recompense we receive from you ! basely to betray her I 
to lead her to dishonour!" 

St. John was paler than Mary Carr ever remembered to have seen him, 
but his voice and bearing were perfectly calm. " I was leading her away 
to happiness," he answered; " ere many hours had elapsed she would 
have been my honoured wife. Had my mother been well, she would 
have received her at Folkestone, but she is unable yet to quit her room, 
and Lady Anne Saville, than whom one of higher character and consi- 
deration does not exist, is there awaiting her. My brother vacates 



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186 The Crms. 

Casile-WBler for her reeeption ; the aettlemeDts, ai thsj ware piopoted 
to ycNi, are drawa up, waiting for oar signatures ; and untH the manriafj^ 
oould hare taken place — had there been but aa hour's deiaj^-Adeltne 
would have remained under my mother's roof and protection, conducted 
to it by Lady Anne. There are the youshers for what I assert," he added, 
throwing some letters on the table. ^/ lead her to dishonour! Had 
you, Signer de CasteUa^ evinced the oonsideratbn f<Mc her happiness, that 
I have for her honour, there would not be this di^mte now." 

" And you, shameless girl, thus to disgrace your name !'' 

^ Reproach her not^" int^vopted Mr. St. John ; ^ I will not sn£Eer a 
harsh word to her in my presence. For this step I aione am to blame. 
Adeline waa resolute in refoslng to listen or aoeode to it^ and she never 
would have done so but for the countenance afforded to her in it by m^ 
fiunily. M. de Caetella, this is no moment for delicacy : I therefoiie tell 
you openly she shall be my wife. Our plans of to*<iight are frustiated, 
and should we be able to carry out no odier for her esoape,. Adeline must 
ronounce at the aitar the- husband you would thrust upon her." 

**- You are insolent, sir," said M» de Castella. 

^' Not insolent," he replied, << but determined." 

There is no lime to pursue the discussion. It was long and stormy. 
Madame de Castella cried all the while, but old Madame de Beaufoy was 
a little inclined to favour St. John. Not that she i4)proved of the 
attempted escapade, but he was so wondrous a favourite of hers, that 
die could not remain in aager wil^ him Icmg, and she kept xapptng her 
stick approvingly on the floor at many things he satd, something afber 
the manner of a certain house of ours, when it cries out " Hear, hear l'' 
Adeline stood by Mr. St. John, shaking with convulsive sobs, her white 
veil covering her fioee, and the costly cloak foiling from her shoulders and 
sweeping t^e ground. Her fother suddenly turned to her; 

'< Adeline de Castella, are you determined to marry tiiis mas?" 

^' Speak out, Adeline," said Mr. St. John, for no answer came from her. 

" I — cannot — ^marry — ^De la Chasse," she faltered. 

^ And you ate determined to marry him> — this Protestant fingiishmaa ?" 

'^ If I may," she whispered, her sobs g^wing violent. 

^To-morrow morning I will discuss with you this subject," proceeded 
M. de Castella, still addvessing his daughter. '^ At the conclusion of our 
interview, you shall be free to choose between — between the husband I 
marked out for you, and him, who^iow stands by yoor side." 

^ On your honour ?" exobiffied Mr. St Jomi, surprised out of the 
romark. 

<< My word, sir, is valuabla|» youm," was the haughty reply. " When 
my daughter shall have heard all I have to say, she shall ^en. be free to- 
foUow her own will I will not further influence her." 

<^ You will permit me to receive her dedeion from her own lips ?" 

<' I tell you I will not further control her. Shie shall be as free to act- 
as I am. And now^ Mr. St. John, good night to yoo." 

*^ Would to heaven we were manmd, th^ I might remain and watch 
orer you this night!" he whispered, zs he reluctantly released Adeline^ 
and bid her adieu. << You need all soothing consolation, and there aK» 
none to offer it. Yet be comforted, my dear love, for if M. de Castelkb 
shall keep his word, it is our last parting." 

'« He is a noble fellow, with all his foults," mentally egacnlated Agnes^ 



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The Crms. 187 

de Beaofey, a» sbe watched Mr. St. John's recediBg fbna. And '^ all 
his faults," what were they ? That he would have interfered in another's 
marriage contract, and stolen away the hride, and made her his own. 

'' I did not think Adeline had got it in her !" whispered Rose, in a 
glow of deiiffht, to Mary Carr. Rose had stood in a rapture of admira- 
tion the whole time. Adeline and Maxy could not cast old scores at her, 
now. 

n. 

The dreaded interview widi M. de CastelJa was ail but orer, and 
Adeline leaned against the straight-hacked chair in the cabinet, more 
dead than alive, so completely haS her fiither's wovds bereft her of hope 
and energy. 

When Mr. St. John first opened the affair, Sigaor de Castdia had felt 
considerably annoyed, and would not glance at the posaibiiity of breaking 
the contract with De la Chasse. But M. de Caatella, cold ae he was in 
manner, was not, at heart, indiffiMrent to Adeline's happinessb. And when 
he found how entirely she was bound up in Mr. St. John, and the latter 
brought forth his munificent proposals and departed for England to get 
ihem triumphantly confirmed, then M. de Caatella began in secret to 
waver. But now stepped in his confessor. 

Those who read this, are of course aware that in many Roman 
Catholic families, especiaUy foreign ones, the confessor eaevcises much 
influence over temporal matters as well as spiritual. And though the 
confessor to the Castellas, Father Marc, had not hitherto seen cause to 
put hims^f forward in such affairs, he thought he was bound to interfere 
now. You must not think he is going to be described as one of those 
vicious priests, half serpent, half — anything else that's bad — sometimes 
represented in' works of history. That such charaotMrs have existed 
there is no doubt, or that there are still bad Romish priests, like there ace 
some bad Protestant clergymen, but Father Marc was not one. He waa 
a good man, but a rigid Romanist, and he acted for what he deemed the 
true interest of Adeline, of whom he was very fond, for he had watched 
her grow up from infancy. He hunestly believed that to suffer Adeline 
to marry an Englishman and a heretic, and make her home in Protes- 
tant England, would be to consign her to perdition. He therefore placed 
his veto upon it, a veto that miffht not be gainsaid, and forbid the con- 
tract to be interrupted with De la Chasse. If he interfered with, what 
may appear to us, desperate measures, he believed the cause to be 
deisperate which justified them ; and he acted in accordance with the dio- 
tates of his own conscience, and with what he deemed his duty to 
Adeline, to his religion, and to God. 

She knew it all now : the secret of her faUier's obstiaainr, and why she 
must give up Mr. St. John and marry De la Chasse. Sne knew that i£ 
her father consented to her heretical marriage, or if she of herself per- 
sisted in contracting it, the Curse of the Church waa to alight upon her, 
and upon her father's house. The Cune of the Church I Adeline had 
been reared in all the belief and doctrines of the Romish faithy and she 
oould no more have dared to act in defiance of that awful cune^ thm she 
would have dared to raise her hand against her own life. She leaaed 
her head back on the uncomfortable chair, and moanad aloud in her over- 
whelming angoiBlL 



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188 The Crisis. 

'* The alternative of a convent," she gasped, '< cannot that he given 
me?" 

<< No,** replied M. de Castella, '* you must marry. Your mother and 
I cannot consent to lose you from our sight, as it was the will of Provi- 
dence we should lose Maria. You must choose between this Englishman 
and him to whom you are betrothed. If vou marry the Englishman, 
you — and I, Adeline — will be put beyond the pale of heaven. Marry 
him who expects, ere three days, to be your husband, and you will lead a 
tranquil life here, with sure hope of a hereafter." 

" Does my mother know of this ?" she uttered. 

^* No. She will know it soon enough if your decision be against us." 

There was little more to be sud, nothing more to be understood. She 
comprehended it all, and the situation she was placed in. She knew 
that, for her, all of peace and joy on earth were over : a mirror of the 
future flashed before her mind's eye ; and she saw herself battling witli 
its waves, and it was one broad sea of never-ending agony. Her heart 
fluttered violently, as it had never before fluttered, and there was a 
strange sensaiion within her, as if some mighty weight were rushing to 
her brain. She tottered as she rose from me c^Air, and laid hold 
of the table to steady herself. '^ There — there is nothing more ?" she 
whispered. 

" Nothing, Adeline. Save to give your reply to Mr. St John." 

She was passing to the door when a word arrested her. She leaned 
against one of the secr^tiures as her father spoke. 

** I do not ask what your decision will be, Adeline. I have laid the 
case before you, as it exists, without circumlocution and without disguise. 
I said last night I would not bias your choice by a word of mine, and I 
will not." 

The words sounded in her ear very like a mockery, and' wild thoughts 
came across her, as she stood, of falling at her Other's feet, and beseech- 
ing him to have mercy. But she remembered that mercy, for her, did 
not rest with him. 

M. de Castella became alarmed at her ghastly look. He went forward 
and took her hands, speaking with more emotion than he had ever be- 
trayed. ** Adelme, may the holy Virgin support you through this ! I 
have but your welfare at heart, my cmld, ana were only your temporal 
interests at stake, were it to tlie loss of half my fortune, I would not 
oppote your wish, but who may dare to put aside eternity? Father 
Marc is acting as the Church judges right, and I at least may not gain- 
say him." 

He released her, and she laid her hand upon the door, when her ikther 
spoke again. She turned towards him. 

*< Whatever be your decision, you must not impart the nature of the 
impediment to Mr. St. John. To others of course you will not." 

^' Not tell him the cause ?" she gasped ; '^ not tell him !" 

"Holy Saints, no!" he burst forth. "Not a word. Our Church 
permits not her secrets to be revealed to heretics. Promise it." 

" I promise," she repeated. 

" Kiss the crucifix," he added, holding it out to her. And she did as 
he desired, and so sealed her lips. 

As Adeline left the cabinet, she encountered Rose. 

" What a while you have been in there ! Your wedding-dress is come. 



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The Crisis. 189 

and lots more ibings. Thej are gone up-stairs to inspect them, and I 
hare been waiting for you, all impatience. Adeline ! how ill you look T 

'' Is Mr. Stl John in the drawing-room ?" was her rejoinder. 

'< Yes. I left him there, all ' alone in his glory,' for I could stay away 
from the view no longer. I shall go up-stairs without you, if you are 
not coming." 

" I will follow you presently," she murmured. 

*' Adeline, let me into a secret. I won't tell. Will the dress be worn 
for die purpose it was intended — De la Chasse*s weddmg?" 

^^Yes," she feebly answered, passing on to the west drawing-room. 
Rose arrested still further her impatient steps, and gazed after her. 

<< Whatever is the matter? How strangely ill she looks! And she 
says her marriage is to come off with De la Chasse ! I wonder whether 
that's gospel: or nothing but a blind? When the wedding-mominjj^ 
comes, we may find Jock o' Hazledeen enacted in real life. What 
glorious fiin it would be !" 

Mr. St. John was pacing the room when Adeline went in, and he met 
her with a joyous smile, and would have clasped her to him. But Ade- 
line de Castella was possessed of extreme rectitude of feeling. She now 
knew that in two days' time she should be the wife of the Baron de la 
Chasse ; and there was as much repugnance to that feeling, whatever 
may have been her inclination, in suffering anodier to embrace her, two 
days before the marriage, as there would have been two days after it. 
Alas ! though her fiBars had sometimes assailed her, she had, from the 
beginning, too surely counted on becoming the wife of Mr. St. John. 
She evaded him, and walked forward, panting for breath. 

He was alarmed as he gazed upon her. He saw the agitation she was 
in, and the fearful aspect of her features, which still wore the ghastly 
hue they had assumed in the cabinet. He took one of her hands within 
his, but even that she withdrew. 

*^ In the name of Heaven, Adeline, what is this?" 

She endeavoured to answer him, but the palpitation in her throat im- 
peded her utterance. The oppression on her breath increased. 

'' Adeline ! have you no pity for my suspense ?" 

" I — I— am trying to tell you," she gasped out, with a jerk between 
most of her words. " I am g^ing — to— marry him — ^De la Chasse." 

He looked at her for some moments without speaking. " You have 
been ill, Adeline," he said at length. '^ I saw last night the state you 
were in, and would have given much could I have remained by you." 

<<I am not wandering," she answered, detecting the bent of his 
thoughts. " I am telling you truth. I must marry him." 

*' Adeline — if you are indeed in full possession of your senses — explain 
what you would say. I do not understand." 

<* It is easy enough to be understood," she replied, leaning against the 
side of the large window for support. '' On Saturday, their fixed wed- 
ding-day, I shall marry him." 

''Oh, this is shameful! this is dreadful!" he exclaimed. "How on 
earth can they have tampered with you like this ?" 

'^ They have not tampered with me, Frederick. I decide of my own 
freewill." 

'' It is disgraceful I disgraceful !" he uttered. << Where is M. de Cas- 

Juise— VOL. CIV. NO, ccGGznr. o 



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IfiO neCridf. 



teBa? I wiU tdB himidbrt I thkk of Us coadMl. A tdk if 
boDOiarr 

She plaoad her httod i^n Us am to drtaia Um, Cmt ht w toramg 
^from thoraooL 

'' He ean tdl jo« DotUeg^," the said. *^ He cbes wot yet hnow my 
decision. Do not blame him." 

<< He said last night that jou should he fne to dKHMe,** inpatiently 
irttered Mr. St Jobn. 

"And I am free. He— laid''— (she haiAy knew how to finMe kcr 
woMk and jet respect her oath) — '^ ne laid the case fully before hm^ and 
left me to deeide for myself. Had I diosen you, he saia my amit Agnes 
•should accompany us to-day to Engtand, and see me manied. But — I 
^-daced not — I''«^(she burst into a flood of most distressing teais)-*-'^ I 
must marry De la Cliasse.'^ 

<« Explam, explain." He was getting hot and anny. 

'^ I have notoing to explain. Only that my father left it to me, and 
thait Irawt manyfaim : uid diat my heart will break.'* 

When he perfectly understood her, undostood ihat there was no hope^ 
the bust of reproach that came £rom him was terriUe* Yet might it not 
be excused? He had parted from her on the prerious mgfat in the full 
expectation that she would be his wife : how could he think otherwise 
after all that had occurred, and the ooDcludbg promise of M. de Cas« 
tdla ? Yet now, without prefiELce, without reason, she told him that she 
renounoed him for his rival. A reason, unhappily, she dared not ^ve. 

Oh once more, ia spito of her resistance, Mr. St. John held hsr to his 
heart, as of old. He spoke to her words of the sweetest and most persua- 
sive eloquenoe ; he besought her to fly widi Um, to beeome his beloved 
wife. And ^e was obliged to wrest herself from him, and assure him 
that his prayers were warted ; that die was compelled to be more obdu* 
rate than even her father had been. 

It was a fault of Mr. St. Jean's to be hasty and passionate, when 
moved to it by any great cause, but perhaps a storm of passion so violent 
as that he gave way to now, had never yet shaken him* His reproaches 
were keen. 

<^ False and fickle that you are, you have never loved me! I see it all 
now. You have but led me on, to inerease, at the last moment, the 
triumph of De la Chasse. It may have been a planned thing between 
you ! Your true vows have been ^ven to him, your &lse ones to me." 

Adeline placed her hands on his, as if imploring mercy, and would 
have knelt before him, but he held her up, not tenderly. 

<' If I thought you did not know your words are untrue, it would 
kill me," she Altered. <' If we had been married, as, until this day, I 
thought and prayed we should be, you would have known how deeply I 
love you ; how the love will endure unto death. I ean toll you tnis, 
now, because we are about to separate, and it is the last time we must 
ever be together in this world. Oh, Frederidk I mercy ! mercy ! do not 
profess to think I have loved another." 

'* You are about to marry him." 

«< I shall marry him, hating him ; I shall mairy him, kmng i^u : do 
you not think I nave enough of agony ?" 

« As I am a living man," uttered Mr. St. John, ^ I camnot understand 
this ! You say your father told you to dioose between us." 



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TTie Crisk. 191 

^Ifodasif I fhMUdie»'* Aenrarmiired;**! haiveMtflQ^ at times^ 
fer B0vcml weeks pMt Thewr k B c wutlunff hanging' (ner me, liJBiik)'' 
rile Gontimied, raoring ber hmd acras her fetefaead, tAietraHtedlj. 

^Adefiae," he hnpatieiitty lepeated, ''are yoa deenrmg tae ? Did 
your father give you free Hbeity to ckoose between utfp* 

<< Ye« ; he gave it me-«aAer placiag the whole «a8e before ne/'' she 
was uUitfod to aaawer. 

'< And yoB deKberately tell w» yon have ebosen De b Cfaasae ? Ton 
give me no exphmatvoD, bat cast me off Kke this P* 

** 1 dai« not" — the words wete wrongfrom her — *^1 have no ezplaBa- 
ticMi to give. Oh, Fiederiek, dearest Frederick— let moeall yon so hi 
your presence, for the first and last and only time— 4o not reproach me ! 
Indeed, I most many him." 

«< Of your own free d^iberation, yon w91, on Saturday next, walk to 
the altar and become his wife ?" he Durst forth. << Do yon mean to tell 
me that ?" 

She made a gettors in the affirmative, her sobs rising hysfcericidly. 

** Fie upon you ! fie upon you !" he cried, eoDtemptnously. ^ Vou 
boast of loving ! you may well do so, when you have had two lovers to 
practise upon. I understand it all now ; your objection to my speaking, 
nnlal the last moment, to M. de Castella ; you would keep us both in 
yonr tram, forsooth, to gratify your vanity I You have but fooled me by 
pretending to listen to my love; yon have led me on, and |^yed witn 
me, a slave to be sacrificed on his shrine ! I give yon up to him joyfrdly. 
I am well quit of you." 

<' Mercy ! meicy !" she implored, shrinking down, and claspmg her 



^ Fooftiiat I was to be so deceived! Light and fielde that you are, 
you are not worthy to be enshrined in an honourable man's heart. I wiH 
thrust your image from mine, until not a trace, not a TecoHection of it, is 
left. 1 thank God it will be no impossible task, like spell that bound 
you to me is broken. Deceitful, woribleaB ffiri, thus to have betrayed 
your false-heartedness at the last ! but better m me to hai^ discovered it 
befi[>re marriage than after. I thank yon for this, baaefy treated as I 
have been." 

She made an effort to interrupt him, a weak, broken-hearted effort ; 
but his fierce torrent of speech overpowered it. 

*< I go now, and in leaving this place, trust I rindl leave its memories 
behind. I will never wiUingly think of yen again m Ufe, Con- 
temptuously as vou have cast off me, so wilt I endeavour in my heart to 
cast off you, ana all remembrance of you. I wish you good-by, for ever. 
And I nope, for De la Chasse's sake, your conduct to him, as a wife, may 
be different from what it has been to me." 

There was a strange, overwhelming agony, both of body and mind, at 
work within her, such as she had never experienced or dreamt of; a 
chaos of confused ideas, the most painful of which was the conviction 
that he was leaving her for ever in contempt and scorn. A wild desire 
to detain him ; to convince him that at least she was not the falsehearted 
bong he had painted her; to hear some kinder words from his lips, and 
those recalled, crowded to her brain, mixing itself up with the confbsion 
and despair already there. 

o2 



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192 The Crisis. 

With hifl mocking fSsurewell he had hastened from the room^ by way of 
the colonnade; it waa the nearest way to the path which led to his home^ 
and he was in no mood to stand uoon ceremony. Adeline rushed after 
him» but his strides were quick, and she did not gain upon him. She 
called aloud to him, in her flood-tide of despair. 

He turned and saw her there, flying down the steps after him. One 
# repellent, haughty gesture alone escaped him, and he quickened his pace 
onwards. She saw the movement of contempt, but she still pressed on, 
and got half-way across the lawn. There she sank upon the grass, at 
first in a kneeling posture, her arms outstretched towards him, as if they 
could bring him back, and a sharp, wailing cry of anguish escaping from 
her lips. 

Why did he not look round ? There was just time for it, ere he was 
hidden in the dark shrubbery : he would have seen enough to drive away 
his storm of anger. But, waxing stronger in his wrath, he strode on, 
without deigning to cast another glance behind. 

They were in the chamber, over the western drawing-room, examining 
the things which had just arrived from Paris. Rose happened to be at 
the window, and saw Adeline fall. Uttering an exclamation, which 
caused Mary Carr also to look, she turned from it, and ran down to her. 
Mary followed, but her pace was slow, for she suspected nothing amiss, 
and thought Adeline had but stooped to look at something on the grass. 
When Mary reached the colonnade. Rose was up with Adeline, and 
seemed to be raising her head. 

What was it ? Mary Carr strained her eyes, in bewilderment. Of 
their two dresses, the one was white, the other a lilac muslin, neariy as 
light as white, and strange^ dark spots were on each of them, as of blood, 
the fresh crimson colour glowing in the sun, whilst Adeline's mouth 
and chin were covered with it. The truth flashed upon Mary's mind. 
Adeline must have broken a blood-vessel. 

Terrified and confused, Mary darted to the bell, and rang it violently, 
then hastened to the lawn, to the assistance of Rose. The servants came 
runnmg out, and then the family. 

Rose was kneeling on the grass, pale with terror, supporting Adeline's 
head on her bosom. Rose's hair, the ends of her long golden ringlets, 
were touched with the blood, and her hands stained with it; and 
Adeline Madame de CasteUa fell down in a fainting-fit. 

Broken a blood-vessel ! It was unfortunately too true. Was it the 
anguished mind or the weakened frame which caused it, or both com- 
bined? 

They bore her, gently as might be, from the lawn into the yellow 
drawing-room, not daring to carry her up to the bed-chambers, and laid 
her on the costly sofiB^ the blood on her mouth, neck, and dress, present- 
ing a repulsive contrast to the amber-velvet pillows. A groom went 
riding off to Odesoue, at full gallop — that is, as much of a gallop as 
French by-roads wul allow — ^to bring the nearest medical man — and to 
send a telegraphic despatch to Boulogne for two more, one English, the 
other French, who had attended her in the spring. 

Adeline lay on the sofa, quite passive. She thought she was dying, 
and expressed a wish to be allowed once more to see Mr. St. John. So 
Rose offered to write to him, and finished a note, through her tears, 
despatching it by Louise. 



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The Crisis. 19a 

** Mr BEAR Mr. St. John, — I am the bearer to you of unhappy 
tidings. Before you had well left, this morning, Adeline broke a bloodU 
yessel of the lungs. I fear there is no hope ; she thinks she is dying. 
You may imagine the state the house is in — or rather I don't tlunk you 
can imagine it, for I am sure you never saw anything like it. She has 
-asked to see you : pray come immediately. 

^< Yours, in haste, 

"Rose Darling.*' 

The most perfect quiet, both of mind and body, was essential for 
Adeline, yet there she lay, restless and anxious, waiting for the return of 
Louise. Though exhausted and silent, her eye wandered incessantly 
towards the door. M. de Castella was gone up-stairs to his wife's room, 
who was falling from one &ioting-fit into another. 

In came Louise at last, looking, as usual, fiery hot, her black eyes 
round and sparkling. She had made haste to Madame Baret's and back, 
as desired, and came in at once, without waiting even to remove her 
gloves, the only addition (except the parapluie rouge) necessary to render 
her home-costume a walking one. What would an English lady's maid 
say to that ? In her hand she bore a packet, or very thick letter, for 
AdeHne, directed and sealed by Mr. St. John. Adeline followed it with 
her eyes, as Rose took it from Louise. 

" Shall I open it ?" whispered Rose, bending gently over her. 
Adeline looked assent, and Rose broke the seal, holding it immediately 
before her face. It was a blank sheet of paper, without word or comment, 
enclosing all the letters she had ever written to him. They fell in a heap 
upon her, as she lay. Rose, at home in such matters, understood it as 
soon as AdeHne, and turned frowningly to Louise. 
" Did Mr. St. John give you this ?" 
'' Ah no, mademoiseUe. Mr. St. John is gone." 
"Gone!" 

" Gone away to England. Gone for »)od." 

Rose gathered up the letters, into the sheet of paper, abstractedly, 
amusing herself by endeavouring to put together the large seal she had 
broken. Adeline's eyes were closed, but she heard — by the heaving 
bosom and crimsoned cheeks, contrasting with their previous ghastly 
paleness. Lomse, like a simpleton, continued in an under tone to Rose, 
and there was nobody by, just then, to check her gossip : 

'* He had not been gone three minutes when I j?ot there Oh, by the 

way, mademoiselle, here's the note you gave me ror him. Madame caret 
was changing her cap to bring up the thick letter, for Mr. St John had 
said it was to be taken special care of, and given into MademoiseUe 
Adeline's own hands, so she thought she would bring it herself. She's 
in a fine way at his going. Mother Baret, for she says she never saw any 
one that she liked so much as Mr. St. John." 

'* But what took him off in this sudden manner ?" demanded Rose, 
forgetful of Adeline, in her own eager ciuiosity. 

*' Madame Baret says she*d give her two ears to know," responded 
Louise. << She thought, at first, something must have happened up here, 
a dispute, or some unpleasant matter of that sort But I told her, No. 
Something had occurred here, unfortunately, sure enough, but it could 
have had nothing to do with Mr. St John, becaose he had left previously. 



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194 TUCritu. 

She ihw Aought he niidithav»roeeiyedbad news from Rngianii, Aoqgh 
thore were no letten ddiTeied for him this morning. But whatever h 
wMy he wae in «n aiwfiil paeiioo. He has spoilt the piotiue." 

<< Whvh pietvre ?" asked Rose^ qniekly* And before leoordinff 
Lodse's answer, it maj be weU to explain that Adeline's portrait had 
long been finished and taken up to the ch&teao. But on M. de Castella's 
return from Paris, he had suggested a slight alteration in the background 
of the pictuxe, so it was sent to the lodge again. Events had then 
crowded so £ut, one upon another, coupled with Mr. St. John's two visits 
to England, thai the chanee was not at onee e&cted. During the last 
week or two^ howeyer, he had been at work, and completed it He had 

S>en orders^ the evening he expected to leave with Adeline, that it should 
) forwarded the next day to the chfttean. 

*' YIThich picture ?" demanded Rose. 

'* MademoiseUe Adeline's likeness. There was some blue paint stand- 
ing in the room, and he dashed a brush in it, and smeared it right across 
the face. Hy faith I what a way he must have been io, to destroy such 
a beaotiful free and paiDtiog !" 

** I told him one day, I knew he could be passionate if he liked," was 
Bose's remark. And Louise continued : 

*^ It was a shame, Madame Baret said, to yent Ins anger upon a deaf 
and dumb thing, like that, and quite like an insult to Mademoiselle 
Adeline — as if $he had offended him. And when I joined in, and said it 
was worse than a shame, she flew out at me, and said nobody should speak 
a word against him, before her. That he was of a perfectly golden tem- 
per, and always behaved like a king to everybody aboat him, and she 
knows somethmg dreadful must have happened, for he was like one 
beside himself, and knew no more what he was doing than a childly I'm 
sure / don't want to speak against him," added Louise^ by way of com- 
ment ; '* I only chimed in with Mother Baret for politeness' sake* He 
was a thorough gentleman, was Mr. St. John, and always behaved like 
one to us servants ; and you know, mademoiselle, he spoke French like a 
true angel, besides." (Gomme un vrai ange.) 

Boee nodded. '^ But what did he go away for ?" 

^' Nobody knows. When he came in, he was like a deranged man^ 
and ordered a horse to be got ready for him. He then went into the 
painting-zoom, and stayed there ever so long, and then into his chamber* 
By the time he came out, his anger was over, at least he was caim to 
appearance, and gsnre Dame Baret the packet for mademoiselle, and told 
her he was going to leave. She says you might have knocked her down 
with a whiff of old Baret's pipe. She asked him when he was coming 
baek again, and he said, Never : but he should write and explain to DL 
d'Estival. And off he rode, giving orders that his clothes and other 
thiass should be packed and sent after him, and leaving a mint of money 
for all who had waited on him." 

It is impossible to say how much more Louise would have found to 
relate, and Rose to listen to, but the clattering hoofr of a horse were heard 
outside, and Louise sprang to the window. It was the surgeon from 
Odasque. He came into the room with MademoiseUe de Beaufoy and 
M. de Castella. And soon hb fiat was whispered aU over the house-* 
diat there was no hope ; that Adeline de Ca^ella was doomed to die. 



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MY FIRST EVENING ON CIRCUIT. 

TooSB pahny days in vfaidi Lnrii gmiilemeii tfaoagfat it an in^s- 
panwahln partof their dntiei to poi at least fire liottlas of ckrat imder iMr 
belt Wfore ufMng their coaches, had passed when I joined the H 
Cireuit. The homomes and the oddities which distingindied oar iathen^ 
tcmther witib their powers of imbifamg vinous fluids, had become con* 
siMraUy toned down with us their suoeessora, and thoogii the same 
flashes ol wit and farillianey of oonyemitional powars were not to be ex* 
peeted, these was enough of peeoliarity ahoat oar habits and little social 
lenniona in those stupid assiae towns, to render an aoconat of my first 
evoning on civBiiit somewhat interesting to diat Tery large dass of the 
puUie who have nerer yet made one of a bar mess* As I haye already 
said, the faard-diinking days of the Irish gentleman, and, consequently, 
of the Jrish bar, had passed, and it was, therefore, but a little after nine 
in dM evening that we (that is, the great un-briefed, who had neither 
eonsuhations nor eUents to attend to) rose irom table, after having con- 
soned a reasonable share of the daret whidi had been sent as a present 
to die H bar by the then recently-appointed chancellor, who had 

fiurmerly been a member of the circuit. Ours was but a small bar : and it 
was a boast with us that we had, in proportion to our members, a greater 
niunber of gentlemanlike, eood-looking, and dever jimiors thui any 
other eircnit in Ireland, and that more unanimity and good (I miglit 
almost say brotherly) fSeeling existed amongst our members than amongst 
any of the others. Comparativdy a stranger, my reception by all, both 
leaders and juniors, at dinner, prepared me for the hearty iuTitation of 
BushetoD, the life and soul of the circuit, as we were rising. ^ Hie 
&Uows are oemmg to my lodgings this evening, mon anU, for their 
•ofiee and whist I have plenty of pipes and weeds (we are licensed to 
amoke on the prennses), so, if you have no letters to write, you may as 
wdl come along with us now, and I will steer you." While I was fish- 
ing a cigar out of his case, which he proffered to me at the same time 
with his invitation, I expieased myself free as air, and ready to join his 
paity at once. 

One thing more remained to be done. Busheton, who was a very 
de^ fellow, though somewhat addicted to what I mieht call mOd 
dissipation, had been assigned as counsel, by one of the judges, to 
defend a man who was to be tried for murder in the morning, and who 
had employed neither counsel nor attorney for his defence. His only 
brief was a copy of the informations, which, by the directions of tlie 
judges was furnished to him by the crown solidtor. 

'^ Mark, my boy," said Budieton, turning to another junior, Marie 
Heam, who prefened going quietly to his lodgings, and, alter reading a 
donn pages of some useful book, turning quietly into bed before eleven 
o'cloek — '' Maris, my boy,^ said he, wlulst lighting his cigar, ** as an 
earnest of your fbture promotion and of what I intend to do for you when 
I am attorney-general, I hereby appoint you my devil.^ I uiidl send 
you over the mformations in that case of Tunny's, which the press of 
my cKvil business will not pennit me to attend to proporly ; note uiem up 



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196 My First Evening an Circuit. 

for me to-nigbt, and be ready in the morning to tell me all about iba 
case/* ^ . 

It must be borne in mind that Busheton was a barrister of three 
whole years' standing, while Mark was but of two, and that neither one 
nor the other had ever held a record-brief in their lives at the time, in 
order to appreciate the gravity with which Busheton delivered himself 
thus, while addressing (as he called him) " his young fiiend." Heam 
promised compliance with an air of equal though not mock gravity; and 
Busheton, calling on some half-dozen of us to *' come along,'' we rattled 
down the stairs of the hotel in which our mess-room was situated, into 
the street. The night was raw and cold (it was a rough March even- 
ing), and the wretched, bleak appearance of everything out of doors, and 
of the one principal street of the town, lit only by the few rays strag- 
gling from an occasional shop, made Busheton's sitting-room look un- 
usually cosy when we were ushered into it, with its blazing turf-fire, 
comfortable carpet, neat, though somewhat gaudy, furniture and engrav- 
ings, and genend air of carefulness and regularity. Knowing, from the 
hearty style of the invitation, that I was welcome, I proceeded to follow 
the example of the others, who disposed of themselves in various lazy 
and grotesque, if not graceful, attitudes, on churs, sofas, and loungers 
through the room, and made myself extremely comfortable in a laree 
arm-<£air, thankful for the progress of civilisation, which had brought 
such articles into country towns. Tea was ordered, and placed on the 
table in the midst of the most religious silence from the smokers, who, 
with the true appreciation of the weed, were devotinff|themselves entirely 
to blowing clouds, and building castles in the said douds, undisturbed 
by chatter. 

The scene was one of peace and tranquil enjoyment worthy of a divan. 
At last, when we were getting to the ends of our second cigars, and were 
inclined to cry " Ohe, jam satis," Busheton broke the sUence as usual with 
something to raise a good-humoured laugh at the expense of some one 
present. His jokes, however, and humorous allusions were so devoid of 
bitterness, that none laughed more heartily than the individual carica- 
tured, as I may call it. It would be impossible to fairly appreciate the 
point of his fun unless one knew the peculiarities of the individual as- 
sailed. His attack now was upon Haughton, a tall, swarthy, dark-haired^ 
g^d-humoured, good-hearted young fellow of about four-and- twenty, 
who never gave any symptoms of extraordinary mental qualities until he 
was set down at a whist-table, when he displayed powers of memory, 
reasoning, and calculation, which were, as the Yankees would say, 
<^ rayther a caution." As for law, he neither knew, cared, nor pretended 
to know anything about it, but he had a remote notion that whenever 
he got a brief he would work it up some way or other. He was always 
late everywhere and for everything, forgetting anything of import- 
ance he had to do, cursing himself and everything else when he found 
out his mistake, and rather given to squeal out, in some extraordinary 
way, imprecations on his luck or his partner (if he were on terms of 
sufficient familiarity with him to take such a liberty), and to watch 
until he got some man to listen attentively and sympathetically to his 
sorrows «nd to some fearfully abstruse point about the fourth last trick, 
when his partner led the seven of spades fourth round with the eight in 



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My First Evening on Circuit 197 

his bandy and his right-hand adversary threw away a lorino^ card, and A^, 
he tramped it, certain, of coarse, that the last player had the eight ; and 
how they lost the odd trick, and how anything so simply absard never 
was known — never, and how he was always persecuted with such — :«. 
infernal luck, and men woald always, when his partners, play in such a 
•— disgusting way. He was at bottom an honourable and high-minded 
gentleman, and these peculiarities, somewhat rough though some of them 
were, like the antagonistic elements in a salad, served to give a zest to 
our society as a whole ; and when he left us, on receiving a legal appoint- 
ment, we often felt that, though we might lose wiser men, we could not 
lose a more agreeable companion, or one that could be less spared. After 
this little sketch of William Haughton, Esq., barrister-at-law, and worthy 
scion of a distinguished midland fisimily, I will allow Busheton to speak 
for himself. 

" I think you fellows are sufficiently accustomed to tumbling into my 
rooms without waiting to be asked,** said he, after giving me a cup of tea 
with his own hand, " to want me to help you ; so take care of your* 
selves.'' 

The hint was acted upon in a straggling way, as some, lazier than 
others, wanted those who went to the table to be charitable in filling and 
handing a few cups, a prayer sometimes acceded to, and sometimes re- 
fused in (as it was called by the lazy ones) the most savage manner. 
With the appearance of the tea there was a general brightening up, and 
the men began chatting to one another, some growling together over 
their ill-luck in not getting as much as an assignment — c. e, beine ap- 
pointed to defend some poor person indicted for a capital offence, which, 
though it brought no money, gave the ambitious and clever an oppor- 
tunity for display. Master Billy was loud in his complaints at one time 
how a confounded fellow, a tenant of his father's, actually had a case to be 
tried in the very town, and had not given him a brief^ the -— infernal 
scoundrel. The peculiarity of the converse here was, that while in other 
societies people go into corners to say hard thin&;s of their neighbours, the 
niiole thing fell spiritless to the ground unless me victim could hear, and 
was dragged into the fight something like a bull who is roused by the 
picadores in the arena. 

" Well," sang out a gentleman who was lying stretched on his back 
on a sofa, and who had g^ven no proof of vitality hitherto, except occa- 
sional wreaths of smoke from his lips, rousing himself up, flinging away 
the butt of a cigar, and turning on the company a very pallid but clever 
face, with a magnificent forehead, and his thin hair carefully arranged 
over it, " I never saw such a mull as Busheton and Haughton made of 

that infanticide case at T " (the last town where, as I afterwards 

learned, they had been asngned, and got the prisoner off cleverly from the 
capital charge). *^ They were like a couple of ill-conditioned dogs, that 
never ran in couples, each taking a line of his own and choking the other, 
and, when brought to a stand-still, snarling and biling at one another. I 
wonder they did not hang the woman ; they did all that men could do, 
at any rate." 

Tms diatribe, which was entirely unprovoked, was delivered in the 
most sententious manner, and received with a roar of laughter. Busheton 
had sufficient devemess to join the laugh, but Haughton was proceeding 



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198 My lirstEvmmf en Circmt. 



to de6iidliiiDMtf]iKO8i«B0rgetieftUy, and demoostettt tl»t, ai be odled 
it himself, inlnntmg phsMeology, '^the laae" he took mf the n£Bity bat 
wet intemipted by Baiheton : 

*' Nearer Bund that eentankeniome Ledey, Billy, my boy ! It's all 
jealoeey. Now, jiut leave him to me for a mimite, and JrU set you ngbL 
Ahat eieditaUe in the highest degree to our brother Hai:^ht0Q has come 
nitfain my knowledfi^, and I thuoS: it right to make pubuc aa incident 
idueh redounds to uie honour of that distinguished member of the H ■* 
bac'' 

<< What the devil is he at," srowled Master Billy, getting suspidous at 
the friendly assistanoe tendered in such a graodiloqueot strain. 

** Silence, ingrate !" cried Bushetoo, while we all widi one Toiee called 
for « Older." 

Haughton relapsed into silence, and Busheton continued : ^ Ton axe 
aware^ flpentlemen, that our brother has a weakness for luggage, aad that 
to see him starting for circuit, between hat-cases, portmanteaui, tmnks, 
cavpet-bags, desks, sticks, umbrellas, fishing-rods, &c., you cannot per* 
suade yourself but that he is going by long sea to India. It was my 
£ortane^ whether good or ill I do not say, to be at the torminus in Dublin 
when our brother Haughton arrived with his usual array of tcaps, which 
occupied the carman and four porters to get on the train in isme, friend. 
William cursing and fizsing about in the most frantic manner at having, 
amongst other things, either forgotten or lost, in conunr to the station, 
his tlmrd great-coat and one of his railway wrapjpers. I have now stated 
one iacty forming a leading feature in my friend's case necessary to be 
uadentood. Let me remind you of another. Oh, disciples of Hoyle and 
Mi^r A. I yoa are never, even in the most dreary of towns, at a losa 
far a couple of packs of cards whererer Billy is to be found. Is he not 
sowing for himself a rich crop of grstitods, which he will one day 
reap?'* 

^ Isn't that his vocation p" interrupted Lesley. 

^' Insult added to injury," continued Busheton. *^ That reptile lying 
on the ao&L, with his hands in his breeches-pockets, won three pounds ten 
shillings from the amiable William last night. To continue my narra* 
tiye, however, and let me hope free from those unseemly interruptions, 
you are now aware, gentlemen^ that we axe in our fourth town since 
leaving Dublin, and I haTc observed, as we journeyed onwards, that our 
brother Haught<»'s heap of luggage became small by degrees and 
beautifully less, owing to the graceful abandon with wmch he dashed 
out of every town, and his remembering only when he was some twelve 
CK fifteen miles on his vray from the town, that he had forgotten some of 

hie travelling paraphernalia. When we left T ^ he had with him 

something like the ordinary amount of traps which anybody else would 
take with him— one portmanteau, a hat-case^ a great-coat, and a railway 
wrapper. It so happened that when we ^exe getting into the train at 

the T station, the down train to C came up. It was daxk, and 

there was a good deal of confuaioa about the rig^t train to get into. 
Fearing that Master Billy would go wrong some way or other, Igfot him 
into my carriage, with his hat-case in his hand, and his mind for once at 
ease^ as he had given his portmanteau in charge to <me of the railway 
porteis to be put into the luggage van. Affcer g^etting in here^ att waa 
bustle and confusion with the crowd of men rushing backwards and for- 



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My First Evening on CircmL 19t 

fwrds pr^tfemg their things togedier, and maldng ioqeizMS about eoBvey* 
anoes into the town. 1 quietlj extricated my one small pnrtTnmtnw,' 
wUchy tinning porter for the noncey I took on m akoolden^ and went 
out to secure a car. Haying engaged on^ and pkced my poEtmani 

""" """ avpihaddej 



oa it^ I retained to the p]at£dnn for Hanghton. The isnmi had desred 
away a little^ hut it was rather by ihe sound of angry aad enKistuLiling 
tones that I tcaced Master William^ at the extreme end, actnafiy ^uiaag 
with rage, cuising, and spluttering like a red*hot poker in a bucket 
of eold water. * Such ocmdoct was mcmstronsi' * Saeh neelect was 
disgraoeliil !' ' He would write to the direetois !' <^He had nothing 
but the clothes on his back !' ' He would bring an aotioB against tfao 
company r ^The servants should be all dismissed!' Such were the 
aeniuls which reached my ear, together with seme of the moet vigorous 
expletiTes in the English language, and one or two inveated ennisly 
for the occasion. On inquiry I found that our worthy brother had, after • 
all hit care^ botched the thing by neglecting to infinm the porter, 
' the stupidest scoundrel that ever was !' that he was ooming here, and 
the consequence was, in the confusion, that Mr. William's portmaateaii 

was put into the down train to C , and was at the moment some 

eigh^ miles away on its destination. The tdlegradbs have not yet been 
completed, and so up to the present time (some forty-^eht hours) d&e 
un&rtunate young man, reduced to the lowest stage of destitution, haa 
actuaUyto borrow my shirts, and we made our triumphant entry into this 
town, William dinging to the last of his household gooda— his hat«eaae^ 
which contained a dozen of shirt collars, and four packs of cards. Say» 
brethren, has he not earned our lasting gratitude-^and should we not 
contribiMie to relieye his miserable condition ?" 

BushetOA'a story was received with a roar of applause, and Hanghtoa 
was going to bore us with some explanations in his usual voeiferons way, 
when a rather strong knock was heard at the dooz^ aod somebody saiiff 
out, '' Here are the men who have been dining with the judges T and 
hardly was the street-door opened when we heard some person roshina^ 
up-stairs, from the steps evidentiy taking each flight in two bovrnds, ana 
a tall, handsome young man, of a dear cJive oompleziQii, aad quite 
beazdlesd, wzi^pea in a frieze great-coat, which reached to his lieel%. 
burst into the room. 

*' There is Haughton at his oon£ounded portmanteau. 111 engage^ and 
offering to lay five to two that he will prove it to be all the povter^s 
fault," was ms first exclamation on entering. '' I knew, by the con* 
£M2nded rumpus, that you fellows must have been stirring him v^ Grive 
me an old clay p^e, and cut some tobacco, somebody," he continued^ 
taking off his over-coat ; '^ I m starved for a smoke." 

The bustle created by Hevinge's entrance (that was his name) diverted. 
my attention ham the man who came after lum, and who, being sfightiy 
lame, had ascended the stairs in a more leisurely way than nie com- 
panion, aod, coming in quietly, had settied himself with his cigar in a 
comfortable coraar near the nre. My attention was, heiwevar, princi* 
paUy attracted by Hevinge, who, after takiog off his gieatKioat, appeared 
m evening costume of the most soigne description (the dinner with th» 
iudges waa an affair of great cerMnony), and I most confess the contcMfc 
between the elegantiy^ressed, handsome aoan, with his well-CBt aria* 
t(Maalia featuwa and thozoogk-bred looks, and the Uadc day pipe turn. 



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200 My First Evening an Circuit. 

whieh he was extracting Tolumes of smoke, had for me a pecaliar 
interest 

** I say, Hevinge," said one of the men, << had you a pleasant dinner 
with the judges 7^ 

** This is gbrious Cayendish !'* was the reply ; " those cigars are only 
fit for young ladies. Oh, ask Hartley ahout our party; I want to 
smoke : and do settle a table for a rubber." And he continued dili* 
gently his task of " cloud compelling." 

The hint about the whist-table was acted on at once, as our original 
party, which was six, by the addition of the two new comers, formed the 
necessary number for a couple of rubbers. While the tablecloths were 
being settled, Lesley woke up again. 

'< Did Norris'' (this was a na^- working man, who eschewed the whist 
parties as somethmg frightful) " bore you all, talking about contingent 
•remainders and that kind of stuff ?" 

" Rather," said Hartley ; '^ but we have to thank him for drawing a 

mot of Lord Plunket's from old T , which I for one never heard 

of before." 

'^ Let us hear it," cried several. 

'' Well, you must know," continued Hartley, *^ beside Hevinge, 

Norris, and myself, for juniors, we had the father, and » and ^," 

(a couple of old Q.C.s), " at dinner, and as T and die old feUows 

got talking about old times, his lordshin thawed a good deal, and the 
whole thing was much pleasanter and less formal than usuaL After 
dinner was removed and we settled quietly to our claret, that confounded 
Norris began about the right of the landlord to distrain when the re- 
version was fi^ne, and to jaw the old man about that case of Pluck v. 
Digges, in which I believe the court differed on that very point. * Ah,' 
said the old man, with his usual quiet, gentiemanly smile, ^ I remember 
we had a good deal of difficulty about that case. Lord Plunket was our 
chief then, and I was the junior member of the court Judge ■ > 

who was with the pluntiff, sat on one side of him, and Judge ^ who 

differed firom us all, on the other, and in the course of the argument, 
whenever counsel on one side or the other cited a case bearing in favour 
of their own views, each would nudge his lordship most diligently, or pull 

at his robe, to attract his particular attention. *^ Well, T ," sua he 

to me, when we were rising, " this is a most tiresome case ; and as for 
me, it is nothing but" (turning to the other judges) '' pluck on one side 
and digs (Digges) on the other." ' " 

<< Gentlemen," said Hevinge, '' if you mean to play wlust you may as 
well commence, as my landlady says the character of her house will be 
ruined from the disreputable hours you are leading me into^ and I must^ 
therefore, be in before twelve." 

*' What a crammer!" was Busheton^s answer ; '^ the latest man of the 
lot, who has so often seduced me into commencing to play 4cart6 at half- 
past two in the morning, until our candles were gone, even afiker ^very 
irreeular of the corps was reposing in the arms of Morpheus. Ah, Ed- 
ward, you are a bad '«fi, ruining my health and crakter with uneartiily 
hours and much tobacco. We may as well indulge him, however." 
And so saying, we rose to take our places and to cut for partners, after 
which, vrith the exception of an occasional flying shot, and a perfect burst 
of approval and congratulations on one side, and mutual recriminations 



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The Gipgy Girl JOl 

as to good play on the other, after the conclusion of each mbber, together 
with sundry vexed points as to which side laid the five to two, or six to 
four on the rubber, we passed the remainder of the evening in that un- 
broken silence and attention to business which the noble game of whist 
demands from its votaries. It boots not to mention how many cigars I 
smoked, or how many cups of tea I drank (intoxicating fluids don't agree 
with whist, and were consequently not produced), or how I relished a 
smoking hot tumbler of brandy punch before facing the outer atmosphere, 
or what hour in the morning it was, or how one man could not recognise 
his lodgings, there being no numbers on the houses, and wanted to know 
'' what a saddler's shop was like with its shuts up," it is enough that I 
aarived safe in my domicile, and shall not soon forget the friendly welcome 
I received on circuit, or the hearty, odd, and entertaining friends with 
whom I spent that evening, my first on the H bar. 



THE GIPSY GIRL. 

BT MABY C. F. MONCK. 

Tht courtly speech is aU in vain, 

I will not hear thee more ; 
Time was when I had dreams of love, 

But that at last is o'er. 
Go woo the wind that bends yon tree. 

And if it make reply. 
And be the creature of thy will. 

So then in trath shall I. 

I tell thee aU thy flatteries 

Fall idly on mme ear. 
Thy words are dull, and cold, and tame 

To some I used to hear. 
Thou trifler with a thousand hearts I 

Thou never canst have known 
The love that twines its hopes and fears 

Bound one— and one alone. 

I had a lover, he was one 

Who dwelt beyond the sea ; 
And in those dava how £ur was life ! 

How beautiful to me ! 
But he was slain. One sudden blow 

Destroyed the hopes of years. 
The grief that hath the keenest pang 

Is that which sheds no tears. 

Were I to listen to thy vows, 

The grave would vield its dead; 
All visions of an earthly love 

Lie in his lonely bed. 
But were my heart yet free to love. 

No tender speech' of thine^ 
No glance could ever answer find 

In word or look of mine. 



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lOS Tike Gipig Girl 

Ok! kt me Mck my people's taito» 

I kcar thcBT aamea mnled, 
let £ael in my iadyneTit Ivreagt 

I am the mose tneir chaliL 
I pride me that my gipsT Uood 

Speaiks plainly in my laoe, 
Thst on my dnsW brow is marked 

Tbe Bi^ress of my nee. 

I scorn the wealth of shining gems 

That thou wouldst haye me prize ; 
Say, can they match tiie hosts of stars 

Oliftt gem the midnight skies P 
I can not for those scentless bloons, 

Thei^h blight and £ur to yiew ; 
I weary for the wild-wood bdk. 

Bom of the son and dew. 

The deer is lying in the fern. 

In manjr a grassy glade; 
The fawn is bounding through the brake, 

In sunshine and in shade. 
'Tis many a month since I haye seen 

The moon look on t^iose streams. 
Whose yoices haunt my waking hours. 

And fill my sleep with dreams. 

I sicken of this perfiuned air. 

This floor witn earpets decked; 
MystM) fell lighter on the moss 

With leayes and wild-flowers flecked. 
I hate the dusky walls and roofii 

That line each city street ; 
I tremble at the hara, stem eyes. 

The troubled brows I meet. 

I would I miffht awake once moie 

Amid the dewy bowers. 
And feel the mominff incense rise 

From sweet unteaded flowers. 
Those scented waters haye no ohaim 

To cool my achine biow — 
Oh, for the mamomTdiops that hang 

On eyery forest bough I 

The dells and ghides, where not alone 

My steps were wont to roam, 
Haye heard fond words tirnt sought to paint 

My future foreign home. 
I must be free to wander there, 

For, parted though we be, 
The haants we shared haye soothing tongoes 

That speak of him to me. 

I mMtt be free — ^lif e wasteth fast, 

And I am fain to die — 
With nature's loyely solitudes 

And nature's children nieh. 
Nay, plead not : sooner shtdl thy hand 

The summer lightning bind. 
Than thy false loye shaU wean my thoughts 

From all Pye left behind. 



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( SOS ) 
A "VISIT TO T'HTil HOME OF GOETHK 

BT AK OLD TBATELLEB. 

. Thbbb is aotliing pfeposBesBing m tbe exteanal appearance of the 
^ AthoM of Germany." Till the new palaee wa9 erected, Saxe Weimar 
had Bcaroelj a mgle handflome Wlding. The fHitttt Qituft, die 
largest street wsthia the citr, is fitde belter than a lane ; and the streets 
wluDh have been built in tiie neigfabouThoed of the cemetery are only 
handsome as compared with the meanness which preceded them. The 
theatre — Sot the opening of whsdi Sclnller wrote his beanliful prologue 
to Wallenstein— -is perfeetly plain widiout, and I was told that the in- 
terior was eqaally simple ; but there was no performance the night I was 
at Saze Weimar, and when I called at the tlmtre in the morning neither 
money nor entreaties eoold procure me a moment's admission beyond the 
stage-door. During rehearsals it is strictly prohibited, and it was in ths 
instance tbe more ^appointing, as the piece they were reciting was the 
SBoKcttfictn'^ it^tt, and on the spot where the author h»l himself 
assisted at its first performance. To tread the same ground, and lodk 
upon the same objects, associates us more spirttnally with the recollections 
of an eminent man than the sight of relics deposited in glass cases, or 
ohambers that have been desecrated or changed ; and there are number- 
less recollections at Saze Weimar which make us forget its architectural 
poTcrty. The houses of Herder, Schiller, Wiehmd, and Goethe, and the 
associations connected with them, give its streets a higher interest tfian if 
every building^ was a palace. • 

I spent above an hour in the rooms — still remaining as he left them— 
and amongst the rdics of Goethe, under the guidance of one of his friends 
and worshipers; for admirers is too feeUe a term for those who hsYe 
felt deeply iike power of his genius, or the influence of his personal 
acquaintance. There was noming of sj^ndour, noAing even of a 
scholar's luxuries. The handsome copy of ^* Sardanapalus, Foscari, 
and Cain," presented by L<^ Byron, was carefully foMed, as it had 
been by Goethe hinttdf, in a silk pocket kcmdkerektef^.taad placed, with 
a few other volumes, in a drawer apart ; but the generality of his books 
had the plain air of actual service, and most of them had been the com- 
panions of his long life. They were arranged on shelves of unpainted 
wood, in a small chamber adjoining his study, which was itself as {Mainly 
furnished. A common table, a deal writing desk, a few shelves, and one 
or two cabinets of the simplest workmanship, were all I noticed. Near 
his desk Was hung a plaster medalHoD, encirded by himself with an 
inscription in ink — SciUcet immenso superest ex nomine multum. It was 
a profile of NapcJeon, which had fidlen from the wall and been broken 
into fragments on die day of the battle of Leipsic, almost at the moment 
it was lost. The coincidence seems to have made considerable impression 
upon the imagination of Goethe, who was present when it fell, and by 
wnom the fragments had been reunited and carefully preserved. 

Of his MSS. I was shown the original ®cf(!^i(6tC ®0ttftUitni 90n 
ScrH4>ingCtt/ written in the German character, in 1774 ; and << Erotica 
Bomana," written in ** Italian hand/' and dated 1778. My companion 



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204 A Visit to the Home of Goethe. 

told me that while sitting with him ia 1816, the senrant having ne- 
glected to supply them with wood, Goethe had told him to feed the stove 
with the manuscript <^ Erotica." He managed, however, to conceal and 
preserve it, and evidently felt proud at having saved a relic from the 
flames. 

In one part of the room were materiab for some of the experiments 
connected with his QatittiU^tC ; and in the cover of a letter, near one 
of the windows, were some fragments of coloured silk, which had an 
interest of a different description when I heard for what purpose they had 
been employed. It appeared that his grandchild had been in the habit 
of visiting him in his study. He was too kind-hearted to repel her; 
and when he did not wish to be interrupted he placed her by his side, 
and offered some small new coin as a reward for unravelling one of the 
silken shreds : an occupation that generally kept her quiet I thought 
more of Goethe after hearing this trifling an^ote than after reading 
even his ^' Faust." A mere heartless man of talent must be little better 
than a Mephistopheles. 

Adjoinine the study was the poet's bedroom : a small narrow doset 
with a single window looking into the garden ; much the same in size 
and appearance as I have seen occupied by a Franciscan friar in his 
convent. In a comer, the wall of which was tapestried with a piece 
of common black-and-green carpeting, stood his bed, small and un* 
curtained, and by its side the chair in which he died. A clock that had 
marked the hours both of his birth and death was placed in an ante-room, 
where there were also his collection of minerals and a few of his books. 

These were the private apartments ; the retirement of the scholar and 
man of genius ; but the principal suite of rooms had scarcely an inferior 
interest. Here, deposited in glazed presses, were the objects which had 
gratified his tastes or awakened his recollections of the past. Antiquities 
and medals, the skull of Vandyke, bronzes, arms, and all the anticaglie 
that a poet or a painter loves to possess. In one of them was a letter 
addressed to him by Sir Walter Scott, with his usual beauty of style and 
kindness of heart. Its commencement alone is a lesson to iiie vanity or 
impertinence that so often obtrudes itself upon the privacy of an eminent 
man. Venerable and much-regpected Sir, are the words with which 
Scott — ^his equal in talent and in &me — thinks it right to preface his 
homage to the genius of Goethe. How many of the small-fry of litera- 
ture have approached the author of '< Waverley*' himself with less of 
reverence ! or fancied, in the abundance of their self-esteem, that to have 
addressed any one as *' venerable and much-respected sir" would have 
been a lessening of their own consideration. The contents of the letter 
I cannot pretend to remember, but I recollect that its effect, as that of 
most of his other writings, was to make me think better of human 
nature. There was a private letter, in French, horn the Duke of 
Wellington to the Duke of Saxe Weimar, introducing to him a son of 
Lord Mansfield ; and a whole portfolio of despatches (addressed to Grene- 
ral Rapp) by the most distbguished of Napoleon's officer. 

Then there was the volume which Goethe used to call his *^ Album" 
— a collection of the portraits of his friends ; and when I had looked over 
these more hastily than I could have wished, I had still to see a treasury 
of the rich offerings which, at various times, had been made to him by 



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A Visit to the Home of Goethe. 205 

his coantiymen and admirers. They were deposited, as from their value 
and interest they deserved to he, in an iron chest secured by several 
curiously-constructed locks, and some of them were precious even as 
works of art There was a crown of laurel, the leaves of gold, the berries 
of emerald, sent from Frankfort in 1819 or 1820; and worthy, for its 
beauty alone, to be placed among the reg^ia of an emperor. It was ac- 
companied by a detached leaf of the same workmanship, with an intima- 
tion that as a year had elapsed since the wreath was ordered, and as every 
year of his life added a iresh leaf to the laurels of Goethe, his admirers 
had felt that their offering would be incomplete without a type of the 
year that had passed. This was not the only present he had received 
firom his native town : there was also a silver drinking-cup which had 
been sent to him with some choice hock, and bore an inscription to the 
effect that " the mind was invigorated by wine, and there could be no 
fire without fuel." Mr. Gough would be of a different opinion. 

A handsome seal of enamelled gold, the offering of fifteen of the great 
poet's Britbh admirers ^eluding Scott^ Moore, Carlvle, &c.), was 
engraved with the motto D^nc ^aft aitt Oj^ne rof}— which has more 
meaning (said one of my German friends) than the mere words import ; 
it refers not exactly to '^ the spur that the clear spirit doth raise" 

To scorn delights, and live laborioos days; 

but to some inward impulse to '^eontinuedy though not headlong^ 
progress ;" or it might be rendered by the haJ6n festina tente. These are 
but a small part of the costly gifts which I might notice, were I writing 
a guide-book or a catalogue. 

I have never approached the private life of a man of genius — and it 
has not always been as a stranger — ^without being as much struck by the 
discovery of nis habits of unwearied application, the amount of his actual 
manual'laboury as I had previously been by the splendour of his talents. 
Goethe's correspondence alone, deposited in one of the closets of the book- 
room, filled two hundred and twenty-three MS. volumes ; and, in the 
midst of his multifarious labours, he kept a diary, or Zaatini>, that 
would itself form an extensive work. The last of the volumes which 
contain it oommences January^ 1831, with some observations on Scott's 
Demonology, and ends the 15th Msdrch, 1832, with a memorandum of 
his physician Professor VogeFs account of a recent excursion to Jena, 
with which Goethe expresses himself well pleased. On the 22nd he died. 

The visit I have just attempted to describe was but the commencement 
of my literary pilgrimage through Weimar. There were still to be seen 
the nouses of S(£iller, of Wieland, and of Herder; and the places of 
their sepulture. 

To reach the last resting-place of Schiller and of Goethe, it was neces- 
sary to take a rather long walk to the @OtttiattXf or cemetery; an 
establishment of modem date, where the arrangements for the prevention 
of premature interment are said to have been tiie model for those adopted 
at Frankfort. 

Near its centre rises a Doric chapel, surmounted by a cupola, which 
forms the mausoleum of the sovereigns of Saxe Weimar, their coffined 
remains being deposited in its vault. It was here the Grand-Duke Carl 
desired that we bodies of his friends, the poets whom he had loved and 
honoured, should be placed beside his own ; but his wishes have been 

June — VOL. CIV. no. occcxiy. f 



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206 A Visit to the Home of Go$the. 

neglected, or found incompatiUe with etiquette, for, dumgh adiaitted to 
the same chamber of the dead, the mnains of Goethe and of Schiller aie 
placed in a comer apart, «nd at a very respectful diatanoe fimn those of 
grand^dukea and ducheaooo. Thia— -to use the words of Herr von Baumer, 
on a different occasion— is Utinlkb unb tlid^t 19«ir6ig— a wrong done 
both to the dead and the living. It eeems like cairying the fivmalitieB 
of a court into the solemnities of uiother world. 

We retamed through the park— one of the most beautifui in German j, 
as it baa always been deaoribed— 4md passed near the small white cottage 
that generally, for six or eight weeks, was the summer resideoce of 
Croethe, and is menti<med by him with pleasant remembrances in bis 
Terses on the @iirt€lliKllll 4in |>art. It has no pnieimon^ but is pve- 
cisely the 

Humble shed. 

Where roses breatbioff, 

And woodbines wreathing, 
Around the windows their tendrOs spread ; 

which MoOTe describes as the abode of love-— Theodore Hook calls a 
dampety; and those **in smoky cities pent*' panse to look at in their 
evening walks, and envy. 

From this I went with my companion to the Grand-Ducal Library 
— a collection of about 130,(XX) volumes, not, on this occasion, to see its 
books, but its relics. Here^ <>gBin, was Goethe, in the bust executed a 
year before his death by David, and inscribed with a quotation from 
Schiller ; and there was a bust of Schiller, with a quotation from Goethe. 
There were also busts of Herder and of Wieland ; a fine portrait of 
Charles V. as a monk (which Mr. Stirling should have bad as an illus- 
tration of his ^^ Cloister Life ") ; an engraved one of Canning ; and a 
well-paiatod full-length of the Grand-Duke Carl, whose cast of features 
very much lesemUes that of the great poet whom he was pfoad to call 
his friend. It would be difficult to say whether the name of the grand- 
duke or the anthor of << Faust "«— die &to9 <^ar}Og or the @t0$ 2)i<btcr 
had been the most foequently repeated to me dating my fatief stay 
at Saae Weimar. I had still to s oo ' disfJayed m the libcaiy (as Sir 
Walter Scott's at Ahbotsford) — ^the dress he wore at court; a oommon 
dark-gresn coat, trimmed widi gold laoe, and p r oss r ved with as much 
veneration as its neighbeuriqg rdlic, the choristet^s dress of Luther ; a 
kind of coarse brown tunic, well won, and apparently without much 
attention to a viitue which is still not veiy stnotly xeganied by a nation 
who only use baths medieinallv. 

With these our tidemda finishedt and a drive of less than two hours 
brought us to the heights above Jena — the scene of the great battle of 
180G. To an unprofessional eye, it seems impossible &t such steep 
acclivities could be carried against a straur and well-placed force. My 
military friends tell me that it is not ao diffioult as it appears. Much of 
the fire down uneven ground is ineffective; and, when it comes to the 
bayonet, victory does not greatly depend upon the locality. 

This, however, has nothing to d» with my recolleetioQS of Goethe. 
They are, I confess, of little amount; and — great as he is-^I should not 
spedc of him as of Shakspeare ; but what would we not give for notioss 
of Shakq»eare's halnts and his home, even such as those which I haYe 
chanced to ooUeot of Goethe ? 



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( Ml ) 



DIASY OP A FIRST WINTER IN ROME— 1854. 

BT riiOaiMBTIA. 

The Pomm and the Capitol by Night — ** la Memoriam"— Legendi of the Choich 
of the Ara Cooli— A Scrap of Contemporary History. 



I larr dw party widi wbnEi I had visitad the Oolseimi deefp in dis- 
cnasioit of aoertain enpem^s simposed admiration o£ «n English hdy, 
who^ if report speaks tnie, would liave had no manner of objectton to 
ve-eiwct <te raie of the Montespan or the Poaapadoor. The Frenoh 
ladies had been chamed with the ooloaied ligfate anda game af hide^and- 
seek wiih the*ooant in the lower gallery. Every one was talking. I 
fnned for sditade, and stole away aloi^^ the Saimd Way towanis the 
Fonnn. Onoa oi;^ of the leach of the ladies' shiili ToiceS) not a soand 
broke the solemn stiJlness of the night ; the moon, tat high in tihe 
heatens, cast down her ^ dim rdigions i^ht," the stars shone out, leading 
the mind to other sj^sms halaneing in space, more glorious perehance 
than our earth ; the night faireeaes blew so^y by, loaded with the mout 
odour of flewen, and wated the dark groves en the Palwtine Hill, stem 
and repokiTS in aspect even nnder the faanaonioos influences of diis fair 
suaamer n%lit How was it ? Saddmly a olond came before my eyes, 
the present vanished, and I was again at ttw old home, the pleasant home 
where I was bom. How my Imrt swdled as I looked at the bright 
English woods of hvin^ oak, and the pretty garden sloping to the sun, 
whue I played as a child I and there was the verandah and the dear 
round room, and the books, and the am-efaair, and one tiiat sat on it, so 
fondly loved, so hardly parted from — one I never may see again ! Her 
fond gaze was on me with an earnest mother's fiance, and I felt her soft 
hand. But hold, my tears ! — ^the vision had ^-— all was plain around 
me, and my soul sickened to think It was a dream I but oh ! the depths of 
household memories, the deem thiiiliBg chords of xinutterable love that 
were struck in that brief instant of my spirit's wandering ! 

Opposite die Coliseum, on a low h&i, stands a londy poitioo, its altar 
broken and its statnes gone, once forming part of the magnificent temple 
designed and binlt by Adrian, and dedicated to Venus am to Rome. A 
forest of degant anoble arcades on either side towards ^ Forum and 
the Coliseum maited ib» doable poitico elevated on marble steps, con- 
ceived by the imperial ar^teet as an improvement on the designs of the 
fomons Apollodoms, whose skill had roosed his envy, and whose life was 
afterwards saerificed by a too honest criticism on iM emperor's erection. 
Still, notwithstanding the disapprobation of Apollodoros, no temple in 
ancient Rome oo«dd have exoelled it in excellence and grandeur. The 
remains of the pillared colonnade border the Sacred Way, on which I 
walked, still pav«d with great blocks of stoae^ worn by the marks of the 
^laiiot-wheeis of M Rome 1 What a world of recollectioRS does it 
evoke I What tears have fallen he r o -what glory paased by I How 
many joyfol feet have rushed along it — what noble blood has soiled it ! 
Here passed the emperors Angnstus, Nero, Tiberius, Calisula, Domitian, 
^;ods and priaatS) ta offer sacimoes in the great temple of Jupiter Capt- 

p 2 



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208 Diary of a First Winter in Awne— 1854. 

tolinusy *' supremely great and good," followed by the most goigeous 
traiDS the san ever shone upon ; here passed the triumphant generals and 
commanders seated in burnished chariots of gold — Trajan, and Titus, 
and Julius CsKar, Fompey, and Sylla — and so many others, crowned with 
martial laurels won from oarbaiian nations whose names the world scarce 
knew, bearing the front of celestial Jove himself in their high pride, as 
the voices of assembled thousands proclaimed them '* saviours of their 
countiy," and saluted the victorious legions in their train, while heavy 
fell on (hose great stones the feet of the long line of captives, dragging 
their clanking chains ; here passed the sainted apostles Peter and Pai3 
to the damp vaults of the Mamestine prison under the lof^y shrine of 
Jupiter, whose altars ere long were to fall beneath the power of that 
faith they were about to seal with their blood ; and here the captive Jews, 
chained to the car of victorious Titus, licked the dust befbre the Roman 
plebeians. And if tears have fallen, blood has also been spilt. The aged 
Gfllba tottered along it towards the Milliarum Aureum, where, regardless 
of his grey hairs, the savage soldiers mercilessly massacred him, opposite 
the Forum, in face of the Koman people, who dared not raise a voice to 
stay the cruel deed. Vitellius, too, was drageed half clothed along the 
Sacred Way, like a beast to be slaughtered in tne shambles. Here in early 
times the wicked Tullia passed, mounted in her chariot, on to the Forum, 
where sat her husband Lucius^ the murderer of her father, whom she 
saluted king ; here Messalina, proud as a Juno, displayed her voluptuous 
charms and perfumed vestments to the gaze of the Romans. Lucretia's 
footsteps often pressed these stones when, still a proud and happy wife, 
she pa^ed to sacrifice in the temple of Juno, where none but the chastest 
matrons dared to enter ; out by hence Volumnia and Valeria sped, fired 
with the high resolve of saving prostrate Rome; and young Virginia, the 
sweetest maid in Rome, 

With her small tablets in her hand. 
And her satchel on her aim. 
Forth she went bounding to the school, 
Nor dreamed of shame or harm. 

The elegant Horace himself tells us he loved to saunter here and criti<> 
dse the passing scene — and Cicero, with his imperious wife, Terentia — 
and Catullus and Tacitus — and Livy, all in their day traversed this great 
world-thoroughfare, ever moving, ebbing and flowing with multitudes 
from the basilicas, the temples, die forums, the circus that bordered its 
sides, where stood strange uncouth elephants of bronze, side by side, with 
the statue of Horatius, who nobly held the bridge against the Etruscan 
army — one man's arm against a host — and of the brave maiden Closlia, 
who, rather than dwell longer in the camp of her country's enemies, trusted 
herself and her companions to the waters of the Tiber, *' to whom the 
Romans pray." 

And now, I have reached the Forum. How lovely it is here under 
this mild and tempered light! No harsh lines — no rude contrasts — 
no incongruous colours now are visible to break the spell that haunts 
the scene of the mighty past : under the benignant mantle of night the 
present has vanished, and the calm moon shines but on the remnants of 
classic Rome. The lonely marble pillars stand out dear and bright^ 



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^ Diary of a First Winter in jBoiim— 1854. 209 

HukiBg together historic recoUeetions of the palladian splendour that once 
adoroMl tms space ; lofty arches appear, bemng no marks of decay, but 
fresh and snowy as when first dug from the marble quarries ; and the 
deep porticos cast long shadows over the modem buildings, which now 
shrink back, ashamed to obtrude on this holy ground haunted by the 
memories of grand and heroic deeds, and sacred in the world's historic 
page aboye any other spot on God's wide earth. It is an awful and a 
solemn thing to visit the valley of the Forum by night ; the darkness of 
ages and the dimness of decay is imaged by the heavy gloom hanging 
around the mysterious precincts, haunted by the spirits of the mighty 
dead, whose shadows seem to linger about the habitations they loved so 
well when living. Here then stood that venerable Forum, the hearth 
and home of early as of imperial Rome ; the market, the exchange, the 
judgment-seat; the piomenaide, the parliament ; where lived, and moved, 
and loved, and fought that iron nation predestined to possess the earth — 
founded in the fiibulous days when the world was young, and the gods 
loved <* the daughters of men," and descended to enjoy the fruits of the 
earth — by Romulus on the field when he waged battle with the Sabine 
forces. Finding that his troops were flying before the enemy, and that 
no one would face about to fignt, Romulus knelt down in the midst of 
the terrified soldiers, and lifting up his hands to heaven, prayed " Father 
Jupiter^' to defend and re-establish his people now in extreme peril. 
Jupiter, it was believed, heard and granted the prayer ; for the fu^tives, 
struck with sudden reverence for their king, turned and re-formed their 
broken lines, and in their turn repulsed the advancing Sabines. But the 
daughters of the Sabines, who had been forcibly carried off from the 
Great Circus, rushing down from the Aventine between the opposing 
armies, with dishevelled hair, and cairying their in&nts in their arms — 
calling now on a Roman husband, now on a Sabine father or brother to 
desist — steyed the fight by their cries, lamentations, and entreaties, with 
appeals too eloquent to resist. Peace was concluded between the two 
nations, and Tatius, the Sabine king, offered sacrifices and joined in amity 
and eternal friendship with Romulus — ^burying the wrongs done to the 
Sabine women in the foundations of the Forum. Tarquinius Priscus raised 
around it spacious porticos to screen and temper the halls from the sun 
and wind, and built shops for the foreign wares that came from Ostia, 
and from Antium, and Etruria, as the city grew rich and flourishing— 
those shops for ever famous as the place where perished Virginia by her 
father's hand, before the ivory chair of the detested Apptus, who, powerful 
and imperious as he was, surrounded by the lictors, and supported by the 
power of the fasces, could not force a Roman virgin to shame. By the 
spirit of Lucretia the hauehty tribune strove in vain ! 

I endeavoured to rebuild the fallen walls of the Forum such as they 
afterwards appeared — a vast and noble enclosure — ^pillared on double 
rows of marble columns, open arcades, and majestic porticos, stretohing 
away in long lines towards the temple-capped Capitoline Mount, rising 
at the further extremity. Between the two long, pillared aisles, rose a 
low wall of division, hung, in the time of Cassar, with splendid drapery, 
descending in heavy folds from the ceiling, more effectually to shelter 
the togaed senators and tribunes and patricians that paced up and down 
the feng arcades on brilliant mosaic floors, or sat in judgment within 



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aiO Diary fjfa First WhUer in Rome— 196^. 

tli0 ieuteoiiOQn^ giving Iews to tlw uiiiicfse. IniiiJiiMnbie statneS) 
modelled by the bait ac uhrto w of Gfeeoe and Rome, broke ik» fines fk 
the eolannidci^ wfa^ brmiant paintiiigs lit up the walls inthin whoae 
ample enoloesra nee great baBihca»— the Optima, tiie iBmiKan, and the 
Jidian, beaidea the Comitiom, where the Corise me t wh ose walb were 
llie witneaaeaol A» erael seoui^g^ing inflioted on the apoaUes St. Peter and 
St. Fillip befcae they were led oat to die. The rostra stood within the 
endoaore o£ the Fomm, oontaimog the orator^s pulpit, where Rome had 
so oftm \axng enchanted over the eloquence of Cioero; Mark Anthony 
had fired the popolace to revenge '* great Ccesar's faH," Ae mutikted 
body lying exposal before him ; Caiua Graochm melted the hearts of \m 
audience ; and Manfins soogfat to suspend the £rtal sentence hanging 
over hxm, aa he pointed to the Capitol, and bade his cotintrynen re-^ 
member his arm alone had sostained it. Close at hand waa the tribimai 
where the magiaftrates sat on ivory chairs, whence came the decree of 
Bmtus^ condemning his own sons to die, and of Titos Manlins^ who pre* 
feiied hia son's death at his tribunal, rather than, fiving^, know him dis- 
obedient to the consular power he wielded — barbarous rigour, that 
afterwards vrrougfat sueh grief and woe, when powor and injustice went 
hand*in-haad in Rome. Near grew die NumxnaK8-*4he mysterioua 
figwtree — ^whose shade sheltered Romulus and Remus while the wolf 
suckled them. In the time of Augustus it was enclosed by a temple. 
The sanctuary of Vesta, with its roof of bronie, stood near the Comitium, 
obwdar in shape, and chaste and pure^ as suitable to the virgin daughter 
of Saturn, where the saered virgins, clad in long white vestments bor- 
dered with imperial purple^ tended the sacred firs under the image of 
the goddess, and guarded the Trojan Palladinm — ^the golden shi^d — on 
whose preservation it was said RcHoe's existence depended. Behind the 
temple^ at the foot of the Palatine, rose a wood of evergreen oaks^ de- 
votM to silence and repoae, where the dariE branches waved over die 
tombe of the departed vestals, whose spirits it was believed passed at 
onee to the delights of Elysium. Under the Palatine HiH, and near the 
shrine of Vesta, a pure fountain of freshest water gushed into a mag* 
nifieent marble basm, close to the portico of the temple dedicated to 
Castor and Pollux. It was said, and believed, that alier the battle of 
Lake Regillus, the great twin brethren, mounted on snow-white homes 
and radiant in celestial beauty, suddenly appeared in ihe Forum, and 
announced to the anxious and expectant multitude the victory gained by 
iheir fellovr-dtixens over the Etruscans. At this fountain they stopped 
and relreshed their horses, and when asked whenoe they came and bj 
what name m«i called them, they suddenly disappwed. So tlie 
Romans raised a temple to their nonour by the spring where they 
had stood on mortal eardi. 

Where now the moon lights up a barren space, the Lake of Curfiua 
onoe yawned in the midst of the Forum, to the horror and astonishment 
of thte superstitious senators, who judged the omen so awful, that the 
god's anger could alone be allayed by the sacrifice of what Rome deemed 
to be most precious — a bold and noble warrior, who, armed cap-i-pie^ 
flung himself headlong into <^e gulf. 

Afterwards Domitian raised, as it were in derision, a colossal statue 
of himself over thb spot where the ground had closed, hallowed by 



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Diary of a Fim WmUr m R(me—1B54. 211 

{MlTiotie reeoiUeotioiui. B«8id» it stands tlie single oohmm of Fhoeas^ 
stiU ]«auuning>, once crowned by his gilded statue ; while, to the rights 
the massive jpile ol the tnnmphant Anik of Severus flings down bla<^ 
shadows on the maiUe stain deseeoding from the Capitc^ 

The Capitol, the heart of Rome and sanctoaiy of the Pftgan world, 
that scene of palladian magnificence^ stood forth in my &ney radiant 
and glorious, piled with terraoes of pUkred temples, and superb porticos^ 
and lofty aidies, rising above each other, as it were the abodes of the 
gods on earth, watching what passed below among the children of men. 
Here, amidst statnes, monuments, and colamns, rise sumptuous temi^es, 
dedicated to PeacCy to Vespasian, Jupitor, Feretrins^ and Saturn ; while^ 
crowning the hill, and overlooking the Forum, is the Tabularium, sui^ 
rounded bj long ranges of open porticos, within whose walls hang re* 
corded, on tables of btass, the treaties Rome ocmcluded imth friei^ or 



Around is the open space called the Intermontiuro, between the rising 
peaks of the hill, where grew a few shattered time«wom oaks, endeared 
to the plebs by the recollection that Romulus made this spot at all times 
the most sacred and inviolable asylum to all who sought the hospitality 
of his new ci^«— all Grimes, all treasons safely harboured here I Above, 
to the right, elevated high over the clustered temples, arches, and palaces, 
nproee the awful fime of Jupiter Capitolinus, at once a fortress — ^founded 
on a precipice— and a sanctuary, containing the f(Ual oracles <^ the 
tutriar deities, from its sise, name, splendo^, and the dignity of its 
wor s hip^ exceeding any other edifice in the world — the most veneraUe 
and the most gorgeous pUe that the imagination of man can conceive^ 
adorned with idl that art could invent, and Uazing vrith the plunder of 
the workL Here came the consuls to assume the military drMS, and to 
ofier sacrifices before proceeding to battle ; here, on special seasons of 
danger, the senate assembled in the presence of the god presiding over 
the destiniea of the people ; here the laws were displayed to the eitiaensi 
and the most goigeous religious rites performed. The fii^e, turned 
towards the south and east, consisted of a gigantio portico supported by 
six ranges of columns ; statues of gilt bronie alternated vrith the pillars, 
on whieh vrere suspended countless trophies of rict<»7 and magnificent 
shields and plates of gold, along with die glittering arms won from bar- 
barian enemies of thi gods, together ^ith the swords, and axes^ and 
shields worn by generals who hid returned victorious to Rome and en- 
joyed the honours of a military triumph ; statues of gilt Inronae were 
ranged alonff the roof, covered in vrith tiles of gilt bnss, all save the 
copok, whien was open, disdainiTig any other roofing but the skies; 
superb basso-refievos deooreted the entablature and frieae^ while vast 
oolonnades of the most preaeua coloured marbles extended from either 
side of die central temple, linking the ride porticos of almost eoual 
splendour. That to die r^ht was dedicated te Juno, that to the left to 
Minorva, the wife and daughter of the terrible god who sat enthroned 
within the gilded walls of the central sanctuary, surrounded b^ statues of 
Ae inferior deities, crowned with a golden diadem, and weaimg a toga 
ef purple, holding in hb hand the a(wful thunder deedned to destror the 
enemies of imperial Rome^ Jupiter, <*sapremelY great and goed,'^ had 
never, accovding to the Romans^ oondescendea to inhabit any other 



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212 Diary of a First Winter in Bome—l^M. 

earthly abode, and was particularly propitiooB when approached in his 
^wful temple on the Capitol, where lus altars burned with perpetual in- 
cense, spread by imperial hands, and g^neraU, kings, and potentates came 
from the fax ends oi the earth to offer costly sacrifices and worship. 

Beyond the Tabularium, on the opposite side of the hill, where the 
moon lights up a mass of dingy walls, uprose the citadel built on the 
Tarpeian Rock, its base once bathed by the waters of the Tiber. This 
fortress, conquered by the indi^^nt Sabines, and so heroically de- 
fended by Manlius against the Gauls, is now no more ; not a vestige 
remains, save the " brazen images" of those patriotic geese that woke 
the echoes on that dark night so nearly fatal to the existence of Rome, 
preserved in the modem Campidoglio. A temple dedicated to Juno 
Moneta was afterwards built on the S}undatioDS of the house of Manlius, 
where the archives of the city and the public treasury were kept. And 
what was this mightv city that I have sought to disinter from the dark- 
ness of the past, and to rebuild, standing alone in the Forum under the 
moon's pale light ? Within its precincts the daric ilex and cypress- 
branches waved over altars, grottos, and tombs, in thirty-two sacred 
groves. Fourteen aqueducts once linked the city with the Alban and 
Sabine Hills, drawing large rivers and softly gushing mountain springs to 
feed its fountains, palaces, and circuses. From the golden milestone in 
the Forum, roads extended over the whole world — ^the Appian, the reeina 
viarum, passing through Naples to Brindisi, the Flaminiao, the Aurdian, 
the Latin iBmilian and Salarian Ways. On those endless high-roads, in 
the sumptuous palaces, under the countiess porticos, in the temples, the 
forums (of which Rome reckoned fourteen, each of surpassing magni- 
ficence), the circuses, the baths, all monuments of the luxury, the power, 
and the civilisation of the mistress of the world, five millions of inha- 
bitants circulated. Fifty-six public baths of unrivalled size and splendour 
served as a promenade and recreation to a luxurious people. Two im- 
mense amphitheatres and two circuses, each accommodating nearly one 
hundred thousand spectators, amused the idleness of this vast multitude. 
Five vast lakes for naval combats, thirty-six marble arches of triumph, 
nineteen pubUc libraries, forty-eight obelisks, and a universe of marble, 
bronze, and stone statues, people anew the city with an elegant and 
refined splendour. 

Where now the desolate Campagna clasps the fallen city with a zone 
of rural beauty — buildings, streets, markets, temples, gardens— the 
environments of an immense city once appeared. The fiital pregnant 
beauty of this district tells a tale of former splendour, even after cen- 
turies of ruin, and amid the rank vegetation of the south. Rome 
once extended to Otricoli (a day's journey distant), to Ostia (where the 
sea bore merchandise and riches to its shores), to Tivoli and Albano ; and 
then came the enchanting villas, and the wealthy fstrms and rich vine- 
yards of the emperors and the nobles, nesUing in the soft valleys, and 
dottbg the distant mountains witii incredible fertility and Arcadian 
beauty. 

It IS said that when Hormisdas, the Persian architect, accompanied the 
Emperor Constantino into Rome, he was so astonished at the mndeur 
of the buildings, that he supposed he had passed through the finest 
portion of the city, while still upwards of twenty miles distant from the 



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Diary of a Firii Winter in Rome—\%M. 213' 

Foram ! But Rome — still bearing even in her decline the heayenly keyi/ 
eonfemng the sacred power to bind and to loose the Catholic world, and 
the golden crown for the head of imperial Ciesar — no longer wears the glit- 
tering robes of purple and gold as of yore, the nniTerse no longer quails 
under her iron sceptre ; sorrow, and suffering, and age, and ruin, have 
wrinkled her imperial l»ow ; her lofty spirit has fled, her head is bent 
down in the dust, and she weeps, for the dajs of her mourning aie come ! 
But, in the midst of mj joy and happiness at being in Rome, Death 
came like a dark shadow between me and the living, obscuring the bright, 
enticing World, and spreading his gloomy wings over one I loved. 
Death came with his icy breath, to tell me that this world is but a 
passing, many-hued vision, and that art, and intellect, and earthly spran- 
deur, and the pride of wealth, and the deliehts of learning, and the 
intoxication of science, roust all fall before the mysterious summons to 
that unseen world, towards which each moment we are hastening ! It 
came like a sad but wholesome lesson, for I had been too happy. A 
lovely girl, not yet twenty, had come from the distant shores of the 
New World to seek for health under these warm Italian skies. She was 
beautiful, this young American — ^beautiful with the type of her Indian 
blood— dark, restless, gaselle eyes, fringed by long silken eyelashes, and 
brown hair, braided over a chiselled forehead, pure as a Madonna ; but 
there was death in the fragile form and rosy complexion of those thin 
cheeks. Yet she was young and full of hope, life lay so fresh and fair 
before her, and she fought valiantly with her insidious enemy. Her 
gaiety, her grace, her goodness, and a certain merry roguishn^s, that 
became her prettily, seemed to defy the dark fate loommsf in the distance. 
We forgot she was ill, for she was the gayest of us all, and entwined 
round our very hearts. But the dreary day came, in ^e early spring, 
when even Italian winds are chill and wintry. She sank, and sank. 
Still ever and anon abundant youth, and the fresh blood in her veins, 
bounded forth, and she fought sorely with the foe. But her hours were 
numbered, and the angel of death descended upon that once cheerful 
house, and bore our pretty flower to bloom in the neavenly gardens. In 
pity to her innocence and youth the dread visitant came sofUy and 
gently. She died sitting in ner chair, and none knew, until she was cold, 
but that she peacefully Numbered. Sleep it was — ^but a sleep from which 
there is no awaking to the soft voice of beloved friends. Oh ! there was 
grief, horror, and misexy, and despair, when we knew that she was called 
away. It was a scene too harrowing to describe. Then there came 
friends of her own land — holy, pious women like the blessed saints of old — 
and they performed every office tenderly and kindly, usually left to 
menials and hirelings. But they loved her too well not to attire her them* 
selves for the last solemn ceremony. 

All honour to those noble-minded American mothers who had the 
fortitude to step between the dead and the living; their names are 
surely registered in heaven for this high act of Christian sympathy, 
and their charity shall cover a multitude of sins in the mighty day 
of reckoning ! They laid her on the bier in the same room where 
her mexry laugh had so lately echoed, and where we had gazed with 
delight at her beauty. A plain deal shell, the boards uncovered, accord- 
ing to tdbe Italian custom, enclosed her virgin form. Did I speak of 



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S14 Dkary efa lint WuUer tit Borne— ISU. 

btraty? Nevw^aahelook iMlfsoftir. Deaili had tpved her efvn a 
sigfa, and ahe ky^calm and eomposed as a sleeping ia£nit — akfaaster was 
B€* mofe ninle* Tlie long Issoes firingvd her Me cheeks^-*-a wreath of 
white roses booad hsr templesy and the white shrond, and the wiowoe o£ 
ridb aabnm hair. A cracafix lay on her bvessty and white flowers, fit 
emUems of her mstdsn innoeenee, strewed the coffin* Nerer hefese had 
I looked on ibe iaoe of the dead; hot hese was no honor ; death was 
dbarmed of aU Us terrors^ and seemed hot Uie gentle messenger to 
eternal peace in the far-off iatheiland aboye. Then was no r e se rv e or 
refanl m the snrriTOCS to reeeire the sympathy of friendsb We safe 
ronnd the darkened room in solemn oontemplatioo, and prsiyed befoie 
the bier. Eternity seemed there^ and the sweet dead linked us to the 
wvrld of spints wnither we must all go. The crowd and the garish 
worid boned and jarred around, heedless of our great grief. Day and 
night we sat besrae the corpse and watched ; no one would leave her ; 
there was a spell around her even in death — that sweet giri 1 But on 
Ae evening of dM second day there came many steps, and whiqwrings of 
strange voices^ and strange forms appeared like spirits of evil, ^tarful to 
behoM, all dothed in bk^ from head to foot, only tbeireyeswere visible 
ifan>i:^h the serge raments; they bore torches in their ba ad s, and 
passed round oar beloved. We took one last look — imptessed one last 
loss on tiie palc^ iey lips — scattered fresh flowers fsfrer the bser, and she 
was borne out by the black gliding ghosts. A long pvocession formed 
in Ae street — ^pviests, and monks, and choristers ; and I saw her ovesw 
shrouded by we pall---4he white crown of roses at her head, and a cross 
of flowers at her feet ; and the k>w chant burst forth, and the tapefS 
glinBMrad in the dark street^ and she was gone from vb/ot mtert 

^ And who,'*8md L ^ ^ will watch over our dear 8 to-sigfat 

in ^ dark, lonely dinrch Y* 

"^ The angeh, We," reified W y << will be there; ihey will gaaid 

oar sister I* 

I have alread|y mentioned i^ church of the Ara Coeli, and its miraoiM 
\aos and very i^ly Bambino Santo^ which, at the time of ^ revolution, 
drove about, thsy say, in tihe Pope's state carriage^ by order of the 
government, to visit the ack who invoked it. Beside the splendid 
memories that cliag to these moulderii^ walls, now fidhng into a second 
decay, as the^t vdiefe oaoe stood the glittering temple of Jupiter Capi- 
tolnras^ there is much that is venerable and interesting in its arohitectnra 
and traditiona It stands on die highest noint of the Capitoline Hil^ 
elevated above the modem structure of the CamptdogKo^ designed fay 
Michael Angelo— 4o aay mind one of the many ^oscos committed by that 
eatraofdinary man. The principal entrance is reached by a broad and 
lofty flight of one hundred and twenty-lbur marble steps^ evideatly a 
remnant of ihe Pagan temple. At Cmistmas-time it is the custom to 
form a solenm procession within the dimxA, when the Bambino is carried 
in triumph, followed by priests in rich vestments, carrying lights and in- 
cense, and a long line of the dark-robed, barefooted Fraactscaa monk% 
to whom tfie Bambino bdongs, which they declare to have been carved 
by a Fhmoisean pilgrim out of a tree which grew ott the Mount of 
CHives, and painted by St. Luke, while the monk slepi over his woik 
As ^ proosssion passes the entrance it is held up for veasratioti to ihs 



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Dicnry of a Fint fFmtar m JIom^— 1854. 215 

BomoA of wdkam nmsio and dianimg', i«&«n faonclredv of iho lownr tdanes 
of the ]iK>dern plobs prostrsAe thomnhes on tiie long flight of steps^ 
grouped in vsrioiis attitudes of delight, admintion, and awo. Some aie 
m dtfvent as actually to aaoend the stepe en their kneee, in the flame 
nanner as at tiie Scala Santa, in honour of the Santo Bambina The 
oiowd within the dmreh was so deoae and exceeftnglj ill-savoured that I 
ceidd scaroely lenaiB to see the eersmesij oat 

At this fiative season the Presepio is also exhihited in one of the side« 
ofaapeis^ and is maeh yisitedy as liwing the best in Borne. A speeies of 
Aeatre is formed, raised to the lerri of the akar, on whieh appear full- 
sued figursB of Jos^ and Mary, holding in her arms the Bambino^ 
weari^ its diaB<md crown, and glittering with gold oflferings and jewels. 
BeA>ra them are prostrated the shepherds, their sheep reposing near; ia 
the rseesses of the grotto-stable appear the osen feeding in their stalls } 
while abofve^ in a gfeiy, heaTen opens^ and the Almighty, surroonded b^ 
Aec^estial hosts, gaaes on the toiiehing scene, linking the Godhead with 
mankind. As the repiesentation is extrefflely graceful, and the ^gnn$ 
artistically coneotin drapery and ezpreeBion, I most confess that I yiewed 
with pleasare a sacred pietmre recalling to my mind the humiliation and 
lo<ve of our divine Saviour thus yisibly brought home to the imagina- 
tion. By Catholics it is contemplated witli unquestioaing and unaffected 
l e yeienoeand gratitude ; they adore the Saviour in the symbolic imager 
and earnest prayers and long looks of love, heaving sighs and tearful 
eyes^ evidence the intensity of dieir feelings. The Presepio is not shown 
mitil the falling day permits of an artificial light When the body of Ae 
drareh is in deep gloom tiiis one bright, happy, genial spot shines onty 
shedding floods of typtcal and positive light around. After about an 
hour a Franciscan monk appears on the stage, blows out the lights, and 
lets down a curtam, terminating the exhibition in a most primitive 



Opposite, for ten successive days afler Christmas, Kttle children, me- 
mnsly instructed by the monks, mount on a kind of wooden pulpit, 
erected beside a column, and pronounce a discourse, or sermon, on the suh- 
jeet of the divine Saviour's lowly birth and humble infant years. Some 
of the children, all very young, perform their part admirably, and are full 
of fire and animation ; their little eyes fining, and fist, chubby arme 
nosed, they gesticulate with an energy and scream widi a vigour of 
hmgs quite Italian, as they stand opposite the mildly illuminated Pire-^ 
sepio, mid point wi^ their tiny fingers towards the image of J?tm through 
whom they, as well as ourselves, can alone find redemption. 

Everything in the church of the Ara Cosli leads the mind to the toncb- 
ing contemi^tion of the young and feeble years of the son of God. 
what a wmd of beanty is there in the idea ! A church dedicated to 
ihat Virgin who was pronounced " blessed above women," and devoted to 
display and glorify the child4ike obedience and gentleness of the infant 
Jesus, now stands on the foundations of the awfid sanctuary where cruel 
and unnatural demons once had rule, the pure, gracious, and mweilul 
Mary usurping the altar of Jupiter I Rome, in her many astounding 
contrasts, ofiers ncme more striking. The master of Olympus has vanished, 
hot his statehr temple has furnished ^ columns whi^ support her shrine; 
the very goM that gilds the roof was a ^otl gained firom the INuhe 
at the batUe of Lepanto. 



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216 Diary of a First Winter in Jiome— 1854. 

Immediately oyer the high altar is a cuiioos inflcnptian, in larg^e golden 
letters, recalling a miracle remarkable in the medieval history of Rome. 
^' Regina Coeli latare alleluia" is'engrayen there, and thus runs the chro- 
nicle : — In the reign of Gregory the Ghreat, that sainted and exalted 
Pope, a horrible pestilence ravaged the city. To intercede with the 
Almighty for his afflicted servants a great procession was formed on 
Easter Sunday, a.d. 696, from the church of the Ara Coeli to St. Peter^s, 
situated at extreme and opposite ends of the city, to implore mercy, 
and call on the people generally to repentance. The ponti£F himsdf 
headed the assembled thousands, and as the long line of the sacred 
pageant passed over the bridge, and under the tomb of Adrian, on the 
opposite side of the Tiber, celestial voices are said to have been heard in 
the air, singing, '< Regina Cosli latare alleluia,'* the Pope and the vast 
multitude responding, as if by inspiration, '' Ora pro nobu.** Ghregory 
also, it is said, beheld an angel radiant with celestial effulgence sheathing 
a fieiy sword. That very day the plague ceased, in memory of whidfi 
miraculous event a procession takes place every year on St. Mark's day; 
a statue of bronze, representing an angel sheathmg a sword, was placed 
on the summit of Adrian's tomb, ever afterwards named, in memory of 
the vision, Castel San Angelo; the words *' Regina Coeli" were incor- 
porated by the Catholic Church into her offices, and the inscription I have 
mentionea engraved on the arch over the high altar in the church of the 
Ara Coeli. 

But I have y^t to mention another most curious legend before 
leaving this church, so venerable by its ecclesiastical traditions. To 
Ijie left of the high altar I was shown a chapel dedicated to Helena, 
the mother of Constantino, and I read another inscription which excited 
my curiosity. It was in Latin, and expressed '* that the chapel was 
called Ara Coeli, and was erected in the very place where it was supposed 
the Virgin appeared in a glory to the Emperor Augustus. This curious 
tradition arose from the following circumstance : — ^Augustus is said to 
have demanded of the oracle of Apollo, '< who, af^r him, should be the 
master of the world ?" The oracle was silent Again a second time 
he offered sacrifice, but the god deigned no reply. At length, still 
pressed by the emperor, after a solemn pause, it spake and said : '* That 
a Jewish child, God himself, and the master of gods, is about to drive 
Apollo from his seat, therefore expect no longer any answers from his 
altars." Augustus, astonished and confounded at the reply, retired, and 
immediately caused an altar to be erected on the Capitol, bearing the 
inscription, << Ara primogeniti Dei." At the end of three days he beheld 
in a vision a virgin of surpassmg beauty seated on the altar, holding a 
child in her arms, while a voice proclaimed ''Hsec ara Filii Dei est ;" and 
therefore, it is said, Augustus would allow no one afterwards to call him 
a god. 

History informs us that a Sybil (the Tiburtine) lived in early days at 
Tivoli, the remains of whose beautiful temple, overhanging the precipice, 
washed by foanung cascades, still remains. An oracle is Known to have 
existed there as late as the time of the Emperor Adrian, who consulted it 
during his residence at the far-famed villa, whose gigantic ruins still ex- 
tend over the plain at the foot of the mountidns that enclose and shelter 
the beautiful town, its fragrant valleys, and delicious rivers and water- 



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Diary of a First Winter in Rome— 1654. 217 

fijb. As to the mioa which is said to have visited Augustus, it is no 
more incredible than the oniversally admitted fact that his successor, Con- 
stantine, was fiftvoured with a similar miraculous revelation. Why not, 
therefore, Augustus ? Especially when the traditions of the East and the 
West plainly pointed to the coming of the future Messiah. 

I cannot tell how these legen^ry &cts, half history, half tradition, 
read at a distance, but I can only say, studied on the spot, supported by 
contemporaneous monuments, and consecrated by long ages of profound 
and unhesitating belief they are very convincing and utterly asto- 
nishing. 

Some friends of mine^ who were in Rome during the siege, gave me 
last night many amusing details. The poor Pope — good and innocent 
as a child, with the most benevolent desire of rendering his people happy 
— granted measure af^ measure, of a republican character, at the desire 
of the Romans, with a rapidity quite atarming. What he accorded in 
two years without subterfuge or opposition, ought to have been labori- 
ousfy extorted from him inch by mch in Haifa lifetime. The cardinals 
were en masse opposed to his liberal views ; but when any measure was 
demanded of Pius by the republican leaders of the national movement 
that they would not sanction, he immediately granted it on his own 
responsibility. A young politician, truly! All this ended in the 
murder of Count Rossi ; a crime at which the people openly and in- 
decently rejoiced. The Corso was hung with tapestry, flowers, flaes, and 
festoons, ornamented as for a festa, and the deed applauded as a 
patriotic act. 

After the Pope's flight and the declaration of a republic, the anarchy 
and confusion waxed greater— -especially when the arrival of the French 
became certain. When the French troops (destined to subdue the re- 
bellious city, and replace IHus on the throne) really landed at Civita 
Vecchia, the executive government assembled the whole of the national 
troops in the Piaxn degli Apostoli, in order officially to inform them 
that the news was correct, and to come to a mutual understanding as to 
how they meant to act, and whether to flght and defend the city in good 
earnest, or to capitulate. An immense concourse of troops assembled, all 
under arms ; the spacious Piana could scarce contain ihe throng; the 
enthusiasm was immense^ overwhelming. Italians have such imaginations 
and such lungs, their united action is always something prodigious : amid 
cheers, shouts, and screams of patriotic excitement, they declared their 
intention of defending the city to the utmost, of wiUmgly sacrificing 
their individual lives in the glorious struggle for freedom against foreign 
invasion. Some called on the Madonna to help them, others invoked 
the martial saints, George and Michael, while some, less religious;, 
execrated the Pope, called on ihe heathen deities, and swore by " Great 
Jove and Bacchus," and wished a thousand '* accidenti'' and tne mystic 
horrors of the Evil Eye^ to those who doubted^them ! It was a tremen- 
dous scene, thoroughly national and dramatic; for the Italians are 
inimitable actors, and fight like knights palatine on the stage. 

In the mean time, finding that war was inevitable, the existing 
government had applied to General Garibaldi to undertake the defence 
of the Eternal City. This] individual, a native of Piedmont, had much 
distinguished himsdf in the wars against the Austrians in tiie north of 



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218 JXaryofaFir^fymiBruiJSotM^iail. 



Italy; afterwards, being joined hj the moti rwHui and hepeleasdf 
the iosuzgeatSi aod a lai^ poitioa of tbat aeum whiob, ittti^g nothing 
to loee has everjrthing to gain — a bloody, cmel, mad iwndbtiTe gaar-^ 
he formed an army, whioh he managed, by hiB military knowk^e, 
admirably to discipkne. Like the mediaeval companies of old— ^the hee 
German bands or the Jacquerie— 4iiey marched, a hand of locosts, over 
the open oountiy, from city to city, levying ooattibotuiis for their 
sustenance, or, if not treated with suflG^oient consideBaAioiit politely threat- 
ening to plant their cannon against the waUs ajid maasacn the in- 
habitants. 

Still Garibaldi did not grow rich by his maanding : he engaged in 
these expediticms from a real love ot miiitary employment, and as a 
means of paying his troops and sustaining die sinews of war, noi for his 
pecuniary advantage. When they robbed the ohorohes of plate it was 
immediately c(Hned into money for the troops. No one has ever acensed 
Garibaldi of selfish motives. He was undoohtedly a gnat rascal, yet 
withal an excellent soldier, desperatelv brave, and natorally of a geoe- 
zoas cUqK)sition, overflowing with fiunily afi^tion ; a good eon, hnsbaod, 
and &ther. G witnessed his entrance into Rome, and says it was 

the richest sight he ever behehL They came through ike Fortadel 
Popolo, the cavalry leading the way — a body of fine young £bUow8, well- 
mounted and w«^-dreased. Garibaldi rode in the centre^ in mlendid 
uniform, and armed like a Greek, with quantities of splendid daggers 
and pistols stock into his belt : near him rode his fsitibfid negro, who 
never left him ; and at his side his wife, dressed in man's dothes, riding 
en eavalierj from whom, also, he never was sraarated. 80 fikr all was 
grand and zomantie — quite chivalrous in £wt — hut then came the body 
of the army, the foot— such a crow as never eyes beheld ; ooppo^-eoloured 
wrotches, almost naked, wild, dishevdled hair hanging over their rqnil- 
sive &ees ; no shoes, no stockings ; armed wiA scythes, pitcfafoiks, old 
knives, daggers, and every grotesqve and antique weapon they had 
stolen from antiquarian ooUections, museums, the shambles, or the guard- 
house. On diey came, a wild and ferocious multitude^ their bodies 
swathed in the sheets and blankets they had stolen on the road en 
passanty driving heforo them troops of lean oxen, horses, donkeys, mules, 
fowls, sheep, geese, goats, and dudes, — all plunder caisht up on tibe 
route. €r — — says he neariy killed himself by suppressed laughter, for, 
in his wildest imi^ination, he new could have oonoeivad sodi a demoniac 
and unearthly crow. 

The French, after having sewed the Janienlnm heights, completely 
commanded Rome — stretching below like a vast nu^-^mt not befcro 
the magnificent villas Bona and Borghese had been mined by order of 
the government; seekmg dius malevolently to injure the princely pro- 
prietors in their proper^, their venom hmg safe abroad, cat of rsach. 
The Janicnlum once gained, Rome becomes an easy prey: 

For, since Jamcidnm is lost, 
Nonglit else can save the town. 

^ in the dassks da^ of Roman fable, the city was besieged by die 
£troscan foroes, " nght glorious to behold," commanded by Lass 
Poisenna, when, but for the immured valour of Homtuis and his tmo 



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Diary of a First Wmtor m Ame—ISM. 219 



eompanioDB in keeping tke bridge, Bone most have fidkn, eo anght the 
Frendi now have riddled the venerable walk in n fsw homs, and turned 
daarieal ruin into total annihilation. Bat the Empecer had given pai^ 
ticular directions to the general to spare the buildings and to piopeed 
with the utmost caution. The plan therefote adopted was to banes the 
citizens, dropping here and there a bomb-shell, contriving ofiten that 
they should Dunt in the air or strike against dw ^unbuilt side of the 
wooded Pinoian. Still many persons werekiUed ; and the TrasteverinsB 
immediatelj under the Janicuhun were entirely driven oat of their 
quarter, to the opposite and more opulent bank c£ the Tiber — the ridi 
«id wealthy quaiters — where the houseless families were leeeived into 
the noble palaces, and billeted in various places. 

In the mean time^ Garibaldi commanded in the city* Those loud- 
voiced enthusiasts, who had screamed so lustily in the Piaoa degli 
Apostoli for war and liberty, now became mute umL meek as lambs. The 
Italians are the greatest swaggerers and most arrant uowards, I do 
believe, on earth ; one stout Frenchman or EngKuhman would send a 
doaen of them flying, like a drove of cackling poultry, right and left any 
day. Garibaldi was utteriy disgusted, and depended principally on 
foreign mercenaries and his own uneloihed ragamoffins. Every one in 
the city vras called on to take up arms and join in the defence ; the 
artists specially were worried by messages, thraats, and summonses to 
attend uie drills and to mount guard. Some made one eicuse, some 
another ; but a seigeant and lour caimbinieri, going to the studio of a 
certain w^4nown artist^ found him absent, but his wife, a Boman, at 
home^ who gave them so warm a reception, and scrsamed so eneigeti- 
oally at the sergeant, threatening all the while to scratch out his eyes, 
that this valiant functionary forthwith retreated, and returning to his 
officer, dedarod he would never more return to — 's studio without a 
daMe gmurd ofmAdiers I 

As the siege proceeded the streets were faanicaded in all Erections, 
and immense quantities of sand laid down. Mr. W ■ told me he could 
not even walk from the Fiaan di Spama to Ihe Piana del Fopolo (lees 
than a quarter of a mile), but dni au at the further end of the town 
was quiet and orderly, the cnly persons molested being the cardinals, 
who were torn out of their eazriages and insulted whensver they were 
found, and the carriages bnnit. Horrible murders of the poor prints oe- 
curred — savage, atrocious deed% in cowardiee and cruelty woiih^ of the 
lowest gfttde of animal ferocity. People passing in die streets witnessed 
these homrs, and beheld the infiniate Romans engaged in mutilating 
their victims, but beyond tiie crowd and the immediate excitement 
nothing further occurred. Prince Borghese, who, up to a certain point 
had b^n a thorouglngoing repuUioan, and served in the national 
guar^ fled away soon after the Pbpe, terrified at the excesses of Ins 
party, u4iich caused them to bear him an esnecial grudge. Stili Gaci- 
trnkli permitted no pillage ; and, althoi:^ uw gorgeous Vatican and 
Qttirinal, the glorious pahces of the Dona, the Sorbose, the Cc^onna, 
and die Torlonia, fillea with fabled riches, the accumulation of centnxies 
of power and wealth, were open and undefended, not a statue was 
touched — ^not a lock broken. The bombardmg of the city took place 
generally in the night, when there was no safety but in the cellars and 



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220 Diary of a First Wmterin Anne— 1854. 

under the poriones, aa tbe thots were dischamd all oyer the city. Mr. 

W , quite unmoved in the horrid strife, deaeribed himself as quiet! j 

watching the fusees and shells burst in the Piaisa di Spagna, and ad* 
miring the brilliant effect of the explosion in the darkness. The French 
engineers showed incomparable skill in avoiding all injury to the build- 
ings, and yet covering, enveloping the entire city in their fire. The 
republican government was extremely anxious to retain all the English as 
hostages; post-horses were taken away, and every impediment thrown in 
the way of departure. Some English people paid high sums as a 
bribe, when, Lord Napier expostulating at keeping the English like 
prisoners, many contrived to escape, passing through the French lines — 
especiaUy a party of ladies I knew, who^ having foolishly waited until the 
last moment, just filling a diligence, valorously set off luone, and reached 
Florence in safety. The last night of the siege was the most awful, 
when the French, having gained possession of the heights near the San 
Pancrazio-gate, and beaten down the wall, held the city utterly at their 
mercy. The bombshells and fusees went hissing over the houses all 
night, causing fearful alarm. Everybody got up and betook themselves 
to the lower stories, into any hole or comer for safety. Mr. Wyatt, the 
celebrated sculptor, now d^ (I do not mean the Wyatt of atrocious 
memory, who imagined that disgraceful bronze " Duke," which towers 
over London like a bad spirit triumphing over Art), alarmed as the 
rest, had risen, and only left his studio for an instant, when a shell entered 
and burst, destroying the waUs and everything in the room. One mo- 
ment sooner and he must have been killed. Another shell burst in the 
grand saloon of the Colonna Palace, breakinc^ away part of a flight of 
marble steps leading to a kind of dais, at the upper end of the vast 
ffallery — an injuiy which the prince so much resented he never to this 
day has permitted it to be repaired. Among many fearful casualties, a 
mud-servant of the Duca Sermoneta, standing in her room, had her ribs 
shot away on one side, and died in great agony. 

Garibaldi, aware that the French at any moment could have blown up 
the whole city like a powder-magazine fix>m their position, then capitu- 
lated, and retreated mm the city with his bands. He was a strikingly 
handsome man, but looked worn and jaded as he passed through the 
streets. During the whole siege his £uthfial negro had never left him, 
and his wife continually followed him into battie dressed as a man, retiring 
when tiie fighting became too furious, attended by the black. This poor 
creature, shortiy before the end of the siege, was shot while asleep under 
the walls, after having escaped unhurt irom so many engagements. 
When Garibaldi retreated, his wife, then enceinte^ and very ill from fever, 
insisted on accompanying the army ; but, as if a curse was on all he 
loved, she died on the march from exhaustion, in a hovel by the roadside. 
They buried her, in haste, in an oak forest, for the French were hard 
upon them, and their retreat was predpitate. When the French came 
up, a few hours after, they recognised her corpse, which had been torn 
up by swine burrowing for acorns ! Garibaldi, when last heard of, was 
in command of a merchant ship in the China trade, for he is as good a 
sailor as he is a brave and experienced soldier. 



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( 221 ) 

THE STORY OF QT7ENTYN MAT8YS. 
*' ConnubUUis unor de Mulcibre fecit ApeUem.** 

Neab an old cathedral doorway 
Once I saw a corions well; 

And while seated there I listened 
To this tale which I will telL 

Once in Antwerp lived a painter. 
Poor, but yet of honest fame ; 

Happy if on flowing canvas 
He might leave a lasting name. 

And this artist had a daughter. 
Of a sweet but lofty mien; 

Than the daughter of the painter 
Fairer sylph was seldom seen. 

All who saw that maiden loved her^ 
In that city, great and small ; 

But a youth, named Quentyn Matsys, 
Loved her better than them aU. 

Matsys was a working blacksmith. 
And the painter in nis pride. 

Told him, that an artist's daughter 
Must become an artist's bnde. 

Bitter words, and full of anguish ! 

Quentyn's heart was vezM sore; 
Never with his lowlv calling. 

Had he quarrelled, so before. 
"When he saw that fate was cruel, 
' Matsys knew but one desire ; 
Like a spark among the fuel. 

Scorn nad set his soul on fire. 
When his daily toil was over. 

Never slotliful, tired,'or faint, 
Matsys in his secret chamber. 

Strove, with aU his heart, to paint. 
Often to that chamber college 

Stole the maiden, to impm 
Loving counsel, and the knowledge 

Of her fatheiPs generous art. 
Years have passed, until, rejoicing, 

Matsys throws off his disguise, 
« And stuids forth a finished painter 

In the wondering artist's eyes. 
Love md skill at last have triumphed; 

Seeinff now his gift divine, 
*'Thou hast won her," said her father, 

"Take her, she is doubly thine." 
Often in the world around us, 

Words that bear envenomed stings. 
Spoken only to confound us, 

Goad us on to higher things. 
Onlv can {profound emotion 

Our divinest efforts move ; 
Oft have Genius and Devotion 

Wakened at the touch of Love. 
June^YOU ciY. NO. ccocxiy. 



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( 222 ) 



THE EIGHTEENTH CENTUEY: 

OB, ILLUSTRATIONS OF TBI MAKITBBS AKD CUSTOMS OF OUB GBAND* 

FATHBBS. 

By Albzanbbb Abbbxws. 

credulity and sutebstition in the eiohtebnth century. 

The '* Science of Astrology," altfaoagh its most flourishing time had 
passed, still enthralled the unilliuninated hrains of our grandsires in its 
mystic signs and hieroglyphical calculations, and there were many gifted 
beings who amassed large fortunes by << casting nativities" for those who 
bad an overweening curiosity to peep into the future, and an unlimited 
confidence in planetary influences. 

The Universal Magazine of February, 1775, tells us of one of these 
cunning seers who allowed himself to be robbed while he was " star- 
gazing :" 

'* January 10th. — Saturday evening. — A woman applied to a resolver 
of lawful questions in a court in Fleet-street, to be satisfied in relation to 
some future events ; but while poor Albumaser was consulting the stars in 
his chamber in order to resolve her doubts, he seems to have been utterly 
ignorant of his own present fortune, for some thieves (supposed to be the 
inquirer's confederates) stripped his other apartments of everything that 
was conveniently portable." 

A peep is afiforded us into the chamber of one of these worthies in an 
old print of 1760, as well as in the description of Gadwallader's imposition 
in Smollett's ^ Peregrine Pickle." In the fonnez^ the floor is strewed 
with books, globes, telescopes, oonq»asse% &e., in those days objects of 
wonder and even fear to the vulgar, and the walls hung with skeletons 
of lizards, bats, toads, moles, owls, alligators, and serpents, while snakes 
and abortions of the human fostos are preserved in spirits in gigantic jars, 
and a huge black cat sits gravely blinking on the table. In the midst of 
this imposing dispUy, calculated to inspire awe and terror into the rash 
diver into Fortune's secrets, sits the astrologer, magician, wizard, and 
fortune-teller, a lean, griizlv man, with a long^ flowing, white beard, as 
would become a prophet ; his head encased in a tifht-fitting black velvet 
or fur cap, and his span body enwrapped in along black gown. A 
volume of symbols is open before him, whidi he is consulting by the aid 
of a pair of spectacles, iraieh add to the appearance of deeg study which his 
furrowed brow would indicate, and by his side fie c^n a book of matixe- 
matical problems, and a scroll covered with strange Egyptian characters. 
This portrait, we believe, represents an astrologer who resided in the Old 
Bailey, and of whom it is reported that, while he was in the zenith of his 
fame, the thoroughfare was nequentlv rendered impassable by the number 
of carriages waiting at lus door, wnich had conveyed the nobility and 
gently to have their " fortunes told." ^ 

These astrologers seem to have haunted th^ old habitations after their 
death, if we read the followmg paragraph aright : 

« The ' Flying Horse,' a noted victoalling house in Moorfields, next 
to that of the £ite Astrologer Trotter, has been molested for several 



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CreduUty and Superstition in the Eighteenth Century. 223 

nights paaty stonas and bottles being thrown into the hoiue, to tlie great 
annoyment aad terror of the guests."-— iVev« Letter^ February 28^, 
1716. 

We will warrant the troubled spirit of Mr. Trotter was freely raspeoted 
of these midnight gambols. 

But astrologers were a doomed race^-^they were rapidly decimating in 
number, and at the close of the century tliere was scarcely one left in 
London. '< Prophets" and female fortune-tellers have struggled on, with 
a wonderful and persevering disresaxd of the law of vagvaney, to our own 
day, and theve is still a publication carrying on a trade in astrok^ 
belooffing to the Company of Stationers ; but little more than a century 
ago wey had dopes among the highest classes^ and staunch supporters 
and beUevexs in the middle and lower oiies» who trusted implicitly to Uie 
predictions and awful revelations of their Almanacks, Dianesi and Mes- 
sengers. Mr. Charles Knight gives us a long list of these productions 
in eiristwoe about the year 1723. There were : 

" Remarkable News from the Stars. By William Andmw9» Student 
in Astrology. Printed by A. Wildsu 

^' Meclinus Anglicus» Junior ; or, the Starry Messen^n By Henry 
Coley, Student in the Mathematicks and the Celestial Scienoeflk Printed 
by J. Bead. 

^' A Diary, Astronomioal, Astroloeical, MeteorologieaL By Job Gad- 
bury, Student in Physick and Astrology. Printed by T« W. 

*' Vox Stellanim. By Francis Moore, Licensed Physician, and Student 
in Astrology. Printed by Thomas Wood. 

'' Merlimv Liberatua. By John Partridge. Printed by J. OriMrfee. 

'< Parker's Ephemeris. Printed by J. Read. 

"^ The Celestial Diary. By Salem Pearae, Stadent in Physick and 
Celestiid Science. Printed by J. Dawkes. 

^ Apdk Ang&anos, the En^^ ApoBo. By Sichaid Saonder, 
Stadent in the Physical and. Mathefnatral Soienees. Printed by A. 
Wilde. 

«< Great Britain'^ Diary ; or, tha Unipa Ahnawiek. By the same 
Author. Printed by J. Roberts. 

<' Olympia Dtenata. By iAa Wing Phikmiotb* Printed by J. 
Dawkes. 

^< Wing. By the same Author. Printed by W. Pearson. 

'^ An Almanack, a£ber the Old and New Fashion. By Poor Robin, 
Knight of the British Island, a weU-wishar to the Madiematicks. 
Printed by W. Powyer." 

A rare treasury of marvels to come — dangers hanging overhead, 
impending revolutions, threatened wars, approaching pla^ies, and other 
wondrous shadows of the future, all cast by starlight on we pages of the 
astrologers ; for these almanacks and Merlins not only professed to predict 
the state of the weather for the ensuing twelve months, but accurately to 
foretel all pubUe events and occurrences in the various countries of the 
earth, besides stating << the proper seasons for physick and Uood-letting^' 
(for it was then conodered necessary to be '^ blooded" twice a year), and 
other most sorpiiring information. 

It was one of the worthy astrologers we have ennmerated (John Par* 
tiidge) triw was rcmdered immortfuly ridiculous by the prophecy Qi hi$ 

q2 



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224 Credidity and Superstition in the Eighteenth Century. 

approaching death, published by Dean Swift under the name of Isaac 
Bickerstaff, and followed up by an account of the fulfilment of the pro- 
phecy, so repeatedly indignantly protested against by poor Partridge^ 
who continued) till ne was weary, seriously assuring his friends that he 
was still alive, and the prophecy was &lse and unfulfilled. 

We have said the female fortune-tellers seem to have been longer 
liyed, for they have survived to the present century — but how pale i9 
their star ! how diminbhed their glory ! 

"V^th the ud of a sheet of hieroglyphic characters, not much unsimilar 
to those still seen on the bottles containing various coloured liquids in the 
chemist's shop windows — ^Chaldean, Assyrian, or what you pleased — a 
pack of cards, the grounds of cofiee, or the coals in the fire, these witch- 
ake crones could, for half-a-crown, insure a young lady a handsome 
husband — fi>r five shillings a rich one — and for half a guinea both a rich 
and handsome one. As diverse as were their branches of science, as 
various their dupes. They were much consulted in aiding the recovery 
of stolen goods, and discovering (query, revealing f) the places of their 
concealment — a part of their profession in which they were no doubt 
able occasionally to be useful if well fee'd. On the other hand, so credu- 
lous were those furthest removed from the darkness of ignorance, that 
Georse the First, on being told by a French professor of tne art that he 
would not survive his wife's death a year, had such a strong fJBiith in the 
prediction that he took leave of the prince and princesses on setting out 
ibr Grermany, and, with tears in his eyes, told ttiem he should never see 
them more. 

Neither were the proceedings of these impostors carried on stealthily. 
Here is the hand-bill issued by a prophetess in 1777 : 

*' Mrs. Edwards, who, in Hungary, Russia, China, and Tartaiy, has 
studied the abstruse and occult sciences, under the most learned sages, 
augurs, astronomists, and soothsayers, is returned to Engh&nd, after many 
years of studious application, ana most humbly dedicates her knowledge 
m prescience to tne ladies, being fully acquainted with the mysteries 
and secrets of the profession, and amply provided with the requisite art 
and skill to answer all answerable questions in astrology. N.B. — She 
may be consulted from ten in the morning till nine at night, at No. 22, 
(a pastrycook's), opposite Bow-street, in Great Russell-street, Covent- 
garden." 

The lottery system afforded an abundant harvest to these fortune- 
tellers. Every one was anxious to know whether his ticket would be 
drawn a blank or a prize, and some '^ Mrs. Edwards" was resorted to, to 
draw aside the curtain which concealed to-morrow. Out upon the ragged 
gipsies and vagabond fortune-tellers of modem times— out upon your 
Derby prophets witii only one initial to write under — what thmk ye of 
the days when one of the *^ profession" (mark the term I) could afford 
to travel over the whole globe, even into China and Tartary, in pursuit 
of mystical knowledge — to issue hand-bills to make known her fame — 
and to occupy the first floor of a pastrycook's in Covent-garden ? 

We find, as late as 1774, weekly prophecies on the issue of political 
events inserted in the London Evening Post, The soothsayer of this 

per was one J. Harman, of High-street, Saint Giles. During 

ilkes's contest for the mayoralty, he predicts die success of that popular 



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Credulity and Superstition in the Eighteenth Century. 225 

champion, for the excellent and conclusive reason that '^ the planet Satan), ^ 
who is at this time Wilkes's Significator, is just entering Libra, the sign 
of Justice, which, in all combats and wars has been always found to be 
most powerful/* . The same day's paper f October the 4th, 1774) an- 
nounces the return of Alderman Bull by the livery. Verily thou wert 
at fault this time, J. Harman ! 

The popular belief in witchcraft — another legacy of the previous cen- 
tury — although on the wane, was still existing. If a man died, or a cow v 
fell sick — if uie harvest were light, or the weather cold — ^if a child were 
fractious, or the milk turned sour, there was no accounting for such an 
occurrence but by concluding that the man, cow, com, weather, child or 
milk were bewitched, and if, by any unfortunate chance, an old crone 
could be found hobbling about the neighbourhood, she was at once reputed 
to be the witch. And there was never wanting evidence of her being an 
adept in the black art ; one had seen her tete-a-tete with the devil himself 
in all his hideous deformity of horns and cloven foot — nay, the approver 
would swear to within an inch of the length of his tail ; another detected 
her drawing magic circles on the ceiling, or tracing them in the air with 
her wand — a well-known invocation to the Evil Spirit ; a third produced 
sundry mysterious characters which he had discovered in her cottafi;e 
(and, be it remembered, that in those days, and in the absence of l£e 
schoolmaster, all characters— even the alphabet itself — were mysterious 
in the eyes of the lower classes) ; a fourth detected something peculiarly 
malicious and sinister in the face of the old Udy's cat, and that helpless 
animal was forthwith denounced as the '^ familiar spirit" which assisted 
her machinations ; and everything, down to the very furniture of her 
room, was made to furnish proof conclusive of her evil practices, and the 
unhappy beldam was arraigned as a witch and adjudged to the usual 
orde^ of ^* sinking or swimming." Accordingly, on the day of trial, a 
motley crowd of peasantry assembled around the nearest pond, and the 
old woman, bound hand and foot, and enveloped in a sheet, was dragged 
to the spot, and plunged into tiie water. Here she had the choice of two 
deatiis — if she sank, she would most likely be drowned ; if she svram, it 
was the arch fiend who supported her : she was undoubtedly a witch, and 
was either held under water or despatched in some other way. It is true, 
these exhibitions were not of such frequent occurrence as they had been 
in the seventeenth century, of the ignorance of which they were a relic, 
but there were a sufficient number to render them also a feature of the 
eighteenth. 

Another mode of testing a witch, which prevailed at length over the 
more barbarous one of ducking (a process which was attended very often 
by death, either from drowning or from alarm, or, still oftener, exposure 
to the cold), was by weighing the suspected party against tiie church . 
Bible. We give one instance of the application of this test from a com- 
paratively recent period : 

<< 28th of February. — One Susannah Hannokes, an elderly woman of 
Wyngrove, near Aylesbury, was accused by her neighbour of bewitching 
her spinning-wheel, so that she could not make it go round, and offered 
to make oath of it before a mafi^trate; on which the husband, in order to 
justify his wife, insisted upon her being tried by the church Bible^ and 
that the accuser should be present. Accordingly she was conducted to 



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226 CreduUty and Superstttian in the Eighteen^ Century. 

ihe parish efavrcli, where she was stripped of all her doihes to her shift 
and orerooat, and weighed against tne Bihle, when, to the no small 
mortification of the accuser, she outweighed it, and was honourahly 
acquitted of the charge." — Annual Eegisterfcr 1759. 

And this, scarcely thirty miles from London I Bat it was not tiU late in 
the previous century that witchcraft ceased to he a capital offence in the 
eye of the law, so no wonder that the ignorant still retained the delusion 
whidi the judges of the land had not long diseaided. 

In Motrol's ** Life of Brissot," it is stated that when Lord Mansfield 
was going the circuit, an old woman was hrought before him for trial at 
a country assize, charged with heing a witch, several persons having 
sworn that they had seen her walking on her head with her heels in the 
air. After reading the depositions with as much gravity as he could 
assume, his lordship delivered his opinion in these words : " Since you 
have seen this poor woman winking in the air, though her legs are 
scarcely able to support her on the earth, I can of course entertain no 
doubt of the fact ; but this witch is an Englishwoman, and subject, as 
well as you and I, to the laws of England, every one of M^h I have 
just run over in my mind without being able to hit upon any one which 
prohibits persons from walking in the air if they should find it convenient. 
All those persons, therefore, who have seen the accused perform her 
atrial promenades, are at liberty to follow her example." This was a 
very different view of the subject to that which Sir Matthew Hale had 
taken, when, declaring his belief in witchcraft, he sentenced two old 
women to death upon a similar charge — a sentence which was carried 
into effect at Bury Saint Edmund's in 1665. 

But in 1750, the populace, finding that the law would not aid them 
in suppressing the odious crimes of sorcery and witchcraft;, took it into . 
their own hands, determined that justice should not be defeated through 
any omission in the statute-book, and murdered an old woman in Hert- 
fordshire on the charge of being a witch, ** with all the wantonness of 
brutality,'' as Smollett has recorded ; and the Genileman's Magazine 
fcr 1781 mentions a similar murder perpetrated at Frome, in Somerset^ 
shire, in the September previous. 

When we find De Foe a devout believer in, and writing a sober trea- 
tise upon, ghosts and supernatural appearances— when we know that 
Doctor Johnson had a serious inclination to the same belief, and that 
(Goldsmith was almost a half-believer, can we be astonished that men of 
less powerful reasomng faculties shoidd have entertained a strong convic- 
tion of their existence ? We can scarcely wonder at their being deluded 
by the dumsy contrivances of the Cock-lane ghost I This memorable 
imposition is matter of history, and so familiar that it is scarcely necessanr 
to enter into details. Suffice it to remind our readers of the steps which 
it was thought necessary to take in order to padfy the public mind, and 
" lay the troubled spirit." The fame of certain mysterious knockings on 
the bedroom wall in an obscure house in Smithfield having spread over 
die town, and men of all ranks having visited the scene of the alleged 
supernatural visitation and come away without detecting the imposition, 
it was arranged that the Revefend Mr. Aldrich, of Clerkenwell, with a 
deputation of the inhabitants, should await the visit of the ghost and 
question it. This was done on the night of February the Ist, 1760, 
and an interview appointed with the invisible spirit, to take place in its 



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Credulity and Super sUticm m the Eighteewih Century ^ S27 

vlHiU in Saint John's Church, whither they repaired, after <'yery«erimisly 
advwtiiing to it" their intention, and, in the dead of night, they *^ aolemnly 
4)aUed npon the spirit to perform its promise of unfolding itsdE'' Its 
iion«<»mplianoe, and soreral other oirciunstances coming to li^t, they 
were led to the detection of the impostore, and the principal in the oon- 
&deracy was imprisoned for two yean and pilbried thrioe, his wife iofr- 
prisoned for a year, and his servant for three months. 

Other in^BostoiES practised upon the puUie credulity widi almost aqoal 
success. In 1772 ^rang up what went hy the name of the Stockwell 
Ghost, hy whioh an elderly lady, Mrs. Goldiag, was Aiglitened frmn 
house and homc^ and the whole neighbourhood thrown into aganies of 
terror hy the miscUe^oiiB bat ingenious artifiees of her servant, one Ann 
Bobiosottj 

In another rem of credulity, the pablio were, in 1726, aotoally made 
to believe that a woman, named Mary Tofts, had been delivered of four 
hlaok rabbits, and anothor woman of a nun ! 

The Absurd si^erstition that the sovereign had the power of curing 
the king's evil by touching the person affected, continued to obtain ua^ 
the reign of Greorge the First. Swift, in his ** Journal to Stella," men- 
tions making an application through the Duchess of Ormond, in 1711, 
to get ft boy touched by the queen, but adds, " but the queen has not 
been able to touch, and it now grows so warm, I fear she will not it aH." 
At a much later period, we read of children bemg taken upon the seaffold 
afier an execution to have the hand of the corpse appUed to them, iSoB 
^' death sweat" of a man who has been hanged being held efficacious in aoio- 
iulous diseases; and the disgusting practice was permitted as late aa 1760. 

But we find another patent cure of the king's evil mentioned in an old 
work '< by William Ellis, Farmer of Little G^desdon, near Hempstead, 
Herts," published at Salisbury in 1750. This is no other than tke dried 
dead body of a toad, to be hung in a silk bag round the neck ; although 
two of tfaie legs from a live toad were still better, for ^' as it pined, wasted, 
4md died, the distemper would likewise waste and die." 

Eetailers of healUi at a ctiea^p rate w«re among the class who took 
.advantage of the public credulity, and wete more nnmarons than the 
quacks of the present day, and rather different in their coune of proceed- 
ing. They principally ^< pitehed their tente" in Smithfieki, Towe^hiU, 
Meorfields, &&, and the public were attracted to their rival establashmenti 
by a mountebank, merry-andrew, harlequin, down, or tumbler, who diew 
a crowd together bv exhibiting his feats on a stage erected in front of the 
booth, and who, amr flinging a summerset, or indulging in a grotesque 
ffrimace, would wind up his announcement somewhat in the &Uowmg 
uishion : — << Come along! Come along, all you who are halt, lame, or 
blind I This is the cheapest shop Cdt health and long life. The illustrious 
doctor is inside, making up his eliadr to lengthen your days, and perform- 
ing his miraculous cures ! Make way there for tnat gentieman with the 
crutobes. Comcj aloqg, sir.! Come along, and be whole!" 

The advertisements of these quacks bespeak an amount of ignoranoe 
and credulity on the part of the public that is perfectly astonishing. We 
quote the following from tiie Evening Past of August the 6th, 1717* 

*^ This is to give notice, that Doctor Benjamin Tbcflmhill, sworn servant 
to his Majesty King George, Seventh Son of the Seventh Son, who has 
Jtel4 a stiyjie in the loundfl of West Smithfieki for several months past, will 



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228 Credulity and SupersHticm in ihe Eighteenth Century, 

continue to be advised with, every day in the week, from aght in the 
morning till eight at night, at his lodgings at the Swan Inn, in West 
Smithfieldy till Michaehnas, for the go^ of all people that lie lan- 
goishing under distempers, he knowing that ' Tatenta m agro wm est 
absconSUa f— that a talent ought not to be hid in the eartL Therefore 
he expoees himself in public for the good of the poor. The many cores 
he hitf performed has given the world great satisfaction, having cured 
fifteen hundred people of the king's evil, and several hundreds that have 
been blind, lame, dea( and diseased. God Almighty havine been 
pleased to bestow upon him so great a talent, he thinks himself bound 
m duty to be helpful to all sorts of persons that ure afflicted with any 
distemper. He will tell you in a minute what distemper von are troubled 
with, and whether you are curable or not. If not curable, he will not 
take any one in hand, if he might have five hundred pounds for a 
reward. 

Another of these exupirical practitioners advertises a long list of ques- 
tions in the Original freekfy Journal of December the 28th, 1723, for 
the purpose of putting the public on their g^uard against ** sack notorious 
cheats," and winds up the announcement with the following modest 
allusion to himself: — " For your own sake i4[>ply to some man of inge- 
nuity and proluty who appears to justify his practice by his success, one 
of which invites you to his house at the Golden Heart and Square Lamp, 
in Crane-court, near Fetter-lane. Ask for the surgeon, who is to be 
advised with every morning till eleven o'clock, and from two till nine at 
night, in any distemper." 

A Mrs. Mapp was a fovourite doctress, in or about 1736 (for the 
curative power was not confined to the male sex), and in one of Mr. 
Fulteney s letters, dated December the 21st, in that year, we find her 
mentioned as a fiunous *^ she-bone setter and mountebimk.'' 

Many of the male repairers of shattered constitutions and firactored 
limbs were foreigners or Jews, and we need scarcely add, in moat cases 
had very littie, if any, knowledge of either surgery or medicine, who 
traded on tiie ignorance of the lower classes, upon a successful but acci- 
dental cure, or just sufficient knowledge to perform a simple one, and 
cunning enough to pass it off as a miracle. 

We are not informed whether any of these gentry prescribed for the 
unfortunate tradesman whose case we find reconled in the TVestmmUer 
Journal of April the 22nd, 1775 : 

<^ Tuesday morning, Mr. Jefferson, corn-chandler in Vine-street, South- 
wark, set out for the salt water at Gravesend, having been bit a few 
days before by a little dog that went mad, and dangerous symptoms 
banning to appear." 

By the way, so great a terror was felt of mad dogs, that, in 1760, the 
Lord Mayor of London offered a bounty of half-a-crown for every dog's 
head that was brought to the Mansion House; but, after paying away 
438 half-crowns, he began to sicken of his zeal, which he round too ex- 
pensive. 

But let us return to the impostors of the eighteenth century, with 
whom we have not yet done, for we have not at present noticea a very 
numerous dass — ^the Conjurors and Ph)fes8or8 of the Art of Magic. 
Hogarth has enshrined one of the tribe, Doctor Faustus (who died May 
the 25th, 1731, leavmg a fortune of ten thousand pounds amassed in his 



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Credulittf and Superstition in the Eighteenth Century. 229 

«alliiie), in exposing the rage which then existed for ihb species of 
diyersion. But the law did not always allow the public to be imposed 
upon with impunity, and, as in our own day, although the fieuhionable 
formgn knave might conjure the cash out of the pockets of his Majesty's 
lieges, the low English wizard was a vagabond fit only for the treadmill 
or the stocks. On the 8th of May, 1769, according to the Annual 
Hegtsiery '< A young man, in the shameful disguise of a conjuror, with a 
large wig and hat of an extraordinary size, and an old ni^tffown, was 
committ^ to Bridewell, being charged with having used subUe craft to 
deceive and impose upon his Minesty's subjects." 

But, reverting to the empirical professors of medicine, if the quack 
doctors themselves were obtrusive in their ways of winning custom, the 
vendors of quack nostrums were equally so, and thor panacea were of 
more universal efficacy, and warranted to reach more subtle disorders, 
than modem quacks have thought of healing, or even dreamt of the 
existence of. The first edition of the Spectator has the following adver- 
tisements of some precious heal-alls : 

'' An admirable confect, which effectually cures stuttering and stam- 
mering in children or grown persons, though never so bad, causing them 
to speak distinct and £ee, without any trouble or difficulty ; it remedies 
all manner of impediments of the speech, or disorders of the voice of any 
kind, proceeding from what cause soever, rendering those persons capable 
of speaking easily and free, and with a dear voice, who before were not 
able to utter a sentence widiout hesitation. Its stupendous effects in so 
quickly and effectually curing stuttering and stammering and all disorders 
of the voice, and difficulty in the delivery of the speech, are really won- 
derfuL Price 28. 6d. a pot, with directions. Sold only at Mr. Osbom's 
toy-shop, at the Rose and Crown, under Sunt Dunstan's Church, Fleet- 
street." 

<( Loss of Memory or Forgetfulness certainly cured by a grateful elec- 
taary peculiarly adapted for that end. It strikes at the primary source, 
which few apprehend, of forgetfulness — ^makes the head clear ana easy-^ 
the spirits free, active, and undisturbed— corroborates and revives all the 
noble faculties of the soul, such as thought, judgment, apprehension, 
reason, and memory ; which last, in particular, it so stren^bens, as to 
render that faculty exceeding quick and good beyond imamiation ; thereby 
enabhng those whose memory was before almost totally lost, to remembor 
the minutest circumstances of their affiurs, &c., to a wonder. Price 2s. 6d. 
a pot. Sold only at Mr. Payne's, at the Angel and Crown, in Saint 
Paul's Churchyard, with directions." 

Doctor James's powders were in great request, and Goldsmith was a 
firm believer in their efficacy to the last ; but it does not appear to have 
been noticed that Newberry, of Saint Paul's Churchyaio, was, as. he 
advertises, << Sole Agent" for the sale of them. 

Another miraculous charm was the Anodyne Necklace, '* which," says 
the advertisement, '^ after the wearing them but one night, children have 
immediately cut their teeth with safety, who, but just before, were on 
the brink of the grave with their teeth, fits, fevers, convulsions, ^pes, 
loosenesses, &c, all proceeding firom the teeth, and have almost miracu- 
lously recovered." The price of this wonderful necklace was 5s. 5d., 
but then it was *^ patronised by the King for the royal children !" 



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S80 Credulihf and Superstition in the Eighteenth Century. 

The Grmb Street Jawmal of Janxaay ihe 9th, 1735, eontams a farmi- 
daUe list of the quacks who had reigned for a time in puhEc esfcimatioa 
from the beginning of the oentniy. Among them we find : 

<' First— Doctor Tom Safibld, ihe Heel-maker, who nsed to pdblish 
his hills in verse, thus : 

Here^s Saffold's pills, much better than the rest, 
Desenredly have gained the name of best ; 
A box of eighteen i>ills for ei^teen pence, 
Tbo' 'tis too cheap in any man's own sense. 

" Second — Sir William Read, Mountebank, Oculist, and Sworn Ope« 
rator for the Eyes, * who,' it is stated, ' could not read one word,' but 
' was knighted and kept a chariot.' He was a tiulor by trade. 

*' Thira — Roger Grant, originally a tinker. Oculist to Queen Anne. 

" Fourth — Doctor Tlrotter, of Moorfields, a Conjuror, Fortune-teller, 
and Mountebank. 

" Fifth — The * Unborn Doctor' of Moorfields. This was a name 
with which he dubbed himself for attraction's sake, and explained it by 
saying ' he was not bom a doctor.' 

" Sixth — An Anonymous Fortune-teller, whose bills announced that he 
had been ^ the Counsellor to the Counsellors of several Kingdoms ; that 
he had the seed of the true female fern, and also had a glass.' 

" 'Seventh — Doctor Hancock, who recommended cold water and stewed 
prunes as a general panacea. He was a shining light till he was put ont 
by the writings of some men of superior sense. 

" Eighth — Doctor Anodyne, the inventor of the necklace which bears 
his name, to assist children in cutting their teeth. One year he informs 
us, gratis, that all the woodcocks and cuckoos go annually to the moon. 
Another year he presents us (gratis, also, good man !) with an almanack 
crammed with many valuable secrets, particularly one receipt to choke 
those noxious vermin the bugs, and another to mike sack-whey. 

** Ninth — The famous Doctor who has taught us to make a soup, a 
hash, a fricasee of quicksilver, which he intended should pass in a regular 
and continued stream through the system till the patient was cured. 

" Tenth — ^The Worm Doctor in LAwrence Pountney-lane ; and 

*^ Eleventh — Mr. Ward, of whom the public are cautioned in the 
jpithy lines, 

Before yon take his drop or pill. 

Take leave of friends and make yonr wilL*' 

Thanks for this list, Mr. Bavins of the Grub Street Journal! Let us 
hear Mr. Bickerstaff of the Tatler: 

*^ There are some who have gwned themselres great reputation §ot 
^ysick by their birth, as the Seventh Son of the Seventh Son, and othens 
by not being bom at all, as the * Unborn Doctor,' who I hear is lately 
gone the way of his patients, having died worth five hundred pounds per 

annum, though he was not bom to a hal^enny." " There 

would be no end of enumeratine the several imaginaxy perfections and 
nnaooountable artifices by which the tribe of men ensnare tiie minds of 
•the vulgar, and gun crowds of admirers. I have seen the whole front of 
a mountebank's stage, from one end to the other, faced with patentgi 
certificates, medals^ and great seals, by which the several. prineea e£ 



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Credulity and SupersHiicn in Ae Eighteenth Century. 231 

Europe have testified their particular respect and esteem for the doctor. 
EyeTj great man with a sounding title has heen his patient. I helieve I 
have seen twenty mountebanks that have given phystek to the Czar of 
Muscovy. The Great Duke of Tuscany escapes no hotter. The Elector 
of Brandenburg was likewise a very good patient." ^' I re- 
member when our whole island was shaken with an earthquake some 
years ago, there was an impudent mountebank, who sold pills which (as 
be told the country people) were veiy good aniinst an earthquake !" 

This is the climax 1 Shame on those credmous times ! But stay : Mr. 
BickerstafiP says this was '< some years ago/' and, as the century was only 
ten ;^ear8 old when he said so, we would carry it to the account of the 
previous one. But unfortunately Dr. Smollett has recorded a case of 
credulity almost as bad as this, and we are bound to quote him. In Ae 
spring of 1750, he tells us that two shocks of an earthquake having been 
perceptibly felt in London, a crazy soldier increased the alarm that they 
created, by predicting another and severer shock, to occur on the 8th of 
April, which was to destroy the cities of London and Westminster, and, 
as the only means of salvation, preached up repentance. The terror 
which this prophecy caused among all ranks and classes was produodve 
of a good effect as long as it lasted : 

'^ The churches were crowded with penitent sinners ; the sons of riot 
and profligacy were overawed into sobriety and decorum. The streets 
no longer resounded with execrations or the noise of brutal licentiousness; 
and the hand of charity was liberally opened. Those whom fortune had 
enabled to retire from the devoted city, fled to &e country with hurry 
and precipitation, insomuch that the Highways were encumbered with 
horses and carriages. Many who had in the beginning combated these 
groundless fears with the weapons of reason and ridicule, began insensibly 
to imbibe the contagion, and felt their hearts fail in proportion as the 
hour of probation approached ; even science and philosophy were not 
proof against the unaccountable effects of this communication. In after 
ages, it will hardly be believed that, on the evening of the eighth of 
April, the open fields that skirted the metropolis were filled with an 
incredible number of people assembled in chairs, in chaises, and coaches, 
as well as on foot, who waited, in the most fearful suspense, until morning 
and the return of day disproved the truth of the dreaded prophecy. Then 
their fears vanbhed ; they returned to their respective habitations in a 
transport of joy." 

But, 

The Devil was sick— the Devil a priest would be; 
The Devil got well— the Devil a priest was he. 

The panic over, " they were soon reconciled to their abandoned vices, 
which tney seemed to resume with redoubled affection, and once more 
bidiiefiance to the vengeance of Heaven !" 

This was the occasion alluded to by Horace Walpole in his letter to 
Sir Horace Mann, dated April the 2nd, 1750 : — " Several women have 
made earthquake gowns, that is, warm gowns to sit out of doors all to- 
night These are of the more courageous." Others of his female 
titled acquaintances sought an asylum at an inn, ten miles from town, 
where they were going ^' to play at brag till five in the morning." 

But the threatened Destroyer did not keep his appointment, and ifaefe 
amiable dames were spared, to play at brag another day ! 



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THE ANGLER AND HIS FRIEND .♦ 

Akqlino IB an instinct. Let utilitarians whose every thought and 
impulse is engrossed in the one ahsorhing dream of oovetousness, let 
mock humanitarians who would not crush a worm but persecute their 
fellow-creatures, and morbid sentimentalists who swallow hecatombs and 
strain at white-bait, denounce the art as much as they like, there still 
always will be brethren of the rod, learned, poetic, literary anglers, as 
well as the simple, who will paint its beauties as the spring rain does the 
meadows, and vaunt its charms as youthful lovers do those of their 
mistresses. Here is Dr. John Davy, a phy»cian, a philosopher, and an 
angler, who will tell you that the first symptom of a man's intellect be- 
coming impidred was his giving up the gentle art I 

It has been argued that while fishing for food is excusable, angling, as 
an amusement, is reprehensible. We know few anglers who do not eat 
their fish, and, what is more, like them, too. Nor, on the score of sensi- 
tiveness, is the argument all on one side. Fish, and more especially salmon 
and trout, are omnivorous, and especially voracious. They devour their 
own ova and that of each other. From the gullet of one trout no less 
than six hundred salmon ova were obtained, some of which, put apart^ 
were afterwards hatched, using the artificial process. 

According to Dr. John Davy, the two great functions by which fish 
are supported and their species maintained — viz., their mode of feeding 
and of breeding — are both carried on in the most inhuman way, according 
to our ideas of humanity. 

, " Take the example of a trout : its food is entirely animal matter, and 
its favourite food living animals, which it seizes and swallows entire ; and 
so indiscriminately voracious is it, that, vrith the exception of the poisonous 
toad, there is no living creature that comes in its way it will not devour, 
from the frog or mouse to the common fly and gnat, from the slimy slug 
to the stony incased larva, and not even sparing its own kind, it being 
no uncommon occurrence to take a large trout with a smaller one in its 
stomach. In manner of breeding they can hardly be said to show any 
parental a£Pection, at least the salmonidse. Their eggs are deserted, after 
having been properly deposited in a suitable bed of gravel, left to the 
mercy of chance to be hatched, and the young fish, consequently, never 
know their parents, who, Saturn-like, often feed on their helpless off- 
spring." 

The sense of feeling is so obtuse in fish — that every angler know»— 
that a fish will often bite again with a hook in its mouth, which it has 
only just before carried away. Salmon have been taken an hour after 
beine liberated when sorely wounded with the ^ff. ^ 

The exercise afforded by angling is most &vourable to health and 
enjoyment. See the fly-fisher even advanced in age ; in his lithe erect 
frame what a contrast is visible, comparing him with the man of the 
desk, or the studious and indolent man. The love of nature entertained 
by ever varying scenery and out-of-door pursuits is in no small degree 

* The Angler and his Friend ; or. Piscatory CoUoqnies and Fishing Excursions. 
By John Davy, K.D., F JLS., &c. Longman and Ck). 



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The Angler and his Friend. 233 

fiiYonrable abo both to moral as well as inteUectual enjoyment and im- 
provement. 

What books are more popular than those on angling ? What book has 
passed through more editions than '^ The Contempktiye Man's Recrea* 
tion ?" '< l3»ak Walton,'* Dr. Davy remarks, << in our English literature, 
is second only to Shakspeare and Mlton, and probably is more universally 
read. What an idea does that book, publisned now two centuries ago, 
give of the culture which the art has received in this country, hardly 
inferior to the most prized of the useful arts. My copy of it, which I 
purchased when a student, had previously passed through many hands 
and in distant countries, Scotland, Prince of Wales's Island, Bombay ; 
and since it has been in my possession, now more than forty years, it has 
accompanied me in all my wanderings, and has never been more pleasing 
than when remote from home and the charming scenes so well described 
in it." 

<< Salmonia" has been designated a supplement to Walton. << The 
Angler and his Friend" will, we think, be the complement. Worthy 
brethren of the angle ! such love and partiality for the most innocent of 
all pursuits has adorned the career of both — ^both alike having also 
largely added to the stores of knowledge acquired to mankind ! In such 
presence one would hesitate to induce in the cheerful hilarity of a 
Walton. Yet such is not the case ; both could, and one can yet, sing : 

Oh the callant fisher's life, 

It is uie best of any; 
'Tis full of pleasure, void of strife. 
And 'tis beloved by many : 
Other joys are but toys ; 
Only tnis lawful is, 
For our skill breeds no ill. 
But content and pleasure. 

The chief scenes of Dr. John Davy's fishing exploits, at once in a 
sporting, a philosophical, and a descriptive point of view, are the lakes 
and rivers of Connemara ; &e renowned salmon leap of Ballyshannon ; 
Gwedore, Donegal ; the Teme, Shropshire ; and Uawes Water, West- 
moreland : all beautiful sites, most promising to the angler, and rich in 
scenic accessories. 

Derryclare, yniii its numerous islets, every one dressed in native wood, 
holly, oak, and birch, vrith a rich undergrowth of varied heaths, among 
which the lovely purple bell-shaped spedes, presenting a great contrast to 
the woodless shores and naked surrounding mountains ; and Lough Inagfa, 
with a larger island, and trees of larger growth, overshadowed by the 
projecting spurs and buttresses of Bencorr, breasted by clouds, the 
highest of the Twelve Pins, connected by fine streams of clear water — 
rough and rapid — and in the centre of the wildest and grandest region 
of tihat wild country ConnemariL together with the great common outlet 
of Ballinahinch, wi&i its islanded castle, are in every sense most attractive 
and most delightful sporting grounds for the angler. Here, as indeed in 
all the Ballinahinch lakes, many so curiously connected by smaU, sluggish 
streams, hardly wide enough to allow a boat to pass, he will find abun- 
dance of white-trout, or salmon-trout — the salmo trutta — and like the 
common salmon, a migratory fish ^ while in the rivers are the common 



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234 The AngUr and his Friend. 

trout, the l«own«teout» sod the fiy o£ the salmoQ and ifhite-ttont. Need 

we add, in the Ballinahinch, the angler's great pride — ^the sal mo tt th e 
kiliing of which with a zod and line 14 stiu to nuu j aa untotored hand 
altogether a myth. 

The white-troat and salmon (Dr. Davy tells ns) in large nnmhers enter the 
Rallinahinnli river ; the sahnon passing through the first and seeond lake» Balli- 
nahinch and Derrjclare, oolleot in I^ugh Insgh, and principally in its upper 
portion, where the river, the main feeder of the lake, aad in which the sahnon 
make their spawning-beds, enters. To these three lakes of the group, the salmon, 
I believe, confines itself :-*-bat not so the white-trout ; it is found m all of them, 
and in plenty, though probably in greatest plenty in the three that have been 
named. I could mention some other examples of waters common to the salmon 
and white-trout, such as the Crawley river in Donegal, and tiie Clanv river 
adjoining, and the three lakes in connexion, from which it issoes, situated, at the 
foot of Uiat grand weather-beaten hill, Arigal ; sneh as the Biver Moy, m Mayo, 
and Lough Conn, the great feeder of that river. Instances, however, of the con- 
trary, of the two kinds of fish not occurring in the same water, are, I believe, 
even more common. The following are nobble of the kind: the Lakes of Kil- 
lamey, a great resort of salmon, and abounding in brown-trout, but without white- 
tarout ; Lough Melvil, the same, where the gularoo is found in company with the 
salmon; the Eiver Erne, celebrated for its salmon fishery at BaHyshannon, and 
Lonffh Erne, whenoe it flows, for its huqge brown-tront, but sparin^y freqnented 
by iniite-tnmt 

We mnst decidedly take an exception here to Dr. Dayy^s designating 
Arigal, a grand weauier-beaten hM. Having wpeni a day and a night 
and part of an ensuing day on its aedivities, and in a cottage in a 
secluded vale at its base,- bewildered in aa Atiantio mist, we do not like 
to see the mountain of our imagination so hnmhled. Dr. Davy, speaking 
of Bencorr, remarks, that in its eflfect on the mind it is a good example 
of the little importance of absolute height Though so comparatively 
low, yet from its form ' and its aceoropaniments — ^those clouds gliding 
along its summit and all but hiding it — ^that torrent rushing down its 
dde—that deep corry partially seen on its flank — give to it a character 
almost Alpine. How much more so is this die case willi Arigal ! The 
worthy doctor himself, in another part of his work (p. 193), speaking of 
what he deaignates as the motmtoih-chains and peaks of Muckish and 
Arigal, says^ the latter ** naked and [storm-beaten, rising pyramidally, 
and seemingly inaccessible, impart to the waste an air almost of sub- 
Kmity.** 

Few places in the world present, perhaps, a more exciting scene to the 
angler than the rocky portals of tiie great Longh Erne at Ballyshannon 
•—a broad expanse of water, a roaring fall mIow, a noble old bridge 
above, buildings, dwelling-houses on each side, their waUs rising out of 
tiie water. We happily timed our vbit, at the period when the salmon 
were taking the leap in their migration up the nver, and never shall we 
forget the fively piscatorial scene pfresented .to our sight ! Dr. Davy 
was there at the tune of the migration inwards of the eels — a marvellous 
phenomenon ; the pools bordering the rapids are at the time black with 
them ; they are in millions ; they climb over the rocks, eet astray upon 
the land ; numbers innumerable die in the migration, and the very air is 
tainted with their smell ! 

It is a curious fiu^ that notwithstanding the ahundanoe of salmon 
which take the leap at Ballyshannon, Louffh Erne is not cUstbgnishedly 
a salmon lake. Dr. Davy remarks upon this pointy that there are many 



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T/m AngUr and hu Frimd. 9SA 

lakes eoBmmieaiiiig witb good salmoii riyers dettttate of admoBi at 
well aa the more fortanate examples of lakes so situated abounding in 
salmon. '^ Of the cause of the difiierence I am ignorant. This too b a 
subjeet deserving inquiry. I once fistncied that the presence of pike 
might b* the cluef cause, finding that this fish ia unlmown in certain 
salmon lakes» such as Eollarney, Lough Inagh, and others I could men* 
iion, whilst it is common in certain destitute of salmon, such as Winder* 
mere, and some others of our En^ish lakes; — but I was obliged ta 
relinquish the notion, finding that there are lakes in whidi both &h are 
met with ; for instance, Lough Dorg, an expansion of the Shannon.'' 

Although there b undoubtedly greater variety in river>fishing than in 
lake-fishing, still the latter has great charms, wmd and okiuds changing 
that scene for the angler which, when roving along the river banks, he 
changes for himself. There are also, it is to be noted, moods of mind 
suitable to each— times vdien the quieter and more monotonous exercise 
may be most agreeable ; other times when the more active may be most 
needed and useful There is also always a relation between the seenery 
of a district and the land of fislmu^ it attbrda. The trout bekmgs to the 
mountain and the moor, the grand and wild; Ae grayling, to parik and 
meadow, the cultivated valley and rich pastures. 

Dr. Davy is a practical as well as a philosophieal angler^ and is not 
wedded to jprejudioes. Perhaps, he says, the angler generally gives the 
fish credit lor mote discrimination than it exercises, and over-refines in 
the attempt to assign certain forms of artificial flies to the several months 
of the year, and to different states o£ atmosphere ocooEring during the 
fishing season. Elsewhere he also describes an experienced old fisherman 
in Connemara, who stuck to one or two flies the whole season, and 
laughed at the luxury of fi;endemen anglers with their fly-book fall of 
flies, of almost endless vanety of forms and colours. The love of variety 
of flies is a passion that grows upoooL one^ and one which we have gene- 
rally remarked more partienlarly Qharagtariasc an impatient and an nn- 
soooessfal aii|;ler. 

Dr. Davy i% we have said, also a philosophicai asigler. 

''Has not there," inquires Amicas, "been mmik diiqpiiie on the subject of the 
salmon-£ry, and especially respecting the parr P" 

PiscATOS. Tbere has oeen, and ^ith imoh profit. The staoe of growth which 
has given rise to the disonaaion, ia that middle one, att>aiiifln, as I have stated, 
about June, and retained during the remainder of the vear. In this stagey the 
young aalmon, however deaimiated, was long conaiderea a distinct species, quite 
i^Murt &om the sahnon, ana therefore not needing piotecti<m by law in the 
nuumer of the acknowledfled salmon-fir, that is, idlien the silvery scale had been 
acquired. Aooordingiy, the capture of the one waa aUowed, and is still allowed 
in some of our En^gliah rivers, as it ia also in some of the Ldsh^ — a permission 
attended with an immense destruction;— whilst that of tiie other was prohibited 
under a heavy penalty. Not only was the marked difference of a|)peaFanoa 
insisted on bv those who supportea tibe doctrine of the distinct species in the 
instance of tne parr, but ahfo the fact,— and it is a curious one, — ^that in the 
parr the nult is matured so as to be fit for the impregnating function; it being 
acknowledged, however, that in the female fish no corresponding development of 
the ova could be detected. To one inquirer, Mr. Shaw, we are most indebted 
for throwinglight on this obscure subject, and for explaining what appears' 
snemalous. He, by a series of wdH-eonducted experiments, proved that the pair 
—the fish with its mature milt in Auflust and Septembei^kept in a oonimed: 
pond, changed its appearance in the foUowing spring, and in May had become a 

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236 TTie Angler and his Friend. 

yeritable smolt^ with its silveiT scales, ready and impatient for emigratioiL And, 
he farther proved that the miit of the parr is capable of impregnating the eggs 
of the full grown salmon; and as the young fish, the male parrs, haunt the 
spawning beds of the salmon, they may be considered as a supplementary pro- 
vision designed in wisdom to secure the due impregnation of the ova, — ^these, in 
a large spawninff-bed, the resort of many fisn, being deposited in Countless 
nnmlxsrs. Another fiict, and I think a convincing one, in conjunction with the 
preceding, is, that the parr has never been found except in streams frequented 
by salmon ; — a ooinddenoe that would be strange indeed, were it an independent 
species and not migratory, which the advocates of its being a distinct species 
have never held it to be. 

This is somewhat in advance of the time of good old Izaak Walton, 
who makes Piscator say, in answer to a question from Venator, " But, 
master, I have heard that the great trout you speak of is a salmon." 

" Trust me, scholar, I know not what to say to it. There are many 
country people that believe hares change sexes every year ; and there be 
very many teamed men think ao too, for in their dissecting them they 
find many reasons to incline them to that belief. And to make the 
wonder seem yet less, that hares change sexes, note that Doctor 
Casaubon affirms, in his book of incredible things, that Gasper Peucerus, 
a learned phydcian, tells us of a people that once a year turn wolves, 
partly in soape, and partly in conditions.** 

In advance we say, and yet not perfectly satisfactory, witness the 
following conversation, supposed to occur at the English lakes : 

Amictjs. You alluded, just now, to the crossing of breeds, such as result from 
the iroprep;nation of the ovum of the salmon or of the cluur by the milt of the 
trout : this brings to my recollection the hypothesis of an ingenious man of my 
acquaintance, that all the Salmonidae are merely varieties; he, holding, that 
compased individually, they are not more distinct than the varieties of &gs, or 
even of the human race; and that their peculiarities, those by which they have 
been separated into species in an artificial system of classification, have been ac- 
quired accidentally, and have become hereditary. 

PisCATOS. It is an hjrpothesis which may be maintained, and if practically in- 
vestigated, may lead to interesting results. Pray keep it well in mmd, and make 
it the subject of experiment. This we know for certam, that the brook-trout of 
two or three ounces and the lake-trout of many pounds weijjht are identical 
species, and that the river-trout can live and flourish in brackish water: — ^now, 
would it be more extraordinary, were it established, that the young of the salmon 
confined to a river on slender diet, unable to obey its instinct and descend to the 
sea, can propagate and give origin to a persistant variety, similar to the parr, 
and which miRbt be called a species. 

Amicus. I have heard it said, and by a naturalist, who, I know, has paid 
much attention to the subject, that the parr has all the characters of a fish iu its 
immature state, — a state in which it may be compared to the boy, and that it 
would be just as reasonable to believe its persistance in this state, as to believe 
that a boy, however long he might live, would continue a boy. 

PiscATOB. This is steting the case so as to reduce it, as it were, to the 
argwnentum ad absurdum ; but I do not think justly, inasmuch as the analogy is 
incomplete. To make it complete, we should nave a race of boys endowed with 
the procreative function of men. Whether or not there be a parr, distinct as a 
variety or species, can only be determined, I think, by careful observation, and 
not by analogical reasoning : and I may add, that at present, as well as I can 
judge, the weight of evidence and of authority is altogether in the negative. 

A word or two anent the bearing of these natural historical and pliy- 
aological inquiries upon legislative topics. 



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The Afiffler and his Friend. 237 

Amicus. Now we are in tliis discnrsiYe mood, allow me to inqoire respecting 
the legislative acts for the preservation of salmon, and whether you join or not 
in the commonly received opinion, that the existing ones are defective and in- 
adequate? 

PiscATOB. I nnqnestionably do, and for the preservation of fish generally. 
Unless s&a\e more stringent laws be enacted ana enforced, one of our most de- 
li^htfid country sports will be in great danger of being lost, or of being only 
within the readi of a few rich proprietors, who have streams of their own, — 
private property, and are able to mcur a great expense in preserving them. This 
lake district is a striking instance in point. Formerly its lakes and rivers 
abounded in fish : it was the paradise ot anglers ; in no part of England were 
there more kinds or greater numbers of fish, affording sport to the angler, from 
the noble salmon to the brook-trout. Now, on the contrary, its an^Bu^, from 
its glory has become its opprobrium, and the tourists, ignorant of the change, 
who come in sanguine expectation of great performance with the rod, leave in 
disgust, with the settled determination, should they repeat their visit, not to 
cumber themselves with fishing gear. I speak of the district generally, not of 
the lake we have been fishing to-day, — ^that being well preserved, and almost a 
solitary exception. 

Amictts. Pray inform me as to the causes which have been most injurious, and 
which, if new laws are to be enacted for the preservation of fish, ought, in your 
opinion, most to be kept in mind. 

PiscATOB. The causes are many. I shall mention those only, which may 
justly come under the head of poaching, — such as night-fishing with nets, and 
using nets of small mesh, fishmg with salmon-roe, a very destructive bait; 
setting night-lines; and in addition to these in the lakes and tarns, fishing with 
the lath or otter, and cross-fishing : moreover, in the spawning season, taking 
the charr, both with the net and naked hook, by a process already mentione(^ 
that foul one of ''klicking ;" and the larger fish, such as the sahnon and grey- 
trout, bv the spear or lister. As regards the salmon specially, the importance 
of which, as an article of food, is immeasurably greater than as a fish for sport, 
the destructive causes in operation are even more numerous, so much so, tluit it 
is really surprisin^^ that all our English rivers are not in ioio, as most of them 
are, deprived of this fish. The salmon, as you know, on account of its value in 
its adult state, has watchful pursuers in all directions : if it escape the stake-nets 
laid along shore contiguous to the river estuaries, — a difficult matter, — ^it can 
hardly escape the net tnat is shot or laid for it withm, and the cruives and weares 
cdnstructea to entrap it in the way of its upward passage. Then, if we consider 
it in its early staee, being commonly unprotected as a parr, and the parr readily 
taking the ij ana easily taken, its destruction is enormous : I have heard, and 
on good autnority, of a party of three anglers, who in one spring day, fishing 
with the rod and fly, killed three hundred amd sixty-three dozen ! 

Amicus. Is there any remedy for this great evilP Can you suggest any 
measure to check or prevent it P 

PiscATOB. As to tne suggestion of measures, there is littie difficulty. Were 
a committee appointed to mquire into the matter, composed of men, naturalists 
as well as anglers, remedial means, I have no doubt, could be proposed, which, 
if legislated on, would be very effectual The great difficulty seems to be in 
gettmg an act passed through Parliament, it is so expensive and troublesome, 
and so many interests are concerned. Would that the government would under- 
take it ! But, alasj each administration of late years has been so feeble, its 
existence so precarious, as to be unequal even to the carrying of measures of 
higher interest, and to which they have been in a manner pledged. Would that 
the country gentlemen would unite, and some patriotic angler amongst them 
make the attempt ! Their interests are specially concerned. Were our rivers 
well stocked with fish, which most of them might be, were they properly pro- 
tected, the country would be rendered more attractive, — ^the value of landed 
property, wherever there is a river, would be enhanced, and streams now run- 
ning waste and barren would become productive sources of wholesome food» 
costing nothing in its production, as wdl as of a delightful and healthy recreation. 

JttlW— VOL. OIV. NO. CCGCXIV. B 



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336 TfieAnjkr Willis Frignd. 

'Most writers an aDg^ggfiveiis---«dterthe€uU€n«ftiie father of the 
-race, old Izaak— recipes for cookiDg jBsh as well as for catcfaitig them. 
Dr. Davy is not an exception, only that he treats the snbject in a more 
noyel and philosophical manner. 

AjacTTs. Now we are on the road, if tins track deserf es the namff, which is 
barely passable and barely distinguishable in places from the bog and moor, 
allow me to ask a tpestion about fish as diet. Speaking of our Roman Calholic 
forefathers and then: fasts, — ^they fasting on fish,~you seemed to hold itinoon- 
gmoos. Tell me, is there not a warrant for it in ^ circnmstanoe that fish as 
rood affords bat little nourishment ? 

FiSGA.Toa. This is a subject on which I have made some experiments, the 
results of which go far to prove that there is much nourishment in fish, little 
less than in batcher's meat, weight for weight ;-~and in effect it may be more 
nourishing, considering how, from its softer fibre, fish is more easily digested. 
Moreover, there is, I find, in fish, in sea fish, a substance which does not exist in 
the flesh of land animals, viz., iodine : a substance which may have a beneficial 
effect on the health, and tend to prevent the production of sorofalous and tuber- 
cular disease, the hitter, in the form of pulmonair consumption, one of the most 
cruel and fatal with which civilised society, and the highly educated and refined, 
are afiOicted. Comparative trials prove that in the majority of fish the propor- 
tion of solid matter, that is, the matter which remains after perfect desiccation, 
or the expulsion of the aqueous part, is little inferior to that of the several kinds 
of butcher's meat, game, or poultry. And, if we give our attention to daaees 
of people-— classed as to quality of food they principally subsist on— we find that 
the ichthyophaeous class are especially strong, healthy, and prolific. In no class 
than that of fiaShers do we see larger famihes, nandsomer women, or more robust 
and active men, or a greater exemption from the maladies just idluded to. 

Aiacus. May not other drcumstanoes be ooncemed m rendering them so 
healthy, such as an unstinted diet, the sea air, and the hving so much in the 
open air P 

PiBCATOK. These drcumstanoes may contidbnte to the beneficial effect; but 
are not, I think, by themselves sufficient to account for the dfeot. 'BiereaKe 
facts of a corroborative kind ; such as the well-ascertained effioaoy of ood-liver 
oil — an oil containing iodine— 'in arresting the progress of consumption; the 
efficacy of the same substance in reheving or curing some other duronic ailments, 
especially bronchocele ; and the virtue of fish-diet, — of raw fidi, — as employed 
in Siberia and in Holland, in the treatment of many chronic complaints resistug 
ordinary medical treatment, of whidi there are well-authentioBted accounts. In 
early periods of the world, legislators have thoug:ht it neoessary to make regula- 
tions on the subject of diet, enforcing their restrictions bv religious iujunctiona. 
The ruder a people, the more ignorant, the more careless they commonly are, and 
the less fastidious in their dietary. Li Eastern nations^ in warm climates, most 
of the coarse feeding animals, especially swine, were prohibited, and as much so 
by the Mahommedan as the Moauoal law, on the idea probably that their flesh 
is unwholesome. So amongst the earlier Christians, when the restrictions as to 
meats were withdrawn, — when none were pronounced to be unclean uid defiling, 
— the Church, with a view to the health of the people, might think it right to 
institute their so-called fasts, — days on which fish was allowed. And if in Italy, 
especially in Rome, we visit the markets and see what is there sold and is m 
request as food, such as cakes of blood, owls, hawks, crows, &c., of very doubt- 
ful fitness, we shall not, I think, be surprised at the adoption of fish-fasts, or 
have difficulty in giving credit to them as usefully instituted as regards the 
health of the people. 

Amicus. I am pleased with this your explanation of the fasts of the Church 
of Borne, and am of opinion, if your doctrme as to fish-diet be sound, that we 
Protestants have made a mistake in abrogating &st, t. e. fish-days. What you 
have said excites my curiosity, and makes me mauisitive. Allow me to ask, is 
.there any material difference in the qualities of fish, viewed as artides of food? 

PiSGATOB. Unquestionably there is, and of a kind deserving of attention; 



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The Angler and his Friend. 239 

indeed, I am confident, of more attention than has yet been paid to the salaect. 
Now, as we walk along, I can only allude to the more striking points. !^irst, 
comparing fresh-water and salt-water fish, there is, according to my trials, this 
well-marked difference — the absence in the former of iodine. In the migratory 
fish, the salmon and white-trout, a trace of iodine may be detected when, they 
first come from the sea, and when they are fittest for the food of man, whicn 
disappears s^ter a while, and that with their deterioration. Owin^ to the 
presence of iodine in sea-fish, I think we may conclude that, on the whole, the 
preference is to be given to them. As to individual species, whether of sea-fish 
or of fresh- water, there are notable differences and peooliarities, some depending 
on the species, some on the qualities of the feed. Of the first we have instances 
almost without number, inasmuch as almost each kind has some distinctive 
peculiarity. The delicate smelt has the odour of the cucumber ; tiie grayling, of 
the thyme ; some of those of the scomber family abound in blood, have a com- 
paratively high temperature, and dark-coloured muscles ; others, as those of the 
UadidsB, of wnidi group the whiting is one, have little blood, at least few red 
coipuscmles, have white muscles, and are delicately tasted ; some, as the common 
ray, and most of the order of cartila^ous fish, have a muscular fibre of much 
firmness and power of resistance, yielding and becoming tender from keeping, 
and consequently, contrary to the general rule applicable to fish, they should not 
be dressed fish ; and other differences might be pointed out,~^one und abound- 
iug in oil, as the pilchard, herring, and eel ; the eel especially, and so luscious in 
consequence, — otner kinds contaming little or no oil, as the sole and ray. Of 
the infiuence of feed on the same kind of fish we have striking examples both in 
many salt-water and fresh-water species. Qi the former, how different in quality 
is the herrin g caught off different parts of the coast ; so too of the common 
haddock. What herring is equal to that of Loch Fine P What haddock equal 
to that of the Bay of Dublin ? Of fresh-water fish, what a contnyst there is be- 
tween the lake-trout and the biook-tiont ! — ^The one well fed, well fiavonred, of 
the colour of the salmon, and sometimes attaining the size of the salmon ; the 
other small, colourless, and insipid. What a contrast between either of these 
and the trout of bo^water; the latter, black, soft, ill formed, and ill tasted. 
What a contrast, agam, between the trout inhabiting a stream in a fertile lime- 
stone district, fed by springs, fluctuating little, and the in-dwellers of the 
mountain stream in a prmntive countiy, smyjeot to great fluctuations — one day 
a raging torrent, in a orief space run out and all but dried up. As with other 
aniimds, whether beast or bird, dcmiestic or wild, much, we know, as to their 
quality, depends on their feed, its kind and quantity; and so with fish. Of 
tnese, the paradoxical sturgeon may be mentioned as another and verv striking 
example; by the Norwegians, we are informed by Block, it is even designated 
after the fish on which, from its fiavour, it is supposed to have fed, — as the 
mackerel-stureeon, herring-sturgeon, &c. Other circumstances, besides food, no 
doubt, have luLcwise an enect, — all which anywise influence the healthy such as 
dimate, air, water, &c. ; nor amongst these should age be omitted. This last, 
in the instance of fish, smd of fish only, is little thought of at home ; and it may 
be, because in our well-fished seas, rivers, and lakes, few fish are allowed to 
reach a very advanced age : but not so in the tropical seas, where there is not 
the same activity practised in the capture of fish ; there, it is not uncommon to 
be helped at table to an old fish, and to have its hardness and toughness ex- 
plained by one's experienced host by reference to age. 

Amicus. You just now called the stui^geon paraooxicaL Why so ? 

PiscATOK. On account of its peculiarities. With its congeners, it is as it 
were a link between the cartilaginous and osseous fishes ; and as regards the 
table, between fish and butcher's meat, when dressed having a close resemblance 
to veal. Further, though one of the most widely spread as to its habitats, 
ranging from the Norwegian coasts to the Mediterranean, it is so abundant in 
some waters as to be the food of peasants, and so rare in others as to be re- 
stricted to the tables of princes : moreover, though bred in fresh water, it 
traverses the ocean. 

b2 



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( 240 ) 



SKETCHES OP THE ITALIAN BJSVOLUTION. 

BY AN STE-WITNESS. 

After the proclamation of the Neapolitan constitution in the month 
of Fehraary, Bozzelli, a writer of tiie ultra-Liberal press, had been called 
into the amninistration, and was charged with the task of drawing up 
the promised charter. He immediately accorded irresponsible freedom 
to the press — a dangerous innovation in that moment of excitement, 
which enabled the revolutionary clubs to exercise a still more widely- 
spread influence over the people, whilst they dictated with the most 
absolute power to the government. Salicetti, afterwards known as a 
triumvir m the republican government at Rome, had been forced into 
office by the insistanoe of the dubs. He immediately demanded the ex- 
pulsion of the Jesuits, which Bozzelli does not appear to have desired ; 
but the measure was, nevertheless, enforced with so much rigour, that a 
brother of the order, who was upon his death-bed at the moment in 
which the command was issued, was dragged from his couch of suffering 
and conveyed aboard the steamer that was to carry them to Malta. An 
attempt was then made to expel the other monastic orders from the 
kingdom ; but the people, greatiy attached to their religion and to its 
ministers, gathered in tumultuous assemblages, in which blood was spilt, 
and order was completely destroyed. Whilst scenes of anarchy and con- 
fu^on were thus of frequent occurrence, the republican party, led and 
urged on by the new minuter, Salicetti, no longer threw a veil over their 
design to subvert the monarchy; but Bozzelli, a zealous constitutionalist, 
yet a friend to regal authority, resolved to save his country from the fury 
of the democratic party. Salicetti was compelled to resign his office ; 
and the king, supported by his minister, resisted the demand of the 
national guard that the dangerous addition of a corps of artillery should 
be made to their force. 

Still the disorders continued to rage with unabated friry. The im- 
perial arms were torn down from the Austrian embassy and publicly 
burnt, amidst the vociferous applauses of the national guard. Large 
masses of people besieged the official residences of the different members 
of the government, violently demanding to march for the war of inde- 
pendence ; and resolved not to yield, yet unable to resist the pressure, 
Bozzelli retired from tiie administration, leaving Salicetti and his hordes 
masters of the fate of Naples. Yet the king resolutely refused to 
appoint Salicetti to the vacant place, which now scarcely any honest man 
had sufficient courage to accept ; but at length Troya, Dragonetti, and 
other members of the constitutional party, were named by the clubs acd 
the national guard, and the king accepted them, in order to exclude 
Salicetti and the republicans. 

After the insult offered to the Austrian arms, Prince Schwartzenberg, 
the minister of that country, had demanded his passport, and quitted 
Naples ; whilst the new ministry despatched four thousand men, under 



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Sketches of the Italian Revolution. 241 

ihe command of General Pepe, to Ancona ; and five thousand more, 
with ihree regiments of cayalry and a train of artillery, marched by land 
to the scene of action. 

In the provinces deeds of violence and terror were daily recurring, 
with no less frequency and fury than in the capital; and the more 
moderate members of the government withdrew one by one, finding that 
they could oppose no effectual resistance to the mob, which now reigned 
uncontrolled. Their places were supplied by the popular demagogues, 
whom the dubs forced upon the king. Palermo, under the provisional 
government, had proceeded to declare the throne vacant and Ferdinand 
for ever deposed; but, attached to their aristocratic constitution, and 
guided by the Chamber of Peers, the revolutionists of Sicily only sought 
to recover the liberty of which they had been unjustly deprived, but did 
not wish to establish democratic institutions. They desired to elect a 
king £rom the family of one of the princes of Italy ; and finally offered 
the crown to the Duke of Genoa, second son of the King of Sardinia. 

At Naples, the opening of the Chambers on the 16& of May caused 
a renewal of the tempestuous scenes that had attended the conunence- 
ment of the revolution. The deputies arrived in the capital to enter 
upon their legislative functions, attended by armed bands of the pro- 
vincial population, whose presence was little calculated to inspire confi- 
dence or to restore order ; and at the first step towards the assumntion of 
thdr public duties strife broke out between the Representative Cnamber 
and the royal authority. The deputies were required to swear to the 
constitution as it had been prepared and published : they refused to 
comply, upon the plea that future modifications would he required, 
and that they could not fetter themselves by a pledge that would exclude 
prospective improvements. However plausible the pretext might sound, 
this first demur served to unmask the designs of the republicans to 
subvert the monarchy ; and the measures of that party, throughout the 
revolutionary crisu, lead to the certain inference that the kii^ did not 
overrate the danger to which he was exposed. The moderate and en- 
lightened portion of the population, here as in all the other states of 
Italy, sincerely desired the establishment of constitutional liberty, whilst 
they dreaded democratic violence; but this party was completely deficient 
in courage and energy when placed in colUsion with the furious fiustions 
that offered a lawless opposition to every rational system of government. 
And if the king had contented himself with upholding the constitution 
that he had bestowed with fearless loyalty against the disciples of 
Mazrini and the anarchical mob that obeyed their call, he might have 
been spared from the terrible imputations of haring shown bad faith 
towards his people, and a tyrannical devotion to the principles of 
absolutism. 

The deputies persisted in their refusal to take the oath ; the king declined 
to dispense with it; and in the midst of the contention the ministry gave in 
iheir resignation. The Representative Chamber continued its sittings, and 
appeared resolved to instigate the people to insurrection ; the civic guard 
supported the refractory Chamber ; and the demon of ciril war seemed to 
await tiieir determination. The republican agents loudly accused tiie 
king of betraying the people ; and they openly instigated the mob to 
every excess. In this moment of urgent peril the king still showed a 



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242 Sketches of the Italian Revolution. 

wbh to ooociliate, and sent a message to the Chamber, proposing to 
modify the oath hitherto exacted into one which should promise fidelity 
to the fundamental laws that had been propounded, but reserred to tlie 
Chamber the power of making future ameiMimentSk The mroistry con- 
sented to retain their offices if this compromise were accepted. The 
ChamJber reqidred time to deliberate ; but as soon as the king's messenger 
withdrew its precincts were invaded by the ciric guard, led by the 
notorious republican chief La Cecilia. They interrupted the dehbera^ 
tioos by their fierce and disorderly cries, and loudly accused the king of 
treason against the national liberties. The order for calling the citizens 
to arms was demanded and accorded, and barricades were instantly con^ 
structed in all the principal streets. AU the customary arts were resorted 
to in order to increase the terror of the moment and add to the excite- 
ment of the insurgents ; and an atrocious report was industriously cir^ 
cnlated that the king had bribed the lazzaroni to massacre the parlia- 
mentary deputies. 

The Chamber of Peers assembled at the house of their pesident, 
Prince Cariati, to deliberate on the measures to be adopted for the pre- 
serration of their rights against the violence of the Lower Chamber, 
whidi hod already resolved on the abolition of their order. Continnal 
messages passed between the palace and the Upper Chamber; but the 
government remained undecided what course to adopt, whilst the tumult 
without gained strength every moment, and threatened the lives and 
properties of the citizens. Still foremost amongst the insurgents were 
the foreign exiles, who everywhere led on the republican movement, 
which found little sympathy from the majority of the people. 

Prince San Giacomo, whilst conveying a message to the king from the 
Chamber of Peers, was arrested by the insurgents; his carriage was 
seized to aid in piling up a barricade, and he was himself compelled to 
labour with the rioters, who were tearing up the pavement of the streets, 
and raising batteries at every defensible point. After some hours' de- 
tention he succeeded in e£Fecting his escape, and fied to the king. The 
whole military force of Naples was by this time assembled round the 
paiaee; and its leaders implored the king's pennission to aet with vigour 
before the insurrection gained greater strength. 

ASteit a< night of tumult and terror, at dawn of day on the 1 5th of 
May the Chamber of Deputies, which had not separated during the night, 
voted its sitting permanent, and proceeded to deliberate upon the mea* 
snres to be adopted. The deputy Ricciardi proposed that two demaada 
should be addressed to the government : 

1st. The surrender of the fortresses into the hands of the national 
guard. 

2ndly. The disbanding of the royal guard, or its immediate depaartore 
for the war of independence. 

These propositions were received with rapturous approbation by the 
Chamber ; but the deputies from the insurgent provinces soon suggested 
two other votes for the approval of the Chamber : 

1st. The abdication of the king. 

2ndly. 'Hie removal of all the troops to a distance of forty mHes IStosi 
the capital. 

The Chamber rejected the first of these propositions bat adopted ^ 



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SkskJm of the Italian BevoltUian. 24ft 

lultf aal fonr deputies ;were appointed to convey the demands to the kiog^ 
But befooe* the royal oonseDt could be obtained — and it was believed that 
in the emes^ncy of the moment it would not have been withheld— 
either accident or the crime of some individuals hastened the impendinff 
collision. Some men, from behind a barricade, fired on the troops and 
killed one of their number. No sooner had the sound reached the earn 
of a body of insurgents who were posted on a balcony above the baxri- 
cade than they also fired on the soldiery, and the desolating scene of civil 
cama^ commenced.. All communicatioa was cut off between the palace 
and the> fortresses^ and a moment of terrible suspense ensued, until the 
king was assured of the support of the commanders of those important 

n. But the red ensign, which called the garrison to arms, was sooa 
lyed from the towers of St. Elmo, and the other fortress quickly 
followed the example of the citadel. The signal to engage was now 
given, and the troops attacked the defenders of the barricades, aided by 
the brave but semi-savage lazzaroni, who fought with desperate enmity 
againat the popular party. 

The Duke de Rivas, the Spanish minister, endeavoured to reach the 
palace, but he was stopped, and his carriage served to strengthen the . 
neazest barricade. He returned to his own house, and there assembled 
the diplomatic corps. In a few moments more they went forth on foot, 
in order to support the king by their counsels. Meanwhile the combat 
raged around. The artillery discharged its thunders on the barricades ; 
but th<> insurgents, far from yielding before its terrors, fought on with 
desperate courage. The royal guard attacked the great barricade in the 
principal street. After a severe contest the cannon efiEected a breach, 
and finally the lazzaroni, armed with their loi^ knives, took possession 
of this fortification of modem revolution. 

The Swiss guard had, at first, shown some reluctance to act against 
the people ; but, converted from friends into foes by the savage attack 
with which the insurrection began, they now forced their way through 
other streets to the rear of the chief barricade^ which the royal guard 
had attacked in front Overwhelmed by showers of balls, stones, and 
every missile that could be hurled against them from the roo& and win- 
dows of the surrounding houses, each step of their advance cost the lives 
o£ numbers of their gallant band. Yet they fought on unflinchingly to 
join their comrades, who were contending against equal dangers on the 
other side of the barricade. A murderous fire was poured down upon 
them £rom the shelter of the buildings; but at length the barricade was 
carried, and the royal troops met upon the scene of their dearly*bought 
triumph. The national guard, completely defeated, gave way in every 
direction ; but eacb. house became a citadel, that was. defended with the 
despnratioo of men who had no hope hut to succeed or die. Every room 
reqwfed to be stormed, and an entrance could only be effected over the 
bodies of the dying and the dead, and across the murd«K>us fire of the 
sonrivors. Yet the troops fought their way with resolute intr^ndity ; 
house by house, and street after street, were assailed and taken ; bani-^ 
cades fell suecessively before their assaults ; and finally the triumpk of 
the king's cause was con^dete. 

During the whde of this sanguinaj^ contest the d^uties seem to have 
been but ill-infor(ned of the progress of events without, and up to the^lant. 



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344 Sketches of the Italian RevohUian. 

moment their agents continued to delude them with aasarances of 
victory. The Chamber elected a committee of public safety, consisting of 
fire members. They Toted the deposition of the king, ana cast down his 
bust by which the hall that they met in was decorated. But they awoke 
from tneir reverie at the approach of the victorious soldiery. Many of 
their number sought safety in flight, whilst the remainder were arrested, 
or dispersed by the adverse party. 

Reactionary measures were now immediately adopted, although the 
new cabinet still included Bouelli and other members of the constitu- 
tional party. The national guard was at once disarmed and disbanded, 
and the order was expedited to recal the Neapolitan troops from the war 
of independence. Many of the deputies hid taken refuge on board the 
French fleet, and it was believed to be at their instigation that Admiral 
Baudin addressed to the government a note of remonstrance against 
measures tending to an extreme reaction. But unfortunately tins ju- 
dicious advice received little attention, and on the 17th of May the 
Chamber was dissolved. Though every lover of constitutional freedom 
must deplore the determination of the kmg to adopt a principle of action 
of which the whole evils and dangers have not yet, perhaps, fully 
developed themselves, yet it must, on the other hand, be admitted that 
the Representative Chamber itself provoked tiie revocation of the con- 
stitution by its first act of bad faith in refusing the oath, and its subse- 
quentiy evinced intention to destroy the monarchy. 

Civil war, with all its attendant horrors, now broke out in the pro- 
vinces. The royal forces penetrated into the mountain festnesses of the 
wild Calabrias on the one side, and into the northern extremity of tiie 
kingdom on the other ; and advancing from either direction, tiie country 
was deluged with blood. The victor/ which was finally obtained over 
the national party was purchased by a frightful carnage, and by the lives 
of hundreds of the brave and free peasantry of the mountain districts. 
Many horrible acts of barbarism and revenge were committed on both 
sides, and the details — too revolting to be related — recal the savage war- 
fare of the wild tribes of the American forests^ rather than tiie heroic 
contests of civilised men struggling for the freedom of their country, and 
emulating the glorious deeds by which order and liberty have been 
obtamed in the few favoured lands in which they still subsist. Scenes of 
relentiess cruelty and suffering ended by smothering for awhile the 
awakened spirit of liberty, whilst a royal proclamation, announcing that 
the constitution was not abolished, failed to blind tiie people to the real 
condition to which they were once more reduced. 

In Sicily, where the revolution wore a less democratic character, it had 
been resolved to restore the constitution of 1812, of which the country 
had been unjustly deprived ; and a vote of both Chambers concurred in 
offering the crown to tiie Duke of Genoa, second son of Charles Albert. 
A French frigate conveyed the Duke of Serra di Falco, president of the 
Chamber of Peers, and seven other members of both the Legislative 
Chambers, to Genoa, whenoe they were to proceed to lay the offer of the 
Sicilians before the government of Turin. But the misfortunes of the 
. king had already commenced, and news of the defeat of Custoza was the 
first intelligence that greeted the messengers when they landed in Pied- 
mont. 



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Sketches oft/ie Italian Revolution. 245 

It has been already said that the recal of the Neapolitan troops from 
the war against Austria was the first measure taken by the king after his 
victory over the revolution in the streets of his capital and in the distant 
provinces of the kingdom. General Pepe refused to obey the order, and 
continued his march towards Venice. Other officers returned with the 
force that they commanded; and as Greneral Statella passed through 
Florence on his way to Naples, the people of that city expressed their 
abhorrence for his desertion of the national cause by a furious attack 
upon the hotel in which he lodged. He effected his escape with diffi- 
culty through a back door; but they seized his travelling carriage, and 
burnt it pcmlidy on one of the squares of the town — an offering to the 
violated cause of Italian independence. 

Tuscany had been one of uie earliest states upon which a constitution 
had been conferred. Her sovereign appeared to sympathise sincerely in 
the enthuriastic hopes that awakened in the hearts of his people, and 
cordially to adopt the measures of reform which were everywhere 
demancied. An amnesty had been accorded, by which a considerable 
number of political offenders had been restored to liberty. Amongst 
those most remarkable for their abilities, and the conspicuous part which 
they afterwards played in the affairs of Tuscany, were MontanelH, and 
the more able— but less fortunate— Guerrazzi. These two men — ^both 
ardent lovers of liberty, but adopting different views in pursuit of the 
bright shadow which finally eluded their grasp— were both elected by 
their fellow-citizens as deputies to the Chamber of Representatives. 

In the month of June the parliamentary assembly had also met at 
Rome, under the auspices of Mamiani's government ; and nearly at the 
same moment the fidse report of a fresh victory over the Austrians gave 
rise to an uncontrollable demonstration of popular violence. 

Whilst these events were in progress, two circumstances were paving 
the way for the final overthrow of the gallant King of Sardinia and his 
good cause. The defeat of the popular party at Naples, and the con- 
sequent recal of the Neapolitan troops, if it caused little injury to the 
army, which was left to fifi^ht singly against the forces of the enemy, yet 
occasioned irreparable mischief by the divisions which it fomented 
and the discouragement that it created. At the same time, the repub- 
lican party, led by Mazzini and his agents, dreaded that the successes of 
Charles Albert, which they had at first employed for their own ends, should 
eventually lead to the results which the moderate party had in view. 
For the establishment of a strong frontier kingdom of Northern Italy 
would be effectual not only for the expulsion of foreign domination, 
but might prove sufficiently powerful, in the hands of the victor of 
Austria, supported bv a conquering army, to put down republicanism, 
and to establish a stable and durable form of constitutional government. 
This prospect — already almost achieved — which formed the hope and 
wish of the moderate party, was the dread of the republicans ; and 
Mazzini — with the fatal egotism with which he sacrificed his country to 
his own wild and desperate theories — ^lost no time in exciting all those 
cities which had placed their hopes of salvation in a union with Pied- 
mont, to a groundless mistrust of the king, and a jealous fear of sinking 
into a position secondary to the Sardinian capital. The uncertainty and 
mistrust which arose mm all these dissenting views and opinions fer- 



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M6 SkttAMofthtluUimBevobaim. 

mentiiig in tbe poUic mindf oooled th* general onthgdimi bywhielL so 
mvch Imd beea obtained, and ae sooq as the diiisioa dedazed itself it 
oocasioned the loss of all that had been gained. 

Yenioe and Milan, thus instigated, rejected the (NKJected nnioik with 
Piedmont, and resolved to erect their states into independent rsfmbljiia. 
The long wasted preoioas and irrecoverable moments in besieging the 
ftrtsess of Mantua, hesitating to advance whilst Venice maintained bar 
aititade of independence^ The delay unhappily proved fatal to his anna. 
General Nugent had been sent with a corps of eighteen tJiowaand men 
to reinforce Radetxky. He defeated General Zoochi at Palma Nova, 
and took possession of the town of Udine without opposition. General 
Durando was despatched with the Roman troops to. prevent the j auction 
of the Austrian forces ; but after a brave defence at Vioensa he- was 
overcome and taken prisoner by General d'Aspre, and being released 
soon after, on the condition of not fighting against Austria in that 
campaign, he and his troops returned to Rome. 

Radetxky now reassumeil an offensive attitude. His forces were coi^ 
centrated around Verona, whilst the Fiedmontese army was weakened 
by being distributed along an extensive line. The fint success of the 
Austrians occurred at Somma Campagnay an important post^ out of 
which they drove the Sardinians after a vigorous resistance. The 
Fiedmontese general, Sonnaz, retired on Villafi^ca; and Radetzky re- 
mained master of both banks of the Mincio. No sooner did this dis- 
astrous intelligence reach the king, than he abandoned the sieg^ of 
Mantua, and marched with one-half the force employed against that for- 
tress to reinfoNe his army in the field. The Duke of Savoy marched 
on Custosa with nine thousand men ; the Duke of Genoa advanced on 
Somma Campagna with a column of reserve composed of five thousasid 
men ; whilst general Bava commanded in chief. One more brilliant 
feat of arms rewarded the zeal and bravery of the Sardinian princes. 
The Austrians were suddenly attacked, and received a signal defeat, 
leaving five hundred men upon the field ; whilst two banners and eighteen 
hundred prisoners remained in the hands of the victorious Fiedmontese^ 

But on the following day, the 24th of June, Charles Albert, who had 
readied the head-quarters of his army, sustained a complete overthrow 
upon the field of Custosa. The king and his two sons exhibited the 
utmost personal courage, but the troops had been without food for thirty 
hours, and, harassed by the continual marches and countermarches of the 
preceding days, they perished in greater numbers from hunger and ea- 
hanstion than from the fire of the enemy. Afi;er the most heroic eser* 
tions the king was compelled to command a retreat at six o'clock in the 
evening. The army fell back on Villafiranca, and these first tidings of 
defeat spread a panic throughout the country. 

The provisional government of Milan, instead of endeavouring to 
remedy the disaster, thought only of its own safety, and when Charles 
Albert reached Goito, he found his army totally unprovided with food, or 
any means of subsbtence* He was then compelled to propose an arms* 
stiee ; bat the hard conditions offered by Radeta W were rejected by the 
king. On the 27th, the half-famishing army of Sardinia retared unon 
Cre^lOlH^ with the purpose of defending Milan. But the Milanese nad. 
taken no measures either to supply the men who had fought and bled in 
their defence, or even to prepare the means of resistance within their own 



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SkOehes of the Italian ReoobOhn. 247 

walk. At Lodi the unfortnoftto king made another attempt to arrest the 
progrefls of the Austrians, hut his soldieni were dying around lam from 
hunger, too feeUe and too despairing to make bead against the foe. 
Orereome by funine and suroring, they remained dispersed and 
straggling along the roads; and the Fiecunontese army, which seven 
days before, at Goito, had amounted to fiffcy thousand men, scarcely 
numbered twenty-four thousand when they arrived beneaith the- walls oi 
HilaJi. 

On the 4th of August the king took up hia quarters in a suburb of 
the town of Milan. Radetzky, who was in full pursuit, reached the city 
at four o'clock om the same afi»rnoon, and immediately attacked tb 
Piedmontese army at the Roman gate. Charles Albert fought with his 
accustomed reckless gallantry ; feu-less of danger, he was to be seen in 
the thickest of the battle, wherever his presence could encourage his owb 
soldiery or intimidate the enemy. A violent thunderstormi burst over 
the town as the fight was raging beneath, and blended, in loud racploeionsy 
the awful artillery of Heaven with the deadly instruments of humaa 
strife^ The committee of defence ordered some houses to be set on fire 
near the scene of action, in order to prevent their being taken by the 
Austrians to focilitate their attack upon the town. The tocsin sounded to 
call the citizens and the neighbouring peasantry to arms, and nothing 
was wanting, amidst the loud crash of the elements and the terrors of the 
combat, tiiat could add to the horrors of the moment. 

Night came on whilst the battle still raged. The gallant Piedmontese 
would not yield, though they had lost nine pieces of cannon, and were 
driven bade within the walls of Milan. In a council of war, which waa 
held during the night, the Sardinian officers determined that it would be 
hopeleas and impossible to renew the contest The JMQlanese * govern* 
ment had not taken a smgle measure to provide for the safety and wAh 
sistence of the army, or to aid them in their exertions. They had raised 
no troops, provided neither ammunition, food, nor forage for their de- 
fenders ; and the spirit which had animated them to such heroic deeds a 
few short mouths before, appeared to have died away beneath the banefal 
influences of jealousy and mistrust, which paralysed every honest ex- 
ertion* 

The ill-fated Idng was the victim offisred up on the altar of republioaa 
egotism. A capitulation now became inevitable, and the stipulaiiona 
entered into obliged Charles Albert to abandon Milan, and retire within 
hie own territory. Two days were accorded for the retreat of the 
Piedmontese army. Such persons as desired to quit die town before the 
entrance of the Austrians, were permitted to leave within twenty^foor 
hears, and Marshal Radetzky engaged to reject the persons and pro- 
perties of those who prefeired to remain. 

On the following morning the capitulatioD was made public, and 
excited tiie people to a state of ungovernable fnry. A notons and 
tfafeatoning mob instantly flocked to the Palaaso Greppi, where the king- 
lodged. Cries of ^' Death to the traitor'' arose on every side, and thej 
eBHbavouredtosetfiretodiepalaee. The king appeared on the balcaoy^ 
and addressed the ferodoos horde beneath: 

''Ifiknese," he said, ''if the capitulation dKspkaMS jm, it shall be 
annulled. If you require it, we will fight again, and I will bury mjmii 
ivith joobeBeatfa tfaa ruins of your dty.'* 



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248 Sketches of the Italian Revolution. 

But the chivalrous proposal of the prince did not accord with the 
wishes of the Milanese, who required that he should fight whilst they 
remained in safety. The municipality of Milan — which had ordered a 
general levy throughout the country, excepting only the inhabitants of 
the capiteU^'-^ntxe&tQd the king to maintain the capitulation, and on the 
same evening its ratification was announced. 

The enraged people then rose in wild disappointment and fiiry, and 
attacked the king, who was preparing for his departure. They pillaged 
his luggage, upset his carriages, and barricaded the palace, in order to 
detain him a prisoner within its walls ; and the liberator of Italy, who 
might have upheld the freedom that he had gained for his coun^ had 
the BdGlanese government afforded him the needful aid in the hour of 
peril, was ezp(»ed to cowardly insult and serious risk, in atonement for 
the &ult8 of his dastardly assulants. The musket-balls of the mob fell 
in showers around the place where he stood ; but Providence reserved the 
doomed prince for a still drearier destiny, and Milan was saved from the 
infamy of the attempted crime. Yet the walls of the palace were riddled 
and broken by the shot directed against the breast of Italy's bravest 
soldier and most self-devoted patriot, and the attempt to set fire to the 
palace was with difficulty prevented. Colonel de la Marmora, an aide- 
de-camp of the kinfi^, escaped from a window to carry the news to the 
camp, and he quickly returned with a regiment of carabiniers. But 
Charles Albert's departure was opposed by die people in their fury; the 
tocsin sounded ; the light of the houses, still burning ance the battle^ 
threw its lurid glare over the scene : as the king traversed the city he 
was fired upon in every street through which he passed ; and when he 
reached the gate of the town the mob was so dense, and the opposition 
to his departure so determined, that it was irith the utmost difficulty 
that his escort fought their way through the throng and forced a passage 
to the camp. 

On the 9th an armistice was signed, by which the fortress of Peschiera 
was restored to Austria, the Piedmontese fleet was recalled from Venice, 
and Radetzky re-entered Milan in triumph. 

In the beginning of August the Roman Chamber had voted its sit- 
tings permanent, under pretence of providing means for the continuance 
of tiie war : its real object was to iona itself into a Constituent Assembly, 
in order to change the form of government The Chamber demanded 
that the Pope should instantiy dedare war against the emperor. The 
Pope refused ; and his refusal was followed by frightful excesses and 
disorderly assemblages, in which all who opposed the opinions of the 
revolutionists were threatened with death. 

The Austrians at tins time took possession of Ferrara ; and the Pope 
made an energetic protest against the violation of his territory, and of 
treaties which he had respected amidst every danger and difficulty. The 
ministry called the people to arms ; the Pope sent a deputation, headed 
by Prince Corsini, to the Austrian general, and obtained the evacuation 
of the town. But nothing could calm the violence of the Chamber ; 
every sitting presented scenes of scandalous outrage ; neither the prince 
nor the ministry were respected ; and, unable to combat the lawless 
violence of the republican party, Mamiani retired from the adminis- 
tration. 

We have hitherto omitted all account of the Tuscan revolution, be* 



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Sketches of the Italian Revolution. 249 

cause the events tliat had disturbed that conntiy, although exhibitiug 
the same geueraL tendency as in the other states of Italy, had been con- 
ducted with much greater moderation; and, if we except some acts, 
chiefly instigated by foreign exiles, who everywhere prepared the first 
germs of insurrection, the moderatci or constitutional party, had hitherto 
preponderated, and a sincere attachment to the sovereign animated the 
hearts of a people, gratefid for the long continuance of a mild and 
paternal form of government. The prince was personally respected by 
all classes for his piety and his domestic virtues ; and the rural popula[tion, 
in particular, was deeply attached to the reigning dynasty. Florence, 
gay and peaceful, had iJways been a favourite resort of foreigners, who 
brought their wealth to enrich its industrious inhabitants, attracted by 
the salubrity of the climate, the unrivalled galleries, in which the 
maaterpieces of ancient and of mediaval art are to be studied in their 
perfection, and the enchanting scenery which surrounds the smiling 
capital of Tuscany. But the distant sound of the nations raising their 
voice to invoke the spirit of liberty — ^the offspring of increasing know- 
ledge and advancing dviltsation— resounded on the Etrurian shores, 
and Leghorn, a city whose extensive commerce had brought its citizens 
in contact with the natives of every country of the globe, was the first to 
respond to the appeal. Here, too, foreign adventurers mingled with the 
population, to exaggerate discontent, and to exasperate political agitation 
into riotous insubordination. Guerrazzi, the ablest, the most moderate, 
and the most remarkable man which the Italian revolution produced and 
led forward to the conduct of public affairs, was foremost amongst those 
who aspired to secure a free representative constitution to their native 
country. 

Upon the first outbreak of disturbances at Leghorn, in September, 
1848, the grand-duke formed a camp of the national guard at Pisa ; 
and there he received and accorded the demand of the Livomese, that 
Montanelli should he appointed their governor. But Montanelli's pro- 
gramme was the Italian Constituent, an assembly which was destined, 
in the first instance, to protect the country against Austrian invasion ; 
and after that essential condition of liberty was secured, it was intended 
to form a federal alliance between the new constitutional states for the 
preservation of their acquired institutions. The members of this assembly 
were to be chosen by universal su£Brage, and were to meet at Rome, the 
city destined to be the head of the confederation. Thb prospectus 
was not approved by Mazzini and the ultra-republican party, as the 
continuance of regal authority in the various states was adverse to their 
views ; neither was it acceptable to the constitutionalists, who disliked 
the democratic construction of the proposed assembly and its power of 
coercing the governments. But the republicans acceded to the measure 
as a preparatory step which might lead to further concessions. 

The constitutional ministry of Tuscany, at the head of which was the 
Marquis Gino Capponi, an able and honest man, became alarmed at the 
progress of democratic insubordination, and withdrew from the govern- 
ment. They were replaced by an administration formed by Baron 
Bicasoli, and entertaining nearly the same political opinions as tneir pre- 
decessors. But the pressure of the democratic party, and the violence of 
the clubs, over which the government exercised no control, rendered the 
position of the cabinet untenable ; and the grand-duke, by the advice of 



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S50 ShekAss of the BaUan Ihoebaiim. 

luB £nmer oomunl, called iqpon Montanelli to andertake the gOTernmeBt. 
Hontanelli demanded Guenazzi for his ooUea^e, and made tie establiA- 
ment of the Boman Constituent the bans of his future plans. 

At Rome, the extraordinary yioleaoe of the Representathre Chamber 
became so «zces«iye, that it threatened the entire subversion of public 
order. The Pope, in consequence, prorogued the Chambers till the I5th 
of November, and in the interim he appointed as his chief mimster 
Coimt Rossi, who had previously held the post of ambassador from Louis 
Philippe to the Holy See. Rossi, formeriy an exile from Italy, on 
account of his extreme opinions, had now wisely modified the exaggerated 
ifiews which he had once entertained, -and professed a onoere attachment 
to the monarchical form of constitutional government. It was then, 
to hands fully competent for the task, that the pontiff committed the 
future adminiatration, of which Roesi himself, temporarily, held three of 
the chief offices — so great was the difficulty to find persons at once 
moderate in opinion and capable of canying on the affiurs of the county. 

Rossi's pfam did not exclude the much-desiied constituent; but he 
proposed to modify its construction in such a manner as would render it 
mnoouous in the hands of the &ctions. He designed that a general 
congress should meet at Rome, to be composed of plenipotentiaries from 
each of the Italian governments, furnished with powers to form and 
maintain a strict defensiye alliance between the several states. This 
expedient, by which he purposed to disarm the cherished plan of raising 
i^ a republican assembly to control the sovereigfus of the peninsula, was 
probably the chief cause that excited the '< red" faction to such deadly 
animoeify against the doomed statesman, who alone possessed courage 
and capacity to save his country in that terrible crisis. 

The 15th of November had been fixed for the reassembling of the 
Chambers. The government, fearful of violence, took every measure in 
their power to ensure the maintenance of order. A body of oarabiniere 
was ordered un from the provinces. The minister himself passed them 
in review, and instsuoted them on the importance of the duties that 
devolved on diem; and in spite of menacing rumours which wei^e 
vaguely circulated, it was hoped that the precautions adopted would 
suffice to ensure tranouillity, and to defisat the suspected purposes of the 
anarchists. But .as nie hour drew near, the threatening reports gained 
strength and consistence; and it was publicly intimated that Count 
Rossi's life was menaced. 

Two ladies, friends of the fated mimster, Madame de Menou and the 
Duchess di Bignano, wrote, on the morning of the 15th, to conjure him 
to abandon his intention of opening the session in person ; but, resolute 
and calm, he despised the warning, and determined to brave the peril. 
On the steps of nis own house, as he proceeded to his destination, a 
stranger, in the dress of a priest, addressed him : 

" Eccellenza," he said, << do not go out. You will be assassinated." 

'< They shall not force me to draw back," replied the fearless Rossi. 
** The cause of the Pooe is that of God.'' 

When his carriage drew up at the foot of the wide staircase that leads 
to the Capitol, where the assembly sat, he was received with hisses and 
other expressions of insult. Rossi advanced with imperturbable coolness, 
and his naughty and sarcastic countenance expressed his profound con- 
tempt for hu enemies. The crowd pressed upon him, but he made his 



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JSietdm of the IlaUan ReoabOkm. 231 

waytfaroogh it» aooompomed by the sniiiiBler of finance. On the fizst 
stop of the stahs a maa darted forwtTd itata iihe dense crowd and 
stabbed hiin m the side with a dageer. The ooimt tamed hastily to 
face his assailant, "when a stall moee lata! blow was dealt him Irom the 
opposite direction, 'and he receiyed the deadly stroke of a poniard in the 
throat. He uttered no cry, but, with :a firm hand, drew out his hand- 
kerchief, ^and tried to stanch the wovnd. He still continued to ascend a 
few more steps, which streamed with torrents of his Uood, till, tmdsnmted 
in the midst of his dastardly destroyers, he fell dead into the arms of 
some persons who had roshed forward to his aid. It has been confi- 
dently asserted that forty hired bravos awaited him upon those iaial 
steps, and that if the mst blows had failed, thirty'^ight other dafimrs 
were prepared to take his life. Thus fell beneath the cowardly kmfe of 
the assassin an able statesman, an ardent lover of liberty, and the only 
man who, in that decisive moment, possessed coinage and capacity at 
once to save the papacy, and yet to uphold the rational liberty which the 
wise and good required and ezpectea from the statesman to whom the 
destinies of their country were entrusted. From that moment the Mends 
of anarchy stalked triumphantly through the land, and Mazzini and 
Gamno took peesession of the state. 

In that disastrous hour yet one more indelible stun attadied itself to 
the Roman name. The murderers were mere hired rufi&ans, who sold the 
service of their blood-stained daggers to the profligate politicians who 
obtioned the ascendant by this inhuman deed. But how can we express 
sufficient abhorrence for the cold indifference of the Legidative Chamber 
which received the announcement of the murder committed on its 
threshold with calm acquiescence, and expressed no commiseration for 
the victim and no detestation for the crime. Yet it is just to record that 
Count Mamiani and a few others, overwhelmed wi& horror at the event, 
resigned Aeir seats in the assembly and emitted the oity. 

The corps diplomatique immediately retired from the Chamber, and the 
members of the administration, having lost thttr animating spirit, at once 
resigned their offices. Montanelli, aflterwards so well known as a member 
of the provisional government of Tuscany, had held the office of minister 
of public works in Rossi's brief and firnitless ministry, but he quitted 
the comitry immediately after the inhuman slaughter of his ohie£ 

Horrible orgies and demonstiatione of barbaric joy disgraced the streets 
of Rome in honoar of the murder that had been perpetrated before the 
eyes of a whole people, either too demoralised to revolt against the act of. 
infamy, or too cowardly to resent it. Scenes worthy of the Reign of 
Terror, enacted sixty years before in the French capital, fiUed the night 
that followed Rossi's death. Houses were illuminated in approbation of 
the event ; the mob, with frantic cries, applauded the deed, and blessed 
the daggers that had drunk the blood of an aristocrat; and Mazzini, 
Graletti, and their party lost no tnne in exhibiting to the people their 
exultation at an act which had delivered them from their most formidable 
foe. 

On the following day it was proposed in the Chamber to present an 
address of sympathy to the Pope, but the Prince of Canino opposed the 
proposition. The dub determined to go in a body to the Chamber to 
express its wishes, or rather, to impose its commands on the Legislative 
Assembly ; and its leaders odled upon the civic guard and the troops of 



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fifiS Sketches of the JtaKan RevohObn. 

the line to join them in intimidating the ffovemment. The Duke dl 
Rignano, minister of war during the uiort aoministration of the unfor- 
tunate Rosaiy had provided for his own safety afier the murder bj flying 
from Rome^ or hiding himself within its walls. General Zamboni, who 
commanded the regiuar force, received the Pope's orders to prevent the 
troops from joining the dub ; but Lentulus, the new minister of war, 
eidier fearing the &te of Rossi, or assuming fear to effect his object, gave 
permission for the troops to obey the club, in defiance of the comniands 
both of the prince and of the generaL 

The Chamber received the club wiih the most perfect cordiality, and, 
after a short deliberation, it dedded on joining the mixed mob that 
awaited without, in order to convey to the Pope the four following 
demands: 

1st. Italian nationality. 

2nd. A general Constituent Assembly to form a federal union of ihe 
whole peninsula. 

drd. War against Austria. 

4th. Mamiani's programme. 

The Pope received these demands with cold determination, but pro- 
mised to take into consideration the wishes of tiie assembly. Galetti, a 
noted republican, who had been chosen to convey the message of tiie 
Chamber, returned with tiie answer of tiie sovereign. They tiien in- 
sisted on an immediate promise to adopt tiiese propositions, but tiie Pope 
firmly refused the reauired acquiescence. A fiirious assault upon the 
palace was the immediate result of this reply, and the Pope .sent to 
General Zamboni to demand the protection of tiie troops, but his mes- 
-eenger was intercepted. 

The Swiss guara defended the palace with thdr accustomed intrepidity 
agunst the mob, who now endeavoured to force open and to bum down 
tiie gates. Barricades were erected to protect the assailants from the 
muskets of tiie guard, and a destructive nre was kept up on the windows 
of tiie palace from the opposite houses, which were all in the hands of the 
people. Monsignor Pahna, prefect of tiie palace, was shot in the royal 
chamber, and fell dead at the Pope's feet It is said tiiat the Prince of 
Canino, with his own hand, pointed a piece of ordnance against the 
palace gate, and there can be httie doubt tiiat, if they had succeeded in 
effectbg an entrance, ihe lives of the Pope and his defenders would have 
been sacrificed to the fury of tiie revolutionists. But finding tiiat a long 
resistance would be impossible, and losing all hope of safety for himself 
or the devoted Swiss, who fought so loyally and so gallantiy in his 
defence, the Pope sent for Craletti, and ordered him to intimate tiie royal 
submission to force which he had not the means of repelling. A ministry 
was instantiy named, at the suggestion of the Chamber and the club, 
consisting of Galetti, Sterbini, and Mamiani, who was to be sent for to 
assume tne chief post in the administration. At ten o'clock at night the 
mob retired, satimed for the moment with the victory it had achieved.^ 

It has been said that, whilst tiie assault upon the palace was at its 
height, and the fire of die rebels was pouring in througn the defenceless 
windows of the Quirinal, the Pope, who continued perfectiy calm, in spite 
of the extremity of the danger, stooped to pick up a ball which fell at his 
feet, and remarked to his attendants, with bitter sarcasm : ^< Questo, io lo 
tengo, in ricordo dei miei Romani." 



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NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 



THE- PRUSSIAN ABMY. 

HAvniG described in the last nmnber of the New Monthly the effective 
strength and organisation of the Austrian army, we will now proceed to 
fumiui a few detaUs about the Phissian, which, more especially at the pre- 
sent time, when there are, apparently, well-founded rumours that France 
intends to apply for permission to march her army vid Hanover to the 
seat of war m the north, may form a serious impediment in the way. 
Nothing, to our minds, would be more dangerous than any collision — even 
on amicable terms — ^between Prussian and French troops. A few words 
of introduction will serve to explain our reasons for such an assertion. 

It cannot be imagined that a nation, justly considered one of the most 
enlightened and liberal on the Continent, would passively remain neutral 
in the impending war of peoples, in £ace of the danger to which Germany 
would be exposed by the victory of despotism over constitutiontKsm, as 
expressed in the present uprising of Russia, unless there were some more 
powerful motive at work than luis hitherto been ascribed. This motive 
IS intense hatred of France. The adherents of Russia in Berlin may 
be numbered: personal predilection and relationship fetter the kings 
hands ; and the party represented by the Kreuz Zeitung is made up 
of equally innocuous coefficients. But the animosity to France is felt 
by the whole nation, and is reciprocated. We can remember, of our 
own knowledge, an instance of this during the Badese revolution of 1849. 
While in pursuit of the insurgents, a detachment of Prussians was 
quartered in Kehl, at the head of the bridge of boats connecting Ger- 
many with Alsace. Within two days it was found necessary to remove 
them, for the French poured over and insulted them in every possible 
way, which only such a fertile genius as the Gallic could invent. The 
French occupation of Berlin, where their Memory is still cherished, and 
the return visit in Paris after the battle of Waterloo, sowed seeds of db- 
cord which wiU bear fruit for ages. BlUcher's threat to blow up the 
bridge of Jena, and his sarcastic reply to Talleyrand's messenger, that he 
would be delighted to gplve his master an aerial excursion along with it, 
were an insult to the national pride which Frenchmen will never forget 
or forgive. 

It may be objected that the hatred between French and English was 
equally persistent and deep-rooted, and yet that has been eradicated. 
Granted : but can Prussia enter into an alhance with France in the same 
disinterested spirit as we have displayed ? The Rhenish provinces will ever 
remain a bone of contention between the two countries, and, spite of 
the king's strenuous exertions, the majority of the population in those 
countries clings wi& £ond afifection to the remembrance o£ French 

JtUy^iou CIV. HO. cccczv. s 



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254 T^ Prussian Army. 

authority, and in 1848, had a strong government been pennanently esta- 
blished in Paris, the revision of the map of Europe might long ago have 
commenced in that quarter. These views were confinned by a tour we 
made at the period we write of through the Rhenish provinces. The 
population was intensely liberal, though this weSf pwbably, sathw a re- 
action after lihentanvfiom oppressive checks Aaa a fiked seatfment; but 
however this may be, the prevailing opinion everywhere among the 
artisan classes was, that emancipation upon a permanent basis could only 
be obtained by cordial fraternisation with France. How &r ihese views 
may be now prevalent it is impossiUe: to eaj ; for the gendarmes effec- 
tually suppress the utterance of such heterodox sentiments ; but we fully 
antioipate llul; whenever the wea tenttiHiMs «adi the* P 



is sought to* be reetored* IV«noe wiit be enabM t»k^<daa[i todMrali 
dominwns, and be supported by the* appnofttl of a^lMf^'pottiDA 00 the 
population These suggestioiis will serfe- to* sfaowr bw avcb PlmssH, 
apart boai other oonsideratkms, wg i id kuse-tii dimd may ^Aamn ixHuatm/ 
wkb France than at present ensts. 

The PnuseiAK Attn nnistb» i«gwided fipom « very dUfemifc stttodt 
point from that of Austria, foi^ in^ftmmng oov epinion: <i£ it^ flodiaom 
especially of the Landwehr smptem, irhost' epponvnti tn f«ry mmofy vm 
must bear in mind, before all, that Phisna* exeited. ail hsr eiiiirgie» to 
form an amy of hidf a million of combatnals, in spite o£ has MHiiatioft 
only amountmg to 16,000,000, and hsv extMmely adhvwMMMe ffeogniv 
phioai position) for thu waa her oidy metikodt^ maintaiA ^pasitooiitaa a 
European gnat power. If we keep diis in mind, w« eumat aeftninoi 
exprassing our adminrtion of all tro Pnusiaa'mifitmr mnmgmaam^ fbi^ 
eonsiddring the dight means at her oommaad, she las wafeissd' wouderK 
In fact, a succession of great men was- MtpusitortogiivaB iftOVK' xwrnibsd 
fitom only 16^000,000 souls, that Eutopean impoElKnce whioh ""^ '^ 



has^suooeeded in retaining even to the pnsentday* Tfaa first fcunden 

eat Sleotor, awithtfstsiet iS»die»> 



of Pmssia's militBvy jpower wem^thv <9«e«t '. 

rick William I., who eomwrted their evaiitiy into oaa huge eamp^ 
Ft«deriok the Great worthily flompleM iphssl: his pMhRMnoos hadi so 
well commenced, and his brilliant vietoriee tet implanted- ni the Pmisian 
army that military pride which' now dMnguishes it in eo eumrent a 
degree. After the death of this great king and genend,. tha gGrMnwnnt 
was satisfied in retaining iha emptr fbrm widiout tha animatiiig^ "S^ 
which had so brilliantly distinguished it hithertoi They'doMd tMrean 
obstinately to the requirements of tba age, «■! wnsld not pexoaliie tiiat 
with Napoleon L a new chapter in the strategic artr \mA oonmenoedk 
The defeat at Jena, and the foUowtnof d»/9 of miBftotae^^ithDngh 
many regiments fought brwrely, and did not disgrfloetfatf oiA reputation 
of PruBBiaa eonrage— ^were the neoeasary eonsequaiice' nit such insane 
blindness. The Prussian army, and with it the JProssian states, might 
easily have been mined, had not Pravidettte gi?en>tiiam:iiMn who were 
enabled to form again a compact whole out of tlMrftagmenliL. All that 
was good in the' old> sriio^ was retained^ tfae> had aod^ antiqaatsd was 

amrAal 



rejected, and a new orcanisatibn w«» iwihatimted,. posMssin^ ttia highest 
merit. Above all, ^chamhoiet^ wdioaa ttamsi will endure as long as a 
Pmssiaa soldier wears his cockade with honour ; then Bay&ai^ GneiaenRtt, 
Clausewit^ Yori^ Groliman, and Bifiuher, and manv atfaans ^«v«m the 



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The Pnuriean Armjf^ 265 

tDmAf» t£ the fieaMii PraBam Btpaii'de'C^rfA, '' It ,mmt be s<99affdf4 
m*9n iraoaoTitiiroiifbihe whole nation to be allowed to wear tbe «ol4i^ 
QOf^t — a i^gnoe not to be .oomdewd wortby ef it." Such, ia a fear 
mwda* is Jfe ibans ef the jfwit wfaiob baa enabled Pruuia to ke^ i^ 
wKtaf^ ^dignity ^ nenr «iiwMikfliied. £very son ef tbe nation moat fsel 
%|MUb in baing'ialkiwed to bMooM a oombatant fiur it ; mdA had not thiB 
failiqi^been iiapt vp, Pjrusaia ^would never have reattaiaed her plaa».jia 
the Smoyam tnul^ 

Vhe mev QfganiiatiQn furoafieied, bofwavez^ ipite of the vmspeakaUe 
^^foMm ii bnl ik> Mnteod ndlb, both abroad and at borne, thanks to 
tla^MB^twJbbbfeiaatodit»iMd thepoweffol vilLof the Pni^niin aatiaiu 
iMm mHauHMiiy Mopnieed its kaportatioe. Tbe fianguinary years of 
ISid io IBli. AumMhod Abe mrmy ^th an ofifiovtMnity for.aation, and it 
displafiad itself jn jlw ibiji^hteit ^soloiiais. We are perfectly aware .that 
ItAiWuaiiLaiidwabr battatton^iaiad the Youthfal Molunteers would cha^ 
£aied much worse, had not die eld well-diflciplinad Fsewoh jroipiiieati 
hmm Imt in iRunia, aad ikbeir place tiaben by saw oonsoripta, but 4bill 
their services were most meritorious. The Pmasiafn Landwehr aoqoiied 
QniMMwmable name bcih from £ofiiid and fi>e in those caii^>aign% «nd 
we ftal jqre. tbat (they wiU^abcaya do their ntmoet to retain it. 

Jk6m naiasi^ tnny ihknd-fltained lanrck, tbe Pensaiaa .amiy ^unwd 
home, and afforded a striking proof of the mdue of the new organisation* 
And, although a certain reactionary party— horrified at the institution 
of the Landwehr with its bourgeois officers, and regarding it as an insult 
that the son of a count Joanat parffinm bis military duties alongside the 
tailor's apprentice as a private — tried hacd to upset it ; fortunately, any 
overthrow of the new system had by this time Wn rendered impossible. 
It was far too deeply implanted ia the Prussian nation, and the calm, 
reasoning mind of Frederick William III. was too cognizant of its value 
to allow any important alterations to be carried into effect. It is true 
that much was introduced between the years 1820 and 1842 which did 
not ^ito haHBonise with the apirit of a iBchamhont, but the imidanieiital 
pmrnple i^enained miakeved, snd was even more jealously protected Ahan 
before, when Boyen was appointed minialer of war. ' fbe eifitnts aC 
1M8 and 1849 4ave given no egetiaordinary impulse to ihe PnMsian 
ea g a msati on, but showed once move what an excellent spirit genenUy 
]pervaded tbe any. it withstood mai^ and severe trials, but sdnrays mi 
Its duty and proved itself a thovoaghly«disciplined and well-affsofced fferoa. 
Gvsat and widely«iextending alterations have been effwtad sinoe 1851, bgr 
aMaehing the Landw^ stiH mofe closely to tbe line, and by smeinlnng 
legdbr offioers to tbe eonmiand of the milkia battelions. We regaad 
Aia as a very great imniovemeat, for, Hbou^h tbarooghlj lecoffnising iba 
iBBBDeaaa vabie of the Landwehr, and ^eapecislBiy the apint which aaMnatea 
k, we uadonbtedly believe that ita«ffiaency has been greatly aqgmenAdl 
by « e lope r altaehment to tbe line. €ienend von Bonin, w4io fonndedUi 
iep«tation by die^formation of tbe fiehleewtg-HoUmn annv, has gained 
no sligbt eaeditin Fjrasaia by tbe introdnotion of these ingdUaowL 

But what causes us more especially to admire the Prussian acuvv, is tba 
spirit <if military -pride lAidi animates neaiiy all the tMWfM. Tbe ffe- 



the glorious fast, and the certainty ifait no one 
8 <:emndttad a dishenovriBg arime, b^t that ena 



addier wko 4ms <:emndttad a dishenovriBg arime, b^t that eneiy i 



s2 



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256 The Prussian Army. 

can lay claim to honourable treatment at the hands of his soperioiBy pro* 
duced this proud seotiment. Had it not been so— had the troops been 
reg^arded as mere machines — ^the revolution of 1848 would have found 
willing instruments in the Prussian army, and the troops would not have 
withstood the corrupting influences which would have subverted the 
throne. Another admirable point is the high degree of education 
which ail the officers enjoy. The excellent military schools, and the 
severe examinations to which officers are subjected with the greatest 
display of impartiality, have produced this highly desirable result The 
non-commissioned officers are also remarkable kx a great deg^ree of 
instruction and excellent temper. The military spirit which, thanks to 
the establishment of universal service under arms, animates a large 
majority of the Prussian nation, displays in thb instance again its valuable 
results. After these rapid allunons— 'for they could not be more, as 
any thorough examination would naturally have led us bx afield — ^we will 
pass to the composition of the Prussian army. 

The Infawtbt is composed of the guards, and the line, the Landwehr 
of the first and second levy. 

The guards contain four regiments = 12 battalions = 48 companies ; 
1 reserve regiment of guards = 2 battalions = 8 companies; 1 chasseur 
and 1 rifle battalion of the guards, together amounting to 8 companies. 
A company of the guards is made up of 

5 Officers 
1 Ensigu 
18 Non-commissioned officers 

1 Doctor 

2 Tndn soldiers 
227 Bank and file 

258 

A battalion, exclusive of officers and staff, contiuns 1002 men, and a 
regiment 3006. The whole infantry of the guard, consequently, amounts 
to 16,032, without officers, &c. 

The two battalions of chasseurs and rifles are anned with the Thouvenin 
chasseur rifles ; the other battalions entirely with the now so celebrated 
needle-gun. The guards are chosen from the tallest and picked men in 
the kingdom. They have distiuguishing marks on their collars and 
helmets, better bands, and enjoy several other privilege. The officers 
of the first regiment of guards and of the garde du corps receive double 
pay, but, with this exception, the pay and rank of all ffiades are precisely 
similar to those in the line. A regiment of the guar£ certainly presents 
a grander appeai*ance on the parade-ground than one of the Ime, and 
ibis is especially the case in the cavalry ; but the future will teach us 
whether they would be of more service in the field. In the campaign of 
181dtol815, the guards were only twice under fire — ^namely, at MOckem 
and Paris — and displayed that bravery which may be justly eifected from 
every Prussian regiment. 

The line infantiy is composed of 32 regiments, each regiment of 2 
musketeer and 1 rasilier battalions; 8 so-called reserve infiEuitry regi- 
ments, each made up of 2 musketeer battalions; and 8 combined reserve 



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The Prussian Army. 257 

battalions, one attached to each corps dParnUe ; or altc^ether to 120 bat- 
talions. Each battalion on a war footing containing 1002 men, withont 
officers and staff. The entire line infantry would consequently amount * 
to 120,240 men, without officers, &c. The 32,000 fusiliers, for whom 
light and active men are selected, are armed with needle*g^uns, the 
remainder with smooth-bored percussion muskets. In consequence of the 
universal conscription, the Prussian in&ntry regiments can call in many 
more soldiers on furlough than their strength requires, and, therefore, 
during a protracted war, they could always be kept up to their full 
establishment. 

In addition, we must mention 8 battalions of chasseurs, each battalion 
= 4 companies = 1002 men, exclusiye of officers and staff, or altogether 
10,016 men. These chasseur battalions are armed with Thouyenin rifles, 
and are generally chosen, as &r as possible, from practised marksmen 
and foresters' sons; and they are iJways kept in a perfect state of 



The entire line and guards would, therefore, have 148,292 rank and 
file. Of these, 36,000 are fusiliers and 10,000 chasseurs, or altogether 
about 46,000 light troops. With the exception of the eight reserve 
battalions, which are intended during war to form dep6ts, the whole of 
the line and guards infantry are ready for service in the field, and very 
considerable reserves can be held in readiness at home. 

The uniform consists of blue tunics with red collars and facings (the 
chasseurs, green tunics and felt caps), long grey pantaloons, dark-grey 
doaks, and the well-known pickelhaube or helmet of leather, with metal 
ornaments. The belts, arms, knapsacks, &c., are all in excellent con- 
dition, and of good patterns ; and we may safely assert that the Prussian 
line infiutry wants for nothing which could increase its efficiency. 

We also consider the Landwehr of the 1st levy, especially since its 
recent reorganisation, equally well prepared for war. Each line regiment 
has now 1 Landwehr infantry regiment attached to it, bearine the same 
number and forming a brigade with it. Thus, for instance, the first line 
and the first Landwehr regiment form the first infantry brigade. 

The Landwehr of the 1st levy contains 4 Landwehr regiments of 
the guard = 12 battalions ; 32 Landwehr regiments of 3 battaUons = 96 
battolions; 8 Landwehr battalions of the reserve regiments, or, alto- 
gether, 116 battalions, of the same strength and composition as those of 
^e line, or 116,032 rank and file. They are perfectly equipped and 
organised for immediate service in the field. The 8 battalions of the 
reserve would alone be kept back for service in the garrisons. The 
Landwehr infantry wear the same uniform as the line (except the red 
edging on the tunic, and that on the front of the helmet there is a cross, 
with Uie motto << With God for King and Fatherland"), and are armed 
with percussion muskets, a bayonet, and side-arms. The staff-officen 
and leaders of companies of the 1st levy are entirely drawn from the line, 
but the lieutenants are either officers who have retired, or those men of 
the educated classes who formerly satisfied their military duties by 
serving one year in the line or guards, and then passed an examinatiQn 
as Landwehr officers. The 1st levy is drawn from men between twentjr- 
six and thirty-two years of age, who have already served their time in 
the line. But^ as the number of these men would be too excessive, many 



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sm Tie JFhmtkm Arwif' 

e awpfio ps Aoi iki$ mwral rale ooowc Diudog a tine of ;pw»» A» 
LendwefaroCthe lat feryiaM^y'tfiUfld wi 9Bf» ^vj two jA^rs, jrjbwi 
ilwj ifO'tbMogh'iihiir ouHwmvflM :£ar Mvecal weekv witk die Ibe x!^ 



The iiliMiwuiw jbaa» «o «olii«l lAodvehr attaobed Ao thmn, Vnt ^cb 
IwttalioB, when mrdUng into ^bfi^BU, 4Mdk io enoitf;b jm^ oaiurloiig^ 
toliHPm«fifiihcQmp«Mr««aU0dihei:esenre, ao that 2{ Uttaliotui «f ichw- 
Mvm fivould Mmain Wwd. 

Aoooiding to ifaeea TftgvhAmm, Bnw0ia iaevldt tbeNfciK% iwofhy m j» 
fereign campaign: 

ISBflettaBoDSofgoaras -» ltl,eMBMi 

18 „ raffdsLaDdwolv ^^ 18;Q04 «, 

W „ fine nffuijlsT :»: 96J.9$ ^ 

96 „ Laiidwehr(latl0vj) «: 06^92 ^ 

10 ^, ebaoiaaip =« 10^020 ^ 

iw" „ «- 226,452 „ 

for gavriieittiiff 4m mmoraus Aaiwa ttfl , «hi€f ioi«i% Jbanation iif 
4ep6te,«tkeQa wo«M be left in addition ie the iMdmhr of Ae jeoood 

1 Gaards reserve raiment -b: tibartMioBS «» SiCKMbwan 

8 Line „ „ ^ U „ ^ l«i|0S2 « 

BLaadwebr ,, tm^ m^ 8,01$ ^ 

86 Line depdt battaluns ^^ jr^ .36,072 ^ 

dhasMnnfesenre ^ HlMOkam ^ 2,500 ^ 

Oi^e^ibattelioop «= 64,624 „ 

It is indiAHaUe l^at, in oaie of M!ed» a .haqge portMnn of the latter 
IKKMM eottld be aent into the fidd. The nulitory jerganiwttiiftn of JRnissia 
is of eiioh a naton, that from 280^000 to S9Q^fiOQ exoeUfintbr-disciplinfid 
and thefoughl^i^quipped anftntry Ivoopf ean alwayn be ^aoflkofei l^jond 
fte frentiefe cf m eomtij. Of eoune^ wiob -cocertipne mutt not last 
any great length of time, for tbey wotald fwevaoit iihe anltibratiaii of tbe 
groond, m>i dittorb iihe regular jralations of eonuaerae. 

In addition to the LandbiPefar'ef ;the lit Jerir, the 2nd levy isiOAade np 
of 116 kJyitry balitaUoittK 82,900 men. This lev^ ia not intended to 
be employed in an ^odeinal »ar» bat ia amply tnffioifiot £ar garnaQQU])g 
feftreesen and diseiidining zeomts, &o. The offioers ane generally fifilectw 
from theee'who have letired on a pensian, er have obtained cixil 0ny[Joy- 
fsent ; and 4ihe rank and file ave men between ihirty-two and tbir^-June 
years ^ age, -who have also senred. DwiK^ peae^ tbeiSod levy i$ j&ot 
called out ; b«t in the autimm of 18W they weie genevaUy imder anaar 
Vhe nwnerous evils detected omAie o(»Mi«» the govemmant haa been 
iftnce earnestly engaged in semoiing. This 2nd levy will never he o^Op 
9«rted into parade troops, bat they will perform all that ia xeyubced of 
4hem, and lliat is Ihe main pcant. At the preasnt tima» the jrms and 
aecoirtrementi «f the 2nd leiy aae all aa xesdiaea|» wiik^ aiaa AOt the 
inl§60. 



The BrassiaiL CAWJoaat aae abo divided into the gnaajfl, Aa lixM^ Md 
'file Landwehr. 

Tha gwards and line eavahy ane vmde vp «i &Uoa«: 

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TkB Prumtm Armg. 299 

On a -war ^feotkig eaeli «f these mgiineafcB will ^ oMupMed tif 
1 ColencA 

6 C^itaiv (B.fliMiaiitDihe iMdwalr} 

4 £kst UeatdUMi^ (4itto, ditto) 
12 Seottd ditto 

4 C<wnet8 
89 Non-commissioned officers 
1516 Tffen 

The ^ntixe jr^imen^is made .up <f 7^4 mw^ wiih 7021ioise8 (without 
officers). 

The f jcuaottD cuirassiers w.ear white tuoics, grey trousers, metal lielncuBis, 
and .white or jaUow hadk and breast-plates. They are anned wi{h a Ipq^g^ 
straight cut-and-thrust sword : in addition, each man has a pistol, and 
20 in etfib equadzcm .-carbineA. Their horses Are tall and lumasome^ anS 
are generally obtained in the eastern provinces of ihe emj»ire> aamelj, 
East .Aod West Prussia and .Pomerama. 

The total strength of the cuirassiers is squaj to 7410 .mei:^ who aee aU 
uodbeoded to take uie £qUL 

The PjruAUAn ^pard and Ud^ uUaos are mounted on liorses very Ifleo 
those ^ A» AuiBtrian dra|;Qon8, and form the twnsitiQn from light tp 
heavy cavidrjc There are .2 guard and 8 line uhlan retg^ments, made uj^ 
rasGisely like the onirassier^ jan^ therefore;, Amoantii^ to 7410 men. 
The hsuanBB of the uhlans, of whom a regiment is attached to each corps 
da^rmfiOf Are verygoodf and not so slenderly built as -thoae of the hussax9 
apd .dra^^ofl. Their arms consist of a lance, widi a hlack and white 
penuQi^ -and a sahie^ 20 joaen per squadron have carbines^ the remainder 
a juatoL The un^onn is ^dark-Uue jackets, with red oollars «nd i^cb|pq» 
aad .dark-jpcey ixousers jmd doaks, Aueh as are fwom hy the entire Prussun 
Qwaliy. 

.3^ light eaivAliy as made ^ of— (I.) 13 xegim^nts of hussars (I be^ 
kwgiog .to the isuajsdsV Each jn^giment is of the same atren^ih ae the 
pteoedii^ oe^ ^tc^toei^ 9638 men,^ all intended for active service. Their 
inineiparweapon is Ihe sabre, an^ iu addition* two-sevenths carry shoidb 
ofles, fi>ur-sevenths carbines, and one-seventh pi0tQls. The unifonxi 
eonsiats of dolmans And fur jackets of various colliirs, a bearskin cap witli 
A cobak, grey trousers and doaks. 

(2). 5 r^gunents of dn^goons (amcmg them 1 of dragoon g^uards), Al- 
together Amounting to S705 men. The dn^ons Are mounted and anaed 
precisely like the hussars, and are only distiiu^hed from them by the 
uniform, which consists of a light-blue tunic and a helmet of leather, with 
brass ornaments. The light caxidry horses ave ehiefiy obtained &om 
East and West Prussia and Lithuania, and are geoi^caliy very good and 
handsome, though here aikd thew some of fthem are not sufficiently strong. 

The JtroQglh of the whole guard and line cavaby is, consequently, 
4Q aftaicoDS euiraswers =p 7410 mea 
4(0 4, uUans ^ 7410 ^ 
£2 „ hussars ^ 9633 ^ 
20 ^ dragoons ss 3705 ^, 

162 „ ^ ^,1'W ^ 

Who are sill employed on active service. 



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260 7^ Prussian Army. 

(1.) 2 guard Landwehr regiments, each regiment of 4 sqnadrooB, 
with 602 horses, or, altogether, 2408 horses. The men are chosen from 
those who have served their time in the guards, and, when called out, are 
generally commanded by old officers of the same branch. A portion of 
Siese guBxi Landwehr cavalry, whom we had an opportunity of seeing in 
1850, was most admirably equipped and drilled, and might fearlessly 
challenge comparison with any regiment of the line. 

(2.) 8 heavy regiments of Landwehr cavalry = 32 squadrons = 4816 
men. These heavy regiments are made up with men who have served 
their time in the 8 line cuirassier regiments, and are attached to them in 
such a manner that 1 heavy Landwehr and 1 euirsassier line regiment 
are commanded by the same colonel. 

(3.) 8 Landwehr uhlan regiments = 32 squadrons = 486 men, also 
attached to the 8 line uhlan regiments^ and armed, like them, with 
lances. 

(4.) 12 Landwehr hussar regiments «= 48 squadrons = 7224 men, 
attached to the 12 line hussar regiments. 

(5.) 4 Landwehr dragoon regiments = 16 squadrons =^ 2408 men, 
attached to the dragoon line regiments. 

The total Landwehr cavalry of the first levy will, therefore, amount to 
136 squadrons, or, on a war footing, 20,416 horses. The whole of this 
Landwehr cavalry of the first levy, intended for service in tiie field, can 
always be called out within a few weeks, as all the materiel is ready, with 
the exception of horses. The officers and men have all served for various 

Eeriods in the cavalry of the active army, and find themselves perfectly at 
ome in their military duties very soon after calling out. The remount- 
ing of this Landwehr cavalry varies rather, as this is generally efiected in 
that province to which the Landwehr regiment belonn. In East and 
West Prussia, Lithuania, several districts of Pomerama, Brandenburg, 
Silesia, Saxony, and Westphalia, where a good breed of horses is kept 
up, the Landwehr cavalry is excellently mounted : in the Rhenish pro- 
Vmces and some districts of Westphalia, Silesia, and Saxony, this is not 
exactly the case. Some time must, besides, always elapse before a newly 
called out Landwehr regiment of cavalry is thoroughly disdplined and 
organised. But when tiiis has once taken place, and the regiments have 
passed a few months in the field, they would not be in any way inferior 
to a line regiment. They are all armed like tiie line. The uniform 
consists of a dark-blue tunic, with difierent collars and fieicings, according 
to the various arms, and a light helmet of the dragon pattern. 

The Prussian cavalry intended to be employed in an external war 
would consequently be made up of 

28,158 men, line and guards 
20,416 Landwehr cavalry (1st levy) 

48,574 men, thoroughly equipped 

In addition to these 34 Landwehr regiments of the first levy, there are 
8 reserve squadrons, appointed to serve in tiie fortresses. Whenever the 
army is on a full war establishment, 55 dep6t squadrons will be formed, 
with a total strength of 6350 horses. These reserves and dep6ts will 
have a strength of 7000 or 8000 men and horses, and are sufficient to 
keep up the field regiments at their fiill strength. 

The Landwehr cavalry second levy is intended to be made up of 104 



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The Prussian. Army. 261 

sqnadroDSy each squadion of 120 hones, or, altogeUier, 12,480 com* 
batants. We do not doubt that by an extaraordinary exertion the whole 
of the second levy could be mobilised, but we beheye that, otherwise, 
it would present great difficulties. They would not be employed except 
in case of. an invasion of the country, and though they would have many 
defects, they would still be of some service to the state. 

The ABTiiiLSRT of the Prussian army is composed of 9 artillery regi- 
ments, of which 1 is attached to the guards. 

Each regiment is made up of 3 detachments, each commanded by a 
staff-officer, and is composed of 

4 6-poimder foot batteries of 8 guns = 33 gons 

3 12-pounder foot batteries of 8 guns = 24 „ 

1 7-poander howitzer battery of 8 guxLs... = 8 „ 
3 Horse 6-pouuder batteries of 8 gans = 24 „ 

11 Batteries with 88 gtms 

In addition, each regiment has 1 fortress artillery detachment, 1 reserve 
company, 1 artisan company, 1 laboratory column, and 6 ammunition 
columns. On a war footing each regiment will be made up of 
5 Staff-officers 
21 Captains 
15 First lieutenants 
50 Second ditto 
3 Pyrotechnic ditto 
1374 I^on-oommissioned officers and privates 
There is no actual Landwehr artillery, but each regiment has Land- 
wehr artillery officers and men attached to it, who are called out to ex- 
ercise in time of peace, and in war would be employed to reinforce the 
regiment and serve the fortress ordnance. In addition to the artillery, 
the Prussian army has numerous arsenals, foundries, powder-mills, whidi 
are all under mihtary management, and served by soldiers. 

The strength of the artillery intended to take the field is 19,000 men, 
with 99 batteries of 792 guns. In comparison to the general strength 
of the Prussian army, this number of field guns appears to us rat»er 
smalL Recent strategics attach a great weight — and we believe justiy — 
to heavy batteries. It seems as if Prussia had recognised this defect, 
for, as we heard recently, each artillery regiment is to be augmented by 
a battery, which would form an additional total of 9 batteries, equal to 
72 guns, and' hence 864 guns will be brought into the field in future. 
But even this number is not sufficient, and it ought to be raised to at 
least 900, with as many 12-pounders as possible. Since small arms have 
been so extraordinarily improved during the last ten years, we believe that 
it will be necessary to introduce guns of much heavier calibre than the 
6-pounders which are now so much in vogue. The French artillery, 
which is an object of special attention, has set a good example in this. 

If there was a period when the Prussian artillery was treated in a ratiier 
step-motherly feshion, every exertion has been made since 1848 to repair 
the error, and it is now on a very satisfactory footing. The officers, «lu- 
cated in excellent schools, combine theoretical knowledge with practical 
experience, the men are well disciplined, and the matMd is first rate. 
The horses are powerful animals, which are principaUy bought up in the 
eastern provinces. As in all else, the guards have a preference here, and 
their horses are considerably superior to those of the line artillery. 



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Ut Tke JhmMmui Army. 

hAaaetfti ImAot with ^mnm mauaamiB, tHNHMnjaoddodbs^dark gM^ 

Ute SiraaiaEBeoBpB, ipith 'the yo wK W, fnih^innBt also peefin ithe 
itfkm of poBioiiQieny ^eontaing 216 •offiaen end ^9 pioneer <datiifth«Mwito 
(lMot^;iag"tolhegiiaid0); eadi drtaelweDt haw 2 r—ipaniflij and coi»' 
tains 452 men. In war, « depte compaaj of 226 men as to be fox»ied«f 
tbe tLaDdwekr men «f <tl«B.ineiMer detafliimeiita. There«ie«]ao 2 lesenre 
dioneer companies, togetner «aioiiDtMig to W§ aaoa, irttaiehod te ite 
ffederrtwrefe i l iie a Bc ie^^i^uA iPwiieia lielps to garmaa. TiioMteLstMoglii 
of the pioneers on a war footing, after calling out "the Land<pehr piianrMWij 
will amount io 7748 men. As Praasia has masj aiinNB^ foKtresaeSy not 
more than 5000 ptoneess coidd he detwflied toa ifoMugii eaonpaign. This 
number appears to us Tatber smsill. The general cott^tien of these 
troops is declared by competent military audiorities^ be extremely satis- 
factory, and we oould not indeed expect otherjmae in so intelligent an 
army as the Fnuaian. 

ulie Prussian anny on a war Footiiig would also have ihe following 
corps attadied : 

(1.) A transport corps, subdivided into various detachments. On a 
war footing it^would amount to 27,000 men, andits.orgaaisation is most 
praiseworthy. 

(2.) Mounted orderlies, especially attadied JGor carrying despatches, 
&c., 4 officers and 77 men. 

(3.) An am^ corps of ^nimtmam, atteohail to ihe various staffi, 
^dune uMmber is jnot setdod. 

i(4) AtfOByany of non-oommisncmfli offimcs of the goarda of 90 vam^ 
idiomnieiBaieaojpialpalaoes and gaipdena. 

Ab ibB (CBgfmiaation of the PmsMMifi aomy is eapeciaUjr cakulaAed upon 
Ibe iaatt^Btgem» of the offioers and men, all tbe mihtary adueatioad 
establishments sffo^snd aliwm have faoflD) aiumUeiit* For tc^oexa tlia 
ibttem]iig.adioob have been ramAod^ 

favodcadot himnan, 

Kmnerooa dimaional achoob 6>r pr^antion ut ons^gnH 

AMmtiUatj and enginaer sdMwL 

A^geaezal'war adbaol fior the Ingber infltnietioa of offioeM* 

In additiim to the legiaaeatoi and company schooh^ we also fiad :. 

Schools £>r3ia»-oonunisak»ed oiBoem. 

A fluiitafy orpiuHi adiool, with biandhes thyou|^ the aoaustv]^. 

For the purpoae of jntarodocing a regular syslem of oquitatiQii ki Abo 
aasfaliy, iiiaBe is a aailitary ridingHaehc^ at Soiwedl^ and an iaaferuatiMO 
iialtohaa &r in£Nitrj at Potsdua. The varioiui r^guaants detach QM»- 
(MteDtififfioevs and ooUieis to join tbeae eatahUahmeats* 

The whole P^sussian army, JQclading the Landwebr of tihe2nd levy and 
the (oaaenpes, woaU duis have a strength of ^80,000 men. Of theae ibwo 
; Im employed in a eampaign beyond the fi»ntifl» of the ooiiirtry:: 

"Guard/Une and Landwekr infaotiy (1st levy) . . iKi%4B%mfBat 

Qoard, line and I^Nodw^r cavi^ (lat levy) . . • 4&JU[4i ,» 
Asilsillery ^exdaeiaFe of the pseaettb anpimitalaoii), 3W 

gnus, with ^ ...... ^ IdfiOO ^ 

JiSginQars^/Qfficen^.aijidi^iicmfieKs . ^ • ^ > S^OOO .j^ 



or, in round numbers, 800,000 effectives. 



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IBirf^nuBWltf mmf intAa^ peM0 is dwided iako a cofpB <£ gnird^ 

4 Line infantry regiments 
4LiiMkiiehr do. do. (Istksvnf) 
1 Ghassear battaHon 
4 Line cayakr reg^ents 
ILandwehr do. do. (Istlkvj) 
1 Kegiment artfllciy 
1 Koneer diTision* 
1 CofflboMd rftatmt batUlioiv 

The eight reserve in&ntry regiments, of which each carps ifaraUerhai 
oneyMie pctnoipaU^ gamaoiied in Jklayeae&» LuMmlNii^Exaakfor<HKi«4lie- 
MauMi and OIL the Shines As the Pnusiaa regimentB donng p0U9 v^ 
ranif ohange thm gwriwoBS|.which> would, indeed, entakil vacious diflir 
eMmr 9^na§ to thei» dose connozioB with th* LaiidJw«hi% the disloeatioa 
into diiosiaiia and hidgndes mi^ he ieg;a«rded aa permaaent^ huk wtald 
probably be entirely altered on the troops taldog the field* 

I# will he very evidatft that the maintenanee of suoh a» immeiiae army, 
derftved horn a numerieally small auouat o£ population,* must be aaanagad 
with the utmoit'degpvae of eooaen^y i£ thesgpveEnraent wisbas ta samin 
£roia> laying an uasnfoorteble amooiil of taaa4iciD.0B. the natton. Vhia 
eooaemyv hewevar, is oisplayed in aumeaous Teaj eleven and satisiiiatoiy 
denosfti fos iadlaiioer thmugh the Laodwelur. sjisten^ Bsusaia ia oi^ 
called upon to pay one-half of her standing army ; each year the armval 
ef tha reeruita is fannd naveB eaantly to eotnaide witb the departure of 
those on furlough ; the vekmteen envoUed. lb* one yeas rooeive no pajf; 
thaPrussiaa amy ia garrison haano pa^ fi>r the 31stof the month ;. and, 
luAf, letiringoBcei^. instead of raoeimg peanons^ obtaia^emfJoyaBiiii 
lib ihe» 01^ sevviee*i 

But the principal reward on whioh. the Fnisiiaii gonmmeotrdias is 
tbaaimeat unlimiindi distributiett of eydetti«-a systenw rendered necessary 
1^ pfemetioa dependiag enlirsiy oarsenioiit3^;. aad> distingoished serfioes 
aee rewarded by otfiar nethoda than attaining a step. Oiders, when 
wisely dietsihitted, indulntahly exenise a great inflnenoe on the spisit of 
aiL armv;. and,.henoe^ we yenture to dose our aooount of the Firassiatt 
ansji with a oossovy statement of tha ovdaraf whiek the ttfoo^ are enabled 
tagaiis together wothian aeeoant of their origin and deoijpi : 

L. The OancB^ef the BiiAOK Eaaza is tfaa highest ia Prussia; and 
this ia seen iathadeeeaatioa itself « the Blsick Ei^e fonna the natienal 
aimsw I* waa fiMiqded on the I8th ef Jannasy,. 1701,, by Frederick L, 
first King of Prussia, at his cwoaatioa. It is empjoyedas a reward for 
all high aMitasyr andtiinl dignitaiies of the empioa, in peaee and in was. 
All &9r piinees of the royal firaiily ase ohevalieraef this oider by biidi. 
The nnniber oi chevaliers is limited ta thirtj^ exoluaive of princes of the 
Boyal blood and fsrelgii petentateav No one can< receive this order mules 
n«»hle; and hence, aboitfgeoiaaiQs^ baennobledby tfaa king prior to his 
leoeption of it. The deeeoatioa oonaiato'ef a silver plate^ hairing on a 
yellow field the black eaa^e, sumMmded by the motto, Suum cuioue. 
The gEaadcoffdon iaa w»£ onnge ribbo% wosa fi»a the rig|it sheuder 



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264 The Prussian Army, 

to the left hip, and sapporting a hlue enamelled cross, the angles filled 
with hlack eagles. In exceptional cases, the decoration is ornamented 
with diamonds. The Chevaliers of the Black Eagle are at the same time, 
and ex officio, Chevaliers of the Red Eagle. There is no pension attached 
to this order. 

2. The Order of the Retd Eaole was founded hy the Margrave of 
Anspach and Baireuth, in 1705. On the margravate reverting to 
Prussia, in 1791, Frederick William II. declared this the second order in 
his empire. At that period it only consisted of one class ; and the de- 
coration was a silver star attached to the cordon of the order. In 1810, 
Frederick l^liam III. divided it into three classes, to which he added a 
fourth in 1830. It is intended to reward distinguished military and 
civil services. 

The first class consists of a silver star with eicfht rays ; in the centre, 
on a white field, heing the red eagle, surrounded hy the motto, Sincere 
et constanter. Above this device are three gold oak-leaves. The grand 
cordon consists of a broad white ribbon with two orange stripes, to which 
is attached a white cross, the centre containing the red eagle, and the 
ring adorned with oak-leaves. 

The second class of the Red Eagle is subdivided into two categories ; 
one ** with the star," the other '* without the star." The second class 
*^ with the star" is composed of a square cross of silver, containing a large 
white cross with the red eagle in the centre. In addition, a white cross is 
worn round the neck, attadied to a white ribbon with two orange stripes. 
The second class << without the star^' only wears the small cross round the 
neck. 

The third class wears a similar white cross on the chest of smaller 
dimensions, fastened to a ribbon of the same cross. 

The fourth class is distinguished by a cross of silver. When an officer 
gains the order of the Red Eagle on the battle-field, the cross he wean 
is ornamented with two crossed swords. There are no pensions attached 
to this order. Only officers can obtain it. 

3. The Order Ihur le Meriie was founded by Frederick the Great, 
on his accession to the throne, in lieu of the Order De la GenerosttSj 
instituted by his father, and was intended to reward military and civil 
services. It consists of a blue enamelled cross, in the angles of which are 
gilt eagles) and it is worn attached to a black ribbon with two silver 
stripes. Frederick William III. decreed, in 1810, that the Order Pour 
le Merite should be exclusively reserved for the military : he also ordered 
that, in the case of very distinguished services, the order should receive a 
further decoration of oak-leaves. When an officer has obtained this 
order, in the first instance, without leaves, and then receives the higher 
distinction, he only wears the latter ; but, in that case, the ribbon has 
tiiree silver stripes instead of two. Frederick WUliam IV., the present 
King of Prussia, resolved, on the 31st of May, 1842, to confer this order 
again on artists and literary men, in accordance with the intention of 
Frederick the Great. For this purpose a new and special class of the 
order was founded, under the title, " Class of Peace of the Order Pour 
le MSrite** The decoration consists of a blue enamelled cross, with a gilt 
eagle on a yellow field. The number of chevaliers of this class is in- 
variably fixed at thirty for Prussia^ and thirty for foreign countries. 



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The Prussian Army. 265 

4. The Order of die Iron Cross was founded by Frederick 
VTiUiam III., on the 10th of March, 1813, to reward the officers and 
soldiers who fought against France in the campaigns of ISIS, 14, and 
15. It comprises two classes, conferred on solmers of all grades. The 
second class consists of an iron cross, bordered with silver, and worn on 
the left side of the chest, attached to a black ribbon with two white 
stripes. The front of the cross bears the initials F. W., with a crown, 
three oak-leaves, and the date 1813. The decoration of the first class is 
the same, but, instead of depending from a ribbon, it is attached to the 
coat. The holder of the first class is also entitled to the second. Up to 
1841 there were no pensions attached to this decoration ; but on the 3rd 
of August of that year, Frederick William IV. decreed, that in the first 
class, 12 officers, and 12 non-commissioned officers and privates, should 
receive an annual pension of 150 thalers ; and, in the second class, 36 of 
each grade an annual pension of 50 thalers. 

5. The Order of the Iron Cross, white ribbon, though not military, 
is so £requently confounded with the previous order, that we think it ad- 
visable to point out the distinction. It was created in 18 13 by Frederick 
William III. to reward civil functionaries who distinguished themselves 
by their patriotism during the campaign of 1813, &c. The cross is the 
same as the second class of the preceding, but is attached to a white 
ribbon with two black stripes. 

6. The Grand Cross of the Iron Cross was instituted at the same 
time as the two last, and was only g^ven to those commanders-in-chief 
who gained a battle, took an important town, or defended a fortress with 
success. It is precisely similar to the last, except that it is double as 
large. The orders 4, 5, and 6 will soon be extinct; and, indeed, the 
Grand Cross can no longer be found, as all the generals have died. 

7. The military decoration founded by Frederick William III. in 
1814 to reward we services of officers, is divided into two classes : the 
first consisting of a silver cross attached to a black and white ribbon ; 
the second class is given to non-commissioned officers and privates, and 
consists of a silver medal, bearing the inscription '^ For service done the 
State." 

8. The Medal for the Campaigns of 1813, 14, and 15, was made of 
gun-metal, and c^ven to all the troops engaged. It is of a round form, is 
attached to a ydlow ribbon bordered with black and white, and bears the 
following inscriptions above and round a crown : " F. W., to the brave 
warriors of Prussia. God was with us ; to Him be the honour !" 

9. The Good Conduct Medal for officers was created June 18, 
1825, by Frederick William III. for officers who had served twenty-five 
years. The cross is of silver gilt, bearing the initials of its founder. 

10. The Good Conduct Clasp for non-commissioned officers and 
privates was founded at the same date, and varies in character according 
to the seniority of the recipient. After twenty-one years' service the 
clasp is yellow, and is £Eistened to a blue ribbon edged with yellow. After 
fifteen years' service it is silver, attached to a blue ribbon with white 
edging. Aiter nine years' service the clasp is iron, fastened to a blue 
ribbon with black edge. The clasp is in all cases ornamented with the 
cypher of the founder, F. W. III. 

11. The Good Conduct Clasp for the Landwehr, founded on the 



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9K XIU Ih-tmimt Antg. 

Mlh; fgJ^Mxmsjy ]i84i, W FMMttk WiUiMV IV. fo» diM oAsers and 
fwalM>^o» nerfiMMid th«ir datM» imQ w Iho Bast and stoond fevi€8, 
^Misiiti ol a blng. iibUii, JD^whiah «fa* iakialMf tli» fM&dtf M^wMbdun 

13. OW ObuBE of Sir. J«nr i» m odUuMt o£ tite^ «u» dddimMI 
jtiii[^t» wlio keld. Aft ul^idki o£ Ma]k% Cma%. «m1. Cteto. lit 1»U, the 
Mgkteof BraadenlkM Mj^anitod ftam. tte cfdeiiv ttid ektted a-onnd 
«iHter s tbi» aftpnvtiiarlntod «ffl th« »f<M»MitMni. In 1810,. EmShMc 
WiUkuA UL^afanliihwiilvaDd mtlakated^. » iaU2», 9^n^ Umamm, oidor 
ofvSi Jdnv ^a^toi^ aams WttrngsaKjaftaiiy to ito i21i]glMi]t>pcoto<9ptt. 
.l&i* mm oidtot k grantod to smh nM^ peMMit. m tWUng wisbM to 
fWMiiaUf xtovardf. fltidseyeniLoftoflnM Tlh» detomtiMi*eoiniite 

af.»whito?€«MniiiiUd eww^ thraagte»»gcqpiedby Maob-aigtoi. Thtte 
11 tto spMal MorngMlifO attoshed to dii»oranr, ssve th& ai^ q£ itMrinf 
the dress of tne oider — a red mifban.with m^mhito mHan, enibioidtrad»i& 
fiid^ asd' fold apwilettoK 

18. Tbe QKOmm of the H^im o€ BbnowttiiilMr' in» fewt^ed. oa 
Hn 5«iiv oi Dewnbea^ 1841, Wtlie nipMig? firitiofr. o£ HobamioUem 
BadHBgA aiidsaigMtfiQgMi. When. that;prMitoMiigaed']U8.8Me6 to 
Rrunia^ Frwferick WUiiBiii IV, adMifetadtfab* ooMUto iMto^PiriMaift. od tiid 
dfitd «f Att^uit^ 18l{l,.fraBtui|rtlM piina» peMuanm to pKtmA Hm 
order to whom he pleased, accor&ig to the- bow orgaMitmtian* Thia okpder 
]B;«Dir divided into tnm aeetaoBS^ Thto fitst^ia gnntod aii> a^ MNVard for 
ifMiai dwmlkm to>tha M^al ftunUj ; tba saoenii ia confeimd aft*fr veiKald 
ftar peoidiar aeMoat' in the: eduaaluMa- of. joudtandtlia propagatioa. «f 
pioiurae&tiinenta, £arii>of diaae aaetUnai aitttaiii8»thBee olaMies ;• giwid 
eotoP— dara, oomtaanderBi) and ohamdieiB. 

The dboaaalicNa of tbe find aeotion ottiattta^ ofi a Uaab aadf trhito ea- 
ameUed gold crosa^ in. the centre of itbichrir aiaoandvahidd, baaiing" the 
SDtto oi the ardaiv " Fiqm. the ndo to the aa%r add in tha^centM Ae 



eagle of the r^aaina on anbitarfiald^watbihaeacatoheaitof Hohao- 

A hraaali' 



■.fiamoniitehiaaa*. BeUM«a the aamaoftha oix» ia a goldgiMi. 
anaueUed istomor auppavted on tha^lefi by kiarakleafeiian tba ri^t l^ 
oak-ieaveSi Above the cross is the royal crown. The decoration of the 
aeeond aaetaon conaista of the eagle off iiw royd aama^ of Uaak enamel, 
bearing on sla bfeaat <iie eaoati^iaoQ of HohenaaUani* Tbosmotto is in a 
blue garter sunroanding the head of the eaglau IShaia-- aae no special 
paesngativaB or pensions, sfttaohad to thit orders . 

14. Tha- Ma»M^ of Hosbiivbdlijibv waaibunded in^l851r fcr ^H those 
offioen^>nen*eomnMaionedofficerB^ aodprnatoa who* setaioed thab fidelity 
daring tbe a Uuugiaa of 1848 and 1849i lit ift made of gim-metal. 
It heiinr on the Irout liie emsa of Ihe otder of BohanaoUeni^ a&d on the 
serecaa^ Ais insaiapiion : <' Faadeakk Wflfiara. I V^ to Ua waraaors fidthfiil 
till death, 1848^1849.'* It as waaa; on. tbe eheat &a» the batton4iole, 
&8tened to the aibbon of tba oidav of EbfaaoaoileiDi. 

As fet the fiweign deoocalaDBs^ whioh am alao-yar^ nmneioiia in tbe 
Fniasian aanqr* tba aoldieii iwaak. obtaiar Ibe royal anthonty to aooapt 
diem, exoapfc in the oaaa <£ Aaairiam^ and -Smtaian otdetBr when they 
need only to ntaba a suaple deohuiation of tbe impeaial daetea oonfening 
them. 



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( 267 ) 



HUMAN LONGEVITY. 

Aristotle was the first to point oat the &ct that the leng^th of ao 
animal's life was indicated by the extent of the term of gestation and of 
€tLd growth of the young. Buffon showed how this could be reduced to 
a numerical expression. ^* Man," the French naturalist said, *^ grows in 
height up to 16 or 18 years of age, but the development of the whole 
body in thickness does not cease till he is 30. Dogs attain their whole 
length in less than a year, but it is only in the second year that they 
cease to increase generally in size. Man, who is 30 years growing, lives 
90 or 100 years ; dofi;s, tnat only grow 2 or 3 years, only Hve 10 or 12 
years; and so it is with other animals." 

A distinguished physiologist, M. Flourens, the author of many well- 
known works on the nervous system, and the Perpetual Secretary of the 
Academy of Sciences in Paris, has lately published a work in which he 
assumes to himself the discovery of the true sign of the term of growth. 
The real problem, the physiological problem, was, he says, determined, 
but the exact expression of the term of growth was wanting, and, con- 
sequently, the eslimate as to how many times the duration of that growth 
was comprised in the duration of life was uncertain. 

M. Flourens finds this index of the cessation of gprowth in the union of 
the bones with their epiphyses. To understand this, it is necessary to 
premise that ossification commences at the centre, and thence proceeds 
towards the surface; in flat bones the osseous tissue radiates between 
two membranes from a central point • towards the periphery, in short 
bones from a centre towards the circumference, and in long bones from 
a central portion, diaphhysisj towards a secondary centime, epiphysis^ 
situated at each extremity. An epiphysis is then a bone or bony 
excrescence, which in the lonc^ bones is separated from the other bone by 
intervening cartil^e, but which intervening cartilage is ossified at a 
certain age. M. Flourens fixes the period at which uiis ossification ter- 
minates at, or about, 20 years of age. 

This point being ^ven — that so long as the bones are not united to 
their epiphyses the animal grows — ^it remained to be seen at what age 
this term took place in different animals, and what was the comparative 
duration of life. Now this union is accomplished in man at the age of 
20 ; in the camel, at 8 ; in the horse, at 5 ; in the ox, at 4; in the lion, 
at 4 ; in the dog, at 2 ; in the cat, at 18 months ; in the rabbit, at 12 ; 
in the guinea-pig, at 7. Now man lives 90 or 100 years ; the camel, 
40; the horse, 2S^, the ox, 15 to 20; the lion about 20; the dog, 10 
to 12 ; the cat, 9 to 10 ; the rabbit, 8 ; the guinea-pig, 6 or 7. 

Buffon, proceeding upon Ins idea of the duration of growth, calcu- 
lated that man lives six or seven times the length of the time he is 
in growing ; Flourens reduces this, from the above data, to about five 
times. Thus man is 20 years growing — ^he lives five times 20, that is 
100 years ; the camel is 8 years growing — it lives five times 8, that is 
40 years; the horse is 5 years growing — ^it fives five times 5 years, that 
ia 2S years ; and so on with the others. 

Jm^— -yOL. CIV* HO. CCCCXT. T 



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268 Human Lcngemty. 

We hare here, then, a well-defined term, which gives us precisely the 
period of growth ; and the duration of growth gives us the duration of 
life. All the phenomena of life are connected one with another hj an 
nnintemipted chain of relaiiofii : the dtMtklft of life is given bj the 
duration of gestation, the duration of gestation again bj the size of the 
amiiMJ. Tb» greater tlM ammal is, me mofe h tbe poiod of gsstirt&on 
prokMiged: iheMtatkni of die rabbit is 80 days; thatef nan, ^moalfas; 
thai of the elefAant is nearly 2 yean. The dusatMO ef life in th« eb- 
phasi has never been salisfeetorily detemuaed. Aiistotl» says ii livetf 
SOO years; Bufltbft at leMt 2QD; Cuner says mtathjf 200; etert say 
120, lao, 1409 150, OB to 400 or 500 yearsL CertasD i* is, that it is Ae 
longeat-lived animal uiat is known, or, as BlanviUe jostt^ eaOs it, *^th» 
mosC extraordinazy animal in th« whole enation,' A single observstioB 
as to the epoch at wfaidi the vaionof the long benei with their epiphym 
takes place would, according to Ffoofens' views, detorraine the a urati Dn 
of the Kfe <»f the elepfaaniy of the rMnoeeroB» of tile hippopoiama% and of 
all fiueh gigantic animals^ the duration of whose livea is at present 
unknown* 

It ie very eonsoliog-to learn thai ieitntific investigttiea ffrants to nan 
an ofdinaery dmmtioa of life equal t9 lOO yearsf but ms is net dL 
There is abo an extraordinary longevity, or an extarenie dn r a t i ott of life, 
whieh the celebrated lAiysioloffist Haller eetiraated from two instances^ 
one of 152 years, the oUier of 169, at two cmhmet. Floorans^ on faia 
side, asserts that experience demonstrates that in the msttmifene the ex- 
traordinary Hfe may be prolonged to double the dnratifHi of ordinary life. 
In the same manner as the daration of growth mokipfied five times gives 
the ordinary doxatioo of fife, so that ordinaiy duration nudtq^ed twiea 
gives the extreme duration of life. 

A first century of ordinary life, and ahnost a seeond eentuiy-- at Ae 
least a half century-'-^f extraordinary life, i% dun, thepcnpective offered 
by science to man. It is true tmit, to use tiae Imigtage of ad«>t8, 
science offen us this vast fend of life rather as a power or principle tnaa 
as an ad; piu$ inpoue quam in attm; but had it p to ased Providenoe 
to ensure it to us, ike lamentations of men at the faraviiy of life woold 
not have been the less. << Tell me first,* says Mierom%as, ^ how many 
senses have the people in. your globe?'' *'We have sevanty^two," 
answered the inhabitant of Saturn, "and we complain every day of the 
paucity." << I can easily ima^ne that," said Mievomigaas " for in onr 
globe we have a thousand, and yet we am very far ftom bebig saitisfied." 

Man, then, who docs not perish feom aosidental caoses, fives fer 
100 to 150 years. Few men die of old age. Thomas Fiurr, having 
attained a celebri^ by his old age. King Charles L expressed ^ widi 
to see him at court. He was too w*ll treated there, and he died of indi- 
gestion. Harvey performed the autopsy of the old man's body. All 
2ie viscera were perfectly healthy, the cartilages of fans ribs were not even 
ossified ; he might have lived many years more, but he perished at 152 
years of age by an accident. Man has made fer himself a kind of artifi- 
cial life, in which the moral is more frequently diseased than Hbe physique, 
and in which ihepht/sique is also much more frequency ill than it woold 
be if the habits o/Hfe were more serene, more eslm^moncomeanify and 
more judtciatufy laborious, ^'Maoy'* writea Buflbn, ^^pexiAea at all 



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Human Lofngmstg, 269 

age% iriiiiife unmab aemi tb pasB tkrbi^ life with a firm and aquiUe 
pan. The paHioos, and tiie nnaibrtanes tbne btkig in their traiii^ 
afbct heekb, and diaofder the piinciplee wfairii aninHite us. If the lifcf o€ 
mea were mote oarefuU j obMrved, it wooKd be IbuDd that ahoaort afl live 
a life of mixed strife and apprehenaan, and that the greater part die <tf 
care or sonow.^ 

Before, however, we discoss the philosophj of loogevity, we mast con* 
sider life in ita twolbld aspeetg^aaone of growth and <Hie of decline — two 
aspects wliidi divide it into two nearly eqaal portions. According to 
Fkoienfl^ system, these two liahrea are again i«d)dinded into two others, 
and firom thence the four ages of hfe : ch i ldhood, joutb, manhood, and 
old age. Again, eadi of these azss divides itself into twow There is a 
first and a second childhood, a nrst and a second youth, a fint and a 
second manhood, and a first and a last old age. 

Fkmrens propooes Uie feUowing as ^ doration of these different agea 
or epochs: for the first childhood, firom birth to 10 years of age^ that ia 
diildiiood properly speaking ; and for the second, ficom 10 to ^, that ia 
adolesooice; for the first you^, firom 20 to 30; and for the second^ firom 
30 to 40; for the first manhood, from 40 to 55 ; and fer ^ second, 
from 55 to 70. Manhood, taken in its encem^^ is the epoch of strength 
and perfection, as is well CKpressed in the term of the period of virih^. 
The first old age begins at 70, and lasts till 85 years \ and at 85 begins 
the second and last old ageu 

This exceeding prolongation of the different ages, ?riikdi will af^pear to 
correspond more to what theoreticaUy should be the case than to what 
virtuuly is so, is founded on the fiust ^t at 10 years of age Ihe second 
teething terminates; at 20 years of age the development of die bones 
ceases ; and at 40 jeavs of age increase of growth has an end, and what- 
ever aogmentaticm there is in vobune is mere fiUty aceomidation. A 
last condition, wfaidk Flourena designates as one of invigoration — an 
interna], deep-seated action, whidi, extending to the most remote tissues 
of the body, gives to them all firmness and finish, and renders all the 
functions more perfect and all the organs more complete—takes place 
from 40 to 55 yean of age^ and prolongs itself afterwards^ more or less, 
to 65 or 70 years*. 

At 70 old age commences* The physudoj^stB of olden times used to 
distinguish two kinds, or rather two provisions of forces — ^the forces in 
reserve and the forces in use ; or, as they expressed it, etrer in posse^ 
et vireB m adu; or, as Barthes called them, the radical forces and the 
acting forces. In yoath there is a large amount of force in reserve : it 
is the progressive diminuticD of these disposable forces which give to old 
age its physiological character. So long as an old man only employs 
Ids active nowezs, he does not perceive tfiat he has lost anything; bnt the 
moment wit he exceeds the limits of his usual active powers, he fe^ 
fetigued and exhausted ; he perceives that he has no secret resources, and 
that the abundant forces in reserve in yontb-time are no longer at his 
command. 

'< Wh^ one knows^" M. Reveill6 Farise remarks in a very able w(Mrfc 
cm old ace, " that there is in each of car organs two partienlar forces, 
which, uthongh in reality identical, are, the one daily ttid haUtoal and 
always in use, the other secret and in reserve, only manifestii^ themselves 

T 2 



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270 Human Longemty* 

upon extraordinary occasions, a wise man is induced never to oonunit an 
excess. It is, indeed, upon the occasion of these excesses that the em- 
ployment of the forces of reserve is necessary ; hut as these forces can 
only he recoyered with difficulty and after the lapse of a greater or less 
time, it will he felt that they should he had recourse to as seldom as 
possihle, and that more particularly in old age, when the organism is 
weakened by the lapse of years.'' 

M. Reveille Parise argues that the period of general decline hegins 
with the lungs ; but M. Flonrens, we think with great justice, combats 
this idea, and considers old age not as a local but as a (general pheno- 
menon. Nor is it, indeed, always the same organ in which the effects of 
age are first manifested, but rather in one or another, according to dr- 
cumstances and to individual constitutions. In considering the manper 
in which old age operates, it is important to remember that the principle 
of life^ whatever may be its nature, is eminently an exciting, an impul- 
sive, and a motive power. '< It is taking a very false notion of life," says 
Cuvier, '*to consider it as a simple bond which keeps together the 
elements of the living body, whilst it is, on the contrary, a spring that 
moves them and transports them incessantly. There is an incessant 
mutation and renovation of parts going on ; force alone is persLstant, 
matter constantly changing ; we cannot keep what we have, we can only 
keep repairing what is lost; with old age the forces, by which form is 
sustained amidst a continusi waste, beg^ to decline, till they ultimately 
fail altogether, which would be a natiural in opposition to an aocidenttu 
death." 

Bat while we cannot grow aged without a decline of our physical 
powers, the moral and intellectual man rather gains by increase of 
years. Who has not read the " Treatise on Old Age" of Cicero ? a work 
of which Montaigne said, ^' It gives me a wish to grow old." Another 
work on old age, the effect of which is most consoling and instructive, 
and to which we shall soon refer more at length, is that of Louis 
Cornaro. The book of Cicero convinces, because it is written with a 
master's hand, and under the inspiration of an elevated philosophy. 
That of Cornaro carries vrith it the reader, because it is written by a wise 
and amiable old man, who has lived a hundred years, always cheerful, 
always gay, always happy to live. Here the fiaet convinces still more 
than the book. 

<* In green old age," M. Reveille Parise says, ^^ or from 55 to 75 years 
and beyond that, intellectual life possesses a remarkable consistency 
and solidity ; it is truly the age at which man attains the perfection of 
his faculties." What M. Parise calls *< green old age," it is to be ob- 
served, corresponds to what M. Flonrens calls ^< the first old age." 

The celebrated anatomist, Duverney, addressed public bodies with all 
the vivacity and energy of youth at the age of 80. La Fontaine penned 
some of his best verses at 73 ; Voltaire was most philosophical at 78. 
These may be called exceptions — ^they are not so, they are revelations ; 
they show how, under proper conservative circumstances, certain faculties 
remain vigorous and intact. In youth, attention, lively and active, 
receives impressions quickly, but reflection is wanting; in manhood, 
reflection and attention are combined, and that is what constitutes the 
force of a ripe age ; in old age, attention begins to Seal, but reflection 



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Human Longevity. 271 

increaseB ; old affe is the epoch when the human heart turns back upon 
itself and knows itself best Buffon called old age a prcnndioe* ^ With- 
out our arithmetic^'' says the aetiye-minded naturalist, who wrote his best 
work, the *< Epoques de la Nature/' when he was upwards of 70, *^ we 
should not know that we are getting old." The philosopher, FonteneUe, 
said at 95 years of age, that the hanpiest period of life is from 55 to 75; 
at that epoch our lot is establbheo, reputation made, condition in life 
settled, pretensions discarded or fulfilled, passions calmed, and the place 
which a man is destined to fill in society determined. He has no longer 
any illusions, any vain desires or foolish wishes to torment him; he sits 
down soberly to enjoy the position in which it has pleased Providence to 
place him. 

Needless to say that a century of normal life, and, still less, two cen- 
turies of extreme longevity, are not to be obtained without conditions of 
a most rigorous character : there must be good conduct and almost tit- 
eessant oceupaHon^ work or study, and, above all, moderation and sobriety 
in everything. The greatest wnters on the physiological conditions of 
longevity are, beyond compare, Hufeland, who entitles his work <' The 
Art of Prolon^g Life ;" Comaro, who calls his '< On a Sober Life," 
but adds, '< Means of Insuring a Long Life ;" Reveille Parise, who de- 
fines hygiene to be '^ the art of justly estimating one's powers, and of 
exciting and sustainmg them so as to preserve life the most possible, the 
best possible, and the longest possible/' To these we must add the two 
Combes, the physician and the philosopher, the one in his work on 
Physiology, the other in his work on the Constitution of Man, both 
advocating that enlightened obedience to the Natural laws, without which 
there is neither heiuth nor happiness, and most assuredly not longevity. 
The principles advocated in the present work by M. Flourens reduce 
themselves to precisely the same category. 

It is a most singular &ct in the history of the human mind — a most 
remarkable psychological feature of human society as at present con- 
stituted — that while the desire of self-preservation, and of protracting 
the short span of life, is so intimatdy interwoven with our constitution, 
ihat it is justly esteemed one of the mst principles of our nature, and, in 
spite even of pain and misery, seldom quits us to the last moments of our 
existence, tiiat few are found to obey the most simple dictates of pru- 
dence in the ordinary conduct of life. Evil example, and, we fear to say, 
ignorance, are first causes, habit another, and aJl combine to entertain 
that state of things upon which that law of mortality is founded which is 
the basis of Life Insurance. Uncertain as is the life of any one indivi- 
dual, it is very well known that if two different numbers of individuals, at 
or near the same age, be taken, the number that will be left at tiie end of 
a few years will be nearly the same, if they mst during that ii$ne under 
similar circumstances. All Life Insurance Companies have to assume 
this latter condition of the same state ci habits of sodety. Was any 
state of things to arise by which there would be less necesnty for a 
killing competition in laliour and professions ; was greater sobriety and 
moderation commonly practisedr— and by sobriety we do not mean mere 
abstinence from fermented liquors, but general steadiness of conduct and 
pursuits, and the avoidance of all excesses in labour and diet — ^were the 
passions better r^^ulated, were there a less unequal distribution of wraith^ 



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272 Hkman Longmtg, 



and not gluttanj , idbiies^ and futidibwaeas on ihe onesided oppowd 4i# 
aqoaiid want and mflroiiess ixkaaaAetj cm the otW; wwe tbe aanitftrpr 
laim not a aiaterof mare talk from Ceolrml Boaids and BoaUb of Gw- 
^osy Int a iagal and adentifiB lealitjr ; and wen^ abova aD ^AiiigBi tho 
Natinal lava ab a wycd leEgioualy iff ewiy one, aa tiie gveat niia- 
dpl68 of aauteace^ as an impenoiif daty towsids ounehiw and ouei% 
and tfadr infrinffeawiit oonaidend tobe,asit la, aaactoftlie gvooBesi 
ingmtkude towavda oar Creator, die '< Oarlule TaUes" wodd no loi^ar 
do for tha offiea calenlatioM of tiie IM& LomivaDoe Comoames. Few 
iiiataaceBaareBMreBtrikii^'diantlieiiieof Looia Goniaroof tiieo&eta of 
modanitioa ia praloDgmg life. Comaro had Baturally a very debeate 
coDStitution ; in his youth he indulged in the dissipated life of iiis 4in»^ 
kis health gave way, andat thirty-4tve his medicai miaen gsva Mm only 
imO' yean to tiiw. Ho dBtaradned from that naoment to reform; ha 
ohangod a diasipatod life ibr m ngobroiie, and iatampcfaaoe frr sokiety. 
Hits atMideration waseven earned to eKoeaa. Twelfo omoea of aolid food. 



and ^MBTteen omoes of wme^ were all that he toc^ daily, flsr op wai d a of 
half a oeatary. This anxnait of food, which infthidea bread, moat, and 
game far he was sn^advoeate Ibr vaii^, eo long as b waa easily dt- 
gasted — was divided into four meak. Whan he gal vary old, he ia aaid 
£> ham Blade two maali upon the yolk of one e^^ ! 

'^ I have always been healthy,'' says the <dd man ia hia wosk, ^ ainoa 
I have beea sober.*' fiat Comaro dBd not look solely to modecation far 
a long life. ^ I so manasa,'* he aays^ ^ as to avoid extremes of heat or 
ooid; I never indalge in violent OKeneiBe^ I avoid late hoars, I ahim d 
piaoas where the air is impure, and I ftiafie always been carefal not to 
expose mysetf to a Strang wind, or the emesaive heat of the son.'' 

Nor did he pay less attention to the moral and inteQecttta] man. 'I 
found," he says, '* my condition to improve materially by sot giving waj 
to soirow, and by banishing all aadi thoughts aa were fik^ to beget 
care." fie had eleven graadohildien, and he delighted to aee tMaa 
happy and playful ia his preseaee. He Kkewisa took an active inteeeat 
in the welfare of his tenantry. Wfaflat he thus cultivated hk aiooal 
being by the moat healthy exercise of the heart, he aostained his intol* 
Isetual powers by literary and scientific parsoits. At eighty-three }waia 
of age he penned a comedy for his own amusement ; and he asaistffd 
matmally ia the embelHshment and amprovemeat of Veniee, by his ooo- 
siderations on ihe lagoons by which that city is anrroanded. (TWtittstn 
i^^lle ^^we, 1560.) 

▲ reaark of Gomaro*s, whki Flonrens de^jhts to improve upon, is m 
fellows : ^Thspt whaeh gives me a resl p&eaaure is to see that age and ex« 
perienoe can give a man more learning tiian the schools. Few know the 
reid vaiae <^ ten yean 6f a healthy Hfa, at an age whoa a maa can eii|Dy 
all his reason, and profit by all his expenenoe. To speak o^^ of the 
acieneas, it ia eeitain that the best works we bare were written ii| 
those last ten years whiob the diaapated affect to despise ; it is certaat 
tint lAie adnd perfects itself in propoition as the body ^ws oUer: 
acianoa amd art would hate loat niueh if all the great mea wno have ooU 
tifated them bad ahortoaed their days by ten years.'' 

«< i entirely agree with Conaara^" writes M. Flowena, <' diat the 
auad pexfaets Itself in proportion as the body grows oUer. £aah age 



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veries wlucn are made by young men ; there are oihien fvMcli eaa ealj 
beflM&ky Mettaisnf««|*e. Gdiko^Kfooreredflt dM ag* of eighteen 
or twenty the regularity of the oscillations of « pflsdidaa, hot Hvvef 
^vM fifty More be flnnw nt tfie splMidid iadncdoa of dM c J iw datfoo o£ 
tiieUood.'' 

The rules of conduct followed by Comaro in order to prolong his lib 
are by no means recommended to all alike. His diet and system were 
adopted for a weak stomach and a delkate constitution; and it would be 
absurd^ the physician Ramazzini remarked long ago, to insist upon strong 
and heakhy Doastitotiofia loUpwiBg ihe same j^gMse. The geaat point 
ii t» possess the ioieUageDoe xkeceasary to obserpe foeh sofanety ttd 

^ ial to 



moderation as we find to be beneficial to us and suitable to the 
vaiyuig eirevmatanoes of heakh and tone. The oaly seerei of joa^enty 
1$ M sober life — by which is meant a weU^regnkted UEe* * jrataoiiAl Sh, » 
vdl-^Modiieted hk 

Itli poflidrely sarpeiiii^ in &e praseot day, vrhen ihe jpnxmplm df 
longevity are reduced to so simple an expression as the obseraHwe of the 
.Natural laws, to find what ecroneons opmionB our fiorefadien entertained 

rn ae iiaportABt a subject It w«a especially an ttroneont belief that 
loss h^ peesfaniaoa Mibzievkted life* Lord Baeon, who jJatibgniAeJ, 
pUloaophiea]]^ onpogh, thfee inteBtiaas for the proloogBtion ^ lift-** 
ntadatioA^/eoiiiiimptioii, and fmfet reparation and renoinlm of what 
bcgiins to grow old<—was yet jo itf mialea by fi false idea of the Nktioii 
of what b oalli predato^ inflnenefti aad rttMoatory inHneiicea, as to 
believe that tho oinUent oir could ho veoda^ leas predatory hw dwoBng 
n eold ohmates, in cams^ mmintaine, aad aochoritee' odls; or be kept off 
fi»oi the body by a dense akiii, &o feaAees of birds, or the nee of oflg 
nnd OQgoents withoat fintmaiam. Upon the same nuatahen pniMi|io 
Maupertius recommended that the body shouU be covnsd witti pitdL 
Jind Cardan actuaUy axgued thot tnaesbved longer than animnls because 
they took no exercise I 

Xossiosy a Dutehflun, vng» Kbe Comaro^ of a foeUoocnsliiiitiQn. He 
read Comaro's book afier he had been condenmed by the phyaiciani^ 
adopted its pxineiples, and lived to a cood oU Bge. He afterwords 
t.iniisktt»ed CotnaroV work into Latin, and added a ptefiaee on iSne adnaa- 
ti^of Bobdety* His stnrle is not, ho vever, so oomrincifld^ as lihnt of the 
nmiaUe^ poetic, jorons, old Itafian, who thus finishes bis &st diaeonnes 

^<8neh is tUs divine eobnety, friend of nataaa, danghter of naeon, 
sister of virtue, companion of a temperate life ; modest, noble, tognlnte^ 
^ neat in her work fihebasthej<ooiofli&,of beaUi,of ioy,flf ddll» 
of ooioDMb nodof aBAenetienaw«aiby«fB welUomndni Divine 
kwonndbcwan Inirs an in her iurour; behie her^ irrc^;alarities and Iho 
doii«eM that follow in th6irtBmwMriahJa»doiidsba^nA^ Her 

beauty AttBaotsaBaeiwiblehenrta; herpradiMs^DnHBoio aHn 
MdibmidooDnsnxwiMn^iMityfShBfamnihow tobeecaaeihe 



and benignant gioaniian of ife, tMke io 4e peer nnd to thanBh; aho 
toachoB nio4Mty to the ridb» oeoMmj to the pooi? ahe gives to yonth the 
&aaande«tainhi»oefli«^ nad<nnUea thedUmaniodrfend hwsalf 
froB» death, fiobiiety pnnfiec the eenae% mnders inteUigeooe fireli^ 
inparU gaiety to the Muid, and reoOeteaflMeqrfoitynl; l^itiiMooiiX 



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274 Human LongeoUy. 

almost duengagedof its terrettrial weight) seema to enjoy the foretaate of 
an eternal medom." 

The roles of longeyitvi aa laid down in modem times by M. Reveille 
Parise, are four in numoer: 

The first is to know how to be old. The expression is borrowed fiom 
La Rochefoucauld, who said, " few people know how to be old." Voltaire 
also wrote: 

Qui n'a pas Fesprit de son &ge 
De son ige a tons les malhennl. 

which oonreys best the idea of what is meant by knowing how to be 
old — ^that is to say, to know how to conduct oneself with propriety in 
old age. 

The second rule is to know oneself well, which, like the former, is 
a philosophical precept f^plied to medicine. *^ And why," asks M. Re- 
veille . Farise, struck with the same agreement, '^ have philosophy and 
medicine so many relations? Because happiness and health are united and 
inseparable." 

The third rule is to dispose suitably of habitual life — that is, to dispose 
of the detuls of duly life with propriety and in accordance with the 
Natural laws. It is, m fact, the aggregate of good physical habits which 
constitute health, as it is the aggregate of go^ moral habits which con* 
stitute happiness. Old men who go dailj^ through the same well-regpilated 
routine of life, and fulfil the duties of Uieir social position with the same 
moderation, the same taste, and the same enjoyment, live almost for ever. 
*^ My miracle is to live," said Voltaire ; and if the foolish vanity that 
never gets old, to use an expression of Buffon's, had not made him 
exchange the quiet of his country residence on the Lake of Geneva for 
the turmoil and agitation of Paris, at eighty*fbur years of age, his miracle 
might have lasted a century. 

*< No one would believe," says M. Reveille Parise, *^ how far a little 
health, properly cared for, can be made to go." *' To use what one has^ 
and act in all things according to one's forces, such is the rule of the 
wise man," wrote Cicero. 

The fourth rule is to combat every symptom of sickness at the very 
first We have already seen that in youth life is as it were seconded by 
another life ; that in reserve of life in activity, there is also a life in power. 
In old age there is only one life ; and hence everything that tends to 
exhaust that must be cut short ; for there are no other vital resources to 
have recourse to. 

Such are the four fundamental rules laid down by M. ReveiU6 Parise. 
With these four rules, and that consideration of their practical application 
to diet, exercise, labour, exposure, and all other nabits of life, which 
cannot but strike the most unintellectual reader, how long can one live ? 
One will not live for ever, but one will live all one's life — ^that is to say, 
all that the particular constitution of each individual, combined with the 
general laws of the constitution of the species, will permit. 

It has been argued by some that the health which is only to be sus^ 
tained by ceaseless watching and care is of itself a tedious disease. Such 
an argument attests at once an utter ignorance of the philosophy of 
longevity, and a very poor idea of the value of life. To a person who is 



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Human Longevity. ^75 

once soundly imbued with ihe necessity of moderation and sobriety there 
is no more watching requisite to avoid error than there usually is from 
tumbling down, being run over, or any of the thousand accidents to which 
we are daily exposed : as to care, all experience shows that the man who 
is in that state of mind and body which ensures longevity has less cares 
than he who is constantly putting both out of order by his recklessness. 
As well miflfht a man discard all thoughts of the future, as to discard all 
thoughts of the present. The very gourmet discusses the comparative 
digestibility and wholesomenees of his high-seasoned viands, his sauces, 
and his wines ; why should not the ordinary man do so likewise ? But 
the fact is, the philosopher has no occasion to trouble himself with such 
matters ; his system has rejected them long ago, and he requires neither 
care nor thought for his mode of living. A man in this world, it has 
been agsun observed, has his duties to perform. He has no right to 
submit to any epicure who teaches Um that he may be well by living idly 
and dramissing care. Now this is either wilful or disingenuous mis- 
representation of the case. Judicious labour, and almost incessant occu- 
pation, are the indispensable conditions of our being, and the essentials 
of longevity. We have seen them insisted upon as such by all our pre- 
viously-quoted authorities. Is it not possible to labour and to do one's 
duty as a responsible member of socieW, without recklessness as to the 
present or the future ? As well say it is not possible to do one's duty in 
life, and not dismiss care. Undoubtedly, no soldier should purchase 
safety by allowing Umself to £Etll into the hands of an enemy, ratner than 
as a free man risk hb life for his country. But soldiering is altogether 
an exceptional thing. Perhaps the day will come when people will tlunk 
iheir forefathers were very stupid to sacrifice millions of lives to the am- 
bition of their rulers. As it is, war is already nearly limited to the 
wielding of physical power by the civilised to keep down the predatory 
excursions of barbarous, or the aggressive ambition of semi-oarbarous 
nations. To defend one's home and hearth is a point of duty which no 
Englishman will ever fail in, even at the immediate sacrifice of all chances 
of longevity. Nor would the philosopher harbour a thought of deserting 
his friends or relatives when struck down by fell disease, because he knew 
that rickness to be mortally contagious. A due regard to the laws ne- 
cessary to ensure health and happiness by no means entails a disregard to 
the higher calls of honour and duty. On the contrary, all eiuimple shows 
that the healthy man and the cheerful man is always the most active in 
his duties; the most elastic under reverses; the most willing, ready, 
and capable to aaost others ; and the most enterprising and the most 
courageous in trial, adventure, or war. 



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( 276 ) 



A KING OUT OF HA£NZSS » 

The pnrate Cfe of an 'Eastern, \angl How liie -wrj words ttvill 
Aroagb one t W« gloat over the Aonght that some dt those dadc 
mysteries, whose existence is wluspered, wul be TereaSed to ns : we ^haJDi 
!>60ome intimate with the sajings and doings of Iftie Zenaoa, and find 
otmelves mentally enjoying ttie orgiies of a monardi wkose power is even 
more nnlGmited, fer good or e^ man that of llie great Nordiem A.wto- 
crat. On perasing the boolc to which we now propose to draw atten- 
laxxif we find our wishes more liian realised, and we may yentore to 
assert that its puhlicaldon will throw more light on the internal eondilion 
of India, and the caase of ber gradual absorption by Jdm Company, 
than all die fiHue-hooks beneath whose weig^ht Ibe m>rary-table8 of oar 
ILP/s so jpatiendy grsan. Bat there is a tnte saying about ** the proof 
of a pndmng,* Sec., and we cannot do better to proye the trodi of oar 
assertion than by giyin? oar readers a taste 'of its quality, and assazing 
them tibat if they Eke tne sample, the remainder of lihe artide ^11 be 
equally worth parchaae and carrfnl digestion. 

The author was indaoed to visit Lucknow, partly on husineas, partly 
through the carious tales be bad beard in Calcutta about tbe immense 
menageries maintained by the king, and his fondness ibr Europeans motra 
especially. Having a fnend at court, be succeeded in procuring an in- 
terriew with bis mi^esly, who immediately took a great fancy to lunL 
As be receiyed a hint that tbere was a vacant ptaoe in bis majesty's 
boasehold, be determined on applying for It. But as no European could 
be taken into the ldng*s service wilbout l^e sanction of tbe Besadent, be 
was compelled to apply to that illustrious man, and was granted per- 
nussion to take aervioe under bis Majesty of Oude, ** on oondition tbat 
be was not to meddle or intermed^, in any way whatsoever, in tbe 
politics of Oude— not to mix himself up in the intrigues fbrpower be- 
tween rival ministers, or in Hhe quarrels of tiie large landed S^mintefl^ 
who were continually wairine among eacb other.** 

The bousebold of bis majesty contained five Europ ea n members, one 
of them being llie tutor, nominally employed to teadi the king EngliA. 
But tbe king was truly a royal sdholar ; and after bardly ten nunute^ 
application to a page of the ** Spectator^'' or some popular novel, would 
eaaaim, ^ B<n>peiy-bop ! but this is dry work: let us bsve a glass of 
wine, master f ibe books wotdd be throst aride, and the lesson ended. 
Tbe tutor received fifteen hundred pounds a year tor giving ibem. Ibe 
tutor then was one of the king's friends ; tbe librarian (who appears to be 
the author of this work), another ; his portrait-painter was a third ; the 
captain of his body-guard, a fourth ; and last, but by no means leasts 
his European barber was a fifth. The life-history of this Olivier le Daim 
of the East is so romantic, that we venture to transcribe it. 

He had come out to Calcutta as cabm-bo^r lii a ship. Having been brought 
up as a hair-dresser in London, he had left ms ship, on arriving in Calcutt^ to 
resume his business. He was successful : he pushed and puffed himself into 

* The Private JMe of an Eastern King. By a Member of the Household of 
his late Mfyesty Nnssir-u-deen, King of Oude. Hope and Co. 



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adtoneij. hi k^gik lie took to i^oipg «p tiv rirar viiftL Eaiopem meidbaMfiB 
for Aale; he boeame, in faet^ viuii is caJjfid tiKBoe a nvw-tndtr. Aimed «t 
Lucknow, lie foimd a leffldent^Bot the same wlio was tiiere when I eoteced the 
Uog^s service — anxious to have his natnrally lank hair end like the Govemor- 
GeneraFs. The Goremor-tSeneral was distinguished by his ringlets; and, of 
eonane, in bidia lie is the dms of fashion and uie mould of form. Ttit Resident 
would be like him ; and the riyer-trader was Bot alMive resu mi ng his b asineas . 
Marvellons was the alteration he made in the Eesidenfs wpearance ; and so the 
' — t Saheb himBelf xntrodneed the wonder-workiiig baroor to t^ king. The 
had pecufiadj lank, straight hair; not l^e most innocent approach to a 
[^ had erer been seen on it. !nie barber wrought wonders again, and the kiqg 
was deli&^ited. Honours and weaJlii were showered upon him. He was giyen 
a tHie of nobifity. .... The king's favourite soon becomes weatthy in a 
native state. Tne barber, however, had other sources of profit (men to him 
besides facSnng; he suppHed all the wine and beer for the roval table. Nusair 
pnt no bounds to the honours he heaped upon the fascinating oarber; un3imTt>fld 
confidence was placed in him. By small degrees he had at last become a n^pdar 
guest at 1^ royal table, and sat down to take dinner with the king as a thing 
of right; ntsr would his msgesfy taste a bottle of wine opened by any other 
hands tbm the baiber*s. So afraid was his majesty of bemg poisoned by his 
own family, that eve^ bottle of wine was sealea in the bar^rs house beCone 
beine brought to l^e singes table ; and before he opoied it, the little man looked 
earc£i]}y at the seal to see that it was all right. He tiien opened ft and todL a 
portion of a gjaas first, before fiOing one for the king. 

j%e ^sonfidenoe wie bnber enjo^^ra of eoui'vs eoon becane kno'wu uici 
In Aa, and the press fvuiid inm a capital mark for llieir Gnazts of satire. 
** < The low menial/ as the Calcuita Review called lum^ was the subject 
of squibs, pasqwnade^ attacks, and satirical versei^ without number; and 
marvelloasjy little did the low menial 4aire -what they said ^boot jhia, 
as kmg as ha aeeamdated rapeeB." The paper most iwefawt in ito 
atteeb on the barber was the Agra UMar^ since dead. He umiiMoHy 
«mplojwd a Eoropoaa deik in the Resident's ofiSoe, to answer these 
trtfeacxs in a Oalcuttn papery wtni which he corresponded, and for tins 
received ten pounds a month. Surely it might have been worth a little 
moie. 

Our aothor natnraUy evinced mu^ cnriosily to aee this gpneat ■■»» 
and his wishes were gratified at the £sst dmaer-party, when the Imog 
made his appeaanee, leaning on the ana o£ his favoavite. Of the two^ 
the king was moeh the tiUiar^ the hvomie the more a sti aea hg mad 
healthy'lookiag. His majesty was dreesed in it black Eaglieh salt; and 
an ordmary UmIc silk tie imd pateBt4aadier boots ^ompbtni his ooitamo 
''He was 4 jMntleaudy-looking man, not without a oertein kingly giaoe; 
Us air and %iire a complete oooteast to that of his con^aakmi on wham 
natase had indelibly stamped the ehariff tnrintaf i of vulgaosty. Both woe 
•dnessed siaailariy ; sad m contrast they presented waa aoade all the 
move strikiag by the outward haUluneats in whieh thej nesemUed eadi 
other." 

The dinner was qmte fianopean, save and eaeoept in the presenea «f 
dancing^girls, whom wo do not nsaaUy sea. The oookery wna oneeileBi'; 
liar a Franchmaa preaided in the royal kitchen — a oook wbohadfematlf 
hean Cbrdkm M^ in the Caleatta Bengal r 



ICMu AflberdiHier these was m 
&pky of pi»netB» and the king did a^trenaendonsly clever im^ at w h i Aj 
of eemw^ aU lai^hed heartily, by eotta^ the strings withnpw«f 



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278 A King out of Harness* 

wAaaats. After thiB briUiaat feat had been repeated seyeral timesi the 
long applied himself with fresh Tigour to the botde, until consciousness 
was almost gone ; and he was then assisted by the female attendants and 
two sturdy eunuchs behind the curtain, and so off into the harem. But 
the king, when in good temper, was fond of harmless jokes ; the following 
anecdote will serve as a sample : 

We were in a large walled-in earden at Chami-gaii^, one of the park palaces, 
where animal fights often took place. The sarden might haye been some three 
or four acres in extent, and was surrounded by a high walL Some one had been 
describing the ji^ame of leap-frog to his majesty, or else he had seen some pic- 
tures of it, and it had taken his fancy mightily. The natives were left without 
the ffarden, the heavy gates were swung to, and his majesty commanded that we 
shoud forthwith begin. The captain of the body-guard made a back for the 
tutor, the librarian stood for the portrait-painter. Away we went, like school- 
boys, beginning with very "low backs," tor none of us were highly expert in 
the game, but gradually making backs higher and higher. Tutor, barber, cap- 
tain, librarian, portraLt-painter— off we went like overgrown schoolbovs, now up, 
now down. It was hot work, I assure you. The kii^, however, diu not stand 
long a quiet spectator of the scene; he would try too. His majesty was very 
thin, and not over strong. I happened to be nearest him at the time, and he 
ran towards me, calling out. I maae a back for him, and he went over easily 
enough. He was very light and a good horseman, so that he succeeded in the 
vault : he then stood for me. I would have given a sood deal to be excused; 
but he would not have it so, and to have refused womd have been mortally to 
offend him. I ran, vaulted ; down went the back, down I went with it ; ana his 
majesty the king and the author of these reminiscences went rolling together 
amongst the flower-beds. He got up annoyed. '' Boppery-bop, but you are as 
heavy as an elephant !" he exchumed. I was afraid he woula have been in a 
passion, but he was not. The barber adroitly made a back for him forthwith, 
and over he went blithely. The tutor, a thin, spare man, was the light^t of our 
party, and the king made a back for him, and succeeded in setting him safely 
over. It was then all right. Away they went, vaulting ana standing, round 
and round, until majesty was tired out, and wanted icM claret to cool him. 
The game was frequently repeated afterwards. 

Another royal amusement was snow-balling; not with real snow, of 
eourse, but with lar^ yellow flowers. One of the party had been ^ving 
the king a description of English sports ; and a word was let fall about 
snow and snow-balling. The king pulled some of these yellow flowers 
and threw them at the librarian. Like good courtiers, all followed the 
example, and soon every one was peltbfi; right and left. The king 
-enjoyed the sport amasdngly. Before they had concluded they were all a 
mass of yellow leaves ; they stuck about in their hab and dothes, and on 
the king's hat, in a most tenacious manner. But it was enough that the 
king was amused. He had found out a new pleasure, and enjoyed it as 
long as the yellow flowers were in bloom. With such a king, and among 
people so obedient to authority as the Indians, it may be easily believed 
that £Eivoaritism was unbounded. The barber made the most ot his time, 
and, it appears, feathered his nest very considerably. His monthly bill 
was a perfect treasure of arithmetical art ; and one which the author saw, 
when measured, was found to be four yards and a half long. The 
amount was fr^htftd— upwards of ninety thousand rupees, or nine 
thousand pounds. It was paid without a murmur ; and when an influ* 
ential courtier tried to draw the king's attention, some months later, to 



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A King out of Harness. 279 

the hsi that the barber was robbing bim throueh thick and thb, the 
Ung indignantly replied, " If I choose to make we Uian rich, is that 
anything to you — to any of you ? I know his bills are exorbitant ; let 
them be so, it is my pleasure. He shall be rich.'' But, unfortunately for 
the recipients of his majesty's fevour, he was wont to be terribly capricious, 
and a very slight thing would make him as great an enemy as he had 
hitherto been a friend. The stoiy of a Cashmere dancing-girl was a case 
in point. She was an ordinary Nautch girl ; and one evening the king 
felt highly delighted with her singing. << You shall have a thousand 
rupees for this night's singing," said the kine. When leaving the table 
for the harem, he would have no support but ner arm. The next evening' 
no other Nautch girl would be heard, and two thousand rupees were her 
reward. She grew rapidly in the royal flavour, and she was kotooed by 
the whole court. Native festivities interrupted the dinners for a week, 
and then the Nautch ^1 reappeared, but the king had already CTOwn 
tired of her. All at once he felt a fancy to see how she would look in a 
European dress. A gown and other articles of female attire were fetched 
from the barber's house, and when they were brought, she was told to 
retire and put them on. The transformation was wretched : all her gprace 
was gone — her beauty hidden. It was quite distressing to see her dis- 
heartened look as she took her place again. The king and the barber 
laughed heartily, while burning tears pom%d down the poor girl's cheeks. 
For weeks she was compelled to appear in this unseemly attire, and then 
she disappeared, and made no sign. 

But the king at times held his friends in pleasant memory. For 
instance, let us refer to a former Resident, with whom the king had been 
on very intimate terms. We will call him Mr. Smith. The gentleman 
had a very captivating wife, and scandal did say that the king was fonder 
of Mrs. Smith than of her husband. All that, however, was before our 
author's time in Lucknow, so that he can only speak in hearsay. Mr. 
Smith left Lucknow a richer man than when he entered it by seventy- 
five lacks of rupees — that is to say, seven hundred and fifly thousand 
pounds. So large was the amount invested in Mr. Smith's name in the 
Company's paper, that an investigation took place, conducted by the 
Bengal government, with closed doors : and the result was that Mr. Smith 
resigned the service and returned to Enffland. But to prove how <* the 
memory of the just smiles sweet and blossoms in the dust," we may 
mention that the king would frequently talk of his ** dearest friend" with 
tears in his eyes — especially after an extra allowance of champagne — and 
sent Mrs. Smith, by a returning European, his own beautifully jewelled 
watch, which had cost fifteen thousand francs. 

Of the living curiosities of the palace, there were none the account of 
which will strSke a European ear as stranger than the female sepoys. 
Our author had seen these Amazons pacing up and down the entrances to 
the female apartments for months before he was informed of their real 
character. There was nothing but the fulness of the chest to distinguish 
them from other sepoys, and this is so common a circumstance in 
England that he took no notice of it. But let our author speak for 
himself. 

These women retained their long hair, which they tied up in a knot upon the 
top of the head, and there it was concealed by the usual sMko. They bbie the 



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S80 A Kmg out of HarmM. 

gt^kassej aoBOtttrteoiU of scpojE in I nili i> ft wmAsk ad bn^nel, cnaftMts 
and cartoudie-boxeB, jaeketa ana white duck eomtunalioiu^irfakk wg^i be seen 
anywhere mBengaL Tatended solelj lor doty in the palace as guanuma of the 
harem, they were paraded only in the court-yards, where I have aeen them eoing 
-tiboQ^ their exercise just like other sepoys. They were drilled by one ot the 
■stzye oftcers of the Idng^s army, and appeared quite faBuKar with afi the details 
of the banadc^jBid. Whether tiiey coma hanne goxke through the same manocutiea 
i& the field iMh thouftndi of mowtached sepoys lound them, I esnnoi teA— - 
nrobabiy not. They had tkdr own aomnta and corporalsw Kone of tkem, 
I belie¥e» attained a higher rank than uat of sergeant. Manj of Hem were 
married women, oblij^ed to (juit the ranks for a month os two a& a time occa- 
sionally. IDiey retamed their places, howeyer, as long as possible; and it was 
not until the fact of tiieir being women was pomted out to me, that I perceived 
their figures were not always in the proportions allotted to the other sex. 
I have seen nwny a sergeant, however, in "Bngfaml, whose ^^^^^ was just as 
(MMfr^ as those aanoag tlMm furthest advaneed in pr^nancv. Their appearance 
was a pi^pnnt snl^act of menmieiit to tiie kia^ inio uaual(r ended hb tadina^ 
by ordering some present to be given to the d^nonentr— dfidiai|aent, properly so 
called, for there was an express order aninst such dii^gurement^ clothea in the 
plainest language^ and of the moat u)aol«te character, posted up in their 
oarracks. 

The influMiee of the buber had br this time beeooM so great, tihst our 
anijior fo«nd it imposohle to nmke head against it* Se? end eanaes oon* 
dneed to this aeoendanc^* The low, depraved tastes wfaidi dw king bad 
oootracted dnring years of uueatrataad indnlgenee, and an akmost bound- 
less command of wealth, were just those which the barber £oiind it bis 
interest to £oster. He had maos himaeif iieeesaary to the loag^ and took 
advantage of the opportvnity. *^ Every bottle of wine eonsiimed in the 
pabee pot ioniethin|r in his pocket: it was his interest, Aefefbrs, to 
prevent the king's lenmation m xespeet of drunkezmesiL Ewery £avoarad 
slave^ evoy dancing^-gid who atixacted the kis^s nolioe, paad tribole of 
his or her earnings into the open palm of the barlMB. Bven die Nawab 
and the commander-in-chief of the Imig^s foreas found it their interest to 
conciliate the reigning £svaiinte with valnable ptesents." At the same 
time, the barber eneouraged the king's innate taste for feeoeitj, and took 
every occanon to' rooae his tiger nature. There was a strong feefing of 
eniBAty pBevaiUng between the king and his widesy heeanae diey had 
tried to prevent his gaining the Musnod, and he viras always del^fhted 
when he could invent some scheme to ootn^ their fedings. In tins the 
bedber was his willing eoadjntor. One of Um vnctea^ Anoph by name, 
was invited to £nner fay the king, and jnade §muM^j intonioated-^not 
by fair means, bvt by the barber coDapowndipg for bmi n bottle of 
Madeira more than half brandy. He aoon fell off in a heavy, ktbargic 
sleep, and the barber had an opportunity to csany out his viUanous 
des^lDB. At first he pnlled the dd man's iam moostaclMv whidi reached 
nearly to his waist, tnmxBg his head, as he did so^ first one way, then the 
other. It was barbarous usage, especiaUy for an infirm old man ; and 
two of ^ household rose firom their chans to interfere. But the king 
was furioofc, ^ The old pig," as he politely termed Ins oncle^ ^ should l:^ 
treated just as he and me khan pleased*" The barber tlien procured a 
piece of fine twine, which he divided into two parts, tying one firmly in 
each moustache. He then fostened the other ends to the arms of the 
chair on which Ae old man sat The king clapped his hands, and 



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A Kin§ out of Harness. 28 1 

laughed loudly at the ingenious device. The barber left the room. 
Feeling convinced that some new trick wa9 preparing, the Englishmen 
could not endure it any longer, and one of tnem rose to release the old 
man. But the king fiercely bads hiia begoae^ and our author accom- 
panied him, feeling his powerlessness to sway the king in his present 
enatement. Ther heara eobseqaeiilly wfcat oecorred after thm de- 
parture. The bavber iBiuRked ^nth eeme fireircNrks juel after tliey had 
left Tbey were let off tmder tbe M maa'e ehatr. Hie 1^ of ike 
YmfcTtdnate uncle were seordbed and btunit> and he seised the anas of 
the chair widi Ins handi^ and started to his feet Two kMsks of hair were 
torn fironi Ida upper lip as he did so, and a portioo (^ die ddn with tiwm.- 
The bfeod flawed fi^h from the wound, and the dranlccnness of the 
sofiSner Aapneaied. He left the f«x>ni, tfaankbg ihe Idng for his enter* 
tainment, and regielting that the bkedbg^ef his nose prevented him Ikom 



After tins outrage, the aetirve enmitr of the king's finmly was aioased. 
All Lncknow was in eommotifoo* Tbe royal troops were beaten by the 
insmgenti, and the long demanded assistanee from, the Resident, who, 
however, reined it, reeommending htm to make a trip wMi Ids family. 
After a week of wtter coofnnon a hoQow peaee was patched up. Ilie 
absence of the barber, who was sent by the king on amisskm to Caleotta^ 
gave a favourable o p portun ity for the other EuroMms to Rmonstrate, and 
Siey obtained a prounse from the king that, on his retnrn, he should be 
kept to his own station, and not be permitted to join the dinner-parfy. 
But, alas! these good reeolotioos faded away on the berbev^s return, and 
a crisis inevitably took plaee, the resolt of which was tfiat onr author 
and his friend resimed tbeir functions and ouitted Lueknow. 

A ftw woffds wtU complete the story of Noskt^s fife : '^ The power of 
die barber giew daily greater. His nride increased widi his power, and 
no Emits vrere set to the caprices and wild pranks of despotie anthority 
and reckless depravity combined.'' This state of things eoukl not last 
long : the eaergt^ remonstrances of the Resident Ibim ihe king at last 
to part with his favourite, who left Lncknow, it is said, with 240,000/. 
But this was sealing the king^s death-warrant His fiuidly soon obtained 
influence in Ae pdaoe— the king was poisoned ; and one of Us uncles, 
whom he had treated so badly, succeeded him on the Mnsnnd. But ^ 
future catreer of the barber, as we have heard it, will also serve to point 
a moral if not to adorn a taJe. On his return to Ei^land, he took a 
finHTf to speeolatittg, and after a tune, like the frog in the fable, tried to 
outvie tbe osy in the shape of a railway king. His speeulations were 
unsneeessfal : he lost aD his ill-gotten weami, was compelled to go through 
the Insolvent Court, and is now to be found as conductor of a 'bosy from 
his bffy position probaMy speeohtting on the vanity of all boman wirfies. 

In takmg leave of this most interesting book, we must iM omit men* 
tioning that it contains some most gittphic aoeomitB of the animal fights 
for which Lncknow was once fiunoos, from vrhkdi onr limits wotdd not 
permit ns to cdl any extracts, bat whaeh aie equally well deseorving 
pemsai as the portions to which we have drawn attention. 



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SKETCHES OF THE ITALIAN REVOLUTION. 

BT AH BYE- WITNESS. 

When the Chamber assembled again, the deputies of the more mode- 
rate party proposed an address of thanks to the Pope, expressive of their 
loyalty and sabmisaion ; but the motion was opposed by the Prince of Ca- 
nmo, then better known in Rome as the Citizen Bonaparte. The Pope, who 
was now a prisoner in the hands of the republican motion^ which lie had* 
no means of resisting, resolved to fly from his capital, and this determi- 
nation was approved and strengthened by the counsels of the foreign 
diplomatists, who offered him, in the name of the powers they represent^, 
an asylum at Paris, Madrid, Berlin, Munich, or Brussels. 

But watched in lus palace, and surrounded by the armed revolutionists, 
the Pope could only withdraw from Rome by eluding the vigilance of his 
gaolers and effecting a secret flight. This alternative was then resolved 
on in the private deHberations of the Pope with the corps diplomatic. 
As the road to Cirita- Vecchia was too much frequented to afford a chance 
of safety, it was determined that he should travel by land, and in disguise^ 
to the Neapolitan frontier. 

On the 24th of November the Pope fdgned indisposition ; and having 
supped early, he retired to his room, after having spoken, with even more 
than his accustomed kindness, to. those of the noble guard who were in 
waiting on him, and expressing the eratitude with wfuch their devoted- 
ness had inspired him. He divested himself of the pontifical habiliments, 
and assumed the simple dress of a priest. The Dae d'Harcourt, the: 
French ambassador, remained behind for some time, as if engaged with 
the Pontiff on business ; and then rang a bell to dismiss the noble g^ard 
from the ante-room, as was usual when the Pope retired to rest The 
lights in the palace were then extinguished, and the Pope passed through 
the darkened saloons, accompanied by the head of his household, Filippani, 
his valet, and Monsignor Stella. At the gate they found a hired camaee, 
in which the Pope placed himself, accompanied by Monsignor Stella ; his 
valet got 1^ bemnd, and Coimt de Spaur, the Bavarian minister, seated 
himseU beside the coachman. 

<< Addio, Signer Abbate," said Filippani, as the carriage drove off — 
for the palace gate through which they passed was guarded by sentinels 
of the civic guard. Alitde beyond Ancia, the Countess de Spaur awuted 
the fugitive, and conveyed him, in her travelHng carriage, safely across 
the Neapolitan frontier. The Pope rested at Mola di Gaeta, whtbt 
Monsieur de Spaur proceeded to announce to the king that the Sovereign 
Pontiff had taken refuge in his dominions. The king hastened to give 
him welcome ; and the narrow limits of Gaeta soon received within their 
precincts the chief persons of both courts. 

As soon as the diplomatic body arrived at Gaeta, the Pope protested 
against the acts which had been extorted from him by violence previous 
to his departure from Rome. He dissolved the ministry of the 16th of 
November, and appointed a commission to carry on the government. 
Rome sent a deputation to invite its sovereign to return : the rope replied 
by a peremptory refusal. Shortiy afiter, tiie Constituent Assembly was 



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Sketches of the Saltan Revolution. 283 

conyoked at Borne, which proceeded at once to vote the abolition of the 
papacy, and to prodaim the republic. 

On the 9th of January, 1849, the Grand -Doke of Tuscany opened the 
Chambers in person in the ancient hall of the Cinque Cento, which had 
witnessed the councils of free and republican Florence, ere the ambition 
of her merchant-sovereiens rendered Tuscan liberty the prey of the 
greatest and the best of the Medici. The erand-duke addressed the 
Constituent Assembly in a speech wherein he professed to feel the 
wannest {^probation for the new order of things, and declared that 
Tuscany had now but one enemy remaining, and that that enemy was 
-^Austria 1 

The question soon arose of submitting to the Chamber the ministers 
fayourite project of the Italian Constituent : and it then appeared that the 
soyereign hesitated to carry through the concerted measure. There can 
be little doubt that this plan must always have been highly distasteful to 
the prince ; and it was, at no time, yery strongly adyocated by GuerrazzL 
The latter statesman had been an agitator from ambition, as well as 
from conyiction, whilst absolute principles were in tha ascendant ; but 
republicanism formed no part of his political creed. Haying attained to 
the direction of affiurs, the chief raotiyes that impelled his subsequent acts 
were the promotion of the war of independence, the maintenance of 
constitutional liberty, and the security of the independence of Tuscany. 
It was with these yiews that, at a later period, he opposed the union with 
Home, which would haye reduced his countiy to a proyince of the metro- 
politan state ; resbted the Piedmontese intenrention, when he feared that 
the ambition of Charles Albert would absorb Tuscany into the Sardinian 
monarchy; and finally deferred the restoration of uie grand-duke until 
he could obtain sufficient guarantees against an Austrian occupation of 
the country, and the abolition of popular institutions, which would be 
its ineyitable result. 

When Montanelli presented for the grand«duke*8 signature the decree 
for proposing the elections for the Constituent, the prince delayed its 
execution. Thus unable to carry out his programme, Montanelli prepared 
to giye in his resignation. The grand-duke sent for Guerrazzi, then 
minister of the interior, and held a long conferonce with him, in the 
presence of Mr. Charles Hamilton, brother to the English minister. 
The principal arguments by which Guerrazzi succeeded in changing the 
determination of the prince, and in oyerruling the adrice which he 
rec^yed from Sir George Hamilton, to resist the law for the Constituent, 
aro giyen at length by Guerrazzi himself. That statesman was of opinion 
that a federal union of the states of Italy would strengthen the weaker 
principalities against the agmssion of the stronger, and would especially 
senre to defend Tuscany agamst the ambition of Sardinia, which, if yicto- 
rious oyer Austria, would obtain the soyereignty of all tiie northern and 
central states. In case of defeat, Charles Albert incurred but littie risk, 
as the integrity of Sardinia would be secured by French intervention ; 
whereas the existence of Tuscany, as a sovereign state, was a matter of 
complete indifference to the rest of Europe. But the Constituent offered 
to the Pope, the grand-duke, and the King of Naples, a guarantee for 
ihe maintenance of their independence, on condition of their adhering 
to the new kingdom of Upper Italy, which was to be composed of 

Jfdy — ^VOL. CIV, HO. CCCCXY. U 



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284 Sketches of ths Italian BeooluHan. 

Fifidmoni, Lombeidjy Venioe, Modena, and Panna, under the soveragntjr 
of the house of Savoy. Sardmia innflted oa thaee limitationt as ooudi- 
tioD0 of the Constitueot; iriiereas Montanelli reqoired unrestnuied 
powers for the depatiei. GiuRazsi reooociled the diflhreooe hy profmimg 
a power of unfettered action for the Tueoan deputies, whilst the fUdmon- 
tese goyemmeiit should retain the proposed conditions as the bases of its 
own proceedings ; and he added the important modification, that tfa^ 
ezecutiye power in Tuscany should possess the privilege of assigning to 
its own xepresentatives such limitations as it deemed essentid to the 
safety of the existing government. The grand-duke then consented to 
sgn the decreci and consigned it to Guerrazzi, to be presented to the 
Chamber. 

It is difficult to determine whether Montanelli's project had been, at 
first, accepted by the fl;xand«*duke in ignorance of uie extent of the 
danger to which it might expose him, or whether he had always enter* 
tained, but concealed, his dislike to it. Guenasn reports a conversation 
that took place between himself and the prince, which renders the subse- 
quent conduct of the grand-duke strange and inexplicable. When 
Guerraizi assumed the duties of office, he desired to be informed of the 
sovereign's real wishes upon the important question of the Constituent. 
The gnnd-dnke replied, that he had frankly and honestly accepted the 
ministerial programme. Gruerrazzi represented to him, t£at by so doing 
he might endanger his crown ; but the grand-duke assured him that he 
had considered the danger, and did not fear it, because he was so well 
convinced of the love of his people, tiiat he was persuaded, if the question 
of government were referred to universal suffrage, that the vote of the 
majority would prove their attachment to the constitutional monarchy. 
Guerrazzi expieased the same conviction ; but added a promise^ that if 
tile prince should ever find occasion to regret having given his consent 
to the Constituent, he would, if frankly consulted, endeavour to free the 
grand-duke from the necessity of carrying out this dangerous measure. 

It is also certain, that at a later peri^ only a short time before the 
grand'duke left his capital for Sienna, Guerrazzi, in the presence of Mr. 
Hamilton, repeated thie same offer, and expressed Montandli*s willingness 
to withdraw from the administration, convinced, as he then was, of his 
inability to carry tinough the measure to whidi he was pledged. He 
was of opinion, that had no other cause intervened to frustrate tiie 
execution of his plan, it was certain that Charies Albert, if victorious in 
the Italian war, would never consent to lay down the crown which he 
had conquered before the commisdonerB of the Constituent. Or, if he 
submitted to tiie vain form, who could dictate to a monarch triumphant 
in arms, and elated with success ? Nor was there now any chance of the 
King of Nacles' adherence to the prcnect. 

Montanelli, actoated by these convictions^ offered his resignation ; but 
in token of Ids good-will towaids the ministry, from which he sepanted 
himself, he consented to accept a diplomatic mission to Turin, or Paris. 
The grand-duke consulted Guerrazzi, who willingly undertook to reduce 
the project of the Constituent into narrower and more manageable limits. 
It is believed that the English minister also counselled the grand-duke 
to accent Montanelli's resignation ; but the prince deeded upon refusing 
it, and naving ordered Montanelli to return to the palace^ received him 
with the gref^est cordiality. 



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Sketches of &e Italian BevohUion. 285 

After thus rejecting the offer made to him by his two duef ministers 
to liberate him m>m the obnoxious measure of the Constituent^ as proposed 
by Montanelli, the gnmd-duke, on the 30th of Jaouaiy, adopted the 
unfortunate resolution of withdrawing privately to Sienna ; whither he 
had already sent his £Eunily. The members of the goyemment, as soon 
as his departure was known, immediately wrote to the grand-duke, 
entreating him to return to Florence without delay, as his absence, in 
moments so critical, endangered the safety of the state. In the event of 
his refusal, they tendered their resignations. The grand-duke informed 
ihem, in reply, that he was then ill ; but assured them of his return as 
soon as his nealtii permitted him to undertake the journey. In the 
interim, he desired Guaixaza in particular to watch over the public 
security. 

The ministers then despatched two confidential messengers, Chigi, 
general of the civic guard, and Peruzzi, tiie chief of the municipality, to 
pray the prince to return to the capital in time to avert the dangers 
which his absence tiireatened to occasion. The grand-duke renewed the 
assurances to his council of his sincere intention to return as soon as 
his health was re-established, expressed his unwillingness to accept the 
resignation of his ministers, and commanded that one of them should 
attend him at Sienna. On the 5th of February, Montanelli, the chief of 
the council, obeyed the order, and repaired to the j;rand-duke. 

On the 7th of Februaiy, Montanelli returned to Florence ; and, on 
the evening of the same day, in spite of his reiterated promises to his 
ministers that he would return to the capital immediately, the grand- 
duke fled privately to San StefiEino^ a small fishing-town on the coast. 
It may fiiirly be asked why so much duplicity was employed to escape 
from a nunistry which had voluntarily tendered their resignation, or to 
avoid the vote for the Constituent, from which Guenrassi had offered to 
free him, and which Montanelli himself was already prepared to abandon? 
The ccmiplicity of the government with the republican party for the 
dethronement of the grand-duke has been adduced as a reason for these 
ill-advised acts of the sovereign. But the subsequent trial of Guerrazad 
for high treason enabled him to put forward ample and unanswerable 
proofs not only that he was not in league with that fection, but that he 
opposed their plans so powerfolly and so effectually, that he was threat- 
ened with the same fete as Rossi by that infuriated party. 

It is evident that the gnmd-duke, alarmed at the daring 'attitude 
assumed by the revolutionists, whom he had hitherto flattered, and 
encouraged, determined no lonrar to content himself with the offer of 
his mimsters to save lum finom the dangerous chances of the Constituent, 
but, trusting to the success of the Austrian arms in the Milanese^ resolved 
to abandon his dominions^ Aat he might retom to them again under the 
protection of forein bayonets. No other suj^Mwition can be reconciled 
with the events uat ocooned. Afker tlie flight of the grand-duke — 
amidst the awakened hopes and increased audacity which vrere thus 
aroused in the republicans— the ministers had no cn<uoe but to accept 
the authority ihat was conferred on them, or to abandon the country a 
prey to the most fearful anarchy. 

It appears beyond a doubt, nom the communicationa of Guerraczj, at 
this criffls, with Kgli, the govemorof Leghocn^a maaof ultra-iepublican 

v2 



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286 Sketches of the Italian Revolution. 

opinioiui, that the minister employed every effort to calm the public 
agitation, and to conceal the diyi«ion between the prince and his 
council. And when Guerrazzi learnt that Maadni was expected at 
Leghorn, he sent the following telegraphic despatch to the governor of 
that city : '' I hear that Mazzini is coming. The government warn 
the governor to employ every possible precaution. "Hie grand-duke is 
absent from the capital. A republican movement would suffice to prevent 
his return ; and tins would be the greatest of all evils. Here, all are 
entirely averse to the republic'' 

Many other documents equally conclusive might be quoted to attest 
Guerrazzi's strenuous endeavours to prevent the republican party from 
stirring at this perilous crisis, and his own detenninatibn to .aeep them 
down. 

As soon as the flight of the grand-duke was known, it became necessary 
to take such measures as would best provide for the safety of the state, 
and of society itself, menaced with utter disorganisation by this unfortu- 
nate event, in the midst of a crisis of polilacfd excitement and popular 
violence. During the night of the 8th of February, Guerrazzi and 
Montanelli called to their presence the leaders of we revolutionary 
dubs, and exhorted them to assbt in restoring tranquillity by abstaining 
from any acts of outrage. But the republicans were too well aware of 
the favourable nature of the present contingency for the furtherance of 
their designs, and they would not consent to lose so promising an 
opportunity. 

On the following day the minbters announced to the Chambers the 
departure of the grand-duke for San Ste(ano, and read the letter in 
which he commanded them to publish, without delay, his determination 
to retract his consent to the project of a law for the Constituent. 

<* I beg the administration," it said, ^* to g^ve publicity to the whole of 
the present declaration, that every one may be made acquainted with 
the occasion and the reasons which have led to the negative that 
I now give to the sanction of Uie law for the election of Tuscan 
representatives to the Italian Constituent ; and if this publicity is not 
completely given with the greatest despatch, I shall be constrained to do it 
myself, m>m the place to which it may please Providence to remove me." 

No sooner was the communication from the sovereim read, than 
Niccolini, the head of one of the revolutionary clubs, burst into the 
Chamber, followed by a mob, and announced mmsdf as the bearer of 
the commands of the people. The president declared the Assembly 
dissolved in consequence of this violence, and putting on his hat, he 
retired, followed by a portion of the deputies ; whilst the mob decreed, 
by acclamation, the dethronement of the grand-duke, tiie dissolution of 
the Chamber, and the nomination of a provisional government Guer- 
razzi exhorted the Assembly not to yield to the violence of the mob, but 
to return to their places, and confront the peril which threatened their 
country. Niccolini, in the name of the people, still insisted that the 
Assembly was dissolved, and that the deputies should descend into the 
public square, that the people might elect a provisionai government. But 
Guerrazzi successfully opposed himself to the violence of the demagogue 
and his ferocious bands ; and the president^ having been induced to 
return, the Assembly resumed its sittmg. It was then proposed by two 



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Sketches of the ItaUan Revolution. 287 

depatiefl^ Seed and Tzinei, that^ as the eountry, in ihese terrible moment^ 
lemained without a government, they should, accede to the wisheg of the 
people, and provide for the public safety by naming a provi«ional 
goremment. The proposal was unanimously adopted ; and the votes of 
that day comprise the names of Don Andreo Corsini, Duke of Capigliano^ 
and nearly all the members of the actual government of Tuscany 
(December, 1853). The members of the new government, consisting of 
Guenazri, MontaneUi, and Mazzoni, were earned by the people down to 
the Piazza, before the Palazzo Vecchio, in which the Chamber met ; and 
the vote of the Assembly, confirmed by public acclamation, placed the 
three popular leaders at the head of the state. 

The mob then proceeded to commit every excess of frantic outrage. 
The arms of the grand-duke were torn down wherever they were to be 
found, but the government removed them from many places to prevent 
the violence of Uie people ; trees of liberty were, planted in every quarter 
of the town ; and the republican press, under the direction of Uie dubs, 
published the most inflammatory addresses, urging the instant union of 
the state into a joint republic with Rome, to the perpetual exclusion of 
the house of Lorraine. Possessing no materud force whatever to 
restrain these excesses, Guerrazzi yet opposed himself to them with his 
utmost power, and neglected no means by which he might curb the 
violence of the democratic faction, which — tnrough the preponderance of 
the dubs — ^now ruled the country with arbitrary sway. His chief object, 
at this time, was to postpone, by every possible method, the union with 
Borne, and the consequent proclamation of the republic ; and after the 
dissolution of the Chambers ne purposed to appeal to the country. There 
was no room whatever to doubt that this reference of the question of 
government to universal suffrage would be answered by a large majority 
of the people with a vote for the return of their legitimate sovereign^ 
to whom a great portion of the country, espedally the rural populationi 
was, at that time, sincerdy attached. There is also little doubt tiiat, 
bearing in mind the guarantee for the maintenance of constitutional 
liberty which would arise from the popular vote, Guerrazzi preferred to 
cflbct the restoration of tbe monarchy in Tuscany by means of this 
appeal. But his aim was frustrated by the acts ot men certainly less 
capable-— perhaps less honest— than himself. Yet Guerrazzi's sincerity 
in opposing the republic is proved by the fact that the Boman Assembly, 
at the suggestion of the Prince of Canino, offered to him, as the price of 
the immediate proclamation of the union of the Boman and Tuscan States, 
a seat as triumvir of the joint republic. Guerrazzi not only refused the 
offer, but was the constant and successful opponent of the union of the 
two states, and of the proclamation of a republic in Tuscany. 

On the 18th of February an immense mob — ^incited by the armed 
and desperate exiles, who filled the town and chiefly composed the dubs 
— collected before the Palace of the Assembly, in order to compel the 
government to proclaim the republic upon the spot. Niccolini harangued 
the people, and represented, in the most violent terms, that Gruerrazri was 
deceiving them ; that he was a determined enemy to the republic, and 
acting in the interests of the srand*duke ; that it was no longer the duty 
of the people to suffer themsdves to be trifled with. The moment now 
arrived for tiiem to force their way into the palace, and compd the 



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288 Sketches of A» Italian Bevoluium. 

Assembly to piodaini the repaUio ; and if the chief of the proTisionsl 
goyemment continued to oppose himself to the wishes of tne people^ 

dice demanded Aat he should be hurled down from the windows of the 
, to meet the fate that awaited ibe enemies of liberty. Excited bj 
the furious declamations of their tribune^ the people burst into tfie haft 
of the Assembly, threatening death to Guerrasai if the republic were not 
instantly proclaimed; and the witnesses of that feaifid scene expected 
every moment to see the menace carried into execution. 

But the ready wit of the statesman saved himself from the deadly peri^ 
and his country from the impending evil. He replied that he was wiMine 
to proclaim the republic as soon as two thousand Florentines shoula 
appear in arms to support the new form of government. The people 
replied, witii loud acclamations, that thirty thousand were ready to take 
up arms in the cause. *' Two thousand are enough,** replied Guerrasri. 
But in accordance with his sagacious anticipation, two thousand were not 
fotmd willing to 6ght for a republic 

After the capitulation of Milan, Venice had withdrawn h^aelf from 
the union with Piedmont ; the commissioners who had been sent there by 
Charles Albert were driven out of the town ; and Manin was re-established 
in his former authority, as chief of the republic. In the autumn of 1 848, 
Manin had neUared the fortifications of Venice ; and, with the aid of the 
Roman and Neapolitan reinforcements, the garrison had been able not 
only to hold out the town, but had repulsed the Austrians, witii the loes 
of seven hundred men and eight pieces of artillery. The rich voluntarily 
contributed their money, their jewels, and their pkte to supply tiie 
expenses of the war; but the recal dF the Neapolitan troops greatiy 
weakened the means of defence. 

In February, 1849, some changes had been made in the form of 
government, which was, however, still conducted by Manm, aided by a 
responsible council. 

The 12th of March, 1849, was the term of the armistice concluded 
between the King of Sardinia and Marshal Radetsky. Gioberti was now 
at the head of the Piedmontese rainistiy, which warmly advocated the 
prosecution of the war with Austria. The Chambers hesitated at the 
renewal of the unequal contest ; but, after a dissolution, the new AssemUv, 
composed of much less moderate elements tiian the last Chamber, eageny 
entered into the views of the ministry. But Gioberti's government 
terminated abruptly, through a division in the calnnet, consequent upon 
a proposed intervention in Tuscany. Gioberti, a aealous ccmstitutionalist, 
duigentiy strove to avert the chances of an Austrian occupation of the 
Tuscan States ; Piedmontese troops were offered to the grand-duke in 
support of his authority in Florence ; and the agents of foreign courts 
counselled the acceptance of this succour, which at once offered a gua- 
rantee against Austrian interventi<m, and for the protection of the consti- 
tution. But Gioberti's colleagues in office, of far more extreme opinions 
than himself, refused to sanction an interference of which the object was 
the restoration of Leopdd II. The Chamber upheld the extreme party 
in the administration ; and Gioberti was compelled to retire from the 
goy«mment. He was sent on a mission to Paris, where he continued to 
reside ; and, four years after, he died in that city. 

The Grand-Duke of Tuscany delayed and hesitated for a while at San 



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Sk6ias$qf the Italian BeoobUion. 989 

Stefima; gare the most pontm aa ii ifaaiee i to the feteign diplonMidsts 
who attended him that he would not leare the oountry ; and within • 
ftw hoon after he had made that promifle, embavked on board an Englkh 
war-steamer which had been plaeed at hb diaponl, and sailed Ibr Nanhau 
Yarioas pretexts were addaoed for the adoption of this step> which 
probably formed ih» completion of his plan. A letter from the Fope wis 
said to have advised it ; and it has also been affirmed that he was eonw 
pelled to fly by the adnmoe of a colomn of the cific goaxd, sent against 
him by Pigli, the eovemor of Leghorn* But nothing is more certain 
than the fact that we gnuad-dnke^ at that moment, inooired no danger 
whatever from any ipiarter. An English frigate was anchored opposite 
to San Ste&no; a war-eteamer lay dose to land ; under the gons of the 
Enffhsh ships no hostile troops would hare ventured to attack him ; and 
in &e event of danger presenting itself from any quarter. Captain Ood* 
rington had offered to Und the marines of the Thetis for his protection. 

A renewal of the war was the immediate result of the triumph of Ite 
uhn-Hberal parkin Piedmont. Thekinjr» aware of his defioioiey intlia 
necessary means for prosecuting a snecessral contest against the renovated 
powers oi the Austrian Empire^ but unable to resist the pressure of the 
notions that dominated the public mind, resigned himself to the &te 
which he foresaw, and resumed the war with the mekncholy hope that 
the first battle-fidd that witnecKd his defeat would offer him the shelter 
of a grave. 

Charies Albert finmd himself at the head of an army whidk has been 
differently estimated at a hundred and twenty and at a hundred and 
thirty-five thousand men, but he was ill supplied with money^ or th» 
necessary means for carrying on a lengthened struggle. He repaired 
to Alexandria, the head-quarters of his army, and at the news cf diia 
first step towurds the opening of a fresh campaign Bresoia rose at oiu% 
and drove the Austrians ima her walls, after performing prodigies o£ 
vakrary which excited the admiration even of Geneial Nugent, the 
Austrian commander, who was sevetrely wounded in the combat. 

The Piedmontese army had been demoralised by the acts of the levclcK 
tionarjr agents, who, wnilst they urged the troops to shed the last drop 
of their bk)od in the endeavour to exfwl the German oppressum, instigated 
them equally to mistrust the king, in order to deprive him of their allp 
important support, when the hour of contest should come between the 
monar^cal party and the promoters of anacdiy. 

The kine resigned the command of the forces to General Chraanowsky, 
a Pole, under whose orders the two young prinees and the Sardinian 
genends were placed. On the 21st of Mam, the two armies were in 
presence of each other at Mbntarm. The Piedmontese general, Be^ 
obtained brilliant su cc e s s in a partial engagement at Sfanssca, and took 
a mat number of prisonersL The Savoyard troops distinguished thsoa- 
sehes by their gallant conduct at Gembolo, and repulsed G e n er a l 
Wratiskw. But Generals Dnrando and La Marmora were less suceessfid^ 
and experienced a defoat from the eorpe wiA whksh they were enflaged» 
The aimy fell back upon Novaia on the 22nd, with consUeraUe lois hi 
prisoners, and five pieces of eanncm ; whilst the despatch of the gensral 
commandingin chief announced the treasonof Romarino^ whohadallowed 
the Austrians to cross the Tessbo unoppoesd* 



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260 JSketehet of the Italian Revolution. 

The 2StA of Maxch witnessed the dinstrous battle of Novanu The 
action oommenoed at eleven o'clock in the morninff, at La Bicocca, when 
die fire opened along the whole line. The two brigades of Savoy and 
Savona fought with the utmost spirit, although suffering great fittigue 
from the combats of the two preceding days. Every position upon mat 
hard-fought field was lost and retaken repeatedly dunng the day. At 
La Bicocca, the most important post for the Piedmontese defence, the 
oontest raged with the greatest fury. The body of reserve, under th» 
command of the Duke of Genoa, fought there with the most determined 
bravery ; the prince had several horses killed under him, but continued 
to direct his troops on foot Till half-past four o'dodc victory seemed 
secured to the Sardinian arms ; but at five o'clock the Austrians sue* 
oeeded in obtaining possession oip La Bicocca, broke through the centre 
of the Piedmontese line, and the army retreated in disorder on Novara. 

Chrzanowsky had shown no ability in command, but the unfortunate 
king had not omitted any exertion ; with his accustomed heroism, he was 
continually to be seen in the thickest of the fiffht, and beneath the most 
destructive fire, seeking a soldier's grave on ms last battle-field, when 
Creneral Durando seized him by the arm, and dragged him forcibly out 
of the range of fire. The death he sought was refused him in the 
fight; and he retired within the walls of Novara, where, in the pre- 
sence of his sons, of his staff, and of such of his ministers as were pre- 
sent with him, he renounced his crown in favour of the Duke of Savoy. 
He embraced the sons whom he was never to see again ; thanked ms 
foitbful followers for the fidelity they had shown him ; and announced 
his determination to depart immediately, to die in a foreign and a distant 
land. The tears of his children and the prayers of his servants failed 
to shake his resolution ; and, in the night of the fatal day that followed 
his defeat, he set forth, accompanied only by a single attendant, to hie 
place of exile. A few months later, the lonely and melancholy death-bed 
of Oporto terminated the career of a patriot prince, and affixed a lasting 
stigma to the misconduct of a people for whom he had hazarded and lost 
so much. 

The nieht aflter the battle which decided the fate of Italy, great dis- 
order broke out amongst the Piedmontese soldiery, furious at their defeat^ 
and maddened by the treachery of the Milanese, through which the fruita 
of so many gallant efforts had been destroyed. The troops attacked the 
inhabitants of Novara, pillaged their houses, and threatened to bum the 
town. The young sovereign, who had just mounted a throne under such 
disastrous auspices, was compelled to employ force to reduce the mutineera 
to submisoon, and the conquerors of Pastrengo and Goito were with 
difficulty taught to bear the hard lessons of defeat and subjection. 

An armistioe was immediately signed with Radetzky, stipulating the 
security of the Piedmontese territory. Radetzky then took possession of 
Parma, and restored it to the heieditary prince, in whose favour the 
leigninfi^ duke resigned the sovereignty. Brescia, Bergamo, Como, were 
subdued in a few days ; and the whole of Northern Italy was again 
reduced beneath the Austrian yoke. Venice alone held out ; and Grenoa, 
takmg advantage of the defeat of the king, revolted, and proclaimed the 
old republican form of government, whidi flattered the people by ihe 
reminiscences of former glory, and the hope of future independence. 



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Sketches of&e Italian BevohOion. 291 

General La Mannora was sent agaisrt the place, and, after a atout 
zesutance, Genoa was compelled to give up the hopeless contest^ and to 
submit again to the power of Sardinia. 

Meanwhile the French government, jealous of Grerman ascendancy in 
Italy, had resolved to send an army to Rome, for the double purpose of 
restoring the papacy and of preventing the occupation of that city by the 
Austrians. . The republicans of Rome protested energetically against the 
destruction of their infiemt government by a sister republic, self-constituted 
like themselves ; and they prepared to resist the French forces to the last 
extremity. The £unous Garibaldi, an adventurer, who, banished from 
Italy for political offences, had conducted a partisan warfare in the contests 
of South America, arrived in Italy at the first intelligence of a renewal 
of the struggle for liberty, and offered to Charles Albert the services of a 
sword to which he had given celebrity by fearless intrepidity, and an 
uncompromising devotion to the cause of freedom. Fearine the repub- 
lican predilections of his new ally, Charles Albert declined his aid ; and 
Garibaldi i}ow threw himself into Rome with his band, determined to 
asfflst in holding out the city to the last. 

In preparing for tiie defence of Rome, neither order nor justice were 
heeded. The property of the inhabitants — the riches of the churches- 
treasures of art — ^were all sacrificed, recklessly and remorselessly, to cany 
out the views of the desperadoes into whose power the city had fallen. 

General Oudinot commanded the French army. With the accustomed 
courage of that high-spirited people, and something of the presumption 
which equally distinguishes them, they advanced to the attack of the 
city with little precaution, intimately persuaded that the adventurers 
who opposed them could offer no effectual resistance. The result of 
their rashness was the signal discomfiture of the French, with the loss of 
from twelve to fifteen hundred men, killed, wounded, or taken prisoners. 

The Roman republic was now threatened with many dangers and 
numerous adversaries. The King of Naples was marching upon Rome 
with a considerable army ; and two thousand Spanish troops, under the 
command of General Cordova, landed near tiie mouth of the Tiber. On 
the other side^ Bologna had fallen into the hands of Radetzky, and tiiat 
city had displayed in its defence a determination and courage that did 
honour to its citizens. 

After the repulse of General Oudinot, a French commissioner was 
despatched to treat with Mazrini, but it appeared that the views of 
Monsieur Lesseps, himself a republican, proved too congenial to those 
with whom he was sent to negotiate. He was soon recalled, reprimanded, 
and dismissed ; and the treaty which he had prepared was annulled, as it 

J>romised to the Romans the assistance of the French army to repel the 
breign invaders, who had violated their territory on every side. 

Whilst the proceedings of the French were thus held in suspense^ 
Garibaldi attacked the King of Naples, whose army was posted within 
sight of the Alban Hills. The contest was well sustained on both sides, 
but the success seems to have been doubtftil, and the Neapolitan army fell 
back on Terracina. 

Venice, with determined resolution, still repulsed the triumphant Aus- 
trians from her shores. Manin exhorted the Assembly to support him 
in holding out the town. The Chamber decreed that Venice should 



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292 Sketehm of Ae Italian Benobaian. 

lerist to the last, and ordered a medal to be struck in oommeoioratkm at 
this resolution. After the defeat of Norara, General Fepe letomed to 
aid the Venetians, and the defence was oondneted with spirit and vigour. 
In a sortie of the garrison at Mestre, they took eight hundred prisoners, 
six pieces of eannon, and several standards, and glory seemed to smile 
once more upon the ancient &tj of the Doges. The fort of Malghera was 
defended — ^vainly, indeed, hut with despairing courage, which one of the 
bitterest enemies of Italian freedom has jurtly named heroic; bnt at 
length the reviving strength of the enemy brought to bear upon the 
besieged a force which t^eir most desperate elforts were unable to 



On the 2nd of June the armistice eacpired between tile Bomans and 
their besiegers^ and the renewed attack upon the strong walls of the 
ancient city was sustained and repelled with a courage which it woiM be 
as unjust to deny to the defenders of Rome, as to their countrymen who 
so bravely held out Brescia and Vicenza, Venice and Bologna. Hie 
Fvench army occupied the range of heights that command the town« The 
convent of San Pancrario, on Mount Janicnlus, and the Villa Pamfili, 
beyond the Vatican Hill, were posts of the utmost importance^ which were 
desperately contested* The Villa Oondni was lost and retaken nine times 
during the siege. Trenches were opened, and a partial bombardment of 
the town was attempted ; but Geneial Oudinot, unwilling to emulate lihe 
devastatbns of the barbarian invaders of the old Queen of the World, 
omitted no precaution by which the monuments of the city and the works 
of art might be spared from injury ; and it must be admitted that they 
sustained nttle damage from their French assailants. The same praise 
cannot be ascribed to the defenders of the town. Many of the pines, so 
long the pride and boast of the Villa Borghese, were meimlessly levelled^ 
to prevent the besiegers from approaching the walls under their shelter; 
the Villa Patriaii, a beautiful residence of the family of that name, occu- 
pying the site of the Pmtorian camp on the Viminal, was destroyed, 
and its garden sacrificed to the wild zeal of the defenders of Rome^ 

Terror and confusion reigned within the city* The few persons of the 
higher classes who had not already fled, hat from displaying either courage 
or energy, concealed themselves at the approach of danger; the middliog^ 
class, trembline for their property, sanctioned every act of the new 
government, which few of them in sincerity approved ; and a mob of 
kwless men, who alone could hope to pront i^ the <Usorganisatton of 
society, were the real actors in the excesses that were committed. Rob* 
bery and murders were frequent amongst the armed ruffians who held the 
mastery of the city; priests were oonstantiy assassinated in the pubiie 
streets; and all who were saapected of attachment to the former govern- 
ment, or a desne to restore order, were comp^ed to save their Uves by 
flight or concealment Bands of desperate adventurers, driven into exile 
by the reif^lotions of Warsaw, Milan, or Palermo, instigated the diseon« 
tented to deeds of violence, and often outraged humanity by their savage 
acts. 

In spite of the forbearance which they displayed in their advance, the 
besiegers gained ground everywhere, and Ma»ni soon found that the 
tdtimate success of the French was certain. On the night of the Feast 
of St. Peter, the patron saint of the town, the French, met long efforts^ 



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Sketches of the Italian Bevobiiunu 293 

wiuch bad been ooimgeoiisly and energetically repelled by the beaeged, 
auoeeeded in makiDg a breaeh in the walls ; but when they moanted to 
storm the opening, mey found another fortified line within — the old wall 
of AareHan— wmch impeded their progress. A firesh breach was at- 
temptedy and speedily effected, and in a few more hoars^ danger and 
ffttig^ forffotten, the French army entered Rome in triumph. 

Garibal£, with three thonsand of his followers, had abeady quitted the 
dty, and tamed his steps towards the Kttie republic of San Marino, an 
independent town, whose liberty, too puny to excite jealou^, has neyer 
been assailed ; and in the very heart of tne Papal States the pettjr re» 
nabHo has continned free. Here his band dispersed, unable to make 
nead, unaided and alone, against the enemies that menaced him on erery 
side; and Oarifaaldi embarked for Venice, but was driven back by a storm, 
and compelled to land again on the Roman coast. Here ms wife, a 
young and beantiful woman, who had followed him through all the 
dangers of hie bold and adventoroos career, died from the effects of ex- 
posure and fatigue in a solitary forest, beneath whose shade she was 
interred. Garilraldi then effected his escape to Piedmont, where he' was 
arrested, hot soon afterwards released ; and he finally retired to America. 

Afber the entrance of the French army, the republican government of 
Rome disappeaied, and the Assembly was heard of no more. The pon- 
tifical flag was again displayed from the tower of St. Angelo, and saluted 
by a hnndied guns, amidst the acclamations of the army, and of the 
people who had so lately hailed the republic with equal joy; and a depu- 
tation was sent to Pins IX., bearing the keys of Rome* Thus ended the 
fiunous siege, which will deserve a place in hisUny, from the mdoubted 
gallantry that was there displayed by a people who have been long 
accused of cowardice, beoanse demoralised by slaveiy, and because, un- 
trained to manly exertion or military daring, they have proved unequal 
to contend with disciplined armies and powerful assailants. And on this 
occasion the Firench well justified the boast by which they would plaoe 
themselves at the head of the civilisation of the times, from the con- 
siderate forbearance with which they deliberately exposed their own army 
to danger and suffering, in order to save from destruction the worid- 
honoured relics of the Eternal Gi^. 

But injury and devastation had been extensively inflicted during the 
ascendancy of the revolutionary party. Valuable archives had been 
burnt, churches of unequalled beauty had been converted into barraoks, 
and walls, whose paintings have been the boast of ages, were defiused, to 
make room for Ae mangers of the cavalry horses. Church bells^ which 
the great sculptors modelled, had been melted down for cannon ; worios 
of art, that genius can reproduce no more, were sold, robbed, or de- 
stroyed ; and finally, the State was in a condition of total banknqvtcy, 
and the people were reduced to the last extreme of distress and misery. 
^ When tl»» Italian capital had fiedlen, no hope remained for her snter 
cities. Yet Venice still neld out. Famine^ cholera — and, more dreaded 
than all — the armies of the hi^d oppressor, had hitherto foiled to subdue 
her resolution, or to vanquish her courage and constancy. It was only 
when Hungary was subdued — when the struggle for liberty througfaonl 
Europe was crushed — ^when Rome had fallen, and Italy was agun com- 
pelled to cower beneath the yoke, that Venice^ last of all, hopdess of 



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294 Sketches of ike Italian Reoolvtion. 

saccour, and unable longer to e^idare her protracted snfforingg, was 
forced to yield, bat not without having evinced a spirit and courage 
worthy of her former glory. 

It has been already noticed that the earliest act of the Neapolitan 

£>yemment» after the victory which it obtained over the revolutionists on 
e loth of May, was to recal its troops from the war of independence. 
Great preparations now commenced, in order to complete the* victory 
obtained at home by the reduction of Sicily. The only fortress of that 
island that still remained in the hands of^ the king was the citadel of 
Messina — a strongly fortified place, which had successfully resisted every 
attack ; and its commandant, Greneral Pronio, had signed an armistice 
with tile authorities of the popular party who governed the town* 
Prince Filangieri was appointed to the command of the army destined to 
reconquer Sicily. He was an efficient officer of some reputation, and 
having assembled an army at Reggio, he embarked for Me^na, 

That ci^ prepared for a vigorous defence, and instantly summoned the 
national guard throughout Sicily to march to her assistance. Barricades 
were raised in every street — the roads leading to the city were undermined, 
to prevent the approach of the enemy. — and every means was taken to 
strengtiien the defences of the town, whilst at the same time tiiey called 
upon Palermo to aid them in their resistance. Large bodies of troops, as 
well as of the national g^ard, poured in from eveiy quarter of the island 
to support the Messinians; but General Pronio, from the citadel, de- 
stroyed the defences of the town as fast as they were raised up. On the 
6th of September, Filangieri commenced his attack upon a body of 
Sicilians concentrated at the village of Contessa to oppose him. He met 
with a desperate resistance ; but at length gained possession of the 
redoubts, turned their own cannon against the Sicilians, and reached the 
gates of Messipa. 

The capture of the ill-fated city is one of tiie memorable events of the 
war ; and the most determined enemies of the cause for which the brave 
Sicilians shed their blood have been compelled to pay a just homage to 
the heroism of the unequal contest. £zposed on one side to the destruc- 
tive fire of the citadel, and assailed, on the other, by the attacks of the 
assaulting army, the town was bombarded for fourteen hours ; and it 
was calcinated that sixteen thousand projectiles were flung into its pre- 
cincts on that day. When tiie gate was carried by storm, the resistance 
in the streets was so terrible, that each house, each wall, each gun was 
fought for, and only won when its defenders lay dead within and around. 
The carnage lasted for twenty-nine hours ; and the brave defenders of 
their country's freedom who still survived, were overpowered only when 
their city was reduced almost to ashes, and their streets rendered 
impassable by the bodies of the slain. The Engli^ and French admirals 
interposed, in the name of humanity, to prevent the slaughter of the 
unhappy citizens ; and an armistice was then agreed to by the Neapolitan 
commander, during the continuance of which peace was to be treated o^ 
with the mediation of Endand. But the terms offered by the Neapolitan 

Svemment were rejected by the Sicilians, and the war was renewed on 
) 29th of March. 

Filan^eri then advanced towards Palermo, wluch, in its turn, prepared 
to repel the royal forces. The command of the Sicilian troops was 
entrusted to a Pole, named Mieroslawsky. Catana lay upon the road j 



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Sketches of the Italian Revolution. 295 

but though the popular forces proved unable to cope with the regular 
troops in the open field, it was only after several desperate encounters, in 
which great loss was sustained on both sides, that the royal commander 
approached the last-named city. Five miles from Catana, a strongly- 
fortified position obstructed the advance of the assulants, and the first 
Neapolitan regiment that came up to the attack was almost destroyed by 
the fire of the redoubt. It was after a fierce resistance, and immense 
loss to the Neapolitans, that Mieroslawsky commenced his retreat towards 
Catana. Every step of the five intervening miles was fought for, and 
defended with the desperate determination which civil strife alone calls 
forth. A murderous fire was poured down firom every house and window 
along the road ; mines exploded beneath the feet of the Neapolitans ; 
bamcades had to be stormed at every turning of the road ; from behind 
every wall death mowed down the ranks of the assailants. 

At length Catana was reached, and its gates forced open. The first 
barricade within, defended by dx heavy guns, was carried by the Neapo- 
litans ; but the re^ment that obtained this success was exposed to a 
destructive fire from the windows, the balconies, and the roofr of the 
houses, and the few survivors were compelled to retreat. Fresh troops 
soon came up ; but every street offered tne same deadly resistance, and it 
was only house by house, as the defenders of Catana were destroyed by 
the increasing numbers of the enemy, that the royal troops were enabled 
to advance across the town, encumbered with its slaughtered inhabitants. 

Unhappily a ball wounded the Sicilian general in the throat, and he 
fell insensible into the arms of his ude-de-camp. Dismay then spread 
universally amongst his troops, and discouraffement preceded defeat. 
Catana surrender^ after a resistance scarcely less memorable than that 
of Messina. 

Appalled by the cruel fate of these unfortunate cities, Syracuse at- 
tempted no dc^snoe, and the smaller towns opened their gates to the con- 
auerors ; whilst some of the country places proved the extremity of their 
oread by receiving the Neapolitan army with acclamations. At Palermo, 
confusion and terror paralysed the councils of the popular party. The 
Chambers voted an act of submission to the king, and the provisional 
government sought safety in flight. The municipality then assumed the 
authority ; but three days of severe contest without the ¥ralls still arrested 
the progress of the royal army. Finally, the Sicilians were defeated ; and 
Filangieri entered Palermo m triumph on the 16th of May, 1849, the 
anniversary of the kiug^s victory at Naples the preceding year. The 
Neapolitan fleet at the same time took possession of the harbour, and 
Sidly was once more subdued. 

Whilst the sie^ of Rome was in progress, the Pope had accepted the 
invitation of the King of Naples ; and leaving Gaeta, he established him- 
self at Portici, in the neightx>urhood of the capiiaL Here he was re- 
ceived with great splendour, lodged in one of the royal palaces, and 
huled with enthusiastic devotion by the people. 

Afber the dissolution of the Representative Chamber, which followed the 
king's triumph on the 15th of May, another Assembly had been convened 
at Naples on the 1st of July ; but this parliament having proved also 
tumultuous and unmanageable, was dissolved, after a session of two 
months. Some riots had followed the dissolution ; and Bozzeli was re- 
moved from the office of minister of the interior upon the pretence that 



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296 To Mm Nighiingak. 

ha had oountenanoed the police in difitnbuting furms eecxetly aouHigrt the 
people, but probably in anticipation of the abolition of the last remnant 
of the constitntion. A third Chainb» was called, and again dismissed, in 
Marohy 1849 ; and, in spite of the eloquent appeak of fioszalii, the last 
diadow of the charter then disappeared befiore the restored power of tfie 
monarchy. 

In the month of April, 1860, the Pope took a warm fioeweU of Naples, 
where he had been so hospitably entertained, and after beine escorted to 
the frontier by the king, Pius was received again into his state with 
every demonstration of public respeet and attachment. The Frendi 
seneral, fiaraguay d'HiUiers, rode beode his carriage as he passed 
uuough the streets of Rome, which were adorned with flowers and 
strewed with branches ; whilst the French troops, amidst whose kneeling 
ranks the prooesfflon passed, rendered his return to the ancient capital of 
the papacy a military triumph. 

In spite of past discontent and future fears, the rural peculation — 
pious and superstitbus-— regarded the presence of the Sovereign Pontiff 
amongst ihem as a prescriptive privilege of their country, and Rome felt 
all the importance which she derived mxn being recognised once more as 
the metropolis of Catholic Christendom. The Pope's entrance into the 
church of St Peter, surrounded by tiie cardinals, the corps diplomatic, 
the public functionaries of the city, and the chieih of the army, amidst 
the aodamations of the populace, the guns of the fertress, and the re- 
joicings of the whole population, rendered his return a real ovatbn, of 
which the gladness might have remained deeply graven on the hearts of 
a peo[^e that had suffeied so much, if greater wisdom and moderation had 
followed the restoration of the papal authority. 



TO mSS NIGHTINGALB. 

Ottbs had been wondrous days, when truths sublime 

Had risen on the world, and human skill. 

Schooled in an interval of peaceful time^ 

Had learnt man's fondest visions to fulfil. 

And brought an age millenTiial — ^until 

The horrid din and battle rage of war. 

With shouts that all but drown the orphan's wail. 

Smote on the ear with strange, unwelcome jar, 

And told that terror must awhile prevail; 

Yet through the storm, thy name, fair Nightingale, 

Gleams like the bow that riseth on the doud. 

For there U hope in thy utiftftlfi^K love. 

As once the saored leaf of oHve, showed 

A world's bright hopes, entrosted to a dove. 



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( 297 ) 



WOLFBUrS ROOST • 

What ! Irving P thiice welcome, warm heart and fine brain ! 

And the heart is attU warm, and the brain still fine, in this new issue of 
their joint-stook composition. The warm heart and the fine farain went 
into partnership, and wrote in good fellowship together, in the days of 
the oketch"Book and Salmagundi; and they found it answer, and con« 
tinue each the other s true yoke-fellow (^vyas ynfvtos) to this hour. In 
this harmony of the feeling and thinking powers, in this concert of the 
shrewd with the genial, lies much of the wide popularity, the mmted 
success, past (but not past by), and present (with a decent lease yet to 
run), q£ kindly, cheery, goasipiug, tvrinkling-eyed, Geoffiey Crayon, 
Gent. 

Geoffrey Crayon, Gent., is redivivus here, not idem in aUo^ not by trans- 
migration ci spirit into another bodily presence, but himself in propria 
per$an&. He gives us what are apparently relict odds and en& which 
missed insertion in the original Sketch-Book. Thus we have remi- 
niscences of Paris as it was thirty years since. The Parisian hotels- 
compared to a street set on end — ^the grand staircase being the highway 
and every floor or apartment a separate habitation — ^with its microcosmic 
gradations of tenantry, from the aristocracy of the premier floor to the 
(itHc regions of petty tailors, clerks, and needlewomen— every odd nook 
and comer between these pcJar opposites, de haut en hasy being duly 
fitted up as e^jolipetit appartement a gargon^ which GeofBrey translates, 
'^some littie dark inconvenient nestiing-place for a poor devil of a 
bachelor." The restored ^migr6 of the old regime : in sky-blue coat, 
powdered locks, and pigtail — followed at heels by a little dog, which trips 
sometimes on four legs, sometimes on three, and looks as if his leather 
small-dotiies were too tight for lum. The Englishman at Paris : pro- 
menading daily witii a buxom daughter on each arm ; they smiling on 
all the world, while At; moutii is drawn down at each comer like a 
mastiff's, with internal growlinep at everything about him ; they almost 
overshadowing papa with feathers, flowers, and French bonnets (ah, 
Geoffrey ! bonnets too may take up their parable and say, specially in 
Paris — tempora mutantur et nos mutamur in i/Z»), while papa adheres 
rigidly to English &shion in dress, and trudges about in long gaiters and 
broad-brimm^ hat. {Eheu Jugaces^ goodman Geoffrey, — even such 
sturdy conservatives as those gaiters and hats may now swell the chorus 
of the bonnets— or strike up, *^ on iheir own hook," a more plaintive sic 
transit gloria mundi — ^fbr a glory, worldly enough, had long gaiters and 
broad-brinuned hats, when George the Third was king.) Then we have a 
picture of the Tmleries, as it was, and for a pendant, Windsor Castie, not 
as it is ; — a sketch of the field of Waterloo, when the tiioughtiess whistie 
of tiie peasant floated on the ur, instead of tiie tmmpet's clangour, and 
the team slowly laboured up the hill-side once shaken by the hoo& of 
rushing squadrons, and wide fields of com waved peacefully over the 

* Chromcles of Wolfert's Boost, and Other Papenk By Washington Irving. 
Author's Bdition. Edinburgh: Constable. 1855. 



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898 Woolfir^z Boost. 

soldien' graves, w sammer seas dimple over the place where maoj a tall 
ahip lies buried ; — and a tableau of Paris at the Restoration — filled with 
a restless, roaming population, hang^g about like lowering clouds that 
linger after a storm, and giving a strange air of gloom to the otherwise 
gay metropolis. A few stories and lesendary narratives, too, are given, 
m the vein of Tales of a Traveller ; the Widow's Ordeal, a tradition of 
judicial trial by combat, indited in the stoiy-tellei^s airiest, smoothest 
style ; the Knight of Malta, a ghostly fragment, which, once told viva 
voce (and we presumeyiaci voce^ or raucai befitting the theme), for the 
entertainment of a youthful circle round the Chrisbnas fire, sent a due 
proportion of them quaking to their beds, and gave them very fearful 
dreams ; — Don Juan, another spectral reseaxeh — ^in introducing which 
the writer, in his olden characteristic manner, says : " Many have sup- 
posed the story of Don Juan a mere fable. I myself thought so once; 
but ' seeing is believing.' I have since beheld the very scene where it 
took place, and now to indulge any doubt on the subject would be pre- 
posterous." This pleasant way of wresting logic to an impotent con- 
clusion, is a notable repetition of the knock-down argument of Smith 
the Weaver in '' King Henry V I.** — ^when. Jack Cade having asserted 
his relationship to Mortimer's eldest son (who, 

^being put to nurse, 

Was by a beggar-woman stolen away; 
And, ignorant of his birth and parentage. 
Became a bricklayer, when he came to age : 
His son am I ; ^ny it, if you can), 

Dick the Butcher, in mood corroborative, adds : '' Nay, 'tis too true ; 
therefore he shall be king,"— and thereupon Smith the Weaver, in terms 
unanswerable, and as an ultimate clincher, exclaims : " Sir, he made a 
chimney in my father's house, and the bricks are alive at this day to 
testify it ; therefore, deny it not." Our traveller saw with his own eyes 
the convent and cemetery of St. Francisco, in Seville, where was brought 
about that dreadful Uaison between the Don and the marble statue, — 
and henceforth became a believer, as in duty (if not by lo^c) bound. 

The pen that wrote tales of the Alhambra, and records of Soanish 
and Moorish life, in times of chivalry and high emprise, also furnishes us 
in the present volume with kindred morgeauz of legendary lore. For 
lovers of this class of fiction, there is the " Legend of the Engulfed Con- 
vent," a type and shadow of the woes of Spain ; and there is '^ The 
Adelantado of the Seven Cities," a mystic memorial of that phantom 
Island of St. Brandan, stigmatised by ancient cosmographers with the 
name of Aprositus, or the Inaccessible, and by sceptics pronounced a 
mere optical illusion like the Fata Morgana, or classed with unsubstan- 
tial regions like Cape Fly-away, as known to mariners, or the coast of 
Cloud Land, as told to the marines. And aeain there is '' The Abeu- 
cerrage," a tale of Moslem honour and old-fashioned Spanish courtesy, — 
as heard by the writer from the tuneful lips of a Castilian beauty, on a 
sweet summer evening, spent in the hall of the Abencerrages, while the 
moon shone down into the Court of Lions, lighting up its sparkling 
fountain. 

Moreover, if in thes^ pages GeoflFrey Crayon walks and talks before 



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Woolfirts Boost. 299 

118, 90 does the Toritable Diedrich Knickerbocker. The yolume, indeed, 
takes its name from a little old-fashioned stone mansion, with more gable 
ends by a powerful multiple than Hawthorne's grim tenement could 
boast, and as fbU of angles and comers as an old cocked-hat: the 
cocked-hat of Peter the Headstrong (vide Knickerbocker's " New York") 
being, in fact, its supposed model, just as the gpridiron of the blessed St. 
Lawrence was the model of the Escurial. It was once a festness in the 
wilderness, whither one Wolfert Acker retired world-weary and war-sick, 
to seek Lust in Rust, or pleasure in quiet — whence the name Wolfert's 
Rust, inde Roost. Hither in af)»r-days came the inde&tigable Diedrich 
Knickerbocker — ^taking up his abode m the old mansion for a time, and 
rummaging to his old heart's content among the dusty records it con- 
tained — documents of the Dutch dynasty, rescued from the profane 
hands of the English by Wolfert Acker, and which the quaint archieolo- 
gist set to work with professional zeal to decipher — ^mementoes of his 
sojourn still being cherished at the Roost — his elbow-chiur and antique 
writine-desk retaining their place in the room he occupied, and his old 
cocke<rhat hanging on a p^ against the wall. Of the papers in this 
collection more particularly Knickerbockerish, are ^' Broek, or the Dutch 
Paradise," and *' Guests firom Gibbet Island" — ^both humorous, the latter 
witii a strong spice of the witching. There is a narrative at some length 
of the experiences, as hunter, trapper, and general adventurer, of " Rsunh 
Ringwood," aUas {%, e, in reality; tiie late Governor Duval, of Florida. 
Another narrative^ of a more imaginary cast, called ^' Mountjoy," which 
records the love-passages of a dreamy, priggish, very learned youth, has 
the disadvantage of breaking off abruptiy in the very heart of the subject. 
It is a compliment to the author to make this a eround of complaint- 
He avows himself prepared to proceed with it, if his readers wish. He 
is now, being confessedly liable, admonished to keep good faith ; and at 
once, under the penalties and in the language of police, to '' move on." 
We own to a nudicious interest in seeing Harry Mounigoy palpably and 
effectually snubbed. Mr. and Miss SomerviUe, it is evident, can do it 
with consummate ease and politeness ; and we await th