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393 


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1 


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THE 


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m:onthlt  magazine 


Ain> 


1^  u  m  0  r  I  ^  t 


XDITXD  BT 


^.    HA.B.RISGN   AINSWORTH,   ESQ. 


LONDON: 
CHAPMAN  AND  HALL,  198,  PICCAOn.LT. 
1852. 


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WIDXDNI,  ■BAinP9IIT  HOUOb  tmSMB, 


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CONTENTS. 


M T  Cousin  Cabolinx'b  Wsddino ] 

Femaia  Novblmtb 17,  167,  295,  399 

Tbb  Golden  Leobnd 24 

A  Walk  to  Wildbad 32 

A  Sdrtet  of  Danish  Litbratuiib,  from  the  Eablibbt  Febiod  to  the 
F&B8EKT  Time.    Bt  Mrs.  Bdbhbt 40,  139,  253 

On  Viroinie'b  Name-Dat.    From  the  Flemish  of  K.  L.  Lbdboanck.    By 
John  Oxbnford 55 

The  Phantom  Chase.    Bt  Cornelius  Colthjlb 56 

The  Brkdal  Flowers.    Bt  J.  £.  Carpenter 65 

AmOBICMRAPHT  of  ALEXANDRE  DuMAS 66 

The  Baron's  Retenob 77,  183 

The  Wagner  Controtsrst 86 

Hsbter  Somerset.    Bt  Nicholas  Michbll 89, 168,  306 

Japan 95 

ToTJNO  Tom  Hall's  Heart-aches  and  Horses  .        103,  207,  347,  455 

A  Glucpse  of  the  Exhibition  at  the  Rotal  Academt  .    .  114 

Francesco  Sforza 127 

Hartlet  Coleridge's  "Northern  WoRimBs" 177 

A  Packe  of  Spanish  Ltes 197 

SoomsH  Criminal  Trials 203 

Down  the  Road;  or,  Some  Passages  from  a  Fireman's  Diart.    Bt 

Ishmael  Coppers 222 

PlCTCRES  OF  MT  Barrack  Life.    Bt  a  German  Soldier  233^324 

The  Unknown  Ships.    Bt  Mrs.  Acton  Tindal 242 

The  Fete  of  the  Eagles S43 

William  the  Conqueror;  or,  tbb  AJD.C S73 


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V  CONTBITTS. 

"  Our  Own  Coma^spoimmtr^  ik  Italy 884 

The  Labt  NioHt  or  Jauxb  Watson's  HoHBTMOOK IBS 

ThB  BlITHEDAUS  BOMANCB 3$4 

The  Man  of  Coincidbncss.    An  Etebt-day  Sketch 344 

The  Cedar  IN  THE  Palace  Qabden.    Bt  W.  Brailsford      .       .        .    .  358 

The  Burmah  War 360 

The  Dat-Dreax  of  Qborob  Vansittart  :  and  rrs  Bbgomfrnse    .        .    .  379 

Ye  Crazed  Monk.    Bt  O.  W.  Thornburt 407 

A  Day's  Huntino  at  Baden-Baden 412 

A  Scamper  to  Killarney,  via  the  Cork  Exhibition 418 

Qhost  OR  NO  Ghost  ? 430 

On  the  Qraye  of  Moore 438 

Teas  and  the  Tea  Count*^    ^ •    .  439 

Juno  Bahadur 471 

Mr.  Jolly  Green's  Acooi  it  of  bis  Election  for  Muffborouoh        .    .  484 


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THE 

NEW   MONTHLY    MAGAZINE 

AH]> 

HUMORIST. 


VOL.  xcv.]  MAY,  1852.  [no.  ccclxxvii. 


CONfENTS. 

PAOE 

Mr  Cousin  Caboune's  Weddino 1 

Femalk  Novelists.    No.  I. — Miss  Austen         .                .    .  17 

The  Goij>en  Legend 24 

A  Walk  to  Wn.DBAD 32 

A  Survey  of  Danish  Literatubb,  from  the  Earliest  Period 
to  the  Present  Time.    By  Mrs.  Bushby     ....     40 

On  Virginie's  Name-Day.    From  the  Flemish  of  K.  L.  Lede- 
OANCK.    By  John  Oxenford 55 

The  Phantom  Chase.     By  Cornelius  Colville  .        .56 

The  Bridal  Flowers.    By  J.  £.  Carpenter       .        .        .    .  65 

Autobiography  of  Albxandre  Dumas 66 

The  Baron's  Revenge 77 

The  Wagner  Controversy      ...                ...  86 

Hester  Somerset.    Bt  Nicholas  Michell                 .        .    .  89 

JjiPAN 95 

Young  Tom  Hall's  Heart-aches  and  Horses.     Chap.  XXIV. 
TO  XXVI 103 

A  Glimpse  of  the  Exhibition  at  the  Royal  Academy  .        .114 


LONDON : 

CHAPMAN  AND  HALL,  193,  PICCADILLY. 

To  whom  all  Communicationa  for  the  Editor  are  to  be  addressed. 

*«*  RRJECTED  AnTICLKS  CANNOT  BE  BBTURNED. 
sold    tY   ALL    booksellers    IX    THE    UNITED    KINGDOM. 


PBINTED  BT  CHABLE8  WHXTIKO,  BBAV70BT  H0U8B,  BTBABI)* 


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NEW  MONTHLY  MAGAZINE. 


MY  COUSIN  CAROLINE'S  WEDDING. 

AwAT  I  dfove,  £b«r  poBters  and  a  yellow  chaisey  wondering  what  the 
inyitation  could  mean.  The  last  visit  I  had  made  into  Deyonshire  was 
Tolunteered  on  my  part,  and  I  had  heen  driven  hack  by  my  annt  to  musty 
law-papers  and  anticipations  of  briefs,  quicker  than  I  came,  because  I  had 
Men  over  kead  and  ean  in  love  with  Caroline.  Caroline,  in  her  own 
&mily,  was  a  goddess — a  seraph — an  angel  upon  earth,  fit  to  be  a  queen, 
and  ame  to  be  a  eountees*  Many  other  people's  opinion  of  her  was  not 
quite  so  exalted,  but  opinions,  like  noses,  will  differ.  Mine  united  itself 
oordially  to  that  of  the  family  ;  now  that  I  can  think  and  judge  dispas- 
sionakdy,  which  I  could  not  have  done  then,  it  has,  in  spite  of  me,  gone 
over  to  ihe  other  side.  The  fact  is,  like  many  another  beautiful  girl— • 
and  Caroline  Dashingly  was  beautiful — she  held  so  pr^xMterous  a  notion 
of  the  inj&dlibility  of  her  own  charms,  that  she  had  a  little  overplayed 
her  cards.  From  the  age  of  eighteen  to  that  of  thirty,  Caroline's  whole 
life  and  enezgies  had  been  devoted  to  the  triumph  of  making  conquests. 
Fifinr  times,  at  the  very  least,  might  she  have  married,  and  been  well 
settled,  but  that  unfortunate  lightness,  and  propensity  for  flirtation,  had 
invariably  damped  the  swain's  udour  before  the  time  came  for  popping 
the  question.  Everybody  at  first  sight  was  sure  to  be  in  love  with 
Caroline.  I,  a  young  fellow  newly  fledged  firom  Cambridge,  and  unused 
to  women's  society,  was  nearly  mad  after  her,  and  would  gladly  have 
asked  her  to  riiare  my  fortune — ^which  was  nothing  a  year  and  find  myself, 
fike  many  an  embryo  barrister — only  aunt  got  an  inkling  of  the  matter, 
and  sent  me  and  my  portmanteau  off  together.  As  to  Carry,  I  believe 
she  cared  about  as  much  for  my  own  sweet  self,  as  she  did  for  the  statehr 
old  batler  who  was  propped  up  every  day  against  the  sideboard.  But  I 
thought  differently  wen ;  I  did  not  know  her ;  and  her  flirtation  with  me 
was  csuried  on  pretty  strongly.  She  must  have  seen  how  earnest  I  waa, 
and  that  what  was  sport  to  her  might  to  me  bo  no  matter,  I  managed 
to  oiitHve  it  all,  save  the  reoollecdmi.  She  wrought  upon  the  mind  of 
many  a  man  an  indelible  impreasion  of  the  heartlessness  of  woman ;  and 
Caroline^  for  her  pains^  was  now  one-and-thirty,  and  ready  to  catdb 
at  strmws. 

Well,  twelve  moiidia  had  not  elapsed  since  my  summary  ejection  from 
Dashingly  House,  when  I  was  sturtled  by  a  satin-fiused,  musk-scented, 
gilt-edged  envelope,  from  the  general  mormng  deliveiy,  containing  a  note 
mm  aont,  aa  cordial  as  if  I  had  owned  all  the  banks  in  London,  axid  were 
about  to  lay  them  at  the  feet  of  Caroline,  with  a  pressing  invitation  to  go 
down  to  I^hingly  there  and  then. 

M(^ — VOL.  XCV.  NO.  CCCLXXVU.  B 


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2  My  Cousin  Caroline's  Wedding. 

I  might  just  as  well  have  puzzled  over  a  Greek  treatiflei  a  thing  I  never 
could  accomplish  at  college,  as  over  aunt's  motive.  So,  cramming  my  old 
books  and  papers  on  to  the  top  shelf  of  the  cupboard,  and  my  gown  and 
wig  into  the  bottom,  I  turned  the  key  of  it,  and  started. 

The  rail  conveyed  me  to  within  six  miles  of  Dashingly  House,  and  by 
way  of  doing  the  thing  in  style,  that  aunt  and  Cany  might  experience  a 
qualm  of  regret  for  having  rejected  me,  I  bargained  for  a  return  chaiae 
and  four,  which  had  just  conveyed  an  old  gentleman  a  two-mile  stagey 
and  jumping  into  it,  was  whirled  away  towards  Dashingly. 

Who  should  be  standing  at  the  lodge  gates,  talking  to  the  gardener's 
wife,  but  the  cherry-cheeked  housemaid,  my  especial  favourite  of  all  the 
fttmily,  Caroline  excepted.  So  I  checked  the  postilions,  and  leaned  from 
the  window. 

"  I  say,  Nancy,  what's  up  ?    Why  am  I  sent  for  ?" 

"  Miss  Caroline's  wedding,  sir." 

''Miss  Caroline's  wedding!  Why — ^how — how  long  has  that  been 
about f* 

''  Two  or  three  months,  sir.  Quite  a  first-rate  match,  and  such  a 
handsome  man !    It  is  to  be  on  Tuesday." 

«  What's  his  name  ?" 

*'  Captain  Fitz "    The  rest  was  -lost  in  the  roll  of  the  chaise,  ihe 

impatient  postboys,  or  perhaps  the  horses,  declining  to  wait  longer. 

They  were  dre^ed  for  dinner,  and  came  crowding  round  the  drawing- 
room  windows  to  have  a  stare  at  the  chaise-and-four.  Aunt  Dashingly, 
in  her  great  crimson  turban  and  upright  feathers,  which,  if  they  had  been 
black,  might  hare  served  for  a  hearse,  and  that  starched  out  old  amber- 
satin  gown.  It  had  seen  ten  summers  if  it  had  seen  one^  and  still  looked 
as  bright  as  ever;  it  must  have  been  an  everlasting  colour,  like  the 
flowers,  or  else  periodically  washed  out  in  amber.  Caroline  was  in  pink, 
with  some  brown  ribbons  bobbed  oddly  about  her  hair,  to  hide^  I  expect, 
the  faded  partings,  whilst  my  sweet  sister  Lina  wore  white  muslin. 

Lina  (her  name  of  Carolina  assimilated  so  closely  with  her  cousin's, 
that  she  was  universally  called  lina)  was  an  heiress.  Greatly  to  the  in- 
dignation of  we  six  portionless  chaps,  her  brothers,  to  whom  it  would 
have  been  of  use,  our  Indian  unde-in-law.  Nabob  Cayenne^  had  left  her 
all  his  fortune— thirty  thousand  pounds.  What  a  wastefol  thing  to  leave 
a  portion  like  that  to  a  girl  I  Since  my  mother's  death,  Lina  had  been 
under  Aunt  Dashingly's  especial  protection ;  and  a  very  tight  protec- 
tion it  was ;  nobody  dared  look  at  her  within  a  mile,  or  touch  her  with  a 
long  pole. 

An  immense  sensation  had  been  created  in  Devonshire,  some  few  years 
previously,  by  Dashingly  House  and  all  its  inmates  "going  over  to 
Rome;"  less  figuratively  speaking,  turning  themselves  from  lukewarm 
Protestants  into  red-hot  Catholics.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dashingly  (he  was 
alive  then)  had,  imperceptibly  to  themselves,  glided  into  dose  intimacy 
with  some  good,  zealous  Romish  priests,  who,  under  a  quiet,  sleepy  ex- 
terior, had  the  reputation  of  being  inwardly  very  wide  awake ;  and  the 
upshot  of  the  friendship  was,  that  the  lady  and  g^tleman  became  con- 
verts, or  perverts,  or  whatever  the  approved  term  may  be,  /don't  pretend 
to  say  what,  to  die  Catholic  faith.     Caroline  and  her  brothers  ox  course 


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My  Cousin  Caroluu'i  Wedding.  3 

**  went  over^  too,  and  as  many  of  the  servants  as  had  no  mind  to  leave 
thdr  easy  places  at  Dashingly  House.  Not  that  Caroline  cared  very  much 
what  fidth  she  professed,  provided  it  did  not  interfere  with  her  ball-room 
flirtations ;  and  the  vnde-awake  priests  condescendingly  shut  their  eyes 
to  all  that  Exceedingly  ardent  in  their  new  cause  were  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
DaahinglY,  as  freshly-converted  zealots  to  that  feith  frequently  are. 
Mr.  Dashingly  had  begun  by  erecting  a  Catholic  chapel  near  to 
Us  residence;  and  the  building  of  it,  and  the  endowing  of  it,  and 
the  fitting  it  ud,  and  the  jnctures,  and  the  saints,  and  the  relies,  and 
the  silver  crucifixes,  and  the  candlesticks,  and  the  priests'  vestments,  and 
all  the  rest  of  the  tinsel  and  glitter,  had  dipped  pretty  condder- 
ably  into  the  fortune  which  hud  been  laid  aside  for  his  two 
▼ounger  children,  Caroline  and  Alfred.  Some  meddlers  insinuated  that 
it  had  taken  it  all,  but  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dashingly  maintained  a  freezing 
silence  upon  the  point,  so  nobody  knew  for  certain.  What  further  glo- 
rious works  in  the  architectural  line  Mr.  Dashingly  would  have  accom- 
plished, never  was  ascertained,  since  the  envious  destroyer.  Death,  stepped 
m,  and  put  an  end  to  him  and  his  good  deeds,  without  warning.  Not 
much  change  had  since  gone  over  Dashingly  House,  which  would  still  be 
enjoyed  by  Mrs.  Dashingly,  as  a  residence,  until  her  demise.  Tyro 
Dasningly,  Esquire,  the  eldest  son,  had  espoused  a  rich  widow,  and  had, 
literally,  eone  to  Rome,  where  he  was  still  sojourning.  Alfred  was  away, 
playing  the  rake,  as  usual,  and  Caroline  pursued  her  conquests  and  her 
flirtations.  It  was  quite  an  event  when  Una  came.  Mrs.  Dashingly's 
first  solicitude  about  her  was  to  make  her  and  her  thirty  thousand  pounds 
the  property  of  Alfr^,  with  as  little  delay  as  convenient ;  her  second  was 
to  worry,  lecture,  and  persuade  Lina  to  abjure  her  heretical  training,  and 
embrafis  the  true  feith,  as  they  had  done.  Against  both  of  which  propo- 
adoos,  Lina,  undutiful  girl  that  she  was,  rebelled.  Two  or  three  suitors 
had  sought  her  hand,  but  the  moment  thm  wishes  became  known,  aunt 
had  sent  them  off  flying,  like  she  did  me,  when  I  presumed  to  frdl  in  love 
with  Caroline.  And  it  was  an  understood  thing  now,  all  over  the  countyi 
that  anybody  else,  except  AUred,  daring  to  aspire  to  her,  would  be  warned 
away  in  like  manner.  Aunt  had  it  all  her  own  way,  unfortunately,  until 
Lina  should  be  of  age,  and  as  yet  she  was  only  nineteen. 

Lina  came  running  down  the  steps  when  I  leaped  out  of  the  chaise. 
They  had  tried  hard  to  prop  her  up  with  a  little  of  their  own  form  and 
stateliness,  but  it  would  not  do.  The  tears  stood  in  her  large  blue  eyes 
as  I  kissed  her  cheek,  feir  and  pure  as  ever.  Aunt  and  Caroline  had  re- 
nuuned  in  the  drawing-room ;  the  former  could  not,  and  the  latter  would 
not,  have  leaped  down  the  house-steps  for  the  world.  Mrs.  Dashingly 
was  very  cormal ;  to  make  amends,  probably,  for  former  grievances :  she 
actually  gave  me  what  she  called  a  kiss — a  slight  dick  of  the  lips  about  a 
foot  off  my  face.  Caroline  was  exceedingly  gracious  and  dignified  in 
right  of  her  exalted  position  as  bride-elect 

''  Were  you  surprised  at  my  summons,  Ned?'*  demanded  Mrs.  Dash- 
ingly, when  I  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  after  taking  off  my  boots 
and  some  of  the  travelling  dust. 

"  A  little,  aunt  I  am  not  yet  acquainted  with  the  cause  of  it,  you 
know.     May  I  not  inquire  ?*' 

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4  My  Courin  Carolme^i  Wedding. 

^  Ahem  !**  cried  aunt,  her  torban  standing  on  end  with  the  dignity  of 
£he  annonnoement  she  had  in  store  for  me,  whilst  Caroline's  pink  train 
mstled  oat  like  a  vain  peacock's.  **  Tlie  event  of  a  marriage  in  tne  fanuly, 
Edward,  does  not  occur  ereiy  day.  I  am  about  to  part  with  my  only 
daughter,  and  I  thought  that  the  pleasure  of  being  at  the  ceremony,  wiw 
a  week's  holiday  from  the  smoky  Temple,  would  be  very  gratifying  to 
you." 

Very  gratifying,  indeed.  When,  some  months  ago,  I  had  been  dying 
for  her  myself,  and  was  still,  for  all  aunt  knew. 

*'  And  80  I  am  to  congratulate  Caroline  upon  becoming  Mrs. ; 

what  is  the  bridefi;room's  name  ?" 

*'  Captain  Fituenry,  of  the  Forty-seventh,"  bridled  aunt ;  "  of  good 
fiunily  and  immense  fortune.     He  is  passionately  fond  of  Caroline." 

^*  And  when  are  they  to  be  tied  up  ?" 

**  For  shame,  Edwsird!  don't  use  such  expressions,"  rebuked  Mrs. 
Dashingly ;  '^  iust  as  if  you  were  speaking  of  hanging.  The  marriage  is 
fixed  for  Tuesday  next.     Lina's  to  be  bridesmaid." 

**  And  when  will  it  be  your  turn,  Lina,  darling  ?"  I  said,  bending  ov«r 
her ;  at  which  she  blushed  so  very  deeply,  that,  egad !  I  thought  it  could 
not  be  for  off. 

^  There's  no  hurry  about  Lina,'*  interrupted  the  old  lady,  shortly. 
**  Let  us  get  Caroline's  wedding  over  first,  and  then  it  will  be  time  to 
think  of  her." 

'^  Now,  Lina,  how  does  it  all  go  on  with  you  ?"  I  inquired,  drawing 
her  into  my  room  for  an  instant,  upon  an  excuse  to  aunt  that  I  had  some 
ktters  to  show  her.  **  And  what  mean  these  tears  ?"  I  exclaimed,  as  she 
nt  herself  down  on  the  bed,  and  foirly  broke  out  into  impasrioned  sobs. 
**  Lina,  Lina,  my  sister,"  I  indignantly  uttered,  '*  I  can  see  they  have  been 
making  you  wretched !" 

*^  Yes,"  she  said,  scarcely  able  to  speak,  *<  ever  since  I  came,  now 
twelve  months  ago.  I  have  been  fearful — I  declare  to  you,  Edward,  t 
have  been  actually  fearful  that  my  aunt  would  marry  me  to  Alfred  by 
main  force :  and  I  am  sure,  if  we  lived  in  less  enlightened  times,  when 
Boch  things  were  not  unheard  of,  it  would  have  been  done." 

"Where's  Alfred  now?" 

'*  Oh,  he  has  been  away  some  months.  He  got  angry  and  cross  with 
me,  for  I  held  out  against  tlwir  plans — I  would  and  I  did,  though  my 
eourage  was  neariy  faifing  me.  Not  that  the  scheme  is  abandoned ;  he 
and  my  aunt  both  say  that  they  never  will  give  it  up.  And  the  worst  of 
it  is,"  she  indignantly  contmued,  **  that  he  as  good  as  told  me  one  day, 
when  he  was  in  one  c^  his  passions,  that  he  did  not  care  for  me,  only  my 
fortune  was  necessary  to  repair  his  extravagance.  I  wish,  Edward,  tfave 
money  had  never  been  left  to  me  !  I  wish  I  had  it  in  my  power  to  make 
it  over  to  you !  I  should  at  least  have  escaped  persecution,  not  only  from 
that  quarter,  but  from  another." 

**  Any  one  ebe  been  persecuting  ?"  I  asked,  as  I  kissed  her  tearful 
dieek. 

'*  They  persecute  me  about  becoming  a  Catholic,  persecute  me  always — 
my  aunt  and  Father  Ignatius — ^the  fotfaer  more  especially.  If  I  were  but 
poor !    He  would  leave  me  alone  fost  enough  then.     My  benighted  sonl, 


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that  he  if  everlastrngly  deecanting  upon,  avght  get  to  heaven  in  its  own 
way," 

''  He  may  have  your  good  at  heait^*^  said  I,  trying  to  aoodw  her. 

"  And  big  own  interiMt.  Any  way,  he  gains,  if  IhadiBaneied41fr^» 
two  thowsand  pounds  would  liaye  gone  to  his  efaorah  en  the  ipedding- 
day.'' 

*'  Two  thousand  pounds !  what  for  T 

*'  I  don't  know.  A  sop  in  the  pan  for  them,  I  suppose,  because  I  an 
not  a  Koman  Catholic  Before  the^  were  aware  I  shonil  decline  to 
marry  Alfred,  they  never  ceased  talking  to  me  about  their  tolerance  ia 
suffering  him  to  wed  a  Protestant.  That  the  anrangemeHt  waamade  be- 
tween my  annt  and  the  pDest,  I  can  assure  you,  tlraagh  it  came  to  my 
knowledge  by  aoddent.' 

"  Very  generous  of  them  to  give  away  your  money  1" 

'-'•  liy  aunt,  as  you  may  believe  is  tembly  angiy  with  me  for  my  ob- 
stinacy, and  it  has  been  arranged,*'  she  whispered,  clasping  my  arm  widt 
her  trembiii^  hands,  '^  that  I  am  to  have  one  more  chance  given  me. 
Alfred  comes  home  on  Monday,  and  my  consent  is  to  be  again  formally 
demanded.  If  I  still  decline,  th^  have  agreed  to  shut  me  i^  in  tlie 
Convent  of  Mercy — ^you  know  it,  Edward — some  ten  miles  fi»m  here." 

''  Stuff  and  nonsense,  lanal"  I  uttered,  bunting  out  into  a  laugh, 
when  the  fuU  meaning  of  her  words  caaM  upon  ma ;  ^^  such  things  are 
not  heard  of  now-a-days.  They  have  no  more  power  to  shot  you  up  in 
%  ooovoit  than  they  have  me.** 

^  EdwaMJ,  D^ect,"  she  said,  gravely.  ^  My  aunt  has  die  power  of 
appointing  my  residence  until  I  am  of  age ;  if  she  chooses  to  plsoe  me  in 
a  BafinMis  house,  who  is  to  interfere  witih  her  ?  I  don't  mean,  recollect, 
that  1  am  to  be  placed  in  one  of  its  dungeona  or  oeUs,  but  to  go  as  » 
bnsBder.  Pather  Ignatius  is  in  ecstasies;  caills  me  his  lamb  and  his  dove, 
an4  an  sorts  of  saintly  names.  But  he  knows  that  those  convents  are 
much  easier  to  get  in  at,  than  to  get  out  of;  and  again,  Edward,  I  ask 
yOQy  who  has  the  power  to  interfere  with  Mrs.  Dashingly?  I  am  not  a 
ward  in  Chancery,  remember,"  she  continued,  smiling. 

"  And  so  think  you  have  no  daim  to  the  ficiendiy  offices  of  the  Lord 
Cfaancellflr,  who  has  lattedy  interfiled  in  a  more  desperate  case  than 
yours?  Be  under  no  alarm,  dear  Lina ;  if ** 

'<  Lina*  oosoe  hither,"  cded  my  aunt,  putting  in  her  head;  *^  I  want 
you.    And,  Ned,  it  is  upon  the  stroke  of  the  £mier  hour." 

''  So,  Cany,"  I  whispered,  leanmg  over  her  chair  when  I  got  back  to 
the  drawing-room,  whme  she  sat  alone,  ^  I  thought  you  were  to  remain 
true  to  me  for  ever  and  a  day  1" 

Caroline  tried  to  get  up  a  blush.  She  had  promised  the  like  to  a  few 
score  of  admirers. 

«  Ah  1  you  todc  yourself  off  so  suddenly,  Ned.  Who  was  going  to 
remain  &ithfol  to  a  runaway  lover?*' 

«'Took  fi^aelf  off!     I  think  the  boot  was  on  the  other  leg.*' 

'^  And  you  xiever  wrote,  or  anything,"  pouted  Carry,  willing  to  attempt 

^'It  would  have  been  all  the  same  if  I  had,  when  the  gallant  captain 
made  his  appearance,  eh,  Carry  T 
"  Get  away,  Edward !" 


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6  My  Coum  Caroline's  Weddmgi 

<'  He  ifl  Tetj  haadfiome,  I  suppoie  P' 

<<  Mamma  y^"*?  lina  think  so/ 

"  In  the  T&xm  style  or  the  Adonis?'' 

<^  You  can  dedde  ihat  point  for  yourself  when  you  see  him." 

<'  A  large  fortune  now,  I  understand,  and  a  barony  in  prospective  ?" 

**  Just  so." 

''  Well,  cousin  mine,  you  are  a  happy  woman.  Am  I  to  giye  you 
away?" 

"  You,  indeed!  Alfred's  coming  home,  partly  for  tiiat,  partly  to  make 
love  to  Lina." 

'<  But  lina  does  not  like  him,"  I  answered,  anxiously. 

'*  Oh,  I  don't  know.  Those  quiet,  say-nothine  girls,  such  as  Lina, 
seldom  know  what  they  do  like.  Alfred  will  make  tier  ,as  good  a  husband 
as  anybody  else  would.  He  has  been  extravagant  lately,  but  he  b  look- 
ing for  some  place  under  government.  I  suppose  he  will  get  straight 
after  a  bit,  and  your  sister  has  plenty.*' 

*^  What  is  this  whisper  that  I  hear,  of  a  convent  bdng  Lina's  altema* 
tive  if  she  rejects  him  ?" 

"  Who  told  you  about  that  ?— Lina?" 

"What  if  she  did?" 

"  She  need  not  have  brought  up  the  subject  now,  when  the  house  is 
occupied  with  more  agreeabk  matter." 

«  Selfish  as  ever,  Carry  I"  I  muttered.  *'  But  how  comes  it  that  a 
Roman  Catholic  convent  will  admit  her,  a  member  of  the  Established 
Church,  within  its  walls,  or  that  its  governing  priests  will  sanction  her 
entrance?" 

"They  graciously  wave  the  objection  in  Lina's  case,  in  consideration 
of  her  near  relationship  to  mamma.  And  from  her  residence  in  our 
family,  and  constant  intercourse  with  Father  Ignatius,  I  dare  say  tiiey 
look  upon  her  as  half  a  Catholic." 

"  Now,  Caroline,  you  cannot  suppose  that  in  this  enlightened  year  of 
our  Lord,  185 1,  a  youne  lady  is  going  to  be  immured  in  a  convent 
against  her  consent,  and  she  a  Protestant !  The  very  land  would  cry 
shame  ujpon  it— Hiueen,  nobles,  and  people." 

"  WeU,  if  you  nave  anything  to  say  about  it,  for  or  against,  just  say  it 
to  mamma,  without  teasing  me,"  was  Carry's  answer.  ^'  I  believe  the 
affair  is  decided  on,  and  for  my  own  part  I  don't  see  any  objection  to  it ; 
but  I  have  never  interfered  in  the  matter,  even  by  a  single  word — I  have 
had  other  things  to  think  of.  Nor  if  a  word  would  place  Lina  in  tiie 
convent,  would  I  utter  it,  so  indifPerent  is  the  whole  business  to  me." 

"  Nor  yet  speak  the  word  that  would  keep  her  out,  Cany." 

"  She  can  keep  herself  out,  by  marrying  Alfred." 

^*  What  end  do  they  propose  by  her  residence  there  ?" 

"  Her  ultimate  conversion,  I  believe.  Father  Ignatius  dwells  on  meet" 
"  Conversion  of  herself,  or  her  money — or  both  ?*' 
'*  Don't  be  absurd.     I  am  very  sure  of  one  ihing,  that  if  she  knew 
half  the  comfort  of  the  Roman  Catholic  religion,  she  would  tun  to  it  of 
her  own  accord.     I  am  surprised  anybody  can  remain  of  a  different 
persuasion." 

"Comforting,  is  it?" 


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My  Cousin  Caroiine's  Wedding.  7 

*' Very,'*  repeated  Caroline.  ''Ton  may  lapse  into  no  end  of  little 
sins,  that  in  your  religion  would  be  called  erimes,  and  might  Ke  heavily 
on  the  conscience ;  but  in  ours  we  get  absolution  for  them  all,  as  often  as 
ire  like  to  go  to  confession.*' 

^  What  a  consoling  fiedth  that  would  be  to  some  of  us  blades  of  the 
town !  We  have  perpetually,  or  deserve  to  have,  some  peccadillo  weigh- 
ing down  our  consciences." 

'^Then  why  in  the  worid  don't  you  all  become  Roman  Catholics?" 
rejoined  Carohne,  earnestly.     '*  You  might  do  anything  you  liked  then." 

*^  And  so  clear  the  arrears  of  sin  periodically,  as  with  a  feather.  I 
irill  think  of  it,  Caroline." 

*^Here  they  come,  mamma  and  Lina.  Don't  get  bothering  now, 
Ned,  about  tlie  convent ;  keep  peace  until  the  wedding  is  over." 

^  And  you  gone,  Caroline  ?    Perhaps  1  may." 

*^  Dinner,  ma'am,"  cried  the  stiff  old  butler,  appearing  at  the  drawing- 
room  door. 

Aunt's  &oe  and  her  turban  glowed  together  at  these  words.  I  knew 
ibe  signs  well  enough — a  storm  was  brewing. 

"  Who  told  them  to  serve  the  dinner  ?  How  could  you  think  of  such 
%  thine  ?    Captain  Fitsheniy  is  not  come  in." 

''  The  captain  does  not  dine  here^  ma'am.  He  said  he  had  business  at 
tbe  railwaY-station,  and  should  not  be  back." 

Aunt  flounced  to  the  dining-room,  and  down  we  sat— at  least,  we 
should  have  sat  down,  but  aunt  remained  standing,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
on  an  opposite  door;  so  of  course  we  did  the  same. 

"  Can  she  be  waiting  for  Fitihenry?"  I  mentally  exclaimed;  when  the 
entrance  of  Father  Ignatius  solved  my  quenr.  I  was  beginning  to  forget 
the  routine  of  Dashingly  House,  or  I  might  have  remembered  that  the 
boly  Sither  dined  there,  on  an  average,  five  days  out  of  the  seven.  I 
knew  Father  Ignatius  of  old;  and  a  perfect  model  of  a  &ther  he 
was  towards  Mrs.  Dashingly  and  all  her  household.  He  chanted  an 
elaborate  grace— all  Latin — ^the  footmen  removed  the  covers,  and  down 
we  sat. 

Sixteen  courses  of  fish ;  five  of  eggs,  omelets,  and  the  like;  a  few  of 
butter;  seven  of  sweets  and  pastry;  the  richest  of  wines;  coffee  and 
Uqueurs.     The  repast  brought  to  my  notice  that  it  was  Friday. 

*'  Edward,"  said  my  aunt,  "  I  never  permit  a  sinful  dish  of  flesh  to 
appear  at  my  table  on  these  days  of  abstinence,  whoever  may  be  seated 
at  it.  Captun  Fitzhenry  has  good-humouredly  accommodated  himself 
to  my  customs;  need  I  request  you  to  do  the  same  to-day,  and  hold  it 
asabst?" 

Certainly  she  needed  not:  and  when  I  thought  of  my  usual  dinner,  a 
solitary  chop  and  a  pint  of  porter,  and  compared  it  with  the  rich  board 
before  me,  I  wondered  whether  it  did  not,  of  the  two,  better  deserve  the 
name  of  fiut. 

<'  These  jperiodical  fast-days,  my  son,"  cried  the  priest  to  me,  "  are 
wholesome  for  ihe  soul." 

**  Peifaaps  more  so  than  they  would  be  for  the  body,  holy  fiftther,  if  it 
attacked  but  half  of  the  fast  before  us." 

''  Highly  good,"  repeated  the  priest,  ''  these  days  of  mortification." 


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S  My  Counn  Cmrdme's  Weddiag. 

**  Is  FitzhenfT  not  a  Cafcholio,  Cvry  ?''  I  whimpered,  in  refiaraDoe  to 
Mis.  Dashingly  8  late  ramaik. 

There  never  were  snch  quiek  ears  as  that  priest'S)  I  do  believe! 
Caroline  sat  beside  me,  and  my  question  was  a  whispered  one;  hot  he 
had  caught  it,  and  was  answering  before  Cany  could  apeak. 

"  A  oocile  young  man  I — a  worthy  gentlonan,  is  ne  of  whom  ^oo 
speak,  my  son.  I  nave  sought  and  held  frequent  converse  with  mmt 
and  his  deferenee  to  my  (pinions  is  remarkable.  Beared  though  he  has 
been  in  the  tenets  o£  an  c^posite  creed,  he  is  perfectly  wiUisg  to  listen 
to  reaaooL ;  and  I  diink  I  have  suooeeded  in  confuting,  to  his  own  satis- 
faction, some  of  the  more  heretical  of  its  doctrines.  Had  we  found  him 
otherwise,  I  might  have  held  it  my  duty  to  warn  my  good  daughter 
here  agahist  entrusting  the  welfiue  of  that  lamb  to  his  keepong." 

The  priest  bowed  to  Mrs.  Dashingly,  and  waved  his  miger  at  Caro- 
line, lest  the  company  present  shoiJd  not  fully  understand  Uiat  they 
were  the  daughter  and  the  lamb  spoken  of. 

'^  I  should  hare  stopped  his  pretensione  in  the  bud,  and  refused  bim 
altogether,"  cried  aunt,  who  in  the  present  advanced  stage  of  the  affiiir 
oouki  afibrd  to  talk  largely.  "And,  indeed,  I  do  not  koow  that  I 
should  not  deem  it  right  to  do  so,  even  now,  w^e  it  not  for  the  proause 
he  has  made." 

''A  tractable  young  man — a  teachable  spirit!"  apostrophised  the 
priest  par  parenthese^  burying  his  faoe  in  a  whole  boatful  of  jrich 
melted  butter. 

**  What  promise  ?"  I  asked,  looking  at  axint. 

^'A  promise,  Edward,  honourably  undertaken  on  his  part,  that  six 
months  afiber  Caroline  shaU  have  become  his  wife,  he  will,  if  she  should 
still  wish  it,  embrace  the  Boman  Catholic  foith." 

^*  If  all  those  who  have  been  trained  to  walk  astray  would  but  taloe 
pattern  by  his  example,  what  a  blessed  world  it  would  be  I"  ejaculated 
tbe  priest,  with  a  side-groan  towards  lina. 

^'  He  has  done  all  he  could  to  convert  her,"  chimed  in  Mrs.  Dashingly, 
alluding  to  the  captain,  and  looking  daggers  at  Lina,  who,  what  vfiik 
the  priest's  groans  and  aunt's  wordsi  was  turning  crimson.  ''  He  has 
assured  me  so  himself  twenty  times,  and  feeUn^y  bewailed  her  state  of 
spiritual  darkness  to  me." 

*^  Ah !"  sighed  the  priest,  as  he  hesitated  between  potted  lampreys  and 
roast  sahnon,  casting  an  eye  alternately  upon  the  tempting  aspect  of 
each,  "  that  estimable  young  heretic  is  three  parts  of  a  saint  already. 
He  has  promised  his  sweet  lamb  that  when  she  is  his  wife,  if  she  likes  io 
endow  a  chapel,  she  shall." 

«<  A  generous  fellow,  this  brid^;n>om-elect  of  yours,  Cany,"  I  whis- 
pered. 

A  fla^ng,  beaming,  triumphant  glance  shot  from  her  eyes  towards 
me,  as  she  looked  up  for  a  moment  from  her  plate.  It  told  that  she  was 
quite  as  sensihle  of  the  advantages  to  be  derived  from  a  rich  and  aubmis- 
sive  husband,  as  they  were. 

For  myself  I  was  anything  but  anxious  to  see  him.  He  was  already 
sketched,  drawn,  coloured,  and  hung  up  in  my  mind's  eye — ^a  hannlees 
milksop  of  a  bal^,  about  twenty,  who  dared  not  say  his  soul  was  his  own. 


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My  Qntsin  Carolines  fVaUinf.  9 

and  whose  head  had  been  ooDstructed  to  cany  as  few  brains  as  possible. 
Who  else  would  be  taken  (in)  by  t^passee  flirt  like  Caroline?  Somehow, 
since  aont  had  so  kindly  helped  to  core  my  own  iniatnation,  I  had  grown 
wonderfnlh^  alive  to  the  real  worth  and  attractions  of  my  fiur  connn. 

I  rose  after  dinner  when  the  ladies  did,  fearing  Father  Ignatins,  if  we 
were  left  alone  together,  mig^t  carry  my  £suth  by  stonn,  as  it  i^peaied 
he  had  almost  done  the  ei^tain's,  and  send  me  back  to  London  a  con- 
scientious Papist ;  but  the  priest  had  risen  also,  and  was  leaving  ns  to  go 
his  own  way.  However,  I  did  not  caie  to  drink  wine  by  myself  so  I 
followed  them,  and  leaning  over  the  back  of  Cany's  diair,  made  violent 
love  to  her,  fay  way  of  passing  away  the  time.  She  was  relapsing  into 
her  old  coqueiwi  ways  ere  I  had  been  there  ten  minutes— on  my  honoor 
she  was — and  we  were  on  the  point  of  as  hot  a  flirtation  as  ever,  whan  the 
loom  door  suddenly  opened,  and  the  butler  popped  in  his  head : 

''  Captain  Fitahenry.'* 

I  started  back  with  astonishment,  and  so  trod  upon  aunt's  pet  cat, 
which  flew  about  the  room  spitting  and  snariing,  making  at  last  a  spring 
out  of  it,  and  coming  in  contact  with  the  startled  servant's  cheek,  for, 
instead  of  the  monkey  I  had  pictured,  in  walked  a  splendid  man  of  six 
or  seven-and-twen(y,  handsome  enough  to  have  had  his  portrait  propped 
up  at  the  ^*  National,"  or  his  bust  in  a  group  of  larȣuned  sculpture,  miA. 
a  firank,  beaming  eye,  and  a  tongue  that  might  have  turned  half  the  girls* 
heads  in  Christendom.     How  on  earth  had  Caroline  caught  kirn  f 

I  might  have  waited  for  the  sun  to  form  a  conjunction  with  itself,  or  a 
brief  to  oome  to  me,  before  alighting  on  a  more  agreeable  follow.  Not 
one  of  your  backram'd,  high-flown  officers,  turning  up  their  noses  at  eveiy- 
body  beside  their  own  mess-room,  but  a  really  well-informed,  companion- 
able man,  keen  and  sensible.  We  became  cordial  friends  at  once,  and  I 
lost  mysdf  in  a  puzzled  reverie  as  I  looked  at  him.  That  he  diould  have 
diosen  Caroline  for  a  mSe  did  not  surprise  me  ;  for  if  men  and  women 
were  shaken  up  in  a  bag,  and  drawn  out  of  it  in  couples,  more  incon- 
gruous matehes  would  not  be  met  with  than  are  met  vrith  now;  but — his 
docility  to  aunt  and  Father  Ignatius !  However,  said  I,  rousing  myself, 
he  is  not  the  only  man,  sane  and  keen  in  other  respects,  who  has  been 
hired  into  the  snare  that  is  just  now  so  foshionable. 

Aunt  was  in  high  good  humour,  and  proposed  that  we  four  should  hanre 
a  quadrille,  offering  to  try  her  hand  at  some  bygone  tune ;  so  down  she 
sac  to  the  piano.  But  bow  were  we  to  stand  «p  ?  Captain  Fitshenry 
of  course  advanced  to  his  bride-elect ;  but  it  would  never  do  for  brother 
and  sister  to  dance  together,  so  the  captain  took  Lina,  and  I  crossed  over 
to  Caroline. 

He  danced  veiy  well ;  so  did  Lina.  Th^  looked  a  handsome  eoapkB, 
and  BO  well  suited  to  eadi  other,  that  I  caught  myself  wondering,  perlmps 
xesretting,  that  she  was  not  his  diosea  one.  I  hoped  I  was  mistaken— 
inaeed,  I  knew  I  was-^ut  it  did  strike  me  once  or  twice,  that  if  enr 
bright  blue  eyes  beamed  love,  lina's  did  when  she  glanced  at  him. 

Before  we  had  finished  the  four-legged  quadrille— people  say  four- 
handed  cribbage  and  four-handed  whist,  so  why  not  fonr-legged  quadrille  ? 
— Dr.  Cram,  the  rector,  came  in.  Aunt  had  not  renounced  quite  all  her 
Protestant  friends  with  her  religion.     A  fine  specimen  of  a  good  old 


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10  My  Cousin  CaroKne^f  Wtddiiig. 

English  parson ;  the  Teiy  quintessence  of  moderation  and  humility ;  held 
only  five  livings,  and  was  not  paid  a  farthing  more  than  three  thousand  a 
year  for  the  lot.  A  pleasant,  nospitable  old  man,  with  a  rubicund  fiioe, 
and  a  round-about  form,  quite  a  second  Daniel  Lambert ;  never  troubling 
his  head  about  any  earthly  care,  save  what  he  should  eat  and  drink ;  inter- 
fering with  nobody ;  letting  his  flock  go  whatever  road  they  chose,  and 
preaching  about  five  sermons  in  the  year — one  at  each  place.  People 
insinuated  at  the  time,  that  had  he  been  a  little  less  supine,  Dasldngly 
House  might  not  have  taken  refuge  in  Rome.  He  was  to  have  the 
honour  of  officiating  at  Caroline's  wedding,  that  is,  so  far  as  the  Pro- 
testant ceremony  went;  and  Mrs.  Dr.  Cram— as  the  county  aristocracy 
called  her  down  there — was  going  to  church  in  a  bird-of-paradise  feather. 
The  doctor  let  this  piece  of  news  out  to  us  in  the  openness  of  his  heart. 
He  was  come  in  to  gossip  about  the  marriage,  and,  there  being  none  but 
the  family  present,  we  discussed  the  programme  of  the  ceremony. 

''Have  you  got  the  license  yet?"  asked  the  doctor. 

«*  No,"  said  Fitihenry ;  « it's  coming." 

«<  Special?"  resumed  Dr.  Cram. 

"Of  course." 

"  Why,  then  you  can  be  married  in  this  drawing-room,"  returned  the 
doctor,  *'  and  save  the  bother  of  eetting  in  and  out  of  the  carriages.'* 

But  this  suggestion  was  not  relished  by  either  the  bridegroom  or  the 
bride.  She,  of  course,  thought  what  a  shame  it  would  be  not  to  show 
off  outside  the  numerous  guests  and  all  the  paraphernalia  of  the  dress 
and  bridal  cortege ;  and  he  muttered  some  scruples  about  religion,  and 
being  married  in  an  every-day  room,  I  hardly  heard  what ;  but  they 
both  said  they  would  go  to  church. 

The  rector's  carriage  was  to  lead  the  van,  containing  himself  and 
Fitzhenry ;  the  bridegroom's  new  travelling-chariot  was  to  follow,  with 
Alfred  and  Mrs.  Cram ;  the  Dashingly  coach  next,  the  bride,  bridesmaid, 
aunt,  and  Sir  Popperton  Jeffs,  the  fieuaiily  uncle,  inside ;  and  a  string  of 
several  more  would  follow,  conveying  the  general  company.  Immedi- 
ately after  the  church  service,  the  necessary  Catholic  rites  would  be  per- 
formed. _^— - 

Monday  came,  the  day  previous  to  the  wedding,  and  Mr.  Alfred 
Dashingly  made  his  appearance  in  the  morning.  Foppish,  and  over- 
dressed as  usual,  he  presented  a  striking  contrast  to  Fitzhenry.  If  Lina 
had  ever  got  worried  into  marrying  him,  thought  I  to  myself,  she  is  not 
the  m\  of  sense  I  take  her  for. 

Alfred  was  in  natures  with  his  brother-in-law-to-be ;  but  so  he  would 
have  been  with  any  rich  man  who  walked  off  Caroline,  were  it  only 
from  the  hope  that  he  should  succeed  in  doing  a  little  with  him  in  the 
borrowing  line.  He  was  especially  affSectionate  to  Lina — wanted  to 
fiivour  her  with  a  chaste  salute  on  ms  arrival — whether  as  a  cousin  or  a 
lover  he  did  not  intimate — ^but  Lina,  with  a  dignified  <ur  and  a  haughty 
gesture,  drew  away  from  the  proffered  honour. 

''  How  can  you  make  up  your  mind  to  leave  your  childhood's  home, 
Carry,  and  the  green  fields  where  you  have  gambolled  ?"  asked  I,  putting 
on  a  dash  of  the  sentimental 

''  A  great  sacrifice,  is  it  not,"  bantered  Caroline,  '<  to  quit  this  out-of- 


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My  Cousitt  CaroUne*s  Wedding.  11 

Ae-world  place,  where  one  is  never  certab  of  Beeii^  a  soul  but  the 
fiither  and  old  Cram,  for  a  modem  seat  in  Wiltshire  and  a  mansion  in 
town?** 

'*  Do  you  intend  to  take  pity  on  any  of  the  poor  devils  you  are  leaving 
behind  to  broken  hearts,  and  invite  us  to  visit  you  ?*' 

*'I — I  shall  see,**  pouted  the  beauty.  '<  I  can  make  no  promises, 
for  the  captain's  connexions  are  high — as  you  know — so  I  must  of  course 
be  particular.  Perhaps  I  shall  invite  Lina — that  is,  if  she  decides  to 
marry  Alfired." 

**  A  genteel  hint  that  I  am  to  be  cut,  cousin  mine.  I  suppose,  if  I 
meet  you  in  town,  I  must  not  presume  to  more  than  a  raise  oi  my  hat 
in  the  distance  ?" 

''  You  are  always  talking  nonsense,  Edward,'*  answered  Cany,  as  she 
moved  away. 

<<  What's  that?"  cried  Fitzhenry,  coming  up. 

*'  Only  a  rap  on  the  knuckles,"  I  answered,  *'  for  my  presumption  in 
having  asked  if  a  briefless  wight  might  venture  to  show  himself  at  the 
house  of  Mrs.  Fitzhenry.'' 

"  And  Caroline  says  '  No,'  "  he  rejoined,  laughing. 

''  Caroline  intimates  as  much.     It  was  only  asked  in  jest,  Fitzhenry." 

'<  Then  I  tell  you  what,  Ned,  my  boy,"  he  exclaimed,  shaking  my 
hands  in  his  usual  impetuoiis,  pleasant  manner,  "  I'll  take  upon  myself 
to  eive  you  an  invitation  beforehand,  and  a  cordial  one,  too.  No  one 
shidl  be  made  more  welcome  than  you,  if  you  will  only  find  time  to  come 
to  us — and  the  sooner  the  better." 

'*  And  your  wife — allowing  that  I  took  you  at  your  word  ?" 

^'  I  hope  and  believe  that  my  wife  wiU  start  few  difficulties  of  this 
nature  when  once  she  is  mine." 

He  did  not  know  Caroline  as  I  did. 

'<  Fitzhenry,"  I  resumed,  "  you  are  a  favourite  with  Mrs.  Dashingly— 
and  with  the  priest" 

*'  Have  they  been  saying  so  ?" 

"  And  have,  I  believe,  some  influence  over  them." 

"  They  over  me,  you  mean." 

<'I  wish  you  could  persuade  them  to  see  the  monstrosity  of  this 
scheme  of  theirs  reg^arding  Lina.  Not  an  argument  that  I  could  ad- 
vance would  be  even  listened  to — but  with  you  it  is  different" 

^  What  scheme  ?"  he  inquired. 

*'  The  sending  her  into  a  convent.  Not  that  the  thing  ever  can,  or 
ever  shall,  be  carried  out — the  very  idea  is  ridiculous.  But  if  they  could 
be  persuaded  to  settle  the  matter  amicably,  it  would  be  much  more  de- 
airame,  especially  for  Lina,  than  our  being  obliged  to  come  to  a  blow-up 
about  it     Will  you  exert  your  influence  on  her  behalf?" 

''What,  and  deprive  her  of  the  opening  prospect  of  becoming  a 
Roman  Catholic  I — of  dedicating  herself  to  the  Virgin  I" 

I  looked  up  at  him ;  and  for  the  life  of  me  could  not  tell  whether  he 
was  in  jest  or  earnest  There  was  nothing  in  his  tone  or  countenance 
to  indicate  the  former. 

*'  No^  Ned,"  he  continued,  after  a  pause  of  deliberation ;  <'  I  will 
obHge  you  in  any  other  way  that  I  can,  but.  to  remonstrate  with  Mrs. 


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12  Mif  Coutifi  CaroUna's  WedHng. 

Dashinglyv  or  with  the  hoi j  fidhm*,  ahoot  diia  oonTeni  bnmieBflt  is  what 
I  haT6  cMarly  no  right  to  do,  and  I  must  decfine  all  interfereoee.  You 
will  allow  me,  however,  to  express  a  hope,  that  whatever  steps  may  he 
taken  with  r^ard  to  yotir  dster,  they  may  he  the  means  of  securing  her 
happiness." 

*'  I  had  deemed  her  a  favourite  of  yours,  Fltdienry." 
<^  She  is  so — as  heing  neariy  connected  with  my  niture  wife." 
Did  anybody  ever  happen  to  be  in  a  house  the  day  before  a  wedding? 
K  so,  they  have  been  in  it — ^that's  all.  Cutting  up  wedding-cake ;  tying 
and  sealing  up  cards ;  burning  old  billets-doux  of  ouier  suitors,  and  laugh- 
ing over  their  looks  of  hair;  trying  on  bonnets;  twisting  up  wreaths; 
maldng  up  fiftvours ;  packing  trunks ;  writing  letters  for  the  moirow's 
post,  announcing  the  happy  evoit  which  will  then  have  taken  {dace ; 
cooking  dishes  for  the  breakfast,  till  the  house  smells  like  all  die  restau* 
rants  of  the  Palais  Royal  condensed  into  one;  ejaculating  notes  of 
admiration  at  the  arriving  presents ;  overwhelming  the  servants  with  a 
ooafused  mass  of  directions^  who  in  return  are  running  into  every  corner 
but  where  they  ought;  and  happy  relations  puUidy  lamenting  and 
privately  rejoicing  at  their  approaching  separation  from  the  interesting 
bride. 

Caroline  wrote  lots  of  letters,  glad  enough  to  be  able  to  do  so  at  last — 
she  had  waited  for  it  for  years.  Her  distant  friends  were  numerous ;  it 
was  believed  she  had  some  in  eveiy  town  of  the  United  Kingdom,  and  all 
were  favoured  with  an  epistle,  short  and  sweet,  conveying  the  glad 
tidings. 

Carry  was  far  from  being  jealous,  that's  certain,  or  she  would  not 
have  Kked  the  whispered  conversation  between  Fitshenry  and  lina  all 
the  time  she  wrote,  or  that  duet  in  the  other  room.  It  was  nothing  to 
me,  but,  upon  my  word,  the  captain's  stolen  intercourse  with  lina  loMted 
a  deal  more  like  love  than  his  paraded  attentions  to  Caroline.  My  pri- 
vate opinion  was,  that  he  had  scented  his  bride's  flirting  propensities,  and 
was  playing  off  a  bit  of  revenge.  However,  the  morrow  must  end  it. 
I'll  be  shot,  too,  if  he  did  not  kiss  her  f  To  be  sure,  he  kissed  Caroline 
at  the  same  time,  and  said  something  about  he  and  Lina  being  only  a  few 
hours  off  oousinship ;  but  I  know  t&s,  that  if  Lina  had  been  my  ladye- 
love  instead  of  my  sister,  I  should  have  found  my  rest  distmrbed  by 
visions  of  coffee  and  pistols. 

It  was  a  beautifnl  day  for  a  wedding.  Hie  sun  shone,  the  bells 
tinkled,  and  the  carriages  rattled  about,  bringing  up  the  guests.  The 
first  arrival  was  Dr.  Cram  with  his  lady,  the  latter's  bird-of-panulise  nod- 
ding to  the  wind  as  she  alighted  from  her  chariot,  all  splendid  in  a  robe 
that,  to  uninitiated  eyes  Hke  mine,  was  composed  of  pea-green  bogles 
and  gold  wire.  Sir  Popperton  Jeffs  dashed  up  with  outriders.  He  bore 
a  splendid  case  of  pearls  as  a  present  to  the  bride,  and  a  similar  set  for 
Lina.  Mrs.  Dr.  Cram,  who  Uked  to  have  a  finger  in  everybody's  pie, 
told  him  it  was  not  etiquette  to  bestow  upon  the  bridesmaid  a  like  present 
to  the  bride's.  But  Sir  Popperton,  who  was  a  fiery  man,  observed  that 
Lina  was  his  niece  as  w^  as  Caiolkie,  and  that  etiquette  might  be  , 

we  never  knew  what^  for  he  choked  down  the  oondusion. 


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Mjf  CauMin  Caroline's  Weddmg.  13 

ETetjbody  was  in  h^h  feather ;  atrat  hersdf  lika  tke  riging  san.  A 
most  splendid  scarlet  diess,  quite  dazzling  to  behold,  and  a  whke  satin 
bonnet  surmounted  by  a  scaiiet  {^mne.  Captain  Fitodienry  looked  yeiy 
handsome  and  yery  happy — strange  that  he  had  not  chosen  a  bride  more 
worthy  of  him!  Come  and  tea  were  handed  round  fw  those  who  liked 
to  partake  of  them,  but  the  breakfast  was  to  come  afterwards. 

We  were  to  set  oat  for  the  church  at  ten,  but  that  hour  struck  before 
Caroline  made  her  appearance.  Dr.  Cram  had  twice  looked  at  his 
waAch — he  was  thinking  of  the  collation — ^and  Sir  Popperton  had  de- 
manded whether  the  ceremony  was  to  be  to-day  or  to-morrow,  when  a 
bufiile  and  a  rush  of  white  satin  and  lace  prodaimed  the  bride's  presence. 
Sefveral  dains^  were  in  her  train,  but  next  to  her,  as  diief  bndesmaid, 
walked  my  gentle  sister.  The  room  fell  into  a  roar  of  congratulations^ 
and  Carry's  gratified  eye  told  that  they  were  welcome.  I  never  saw  her 
look  so  well.  Her  dress,  exclusive  of  jewds,  must  have  cost  what  would 
keep  Bie  for  six  months.  Lina  was  in  a  quiet>  pale  sort  of  silk,  that  I 
unfortunately  called  '*  stone  ;"  upon  whicli  Mrs.  Dr.  Cram  indignantly 
anapped  aoe  up,  and  asserted  that  it  was  '*  pearl  gre}'."  Her  bonnet  was 
tlie  same  as  Caroline's,  except  the  orange-blossoms,  and  she  wore  no 
jewels.  I  heard  afterwards  that  the  whole  of  Caroline's  dress  had  been 
lina's  present. 

Captain  Fitdienry  advanced,  and  did  homage  to  his  bride,  saUo  voce. 
She  received  it  with  a  genuine  affectation  of  timidity,  and  turned  away 
to  shelter  her  blushes  behind  auntfs  fiery  petticoats.  The  captain  then 
spoke  to  lina  in  the  same  low  tone,  when  she  burst  into  tears,  and  nearly 
sobbed  herself  into  hysterics.  Thinking  she  was  going  into  them  out 
and  out,  I  got  two  bottles  of  Preston  salts  ready,  and  caHed  out  for  a  can 
of  water ;  but  the  symptoms  went  off.  I  did  not  care  for  the  hysterics, 
but  I  did  care  for  Lma,  and  felt  eonrinced  of  her  misplaced  passion  for 
Fitzhenry. 

'^  Never  you  mind,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Dr.  Cram,  patting  Lina  on  the 
shoulder,  **  it  sftuill  be  your  wedding  next." 

With  great  parade  we  sailed  down  to  the  equipages.  But,  elaborately 
as  the  procession  was  planned  beforehand,  the  programme,  amidst  tlie 
bustle  and  excitement,  was  not  strictly  followed  out.     It  often  is  not. 

The  first  mishap  was  with  Fitzheniy's  chariot.  The  coachmen  had 
received  orders  to  place  but  a  pair  of  hones  to  each  carriage  for  church, 
and  his  appeared  with  four;  but  it  was  too  late  to  remedy  it  now.  The 
second  blunder  consisted  in  aunt's  being  bowed  by  Dr.  Cram  into  his 
chariot,  instead  of  Fitzhenry,  and  off  they  started!  Fitzhenry  stepped 
into  his  own,  and  there,  behold !  some  bungler  had  planted  Lina.  So 
thev  went  next  Then  followed  the  bride,  Sir  Popperton  by  her  side, 
with  Alfired  and  Mrs.  Dr.  Cram  opposite  to  her,  tiie  bird-of-paradise^s 
tail  tipping  oat  at  the  window  to  gladden  1^  admiring  spectators ;  and 
the  rest  of  us  followed  any  how,  just  where  we  could  scramble.  There 
were  ten  in  our  ooaeh. 

Caroline  was  placed  at  the  altar.  The  reverend  doctor,  in  full  canoni- 
cals, stood  fiusing  her,  with  open  book  in  hand,  and  we  were  all  waiting 
on  the  tiptoe  of  expectation  to  hear  the  first  word  of  the  service.  But 
there  seemed  a  strange  dehiy.  I  was  standing  quite  behind,  and  could 
see  nothing  but  the  bird-of-paradise  and  the  top  of  aunf  s  scarlet  plume. 


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14  My  Cousin  Caroline's  Wedding. 

"What's  he  waiting  for?**  whispered  I  to  Uncle  Popperton,  pulling 
him  behind,  as  I  nodded  to  the  place  where  old  Cram  ought  to  be. 

"  What  the  deuce,  boy! — would  you  marry  her  to  herself?  The  cap* 
tain  is  not  come  yet.*' 

"  Why,  his  carriage  went  second — ^next  to  the  parson's.  Lina  was  in 
it.     Is  she  not  here  ?" 

''  Can't  you  see  she's  not  ?"  grumbled  Sir  Popperton ;  '*  it  is  plain 
enough." 

I  dare  say  it  was  to  him,  who  was  six  feet  two  in  stockings ;  but  I 
counted  five  feet  nothing  in  boots. 

«  Edward,"  whispered  aunt,  beckoning  me  forward,  ''go  to  the  door 
and  see.  There  is  some  dreadful  accident,  I  fear;  he  always  would 
drive  such  spirited  horses." 

"  But  he  came  next  to  you,  aunt — ^before  the  reet  of  us.  If  there  had 
been  any  accident,  we  must  have  seen  it." 

''  Those  fools  of  postilions  of  his  have  driven  to  the  Catholic  chapel, 
then,"  answered  aunt,  in  a  fever.     "  Do  go  and  see." 

I  made  my  way  in  haste  to  the  Cathohc  chapel.  Father  Ignatius  was 
there,  but  I  could  see  no  trace  of  Fitzhenry.  The  Cram  footman  stepped 
up  to  me  as  I  was  going  back. 

"  Beg  pardon,  sir,"  he  sidd,  touching  his  hat,  ''but  the  captun's  car- 
riage went  this  way— don't  think  it's  of  any  use  looking  for  it  that" 

«  Which  way  V^ 

"  Bight  down  along  the  left  road,  sir,  without  turning  to  the  church 
at  aU.  The  postboys  were  laslung  their  horses  like  mad,  and  the  car- 
riage tore  along,  and  whirled  ofP  at  the  finger-post,  which  leads  to  nothing 
but  the  railway-station." 

"  Was  the  captain  in  it  ?" 

"  The  captain  was  in  it,  sir,  and  Miss  Lina  with  him.  His  own  man 
sat  in  the  rumble." 

"  What  the  devil !"  growled  ihe  choleric  Sir  Popperton,  when  I  re- 
turned to  report,  "  are  we  to  cool  our  heels  in  this  church  all  day  ?" 

"  The  break&st !"  stammered  Dr.  Cram,  his  nose  turning  to  a  light 
purple,  as  the  fear  gained  ground  that  some  untoward  accident  might 
put  a  stop  to  the  eating. 

''  Those  dreadful  horses  have  run  away  with  him,  and  he  will  never 
come  back  but  with  his  head  torn  off,"  shrieked  Cany,  gmng  into  a  sham 
£unt  upon  the  altar  steps.  Not  that  she  had  any  real  love  for  fitzhenry ; 
her  days  for  loving  had  long  been  over. 

''Lma,  too,  was  in  the  carriage,"  uttered  I;  "  what  is  to  become  of 
her?" 

"Oh,  don*t  you  get  bringing  up  Lina,  Edward!  I  don't  suppose 
she'U  be  hurt ;  and  we  have  enough  on  our  minds  just  now  in  thinking 
of  the  captab,"  cried  Mrs.  Daslunffly,  stooping  down  to  look  after  Caro^ 
line,  when  the  scarlet  plume  came  m  contact  so  violently  with  the  altar 
rails,  that  its  elegant  uprightness  was  over  for  ever,  and  it  was  bent  to  an 
acute  angle. 

'^  Dear  Mrs.  Dashingljr,"  groaned  Dr.  Cram,  *' don't  you  tinnk  a  little 
refreshment  would  revive  her? — ^the  breakfast — oh!— or  so?  It  is 
waiting  all  this  time,  yon  know.  She  may  have  a  fit  of  illness  if  she  fasts 
any  longer." 


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My  Cousin  Caroline's  Wedding.  15 

It  being  obvious  that  a  dwelting-house  was  a  more  conrenient  place 
than  a  church  to  wait  in,  while  a  man  was  brought  home  without  hie 
head,  we  returned  to  the  carriages  to  be  convejed  back  again.  Father 
Ignatius  joined  us  as  we  entered  the  house,  and  Sir  Popperton's  out- 
riders were  despatched  flying,  in  search  of  the  runaway  chariot. 

^^  There,  he'll  soon  be  heard  of  now,  my  dear,"  cried  Dr.  Cram  to 
Caroline,  his  spirits  going  up  like  quicksilyer  at  his  proximity  to  the 
collation. 

Fitihenry  was  heard  of,  and  Lina  also. 
,    May  a  certain  gentleman  fly  away  with  me,  if  ever  I  saw  such  a 
boose  in  my  Hfe,  before  or  amce.     Aunt  danced  a  hornpipe  with  passion, 
and   poor  Caroline,  in  her  wild  dismay,  tore  her  orange-blossoms  to 
peees. 

It  appeared — for,  bit  by  bit,  the  whole  plot  and  counter-plot  was  laid 
bare — ^that  Fitzhenry  had,  in  the  first  instance,  proposed  to  Mrs.  Dash- 
ingly for  Lina,  But  that  lady,  with  indignant  firmness,  informed  him 
that  he  might  just  as  well  ask  for  her,  or— sacxilegious  thought  I — for 
the  whole  convent  of  nuns  ;  and  that  there  was  just  as  much  probability 
of  his  obtaining  them,  as  there  was  of  his  obtaining  lina.  That  the 
latter  was  promised  to  AKred,  and  in  the  event  of  that  project  Ruling, 
she  was  to  be  "dedicated  to  the  Virgin."  The  communication  was 
obligingly  accompanied  by  a  hint  that  if  ever  Captain  Fitzhenry  gave 
anoSier  thought  towards  lina,  or  so  much  as  half  a  one,  he  must  bid 
£uewell  to  Dashingly  House.  The  captain  bowed  to  the  decision,  ap- 
parently acquiescing  in  it,  and  continued  his  friendship  with  Dashingly. 
Caroline  made  a  dead  set  at  him,  thinking  his  repeated  visits  must  be 
on  her  account,  as  Lina  was  put  out  of  the  question.  And — ^well — ^per- 
haps  it  was  not  quite  right  to  pretend  to  ^eJI  desperately  in  love  with  her, 
bat  he  said  it  was  the  only  way  he  could  devise  to  have  access  to  the 
society  of  lina.  His  attentions  to  Caroline  were  eagerly  caught  up  by 
her  and  Mrs.  Dashingly,  and  the  marriage  and  the  preparations  were 
hurried  on  almost  before  a  syllable  had  been  spoken  on  his  part.  And 
now  he  had  taken  lina  off  to  the  nil  way-station,  as  fast  as  the  four  horses 
would  carry  them,  where  a  special  train  was  waiting,  the  engine  at  a  white 
heat,  to  convey  them  towaras  Scotland.  He  left  a  polite  note  behind 
him,  hoping  Mrs.  Dashingly  would  forgive  him  for  making  lina  his 
wife,  witii  his  compliments  to  the  convent  and  to  Father  Igpaatius. 

''  The — the— the  thirty  thousand  pounds  T'  gasped  out  Father  Igna- 
tius, his  lips  all  white,  and  his  hair  standing  on  end,  *<does  she  take 

THAT?" 

Lina  did  not  take  the  thirty  thousand  pounds,  but  the  money  was  just 
as  much  lost  to  Father  Ignatius  and  the  convent  as  if  she  did.  If  she 
married  before  she  became  of  age,  without  aunt's  consent,  only  ten  of  it 
remained  to  her,  the  other  twenty  came  plump  to  us  six  boys. 

And  when  these  facts  were  explained  to  him,  the  holy  Father  Ignatius, 
for  once  in  his  life^  forgot  his  self-control  and  his  humility — ^forgot  to  act 
up  to  the  assurance  he  had  so  repeatedly  given  Lina,  that  her  money 
never  was,  and  never  could  be,  of  any  moment  to  him,  and  that  if  she 
were  to  make  him  a  present  of  it,  he  should  decline  its  acceptance.  He 
set  up  an  unearthly  shriek,  and  began  whirling  himself  about  the  room 

JJfoy— VOL.  XCV.  NO.  CCCLXXVII.  C 


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16  My  Cousin  CaroUne^s  Wkdding. 

in  so  Tiolent  a  maimer,  that  his  movements  were  looked  upon  as  a^/bc- 
nmUe  of  aunt's  hornpipe. 

^  The  break£utr  xeiteiated  Dr.  Ciam,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  '<nn\; 
it  to  be  eaten  now?" 

^*  Of  course  it  is  to  be  eaten,"  answered  Sir  Popperton,  recorering  his 
Toioe  with  difficnlty  from  the  exnlosions  of  laughter  which  had  shaken  it 
erer  since  the  tnitn  borst  upon  him,  ''  and  I'll  preside,  if  Mrs.  Dashingly 
won't.  We  will  drink  the  health  and  happiness  of  Captain  and  JMn. 
Fitzhenry.  God  bless  Linal  j%e  will  do  more  good  in  the  spbeie  she 
has  had  the  courage  to  choose,  than  she  would  have  dose  in  your  con- 
vent, holy  iather^ "  with  a  nod  to  the  Catholic  priest 

''  What  ?"  cRMked  flie  priest,  fiontly,  £rom  vie  ohair  into  which  he  had 
sunk,  a  little  overcome  by  his  recent  exertion. 

"  My  opinion  is,  that  yonng  gixls  should  not  be  dedicated  to  the  Virgin 
quite  so  long  belbre  they  may  expect  to  go  up  into  the  woiid  where  Ike 
Virgin  is,"  called  out  Sir  Popperton.  ^  To  sacrifice  them  when  they 
have  a  long  life  before  them,  to  render  ihat  life  aimless  and  useless,  is  a 
mistake  that  yon  have  no  right  to  commit.  But  yon  may  rely  upon  one 
ihing,  that  even  if  Captain  Fitahenry  had  not  stepped  in,  you  should 
never  have  ^  dedicated"  Lina. 

The  priest  gave  a  fiearful  howl,  and,  gathering  his  robes  round  htss, 
vanished  from  &e  room. 

Another  mistake  came  to  light.  All  Caroline's  letters,  announcing  the 
happy  event  to  her  friends,  had  been  posted  the  previous  night,  through 
the  offidousnces  of  the  old  bnder.  Carry  was  beside  herself.  In  her 
mortification  she  would  have  matxied  me ;  want  of  briefs  looked  a  trifling 
matter  to  her  now,  compared  wi£h  remaining  Miss  CaroliBe  Dashaogly. 
I  protested  for  an  hour  how  dee|dy  her  condescension  affected  me,  i£bt 
old  Cram,  having  his  eye  to  another  feast,  suggested  that  if  the  young 
gentleman  was  not  quite  ready,  the  ceremony  might  be  postponed  for  a 
week ;  he  should  be  most  hi^py  at  that  period  to  render  his  senrioes.  I 
wished  he  might  get  it,  or  my  fair  cousin  ather. 

And  so  ended  poor  Caroline's  wedding. 

Alfred  talked  largely  about  calling  the  captain  out,  but  it  came  to 
nothing.  Sir  Popperton's  opinion  was  strongiy  expressed  upon  the 
matter,  and  as  he  had  thirty  thousand  pounds,  and  over,  to  leave  to  some- 
body, Alfred  would  have  mitifolly  defened  to  any  opinion  of  his,  what- 
ever it  might  be.  For  myself,  I  had  the  supreme  fielicity,  a  fortnight 
afterwards,  of  giving  away  my  sweet  sister  Lwa  to  Captain  Fitzheniy, 
at  St.  George's  churoi,  the  two  having  some  slight  scruples  about  trusting 
to  the  legality  of  the  previoas  mazriage  in  Scodand. 


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(     17     ) 


FEMALE     NOVELISTS, 

No.  I. — Mi8S  Austen. 

GiYXN  a  subject  of  composition  like  the  novel,  it  is  reasonable  to  expect 
a  goodly  proportion  of  what  Monkbams  called  *'  womankind"  among  the 
compositors.  The  subject  is  attractive  to  those  tastes,  and  within  the  scope 
of  those  (acuities,  which  are,  generally  speaking,  characteristic  of  the 
fairer  sex.  Perhaps,  indeed — and  some  critics  would  substitute  '^  unques- 
tionably" for  <<  perhaps" — none  but  a  man,  of  first-rate  powers  withal, 
can  produce  a  first-rate  novel;  and,  if  so,  it  may  be  alleged  that  a 
woman  of  corresponding  genius  (^qua  woman)  can  only  produce  one  of  a 
second-rate  order.  However  that  may  be — and  leaving  the  definition  of 
what  is  first-rate  and  what  second-rate  to  critics  of  a  subtler  vein  and 
weightier  calSire  than  we  shall  ever  attain  to — proofs  there  are,  enough 
and  to  spare,  in  the  fiteratore  of  our  land,  that  clever  women  can  write, 
and  have  written,  very  clever  noveb ;  that  this  is  a  department  where  they 
feel  and  show  themselves  at  home ;  that,  in  the  symmetry  of  a  comph- 
cated  plot,  the  ehiboration  of  varied  character,  and  the  fillingp-in  of 
artistic  touches  and  imaginative  detuls,  they  can  design  and  accomplish 
woiks  which  go  down  to  posterity  not  very  far  behind  those  of  certain 
Titanic  lords  of  creation.  As  it  was  reasonaole  to  predicate  an  abundance 
of  female  novelists,  so  is  it  evident,  by  every  circulating  library  and  every 
advertising  journal,  that  such  abundance  exists.  Almost  the  earliest 
pieces  of  prose  fictions  in  our  language  are  from  the  pen  of  a  woman — ^not 
the  most  exemplary  of  her  sex — Mistress  Aphra  Beha,  the  ^*  ABtmBA"  of 
Charles  the  Second's  days.  After  the  novel,  more  properly  so  called,  had 
acquired  a  local  habitation  and  a  name  amongst  us,  by  the  performances 
of  Richardson,  Fielding,  and  Smollett,  we  find,  during  the  past  century, 
an  imposing  array  of  **  womankind**  successfiiUy  cultivating  these  ''  pas- 
tures new."  Cltfa  Reeve  wrote  several  tales  of  the  ^^  Otranto"  type,  all 
marked,  in  the  judgment  of  Sir  Walter  Scott,  by  excellent  good  sense, 
pure  moraKty,  and  a  competent  command  of  those  qualities  which  consti- 
tute a  good  romance.  If  the  Minerva  Press  deluged  the  town  witii  its 
spring-tide  of  fluent  nonsense,  much  of  it  the  Hllowy  froth  of  feminine 
as  well  as  effeminate  **  Persons  of  Quality,"  there  soon  ujprose  to  stem  the 
current  a  succession  of  ladies  who  could  cope  better  with  its  surges  than 
Mrs.  Partington  with  those  of  die  Atiantic.  Mrs.  Radcliffe  is  by  no 
means  the  beau-ideal  of  a  novelist ;  yet  even  her  atrocities  were  an  im- 
provement upon,  and  instrumentally  iaAal  to,  the  squeamish  woes  of  that 
maudlin  clique.  Then,  too,  came  Charlotte  Smith,  of  ''Old  Manor 
House"  celebrity ;  and  littie  Fanny  Bumey,  with  her  Evelinas  and  Ce- 
cilias  and  Camillas ;  and  the  sisters  Lee,  with  their  ''  Canterbury  Tales ;" 
and  the  sisters  Porter,  of  whom  Anna  Maria  alone  published  half  a  cen- 
tury of  volumes ;  and  Mrs.  Brunton,  the  still  popular  authoress  of  *^  Self- 
Control ;"  and  Miss  Edgeworth,  whose  gx£t  it  was  to  ^'dispense  common 
sense  to  her  readers,  and  to  bring  them  within  the  precincts  of  real  life 
and  natural  feeling."  As  we  approach  more  closely  to  our  own  times, 
the  name  of  the  fair  company  becomes  legion.     Mrs.  Shelley  appears : 

G  2 


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18  Female  Noveliits — No.  L 

And  Shelley,  four-famed — for  her  parents,  her  lord, 
And  the  poor,  lone,  impossible  monster  abhorred— 

'<  Frankenstein,"  to  wit — a  romance  classed  by  Moore  with  those  original 
conceptions  that  take  hold  of  the  public  mind  at  once  and  for  ever.  Miss 
Ferrier  is  a  foremost  reaper  of  what  Scott  called  the  large  harvest  of 
Scottish  characters  and  fiction,  a  harvest  in  which  recent  labourers 
(witness  ''  Mrs.  Margaret  Maitland,**  &c.)  have  found  new  sheaves  for 
their  sickle.  Lady  Morgan  presents  us  with  a  '*  Wild  Irish  Girl"  and 
<'  Florence  Macarthy."  Mrs.  Trollope  is  seen  in  the  plethora  of  ez- 
haustless  authorship,  surpassed  therein  only  by  Mrs.  Gore,  with  her 

Heaps  of  "  Polite  Conversation,"  so  true 
That  one  cannot  but  wish  the  three  volumes  were  two ; 
But  not  when  she  dwells  upon  daughters  or  mothers — 
Oh,  then  the  three  make  us  quite  long  for  three  others. 

And  who  will  not  be  ready  to  name  Mary  Russell  Mitford,  one  of  Eng- 
land's truest  aiUochthonait  and  Mrs.  S.  C.  Hall,  that  kindly  and  wise- 
hearted  limner  of  the  lights  and  shadows  of  Irish  life  ?  and  mra.  Bray,  of 
Tavistock,  the  accomplished  delineator  of  Devonshire  characters  and  cha- 
racteristics ?  and  Lady  Blessington,  whose  writings  often  beam,  like  her 
face  in  the  golden  age  of  Gore  House  (before  the  entrSe  of  Soyer  and  the 
Symposium),  with  *<  enjoyment,  and  judgment,  and  wit,  and  eood-na- 
ture  ?"  and  Mrs.  Marsh,  the  powerful  as  well  as  industrious  auworess  of 
many  an  impressive  fiction  ?  and  Currer  Bell,  one  of  the  few  who  have 
lately  excited  a  real  '^sensation?"  and  Mrs.  Crowe,  with  her  melo- 
dramatic points  and  supernatural  adjuncts,  some  of  which  make  even 
utilitarians  and  materialists  look  transcendental  for  the  nonce  ?  and  Mrs. 
Gaskill,  whose  "  mission"  u  as  benevolent  and  practical  as  her  manner  is 
dear  and  forcible  ?  The  catalogue  might  be  lengthened  out  with  many 
other  well-known  titles,  such  as  Landon,  Martineau,  Hoffland,  Pardoe, 
Bowles,  Pickering,  Norton,  Howitt^  Johnstone,  Ellis,  Kavanagh,  &c.,  &c. 
In  her  own  line  of  things,  Jane  Austen  is  surpassed,  perhaps  equalled, 
by  none  of  this  pleasant  and  numerous  family.  She  is  perfect  mistress  of 
aU  she  touches,  and  certainly  nil  tetigU  quod  non  omavii—if  not  with 
the  embellishmeuts  of  idealism  and  romance,  at  least  with  the  fresh 
strokes  of  nature.  She  fiEiscinates  you  with  common-place  people.  She 
e£Fectually  interests  you  in  the  "small-beer  chronicles"  of  every-day 
household  life.  She  secures  your  attention  to  a  group  of  '^  walking 
gentlemen,"  who  have  not  even  the 

Start  theatric  practised  at  the  glass 
to  attract  admiration,  and  of  unremaricable  ladies,  who,   shocking  as 
it  may  seem  to  seasoned  novel-readers,  are 

Not  too  bright  or  cood 
For  human  nature's  daily  food. 

You  have  actually  met  all  her  heroes  and  heroines  before — ^not  in  novels, 
but  in  most  unromantic  and  prosaic  circumstances ;  you  have  talked  with 
them,  and  never  seen  anything  in  them — anything,  at  least,  worthy  of 
three  volumes,  at  half-a-guinea  a  volume.  How  could  such  folks  find 
their  way  into  a  printed  l^k  ?  That  is  a  marvel,  a  paradox,  a  practical 
solecisQL  But  a  greater  marvel  remuns  behind,  and  that  is,  how  comes 
it  that  such  folks,  having  got  into  the  book,  make  it  so  interesting.' 


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Female  NoveUsls—No.  I.  19 

Take^  reader,  that  quiet,  unassuming  gentleman  with  whom  you  ex-, 
ciianged  afew  mercurial  trivialities  in  the  omnihus  this  morning,  touching 
the  weather  and  the  adjourned  debate;  take  that  elderly  burgess  who 
called  on  you  about  some  railway  shares,  and  left  you  without  having  said, 
(never  mind  whether  he  heard)  one  smart  thing  in  the  course  of  twenty 
minntee*  unbroken  conversation — at  which  absence  of  piquancy  and  Attic 
salt  neither  you  were  surprised  nor  he  a  whit  ashamed ;  take  that  semi- 
sieepy  clergyman,  whose  homily  you  listened  to  yesterday  morning  with 
such  phlegmatic  politeness,  and  who  (it  is  your  infallible  convictbn)  is 
guiltless  of  the  power  to  say  or  do  anything  clever,  original,  or  even  im- 
usaal ;  take  that  provincial  attorney,  who  bores  you  so  with  his  pedantries 
and  platitudes  whenever  you  are  vegetating  in  a  midland  county  with 
your  country  cousins;  take,  also^  tbit  well-intentioned,  loquacious  old 
mud  with  whom  you  walked  home  yesterday  from  morning  service,  and 
who  discoursed  so  glibly  and  so  illogically  about  an  infinity  of  very  finite 
tilings ;  and  take  those  good-natured,  unexceptionable  misses  with  whom 
and  their  mamma  you  drink  tea  this  evening,  without  any  fear  of  the  con- 
sequences:— ^take  these,  and  as  many  more  as  you  please  of  a  similar 
&brio — people  who  never  astonished  you,  never  electrified  you  with  reve- 
lations of  strange  experiences,  never  made  your  each  particular  hair 
to  stand  on  end  by  unfolding  a  tale  of  personal  mystery,  never  affected 
the  role  of  Wandering  Jews,  or  Sorrowing  Werters,  or  Justifiable  Homi- 
cides^ or  Mysterious  Strangers,  or  Black-veiled  Nuns;  take,  we  say, 
a  quantum  suffl  of  these  worthy  prosaists,  and  set  up  in  type  their  words 
and  actions  of  this  current  day,  and  you  have  a  fair  specimen  of  the  sort 
of  figures  and  scenes  pictured  on  iK&s  Austen's  canvas.     The  charm  is, 
that  they  are  so  exquisitely  real ;  they  are  transcripts  of  actual  life ;  their 
features,  gestures,  gossip,  sympathies,  antipathies,  virtues,  foibles,  are  all 
true,  unexaggeratc^,  uncoloured,  yet  singularly  entertaining.    We  do  not 
mean  that  we,  or  you,  reader,  or  even  that  professed  and  successful 
novelists  now  living,  could  produce  the  same  result  with  the  same  means^ 
or  elicit  from  the  given  terms  an  equivalent  remainder.     Herein,  on  the 
contrary,  lies  the  unique  power  of  Jane  Austen,  that  where  every  one  else 
is  nearly  sure  of  failing,  she  invariably  and  unequivocally   triumphs.. 
What,  in  other  hands,  would  be  a  flat,  insipid,  intolerable  piece  of  imper- 
tinent dulness,  becomes,  at  her  bidding,  a  sprightly,  versatile,  never- 
flagging  chapter  of  realities.     She  knows  how  far 'to  go  in  describing  a 
character,  and  where  to  stop,  never  allowing  that  character  to  soar  into 
romance  or  to  sink  into  mere  twaddle.     She  is  a  thorough  artist  in  the 
management  of  nature.     Her  sketches  from  nature  are  not  profusely 
huddled  together  in  crude  and  Ill-assorted  heaps — ^the  indiscriminate 
riches  of  a  crowded  portfolio,  into  which  genius  has  recklessly  tossed  its 
manifold  essays,  all  clever,  but  not  all  in  place ;  but  they  are  selected  and 
arranged  with  the  practised  skill  of  a  disciplined  judgment,  and  challenge 
the  scrutiny  of  tasteful  students  of  design. 

Miss  Austen  has  not  even  yet,  we  submit,  reaped  her  rightful  share  of 
public  homage.  Both  Sir  Walter  Scott  and  Archbishop  Whately— the 
one  in  1815,  the  other  in  1821 — saw  and  proclaimed  her  distinguished 
merits  in  the  pages  of  the  "  Quarterly  Review."  Sir  Walter  observeflf, 
that,  keeping  close  to  common  incidents,  and  to  such  characters  as  occupy 
tbe  ordinary  walks  of  life,  she  has  produced  sketches  of  such  spirit  and 


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20  Female  Nm)eKgi9—Na.  I. 

originality  that  we  never  miss  die  ezeitation  which  depends  upon  a  nam- 
lire  of  unoommon  events,  arising  from  ike  consSderatioa  ol  mind% 
mannen,  and  sentiments  greatly  above  our  own.     3ie  *'  confines  herself 
chiefly  to  the  middling  classes  of  society.     Her  most  distingnisfaed  cha- 
racters do  not  rise  greatly  above  well-bred  country  gentlemen  and  ladies; 
and  those  which  are  sketched  with  most  originality  and  precision  belong 
to  a  class  rather  bdow  that  standard.     The  narrative  of  all  her  novels  is 
composed  of  such  common  occurrences  as  may  have  fallen  under  the  ob-^ 
servation  of  most  fblk%  and  her  dramatis  pertomB  conduct  tfaemselvea 
upon  the  motives  and  princifJes  which  the  readers  may  recognise  aa 
ruling  their  own  and  that  of  mbst  of  their  acquaintances."    So  wrote  the 
unknown  novelist  who  had  just  given  to  t&e  worid  '*  Waverky"  and 
^  Guy  Mannering.'*     Eleven  years  of  personal  and  unparalleled  triumph, 
feund  Sir  Walter  confirmed  in  his  admiration  of  Jane  Austen ;  for,  in 
1826— that  is,  after  he  had  composed  *<  Rob  Roy,"  and  the  ^  Tales  of 
my  Landlord,"  and  ^  Ivanhoe,"  and  ^*  Quentin  Durward,"  and  while  he 
was  busy  at  **  Woodstock" — we  find  the  following  characteristic  entry  in 
his  diary,  or  ^  gumal,"  as  he  loved  to  style  it :  *'  Read  again,  and  for  the 
third  time  at  least.  Miss  Austen's  very  finely-written  novel  of  *■  Pride 
and  Prejudice.'    That  young  lady  had  a  talent  for  describing  the  involv- 
ments,  and  feelings,  and  characters  of  ordinary  life  which  is  to  me  tha 
most  wonderful  I  ever  met  with.     The  big  bow-wow  strain  I  can  do- 
myself,  like  any  now  going;  but  the  exquisite   touch  whi^  renders 
oitBnary  commonplace  things  and  characters  interesting,  from  the  truth 
of  the  description  and  the  sentiment^  is  denied  to  me.    What  a  pity  such 
a  gifted  creature  died  so  early !"    An  Edinburgh  Reviewer  justly  remarks^ 
that  ordinary  readers  have  been  apt  to  judge  of  her  as  Partridge  judged 
of  Grairick's  acting.     He  could  not  see  the  merit  of  a  man  behaving  on 
the  stage  as  anybody  might  be  expected  to  behave  under  similar  circum- 
stances in  real  life.     He  infinitely  preferred  the  ^*  robustious,  periwig- 
pated  fellow,"  who  flourished  his  arms  like  a  windmill,  and  ranted  vritb 
the  voice  of  three.     Even  thus  is  Miss  Austen  too  natural  f(Nr  superficial 
readers.    "  It  seems  to  them  as  if  there  can  be  very  little  merit  in  making 
characters  talk  and  act  so  exactly  like  the  people  whom  they  see  around 
tbem  every  day.     They  do  not  consider  that  the  highest  triumph  of  art 
consists  in  its  concealment ;  and  here  the  art  is  so  little  perceptible  that 
tikey  believe  there  is  none."   Meanwhile,  readers  of  more  refined  taste  and 
critical  acumen  feel  something  like  dissatisfaction  with  almost  every 
odier  domestic  novelist,  after  Siey  have  once  appreciated  Miss  Austen. 
After  her  unaffected  good-sense,  her  shrewd  insight,  her  felicitous  irony, 
and  the  finiitful  harvest  of  her  quiet  eye,  they  are  palled  by  the  laboured 
unrealities  of  her  competitors.     Certainly,  the  consummate  ease  with 
winch  this  gifted  lady  filled  up  her  designs  and  harmonised  her  colours  is 
of  a  kind  vouchsafed  unto  the  fewest,  and,  we  apprehend,  to  no  one  else 
in  an  equal  degree.     She  is  never  at  a  loss — ^never  has  occasion  for  the 
*'  big  bow-wow  style"  to  which  others  have  such  frequent  recourse 

To  point  their  moral  and  adorn  their  tale. 

She  walks  without  irons  to  keep  her  in  shape,  or  stilts  to  exalt  her. 
Her  diction  is  innocent  of  tesqwpediUia  verba;  her  manners  and  de* 
portment  were  leamt  under  no  Gallic  daneing^master.     If  she  ooeai- 


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TtmaU  NmmKsiw—No.  L  21 

maaXky  dnif  a  piem  of  d^^dutera^  be  afsnred  tint  it  isnopaste  jsweilerj^ 
SDd  tfanit  Biimii^iliam  was  not  its  birthpteee.  The  frtsh  dIoobi  upon  her 
cheek  comes  firom  fresh  lur  and  smnd  health,  not  from  the  lomge^pot  or 
tmj  eogmJbe  toatet.  Between  this  noTel-wntar  and  tie  conTentioBal 
aovei-wri^it^  what  a  golf  pEofeond !     Alike^  but  ob«  h^u  different ! 

Fault  hai  been  feund  witk  Miss  Aiuten,  and  with  considerable  idiow 
of  joaticey  on  aoooant  of  Ibe  prodigious  amount  of  loye»maktng  in  her 
tales.     Love  is  the  beginning,  midaley  and  end  of  each  and  alL     Page 
the  tet  and  pi^  the  last  are  ooci^pied  with  the  eoajngatioB  of  the  Terh' 
mm9.     Every  new  diapler  ia  like  a  new  tense^  every  yolume  a  mood,  of 
Aot  all*-aibamnng  ynb.     She  plunges  at  once  m  medUu  re*  (see,  for 
example,  the  first  sentence  ia  *'F^de  and  Prejudice"),  and  coofinea 
henelf  to  the  woridng  out  the  proposed  eqastion  with  vronderfiil  single- 
ness  of  purpose.     Now,  where  thia  topic  is  so  uniformly  and  protractedly 
debated — ^where  this  one  string  is  so  iaoessaatly  burped  on,  it  becomea  a 
question  whedier,  with  all  her  admirable  qualities  freely  recognised,  Mist 
Austen's  writings  are  of  that  healthy  type  which  is  calculated  to*  benefit 
^  worid.    We  may  well  admit,  with  one  of  the  authors  of  ^Guesses  at 
TVuth,''  that  ordinary  novda,  ^Hsich  string  a  number  of  incidents  and  a 
lirw  commonplace  pasteboard  characters  around  a  love-story,  teaching 
people  to  fancy  that  the  main  buuness  of  life  is  to  make  love,  and  to  l^ 
made  lo've  to^  and  that,  when  it  is  made,  all  is  over,  ara  little  or  nothing 
else  thaa  miachievous ;  mce  it  is  most  hurtful  to  be  wishing  to  act  a 
roBosmce  of  this  kind  in  real  life — ^most  hurtful  to  fancy  that  the  interest 
of  Kle  lies  in  its  pleasures  and  passiona,  not  in  its  duties.     But  then  Miaa 
Austen's  are  itof  ordinary  novels;  her's  are  not  pasteboard  charactera; 
and^  with  aU  her  devotion  to  the  task  of  delineatiBg  this  master-priacipley 
^le,  too,  teadies  that  it  is  910^  the  main  business  of  life — she,  too,  com- 
tenda  that  duty  is  before  pleasure  and  passion,  sense  before  sensibility. 
H  hmguiBbiog  demoiselles  appear  in  her  woiks,  whose  pantheism  is 
made  up  of  wedding-propbeiaes,  marriage-bells,  and  bride-cake,  it  is 
only  tint  they  may  be  roundly  ridiculed — ^tarred  and  feathered,  as  a 
warning  to  their  sisterhood — ^nailed  up  as  scarecrows,  witii  every  at- 
teadant  cireumstanee  of  derision.     Miss  Austen's  estimate  of  love  in  its 
trwe  form  ia  as  for  as  can  be  from  that  of  sickly  seudmentalism  or 
flighty  sdioolgirliafaness.     She  honours  it  only  when  invested  with  the 
dignity,  intensity,  and  equable  constancy  of  its  higher  manifestations— 
wliere  it  comprdienda  and  fulfils  its  wide  circle  of  duties,  and  is  as  self- 
denying  aa  it  ie  self-reapecting.     There  ia  a  righteous  intolerance  of  the 
■lawkiSi  trash  which  conatitutea  the  staple  of  so  many  love-tales ;  and 
one  cannot  but  admire  Horace  Walpole,  for  once,  when  he  stops  impa^- 
tiant}^  at  the  fourth  volume  of  ^  Sir  Charies  Graatfiaon,"  and  confessaa  r 
*I  am  M  tired  of  sets  of  people  getting  together,  and  saying,  ^Pray, 
aaoBS,  with  whom  are  you  in  love,'  &c,  &c."     And  we  grant  that  Mus 
Austen  is  a  little  too  prodigal  of  scenes  of  love-making  and  prepara- 
tiona  for  match-making ;  but  let  us  at  the  same  time  insist  upon  the 
aaarked  difference  between  her  descriptions  and  those  of  the  common 
ktrd  ef  novelists,  with  whom  she  is  unjustly  confounded ;  the  fiKt  being, 
that  her  most  caustic  passages,  and  the  hmest  hits  and  keenest  thrusts 
of  her  satire,  are  directed  against  them  and  their  miss-in-her-teens* 


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22  Female  Novelists —  No.  I. 

extrayaganzas.  Mr.  Thackeray  himself  is  not  more  sarcastic  against 
snobbism,  than  is  Miss  Austen  against  whatever  is  affected  or  perverted, 
or  merely  sentimental,  in  the  province  of  love. 

Plot  she  has  little  or  none.  If  you  only  enjoy  a  labyrinthine  nexus 
of  events,  an  imbroglio  of  accidents,  an  atmosphere  of  mystery,  you  will 
probably  toss  aside  her  volumes  as  '^desperately  slow.  Yet,  in  ihe 
careful,  artist-like  management  of  her  story,  in  the  skilful  evolution  of 
its  processes,  in  the  tactics  of  a  gradually-wrou^ht  denouements  in  the 
truthful  and  natural  adaptation  of  means  to  ends,  she  is  almost,  if  not 
quite,  unrivalled.  Nothmg  can  be  more  judicious  than  her  use  of  sug« 
gestions  and  intimations  of  what  is  to  follow.  And  all  is  conducted  with 
a  quiet  grace  that  is,  or  seems  to  be,  inimitable. 

Writing,  as  she  invariably  does,  *'  with  a  purpose,"  she  yet  avoids  with 
peculiar  success  the  manner  of  a  sententious  teacher,  which  very  fre- 
quently rufiQes  and  disgusts  those  who  are  to  be  taught.  She  spares  us 
the  infliction  of  sage  aphorisms  and  doctrinal  appeals ;  compassing  her 
end  by  the  simple  narration  of  her  stories,  and  the  natural  intercourse  of 
her  characters.  The  variety  of  those  clumicters  is  another  remarkable 
point.  But  we  become  intmiate  with,  and  interested  in,  them  all.  It 
has  been  said  that  the  effect  of  readmg  Richardson's  novels  is,  to  acquire 
a  vast  accession  of  near  relations.  The  same  holds  good  of  Miss  Austen's. 
In  the  earliest  of  her  works,  "Northanger  Abbey" — which,  however,  did 
not  appear  until  af^r  her  death,  in  1817* — ^we  have  a  capital  illustration 
of  a  girl  who  designs  to  be  very  romantic,  and  to  find  a  Castle  of  Udolpho 
in  every  possible  locality,  but  whose  natural  good-sense  and  excellent 
heart  work  a  speedy  and  radical  cure.  "  Another  lifelike  figure  is  that  of 
General  Tilney,  so  painfully  polite,  so  distressingly  punctilious,  so  un- 
civilly attentive,  so  despotically  selfish ;  and  then  there  are  the  motley 
visitors  at  Bath,  all  hit  off  d  merveiile,  especially  the  Thorpe  family. 
'*  Persuasion,"*  also  published  after  the  writer's  decease,  teems  with  indi- 
viduality: Sir  Walter  Elliott,  whose  one  book  is  the  '<  Baronetage," 
where  he  finds  occupation  for  his  idle  hours,  and  consolation  in  his  dis- 
tressed ones ;  Mrs.  Clay,  clever,  manceuvring,  and  unprincipled ;  Captain 
Wentworth,  so  intelligent,  spirited,  and  generously  high-minded  ;  Anne 
Elliott,  the  self-sacrificing  and  noble-hearted  victim  of  undue  persuasion  ; 
her  sister  Mary,  so  prone  to  add  to  every  other  trouble  that  of  fancy- 
ing herself  neglected  and  ill-used;  Admiral  and  Mrs.  Croft,  a  naval 
couple  of  the  ''  first  water,*'  so  frank,  hearty,  and  constitutionally  good- 
natured.  Then  agam,  in  '< Mansfield  Park,"  what  a  bewitching  "little 
body"  is  Fanny  Price^what  finish  in  the  portraits  of  Crawford  and  his 
sister — ^what  Dutch-school  accuracy  of  detail  in  the  home-pictures  at 
Portsmouth,  and  what  fine  truth  in  the  moral  of  the  tale!  In  "  Pride 
and  IVejudice"  we  are  introduced  to  five  sisters,  each  possessing  a  marked 
idiosyncrasy :  Jane,  tender,  confiding,  and  mildly  contemplative ;  Lizzy, 

*  Miss  Austen  was  bom  the  same  year  aa  Charles  Lamb  (1775)— the  daughter 
of  a  Hampshire  rector.  She  resided  chiefly  at  Southampton  and  the  viUa^  of 
Chawton,  where  her  tales  were  written.  In  the  spring  of  1817  she  removed  to 
Winchester,  for  the  benefit  of  medical  aid,  and  cUed  there  in  the  July  of  that 
year.    In  person,  as  well  as  mind,  she  was  an  object  of  real  admiration. 


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Female  NovdisU—Nl.  L  23 

acute,  impulsiTey  enthusiastic,  and  stiong^minded ;  Maiy,  who,  being  the 
only  plain  one  in  the  family,  has  worked  hard  for  knowledge  and  accom- 
plisnments,  and  is  always  impatient  for  display ;  and  the  two  youngest, 
Lydia  and  Kitty,  who  are  mad  after  red  coats  and  balls,  both  vrngar 
hoydens,  the  one  leading  and  the  other  led,  actire  and  passive  voices  of 
the  same  inwular  verb.  Their  mother,  Mrs.  Bennett,  is  done  to  the 
iife — a  sort  of  Mrs.  Nickleby,  without  the  caricature.  Mr.  Collins,  the 
TOim,  soft-headed,  tuft-hunting  clergyman  (by  the  way,  excepting  Edmund 
Bertram,  what  a  goodly  fellowship  Miss  Austen's  clergymen  are !) ;  Lady 
de  Bourgh,  his  insolent,  coarse-mannered  patroness;  Mr.  Dwcy,  the 
heart-sound  representative  of  pride  and  prejudice ;  die  Bmgley  sisters, 
shallow,  purse-proud,  intriguing;  Wickham,  the  artful,  double-fiioed 
adventurer — ^profligate,  impudent^  and  perennially  smiling;  and  Mr. 
Bennett  himseli^  that  strange  compound  of  the  amiable  and  disagreeable^ 
with  that  supreme  talent  of  his  for  ironical  humour :  all  these  are  modeb 
of  drawing.  In  '<  Sense  and  Sensibility"  there  are  exact  representatives 
of  vulgar  good-temper  and  vulgar  selfishness,  in  Mrs.  Jennings  and  Lucy 
Steele  respectively ;  and  of  ^ood  sense  and  sensitiveness,  in  the  sisters 
Elinor  and  Marianne.  But  if  we  must  give  the  precedence  to  any  one 
of  Miss  Austen's  novels,  we  incline  to  name  *'  Emma,"  notwithstanding  a 
little  inconsistency  in  the  character  of  the  delightful  heroine.  The 
people  we  there  consort  with,  please  us  mightily.  It  were  hard  to  excel 
the  humour  with  which  Miss  Bates  is  portrayed — ^that  irresistible  spinster, 
and  eternal  but  most  inoffensive  gossip;  or  nervous,  invalid,  coddling 
Mr.  Woodhouse ;  or  that  intolerably  silly  piece  of  egotism,  Mr.  Elton ; 
and  equally  rare  are  the  observation  and  delicacy  employed  in  charac- 
terising Jane  Fair&x  and  Mr.  Knightiey.  The  tale  abounds  in  high 
Seeling,  sterling  wisdom,  and  exquisite  touches  of  art 

If  this  paper  has  something  of  the  rechauffe  odour  of  a  ''  retrospective" 
review,  it  is  written  not  without  a  ''prospective"  purpose;  the  writer 
being  persuaded  that  Jane  Austen  neeos  but  to  be  more  widely  known, 
to  be  more  justiy  appreciated,  and  accordingly  using  this  opportunity 
"by  way  of  remembrance."    If  the  Wizard  of  the  North  felt  ner 

Weave  a  circle  round  him  ihrice^ 
and  acknowledged  at  the  ''third  reading"  a  yet  more  potent  spell  than 
at  the  first,  surely,  to  know  that  so  many  living  novel  readers  by  whole- 
sale are  uninitiated  in  her  doctrine,  is  a  thing  to  be  classed  under  Pepys's 
&vourite  comment — "  which  did  vex  me." 


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(    24    ) 


THE  GOLDEN  LEGEND. 

It  is  80  loiMg  sinoe  w«  sat^  with  ^  dwrmed  eyes,"  guagr  ^>P^>>  ^^ 
lAwdc-Iettered  pages  of  the  '<  Legenda  Aurea,"  tbe  worik  of  Jacobus  de 
Vorogine,  and  *'  onpr jnted  by  Wittyam  Caxton,"  H  we  xemenber  rigbtir, 
ia  1483 — ^ikat  we  have  entirely  foxgeiten  whether,  amongst  the  marref- 
loos  tales  collected  wkh  so  much  faith  by  the  learned  Dominieaii,  the 
specific  legend  is  to  be  found  which  forms  the  groondwork  of  FWifessor 
LonefS^ow's  new  and  most  acceptable  poem.* 

This,  however,  is  certain,  that  none  of  the  mirades  recorded  by  Vora- 
gine— and  belicTed,  as  is  most  likely,  by  Dr.  Newmaar—eontaia  any- 
thing half  so  tondihig,  or  so  fbM  of  strong  human  interest,  as  that  winch 
tails  o£  the  self-imposed  sacrifice  of  Elsie,  the  heroine  of  the  '*  Goldeiif 
Legend,"  of  ^duch  we  have  now  to  speak. 

True  to  its  legendaiy  purpose,  Profesaor  Longfeiiow's  poem  is  cast  in 
the  antique  mould,  which  best  befits  the  subject;  and  the  spirit  in  whidh 
it  is  written  carries  us  back  at  onoe  to  the  depths  of  die  Middle  Agee^ 
eareloping  us  in  the  ck>uds  of  tiat  supersdtnus  time,  and  breathing  ov«r 
oar  minds  the  spdl  of  a  mysterious  influence  from  which,  while  we  read^ 
we  make  no  eflbrt  to  escape.  But,  minglittg  with  the  tone  of  superstitioar 
which  i^tly  pervades  the  Legend,  runs  a  current  o£  the  deepest  feriine' 
and  purest  thoagbt,  its  snrftice  rippled  here  and  there  by  a  qsaiat  aail 
satirical  humour,  whidi  reminds  us  throoghowt  that  the  human  heart, 
with  all  its  doubts,  its  fengmgs,  and  its  sufferings,  has  still  been  ^  poet'a 
theme. 

The  key-aoto  of  the  poem  is  strudc  in  the  *^  iVologue,''  where,  amidbt 
night  and  storm,  Lucirer  and  the  powers  of  the  a»  are  wheeling  ronod 
the  lofty  spire  of  the  then  lately-erected  cathedral  of  Strasburg,  and  vainly 
endeavounng  to  drag  from  its  height  the  iTmbol^  of  the  Christian  fsntk 
which  towers  at  its  summit.  A.  wild  chorus  breaks  at  intervals  throo^ 
ike  din  of  the  elements  and  tiie  chiming  of  the  bells :  the  arch-fiend  ever 
urges  his  ministers  to  destroy  the  sacred  edifice  piecemeal ;  the  evil  spirits 
deplore  their  powerlessness  to  do  it  harm — every  part  of  the  building  beiog 
blest  and  divinely  protected ;.  and  at  each  lament  the  bells  peal  forth,  in. 
monkish  Latin  thyme,  the  solemn  purposes  for  which  they  were  raised.  Tha 
powers  of  darkness  are  finally  baffled ;  the  labour  of  destruction  is  left  to 
Time,  the  great  Destroyer,  and  Lucifer  and  his  angels  sweep  away  to 
work  mischief  elsewhere,  while  from  within  the  cath^nd  issue  the  deep 
notes  of  the  organ  and  the  Gregorian  chant, 

Noctes  surgentes 
Vigilemiis  omnes ! 

Which  tells  of  the  ever-watehful  service  of  the  sons  of  the  Church. 

The  poem  opens,  after  this  tumultuous  preparation,  in  the  sick  room 
of  Prince  Henry  of  Hoheneck,  in  his  castle  of  Vautsberg,  on  the  Rhine. 
He  is  sitting  alone,  at  midnight,  ill  and  restless,  the  victim  of  a  disease 
incurable  by  mortal  skill,  and  bewails,  in  a  strain  of  exquisite  sweetness, 
the  loss  of  the  irrecoverable  Past,  but  with  no  yearning  for  the  Future, 

•  The  Golden  Legend.  By  Henry  Wordsworth  Longfellow.  London  :  David 
Bogue,  ileet-Btreet.    1851. 


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The  Golden  Ltffemd.  25 


flB¥e  in  tile  IbigcifiiliieBS  of  eternal  ml  lin^e  in  ibtt  fimM  o£  nnnd,  a 
Tintar  mddenly  enters  Ym  efaanber — Ibe  same  wlio  eame  to  Faust  in  has 
study,  and  to  Cj^rian  in  the  gardens  of  Antioch — and  with  the  same 
dfcjeet — trial  and  temptation.  Lucifer  enters  in  the  garb  of  a  travelling 
phiracian,  and,  when  recovered  from  the  effect  of  his  sadden  salutation, 
Ptanoe  Henry  asks  his  noctomal  visitor  when  he  came  in.     Lucifer  replies: 

A  moment  since. 
I  fonnd  yoar  study-door  unlocked. 
And  thought  you  answered  when  I  knocked. 

Prince  Henbt. 
I  did  not  hear  you. 

Lucifer. 
You  heard  the  thunder ; 
It  was  loud  enough  to  waken  the  dead. 
And  it  is  not  a  matter  of  special  wonder 
That*  when  God  is  walking  over  head. 
You  should  not  bear  my  feeble  tread. 

Prince  Henrt. 
What  may  your  wish  or  purpose  be  ? 

Lucifer. 
Nothing  or  everything,  as  it  pleases 
Your  highness.    You  behold  in  me 
Only  a  travelling  physician — 
One  of  the  few  who  have  a  mission 
To  cure  incurable  diseases, 
Or  tliose  that  are  called  so. 

Prince  Henry. 
Can  yon  bring 
The  dead  to  life? 

Lucifer. 
Yes— very  nearly ; 
And»  what  is  a  wiser  and  better  thing, 
Can  keep  the  living  from  ever  needing 
Such  an  unnatural,  strange  proceeding. 
By  showing,  conclusively  and  clearly. 
That  death  is  a  stupid  blunder  merely, 
And  not  a  necessity  of  our  lives. 

Lucifer  adds,  that  his  presence  at  Vautsberg  was  accidental,  and  that, 
having  heard  of  the  prince's  illness,  he  had  hastened  to  proffer  his  aid. 
He  asks  the  nature  of  his  nudady ;  Prince  Henry  replies : 

It  has  no  name. 
A  smouldering,  dull,  perpetual  flame, 
As  in  a  kiln,  bums  in  my  veins, 
Sending  up  vapours  to  the  head ;  % 

My  heart  has  become  a  dull  lagoon. 
Which  a  kind  of  leprosy  drinks  and  drains. 
I  am  accounted  as  one  who  is  dead. 
And,  indeed,  I  think  I  shall  be  soon. 

Lucifer  inquires  if  the  prince  has  found  no  remedy  in  the  booKs  or  ad- 
-vice  of  the  doctors,  but  is  told  that  the  disease  is  quite  beyond  their  science, 
and  that  even  the  physicians  of  Salem  (Salerno)  send  him  word  that 
there  is  only  one  cure,  and  that  in  its  nature  is  imjpossible.  At  Lucifer  s 
;  to  know  what  ihia  remedy  can  be^  the  prmee  reads  from,  a  aoroU 


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26  The  Oolden  Legend: 

the  prescription  thej  have  sent.  It  says,  that  the  only  cure  is  the  blood 
that  flows  from  a  maiden's  veins,  who  of  her  own  free  will  shall  give  her 
life  as  the  price  of  his.  Lucifer  half  agrees  with  the  prince  that  soch  a 
remedy  is  undisooverable,  though  he  has  his  doubts  also  whether  this  kind 
of  maoness  may  not  enter  into  some  maiden's  brain ;  but  in  the  mean  time 
he  advises — ^aner  the  fashion  of  all  quacks — a  trial  of  his  own  '^  wonder- 
ful Catholicon,"  revealing,  in  the  course  of  his  oration,  that  he  is  an  adept 
in  the  Great  Mystery,  and  possesses  "  the  Elixir  of  Perpetual  Youth ;"  he 
does  more— -he  produces  '*  the  Water  of  Life,"  and  tempts  the  prince  to 
taste  it.  In  spite  of  the  warning  voice  of  his  guardian  angel,  the  impa- 
tience of  disease  and  the  persuasions  of  the  Demon  prevail,  and  he 
drinks  from  the  flask — the  Evil  One  disappearing  when  the  purpose  of 
his  errand  is  accomplished.  For  the  moment  the  draught  fires  his  veins, 
renews  all  the  feelings  of  his  youth,  and  fills  him  with  the  delusion  of 
having  conquered  both  death  and  disease  ;  and  again  he  drinks,  exulting 
in  the  visions  which  throng  to  his  bndn ;  while  the  guardian  still  pre- 
dicts the  vanishing  of  the  golden  dream  and  the  sad  return  of  pain  and 
bitter  contrition. 

The  scene  changes  to  the  courtyard  of  the  castle,  where  the  old  Senes- 
chal Hubert  stands  regretting  the  meny  days  when  his  lord  was  in 
health,  and  contrasting  with  them  the  dreamy  silence  and  desolation  that 
now  reign  over  the  towers  of  Vautsberg.  He  is  interrupted  by  the  ap- 
proach of  Walter  of  the  Vogelveid,  the  great  Minnesinger,  whose  fame 
was  so  widely  bruited  at  all  the  courts  of  Germany  in  die  eariy  part  of 
the  thirteenm  century.  Walter  has  come  to  visit  Prince  Henry,  and 
finds,  to  his  astonishment,  the  castle  deserted  of  all  who  once  dwelt  there, 
save  Hubert  only.  He  fears  to  hear  of  his  friend  s  death,  when  Hubert 
tells  him  of  the  mysterious  malady  by  which  he  has  been  affected,  and 
describes  the  manner  in  which  he  was  wont  to  pass  his  days  in  dreamy 
meditation,  till  one  morning  when  he  vras  found  in  his  study,  stretched 
on  the  floor  in  a  swoon,  and  so  changed  in  his  looks  that  he  could  scarcely 
be  recognised.  '^  He  might  have  mended,"  added  Hubert,  '*  but  the 
priests  came  flocking  in,"  and  their  intuitive  skill  in  tracing  effects  to  their 
cause  soon  discovered  that  the  devil  had  been  busy  with  the  prince, 
whom  they  straightway  proceeded  to  exorcise,  anathematise,  and  condemn 
to  penance  after  the  most  approved  fashion  of  the  Middle  Ages. 

in  Saint  Rochus 

They  made  him  stand  and  await  his  doom ; 
And,  as  if  he  were  condemned  to  the  tomb, 
Began  to  mutter  their  hocus-pocus. 
First,  the  Mass  of  the  Dead  they  chaunted ; 
Then  three  times  laid  upon  his  head 


A  shovelfuU  of  churchyard  clav, 
Saying  to  him,  as  he  stood  undauntc 
"  This  is  a  sign  that  thou  art  dead, 


So  in  thy  heart  be  penitent!* 
And  forth  from  the  chapel-door  he  went 
Into  his  grave  and  banishment, 
Clothed  in  a  cloak  of  hodden  grey. 
And  bearing  a  wallet,  and  a  bell. 
Whose  sound  should  be  a  perpetual  knell 
To  keep  all  travellers  away. 

And  besides  this  condemnation  to  the  condition  of  the  Leper  and  ihe 


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The  Golden  Legend.  27 

Cagot — ^who,  Heaven-smitteD,  vere  thus  hmnanlj  (inhumanly)  branded, 
as  we  know  but  too  well — the  priests  added  to  their  comnunation  the 
doom  which  follows  when  the  last  of  a  princely  house  has  passed  away— 
the  burial  in  one  common  wreck  of  the  broken  helmet,  sword,  and  shield 
of  the  anathematised  prince,  the  herald  proclaiming,  with  a  trumpet-blast, 
'^  Woe  to  the  house  of  Hoheneck!"  Hubert  adds,  however,  that,  notwith- 
standing the  denunciation  of  the  Church,  a  peasant  family  of  liie  Oden- 
wald,  yassals  of  Prince  Henry,  haye  sheltered  him  beneath  their  humble 
roof,  ^'  for  the  love  of  him  and  Jesus'  sake !" 

We  are  following  the  story,  else  we  would  pause  to  quote  the  beautiful 
apostrophe  of  the  Minnesin^r  to  the  decline  of  day  in  the  beauUful  val- 
ley of  Vautsberg,  after  hearing  the  sad  story  of  his  friend's  misfortunes ; 
but  we  must  continue  as  we  began. 

At  the  farm  in  the  Odenwald,  we  fbd  Prince  Henry  reading  the 
legend  of  the  Monk  FeHx,  who  passed  a  hundred  years  rapt  in  a  delight- 
ful vision  of  Paradise,  which  appeared  to  him  only  a  single  hour ;  and, 
while  the  prince  is  engaged  with  the  volume,  Elsie,  the  eldest  daughter 
of  the  peasants  Gottlieb  and  Ursula,  brings  him  flowers,  and,  in  the  in- 
nocence of  her  heart;  tells  him  the  story  of  Christ  and  the  sultan's  daugh- 
ter— how  the  maiden  gave  her  heart  to  the  unseen  "Master  of  the 
Flowers," — how  the  Celeslial  Bridegroom  came  to  claim  her,  and  how 
she  followed  him  to  his  Father's  Garden.  Questioned  as  to  her  faith, 
Elsie  says  that  she  would  gladly  have  done  the  same,  prefiguring  the 
purpose  that  even  then  was  stimng  in  her  bosom. 

A  little  later,  when  she  hears  from  Gottlieb's  lips  the  tale  of  the  prince's 
malack',  and  the  unhoped-for  chance  of  cure,  that  purpose  b  fiilly  avowed, 
and  she  declares  her  readiness  to  give  her  life  for  nis — a  resolution  at 
which  her  parents,  at  first,  chide  as  at  a  thing  of  nought.  Elsie  prays  to 
her  Redeemer  for  counsel  and  encouragement,  and,  at  midnight,  comes 
sobbing  to  the  bedside  of  Gottlieb  and  Ursula,  and  announces  her  inten- 
tion of  making  die  sacrifice  she  spoke  of.  In  vain  her  father  and  mother 
endeavour  to  dissuade  her  from  ner  resolve,  and  they  yield,  at  last,  con- 
vinced that  she  speaks  as  if  from  the  inspiration  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  and 
that  her  purposed  self-devotion  is  holy  and  not  to  be  gainsaid. 

We  are  next  shown  the  confessional  of  the  village  church,  where  the 
parish  priest  is  waiting  to  receive  the  confession  of  Prince  Henry.  His 
struggles  for  grace,  and  the  sense  of  his  own  inefficiency,  are  the  theme 
of  ms  musings,  and  very  earnestly  they  are  told  in  this  verse;  at 
length  the  remembrance  that,  he  has  other  duties  to  perform — ^to  visit 
the  sick  and  disconsolate— makes  him  leave  the  church,  and  Lucifer 
agun  appears,  this  time  disguised  as  a  priest^  once  more  to  delude  the 
princely  penitent.  While  he  remains  alone,  Lucifer  indulges  in  a  strain 
of  gibing  and  mockery,  replete  with  the  Mephistophelian  spirit ;  then, 
seating  himself  in  the  confessional,  he  bitterly  inveighs  against  human 
vice,  and,  satisfied  with  his  diatribe,  teUs  that  his  motive  in  coming  there 
was  to  foster  and  ripen  the  evil  thought  of  accepting  the  sacrifice  of 
Elsie's  life,  which  had  already  begun  to  germ  in  the  heart  of  Prince 
Henry.  The  prince  enters  and  reverently  kneels  before  the  judge-con- 
fessor, acknowledging  the  weakness  of  his  soul.     "  I  come,"  he  says, 

**  I  come  again  to  the  bouse  of  prayer, 
A  man  afflicted  and  distressed ! 


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28  The  GaUeti  Legend. 

As  in  a  clou<ljr  atmosphere, 
Tbroudi  unseen  sluices  of  the  air, 
A  sudden  and  impetuous  wind 
Strikes  the  great  forest  white  with  fear, 
And  eveiy  branch,  and  bough,  and  spiaj^ 
Points  all  its  qnivering  leaves  one  way. 
And  meadows  of  grass,  and  fields  of  grain, 
And  the  clouds  above,  and  the  slantiog 
And  smoke  from  chimneys  of  the  town, 
Yield  themselves  to  it,  and  bow  down ; 
So  does  this  dreadful  purpose  press 
Onward,  with  irresistible  stress. 
And  all  my  thoughts  and  faculties. 
Struck  level  by  the  strength  of  this. 
From  their  true  inclination  turn. 
And  aU  stream  forward  to  Salem." 

Lucifer  consoles  his  penitent,  and  tells  him  that  the  mandate  of  tiie 
Decalogue,  ^*  Thou  shalt  not  kill!"  is  susceptible  of  a  mild  and  general  ap- 
plicaiion ;  that  in  such  a  case  as  his — where  the  extinction  of  a  noble  name 
IS  menaced — where  a  peasant's  blood  is  all  tbe  sacrifice — and  more  of  iStie 
like  sophistical  argument— the  course  the  prince  meditates  is  rigbt  and 
justifiable ;  and,  convincing  him  by  these  means,  bestows  on  bhn  the  DeyiTs 
absolution  and  benediction;  though  again  the  warning  voice  of  the 
Guardian  Angel  is  heard  to  deter  Uie  prince  from  accepting  ihe  self-im- 
molation of  Elsie.  In  vain,  for  the  offer  is  once  more  made,  is  now  freely 
accepted,  and  together  Prince  Henry  and  the  devoted  g^l  set  forward  for 
Salerno. 

Their  first  halt  is  at  Strasburg,  where  the  prince  wanders  tinrough  the 
streets,  tortured  by  remorse,  and  bears  the  Crier  of  the  Dead  calling  on 
all  who  wake  to  pray  for  those  who  are  no  more.  "  Why  for  the  dead" 
— thus  he  exclaims, 

**  Why  for  tbe  dead,  who  are  at  rest  ? 
Pray  for  the  living,  in  whose  breast 
The  struggle  between  right  and  wrong 
Is  raging  terrible  and  strong." 

And  then  be  pours  forth  his  soul  in  an  aspiration  for  bis  n:iaid6n  com- 
panion, at  whose  gate  he  now  stands  sentioel.  In  this  place,  in  the  square 
m  front  of  ihe  cathedral — ^where,  a  few  months  ago,  we  ourselves  stood 
gazing  on  '^  the  mysterious  grove  of  stone,"  with  the  same  scene  before 
our  eyes — the  prince  encounters  Walter  the  Minnesinger,  bound  for  the 
Holy  Land.  The  greeting  is  a  painful  one :  the  prince  speaks  of  his  own 
pilgrimaee  to  Salerno,  and  mourns  over  the  contrast  between  his  fate  and 
diat  of  the  high-hearted  noble  Minnesinger,  who,  in  the  plenitude  of  his 
worldly  froie,  ao  fi«ely  gives  up  all  unto  tihe  Lord.  They  part  as  they 
met,  and  we  next  see  ESsie  and  Prince  Henry  again  together.  It  is 
Easter  Smiday,  and  they  are  listening  in  the  open  air — atiU  before  Straa- 
buig  Cathedral — ^to  a  sermon  preached  by  Father  Cuthbert  to  a  great 
asamoblage  of  people.  The  friar's  text  is  the  Resurrectian,  and  the  ser- 
mon itself  and  the  manner  of  it  afibrd  an  admirable  illustration  of  the 
way  in  vriuch  matters  sacred  and  profime  were  bl^ided  by  the  itinerant 
preachers  of  the  Middle  Ages.  We  cannot  resist  giving  a  specimen  of 
hiB  style. 


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The  Golden  Legend.  29 

Fjuab  Cvthbebt  (geiiiaikaing  mmd  crooking  a  poUnum's  whip}. 

What  ho  1  gOKMi  people  t  do  you  not  hear  ? 

Dashing  along  at  the  top  of  nis  speed, 

Booted  and  spurred,  on  his  jaded  steed, 

A  courier  comes  with  words  of  cheer. 

Courier!  what  is  the  news,  I  praj? 

••  Christ  is  arisen  f*  Whence  oonie  jrou  ?  *«  From  Court.* 

Then  i  do  not  believe  it,  yoa  saj  h  in  sport. 

(CnKkt  kit  §Mp  agdtiJ) 

Ah  I  here  comes  another,  riding  this  way ; 

We  soon  shall  know  what  he  lus  to  say. 

Courier!  what  are  the  tidings  to-day? 

•*  Christ  IS  arisen !"  Whence  come  you  ?  •*  From  town.* 

Then  I  do  not  beliere  it ;  away  with  you,  clown. 

(Cfrmckt  Um  whip  more  molentfy,) 

And  here  comes  a  third,  who  is  spurring  amaia. 

What  news  do  you  brmg  with  your  loose-hanging  rein. 

Your  spurs  wet  with  blood,  and  your  bridle  with  foam  ? 

"  Christ  is  arisen  I"  Whence  come  ^ou  ?  "  From  Borne.*' 

Ah  1  now  I  believe.    He  is  risen,  indeed. 

Ride  on  with  the  news,  at  the  top  of  your  speed. 

{Oreat  applause  among  the  crowd,) 
The  Miracle-Play  of  the  Natinty,  whidi  follows,  is  also  written  with 
infinite  skill,  and,  while  divested  of  the  groseikreies  which  deformed  the 
o^ginal  Mysteries,  gives  as  perfect  a  picture  of  the  treatment  of  these 
nngolar  dramas  as  it  is  possible  to  present. 

We  have  first  the  contest  between  Mercy  and  Justice — Mercy  plead- 
ing fbr  Grod's  forgiveness  of  the  sins  of  mankind,  and  Justice  urging  the 
fulfilment  of  the  stem  decree  denouncing  death  for  the  original  sin. 
The  Deity  declares  that  man  may  yet  be  saved,  if  one  free  from  sin  can 
be  found,  who  for  his  sake  will  suffer  martyrdom,  and  the  Four  Virtues 
acknowledge  their  secret  to  have  been  vain.  The  Son  is  then  sent — and, 
at  this  point  of  the  drama,  ''  the  jaws  of  Hell  open  belawj  and  the  Devils 
walk  about,  making  a  great  noise"  Then  comes  **  Mary  at  the  Well»" 
and  the  Salutation  of  die  Angel  Gabriel — a  beautiful  scene,  simply  and 
sweetly  described,  at  the  close  of  which  the  stage  direction  is :  **  Here 
the  Devils  shall  again  make  a  great  noise  under  the  stage.''  Then  enter 
the  angels  of  the  Seven  Planets,  bearing  the  Star  of  Bethlehem,  each 
bringing  a  separate  gift  to  the  unborn  child.  After  this  follows  '^  The 
Stable  of  the  Inn,"  where  the  three  "  Gypsy  Kings,**  Caspar,  Melchior, 
and  Belshazzar,  present  their  ofFeringi^  and  the  Virgin  gives  them  the 
swaddling  clothes  in  return.  The  next  scene  is  ''  T£e  Flight  into 
Egypt,*'  where  two  of  a  band  of  robbers,  who  are  seen  sleeping,  come  for- 
ward to  despoil  the  fugitives — but  one  of  them,  the  aftenwds  *'  penitent 
thief,"  relents,  and  Jesus  prophesies  their  fate  at  the  end  of  thirty  years. 
King  Herod  himself  introduces  '^  The  Slaughter  of  the  Innocents,'^  with 
wondering  German  oaths  of  **  Potz-taisendl'*  sad  "  Himmel-sacramentl" 
at  the  unwelcome  news  of  the  birtii  of  Christ,  and  simulates  his  own  sub- 
sequent death,  when  he  ** falls  down  as  though  eaten  by  worms/*  and  Satan 
and  Ashtaroth  come  forth  and  dra?  him  down  to  HeU  In  the  next 
scene,  when  Jesus  is  at  play  with  his  schoolmates^  the  poet  has  avuled 
himself  of  the  Mohammedan  story  which  describes  how  Jesus  and  his 
playmates  make  sparrows  oat  of  duiy,  which  Ae  child-god  animates :  the 


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30  Tht  Golden  Legend, 

tradition  is  to  be  found  in  the  notes  to  the  Koran,  and  the  story  is  told  to 
illustrate  the  incipient  wickedness  of  Judas,  whose  jealousy  is  excited  by 
his  own  fiulure  to  imitate  the  power  of  Jesus.  '*  The  Village  School, 
where  the  Rabbinical  teacher  praises  Judas  for  his  TaJmudic  lore,  and 
swears  by  St.  Peter  at  Jesus  for  inquiring  after  truth,  is  another  excellent 
scene.  The  last  of  the  scenes  is  '*  Crowning  with  Flowers,"  where  the 
children  do  homage  to  Christy  who  performs  a  miracle  on  a  boy  bitten  by 
a  serpent,  and  with  this  the  Mystery  ends.  As  we  have  already  said,  it 
is  admirably  done  throughout. 

After  this  the  pilgrimage  moves  on.  First  on  the  road  to  Hirschau,  a 
pretty  scene,  described  in  hexameters — that  form  of  verse  which  Professor 
Longfellow's  melody  and  skill  almost  reconcile  us  to.  Then,  in  the  Con- 
vent in  the  Black  Forest,  where  severally  are  set  forth  the  attractions  of 
the  Cellar  and  the  Refectory,  and  the  occupations  in  the  Scriptorium,  in 
which  latter  place  we  have  a  word  of  critical  comment  to  make.  The 
period  of  the  poem  is — as  we  have  seen  by  the  introduction  of  Walter  of 
the  Vogelweid — the  first  part  of  the  thirteenth  century ;  but  in  making 
the  Illuminator^  Father  Patricius,  praise  his  own  work — 

There,  now,  is  an  initial  letter  I 

King  Ren6  himself  never  made  a  better — 

the  poet  forgets  that  Rene  of  Anjou,  who  acquired  such  deserved  cele- 
brity by  his  skill  in  illuminations,  did  not  flourish  until  full  two  hundred 
years  afterwards.  This  anachronism,  however,  might  be  easily  avoided. 
We  are  not  quite  so  sure  about  another  point — the  existence  of  the  paint- 
ings, at  the  period  referred  to,  inside  the  covered  bridge  at  Lucerne.  The 
"  Danse  Macabra,"  which  is  the  subject  represented  there,  as  well  as  in  so 
many  other  places  in  Switzerland  and  Germany,  was  not,  we  believe,  set 
forth  in  painting  before  the  beginning  of  the  fifteenth  century;  at  all 
events,  there  is  no  record  of  such  a  fact  antecedent  to  that  time,  nor  do 
we  think  that  it  existed  in  that  shape.  Let  the  poet,  however,  have  hi^ 
licence  here,  while  we  thank  him  for  the  beautiful  thoughts  of  which  here, 
as  well  as  in  every  part  of  his  **  Legend,"  he  has  been  so  prodigal.  What 
can  be  truer  or  more  poetical  than  the  image  with  which  the  following 
passage  concludes  ? 

Elsie. 

Better  is  Death  than  Life!  Ah,  yes!  to  thousands 

Death  plays  upon  a  dalliance,  and  sings 

That  song  of  consolation,  till  the  air 

Rings  with  it,  and  they  cannot  choose  but  follow 

Whither  he  leads.    And  not  the  old  alone, 

But  the  young  also  hear  it,  and  are  still. 

PRIKCE  HSNAT. 

Yes,  in  their  sadder  moments.    'Tis  the  sound 
Of  their  own  hearts  they  hear,  half  full  of  tears, 
Which  are  like  crystal  cups,  half  filled  with  water, 
Responding  to  the  pressure  of  a  finger 
With  music  sweet  and  low  and  melancholy. 
Let  us  go  forward,  and  no  longer  stay 
In  this  great  picture-gallery  of  Death  I 
I  hate  it !  ay,  the  very  thought  of  it. 


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The  Golden  Legend,  31 

Elsis. 
Why  is  it  hateful  to  you  ? 

Prince  Henbt. 

For  the  reason 
That  life,  and  all  that  speaks  of  life,  h  lovely. 
And  death,  and  all  that  speaks  of  death,  is  hateful. 

Elsie. 
The  grave  ilteJfit  but  a  covered  bridge 
Leamngfrom  light  to  light  through  a  brief  darkneu. 

From  Lucerne,  oyer  the  pass  of  the  St.  Gothard,  our  pilgrims  descend 
into  Italy,  sail  from  Genoa,  and  fballj  reach  Salerno,  much  that  is  notice- 
able on  their  way  being  past  over  by  us — ^not  from  want  of  attractiveness, 
but  solely  occasioned  by  the  exigencies  of  space.  We  must  not,  however, 
omit  to  say,  that  in  every  available  situation,  Lucifer  attends  the  journey, 
DOW  presioing  at  the  revels  of  the  monks  of  Hirschan,  now  mixmg  with 
a  throng  of  pilgrims  on  their  way  to  a  shrine  of  the  Virgin,  now  tempt- 
ing the  Prince  from  the  depths  of  the  sea,  and  anon  meeting  him  at 
Salerno  in  the  guise  of  the  holy  father  who  is  to  witness  the  Consumma- 
tion of  Elsie's  sacrifice.  This  sacrifice  is  all  but  accomplished  when  the 
better  nature  of  Prince  Henry  prevails.  She  is  led  forth  to  death,  and 
be,  thrust  back  by  Lucifer  from  following  her,  exclaims: 

**  Gone!  and  the  light  of  all  my  life  gone  with  her ! 
A  sudden  darkness  falls  upon  the  world ! 
O,  what  a  vile  and  abject  thing  am  1, 
That  purchase  length  of  days  at  such  a  cost ! 
Not  by  her  death  alone,  but  by  the  death 
Of  all  that's  good,  and  true,  and  noble  in  mel 
All  manhood,  excellence,  and  self-respect. 
All  love,  and  faith,  and  hope,  and  heart  are  dead ! 
All  my  divine  nobility  of  nature 
By  this  one  act  is  forfeited  for  ever. 
I  am  a  prince  in  nothing  but  in  name !" 

The  end  is  foreseen  :  he  rushes  to  save  her  life,  and  his  repentance  and 
her  love  and  courage  meet  with  their  due  reward.  The  Prince  is  healed 
by  the  virtue  of  a  holy  relic,  and  happiness  once  more  returns  to  the 
Castle  of  Vauteberg,  where  we  part  from  Henry  of  Hoheneck  and  his 
young  bride  Elsie,  listening  to  the  same  sweet  tones  of  the  bells  of 
Geishenhdm  that  once  were  listened  to  by  imperial  Charlemagne  and 
his  lovely  Queen  Fastrada. 

Such  is  an  outline  of  Professor  Longfellow's  "  Golden  Legend," — and 
our  sketch  is  nothing  but  an  outline.  He  who  would  know  more,  must 
seek  it  in  the  poem  itself,  and  if  a  true  lover  of  the  *'  Maker's"  art — as  it 
was  termed  in  the  days  of  the  hero  of  the  poem — ^he  will  not  turn  away  his 
eyes  from  the  page  till  the  melody  of  the  last  line  of  the  recording  angel's 
song  has  ceased  to  vibrate  in  his  ears. 


Matf — ^voi*.  xcr.  so.  cccLXXvi'. 


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(    32    ) 


A  WALK  TO  WILDBAD. 

So  wie  ein  Mann*  der  durchaus  bis  zum  iimenten  Kerne  gesund  ist 
Nie  der  Qesundheit  denkt,  noch  des  Gangs  der  rustige  Wand*rer. 

Voss's  layUen, 

Doubtlessly  many  of  my  readers  were  struck,  on  perusing  the  tales 
brought  by  English  newspapers  of  the  almost  daily  outoreaks  in  the  Ger- 
man Annus  Mirabilis,  1848»  at  seeing  the  Turner  assume  a  notorious  ^- 
eminence  as  the  instigators  and  promoters  of  rebellion.  This  was  mora 
specially  the  ease  with  the  Turner  of  Hanau  and  the  Obedand,  on  ac- 
count of  their  proximity  to  Frankfurt ;  and  as  I  am  not  aware  that  any 
detailed  account  o£  them  has  been  submitted  to  the  English  reading  pob- 
Uc»  and  as,  besides,  they  were  my  companions  on  my  present  lour»  a  few 
remarks  may  not  be' out  of  place. 

The  Turner^  then,  are  ostensibly  a  number  of  young  men  who  meet 
for  the  purpose  of  de?eloping  their  bodily  strength  by  gymnastic  exerciaet; 
but,  in  reality,  as  one  of  their  first  laws  states,  the  Turner  Bund  is  con- 
stituted for  the  physical  and  moral  improvement  of  the  members.  Each 
separate  Tumverem  is  under  the  jurisoiction  of  a  Kreis  Verein,  and  these 
again  under  that  of  the  Haupt  or  General  ^Terein,  which  held  its  periodi- 
cal meetings  at  Hanau — a  town,  by  the  way,  which  has  always  been 
looked  upon  suspiciously  by  the  government  ever  since  the  meeting  of 
students  in  1832,  at  the  Hambacher  Schloss.  Vater  Jahn  was  for  a  long 
time  president  of  the  united  Tumvornn  of  Gennany,  till  his  senile 
vanity  led  him  to  apprehend  danger  at  the  hands  of  bis  sons.  He  there- 
fore uttered  his  recantation,  or,  as  he  termed  it,  his  Sehwanen  Rede,  in 
the  St.  Paul's  ^rche,  at  Frankfurt,  though  his  opponents  were  inclined 
to  regard  his  swans  as  geese.  He  was  the  first  orieinator  of  the  Turner 
Bund,  probably  from  some  fond  reminiscences  of  the  Prussian  Tergend 
Bund,  to  which  he  had  belonged  in  his  young  days ;  and  was  ever  a  con- 
spicuous object  fi:om  the  immense  white  beard  he  wore  flaunting  in  the 
In^eze,  and  the  linen  jacket  he  never  exchanged  for  wanner  clothing  in 
the  severest  weather.  Under  his  presidency,  the  Bund  consisted  of 
1^0,000  members,  and  would  have  formed  a  dangerous  body,  had  they 
at  all  interfered  in  politics.  This  fortunately  was  not  the  case,  ^ud  theur 
youthful  effervescence  found  a  vent  in  singmg  patriotic  songs,  directed 
against  the  French,  especially  Becker's  Leid,  *'  Sie  soUenlhn  nicht  haben, 
den  freien  Deutscben  Rhein,"  written  in  1842,  when  M.  Thiers  made  some 
tentatives  to  regain  the  Rhenish  shore  as  the  natural  boundary  of  France. 
However,  in  1848  the  revolutionary  caldron  boiled  over.  Jahn  was 
weighed  in  the  balance  and  found  wanting,  and  a  more  energetic  man 
chosen  to  occupy  his  place.  Many  new  laws  were  made,  and  a  delibera- 
tive council  summoned  to  Hanau,  to  which  all  the  Tumverein  were  in- 
vited to  send  representatives.  About  800  responded  to  the  call  After 
a  seance  of  two  days,  during  which  many  violent  speeches  were  uttered, 
the  Empire  was  carried  against  the  Republic  by  a  majority  of  six.  But 
this  was  in  the  time  of  the  "  Einheits  Schwindelei,"  and  the  King  of 
Prussia's  hollow  toasts ;  and  the  executive  council  plainly  showed  after- 
wards which  way  their  wishes  tended.     Among  the  laws  relative  to  the 


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A  WaVt  to  Wildbad.  33 

goferameiit  of  die  Tunmmn^  one  wu  passed  by  which  each  member 
wm  booad  to  panr  one  kremer  weekly  to  the  Haupt  Cassa  in  Hanao, 
■Bkmg  an  amuud  sum  of  130,000  fjorinsy  or  rather  more  than  10,000^ 
Tfab  het  throws  a  strong  light  on  the  frequent  outbreaks  at  Frankfort, 
Bfsyencc,  and  elsewhere,  for  we  now  see  whence  money  was  derived  to  set 
them  in  motion,  and  men  colleeted  for  such  purposes.  In  addition  to  this, 
aobsidif  were  voted  to  Hecker  and  Struve  on  their  irruption  into  Baden, 
and  after  they  w«re  repelled  the  eiiles  in  Strasburg  were  supported  from 
die  same  source. 

All  ike  members  vrear  the  same  uniform — a  linen  jacket,  loose  trousers 
of  the  same  material,  and  a  cap  bearing  a  silver  cross  formed  of  four 
F.'s,  the  inikials  of  the  words  ^^frisch,  fr*omm,  frey,  froh,"  the  motto  of 
die  society,  set  in  a  wreath  of  oak  leaves.  The  head  covering,  however, 
differs  in  nearly  every  town,  many  wearing  Schlapphute  of  grey,  black, 
or  white  feh. 

The  Tttmloeale  is  a  large  room  in  an  inn,  where  the  members  assem- 
ble, filled  with  laetores,  caricatures  of  every  description,  while  the  red 
flags  of  the  different  companies  hang  round  we  walls.  Beer  and  tobacco, 
without  whidi  nothing  can  be  done  in  Germany,  help  to  while  the  hours 
away  while  the  business  of  the  society  is  being  discussed,  and  new  mem- 
bcn  enraUed  In  die  summer  months,  on  /ete  days,  Tum&hrten  ar^held ; 
and  during  holidays,  such  as  Easter  and  Whitsuntide,  more  extended 
«xpeditiona  into  the  country  are  made,  at  one  of  which,  to  Wildbad,  it 
was  my  fortone,  as  the  French  say,  to  assist. 

At  n>ur  in  the  morning  of  Whit- Monday,  we  assembled,  in  number 
sboat  eighty,  before  the  railway  station,  to  proceed  in  that  manner  to 
Carlsruhe,  as  there  was  nothing  wordi  visiting  en  route  to  that  ci^. 
The  band  was  among  the  number,  and  as  they  were  public-spirited  enough 
to  encumber  themselves  with  their  brazen  mstruments,  we  presented  a 
very  martial  appearance  while  marching  through  the  more  sequestered 
fillagcs.  My  readers  must  be  pleased  to  bear  in  mind  that  dus  was  die 
very  season  of  disturbances,  when  each  man  spoke  of  wars  and  rumours 
of  wars,  and  the  peasants  had  hardly  got  over  die  fright  to  which  they 
had  been  subjected  in  the  preceding  February,  when  hourly  expecting  the 
French  to  pass  the  Rhine. 

We  arrived  at  Durlach  after  an  hour  s  sharp  walkmg  through  a  mag- 
m6cent  avenue  of  Kme-trees,  which  extends  tne  whole  way  from  Carb- 
rohe.  Durlach  is  a  fine  <^d-fuhioned  town,  once  the  residence  of  the 
Markgraves  of  Baden  Durlach,  the  elder  branch  of  the  present  reigning 
€unily.  A  round  tower,  correndy  stated  to  have  been  built  by  the 
Romans^  overlooks  the  town,  to  which  a  melancholy  celebrity  is  attached, 
in  eonsequenoe  of  a  lady  of  high  rank  throwing  herself  and  her  two 
children  from  the  summit  of  it,  in  consequence  of  some  family  jealousy. 
Thenoe  our  road  led  us  to  Witferdingen,  where  it  was  arranged  our  first 
nighf  s  quarters  should  be  established.  As  it  was  impossible  to  obtain 
beds  for  sodi  a  nnmeious  party  as  ours,  the  landlord  was  neoesntated  to 
itiew  a  quantity  of  trusses  of  hay  in  a  bam,  to  which  the  minority  re- 
tired, after  discussing  a  hearty  supper  of  potato-soup. 

At  three  die  next  morning,  the  reveiik  was  sounded ;  and  after  a  re- 
freshing turn  at  the  pump>  we  set  out  for  Pforzheim,  a  large  manu&ctur- 

]>2 


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34  A  Walk  to  midbad. 

ing  town,  filled  with  jewellers  and  tobacco  merchantSi  who,  by  the  way, 
favoured  the  Exhibition  with  specimens  of  their  industry.  The  church, 
which  we  Yisited,  is  a  yery  handsome  Gothic  edifice,  containing  some  re- 
markable monuments ;  among  them  one  of  marble,  raised  by  the  present 
ffrand-duke,  to  his  &ther,  Carl  Friedrich ;  and  another,  erected  l^  pub- 
he  subscription,  in  memoiy  of  the  600  Fforzheimer  who  fell  in  the 
Thirty  Years*  War,  at  Wimpfen,  while  fightmg  for  their  religion  and  their 
country  against  Tilly.  As  it  was  no  part  of  our  plan  to  expend  money  in 
luxurious  living,  we  remained  no  long  time  in  Pforzheim,  but  set  out  for 
a  small  village  called  Tiefenbronn,  where  we  actually  took  the  inn  by 
storm.  linen  jackets  might  be  seen  in  every  part  of  the  house,  from 
'' garret  to  basement,"  or  looking  from  '' window  and  casement"  The 
landlord  was  so  utterly  dumb-foundered  (the  only  word  which  will  fully 
convey  my  meaning),  that  he  let  us  do  much  as  we  pleased,  and  I  really 
fimcy  would  have  suffered  us  to  depart  without  payment,  had  such  been 
our  intention.  He  put  me  much  in  mind  of  Wdlet,  senior,  after  the 
rioters  had  visited  him;  for  he  faintly  remarked,  he  believed  there  was 
a  trifle  to  settle. 

Our  next  march  brought  us  to  Maulbronn,  in  Wirtemberg,  through  an 
extraordinary  quantity  of  apple  and  pear  trees,  which  lined  both  sides  of 
the  road,  and  tne  fruit  of  which  we  appropriated,  thinking  it  but  right  to 
despoil  the  Swabes.  I  imagine  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  must 
have  an  annual  sum  voted  in  his  budget  for  the  proper  maintenance  of  the 
frontier,  for  we  passed  at  least  200  sign-posts  in  a  distance  of  about  ten 
miles,  painted  with  the  Wirtembergeois  colours,  and  bearing  the  royal 
arms.  Every  now  and  then  we  were  reminded  of  our  being  in  a  Catholic 
neighbourhood,  by  seeing  gigantic  crucifixes,  carved  in  wood,  and  bearing 
all  the  insignia  of  our  Saviour's  passion — ^for  instance,  nails,  dice-boxes, 
swords,  &c.  At  Lautenbronn,  by  German  measurement  about  a  pipe 
and  a  half  from  Maulbronn,  we  passed  a  venr  beautiful  Gothic  chapel, 
now,  unfortunately,  converted  into  a  cow-shea — the  high  altar  and  cru- 
^cifix  carved  in  stone  still  remain  entire.  At  Maulbronn  there  are  fortu- 
nately two  inns,  and  we  therefore  contrived  to  procure  beds  for  the  whole 
party,  though  at  only  one  of  them  could  anytning  eatable  or  potable  be 
procured,  for  at  the  other  they  had  positively  nothing  in  the  house  but  an 
execution.  Our  arrival  excited  no  small  alarm  among  the  Beamten  of 
the  town,  and  the  Burgermeister  had  some  thoughts  of  calling  on  the 
Rathsdeiner  to  arrest  us  all,  but  his  fears  were  assuaged  when  he  found 
that  we  were  only  on  pleasure  intent.  This  most  servile  servant  of  his 
most  transparent  majesty  doffed  his  dignity,  and  even  accepted  our  invi- 
tation to  crack  a  bottle.  Maulbronn  was,  in  the  good  old  times,  perhaps 
the  most  splendid  of  all  the  monastic  buildings  in  the  south  of  Germany; 
ample  traces  of  this  are  fiimished  in  the  beautiful  though  ruined  building, 
and  in  the  care  with  which  the  surrounding  country  is  laid  out  in  terraces, 
for  the  proper  cultivation  of  the  vine.  It  has  been  secularised,  and  con- 
verted into  a  Protestant  government  school.  The  Burgermeister,  on  the 
next  morning,  was  kind  enough  to  act  as  our  cicerone.  He  first  led  us 
into  the  chapel,  which  bore  evident  proofs  of  its  pristine  splendour,  in  the 
beautifully  carved  sedilia ;  but  the  painted  windows  have  been  removed  by 
the  above-mentioned  "  transparency,"  to  decorate  a  pet  church  of  his  own 


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A  Walk  lo  midbad.  35 

at  Cannstadt,  near  Stuttgardt.  That  which  struck  U8  with  the  most 
surprise,  was  to  see  the  marks  of  monastic  feet  deeply  worked  in  the  oaken 
floor,  where  the  monks  had  literally  shuffled  off  their  mortal  coil — this  was 
a  convincing  proof  of  their  piety  and  their  weight.  The  seats  them- 
selves were  a  perfect  specimen  of  ingenious  torture ;  they  were  so  con- 
trived that  the  sitter  would  require  all  his  wits  to  keep  his  balance,  and  if 
happening  to  fall  asleep,  he  would  inevitably  come  down  with  a  squelch  on 
the  ground,  no  doubt  to  the  great  amusement  of  his  brethren.  The 
wor&y  Burgermebter  next  led  us  to  the  refectory,  now  converted  into  a 
bam,  where  he  directed  our  admiring  glances  to  a  large  pillar  with  an 
orifice  in  the  centre,  through  which,  he  asserted  with  the  utmost  serious- 
ness, a  stream  of  red  wine  used  to  pour  while  the  monks  of  old  were 
dining.  But  now  no  signs  bore  evidence  of  the  jorial  race  they  were, 
and  the  loud  "  Ha,  ha !"  which  shook  the  old  oak  wall,  had  been  long 
hushed.  Thence  we  proceeded  to  the  cloisters,  which  are  somewhat  larger 
than  those  of  St.  Mary  Magdalene  at  Oxford,  but  the  carved-work  is 
much  more  elaborately  executed.  The  predominant  figure  is  that  of  the 
Maulcsel  or  Mule,  wmch  gives  its  name  to  the  town,  and  is  represented 
in  every  possible  ludicrous  position.  In  the  centre  is  the  large  fountain, 
or  Bronn,  in  a  better  state  of  preservation  than  any  other  part  of  the 
building — probably  because  monks  are  usually  afflicted  with  hydrophobia, 
and  holiness  and  dirt  generally  go  together. 

At  about  eleven  o'clock  we  took  leave  of  our  friendly  guide,  and 
started  for  Neuenbronn,  which  place  we  reached  about  nightfall,  after  a 
long  walk  through  some  very  romantic  scenery.  As  there  was  a  little 
difficulty  about  procuring  sufficient  food  for  so  large  a  party,  the  landlord 
placed  bis  nets  at  our  disposal,  and  after  pulling  off  our  shoes  and  stock- 
ings, we  had  a  glorious  haul  of  trout  in  the  river,  which  is  strictly  pre- 
served for  the  use  of  amateur  fishermen. 

The  next  morning  we  set  out  for  Wildbad,  along  a  most  exquisite  road, 
which  wound  round  the  base  of  a  huge  mountain,  till  we  arrived  at  a 
village  called  Calw,  where  we  made  mid-day.  And  here  occurred  the  most 
extraordinary  incident  of  our  whole  journey.  Will  my  readers  credit  it, 
that,  in  this  sequestered  Wirtembergeois  village,  I  saw  the  wires  and  posts 
which  usually  indicate  the  presence  of  the  electric  telegraph  on  our  rail- 
ways ?  I  instinctively  felt  that  I  had  made  a  gprand  discovery,  which 
would  serve  to  enrol  my  name  on  the  pa^es  of  history  by  the  side  of 
those  of  Cook,  Humboldt,  and  Layard.  The  present  claimants  of  grati- 
tude and  renown  for  the  invention  of  the  electric  telegraph  were  evidently 
base  impostors — ^had  shamelessly  taken  advantage  of  the  science  of  a 
Suabe,  who  was  bom  to  blush  unseen,  and  robbed  him  of  all  the  credit 
due  to  him.  In  my  generous  indignation,  I  determined  his  merits  and 
name  should  no  longer  be  hid  under  a  bushel,  and,  therefore,  began 
inquiring  of  the  landlord  where  this  wundervoller  kopf  resided.  To  my 
dreadful  abashment,  I  found  I  had  been  a  little  too  precipitate  in  drawing 
my  conclusion,  and  that  my  fsancied  telegraph  was  merely  a  method  of 
communication  with  the  village  constable— probably  invented  by  some 
lazy  Burgermeister.  The  wire,  commencing  in  the  dread  functionary's 
bedroom,  was  attached  to  a  bell  )h  the  Rathdiener's  house;  and  when  the 
night  was  cold,  or  the  Burgermeister  tired,  he  could  summon  his  assistant 


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36  A  Walk  to  Wildbad. 

to  his  aid  wheneyer  a  pothouse  dispute  required  his  presence.  As  too,  in 
this  instance,  they  lived  at  different  ends  of  the  vilk^,  this  onlj  served 
to  render  the  affiur  still  more  conspicuous.  ' 

We  arrived  at  Wildbad  about  two  o'clock,  fired  with  the  exjpectation  of 
seebg  some  really  glorious  scenery — as  the  name  led  us  to  infer;  Imt  thi% 
too,  was  a  mistake.  There  was  nothing  at  all  wild  about  the  place,  and 
the  landscape  was  of  an  every-day  sort  of  character.  Besides,  however 
picturesque  the  place  might  natunlly  be,  the  presence  of  the  great  over* 
grown  hotek  would  be  sufficient  to  desizoy  the  effect  The  ^bdhaus  k  » 
v^  handsome  edifice,  built  at  the  expense  of  the  government,  c<mtainin^ 
'  four  public  and  some  twenty  private  baths.  The  water  is  excessively  hot 
and  beneficial  in  scrofulous  and  rheumatic  complaints,  ample  proof  of 
which  we  had  while  walking  through  the  streets.  Barring  our  own  party, 
I  really  believe  we  did  not  see  half  a  dmen  peo{4e  in  the  proper  possession 
of  their  health  ;  at  every  comer  we  stumbled  over  Bath  chairs,  in  which 
the  valetudinarians  were  being  dragged  to  or  finom  the  KursaaL  To  the 
credit  of  the  government,  there  is  an  excellent  hospital  open  to  all,  with- 
out dbtinction  of  country  or  sect,  where  a  trifling  sum  is  demanded  for 
board  and  lodging,  and  this  only  in  the  case  of  a  patient  being  in  a  con* 
dition  to  pay  it. 

Wildbad  must  have  suffered  an  extraordinary  change  since  the  time 
when,  as  old  Uhland  sings  to  us,  the  Count  Eberfaard  der  Gmner  was 
surprised  here  by  his  arch-enemies,  the  Counts  Wolf  von  Wnnnenstein 
and  Eberateinburg,  while  trying  to  get  rid  of  his  gout.  He  escaped  on 
the  back  of  a  fiaithful  shepherd,  who  hid  him  in  one  of  the  surrounding 
forests.  Our  poet-laureate  was  never  weary  of  repeatmg  the  ballad,  and 
pointed  to  the  neighbouring  mountains,  in  ihe  vun  hope  of  discovering 
the  forest-clad  retreat  he  reached  in  safety. 

It  is  seldom  that  the  popular  voice  errs  in  assigning  a  nickname  to  its 
oppressors,  and  none  was  ever  more  merited  than  that  given  to  Count 
Eberhard  of  Wirtemberg — der  Greinevy  or  "  The  Quanelsome."  His 
whole  life  was  spent  in  a  series  of  disputes  with  the  citizens  of  the  few  im- 
perial towns  within  his  principality,  and  in  checking  the  progress  of  dvil 
Uberty.  Encouraged  by  the  unexpected  result  of  the  battle  of  Sempach, 
and  the  decided  repulse  it  gave  to  the  aspirations  of  the  house  of  Hapsborg, 
the  cities  of  Ulm  and  Augsburg  placed  themselves  at  the  head  of  the  Sua- 
bian  Confederadon,  and  demanded  the  same  privileges  conceded  to  their 
brethren  in  Upper  Germany,  or,  as  it  is  now  called,  Switzerland.  The 
Greiner  was,  of  course,  furiously  incensed  at  such  audacity,  and  summoned 
all  his  vassals  together  to  punish  the  rebels.  The  hostde  armies  met  on 
the  14th  of  May,  1377,  beneath  the  vralls  of  Reiitlingen,  and  the  Count 
suffered  an  ignominious  defeat.  Still  Eberhard,  like  many  other  great 
men,  did  not  know  when  he  was  beaten,  and  though  his  son  Ulridi  vras 
severely  wounded  in  the  battle,  and  narrowly  escaped  captirity,  did  not 
for  a  moment  relax  in  his  efforts  to  subjugate  the  rebels.  By  the  aid  of 
money  and  promises,  he  induced  the  knightly  oider  of  St  George  to  help 
him,  and  the  war  was  carried  on  with  great  animosity  for  sevml  years. 
At  length  the  Confederation,  in  1388,  seeing  the  injury  done  to  trade  by 
the  continuance  of  hostilities,  determined  on  risking  a  decisive  batde. 
This  took  place  at  Dossmgen,  in  Wirtemberg.     The  Greiner,  who  was 


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A  Walk  to  mUbad.  37 

[  hj  the  Markgntve  of  Bftden,  the  Buhop  of  Wunlmig,  the  CowU 
im  Otm^oiy  and  severmi  other  iioUes,  was  enabled  to  rang  into  the 
fieid  a  foree  of  more  than  7000  m&OL.  But  not  caring  to  trust  entirelj 
to  thearmj,  he  alio  had  reeoucse  to  treacher}^  and  bribed  the  Coant  von 
Henaeberg,  the  leader  of  the  T^uramberg  contingeDty  with  1000  florina, 
to  ^t  the  field  at  the  critical  nuwaent.  Count  Ulrich  commenced  the 
attack,  burning  to  wipe  away  the  disgrace  attaching  to  him  &om  the 
Meat  at  Reatkngen ;  Us  x«peated  assMilts  failed,  however,  to  break  the 
enemy's  line,  and  he  and  several  other  noUes  fell  in  the  engagement. 
At  tfau  moment,  when,  victoxy  seemed  to  hovtf  over  the  townsmen,  Count 
Hconebeq^  ooomienced  his  retreat.  Another  circumstance  especially 
&voared  Eberhaid,  and  materially  influenced  the  &te  of  the  battle.  Hia 
oU  enemy,  the  Raging  Wolf  of  Wunn^istein,  was  so  eonscioas  of  the 
danger  which  would  aocnie  to  himself  if  the  townsmen  asserted  their 
liberty,  that  he  proffered  his  services  to  aid  in  subjecting  them ;  and 
akkougb  Ebeihard  haughtily  declined  his  assistance,  still  he  appeared  on 
tbe  battle-field,  irith  his  robber  hordes,  almost  at  the  same  moment  when 
Count  Ulrich  fell,  and  Henneberg's  treachery  was  beiog  carried  out. 
The  eonatenuUion  of  the  townsmen  at  the  sudden  defection  of  the 
Xoremberg  contingent,  was  naturally  enhanced  by  the  appeannce  of 
fieah  oomhatants  in  the  hostile  army.  Still  the  concurrence  of  so  many 
unfiortunate  accidents  did  not  shake  the  courage  of  their  heroic  leader, 
Conrad  Beaaerer.  The  Suabes  willingly  responded  to  the  summons  of 
their  brave  compatriot,  and  remembered  the  glorious  prerogative  assured 
diem  by  imperial  edict,  of  ever  being  first  in  attack  and  last  in  retreat 
With  Conrad  Beeserer,  however,  the  banner  of  the  United  Cities  sunk  to 
the  ground,  and  when  the  signal  of  liberty  vanished,  the  remnants  of  the 
allied  army  commeneed  their  retreat  Such  was  the  deplorable  result  of 
the  battle  of  Dossingen,  the  most  important  of  all  those  chronicled  in  the 
pages  of  Germany's  history.  Had  the  townsmen  conquered,  no  princely 
coalition  would  have  been  sufficiently  strong  to  prevent  the  liberty  and 
unity  of  Germany.  The  mainspring  of  both,  the  imperial  dignity,  would 
have  been  re-established  in  its  pristine  vigour,  and  we  should  not  have 
been  witnesses  of  the  lamentable  mistakes  and  failures  of  the  year 
1848. 

But  revenons  d  nos  moutons.  We  soon  made  our  arrangements  i(x 
leaving  such  a  mehincholy  place  as  Wildbad,  for  all  we  had  to  do  was  to 
find  a  guide  to  lead  us  over  the  mountains  into  the  Murgthal;  and  this  we 
fortunately  effected  by  falling  in  with  an  old  peasant  who  lived  in  Baden, 
and  had  come  across  to  visit  some  relations.  The  only  disagreeable  thing 
was  that  peculiar  effluvia  emaoating  from  two  immense  bags  of  sauer- 
knmi  and  pidded  beans  which  had  been  graciously  presented  to  him  by 
his  fiiends ;  but  this  we  rectiBed  by  keepmg  as  far  as  possible  from  him. 
The  road  he  kd  us  was  up  an  excessively  steep  mountain,  immediatelj|r  in 
^  rear  of  the  Bad,  which  gave  our  legs  plenty  of  exercise.  On  reaching 
level  ground,  the  first  thing  that  struck  us  was  a  large  square  tower,  or 
blockhouse,  about  thirty  feet  high ;  and  this  we  found,  on  inquiring  from 
the  guide,  had  been  erected,  in  communication  with  several  others  we 
aftenraids  passed,  in  the  war  tf  1792,  as  a  line  of  defence  against  the 
Fameh.     They  had  been  of  some  serrice  in  their  day,  but  were  now  in  a 


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38  A  Walk  to  Wildhad. 

decayed  condition,  and  only  served  as  a  refuge  for  tbe  charcoal-burnerB. 
These  fellows,  by  the  way,  inust  have  a  merry  time  of  it  in  summer,  and 
many  a  fine  roebuck  is  set  to  roast  before  their  fires.  It  is  rather  strange 
we  never  hear  of  young  adventurous  spirits  takine  to  this  line  of  life. 
Perhaps,  however,  it  is  not  sufficiently  romantic,  though,  at  any  rate,  it 
would  be  safer  than  the  robber  line,  which,  thanks  to  Schiller,  so  many 
untamed  youths  selected. 

After  some  few  hours'  walking  we  arrived  at  Kaltenbronn,  a  Jagd 
Haus  belonging  to  the  grand-duke,  and  chiefly  maintained  for  the  pur- 
pose of  shootinp^  the  Auerhcihn,  or  bustard.  It  is  a  very  strongly-built 
house;  and  it  is,  indeed,  requisite  it  should  be  so,  for  the  gamekeeper 
assured  us  that  it  was  no  uncommon  occurrence  for  himself  and  family  to 
be  snowed  up  for  weeks  together.  After  refreshing  ourselves  with  beer 
and  wine,  we  descended  into  the  Murgthal,  where  we  stopped  for  the 
night  at  Forbach. 

We  were  induced  to  stop  here  longer  than  we  had  originally  intended, 
by  the  intimation  that  a  Schwellung  was  about  to  take  place,  a  sight  well 
worth  being  present  at.  The  next  morning  a  party  of  us  accompanied 
the  Revier  Forster  along  the  banks  of  the  Murg  to  Schwarsenbach,  in 
Wirtembere^,  firom  which  place  we  climbed  up  a  hill,  and  at  length 
arrived  at  me  sluice-gates.  About  half  a  mile  of  water  had  been  dammed 
up,  covered  with  timber  of  every  description.  Two  large  wooden  gates, 
somewhat  resembling  our  English  lock-gates,  confined  it  at  one  extremity, 
about  twenty  feet  above  the  bed  of  the  stream ;  so  that,  on  their  being 
opened,  the  wood  and  water  would  gain  sufficient  impetus  to  find  their 
way  down  the  mountain  into  the  Mure.  As  the  Revier  Forster  told  us 
we  had  better  witness  the  progress  of  the  water  from  below,  we  went 
down  the  other  side  of  the  hill  looking  towards  Forbach,  and  took  up  our 
position  on  the  other  side  of  the  stream,  beneath  some  fir-trees,  waiting 
patiently  till  eleven  o'clock,  when  the  gates  would  be  opened.  We  could 
see  before  us  about  four  hundred  yards  up  the  stream,  which,  im- 
mediately in  fit>nt  of  us,  rushed  beneath  a  solid  stone  bridge,  with  a  faU 
of  about  fif^en  feet.  We  heard  the  pent-up  waters  long  before  we  could 
see  them,  as  they  bore  their  crashing  burden  towards  us,  till  suddenly  the 
first  loe  made  its  appearance  round  a  projecting  rock.  In  its  wake  came 
every  description  oi  timber— pine,  elm,  oak,  ash,  &c. — all  leaping  franti- 
cally one  above  the  other,  and  of  all  dimensions,  fit>m  the  stately  tree, 
which  would  hereafter  find  its  way  to  Holland,  down  to  the  humble 
BrennholZf  about  to  seek  an  ignominious  fate  in  a  bourgeois  kitchen. 
This  watei&ll  of  wood  lasted  about  three-quarters  of  an  hour,  and  we 
were  informed  that  upwards  of  60,000  Klafter  had  been  floated  down. 
The  Klafter  is  sometmng  like  what  the  Americans  call  a  cord  of  wood— 
a  solid  cube  of  six  feet  in  length  by  six  in  breadth.  These  Schwellungen 
take  place  twice  in  the  year,  and  are  usually  witnessed  by  a  considerable 
number  of  persons.  It  is,  in  truth,  one  of  the  most  picturesque  of  the 
various  methods  by  which  timber  is  transferred  from  its  native  torest  to  a 
home  on  the  watery  deep. 

On  our  return  to  Forbach,  we  started  homewards  along  the  Valley  of 
the  Murg,  the  great  attraction  to  visitors  tt  Baden-Baden,  on  account  of 
the  magnificent  view  to  be  enjoyed,  especially  from  ScUoss  Eberstein* 


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A  Walk  to  Wildbad.  39 

The  scenery  the  whole  way  firom  Forbach  to  Obersroth  is  exquisitely 
beautiful,  the  brawling  stream  making  its  way  through  a  succession  o£ 
orchards,  praiiie,  and  masses  of  rocks,  while  villages  in  abundance  give  a 
charming  relief  to  the  picture.  Weissenbach  is  the  chief  place  in  the 
valley,  before  arriving  at  Gemsbach,  and  is  rendered  conspicuous  in  the 
view  from  Eberstein,  on  account  of  die  Gothic  church  lately  erected  there. 
The  path  from  Obersroth  winds  through  the  vmeyards  which  produce 
that  fibmous  wine  called  Ebersteiner  Blut  It  may  be  procured  at  the 
chateau — ^that  is  to  say,  the  red  sort,  as  the  white  is  exclusively  kept  for 
the  grand-ducal  table.  The  writer  was  once  fortunately  witness  of  a 
glorious  night  illumination  which  took  place  here  under  the  auspices  of 
2ie  people  of  Gemsbach,  as  a  token  of  gratitude  to  the  grand-oiuke  for 
the  establishment  of  a  bailiwick  in  that  town.  A  procession  of  250  per- 
sons, each  bearing  a  lighted  torch,  ascended  the  path  from  Obersroth; 
the  bridges  of  Gemsbach  and  Weissenbach  were  briUiantly  illuminated ; 
floats  bearing  huge  bonfires  descended  the  stream,  while  blazing  beacons 
were  suddenly  kindled  on  the  surrounding  hills.  The  effect  was  superb 
in  the  extreme,  and,  to  enhance  the  general  satisfaction,  the  grand-duke 
was  graciously  pleased  to  express  his  thanks  from  the  balcony :  to  which 
a  worthy  citazen  replied,  <'  Branch*  nit  zu  danken,  Majestat ! 

From  Eberstein  we  proceeded  along  the  new  road  to  Baden,  formed  by 
the  grand-duke  at  a  vast  expense,  and  which  put  his  engineering  staff  on 
their  mettle.  On  arriving  at  Lichtenthal,  we  found  a  number  of  tables 
prepared  for  us  on  the  pelause  before  the  Grafshe  Bierbranerey,  where  we 
sate  till  a  late  hour,  refreshing  ourselves  with  beer,  and  telling  of  the 
wonders  we  had  seen  in  foreign  parts. 

The  following  extract  from  the  ''  Stuttgardter  Beobachter,''  done  quite 
literally  into  English  by  that  eminent  hand,  the  writer,  as  the  old  news- 
paper advertisements  would  say,  served  to  recal  our  tri{>  to  our  memory, 
when  it  had  almost  been  forgotten  in  the  weightier  political  events  of  tne 
season: 

''  Information  being  received  at  the  Royal  Police  Bureau,  that  a  party  of 
rebels  (probably  belonging  to  the  band  of  the  God-forgotten  Hecker) 
had  crossed  our  frontier  and  sought  to  enkindle  in  our  peace-loving  pea- 
santry a  desire  for  innovation  and  outbreak  against  our  beloved  monarch, 
the  hemic  Sergeant  Mangelbacher  was  detached  to  hold  them  in  check. 
However,  on  arriving  at  the  place  indicated,  it  was  discovered  that  the 
so-called  patriots  had  retired,  eridently  disconcerted  by  the  fidelity  and 
obedience  to  the  law  which  our  worthy  compatriots  ever  display  in  the 
hour  of  need." 


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(     40     ) 


A  SURVEY  OF  DANISH  LITERATURE,  FROM  THE  EARLIEST 
PERIOD  TO  THE  PRESENT  TIME. 

BY  MBS.  BUSHBT. 

Pakt  IL 

The  literary  regeneration  of  Denmark  may  be  said  to  have  com- 
menced onder  Chrigtiaa  IV.  That  aocomplisned  monarch  was  fond  of 
■tndy,  was  extremely  well  informed,  and  was  a  good  mathematiciaa  and 
good  linguisti  as  well  as  being  skilled  in  painting  and  music.  All  the 
well-educated  gentlemen  of  nis  day  not  only  understood  but  npoke 
Latin;  and  it  is  probable  that  Denmark  would  from  that  time  have 
taken  a  high  stand  in  the  world  of  letters,  had  Christian  been  able  to 
hare  devoted  his  talents  and  energies  entirely  to  the  improvement  of  hia 
subjects,  and  the  internal  welfare  of  his  dominions.  Bat  he  became  in- 
Tolved  in  harassing  wars;  and  though  he  won  some  laurels,  and  was 
cnated  chief  oi  the  Protestant  League  in  Lower  Saxony,  which  fought 
against  the  celebrated  generals  Tilly  and  Walstein,  yet  these  honours 
wero  obtained  by  the  sacrifice  at  home  of  what  would  have  be^i  more 
beneficial  to  his  people.  Still  he  had  struck  the  spark,  which,  though 
smothered  for  a  time,  was  never  entirely  extinguidied,  and  which  began 
to  revive  under  the  fostering  care  of  Frederick  Y.  and  his  successors. 

Frederick  was  very  liberal  in  patronising  learned  foreigners,  in  in- 
viting them  to  Denmark,  and  in  employing  them  on  soientific  missions. 
Among  those  so  employed  by  him  was  &.ar8ten  Niebuhr,  a  German,  the 
father  of  the  celebrat^  lnst(»ian,  Niebuhr,  who  was  bom  in  Copen- 
hagen,  in  1776.  Karsten  Niebuhr  was  sent  on  an  expedition  to  the 
East — to  Constantinople  and  Arabia — along  with  four  ouer  naturalisis, 
geographers,  and  historians.  Their  expenses  were  paid  by  the  treasury, 
as  were  also  those  of  all  the  other  scientific  and  literary  envoys.  About 
this  time,  too,  the  booksellers  of  Denmark  began  to  cater  more  for  the 
public ;  and  the  increase  of  publishers  gave  a  spur  to  the  exertbns  of 
authors. 

Not  even  the  restraints  on  the  liberty  of  the  press,  which  had  caused 
the  banishment  of  Malte-Brun  and  the  elder  Heiberg,  had  the  power  to 
annihilate  the  literature  of  Denmark,  at  the  end  of  the  last  and  begin- 
ning of  the  present  century.  Nor,  indeed,  was  this  intended  by  the 
excellent  prince,  afterwards  Frederick  VI.,  who  then  governed  the 
counlay  on  behalf  of  his  father,  Christian  YIL,  the  husband  of  the  un- 
fortunate English  princess,  Caroline  Matilda,  who,  as  well  as  the  prime 
minister,  Stniensee,  had  been  the  victim  of  the  ambition  and  jeidousy 
of  the  malignant  queen-dowa^r,  Juliana  Maria.  Frederick  may  be 
thought  to  have  erred  in  his  judgment  in  regard  to  this  decree ;  but 
these  restraints  on  the  freedom  of  publication  were  imposed  principally 
with  a  view  of  preventing  the  wild  tenets  of  the  French  revolutionists 
from  spreading  their  disastrous  influence  among  a  people  who  were 
tranquU  and  contented,  and  whose  position,*neither  in  a  political  or  social 
point  of  view,  would  have  been  imprpved  by  the  importation  of  GalHcan 
turbulence,^disa£rection,  and  vice. 


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A  Survey  of  Danish  LUeraiure.  41 

A  Daniflh  author  of  the  present  day — ^Johan  Ludwig  Heifaeig',  son  of 
the  hanished  dramatist — ^has  said  that  the  first  French  re?olution  mm 
**  a  thunderstorm,  which  cleared  away  the  thick  mists  which  for  centuriea 
had  aocaoudated  on  Ihe  horizon  of  human  life — a  frightful  tempest  while 
it  TBgedy  but  useful  in  its  effects — a  flash  of  lightning,  that  had  sundeied 
nuuiy  galling  chains — an  overthrow  that  was  necessary — an  instrument 
m  the  hands  of  Providenee."  But  though  the  French  natibn  might 
hate  vequixed  that  violent  process  of  clearing,  sundering,  and  overthrow- 
iogy  it  was  in  no  way  needed  among  the  quiet  Danes,  who,  though 
capable  of  being  roused  by  strong  excitement,  are  yet  constitutionally 
cabn,  and  were^  as  they  are  still,  well  inclined  towards  their  king  and 
hia  government 

Tbero  is  a  great  deal  of  nationality  and  patriotism  among  the  Danes, 
as  may  be  seen  by  all  their  popular  poetry,  from  the  days  of  Johannes 
Ewald  to  those  of  Hans  Christian  Andersen.  ^<  Scarcely  any  writer,** 
sajfB  a  Danish  critic,  "  was  ever  more  largely  endowed  with  poetical 
talents  than  Ewald.  The  power  of  his  imagination,  and  warmth  of  his 
feelings^  did  not  evince  themselves  first  in  his  writings,  but  in  his  life ; 
and  uiej  impelled  him,  both  as  a  boy  and  as  a  young  man,  into  strange 
wild  adventures,  while  seeking  the  realisation  of  his  visionary  achemei^ 
and  to  gain  the  object  on  which  he  lavished  the  love  that  was  gushing, 
as  ii  were,  from  some  hidden  fountain  in  his  heart  But  when,  at 
length,  wearied  of  his  vain  battling  with  adverse  circumstances,  he  had 
given  up  in  despair  the  struggle  to  obtain  that  amount  of  earthly  good 
fortune  and  virtuous  happiness  which  could  alone  have  satisfied  his 
ardent  soul,  to  escape  from  the  pangs  of  disappointment  and  blasted 
hope,  he  impudently  plunged  into  a  course  of  dissipation.  It  was  only 
for  a  moment,  however,  now  and  then,  that  such  pleasures  could  divert 
hia  thoughts  from  their  habitual  melancholy ;  nor  could  they  change  the 
bias  of  Ins  mind ;  for  his  better  nature  turned  to  the  cultivation  of  poetry, 
and  in  this  more  legitimate  resource  he  found  eventually  some  conso- 
lation amidst  broken  health  and  ruined  prospects."  . 

Ewald  was  bom  in  1743,  in  Copenhagen,  where  his  father  was  a 
deigyman.  At  eleven  years  of  age  he  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  that 
paient,  and  was  sent  to  a  school  in  Sdileswig,  where  he  remained  £at 
four  years.  Here  he  read  with  eager  interest  "  Robinson  Crusoe,"  that 
wofk  which  has  really  tended  to  unsettle  so  many  boyish  minds,  and  to 
inafure  that  desire  for  roving  and  adventures,  which  has  led  numbers  of 
youths  to  select  the  army  or  the  navy  as  their  profession,  or  to  become 
emigrants  to  distant  countries;  the  perusal  of  this,  to  schoolboys,  so 
attractive  work  of  De  Foe,  fired  the  young  Eivald's  romantic  imagina- 
tion, and  was  the  primary  cause  of  the  follies  which  he  committed.  He 
had  been  about  a  year  entered  as  a  student  at  the  university  of  Copen- 
hagen, when  he  formed  a  passionate  attachment  to  a  young  lady,  and 
with  the  Quixotic  idea  of  winning  such  fame  and  fortune  by  the  career 
of  arms  as  might  entitle  him  to  become  her  suitor,  he  absconded  firom 
his  home  and  his  studies,  to  seek  military  employment  among  the  troops 
of  Frederick  II.,  who  was  then  engaged  in  the  Seven  Years'  War. 
Though  the  new  recruit  was  very  young,  and  also  very  small  of  his  age, 
his  services  were  accepted,  and  he  was  placed  in  the  ranks  of  a  regiment 
of  infiintry.     But  he  was  not  satisfied  with  his  situation  in  the  IVussian 


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42  A  Survey  of  Danish  Literature. 

anny,  and  therefore  took  the  liberty  of  deserting  to  that  of  the  Aus- 
trians,  in  which  he  became  first  a  drammer,  and  afterwards  a  non- 
commissioned officer. 

In  1760,  his  discharge  was  piurchased  by  his  family,  and  on  his  return 
to  Copenhagen  and  the  university,  he  studied  so  hard,  that  when  only 
nineteen  years  of  age,  he  became  a  candidate  for  theological  honours,  and 
had  passed  a  first-rate  examination.  His  affection  for  the  damsel  of  his 
almost  childish  admiration  remained  unchanged ;  but  she  chose  to  marry 
another,  and  this  disappointment  preyed  deeply  upon  his  mind.  The  rest 
of  his  life  was  little  else  than  a  series  of  chag^ns,  faults,  and  sufferings, 
soothed  only  by  the  kindness  of  a  few  firiends,  and  the  occasional  flashes 
of  a  genius  which  no  adverse  fate  could  utterly  extinguish.  He  died  in 
great  poverty,  in  the  year  1781.  Ewald  was  a  good  lyric  poet,  and  also 
the  author  of  some  dramatic  works,  both  tra^c  and  comic.  Of  the  latter 
may  be  mentioned  his  '^  Harlequin  Patriot,  which,  as  the  name  implies, 
was  of  a  satirical  character.  It  was  Ewald  who  vnx)te  the  words  of  the 
Danish  <'  God  save  the  king" — *'  Kong  Christian,"  a  magnificent  national 
air.  The  words  celebrate  the  deeds  of  ICing  Christian  V.,  and  the  dis- 
tinguished naval  heroes  Tordenskiold  (Thundershield),  originally  lieu- 
tenant Peter  Wessel,  but  who  raised  himself  by  his  gallantry,  and  was 
created  an  admiral  at  the  age  of  twenty-eight ;  and  Niels  Yule,  another 
popular  commander,  of  whom  his  countrymen  are  also  proud.  But  these 
verses  have  been  so  often  translated — ^though  far  from  well  translated — 
that  it  would  be  useless  to  repeat  them  here. 

A  contemporary  of  Ewald*s  was  Johan  Hermann  Wessel,  also  a  clergy- 
man's son,  who  was  bom  one  year  before  him,  and  died  four  years  aner 
him.  He,  too,  vras  unfortunate  in  his  life,  and  had  to  struggle  against 
poverty,  and  the  depression  of  mind  consequent  upon  that  dire  evil.  He 
earned  a  precarious  pittance  for  a  long  time  by  teaching  modem  lan- 
guages, but  resigned  that  occupation  when  he  was  made  stage-manager 
at  the  royal  theatre  of  Copenhagen.  The  salary  attached  to  this  office, 
however,  was  so  small,  that  poor  Wessel  found  it  scarcely  possible  to 
TfiMfifatin  himself  and  his  family  on  it.  Yet,  in  the  midst  of  troubles  and 
privations,  he  vnx)te  his  comedies;  one  of  which,  *'Kierlighed  uden 
Strompei^ — "Love  without  Stockings,"  takes  a  leading  place  in  the 
Danish  drama.  He  called  this  a  tragedy,  in  five  acts,  but  it  was,  in  &ct, 
a  parody — a  burlesque — written  with  a  view  of  turning  into  ridicule  the 
pompous  translations  from  the  French  dramatic  authors,  which,  with  their 
formality  and  bombast,  threatened  to  supersede  the  more  natural  repre- 
sentations of  the  Danish  stage.  The  characters  are — a  tailor's  appren- 
tice, his  betrothed,  her  unsuccessful  lover,  and  a  male  and  female 
confidant.  The  play  opens  with  the  fiur  betrothed  Gret^  being  discovered 
asleep  on  a  chair.     She  suddenly  awakes  from  her  nap,  and  exclaims. 

Thou  w?er  thali  married  be,  if  not  upon  this  day  ! 

Oh !  all  too  hideous  dream !     Metiiought  I  heard  one  say, 

In  tones  like  thunder  loud,  these  wordb  of  threatening  dire ; 

He  looked  as  black  as  if— -heM  just  come  from  a  fire  I 

What  I    Shall  I  never  see  my  dearest  hope  fulfilled  ? 

That  hope  on  which  I  had  undoubted  right  to  build. 

Since  yonder  happy  day,  when  on  my  tailor's  breast 

I  leaned,  and  caught  the  words  his  trembling  lips  confess'd — 


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A  Survey  of  Danish  Literature.  43 

That  I,  and  I  alone,  of  maideos  was  adored. 

And  that  my  killing  glance  into  his  soul  had  bored. 

Ob,  Pithless !    Didst  not  vow  without  me  thou  couldst  not 

A  single  moment  live  ?    Some  demon  must  have  got 

His  clutches  on  thee,  sure ;  for  the  eight  days  are  past 

Which  thou  didst  swear  to  me  thine  absence  would  but  last. 

•  ■•••• 

Tkou  ne*er  $haii  married  be,  if  not  vpon  this  day  I 
I  can't — I  wwii  bear  this— dark  spirit,  hence — away  I 

Enter  Meith 
What  new  misfortune  now  betokens  yonder  screech  ? 
Speak!     Oh,  my  beating  heart! 

Greik.  Let  not  my  words  impeach 

Him  I  still  love !    Listen,  and  tremble,  friend !     While  I 
Sat  here  and  slept,  a  dark  and  horrid  face  drew  nigh— 
A  demon's,  without  doubt — black  locks  waved  o'er  its  nose. 
And  breaking  suddenly  upon  my  calm  repose. 
It  roared  into  my  ear-^h,  woras  fraught  with  dismay  !— 
Thou  neer  thali  married  be,  if  not  upon  this  day  / 

Mettk  But  dreams  may  sometimes  err,  and  tell  a  lying  tale. 

Greti.  Dreams  that  give  dreadful  warning  ne*er  are  known  to  fail. 

Mettk,  Yet,  even  granting  that,  a  dream  to  be  all  right 
Itf  ust  take  place  in  one's  bed,  and  midst  the  hours  of  night ; 
But  in  the  day.— and  only  on  a  chair 

Greth  In  vain 

Wouldst  thou  my  spirits  flatter  into  peace  again. 

Notwithstanding  this  doleful  assertion,  the  dreamer  closes  with  her 
friend's  proposu  to  fetch  Mr.  Mads,  the  tailor's  hitherto  unlucky  rival, 
and  put  him  up  to  marrying  her  at  once,  so  as  to  avert  the  fate  denounced 
by  the  dark  vision.     She  agrees,  in  these  words  : 

Do  what  thou  thinkest  best — to  thee  I  leave  it  all ; 
Alack !  my  soul  is  wrapt  in  a  funereal  pall  I 

Mada  makes  his  appearance  forthwith,  and  harangues  for  some  time 
on  his  late  despair,  and  how  he  had  entertained  the  idea  of  stabbing  him- 
self, and  had  got  a  knife  all  ready ;  but,  upon  second  thoughts,  had  put 
off  the  catastrophe.  She  at  length  interrupts  him,  and  brings  him  to  the 
point,  without  much  circumlocution,  by  telling  him  : 

There  is  no  time  to  lose ;  if  I'm  to  wed  with  thee. 
It  must  be — now  or  never. 

Of  course  he  accepts,  in  a  short  rhapsody,  and  then  tells  her, 

111  gallop  off  in  haste,  to  put  on  better  clothes — 

But  I  shall  soon  be  back  to  take  the  bridegroom's  oaths. 

While  the  obliging  swun  has  gone  to  make  his  wedding-toilet,  and 
Gret^  has  been  indulging  in  a  short  soliloquy,  the  missing  tailor,  Johan, 
arrives,  is  well  received  notwithstanding  her  recent  arrangement  with 
Mads,  and  deHghts  her  by  the  assurance  that 

Moments  are  like  days,  and  hours  like  years  of  life. 
Until  the  happy  time  when  I  may  call  thee  wife. 

She  has  now  two  strings  to  her  bow ;  the  threats  of  her  supernatural 
visitant  will,  indeed,  he  as  null  and  void  as  any  other  <'  baseless  fabric  of 
a  dream,"  so  she  forthwith  invites  her  admirer  to  the  altar  on  that  very 


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44  A  Survey  qf  Danish  Literature. 

day.  Notwitbstanding  his  estimate  of  his  moments  and  hours,  he  is  not 
prepared  for  such  precipitate  doings,  and  seems  inclined  to  back  out. 
The  lady  catechises  mm,  and  at  last  draws  from  him  the  confession,  diat 
the  great  impediment  to  his  being  married  that  day  is — the  want  of  his 
stockings,  which  he  had  left  by  mistake  behind.  Bat  the  unseemly 
figure  which  he  must  cut  without  them,  though  it  elicits  a  burst  of 
eloquent  anguish  from  him,  is  not  admitted  by  the  determined  bride,  who 
sticks  to  her  point — **  Now  or  never/' 

A  variety  of  grandiloquent  scenes  occur ;  but  towards  the  last  the 
tailor  makes  his  appearance  in  a  respectable  pair  of  white  stodtings,^  and 
all  promises  to  go  on  to  Grete's  satisfaction,  when  Mads  and  his  friend, 
Jesper,  rush  in,  and  charge  Johan  with  theft — the  theft,  from  Mads,  of 
the  very  stockings  which  he  was  sporting  so  proudly.  His  betrothed 
calls  upon  him  to  dear  himself,  but,  conscience-stricken,  the  tailor  turns 
pale,  and  Gret^  shrieks : 

Thou  (umest  white !    Oh,  strength  and  heart,  and  hope  and  fife. 
Together  fail! 

After  a  fainting  fit,  she  exclaims  : 

Oh,  shame !     Oh,  agony  of  grief !     Tkou^  my  sweetheart ! 
Barbarian — such  thou  wert— but  such  no  longer  art ! 

Johan,  sobbing,  replies : 

Barbarian  I  yea,  alas !     That  name  befits  me  well ; 
Yet  tliink  not  without  grief  from  virtue  that  I  fell. 
MadasD — I  am  a  thief—tbe  accosation's  tme — 
I  have  disgraced  thee^but — then  art  revenged — adieu  1 

As  he  utters  this  last  flourish,  he  stabs  himsel£  Gret^  shocked  at  his 
untimely  fate,  scolds  the  innocent  Mads,  and  then  stabs  herself.  Mads 
apostrophises  the  Furies,  and  follows  Greta's  example.  Mett^  catches  the 
infection,  and  plunges  a  knife  into  her  heart ;  and  finally  Jesper  also 
commits  suidde,  but  first  recites  the  fijtUowing  winding-up  speech : 

Wherefore  should  Mcttfe  die  ?    Of  that  I  see  no  need ; 

But  since  they  all  are  dead,  I  too  must  do  the  deed. 

Oh,  ye,  in  future  years,  who  these  sad  scenes  sludl  hear. 

If  ye  our  corpses  view,  yet  never  shed  a  tear. 

As  flints  will  be  your  hearts.     But  all  hearts  are  not  stone ; 

Our  deaths  may  generations  yet  unborn  bemoan. 

To  those  who  sympathise  in  our  distress,  I  will 

Bequeath  a  parting  wish,  before  myself  I  kill : 

Oh  !  may  your  wardrobes  be  extremely  well  supplied ; 

And  never  may  your  love  be  by  your  stockings  tried! 

There  is  a  soii  of  epilogue  to  this  burlesque,  in  whi^  Mercury,  the 
god  of  thieves,  is  very  appropriately  made  to  appear. 

Poor  Wessel's  many  wants  and  cares  drove  mm  into  habits  of  intem- 
perance, which  closed  his  career  in  what  otherwise  might  have  been  the 
prime  of  his  life. 

In  so  limited  a  survey  of  Danish  literature  and  Danish  authors  as  this 
must  necessarily  be,  it  is  impossible  to  give  specimens  of  the  style  of 
each  writer,  or,  indeed,  to  give  much  more,  in  many  cases,  than  a 
catalogue  of  names — a  sort  dP  tCNnbstone  reecnd, — and  even  in  that,  a 
8electi<m  most  be  made.    Of  anthon  who  Kved  and  wrote  about  the  same 


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A  Survey  if  Damsh  LUerature,  45 

tune  with  Ewald  and  Wessel  may  be  mentioned  Johan  Clemens  Tode, 
who,  though  German  by  birth,  removed  at  an  early  age  to  Denmark, 
where  he  completed  his  studies.  He  became  a  physician,  and  was  one  of 
the  few  of  the  medical  profession  there,  who  devoted  himself  also  to 
general  literature.  Besules  his  medical  works,  one  of  which  was  a 
medical  reyiew,  he  was  the  author  of  some  pretty  poems,  &c.  &c.  He  was 
bom  in  1736,  and  died  in  1806.  Johan  Nordahl  Bran  was  a  poet  and 
dramadst;  and  Thomas  Christopher  Brunn  was  a  writer  of  songs,  some 
of  whieh  are  set  to  music.  A  number  of  his  rerses  are  giren  in  Seide- 
Hn's  <^  Collection  of  National  Songs  and  Ballads,"  pubMied  m  Copen- 
hagen, in  1821.  They  are  very  pretty,  and  one,  an  invocation  to 
Ifemofy,  recalling  past  happy  days,  is  particolarly  pleaang  and  graceful. 
But  as  a  specimen  of  the  verses  of  this  popular  songster,  we  sludl  rather 
choose  some  lines  to  his  '^  Faedreland,"  which  may  be  translated  as 
Mows: 

There  is  a  name  wliicli  each  reveres, 

Wliidi  from  our  eaiiiest  cbtldish  years 

Is  stamoed  on  every  heart ; 

'Tis  liailed  witli  warmth  in  youth*s  gay  spring, 

And  not  the  chill  of  age  can  bring 

IndifiTrence — lor  our  love  will  cling 

To  it  tin  life  depart. 

Tliat  name  so  loved  is — Fatherland/ 
What  Dane  its  magic  can  withstand? 
Wliat  sound  to  him  so  sweet? 
For  it,  his  blood,  his  life,  he  offers ; 
For  it,  his  strength  and  valour  proflTers; 
For  it,  would  freely-  yield  his  coffers, 
Or  Fate's  worst  evils  meet. 

Ye  stars,  that  from  yon  skies  above 
Watch  o*er  the  country  that  we  love. 
Protect  it  from  all  ill! 
From  every  selfish  feeling  free. 
Oh,  may  our  patriot-hearts  agree 
In  ever  loving*  serving  thee — 
Sweet  duty  to  fulfil! 

In  Honour's  path,  oh  f  may  we  tread, 

Still  by  our  country's  glory  led. 

Devoted  to  her  fame ! 

And  may  our  words  and  deeds  still  show 

The  noble  source  from  whence  th^  iow ; 

And  may  our  bosoms  ever  glow 

At  sound  of  Denmaik*s  name! 

Dear  Fatherland !    In  peace  or  strife^ 

To  thee  we  dedicate  our  life! 

Come,  every  loyal  Dane, 

Here  let  us  join  with  heart  and  hand, 

And,  as  befits  a  patriot-band. 

To  our  loved  northern  Fatherland     * 

A  goblet  let  us  drain ! 

It  may  be  imagined  that  these  are  rather  8|nrit-8tirrinff  lines  in  a  social 
party ;  at  any  rate,  they  are  not  worse  than  the  generuity  of  songs  which 
end  in  a  libation.  The  first-named  of  these  Bruuns,  or  Browns,  died  in 
1816;  the  writer  of  songs  in  1834.     He  was  also  professor  of  the  English 


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46  A  Survey  of  Danish  Literature. 

language,  at  the  uniTenitj  of  Copenhagen.  Both  were  horn  in  the 
middle  of  the  last  century*  Professor  Oluf  Olufsen  was  a  writer  of 
comedies,  and  his  " Gulddaasen,"  "Golden  box,''  is  still  a  favourite 
with  the  public ;  it  is  rich  in  national  peculiarities.  Of  the  two  Trojels, 
who  were  brothers,  one  was  a  writer  of  satirical  poems,  '^  which,"  says  a 
Danish  critic,  "  were  not  merely  playfully  witty,  but  bitter  and  biting." 
One  of  the  best  among  these  is  "  An  Ode  to  Dulness." 

Edward  Storm,  who  was  bom  in  Norway  in  1749,  and  who  was  at 
one  time  a  director  of  the  Theatre  Royal  at  Copenhagen,  was  a  writer 
both  of  prose  and  verse,  and  a  contributor  to  the  Minerva^  the  monthly 
magarine  before  mentioned.  His  fables  were  much  approved  of,  also  hu 
ballads ;  one  of  these — "  Herr  Zinclar" — may  be  taken  as  a  fair  specimen 
of  the  old  Danish  ballad.  It  relates  to  an  occurrence  which  took  place 
during  the  reign  of  Christian  lY.  of  Denmark.  "  To  the  honour  of  the 
Norwegian  peasants  of  Guldbrandsdal,"  says  Frederick  Sneedorff,  in  his 
history  of  Denmark,  '^  I  must  relate  an  event  which  happened  in  those 
days.  Gustavus  Adolphus  had  recruited  his  army  by  raisme^  2000  men 
in  Scotland,  and  a  Colonel  Sinclair  landed  with  1000  of  these  men  in 
Norway.  They  were  met  in  a  rocky  defile,  or  mountain-pass,  called 
'  The  Kringell,'  by  Lars  Gram,  the  magistrate  of  Guldbrandsdal,  who 
had  hastily  gathered  together  a  number  of  peasants  to  repel  the  Scotch 
invaders.  These  stout  fellows,  armed  with  axes,  and  any  kind  of  weapons 
they  could  get  hold  of,  waylaid  the  Scotch  soldiers  in  the  narrow  gorge, 
where  it  was  impossible  either  to  advance  or  to  retreat ;  and  where,  taken 
by  surprise,  they  fought  to  great  disadvantage.  Colonel  Sinclair  was 
killed,  and  so  were  all  his  troops,  except  two  men,  of  whom  one  was  sent 
back  to  Scotland  to  tell  his  countrymen  that  there  were  people  in  Norvjayy 
and  the  other  settled  in  Norway,  where  he  established  a  glass  work.  To 
commemorate  this  event,  a  column  was  erected  on  the  spot,  with  the 
following  simple  inscription :  *  Here  Colonel  Sinclair  was  shot,  the  26th 
of  August,  1612.'" 

Peace  was  concluded  between  Christian  and  Gustavus  Adolphus  the 
year  af^er  this  unfortunate  adventure.  The  first  condition  of  this  peace 
was  rather  absurd ;  at  least  it  was  making  a  heraldic  device  a  matter  of 
great  importance.  It  ran  thus :  ''  Both  kingdoms  shall  be  at  liberty  to 
bear  three  crowns  in  their  coat  of  arms.*'  "  And,"  adds  the  Danish  his- 
torian, *'  thus  ended  the  war,  and  would  that  it  had  been  the  last  in  which 
Christian  IV.  had  been  enmiged !" 

But  to  return  to  the  ballad,  here  it  is  : 

Herr  Sinclair  o'er  the  briny  wave 

His  course  to  Norway  bent ; 
Midst  Guldbrand's  rocks  he  found  his  grave. 

There  his  last  breath  was  spent. 

Sinclair  passed  o'er  the  billows  blue. 

For  Swedish  sold  to  fight ; 
He  came,  alas  I  he  little  knew 

Norwegian  dust  to  bite. 

Bright  beams  that  night  the  pale  moon  flung. 

The  vessel  gently  roll'd— 
A  mermaid  from  the  ocean  .sprung. 

And  Sinclair's  fate  foretold. 


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A  Survey  of  DoftUh  Literature.  47 

**  Turo  back,  turn  back,  thou  Scottish  chief! 

Holdst  thou  thy  life  so  cheap  ? 
Turn  back,  or,  give  my  words  belief, 

Thou'it  ne'er  repass  this  deep." 

"  Light  is  thy  song,  malicious  elf! 

Thy  theme  is  always  ill ; 
Could  I  but  reach  thy  hated  self, 

That  voice  should  soon  be  stilL** 

He  sailed  one  day,  he  sailed  for  three, 

With  all  his  vi^sal  train ; 
On  the  fourth  morn — see,  Norway,  see  I 

Breaks  on  the  azure  main. 

By  Romsdal's  coast  he  steered  to  land. 

On  hostile  yiews  intent ; 
The  fourteen  hundred  of  his  band 

Were  all  on  evil  bent. 

With  lawless  might,  where*er  they  go. 

They  slaughter  and  they  burn  ; 
They  laugh  to  scorn  the  widow's  woe. 

The  old  man*s  prayer  they  spurn, 

The  infant  in  its  mother's  arms. 

While  smiling  there,  they  kill ; 
But  rumours  strange,  and  wild  alarms, 

Soon  all  the  country  fill. 

The  bonfires  blazed,  the  tidings  flew. 

And  far  and  wide  they  spread  ; 
The  yalley*s  sons  that  signal  knew, 

From  foes  they  never  fled. 

**  We  must  ourselves  the  country  save, 

Our  soldiers  fight  elsewhere. 
And  cursed  be  the  dastard  knave 

Who  now  his  blood  would  spare  T' 

From  Vaage,  Lessoe,  and  from  Lom, 

With  axes  sharp  and  strong. 
In  one  great  mass  the  peasants  come. 

To  meet  the  Scots  they  throng. 

There  runs  a  path  by  Lido's  side. 

Which  some  the  kringell  call ; 
And  near  it  Laugh's  waters  glide^ 

In  them  the  foe  shall  fall. 

Now  weapons,  long  disused,  are  spread 

Again  that  bloody  day ; 
The  merman  lifts  his  shaggy  head, 

And  waits  his  destined  prey. 

Brave  Sinclair,  pierced  with  many  a  ball. 

Sinks  groaning  on  the  field ; 
The  Scots  behold  their  leader  fall. 

And  rank  on  rank  they  yield. 

"  On,  peasants !  on,  ye  Normand  men ! 

Strike  down  beneath  your  feet  !** 
For  home  and  peace  the  Scots  wished  then, 
.  But  there  was  no  retreat. 
May — VOL.  xcv.  no.  ccclxxvii.  e 


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4&  A  Smrfsey  o/Damsh  LUeng^rt. 

WidteorpsEs  wa*  tiM  Ktiagdli  iilkd^ 

The  ravens  wierggnfad; 
The  youtfaAil  blodd  wtiiaii  ibcre  was  sptIM 

The  Scottish  gida  faawaiM. 

No  living  sool  went  hoflM  agais, 

Their  countr}*nien  to  tell 
The  hope  to  cooquer  thoae  hov  vain 

'Midst  Norva/a  hUla  wha  (hrelL 

They  raised  a.  column  on  that  ipot^ 

To  bid  their  foes  beware ; 
Atid  avil  be  thai  Normand's  lot 

Who  coldly  passes  there! 

The  poet  departs  a  little,  however,  from  the  trath^  in  assertmg  that 
<'  no  livmg  soul  went  home  again ;"  £or,  as  we  have  seen,  history  tells  us 
that,  of  the  two  who  escaped^  one  was  pennatled  io*  return  to  his  native 
Scotland. 

Thomas  Thaarup,  bom  la  1749,  was  a  long  time  a  teacher  in  an  aca- 
*demj.  In  1800  he  became  a  director  o£  the  theatie,  which  appears  to 
have  been  an  office  geueraHj  held  by  Uteranr  men  ;  and  in  advancing  age 
he  retired  into  the  country,  where  he  MvtdoB  a  pension  until  his  deatn 
in  1821.  A  truthful  and  maaly  spixitr  a  dslicacy  of  taste,  and  correct- 
ness of  language,  were  the  preJominating  features  of  his  poetry.  The 
following  short  extract  from  one  of  his  patriotie  peeau  will  show  how 
strongly  the  love  of  country  is  cherished  m  Denmark  and  Norway ;  for 
though  Norway  now  belongs  to  Sweden,  it  mus^  be  bone  in  mind  that 
for  centuries  it  was  attached  to  the  Danish  esown,  and  that  it  was  not 
until  the  overthrow  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte,  and  the  sabsequent  adjust- 
ment of  the  territories  of  Europe,  th&t  Norwi^  was  severed  from  Den- 
mark to  be  united  to  Sweden: 

DU  PLET  AF  JOBD,  HVOK  UVETS  SXEMlfE. 

Thou  spot  of  eardi*  where  first  my  voice 

Its  lisping  infani-tones  essayed, 
Where  I  lived  only  to  rejoice 

In  all  the  beauty  Heaven  had  made ; 
Where  my  kind  mother  often  sought 

To  guide  ray  steps  with  gentle  nand; 
And  to  my  dawning  reason  tanglit 

The  quenchless  lore  of—Fathetkod. 

Oh  I  when  in  boyhood's  happy  days, 

Or  youth*Sy  to  distant  scenes  we  roam. 
How  oft  our  longing  spirit  strays 

Back  to  that  much-loved  early  home! 
Fond  memory  greets  each  hill,  each  glade 

Each  grassy  nook,  each  haunt  of  oU — 
Spots  where  his  joyous  childhood  played. 

The  care-worn  man  smiles  to  behold. 

From  east,  from  west,  from  icy  zones 

Where'er  the  human  race  is  found. 
The  name  o^home  comes  breathed  in  tones 

That  tell  it  is  a  welcome  sound. 
Not  the  poor  Greenlander  would  range 

From  his  bare  rocks  to  verdant  fields^ 
Nor  his  rude  clay-built  hut  would  change 

For  all  the  richest  palace  yieldB. 


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A  attrmy^  cfBmdak  LOnrntm.  M 

Aad  Novmys  failKand  Denmark's  plaiai^ 

HflMc  tbey-not  dftims  opon  •uc  hearts? 
Cklins— that  to  him  who  o'er  then  reig^ 

Otfr  kin^— a  loyal  lone  imparts. 
Dear  are  our  parents,  brethren,  friends ; 

And  dear  is  she^  whose  heart  and  hand 
Weseeft,  as  d^  best  gift  Heav*n  sends ; 

Tct  dttrarstill^oBriiaCnre  laodl 

Witfk  mck  feeimgs;  it  h  not  surpriamg  that  the  DuneS)  collectively 
and  indiyidualfy;  nmdie  so  many  sacrifices  for  their  king  and  coimtry 
Ailing^  tfie  late  war  with  Holstein,  or  nrther  with  die  Phissian  anc(  oi^ee 
German  tRxipv  who  were  sent  ^  assist  tiie  rerolbed  snhjects  of  the  Rii^ 
of  Dennmrlb  It  is  not  snrpnsing'  that  gay  and  ftuhiona-Me  ludSsss  oibied 
their  costiy  jeweisj  and  poor  old  women^  die  impoverished  descendants  of 
anciient  ftm^es  gone  to  decay,  sent  the^  small  remnants  of  their  treasnreii 
▼aloables  to  be  turned  into  money  to  assist  in  the  expenses  ef  the  war. 
Hky,  tftat  many  gave  np  their  limited  stK>ck  of  pliftte  in  constant  Bse^  and 
ate  with  woodim  forks  and  spoons,  in  order  to  Ybkw^  the  satisfection  of  con*- 
tribntmg  thehr  mite  to  their  country. 

Bnir  dns  is  a  digression  from  Ifhe  literature  to  the  fedings  <:i  the  Danes 
— a  momentary  degression,  pardonable,  howeyer,  it  is  hoped^  as  poetry^ 
whidi  gave  liise  to  it,  bx^A  feeling,  are  inseparably  connected. 

There  is  scarcely  any  subject  which  has  not  been  treated  of  by  Dflmi^ 
anl^rs  during  the  hitter  part  of  the  eighteenth  century;  but  some  of  the 
**  weightiest^'  of  niese,  to  borrow  a  Dani^  expression,  are  not  of  a  nstnrs 
to  add!  much  to  the  stores  of  popular  literature,  being  on  matters  too  ab- 
struse or  too  scientiffc  for  general  readers. 

**  Some  of  these  hooks,"  says  a  Danish  writer,  ^  contribute  littie  or 
nothing  to  1^  enriching  of  the  natiomd  literature^  not  being  adapted  to 
mfiuence  general'  taste,  or  to  assist  in  the  general  culture  of  mind:.  Their 
subjects  are  too  profound,  their  language  too  technical  for  those  who  haye 
not  studied  the  sciences.'^  **'  Theology,''  says  the  same  writer  (D^. 
Thortsen),  ^showed  itself  both  in  learned  and  popular  writings  in  a  form 
which  changed'  much  with  the  times.  The  expounders  of  Scripture  of 
former  days,  as  well  as  ancient  systems,  ancient  sermons>  and  other  old 
lefigious  books,  were  superseded  one  after  the  other,  and  gave  place  to 
works  more  suttable  to  the  progress  of  intelligence  and  the  difl^ion  of 
good  taste.  But  these  changes  were  not  sueh  as  to  please  all  classes  of 
Cfaiistiana,  and  their  opponents,  who  expressed  themselves .  more  and 
more  indiscreetly,  introduced,  at  last,  a  similar  religious  war  into  Den-> 
mark,  as  was  carried  on  in  Crermany.  Two  authors,  who  had  come 
before  the  public  in  the  time  of  Guldberg,*  and  still  lived  during  the  first 
part  of  the  present  century,  were  the  principal  religious  orators  and 
writers  of  the  dav." 

These  were  lUcolai  Falle  and  Christian  Bastholm.  The  former,  who 
had  studied  at  Leipsic  and  Gottxngen,  who  was  for  a  time  professor  at  the 
nniveraty  of  Copenhagen,  and  afterwards  a  bishop  in  Zealand,  was  held 
in  high  estimation.  The  latter,  originally  minister  of  the  Grerman  Lu- 
theran Church  at  Smyrna,  and  afterwards  chaplain  to  the  King  of  Den- 

*  Guldberg  was  tile  t^nimical  minister  and  favourite  of  the  Dowager-Queen 
Juliana  Karia,  stepmother  to  Christian  vn.,  whom  she  virtually  deposed. 


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50  A  Survey  of  Danish  Literature. 

mark,  was  still  more  admired.  His  works  were  numerous,  and  among 
them  may  be  mentioned,  <'  A  Philosophical  Disquisition  on  the  State  of 
the  Soul  after  Death,"  <'  Lessons  of  Wisdom  and  Happiness,"  <<  A  Trans- 
lation of  the  New  Testament,"  "  A  History  of  the  Jews,**  &c.,  dsc  A 
very  different  spirit  pervaded  the  works  of  two  other  contemporaiy  writers 
— Malthe  MoUer  and  Otto  Horrehow ;  they  were  both  remarkable  for 
their  attacks  on  Christianity.  Tyge  Rothe,  an  author  of  the  same  period, 
was  rather  a  philosophical  than  a  theological  writer;  but  a  sincerely 
Christian  spirit  pervaded  all  his  works,  among  which  was  '^  The  Effect 
produced  by  Christianity  on  the  Condition  of  the  People  of  Europe,**  in 
two  volumes ;  ^'  The  Hierarchy  and  Papal  Power,"  two  volumes ;  "  The 
Political  State  of  the  North  before  and  during  the  Feudal  Times;"  ''  A 
Survey  of  the  French  Monarchy,"  &c.  Professor  Gramboig  published, 
about  the  same  time,  a  work  of  great  merit,  entitled,  "  The  Difference 
between  Virtue  and  Good  Actions." 

lAurid  Smith,  an  eloquent  and  popular  preacher,  contributed  some 
philosophical  and  moral  essays  to  the  literature  of  his  country.  Mailing 
and  Wandall  were  also  authors  of  some  standing ;  and  the  historical 
works  of  the  former  were  much  used  in  academies,  and  other  institutions 
for  the  education  of  youth.  Niels  Ditlev  Riegels  was  a  voluminous, 
though  rather  heavy  and  tedious  writer;  he  produced  '^A  Complete 
History  of  the  Church,"  '<  A  History  of  Christian  V.,"  and  many  other 
works.  Esaias  Fleischer,  who  died  in  1804,  was  also  a  very  diligent 
writer.  His  career  had  been  rather  an  uncommon  one,  for  he  com- 
menced life  as  the  usher  of  a  Latin  school,  then  became  quartermaster 
of  a  regiment,  inspector  of  forests,  and,  lastly,  a  provincial  judge.  He 
wrote  on  geology,  astronomy,  and  many  other  subjects ;  but  his  principal 
work  was  an  ''Essay  on  Natural  History" — an  essay  of  gigantic  dimen- 
sions, certainly,  since  it  extended  over  ten  volumes !  Three  learned  Ice- 
landers elucidated  the  history  and  antiquities  of  the  north,  towards  the 
end  of  the  last  century.  These  were  John  Ericksen,  Skule  Thorlacius, 
and  Grim  Johnson  Thorkelin,  all  of  whom  resided  in  Denmark,  where 
the  first  and  last  named  held  official  situations,  and  Thorlacius  was  head 
master  of  a  public  school  in  Copenhagen. 

Among  the  principal  writers  of  the  last  half  of  the  eighteenth  century 
on  medical  subjects,  were  Professors  Matthias  Saxtorph,  Henrich  Callisen, 
and  Frederik  Ludvig  Bang;  the  last-named  of  whom  died  in  1820.  On 
mineralogy,  botany,  zoology,  &c.,  there  were  also  several  clever  writers ; 
namely.  Bishop  Gunnerus,  H.  Strom,  a  Norwegian  clergyman ;  Briinnich, 
Rottboll,  Holmskiold,  O.  F.  Miiller,  Vahl,  professor  of  botany;  Fabri- 
oius,  originally  a  missionary  to  Greenland,  afterwards  a  bishop,  and  who 
was  born  in  1744,  and  died  in  1822;  Abilgaard,  and  the  astronomer 
Sugg®.  Jacob  Baden,  who  having  been  a  rector  at  Elsinore,  became 
afterwards  **  Professor  Eloquentis"  at  the  university  of  Copenhagen,  pub- 
lished works  both  in  prose  and  poetry ;  among  the  former  was  a  transla- 
tion of  Xenophon'a  "  Cyropsedia" — the  history  of  the  education,  and 
achievements  of  the  elder  Cyrus.  He  was  also  the  editor  of  a  "  Critical 
Journal."  Liixdorph,  who  was  a  privy-counsellor,  was  remarkable  for 
his  elegant  Latin  poems.  He  gained  a  prize,  offered  by  Sweden,  for  the 
best  poem  on  the  expedition  of  Charies  Gustavus  across  the  Great  Belt, 
when  it  was  frozen. 


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A  Survey  of  Danish  Literature,  51 

Fredeiik  Sneedorff,  whose  father  and  elder  brother  were  also  authors, 
was  a  professor  at  the  Copenhagen  uniyersityy  where  he  obtained  much 
distinction  as  a  lecturer  on  history.  He  was  bom  in  1761.  An  unfor- 
tunate casualtv'  occasioned  his  death  in  his  thirty-second  year.  He  waa 
travelling  in  England,  and  the  coach  in  which  he  was  going  from  Liver^ 
pool  towards  the  north,  having  met  with  some  accident  near  Penrith,  the 
Danish  professor  either  jumped  or  was  thrown  out ;  he  fell  on  his  head, 
and  was  so  seyerely  hurt  that  he  died  within  a  few  hours  at  an  inn  at 
Penrith.  Mr.  Sneedorff  was  well  received  by  the  literati  of  England  and 
Scotland ;  and  the  celebrated  Mr.  Roscoe,  of  Liverpool,  was  particularly 
attentive  to  him.  Sneedorff  was  equally  admired  for  his  literary  attain- 
ments, and  beloved  for  the  excellence  of  his  private  character.  After  his 
death,  which  was  universally  reg^tted  in  Denmark,  his  lectures  and 
other  works  were  published :  these  comprised  a  History  of  Denmark,  and 
a  General  History  of  Europe ;  and  letters  descriptive  of  Germany,  France, 
Switxeiland  and  England — all  of  which  are  much  esteemed. 

Jonas  Rein,  Jens  Zetlitz,  Christian  Lund,  Frankenau,  Smidth,  and 
Schmidt,  may  ail  be  classed  among  the  minor  poets — the  poets  of  the  clubs 
and  of  society;  their  productions  being  principally  songs,  romances, 
elegies,  and  short  poems  of  different  descnptions— pretty,  lively,  senti- 
mental, or  pleasing,  but  nothing  beyond  that.  Christian  Brauman 
TnUin,  who  was  bom  in  Christiana,  was  a  popular  poet  in  his  day. 
Although  he  had  received  a  university  education,  he  did  not  follow  any  of 
the  learned  professions,  but  became  the  proprietor  and  manager  of  a  ma- 
nufactory in  his  native  town.  He  also  enjoyed  some  ciric  honours.  A 
poem  of  his,  entitled  "  Maidagen"  (May-day),  was  much  admired  for  its 
melodious  versification  and  its  livfidde^  as  the  Danes  say — literally,  "  life- 
full"  (an  adjective  which  Uvefy  does  not  exactly  express) — descriptions  of 
natural  objects. 

Novels,  whether  historical  or  otherwise,  were  scarcely  in  vogue  in 
Denmark  before  the  commencement  of  this  present  century.  Fables 
there  were,  indeed — mythological  allegories,  tales  of  fairy-land,  and 
stories -of  mermaids,  dwarfe,  magicians,  and  ghosts;  but,  except  theee^ 
the  only  works  of  light  literature  or  of  imagination  were  poems  and 


\  is,  perhaps,  no  language  more  abounding  in  dramatic  composi- 
tions than  the  Damsh.  The  Danes  have  a  very  Targe  theatrical  reper^ 
Urire^  consisting  of  tragedies,  comedies,  operas,  farces,  melodramas, 
vauderilles,  &c.  We  have  lying  before  us  at  this  moment  a  catalogue  of 
between  seven  and  eight  hundred  original  skueepil  (plays),  and  there  are 
others  not  included  in  this  list.  In  addition  to  these  dramas  by  Danish 
writers,  there  are  translations  from  the  dramatic  authors  of  England, 
Germany,  France,  Italy,  and  Spain,  as  well  as  from  the  authors  of  anti- 
quity ;  so  that  tiieze  is  no  lack  of  this  branch  of  literature  in  Denmark. 

This  short  survey  of  the  literature  of  the  eighteenth  century  would  be 
very  incomplete  without  some  notice  of  Samsbe,  who,  having  died  in 
1796,  cannot  be  included  among  the  authors  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

Die  Johan  Samsoe  was  born  at  Nestved,  a  place  which  is  remarkable 
as  being  also  the  birthplace  of  a  genius  of  more  modem  times,  M.  (jold- 
sehmidt^  the  clever  author  of  a  work  descriptive  of  the  manners,  habits, 
and  feeUnes  of  the  Jews.  Rahbek,  a  popular  writer,  both  in  prose  and 
▼ene,  mod  the  editor  of  the  political  and  literary  periodical  called  the 


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SI  A  Sttrv^  cf  Dauish  IdUmiiure, 

Mmenm  ms  m  soIumUbDow  of  Samsoe,  and  tmvelfed  mill  him  .after- 
wards  over  a  portaan  of  Europe.  Hb  vat  alao  the  editor  of  Satoaae'^ 
works  aftor  hit  death.  IVagedies  had  aknost  disappeand  firam  the  Daaadh 
itage  smceitfae  days  «f  Einild,  having  given  plaoe  io  oenve  dcafnaa  and 
magical  entertahnBenliB ;  hut  ihey  weoe  levived  hy  Saaaibey  vhoaeidiaffiB- 
hig  tragedy  ef  ^  Dyvtke"  becasEie  «xtveniet)r  popular,  and  ve-cawakened 
the  iaste  for  the  eemus  drama,  fie  vnrote  beaides  thiB  sonae  f>oeiB%  jmd 
**FiiAioi;"  and  oAer  ^'NorAem  Tales."  The  tragedy  of  **Dyieke" 
earriet  the  reader  huk  ta  the  dayi  of  Christian  11.  of  Doimark,  eeody  m 
the  abcteenth  ^entor^  and  is  foumded  on  what  may  be  cafled  a  iwianee 
iahistoiy. 

While  King  Hans  Teigaed  in  Denmaik,  his  son  Christnn,  then  csaws- 
priace,  4i>  -whom  imuah  poivrer  was  aangned  by  his  lather,  evinced  aneK« 
tvemely  stem  and  hadh  diBpeakksL  Like  Pedro  of  Spasn,  he  uras  fay 
some  called  the  cruel,  by  others  the  jtut.  His  ideas,  being  in  flome 
respects  anti-fendal,  and  indimag  towards  extendifig  tibe  ^faevty  «£  (the 
common  people,  and  restraining  that  of  the  nobility  and  higher  cUss 
clergy,  did  not  suit  the  latter;  thereloFe  an  attempt  was  imide  te  dmat 
his  tnoughts  from  politics,  and  soften  the  fiereeness  «f  his  temper,  bqr  sni^ 
plying  him  with  some  domestic  attraction.  On  ^e  occasion  of  aome  note  ai 
Bergen,  Bidiop  Erik  Walkendorff  was  sent  there  to  inqiibe  into,  and  fait 
a  atop  to  them.  On  his  return,  aoeording  to  SneedoHF,  he  not  oidy  repaetefl 
that  the  insarrectbn  was  qnelled,  bnt  also  that  there  aessAed  in  .tiiat 
eommereial  town  a  most  beautiful  Dutch  gid,  whose  name  was  I>yvehe. 
Christian's  oniioaty  to  see  tins  beaaty  was  excited:;  he  went  to  fietgan, 
and  gave  a  grand  ball,  to  whidi  aU  the  inhabitants  of  the  toam,  ahaaa 
the  very  lowest  ranks,  were  invited.  Among  the  gneats  canae  the  hean- 
tiful  Dyveke,  and  her  mfidMr  Si^rit,  v^o  had  been  a  ahopheaper  in 
Amsterdam,  and  at  that  time  kept  a  tavern  at  Bergen.  The  nuMeflnr 
Dyveke,  danced  with  her,  and  became  camphitrfy  fiwsinated.  **  That 
danoe,"  ss^rs  the  old  historian  (HvitllBJA,  ''danead  Cbriatian  IL  iMit  *<£ 
fhiee  kingdoms."  Dyreke,  who  was  extrasnefy  yeungy  haearae  his  ckens 
atmej  and  her  matMr,  an  art&d,  amhidons  ^Mwman,  his  'ConfidetDtiai 
adiviser.  Djnreke  eaerdoad  her  influenee  over  iier  royal  admirer  balh 
for  his  own  good  and  that  of  his  country.  She  was  the  friend  of  ^ 
paor  and  the  cppsesaed,  the  advooaie  of  all  who  iell  into  .disgraoa,  and 
the  suppHeont,  in  every  case,  former^.  IQer  good  offices  esiendBd  to  aM 
dftSBBB,  and  her  eaBBtant.mm  was  to  veften  the  aspecities  of  Obmstian'is 
Ak^Mnition,  and  to  win  him  ihe  iove  of  his  ^ituae  •anhjects.  JSIte  una  oo»' 
sequentlya  gemEml  favourite.;  but  her  fmother,  the  desigaeog  fiighnt, 
was  more  inclined  to  foment  disoarl,  and  was  espaoiidly  iaveiente 
against  ihe  highest  ordes  of  iifae  nohihty« 

Abont  six  ynan  afker  ^e  ball  at  Bergen,  £ing  Hans  died;  CfansliaD 
II«  aacended  isbe  thrvne,  and,  in  acoordaace  with  the  urgent  <widi  of  the 
nation,  he  maia»d  a  sister  of  the  Emperor  Charles  V.  For  •same  time 
the  king  managed  to.eoaeeal  fipom  her  his  loonnaaon  with  Djneke;  flt 
length,  ihowever,  it  came  to  her  <ear6 ;  bnt  fibsnbeth  was  a -aery  ai\% 
aaa^r-temperad  seaaon,  and  she  was  more  taken  lup  <«ith  eataMishmg  a 
ealony  of  Dotch  gndaners  in  the  little  ishind  of  Amagei^  than  sa  fpo^g 
way  to  jasdonsy  or  xesenteaant.  She  took  no  part  .annst  J^yvekai;  'but 
im  Biahqp  WaUmndaBiF,  who,  for  his  ontn  purpaaea,  had  baen  Abe  means 
flf  phasing  Dyveke  on  tin  aituatba  ihe  was  iso  nnfcBtnnato  as  to  JmUf 


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A  Smmnf  of  Dmmsh  LdteraUane.  Si 


^ns  nmr  ■§  ^WQi^  ^n*  aor  nnMTBJy  on  aeoovnt  <n  ihb  iMferod  to  Sigvrrt. 
A  nobleman  m  J9ie  leomi,  named  Toxtei  Oxe,  was  anxiouB  to  many 
Dyyeke^  to  whom  he  had  formed  a  strong  attachmentj  bat  his  aiisto- 
cratic  &m3y  were  much  opposed  to  his  wish ;  and,  fearful  that  Djveke, 
whose  mother  was  supposed  to  favour  his  suit,  would  he  induced  to 
acQ^  big  atbi;,  ihey  joiBed  Wal]feiul<ȣrfl  cabal  agaiast  her,  and  she 
maa  pmsoned.  Xhe  pabon  was  administored  in  some  dtenias,  aent  to 
flwr  hj  Skt  noble  «dsmrer,  who,  Aoi:^  innoeeBft  of  the  viorier,  wvb 
joade  ibb  fieCim  of  Chrisdsn's  revenge,  and  banged,  after  a  mock  trial 

History  tells,  'fluct  after  Dyveke's  death  Christaan  became  more  fercH 
cious  than  ever ;  and  he  was  encouraged  to  eveiy  evil  deed  by  the  un- 
prindplad  Sigfaiit^  who  maintained  her  influence  over  bun,  ana,  in  I&ct, 
was,  until  he  was  deposed,  tiae  ueimU  pirime  minister  of  Ihe  Niiao  of  the 
Nosm,  aa  Glmtian  baa  been  naxiied.  Sigbnt  amsounded  Chaistian 
with  her  om  «iBataR8,  and  among  these,  one  Didrik  ^agbak  waa  tke 
adviaer  and  prosMyter  of  eveiy  act  of  tynamj  and  atrocity.  TMs  in- 
^mova  person,  according  to  Hidtfelt^  had  been  originallj  a  barber ;  and 
Holberg  says  of  him,  that  "  he  was  not  the  first  barber  who  had  made 
so  high  a  iump  in  the  world."  But  he  ended  his  ill-^»ent  life  on  the 
|ilace  of  |mblie  eaLecution. 

In  Samaoe's  itragedj,  theve  is  a  aaenk,  Father  .Jehaa,  the  ageattof 
Bishop  Walkeodncff,  who  had  been  created  Arobbishop  of  DiKinthenn, 
wbD  ^aya  a  pvorament  fart.  One  of  the  earliest  scenes  introduoes  this 
monk,  engaged  in  findeavouring  to  persuade  or  fngbten  Dyvdre  iato 
leaving  llhe  king,  ^e  and  her  confidential  attenouit,  Kiaudia,  are 
together  when  he  enters : 

Monk,  Peace  be  with  you,  noble  faidyl 

DjfVffke.  ThmlBS  be  to  God!  I  have  peace.  My  conscience  reproaohes 
me  not. 

ManL  No']— 4i0t  tint  yon  distvrb  the  happy  union  between  our  fllintrious 
monarch  and  hb  virtuous  queen  ? 

JHuUBa,  Spare  'her,  holy  father  1  Spare  her  that  reproach — she  deserves 
itast. 

Monk,  1  speak  in  the  cause  of  God  and  the  king.  In  the  name  of  toy 
mtpenat^  the  pknis  Archbishop  Walkendorff,  do  I  speak.  He  sends  rae  again 
thn  day  iloyocu  (Leng  have  1  sought  to  move  you  l^  mild  councils ;  if  ^eseiail, 
aben  duty  wdeonacieDce  compcA  me  to  emp4oy  tlie  sternest  language  of  truth. 

JClmudial  Ytm  (brget  yoinvelf,  holy  -fotber  .  .  .  that  tone  .  .  . 

Dyveke.  Let  him  speak  as  he  will,  Klaudia ;  yet  once  more  will  I  condescend 
to  justify  myself. 

Monk,  YoD  are  becoaoing  obdurate  .  .  . 

Dyveke.  Oh  no,  good  father,  no.  Would  to  God  yon  knew  how  miserable  I 
mm !  iAy  young,  inexperienced  heart  was  open  to  ever}*  impresskm  when  the 
brave  and  handsome  Christian  sued  for  my  love,  He  placed  Ins  happiness  in 
the  possession  «tf  this  heart ;  1  gave  it  to  him,  guxhiess  and  undivided.  I 
vowed  etaraal  kwe  to  him,  and  1  held  iaat  my  oath.  I  knew  notbinc  of  what 
the  public  interest  might  demand  of  the  pjince.  To  soften  Qhnstian^s  x>e»- 
haps  too  severe  temper,  to  subdue  his  heart  to  milder  feelings — in  a  word,  to 
make  him  win  the  anection  of  all  his  subjects — these  were  the  hopes  that  lulled 
tne,  the  dreams  in  which  I  gloried.  But  woe,  woe  to  him  who  knew  the  abyss 
mo  whidi  1  was  about  to  plunge,  yet  held  me  not  back !  It  was  yoar  Wal- 
^MdoitfP-^WQr  now  so  fions,  so  strict  AVaHcenderff^-who  ^yrecipitatedme  toio 
ahat  abyss,  k  was  ke  who  amiHngly  enticed  Christian  to  me,  in  order  to  ndhe 
me  the'  tool  of  his  own  desifiBa,    if  theae  waa  good  in  dieae  iliiiigiii    ifiia 


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54  A  Survey  of  Danish  Literature. 

wished  by  my  means  to  soften  his  prince's  heart— may  God  pardon  him  I  Al- 
though be  would  now  tear  me  from  him.  .  .  But,  thou,  my  mother  .  .  .my 
mother!  ... 

MoiA.  WalkendorfT  does  not  tear  you  from  him ;  be  only  wishes  you  to 
leave  the  king. 

Sp^eke,  I  cannot. 
onk,  I  bad  hoped  that  religion  would  have  taught  you  the  respect  due  to 
TOur  queen,  and  fit  consideration  for  the  king's  honour  and  peace.    It  would 
hare  been  better  to  have  sought  the  path  of  virtue  willingly  ...  it  is  not  yeC 
too  late.    Trust  not  to  the  king*s  affection  for  you.    Remember  who  you  are, 
and  yield  to  her  who  has  holier  claims.    For  the  last  time  I  ask  you.  .  .  . 
Will  you  renounce  the  kin^? 
Dyvehe.  Never.    The  king  must  forsake  me  first. 
Monk,  Reflect  once  more.    Walkendorff  promises  you  his  protection. 

Sft>ehe,  I  need  not  the  archbishop's  protection  ;  I  have  the  king's. 
tmk.  Since  the  daims  of  religion  are  disregarded,  I  must  employ  other 
means.    Dyveke,  if  your  mother's  safety  be  dear  to  you,  leave  the  aing. 

Duveke.  My  mother's  safety !    What  mean  you  ?    Speak. 

Monk.  You  know  full  well,  that,  trusting  to  the  kings  favour, she  bids  defi- 
ance to  the  nobles  and  the  clergy  ;  that  slie  withdraws  the  king's  confidence 
from  them,  and  stirs  up  the  lower  classes,  the  burghers — even  the  peasantry— 
against  their  rightful  lords.  Nay,  more,  our  holy  religion  is  not  in  safety;'  the 
council  of  state  itself  is  abased  before  your  proud  mother  and  her  insolent  ad- 
herents. It  is  suspected— and  I  fear  too  truly— that  your  mother  favours  the 
heresy  of  Luther,  and  intends  to  introduce  it  into  these  realms. 

Ihfveke.  Have  I  fallen  so  low  that  I  must  listen  to  language  so  insulting  to 
my  mother?    I  am  not  accustomed  to  this  tone. 

Monk.  The  importance  of  the  subject — your  own  and  your  mother's  danger 
— hurry  me  on.  She  is  hated  for  her  ambitious  designs — there  is  a  powenul 
party  formed  against  her— they  will  demand  her  banisnment. 

Dyveke.  Her  banishment  ?     My  mother  I 

Monk.  And  if  the  king  refuse  the  demand,  tliey  will  threaten  to  withhold 
their  assistance  in  the  approaching  war  with  revolted  Sweden. 

Dyveke.  What  shall  I  do  ?  unhappy  that  I  am  I  I  know  nothing  of  my 
mother's  designs.    How  shall  I  act  ? 

Monk.  I  have  already  told  you.  While  the  king  loves  you,  so  long  will  your 
mother  preserve  her  influence  over  him.  To  deprive  her  of  that  influence, 
you  must  fly — ^you  or  she  must  be  the  victim. 

Dyveke.  Oh,  let  me  die  for  her,  and  for  my  Christian's  peace!  then  all  my 
misery  will  be  ended.    Good  monk,  I  am  ready ;  what  do  you  require  of  me? 

Monk.  Lady,  you  misunderstand  my  words.  Why  speauL  of  death?  You 
must  only  go  hence,  fiir  from  the  king  and  his  dominions — ^perhaps  to  a 
cloister. 


JDytvAe  (sighingV  And  not  to  die? 

\k.  Fly,  or  dr 
Duveke.  i  es !  I  will  save  my  mother, 


Monk.  Fly,  or  dread  what  may  happen  I     Let  not  my  warning  be  in  vain. 


Motdi.  Heaven  has  heard  my  prayer,  and  moved  your  heart ;  you  shall  soon 
hear  from  me  again.    Peace  be  with  you,  Dyveke. 
Dyveke.  Peace  1  yes — rest  in  the  grave ;  there  only  is  rest  for  me! 

There  is  a  very  good  scene  between  King  Christian  and  Dyveke ;  and 
one  still  better,  in  which  the  fiendish  monk  poisons  the  cherries  that  are 
to  be  sent  to  Sigbrit  and  her  daughter.  His  cool  villany  and  satanic 
laoffh  are  well  Ascribed;  in  short,  the  whole  play  is  interesting  and 
well  written.  But  it  is  time  to  take  leave  for  the  present  of  the  Danes 
and  th&r  literature.  Among  the  authors  of  the  nineteenth  century,  tome 
names  may  occur,  better  known  to  the  generality  of  English  readers 
ihan  those  which  have  hitherto  been  enumerated. 


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(     55     ) 
ON  VIRGINIE'S  NAME-DAY. 

TEAN8LATKO  FROM  THB  FLEMISH  OF  K.  L.  LBDEGANCK.* 

By  Johk  Oxenford. 

Virginie  I 

On  this  day  my  heart  is  glad  ; 
And  where'er  I  turn,  I  see 

Nothine  darksome,  nothing  sad. 
Though  the  month  is  one  of  gloom^ 
Nature  seems  for  me  to  bloom ; 
Light  enfelops  all  around, 
Ev'rything  with  green  is  crown*d  : 
Such  enchantment  comes  to  me. 
From  tliy  name,  sweet  Virginie. 

In  that  name 

Are  my  hope  and  joy  compris*d ; 
Wealth,  and  rank,  and  idle  fame  — 

Dreams  of  youth,  at  last  despisM, 
Are  but  worthless,  wretched  things. 
To  the  bliss  that  dear  name  brings. 
All  with  which  the  soul  is  bless*a — 
All  the  rapture  I  love  best — 
All  that  thou  canst  be  to  me, 
Speaks  tliy  name,  sweet  Virginie. 

I  know  well, 

This  soft  heart  from  nature  came ; 
And  a  spark  upon  it  fell. 

Lighting  it  with  heaVnl^  flame. 
Yet  tbe  flamfe  had  never  kmdled, 
And  the  spark  to  nought  had  dwindled^ 
But  that  dear  name  softly  spake, 
Bidding  all  its  glory  wake, 
And  that  name  shall  ever  be 
My  best  guardian,  Virginie. 

On  the  path 

Of  my  life,  I  early  found 
One  rich  prize,  a  harp  which  hath 

Long  against  my  side  been  bound. 
Now,  unstrung,  it  decks  the  wall ; 
Yet,  whene'er  these  bless'd  days  fall, 
Pleas'd,  I  bid  it  once  more  sound. 
With  a  wreath  new-woven  crown'd — 
Woven,  as  a  gift  to  thee, 
E'en  as  now,  my  Virginie. 

^  Ledeganck  is  one  of  the  few  Flemish  poets  of  the  present  day;  and  the  above 
little  poem  was  written  in  1839.  I  need  scarcely  inform  my  readers  that  in 
Githotic  oonntries,  notthe  Urth-day,  bat  the  ^* name-day,"  Le^  the  day  of  the 
patno  saint^  is  celebrated. 


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(     56     ) 


THE    PHANTOM    CHASE. 

BT  CORmSLIUS  COLVILLS. 

In  one  of  the  wildest  districts  of  Gennany  there  is  an  immense  forest 
of  huge  and  dosely-planted  timber,  and  which,  seen  at  a  distance,  ap]^earB 
like  a  long  and  undulating  dark  helt  skirting  the  verge  of  the  horizon. 
It  is  one  of  tliose  remarkaole  productions  of  nature  which  are  only  to  be 
met  with  in  thinly-populated  and  uncultiyated  parts  of  the  country,  into 
which  civilisation  has  scarcely  yet  penetrated,  and  wbere  Nature  still  pre- 
sents herself  in  all  her  sublimity  and  irregularity,  untamed  by  the  hand  of 
man,  and  neither  rendered  subeorvient  to  his  puny  devices,  nor  made  to 
administer  to  his  petty  ambikian.  Heve  she  roars  her  front  erect  and  free 
as  she  came  from  the  hands  of  an  Aknighfy  Orastor.  Man  has  changed 
her  aspect ;  he  has  stunted  her  growth ;  he  has  shom  lier  of  her  rugged- 
ness  and  her  beauty ;  but  hw  pathless  forests,  her  mountain-peaks,  her 
immense  wastes  and  deserts,  her  crsgs  and  steeps,  ihe  surging  ocean,  the 
trackless  sands,  alike  bear  testimony  to  His  wisdom  and  power,  and  appear 
to  read  a  continual  homrly  to  man,  and  to  declare  his  impotence  and  in- 
significance. Yes,  he  lias  prescribed  a  bound  to  the  ocean ;  he  has  seat 
his  winged  messengers  from  shore  to  shore;  he  has  devised  a  power  that 
counteracts  the  currents  of  the  tides  and  the  £ree  winds  of  heaven ;  he  has 
almost  annihilated  both  time  and  spaee;  he  has  dived  into  the  bowels  of 
the  earth,  and  ascended  even  into  the  doods ;  he  has  rendered  the  land 
fruitful  and  productive ;  he  has  built  him  towns  and  cities,  and  covered 
the  earth  with  monuments  of  his  greatness ;— but  Nature  still  speaks,  s^ll 
declares  her  majesty,  still  stan£  out  in  bold  relief  to  all  human  m- 
ventions. 

It  is  in  the  district  I  have  just  spoken  of -diat  llie«eene  of  the  present 
narrative  is  laid.  An  innnenee  forost,  as  I  bwve  already  intimated,  covers 
a  large  tract  of  the  country.  It  is  thick  and  dask,  and  he  who  has  ven- 
tured into  its  depths  may  be  said  to  have  taken  his  leave  of  the  light  of 
day.  The  country  around  is  wild  and  mountsdnous,  and  presents  few 
appearances  of  cultivation.  Here  and  there,  embowered  in  dark  and 
overshadowing  woods,  an  ancient  baronial  castle  presents  itself  having 
either  completely  fallen  into  decay,  with  its  crumbling  stones  overgrown 
with  ivy  and  other  creeping  plants,  or  into  such  a  state  of  neglect  as 
scarcely  to  render  it  iuhaAiitable.  This  district,  like  -many  others  in  va- 
rious parts  of  Grermany,  teems  with  iegends  and  tnutitions,  and,  as  might 
be  expected  from  a  country  of  «o  wild  and  romantic  an  aspect,  of  some  of 
the  most  marvellous  BupenrtitaoBB.  THie  former  are,  perhaps,  as  strange 
and  incredulous  as  the  latter,  but  they  are  widely  diffused  and  implicitly 
believed  in  by  the  people  of  this  primeval  wilderness.  I  have  always 
thought  that  districts  of  this  description  are  more  favourable  for  the 
gromA  fif  these  wild  and  jromaatic  legends,  these  etmnge  anpe»tiii*n% 
than  any  olhei,  and  my  naaons  for  ^tke  beHef  appear  eim^  and  ratMad. 
Those  who  live  in  regions  of  this  kind  are  constantly  smrounded  hy^ 
works  of  Nature — they  are  more  in  communication,  as  it  were,  with  the 
Almighty  Being  from  whence  they  derive  their  existence  than  the  inha- 
bitants of  cities — their  souls  are  imbued  with  a  sense  of  the  wonderful 
works  of  creation,  and  hence,  unsophisticated  and  unacquainted  with  the 


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Tke  Phmdam  Cham.  §7 

oences  by  winck  other  nMn  ^oontrife  to  parry  fsonvicfcioiiB  mnBch  wouU 
Mb.  foree  thwoaUeo  upon  tiwm,  ihey  are  ^iFiiiiag  to  adaut  that  the  vBOr 
I  teems  with  liuags  as  manreUoas  as  they  me  utterfy  beyond  ihair 

shensiOD. 

^  forest  in  qaestion  is  filled  wiith  demons;  bat  wliedier  Ae  o&poagi 
ef  ilMicy  or  odwninse,  I  wiU  not  pretend  to  say^  it  is,  aweectheless,  im- 
poBi^e  to  coartiai  the  peittinaeity  with  whieh  ttte  paoffle  inast  upen  thear 
existenoe,  and  wfaidi,  as  they  aasert,  «re  fro^upatly  seen  attnida^hft,  and 
hartiour  «  feeKng  ef  the  nioat  iatense  aahnosi^  towavds  the  entire  h»- 
wtak  noe.  A  iegeafd  of  Teiy  apocryphal  aiiflionty  is  rooearded  lelatm  Ae 
these  wood-demoDB.  A  gfeat  Bumfaer  of  yeaxs  hefbre  the  time  of  which 
I  spesk,  an  infiuott  bdoaging  to  a  peasant  in  the  neig^boofhood  was 
stolen  under  thetfoQowing  stnoge  euouwastannes.  A  woman,  heaEings 
diildki  her-annB,  ppoeeeded  to  a  weM,  sitvated  on  ibe  berdecsef  the  fiirest, 
to  •draw  water.  When  she  reached  the  ^ot,  she  Jmew  not  how  she  was 
to  dappase  df  <ihe  dnld  till  -die  had  filled  her  ▼esseL  Twiligbt  was  hub 
merginginto  ibe  dadcoeas  of  the  night,  andiiieae  appeared  to  he  nobody  at 
hand  who  «enld  render  her'die  leastasBistaace.  Bhe  did  not  like  to  lay  ihe 
<ddldiipon  the  ground,  kst  it  ekould  be  stolen  hf  die  demona  of  themest:; 
and,  en  iJw  other  hand,  she  did  not  liketo  letum  home  without  a  supply 
•f  crater,  of  whiish  ifae  family  stood  in  mndi  seed.  In  :diis  predieamoat, 
dke  -debated  with  herself  ibr  sene  mnaients  as  te  how  Ab  shoidd  ae^ 
ahem  suddenly,  and  without  knowing  whence  he  came,  an  old  deertpid 
soan  presented  himscdf  to  hex,  and  at  onee  declared  his  wilfingness  to  hoUL 
the  ehilA  ttntii  she  had  drawn  her  water.  Hie  anoBum  somtiDised  iv 
sevend  seoonds  the  appeanmoe  of  the  old  aaan,  fant  seeing  nothing  repal- 
sivein  his  featnes,  and  jodging  that  be  was  some  poor  mendicant  isewn^ 
tng  the  *Boantij  in  ssaMh  «f  food,  dhe  i  wtfiiind  the  infinntto  his  fcoepiog. 
Woen  idle  had  drawn  the  water,  and  was  again  ahent  to  take  the  child  in 
her  aims,  a  thick  must  seemed  to  interpose  itself  between  her  and  the  oU 
nam,  hut  when  «t  lud  dnpeiaed,  aeither  he  nor  the  child  was  visible, 
Frsnlae  at  her  IbsB,  jmd  tavifisd  at  the  oocuoBnce  of  which  she  had  heen 
a  witness,  tfhe  hastened  te  communicate  her  nnsfiartsne  to  hemeighboun^ 
and  if  possible  «»  devise  sosae  means  wheieby  tfaej;hild  nngfat  be  .reco- 
vered. Search  was  made  every  whose,  but  in  vain;  and  to  this  day  no 
ti&igs  4af  it  has  ever  been  TooeLved.  The  well  is  a^  pointed  oat  as  tiha 
seeae  <if  the  occarrenoe,  but  it  has  never  been  resorted  ta  finee  that 
period  after  ta^bt 

it  was  in  tins  Sntriet,  abounding  with  audi  remarkahle  legends  and  as- 
saeiBtians — ^a  ^aoe  which  appeared  to  be  Ae  resort  of  such  evil  ministen^ 
and  n^aoh  was  almost  shot  out  fimn  di  commeiee  with  the  wocki  by  the 
wi^iessof  its  character  and  its  isalatkn,  ikat  I  sought  a  retreat  I  knew 
mfl'the  extent  of  my  fasfaneas.  I  could  not  see  Am  ausery,  the  desolation^ 
that  were  to  >£aillow.  My  motives  for  doing  so  appeared  to  be  sufficiently 
'"~nr.  The  readei,  howerer,  n^  tbndc  otherwise.  It  vrasperhi^  m 
—  I ;  I  knew  not.  It  did  not  appear  to  heso,  and  the  lesolt  does 
notwarxant  my  coming  to  that  osnck^on.  It  harrowed  up  nnr  soul---it 
deprived  meof  «est— 4fc<drove.flli]mberiram  my  a^as — ^ifc  hung  Juke  a  mill* 
stone  nbant  my  nedc,  and  never  permitted  jne  to  emoy  hi^iness  ior  m 
siarleaMmient.  I  «hecame  disgusted  with  life — wi«b  die  w«rid---aafth 
saenly.     There  was  sm  phwe^of  lefage  batin  solitude^in  a  total  aa» 


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58  The  Phantom  Chase. 

trangement  firom  mankind.  Heavens!  what  an  affliction — what  a  griev- 
ous burden  to  bear  1  Oh,  ye  who  pass  quietly  along  the  beaten  track  of 
life,  who  neither  diverge  to  the  right  hand  nor  to  the  left,  whom  neither 
Fancy  nor  Passion  can  allure  from  the  even  course;  who  are  not  too  much 
enamoured  of  the  flowers  that  are  strewn  in  your  way,  nor  too  much 
grieved  or  disappointed  by  the  thorns  and  briars  with  which  ye  are  beset; 
who  pass  firom  childhood  to  youth,  firom  youth  to  manhood,  from  man- 
hood to  old  age,  with  a  steadfast  equanimity,  and  the  current  of  whose 
lives  flows  smoothly  as  the  waters  of  a  clear  and  tranquil  river, — ^it  is  not 
ye  who  will  apprecuite  the  calamities  that  are  chronicled  here — ^it  is  not  ye 
vrho  can  sympathise  with  sufferings  such  as  mine.  There  are,  peradven- 
ture,  hearts  that  may.  Heaven  grant  that  they  be  few ! — Heaven  grant 
that  calamities  such  as  mine  may  not  be  common  to  mankind ! 

I  must  resume  my  narrative,  and  check  these  reflections  as  much  as 
possible.  I  was  a  believer  in  predestination,  and  was  impressed  with  a 
conviction  that  I  was  destined  to  accomplish  an  act  which  made  me 
shudder  whenever  I  thought  of  it  I  believed  I  was  predestined  to  be  a 
murderer — I  believed  that  he  who  was  ordiuned  to  fall  a  victim  to  my 
inhuman  cruelty,  in  whose  blood  my  hands  were  to  be  imbuedj  was  my 
own  brother.  O  God!  what  anguish  of  spirit,  what  writhings  of  the 
body,  did  this  dreadful  conviction  occasion  me.  Was  it  possible  that  I 
could  ever  contemplate  such  an  act — was  it  posrible  that  I  could  put  it 
into  execution— was  it  possible  that  I  could  injure  even  a  hair  of  his 
head?  No;  the  supposition  was  monstrous — incredible.  It  was  thus  I 
tried  to  argue  with  myself,  but  in  vain.  The  fearful  truth  still  forced 
itself  ui>on  my  mind — ^it  was  useless  to  attempt  to  shake  it  off.  It  was 
written  in  my  destiny — the  decree  had  gone  forth — ^the  edict  of  Heaven 
was  irrevocable.  My  countenance  did  not  betoken  the  character  of  a 
murderer,  mydispositbn  in  no  respect  delighted  in  cruelty ;  but,  notwith- 
standing this,  I  could  not  escape  uie  doom  tiiat  awaited  me. 

I  was  very  young  when  this  conviction  forced  itself  upon  my  mind— I 
had  scarcely  attained  my  sixteenth  year,  I  was  living  with  my  fiunily  in 
Danzig,  and  was  preparing  myself  to  enter  one  of  me  German  univer- 
sities. Our  fieunily,  l^sides  my  parents,  consisted  of  a  brother  and  sister* 
My  disposition,  however,  was  altogether  different  from  rither  of  the  two 
latter,  and  few  persons  would  have  supposed  that  so  dose  a  relationship 
subsisted  between  us.  They  were  lively  and  gay  in  their  dispositions; 
their  lives  appeared  to  be  a  long  holiday — a  perpetual  rejoicing.  They 
laughed,  they  sung,  they  danced,  they  deliirhted  in  all  the  games  ami 
pastimes  peculiar  to  vouth.  The  bloom  of  health  mantied  upon  thdr 
cheeks,  the  vivacity  of  youth  sparkled  in  their  eyes.  They  were  favourites 
with  everybody.  I  was  the  reverse  of  aU  this.  life  afforded  me  no 
pleasure;  I  was  miserable.  My  bodily  health  declined,  and  I  shrunk 
almost  to  a  skeleton.  I  loved  to  be  alone—I  avoided  society.  Why 
should  I  obtrude  myself  upon  people  who  did  not  love  nor  appreciate  me? 
Why  should  my  presence  throw  a  damp  upon  the  hilanty  of  others? 
Why  should  I  mar  the  enjoyment  of  those  whose  evil  star  had  not  been  in 
the  ascendant?  I  would  not  do  so— my  pride  fbibade  it  If  they  ware 
capable  of  enjoying  themselves,  I  woula  not  interfere  with  their  nappi- 
ness,  however  much  I  might  envy  it  I  gave  myself  up  to  study  and 
reflection— they  were  my  only  solace  for  those  enjoyments  of  which!  waf 


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The  Fhantam  Chaae.  69 

deprired,  and  which  were  00  bountifally  distributed  amongst  others. 
Though,  howeTsr,  J  was  much  alone,  I  still  loTed  the  society  of  eveary 
member  of  my  family,  and  my  brother  and  I  were  to  each  otner  every- 
thing which  so  tendcnr  a  relationship  warranted. 

I  remember  on  one  occasion  he  and  I  were  walking  in  the  country 
together.  It  was  towards  evening.  The  scene  before  us  was  calculated  to 
inspire  us  with  delight.  The  flowers  bloomed  from  the  hedge-rows,  the 
birds  poured  forth  their  melody  from  every  spray  and  bough,  but  1  was 
sad,  and  wrapped  in  meditation. 

*^  ^e  kommt  es,  Carl,"  I  said  to  my  brother,  ^'  dass  du  immer  so  lustig 
hist,  und  ich  immer  so  traurig?" 

**  Ich  weiss  nicht.     Du  hast  keine  Ursache  so  trauijg  zu  sein." 

"  Ach  du  weisst  nicht  alles,  lieber  Carl;  du  verstehst  mich  gar  nicht** 

**  DasB  ist  wohl  mOglich,  aber  warum  bist  du  nidit  wie  andere  Leute?'* 

**  DasB  kann  nimmer  der  Fall  sein." 

**  Warum  nicht  ?" 

"  Gott  hat  es  so  beschlossen." 

**  Dass  ist  Unnnn,  lieber  Bruder." 

The  evening  began  to  close  fast  in  upon  us,  and  being  fatigued,  I 
seated  myself  upon  the  earth,  whilst  my  brother  amused  himself  by  wan- 
dering about  in  the  neighbourhood. 


I  was  obliged  to  quit  Danzig,  my  family  connexions—everything 
that  I  held  most  dear — to  obviate  the  dreadful  destiny  that  awaited  me. 
Ha,  ha!  futile  attempt — impotent  endeavour  I  Frustrate  the  designs  of 
Heaven,  oppose  a  decree  which  was  fixed  and  irreversible  !  It  was  pre- 
posterous to  think  of  it  I,  nevertheless,  made  the  attempt,  with  a  full 
deteraoination  never  to  return  to  my  family  again. 

As  I  have  already  said,  I  sought  an  asylum  in  a  district  that  accorded 
with  my  character — ^it  was  wild  and  solitary.  The  people  were  rude  and 
uocultivated,  and  they  wero  neither  curious  to  know  who  I  was  or  whence 
I  had  come.  Notwithstanding  this,  I  did  not  like  their  society ;  they 
were  happy  and  contented,  and  although  they  suffered  many  privations, 
they  did  not  seem  to  feel  them.  I  penetrated  into  the  depths  of  the 
forest  I  knew  not  its. character,  or  1  should  not  have  ventured  to  take  so 
hazardous  a  step.  The  eveniog  was  approaching  as  I  entered  its  silent 
and  gloomy  recesses.  The  rays  of  the  sun  were  still  shining  upon  the  tops 
of  the  trees,  and  the  birds  had  yet  scarcely  sought  their  nests.  There 
was  scarcely  a  breath  of  air  to  stu:  the  leaves  of  the  trees,  and  the  deepest 
silence  reigned  around.  1  had  some  difEculty  at  first  to  force  my  way ; 
the  underwood  was  thick  and  troublesome,  and  frequently  the  pending 
boughs  of  the  trees  put  a  stop  to  my  progress :  I  was  patient  and  per- 
severing, and  I  succeeded  in  overcoming  these  difficulties.  When  I  had 
got  deeper  into  the  forest,  the  way  was  less  impeded  by  these  obstacles, 
so  that  I  could  walk  more  at  my  leisure  and  ease.  The  scene  was 
novel,  and  pleased  me,  and  I  was  not  oppressed  by  the  presence  of  any 
member  of  the  human  family.  If  I  were  sad  and  melancholy,  there  was 
nobody  to  observe  me ;  if  I  was  oppressed  with  thoughts  which  almost 
drove  me  beside  myself,  there  was  none  to  perceive  the  anguish  1  en- 
dured.    Yet  the  change  was  salutary,  agreeable.     It  befitted  my  humour, 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


M  Tkt  I'hfmhm  OitBan 


r  B^deafein^  ak  once  so  pnafbL  nd  md«Hhaly.    I  taufennA  Ika 
for  aeooBidBraUe  distnce,  in  otdnr  to  aaaertaiih what  kiitd o£  « 

Ci  had  aektted  ar  n  pfcicB  •£  niagit.  It  anemed  kitetaiiBaWlr^aAd 
e  appeared  to  be  do  mods  •£  q^pr^eas  «3En^. lM)r  nr^selracin^ u^i  ntufit 
i  woa  pleated  at  thk  rather  than  etharwiar,  §m  itavaateiiteiifc  wMd  be 
mooa  laaamnblB  iut  aattlada.  Mid  Itss  likaly  to  enpaae  bm  to  iiiiianinn, 
i  had  liiry>Uw%  fanvrevei^  one  ciawiamtanae  which  mam  oceaned  t»  bm^ 
aad  whitth  oceaaioued  ma  some  «B«aiiiies&  Were  theBe  any  anM  baaala 
in  the  forest?  It  was  most  probable  that  thaaa-  vaney  far  Ibraets  iiL  thab 
part  of  G^naaDj  ahooaded  with  them.  I  was  not  prepaiad  to  resnt  nay 
attack  that  might  be  made  upon  me,  as  I  waa  noacmed-y  aad  if  dunag  tbe 
night  any  of  those,  sanrage  deniaana  a£  the  ibiieal  should  mish  &om  their 
dena  and  laira  in  seniah  of  fiK)d,  there  was  eveiy  likelihood  ef  my  falKog 
a  pay  to  their  Tancim]ahunga&  What  coarse  waai  to  adapt2  la  every 
other  respect  my  retreat  was  the  moat  fiwouiable  that  I  ooald  have 
selected.  The  plan  that  suggested  itself  to  my  mind  aa  bung  the  safest 
and  most  prudent,  was  to  seek  some  other  ie£iige  than  the  facest  daring 
the  night)  and  only  to  have  recourse  to  it  in  the  day tijae^  wheu  I  was  ax- 
posed-  t»  no  risk  fironu  the  canae  I  have  naBod* 

I  attamptMie  to  nteaaa  aay  steps  ;  I  fancied  I  shoold  haye  no  dtffieuity 
to  find  an  egress  by  the  way  by  which  I  had  entefed*  I  wandeitd  along 
the  intricate  paths  of  the  forest,  but  I  was  frequently  confused  and  lost 
in  the  labyrinths  by  which  I  was  beset.  I  waJked  onward  for  several 
boors,  but  I  appeared  to  be  b9  neaier  the  point  ail  which  I  was  aimiag. 
The  gloom  by  which  I  was  surrounded  rendered  the  task  which  I  had 
assigned  myself  stSl  more  bopel^esa.  I  was  obliged  tm  ahaadn  it  in  da^ 
spair,  and  take  sneh  opportaiittie»  as  fffesented  thenraeUea  fiir  my  safety 
for  the  night.  After  sone*  Kttla  diffieulty,  I  discovend  a  tiee  that 
afforded  every  facility  for  dimbing.  I  aacandsd  il^  and  aMted  myself 
upon  one  of  ita  loftiest  bou|^»  I  had  not  beeu  liag  here  when  I  heard 
a  noise  which  appeared  to  be  at  a  great  dbtanea.  It  waa  iMiy  indiatincty 
hnt  hideous  and  temn!e,  and'  boomed  through  thefereat  wads  &  £eacful  and 
mehnchcrfy  tone.  I  listened  with  suspended  bwanth,.  aod  my  colour  wmit 
and  came  as  it  was  repeated,  or  as  its  sound  died  amy  upon  the  ereaa^ 
breeze.  This  horrible  nmse  gra^ially  grew  mora  terrifie;.  and  more  dia» 
tinct.  Each  moment  it  became  nearer  and  neaacv.  I  waa  ataa  loss  tn 
conjecture  t^e  cause.  It  was  eecaaioned  by  a  troop  «£  w(dva%  whids 
came  bounding  through  the  forest  with  great  rapidity,  and  ware  ersdently 
intent  upon  prey.  By  the  rays  of  the  moon,  which  had  now  ziseav  and 
which  shed  a  feeble  fight  through  tile  interstices  of  the  tzees^  i  wna-  oiabled 
to  g^in  a  glimpse  of  them.  I  was  horrified  at  the  sight;  I  shwddared, 
and  was  obliged  to  efing  firmly  to  tiie  tree  to  prevent  myself  inok  falltag. 
I  remained  Itere  till  break  of  day,  and  then  descended  to  the  earth,  wkha 
full  detennination  of  qnftting  the  place  as  boob  aa  possible.  I  had  not 
slept  a  moment  dnring  the  night ;  radeed,  that  wasaStogether  impoesible. 
The  novelty  and  danger  of  my  situation  effectually  prevented  it.  i  en^ 
deavoured  to  escape  from  the  ferest.  I  spent  hours  and.  houaa  in  this 
fruitless  attempt  I  was  hemmed  in  by  an  intesminable  and  denary 
planted  ferest,  from  which  there  seemed  to  be  no  paseibiiitaf  ef  esci^c. 
The  n^t  again  improached^  and  my  mind  was  beset  with  the  most 
dreaded  terrors  and  forebodings*     The  wolves — the  deaeona  that 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Tki,  PlmUam  Ckmse.  €1 

PK.  'OoftiM  vmmwho  long  £em  aefitadflK-who*wi^  to^OyftharlaaA 
(in^Md  WW  0B^h-^tt*»OGadItb«ykBOirMtth«  Mirny;  (^e  angniBk^ 
tW  VMStEHMV  «l  8finl2»  attndan^  vp«»it  Tha^  know  imft  dM  Briseop 
nhicttatteads  g^£  «id  tamon,  vhaiiiibera>  u  homp  ab  Band!  Ito'  €a«wmi|p» 
k  siMftBDn — mhts^thme  ift  ii«ii«¥ritbms  to  sympatiiue  or  csondoie — wksv 
» i»»oae  to  ■wiwln  or  hte<L  ihg  aisiy  that  i»  — diwd,  MmkindkiBV 
bMft  to' anffiMMgy  but  k  ift  altmated  by  thfr  ffjmpathgr  and  faiAeaaiiice' of 

1  had  vMched  a  part  of  the  forest  whevo  aib  opan  apace*  efergnown  with 
giaas  poMoated  itaell^  aad  which  affoBcLed  a  nstief  to  the  dieisa  timber  thaitt 
SBROiaided  it.  I  agata.  climbed  a  tree,  bat  aithoogjk.  I  was  aioeh  htigoaij 
I  waa  afinid  to  dose  aiy  eyes,  lest  any  danger  shenld  be  at  hand  when.*  i 
was  leaat  pieparod  to  comitefaet  it.  The  hewiiiig  of  the  savage- aninmiB 
tlittt  had  ao  greatly  alarmed  me  on  the  pieeeding  night  agsdii  tlircw  hm 
into  the  gj^aatest  ag^aibo.  The  noise,  however,  was  nofa  of  ao  long  dor 
ntion^  and  not  ao  near  as  it  had  be«i  on?  the  previous  nigha» 

About  nudnight^  a  circumstance  occurred  whieh)  awakaied  my  greateatt 
alana  and  casiosit^.  The  tree  on  which  I  sat  commanded  an  exceUsnU 
Tiav  iȣ  tha  naall  plain  that  I  have  described.  The  moonbeana  thoew  m 
ahrmj  light  aeroas  ii^  I  had  taken  my  eyes  for  some  time  frant  the  spot» 
bai  when  I  again  directed  them  towards  it,  I  waa  struck,  with  the  gznates^i 
aaaaement  and  eoosteraation,  when  I  diseovesed  a  grey  home  feeding 
placidly  ia  the  laidBt  q£  it  How  had  it  come  thene  ?  How  had  it  been 
able  to  penetsafee  threagh  the  crowded  forest  of  trees?  To  wlaom  did  it 
bdflsig  ?  Saeh  were  a  few  of  the  questions  that  iostantiy  eecunsed  to  me* 
The  animal  asemed  to  be  sleek  and  in  good  condition,  and  waa  evidentfy 
not  accustomed  to  a  barren  pastniev  I  rivetted  my  eyes  upon  thb  object 
witii  the  greatest  eamestnesfr— I  waa  aiarmed  and  filled  with  the  most 
tnrible  iqsprehensions.  As  I  waa  thus  engaged,  three  large  wolves  sprang 
from  the  thicket,  bat  what  waa  my  astonishment  to  find  that  they  darted 
off  at  an  angle  the  oaoment  they  caught  ai^it  of  the  horse,  instead  of  at- 
taekiag  it  as  I  had  anticipated  Tl^  waa  strange  and.  inex^ilicable,  and 
baffled  aU  human  eompBehension.  The  hocse  paid  no*  regard  as  they 
paeaedt  but  crapped  the  grass  as  unconoemedly  as  posaiUe.  I£  I  was 
artoniahed  at  what  I  bad  seen,  I  was  so  in  a  teafeld  degree  when  I  oAi- 
served  a  short  stout  gentleaian,  witb  a  whip*  in  his  hand,  emerge  from 
amongst  the  taeea:  he  wore  a  dark  gre^i  eoat^  corded  bceeohea,  and 
boots  ^at  reached  nearly  to  hia  knees;  his  head  was  coit^wd  with  a 
daik  velvet  cap  with  a  peak  in  front;  three  er  Ibuo  dogs  followed 
at  his  heels.  He  appseacbed  the  horsey  patted  it  upon  the  neck  a 
few  times,  and  again  retired  for  a  few  seconds  into  the  fernst.  When 
he  retuisad,  he  carried  in  his  hand  a  saddle-  and  bridle,  the  fermer  of 
which  he  at  once  threw  across  the  back  of  the  horae^  he  then  pro- 
oaeded  to  featen  the  girths  and  put  on  the  bridle.  Doling  the  whole  of 
Ae  time  I  regarded  these  strange  psoeeedinga  with  the  most  intense 
cmiority.  I  waa  greatly  perplexed.  I  saw  before  me  a  gentleman 
equipped  for  hmiting — ^a  steed  duly  caparisoned^— dogs  fer  the  purpose—- 
and  tne  inference  that  these  cifcumstancea  warranted  me  in  drawing  waa, 
that  the  residence  of  the  gentlenan  was  at  no  great  distance  from  the 


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62  The  Phantom  Chase. 

spot,  in  which  case  there  seemed  to  be  every  probability  of  my  being  able 
to  escape  from  the  forest  Another  thought^  nowever,  suddenly  occurred 
to  me.  The  late  hour  of  the  night  was  a  most  unseasonable  and  unusual 
one  for  huntmg.  There  was  a  mystery  in  the  matter  which  was  quite  in- 
comprehensible. I  watched  every  movement  with  breathless  suspense.  I 
was  agitated  and  in  a  state  of  the  most  feverish  ezcitement.  The  gen- 
tleman mounted  the  steed,  cracked  his  whip  with  violence,  and,  gracious 
God  I  the  horse,  with  one  bound,  appeared  to  clear  the  immense  forest, 
and  both  horseman  and  steed  disappeared  in  a  moment!  The  dogs  set  up 
a  terrific  howling,  and  at  the  same  moment  vanished  from  my  sight.  My 
heart  sank  withm  me ;  I  turned  pale  as  death,  and  a  cold  shivering  sen- 
sation pervaded  my  whole  frame;  I  clung  firmly  to  the  tree  for  support, 
but  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  I  prevented  myself  from  fidling 
to  the  earth.  I  had  seen  a  sight  which  I  shudder  even  now  to  think  o^ 
and  as  I  write,  even  at  this  distance  of  time,  I  feel  somewhat  of  the  horror 
which  then  crept  over  me.  Were  they  phantoms  that  I  had  seen?  I 
could  not  determine,  though  I  was  strongly  impressed  with  the  idea  that 
they  were  so.  It  was  certainly  possible  that  I  had  been  mistaken,  and 
that  my.  excitement  and  their  sudden  disappearance  had  induced  me  to 
put  a  construction  upon  the  phenomenon  which  it  in  nowise  merited. 
The  objects  themselves  had  all  the  appearance  of  reality — aU  the  charac- 
teristics of  things  still  in  life.  The  horseman,  the  steed,  the  dogs,  were 
such  as  I  had  seen  a  hundred  times ;  and  though  the  night  was  certainly 
somewhat  advanced,  it  was  still  possible  that  the  gentleman,  actuated  by 
some  whim  or  other,  had  resolv^  upon  hunting  by  moonlight  When 
this  idea  suggested  itself  to  ray  mind,  I  saw  nothing  particularly  remark- 
able in  the  circumstances,  but  their  strange  and  sudden  disappearance 
filled  me  with  the  g^reatest  astonishment  and  alarm. 

The  following  day  I  again  spent  in  endeavouring  to  find  an  egress  from 
this  horrible  abode,  but  all  my  efforts  were  frxutless.  I  lived  during  this 
time  upon  the  wild  fruits  which  I  plucked  from  the  trees.  Towards  night, 
I  again  betook  myself  to  my  old  retreat,  ^rith  a  determination  to  watch  again 
for  the  mysterious  huntsman.  The  night  was  not  so  clear  as  the  preceding 
one,  but  I  was  still  able  to  descry  objects  with  considerable  distinctness. 
I  had  been  here  some  hours  when  the  grey  horse  all  at  once  became 
visible.  I  knew  not  whence  it  had  .come,  though  it  was  possible  that  it 
had  come  out  of  the  wood  unobserved.  Some  time  afterwards,  the  gen- 
tleman, habited  as  I  have  already  described,  and  again  accompanied  by 
bis  dogs,  again  presented  himself;  the  sa;me  process  of  saddling,  &c.,  as 
on  the  previous  night,  was  gone  through,  and  the  gentleman  mounted  the 
horse  and  instantly  disappeared.  I  was  determined  to  ascertain,  if  pos- 
sible, whither  they  went,  and  accordingly,  on  the  following  day,  bent  my 
steps  in  the  direction  in  which  they  had  proceeded,  hoping  to  find  either 
some  place  of  residence  or  an  outlet  from  the  forest.  I  had  travelled  a 
considerable  distance,  when  I  reached  another  plain  much  larger  than  the 
one  I  have  already  spoken  of;  I  remained  here  during  the  night,  being 
constantly  upon  the  watch  for  anything  that  might  present  itself.  My 
surprise  may  be  conceived,  when,  at  a  late  hour,  a  number  of  horsemen, 
horses,  and  dogs,  began  to  assemble  upon  the  spot  I  have  referred  to; 
they  were  all  equipped  for  hunting,  and  were  evidently  awaiting  for  fresh 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


The  Phantom  Chase.  63 

airirals ;  eaeh  moment  brought  a  new  rider  and  hone  npon  the  scene.  I 
know  not  how  they  came,  for  they  arrived  without  my  being  in  the  least 
degree  cognizant  of  the  mode.  At  length  I  observed  that  the  individual 
whom  I  had  seen  on  the  two  preceding  nights  had  arrived.  He  was 
mounted  upon  the  grey  horse  wliich  I  had  seen  on  these  occasions.  The 
party  was  exceedingly  merry,  and  the  greatest  spirit  and  animation  per^ 
vaded  the  assemblage.  The  dogs  ran  about  smelling  the  earth  and  howl- 
ing and  barking  as  though  anxious  for  the  chase ;  the  horses  pawed  the 
ground  with  their  feet,  and  neighed  as  if  they  were  also  eager  foraoommence- 
ment  of  the  sport  The  gentlemen  saluted  each  other  with  the  greatest  cor- 
diality and  friendsh^,  shaking  each  other  heartily  by  the  hand,  and  evi- 
dently anticipating  some  excellent  sport  by  moonlight.  There  seemed  to  be 
something  so  hilarious,  so  fescinatinff  about  the  meeting,  that  I  involuntarily 
wished  myself  to  be  of  the  party.  It  was  strange  that  I  should  have  been 
actuated  oy  so  singular  a  desire,  for  1  had  always  been  averse  to  sports  of 
the  kind.  I  longed  to  be  a  participator  in  the  chase.  All  at  once  there 
appeared  to  me  to  be  something  so  inspiriting  in  the  pursuit.  The  circum- 
stances, too,  added  to  the  interest  I  felt  in  the  matter.  The  wild  charac- 
tet  of  the  country — the  jovial  bearing  of  the  horsemen — ^the  rich  light  shed 
upon  the  scene  by  the  trembling  moonbeams; — ^yes,  there  was  something 
bold  and  adventurous — somethmg  calculated  to  drive  gloom  and  spleen 
from  the  mind,  in  the  dashing,  headlong  chase — ^in  the  rapid  transition 
fr(»n  phiee  to  place — ^in  the  fearless  leaps,  the  hairbreadth  escapes,  the 
wild  haloo,  the  animation  that  characterises  both  man  and  animal. 
Away  with  solitude — away  with  fruitless  grief — ^away  with  care  that 
was  for  ever  gnaw,  gnawing  at  the  heart  I  was  resolved  to  join  the 
sportsmen  and  participate  in  their  dangers  and  ooijoymentB.  I  was  too 
long  in  forming  thiB  decision,  for  before  I  had  time  to  put  it  into  execu- 
tion, they  had  gone.  I  heard  the  tramping  of  the  horses'  feet,  and  the 
bowline  of  the  dogs  for  several  minutes  after  they  had  disappeared. 

On  the  following  night  I  was  at  my  old  place,  fiiUy  determined  that 
nothing  should  this  time  mar  my  designs.  The  night  was  beautifol,  and 
the  party  assembled  again  and  went  through  the  same  ceremony  as  on  the 
former  occasion.  There  was  a  matter  which  caused  me  considerable  per- 
plexity, and  seemed  to  forbid  the  execution  of  my  purpose.  I  had  no 
steed  wherewith  to  accompany  the  fearless  himtsmen  on  their  expedition. 
I  thought  it  nevertheless  possible  that  some  gentieman  of  the  party  might 
not  be  disposed  to  join  the  chase  on  the  night  in  question,  and  whose  horse 
might  thus  be  at  liberty.  Filled  with  tMs  idea,  I  descended  from  the 
tree,  and  advanced  towards  them.  I  was  somewhat  nervous  and  timid, 
but  as  I  approached,  the  gentiemen  came  towards  me,  and  saluted  me 
with  such  kindness  and  cordiality,  that  I  soon  lost  all  reserve,  and  became 
as  bold  and  confident  as  they.  A  horse  was  quickly  provided  me,  and 
when  I  had  mounted,  the  signal  was  given,  and  away  we  started.  An 
avenue  in  the  forest,  which  I  had  not  previously  observed,  disclosed  itself, 
and  down  it  we  galloped  with  the  greatest  rary.  The  horses  snorted, 
and,  like  those  which  the  famous  P&Reton  undertook  to  guide  when  he 
drove  the  chariot  of  the  Sun, 

Sponte  sda  properant :  labor  est  inhibere  voletites. 

Away  we  went    Men  and  animals  were  all  actuated  by  the  same  spirit. 
Mat/ — VOL,  xcv.  NO.  cccLXxyn.  f 


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64  The  Pkantmn  Chase. 

We  had  not  proceeded  far  before  %  wolf  was  ftarled,  and  tbe  exeitenwnl 
at  onoe  became  immexMe.  The  doga  aei  up  the  most  terrific  yells ;  the 
boraee  were  almost  uomanageable,  and  flames  of  fire  shot  firom  their  nos- 
trils, and  were  emitted  by  their  hoofii  coming  in  contact  with  the  earth. 
The  men  shouted  with  a  wildness  md  boisteronsness  that  took  me  com- 
pletely by  suiprise,  but  yet  infused  into  my  spirit  a  kindred  degree  of  en- 
thuriaam.  I  neyer  felt  so  joyous  before.  The  blood  danced  in  my  veins 
with  all  the  fenrour  of  youth — my  pulse  beat  quickly — my  mind  felt  at 
length  entrammelled  by  the  dartc  thoughts  with  which  it  had  so  loojj^ 
been  distracted*  Oh !  this  was  glorious — soul-inspiritbg  I— dashing  furi- 
ously oyer  the  country  as  though  we  were  borne  upon  the  wings  of  the 
wind — keying  objects  in  a  moment  at  an  immense  distance  behind  us,  and 
okaying  the  air  with  irresistible  force.  There  was  a  daring,  a  freedom  in 
the  aet  which  compensated  for  a  century  of  mere  idleness^  and  imparted 
to  the  spirit  a  sense  of  liberty  and  adyenture  with  which  it  is  not  com- 
monly acquainted.  No  obstacle  seemed  to  impede  our  way;  we  leaped 
fences  and  passed  oyer  large  streams  of  water  as  though  they  had  nerer 
stood  in  our  road.  The  horses  appeared  to  be  mad  with  excitement,  and 
tore  up  the  earth  with  their  feet,  and  snuffed  the  air  with  the  greatsst 
firenzy.  A  spirit  of  emulation  prevailed  equally  amongst  hones  and  men^ 
and  to  be  foremost  in  the  chase  was  the  object  of  alL  Oh  I  never  before 
had  my  spirit  been  so  elated.  I  was  drunk  with  enjoyment — I  was  almost 
beside  myself  with  excitement.  The  wild  haloo  passed  from  mouth  to 
mouth ;  boisterous  laughter  and  merriment  everywhere  prevailed,  and  the 
strange  yells  of  the  do^  and  the  tramping  of  the  horses*  feet»  composed 
a  combination  of  sounds  difficult  to  descril^.  On  we  went.  There  was 
no  pauses  no  rest  in  our  daring  and  rapid  flight.  The  level  plains-— the 
deep  valkys — ^the  mountain  heights — were  pained  with  equal  rapidity.  If 
a  broad  nver  ky  in  our  way,  there  was  not  a  moment  lost  in  devising 
means  whereby  it  might  be  passed.  We  plunged  headlong  in,  horseman 
and  steed,  and  the  dogs  were  not  backwara  in  following  the  example,  and 
we  swam  across  it  as  swiftly  as  if  we  had  been  gallopmg  over  a  piece  of 
fine  level  ground* 

The  moon  still  shone  in  the  placid  blue  heaven  above  us^  and  imparted 
to  our  flight  a  tinge  of  romance^  of  which  the  light  of  day  would  in  a 
great  measure  have  divested  it  Thus  we  travened  a  wiae  district  of 
country.  I  know  not  the  distance  we  accomplished,  but  it  seemed  to  be 
immense — several  hundreds  of  miks.  As  we  continued  thu  glorious 
chase,  the  heavens  became  overcast,  and  evidently  portended  a  storm. 
The  moon  hid  berMlf  behind  some  dark  douds,  ana  a  thick  darkness  fell 
over  the  earth.  We  heeded  it  not— -we  dashed  on— led  on  by  an  involun- 
tary impulse  to  secure  the  object  of  our  pursuit.  The  rain  bmn  to 
descend:  at  first  it  fell  genthr,  but  afierwaods  in  torrents.  The  thunder 
pealed  above  our  heads,  and  rent  the  atmosphere  with  terrific  noissa* 
Hie  lightning  at  intorvak  darted  through  the  opaque  heavens,  and  im- 
mense trees,  struck  by  the  eledzic  fluid,  fell  to  the  earth.  Onward  we 
went :  we  heeded  not  the  elements— the  horses  apneared  only  to  be  sti- 
mukted  to  greater  exertion  by  the  fearful  storm  that  had  overtaken  us. 
It  harmomsed  with  the  feelings  with  which  we  were  bspired.  There  ms 
a  wildness  in  it  which  accord^  with  our  adventure,  and  which  only  tended 


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Ihe  Bridal  Flowers-  65 

to  hmghten  our  enthusiasm.  The  earth  trembled  as  the  thmider  rolled 
oyer  it»  and  drank  in  greedily  the  rain  that  descended  in  such  copious 
quantities.  Aft  we  oondnaed  the  pursuit,  the  hone  I  rode  suddenly 
stumbled  and  felL  I  was  thrown  from  my  seat  to  the  ground  with  great 
noleaee.  At  the  same  insten^  my  oompanions  of  the  chase  melted  into 
team  - 

WheD  conadovsoesa  returned  to  m^  it  was  a  beautiful  starfight  even- 
iag^  and  what  was  my  sorprise  when  I  beheld  my  brother  at  a  short  dis- 
tance noB  me.  He  was  gazmg  upon  the  magnificent  scenery  surround* 
ingiiim.  I  ran  towards  him;  my  sudden  approach  surprised  and  alarmed 
hm.  He  was  stan^g  upon  a  steep  preeipice — ^fae  lost  Ins  balance,  and 
Ml  over,  and  wae  dashed  to  pieoca  amoogat  the  cmmbfing  stones  beneath. 
I  was  Atiaeted.  1  laTed  like  one  beside  himself.  I  had  fulfilled  my  dea- 
liny.    I  was  ihe  instrament  of  my  dear  brother's  death. 

It  was  aoBM  time  before  I  eoum  eonTiiwe  myself  that  my  adyentuiv  in 
the  feieat  with  the  phantom  huntsman  had  been  merriy  a  dream. 


THE    BRIDAL    FLOWERS. 

BT  J.  S.  CASFEfinB. 


Thet  deck'd  ber  brow  wkb  floweis, — 

'TwaB  a  day  in  early  spring, — 
They  brought  them  from  the  bowers 

Where  tne  woodbines  loved  to  cling ; 
The  blossoms  on  her  features 

SeemM  to  envy  her  her  pride, 
Tbongh  the  fiurest  gift  of  nature's 

Was  the  fittest  for  a  bride; 

IT. 

The  bridal  flowers  soon  faded, 

Thongh  the  bride  seem*d  fair  and  gay; 
Her  brow  no  sorrow  shaded 

Wbeo  the  wreath  had  died  away ; 
Bnt  all  earth's  human  fiowers 

Must  fiMie,  as  Heaven  decrees^— 
And  the  fairest  gem  of  ours 

FeU  beneath  the  autumn  breeze. 

nu 
They  bore  her  gently,  li^ly, — 

The  snow  was  on  the  ground ; 
Its  feathered  flakes  fell  brightly 

Upon  the  little  mound ; 
But  when  the  woodland  bowers 

With  early  blooms  were  spread. 
They  brongnt  the  same  wila  floweia 

And  strew'd  them  o^er  her  bedU 
t2 


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(    66     ) 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  ALEXANDRE  DUMAS.* 

The  name  of  the  most  distinf^^nished  romance-writer  of  the  age  is 
Alezandre-Dumas-Davy  de  la  PaUleterie ;  and  how  so  dignified  an  ap- 
pellation became  robbed  of  its  hit  proportbns,  remams  to  %e  told.  Toe 
novelist's  grandfather,  the  Marquis  Antoine- Alexandre-Davy  de  la  Pail- 
leterie,  for  some  reason  or  other  unknown  to  his  descendants,  sold  his 
patrimony  and  emigrated  to  St  Domingo  or  Hayti,  where  he  wedded 
Louise  Cessette  Dumas,  who  must  have  l^n  a  half-cast  By  her  he  had 
a  son,  Thomas,  and  this  son,  not  agreeing  with  his  fstther,  who  married  in 
second  nuptials  his  housekeeper  at  the  advanced  age  of  seventy-four, 
entered  the  French  service  as  a  private,  and  in  doing  so,  in  order  not  to 
disgrace  his  &mily,  enlisted  under  the  name  of  Alexandre  Dumas— a 
designation  which  has  been  preserved  by  the  Novelist,  and  by  Alexandre 
Dumas  ^,  another  name  already  well  known  to  literature  by  the 
^*  Dame  aux  CameUias" — a  piece  which  is  creating  at  this  moment  a  per- 
fect yiir^r  in  Paris. 

The  death  of  the  old  marquis,  which  took  place  thirteen  days  afto 
his  son's  enlistment  in  the  year  1786,  severed  the  last  tie  that  bound  the 
future  general  to  the  aristocracy.  Sudi  was  ihe  progress  achieved  at  that 
time  in  the  armies  of  the  youns^  and  turbulent  Republic,  that  A.  Dumas, 
a  private  in  1786,  and  who  wedded,  in  1792,  Marie  Labouret,  daughter 
of  the  worthy  host  of  the  "  Crown"  at  Villers-C6terits,  and  mother  of 
ihe  Novelist,  being  then  a  lieutenant-colonel  of  hussars,  in  less  than  a 
year  from  that  time  was  a  general  of  brigade. 

Nothing,  indeed,  according  to  the  son,  could  exceed  the  prowess  of 
General  Dumas.  The  Austrians  called  him  Schwartz  ieufel,  ''the 
black  devil,"  and  Bonaparte  gave  him  the  designation  of  Horatius  Codes, 
because  he  defended  a  bridge  single-handed  against  an  army.  The  rapid 
fortunes  of  the  Corsican  were,  however,  by  no  means  gratifying  to  the 
ardent  but  jealous  Creole.  Contemporary  with  Maroeau,  Hoche,  Desaix,  and 
Kleber,  he  was  like  them  a  true  republican,  and  like  them  he  never  lived 
to  be  humbled  by  imperial  ascendancy.  But  General  Dumas's  devotion 
to  the  republic,  or  antagonism  to  Napoleon,  cost  him  dear.  It  led,  during 
the  campaign  in  Egypt,  to  an  open  ouarrel  with  the  general-in-chiet, 
who  only  remarked,  *'  The  blind  man  does  not  believe  m  my  fortune!" 
and  to  his  quitting  the  army.  Worse  than  that,  on  his  way  home  he  was 
taken  prisoner  by  the  Neapolitans,  who  administered  to  him  poisons, 
which,  although  failing  in  immediate  effect,  hurried  the  swarthy  hero  to 
a  premature  ^ve  at  the  age  of  forty,  leaving  a  wife,  a  daughter,  and 
the  future  writer  (who  came  into  the  world  after  Greneral  Dumas's  return 
from  Egypt),  almost  without  a  resource  in  the  world;  nor  would  Napoleon 
ever  do  anything  for  them. 

Alexandre  Dumas  was  little  more  than  four  years  old  when  he  lost 
his  father,  yet  he  relates  a  strange  incident  connected  with  the  event,  to 
which  he  attached  so  much  importance  as  to  have  it  accompanied  by 
a  plan  of  the  house  wherein  it  occurred.     This  was  the  abode  of  a  lock* 

*  M^oires  d' Alexandre  Dumas.    Tomes  i,  k  v. 


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Autobiography  of  AUwandrt  Dumas.  67 

smithy  whither  young  Dumas  had  heen  remoTed  the  day  hefore  his 
£tther'8  demise.  ' 

^  I  remained  (be  says)  till  a  late  hour  in  the  smithy ;  the  forge  gave  out  at 
oight  effects  of  light  and  shade — fantastic  reflections,  which  greatly  pleased  me. 
About  eight  o'clock,  my  cousin  Marianne  came  to  fetch  me  and  put  me  to 
bed  in  a  little  impromptu  couch  near  a  larger  one,  and  I  went  to  sleep  with 
that  good  sleep  that  Heaven  vouchsafes  to  children  like  the  dews  of  spnne. 

At  midnight  I  woke  up  •or  rather  were  roused^  my  cousin  and  I — by  a  loud 
knock  at  the  door.  A  nightrlarop  was  burning  in  tne  room,  and  by  the  light 
of  that  lamp  I  saw  my  cousin  rise  up  in  her  heA  much  alarmed,  but  not  saymg 
a  word. 

No  one  could  knock  at  the  door  without  getting  through  an  outer  one. 

But  I,  who  even  at  the  present  day  shudder  in  writing  these  lines — I  felt  no 
fear ;  I  got  out  of  bed  and  went  towards  the  door. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Alexandre  ?"  my  cousin  cried  out ;  *'  where  are  you 
going?" 

*'  You  see  where  I  am  going,'^  I  answered  quietly  ;  '*  I  am  going  to  open  the 
door  for  papa,  who  has  come  to  bid  us  good-bye.*' 

The  poor  eirl  jumped  out  of  bed  terrified,  caught  me  just  as  I  was  opening 
the  door,  and  brought  me  back  by  force  to  my  bed.  I  struggled  in  her  arms, 
shouting  with  all  my  strength,  "  6ood-bye,  papa!  good-bye,  papa!*' 

Something  like  a  d^ing  breath  passed  over  my  face  and  calmed  me. 

Nevertheless  I  went  to  sleep  again  with  tears  in  my  eyes,  sobbing  vehe- 
mently. 

The  next  morning  we  were  awoke  at  break  of  day. 

My  father  had  died  at  the  very  moment  I  had  heard  that  loud  knock  at 
the  door ! 

Then  I  heard  these  words,  without  being  able  thoroughly  to  understand  all 
they  meant : 

'*  My  poor  child,  your  papa,  who  loved  you  so  dearly,  is  dead!" 

The  Dumas  £unily  took  refuge,  af);er  the  death  of  the  general,  at  the 
H6tel  de  l'£p^.  Among  the  friends  of  the  family  at  that  time  was 
M.  Collard,  the  head  of  a  family  to  which  the  terrihle  Laffarge  affair  has 
amce  given  so  much  celehrity.  His  real  name  was  Montjorey,  hut  he 
had  exchanged  that  for  Collard,  out  of  respect  for  republican  antipathies. 
Una  M.  CoUard  had  married  a  young  girl  named  Hermine,  whom  he  had 
met  at  the  house  of  Madame  de  Valence,  and  of  whom  Dumas  relates  the 
following  history : 

One  day  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  going  to  see  Madame  de  Montesson,  at  that 
time  his  wife,  very  unexpectedly  found  M.  de  Valence  at  her  feet,  with  his 
head  resting  on  her  knees.  The  position  was  serious ;  but  Madame  de  Mon- 
tesson was  a  great  lady,  who  was  not  easily  dismayed;  she  turned  round, 
smiling,  to  her  husband,  who  had  remained  thunderstruck  at  the  door. 

•*  Come  to  my  aid,  Monsieur  le  Due  r  said  she,  "  and  help  me  to  rid  myself 
of  this  Valence.    He  adores  Pulch^rie,  and  insists  upon  marrying  her.** 

Pulch^rie  was  the  second  daughter  of  Madame  de  Genlis ;  the  first  was 
named  Caroline,  and  married  M.  de.  Lawoestine. 

The  duke  was  delighted,  especially  after  the  fright  he  had  experienced,  to 
wed  Puldi^rie  to  M.  de  Valence.  Ue  gave  six  hundred  thousand  francs  to  the 
bride,  and  the  marriage  took  place. 

How  was  it  that  httle  Hermine  lived  with  Madame  de  Valence,  and  who 
was  this  little  Hermine?     We  will  explain.  * 

Madame  de  Montesson  was  aunt  to  Madame  de  Genlis.  Madame  de  Genlis 
had  been  placed  by  Madame  de  Montesson  as  maid  of  honour  to  the  Duchess 
of  Orieans  (Mademoiselle  de  Penthi^vre).    There  Philippe-Joseph,  aflerwards 


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68  AMUMography  rfAUxandre  Dumas. 

Piiilippe-£gdi(^,  met  her,  jukl  faUiog  ia   knre  vith  her,  the  resalt  was  a 
daugnter. 

The  daughter  was  little  Hermine. 
Little  Heinine  had  been  t>ro«ght  <ip  in  England. 

Wbea  Madame  Adelaide,  aisCerto  King  Lcnits-I%nlippet  was  seven  or  eight 
yean  old,  it  was  proposed  to  giire  her,  as  a  companion,  some  young  pecaoa 
wil^  wh«Mn  she  ooald  constantly  speak  Enelish.  It  was  a  means  of  hnngtng 
Hennioe  near  her  lather  and  mother,  so  the  little  girl  left  London  and  came 
to  Paris. 

At  the  time  of  the  emigration  of  the  Duke  of  Chartres,  of  M.  de  Beau- 
jolas,  de  Montpensier,  and  of  the  Princess  Adelaide,  Hermine,  then  only  four- 
teen or  fifteen  years  of  ase,  found  an  asylum  with  her  sister,  Madame  de 
Valence ;  bnt  Madaoie  de  Valence  was  soon  afterwards  thrown  into  prison, 
whilst  Phtlippe-Egalit6  foifeited  his  head  upon  the  scaffold-^«  fate  from 
which  the  infamy  cast  by  him  on  the  name  of  his  mother  could  not  save  him. 

Hermine  was  tliiis  left  with  the  children  of  Madame  de  Vdenoe— Felicic, 
who  married  M«  de  Celles,  and  Rosamonde,  wife  of  Marshal  Gerard.  The 
poor  children  were  about  to  become  orplians,  when  a  miracle  saved  Madame 
de  Valence. 

A  wheelwright,  by  name  Gamier,  wlio  lived  in  the  street  Neuve  des  Ma- 
thnrins,  fdl  in  love  with  her.  This  Gamier  belonged  to  the  municipal 
police.  At  die  peril  of  his  life,  he  twice  destroyed  the  notes  forwarded  ta 
the  revolntiooary  tribunal  by  the  superintendent  of  the  prison,  in  Miiich  she 
was  denounced  as  the  most  aristocratic  of  jdl  the  prisoners.  This  devotion  to 
her  interests  carried  Madame  de  Valence  through  till  the  9th  Thermidor.  The 
9th  Thermidor  saved  her. 

Madame  de  Valence  had  four  children — a  son  and  three  danghtem. 
Hauric^  the  son,  remained  a  country  squire ;  Caroline  mairied  the  Baron 
Capelle,  and  her  daughter  Marie  became,  under  the  name  of  Madame 
Laffarge,  the  heroiDe  of  the  most  dnunatie  criminai  trial  of  our  times; 
Hermine,  who  wedded  the  Baron  de  Martens;  and  Louise^  who  wedded 
Garat— the  man,  says  Dumas,  whose  signature  is  the  most  appieciatfid  of 
all  commercial  ^gnatures. 

Dumas  pleads  guilty  to  three  or  four  great  frights  eiperienoed  in  Ub 
eariy  youth.  One  was  on  the  occasion  of  his  r^ing  ia  a  newspaper 
that  A  priflooer  immured  in  the  dungeons  of  Amiens  had  heen  eatenupigf 
a  serpent ! — ^another  was  when  he  saw  two  real  snakes  in  the  garden  ce 
his  relative  M.  Deviolane,  inspector  of  forests ;  a  third  is  selated  m 
follows : 

One  evening  I  was,  according  to  my  usual  custom,  ttm)hi|  over  the  en- 
gravings of  the  Bible — I  was  four  or  five  years  of  age  at  the  time — ^when  we 
heard  a  dirriage  stop  at  the  door,  followed  bj-  loud  cries  in  the  dining-room. 
Every  one  harried  to  the  door,  which  opened  at  the  same  time,  lettSng  in  Ae 
strangest  Meg  Merrilies  that  the  imagination  of  a  Walter  Scott  could  conoexTe. 
This  witch— and  at  first  siffht  the  being  that  presented  itself  to  us  Ittd  every 
right  to  fMm  that  title— this  witch  was  dressed  in  black,  and  as  she  had  lost 
her  cap,  her  false  front  had  taken  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  decamp,  so 
that  her  own  hair  fell  down  in  long  grey  streamers  upon  her  shoulders. 

This  time  it  was  something  veiy  different  from  the  ^mous  serpent  of 
Amiens  or  the  two  snakes  of  Saint  Remy ;  bendes,  die  serpent  lof  Amiens  I 
had  never  seen  except  with  the  eyes  of  imagination ;  the  two  snakes  of  Bsmst 
Kem^r  I  had  r^om  to  escape  from ;  but  the  witdi,  I  sawlier  bodily,  and  we 
were  in  the  same  room. 

I  threw  down  the  Bible,  and,  taking  advantage  of  the  £sorder  occastoned  by 
this  apparition,  ran  awsy  to  my  room«  got,  clodies  and  all,  into  my  bed,  and 
drew  the  counterpane  over  my  head. 


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Autobiography  ofAlemandre  Duma$.  69 

The  next  morniDg,  I  leftrni  that  the  cause  of  my  frisfat  was  the  illtutrioin 
Hadame  de  6eiili8»  when  comiog  to  pay  a  visit  to  her  <Uiuehter,  Madame  Col- 
lardt  had  been  lost  by  her  driver  in  the  forest  of  Villers-Coter^ts,  and  had  let 
henelfy  throueh  the  great  horrl)  she  had  of  ghosts,  be  seized  by  a  panic,  from 
▼hich  she  had  even  then  scarcely  recovered,  although  she  had  communicated 
the  better  half  to  me. 

What  Dmnas  designates  les  grandes  terreurs  of  his  life,  were  in  reality 
five  in  number.     The  fifth  tenxnr  is  also  worthy  of  being  chronicled. 

I  was  playing  at  marbles  at  the  door  of  a  grocer,  LebSgne  by  name,  who  at 
the  tintie  was  busy  spreading  out  and  working  up  chocolate  on  a  marble  slab, 
with  one  of  those  long  flexible  knives  that  are,  I  believe,  called  spatulas.  I 
got  into  a  dispute  with  my  playfellow.  We  set  to  with  our  fists— for,  let  it 
be  noticed,  I  was  never  a  coward  before  any  one*s  fists.  But  he  was  stronger 
than  me,  and  gave  me  a  blow  that  sent  me  backwards  into  a  barrel  of  honey. 

I  foresaw  in  a  moment  what  would  happen,  so  I  screamed  out,  and  the 
grocer  turned  round  and  saw  what  was  taking  place. 

That  which  was  taking  place  was,  as  I  have  said,  that  I  fell  backwards  into 
the  honey. 

I  got  up  as  if  a  spring  had  set  me  up  upon  my  legs,  and  that  notwithstand- 
ing the  resistance  which  the  substance,  to  which  1  was  adhering  opposed  to  this 
movement. 

And  then  I  set  ofi^as  fast  as  I  could  scamper. 

The  rapidity  which  I  displayed. hi  this  prudent  resolution,  arose  from  mv 
having  seen  the  grocer  rush  forth,  by  a  simultaneous  movement,  with  a  knife 
in  his  hand.  I  directed  my  steps  naturally  towards  my  home.  But  the  house 
being  situated  in  the  middle  of  the  rue  I^rmet,  was  some  way  from  the  spot 
where  the  event  had  occurred.  I  could  run  well,  but  the  grocer  had  legs 
twice  as  long  as  mine ;  I  was  urged  by  fear,  but  he  was  impelled  by  cupidity. 
I  turned  round  as  I  ran,  and  saw  the  terrible  man  of  business,  with  his  lips  open, 
his  eyes  glittering,  his  brow  knitted,  aud  hb  knife  in  bis  hand,  getting  nearer 
to  me  at  every  step.  At  last,  breathless  and  exhausted,  without  voice,  and 
ready  to  expire,  I  fell  on  the  pavement,  about  ten  paces  from  my  own  door, 
convinced  that  it  was  all  over  with  me,  and  that  Let^gne  had  pursued  me 
for  no  other  purpose  than  that  of  cutting  my  throat. 

It  was,  however,  for  nothing  of  the  kind.  After  a  brief  struggle,  in  which  I 
wasted  my  slight  remaining  strength,  he  got  me  upon  his  knees,  face  down- 
wards, and  having  carefully  scraped  me  with  his  spatula,  he  replaced  me 
on  my  legs,  and  went  away  perfectly  satisfied  with  having  regained  his  lost 
merchandise. 

At  this  epoch  Napoleon  still  visiting  opon  the  son  hia  hatred  of  the 
£itfier,  and  refnnng  to  do  anything  for  him,  it  was  resolved  that  young 
Damns  should  be  educated  for  the  Chureh,  and  to  this  effect  shoold  enter 
as  aeminariet  at  the  college  of  Sotssons.  To  avoid  so  uncongenial  an  avo- 
eetioD,  the  futnre  Noveust  fied  for  three  whole  days  from  the  maternal 
roof,  amnsing  himself  in  the  interval  by  catching  mrds  in  the  wood  of 
YiIiers-C6teret8-^tfae  scene  of  many  a  hunting  and  shooting  excursion, 
and  of  aome  strange  incidents  in  the  life  of  the  Romancist. 

To  oompromise  the  matter,  he  however  consented,  on  his  return,  to  go 
to  the  school  of  the  Abbe  Gr^goire,  eitnated  in  his  natal  town,  aal 
hononred  with  the  title  of  ooU^;e,  says  Dumas.  Dumas,  by-the-bye,  par- 
ticipates  laigdy  in  the  thorough  Graliiean  spirit  of  hatred  and  detraction  of 
England  and  the  English.  He  never  lets  an  opportunity  of  a  sneer  or 
an  ul-natored  observation  to  escape.  We  shall  see  afterwards  that  the 
battle  of  Waterloo  was  won  at  five  against  the  English,  and  lost  at  m 


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70  Autobiography  of  Akwandre  Dumat. 

agaixut  the  Prusdans.*  Dumas,  who  also  must  needs  give  a  diflPerent  ver- 
sion of  historical  events  from  that  presented  by  every  one  else,  establishes^  to 
his  own  satisfaction,  that  the  battle  of  Waterloo  was  lost  on  account 
of  Napoleon's  illness.  The  emperor  could  not  even  mount  his  horse 
that  day. 

"  Napoleon,"  Dumas  writes,  "  at  his  return  from  the  island  of  Elba, 
had,  like  Fran9ois  I.,  his  fair  Ferronniere ;  but,  in  this  instance,  it  was  not 
the  vengeance  of  a  husband  that  sent  her  to  him,  it  was  the  astuteness  of 
a  diplomatist !" 

Any  one  at  all  intimate  with  French  domestic  society  must  be  aware 
that  many  things  are  done,  and  commonly  spoken  about,  concerning 
which  not  a  word  is  ever  breathed  by  English  matrons  and  Englisn 
children.  The  consequence  of  this  is  a  peculiar  tone,  that  is  also  commu- 
nicated to  what  may-be  designated  as  homely  or  familiar  French  humour. 
The  mode  adopted  by  the  &otvn  to  set  the  sails  of  a  windmill  in  motion, 
and  the  assiduity  of  the  Physician  in  the  Marionettes^  ore  well-known 
examples.  The  youth  of  Dumas  abounds  in  humour  of  this  kind, 
untranslatable  into  English.  The  brave  but  coarse  old  General  Dumas's 
letters  are,  in  the  same  way,  replete  with  expressions  inadmissible 
in  English  socie^. 

The  retreat  of  Moscow  had  been  followed  by  the  battle  of  Leipsic,  and 
that  grand  discharge  of  17,000  cannon-shot  had  been  followed  by  the 
entrance  of  the  allies  into  France.  Every  one,  as  at  the  time  of  the  devo- 
lution, hastened  to  hide  their  valuables.  Madame  Dumas  filled  the  cellar 
with  furniture  and  linen,  and  buried  thirty  old  louis  in  the  garden, 
enclosed  in  a  skin.  This  done,  the  old  lady  very  prudently  set  to  woric 
to  prepare  what  young  Dumas  calls  un  haricot  de  mouton  gtgantesque. 
Added  to  all  this,  a  place  had  also  been  taken,  as  we  take  a  box  in  a  theatre, 
in  certain  subterranean  quarries  in  the  neighbourhood,  whither  half  the 
population  of  Villers-C6terets  had  fled.  Beds,  a  table,  chairs,  and  books, 
had  been  conveyed  thither,  as  to  a  place  of  refuge  in  case  of  need. 

''Before,  however,  having  recourse  to  such  extreme  measures,  my 
mother,"  Dumas  relates,  *<  wished  to  try  all  possible  means  of  concilia- 
tion; and  one  of  these  means  of  conciliation,  tnat  which  she  looked  upon 
as  the  most  efficacious,  was  her  haricot  de  mouton  and  her  vin  de  Sots* 
sonnais, 

''  But  man  proposes,  and  God  disposes.  After  three  days'  expectation, 
on  the  fire  and  in  the  cellar,  the  haricot  de  mouton  was  eaten  and  the 
wine  was  drunken  by  Frenchmen. 

'<  They  belonged  to  the  corps  of  Marshal  Mortier,  charged  (aHer  the 
&11  of  Soissons)  with  defending  the  passage  of  the  forest,  with  what  re- 
mained of  the  young  guard,  and  about  a  dozen  pieces  of  cannon. 

^  **  Great  was  our  ioy.     It  was  a  real  pleasure  to  contemplate,  instead  of 
hideous  Cossacks,  these  young  men,  radiant  with  hope  and  courage." 

This  joy  was,  however,  of  brief  duration ;  the  allies  surprised  the 
detachment  at  midnight,  captured  all  the  guns;  and  Marshal  Mortier, 
Duke  de  Trevise,  was  glad  to  make  his  escape  half  dressed  by  a  back- 
door from  M.  Deviolaine's.     The  enemy  having  thus  really  arrived, 

*  Lamartine,  in  his  "Histoiy  of  the  Restoration,"  is  one  of  the  fbw  Frenchmen 
who  do  justice  to  the  English  on  this  score. 


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Autobiography  of  Alexandre  Dumat.  71 

Madamft  Damas  put  another  immeDse  haricot  de  mouton  on  the  fire. 
The  CosBacks,  however,  not  appearing,  they  were  obliged  to  eat  ihe 
haricot  themselves.  Soon,  however,  news  of  the  defeats  at  Bar-sm> 
Aube,  Meaux,  and  F^re,  announced  the  near  approach  of  the  allies :  a  third 
haricot  was  placed  on  the  fire.  One  fine  morning,  fifteen  real  Cossacks — 
cavalry  from  the  Don,  who  had  lost  their  way  in  we  forest — rode  through 
the  town,  shooting  in  their  passage  an  unfortunate  hatter,  who  had  the 
impmdenoe  to  shut  his  door  in  their  huce.  This  time,  Madame  Dumas 
actually  took  to  flight,  as  if  there  was  more  safety  in  one  place  than 
another ;  o£F  she  went,  however,  with  her  children,  first  to  Mesnil,  and 
then  to  Crespy,  in  Valois.  Previous,  however,  to  their  departure,  the 
gold  was  dug  up  out  of  the  garden  ;  and  Dumas  gives  a  humorous 
account  of  the  terror  experienced  at  first  finding  it  to  be  missing,  and 
only  after  much  fear  and  perplexity  discovering  that  a  mole  had  carried 
the  treasure  down  its  hole  for  the  sake  of  the  skin. 

Crespy  was  defended  by  a  small  body  of  about  200  cavahy  and  100 
infantry,  having  no  communication  witn  the  army,  nor  orders  of  any 
kind.  The  Dumas,  mother  and  son,  were  received  in  the  house  of  a 
Madame  Millet  They  had  not  been  long  there  before  that  which  they 
were  running  away  from  came  to  them — die  enemy. 

It  was  a  troop  of  about  a  hundred  Prussian  cavalry.  The  men  were  clothed 
in  little  blue  coats,  pufied  up  in  front,  and  then  narrowed  at  the  waist  by  a 
tight  band. 

They  also  wore  grey  trousers  with  a  blue  stripe,  corresponding  to  the  coat, 
with  little  caps  on  their  heads,  having  leather  peaks  and  fastenings.  Each 
man  had  a  sword  and  two  pistols. 

I  still  see  them  before  me,  ^he  first  ranks  preceded  by  two  trumpeters,  with 
trumpets  in  hand.    Behind  the  trumpeters  an  officer. 

They  were  handsome,  fair  young  men,  better-looking  tlian  private  soldiers 
—no  doubt  belonging  to  the  volunteers  of  1813,  who  came  to  Leipsic  to 
whet  their  swords  against  us— men  of  that  Tugendbund,  which  gave  us  Staps, 
and  which  was  to  give  us  Sand. 

They  passed  under  our  windows,  and  then  disappeared.  A  moment  afber> 
wards  we  heard  a  noise  like  a  hurricane ;  the  house  trembled  with  the  gallop- 
ing of  horses.  The  Prussians  had  been  charged  at  the  end  of  the  street  by  our 
cavalry,  and  as  they  were  not  aware  of  our  numbers,  they  came  back  at  full 
speed,  pursued  by  our  hussars. 

All  passed  by  in  a  confused  mass,  like  a  whirlwind  of  noise  and  smoke.  Our 
soldiers,  pistols  in  one  hand,  swords  in  the  other,  fired  and  cutaway  at  the  same 
time.     The  Prussians  fired  as  they  fled. 

Two  or  three  balls  struck  the  house ;  one  of  them  broke  the  blind  of  the 
window  out  of  which  I  was  looking.  This  terrified  the  women,  who  ran  down 
staira  to  hide  themselves  in  the  cellar.  My  mother  wished  to  take  me  with  them, 
but  I  held  fast  by  the  window-sitl ;  so  rather  dian  leave  me  she  stopped  also. 

The  spectacle  was  terrible  and  magnificent. 

Pursued  too  closelv,  the  Prussians  had  been  oblieed  to  turn  round  on  their 
pursuers,  and  there,  before  our  eyes,  at  a  distance  of  twenty  paces,  as  close  as 
the  boxes  of  the  circus  are  to  the  amphitheatre,  a  real  combat  took  place, 
a  struggle  of  roan  with  man. 

I  saw  five  or  six  men  &11  among  the  Prussians,  two  or  three  among  the 
French.  The  first  who  fell  was  a  Prussian  ;  he  was  retreating,  his  head  lean- 
ing over  the  neck  of  his  horse,  and  his  back  curved :  a  cut  of  a  sabre  laid  open 
his  back  from  the  right  shoulder  to  the  left  flank,  and  decorated  him  in  a  mo- 
ment with  a  red  rubani  The  wound  must  have  been  twelve  or  fifteen  inches 
in  length. 


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72  Autobioyrapky  of  Ahmandre  Dumas. 

The  others  I  saw  drop,  Ml,  cme  from  a  cat  on  the  head,  which  opened 
hii  forehead ;  otben  from  stahs  or  pistol-shots.  After  a  straggle  whidi  lasted 
about  ten  minutes,  the  Prussians  trusted  once  more  to  the  swiftness  of  tbeur 
bones,  and  started  off  at  full  speed. 

Tlie  pursuit  began  again.  The  flight  recommenced,  throwing  down,  before 
it  was  out  of  siffht,  three  or  four  more  men  upon  the  road,  no  doubt  one  of 
these  men  was  Killed,  for  he  never  moved.  Others  rose  up,  or  dragged  them- 
aelTCt  along  till  they  got  to  the  road-side.  One  of  them  sat  down  wUh  his  baek 
sigainst  a  wall ;  the  other  two,  no  doubt  more  grievously  wounded,  remained  in 
an  horisontal  position. 

Suddenly  a  drum  was  heard  beating  a  charge.  It  wasjour  hundred  infimtiy^ 
men  who  came  up  to  take  their  part  in  the  combat.  Tliey  advanced  with  fixed 
bayonets,  and  disappeared  at  the  curve  made  by  tlie  road.  Five  minutes  after- 
wards a  sharp  firing  was  heard. 

Then  we  saw  our  hussars  reappear,  brought  back  by  ^ve  or  six  hundred 
horsemen.    They  reappeared  driven,  as  they  had  gone  out  driving. 

It  was  impossible  to  see  or  to  dbtinguish  anything  in  this  second  tempest  of 
men ;  only  when  it  had  gone  by,  three  or  four  more  bodies  were  laid  low  on 
theroad. 

A  great  silence  succeeded  all  this  noise.  French  and  Pnissiana  were  en- 
gulphed  in  the  interior  of  the  town.  We  waited,  but  we  neither  heard  nor  saw 
anything  more. 

What  had  become  of  our  hundred  infantry-men?  No  doubt  they  had  been 
either  taken  prisoners  or  slain.  As  to  otir  cavalry,  being  acquainted  with  the 
nei^bonrhood,  they  escaped,  from  what  we  learnt  afterwards,  by  the  moun- 
tain of  Sery,  into  the  valley  of  Gillocourt. 

HHien  Louis  XVIII. — the  Desire  of  the  fickle  French — ^was  restored 
to  the  throne  of  his  ancestors,  Alexandre  Dumas  was  asked  by  bis  mo- 
ther if  he  would  give  in  more  than  a  nominal  allegiance  to  the  legitimate 
government,  and  clidm  his  rank  as  grandson  of  tbe  Marquis  de  la  Paille« 
terie.  Alexandre  determined  at  onoe  to  remain  Alexandre  Dumas,  simply 
and  brieflr*  **  I  bave  known  my  father/'  he  said ;  ^*  I  never  kiiew 
my  grandmther;  and  what  would  my  father,  who  came  to  bid  me  good-* 
bye  at  the  moment  of  his  death,  think  of  me,  if  I  denied  him,  to  caU  myself 
by  the  name  of  my  grandfather.** 

It  was  accordingly  resolved,  in  accordance  with  this  decision,  which  so 
materially  affected  the  future  prospects  of  young  Dumas,  that  nothing 
should  be  asked  for  him,  but  that  a  license  to  deal  in  tobacco  should  be 
•elicited  ior  the  mother.  *'It  was  andeot  times  revived,"  says  Dumas 
— -**  the  widow  of  the  Horatius  Cocles  of  the  Tyrol  selling  tobacco.** 

A  brief  period  of  tranquillity — ^the  mother  selling  tobacco,  snuff,  and 
salt — the  son  continuing  his  education,  partly  under  the  Abbe  Gr^goire, 
partly  in  the  fewest — was  interrupted  by  the  return  of  the  emperor.  In 
France  many  changes  take  place  during  even  the  lapse  from  boyhood  to 
manhood.  At  this  epoch,  the  brothers  Lallemand  having  been  arrested 
lor  conspiring  in  &vDnr  of  Napoleon,  young  Dumas  relates  that,  seconded 
by  hb  mother,  and  aided  by  a  playfelbw,  who  was  son  of  the  gaoler  at 
tSoissons,  he  coaveved  to  the  generals  a  pair  of  pistols  and  fifty  louis,  but 
which  were  refused  by  the  prisoners ;  **  for,"  said  they,  *' the  emperor  will 
be  at  Paris  before  thev  can  bring  us  to  triid.*'  Twenty-eight  years  after- 
wards, Dumas  reminded  GenerS  Lallemand,  at  the  house  of  the  Due  de 
Cases,  of  thisinadeot. 

The  emperar  re-enterad  the  Tuileriea  the  20th  of  Maich^the  birth- 
day of  the  King  of  Rome— and  by  the  26th  of  May  the  old  unitems  of 


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AvtoUograpbjf  {^Alexandre  Dunuu.  7S 

the  empire  began  to  pass  through  Villers-Cdter^ts,  which  is  upon  ihe 
great  north-eastern  road. 

Of  the  men  who  weie  going  to  fight  against  the  British,  at  that  mo- 
ment at  once  the  bulwark  and  the  £ralom  hope  of  Europe^  at  Waterloo^ 
Domaenji: 

*^  Ok !  let  us  neTor  forget  these  men  who  walked  witib  so  firm  a  stip 
towaida  Waterioo — ^that  is  to  aay,  towards  die  tomb !  Tktae  was  at 
once  devotion,  courage,  honour !  There  was  there  the  most  noUe^  the 
moat  zealous,  and  the  purest  blood  of  France  I — ^the  mnains  of  twenty 
j«an'  struggles  against  the  whole  of  Europe.  There  was  the  reTc^tion, 
our  mother;  there  was  the  empire^  our  nurse;  there  was  not  the  Freudi 
nobflity,  but  the  nobili^  of  the  French  people!" 

Thqr  all  passed  by,  even  to  the  two  hundred  Mamriukea,  with  their 
bsge  fed  trousers,  turbans^  and  cured  sabres.  At  last  came  the  man 
himel^  who  weighed  like  a  gigantic  nightmare  upon  all  Europe,  not 
omitting  Fmee  and  Alexandre  Dumas  himself.  The  latter  awaited  at 
the  post-bouse  to  see  tiie  emperor. 

^  He  was  seated  at  the  back,  to  the  right,  dressed  in  a  green  uniform 
with  white  fodngs,  and  wearing  the  cross  of  the  legicm  of  honour,  ffis 
head,  pale  and  sicldy,  and  apparently  carved  out  of  a  block  of  ivory,  foil 
sfigh^  reclining  on  his  chest ;  on  his  left  was  his  brotlier  J^6me,  and 
in  fiont  of  the  latter  ihe  aide-de-camp  Letort 

**  He  raised  Ins  bead,  looked  rocmd  him,  and  inquired,  '  Where  mn 
we?' 

^ '  At  Villen-Cdterets,  sire,'  smd  a  voice. 

'* '  Six  leagues  from  Soissmis,  then  T  he  answered. 

^^ '  Six  leagues  from  Soiasoos — ^yes,  aire.' 

<'<  Be  quick  then.' 

^  And  &J1  back  into  that  kind  of  torpor  fiK>m  winch  the  stoppage  of 
the  carriage  had  for  a  moment  aroused  htm." 

The  gigantic  visSon,  as  Dumas  calls  it,  had  not  passed  by  ten  days, 
when  news  came  of  the  paasage  of  the  Samlne,  the  fidl  of  Cfaiarleroi,  the 
battles  of  ligny  and  Qnatre-Bras.  Then  there  was  no  news,  till  groups 
of  men,  covered  wi&  dust  and  blood,  with  uniforms  in  rags,  and  scarcely 
able  to  A%  in  their  saddles,  began  to  arrive.  There  was  no  longer  any 
ose  in  denying  the  fact :  the  French  army  had  experienced  a  decisive  defeat 
—the  allies  were  on  their  way  to  the  capital  The  haricot  de  moutom 
reappeared  ;  so  also  did  the  emperor,  and  Dumas  went  out  to  see  him. 

'^  It  was  the  emperoi^  at  the  same  place  that  I  had  seen  him,  in  a 
■nilar  carriage,  with  an  aide«de-camp  by  bis  side,  and  another  before. 
But  it  is  no  longer  J6rdme  nor  Letort.  Letort  was  killed ;  J6rAme  had 
for  his  mission  to  rally  the  army  at  Laon. 

*'  It  is  the  jBame  man — ^the  same  pale>  sickly,  motionless  faoe^  only  the 
bead  is  stili  more  bowed  down  upon  the  chest  Is  it  with  fadgue  ? — is  it 
with  grief  at  having  played  for  a  world  and  lost  the  game  ? 

*'As  upon  the  mat  occasion,  when  he  felt  that  the  carriage  bad 
stopped,  he  raised  his  head,  cast  around  him  the  same  vague  look  which 
beoune  so  piercing  when  fixed  upon  a  face  or  a  horizon— those  two  mys- 
teries, behind  wbich  a  danger  can  always  hide  itself. 

"  *  Where  are  we?'  he  inquired. 

"  'At  ViUen-Cdteidta,  sire.' 
'  'Good— eigkte«i  leagues  £rom  Paris?' 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


UA 


74  Autobiography  of  Alexandre  Dumas. 

"'Yes,  rire/ 

« '  Go  on/  "• 

This  time  it  was  neither  Cossacks  nor  Prussians  who  followed  the  fd- 
gitives,  hut  the  English.  Two  officers  were  quartered  in  the  Bureau  de 
Tabac,  and  Dumas  condescends  to  say  that  they  behaved  themselves  like 
gentlemen.  At  all  events  they  did  the  utmost  honour  to  the  haricot  de 
nuniUmy  which,  in  Dumas's  memoirs,  appears  to  represent  the  instability  of 
governments. 

The  restoration  of  the  monarchy  heralded  to  young  Dumas  the  return 
of  rural  amusements  and  sporting  adventures,  of  which  he  relates  no 
small  number,  some  of  a  very  tragic  character.  This  ag^reeable  and  de- 
sultory existence  was,  however,  interrupted  by  Madame  Dumas  suddenly 
aniving  at  the  conclusion  that  Alexandre,  being  fifteen  years  of  age,  be 
should  apply  himself  to  something  more  serious  than  trapping  larks  and 
tracking  wild  boar ;  the  result  of  which  reflections  was  that  our  hero 
was  indentured  to  M.  Mennesson,  the  notary-public  of  Yillers-Cdter^ts. 

An  incident  of  rather  a  remarkable  character,  for  a  rural  neighbour- 
hood  like  that  of  ViUers-Cdterets,  occurred  shortly  after  Dumas  entered 
upon  his  new  career.  As  junior  derk,  he  was  sent  on  business  to  Cressy, 
and  as  the  distance  amounted  to  three  leagues  and  a  half,  he  was  provided 
with  the  baker's  horse.  The  intervening  country  is  described  with  the 
author^s  usual  sketchy  detail,  and  leaves  the  impression  of  a  country  of 
woods  and  cultivated  land,  with  a  ravine,  with  quarries  intervening,  called 
Fontaine  Eau  claire^  from  its  rivulet,  and  of  a  little-frequented  road. 
Detained  by  business  and  pleasure  combined,  young  Dumas  did  not  start 
on  his  return  till  night,  the  darkness  whereof!^  and  the  evil  repute  of  the 
road,  not  being  very  prepossessing,  made  him  resolve  upon  enecting  hia 
journey  at  a  gallop.  He  had  passed  Fontaine  Eau  claire  and  its 
sombre  quarries,  and  was  ascending  the  opposite  hill  of  Vauoennes,  crowned 
by  a  windmill,  which  belonged  to  M.  Ficot,  when 

Suddenly  my  horse,  which  was  galloping  along  the  middle  of  the  road,  started 
aside  so  violently,  and  so  unexpectealy,  that  it  sent  me  rolling  ten  or  twelve 
paces  beyond  the  road-side.  After  which,  instead  of  waiting  for  me,  it  con* 
tinued  its  way,  only  faster  than  before,  breathing  hard  through  its  nostrils. 

I  rose  up  stunned  by  my  fall,  which  might  have  been  fatal  if,  instead  of  fall- 
ing beyond  the  road,  I  had  been  thrown  on  the  pavement  I  at  first  thought 
of  running  after  the  horse,  but  it  was  already  so  far  off,  that  I  thought  it  would 
be  of  no  use.  And  then  I  was  curious  to  know  what  it  was  that  had  terrified 
it  so. 

I  shook  myself,  and,  with  a  somewhat  unsteady  gait,  advanced  across  the 
higliway.  I  had  scarcely  gone  about  four  paces,  when  I  perceived  a  man  lying 
across  the  road.  I  thought  it  was  some  drunken  peasant;  and,  congratu- 
lating myself  that  my  horse  had  not  trod  upon  him,  I  bent  down  to  lift 
him  up. 

I  took  him  by  the  hand ;  hb  hand  was  stiff  and  cold.  I  rose  up  at  once  and 
looked  around  me,  and  I  thought  I  saw,  not  ten  paces  distant,  a  human  form 
groping  along  the  ditch.  The  idea  then  crossed  my  mind  that  this  motionless 
man  had  been  assassinated,  and  that  the  human  form  that  I  saw  moving  might 
very  well  be  that  of  the  assassin. 

I  did  not  stop  to  make  any  further  inquiries.  Jumping  over  the  body,  I 
followed  the  example  of  the  horse,  and  took  the  road  to  YillerB-C6ter^ts  asfast 
as  my  legs  would  carry  me. 

*  Dumas,  speaking  elsewhere  of  this  piece  of  frail  mortalitTt  Mtys,  somewhat 
blasphemously,  *<  Si  vons  n'aviez  pas  eu  votre  passion,  vous  ne  series  pas  dieo." 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Autobiography  ofAkzandre  Dumas.  75 

Madame  Dmnas,  who  had  been  much  terrified  by  the  baker's  hone 
amying  without  his  rider,  recommended  her  son  not  to  say  anything  of 
what  he  had  seen.  There  would  be  inquiries  without  end — ^preliminary 
investigations  at  Soissons— assizes  at  Laon — no  end  of  trouble  and  expense. 
The  next  day  the  whole  population  was  in  motion.  A  carrier  of  Ydlen- 
Cdter&ts  had  brought  the  body  in  his  cart  to  the  town.  It  was  that  of  a 
▼oung  man,  of  firom  fifteen  to  sixteen  years  of  age.  He  belonged  to  the 
labouring  dass,  and  was  unknown  in  me  neighbourhood.  He  had  been 
IdUed  by  a  heavy  blow  on  the  back  of  the  head  with  a  blunt  instrument. 

Two  days  afterwards,  one  of  M.  Picot's  shepherds  was  brought  in  by 
the  gendarmes,  suspected  of  being  the  g^ty  party.  ''  The  type,"  says 
Dumas,  "  was  that  of  the  Heard  peasant  of  the  very  lowest  class,  vulear  and 
cunning."  This  shepherd's  hut  was  within  two  hundred  paces  of  where 
the  body  had  been  discovered ;  traces  of  blood  had  been  found  on  the 
straw,  covered  by  a  miserable  mattress.  A  mallet  had  also  been  found 
stained  with  blood.  This  wretch,  Marot  by  name,  finding  himself  thus 
implicated,  drew  his  master,  M.  Ficot,  to  whom  he  owed  a  grudge,  into 
the  scrape.  He  accused  him  of  being  the  murderer,  and  the  unfortunate 
gentleman  was  arrested,  and  imprisoned  for  a  month  before  his  innocence 
was  established.  He,  however,  never  recovered  the  blow  of  so  cruel  an 
accusation.  Marot  was  condemned  to  twelve  or  fifteen  years'  imprison- 
ment for  having  stolen  some  clothes  found  upon  a  dead  man.  Strange 
T«6irt,  lays  Dumas,  which  rtates  a  crime  without  derignating  l£e 
enmmal. 

But  the  most  curious  part  of  the  story  lies  in  the  sequel.  Possibly,  if 
the  results  of  all  crimes  could  be  equally  circumstantially  followed  out, 
this  would  be  found  to  be  generally  the  case.  Marot,  on  his  liberation 
from  confinement,  returned  to  the  same  neighbourhood,  where  he  got  em- 
ployment as  a  butcher.  Some  time  after  ms  return,  his  wife  was  killed 
by  a  very  singular  accident.  She  was  drawing  water  from  a  well,  when, 
the  rope  breaking,  she  was  thrown  down  to  a  depth  of  thirty  feet,  and 
drowned. 

This  death  (says  Dumas)  was  looked  upon  as  an  accident. 

Some  time  afterwards,  the  body  of  a  young  carman  was  found  buried,  at  a 
depth  of  only  one  or  two  feet,  between  Vivieres  and  Chelles,  and  who  appeared 
to  have  been  killed  by  a  pistol-shot,  discharged  right  into  his  back. 

Researches  were  made,  but  without  results ;  the  assassin  or  assassins  were 
not  discovered. 

Lastly,  some  time  afterwards,  Marot  went  himself  to  the  justice  of  peace,  to 
announce  an  incident  that  had  taken  place.  A  young  painter  and  glazier,  who, 
not  having  means  to  go  to  the  inn,  had  asked  hospitality  of  him,  had  been  re- 
ceived into  Che  house,  and  had  perished  during  the  night-time,  in  the  garret, 
where  he  slept  on  straw,  of  a  coUque  de  miserere. 

The  young  painter  was  buried. 

A  few  days  afterwards,  some  of  Marot's  fowls  were  found  dead  in  his  yard 
and  in  the  gardens  of  the  neighbours.    They  appeared  to  have  been  poisoned. 

These  various  incidents  were  brought  into  connexion  with  one  another,  and 
suspicions  began  to  arise.  Marot  was  taken  up,  and  his  own  child  was  a  chief 
evidence  against  him. 

The  young  painter  had  been  poisoned  by  arsenic  put  by  Marot  into  his 
soup-plate.  The  young  man  complained  that  the  soup  had  a  strange  taste ; 
Marot's  son  took  a  tablespoonful  of  it,  and  was  of  the  same  opinion. 

"  The  soup,**  said  Marot,  "  has  a  strange  taste  because  it  was  made  with  a 
pig's  bead.  As  to  you,  ^utton,"  he  added,  addressing  himself  to  his  son,  <'  eat 
your  soup,  and  let  this  boy  eat  his  j  every  one  his  own." 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


76  AtUobibgraphy  of  Aleaaudre  DtuMn. 

Nevertheless,  the  flavoor  of  the  soop  was  so  acrid  that  the  painter  left  the 
half  of  it  in  his  plate.  This  was  thrown  on  the  diiog|aeap  ;  the  fowls  partook 
of  it,  and  denounced  the  poisoning  hy  their  death. 

This  time  the  accusation  against  Marot  was  so  stropg  that  he  could  not 
conceal  the  truth.  Seeing  that  he  could  no  longer  he  spared  the  results  of  his 
last  crime,  he  then  acknowledged  all  the  oliiers. 

He  confessed  that  it  was  he  who  had  killed  the  man  found  in  the  road,  for 
die  sake  of  six  or  eight  francs  that  he  had  opon  kin.  He  confessed  that  he 
had  cut  the  rope,  so  that  his  wife  should  fiul  into  the  well,  and  shookl  be 
killed  by  the  mil,  or  drown  heiself. 

He  acknowledged  that  it  was  he  who  had  killed  with  a  pistol,  for  the  sake 
of  thirty  francs  that  he  had  just  received,  the  young  carman  whose  body  had 
been  found  between  Chelles  and  Vivi^res. 

He  acknowledged,  lastly,  that  it  was  he  who,  to  rob  him  of  twelve  francs  that 
he  ascertained  he  had  about  him,  had  poisoned  the  painter  and  glaaier  by 
putting  arsenic  into  his  soup. 

Marot  was  condemned  to  death,  and  executed  at  Beanvais  in  1828  or 
1889. 

The  reader  will  not  £sal  to  recognise^  in  this  fearful  detail  of  cmoe, 
owtain  eixcomstances  which  hare  been  laygeLy  imde  nae  of  in  '^  MoBle 
Chiiata" 

Shortly  after  this  event,  w^  calculated  to  leave  a  permanent  impres- 
non  upon  so  imaginative  a  mind,  young  Dumas,  being  then  sixteen  yeaia 
of  age,  entered  upon  a  new  era  in  life— a  lair  Spaniard  awakened  hitherto 
unknown  aspirations.  Dumas  was  not,  however,  according  to  his  own 
account,  very  successful  in  his  first  amours.  A  blue  coat  aud  tight  nan- 
keens, remnants  of  the  wardrobe  of  the  old  repdblican  gene»l,  were 
no  longer  faflhkwiahle,  and  exposed  our  hero  to  no  small  ajnoont  cC 
lidicnle  firom  the  faxt  object  of  hu  regards^  and  this  readied  the  culminat- 
ing point,  when,  being  one  day  anxious  to  exhibit  his  agility  before  the 
maiden,  he  took  a  desperate  leap^  which  entailed  a  &tal  rupture  in  the 
before-mentioned  tight  nankeens. 

A  more  genial  friendship  with  young  Adolphe  de  Leuvers,  descendant 
of  the  noble  Danish  family,  the  Earls  of  Ribbing,  consoled  Dumas  for  the 
ridicule  that  attended  upon  his  first  loves. 

There  was  (aajrs  Dumas)  a  sad  and  melancholy  legend  in  the  fomily;  it  re- 
feiied  to  two  children  decapitated,  the  one  at  twelve  years  of  age,  the  other  at 
three. 

The  executioner  had  jost  cot  off  the  head  of  the  ddest,  and  was  taking  hold 
of  the  junior  for  the  same  purpose  ;  the  poor  little  child  said  to  him  in  a  plain- 
tive tone : 

"  Do  not,  I  beg  of  you,  dirty  my  collar,  as  you  have  done  to  my  brother 
Axd,  for  mamma  will  scold  me  so.** 

The  executioner  had  two  children  of  the  same  age  as  these  two.  He  was 
so  struck  by  these  simple,  affecting  words,  that  he  &rew  down  his  sword  and 
ran  away. 

Christian  sent  some  soldiers  after  him,  who  killed  the  compesaiooate  execu- 
tioner. 

f 

This  and  a  visit  to  the  Chateau  de  YiUers-Hellon,  where  young  Dumas 
and  his  fiiends  got  into  disgrace  for  their  riotous  proceedings ;  a  Difi- 
gence-story,  wbSsh.  had  much  better  have  been,  with  sundry  other  matters, 
altogether  omitted ;  and  sundry  detached  sentences  in  reference  to  the 
political  events  of  1814— carry  Dumas  through  his  fifth  volume,  and  up 
to  his  seventeenth  year.  At  this  rate,  being  now  nigh  fifty  yean  of  age 
(Dtunas  was  bom  July  24,  1802),  it  will  require  sixteen  volumes  to  bring 
up  the  memoirs  of  the  Romancist  to  our  own  times. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


(  "  ) 


THE  BAUON'S  REVENGE. 


RsADBB,  have  you  ever  been  in  Canxwail?  I  doo't  mean  to  aik  if 
yon  have  passed  through  it  on  the  coach  road,  along  the  bleak  hills  and 
sterile  tracts  which  constitute^  as  it  were,  the  backbone  of  the  county  ; 
nor  even  if  you  have  visited  the  attractions  which  lie  in  the  usual  track 
of  the  few  tourists  who  venture  into  such  a  remote  and  out-of-the-way 
district.  But  have  you  ever  struck  out  paths  for  yoursdf  ?  Have  you 
ever,  contemning  tlie  adventitious  aids  of  coaches,  carnages,  or  hones, 
set  forth  on  foot  to  explore  it,  with  stick  in  hand  and  Imapsack  on 
shoulder?  If  not^  you  may  be  acquainted  with  some  of  its  scenes  of 
desolation  ;  you  may  be  even  familiar  enough  with  cromlechs,  rock- 
basins,  and  logan-stones,  but  can  know  comparatively  Httle  of  its  beauties. 
To  see  these,  you  must  wander  among  the  beetling  cliffs  and  spacious 
caverns  of  its  north  coast ;  the  beauti&  rivers  and  sweeping  bays  of  its 
south ;  and  the  sunny  nooks  and  lovely  valleys  of  its  interior — and  many 
such  valleys  are  to  be  found  scattered  about,  sometimes,  too,  in  close 
proximity  to  barren  wastes  and  dreary  moors.  Often  you  may  roam  over 
bold  wila  hills,  where  huge  masses  of  granite  lie  piled  in  strange  fan- 
tastic ferms,  with  no  trace  of  vegetation  around  you,  save  the  brown 
heath  and  the  tall  fern,  or  that  ever-present  feature  in  Cornish  sceoery, 
the  golden-blossomed  furze,  whilst  a  roaring  torrent  rushes  foaming  and 
struggling  in  its  rocky  channel  at  your  feet.  You  follow  its  course,  and, 
sometimes  by  degrees,  sometimes  suddenly,  as  if  transformed  by  the 
magician's  wand,  tiie  naked  granite  and  feathery  fern  give  place  to  beau- 
tiful leafy  woods  ;  and  the  rapid  torrent,  as  though  it  felt  the  influence 
of  the  scene,  calms  down  into  a  gurgling,  murmuring  stream^ — now  lin- 
gering in  its  course,  and  spreading  out  into  a  black  nlent  pool,  like  a 
miniature  lake,  which  the  hills,  still  steep  and  abrupt,  and  jutting  into 
each  other  on  either  side,  seem  to  shut  in  from  all  tiie  world  as  with  a 
leafy  wall ;  and  tiien  again,  shutting  its  eyes,  as  it  were,  as  if  anxious 
to  make  up  for  tiie  time  it  had  loitered  away,  and  rushing  on  with  blind 
haste  under  the  overhanging  banks  and  against  tiie  mossy  stones- 
strongholds  of  the  speckled  trout  and  re^al  sakaou. 

In  one  of  the  loveliest  of  these  valleys — perhaps  the  loveliest — the 
sweet  Vale  of  Dunmeer,  stand  the  ruins  o^  a  house,  or  rather  cottage,  for 
it  can  scarcely  be  called  more.  It  has  long  been  deserted  and  ruinous- 
long  before  the  memory  of  any  one  at  present  alive  in  the  neighbourhood — 
yet  its  decay  has  been  slow  and  gradual :  the  hand  of  Time  itself  seems 
to  have  passed  over  it  with  a  gentie  and  sparing  touch,  and  even  man, 
ofiten  the  more  remorseless  depredator  of  the  two,  has  not  molested  it. 
Though  the  roof  and  part  of  the  walls  have  fellen  in,  not  a  stone  has 
been  removed  ;  even  the  garden  before  it,  though,  of  coune,  long  since 
overgrown  with  weeds  and  briars,  still  remains.  Situated  in  the  most 
secluded  part  of  the  valley,  its  crumbling  walls,  thickly  covered  with  ivy, 
can  scarcdy  fiiil  strongly  to  impress  the  mind  of  the  beholder— more 
strongly,  perhaps,  than  is  often  Uie  case  even  with  more  majestic  ruins. 

A  strange  story  is  related  concerning  the  fate  of  the  last  mhabitants  of 
tiiis  cottage :   it  was  told  me  by  the  hostess  of  a  Uttle  inn  in  the  neigh* 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


78  T%e  Bararis  Revenge. 

boarhood,  and  whether  or  not  strictly  true  in  all  its  parts,  it  has,  even 
through  the  lapse  of  such  a  length  of  time,  so  powerfully  affected  with 
feelings  of  awe  or  pity  the  minds  of  the  people  around,  as  to  prevent 
them  ^m  in  any  way  altering  or  interferine  with  the  place. 

Many  years  ago,  a  lady  came  there  to  reside,  bring^ing  with  her  an  only 
child,  a  ^ughter,  then  an  infant  a  few  months  old.  Though  Tery  young 
— she  could  scarcely  have  seen  more  than  two-and-twenty  summers — Mrs. 
Atherton,  for  such  was  the  lady's  name,  was  a  ^idow.  She  was  beautiful — 
yery  beautiful,  but  it  was  with  the  beauty  of  the  frost-nipped  bud— of  the 
blighted  flower.  The  fair,  open  forehead;  the  rich,  clustering  brown 
haur ;  the  soft,  dark  eyes  were  there :  but  the  brightness  of  those  eyes  was 
quenched,  ihe  cheek  was  wan  and  sunken,  the  merry  laugh  seemed  to 
nave  quitted  the  now  bloodless  lips  for  ever.  Her  countenance  wore 
usually  an  expression  of  sweetness  and  melancholy,  but  ever  and  anon  it 
would  be  distorted  by  a  look  of  the  most  extreme  terror — and  this 
occurred  most  usually  in  the  night.  Often  she  would  start  up  suddenly 
from  her  sleep  with  a  shriek,  clasp  her  infant  to  her  breast,  and  wander 
about  the  house  for  hours,  not  unfrequently  till  daybreak.  For  this,  her 
child,  her  fondness  and  care  were  extreme,  almost  painful  to  witness : 
night  and  day  it  was  ever  at  her  side ;  she  would  not  part  vnth  it  for  an 
instant.  Yet  she  was  not  a  fidgety,  or,  in  the  General  acceptation  of  the 
term,  a  solicitous  mother :  colds,  damp,  and  illness,  seemea  scarcely  to 
have  a  place  in  her  fears  ;  but  some  sort  of  va^e,  undefined  dread,  con- 
nected  with  her  infant,  appeared  constantly  to  hang  over  her  soul. 

For  a  long  lime  after  her  arrival  she  never  left  the  house  ;  and,  with 
the  exception  of  Betsy,  the  only  servant  she  had  engaged— a  good, 
simple,  ftuthful  creature,  whose  heart  her  mistress's  sweetness  of  disposi- 
tion had  completely  won — never,  as  far  as  possible,  admitted  any  one  intOv 
it.  Not  that  she  was  much  troubled  with  visitors,  but  she  seemed  suspi- 
cious and  afraid  even  of  the  wood-cutters  and  their  families,  who  princi- 
pally inhabited  the  few  houses  scattered  through  the  valley.  At  length, 
ner  child's  health  almost  gave  way  under  so  much  confinement ;  its  httle 
cheek  began  to  eet  pale,  and  its  temper  fretful ;  and  Mrs.  Atherton, 
though  at  first  ^nth  fear  and  trembling,  found  it  necessary  to  take  it  more 
into  the  fresh  air.  Her  first  walks  did  not  reach  beyond  the  garden  and 
the  little  meadow  adjoining ;  but,  getting  gradually  more  bold,  she  soon 
began  to  extend  them  along  the  woodland  paths,  or  by  the  river's  mde — 
sometimes  even  to  the  nearest  cottages  of  her  poor  neighbours.  These 
rambles,  which  quickly  brought  back  the  roses  to  her  little  daughter's 
cheek,  were  not  less  beneficnial  to  her  own  health  and  spirits.  Years 
rolled  on,  and — whether  from  the  gloomy  dread  on  her  mind  having  been 
caused  by  punful  recollections  which  the  lapse  of  time  served  to  deaden, 
or  from  the  non-arrival  of  some  actual  evil  which  she  had  feared— her 
sleep  became  more  peaceful,  her  waking  hours  less  anxious  and  suspicious, 
and  those  dread  moments  of  terror  rarer  and  more  rare.  Her  cheek  still 
remained  white  as  the  plain  widow  s  cap  which  surrounded  it,  but  its 
hollo wness  passed  away;  her  eyes  began  once  more  to  be  lit  up  by  some 
mild  rays  of  hope,  and  a  sweet  quiet  smile  would  now  and  tiien  stray 
back  to  revisit  her  lips.  Her  love  for  her  daughter,  though  it  lost  in  a 
great  measure  its  painful,  anxious  watching,  seemed,  if  possible,  to  become 
even  more  tender ;  and  she,  on  her  part,  returned  it  vrith  equal  afifection. 
Seldom  did  a  tear  stand  in  Mary's  bright  blue  eye  but  when  she  saw  her 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


The  BarorCs  R&)enge.  79 

mother  looking  more  than  usoallj  sad;  and  never  did  Mrs.  Atherton  so 
sweetly  smile  as  when  she  watched  her  daughter's  joyous,  springing  step, 
and  her  face  beaming  with  health  and  happiness. 

All  through  Mary's  pratdine  childhood,  and  merry,  happy  girlhood, 
her  supreme  delight  was  to  sit  by  her  mother's  side,  or  to  walk  with  her 
through  the  tangled  greenwood  paths  that  surrounded  their  home,  now 
mnning  on  before  to  dear  the  briars  from  her  way,  now  loitering  behind 
to  pick  her  a  handful  of  wild  strawberries,  or  a  bunch  of  honeysuckles  or 
Tioleta,  and  now  holding  her  by  the  hand,  and  looking  earnestly  up  into 
her  face,  as  her  mother  told  her  about  the  birds,  and  the  flowers,  and  the 
insects,  and  the  mosses,  or  related  some  little  tale,  short  and  simple,  but 
to  the  hearer  of  thrilling  interest.  But  these  stories  seldom  spoke  of  the 
great  world,  and  of  its  pleasures  and  attractions ;  and  when  they  did,  they 
were  intended,  under  a  guise  adapted  to  Mary's  age  and  comprehension, 
to  create  a  dread  and  fear  of  it  One  of  the  most  intensely  interesting  of 
dbese  tales  was  about  a  little  bird,  called  Chirpy,  who  lived  with  her  father 
and  mother,  in  a  nest  that  was  built  in  an  old  cherry-tree ;  and  how  the 
chenry^tree  stood  in  a  garden,  where  she  had  everything  that  the  heart  of 
little  bird  could  desire — nice  strawberries,  and  raspberries,  and  cherries, 
and  coTTants,  and  clear  pure  water.  And  the  garden  was  surrounded  by  a 
high  waJl,  which  Chirpy's  father  and  mother  told  her  she  must  never  on 
any  account  go  over.  And  how  curious  and  anxious  she  was  to  know  what 
could  be  on  the  other  side.  And  how  she  thought  one  day  that,  at  all 
events,  it  could  be  no  harm  just  to  fly  to  the  top  of  the  wall,  and  peep 
over,  as  that  could  not  be  doine  anything  wrong.  And  how  she  did  fly  up 
and  peep,  and  saw  on  the  other  side— oh !  such  a  beautiful  garden,  ten 
thonsand  times  more  beautiful-looking  than  her  own;  and  there  were 
fountains  and  streams  in  it,  not  of  pure  clear  water,  but  red,  and  purple, 
and  golden-coloured ;  and  there  were  fruits,  which  looked  so  luscious  and 
tempting,  that  she  thought  she  would  rather  have  one  of  them  than  all 
the  cherries  or  currants  she  had  ever  seen  in  her  life.  And  the  garden 
was  full  of  such  beautiful  birds !  not  with  plain  brown  feathers,  like  hers, 
but  dressed  in  magnificent  plumage — scarlet,  and  green,  and  blue,  and 
purple,  and  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow,  and  looking  so  merry  and 
happy !  And  how  one  bird,  more  splendid  than  all  the  rest,  and  with  the 
most  beaudfnl  eyes  Chirpy  had  ever  beheld,  saw  her  as  she  peeped  over, 
and  begged  her  to  come  down,  and  said  what  a  pity  it  was  that  she  should 
stay  in  such  an  old  humdrum  place  as  that  was  on  the  other  side  of  the 
wall ;  and  what  a  handsome  creature  she  would  be  if  she  would  come  down 
and  drink  their  water,  and  eat  their  fruits,  and  have  bright  gay  feathers 
like  diey  had«  And  how  Chirpy  said,  that  her  fftther  and  mother  had  told 
her  she  must  not,  and  she  did  not  like  to  disobey  them.  And  how  the 
beantiful  bird  laughed  at  her,  and  said  that  now  she  was  a  great  bird 
and  had  wings  of  her  own,  she  must  have  a  will  of  her  own,  too,  and  not 
always  be  doing  what  her  mother  told  her.  And  how  Chirpy  thought  it 
could  be  no  harm  to  go  down  for  five  minutes,  but  she  wouldn't  stay 
longer — no,  not  for  the  world !  And  she  flew  down,  and  the  gay  birds  all 
came  around  her,  and  g^ve  her  the  fruits  and  the  coloured  water,  and  she 
ate  and  drank,  and  thought  they  were  so  nice  that  she  could  never  have 
enough;  and  she  was  merry  and  happy,  and  wished  she  had  not  stayed 
so  long' in  that  ugly  old  place  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall ;  and  she  sang, 

May — ^VOL.  XCV..NO.  ccclxxvii.  o 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


80  The  Baron's  £evenge. 

and  pkyedy  and  Ihe  biids  all  praised  her  rotce^  and  made  mnok  of  her, 
especially  the  faeautifu]  Inid  that  had  asked  her  to  come  down.  And  then, 
how  Chiipj  fell  asleep ;  and  when  she  awoke  was  sick,  and  ill,  and  sonj* 
and  loathed  the  thought  of  the  rich  fruits  and  the  coloured  foontains,  and 
began  to  sigh  for  the  clear  fresh  water  in  her  own  garden.  And  how  she 
obeerred,  for  the  first  time,  that  the  birds  did  not  sing  sweetly,  as  she  and 
her  father  and  mother  had  done  in  the  old  dierry-tree,  bat  had  nasty 
harshy  hoazacy  discordant  Yoioes.  And  how,  when  she  came  to  look  closely 
at  than,  dbe  saw  that  their  gay  feathers  were  only  painted,  and  that 
really  they  were  ugly,  and  hideous,  and  loathsome ;  and  she  found,  too, 
that  there  were  wasps  in  the  fruit,  and  snakes  am<Migst  the  grass ;  and 
they  stung  her,  and  made  her  bad.  And  how  she  tried  to  get  back  ama 
to  ner  own  dear  home,  but  was  so  ill  that  she  had  not  strength  enouejfa  to 
fly  over  the  wall.  And  how  the  birds  came  and  laughed  at  her,  and  toU 
her  that  it  was  too  late  now,  and  she  would  never  be  able  to  go  back  any 
more,  and  persuaded  her  to  eat  again  of  the  fruits,  and  drink  of  the 
waters ;  and  she  did  so^  and  was  more  miserable  than  ever  afUrwards, 
and  tried  again  to  get  away ;  but  the  birds,  when  they  saw  it,  flew  at  her, 
and  puUed  out  her  feathen,  and  pecked  her  with  th^  bedks,  and  hurt 
her  very  much.  And  how  one  day,  when  there  were  no  birds  near  her, 
she  made  a  desperate  effort,  and  got  to  the  top  of  the  wall,  and  flew  down 
into  her  own  dear,  once  happy  garden ;  but  sine  was  so  weak,  that  it  took 
her  a  long  time  to  get  to  the  cherry-tree.  And  how,  when  she  came 
there^  after  all,  she  saw  that  the  old  nest  was  broken  up,  and  that  her 
&ther  and  mother  were  gone.  And  how  she  sank  down  on  the  ground, 
and,  a£ber  a  little  while,  saw  an  old  bird  flutter  to  the  tree^  with  feeble 
wing;  and  she  looked  at  her,  and  saw  it  was  her  mother — but,  oh!  how 
chaE^B;ed !  And  her  mother  saw  her,  and  knew  her,  and  came  to  her,  and 
told  her  that  her  fiither  was  dead  (she  did  not  say  so,  but  Chirpy  knew 
he  had  died  of  grief) ;  yet  she  did  not  reproach  her,  but  spoke  lovin^y  to 
her,  and  took  her  under  her  wing.  And  how  poor  Chirpy  looked  up  into 
her  face,  and  nestled  in  her  bosom,  and— died  !  And  when  the  tale  was 
finished,  Mary  would  burst  into  tears,  and  cling  to  her  mother,  and  say 
she  would  never,  never  leave  her.  And  Mrs.  Atherton  would  press  a 
kiss  upon  her  fair  forehead,  and  teU  her  some  more  cheerful  story,  or  give 
her  a  commission  to  run  and  [nek  some  bladLberries  or  a  noeegay,  and 
she  would  be  happy,  and  laughing,  and  bright-eyed  again. 

Tears  nassed  away,  and  Mary  was  seventeen — that  magic  age  whose 
very  toucn  is  beauty.  Ordinary  looking,  indeed,  must  be  &e  girl  who  is 
not  lovely,  with  its  freshness  and  bloom  upon  her  cheek  ;  sour,  indeed, 
the  temper  which  its  bright  hopes  and  £uicies  do  not  sweeten.  But,  oh! 
how  lovely  was  Mary  Auierton !  She  had  not  her  mother's  regular  and 
perfect  features;  hers  was  not  a  face  to  be  carved  in  marble,  it  was  more 
fit  for  a  picture— a  bright,  sunny  picture.  But  no  I  those  beautiful  blue 
eyes,  those  golden  tresses,  that  graceful  form,  that  springing  st^,  were 
ndther  for  a  statue  nor  a  painting.  They  were  things  to  be  imagined — 
to  be  dreamt  of — to  float  through  the  nund  on  a  summer's  day,  whilst 
lying  half-asleep  amongst  the  blooming  heather  or  the  fragrant  new- 
mown  hay.  And  her  sweet  voice— peniaps  even  her  greatest  personal 
chann — ^now  8oh  and  low,  now  merry,  dear,  and  ringing,  how  could 
they  portray  that  ?    In  character  and  disposition,  as  in  person,  she  was  of 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Tke  BaroriB  Revenge.  8t 

ibt  mnmj  flljrle  of  beanty ;  never  was  Aere  a  more  pare  nnnd,  a  more  cende 
ftttOM^oD,  <g  a  more  loving  heart  Not  that  ehe  wae  perfect  ormthout 
finlto-^e  had  many;  but  her  very  fidlinge  were  ratfaer  the  excess  of  ^ood 
yditiea.  Petfcape  me  most  prominent  ofthem  was  an  extrenui  sensitiTe- 
Bess,  and  fear  of  giTing  ofienoe.  An  unkind  or  sHghtine  word  to  hera^ 
or  die  fancy  that  she  had  said  one  to  another,  woiud  cause  her  ^e 
rreateel  pain.  She  seemed,  too,  to  be  dmost  inci^Mble  of  refusing  a 
nm>mr,  or  8«ying  <'No*'  to  an^jr  one,  especially  to  those  she  loved;  and 
her  own  will,  and  her  own  opinion,  were  always  ready  to  give  way  to 
oAen.  Theee  were  amiable  weaknesses,  it  is  true,  but  often  m(xe  pro- 
doctire  even  tlian  heavier  faolts,  of  evil  and  unhappiness  through  life. 
Such,  and  so  foveable,  was  Mary  Atherton  at  seventeen ;  and,  amongst 
her  other  attractions,  she  possessed  that  greatest  of  all  to  a  mother— 4o 
her  she  was  still  a  ^ikl. 

About  this  tune  an  event  occurred  winch  broke  the  monotony  of  her 
life.  It  was  the  close  of  an  April  day.  Mrs.  Atherton  was  fatigued  by 
her  moming^s  walk,  and  Mary  set  off,  as  she  bad  sometimes  done  ttnoe 
her  mothei^s  anxiety  had  so  much  disappeared,  for  a  solitary  stroll.  It 
was  one  of  those  lovdy  spring  evenings,  which,  coming  after  the  glooaiy^ 
desolate  nights  of  winter,  are  like  little  glimpses  of  Paradise ;  and  which, 
with  all,  and  more  than  the  beauty  of  summer,  are  without  its  beat,  dust, 
and  satiety.  The  grass  was  green,  the  flowers  were  smelling  sweedy, 
the  freshness  of  a  recent  shower  was  on  the  leaves,  the  birds  were  blithely 
singing,  the  trout  were  leaping  merrily  in  the  stream,  the  breew  was 
gen^y  rustling  among  the  trees ;  everything  seemed  hopeful,  happy,  and 
joyooB^  asid  Mary  wandered  on  and  on,  and  to  and  fro  by  the  river's  side, 
enjoying  it  all  to  tiie  utmost  The  sun  had  set  for  a  contiderahU  time 
when  she  feund  herself  at  some  distance  from  her  home,  close  to  one  of 
die  deep  black  pools  of  the  river.  She  stepped  -on  a  granite  rock  diat  in 
this  place  rises  high  and  abrupt  from  the  water,  and  in  thoughtful  mood 
watched  the  dark  shadows  of  night  stealing  over  the  tranquil  pool  and  its 
silent  eddies,  whilst  the  young  pale  moon,  just  peering  over  die  wood- 
covered  hill  behind,  threw  stray  fitful  gieams  of  its  silver  light  upon  the 
opposite  bank.  It  was  the  hour  and  the  scene  to  impress  a  youthful 
imagination;  and  Mary,  who,  notwidistanding  her  light  heart  and  cheerful 
disposition,  possessed  a  very  vivid  one,  remained  sunk  in  a  dreamy  reverie, 
half-consdoas,  half-fergetfiil  of  all  around  her.  Suddenly,  she  was  startled 
by  a  sharp  cracking  of  twigs,  as  if  some  one  was  fereing  his  way  through 
the  brushwood  close  behind.  She  turned  quickl v  around,  and  in  so  doing, 
dipped  her  foot,  lost  her  balance,  and  fell  headlong  into  the  pool.  Widi 
die  speed  of  lightning,  a  man  ^nung  on  the  rock,  plunged  into  die  water, 
and,  seinng  her  as  she  rose  to  the  surface,  bore  her  sensdess  to  the  bank. 

When  Mary  regained  her  consciousness,  she  found  herself  \ying  on  the 
ground,  widi  die  stranger  kneeling  at  her  side  and  half  supporting  her. 
She  had  lost  her  senses  rather  from  the  fright,  and  the  blow  with  which  die 
had  struck  the  water,  than  from  die  effect  of  the  short  time  she  had  been  in 
it ;  and  now,  diough  sdll  rather  faint  and  giddy,  she  arose  at  once,  and 
expressed  her  gratitude  to  her  preserver. 

The  stranger  was  a  tall,  dark  man,  who  might  have  been  thirty  years 
of  age,  or  might  have  been  older ;  his  was  one  of  diose  rare  counte- 
nances that  seem  to  afford  scarcely  any  clue  as  to  age — ^that  look  old 

q2 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


82  The  Baron's  Revenge. 

when  they  are  young,  and  young  when  they  are  old.  His  eyes  were  dark 
and  piercing,  his  teeth  white  and  regular,  and  his  hair  long,  black,  and 
glossy.  It  was  a  handsome  and  striking,  yet  not  a  pleasing  face ;  but 
when  he  spoke,  then  was  the  charm.  His  voice  was  deep,  rich,  and 
musical,  and  with  something  in  its  tone  that  almost  fascinated  Mary, 
even  in  the  few  words  he  replied  to  her  expression  of  thanks.  He  begged 
to  be  allowed  to  attend  her  home.  She,  with  the  natural  timidity  of  a 
young  girl,  would  have  declined,  but  she  was  afiraid  of  appearing  un- 
grateful ;  and,  besides,  she  was  still  so  feeble  from  her  fall,  that  she  really 
stood  in  need  of  assistance;  so  she  consented.  The  stranger  accompanied 
her  to  within  a  short  distance  of  the  house,  but  she  could  not  prevail  upon 
him  to  enter,  and  receive  her  mother's  thanks  for  saving  her  life.  And  as 
he  took  his  leave,  he  said: 

'*  You  have  professed  much  gratitude  for  the  service  I  have  fortunately 
been  able  to  render  you ;  suffer  me  to  ask  one  favour  in  return.  Promise 
me  that  you  will  not  let  any  one,  not  even  your  mother,  know  what  has 
occurred  this  evening.  I  do  not  ask  that  you  should  conceal  the  accident 
which  has  befiillen  you,  but  that  you  should  be  silent  as  to  my  having  saved 
you — ^that  you  should  not  even  mention  your  having  seen  me.  Do  you 
promise?" 

A  promise  of  this  kind  was  naturally  most  repugnant  to  Mary's  feel- 
ings, both  of  gratitude  to  her  preserver  and  of  truthful  candour  to  her 
mother ;  but  the  stranger  seemed  so  earnestly  bent  upon  it,  that  she  could 
not  but  give  her  word,  and  with  this  understanding  they  parted. 

Days  and  weeks  elapsed  before  Mary  again  left  the  nouse.  The  chill 
and  shock  she  had  sustained  resulted  in  a  severe  illness,  and  for  some  time 
she  was  confined  to  her  bed,  seriously,  if  not  dangerously,  unwell.  In 
accordance  with  her  promise,  she  never  spoke  of  the  stranger;  but  all 
through  her  feverish  days  and  restless  nights  he  was  ever  in  her  mind. 
She  uought  of  him  when  awake,  and  in  her  few  short  snatches  of  broken 
sleep  he  filled  her  dreams.  Perhaps  the  very  secrecy  which  she  pre- 
served concerning  him  only  fixed  him  more  immovably  m  her  mind;  and 
the  mystery  whidi  there  seemed  to  be  about  him,  and  the  promise  he  had 
exacted  from  her,  worked  upon  her  imagination.  Mary  was  not  by  any 
means  a  "  sentimental"  eirl,  and  she  was  not  at  aU  in  love  with  the  stranger 
— but  she  was  g^teful,  imaginative,  and  seventeen. 

An  incident,  too,  that  occurred  one  night  during  this  illness,  greatly 
strengthened  her  interest  in  him.  Her  mother  had  left  the  room  to  fetch 
some  cooling  drink,  and  Mary,  with  the  irrepressible  restlessness  of 
fever,  got  out  of  bed,  walked  to  the  window,  and  looked  out.  The  moon 
was  shining,  not  brightly,  for  thick  fleecy  clouds  covered  its  disc  and 
dimmed  its  lustre,  but  there  was  sufficient  light  to  enable  her  to  distinguish 

objects  pretty  clearly,  and  there ,     No,  it  could  not  be  her  fancy,  it 

was  no  delusion  of  fever — there  stood  the  stranger,  just  outside  the  low 
hedge  that  surrounded  their  garden,  with  his  dark  eyes  intently  watching 
her  window.  She  returned  to  her  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  Her  mother 
marked  her  quickened  pulse  and  heightened  flush ;  and,  fearing  an  in- 
crease of  the  malady,  sat  all  night  at  her  side ;  but,  happily,  her  fears 
were  not  confirmed,  and  Mary  slowly  but  surely  recovered. 

After  the  lapse  of  three  or  four  weeks,  she  was  again  able  to  leave 
the  house.     At  first  she  was  always  accompanied  in  her  walks  by  her 


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The  Baron's  Revenge.  83 

mother ;  and  though  her  eyes  often  wandered  around  in  the  half-expecta- 
tion of  seeing  the  stranger,  he  was  nowhere  yisible.  The  very  first 
time  she  again  took  a  solitary  walk,  she  went  in  the  same  direction  as  on 
the  day  when  she  had  met  with  her  adventure.  Perhaps  she  would  not 
have  owned,  even  to  herself,  that  she  did  so  in  the  hope  of  meeting  him 
who  had  been  of  late  so  constantly  in  her  thoughts — but  so  it  was. 
Some  vague  hope  of  once  more  seeing  him,  hearing  him  speak,  and,  if 
possible,  of  penetrating  the  mjsteiy  that  hung  over  him,  prompted  her 
to  go  in  that  direction.  And  she  was  not  ^sappointed :  she  had  not 
gone  far  when  he  agiun  stood  before  her,  and  expressed,  in  words  and 
tones  to  her  new,  strange,  and  thriUing,  his  pleasure  at  seeing  her  re- 
covered. He  joined  her  in  her  walk ;  and  when  they  once  more  parted^ 
her  feelings  for  him,  whatever  they  may  have  been,  were  certainly  not 
weakened. 

It  were  needless  to  trace  in  detail  the  events  of  the  next  few  months : 
suffice  it  to  say,  that  Mary's  rambles  became  more  and  more  frequent, 
and  that  seldom  did  she  walk  forth  alone  without  meeting  the  stranger. 
Time  passed,  and  her  interest  in  him  gave  place  to  something  stronger ; 
and,  at  last>  she  was  deeply,  irretrievably  in  love.  Perhaps,  had  she 
been  thrown  into  society,  this  might  not  have  been  ;  but,  notwithstand- 
ing her  fond  attachment  to  her  mother,  there  was  in  Mary's,  as  in  every 
young  girl's  heart,  a  space,  a  cell,  quite  distinct  from  that  which  con- 
tains the  love  for  friends  and  relations:  a  dozen  attachments  may 
occupy  it,  which,  like  trees  too  thickly  planted,  stunt  and  destroy  each 
other  ;  but  let  one  settle  there  undisturbed,  and  it  soon  exclusively  fills 
the  whole  space — sometimes,  perhaps,  in  time,  encroaching  upon  the 
other  portion.  And  Mary's  heart  was  a  soil  from  which  love,  having 
once  taken  root  there,  might  never  more  be  eradicated. 

At  first  her  meeting^  with  her  lover — for  so  he  may  now  be  called — 
were,  on  her  part,  accidental — accidental,  at  least,  so  far  as  that,  what- 
ever may  have  been  the  hopes  and  fears  of  her  inmost  soul,  she  did  not 
express  them  outwardly,  even  to  herself;  but,  after  a  while,  they  often 
took  place  by  appointment.  She  walked  with  him  along  the  river's  side, 
or  through  the  woodland  paths,  where  formerly,  alas  1  her  sole  companion 
had  been  her  mother ;  and  where  she  had  listened  to  her  simple  stories, 
she  now  heard  his  passionate  vows  of  love.  It  was  strange — the  influ- 
ence be  had  acquired  over  Mary's  young  heart.  He  might  not  so  have 
CeiBcinated  her,  had  she  been  more  acquainted  with  the  world,  and  con- 
sequently more  suspicious  ;  for  there  was,  every  now  and  then,  a  some- 
thmg  about  his  look  which  argued  that  all  was  not  right  and  fEur 
within.  This  expression  he  seldom  or  never  permitted  her  to  see ;  yet 
often,  when  her  bright  blue  eyes  were  turned  upon  his  iac%  in  all  the 
confidence  of  young  and  innocent  affection,  his  look  would  quail  beneath 
iheir  glance,  and  sometimes  a  dark  angry  frown  would  be  on  his  brow, 
even  whilst,  in  the  most  earnest  tones  of  his  rich  voice,  he  poured  forth 
his  tales  of  love.  But  Mary  saw  nothing  of  this :  good  and  pure  her- 
self and  unsuspicious  of  others,  she  saw  in  him  only  a  being  of  a  superior 
order,  who  had  condescended  to  love  her,  to  whom  she  owed  her  life^ 
and  for  whom  she  felt  in  return  the  deepest,  the  most  trustful  affection. 
His  name,  be  told  her,  was  Frederick  Hartman:  though  an  Englishman, 
he  bad  passed  his  l^e  principally  abroad,  and  had  b^ome  implicated  in 


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84  The  Barm's  JSevenffe. 

politieai  £rtarbAiice8»  whieli  made  it  necessary  that  he  dKmld  keep  famH 
self  concealed  for  loine  time ;  that,  with  Ma  new,  he  had  come  into 
Comwal],  attended  but  bj  one  old  female  senranty  and  was  now  liiii^  in 
the  rallej,  abont  fbm  rnUea  from  Mair's  home;  that,  verv  shortlj  after 
his  aniTal,  he  had  had  the  happiness  of  being  instmmentaf  in  saving  her 
life^  and  that  from  that  moment  she  had  nerer  for  an  instant  been  absent 
from  his  thoaght&  And  Marj  listened,  and  was  delighted ;  and  when 
he  told  her  of  foreign  lands  and  sonny  clime%  she  woidd  feel  as  if  a  new 
world  were  opened  to  her,  and  would  mark  his  every  word,  and  lay  tt  up 
in  her  heart  And  what  a  treaamre  of  them  she  kept  diere! — au  to  he 
tamed  over  again  at  leisure  in  the  qniet  night,  and  to  be  mediated  upon 
and  enjoyed,  as  the  moser  gloats  over  his  hoards. 

But  yet  Mary  was  not  happy,  for  many  a  pang  and  sting  of  conaeieBee 
fihe  experienced  at  thus  carrying  on  a  clandestine  intercourse.  To  ber 
mother  her  behaviom*  was,  if  possible,  more  tender  and  kind  than  ever ; 
her  very  sorrow  at  eoneeaHng  anything  from  her  seeming  to  inoeaae 
the  aflRsction  Ae  felt  towards  her.  Oftten  die  urged  and  eutrwted  her  lover 
to  see  Mrs.  Atherton,  and  to  tell  her  all ;  bi:^  tins  no  persuasion  eooULin- 
duce  him  to  do.  '*  It  vras  necessary,"  he  said,  "  fer  his  personal  safety, 
tliat  he  should  make  himself  known  to  no  one.**  This  idea  Iboy  ese 
deavoured  to  combat,  but  in  vain  ;  and  yet,  so  strange  are  tbe  eentift- 
dictions  of  woman's  heart,  had  she  obtained  his  consent  to  what  siw 
asked,  she  would  perhaps  have  shrunk  fenn  it  hersdf.  That  very  pmaly 
of  mbid  which  might  have  prompted  another  to  make  known  the  tradb, 
without  cQoeealment,  in  one  of  Mary's  too  great  sensitiveness  uid  ex- 
treme delicacy,  had  an  opposite  effect.  She  entertained  the  greatest 
repugnance  to  making  to  her  mother  an  avowal  of  her  love.  S£e  could 
not  bear  the  idea  that  she  should  feney  her  changed — ^that  she  sfaeold 
think  she  bad  thrown  off  the  feelings  of  a  child,  and  taken  up  those  of  a 
woman.  She  could  not  endure  to  give  her  ibs  pain  of  supposii^  that 
she  was  not  now  all  in  all  to  her  dai^;hter;  that  their  peaceful,  pbaaasl 
home  was  no  longerthatdangbter'sonly  temple  of  happiness;  and  Itet  the 
quiet  valley  had  ceased  to  be  the  whole  world  to  her  hopes  and  theugfata. 
And  this  very  dread  of  giving  pain— ^his  same  dispontkm  that  made  hnr 
shrink  from  casting  one  diade  of  sorrow  over  her  motiMt^s  heart,  had 
the  same  effect  with  regard  to  her  lover;  and  a  £slike^  almost  aa 
inafaility,  to  deny  him,  rather  than  hersdf,  caused  her  to  yield  to  Us 
prayen,  and  to  continue  fer  a  long  time  their  meetings,  even  in  fipp^ 
sition  to  her  own  better  iadgmeat  and  feelings. 

But  Mary  had  sound  principles.  She  knew  she  was  doing  vnaaug; 
and  thoc^  there  was  a  km  and  severo  struggle^  her  better  self  at 
length  won  the  vietory,  and  ahe  determined  that  tfacae  chMsdeatine  inlsr- 
viewa  should  cease.  She  iiad  all  rdianoe  on  her  lover^s  trudi  and  in- 
t^zity,  and  was  quite  oonfident  that  when  drcnoutances  siiouU  ao 
«iiaage  that  he  might  fearlessly  be  aUe  to  ehnm  her  hand  with 

and  honour,  he  would  do  so;  but  she  lesohed  that  until  their 

could  take  place  with  Mrs.  Atkerton's  fidl  knowkdffc  and  efmeSt, 
they  should  be  put  an  end  to.     Her  resolutioD  wm  eo^&med  by  sccii 
now  and  then,  when  she  set  ferth  alone  on  her  wa&s,  a  look  of  q« 
-^-       in  her  mother^s  p;entla  eye;  not  meant  at  a  reproadi,  but  ax- 
to  Mary's  consaenoe-atrusken  heart  that  she  felt  Ulteily  dmt 


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The  Baron^s  Revenge.  85 

her  company  was  do  longer  prized  and  eagerly  sought  after,  as  it  had 
formerij  heeD,  but  was  often  rather  shunned  and  avoided. 

With  the  recollection  of  this  sorrowful  look  bracing  her  mind  and 
strengthening  her  purpose,  Mary  one  day  sought  her  hyrer,  firm  in 
her  detennmation  of  putting  an  end  to  their  present  mode  of  intep- 


^  ErederidE,'*  she  said,  pla<nng  her  hand  gendy  and  timidly  in  his^  as 
he  used  erety  persuamon  and  entreaty  to  induce  her  to  alter  her  resolve — 
**^  Frederick,  seek  no  more  to  shake  my  resolution.  Yoo  have  succeeded 
IB  doing  so  before^  but  now  it  is  in  vain  that  you  attempt  it;  our 
interviews  nmsi  cease.  But,"  she  continued,  kindly,  **  it  will  only  be  for 
a  time,  Frederick ;  when  you  are  happily  enabled  to  throw  off  this  con- 
oeahnent,  we  shall  be  able  to  meet  again,  without  this  oppressive  con- 
sciousness that  we  are  acting  wrongly  and  dishonourably." 

**  But,*'  he  cried,  **  how  f^  off  tmit  time  may  be !  It  may  be  months, 
it  mi^  be  years,  before  I  find  myself  free  ;  and  if  you  refuse  to  see  me^ 
1  cannot  remain  here.  I  could  not  bear  to  visit  the  places  where  we  have 
wandered  together,  and  to  feel  myself  alone ;  eveiy  tree,  every  leaf, 
would  remind  me  that  you  were  lost  to  me.  And  when  I  see  you  again, 
▼on  win  be  changed ;  some  other  will  have  filled  your  heart,  and  I  shall 
be  forgotten,  or  remembered  only  as  the  object  of  a  girlish  folly.  No^ 
Mary,  if  you  indeed  love  me  as  you  profess,  revoke  your  cold  detennina- 
tion,  and  let  us  once  more  be  happy  in  each  other,  forgetful  of  aught  else. 
Bay,  shall  it  not  be  so  T 

**No,"  replied  Maiy ;  "  that  can  never  be." 

"  Then  you  are  resolved  ?" 

"lam."^ 

Mary  looked  into  her  lover^s  free,  and,  temfied  at  the  fierce  gleam 
which  shot  from  his  eyes,  ttood  in  the  trembling  expectation  of  some 
violeat  ootbreak  ef  pasdon ;  but  whatever  his  feelings  might  have  been, 
he  BMStefed  them  by  a  powerful  effort,  and  Bud,  in  a  tone  of  almost 
flsdancholy  softness,  *^Then  you  care  not  for  me.  I  have  been  an 
amusement,  a  pastime,  a  thing  to  be  thrown  aside  when  it  was  no  longer 
exactly  convenient  to  keep  it.  Come,  confess  it ;  fear  not  to  speak  the 
trudi— I  shall  not  reproacn  you." 

^^No^"  replied  Maiy,  ^'  I  have  no  such  confesrion  to  make ;  I  love  you 
truly  and  sincerely.  Were  it  not  for  the  dictates  of  honour,  virtue,  and 
rsHgion,  I  could  almost  be  to  you  as  you  say ;  but  that  must  not  be. 
Shrndd  we  not  meet  again  for  years  or  for  ever,  you  alone  will  always 
occupy  my  heart.  One  consolation  will  remain  to  me  in  your  absence — 
I  diaU  ever  have  the  fullest  confidence  in  your  love.  Should  I  ever  have 
cause  to  doubt  that,  my  heart,  I  am  sure,  would  break.'' 

**  Then,''  he  said,  "if  such  are  indeed  your  sentiments  towards  me,  do 
not  reftoe  me  one  fovour  ;  it  is  the  last,  perhaps,  that  I  shall  ever  ask  of 
Tou.  Think  over  the  matter  again,  and  to-morrow  evening  meet  me 
herot  once  more,  at  an  hour  after  sunset.     Do  not  deny  me  this." 

"^Once  more,  then,"  said  3^,  <*  I  will  coaoe  ;  but  it  must  be  the  last 
dme.    Tin  then,  farewell !" 


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(     86      ) 


THE  WAGNER  CONTROVERSY. 

The  Political  Iliad  is  not  fruitful,  at  present,  in  events  of  interest. 
Every  now  and  then,  to  be  sure,  the  cry  of  *'  To  Arms !"  is  raised,  and  the 
respective  combatants,  seizing  the  first  weapons  that  come  to  hand,  rush 
to  the  field,  hut  no  pitched  battle  ensues ;  the  fray  ends  in  a  mere  skir- 
mish, and,  after  a  harmless  clatter,  the  forces  draw  off  on  either  side,  and 
retire  to  their  tents  unhurt. 

The  true  Iliad,  where  the  antagonists  are  in  earnest,  and  really  mean 
mischief,  is  to  be  found,  not  on  the  floor  of  St  Stephea's,  but  on  the 
debateable  ground  that  lies  between  the  Haymarket  and  Covent  Garden; 
and  the  cause  of  quarrel — the  '^  bright-cheeked  Bryseis*'  who  has  starred 
up  the  feud — is  Mademoiselle  Johanna  Wagner. 

To  obtain  possession  of  tliis  lady,  as  fierce  a  warfare  has  been  waged 
as  moved  the  mighty  warriors  who  contended  for  the  dead  body  of 
Patroclus ;  and,  at  the  moment  we  write,  the  Covent  Garden  Ajax  and 
Havmarket  Hector,  joined  in  deadly  struggle,  are  battering  each  other 
with  their  resounding  weapons,  while  gods  and  men,  standing  aloo^ 
anxiously  await  the  issue.  The  Jove,  in  whose  equal  balance  that  result 
is  weighed,  is  Vice-Chancellor  Parker,  and  the  Olympian  height  £rom 
whence  he  surveys  the  battle-field,  is  a  four  pair  of  stairs  back  atdc  in 
Westminster  Hall. 

We  have  enlisted  a  few  great  names  fitly  to  introduce  the  contest 
between  the  rival  theatres ;  its  importance  would  have  been  lowered,  had 
we  descended  to  anything  less  than  Homeric  dimensions. 

Pending  the  termination  of  the  momentous  question,  let  us  put  the 
case  on  record  in  these  pages,  as  we  find  it  set  forth  in  the  law  report  of 
the  Times  of  the  24th  ult. — certain  technicalities  omitted. 

Mademoiselle  Johanna  Wagner  is  a  charming  young  lady  of  four  or 
five-and- twenty ;  and  a  Sunday  paper,  celebrated  for  the  minute  accuracy 
of  its  details,  adds  that ''  her  personal  appearance  is  more  than  usually 
prepossessing  ;"  that  she  is  "  about  five  feet  six  or  seven  inches  in  height;** 
has  a  *'  fair  complexion,  with  light  hair,"  and  "  a  pleasing  expression  of 
countenance,  which  fires  up  with  much  effect  in  the  more  impassioned 
scenes  of  her  performances ;"  the  very  kind  of  person,  in  short,  to  excite 
an  enthusiasm  unter  den  Linden,  Mademoiselle  Wagner's  star  has,  for 
some  time  past,  been  steadily  rising  in  Germany,  and  now  that  the  Lind 
eclipse  and  the  Sontag  occultation  have  turned  away  the  eyes  of  men  firom 
their  radiance,  the  new  planet  fixes  all  attention. 

To  secure  so  great  a  celebrity  for  the  London  public,  has  been  the  aim 
of  the  director  of  each  of  the  rival  operatic  establishments.  It  appears 
that  Mr.  Frederick  Gye^  of  the  Royal  Italian  Opera,  was  the  first  in  the 
field,  and  endeavoured  to  monopolise  the  talents  of  the  fair  Saxon  more 
than  a  twelvemonth  ago  ;  but  existing  engagements  prevented  the  ac« 
ceptance  of  his  offer.  Mademoiselle  Wagner's  success  in  BerUn  last  year 
was,  however,  so  great,  that  it  led  to  a  final  engagement  at  the  Opera  of 
the  Prussian  capital,  which  left  her  free  to  dispose  of  herself  for  six 
months  in  the  year  wherever  she  chose.  This  fact  was  no  sooner  known, 
than,  with  the  eagerness  to  cater  for  the  taste  of  the  British  public  which 


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7%tf  Wagyier  Controversy,  '  87 

disting^hes  the  director  of  Her  Majesty's  Theatre,  Mr.  Lumley  sought 
out  Mademoiselle  Wagner  and  her  father,  the  Herr  Albert,  and  made  a 
proposition  which  was  accepted. 

Diplomatists  may  talk  as  they  please  about  protocols,  hut  the  Treaty 
of  Vienna  itself,  which  settled  (and  unsettled)  everything,  was  nothing 
to  the  "  agreement'*  that  took  place  at  Berlin  on  the  9th  of  last  No- 
Tember,  between  Mr.  Benjamin  Lumley  on  the  one  hand,  and  Made- 
moiselle Johanna  Wagner,  **  Cantatrice  of  the  Court  of  His  Majesty  the 
King  of  Prussia,"  on  the  other;  the  Herr  Albert,  who  has  a  vested 
interest  in  his  daughter's  vocal  capabilities,  being  also  one  of  the  high 
contracting  powers.  This  instrument,  which  contained  ten  clauses, 
whose  composition  would  not  have  done  discredit  to  the  genius  of  Met- 
temich,  Hardenberg,  or  Palmerston,  provided  entertainment  for  three 
months  of  the  London  season  (if  the  Whigs  and  their  allies  will  let  it 
last  so  long),  at  the  rate  of  a  hundred  pounds  per  week — not  a  very 
extravagant  amount,  certainly,  when  we  remember  what  sums  have  been 
paid,  but  a  tolerable  honorarium  after  all  for  a  young  'German  singer, 
whose  salary,  while  it  lasted,  was  on  rather  a  better  footing^  than  that 
of  the  English  Prime  Minister,  who  also,  as  it  seems,  has  only  a 
sessional  engagement.  The  Herr  Albert,  by-the-bye,  appears  to  have 
had  larger  ideas  on  the  money  question,  but  to  this  we  shall  refer 
presently.  The  document,  moreover,  declared  that,  by  way  we  suppose 
of  a  retaining  fee,  Mr.  Lumley  was  to  pay  Mademoiselle  Wagner,  at 
Berlin,  on  the  15th  of  March,  1852,  the  sum  of  300/.  sterling  in  biUs  of 
exchange,  which  sum  was  afterwards  to  be  deducted  from  the  lady's 
engagement  after  a  stipulated  manner. 

But  a  treaty  without  an  additional  clause,  after  everybody  has  signed 
and  sealed,  resembles  a  will  without  a  codicil ;  and  in  both  cases  the 
addendum  generally  turns  out  the  most  important  part  of  the  whole. 
It  was  discovered  by  Mr.  Lumley,  when  he  came  to  read  the  agreement 
which  had  been  made  for  him  oy  his  agent,  Dr.  Bacher,  that  it  did  not 
contain  the  usual  and  necessary  clause  restricting  Mademoiselle  Wagner 
from  singing  anywhere  but  in  Her  Majesty's  Theatre  during  the  period 
of  her  engagement ;  and  as  there  is  fortunately  no  such  thing  as  <*  free 
trade"  at  the  Opera,  a  supplemental  clause,  embodying  the  condition  that 
Mademoiselle  Wagner's  voice  was  to  be  solely  for  the  use  and  behoof  of 
Mr.  Lumley,  was  agreed  to,  and  everything  now  appeared  to  be  plain 
sailing ;  the  alliance  was  completed,  and  "  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage- 
belL" 

But  even  marriage-bells  sometimes  get  a  little  out  of  tune,  and  shortly 
after  the  agreement  was  signed,  the  Herr  Albert  made  a  discovery  on  his 
part,  that  he  might  have  taken  his  daughter's  talents  to  a  better 
market ;  on  the  strength  of  which  he  wrote  to  his  ^^  dear  friend,"  Dr. 
Bacher  (characterising  him,  pleasantly,  as  a  wandering  Jew),  and  took 
occasion — ^while  he  admitted  the  engagement — to  tell  him  so.  The  Herr 
Albert's  words  were :  "  That,  however,  in  which  everybody  agrees,  is, 
that  we  have  made  a  very  bad  bargain  as  regards  money  matters ;  that 
daiise,  pressed  by  you  on  us,  which  prohibits  us  from  singing  at  concerts, 
it  is  a  roal  loss,  especially  as  we  are  to  have  neither  apartments  nor  car- 
riage freOi  which  have  been  granted  to  others" 


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88  Tht  Wagner  Contraveny. . 

<'To  oihert"— yes,— but  those,  Hocr  Albert*  were  days  of  CaK- 
fomian  liberality,  when  Prime  Donne  were  obliged  to  curl  their  hair 
with  bank-notes,  and  dissolve  pearls  in  vinegar — or  thin  Moselle — 
at  the  banquets  provided  for  them.  Yon  have  mistaken  the  time  of 
day,  O  Albert! — for  though,  as  you  justly  add,  ^^ England  is  anfy 
to  he  vahied  for  her  money^  she  is  not  so  prodigal  of  her  gold  as 
once  she  was:  her  senators — not  being  paidt — go  afoot  or  take  an 
omnibus ;  her  singers — who  are — must  seek  thdr  own  modes  of  convey- 
ance, and  find  their  own  board  and  lodging.  Nevertheless,  although  Heir 
Albert  turned  up  his  nose  at  a  cool  but  dirty  hundred  a-vreek,  he  an- 
nounced his  intention  of  coming  to  England  with  the  new  Nightingale  at 
the  time  appointed,  which  was  fixed  for  the  Ist  of  April,  afterwards  ex- 
tended by  Mr.  Lumley  to  the  18th  of  that  month,  though,  from  what  has 
anoe  taken  place,  the  day  first  named  would  have  been  the  most  appro- 
priate. Matters  after  this  proceeded  quietly,  as  a  river  rolls  towards  the 
sea — the  EUbe,  for  instance,  Herr  Albert's  own  river — and  Mr.  Lumley 
merely  took  car6  to  provide  his  agent.  Dr.  Bacher,  with  the  money  neces- 
sary for  meeting  the  stipulation  respecting  the  pavment  to  be  made  on  the 
15th  of  March,  according  to  the  eighth  article  of  the  "  Treaty  of  Berlin.'* 
But  the  Elbe  is  occasionally  impeded  in  its  northward  course  by  being 
frosen  up ;  and  Hamburgh,  which  of^  witnesses  this  elemental  inter- 
ruption, was  the  vritness  idso  of  the  operation  of  frost  upon  the  budding 
prospects  of  Mr.  Lumley.  The  director  of  Her  Majesty's  Theatre  wrote, 
on  toe  11  th  of  March,  to  Herr  Albert,  informing  him  that  "  the  needfuF 
had  been  lodged  with  Dr.  Bacher,  to  be  paid  over  to  Mademoiselle 
Johanna,  and  that  he  supposed  she  had  by  that  time  received  it  The 
answer  he  received  was  what,  in  the  emphatic  language  of  the  day,  is 
called  a  ''stunner."  Instead  of  an  acknowledgment  of  the  receipt  of 
the  money,  there  came  a  facer  from  Herr  Albert  in  the  shape  of 
a  protest,  under  the  seal  of  a  notary-public  of  Hambuig,  repudia- 
ting the  famous  ''  Treaty  of  Berlin,"  and  though  Mr.  Lumley  set  off 
instanter  to  Hamburg  with  money  in  both  pockets — a  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds  in  each  —  the  flimsies  were  rafused  by  Herr  Albert, 
and  the  tarms  of  the  teeaty  likened  to  the  fiant  ienn  finr  a  hoDk- 
Bole;  wiii]e»  to  make  &e  don  of  danppmntment  the  more  bitter, 
it  presently  transpired  that  Mademoiselle  Johanna  had  entered  into 
another  agreement  with  the  enterprising  Mr.  Frederick  Gye.  What 
arguments  he  employed  to  satisfy  Herr  Albert  of  the  money  value  of 
England,  we  are  not  in  a  position  to  state — the  above  particulars  being 
derived  firom  a  statement  made  ex  parte  before  Vice- Chancellor  Parker, 
on  the  23d  ult^  who,  on  the  face  of  them,  granted  an  injunction,  shutting 
up  the  voice  of  Mademoiselle  Johanna  on  the  evening  of  Saturday  last. 

For  whose  benefit  it  is  to  be  let  loose  we  are  unable  to  say,  as  the  affi- 
davits of  the  party  opposing  the  injunction  were  not  to  be  put  in  till  yes- 
terday— ^too  late  for  any  cognisance  of  ours.  We  wish  that  amongst  the 
Vice- Chancellor's  injunctions  he  would  impose  one  on  the  easterly  wind, 
fior  if  it  lasts  much  longer  his  control  over  the  caprices  of  singers  will  be 
a  dead  letter :  nolentes  vclenUs^  they  will  be  unable  to  utter  a  note. 


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(    8»     ) 
HESTER     SOMERSET. 

BY  MICHOLAfi  KICHELL. 

BOOKHI. 

Chaptes  XIX, 

HX8TJKB  AND  BEB  MONEY — THE  BOBBEBY. 

HiSTKB  and  Jnlie  contiiiued  to  reside  in  the  iicettj  cottage  at  Bromp- 
ton,  sarroimded  hy  thraba  and  flowen.  They  lived  here  chiefly  at  the 
•oKcttation  of  Mr.  Somerset^  who  was  anxious  that  they  should  enjoy  the 
henefii  of  a  purer  air  than  die  close  London  streets  afford.  At  the  same 
time*  tiiey  possessed  the  advantage  of  having  for  their  n^ghbonrs  Mr 
KeUomann  and  his  fiunily,  whom  they  might  well  regard  in  the  light 
of  pzoteetors. 

The  sisters  were  walking  up  and  down  in  the  flower-garden.  The 
heart  of  Hester  was  full  of  joyous  anticipation^  for  it  aj^ared  by  the 
aRangemeats  of  Mr.  Somenet's  attomey,  that  in  two  or  three  days,  at 
furthest^  die  money  was  to  be  tendered  to  Mr.  Hartley ;  consequMitly 
the  "  detainei^  against  her  £sther  would  be  withdrawn,  and  his  dismisul 
from  the  prison,  as  a  matter  of  course,  would  instantly  follow. 

^*  Jnliey"  said  Hester,  *Uhe  blissful  moment  is  hat  approaching,  when, 
after  so  many  years,  so  many  hopes  defeated,  and  so  many  sufferinp 
and  privations  on  the  part  of  our  fitUJier,  we  shall  see  him  firee.  Ought 
we  not  to  be  thankful  to  heaven,  and  bless  God's  kind  providence,  wluch 
has  thus  heard  the  prayers  of  the  children,  and  smiled  upon  their 
efforts  ?" 

^  My  rister!**  said  Ji£e.  ^How  dear  is  that  new  name!  I  cannot 
rspeat  it  too  often.  You  kindly  oo«ple  mr  iwrnas  tojgether;  but  all,  all 
the  credit  is  due  to  youxselE  You  alone  are  tha  good  biinefiwiliiau,  the 
giver  of  freedom  and  joy  to  our  fiither.'' 

^  No,  let  us  share  the  happiness  of  having  served  him,  as  we  intend  to 
share  everything  dse  in  the  world." 

At  this  instant  the  postman  was  seen  approaching  the  garden-gate. 
He  held  a  letter  in  his  hand:  it  was  for  Hester.  She  carelessly  broke  the 
seal ;  but  the  writing,  which  was  a  loose  running  hand,  was  unknown  to 
her.  At  firsts  sorecldess  wasshe,  that  her  eyes  seemed  scarcely  to  trooble 
themsdves  to  glance  at  the  words ;  bnt,  continuing  to  read,  she  grew  pais 
and  agitated.     The  contents  of  the  letter  were  as  foUows : 

^Madaji, — ^I  make  no  apoiogj  for  addressing  you,  sinee  I  write 
cntifely  on  businesB.  I  am  one  ot  the  derks  in  the  banking-house  of 
Messrs.  C,  8.,  and  Co. ;  and  by  our  books  I  perceive  you  have  a  deposit 
in  our  hands.  I  may  be  acting  wrong  with  regard  to  my  employers^  or 
father  their  creditorr ,  but  having,  by  chance,  learnt  the  praiseworthy 
parpose  for  which  y^iir  money  has  been  saved,  common  humanity  prompts 
ase  to  the  disdosuie  I  am  about  to  make.  Madam,  I  would  s|»are  yon  a 
Utter  pang,  and  I  siaeerely  trust  your  poor  fadier  may  obtain  his  fireedom 
at  last.  I  write,  then,  to  tpprise  yo«»  as  a  profound  secret,  that  our  bank 
is  m  diflrnhisf,     The  firm  most  sa^end  payment  in  a  &w  days  at 

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90  Hester  Somerset 

farthest.  In  fact,  they  cannot  go  on.  Consequently,  your  money,  unless 
promptly  drawn  out,  must  be  sacrificed;  for,  from  the  state  of  ihe 
accounts,  I  much  fear  the  firm  will  not  pay  one  shilling  in  the  pound. 
Do  not,  however,  hurry  yourself.  Your  cheque,  if  presented  to-morrow, 
no  doubt  will  be  duly  paid ;  that  is,  unless  a  heavy  demand  should  be 
made  on  us  this  afternoon,  in  which  case  the  house  most  probably  will 
close  to-morrow,  and  the  firm  announce  themselves  bankrupts. 
''  I  am,  madam,  with  every  feeling  of  respect  and  sympathy, 

**  Your  obedient  servant, 

urn      •      •»» 

Hester  re-read  the  letter  aloud  to  Julie,  and  both  were  in  a  state  of 
teirible  excitement  and  alarm.  What  motives  could  the  clerk  have  in 
addressing  her  but  those  of  humanity?  Surely  no  mercenary  feelings 
swayed  him,  for  he  would  gain  nothing  by  disclosing  the  state  of  his  em* 
ployers*  affairs.  But  was  the  letter  a  hoax,  to  raise  in  her  needless  fears—- 
a  forgery  of  their  enemy's  ?  Oh,  no,  reasoned  Hester ;  it  bore  the  stamp 
of  truthfulness  and  honesty  in  every  line.  The  clerk  had  learnt  her 
situation,  and  was  moved  by  compassion. 

But  time  pressed.  It  was  now  four  in  the  afternoon;  and  London 
banks,  she  knew,  closed  at  five.  To  delay  drawing  out  the  money  until 
the  morrow,  might  be  a  fatal  procrastination.  The  firm  might  then  be  in« 
solvent ;  and  the  very  chance  of  such  an  event  it  was  dreadful  to  contem- 
plate. Was  there  time  to  huny  to  the  Fleet  Prison  and  consult  with  their 
fi&ther  ?  She  thought  not.  Hester's  resolve  was  taken ;  for  promptness, 
in  cases  of  emergency,  is  frequently  the  best  policy.  At  her  request,  the 
master  of  the  cottage  ran  to  the  nearest  mews  for  a  fly,  and  the  sisters 
were  whirled  off  to  Charing-cross,  in  the  vicinity  of  which  the  banking- 
house  was  situated. 

When  Hester  entered  the  bank,  she  was  rather  surprised  at  seeing  such 
large  bundles  of  Bank  of  England  notes,  and  such  piles  of  gold,  m  the 
possession  of  parties  said,  by  her  informant,  to  be  on  the  point  of  ruin. 
But,  no  doubt,  the  sight  was  fallacious,  the  display  of  wealth  being  meant 
for  a  *'  blind."  She  wrote  the  cheque  has^y  on  the  counter.  Her  sig» 
nature  was  well  known  to  the  head  clerk,  and  he  did  not  for  a  moment 
scruple  to  pay  her  the  full  amount  of  her  deposit.  When  she  lefb  the  bank| 
it  wanted  only  a  few  minutes  of  the  time  when  public  business  would  be 
closed,  and  the  poor  girl  cong^tulated  herself  on  having  thus  saved  her 
all  from  the  imagined  approaching  wreck. 

It  was  already  growing  dusk,  it  being  the  middle  of  November.  The 
first  question  that  presented  itself  was,  where  for  the  night  should  she 
deposit  the  money  ?  Hester  would  have  hastened  to  her  &ther ;  but  the 
idea  of  carrying  such  a  sum  into  the  Fleet  Prison,  where  numberless 
rogues  and  sharpers  were  lodged  with  honest  men,  could  not  be  enter- 
tained. With  the  timidity  and  suspicion  natural  to  those  who  earn  their 
money  hardly,  she  feared  to  place  it,  without  proper  security,  into  the 
hands  of  her  father's  attorney.  So  she  stood  on  the  pavement  irresolute* 
Julie,  too,  knew  not  what  to  advise.  At  that  moment  a  man,  wrapped 
in  a  great  coat,  passed  them  hurriedly,  crossed  the  street,  and  stationed 
himself  near  the  door  of  the  bank  which  they  had  just  quitted.  There 
was  something  suspicious  about  the  person,  for  he  seemed  carefully  to  hide 
his  fece,  and  yet  to  peer  about  him  quickly  and  constantly. 

^<  That  man  watches  us,''  said  Hester,  uneasily,  to  Julie,  concealing 


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Hester  SomtTHt.  91 

the  leticiile  which  held  the  money  beneath  her  cloak.  "  We  had  better^ 
I  think,  call  a  coach,  and  return  at  once  to  Brompton." 

Julie  was  of  the  same  opinion. 

"  Certainly/'  she  suggested,  '^  we  may  keep  the  money  in  our  pos- 
session safely  enough  until  to-morrow ;  then,  m  the  broad  daylight,  we 
might  go  to  our  &uier,  and  consult  with  him." 

"  Yes,  we  will  ask  him,"  said  Hester,  "  if  we  shall  not  accompany 
the  lawyer  immediately  to  Mr«  Hartley's,  demand  the  delivery  of  the 
bill  he  holds,  and  so,  without  further  delay,  complete  the  business." 

That  arrangement  seemed  a  very  satisficu^toiy  one  to  Julie ;  but  as 
they  proceeded  in  the  coach,  Hester,  looking  through  the  window,  per- 
ceived another  vehicle  rapidly  following  them. 

"  Why  does  that  cabriolet  track  us  ?"  she  observed  to  her  companion. 
"  Into  whatever  street  we  turn,  it  turns  also." 

*^  I  saw  that  man  in  the  cloak  jump  into  a  cabriolet  as  we  drove  off : 
yes,  it  is  the  same — I  know  it  by  the  white  horse." 

"  Julie,''  exclaimed  Hester,  "  I  feel  very  uneasy." 

*'  Oh !  we  need  not  be  alarmed-<— why  should  we  ?  Of  course  the 
man  can  know  nothing  of  what  we  have  with  us  ;  he  only  happens  to 
be  going  the  same  way.  There,  he  has  turned  down  another  street ;  I 
dare  say  we  shall  see  no  more  of  him." 

Julie,in  this  was  right.  They  saw  no  more  of  him.  His  object,  per* 
haps,  was  accomplished ;  for  he  now  knew  they  were  proceeding  home,  ^ 

Hester,  by  the  time  they  reached  Brompton,  had  entirely  dismissed 
her  fears ;  but  it  was  now  dark,  and  the  sisters  did  not,  by  any  indiscreet 
word  or  action,  betray  to  the  gardener  who  owned  the  small  house, 
that  they  had  anything  valuable  in  their  possession.  At  the  usual  time^ 
they  wished  him  and  his  wife  good-night,  and  retired  to  their  bed-room. 
In  spite  of  her  usual  self-possession,  Hester  could  not  help  feeling  great 
nervoosness  regarding  the  safety  of  the  money.  She  wished,  when  it 
was  too  late,  that  they  had  not  scrupled  to  trust  her  father's  attorney. 
The  muffled  figure  of  the  man  in  the  cloak  agun  began  to  haunt  her, 
and  a  fearful  idea  rose  in  her  mind,  but  she  did  not  mention  it  to  Julie. 
Suppose^  after  all,  the  banker^s  derk  was  in  league  with  some  London 
rogue,  and  had  firightened  her  into  a  withdrawal  of  the  money,  only  to 
rob  her  of  it  I  However  base  amanMr.  Pike  might  be^  she  could  not  be- 
lieve he  had  sunk  so  low  as  to  become  a  common  thief;  and  yet  he 
might  have  incited  the  clerk  to  commit  the  villany,  and  even  employed 
therogae. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Hester  ?"  asked  Julie,  observing  her 
sister's  absent  manner. 

**^  Nothing,  nothing— only,"  whispered  Hester,  '^  I  cannot  forget 
that  man." 

^^  Now,  to  me,  nothing  seems  more  groundless  than  your  appre- 
hensions. 

*<  You  are  right  However,  I  shall  not  go  to  bed  to-night,"  she  added, 
in  a  scarcely  audible  tone ;  *'  I  shall  sit  up  and — ^watch." 

**  Ton  will  injure  your  health.     I  hope  you  will  not  do  this." 

<<  It  will  be  the  safest  plan.  Besides,  I  shall  be  unable  to  close  my 
eyes.  Think,  Julie,  of  the  great  importance  of  our  trust.  A  father  s 
medom  from  an  imprisonment  that  might  be  continued  to  the  end  of 
his  life,  depends  on  the  possession  of  mis  little  packet.     Yes,  public 


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92  HeUer  Sammei. 

taste  and  fiubion  are  so  ckangeabley  tkat,  aaodier  feaaon,  I  tnisk  be 
unable  to  save  any  money.  Here,  tben-^here  are  garnered  all  our 
hopes." 

«'  Well,  dear  Hester,  be  it  as  you  will ;  bet  don't  think  I  shall  rest  my 
sluggard  head,  and  leare  yon  to  watch  alone." 

An  amiable  contention  now  took  place  between  the  ■sters^— aeon- 
teotbn  carried  on  chiefly  by  kisses,  it  was  who  should  deep,  and  who 
should  remain  awake.  "At  lenc:th  it  was  decided  that  they  shoald  acfc 
sentinel  by  turns,  the  one  alternately  waking  the  other  every  few  houn^ 
or  as  they  m^ht  feel  tired. 

^  We  must  bum  a  light,"  said  Julie,  '<  until  daybreak." 

*'  Yes,  it  will  be  an  additional  safeguard." 

Hester  resolved  to  watch  first ;  her  sister  accordingly  crept  to  her  bed, 
and  was  soon  asleep.  The  money  drawn  from  the  bank  consisted  of 
Bank  of  England  notes,  being  chiefly  fives  and  tens,  and  one  hundred 
sovereigns.  Suspicion  and  fear  again  had  prompted  her  to  tins.  Had 
she  chosen  large  notes,  and  any  one  happened  to  be  forged,  if  it  could 
not  be  traced  to  solvent  parties,  the  loss  would  be  terrible.  Small  notes, 
dbe  insgined,  would  be  safer,  white  sovereigns  were  safest  of  alL  The 
poor  gad  had  besa  oheated  so  auMiy  times,  and  Pike  had  harassed  her  by 
so  many  villanies,  that  this  general  inisiiast  wna  vary  natural,  and  almost 
excusable.  She  had  taken  the  preonution  to  cofpf  an  a  shaai  of  paper 
the  numbers  and  dates  of  the  several  notes  :  they  fenned  a  nA,  vrain^ 
together  with  the  sovereigns,  could  not  he  contained  in  her  pocJcet ;  so 
mm  her  reticule  she  had  transferred  the  money,  first  placing  it  all  in  a 
bag,  to  the  drawer  of  a  bureau  near  the  bed ;  wis  drawer  she  carefully 
locked,  and  placed  the  key  in  her  pocket. 

Hester  seated  herself  at  a  taUe  which  stood  between  her  and  the  ^te^ 
whidi  vras  burning  steadily,  though  not  brightly ;  on  her  left  was  the 
bed,  where  Julie  now  placidly  slumbered ;  and  near  her,  ao  that  her  oat- 
stretched  hand  could  touch  it,  stood  the  bureau.  The  window  of  the 
room  overlooked  the  garden ;  it  had  no  shutters,  but  a  thick  euitun  was 
drawn  across  it.  'Ihm  gardener  and  las  vrife  fllept  in  the  apartment 
behind,  ^ich  was  divided  from  the  one  we  have  been  deseribing  by  a 
narrow  passage. 

It  was  about  half-past  eleven;  the  night  was  calm,  and  all  without wai 
nlent,  except  that  occasionally  a  dight  gust  Mew  against  die  feoot  of  the 
house,  caudng  the  rose-trees  to  wave,  and  the  cliasbing  honeysuckle  to 
make  «  flapping  noise  as  it  brushed  against  the  pane.  The  moon  was 
nearly  at  her  full,  but  diffused  a  very  uncertain  light  through  the  patches 
of  diurk  clouds  which  overspread  the  sky. 

Hester  had  a  volume  open  before  her,  but  her  amdoos  look,  sad  h^ 
glances,  so  frequently  cast  towards  the  bureau  containing  her  treasaie, 
betrayed  that  sne  was  ill  able  to  read.  Then  her  eyes  would  wander  to 
the  window,  back  to  the  fire,  and  at  last  fix  themselves  on  the  pladd  fiioe 
of  her  sister.  Now  that  die  newl^-discovered  reladonahip  endeared  the 
dumberer  to  her,  the  mild  dispontion  of  Jidie,  her  trastfulness,  her  sim* 
plicity,  and  her  intense  love,  were  as  so  many  des  that  hound  her  to  her 
heart.  By  the  feeble  rays  of  the  half-shaded  candle,  Hester  m^t  have 
been  seen  apnroeehing  on  tiptoe,  and  bendmg  over  die  couch.  Like  an 
infant,  Julie  lay  diere  in  sweet  unconsdouaness ;  Hester  kissed  her  cheek, 
and  dien  retired  to  her  seat     Hush!  what  sound  did  dbe  hear?— it 


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Hester  Somerset.  93 

seemed  like  a  rostfing  atDong  the  shrubs  of  the  garden,  aoeompanied  by 
a  light  step :  mechamcall  j,  she  went  to  the  hureaa,  and  ascertained  that 
the  key  was  safe  in  her  pocket ;  then,  advancing  to  the  window,  she 
moved  the  enrtsdn  a  little  on  one  side ;  everything  was  still  withont,  and 
no  one  conld  be  perceived  walking  in  the  luie  beyond  the  garden.  The 
moonlight  faintly  revealed  the  flowers,  which  were  hanging  their  heads 
heavy  with  dew.  The  rustling  just  heard,  no  doubt  was  the  creeping  of 
tbe  wind ;  and  as  for  the  step,  she  must  have  been  mistaken. 

Hester  trimmed  her  fire,  and  endeavoored  to  compose  herself.  The 
neighbouring  dock  struck  twelve — she  read,  and  thought,  and  read 
again :  it  struck  one — she  felt  herself  yielding  to  drownness,  and  in  order 
to  shake  it  off,  moved  two  or  three  times  across  the  room.  Suddenly  the 
gardeners  Httle  dos^  ran  barking  down  the  garden;  this  was  not  a 
common  practice  wim  him,  and  instantly  roused  Hester's  attention.  She 
stood  before  the  window,  listening;  her  ear  was  painfully  on  the  stretch, 
and  she  felt  a  tingling  sensation  through  her  veins. 

Another  sharp  baik — a  low  growl— and  the  dog  was  quiet.  Either 
he  had  laid  himself  down  among  the  shrubs,  or  had  retired  to  the  poveb 
of  the  house.  Not  a  sound,  not  a  iH'ealli,  eould  now  he  heau>;  so^ 
having  listened  about  half  an  hour  longer,  Hester  drew  back  from  the 
window,  being  satisfied  that  her  fean  were  groundless.  Should  she  now 
amvke  Julie,  and  indulge  in  a  little  rest  herself,  according  to  their 
agreement  ?--»no ;  she  felt  a  reluctance  to  arouse  her  sister  from  her 
quiet  sleep  ;  rather  would  ^e  bear  the  burden,  and  watch  through  the 
weaiy  hours. 

Three  o'clock — Hester^s  eyes  are  fixed  on  the  fire,  which  bums  low 
without  being  replenished  ;  they  close,  open,  and  close  again ;  objects 
fade  and  grow  indistinct,  the  candle  remains  untrimmed,  and  the  leaves  of 
her  book  are  unturned.  Nature  seems  striving  to  overcome  the  watchful 
spirit,  and  tired  Nature  gradually  triumphs.  Her  hands  fidl  listlesdy  oa 
her  lap,  her  head  droops  forward  on  her  bosom,  and  the  young  watcher, 
worn  out,  has  sunk  into  a  deep  but  quiet  slumber. 

A  very  short  time  had  elapsed  when  there  was  a  slight  scraping  against 
the  (ront  of  the  house,  near  the  window.  The  dog  did  not  bark;  for, 
truth  to  say,  he  had  been  struck  down  and  stunned  in  the  garden.  A 
small  portion  of  the  curtain  before  the  window,  Hester,  by  accident,  had 
left  undrawn,  and  now,  shining  through  that  aperture,  appeared,  as  it 
were,  two  glittering  sparks — they  were  the  eyes  of  a  man  :  yes,  a  man 
was  looking  in,  and  he  had  been  enabled  to  mount  to  the  cottage  window, 
about  twelve  feet  from  the  ground,  by  means  of  a  rope-ladder,  one  end  of 
which,  having  an  iron  hock^  had  cau^t  the  bar  placed  horisontally  a  few 
inches  above  the  sill. 

Hie  man  wore  a  mask,  therefore  no  features  were  visible  except  hia 

r»  which,  we  have  said,  glittered  with  a  remarkable  brilliancy.  Now 
head  disappeared,  as  though  the  person  hesitated  in  his  design,  if 
that  design  were  to  enter  the  house.  The  next  minute  the  €^  shone 
agun,  and  a  hand  traced  rapidly  a  circle  on  the  outside  of  one  of  the  glass 
panes ;  a  round  hole  was  dexterously  out  by  a  diamond,  and  the  hand 
being  introduced,  instantly  unbolted  the  wmdow.  Slowly  and  without 
nmse  the  sash  was  raised ;  first  the  head  was  thrust  through,  then  the 
shoulders,  and,  finally,  the  right  leg  being  passed  over  the  sdl,  the  man 
stood  in  the  room. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


94  Hester  Somerset 

He  was  small  and  thin  in  person,  but  possessed,  apparently,  of  much 
strength  and  agility  ;  a  leather  cap  covered  his  head,  meeting  the  mask 
at  the  forehead ;  his  clothes  were  of  dingy  black,  and  his  coat  was  but- 
toned tightly  around  him,  that  no  impediment  might  be  offered  to  his 
Srogress.  &e  held  in  his  hand  a  short  staff  or  bludgeon ;  his  design,  no 
oubt,  in  case  of  surprisal,  being  to  stun  or  fell  any  one  who  might 
oppose  him. 

Again  those  eyes,  through  the  holes  of  the  mask,  were  glaring  around 
the  room.  At  length,  he  appeared  to  be  satisfied  that  the  two  young 
women  were  in  sound  slumber,  for  he  crept  towards  the  table  on  whicn 
Hester  was  now  resting  her  weary  head.  He  had  the  precaution,  how- 
ever, to  hold  the  bludgeon  firmly  in  his  right  hand,  in  readiness  for 
instant  use  should  occasion  require. 

How  the  burglar  should  have  known  that  Hester  had  a  treasure  con- 
cealed somewhere,  seemed  one  of  those  strange  mysteries  so  frequently 
thrown  around  the  actions  of  thieves.  They  gain  information  through 
channels  the  most  undreamt  of,  and  appear  ahnost  endowed  with  a  power 
of  sometimes  seeing  through  stone  walls  and  into  iron  chests. 

The  man  cautiously  opened  the  desk,  which  stood  on  the  table.  He 
forced  out  the  private  drawers,  and  turned  over  the  papers,  but  no  money 
was  there.  He  sofUy  felt  Hester's  pocket  with  his  left  hand,  still  holding 
in  his  right  the  bludgeon  above  her ;  which  action  plainly  intimated  that 
he  should  not  scruple  to  stun  her,  in  case  she  awoke  prematurely.  No 
roll  of  notes,  no  sovereigns,  were  about  her  person ;  of  this  he  felt  satis- 
fied. Gazing  from  object  to  object,  the  bureau  quickly  attracted  his 
attention.  He  tried  the  drawers,  but  those  which  remained  unlocked,  he 
cared  nothing  about,  for  thieves  are  well  aware  that  property  is  seldom 
deposited  in  open  drawers.  Ha !  he  found  one  that  was  fast ;  -now,  no 
doubt,  the  prize  was  near.  He  dared  not  waste  time  in  searching  for  the 
real  key,  but  plucked  firom  his  pocket  a  bundle  of  keys,  called  skeleton, 
and  wmch  were  of  all  sizes. 

On  the  first  trial  he  made  a  slight  noise,  and  the  drawer  would  not 
open.  That  gratmg  sound  had  no  effect  on  the  deep  sleep  of  Julie,  but 
it  caused  Hester  to  move  in  her  chair.  The  man,  perceiving  the  last  cir- 
cumstance, instantly  stepped  up  on  tiptoe  behind  her.  His  leaded  staff 
was  raised  above  her  head,  and  we  shudder  to  think  what  Hester's  fate 
might  have  been,  had  she  chanced  that  instant  to  awake  1  But,  after  a 
few  words  feebly  murmured  in  her  dream,  she  remained  quiet  as  before, 
her  forehead  resting  on  her  arms,  which  were  crossed  on  the  table.  The 
man  in  the  mask  again  plied  the  keys.  His  perseverance  was  at  length 
rewarded  with  success,  for  the  drawer  was  opened.  Oh,  how  eagerly 
he  peered  into  it !  His  hand  clutched  something — it  was  a  bag ;  this 
bag  contiuned  a  soft  substance,  which  proved  to  be  a  roll  of  bank  notes ; 
that  slight  jingle — his  practised  ear  could  never  be  nustaken — ^it  was  the 
chink  of  sovereigns  I 

The  treasure — the  precious  treasure,  thus  fell  into  the  possesion  of  the 
miscreant,  and  no  one  was  there  to  arrest  his  flight ;  excited  by  his  suc- 
cess, and  trembling  with  joy,  he  retreated  to  the  window,  and,  as  he  passed 
hy  Hester,  extinguished  her  candle,  leaving  the  room  in  total  dancness. 
Then,  creeping  dirough  the  opened  window,  and  closing  the  sash  after 
him,  he  hurried  out  of  the  garden. 


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(     95     ) 


JAPAN. 

Far  away  in  the  North  Pacific  Ocean,  abutting  on  China,  with  which 
they  are  connected  by  Saghalian,  bnt  physically  united  to  Kamtchatka, 
of  which  they  and  the  Kurile  Isles  form  but  a  spur,  is  a  group  of  islands 
which  yery  closely  resemble  Great  Britain  placed  in  the  latitude  of  Spain, 
with  Ireland  to  the  north  of  Scotland,  and  two  great  islands  in  the 
Channel,  and  which  are  again  prolonged  by  the  Lu-chu  and  other  islets 
to  Formosa  and  the  Philippine  Islands,  and  by  these  again  and  New 
Giunea  to  the  continent  of  Australia,  thus  constituting  one  great  band  of 
rock,  and  land,  and  sea,  which  girt  by  their  semicircular  disposition  the 
Aich-archipelago  of  the  world— one  vast  expanse  of  ocean,  everywhere 
studded  with  coral-reefe,  islets,  and  islands,  and  groups  of  islands. 

The  lands  in  question,  rich  with  all  the  gifts  of  nature,  fertile  beyond 
measure,  and  with  a  glorious  climate,  have  long  constituted  a  populous 
empire  remote  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  which,  if  accidentally  or 
purposely  thrown  in  contact  with  it,  it  has  repelled  with  churlish, 
oowvrdly  selfishness.  This  empire  is  called  by  tne  natives  Hifun,  or 
Nifun,  *^the  Foundation  of  the  Sun,"  and  by  the  Chinese  Yang-hu. 
Marco  Polo,  the  celebrated  Venetian  traveller,  naving  first  announced  its 
enatence  to  Europeans,  called  the  country  Zipangu — a  name  which  has 
become  abbreviated  aod  corrupted  into  Japan.  From  the  admeasure- 
ments of  Hassel,  it  would  appear  that  this  vast  insular  empire  of  Eastern 
Asia  possesses  a  superficies  of  270,21 1  square  miles.  Its  population  is 
immense.  Kempfer  assures  us  that  the  number  of  people  one  encounters 
on  the  roads  and  highways  is  incredible.  It  has  been  estimated  as  high 
as  50,000,000,  and  as  low  as  10,000,000;  but  there  cannot  be  less  in- 
habitants than  30,000,000 ;  and  they  are  of  Mongolo-Chinese  or  Tatar- 
Chinese  origin,  their  language  being  also  a  dialect  of  the  Chinese. 

A  Chinese  monarchy  also  succeeded  upon  the  fabulous  epoch  of 
Japanese  history,  which  reaches  far  beyond  the  time  of  the  Creation  as 
fixed  in  sacred  writs,  and  daring  which  time  Japan  was  governed  by  a 
succession  of  seven  celestial  spirits  or  gods,  each  of  whidi  reigned  an 
immense  number  of  years.  The  actual  Chinese  monarchy  comes  down, 
however,  to  Sin  Mu  Ten  Oo,  who  reigned  within  660  years  B.C.  With 
that  epoch  commences  the  Oo  Dai-tsin-oo,  more  commonly  called  Dayri, 
or  Dayro — a  succession  of  popes  or  ecclesiastical  emperors,  of  whom  114 
succeeded  hereditarily  to  the  throne  between  660  B.c.  and  a.d.  1585. 
In  this  interval  two  invasions  were  repelled — that  of  the  Mantchus  in  799, 
and  that  of  the  Mongols  under  Kubla  Khan  in  1281. 

The  empire  of  Japan,  as  now  constituted,  was  founded  by  a  soldier  of 
fortune,  who  left  to  the  Dayri  the  spiritual  supremacy  only,  with  the  title 
and  revenues  attached  to  his  hereditary  office.  The  name  of  this  usurper 
was  Taiko,  and  after  making  war  in  Corea,  he  was  poisoned  by  his  own 
subjects.  Taiko  was  succeeded  by  another  usurper,  called  Ongoschio, 
who  was  again  succeeded  by  his  son  Combo,  and  the  latter  also  by  his 
son  Chiongon,  who  sat  on  the  throne  at  the  time  when  the  Dutch 
first  settled  in  the  country.  At  that  time,  and  ever  since,  the  secular 
emperor  has  continued  to  pay  formal  visits  to  the  Da-tsin,  or  supreme 
religious  head  of  the  country,  and  whose  residence  is  at  the  opulent  and 

May — VOL.  XCV.  NO.  CCCLXXVII.  H 


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96  Japan. 

commeicial  dty  of  Miaco,  some  125  leagues  from  Yedo ;  and  twenlr- 
eight  palaces  are  said  to  be  erected  at  convenient  distances,  to  lodge  the 
emperor  and  his  retinue  in  these  state  journeys. 

The  first  settlement  in  Japan,  at  Firando  and  Nangasaki,  took  its  origin 
in  the  wreck  of  the  Portuguese  adventurer,  Fernando  Mendei  Pinto,  in 
1542  or  1543,  and  who  carried  such  glowing  accounts  to  hit  countrymen 
as  to  induce  them  to  send  a  commercial  expedition,  which,  establnhing 
itself  at  Nangasaki,  conducted  for  several  yean  a  considerable  trade  witk 
the  natives.  In  1585,  a  missionary  deputation  was  sent  from  Rome  to 
Japan ;  and  the  Jesuits  having  set  about  converting  the  natives,  such  an 
outcry  was  raised,  that  many  lives  were  sacrificed,  the  most  barbaioos 
scenes  were  enacted,  and  the  Portagoeae  were  ullimatdy  obliged  to  fcave 
the  coontry. 

The  Portuguese  were  succeeded  in  the  Japan  trade  by  die  Dnleb,  in 
whose  fiiTour  an  exception  was  made  on  account  of  their  beiug  ProtestaaifeB. 
The  trade  of  the  latter  people  was  at  one  time  of  enormous  value,  but  has 
dwindled  down  to  its  present  comparatively  insignificant  amount  ilmiuA 
thenr  own  mismanagement  and  indiscretion.  There  was  a  period  in  the 
history  of  their  commercial  intercourse  with  the  Japanese  when  they 
dnuned  the  islands  of  the  precious  metals  to  an  incredible  amount.  Tfatt 
excited  the  apprehenaons  of  the  court,  much  in  tho  same  way  as  the  ex- 
change of  silver,  and  nothing  but  silver,  for  opium  lately  brought  matters 
to  a  crisis  in  China.  The  value  of  the  carrency  was  eoostantiy  tampered 
with  in  all  transaetioQS  between  the  Dutch  and  Japanese  ;  nid  to  sudi 
an  extent,  writes  Mr.  Imho£F,  *^  that  our  conmierce  was  carried  on  as  by 
people  groping  in  the  dark,  neither  knowing  the  actual  price  o^  purchase 
or  sale.  Since  1710,  all  articles  of  trade  not  disposed  of  at  a  profit  of 
63  per  cent,  rendered  a  loss."  The  same  writer  tells  us  that  his  countiy- 
men  have,  over  and  over  again,  declined  to  receive  many  valuable  articJei 
of  commerce  which  were,  from  time  to  time,  tendered  by  the  Japanese. 
The  conduct  of  the  Company's  servants  at  Japan,  besides,  appears,  aa  is 
usual  in  such  cases,  to  have  been  infamous.  The  Dutch,  in  place  of  a 
dignified  but  firm  resistance  to  all  the  encroachments  and  insults  of  the 
Japanese,  gave  way  in  evcoy  instance  ;  and  this  base  conduct  on  the  part 
of  Europeans  tended  infinitely  to  increase  the  pride  and  arrogaoee  of  an 
already  vain,  ignorant,  and  exclusive  people. 

In  1634,  Hagenaar  was  sent  by  the  Governor-General  of  Batavia  to 
Formosa  and  Japan.  The  Dutch  at  that  time  had  what  they  called  a 
lodge — a  large  wooden  building,  in  the  bay  of  Firando,  as  also  a  fi^tory 
at  Knrchi.  The  intolerance  ai^  jealousy  of  the  Japanese  vras  manifested 
on  this  as  on  all  other  occasions.  Thirty-seven  persons  lost  tiieir  lives  at 
Firando,  on  account  of  their  being  ^ther  professed  Christians  or  bom  of 
Christian  parents.  Some  were  hung  up  by  tiie  feet;  others  were  be- 
headed, and  cut  to  pieces;  and  again,  otliers  were  tied  to  stakes  and 
burnt. 

In  1635,  Hagenaar  having  visited  Firando  a  second  time^  dilutes 
had  arisen  which  necessitated  a  mission  to  Yedo.  Accordingly,  a  pnUic 
entry  was  made  into  tiie  capital;  on  which  occasbn  the  concourse  of 
people  was  so  great,  that  tiiey  could  scarcely  move  forward.  But,  as  usual, 
afier  nearly  a  month  had  elapsed  in  various  procrastinated  ceremonies 
and  negotiations,  a  message  was  sent,  intimating  that  no  opportunify  had 
yet  oorazred  of  laying  their  petition  before  the  emperor,  that  it  was  not 


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Jofon,  97 

likely  theb  boatness  eould  be  done  for  some  time^  and  that  the  Dutch 
nuBsion  had  better  rettim  to  whence  it  ceme. 

Hagenaar  accordmgly  returned,  but  some  of  the  Dutch  merchants  re« 
mained  behind,  among  whom  was  Frans  Caron,  who  has  left  us  an  account 
of  the  capital  of  the  country,  which  he  deMribes  as  being  yeiy  large,  the 
palace  or  castle  alone  being  four  w  five  miles  in  circumference,  and 
mrroonded  by  three  deep  moats  and  stone  walls.  The  streets  axe 
also  Tery  broad,  and  some  are  bordered  on  both  sides  by  sumptuous 
palaees.  The  gates  are  fortified  on  each  side  with  iron  bands  or  gratings, 
and  over  each  grating  is  a  laige  building,  capable  of  containing,  in  case 
of  necessity,  two  <«  three  hundred  men.  As  the  imperial  reffiuience  at 
Yedo  is  very  likely  to  undeigo  bombardment  at  the  hands  of  the  Ameri- 
cans befofe  the  emperor  wUl  listen  to  their  representations,  a  brief  de- 
scRptioa  TSA'j/  pro?e  not  uninteresting. 

It  is  (sayi  Caron)  in  the  interior  pare  of  the  castle  that  the  imperial  palace 
IS  situated,  coosistiog  of  many  large  apartments,  surrounded  by  snady  groves, 
which,  although  planted  by  art,  appear  to  be  the  productions  of  nature.  There 
are  likewise  (kh-ponds,  rivulets,  open  spaces,  race^grounds,  rides,  gardens,  and 
a  number  of  separate  apartments  for  the  women. 

In  the  second  iDclostire  stand  the  palaces  of  the  princes  of  the  blood  and 
of  the  principal  ministers.  In  the  third  and  outer  inclosure  are  the  palaces  of 
the  principal  kings  and  nobles  of  Japan,  all  gik  and  richly  adorned.  Without 
are  the  dwellings  and  houses  of  the  inferior  nobles,  more  or  less  sumptuous 
according  to  their  rank.  Taken  altogether,  this  astoniihinaly  large  palace  ap- 
pears within  and  without  like  a  golden  mountain ;  for  all  the  nobles,  from  the 
highest  to  the  lowest,  spare  no  expense  to  ornament  their  residences,  in  order 
to  give  a  greater  lustre  to  the  wliole,  and  to  please  the  emperor,  who  takes 
great  delight  therein. 

Here  reside  the  married  wives  and  children  of  the  nobles,  in  order  that, 
being  always  under  the  eye  of  the  court,  they  may  serve  as  hostages  for  their 
fidelity.  This  exceedingly  large  palace,  which  has  an  extent  equal  to  a  large 
city,  is  thus  at  all  times  filled  with  great  men,  who  never  appear  in  public  with- 
out a  numerous  retinue  of  inferior  nobles,  pages,  horses,  and  palankins.  The 
streets,  however  broad,  are  yet  too  narrow  for  their  pompous  processions. 

CaroD,  describing  afterwards  the  pomp  and  magnificence  of  the 
imperial  retinue,  he  adds,  ^'  How  uncommonly  large  soever  the  number 
be  of  the  soldiers  kept  by  this  monarch,  none  are  found  amongst  them 
but  chosen  men,  well  nuide,  of  a  courageous  appearance^  expert  in  the  use 
of  arms,  and  even  not  ignorant  of  literature." 

The  number  of  the  troops  which  the  kings  and  noblea  must  furnish 
upon  the  first  summons  of  the  court,  amounted  at  that  time  to  368,000 
infimtiy  and  20,000  cavalry.  Moat  of  the  nobles,  however,  genemUj 
kept  in  actual  service  twice  as  many  troops  as  they  were  leauired  to  fur- 
nish at  the  first  summona.  The  emperor  also  entertainea,  out  of  Ua 
private  parse,  10,000  foot-soldiers  and  20,000  horsemen,  who  lie  in 
garrison  in  the  cities  or  fortresses,  or  serve  him  as  body-g^uards.  AU  the 
cavalry  wear  armour,  but  the  foot-soldiers  only  wear  a  helmet  Some  of 
the  horsemen  are  described  at  that  tune  as  being  anned  with  pistols,  some 
with  short  lances,  and  others  with  bows  and  arrows ;  all,  however,  were 
pnmded  with  sdmitara.  The  infantry  were  armed  vrith  two  sahres,  and, 
aoeording  to  the  siae  and  strength  of  the  men,  with  heavy  or  lighter  fire- 
locks. Some  carried  long  pikes,  or  sanganets^  ^^  which  are  a  sort  of 
bayonet"  But  this  has  undergone  great  changes— -fiie-anns  having  been 
mora  generally  introduced. 

h2 


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98  Japan. 

According  to  Caron,  such  is  the  wealth  of  Japan,  that  the  incomes  of 
the  chief  ministers  amount  to  182,000/.,  those  of  the  inferior  placemen 
to  91,000/.,  and  the  salaries  of  those  who  fill  the  lowest  stations  may,  at 
least,  be  reckoned  at  from  18,200/.  to  27,300/.  But  although  the  nobles 
also  possess  very  enormous  revenues,  yet  the  expenses  which  they  are 
obliged  to  incur  swallow  all  up.  At  Yedo,  especially,  everything  is  very 
dear,  and  housekeeping,  especially  on  the  Japanese  scale,  is  very  expen-* 
sive.  Whatever  can  be  imagined  as  contributing  to  pleasure  and  the 
support  of  luxury,  is  to  be  met  with.  The  entertainments  given  by  kingB 
and  nobles  to  the  emperor  are  often  ruinous  to  them. 

The  women  of  Japan  are  rigidly  secluded,  even  more  so  than  among 
the  Muhammadans ;  but  they  have  many  pleasures — gardens,  fish-ponds^ 
arbours,  summei^houses,  half  on  shore  and  half  over  the  water,  and  all 
sorts  of  land-birds  and  water-fowl,  musical  instruments,  and  such  like. 
Plays  are  represented,  and  feasts  and  banquets  constantly  occur.  Their 
dress  is  of  different-coloured  silk.  Each,  according  to  the  rank  they  hold, 
or  the  post  assigned  them,  wears  an  appointed  colour. 

The  revenues  of  the  nobles  arise  out  of  the  various  products  which  their 
territories  afford.  Some  lands  yield  com ;  some  gold  and  silver ;  others 
copper,  iron,  tin,  or  lead ;  others  again  timber,  hemp,  cotton,  or  silk.  The 
emperor  disposes  of  the  fisheries,  more  particularly  of  the  whale  fisheries, 
once  a  source  of  large  revenue,  but  now  almost  entirely  in  the  hands  of 
Americans  and  others. 

The  Japanese  are  neither  very  superstitious  nor  are  they  over-reli^ous. 
They  do  not  pray  either  in  the  morning  or  the  evening,  and  the  most 
religious  scarcely  go  to  the  pagoda  more  than  once  a  month.  At  the 
same  time,  the  number  of  pagodas  in  Japan  is  incredibly  large.  The 
priests  reside  in  them — ^from  two  to  twenty  in  a  community,  according  to 
the  size  of  the  buildings. 

The  priests  naturally  side  with  the  nobles  in  keeping  the  people  and 
the  middle  classes  in  ignorance  and  slavery,  and  it  is  to  this  social  state,  in 
which  almost  all  other  classes  but  the  nobility,  the  military,  and  the 
priests,  are  more  or  less  despised,  and  in  which  all  the  evils  of  feudalism 
are  superadded  to  a  pure  and  irresponsible  despotism,  that  are  to  be  traced 
the  long  seclusion  of  the  nation.  Only  let  the  merchants  and  the  indus- 
trious classes  once  feel  their  importance  in  the  social  state,  and  such  a 
seclusion  would  soon  become  impossible. 

The  devotion  of  the  Japanese  is  unbounded  i  when  a  nobleman  dies, 
from  twenty  to  thirty  of  his  subjects,  as  his  dependants  are  termed,  put 
themselves  to  death,  and  a  word  from  the  emperor  suffices  to  the  same 
effect.  They  have  many  virtues  in  the  practices  of  domestic  life,  but  also 
many  vices,  which  they  carry  even  into  their  pagodas. 

All  the  necessaries  and  the  luxuries  of  life  are  produced  in  the  empire. 
It  yields  gold,  silver,  copper,  and  lead,  in  abundance  ;  and  furnishes 
also  cotton  doth,  goatskms,  an  annual  quantity  of  one  himdred  thou- 
sand peculs  of  sUk,  and  of  between  three  and  four  hundred  thousand 
peculs  of  silk-cotton  (the  produce  of  the  Bombax  pentandrum)^  a  great 
many  deer-skins,  timber,  and  all  kinds  of  provisions  in  much  greater 
abundance  than  is  requisite  for  the  subsistence  of  the  inhabitants. 
Japanese  ware  and  Japan-work  has  been  celebrated  from  a  remote  anti- 
qmty.     It  is  alluded  to  in  the  *'  Arabian  Nights'  Entertainments." 

The  climate  of  Japan  is  said  to  be  happy  and  healthful,  but  subject  to 


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JapatL  99 

extremes  of  cold  in  winter  and  of  heat  in  summer.  This,  however,  must 
vary  much  in  different  islands.  It  rains  frequently,  with  much  thunder 
and  lightning.  The  sea,  which  encompasses  the  islands,  is  very  roug^ 
and  stormy,  which,  with  the  many  rocks,  cliffs,  and  shoals,  ahoye  and 
under  water,  make  its  navigation  very  dangerous.  There  are  also  two 
remarkable  and  dangerous  whirlpools.  Water-spouts  are  also  frequently 
observed  to  rise  in  the  Japanese  seas.  The  natives  fancy  that  they  are  a 
kind  of  water-dragons.  Earthquakes  are  so  common  that  the  natives 
think  no  more  of  them  than  we  do  of  an  ordinary  storm.  Yet  some- 
times whole  cities  are  destroyed,  and  thousands  of  inhabitants  buried 
under  the  ruins.  Such  a  dreadful  accident  happened,  as  Father  Lewis 
de  Froes  relates  {de  Rebus  Japonicis  coUecto  a  Joh.  Sayo\  in  the 
year  1586.  Rempfer  relates  that,  in  1703,  by  an  earthquake,  and  fire 
that  followed  thereon,  almost  the  whole  city  of  Yedo,  and  the  imperial 
palace  itself,  were  destroyed  and  laid  in  ashes,  and  upwards  of  200,000 
mhabitants  buried  under  the  ruins. 

There  are  burning  mountains  in  several  of  the  islands,  some  of  which 
seem  to  be  volcanic,  but  others  chemical  phenomena.  Coal  is  also  said 
to  abound.  In  some  parts  the  natives  use  naptha  instead  of  oil.  Amber 
is  abundant,  and  the  pearl  fishery  is  prosecuted  with  success. 

Among  the  chief  trees  are  the  mulberry,  the  vamish-tree,  various 
laurels  and  bays,  camphor-laurel,  the  tea-shrub,  sansio,  used  instead  of 
pepper  or  g^ger,  fig-trees,  chestnuts,  walnuts,  oranges,  lemons,  grapes, 
&c.,  &c  The  superiority  of  the  Japan-varnish  is  owing  to  the  virtues 
of  the  juice  of  the  urusi,  or  vamish-tree,  described  by  Kempfer  in  his 
**  Amsnitates  Exoticae.'' 

The  leading  religions  are  called  Sinto,  which  is  the  old  religion  or  idol- 
worship  ;  Budsdo,  the  worship  of  idols,  chiefly  of  Indian  origin  ;  and 
Sinto,  the  doctrine  of  their  moralists  and  philosophers.  There  have  also 
been  many  Eliristando,  or  Christians,  but  these  have  been  so  dreadfully 
persecuted  that  it  is  difficult  to  say  if  many  remain. 

The  English  and  the  Russians  have  made  several  attempts  to  seduce 
this  jealous  people  into  friendly  and  commercial  intercourse,  but  without 
success.  The  rigidness  with  which  that  part  of  the  Japanese  code  of 
police  which  relates  to  the  exclusion  of  foreigners  from  the  kingdom,  was 
strikingly  illustrated  by  the  reception  of  lUsanoff 's  Russian  mission  in 
1806.  From  the  first  day  to  the  last  of  the  ships  remaining  as  Nanga- 
saki,  they  were  surroimaed  by  guard-boats,  which  allowed  of  no  inters 
course  with  the  natives,  and  only  the  illness  of  the  ambassador  procured 
a  well-guarded  walk  of  a  few  feet  on  shore. 

The  last  English  ship  that  visited  Nangasaki  was  the  Samarangy  on 
which  occasion,  according  to  Mr.  Marryatt,  the  Japanese  instantly  ran  up 
a  number  of  chintz  and  coloured  cotton  forts,  in  the  old  Chinese  style. 
Well  nigh  forty  years  had  elapsed  since  an  English  ship-of-war — ^the 
I^aeton — ^had  last  appeared  in  that  port.  Time  was,  it  has  been  justly 
remarked,  when  the  English  might  nave  turned  their  intercourse  with 
Japan  to  good  account  In  the  year  1616,  the  Emperor  of  Japan  had 
granted  to  our  people  the  privileges  of  commerce,  with  permission  to 
erect  a  factory.  Seven  years  afterwards,  in  1623,  the  Enst  India  Com- 
pany abandoned  the  settlement  because  their  commerce  with  Japan  had 
not  at  the  outset  yielded  them  such  profitable  returns  as  they  nad  ex- 
pected    In  1672,  the  Company  attempted  to  renew  their  intercoune 


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s 


100  Japan. 

with  Japan,  but  the  attempt  proved  ineffectual.  Oar  king  had  married  a 
Portuguefle  princess,  and  uie  Portugaeee  at  that  period  were  regarded  bj 
the  court  of  Jtqwn  with  much  the  same  feeling  as  the  French  by  llie 
Spaniards  during  the  Peninsular  war.  Until  the  conclusion  of  the 
righteenth  century  the  question  was  left  at  rest,  when  a  select  committee 
of  the  East  India  Company  was  appointed  to  inquire  into  the  policy  of 
le-opemng  the  trade.  Will  it  be  belieyed  that  half  a  dozen  Englbh  men 
of  business  were  found  who  reported  against  the  policy  of  making  sudi  an 
attempt,  mainly  because  the  consignments  of  Japanese  copper  might  in- 
terfere with  the  products  of  our  own  mines  ? — as  though  copper  were  the 
only  article  which  could  be  obtained  from  Japan !  In  some  degree, 
therefore,  we  haye  to  thank  our  own  indifference  and  inaction,  if  the 
shores  of  Japan  have  been  so  long  closed  against  us. 

But  it  would  now  seem  as  if  the  term  of  civilised  seclusion  is  at  hand. 
It  was  long  ago  foreseen  that  the  settlement  of  California  by  a  busy,  enter- 
irising  population,  would  sooner  or  later  lead  to  intercourse  with  China, 
^apan,  ana  the  other  islands  of  the  Eastern  Archipelago.  The  Chinese 
were,  indeed,  among  the  first  to  participate  in  the  gold  discoveries  of  the 
western  shores  of  the  Pacific.  Japan  did  not  require  this  stimulus,  being 
long  renowned  for  its  own  gold  produce.  To  counterbalance  this  inevit- 
able progressive  tendency  of  the  Anglo-Americans,  Great  Britain  had 
nothing  to  do  but  to  open  a  new  transterrestrial  line  from  the  St.  Law- 
rence to  the  Columbia,  to  avail  herself  of  the  fertile  lands  and  noble 
streams  and  inlets  in  Oregon,  to  display  her  gold  from  the  slopes  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  her  coal  from  Vancouver  Island,  her  inexhaustible  sup- 
plies of  furs,  fowl,  fish,  and  timber,  and  an  English  colonisation  of  the 
western  board  of  the  Pacific  would  have  ensued.  A  slight  attempt  was 
made,  but  it  was  so  cramped  by  official  formalities,  so  discouragea  by  a 
company  whose  charter,  happily  for  the  civilisation  of  North  America,  is 
about  soon  to  expire,  and  so  burdened  with  red-tape  restrictions;  tliat 
naturally  no  one  would  venture  to  untried  lands  and  climates,  subject  to 
Stringent  regulations  which  it  might  not  be  in  their  power  to  comply 
with,  or,  to  do  which,  would  be  ruinous  to  the  prospects  of  the  adven- 
turers. 

This  failing,  one  or  two  attempts  were  made  by  Lord  Palmerston — 
always  more  alive  to  the  interest  of  his  country  than  the  late  colonial 
minister — to  induce  the  Emperor  of  Japan  to  enter  into  neighbourly  re- 
lations ;  and  the  new  grounds  of  argument  were  possibly  not  lost  sight 
of — ^that  in  so  doing  the  Tenkasama,  or  **  sub-celestial  monarch,"  as  the 
occupant  of  the  throne  of  Japan  delights  to  call  himself,  would  do  that 
whicli  would  most  conduce  to  his  own  safety  and  welfiire,  and  that  of  his 
dominions. 

The  argument  was,  however,  lost  upon  so  vain,  so  obtuse,  so  arrogant 
a  nation.  They  no  doubt  consider  their  hosts  of  pike-bearen,  umbrella 
and  hat-bearers,  chest-bearers  and  palankin-bearers,  grooms  and  foot- 
men, with  their  black  silk  habits  tucked  up  above  die  waist,  exposing 
their  naked  backs  to  tlie  spectators'  view,  with  grave  countenances  and 
mimic  dances,  their  foot  drawn  up  and  arm  outstretched,  as  if  about  to 
swim  in  the  air,  as  an  invincible  army.  This  is  a  delusion,  as  great  as 
that  of  the  ugly  countenances  and  painted  monsters  of  the  Chinese  ;  so 
also  will  be  found  to  be  their  palaces  and  castles  of  gilded  fir  and  cedar, 
and  walls  of  dry  mud  or  unhewn  stones,  hastily  put  together. 


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Japan.  ^101 

There  wms  a  time  wken  Great  Britain  would  not  have  been  in  the  rear 
wkne  enterprise,  adventare,  and  profit,  were  concerned.  Those  were 
the  days  of  o«r  CahotB,  onr  Raleighs,  our  Cooks,  and  our  Drakes.  They 
08  now  almoet  gone  bj,  and  the  spirit  of  olden  time  is  superseded  by  a 
mawkiflh  sentimentality  that  cherishes  a  Japanese  bikuni  (itinerant  nun) 
as  a  sister  to  be  redidmed,  and  an  Anthropagous  assassin  as  a  beni^ted 
brotherly  aboriginal.  1£  a  Borneo  Raleigh  does  spring  up,  he  is  re- 
Tiaided  by  all  kinds  of  nusrepresentations,  calumnies,  and  obloquies. 

Omr  sons  of  the  New  World  are  neither  so  punctilious  nor  so  scmpu- 
loos.  The  pathway  traced  out  by  Providence  for  a  great  nation  lies 
before  diem.  We  leave,  by  our  squeamisbness,  Australia  and  New 
Zealand  almost  at  thmr  mercy,  and  they  will  one  day  elbow  us  in  the 
streets  of  Calcutta.  The  Americans  have,  indeed,  a  just  right  to  impel 
astnbbom  nation  to  acts  of  common  humanity.  Japan  not  only  refuses 
to  hold  commercial  intercourse  with  the  rest  of  the  world — a  very  ques- 
tionable right— but  she  goes  further ;  and  occupying,  as  she  does,  an 
enormous  extent  of  sea-coast,  she  not  only  refuses  to  open  her  ports  to 
fioreign  vessels  in  distress,  but  actually  opens  her  batteries  (such  as  they 
sse)  upon  them  when  they  approach  witnin  gunshot  of  her  shores ;  and 
when  driven  upon  them  by  stress  of  weather,  she  seizes  upon,  imprisons, 
exhibits  in  cages^  and  actually  murders  the  crews  of  such  m-fited  vessels. 

**  This,"  says  a  writer  in  the  JNew  York  Courier  and  Inquirer^  "has 
been  submitted  to  too  long  already;  and  the  constant  increase  of  our 
whale  fleet,  and  the  consequent  increase  of  disasters  in  this  barbarous 
and  inhos^Mtable  region,  have  compelled  our  government,  unprompted 
except  by  its  wise  foresight,  to  insist  upon  a  reform  in  the  policy  and 
bearmg  of  the  Japanese  towards  the  rest  of  the  world.  The  single  fact, 
that  at  one  time  within  the  last  year  there  were  121  American  whalers 
lying  in  the  harbours  of  the  Sandwich  Islands,  far  away  from  their 
(zuising-grounds,  because  they  could  not  enter  any  harbour  on  the  coast 
of  Japan  for  repairs,  shows  not  only  the  extent  of  our  commerce  in  that 
legion,  bnt  the  claims  of  humanity  itself  for  protection  against  the  bar- 
barians who  ihus  cut  off,  as  it  were,  the  commerce  of  the  Yellow  Sea 
and  the  Sea  of  Ochotsk.''    (The  Sea  of  Japan  might  have  been  added.) 

The  means  by  which  the  Americans  propose  to  themselves  to  bring 
Japan  within  the  pale  of  humanity  and  of  international  courtesy,  are,  let 
the  Peace  and  Aboriginal  Protection  Societies  say  what  they  will,  the 
oohr  efficient  means  with  a  selfish,  barbarous  government — the  exhi- 
bitKVi  of  a  sufficient  force,  and,  if  necessary,  the  positive  use  of  a  certain 
amoont  of  coeieion. 

To  this  effect,  one  of  the  best  officers  on  the  Navy  List  of  the  United 
States  has  been  appointed  to  the  command  of  a  squadron,  which  will 
eonaist  (^  the  Stuguehanruih  steam-irigate,  which  is  now  cruising  in  the 
eastern  wators,  and  of  the  steam-frigates  Mississippi  and  Ptinceton ;  a 
fiigaie^  a  sloop  (tf  war,  and  a  store-ship.  It  is  stated  that  tiie  greatest 
eflforts  are  being  made  in  the  New  York  navy-yard  to  get  the  expedition 
icady  for  instant  serrioe;  and  it  is  probable  that  Commodore  Perry  may 
have  left  New  York  alrrady  with  his  squadron  for  the  seas  of  Japan. 
Hie  force  to  be  employed  is  amply  sii^cient  for  the  purpose.  The 
offieen  entrusted  with  the  command  can  have  little  difficulty  in  dictating 
their  own  terms  both  at  Nangasaki  and  Yedo,  with  such  a  power  at  their 
^sposal.     An  expedition  agsunst  Japan  is  a  much  simpler  affair  than  our 


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102  Japan. 

own  operations  in  China.  We  are  not,  indeed,  sufficiently  aware  of  the 
internal  politics  of  the  country  to  know  whether  or  not  the  Emperor  of 
Japan  has  as  much  to  dread  m>m  his  own  subjects,  in  case  of  reverses,  as 
his  Celestial  cousin  at  Pekin.  The  Japanese  are  undoubtedly  a  more 
milita^  nation  than  the  Chinamen ;  but  it  is  not  likely  they  can  offer 
any  efifectiye  resistance  against  the  howitzers  and  rocket-tabes  of  the 
United  States'  squadron.  Aboye  all,  the  operations  can  be  mainly  con- 
ducted without  quitting  the  sea-coast.  The  surveys  of  the  Nangwnki 
waters  have  been  very  carefully  made.  The  United  States'  whaling 
ships  are  intimately  acquainted  with  the  navigation  along  the  eastern 
shore  of  Japan,  and  so  through  the  Straits  of  Sangara,  which  divide 
NiEun  &om  Jeso.  Whatever  else  of  this  kind  may  be  necessary  is  easily 
to  be  accomplished  by  the  armed  boats  of  the  expedition. 

The  more  enthusiastic  Yankees,  besides  seeing  in  this  movement  a 
triumph  to  the  Whig  party,  also  imagine  a  war  of  ag^;Tession  and  con- 
quest.    One  of  the  oigans  of  Mr.  Fillmore's  party  writes : 

It  is  very  dear  that  after  we  have  gone  through  to  the  Pacific,  and  got  pos- 
session, for  all  practical  purposes,  of  the  continent,  our  adventurous  spirit 
will  wish  for  some  new  field  for  conquest,  excitement,  and  fortune.  EdiUns 
may  write  of  it  as  they  will,  the  fact  can  be  read  now  as  clearly  as  it  will  be  a 
year  or  ten  years  hence— that  our  aggressions  and  conquests  on  the  Asiatic 
coast  are  beginning.  The  United  States  will  shortly  enact  the  same  gunpowder 
drama  England  played  in  *42  with  China,  and  we  shall  do  it  with  less  modera- 
tion. Already  the  Sandwich  Islands,  like  ripe  fruit,  are  falling  into  our  hands. 
Other  Pacific  clusters  are  ready  to  be  gathered.  And  then  will  come  Japan, 
whose  brilliant,  opulent,  and  populous  capital  already  glares  on  the  eye  of  am- 
bition, and  inflames  the  heart  of  cupidity.  We  have  ''  finished  up"  America, 
as  the  phrase  goes ;  and  as  there  is  nothing  to  hope  for  in  Europe,  the  eye  of 
the  nation,  which  has  for  some  years  been  resting  on  the  glittering  quarts 
mountains  of  California,  is  now  beut  on  the  ancient  shores  of  Asia  ; — there 
will,  doubtless,  be  opened  the  next  act  of  the  drama  of  our  republican  empire. 

And,  after  all,  is^  it  not  inevitable  that  sooner  or  later  those  besotted  Oriental 
nations  must  come  out  from  their  barbarous  seclusion,  and  wheel  into  the 
ranks  of  civilisation  ?  England  has  been  at  work  for  a  long  time  in  India,  and 
she  has  made  a  beginning  in  China.  Let  us  take  tlie  Pacific  Islands,  group  by 
group,  advance  to  Japan,  and  meet  in  Slutnghai.  The  Anglo-Saxons  are  the 
masters  of  the  world  ;  unless  the  Cossacks  (the  modern  Huns)  make  another 
imiption,  and  carry  with  them  the  night  of  another  barbarous  age  to  the  shores 
of  the  Mediterranean. 

This,  however,  is  altogether  anticipatory.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
that  for  the  present  the  Americans  wLl  content  themselves  with  giving 
the  Japanese  a  lesson  in  international  policy  similar  to  that  which  we 
gave  to  the  Chinese,  and  which  we  hope  may  be  productive  of  more  en- 
larged and  more  lasting  effects.  Great  additions  to  science  and  to  com- 
merce may  also  be  anticipated  from  a  thorough  hydrographic  survey,  that 
is  at  the  sanie  time  to  be  effected,  of  the  innumerable  rich  islands  in  the 
Indian  Archipelago,  and  of  the  coasts  of  Northern  China ;  and  if  the  ob* 
jects  of  the  expedition  are  carried  out  in  a  spirit  of  humani^  and  sound 
policy,  without  unnecessary  waste  of  life,  and  under  the  full  impressioii 
and  understanding  that  government  and  its  agents,  and  not  the  great 
mass  of  the  popvdation,  are  in  fault,  there  is  no  doubt  but  that  Coos- 
modore  Perry  will  carry  with  him  on  his  expedition  the  sympathies  of 
all  European  nations. 


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I     103    ) 

YOUNG  TOM  HALL'S  HEART-ACHES  AND  HORSES. 
Chaftsb  XXIV. 

But  far  Bowman,  Woodcock,  Ryle,  and  others,  who  felt  it  incumhent 
on  them  to  make  Tom  hurt,  in  order  to  excuse  themselYes  for  pulling  up, 
there  is  no  saying  but  our  hero  would  have  remounted  af^  his  fall  and 
attempted  to  rescue  his  fiur  flame  from  the  gallant  old  Lothario,  who  was 
witching  her  through  the  country  as  it  were  to  the  music  of  his  hounds. 
These  worthies,  however,  would  not  hear  of  such  a  thing.  They  were 
certain  Tom  was  hurt — couldn't  be  but  hurt.  "  No  hones  broken,*' 
Woodcock  thought,  '<  but  tied  to  be  very  much  shook,"  he  added,  as  he 
felt  Tom*s  shouMer,  and  ooUar-bone,  and  arm,  and  elbow,  and  dived  into 
his  £it  sides  for  his  ribs.  ''  No  ;  the  best  thing  he  could  do  was  to  go 
home^"  they  all  agreed,  and  after  straining  their  eyes  in  the  direction  of 
the  diminishing  field  till  the  hounds  disi^peared,  and  the  horsemen 
looked  like  so  many  dots  dribbling  along,  they  turned  their  pumped  and 
lathered  horses  to  the  grateful  influence  of  the  westerly  breeze.  It  was 
a  fine  run,  they  all  agreed,  though  if  the  fox  reached  Bramblewreck 
Woods,  which  seemed  his  point,  they  had  just  seen  as  much  as  anybody 
could — nothing  but  labour  and  sorrow,  tearing  up  and  down  the  deep 
tides,  pulling  their  horses'  legs  off  in  the  holding  day  ;  and  so  they  re» 
ported  to  Mr.  JoUynoggin^  the  landlord  of  the  Barley  Mow,  where  they 
pulled  up  to  have  a  nip  of  ale  a-piece,  and  JoUynoggin  swallowing  the 
story  with  great  i^parent  ease,  they  proceeded  to  tell  subsequent  inquirers 
they  met  on  the  road  all,  how,  and  about  the  run. 

Bowman,  who  was  rather  near  the  wind  in  money  matters,  and  not 
altogether  without  hopes  of  making  a  successful  assault  on  old  Hall's 
coffers,  especially  if  assisted  by  our  enterprising  friend,  Tom,  set  to  to 
ply  him  with  what  he  diought  would  be  most  agreeable  to  his  vanity. 
Alluding  to  the  run,  he  said,  "  Tom  certainly  deserved  better  luck,  for 
he  had  ridden  most  g^lantly,  and  all  things  considered,  he  thought  he 
never  saw  an  awkwanl  horse  more  neatly  handled.*'  This  pleased  Tom, 
who,  so  &r  from  being  surprised  at  his  fall,  was  only  astonished  he  had 
managed  to  stick  on  so  long ;  and  not  being  sufficiently  initiated  in  the 
mysteries  of  hunting  to  appreciate  the  difference  between  tumbling  off 
and  a  fall,  he  began  to  think  he  had  done  something  rather  clever  than 
otherwise.  In  this  he  was  a  good  deal  confirmed  by  the  deferential  tone 
in  which  Bowman  addressed  him,  and  the  inquiring  way  he  asked  his 

r'on  of  his  lordship's  hounds,  observing,  with  a  fflimce  at  Tom's  pink, 
donbtleBS  he  had  seen  many  packs  ;  Tom  didn  t  care  to  say  that  this 
was  his  first  day  out  with  any — ^any  foxhounds,  at  least — so  he  contented 
himself  with  saying  that  he  **  didn  t  think  they  were  much  amiss."     This 
'  Ryie  "  '        "  .       ^.  -     «.! 


ffaye  Major  Ryie  an  opportunity  of  launching  out  against  Dicky  Thom- 
djhdf  who  had  incurred  the  major's  serious  ^pleasure  by  sundry  excur- 
auma  afifcer  his  pretty  pariour-maid,  whom  Dicky  was  very  anxious  to 
entioe  away  into  Lord  Heartycheer*s  establishment  The  major  now 
denounced  Dicky  as  a  pottering  old  muff,  and  declared  that  Billy  Brick, 
the  first  whip,  was  worth  a  hundred  and  fifty  of  him,  either  as  a  horse- 
man, a  huntsman,  or  a  man.     Bowman,  on  the  other  hand,  was  rather  a 


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104  Young  Tom  HaWs  Heart-aches  and  Horse$. 

Thomdyke-ite ;  for  Dioky  distiiig^ished  him  from  the  ordinary  bkck- 
coated  nerd  by  something  between  a  cap  and  a  bow,  and  Bowman's  vindi- 
cation  of  Dicky  brought  out  much  good  or  bad  riding  and  hunting  criti- 
oism  that  served  our  Tom  a  good  turn.  Bowman  expatiated  on  the  way 
DicW  rode  to  save  his  horse — ^how  he  picked  his  country,  avoiding  ridge 
and  niirow,  deep  ground  and  tuniip-fie^s,  never  pressing  on  his  hounds, 
ewa  in  chase.  The  major  retorted,  that  Dicky  was  so  slow  at  his  fences, 
that  it  was  better  to  take  a  fresh  place  than  wait  till  he  was  over;  which 
produced  a  declaration  that  it  was  only  certain  fences  he  rode  slowly  at, 
bidding  Ryle  observe  how  Dicky  went  at  places  where  he  thought  there 
was  a  broad  dkch,  above  all  at  brooks  with  rotten  banks — ^those  terrible 
storoers  in  all  countries.  They  then  discussed  Dicky's  prowess  at  tim- 
ber jumping,  at  which  even  Ryle  admitted  him  to  be  an  adept ;  but  still 
he  came  back  to  the  old  point,  that  either  as  a  horseman,  a  huntsman,  or 
a  man,  Billy  Brick  was  worth  a  hundrod  and  fifty  of  him. 

The  liberal  width  of  the  Mountfi^d-roed  now  fwesenting  grass  on 
either  ride,  the  heretofore  silent  Mr.  Woodcock  managed  to  get  our  Tom 
edged  off  to  his  side,  and  pinning  him  next  the  fence,  essayed  to  see 
if  he  could  do  anything  for  himself  in  a  small  way.  Not  that  ne  thought 
he  could  accomplish  anything  at  the  bank,  where  it  was  well  known  his 
paper  wouldn't  fly ;  but  there  was  no  reason  why  the  venerable  nag  he 
bestrode  might  not  be  advantageously  transferred  to  Tom*B  stud,  either 
in  the  way  of  an  out*and-out  sale,  or  m  that  still  more  hopeful  specular 
tkm — ^becAuse  admitting  of  repetition — a  swap,  with  something  to  boot. 
This  antediluvian  ^<  had-been,  was  a  fine^  shapely,  racing-like  bay,  in 
capital  condition ;  for  Woodcock,  being  a  chemist,  and  a  one-horse  man  to 
boot,  had  plenty  of  time  and  ingredients  for  physicing,  and  nursing,  and 
coddling  tne  old  cripples  it  was  his  custom  to  keep-— or,  rather,  not  to 
keep,  longer  tiian  he  could  help.  He  went  altogether  upon  age ;  nothing 
tiiat  wasn't  past  mark  of  mouth  would  do  for  him,  though  somehow,  afber 
they  got  into  his  stable,  they  rejuvinated,  and  hones  Siat  went  in  nine- 
teen or  twenty,  came  out  nine  or  ten.  *'  Seasoned  horse — nice  season'd 
horse,"  Woodcock  would  say,  with  a  knowing  jerk  of  his  head,  over  the 
counter,  to  a  nibbling  greenhorn  sounding  him  about  price :  that  horae 
should  be  in  Lord  Heartycheer's  stud ;  no  business  in  my  stable — ^rioh 
man's  horse.  Why  Sir — Sir  John  Green  gave  two  hundred  and  fifty 
guineas — two  hundired  and  fifty  guineas,  sir,  for  that  horse."  And  so  hie 
had,  very  likely,  but  a  long  time  rinoe. 

Woodcock  had  an  acquaintance  among  grooms,  through  the  interveo- 
tion  of  valets,  he  baring  a  brother  a  valet,  in  a  pretty  good  situation,  where 
he  was  of  course  improving  his  opportunity  after  the  usual  manner  of  the 
brotherhood,  and  whenever  a  good-looking,  nearly  worn-out  horse  was 
about  to  be  cast,  he  got  early  intelligence ;  and  competition  baring  about 
ceased  with  the  extinction  of  stage-coaches,  Woodcock  picked  up  screws 
very  cheap,  almost  at  his  own  price — ten,  fifteen,  twenty  pounds,  perhaps 
— ^though  this  latter  price  he  looked  upon  as  bordering  on  the  teneiful. 
Twelve  or  fourteen  was  about  his  mark — say  three  fives  and  a  sov.  ba^. 
That  was  the  price  of  the  valuable  animal  he  now  bestrode,  who  in  turn 
had  been  a  hunter,  a  racer,  a  steeple-chaser,  and  yet  condescended  te 
go  in  a  phaeton.  Neither  his  withers  nor  his  quarters,  however,  dis* 
covered  any  signs  of  the  degrading  occupation.     Indeed,  his  teeth 


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Yvtmg  Tarn  Halts  Heart-^ehn  and  Hones.  105 

the  only  real  tell«tale  feature  about  him ;  for  though  he  was  weak  and 
washj,  and  tender  in  the  sinews,  and  queer  in  the  feet,  still  he  had  all  th6 
outmrd  and  visible  signs  of  a  noble  animal,  with  a  fine  cock-pheasant- 
like bloom  on  his  elose-l jing  bay  coat  He  retained  a  good  deal  of  the 
fiash  and  enthusiasm  of  the  chase;  indeed,  we  beliere  the  spirit  was 
wilfing,  thoi;^  the  flesh  was  weak ;  and  to  see  him  in  the  excitement  of 
getting  away — ^his  ears  cocked,  his  head  erect,  his  tail  distended,  and  his 
sunken  eye  still  lighting  with  its  former  fire— a  stranger  to  him  and  his 
master  would  conodve  a  veiy  favourable  opinion  of  the  animal.  Wood* 
cock  was  a  varmint-looking  fellow,  too,  dressed  in  a  low-crowned  hat,  a 
short  farown  jacket,  stout  cords  that  had  seen  much  service,  and  boots  of 
so  daric  a  hue  as  to  make  it  difficult  to  say  where  the  tops  began  and  the 
bottoms  ended — ^tops  that  the  deepest-dyed  Meltooian  would  find  it  diffi- 
cult to  emulate. 

Woodcock  was  a  regular  once-a-week  man,  and  oftener,  if  he  had  a 
customer  in  view  and  could  get  his  cripple  out.  To  this  end  he  rode 
vety  carefully,  always  looking  out  for  easy  ground  and  sofb  footing,  and 
never  taking  an  unnecessary  leap,  unless  there  was  somebody  looking 
— iliat  somebody,  of  course,  being  a  hoped-for  customer.  Like  all  peoiJe, 
however,  who  cheat  in  horses,  or  indeed  in  anything  else — unless  they 
have  a  large  field,  such  as  London,  to  practise  in — Woodcock  had  about 
got  through  the  circle  of  country  fiats ;  and  when  any  one,  in  reply  to  the 
of^en-put  inquiry  of  ^'  Do  you  know  of  a  horse  that  could  suit  me  ?' 
answered,  "  Yes,  Mr.  Woodcock,  the  chemist  of  Fleecyborough,  has  one,** 
the  rejoinder  was  pretty  sure  to  be  *'  No,  no ;  no  Woodcocks  for  me, 
thank'e."  Such  being  Woodcock^s  position  with  regard  to  old  stagers,  it 
made  tt  doubly  incumbent  on  him  to  make  the  most  of  a  new  one ;  and 
when  he  heard  that  the  officers  at  the  barracks  had  sold  young  Mr.  Hall 
a  hone,  he  felt  as  though  he  had  been  defrauded  of  his  rights.  Fortune, 
he  now  hoped,  was  g^ing  to  make  him  some  amends. 

Having,  as  already  stated,  got  Tom  on  to  the  sof)^  on  his  side  of  the 
road,  he  dropped  his  reins  on  his  now  sweat-dried  hunter's  neck,  and  with 
the  slightest  'possible  pressure  of  the  leg  got  him  into  a  striding  walk, 
that  looked  like  action  and  confidence  combined.  Thus  he  kept  him 
about  half  a  length  in  advance  of  Tom,  playing  his  arms  loosely  like  a 
jockey,  and  ever  and  anon  casting  a  sheep's  eve  back  to  see  if  Tom  was 
looking.  Our  friend  was  not  easily  attracted,  for  what  with  admiring 
his  coat,  sticking  out  his  legs  to  examine  his  tops,  and  wondering  whan 
his  &ll-dirtied  leathers  would  diy,  coupled  with  catching  at  his  tripping 
bone's  head,  he  had  about  as  mudi  to  do  as  he  could  manage.  Mr. 
Woodcock,  feeling  that  time  was  precious,  varied  the  perfbrmanoe  by 
touching  Ids  horse  with  the  spur,  which  caused  him  to  grunt  and  hoist  up 
behmd. 

<'  What,  he^s  a  kicker,  is  he  ?^  asked  Tom,  giving  him  a  wider  berth. 

**  Oh,  no,  sir,  no,"  replied  Woodcock,  "  notlnn'  of  the  sort,  sir— iioihin' 
of  the  sort—quietest  crittur  alive." 

«'  What  was  he  doing  then  ?"  asked  Tom. 

"  Oh,  it  was  just  ray  ticklin'  him  with  the  spur,"  replied  Woodcock, 
doing  it  again,  when  up  went  the  hind-quarten  as  before^  '*  It's  a  trick 
he'd  been  taught  in  the  inoin'  stable,  I  think,"  added  he,  patting  his 
aidineok. 


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108  Young  Tom  HalPs  Heart-aehes  and  Horses. 

«  Raciiig  staUesl"  replied  Tom  ;  '^  what,  is  he  a  race-hone?" 
*  '<  Raoe-horse ! — yes"  exclaimed  Woodcock.  " This  horse," added  he, 
takisg  a  rein  in  each  hand,  and  staring  energetically — *^  this  horse  is 
thorough-hred — ^thorongh-bred  as  Eclipse.  He's  bj  Jacob  the  First, 
dam  Judj  by  Squirrel,  grand-dam  Maid  of  the  Mill,  the  dam  of  Hearts 
of  Oak  and  Spinning  Jenny  by  Little  Boy  Blue,  great  grand-dam  Pep- 
permint by  Big  John,  g^at,  gpneat  grand-dam  something  else,**  and  so 
on,  through  an  amazing  length  of  imaginary  pedigree — a  species  of 
weaying  at  which  Mr.  Woodcock  was  yexy  handy.  Tom  Hall  sat  agape, 
for  he  had  never  heard  of  a  horse  with  such  an  ancestry. 

*'  This  nag  could  beat  anything  out  to-day,"  obserred  Woodcock,  now 
turning  himself  sideways  in  his  saddle,  and  slapping  the  horse's  hard 
sides.  '^  He's  quite  a  contradiction  to  the  usual  prejudice,  that  thorough- 
breds  are  shy  of  thorn  fences;  for  I  really  believe  he  likes  them  better 
nor  any  other — if,  indeed,  he  has  a  partiality  for  one  more  than  another 
— ^for,  mdeed,  he's  equally  good  at  all  sorts.  It  doesn't  make  a  penny's- 
worth  of  difference  to  him  what  you  put  him  at  Post-and-rail,  in-and- 
out  clever,  stone  walls,  banks  with  blind  ditches,  brooks,  bullfindies  with 
yawners  on  both  sides — all  alike  to  him.  He's  the  most  perfect  hunter 
ever  man  crossed."  So  saying,  he  gave  the  horse  another  hearty  slap  on 
the  side,  as  if  in  confirmation  of  what  he  was  saying.  *^  That's  not  an 
unlikely -looking  nag  of  yours,"  observed  he,  now  turning  his  attention  to 
Tom's  horse.  *'  Fve  seen  many  a  worse-shaped  animal  nor  that,*'  added 
he,  with  a  knowing  jerk  of  his  head. 

**  No,  he's  not  a  bad  horse,"  replied  Tom ;  "  far  from  it.'* 

"  Not  zactly  the  horse  for  you,  p'r  aps,"  continued  Woodcock,  again 
reverting  to  his  own—''  at  least,  I  think  he's  hardly  up  to  your  weight : 
you'll  ride  pretty  heavy — thirteen  or  fourteen  stun,  p'r'aps  ?" 

''  About  it,"  replied  Tom,  who  had  no  very  definite  idea  on  the 
point. 

**  Ah,  well,  that  horse  shouldn't  carry  more  nor  ten — ten  or  eleven,  at 
most,"  continued  Woodcock,  scrutinising  him  attentively.  "  He's  a  nice 
well-girthed,  well-ribbed,  well-put-together  horse,  but  he's  small  below 
the  knee,  and  there's  where  a  hunter  should  have  substance.  He'll  be 
givin'  you  an  awkward  fall  some  day,"  said  he,  drawing  a  long  fiice,  and 
giving  an  ominous  shake  of  the  heaa. 

Scarcely  were  the  words  out  of  Woodcock's  mouth,  ere  the  horse  struck 
against  a  hassocky  tuf^  of  grass,  and  nearly  blundered  on  to  his  nose. 
Nothing  but  the  pommel  of  the  saddle  saved  Tom  another  roll. 

''  Hdd  un  his  head,  his  tail's  high  enough !"  exclaimed  Major  Ryle, 
as  horse  ana  rider  floundered  along  in  doubtful  result. 

''Ah,  that's  just  what  I  expected,  sir,"  observed  Woodcock,  con- 
dolingly,  as  Tom  at  length  got  shuffled  back  into  the  saddle — "  that's 
just  what  I  expected,  sir.  It's  a  pity — a  great  pity — ^for  he's  a  pretty 
hor8e*-4i  very  pretty  horse— -but  he's  not  fit  to  cany  you,  sir ;  indeed 
he's  not,  sir.  You'll  have  an  accident,  as  sure  as  &te,  sir,  if  you  persist 
in  riding  him." 

Tom  looked  frightened. 

"  I'd  get  out  of  him  before  he  does  you  an  ill  turn,"  observed  Wood- 
cock. "  Think  what  a  thing  it  would  be  if  he  was  to  brick  your  neck-* 
you,  with  your  manifold  money,  messuages,  and  tenements  without  end !" 


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Yowtg^  Tom  JSalPs  Hearl-aches  and  Horsei.  107 

Tom  did  think  what  a  go  it  would  he  if  such  a  calamity  were  to  hefal 
him. 

'^  You'd  have  no  difficulty  in  gettin'  shot  of  him/*  continued  Wood- 
cock, ^< 'cause  he*s  a  nent,  creditable,  gentlemanly-lookin'  hone;  hut, 
<  handsome  is  that  handsome  does,'  is  my  motto  ;  and  it  matters  little 
whether  you  brick  your  neck  off  a  cow  or  off  Flyin'  Childers  himself, 
so  long  as  you  do  brick  it." 

^'  True,*'  observed  Hall,  feeling  his  now  much-deranged  white  Join- 
ville,  as  if  to  see  that  his  neck  was  right. 

Woodcock  was  in  hopes  of  something  more  encouraging ;  but  after 
riding  on  for  some  time  in  silence,  and  seeing  they  were  approaching 
Major  Ryles's  lion-headed  gates,  which  would  probably  throw  Bowman 
upon  them  for  the  rest  of  the  way,  he  observed,  after  a  good  stare  at 
Hall's  horse : 

'^  I  really  think  that  horse  of  yours  might  carry  me.  He's  up  to  my 
weight,  I  should  say.  P'rhaps  you  wouldn't  have  any  objection  to  sellin' 
of  him  ?" 

Tom,  who  was  most  heartily  disgusted  with  his  purchase,  hadn't  the 
slightest  objection  to  selling  him — ^indeed,  would  gladly  be  out  of  him, 
even  at  a  trifling  sacrifice,  though  of  course,  as  a  true  chip  of  the  old 
block,  he  wasn't  going  to  commit  himself  by  saying  so. 

"  Oh,"  replied  he,  in  an  easy,  indifferent  sort  of  way,  ^'  I  wouldn't 
mind  selling  him  if  I  could  get  my  price." 

"  Youll  p'r'aps  be  wantin'  a  good  deal  ?"  suggested  Woodcock. 

^^  Why,  I  gave  a  good  deal  tor  him ;  and  of  course  one  doesn't  invest 
capital  without  expecting  a  return — at  least  we  don't  at  our  bank,"  re- 
plied Tom. 

"  True,"  rejoined  Woodcock ;  <'  but  horses  are  often  the  'ception  to 
the  rule — few  gents  get  what  they  g^ive." 

'*  Ah,  that's  because  they  want  the  money,  or  don't  know  how  to 
manage  matters,"  replied  Tom,  who  thought  himself  rather  a  knowing 
hand.  "  However,"  continued  he,  thinking  to  do  the  man  whom 
nobody  had  ever  done,  "  I'll  take  a  hundred  and  fifty  for  him,  if  you 
know  any  one  who'll  give  it." 

^*  A  hundred  and  fifty — a  hundred  and  fifty,"  mused  Woodcock,  suck- 
ing his  lips,  and  looking  the  horse  attentively  over,  apparently  not  much 
aj^ialled  by  the  magnitude  of  the  sum.     "  How  old  is  he  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  s'pose  eight  or  nine,"  replied  Tom — "  eight  or  nine — just  in 
his  prime— just  in  his  prime — seasoned  hunter,  you  know — seasoned 
hunter." 

"  Well,  I  don't  say  he's  not  worth  it,"  replied  Woodcock,  obligingly — 
*'  I  don't  say  he's  not  worth  it ;  indeed,  considering  what  this  one  cost," 
alluding  to  his  own,  "  he  may  be  cheap  of  the  mone^." 

This  was  satisfactory  to  Tom,  and  looking  as  if  he  hadn't  paid  too 
dear  for  his  whistle.  Still  Tom  did  not  lead  on  in  the  accommodating 
sort  of  way  that  Woodcock  could  have  wished,  and  our  persevering 
friend  had  to  make  all  the  running  himself. 

"Perhaps  yon  wouldn't  mind  makin'  a  swap?"  at  length  observed 
he,  seeing  how  near  they  were  getting  to  the  moor's  gates. 

"  Why,  no,  I  wouldn't,"  drawled  Tom,  "provided  I  could  get  some- 
thing to  suit  better — something  a  little  atronger,  p'rhaps." 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


108  Young  Tom  Halls  Heart-aches  and  Horses. 

That  was  enoonrag^g,  and  Woodcock  proceeded  to  follow  vp  his 
advantage. 

<'  How  would  this  do  for  you,  now  ?"  asked  he,  putting  the  question 
boldly,  as  he  threw  forward  his  arms,  as  if  to  show  his  perfect  confidence 
in  the  sure-footed  bay. 

Tom  eyed  the  horse  attentively,  looking  at  him  as  all  men  do  at  their 
neighbours'  horses,  with  a  feeling  of  covetousness — thinking  how  wdl 
he  would  look  upon  lum. 

''  Is  he  a  gooa  fencer  ?"  at  leng^  asked  he. 

''  Oh,  capital  fencer/'  replied  Woodcock,  sucking  and  smacking  his 
lips,  as  if  the  very  thoughts  of  his  leaping  was  syrup  to  him ;  ^  capital 
leaper — ^grand  fencer/'  continued  he.  ^'  Didn't  you  see  him  dear  the 
hog-backed  stUe,  with  the  foot-plank  over  the  big  rotten  ditch,  just  now,  at 
the  back  of  Willey  Rogerson's  pea-stacks,  just  after  we  crossed  Mr.  Codes- 
foot's  hard  com  ?" 

Tom  had  not,  being  too  intent  on  sticking  to  his  own  shopboard  to 
have  time  to  notice  the  performance  of  others. 

^  Well,  he  did,"  rejoined  Mr.  Woodcock,  again  sucking  his  breath — 
^'  he  did,  and  after  Brassey  and  another,  too,  had  infused.  Up  he  came, 
as  cool  and  collected  as  possible,  and  took  it  like  winking.'* 

''  Indeed !"  said  Hall,  who  now  began  to  appredate  the  difference 
between  an  easy  and  an  awkward  fencer.  Not  but  that  Tom  would  make 
any  horse  awkward,  only  he  did  not  think  so  himself.  His  idea  was  that 
the  bridle  was  equally  meant  to  hold  on  by  as  the  saddle.  ^  This  horse 
is  a  good  leaper,"  observed  Tom,  thinking  it  was  time  he  was  sa^g 
something  handsome  for  his. 

*'  Is  he  ?"  said  Woodcock,  cheerfully,  as  if  quite  ready  to  take  Tom's 
word  for  it ;  ^' just  let  us  trot  on  a  bit,"  continued  he,  ^'  and  see  his  ac- 
tion ;"  though  in  reality  he  wanted  to  shoot  away  finom  Bowman,  who 
would  soon  be  on  their  hands,  to  the  serious  detriment  of  a  deal. 

Tom  did  as  requested,  but  though  his  horse  had  a  good  deal  mora  go 
in  him  than  Woodcock's,  the  latter  contrived,  by  judidous  handliz^, 
pressbg,  and  feeling,  to  make  his  step  out  in  a  way  that  quite  outpace 
Tom's.  As  Woodcock  came  to  where  the  strip  of  grass  ran  out  to 
nothing  on  the  road,  he  pulled  up,  with  an  apparent  effort,  though,  in 
reality,  the  weakly  hone  was  but  too  glad  to  obey  the  bit,  and  looking 
back  at  Tom  who  was  still  labouring  along — the  further  he  went,  the 
further  he  was  left  behind — Woodcock  exdaimed,  <'  Well,  mine  has  the 
foot  of  yours,  at  all  events,  in  trotting." 

"Ra — a — a — ^ther,"  ejaculated  Tom,  pulling  and  hauling  away  at 
his  horse*8  mouth,  adding,  <<  But  mine  can  go  when  he's  fr — r — esh." 

<'He*8  done  nothing  to  tire  him  to-day,"  observed  Woodcock. 

''Oh,  but  I  rode  him  to  co— o — ^ver  like  blazes,"  observed  Tom,  still 
fearing  to  trust  his  horse  with  his  head. 

This  was  true,  for  lily-of-the-V  alley  vras  very  impetaous  with  Ange- 
lena  at  starting,  and  she  had  thought  it  best  to  let  her  go,  and  a  smart 
canter  was  the  consequence. 

'<  Well  now,  shall  we  have  a  deal  ?"  asked  Woodcock,  briskly,  thinking 
the  trot  had  ^ven  his  hone  a  decided  advantage  met  Tom's. 

"  What  will  you  give  me  to  boot  ?"  asked  Tom,  determined  to  begin 
on  the  safe  side,  however  he  might  end. 


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FouMff  Tom  Halts  Heurt-aehes  and  Horges.  109 

^'  G%f>e  r  ezdaimed  Woodcock,  opening  wide  his  moatfa,  and  exhibit 
ing  an  iiregular  set  of  tobacco-stained  teeth;  ^^giveP^  repeated  he, 
breaking  into  a  bonelaugh;  ^it's  what  will  you  giye,  I  should  think," 
v^Hedhe. 

*^  Suppose  we  try  them  at  evens  ?"  suggested  Tom,  who,  in  his  hearty 
fimded  Woodcock  s  horse,  as  well  on  account  of  his  looks  as  because  he 
seemed  easy  to  ride. 

Woodcock  shook  his  head  ominously. 

They  then  rode  on  together  for  some  time  in  silence,  Tom  pondering 
whether  he  should  offer  a  sum  or  ask  Woodcock  to  name  one ;  while  tiie 
wily  chemist  kept  eyeing  Tom*s  vacant  countenance,  and  looking  over 
his  shoulder  to  see  where  he  had  Bowman. 

''  Well,  what  will  you  take?"  at  last  asked  TonL 

"  What  will  I  take  ?"  repeated  Bowman,  sucking  away  at  his  lips,  as 
if  every  thought  of  the  horse  was  luscious;  '^  wbftt  will  I  take?"  con- 
thitted  h%  as  if  the  idea  of  price  had  never  entered  his  mind,  though, 
in  reality,  he  had  been  meditating  all  sorts  of  sums.  ''  Well,"  said  he, 
**  I'll  tell  you  in  two  woids" — a  phrase  that  generally  means  anything  but 
what  it  professes — *'  I'll  tell  you  in  two  words,"  repeated  he.  '^  I  reckon 
TOUT  horse  is  not  altogether  an  unsuitabie  horse  for  me,  though  I  think 
he's  an  unsuitable  horse  for  you.  In  the  fust  place^  you  see,  he's  under 
your  weight,  and  there  can't  be  a  more  grievous,  direful,  aggravatin' 
fiuilt  for  a  hunter  than  being  under  your  weight.  There  can't  be  a  more 
disastrous,  lamentable  bedevilment  than,  in  the  middle  of  a  good  run,  to 
find  your  horse  gradually  sinkin'  beneath  you,  till  at  last  he  slacks  out 
his  neck  with  a  throat-rattle,  and  comes  to  a  dead  standstill  in  the  middle 
of  a  field.  What  a  l^ing  for  a  gent  in  a  scarlet  coat,  and  all  complete 
as  you  are,  to  have  to  drive  his  hearse  home  before  him,  or  give  a  coun- 
tryman a  shiUin',  or  may  be  etgfateen-pence,  for  gettin'  him  into  the 
nearest  stable.  No,  sir,  no  ;  take  my  word  for  it,  if  you  want  to  hunt 
comfortably  and  creditably,  you  must  have  a  horse  rather  over  than  under 
your  weight ;  so  iiiat,  when  hounds  are  apparently  slipping  away,  you 
may  feel  that  you  can  take  a  hberty  with  him  with  impunity ;  or  when 
they  are  drawin'  homewards — which  they  all  do,  confound  them  I  when 
the  master's  not  out,  which,  however,  is  not  often  the  case  with  the  old 
eoek  at  the  Castle, — ^but,  I  say,  when  hounds  are  drawin'  homewards,  the 
contrary  way,  in  course,  to  where  you  live,  you  may  say,  '  Oh,  hang  it, 
I'll  go,  my  horse  vrants  work;'  or,  '  Hang  it,  I'll  go,  diis  horse  never 
tires;'  instead  of  saying,  *Well,  Mr.  Woodcock,'  or  « Well,  Mr.  Bow- 
man, I  s'pose  we  must  shut  up— we  must  be  toddlin'  homewards ;  don't 
do  for  us  to  run  the  risk  of  beni'  benighted.'  So  that  I  may  conscien- 
tiously say,  that  a  gent  like  you,  with  ample  means  and  a  bank  to  back 
him,  doesn't  do  himself  ordinary  justice  who  rides  anything  but  perfect 
horses — ^horses  that  are  equal  to  more  than  his  weiffht,  and  can  do  eveiy- 
thing  that  n^  lord's  or  anybody  dee's  horse  can  do,  and  do  it  comfbrt- 
ahly  to  the  nder,  instead  of  fretting,  and  fuming,  and  fighting,  and  soing 
tail  first  at  his  fences,  as  some  aggravatin'  animala  do,  in^ead  <n  fust 
lo(^n'  and  then  poppin'  over,  as  this  horse  does,"  our  fiiend  patting  the 
bay  as  if  extremely  fond  of  him.  "  Now,"  oontimied  he,  as  Tom  made 
no  response  at  this  interval,  ^'  I'm  not  a  man  wots  always  runnin'  down 
other  people's  horses,  and  pruain'  of  my  own<— fiur  firom  it ;  neither  am  I 


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110  Young  Tom  Halts  Heari'oches  and  Horses. 

a  man  wot  always  has  the  best  hone  in  England  under  him ;  on  the 
contrary,  I've  been  bit  as  often  as  most  men.  But  I  don't  hold  with 
some,  tiiat,  because  I've  been  bit,  I've  to  bite  others.  Oh,  no !  that's 
not  the  way — fair  dealin'  's  a  jewel.  I'd  as  soon  think  of  sellin'  a  man 
oxalic  acid  for  Epsom  salts,  as  I  would  of  sellin'  him  a  bad  horse  as  a 
good  un— one  as  I  know^d  to  be  bad,  howsomever,"  added  he,  looking 
intently  at  our  friend. 

*^  Ah,  well,'*  observed  Tom,  with  a  chuck  of  the  chin,  '^  that's  not  the 
point.  The  point  1  want  to  know  is,  what  you'll  take  to  change  horses 
with  me  V 

"  I'll  tell  you  in  two  words,"  rejoined  Woodcock  again.  "  This  horse 
stands  me,  one  way  and  another,  in  a  vast  of  money.  I  didn't  get  him  a 
clean  out-and-out  bargain,  you  see — so  much  money  down  on  the  nail ; 
but  there  were  a  good  many  pecooliar  circumstances  attending  the  pur- 
chase of  him  ?  In  the  fust  place,  the  man  I  got  him  on  owed  me  a  good 
deal  of  money,  and  knowing  that  he  was  very  near  the  wind,  I  thought 
I  had  better  make  a  little  concession,  and  get  as  well  out  of  him  as  i 
could.  Then,  in  the  second  place,  there  was  a  long  unadjusted  account 
between  Mr.  Monkseaton,  the  gp:eat  wholesale  chemist  in  Cripplegate,  and 
myself ;  and  Monkseaton  and  the  late  owner — that's  to  say,  Mr.  Bowers 
— ^being  first  cousins — Bowers's  feither  and  Monkseaton's  mother  beine 
brother  and  sister — it  was  arranged  that  Monkseaton,  you  know,  should 
transfer  my  debt  along  with  another  man's,  of  the  name  of  Sparks,  for 
which  I  was  jointly  liiS>le  along  with  Mr.  Splinters,  the  cabinet-maker  of 
Baconfield,  into  Bowers's  name.  And  then  I  had  a  grey  horse,  called 
the  Little  Clipper — jm  may  have  heard  tell  of  him — a  very  remarkable 
horse  for  water-jumping.  He  was  by  the  Big  Clipper — a  dark  chestnut 
horse,  free  from  white,  fiill  fifteen  three,  on  short  legs,  with  immense 
bone  and  substance,  great  muscular  power,  fine  symmetry  and  temper, 
perfectly  sound,  and  free  from  blemish ;  and  I  had  an  old  rattletrap  of  a 
dog-cart,  that  might  be  worth  to  a  man  that  wanted  one,  p'r'aps,  ^ye 
pounds  ;  and  then  Bowers  had  a  cow  that  had  gone  wrong  in  her  milkin', 
and  we  agreed *' 

^'  Oh,  never  mind  what  you  agreed,"  interrupted  Tom,  seeing  the 
story  was  likely  to  be  interminable  ;  *'  can't  you  tell  me  what  you'll  take 
to  change  with  me — a  clean,  off-hand  swap— and  sink  the  cows  and  the 
rest  of  the  quadrupeds?" 

«  WeU,"  repHed  Woodcock,  « I'U  teU  you  what  I'll  take— I'll  teU  yon 
what  I'll  take.     I'll  take  twenty  pounds.'^ 

'<  Twenty  pounds !"  repeated  Tom,  who  had  been  speculating  on  all 
sorts  of  sums  during  Woodcock's  exordium. 

"  It's  givin'  of  him  away,"  observed  Woodcock. 

Tom  sat  silent. 

"  Well,  what  d'ye  say  ?"  at  length  asked  Woodcock. 

"  I'll  consider  ot  it,"  replied  Tom,  as  Fibs's  aphorism,  "Buy  in  haste, 
rep6nt  at  leisure,"  occurred  to  his  mind. 

"  Nay,  never  think  twice  about  a  twenty-pund  matter  1"  exclaimed 
Woodcodt. 

'' '  Buy  in  haste,  repent  at  leisure,'"  observed  Tom,  sententiously. 

"  Well,"  replied  Woodcock,  rather  disgusted  at  having  given  himself 
so  much  trouble,  *'  you  know  best,  sir — ^you  know  best     Only,  if  you 


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Timng  Tarn  Halts  Heart-aches  and  Horses.  Ill 

happen  to  have  an  accident  with  that  hone  of  yours,  you'll  have  nobody 
to  blame  but  younelf." 

This  oheenration  told  upon  Tom,  who  was  desperately  afraid  of  break- 
ing his  neck,  and  had  all  the  horrors  of  horsemanship  fresh  in  his 
mind. 

**  ril  consider  of  it,  and  let  you  know  in  a  day  or  two,"  said  he  ; 
adding,  '<  I  don't  think  it's  unlikely  that  I  may — but,  however,  we'll 
see." 

"  Well,  p'r'i^  you'll  let  me  know  by  Saturday,  at  all  events  ?"  re- 
j<nned  Woodcock ;  '^  for  Mr.  Gazebrooke  is  afler  him,  and  is  to  call  on 
Monday." 

<<  I  will,"  said  Tom,  thinking  whether  he  should  clench  the  matter 
at  once. 

Just  then.  Bowman  stole  up,  and  the  skiKul  chemist  immediately 
tamed  the  conversation  upon  some  bullocks  in  the  adjoining  pasture  ; 
and  so  the  trio  proceeded  on  their  ways  homeward,  Woodcock  never  as 
much  as  hinting  that  Tom  and  he  had  been  trying  to  have  a  deal. 

ChaptkbXXY. 

CoiiOVSL  Blunt,  though  he  liked  the  looks  of  the  diamond  pin,  and 
valued  it  at  fifty  pounds,  was  not  so  elated  at  Angelena's  success  with  Lord 
Heartycheer  as  her  mamma ;  indeed,  he  regaled  the  acquaintance  as 
rather  unpropitious.  His  lordship's  reputation  for  gallantry  was  too 
notorious,  and  hb  adventures  too  numerous,  to  admit  of  a  reasonable  sup- 
position that  such  a  long  career  of  unbridled  libertinism  would  terminate 
in  a  match  with  his  enterprising  daughter ;  while  he  foresaw  that  any  in- 
terruption of  the  Hall  courtship  might  be  prejudicial  to  the  fate  of  the 
huntked-pound  cheque,  which  the  colonel  meant  to  cash  at  the  first 
opportunity.  He  therefore  listened  with  anything  but  complacency — at 
all  events,  with  anything  but  expressions  of  approbation — to  Mrs.  Blunt's 
recapitulation  of  Angelena's  feats  and  triumphs ;  how  she  had  beat  the 
field ;  how  she  had  flighted  Lord  Heartycheer  with  her  riding,  who  had 
set  her  as  &r  as  the  Blacksmith's,  at  the  cross-roads  at  Liphook,  and 
charged  her  with  his  best  compliments  to  them,  and  expressed  an  ardent 
hope  that  they  would  soon  pay  him  a  visit  at  the  castle. 

''Well,"  growled  the  colonel,  when  he  heard  all  that — ''well,  his 
lordship's  very  good — ^very  complimentary ;  very  good  house  to  stay  at, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing ;  but  I  shouldn't  like  to  have  Hall  ill  used.  Good 
young  man.  Hall — ^no  near  relation  of  Solomon'0,  perhaps,  but  still  a  good 
young  man,  with  good  prospects ;  not  bad  connexions  either.  I 
wouloui't  have  her  throw  Tom  over  for  the  chance  of  a  coronet.  Coronets 
are  queer  things  to  catch,  very  queer  things.  Heartycheer^s  a  queer 
feller,  very  queer  feller.  No,  I  wouldn't  have  Tom  thrown  over  on  any 
account." 

"  Oh,  but  there's  no  occasion  for  anything  of  the  sort,"  roplied  the 
diplomatic  Mrs.  Blunt ;  "  only  you  know  thero's  nothing  settled— defi- 
nitely settled,  at  least — with  old  Mr.  HaU,  and  showing  a  desirable  rival 
might  have  the  effsct  of  quickening  their  movements." 

"  True,"  responded  the  colonel — "  true,  there  is  that  to  be  sud — ^there 
is  that  to  be  said ;  and,  so  far  as  that  goes,  his  lordship  may,  perhaps,  be 
May — ^voL.  xcT.  ho.  cccLXxvn.  i 


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]  12  Young  Tim  Halls  Heart-aehss  and  Hartu. 

profitably  used ;  bat  after  all  if  said  and  doney  I  shonld  nj  Tom  was  the 

best,  the  likeliest  chance  of  the  two." 

''  No  hann  in  having  two  strings  to  her  bow/'  replied  Mire.  Blnnt,  who 
was  80  used  to  sending  young  gentlemen  to  the  right  abont  as  to  have  lost 
all  feeling  and  delicacy  on  the  point — if,  indeed,  she  ever  had  any. 

<*  No^"  replied  the  colonel,  thoughtfiilly,  ^'  pohaps  not  Chily  mind 
the  old  sarin'  about  two  stools,  you  know.*' 

'<  Oh,  there's  no  fear  of  her  letting  Tom  slip,**  obserred  Mrs.  Blunt, 
who  had  a  high  opinion  of  her  daughter's  dexterity  in  loTe  afiairs. 

<'  Well,  but  I  wouldn't  be  too  sure,"  obeenred  the  eolonel ;  <'  these 
young  fellows  are  slippery.  I  question  Hall  be  over  and  above  pleased 
at  Angey  ridin'  away,  and  leavin'  him  when  he  lelL" 

''  Perhaps  not,"  replied  mamma,  who  thought  her  daughter  had  been 
rather  indiscreet  in  so  doing. 

^<  I  think  I'd  best  go  down  in  the  momin',  if  he  doesn't  come  op 
here,  and  inquire  how  he  is,"  observed  the  colonel,  after  a  pause. 

''  It  might  be  well,"  rejoined  his  wife,  who  lived  in  perpetual  dread  of 
the  incursions  of  her  own  sex,  well  knowing  that  such  an  unwonted 
prize  as  Tom  Hall  would  be  fought  for  even  up  to  the  very  church-door. 
And  so,  having  settled  matters,  the  colonel  waddled  off  on  his  heels  to 
the  mess,  lea^ang  Angelena  to  entertain  her  mamma  over  their  tea  with 
the  further  detail  of  her  hunting  adventures,  hopes,  and  aspirations. 

Chaptee  XXVI. 

WoEDS  cannot  describe  how  Tom  Hall  ached  after  his  hunt :  he  felt 
as  if  every  part  of  his  person  had  been  pommelled.  He  could  hardlj 
bear  to  turn  over  in  bed.  Hunting,  he  thought,  was  yetj  severe  exei^ 
cise,  and  what  no  man  ought  to  take  too  much  o£  uideed,^he  was 
not  sure  that  he  would  be  wanting  much  more  of  it — very  homcsopathie 
doses,  at  all  events.  The  consequence  of  all  this  was,  that  he  had  his 
breakfast  in  bed,  where  he  lay  ruminating  over  the  previous  day's  pro- 
ceedings ;  recalling  the  impetuosity  of  his  horse,  the  unfeeling  desertion 
of  Angelen%  and  Mr.  Woodcock's  polite  offer.  Ansnelena,  it  is  true^ 
oocup^  the  most  of  his  thoughts.  He  thought  she  should  have  turned 
back,  and  seen  that  he  had  not  broken  his  back,  or  an^  of  the  other 
compartments  of  his  person  ;  and  he  could  hardly  reconcile  her  conduct 
to  his  ideas  of  lover-like  etiquette  and  deportment.  To  be  sore,  in  his 
shilling's  worth  of  the  '<  ChaM,"  in  Murray's  '<  Beading  for  the  Rul,'' 
he  read  how,  when  Dick  Christian  went  under  water,  in  the  Whissendine^ 
and  one  man  exclaimed,  '*  He'll  be  drowned  1"  another  replied,  '^  Shouldn't 
wonder  I  but  the  pace  was  too  good  to  inquire."  But  Tom  didn't  think 
there  was  any  occasion  for  Angelena  to  emulate  the  indiffiarence  of  these 
Leicestershire  worthies.  Then  she  was  riding  his  maxe  too,  and  ought 
to  have  stuck  to  him,  instead  of  to  Lord  Hear^cheer ;  and  considenii|^ 
how  fractious  the  mare  had  been  at  starting,  Tom  would  not  have  been 
sorzy  to  hear  ihat  Angelena  had  ridden  her  to  death.  Just  as  he  was  in 
the  midst  of  a  speculation  as  to  whether  the  colonel  wonld  be  as  good 
as  his  word  in  not  presenting  the  cheque,  and  wondering  whether 
Trueboy  wonld  cash  it  without  referring  to  ium,  the  whole  house  shook 
with  the  most  riotous  knocking  at  Uiestreet<4ooi^--the  ezaot  duplicate  o£ 


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Young  Tom  HalCs  Heart-aches  and  Horses.  113 

the  damour  that  announced  Colonel  and  Mrs.  Blunt's  arrival,  to  ask  '<  Hall 
and  Co."  to  the  ear-ache  and  stomach-ache.  It  was,  indeed,  the  colonel, 
in  imdress  uniform,  mounted  on  one  of  his  elephantine  chargers,  attended 
hy  a  soldier  on  foot,  in  a  shell-jacket — ^the  same  man  vho,  on  the 
former  occasion,  had  enacted  the  part  of  a  gold-laced-hatted  footman  be* 
Und  the  mail  phaeton.  The  sound  startled  every  one— from  Truebojr, 
who  was  weigmng  sovereigns  in  the  bank,  to  Sarah  the  maid,  who  was 
making  her  bed  in  the  garret 

^  Now  take  this  horse  home,"  roared  the  colonel,  at  the  top  of  his 
voice,  as  the  pomidmg  ceased;  "  and  tell  Major-Fibs  to  ride  old  Cherry 
as  far  as  the  Flazholme  turnpike-gate  and  back,  and  try  if  he  can  foil  in 
with  Peter  Seive,  about  the  oats — ^those  nasty  musty  things  he  sent — 
tell  him  I  wouldn't  have  them  at  no  price — ^no,  not  even  in  a  gift ;  and 
now  knock  again,"  continued  he,  still  speaking  as  loud  as  he  could, 
adding,  ^  the  people  must  be  asleep,  or  dead,  or  drunk,  or  somethinV'  as 
be  stared  from  his  horse  up  to  the  windows,  from  whence  sundry  ci^- 
sliings  whisked  in  sudden  perturbation.  The  solcUer  made  a  second 
assault,  if  possible  more  furious  than  the  first,  which  drew  all  the  street 
to  the  windows,  and  caused  Sarah  to  rush  down  stairs  in  a  state  of  agita- 
tion bordering  on  frenzy.  Seizing  the  door-handle,  she  shot  back  the 
sneck  and  threw  wide  the  portal,  as  if  she  expected  to  see  Louis  Na«- 
poleon  at  least  outside. 

*^  WeU,  Jane,  and  how  are  you  ?"  asked  the  colonel,  from  his  horse, 
staring  full  in  her  foce ;  for  she  was  rather  good-looking,  and  the  hurry 
and  excitement  had  imparted  a  bloom  to  her  cheeks. 

^'  Nicely,  thank  ye,  sir,"  relied  Sarah,  dropping  a  curtsey. 

^  Are  your  old  people— -I  mean  to  say,  your  young  gentleman — ^Mister 
— Mister  Peter— no,  not  Peter — Josepb~-no,  not  Joseph——'* 

*'  Sivin  and  four's  elivin,  and  five  is  sixteen — that's  a  reg'lar  piece  of 
impittanoe,"  growled  old  Hall,  from  the  inner  recess  of  his  bank,  where 
he  sat  on  a  high  stool  at  a  desk,  with  his  London  correspondents'  (Bul- 
k)ck  and  Hnlker's)  letter  of  that  morning  before  him,  containing,  on  a 
small  slip  of  paper,  the  following  memorandum:  *'  Our  Mr.  Ferret  can- 
not make  out  that  there  is  any  stock  standing  in  the  name  you  mention ;" 
being  their  answer  to  our  banker's  request  that  they  would  ascertain 
what  money  the  colonel  had  in  the  funds.  ^'  Sivin  and  four's  elivin,  and 
five  is  nxteen — ^that's  a  rec;^r  piece  of  impittance,"  growled  Hall,  as  the 
well-'known  voice  sounded  through  the  low  bank,  and  right  into  the 
dingy  hole  he  called  his  parlour.  ^^  O/tfjpeople,  indeed  1"  muttered  he; 
^  and  then  cailin'  '  Tummus,  Joseph  I'—  knows  his  name's  Tummus  just 
aswellasldo." 

While  <'  sivin  and  foui^'  was  accompanying  the  colonel's  inquiry  with 
ihe  foregoing  commentary,  Sarah  had  helped  our  gallant  friend  to  her 
young  masters  Christian  name,  and  also  informed  hnn  that  Mr.  Thomas 
was  in  bed,  which  produced  an  exchimation  from  the  fother-in-law,  that 
be  hoped  his  young  friend  was  not  hurt;  and  without  more  ado  the 
colonel  proceeded  to  unpack  himeelf  from  his  miniature  dray-horse,  and 
kaodinff  him  to  the  soldier,  without  anotiier  word  of  inquiry  of  Sarah, 
pn)ce«&d  to  waddle  into  the  house,  where  we  will  allow  him  till  next 
month  to  get  toiled  up-stairs. 

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(     114    ) 


A  GLIMPSE  OF  THE  EXHIBITION  AT  THE  ROYAL  ACADEMY. 

Mat-DAT  has  come  at  last,  and  the  gates  of  '^the  season"  are 
opened,  with  all  the  attractions  that  lie  beyond  them.  We  cannot  in- 
vite all  the  world  to  be  our  guests  this  year,  as  they  were  in  1861,  for 
the  Crystal  Palace  is  what  Nature  and  Mau  alike  abhor — a  vacuum ; 
but  it  must  go  hard  with  us,  indeed,  when  such  a  city  as  London  cannot 
offer  fresh  objects  of  interest  to  entertain  and  instruct  the  countless 
myriads  that  swarm  within  Iier  walls,  and  the  hosts  of  strangers  who 
become  our  welcome  visitors. 

Before  the  era  of  ^'  the  world's  fair,'*  a  defluite  meaning  was  attached 
to  '^  The  Exhibition  ;"  every  one  understood  by  those  words,  the  result 
of  that  genius  and  industry  which  is  concentrated  in  the  annual  display 
of  the  Royal  Academy  ;  but  the  Hyde  Park  leviathan  was  fatal  to 
evervthing  that  called  itself  a  show,  in  name  as  well  as  in  &ct,  and  our 
old  mend  in  Tra£Edgar-square — older  still  at  Somerset  House — was  ab- 
sorbed like  the  rest.  '*  The  whirligig  of  Time,''  however,  **  brings  about 
its  revenges,"  and  ^^  The  Exhibition  again  shines  forth  for  what  it  used 
•to  be,  with  no  fear  that  the  feet  of  its  pilgrim  worshippers  will  be  turned 
towards  other  shrines. 

That  such  was  the  case  last  year,  arose  from  no  want  of  attractiveness « 
in  the  works  exhibited,  as  it  may  be  remembered  we  ourselves  bore  wit- 
ness to,  but  was  solely  attributable  to  the  great  novelty  which  cast  every- 
thing else  into  the  shade ;  indeed,  it  may  fairly  be  questioned  whether 
<<  The  Exhibition"  of  1851  did  not,  on  the  whole,  surpass  all  that  had 
gone  before  it,  so  high  in  character  and  so  various  were  the  productions 
of  the  exhibitors.  That  it  will  still  maintain  that  superiority  we  are  not 
prepared  to  say,  but  the  partial  opportunities  which  we  have  had  of  notic- 
ing what  is  in  store  for  the  public,  afford  us  sufficient  grounds  for  thinking 
that — in  spite  of  certain  drawbacks  occasioned  by  the  absence  of  some  of 
the  most  honoured  names — the  Exhibition  of  1852  will  worthily  hold  its 
place  beside  its  immediate  predecessor. 

We  shall  enumerate  some  of  the  pictures  which  justify  this  anticipa- 
tion, observing,  at  the  same  time,  that  there  are  others,  unseen  by  us,  of 
which  the  general  report  is  no  less  &vourable. 

A  master  of  his  art  in  whatever  direction  his  genius  impels  him, 
Maclise,  has  been  engaged  upon  a  subject  which  gives  full  scope  to  the 
exercise  of  that  creative  fieunilty  which  has  rendered  him  the  most  original 
as  he  is,  in  all  respects,  tne  foremost  of  modem  painters.  He  has 
selected  for  illustration  one  of  those  incidents  in  the  life  of  our  great 
Saxon  king,  which,  whether  truly  related  or  not,  are  so  highly  character- 
istic of  the  deliverer  of  his  country  from  foreign  bondage.  It  is  popu- 
larly believed,  though  the  story  is  held  by  some  to  be  apociyphal,  tnat 
when  the  west  of  England  was  occupied  by  the  Danes,  under  their 
leader  Gurthrun  (or  Gurmund),  King  Alfred — in  the  disguise  of  a  glee- 
man  or  minstrel— penetrated  into  the  Danish  camp,  observed  the  unrea- 
diness of  the  foe,  and,  acting  on  that  observation,  inmiediately  afterwards 
attacked  and  overthrew  them  with  signal  slaughter.  Of  tnis  anecdote 
we  may  say  with  the  Italians,  ^'  Se  non  ^  vero  ^  ben  travato;"  and 
Maclise  has  done  right  in  investing  it  with  tiie  dignity  of  historical  trutfa| 


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A  Glimpse  of  the  Eahibitian  at  the  Royal  Academy.       115 

for  it  is  the  tnie  province  of  Art  to  combine  the  probable  with  the  posi- 
tiTe.  Art  itself  is  neither  the  literal  transcript  of  events  witnessed  or 
recorded,  nor  is  it  the  expression  of  Fancy  only :  its  real  mission  is  to 
present  to  the  eyes  what  the  Reason  conceives,  what  the  Heart  feels,  and 
what  the  Imagination  beholds.  The  finest  subjects  that  have  ever  fur- 
nished materials  for  Art,  have  been  purely  traditional,  but  they  have  owed 
their  success  to  the  observance  of  the  three  conditions  which  we  have 
named.  It  would  seem,  however,  that  something  more  than  the  general 
tradition  has  guided  our  great  painter  in  the  treatment  of  his  picture,  for 
there  is  a  passage  in  Speed's  ^'  History  of  England"  narrating  the  par- 
ticular event  which  has  evidently  served  for  his  immediate  text.  The  old 
chronicler's  account  of  Alfred's  exploit  is  this  : 

**  But  this  prince,  the  very  mirrour  of  princes,  more  minding  the  wealth 
of  his  subjects  than  the  majestie  of  the  State,  disguised  himself  in  the 
habit  of  a  common  minstrell,  and  in  person  repaired  to  the  Danes'  campe, 
who  lay  like  Senacheribs  waUounng  in  wanfonnesse,  and  secure  in  their 
own  conceit  from  impeach  of  danger ;  which  Elfred,  a  most  skilful 
Musitian  and  an  excellent  Poet,  did  not  a  little  Bg^  on  by  his  sweete 
musicke  and  songs  of  their  valour,  so  that  he  was  suffered  to  pass  un- 
oontroUed  into  the  company  of  their  princes,  at  banquets  or  elsewhere  ; 
whereby  he  both  saw  their  negligent  securities  and  by  diligent  observance 
^learned  the  designes  that  in  their  counsels  they  entended.'* 

It  is  the  season  of  early  summer,  and  in  the  midst  of  a  woodland 
glade,  teeming  with  all  the  luxuriance  of  uncultivated  Nature,  the 
Danish  invader  has  pitched  his  camp.  The  spot  has  been  chosen,  not  for 
its  means  of  warlike  defence,  but  for  the  aids  to  enjoyment  which  the 
beauty  of  the  scenery  affords.  The  royal  tent  is  embowered  beneath  a 
profusion  of  budding  hawthorn  and  young  oak-leaves,  on  a  carpet  formed 
of  the  softest  turf  enamelled  by  the  brightest  flowers,  whose  rainbow 
hues  harmoniously  blend  with  the  tender  green  of  the  grasses  and  newly- 

'ag^ng  fern.  Carelessly  scattered  on  the  sward,  and  crushing  the 
tit  stems  beneath  the  weight  of  their  huge  limbs,  lie  groups  of  revel- 
with  chains  and  torques  of  gold  around  their  necks,  and  glittering 
armour  on  their  breasts,  some  sta^g  their  plunder  on  the  dice,  others 
burying  their  flushed  features  in  the  brimming  flagon,  and  all  displaying 
the  fullest  licence  of  debauchery  and  vice.  Under  the  royal  canopy, 
beside  which  hangs  the  magic  standard,  bearing  the  Raven,  which  was 
woren  in  one  afitemoon  by  uie  three  daughters  of  Regnar  Lodbrok,  sits 
Gurthrun,  the  Danish  king,  a  northern  Sardanapalus,  surrounded  by  all 
the  beauty  that  has  followed  his  camp,  and  given  to  it  the  character  of  an 
eastern  hareem — surrounded  also  by  the  boon  companions  who,  lost  in 
seoBuality  and  wantonness,  are  now  no  longer  to  be  feared  as  warriors. 
The  revel  is  at  its  height,  no  thought  is  there  of  the  despised  and  van- 
qniahed  Saxon ;  and  yet,  ministering  to  their  mirth  and  &l8e  security,  is 
one  amongst  them  whose  vigilant  eye  notes  every  act,  takes  heed  of  every 
drcmnstance  by  which  he  may  profit  hereafter.  With  harp  in  hand,  and 
leallop-shell  on  shoulder — the  tokens  of  the  palmer-minstreVs  calling — 
and  dressed  in  a  robe  whose  simplicity  strikingly  contrasts  with  the  gaudy 
colouzB  of  the  luxurious  Danes,  Alfred  appears  the  impersonation  of  Virtue 
transformed  into  an  aveng^g  Fate.  That  serene  but  watchful  glance, 
and  thoae  serious  thought  features,  which  recal  the  divine  lineaments* 


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116     A  Glimpse  of  the  Exhibition  at  the  Royal  Academy, 

of  the  Saviour — no  fanciftil  adaptation,  but  a  resemblance  which  is  alleged 
to  have  been  real — are  well  calculated  to  convey  the  impression  of 
Alfred's  character,  which  has  been  endeared  to  Englishmen  by  eveiy 
known  act  of  his  hfe.  Earnest  in  his  purpose  to  deliver  the  land  £rom 
its  oppressor,  and  calm  in  the  courage  which  has  led  him  unfearing  into 
the  midst  of  his  country's  enemies,  he  carefully  scans  their  weakness,  and 
prepares  their  doom — a  doom  still  further  typified  in  the  drooping  banner 
which,  so  ran  the  tradition,  would  appear  like  a  live  raven,  flying,  if  vic- 
tory awaited  the  army,  but  if  defeat  impended,  would  hang  listlessly  in 
sluggish  folds.  Notlung  can  be  more  admirably  developed  than  the  moral 
of  we  scene ;  even  the  exquisite  care  with  which  the  details  of  the  pic- 
ture are  elaborated,  becomes,  as  it  ought  to  be,  of  secondary  importance ; 
though,  apart  from  the  subject^  these  detuls  have  merit  enough  in  them  to 
confer  a  reputation  of  themselves  :  more  conscientious  and  yet  less  osten- 
tatious work  we  have  never  seen.  Let  us  add,  too,  that  the  colouring' — 
by  many  deemed  the  blemish  in  Maclise's  works — ^b  liarmonious  and  tme^ 
and  free  alike  from  glare  or  sickly  gloom ;  as  to  the  drawing,  it  is 
perfect. 

From  the  days  of  Alfred  to  the  bloody  period  of  the  first  French  revO" 
lution,  the  distance  in  time  is  immense,  and  the  genius  that  distinguisbeB 
the  producdons  of  Ward  from  those  of  Madise,  is  marked  by  as  broad  a 
line  of  separation.  But  it  is  the  manner  only  of  their  respective  styles  of 
art  that  constitutes  the  real  difference  between  their  merits ;  for  if  to 
Maclise  be  granted  the  grander  attributes  of  original  conception,  and  that 
fearlessness  of  hand  which  shrinks  from  no  difficulty,  to  Ward  must  be 
allowed  that  mastery  over  expression  and  skill  in  the  combination  of  his 
subject  which  leave  nothing  untold.  His  picture  of  this  year,  though 
from  moral  causes  less  heartrending  than  the  royal  desolation  which  was 
his  theme  in  the  Exhibition  of  1851,  is  deeply  interesting — deeply  affect- 
ing.  It  is  the  sad  story  of  Charlotte  Conlay,  of  whose  crime  her  latest 
and  most  eloquent  histonan  has  said:  "  En  presence  du  meurtre,  lliistoire 
n'ose  glorifier ;  en  presence  de  Therotsme,  ifhistoire  n'ose  fldtrir.'' 

The  painter  has  chosen  the  moment  when,  having  been  arrayed  in  the 
robe  des  condamnes^  with  her  fine  hair  cropped  short,  a  la  victimej  and 
her  hands  tied  behind  her  back,  the  unfortunate  girl  is  passing  through 
the  open  court  of  the  prison  of  the  Conciergerie  on  her  way  to  execution. 
A  few  moments  before,  and  she  had  been  sitting  for  her  portrait  to 
M.  Hauer,  an  artist,  and  an  officer  of  the  National  Guard  of  the  section  of 
the  TTieatre  Frangaisy  and  while  thus  engaged,  a  gentle  knock  was  heard 
at  her  prison-door,  announcing  the  arrival  of  the  executioner  to  cut  off 
her  hair,  and  put  on  her  the  chemise  rouge.  On  receiving  this  intimar 
tion,  she  rose,  and  having  first,  with  her  own  hands,  cut  off  a  lock  of  her 
hair,  which  she  gave  to  M.  Hauer  in  return  for  his  unfinished  portrait,  die 
submitted  herself  to  the  executioner,  observing:  '<Voil^  la  toilette  de 
mort,  faite  par  des  muns  un  pen  rudes ;  mais  elle  conduit  k  Fimmortalit^  I" 
She  then  picked  up  her  tresses,  which  had  fidlen  on  the  floor,  gand  at 
them  earnestly  for  the  last  time,  and  gave  them  to  Madame  Bidiard,  the 
wife  of  the  gaoler ;  her  hands  were  then  tied,  and  she  was  led  ^rtiu 
While  these  preparations  were  making,  a  storm  of  Hriitnine  and  htavy 
rain  broke  over  Paris ;  but  ihe  furious  crowd  still  waited  outside  the  prison, 
eagerly  expedang  the  arrival  of  the  sUyer  of  ibeir  hero^  Mant^    As 


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A  OUmpse  of  the  EmhibUion  at  the  Royal  Academy.      117 

Charlotte  inned  firom  her  oell  the  stonn  passed  away,  and,  says  Lamar- 
tine,  who  describes  the  scene :  ^  Le  soleil  couchant  ^hundt  son  front  de 
nyons  semblaUes  k  une  aureole.  Les  couleurs  de  ses  jones,  relev^es  par 
les  reflets  de  la  chemise  rouge,  donnaient  k  son  visage  une  splendeur  dont 
les  yeux  6taient  6blouis.  On  ne  savait  si  c'^tait  Tapoth^ose  ou  le  supplice 
de  la  beaut6  que  soiyait  ce  tnmultneux  cortege."  But  before  the  Tictim  of 
man's  sanguinary  justice  reached  the  eharrette  which  was  to  convey  her  to 
the  guiUotiney  a  severe  ordeal  awaited  her.  Robespierre,  Danton,  and 
Camille  Deemoulins  had  placed  themselves  on  her  pathway,  to  scrutinise 
her  features,  seeking  to  discover,  if  it  were  possible,  what  was  the  expres* 
nan  of  that  fimaticism  which  prompted  to  assassination — ^a  fiEite  which 
might  be  thdrn  at  any  moment,  and  the  presentiment  of  which  was  ever 
before  them*  But  no  trace  of  emotion  was  visible  on  her  countenance,  no 
gesture  escaped  her  that  could  serve- to  indicate  her  feelings,  and  the 
baffled  triumvirate  could  only  estimate  her  thoughts  by  the  last  words 
which  she  had  uttered  in  the  prison,  when  offered  the  consolations  of 
religion.  "  Thank  those,"  she  said  to  the  priest,  *'  who  were  so  attentive 
as  to  send  you,  but  I  have  no  need  of  your  ministry ;  the  blood  which  I 
have  spilt,  and  my  blood  which  I  am  about  to  shed,  are  the  only  sacri- 
fices I  can  offer  to  the  Eternal" 

What  B^bespierre  and  his  associates  beheld.  Ward's  powerfal  pencil 
has  transferred  to  the  canvas.  Charlotte  Corday  passes  before  us  in  the 
costume  of  which  we  have  spoken — her  large,  deep  eyes  are  fixed  on 
space,  regardless  of  all  around  her,  a  £gtint  colour  is  on  her  cheek,  and  the 
expression  of  her  features  is  perfectly  serene ;  the  self-sustained  air  with 
wluch  she  paces  onward  to  her  death  speaks  only  of  willing  martyrdom. 
The  Three  next  fix  our  attention  :  Danton,  with  his  butcher-like  face,  is 
sitting  on  a  low  parapet^  and  having  g^ed  his  fill,  has  turned  away  his 
head  with  his  usual  truculent  air ;  Camille  Desmoulins  stands  thought- 
foUy  behind  his  rufifian  colleague,  meditating  on  what  he  has  seen ;  and 
Bobeepierre,  who  occcqpies  the  centre  of  uie  picture,  eyes  Charlotte 
with  the  malignant  curiosity  of  a  cat  watching  the  prey  that  cannot 
escape.  The  contrasted  appearance  of  these  three  men  is  very  striking. 
Danton  is  dressed  like  agrarier,  but  the  neutral  colours  of  his  garments 
are  strongly  relieved  by  a  rich  gold-and-crimson  sash,  and  a  flaming  cap 
of  libertT,  the  appropriate  adjunct  to  his  coarse,  inflamed  features; 
Desmoulins^  more  soberiy  attued,  wears  in  his  broad-leafed  hat,  as  was 
his  custom,  an  oak  lea^  the  badge  of  civism ;  and  Robespierre  is  fully 
arrared  in  all  Hne  petU-maiire  costume  in  which  he  delighted.  He  wean 
a  bright  blue  coat  with  metal  buttons,  which  catch  a  red  gleam  from  the 
condemned  dress  of  Charlotte,  a  large  white  jabot,  grey  silk  stockings^ 
and  shoes  with  silver  buckles ;  hia  fi^ire  is  miserably  attenuated,  and  his 
meagre  hands  sharply  dutch  the  leash  in  which  he  holds  his  dogue  Brount ; 
his  hat  casts  a  deep  shadow  over  his  forehead,  but  there  is  a  broad  li^t 
on  the  rest  of  his  countenance,  revealing  a  terrible  expression,  and  this 


expression  is  heightened  by  the  rough  traces  which  the  scars  of  the  small- 
pox  have  left  on  his  sallow  fue.  Venr  characteristic  in  every  point  is  the 
portraiture  of  this  remarkable  man,  whose  form  was  so  firail,  but  to  whose 


head  the  great  breadth  between  dbe  eyes — ^indicative  of  the  dogged  perti- 
nacity  of  his  nature — imparted  a  strange  aipect  of  massiveness. 
The  next  most  remarkable  fig^ure  in  the  picture  is  that  of  a  leader  of 


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118       A  Glimpse  of  the  Exhibition  at  the  Royal  Academy. 

the  JPoissardes,  standing  in  the  foreground  on  the  right-hand  side,  with 
outstretched  hand  and  stem  countenance ;  the  dress  of  this  woman,  half 
military,  half  feminine,  with  pistols  in  her  girdle,  a  sabre  at  her  side,  a 
gold  chain  round  her  neck,  and  long  pendant  earrings,  adapts  itself  well 
to  the  fierceness  with  which  she  consigns  Charlotte  Corday  to  what  she 
believes  a  merited  fate.  Besides  the  more  prominent  personages  are  two 
soldiers,  admirably  costumed,  the  priest  who  would  have  officiated,  the 
gaoler's  wife,  and  one  or  two  attendants  ;  and  to  balance  this  group^ 
beyond  the  parapet- wall  on  the  opposite  side  are  seen  the  charrettCj  with 
the  executioner  inside,  and  the  frantic  women  who  clamoured  so  violently 
for  Charlotte's  death,  repelled  by  the  soldiery.  The  details  of  the  scene 
are  excellent ;  nothing  can  be  more  truthful  than  the  massive  walls  of 
the  Conctergertef  the  broken  pavement,  the  rusty  iron  gratings  ;  and  the 
effect  of  chiaroscuro  in  the  depth  of  the  vaulted  passage  leading  out  of 
the  prison,  no  less  than  the  harmony  which  blends  the  prevailing  colours 
in  the  picture,  complete  an  ensemble  which  will,  we  predict,  attract  many 
an  admiring  crowd  before  it. 

Although  not  venturing  on  such  lofty  ground,  it  is  very  satisfactoiy 
to  see  that  Mrs.  Ward  is  not  merely  an  admirer  of  her  husband's  genius, 
but  is  herself  an  artist  of  no  mean  pretensions.  She  has  executed  a  pic- 
ture of  still  life,  the  scene  of  which  is  in  a  market-place  at  Antwerp^ 
which,  for  fidelity  of  detail,  transparent  colouring,  and  skilful  grouping, 
claim  high  commendation.  It  is  a  g^up  composed  of  a  Flemish  mar- 
chande,  in  full  black  cloak  and  hood,  and  a  bonne,  with  a  child  in  her 
arms,  who  is  buying  poultry  and  fruit ;  the  bright  brass  panier^  the 
polished  pewter  flagon,  the  child's  straw  bourrelet,  the  large  tempting 
melon,  the  birds'  rich  plumage,  all  the  accessories,  in  fact,  are  as  well  ren- 
dered as  art  can  make  them. 

Variety,  as  well  as  excellence,  promises  to  disting^uish  this  year's  Exhi- 
bition. Frith  has  a  charming  subject,  very  difficult  in  its  treatment,  but 
the  difficulty  overcome  with  consummate  skill.  He  has  selected  for  the 
actors  in  his  weU-told  story,  the  beautiful  and  witty  Lady  Mary  Wortley 
Montague,  and  her  vindictive  lover,  Alexander  Pope.  The  poet's  motive 
for  the  hatred  he  bore  to  <*  the  charming  Montague"  had  long  been  sur- 
mised, but  it  was  not  till  the  publication  of  her  works  by  the  late  Lord 
Whamdiffe,  her  descendant,  that  it  was  fully  revealed.  Lady  Mary's 
own  statement  of  the  cause  of  his  bitter  enmity  was  this  :  '*  that  at 
some  ill-chosen  time,  when  she  least  expected  what  romances  call  a  de^ 
claration,  he  made  such  passionate  love  to  her  as,  in  spite  of  her  utmost 
endeavours  to  be  an^ry  and  look  grave,  provoked  an  immoderate  fit  of 
laughter ;  from  which  moment  he  became  her  implacable  enemy." 

There  is  no  room  for  doubting  this  result  when  we  look  at  Frith's  pic- 
ture, and  note  the  exuberant  mirth  of  Lady  Mary,  and  the  intense  mor- 
tification of  her  deformed  lover.  The  former  is  standing  erect,  her 
graceful  head  thrown  back,  and  laughter  irrepressible  breaking  from  the 
sweetest  mouth  that  ever  was  painted ;  while  the  latter,  with  livid  fea- 
tures and  hands  clenched,  sits  crouched  in  sombre  rage,  his  love  rejected 
and  his  vanity  outraged  by  ridicule.  As  Pope  bends  gloomily  forward, 
it  is  no  difficult  matter  to  trace  the  bitter  thought  that  shall  one  day  blast 
the  name  of  her  who  now  makes  him  her  sport  The  germ  of  that  cruel 
satire  has  taken  root,  and  it  will  not  be  long  before  the  noxious  weed 


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A  Glimpse  of  the  Exhibition  at  the  Royal  Academy,       119 

springs  to  the  light  of  day.  Bat  no  vision  of  such  a  future  clouds  for  a 
moment  the  mirthful  countenance  of  the  lovely  woman  who  has  been  the 
object  of  the  poet's  unlicensed  love.  She  abandons  herself  to  the  un- 
restrained enjoyment  of  the  comedy  that  fills  her' mind  at  the  idea  of 
such  a  declaration.  Her  beauty  is  something  exquisite ;  though  this  we 
might  have  anticipated  from  one  who  is  so  fine  a  colourist,  and  so  skilled 
in  the  development  of  beauty,  as  the  painter  of  this  picture ;  but,  informed 
of  the  subject  beforehand,  we  should  not  have  expected  that  even  his 
talent  could  have  represented  so  perfect  an  image  ot  laughter,  free  from 
the  slightest  grimace.  There  was  also  another  difficulty  to  be  avoided : 
the  temptation  to  florid  colouring,  which  would  not  have  been  misapplied 
to  the  actual  portraiture  of  Lady  Mary.  But  extreme  taste  has  kept 
down  all  that  might  have  been  reaundant  in  form  or  vivid  in  tone ;  and 
free  horn,  even  a  soupfon  of  vulgarity,  we  see  before  us  a  beautiful 
woman  of  fSuhion  yielding  to  the  most  natural  impulse  of  her  disposition, 
without  detriment  to  the  air  of  refinement  which  belongs  to  her  caste. 
Most  appropriately  introduced  are  all  the  details  of  this  attractive  picture. 
They  very  effectively  help  to  invest  the  subject  with  local  truth. 

But  this  b  not  Mr.  Frith's  only  picture :  he  has  three  others.  The 
most  interesting  is  a  domestic  scene,  suggested  in  the  seclusion  of  his  own 
family,  where  an  infant  boy  is  praying  on  his  mother^s  knee,  before  he  is 
placed  in  bed.  The  expression  of  maternal  love  on  the  one  hand,  and  of 
serious  simplicity  on  the  other,  are  very  beautifully  and  naturally  ren- 
dered ;  and  the  composition  is  altogether  rery  sweet.  Two  female  por- 
traits complete  Mr.  Frith's  contributions ;  bodi  are  pleasing ;  and  one  of 
them,  Mrs.  Ansdell,  the  wife  of  the  distinguished  artist,  justifies  the  claim 
which  the  original  prefers,  to  be  ranked  amongst  ^  beauty's  daughters.** 

We  regretted  last  year  that  Hart  had  sent  in  only  one  picture  ;  he  has 
been  more  fully  employed  for  this  Exhibition,  and  amongst  the  works 
which  have  occupied  him  is  one  of  greater  historical  interest  than  he  has 
latterly  addressed  himself  to.  The  subject  of  this  picture  is  *'  the  in- 
vention of  movable  types,"  the  grand  discovery  which  at  once  gave  its 
real  value  to  the  art  of  printing ;  and  though  it  inevitably  suggests  com- 
parison with  Madise's  great  work,  exhibited  in  1861,  yet,  on  examination, 
it  will  be  found  that  it  rests  entirely  upon  merits  of  its  own.  In  the 
Caxton  picture  we  saw  an  art,  which  had  been  perfected  elsewhere,  in- 
troduced to  the  knowledge  of  a  king  and  his  court,  ignorant  until  then 
of  the  process  which  excited  their  wonder  no  less  than  their  admiration ; 
in  that  which  Hart  has  painted,  we  have  the  art  itself,  emancipated  from 
its  rudimentary  form,  and  demonstrating  its  future  capabilities  before  the 
eyes  of  the  men  of  science,  whose  anxious  toil  and  earnest  thought  have 
long  been  given  to  the  subject.  The  original  associates  are  here — 
Fust,  Gutenberg,  and  Schosffer,  to  whom  the  introduction  of  printing 
is  due.  The  two  former,  partners  in  the  great  scheme,  are  attentively 
listening  to  the  explanations  by  which  the  young  apprentice,  Schosffer, 
accompanies  his  description  of  the  punch  and  matrix,  those  implements 
winch  are  to  utilise  all  the  preceding  inventions.  But  to  invest  the  subject 
with  a  feeling  that  shall  come  home  to  every  bosom,  Mr.  Hart  has  taken 
advantage  of  the  story  told  by  Marchand,  in  his  ^'Histoire  de  I'lmpri- 
merie"  (and  repeated  by  Dibdin  and  others),  tbat^  in  order  to  secure  the 


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120      A  OUmpse  of  the  EahAition  at  the  Royal  Academy. 

oo-operation  of  SchcBffer,  Fnst  offered  him  his  daughter,  Chriatana,  in 
marriage.  It  is  a  variation  of  the  theme  of  the  courtship  of  Quentin 
Matsys — the  reward  without  the  previous  conditions.  And  as  the  reward 
of  his  labours,  the  highest  he  can  receive,  young  Peter  Sohosffer  evidently 
considers  the  hand  ot  the  fair  damsel,  who,  standing  apart  from  the  con- 
sultation, looks  on  with  an  anxiety  not  inferior  to  that  which  is  shown  by 
the  inventive  lover. 

The  attitude  of  Schoeffer,  and  the  ezpresrion  of  his  countenance,  are 
very  good.  They  indicate  both  the  timidity  with  which  he  advances  his 
pretensions  and  the  conviction  of  the  importance  of  his  discovery.  Nor 
are  the  features  of  Fust  and  Gutenberg  less  expressive  of  the  interest  they 
take  in  the  whole  proceeding :  the  rich  goldsmith  wears  the  air  of 
calm  satisfaction  which  belougs  to  the  man  who  is  confident  in  a  success- 
ful venture ;  while  the  practical  printer,  who  holds  in  his  hand  the 
alphabetic  ''proof,"  examines  with  careful  eye  the  two  instruments  that 
have  wrought  the  novel  result.  To  connect  the  lovers  more  closely,  and 
guide  the  spectator  to,  their  story,  the  painter  has  skilfully  introduced  a 
label,  which  hangs  over  the  side  of  the  table  at  which  Fust  and  Guten- 
herg  are  seated,  bearing  on  it  the  names  of  Peter  and  Christina-^the 
earliest '« proo^"  no  doubt,  that  Sohosffer  has  '«  pulled."  The  details  of 
this  picture  are  numerous  and  appropriate,  and  exhibit  all  the  applianoea 
of  the  old  ^  Druckhaus,"  called  "  Zum  Heimbrecht,"  as  it  stood  in  the 
Cordwainers'  Street  of  Mayence  about  the  year  1460,  not  without  an 
admixture  of  the  alemhics  and  retorts  of  alchemical  science,  which,  with 
all  its  vain  purposes,  added  something  after  all  to  the  cause  of  real 
knowledge.  Of  the  colouring  of  the  composition  we  have  no  need  to 
speak ;  mr  Mr.  Hart  is  pasee  mattre  in  that  respect. 

But  History  has  not  alone  engaged  his  pencil:  he  has  given  us 
besides  a  novelty  in  the  shape  of  landiscape — a  scene  of  Hop-picking 
in  Kent,  vety  truthfully  painted ;  an  excellent  portrait  of  Alderman  Sa- 
lomons; the  idealised  head  of  some  very  pretty  girl;  and  two  sub- 
jects, pendants  to  each  other — ^a  jealous  student  of  Plato  and  Aristotle^ 
and  an  equally  jealous  disciple  of  the  school  of  Nicot  The  sallow 
cheek  and  hollow  eye  of  the  candidate  for  honours  betoken  the  many 
vigils  he  has  kept  in  pursuit  of  his  high  object ;  while  the  careless  face  (n 
the  idler,  exhaling  the  fragrance  of  his  cigar,  is  equally  indicative  of  the 
pospective  ''  pluck,"  and  the  equanimity  with  which  that  misfortune  will 
be  encountered. 

fiefore  we  quit  ihe  domain  of  History,  we  must  speak  of  what  Charles 
Landseer  has  contributed  to  that  department  of  art.  His  principal 
picture,  «  The  Death  of  King  Edward  the  Third,"  is  veiy  simply,  bvt 
effectively,  treated.  The  circumstances  attendant  on  his  death-bed,  eo 
quaintly  narrated  in  Stow's  Chronicle,  axe  fiuniliar,  of  course,  to  most  of 
our  readers ;  how  ^'  sodden  with  the  disease  of  the  Annuli**  the  king  had 
^<  almost  soddainely  died-^trusting  the  f>nd  fikbles  of  the  ofUnamed  Alioe 
(Alice  Perren^  his  mistress),  when  she  a£Bnned  he  shookl  recover  his 
health,  so  that  at  the  last  he  talked  rather  of  hawking  and  hunting  than 
of  anything  that  pertained  to  the  saving  of  his  ioule  f  how  Afioe  **  as 
soon  as  she  sawe  the  king  bad  eet  Coote  within  death's  doore^  bethought 
her  of  flighty  yet  before  she  went,  tooke  the  ringes  from  his  fingers  ;**  and 


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A  GKmpse  of  the  Exhibition  at  the  Royal  Academy.      121 

how  <<  amongst  a  dboosand  (aitendaots)  there  was  only  present  at  that 
time  a  certaine  Priest,  to  minister  to  him  the  word  of  I^e." 

It  was  the  sad  close  of  a  glorious  reign  of  half  a  centaiy ;  hut  monarchs 
often  live  too  long,  and  Edward  had  heen  stricken  by  many  priyate 
griefii  and  imblic  diseontents.  The  solitude  and  neglect  to  which  the 
king's  last  hours  were  consigned  have  been  very  feelingly  rendered  in  the 
scene  whaA  Mr.  Landseer  has  painted.  Edward,  wasted  more  by  disease 
ihan  age,  is  stretdied  upon  lus  pallet,  and  only  two  persons  are  beside 
him — his  mistress  and  the  comnasrionato  priest  Alice,  decked  in  gor* 
geotis  robes,  and  splendid  in  evil  beau^,  is  eagerly  seizing  the  last  relic 
of  royalty,  with  no  pity  in  her  eyes  for  him  wl^  hiad  sacrificed  so  much 
for  her;  and  the  holy  father,  earnest  in  his  ministration,  stands  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  couch,  presenting  the  emblem  of  redemption,  and 
exhorting  the  king  **  to  ask  mercie  of  him  whose  Majestie  ne  had  so 
grievously  offended."  The  cares  of  the  world  are  past,  and  Edward 
Bstens  to  his  ghostly  monitor,  heedless  of  the  rapacious  wanton  who  is 
despoiling  him — a  termination  to  his  career  which  reconciles  the  beholder 
to  the  miseiy  of  the  scene,  which  aptly  recals  the  poet's  lines. 

The  world  without  all  gay  and  fair, 
But  death  and  desolation  there. 

Mr.  Landseer  has  two  other  subjects  for  the  Exhibition :  <<  Still  Life" — 
a  group  of  armour  and  weapons,  and  glistening  cups  and  chalices ;  and 
the  portrait  of  a  boy,  well  known  about  town  as  a  seller  of  bird's-meat^ 
and  well  remembered,  no  doubt,  by  the  readers  of  Mr.  Mayhew's  Letters 
on  **  Labour  and  the  Poor.'* 

We  must  give  Frank  Stone  the  intermediate  place  between  the  actual 
and  the  ideal,  with  enough  of  both  in  his  pictures  to  satisfy  alike  the 
seekers  of  the  truth  and  the  worshippers  of  imagination.  The  first 
we  have  to  notice  exhibits  a  curious  but  interesting  departure  from 
his  usual  style.  It  is  a  pass  in  the  Himalayah  Mountains,  with  the 
highest  pedks  of  that  lofty  range  shining  out  amid  the  clear  blue 
depths  of  an  Eastern  sky.  In  the  foreground  is  a  figure  wearing  a 
ridi  Oriental  costume,  but  whose  features  denote  him  to  be  a  traveller 
horn  Europe;  at  Ins  feet  are  a  number  of  slender  female  forms,  bend- 
ing before  him  with  tributes  of  the  flowers  of  the  luxuriant  region 
through  which  he  wanders ;  and  by  his  side  stand  one  or  two  military 
attendants  who  have  been  appointed  to  guard  his  person.  The  traveller 
is  Dr.  Hooker,  the  cdebrated  botanist ;  the  women  are  natives  of  the 
Sikkim  Himalayah,  who  made  him  these  flcnral  offerings ;  and  conspLcuoua 
amongst  the  flowers,  wbkh  gkm  with  every  hue,  are  the  varieties  of  the 
riiodoSendron  for  which  Dr.  Hooker  travelled  so  fiir.  In  this  producticm 
we  scarcely  know  which  to  admire  the  most — the  gnoe  of  the  composi- 
tion,  the  Mauty  of  the  scenery,  or  the  botanical  fidelity  which  has  made 
every  separate  flower  a  study;  the  Oriental  character  of  the  native 
vromen,  as  developed  in  thrir  lithe,  slight  figures,  and  the  accuracy  of 
every  part  of  costume,  are  points,  too,  which  must  not  be  overlooked. 

A  scene  from  '« Cymbeline"  carries  us  back  to  Mr.  Stone's  more  aeew- 
toned  art.  It  is  thai  in  which  Imogen  reads  the  letter  firom  her  bus* 
bnd,  enjoining  Piaanio  to  sla^  her  for  her  supposed  infidelity,  when  the 
'  of  her  reading  it  convmces  him  that  she  is  innocent 


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122        A  Glimpse  of  the  Kv/ubition  at  the  Royal  Academy. 

What  shall  I  need  to  draw  my  gword?  the  paper 
Has  cut  her  throat  already.     No  ;  'tis  slander, 
Whose  edge  is  sharper  than  the  sword. 

This  feeling,  as  well  as  the  manifest  innocence  of  Imogen,  are  beautifully 
expressed,  and  the  little  picture  that  thus  interprets  our  great  dramatist 
becomes  a  perfect  gem.  But  unless  Frank  Stone  had  something  that  he 
could  call  '<  his  own,^  his  place  in  the  Exhibition  would  be  missed  by  many. 
There  are  two  of  this  class,  however,  both  girls  just  ripening  into  woman- 
hood— one  a  country  beauty,  all  tenderness  and  simplicity ;  the  other — 
who,  but  for  the  place  we  see  her  in,  might  pass  for  her  twin  sister — as 
beautiful,  perhaps  as  tender,  but  certainly  not  so  simple.  The  first  is  in 
rustic  garb,  fresh  as  the  morning  breeze  that  blows  over  the  common 
across  which  lies  her  path  to  the  fountain ;  the  second  is  in  rich  array, 
breathing  the  perfumed  air  of  &shionable  life  in  a  box  at  the  Opera,  with 
the  soft  light  veiled  from  her  eyes,  while  the  cadenced  music  vibrates  in 
her  ears.  They  are  both  charming  creatures,  and  the  only  feeling  of 
regret  which  they  excite  is,  that  their  respective  lovers — ^for  they  must 
have  them — are  not  abo  en  evidence  to  tell  one  of  Frank  Stone*s 
pleasing  stories. 

The  consideration  of  female  beauty  brin&;s  us  naturally  to  Mr.  Grant's 
admirable  portraits.  He  sends  in  half  a  dozen  this  year,  four  of  them 
being  ladies.  These  are,  the  Countess  of  Kintore,  and  her  sister,  Miss 
Hawkins,  Lady  Londesborough,  and  Lady  Caroline  Stirling.  Since  the 
pencil  fell  from  the  hands  of  Lawrence,  no  one  has  succeeded  so  well  as 
Mr.  Grant  in  the  delineation  of  feminine  grace  and  sweetness,  with  the 
utmost  truthfulness  of  portraiture.  He  conveys  to  his  canvas  an  air  of 
refinement  and  intelligence,  a  captivation  of  manner,  and  an  intuitive, 
high-bred  expression,  which  we  look  vainly  for  elsewhere,  and  happy  may 
that  fair  lady  esteem  herself  who  visits  Mr.  Grant's  studio  as  a  sitter.  Nor 
less  fortunate  are  the  gentlemen,  as  the  portraits  of  Sir  William  Fraser,  of 
the  Life  Guards,  and  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer,  bear  witness. 
Familiar  with  the  features  of  Mr.  Disraeli,  we  do  not  believe  it  possible 
that  a  better  or  more  characteristic  likeness  than  that  which  Mr.  Crrant 
has  executed  could  be  painted.  It  is  close  enough  in  actual  resemblance 
to  satisfy  a  daguerrotypist,  and  sufficiently  idealised  to  convey  the  assur- 
ance of  the  genius  which  distinguishes  the  original. 

Apropos  of  portraits,  let  us  not  omit  to  notice  two  very  clever  ones 
by  Mr.  Desanges,  a  very  rising  artist,  the  finish  and  truth  of  whose  works 
Imve  much  pleased  us  for  the  last  two  or  three  years.  He  now  exhibits 
two — the  graceful  Duchess  of  Montrose,  and  the  young  and  beautiful 
Lady  Ossulton ;  they  are  both  charming  subjects,  and  lose  none  of  their 
charm  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Desanges. 

Aflter  female  beauty  comes — its  antithesis ;  we  suppose  we  must  not 
use  a  stronger  word,  even  when  Mr.  Millais  indulges  in  his  own  peculiar 
views  of  woman's  loveliness.  The  pre-Raffiielite  leader  seems  as  much 
bent  as  ever  on  eschewing  the  merits  of  those  whom  all,  sa?e  himself  and 
his  two  or  three  resolute  followers,  are  i^t  to  call  "  the  great  masters." 
But  with  this  determination  to  stand  alone,  no  less  in  practice  than  in 
precept,  Mr.  Millais  has  also  determined  that  whatever  he  attempts  shall 
claim  attention  by  its  wondrous  verisimilitude  with  the  objects  which  he 
wishes  to  represent     It  is  a  pity  that  one  who  can  so  fidthfully  tnmsfisr 


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A  OSmpse  of  the  Exhibition  at  the  Royal  Academy,      123 

to  canraa  the  beauty  of  inanimate  nature,  should  have  such  singular  ideas 
of  Nature's  chief  ornament.  Mr.  Millais  has  two  pictures  this  year, 
which  many  will  throng  to  see  for  various  special  reasons.  The  most 
important  is  '<  Ophelia  in  the  Brook."  The  stage  direction  for  poor 
Ophelia's  costume,  when  her  wits  have  left  her,  is — **  £EmtasticaIly  attired." 
Mr.  Millais  has  kept  this  direction  in  view ;  her  attire  is  fantastic  enough ! 
The  text  says: 

Her  clothes  spread  wide ; 
And,  mermaid-like,  awhile  they  bore  her  up. 

We  would  give  a  trifle  to  see  any  young  lady  of  our  acquaintance-— even 
Mademoiselle  Rosati — trying  to  float  in  me  gossamer  robes  of  Mr. 
Millais'  Ophelia.  As  to  the  rest  of  the  details,  they  are  painted  with 
marvellous  skill :  their  finish  is  quite  wonderful.  His  second  picture  is 
"  A  Catholic  Lady  tying  on  the  Scarf  of  her  Huguenot  Lover  :"  here  the 
colouring  and  expression  are  veiy  flue,  and  that  hardness,  which  we  have 
noted  as  a  defect  in  this  artist's  works,  is  altogether  absent.  The  subject 
altogether  well  treated. 

Leaving  the  '^  debateable  ground"  of  opinion,  where  the  swarthy  Man- 
tonnes  has  as  many  admirers  as  the  fair  Dorothea,  we  gladly  welcome 
Mr.  Solomons,  who  exhibits  two  pictures  this  year,  both  of  which  are 

ited.     The  slighter  of  the  two  is  the  pleasant  episode  of , 

tte,  in  the  '*  SentimentalJoumey ;"  and  the  face  of 


Torick  and  the  Grisette, 

the  pretty  shopkeeper  is  just  the  one  to  justify  Yorick's  choice  of  the 
person  he  wanted  to  perform  an  act  of  charity  and  good-nature.  A 
peculiarity  in  this  picture  is,  that  Yorick's  back  is  turned  to  the  spec- 
tator, so  that  his  features  would  be  entirely  lost,  were  it  not  for  a  looking- 
glass  behmd  the  Grisette,  which  perfectly  reflects  them. 

Mr.  Solomon's  second  picture  has  more  matter  in  it.  It  represents  the 
lovers'  quarrel  in  the  Tartufe,  where  Dorine^  the  waiting-maid,  baring 
witnessed  the  breeze  between  Mariane  and  Val^,  interferes  to  reconcile 
them.  Mr.  Solomon's  appreciation  of  female  beauty  b  something  rather 
different  from  that  of  Mr.  Millais.  Sweeter  £sces  than  those  of  Mariane 
and  Dorine  it  is  difficult  to  meet  with ;  and  we  scarcely  know  which  to 
prefer — the  mistress  or  the  maid.  The  arch  expression  on  the  features 
of  the  latter,  as  she  coaxes  the  half-angry,  half-relenting  Valere  to  turn 
round,  is  perfectly  rendered ;  and  whatever  she  may  think  of  her  own 
love  afiairs,  it  is  quite  dear  that  she  is  capable  of  saymg,  with  regard  to 
those  of  others, 

A  vous  dire  le  vrai,  les  amants  sont  bien  fous. 

All  the  accessories  to  this  amusing  scene  are  well  painted. 

This  humorous  gradation  luu  led  us  to  the  broad  region  of  Comedy, 
where  Webster  reigns  supreme.  His  g^at  illustration  this  year  is  a 
version  of  a  subject  which  he  has  already  treated — ''  The  Game  of  Foot- 
ball ;"  but  the  novelty  of  arrangement  Has  given  to  it  all  the  character 
of  originality  of  derign.  To  give  the  details  of  this  picture  would  occupy 
more  space  than  we  can  afford  \  and,  what  is  more  to  the  purpose,  wodd 
leave  the  reader  only  half  satisfied  :  for  his  fiill  enjoyment,  he  must  go 
to  the  Exhibition  on  Monday  next,  and  plant  himseff,  as  well  as  he  can, 
before  the  laughter-moring  subject.  Webster  has  sent  also  a  charming 
fittle  cottage  interior,  and  a  small  oonversation-pieoe,  together  with  a 


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124      A  Glimpse  of  the  Exhibition  at  the  Royal  Academy. 

I^roap  of  portnits — ^little  girls — the  jdaaghten  of  a  gwitlemnn  named 
Young,  a  reiy  delicate  piece  of  colour  and  sentiment. 

Our  leading  landscape-painters  supply  as  with  the  very  agreeaUe 
means  of  closing  this  necessarily  imperfect  notice  of  the  present  oontents 
of  the  Royal  Academy. 

Stanfidd — ^who,  we  hear,  has  gathered  precioas  materials  from  the 
north  of  Spain  for  future  Exhibitions — is  this  year  on  the  coasts  of  Franoe 
and  Italy.  His  largest  picture  is  a  view  of  the  town  and  harbour  of  La 
Rochelle ;  and  never  was  that  picturesque  seaport  so  delightfully  com- 
mended to  the  spectator.  The  breezy  fireshness  of  die  air,  the  crispneas 
of  the  dashing  water,  the  dancing  motion  of  the  trap-wave  as  it  climbs 
up  the  sides  of  the  piers  and  jetties,  all  combioe  to  convey  a  sense  of 
reality  second  only  to  that  caused  by  nature  itself.  But  Stanfield's  pic- 
tares  are  nature  presented  under  the  most  attractive  aspects ;  and  the 
longer  we  look  upon  them,  the  more  the  interest  which  they  excite  in- 
craases.  In  this  view  of  La  Rochelle  the  eye  rests,  at  first,  upon  the 
figure  of  a  sailor-boy,  whose  naked  feet  cling  firmly  to  the  floating  masts 
on  which  he  rides  securely  ;  a  group  of  fishermea  and  women  on  the 
long  strip  of  sandy  shore,  and  a  sentinel  pacing  beneath  the  outer  de- 
fences of  the  harbour,  attract  us  next ;  finom  these  we  glance  upwards  to 
a  shining  steeple,  and  then  the  vision  ranges  onward  past  the  towers  of 
La  Chalne  and  St.  Nicholas — the  first  round  and  massive,  the  last 
square  and  of  more  irregular  construction — till  it  penetrates  the  inner 
harbour,  at  the  extremity  of  which  rise  the  masts  of  numerous  vessels, 
the  lofty  tower  of  the  church  of  St.  Sauveor,  the  high  spire  of  the  Tour 
de  la  Lantemey  and  the  belfries  and  pinnacles  of  the  city  of  La  Rochelle. 
There  is  a  volume  of  matter  in  this  picture,  and  a  life-like  effect  is  spread 
over  every  part. 

A  scene  whose  characteristics  are  the  very  opposite  of  those  whksh  we 
have  just  described,  awaits  us  in  the  tranquil  glowing  landscape  which 
stretches  over  the  Lake  of  Avemo,  and  loses  itself  beneath  the  empurpled 
promontories  of  the  delicious  Bay  of  Bais.  In  the  foreground,  amidst 
fallen  columns  and  herbage  of  the  richest  luxuriance,  a  goatherd  watches 
his  browsing  flock,  and  a  peasant-girl  rests  from  the  heat  of  the  day ; 
beyond  them  is  the  still  lake,  fringed  to  the  water's  edge  with  noble 
foliage,  and  fiir  away  lies  the  lovely  bay,  and  its  enchanting  coast,  as  ex- 
quisite a  spot  as  any  the  world  can  show.  What  Byron  said  of  the  valley 
beneath  Chimsra's  Alps,  riises  spontaneously  to  the  lips  while  garing  on 
the  shores  of  the  ancient  Avemus: 

Pluto !  if  this  be  Hell  I  look  upon^ 

Close  shamed  Elysium*s  gates,  my  shade  shall  seek  for  none. 

Mr.  Stanfield  haa  a  third  picture — not  recently  painted,  though  now 
for  the  first  time  exhiUted — ^^^Citara,  on  tiie  Bay  of  Nanles,"  where  a 
stormy  sea  breaking  on  the  coast,  and  a  group  of  traveUen  hastening 
through  a  deep  deft  or  defile,  afford  an  admirable  specimen  of  the 
painter's  power  under  a  very  different  aspect 

Mr.  Grooree  Stanfield,  carefully  advancing  with  a  sura  reward  as  he 
promsses,  has  two  sweet  paetturea--^^  IJanwrsi*  on  the  Conway,"  and 
«'  The  Rains  of  Camboa  Kenneth  Abb^."  The  little  Welsh  village  is  a 
bharming  aahject,  with  ita  quiet  valley,  ita  pretty  chordi,  embosomed  in 


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A  Glimpse  of  the  Exhibition  at  the  Royal  Academy.       125 

treeiy  and  the  sparkling  wat«r8  of  its  lirer;  there  is  great  tradi  in  the 
fine  masses  of  cloud  whidi  float  above  the  distant  hills*  A  feeling  of 
legret  is  naturally  excited  by  the  '*  Ruins  of  Cambus  Kenneth,"  to  tUnk 
that  a  pile^  once  so  glorious,  should  have  been  brought  to  its  present  con* 
didon  by  the  fury  of  a  fanatical  mob ;  but,  for  the  painter's  purpose,  its 
mined  state  only  renders  it  the  more  picturesque,  and  Mr.  G.  Stanfield  has 
nven  full  value  to  what  remains,  particularly  by  the  manner  in  which  he 
has  brought  out,  in  the  boldest  relief,  the  lofty  tower  of  the  Abbey,  which 
has  much  more  of  a  military  than  a  monastic  appearance.  There  is  a 
fine,  dear  distance,  in  which  we  get  a  glimpse  of  Stirling  Castle,  at  the 
eactremity  of  a  long  precipitous  rioge. 

From  the  feudal  aspect  of  this  Scottbh  scene,  let  us  turn  to  a  sulrieot 
purely  English,  and  entirely  opposite  in  character — '<  The  Last  Load,  of 
Mr.  GoodalL  We  see  there  a  wain  laden  with  golden  sheaves^  dragging 
slowly  through  a  shallow  stream,  in  sight  of  the  homestead,  and  the 
fermer  to  whom  it  belongs  hailing  its  approach.  The  harvest  has  had  a 
happy  ending,  not  only  in  the  abundance  of  its  produce,  but  in  bringing 
to  a  crisis  at  least  one  rustic  courtship.  Two  pairs  of  lovers  are  nestled 
amongst  the  corn,  and  the  category  of  marriage  cannot  be  very  remote 
from  that  pair  over  whose  heads  there  floats  a  ribbon  of  bright  hue, 
attached  to  a  rake,  an  artistic  device  which  tells  their  story  very  well.  In 
the  foreground  are  several  figures  on  foot»  accompanying  the  wain  ;  one 
of  these,  a  girl,  with  a  wheatsheaf  on  her  head,  is  finely  drawn  and  well 
coloured,  though  perhaps  a  little  too  fair  for  the  kind  of  life  she  leads 
beneath  the  burning  sun  of  August.  The  details  of  this  picture  are  ex- 
cellent, as  well  as  dbe  effect  produced  by  the  glowing  sunset  and  rising 
mists  of  evening. 

The  continental  traveller  who  begins  his  journey  at  Antwerp,  and  closed 
it  at  Venice,  taking  the  route  by  Vienna,  may  prepare  himself  before  he 
goes  for  some  of  the  pleasure  he  will  receive,  by  first  going  to  see  the 
three  pictures  which  Roberts  has  sent  in  this  year.  His  views  of  ''  The 
Exterior  of  Antwerp  Cathedral,"  seen  from  the  Scheldt,  and  of  "  Venice," 
firom  the  Grand  Canal,  are  each  of  them  very  fine ;  but  the  acme  of  the 
spectator's  delight  is  reserved  for  the  "  Interior  of  St.  Stephen's  at 
Vienna/'  which  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable,  if  it  be  not  even  the  finest, 
that  Roberts  has  ever  painted.  Its  peculiarity  consists  in  this,  that  the 
view  is  taken  from  beneath  the  organ-loft,  looking  straight  down  the 
centre  aisle  towards  the  high  altar,  and  this  necessarily  makes  the  picture 
nearly  three  times  as  broad  aa  it  is  high,  without,  however,  detracting 
from  the  altitude  of  the  interior ;  on  the  contrary,  die  height  of  the  vaoh 
is,  perhaps,  more  strongly  conveyed  by  the  concealment  of  the  roof,  than 
if  it  were  exposed,  and  one  thing,  at  least,  has  been  gained  by  the  method 
which  Mr.  Roberts  has  adopted — the  avoidance  of  that  multangular  effect 
which  so  often  disturbs  the  eye.  For  linear  perspective,  for  atmospheric 
illusion,  for  fidelity  of  detail,  for  harmony  of  composition,  and  for  breadth 
of  treatment,  this  "  Interior '  must  stand  unrivalled,  and  were  not  the 
Cathedral  itself  still  standing  to  justify  its  claims  to  the  picturesque,  Mr. 
Roberts's  picture  would  be  sufficient  to  disprove  the  absurd  assertion  of 
Dr.  Dibdin,  the  bibliomaniac,  that  St.  Stephen's  contained  scarcely  any- 
thing that  was  worthy  of  notice. 


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126       A  GUmpse  of  the  Exhibition  at  the  Royal  Academy. 

,  Passing  from  the  gloomy  grandeur  of  one  of  the  masterpieces  of  Gothic 
architecture,  we  again  stand  in  the  open  air,  and  scent  the  sweet  breath  of 
nature,  as  we  look  upon  the  lovely  subjects  which  Lee  has  so  exquisitely 
painted.  These  are  fine  pictures,  but  our  choice — and  it  is  a  most  difficult 
one  to  make— Kes  between  two — *'  The  Avenue  at  Altborpe,'*  in  Nordi- 
amptonshire,  and  *'  A  View  across  a  Common'* — in  no  particular  part  of 
England,  but  rather  in  every  part  where  beauti^  scenery  is  to  be  found. 
We  might  expatiate  on  these  two  views  in  volumes  of  words,  but  no  elo- 
quence of  description  could  do  justice  to  the  subjects  in  the  way  that  Mr. 
Lee  has  done  justice  to  nature.  If  these  pictures  are  not  destined  for  the 
same  owner,  each  may  say,  that  if  he  had  not  his  own,  he  would  be  glad 
to  possess  the  other.  But  Mr.  Lee  has  not  confined  himself  to  England ; 
a  long  stride  has  taken  him  into  the  Glenorchy  Highlands,  where  hk 
pencil  still  displays  the  same  mastery  over  what  is  subfime  as  well  as  what 
IS  beautiful.  Were  not  the  sport  of  deerstalking  so  attractive  in  itself, 
one  might  well  be  tempted  to  follow  it  after  traversing  the  Breadalbane 
estates  in  Mr.  Lee's  company. 

Mr.  Sidney  Cooper,  the  frequent  associate  of  Mr.  Lee,  is  prolific  in  the 
style  in  which  he  has  no  living  rival.  Besides  two  excellent  cattle-pieces — 
"  Cows  at  a  Pool  Drinking,*'  and  a  "  Group  of  Cattle  before  a  Bam,"  in 
which  are  introduced  a  grey  horse,  and  a  young  bull,  which — no  dispa- 
ragement to  Paul  Potter — ^is  oftener  seen  aUve  (at  least  in  England)  than 
the  wonder  of  the  Hague, — ^there  are  two  subjects,  in  which  the  principal 
animals  are  sheep,  that  surpass  anything  we  have  ever  seen  from  Mr. 
Cooper  s  pencil.  In  the  first,  a  number  of  sheep  and  lambs  are  clustered 
outside  a  most  picturesque-looking  shed,  from  the  open  door  of  which  a 
finendly  donkey  is  venr  complacentiy  gazing ;  in  the  second,  we  have  the 
interior  of  the  farm-shed,  with  the  same  animals  housed.  The  last  will 
perhaps  attract  the  most  attention,  from  the  novelty  of  its  treatment.  It 
is  not  possible  that  animals,  or  their  food,  or  any  of  the  accessories  of  their 
dwelling,  could  be  more  truthfully  represented. 

We  have  eot  to  the  end  of  tiie  list  of  the  pictures  that  we  have  seen. 
Of  those  we  nave  heard  of,  we  may  mention  a  fine  "  View  in  the  Ober- 
land,"  and  the  "  Exterior  of  the  Crystal  Palace,"  by  Harding— her  Ma- 
jesty, to  whom  the  latter  belongs,  having  graciously  permitted  the  artist 
to  send  it  in  for  exhibition ;  a  veiy  small  landscape  by  Mulready,  wonder- 
fully finished ;  a  *<  River  Mill,"  by  Creswick,  in  his  usual  style  of  excel- 
lence ;  and  a  remarkable  picture  oy  Edward  Cooke,  a  perfect  daguerro- 
type  for  fidelity — it  is  part  of  the  «  Ducal  Palace  at  Venice,"  and  its 
accuracy  will  satisfy  the  precisest  requirements  of  the  architect. 

There  are  some  omissions  this  year  which  we  regret.  Neither  Herbert 
nor  Egg  have  sent  anything.  Historical  painting  is  not  so  rife  amongst 
us,  that  we  should  be  content  to  lose  two  of  its  ablest  exponents. 


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THE 

NEW   MONTHLY   MAGAZINE 

AMD 

HUMORIST. 


VOL.  xcv.]  JUNE,  1852.  [no.  ccclxxviii. 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Frakcbsgo  Sforza  ..••....  127 

A  SuBVEr  o7  Danish  Literatube,  from  the  Earliest  Period 
TO  THE  Present  Toce.    Bt  Mrs.  Bushbt         •        .        •    .  139 

FsMAUfi  Novelists.    No.  II. — Mrs.  Gore        .        .        .        .157 

Hester  Somerset.    Bt  Nicholas  Mighell        .        .        .    .  168 

Hartlet  Coleridge's '<  Northern  Worthies"       .        .        .177 

The  Baron's  Revenge 183 

A  Packe  of  Spanish  Ltes 197 

Scottish  Criminal  Trials 203 

Young  Tom  Hall's  Heart-aches  and  Horses.    Chap.  XXVII. 
TO  XXIX 207 

Down  the  Road;  or,   Some  Passages  from  a  Pikeman's 
DiART.     Bt  Ishmael  Coppkrs 222 

Pictures  of  mt  Barrack  Life.    Br  a  German  Soldier         .  233 

The  Unknown  Ships.    By  Mrs.  Acton  Tindal      .        .        .  242 

The  Fete  of  the  Eagles 243 


LONDON: 

CHAPMAN  AND  HALL,  193,  PICCADHiLY. 

To  whom  aU  Communications  for  the  Editor  are  to  be  addressed. 

*^*  REJECTED  ARTICLES  GAKNOT  BE  RETURNED. 
SOLD   BT  ALL   BOOKSELLERS   IN   THE    UNITED   KINGDOM. 


FRianO  BT  0HABLE8  WHITIVa,  BEAUFORT  EOI78B»  SXBAlfl)* 


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NEW  MONTHLY  MAGAZINE. 


PHANCESCO  SFORZA.* 

^  The  appearance  of  the  yolumes  before  ng,  so  shortlj  after  the  publica- 
tion of  iir.  Dennistoun's  **  Memoirs  of  the  Dukee  of  Urbino,"  might 
aeem  to  indicate  that  the  history  of  Italy  dming  the  middle  ages  is 
an  unexhausted  field.  It  may  not  present  the  most  popular  form 
of  literature  to  which  a  writer  could  devote  himself;  but  it  win  always 
have  attractions  for  the  scholar  and  man  of  taste;  and  as  there  is 
still  an  abundance  of  unused  materials — ^not  to  be  picked  up  on  the 
surface,  but  to  be  collected  W  patient  and  diligent  research — ^we  hope 
that  the  '*  Life  and  Times  of  Francesco  Sfbrza"  will  not  be  the  last  work 
of  medisyal  biography  to  which  we  shall  be  called  upon  to  giro  our 
attention. 

In  connectmg  the  hero  of  these  Tolumes  with  the  tmie  at  which  he 
flourished,  Mr.  Urquhart  has  entirely  confined  himself  to  its  historical  and 
political  aspects.  "  The  narration,**  he  observes,  "  of  the  life  of  any 
eminent  public  roan,  the  investi«ition  of  the  circumstances  which  con- 
tributed to  his  rise,  and  the  exhibitmg  the  individual  qualities  which 
enabled  him  to  turn  them  to  account,  isf  generally  supposed  to  afford  a 
tolerably  good  exnosition  of  the  age  in  which  he  lived,  and  of  the  people 
among  wm)m  his  lot  was  cast."  But  to  show  these  relations  between  the 
individual  and  his  times,  we  must  not  merely  inquire  how  &r  he  in- 
fluenced the  character  of  the  age,  but  also  how  far  the  mind  and  habits 
of  the  age  had  their  influence  upon  himself;  and  an  examination  like 
this,  when  referring  to  a  period  of  transition,  is  generally  surrounded 
with  curious  and  valuable  materials.  The  biograpmcal  history  of  Italy, 
from  the  fourteenth  to  the  sixteenth  century,  is  indebted  for  its  en- 
during interest  to  its  connexion  with  literature,  science,  and  the  arts. 
Its  petty  sovereigns  would  long  since  have  been  forgotten  if  their  names 
had  not  been  associated  with  those  of  the  scholars  and  men  of  genius 
whom  they  persecuted  or  protected.  There  is  also  something  of  romance 
in  the  domestic  incidents  of  these  periods ;  and  there  is  a  picturesqueness 
in  their  manners  and  customs,  to  which  any  work  connected  with  them 
must  owe  one  of  its  principal  charms.  It  is  true  that  the  harvest  has 
already  been  gathered ;  but  a  diligent  reader  in  the  public  libraries  of 
Itidy  may  still  find  rich  gleanings  lyin^  abundantiy  before  him. 

From  investing  his  work   witn  tnese    incidental   attractions,    Mr. 

*  lafe  and  Tfanee  of  Francesoo  Sfioza,  Duke  of  Ifilan,  with  a  FteUimimij 
l^tchoftheHistocyofltaly.  By  Wm.  FoUard  Urquhart,  Esq.  2  vols.  Black- 
wood, Edinburgh  and  London,  1852. 

t  Sic  in  orig. 

June — VOL.  xcv.  no.  cccLxxvm.  k 


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128  Fram»sco  Sfhrza. 

Urqubart  baa  carefully  abstained:  tbe  saocession  of  battles  and  political 
changes,  in  whicb  tbe  Duke  Francesco  bore  a  con^icuous  part,  are  related 
witb  the  calm  gmvity  of  history ;  and  if  any  one  wishes  to  pass  quietly 
through  the  labyrinth  which  they  present,  he  cannot  have  a  more  careful 
and  intelligent  giude  than  Mr.  Urqubart 

About  a  hundred  and  fifty  pages  of  his  first  rolume  are  devoted  to  an 
epitome  of  the  general  history  of  Italy,  from  the  subversion  of  the  Roman 
Empire  to  the  approach  of  the  fifteenth  century,  when  the  dynasty  of  the 
Sfonsas  commenced.  Francesco  was  the  son  of  the  founder  of  his  house^ 
and  was  the  £ither  of  that  Duke  of  Milan  whose  assassination — ^powerfully 
narrated  both  by  Machiavelli  and  Sismondi — had  its  motive  in  circum- 
itances  which  have  all  the  character  of  romance,  and  led  to  consequenoes 
more  extensive  and  important  than  have  ever  followed  any  similar  event. 
Mr.  Urqubart  informs  us  that  the  life  of  Francesco  Sforza,  written  W  his 
secretary  Simoneta,  and  published  in  the  twenty-first  volume  of  the 
*<  Rerum  Itaficarum  Scriptores,"  has  afforded  the  principal  materials  for 
his  work ;  and  he  occasionally  illustrates  its  incidents  by  references  to  the 
standard  historians.  There  were  other  authorities  to  which  he  might 
have  advantageously  referred. 

Verri,  whose  "  Storia  di  Milano"  was  republished  in  1824,  would  have 
supplied  him  with  interesting  information  on  the  laws,  the  morals,  and  the 
commerce  of  the  Milanese  at  the  time  of  Francesco's  assumption  of  power, 
and  with  some  additional  facts  as  to  the  events  which  preceded  it.  On 
most  occasions,  his  deep  knowledge  of  his  country's  records  gives  the  his- 
torian of  Milan  the  wei§rht  and  authority  of  a  writer  living  at  the  period 
which  he  undertakes  to  describe. 

There  was  also  a  work  by  the  Abbate  Ratti,  who  published,  in  1794, 
two  quarto  volumes  entirely  devoted  to  the  House  of  Sforza ;  and,  if  not 
very  engagingly  written,  they  may  be  considered  an  authentic  record,  as 
he  had  access  to  the  archives  of  the  family,  and  dedicated  the  result  of  his 
labours  to  his  pupil,  the  Duke  Francesco  Sforza  Cesarini.  This  descend* 
ant  of  so  distinguished  a  house  was  then  the  Gonfalonier  of  Rome ;  and 
at  a  later  period  we  recollect  seeing  another  descendant  of  the  Sfonas 
who  was  a  cardinal.  He  was  a  person,  by-the*by,  of  esmensive  tastes, 
and  was  the  subject  of  some  scandal  at  the  pontifical  court,  in  consequence 
of  having  resisted,  with  dangerous  and  unclerical  weapons,  the  officers  who 
had  come  to  serve  him  with  a  process  arising  out  of  his  pecuniary  em- 
barrassments. 

Though  the  Abbate's  volumes  could  not  have  furnished  the  materials 
for  Mr.  Urquhart's  ample  narrative,  there  is  much  in  them  which  might 
have  supplied  him  with  collateral  illustrations,  or  have  referred  him  to 
other  sources  of  information. 

In  speaking  of  the  origin  of  the  finaily,  its  biographer  discredits  the 
anecdote  so  often  repeated,  as  to  the  augury  of  the  axe  thrown  into  the 
tree,  which  is  said  to  have  decided  its  great  founder  in  his  vocation  to 
arms ;  but,  notwithstanding  the  attempt  to  invest  him  with  hereditary 
nobility,  it  is  still  something  more  than  probable  that  the  military  adven- 
turer who,  through  his  immediate  descendants,  gave  « line  oi  dukes  to 
Milaii,  of  sovereign  lords  to  Pesaro,-  queens  to  PolMid  and  to  Naples,*  and 

*  Ippolita  Maria  Sforza,  Duchess  of  CalabiiiL  died  biBfore  her  husband  suooseded 
to  the  throne^    She  was  the  mether  of  Ktog  jferdinand  IL     . 


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Francesco  Sfortik.  129 

•D  emproM  ta  Germanj,  was  or^^inallj  but  a  small  proprietor  of  the  soil, 
if  not  a  labouring  peasant 

Amongst  his  many  sons,  the  one  who  resembled  him  most  in  valour  and 
in  military  skill,  was  the  future  Duke  of  Milan.  He  was  bom  in  the  camp ; 
he  passed  his  life  in  arms ;  and  it  would  have  been  happy  if  he  had  fdso 
met  death  in  battle,  rather  than  in  the  manner  in  which  it  is  said  to  have 
•o  suddenly  overtaken  him.  The  circumstances  attending  this  unworthy 
dose  of  his  brilliant  career  are  mentioned  as  admitted  facts  in  the  second 
Tolume  of  the  work  before  us.  But  the  stoiy.  seems  to  rest  on  the 
single  authority  of  an  obscure  chronicler.  Neither  of  the  writers  to  whom 
we  have  before  referred  makes  any  allusion  to  it.  Verri,  on  the  contrary^ 
flays  distinctly,  Malgrado  la  scostumatezza  di  quei  tempif  egUfu  sempre 
akeno  dal  disordine^  ne  si  lascio  sedurre  alia  kucttna ;  and  attributes 
has  death  to  the  injudicious  use  of  a  remedy  he  had  adopted  for  removing 
some  of  the  remaining  appearances  of  the  dropsy  with  which  he  had  been 
for  two  years  afflicted.  A  more  careful  reference  to  contemporary  records 
might  have  freed  his  memory  from  the  stain.  The  passage  relied  upon  by 
Mn  Urquhart  is  from  Cristoforo  da  Saldo  ("  Istoria  Bresciana"),  and  we 
would  rather  refer  to  it  than  transcribe  it. 

As  Ratti  includes  upwards  of  sixty  memoirs  in  his  two  dry-looking 
quartos,  his  notices  are,  in  some  instances,  as  brief  as  the  articles  of  a 
Uegraphical  dictionary  ;  but  they  are  accompanied  by  veiy  copious  notes* 
To  the  Duke  of  Milan  he  devotes  about  fifteen  pages  ;  and  the  events 
which  Mr.  Urquhart,  with  the  amplifications  of  an  agreeable  style,  spreads 
oyer  a  couple  of  volumes,  are  told  very  nearly  as  briefly  as  followsl 

He  was  bom  at  S.  Miniato,  in  Tuscany,  in  1401,  and  being  deprived 
of  the  early  superintendence  of  his  father  (owing  to  his  frequent  absence 
in  the  field),  he  was  educated  at  the  court  of  Ferrara,  with  the  sons  of 
the  Maichese  Nicpld  d*Este.  When  twelve  years  old,  he  was  invited  to 
the  court  of  Ladislaus,  King  of  Naples,  in  whose  service  the  elder  Sforsa 
was  then  engaged.  Soon  af^r  his  arrival  at  Naples  he  was  made  Conte 
di  Tricarico ;  and  the  king,  pleased  with  his  intelligence  and  frankness, 
desired  that  he  should  at  once  devote  himself  to  a  military  career.  To 
this  suggestion  he  willingly  acceded.  He  followed  his  father  through  his 
subsequent  battles,  and  under  the  most  difficult  circumstances  gave  proofs 
of  his  activity,  courage,  presence  of  mind,  and  extraordinary  talent.  On 
Sforza  s  death,  at  the  siege  of  Aquila,  Francesco  joined  his  forces  to  those 
of  the  other  captains  who  were  in  the  service  of  Naples  and  the  Pope ; 
and  his  great  superiority  as  a  general  becoming  unequivocally  manifest, 
he  was  next  invited  to  take  employment  under  Filippo  Yisconti,  Duke  of 
Milan,  who  received  him  with  marked  fitvours,  and  for  whom  he  did  good 
service  agiunst  the  Venetians,  the  Florentines,  and  at  Lucca.  He  also 
carried  lus  arms  into  Umbria  and  the  Marches ;  and  having  possessed  him- 
self of  a  considerable  portion  of  these  territories,  the  reigning  pontiff 
thought  it  politic  to  arrest  his  further  progress  by  giving  him  the  inves* 
titure  of  them  during  his  life,  with  the  title  of  Marchese,  and  the  office  of 
Gonfalonier  of  the  Church— in  those  days  a  distinguished  honour,  which 
had  previously  been  conferred  upon  his  father.  Yisconti,  who  was  natundly 
timid,  suspicious,  and  ungrateful,  began  to  be  jealous  of  his  able  general.  He 
lias  been  charged  with  having  often  exposed  him  to  unnecessary  danger, 
and  even  with  having  sought  his  life ;  out  Francesco  bore  this  treatment 

k2 


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ISO  Franeeseo  Sfbrza. 

most  patSentSy,  in  considefnction  of  hie  oontempkted  unioii  with 
Maria,  a  natural  daughter  of  Visconti,  who  had  been  promised  to  faim  by 
faer  fiither,  and  betrothed;  though  the  folfihnent  of  the  promifie  had,  on 
various  pretexts,  been  deferred.  The  eondottieri  of  the  middle  ageti 
however,  had  a  veiy  easy  mode  of  revenging  themselves  when  ofiended 
by  thdr  employers,  by  going  over  to  the  enemy.  Hidr  servioe  never 
seems  to  have  mpfied  an  alle^anoe,  and  it  is  one  of  the  puzzHn^  aspeoti 
of  the  history  of  mese  times,  that,  upon  eveiy  fresh  mention  of  uie  name 
of  a  celebrated  leader,  we  have  to  ask,  '<  Under  which  king^  Bezamumf* 
We  now  find  Francesco  fighting  for  a  league  in  which  the  Venetians,  the 
Florenlanes,  lihe  Genoese,  and  l£e  Pope,  were  combined  against 'Vlsoonti; 
who,  beginning  to  be  tirad  of  the  war,  made  it  a  condition  with  tlie  ge* 
neral  who  was  opposed  to  him,  that  he  should  be  married  to  Bianca  upon 
his  inducing  the  allies  to  make  peace.  This  he  appears  to  have  aoeom- 
pliriied,  and  he  received  Cremona  and  Poste  Moli  as  liie  dowry  -dl  \Sm 
bride.  Still  Yiseonti  could  not  overcome  his  antipathy.  He  had  fbr- 
merty  regarded  Francesco  as  his  adopted  von,  but  he  now  eombined  with 
the  rope  to  deprive  him  of  his  territory  in  ike  Marches ;  he  instigatfli 
King  Alfonzo  to  seize  upon  his  wealtib  and  possessions  in  Ni^es ;  and, 
had  he  not  been  prevented  by  the  Venetians  and  Florentines,  he  would 
have  taken  from  him  the  places  which  had  been  given  to  him  on  his  anr- 
riage  with  Bianca.  Continnalfy  entangled  in  his  own  snares,  ^Isoonli 
does  not  seem  to  have  derived  mucb  advantafi;e  from  his  treachery.  He 
found  himself  involved  in  fresh  difficulties  ;  his  best  generals  were  dead, 
or  had  deserted  him ;  he  again  turned  for  help  to  his  son-in-law,  whoa 
entreaties  and  an  ample  stipend  induced  to  re-enter  into  his  service ;  and 
he  shortly  afterwards  died,  without  leaving  a  male  descendant  to  suoeeed 
liim  in  the  duchy. 

In  the  midst  of  contending  claims  for  the  sovereignty,  the  Milanese 
determined  to  form  themselves  into  a  republic ;  but  ihey  were  suiroundei 
by  enemies,  and  not  agreed  amongst  themselves  ;  and  teeUng  tiieir  weak- 
ness, they  had  recourse  to  Francesco,  whom  they  placed  at  their  head, 
with  tiie  title  of  captain-genenJ.  As  usual,  when  he  had  relieved  them 
finom  their  danger,  they  became  jealous  of  his  power.  It  was  now  too 
late  to  dispute  it;  and  overcoming  every  difficulty,  he  made  fanmsetf 
Duke  of  Milan.  His  accession  was,  with  few  exceptions,  acknowledged 
by  the  otiier  powers  of  Italy ;  and  Cosmo  de'  Medici  sent  a  splendid 
embassy,  consisting  of  his  son  Pietro,  Luca  Pitti,  and  others  of  the  prin- 
cipal Florentine  families,  to  congratulate  him.  There  remained  two 
powerful  enemies  whom  he  had  still  to  contend  with — the  Venetians  and 
the  Duke  of  Savov.  After  an  expensive  war,  which  continued  for  fov 
years,  he  concluded  a  peace  in  1454 ;  and  ten  years  afterwards,  the  stflltas 
of  Genoa,  which  had  rebelled  agmnst  France,  were  added  by  Didte  Fh»« 
cesco,  at  their  own  desire,  to  ms  domimons  of  Milan,  Parma,  Piacensa^ 
and  Corsica ;  but  he  only  survived,  for  two  yeaie  more,  the  establisluiienlt 
of  his  power,  having  died  suddenly  (as  we  have  already  mentioned)  in 
1466,  at  the  age  of  sixty-five.  Upon  no  larger  a  ibondatioQ  Ifam  tUi, 
Mr.  Urquhart*s  goodly  superstructure  has  been  raised. 

His  second  book  opens  with  a  very  interesting  chapter  on  the  eaosei 
which  led  to  the  employment  of  the  stipendiary  troops,  by  whom  the  wan 
of  Italy  had  now  for  more  than  a  century  been  conoucted. 


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FetoMBCQ  S^mrmL  181 

£i Om  wfypeiiods stitaiatkony,  ikBhbMmia  ickafimded  Aemsebrei 
liy ftnative  iDmia»  who  weoe  xeadjrto  aerre  whenever  requmd,  and  who 
Mi  farmed  eDmoiai  well  difldphned  es  thoMto  whom  tiboy  were  usuaUv 
flppoeed;  but  ^^after  the  licestiOttnieMy"  eagn  Mc  Ujs^^ohart,  <*that  £of» 
wend  the  too  rapid  gvovdi  and  the  pranatiase  pcospanty  ^  the  Italian 
lepnUicSy  had  nmneaflie  decdine  of  die  patriotism  and  bravery  ao  necea- 
aary  far  die  egdafcenoe  of  an  effieient  Biiht3a»  the  cuatom  [of  employing 
fiwigB  troops]  was  unanimondy  JoJlowed.  In  the  free  cities  the  inhar 
bitaati,  being  generally  intont  upon  the  making  or  enjopoent  of  a  for- 
inne^  had  no  widi  to  ^neonnter  the  hardships  of  samee ;  and  in  the 
alhen^  the  petty  tyrants  wore  nnwillmr  to  rely  too  ranch  on  the  valour 
ar  fidelity  of  tlie ^pk  whom  th^  had  ensUMrad.*'  "The  spirit  of  oUr 
^aiiy  was  exfeingvaBbed  by  the  rapid  development  of  oommeroe^''  and  as 
Apolitical  sagMity'^  began  to  be  more  thought  of  'Hhan  personal 
kavery,"  the  aulitia  became  inefficient  and  contemptiUe.  In  a  de- 
anptionof'One  of  thdr  gatherings  translated  from  TaasoaiyweioetQld: 

Summoned  to  arms^  some  bolted  quick  up-statn, 
Some  to  ^e  wiodewi  i«sh*d,  and  sonae  to  praiess. 
•    •.....•.••    Otben  were  fiun 
To  brandish  hedge*hill8  ;  and^io  breastplates  bright. 
Ran  swaggering  to  the  squarci  preparea  for  fig^t. 

The  irafiessibilify  of  opposing  such  troops  as  these  to  a  body  of  trained 
adirensboeerB  gave  rise»  as  we  nave  seen,  to  the  general  employment  of 
atipendiairy  £;>roes«-4)y  tibe  weak  for  deCencs^  and  by  the  strong  for 
Wgreesbn*  Their  leadersweoe  at  firat chiefly  Germans  and  Englishmen, 
1^  had  been  schooled  in  other  wars.  Our  countrymen  who  have  visited 
fSeteence  will  remember  the  rude  equestrian  portrait^  in  the  Duomo,  of 
Sir  John  Hawkwood,  one  of  the  most  celehrated  of  these  condottieri, 
called  by  some  of  the  Italian  historians  (phonetically)  Gbvanni  Aucuth. 
But  acconylished  ffenoeals  aoon  scnrang  up  amongst  the  Italians  them- 
aelfOB.  A  dass  of  men  appearea — the  onieis,  for  example,  who  held 
^exntozies  under  the  Pope—''  whose  oircumi^ances  were  not  very  difSnrent 
£Eom  those  of  ^  minor  feudal  lords  in  [other]  parts  of  Europe."  They 
"seemed  to  be  peculiarly  fitted,  by  their,  position,  to  be  the  leaders  of 
acedatory  bands.  Jealous,  and  covetous  of  each  oUier's  possessionsi  they 
lad  boon  Qontmually  at  war  amongst  themselves  s  they  had  acquired 
-fiensiderahle  reputatian  and  ddll  as  captains;  each  of  ibem  was  amdous 
to  ahaie  aome  of  the  profits  of  an  employment  which  had  become  as  lucra- 
tive as  the  pursuits  of  commeroe ;  and  amongst  the  leaders  who  were 
'educated  in  their  aerviee,  none  were  more  distinguished  or  more  aucoeis- 
£d  than  the  Sfoms. 

The  death  of  the  elder  Sforza,  in  attempting  to  raise  the  siege  of 
Afoilay  is  well  described  by  Mr.  Urquhart : 

''  The  4th  of  January,  1424,  was  dhosen  by  Sforza  for  his  hazardous 
imdertalDQg.  There  are  many  reports  extant  of  omens  of  ill-luck  haviz^ 
appeved  to  him  before  the  commencement  of  the  day  which  was  destined 
la  trsininain  his  career.  Some  of  these  may  possibly  have  been  invented 
>afier  the  tragic  event  had  taken  place;  trivial  incidents  which,  under 
iflafiaaKy  rivcnmitanww,  wmild  have  been  forgotten,  maj  have  been  xe- 
4»Kded  and  esnggeratedf  or  may  have  made  an  imjpression  upon  those  of 
ins  followers  who  had  less  h^nrt  for  the  enterpriee  than  himself;  and  it  is 
iBot  in^tobaUe  tint  visiesv  may  have  been  conjured  up  by  the  imi^;inii- 


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132  Franc$9ea  J^orza* 

tion  of  Sfona  himself,  intent  upon  his  enteiprisey  and  folly  aware  of  ita 
danger.  After  having,  as  was  his  custom,  performed  the  ceremony  of 
mass,  and  taken  the  sacrament,  hefore  daybreak,  he  is  said  to  have  related^ 
that  whOe  he  lay  awake,  there  appeared  to  him  the  head  of  a  man  of 
gigantic  6tatm[«,  and  that  he  afterwards  had  a  vision  of  himself  struggling 
in  the  current  [of  the  river],  and  vainly  imploring  assistance,  mfora 
starting,  he  was  reminded  of  the  prediction  of  an  astrologer,  that  he 
should,  above  all  things,  beware  of  crossing  a  river  on  a  Monday,  and 
implored,  by  his  companions  in  arms,  not  to  despise  such  evident  indica- 
tions of  the  will  of  the  Almighty.  Nor  did  the  circumstance  of  the 
horse  of  one  of  his  standard-bearers  having  fallen,  fail  to  produce  its  due 
effect  on  the  minds  of  the  superstitious  and  timid  among  his  followers. 
When  he  arrived  at  the  river  he  found  that  the  elements,  as  well  as  hie 
enemy,  had  rendered  the  passage  more  than  usually  difficult,  as,  besides 
the  preparations  made  by  [his  opponent]  Braccio,  a  strong  east  wind  had 
set  in,  and  caused  a  sort  ot  conflict  between  the  current  of  the  river  and 
the  waves  of  the  sea.  But  he,  as  little  daunted  by  the  reality  as  he  had 
been  by  the  visions  of  danger,  gave  orders  to  the  foremost  of  his  army 
to  cross  the  river  by  the  shallows  adjoining  the  beach.  Five  of  the  best 
mounted  men  dashed  into  the  stream,  trusting  to  the  strength  of  their 
heavy  armour  to  defend  them  against  the  javelins  and  cross-bows  of  the 
enemy :  after  tbem  came  young  Francesco  Sforza,  followed  by  his  father. 
Notwithstanding  the  opposition  of  the  enemy,  aided  hy  the  wind,  the 
waves,  and  the  sea,  they  all  effected  a  safe  lanaing  on  the  northern  bank 
of  the  Pescara,  and  their  success  emboldened  others  to  follow  their 
example.  Already  had  fortune  bes^n  to  declare  in  favour  of  the  brave. 
Forty  of  the  best  men  in  the  camp  had  arrived  in  safety  after  the  Sforzas. 
The  bowmen,  who  had  been  placed  behind  palisades,  having  fled  in  terror 
to  the  city,  brought  word  to  the  garrison  of  Braccio  that  they  had  been 
unable  to  defend  the  passage  of  the  river,  and  entreated  them  to  attack 
the  enemy  before  they  had  landed  in  considerable  nmnbers.  Already  a 
party  had  come  from  the  city  for  that  purpose,  but  they  were  unable  to 
stand  the  onset  of  a  small  number  of  heavily-armed  knights,  headed  by 
Francesco  Sforza ;  and  a  great  number  of  them  were  made  prisoners 
before  they  could  reach  the  walls  of  tlie  city.  In  the  moment  of  his 
exultation,  the  elder  Sforza  beckoned  to  his  followers  on  the  southern 
bank  to  lose  no  time  in  crossing  the  river  to  assist  in  foUowing  up  their 
success ;  and  impatient  of  delay,  he  dashed  into  the  water,  determined 
to  return  again  to  the  other  side,  and  lead  the  way  for  the  timid  or  the 
doubtful.  But,  on  this  occasion,  the  wind,  which  is  said  to  rule  the 
waves  of  the  Adriatic  {Auster,  quo  non  arbiter  Adrus,  mafor),  showed 
itself  a  more  formidable  enemy  than  the  bowmen  of  Braccio.  The  waves 
which  it  continued  to  raise  met  the  flow  of  the  river  with  redoubled 


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Prancexo  Iffcrza.  ISS 

lie  were  imploring  asttstanoe,  though  any  words  that  he  may  havd 
attempted  to  niter  were  choked  by  the  rage  of  the  elements ;  after 
which  he  sank  to  rise  no  more,  and  his  body  was  never  found.  Thns 
nerished  Sforza  Attendok  of  Cotignola,  a  man  who,  in  the  words  of  the 
nistorian  of  the  Italian  republics,  was  universally  acknowledged  to  be 
one  of  the  first  generals  and  politicians  of  his  day." 

^  At  the  moment  of  this  catastrophe,  Francesco  Sfbrza  was  beneath 
the  walls  of  Pemsara,  engaged  in  close  pursuit  of  the  enemy.  Never  did 
the  genius  of  the  future  Duke  of  Milan  appear  more  conspicuous  than  on 
the  receipt  of  the  mournful  intelligence.  Though  tenderly  attached  to 
his  father,  and  belonging  to  a  nation  who  feel  more  keenly  the  passions  dT 
grief  or  joy  than  the  colder  inhabitants  of  the  north,  he  never  for  one 
moment  lost  his  presence  of  mind."  He  induced  his  father^s  captains  to 
remain  fidthful  to  himself  and  the  sovereigns  by  whom  they  were  em* 
ployed ;  and,  not  long  afterwards,  he  again  proceeded  to  the  relief  of 
Aqmla  with  a  force  under  the  command  of  the  Neapolitan  general  Cal- 
dora. 

The  leader  by  whom  it  was  besieged,  Braccio  da  Montonc,  had  been 
the  early  friend  and  companion-in-arms  of  the  elder  Sforza,  while  they 
■erved  together  under  Alberic  Barbiano ;  but  they  had  for  some  years 
been  oppMed  to  each  other ;  and  his  treachery,  while  Sforza  was  impri* 
aoned  during  one  of  the  revolutions  at  Naples,  produced  a  feeling  of  hos- 
tility that  continued  till  their  deaths.  Yet  we  are  told  that  when 
intelligence  was  brought  to  him  of  Sfbrza's  ftite,  he  betrayed  many 
ajnmptoms  of  sorrow  for  one  who,  so  many  years,  had  been  £18  brother 
and  rival  in  arms ;  and  he  expressed  a  presentiment  that  he  should  not 
long  survive  him.  His  last  battle  was  now  to  take  place;  and  his 
tactics  (says  Mr.  Urquhart)  on  this,  the  closing  scene  of  his  life,  are 
worthy  of  notice. 

^  He  seemed  to  think  himself  certain  of  victory,  now  that  he  was  no 
loBrar  opposed  by  his  former  rival.  So  confident  was  he,  that,  although 
he  knew  the  forces  of  his  adversaries  to  be  three  times  as  numerous  as 
his  own,  he  sent  word  to  the  enemy,  that  if  they  would  come  and  attack 
him  in  the  plains  in  front  of  Aquua,  he  would  not  oppose  their  passage 
through  the  mountain-passes  of  St.  Larent.  To  one  of  the  messages, 
young  Franeesoo  is  said  to  have  replied  that  he  would  soon  come^  to  his 
cost.  On  the  4th  of  June,  1424,  the  army  of  Caldora  set  out  to  cross 
these  extremely  difficult  passes  ;  and  though  a  mere  handful  of  men 
might  at  any  time  have  airested  their  progress,  Braccio,  true  to  his  pro- 
mise, offered  them  no  opposMon  whatever.  In  descending  the  moun* 
tains,  the  cavalry  were  obliged  to  dismount  and  lead  their  horses  down 
the  steep  and  stony  paths  which  conducted  to  the  foot,  and  could  arrive 
but  in  small  numbers  at  a  time  in  the  plain  beneath.  Nevertheless,  the 
whole  army  was  allowed  to  assemble  before  the  attack  was  begun.  The 
plaifif  in  which  the  battie  was  to  be  fought  had  recendy  been  inundated 
tiy*  the  overflow  of  the  river,  and  offered  every  impediment  to  the  action 
ii  XnbtKVj  eavaliy  aiVer  the  liitignes  of  the  passage  of  the  mountain ;  and 
as^the  steepness  of  the  path  preduded  all  possibility  of  retreat  in  the 
evMlof 'a  defeat)  it  is  xibt  improbable  that  Braccio  hoped  thtft  if  he  8uf<^ 
fei<si'th«m  nK^'to  descend,  the  whole  fbn^e  would  ikll  into  his  hands.  At 
'OtflMghudtig  of  Hie  battl^  tins  expectation  seemed  likely  to  bd  ftdfiHed. 
Tte  lM|pi^^  OaMM^  Ihtfgued  by  thto  laboiM'of  tb^  mwkxkg,  lind  tin* 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


114  Ii%m$€Mp0  ^JAtm. 

ottrved  fay  the  periloiis  ttteatknm  -mlaidx  thejr  b§d  hetia  $o  Imf  w/prnmi^ 
ray  at  tke  fint  o 


gam  way  at  tke  fint  onset  Viotoiy  saaaiked  alnoat  m  lua 
the  troops  of  Biaeeio  had,  in  ihe  eagenien  o£  pumwt,  oenie  mij^otk  an  ara^ 
Iwekan  bodyofanSuitKybekiQgingtofi&Bna.  Maoy  honraa  of  die  Annar 
were  killed,  and  a  greait  nnmber  c£  them  dfavon  haw  in  ooofoAon.  £6or 
oolo  Piccinino,  one  of  Bxaode's  moat  fnroniising  jmila,  jmoiis  to  wbIom 
the  hatde  to  its  former  snoeeas,  brought  faismen  nt»itiie  poat  «fhere  tiiej 
had  been  plaeed  by  ^ir  oommandei^in^diiei^  to  pieven^  the  ^gMsa^tf 
the  inhabitants  of  AquiU ;  and  the  dti»as  immeuail^  f>c«fitod  by  Aha 
advantage  thus  gpi«n  thun,  to  saUy  foA  upon  the  aaar  of  the  anny  thaA 
had  besMged  th«n  so  long.  To  add  to  the  oooAiakin  of  Bcaoao^  Ina 
signals  wereeither  miseen  or  unheeded  by  a  fWMTfe  body  of  snen  yium 
he  had  placed  at  some  diatanee,  with  the  iatentiea  of  hrii^ng  Ituna-vf 
in  the  hour  of  Tiotory ;  and  his  Momy,  pvaased  both  bebiaS  and  tofiaub 
iras  obliged  to  give  way.  Ail  aoeouots  vepaesent  this  ^qga^esoeikt  as 
being  dSSorent  from  the  almost  bloocHess  battles  that  m^oBt  so  cftenfonvght 
between  the  condottieri  in  the  fifteenth  century.  The  soldiers  di  CaUna 
wdl  knewihat,  if  defimtedi  they  had  no  ohaace  of  omtreat ;  ihair  adver- 
saries weoe  maddened  with  diaapitoiniment ;  4Uid  the  geoarali  wAm  had 
Us4>wn  ambitious  objects  in  view,  aactxfieedthe  fives  of  his  men  with  laas 
lelnotonoe  than  if  he  had  been  figbd&ng  the  battles  at  a  aeighbouMg 
pnaoe." 

The  young  Franceaoo  was  everywhere  in  the  liottest  of  Ahe  ^ght,  and 
attracted  the  attention  of  Braocb,  ^o,  on  bmiig  teld  who  he  waa,  is  aaid 
to  have  exclaimed,  ^A  woovthif  ion  €f  tie  grmi  SfwaaV*  Braedohiaai- 
self,  being  doaely  pursned,  bad  oast  away  his  hekaot  to  avoid  hung  i»- 
cognised,  and  received  his  death-wound  from  one  of  Sfona's  knights,  who 
a&rwards  took  him  piisonec.  When  in  the  enemVs  hands  hd  ntead 
all  sustenance,  and  expired  a  captive  in  the  camp  of  his  advecsary. 

His  part  in  the  victory  over  Braodb  was  Erancesoo's  first  great  aehieve- 
mant  in  the  field,  and  his  laat  was  to  estaUish  Inmself  as  Duke  of  Hihiu 
The  sagacity  with  whieh  this  was  aooomplUbed,  the  etinang  ramfaigna 
vhixsh  praee^it,  and  the  dexterity  with  waioh  he  made  the  aims  and  feair 
Ings  of  othere  subservient  to  his  own  suceess,  aJBord  intereating  materials  fiir 
a  considerable  portion  of  the  second  volume^  and  are  Delated  with  deamcas 
and  effect  In  some  of  his  diffioulties— ^aad  they  were  many  and  of  emj 
kind— *he  derived  important  aid  from  the  judgment  aadffpint  of  his  wife 
fiianca,  who  possessed  seme  giieat  and  noUe  qualities. 

His  stmgg^  for  the  possession  of  Milan  was  long  and  asduoas.  Befave 
its  sunrender  it  had  been  blockaded  Ibr  more  than  a  year,  and  its  auppliea 
being  entirely  cut  ofi^  the  suffenngs  of  the  inhabitonte  were  intesMO. 
<^  The  fiimine  was  becoming  too  severe  even  for  Aose  who  had  'dealaoed 
that  they  would  sooner  d»  .than  sulwut'*  Tamahs  oenmaneed  i  <the 
smthorities  wereeet  at  defiance;  the  people,  inaddenad  by  hunger,  deooaed 
the  magistnitos  they  had  ihemadves  dmsen,  and  eiibatttted,  widi  slioots 
«f  welcome  and  ezultotion,  to  ihenaa  who^  only  a  dayhcfiia^  no  aae 
dnxst  name  but  with  execratioD,  and  whomlhey  hadingairded  as  4hair  biftr 
iflseat  enen^.    They  had  afterwaads  no  aaasoa  to  jMnet  kia  tda. 

y«iri«al£ihimi/.nosep4ii«OKDiwo;  a&dum&BDdr^pBaksQfUm^nlii 
admiraition  and  aeepoet    Tfaoi^  Ihe  MikoMehadauhmtttadtoliimaa- 


oooditionafly,  he  gave  ihaaa  a  oonntitiilio^  wUdi  ooaeedad 
l^BH  than  Ibqr  bid  «w:hafi 


«wr  :ha£aaa  viioif^    The  hisiprfan  «e  haive  sea 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


n^mieesoQ  Sforxiu  115 

timed  wocdd  faarve  enaUed  Mr.  CFiquhairt  to  hove  uitrodnoed  it-ia  hii 
vork.  like  tke  Pn&oe-PtMdeiit  of  the  Fvenoh  Republic,  ihe  Duke  of 
Kkm  TOserred  to  faunself  the  light  of  eocaaonafij  «ettang  aside  libe  co»« 
pact  he kad  made  (tii  cmti  tpedali  p0irMe  deviare  dai  r€fola>;  but  he 
never  appeara  to  have  -violated  iti  provmons ;  and  it  is  recorded  that  he 
wHtehed  txaifefiidj  over  Iftie  laterestB  of  his  people  with  the  care  of  a 
firther  (non  dmenticd  mat  U  cure  nf  tm  pmdre  benefieo  di  mtoi  papoU^ 
In  Verri  migfat  also  have  been  found  an  aoeonst  of  the  imoortant  pabUc 
wtffks  which  were  completed  between  the  time  of  ihe  duWe  aooesdon 
and  his  deatJh.  One  of  lliese  wasttie  Great  Hospital,  an  institution  etpea 
to  every  nation  and  to  every  ereed,  which  attracts  the  traveller  of  the 
nesent  day  bv  the  fraedfiar  beauty  of  its  terra-cotte  monldings,  as  wefl  as 
fly  its  «agninoent  extent.  The  author  of  the  "Voyages  Histoiiques  et 
Idtteraiies"  oonnders  the  founding  of  such  an  establuhment  b^  a  war- 
like prince  as  a  kind  of  reparation  to  outraged  homanity.  Tmbosefai 
immben  the  duke  amongst  ike  patrons  of  the  learned  Greeks  who  were 
fefiwees  from  Constatttinople,  and  who  gave  an  impetus  to  the  levival  of 
ebssic  literature  liuxnighout  Burepe. 

-^  It  must  he  acknowledged,"  says  Mr.  Urqiihart,  ^ihat  few  militsiy 
adfimtunew  ever  suceeeded  better  than  Franeesoe  Sfbmu  ¥artj  yeaie 
liefare  ikte  oooselidatton  of  his  power  by  the  aequisitien  of  (xenoa,  he  had 
inherited  from  his  father  the  uncertain  possession  of  some  isolated  fie6, 
and  Ihe  oonfidenoe  of  a  number  <^  mereenaiy  soldiers.  He  was  new  lord 
of  the  most  fer^e,  if  not  the  ftirest,  of  lihe  lands  of  Italy.  His  domimooi 
comprised  two  cities,  to  v4)ichthe  names  of  grandeaoi  supet-ba  had  beeft 
ffiven,  and  one  of  wUich  commanded  the  oommeree  'Of  the  eeas  between 
vie  pillan  of  Hereules  and  (ihe  meilth  of  the  Don.  His  colonial  empire 
was  inierior  to  that  of  the  VoDfetiaos  alone.  As  he  had  succeeded  in 
eanrying  out,  to  his  heart's  derare,  the  stipulations  of  the  Italian  allianee, 
as  Ine  diief  man  in  the  republic  of  Florence  was  the  most  intimate  of  his 
6ien^  and  as  nather  the  Pope  nor  the  King  of  Naples  dared  to  do  any^ 
lUng-contrary  to  his  wishes,  his  influence  may  be  said  to  have  been  para- 
inomyt  m  the  Peninsula;  and  his  alliance  was  eagerly  sought  afiter  by  one 
•ef  the  most  powerful  monarehs  north  of  the  Alps." 

For  a  very  fair  and  dispassionate  estimate  of  hu  character,  we  have  again 
feeOBTse  to  Mr.  Uvgpnhart,  though,  on  some  accounts,  we  should  have  pre* 
leired  making  a  eerrespending  extract  from  the  **  Storia  di  Mikmo.** 
*It  had  been  the  go©d  fortune,**  he  says,  "of  Francesco  Sfbna  to 
imite  with  his  political  and  eonlitary  talents  great  personal  advan- 
tagOB.  On  many  oeoaskms,  his  commanding  appearance,  and  excellent 
address  [he  might  haveeaid  his  winning  eloquence],  did  him  good  service. 
In  etatnre,  he  wae  about  the  -middle  height ;  and  in  activity,  strength, 
shmI  capability  tif  endumng  £rtigue,  he  eearcely  hod  any  equals.  He  was 
fatieat  of  hunger  and  thimt  to  an  extreordinaiy  degree,  and  seemed 
4Kafcely  to  feel  Ae  blows  or  wounds  that  were  infficted  upon  him  in  battle. 
Though  uMe  to  do  with  very  ^»w  houre  of  rest,  he  was  never  kept  from 
his  rieep  by  of«r^€atigae  or  anxiety  ;  and  though  his  repose  was  never 
broken  by  the  clang  of  arms,  the  neighing  of  horses,  or  ihe  other  or^ary 
lounds  of  the  eamp,  he  was  always  the  fiiet  roused  by  any  emergency. 
He  ale  but  little^  and,  «ocor&ag  to  his  Uompher,  did  not  ^Id  to  the 
iMat  dslicaite  'of  yo«ng  ladies  in  the -nice  and  sparing  manner  m  which  he 
iMkUs^foed.    boring  his  mealt  he  used  ^eonstantlf  to  admit  peo[Ae  to 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


IM  Francesco  Sfcrzd. 

fab presecids,  and  to  discuss  witih  thetti  the.mort  intricate  questions  of 
policy  and  war.  He  was  prodigal  of  monejTi  for  whicli  he  was  frequently 
reproved  by  his  friend  and  benefactor,  Cosmo  de'  Medid,  who,  a  merchant 
hmiself,  could  make  little  allowance  for  the  extravagance  of  a  soldier  of 
fortune.  To  all  sudi  admonitions  he  used  to  reply,  that  as  Providence 
had  given  him  a  powerful  sovereignty,  he  thought  he  could  not  make 
better  use  of  his  resources  than  to  reward  those  by  whose  assistance  he 
had  succeeded ;  that  his  children  would  have  money  enough  if  they  were 
honest  men,  and  that,  if  they  were  not,  they  would  be  better  without  any. 
In  private  life  he  was  singularly  humane  and  benevolent ;  and  if  ever  he 
thought  that  he  had  offended  anybody  in  a  moment  of  irritation,  he 
endeavoured  to  make  up  for  it  by  subsequent  courtesy.  He  was  exceed-* 
ingly  kind  to  all  who  had  been  plunged  into  distress  by  vicissitude  of 
politics  or  fortune,  and  is  said  to  have  frequently  gone  about  in  person  to 
visit  the  sick  and  the  needy.     *     •     .     .     . 

"  It  will  not,  I  think,  continues  Mr.  Urquhart,  '<  be  denied  (af^ 
having  detailed  and  discussed  the  principal  actions  of  his  life)  that  he 
was  endowed  with  all  the  g^at  and  most  of  the  good  qualities  that 

^nerally  fall  to  the  lot  of  mankind It  may  truly  be  said 

that  his  good  deeds  were  his  own,  his  evil  ones  (for  it  must  be  acknow- 
ledged that  with  some  his  memory  is  tarnished)  were  those  of  the  age  in 
which  he  lived." 

In  many  respects  he  was  the  Napoleon  of  a  narrower  sphere  of  action : 
equal  to  him  in  capacity,  and  sometimes,  perhaps,  as  unscrupulous  in  the 
means  which  he  adopted  for  the  accomplbhment  of  his  objects. 

For  instance,  while  the  enmity  shown  towards  him,  after  his  marriage,  on 
the  part  of  Visconti,  is  attributed  by  RalH  to  implacable  dislike,  and  by 
Verri  to  court-intrigue  and  the  influence  of  astrologers  over  the  feeble  intel- 
lect of  the  duke,  Mr. Urquhart  reminds  us  that  it  had  a  more  tangible  cause. 

<<  When  Viscond  had  lost  the  services  of  his  best  general  by  the  death 
of  the  elder  Piccinino,  he  made  overtures  to  Ciarpello,  the  ablest  of 
Sforza's  leaders,  and,  according  to  Machiavelli,  even  put  him  in  posses- 
aion  of  some  castles  in  the  Milanese.  These  negotiations  did  not  escape 
the  penetration  of  Sforza ;  he  dreaded  to  see  one  of  the  best  captains  in 
Italy  employed  by  one  on  whose  friendship  he  had  so  little  reliance ;  and 
he  knew  that  Ciarpello,  should  he  ever  beisome  his  enemy,  would  have  it 
in  his  power  to  reveal  many  of  his  secrets.  He  could  no  longer  hope  to 
conquer  by  means  of  Ciarpello,  because  his  fidelity  was  doubt^l;  it 
would  not  answer  his  purpose  to  discharge  him,  lest  he  should  be  used 
against  himself  by  others.  He  therefore  deemed  himself  under  the  crud 
necessity  of  putting  an  end  to  him.  He  entrusted  the  accomplishment 
of  this  deed  to  his  brother  Alexander,  who  had  always  shown  a  dislike  to 
Ciarpello.  The  victim  was  seized,  and  cast  into  prison  at  Firmo,  where^ 
after  the  semblance  of  a  trial,  he  confessed  that  he  had  carried  on  a 
correspondence  with  the  Duke  of  Milan,  and  was  hung.  «...  * 
This  act  of  severity  gave  the  greatest  offence  to  the  duke,  who  declared 
that  Ciarpello  had  b^n  unjustly  put  to  death,  and  vowed  that  he  would 
be  revenged  upon  his  murderers.'' 

^  But  whether  Ciarpello  were  culpable  or  not,  the  act  itself  was  sanc- 
tioned by  the  usual  practice  of  the  times.  Balduccio  d' Anghiari,  "  a 
oondottieri  of  no  smidl  eminence,  had  made  himself  so  odious  to  Bar* 
tolomeo,  the  gonfiilonier  of  justice^  at  Florence^  that  it  was  determined  t« 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Francesco  Sforza.  187 

{fet  rid  of  him.  To  effisct  thi%  the  gonfalonier  sent  and  requested  Bal« 
duccio  to  attend  him  at  the  palaoe.  When  he  had  come  thidier,  he 
entered  into  conversation  with  him,  and  led  him,  snspecttng  nothing, 
through  a  suite  of  corridors,  till  he  had  arrired  at  the  door  of  his  private 
apartments,  upon  which  a  number  of  armed  men,  who  had  been  placed 
there  for  ^le  purpose,  rushed  out  and  despatched  him.  His  body  was 
then  thrown  from  the  palace,  and  the  head  was  cut  off  and  exhibited,  to 
warn  others  of  the  fate  they  must  expect  if  they  gave  any  trouble  to  the 
ruling  men  of  the  state/' 

If  Sforza  were  a  party,  as  was  supposed,  to  the  murder  of  his  son-in- 
kw,  the  younger  Piccimno,  at  Naples,  it  was  a  deeper  crime  than  such 
executions  as  those  of  Ciarpello  or  fialduccio ;  but,  though  the  circum- 
stances were  somewhat  suspicious,  there  is  no  sufficient  evidence  to  sup- 
port so  horrible  an  accusation. 

After  these  very  liberal  extracts,  we  may  leave  the  work  to  speak  for 
itself.  As  a  life  of  Francesco,  Duke  of  Mitan— the  leader  and  statesman 
— it  is  all  that  can  be  desired,  and  will  be  read  by  many  with  pleasure 
and  interest ;  but  of  Francesco  Sforza,  in  his  relations  with  aomestic 
life,  and  with  the  manners  and  progpress  of  his  times,  it  tells  us  very 
little. 

In  mentioning  that  he  had  been  educated  with  the  sons  of  Nicol5 
d*£ste,  at  Ferrara,  it  might  have  occurred  to  Mr.  Urquhart  to  have  in- 
quired what  may  have  been  the  plan  of  education  adopted  for  a  noble- 
man of  the  fifteenth  century.  We  have  reason  to  think  that  it  was 
somewhat  extensive.  A  vn'iter  who  lived  at  the  court  of  Ferrara  towards 
the  close  of  that  century — CoUenuccio  da  Pesaro — ^addressed  a  short 
treatise  on  the  subject  to  the  Duke  of  Tagliacozzo,  Grand  Constable  of 
Naples,  and  brother  of  the  Duke  of  Urbino  (for  whose  sons  it  was  written), 
in  which  he  recommends  a  system  after  what  he  considers  ^^  the  manner 
of  the  ancients  ;"  and  he  takes  a  measure  of  the  capacity  of  the  human 
mind  in  acquiring  knowledge,  which  may  surprise  us  even  in  these  days  of 
universal  information.  He  shows  the  connexion  of  the  different  sciences, 
the  light  they  mutually  reflect,  and  the  necessity  for  knowing  {almanco 
in  una  certa  moderata  suMcienza)  the  entire  cirde.  He  then  divides 
his  proposed  course  into  nve  parts :  logic,  mathematics,  physics,  ethics, 
and  divinity  ;  and,  after  assigning  the  first  seven  years  of  human  life  to 
nourishment  and  exercise,  he  uso  devotes  seven  years  to  each  of  his 
great  divisions,  enumerating  their  several  branches  (grammar,  dialectics, 
rhetoric,  poetry,  and  history  being  included  under  the  head  of  logic,  and 
so  of  the  rest)  ;  and  thus  extending  the  education  of  man  to  his  forty- 
second  year.  He  then  goes  on  to  say  that  he  should  imperfectly  fulfil 
his  task  if  he  did  not  add,  for  the  satisfaction  of  the  ardent  few  who 
would  proceed  still  further,  that  there  are  other  subjects  connected  with 
several  of  these  dirisions,  such  as  agriculture,  architecture,  painting, 
cosmography,  medicine,  and  the  art  military ;  and  that  although  he  has 
adopt^  the  above  arrangement,  much  may  be  done,  and  much  time  be 
occasionally  saved,  by  the  talent  of  the  pupil  and  the  diligence  of  the 
preceptor,  particularly  by  proper  management  of  the  hours  of  study,  and 
by  confining  the  attention  to  the  most  important  points.  These,  it 
must  be  remembered,  are  not  the  sugjrations  of  a  dreamii^|f  scholar,  but 
of  an  able  publie  functionary  who  had  travelled  »nd  mixed  with  the 
.>orld^  a^dIt  ma^  ^ei^fo^  ,be;8qppp|i9d  that  they  were  intended  to 


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138  Fnmceseo  Sfarza. 

favre  aoma^  practkal  mpoliosAiatL  i  an  ojnaioo  whkh.  is  confimed  by  our 
finding  tlutv  besides  otafli:  reprints^  a  new  edition  of  the  work  was  jure- 
pared  by  one  of  fcbe  sons  of  Collenuccio  ^or  Guido'baldo  II.,  D\ike  of 
Urbmo.  In  one  of  the  dissertations  in  Butler's  **  Life  of  Erasmus,"  tbe 
period  devoted  to  the  seholsfitic  acquiremeats  of  the  fifteenth  centuiy  is 
stated  to  have  been  twelve  years ;  and  Mr.  Urquhart  might  have  found 
other  authorities  on  a  subject  which  is  at  least  as  interesting  as  <^  wars  un- 
dertaken without  motive,  pursued  without  vigour,  and  abandoned  without 
any  advantages  being  secured  by  peace,"  or  ''  alliances  a  thousand  times 
contracted,  bn^en,  renewed,  and  again  violated;" — ^in  briefer  phrase, 
flampaigns  by  which  nothing  was  decided,  and  treaties  which  were  only 
made  to  be  evaded. 

The  aocouat  of  the  marriage  of  Sforza  to  ffianca  Maria  Yisconti  is 
confined  to  a  single  page.  Now  this  was  an  event  upon  which  a  genuine 
antiquaiy,  devoted  to  the  middle  ages^  would  have  revelled.  The  feasts 
of  tiiose  days  were  gorgeous.  Th^  is  on  record  a  dinner  that  Issted 
fer  seven  hours,  and  of  which  the  bill  of  fare  (now  lying  before  us) 
eontains  dishes  that  it  would  perplex  the  genius  of  a  Soyer  to  reproduce. 
One  of  them  was  so  different  from  what  we  meet  with  at  modem  duiDers, 
that  we  cannot  help  giving  the  cooks  of  the  rising  generation  an  oppor- 
tanity  of  copying  it  The  carvers,  we  are  told,  having  changed  tneir 
dresses,  and  prepared  a  number  of  white  tapers  for  the  occasion,  there 
was  brought  in  what  appeared  to  be  a  large  castie,  which  was  placed  in 
the  middle  of  tiie  banquet-hall.  It  was  a  beautiful  piece  of  workmanship, 
and  within  it  was  a.  live  pig,  tiiat,  looking'up  at  the  Imttlements  which  con- 
fined it,  uttered  most  piercing  cries — as  pigs,  under  circumstances  of 
difficulty,  axB  usually  in  the  habit  of  doing ;  and,  with  tins,  were  a  number 
of  smaller  pigs  cooked  whole,  gilded  outside^  and  each  with  an  apple  in 
its  mouth,  together  with  various  other  kinds  of  roasted  meats,  it  also 
nppears  that  the  game,  after  being  cooked,  wss  generally  covered  with 
we  skins  or  feathers  of  the  different  animals,  so  as  to  give  them  the 
i^pearanee  of  being  still  alive :  a  process  of  manipulation  not  veiy  im- 
proving, we  should  thiidc,  ather  to  their  warmth  or  flavour. 

But  these  are  incidents  which,  like  die  laws  and  commerce  of  the  age, 
seem  to  have  no  attractions  for  Mr.  Urquhact ;  and  \£  he  has  omitted  to 
advert  to  them,  we  must  not  blame  him  for  not  having  done  what  he 
probably  never  intended  to  da  £b  is  open  to  censure  on  other  grounds^ 
though  not  of  a  very  gr^ve  character.  His  style  is  not  uniformly  sus- 
tained. A  habit  of  distinguishing  the  subjects  of  his  narrative  as  "  the 
former "  and  *' the  latter,"  in  place  of  designating  them  by  their  names, 
m  one  of  his  most  frequent  faults ;  and  it  involves  many  passages  in  an 
obscurity  which  might  easily  have  been  avoided.  Nor  are  the  names  of 
places  and  persons  always  given  with  intelligible  eorrsctness  ;  but  this 
may  have  arisen  fiiom  a  careless  revision  of  the  press. 

Were  we  called  upon  to  makn  a  comparison  between  the* ''  Life  of 
Fntaeeaeo  Sfena  "  and  Mr.  Dennistoun's  **  Dukes  of  Urbmo,''  as  speci- 
mens of  literary  workmanship^  we  might  say  that  the  one  was  preferable 
fior  its  ezBcutioB,  the  other  for  the  variety  and  richness  of  its  materials. 
They  alike  bear  evidences  of  accomplished  schohuahip  ;  and  though  we 
may  think  that  neither  is  destined  to  acquire  extensive  popularity,  we 
should  consider  ourselves  fabe  to  omr  trust  if  we  treated  uiem  with  any 
other  ftefings  than  tbose  of  attiBtiea  and  reqpeet 


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(     IM    ) 


A  SURVIY  OF  DANISH  UTERATURE,  FROM  THE  EARLIEST 
PERIOD  TO  THE  PRESENT  TIME. 

BT  KB&  BUSHBY. 

Paht  m. 

Is  xraewing  the  literature  of  Denmark^  one  is  suiprised  to  see,  not  so 
fow,  but  so  fnantf  authosa — nany,  when  the  limited  size  of  the  country 
ind  extent  of  the  population  be  taken  into  consideration.  It  must  be  rt* 
membered  that  the  Banish  laneuage  is  not  much  known,  and  that  it  is 
qpobm  and  read  only  by  the  mhabitants  of  Denmark  Ptx)per,  its  de- 
psodendesy  and  a  portion  of  its  colonists  in,  the  East  and  West  Indies ; 
yet  it  can  boast  of  more  writers  than  countries  of  an  equal  or  larger  size 
*~tbaa  Holland,  Italy,  Spain,  or  Portugal.  To  compare  the  amount  of 
its  litenture  widi  the  amount  of  the  literature  of  Germany,  France,  or 
Ei^land,  would  be  unfair  and  ridiculous ;  for  the  German  language  is  that 
of  a  large  portion  of  Europe,,  the  Frendi  is  almost  a  universal  laQguage 
wherever  eiyilisation  extends,  and  English  is  the  mother-tongue  of  half 
the  globe.  It  is  surprising,,  therefore,  that  Denmark  has  so  extensive  and 
really  so  good  a  litexature.^  This  is  still  more  to  be  wondered  at,  as  the 
Danes  are  such  excellent  linguists  that  the  literary  stores  of  other  nations 
are  within  their  easy  reach  ;  and,  moreover,  as  such  numbers  of  the  best 
works  among  the  dead,  and  of  die  most  popular  amone  the  living  lan- 
gaagos,  have  been  translated  into  DanisL  It  is  amusmg  to  see,  in  the 
catuogues  of  the  fashionable  circulating  librariea  of  Cojpenhagen,  the 
names  of  nimierous  English  novels  and  romances,  some  oi  them  looking 
rather  odd  in  their  foreign  nomenclature — '^  Bidder  Peyeril  paa  Hoien," 
which  stands  for  '^  Peveril  of  the  Peak  ^"  <'  En  FortsUing  om  Montrose** 
— literally,  ^*  A  Tale  about  Montrose ;"  *'  Snarleyyaw,  eHer  den  djs* 
velske  Huad"  ("The  Devilish  Dog")  —  Marryat's  "Snarleyow;  or. 
The  Dog-Fiend.''  But  the  Danes  do  not  translate  the  titles  of  English 
works  so  absurdly  as  the  French  sometimes  do,  and  frequently  they  abide 
by  the  originals.  Most  of  the  novels  of  Lady  Blessington,  Lady  C« 
Buzy,  Lady  Morgan,  Mrs.  TroUope,  and  Miss  Edgeworth,  have  been 
translated  mto  Dimish ;  and  many  of  Bulwer's,  Dickens's,  James's,  Har-^ 
rison  Ainsworth's,  Manyafa^  Grattan's,  dsc.,  are  also  popular  in  Den- 
mark. All  Walter  Scott's,  of  course,  are  well  known  there.  In  fact, 
the  popularity  of  foreign  authors — English,  French,  German,  and  Italian 
— rather  iaterferes  witil  the  sale  of  original  Danish  works. 

In  resuming  this  stight  survey  of  Danish  literature,  those  authors  must 
be  mentioned  first  who  stand,  as  it  were,  on  the  thresholds  of  two  cen- 
turies,  belonging  both  to  the  eighteenth  and  nmeteenth  century.  Knud 
Lyne  Rahl^k  is  one  of  those ;  ne  was  bom  in  Copenhagen  in  1760,  and 
died  there  in  1830.  Professor  Bahbek  was  an  untiring  laboarer  in  the 
fields  of  literature*  His  mind  was  early  imbued  with  a  love  of  reading, 
which  was  cultivated  by  skilful  private  tuition  during  his  childhood.  At 
twelve  years  of  age  he  was  sent  to  the  excellent  academy  of  Herlufsholm, 
in  the  sooth  of  Zealand,  and  he  afterwards  took  honours  at  the  university. 
He  was  oelehBaled  fibr  his  compilations  as  well  as  his  compositions— *tne 


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140 


A  Survey  of  Danish  literature. 


former,  probably,  being  the  most  valuable.  He  stood  high  as  a  critic  and 
a  reviewer,  and  was  the  principal  editor  of  a  clever  periodical  entitled 
The  Minerva,  and  another  <»Llled  The  Danish  Spectator,  He  was  the 
editor  of  his  friend  SamsOe's  works,  and  of  some  of  Holberg^s ;  and  he 
published  editions  of  Wessel's,  Thaaruss's,  Pram*s  works,  and  those  of 
other  writers.  Between  the  years  1812  and  1814,  Professor  Rahbek 
publbhed,  in  conjunction  with  Nyerup,  a  new  edition  of  the  old  Ki»m- 
peviser — ^national  songs  and  ballads — ^which,  as  has  been  related,  were 
first  collected  by  Vedel  in  the  sixteenth  century.  He  was  celebrated  as 
a  good  translator,  both  from  the  French  and  the  German.  He  wrote  for 
the  stage,  and  was  the  author  of  several  poems  and  prose  works,  which 
are  held  in  much  esteem  in  the  north ;  among  the  latter  may  be  men- 
tioned his  "  Erindringer" — "  Reminiscences" — ^in  five  volumes.  These 
did  not  appear  all  at  once,  but  in  parts,  between  the  years  1824  and  1829, 
and  they  abound  in  lively  descriptions  of  the  many  scenes  he  had  visited 
— ^for  Rahbek  had  travelled  a  great  deal — of  the  stirring  times  throu£^h 
which  he  had  lived,  and  of  the  various  celebrated  individuals  whom  he 
had  known,  or  with  whom  he  had  come  in  contact.  He  publbhed  a 
littie  work  on  '<  Style  ;**  a  sort  of  guide  to  composition,  wiu  examples 
from  the  best  authors,  and  a  collection  of  extracts  from  thear  works, 
which  he  modestly  caUed  ''A  Danish  Reading  Book."  Rahbek  was  a 
man  of  a  most  amiable  private  character — ^liberal,  hospitable,  and  kind- 
hearted  ;  and  he  and  his  accomplished  wife  drew  around  them  a  brilliant 
circle  at  their  country-house  near  Copenhagen.  In  the  literary  firma- 
ment, Rahbek  can  neither  be  called  a  blazing  meteor,  or  a  star  of  the 
first  magnitude ;  but  he  was  a  shining  and  a  steady  light — ^always  visible^ 
until  Cute  extinguished  his  useful  career. 

Leven  C.  Sander,  bom  in  1756,  who  died  in  1819,  was  a  professor  at 
the  University  of  Copenha^n,  and  an  author  of  various  works  on  rhetoric 
and  elocution;  also  of  a  mvourite  tragedy  called  ''Niels  Ebbesen,*'  and 
some  other  dramas. 

C.  J.  Boye,  a  pleasing  writer,  is  principally  known  by  his  religious 
poetry;  and  religious  poems,  as  all  versiners  are  aware,  are  the  most 
difficult  to  write  welL  The  following  elegy,  written  amidst  the  ruins  of 
a  monastery,  may  give  a  tolerable  specimen  of  this  author^s  style : 


Already  in  the  wave 

Hath  Phoebus  quenched  his  light, 
And  from  yon  azure  vault 

Is  Hesper  beaming  bright. 
Whilst  night,  majestic,  soars 

Upon  its  duskv  wings, 
And  from  Death  s  distant  home* 

In  silence,  darkness  brings-* 

The  pale  stars  shine  afar. 
While  my  lone  footsteps  tread 

Where  yonder  ancient  oaks 
Their  sombre  shadows  spread. 

Beneath  their  solemn  shade 

Behold  yon  ruins  grey  I 
There  the  dark  bird  of  night 

Hides  from  the  glare  of  day. 


How  to  my  fancy  rise 
Scenes  of  departed  years ; 

Of  times  long  past — ^alas ! 
My  gaze  is  checked  by  tears. 

For  where  now  silence  reigns 
These  gloomy  walls  among. 

In  days  gone  by  arose 
The  sound  of  holy  song. 

Now,  in  confusion  heaped^ 
But  mossy  stones  appear ; 

Yet  there,  the  chancel  stood — 
The  lofty  altar,  here! 

Where,  wearied  with  the  pains 

Of  life,  so  many  knelt. 
And  prayed  for  peace,  which  ne'er 

'Midst  the  world's  strife  is  felt. 


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A  Survey  of  Danish  Ltteraih&e.  141 

Where  hearts  were  lifted  up  I  The  best,  the  brightest  fade 
From  earth's  low  groveUing  thought,  I     Unto  the  riiadowy  land. 

And  wrapt  in  p«n»i«al,  !  So  must  earth  s  children  pass- 
Heaven's  promiaod  blessings  sought.      Dost  become  dust  again— 

Oh !  all  is  vanished  now —  As,  swept  by  autumn  winds, 

No  chant  is  heard  to  swell ;  |     Leaves  thickJy  strew  the  plain. 

'MWst  yon  deserted  wood  ;  y^  j^ok  beyond  the  gloom 

Peals  now  no  vesper  beU.  ,     ^hat  shrouds  the  gmve  in  night  I 

The  long  grass  waves  above  i  Eiemily  is  there- 
Christ's  servants'  humble  grave ;  A  glorious  land  of  light  I 

While  roars  the  storm  of  night  j^^  h      ,3         U^  ^^ 

O'er  ocean  s  darkened  wave.  |     ^he  nidiant  ^thway  shows 

So  must  all  earthly  things  ,  Which  leads  to  endless  bliss, 
Yield  to  Time's  withering  band ;  From  the  tomb's  dark  repose ! 

There  is  something  soothing,  though  sad,  in  these  lines  ;  and  certainly 
they  call  up  quite  a  picture  before  the  eyes  of  a  person  of  the  least  ima- 
gination. One  can  fancy  one  sees  the  grey  ruins — ^the  gloomy  wood — ^the 
*<  mossy  stones,"  and  hears  the  night-breeze  sighing  around,  and  the  rest- 
less mnrmnr  of  the  waves. 

This  song,  from  a  lyrical  drama  of  Boye's,  entitled  **  Elisa;  or,  Friend- 
ship and  Love,"  may  be  acceptable  to  English  readers  on  account  of  its 
subject — a  battle  in  the  Holy  Land  by  Uie  Crusaders  under  Richard 
Coeurde  lion: 

With  gory  steps  and  startling  yell, 
The  desert's  tiger— known  so  well — 

'Midst  the  good  shepherd's  fold 
Seeks  for  his  prey— intent  on  blood : 
But  ne'er  in  strife  hath  he  withstood 

Britannia's  Lion  bold* 

With  courage  high,  and  sword  in  hand. 
By  Lebanon  his  warriors  stand. 

Beneath  the  moon's  pale  rays. 
The  Cross  before  the  Crescent  flies! 
The  moon  is  shrouded  in  the  skies. 

Not  on  such  flight  to  gaze. 

King  Richard  marks  the  havoc  made, 
And  hastens  from  the  forest's  shade 

With  Britain's  squadrons  brave ; 
For  battle  ever  did  be  long^ 
His  mail-clad  breast,  his  spear,  were  strong 

As  rocks  that  stem  the  wave. 

Plumes  floated  o'er  his  helmet  high. 
Like  lightning  glanced  his  fiery  eye, 

As  proudly  on  he  rode. 
His  wrath,  in  its  tempestuous  might 
Was  like  the  angry  storms  of  night 

Burst  from  their  dark  abode. 

'Midst  clash  of  arms,  and  trumpet's  din — 
Where  fought  the  haughty  Saladin — 

Far  o'er  the  battle-field 
A  voice  was  heard,  like  thunder  loud, 
*'  On !  soldiers — of  your  cause  be  proud. 

The  Cross  must  never  yield." 
June— VOL,  xcT.  ho.  cccLZXTm.  l 


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142  A  Survey  of  Danish  Literature. 

Withfnrjr  raged  the  combat  then. 

The  noon  from  clouds  broke  forth  again 

To  light  that  strugde  brief. 
It  beamed  soon  o'er  the  conqueror's  way^* 
Tlie  hero  of  full  many  a  lay — 

Tile  LiQ»«hearted  chief. 

These  lineB  are  a  close  traulatioDy  and  there  is  snrely,  to  say  the 
least,  a  good  deal  of  spirit  in  tbera.  But  none  of  Boye's  poetiy  is 
heavy. 

Peter  Foersom,  the  son  of  a  clergyman  at  Ribe,  in  South  Jutland, 
who  was  bom  in  1778,  and  died  in  1817,  takes  his  place  among  Danish 
writers,  not  so  much  as  an  author  as  a  translator.  He  translated  Thom- 
son's **  Seasons,'^  and  the  greater  number  of  Shakspeare's  plays,  begin*- 
ning  with  ''Hamlet."  He  did  not  live  to  finish  them  all,  and  the  woric 
was  continned  and  completed  by  CoBmuoider  P.  F.  Wulff,  a  RTWt 
patron  of  literature  and  literary  people.  Foenom  was  an  aotor,  and  him* 
sdf  performed  the  parts  of  some  of  Shak^peare's  heroes.  It  is  a  remaik* 
able  fact  that  most  of  the  writers  on  general  literature  in  Deamark  were 
connected  with  the  theatres — were  directors,  managers,  iniqpeetors^  trea^ 
surers,  or  actors ;  if  not  always,  at  any  rate  at  some  period  ^of  their  lires. 
In  England,  the  Bar  supplies  the  greater  proportion  of  what  may  be  called 
tmmfttn^  literary  meo — ^reriewers,  magazine  writers,  newspaper  writers^ 
novel  writers,  dramatic  writers,  &c. 

We  now  come  to  Jens  Baggesen,  an  author  of  whom  the  Danes  are 
very  proud.  The  consideration  in  which  he  was  hdd  may  best  be  shown 
by  quoting  the  opinion  of  one  of  his  countrymen — translating  it  of  course : 
''  Kot  only  was  he  himself  a  most  interesting  person,  hot  his  numerous 
works,  often  classical,  were  alwap  attractive;  his  poetic  talents  were 
extraordinary ;  and  his  literary  undertakings  extensive.  At  the  close  of 
the  last  century  he  stood  pre-eminently  the  first,  and  will  always  be 
deemed  one  of  the  most  gifted,  original,  and  national  poets  that  Denmark 
ever  produced." 

Baggesen  was  bom  at  KorsOr,  in  1764*  His  parents  were  indigent,  and 
unable  to  give  him  early  advantages  of  education ;  but  he  learned  to  read 
and  write,  and  in  his  twelfth  year  obtained  the  situation  of  under-derk  to 
the  collector  of  taxes.  His  handwriting  improved  so  much,  that  he  was 
admitted  into  a  private  school^  on  the  condition  of  becoming  writing- 
master  to  his  schoolfellows.  From  thenee  he  went  to  a  Latin  soho<n ; 
but,  not  to  follow  him  through  the  course  of  his  education,  it  is  sufficient 
to  say  that  he  published  his  first  worir,  <*  Comie  TVdes,"  in  1785 ;  and 
shortly  aft»r  some  elegiac  and  lyrical  poems»  In  1789  he  wrote  an 
opera  called  <'  Holger  Danske" — <<  Hdger  the  Dane ;"  a  favourite  subject  • 
and  tide  with  Danish  authors,  who  all  seem  to  delight  in  the  tale  of 
magic  of  which  Ho]lfi;er  Danske — the  diampion  of  Denmark — ^is  the  hero. 
But  Baggesen's  *^  Holger"  was  assailed  by  ridicule,  and  caricatured  in  a 
parody  written  by  the  witty  P.  A.  Heiberg,  and  entitied  "  Holger  T^dske" 
— "  Holger  the  German.'^  It  was  whHe  smarting  under  this  unmerited 
attack,  that  Baggesen  obtained  the  patronage  of  the  Duke  of  Au^usten- 
burg,  and,  through  his  influence,  tne  means  of  travelling  abroad.  He 
travelled  through  Germany^  France,  and  Switzerland,  where,  poor  as  he 
was,  he  married;  and  these  travels  he  puUisbed  in  a  prose  work,  which 


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A  Survey  of  Danish  Literaiare.  148 

he  called  '^  The  Labyrinth.'*  A  short  extract  from  the  account  of  his 
arrival  at  Worms,  on  the  Rhine,  may  be  interesting  to  some  readers : 

^*  Traversing  a  pleasant  road  at  the  foot  of  sloping  hills  on  the  right 
hand,  and  by  the  margin  of  the  majestic  ever-flowing  Rhine,  in  sight  of 
fertile  flowery  fields,  vineyards,  many- tinted  groves  of  nnt-trees,  and 
smiling  gardens,  we  approached  about  mid-day  the  old  imperial  city.  I 
could  not  help  feeling  deeper  interest  as  I  gazed  on  its  venerable  roofs 
ihan  I  had  ever  experienced  on  visiting  any  other  place.  The  spirit  of 
Luther  seemed  to  hover  over  me  I  ...  .  We  went  straight  to  the 
time-haUowed  snot  where  the  intrepid  Luther  appeared  at  the  Diet,  in 
1521,  before  Cnarles  V.  *  Here  he  stood!'  we  exclaimed;  and,  over- 
powered by  the  exciting  remembrance,  we  sank  upon  our  knees.  Yes, 
here  stood,  at  that  time,  Europe's  single  worthy  representative,  with  the 
bte  of  centuries  on  his  Atlas  shoulders !  He  felt  that  the  freedom — the 
spiritual  light — the  happiness  of  numerous  races,  would  fail  if  he  were  to 
give  way,  and  he  stood  immovable  as  a  rock  amidst  the  wildest  storms — 
a  second,  but  more  steadfast^  Peter!  How  quailed  Lynilden^s  Son* 
before  his  lofty  energy !  With  a  countenance  radiant  in  light  from  heaven, 
high  towered  his  noble  head  above  all  the  startled  concourse  there :  the 
dagger,  fell  from  the  trembling  hand  of  the  assassin ;  the  poisoned  chalice 
burst,  symbolical  of  the  overthrow  of  Papacy,  and  the  scattering  of  the 
clouds  of  darkness !" 

After  many  wanderings,  Baggesen  returned  to  settle  in  Copenhagen 
in  1798,  bringing  with  him  a  second  wife,  whom  he  had  married  at 
Paris,  not  long  after  the  death  of  the  fiist  one.  He  was  appointed 
director  of  the  theatre ;  but  soon  became  tired  of  a  stationary  fife,  and 
left  Zealand  for  the  continent.  He  published  in  German  as  well  as  in 
Danish ;  but  so  numerous  were  his  writings,  that  it  will  be  sufficient  to 
say  his  Danish  works  ak>ne  fill  twelve  volumes,  in  an  edition  published 
by  his  son.  Baggesen  was  truly  an  erratic  genius ;  as  both  his  writings 
and  his  Ufe  evinced :  brilliant,  s^sitive^  and  peevish,  he  had  great  talents, 
but  he  wanted  petseveranee  and  ballast. 

It  is  manifestly  impossible  here  to  give  any  adequate  specimen  of 
Baggesen's  writings ;  therefore  we  shall  only  take  a  few  verses  from  one 
of  his  eariy  produotioDS-^*'  Holger  Danske' — and  some  lines  written  at 
a  later  period  of  his  life,  which  are  much  admired  by  the  Danes  : 

BIDDER  OLLEB  (SIB  OLLEB). — PBOM  '^  HOLOEB  THE  DAKE.'^ 

Twas  the  midnight  hour,  and  spectres  danced 

Round  Urian ; 
While  hiU  and  dale,  and  forest  glanced 

As  lightning  ran. 

Round  Urian  loudly  thunders  roar 

Amidst  the  night ; 
Then  all  became  dark,  as  before 

Blazed  yonder  light. 

But  brave  Sir  OUer  still  onwards  pressed 

Towards  the  wood ; 
He  spurred«-no  fear  his  soul  possessed — 

His  charger  good. 

*  So  Certantes  calls  Charles  V . 
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144  A  Survey  of  Danish  LUeraturu 

The  spectres  advancing  danced  around 

His  startled  steed ; 
Which,  snorting,  stood  as  if  nailed  to  the  ground, 

A  trembling  reed. 

From  his  horse,  Sir  Oiler  in  haste  sprang  down, 

His  foot  it  slipped ; 
In  a  pool  of  blood,  he  marked  with  a  frown, 

His  foot  had  dipped. 

Round  Urian  thunder  rolls  again. 

Red  lightnings  glare. 
And  all  o'er  which  Oiler's  eyeballs  strain 

Is  blazing  there. 

Amidst  the  flames  a  bloody  band 

Sir  Oiler  sees ; 
Madly  he  rushes  ou,  sword  in  hand. 

To  combat  these. 
But  Urian  cries  in  a  scornful  tone. 

**  Ha !  wouldst  thou  dare  ?" 
And  the  knight  and  his  steed  are  turned  to  stone. 

Ever  to  stand  there! 

The  other  lines  are  part  of  a  poem  addressed  to  his  fatherland  : 

TIL  MIT  FJBDRBNBIiAKD. 

Thou  spot  I  where,  called  by  the  Almighty^s  will, 
From  notliingness  I  rose,  to  meet  the  strife 

Of  this  dark  world,  its  lengthened  hours  of  ill, — 
And  still,  oh  God  I  to  everlasting  life ! 

Beloved  spot !  where,  with  enchanted  ear, 
I  listened  to  the  birds  the  woods  among ; 

Where  heaven's  own  harmonies  I  seemed  to  hear 
In  their  blythe  carol,  and  my  mother's  song. 

Where,  from  mv  trembline  lips  first  softly  flowed 
The  name  of  her  who  shone  in  every  grace ; 

When  first,  spell-bound,  my  kindling  bosom  glowed 
In  love's  and  friendship's  cordial,  warm  embrace. 

O,  native  land !  have  I  not  sought  to  gain 

O'er  our  wide  globe — where  earth's  descendants  dwell- 
An  Eden,  calm  and  fair  as  thou  ?    In  vain  ; 
For  thou  art  linked  by  memory's  hidden  chain 

To  the  blest  joys  that  childhood  loved  so  well ! 
Ah  !  nowhere  do  the  roses  seem  so  red — 

Ah !  nowhere  else  the  thorn  so  small  appears — 
And  nowhere  makes  the  down  so  soft  a  bed 

As  that  where  innocence  reposed  in  bygone  years ! 

What  though  in  brighter  and  less  broken  rays 
O'er  the  clear  fountains  and  the  limpid  streams 

Of  many  distant  lands,  the  mild  sun  plays. 
Than  o'er  the  Belt  and  our  cold  zone  it  beams. 

Range  round  the  world,  and  melt  in  tropic  grove, 
Or  shiver  *midst  the  mountain-fields  ot  snow ; 

Hear  from  a  thousand  lips  where'er  ve  rove, 
Nature's  and  its  Creator^  praises  flow  ; 

Remark  whereher  bright  blessings  Treedom  flheds^ 

And  the  rich  gmin  for  otf  its  treasures  spreads ; 


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A  Survey  of  Dofiish  Literature.  145 

Tet  o*erthe  wanderer's  spirit  stdness  steab. 
And  everywhere  a  blank— a  want —it  feels  i 
The  peasants  dancing  to  the  shepherd's  reed 

SArao*s  banks,  less  gladly  do  I  heed 
an  tlie  wild  birds  that  from  our  falcons  speed* 
And  Eloisa's  grove  seems  thorns  beside 


The  tangled  bushy  copse,  where  oft  I  sank 
In  rapture,  with  my  first  love  by  my  side. 
Less  high  seems  Schrekhom*s  summit  than  the  bank 


From  which  to  grasp  the  distant  moon  I  sought. 
And  raised  to  God  was  my  first  childish  thought. 

Here — here  alone  remembrance  fondly  strays 
O'er  the  wild  wanderings  of  youth's  gladsome  days, 
Painting  in  brighter  tints  all  that  hath  been. 
Till  softer,  lot  her  seems  each  distant  scene. 
Here,  harbour  of  my  joys  I  in  thy  calm  sea 
The  stars  of  heaven  reflected  seem  to  me 
More  glittering,  that  I  gaze  on  them  in  thee! 

Notwithstanding  the  feelings  towards  his  native  land  expressed  ia 
these  verses,  Bageesen  spent  a  large  portion  of  his  life  in  foreien 
Qonntriesy  and  died  at  Hamburg  in  1826.  Baggesen  was,  perhaps,  ^e 
most  popular  poet  in  Denmark  until  Oehlenschlaeger  (of  whom  he  was 
extremely  jealous)  appeared,  whose  commanding  genius  soon  placed  him 
at  the  h^  of  the  bterature  of  his  country. 

Adam  Oehlenschbeger  was  bom  in  1779.  His  &ther  was  steward  of 
the  royal  castle  of  Frederiksberg,  near  Copenhagen.  He  began  life  as 
an  actor,  but  soon  Quitted  that  cdling,  and  became  a  student  at  the  uni- 
vermty.  At  an  eany  age  he  entered  on  his  literary  career,  in  the  course 
of  which  he  has  won  not  merely  a  European,  but  an  undying  celebrity, 
puling  the  earliest  part  of  this  century  his  works,  transUted  by  himself 
into  the  language  of  Grermany,  made  a  great  sensation  in  that  country ; 
and  this  is  of  itself  no  small  praise  to  him,  when  it  is  considered  how 
studded  was  the  literature  of  Germany  with  brilliant  luminaries  of  its 
own.  Madame  de  Stael  was  one  of  the  first  to  circulate  the  fame  of 
Oehlenschheger  throughout  the  world,  for  he  was  mentioned  with  much 
and  just  applause  in  her  admirable  work,  "De  L'Allemagne."  "Oeh- 
lenschlaeeer,"  says  she,  ^^  has  represented,  in  a  manner  at  once  truthful 
and  poetical,  the  history  and  the  fables  of  those  countries  which  were  for- 
merly inhaUted  by  the  Scandinavians.  We  know  little  of  the  north 
whicn  stands  on  tne  confines  of  the  living  earth.  .  .  •  The  frigid  ur 
which  congeals  the  breath,  returns  the  heat  into  the  soul ;  and  nature,  ia 
these  climates,  seems  only  made  to  throw  man  back  upon  himself.^  The 
heroes  in  the  fictions  of  northern  poetry  are  gigsinlac  j  superstition,  in 
their  characters,  is  united  to  strength,  whilst  everywhere  else  it  appears 
the  companion  of  weakness.  .  .  .  Oehlenschlsger  has  created  an  entirely 
new  patn,  in  taking  for  the  subjects  of  his  pieces  the  heroic  traditions  of 
his  country ;  and  if  his  example  he  followed,  the  literature  of  the  North 
may  one  day  become  as  celebrated  as  that  of  Germany." 

Among  Oehlenschlsger's  numerous  works  may  be  named  his  "  Nor- 
den*8  Guder''  ("  Gods  of  the  North"),  which  he  styles  «aa  epic  poem;" 
hot  it  is  rather  a  suoceerion  of  poems,  containing  tne  adventures  of  Thor 
(one  of  the  most  important  of  the  Scandinavian  gods)  with  Lok^  who 
accompanies  him  on  a  journey.     Loke  was  a  spirit  of  mischief,  ^*  who 

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146  A  Surveg  qf  Dmkh  LUmtture. 


1,''  says  Moiniofaen,  '^Mmewbat  Uie  ssme  part  in  ihe  -Valhalla  that 
lomus  did  at  Olympos,"  except  that  Lr^  delighted  in  doing  harm  as 
well  as  in  creating  mirth.  This  member  of  the  Northern  m^holc^  ia 
represented  as  very  handsome,  but  wily,  and  not  to  be  truateo.  <<  Hrolf 
Krake"  and  ^*  Helge"  are  also  faTourites  among  the  Panes.  Then  there 
are  several  volumes  of  "  Samlede  Digte'*  by  Oehlenschbeger  Q^  Collected 
Poems"),  on  every  possible  subject — solemn,. grave,  serene,  gay ;  for  the 
gi^ei  poet  appears  to  have  been  a  perfect  Proteus  in  bis  writings.  Some 
of  these  are  quite  Utile  gems.  We  lament  that  the  limits  of  a  magazme 
must  prevent  oar  giving  a  selection  of  them ;  but,  opening  a  volume  at 
random,  we  shall  transoribe  a  few  of  their  names:  *'  The  two  Church 
Spires,"—"  The  Witaxd  of  the  Hill"—"  The  Children  in  the  Moon"— 
"  William  Sbakspeare,"  whose  works  he  calls,  in  this  little  poem,  the 
''giary  of  Britain  and  the  iiw«**— "The  old  Priest"— "To  Thor- 
waldsen"— "The  Spectre  Knight"  — "The  Rosebushes"— " Ewald'a 
Grave"—"  The  Pharisee"—"  Bacchus  and  Cupicj^"  &c. 

From  twelve  to  fifteen  hundred  pages  of  these  little  poems  may  be  sup- 
posed to  contain  a  considerable  number.  Of  OehlensehlsBger's  {Mrose 
•romance,  "  Oen  i  Sydhavet"  ("  An  Island  in  the  -South  Sea^),  we  ^rill 
not  qpeak,  because  it  does  no  mdit  to  his  genius ;  but«we  ate  tempted  to 
ffive  one  of  the  little  snatches  of  poetry  seatterdd  through  it.  The  fid- 
K>wing  is  a  colloquy  between  Death' and  his  victims    on  odd-idea : 

YSf^  SB  JSa  flVAG,  DOa,  KUSBB  J>QD« 

"  Tboagh  I  am  feeble,  yet,  dear  Death, 
Awhile  let  me  remaiD !" 

**  Old  man,  thy  locks  are  white  as  snow, 

Still  thou  art  loth  witii  me  to  go- 
But  come,  thy  prayer  b  vain.*' 

"  I  am  in  manhood's  prime ;  wouldst  thou 

Then  break  my  sUiff  to^lay  ?" 
*'  The  tall  pine  on  the  mountain's  side. 
By  lightning  struck,  falls  in  its  pride : 

My  call  thou  must  obey." 

"  I  am  a  maiden— beauteous,  young : 

Wouldst  hide  me  in  the  tomb  ?" 
"  Thou  for  this  world  art  all  too  fair ; 
The  bright  rose  never  withers  where 

Thou  soon  again  shalt  bloom  f" 

"  So  soon  a  hero  canst  thou  snatch 

From  glory's  bright  career?" 
**  I  come,  clftd  as  a  wiwior  proud  : 
Wh»t^6lllci9tthou?     'Neath  my  mailed  slirond 

No  fleshless  bones  appear.** 

**  Extinguish  not,  ah  yet,  dear  Death, 

Love's  fire,  that  bums  so  bright !" 
"  O,  I  can  hold  in  close  embrace — 
And  though  my  mouth  no  warm  lips  gnute, 

Behold — my  teeth  are  white  I" 

**  Wouldst  tear  me  from  mv  golden  hoard 

With  merciless  comnuuidsr' 
'*  Follow !  Beneath  the  earth's  black  mould 
Gold  never  rusts ;  and  thy  dear  gold 

Shall  shine  in  other  hands." 


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A  JSkrmff  of  Jkmiib  Literaiure*  JL47 

"  What !  fnun  hit  oountry's  eouB«il»dag 

The- statesman  proud?-— Away T 
"  I  call  thee  to  a  court  more  bigQf 
Where  angel-forms  above  the  sxy 

Throng  round  God*s  throne  alwayT* 

"  Against  my  ancient  *scutcheon — ha  I 

To  raise  thy  scvthe  dar'st  thou  ?* 
''  Adam,  the  noblest  of  thy  race, 
Was  made  to  bow  before  my  lace : 

Tby  fiavce  it  ended  novr.** 

"  Thy  Tengeance  wreak  not  thou  on  me  : 

Behold — this  brow  a  crown. adorns!" 
**  Vain  it  thy.dbim — thv  power  it  o^er— 
Death  on  the  cross  God*s  own4on  bore* 

Think  on  hit  crown  of  thorns  V 

<<  We  are  to  little-*na.at  least 

From. the  dark  grave  oh  spare !'' 
'*  Does  not  vour  heavenly  father  love 
Young  children — ye  shall  sport  above 

With  winged  cherubs  there.** 

"  Call  not  the  anxious  mother  hence 

From  those  her  cares  employ  T* 
"  Come — ^at  heaven's  window  thou  shalt  stand. 
And  gaze  on  the  beloved  band 

And  thou  shalt  weep  for  joy  I 

*'  For  though  my  form  is  frightful,  I 

Am  less  your  foe  than  friend. 
I  bring  ye  all  but  transient  woe. 
Your  souls  my  scythe  may  never  mow. 

These  shall  to  God  ascend  I" 

And  yet  these  Haes  «re  horn  Oehlenschlseger's  '^  weakest  toorkj**  as  a 
ooontiyman  of  his  own  pronounces  it  to  be!  Hit  dfsnias,*  etpecially 
IiiB  tragedies,  are  generally  esteemed  his  best  wofics ;  and  of  these  the 
best  again  are  «  f  alnatoke,"  "  Axel  og  Valbore,"  "  Correggio,'*  and 
'^  ELakon  Jarl.**  The  subject  of  '*  Falnatoke*'  is  derived  irom  an  episode 
in  Danish  history,  partly  real,  partly  legendary,  relating  to  a  litde 
island  which  was  named  Jomsborg,  and  governed  and  inhabited  by 
.  jimteg,  tthe-ehiefe'of  .whom  were  men  of  rank.  Itwas^said  to  have  been 
agabst  the  laws  of  the  island  to  allow  woman  to  live  or  land  there;  no 
females,  therefore,  appear  in  Oehlenschlseger^s  tm^pedy.  **  Axel  and 
Valborg*'  is  a  great  favourite  in  Denmark ;  and  so  it  deserves  to  be,  for 
it  is  a  nigh-toned  and  beautiful  tragedy.  ^^  Correggio"  is  full  of  fecJing 
and  is  a  bhmd  and  poetical  drama;  the  versatility,  or  rather  the  uni- 
versality, of  Oehlenschlaeger*8  .genius  is  evinced  in  his  having  been  the 

*  Some  of  these  dramas  have  been  beautifully  translated  into  English  by  liBtt 
Chapman,  and  are  at  present  in  the  course  of  preparation  for  the  London  stage. 
This  lady  lived  for  some  time  in  Denmark,  where  a  portkui  of  her  ftunily  have 
been  U>ng  resident;  and  wbUe  there,  the  devoted  herself  to  the  study  of  the 
Danish  language  and  literature,  both  ancient  and  modem,  in  which  punuit  the 
eojoyed  the  advantage  of  perusing  many  rare  books  and  scarce  editiont,  cmly  to 
be  found  in  the  Royal  Library  of  Copenhagen.  There  can  be  no  doubt,  there- 
fore, of  the  perfect  accuracy  of  her  translationt.  This  talented  lady  hat  alto 
tnntlated  some  of  Ingemann's  historical  novels,  and  Herz's  popular  drama, 
"  King  Ben^s  Daughter,"  with  the  ooncunence  and  approbation  of  their  re- 
spective authors. 


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148  A  Survey  of  Dmisk  Literature. 

author  both  of  "  Correg^o''  mud  "  Hakon  Jarl.**  One  can  hardly  fiuiqr 
the  same  mind  conceiving  the  character  of  the  mild,  oontemphitiTe 
painter,  devoted  to  the  Christian  faith,  and  enthosiastic  in  his  art,  and 
the  cold,  hard  Jarl — ^the  Pagan  warrior,  the  bigoted  worshipper  of  Odin, 
and  the  stem  participator  in  the  bloody  rites  with  which  the  Scandina- 
vian  deity  was  sought  to  be  propitiated. 

Hakon  Jarl,  an  historical  personage,  was  one  of  the  last  upholders  of 
the  fedth  of  Odin  in  Norway.  Among  other  scenes  in  OehlenschlsBgei^a 
fine  tragedy,  is  one  in  which,  finding  everything  going  i^ainst  him  and 
his  religion,  Hakon,  according  to  the  horrid  superstition  which  demanded 
human  victims,  sacrifices  his  child,  a  littie  boy,  called  Erling,  to  pro- 
pitiate the  gods,  and  stabs  him  in  the  sacred  grove.  But  his  followers 
desert  him;  Olaf  Trygg^vason,  his  Christian  rival,  wins  the  day,  and 
Hakon  Jarl,  attended  by  a  single  slave,  whom  he  supposes  to  be 
faithful,  seeks  shelter  and  concealment  from  Thora,  who  had  formerly 
been  beloved  by  him,  but  whom  he  had  insulted  and  deserted,  and  whose 
brothers  he  had  killed.  When  he  thus  throws  himself  as  a  humbled 
fugitive  on  her  compassion,  she  forgets  all  her  wrongs  and  his  evil 
dmds,  and  secretes  him  in  a  cave,  known  only  to  herself.  The  cave 
scene  is  one  of  the  last  in  the  play,  and  the  fc^wing  are  extracts 
from  it : 

A  Subterranean  Rocky  Cave. — Hakon  and  Karher  enter,  the  latter  carrying 
a  lamp,  and  a  dish  with  meat. 

Karher,  Is  this  the  hiding-place  where  we  must  stop  ? 
There's  little  comfort  here.    Where  shaU  I  hang 
The  lamp  ? 

Hakon,  See  yonder  hook  agunst  the  wall ; 
Go,  hang  it  there. 

Karher,  'Tis  true,  I  may  do  that ; 

And  here  are  seats  hewn  from  the  solid  rock, 
Where  one  might  softly  rest.    Sir  Jarl,  will  you 
Now  break  your  fast  ?    For  you  have  nothing  touched 
A  night  and  a  whole  day. 

Hakon,  I  need  it  not. 

But  thou  mayst  eat. 

Karher.  With  your  permission,  yes. 

(He  sits  down  and  begins  to  eat.  Hakon  paces  up  and  down  with  long  strides.) 

Karher.  Sir  Jarl,  tnis  is  an  ugly,  homd  hole ; 
Sa^,  did  vou  mark  that  chest,  so  black,  which  stood 
Within  the  narrow  way,  tliat  led  us  here? 

Hakon.  Eat,  and  he  silent!  {Aside,^  Here  in  this  dark  cave 
Has  Thora  watched  through  many  a  sleepless  night, 
And  wept  in  solitude.     Was  not  this  hall 
Destined  to  be  her  grave !    Ton  heavy  chest 
She  secretly  had  made,  and,  buried  there. 
Her  lovely  form  was  to  have  waited  for 
Cormption  vile.    (Looks  at  Karher.) 

Skive  I  why  dost  thou  not  eat  ? 
It  was  thy  wont  to  seize  thy  food  with  greed. 
What  ails  thee? 

Karher,  Ah,  Sir  Jari  I  I  have  for  food 

But  little  longing. 

Hahon.  Littie  longing — why? 

Eat,  slave— be  calm  and  cheerful — look  at  me. 
Thy  lord. 


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A  Survey  of  Dmish  LUerature.  149 

Kiu^ker,  Ah,  good,  my  lord ;  methinks  you  are 
Yourself  dispirited  and  sad  at  heart. 

Hakon,  I,  sad  at  heart!    How  dar*st  thou  say  so,  slare? 
Let  us  be  merry.    Since  thou  wilt  not  eat. 
Sing  me  some  pleasant  song. 

Karker.  What  shall  it  be  ? 

Hakon,  Whate'er  thou  wilt--but  rather  let  thy  song 
Be  of  dull  sound — like  rain,  or  hail-stones  falling 
Amidst  a  wintry  storm.    A  lullaby — 
Sing  me  a  lullaby. 

Karker.  AluUabv? 

Haktm,  That  might  put  cnildren  of  ripe  years  to  sleep* 
In  spite  of  midnight  fears. 

Karker,  My  lord,  I  know 

A  noble  war-song  from  the  olden  days. 

Hakon.  Has  it  a  frightful  end  ?    Seems  it  to  go 
At  first  all  smoothly—and  then  does  it  turn 

To  murder  and  to  death  ? 

B^'nthysongl 

(JTerifctfr  sings.) 
King  Harald  and  Erling  they  sailed  one  night, 

Tbemoon  was  shining,  the  winds  were  fair, 
The  Jarls  they  came  to  Oglegaard, 

But  in  flames  they  perbhed  there  I 

Bakon,  Karker!  art  thou  mad? 
My  father's  death-song  dost  thou  sing  to  me  ? 

Karker,  Was  Siguid  Jarl,  your  father,  then,  my  lord  ? 
I  knew  it  not.    His  was  a  dreadful  fate  I 

Hakan.  Hush! 

Karker,  Would  that  one  could  find  a  mat,  or  straw 

Whereon  to  stretch  one's  self,  to  seek  repose  I 

Hakon,  If  thou  art  weary,  sleep  upon  the  ground ; 
r?e  done  so  oh  myself. 

Karker.                          Well,  so  I  will, 
Sir  Jarl,  since  you  forbid  it  not 

Hakon,  Sleep— sleep! 

{Karker  stretches  himself  upon  the  ground,  and  falb  asleep.    Hakon  contem- 
plates him.) 

Hakon.  O  leaden  nature— dost  thou  sleep  so  soon  ? 
The  feeble  spark  which  witness  bore  that  thou 
Wert  human — not  a  block — now  smoulders  there 
Within  yon  heap  of  ashes.    But  ....  with  me 
It  flames  and  storms  in  its  unruly  might. 
Didst  thou  my  father's  death-song  chant,  to  give 
A  warning  from  the  Nomer?^    Shall  my  fate 
Like  Sigurd's  be  ?    I  am  what  Sigurd  was, 
A  man  of  blood — stanch  to  the  ancient  gods. 

(With  uneasiness.) 
What  if  it  should  be  I    .    .    .    Can  it  be  in  truth 
That  Christ  has  conquered  Odin  ?        .        .        •        . 

Ahl'tischiU— 

*Tis  sadly  chill  and  damp  in  this  dark  cdl ! 

iHe  walks  up  and  down  for  a  time,  then  stops  and  looks  at  Karker.) 
ave  is  dreaming.     Horrid !  ghastly  thoughts 
Are  painted  on  his  face.    See — how  he  lies. 
And,  Uke  a  demon,  grins  beneath  the  lamp ! 

*  The  ScandinaTlan  deftiniei. 


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KO  A  Smrmy  of  IhniAIdUraiwre. 


(HeafaidDMbhn.} 
Wake,  sLiye !    Wake— Karker— say,  what  doth  bttide 
That  hideous  smile? 

Karker.  Hah!  I waadieaiiiingtlwiL 

Halum.  What  didst  thou  dream  ? 

Karher,  I  dreamt  .... 

Habm.  Hvthl  hark! 

What  can  that  uproar  be — yaader-^abofre? 

Karker,  A  troop  of  soldiers,  Jarl,  for  I  ean^hear 
'  The  clank  of  arms.     King  Olafs  men,  'tis  like. 
Are  seeking  you. 

Hakon,  Tbnoave is- all  unkmnm. 

Tliora  gave  me  the  key ;  the  door  is  clamped 
With  iron  bolts.    Here,  surely,  we  are  sate  I 

iKarker  listens.) 
earyou  not  what  they.aay? 

Hakotu  What  do  they  say  ? 

Karkar.  They  say  King  Olaf  will 

Beward  the  man  with  honour  andwhhgold 
Who  brings  your  head  to  him. 

Hakon  (looking  keenly  at  him).  But  that  reward 
Thou*lt  never  earn  ?  Why  dost  thou  tremble  so  ? 
W^  are  thy  cheeks  so  pale— tliy  lips  so  blue  ? 

iarker.  Ah  I  I  am  still  uneasy  at  my  dream. 
If  you  read  dreams,  my  lord,  Fll  tell  you  mine. 

Karker's  dreams  are  not  over  pleasing  to  his  lord,  who  beffins  to  fed 
some  unpleasant  suapicions  .about  him ;  however,  he  desires  him  to  go  to 
rest,  and  declares  his  intention  of  likewise  seeking  repose.  Karker  pie- 
pares  to  obey,  but  first  busies  himself  about  the  lamp.  Hakon^asks  him 
what  he  is  aoing.  He  answers,  that  he  is  going  to  extinguish  the  ilainp; 
whereupon  his  master  exclaims : 

Nay,  go  to  rest,  and  let  the  lamp  bum  on  I 
Without  it,  we  should  be  involved  in  gloom 
Too  dark  and  dismal. 

Surely- darkness  is 
.A  type  of  death— more  black  and  terrible 
Than  death  itself— while  light  gives  confidence. 
Then  let  the  lamp  alone.    Feebly  it  bums- 
Better  that  light  than  none.    Go  aleep»  my  son  I 

(They  both  remain  quiet  ibr  some  time.) 
Hakon.  Karker  I  art  thou  asleep  ? 
JTarker,  I  am,  Sir  Jarl. 

Hakon.  Hal  stupid,  doltish  slave! 

(He  rises. and  paces  up  and  down.) 
HakoB— Hakon! 
Is  yonder  serf  of  all  thou  didst  poasess 
The  only  remnant  left?    I  trust  him  not    .    .    . 

Give  me  thy  dagger,  Karker,  for  a  slave 
No  weapon  needs. 

'  Karker.  You  gave  it  me,  my  lord. 

But  here  it  is. 

Hakon,  Sleep  now. 

Karker  I  will. 

Hakon,  My  head 

F— Is  strangely  heavy ;  Xam  tiredand  faint 
After  the  morning*s  stri£i,.^jeveniog*s  fijght, 


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.A  Sknksyof  JDamsh  IJinahtre.  101 

.¥at  alninher  dare  not  Mek  •    .    .  forycmdardnve..    •    . 

I  win  but  rest  awhile— alcep  shall  not  dote 

.These  watching  eyes.    (He  throws  himself  dowD,  and  soon  falls  asleep.) 

"Kmker  (rising  stealthily).  He  sleeps  at  last ;  he  thinks 
1  Bmnot'to'be  trusted/tiiat  I  see. 
'He-fears  I  sh^l  betray  him  ;  for  his  life 
iKiagOfaf  loq9i--«wottld  goki  and.  honours  sive. 
WfaatwBntlBMieiKwihhn?    He^wakesT  'Help,  Iter! 

Hak/m  (risiog.inhis sleap^airides fonrard» and  atasds  in  the  centre  of  the 
cave). 
Guldharald !  Graafeld  I — what  want  ye  with  me  ? 
Leave  me  in  peace,  ye  did  deserve  your  death  ; 
I  vowed  ye  no  false  friendship.    Girl  I  go  home— 
I  have  no  time  to  dally  with  thee  now. 

Who  weeps  in  yonder  grove?    Efling — ^'tis  thou  1 

Oh !  this  is  wont  of  all— why  weepest  thou  ? 

Stabbed  I  too  deep  ?    See— see  the  crimson  drops 

Amidst  the  roses  trickle  from  thy  breast.    (He  calls  out  loudly.) 

Oh,  Karker.Karker! 

Karher.  What,  Sir  JarlP    Hefalb 

Into  still  deeper  sleep. 

Hakon.  It  is  all  o*er. 

There — take  thy  di^ser^-^plnngeit intomy heart ! 

Karker,  You  will  be  angry  when  youwake,  mylord. 

Hakon,  I  have  deserved  it,  Karker— thrust  well  home  I 

Karher  (taking  up  the  dagger).  'He  is  my  lord,  I  must  obey  his  will. 

Hakon  (still  sleeping).  Ha !  haste  thee^  baste  thee,  Karker,  ere  I  wake— 
For  thou  or  I  must  die.    .... 

Karker  (stabbing  him).  Then ^um  shall  die! 

Hakon  (starting).  It  was  the  avenging  hand  of  heaven  that  struck. 
Now,  Tryepvason,  thy  prophecy's  fulhllra  ! 
I  feel  the  lightning  flaming  in  my  breast.    (He  dies.) 

Karker,  *ris  done ! — no  pity  can  avail  him  now. 
And  if  I  groaned  and  shrieked  till  I  were  hoarse, 
I  could  not  call  him  back  to  life  again ;  ^ 

So,  from  his  pocket  I  shall  take  the  kev 
And  haste  to  bear  bun  lience.    Kiag  Olaf  will 
Reward  the  deed  with  silver  and  with  gold. 
What's  done  is  done — he  asked  himself  for  death. 
How  should  I  but  obey  my  lord's  oommand ! 

(Exit  Jr«rirr,  carrying  out  the  body.) 

The  treacherous  serf,  however,  is  rewarded  according  to  his  deseBts  by 
die  Christian  King  Olaf,  and  is  executed  for  the  murder  of  Hakon. 

On  the  occasion  of  the  funeral  of  the  eminent  sculptor,  Thorvraldflfln, 
who  died  in  March,  1844,  the  requiem  was  written  by  his  intimate  friend, 
Oehlenschlcger.  We  shall  give  an  extract  firom  it.  Three  poets  lent 
their  aid  on  this  melancholy  day.  The  bodv  of  the  great  artist  lay  in 
state  in  the  antique  sculptrae-ioom  of  the  Thorwaldsen  Museum,  which 
haiSi  been  founded  by  him,  and  to  which  he  had  bequeathed  all  be  bo»- 
«0«ed.  Wlule  the  corpse  was  being  carried  out,  the  studenta  ^^J^^ 
Academy  of  Fine  Arts  sang  a  dirge— "  The  Artists'  FaieweU  toThar- 
mddwn'^—the  words  of  which  were  compoaed  by  H.  P.  Hoist,  tiie.imw» 

by  Song.  J     1       ♦li 

On  the  coflEm  were  laid  interwoven  branches  of  cj^ress  and  palm  j  the 
rorown-prinoe  and  other  members  of  the  ofoyal  femiJy,  the  niin^fiW  ^ 
state>  tlie  prerident  and  members  of  the  Academy  of  Fine  Arte,  offiMtt  ot 


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158  A  Survey  of  Danish  LHerature. 

the  army  and  navy,  all  the  Icelanders  in  Coprahagen,  and  aboat  8000 
other  persona,  formed  the  funeral  procession^  The  streets  through  which 
it  passed  were  lined  with  the  different  companies  of  trades,  and  regiments 
from  the  garrison ;  and  the  whole  distance  to  the  Frue-KiriLO  was,  ac- 
cording to  an  andent  Scandinavian  custom,  strewed  with  white  sand, 
interspersed  with  jumper  leaves.  At  the  entrance  to  the  church  the 
king,  in  deep  mourning,  reodved  the  corpse;  and  when  it  had  beea 
plarad  on  a  cataialque^  Oehlenschlaeger^s  requiem,  the  music  by  Glaser, 
was  sung: 

CHOB08. 

Crowds  upon  crowds  are  gathering  round 
The  sacred  spot  where  rests  a  bier ; 
Of  a  people's  wail  there  comes  the  sound — 
O  fatherland  I  what  mourn  vou  here? 
A  prince — a  hero — snatched  away  ? 
No,  Denmark  sighs  ;  and  yet  his  name 
Stands  on  the  bnshtest  page  of  fame, 
Whom  here,  alas?  we  weep  to-day. 

RBCITATIVS. 

On  an  ice-bound  shore,  'neath  a  dark  stormy  sky. 
Where  winter  doth  ever  his  festival  keep  ; 
Round  the  graves  where  thy  hero-ancestors*  lie, 
,     The  snow-flakes  fall,  and  the  wild  winds  sleep. 
Like  an  angel  choir  from  the  heavenly  halls 
Have  their  spirits  descended,  and  sang  to  thee — 
**  Thou  must  come  with  us  hence,  for  thy  Maker  calls." 

•  a  ...  •  • 

COMCLUDINO  CHOaUS. 

A  lofty  spirit  in  his  bosom  woke, 

As  if  a  voice  had  called  him  from  above ; 

On  his  mind's  eye  a  heavenly  vision  broke. 

And  he  beheld  the  Saviour  of  his  love — 

A  radiant  form— standingencircled  by 

The  favoured  Twelve.    'Twas  given  him  to  conceive 

HU  looks  on  earth  ;  and  theirs,  who  to  the  sky 

Saw  Him  ascend,  and  thus  learned  to  believe. 

Now,  round  the  spot  where  he  reposes,  stand 

Those  statues  grand  and  beautiful ;  and  one. 

Even  Christ  himself,  seems  to  stretch  forth  his  hand 

With  smile  beniguant,  saying,  "  Come,  my  son  !'* 

"While  the  body  was  being  consigned  to  its  last  abode,  hundreds  of 
students,  assembled  in  the  <£urchyard,  chanted  the  following  lines  by 
Hans  Christian  Andersen,  the  music  by  Hartmann  : 
Approach  this  coffin,  ye  of  humble  birth, 
And  learn  from  his  success  what  talent  may 
Achieve  in  time,  when  *tis  comhined  with  worth. 
"  Was  he  not  one  of  us  ?"  ye  proudly  say ; 

*  ?*45  probably  alludes  to  Thorwaldsen's  real  or  supposed  descent,  by  the 
female  line,  from  Thorfmn^  a  member  of  a  rich  and  powerful  family  in  Iceland, 
who  was  one  of  the  early  navigators  to  Greenland,  and  disooverers  of  Yinland— a 
portion  of  North  America,  about  the  exact  locali^  of  which  northern  antiquaries 
mragree.  some  placing  it  in  what  is  now  Massachusetts,  others,  with  less  nroba- 
mlity  of  conectaess,  in  Labrador.  Thorwaldsen's  fkther  was  a  poor  Icelandic 
scmptor,  whose  prindpal  employment,  after  he  settled  in  Copenhagen,  was  to  carve 
ngoie-heads  for  ships.  Thorflnn  commanded  a  ship,  or  e^edition,  fhxn  Iceland 
to  Greenland,  in  the  year  1006. 


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A  StiTwy  of  Danish  JLUemiure^  103 

*'  Yet  DeDnuurk  hailed  in  him  a  brilliant  star.*^- 

Yes — his  nobility — his  wreath  he  owed 

To  God  alone  ;  possessions  greater  far 

Than  aught  the  hand  of  man  could  haye  bestowed. 

Now  death  hath  called  him  to  a  brighter  shore^ 

His  mission  here  is  o*er! 

His  life  was  fortunate— calm  was  his  death, 

His  spirit,  well  prepared,  so  gently  fled, 

That  scarce  one  sigh  disturbml  his  failing  breath.* 

But  though  the  heaven-born  flame  that  brightly  spread 

Its  lustre  o'er  the  world  be  gone— a  light 

In  memory's  deathless  lamp  hath  it  not  left  ? 

Are  not  the  greatest  triumphs  of  his  might 

Bequeathed  unto  the  North — of  him  bereft  ? 

Then  chant  we,  while  his  dirge  we  join  to  swell, 

In  Jesu*s  name>  sleep  well ! 

Adam  Oehlenscblseger  did  not  many  years  surviye  his  gifted  friend. 
He  died  about  two  years  ago.  Chamberlain  Adolph  Wilhelm  Schack 
Ton  Staffeldt,  who  was  bom  in  Copenhagen  in  1770,  conunenced  life  as 
a  niilitary  man,  but  soon  leflb  the  army  and  repaired  to  the  Uniyeisity  of 
Gottingen,  to  study  the  law.  After  several  years  passed  in  Gennany, 
Italy,  Switzerland,  France,  and  Holland,  he  returned  to  his  native 
countiy,  where  he  obtained  a  civil  appointment,  and  died  ia  1^26.  He 
takes  a  high  rank  among  the  poets  of  Denmark.  His  poetry  is  gene* 
rally  of  a  reflective  and  lofty  cast,  bat  sometimes,  perhaps,  too  mystic  or 
too  philosophical  to  be  enjoyed  by  commonplace  readers  ;  but  they  are 
very  beautiluly  and  the  Society  of  Danish  Literature  has  published  a  new 
edition  of  his  works,  prefixed  to  which  is  given  his  life  by  Professor 
Molbech.  We  must  take  some  other  opportunity  of  giving  a  specimen 
of  his  shorter  poems,  of  which  there  is  a  good  selection  m  Cliristian 
Winther^s  **  IHinske  Romanzer  ;  hundrede  og  fem" — "  105  Danish  ro- 
mances"— published  in  1 839.  Schack-  Staffeldt's  nearest  contemporary  in 
point  of  age  was  Jens  Michael  Hera,  Bishop  of  Ribe,  bom  1766,  oied 
1825.  His  fieune  rests  principally  upon  an  epic  poem,  entitled  ''  Det 
befriede  Israel" — '^  Israel  Delivered."  It  cannot,  however,  be  asserted 
that  this  is  a  second  <<  Jerusalem  Delivered." 

Lauritz  Kruse^  bom  1778,  died  1839,  was  a  dramatic  author,  and 
writer  of  short  tales.  The  scenes  of  some  of  his  plays  were  laid  in 
Italj — as,  for  instance,  ''  Ezzelin  (Eccelino),  Tyrant  of  Padua."  Among 
other  dramatists  and  poets  may  be  mentioned  Henrik  Amold  Weige- 
land,  and  Moritz  Christian  Hansen ;  but  it  is  time  to  say  a  few  wwds 
of  tboee  writers  who  have  not  confined  themselves  to  works  of  the 
imagination. 

In  graver  literature  and  on  science  there  is  quite  a  galaxy  of  names. 
The  leading  historians  and  biographers  of  the  latest  years  of  the  last 

^  Thorwaklsen  passed  much  of  his  time  with  his  friend  tbeBsroness  Stamni; 
he  had  dined  with  ner  on  the  day  of  his  death,  and  she  remarked  how  Qnusually 
sprightly  and  alert  he  was.  He  1^  her  house  for  the  theatre,  where  he  had  not 
been  long  seated  when  he  was  taken  suddenly  ilL  So  sudden  was  the  attack 
which  carried  him  ofl^  that  a  lady  who  sat  next  to  him,  observing  him  stoop  for- 
ward, thought  he  had  dropped  ms  glov&  and  was  about  to  pick  It  up.  But  Aai 
movement  was  the  signal  of  impenmng  death,  and  in  a  veiy  short  time  the  gnat 
artist  bad  breathed  his  Ust. 


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154  A  Survey  ofDantBh  Literature: 

oeiitaiy>  and  earlier  part  of  this  one,  soine  of  whom  stiQ  live,  are — Pro- 
fessor Hasmus  Nyerup,  who  was  bom  in  the  middle  of  the  last  century 
at  Fven,  where  nis  nither  was  a  fanner ;  he  evinced  so  decided  a  torn 
for  hterature  from  his  earliest  years,  that  he  was  permitted  to  become  a 
student^  instead  of  following  agricultural  pursuits.  He  died  in  1829,  as 
librarian  to  the  University  ^  Copenhagen,  where  he  had  preriously  been 
professor  of  history.  He  waa  a  very  diligent  and  comprehensive  writer, 
principally  of  hbtorical  works ;  but  he  was  also  largely  a  contributor  to 
a  literary  magarine,  entitled  Lcerde  Tidmder — The  Learned  News — 
and  other  periodicals.  Among  his  numerous  works  may  be  mentioned 
his  "  Liixdorfiana,"  "Langcl^kiana,"  "  Suhmiana  ;**  his  "  Collection  of 
the  Portraits  of  Celebrat^  Danes,"  "  Universal  Literary  Lexicon  for 
Denmark,  Norway,  and  Iceland,"  '<  Statistical  History  of  Denmark  and 
Norway,"  "  Chaiaoteristics  of  Christian  IV.,"  «  Translation  of  part  of 
Snorre  s  Edda,"  &c.,  &c.  He  was  also  the  editor  of  *'  Nyerup's  Maga- 
rine  of  Voyages  and  Travels  performed  by  Danes."  Gustav  Ludwig 
Baden,  a  son  of  the  Jacob  Baden  before  mentioned,  bom  in  1764,  died 
in  1840,  was  a  doctor  of  laws.  He  published  more  than  one  history, 
and  various  '*  Afhandlinger,"  or  treatises  on  different  subjects.  Another 
doctor  of  laws,  Jens  Kragh  Host,  bom  1772,  died  1844,  was  also  one 
of  Denmark*s  leading  historians.  His  history  of  ''  Struensee  and  his 
Ministry"* is  a  well- written  and  luminous  work.  He  was  the  author 
of  a  Life  of  Napoleon,  of  Kotzebue's  Life,  and  many  other  valuable 
books,  besides  being  the  editor  of  the  Northern  Spectator, 

Laurits  Engelstoft,  bom  in  1775,  and  remarkable  for  the  correctness 
and  elegance  of  his  style,  has  written,  amono;  other  things,  <*  Tlioughts 
on  National  Education  ;"  '<  The  Condition  of  the  Female  Sex  among  the 
Scandinavians  before  the  Introduction  of  Christianity ;"  '^  The  Siege  of 
Vienna,  in  1683,*'  published  in  the  "  Historical  Calendar  ;*'  and  other 
interesting  works.  Peter  Erasmus  Miillery  bom  1776,  died  1 834,  is  best 
known  as  the  author  or  compiler  of  the  *'  Saga  Bibliothek,"  in  three 
volumes,  published  in  Copenhagen  in  1820.  He  was  also  a  theological 
writer,  as  the  title  of  one  ^  his  works  will  show — viz.,  ''  A  Demonstration 
of  the  Grounds  for  Believing  in  the  Divinity  of  the  Christian  Religion." 
Bishop  Frederick  Miinter,  who  died  in  his  seventieth  year,  in  1830,  was 
the  author  of  the  "  History  of  the  Reformation  in  Denmark,"  and  other 
ecclesiastical  works  in  Danish,  German,  and  Latin.  Professor  Jens 
Holier,  bom  fr79,  died  1833,  was  the  compiler  of  a  <'  Theological  Li- 
brary," the  writer  of  «  Outlines  of  the  History  of  Danish  literature," 
given  in  the  "  Historical  Calendar,"  and  other  excellent  works.  The 
**  Historical  Calendar^'  was  published  by  Professor  Nyemp,  in  conjuncdon 
with  Jens  MoUer.  Bishop  Jacob  Peter  Mynster,  bom  1775,  has  given 
to  Ins  countrymen  several  very  eloquent  discourses  or  sermons,  and  valu- 
able theological  and  philosophical  works ;  also  some  others  on  what  are 
called  popiilsr  sulgects.  In  one  of  these — a  sort  of  essay — there  is  a 
very  good  critique  on  Lord  Byron's  poems,  more  especially  ^^  Don  Juan  ;** 
for  which,  however,  unfortunately,  we  have  not  room,  rrofessor  Chris- 
tian Molbech-— who  is  still  alive^  aad  still  writes — ^was  bom  1783,  at 
Soioe;  he  has  becD  a  great  omaiaent  to  the  literature  of  his  comlry, 
aAd  sbdnea  equally  as  a  critic^  a  biograj^er,  and  an  historian.  He  is  the 
author  of  a  Danish  Dictionary ;  of  a  <'  History  of  the  Stuarts ;"  a 


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A  Survey  of  Damsi  liUraiure,  1S& 

<<  HbfcoTj  of  Kinff  Erik  Flogpeoning ;"  ''  Tales  and  Sketches  from  BanUi 
Hutorj,"  published  between  1837  and  1840;  <<  Lyrical  Dzamaa;*' 
«<  Foedcal  Antholopv  f  ''  lives  of  Danish  Authors,'*  &e.  Cafrtain  W. 
Gtaah,  of  the  Danish  navy,  has  written  a  book  interesting  to  Danes,  on 
die  '*  Naval  History  of  Denmark,"  and  a  "  Narrative  of  an  Expedition* 
to  the  East  Coast  of  Greenland,"  which  had  for  its  object  a  search  after 
traces  of  the  ancient  colonies.  It  is  scarcely  neeessaiy  to  add^  that  none 
were  found.  Professor  Rask,  bom  1787,  at  Fyen,  and  who  died  in  1882, 
was  an  eminent  philolc^t^  antiquarian,  and  Anglo-Saxon  sdiolar.  He 
translated  "  Snorre's  Edda,"  and  has  written,  among  other  esteemed 
works,  an  Icelandic  Grammar  and  an  Anglo-Saxon  Grammar,  the  latter 
translated  into  English >by  Mr.  Thorp,  one  of  the  greatest  Anglo*Saxon 
schcJars  livingi  Finn  Magnusen,  a  learned  Icelander  of  very  ancient 
fimiily,  has  pi^lished  on  sinular  subjects.  His  *^  Lexicon  Mythologieum," 
and  "  Eddak^vn,"  are  excellent  guides  to  ancient  Scandinavian  lore, 
though  perhaps  his  theories  may  be  rather  fancifuL 

Among  the  philosophical  authors  of  the  same  period  may  be  named 
Niels  Treschow,  a  Norwegian  by  birth,  who  died  in.  1833,  at  the  advanced 
age  of  eighty*two.  He  was  a  professor,  and  afterwards  cooncillor.  of  state. 
His  principal  works  are,  "Elements  of  the  Philosophy  of  History," 
''Universal  Logic,'*  "Moral  PfaUosophy  for  the  People  and  the  States" 
He  wrote  also  on  the  favourite  theme,  ScoTidinaviafi  liieratu^,  which, 
one  wonders  should  have  engaeed  so  many  able  pens*  The  name  of 
Soren  Kierkegaard  also  stan£  high,  and  that  of  Henrik  Steffeni,  who 
was  bom  in  1774,  and  died  in  1845.  His  worics  on  natural  history  and 
philosophy  are,  however,  principally  in  German.  He  was  for  a  longtime 
a  professor  at  Berlin,  and  was  at  another  period  of  his  life  a  professor  at 
Kiel.  Heniik  Steffens  has  not  confined  himself  to  scientific  works,  but 
has  also  published  on  political  matters,  which  he  has  introduced  into  a 
book  purporting  to  be  the  biographv  of  four  indiridnals,  from  their  child- 
hood upwards.  This  work  hiui  made  a  great  sensation  in  Germany.  He 
has  also  condescended  to  novel-writing ;  and  a  tale  of  his,  founded  on  a 
Zealand  legend,  is  said  to  be  very  striking.  The  same  legend  affords 
H.  C.  AmWaan  the  suUcct  of  ono  of  his  best  poems,  '^Braden  i  Borwig. 
Kirk^^'  the  "  Bride  of  Borwig  Church."  The  poor  bride^  though  mar<- 
ried  to  a  veir  handsome  young,  man,  apparently  a  nobleman,  waa  sooq 
made  the  bride  of  death,  for  she  was  murd^ed  immediately  after  the  cere** 
nmny  had  been  performed.  The  story  tellS)  that  laie  one  moonlight  night, 
the  oflBciadng  priest  or  mimstw  of  a  lonety  little  churdi,.in  an.obsouire 
comer  of  the  Isknd  of  Zealand,  close  by  the  seanihore,  .waa  asouaed  from 
his  quiet  sbmbers  by  the  intmskm  of-  a  band  of  armed  men,  who  com- 
manded him  to  accompany  them  to  the  chuxeh,  offering  him  gdd  if  he 
went  readily,  and  threatening  to  stab  him  if  he  demurrra.  The  old  priest 
took  his  Bible  under  his  arm  as  his  talisman,  and  went  with  them.  On 
the  way,  which  waa  by  the  sands,  he  observed  a  vessel  at  andior  in  the 
solitaiT  little  bay ;  and  on  entering  the  church,  he  found  it  fiill  of  fero*^ 
dous-iookine  men,  whose  long  swords  clattered  on  the  stone  floor ;  stand- 
ing amidst  ttiem,  he  saw  a  beautiful  young  girl,  who  looked  very  pale  and 
umiappy,  but  was  dressed  in  the  most  gorgeous  costume.     She  wfis  led 

*  Translated  into  English  by  the  late  G.  Gordon  Macdougall,  Esq, 


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156  A  Survey  of  Danish  LUerature. 

to  the  altar  by  a  tall,  pit>ud*looking  young  maoy  who  glanced  coldly  and 
darkly  at  the  melancholy  bride.  YHien  the  mairiage  ceremony  was  over, 
the  old  priest  was  dismi^ed,  having  first  been  compelled  to  swear  secrecy ; 
he  had  not  long  left  the  church  when  he  heard  tne  report  of  a  shot  fix«d 
within  it ;  and  soon  after  he  saw  the  men  all  issue  from  the  sacred  edifice, 
and  hasten  to  embark  on  board  their  vessel,  which  immediately  set  sail. 
He  then  returned  to  the  church,  and  on  moving  one  or  two  of  the  flag- 
stones, which  had  evidently  been  recently  disturbed,  he  perceived,  to  his 
horror,  the  corpse  of  the  unfortunate  young  bride,  who  had  been  shot 
through  the  heart  and  buried  there! 

Jens  Wilkin  Homemann  wrote  on  natural  history  and  botany ;  but  the 
crowning  name  in  science  and  the  higher  departments  of  literature  is  that 
of  Oersted.  The  brothers  Oersted  are  both  vety  remarkable  men.  Their 
father  was  an  apothecary  in  a  small  town  in  the  Danish  island  of  lAnge- 
land.  They  were  in  a  great  measure  self-taueht,  and  while  pursuing  what 
education  was  within  their  reach,  they  had  to  asnst  their  father ;  but 
Hans  Christian  turned  this  drudgery  to  good  account,  for  it  led  him  to 
the  study  of  chemistry.  The  younger  brother,  Anders  Sandoe  Oersted, 
bom  in  1778,  became  very  learned  in  the  law ;  he  b  also  celebrated  as 
a  mathematician  and  natural  historian.  He  rose  so  high  as  to  have  been 
at  one  time  a  leading  member  of  the  Danish  ministry.  A.  S.  Oersted 
was  married  to  the  sister  of  the  poet  Oehlenschlseger.  Hans  Christian 
Oersted,  late  Professor  of  Natural  Philosophy,  and  Secretary  to  the 
Royal  Society  of  Copenhagen,  was  bom  in  1777.  He  was  one  of  nature's 
favourites,  not  only  possessing  tlie  highest  order  of  intellect  and  talents, 
but  being  of  a  most  amiable  disposition,  and  of  an  exemplary  private  cha^ 
racter.  It  is  to  the  discoveries  of  Oersted  that  the  world  owes  the  esta- 
blishment of  the  electric  telegraph ;  for  much  of  his  time  was  devoted  to 
the  study  of  electro-magnetism.  In  1850  he  published  a  remarkable 
work,  entitled,  **  Aanden  i  Naturen"  {^*  The  Spirit  in  Nature"),  which 
he  terms  '*  a  popular  contribution  towuds  eluddating  the  spiritual  influ- 
ences of  nature.  The  volume  commences  with  a  conversation  entitied 
"  Det  Aandelige  i  det  Legemlige"  ('*  The  Spiritual  in  the  Material''), 
which  is  purpcHrted  to  be  carried  on  between  a  lady  and  three  gentlemen ; 
the  lady's  share  in  it  being,  of  course,  to  obtain  information  simplified  to 
suit  her  capacity.  This  very  superior  work  is  no  longer  a  sealed  book  to 
those  who  do  not  read  Danish  or  German,  for  it  has  been  lately  trans- 
lated into  English  by  the  SGsses  Homer,  from  a  German  edition.  On 
comparinfi^  it  with  the  original  Danish,  it  seems  an  admirable  translation, 
and  could  hardly  have  been  better  executed  by  Professor  Oersted's  highly- 
gifted  countiywoman.  Miss  C.  Otte,  the  able  translator  of  Humboldt's 
'<  Cosmos,"  and  other  scientific  works.  Hans  Christian  Oersted  travelled 
a  great  deal  on  thb  continent  of  Europe,  and  had  visited  England.  He 
married  in  1814,  and  was  the  father  m  a  large  family.  At  the  advanced 
age  of  seventy-fbur,  he  died  in  March,  1851.  And  with  him  we  shall 
close  this  portion  of  our  list  of  Danish  authors. 


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(    157    ) 

FEMALE    NOVELISTS. 

No.  II. — Mrs.  Gohe. 

What  constitutes  a  first-rate  noyel  is  a  problem  which  might  raise 
consternation  in  the  senate-house  of  Cambridge ;  a  problem  knotty 
enough  to  stagger  the  entire  corporation  of  wranglers,  and  strike  the 
senior  ops  '*  all  of  a  heap/'  and  impel  the  junior  ops  (wooden  spoon  and 
all)  to  take  refuge  in  smcide.  When  a  plenary  and  all -satisfying  defini- 
tion has  once  been  given,  it  will  be  time  to  append  to  the  main  propo- 
ffltion  the  accompanying  ^' rider:"  viz.,  whether  the  accomplishment  of  a 
first-rate  novel  is  within  the  potential  limits  of  female  genius — whether  it 
lies  within  or  beyond  the  frontiers  assigned  to  womanly  capacity  by 
psychological  map-makers.  If  the  ideal  novel  be  as  difficult  of  realisation 
as  a  first-class  poem  or  play,  we  fear,  both  on  a  priori  and  a  posteriori 
groimds,  that  the  verdict  will  go  against  ''  the  sex.  Most  of  their  wisest 
brethren,  and  some  of  their  wisest  selves— (we  tremble,  currente  calamo, 
as  we  remember  the  existence  of  Mrs.  Bloomer  and  the  Emancipation- 
ists!)— emphatically  support  this  view  of  the  case.  If  the  view  be 
fallacious,  it  can,  and  ought  to  be,  disproved  by  facts.  And  so  it  is ! 
indignantly  exclaims  some  belle  Amazon — ^facts  are  against  it.  To  which 
some  uncourteous  infidel,  having  examined  the  evidence,  will  probably 
reply :  Tant  pis  pour  les  faits.  And  then  the  malignant  scoffer,  shaking 
his  perennial  wig,  will  order  judgment  to  go  by  default.  "  Woman, 
sister  !** — thus  have  we  seen  the  better  half  of  the  genus  homo  apostro- 
phised by  one  of  its  most  chivalric  admirers — "  Woman,  sister !  there 
are  some  things  which  you  do  not  execute  as  well  as  your  brother  man ; 
no,  nor  ever  wQl.  Pardon  me,  if  I  doubt  whether  you  will  e?er  produce 
a  great  poet  from  your  choirs,  or  a  Mozart,  or  a  Fhidias,  or  a  Michael 
Angelo,  or  a  great  philosopher,  or  a  great  scholar — by  which  last  is 
meant,  not  one  who  depends  simply  on  an  infinite  memory,  but  also  on 
an  infinite  and  electrical  power  of  combination,  bringing  together  from 
the  four  winds,  like  the  angels  of  the  resurrection,  what  else  were  dust 
from  dead  men*s  bones,  into  the  unity  of  breathin?  life.  If  you  can 
create  yourselves  into  any  of  these  great  creators,  why  have  you  not  ?" 
Mrs.  Gore,  one  of  the  cleverest  of  her  sex,  holds  to  the  same  creed,  and 
explicitly  states  her  conviction,*  that  a  woman  of  first-rate  faculties  would 
constitute  only  a  third-rate  man ;  citing  the  names  of  Mrs.  Somerville, 
Miss  Edgeworth,  Miss  Martineau,  and  Mrs.  Browning,  as  confirming  her 
rule — ''such  rare  exceptions  that  I  can  find  (so  she  writes  in  1848)  no 
fifth  to  add  to  the  catalogue."  Nevertheless,  if  that  is  a  first-rate  novel 
of  its  kindy  which  holds  a  polished  mirror  up  to  London  high  life,  and 
secures  glittering  and  vivacious  reflections  of  its  giddy,  madding  crowds, 
and  whiles  away  idle  or  heavy  hours  by  witty  sketches  of  men  and  man- 
ners, and  shoots  Folly  as  it  flies  with  snafts  of  singular  point,  Mrs.  Gore 
will  take  honours  in  tne  first  class,  with  such  others  as  Lister  and  Disraeli, 
Hook  and  Bulwer  Lytton.  We  are  far  from  calling  the  fashionable  novel 
a  first-rate  thing ;  the  world,  or  a  ''  pretty  considerable"  fraction  of  it,  is 
very  properly,  and  none  too  soon,  growing  weary  of  that  department  of 

*  Frefiice  to  Mrs.  Armytage. 
Jime— YOL.  XCT.  KO.  OCOLXXVm.  M 


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158  Female  Novelists— No.  II. 

fiction.  But  taking  it  sach  as  it  is,  we  see  in  it  a  field,  the  cultiTation  of 
which  ha^  been  attained  by  female  art,  in  a  degree  almost,  if  not  quite, 
equal  to  that  realised  by  the  masculme  gender.  In  &ct,  it  is  because  the 
fashionable  novel  is  a  comparatiTely  trivial  matter,  requiring  powers  of  an 
order  quite  inferior  to  those  essential  to  a  higher  range  of  art — ^it  is 
because  it  is  so  much  more  easy  to  sparkle  on  the  sur&oe  than  to  stem 
and  direct  ihe  under-current — ^that  a  woman  can  write  a  ''  Cecil"  which 
dball  rival  a  man's  "  Pelham,"  while  she  does  not  prove  her  ability  to  cope 
with  the  same  man's  ''  BienzL"  Both  intellectually  and  morally,  the 
fashionable  novel  occupies  but  humble  rank.  Of  novels  in  general,  the 
best  which  can  be  hoped  is>  accordmg  to  Sir  Walter  Scott,*  that  they 
may  sometimes  instruct  the  youthful  mind  by  real  pictures  of  life,  ana 
sometimes  awaken  their  better  feelings  and  sympathies  by  strains  of 
generous  sentiment  and  tales  of  fictitious  woe.  Beyond  this  poini-«and 
we  fear  all  fashionable  novels  must  be  so  classed — they  are,  adds  the 
greatest  of  novelists, ''  a  mere  elegance,  a  luxury  contrived  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  polished  life,  and  the  gratification  of  that  half-love  of  literature 
which  pervades  all  ranks  in  an  advanced  stage  of  society,  and  are  read 
much  more  for  amusement  than  for  the  least  hope  of  deriving  instructioa 
from  them."  Meanwhile,  we  may  safely  aver  of  Mrs.  Gore's  expositions 
of  frivolous  high  life,  that  it  is  almost  impossible  de  donner  ^  des  sottises 
une  toumure  plus  agr^able.  Whatever  we  may  think  of  her  many-sided 
satire  and  her  one-sided  Whi&^eism,  tiiere  b  no  denying  her  focile 
mastery  of  the  materials  with  which  she  works.  Each  change  of  fiishion's 
many-coloured  life  she  knows  and  draws  con  amore — each  aspect  in  the 
biography  of  its  votaries,  whether 

In  tlie  fnll  blase  of  bonnets,  and  ribands,  and  airs — 
Such  things  as  no  rainbow  hath  colours  to  paint, 

or  at  a  subsequent  epoch,  when 

Time  hath  reduced  them  to  wrinkles  and  prayers, 
And  the  Flirt  finds  a  decent  retreat  in  the  Saint.f 

The  true  fashionable  novelist  has  been  described  as  enjoying  the  serenitnr 
of  a  fly  upon  a  new-made  grave,  or  an  or-molu  Venus  above  a  French 
dock,  smiling  unmoved  at  her  own  gilded  toe,  heedless  of  the  whirring 
wheels  and  straining  springs,  and  the  ever-fleeting  course  of  time  below. 
We  do  not  altogether  confound  Mrs.  Gore  with  that  school  She 
satirises,  as  well  as  depicts,  the  gay  world.  She  shows  it,  and  something 
more — she  shows  it  up.  She  does  not  require  us,  as  tiie  true  fashionable 
novelist  does,  to  fall  down  and  worship  her  image ;  nay,  she  bids  us  rap 
our  knuckles  on  its  brow,  and  mark  the  echo  of  sounding  brass ;  or  lay 
our  hand  on  its  side,  and  observe  the  absence  of  all  pulsation,  of  all  fife. 
So  keenly,  indeed,  does  she  see  into  and  despise  the  weak  points  of  the 
idol,  that  satire  has  become  almost  too  habitual  with  her,  and  finds  a 
quarry  at  every  turn.  It  looks  ungrateful  in  Diana's  silver  shrine-makers 
to  deride  the  goddess,  seeing  that  cV  ravn;r  n^r  cpyacrcar  4  twropta  dvrtiP 

COTC 

Denizens  of  fiishionable  and  pseudo-fiishionable  life  there  are,  whom 
none  can  sketch  with  happier  vraisemblance.  Such  as  ministers'  wives, 
who,  while  tiieir  husbands  are  inventing  political  combinations  and  specu- 

*  Life  of  Fielding.  t  Thomas  Moore. 


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Pemak  NaoeUsis—No.  II.  159 

hang  upon  Emopeaa  alliances,  employ  themselves  in  caballing  with  Ma- 
dame Le  Bran,  the  Talleyrand  of  modem  modistes^  concerning  revolu- 
tions in  caps  and  conspiracies  against  turbans  that  be.  Or,  shomr  intri- 
ganteM  in  white  satin,  those  prime  donne  of  society,  who,  whatever 
nunisters  shall  reign,  are  always  to  be  found  in  musk-scented  correspond- 
ence with  Downing-street.  Or,  drawing-room  parasites,  with  the  true 
toady  capacity  for  the  running-pattern  conversation  that  forms  so  admir- 
able an  arpeggw  accompaniment  to  the  solos.  Or,  ladies  in  their  ninth 
lustrum,  who  have  renounced  for  ever  the  influence  of  the  puppies,  and 
betaken  themselves  for  consolation  to  the  tabbies,  and  are  inspired  with  a 
new  insight  into  the  purposes  of  existence  by  cards — '*  universd  panacea — 
cards  that  knit  up  the  ravelled  sleeve  of  care^  boon  Nature's  kind  restorer, 
balmy  cards."  Peers  and  parvenus^  dubs  and  coteries,  dowagers  and 
diaperones,  tuft-hunters  and  toadies  ;  dandies  who  write  taffeta  verses  in 
silken  albums,  and  wash  their  poodles  in  milk  of  roses ;  dandies  couchant 
— saperdlious,  silent,  self-concentrated;  dandies  rampant — ^vehement, 
garrulous,  and  gorgeously  impertinent ;  ineffable  coxcombry  in  all  its 
kaleidoscopic  aspects,  from  that  of  the  omnibus-box  (sciLy  opera,  not 
"  city,  bank")  down  to  that  of  Swan  and  Edgar's ;  these,  and  such  as 
these,  are  Mrs,  Gore's  plajstic  creatures,  her  slaves  of  the  lamp.  She 
is  expert  in  the  Imgo  which  they  use,  or  affect.  Mr.  George  Borrow 
is  not  a  greater  adept  in  gipsy  slang,  nor  Judge  Hfdiburton  in  the  racy 
etymology  of  Brother  Jonathan,  nor  Dickens  in  the  idioms  of  Cockneyism, 
nor  Lever  in  rollicking  Hibemicisms,  nor  Marryat  in  marine  stores  of 
doquence,  nor  Thackeray  in  the  hand-book  of  snobbism,  nor  Eingsley  in 
Chnstiaiiised  Carlylese,  nor  Anstey  in  the  platitudes  of  debate,  nor  Hume 
in  the  ^'  totde"  of  the  whole, — ^than  is  Mrs.  Gore  in  the  patavinity  of  peers 
and  the  patois  oi parvenus. 

When  she  draws  a  character  that  we  can  like  or  respect,  the  interest 
we  take  in  it  is  greater  than  such  a  character  would  elsewhere  command, 
from  the  relief  it  affords  to  the  tinkling  cymbalry  and  crackling  thorns  and 
^Ided  gewgaws  around.  Being  the  only  very  human  thing  present,  it 
18  hailed  as  a  bird  (to  use  her  own  illustration)  which  alights  upon  the 
mast  during  a  sea-voyage,  and  which  the  mariner  notes  with  intense  in- 
terest, however  dingy  its  plumage  or  poor  its  voice.  It  is  a  mercy  to 
meet  with  such  a  rara  a«w,  making  no  pretensions  to  merdless  wit,  and 
unambitious  of  a  repute  for  persiflage.  Not  that  Mrs.  Gore's  wit,  with 
aD  its  levity,  is  devoid  of  wisdom.  Wit  she  somewhere  defines  the  anu 
mus  of  wisdom — ^legitimate  offspring  of  an  union  between  good  sense  and 
good  spirits.  But  there  is  a  weariness  to  the  flesh  in  over-much  com- 
merce with  the  exercise  and  the  victims  of  raillery ;  satire^  however 
polished,  becomes  an  edged  tool  with  which  we  care  not  long  to  ph^r — 
nor  to  see  it  glancing,  and  doing  execution  in  the  grasp  of  others.  Three 
volumes  of  sprightly  sarcasm  leave  one  in  poor  spirits — or  perhaps  a  little 
^^gry  at  having  spent  so  much  time  on  hollow  hearts  that  do  not  improve 
on  acquaintance.  The  author  is  then  in  danger  of  being  characterised  in 
Grammont's  words — elle  ennuie  en  voulant  brUler.  Jeflrey  says  that 
such  a  brilliant  circle  as  that  of  Madame  du  Deffand  probably  will  never 
exist  again  in  the  world,  and  adds,  "nor  are  we  very  sorry  for  it"  The 
company  in  which  Mrs.  Gore  is  most  chez  lui,  is  in  kind,  not  degree,  akin 
to  that  which  graced  the  sappers  at  the  convent  of  St.  Joseph;  not  so 

m2 


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l60  Female  Novelists — No.  IL 

witty,  it  is  almost  equally  heartless,  and  impresses  us  with  uncomfortable, 
aud  perhaps  sometimes  unjust,  conceptions  of  human  nature  in  its  patri- 
cian phases.  By  her  own  showing,  Madame  du  Deffand  could  never  lore 
anything.  Take  them  en  masse,  and  Mrs.  Gore's  characters — those  who 
have  anything  characteristic  about  them — seem  to  labour  under  the  same 
impotency.  The  Parisian  reunions  must  have  been  highly  delightful  to 
those  who,  as  Jeffrey  says,  sought  only  for  amusement ;  "  but  not  only 
does  amusement  not  constitute  happiness,  but  also  it  cannot  afford  much 
pleasure  to  those  who  have  not  other  sources  of  happiness."  And  thus 
even  the  amusement  derivable  from  the  society  of  **  Mothers  and 
Daughters,"  and  the  "Hamiltons,"  and  their  various  concentric  circles, 
soon  palls  on  our  taste,  and  the  smile  is  exchanged  for  a  sigh.  There  is 
much  good  in  the  world  of  fashion,  according  to  the  historian  of  **  Bleak 
House,"  and  there  are  many  good  and  true  people  in  it.  "  But  the  evil 
of  it  is,  that  it  is  a  world  wrapped  up  in  too  much  jeweller's  cotton  and 
fine  wool,  and  cannot  hear  the  rushing  of  the  larger  worlds,  and  cannot 
see  them  as  they  circle  round  the  sun.  It  is  a  deadened  worid,  and  its 
growth  is  sometimes  unhealthy  for  want  of  air."  Little  profit  is  there, 
and  not  much  pleasure,  in  assignations  with  that  drawing-room  divinity, 
affectation : 

who  rules  the  vain,  capricious  throng, 

Twhies  the  soft  limb,  and  tunes  the  lisping  tongue. 

Bids  every  hour  the  monstrous  fashions  veer. 

And  guides  the  toss,  the  simper,  and  the  leer.* 

But  when  we  do  parley  with  the  Bpeoies,  it  is  as  well  to  do  so  with  a 
sprightly  satirist  as  dragoman.  And  Mrs.  Gore's  st^ie  of  interpretation 
is  so  piquant  and  amusing,  that  these  ^'  strangers  and  foreigners"  become 
very  passable  for  a  time. 

To  give  a  catalogue  ratsonne  of  her  writings  om  bon  ton  in  all  its 
branehes,  is  more  than  we  undertake.  It  would  involve  9,  larger  expen* 
diture  of  time  and  paper  than  we  can  just  now  afford;  for  we  cannot>  like 
her,  write  against  time,  upon  ream  afier  ream  of  foolscap.  To  enumerate 
her  <^  entire  works"  would  be  a  task  proper  for  arithmetical  recreattonists. 
We  will  not  attempt  it,  until  we  have  gone  through  Baxter's  three 
hundred  and  sixty-six  quartos  (that  is,  some  allege,  one  for  every  day  in 
the  year,  plus  an  extra  one  for  leap  year),  or  the  integral  series  of  books 
registered  at  last  Leipzig  fair. 

Whoso  admires  ''  Pelham ;  or,  the  Adventures  of  a  Gentleman/'  will 
own  to  a  like  sympaihy  with  *<  Cecil ;  or,  the  Adventures  of  a  Coxcomb." 
A  coxcomb  of  the  first  magnitude  is  the  Hon.  Cecil  Danby.  And  not- 
withstanding the  effeminate  tendency  inherent  in  the  very  constitution  of 
coxcombty,  there  is  reason  to  marvel  how  a  female  hand  oooki  have 
moulded  so  shrewd,  dashing,  and  exquisite  s^  petit  maitre,  Byron  com- 
plained of  the  specimens  extant  in  his  days : 

We  liave  no  accomplishM  blackguards  like  Tom  Jones, 

But  gentlemen  in  sta;^,  as  stiff  as  stones.  > 

CjBcil  is  one  who  flourished  in  Byron's  days,  and  \rho  claims  extensive 
acquaintance  with  the  noble  lord ;  but  he  deserves  to  be  credited  with 
the  accomplishmente,  minus  the  blackguardisms,  after  which  the  poet 

•  llielfcelgtdngViec.    BbokV. 


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F$m<de  Novelists — No^  IZ  161 

yeamedu  He  is,  we  fear,  like  Pelham  and  Devereuz,  and  other?  of  the 
aame  sublime  category,  at  ooce  too  good  and  too  bad  to  be  true — too 
sensible  and  too  ridiculous — too  sagacious  and  too  soft-brained.  He  wUl 
not  let  us  despise  or  dislike  bun,  but  he  forces  us  a  great  way  towards 
both  feelings.  Such  a  character  is  a  convenient  agent  for  a  clever  writer's 
outlay  of  social  wit  and  worldly  wisdom.  Cecil  Danby  Is  the  satirist  and 
eke  Uie  slave  of  the  beau  monde.  He  becomes  dictator  to  the  world  of 
fashion — a  coxcomb  of  genius — a  sovereign  who,  when  he  meets  Brum- 
mel  al;  Calais,  regards  uiat  dethroned  exile  much  as  Cromwell  surveys 
the  features  of  the  decapitated  king,  in  Delaroche'^  picture  of  Charles  I. 
in  hiB  coffin.  Cecil  became  a  coxcomb  for  life  by  catching  a  glimpse  of 
himself)  at  six  months  old,  in  the  swing-glass  of  his  mother's  dressing- 
room  :  to  in&nt  instinct  there  was  something  irrefistible  in  its  splendid 
satin  eockade;  and  from  that  apocalyptic  hour  it  was  discovered  that 
Master  Cecil  '^  was  always  screaming,  unless  danced  up  and  down  by  the 
head  nurse  within  view  of  the  reflection  of  his  own  fascinating  little  per- 
son*" The  rise  and  progress  of  his  dandyism  is  detailed  with  editing 
minuteness.  What  the  moral  of  such  a  cmt)nicle  may  be,  it  were  nard 
to  say ;  unless,  as  has  been  suggested  in  the  case  of  Pelham,  to  show 
that  under  the  corsets  of  a  dandy  there  sometimes  beats  a  heart.  Cecil, 
indeed,  is  eager  to  aver  that  there  is  no  more  sentiment  in  his  composi- 
tion than  in  a  jar  of  Jamaica  pickles ;  but  he  knows  better.  He  would 
be  simply  intolerable  were  that  true.  Quite  necessary  to  the  cohesion  of 
his  frivolous  particles,  is  the  occasional  substratum  of  sentiment  involved 
in  the  stories  of  Emily  Bamet,  Franszetta,  Helena,  &c.  Indispensable 
to  the  redemption  of  his  character  from  sneering  heartlessness,  are  his 
intervals  of  sober  sadness,  his  parentheses  of  self-inquiry  and  self-con- 
demnation. At  such  intervals,  ne  beholds  an  aimless  destiny  unaocom- 
plisfaed — eternity  flowing  through  his  hand,  like  the  limpid  waters  of  a 
fountain  through  the  unconscious,  unenjoying  lips  of  some  marble  Triton  ; 
the  conclusion  to  which  he  tends  is  the  melancholy  definition  of  such 
biogsapbies— youth  a  blunder,  manhood  a  struggle,  old  age  a  regret. 
The  narrative  of  Cecil's  adventures  is  very  loosely  constructed,  and 
herein  greatly  inferior  to  Sir  Bulwer  Lytton's  performance,  which  it  rivals 
in  wit  and  brilliance.  It  is  a  collection  of  sketches,  the  only  unify  of 
which  consists  in  the  puppyism  of  the  narrator.  This  puppyism  changes 
its  aspects  with  the  changes  of  life's  seasons :  it  has  its  sprtogy  germina- 
tion, its  summer  efflorescence,  its  autumnal  ripeness,  and  its  wintry  de- 
cline ;  but  in  each  avatar  it  is  alter  et  idem.  Mrs.  Gore  has  relieved  the 
almost  oppressive  artificial  light  of  the  book,  by  episodes  of  graver  inte- 
rest :  the  scene  with  old  Barnet  at  Cintra,  for  instance,  which  conducts 
us  to  Emily's  newly-dug  grave — the  Mignon-like  picture  of  the  Italian 
dancing-girl — and  the  death  of  little  Arthur  Danby,  are  effectively  ren- 
dered. But  these  are  mere  "  by  the  way"  digressions;  the  staple  is  cox- 
combry, its  smart  sayings  and  misdoings.  Every  chapter  bristles  with 
points ;  evety  paragraph  has  its  piquant  tit- bit.  In  respect  of  elabo- 
rate cleverness,  pungent  antithesis,  and  sprightly  badinage,  '^  Cecil"  is 
probably  the  most  remarkable  of  its  author  s  remarkable  productions.  In 
plot,  as  we  have  hinted,  and  in  delineation  of  character,  it  is  subordinate 
to  many.  Cecil  alone  interests  us.  Emily  comes  aud  goes  like  a  shadow; 
more  might  have  been  made^  and  profitably,  of  her  ingenuous  nature- 


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162  Female  Novelists — No*  11. 

when  offended,  a  queen, — when  pleased,  a  child.  Lady  OrmingtoD  is 
amusing ;  hut  heside  such  portraits  as  Pelham's  lady-mother,  and  ihat 
admirable  woman  of  the  world.  Lady  Frances  Sheringham,  in  Hook's 
''  Parson's  Daughter,"  she  is  insipid  and  unsuccessful.  We  expeeled 
more  of  her,  for  her  first  appearance  told  well ;  and  we  anticipated  an 
instructive  acquaintanceship  with  one  into  whose  dressing-room  we  were 
admitted  by  stealth — ^there  beholding,  on  her  ladyship's  table,  blue  veins 
sealed  up  in  one  packet,  and  a  rising  blush  corked  up  in  a  ciystal  phial, 
and  a  Pandora's  box  of  eyebrows,  eyelashes,  lips,  cheek,  dun,  ivory  fere- 
head,  and  a  pearly  row  of  teeth.  ^  Her  existence  was  all  Watteaiir-«]1 
a  vignette — ^all  Pompadour — all  powder-puff,  all  musk,  all  ambergris! 
Time  need  have  had  gold  sand  in  his  glass,  and  an  agate  handle  to  his 
scythe,  to  deal  with  such  a  life  of  triflmg,"  Such  the  being  who  emdd 
be  charming  in  company,  when  it  was  wordi  her  while,  but  never  played 
to  empty  benches  ;  like  the  country  manager  who  could  not  am>ra  to 
give  the  snow-storm  in  his  Christmas  pantomime  witib  white  paper,  when 
the  audience  was  thin,  she  often  **  snowed  brown,"  and  was  peevish  and 
ungracious  until  further  notice.  Her  husband,  Lord  Ormington,  is  of  a 
clasis  whidi  no  one  can  better  describe  than  Mrs.  Gore^  but  whidi  Ae 
has  described  far  better  elsewhere  :  the  sort  of  man  one  rarely  sees  oat  of 
England;  reserved,  without  being  contemplative;  convivial,  without 
being  social ;  cold,  unexpansive,  undemonstrative  ;  one  who  qaamlled 
with  the  Woods  and  Forests,  because  they  would  not  mend  the  loads  with 
the  ruins  of  Fotheringay  Castle, — ^and  could  perceive  no  irony  in  Hamlel*8 
assignment  of  purpose  to  the  ashes  of  imperial  Caesar.  La^  Harriet 
Vandeleur  is  well  aone,  so  far  as  she  goes ;  an  Irishwoman,  with  a  ndMi 
bordering  on  effrontery — ^pretty,  pouting,  piquante ;  coquette,  jilt>  9as% 
angel;  restless  and  artificial;  her  naivete  calculated,  her  impromptu 
faits  d  loisir.  Th^r^  is  not  a  bad  iDostration  of  die  sphitu^  s&d 
8b;h-away  femme  tncompnsey  united  to  an  Apollo  Bdvidere  fed  upon 
ou-cake,  and  weighing  eighteen  stone.  And  a  due  source  of  mirth  is 
open  in  the  history  of  the  Frau  Wilhelmina,  with  her  eaniivorons  and 
other  propensities.  But  it  is  on  English  subjects  that  Mrs.  Geve  best 
exhibits  her  skill. 

The  class  of  fiction  to  which  **  The  Hamiltons''  belongs,  htbonn  imder 
the  disadvantage  of  a  promiscuous  alliance  of  fiict  and  fancy.  Political 
life  is  the  theme — ^the  dates  are  accurately  given — ^the  Ministers  and  the 
Opposition  have  each  their  rSle ;  while,  at  the  same  time,  Wstorieal 
accuracy  is  defied — the  Duke  of  Wellington  is  not  himself,  Sir  Robert 
Peel  is  neither  here  nor  there,  and  all  is  confusion  worse  confbnnded.  In 
"  The  Hamiltons"  we  have  political  portnuts,  belonging  to  the  perwd  rf 
George  IV.'s  decease  and  the  Reform  Bill  agitation ;  but  the  food  on 
which  we  are  invited  to  banquet  is  neither  fish,  flesh,  fbwl,  nor  good  red 
herring.  The  actors  are  neither  quite  historical  nor  quite  ideal ;  there 
is  a  quantum  of  reality  about  them,  but  it  is  not  a  quanium  emff,  M 
political  novels  we  are  to  have  at  all,  it  is  more  satisfectoiy  to  have  them 
in  a  more  definite  shape — ^with  at  least  two  or  three  veritable  cabittet 
ministers,  masqued  or  not,  as  you  please,  but  recognisable,  and  in  keep- 
ing  with  the  blue  books  and  morning  papers  of  twenty  years  since.  One 
can  enjoy,  for  instance,  Plumer  Ward's  presentment  of  Canning  (is 
Wcntworth)  in  «  De  Vere,"  or  our  novel  Chancdlor  of  tiie  Exdiequet's 


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Female  NaoelisU — No.  IL  163 

IdMoitS)  in  **  Coningsby/'  or  the  still  less  thinly  veiled  chanetera  in 
^'Wyn^e;  or,  Clubs  and  Coteries."  But  to  be  implicated  in  such  a 
game  as  hat  and  loose — ^not  to  find  unity  of  character  on  the  right  hand 
fft  the  left — to  he  tantalised  by  a  chaotic  jumble  of  elements,  one  para- 
gvaph  taken  firom  the  Annual  Refjfister,  and  the  next  coined  from  the 
it»naDc«r'e  stock  in  trade — this  has  a  spice  of  irritation  in  it  Some 
niiidsy  however,  may  find  nought  to  cavil  at  in  this  hybrid  type;  and 
those  who  do  cavil,  will  own  the  da^og  skill  with  whi^  Mrs.  Gore  has 
ignored  their  possible  objections,  and  delmeated  in  her  own  witty,  Whig- 
^shi  wiifid  way,  a  picturs  of  official  li£»  in  1830.  The  performers  are 
flMHiy  and  amusing. 

Jjoftd  Laxington,  a  privy  councillor,  with  a  jargon  and  technical  dia* 
ket  aa  inveterate  as  that  of  a  horse-dealer;  nis  arguments  fiill  of 
niBisterial  mystioisni — his  jokes  all  pariiamentaxy — his  notes  of  invitati<m 
fiinaal  as  official  documents— his  anecdotes  authenticated  by  diMtes ;  one 
w1m>  speaks  as  if  before  a  committee,  and  scarcely  knows  how  to  leave  the 
room  without  the  ceremony  of  pairing  off,  or  to  hazard  an  opinion,  lest 
ht  should  be  required  to  justify  it  to  ms  party.  His  son,  agiun,  Augustus 
Hmoihon,  a  heartless  duid^,  who  quarrels  with  a  grain  of  nepper  too 
*^  in  his  soap-— the  Alcibiades  of  Brook-street — a  pretencler  to  the 


^meaal  timme  of  Brommeldom — ^who  forbears  to  enter  the  Opera  pit 
daring  one  of  Pasta's  aiis,  lest  he  should  distract  the  attention  of  the 
hove — ^who  has  the  nicknackery  of  life  at  his  fingers'  ends,  and  can 
amt  fferiu  in  the  ehoioeBt  cant  of  connoisseurship ;  a  oold-blooded  liber- 
tee^  moreover,  and  assoming  the  pride  of  the  serpent,  when  he  is,  in  trutii, 
vhe  weakest  <tf  worms. 

WilKam  Tottenham,  another  of  the  same  order — lively  and  good- 
natured,  so  long  as  the  sun  shines  and  his  hair  keeps  in  curl,  and  his 
linen  is  starched  to  the  sticking  point ;  but  whose  wits  will  not  suffice  to 
pay  his  hairdxesaer's  biU,  and  whose  head  and  heart  are  alike  bankrupt 
Gadqgan,  the  mod^  of  a  '*  perfectiy  gentlemanlike  man" — ^that  is,  by 
Mn.  Gore's  interpretation,  one  who  must  not  offend  the  public  eye,  ear, 
or  oanaoience'— 4ieither  violent  in  his  politics,  vehement  in  his  affections, 
nor  eccentric  in  his  dress—one  whose  greatness  consists  in  his  mediocrity, 
and  who^  while  following  in  meek  subservience  the  dictates  of  society, 
afiects  unbounded  independence.  Bernard  Forbes,  sallow,  saturnine, 
havd-featursd,  uncompromising,  self-respecting,  outspoken;  in  spite  of 
ilia  hrown-holland  complexion  and  quissical  coe^  one  of  ''  those  remark- 
able men  who  make  up,  with  ninety-mne  of  mediocre  capacity,  the  com- 
plement of  eveiy  hundred  of  the  human  race:"  dressing  like  a  dustman, 
and  tving  his  cravat  as  other  men  cord  a  portmanteau ;  but  verifying 
the  adage  that  it  is  often  the  fruit  of  roughest  rind  that  is  sweetest  at  the 
oore.  Claneustaoe — one  of  those  characters,  which  ^'  like  certain  minerals^ 
issnain  soft  during  the  process  of  formation,  to  harden  at  last  into  the 
atemest  compactness." 

And  then  for  the  women.  Susan,  whom  everybody  loves — so  mild,  so 
benevolent^  so  forbearing,  so  unpresuming;  such  a  patient,  devoted, 
mnch-wronged  nature  as  Mr.  Thackeray  loves  to  depict  amid  crowds  of 
selfish,  hollow-hearted  men ;  an  innocent,  so  slow  to  believe  in  the  exist- 
ence of  wickedness,  that  she  trusts  her  happiness,  her  person,  the  purity  of 
her  mindy  to  the  keeping  of  one  who  despises  all  things  good  and  holy ;  and 


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164  Female  Nowlhts—No.  II. 

in  the  development  of  whose  career,  Mri.  Gore  has  exercised  that  comnlaiid 
of  pathos  which  some  critics  deny  her,  as  dioagh  she  could  only,  at  bM^ 
faire  hadmer  la  tendresee.  Jutia  Hamilton  {leases  such  censors  better : 
a  fashionable  fribble,  who  plays  an  able  gatoe,  both  at  the  whist-tafale 
and  with  the  hand  of  court  cards  dealt  to  her  in  the  long  rubber  of  human 
life  ;  who  cares  not  to  cast  her  eje^  on  a  single  female  face,  except  the 
four  queens,  which  strengthen  her  hand  at  whist,  and  who  never  lays 
aside  her  secret  mail-coat  of  egotism,  either  in  the  arms  of  her  £Either  or 
at  the  footstool  of  her  Maker.  Mrs.  Cadogan  is  a  revolting  sketch:  a 
beautiful  woman,  who,  by  wearing  a  smiling  face  when  discontented,  has 
learnt  to  wear  an  innocent  one  while  sinning ;  and  whose  mind  contraois 
at  last,  in  quintessential  malignity,  into  the  poison-drop  that  inBicts 
destruction  on  others.  That  she  is  unnatural  and  improbable  is  our  con^ 
solation ;  the  part  which  she  plays,  however,  in  che  fortunes  of  ^  Iht 
Hamiltons"  gives  scope  to  some  very  powerful  >vriting — ^unlaboured, 
indeed,  and  unpretending,  but  realising  more  than  one  scene  of  tragic 
interest 

But  the  comedy  of  artificial  life  is  Mrs.  Gore'sybrfe  ;  and'  it  is  irfimi 
reproducing,  in  her  brilliant  way,  the  soap-bubbles  and  sparkling  fireflies 
of  the  ^'  upper  ten  thousand,''  that  we  feel  her  power  i  when  uie  invites 
us  to  Mayfiur  or  Baden,  to  gaze  on  her  lifelike  and  highly«coloared 
'<  tableau,**  as  Le  Sage  has  it,  ''  des  soins,  des  peines,  des  mouvements,  que 
les  pauvres  mortels  se  donnent,  pour  remplir  agr^blement  le  ^tit  espaoe 
entre  leur  naissance  et  leur  mort"  A  Burtpnshaw  family — a  gossiping^ 
Pen.  Smith— a  Sir  Joseph  Leighton,  *^  one  of  those  fussy  men,  who  insist 
on  having  dots  placed  on  all  the  i^s  of  life,  and  crosses  on  its  IV — ^m 
hitting  off  folks  of  this  calibre,  with  a  few  smart  strokes  of  her  evertesting 
gold  pen,  lies  her  supremacy. 

The  tragical  story  of  the  Duchess  de  Praslin  has  contributed  an  ad- 
ventitious interest  to  the  intrinsic  merit  of  ^*  Mrs*  Army  tage ;  or,  Female 
Domination."  The  book  was  a  favourite  one  with  that  ill-fated  Udy; 
and  a  volume  of  it  being  found  on  her  bed,  stained  with  her  blood,  and 
subsequently  deposited  in  evidence  at  the  trial,  it  acquired  remarkaUe 
notoriety  on  tiie  continent.  At  home  it  has  enjoyed  the  applause  of 
divers  and  distinguished  readers— among  them^a  lord-chanceUor-^-peers, 
like  Lord  Holland,  without  stint — wits,  like  Jekyll  and  Luttrell,  of  vast 
dinner-table  influence — and  novelists,  like  Beckford  and  Bnlwer  LyttOD, 
of  ungainsayable  credit  and  renown.  The  tale  runs  ttpon  the  injuriocis 
eiSects  produced  upon  the  female  character  by  an  extension  of  the  rights 
and  privileges  of  the  sex.  Mrs.  Armytage*  is  one  who  exercises  over 
her  children  the  utmost  rigour  of  petty  despotism — one  whose  love  'Of 
domination  had  been  allowed  to  progress  into  a  ruling  passion,  by  the 
indulgence  of  an  inert  and  adoring  husband-'-^^mo,  of  whom  her  soa 
affirms,  that  were  he  to  fall  in  love  with  aU'  aagel,  blest  with  a  peeram 
in  her  own  right  and  a  million  in  the  Five  per  Cenls.,  tfAewooM-bo 
sure  to  raise  objections.  Her  haughty  tamper  bt^aks*  the  heMrte€  her 
daughter,  the  admirable  Sophia,  and  boWs  her  'to  an  early  gra«pe ;  it 

•  And  poor  ilrs.  Armylage,  warning  exaction,  ' 
Sits  atm-diaired  for  ever,  a  dreitd  p^trifactloi]. 


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Female  NavelUts^No.  II.  165 

makeB  her  80d»  Arthur,  a  mUerahle  dependent,  and  his  wife — the  artless 
and  winning  Marian — ^a  neglected  alien ;  and  it  goes  far  towards  raising 
between  these  two  a  cloud  of  suspicion  and  discord,  charged  with  ruin  to 
their  mutual  happiness.  The  ordeal  of  dbcipline  through  which  that 
haughty  spirit  has  to  pass,  ere  it  will  bate  one  jot  of  its  pretensions,  is 
finely  and  feelingly  portrayed.  Several  parts,  indeed,  of  this  novel  are 
marked  by  more  than  ordinary  pathos;  especially  the  death-bed  of 
Sophia,  that  mild,  pure,  most  unsejifish  maiden,  who  had  scarcely  ever 
been  parted  an  hour  ^m  her  mother's  side ;  "  and  though  Mrs.  Army- 
tage's  loftiness  of  spirit  seemed  to  elevate  her  above  all  sympathy  with 
the  timid  girl,  as  the  giant  oak  above  all  consciousness  of  the  fragrant 
-violet  blooming  at  its  root,  yet  now  that  the  flower  was  withered, 
the  tree  seemed  desolate;  for  winter  wa9  around  its  leafless  boughs." 
A  powerful  hand  is  also  visible  in  the  description  of  the  meeting  and 
explanation  between  Arthur  and  Edgar  Rainsford  —  and  of  Arthur's 
passionate  revelation  to  his  mother  of  her  illegal  tenure  of  Holywell — 
and  of  the  disease-stricken  and  heart-sore  woman's  return  home,  to 
humble  herself  and  die.  There  is  a  larger  supply,  too,  of  agreeable 
acquaintances  than  one  often  finds  in  Mrs.  Gore's  nctions  :  the  Bother- 
hams,  for  instance ;  and  excellent  Dr.  Grant ;  and  part  of  the  Maranham 
fiunily ;  and  Arthur,  and  Sophia,  and  Marian.  Even  Winsome  Wyn 
becomes  likeable,  when  transformed  to  Lord  Wildingham — though  we 
&ncy  he  was  not  originally  meant  to  be  endured,  nor  is  the  process  of 
amendment  very  naturally  explained.  The  vis  comica  is  well  sustained 
in  the  person  of  honest  Jack  ficJtimore — a  man  of  cunning  in  the  odds,  ex- 
TOTt  at  billiards,  addicted  to  punch,  knowing  in  horseflesh  and  the  slang 
oictionary ;  and  tolerable  amusement  is  to  be  had  out  of  the  aspiring 
Yankee,  Mister  Leonidas  Lomax,  who  makes  his  entree  as  a  never-say- 
die  antagonist  of  ''  aristocratic  usurpation,"  speaking  in  aphorisms  him- 
self, and  perpetually  correcting  the  moods  and  tenses  of  other  people, 
and  proving  his  incapacity  to  take  a  pinch  of  snuff  without  connecting 
the  measure  with  some  precept  of  political  economy  ;  but  who  eventually 
suboides  into  a  courtly,  tult-huntiog  sycophant — covers  his  republican 
^akedneas  with  gay  waistcoats  and  hne  trinkets — and  disports  himseli^ 
padded,  pinched,  painted,  with  an  Adonis  wig  and  a  pair  of  fixed  spurs. 
Qtber  pleasant  fetches  we  have,  in  die  persons  of  Dyke  Robsey,  M.P., 
^^allr  for  railways  and  radical  reform,"  and  his  cheery,  vulgar,  kind- 
hearted  spouse;  and  Miss  Avarilla,  one  of  the  weird  sii^ters  at  the 
Grange^  rigidly  eold  and  formal,  but  ever  in  a  solemn  bustle  and  per- 
plexity of  business.  The  Grange  mystery  is  an  episode  of  indifferent 
mterest 

But  we  must  soramble  to  a  conclu^on,  in  a  very  immethodical  fashion ; 
for  heW)  with  stinted  limits  and  an  imperfect  memory,  can  we  find  our 
way  to  a  Jin%9^  along  the.  highways  and  byways  of  Mrs.  Gore*s  wide 
domains,,  unless  in  »  manner  sadly  skipping  and  desultory  ?  To  run 
Ofer  die  names,  theoy  of  some  other  of  her  host  of  novels — there,  are  the 
^<  Reign  of  Terror"  and  the  *'  Lettre  de  Cachet,"  the  earliest  and,  some 
think,  the  most  graceful  and  attractive  of  her  opera  omnia.  Her  more 
lecent  and  characteristic  style  found  its  first  decid^  display  in  *'  Women 
as  They  Are" — a  somewhat  flippant  picture  of  fashionable  and  Ladies 
ifa^Ojruta  existsoee.     It  appeared  in  1830,  and  was  followed  next  year 


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166  Female  Nw)tU»t9—No.  11.  \ 

hj  the  renowned  and  eflenresoent  Tolomes  devoted  to  '<  MoAen  and 
I^aghten"— of  whidi  the  critical  Phoebus  of  '« Bfaie-Stockbg  Rafdi^" 
who  eonfoned  he  iometimea  wished  Mrs.  Gore's  three  rolames  were  two^ 
was  fain  to  protest, 

But  not  when  she  dwelt  upon  daughters  or  mothers ; 
Oh,  ihen  the  three  made  bim  quite  long  for  three  others. 

Another  year,  and  she  produced  ''  The  Fair  of  May  Fair,*'  a  series  of  a 
rather  fade  and  pa9se  aspect  After  '*  Mrs.  Armytage"  there  came 
(1838)  <<  The  Heir  of  Setwood"— a  complicated  story»  which  involves 
both  reader  and  writer  in  a  labyrinth  that  once  or  twice  threatens  a 
<«  fix" — ^illustratiye  of  the  wrongful  acquisition  of  a  noble  estate^  and  the 
perplexities  of  a  childless  herome,  who  adopts  %  strange  infimt  as  her 
own^  and  anon  finds  herself  a  mother  de  facto  as  well  as  dejure,  la 
diis  tale  Mrs.  Gore  is  more  restrained  and  serious  than  usuaL  Next 
came  '<  The  Cabinet  Minister,"  represented  by  a  Sir  Bobert  Crewe— one 
of  those  official  veterans  whom  she  describes  with  such  gusto  ;  the  time 
being  that  of  the  Carlton  House  regency,  and  the  tiieme  one  to  which, 
in  its  salient  points,  she  is  marvellously  aufait  The  same  year  (1839) 
appeared  ''  deferment ;  or.  My  Unde  the  Earl" — ioUX  of  satiric  touches, 
and  supported  by  one  or  two  capital  full-length  figures.  It  has  been 
said,  that  so  fiedUiful  are  her  portraits,  that  it  is  by  no  means  difficult 
for  one  moving  in  the  same  circles  to  detect  the  inmvidnals  from  wluHn 
particular  traits  are  drawn;  yet  are  they  not  portndts,  nor,  what  is  still 
more  common,  caricatures  of  well-known  personages;  the  peculiarities 
only  are  derived  firom  distinct  originals,  and  combined  with  ffeneral 
characteristics.  ''  Her  pages  are  a  complete  Rochefoucauld  of  English 
high  life."  But  the  saUre  is  not  crabbed^  the  irony  is  not  morose^  the 
ri£eule  is  not  snappish:  for  this  we  may  take  Apollo's  word  at  the 
Feast  of  the  Violets, 

For  her  satire,  he  said,  wasn't  evil,  a  bit ; 
But  as  full  of  good  heart  as  of  spirits  and  wit. 

In  1840  we  had  '<  The  Dowager ;  or,  the  New  School;  for  Scandal," 
of  wUch  the  name  is  its  own  interpreter,  bein?  a  motley  and  high-coloumd 
pictare  of  the  results  of  babbling  and  gossip,  the  prolific  seeds  sown  by  Mra. 
Candours  and  Sir  Benjamin  Backbites.  The  dowager  herself  Lady  Del- 
maine,  is  one  of  our  author's  most  felicitous  characters ;  but,  with  one  or 
two  exceptions,  the  others  are  pasteboard,  and  that  of  the  flimsiest  make; 
and  the  stoiy  is  rattled  through  with  a  weless  rs^idity,  aud  overflow  of 
oolio^uial  levity,  which  makes  us  approve  once  again  the  critidsm  o£  the 
divimty  already  appealed  to : 

Only  somewhat  he  found,  now  and  then,  which  dilated 

A  little  too  much  on  the  fashions  it  rated. 

And  heaps  of  **  polite  coDversation"  so  true 

That  he,  once,  really  wisif  d  the  three  volumes  were  two. 

If  we  have  wished  it  more  than  once,  may  Mrs.  Gore  and  her  tntelar  god 
nrgive  us! 

Her  &miliarity  with  Parisian  life  and  manners  found  room  for  lively  die* 
play  in  *<  Greville;  or,  a  Season  in  Paris,"  which  was  succeeded  in  1842  bj 
a  novel,  where  the  scene  is  laid  in  Russia,  viz.,  ^  The  Ambassador's  Wi£^^ 
spoflt  l^  haste  and  recklessness  of  constructian,  but  clever,  piquant,  and 


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'  Femah  NavdUU'-'No.  II.  167 

pungent  m  ever.  More  paina  she  mmit  haTe  taken  in  working  up  the 
power  and  panion  (for  thm  are  both  in  an  eminent  degree)  of  <<  The 
banker^fl  Wife ;  or.  Court  and  City ;''  but  those  who  chiefly  appredate 
her,  pronounce  it  comparatively  heavy  reading.  Scenes  there  are,  how* 
ef«r,  of  genuine  comedy  and  humorous  relief,  such  as  scarcely  any  one 
else  could  have  put  on  paper.  There  was  some  ground  for  a  cntic  at  this 
poiod  (184d«4)  affirming  that,  '^  within  the  last  eight  or  nine  years  Mrs. 
Goie  had  distanced  nearly  all  her  oontemporaries  by  a  rapid  soooessum  of 
some  of  the  most  brilliant  novek  in  our  language.  *  Nor,  excepting  a 
brief  interval,  did  she  abate  in  literary  energy.  Emulation,  if  nothing  m% 
must  have  sustained  a  spirit  like  here  :  was  not  Mrs.  Trollope  stiUpuh- 
lishing  her  thousands,  and  Mr.  James  his  ten  thousands  ?  Besides  the 
consecrated  form  of  three  volumes,  there  were  the  magazines  into  which 
to  pour  the  exuberance  oi  her  invention.  In  this  &a!g%  she  gave  us 
^  Blanks  and  Prizes,"  "  Temptation  and  Atonement,"  '' Abedne^  the 
Money-Lender,"  '^  Surfaoeism  ;  or,  the  World  and  its  Wife ;"  and  innu- 
merable stories,  such  as  the  *'  Burgher  of  St.  Gall,"  the  '*  Scrap-stall  of 
Paris,"  the  '*  Leper-House  of  JanvaJ,"  the  *'  Hoyalists  of  Peru,"  and  other 
histarieUes  collected 

From  a*  the  airts  the  wind  can  blaw, 

or  a  quick  fancy  cull  flowers  and  fruitage.  Recurring  to  the  post-octavo 
triplets,  we  have  yet  to  record  the  names  of  ^  Peers  and  Parvenus,"  in 
wmch  she  appears  to  strain  a  diord  already  enfeebled  by  undue  tension ; 
and  *'  Sketches  of  English  Character,"  iUuminated  by  a  running  fire  of 
witticisms,  manufactured  by  the  same  accomplished  patentee  as  **  Cedl," 
and  fizzmg  and  crsckling  m  eveiy  conoeivaUe  direction ;  and  then  the 
*^  Debutante ;  or,  the  London  Season,"  another  congenial  subject  for  such 
a  lecturer.  These  three  last  works  all  belong  to  one  year,  1846.  Her 
next,  ^*  Castles  in  the  Air,"  betraved  increasing  symptoms  of  over-worl^ 
and  did  little  to  strengthen,  notbmg  to  spread,  her  reputation.  But  it 
would  take  many  a  weightier  load  than  sucn  air- castles  to  sink  the  reputa* 
tion  she  had  secured ;  a  score  of  such  mediocrities  would  not  much  depre- 
ciate the  insurance  policy  she  had  long  since  effected  in  the  temple  of 
Fame.  In  this  glancing  notice  we  have  omitted  several  of  her  ablest,  as 
well  as  her  least- noticeable  fictions;  nor  have  we,  as  dealing  amply  with 
a  female  novelist,  alluded  to  her  productions  in  other  walks  of  literature. 

If  it  happened  that  our  |)rinter*8 ("  bad  word,"  as  Young  Tom  Hall's 

biograi^er  would  put  it,  and  as  Ellis  Bell  would  notf)  were  clamorous 

*  A  New  Spirit  of  the  Age. 

t  Every  reiCder  of  **  Wuthering  Heights"  must  have  "  made  great  eyes,**  as  a 
German  would  say,  at  the  ftequency  and  matter-of-coiirse  nomcheStmoe  with  whidi  • 
oaths  axe  there  spelt  out,  letter  by  letter,  in  the  most  solid  style  of  cuzsing  and 
swearing.  Never  was  dish  to  set  before  a— trooper,  more  highly  spioed  and  hothr 
peppered,  in  the  manner  which  troopers  proverbially  relish.  And  Currer  Betl 
espouses  the  cause  of  all  this  "  cussin'  and  swearin*."  In  her  preface  to  the  above 
work,  she  says  that  undoubtedly  a  large  class  of  readers  will  "  suffer  greatly"  ftem 
SUis  Bell's  habit  of  substituting  the  naughty  word  in  extauo  for  Vie  customary 
Uank  line.  And  adds:  "I  may  as  well  say  at  onoe,  that  for  this  circnmBtanoe  It 
is  out  of  my  power  to  apologise ;  deeming  it,  myself,  a  rational  plan  to  write  words 
at  ftiU  length.  The  practice  of  hinting  by  single  letters  those  expletives  with 
which  pro&ne  and  vioLmt  persons  are  wont  to  gwnish  their  discourse^  strikes  me 
as  a  proceeding  which,  however  well  meant,  is  weak  and  fhtile.  I  cannot  tell  what 
good  it  does— what  feeling  it  snares— what  horror  it  conceals."  This  is  highly 
characteristic  of  the  frank  and  free-hearted  writer,  whatever  we  may  think  of  her 


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168  Ut^r  Somir$^. 

for  more  *^  copy/'  instead  of  beiog^  as  the  ingenuoos  youth  is,  indigiiaDt  at 
our  excesses  m  longitude  and  latitude,  we  could  gloriously  fill  up  a  sheet 
or  two  with  a  formal  enumeration  of  the  comedies,  faices,  feuiUetons, 
and  opuscula  miscellanea  of  Mrs.  Gore's  authorship.  Nor  would 
the  mere  catalogue  read  amiss,  or  be  wanting  in  interest,  to  those 
who  gloat  over  the  catalogues  of  Homer*8  ships,  and  Milton's  prop» 
names,  and  the  levee  and  drawing-room  statistics  in  four  parallel  columns 
of  the  Times.  As  a  novelist,  we  take  our  leave  of  her,  with  a  cordial 
sense  of  her  singular  talents  and  memorable  industry— our  general  im- 
pression of  her  multifarious  fictions  being  in  accordance  with  tb».  compli- 
mentary comment  of  Leigh  Hunt  :* 

Then  how  much  good  readiog!  what  ^  flowing  words ! 
What  enjoyment,  whether  midst  houses  or  herdb ! 
'Tis  the  thinking  of  men  with  the  lightness  of  birds] 


UESTEH     SOMERSET. 

BY  NICHOLAS  MICHSLL. 

BOOK  m. 

CHAPTEft  XX. 
H£8TSR*S  MONET  HAS  VANISHED — THE  POLICE-OFFICE. 

It  was  not  long  before  Hester  awoke,  and  her  first  sensation  was  sur- 
prise at  finding  herself  in  the  dark.  She  struck  a  light ;  and  that  surprise 
was  increased  when  she  perceived  that  her  candle  had  not  burnt  down, 
but  that  some  person  had  placed  the  extinguisher  upon  it.  Julie  was 
awakened  by  the  movements  of  her  sister,  and  had  begun  to  dress  herself 
in  order  to  take  her  turn  as  sentinel.  A  slight  scream  from  Hester  be- 
trayed that  she  had  now  discovered  the  fatal  truth.  The  drawer  of  the 
bureau  was  open,  and  empty  ;  the  treasure — ^the  hoaxded  hope  of  a 
father's  freedom— all  the  money  was  gone! 

Pitiable  was  the  picture  of  consternation,  anguish,  and  despair,  which 
the  girl  presented.  For  the  first  few  moments  she  was  speechless,  and 
could  only  by  gestures  make  Julie  aware  of  the  terrible  stroke  which  had 
befallen  them.  By  degrees,  however,  she  gained  self-possession,  and  was 
enabled,  amidst  the  whirl  of  her  feelings,  to  act  and  think.  She  rushed 
to  the  door,  but  no  one  could  have  entered  by  that  way,  since  it  was 
locked  on  the  inside.  The  window,  with  its  cut  pane,  quickly  told  the 
tale ;  and  as  she  threw  open  the  sash,  the  ladder  of  ropes  was  seen  still 
dangling  from  the  iron  bar,  the  thief  in  his  hurry  having  neglected  to 
take  it  away. 

Hester^s  first  suspicion  fell  on  the  gardener,  but  the  old  man  seemed 
the  very  personification  of  honesty ;  and  when  she  saw  his  little  dog,  that 
at  one  time  had  roused  her  by  his  bark,  lying  dead  in  the  garden,  the 

taste.    With  her  a  bUnk  is  a  sham,  and  all  shams  are  to  be  put  down— except  on 
paper. 
*  Blue-stocking  Bevels,  canto  ii. 


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Hester  Somerset  169 

idea  was  instantlj  dismissed.  But  JuHe  now  awoke  the  'inmates  of  the 
house,  and  all  was  excitement  and  consternation.  The  gardener  hurried 
through  the  Mds,  and  down  the  lane ;  hut,  as  might  be  expected,  nothing 
could  be  seen  or  learnt  of  the  housebreaker. 

Morning  dawned.  Unfortunately  their  neighbour,  Mr.  Kellerman, 
was  absent  from  home,  and  therefore  no  advice  or  assistance  could  be 
obtained  from  that  quarter.  Julie  proposed  going  to  the  Fleet  PHson 
without  delay;  but  Hester,  even  now  kindly  considerate,  overruled  her 
sister.  She  was  well  assured  that  the  poor  prisoner,  their  father,  could 
render  them  no  ud,  and  anxious  was  she  to  spare  him  the  knowledge  of 
the  bitter  stroke,  so  long  as  any  hope  of  recovering  the  stolen  property 
existed.  One  mode  of  proeeeoing  offered  itself,  and  the  most  rational 
one  it  seemed  to  be — ^it  was  to  apply  to  a  magistrate,  in  order  that  efficient 
steps  might  be  taken  for  the  discovery  and  apprehension  of  the  robber. 

The  master  of  the  house  in  which  they  lived  accompanied  the  sisters 
to  the  police-office,  and  they  arrived  at  Bow-street  before  the  magistrate 
had  taken  his  accustomed  place.  Sad  it.  was,  under  such  circumstances, 
to  be  obliged  to  wait;  but  rules  of  office  are  stubborn  things — iron  that 
refuses  to  bend :  a  magistrate  will  not  nt  before  his  time. 

The  court  opened  at  last,  and  some  unioteresting  business  having  been 
gone  throueh,  Hester  was  permitted  to  make  her  statement. 

Even  in  her  distress,  there  was  an  air  of  superiority  about  the  ruined 
gentleman's  daughter  which  commanded  respect  The  ushers,  clerks, 
and  matter-of-fact  functionaries  of  such  a  place,  are  not  readily  charmed, 
yet  the  beauty  and  grace  of  Hester  had  an  evident  effisct  upon  them. 
She  detailed,  in  a  plain  and  straightforward  manner,  the  ciroumstances  of 
the  robbery.  The  magistrate — not  the  one  who  had  harshly  treated  her 
on  a  former  occasion — appeared  to  take  gpreat  interest  in  her  case,  the 
more  especially  when  he  learnt  for  what  object  the  money  had  been 
accumulated. 

'<  But,  my  dear  young  lady,**  he  said,  '<  had  you  taken  the  trouble  to 
inquire  respecting  the  bankers  you  name,  you  would  have  found  they  are 
among  the  richest  in  London.  The  letter,  raisiu^  an  alarm  as  to  their 
stability,  was  evidently  written  by  a  party  connected  with  the  robbery. 
But  I  can  feel  for  you ;  timidity  and  suspicion  are  not  always  readily 
conquered ;  the  money  was  designed  for  a  purpose  so  important,  that,  by  a 
dutiful  daughter  like  yourself,  it  must  have  heen  valued  almost  like  life 
itself.  But,  no  doubt,  you  are  impatient ;  you  are  anxious  for  a  way 
to  be  pointed  out  whereby  the  lost  property  may  be  recovered.  We  will 
do  what  we  can,  and  if  our  efforts  prove  vain,  I  shall  very  sincerely  pity 
you.  In  the  first  place,  have  you  preserved  the  numbers  and  dates  of 
the  notes?** 

Hest«r  produced  the  list  of  which  we  have  spoken,  and  it  was  passed 
to  the  magistrate. 

''  Bless  me,  all  fives  and  tens,  and  one  hundred  sovereigns  f  This  is 
laluable  booty ;  the  villa^u  will  pass  the  small  notes  easily  in  the  conn- 
try,  and  the  stoppage  of  them  at  the  Bank  of  E^land  will*  I  &ax,  be  of 
little  use." 

The  countenance  of  Hester  assumed  an  expression  of  anguish  which  a 
piunter  might  have  depkst^,  tbmifl^  worda  nay  net  deseribe.    But  tw<x 


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170  Biuter  Somerut. 

poHoe  constables  now  stepped  forward,  and  one  of  Aem  addxessed  the 
magistrate. 

*'  Please  your  worship,  Bateman  and  I  dunk  we  can  throw  some  l^jht 
on  this  business,  if  jour  worship  giTCs  ns  leave  now  to  speak." 

*^  Speak  on,"  said  the  magistrate. 

*'  Last  night,  or  rather  tins  moniing,  for  'twas  near  fonr  o'dodc,  I 
foimd  a  man  lying  across  the  payemerit  in  HoeadiUy ;  he  seemed  to  be 
in  a  fit,  so  I  raised  him  oflp  the  stones^  and  called  assistance,  when  Bate* 
man  came  m.  Seaidiing  his  pockets  to  find  out  Ins  address,  that  we 
might  cany  nim  home,  we  discoTored  a  bonch  of  skeleton-keys,  a  small 
crowbar,  and  other  housebreaking  implements;  then,  from  another 
pocket  we  drew  forth  a  heavy  bag — ^it  was  fall  of  money!" 

Hester  nttered  a  fiunt  cry  at  Uie  bare  possibility  that  this  might  prove 
her  lost  treasure. 

'<  A  bag  of  money,*  said  the  magistrate;  ^'go  on." 

**  We  carried  the  man  to  a  surgeon's,  who  said  the  fit  was  H  bad  one, 
and  brought  on,  he  thought,  by  over-excitement  of  mind.     I  put  a  seal 

rA  the  bag,  and  gave  it  to  tne  inspector ;  and  he,  your  workup,  has 
money  now  in  court." 

**  Very  well ;  let  the  inspector  produce  it  If  the  som  is  comnosed  of 
bank  notes,  the  numbers  of  which  cbrrespond  with  those  marked  on  the 
dieet  before  me,  of  course  the  matter  is  decided  that  the  property  is  Ae 
young  lady's." 

The  inspector  oi  pc^ce  came  forward,  and  at  onoe  placed  the  bag  ei 
money  on  the  taUe.  Oh !  to  have  seen  Hester's  glistening  eyes,  her 
dasped  hands,  and  to  have  heard  her  exclamation  of  rapture,  might  have 
touched  the  hardest,  and  warmed  the  coldest  heart 

"  That  is  mine ! — ours ! — I  know  it — thank  Heaven  !  I  am  happy 
now !"  And  overwhelmed  by  the  feelings  of  the  moment^  and  seareely 
conscious  of  what  she  did,  Hester  ardently  embraced  her  sister,  while  tears 
filled  her  eyes. 

Meantime,  the  money  was  turned  out  upon  the  table,  and  the  magis- 
trate's clerk  began  to  count  the  sovneigns.  They  proved  to  be  a  hun- 
dred. The  notes  were  unrolled,  and  &eir  dates  and  numbers  exactly 
agreed  with  Hester's  account 

**  Well,"  said  the  good  magistrate,  taking  off  his  spectacles,  with  a 
happy  and  beaming  look,  **  this  is,  indeed,  a  fortunate  affiur ;  and  I  con- 
gratulate the  young  lady  most  sincerely  on  the  prompt  and  unexpected 
recovery  of  her  lost  proper^.  But^"  he  asked,  '<  where  is  the  criminal? 
Did  he  recover  fitmi  tne  fit  ?^ 

**  Yes,  your  worship,"  replied  the  inspector;  '*  he  is  now  quite  well : 
we  have  him  here  locked  up." 

"  Then  bring  him  before  the  bench,"  said  the  magistrate. 

There  was  a  movement  among  the  people,  and  a  turning  of  heads  in 
the  direction  that  the  prisoner  was  expected  to  come.  Already  the  house- 
breaker seemed  to  be  an  object  of  morbid  interest,  and  eadi  one  asked 
the  other  if  it  was  known  who  he  was.  But  the  prisoner  now  appeared, 
and  was  led  forward  by  the  constables,  and  placed  in  the  dock.  Thenan 
involuntary  exclamation  of  wonder  burst  mm  the  lips  of  many  present, 
to  whom  tne  person  of  the  mdiappy  man  was  well  known. 


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Muter  Somerset.  171 

<'It  if  Bir.  FikeS^Mr.  Pike^  the  aitomej !— impoBaUa  r  were  the 
voids  eeboed  arooiid. 

Hester  and  Julie,  too,  were  taken  by  surprise ;  for  they  had  not  con- 
ceiTed  that  their  Other's  persecutor  and  Hsoiley's  tool  would  have  pro- 
ceeded to  such  a  Iraigth^-committing  at  once  an  act  of  the  lowest,  vilest 
descriptioiiy  and  yet  of  consummate  daring.  And  how  did  Mr.  Pike 
comport  himself,  with  the  eyes  of  all  fixed  upon  him,  and  his  guilt  le- 
leaied  so  completely  that  no  loofdiole  was  left  him  £<xt  escape  ? 

There  he  stood,  the  black,  relentless  persecutor  of  the  innocent,  the 
nuderer  to  the  ei^il  passions  of  an  unnatural  broths ;  his  career  having 
been  piusnsd  for  years,  long  years — his  one  object  the  ftmaflfling  of 
mcnej.  There  he  stood,  the  plotting,  the  cautious,  the  crafty;  spreading 
snares  for  others,  but  caught  m  the  snare  himself  at  last.  His  hypocrisy 
would  avail  him  nothing  now;  his  hardihood  could  not  £ELce  out  the  ter- 
rible and  palpable  truth :  the  wretched  man  knew  it,  and  felt  it 

Ay,  he  felt  it,  and  therefore  he  shrank  into  himselF;  therefore  his  lean 
and  withered  fimbs  trembled,  and  his  teeth  chattered.  In  a  word,  boa 
moral  and  physical  courage  had  fled.  A  miserable  object,  he  appeared, 
of  fraud  unmasked,  and  long-flourishing  iniquity  receiving  retribution  at 
last  He  answered  no  word  to  the  «piestions  of  the  magistrate ;  in  sullen 
silence  he  was  removed  from  the  police-office,  and  in  sullen  silence  locked 
iqp.  On  ^  following  day  he  was  placed  again  at  the  bar,  and  ex- 
amined; the  depositions  were  taken  against  mm,  and  no  doubt  of  his 
guilt  fadng  entertained,  Mr.  Pike  was  fully  committed  to  take  his  tri^ 
for  housebreaking  and  robbeoy. 


Chapter  XXI. 

MR.   PIKE  IN   NEWGATE. 

The  money  was  safe,  and  the  heart  of  Hester  was  full  of  happiness, 
yet  she  did  not  exult  over  a  fallen  enemy.  That  enemy  was  now  in  a 
ptison— in  Newgate — awaiting  his  trial 

From  the  serious  nature  of  the  crime  with  which  he  was  charged,  and 
other  considaations,  Mr.  Pike  was  not  lodged  in  one  of  the  common 
wards,  where  it  has  been  the  custom  to  place  three,  six,  and  sometimes 
even  twelve  priaoaos  together.  He  was  confined  in  a  separate  cdl, 
wi&  liherty  to  take  air  uid  exercise  in  the  yard  twice  a  day.  The  cell 
was  not  altogether  cheerless,  light  being  admitted  through  a  grating 
about  ea^t  feet  frimi  the  ground.  There  was  a  little  iron  bedstead 
with  a  straw  mattress,  in  the  comor ;  he  was  allowed  a  wooden  chair,' with 
a  small  deal  table,  and,  enjoyu^  the  privileges  of  prisoners  before  con- 
viction, writing  mateikJs  were  supplied  him. 

That  he  deeply  felt  his  degradation,  may  be  supposed.  H^  the  le- 
qieetable  gentleman — the  upholder,  by  profession,  of  the  laws  of  his 
oountiy— the  flourishing  fundholder— to  be  confined  in  Newgate  caol ! 
the  feet  was  enough  to  cover  him  with  shamO)  and  fill  his  heart  with  in- 


Mt.  Pike  sat  on  his  wooden  chair.  He  had  been  drawing  up  a  defence 
whidi  he  intended  to  read  at.  his  trial;  but,  alas!  he  found  all  his  skill 
and  legal  knowledge  utterly  feil  him  in  making  out  a  case  so  that  an 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


172  Hester  Somerset. 

acquittal  might  be  expected,  the  evidence  against  him  being  so  strong,  so 
overwhelmiDg.  His  lean  arms  were  now  folded  on  his  narrow  chest,  and 
his  great  head  drooped  in  profound  meditation.  In  appearance,  the  man 
was  much  the  same  as  when  we  described  him  in  his  little  counting-house 
in  St.  Mary  Axe.  His  white  neckerchief,  on  which  his  prominent  chin 
seemed  always  to  take  a  pleasure  in  resting,  was  drawn  tightly  around  his 
throat ;  his  seedy  black  coat  was  buttoned  up  close,  and  carefully  brushed ; 
while  leather  straps  drew  straining  down  his  shrunken  pantaloons,  to  meet 
the  upper  rim  of  his  long,  well-polished  shoes.  His  features,  however, 
were  thinner  and  paler,  his  la^  hooked  nose  standing  out  in  more 
defined  prominence,  and  his  round,  restless  black  eyes  added  to  their 
natural  lustre  the  almost  ferocious  glare  which  distinguishes  those  of  a 
wild  beast. 

Solitude,  it  is  said,  prompts  meditation,  and  loves  to  send  memory  back 
over  the  past,  whether  evil  or  good  deeds  have  marked  our  course.  Mr. 
Pike's  contemplations  at  that  moment  were  retrospective.  He  thought  of 
all  he  had  done— of  his  triumphs  and  his  defeats ;  but  he  felt  no  repent- 
ance, no  remorse. 

<'  Blind,  mi^ud^ng  world !"  he  said,  in  his  quiet  reverie,  "  you  know' 
not  what  really  is  crime,  or  what  is  virtue.  Each  act  I  have  committed 
may  be  defended  on  a  sound,  philosophical  principle — the  principle  of  ex* 
pediency.  Even  my  last  deed,  which  men  stupidly  call:  robbery,  and  for 
which  I  am  incarcerated  in  this  vile  dungeon,  was  only  the  obeying  one 
of  the  grand  instincts  of  our  nature — self — self-agmndisement ;  and  no 
man  is  expected  to  fight  against  nature.  I  wished  to  lay  up  something 
for  my  old  age ;  I  would  not  starve.  That  girl's  money  was  better  in  my 
hands  than  in  Hartley's;  for  to  him  it  would  eventually  have  gone. 
Oh !  yes,  my  mind  is  peaceful  and  happy  in  one  sense,  and  my  conscience 
is  at  rest.  My  agony  is,  that  my  miserable  fellow-men  have  me  now  in 
their  power ;  my  agony  is,  that  all  my  plans — my  deeply-laid  schemes — 
are  of  no  more  avail.  And  oh  I"  he  cned,  starting  up,  and  grindine  his 
teeth,  "  my  worst  agony  is,  that  all  I  have  saved — all  for  which  I  have 
racked  my  brains  and  starved  my  body — ^my  annuity,  my  stock,  my  dear, 
dear  guineas — everything  must  go.  They  will  take  away  from  tne  old 
man  his  hard  earnings,  the  provision  he  designed  for  his  declining  years ; 
they  will  call  him  a  convict,  and  send  him  across  the  seas ;  they  will  not 
pity  the  old  man — ^fools !  monsters !  murderers  I^they  will  not  !** 

He  sat  upon  his  low  iron  bedstead,  and  began  to  draw  a  skull-cap  over 
his  misshapen  head,  and  to  take  off  his  shoes. 

'*  111  go  to  bed.  Ill  sleep.  Ill  forget  all  the  buaness  until  the  trial 
comes  on.  But  then  those  dreams,  those  horrid  dreams !  No,  I  cannot 
lie  down ;  I  can  battie  with  the  fiends  better  awake." 

Suddenly  Mr.  Pike  began  to  smile,  and  to  pace  up  and  down  with  a 
quick  and  cheerful  step. 

<<  Well,  well,  bear  up,  my  heart !  Come  what  may,  I  shall  not  die. 
Thanks  to  the  change  in  our  laws,  I  shall  not  swine  on  a  gibbet  This 
is  something.  No  grave  yet ;  no  blotting  out  of  the  light ;  no  worm ; 
no  grave— 3ia,  ha  I  This,  I  say,  is  something.  The  most  they  can 
prove  is  burglary,  and  what  they  ignorantly  call  tbef% ;  and  the  severest 
sentence  they  can  pass  is  transportation.  But  for  how  long?  Seven, 
fourteen,  or  twenty-one  years?    The  last  would  be  for  life;  for  I  am 


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Hester  .Somer^t.  i  72 

geiUDg  o]d»  and  my  miud  and  body  are  not  what  they  were.  For  life ! 
Oh !  misery.  But  cheer  up ;  I  shall  not  die.  No  grave  yet;  no  dark- 
neis ;  no  foul  worm  beneath.     Yes»  yes,  I  shall  live ;  I  shall  live." 

His  hands  were  clasped,  and  his  eyes  were  raised  to  the  ceiling  of  his 
cell ;  yet  these  gestures  were  not  expressions  of  an  inward  thankfulness 
to  Heaven  for  life  prolonged ;  they  merely  denoted  the  exultation  of  the 
coward  who  feared  to  die.  But  a£;ain  one  black  and  withering  thought 
oppressed  him.  His  smiles  vanished^  and  his  haggard  features  worked 
with  rage,  while  he  shook  his  clenched  hand,  as  if  uttering  maledictions 
against  some  imaginary  enemies. 

"  They'll  do  it ;  the  law  gives  them  the  power.  A  convict's  property 
is  forfeited  to  the  state.  Oh!  that  curses  could  slay!  Then  every 
wretch  who  dared  to  touch  one  penny  of  that  money  should  fall  blasted, 
dead  in  the  attempt.  It  is  mine,"  he  cried,  furiously ;  "  they  shall  not 
take  it  from  me.  Have  I  not  earned  it?— gathered  it  little  by  little  ? — 
debarred  myself  of  all  which  others  indulge  in  ?  'Tis  fifteen  thousand 
pounds.  Fifteen  thousand  I  Think  of  that.  In  one  day  I  nught  have 
convert-ed  it  all  into  guineas,  and  hid  the  amount  somewhere  in  the 
ground.  Then,  when  I  returned  from  banishment,  I  might  have  found 
it,  recovered  it,  enjoyed  it  again.  But  it  is  too  late  now.  Wpe  is  me ! 
They  won't  let  me  go  to  the  Bank  and  sell  it  out.  They'll  seize  it ;  the 
vultures  will  seize  it.  But  they  shall  not ;  I'll  move  earth  and  heaven  ere 
they  shall  take  my  property.  Rather  than  they  should  have  it,  1  would 
die,  and  it  should  be  placed  in  my  coffin.  Yes,  my  head  should  be  laid 
upon  a  bag  of  gold,  and  my  feet  be  buried  in  sovereigns.  This  would 
soothe  my  spirit — I  know  it  would.  But,  alas !  these  are  idle  dreams.  I 
■hall  lose  my  money.     I  am  undone,  and  my  heart  is  broken !" 

With  an  air  of  abandonment  he  flung  himself  into  his  chair.  His  lean 
body  was  bent  double  as  he  rocked  himself  to  and  fro ;  and  in  his  agony 
the  miser  wept. 

Chafteb  XXII. 

MR.  PIKE  IS  VISITED  IS  PRISON  BT  HIS  OLD  PATRON. 

The  door  of  the  cell  was  opened,  and  one  of  the  gaolers  of  the  prison 
entered. 

''  Here*s  your  counsel  come  to  see  you,  Mr.  Pike,"  sud  the  man. 
'*  This  is  the  first  time,  I  believe,"  he  added,  addressing  the  stranger. 
"  How  long  do  you  want,  sir  ?" 

''  A  half  an  hour,  perhaps,  will  be  sufficient." 

The  gaoler  retired,  closing  the  door  after  him.  In  no  other  capacity 
than  that  of  legal  adviser  would  Mr.  Hartley  have  been  allowed  this 
private  interview  with  Pike;  but  since  the  former  was  known  to  be  a 
barrister,  however  little  he  practised,  the  liberty  had  been  verv  easily  ob- 
tained. Hartley  now  stood  before  the  prisoner,  but  remainea  for  several 
minutes  without  speaking,  and  all  that  Pike  did  was  to  raise  his  eyes  im- 
l^onng^y,  and  fix  them  on  him  who  had  been  so  long  hb  employer  and 
patron. 

<'  You  are  come  to  do  something  for  me-*come  to  save  me,"  said  the 
attoraey. 

Jtfiie— vol*.  zcY.  NO.  cccLzzvni.  n 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


174  Hester  Somerset 

"  You  are  part  that,"  observed  Hartley;  "  I  will  not  bnoy  you  up— 
there  is  no  hope  for  you." 

Mr.  Pike  groaned. 

"  I  thought  your  last  game  was  to  be  your  best — it  has  prored  your 
worst,  for  you  have  disappointed  me,  and  ruined  yourself." 

**  Don't  upbraid  me;  the  calamity  no  human  foresight  could  g^uard 
against.  I  had  succeeded  in  my  enterprise,  as  you  Imow,  when  that 
bodily  ailment  struck  me  down.  '  I  lost  my  senses  before  I  had  time  to 
dispose  of  the  money,  or  throw  away  the  implements  I  had  used.  The 
fit  passed,  and  I  found  myself  in  custody,  discovered — ^ruined!  Mr. 
Hartley,  I  have  sold  myself  for  you." 

"  Not  at  all;  you  have  been  liberally  rewarded  for  everything  you 
have  done.  Pike,  I  believe  we  understand  each  other.  I  well  know,  if 
you  imagine  it  may  benefit  yourself,  you  will  not  scruple  to  betray  me." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Hartley,"  said  Pike,  looking  obliquely  at  him,  "  you 
haye  been  my  master  as  it  were,  my  abettor,  my  inciter,  through  all  the 
business ;  and  I  have  thought,  that  were  I  to  tell  this  to  the  jury,  it  mirht 
go  far  to  soften  the  rigour  of  the  punishment  which  might  be  awarded 
me. 

"  Miserable  man !"  exclaimed  Hartley ;  "  but  I  expected  this  of  you. 
It  is  not  enough  that  the  power  I  once  possessed  over  the  fortunes  of  my 
enemy  has  passed  from  my  hands,  but  the  vile  tool  I  used  is  tarDed 
into  a  dagger  to  stab  me." 

"  Ay,"  said  Pike,  with  a  grin  of  malicious  pleasure ;  **  and  I  can  tdl 
them  of  something  more.  I  don't  see  why  I  should  be  transported,  and 
you  escape.     Ill  tell  them  that  Flemming,  the  hunchback,  met—" 

"  Liar !  and  slanderer !"  interrupted  Hartley. 

"  Thy  victims  lie  in  a  pauper's  grave !"  said  I^e. 

<'  Do  you  wish  to  die  yourself?  Hush !  or  the  turnkey  beyond  that 
door  may  hear  your  foul  but  dangerous  language." 

"  Strive  then  to  save  me." 

'^  I  cannot  do  it;  but  this  I  will  do,  and  to  make  the  proposal  I  came 
here  to-day.  You  will  be  found  guilty ;  there  is  no  help  for  that—* 
transporte<]^  perhaps,  for  fourteen  years.  Whatever  money  you  possess, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  must  be  forfeited." 

**  Ha !"  cried  Pike,  clenching  his  hand. 

'*  Listen  to  me — accuse  me  not — mention  not  my  name  in  coimexion 
with  your  own,  and  I  swear  that,  on  your  return,  sill  you  have  lost  shall 
be  made  good  to  you  from  my  private  property." 

Mr.  Pike  mused,  his  long  chin  resting  on  bis  hand,  and  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  waU  of  his  cell.  He  shook  his  head,  and  counted  on  his  fingen : 
at  length  he  spoke  without  looking  at  Hartley. 

'<  It  won't  do — fourteen  years — a  long  time  it  is  to  one  who  is  gvtyw^ 
ing  old ;  besides,  the  sentence  may  be  for  life,  and  of  v^at  use  then  will 
your  money  be  ?  On  the  other  hand,  if  1  prove  to  the  jury  that  you  have 
set  me  on,  that  you  are  the  principal,  and  I  only  the  agent^  I  ealoolate  it 
will  make  a  great  difierence  as  regards  the  severity  of  my  sentencB-* 
perhaps  I  may  get  off  with  seven  years.  It  won't  do,  I  say — I  cm't 
listen  to  you." 

''  Be  reasonable ;  think  again ;  mine  is  the  best  plan." 

/'  No,"  said  Pike,  firmly;  <<you  shaU  not  get  off  The  truth  is,  I 
think  I  shall  be  transported  for  life,  unless  you  are  shown  to  be  my 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Hmlar  Somenet  ItS 

pfompter  and  abettor:  I can*t  help  acenang  yoii*-*I musido it ;  bo&bJ/b 
fletUed." 

Hartley  ma  acquainted  vnth  the  character  of  the  man  so  well  that  he 
despured  of  moving  lum;  and  he  knew  Pike  would  not  lift  his  little  finger 
to  Bare  the  life  of  a  fellow^being,  if  nothing  personally  waa  to  be  got  by 
the  action.  He  felt  in  his  heart  the  truth  of  the  other's  reasoning,  and 
heiieredy  under  any  circumstances,  that  Pike  would  be  transported  for 
life ;  consequently,  the  promise  of  making  over  to  him  property  on  hia 
prasumed  return,  would,  howeyer  urged,  possess  no  weight  in  influencing 
his  conduct.  In  a  word,  Hartley  was  now  assured  that  Pike  would 
betmy  theb  oonnezion,  and  bring  him  to  diame. 

An  idea  crossed  his  mind :  might  it  not  be  possible  to  remoTC  the 
evidenoe,  and  silence  the  man's  tongue  for  eyer,  for  he  had  that  concealed 
about  him  which  would  enable  him  to  effect  the  deed  ?  What  thai  P^— • 
should  he  improve  his  position?  no;  fur  an  ignominious  death  on  the 
gallows  would  be  the  inevitable  consequence. 

On  all  sides  he  saw  himself  hemmed  in :  here,  certain  accusation ; 
then^  if  he  sought  to  prevent  that  accusation,  a  doom  of  shame ;  while 
the  gratification  he  had  received  from  carrying  out  his  revengeful  pro- 
jeota  was  at  an  end,  and  the  triumphant  countenance  of  his  enemy  rose 
like  a  mocking  vision  upon  hia  waking  dreams.  Half  his  life  had  been 
waated  in  the  morbid  indulgence  of  one  dark  and  demoniacal  passion— 
the  offspring  of  an  unhappy,  disi^pointed  love.  He  had  fed,  as  it  were,, 
on  the  poison  of  revenge  :  the  pams,  trials,  and  sorrows  of  his  enemy 
had  formed  the  only  source  of  happiness  he  had  known,  and,  with 
fostering  care,  he  had  spread  his  persecutions  over  a  wide  space  of  years. 
His  heart  waa  now  not  the  seat  of  remorse,  but  of  cankenng  wretched- 
neps  of  gloom,  deeper  than  that  of  a  Cain-— of  a  weariness,  a  loathing 
of  mankind  and  the  world,  which  words  may  not  describe. 

Anger  or  excitement  was  no  longer  bedrayed  by  Hartley :  his  meaner 
settled  into  a  deep,  hnpertuibable  calm  ;  and  he  now  addreased  the  man 
who  had  been  hia  tool  and  accomplice. 

^  Hear  me  ;  you  will  be  baniahed  to  a  distant  land ;  you  will  be  made 
to  woi^  in  chains ;  eveiy  fiuthing  of  your  pxoperhr  is  loat  for  ever.  Ton 
will  be  a  wretched  being — a  Uot  on  the  eartn — a  loathed  thing  of 
shame  for  men  to  wag  their  heads  at  Will  you  eacape  all  thia? — I 
know  a  way.'* 

Mr.  Pike  fprang  up  bieathleasly,  hope  and  joy  beaming  in  his  counte* 


'' A  w«y  ?  Then  tall  me,  dear  Mt,  Hartley;  show  me  this  way,  and  I 
^iU  not  aeouse  you--^I  will  bless  you !" 

*<  There  isa  passage  in  one  of  the  Greek  writers  which  teacher — ^  whoi 
the  ilia  of  lile  eounterbalance  the  ffood,  when  miaeiy  is  stronger  ^an 
happiness,  then  it  is  the  part  of  wisdom — to  die  1' " 

'<To  dieP'  repeated  Pike,  staring  on  Hartley--^' to  die?  I  don't 
undewtaudyoa.    That's  not-the  way  youmean,  ia it  ?" 

'^  Ye»;  arewi  valuetant  to  leave  a  world  which  has  no  more  good  to 
offer?" 

''  Badiaiv"  aaid  Pike,  turning  pale ;  <<  I  think  I  would  rather  not  leave 
il-«t»  leaai  not  juat  yet" 

^*  Bo  you  fbar  to  sleep  in  the  earth  instead  of  in  your  bed  ?" 

«<  Don't  talk  so^  dear  Mr.  Bartley— I  don't  like  to  hear  yon  talk  Hhe' 

N  2 


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176  Hester  Somerut. 

this.  I  tell  you,  I  would  rather  not  die — a  great  deal  rather  not  Sleep 
in  the  earth  r — 'tis  horrible  to  think  of." 

<*  This  is  the  only  method^  then,  I  can  recommend,  if  you  wbh  to 
escape  the  evils  which  surround  you." 

*<  Thank  you ;  I  would  rather  be  excused  following  your  adrice/'  an- 
swered Mr.  rike.     "  Under  any  circumstances,  I  am  resolved  to  live." 

*'  Poor  coward !''  said  Hartley ,  musingly ;  "  governed  by  the  ins^nct 
that  governs  the  unreasoning  brute — chng^ng  to  life  for  life's  sake. 
Pitiable  man,  live  and  be  wretched  I  I  envy  thee  not.  Betray  me— eay 
what  thou  wilt — it  will  be  the  same  to  me  now." 

Hartley  turned  away,  and  searched  for  something  beneath  his  vest 
He  again  approached  rike,  and  the  latter  perceived  that  he  held  in  his 
hand  a  small  pistol.  The  attorney,  who  only  thought  of  himself,  started 
back  in  terror. 

*'  What !  you  don*t  mean  to  murder  me,  Mr.  Hartley  ?  In  pity,  for* 
bear !  Think  of  the  consequences  to  yourself.  I  don't  wbh  to  £e,  I  say 
— I  will  live — I  mitst  live !" 

«  Fear  not,  timorous  idiot !  live,  for  I  can  wish  thee  no  deeper  curse 
than  the  life  thou  dost  cling  to.  Here,"  he  said,  looking  at  the  pistol, 
and  speaking  to  himself  rather  than  his  companion,  ''  t£^s  little  thing 
will  give  me  all  I  now  covet — obHvion  and  peace.     It  will  solve  the 

Srand  secret.  It  will  send  me,  perhaps,  to  join  company  with  Cato^ 
rutus,  and  all  who,  to  escape  defeat  and  the  ills  of  life,  dared  to  cut  the 
thread  of  their  own  destiny,  rather  than  to  wait  patiently  for  the  dividing 
shears  of  the  dark  Sisters.  Welcome — welcome  the  future,  whatever 
it  her 

Mr.  Pike,  paralysed  by  terror,  remained  in  the  comer  of  the  cell.  He 
could  not  call  the  gaoler — ^he  could  not  utter  a  word ;  his  lim.b8  shook, 
his  teeth  chattered,  and  his  eyes  were  rivetted  on  Hartley.  But  he  who 
meditated  suicide  appeared  suddenly  to  alter  his  determination,  and  re- 
turned the  pistol  to  his  pocket,  muttering  to  himself,  "  Not  here — ^not 
here ;  I  would  not  be  carried  forth  from  a  prison.*'  One  silent,  con- 
temptuous look  he  cast  at  ihe  unhappy  attorn^,  and  moved  to  the  door 
of  the  cell ;  he  passed  out,  and  Pike,  much  to  nis  relief  and  aatisfieiction, 
found  himself  alone. 

That  evening,  when  all  was  calm  and  quiet  in  the  Temple,  and  the 
lawyers  had  closed  their  offices — when  the  dews  were  lighUy  falling  on 
the  shrubs  and  flowers  in  the  Temple  Gardens,  and  the  first  stars  were 
shedding  down  their  sUver  threads  of  light  on  the  old  hall,  the  playing 
fbtmtain,  and  the  chureh  where  the  dust  of  centuries  is  laid — ^the  report 
of  a  pistol  was  heard.  It  proceeded  from  chambers  in  the  Kind's 
Bench-walk,  and  a  porter,  hastening  up  the  stairs,  found  Hartley  on  we 
floor.*  The  ball  had  entered  a  vital  part^  but  as  the  porter  raised  the 
bleeding  man,  he  still  breathed. 

''Tell  people  I  committed  this  act-^pshaw!  you  need  not  fetch  a 
surgeon,  it  is  of  no  use.  Somerset——"  he  gasped,  endeavouring  to 
raise  his  hand,  <'  my  enemy-— it  is  yoor  torn  to  triumph  now ;  ao  moves 
round  the  wheel  of  meritable  £ate!" 

He  sank  back  ;  his  fierce  and  malignant  eye  g^w.dim;  and  the  un- 
hi^py  Hartley — ^the  man  whose  nature  disappointed  love  had  changed 
almost  into  a  demon's — the  brooding  recluse— ihe  incarnation  of  a  re- 
TeDgefbl  spirit — ^had  ceased  to  breathe. 


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(  1"  ) 


HARTLEY  COLERIDGE'S  "  NORTHERN  WORTHIES.-* 

Poor  Hartley  should  have  lived  to  see  this  &ir  edition  of  his  works— 
DOW  comprising  seven  delightful  post-octavos. 
"  I  own,"  he  once  said  or  sung — 

I  ovo  I  like  to  see  my  works  in  print ; 

The  page  looks  knowing,  though  there*9  nothing  in't. 

To  have  read  his  own  poems,  essays,  marginalia,  and  ^'Biographia  Bore- 
alis"  (that  *'  gentle  hook  with  a  blustering  title,"  as  Southey  called  it), 
in  so  compact  and  tasteful  a  series — thanks  to  Mr.  Moxon's  tact  in  pub- 
lishing "  form  and  pressure** — would  have  cheered  that  child-like,  gra- 
cious heart  of  his,  and  made  him  go  on  his  lonely  way  rejoicing.  Living, 
he  was  comparatively  unrecognised ;  deceased,  he  is  honoured  with  many 
honours — ^as  a  light  of  the  age,  though  not,  perhaps,  a  burning  and  shin- 
ing one — as  a  power  of  the  age,  though  the  potency  was  cribbed  and 
confined  by  sorrowful  conditions.  His  brother's  manly  and  affectionate 
memoir,  at  once  so  discreet  and  candid  in  its  'deliverances,"  has 
awakened  in  every  feeling  heart  a  true  sympathy  with  Professor  Wilson's 
exclamation:  **  Dear  Hartley !  Yes,  ever  dear  to  me !"  And  his  own 
writings  are  so  fully  stored  with  attractive  personal  traits,  and  testi^  to 
so  kindly  and  genial  a  nature,  that  we  incline  to  appropriate  Landor's 
benison  on  the  departed  Ella,  that  ^'  cordial  old  man,  and  say,  in  spite 
of  hyper-orthodoxy : 

What  wisdom  in  tiiy  levity,  what  truth 
In  every  utterance  of  that  guileless  soul ! 
Few  are  the  spirits  of  the  glorified 
I'd  spring  to  earlier  at  the  gate  of  Heaven. 

Is  it  objected  that  this  is  being  to  Hartley's  faults  more  than  a  little 
blind,  and  to  his  virtues  very,  very  kind  ?  So  be  it.  A  "  gentle"  reader 
will  not  press  the  objection ;  and  others,  ungentle  ones,  we  are  not  care- 
ful to  answer  in  this  matter.  Enough  to  quote  to  them  the  canon — pos- 
sibly to  their  thinking  a  vulgar  error — de  mortuis  nil  nisi  bonum  :  and 
as  Hartley  Coleridge  is  not  the  man  to  be  dismissed  with  a  nily  let  them 
not  g^dge  the  bonum  we  bestow,  nor  cavil  at  our  interpretation  of  the 
rule  ntsi. 

In  the  year  1832,  Hartley  entered  into  an  engagement,  his  brother 
tells  us,  with  a  printer  and  publisher  at  Leeds,  to  furnish  matter  for  a 
provincial  biography,  to  be  entitled  "  The  Worthies  of  Yorkshire  and 
Lancashire,"  which,  however,  only  proceeded  as  far  as  the  third  number. 
But  as  each  life  was  complete  in  itself,  and  had  an  interest  independent 
of  mere  local  associations,  the  portion  which  had  appeared  was  reprinted 
under  the  title  of  "  Biographia  Borealis."  After  a  lapse  of  twenty  years 
the  same  work  re-appears,  enriched  with  annotations  by  the  author^s  father 
and  brother.  Hartley's  intellect  was,  like  his  father's,  prone  to  fragmen- 
tary, excursive,  discursive  moods  ;  and  there  are  those,  we  doubt  not,  who 
are  disturbed  by  the  influence  of  this  peripatetic  philosophy  in  a  biogra- 

•  Lives  of  Northern  Worthies.  By  Hartley  Coleridge.  Edited  by  his  Brother. 
A  New  Edition,  with  the  Ck)rrcction8  of  the  Author,  and  the  Marginal  Observa- 
tions of  S.  T.  Coleridge.    3  vols.    Moxon,  1852. 


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178  HarOetf  Coleru^e's  **N(nihem  Worthies.'* 

pher.  Whether  narrative  in  general  does  not  suffer  firom  such  vagrancy 
— whether  the  stream  loses  depths  force,  and  deamess,  by  such  perpetual 
meanderings,  we  shall  not  stay  to  inquire.  We  can  onw  recoil  our  as- 
^nration,  uttered  £re^  from  the  perusal  of  the  lives  benxie  hb,  O  si  dc 
otnnes  I  It  is  easy  to  forgire  a  writer  his  serpentine  intrioBCMS,  when 
every  involution  and  convolution  is  so  full  of  suggestiveness,  and  when  to 
deny  him  the  right  he  assumes,  would  be  to  d^nde  the  maypole  of  its 
wreathing  garlands,  or  to  convert  Hogarth's  line*  of  beauty  into  a  mathe- 
matical ri^t  line.  Mr.  Derwent  Coleridge  properly  characterises  these 
'<  biographies"  as  biogru>hical  essays — vehicles  of  remark  and  discussum, 
everywhere  distinguished  by  keen  observation,  genial  humour,  and  right 
feeling ;  often  lawlessly  digressive,  yet  never  felt  as  an  interruption,  nor 
pursued  to  weariness  ;  serious  wisdom  and  varied  knowledge,  conveyed  in 
the  most  delightful  form.  Not  expecting  much  documentary  research 
or  critical  examination,  our  part  is  to  welcome  the  appearance  of  the 
author,  behind  the  occasionally  withdrawn  veil  of  conventional  reserve, 
like  old  Fuller  or  Montaigne,  speaking  in  his  own  person — sometimes  in 
a  sportive,  often  in  a  fam^ar  vein — with  a  freedom  unmarked  by  affec- 
tation or  mannerism,  the  spontaneous  issue  of  the  biographer's  mind, 
varied  by  the  varying  mood.  For  "  the  style  of  the  work  passes  through 
every  variety  of  tone ;  but  the  transition  is  always  easy,  because  it  is 
always  natural.  Sometimes  it  is  grave  and  solemn  ;  shordy  afber,  play- 
ful and  careless;  then  dogmatic  and  sententious.  It  is  sometimes  higldy 
poetical,  or  rather  poetry  itself,  pede  soluto ;  but  it  is  never  forced." 
Such,  in  fact,  as  Hartley  is  in  those  right  pleasant  essays  of  his,  which 
we  used  to  admire  in  Blackwood,  long,  long  ago,  without  knowing  who 
owned  them — and  Hartley  had  a  finger  in  the  "Noctes"  themselves — 
such  he  is  in  the  "  lives  of  Northern  Worthies.*'  A  little  more  at- 
tention to  method  is  about  the  only  differential. 

His  own  estimate  of  this,  his  '^  lazgest,  if  not  his  highest  literaiy 
achievement,'*  appears  to  have  been  extremely  moderate.  He  considered 
it  overpraised.  Remembering  the  difficidties  which  attended  its  publica- 
tion, and  comparing  it  with  his  own  ideal  standard  of  excellence,  such  a 
judgment  was  natural. 

"  How,"  he  asks,  in  a  letter  to  a  friend,  "  in  the  haste  with  which  the 
work  is  to  be  got  out,  is  it  possible  to  hunt  out  for  original  £ftcts,  or  to 
collect  original  documents,  even  if  they  were  always  accessible,  which  is 
far  from  being  the  case  ?"  In  another  place  he  states,  that  he  had  to  write 
eight,  nine,  and  ten  hours  a  day,  to  keep  up  with  the  press.  Of  course, 
from  the  necessity  of  the  case,  some  portions  of  the  work  are  mere  com- 
pilation. 

Not  the  least  notable  feature  of  this  work  is  its  large-hearted  tolera- 
tion— the  liberality  and  catholicity  with  which  it  appraises  the  widely 
differing  subjects  of  which  it  treats.  The  biographer's  duty  is,  as  Hart- 
ley observes  in  the  introductoiy  essay,  to  endeavour  to  place  himself  at 
the  exact  point,  in  relation  to  general  objects,  in  which  his  subject  was 
placed,  and  to  see  things  as  he  saw  them — not,  indeed,  neglecting  to 
avail  himself  of  the  vantage-ground  which  time  or  circumstances  may 
have  ^ven  him  to  correct  what  was  delusive  in  the  partial  aspect,  but 
Jiever  forgetting,  while  he  exposes  the  error,  to  exptain  its  caiuae.  In 
presenting  the  several  *'  Wortiues"  to  whom  these  vokmes  are  ilevoted-^ 


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Hofiky  Coleridge's  ''Northern  Wortimr  179 

chanctea  in  eveiy  pcofeigioii,  of  all  pactiss,  sad  many  religious  deno- 
miTWitionfl— -the  author  states  his  rule  to  have  been,  to  make  each 
speak  lor  himself  in  his  own  words,  or  by  his  own  actions,  as  to  poli- 
tical or  zeligioos  mattexs  of  opinion;  teldng  care,  as  £Eir  as  possible,  to 
represent  l£e  opinions  that  men  or  sects  have  actually  held,  in  the  %ht 
in  which  they  have  been  held  by  their  professors — not  in  the  distorted 
pes^>eetive  of  their  adversaries.  Not  that  he  eqgages  to  withhold  his 
own  sentiments ;  but  he  declines  to  judge,  much  less  condemn,  the  senti- 
ments of  others.  And  to  this  wise  rule,  on  the  whole,  he  wisely  and 
fwisifrteptly  adheres. 

For  that  Eomanist  nuist  be  hyper-papistically  disposed  who  cannot  re- 
lish the  memoir  of  Bishop  Fisher,  herein  honoured  as  a  martyr,  if  not  to 
the  truth  that  is  recorded  in  the  authentic  ^'  Book  of  Heaven,"  yet  to 
that  oopy  of  it  which  he  thought  authentic,  which  was  written  on  his 
heart  in  the  antique  characters  of  authoritative  age.  And  that  Manchester 
schoolman  must  nave  suffered  a  desperate  warp  in  the  woof  of  his  mind, 
who  cannot  enjoy  the  history  of  Richard  Arkwright,  the  penny  barber, 
who  came  to  be  a  knight-bachelor,  and  died  worth  double  the  revenue  of 
a  German  pnncipality — a  man  prominent  among  those  who  have,  in 
Wordsworth's  language. 

An  intellectual  mastery  exercised 

O'er  the  blind  elements ;  a  purpose  given, 

A  perseverance  fed,  almost  a  soul 

Imparted — to  brute  matter. 

And  that  Utterateur  must  have  narrowed  sympathies,  who  cannot  extract 
profit  and  pleasure  from  the  life  of  William  Roscoe — celebrated  as 
biographer  and  historian,  but  yet  more  estimable  as  ''  a  grey-headed 
friend  of  fireedom" — and  one  who,  after  the  disappointment  of  a  hundred 
hopes,  after  a  hundred  vicissitudes  of  good  and  ill,  never  despaired  of 
human  nature ;  or  that  of  Congreve,  or  Mason,  or  Bentley,  especially 
the  last.  And  that  patriot  must  come  of  a  windy,  empty  sort,  wno  can- 
not exnlt  in  the  portraiture  of  Andrew  Marvell,  ''  a  patriot  of  the  old 
Roman  build,  and  a  poet  of  no  vulgar  strain,"  whose  mind,  like  the  street 
and  the  wall  of  Jerusalem,  was  built  in  troublous  times,  yet  pronounced 
by  .Burnet  the  '*  liveliest  droll  of  the  age,"  and  whose  writings  made  the 
Meny  Monarch  forgive  the  Patriot  for  the  sake  of  the  Humorist.  And 
that  Quaker  must  be  straitened  in  his  own  bowels,  who  can  read  without 
edification  and  creature- comfort  the  sketch  of  Dr.  John  FothergilL  Of 
the  Society  of  Friends,  indeed,  Hartley  Coleridge  writes  with  an  interest 
and  tenderness  akin  to  that  of  Elia  himself,  who  loved  to  sit  among  the 
Silent  Ones  in  deepest  peace,  which  some  outwelling  tears  would  rather 
confinn  than  distuxi). 

We  do  not  propose  to  give  extracts  from  a  work  which  has  been  before 
the  public  so  many  years  past,  and  which  lone  since  secured  the  first- 
fruits  of  a  sure  though  slow  renown,  and  of  which  Wordsworth  thought 
so  highly,  that  he  recommended  Mr.  Moxon  to  omit  no  opportunity  of 
obtaining  an  interest  in  the  copyright,  saying,  *'  it  was  fun  of  matter," 
and  that  he  <<  doubted  not  it  would  live."  But  there  is  one  feature  in 
the  present  edition  to  which  we  must  call  attention — the  marginal  notes, 
namely,  by  tlie  venerable  "  Head  of  the  Family."  These  are  compara- 
tivdy  few  and  far  between,  but  they  are  hig^y  characteristic,  and  i 


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180  Hartley  Coleridge's  ''Northern  Worthiest 

times  not  a  little  cnrioos.  Hie  wefi-known  habit  of  jottiDg  down  annota- 
tions on  the  margin  of  the  books  he  read,  has  made  Samuel  Taylor  Cole- 
ridge's admirers  anxious  to  see  specimens :  and  here  we  are  gratified  irith 
a  sprinkling.  That  habit  has  been  alluded  to  bj  various  writers,  in 
terms  calculated  to  excite  considerable  expectations.  De  Quineeyy  fot 
instance,  says,  "  Coleridge  often  spoiled  a  book ;  but,  in  the  course  of 
doing  this,  he  enriched  that  book  with  so  many  and  so  valuable  notes, 
tossing  about  him  with  such  lavish  profusion,  from  such  a  cornucopia  of 
discursive  reading,  and  such  a  fusing  intellect,  commentaries  so  many- 
angled  and  so  many-coloured,  that  I  have  envied  many  a  man  whose 
luck  has  placed  him  in  the  way  of  such  injuries ;  and  that  man  must 
have  been  a  churl  (though,  God  knows  !  too  often  this  churl  has  existed) 
who  could  have  found  in  his  heart  to  complain."*  And  Charles  Lamb — 
to  cite  one  other  witness  of  experience— counsels  those  who  have  books 
to  lend,  and  the  heart  to  lend  them,  to  *^  let  it  be  to  such  a  one  as 
S.  T.  C. ;  he  will  return  them  with  usury,  enriched  with  annotations 
tripling  their  value.  I  have  had  explrience.  Many  are  these  precious 
MSS.  of  his — (in  matter  sometimes,  and  almost  in  quantity  not  unfre- 
quently,  v}'ing  with  the  originals) — in  no  very  clerkly  hand — ^legible 
in  my  Daniel,  in  old  Burton,  in  Sir  Thomas  ferowne,  Ac.  I  counsel 
thee,  shut  not  thy  heart  nor  thy  library  against  S.  T.  C."t  Such  testi- 
mony makes  the  mouth  water  with  anticipation.  But  it  must  be  con- 
fessed that  not  in  matter^  still  less  in  quantity^  do  the  present  marginalia 
correspond  to  such  a  note  of  preparation.  However,  the  reader  shall 
judge  of  the  quality  by  one  or  two  excerpts  from  the  scanty  sum-total. 

The  following  strictures  on  Hartley's  manner,  refer  to  certain  remarks 
upon  allegorical  and  pastoral  poetry,  in  the  biography  of  Lord  Fairfieix  : 

"  It  is  this  petulant  ipse  dixit  smartness  and  dogmatism,  in  which,  as 
in  a  certain  mannerism — a  sudden  jerkiness  in  the  mood,  and  unexpected- 
ness of  phrase — something  between  wit  and  oddity,  but  with  the  latter 
predominant,  the  peculiarity  certain,  the  felicity  doubtful — ^he  has  caught 
Southey's  manner  (the  only  things  which  he  might  not  profitably  have 
taken  from  his  maternal  aunt's  husband),  that  annoy  and  mortify  me  in 
Hartiey*s  writings." 

Again  :  in  the  life  of  ^William  Congreve,  the  old  dramatist,  Heywood, 
being  characterised  en  passant  as  "  the  prose  Shakspeare,"  we  nnd  the 
old  gentleman  again  taking  his  son  to  task : 

'*  This  note  has  less  of  Hartley's  tact  and  discrimination  than,  firom 
such  a  subject,  I  should  have  expected.  [Quite  the  '<  governor."] 
Surely  a  prose  Shakspeare  is  not  only  an  over-load  for  old  Heywood,  but 
something  not  very  unlike  a  square  circle."     [Coleridge  all  over.] 

Hartley's  castigation  of  Dr.  Johnson,  for  his  <<  uncharitable  piece  cf 
special  pleading"  against  the  memory  of  Congreve,  is  applauded  as 
follows  : 

«  Very  sensible.  I  could  wish  to  have  preserved  a  lively  and  spirited 
conclusion  of  one  of  my  courses  of  lectures,  on  the  sycophancy  ana. cynic 
assentation  of  Dr.  Johnson,  both  as  a  critic  and  a  moralist,  and  most 
strongly  as  a  critico-moral  biographer,  to  the  plebeian  envy  of  the  patri- 
cian mediocres  and  the  reading  public." 

Hartley,  having  laughed  at  Congreve's  thought  of  confining  a  novel  to 

♦  Lake  Beminiscences.  t  Essays  of  Elia  ("  The  Two  Baces  of  Me&*V 


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HartUy  Coleridge's  "  Northern  Wmhksr  181 

the  unities,  in  the  hope  to  gain  a  laurel  by  applying  the  French  rules  to 
a  species  of  composition  never  before  made  amenable  to  them,  and  having 
compared  this  thought  to  the  making  tea  or  brewing  small  beer  in  che- 
mical nomenclature,  is  thus  rebuked  for  his  doctrine  in  general  and  his 
illustration  in  particular : 

^<  A  most  infelicitous  illustration  I  And  why  might  not  a  novel,  and  a 
very  good  one  in  its  kind,  be  written  on  such  a  plan?  I  am  sure  that 
the  ^Pilgrim,'  *  Beggar's  Bush,'  and  several  others  of  B.  and  F/s 
dramas,  might  be  turned  into  very  interesting  novels.  Had  Congreve 
said  that  a  good  novel  must  be  so  written,  then,  indeed,  H.  might  have 
slapped  him." 

Our  next  extract  is  given  mainly  to  introduce  a  specimen  of  the 
reverend  editor^s  notes  upon  the  notes  of  his  revered  sire.  Hartley  takes 
occasion  to  deprecate  the  once-honoured  custom  of  prefacing  plays,  &c., 
with  the  commendatory  verses  of  obliging  friends— observing  that  '*  the 
pride  or  modesty  of  a  modem  writer  would  revolt"  at  the  practice  of 
printing  these  panegyrics  in  the  vestibule  of  his  own  book.  To  this  his 
father  thus  demurs : 

"But  why — supposing  the  verses  worth  reading  for  themselves? 
Would  not  H.  be  sorry  to  miss  Barrow's  and  Marvel's  poetic  prefaces  to  the 
<  Paradise  Lost  ?'  I  fear  that  the  jealousy  and,  still  more,  the  unbrothev' 
hood  of  modem  authors  have  more  to  do  with  it  than  either  pride  or 
modesty." 

Mr.  Uerwent  Coleridge,  with  excellent  taste,  annexes  ihe  following 
comment  on  this  somewhat  splenetic  commentary : 

**  If  there  be  any  bitterness  in  this  remark,  it  is  that  of  a  wounded 
spirit.  Alas  !  there  have  been  misadventures  and  misunderstandings 
enough  among  literary  men  in  every  age  to  make  this  too  natural  an  ex- 
pression of  feeling  on  the  part  of  any  one  of  the  number  in  the  decline  of 
life.     It  is  an  old  complaint — 

jcoi  9rr»;(0f  9rrft>;(^  ^^ovcei,  kiu  'oocdof  doid^ — 
but  surely  it  was  not  specially  trae,  as  applied  to  the  contemporaries  of 
S.  T.  Coleridge.  Pace  tanH  viri  eUxerim.  The  fashion  of  commenda- 
tory verses  had  gone  by,  whether  for  the  reason  given  in  the  text,  or 
because  among  a  few  good  sets  there  have  always  been  many  bad  ones, 
not  worth  reading,  except,  perhaps,  in  after  times  as  literary  memorials, 
or  because  such  praise,  like  hospitality  to  a  rich  neighbour,  had  lost  its 
vahie  by  seeming  to  invite  a  return  in  kind  ;  but  there  was  no  want  of 
brotherhood  among  the  poets  of  that  time.  It  was  shown  in  other  ways. 
Southey  brought  out  his  first  pieces  in  conjunction  with  Lovell ;  Cole- 
ridge lumself  with  Lloyd  and  Lamb,  and  afterwards  with  Wordsworth, 
whose  *  Orphic  Song*  he  heralded — though  long  before  it  appeared — by 
what  we  may,  if  we  please,  call  a  copy  of  commendatory  verses— and 
what  verses !  His  memory,  however  late,  has  received  a  full  requital. 
What  a  monument  of  brotherhood  is  the  *  Prelude !' 

**  Again,  what  Mason  did  for  Gray,  Moore  has  done  for  Byron,  and 
Talfourd  for  Lamb,  leaving  in  each  case  a  record  of  the  warmest  friend- 
ship. He,  too,  who  threw  the  'Adonais'  on  the  grave  of  Keats,  would 
not  have  gmdged  to  usher  in  the  *  Hyperion'  with  a  similar  tribute ;  and 
much  more  might  be  said  to  the  same  effect  both  of  the  living  and  the 
dead." 


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182  Hartky  Coleridge's  ''NarUum  JForiAks.'' 

We  may  take  this  oppoctnnihr  of  ia^g,  that  Mr.  DemeDtCokridge'B 
aimotatMBB  in  seaenl  are  oaiM&d  in  jvd^^aent,  aa  wdl  aa  tender  to  the 
memory  of  haui  bis  diatinffuiahed  relativea.  The  care  which  he  has 
bestofwed  on  this  edition  of  his  brother's  vritiogSi  does  honour  to  his 
heart  and  head.     They  deserved  the  puns. 

Again,  up<m  Galen's  maxim,  that  ^'mneh  music  marreth  men's 
manners"  (an  unmiuocally  alliteratiTe  sentence,  by  the  way),  S.  T.  C. 
remarks : 

<<  Tlm)ughout  my  whole  life,  since  the  period  of  refleedon,  I  haye  found 
tiie  truth  of  this  observation.  Music  is  the  twilight  between  sense  and 
sensuality.  For  its  demoralising  effect,  when  it  is  a  mastering  passion,  see 
^  A  Ramble  among  the  Mxiaicians  of  Germany,  by  a  Musical  Professor.' " 

We  should  like  to  see  an  ezominatiiMi  in  exienso  of  this  doctrine,  by  the 
hyely  authoress  of  "  Letteis  from  the  Baltic,"  impugning  as  it  does  the 
soundness  of  the  opposite  view,  which  Ae  has  so  eloquently  advocated  in 
the  pages  of  the  Quarterly.  In  fact,  most  of  S.  T.  C.'s  foot-notes  may 
serve  as  stumbling-blocks  to  those  polemically  disposed ;  or,  to  change  the 
.  figure,  as  key-notes  for  the  yariations  and  voluntaries  of  others.  This, 
however,  is  characteristic  of  whatever  he  put  cm  paper,  or  scattered  to  the 
crumb^therers  of  table-talk,  and  is  tfa«  rci^ifpftor  of  his  independence 
of  thought,  his  energetic  reason,  and  shaping  mind.  And  it  is  ^is  whjdi 
assigns  a  peculiar  yalue  to  the  study  of  his  works — as  provoking  refleetion 
and  stimulatiDg  to  ioquiry.  Whatever  the  absolute  worth  of  his  ss^gges- 
tions  tin  se,  they  thus  assume  a  relative  significance  of  deep  practical 
result  in  the  mental  activity  of  which  they  are  the  exciting  cause. 

One  more  illustration,  and  we  conclude.  Hartley's  censure  of  the 
parliamentanr  agents  who  opened  Charles  the  First's  letters  to  his  wife,  is 
thus  disposed  of  by  S.  T.  C. : 

'^  The  parliament  had  acted  ah  initio  on  their  convicdons  of  the  king's 
bad  faith,  and  of  the  utter  insincerity  of  his  promises  and  professions. 
What  stroDQ^er  presumption  can  we  have  of  the  certainty  of  the  evidences 
which  they  had  previously  obtained,  and  by  the  year-after-^ear  accumula- 
tion of  wmch  their  suspicions  had  been  converted  into  convictions  ?  And 
was  Henrietta  an  ordinary  ioife?  Was  Charles  to  her  as  Charles  of 
Sweden  to  his  spouse  ?  The  Swede's  queen  was  only  the  man's  wife,  but 
Henrietta  was  notoriously  Charles's  queen — or,  rather,  the  he-queen's 
she-ldng — a  commander  in  the  war,  meddling  with  and  influencing  all  his 
coundls.  I  hold  the  parliament  fidly  justified  in  the  publication  of  the 
letters — ^much  more  the  historian." 

We  take  leaye  of  the  '*  Northern  Worthies,"  with  a  stanch  futh  in 
Wordsworth's  prediction  that  they  will  live,  and  with  confirmed  respect 
and  affection  fer  the  winning  character  of  the  biographer.  The  memoirs 
amply  attest  his  orig^ality  and  subtlety  of  thought,  ms  radiant  bonhomie, 
his  wealth  of  illustration,  his  critical  acumen,  his  philosophic  reflectiveness, 
and  his  poetical  instinct.  Not  that  we  think  any  one  of  them,  however, 
equal  to  ms  '^  Life  of  Massinger ;"  but  that  is  a  piece  of  biography  which, 
as  a  delightful  amalgam  of  gossip  and  dissertation,  condensed  information 
and  disoursiye  reasoning,  gracefui  scholarship  and  sagacious  knowledge  of 
life,  we  hold  to  be  almost  unique  among  our  belles  kttres. 


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I     183     ) 

THE  BARON*S  RfiVBKGB. 
11. 

NOTWITHBTAHDIKO  her  grief  at  haying  to  port  from  him  she  loved  so 
well,  Mary  returned  home  with  her  heart  lighter  than  it  had  heen  for 
many  a  day  before ;  for  no  sorrow  or  priyation  is  so  galling  to  the  young 
md  pure  mind  as  the  sting  of  a  wounded  conscience.  As  she  entered 
tiie  house,  the  old  servant  Betsy  met  her. 

•*  Oh,  ^ss  Maiy  f*  she  said,  "  wherever  have  'ee  heen  ?  Who  haye 
'ee  been  with  ?  Missns  is  in  a  wisht  way  sure  'nough  about  'ee.  She 
was  a  little  way  out  to  walk  in  the  wood  just  now,  and  she  fancied  she 
seed  'ee  parting  wi'  a  strange  man.  I  don't  think  she'll  say  nothing  to 
'ee  about  it,  but  don't  'ee  never  do  so  no  more.  Don^t  'ee,  my  dear  Miss 
Mary.  I  know  you  don't  mean  no  harm,  but  no  good  can  come  of  they 
liiings  unbeknown  to  your  mother.  My  dear  Miss  Mary,  don't  'ee  never 
do  it  no  moreT 

Without  a  word,  Mary  broke  from  the  old  servant,  and  ran  quite  fright- 
ened to  her  room.  Of  all  the  things  which  could  happen,  that  which  she 
had  dreaded  most  was  that  her  mother  should  of  herself  discover  what 
had  taken  place,  and  know  that  she  had  concealed  it  from  her ;  and  this 
had  now  occurred !  After  a  while  she  summoned  resolution  to  go  to  her 
chamber. 

Mrs.  Atherton,  with  the  signs  of  recent  tears  on  her  paie  face,  -was 
seated  at  the  window,  looking  sorrowfrdly  out  at  the  hat  mding  light  of 
the  western  sky.  She  called  Mary  to  her,  clasped  her  to  her  bosom,  and 
pressed  a  kiss  upon  her  forehead. 

''  Leave  me  now,  my  dear,"  she  said  ;  "  I  have  something  to  tell  you 
presently,  but  not  yet.     Come  to  me  again  in  an  honr  from  this  time." 

Grrieved  and  agitated,  Mary  withdrew.  She  did  not  doubt  that  her 
mother's  sorrow  was  caused  by  what  she  had  seen  in  the  wood,  but, 
%om  her  manner,  she  thought  ^t  she  had  something  besides  to  speak 
of;  and  as  the  heavy,  weary  hour  was  creeping  on,  she  tormented  her- 
seETby  all  sorts  of  painful  fancies  as  to  what  it  could  be.  One  idea, 
however,  gave  her  pleasure ;  she  had  now  put  an  end  to  the  wrong  she 
had  been  doing.  And,  oh !  how  devoted,  she  thought,  she  would  ever- 
more be  to  her  dear  mother !  How,  by  every  little  kindness  and  atten- 
tion, she  would  strive  to  make  up  for  what  had  passed!  Again  she 
irould  be  ever  at  her  side,  and  would  pick  her  flowers  as  she  had  used  to 
do  when  she  was  a  little  girl.  Again  she  would  be  all  to  her  that  she 
had  been — ay,  more  than  she  had  ever  been  before.  And  the  tears 
gushed  from  ner  eyes,  through  the  very  yearning  of  her  heart. 

When  the  hour  had  passed,  she  again  went  to  her  mother's  room.  She 
found  her  still  seated  at  the  window,  in  the  same  position,  with  her  cheek 
resting  on  her  hand,  and  her  sad  eyes  gazing  up  into  the  sky.  There 
was  no  candle  lit,  and  the  room  would  have  ^n  quite  dark,  but  for  the 
bright  evening  star,  which  shed  its  soft  light  full  upon  Mrs.  Atherton's 
upturned  face.  She  bade  Mary  sit  at  her  side,  and  then  gendy  taking 
her  hand,  she  said: 

*'  It  is  a  long  time,  Mary,  since  I  have  told  you  a  stoiy :  I  am  now 


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184  The  Barents  Revenue. 

going  to  relate  to  you  a  most  painfiil  one.  It  grieves  me  to  have  to 
cause  one  pang  of  pain  or  sorrow  to  your  young  heart ;  but  yon  axe 
now  nearly  eighteen,  and  it  is  time  you  should  know  what  I  am  going  to 
tell  you.  Besides,  I  am  not  without  hope  that  it  may  tend  to  check,  by 
showing  you  the  feaHul  consequences  of  the  same  failing  in  my  own 
character,  the  fault,  into  which  your  kind  and  gentle  disposition  leads 
you,  of  yielding  too  readily,  and  even  in  opposition  to  what  you  know  to 
be  right,  to  the  opinions  and  wishes  of  others.  You  have  often  kindly 
endeavoured  to  draw  from  me,  my  dear  Maiy,  the  history  of  my  eariy 
life,  and  of  your  poor  father^s  death  ;  but,  unwilling  to  give  you  unne- 
cessary pain,  I  have  hitherto  refrained  from  speakmg  of  it.  You  shall 
now  hear  it. 

*'  My  father,  as  you  know,  was  a  gentleman  of  good  family  and  mode- 
rate fortune,  residmg  in  the  neighbourhood  of  one  of  our  univeruty 
towns.  I  was  an  only  child,  and  my  mother  died  in  giving  me  birth. 
I  had  the  most  affectionate  and  indulgent  of  fathers ;  but,  instead  of 
being  wilful  and  capricious,  as  children  in  those  circumstances  often  are, 
I  grew  up  rather  erring,  like  you,  in  the  opposite  direction. 

'*  I  was  about  your  ago  when  my  father  formed  an  acquaintance  with 
the  Baron  von  Wolin,  a  young  German  nobleman,  who  was  then  a  stu- 
dent at  the  neighbouring  university,  whither  he  had  come,  partly  to 
receive  his  education,  partly  to  be  out  of  the  way  of  some  family 
troubles  which  might  have  endangered  his  safety  in  his  own  country.  My 
father,  who  had  spent  much  of  his  early  life  in  Germany,  was  enabled, 
after  first  making  bis  acquaintance,  to  render  him  some  slight  service, 
and  at  length  prevailed  upon  him  to  visit  at  our  house — I  say,  prevaUed 
on  him,  for  with  no  one  else  had  he  ever  exchanged  the  kindnesses,  nay, 
scarcely  the  common  civilities  of  life.  With  none  of  his  fellow-students 
did  he  mix  on  terms  of  friendship  or  companionship,  and  though  many 
had  at  first  made  advances  to  him,  yet  the  haughtiness  and  coldness  with 
which  they  were  met  had  soon  caused  them  to  give  up  all  attempts  to 
make  his  acquaintance,  which  had,  indeed,  only  been  called  forth  by 
politeness,  and  the  desire  to  be  kind  to  a  foreigner  and  stranger,  and 
which  his  dark,  gloomy  disposition  would  have  effectually  prevented 
being  made  for  his  own  sake.  And  yet  there  appeared  to  be  something 
noble  about  him.  In  person  he  was  tall,  dignified,  and  commanding  ; 
his  figure  was  perfect ;  and  his  face  also  would  have  been  eminently  hand- 
some, had  not  its  expression  been  an  unpleasing  one  ;  but  when  he  was 
enraged,  his  very  features  seemed  to  be  changed,  and  assumed  a  look 
that,  once  seen,  could  never  be  forgotten. 

"  Being  possessed  of  a  most  commanding  intellect  and  studious  habits, 
his  talents,  had  he  chosen  to  exert  them,  must  have  placed  him  at  the 
head  of  the  university;  but  he  seemed  to  direct  them  almost  entirely 
to  the  study  of  the  German  school  of  metaphysics  and  philosophy.  In 
these,  and  in  the  wild  fantastic  imaginings  of  the  German  poets,  ms  whole 
soul  seemed  to  be  wrapped  up.  For  the  ordinary  routine  of  his  college 
duties  he  showed  no  inclination,  though  he  always  kept  a  high  place, 
apparently  almost  without  effort.  His  gloomy  temper,  and.  mysterious 
studies  and  habits,  not  only  repelled  his  equals,  but  affected  also  the  minds 
of  the  lower  orders,  who  looked  upon  the  baron  with  fear  and  awe ;  die 


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The  Baron's  Revenge.  185 

meny  laiiflfa  would  be  abraptly  stopDed,  and  the  cheerful  eonyenation 
hmhed  at  hiB  approach;  the  very  chuoren  would  pause  in  theb  sports,  and 
draw  hack  out  of  the  way  until  the  '  dark  man'  nad  passed. 

''  But  I  knew  of  these  things  rather  by  hearsay  than  from  what  I  saw 
myself;  for  at  our  house  he  would,  in  a  great  measure,  throw  off  his  re- 
serve, and  show  a  desire  to  please,  which  those  who  knew  him  would  have 
thought  impossible.  His  voice  was  deep  and  sweet,  and  when  he  chose 
to  throw  open  the  rich  stores  of  his  imagination  and  memory,  his  hearers 
would  feel  as  if  entranced.  But  his  conversation  seldom  left  a  pleasing 
impression  on  the  mind ;  and  the  night  that  followed  an  evening  spent 
widi  him  was  ofiten  disturbed  by  strange  and  startling  dreams  of  spirits 
and  demons,  which  notunfrequently  took  the  face  and  form  of  the  young 
baron  himself.  Towards  me,  in  particular,  his  desire  to  please  was  most 
conspicuous  ;  and  before  long,  I  saw  that  he  loved  me.  Perhaps,  at  first, 
with  natural  girlish  vanity,  I  felt  pleased  at  having  gained  the  heart  of 
one  BO  cold  and  haughty  to  all  else ;  but,  if  so,  my  pleasurable  feelings 
were  of  short  duration,  for  the  love  of  the  young  baron  was  a  thing  rather 
to  be  feared  than  desired.  That  love  I  knew,  I  felt,  I  could  never  return ; 
but  yet  I  did  not  say  so.  And  here  the  natural  fault  of  my  disposition 
began  its  work  of  mischief.  Had  I  openly  and  candidly  told  him,  in  the 
first  stages  of  his  passion,  that  it  could  not  be  returned,  I  should  have  per- 
haps raised  one  of  his  wild,  ungovernable  bursts  of  fury;  but,  doubtless,  it 
would  have  ended  there,  and  all  would  have  been  well.  This,  however,  I 
ftared  to  do.  I  dreaded  his  anger,  and  though  this  feeling  might  have  been 
eonqnerad,  I  was  still  more  ix^uenced  by  my  repugnance  to  give  him  the 
pain  of  thinking  that  the  only  being  in  the  world  on  whom  he  had  placed 
his  affectionB  had  coldly  repelled  them.  True,  he  did  not  openly  confess 
his  love,  but  it  was  apparent  in  every  look,  every  word,  and  every  tone.  I 
could  not  plead  the  excuse  of  ignorance. 

"  Matters  were  in  this  state  when  my  poor  &ther  embarked  nearly  the 
whole  of  his  property  in  some  speculation.  It  fiuled«  The  shock  over- 
threw his  alr^y  impaired  constitution,  and  he  died,  leaving  me  almost 
penniless.  Afber  the  first  burst  of  grief,  I  consulted  with  an  aunt,  my 
only  living  relative,  and  it  was  agreed  that  the  house  should  be  sold,  and 
tiiat  I  should  go  and  reside  with  her. 

'<  On  the  evening  before  I  was  to  leave  the  old  place,  I  was  walking 
alone  in  the  garden,  taking  a  last  look  at  the  dear  trees  and  flowers,  and 
the  litde  aribour  that  had  been  made  on  purpose  for  nie,  and  thinking  how 
Ihey  were  soon  to  pass  into  the  hands  of  strangers,  when,  on  turnmg  sud- 
demy  the  comer  of  a  path,  I  met  the  baron.  I  would  have  shunned  him 
if  possible,  but  it  was  too  late.  He  came  towards  me,  and  I  saw  that  his 
lips  were  compressed,  and  his  foce  very  pale.  He  seized  my  hand,  and  his 
touch  felt  cola  as  ice.  Without  a  word  in  reply  to  the  trifling  observa- 
txons  I  made,  he  led  me  to  the  arbour,  where,  seating  himself  at  my  side, 
he  made,  for  the  first  time,  his  avowal  of  love.  As  he  began,  he  spoke 
almost  timidly,  and  I  folt  his  huid  tremble;  but  when  I  told  him,  as 
gently  and  kindly  as  possible,  what  I  knew  to  be  true  and  imperative — 
uat  1  could  never  be  his— then  his  hand  became  firm,  the  UckkI  rushed 
furiously  into  his  cheek,  and  he  poured  forth  such  a  torrent  of  vows,  entrea- 
ties, nay,  almost  menaces,  that,  fiuhtened  at  his  vehemence,  I,  as  usual, 
partly  gave  way;  and  he  wrung  from  me  a  solemn,  though  reluctant 


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186  7Ar  Baran'^  Revenge. 

promue^  that  for  twelre  mimiht,  dwing  wUoby  Ymb  said,  he  nas  omnpaUei 
tontiimtohisownooiiiitr^^IwoiildiieidieriK^  nor  baoome  engaged 
to  any  other.  K,  on  his  retam  at  the  ei^iration  of  diat  time^  I  still  ra«> 
mained  proof  against  hu  entreaties,  he  gave  his  word  that  he  woidd 
trouble  mono  more* 

"  He  left  me,  and  alieady  I  half  repented  of  my  prosuse,  fi»r  I  saw  that 
by  my  weakness  I  had  only  caused  him  additional  pain,  by  allowing  him: 
to  cherish  a  hope  whidi  could  never  be  realised.  For  myself  I  feJt  no 
sotiow  at  having  promised  to  remain  unengaged  till  his  return.  I  had 
no  preference,  nor  desire  to  form  any;  and  of  diat  part  of  the  a^Bur  I 
searoely  thought.  But  what  will  not  one  short  year  effiBctI  The  bason 
returned  to  his  own  country,  I  went  to  li^e  with  my  aunt;  and  thete^ 
Mary,  I  met  with  your  father,  Edward  Atherton. 

^'  He  was  cheertol,  good-tempered,  firank,  and  wBnn-hearted--»a  perfect 
contrast  to  the  g^my,  revengeful  young  boron.  He  was  on  a  visit 
at  my  aunt's  house,  and  we  were  thrown  almost  constantly  into  each 
ollier's  society.  We  rode*  walked,  read,  and  sang  together.  I  soon 
pnoeived  that  Edward's  sentiments  towards  me  were  stronger  than 
those  of  common  fHendship ;  and  I,  on  my  part,  felt  that  I  idso  could 
know  what  it  was  to  love.  I  don't  think  tibat  he  ever  aotuaUy  declared  hia 
affection  for  me^  for  he  was  aware  of  the  oiroumstances  in  which  I  was 
placed;  but  we  each  of  us  knew  what  the  other  felt.  Without  ever 
being  put  into  words,  it  was  understood  well :  Edward  was  my  accepted 
lover ;  and,  if  I  did  not  exactly  forget  ray  promise  to  the  baron,  I  en* 
deavoured,  whenever  it  occurred  to  my  mind,  to  dismiss  it  for  some  more 
pleasing  thought,  or  tried  to  stifle  the  reproaches  of  conseienoe  with  the 
jBimsy  excuse  that,  because  I  had  not  verbally  betrothed  myeel^  I  was  not 
really  engaged. 

'^  The  twelve  months  had  nearly  expired,  when  Edward  obtained  an 
appointment  at  Naples,  for  which  he  had  applied.  It  was  imperative  that 
he  should  leave  England  on  the  Ist  of  June  at  the  very  latest.  Edward, 
though  well  bora,  was  poor:  the  situation  was  too  good  not  to  be  accepted; 
and  he  urged  me  to  become  his  wife  at  once^  and  acoompany  him.  I  r^ 
minded  him  of  my  promise,  and  said  that  noUiing  must  induce  me  ix>  break 
it.  He  argued  that  I  had  done  so  already,  in  becoming  virtually  engaged 
to  lum ;  and  that  it  were  far  better  the  baron  shoidd  come  back  to  find 
that  1  was  gone,  than  to  hear  fbom  my  own  lips  that  I  loved  another.  A 
stronger  argument  still  was,  tint  Edward  would  most  probablynot  return 
to  England  for  many  years,  and  I  might  never  see  him  again.  My  aunt 
was  referred  to,  and'  joined  her  opinion  to  his  entrsaties;  yet  I  belieye  I 
diould  have  resisted  all,  had  not  Edward  firmly  declared,  fliat  if  I  would 
not  accompany  him,  he  would  give  up  his  appointmeot  radier  than  leave 
me.  I  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  mamng  his  proqpects,  and 
But  wfa]^  seek  to  excuse  or  palliate  my  conduct  ?  My  love  was  enlisted 
on  the  side  of  my  weakness,  and  I  gave  way ;  I  broke  mj  solemn  pro^ 
mise^  and  consented  to  become  Edward  Atherton's  wM.  I  only  atitm- 
lated  that  the  marrii^  should  not  take  place  until^the  last  minute ;  int 
it  should  be  dehiyed  until  the  day  before  we  aedled,  whidi  would  only  just 
leave  us  time  to  get  on  board!,  and  yAAxii  happened  to  be  the  ywy  one  on 
which  ny  agreement  with  the  baron  would  expire, 

**  The  time  came  around,  not,  amidst  all  my  hi^pineSB,  without  imngiag- 


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The  Baron's  lUatenge.  187 

xm  nnny  a  paag  of  wnxm  and  8eif*re{nroad)  and  we  irafo  married  in  the 
old  coutij  charoh  near  m j  aunt's  neidaiioe^  Th»  ceremony  was  ot«v 
and  I  was  leaving  the  ehnrehy  haDgiug  on  my  husband's  arm,  in  all  the 
baahlbl  yet  happy  flatter  of  a  yonng  bride,  when  a  dark  flgnre  arose  from 
one  of  the  sestB,  stepped  into  the  aisle,  and  confronted  as.  It  was  he,  the 
deeemd,  tfie  dreaded  one  I  He  did  not  nieak,  but,  with  folded  arms, 
stood  motionless,  looking  fixedly  at  me.  Never  before  had  I  seen  him 
wear  such  an  ezpvesnon.  No  fire  fladied  firom  his  eyes;  they  wore 
rather  a  cold,  stony  look — a  look  expressire  of  snllen,  immovable  hate^ 
compaied  to  which  the  most  finious  glance  of  rag^  had  been  mild  and 
mercifriL  A  smile,  too—the  first  I  hiid  ever  seen  there — ^was  on  his  l^i^ 
But,  oh,  Mary  I  snoh  a  smile ! 

^^  I  hastened  past  him  with  tottering  steps.  The  carriage  stood  outside. 
the  dravdi  door.  '  Tell  them  to  drive  on  quickly,'  I  siud,  as  my  hus- 
band took  his  seat  by  my  side.  The  postilions  cradked  th^  whips,  and 
wewerewhiried  away.  ^Faster!'  I  cried,  'faster!'  And  gates,  trees, 
and  hedges,  flew  past  us  like  the  wind.  But  still  I  cried  *  Faster ! 
faster !'  until  I  sank,  half  fainting,  into  my  husband's  arms. 

^  We  reached  the  port  whence  we  were  to  sail,  and  went  on  board 
directly.  I  had  told  Edward  what  had  been  the  cause  of  my  agitation 
and  terror:  he  made  light  of  it,  and  endeavoured  to  laugh  it  off;  but, 
notwithstanding  his  attempts  at  concealment,  I  saw  that  he  was  not  un- 
moved at  what  had  occurred.  Perhaps  he,  too,  felt  some  self-reproach  at 
having  induced  me  to  break  my  {lighted  word. 

<'  We  sailed  immediately,  and  arrived  safely  and  speedily  at  Naples, 
where  we  todc  a  house,  in  one  of  the  most  pleasant  parts  of  the  city.  My 
hnsband  entered  upon  his  duties,  and  as  months  passed  by  without  our 
healing  anything  of  the  baron,  we  almost  ceased  to  think  of  him.  We 
were  very,  very  happy  together,  and  every  hour  and  every  minute  our 
love  seemed  to  increase.  £dward's  time  was  not  much  oocopied,  and 
seasoely  did  a  day  pass  but  we  rode  together  amongst  the  lovely  scenery 
in  die  neighhenriiood,  or  sailed  over  the  dear  blue  waters  of  the  bay. 
Twelve  happy  months,  the  brightest  of  my  life,  had  passed,  when  you, 
my  dear  Mary,  were  hem ;  and  soon,  after,  your  fother  foil  ill — I  bdieve 
not  very  dangerously,  though,  to  n^  anxious,  fban,  it  seemed  so  at  the 
time.  Day  and  night  I  was  at  his  mde.  I  poured  out  his  medicine  for 
him,  I  read  to  him,  I  sootiied  his  pain,  I  watoied  evety  faint  sign  of  re* 
tmening  health.  Until  then,  Mary,.  I  had  never  fiilly  knovm  how  dearly 
I  loved  him.  The  very  msi  and  anxiety  his  ndmesshad  caused  me  at- 
fint^  vras  almost  repaid  by  the  pkasnra  of  tending  his  wants  and  of 
knowing  that  I  was  neoeowry  to  him,. and  by  the  mnkful  happineas  I 
fob  at  seeing  him  renin  lus  heslth  and  stceogth,  and  at  walkmg  forth 
with  him  from  the  dose  sick  soom  into  the  fresh  faraeae  and  &e  warm 
sm.  We  never  priae  a  thing  so  much  as  when  we  hare  feared  that  we 
w«e  about  to  lose  it  Your  birth  too^  Mary,  wae  a  new  tie^  which  seemed 
to  bind  still  more  ck)asly,  if  that  were  possible,  theafieetionsof  us  whohad 
before  been  all  in  all  to  eadi  other. 

**  One  eveiiing>^t  was  the  first,  time  after  youa&tfaer's  illness— we  set 
out  on  one  of  our  (dd  pleasant  excursions  on  the  water.  Never  had  I  seen 
tiie pure^  chmdleas  tkf  of  Italy  look  so  beaatifolaa  it  did. then.    We  es- 
timrtnertfaanwB  had  intended,  and  the  moon  was  shining 


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tiiepun 
tenfadi 


188  The  Baron's  Revenge. 

high  in  the  heavens  as  we  torned  our  hoat  homewanL  It  was  a  glorious 
night ;  no  sound  broke  the  stiUness  except  the  faint  dip  and  splash  of  the 
oars,  the  distant  hum  of  the  city,  or  the  cry  of  the  seamen,  as  uiey  hoisted 
more  sail  on  some  nearly-becalmed  vessel.  I  had  you,  a  sleeping  baby, 
wrapped  up  in  a  shawl  on  my  lap,  and  Edward's  arm  was  around  me^  as 
we  sat,  in  Uie  stem  of  the  boat,  taUdng  over  our  hopes  and  prospects,  and 
conjuring  up  bright  visions  of  the  future.  The  greater  the  happiness  we 
enjoy,  Mary,  the  more  we  hope  to  be  happier.  We  thought  not  of  fear, 
for  we  were  young  and  sanguine.  We  spoke  of  you,  our  child,  and  I 
turned  back  the  shawl,  that  we  might  peep  at  your  little  innocent  face, 
looking  so  heavenly  in  the  clear  moonlight ;  and  I  recollect  that  one  of 
the  hfudy,  weatherbeaten  boatmen,  seeing  the  action,  told  us,  almost 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  that  he  had  a  little  girl  at  home,  about  the  same 
age,  but  that  it  was  a  weak,  puny  little  thing,  and  he  thought  it  would  not 
live;  and  I  remember  how  your  father  drew  his  arm  more  closely  about 
me,  and  how  sorry  I  felt  for  the  sick  child's  mother,  and  yet  how  glad  that 
I  was  not  so  afflicted,  for  you  were  well,  and  healthy,  and  strong.  I  re- 
member this;  for  every  trifling  incident  that  took  place,  almost  every 
word  that  was  spoken  on  that  fearful  night — ^forgotten,  perhaps,  five 
minutes  afterwards — ^is  now  firmly,  indelibly  fixed  on  my  mind.  But 
why  do  I  linger  on  these  trifles  ?  It  is  because  I  shrink  from  relating  the 
terrible  event  that  followed.     But,  sooner  or  later,  it  must  be  told. 

'^  We  reached  the  shore,  went  home,  and  shortly  retired  to  rest ;  yon 
lay  in  the  same  bed  with  us,  nestled  under  my  arm.  Your  father  was 
soon  sound  asleep,  and  you,  poor  little  one,  had  been  so  for  hours  before; 
yet,  somehow  or  other,  I  could  not  sleep,  but  lay  tossing  about  in  the  bed, 
heated  and  restless ;  or  if  I  did  fall  into  a  doze,  it  was  only  to  start  up,  in 
a  few  minutes,  from  some  bad  dream,  which  had  seemed  to  last  for  hours. 
It  was  odd  that  this  should  have  been  the  case,  for  before  going  to  bed 
my  thoughts  had  been  all  of  hope  and  happiness ;  but  so  it  was.  About 
one  in  the  morning — I  know  tiuit  was  the  time,  for  I  remember  hearing 
the  clock  strike  while  I  was  thinking  of  it — about  one,  I  suddenly  recol- 
lected that  some  medicine  which  Edward  was  still  in  the  habit  of  taking, 
and  which  he  often  used  in  the  night,  had  been  left  down  stairs  in 
the  library.  Fearing  lest  he  might  awake  and  find  it  wanting,  I  deter- 
mined to  go  for  it ;  so,  stealing  quietly  out  of  bed,  without  disturbing 
him,  I  wrapped  a  doak  around  me,  and  groped  my  way  in  the  dark  out 
of  the  room  and  down  stairs  to  fetch  it.  I  did  not  strike  a  light,  lest 
the  noise  and  glare  might  awaken  Edward;  and  I  thought  I  knew 
exactly  where  to  put  my  hand  upon  the  bottle.  I  am  not  naturally  ner- 
vous— at  least,  I  was  not  before  tnat  night — but  I  believe  every  one  feels  a 
strange  sensation  when  wandering  alone  about  a  dark  house  at  midnight; 
perhaps,  too,  the  horrible  things  I  had  dreamt  had  left  a  gloomy  super- 
stitious tinge  on  my  mind.  At  all  events,  I  paused  on  the  stairs,  irreso- 
lute, and  half  mdined  to  return.  Would  to  God  I  had !  But,  ashamed 
of  this  weakness,  I  conquered  my  irresolution,  if  not  my  fears,  and  went 
on.  Trembling  and  starting  at  every  little  sound  I  heard,  or  fsmcied  I 
heard,  I  felt  my  way  into  the  room,  and  to  the  shelf  where  the  bottle 
had  been  lef^;  but  did  not  find  it  so  easily  as  I  had  expected,  and  it 
must  have  been  full  five  minutes  before  I  was  able  to  put  my  hand 
upon  it    Having,  at  last,  got  it»  I  went  back  to  the  stairs,  and  began 


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The  Barents  Rtvenge.  189 

to  ascend  them,  in  the  groping,  cautioua  way  of  a  person  who  is  in  the  dark 
Bod  afraid.  I  had  got  nearly  half-way  up,  feeling  my  way  by  the  nul  at 
the  side,  when  I  was  suddenly  startled  at  hearing  the  stairs  above  me 
creak.  I  knew  I  could  not  have  caused  the  sound,  for  I  had  been 
motionless  at  the  time.  I  stood,  scarcely  daring  to  breathe,  and  great 
drops  of  perspiration  came  forth  upon  my  brow.  I  listened  intently, 
but  heard  nothing  more ;  and,  persuading  myself  that  my  fears  had  been 
playing  with  my  imagination,  summoned  courage  to  go  on.  Again  I 
stretched  out  my  hand  to  grasp  the  rail,  but,  instead  of  meeting  the 
hard  wood,  it  touched  something  soft,  damp,  and  clammy.  I  thought 
it  was  a  man's  hand.  With  the  first  impulse  of  terror,  I  rushed  back  to 
the  library,  ran  in,  and  locked  and  barred  the  door.  I  put  my  ear  to 
the  keyhole,  but  could  hear  nothing.  I  must  have  stayed  in  tne  room 
neaily  half  an  hour,  trembling  and  half  dead  with  terror.  I  would  have 
given  the  world  for  a  light,  but  knew  there  were  neither  matches  nor 
candle  in  the  room. 

*^At  length  my  terror  and  suspense  became  unbearable;  my  ner- 
vousness was  dreadful :  I  was  continually  fancying  there  were  people  in 
the  room;  I  thought  I  heard  them  moving  cautiously  about;  I  even 
&ncied  I  could  hear  some  one  breathing  close  to  me,  so  close  that, 
by  stretching  out  my  hand,  I  might  touch  him.  I  could  stand  it  no 
longer ;  so  1  openea  the  door  quietly,  stepped  out,  and,  unlike  my 
last  attempt,  placed  my  hand  over  my  eyes,  and  ran  up-stairs  as  fast 
as  possible.  I  reached  the  bedroom  safely,  and,  without  any  obstruc- 
tion, went  in,  fastened  the  door  after  me,  and  crept  into  bed.  All  was 
Jniet :  you,  poor  little  one,  were  sleeping  soundly  and  gently  as  when 
left  you:  your  faither  had  changed  his  position,  but  he,  too,  was 
lying  quite  stul.  I  lay  down,  congratulating  myself  on  not  having  dis«- 
turbed  him ;  and  now,  finding  myself  once  more  safe  in  bed,  my  fears 
all  ranbhed.  I  soon  persuaded  myself  that  I  had  been  the  dupe  of  my 
imagination :  the  man's  hand  had,  I  thought,  no  doubt  been  something 
which  had  been  left  hanging  over  the  stair-rail — what,  I  did  not  then 
know,  but  determined  to  find  out  in  the  morning.  I  even  began  to 
laugh  within  myself  at  my  own  timidity,  and  to  think  what  a  nice 
ghost-story  there  would  be  for  Edward  the  next  day.  I  fell  into  a 
doze,  and  slept  for,  I  should  think,  an  hour.  When  I  awoke,  your 
fiither  was  still  lying  in  the  same  posture  :  it  was  not  an  easy  position, 
and  I  thought  he  could  not  be  comfortable.  I  listened  for  his  breathing, 
thinking  he  might  have  the  nightmare,  but  could  not  hear  him  at  all. 
Half  frightened,  I  sat  up  in  bed,  and  called  him  by  his  name,  but  he 
did  not  speak.  I  called  louder — still  no  answer.  I  shook  him,  but  he 
awoke  not ;  and  on  drawing  back  my  hand,  I  felt  that  it  was  wet ;  the 
bed-clothes,  too,  I  now  perceived  for  the  first  time,  were  also  quite  wet. 
Alarmed  and  terrified,  I  sprung  out  of  bed,  and  struck  a  light.  I 
brought  it  to  the  bedside,  and  there — Oh,  Maiy!  what  a  sight  was 
that  which  met  my  gaze  I — ^there  lay  your  poor  father,  murderedy  with 
the  purple  gore  welling  slowly  up  from  three  separate  stabs  in  his 
breast.  The  bed-clothes  were  saturated  with  it,  my  own  hands  and 
night-dress  were  covered,  and  you,  poor  little  innocent,  sleeping,  calm 
and  unconscious,  were  soaked  with  your  father's  blood.     He  must  have 

Jttne—voL.  xcv,  no.  cccLZXvm.  o 


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190  The  Baron'4  Revenge. 

died  almost  immediately ;  but  his  arm  was  stretched  out  tovnmk  xm 
place  in  the  bed.  Yes,  even  in  that  moment  of  agony  and  death,  hs 
thought  was  of  me!  Oh,  Maiy!  I  have  felt  that  more  than  alL  He 
0ou?ht  for  me,  and  I — ^I  was  not  at  his  side  I  The  dag^;-er  still  remainad 
in  his  bosom,  to  which  was  affixed  a  paper,  bearing  a  name  written  in 
pencil,  and  scarcely  legible  from  the  blood  with  which  it  was  stained* 
That  name — that  fearful  name— 'was  'Carl  von  Wolin/  Mary,  tht 
dagger  and  the  paper  I  still  keep.  I  must  have  aaen  all  this  almost  at 
a  glance,  yet  it  seems  to  me  as  if  I  stood  for  minutes,  mute  and  motioii- 
less,  gazing  on  the  dreadful  sight,  before,  with  one  pieicbg  shriek,  I  fell 
senseless  to  the  floor. 

"  From  that  time  all  is  blank  on  my  mind,  except  that  I  hove  a 
dreamy,  indistinct  recollection  of  the  pale,  frightened  serrants,  as  they 
thronged  about  the  bed,  and  of  my  struggling  as  they  bore  me  ttway. 
After  this  I  remember  nothing  that  passed  for  week^  during  whii^  I 
was  delirious  from  a  brain-fever,  save  that  I  am  conscious  of  having  had, 
throughout  my  illness,  but  two  ideas — my  dead  husband,  and  my  living 
child.  They  said  I  could  not  live ;  but  I  felt  that,  for  your  aake,  I 
couM  not  die.  They  told  me  afterwards,  that  all  through  my  illneas  I 
would  not  suffer  you  to  be  taken  from  me ;  that  I  kept  you  in  bed  at  mj 
side,  night  and  day ;  and  that  if  I  but  missed  you  for  an  instant,  I  made 
the  house  re-echo  with  my  screams.  A  iriend  of  ours,  an  English  lady, 
to  whom  we  can  never  be  sufficiently  grateiiil,  had  me  taken  to  her  resH 
dence,  where  the  kindness  and  attention  that  were  shown  me  were  ex- 
treme. When  I  got  better,  she  pressed  me  much  to  stay  some  time  with 
her ;  but  I  would  not  hear  of  it.  I  was  afraid — afraid  for  you.  I  feared 
that  dreadfnl  man  would  not  be  satisfied  with  the  murder  of  the  husban<l 
but  that  he  would  seek  also  the  life  of  the  child ;  for  I  knew  that  it  was 
to  wreak  his  vengeance  on  me  that  he  had  killed  Edward.  It  was  mj 
weakness,  my  want  of  moral  courage  in  not  keeping  my  promise  to  die 
baron,  which  was  the  cause  of  the  death  of  him  I  loved  so  dearly.  As 
soon  as  ever  I  was  able  to  get  out,  we  left  Naples,  took  ship  for  England, 
under  an  assumed  name,  that  we  might  leave  no  due  by  which  we 
could  be  followed,  and  landed  at  Fowey.  I  did  not  make  my  anival 
known,  even  to  my  aunt ;  but  happening  to  hear  of  a  house  in  this 
secluded  valley,  I  took  it,  hoping  tluit  here,  at  least,  we  might  be  sa£e« 
But  my  nerves  had  been  terribly  shattered  by  the  shook  ihey  had  ana* 
tained,  and  I  feared  an  assassin  almost  in  every  bush  and  tree.  For  a 
long  time,  my  terror  for  you  was  continual ;  but  as  years  passed,  and  left 
us  unmolested,  I  became  more  reassured  and  confident  of  security.  If  I 
have  seemed  to  you  too  particular,  too  fidgety — if  you  have  ever  thought 
me  unkind  for  keeping  you  shut  up  here  without  amusements,  and  with 
no  friends  or  companions  of  your  own  age  (and  perhaps  I  have  beau 
wrong  and  foolish  to  do  so),  at  least  you  now  know  the  reason,  and 
your  kind  heart,  I  am  sure,  will  pity  and  forgive  me." 

Mrs.  Atherton  ceased.  Mary  did  not  attempt  any  words  of  coasok* 
tion,  but  she  arose,  pressed  her  soft  cheek  against  her  mother^%  and 
threw  her  arms  around  her  neck.  Mrs.  Atherton's  bosom  heaved  ;  she 
looked  np,  and  saw  Mary's  pale  face^  and  her  soft  loving  eyes  watching 
hers,  wet  with  ibe  dew  of  pity.    She  gave  one  oonvulsive  0ofa»  and  layr 


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The  Baron's  Rtvtnge.  Ifll 

ing  her  head  on  her  daughter's  boaom,  buivt  into  a  flood  of  tears,  Hvt- 
flowing,  gentle,  and  refreshing — ^the  first  of  that  kind  which  she  had  diad 
ibr  many  a  long  year.  Mary  left  her  no  more  for  the  evening,  and  that 
night  mother  and  daughter  oceupied  the  same  bed« 

There  was  a  long  and  sore  conflict  in  Mary's  mind  the  next  day, 
Aether  or  not  she  should  keep  her  appointment  with  her  lover.  The 
dreadful  story  she  had  heard,  had,  of  eourae,  aflected  her  most  deejay, 
and  the  thought  of  going  on  such  an  errand  so  soon  after  was  shoclnng 
to  her.  That  very  story,  she  perceived,  her  mother  had  been  prindpally 
induced  to  tell  from  having  seen  her  with  a  stranger  in  the  wood.  And 
ahonld  she  disregard  her  anxious  fears,  her  tender  solicitude  ?  Should 
she,  whose  whole  soul,  whose  every  thought,  ought  to  be  concentrated  on 
the  deBire  to  lay  the  balm  of  consolation  on  her  mother's  stricken  heart, 
and  to  repay  by  every  tender  care  the  sorrows  and  anxieties  she  had 
endured — should  she  leave  her,  and  at  sueh  a  time  especialiy,  to  seek 
one,  a  eomparative  stranger,  to  whom  her  mother  was  imknown,  who 
had  never  heard  the  terrible  story  of  her  Other's  death,  and  to  whom  that 
atory  would  have  been  of  no  interest,  even  if  he  had  heard  it,  except, 
periiaps,  through  his  love  for  her.  She  thought  she  could  not  do  so. 
Bat,  on  the  other  hand,  he  did  indeed  k>ve  her — she  was  certain  of  that 
— and  she  knew  that  she  dearly  loved  him.  She  would  have  given  any- 
thing now  that  she  had  not  promised  to  meet  him  again,  but  she  had 
pven  her  promise,  and  she  felt  it  would  be  very  wrong  to  break  it.  Be- 
sidea,  he  would  not  know  her  reason  for  not  coming,  and  could  not  hot 
think  her  fsdae,  deceitful,  and  cold-hearted.  She  &ncied,  if  their  poii- 
tions  were  reversed,  if  she  were  waiting  for  him,  to  say  one  last  woid  of 
.  kindness,  to  take  one  last  parting  look,  and  he  were  not  to  oome,  how 
Utterly  she  would  £»el  it !  Yes,  she  vrould  go.  But  then,  her  mother  ! 
To  do  so,  she  must  deceive  her ;  unless,  indeed,  she  were  to  tell  her  the 
whole  truth.  Oh,  no !  she  could  not  do  so  now ;  and  that,  too,  would  be 
a  betrayal  of  her  lover*s  confidence.  How,  then,  should  she  act  ?  She 
didn't  Imow.  Never  had  Mary  spent  so  unhappy  a  day.  Fifty  timca 
did  she  make  up  her  mind,  and  as  often  changed  it.  The  evening  drew 
on,  and  still  she  was  uncertain.  The  appointed  time  arrived  ;  the  sun 
had  set  for  an  hour;  it  was  more  than  a  mile  to  the  nlace  of  meeting,  yet 
■he  was  not  gone.  She  was  almost  sorry  for  it.  She  pictured  to  her- 
self Frederu£  waiting  impatiently  for  her.  She  feuicied  his  disappoint- 
ment, his  feelings  of  certainty  that  she  would  come  changing  into  doubt; 
and  the  suspicions  6i  the  reality  of  her  love,  whidi  he  had  expressed  at 
their  last  interview,  getting  at  each  moment  stronger.  She  wiahed  she 
haid  gone,  but  it  was  too  late  now ;  she  wouldn't  think  any  more  about 
it.  Yet,  she  didn't  know ;  by  making  haste,  she  might — yes,  she  would 
try.     And  Mary  threw  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  hastened  forth. 

It  was  a  bleak,  chilly  autumn  evening ;  the  wind  moaned  and  howled, 
as  it  swept  in  sudden  gusts  through  the  valley,  stripping  the  dead 
leaves  firom  the  trees,  or  sweeping  them  up  from  the  ground  in  whirling 
douda:  the  scud  was  flyinff  fiist  overhead,  and  some  stray  dropa  of 
rain  were  felling;  but  Mary  hurried  on,  now  running  until  nearly  out  of 
faeeatfa,  than  walking,  and  thai  running  on  aeain;  for  she  thought  she 
would  be  as  quidc  as  ever  she  eould ;  s^e  wmikl  not  even  stay  a  nunate 

o2 


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192  The  Buran'i  Bevenge. 

when  there,  bat  would  only  speak  one  last  word  of  kindness,  make  one 
last  TOW  of  ooQStancr,  and  fly  l>ack  to  her  mother's  side  again. 

But,  notwithstandmg  all  her  haste,  it  was  nearly  two  hours  after  sunset 
when  she  reached  the  place  of  meeting.  She  found  her  loTer  pacing  up 
and  down  with  quick,  impatient  steps. 

'*  Mary,"  he  said,  as  he  advanoea  to  meet  her,  <*  I  feared  jovl  were  not 
coming ;  and  yet  I  thought  you  would  not  break  your  promise." 

"  It  was  because  I  would  not  break  my  promise,"  replied  Mary,  **  that 
I  came ;  but  I  am  almost  afraid  I  have  done  wrong.  I  have  heard  such  a 
fearful  tale  ;  but  I  cannot  stay  to  speak  of  that  now.  I  fear  I  ought  not 
to  have  come  at  all.  Farewell,  Frederick,  farewell !  until  we  can  meet 
again,  openly  and  happily." 

'^  Stay,  Mary,  stay  r  he  cried,  seime  her  hand ;  '<  why  this  haste  ?  I 
had  hoped  that  you  would  have  revcMced  your  cruel  determination  of 
driving  me  from  your  presence— a  thing  unvalued  and  uncared  for; 
that  your  love  had  not  been  all  feigned  or  vanished,  but  that  some  slight 
feefing  of  it  might  be  lurkmg  in  your  heart.     But  I  see  I  was  wrong.' 

"  You  cannot  doubt  my  love,"  replied  Mary.  "  Say  what  you  will, 
in  your  inmost  heart  I  am  sure  you  cannot.  But,  firm  as  my  determina- 
tion was  when  I  last  saw  you,  I  have  heard  Aat  since  which  has  made  it 
still  stronger." 

"  What,"  asked  her  lover  eagerly — "  what  have  you  heard  ?" 

**  My  mother  told  me  last  night,"  said  Mary,  ''  the  story  of  her  eaily 
lifo,  and  of  my  father  s  death.  Oh,  Frederick!"  she  continued,  shudder^ 
ing,  <^  such  a  dreadful  tale !  My  poor  father  was  murdered — murdeied 
in  his  bed  by  one  who  Oh !  I  cannot  bear  to  speak  of  it.  And 
I,  who  ought  to  be  at  my  mother's  side,  mingling  my  tears  with  hers — 
who  ought  to  lay  open  to  her  every  feeling  of  my  heart — am  deceiving 

her,  am  here  with Frederick !— dear  Frederick,  let  me  go  !    Indeed, 

indeed,  I  must  not  stay  longer." 

**  She  has  told  you,  then !"  he  said,  in  quick,  low  tones,  and  tightening 
his  grasp  on  her  hand.  ''And  does  she  feel  it?  Is  she  bowed  down 
with  ffrief  ?     Is  she  heartbroken?     Is  she  despairing?" 

''  She  was  at  first,"  said  Mary  ;  ''  but  in  time  slw  became  more  re« 
siened.  Now,  again,  she  fears  for  me :  in  me  her  whole  hearty  her 
whole  soul — aJl  her  tiioughts,  hopes,  and  fears,  are  bound  up.  And 
thus,  thus  do  I  repay  her  a£fection  I  Oh,  bid  me  farewell ;  indeed  I 
must  go." 

''  Then,  for  her  sake,  you  banish  me  from  your  presence  ?" 

'*  I  must,  I  must.     It  is  bitter  to  part,  but  what  can  I  do?" 

**  And  your  love  for  me  is  as  nothing,  when  placed  in  the  scale  with 
that  which  you  feel  for  her  ?" 

"  Oh,  say  not  so.  The  feeling  is  so  different :  I  love  my  mother 
deariy,  deariy;  but  you— «"  And  maidenly  scruples  giving  way,  she 
threw  herself  into  her  lover's  arms,  and  laid  her  head  upon  his  shouUw, 
while  he  pressed  one  hot,  burning  kiss  upon  h^  cheek. 

Mary  withdrew  herself,  blushing,  from  his  embrace,  and  once  mote 
bade  htm  fomwell ;  but  he  again  detained  her,  and  placing  his  hand  over 
his  eyes,  stood  motionless,  and  without  speaking*  She  tned  to  throw  oS 
hh  grasps  but  he  held  her^  if  fais  fingers  wexenf  iroa    fife  oodU  see 


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The  Barents  Bwejiffe.  193 

the  muMdee  of  his  £ioe  vorluDg,  and  when  iit  length  he  removed  hk  hand 
from  before  it»  she  was  startled  at  seebg  how  it  was  altered. 

'*  Mary  1"  he  said,  and  his  yoioe  sounded  hollow — *'  Mary,  hear  me. 
Yoa  say  yon  love  me,  and  I  would  fam  believe  it;  but  you  speak  of 
others — you  think  of  others.  You  have  other  ties — whether  of  affection^ 
duty,  or  gratitude,  it  matters  not — but  you  have  other  ties,  which  seem  to 
you  stronger  than  those  which  bind  you  to  me.  Now,  hear  how  differ- 
ently I  feel  towards  you.  From  the  moment  I  yield  myself  up  to  love 
yoa,  I  give  up  the  thought,  the  passion,  the  object,  I  have  had  for  nearly 
twenty  years.  I  say,  tke  object  for  I  have  had  but  one,  and  that  one  the 
most  engrossing  that  the  human  heart  can  know.  This  one  object  has 
been  ever  in  my  mind ;  of  it  alone  I  have  thought,  of  it  alone  I  have 
dreamt,  for  it  luone  I  have  lived.  This  for  you  I  am  ready  to  resign, 
and  you  can  never  know  how  great  the  sacrifice.  Mary,  can  you  give  up 
nothing  m  return  r 

'*  Then  why  not  go  to  my  mother  ?"  said  Mary,  trembling  and  agi* 
tated.     ''  Go  to  her,  get  her  consent,  and  I  will  be  yours." 

**  I  have  told  you  already,"  he  said,  impatiently,  ^^  that  cannot  be. 
Mary  I'*  he  cried^  throwing  himself  at  her  feet,  '^  you  see  before  you 
one  who  had  belioTed  his  heart  steeled  against  every  human*  passion  save 
one :  most  of  all  against  love.  That  heart  you,  who  should  have  been 
the  last  bdng  on  &Baih  to  do  so,  have  won.  You  say  you  love  both  your 
mother  and  me,  now  then  choose  between  us ;  I  can  bear  no  rival,  not 
even  her.  Malce  your  election.  Either  drive  me  away,  never  to  see 
me  more,  or  fly  with  me  and  be  mine — wholly  mine ;  there  is  no  alter- 
native.  Love  1"  he  continued,  *^  if  you  hesitate,  you  know  it  not.  Call 
your  feelings  for  me  fancy,  liking,  attachment— what  you  will;  but  call 
them  not  by  the  devoted,  passionate  name  of  love.  Love  cannot  be  cool 
and  calculating ;  it  knows  not  to  distinguish  between  proper  and  improper 
—right  and  wrong ;  it  acknowledges  no  lord  but  him  in  whom  it  is 
centred ;  it  confesses  no  code  of  laws  but  his  will.  If  you  felt  it  as  I 
have  felt  it,  you  would  forget  mother,  friends,  the  world  itself,  and  be 
mine,  and  mme  wholly,  in  heart,  body,  and  soul." 

Mary  felt  alarmed  at  her  lover*s  manner,  and  the  purity  of  her  mind 
was  shocked  at  the  sentiments  he  avowed.  She  withdrew  her  hand  from 
his,  and  said,  almost  coldly, 

"  Frederick,  you  forget  yourself  and  me.  Your  language  but  con- 
firms me  in  my  resolution :  we  must  part,  until  we  can  meet  again  under 
different  curcumstances,  and  in  a  very  different  spirit" 

Frederick  started  to  his  feet 

*^  Beware,"  he  cried,  '*  how  you  thwart  me  I  One  chance  more  I  give 
you ;  is  it  for  your  mother's  sake  that  you  take  this  course  ?" 

«  Partly." 

**  Then  know  that  in  no  possible  way  could  you  so  surely  bring  anguish 
and  desolation  on  her  head.  Mark  me  !  By  one  word  1  have  it  in  my 
power  to  crush  both  her  and  you  to  the  dust  Obey  my  wishes,  and 
that  woid  shall  never  be  spoken.  Deny  me,  and  all  the  grief  and  sorrow 
ahe  ever  knew,  were  it  ten  times  as  much,  will  have  been  as  nothing  to 
that  which  she  shall  endure." 
.    '*Yoa  have  the  power  to  crush  us  I"  cried  Mary.     *'0b,  Frederick, 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


194  The  Baron's  Basenge. 

Frederidc !  wlmt  can  70a  mefta?  Yoa  oaimot  know— you  cannot  be— — 
O  God  I  what  horrible  thought  crosses  m j  brain  ?  No,  it  is  b«t  a 
fixdish  £uicj.  I  am  weak  and  neryous.  You  could  not  mean  what  you 
said.    Oh,  Frederick  I  say  it  was  but  a  jest — say  you  were  not  in  ewnest.** 

'*  I  was  in  earnest.     I  have  the  power,  and  if  yon  thwart  me,  I  will 
use  it.     And  now,  once  more:  do  you  still  reject  my  loFe?** 

"  I  do  not  reject  it,  Frederick ;  I  nersr  did  reject  it" 

«« Will  you  fly  with  me  ?" 

"Never.*' 

"  Then  yon  still  hold  fiist  your  determination  ?" 

«Ido." 

"Firmly?* 

"  Firmly." 

^^Then  take  the  consequenoes.  See  you  this  hand?  Look  at  it; 
regard  it  well.  It  was  dyed  in  your  father's  blood !  Yse^  girl,  skiiok 
from  me — tremble :  I  am  Carl  von  Wolin,  your  mother's  rejected  suitor 
— ^your father's  murderer!  Nay,  fly  not  yet;  hear  me.  I  hated  «U 
dse:  I  loved  your  mother — loved  her  with  a  passion  that  your  cold, 
•mi,  'innooent'  disposition  cannot  comprehend.  She  spumed  me,  de- 
oeiveid  me,  despised  me;  treated  me  as  a  ^ng  without  feeling  im 
woriliy  of  notice;  as  a  child  to  be  soothed  with  vain  promises  m  one 
atdnnte,  and  to  be  fbigotten  or  laughed  at  in  the  next.  Slie  manied 
another.  I  vowed  revenge.  I  could  have  slain  her  husband  at  tlte 
ohureh-door ;  but  I  waited.  I  waited  for  her  heart  to  cling  yet  motm 
dosely  to  him — waited  for  a  child  to  be  bom ;  through  husband  and 
child  I  meant  to  take  my  revenge  upon  her.  I  followed  her  to  Naples^ 
and  diere  my  dagger  drank  the  heart's  blood  of  my  rival — my  eucoa^d 
tml.  You,  ttien  a  baby,  were  sleeping  at  his  side ;  my  hand  was  raised'  to 
da^  you— but  agsin  I  waited.  I  traoed  you  from  Naples,  and  1  followed 
you  nither.  Afterwards  I  came  hither  frequently.  I  hovered  abont 
•—I  watched  your  mother's  love  ibr  you  growing  and  strengthening!; 
HThen  the  time  seemed  ripe  for  my  plans,  I  took  up  my  abode  in  tfaa 
neighbourhood.  I  dogged  you  in  your  walks.  One  evening  I' followed 
you  to  the  rock,  by  the  river's  side ;  prepared  my  dagger  and  advanced — 
it  was  to  kill  you.  You  started,  and  fell  into  the  water;  I  would  not  be 
robbed  of  my  vengeance,  and  I  saved  your  life.  Then,  as  you  tnmad 
your  eyes,  full  of  gratitude,  on  me,  did  I  for  the  first  time  ceneeive  the 
plan  of  a  sweeter,  a  deeper  revenge.  I  wooed  you;  I  tried  to*  win 
your  love.  What  a  means  of  vengeance,  I  thought,  would  then  be  in 
my  power !  Had  I  failed,  you  should  have  died  by  my  hand ;  but  I 
succeeded — at  least,  I  hoped  so.  At  first,  all  my  vows  and  protestations 
were  fidse — ^feigned  and  false,  all  of  them ;  I  thought  but  of  vengeaooa. 
But  at  last  I — ^yes  I — Oh !  I  could  spurn  myself  for  it — I,  iSe  mur- 
derer of  the  fother,  the  more  than  murderer  of  the  medter,  loved  the 
daughter!  I,  whose  whole  tliought  was  of  vengeance,  loved  the  instra* 
ment  by-  which  that  vengeance  was  to  be  wreaked.  I  urged,  entrealni 
yoa  to  fly  with  me.  Hi^  you  consented,  you  should  never  haive  heatd 
this;  I  might  have  felt  the  curse,  but  you  should  not  have  known  it; 
But  you  refused  me ;  you  preferred  your  motber^s  hi^pinest  to  XBoam^ 
Andnow— -gotoher;  go  and  see  whether  that  happiness  wiii  be  iMsened 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Z7ie  BmotCs  Rtvenge.  l»j 

i  yoa  tell  her  that  you  have  had  a  lover  in  her  former  suitor — ^lu  her 
husfaand's  murderer ;  that  hk  lips  have  pressed  your  cheek — ^t  his  arm 
haaeiioirded  your  waist — that  you  have  returned  his  love — or  rather  that 

Cu  have  fancied  you  have  returned  it.  And  now  fly,  haste,  loiter  not, 
t  the  huming^  fire  within  prompt  me,  even  yet^  while  it  is  in  my 
power,  to  gratify  at  once  the  passions  hoth  of  love  and  of  revenge.*' 

He  oeamd;  but  Mary  moved  not  With  the  first  words  he  had  spoken, 
she  had  seen  it  all :  a  thousand  corroborative  circumstances  flashed 
aeroea  her  mind  like  an  electric  shock ;  and,  with  a  faint  moan,  she  fell 
back  against  a  tree  that  stood  behind.  Her  lips  became  livid,  her  faoe 
wdute  as  that  of  a  corpse,  and  her  eves  fixed  and  glassy.  She  had  no; 
power  to  stir,  yet  she  had  not  lost  her  consciousness;  she  heard  every 
word,  every  syllable,  plainly,  distinctly.  It  was  the  reeling  of  the  braini 
Suddenly,  she  started  up  wi&  a  shriek. 

'^Oh,  Frederick,  Frederick  V  she  cried,  ^^save  me,  save  me !  Where  is 
that  feacful  man?  Give  me  your  arm;  help  me — support  me.  I  feel 
ill,  ill.  There  is  a  load,  a  weight,  here  on  my  brain.  I  don't  know 
what  it  is^ — I  have  been  dreaming,  1  think.  What  is  the  matter  with 
your  hand?  It. is  red.  Have  vou  hurt  it?  Shall  I  bind  it  for  you? 
I^  me  ^tank — what  was  that  about  a  hand  ?  Somethinsf,  I  know.  O 
God!  I  reooUeot  it  all  now!  It  is  blood,  blood,  blood — my  fiither's 
1^     Hence,  villain,  murderer — hence!     I  hate  you— •!  loathe  you! 


Mother,  mother — hel{s  help !     Let  me  go — ^let  me  so,  I  say !"     And, 

^   ■         •     •  '    nrhich » 


feeaking  from  him,  she  ran  off  through  the  wood,  which  re-echoed  with, 
Imt  aereams.  But  she  ran  not  far;  blind  and  giddy  she  saw  nothing 
before  her,  her  forehead  struck  against  the  bough  of  a  tree,  and  she  was 
hurled  violently  to  the  ground. 

HI. 

Night  was  drawing  on  apace,  and  Mrs.  Atherton  walked  about  the 
IkHiee^  restless  and  uneasy  at  her  daughter's  absence.  Mary  had  not 
nflde  known  her  intention  of  going  out ;  and  every  room  was  looked  into, 
every  nook  in  the  garden  searched  for  her,  but  she  was  nowhere  to  be 
found.  VaguB^  undeBned  apprehensions  lay  like  a  weight  of  lead  on  the 
pother's  heart  She  tried  to  persuade  herself  that  Mary  had  walked  to 
one  of  the  other  cottages  in  the  valley,  and  had  been  detained  there  by 
thet  rain,  which  had  now  begun  to  pour  down  fast:  but  it  would  not  do ; 
dark  foiebodings  of  evil  were  on  her  mind,  and  would-  not  be  removed. 
A  hundred  times  did  she  go  to  the  door,  and  strain  her  eyes,  to  bok 
through  the  gloom  for  the  missing  one  ;  but  in  vain.  The  rain  ceased, 
and  yet  she  came  not :  the  fear  that  something  might  have,  was  changed 
into  the  certainty  that  something  had,  happened;  she  must  else  have 
been  home  by  this  time.  The  suspense  became  horrible — ^imendurable. 
The  old  servant,  Betsy,  was  despatched  to  the  nearest  cottages  for  help. 
Men  came  with  torches  and  lanterns ;  they  dispersed  themselves  about  the 
woods;  they  sought  her  all  the  night  through.  Morning  came;  but 
still  no  trace  had  been  discovered.  They  dragged  the  pools  and  the  river ; 
they  searched  every  house  for  miles  around  —  amongst  the  rest,  the 
stranger's :  that  was  deserted  and  empty,  and  nowhere  was  any  clue 
founoL 

Days — ^weeks — a  month  passed  away,  and  nothing  was  heard  of  the 


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196  The  Baron's  Revenge. 

lost  girl ;  and  what  a  change  did  that  short  time  work  on  the  mother ! 
After  the  first  few  days  she  scarcely  ever  spoke,  she  refused  nearly  all 
sustenance,  and  it  almost  seemed  that  she  never  slept.  Seldom  could 
she  be  prevailed  on  to  lie  for  a  minute  in  bed ;  but,  day  and  night,  she 
sat  almost  constantly  at  the  window,  silent,  pale,  and  still,  as  a  thing  of 
marble^  except  for  a  little  while  once  every  morning  and  evening,  when 
she  would  wander  forth  alone  into  the  wood,  searching,  searching, — yet 
without  hope. 

About  four  or  five  weeks  after  Mary's  disappearance,  as  the  mother 
sat  one  night,  as  usual,  at  the  window,  gazing  out  upon  the  darkness, 
something  white  and  spectral-looking  glided  by.  She  started  up  and 
opened  the  door  ;  it  stood  upon  the  step — she  clasped  it  in  her  arms — 
it  was  Mary !  She  brought  her  to  the  light :  no  eye  but  a  mother  ■ 
could  have  known  her.  The  once  soft  and  blooming  cheek  was  white 
and  hollow ;  the  golden  hair  was  loose  and  dishevelled ;  the  stare  of  mad- 
ness was  in  the  eye.  She  bowed  down  her  head ;  a  shudder  passed  over 
her  frame,  as  in  a  thrilling  whisper  she  pronounced  the  words,  '^  Cail 
von  Wolin !"  and  she  was  laid,  apparently  dying,  on  the  bed.  She  re- 
vived, but  it  was  only  for  a  short  time.  In  the  lucid  intervals  which  some- 
times  occurred  between  the  ravings  of  her  delirium,  she  told  her  mother 
all  that  had  taken  place  up  to  the  time  when  the  dreadful  truth  had  been 
made  known  to  her.  After  that,  she  knew  no  more  of  what  had  happened 
until  the  moment  when  she  had  found  herself  in  her  mother's  arms, 
though  she  had  a  vague  recollection  of  having  suffered  a  severe  iUness  in 
some  dark  place,  with  an  old  woman  attending  her.  In  a  week  after  she 
reached  home  she  was  dead  ;  and  very  soon  afterwards  her  mother  slept 
with  her  in  the  same  grave. — The  Baron's  Revenge  was  complete ! 


"  Nobody  was  ever  able  to  tell  rightly,"  said  the  woman  from  whom  I 
heard  the  sad  tale,  **  what  became  of  the  poor  thing  in  the  time  she  watf 
wanting ;  but  a  few  years  back,  some  boys  were  picking  hurts  (whortle- 
berries) in  the  wood ;  and  in  among  the  bushes,  about  half-way  up  that 
hill  there,  they  found  the  entrance  to  a  cave.  They  told  people  of  it, 
and  some  men  went  in  with  lights,  and  found  the  skeleton  of  a  man, 
with  a  rusty,  queer-looking  piece  of  iron,  something  like  a  knife,  lying 
hy  its  side.  I  don't  know  how  it  may  be,  but  people  said  it  was  the 
Baron's  skeleton. 


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(    197     ) 


A  PACKE  OF  SPANISH  LYES.* 


The  attempt  made  by  Philip  II.  of  Spain  to  invade  this  country,  and 
to  dethrone  Queen  Elizabeth,  in  the  year  1588,  by  means  of  what  was 
termed,  though  most  falsely,  the  '*  Invincible  Armada,"  was  one  of  those 
great  historical  events  by  which  the  destiny  of  nations  has  been  deter- 
mined. The  world,  indeed,  is  perpetually  oscillating  between  great  events, 
which,  like  to  the  appearance  of  comets  at  long-recurring  periods,  are,  in 
some  cases,  antecedently  calculable,  though  not  always,  nor  often  so.  Yet^ 
after  they  have  come  into  the  region  of  actual  ezpenence  and  observation^ 
mankind  agree  to  look  back  upon  their  arrival  as  to  an  era  upon  which 
their  fortunes  hinged,  and  by  which  their  glory  or  ignominy  was  consum- 
mated. Had  this  formidable  equipment  of  Philip  succeeded,  had  the 
crown  of  England  been  united  to  that  of  Spain,  had  the  manners  and, 
feHgion  of  the  Peninsula  been  introduced  into  this  island,  had  Britain 
shrunk  from  an  empire  into  an  appendage,  the  effect  upon  all  the  nations 
of  the  earth — upon  their  prosperity  and  industry,  upon  their  science  and 
philosophy,  upon  their  poetry  and  virtue,  upon  their  liberty  and  religion — 
would  have  been  most  calamitous  and  destructive.  On  the  other  hand, 
that  Philip  made  the  attempt,  that  he  utterly  failed,  that  Elizabeth 
laughed  at  the  wreck  and  ruin  of  his  Armada,  must  not  be  regarded  as  un- 
productive in  resulL  The  buoyant  spirit  of  the  English  rose  higher  than 
ever,  experienced  a  new  force  within,  exerted  a  fresh  impetus  on  the 
world  without,  felt  itself  invigorated  and  quickened,  and  welled  forth, 
more  abundant  streams  of  blessings  to  mankind  at  large. 

The  preparations  for  tiiis  armament  were  of  the  most  gigantic 
dimensions.  Thoueh  a  fact  well  known  to  all  readers  of  histoiy,  it 
may  be  well  to  exhibit,  in  a  summary  manner,  their  extent,  and  to 
show  their  comparative  relation  to  the  defensive  preparations  made 
in  England.  The  Spanish  force  consisted  of  130  vessels,  with  an 
aggregate  of  57,868  tons,  and  carrying  2630  brass  cannon,  of  all  sorts, 
in  which  number  were  included  72  galleons  and  galleasses  of  a  mon- 
strous size,  like  to  floating  castles,  and  containing  30,000  troops  and 
seamen.  Some  accounts  give  the  number  of  ships  considerably  above 
this.  The  Duke  of  Parma,  in  Flanders,  vrith  an  army  of  30,000 
infantry  and  5000  cavalry,  and  the  Due  de  Guise,  in  Normandy, 
with  12,000  Frenchmen,  were  also  ready,  as  opportunity  offered,  to 
aid  the  Armada  in  its  invasion  of  England.  For  three  years  had  the 
King  of  Spain  been  making  the  necessary  arrangements  for  the  expe- 
dition, dunng  which  time,  by  various  pretexts  and  professions  of  amity, 
he  had  endeavoured  to  lull  the  suspicions  of  the  English  queen.  But 
Elizabeth,  unsurpassed  in  penetration  by  any  monarch  of  her  time,  failed 
not  to  obtain  adequate  information  respecting  his  preparations,  and 
clearly  to  apprehend  their  ultimate  object.  On  the  contrary,  she  broueht 
into  play  the  full  energy  of  her  powenul  mind  to  counterwork  the  malig- 
nant designs  of  her  enemies.  Her  fleet  was  got  into  complete  readiness, 
consisting  of  181  ships,  manned  with  17,472  men,  and  can^'ing  31,986 

*  A  pampmet,  written  In  England  in  the  year  1588,  in  refutation  of  one  issued 
in  Spain,  consisting  of  a  number  of  singular  letters,  endeavouring  to  prove  to  the 
Spanish  nation  the  snoceisful  issue  of  the  invindUe  Armada  of  that  same  year. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


198  A  Packe  of  Bpankh  Lyes. 

tons  burden,  which,  it  will  be  seen,  was  not  much  more  than  one-half  the 
tonnage  of  the  Armada.  The  whole  nation,  too,  was  roused  to  resist  the 
invaders.  All  classes  felt  the  danger  of  the  moment,  aad  were  determined 
to  defend  their  native  soil  to  the  very  utmost.  Two  armies  were  gathered 
together;  one  under  the  Earl  of  Hiinsden,  of  45,362  men,  besides  the 
band  of  pensioners,  with  36  cannon,  for  the  protection  of  f^  queen ; 
the  other  under  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  of  18,449  men,  for  driving  badk 
the  enemy  whenever  they  should  attempt  to  land.  In  addition  to  these 
fooes,  there  were  10,000  at  coast-towns  and  souAem  parts,  and  manj 
otbers  throughout  the  country,  in  difierent  deg^es  of  equipment.  The 
^^xiffidal  lists,  printed  in  Murdin,  show,  that  in  the  whole  kingdom,  101,040 
were  call^  out,  regimented,  and  armed,  in  England  and  Wales ;  of  wUdt 
87}  196  were  infantry,  and  of  these  48,127  were  trained,  but  the  rest; 
only  armed.  These  were  exclusive  of  the  forces  upon  the  borders,  and 
fliose  of  Yorkshire  reserved  to  answer  the  service  northward,  and  sundry 
of  the  Welsh  shires  not  certified.''  The  Dutch  likewise,  in  a  certaior 
Snbion,  rendered  tiieir  assistance.  Stow  says,  '^  The  Hollanders  came 
ivondly  in  with  threescore  sail,  brave  ships  of  war,  fierce,  and  fldl  of 
spleen ;  not  so  much  for  England's  aid,  as  m  just  occasion  of  their  own 
defence. 

Our  purpose  is  not  to  describe  the  progress  of  the  Armada^  and  its 
eventual  destruction.  We  have  another  object  in  view,  which  is,  to  p<unt 
out  the  means  which  the  Spanish  court  took  to  sustain  its  shattered 
fortunes.  Immediately  upon  the  min  of  its  prodigious  fleet,  an  attempt 
was  made  to  palm  a  lie  upon  the  Spanish  people,  by  assuring  them  of  its 
eomplete  success.  Some  of  the  means  adopted  were  of  a  most  singular 
order.  Amongst  the  chief  of  diem  was  the  following :  A  pamphlet  was  • 
puMiAed  at  Seville,  containing  a  great  accumulation  of  false  statemente^ 
m  letters  received  firom  the  Spanish  ambassador  at  Paris,  from  the  post- 
master of  Logrono,  from  Rouen,  from  the  chief  postmaster  of  Bordeau^c^ 
snd  in  accounts  f^m  divers  other  sources.  In  the  same  year,  1588 — 
that  of  the  attempted  invasion — it  was  deemed  necessair  to  issue  a  reply 
in  this  country  to  the  concatenation  of  lies  here  so  aoundantly  strui^ 
together.  It  is  difficult  to  understand  the  motive  for  this ;  inasmudif  as 
die  people  of  England,  by  their  deliverance  and  security,  must  have  per- 
ceived their  sheer  absurdity  and  fieJsity.  Each  letter  and  statement 
receives  its  answer,  which  is  couched  in  phraseology  the  most  laconic  and 
pidly,  reminding  us  of  a  pitched  battle,  in  which  blow  succeeds  blow  in 
uninterrupted  succession.  The  manuscript  was  ori^nally  published  in 
black  letter,  by  the  deputies  of  the  renowned  Christopher  Barker,  ^<  printer 
to  the  Queene's  most  excellent  Maiestie,"  and  bears  date  1588.*  We 
propose  selecting  a  number  of  specimens  from  tlie  Spanish  and  Englidi 
accounts,  which  will  be  found  interesting,  not  only  for  their  gieat  curiosity 
of  false  assertion  and  quaint  rejoinder,  but  also  for  the  insight  they  for* 
nish  into  the  actual  relation  between  the  opposing  armaments^  in  the  heat 
of  die  fray  and  afterwards. 

The  writer  of  the  reply  heads  each  account  given  by  his  adversaij 
with  ^<  A  Fscke  of  Spanish  Lyes,"  and  hb  own,  with  "  A  Condeimiation 
of  the  Spanish  Lyes."    The  ''Fkcke*'  opens  widi  "The  true  relation 

^  A  modemiied  EoglidL  vsnwKi  of  this  painvhlfit  occanin  the  "BadeS«» 
MtonUaoy,"  voL  iii.,  p.  385. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


A  Fiu^htr.of  SpaniBk  Lyes.  IW 

of  the  sooQtBBof  tfaeCatbofio  aimj  agcdast  their  enefmied,  bjr  kftteiv  of  tin 
Mitmaster  of  Logrono,  of  the  fooith  of  September,  and  by  letters  from 
Bonen  of  the  one^nd-thirdeth  of  August,  and  bj  letters  from  Paris  of 
the  king's  ambassador  there ;  ^vherdn  he  declanth  the  imprisonment  of 
Framns  Drake  and  other  great  nobles  of  England,  and  how  the  qaeen  is 
in  the  field  with  an  army,  and  of  a^oertain  mutiny  which  was  amongst 
the  queen's  anny,  with  the  Buccess  of  the  said  Catholic  army  sinoe  th^ 
entered  in  the  Groyne  till  they  oame  on  the  coast  of  England."  1^ 
whkdk  answer  is  made :  **  It  is  well  known  to  all  the  world  how  false  all 
this  relation  is^  and  either  fidsely  coloured  by  the  letters  remembered,  or 
sise  both  the  postmaster  of  Logrono  and  the  writers  from  Rouen  oi»fat 
in  be  waged  as  intelligencers  ^  ibe  devil,  the  fiither  of  lies,  whom  they 
faarre  herein  truly  served ;  and  if  they  so  continue  in  maintenance  thereof 
agsonst  the  known  truth,  their  damnation  is  certain,  and  hell  is  open  Ibr 
l£Bm.''  **  It  is  so  false  that  there  was  any  mutmy  in  Ihe  queen's  army, 
that  she  herself  was  there,  with  the  greatest  honour,  love,  and  applause 
noeived,  that  could  be  imagined  for  a  lady  and  a  queen.  She  rode  round 
about  her  army,  and  passed  through  every  part  thereof,  to  their  inesl^ 
nuMe  comfort ;  she  lodged,  and  did  eat  in  tne  camp,  as  qnietty  as'  ever 
she  did  in  her  own  chamber.  In  the  army  was  never  any  fray  or  discord-^; 
ezeicise  of  arms  was  daily  used,  and  showed  befbre  her,  to  her  greathonoor; 
y«a,  and  with  an  univenal  extolling  of  God's  name  every  day,  morning 
sod  evening,  in  loud  prayers  and  psalms;  and  the  like  song,  in  her  own 
haaring,  against  all  tyranny,  by  invasion,  of  God's  enemies ;  and  tBn 
evei^  man  may  judge  to  be  far  from  any  oolour  of  mutiny." 

Tlie  next  ^'  Packe,"  in  oider  of  time,  professes  to  be  ^  Advice  from 
Lcfndon,  which  the  Ambassadors  of  our  Sovereign  Lord  the  King,  resr- 
dbiit  in  Paris,  had  from  thenee."  This  letter  of  the  26th  of  August  affirms^ 
'^that  the  queen's  admiral-general  was  arrived  in  the  river  of  Londoa 
with  twenty-fiye  ships  only,  without  his  admiral's  ^ip,  whieh  was  taken 
by  our  admiral,  Saint  Jonn ;  and  it  is  well  known  in  England,  that  i» 
Inde  the  loss  of  their  admiral's  ship,  they  say  he  put  himself  in  a  smadler 
ship,  the  better  to  follow  our  army ;  and  it  is  known  for  certainty  that^he 
8av«d  himself  in  a  boat  when  he  lost  his  ship ;  that  Drake,  for  certainty^ 
is  taken  or  slain."  It  asserts,  likewise,  ''that  the  queen  eommandw, 
upon  pain  of  death,  that  nobody  should  speak  of  her  fleet  ....  and'that 
the  CathoKcs  (meaning  those  living  in  England),  understanding  that  all 
their  fleet  was  dispersed,  moved  a  certain  mutiny,  which  forced  the  queoi 
to  go  herself  into  the  field  ;  and  for  certain  it  is  known,  that  there  is- not 
brought  into  England  neither  ship  nor  boat  of  ours^  more  than  the  ship 
of  Don  Pedro  Valdee ;  and  that  our  fleet  was  gone  into  Scothind,  ana 
SRtved  in  a  haven  caHed  Traptna  Euxaten."  The  sturdy  EhgUshmaB 
hifignantly  rushes  to  the  charge.  '*  Here  fbUowethtbs  mountain  ofHea. 
It  is  reason,  that  if  there  were  liars  in  London,  diey  should  send  them  te 
Mendoxa;  for  so  mendaeia  are  of  more  price  with  him  than  true  repoHta^ 
and  so  was  he  accustomed,  when  he  was  ambassador  in  England,  to  bugf 
more  lies,  because  he>l&ed  them  better  ^n  truths.  If  one  shotdd  make 
A  section  or  anatomy  of  this  mountain  and  body  of  lies,  tbeie  is  napieee 
nor  jdnt  to  beflmnd  sound."  **  The  odmiral-skip,  which  was  ealled'liie 
Aik  BmJ,  was  safely  brought  home  by  the  loid-admiml  of  Bnglim(^ 
Laid  HoMd;h0aeverflb»gtd  her.    Shells,  thadkedheeod,  sefawith 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


200  A  Packe  of  Spanisk  Zg/es. 

other  the  queen's  rojal  ships.  She  is  ahle^  with  the  lord-admiral,  to  match 
in  fight  with  the  Duke  of  Medina,  or  any  prince  of  Christendom,  m  any ' 
ship  that  the  King  of  Spain  hath.  This  is  not  spoken  for  ostentadon ; 
but  God's  favour  b  assured  to  England,  In  the  justice  of  the  quarrel 
against  any  invader."  '^  The  last  hue  is  a  lie,  with  like  error  as  the 
former ;  for  there  is  no  haven  in  Scotland  called  Trapena  Euzaten.  This 
Mendoza  was  very  curious  to  forge  a  strange  name,  as  it  appeareth  he  had 
read  of  some  such  in  Peru  or  in  New  Spam.** 

The  age  of  Elizabeth  may  well  be  looked  back  upon  with  wistfulness  by 
«uch  as  hold  in  abomination  the  sentimentality  of  thou£;htand  vapidity  of 
expression  employed  in  the  present  day,  when  they  behold  such  vigour 
and  raciness  in  the  language  of  their  ancestors  nearly  three  centuries  ago. 
As  civilisation  advances,  thought  becomes  polished  and  refined ;  but  un* 
fortunately,  it  too  often  acquires  a  tendency,  in  unequally  balanced  minds, 
to  languishing  feebleness  and  attenuation.  As  men  depart  further  from 
a  primitive  condition,  in  that  degree  do  they  less  frequently  speak  the 
spontaneous  utterances  of  the  soul,  and  substitute  for  them  factitious  and 
artificial  imaginings. 

In  the  reply  given  to  the  following  letter  from  Diego  Peres,  chief  post- 
master of  LogronOy  of  the  2nd  of  September,  1688,  the  English  writer,  in 
a  most  happy  and  forcible  manner,  succinctly  describes  the  spoliation  of  the 
Armada  before  Calais  and  on  the  coasts  of  Scotland  and  Ireland.     "  The 
news  of  England  is  confirmed  here  by  a  letter  of  the  governor  of  Rouen. 
He  writeth,  he  hath  in  his  power  the  chief  pilot  of  Captain  Drake;  and 
that  he  knoweth  that  all  the  English  army  remained  overthrown,  having 
sunk  two-and-twenty  ships,   and  taken  forty,  and  imprisoned  Francis 
Drake,  having  given  them  chase  almost  as  high  as  Abspurge,  and  slain 
many  by  the  sword  ;  and  likewise  saith,  that  there  was  found  in  Captiun 
Drake's  ship  a  piece  of  ordnance  of  five-and-twenty  feet  long,  which  dis* 
charged  a  snot  of  a  hundred- weight  at  once,  made  on  purpose,  with  one 
only  shot,  to  sink  our  Spanish  admiral;  and  it  pleased  God,  although  she 
was  somewhat  battered,  yet  was  she  repaired  again,  and  overthrew  the 
English  army."     To  which  the  answer  is :  '*  The  governor  of  Rouen  is 
accounted  a  worthy  nobleman,  and  therefore  he  shall  do  well  to  make 
this  report  of  him  to  be  known  for  a  lie ;  for  so  surely  he  knoweth  it  to 
be,  that  there  was  never  either  a  chief  pilot  or  the  value  of  a  boy  of  Cap- 
tun  Drake's  taken,  and  brought  to  him  as  a  prisoner.     The  governors  of 
Boulogne  and  Calais  can  inform  the  governor  of  Rouen  how  fiilse  a  re- 
port it  was,  *  that  the  English  remained  overthrown  before  Calais.'     The 
English  army  fought  with  the  Spanish,  chased  the  Spanish  as  a  brace  of 
greyhounds  would  a  herd  of  deer.     The  Spaniards'  ships  were  beaten, 
spoiled,  burnt,  sunk — some  in  the  main  ^fita  before  Dunkirk,  some  before 
Flushing,  and  the  rest  chased  away ;  so  as  they  fled  continually  before 
the  Ens^lish  navy  in  their  best  order  for  strength,  without  daring  to  abide 
any  fight     Yea,  some  one  of  the  English  ships  fought  with  three  of  their 
galleasses ;  the  Spaniards  never  attempting  to  board  any  English,  but 
as  many  of  them  as  could  sail  away  fled  wiw  all  their  sails,  and  were  fol- 
lowed by  the  English,  until  they  were  chased  out  of  all  the  English  seasi 
and  forced  them  to  run  a  violent  course  about  Scotland,  and  so  to  Ireland* 
where  a  great  number  of  thehr  ships  are  drowned,  their  men  taken,  and 
jnany  killed  by  the  savage  people  tor  their  spoil.    And  the  English  navy, 


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A  Packe  of  Spanish  Lyen.  201 

upon  good  consideration,  left  them,  when  they  saw  them  so  hastily  to  fly 
desperately  into  the  northern  dangeroas  seas,  where  the  English  nav^-  did 
rery  certainly  know  that  there  would  be  no  safety  for  them  to  follow  the 
Spanish.  Why  durst  any  report  that  twenty-two  English  ships  were 
sunk,  and  forty  were  taken,  when  in  truth  there  was  not  any  one  of  the 
English  ships  sunk  or  taken?  A  strange  disposition  to  forge  such  great 
lies,  whereof  there  was  no  gpround  nor  colour.  If  any  one  or  two  of  the 
English  had  been  sunk,  a  liar  might  have  put  the  number  of  twenty  for 
two,  and  excuse  the  lie  by  error  of  figuring;  but,  of  none  in  number,  no 
number  can  be  made,  but  by  falsehood.  The  governor  of  Rouen,  being 
anuin  of  great  honour  and  virtue,  ought  to  revenge  this  shameful  lie  made 
upon  him  ;  for  Lucian  never  did,  in  all  his  lies,  use  more  impudency  than 
these  Spanbh  liars  do  report  of  him."  **  If  Drake's  ship  were  taken,  if 
there  was  such  a  piece  of  ordinance  of  such  a  length,  in  what  port  is  that 
ship?  in  whose  possession  is  that  piece  ?  Drake  is  returned  with  honour ; 
his  ship,  called  the  Revenge,  is  in  harbour,  ready  for  a  revenge  by  a  new 
service;  no  ship  lost,  no  ordnance  missing.  The  foolish  liar  maketh 
mention  of  Abspurge,  in  Scotland.  In  all  Scotland  is  no  such  place.  In 
Ciermany  is  a  country  called  Habspurg,  but  any  wager  may  \y&  laid  that 
none  of  the  Spanish  came  ever  thither.  Every  Kne,  or  every  sentence, 
containeth  a  lie." 

It  seems  strange  that  such  energetic  language  should  be  required,  as 
it  could  not  fail  to  be  soon  known  that  the  Armada  was  broken  up  and 
ruined ;  but  the  barefaced  obstinacy  and  impudence  of  this  Spanish 
assertor  in  maintaining  the  most  arrant  falsehoods  demanded  a  Eke  dog- 
gedness  in  their  stem  repudiation.  Indeed,  he  meets  with  more  than  his 
match.  Again,  alluding  still  more  directly  to  the  action  off  Calais,  a  fit 
rejoinder  immediately  appends  the  following : — '<  Copy  of  a  letter  that 
Pedro  de  Alva  did  write  ^om  Rouen,  the  first  of  September  of  the  same 
year,"  in  which  *'  it  is  holdeu  for  certain  that  they  (the  Spanish)  have 
fought  with  the  English,  and  broken  their  heads,  having  sunk  many  of 
their  ships,  and  taken  others  ;  and  the  rest,  which  they  say  were  twenty** 
seven  ships,  returned,  very  much  battered,  to  the  river  of  London,  which 
are  all  those  that  could  escape."  To  these  fables,  the  advocate  for  truth 
chafingly  replies,  that  '^  of  all  other  places,  none  could  make  a  truer 
report  than  Calais,  where  the  governor  and  all  the  inhabitants  saw  the 
Spanish  army  mightily  beaten  by  the  English ;  and  it  was  afiBrmed  by 
men  there  of  great  judgment,  that  never  was  seen,  by  any  man  living, 
such  a  batteiy,  so  great  for  number,  so  furious,  and  of  so  long  conti- 
nuance, as  the  Enghsh  made  against  the  Spanish.  Calais  saw  the  Spanish 
army  feat  driven  from  thdr  anchors  witn  fire ;  they  saw  the  greatest 
galliasse  of  the  Spanish,  whereof  was  commander  that  worthy  nobleman, 
Moncada,  spoiled,  and  himself  slain  in  the  galliasse  by  the  English. 
Calais  did  see  the  next  day  that  the  English  navy  fought  and  did  beat 
the  Spanish  Armada  from  eight  of  the  dock  in  the  morning  until  four  in 
the  afternoon  without  any  ceasing.  Calais  saw  the  Spanish  hoist  up  all 
their  sails  as  fast  as  wind  could  drive,  and  £he  Eng£sh  to  follow  and 
pursue  them ;  and  yet  Calais  saw  a  sufficient  navy  of  Engkod  left  before 
Dunkirk  able  to  master  all  the  shipping  that  the  Duke  of  Parma  had 
provided." 

'When  disaster  had  attended  the  invincible  Armada  from  the  time  of 


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2et  A  Faeht  of  Spanish  jA^et. 

itt  fint  setting  out  to  its  final  and  complete  breaking  up,  it  is  extraordi* 
aaiy  that  such  absurd  falsehoods  as  are  found  in  tiiese  letters  shoold  have 
been  coined  for  the  temporary  illusion  of  the  Spanish  public.  The  govern^ 
ment  of  that  country  mnst  nave  felt  itself  greatly  humiliated  by  the  de* 
ttraction  of  its  fleet,  to  have  been  compelled  to  resort  to  sudi  deceitful, 
not  to  say  despicable,  artifices.  These  fictions  are  dressed  in  various 
fiDims.  Another  "  Facke  of  Spanish  Lyes"  professes  to  give  a  ^'  relation 
of  that  which  hath  passed  till  this  day,  the  fifth  of  September,  1588,  till 
three  of  the  clock  in  the  afternoon,  known  by  the  relations  and  advice 
oome  to  his  majesty  from  the  happy  fleet,  whereof  is  general  the  Duke  of 
Medina,  in  the  conquest  of  England,*'  in  which  it  is  stated,  that  in  the 
first  fight  and  encounter,  '^  there  was  sunk  three  galliasses  and  four 
mighty  galleons  of  the  Queen's."  The  last  '^  Packe"  in  the  list  coolly 
produces  the  following  piece  of  intelligence,  very  satisfactory,  no  doubt, 
to  the  Spanish  nation — ^if  true  : 

^'  Out  of  England  was  advice  given,  that  on  the  thirteenth  arrived  fiT* 
teen  of  the  queen's  ships ;  and  they  said  that  the  galleon,  Saint  Martin, 
wherein  my  lord  the  duke  is  (whom  Cxod  preserve),  had  encountered 
with  Drake,  and  had  grappled  his  ship  and  captured  his  person,  imd 
other  noble  Englishmen,  and  taken  other  fifteen  stiips,  beside  otheis 
that  were  distressed ;  and  the  duke  with  his  fleet  followed  his  way  to 
Scotland,  because  the  wbd  was  not  come  about" 

This  strange  collection  of  fiibles  and  deceits  doses  with  the  ludicrous 
remark  that,  '<  with  these  news  his  majesty  resteth  very  much  contented, 
and  cauaeth  them  to  be  sent  to  the  empress,  by  the  mmds  of  Frandseo 
YdiaquesB,  his  secretary  of  state."  The  stout-hearted  Briton,  rejoicing 
at  the  complete  overthrow  of  the  once«terrible  Armada,  and  at  the 
tziamph  of  his  own  countrymen,  yet  full  of  wrath  at  the  presumption 
and  apparent  gladness  of  his  adversary,  thus  replies,  and,  like  the 
Spaniard,  sums  up  the  case,  but  with  a  very  different  conclusion : 

"  This  that  is  said  of  the  duke's  grappling  with  Drake's  ship,  and 
taking  of  him  captive,  and  many  other  noblemen  of  England,  is  like  all 
the  rest  of  the  lies.  The  duke,  after  he  went  from  Calais  towards  Scot- 
land, never  came  near  to  offer  fight  with  any  English  ship,  never  turned 
back  to  the  English  that  followed  him,  but  fled  away  as  wind  and  sail  could 
serve  him.  If  he  had  this  fortune  thus  falsely  reported,  it^  is  sure  that 
he  would  have  brought  both  Drake  and  some  of  the  noblemen  home  with 
him  into  Spain,  to  have  been  presented  to  the  king,  and  not  have  gone 
home  to  his  own  house  without  sight  of  the  king.  But,  in  truth,  tlisse 
was  not  one  nobleman  or  gentleman  of  any  marie,  that  went  to  the  sea, 
that  was  either  slain  or  taken ;  all  are  living,  and  are  as  willing,  by  God's 
favour,  to  adventure  their  lives,  as  ever  diey  were,  against  any  of  the 
queen's  enemies,  when  she  shall  command  them."  In  reference  to  the 
eontentment  of  the  king  upon  the  above  news,  he  says :  <*  And  where 
this  news  did  much  content  the  king,  it  is  likely  that  if  he  thought  them 
true^  he  was  glad  thereof;  for  so  had  his  majesty  canse.  But  he  is 
thought  too  wise  to  have  thought  thai  afW  he  understood  that  the  duke 
and  ^1  his  army  had  fled  from  the  coast  of  Flanders  and  England,  that 
ever  they  were  like  to  have  any  victory  of  the  English.  No,  eontcari- 
wise,  the  king  and  all  his  wise  counsellors  had  cause  to  lament  the 
daagoBB  whecevnto  of  nacesMty  Us  Amiad»  diOQld  £dl,  by  paasing  the 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


ScoUUb  Cnminal  Trials.  20S 

dftngerous  ooasts,  lalaaidfi,  and  monstrous  rocks  of  Scotland  and  Ireland; 
of  more  danger  to  his  navy  to  pass,  than  to  have  passed  from  Lisbon  to 
the  Moluccas,  and  home  again."  He  then  winds  up  the  whole  (adding 
^o  or  three  apdy-chosen  texts  of  Scripture,  such  as,  ^*  Wherefore,  cast 
off  lying,  and  speak  every  man  the  truth  unto  his  neighbour,  for  we  are 
members  one  of  another"),  by  jeeringly  alluding  to  the  probability  of  the 
bearer  of  such  outrageous  intelligence  to  the  empress  receiving  a  reward 
from  her.  '^  It  is  to  be  thought  that  if  the  empress  gave  the  secretary^ 
Tdiaquez,  any  reward  for  the  news,  as  it  is  likely  she  did,  she  may  justly 
require  it  again  from  him,  and  give  him  charge  not  to  bring  her  majesty^ 
nor  the  king,  his  master,  any  such  notorious  lies  hereafter ;  for  if  he  use 
it  often,  he  is  unworthy  to  be  secretary  to  so  great  a  king.*' 

The  pompous  title  given  to  the  Armada  by  Pope  Siztus  V.,  who  be* 
■towed  upon  it  his  special  blessmg,  that  of  ''the  great,  noble,  and  in« 
vincible  army  and  terror  of  Europe,"  proved  to  be  singularly  unmerited. 
hs  ignominious  overthrow  reminds  us  of  the  explosion  of  artillery  when 
attended  by  the  destruction  only  of  those  who  had  furnished  the  lighted 
match.  While  gleanii^  a  history  of  this  great  event,  in  the  antiquated 
documents  from  which  our  quotations  have  been  taken,  this  remarkable 
international  controversy  imparts  to  the  mind  a  freshness  and  relish  in 
Ae  oonsideration  of  an  already  deeply-interesting  subject 


SCOTTISH  CRIMINAL  TRIALS.* 
Bugged  in  aspect  and  austere  in  climate,  Scotland,  notwithstanding 
its  general  character  for  industry,  integrity,  and  morality,  is  celebrated 
for  its  Criminal  Trials.  The  hostility  of  races,  the  feuds  of  clans,  and 
mountain  and  castle  seclusion,  have  been  among  the  chief  sources  of 
crime  ;  but  in  such  a  country,  superstition  also  begat  witchcraft  ;  spectral 
and  dream  testimony  has  not  been  disregarded  ;  and  even  piety  has  been 
made  to  assume — as  is  too  frequently  the  case — ^the  form  of  deadly  reU- 
gious  persecution. 

Mr.  John  Hill  Burton,  in  collecting  his  records  of  these  dark  proceed- 
ings, has  not  told  his  tales  well.  With  the  exception  of  one  or  two  in- 
stances, everything  is  fragmentary;  events  are  reasoned  about,  not 
narrated ;  strange  incidents  and  mysterious  causes  are  alluded  to,  never 
unfolded ;  and  even  when  an  attempt  is  made  at  relating  one  of  these 
many  eventful  histories,  the  narrative  never  assumes  either  an  animated, 
a  picturesque,  or  a  dramatic  character.  Looking,  however,  to  Mr.  Bur- 
ton's proneness  to  argument  and  generalisation  rather  than  to  narrative, 
he  brings  out  some  things — ^as  the  hostility  of  races — ^in  a  very  clear  and 
distinct  light. 

The  proceedings  against  the  Clan  Gregor,  for  example,  fill  up  a  goodly 
portion  of  the  first  volume ;  and  Mr.  Burton  justly  remarks  upon  these 
predatory  habits  of  a  clan,  handed  down  from  father  to  son  for  genera- 
tions, that  if  one  were  desired  to  point  out  upon  the  map— on  no  surer 
ground  than  the  mere  physical  character  of  the  country — that  spot 
which  must  have  been  the  main  battle-field  between  the  Celtic  races 

«  Narratives  ftom  Criminal  TVials  in  Scotland.  ]By  John  Hill  Barton.  9^s» 
Chapman  and  HaQ. 


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204  Scotiuh  Criminal  Trmli 

living  among  the  mountains,  ^and.  the  people  of  SaxOn  origin,  who  tifled 
the  plain^  he  would  naturally  point  to  the  mass  of  broken  mountains 
cIuBtering  about  Loch  Lomond  and  Loch  Catrine,  which  strike  from  the 
great  mountain  ranges  of  the  north  right  into  the  most  fertile  plains  anj 
valleys  of  the  south.  In  the  *'  good "  old  times,  when  the  predatory 
Celt  kept  as  naturally  to  mountain  fastnesses,  and  the  industrious  Saxon 
to  fertile  lowlands,  as  the  buffalo  to  the  prairie  and  the  tiger  to  the  jungle,' 
the  Trossachs  were  all  the  more  yaluable  to  the  untamed  freebooters  of 
the  Clan  Gregor,  from  their  vicinity  to  a  rich  cultivated  country*  The 
earliest  notice  of  habits  which  have  since  been  so  familiarisea  to  the 
English  reader  by  the  potent  pen  of  the  Magician  of  the  North,  occurs, 
according  to  Mr.  Burton,  in  1633,  when  Patrick  MacCoule  Kere  Mae- 
giegor  was  charged  with  his  two  brothers,  "  in  company  with  sundry 
rebels  of  the  Clan  Gregor>"  with  stealing  forty  cows  from  the  Earl  it 
Monteitb.  But  it  would  appear  that  they  were  always  engaged  in 
such  pursuits ;  and  that,  divested  of  all  romance  and  savage  mcidents, 
the  origin  and  main  source  of  this  long-continued  and  fierce  conflict  wilii 
the  law  was  the  vulgar  but  all-powerf cd  one— the  desire  of  food  and  other 
useful  plunder.  The  remedy  sought  by  government  against  these  depre* 
dations  and  outrages,  which  consisted  in  strengthening  the  hands  of  the 
injured  parties,  and  of  all  who  hated  the  Maegregors,  and  hounding  them 
on  to  vengeance,  was  rather  calculated  to  increase  than  to  diminish  the 
evil. 

The  ravages  of  the  Maegregors  attained  a  climax  in  an  event  which 
figures  in  Scottish  history  as  the  Battle  of  Gleniruin ;  or,  the  Raid  of  the 
Lennox.  Archibald,  Earl  of  Argyle,  had  also  one  of  the  Maegregors, 
Laird  of  Glenstrae,  executed,  aud  measures  were  even  taken,  but  in 
vain,  to  suppress  the  name  altogether.  One  of  the  predecessors  of 
Rob  Roy,  as  a  leader  of  this  brigand  clan,  was  Patrick  Ma(^;regor, 
better  known  in  proee  and  rhyme  as  Gilroy,  or  Gilderoy.  This  hero  of 
highway  ijpmance  was  gibbeted,  and  his  head  and  hand  were  affixed  on 
the  east  or  netherbow  port  of  Edinburgh.  Patrick  Roy  Macgregor,  who 
also  underwent  the  last  penalty  of  the  law,  was  another  notorious  rob- 
ber, murderer,  and  arson.  Of  Rob  Roy,  the  hero  of  Scott^s  magnificent 
romance,  it  appears  that  little  can  be  said  in  a  narrative  drawing  its  ma- 
terials from  criminal  trials.  Rob  Roy,  in  fact,  was  not  so  much  a  criminal 
as  a  scamp ;  and  his  misdeeds,  instead  of  the  btunings,  sieges,  abductions, 
and  murders,  which  blacken  the  memory  of  his  predecessors,  are  associated 
with  dishonoured  bills,  fraudulent  bankruptcy,  and  swindled  cattle-dealers. 
The  ancient  spirit,  however,  revived  in  his  sons — ^the  abduction  of  Jane 
Key,  the  young  heiress  of  Aberfoyle,  imparting  quite  a  romantic  bak> 
over  that  epoch  of  the  Gregors.  It  was  not,  indeed,  undl  the  year  1775, 
that  the  opprobrium  thrown  on  the  name  of  Macgregor  was  removed  by 
an  act  of  the  British  parliament  "  Since  that  day,  the  once  dreaded 
name  has  been  sounded  with  respect  at  drawing-room  doors,  in  levees,  in 
bank-parlours,  and  on  the  hustings.'^  It  is  also  but  fur  to  add,  that  the 
turbulence  of  the  Clan  Gregor  was,  under  the  rule  of  the  Presbyterians 
and  of  Cromwell,  made  to  assume  a  political  character,  and  was  inter- 
preted as  loyalty  to  the  house  of  Stuart  Some  Celtic  apologists  also 
go  so  far  as  to  hold  that  the  Maegregors  were  a  pure  and  persecuted 
race,  whose  outrages  were  but  the  recalcitrattons  ot  high-minded  men 
against  calculating  oppression. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Scoitiih  Crimmal  Triak.  205 

The  Darien  expedition,  like  the  discoTeries  of  Columbus  and  the  fixst 
Aictic  YOjagegy  weie  stimulated  chiefly  hy  the  search  for  gold.  This  ex- 
pedition terminated  in  dis&race  and  discomfiture,  which  it  was  attempted 
to  repair  by  piracy ;  and  nence  the  trial  of  Captain  Green,  which  Mr. 
Burton  has  related  at  length,  without  its  possessing  any  very  remarkable 
interest.  The  burning  of  Frendraught,  the  principal  residence  of  the 
Crichtons,  in  Aberdeenshire,  in  order  to  consume  the  rival  guests  of  the 
Gordon  clan,  is  a  more  characteristic  Scottish  feudal  story  ;  but  this  tra- 
gedy, round  which  many  of  the  traditions  of  the  north  centre,  has  been 
told  in  rhyme  as  well  as  prose,  and  Motherwell's  Minstrelsy  gives  it  to 
the  reader  exactly  as  the  peasant  would  repeat  it  to  the  curious  listener. 

It  is  difficult  to  detect,  in  the  Scottish  criminal  records,  any  trace  of 
prophetic  dreams,  the  second-sight,  or  the  other  superstitions  which  were 
rife  in  Scotland,  and  might  be  deemed  peculiarly  valuable  as  instruments 
for  the  revelation  of  crime.  Their  absence,  Mr.  Burton  hints,  must  be 
attributed  to  that  reluctance  which  the  spiritual  world  has  ever  shown  to 
appear  before  a  jury.  It  is  indeed  unmrtunate  that  when  any  of  these 
instances  are  so  specific  that  one  could  trace  them  into  the  criminal 
records,  they  are.  still  always  referred  to  distant  places.  Thus,  *'  Mr. 
Roiy  Madeod,  son  to  the  deceased  Mr.  Norman  Macleod,  some  time  mi- 
nister of  Kilmuir,"  when  he  gives  such  an  instance  of  the  second-sight  as 
must  have  necessarily  connected  itself  with  judicial  proceedings,  carries  it 
across  the  Atlantic,  though,  in  other  instances  of  second-sight,  his  own 
fiunily  is  fertile  enough. 

He  tells  us  how,  in  the  year  1745,  Jonathan  Easton,  of  Newport,  in  Rhode 
Island,  left  bis  housekeeper  in  charge  of  a  store  of  nun.  There  was  an  Indian 
girl  who  wanted  some  of  the  liquor ;  and  being  refused,  she  murdered  the 
housekeeper,  and  threw  her  into  a  draw-well.  After  bis  return  home,  as  Mr. 
Easton  was  in  bed,  he  saw  an  apparition,  between  sleep  and  awake,  informing 
him  the  Indian  girl  had  murdered  his  servant,  and  thrown  her  iuto  the  draw- 
weU,  of  which  he  did  not  at  first  take  any  notice  s  but  the  scene  being  thrice 
repeated,  he  considered  there  might  be  something  iu  it ;  whereupon  he  called 
one  of  the  town-council,  and  both  going  to  the  well,  found  the  body  of  the  girl, 
and  thereupon  seized  the  Indian  maid,  who  immediately  confessed  the  murder, 
for  which  she  was  executed. 

Among  the  multitudinous  superstitions,  Mr.  Burton  tells  us,  which  the 
historian  Wodrow  (the  author  of  '*  Treatise  on  Second-S^ht")  preserved 
in  his  private  memorandum-book,  there  are  some  which,  if  they  were  se- 
riously believed,  should  have  found  iheir  way  into  the  records  of  a  court 
of  justidaiy.  For  instance,  there  is  the  following  account  of  the  fore* 
shadowing  of  a  murder.  The  seer  is  supposed  to  bis  enjoying  the  hospi- 
talitiea  of  a  country  mansion  : 

At  supper-time,  there  being  some  otlier  stranger  at  table,  the  gentleman  of 
tlie  house  entertained  him  very  kindly.  They  were  all  very  cheery,  till,  in  a 
little  time,  that  gentleman  who  was  the  guest  began  to  be  very  pensive,  which 
was  observed  in  his  countenance  and  by  his  silence ;  so  that  the  whole  com- 
pany turned  all  upon  him,  and  challenged  him  why  he  was  turned  so  grave  and 
sullen,  being  so  good  company  before.  He  answered,  nothing  ailed  him,  and 
began  to  force  himself  to  a  feigned  cheerfulness,  but  found,  at  last,  it  would  not 
do.  So,  rising  from  the  table,  and  touching  another  stranger  gentleman  in  the 
company,  in  order  to  speak  with  him  aside,  they  went  both  to  the  door,  and  he 
addresses  him  thus :  "  Oh,  sir,  I  cannot  conceal  an;jr  longer  the  reason  of  my 
present  discomposure^  which  is  this.    I  see  a  dirk  sticking  in  the  breast  of  the 

June — VOL.  xcy;  no.  cccLZXVin.  r 


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306  Scottish  Criminal  Triab. 

gentleman  of  diii  honse,  and  I  an  penuaded  he  will  be  muideied  aae  way  or 
odier  this  night,  except  meanabe  taken  to  prevent  it. 

All  neoetsary  ppecautions  were  taken  to  avoid  the  catastrophe ;  butthemaa 
was  foredoomed.  His  fate  made  him  step  out  of  the  house  in  the  middle  of 
the  night,  and  a  tinker,  or  gipsy,  who  owed  him  an  old  grudge,  and  had  long 
Iain  in  wait  for  his  life,  staboed  him. 

Most  of  Wodiow's  supernatural  events,  like  the  miracles  of  the  Yitm 
Sanctorum,  are  friendly  to  his  own  Church,  and  very  prejudicial  to  its  op- 
ponents. Some  of  the  inddents  are  also  extremely  piotunesque.  The 
following  account  of  the  fate  of  an  apostate  will  renund  the  reader  of  (be 
story  of  Alp,  in  Byron's  "  Siege  of  Corinth.'* 

It's  said,  that  some  days  before  his  death,  as  he  was  walking  in  the  links, 
about  the  twilieht,  at  a  pretty  distance  from  the  town,  he  espyed,  as  it  wer,  a 
woman  all  in  white,  standing  not  farr  from  him,  who  immediately  disappeared ; 
and  he,  coming  up  presently  to  the  place,  saw  nae  person  there,  though  the 
links  be  very  plain ;  only,  casting  his  eye  on  the  place  where  shee  stood,  be 
saw  two  words  drawn,  or  written,  as  it  had  been  with  a  staff^  upon  the  aaad, 
"sentenced  and  condemned!"  upon  which  he  came  home  pensive  and  melaii- 
choly,  and  in  a  little  sickens  and  dyes.  What  to  make  of  this»  or  what  truth  b 
in  it,  I  cannot  tell ;  only  I  had  it  from  a  minister,  who  lives  nigh  to  Montcoae. 
— Wodrow's  "  Analecta,"  i.,  101-102. 

Though  such  things  were  believed  by  learned  divines  and  the  oom- 
numity  in  general,  Mr.  Burton  says  he  only  remembers  one  inatanoe  in 
which  a  prophetic  dream  appears  in  connexion  with  a  oriminal  trial ;  and 
that  occurred  so  lately  as  the  year  1831. 

In  that  year  a  young  Highlander  was  tried  and  executed  for  the  robbery  and 
murder  of  a  pedlar  in  the  wilds  of  Assvnt,  in  Ros»«hire.  A  certain  Kenneth 
Fraser,  a  village  tailor,  pointed  out  the  place  where  the  plunder  was  hidden, 
and  stoutly  maintained  that  it  had  been  revealed  to  him  in  a  dream.  Like 
that  of  Sergeant  Davies  (the  best  story  in  the  work,  but  too  long  for  excerpt), 
the  revelation  was  in  Gaelic — a  &vounte  language  in  the  spiritual  world.  The 
testimony  is  given  thus :  **  I  was  at  home  when  I  had  the  dream,  in  the  jnonth 
of  Februar^r.  It  was  said  to  me  in  my  sleep,  by  a  voice  like  a  man's,  that  the 
pack  was  lying  in  such  a  place.  I  got  a  sjdit  of  the  placcy  just  as  if  I  had  been 
awake.  I  never  saw  the  plsce  betore.  The  voice  said,  in  Gaelic,  '  The  pack 
of  the  merchant  is  lying  in  a  caim  of  stones,  in  a  hole  near  their  bouse.'  The 
voice  did  not  name  the  Madeods  ;  but  he  got  a  sight  of  the  ground,  fronting 
the  south,  with  the  sun  shining  on  it,  and  a  burn  running  beneath  Macleod's 
house." 

The  jury  did  not,  in  this  case,  reject  satisftictoTy  evideoceof  the  crime  be- 
cause it  was  mixed  up  with  this  nlly  story.  The  clergyman  of  the  parish 
•thought  tit  to  "improve"  the  whole  story  into  a  "voice  fh>m  the  boroers  of 
eternity,*'  in  which,,  not  content  with  a  solemn  commentarvon  the  tailor's 
dream,  he  adds  to  the  marvellous  history  by  relating  an  equally  prophetic  one 
which  visited  the  murderer.  When  in  custody  for  his  crime,  he  dreamed  that 
he  was  in  a  strange  burial-ground,  where  he  saw  his  father  digging  a  grave,  with 
a  coffin  beside  it.  The  father  bade  him  lie  down  in  it ;  but,  appearing  to  take 
compassion  on  him,  released  him,  saying,  "  Well,  Hugh,  go  ibr  this  time,  until 
about  a  year  after  this ;  but  in  much  about  a  year,  remember,  your  coffin  will 
meet  you.**  The  account  we  have  of  the  fulfilment  is  this :  **  Mlscleod  imagined 
that  this  dream  foretold  his  acquittal  at  the  circuit  at  Inverness,  and  he  left 
Dornoch  in  high  expectations.  Strange  to  say,  at  that  ctrcnit  his  trial  was 
postponed  for  want  of  a  sufficient  number  of  jurors ;  and  when  ^e  next  circnit 
came,  it  was  agaib  adjourned  for  want  of  a  material  witness,  and  a  whole 
twelvemonth  and  some  daj'S  elapsed  before  he  was  condemned  to  death  * 


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(  aw   ) 


YOUNG  TOM  HALL'S  HEART-ACHES  AND  HORSES. 
Chapter  XXVII. 

Mrs.  Haix  being  busy  arranging  her  domestic  affairs  in  the  kitchen-^ 
making  mince  for  Christmas  pies,  if  the  troth  must  be  known — and  "  Sivin- 
and-foor^  never  showing  to  callers,  company  callers  at  least,  our  friend 
Ab  colonel  had  ample  time  for  making  a  mental  inventory  of  the  furni- 
ture of  their  drawing-room  while  shut  up  in  it  alone,  whi<m  he  did,  com- 
mffnnnig  with  the  old,  well-indented  nigh-backed  chairs,  with  black 
hone-nair  seats,  which  he  valued  at  four-and-sixpence  each,  going  on  to 
the  old  red  merino  damask  curtains,  which  he  felt  a  difSculty  in  putting 
a  prioe  upon,  not  being  able  to  guess  the  Quantity  in  the  ba£;gy  hang^gs, 
though  be  fixed  thirty  shillings  as  the  value  of  the  rouncC  eagle-topped 
mirror,  and  thought  the  brass  fender  and  fire-irons  might  fetch  five-and- 
tweniy  shillings  at  a  sale. 

**  (aad  woi9)  it,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  what  a  screwdrivin^  skinflintin*, 
usorions  appearance  evervthing  has  in  this  house ;  one  could  almost  &dcy 
die  wdls  and  crannies  filled  with  coin,  and  the  very  ceilin'  swaggin'  with 
the  weight  of  iron  chests.  What  a  nasty  shabby  rug  too,"  continued  he, 
kiddng  at  the  comer  of  a  much- worn  drab  worsted-worked  rag,  with  a 
green  cat  lapping  out  of  a  pink  saucer  in  the  middle,  considered  a  perfect 
.tritunph  of  the  art  at  the  time  it  was  done.  ^^  The  carpet,  too,  's  un- 
common mean — a  reg'lar  Scot  I  do  believe,"  continued  he,  stooping  to 
examine  it,  addine,  as  he  eyed  the  grey  dragget  above,  ''I  wonder 
whether  it's  covered  to  keep  it  clean  or  to  hide  Sie  firays  ?" 

While  the  colonel  was  in  the  act  of  turning  the  drugget  back  with  hb 
foot  to  examine,  Mrs.  Hall — ^who  had  now  done  by  an  old  blue  shot-silk 
dress  with  white  spots  what  the  colonel  suspected  she  had  done  by  her 
earpet^  namely,  covered  the  stains  and  spots  in  hout  with  a  gaudUy 
flower- worked  brown  silk  apron,  and  the  deficiencies  of  the  waist  with  a 
black  woollen  polka  jacket  with  a  grey  border — noiselessly  entered  the 
room  and  stood  behind  him. 

<'  Ah !  my  dear  Mrs.  Brown — I  mean,  Mrs.  Buss — that's  to  say,  Mrs. 
Hall — I'm  so  glad  to  see  ye,"  exclaimed  he,  seizing  her  by  her  warm,  puffy 
hand — *^  Vm  so  glad  to  see  ye  you  can't  think ;  lookin'  so  well,  too — 1 
dedaie  it  does  one  good  to  see  such  a  buxom  body  as  you.  I'd  just 
dropt  a  sixpence^"  continued  he,  looking  at  the  msorcfered  drugget; 
**  but,  however,  never  mind ;  let  the  g^l  have  it — ^let  the  ^1  have  it ; 
she'll  find  it  when  she  sweeps  the  room." 

**  Oh,  but  well  find  it,  colonel,"  replied  Mrs.  Hall,  preparing  to  search 
for  it 

**  Couldn't  think  of  such  a  thing!— couldn't^  by  Jove  I'^  exd^med  he, 
laiflHig  her  up,  and  backing  bar  towards  a  roomy  arm-chair,  into  which 
the  hdy  now  subsided. 

"  Well,  mum,"  said  the  colonel,  settling  himself  into  another  at  her 
side,  "  I'm  sorry  to  hear  my  young  friend  Joe— hio,  not  Joe " 

^  Tummus,"  mterposed  Mrs.  Hall. 

"Ah  I  trae,"  responded  the  colonel— " Thomas.     I  was  thinking  of 

r  2 


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Sd8  Y^H^  Twi  HoWm  Hk^rt-ackis  and  Horse$. 

that  iigfy  lad  (yf  Tuokei^a;  his  name's  Joe— Joseph,  at  least— Joseph 
Tucker,  not  Tommy  Tucker,  as  I  tell  him  it  ought  to  be — haw,  haw,  haw. 
Well,  mum,"  repeated  he,  "  Fm  sorry  to  hear  my  young  fnend  Thomas 
has  had  a  fall  out  a  hunting  very  sorry  indeed  to  hear  of  it,  so  is  Mrs. 
Blunt  and  my  daughter;  couldn't  sleep,  none  of  us,  for  thinkin'  of  it;  and 
they  have  sent  me  down  with  their  kindest  compliments,  and  all  that  sort 
of  thing,  to  in^ire  how  he  is." 

^*  Thaok'e,  colonel,  thank'e,'*  replied  Mrs.  Hall,  smoothing  the  fine 
apron  over  the  side  of  the  seedy  eown  next  the  neat  man.  *'  Tummus 
is — ^is — %'ery  well,  I  thank  yon,  colonel,*'  replied  stie ;  <<  was  rather  a  litde 

fiitigued  last  night,  but— but ^ 

While  all  this  was  going  on,  Tom,  who  had  been  startled  with  the 
clamorous  knocking  at  the  street  door,  with  infinite  labour,  for  he  was 
both  stiff  and  sore,  had  managed  to  lift  his  legs  into  his  trousers,  and  ex- 
cusing  his  downy  chin  its  usual  beard-growing  scrape,  had  made  a  hasty 
toilette,  in  order  to  catch  the  colonel  before  his  departure.  He  now  came 
hobbling,  and  holding  on  by  the  bannister,  down  stairs. 

"  My  dear  Hall,  how  are  you  V*  exclaimed  the  colonel,  rising  from  his 
chair  with  a  desperate  effort,  like  a  cow  in  a  lair,  as  our  young  friend 
now  opened  the  aoor  and  came  shuffling  into  the  room.  ''  My  dear  Hall, 
how  are  you?"  repeated  the  colonel,  advancing,  and  getting  him  by  both 
hands,  and  looking  earnestly  in  his  &ce. 

"  Why,  I'm — I'm  rather  stiff— sore,  that's  to  say,"  replied  Tom,  wrig- 
gling and  rubbing  himself. 

'^  Don't  wonder  at  it !"  exdaimed  the  colonel  at  the  top  of  his  voice — 
''don't  wonder  at  it;  enough  to  make  any  man  stiff  and  sore;  you  had 
a  desp'mte  day — desp'rate  day,  indeed.  Angelena  came  home  all 
trashed  and  draggled  to  death.  I  was  very  angry  with  her  for  perseverin'. 
Women  have  no  business  tearin'  across  country;  very  well  to  go  and 
see  the  hounds  throw  off,  but  they  should  stop  as  soon  as  they  find — at  all 
events,  they  should  never  think  of  followin'  when  they  drop  into  a  quick 
thing — a  but^  in  fact.  Besides,  as  I  told  her,  she  was  ridm'  your  horse, 
and  had  no  business  to  take  the  shine  out  of  her  in  that  way.  Indeed, 
if  the  mare  hadn't  been  the  very  best  bit  of  horseflesh  that  ever  was 
foaled,  she  never  could  have  got  to  the  end,  for  Angelena's  no  horse- 
woman, poor  things — not  a  Ht  of  one.  Her  mother  tells  her  she  has 
only  one  £&ult — that  of  having  far  too  much  money ;  but  I  tell  her  she 
has  another — that  of  being  a  very  indifferent  horsewoman — ^haw,  haw, 
haw — ^he,  he,  he>— -ho,  ho,  ho ;  however,"  continued  he,  checking  his 
risible  faculties,  ''I'm  deuced  glad  to  see  you  all  safe  and  sound;  fa&  are 
nasty  things,  very  nasty  things — &11  one  ever  so  softly.  And  how  did 
your  horse  please  you  ?"  asked  the  colonel. 

"  Nastiest  beast  I  ever  rode  in  my  life,*'  replied  Tom,  who,  though  he 
had  not  ridden  a  great  many,  could  still  find  fault ;  <'  nastiest  beast  I  ever 
rode  in  my  life,"  repeated  he,  thinking  of  the  way  the  brute  threw  up 
its  head  to  die  danger  of  Tom's  ivories  and  the  detriment  of  his  features. 
'^  What,  was  he  fractious  or  violent,  or  what  ?"  asked  iiie  coIoneL 
''  Oh,  evervthing  that  he  oughtn't  to  be,"  replied  Tom;  "  he  bored, 
and  he  pulled,  and  he  fruned,  and  he  fretted,  and  he  rushed  at  his  fences, 
and  wo^d  go  his  own  way ;  altogether,  I  think  I  never  saw  such  an 
animal.'^  .     . 


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Young  Tom  Hdffs  Hkitrt'^eKks  uOi  JSorm*  90$ 

<< Indeed!*'  exclaimed  the  colcmrf,  with  weH^ftignad  MoonbmfQt; 
^'yoasurprise  me."  ' 

^'  He  sarprised  me,  I  can  tell  yooi''  rallied  Tom, ''  for  I  imderstood  lie 
was  apeifect  hunter — a  horse  that  I  had  notlua'  to  do  but  sit  still  on." 

''What  a  pity  !'V  ejaculated  Mrs.  Hail,  who  feared  that  her  sou  hod 
been  done. 

^'Well,  I'm  sorry  for  it,"  obeerred  the  colonel,  after  a  pause-— 
"  Teiy  soriy  for  it — very  sorry  indeed.  Not  that  I  have  anytning  to 
reproiEkch  myself  with  in  the  matter,  for  if  you  remember,  I  by  no  means 
encouraged  you  to  think  of  this  horse;  but  Fibbey  will  be  sony  to  hear 
of  it>  for  he  gave  himself  a  good  deal  of  trouble  about  it,  and  fl&ttesed 
himself  he  had  mounted  you  imexceptionally — most  unexoeptionally ; 
indeed,  I  heard  him  tell  old  Quitter,  the  vet,  that  he  thought  if  he  could 
buy  you  such  another,  you'd  be  the  best  mounted  man  in  the  country." 
"  Indeed !"  shuddered  Tom,  at  the  thought. 

''  Fact,  I  assure  you,"  replied  the  colonel,  with  a  jerk  of  his  bull*head ; 
**  and  Fibbe/s  reckoned  one  of  the  best  judees  of  horse-flesh  in  her 
Majesty's  service.  There's  no  man  whose  judgment  I'd  sooner  buy  a 
horse  on  as  bis." 

'*  Perhaps  there's  a  difference  between  a  soldierin'  horse  and  a  huntin' 
horse,"  observed  Mrs.  Hall. 

''  Mum,  this  was  a  huntin'  horse,^'  replied  the  colonel ;  ''  considered 
one  of  the  best  huntin'  horses  in  the  Royal  Hunt*— that's  the  Queen's." 

''  Indeed,"  replied  Mrs.  Hall,  smoothing  out  her  apron  again. 

''Captain  Smallbere's  horse  was  the  horse  for  you,"  observed  the 
colonel,  in  the  coolest  manner  possible ;  just  as  if  the  captain's  horse  and 
£he  one  Tom  bought  were  really  difSsrent  animals,  instead  of  being  one 
and  the  same— the  same,  at  least,  except  in  as  far  as  clipping  and  sauaring 
the  tail  made  any  difference.  "  I  always  thought  Captain  Smallbere^ 
horse  was  the  horse  for  you,"  repeated  the  colonel,  scrutinising  his  ex- 
pectant son-in-law's  vacant  countenance,  to  ti!y  if  be  could  scan  whether 
ne  had  any  inkling  of  the  deception  that  had  been  practised  upon  him. 

"  He  couldn't  have  suited  me  worse,"  replied  Tom,  lifting  one  fat  leg 
with  difficulty  on  to  the  other,  adding,  "  I  declare  I  feel  just  as  if  I  had 
been  possed  m  a  washin*-tub." 

"  I  dare  say  you  do,"  replied  the  colonel ;  "just  as  if  you'd  be^ 
kicked  all  round  about  the  town.** 

"  IVecisely  so,*'  said  Tom,  feeling  his  &t  back. 

"But  that's  not  all  attributable  to  the  horse,"  observed  the  colonel; 
"all  people  are  more  or  less  sti£F  after  the  first  day's  huntin'." 

"  Are  they  ?"  said  Tom,  thinking  he  might  perhaps  get  over  it. 

"  It*s  severe  exercise,"  observed  we  colonel — "  very  severe  exerdse." 

"  I'm  sure  I  can't  think  what  pleasure  there  is  in  such  work,"  observed 
Jibs.  HaU. 

"  Oh,  why,  mum,  it's  a  British  amusement^"  replied  the  colonel ;  "  it's 
a  manly  sport  too,  and  brings  people  acquainted  tnat  would  otherwise  be 
strangers.  There's  no  better  introduction  for  a  young  man  of  figur^  and 
fertin ,  like  your  son,  than  at  the  cover-nde." 

"  But  if  ne  breaks  his  neck  ?"  exdiumed  Mrs.  Hall. 

"  Oh,  mum,  there's  no  fear  of  that— none  at  all,"  replied  Colonel 
Bhmt.    "He's  made  an  unlucky  hit  at  firsts  but  that's  what  ahnost 


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210  Fenng  Tim  Salts  Remrt^aekBs  and  Hones. 

everyhoij  does ;  few  people  get  themselTes  suited  at  first*;  but  die  weiU*8 
Tery  wide,  mum,  and  men  with  money  need  never  be  dbmoanted  awd 
nerer  ride  unsuitable  burses." 

'^Turnmus  gave  a  mat  deal  for  this  quadruped/'  sighed  Mrs.  Hall. 

''Did  he?"  replied  the  colonel,  pretending  not  to  know^-^'didhe? 
Major  Fibs  never  said  what  he  gave,  but  I  presume  he  would  never  t\uA 
of  pnttin*  your  son  on  a  cheap  'un.  However,  thoucffa  he  doo't  suit 
Thomas,  he  may  suit  some  one  else,  and  he's  a  horse  that  wiU  be  easily 
£spo8ed  of  .^ 

^*  Mr.  Woodcock  has  offei^  to  change  wilb  me,**  obsei^red  Tom,  <^{er 
one  of  hb." 

**  Mr.  Woodcock — Jemmy  Woodcock,"  replied  the  cobnel ;  "  very  niot 
gentleman — deep  dog,  for  all  he  wears  a  shallow  hat — have  nothin'  to  da 
with  him.** 

*<  Why  not?"  asked  Tom. 

*' Biggest  rogue  gom',"  replied  the  colonel;  *^ would  ofaeat  has  olm 
father." 

"  Shockin'  man  I**  exolaimed  Mrs.  Hall. 

**  Horrid  feller,"  assented  the  colonel ;  *^  have  nothin'  to  do  with  inm/* 

*'  He  wasn't  a  bad-Uke  horse,"  observed  Tom,  who  was  lalher  taken 
with  the  animal. 

'< What,  a  ^ger  chestnut?'*  asked  the  colonel. 

"No;  a  bay,"  re|£ed  Tom. 

"A  bay,"  repeated  the  cobnel;  '*a  b^.  Ab,  he  has  got  a  bay,  I 
believe,  now;  swapped  away  ihe  chestaut  n>r  it." 

*' What's  the  matter  with  him  ?"  asked  Tom. 

^  Old  as  &e  hills,"  replied  the  colonel ;  "  teeth  as  long  as  my  ana,* 
sirildDg  out  his  right  fin  as  a  spoke. 

*'  Lor,  what  a  curious  animal !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  HaU.  "  It  mast  be 
/cry  ugly." 

"  Why  no,  he's  not  an  ug^y  beast,"  replied  the  colonel ;  "  but  huh 
passe— Aone  his  wofk— had  his  day,  you  know." 

«  Well,  but  hell  be  steady,"  observed  Tom. 

*' Steady  enough,  I  dare  say,"  repKed  tbe  colonel — "too  steady, 
p'l^aps;  for  he'd  knock  up  at  the  end  of  five  minnits.  No;  take  my 
adrice — or,  rather,  Sam  Slick's  advioc'  my  young  friend :  never  buy  a 
crack  horse ;  they've  always  done  too  much." 

The  discussion  was  here  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  Sarah  with 
a  couple  of  bulbous-shaped  decanters  on  a  fine  plated  tray,  garnished  at 
intervals  with  biscuits,  plain  and  currant  cakes,  and  saucers  of  almonda 
and  raisins— being  as  close  an  imitation  of  the  tnnr  tihe  colonel  set  before 
old  Han  the  day  he  called  at  the  barracks  as  Mrs.  Hall's  memory  and 
resources  enabled  her  to  extemporise. 

And  now,  while  our  fat  friend  is  helping  himself  to  the  port  and  shecnr, 
and  doing  the  honours  of  the  table  in  relief  of  his  stiff  son-in-law,  we  will 
take  a  peep  at  the  banker  as  he  sits  in  his  ^^  little  den." 

CHAPnaXXVIIL 

Thoxtoh  fitde  addicted  to  morning  callers,  and  in  a  general  way  not 
at  ^  likely  to  make  an  eaoeption  in  favour  of  the  edonal,  the  mm  ti 


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Yaumg  21mi  SUIs  JSuarhackrt  audHorses.  211 

"vamjBk  to  ^^aggmnktad"  at  tbe  imposkioii  atleiii|»ted  to  be  p?ae- 
tiied  upon  nim  by  the  ooloael  with  regard  to  his  money  in  the  funds, 
ooimled  with  die  unoaremooious,  not  to  say  impertuient^  way  he  had 
spoken  of  him  and  his  wife  as  "  old  people/'  that  the  spirit  moved  Hall 
to  go  up  stairs  and  give  the  oolonel  battle  on  the  spot^  ''then  and  there/' 
as  he  said. 

**  Sivin  and  four's  eltvin,  and  four's  fifteen — I've  half  a  mind  to  slip  up- 
atadas  and  see  wliat  that^freat  man-mountain's  about,"  said  he  to  hims^. 
^'fiiirin  and  four^a  elivin,  and  eight  is  nineteen — I  think  I  eould  sound 
bun  without  lettin'  ont  I  know  it*8  all  my  ejre  about  his  wealth.  Sivin 
and  isor^s  elivin,  and  twenty-five  is  thirty-six — he  must  be  a  very  bad 
man,  tellin'  such  wholesale  falsehoods  in  hopes  of  entrappin'  our  Tummiis 
infto  jnanyin'  his  darter.  Sivin  and  four's  elivin,  and  forty-five  is  fifty- 
m-— it^s  veijiortinBte  Tummus  haa  a  father  to  keep  him  right,  or  theie'a 
no  sayin'  what  such  a  bad  old  bu£Fer  might  get  him  to  do.  Sivin  and 
four's  elivin,  and  ninety-nine's  a  'undr'd  and  ten-*I  really  should  like  to 
nit  the  old  man  to  tbe  bluah.  Sivin  and  four's  elivin,  and  a  'undr'd  and 
tour  is  a  'undr'd  and  fifteen — wonder  if  soldiers  ever  blush.  In  one's 
own  boose  one  oonldn't  get  far  wrong  takin'  the  bull  by  the  horns.  Not 
like  thebanaoks,  where  he  might  can  out  the  drummers  and  fiddlers,  and 

five  one  a  trimmin' ;  but  in  one's  own  house  there  can't  be  muoh  feac 
ivin  and  four's  elivin,  and  a  'mkdr*d  and  ninety  is  two  'undr'd  and  one 
—(E91  sisk  it,  at  all  events." 

80  si^ii^,  he  put  the  London  banker  s  note  saying  Ferret  the  broker 
did  not  find  any  stock  in  Colonel  Blunt's  name,  into  his  desk,  and  halloainr 
to  Trueboy,  the  cashier,  that  be  was  going  up*8tairs  for  a  few  ''  minnits, 
if  anybody  wanted  him,  he  disappeared  through  an  almost  invisible  door 
in  the  dingy-coloured  walL 

''  Ah,  here's  little  Podgy  himself!*'  exclaimed  the  colonel,  setting  down, 
the  decanter,  after  helping  himself  to  a  second  bumper  of  sherry,  as  our 
firiend,  having  noiselessly  opened  the  old«£asbioned  black  door,  nowetood 
with  it  in  bis  hand  surveying  the  scene.  ''  Come  in,  old  boy,  come  in," 
continued  the  colonel,  in  Uie  most  patronising  way,  exIeiuUog  a  red- 
ended  fin  for  the  banker  to  shake. 

<<  Your  servant,  oolonel,"  replied  the  man  of  figures,  with  a  stiff  bow, 
skying  the  fist,  as  he  made  for  a  seat  beside  his  wife. 

^  Yoan/'  replied  the  colonel,  ducking  his  bull-head,  and  drinking  off 
Ua  wine. 

**  Well,  Tummus,  my  dear,  how  are  you  after  your  hunt  ?"  asked  the 
fond  father,  surveying  his  £eit  son. 

**  Middlin',"  replied  Tom,  shuiHing  about  on  his  seat. 

**  Hard  woik,  bnntinV'  observed  the  father.  "  Can't  think  what  plea- 
aoie  people  can  see  in  suoh  worlc,"  observed  the  banker — <*  tearin'  across 
fields,  now  that  there  are  auch  good  roads  in  all  directions.  I'm  sure  my 
hig^ay-raie  comes  to  near  tenpence  in  the  pund,  and  one  ought  to  have 
aomethm'  for  tiaiL" 

^  Why,  as  to  the  matter  of  huntin',"  observed  the  colonel,  as  he  todc 
aoodier  turn  at  the  decanter,  <'  your  good  lady  and  I  were  just  talkin'  the 
■UKtter  over,  and  I  say  that  it's  all  very  well  and  proper  in  moderation—* 
taken  medicinally,  as  I  may  say,  to  cure  bile,  inaigestion,  and.sb  lortlw 


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Nay,  as  a  proTOcative  to  appetite,  it  bas  aooie  Bteriin*  tecommeDdatioiis. 
Moreover,  as  I  was  tellia' youc  wife,  it's  a  ^pood  ioiarodnetioiL  for  a  younc 
man,  and  will  get  hira  to  nouses  that  he  nngfata't  otherwise  visit  at ;  aiia 
wearin'  a  red  coat  has  its  attractions." 

<' Well,  but  it's  dangerous"  observed  old  Hall,  with  a  stamp  of 
bis  heel. 

**  That  depends  upon  how  you  take  it,"  rq[»tied  the  ookxnel,  ^<  and  what 
sort  of  horses  you  ride.  If  you  ride  r^  you  are  pretty  sure  to  come  to 
grief;  if  you  ride  good  uns,  you'll  most  likely  go  soot-iree  all  your  life, 
just  as  ola  Heartycheer  has  done.  So,  with  your  permission,  we'll  diidc 
*  The  Chase,' "  continued  he,  tosring  off  his  glass,  end  xepbnishiag  it 
plentifullvy  as  before. 

The  tno  then  sat  silent  for  a  time,  the  colonel  considering  what  excuse 
he  could  frame  for  taking  another  glass,  old  Hall  thinking  how  he  should 
lead  up  to  the  question  of  the  Consols. 

The  spirit  moved  the  colonel  to  speak  first. 

**  Well,  and  how's  your  bank  ?"  asked  he^  turning  short  up<xi  hia 
host. 

<'  Sivin  and  four's  elivin,  and  forty-one  is  fifty-two— *wh8t  an  impittant 
question,"  mused  our  friend.  *^  Middlin',  thank'e,  colonel,"  replied  the  man 
of  wealth,  rubbing  his  finger-nails  together. 

'^  What !  you're  not  goin'  smash,  are  ye  ?"  exclaimed  the  colonel. 

''  Sivin  and  four's  elivin,  and  fifty-nine  is  sevent^-<--what  a  cool  hand," 
diought  our  friend,  fixing  his  watery  grey  eyes  intently  oa  his  interro- 
ntor .  "  No,  not  smash,"  replied  our  firien^  now  filing  sway  with  his  fore- 
finger on  his  chin ;  ''  not  smash  /"  repeated  he^  with  an  emphasis ;  '*  but 
there's  a  redundancy  of  money,  and  not  much  employment  for  it." 

"  Hand  a  little  of  it  here,  then,"  said  the  colonel,  holding  out  his  great 
red  fist. 

*'  Sivin  and  four's  elivin,  and  twenty-five  is  thirfy-ax,  and  forty  is 
fifty-six — I  think  1*11  get  an  openin'  now,"  mused  Hall. 

'<  Oh,  you  don't  want  money,  colonel,"  replied  the  banker,  in  a  tone  o£ 
irony — "  you  don't  want  money,  coloneL" 

"  Don't  I?"  rejoined  our  friend;  "  you  just  give  me  the  run^  y4m 
safe,  or  whatever  you  call  your  moaey-box,  and  see  whether  or  no»" 

<'  Sivin  and  four's  elivin,  and  ninety*nine  is  a  'undr'd  and  ten-— the 
man's  forgettin'  himself,"  thought  Mr.  Hall ;  <<  Til  pin  him  to  the  pint" 

'^  Well,  but  the  diridends  are  a  comin'  due,  and  you'll  soon  be  in  foil 
feather  again,"  observed  he. 

<'  Dividends !  rot  the  dividends !  What  hove  I  to  do  with  divideada, 
think'e  ?"  asked  the  coloneL 

^  "  Sivin  and  four's  elivin,  and  a  'undr^d  and  sivinty's  a  'vndr'd  and 
dghty-one — wot  an  unconscionable  old  scoundrel  it  must  be,"  muaad 
Hall,  staring  intently  in  the  colonel's  great  apple  fooe.  '*  Sivin  and 
four's  elivin,  and  three  undr'd  and  forty-one  is  tnree  'undr'd  and  fifW- 
two — the  old  rascal  told  roe  as  plain  as  he  could  speak  that  he  was  in  the 
funds ;  I'll  put  it  to  him  point  blank.  Well,  buV'  said  Hall,  placiog  a 
hand  on  each  knee,  and  speakmg  slowly  and  delibeBrately,  as  he.etsnd 
the  colonel  full  in  the  face,  <'  I  thought  you  told  me  you  weie  ia  the. 
fimds?'*  . 


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Ynmg  Tm  SatF$  Heart-mHis  and  M^rs^.  iU 

'^Fttodsy  did  I  ?'  mIM  tiie  ooloHel,  tkm  luddealy  netiJhding  faim* 
idf ;  *'  ftaidB?^  vepeatod  he,  hedtating,  and  lookiDg  redder  thm  umial. 

^Fondfl,  yesT: repeated  Hall;  *lhat  day  at  the  barracks,  you  re* 
member*" 

**Gtkj  aiw-trae,''  replied  the  eolonely  with  anair  of  sildden  enlighten- 
ment—-*' oby  ar — tme,  the  day  we  were  talkin  about  settlements,  and  so 
ODu  And  BO  I  am,"  resomed  the  colonel,  confidently ;  <*inthe  Consols, 
at  kast  We  always^  not  ban'  up  to  snu£P  m  your  mobey-changin'  phrase- 
ology, call  them  Consols,  not  fimds-— Conlsofo,  or  consolations — ^haw, 
haw,  haw — ^he,  he,  he — ^ho^  ho,  ho^**  the  o<4onel  attempting  to  carry  his 
fcnner  eonfiimon  off  with  a  laugh. 

Old  Hall,  howeyer,  was  not  to  be  done  ihat  way. 

**  Well,  ^en,  yon  otvin  the  funds?"  observed  he,  reverting  to  the  point. 

^  Fonda,  yte^Consols,  that's  to  say— Three  per  Cents.,  in  fact ;  not 
your  Bank  Stock,  or  Long  Annuities,  or  Sh<Mrt  Annmties,  or  Spanidi 
FiBsdves^  or  rubbish  of  that  sort — Consols/'  repeated  he,  with  an  em- 
phasb  on  the  word. 

**  Sivin  and  four's  elivin,  and  nine  is  twenty — ^now  I  have  you,"  mused 
HalL  *^  Well,  then,  that  oomes  to  what  I  said  at  first,"  resumed  the 
banker;  ^the  dividends  are  due  next  month,  and  you'll  be  full  of 
cash." 

**  No  doubt,"  rejoined  the  colonel,  <<no  doubt ;  flush — very  flush,"  con- 
tinued he,  slaroing  his  thigh. 

**  Sivin  ana  four's  elivin,  and  ninety-nine's  a  'undr'd  and  ten— now  HI 
IMD  you,"  mused  Hall,  looldng  at  his  wife^  with  a  sparkle  in  hb  eye  that 
SB  good  as  said,  '<  See  how  I'U  work- him." 

*'  We  can  receive  y<wr  dividends  for  you  here,"  observed  the  banker, 
^  wUch  may  save  you  trouble." 

**  Can  you  ?*'  exclaimed  the  colonel,  rather  taken  aback  at  the  trap  into 
vriiich  he  had  fisHen.  ^*  Can  you  ?*'  repeated  he ;  ''  you're  very  kmd-— 
very  good ;  it  may  be  an  accommodation,  'specially  if  you  don't  nip  too 
much  off  for  your  trouble." 

"  Oh,  no,"  replied  the  banker ;  *^  well  do  it  at  the  usual  figur' — ^rather 
under  than  over." 

'*Ah,  well,  that's  kind  of  you,"  observed  the  colonel-^<<  that's  kind 
of  you ;"  adding,  '<  you're  not  such  a  Jew  as  you  look.*^ 

♦«  There'll  be  Ae  power-of-attomey,  iki  course,"  observed  the  banker,  in 
an  ^fiMiand  sort  of  way. 

'*  Will  there?"  mused  the  colonel,  thinking  it  would  require  a  very 
BbtoBg  one  to  raise  his  stock. 

**  Shall  I  order  one,  then  ?"  asked  the  banker. 
'•*<^Why,  yes;  I  thbk  you  may,"  drawled  the  colonel,  thoughtfully, 
cbaokling  at  the  idea. 

**  We  should  reouire  to  know  the  exact  amount,"  observed  the  banker ; 
*^  p'raps  you  ebttld  foraiiBh  that  information  as  you  go  through  the  bank." 

**  I  dare  say  I  could,'!  said  the  cdond;  ''let  me  see,  as  ^  blind  man 
eiidr-^twenty  thousand  bought  in  thirty-two— -no^  thirty-three,-^-Scraoe]:'8 
mortage  peid  off  in  thirty-nbe-r^n  thousand  bought  in  forty  sometW, 
IfoBtgetthoyear^-and '* 

'*  Sivin  and  four's  elivin,  and  forty-two  is  fifty-three,  and  ninety's  a 


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214  Ymmp  7km  Baits  Siuart^aokn  mdJOmm. 

'midr'd  aad  Jbrty-Aree— -I  ivdly  wkh  I  inajm*!  faare  been  a-Mn^  the 
maa  injvBtiee/'  mused  fiftfl,  ms  the  colonel  proceeded  wilh  \m  nsrratkMi* 

The  jdeenng  delmnon  <wa%  howerer,  epeed%  diapdled  by  the  oebHel 
ezdaimmg: 

<<fiiilhow  willitlie?  ^on  eee  the  stock  donH  eiaad  in  myname.'' 

<''8mn  and  ibof's  eHvin,  and  a  'undr'd  and  thoree  is  «  WdtM  'and 
fomtsen— now  he's  a-goin'  to  jib,'*  moed  Ball  \  '<  and  fooileen's  a 
'andi'd  and  twentj-e^ht— told  me  as  plain  as  he  ooold  epeak  thatiiie 
moaejr  was  in  hie  own  name— and  twentyofbor^s  a  'ondM  and  iflfty-^iwa 
-**don't  belieiw  he  ins  aaything  of  the  sort  ■•leg^lartake  in— ^hsisn't  a 
rapi  I  dare  say." 

^  I  thought  you  said  the  stock  was  in  your  own  aaaw?"  mymdeflihe 
now  bristling  hanker. 

''Did  I?**  fepHed  die  colonel,  in  a  earalesa  ione— ''did  I?  then  I 
mnst'have  made  a  mistake ;  hang  it,  yWre  saA  a  mafttef-of4B0t  fettow 
— Kme  doesn't  expect  to  be  swor  to  the  aeearaoy  of  ewy  prtkkhif  mml 
one  ntteiB.  If  a  man  says  he  has  fifty  or  sixty  thousand  ptmds,  be  neaai 
to  aay  he  bas  the  use  of  ft  It  doesn^  aaeaathat  he  has  itiniiiB^railky 
or  in  fais  capboard;  or  that  he  can  go  and  kiriE  it  about  tlw«eomitij»-** 
make  ducks  and  drakes  cm't,  a»  they  say.* 

'^  In  oouTse  not,"  replied  Hall — <<  in  course  not ;  only  when  a  maD--4i 
gmt  I  mean,"  added  bie^  correcting  himself-^'' talks  on  matten'o'lMnness 
with  men  o'  business,  men  o'  business  must  dieep  gents  aght;]] 
m(»e,"  added  he,  apologetically. 

^  Well,  ixize  enough,  rejoined  the  oolonel,  new  pfetending  to  be  ] 
fied — '^  true  enough ;  only  one  doesnH  Hke  to  ^  always  talkin'  by  bo 
always  ridin'  the  high  stool  of  *rithmetie.  I'm  not  one  of  your  learned 
exemplifications  of  polite  humanity.  I'm  not  a  man  to  send  to  a  litaiary' 
aoid  xdttlosophieal  society  to  ilhislrate  a  poblem  on  tfie  globes.  I  don't 
eipeot  Paekinton  to  send  me  to  negotiate  a  oommereial  treaty  with  the 
Song  of  the  Cannabal  Islands,  or  any  otter  great  potentate ;  but  for  a 
question,  inrolving  high  honourable  fSselin',  combmed  with  railttflPf 
etiquette  and  the  tactics  of  Addisoombe,  with  the  flourish  of  the  Egfinton 
tournament,  though  I  say  it  who  shouldn't,  there's  no  man  more  hononr- 
aibfy,  more  creditaUy  recognised  than  Lientenant4?olonel  Blmit,  of  her 
Maiesty's  Regiment  of  HeaTysteed  Dragoons ;"  the  colonel  bowing  and 
struEsng  oat  Us  right  fin  as  he  finished. 

"  Sivin  and  four's  elivin,  and  forty-sivin  is  fifty-eiriit — tlnt^  all  baldsr  • 
dash,"  mused  HaU.  "  I  very  nrach  doubt  his  harin  anything  of  the  sort 
However,  I'll  at  him  again,''  continued  he,  trying  to  oatoh  the  now  wine* 
watching  eye  of  the  cmonel. 

''  Wdl,  but  if  we  can  be  of  any  serrioe  in  gettin'  your  money  down 
here  after  it's  received  in  London,  we  shall  be  very  happy,"  contiwid  tfie 
pertmaoions  bankw. 

"  Thank'e,"  said  die  colonel--''  tbadc'e ;  pVi^  we  anay  trouUe  yma 
that  way.  Only  it  passes  through  so  many  hands  before  we  gat  it,  niat 
I  don^  know  it  will  be  mnoh  better  for  yours." 

"In  Chanceiy,  p'r^f^  ?"  Bim«»ted  old  HaU. 

"  No,  not  Chancery,"  replied  the  colonel,  makiBg  another  attack  on 
1hebottie--''iiot  Chancery,  but  devMiah  tight  tied  up  te all  ithat   Huy 


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Ttmnff  7^  HalPs  SeartHJtehes  and  jEbr$e$»  S15 

whcde  regiment  Ixad  it  in  the  oentr^  infix  -fi^l4-piece8  at  «ach  sido,  H 
couldn't  be  safer.  Don't  know  liow  many  hewjers  there  are  fer  tfuiiteeu  | 
and  they  make  woik  for  themselves,  and  leaeh  other,  in  the  most  marvel- 
hfDB  way.  Take  my  advioe,  my  yomig  {xiend,"  coniimied  he^  addrenomg 
onr  Tom,  **  and  never  have  a  lawyer  for  a  tmstee." 

^  Shin  and  fool's  eKvnii  and  forty^dnee  is  ^ky^to/nr — AatTeally  looks 
as  if  the  man  has  money,"  mused  old  Hall,  i^n  wavering  in  his 
opinion.  **  Sivin  and  four's  elivin,  and  sivin  is  eighteen— 111  'tain 
another  venta^.** 

'^ItH  be  Mrs.  Bhmfs  money,  pVaps,"  dbeerved fiall,  ^taifk  sot^ 
fiednp?** 

**  mis,  Blunt'a  monev  it  is,'*Tetomed  the  oolonel,  confidently—''  Mn. 
Blmitfs  money  His.  Irae  has  it^yr  HFe,  and  when  Ae  damps^fiP,  it  goes 
to  my  daugltter." 

^  Sivin  and  fonr's  ^vin,  and  nine's  twenty — ^tfaafrmoie  like  tfaethkig,'' 
mined  nail. 

••But  TonTl  have  a  Hfe  interest,  ioo,  I  s'pose  ?'  observed  the  banker. 

•*  No  1  haven't,"  replied -the  ookmd,  with  an  lur  of  indiffsrence ;  •^oe  I 
haven^t,"  repeated  iie;  ••  goes  to  my  daoehter  at  onee." 

••  Sivin  and  four's  elivin,  and  twenty's  tDirtr-'one^thaf  s  all  in  favour  of 
her  husband,"  thought  Hall.  ^Sivm  and  mnr's  elivin,  end  seventeen'iB 
twenty-eight— *been  a  runaway  match,  pVaps,"  lihonglit  he. 

••jurs.  Blunt  was  an  heuoss,  I  presume?  observed  Msll, 'aaoraBBnjg 
AecoloojeL 

lieiress—— great  iieDess,  assented  the  colonel,  casting  a  raeep  a  eye 
at  the  decanter.  -••  Another  glass,**  thought  he,  *<  will  just  leave  thieoid 
screw  a  pint  for  his  dinner."  fio  saying,  he  pitMeedea  to  help  himsaK 
^  Mrs.  Blunt  marned  me  for  my  loolra,"  said  he,  as  he  sipped  away  at  its 
contents.  <<  I  believe  I  may  say,  without  vanity,  that  I  was  one  of  the 
handsomest  men  in  the  army.  Mrs.  Blunt  took  a  £iin<^  to  me,  and  I  tell 
her  I  loved  her  for  what  she  had ;  and  if  she'd  had  twice  as  much,  I'd 
have  loved  her  twice  as  welF'— Ae  colonel  haw,  haw,  hawing^-— he,  uCi 
hemg^-^ho,  ho,  being-— amid  exidamalious  of^ 

••Oh,  fie,  colonel f  I  wouldn't  haveiihonght  that  of  you!*  from  Mrs. 
HaH 

••  Wc31,  but,  however,  I  must  be  ol^"  continued  the  colonel,  not  liking 
fte  cross-examination  to  which  he  bad  'been  subjected.  '^  Fve  paid  you 
a  longish  momin'  visit,  but  your  company's  so  agreeable  (disagreeable, 'he 
thought)  that  there's  no  tearin^  onesett  away" — casting  an  anxious  eye  at 
Ae  sherry,  which  he  would  fain  have  -finished.  ^  I  like  you  Ffeecy^ 
borouriutes ;  there's  a  deal  more  warmth  and  cheerability  about  yon  than 
Acre  IS  about  your  fine,  hmguishin',  die-away  duchesses,  who  really  seem 
as  if  life  was  a  bore  ta  them,  and  who,  if  they  ask  yon  to  dine^  give  you 
Bochm*  to  eaty  and  send  "the  footmen  to  sweep  you  out  with  the  ctinue 
&inn  just  as  you  think  yoit  are  goin'  to  get  sometlnn'  to  drink.  But 
the  best  firiends  must  part,*^^  continued  l9ie  colonel,  setting  down  his  glass, 
and  hoistmg  himself  ujp  wHh  an  effort^  "  Fve  a  deal  to  do— must  go  and 
inspect  our  com.  That  Mister  Poster  .Seve  of  yours,  I  fear  he^s  w%at 
ikey  can  a  rogue  in|prfun;  he's  sent  in  a  lot  of  forage  that  would  dis^ 
grace  a  poultiy-yara.  Quartermaster  Diddle  says  he  never  saw  sueh 
stuff^never,"  muttered  die  colonel  to  himself,  <*  unless  it  was 


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pankd  by  a  &t  turkey,  a'hMmch  of  iiuitto%  or  aomeiiiiii'  of  that  soo^  to 
make  it  twsih— the  proper  appendifeSy  in  EbottJ* 

*'  Well,  maaa,  I  must  bid  you  good  morninV  comtinapd  1^  adfttncmff 
and  seiiing  Mrk  Hall's  greasy  retuing  hand;  ^  I  most  Ud  yon  good 
momin',  mum,'*  shaking  it  seyerely. 

^*  Good  monun*  to  you^  sir,"  continued  he,  turning  short  round  on  Hall, 
waitmg  to  see  whether  he  would  be  more  affable  than  he  was  on  his 
entry. 

But  Hall  was  not  a  hand^flhaking  soit  of  man  at  all,  at  least  not 
without  due  considevation,  wiit&  tm  oolond^^a  movements  did  not  allow 
tune  for ;  so  with  a  *'  Your  servant,  eolonel,"  and  an  awkwaxd  tfaonist  oat 
behind,  old  Hall  saw  him  pass  on  to  hU  son. 

'<  And  now/'  conlinuad  he^  addnamig^  our*  Tom,  slipping  a  litde  thres* 
cornered  highly  musked  hiUet-daux  into  Us  hand,  as  he  tutned  his  biQi|d 
back  on  the  old  people — ^*  I'm  very  glad^  indeed,  to  see  you  aU  safe  and 
sound;  we  really  haa  a  very  uncom&itaUe,  anzions  night  on  your  aceoont 
^-fearin'  all  sorts  of  unpleasantoesses,  not  to  saf  bedevilments.  How- 
ever, ril  tell  them  you  are  all  right;  and,"  added  he,  dbropping  his  voice, 
*'if  you  feel  any  little  inconvenience  from  the  saddle,  diachylon  plaister's 
ihe  best  tiling;  get  a  whole  sheet  for  ashillin'  at  Bfaubarb  and  Sur£^'% 
round  the  market-place  comer."  So  saying,  the  colonel  struck  out  his 
right  fin,  and,  getting  under  weigh,  hobbled  off  on  bis  heels,  making  the 
old  passage  and  rickety  stairoase  o^eak  with  his  weight  as  be  deseended. 
Tom,  having  accompanied  his  father-inikw  to  the  second  landing,  where 
he  transferred  him  to  Sarah  the  maid,  now  stood  eagerly  imb£ii^  the 
contents  of  the  note.  The  exact  words  are  immaterial ;  snfiioe  it  to  say 
that  Tom  speedily  regained  his  bedroom,  where,  having  hastily  revised 
his  toilette^  he  set  off  for  Mr.  Ruddle,  the  portrait  paintot^s. 

Chaptxs  XXIX. 

Rubble  was  a  great  artist,  at  least  in  his  own  estimation.  He  didn't 
begin  life  as  an  artist,  unless,  indeed,  modelling  ornaments  for  confro* 
tioners'  cakes  can  be  viewed  in  that  l^t.  Howeveiv  he  didn't  stay  long 
with  the  confectioner--one  Mr.  Queencake,  of  Basinghall-street,  who 
having  a  daughter,  Alicia,  on  whom  Ruddle  cast  a  &vourable  eye,  whush 
the  master-man  resented  as  a  piece  of  unpardonable  impudence^  ne  pidced 
a  hole  with  poor  Ruddle  about  a  pan  of  preserves,  and  presently  got  xid 
of  him.  Ruddle,  b^ng  surfeited  with  sweets — ^though  not  of  the  '*  sweet" 
be  wanted — hung  about  town  for  some  time ;  but  Queencake,  being  moie 
than  a  match  for  him,  shifted  his  dawhter  from  London  to  Gravesend, 
and  from  Gravesend  to  Margate,  and  from  Margate  to  Heme  Bay^  and 
from  Heme  Baj^  back  to  Basinghall-street,  till  poor  Ruddle's  fiiuuMses 
were  exhausted  in  following  her.  He  then  cave  up  the  pursuit,  being 
partly  reconciled,  perhaps,  to  his  loss  by  meetmg  a  very  elegant  young 
creature,  half  Dutch,  hw  English,  aboud  a  twopenny  steamer. 

This  was  in  the  heieh-day  of  railway  times,  when  everybody  with  a 
*^  touch  of  lamin',"  as  the  country-people  c^  it»  could  get  employment 
either  as  secretaries  or  directors,  or  in  surveying  or  pretending  to  survey 
lines,  laymg  down  plans,  drawing  prospectuses,  <£eckm^  estimates,  confer- 
ring with  engineen,  down  to  folding,  sealmg,  and  dekvering  letters,  and 


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Ymn^Thm  H^lCs  HearUaefm  and  Hor»e$,  817 

Radifle  eaiined  an  a  veiy  brisk  trade  for  a  time.  He  was  a  direotor  of 
seyeral  imaginary  lines,  and  having  married  his  new  inamorata  on  the 
strength  of  his  prospects,  he  set  her  up  a  tery  pretty  pea-green  and 
straw-ooloured  eab  phaeton,  with  a  huttony  boy  to  pick  up  her  bae. 
He  adorned  himself  with  rings  and  brooches,  and  presented  himself  wiu 
a  sabetanttal  large  tasseled  -cane.  The  crash,  however,  soon  after  came, 
and  boy«  and  cab  phaeton,  and  cane,  were  all  swept  away,  leaving  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Ruddle  high  and  dry  on  the  strand.  We  meant  to  be  allegorical 
thm,  but  he  tvaily  was  left  in  the  Strand,  that  being  the  locality  in 
which  he  had  eetablished  his  quarters.  He  then  tried  his  hand  at  con- 
fectionary, and  set  up  a  shop  in  May&ir,  raying  upon  Mrs.  Ruddle's 
charms  for  attracting  attention.  Here,  to  a  certain  extent,  he  was  light ; 
though  whether  it  was  that  the  charms  were  so  powerful  as  to  take  away 
appetite,  or  the  cakes  were  so  bad  as  not  to  be  eatable^  certain  it  is  that 
the  profits  were  so  small  as  not  to  be  appreeiable,  and  when  the  landlord, 
Mr.  Grinder,  walked  in  for  his  rent,  Captain  Mainchanoe  walked  off  the 
charmer,  leaving  poor  Ruddle  to  put  up  the  shutters.  He  was,  however, 
now  free  again,  and  felt  so  equal  to  anything,  that  he  didn't  know  what 
to  turn  his  hand  to.  At  leiu^  he  came  to  Fleecyborough,  where  he 
had  an  uncle,  one  Ntj  Stencil,  a  painter  and  glazier,  with  whom,  having 
an  unlimited  run  of  the  paint-pot,  he  soon  b^n  to  vary  the  monotony 
of  door  and  window  prinung  and  painting,  by  producing  sundry  surpris- 
ing horses  and  other  animals,  that  drew  amaaing  custom  to  the  public 
houses  at  which  they  were  put  up. 

The  natives  commended,  nay,  were  astonished  at  hb  performances, 
and  Stenotl's  back  shop  became  the  rendezvous  of  all  the  cntics  and  con- 
noissenrs  of  Fleecyborough,  who  assembled  of  an  evening  to  glorify 
Ruddle's  performance,  and  stimidate  him  to  deeds  of  immortality.  We 
don't  know  what  wasn't  predicted  of  him,  and  Ruddle,  notwithstanding 
the  humiliations  to  which  he  had  been  subjected,  being  a  most  thoroughly 
self-sufficient  dog,  inhaled  their  adulation  with  the  air  of  a  professor. 

There  being  nothing  in  the  shape  of  a  man  but  what  is  available  to 
some  woman  or  another,  Jacky  Buddie,  as  they  called  him,  was  soon 
besieged  by  the  most  exigeante  ot  the  fiubr,  whieh  greatly  contributed  to  his 
seif-complacenGT ;  and  as,  first,  Miss  C^tcheside,  and  then  Miss  Balsam, 
and  next  Miss  Fairfield,  fbUowed  l^  the  buxom  widow,  Mrs.  Winnington, 
respectively  besieffed  hhn,  drivine  die  recoUectioa  of  the  finil  fair  one 
out  of  his  mind,  ne  began  to  reduce  the  impressions  they  respectively 
created  to  canvas,  which  greatly  increased  his  reputation,  and  soon  caased 
him  to  give  up  sign-painting  altogether.  The  ladies  then  came  trooping 
to  have  their  portraits  pdnted— some  in  silk,  some  in  eatin;  some  in 
wreaths,  some  in  turbans ;  some  with  £Ems,  some  with  bouquets  in  their 
hands ;  but  all  smiling,  and  looking  very  "  what^do^you-think-of-me-ish." 
Good,  strong,  bold,  Iuurd*featured,  tea-boaidy,  stiff-ringleted  things  they 
were,  with  just  that  provcrfcing  degree  of  resemblance  that  enables  a 
spectator  to  say,  '^  Ah,  I  suppose  that's  meant  fbr  Miss  Nightingale;"  or, 
'^  That's  not  unlike  Mrs.  CrossfinoL"  His  men,  however,  ware  worse, 
for  they  generally  looked  as  if  they  were  drunk,  and  going  to  be  nek. 
Still,  as  this  was  not  apparent  untd  they  ware  finished.  Ruddle  always 
acquired  great  credit  as  they  proceeded;  and  as. the  roughly-chalked 
ontUae  grAduaUy  advahoed  into  coat,  waistooat^  and  cravat,  mth  a  JGAce 


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S18  Youny  Tom  Muffs  Baart^Mkts  and  Harm. 

above,  the  fiime  of  ihe  progiefldng  and  oatstrippiiifi^all^oiher  pietam 
ineraaKd.  It  wai  not  until  tliey  were  finished  and  nnng  up  that  their 
defede  hecaoici  folly  apparent.  Still  Ruddle  was  not  dear  in  his  oharses 
— 4wo  pound  ten  for  kit-kats,  and  five  pounds  &r  fuU-lenfftfas,  with  minia- 
tures on  card  or  ivoiy  at  *'  from  one  pound  and  ij^war^,"  as  he  amhi- 
goouily  worded  it  Sooner,  howoTer,  than  lose  a  sitter.  Ruddle  would 
take  payment  in  kind — paint  a  twlor  for  a  ooat,  an  innkeeper  for  a  dozen 
or  two  of  wine,  a  butoher  fer  his  quartei^s  hill,  and  so  on ;  a  moderation 
that  waa  all  the  more  commendable,  inasmnch  as  he  was  without  oppo- 


The  reader  will  now  have  the  kindness  to  connder  Ruddle  as  having 
discarded  his  paintei^s  apron,  and  taken  a  first  floor  in  Angel-court^  with 
the  privilege  of  displaying  a  gilt  case  full  of  specimens  in  Market-street, 
one  of  the  most  firequentod  thoiouffhfiues  in  the  good  town  of  Fleecy- 
borough.  They  will  also  have  the  kindness  to  connder  us  arrived  at  toe 
period  of  time  when  our  ^end  Tom  goes  to  be  ^'  pinted,**  in  accordance 
with  tiie  oft-repeated  recommendation,  not  to  say  injunctions,  of  An- 
galena. 

Ruddle  was  dividing  his  time  between  the  fat  shoulders  of  Miss  Rum- 
bolde,  who  had  been  sitting  for  her  portrait  preparatory  to  her  marriage 
witii  Mr*  Miiffinaj  the  baker,  and  a  plate  of  boiled  beef  and  peas-pudding 
from  Tosswell's  eating-house  hard  Dy,  when  the  laboured  ascent  of  our 
Tom  on  the  uncarpeted  sUurcase  caused  Ruddle  to  pause  and  listen  to 
tile  sound. 

^  That's  a  stranffo  foot,''  said  Ruddle,  dashing  his  long  light  air  off  a 
moderately  high  forehead,  and  takimg  a  hasty  glance  at  himself  in  a 
cracked  looking^lass,  behind  a  red  screen,  as  he  pulled  a  dirty  dickey 
above  a  blue  and  white-stiiped  Joinville. 

'^Rop,  tap,  tap,"  went  Tom  at  the  door. 

*^  Come  in  I"  cried  Raddle,  whinpbg  the  haH-finished  plate  of  beef 
on  to  a  ohair  behind  tiie  screen,  ana  Dudding  his  loose  jean  blouse  about 
his  waist 

Tom  did  as  desired,  and  Ruddle^  having  drawn  his  red-slippered  feet 
into  the  first  position,  dropped  ban  a  most  reverent  salam  as  he  entered. 

<<  Your  humble  servant^  Mr.  Hall,"  said  he,  repeating  the  movement. 

^  Yours,"  replied  Tom,  in  an  off-hand  sort  of  way. 

''  Fve  oome^"  said  Tom,  looking  at  the  various  finished  and  progressing 
portraits  and  artistic  lumber  scattered  around — *'  Tve  come  to  see  about 
being  painted." 

"If  you  please^  sir,"  replied  Ruddle,  handing  Tom  a  roomy  rush- 
bottomed  cmur. 

''  Thank'e,  I'd  rather  stand,"  r^ed  Tom,  who  wasn't  at  all  comfort- 
able after  his  walk,  or  ratiior  limp* 

**  A  fnfl-lengtii  will  you,  sir  ?"  said  Ruddle,  jumping  to  a  conclusion. 

''  Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  replied  Tom ;  <^  I  mean  to  say,  TU 
stand  while  I  talk." 

'^  If  you  please^  sir,"  said  Ruddle,  agun  bowing  vexr  low. 

'<  Well,  how  do  you  tiiink  I  should  be  taken  ?"  asked  Tom. 

'^  Taken,'*  said  Raddle,  stroking  his  imperial'd  chin,  and  scrutinising 
Tom's  fat,  vacant  £ue  witii  a  laaghug  blue  eye.  ^*  Taken,"  repeated  he ; 
adding,  <<yoa  have  a  commanding  presence,  rir ;  yes,  sir,  a  very  corn- 


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Youus  Tom  MaiSsM^rt^c/ifis  and  Ho9ms.  219 

Bumding  proaence*  £x«ii8e  ma  fiw  sayiiig  of  it»  but  if  you  hadn't  been  a 
zich  many  sir,  you'd  haye  been  aay^iog  you  tam'd  your  attexition  to— « 
general,  a  judge,  a  rear-admiral,  an  extraordinary  master  in  the  Higb 
Cooit  of  Cbai^ery,  anything^  in  short*  Never  saw  so  finely-defeloped 
a  head — quite  a  study  for  thia  olaasic  authooES.'' 

"  Man  r  mused  Hall,  who  ?pas  not  at  all  arrase  to  eompUments. 

'^  It'll  do  me  good  to  paint  such  a  gent  as  you,  sir,"  oontmued  Ruddle; 
**  yes,  sir,  it  will  do  me  good,  sb,"  repeated  he,  wondering  how  muoh  he 
odald  chaj^  our  hero.  This  consiaeration  brought  hmt  back  to  the 
ooestion  how  he  would  be  taken«  '^  You  are  in  my  Lord  LaYend«r's 
EhisaarS)  if  I  mistake  not  ?"  observed  the  polite  confectioner ;  ^'  I  suppose 
you  will  be  taken  in  your  uniform,  with  your  hoBSe — your  ehaxgeor — by 
jour  side  ?" 

*'  W — h — y,  I  don't  know,"  drawled  Tom,  thinking  of  Angelens^s 
ixjunctions— "  I  don't  know  ;  I  was  thinking  of  my  hunting-dress — how 
would  that  do?" 

''Very  becoming,  or,"  observed  Huddle — ^Wery  becomings  scarlet 
looks  well  on  canvas.  Of  course^  you'd  have  a  favourite  hone  intm- 
doced  ?*'  added  Ruddle^  wishing  to  make  the  picture  as  full  as  posaible. 

"  How  would  it  do  to  paint  me  jumping  a  gate  ?"  asked  Tom. 

^'  Very  fine  attitude,"  replied  Euddle ;  ''  very— on  a  white  hozse*  a  la 
.  Abraham  Cooper,  RA.;  respectable  artist  Absanam  done  some  goedish 
things.  Or,  you  might  have  a  hunting*scene  altogether,  vnth  hounds 
and  horses  ail  grouped  in  the  centre — such  as  Grant's  meet  of  the 
Queen's  stag-hounds  on  Asoot  'eaih;  respectable  artist:  Grant—done 
some  pasaable  things.  Landaeer's  not  without  merit.  Indeed^  iliere  are 
some  of  the  London  gents  who^  in  particular  departments^  are  not  alto- 
g^her  to  be  despised ;  the  worst  of  them  is^  they  ace  oc^  general  artists 
—not  universal  geniuses..  Lee  can  paint  a  river,  Pickersgill  a,  portrait, 
Tiiandseer  a  Scotch  terrier,  and  so  on;  but  they  are  not  men-of-all*woik; 
put  them  down  here^  and  they'd  be  lost,  totally  lost.  No ;  they  may  do 
w«Il  enough  in  London,  but  they  wouldn't  succeed  in  the  country.  If  s 
only  real  merit  that  can  get  on  here.  I've  no  doubt  they'd  make  me 
President  of  the  Academy  if  I  would  go  to  London,  bat  I  won't.  Would 
send  them  apictor,  pVaps^if  they'd  hang,  it  ia  a.  proper  place ;  and  why 
shouldn't  it  be  a  pictor  of  jou»  sir  ?  And  that  reminda  me^  sir,  of  the 
pint  we  were  discusdng,  sir — how  you  should  be  taksn.  I  reallv  think, 
sir,  a  follish  subject  su^  would  be  the  most  satisfactory  memorial — the 
most  nationally  interesting ;  of  course,  you  would  be  tM  eeatre-piece — 
the  Lord  Chesterfield  of  iha  picture;  am  you  might  have  all  your  sport- 
ing chums  around  yon,  one  asking  you  how  yoa  are^  another  admiring 
your  horse, a  diird  ofiGering  jpaa  pinch  of  snim,  afourth  a  cigar,  a  fif£ 
a  sugar-plum,  and  so  on ;  or,  you  might  be  on  footy  like  Count.  D'Orsay 
in  Grants  pictor,  resting  oa  your  wlup-^stick,  with  a  liberal  aLk)waiiee  of 
tumed'back  wristband;  or  we  might  have  you  going  full  chivy  after 
the  fax,  or^ "^ 

"  How  would  it  do  to  hava  me  jum{ung  a  gate  ?"  interru|>ted  Tom. 

'<  Nodiing  could  be  better/'  replied.  Raddle  —«'  nothmg  eould  be 
better,  or  more  naturaL" 

"  It  wouldn't  be  absolutely  necessary  for  me  to  bo  jumping  a  gate  in 
order  for  you  to  paint  me  that  way,  would  it  ?"  asked  Tom,  who  had 
BO  idea  of  dcung  anything  of  the  sort.. 


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SSO  Ytmng  Tom  HalTn  Ueart-achs  and  Haru$. 

<'0h,  hy  no  means,"  replied  Mr.  Rnddle — ^'by  no  meant;  im^ina- 
tion,  sir — ^inspiratioDy  will  do  all  that^"  tappbg  his  forehead  wil£  Ua 
forefinger." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Tom,  who,  like  his  father,  always  wanted  an 
estimate,  *^  what  do  yoa  think  you  codd  do  it  for?'' 

<<  Do  it  for— do  it  for,"  repeated  Ruddle^  in  an  off-hand  sort  of  way— 
<* do  it  for,"  continued  he,  looking  up  at  die  dirty  ceiling;  *^  oh,  sir,  we 
shall  not  quarrel  about  that,  sir — we  shall  not  quarrel  about  that,  sir." 

"  Well,  but  I  should  like  to  know/'  replied  Tom,  who  knew  that  that 
sort  of  answer  generally  led  to  a  wrangle—"  I  should  like  to  know — to 
have  an  idea,  at  least  I  don't  mean  to  tie  you  to  a  shillin'  or  two ;  but 
still  I  should  like  an  idea,  yon  know/' 

"  Oh,  why,"  said  Ruddle,  "  I  could  ^ther  take  it  at  so  much  {mbt 
head  or  so  much  per  dozen,  if  you  chose  a  full  picture ;  but  the  fact  is^ 
I  don't  look  so  much  to  the  matter  of  emolument  as  to  the  credit  and 
renown  of  painting  such  a  gent  as  yourself,"  the  obsequious  pastry-cook 
bowing  as  he  spoke.  *'  Now,  if  you  want  a  grand  national  work,"  con* 
tinned  he»  again  taking  up  the  running,  as  our  friend  Tom  stood  mute^ 
*'  a  real,  stunning,  superlatiye  pictor,  tfiat  will  grace  the  walls  of  the 
Royal  Academy,  and  engrave  after,  I  would  say,  by  all  manner  of  means, 
have  a  full  one — either  a  military  piece,  with  your  regiment  under 
arms,  or  marchin'  with  their  colours  flying  and  band  playing,  bring- 
ing all  the  pretty  gals  to  the  winders,— or  a  hound-piece— -hunting^- 
piece,  as  they  caU  wem,  with  yourself  and  all  the  swells  of  the  hunt 
countin'  the  dogs,  or  lookin'  at  the  ibz  before  they  set  him  off;  or  you 
might  haye  it,  as  I  said  before,  all  goin'  helter-skelteri  in  a  deTil-take-the- 
hindermost  sort  of  way,  oyer  hedges,  ditches,  rails,  gates,  whateyer  comes 
in  the  way,  yourself  on  a  white  barb,  say,  going  what  they  call  like  a 


coat  and  a  red  yelyet  yest,  with  a  gold  (nirb-<main  to  your  watch,  like 
this  portrait  of  Mr.  Simpkinson,  the  gent  who's  a-makin'  loye  to  Miss 
Tiler,"  continued  Ruddle,  pulling  out  a  kit-kat  of  a  yery  stiffly-curled 
gentleman,  whose  unfinished  dr^  was  assuming  those  colours ;  '*  or  you 
might  be  in  bottle-green,  with  a  black  satin  weskit,  or  an  embroidered 
wmikit,  or  any  sort  of  weskit  In  ficust,  I  feel,  sir,  that  I  could  produce  a 
great  work,  sir — a  yery  great  work,"  continued  Ruddle,  eyeing  Tom 
mtentiy— "  a  work  that  would  adorn  the  walls  of  the  Royal  Academy, 
and  transmit  our  names  to  a  grateful  posterity.  I  feel  that  I  could  take 
the  shine  out  of  all  those  conceited  A.'s  and  R.A.*s,  who  think  there's 
nobody  like  them.  I  feel,  sir,  that  in  painting  you,  sir,  I  could  combine 
the  expression  of  Raphael  with  the  fire  of  Michael  Angelo  and  the 
warmth  of  Titian,  and  put  Reynolds  and  Lawrence  and  all  of  the  modems 
to  the  blush,"  friend  Ruddle  fairly  blowing  himself  with,  the  sublimity  of 
this  last  effort,  and  now  standing  balancmg  the  portndt  of  Mr.  Simpkin- 
son on  one  comer,  as  if  he  was  going  to  spin  it 

*'  Well,"  said  Tom,  as  the  delicacy  of  Simpkinson's  pontion  recalled 
the  peculiarities  of  his  own  and  the  injunctions  of  Angelens,  *'  I  think  V\l 
be  taken  on  horseback,  leapin'  a  gate." 

''  A  full  pictor,  that's  to  say,"  rejoined  Mr.  Ruddle,  making  a  last  effort 
to  get  a  good  order — <<a  full  pictor,  yourself  leadin',  the  rest  followin'  T* 


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Yowtj^  Tarn  liald  Hiari-a^hie  ani  Horses.  221 

<*  No^  post  m^Belf,"  repfied  Tom,  n6t  seeing  the  fun  of  immortalisinG^ 
Woodcock,  head-andl-shoulders  Rrown,  or  any  of  the  Fleecyborough 
worthies  who  might  desire  it — "  no,  just  myself'  repeated  he,  nrmly. 

''  Vm '  afraid  it  would  hardly  make  what  I  call  an  historical  subject/' 
replied  Ruddle,  staring  intently  in  Tom*8  face,  "  without  some  adjuncts — 
hoTBes  or  dogs,  or  somethin'  to  show  you  are  huntin'.'' 

"  Well,  but  my  red  coat  will  show  that,'*  replied  Tom. 
' ''  True,"  assented  Ruddle,  biting  his  lips*;  *^  practically  speakin',  it  will; 
but,  artistically  speakin',  it  will  not.  You  see,  you  may  be  what  they  call 
larkin'— cuttin*  across  country  for  fun ;  there  should  be  a  few  hounds  or 
somethin'  introduced  to  show  the  real  nature  of  your  profession,  your 
occupation  or  calling." 

"  Well,"  replied  Tom,  after  a  pause,  ''  as  far  as  a  couple  of  hounds  or 
so  go,  I  wouldn't  mind,  but  I  can't  stand — I  mean  to  say,  I  don*t  want  a 
fedl  pictur;  the  fact  is,"  continued  he,  dropping  his  voice,  "  it's  for  a 
lady." 

"  /  twig/*  replied  Ruddle,  with  a  wink  of  his  eye. 

"  You'll  not  mention  it,  of  course,"  observed  Hall. 

*'  Mum's  the  word  with  me,"  rejoined  Ruddle,  sealing  his  lips  with  his 
forefinger. 

"  You  must  do  your  best,"  observed  Tom. 

"  I'll  surpass  myself,  if  possible,"  asserted  Ruddle.  "  Fll  throw  Law- 
rence and  Reynolds,  and  Watson  Gordon  and  Grant,  and  all  the  incom- 
petents, far,  far  in  the  shade/'  Ruddle  holding  up  his  dirty  right 
hand,  as  if  they  were  all  flying  before  him. 

'^  And  what  will  it  be  ?    again  asked  Tom. 

"  Oh — why,  sir — ^if  it's  for  a  lady,  sir,  the  lady,  sir,  shall  set  the 
price,  sir." 

«*  Hem  r  mused  HaU,  wondering  how  that  would  cut. 

*"*  I'm  a  doin'  a  gent  on  those  terms  already,"  observed  Ruddle,  diving 
behind  the  red  screen  and  producing  a  portrait  of  little  Jug — Jug  in  full- 
dress  uniform,  a  richly  gold-laced  coat,  with  kerseymere  shorts,  and 
white  silk  stockings. 

That  was  a  sickener  for  Tom.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  little  pig^ 
eyed,  spindle-shanked  comet,  any  more  than  there  was  who  he  was  getting 
«*  pinted"  for. 

^^  This  is  the  gent — the  right  honourable  gent — ^that's  a  courtin*  the 
great  heiress  at  the  barracks,"  observed  Ruddle,  dustbg  Jug  over  with  a 
dirty  bandana,  and  biting  his  lips  as  he  suddenly  recollected  to  have 
heard  that  young  Mr.  Hall  was  doing  the  same. 

Tom  glanced  an  angry  glance  at  his  detested  rival,  and  telling  Ruddle 
he  would  call  again  to  arrange  a  sitting,  rolled  off  down  stairs,  shaking 
lufl  head  and  muttering  something  about  "  Cat's-paw,"  '^  Not  stand  it," 
"  Too  old  to  be  done,"  and  so  on. 

Having  purchased  a  sheet  of  diachyloii  plaister — as  a  first  step,  we 
presume,  towards  a  sitting — he  returned  home,  when  his  thoughts  were 
suddenly  diverted  by  the  receipt  of  a  smart  sealed  note,  headed  with  an 
embossed  hare-hunt,  inviting  him  to  partake  of  the  pleasures  of  a  puss-hunt 
with  the  well-known  Major  Guineatowle*s  harriers — a  character  to  whom 
we  shall  have  great  pleasure  in  introducing  such  of  our  readers  as  are  not 
already  acquainted,  next  month. 

June — ^voL.  xcT.  no.  cccLzzvm.  Q 


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(     222     ) 


DOWN  THE  ROAD;  OR,  SOME  PASSAGES  FROM  A  PIKE- 
MAN*S  DIARY. 

BT  ISHMAEL  COPPBB8. 

Piking  aint  wot  it  was ;  far  from  it  The  inwention  of  steam  has 
done  a  deal  of  harm  to  many  a  hisness,  hut  there's  few  as  has  suffinred 
more  onaccountahlj  than  them  as  is  in  the  Pike  line. 

Only  look  at  Renninton-gate !  See  wot  that  used  to  he  in  the  Epsmn 
week !  Douhle  tolls  safe  on  the  Darhy  day,  nine  cases  out  o'  ten.  Who 
went  and  thawt  wot  they  did  with  their  tickits  once  they  wos  on  the 
ooorse  ?  Them  as  didn't  lose  'em  most  likely  g^ve  'em  away ;  leastways 
that's  my  heleef,  for  werry  few  cum  hack  to  my  hands  on  sitch  occaaons. 

Wot  if  there  was  a  few  skrimmages  with  them  as  was  hedstrongl 
Money's  not  to  he  got  in  this  world  athout  some  little  trouhle,  and  wot 
signifies  the  butt-end  of  a  wipp  now  and  then  if  your  hedd's  a  hard'un? 
As  to  chaff,  the  Pikeman  as  can't  stand  that  ought  for  to  shut  up  at 
once.     The  sooner  he  removes  to  private  lodgings  the  better. 

Well,  wot's  the  upshot  now  ?  Why,  most  on  'em  takes  the  nuL  If 
they  loses  their  tickits,  who  proffits  by  it  ?  Why,  the  Cumpany — as  they 
calls  'em — we  don't.  If  they  fites  and  brakes  hedds,  who  gits  pade  mt 
it  ?  Tunt  us, — it's  the  Pleece.  All  our  priwilidges  is  inwaded,  and 
Steam's  wots  bin  and  dun  it  I  Cuss  steam,  say  I, — ^'cept  when  it  cnms 
out  of  the  spout  of  a  kittle  and  sumbody's  ready  to  stand  a  quorten  of 
summot. 

Not  that  I  need  to  care  about  the  Epsum  Rode  now ;  Fve  bin  moved 
a  good  wile.     Still  one  haves  feelins,  and  mine's  they  as  Tve  exprest 

You'll  say,  praps,  the  contrack  aint  nun  of  yours,  and  you've  no  call  to 
grumble  so  long  as  you  gits  your  weekly  'lowance.  I  aint  goin  to 
argefy  that  queston,  wich  uiere  may  be  two  sides  to  every  baipn,  but 
wot  I  goes  upon  is  this.  Where's  the  life  and  speirit  as  made  a  Pike- 
man's  day  a  plesant  one  ?  Where's  the  gigs  and  the  drags  and  the 
tandums,  and  them  as  driv  'em,  gone  to  ?  Hosses  b  amost  a  drug  now, 
and  in  regard  to  postboys  I  haven't  seen  but  one  this  six  months,  and  he 
wasn't  hisself ;  he'd  no  more  napp  on  his  wite  hat  than  there  is  on  my 
bar ;  all  the  bloo  was  faded  right  out  of  his  jaddt,  and  if  it  hadn't  Un 
that  he  couldn't  help  it,  he  womdn't  even  have  looked  like  a  postboy. 

These  here  is  stunnin  reflexions  at  my  time  o'  life, — ^fer  I'm  turned  of 
sixty, — and  it  don't  seem  to  me  as  if  matters  was  likely  to  mend.  Here 
have  I  kept  a  Pike,  man  and  boy,  this  three-and-forty  year,  and,  tho  I 
say  it,  praps  there  aint  a  man  round  Lunnon  as  has  counted  more  hedds 
or  took  more  tolls  than  me,  nor  seen  more  of  wot  people  calk  "  life."^ 

This  here  brings  me  to  my  pint.  My  ies  aint  been  shut  all  this  time 
— 'cept  when  I  was  asleep, — and  a  Pikeman's  sleep  don't  go  for  much  at 
sum  of  the  gates  as  I've  oeen  on :  when  you're  used  to  it,  there's  a  good 
deal  to  be  seen  in  the  dark.  Piking  amt  such  a  lonely  ockepation  as 
sum  people  supposes, — when  the  rode's  liyely.  A  Pikeman  mayn't  tawk 
muoh^  but  like  the  munkeys  and  parrits,  he  thinks  the  more ; — there's 
sum  things  he  can  see  with  half  an  i,  and  a  many  more  as  he  guesses  at; 


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Some  Passages  from  a  PihemaiCa  Diary.  223 

h^e  always  a  storin  hk  mind  with  fax,  or  penooin'  coDimdams,  and  wan- 
«ver  he's  ohligated  by  roomatiz  to  quit  his  perfession,  why  the  weakly 
lUXMpspeEB  is  open  to  him  for  a  liwin.  It's  my  beleef  that  the  Edditer 
of  BeUs  Life — ^him  as  amsers  coiryspondeots — got  all  his  nollidge  by 
ksepin  a  Pike. 

Fokes  says  tint  if  a  man  wants  to  know  the  time  o'  day,  he  ought  to 
trsrvle :  that's  all  gammon.  In  oourse  I  don't  olgeck  to  trawlin,  becos 
if  there  wamt  no  trawlers,  tiiere  wouldn't  be  no  gates ;  but  I  arsks  any 
candied  indeviddle^  who  has  sitch  oppertoonities  as  a  Pikeman  of  observin 
of  hnman  nater  and  studdyin  his  fellow  creturs  ?  Show  me  a  sharper 
eove  than  a  Pikeman  arter  he's  kept  a  gate  for  a  few  years  nigh  Lunnon. 
Amt  his  £u^eties  always  on  the  stretch, — aint  he  always  a  havyin  it 
tried  on  him,  wot  with  Smashers  as  wants  to  pay  with  bad  money,  and 
wot  with  Bilks  as  wants  to  drive  through  without  payin  at  all  ?  Who, 
I  widies  for  to  know,  has  a  larger  sercle  of  aoquaintance  ?  Why,  when 
I  kept  the  Gate  at  Hide-Park  comer,  afore  it  was  pulled  down  to  make 
way  ifor  stattoos  and  lampposts,  there  wamt  a  not)  in  town  wich  his 
fiBeiers  I  wasn't  femillier  with, — from  the  Dook  who  lived  oppersit  to  the 
Leg  as  tared  into  Tattersell's  evry  Mundy  and  Thersdy  regler,  and  wot 
was  more,  they  was  as  femillier  with  mine.  If  I'd  a  had  my  picter 
Minted  in  those  days,  and  sent  to  the  Ryal  Acaddemy,  there  wouldn't 
nave  been  no  call  to  rite  my  name  under  it,  like  it  was  over  my  door : 
''That's  Ishmel,"  says  one^ — << There's  Coppers,"  says  another;  there 
wocddn't  hare  been  two  minds  about  it  Tawk  of  poppularity,  I  should 
Uke  to  know  who  was  poplar  if  I  wamt? 

Bat  it's  of  no  good  thuddn  of  the  past  arter  that  fSashun.  We  all  has 
oar  elewations  and  deepressins.  I've  seed  the  Book's  winders  broke  by 
ohaps  as  hoorayed  theirselves  horse  only  a  week  afore,  if  they  only  caught 
a  glimse  of  the  immortle  Hearo  a  cummin  up  Constitooshun  Hill ;  I've 
seed  Sir  Francis  pelted  by  the  werry  men  as  drawd  his  trumphhi  car 
along  Pickydilly ;  and  I've  seed  Lord  Broom  live  to  turn  up  his  nose  at 
the  rode  to  Hammemnith,  wich  it  was  his  pride  in  the  days  of  Quean 
Canrline. 

There's  other  gates  as  might  inspie  me  with  similiar  ideers:  the 
Mash  at  Lambeth  for  one,  the  bar  at  Tyburn  for  another, — but  where's 
the  use  ?  If  I  was  to  cry  my  ies  out,  it  wouldn't  bring  'em  back  agm, 
and  asoyinaintinmyline^Ishant  tryto.  I  haves  my  temper,  like  most 
Pikemen,  but  nobody  can  say  they  ever  seed  me  sniwle.  Bad  langwidge 
may  rile^  but  it  don%  rase  tbe  warters. 

Hat  there  is  sumihin  in  the  Past  bendes  personal  wisissitudes  to  think 
oa,  and  as  I  often  stands  a  roominatin,  with  my  pipe  in  my  mouth  and 
my  hands  in  die  pockits  of  my  apem,  countin  the  haypence  wich  they 
used  to  be  shillins,  quite  mecannide,  old  times  and  old  adwenters  cums 
back  to  mind  in  a  manner  that  may  be  canled  quite  wiwid.  I  fiuicies  it 
all  over  agin,  and  if  anyboddy  liked  to  listen  praps  they'd  hear  sumthin 
onnis.  But  people  don't  go  to  Pikes  for  information,  it's  railway  stashuns 
wot  is  perferred  now*a-days.  It  was  only  yesterday  momin  as  a  feller  stuk  a 
red  poster  right  agin  my  own  door  wiui  ^'Beadinfor  the  Rail"  upon  it  in 
Uack  letters  as  lone  as  my  ann.  ''Cuss  yoor  impedenoe,"  says  I ;  and 
then  I  begun  thinkm  wether  I  couldn't  do  a  little  ia  that  way  myself 
that's  to  say  ''Down  the  Boad,"  wioh  it  mite  be  agteable  to  the  public 

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224  Dawn  the  Bead;  or^ 

IVe  took  a  deal  of  their  money  for  my  employers,  and  taint  too  late 
praps  to  try  and  git  a  little  for  myself  Pen,  ink,  and  paper  is  cheap 
enuff,  wich  that's  the  reason  there*8  so  many  awthers.  **  So,"  says  I,  ooa» 
tinnerin  of  my  sillykey,  *'  I'll  just  rite  down  a  few  of  my  reckafeckshuns 
out  of  my  dairy ;  sum  of  the  Lunnen  booksellers  wich  is  always  a  crayvin 
arter  nowlety  may  be  glad  of  'em ;" — and  this  here's  the  upshot : 

About  five-and-twenty  year  ago,  more  or  less — for  I  don't  keep  a 
reglar  Tally,  like  Barren  Trunk,  but  jogs  things  down  in  my  memory 
accordin  as  they  makes  an  impression — well  about  that  time  I  kept  a 
gate  on  the  western  side  of  Lunnon,  wich  I  don't  mind  sayin  it  was  at 
one  end  of  Kensinton.  That  it  was  five-and-twenty  year  ago  I  have  no 
manner  of  dowt,  for  Mr.  Peer  was  then  a  drivin  the  Suthanton  Telly* 
graft — a  wite  coatch  wich  he  hossed  it  hisself  as  fur  as  Bagshot,  and  a 
pretty  team  he  went  in  and  out  of  town  with — there  wamt  no  better  to 
be  seen.  Mr.  Peer  was  about  the  last  of  wot  I  calls  the  bang-up  stile  of 
coatchmen — folks  sajs  "  slap-up"  now,  wich  I  think  it  low,  leastways 
wulgur — and  when  he  set  there  on  his  box  drest  in  a  green  cote,  wite 
hatt,  short  cords  and  tops,  a  bloo  hankercher  round  his  neck  and  a  pink 
in  his  button-hole,  a  hiandlin  the  ribbins  as  if  they  was  cobwabs — he 
touched  'em  so  lightly — ^if  he  wamt  the  picter  of  a  coatchman,  a  peifeet 
bo  idle,  why  I  never  seed  one.  He  was  a  small-made  man,  but  Herkels 
hisself  couldn't  have  got  him  off  that  there  box  if  he  hadn't  a  mind  to 
come  down.  Hosses  mite  run  away  now  and  then— it's  in  their  nater  so 
to  do— but  there  was  never  no  axidents  happened  with  Jim  Peer,  his 
sinners  was  made  of  cast  iem,  he'd  a  i  like  a  nawk  and  was  as  cool  as  the 
inside  of  a  pewter  pot — so  that  runnin  away  made  no  difference  to  him. 
*<  As  much  of  this  as  you  pleases,"  says  Jim  to  his  team  when  they  made 
a  start,  "  and  when  you've  done  on  your  account,  praps  you'll  he  good 
enuff  to  begin  on  mine."  And  then  it  was  he  used  the  wipp — never  on 
no  other  occasions.  Pve  heerd  him  arsk  a  gent  sumtimes  *'  How  much 
wippcord  do  I  ware  out  in  a  yere,  do  you  suppose,  Sb  ?"  ^<  You  means 
wipps?"  the  gent  would  reply.  ''Just  so,"  says  Jim,  ''how  many 
wipps  ?"  "  Well,"  says  the  gent,  "  let  me  see— maybe  a  matter  of  five 
pouiid  a  year."  "  My  wippmaker's'biU,"  says  Mr.  Peer,  giving  a  gentle 
flurrish  with  his  rite  elber  at  the  same  time — "  my  wippmaker's  bill,  from 
Crismas  was  a  twelmonth  to  last  Lady  Day,  was  only  nine  and  six,  and 
that  was  in  lashes,  nuthin  beside !"  It  would  have  done  anybody  good 
to  see  how  the  gents  used  to  stare  when  Mr.  Peer  said  this. 

But  I'm  afeerd  I'm  a  ramblin  with  my  rummynissMises ;  I  must  keep 
my  hosses  hedds  strate,  or  we  shant  git  down  the  rode.  Where  was  I? 
Oh,  I  reckalects — at  the  Kensinton  Pike.  Well,  wot  Fm  ffoin  to  mentioo 
happened  about  the  end  of  autumn  in  the  year  diat  I  roeiucs  of. 

It  was  a  coldy  ror  wet  evening,  more  like  March  than  October — the 
wind  was  so  by — and  I  was  a  settin  in  my  little  parler  listenin  both  ways 
for  the  sound  of  weals — ^up  and  down — wnen  Joe  Dipple^  the  pot-boy  of 
the  Fortin  of  War  public-nouse  on  the  other  side  of  the  way,  rite  opper- 
site  my  gate,  came  over  to  arsk  wot  I  ment  to  take  with  my  supper:  Joe 
did  this  reglar,  for  sumtimes  I  took  one  tiung  and  sumtimes  anothe]>^ 
it  mite  be  ale  or  it  mite  be  porter  or  it  mite  be  harf-and-harf,  bat  wotevet 
it  was  there  was  Joe. 

"Joe,"  says  I, «'  tfaia  has  bin  a  bisxy  day:  there  was  a  file  this  i 


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Some  Passages  from  a  Pikeman's  Diary.  229 

.  -ai  Molesej,  and  one  of  the  royal  dooks  is  bein  a  beiried  to  nite  at  Winaer ; 
my  hands  is  sore  with  catchin  the  browns,  and  my  woice  is  hosky  with 
lidlerin, — for  wether  it  was  the  fite  or  the  fewnarel,  most  on  'em  went 
thro  my  pike, — I  think  I'll  have  a  pint  of  ale  with  a  glass  of  gin  in  it  and 
a  teespun  full  of  ginger." 

'<  It'll  do  you  good/'  says  Joe, — he  was  a  goodharted  feller,  was  Joe,-— 
^^  for  you  must  be  awful  tired." 

<<  I  am  tired,"  says  I,  "  and  that's  the  fact.  It  aint  a  little  as  doos  me 
up,  my  hands  is  homy  and  my  lungs  is  leathery,  but  when  you've  bin  a 
takin  money  and  chex  from  afore  daylite  to  arter  dusk— on  a  Smiffeld 
day  too,  with  cattle  to  count  as  well  as  fitin  men  to  look  up,  and  a  wind 
like  this  a  blowin  the  teeth  down  your  throte  and  fillin  your  ies  chock  fiiU 
of  rain,  it's  time  then  to  think  of  bein  tired." 

'*  So  it  is,"  replies  Joe  ;  *'  I'm  tired  enuff  myself  sumtimes  ;  there's 
dajrs  when,  from  the  minuit  I  takes  down  my  shatters  till  I  puts  'em  up 
apn,  I  never  so  much  as  know  wot  it  is  to  set  down  to  git  a  mouthfull  of 

Tittles — I  goes  backerds  and  forrerds,  and " 

*'  Well,  never  mind  that  now,  Joe,"  says  I,  interruptin  of  him,  for  boys 
will  tawk,  there's  no  stoppin  of  'em  when  once  they  begins,  you  must 
awing  the  gate  to,  or  you'll  never  be  able  to  put  in  a  word  yourself — 
^  never  mind  that  now,  run  back,  my  fine  feller,  and  bring  me  that  ere 
gingered  dog's-nose,  you  knows  where  to  chawk  it." 

So  Joe  he  toddled  across,  and  I  went  into  the  Pike  to  lay  out  my 
aupper ;  it  was  pig's  feet,  I  remember,  wich  it's  a  dish  I'm  parshal  to  wita 
winnegar  and  musterd,  and  nuthin  pertickler  happened  till  he  cum  back^ 
'cept  Moody's  near  leader  shying  at  my  tom-cat  Ti^,  as  he  set  on  the 
bar ;  poor  Moody — I  mean  him  as  met  with  his  end  at  Branford-bridge — 
he  double- thonged  him,  howsever,  and  got  him  thro  the  gate  athout 
mischiff,  and  by  that  time  Joe  come  back  with  the  stuff. 

"  Mr.  Coppers,"  says  Joe,  a  handin  of  it  in,  <'  if  it  aint  no  ways  dis- 
agreeable to  you,  I'll  just  do  a  bit  of  pikin  wile  you're  a  eating  of  your 
grub.  I  aint  wanted  over  the  way  just  now,  for  the  markit  gardners  is 
all  gtme,  and  our  fokes  rether  slack." 

As  Joe  and  I  was  good  friends,  and  as  I  never  likes  to  stand  in  nobody's 
way  when  they  wishes  to  improve  theirselves,  I  went  in  and  had  my 
sapper  wile  he  minded  the  gate,  he  a  tawkin  to  me  thro  the  open  door- 
way all  the  time,  and  profittin  by  my  obserwations  in  reply. 

My  remarks  mite  have  bin,  and  no  dowt  was,  to  this  here  effect  : 
**  The  fust  thing,  Joe,  as  a  Pikeman  shood  lem,  is  how  to  handle  his 
gate.  Shetting  of  it's  easy  enuff  and  so's  openm,  perwided  it's  dun  at 
die  rite  time  ;  but  wichever  way  it  is,  never  go  for  to  do  it  in  a  hurry. 
You  may  git  bad  langwidge  and  have  yer  ies  dammed  and  all  that,  but 
it  oughtn't  to  make  no  impresshun,  no  more  than  if  it  was  a  petishun  to 
Parlymint  Says  you  to  yerself,  wot's  pikes  made  for — ^like  a  many  other 
ihines  in  this  here  world — but  to  stop  Uie  way  ?  How  are  you  to  know 
who  8  who,  till  you've  had  time  to  reconiter  ?  But  you  mu8n*t  fumble 
nither, — keep  your  gate  well  in  hand, — a  little  bit  or  a  jerk  doos  it,  and 
fbat  and  foremost  ile  your  hinges  reglar.  Tve  known  many  a  shillin  lost 
for  the  want  of  a  little  ile.  There's  nuthin  rusties  so  soon  as  a  turnpike 
gate,  and  it  stands  to  reason  it  shood,  bein  out  in  all  wethers.  For  the 
matter  of  that,  it  acts  on  the  temper  the  same  way,  and  if  a  Pikeman's 


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826  Down  the  Rood;  or^ 

cnwty  itainfcio  be  wmdeied  at.  The  next  Uiiog  is  aboufc  moaejj  weQiv 
Ws  good  or  bad.  At  your  bar,  Joe,  you'll  get  aome  experiance,  but  it 
aint  uke  oum ;  ooa  irbj  ?  we've  to  be  so  quid:  about  it.  Wile  youfra  a 
arskin  yourself  if  that  there  tizzy's  all  rite,  the  cove  as  tossed  it  to  ysr 
may  be  barf  a  mile  off,  and  if  it  wam't  a  good  un  you  won't  see  no  moss 
of  him  agin.  You  must  be  weiry  quick  too  at  ketchiag,  and  if  it's  silrer 
taint  a  bad  plan  to  ketch  it  in  yer  mouth  ;  you  bites  it  ihea  and  knows 
at  once  wether  it's  spewreous  or  genewin.  It  requires  a  good  i  tho,  and 
Tou  shoodn't  have  too  long  a  nose  for  this  sort  of  work.  Toe  best  ketcber 
m  this  line  as  ever  I  seed  was  Stunnin  Tommy  at  Kew*bridge;  but  then  he 
had  adwantages ;  his  foot  slipped  one  day,  and  he  fell  wi£  his  £900  ri§^t 
under  a  wagging  weal  as  was  passin  thio'  his  gate,  and  when  he  got  up 
agin  he'd  no  nose  to  speak  on,  and  a  mouth  that  oood  have  swoUerd  a  bag^  . 
full  of  hapence.  These  is  the  leadin  rools,  for  the  grate  objeck  is  to  make 
the  gate  pay.  My  master — and  he*s  a  Joo  and  Imows  wot  two  and  two 
makes,  nobody  better, — he  says,  says  he,  *•  Ishmael*— I'm  not  a  nebrew 
myself  tho'  my  name  is  Ishmfusl, — *  Ishmael,'  says  he, — 'we're  tuppence 
short  to-day, — how's  that  ?  There  was  a  dog-kurt  went  thro  athout 
payin  wam't  there,  him  as  said  he'd  lost  his  tickit  ?'  *  Well,'  says  I,  '  Ifr. 
Solomons,  you're  right,  it  was  a  dog-kurt  wich  I'll  make  it  good.'  And 
he  takes  ^e  tuj^nce.  I  mentions  this,  Joe,  jest  to  show  that  yon  must 
account  for  all  you  takes,  more  partiekly  if  your  pike  is  fanned  to  a  Joo. 
Not  that  they're  much  worse  than  Cristens  in  this  respeck.  I've  known 
one  or  two  slunflints  in  my  time  and  they  went  to  meetin,  never  come  mgh 
a  sinnygog.  '  How  do  masters  know,'  you  arsk,  ^  who  goes  thro  the  gate  ? 
Why  they  disgyses  tbeirselves  in  all  manner  of  ways,  and  dodges  about 
with  tellyscopes  and  black  ledd  pensles  and  wotches  for  hole  days,  and  than 
they  makes  a  haven^e  and  knows  to  a  penny  wot  the  gate's  wiurth.  Itfs 
of  no  use  your  tryin  it  on  with  a  Pike-master,— a  man  mite  as  well  go  for 
to  try  and  deseeve  hisself.  There's  summut  else  too  as  you  must  bare  m 
mind,  and  that's  General  Obserwation.  Obserwation,  Joe,  ought  to  be 
nart  of  a  Pikeman's  constitooshun.  Nuthin  ^ould  pass  his  bar  nor  w^ 
body  that  he  didn't  gess  the  time  of  day  consemin  of.  I  don't  mean  to 
say  that  he's  bound  to  know  evryboddy's  bisness ;  that  aint  to  be  ex- 
peckted — ^but  wotever's  queer  that  ere's  his  mark.  A  feller  as  has  strie 
his  boss  rides  different  from  a  swell  as  has  pade  for  his'n  ;  a  weddin  party 
is  one  thing,  but  blmds  down  may  be  another ;  it  aint  evrywun  as  looks 
sweet  at  each  other  as  has  come  from  church  ;  you  may  drive  a  travler^s 
gig  and  still  have  smuggled  spenits  under  the  seat ;  bhick  cotes  and  wite 
neckerchers  isn't  always  clergymen,  and  tisn't  evry  pare  of  monstayshios 
as  comes  out  of  barrix '* 

1  suppose  I  mite  have  sed  a  deal  more  than  this  to  young  Dipple^  as  I 
was  a  refreshin  of  myself,  but  wether  it  was  the  exershins  I  had made^  or 
the  wind  that  had  got  into  my  stmnmick,  or  the  trifle  of  gin  as  made  lbs 
ale  heddy,  is  more  than  I  can  say  at  this  distance  of  time,  but  I  find  on 
lookin  at  my  dairy — indeed  I  knows  it  from  other  circumstamoes,  hare  I 
fell  asleep  and  left  Joe  a  mindin  the  gate  all  by  hisself. 

When  I  took  that  'ere  nap  I  little  thawt  wot  a  oppertoonity  I  was  a 
puttin  in  hb  way :  howsever,  I  don't  grumble  tho  the  chance  mite  have 
been  mine. 

I  mite  have  slep  a  matter  of  five-and-twenty  minnits,  or  it  mite  have 


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Some  PoMages  from  a  FikemmCs  Diary.  227 

bin  harf  aa  bouz^  when  I  woke  up  agin.  I'd  bin  dreamin  of  sumboddj 
ridin  over  the  gate  arter  Dick  Turpii^s  fashun,  and  that  I  fired  a  pisUe  at 
bim  and  down  he  cum. 

''  Theze  you  are/'  shouts  I,  thinkin  I  was  a  speakin  to  Hie  gate-jumper, 
but  it  was  only  the  puter  pott  as  had  fell  off  the  table. 

"  Yes/'  says  Joe,  thinkmg  I  ment  him,  **  here  I  am  and  have  bin  wile 
yer  was  a  snorin  off  that  there  dog's-nose." 

I  arst  him  if  any  think  had  happened  out  of  the  common.  **  Nothing 
much,"  was  his  arnser ;  ^'  only  a  nurse  and  a  nackney  coatch  besides  the 
reglar  males."  "  Wich  way  was  the  erse  a  goin  ?  Up  ?"  Joe  nodded. 
^^  Jarvey,  contrairy  ?"    He  nodded  agin. 

"  Wot  do  you  do,  Mr.  Coppers,"  says  Joe,  a  rousin  hisself  up  from  a 
Idnd  of  meditatin  fit  and  lookm  me  strate  in  the  face — ''  wot  do  you  do 
when  you're  overpade?" 

"  Wot  do  you  mean  ?"  says  L 

^<  Why,  when  fokes  gives  more  than  the  toll  and  don't  wait  for  no 
change." 

^'  That  don't  offen  happen,  Joe,  only  now  and  then  when  it's  Oxfud 
men  as  slues  at  the  glim  over  the  gate,  or  a  swell  as  is  in  a  huny.  But 
wot  I  does  with  it  wen  it  happens  I'll  tell  you.  I  pockits  the  anront,— 
it's  my  perkesit  wich  I'm  not  onaccountable  for  it  to  nobody." 

*^  Then,"  says  Joe,  "  there's  two  and  two  to  the  good ;"  and  he  hands 
me  over  harf  a  buU. 

'^  It  wam't  the  erse  as  did  this,  Joe,"  says  I ;  ^^  they  always  spends 
tkeir  money  in  drink  afore  they  sets  out ;  besides,  the  erse  had  a  ticket ; 
they  may  lose  their  senses  but  they  don't  lose  that" 

"  No,    replies  Joe,  "  it  wamt  the  erse,  'twas  the  Jarvey !" 

"  Who  giv  it  to  you  ?"  I  arsks. 

^'  Can't  say,"  was  his  arnser ;  '<  only  saw  a  nand,  they  driv  weny  fast, 
•—and  newer  stopt  for  no  ticket — they  wos  gone  afore  I  could  look 
round." 

"  Was  it  a  man's  and  or  a  wommun's  ?" 

^*  Oh,  a  man's.  I  seed  a  natt  and  heerd  summot  as  sounded  like  a  hoath." 

'*  There  mite  have  been  a  wommun  there,  for  all  that.  Over  pay  and 
booths  looks  like  wimmen." 

**  Never  seed  none,"  says  Joe. 

"And  yet,"  persood  I,  harf  thinkin  to  myself,  "if  the  fare  sect  had 
been  oonsemed,  they'd  hardly  have  had  a  Jarvey.  When  I  was  a  boy 
I've  heerd  my  father — he  was  in  the  Pike  line  too — I've  heerd  him  teU 
how  Lord  Westmyland  cussed  and  swore  at  him  out  of  his  poeshay  when 
he  was  a  runnin  away  with  the  haress,  and  didn't  open  the  Hounsler 
gate  quick  enuff  for  his  lordship.  I  shant  repeat  the  identikle  words 
wot  he  uttered,  becos  they  woodn't  look  well  on  paper,  but  my  lord 
damms  my  &ther  up  hill  and  down  dale  and  says,  '  You  stoopid  beggar, 
wby  didn  t  you  open  the  gate  when  you  herd  my  bosses  cummin  ?'  and 
ihen  he  throws  him  a  ginney  and  damms  him  agin,  and  says  my  lord  to 
my  &ther,  ^  there's  another  poeshay  just  behind, — ^keep  that  waitin  as 
long  as  yon  can,'  and  away  he  goes  like  madd.  My  father  emt  the 
ginney  and  kep  the  gate  shet,  wich  there  was  too  gents,  a  elderly  one 
and  another  in  the  second  poeshay,  a  hoUerin  with  all  their  mite  about 
five  minnits  arterwards.     At  last  he  was  obligated  to  go  out,  and  pietty 


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228  Down  the  Road ;  or^ 

well  dammed  he  was  that  nite,  wot  with  my  lord  and  wot  with  the  elderly 
rent,  wich  swore  fearful  and  never  tipped  him  nuthin,  tho  he  owned  a 
bank  someway  nigh  by  Temple  Bar,  the  Sitty  Pike,  you  know,  Joe.  He 
was  wizzitted  for  it  that's  sum  consolashun,  for  besides  bein  hinderd  by 
my  father,  the  elderly  gent's  poeshay  was  stopped  by  a  waggin  at  Cran* 
ford-bridge,  wich  my  lord  giv  another  ginney  to  chock  up  the  rode ; 
free  enuff  of  his  money  he  was,  as  a  nobleman  ought  to  be  as  runs  awaj 
with  a  banker's  darter,  wich  he  got  cleer  off  and  marred  her.  But  thu 
camt  be  nuthin  of  that  sort :  praps  it's  a  sdffun,  praps  it's  swag ;  hows- 
ever,  Joe,  there's  a  tanner  for  your  share,  and  thankey." 

Joe  wamt  ill  pleased  with  the  job,  and  offered  to  stand  treat  for  an- 
other pint  of  dog's-nose,  but  as  I  never  takes  more  than  wot's  good  for  me> 
I  says  no  to  that,  and  bids  him  good  nite. 

Sich  an  ewent  as  a  Jarvey  goin  thro  the  gate  woodu't  have  ocke- 
pied  my  mind  a  single  minnit  if  it  hadn't  bin  for  the  tip,  but  that 
eroused  my  suspicions.  '^Them  as  was  inside,"  thinks  I  to  myself,  *^  must 
have  had  their  reasons  for  not  stoppiu  to  pay  reglar,  and  them  rea- 
sons wasn't  meant  to  be  put  down  in  black  and  wite,  and  printed  in  a 
book.  I  shall  hear  tell  of  this  sum  day."  And  with  this  'ere  reflezioii 
I  lit  my  pipe,  and  arter  a  few  wiffs  forgot  the  subjeck  altogether. 

It  mite  praps  have  cum  up  of  itself  agin  sum  day  or  it  mite  not, 
there's  no  sayin,  for  thawts  is  werry  arbitry,  but  there  was  them  as  saved 
it  the  trubUe.  Most  people  has  heerd  of  Mister  Lavender  of  Bo-street» 
tho  he*s  bin  dedd  a  goodish  wile  now.  He  was  a  remarkable  man  in  his 
day,  and  a  werry  piesant  gent,  wich  he  was  intimit  with  George  the 
Forth  and  most  of  the  stockracy  and  his  manners  was  fust  chop.  There 
wamt  nuthin  dun  at  the  time  I'm  speakin  on  as  Mister  Lavender  hadn't 
a  hand  in,  and  whenever  ennyboddy  was  wanted  it  was  always  him  aa 
was  sent,  the  same  as  the  Forresters  now-a-days.  Fokes  may  tawk  of 
sectaries  of  state,  but  them  as  doos  the  work  and  keeps  things  strate  is 
the  Fleece ;  we  cauld  'em  officers  when  I  was  young,  but  they're  the  same 
sort  of  men  still,  caul  'em  wot  you  like. 

Well,  about  two  days  arter  the  occurrins  jist  menshind  I  was  a  settin 
in  my  pike  with  Bell's  weakly  on  my  nee,  having  a  peroose,  wich  its  the 
only  paper  I  ever  cared  to  read  and  borrered  it  from  the  Fortin  of  War, 
wen  who  shood  make  his  appearings  but  Mister  Lavender. 

I  knowd  him  as  soon  as  I  set  ies  on  him,  for  menny's  the  time  he'd  bin 
thro  my  gate  in  gigs  and  shays  and  wot  not,  and  ne  knew  me  too  tho 
we'd  never  had  no  discoorse  together. 

•*  A  fine  momin.  Mister  Coppers,"  says  he,  in  a  smilin  sort  of  way. 

"  Werry  fine,  sir,"  says  I,  taking  off  my  att,  quite  respeckfrd. 

*'  I  suppose  I  needn't  tell  you  my  name  ?"  he  went  on  for  to  say. 

"  Not  the  least  occasion,  sur,"  I  amsers. 

"  Mister  Coppers,"  he  continners,  *•  have  you  heerd  anythink  of  a  great 
robbery  of  plate  wich  it  took  place  at  Stratford  here  in  Essex,  the  nite 
afore  last  ?" 

I  sed  I  hadn't,  and  begd  him  to  name  the  particklers. 

'*  Well  then,"  sed  Mister  Lavender  settin  hisself  down  inside  my  door 
wile  I  stood  handy  for  the  gate,  *^  I'll  tell  'em  to  you.  There's  a  elderly 
gent  as  is  werry  rich  wich  he  lives  at  Stratford  le  Bo  on  the  oppersit  side 
of  town,  you  knows  where  it  is  I  dare  say.    This  here  gent  has  a  deal  of 


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Some  PassoffSsJrom  a  PikanatCs  Diary,  229 

Slate  and  otiier  valliables — leastways  he  had  a  cupple  of  days  since— wich 
e  kep  in  his  honse,  besides  money,  not  Hkin  the  banx  sins  the  grate  iailers  ; 
in  short,  Mister  Coppers,  he's  rether  esentrick,  as  fokes  cums  to  be  wen 
they  lives  a  good  deal  by  theirselves  and'  has  fancies — I  don't  elude  to 
you.  Mister  Coppers,  for  you're  a  public  man  and  sees  wot's  goin  on  in 
the  world.'* 

^'  And  amt  got  much  plate  to  speak  on,'*  says  I,  pinting  to  my  chiny 
orer  the  chimbley  peace. 

Mister  Layender  larfed,  and  went  on : 

^'  Sir  John — ^he's  a  barrynet  and  bin  in  Indy  where  most  of  his  plate 
and  jewls  cum  from — Sir  John  is  a  widderer  and  hasn't  no  childem,  only 
nervies  and  neeces,  wich  they  don't  live  with  him  but  is  occasionally  in  wited, 
80  that  he  mostly  lives  alone.  He's  bin  accustomed  all  his  life  to  have  a 
ffood  many  servants,  and  so  he  keeps  up  a  large  establishment,  and  wether 
he  dines  by  hisself  or  has  cumpany,  his  table  is  always  set  out  with  silver 
and  gold  as  if  the  king  was  cummin,  and  weny  proud  on  it  he  seems 
to  be.  Next  to  seein  this  here  plate  on  his  sideboards  and  tables,  wot 
he's  fondest  of  is  to  see  it  locked  up  agin  in  his  chestes,  and  he  and  his 
butler  is  always  at  it  just  as  if  they  was  partners  in  a  silversmith's  shop 
m  the  Strand.  A  deal  of  work  Sir  John  gives  that  butler  to  keep  it 
bright,  but  he  pays  him  good  wages.  I  must  tell  you,  Mister  Coppers, 
that  Sir  John's  house  stands  back  from  the  rode  in  a  large  garding  with 
a  brick  wall  round  it,  and  iron  rales  and  gates  in  front  ever  so  high,  and 
the  honse  is  dingy  to  look  at,  with  narrer  winders  bricked  round  with 
red  as  if  it  had  got  sore  eyes,  wich  it's  a  house  that's  difficult  to  enter, 
you  understand.     There's  some  werry  like  it  here  in  Kensinton." 

'<  ]  know,"  says  I,  a  castin  my  i  along  the  rode, — "  a  Ibonattic 
establishment." 

^'Exackly,"  says  Mister  Lavender,  ''it  looks  for  all  the  world  like 
one,  and  them  as  wood  rob  it—from  the  outtidet  Mister  Coppers — must 
have  a  deal  of  circumwention  in  'em.  Now  then,  we  cums  to  the  pint. 
The  Barrynet's  house  was  robbed,  some  time  on  Wensday  evenin,  atween 
dusk  and  midnite.  It's  werry  seldom  as  Sir  John  leaves  home,  but  there 
had  been  a  great  dinner  at  the  Indy  House,  and  he  was  obligated  to 
attend.  Wile  he  was  absent  the  house  was  broke  into  and  plate  and 
dimonds  and  hard  cash  stole,  to  the  toon  of  upperds  of  seven  thousand 
pound.  The  butler's  pantry  where  the  chestes  is  kep  is  at  the  side  of 
the  house  behind  the  dinin  room  and  looks  out  on  to  a  door  in  the 
garding  wall,  openin  into  a  lane,  wich  it's  always  locked  with  a  padlock 
on  the  inside  and  the  key  kep  in  the  housekeeper's  closet.  Well,  this 
here  door  was  forced,  and  so  was  the  shetters  of  the  butler's  pantry  and 
so  was  the  winder  too, — ^leastways  the  glass  was  broke, — and  there  was 
the  jimmy  and  the  crowbar  as  tne  craxmen  had  left  behind  which  showd 
how  it  had  all  bin  dun--didn't  it  ?" 

''  I  should  say  so.  Mister  Lavender." 

''  Should  you  ?"  says  the  officer.  ^*  Jimmies  and  crowbars  unt  tooth- 
piz  made  of  quill,  and  senterbits  amt  latch  keys  after  all.  You  can't  use 
Vm  without  makin  sum  little  noise,  and  yet— it  will  strike  you  as  strange, 
Mister  Coppers — but  nobody  heerd  no  noise  that  evenin  wile  Sir  John  was 
gone  out  to  dinner.  To  be  sure,  the  butler,  Mister  Snapes,  coodn't  be  ex- 
pected to  hear  ttothin  as  he  was  teein  out  with  a  friend,  and  only  cum 


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S80  Dawn  the  Boad;  or, 

home  about  ten  minnitB  before  Sir  Jobn,  no  nune  eoodn't  Peters  tbe 
footman  as  attended  his  master  to  the  Indy  House  and  xetnmed  with 
him  tho  he  didn't  wate  at  dinner  But  if  nrcumstaniGes  perwented  Mister 
Snapea  hoax  bearing  of  tbe  theeves  wile  they  was  at  their  work,  be  soon 
found  out  wot  they  bad  dun.  After  he'd  given  bis  master  a  lite  be  hid 
him  good  mte,  but  before  Sir  John  bad  got  to  tbe  second  landings  Snapes 
began  to  boUer  out  that  tbe  bouse  was  robbed.  Down  cums  Sir  John, 
as  quick  as  if  be  was  only  five-and-twenty  instead  of  seventy-one^  wich 
it's  ms  age, — down  cums  all  tbe  servants  as  slep  ufistazes,  and  up  corns 
them  as  slep  below,  and  there  they  finds  Mister  Snapes  a-rin^  his 
hands  and  carin  out  in  tbe  most  dredflest  way,  quite  overtook  with  the 
discuvry.  Evzyboddy  was  consternated ;  some  was  for  doui  this  ibin^ 
some  for  doin  that ;  and  Sni^ies  and  Peters  proposed  to  Sir  John  that 
they  shood  sit  up  all  nite  with  loded  pistles. 

**  Sb  John  did  not  storm  as  was  expected,  tho  be  eood  storm,  and  did, 
even  if  there  was  a  speck  on  a  silver  spoon, — ^but  when  spoons  and  fawka 
and  servers  and  all  was  gone,  he  never  sed  nuthin.  '  Bar  that  winder,' 
aays  be  to  Mister  Sn^es,  '  and  tben  go  to  bed, — ^to  bed  eviprboddy  :  to> 
mcorow  momin,  Peters,  you  go  down  to  Bo-street^  and  give  my  com;- 
plimeuts  to  Mister  Lavender,  and  say  I  wish  to  see  him  by  the  time  I 
come  down  to  breakfast.'  ^d  so  Sir  John  took  up  bis  candle  agpn, 
and  without  a  word  more^  took  lusself  oS,  and  all  the  rest  folleied,  and 
never  so  much  as  opened  theb  lips. 

<'  I  was  pmiktle  nex  momin  in  course,  and  soon  beerd  the  bistry  of  the 
sohbery,  how  tbe  theeves  had  broke  open  the  garding  gate,  prized  the 
pantry  abetters  and  so  on.  Mr.  Snapes  was  weiry  oble^gin  and  sbowd 
me  au  round  tbe  premises,  tellin  me  the  way  wich  be  supposed  tbe  robbers 
had  got  in.  I  beerd  eviything  as  be  sed  and  lookt  at  evrytbing  as  he 
pinted  out  to  me, — and  to  sum  things  as  be  didn't  notiee  in  no  way,  and 
wen  he  had  done, — anice,  siwle  spoken  gentleman  is  Mr.  Snapes^-I  acaC 
to  see  ^  John. 

^^I  found  him  at  breakfast,  and  wen  Fd  took  my  seat,  wich  he  politely 
wished  it,  I  sed  : 

^  *  You  haven't  bin  broke  into.  Sir  John!' 

<<  <  The  devil  I  haven't,'  was  bis  remark;  ^  wot*s  beonm  of  my  plate, 
dien?' 

^'  *  I  didn't  say  you  hadn't  bin  broke  out.  Sir  Jobn»' 

"  *  Ah,'  says  be, — *  how's  that  ?  so  you  tlunk * 

" '  I'm  pretty  nigh  sure  on  it,  Sir  John.  Wenorowbaxs  is  used  there's 
alwm  fresh  dents,  wen  winders  is  broke  from  ihe  outside  the  glass 
tnmbles  in;  this  here  crowbar' — ^wich  I  produced  it — 'aint  macked 
jBowbere's,  this  here  glass  was  laying  on  the  grass  under  arose  bush  moiie 
than  four  foet  from  the  winder.  There  was  rain  last  nite  and  the  madka 
of  weals  and  bosses  feet  in  the  lane  is  Jarvey's  marks  and  not  csaxmaals 
spring  carts.  Praps  you'll  be  kind  enuff,  Sir  John,  to  let  me  see  a  pare 
ol  Mister  Snapes's  shoos,  and  Mister  Petecs's  too^ — ^they  woodn't  either  of 
'em  cum  amiss.' 

''  Well,  Mister  Coppers,  the  shoos  was  got  onbekaown  to  the  pasties  and 
I  went  into  the  garding  agin,  this  time  by  myself,  and  tried  'em  in  fiom 
footmarks  as  was  in  tbe  m<9d,  and  they  fitted  like  my  laaa  Friday  wen  he 
frited  Bobison  Cruso.    Tbe  marks  was  turned  o^qpersit  ways  wash  one  was 


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Same  Passages  from  a  PikemarCs  Diary.  2S1 

mBda  baekeidfl  and  the  other  fonacd,  and  deep  dug  they  was  as  if  a  hewy 
wate  was  bein  cariid  between  'em. 

'*' I  sees  it  all  now,  Sir  John/  says  I,  wen  I  goes  back  to  the  Banynet. 
^  SnjqDeB.  and  Peters  is  die  men,  and  with  your  pennisnon  Til  take  'em 
bio  custody.' 

^'  A  paler  man  than  Mister  Snapes,  or  aredderer  one  than  Mister  Peters, 
w«n  I  claimed  'em  as  my  pnsners^  I  never  saw,  tho  Pve  had  a  many  afore 
the  Beaks.  The  Darbies  was  handy, — I  always  has  two  or  three  pares 
in  my  pockit — and  they  was  soon  on — a  cunweyance  was  preeured  and 
about  an  hour  arterwards  Mister  Sni^ies  and  Mirtor  Peters  was  afore  Sir 
Richard. 

<(  He  coodn't  make  much  out  on  'em  at  inst^  for  they  stuck  dose  to  their 
own  story.  Snapes  sed  he  cood  prove  where  he  teed  and  Peters  swore  he 
wae  a  waitin  all  the  evenin  at  the  Feathers  in  Leadenhall-street  till  his 
master  cum  out  from  dinner.  This  here  aint  a  matter  to  hurry  over,  so  I 
arsks  for  a  remand  till  I  can  git  further  evidence,  and  wile  I'm  about  it 
the  prisners  is  under  lock  and  key. 

*^  Now,  Mister  Coppers,  I'm  as  sure  as  if  I'd  seen  it,  that  ibis  job  was 
dim  in  a  Jarvey.  Pve  bin  or  sent  to  all  the  Pikes  round  Lonnon  'cept 
youm,  and  now  I'm  cum  to  you.  They  didn't  go  Essex  way,  nor  Kent 
way,  nor  Surrey  way,  nor  up  into  Harfbrdshire— there's  been  nuthin 
beeni  of  at  the  reseavers  in.  Heundsditch  and  th«n  parts,  and  my  bdeef 
la  that  they  cum  by  this  gate.  Did  you  see  ever  a  Jarvey  go  thro  en 
Wenaday  evenin  ? 

'*  Di&ster  Lavender,"  says  I»  *^  I'm  proud  of  the  oonfidens  as  you  places 
in  my  obserwation,  but  I  m  sorry  to  say  I  didn't  see  no  Jarvey." 

Mister  Lavender  semde  jm  his  mouth,  and  lookt  at  me  werry  hard. 

^  But,"  coDtinners  I,  *'  toere  foas  a  Jarvey  as  went  thro  for  all  that" 

'<  How  cum  you  not  to  see  it  then  ?"  says  he. 

So  then  I  up  and  told  him  how  about  the  pint  of  dog's-nose  and  the 
wind  and  the  site  and  the  royal  fewneral, — ^he'd  bin  at  both  hisself  that 
same  day  and  nite, — end  how  I  was  tired  and  went  to  sleep  for  half  an 
hoar  wile  Joe  Dipple  watched  the  gate,  and  wot  happened  wile  he  was 
there. 

<'  W^"  says  he^  wen  I'd  done,  <<then  Dipple's  the  one  as  can  tell. 
It  will  be  worth  his  wile  to  spedc  out,  for  Sir  John  offers  a  hewy  ze- 
'wkA.  I  was  in  hopes  you'd  have  had  it,  Mister  Coppers,  for  you  re  a 
honest  man." 

"  Thankey  all  the  same,"  says  I,  "  but  it  aint  my  luck." 

So  Joe  Dipple  was  sent  for,  and  he  repeated  word  for  word  wot  I've 
lit  down  as  well  as  I  cood. 

^  Now,"  says  Mister  Lavender,  ^'there's  only  one  thing  more  about  it. 
Ton  saw  the  man's  hand  as  threw  you  the  harfcrown,  and  you  saw  his 
att, — did  you  see  his  face  ?" 

"No,"  says  Joe,  "it  was  too  dark." 

"Tou  coodn't  sware  to  him  if  you  saw  him  agin  ?" 

"Icoodn't" 

<^  Did  you  see  nuthin  else  ?  Didn't  you  notice  the  number  of  the 
ooatch  on  the  pannle  ?" 

**  Yes,  I  saw  that" 


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232  Daum  th^  Road. 

*^  I  thawt  we  shood  have  him  there,"  says  Mister  Lavender,  a  rabbin 
of  his  hands, — "  wot  was  it  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  says  Joe, 

"  Not  know  I — ^you  mean  to  say  you've  forgot  Cum,  tiy  hack,  there's 
a  hunderd  offered.     It's  worth  rememberin." 

<*  I  can't  read  figgers,"  says  Joe,  and  the  teers  cum  into  his  ies. 

"  Well,  don't  cry,  man,"  says  the  officer, — "  praps  you  can  reckaleck 
wot  the  figgers  was  like  ?" 

Joe's  face  britend  up. 

*'  Two  pipes  of  backey  and  two  pots  of  porter,"  he  gasps  out. 

**  Wot  do  you  mean  by  that  ?"  arsks  Mister  Lavender. 

Joe  takes  a  peace  of  cnawk  out  of  the  pockit  of  his  jackit  and  goes  to 
my  toll-board  and  scores  up  the  two  pipes  and  two  pots. 

"211 — Two— one— one,"  cries  Mister  Lavender, — *' that's  two  him« 
derd  and  eleven.     Sure  of  that?" 

«  Sure  on  it." 

<<  I  have  him  then,*'  says  the  officer. 

And  so  he  had.  Two  nunderd  and  eleven  was  soon  found,  and  under 
the  cuff  of  his  grate  cote,  wich  he'd  forgot  he  put  it  there,  was  found  the 
Stratford  Pike  tickit  for  the  nite  of  the  robbery. 

Jarvey  turned  King's  evidence  and  confest  now  he'd  been  had  in  down 
the  lane  from  the  oUier  side  of  the  Stratford  gate, — ^how  Snapes  and 
Peters  carried  out  the  chest,  how  they  driv  to  a  house  in  Rensinton- 
square  where  they  left  the  swag,  and  how  they  got  back  by  Tyburn  time 
enuff  to  drop  Peters  in  Leadenhali-street  and  git  Snapes  home  afore  his 
master. 

The  rest  of  the  story's  soon  told :  the  two  was  transported.  Sir  John 
got  back  his  plate  and  jewls,  and  Joe  Dipple  was  pade  the  hunderd 
pound.  He  offerd  harf  of  it  to  me  as  he  sed  we'd  shared  the  harf  crown, 
— but  "no,  Joe,"  says  I, — "this  'ere  money  will  set  you  up  in  a  good 
bisness ;  if  I  was  to  take  it  I  shood  only  lock  it  up,  for  I  aint  g^t  no  caul 
for  anything  but  pikin'  and  cappitle  aint  wanted  for  that.  Take  a'  public, 
and  wen  you're  inside  your  own  bar  111  come  and  take  a  pint  of  dogs- 
nose  now  and  then." 

He  follerd  my  adwice^  and  manny's  the  time  we've  tawked  over  this  'ere 
adwenter  of  the  Jarvey  as  I've  distracted  from  my  Daiiy. 


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(     233    ) 


PICTURES  OF  MY  BARRACK  LIFE. 

BY  A   GERMAN   SOLDIEB. 

Chapter  IX. 

A  FEW  days  after  the  events  related  in  the  foregoiog  chapter,  I  re- 
oeiTed  a  packet  from  my  guaxdian  (with  whom,  by-the-way,  I  had  patched 
up  a  pacificatioii  on  the  occasion  of  my  promotion),  which,  besides  a  letter 
from  nimself,  a  very  repertory  of  trite  truisms  and  good  advice,  contained 
two  other  enclosives,  for  which  I  was  Seut  more  obhged  to  him.  One  of 
them  was  a  note  of  hand  for  a  good  round  sum,  the  other  a  pretentious- 
looking  epistle,  directed  ''  An  Seine  Hocbgeboren  den  Herm  Grafen  von 
Lieginditsch;"  and  I  could  hardly  believe  in  the  reality  of  my  good  for- 
tune, when,  in  his  letter  to  myself,  I  read  concerning  this  same  epistle  : 
''  As  you  must  be  somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood  of  my  old  friend. 
Count  Lieginditsch,  1  inclose  you  a  letter  of  recommendation  to  him.  If 
he  is  the  same  man  that  he  was,  he  will  receive  you  kindly ;  and  there  you 
will  have  an  ppportunity  of  mixing  in  a  little  better  society  than  can  be 
found  among  vour  comrades." 

Though  I  looked  upon  this  as  a  perfect  godsend,  and  calculated  upon 
its  removing  all  difficulties  in  the  way  of  a  further  prosecution  of  my  ac- 
quaintance with  the  &scinating  Fraulein,  yet  I  would  not  on  any  account 
have  wished  it  to  arrive  before,  as  I  should  then  have  lost  half  the  mys- 
terious secret,  which  seemed  to  constitute  a  kind  of  masonic  sign  between 
the  Fraulein  and  myself.  It  would  have  anticipated  and  prevented  the 
scene  at  the  bath,  with  all  its  attendant  consequences,  when  the  Fraulein, 
by  her  flattering  conduct,  had  applied  such  a  soothing  cataplasm  to  my 
wounded  vanity. 

At  the  earliest  opportunity  after  receiving  thts,  I  rode  over  to  the 
Schloss  to  make  a  cail  and  dehver  my  credentialcf,  but  was  grievously  dis- 
appointed to  find  that  the  whole  family  were  out,  and  not  expected  to  re- 
turn till  the  next  day,  so  that  I  was  forced  to  depart  without  the  inter- 
view which  I  had  so  fondly  anticipated.  Soon  uter  my  return  to  the 
heath,  the  bugles  sounded  for  parade,  and  we  all  set  to  work  to  make  a 
breach  in  the  devoted  basdon. 

On  that  day,  for  the  first  lime,  I  fired  off  a  heavy  breaching-gun,  folly 
charged,  which  is  the  most  hazardous  crios  that  a  neophyte  has  to  undergo. 
However  correctly  he  may  go  through  all  his  exercises,  however  well- 
versed  he  may  be  in  the  theoretical  part  of  his  profession,  or  however 
skilful  he  may  be  in  managing  such  popguns  aa  the  six-pounders  in 
common  use,  be  has  not,  by  any  means,  been  fully  tested  and  approved 
till  he  has  stood  behind  a  neavy  breachinfl^gun  and  fired  it  off  without 
flinching.  That  is  the  true  touchstone  of  his  constitution.  Some  are  so 
entirely  paralysed  by  the  deafening  ftdmination,  that,  dropping  the  wiping- 
sponse,  or  anything  else  they  may  chance  to  have  in  their  hands,  they 
stand  stock-stdl,  as  if  trans&xed  to  the  eartih,  rolling  their  eyes  and 
gasping,  as  if  a  bucket  of  cold  water  had  suddenly  been  thrown  upon 
them,  or  else  they  start  away  and  cn^r  about  as  it  distracted.  Others 
are  so  mortally  terrified  with  the  bare  anticipation  of  the  report  that  at 


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234  Pictures  of  my  Barrack  Life. 

the  word  *^  Gunner,  fire !"  instead  of  applying  the  fusee  to  the  touchhok, 
ihej  thrust  their  fingers  in  their  ears,  and  heat  a  most  precipitate  retreat 
Many  are  never  able,  or  pretend  that  they  are  not  aUe,  to  overcome  these 
nervous  tremors,  and  are  consequently  obliged  to  be  transferred  to  ihe 
cavalty  or  infiantry. 

When  the  time  for  firing  our  pieoe  anived,  my  comrades,  who  were 
not  ambitious  of  exposing  their  tympana  to  unnecessary  trials,  eva- 
cuated the  trench,  and  left  me  alone  to  enjoy  my  tke-a-tke  with  **  the 
Screamer."  At  the  word  **  Fire  !"  given  by  die  colonel  himself,  who 
happened  to  be  standing  near,  I  very  mgmj  applied  the  lighted  Innt, 
or  match,  to  the  fusee  which  is  inserted  in  the  touchhole,  and  then  le- 
spectfiilly  retired  a  few  paces  to  the  rear,  anxiously  awaiting  the  result 
But  to  our  infinite  surprise  the  piece  maintained  a  most  obstinate  mlenoe. 
The  fusee  fizzed  away  in  proper  style,  and  soon  produced  a  little  spirt, 
which  proved  that  some  oi  the  powder  at  any  rate  nad  been  ignited,  bat 
still  the  silence  was  unbroken.  This  awful  suspense  lasted  for  about 
half  a  minute.  I  grew  hot,  and  so  did  the  colonel ;  but  nnne  was  piqr* 
sical,  and  his,  unfortunately  for  me,  was  moral  heat.  At  last  he  came  a 
step  or  two  nearer,  and  seeing  me,  perchance,  look  a  Kttle  confused  and 
perplexed  at  this  novel  predicament,  he  exdaimed,  in  an  angry  bantering 
tone, 

**Oho!  you  are  fiightened,  are  you?  Do  not  be  so  pale,  it  wtm't  Ute 
you.     To  uie  devil  with  your  clumsiness.     Fire  again. 

By  this  command  I  was  constrained,  ihougfa  at  die  risk  of  having  my 
nervous  system  shattered  by  an  unexpected  explosion,  to  approach  the 
monster,  which  I  did  much  in  the  same  manner  as  an  adventuresome 
mouse  might  reconnoitre  her  feline  foe  while  napping.  On  examination,  I 
discovered  that  ihe  fusee  had  burnt  away  without  exploding  the  charge; 
so  that  after  Yon  Teschchenschech  had  invoked  a  few  ^  Donnerwettet^'  on 
ihe  head  of  the  upper  artilleryman  for  its  bad  manufiEusture,  I  proceeded 
to  remedy  the  failure  by  inserting  another.  This  was  speedily  done,  and 
affcer  lighting  it,  I  repeated  my  flank  movement.  Another  horrible  pause 
ensued,  and  witii  no  oetter  result  than  before.  Witii  a  thundering  exe- 
cration the  colonel  anathematised  us  all  for  a  set  of  blundering  boobies, 
and  ordered  us  to  unload.  This  we  did  with  some  misgivings  as  to  what 
might  be  the  next  phase  in  this  eventful  drama ;  but  when  the  charge 
had  been  withdrawn,  the  strange  mystery  was  solved. 

On  probing  the  gun  with  my  wipin?-rody  I  discovered  that  «ome 
soft  substance  had  sot  stm^  imbedded  in  the  breech,  thereby 
stopping  up  the  touchhole.  This  of  itself  was  an  oversight  flagrant 
enough  to  bring  down  an  extra  watch  upon  our  heads  ;  but  who  can 
imagine  my  surprise  and  horror,  when,  on  ara£;ging  forth  die  obstruction 
to  &e  light  of  day,  I  recogmsed  my  own  stal&-jadcety  a  varment  which 
I  had  long  given  up  for  lost,  but  which  I  now  remembered  to  have 
thrust  into  the  cannon's  mouth,  to  lighten  my  knapsack,  when  on  tiie 
march  for  Wilhelmstadt.  My  anticipations  on  seeing  this  emerge  were 
of  a  most  sombre  complexion, —again  I  had  got  into  the  devil's 
kitchen,*  and  this  time!  could  not  hope  to  escape  without  suflln> 

**  In  des  Teufd's  Kuche  Kommen— to  get  into  the  devfl*s  kitchen— is  a  prover- 
Mal  expressioD  for  getting  faito  a  great  scrapei 


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Pictures  of  my  Barraeh  I/fe.  835 

ing  more  of  ita  peine  fortes  dure  iStan  had  Men  to  my  lot  before.  Iti 
ajppearanoe  of  coune  elicited  a  raging  torrent  of  tme  Tesobehenflcheebian 
frtoperatiye  eloqaenoe,  of  wfaioh  I  hove  already  given  two  or  three  som* 
pies,  and  8o  will  not  bne  myielf  or  readers  with  another.  Suffice  it  to 
a^,  Aat ''  Knover  '<  Rapscallion !"  ''  Millionenhund!"  were'^among  the 
mildeet  specimens  of  its  nomendatrae,  and  that  it  was  plentifolly  inter- 
spersed with  that  &syllabic  interjection  which  ovx  chief  generaUy  scat- 
tered about  among  his  apostrophes  with  a  lavish  hand,  and  which,  if  tradi* 
tion  err  not,  was  also  die  favourite  ejaculation  of  the  Host  of  Pande- 
moninm  himself. 

What  would  have  been  my  fate  had  this  been  an  ordinary  occasion,  I 
cannot  undertake  to  predicate — ^no  doubt  somethmg  beyond  my  past  ex- 
perience of  military  severity ;  but,  very  unfortunately,  time  was  precion% 
and  Dose,  not  unmindfid  tnat  he  too  might  come  in  for  a  share  of  the 
storm,  if  it  burst  in  his  neighbouihood,  was  bold  enough  to  suggest  to 
the  colonel  that  the  enemy  were  now  enjoying  a  respite,  and  that  it 
might  be  advisable  to  repair  the  delay  already  occasioned  by  a  speedy 
resumption  of  onr  fire. 

Lnckily  for  both  of  us,  this  advice  was  taken  in  good  part,  and  imme- 
diately followed  out,  so  that  my  ultimate  destiny  remained  for  a  while  in 
die  donds ;  and  during  the  day's  work  a  happy  opportunity  was  afforded 
me  for  mitigating  the  virulence  of  onr  oommandei^s  choler. 

Whilst  gallopmg  onr  field-piece  over  the  heath  at  full  speed,  one  of  the 
ride-supports  of  its  carriage  gave  way,  and  placed  us  hors-de^cambat  at 
a  most  critical  moment  in  the  operations.  Prompted  by  the  exigency  m. 
die  moment,  I  suggested,  that  as  we  were  in  an  enemy's  oonntiy,  there 
conld  be  no  great  harm  in  appropriating  a  neighbouring  finger-post  as  a 
snooedanenm  for  our  fractured  beam.  This  was  no  sooner  proposed  than 
nnanimously  agreed  to.  The  post  was  hauled  up  firom  its  root  instanter, 
and  speedily  spliced  beneath  the  gun,  with  one  of  its  arms,  maiked 
**  Wilhelmstadt,''  pointing  helplessly  towards  the  sky,  as  if  invoking  the 
vengeance  of  its  tutelary  Trivia  upon  our  sacrilegious  heads.  This  vras  a 
maruntvre  de  force  exactly  to  the  taste  of  our  somewhat  mischievous 
colonel ;  and  when  we  next  came  nnder  his  eye,  after  inquiring  who  was 
the  originator  of  the  happy  idea,  he  was  most  graciously  pleased  to  com- 
mend me  for  it)  and  in  consideration  of  such  distii^^uished  services, 
absolved  me  from  my  former  finilt  with  no  worse  punishment  than  an 
extra  watch. 

Shortly  after  this  sHght  eonirHempe  we  held  a  grand  field-day,  at 
which  the  garrison  of  Wilhelmstadt,  consisting  of  a  reg^ent  of 
Uhlans  and  two  of  infantry,  under  the  command  of  a  General  Buggie- 
rnan,  assisted.  The  entire  force  of  cavalry,  artillery,  and  infimtry,  was 
divided  into  two  equal  parts,  whidi  were  to  manosnvre  against  each  other; 
and  to  avoid  oonfiuion,  one  side  wore  sdiakos  and  helmets,  and  the  other 
only  foragmg-caps. 

The  scene  around  the  heath,  before  the  time  for  action  had  arrived,  was 
in  the  highest  degree  entertainiBgandjpiotaresque.  Hie  dustyplain  was 
proribsely  beqmnkledwithsleekiuidriumngsteedsby  the  side  of  unwieldy 
twenty-fours  or  galloping  siz-pomiders,  while  the  nodding  plumes  axid 
butterfly-pennons  of  dashmg  laooers,  all  befirog^  and  gUded,  towered 
conspicuously  above  the  geoml  level,  and  die  {jittering  bayonets  of  die 


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235  J^P$"f<?i^.«^N-^^^\^Wt- 

infantry,  co^lect^  iiii  dense  raod,  fbiw^t  Imots^  anegtecl.th«  eye  l^y^^jMir 
t)rilliant  fiaal^ipg.  Here'  a  couple  of  cauponeers  were  sit^iag  astride  upoa 
a  cannon^  discussjinga  breakfast  which  was  laid  out  between  theoa  up(m:tb9 
gun,  while  their  horsesi  fastened  to  the,  iwbeeU  on  either  skb,  were  snuff- 
ing up  the  n^oming  air  through  <Hlated  nostrUs ;  and  there  lay  a  knot  o£ 
foot-soldiers  grouped  around  a  drum,  on  which  a  sutler  served  up  thais 
simple  breakfast  oF  bread,  sausages,  and  schnapps*  Jokes  and  laughter 
echoed  through  the  crowd,  whilst  imperturbable  orderlies  and  pompous 
ludes-de-camp  flitted  over  the  field,  enveloped  in. all  the  proud  panoply  of 
official  importance. 

.  But  this  temporary  pause  was  not  of  loijg  duration.  We  were  soon 
aroused  &om  our  dolce  far  niente  by  the  notes  of  the  bugle,  ordering  ua 
'^  to  horse.'*  In  a  moment  the  scene  was  changed,  and  we  were  all  as  busy 
as  bees  in  the  earliest  shower  of  vernal  sunlight.  After  a  few  momenta 
of  chaotic  confusion,  order  emerged  triumphant,  and  we  were  arranged 
across  the  heath  in  dense  and  guttering  lines.  Our  battery  was  drawn 
up  in  battle  array  by  De  Foe,  a.  short  distance  in  the  rear  of  the  "  Merry 
Sutler,**  where  our  colonel  had  fixed  his  head-quarters,  and  where,  in 
honour*  of  the  occasion,  he  now  sat  moistening  his  larynx  with  some  of 
Frau  Kaiserinn's  famous  punch.  After  giving  us  ample  time  to  complete 
our  preparations,  he  issued  forth,  brimful  of  satisfaction  at  the  prospect 
of  a. good  day's  evolutions.  But  the  complacent  grin  with  which  this 
feeling  had  overspread  his  physiognomy,  was  changed  into  an  ominous 
scowl  as  soon  as  ne  caught  sight  of  our  battery  where  De  Foe  had  sta- 
tioned it.  He  strode  towards  u^  with  minatory,  looks,  and  as  soon  as  he 
cam^  within  speaking  distance,  entered,  to  the  great  entertainment  of  the 
battery,  into  a  sharp  logomachy  with  our  commander.  It  was,  however, 
all  ofiensive  on  the  one  side,  and  all  defensive  on  the  other;  for  the  captain, 
though  such  a  Hector  to  all  his  unfortunate  subordinates,  stood  abun- 
dantly in  awe  of  the  powers  that  be,  and  would  as  soon  have  thought  of 
speakmg  civilly  to  an  inferior  as  of  returning  the  hard  words  of  any  one 
above  lum.  The  colonel  now  accused  him  of  acting  contrary  to  his 
orders,  which  be  declared  had  been  expressly  to  the  effect  that  one-half 
of  his  battery  should  gp  over  to  the  enemy.  This  assertion,  however, 
was  contrpverted,  though  with  all  due  submission,  by  the  captain,  and 
ultimately  disproved  by  the  production  of  the  colpnel's  original  order  of 
the  day,  Thus  foiled,  he  ^as  forced  to  conf^  that  this  time  he  had  been 
mistaken,  but  soon  rectified  his  error  by  despatching  a  moiety  of  us  to 
report  ourselves  at  the  head-quarter^  of  Genend  Buggieman. 

Away  we  galloped,  under  the  command  of  lieutenant  Diggendor^ 
leaving  all  such  bad  elements  as  the  De  Foes  and  H5nigthauichts  behind 
us.  We  soon  reached  the  enemy's  videttes,  who,  thinking  they  were 
surprised,  began  to  salute  us  with  a  sharp  ratde  of  musketry,  but  being 
undeceived  on  this  head,  directed  us  where  to  look  for  the  general  and 
his  staff.  We  soon  came  within  sight  of  these ;  but  seeing  us  debouch 
from  an  opening  in  the  wood  dose  upon  their  flank,  and  imagining  &on% 
our  caps  that  we  were  a  party  of  the  ^emy,  they  immediately  clapped 
spurs  to  their  chargers'  flsmks,  a^  fled  like  a  flocK  of  frightened  sheep ; 
nor  did  they  draw  bridle,  or  even  look  behind  theni,  till  safely  sheltered 
within  thev  own  lines.  Thither,  tborefbre,  we  had  to  follow  them, 
highly  amused  at  the  oonstemation  we  had  caused. 


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JHeturet  of  my  Barrack  Life.  237 

•  After  we  had  aonounoed  oitr  xnusion,  and  enjoyed  the  somewhat  sheepish . 
eipiesnon  with  which  it  was  reoeived,  the  general  informed  us,  that  as 
he  had  given  up  expecting  our  hattery,  and  had  made  his  arrangements 
aceordingly,  he  should  have  to  disperse  us  through  his  force,  in  divisions 
<tf  a  sin^e  gun  apiece.  This  dislocation  of  our  hatterV)  though  hy  no 
means  agreeable  to  Lieutenant  Diggendorf,  was  highly  so  to  Mr.  Ser- 
geant Dose.  To  be  placed  in  a  position  of  so  much  responsibility,  and 
to  act  so  independently,  seemed  to  him  extraordinarily  *'  poetical ;"  and 
he  had  never  given  the  word  *<^  march  "  with  such  a  (mock)  heroic  air,  or 
sat  so  proudly  in  his  saddle,  as  when  the  general  ordered  him  to  conduct 
his  gun  to  act  in  concert  with  a  couple  of  squadrons  which  were  posted 
on  a  little  knoll  hard  by.  These  squadrons  were  commanded  by  an  old 
major  with  a  ferocious  beard  and  a  airty  nankeen-coloured  physiognomy, 
whom,  on  our  approach,  we  found  squatting  by  his  horse's  side,  and 
smoking  away  out  of  a  stumpy  meerschaum. 

When  Dose  dismounted,  and  announced  his  errand,  with  all  the  comical 
gravity  of  his  newly -fledged  authority,  this  officer  eyed  him  for  a  moment 
with  a  half-careless,  half-critical  air,  and  then,  after  taking  a  long  and 
deliberate  suck  at  his  pipe,  and  slowly  puffing  away  the  smoke  in  an 
elegant  spiral  out  of  each  comer  of  his  mouth,  he  vouchsafed  a  reply,  to 
the  effect  that  he  had  no  need  of  our  services,  and  that  there  must  be 
some  mistake  in  the  matter,  ending  with  a  recommendation  to  apply  to 
two  other  squadrons  of  Uhlans,  whose  position  he  pointed  out.  Mr. 
Sei^ant  Dose  was  thoroughly  amazed — to  give  it  no  harsher  term — at 
the  slight  thus  thrown  upon  his  valuable  services ;  and  mounting  his 
horse  in  high  dudgeon,  he  immediately  trotted  off  to  the  Uhlans.  But, 
alas !  the  commander  here  was  as  little  capable  of  appreciating  our  im- 
portance as  the  major  himself;  and,  to  make  the  matter  worse,  a  brace  of 
juvenile  cadets,  to  whom  Dose  might  very  well  have  applied  old  Fritz's 
fiivourite  saw,  '^  Tarry  at  Jericho  till  your  beards  be  grown,*'  began  to 
laugh  at  his  strange  figure,  and  imitate  his  eccentric  movements.  And, 
in  truth,  the  effect  which  Dose's  novel  appearance  produced  upon  their 
excitable  imaginations,  was  not  to  be  wondered  at,  for  his  whole  con- 
formation was  certainly  after  a  most  grotesque  pattern,  and  never  showed 
itself  off  so  entirely  as  when  going  through  the  ceremony  of  saluting  an 
officer.  And  as  for  his  locomotion,  it  was  a  thing  suigenerisy  or,  at  any 
rate,  only  to  be  compared  with  that  of  the  terrible  spectres  whom  Goethe 
has  described  so  graphically  in  his  thrilling  extravaganza,  **  The  Dance 
of  Death,"  who,  in  their  spritely  roundels, 

Crooked  their  thigh-bones,  and  shook  their  long  shanks, 

Full  wild  was  their  reeling  and  limber ; 
And  each  bone  as  it  crosses,  it  clinks  and  it  clanks. 
Like  the  clapping  of  timber  on  timber. 
Dose  had  been  suffidently  disturbed  by  the  pococurante  way  in  which 
the  major  had  dbmissed  him,  but  now  that  this  second  and  double  cause 
of  anger  was  superadded  to  the  first,  his  agitation  became  extreme,  and 
he  was  no  sooner  out  of  earshot,  than  he  l^gan  to  rail  against  the  <'  im- 
pudent youngsters,"  with  all  the  store  of  hard  words  at  his  command ; 
and,  to  give  him  his  due,  it  was  no  scanty  one;  for,  when  thoroughly 
aroused,  he  was  almost  as  great  a  proficient  in  the  art  of  vituperation  aa 
Yon  Teschchenschech,  or  honest  old  Luther  himself.     But  in  the  midst 
June — VOL.  xcy.  no.  ccclxzyuj.  b 


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238  Fidiune^  cf  fny  Barraek  Lifig. 

of  his  thundering  pfaUippicy  aad  whilst  numng  akmg  withoat  any  defi- 
nite pToject  in  hu  bead,  his  eye  suddenly  caught  sight  of  a  small  cottage, 
half  embowered  in  the  wood,  with  a  laarge  signboard  over  the  door,  on 
which  was  inscribed^  in  Titanic  letters,  *<Beer  imd  Brandy."  TiMm 
three  words  acted  as  an  admiraUe  emollient  to  Dose's  bmiBed  and  lajcerated 
feelings.  The  soothing  and  sentimental  quietude  of  the  spot  spoke 
irresistibly  to  his  heart,  after  the  various  troubles  it  had  so  lately  under- 
gone. He  instantly  commanded  us  to  halt,  and  after  holding  a  short 
council  of  war  with  myself  and  a  conftiential  cannoneer,  he  determined, 
as  I  had  done  once  before  upon  a  somewhat  similar  oocaaion,  that,  in  the 
present  abnormal  state  of  matters,  there  could  be  no  great  hann  in  taxiy- 
log  for  a  while  beneath  this  friendly  roof. 

This  was  a  widely  different  line  of  action  from  what  one  would  luvfe 
been  led  to  expect  by  hearing  his  glowing  anticipations,  when  first  in- 
vested with  the  dignity  of  a  separate  command,  and  the  highflying  tenof 
in  which  he  had  expatiated  on  the  wonders  which  a  single  gun  could  per- 
form when  ably  led.  Bat  he  seemed  to  have  taken  '^  Aut  Caesar,  ant 
nullus"  for  his  motto ;  and  as  it  was  pretty  dear  that  he  was  not  to  be 
the  Caesar,  he  was  determined  to  settle  down  thoroughly,  and  at  onoe^ 
into  the  nullus.  No  long  time  elapsed  after  the  adopti(m  of  the  aforeaaid 
resolution,  ere  we  were  all  seated  round  a  foaming  fiagon  of  the  best 
barley-wine  that  the  house  afforded ;  Dose's  tongue,  meanwhile,  keeping 
up  its  incessant  wag,  and  we  underlings  listening  with  the  utmost  rere- 
rence,  seeing  we  had  nothing  else  to  do,  to  his  incomprehensible  am- 
bagibus. 

For  the  first  few  minutes,  his  equanimity  did  not  recover  firom  the 
rude  shodcs  it  had  so  recently  recei^,  but  after  the  tempest  had  mut- 
tered forth  a  few  departing  growls,  his  usual  serenity  returned;  and  than, 
subsiding  into  the  **  poetic  **  rein,  he  began  to  maximise  in  his  yeiixMe 
and  tautological  way,  out  so  darkly  withal,  that  all  the  commentatorB  of 
Shakspeare  or  Schiller  might  have  exercised  their  critical  acumen  and 
ingenuity  upon  his  exiraordinary  dicta  without  extracting  the  shadow  o£ 
a  meaning.  Apollo  thundering  down  the  Loxian  steep  was  never  sime- 
rior  to  him,  either  in  the  certainty  of  his  matter  or  the  obseority  of  his 
style. 

After  spending  a  considerable  time  in  our  luxurious  resktmrantf  we 
began  to  feel  some  anxiety  about  the  direction  in  which  the  manoeuviea 
might  tend  to  tiirow  our  combating  comrades.  If  they  should  happen  to 
bear  down  upon  us,  and  we  were  to  be  surprised  by  Von  Teschchenadaech, 
veiy  disagreeable  results  might  follow ;  especially  if  that  awful  personage 
happened  to  have  had  his  temper  ruffled  by  some  unpleasing  occurrence. 
To  avert  such  a  deplorable  calamity,  Dose  took  the  precaution  of  perch- 
ing a  sentiT  up  on  the  roof  of  our  little  fortress^  taking  care  to  relieve 
him  from  time  to  time,  and  thus  keeping  us  wdU  informed  of  all  that  was 
going  on  without.  To  our  greet  disoemfbrt,the  troops  did  take  the  veiy 
direction  we  had  so  much  dreaded,  and  our  sentiy  soon  announoed  that 
a  massy  column  of  infant^,  and  several  giitterin^r  lines  of  cavahy,  were 
hovering  about  witinn  half  a  mile  of  our  comer  cl  the  wood.  Dose^  fike 
a  prudent  general,  immediately  began  to  make  preparatiooa  for  a  retoeat, 
by  oidering  the  horses  to  be  harnessed,  and  driving  the  gim  into  a  Ixtde 
unfrequented  hoe  to  the  rear  of  the  house,  at  the  same  tune  bolting  and 


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£ 


Flctuns  of  my  Barrack  Life.  S89 

Wring  the  front  door,  that  the  enemy  might  not  penetmie  mto^oor  te^ 
ness  hj  the  gorge. 

Having  uius  taken  eveiy  precaution  agaisat  a  Burpiiae,  I  and  he 
dimbed  up  to  our  observatory,  and  crouching  behind  a  dunmey,  te  eoa- 
oeal  our  persons,  took  a  bird  s-eje  yievr  of  the  fiehl  of  action.  We  feuttd 
that  the  cavahr  in  our  neighbourhood  had  been  tiymg  to  outfiank  their 
opponents,  and  that  the  act  of  deplo^dng  fer  that  purpose  had  neeee- 
sanlj  brought  them  into  close  proximity  to  our  domicile.  To  make  the 
matter  worse,  their  lines  were  roofed  with  schakos,  and  though  we  had 
that  morning  been  attached  to  them,  yet  Sergeant  Feodor^s  great  heart 
beat  warmly  for  those  to  whom,  in  consequence  of  our  head-gear,  we 
iroperlj  belonged,  and  he  still  regarded  as  enemies  those  among  whom 
le  had  met  with  such  outrageous  insults. 

Just  as  we  were  beginning  to  think  it  was  time  to  decamp  from  our 
elevated  and  somewhat  inconvenient  eyrie,  our  attention  was  arrested  by 
a  flourish  of  bugles,  succeeded  by  iterated  commands  of  ^  HaH  I  halt ! 
halt  !"  reverberating  rapidly  along  the  lines.  This  at  once  put  a  deotd 
lock  upon  the  activity  of  the  troops,  and  fixed  them  in  Haiu  quo^  till 
the  second  act  of  the  play  should  commence;  the  officers  immediately 
fell  out  of  the  lines,  and  either  collected  in  little  conversational  groups, 
or  paced  their  horses  slowly  up  and  down.  Among  those  vHio  were 
nearest  to  us,  we  recognised  the  two  sucking  tientenants,  who  had  shortly 
before  behaved  so  irreverently  to  my  veteran  but  spindle*shanked  com- 
mander. These  two,  in  company  with  a  young  hussar,  wero  amusiag 
themselves  by  leapmg  their  horses  over  some  small  ditdies  that  lay  in 
their  way,  and,  in  so  doing,  one  of  them  chanced  to  double  a  comer  of 
the  wood  that  had  hitherto  concealed  our  castle  from  their  sight,  upon 
which  he  imme£ately  exclaimed  to  his  fellows :  ^  Hallo,  comrades,  hese's 
a  glorious  event !  I  have  discovered  a  schenke.  Mir  nach  !*  Let  ns 
examine  its  capabilities." 

This  appeal  was  instantly  responded  to,  and  they  all  three  cantered 
towards  uis.  No  sooner  were  their  horses'  heads  turned  in  oor  direction, 
than  a  stupendous  thought  seemed  to  arise  in  my  companion's  bieaat. 
He  agitated  the  tip  of  his  flexible  nose,  and  spmred  his  own  calves 
with  most  merciless  vigoiur,  as  was  his  custom  when  labouring  under  an 
idea,  and  then  cracking  all  his  fingers  in  succession,  and  muttering,  *<  I 
have  them^"  he  descended  from  the  roof  in  as  easy  and  careless  a  man- 
ner as  if  merely  dismounting  from  old  Crocus's  back. 

Having  arrived  safely  on  his  mother  earth,  he  called  to  a  little  lad  of 
the  house,  and  sent  him  to  the  front  to  unlodc  the  door,  at  the  same 
time  promising  him  a  trinkgeld  if  he  held  the  officers'  horses  for  Aem. 
The  youngster  immediately  proceeded  to  obey  this  injunction,  and  offered 
his  services  so  importunately  to  the  officers,  who,  at  firsts  seemed  inclined 
to  keep  their  seats,  and  persisted  so  pertinaciously  in  impresamg  upon 
them  that  there  was  only  an  old  woman  in  the  house,  who  coidd  not 
bring  out  the  glasses,  tliat  they  suffered  themselves  to  be  overperauaded, 
and  surrendered  their  chargers  into  the  urchin's  hands.  Ekise's  eyei 
twinkled  with  satisfaction  at  the  successful  issue  of  hia  diplomacy;  and 
rubbing  his  hands  in  high  glee,  he  ordered  me  to  repair  to  the  gun,  and 

*  SVillow  me. 
Ii2 


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146  ^2itl^mH^^^^d!raek)S^. 

Mr tt^H'tsiMpiUfy Mff' ih»  hom^  wiipn iiedBooeodM  in -i9<4disg  bod^ 
the^o6t§  tftid  kha^t^Mflffih^ikfbygj  vile  thai' ffec^ViOQiid  t^:Q«i9« 
%nd'be6kbtied  td^thfftrt^fi^'iipho  oame  iHth  (tke  iitnlDaft  Abqrity.  toj^? 
teW6  1^-trittk^d  *^  iMitMilb  soon  as  ihi»  la«utai«  hai^  fAiwts^  fMlf^ 
tlie&^e^tita^tita'fieeiiitid'iicrilongQr  .to  doeord..  Dode  :«p|W«(»tl)K.«9^ 
M)me  d^mfti^vto  which  ih«  kd  d«aiu»ed.  A  ihiirp;dtamtiQ».  followed 
btrt  wad  ii^^^lBdHy  iMPo^ht  to  ft  dose,  by  die  M'd.ffecbvriaff  a,i$^aHy.iv^  ' 
of  thci  ediv  A  lu^k  upJn '  the  ctappen,  and  Mch  a  thuoddrii^  thwack  mtvd 
hSs  sconcief,  as  niuAt  hkve  ^t  balf  adomn  iintianabitla  going  tiokl^  tiAUe» 
in  His  eewhfelliite.  , -; 

Thiff  was'a  species  ct  logtc  wUch  acted  &r  -more  persuaiHeW  .thaa  aH 
the  Thetot^<Al  arguments  m  the  woild,  and  with  m  verv  tbiuujetsstiack^ 
\66k  the  ydtmgfiUfr  immediately  led  his  hoises  towaids  our  gun,  Dmi 
fi^HowJng  in  his  rear;  and  propelling  bimby  tbreikts  of  the  layMt.  tcyrribtl 
rib^roi^dhg  if  he  di^  to  mise  an  oatcsy,  or  knake  a  distfube^e  of  any 
Idnd. '  Of  course  ^e  received  the  victor  and  his  spoil  With  ja  heai^j^ 
jtdnla^ph;  and,  tHeft  Teliii4ng.  the  gaping  utdud  .of  his  animals^  ^Ko 
mounted  in  a  ttice  and  spunred  away,  kwring  hiih  to  settle  the  'mattop 
with  that  ndera  as  best  he  might.  It  appeured,  howeverv  that  he  oould 
hot  muster  coun^  enough  to  iaiee  the  stofrm  that  would  inetitably  bwra| 
upon  his  head  ^  he  shbwed  himself  before  die  offieeo»>  minus  tbw 
chargers,  For  after  scratcfaine  his  shaggy  poU  far  a  moaftew^,  the  yoOM 
sinner  gave  vent  to  his  astonishmeBt  in  a  hearty  Westpbaiiaiu  pumoi  aw 
then  scaiupered  away  into  the  forest  with  as  much  speed  as  his  looo« 
motives  would  allow. 

After  proeee£ng  a  short  distance  down  the  lane  we  elaohened  our  paooi 
and  Dose  unfolded  to  us  the  design  which  he  had  coneoetedi  and  bv  the 
execution  of  which  he  expected  to  win  unfading  laurels ;  the  only  draw- 
back to  his  felicity  being  that  we  ^rsre  not  engaged  upon  actual:  serviooy 
as  then  he  could  not  fiul  to  obtain  ia  decoration  at  the  very  least.  I  m«y 
as  well  remaxk,  by  the  way,  that  next  to  his  longings  for  literary  £aiB% 
Seigeant  Feodor's  highest  aspirations  were  for  a  decoratioo^  OfteH) 
dunng  a  confidential  tete-it^iite  with  myself,  he  would  pin  a  paper  croM 
to  his  breast,  and  excliiim  in  his  sublimest  style,  "  Ab,  Gottt!  such  an 
order!  Would  not  every  one  ask,  *  Pray,  who  is  that  intesesting  and 
tolerabhr  tall  man  there,  with  the  brilliant  star  upon  his  breast  ?'  *  That 
,  —oh,  that  is  Sergeant  Dose.'     '  Ah  i  indeed-4he  celebrated  Dose  V  "     . 

Bat  to  return  to  our  subject.  The  notable  design  which  our  galLuiA 
sergeant  had  succeeded  in  extricating  from  the  general  imbroglio  La  Ua 
hrain,  was  this : — We  were  to  lie  in  ambush  near  that  point  where  ottr 
hne  opened  upon  the  heath;  and  watching  an  opportunity,  to  rush  out 
upon  the  imguarded  flank  of  the  enemy,  who  could  not  fisal  to  be  put  to 
immediate  fight  by  such  an  unexpected  eruption.  After  this  b^ 
hourrah,  which  he  considered  would  have  doiae  honour  to  old  Mailihal 
Vorw&rts  hmnelf,  as  his  previous  manosuvres  might  have  redounded  to 
the  credit  of  (Jneisenau,  vee  were  to  gallop  up  to  Von  Tesehcbensehe^ 
and  surrender  iiito  his  hands,  as  trophies  of  our  prowess,  lhe^oaptared 
horses,  together  with  the  keys  of  the  Sobenke^  where  theil^  iiden>w^<ft 
safely  entrapped.  This  time  fortune  did  smile  upon  our  hero,  and 
crowned  his  efforts  with  the  happiest  suceess. 


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jttte  pwpiiiwg  to  dssrge^wn  i:^  our  gun^  w]|fi9  tfcw  utte^Jljio^iw 
«»Mted  If^  a^»iiple  of  shots  eomittg  in^ttiok  8U90«s#ibn  trfm  the  ^oo4 
ciMe  u{K>tfi  their  iank ;  and  their  astoni^mmt  wfi3  Jms^ejdi^taly.ftfter^ 
"Mrb  cDdifibttodv  by  deeii^  Mvtral  hooBemea  (]#b9ttphiog  fym  th«  wood 
^  «mgl6  €K  laid  cbahing:  resolutely  towards  tfiom,  Th^y  did  not  stay 
«» tooiit'  oitf  numbers,  bat  ttatuxally  oondiiidinff  that:  they  had  fall^^  into 
iome  weH-conoeakd  ambush,  diey  wereoomp^edto  aqknowledg^  by  aii 
instant  Mtyeat,  that  they  bad  been  outgen<^ed»  and  consequently, 
wheeling  aside,  they  gave  us  the  opportunity  lof  dashiog:  past  them  and 
rejoining  our  applauding  comrades.  We  were  no  sooipie);.  within  their 
noiks  than  Dose  made  straight  for  Von  Tesckchenschech,  who  also 
admnoed  towards  na,  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  oar  unexpeouid  appear- 
ance. Onr  gun  was  soon  sturtonoded  by  a^gfoup  of  inquisitive  pfficen. 
By  the  riianner  in  which  they  scrutinised  our  captured  steeds,  and  from 
the  t^e  of  their  remarks,  I  began  to  entertain  apprehenpions  as  tQ  the 
final  resuk  of  omr  sergeant's  exploit.  '^ Hollo!  why  that  ia^  young 
GnlpstuttsKs  mare;"  ami,  ^^By  the  holy  ooat,  that  bay  belongs  to  my 
oonsin  in  the  Uhlans.  What  the  devil  has  tins  thief  got  to  do  with  it  P*^ 
■  Such  were  some  of  the  omiiKms  exclamations  that  caught  my  ear  at 
irM ;  but  when  Dose  had  made  his  official  report,  which  he  did  with  a 
oondseness  that  was  really  wonderful  for  him,  the  chpler  of  these  touchy 

S'ors  was  immensely  aggravated  by  his  presumption,  and  they  would 
have  persuade  the  colonel  that  m  conduct  was  irregular  and  highly 
r^preheoftible,  in  venturing  to  taike  such  liberties  with  his  superior  officers. 
But  here  they  were  reckoning  without  their  host.  Yqfk  Teschchenschech 
was,  fortunatiely,  in  a  capital  humour ;  and  he  never  neglect«$d  an  oppor- 
totiity  of  taking  down  those  arrogant  younglings,  who  gave  themselves 
aiidtocratk)  airs,  which  were  so  utterly  repugnant  to  his  bjunt  and  homely 
style.  He  received  Dose's  redtal  with  loud  guffaws,  and.mai^y  inter-i 
jemons  of  delight ;  and  when  their  High-mightinesses,  the  su^altems, 
began  to  express  an  opinion  about  the  necessity  of  an  arrest  and  court- 
martiiil,  he  Tmmediatdy  rejoined,  with  a. most  provoking  grin,  "Oho! 
Mr.  'Ensigns,  that  is  your  opinion^  is  it?  Well  now,  I  think  differently* 
Sergeant  Dose,  I  consider  tnat  you  have  acted  both  wisely  and  well^— I 
Aiafl  take  care  to  bear  your  conduot  in  mind*  To  capture  these  officers, 
and  to  make  a  regiment  of  cavalry  retreat  before  your  small  force,  are 
certainly  gteat  and  important  services,  which  reflect  the  Jiighest  credit 
ihpon  yourself  and  your  men.  The  officers  mi^  remam  where  they  are 
tul  the  acition  is  over,  and  they  will  then  be  permitted  to  ransom  them- 
ailves  and  their  chargers  out  of  your  hands.** 
-  This  eulogium,  wiach,  considering  whom  it  came  from,  might  be  styled 
magnificent,  of  coarse  sent  our  exdtable  sergeant  into  a  state  of  poetical 
Miilaration  that  was  quite  alarming  ;^  while  the  Messrs.  Ensigns,  abashed 
at^  their  rebuff,  endeavoured  to  assume  an  mr  of  the  most  contemptuous 
nonchalance  for  all  that  might  come  from  such  a  '' low-bred"  fellow  as 
▼on  Teschchenschech,  but  graduslly  sidled  away,  no  doubt  wishing  that 
<*  old  fool  of  a  colonel"  in  a  warmer  situation  than  any  that  could  be 
found  in  his  Prussian  Majesty's  dominions. 


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(    242    ) 


6N  THE  UNKNOWN  SHIPS  (SUPPOSED  TO  BE  SIR  J.  FRANK- 
!     LIN'S)  SEEN  DRIFTING  ON  AN  ICEBERG,  APRIL.  I85U 

BT  MB8.  ACTON  TUTDAI*. 

On  the  far  homon  the  ice-fleet  rides. 

And  each  lance-like  peak  is  bright 
With  the  rainbow's  hue,  as  the  morning  glides 

Cer  the  drifts  of  glittering  white. 

Fiom  the  froaen  waves  of  the  Arctic  Seaa* 

From  the  solitudes  of  snow, 
With  the  blasting  strength  of  the  north  cnat  bnen. 

On  the  stately  icebergs  go. 

They  were  rent  away  by  the  wild  spring-tide, 

And  the  current*8  gathering  might, 
From  the  hoary  mountain's  cracking  side. 

In  the  howling  dear  March  night. 

No  sound  is  heard  but  the  sea-bird's  wail, 

And  the  fall  of  the  melting  snow, 
And  the  whistling  rush  of  the  coming  gale, 

And  the  billows'  splash  below. 

But  darkly  rises  a  towering  mast 

O'er  the  iceberg^  spectral  pride  ; 
Those  gallant  ships,  they  are  anchotM  hat 

In  that  tideless  haifaoui's  side. 

No  living  soul  treads  the  wind-Ueachcd  decks. 

And  no  midnight  watch  they  keep  $ 
No  pilot  stands  at  the  hidm — ^like  wrecks 

They  are  drifting  down  the  deq). 

By  their  captors  dumb  they  are  borne  along ; 

But  their  bonds  melt  day  by  day; 
For  the  wind  blows  warm,  and  the  sun  shines  ikrong» 

On  the  irost4>ouiid  wanderer's  way. 

To  the  glowing  seas  of  the  soudi  they  pa»y 

To  some  wild  and  savage  strand ; 
But  where  are  thesoub  that  they  bore,  alas  I 

When  they  left  their  native  bnd. 


Oh  1  ask  the  stars,  and  the  winds,  and  i 
For  that  secret  dread  they  keep— 

And  the  sparkling  deeps  of  the  lone  iee-caves. 
Where  the  snows  of  ages  sleep. 


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(  a4a  > 

THE  FETE  OF  THE  EAGLES. 

A  aiUBV  FaiBMa  tmoe  iodkod  a  hiatoiy  of  his  ^*  Voyage  par  mer  i 
St  £3and  €t.TetQur  par  teney"  but  wbat  w^re  the  perils  run  and  the  ex«- 
paseiMMB  obtained  as  compared  with  an  *^  EzcuznonbtV  journey  to  Patif 
aad  fatfik?  He  finds  to  his  infinite  disnay  that  the  motions  of  a  tidal 
■tamer  are  quite  different  to  those  of  the  ezoundon  train.  No  sooner 
oat  of  the  harboxuv  ceostrueted  of  immense**a2ed  lapides  popuU^  whence 
tile  name  of  the  place,  aoooxding  to  a  classical  aadior»  than  he  sees  red 
hms  growing  pale,  and  pale  faoos  tuniing  green  and  yellow. 

OfaserratioDS  of  any  kind  are  inde^  only  heard  at  intervals  like 
■gnak  of  distcesa  One  tells  of  a  hank  off  CSs^e  Griae^  where  the 
aaa  is  always  much  wiMrse;  another  asserts  iliat  ever  since  the  electzie 
telegraph  has  been  laiddewny  the  sea  has  been  liable  to  sudden  upliftings^ 
like  4he  eruptions  of  Geyser.  So  anxious  is  the  excursionist  for  terra 
&ma»  thaty  arrived  alongside  the  quay  of  Bouli^gne,  he  would  fain  puU 
Umaelf  up  by  the  pcMnted  beard  of  a  custom-house  officiaL  Nor  are  his 
tciab  even  then  over,  for  all  the  Boulonnai^,  young  and  old,  are  assembled 
and  roped  off,  to  grin  at  his  discomfiture. 

There  was  an  hour  for  dinner,  and  the  excursionists  divided  their  favours 
between  the  numerous  hotels  and  the  refireshment-rooms  at  the  staticm* 
13i0  more  timid  repaired  to  the  latter.  A  party  of  four  stopped  at  the 
Hotel  F(^eBtone.  One  of  joyous,  hilarious  temperament,  was  an  embryo 
ILF.,  a  candidate  fora  borough  as  yet  unenfranchised;  thesecond,  namied 
FitEJones^  came  fix>m  Acton,  was  a  connoisseur  and  dilettante,  and  if 
Coleiidge  is  right  in  saying  that  it  is  the  peculiarity  of  genius  to  retain 
bo^sh  feelings  thiongn  Me— was  also  a  great  genius ;  a  third  was  a 
witary  man,  with  whose  constitetion  French  brandy  appeared  to  agree 
mnch  better  than  Frendi  wines ;  the  fimrth  and  last  was  an  unfledged 
lecSbUer,  of  whom  the  less  said  the  better. 

The  train  should  have  arrived  at  Paris  at  10.40  p.ic.,  but  some  of  the 
esBoxsionists,  or  their  j<^es,  were  so  heavy,  that  it  was  half-past  eleven 
befafo  the  old  endos  de  St.  Lasare,  whereupon  the  station  du  Nord  has 
aiisen  in  modem  times,  was  gained ;  nor  was  this  precisely  the  end  of  a 
ki^  day's  journey.  Carpet  bags  were  passed  without  examination,  and 
a  citadine  soon  procured,  and  off  the  excursioniats  went  to  the  H6tel  de 
Tama,  Plaoe  de  la  Bourse.  The  H^tel  de  Tours  was  full  to  everflowmg^ 
aone  being  on  the  roof. 

^  Nevermind,"  said  theman  of  the  pen,  who  plumed  himself  upon  his 
intimacy  with  the  capital  of  the  dvilbed  world,  *'^A  mdul  de  Lyon»^ 
cocker r 

The  H6tel  de  Lyons  was  reached  in  a  few  minutes.     Knock  I  knock! 
per  opens  witii  a  spring.     Walk  to  the  Concierge.     No  beds. 

"^  Where  is  M.  Merimee  ?" 

^M.  Merimee  does  not  iive  here.'* 

''Ah,  it's  a  mistake." 

Then  is  hope  yet  It  is  the  Grand  Hdtel  de  Lyons;  away,  then,  to 
SMlher  street  with  a  long  name^Rue  des  FUles  St  Thomas.  M. 
Mflrimee  est  desole^  Thoe.are  no  beds  ;  in  proof  of  which,  he  points 
nignificantiy  to  hb  own  shake-down  beneath  the  Porte  Cochere.  Well| 
imm  is  the  Hfttol  d'An^JateKra,  almost  next  door.  The  same  thing  over 
ifgain*    Tbe  matter  began  to  aasume  a  serious  aspect 

Ibe  BoDzaa  was  paned^  before  and  behind,  one  side  and  anoiher,  in 


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leaflohoCaikKoH  tUl  4b»  fifMitwd  tm  bocaiB0<»dhBea,aDA«ilcbr«idi 
sense  of  IpealUy  Itwt  Sli^g0.t1abughtfl  ofaWpbgrtoihedtaditte  began 
to  orsep  Qpcn  Dhe  (dxaiu«kiiiMij^iniii4f<  At'tliit>oooja]iqtiUM[f'a  idia  «to^ped 
the  carriage,  to  inquite  how  nwidi  i«^uU  ^givttailfoir  faedi.'  ^e^Bi^-^ 
be  had  read  somevhdueof  aiaau  hltdolfro^  bed  al^d:WIIyio:beiibbbed^)aBA 
the  strangest  applieant  'was  dMsniaded  wiAh.An  tmaniiiioiis  «shuider.  At 
length  a  reporl  "wasr  spMid^  about  twoio'clock  is  ihe  wfdkrin^  liaA^ihiet^ 
were  beda  a*  No.  300,  and  ilomethiog  odd|  ^RttStiltodri.  Omti 
again  too  late<;  but  there  wae  tmiw  Aa  Fovfe  Coch^  a  young  lady  walli 
an  unusual  display  of  whke  rose(J,  who  had  tWo  beds  to  dispose'  of*  It  ww 
only  a  few  doors  off*,  Thidittr  acoordingly  they  histoned>$  but  hen^  agasnv 
another  Englishman  had  arrived  just  tito  minntiss  befcoe,  «nd  taken  000 
of  the  beds  for  himself  and  wilel  Only  one  remauied,  iindit  wab  givlea 
up  to  Fitzjonesi  as  having  aho^vu  the  mt  Mftptoms  nf  idespaoxu  'Thin 
was  still  a  chance,  it  wa^  siid^  inl  the  Bue  MoAthabdr.  Then,  atm^die 
Rue  St.  Honors,  an  A4le/^rm' had  been  taken  on  s^ectiladon,  andtte 
entrepreneur  appeared  00  the  threshold  of  tfie  door  in  propria' perwtmA, 
red  beard  and  mou0taohe  iooluded,  to  diotote  terms.  Forty  finilcs'  foii 
a  bed  for  eight  days.  The  law,  th#  houaeilot  being  an  hotel/ did  not 
permit  him  to  let  it  for  less  time*  The  ciroinnstanoeff  of  thi^ctov  and  not' 
his  oonscience^  he  insisted,  did  not  permit  faiih  to  takte  less' money;  He 
would  allow  us  half  an  hour  to  decide.  This  was  at  a  qnauler^ast  two^ 
A.M. !  Well,  the  beds  might  aa  well  be  aeen.  The  M.P.  nt  poise  w«a 
ushered  to  a  shal^e-down  in  a  picture-gallery,  imperfectly  secreted  from' 
curious  eves  by  an  apron  sMtcoed  between  the  wall  and  a  aoreen;  The 
author's  bed  was  appropriately  enough  in  the  attic,  with  a  skylight,  wfasdi 
was  the  rendesvous  of  all  the  cats  of  the  neighbourhood.  > 

The  sun  broke  in  unwonted  splendour  upon  the  inoroing  of  that  spec- 
tacle which  had  been  trumpeted  far  and  wide  as  a  revival  of  the 
glorious  files  that  have  given  to  the  Chtmp  de  Mara  an  historiaal 
renown.  On  the  same  fidd,  J^apoleon  le  Gnnd  dbtiihuted  the  eag^ 
that  waved  the  year  after  over  Austerlitt.  Where  will  the  eagles  diatd* 
buted  by  Louis  Napoleon  wave  a  year  hence  ?  Over  the  prostrate  free* 
dom  of  a  people  ?  Over  a  yoke  imposed  by  brute  force  upon  some  lets 
powerful  nation  ?  Over  the  bier  of  a  prinee-president  ?  The  distribution 
of  eagles  has  not  been  alwaya  ominOus  of  success.  The  Champ  de  Mai^ 
presided  over  by  the  emperor,  by  a  eaadinal,  two  archbishops,  and  a 
crowd  of  prelates,  and  attended  by  electors,  army,  and  national  guaard^ 
was  a  fulure— -a/»ici76  mangue^*  All  Fraince  deems  the  Feie  des  Aiglet 
of  1852  to  be  the  same.  How  soon  also  was  tke«  restoratkm  ^  tho' 
eagles  followed  by  a  sanguinary  and  a  decifllve  battle  ? 

The  very  fetes,  apart  from  distributions  of  eagies^of  the  Ohamp  do 
Mara,  in  a  city  so  inconstant  and  so  turbulent-  as  Paris  has  been  nom 
remotest  times,  have  been  either  frivolous  or  lieentioua,  oit  ominoua  of 
disaster.  One  year  after  IiOuis  XYL  met  theie  the  delegatte  of  Frano% 
the  assembly,  and  the  national  guard*  and  with  thtm  took  the  oath  of 
the  oonstitutiooi  which  was  sanctified  by  mass  said  by  the  yoitagprolata  of. 
Autun,  Talleyrand  de  Perigord,  twohostilobandaniet  inthegame.fieUt 
blood  W8ES  shedy  and  the  red  flag  was  dragged  thuougbithe  dost  ind 
mire.  -  ♦  •    .        •    .f 

Outbound  of  May»  1848,<orowda  asseitblediii  tht  Champ  do  Mm 
to  celebrate  "  the  Feast  o£  C<M(icoid»"    They  Mit  the  .Very  :h«av«ns  wkh . 
shoutoof  H  Vive  ]a;Repul%ier'  ^'  FmriateniU^/NfitionaleJrvThagr 


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the  >flietta4)C;Pan*Ta&i  with  UooddiEriDgfi^  ' 

ili^j«kheff.eaampbBaiigiit  b6<giv«ii<  Oa^e  llthoiP  April,:  I792fj 
the  pb^ GbddM.of  libwigr  wiM>^^QIl^fiatfia<9a# €f  imtiietase'au^.  On 
the  laiof  Janiiaiy,'17d3t it tracth^  AbolilMb of fik^iy $  oti  tiie  lOth  of 
iiigiMty  of  the  lametyear,  theiprontnlgatidti  of  tli^  edb^tituiiob  of  ^93'. 
On  tbe.find.of  Decembet^  the  ^'  Feeet'of  Vieterias.''  On  the  2i8ir  of 
JaaeAry,  1794»:  the  oath  of  hatred  to  ioyaSty  ytnA-fiHd.  On  the  9th  of 
Jtmey  tbeySte  hi  hononr  of  the  Supinem^  Betng  beg^n  tft  the  Tuileriefly 
tenninated  at  th^  Gamp  de  Mara  On  the  2l6t  of  Jamiai^,  1796,  the 
cmiitenaipr  of  the  death  of  the  king  was  fiUtd^  and  again*  the  puhlie 
fiinctionaneb  swore  hatred  to  xoyahy. 

It  makes  one  shudder  to  write  of  the  thnigs^nooi^i^iious,  discordanti 
and.ui£Binioiia — that  hare  been  fkid  in  turn  on  4^  Champ,  de  Manu 
Oathaiof  coneord  by  the  side  of  oaths  <rf  hatred ;  a  feU  de  ktjeunesse^  to 
oommemorate  all  tpe  joutlis>of  abteen  being  oaMed  tipop  to  bc»r  arms/ 
bjT  the  sijde  of  abohtbn  of  riavery ;  a  patriotie  king  hy  the  side  «f  a 
deatb-deaiing  warrior;  the  soveteinty  of  the  people  by  the  side  of  a 
mindeied  monaroh ;  the  Goddess  of  Liberty  by  the  side  of  the  Supreme 
Being !  And  where  are  now  the  kings,  the  eonquerors,  die  founders  o£ 
the  last  new  BepttbUe)  the  National  Assembly,  the  constitutions,  and  the 
oaths  ?  Well  might  the  gamins  of  Paris  slngp  in  ohorus,  after  the  fire- 
woriLB  of  the  14th  of  May,  1662,  <^  Buoans^  buwms  d  la  SaniS  des 

The  last  (^  the  ySles^-the  '^  F^te  of  the  Eagles'*— opened  with  a 
stnngely  higubrious  omen.  A  £ivourite  8aik>r  was  employed  at  daVn  to 
hoist  up  the  eagle  which  was  to  replace  for  the  future  the  tri-colored 
flag  at  the  Elys^e.  In  doing  so,  he  unfortmiately  fell  and  was  killed* 
Two  days  aUberwards,  a  ridiculous  story  was  inyented  and  promulgated, 
that  the  sailor  bad  gone  mad  and  perished  by  an  act  of  insanity.  The 
same  day  a  colonel  of  cavalry  was  OTcrbalauced  by  his  eagle  and  tumbled 
eagle  and  self  to  the  gvonnd.  The  omen  in  thm  ease,  not  having  been 
fdAowed  by  any  personal  injury,  was  the  theme  of  mnph  merriment 

On  the  way  to  the  Champ  de  Hars,  an  Englishman  addressed  a 
stranger  in  the  crowd  that  sorrowided  the  prince,  to  make  inquiries  as  to 
some  of  the  personages  in  the  staff,  when  the  very  manifest  trouble  of  the 
neraonin  question  so  aroused  the  Englishman's  suspicions,  that  he  gave  in- 
fonnataon  which  led  to  his  apprehenmon.  It  was  passed  over  next  day  as  the 
fieeak  of  a  yonng  provincial  gentlemad.  As  the  prince  approached  the  Ecole 
Militaire,  two  men  in  blouses  weire  arrested  b  making  desperate  attempts 
to  get  near  his  person.  '  Nothbg  more  was  heard  of  the  cireumstanoOy 
even  whether  they  were,  armed  or  net.  When  the  troo^  marched  past 
the  prince,  a  young  lady,  by  getting  between  two  companies,  was  enabled 
to  approach  the  person  of  the  president  and  deliver  a  petition.  Nothing 
was  aiso  hmird  of  this ;  probably  for  a  father,  htebaild^  or  brodier*s  relief 
fiom  durance  vile.  But  either  some  officer  or  a  whole  company  must 
have  seoooded  thftt  peAion,  or  their  gallantry  went  to  a  very  unwonted 
extent.  Will  the  baniduad  of  Cayenne  or  Algiers,  and  the  manacled  of 
all  the  fottseC  Fnmoe^be  some  day  or  otheriets  a^iduous  in  endeavour- 
ing to  get  near  ^  person  of  the  rrince-President  ?       , 

.  Ai^frnvfey.  early  hoar,  ^  mailier  of  ^e  Mfefg^rni  intro^tioed 
nr  te  a^neighbotiring  caf§\,  apcdogisibg  Ibr  its  bk^  bdbg  in  pHiie 
Hepis^  whieh^as'he  leas  mhia  shirt  41eevesy^  ires  not  «j»' from  the  tmlfc 


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M«  mml^qf^Sagks. 


nor  wM  the  tmdim  of  ik»  Kmi«  BmUI  wakmA  Urn  )m 
by  contiwt  "wilk  tib  giy  onwdL  La  Ffomoe  em  ffmmth  iemme,  tm  Lm 
Paine expfessed  it  tJieflame  erenbig,  wfaich  was  ilMiijp  wmSmgi^w^j 
towards  tibe  eeene  of  tbe  pofitio^  dnuMi  tkst  ^M  abo«t  to  be  eneeted  I7 
prisflts  end  people^  axii^  and  Pmoe-'Pnsiidciitt 

Hm  aspect  of  the  Champ  de  Man»  befbie  the  tooops  aaseiMod  withm 
Ms  preeincts,  was  impomag.  l%e  iifst  tfabg  tlMii^ai^glit  theejFe  ww  the 
splendid  rsstra — ^trieone  or  penFilkni,  m  the  Fiwidi  hsve  it^^jwhah 
oocnpied  the  whole  fomtof  the  fieole  MilitMre.  TUeepfettdid  etevatna 
Bright  be  described  as  divided  into  Hye  parts,  theoeatnl  and  two  ktonl 
piojeeiaDg  beyond  tibe  othen,  and  connected  by  Wknss  lising  amphi* 
theatre-luce.  The  central,  the  rostva  par  excMmetf  profsjssiy  deoo* 
rsted  with  trophies  and  odier  martial  insignia,  oontaifaed  the  eagles  and 
tile  throne — the  latter  being  as  yet,  however,  only  designatod  as  a 
J/kfOeml  This  crimson  Tcheted  arm^ehairwas  approaohed  by  a  kikf 
ffight  of  steps.  To  describe  all  th^  other  deeerailions  of  this  tastifid 
work  of  art,  woold  be  really  too  great  an  nndsrtakiiig.  Two  great  gih 
Mons  particnlarly  attraeted  attontiim,  being  very  awkwardly  seated  on 
Aeir  haundies,  and  prasenting  altogether  a  Tsry  distnased  appeanoiea. 
iniere  was  also  an  immense  bird  of  Jove,  spnnkHng  fivked  Whtniiig 
«pon  the  qnondam  proprietor  of  tame  mj|^  There  were  whole  haste 
of  g(4den  stars  on  a  very  Mae  heaven.  Theire  vscre  goigeoas  drapsaias 
of  crimson  velvet,  fringed  in  gold,  and  gracefidly  gathered  11^  with  goMsai 
cords  with  heavy  tassels  at  the  ends.  There  were  pillars  with  gaxbads^ 
and  bearing  the  ever-memorable  legend  of  the  7,600,000  votes  winch 
confirmed  wb  cmq^  d^Uai  that  broo^  all  this  about,  and  aoodier  Isgend 
that  proclaimed  the  voice  of  the  people  to  be  more  divine  than  hsas^^teoy 
right— FojpfMmti/t^  imx  Dei.    A  polilMal  and  apious fiolaon* 

In  £ront  of  this  elevation,  and  about  one^third  vray  between  it  and  Ae 
bridge  of  Jena,  stood  an  isolated  edifioe^  also  of  vary  elegant  appearaiioeL 
This  was  the  chapel,  the  altar  being  plaeed  on  a  platlbnn  twenty*&ve  ftat 
high,  and  readied  by  a  flight  of  steps,  carpeted  and  deoerated  with  vasas 
of  flowers.  Above  the  sdtar  vras  a  dome,  supported  by  four  pilasteo^ 
wiA  superincnmbent  arches  eoife^wnding  tothe  £rar  odes  of  die  Qiamp 
de  Mars.  At  each  comer  were  two  stataes*;  atihe  ai^^ie  of  eadieBS^ 
nice  a  golden  eag^e;  and  high  above  all  rose  Ae  nsahisw  of  QhristJanii^, 
towering  to  an  eievatien  of  eovsnty^fae  fcet  Two  of  Aa  atatnes  hnd 
heen  blovm  down,  and  rested  on  the  dame^  and>at  no  Unm  ironld  the 


tail  candles  that  decorated  the  altar,  or  the  gik  chaadaBsai  thi^  1 
irom  the  dome,  bom  in  the  brseie ;  *bnt'  still,  when  than  efaapal  was 
crowded  with  some  600  white  snrpliess,  above  which  rees  the.  goUen 
mitres  of  bishops  and  arahbiAop,aDd  the  gattery  around  was  linea  imA 
▼arioasly  accoutred  eagle-beann,  whan  800  to  800  raoes  pealed  foA 
fbe  hymn  of  praise  to  the  Almighty,  and  martial  stmins  re*eokoed  iha 
solemn  chant  from  the  plain  beneam  Ae  effect  wns  ver^  atrikhi^f*  and 
it  was  impoarible  not  to  be  moved  oven  hy  a'pumly  thenlncid  diqday,  for 
that  display  was  on  so  large  ft  scale  that  it  did  what  it  waa  oaknlaited.ta 
A>-^t  aroused  the  seaees  to  an  uaaroaaouing'  inlhnnasm 

TheA^riref,  or  shady  embankments,  «mk  esBbend  akmg  boA  ssdes.flf 
ihe  Champ  de  Mars,  were  innainpart»oeoepied  fayeDv«ndstaad%  wbkfc 
were veiy  considerately  erected  so  ttr  bade  as  to  leave  space ftrthe  ernwd 
hsftwnt  Thektterwere  fafledoff  from  ihe  field,  and  tteaasnatongrdf 
Iheoalfinewae  broken  by  maete  avsctediat'shoi^  r 


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TkBtStt  efihB  JSaflU.  M9 


«»  iake  up  its  itttdon  « tbat-pcit  q£  the  fidU»  wifth  a jB^ 
ib  iMid  mm  OBgaged-in. 

A  rtvdl  ff«»imd  ohoired'  Art  tthwcuwe-few  steDcki  in  wUoh  aeate  could 
not  be  obtained  at  an  outlay  of  twenty  ^»no8.  One  of  these  standa  mii 
muAeA  as  tke  Triitme  BriimngumeiAimeriettme;  nedoubt,  by  a^U- 
edbn  miiie  proper  qoartav  ^m^  nngbt-faanre  bean  obtained;  being  on 
Ae  fardnr  aide^  it  waa  naknewn,  and  never  faalf-fiUed;  auuny  well- 
dieaaed  petsoaa  bad  ^ifimmdaf "  tioketa  tx>  diapoee  of  at  hiocy  pcioaa.  It 
^vaaaaid  in  the  Ffeoeh  papei%  Aat  an  ihglMhman  gave  fifty  £canca  fiac 
sehair.  The  alory  is  lidicriooa  after  what  haa  been  stated  above.  We 
gafca  chair  a^eee,  eloaa  to  the  point  wfaioh  the  Dagoenreofcypiata  had 
■factad  aa  ti^  scene  of  Iheir  apetatioBS,  fior  one  fiauM  each. 

Before  ebven,  wginienta  of  foot^  emiry,  and  ardUary^  began  ponaa^ 
infiomevefydifeeiua.  One  raginMnt^  mooh  appsoaohed  by  the  Avenae 
da  BaAen,  fbund  its  pvograss  on  to  the  field  opposed  by  the  banier 
before  daaor%ed.  A  nmnie  scene  of  mar  'was  got  an.  The  bearded 
aappors  were  orderad  to  dear  i^e  ofaatade  with  aa  maeh  inmetooaity  aa  if 
the  regiment  had  been  in  the  preaenoe  of  an  enemy,  and,  unsheathing  thent 
mss,  they  proeaeded  to  the  lahprnr  wiA  a  gaanriiy  amtuag  the  importance 
ti'iie  oeeaaion.  The  tambanr-nngeB  ^vere  annanaUy  magnifieent;  theiK 
only  rinda  were  acme  of  Ae  Suisaaa  vi4io  headed  their  departmenta  of  the 
mmsftiy.  'N^Jiiles  du  rigmmt  were  also  mnnenma,  and  veiy  amartly 
dressed,  some  with  Uae  anui  some  red  petticoats^  and  their  neat  UtUn 
hands  of  eau  dlff  nta  seemed  to  be  as  ameh  inraqnest  as  themsdves. 

91m  Chasseurs  i  Fisd,  or  TifasHaan  de  VincenneSy  their  e^  for  the 
fiast  time  aarmomrted  by  a  dark  green  phune,  were  amcn^  the  eaiUest  ta 
taka  op  their  plaeea  on  the«gi«md.  There  weie  foor  hatailkms  (dth,  Gth^ 
Mb,  and  9th)  of  iUs  fomUaUe  eorps>  whidi  has  so  justly  roosed  the 
jealoaay  ef  odier  nations,  espedalhr  o«n%  ao  nmch  behindhand  in  all 
that  conceraa  military  matters.  The  place  assigned  to  tiiem  was  one  ef 
fcemwr,  and  fliey  taok  paeeadenee  of  Ow  line.  In  the ;ii{^  they  pasaad 
the  Prince-President  at  a  trot^  for  their  peenliar  atep  cannot  be  callad 
ranning,  and  wfaieh  therkept  np'fbr  upwaoda  of  a  mim. 

Ilm  Gendannerie  mxkUm  acted  as  a  •  guard  of  honour  to  ihe  ckEg^v 
bnfr  they  formed  in  witii  the  ether  troopa  to  march  pact  the  Prince-Pm* 
dea^  aad  they  wete,  with  die  Qaade  Rgnublieame  and  die  Eode  da 
8tL  Cyr,  the  only  troras  that  were  appibadeo*— en  rnideniable  demoaataa* 
trnn*  made  in  fivfour  of  iBbeir '  wpublican  tendensMak 
'  Bpr  noon  the  Ghamp  de  Man  waa  nearly  full  of  taoopa.  They  eonU 
BBt' have  Conned  into  Hue,  but  infimtiy  on  the  laft^  cavahy  on  the  nght 
(of  thyPkusideut),  the  ia&ntiy  waa  masaad  m  battdiena,  the  cavaky  isi 
adnmna^f  sqnadbrons;  diear&Deryoeeupying  the  exkrenie^orriveaMnda 
dF  the  fidd,  and  jpart  of  the  kfiu 

There  ware  of  cavaky,  two  regimentB  (tf  CmraasiaM,  two  of  Carahi* 
•mB&m,  twn  of  Diagoens,  three  of  Laneers,  two  regiments  of  Humans 
dnee  regiaaeatS'of  ChMeeom,  coercgimantof  Goidea ;  altagediery fifteen 
i^hnauts.  The  Gdidaa--a  new  coR»-»wexe  dressed  Hhe  Huasan^  only 
widi  short  oatslda  boats,  aad  thebanda  wore  white  kdbadis.  Them  wem 
aboienbaMeiiea  of  ardHefjv  and  the  moonled  Garde  RepuUioaine  and 
aaadaiiiieaia  de  la  fldae> 

Of  infaaitfy  dieaa  wwa  fear  baMdkmaof  Chaasems  it  Pied,  and  tmnt^ 
'  fight  Aa&mlry  asid  cf  dm  lam.   These  «e»  aho  the  Eeck 


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lit  »f^uEBteiV\a#^&ySE 

Kmioio.  By  ti  it^^gli  ettittatifm  of  Um  ikptmnA  ecMfonA^M.attd'  tbcilw  ivtfi 
a  douUe  irait«ge  of  8700  ftet^-^nd  «f  tlia  ikqiiiber<ef  oodipaDies' thai 
filed  past,  ti^eva  "we^  not  fiO,OQO  man  bnufehb  'field;  i  Tbe  p«bBBlied 
aveiages  ha¥e  been  60,000  to  8a»Q0a 

In  addition,  howetei^  to  tiiaee  repilar  aildv  itfi^;ttla»  tlo^aad  whaA 
gare  a  peouliar  t^la^  to  the  aoeiie  iraa,  tliatevchry«orpi  in  the  Ftmnehsv^ 
Tioe  had  its  representatiTM  there.  Tbero ivwe-  Spahin  and  Zou^vcie^is 
their  aemi-barbarian  coetnmei ;  these  wcre'depitotionfr  of  the  Invalidea-*^ 
relics  of  the  old  reattUiean  and  im|ierial  boste^^who  wne  exened  mareh* 
ing  round  the  field,  a  distance  of  a  trifle  upwards  of.  thi«e  miles*  The 
G^dannerie  w«ro  repreoentedby  deputations  hem  every  part  of  Frsnoe; 
those  of  Corsica  were  particolarlj  admired.  The  nand  lorco  was  also 
represented  bj  matine  artUlerj,  maiines,  and  marine'  gendarmerie^  Some 
of  these  latter  represented  pretty  aoeurately  the  trsSition  that  obtains  is 
England  of  a  pig^^marioe,  the  hsar  being  plaited  bdiind^  ^^  fiMd  in 
the  ears,  and  great  blue  shirt  collars  worn  as  large  as  a  girl's  tippet;  ' 

At  about  half-past  twelve  the  guns  of  the  In^alides,  responM  to  by 
the  batteries  near  the  bridge  of  Jena,  announced  the  approach  «f  m 
Prince-President  The  drums  beat  to  arms,  the  bands  strndt  np^  and-tfaft 
ranks  closed.  But  so  vast  was  the  raaife,  and  saloud  the  noise,  especially 
of  cymbals,  added  to  the  tinkle  and  jar  of  wind  InstnmeBls^  that.«venry« 
thing  looked  diminutiye,  and  the  effect  of  the  wh6le  was  dint  o£  ckisters 
of  bees  being  driven  to  their  hives  by  the  oladnng  of  ftyiogf-pans. 

The  Prince-President  cantered  along  in  front  of  the  tiakB  wiih  ih^seat 
of  a  practised  rider  and  with  the  ease  of  a  gentleman*  It  was  left  tof 
Jerome  to  represent  Imperial  times.  There  .was  the>  cross-oat  eoat,  ftbe' 
traditional  hat,  breeches,  and  boots.  And  ihe  old  maiahal  plavsd  hie  psirt^ 
to  perfectioa.  He  rode  stiff  and  straight,  stem  yet  pieosea, '  with  his 
Bwovd  held  straight  alofb,  its  pomt  invo^g  the  memory  of  things  abo^e^ 
of  glories  and  victories,  and. of  men  gone  bye  and  numbered  with  the 
dead.  Old  times  really  seemed  for  a  moment  refived  in  the  pmaon  d 
the  Prince  of  Jf  ontfort,  onoe  King  of  Westphalia. 

Among  the  staff  ware  Mughribin  Arab'  and  Kahylo'  chiefltainsy  and 
others  in  alEance  with  the  PrendL  Their  short  stirrops,  wfaieh  gave  too 
great  a  curvature  to  the  lower  part  of  the  back,  and  threw  the  knees-vq^ 
into  the  chesty  did  not  show  off  their  manly,  sinewy.  £»rms  to^  advatitage. 
Their  flowing  bumnaes  contrasted  ill  with  the  martial  severity  of  OM 
European  uniform;  and  although  there  was  heat  and  dust  enough*  to 
make  a  little  Sahara,  still  the  tasseled  spear,  and  the  palm-tree,  and  a 
host  of  other  little  accompaniments,  were  wanting  to  make  an.  Arab  look 
at  home.  He  was  aa much  out  of  place  in  the  GhantpdeUhraas the 
Egyptian  obdisk  is  in  the  Place  de  hi  Concorde.  Some  of  dieae  Alalia 
were  chieftains  of  high  descent.  Such  wero  Bu  AHm^  son  of  the  Sheriff*' 
and  Bu  Madin,  Aga  of  the  Sbiyahs.  There  were  also  men  of  a  different 
Stamp,  as  Si  Tahar  al  Maydin,  the  head  of  all  lim  tnli>as,  or  lettered 
Algerines,  and  Sliman  Bsoi  Siam,  a  hakim  of  Milianeh,  who  induced  the 
inhabitants  to  submit  to  the  French.  Amon^  the  Kabyles  were  Si  Ban 
ali  ban  Sheriff,  renowned  for  his  piety,  and  Si  Hassan  u  Kassy,  a  traitor 
to  his  country  and  his  religion.  Altosether,  there  were  eighteen  Arab' 
and  Kabyle  chie&  or  men  of  note  to  delight  the  Parisians  with  a  living^ 
moof  of  foreign  conmiest.  The  imitation  Arabs  of  the  Hippodrome  are 
mr  the  future  doomed  to  obscnritj.    All  the  Frencb  papers  agreed  in 


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a^iBU%i^\^SagfS.  tH 


Wole  of  fioiiteiMiAodmlifalioiiJ^plaodd  he/bM^  tteu.  •  Tkeir  ghinty  ^iM 

CUUKtoiof  tte  ro6k.ilQdiMio.deieBl)  dUfMiSaig  in  ^r^ficBt  plao^on  Ph>- 
vidence,  and  next  on  each  individual-Mlf  done^  tlM^  is  that  wiihin  them 
lahlohlieahiKWtrQUitemled'by  tU  inctieii'of  chilised  Bo<n«ty,  and  is 
wperiiJiy -itrift 4mtiuf  the-fienohfi  a  pxofaaiid'md  ^ekem^  aeti^e^  ever 
waksfid  HtttfanaiKtiOr #eli|^  aad^dkrang^sdf-reKanee.  To  ttiudd  bo  oeu-'' 
atitotedt  aUthiU ^a88edbeiNre.tfaBireyeB>i^ meretwelttid glitter,  luxury 
.  aadfiet^nnei^seaMlhidg  that  BMti  prop^  that  God  would  dispose 

oC'iB  Habestthottghtfit.  ,         .      i 

ThettB  wera  also  two mfreiantatiT^ of  the  Ekdglish  army.  Onewasan 
offioer.ol  the  ]^<>s9e  Guatds,  J8>  mifitary  a  looking  a  man  as  any  on* the 
field  r  the  other  in  theataffkuufonn^  <with  his  shirt  coUar  lamed  doim, 
was  a  lair.speeinieii  of  thaEnriisk  officer  as  traditioDaUy  handed  down 
m  Fraooe.  <.  Ode  of  these  omen  *was,  it  k  amiy  unhoieed  during  the 
zeYiem 

*^  Th6  whole  world/*  said  ode  of  the  French  papeiBy  *^  was  there  to  see 
the*  sttnyf  whiehthd  whole  of  fliurope  is  jealous  of."  Considering  the  ex- 
p0iis6  of  such  tcya,  we  know  one  ooundy  at  least  that  does  not  envy 
sash  an  acquisitioiiv  and  a  gilcater  part  of  the  French  themselves  are  be- 
ginning tdimdeiitand  thit  men  were  made  for  better  thincs  than  being 
made  largetaeC  fiir  buUelis,  <xr  filling  up  a  place  in  a  raiee-uiow.  In  the 
latter  case^  they  Jitve  fbnnd  out  to  their  cost  that  **  le  jeu  ne  vaut  pas  la 
diandelle*'*  ^howevw,*  the  more  weary  a  nation  may  get  of  the 
bordeii  of  snth  an  anny^  the  greater  the  neoesiity  there  may  arise  for 
soppoiiiBg  it  by  some  foieigtt  and  predatory  war ;  so  it  is  well  to  know 
that  such  troops  would  never  be  oombated  at  £ur  odds  by  a  raw  militia, 
aided  by  volunteer  rifle  corps,  and  two  or  three  battalions  of  pensioners 
and  invalids^  as  proposed  by  a  penurious  House  of  Commons.  Great 
Britain  mUit  just  aaweU  take  refuge  with  the  tremulous  peers  in  the 
imagiBary  oestnctlve  powers  of  a  fisbulous  invention;  or  resort  at  once 
to  the  pasteboard  appliantes  of  the  Chinese,  and  frighten  away  the  con- 
queiors  of  Isly  and  Zaatoha  wilth  {tainted  monsters. 

From  the  phitfinm  of  the  oentml  rostra,  where  he  was  received  on 
dismooatiatf  by  the  einl  authorities,  the  Prinee-President  delivered,  one 
aflber  the  olaei^  the  eagles  to  the  oobnels  and  ek^  de  batailions^  deliver- 
ing upon  so  moikientoiis  an  oeoasion  a  speech  which  a  French  paper  pro- 
nounced to  be  d  tla  h&uHur  desdreanstanen'-^^i^  and  eagle  flights 
lachided. 

The  Champ  de  Mars^its  50,000  nuiitary,  of  one  description  and  an- 
other, andlits  lOOgQOO  spectatcns,  wen  next  &r  a  time  handed  over  to 
tfaa  ndnistats  of  God;  Tne  mstronolxtim  chapter,*  the  honorary  canon  of 
the  Paris  diurck  in  loU  canosaeal  costume,  the  cures  and  vicars  in  sur- 

eaaiid red  stDlesj  tfaeimembers  of  the  £ecessn  seminaries  en  ^outane^ 
been  filings  (br  socne  time  past^'  towards  dielofky  chapel  that  stood 
ifldatad  like  aitomb  in  the  desert.  Upon  this  ooeasion  an  untoward 
aooideatt  happen^,  aki  unfiortunate  didceaan  having  been  kicked  on  the 
heal  by  a  mesfriijiutateUU  hcri&  At  lei^th  the  chimel  was  filled  with 
white  aurplioes,  and  the  >aquilileEsbfought:  their  lifeless  {nrds  to  be 
bbssed  byitfae  woMnAo^^  The  eareiiodT commenced  widi  the  Mass  of 
the-  IMjlGS^BOHt.  .At  tU inftoment  rofi  elevation  a  .salute  of  guas  was 
fitedi>the.dxiafcbesit4orizmB^  Afr  trumpets  soioided,  th^  whole  of  the 


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S50  Tie'f4i9^oftk0JBaffl6S. 

xnfimtiy  knelt  lltid  was  all  kj  older.  Amoniff  the  i 
in  ten  even  nnoovered  tiwir  headp.  Booh  ib  -de  lilUa  regard  in  iwUak 
religicms  oeremooies  are  held  bj  the  BniaiaBa.  l%ie  diioliarge  ef  a  hm 
dred  guns  snnounoed  tbe  blening  of  the  eaglea^  and  anetner  t" 


proclaimed  with  braaen  moot^  the  Ikmmg  ef  the  ain^ 
people* 

PMnocB,  however,  to  the  find  act  of  tiie  ceremoBy^  the  AxotitiUtmp  cf 
[Paris  addressed  ihe  Piinee-President  at  a  diitiuw»  of  from  900  to  i 
jsids,  in  a  discourse  in  which  he  proved  tint  the  God  of  Feaoe  y 
tin  God  of  War;  because  afl  war  had  oal^  one  iagitiMtn  ofajaet^  wfaioh . 
was  to  procure  peace.  According  to  this  view  of  the  mAgactf  a  pradatoiy 
war  of  invasion  woold  not  meet  with  the  arehbishopV  appfohatioa.  **  The 
wisdom  of  the  Prince-Prendent,"  added  the  wortfay  pidalei  xestiag'apoa 
a  broken  reed,  **  would  preserve  him  froos  being  dasded  by  the  love  of 
glory.  With  soch  valiant  armies  in  hand,  pease  oonld  be  talked  aboot 
The  eagles  (poor  little  gilded  thiags,  not  much  lai^fer  than  a  p^;aoB) 
will  have,  from  the  summits  of  the  Atlas  to  tiie  summits  of  the  Alps  and 
the  Pyrenees,  a  sufficiently  vast  space  for  tiisir  ffigkL"  Thb  is  con* 
sc^tory :  the  genuine  bird  of  the  Grampians  might  ftel  raffled  by  tiie 
visit  of  such  an  omitiiologieal  imposition;  aad  what^  by^tise-fayy  wfli 
the  lammer-geyer  say  to  being  so  eeremonioasly  tnmad  oat  of  ms  aam 
strongholds  ? 

The  wortiiy  prelate  then  rominded  tiie  Piresidciity  in  ooaitly  itrani  of 
allasion,  that  Solomon  had  been  allowed  to  build  moie  than  l>avid,  or, 
in  other  words,  that  the  nephew  might  do  even  aiore  fixr  the  Chondi 
and  society  tium  the  unde,  smee  he  had  the  good  foitone  to  ^*  reign''  in 
a  time  of  peace ;  i^ieh  the  modem  SK^mon  answssed  by  prooaadiBg  to 
review  his  50,000  men. 

During  the  reception  of  the  eagles  by  the  regimeats,  the  diffeiawt 
bands  assembled  to  play  altogetiier.  Tile  eflbet  of  on  orehesUa  unax* 
ampled  in  numbers  was  totalnr  lost  in  so  vast  a  fotum*  Only  now  and 
then  a  Sunt  sound  struggled  throogn  the  fcffseae^  and  the  dnaQtor^ 
mounted  on  a  high  Bcaffo]d,  appeared  to  be  woiking  hin»eif  op  into  oa 
extraordinary  frenzy  for  no  purpose  whatsootar.  A  NapeieoBie  pmr 
said  unblushingly,  ^'Chaque  dfficier,  daqne  soldat^  a  vooin  tooeher 
Faigle  confine  k  sa  bravoure  et  k  son  homiear/'  The  fact  was,  tiuit  the 
eagles  were  received  by  the  regiments  with  iho  greatest  indiftrence^ 
and  whoi  called  upon  to  do  so,  the  soUien  eheetad  with  a  finnct  hmmh 
or  a  ''  Vive  Napoleon."  Some  aDowanoe  m«st  be  made,  hwwevar^  fiv 
loss  of  sound.  After  the  diJUe  the  troops  resumed  tiieir  places,  aad  asada 
a  movement  right  and  left,  to  salate,  vnth  prawantod  aims^  the  ]l^«sident 
of  fhe  Republic. 

And  so  ended  this  hot  of  tiie  •^PMes.*  Hie  Mnee-PMsidsnt  xode 
home  as  he  had  come.  The  unanimoos  voioe  of  tiie  aimry  did  not  elaot 
him  emperor.  It  is  smd  that  some  of  Us  move  eathnnaitK  fidioneis 
irished  to  ride  on  to  the  Tuileries;  bat  they  were  stopped  by  tiie  priaaa^ 
vrho  said,  <*  Not  yet,  P  Empire  Westjpas  mcvnfmL^  Tha  i%s,  a  lA^ 
poleomc  paper,  of  tiie  i4tii  of  May,  said :  ''Thonililary  fiMrtsof  the  lOtii 


of  May  have  come  to  an  end  wtthoot  brmgmg  abaot  any  dunse  in  tha 
political  order.  Louis  Napoleon,  received  by  tiia  psoole  and  tim  annr 
with  plaudits,  has  not  been  prodsomed  emperor  as  faaa  been  anaounaan 
A<W»r  haviz^  distributed  to  tiie  diiBnent  rsgimenti  the  aogks  vHuah  xa* 
"^^raace  of  Its  gloiy  and  cf  tiw  hnmsftaKty  of  his 


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faMk  to  the  ESf^ide^  m  be.  iawedr  fortk  &om  it,  Pmident  of  tbe  Fzench 
Too  lurlidie  ia  questieii,  being  professedly  written  to  show 
fjFwywB  n'eif  jmm  fak^  goes  oa  to  azgue  that  such  an  un- 
d  failofe  was  stridly  logMsal,  and  that  an  empire  could  not 
L  a  xeview.  The  question  still  Temains,  howoTer,  would  it  hare 
been  aeeepted  frooa  a  reipiew  ? 

Paris  was  mad  with  ezdtaBieat  that  aftetnoon.  As  to  the  restauiantSy 
the  gai^OBs  were  aowheie  and  eveiywhare— dishes  few  and  hx  between 
--4he  4uper^  cold  and  en  saiade*  ''  Pa*  hon^  ptu  bon^**  exclaimed 
Fitsjoaes.  The  M.P.«to>be  was  horrified.  Two  Germans  sat  near  the 
excuraiiMasts,  who  had  biyoaaoked  all  night  on  the  Bouleyaxds.  Otheia 
had  not  rceoyeied  the  hcDaoirhage  from  the  nose,  which  sun  and  excite- 
aasnt  prodneed  pietty  generaUy.  The  H6tel  Dieu  was  crowded  with  acci- 
dents, and  eten  the  Moigae  had  its  victims.  At  Charenton  the  soldiers 
and  the  popolace  caaoe  to  blows,  and  swords  were  used.  At  night  the 
/ofodes  of  the  theatres  and  public  buildings  were  illuminated,  the 
theatres  were  besieged,  hundreds  were  revised  admission  to  ''  La  Dame 
anx  Camelias,'*  the  avenue  of  the  Champs  Elysees  and  the  great  square 
were  one  oontinuons  fair,  as  was  also  the  whole  length  of  the  Quai  d'Orsay, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  wat«r.  Even  the  Bodievard  du  Temple  had 
its  eq/S  eonoerts. 

The  next  day  ibeftie  still  went  on.  The  saloons  of  the  Exposition  of 
1852,  rich  in  works  of  art,  before  which,  looked  upon  in  a  more  general 
sense  than  as  a  mere  display  of  form  and  colouring,  our  exhibition  at  the 
Royal  Academy  &lls  into  inmgnificanoB,  were  crowded  from  an  early 
how.  The  Louvre  was  filled  from  the  marine  gallery  down  to  tlie 
dungeon  with  the  ooloisal  monsters  from  Nineveh.  So  g^eat  was  the  in- 
flux to  the  Pantheon,  that  the  gallery  had  to  be  ascended  by  one  stair 
and  descended  by  another.  In  wb  evening  there  was  a  bal  in  the  interior 
qnadnngle  of  the  Eoele  MiUtaiie,  which  had  been  enclosed  in  and  gor- 
geously deoofated  for  that  purpose.  '^  Jamais,"  said  a  French  pi^r,  **  il 
n'a  6te  donn6  de  contempler  un  spectacle  phis  beau,  plus  blatant,  plus 


The  same  day  the  Napoleonic  papers  had  it  all  their  own  way. 
They  prockimed  that  the  Eagles  had  oome  baok*  That  there  was  not 
a  oottfl^  where  the  news  of  die  return  of  the  Eagles  would  not  make 
tifee  heiffts  beat  of  the  old  man  who  remembers,  of  the  son  who  hopes,  of 
the  grandaon  who  guesses.  **  The  Eagles,  that  is  to  say,  the  glory, 
the  honour,  the  lustee  of  the  French  name.''  But  on  Wednesday  a  storm 
succeeded  to  the  calm,  and  the  (^position  journals,  as  if  by  j>re-anange- 
ment,  all  opened  with  the  same  ominous  question,  ^' What  is  meant  by 
the  Eagles  ?**  The  questicm  was  tortured  in  every  possible  point  of 
WW,  bat  they  all  agreed  in  denouncing  them  aa  souvenirs  of  ambition, 
wax^  and  bloodshed. 

A  banquet  of  800  oovecs  at  die  Taileriea  helped,  however,  to  keep  up 
die  good  hnaienr  of  a  fortunate  km,  and,  amid  histrionic  perfonnanoes 
in  ue  old  prftt^a^  theatre  the  same  evening,  ''La  Distiibution  dea 
Juglei^''  agnmdioiepoem  by  IMiy,  ^nken  by  Mademoiselle  Judith,  and 
a  <<Poeme  de  Circonitanw/'  by  «  gkxy-stmck  adjatant-mi^or,  M. 
Lafon,  of  die  Garde  Reoublique,  attested  that  if  die  Empire  was  not 
there,  its  candidates  for  tne  poet-laureateship  were. 

The  heights  of  the  Trooadero  gave  a  Uaang  finale  to  die  Feast  on  the 
Thursday  night.     About  half-]^  eight  die  Prince-President  arrived 


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262  The  FHe  of  Am  Eagks. 

and  took  his  place  id  the  tribune  of  Monday^  which  was  iUuminated. 
The  chapel  had  been  partly  dismantled.  The  people  filled  the  difierent 
stands  and  the  terraoeSy  ana  were  dispersed  over  the  field  itself,  which  was. 
lighted  up  with  rows  of  pyramidal  stands  filled  with  lampions,  arranped 
along  the  sides  and  middle  of  the  plain,  while,  as  a  wise  precaution 
against  a  rush  after  the  fireworks  were  over,  regiments  of  soldiers  were 
di^osed  in  line  across  the  field  at  intervals  of  about  600  yards. 

Precisely  at  nine  oclock  a  blue  light  appeared  at  the  top  of  the  dome 
over  the  EScole  Militaire,  where,  on  Vie  day  of  the  Eagles,  there  had  been 
a  trophy  of  flags.  This  was  the  sinial,  and  it  was  replied  to  by  a  salvo 
of  artillery  from  a  battery  stationed  on  the  Quay  de  la  Conference.  In 
an  instant  there  rose  up  a  flight  of  innumerable  rockets,  which,  after 
going  to  an  immense  height,  burst  into  myriads  of  stars  of  every  shade 
of  the  rainbow.  At  the  same  time,  infantry  stationed  on  the  terrace  in 
£roDt  of  the  bridge  of  Jena,  along  the  quays  on  both  sides  of  the  river, 
on  the  bridge,  and  on  the  heights  of  Chaillot,  began  a  scene  of  mimic 
warfare  by  an  extraordinary  discharge  of  Roman  candles,  which  they  kept 
up  to  the  last.  In  the  midst  of  this  harmless  firine|>,  red  fires  were  seen 
bursting  forth  on  different  parts  of  the  heights,  and  in  a  short  time  the 
whole  mil  assumed  the  appearance  of  a  burning  mass  of  deep  red  hue,  out 
of  which  kept  showering  high  into  the  air  flights  of  bombs,  discharged  from 
mortars,  and  each  throwing  forth  innumerable  stars.  The  appearance  of  the 
Trocadero  at  that  time  redly  beggared  description — ^it  was  as  if  the  whole 
ground  had  been  transformed  into  a  mass  of  burning  lava. 

In  a  moment  after,  and  as  if  by  enchantment,  the  red  fire  disappeared, 
and  in  its  place  rose  before  the  astonished  view  of  the  spectators  a  view 
of  the  Triumphal  Arch  of  the  Carrousel,  not  in  sombre  marble,  like  the 
original,  but  blazing  in  light ;  on  tiie  top  stood  a  gigantic  eagle,  with 
wings  extended,  as  if  protecting,  orl  hovering  over,  toe  inscription  that 
blazed  forth  resplendenUy  below^^'Vive  Louis  Napoleoin''  On  each* 
fflde  were  pillars  of  light,  one  surmounted  by  the  Cross  of  the  Legion  of 
Honour,  and  tiie  other  by  the  New  Military  Medal. 

Last  of  all,  and  exceeding  everything  previous  in  magnitude  and  mag- 
nificence, came  the  Bouquet.  It  can  only  be  compared  to  a  fearful  erup- 
tion of  Etna  or  Vesuvius,  sendiDg  forth,  instead  of  lava,  and  to  an 
immense  height,  a  continued  torrent  of  brilliant  stars,  eadi  star  again 
bursting  into  other  stars,  till  there  were  miles  of  fireworks  in  operation  at 
once,  and  the  whole  sky  for  a  long  distance  round  was  filled  with  then, 
of  every  hue  and  colour,  and,  owing  to  some  meteorological  peculiarity, 
remained  lighted  up  for  hours  afterwards. 

There  was  no  enthusiasm  shown  among  the  crowds  that  filled  the  vast 
precincts  of  the  Champ  de  Mars  at  this  traly  magnificent  spectacle ;  and, 
being  night,  there  were  many  more  spectators  at  the  fireworks  than  at 
the  distribution  of  eagles.  It  took  hours  to  get  back  to  the  other  side 
of  the  Seine  by  any  road.  There  were  few  or  no  exclamations  of  any 
kind  whatsoever ;  what  there  were  of  admiration,  were  chiefly  from  the 
English  or  from  strangers.  A  song  was  sung,  witii  tiie  refrain  of '^  Bunons^ 
huvons  a  la  Sante  de$  FiiUiP  But  that  was  all ;  and  with  the  last  of 
the  Roman  candles  went  out  also  the  hopes  of  an  Empire  for  some  time 
to  come. 


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N  E  W   g  0  NT  fl  L  Y   il  A  G  A  Z  I  N  E 

I  ....... 

AH© 

H  U  M  OR  I  ST. 


VOL.  xcv.]  JULY,  1852,  [no.  ccclxxix. 


COKTENtS. 

rAGE 

A  SuftVEir  OE  Danish  Literature,  from  the  Earliest  Period 
TO  THE  Present  Time.    Br  iMjis.  I^ushbt         .        .        .    .  253 

William  the  Conqueror  ;  or,  the  A.D.C 273 

"  Our  Own  CoRREaPONDENT"  in.  Italt 284 

Female  NoviiLiSTs.    No.  III.— "Currer  Bell"      ,        .        •  295 

H&sTfifR  Somerset.    By  Nicholas  Michell        .        .        .    .  806 

Ths  Last  Night,  of  James  Watson's  J^onetmqon  .        •        .318 

Pictures  of  my  Barrack  Life.    Br  a  German  Soldier     .    .  324 

The  Blithedale  Romance      .   ' 334 

The  Man  of  Coincidences.    An  Every-day  Sketch  •    •  344 

YouNo  Tom  Hall's  Heart-aches  and  Horses.    Chap.  XXX.  347 

The  Obdar  in  the  Palace  Garden.    By  W.  Brailsford        ..  358 

The  Burmah  War SCO 


LONDON: 

CHAPMAN  AND  HAlL,  193,  PICCABILLT. 

To  whom  qU  Commmieatm$  fir  tke  Edit$r  are  to  be  addreuod. 

*«*  BSraCTBD  ASnCLBS  CAHNOT  BE  BXTDRKBD. 
BOLD   BY  ALL   BOOKSELLERS   IN    THE    UNITED   KINGDOM. 


FsnrrsD  bt  cha.bles  ynLVtvs^,  beauvobt  house,  btbabd. 


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Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


NEW  MONTHLY  MAGAZINE. 


A  SURVEY  OF  DANISH  LITEEATURE,  FROM  THE  EARUEST 
PERIOD  TO  THE  PRESENT  TIME.  ' 

BT  UBB.   BT7SHBY, 

Pabt  IV. 

In  the  pronons  parte  of  this  siiffht  survey  of  Dunish  literature,  all 
ihoee  autiiors  have  been  mentioned  who,  haying  taken  the  highest  stand 
in  Aeir  own  country,  from  an  early  date  up  to  a  recent  period,  were  tbe 
best  entitled  to  be  brought  before  the  notice  of  the  reading  public  of  a 
foreign  nation.  There  hare  been  otiiers,  perhaps  very  meritorious,  but 
whose  claims  were  not  of  that  lasting  nature  to  warrant  their  being 
dassed  among  the  supporters  of  tiie  literary  renown  of  their  native  laadL 
If  it  has  been  a  matter  of  some  difficulty  to  make  a  selection  from  the 
writers  of  past  centuries,  and  from  tiiose  of  a  more  recent  date  who  are 
now  no  more,  there  is  still  grater  difficulty  in  choosing  from  among  the 
writers  of  the  present  day  tiiose  to  whom  to  assign — not  indeed  the 
leading  place — but  their  due  position  in  the  ranks  of  living  Danish 
authors. 

Time,  that  g^eat  leveller,  though  it  may  enhance  the  merits,  and 
soften  tile  demerits  of  those  who  have  flourished  in  very  remote  ages, 
around  whom  is  cast  the  venerable  halo  of  antiquity,  divests  the  bygone 
of  a  later  creation  of  all  that  prestige  with  which  it  was  surrounded  by 
the  passions,  or  the  enthusiasm,  of  contemporaiy  judges,  and  by  the 
&shion  of  the  day.  So  that,  aided  also  by  unprejudiced  critics  and 
biographers,  those  of  succeeding  generations  are  enabled  to  form  a 
tolerably  correct  estimate  of  the  labours  of  such  as  have  passed  away  at 
no  veiy  distant  period.  But  liring  authors  are  not  generally  made  the 
subjects  of  biography,  and  though  critics  do  not  spare  them,  criticisms 
vary  so  much,  and  opinions  are  often  so  conflicting,  that  it  is  infinitely 
more  difficult  to  do  strict  justice  to  living  authors  than  to  dead  ones. 

Among  the  living  autJiors  of  Denmark,  Nicolai  Frederik  Severin 
Grundtvig  takes  a  high  stand.  He  was  bom  at  Udby,  in  Zealand, 
in  1783,  and  is  much  admired  by  many  in  his  native  country  as  a 
preacher,  a  poet,  and  an  historian.  He  is  also  celebrated  as  a  theological 
writer,  and  for  his  knowledge  of  Anglo-Saxon.  As  a  preacher  and 
theologian  he  is  eloquent,  but  bigoted  and  intolerant.  There  can  be  no 
doubt  that  Grundtvig  is  a  pious  man,  though  he  carries  his  zeal  too  far; 
nor  can  there  be  a  doubt  of  his  learmng,  though  his  acquirements  in 
Anglo- Saxon,  and  other  old  languages,  make  him  ratner  pedantic. 
Among  his  works  may  be  mentioned,    "Bjowulfi  Drape,"  a  Gotiiic 

t/tt/y-— VOL.  XCY.  KO.  CCCLZZIZ.  8 


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254  A  Survey  of  Danish  Literature. 

heroic  poem  from  the  Anglo-Saxon,  published  in  1820 ;  a  thick 
Tolume  of  "  Kvoedlinger  eller  Smaakvad" — small  poems,  bearing  on  its 
title-page  the  date  of  1816.  The  greater  number  of  these  are  on  his 
farourite  subject,  the  fables  of  the  Scandinavian  mythology — a  subject 
on  which  he  has  enlarged,  both  in  prose  and  verse,  in  another  work,  en* 
titled,  "  Nordens  Mytologi,"  « The  Mythology  of  the  North."  The 
last  named  is  an  earlier  production  than  the  "  Smaakvad,"  it  having 
appeared  in  Copenhagen  in  1808,  and  having  been  written  be£:>re 
Grundtvig  took  orders.  In  the  preface  to  this  work,  he  assumes  much 
credit  to  himself  for  his  extensive  msight  '^  paa  Asalseren,"  which  means, 
into  the  knowledge  of  the  gods  of  the  Valhalla ;  and  rather  sneers  at 
*^  the  many  learned  men  in  the  North,  who  knew  every  blossom  in  the 
garden  of  Arcadia,  yet  would  almost  start  with  surprise  at  the  name  of 
xggdrasilV**  That  the  fables  of  the  Northern  mythology  are  very 
curious,  some  interesting,  and  a  few  extremely  beautiful,  must  be  allowed 
by  all  who  know  anything  of  them ;  but  they  hardly  demand  such  vene- 
ration, and  so  much  study,  as  the  Rev.  Mr.  Grundtvig  claims  for  them. 
Grundtvig's  poetry  is  liked  by  his  countrymen,  as  being  peculiariy 
Noriliem,  There  is  a  good  aeai  of  imagery  in  it>  and  some  feeling, 
but  it  wants  variety. 

Bemhard  Sevenn  Ingemann,  bom  1789,  a  professor  at  Soroe,  and  a 
contemporary  of  Grundtvig,  is  a  far  more  pleasing  writer.  He  also  dwells 
much  on  the  olden  times  ;  but  it  is  the  real  history  of  his  country  that 
he  elucidates,  and  places  before  his  readers  in  interesting  points  of  view. 
Ingemann  writes  everything  well ;  it  is  impossible  that  he  snould  do  other- 
wise, with  accurate  historical  knowledge,  with  a  well-stored  memory,  with 
inexhaustible  treasures  of  imagination,  brilliant  fancy,  force,  and  purity  of 
feeling,  vast  powers  of  description,  poetic  taste,  and  complete  command  of 
language.  The  great  Oehlenschlseger  has  said,  in  his  last  volume  of  poems 
("  Digte  Kunsten"),  published  in  1849,  that, 

If  thou  wouldst  seek  these  mental  gifls  to  know, 
Which  artists  ever  on  their  work  bestow — 
Hark!    In  tlie  subject's  choice,  its  scope,  indeed, 
In  its  arrangement,  'tis  Good'Serue  we  need. 

To  exorcise  those  shades  from  vanished  days. 

On  which,  through  dim  mists  of  the  past,  we  gaze — 

And  even  living  spirits  to  command, 

We  and  Imaginaiion  must  go  hand  in  hand. 

And  that  those  phantoms  which  we  summon  near, 
May  not  as  cold  and  spectral  forms  appear. 
But  play  like  beines  of  this  life  tlieir  parts— 
Fee&ig  must  lend  her  aid,  and  warm  their  hearts. 

And  to  be  sometimes  pensive,  sometimes  gay, 
To  glean  from  crowds,  and  bid  them  go  or  stay. 
To  choose  if  on  your  canvas  shall  be  traced 
Dark  eve,  or  morning's  dawn— these  rest  with  Tasle, 


♦  The  ash  Yggdrasill— mentioned  in  the  "Voluspa,"  and  prose  "Edda,"  "a 
high  tree,  sprinkled  with  the  purest  water;  it  stands  ever  green  over  the  Urdar 
fountain."  According  to  Finn  Magnusen,  this  ash  Yggdrasill  was  the  symbol  of 
imiversal  nature.  Other  writers  say  it  was  the  emblem  of  human  life.  Grundtvig 
has  a  theory  of  his  own.  So  that  none  of  the  writers  on  Scandinavian  mythology 
agree  as  to  what  tla»/aneUd  aih-tree  was  really  meant  to  shadow  f<frth. 


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A  Survey  of  Danish  Idierature.  255 

All  those  requisite  ingredients  in  the  composition  of  an  artist — ^and  hj 
<<  artists'*  OehlenschlsDger  did  not  mean  painters  alone — are  happily 
united  in  Ingemann.  In  his  hbtorical  romances^  which  are  decidedly  his 
best  works,  "  those  shades  from  vanished  days/'  those  phantoms  whom  he 
has  summoned,  play  their,  parts  with  spirit  and  life-like  truth ;  he  has, 
indeed,  **  re-animated  departed  generations,"  and  the  principal  events  and 
personages  of  his  tales  are  strictly  historical — not  merely  fictitious  charac- 
ters, and  fancied  scenes  with  borrowed  names,  forming  a  sort  of  masque- 
rade. Though  foreign  readers  cannot  take  so  much  interest  in  his  histo- 
rical heroes  and  heroines  as  Danes  do,  yet  all  must  admit  that  the  inci- 
dents, the  descriptions,  the  delineation  of  passions  and  feelings,  are  most 
effective,  and  that  one  is  carried  back  with  the  author's  ideas  to  the  period 
of  which  they  tell. 

Ingemann's  principal  historical  romances  are,  "Waldemar  Seier," 
«  Waldemar  the  Victorious;"  "  Erik  Menveds  Bamdom,"  «  The  Child- 
hood of  Erik  Menved;"  "  Kong  Erik  og  de  Fredlbse,"  <<King  Erik  and 
the  Outlaws ;"  and  *'  Prince  Otto  of  Denmark  and  his  Contemporaries." 
To  these  may  be  added  two  historical  poems — *\Waldemar  the  Great  and 
his  Men,"  and  "  Queen  Margrethe."  Of  these,  "  Waldemar  the  Victo- 
rious" and  *'  Kinfi^  Erik  and  the  Outlaws"  may  be  enjoyed  by  the  English 
reader  through  the  medium  of  Miss  Chapman's  admirable  translations.  In 
perusing  her  version  of  these  charming  works,  one  forgets  that  one  is 
reading  a  translation,  so  thoroughly  does  she  enter  into  the  spirit  of  the 
origin^.  Her  translations  of  some  of  Oehlenschlseger's  best  dramas  have 
before  been  mentioned.  Miss  Chapman  would,  doubtless,  kindly  permit 
some  extracts  to  be  given  here  from  either  of  her  two  works ;  but  as  we 
have  determined  to  borrow  nothing,  we  shall  take  part  of  a  scene  or  two 
from  "  The  Childhood  of  Erik  Menved."  This  romance,  in  three  volumes, 
dwells  much  more  on  the  deeds,  or  rather  misdeeds,  of  King  Erik  Christo- 
pherson,  the  father  of  Erik  Menved,  than  on  any  notice  of  that  prince's 
childhood. 

Erik  Christopherson,  or  GUpping  (a  nickname  bestowed  on  him  in 
consequence  of  his  having  a  habit  of  winking  his  eyelids  continually), 
was  one  of  the  worst  kings  that  ever  reigned  in  Denmark.  Vicious  in 
his  private  character,  treacherous,  cruel,  and  timid,  he  was  hated  and 
despised ;  and  though  some  few  of  the  nobility  adhered  faithfully  to  him 
from  loyalty  to  the  crown,  a  conspiracy  was  formed  against  him  by 
several  others,  at  the  head  of  which  was  Marshal  Stig  Andersen,  whose 
beautiful  wife  the  ungrateful  king  had  grievously  injured  and  insulted, 
when  the  brave  Marshal  Stig  was  leading  the  Danish  troops  against  the 
enemies  of  his  profligate  sovereign.  The  conspirators  assumed  the  disfl;uise 
of  monks — the  grey  brothers — and  one  of  their  number  was  the  kmg's 
confidential  and  favourite  attendant,  and,  as  the  deluded  monarch  fancied, 
personal  ^end,  Kammersvend  Ran^.  It  was  he  who,  according  to 
Ingemann's  tale,  basely  lured  his  royal  master  to  a  lonely  building,  where 
he  was  murdered  by  the  conspirators,  who  then  set  fire  to  the  bam  where 
the  deed  was  perpetrated ;  the  blind,  deranged  father  of  Stig  Andersen's 
wife  perishing  by  chance  in  the  flames.  The  real  hero  and  heroine  of 
the  romance  are  Drost  Peder  Hessel,  a  chivalrous,  superior  character; 
and  the  Lady  Inge,  the  clever,  amiable,  loyal,  and  high-minded  daughter 
of  a  Danish  nobleman,  who  himself  was  weak  and  wavering  in  his 

b2 


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A  Airvey  of  Danish  Uierahae.' 

policy — ^too  pusJlknimoufl  to  be  a  dedded  coiispiraior,  too  difoonteDled  to 
be  a  feudiful  adherent  of  the  monaxchy.  There  is  a  Duke  WaUleniar 
iatroduoed,  a  ooumn  of  the  kiog,  who  plays,  or  endeavoan  io  jUb^,  a 
somewhat  similar  game  to  that  aittempted  bj  the  Duke  of  Aogosteiiboig 
latdy — with  only  this  difierenoe,  that  Duke  Waldemar  ahnost  openly 
aspired  to  the  throne.  There  is  a  young  girl,  a  beautiful  and  interestioig 
somnambulist,  who  holds  rather  a  pronunent  station  in  the  zomance. 
The  king,  having  seen  her,  has  taken  a  fancy  to  hex^  and  he  is  aided  in 
his  pursuit  of  this  Aas^,  who  resides  with  her  grandfather,  by  his  in£Eunous 
favourite,  Ban^.  It  appears  in  the  course  of  the  narrative  that  Ran^ 
who  was  the  king^s  professed  Mend,  but  secret  enemy,  having  found  out 
the  retreat  of  the  young  girl  and  her  aged  relative,  made  use  of  this 
knowledge  to  lure  the  king  into  the  toils  prepared  for  him. 

King  Erik  Glipping  is  on  a  visit  at  one  of  ihe  castles  of  his  noble 
adherent,  Drost*  Peder ;  during  his  stay  there,  some  daring  outlaws  and 
pirates  are  ci^tured  in  the  vicinity  of  the  castle,  and  the  king,  always 
delighting  in  condemnations  and  executions,  inmats  on  passiAg  sentence 
on  these  men  without  any  legal  trial.  Among  them  is  a  young  knight, 
the  brother  of  one  of  his  most  stanch  supporters,  whom  the  lansp  e  own 
insults  and  severity  had  rendered  desperate ;  but  this  daim  to  nis  da- 
mency  does  not  soften  the  feehngs  of  the  bloodthirsty  monarch.  In  his 
interview  with  the  outlaws.  King  Erik  shows  at  once  his  fexodty  and  his 
timidity.  Soon  after  the  prisoners  are  secured  the  king  declares  to  his 
host,  Drost  Peder,  that  before  the  evenii^g  closed  in  their  execution 
should  take  place ;  adding, 

"  We  shall  then  be  able  to  sleep  in  peace,  and  there  will  be  nothing  io  inter- 
fere to-morrow  with  the  pleasures  of  the  chase." 

The  Drost  petitions  for  some  delay ;  he  demurs  at  thus  hurrying  the 
poor  wretches  into  eternity,  and  begs  hard  that  they  may  at  least  be 
aUowed  to  see  a  priest. 

**  There  is  no  time  for  that,"  said  the  king.  "  I  will  not  sleep  under  tlie 
same  roof  with  robbers  and  murderers ;  if  /  am  to  be  your  guest,  Drost 
Hessel,  your  other  guests,  who  were  uninvited,  must  sleep  upon  the  wheel 
to-night." 

"  if  it  please  you  to  command  it,  my  liege,"  replied  the  Drost,  "  they  can  be 
sent  forthwith  to  the  dungeon^keep  at  Viborg,  and  then  it  will  not  be  neoea- 
sary  for  your  grace  either  to  sleep  under  the  same  roof  with  them,  or  to  hasten 
this  bloody  tragedy.  There  are  men  among  them  who  are  not  bom  to  end 
their  lives  in  so  hurried  and  fearful  a  manner.** 

*'  No  one  is  bom  to  such  a  fate,"  said  the  king,  losing  himself  for  a  moment 
in  tlioueht.  **  If  any  one  had  his  destiny  sung  to  him  in  his  cradle,  it  might 
benefit  him  in  aAer4ife.  We  ourselves  do  not  know  what  may  be  in  stove  lor 
us.     Is  there  anv  person  of  rank  among  them  ?" 

"  There  is  at  feast  one  among  them  who  did  not  always  herd  with  the  out- 
casts of  mankind,  and  who,  even  now,  has  some  remains  of  honour  and  fed- 
iog.  His  high  birth  and  former  situation  are  now,  indeed,  the  strongest 
witnesses  against  liim.  You  yourself,  my  king,  bestowed  knighthood  upon 
him." 

"  That  shall  not  avail  him— he  most  die.     Who  is  he?*' 

"  Sir  Lavd  Rimaardson,  her  gracious  majesty's  kinsman,  and  brother  to  the 
loyal  Bent  Rimaardson.** 

*  Drost  was  the  title  attached  to  a  high  oflloe  in  the  royal  household. 


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The  U&g  ftatod;  be  dieoked  bis  lume^  and  gaaad  atDiwtPedar 
willi  an  inquiiing  look,  wUA  betayied  nmoh  of  flecrot  auspieum ;  tibaii  Iiii 
ejdids  began  to  wink  vk>leiiiiljr. 

'*'Tlfae  qneen'fl  liinaniBii,  taid  you — the  Dotlawed  hmh  RimaardRsn — he 
wfce  darecTto  indte  die  peieaiitiy  to  rerok  agaiast  me  ?  And  yon  would  now 
nroteet  a  Tebel,  and  make  tntereenion  ibr  so  daogeroai  an  offender.  Droit 

"  Protect  him  I  would  not,  Herre  King ;  but  for  a  sinner  I  shall  dare  to 
intercede.  Mercy  is  the  first  attribute  of  the  great  Judge  of  all' mankind.  I 
would  pray  your  majesty  to  remember  that  the  culprit's  brother  is  one  of  the 
most  faithful  adherents  of  the  crown,  and  that  he  is  connected  to  the  royal 
frmilY  itself.*' 

"Hal  I  shall  show  you  and  all  my  subjects  that  when  instioe  is  in 
question,  I  take  no  cognisance  of  friendship  or  relationship,  of  high  birth  or 
noble  breeding ;  no,  nor  of  orincely  descent.  I  will  see  Sir  Lav^  Rhnaardson 
die  upon  the  wheel  before  the  sun  go  down  ....  no  more  !** 

Another  influential  nobleman  tries  to  dissuade  the  long  from  canyine 
aot  Ins  wishes  wkh  snc^  unseemly  haste,  and  to  let  the  law  take  its  nsou 
eouno    bot  in  vam. 

Tbe  warder  now  entered  ihe  knights'  hall  witli  a  guard  of  armed  men, 
between  two  rows  of  whom  walked  I^els  Ufred  and  bis  eomrades ;  Aey 
entered  boldly,  while  Sir  Lay^  Bimaardson  hung  back,  as  if  ashamed  of 
Us  oompanioniihip  with  ihem. 

"  Who  is  your  leader?*  demanded  the  king. 

"I,"  replied  Niels  Ufred,  with  so  fierce  a  look  that  the  king  recoiled  a  few 


••  What  is  your  nameT 

**  That,  eyeiy  child  in  Denmark  knows,^  replied  the  rover,  scornfully.  "  With 
the  mere  mention  of  it  mothers  terrify  their  children  into  obedience.  At  my 
name  the  weak  and  the  cowardly  scream  and  turn  pale ;  aye,  and  many  a  lusty 
gallant,  too,  has  quailed  at  it.  .  .  .  Were  this  arm  but  firee,  Herre  Kinc,  it 
would  not  give  you  time  to  hear  my  name  to  the  end.  I  am  called  Niels 
Ufired,  at  your  service.  If  you  did  your  duty  as  a  king,  as  well  as  I  do  mine 
as  a  rover,  it  would  be  better  for  your  poor  subjects.** 

''  You  confess  then  that  you  are  a  freebooter,  and  that  all  those  fellows  are 
your  accomplices?" 

'*  If  we  were  to  deny  it,  we  should  be  base  and  pitiful  scoundrels ;  you  are, 
very  likely,  accustomed  to  lies  and  deceit  at  your  court,  but  I  and  my  comrades 
are  not  versed  in  such  accomplishments.** 

"'Tis  well !"  said  the  king.  ..."  Prepare  to  die  this  very  hour!** 

"  It  amounts  to  the  same  thing ;  come  soon,  or  come  late,  Herre  King,  we 
shall  all  go  the  same  way.  But  if.  you  will  let  me  live  till  to-morrow,  I  shall 
tell  yon  a  piece  of  news  that  may  be  of  service  to  you,  and  perhaps  prevent 
our  meeting  so  soon  in  another  place.** 

The  king  opened  his  eyes  wide^  and  cast  an  uneasy  look  towards 
Kammersyend  Kane,  who  gave  him  a  furtive  slance  in  return,  and 
painted  to  the  hilt  of  a  poniard  which  peeped  forth  from  a  pocket  in  the 
bnast  of  the  rover's  dress. 

^.80,"  said  the  king,  turning  again  towards  the  freebooter,  *'you  would  work 
on  my  £ean,  or  my  curiosity,  fellow,  that  you  may  escape—brodc  out,  perhaps, 
and  commit  fresh  outrages ;  but  I  am  too  old  a  bird  to  be  caught  by  chaff.  If 
you  have  no  better  plea  to  urge,  you  shall  not  live  beyond  this  hour  " 

"So  be  it;  I  shaft  but  go  before  you.  .  .  .   Since  you  will  have  me  to  be 


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258  A  Survey  of  Danuh  literature. 

yonr  herald  in  the  other  world*  I  must  e*en  take  upoo  myself  the  office ;  but 
you  will  repent  it.  ...  We  shall  soon  meet  again.** 

He  is  ordered  away,  and  the  young  knight  is  called  on. 

"  Stand  forward,  Lav^  Rimaaidson,"  cried  the  king.  And  the  wild,  mis- 
guided voudi  stepped  forward,  while  every  one  present  regarded  him  with 
looks  of  sympathy  and  companion,  except  the  king  and  Ran^  who  betrayed 
much  anxiety  as  he  watched  his  countenance.  "  It  was  vou  on  whom  with  this 
sword  I  conferred  knighthood  about  three  years  ago,  said  tlie  king;  **now 
your  arms  in  your  native  halls  shall  be  broken  with  ignominy,  and  your  reversed 
shield  shall  be  hung  beneath  the  gallows,  in  token  of  your  disgrace.  Do  you 
avow  your  connexion  with  these  vile  and  insolent  pirates  ?'* 

"  Yes,  King  Erik  Christoplierson  ;  and  I  avow  still  more.  Could  you  and 
I  but  liave  met  alone  in  the  caves  of  Dangbery  for  one  half-hour,  you  should 
as  surely  not  have  beheld  the  sun  set  as  I  expect  not  to  see  it." 

"Ha!  treason  I— madman  !**  cried  the  king,  starting  back.  *'If  you  deem 
by  swh  audacious  speech  to  win  a  moment^  reprieve,  you  deceive  yourself. 
Had  you  a  thousana  accomplices  I  would  not  spare  you  the  time  to  name 
them.^ 

"  Therein  you  are  wise.  King  Erik,"  answered  the  fettered  knight,  with  a 
scornful  laugh.  **  Lose  no  time,  for  you  have  none  to  spare.  When  your  hour 
of  reckoning  comes,  you  will  have  more  to  answer  for  than  those  you  now  doom 

to  the  rack  and  the  wheel If  the  brave  Stig  Andersen  iocs  not  take  a 

bloody  revenge  upon  tlie  destroyer  of  his  peace,  if  the  unfortunate  Lady  Inge- 
borg's  blind,  heart-broken,  and  deranged  father  cannot  grope  his  way  with  his 
dagger  to  that  false  heart.  King  Erik,  there  is  no  longer  a  particle  of  honour 
left  in  Denmark,  a  particle  of  warm  blood  stirring  in  the  veins  of  the  Danish 
nobility,  and  they  will  deserve  to  have  no  better  monardi  than  you  are." 

The  king  became  suddenly  as  white  as  a  corpse ;  he  foamed  at  the 
mouth  with  rage,  and  his  hana  grasped  the  hilt  of  his  sword.  In  another 
moment  he  had  drawn  it  from  its  scabbard,  and,  like  a  maniac,  he  rushed 
upon  the  prisoner,  who  stood  immoyable  and  laughing  scornfully.  But 
Diost  Peder  sprang  forward  and  forced  himself  between  the  prisoner  and 
the  enraged  monarch. 

"Hold,  Herre  King!"  he  exclaimed.  "Your  grace  is  no  executioner  to  fell 
a  bound  and  helpless  victim.  In  my  house  a  deed  sliall  not  be  perpetrated 
which  would  stam  the  honour  of  tlie  crown." 

The  king^s  fury  seemed  calmed  in  a  moment ;  he  returned  the  sword 
slowly  to  its  scabbard ;  but  at  the  same  time  he  cast  a  withering  look  on 
the  noble  Drost. 

"Well !"  he  exclaimed  coldly,  "you  are  right,  Drost  Hessel :  I  had  nearly 
forgotten  my  royal  dignity  ....  but  you  have  also  nearly  forgotten  your 
respect  to  your  sovereign,  in  presuming  thus  to  school  him.** 

The  king's  adventure  with  the  beautiful  somnambulist  is  a  curious  scene: 
he  is  exceedingly  terrified  by  the  yisions  which  she  relates  while  in  a  state 
of  deep  slumber  and  perfect  unconsciousness.  Duke  Waldemar's  impri- 
sonment— the  Lady  Inge's  solitary,  dreamy  existence  in  her  father's  re- 
mote castle,  until  the  sturing  events  of  the  times  draw  her  into  active  life 
and  participation  in  some  wild  scenes — the  struggles  in  her  mind  between 
patriotic  feelings  and  duty  to  her  father — the  murder-scene^  and  many 
others,  are  extremely  well  described.  ''  Prince  Otto  of  Denmark"  is  a 
shorter  work,  but  one  also  of  great  interest  There  are  many  striking 
scenes  in  it ;  but  of  one  in  particular  we  may  give  an  outline,  though  it  is 
too  long  to  give  a  translation  of  it 


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A  Survey  cf  Danish  Literature.  259 

'  A  young  lady  of  noble  family  is  placed  by  her  relatives  as  a  boarder  in 
a  convent,  where  she  is  to  be  strictly  guarded,  and  made  to  go  through 
various  penances,  until  she  shall  consent  to  marry  the  person  they  have 
chosen  for  her  husband.  One  evening,  during  vespers,  a  young  knight 
makes  his  appearance  in  the  chapel,  is  taken  suddenly  ill,  declares  huxiself 
dying,  and  calls  for  the  prior  to  shrive  him  before  he  departs.  The  prior 
leaves  the  high  altar,  and  hastens  to  the  stranger-penitent,  who,  murmur* 
ihg  in  a  failing  voice  that  he  hears  spirits  calling  him  to  death  and  judg- 
menty  sinks  into  the  arms  of  the  priest,  and  whispers  a  bequest  of  all  that 
he  owns  to  the  convent ;  prayinc^  only  that  he  may  be  buried  there.  Mean- 
time, the  nuns,  novices,  and  boarders,  have  all  been  driven  off  to  their 
cells  by  the  prioress,  who  had  overheard  a  faint  scream  from  one  of  them. 
It  is  determined  between  the  prior  and  prioress  that  some  one  shall  watch 
the  body  during  the  night,  for  all  honour  is  to  be  paid  the  remfuns  of  the 
stranger,  whose  last  act  was  to  give  his  worldly  goods  to  the  pious  esta- 
blishment. The  prioress  inflicts  this  oflice,  by  way  of  a  hardship,  on 
Agnet^,  the  boarder,  who  was  not  inclined  to  matrimony,  and  bestows  a 
lecture  on  her  for  not  obeying  her  family's  wishes  by  marrying  ''Bidder 
Podebttsch."  The  young  li^y,  however,  declares  that  she  will  never 
marry  any  one ;  that  she  wishes  to  become  a  nun,  and  that  she  will  give 
all  her  maternal  inheritance  to  the  convent,  if  the  prioress  will  only  grant 
her  a  home  and  a  grave.  The  prioress  communicates  this  new  turn  of 
affidrs  to  the  prior  ;  they  felicitate  themselves  on  two  windfalls  in  one  day, 
and  the  prioress,  returning  to  Agnete,  releases  her  from  the  threatened 
penance  of  watching  by  the  dead  body.  To  her  surprise,  however, 
Agnet^  entreats  to  be  permitted  to  perform  this  melancholy  task,  and  the 
prioress,  who  has  become  very  indulgent  and  obliging  all  of  a  sudden, 
teUs  her  she  shall  do  exactly  as  she  {Heases.  It  ends  in  the  damsel  shut- 
ting herself  up  in  the  cold  cnurch  at  midnight,  alone  with  the  dead  body. 
Lights  are  burning  round  the  coffin,  and  when  certain  that  no  human  eye 
is  upon  her,  Agnet^  throws  herself  upon  the  corpse  in  a  passion  of  grief, 
and  pours  out  her  love  for  him  who  she  thinks  is  no  more.  But  the 
young  knight  is  not  dead ;  and  when  he  hears  that  he  had  been  ''  her 
thought  and  her  dream  from  her  childhood,"  he  raises  himself  up  in  his 
coffin,  and  after  having  frightened  her  almost  into  a  fainting  fit  assures 
her  that  he  is  living,  that  he  participates  in  all  her  feelings,  and  that  it 
was  to  ud  her  to  escape  that  he  had  played  the  part  of  a  corpse.  None 
of  the  inmates  of  the  convent  cared  to  enter  the  chapel  in  th*e  dead  of 
night ;  so  the  lovers  were  enabled  to  make  eood  their  retreat,  and  by  dawn 
of  day  they  were  in  happy  safety  with  a  friend  of  the  adventurous  youth. 
Ingemann  wickedly  hints,  that  tne  younger  nuns  wished  some  more  dead 
fnen  would  come  to  t»rry  them  all  off  too. 

Ingemann  introduces  so  many  dramatis  persona  into  hb  novels,  that 
one  is  rather  bewildered  by  their  numbers;  but  he  contrives  to  make  them 
all  efficient,  and  bearing  different  characteristics.  He  is  called  "the 
Walter  Scott  of  Denmark."  We  cannot  honestly  sav  that  he  is  quite 
e^^oal  to  the  Wizard  of  the  North,  but  he  does  not  faU  far  short  of  him. 
It  is  certainly  a  compliment  to  Uie  real  Walter  Scott,  that  the  ^eatest 
praise  which  foreign  nations  can  bestow  on  their  best  writers  of  historical 
romances^  is  to  call  them  ''ihe  Walter  Scott**  of  their  country. ,  ^^S^' 
mann  is  a  poet  and  dramatist,  as  well  as  a  writer  of  romances.     "  De 


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MO  AJOmvmi^  DaaiMhlikMUmrt. 


Softe  KddeTCt,*'  «<Tiie  Black  Ksigbta,"  is  a  kqg  poni  iniiiiia  omta. 
Kings  and  warnore,  troubadoim  and  lovnlj  ^^mwoI^  pilgmms  and  naB% 
angds  and  aeovomantic  dwarfa,  all  enter  into  the  maohinery  of  this  ''So* 
nantic  Epos,"  as  the  author  terms  the  wodi.  Amo^g  liis  minor  pasms 
aro  some  beautiful  lakAemwceaux.  Inhis  tng^dieshe  does  not  snooeedso 
well — ^with  the  exception  of  ^'Blanoa,"  his  maiiternieoe^  vUch  would  be 
efi(Mtive  on  any  stage.  The  groundxvork  of  tins  orama  is  jealoio^j  and 
he  demcts  that  overwhelming  passion  witii  the  glowing  pencil  of  an 
Alfien,  and  the  Tivid  trutiifuhkess  of  a  Joanna  iBailhe.  Ingemann's 
gieatest  admirers  mnst  adroit  that  Ids  .tragedy,  '<  Tusnus,"  is  poor.  In  the 
''KsBo^ienforyalhal*'  "  Battie  for  theValhaUa,"  the  soene  is  ludin 
Iceland ;  it  reads  well,  but  would  not  probably  he  liked  on  the  Jrtaoe. 
''  Loveriddexen,*'  ''  tiie  Lion  Knigh^"  has  mose  inoidents,  and  some  wie 
tragic  scenes.  Ubald,  the  Lion  Ejught,  and  leader  of  the  lion  Lai^oei 
was  a  foundling  brought  up  hy  a  noUe  couple.  Sir  Benno,  his  benefiMS- 
tor,  has  an  only  daughter,  and  as  the  proiigi^  becomes  greatly  distin* 
guished  in  the  career  of  arms,  Beuno  determines  he  shall  many  her.  The 
young  couple  are  much  attached  to  each  other,  but  both  seem  to  lael  an 
unaccountable  relnotance  to  unite  their  fsites.  Johanna,  the  dao^itaie^ 
thus  expresses  it : 

Btnmge,  stranse  misgiving  dine  unto  my  heart : 
Without  my  Ubald  this  Mt  wond  to  me 
A  wilderness  would  seem    .    .    .    « 

«    .    .    •    .    yet  from  the  ^od 

I  would  not  yield,  my  soul,  still  shuddenog,  turns. 

He,  on  his  part,  declares  : 

My  soul,  unquiet,  ever  seeks  some  good, 
Unfound,  unknown !— aye,  even  when  with  thee. 
My  best  beloved  I     But  what  that  good  may  be. 
Hides  my  dark  fiite. 

Those  undefined  feelings  are  at  length  traced  to  tiie  fact,  unknown  to 
themselves,  tiiat  they  are  half-brother  and  sister.  Ubald  being  the  son 
of  Sir  Benno  and  a  gipsy-woman,  who,  in  her  revenge  for  having  been 
cast  off  by  the  knight  when  he  married,  is  the  mysterious  instigator  of  all 
manner  of  evil,  ending  in  perfidy  and  murder.  But  our  partiality  for 
Ingemann  must  not  make  us  neglect  otiier  authors. 

Steen  ^teensen  Blicher,  a  clergyman,  bom  in  1782,  is  known  as  a 
lyrical  poet  and  a  good  novelist.  His  tales,  which  are  not  long,  deal 
prindpcJly  in  descriptions  of  rural  society  and  provincial  manners,  with  a 
sj^rinkling  of  low  life.  He  became  first  known  to  the  Danish  world  by 
his  transuition  of  '*  Ossian** — a  poem,  or  rather  poems,  which  harmonise 
witii  the  taste  of  tiie  nations  of  the  North,  and  are  exceedingly  admired 
among  them,  and  also  by  the  Germans.  It  was  in  1807  tluit  Blicher's 
«  Ossian"  appeared  ;  he  lias  continued  to  write  from  that  time,  and,  among 
other  works,  has  published  his  **  Samlede  Digte,'*  "  Collected  Poems,"  in 
two  volumes;  "  A  Bummer  Tour  in  Sweden;*'  "Winter  Occupations,*  a 
volume  containing  five  tales  and  two  Jutland  poems;  another  work,  ''  Min 
Tidsalder,"  by  subscription ;  and  a  collection  of  mne  tales,  tiie  names  of 
some  of  which  are,  ^En  Landsbydems  Dagbog,^  "A Parish  Clerk's 
Jonmal,''  "The  Priest   of  Thornmg,     ''Truentammerhaderen,'^  ••The 


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ASmvey^  Damth  f  ■hiwhui'.  SSI 

chor  flovHMMoes  it  wiA,  '<  I  have  two  thipgs  to  upologise  for,  the  tUe 
m&i  iJie  tale.  The  fonner  is  ph^n  and  ooazse,  and  pediaps  will  he  diataste- 
iak  to  delioate  and  refined  tastes;  llie  latter  eqiudly  so.  It  is  true,  that 
the  portnutmes  of  rascals  among  the  great  always  form  the  most  interest- 
ing porlioDS  of  histories  and  Tomances ;  hat  then  they  are  not  called  by 
Imt  name  ;  hesides,  such  piquant  characters  look  very  diffarent  -When -they 
appertam  to  the  higher  ranks  than  when  ihey  helong  to  the  peasantry, 
mo  do  not  dine  upon  diunties.  Who  can  deny  that  Claudius  and  Mes- 
saHna,  Pope  Sergius  and  Maorosia,  Pront  de  Boeuf  and  Ulrica,  lived  right 
rascally  lives  ?  But  it  is  true,  they  lived  in  palaces,  not  amidst  shep- 
herds' huts.  What  sits  well  on  prineiBly  personages,  holy  prelates,  Toving 
knights,  is  not  pardonable  in  Jutland  gipsies ;  Nero  was  a  preai  monster, 
Jens  Longknife  a  vulgar  rascal."  In  speaking  further  of  these  Jutland 
gipsies,  he  quotes,  with  some  humour,  a  passage  from  a  French  touristy 
which,  he  says,  has  more  truth  in  it  than  the  Frenchman  thought,  '<  En 
Daanamarc  il  y  a  une  nation  qui  s'apelle  Kieltrings  (rascals),  elle  n'est 
pas  si  bien  cultiv^  que  les  auties  Dantus."  A  Danish  traveller  might 
make  the  same  sage  observation  in  regard  to  the  "  gamins"  of  Paris. 
fiUehex^s  tales  are  £ffioQlt  to  translate,  iMcause  they  are  much  interlarded 
with  provindalisms  and  cant  phrases  in  use  among  the  inferior  classes  of 
society. 

Johan  Ludwig  Heibeig,  bom  in  1791,  a  son  of  the  P.  A.  Heibeig 
who  was  banished  in  1800,  is  one  of  the  leading  authors  of  Denmark.  He 
is  extremelv  clever,  and  does  not  excel  in  lighter  literature  alone,  although 
lie  is  best  Known  as  a  writer  of  novels  and  vaudevilles.  Professor  iSei- 
be^  has  introduced  a  new  style  of  drama  on  the  Danish  stage.  His 
pieces  are  neither  tragedies,  comedies,  nor  farces,  but  they  have  generally 
dramatic  effect,  witty  dialogue,  and  amusing  incidents.  Most  of  them 
are  written  with  a  view  of  showing  off  the  powers  of  his  talented  wife, 
Fru  Heiberg,  who  is  one  of  the  fiist  of  livioe  actresses,  and  a  great 
&vourite  in  Copenhagen.  Among  his  vaudevilles  there  are  "Et 
Eveotyri  Rosenheim  Have,**  "An  Adventure  in  Rosenberg  Garden;" 
"De  UadskilleKge,*'  "The  Inseparables;"  "De  Danske  i  Paris,'' 
"The  Danes  in  Paris;"  "Nei,"  "No;"  "Nina;"  "Fata  Mor- 
gana,**  and  several  others.  To  give  some  idea  of  Heiberg's  style,  we 
shall  take  an  extract  from  the  little  one-act  vaudeville  "  Nq^"*  in  which 
the  heroine  of  the  piece  refuses  one  admirer,  and  accepts  the  other,  with 
the  same  monosyllable,  "no.'*  There  are  only  four  individuals  introdnoed, 
Ju9tiee  Gamstrupy  a  testy  old  gentleman ;  Sophia^  his  niece;  SJammer^ 
her  admirer,  a  student  of  law,  who  lodges  in  the  house  with  the  uncle 
and  niece ;  and  JJinA,  a  parish  clerk,  fonnerl^  a  schoolmaster,  idio  has 
been  selected  by  Gamstrup  as  a  husband  for  his  niece.  IMt  arrives  by 
invitation  from  the  uncle,  and  stumbles  t^n  Hammer^  in  whom  he  dis- 
covers a  former  pupil.  Sophia  has  .her  uncle's  orders  to  receive  this 
elderly  admirer;  and  at  the  same  time  Mammer  makes  her  [promise  that 
she  wiU  not  utter  one  w<nd  but  no  to  anything  and  everytlung  he  may 

♦  The  "Danes  in  Paiis,"  "No,"  and  "Elverhoi,"  "the  Fairy  Mount,"  of  Hei- 
berg, the  "  Battle  for  the  YalhaUa,**  and  the  "  lion  'Kniglit,''  of  Ingemami,  have 
aQ  been  translated  into  English  by  the  wiitear  of  this  article. 


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262  A  Survey  of  Danish  Literaiure. 

say,  and  then  retires  where  he  can  orerhear  the  conversation.    Idnk^  on 

entering,  hows  low,  and  says : 

'    Most  honoured  young  lady,  you  know,  of  course,  who  I  am  ? 

Si^phia  (Aside,  In  regain  to  this  question  I  can,  with  truth,  indulge 
Hammer  in  his  wish).  No. 

Link.  Doubtless  the  worthy  justice  has  informed  you  that  a  certain  person, 
for  a  certain  purpose,  intends  to  take  a  certain  liberty  with  you  ....  that  is 
to  say,  wishes  to  pay  his  most  respectful  respects  to  you  ? 

Sophia.  No. 

Link.  That  is  most  extraordinary.  He  wrote  me  that  his  lovely  niece  was 
quite  aware  of  my  coming.    I  don^t  understand  it  at  all.    Do  you  r 

Sophia.  No. 

XtJiA.  I  am  placed  in  a  very  awkward  position  ....  my  name  .  .  .  • 
esteemed  young  lady  .  .  is  .  .  link. 

Sophia  (inquiringfy).  No? 

Link,  xes,  of  a  surety.  I  reside  at  Grenaa.  You  know,  of  course,  where 
Grenaa  is  ? 

Sophia  {drawling  out  the  word^  as  if  trying  to  remember).  N — o. 

Link.  It  lies  on  the  coast,  the  east  coast.  I  am  not  without  a  pretty  fair 
reputation  in  the  town,  and,  moreover,  have  no  reason  to  complain  of  the  re-, 
ceipts  of  my  office. 

After  sundry  attempts  at  conversation^  to  which  she  never  makes  any 
reply  but  '<  no"  Link  exclaims : 

Well,  I  shan't  stand  shilly-shallying  any  longer.  After  all  I  have  been  say- 
ingf  you  can't  doubt  my  intentions^  so  ril  e*en  come  to  the  point  at  once.  I 
love  you— I- 


Sophia  (with pretended astowuhment).  No! 
iJnk,  Not  no,  but  yes.    It  is  the  po 


,  yes.  It  is  the  positive  truth ;  and  now  I  shall  make  so 
bold  as  to  ask  you  the  important  question  at  once.  Suppose  I  were  to  say  to 
you — "  Miss  Garostrup,  here  stand  I  before  you.  My  condition  and  my  circum- 
stances are  known  to  you — you  see  my  figure,  my  air,  my  manner,  my  dress. 
Will  you,  seeing  all  that  I  present  to  your  consideration,  make  me  happy  by 
bestowing  on  me  your  dear  little  band,  and  your  not  less  dear  little  heart  r* 
Suppose  I  were  to  say  all  this  to  you,  what  would  you  answer  ? 
Sophia,  No. 

Link.  That  is  rather  an  unpleasant  word,  but  you  smile  while  you  say  it, 
therefore  perhaps  you  don't  mean  it.    Come,  now,  you  don't  really  mean  it  ? 
Sophia.  No. 

link.  Thank  Heaven !  tliat's  just  what  I  thought.    You  mean  to  give  me 
every  hope  ? 
Sophia.  No. 

Link.  Why  not?    I  cannot  understand  you  at  all.    Ah !  you  are  joking,  I 
see  ;  but  pray  let  me  have  no  more  no's  from  your  pretty  mouth.    I  shall  be 
satisfied  with  an  equally  short  answer,  which  I  shall  dictate  myself.    Y — e— s, 
what  does  that  spell  ? 
Sophia.  No. 

Ltnk.  Nay,  nay,  pardon  me — it  spells  yes.  (A»de.)  Her  education  must  have 
been  dread uilly  neglected. 

(Link  sings.) 
A  lesson  let  me  give  to  you  : 
In  no,  there  are  but  letters  two  ; 
It  is  a  word  short,  but  not  sweet. 
Which  folks  don't  often  like  to  meet. 
TeSy  like  the  Graces,  numbers  three. 
And  oh !  but  say  that  word  to  me  I 
Now,  y— e — s,  how  do  they  go  ? 
They  make — let's  hear—they  make  a 


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A  Survey  of  Danish  Literature.  263 

Sophia,  Ko. 

LM.  You  doQ*t  understand  me,  I*m  afraid? 
Sophia,  No. 

(Link  sings  again.) 
Then  I  will  try,  and  try  again, 
Until  I  make  my  meaning  plain. 
YeM  is  an  easy  word  to  spell— 
Fm  sure  that  you  would  do  it  well. 
Suppose  you  write  down  y — e— s 
On  paper,  ranging  them  just  so  ; 
Fm  sure  the  word  they  make  youUl  guess. 

Pronounce  it  now-^they  make  a 

Sophia,  jVo. 

Link,  By  no  manner  of  means;  that's  not  the  word  they  make.     You  don't 
seem  to  understand  me  yet  ? 
Sophia,  No. 

(Link  angt  again,) 
Sophia,  dear,  why  will  you  erieve 
Your  lover  so  ?     I  can't  believe 
You  are  so  dull  of  comprehension  ; 
To  tease  me  must  be  your  intention. 
But  pray,  put  coouetry  apart. 
And  don't  pretena  to  be  so  slow  ; 
I'm  sure  you  know  the  word  by  heart- 
Come  y— e— 8  will  make  a 

Sophia,  Ho. 

Link,  Do  you  seriously  mean  to  assert  that  the  letters  y— e— s  spell  no  f 
Sophia  (sneeringfy).  No. 

Link,  Ah,  very  well ;  vou  do  understand  spelling,  then,  I  see.    But  how  am 
I  to  understand  vou  ?    You  are  silent.    Did  you  mean  no  as  an  answer  to  my 
question  ?     Will  you  not  have  me  ? 
Sop/iia,  No. 
Link,  On  no  account? 
Sophia,  No. 

Littk.  Really,  tliis  is  very  delightful.   But  pray,  give  me  some  reason — some 
cause  for  your  refusal  ? 
Sophia  {decidedly).  No. 

Liidi,  You  speak  as  if  my  feelings  were  of  no  consequence.  I  don't  know 
wliy  you  should  treat  me  in  this  way.  Please,  miss,  answer  me  once  for  all.. 
Do — you — not — like  me  ? 

Sophia.  No— no— no— no— no  I    (5Atf  runs  into  her  apartment,'^ 
Link,  The  deuce  take  the  girl !    But  she's  an  idiot,  a  downright  idiot.    I 
shall  waste  no  more  words  upon  her. 

'When  the  uncle  enters,  Link  complains  to  him  of  his  niece's  conduct ; 
and  old  Gamstrup,  suspecting  that  Hammer  has  soraetlung  to  do  with  it, 
and  seeing  him  approaching,  orders  Sophia  to  answer  nothing  but  no  to 
htm,  and  retires  wtth  Link  to  listen.  Hammer  comes  in,  and  £Gaicying 
Sophia  alone,  addresses  her : 

Now  I  can  speak  out  openly.  May  I  dare  to  hope  that  we  understand  each 
other?  That  you  know  my  sentiments,  I  cannot  doubt.  But  I,  Sophia,  can 
I  have  misunderstood  yours  ? 

Sophia  {tenderUA.  No. 

Hammer,  Oh,  tnen  I  am  the  happiest  fellow,  on  earth !  You  love  no  one 
else? 

Sophia.  No. 


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aM  A  Sarmg.  of  Dmuth  JUieniiurw. 

Hammer  QmeeSng).  And  iiow»  when  I  lay  my  hand  and  my  heart  at  your 
feet,  when  I  vow  eternal  love  and  fidelity  to  you,  you  will  not  diibelive  me? 
Sopkia.  No. 

Hammer.  Yon  will  not  forsake  me? 
Syfkia,  No. 

Jiammer.  Nor  deny  me  thia  dear  hand  ? 
Sophia.  No. 

Hammer.  You  will  never  repent  of  your  engagtment  to  me  ? 
Sophia.  No. 

Hammer.  Never  cease  to  love  me  ? 
Sophia.  No. 

Cratnsirup  and  Idnk  rush  from  their  hidmg-place,  and  Cratnstrup  ex* 
daims,  *'  Hold — stop  I  This  is  moro  than  enough!"  But  matters  are 
needily  set  to  rights  by  Hammer^ s  telHng  that  he  has  just  come  into  a 
fortune  ;  upon  which  lAnk  withdraws  his  suit,  and  the  uncle  Ids  opposi- 
tion. The  vaudeville  is  wound  up  mAi  a  song  and  chorus,  the  last  verse 
of  which  Sophia  addresses  to  the  audience.     It  ends  with, 

Your  favour,  then,  may  you  bestow 

Upon  this  bagatelle ; 

And  while  we  bid  you  now  fiirewell, 
Dash  not  our  hopes  with^— iVb/ 

Hdbere^'s  <'  Elverhoi,"  <<  Fairy  Mounts"  a  graoeful  opera  in  five  acts, 
is  founded  on  an  old  superstition,  and  its  music  introduces  some  of  the 
ancient  Scandinavian  airs.     The  air  of, 

Far  o*er  the  waves  the  mermaid's  song  is  heard, 
is  a  wild  and  beautiful  melodv ;  oiiginally  a  Swedish  peasant  song  and 
dance,  called  ^'Redens  Polska."  It  is  somewhat  surprising  that  no 
manager  of  an  English  theatre  has  yet  been  found  enterprising  enough  to 
try  some  of  these  northern  novelties— all  pertinaciously  adhering  to  the 
old  beaten  track  of  adaptations  from  the  French  stage. 

Johan  Ludwig  Heibeigis  also  the  author,  in  most  instances,  and  editor 
in  others,  of  some  tales  which  are  extremely  popular.  Among  these  are 
"  En  Hverfags  Historic,"  "  An  Everyday  History;"  "De  Lyse  Natter," 
*< Bright  JTiffhts;**  " MesaHiance,"  "To  TidsaWre,"  « The  Two  Ages," 
"ForlsBggeriagt,"  "The  Hunt  for  a  Publisher,"*  "The  Young  and 
the  Old  Heart,"  and  many  others.  Heibeig  publishes  all  his  novels  as 
merely  edited  by  himsel£  Some  of  them  are  attributed  to  his  mother, 
the  Countess  GvUenborg.  This  lady,  formerly  the  wife  of  Heibeig's 
fiftther,  the  banisned  dramatical  writer,  was  divorced  from  him,  and  mar- 
ried afterwards  a  Swedish  nobleman,  who,  for  political  faults,  also,  was 
exiled  firom  his  own  country,  and  took  up  his  abode  in  Denmark.  To 
English  people,  the  mention  of  a  divorce  suggests  the  idea  of  some  flagrant 
misconduct*;  but  it  is  not  necessarily  connected  with  guilt  in  Denmark. 
Divorces  are  much  more  easUy  obtained  there  than  in  Great  Britain.  If 
two  people  live  unlu^pily  together,  and  wish  to  dissolve  their  marriage, 
tlie  Danish  laws  admit  llie  possibility  of  their  doing  so;t  and  so  entirely 

*  Some  of  Heiberg't  tales  are  in  process  of  translation,  and  may  be  oflbred  at 
afbturedsy  to  BtagMi  readeni,  if  thqr  are  snoooifla  in  their  "Hnnt  itar  a  Pub- 
lisher." 

t  We  know  a  curious  case  of  one  of  these  separations.    A  lady  sad  gentiemsn 


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A  Sktfvey  of  Ikmuh  LitmOmn.  Hi 

OBI  ikor  marriage  be  oniudled,  that  they  may  legally  marry  my  ooa 
allei  Nor  doea  thiB  abaolutely  inyolTe  a  loai  of  rafpectabifity.  It  is  nat 
oommon,  however,  to  End  this  leMl  lieense  made  use  o& 

Cantena  Haoeh,  bom  ITdl,  d  »  good  fiunily,  was  a  profesaor  at  Kiel, 
wBidi  he  left  when  the  Hobtem  war  unhappily  broke  out  He  zesidea 
BOW  on  the  island  of  JEiSe,  and  still  contributes  to  the  literaiy  storea  of 
toB  oonntry,  tHiieh  he  baa  earidied  with  dramasi  poem%  and  nowla. 
Ebnch  is  a  moat  protifio  as  well  as  a  fiiToorite  writer.  Among  hia  woifa 
may  be  named  hb  **  Iris,"  a  misoellanyy  eontaining  poetry  and  proae.  Baa 
^  two  poemsy'^ette  of  which  is  called  <'  The  Sailors  return  Home  ;"  hia 
<^ Lyrical  Poems;'*  "Rosaura,"  a  lyrical  drama;  "The  Contraate,"  tm 
dramatic  poems;  '*  The  Siege  of  Maastricht^"  <<  The  Death  of  Charles  Y.," 
"•  Tiberius,**  and  "  Svend  Grathe,"  laragedies ;  <'  A  PoHsli  Family/'  a  xo* 
flMmcey  dbc.y  cPc* 

The  most  cdbbrated  work  of  Benrik  Hei^  who  was  bom  in  1798,  ia 
'^Sing  Rent's  Daaghter/*a  drama  which  has  been  beautifully  translated 
mto  Engfish  by  Sfiss  Chapman.  He  ia  the  author  of  some  other  plays, 
and  also  of  some  poems  ;  among  the  latter  are  his  "  Poetiske  Epistler  fra 
Paradis,"  published  in  1831,  imd  his  "  Lyrical  Dramatic  Poems,"  pub- 
fiahed  ten  years  later.  Among  the  former,  <*  En  Eneste  Feil,"  "  A  Sm||^ 
Fault,**  ^*  LoTe  and  the  Police,"  and  *<  The  Corsairs.''  There  axe  soma 
specimens  of  Herz's  poetry  in  Christian  Winther  s  '^  Collection  of  One 
Inmdred  and  five  Danish  Romances ;"  one  of  them,  the  '*  Troubadour,"  ia 
extremely  pretty.  There  are  in  the  same  yolume  some  good  speoimena 
of  Hauch's  short  poems — of  course,  some  of  Winther's  own,  and  thoae 
of  his  near  relatiye,  Paul  MoUer.  Christian  Winther  and  Paul  MOller 
are  both  poets  of  the  present  day  ;  the  latter  has  translated  the  **  Odysee** 
into  Danish,  as  well  as  haying  written  original  poems.  Winther  is  also 
a  writer  of  novels — ^for  this  department  of  literature  has  now  plenty  of 
Totaries  in  Denmark.  Among  these,  the  writers  who  publishes  under 
the  names  of  St.  Hermidad  and  Carl  Bemhard,  hold  prominent  places. 
Their  works  are  deyer  and  lively,  and  graphic  in  tneir  descriptions. 
*'  Et  aar  i  Kiobexdunm,"  ''  A  Year  in  Copenhagen,"  in  two  volumes ; 
"Lykkens  Yndling,"  "Fortune's  Favourite,"  '<  Old  Souvenirs,"  "A 
Country  Family,"  "The  Commissioner,"  "Chronicles  from  the  Times 
of  Erik  of  Pomerania,"  "Chronicles  from  the  Times  of  Christian  II.," 
and  other  works,  show  that  Mr.  St  Aubain  is  not  a  loiterer  in  the  path 
he  has  chosen  £or  bimselfc  K  these  pages  should  ever  meet  the  eye  of 
that  talented  author,  we  must  hope  that  he  will  pardon  us  for  ^ving  the 
name  he  modestly  desires  to  conceal.* 

Professor  Sibbem  is  another  distinguished  writer ;  his  most  admired 

were  betrothed  in  Copenhagen  at  a  very  early  age,  and  after  a  short  acquaint- 
ance. The  gentleman  was  obliged  by  drcnmfltances  to  spend  some  years  in  a  dis- 
tant colony.  They  were  at  length  enabled  to  meet  and  to  many.  Bat  both  had 
dianged  in  feelingB,  habits,  and  everything  else;  th^  were  miserable.  The  lady 
inslBted  on  a  divorce,  whidi  was  obtained ;  «^  was  a  Lutheran,  and  married  again. 
He,  being  a  Roman  Catholie,  could  not  be  rdeasedfrom  his  vowi  without  a  dispen- 
sation from  the  Pope.  He  was  not  rich  enoo^  or  energetic  enongh,  to  procure 
this;  80  he  remains  in  the  peculiar  position  of  an  wanarried  and  yet  a  niarried  man! 
*  It  is  at  least  baUeved  in  Copenhagen  that  Carl  Bemhard,  which  is  admitted 
to  be  a  flctitioiis  name,  and  Mr.  St  Aubain,  are  one  and  the  same. 


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266  A  Survey  of  Danish  Literature. 

work  is  entitled  ''  Gabrieli's  Posthumous  Letters."  The  first  volume  of 
these  letters  was  published  in  1826  or  1827 ;  the  remainder  about  two 
years  ago. 

Hans  Christian  Andersen  is  probably  better  known  in  England  than 
any  other  Danish  writer.  He  was  bom  at  Odensee,  Funen,  in  1805,  in  an 
humble  rank  of  society,  and  has  raised  himself  entirely  by  his  own  genius. 
It  would  be  needless  here  to  give  any  outline  of  his  life,  that  havin^^  been 
sufficiently  dwelt  on  by  the  translators  of  his  works.  Those  which  have 
appeared  in  English  consist  of  tales,  longer  and  shorter,  fairy  legends, 
and  fanciful  stones  of  various  kinds.  His  longest  romance  is  the  "  Im- 
provvisatore,"  of  which  that  popular  and  accomplished  authoress,  Mrs. 
Howitt,  has  given  to  the  British  public  a  spirited  translation.  The  same 
lady  has  also  rendered  into  English,  '^  O.  T.,^  published  by  Andersen,  in 
1836,  and  "  Kun  en  Spillemand"  (•«  Only  a  Fiddler^),  which  came  out  in 
Denmark  the  following  year.  Andersen's  dramatic  works,  which  are 
inferior  to  his  romances,  legends,  and ''  Eventyr,"  have  not  been  generally 
successful  in  Denmark ;  but  his  poetry  is  much  admired.  His  poems  are 
less  known  in  this  country  than  his  prose  works.  They  are  extremely 
pretty :  some  of  them  full  of  feeling,  some  yexy  fanciful,  others 
numorous.  Andersen  partakes  more  of  the  nature  of  the  dove  than  of 
that  of  the  eagle ;  he  seeks  no  lofty  eyrie— he  gazes  not  on  the  bUzing 
sun  with  an  eye  bright  as  its  meridian  rays ;  he  loves  to  linger  among 
shady  gproves,  and  on  the  margin  of  limpid  streams ;  his  fancy  revels 
amidst  mermaids'  caves  and  scenes  of  fairy  land.  One  is  reminded,  when 
reading  his  ^'  Eventyr,"  and  little  poems,  of  the  sort  of  peaceful,  dreamy 
pleasure,  which  one  enjoys  when  loitering,  on  a  warm  summer's  day, 
under  embowering  trees,  listening  to  the  rustling  of  the  leaves,  to  the 
lulling  sound  of  some  rivulet  near,  or  to  the  distant  dashing  of  the  waves 
on  a  level  shore.  All  very  soothing  and  sweet ;  but  a  kind  of  listless 
enjoyment,  to  which  an  active  mind  could  not  long  submit.  Andersen 
tells,  himself,  in  one  of  his  little  poems,  what  he  loves : 

I  love  the  ocean  when  'tis  raging  wildly ; 
I  love  it,  when  its  waves  are  flowing  mildly. 
And  the  moon  beams  upon  its  waters  blue. 
I  love  the  mountains,  and  their  torrents,  too  ; 
And  the  deep  dales  and  forests  green  1  love, 
And  the  still  night,  with  its  bright  stars  above ; 
The  sunset's  golden  tints,  dim  twilight  sweet. 
And  the  white  hoar-frost,  crisp  beneath  one*s  feet.  - 

But  hate— what  do  I  hate  ?    Oh !  I  hate  nought. 
Except  each  evil  and  each  bitter  thought, 
And  sin,  that  fain  would  harbour  in  my  breast. 
Children  I  love— in  innocence  how  bless*d ! 
And  minstrelsy  I  love,  and  birds,  and  flowers, 
And  all  that's  beauteous  in  this  world  of  ours. 
I  love  my  friends — and  woman !  one  alone 
I  loved  ;  she  was  a  bride,  and  yet  I  own, 
That  disappointed  love  I  cherish  still  ;— 
Yes,  love  those  sorrows  that  mv  bosom  (ill ! 
I  love  to  think  upon  the  grave's  repose. 
And  yonder  world  where  the  freed  spirit  goes. 


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A  Survey  of  Danish  Literature.  267 

Tliese  lines,  headed  "  Hvad  jeg  elsker,*'  "  What  I  love,"  are  in  a 
▼olurae  of  poems,  dedicated  to  Oehleuschheger,  and  show,  at  least,  what 
an  amiable  man  Andersen  is.  ''  The  Dying  Child''  has  been  one  of  the 
most  praised  of  Andersen's  minor  poems,  and  it  has  been  translated  into 
several  languages.  That  our  readers  may  judge  of  it  for  themselves,  we 
give  a  close  English  version  of  it : 

Mother,  I  am  tired,  and  I  would  fain  go  sleep  ; 

Oh !  let  me  near  thy  heart  once  more  sweet  slumber  seek  ; 
But  thou  must  promise  first  thou  wilt  no  longer  weep, 

For  so  scalding  are  thy  tears,  that  the^jr  burn  upon  my  cheek. 
The  stormy  wind  blows  loudly,  and  I  shiver  with  the  cold  ; 

But  in  mv  dreams,  dear  mother,  all — all  is  calm  around  ; 
And  little  cherubs  smiling,  I  fancy  I  behold, 

When  my  weary  eyes  are  closed,  and  I  hear  no  startling  sound. 

Mother,  dost  thou  see  yon  angel  at  my  side  ? 

The  sweet  songs  that  he  sings,  oh,  mother,  dost  thou  hear? 
See,  see !  he  has  two  wings,  spread  out  so  white  and  wide ; 

Oh  I  surely,  'twas  our  Lord  himself,  who  bade  him  thus  appear ! 
Green,  and  gold,  and  red,  before  my  eyes  are  blending ; 

These,  doubtless,  are  bright  flow'rets  brought  me  from  the  sky. 
By  yonder  shining  being,  on  my  bed  attending. 

Shall  I  have  wings,  too,  mother,  tell  me,  when  I  die? 

Why  dost  thou  tremble  thus  ?  my  hands  why  dost  thou  press  ? 

Why  dost  thou  lay  thy  cheek,  dear  mother,  close  to  mine? 
Oh  !  I  can  feel  'tis  moist,  but  it  does  not  burn  the  less ; 

What  dost  thou  fear  for  me  ?    I  am  for  ever  thine. 
Tliou  must  no  longer  sigh  so  sadly  as  thou  hast. 

If  thou  wilt  still  weep  on,  then  I  will  weep  with  thee; 
But,  oh !  I  feel  so  faint — my  eyes  are  closing  fast — 

Oh  I  mother— mother,  see,  the  angel's  kissing  ine ! 

One  of  Andersen's  own  favourites  is  "  Soldaten,"  "  The  Soldier."  It 
has  been  translated  into  German,  by  Chamisso.  The  following  is  from 
the  Danish  original : 

Tlie  drums  are  beating  with  a  muffled  sound ; 
How  long  the  way  seems  to  yon  fatal  ground ! 
Would  all  were  over,  and  he' were  at  rest ; 
My  heart  is  breaking— bursting  in  my  breast ! 

I  had,  in  this  wide  world,  one  only  friend  ; 
Tis  he,  who  to  his  doom  of  death' they  send. 
With  music's  clanging  strains  and  martial  show ; 
And  I,  paraded  with  the  rest,  must  go  I 

For  the  last  time  God^s  sun  doth  he  behold ; 
Soon,  soon  for  him  will  all  be  dark  and  cold ! 
And  now  he  kneels — and  now  his  eyes  they  bind— 
Oh  I  may  his  soul  eternal  mercy  find ! 

The  nine  have  fired— not  one  without  a  sigh : 
Eight  of  the  whizzing  balb  have  passed  him  by  ; 
One  only  took  sure  aim  of  all  the  nine — 
The  ball  that  struck  him  in  the  heart  was— mine! 
Jtt/y— VOL.  XCV.  HO.  CCCLXXTX.  T 


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268  A  Surveif  of  Danish  Literature. 

One  more  specimen  of  his  verses  we  shall  give,  for  the  sentiment  con- 
veyed in  them  is  inexpiessihlj  charming : 

THZ  COT. 

Where  beat  the  wild  waves  on  the  strand, 
A  little  cot  is  seen  to  stand ; 
Around  it  smiles  no  patch  of  green. 
Nor  shrub,  nor  flow'ret  gay,  1  ween  ; 
But  sky  alone,  and  sea,  and  sand. 
The  view  that  cottage  can  command ; 
Yet  there  a  paradise  is  found — 
Love  doth  within  its  walb  abound. 

Nor  gold,  nor  siher  there  appear. 
But  two  who  hold  eadi  other  dear. 
On  smilins:  lips  affection  lies, 
And  eyes  Took  into  loving  eyes ; 
No  angry  thought  can  there  find  birth — 
Forgotten  is  the  whole  wide  earth, 
With  all  its  jo}'8,  its  pomp,  its  strife— 
Heart  mingles  there  with  heart  for  life  ! 

When  it  is  considered  how  humble  was  Andersen's  training  in  child- 
hood, how  scanty  his  early  education,  a  considerable  degree  of  genius 
cannot  be  denied  to  him.  By  the  force  of  his  talents  alone,  he  has  raised 
himself  from  being  the  inmate  of  a  plebeian  roof  to  beconung  the  guest, 
and  the  honoured  guest,  of  princes.  The  vanity  which  poor  Andersen,  in 
his  simplicity,  has  not  the  ant  to  conceal,  may  well  be  pardoned  to  one 
who  has  thus  made  his  way  in  the  world  of  letters  and  in  the  world  of 
society. 

F.  Schaldemose,  Carl  Bagger,  Emil  Aarestnip,  H.  P.  Hoist,  and  P.  F. 
Paludan  Muller,  are  all  poets  of  the  present  day ;  the  two  last  named 
being  among  the  leading  authors  of  Denmark.  Paludan  Muller  was  bom 
in  1809.  His  most  esteemed  works  are  '*  Adam  Homo,"  a  poem,  pub- 
lished in  1842 ;  «  Dandserinden,'*  "  The  (female)  Dancer;"  «  Venus,"  a 
dramatic  poem  ;  *^  Zuleima's  Flight,"  a  tale ;  '^  Love  at  Court,"  a  play  ; 
poems  pubUshed  in  1836,  viz. :  '^  Adventures  in  a  Forest^"  and  "  Alf  and 
Rose,"  and  " Dryaden's  Bryllup,"  "The  Dryad's  Bridal,"  a  dramatic 
poem,  published  in  1844. 

Hans  Peter  Hoist,  another  popular  favourite  among  living  authors,  has 
brought  out,  besides  other  works,  "  Ude  og  Hiemme,"  '^  Out  and  Home," 
reminiscences  of  travel;  in  the  sanoe  year,  1843,  ^'New  Portfolio;" 
also  novels,  New  Year's  gifts,  poems,  &c.  A  somewhat  recent  vrork  of 
his,  the  second  edition  of  which  came  out  in  1850,  has  made  a  great  sen- 
sation in  Denmark.  It  is  entitled,  "  Den  lille  Homblaeser,"  "  The  little 
Homblower,"  and  is  a  poem  in  various  parts,  or  numbers,  written  during 
the  excitement  of  the  Schleswig-Holstein  war — very  spirited  and  patrio- 
tic indeed.  It  ^ves,  among  other  scenes,  the  departure  for  tiie  seat  of 
war,  the  bivouac,  tiie  assault,  after  the  battie,  &c.,  and  ends  with  the  re- 
turn home.  The  volume  is  inscribed,  in  two  loyal  verses,  to  the  King  of 
Denmark,  Frederick  VII.,  who  made  himself  so  popular  daring  the  war. 
There  are  some  splendid  verses  in  this  poem ;  it  is  impossible  to  read  it 
without  entering  into  the  glowmg  and  excited  feelings  of  the  poet^  who 


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A  Survey  of  Danish  Literature.  269 

pkboes  ia  the  most  yiirid  manner  before  hk  readers  the  stimng  scenes 
which  he  describes.  One  can  fancj  one  sees  the  thick  cold  mist  hanging 
over  the  field,  which  is  so  so<hi  to  become  the  theatre  of  the  fearful  battle ; 
that,  as  the  wind  occasionally  scatters  the  fog,  a  glimpse  is  caught  of  the 
enemy's  martial  columns,  with  their  bayonets  glancing  even  in  that  unoer- 
tain  hght.     Then  come  the  hasty  movement  in  the  camp — the  trumpets' 


blasts 

Again — 

He  tells  how — 
And  how — 


And  to  the  stormy  strife  they  rusii. 
And  to  that  bloody  game  I 

And  the  earth  trembles  'neath  the  shock 

Of  the  fearful  cannons*  roar, 
And  flames  light  up  those  massive  walls 

Where  all  was  gloom  before ! 

The  best,  the  dearest  blood  gushed  down 
Into  the  thirsty  ground ; 

.    .    .    .    Death,  with  its  grisly  hand. 

Seizes  its  victims  fast ; 
And  corpse  of  friend  and  foe,  in  peace 

On  the  same  field  are  cast. 

The  whole  poem  is  original  in  its  conception,  and  well  wrought  up  in  its 
execution ;  and  if  Hoist  had  never  written  another  line,  would  have 
entitled  him  to  a  distinguished  niche  among  his  country's  best  authors. 

An  extremely  clever  writer,  of  another  stamps  is  M.  Goldschmidt,  a 
Jew.  He  was  bom,  according  to  his  own  statement,  in  October,  1819, 
at  Yordingborg,  on  the  Baltic,  near  Nestved,  in  Zealand.  He  received 
his  education  at  the  university  of  Copenhagen,  where  he  was  remarked  for 
his  talents,  and  his  success  in  all  his  studies.  He  was  for  some  time  the 
editor  of  Corsaren — The  Corsair — a  weekly,  and,  under  Goldschmidt's 
management,  a  clever  periodical;  something  between  Punch  and  the 
AtheruBum*  It  noticed  new  books,  and  musical  and  theatrical  matters, 
and  it  likewise  ridiculed  men  and  manners.  The  illustrations,  however  (of 
those  numbers  that  we  have  seen  at  least),  were  by  no  means  so  good  as 
those  which  are  found  in  Punch.  The  Corsair  has  fallen  off  since  Gold- 
sohmidt  withdrew  from  conducting  it.  He  is  now  the  editor  of  a 
monthly  magazine — the  best  in  Copenhagen — entitled  Nord  og  Syd — 
North  and  South,  Goldschmidt  is  the  author  of  a  tale  in  which  much 
light  is  thrown  on  the  manners,  habits,  and  religious  ceremonies  of  the 
Jews.  It  is  still  more  interesting,  as  it  describes  the  feelings,  towards 
Christians,  of  a  well  educated,  intellectual,  and  sensitive  Jew.  The 
battle^  in  his  own  mind,  between  his  inclination  for  the  society  of  his 
Christian  fellow-creatures  and  his  shrinking  from  their  real  or  appre- 
hended coldness  and  disdain.  The'  galling  consciousness  tSiat  a  brand 
had  been  set  upon  him  from  his  cradle,  that  to  imbibe  and  cherish  a  pre- 
judice— as  he  would  call  it — against  himself  and  all  his  race,  is  made  a 
point  of  duty  and  religion  among  the  beings  who,  in  all  other  respects, 
are  like  himself — all  tms  is  painted  with  a  masterly  hand,  with  the  hand 
of  one  who  has  studied  the  workings  of  the  human  heart  One  charm 
of  Goldsefamidt's  very  original  and  striking  tale  is,  that  he  has  copied  or 

T  2 


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270  A  Survey  of  Danish  Literature. 

borrowed  from  nobody,  either  in  his  own  language,  or  that  of  any  other 
land. 

Two  translations  of  this  talented  work  have  appeared  in  English.  The 
one,  called  '*  Jacob  Bendizen,*'  after  its  hero,  in  three  Tolumcs ;  the 
other,  entitled  "  The  Jew  of  Denmark,"  in  one  volume,  which  is  the 
size  of  the  original.  Some  readers  have  been  disappointed  with  the 
conclusion  of  this  tale;  the  non-conversion  to  Christianity  of  its  Jewish 
hero.  One  clever  critic  has  said,  that  there  might  have  been  <*  a  gradual 
and  almost  unconscious  conversion  of  the  Jew — bit  by  bit  of  the  cere- 
monial law  being  thrown  aside,  until  he  stood  face  to  face  with  the  naked 
spirituality  of  Judaism  alone — an  easy  convert  to  Christianity  by  the 
imperceptible  workings  of  his  own  mind.  Lovo  encouraging  what  reason 
had  begun^  and  reason  clinching  the  conclusions  of  love."  Such,  un- 
doubtedly and  naturally,  would  have  been  made  the  result  had  a  Chris- 
tian written  the  work ;  but  it  would  have  been  unnatural  and  unworthy 
in  a  Jewish  author  to  have  made  his  hero  (whom  he  did  not  wish  to 
portray  as  a  despicable  character)  become  a  renegade  to  the  faith  in  which 
he  himself  believes.  Goldschmidt's  tale,  **  A  Jew,"  was  published  under 
the  assumed  name  of  "  Adolph  Meyer."  He  is  now  bringing  out  a 
second  edition  of  it,  in  Copenhagen,  with  some  alterations. 

J.  M.  Thiele,  the  compiler  of  <*  Transactions  of  the  Scandinavian 
Literary  Society,"  author  of  *'  Letters  from  England  and  Scotland,"  of  a 
collection  of  '*  Danske  Folkesagn,*'  in  two  volumes, — viz.,  old  traditions, 
ghost  stories,  fairy  legends,  superstitions,  &c., — ^is  also  the  writer  of  a  life 
of  Thorwaldsen,  which  has  been  recently  translated  into  German,  and 
may,  therefore,  probably  find  its  way  to  England,  through  the  medium 
of  a  re-translation.  Some  of  Thiele's  popular  traditions  are  very  curious 
and  amusing,  and  in  them  can  be  traced  the  subjects,  or,  at  least,  ground- 
work, of  many  modem  Danish  poems.  Odensee  is  one  of  the  favourite 
scenes  of  several  of  these  wild  legends ;  and  this  may,  perhaps,  account 
for  H.  C.  Andersen's  fondness  for  these  "  Eventyr."  No  doubt  such 
fancy-lore  was  as  common  in  the  cottage  as  in  the  rural  dwellings  of  the 
rich,  and  he  had,  therefore,  most  likely  heard  from  his  infancy  of  wizards 
and  Spaae-wives,  spectres,  mermaids,  and  the  Elfin  race,  way-wolves, 
enchanted  rocks,  and  all  the  wonders  and  mysteries  connected  with 
St.  Canute*s  church  at  Odensee.  Among  the  numerous  old  sayings  and 
superstitious  beliefs  related  in  this  work  of  Thiele,  are  to  be  found  most 
of  those  prevalent  in  Scotland,  as  well  as  those  common  in  different  parts 
of  England,  and  in  Germany.  The  ceremonies  to  be  performed  on 
St  Johii's  Eve,  on  Christmas  Eve,  New- Year's  night,  &c.,  resemble  those 
so  well  described  by  Walter  Scott  and  Bums.  There  are  some  super- 
stitions, however,  different ;  for  instance,  *'  One  must  never  weep  over  the 
dying,  or,  at  Jeast,  let  tears  drop  on  them,  for,  then,  they  will  not  find 
rest  in  their  graves," — "  One  must  cut  one's  nails  on  a  Friday,  that  will 
bring  good  luck," — "  When  a  party  are  assembled  at  table  on  a  Christmas 
evening,  and  one  of  them  wisnes  to  know  if  any  among  them  will  die 
before  the  following  Christmas,  he  or  she  must  silently  leave  the  room, 
and,  going  outside,  must  peep  through  a  pane  of  glass  in  the  window. 
The  individual  who  is  then  seen  sitting  at  the  table  without  a  head,  is  to 
die  before  the  expiration  of  the  following  year."     In  these  volumes  are 


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A  Survey  of  Damsh  Literature.  271 

anecdotes  of  flying  midnight  huntsmen,— ^f  trees  that  turn  at  night  into 
whole  colonies  of  little  elves, — of  castles  suddenly  sinking  into  the  earth, 
and  their  site  becoming  lakes.  Such,  it  is  said,  was  the  origin  of  Dal- 
lerup  Lake,  in  Zealand.  The  lord  of  the  castle,  who  was  *^an  ungodly 
and  wicked  person,"  persisted  in  his  evil  courses  in  spite  of  all  the  re- 
monstrances made  to  him  by  a  monk.  So  one  night,  as  he  and  his  two 
brothers  were  drinking  and  carousing,  behold !  the  castle  ''sank  suddenly 
deep  into  the  ground,"  and  a  lake,  which  has  remained  ever  since,  ap- 
peared on  the  vacated  spot ! 

Kammerraad*  J.  C.  Riise  has  published  many  volumes  of  what  he 
terms  "  Historical  and  GeographiciEd  Archives,"  a  "  Library  for  Young 
People,"  and  similar  instructive  works.  Paggaard  is  a  writer  on  geology, 
and  Martensen  on  theology.  Bille,  of  travels  and  voyages ;  his  *'  Reise 
omkring  Jqrden,"  "  Voyage  round  the  World,"  is  a  work  much  esteemed. 
C  F.  Allen,  the  professor  of  Danish  history  at  the  university  of  Copen- 
hagen, has  published  one  of  the  best  histories  extant  of  his  own  country ; 
it  has  already  gone  through  three  editions.  He  brings  his  history  down 
to  the  death  of  King  Frederick  VI.,  who  was  succeeded  by  Christian  VIIL 
Of  the  good  old  Frederick,  Professor  Allen  truly  says,  "  that  he  had  seen 
many  sorrowful  days,  but  had  ever  sought  to  promote  the  welfare  of  his 
people,  whose  love  had  followed  him  to  the  grave." 

Professor  Carl  Christian  Rafn,  the  president,  and  Professor  Wegener, 
the  vice-president,  of  the  Royal  Society  of  Northern  Antiquaries,  stand 
high  among  the  leading  literati  of  Copenhagen.  Professor  Rafn  has 
translated  several  Icelandic  sag^  and  is  the  author  of  the  celebrated 
and  very  learned  work,  entitled  ''  Antiquitates  Americans." 

There  remains  now  only  to  mention  the  female  writers  of  Denmark. 
The  list  is  a  short  one ;  for,  however  clever,  well-informed,  and  superior 
the  Danish  ladies  may  be,  few  of  them  have  chosen  to  emerge  from  the 
privacy  of  domestic  life,  and  place  their  names  before  the  world.  Nor 
are  the  names  of  those  few  by  any  means  so  well  known  as  are  the  names 
of  some  of  the  authoresses  of  a  neighbouring  country.  None  have 
attempted  to  rival  that  charming  Swedish  writer,  the  late  Baroness 
Knorring — Miss  F.  Bremer— or  the  still  brighter  star  in  Swedish  litera- 
ture, that  most  talented  and  admirable  writer,  Madame  Emilie  Flygare 
Carl6n. 

Upwards  of  two  hundred  years  ago,  a  learned  Danish  lady,  Birgitte 
Thott,  published  several  translations  of  Greek  and  Latin  works,  which 
were  more  valued  then  than  original  compositions.  She  does  not  appear 
to  have  had  any  imitators  or  followers  in  her  literary  career,  for  we  do 
not  hear  again  even  of  one  stray  female  writer,  until  the  earlier  part  of 
this  present  century ;  when  Mrs.  Hegerman  Lindencrone  appeared  as  an 
authoress,  and  distmguished  herself  much  as  a  translator  from  the  Ger- 
man, and  an  original  writer.  Among  her  poems  may  be  ipentioned  one 
on  the  death  of  Foersom,  the  Danish  translator  of  Shakspeare.  The 
Countess  Gyllenborg,  before  spoken  of,  who  publishes  in  conjunction  with 
her  celebrated  son,  J.  L.  Heiberg ;  Miss  Cecilie  Beyer,  the  able  trans- 
lator of  some  of  Calderon's  plays,  and  who  has  also  written  pretty  lyric 
poems ;  and  Miss  Fibige,  said  to  be  the  authoress  of  the  work  entitled 

*  A  Danish  title. 


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272  A  Survey  of  Danish  Liieratmre.  • 

<<  Cltia  Raphael,''  are  the  piiodpal  writera  of  the  female  aex  in  DeDinark. 
"  Clara  Raphael,"  pablisheid  in  1851,  eonsista  of  twelve  letten,  written 

Sr  a  joung  lady  as  if  to  an  mtimate  firiend.  The  principal  subject  i^ 
e  emancipation  of  her  own  sex ;  and  the  book,  of  wnich  Johan  Ludwig^ 
Heiberg  is  the  editor,  and  to  which  he  has  affixed  a  very  oomplimentazy 
pre&ce,  has  created,  by  all  accounts,  a  great  sensation  in  Copenhagea. 
It  would  be  hardly  posnble  to  convey  a  jast  idea  of  this  little  work  by 
any  short  extracts,  yet  we  shall  give  one  or  two.     In  letter  drd  we  find : 

For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  regret  that  I  am  not  a  man.  How  destitute 
in  aim,  how  unsubstantial  is  our  life,  compared  to  theirs !  Is  it  right  thai  the 
half  of  the  human  species  should  be  shutout  from  all  employment  calling  forth 
the  powers  of  the  mind  ?  Or  has  our  Creator  really  made  us  of  such  inferior 
materials  (as  I  have  heard  one  of  these  interesting  gentlemen  here,  in  the 
country,  in  sober  earnestness  assert),  that  we  must,  automaton-like,  content  our- 
selves with  the  trivial  labours  whicii  are  indicated  to  us  as  our  portion  in  this 
life?  Have  our  minds  then  no  energy— our  souls  no  inspiration  ?  Men  hav& 
a  thousand  paths  to  improvement.  Besides  their  studies,  tliey  have  as  free  an 
interchange  of  thought  with  their  friends  as  they  can  wish.  But  we !  among 
our  compeers,  how  seldom  do  we  find  those  who  are  interested  in  anything 
beyond  mere  trifles  I  And  gentlemen  seldom  condescend  to  take  the 
trouble  of  wasting  even  a  little  of  their  wisdom  in  serious  conversation  with 
ladies.  £very thing  tends  to  efface  any  peculiar  individual  stamp  or  property 
in  the  character  of  a  young  girl.  "That  is  not  liked — it  is  not  feminine  to 
speak  so — one  must  not  be  different  from  other  people,*'  &c  Half  so  much 
coquetry  and  silly  vanity  would  not  be  found  among  our  sex,  if  custom  per- 
mitted the  development  of  natural  inclination  in  each  individual.  But  girls, 
poor  things !  have  now  spiritual  stays  laced  on  before  they  know  how  to  think. 

In  another  letter  to  her  "  Dear  Mathilde,"  Clara  writes  : 
We  were  talking  the  other  day  of  death,  and  I  said,  I  was  surprised,  when 
those  we  loved  died,  that  we  did  not  rejoice/>r  them  tliat  they  luid  passed  to  a 
better  life.  Every  one  stared  at  me,  as  if  1  had  fallen  from  the  moon.  "  But,*' 
said  Camilla,  "  would  you  not  feel  for  your  own  loss  ?'*  "  Yes,"  I  replied,  **  I 
would  grieve  for  the  loss  to  me  of  the  dead ;  but  I  am  convinced  that  sorrow 
would  subside  in  reflecting  on  the  happiness  of  the  one  taken  from  me.^'  And 
what  do  you  think  Madame  Stax  exclaimed  ?  That  I  was  a  complete  egotist — 
that  the  person  who  could  speak  thus,  could  never  have  given  a  thought  to 
another  being  but  her  own  self! !  The  general  ideas  about  life  and  death  are 
sadly  perverted.  VVhen  one  who  has  been  long  weary  of  this  world  passes 
into  eternal  life,  it  is  said,  "  that  poor  person  is  dead  !**  They  speak  of  lite,  and 
forget  everlasting  life  ;  they  speak  of  death,  and  forget  eternity! 

But  we  must  not  forget  that  all  things  must  have  an  end  ;  and  that  it 
is  time  to  bring  to  a  conclusion  this  slight  survey  of  a  literature  which 
has  hitherto  been  but  little  known  in  Britain.  We  shall  only  add  the 
hope  that  this  impartial,  and  we  can  affirm,  correct,  outline  of  Danish 
authors  and  their  works,  may  have  been  interesting  to  some  of  the  readers 
of  the  New  Monthly  Magazine, 


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(   ^73    ) 


WILLIAM  THE  CONQUEROR;  OR,  THE  A.D.C. 

EvifiBT  one  who  has  yisited — and  few  there  are,  we  take  it,  who  baye 
not — that  delightful  little  watering-place,  the  Droppingfall  Wells,  must 
bsre  obserred  the  fine  gilt  letter-cage  in  the  entrance-hall  of  the  Turtle 
Doves  Hotel,  in  which  are  arranged  the  letters  of  expected  visitors,  pro- 
claiming as  well  the  coming  greatness,  as  acting  as  advertisements  of  the 
house's  custom.  Here,  as  regular  as  swallows  in  the  spring,  or  as  the 
horse  in  the  little  roimdabout  at  a  fair,  have  appeared,  year  after  year,  the 
letters  of  Major-General  Sir  Thomas  Trout,  the  letters  of  Captain  Hely 
Hobkirk  Stubbs,  the  letters  of  Lady  Maria  and  Miss  Muff,  the  letters  of 
John  Brown  and  Mr.  Lamb,  the  letters  of  Mrs,  Sharp  and  Miss  Flat,  the 
letters  of  we  don't  know  who  besides.  It  is  from  this  authentic  source 
that  the  respected  *^  we"  of  the  Droppingfall  fVells  Gazette  compiles  his 
weekly  bulletin  of  the  rank,  fashion,  and  beauty  that  visit  this  most  celes- 
tial of  all  sublunary  scenes. 

The  entrance-hall  is  well  adapted  for  a  watering-place  lounge,  being  a 
fine  lofty,  airy  apartment,  flagged  with  black  and  white  diamond-pat- 
terned marble  flags;  while  the  walls  are  done  in  such  good  imitation  of 
various  marbles,  that  many  a  one  feels  them,  to  be  satisfied  that  they  are 
not  in  the  real  marble  halls  of  the  song.  On  the  south,  the  hall  opens 
into  a  public  billiard-room;  on  the  right  is  the  spacious  coffee-room, 
where  wax  lights  are  supplied  without  charge — or  "free  gratis,**  as 
the  waiter  says ;  and  on  the  left  are  the  private  apartments  of  the 
hostess,  Mrs.  Mendlove  ;  through  the  plate-glass  window  of  which, 
commanding  the  aforesaid  letter-cage  and  hall,  her  lovely  daughter, 
Constantia,  may  aftemoonly  be  seen  lounging  elegantly  on  a  rose-coloured 
sofa,  in  the  full-blown  costume  of  a  Bloomer.  The  sash  of  the  window 
is  then  up,  and  while  the  sill  forms  an  agreeable  resting-place  for  the  arm 
of  an  admiring  lounger,  the  letter-box  below  is  a  most  convenient  excuse 
for  being  there  if  any  one  happens  to  come  upon  the  happy  couple  un- 
awares. Then  Constantia  goes  on  with  her  knitting  or  needlework,  and 
the  swain  drops  upon  his  light  reading  of  '^  Major-General  Sir  Thomas 
Trout,"  "  Captain  Hely  Hobkirk  Stubbs,"  or  whoever  happens  to  be  in 
the  '*  lock-up,"  just  as  if  the  improvement  of  his  mind  was  his  sole  and 
entire  mission. 

The  hall  of  the  Turtle  Doves  Hotel  forms  a  sort  of  centre  of  attraction 
for  the  visitors  of  either  end  of  the  pretty,  but  rather  straggling  village 
or  town ;  and,  being  on  a  level  with  the  street  flags,  invalids  having  the 
entree  can  be  wheeled  in  in  their  garden -chairs  through  the  bright-fold- 
ing mahogany  sash-doors,  where,  in  addition  to  the  benefit  of  a  well- 
framed  railway  time-table  and  a  weather-glass,  they  have  the  run  of  the 
letter-cage,  of  a  couple  of  country  papers,  a  second-hand  copy  of  the  Posi^ 
a  guide  to  the  Wells,  and  the  use  of  a  bat -brush — all  very  attractive  things 
in  their  way.  High  'Change  is  generally  about  noon,  when  the  Bloomer, 
having  got  herself  becomingly  up,  and  the  letter-box  arrang^,  throws  up 
the  s^  of  her  window,  and  subsides  in  attitude  on  her  sofa.  Sir  Thomas 
Trout,  who  always  arrives  with  the  punctuality  of  the  soldier,  is  the  self- 
elected  great  gun  of  the  place,  and  to  him  are  referred  all  matters  of  pedi- 
gree, etiquette,  points  of  honour — of  warfare  and  militaTy  discipline 
generally.    What  he  says  is  law.    Sir  Thomas,  who  is  a  peripatetic  gour* 


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274  William  the  Conquerj>r ;  or^  the  A.D.C. 

mandf  always  feeds  into  a  severe  fit  of  the  gout  towards  autumD,  and 
comes  to  the  Droppingfall  Wells  to  be  cured — ^than  which,  we^may  safely 
say,  there  is  no  better  place. 

Last  season,  however,  we  grieve  to  add — ^for  we  have  a  share  in  the 
Turtle  Doves  Hotel  on  the  sly — Droppingfall  Wells  had  not  its  &ir  share 
of  company.  Whether  this  was  owing  to  the  Crystal  Palace,  or  to  the 
miscarriage  of  prophet  Cobdcn*s  predictions  as  to  the  improvement  of 
landed  property  by  the  repeal  of  the  corn-laws,  or  to  whim,  or  to  fashion, 
or  to  caprice,  we  know  not ;  but  such  was  the  case,  as  we  know  to  our  cost. 
That  it  was  not  owing  to  any  falling-off  in  the  management  of  the  hotel, 
we  are  in  a  condition  to  speak;  for  we  were  there  the  greater  part  of  the 
autumn,  and  never  saw  better  management,  better  cookery,  better  wine, 
better  beer,  better  ten,  better  buttef,  better  anything,  or  a  more  beautiful 
Bloomer ;  and,  despite  what  Mr.  Albert  Smith  may  say  as  to  inns  gene- 
rally, the  charges  were  by  no  means  exorbitant.  Not,  of  course,  that  we 
paid  anything,  but  we  saw  and  helped  to  inflame  the  bills  of  those  who 
did  pay.  That,  however,  is  not  the  point,  and  is  only  thrown  in  by  way 
of  giving  a  lift  to  the  house.  Our  business  is  with  a  guest — another  great 
gun  of  the  world. 

It  was  just  about  what  is  usually  the  height  of  the  season,  that  the 
drooping  spirits  of  the  beautiful  Bloomer  were  cheered  by  the  arrival  of 
three  portentous-looking  letters,  headed, 

"  On  Her  Alajesty's  Service," 
and  addressed — 

"  To  William  Heveland,  Esq.,  A.D.C.,  &c.,  &c.,  &c., 
**  Turtle  Doves  Hotel, 

"  Droppingfall  Wells.'* 

"  My  wor — rod  !'*  exclaimed  she,  clutching  them,  and  admiring  the 
great  seals — the  royal  arms ;  and  then  turning  to  the  directions-—"  my 
wor — rod,"  repeated  she,  "  but  this  is  something  like,"  reading — 
"  *  On  Her  Majesty's  Service, 

»*  *  William  Heveland,  Esq.,  A.D.C 
"  A.D.C,"  repeated  she— "  A.D.C— what's  A.D.C,  postman?" 

"  A.  B.  C  D.  E.  F.  G.  H.  I.  J.,"  replied  the  postman,  hurrying  off, 
saying  the  alphabet. 

"  Well,"  said  the  Bloomer,  turning  one  of  the  letters  upside  down, 
**he*s  somebody,  that's  quite  clear— on  Her  Majesty's  Service — well,  I 
think!     If  this  isn't  the  making  of  the  house,  1  don't  know  what  will." 

She  then  turned  it  upright  again,  as  if  in  hopes  that  a  fresh  view 
would  help  her  to  decipher  it,  but  with  no  better  success.  The  A.D.C 
fairly  puzzled  her.  She  would  Hke  to  know  what  it  meant.  K.CB.'s, 
LL.D.'s,  F.R.S.'s,  D.CL.'s,  she  had  severally  caged,  but  never  an 
A.D.C  "  What  could  A.D.C.  mean  ?"  thought  she,  as  she  run  her  eye 
over  the  bedroom  book,  considering  where  she  should  put  so  important  a 
personage.  '*  It  must  be  a  good  room — low  down,  too.  Ah,  there  was 
No.  3 — nice  airy  room,  three  windows,  two  looking  to  the  street,  and  the 
other  to  the  buttercup  meadows." 

''  Mary !"  exclaimed  she,  ringing  the  housemaid's  bell,  and  applying 
her  mouth  to  the  communicating-pipe  in  the  wall. 

'^  Mem  ?"  answered  a  voice  downwards. 

'^  No.  3  ready  ?"  replied  the  Bloomer,  upwards. 


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William  the.  Conqueror ;  or,  the  A.D.C.  275 

"Yes,  mem,"  answered  the  yoiee  downwards. 

*'  Put  on  the  pink  toilet-cover,  and  clean  muslin  curtaius,  and  the  new 
counterpane,  and  1*11  give  you  some  fine  towels  when  I  come  up-stairs," 
said  the  Bloomer. 

"  Yes,  mem,"  replied  the  voice. 

The  Bloomer  then  had  another  look  at  the  letters,  in  hope  of  inspira- 
tion; hut  none  coming,  she  took  down  the  key  of  the  lock-up,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  place  them  in  custody.  Ver^*^  conspicuously  she  arranged 
them,  too,  one  above  the  other  in  the  very  centre  of  the  long  gplt-wired 
box,  keeping  all  the  insignificant  Browns,  Joneses,  and  Greens,  at  a 
respectful  distance  from  them.  After  taking  a  lingering  look,  she  re- 
sumed her  place  on  the  sofa,  Puncf^  in  hand,  to  watch  the  impression 
they  produced  upon  the  comers. 

The  first  to  visit  the  gay  scene  on  this  auspicious  day  were  the  three 
Miss  D*Oyleys.  They  generally  accompanied  their  hrother  to  the 
billiard-room,  and  after  conning  the  fashionable  column  in  the  Post,  in- 
forming themselves  what  was  doing  in  high  life — that  high  life  for  which 
they  yearned  with  the  most  ardent  aspirations — they  glanced  their  lustrous 
eyes  through  the  letter-box,  and  then  proceeded  on  their  travels.  They 
were  all  struck  with  the  important  A.D.C.  letters,  but  made  no  demon- 
stration in  the  presence  of  the  Bloomer.  When  they  got  outside,  how- 
ever, it  was  different.  ' 

"  Who  can  Mr.  Heavytree  be  ?"  "  What's  A.D.C.?"  exclaimed  Anna 
Maria  and  Jane  Sophia  in  the  same  breath. 

"  Heavytree;  it's  not  Heavytree,"  replied  Miss  D'Oyley,  who  had 
taken  a  more  deliberate  read  than  her  sisters. 

"  Who  is  it  then  ?"  asked  Anna  Maria. 

"  Hevelandy  I  read  it,"  replied  the  elder  sister. 

«  Well,  but  what's  A.D.C.  ?"  asked  Jane  Sophia. 

"  Don't  know,"  replied  Miss  D'Oyley. 

Next  came  Mrs.  and  the  Miss  Bowerbanks.  They  lived  at  Raspberry 
Tart  Lodge,  but  having  seriously  damaged  a  five-poimd  note  at  the 
Turtle  Doves  on  their  coming,  had  arranged  with  Timothy,  the  head 
waiter,  to  have  their  letters  directed  to  the  Turtle  Doves,  instead  of  to 
the  less  aristocratic  mansion  they  occupied.  Great  talk,  too,  it  made  in 
the  little  country  town  from  whence  they  came,  that  they  should  be 
sojourning  so  long  at  such  a  first-rate  hotel,  accompanied  with  the  usual 
significant  shrugs  and  wishes  that  they  '*  mightn't  be  going  it."  Mrs. 
Bowerbank,  however,  not  coming  up  to  the  Bloomer's  idea  of  a  lady — 
chiefly,  we  believe,  because  she  gave  her  cast-off  clothes  to  the  poor  of 
her  village,  instead  of  to  her  maid— the  Bloomer  just  contented  herself 
with  exclaiming  from  the  back  of  Punchy  as  she  contemplated  the  party 
over  the  top, 

"  Nothing  for  you  to-day,  ma'am.** 

"  Oh,  indeed  V"*  replied  Mrs.  Bowerbank,  who  had  brought  her  gold- 
chained  eyeghiss  to  bear  on  the  all-absorbing  letters ;  "  William  Heve- 
land,  Esq.,  A.D.C.  Who  can  he  be,  I  wonder?  On  her  Majesty's 
Service,  too  ;*'  and  thereupon  she  turned  into  the  hall  to  take  upthePo^^., 
in  hopes  that  some  one  would  corpe  in  to  expound. 

Little  old  Miss  Gaby  foUowed,  but  Being  a  lady  who  professed  to  be 
quite  destitute  of  curiosity,  she  never  looked  into  the  letter-box  while 


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276  William  the  Qn^q^urmr ;  or,  Ae.AJ>iC, 

there  was  any  one  there  to  see  her ;  ao  she  immediately  entered  inlo  a 
most  cordial  disquisitioa  with  Mrs.  Bowerbaok  about  toe  weather,  ex- 
preasiDg  the  most  sanguine  hopes  as  to  the  harvest^  Just  as^f  she  had 
three  hundred  acres  of  wheat,  and  two  hundred  acres  of  barley,  to  saj 
nothing  of  green  crops,  dependent  upon  its  caprice,  though  all  the  soil  she 
poesesMd  was  what  she  had  brought  in  on  her  dirty  shoes. 

The  overpowering  Mrs.  Flummocks,  known  in  the  matrimonial  maricet 
as  the  "  Crusher,"  from  the  summary  way  she  settles  little  gentlamen'a 
pretensions  who  made  up  to  her  towering  daughters,  then  forced  the 
barrier  of  both  doors,  and  sailed  into  the  hall  like  a  tragedy  queen, 
leaving  the  folding-doors  flopping  like  condors  winffs  behind  her.  Mxa. 
Flummocks  held  herself  higb^  and  only  vouchsafiad  a  gentle  indinatioa 
of  the  head  to  the  Bowerbanks,  while  she  honoured  Miss  Gaby,  who 
could  in  no  ways  interfere  with  her  daughters,  with  the  tips  of  her  nngers. 
This  done,  she  sailed  round  to  the  letter-box,  and  was  soon  struck  with 
the  imposing-looking  documents  in  the  middle. 
'^  On  Her  Majesty's  Service. 

«  Wilham  HeveUmd,  Esq.,  A.D.C.," 
read  she,  slowly  and  deliberately.  "  William  Heveland/'  repeated  she^ 
looking  up.  **  Wonder  if  he's  any  relation  of  the  Hevelands,  of  Heve- 
land  Castle— very  old  friend  of  our  family's  if  he  i$.  Oh,  good  morn- 
ing, Miss  Mendlove/'  continued  she,  addressing^  the  Bloomer,  as  if  she 
now  saw  her  for  the  first  time ;  ^*  good  morning,  Miss  Mendlove.  Pray 
can  you  tell  me  what  country  this  Mr.  Heveknd,  whose  letters  I  see  in 
the  ease,  is  from  T* 

*^  Are  there  some  letters  in  the  case  for  that  name  ?"  asked  the 
Bloomer,  with  an  air  of  the  utmost  innocence,  for  she  hated  Mrs.  Flum- 
mocks, whose  maid  gave  the  worst  possible  description  of  her  meanness, 
particularly  in  the  tea-and-sugar  department.  Moreover,  though  Mrs. 
Flummocks  '*  Miss  MendloveM"  her  to  her  face,  she  knew  that  she  '<  young 
person'd*'  her  behind  her  back,  and  laughed  at  her  *'  ridiculous  costume," 
as  she  called  her  Bloomer  attire.  *'  Are  there  any  letters  in  the  case  for 
that  name?*'  replied  the  Bloomer,  in  answer  to  Mrs.  Flummocks's 
inquiry. 

*<  Yes,  three,"  replied  Mrs.  Flummocks,  looking  them  over.  *'  Can 
you  tell  me  who  he  is  ?" 

"  No,  mem,  I  can't,"  snapped  the  Bloomer,  returning  to  her  Punch, 

<^  What  does  A.D.C.  mean,  Martha?"  asked  the  Crusher,  turning  to 
her  eldest  daughter,  who,  with  her  two  strapping  sisters,  had  entered  the 
hall,  while  mamma  was  looking  into  the  letter-box,  and  making  her 
attempts  on  the  Bloomer. 

"  A.D.C,  A.D.C.,"  repeated  the  gigantic  Martha;  "  Tm  sure  I  don't 
know,  mamma.  ABC  one  understands,  but  I  don't  know  what  A^D.C. 
means." 

«  It's  on  a  letteiv-something  Heveknd,  Esq.,  A.D.C.,"  observed  the 
Crusher,  adjusting  her  front 

^^Can  it  have  anything  to  do  with  the  Company's  service  ?"  sug- 
gested the  second  strapper,  whose  name  was  Sarah. 

<*  Company's  service,"  repeated  the  Crusher,  who  had  had  one  or 
two  of  that  breed  through  hands — '<  Company's  aervicfr^-oo— that  is 
£L£.I.C.,  HonousableEast  India  Company,  isn't  it?" 


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Watiam^ihe  Conq^umr;  or,  tkeAJD^C.  277 

'<  The  Geognpliioal  fiodety,  peiiiasa,''  sogmtcd  the  jmmgBst,  Mns 
.MngKxety  who,  bdnglaBt  fcom  school,  might  be.  reasonably  supposed  to 
have  her  learmng  fresher  than  the  others. 

<<  No ;  thatfs  F.R.G.S.,  Fellow  of  the  Royal  Geographical  Society," 
.mouthed  the  eMest,  in  her  usual  knoek^rae-down  way,  silencing  the 
nster,  and  settling  the  disquisition. 

The  hall  now  began  to  fill.  Mr.,  Mrs.,  and  three  Miss  Softeners^  came 
stealing  in,  and  before  the  door  closed  on  their  entry,  Mrs.  and  the.Mias 
Holloways  followed.  Then  came  Mr.  Biddle  and  Mr.  Dawes,  Mr.  Dixon 
and  Miss  Hat,  Mr.  Rap  and  Master  Paine,  Mr.  Slade  and  J^s  Conier, 
with  Mrs.  Comer  following  judiciously  with  Mrs.  Fisk,  whom  she  had 
assisted  last  year  to  capture  the  slippery  Mr.  Prance.  Ladies,  however 
much  they  may  dislike  each  other,  and  which,  by«-the-by,  they  almost  all 
do,  will  always  combine  to  catch  a  roan.  They  don*t  know  how  soon 
they  may  require  similar  assistance  themselves. 

Well,  as  the  hall  filled,  the  box  was  visited,  and  fresh  inquiries  arose  to 
what  A.D.C.  meant.  "  What  does  A.D.C.  mean  ?"  supeiseded  the  state 
of  the  weather,  or  "  What  do  you  think  of  the  Great  Exhibition  ?"  One 
said  it  meant  one  thing,  another  another,  but  each  fresh  suggestion  was 
disposed  of  almost  as  quickly  as  it  was  made.  At  length,  as  ingenuity 
was  about  exhausted,  a  cookaded  footman,  in  a  coat  of  many  colours,  was 
seen  manoeuvring  a  garden-chair  outside,  and  a  rush  being  made  to 
either  folding-door,  the  great  Major-General  Sir  Thomas  Trout  was 
wheeled  into  the  hall.  The  usual  salutations  over,  and  inquiries  made  as 
to  the  state  of  his  dear  hand,  and  his  dear  arm,  and  his  d^r  foot,  and  so 
on,  the  question  was  soon  put, 

«  What  does  A.D.C.  mean.  Sir  Thomas?" 

*'  A.D»C.,"  replied  he,  with  a  mingled  smile  of  pity  and  contempt— 
'<  A.D.C.  Why,  don't  you  know  ?  Aide-de-camp  to  be  sure — what  I 
was  to  my  Lord  Bullywell." 

''  Oh,  to  be  sure !"  exclaimed  half  a  dozen  voices ;  *'  how  stoopid  not 
to  know  it !    Aide-de-camp,  to  be  sure !  so  it  is." 

"  Why  do  you  ask  ?"  inquired  the  great  man,  as  the  exclamations 


"  Oh !  only  there  are  some  letters  directed  so  to  a  gentleman  here^  or 
coming  here." 

*' Indeed!"  replied  the  major-general,  rabing  his  eyebrows;  adding, 
'^  I  have  no  information  on  the  subject." 

Just  as  if  no  military  man  had  any  business  at  Droppingfiall  Wells 
without  consulting  him. 

"  Indeed !"  repeated  Sir  Thomas.    "  What's  his  name  ?" 

'^  Hevekind,  Sir  Thomas,"  replied  the  Crusher,  who  was  very  ambitious 
of  the  great  man's  notice ;  indeed,  at  one  time,  fancied  she  was  to  be 
Lady  Trout 

^'  HeveUnd — ^Heveland,"  repeated  Sir  Thomas.  "  Know  the  name- 
know  the  name;"  adding  to  his  coach-horse  footman,  << Jeremiah,  tell 
Miss  Mendlove  I  want  to  speak  to  her." 

'^  Yes,  Sir  Thomas,"  repUed  Jeremiah,  touching  his  hat,  and  moving 
aiway  to  inform  the  BloooMr  through  the  window. 

This  brought  the  fair  kdy,  ia  Ym  siiver^buttoned  light-blue  silk  vot^ 
with  a  flowing  jacket  of  a  darker  blue  above  a  lavender-coloured  tunic 


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278  William  the  Conqueror;  or,  iheA.D.C. 

and  white  trousers,  fingering  her  cambric  collarette  and  crimson  silk  neck- 
tie above  her  richly-figured  shirt,  with  mock-diamond  buttons  scattered 
freely  down  the  centre. 

"  Good  morning,  Miss  Constantia,"  exclaimed  the  old  knight,  gaily. 
"  So  you've  got  an  aide-de-camp  here,  have  you  ?  No  wonder  you're  so 
smart,"  added  he,  looking  her  over. 

"  A  what.  Sir  Thomas  ?**  asked  the  Bloomer,  not  exactly  catching 
what  he  said. 

"  Ah,  you  know,  you  naughty  one  !*'  exclaimed  the  ex-aide-de-camp, 
archly ;  adding,  '*  Tell  me,  my  dear,  is  Mr.  Heveland  at  home  ?" 

^^  He's  not  come  yet,  Sir  Thomas,"  replied  the  fair  lady,  now  putting 
that  and  that  together,  and  reckoning  she  had  done  well  to  order  the  best 
bedroom  to  be  got  ready. 

"Not  come  yet!"  replied  Sir  Thomas.  "Not  come  yet!"  adding, 
after  a  pause,  "  Well,  I  must  notice  him — I  must  notice  him.  Tell  him, 
when  he  comes,  that  Major-General  Sir  Thomas  Trout  has  called  upon 
him —or  stay,"  added  he.  "Jeremiah,"  appealing  again  to  the  coach-' 
horse  footman,  "  give  Miss  Constantia  a  card  out  of  my  case."  Where- 
upon Jeremiah  dived  into  the  pocket  of  the  coat  of  many  colours,  and 
fishing  up  the  caixl-case,  handed  the  all-important  pasteboard  to  the 
Bloomer,  who  placed  it  above  the  "  A.D.C."  letters  in  the  box. 

Sir  Thomas's  card  clenched  the  business.  There  was  no  further 
speculation  or  inquiry  as  to  who  or  what  the  stranger  was.  The  thing 
now  was  to  get  a  sight  of  the  great  A.D.C.  In  this  our  friends  were 
doomed  to  a  good  deal  of  tantalization ;  for,  though  the  next  day  brought 
two  more  letters  "  On  Her  Majesty's  Service,"  and  several  others  sealed 
with  crests  and  many- quartered  cuats  of  arms,  all  of  which  were  duly 
paraded  in  the  letter-cage,  yet  neither  the  Bloomer  nor  any  one  about 
the  place  could  give  any  information  about  the  man  himself.  Sir  Thomas 
Trout  shook  his  head  mysteriously  when  appealed  to,  and  snid  he  was 
"  not  at  liberty  to  mention" — a  course  the  Knight  generally  adopted  to 
conceal  his  ignorance. 

Great  excitement  was  the  consequence;  the  title  "aide-de-camp" 
representing  to  most  minds  a  dashing  young  officer,  full  of  giggle  and 
conversation,  with  a  great  aptitude  for  love-making,  dancing,  and  singing. 
We  don't  know  how  many  young  ladies  were  set  out  for  him;  half  the 
town,  in  short ;  for  women  like  playing  at  appropriation,  let  the  chance 
of  success  be  ever  so  remote.     It  is  their  castle-building  in  the  air. 

With  all  our  admitted  partiality  for  Droppingfall  Wells,  truth  compels 
us  to  say  that  it  is  not  over  well  oflF  for  men — young  men,  at  least  They 
seem  to  come  to  suck  their  fathers  and  mothers,  when  their  pockets  are 
empty,  and  to  go  away  as  soon  as  they  have  got  what  they  want.  Some 
there  may  be  in  a  sort  of  leading-string  state  of  probation,  but  they  arQ 
of  little  use,  save  for  practice,  and  can  generally  only  be  had  on  the 
reciprocity  system — Miss  Fairlips  assisting  Miss  Siivertongue  to  their 
Charles,  on  condition  of  Miss  Siivertongue  encouraging  their  Arthur  to 
"think  weir*  of  her.  The  real  woodcocks  of  life — ^young  men  apart 
from  their  families,  whom  the  girls  may  besiege  without  having  to  run 
the  gauntlet  of  all  tJie  relations  and  friends  of  this  world — are  scarce,  very 
scarce.     Difficult  indeed  is  the  conduct  of  a  suit  in  which  there  are  so 


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WiUiam  the  Conqueror;  or^  the  A.D.C,  279 

many  defendaots.     But  we  will  not  dwell  on  so  painful  and  notorious  a  • 
point,  preferring  to  expatiate  on  our  man  of  the  season,  the  great  A.D.C. 

The  shades  of  an  autumnal  evening  were  drawing  on,  lady  parties 
were  settling  to  their  tea,  and  gentlemen  to  their  wine,  when  the  tit-tup- 
ping tramp  of  a  horse's  hoof  drew  all  eyes  to  the  street,  and  an  airily- 
dressed  gentleman,  looking  like  a  man  going  to  bathe  or  shoot  wild  ducks, 
was  seen  cantering  in  an  easy  toe-in -stirrup  way,  with  a  slack  rein  and 
a  smart  silver-mounted  whip  under  his  arm.  It  stnick  almost  everybody 
that  it  was  the  A.D.C.  Nor  were  they  wrong  in  their  conjecture,  for 
pulling  up  at  the  door  of  the  Turtle  Doves  Hotel,  he  threw  himself 
carelessly  off  the  half  cover-hack,  half  shooting-pony's  back,  and  leaving 
it  to  stand  by  itself,  swung  into  the  hall  with  a  flourish. 

*^  Any  letters  for  me  ?  (haw),"  exclaimed  he,  in  a  thi*oaty,  consequen- 
tial sort  of  way — ''any  letters  for  me?  (haw),"  cracking  his  whip 
jockey  wise  down  his  very  loud-striped  brown  trousers'  side. 

*<  Oh,  yes,  sir !"  exclaimed  the  beautiful  Bloomer,  not  behind  the  rest 
in  sagacity — '<  oh,  yes,  sir — a  g^reat  many,  sir,"  continued  she,  unlocking 
the  cage,  gathering  together  all  the  documents,  great  and  small,  and 
placing  them  in  his  hand. 

**  Haw  r*  continued  he,  pompously,  from  his  throat,  as  he  sorted  them 
like  a  hand  at  cards,  placing  ''Her  Majesty's  Service"  ones  unopened  in  the 
little  outside  pockets  of  his  queer  pepper-and-salt-coloured  jacket,  along 
with  Sir  Thomas  Trout's  card,  and  tearing  open  the  seals  of  those  he  was 
not  acquainted  with,  scattering  the  crumpled  envelopes  freely  about  the 
floor.  "  Haw !"  repeated  he  again,  having  mastered  their  contents. 
'<  Now,'*  continued  he,  ''send  the  (haw)  ostler  to  take  moy  (haw)  hack, 
and  order  me  a  (haw)  bedroom  with  a  (haw)  sitting-room  adjoining,  or 
near  at  hand  (haw) ;  and  let  me  have  some  (haw)  dinner.  What  (haw) 
soup  have  you?  (haw),"  pulling  away  at  his  painted  gills  as  he  spoke. 

''  I'm  afraid  we've  no  hare  soup,  sir,"  replied  the  Bloomer,  modestly. 

"  (Haw)  I  don't  mean  haw  soup — ^but  what  (hfiw)  soup  have  ye  ?" 
said  he,  fumbling  at  his  flowing  once-round  spotted  blue  tie. 

The  Bloomer  then,  better  comprehending  his  dialect,  recited  the 
varieties — ^giblet,  ox-tul,  mulligatawny,  and  so  on ;  and  the  great  man, 
having  chosen  ox-tail  with  a  sole^  and  rump-steak  with  oyster-sauce  to 
follow,  swaggered  across  the  hall,  and  up  the  light  corkscrew  staircase 
after  the  waiter,  to  inspect  his  rooms  and  prepare  for  the  repast 

"  (Haw)  that  will  do  (haw),"  said  he,  glancing  at  the  dimensions  and 
furniture  of  the  Mitre ;  adding,  ''  Now  let  me  see  the  (haw)  bedroom 
(haw)." 

That  he  also  said  would  "  do,"  but  he  said  it  as  if  it  was  not  the  sort 
of  thing  he  was  accustomed  to ;  but  having  made  up  his  mind  to  put  up 
with  it,  he  forthwith  proceeded  to  unpack  himself.  From  his  dnib  felt 
wide-awake  he  drew  out  half  a  quire  of  clean  dickeys  and  a  front ;  from 
the  breast-pocket  of  hb  jacket  he  produced  three  pair  of  socks,  a  razor, 
a  toothbrush,  and  a  comb ;  while  out  of  the  back  pockets  came  a  shirt, 
a  blue  Joinville,  some  pocket-handkerchiefs,  no  end  of  letters  and 
papers,  with  a  cigar-case  and  a  ease  of  instruments.  Having  deposited 
the  clothes  and  dressing  things  on  the  table,  he  bundled  the  letters, 
papers,  and  cases  back  into  his  pockets,  and  finding  that  dinner  would 
not  be  ready  for  half  an  hour,  descended  to  make  the  better  acquamtance 


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280  miSam  the  Canqmror;  or,  the  A.D.C. 

of  tbe  Bloomer,  whoso  ftppMranoe  had  strode  him  as  hooofterad,  and  m 
whose  society  be  spent  the  greater  port  of  the  evening.  Oar  hnsinesB  at* 
present,  however,  is  more  with  his  ont-of-door  conquests,  and  to  them  we 
wttt  now  devote  our  attention. 

The  *<  A.D.C.'*  letters  appended  to  his  name,  coupled  with  the  extreme 
commonasss,  not  to  say  viugarity,  of  oiir  present  style  of  moroing  dress^ 
caused  what  in  other  days  would  have  been  thought  "  queer "  to  b» 
overiookedy  or  attributed  to  fashion  or  the  whim  of  travelling  incognito. 
Military  men  liked  making  <<  guys  "  of  themselves  out  of  harness,  some 
said ;  others  made  uo  doubt  he  would  be  a  great  swell  in  the  evening. 
Great  were  the  hopes  entert«ned  for  the  morrow.  Here,  however,  our 
friends  were  doomed  to  disappointment,  for  our  hero  studiously  kept  to 
his  room ;  nor  could  all  the  giggle  and  chatter  of  hi^h  'Change,  or  the 
important  rumbling  of  Sir  Thomas's  wheels,  or  the  audible  tone  in  which 
the  great  man  inquired  if  the  filoomer  had  given  Mr.  Heveland  his  card, 
induce  him  to  show  himself.  Sir  Thomas,  indeed,  looked  rather  diseon* 
certed  when,  in  ref^y  to  his  inquiry,  what  the  A.D.C.  said  when  she  gave 
him  it,  the  Bloomer  replied  that  ''  he  just  put  it  in  hu  pocket."  Sir 
Thomas  had  hoped  he  would  have  made  such  a  demonstration  of  grati- 
tude as,  when  told,  would  have  enhanced  Sir  Thomas's  consequence  in 
the  eyes  of  the  company. 

Nor  could  Timothy,  the  waiter — a  genius  possessed  of  all  the  easy 
inquisitive  impudence  of  the  broth^hood — throw  any  light  upon  our 
friend's  movements,  beyond  that  he  seemed  very  busy,  whenever  he 
went  into  the  room,  with  compasses  and  pendis  and  tracing-paper, 
which,  being  communicated  from  one  person  to  another,  at  length  re* 
solved  itself  into  a  very  plausible  story — namely,  that  he  was  aide-de- 
camp  to  Sir  John  Burgoyne,  the  inspector-general  of  fortifications,  and 
was  down  on  a  secret  mission  from  the  government.  Some  said  Sir 
John  was  coming  too.  This  idea  seemed  to  receive  confirmation  from 
Sir  Thomas  Trout,  who^  being  questioned  about  it,  replied,  with  a  solemn 
shake  of  the  head,  that  he  was  <^not  at  liberty  to  mention."  The  in- 
terest greatly  increased  with  the  mystery.     It  became  all-absorbing. 

Next  day  brought  partial  relidF.  Towards  noon  the  great  man  was  seen 
saontering  along,  cigar  in  mouth,  staring  idly  at  horses  and  carriages,  and 
into  shop-windows,  giving  both  ladies  and  geistlemen  ample  opportunity 
of  looking  him  over— a  privilege  that  he  seemed  equally  disposed  to  avail 
hiBMelf  o£ 

We  may  candidly  admit  that  there  was  a  difierence  of  opinion  with 
reg^ard  to  nis  looks  ;  but  what  young  gentleman  ever  appeared  on  ^ 
stage  of  public  life  without  raising  adverse  opinions  as  to  lua  appearance? 
It  does  not,  however,  always  follow,  that  becanse  yonng  ladies  proclaim 
a  man  a  fright,  an  object,  or  a  honor,  that  they  really  wink  so.  Thmr 
have  a  useful  way  of  running  men  domi,  in  hopes  of  preventing  each 
other  entering  for  them. 

As  praise^  however,  is  always  more  agreeable  to  a  wdl-disposed  Bta- 
mah  pen  thsin  censure^  we  may  commenoe  by  stating  that  bota  the  Miss 
Sheepshanks  and  their  mamma  thought'  him  very  handsome^  They  ad* 
mired  the  rich  jet-blaek  luxoriaace  of  his  hair,  also  the  stiff  inwaxa  curl 
of  his  regrnlar  aU^rouad-the-diin  whiskefSi  above  all,  his  beautiful  biHy* 
geai  impwiaL    Their  sagaeioQS  eyes,  too^  detected  in  the  deep-Une  out^ 


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mUiam  tfie  Oanqueror  ;  or,  th$  A.D.  C  281 

Hoe  of  the  upper  lip,  ^vfaere  the  deer  moiistadies  had  receoth 
thought  him  very,  veiy  handsome ;  and  miss  it  was  who  cli 
<' William  the  Couquerorr 

The  Miss  Trjpperleys,  too^  thought  him  good*looking — ^rather  moife 
colour,  periiaps,  than  was  strictly  aristocratic^  but  that  looked  as  if  he  kept 
hetter  hours  than  the  generality  of  young  men,  uid  as  if  that  *<  filthy 
amoking^'  didn't  disagree  with  him  as  it  did  with  many. 

The  Miss  D'Oleys  thought  he  would  have  been  better  if  he  had  been 
a  little  taller,  though,  to  be  sure,  he  would  look  different  in  uniform;  and 
wondered  whether  he  was  in  the  lights  or  the  heayies,  or  the  artillery  or 
what.  The  Miss  Bowerbanks,  too,  liked  his  looks ;  and  the  Sofieners 
were  as  enamoured  of  him  as  the  Sheepshanks.  Mrs.  Flummocks 
passed  no  opinion  in  public,  priding  herself  upon  her  discretion  ;  she^ 
howerer,  thought  well  of  him  in  priyate.  The  Miss  Sowerbys  (oldish) 
couldn't  bear  fnm:  they  thought  they  never  saw  such  a  great,  staring, 
impudent,  vulgar^looking  fellow,  and  only  wished  they  had  a  brother  to 
horsewhip  him;  while  the  Conqueror  had  never  looked  at  either  of  them. 
He  furnished  abundant  conversation  for  the  town  that  day. 

Meanwhile,  the  A.D.C.  letters  poured  in  apace;  not  a  post  arrived  but 
some  came,  either  <*  On  her  Majesty's  Service,"  or  in  the  smaller  form 
used  by  ordinary  mortals;  and  the  importance  of  the  Conquerors  missioD 
swelled  with  the  exclnsiveness  of  his  retirement.  Though  many  people 
called,  all  anxious  for  an  interview,  the  unvarying  answer  was,  '*  Not  at 
home,"  though  the  waiter,  on  his  cross-examination,  could  not  but  admit 
that  our  friend  was  up-stairs.  Indeed,  we  may  observe  that  the  A.D.C. 
had  completely  overpowered  the  otherwise  communicative  waiter*  s  loqua- 
city, and  from  having  nothing  to  tell,  he  assumed  a  sort  of  mysterious 
gravity  that  greatly  assisted  the  A.D.C.  interest.  The  Conqueror  was 
so  throaty  and  important,  so  peremptory  in  his  orders,  so  stem  in  his 
censures,  that  Timothy,  who  is  rather  free  and  easy,  given  to  the  persi" 
fiage  of  matrimony,  pretending  to  get  heiresses  for  young  gentlemen,  and 
so  on,  stood  awed  in  his  presence,  and  bowed  lowly  and  reverentiaUy 
before  him.  Moreover,  as  Timothy  afterwards  saio,  he  thought  the 
Conqueror  was  a  gent,  because  he  always  took  a  glass  of  sherry  before 
he  began  his  port.  But  though  the  Conqueror  evidently  did  not  court- 
nay,  rather  seemed  to  avoid — society,  he  was  not  above  conforming  to  the 
ordinary  rules  that  regulate  its  dealnigs;  and  having  g^t  the  fair  Bloomer 
to  sort  his  callers'  canls,  and  tell  him  where  each  lived,  so  that  he  might 
not  go  over  the  same  ground  twice,  he  shot  meteor^like  through  the  place, 
knocking  at  this  door,  rmging  at  that,  putting  in  his  pasteboard,  *'  Mr. 
William  Heveland,  A.D.C.,"  but  firmly  resisting  aU  the  reiterated  assur*- 
ances  of  both  Johnnys  and  Janes  that  their  mistresses  or  the  young 
ladies  were  at  home. 

<<  Dear  me,  Mary  T  ezdaimed  the  Crusher,  taking  up  the  card,  <^  how 
ttntpid  !     Didn't  I  tell  you  we  were  at  home  /" 

<'  Please,  mum,  the  geaTraan  didn't  ask;"  or  *^  Please,  mum,  I  told  him 
so,  and  he  just  gave  me  that." 

''Oh,  don't  tdl  me  1  Ifs  <Mie  of  your  stupid  mistakes;  yon  are  the 
stupidest  eirl  I  ever  saw  in  my  lifeb"' 

Nor  did  the  Conqueror  make  any  ezoeption  in  favour  of  the  great  Sir 
Thomas  Thmt,  thoi^  the  num  of  theeoai  of  many  eolonn  insisted  that 


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282  William  the  Conqueror;  or^  (he  A.D.C. 

his  master  was  at  home  to  htm — as  if  a  special  exception  had  been  made 
in  his  favour. 

''  Then,  give  him  that/'  said  the  Conqueror,  presenting'  his  card,  and 
blowing  a  cloud  of  smoke  right  past  the  man's  face  into  the  anti-tobac- 
conist major-general's  very  entrance-hall. 

This  disgusted  the  great  man.  The  ladies,  however,  are  not  so  easily 
put  ofT  a  scent  as  the  men,  and  the  preliminaries  to  an  acquaintance  being 
now  accomplished,  they  proceeded  to  clench  it  with  invitations  to  dine. 
Cards  came  pouring  in  from  all  quarters,  some  in  envelopes,  some  open, 
some  printed,  some  written,  some  embossed,  some  plain,  requesting  the 
honour  of  Mr.  William  Heveland's  company  to  dinner  on  Monday  the 
10th,  or  Tuesday  the  11th,  or  Wednesday  the  12th,  just  as  their  larders 
or  previous  engagements  favoured  the  speculation. 

The  Crusher,  thinking  to  steal  a  march  on  the  rest,  drew  a  short  bill 
upon  him  for  tea,  which  the  Bloomer,  who  had  firmly  established  herself 
in  the  A.D.C.'s  confidence,  had  great  pleasure  in  recommending  him  to 
put  in  the  fire,  which  he  did  accordingly.  The  rest  of  the  cards  he 
just  bundled  into  his  queer  jacket-pocket,  to  answer  at  his  leisure. 

One  great  beauty  of  a  place  like  Droppingfall  Wells — indeed,  of  all 
small  places — ^is,  that  evervbody  knows  what  you  arc  about.  It  isn't  like 
London,  where  you  may  die  and  be  buried  without  your  next-door  neigh- 
bour being  any  the  wiser;  but  at  the  Wells,  all  your  in-comings  and 
out-goings  are  watched  and  accurately  noted — ^where  you  dine,  who 
there  is  to  meet  you — ^nay,  what  you  have  for  dinner — and  you  feel  as  if 
you  didn't  stand  quite  alone  in  the  world. 

Some  people — generally  those  who  tdke  plenty  of  time  themselves— are 
often  desperately  anxious  to  get  answers  to  theur  invitations,  and  wonder 
others  don't  answer — so  idle  not  answering — what  can  they  be  about  they 
don't  answer;  and  so  it  was  on  the  present  occasion.  Our  friend,  not  in- 
tending to  accept  of  any  of  the  invitations,  just  let  them  remain  in  hb 
jacket-pocket,  along  with  "  her  Migesty's"  and  others,  until  it  suited  his 
convenience  to  have  a  general  clearance ;  and  as  cards  and  crested  notes 
still  kept  dropping  in,  he  kept  putting  off  and  putting  off  till  he  had  all 
the  senders  in  a  state  of  excitement  Great  were  the  gatherings  in  the 
hall  of  the  Turtle  Doves,  and  numerous  the  whispering  inquiries  that 
were  made  of  the  Bloomer,  if  there  was  anything  for  Mrs.  Softener  or 
Mrs.  Sheepshanks,  or  Mrs.  Bowerbank ;  and  then  if  the  Bloomer  was 
gtiiie  sure  Mr.  Heveland  had  got  a  certain  card  or  a  certain  note,  or  what- 
ever it  was.  Little  satis&ction,  however,  was  to  be  obtained  from  the 
Bloomer,  who  seemed  rather  to  take  pleasure  in  their  mortification,  and 
in  increasing  the  mystery  that  enveloped  our  hero. 

All  things,  however,  must  have  an  end  ;  and  on  the  fifth  day,  as  the 
crowd  was  at  the  greatest,  and  Major-General  Sir  Thomas  Trout  was 
indulging  in  his  usual  ominous  shakes  of  the  head,  and  *'  not-at-liberties- 
to-mention,"  a  stentorian  voice,  proceeding  from  a  dog-cart,  with  the 
name,  *<  John  GoixBaFiEU),  Farmer,  Habdpyb  Hill"  behind,  was 
heard  roaring, 

'<  Timothy  I  Timothy!  Timothy!"  drawing  all  eyes  to  the  vehicle. 

In  it  was  seated  a  little  roundabout  red-fiioed  man,  whose  figure  might 
have  been  drawn  with  a  box  of  wafers — a  red  wafer  for  the  face,  a  brown 
one  for  the  body,  four  black  ones  for  legs,  and  so  on;  the  little  man  being 


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William  the  Conqueror;  or,  theA,D,C.  283 

then  in  a  terrible  state  of  perturbation,  appearing  as  well  by  the  red 
wafer  as  by  the  white  lather  in  which  he  had  brought  his  rough-headed, 
curly-coated  brown  horse. 

Timothy  at  length  appearing,  napkin,  or  rather  duster  in  hand,  the 
man  of  the  dog-cart  thus  addressed  him,  speaking  as  before  at  the  top  of 
his  voice, 

"Is  Mr.  Heavyland  in?" 

"  Heavyland,  Heavyland,"  repeated  Timothy,  quickly ;  "  no  such 
genTman  here,  sir." 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  is,"  roared  the  voice,  confidently. 

"There's  a  Mr.  Heveland  here,  sir — a  Mr.  Heveland,  sir — aide-de- 
camp to  General  Sir  John  Somebody,"  thinking  to  flabbergaster  Gollerfield 
with  his  greatness. 

"  No !  no !"  roared  the  little  man ;  **  it's  Heavyland  I  want.  I  know 
he's  here.  Had  a  letter  from  him  yesterday,  saym'  he'd  be  at  my  place, 
Hai'dpye  Hill,  at  ten  o'clock  this  momin',  and  he's  never  come." 

It  then  struck  Timothy  that  he  had  posted  a  letter  headed  '*  On  Her 
Majesty's  Service,"  for  Mr.  Gollerfield,  Hardpye-hill ;  and  he  began  to 
think  whether  Heavyland  and  Heveland  could  be  one  and  the  same 
person. 

"  What  sort  of  a  lookin'  gen'l'man  is  he,  please,  sir?"  asked  Timothy. 

"  Oh,  a  queer  black-and-red-lookin'  beggar — all  teeth  and  hair,  like  a 
rat-catcher's  dog,"  replied  Gollerfield,  shaking  with  vexation. 

"  What  is  he,  please,  sir  ?"  asked  Timothy. 

"An  AssiSTAfrx  Drainage  Commissioner!"  roared  Gollerfield. 
"Puts  A.D.C.  on  his  cards,  like  an  ass.  Promised  to  be  at  my  house, 
Hardpye  Hill,  at  ten  this  momin',  to  pass  my  drains,  and  he's  never  come;" 
adding,  "  if  he  thinks  to  get  three  guineas  out  o'  me,  he's  very  much  mis- 
taken." 

If  a  hand-grenade  had  fallen  among  the  assembled  company,  it  could 
not  have  caused  greater  consternation  than  this  proclamation.  There 
was  such  shrugging  of  shoulders,  such  holdings  of  breath,  such  frowning 
from  those  who  had  invited  our  friend,  and  such  giggling  and  laughing 
from  those  who  had  not;  while  the  unfortunate  Conqueror,  who  now  came 
bounding  down  stairs  three  steps  at  a  time  to  appease  the  choleric  Goller- 
field, was  regarded  with  very  different  eyes  to  what  he  had  been  before. 
However,  there  was  no  harm  done,  for  on  returning  from  Mr.  GoUer- 
field's,  who  now  carried  him  off  in  his  dog-cart,  he  placed  his  invitations 
in  the  hands  of  the  Bloomer,  who  speedily  set  all  minds  at  rest  by  politely 
declining  the  whole  of  them.  And  such  is  the  new  history  of  William  the 
Conqueror,  much  at  Mr.  Macaulay's  service,  if  he  has  any  occasion  for  it. 

P.S. — ^It's  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  good.  In  the  last  number  of 
the  DroppingfaU  Wells  Gazette^  at  the  head  of  '^  marriages,"  is  the  fol- 
lowing :  "  On  the  29th  ult.,  at  St.  Mary's  Church,  by  wie  Rev.  Simon 
Pure,  assisted  by  the  Rev.  Arthur  Lovejoy,  William  Heveland,  Esq., 
A.D.C.,  to  Constantia,  young^t  surviving  aaughter  of  the  late  Michael 
Mendlove,  Esq.,  of  Dropping&U  Wells.  The  lovely  bride,  who  was  dressed 
as  a  Bloomer,  was  attended  by  six  beautiful  bridesmaids  similarly  at- 
tired," 

Long  live  the  happy  couple !  say  we. 

July — VOL.  xcy.  no.  ccglzuz.  u 


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(  *w  ) 


"OUR  OWN  CORRESPONDENT*  IN  ITALY.* 

Th£  life  of  a  newepaper  correspondent,  as  may  naturally  be  supposecl, 
is  one  of  alternate  cloud  and  sunshine — one  day  basking  in  an  Anda- 
lusian  balcony,  playing  a  rubber  at  the  club  on  the  off-nights  of  the  Opens 
being  very  musical  when  the  handsome  Prima  Donna  sings,  and  yeiy 
light  fantastic  toeish  when  the  lively  Prima  Ballerina  dances ;  another 
day  roughing  it  over  the  Balkan,  amid  sleet  and  snow,  or  starving  at  the 
tsA  of  an  ill-conditioned  army,  and  receiving  bullets  instead  of  biUett-doux, 
So  it  was  with  '*  Our  Own"  free,  hearty,  and  clever  correspondent  of  the 
Times^  when  suddenly  ordered  horn  gny  Oporto  to  Genoa,  and  thence  to 
where  the  promss  of  events  might  direct  him.  Oporto  was  a  gay  place 
at  that  time,  the  English  squadron  was  in  the  Ta^us,  and  <^  Our  Own" 
acted  as  cicerone  to  me  merry-hearted  lieutenants  in  the  coulisses. 

On  one  occasion  the  gayest  and  most  true-hearted  of  those  thoughtless  souk, 
who  had  been  long  ogling  from  his  stall  the  pretty  Milanese  who  then  led  the 
ballet,  was  determined  to  essay  a  grand  effort  at  makini;  her  acquaintance,  and 
imagining  that  an  Italian  knew  as  little  of  French,  as  he,  an  Englishman,  did, 
whilst  the  sylphide  was  taking  the  usual  canter  before  the  race  commenced,  he 
advanced,  cocked  hat  in  hand,  with  all  the  lustre  of  new  epaulettes  and  of  full 
uniform,  and  addressed  her : — **  Mademoiselle !  parlez-vous  Fran9ais  ?*  *'  Oui, 
monsieur!  k  votre  service,"  said  the  lady,  reining  up  at  the  same  time,  and 
throwing  out  the  left  leg  at  an  angle  of  forty-five  from  its  fellow,  as  she  under* 
took  a  new  pose,  and  laid  the  whole  weight  of  her  person  on  the  right  foot,  the 
left  being  still  suspended.  '*  Hans  it !  Tm  done,  was  the  gallant  tar*8  excla- 
mation, for  not  a  word  more  of  the  French  language  had  he  in  store ;  but 
seeing  the  pretty  Milanese,  as  she  turned  her  head,  smile  at  his  embarrassment, 
he  took  heart  again,  and  with  a  drollery  that  was  irresistible,  laid  hold  of  the 
suspended  foot,  and  kissed  the  point  of  it,  with  all  the  ardour  of  three-and* 
twenty.  At  this  moment  the  word  *'  clear  the  stage"  being  given,  in  Poiw 
tuguese,  of  which  tongue  he  knew  not  a  syllable,  followed  by  the  rins  of 
"curtain  up,"  not  heanl  by  the  danseute,  the  drop-scene  rose,  and  the  whole 
house  rang  with  repeated  bursts  of  laughter,  on  discovering  the  Prima  Balle> 
rina  bent  down  as  I  have  described,  and  the  lieutenant  of  the  Thunder  Bomb 
kissing  and  fondling  her  little  foot,  or,  as  an  Irishman  near  me  said,  "  By  all 
that's  gracious,  he  is  shaking  hands  with  her  big  toe !" 

It  was  hard  to  tear  oneself  from  so  much  gaiety,  but  there  was  no 
alternative,  and  wiping  his  eyes  from  the  imaginative  tears  that  dimmed 
them,  '<  Oixr  Own"  stepped  on  board  the  mail  steamer  to  Gibraltar ;  and, 
after  a  little  carousing  with  the  rock-scorpions,  and  an  earnest  and  serious 
recommendation  of  an  additional  basin  or  wet-dock,  sailed  for  Genoa  in  a 
French  steamer,  and,  after  touching  at  nigh  a  dozen  interesting  spota^ 
and  tasting  the  sweets  of  the  Gulf  of  Lyons,  he  landed  at  the  City  of 
Palaces  on  the  25th  of  February,  1848.  This  was  at  the  time  when  the 
long-concealed  detestation  of  Austria  was  openly  avowed  at  Milan,  and 
in  all  the  great  cities  of  the  Lombardo- Venetian  kingdom.;  but  ^*  Our 
Own"  tells  us  at  the  onset,  that  the  rtiral  population  £d  not  participate 
in  this  feeling,  and  on  the  contrary,  were  attached  to  Austrian  domimon; 
for  under  the  system  that  then  prevailed,  the  occupier  of  the  land  paid  no 

*  The  Personal  Adventures  of  *'  Our  Own  Correspondent"  in  Italy.  Showing 
how  an  active  camfNUgner  can  find  good  quarters  when  other  men  lie  in  the 
fields;  good  dinners  whilst  many  are  half  starved;  and  good  wine,  though  the 
king's  staff  be  reduced  to  half  rations.  By  Michael  Burke  Honan.  2  vols. 
Chapman  and  Hall. 


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«*  Our  Own  Correspondent**  in  Italy,  286 

difect  taxes  wfaaterer,  and  enjoyed  perfect  independence.  Hence  it  was 
that  the  Austrians  were  always  well  supplied  during  the  war,  while  the 
patriots  were  starving.  It  shows  what  may  he  done  by  good  goyemment, 
to  reconcile  a  people  even  to  a  foreign  yoke ;  for  the  political  aberrations 
of  the  more  vicious  masses,  or  great  urban  populations— men  who  after- 
wards attempted  to  murder  £ng  Charles  Albert — ought  to  have  no 
more  political  importance  attached  to  them  than  to  any  common  street 
n>w  or  riot. 

As  to  Radetzky,  knowing  the  l^anese  au  fond,  he  allowed  them  to 
play  their  fantastic  tricks,  whilst  he,  aware  of  all  that  was  passing  in 
Piedmont,  kept  his  attention  fixed  on  the  proceedings  of  Charles  Albert, 
convinced  that  from  that  *^  treacherous  monarch"  alone  danger  was  to 
be  apprehended ;  and  it  was  before  the  Piedmontese,  and  not  the  Milanese^ 
*'  Our  Own"  informs  us,  that  the  field-marshal  retired,  to  take  up  a  position 
from  whence  he  could  best  receive  reinforcements  and  carry  on  war  with 
the  greatest  chances  of  success,  or  almost  certain  success — for  the  resolute 
old  general  said  he  would  be  back  to  collect  the  annual  tax.  at  Milan,  and 
he  kept  his  word. 

''  Our  Own"  describes  the  scenes  enacted  at  this  time  at  Grenoa  and 
Turin  as  especially  amusing.  Nothing  but  drums  beating,  trumpets 
sounding,  national  guards  marching,  CaLabrese  hats,  and  all  the  bustle  of 
citiaen-soldiers,  who,  like  children  who  buy  penny  whistles  at  a  fair,  are 
never  tired  of  puffing,  blowing,  strutting,  and  playing  the  hero  on  a  small 
scale.  "  Our  Own,  who  never  ceases  to  abuse  Charles  Albert  for  his 
treachery  and  ambition,  nor  to  detract  from  his  merits  as  a  general,  yet 
acknowledges,  that  after  the  events  at  Paris,  a  foreign  war  was  the  only 
means  of  avoiding  anarchy  at  home ;  and  he  avers,  in  opposition  to  the 
long  and  elaborate  condemnation  of  English  policy,  penned  by  the  Aus* 
trian  minister,  Ficquelmont,  that  Mr.  Abercrombie  never  ceased  to  lay 
before  the  Sardinian  king  and  cabinet  the  bad  consequences  of  so  unjust 
a  war.     In  proof  of  this  he  relates  the  following  anecdote  : 

On  the  night  of  the  day  on  which  the  king  and  council  determined  on  this 
great  act  of  folly,  and  the  Count  Balbo  announced  it  from  the  balcony  of  the 
palace,  to  the  thousands  that  filled  the  great  square,  that  personage,  fatigued  by 
the  labours  of  the  afternoon,  retired  at  an  early  hour  to  bed.  There  he  received 
the  visit  of  our  minister,  who  inquired,  with  real  or  assumed  alarm,  if  it  were 
true  that  the  king  had,  witho\it  any  pretext  whatever,  declared  war  against 
Austria,  and  on  M.  Balbo  admitting  that  such  was  the  truth,  and  attempting 
to  excuse  it  on  many  grounds,  particularly  that  of  the  proclamation  of  a  re- 
public at  home  not  being  otherwise  avoidable,  and  then  hinting  that  he  was 
fatigued  beyond  his  physical  force,  and  that  he  desired  repose,  the  conversation 
closed  by  Mr.  Abercrombie  saying,  in  his  grave  and  solemn  manner,  **  Good 
night.  Count  Balbo,  slbbp  ip  you  can." 

"  Lord  have  mercy  on  me  !**  he  adds,  a  little  further  on ;  "  how  the 
broad  swords  did  clank  upon  the  fioor  t  how  the  long  feathers  of  the 
Calabrese  hats  did  reach  the  ceiling  and  obscure  the  gas  !  how  'prentice 
boys  tore  ladies'  dresses  with  their  spurs  !  and  how  whiskers  and  mus- 
tachoes  grew  to  an  enormous  length !  Can  I  forget  the  Amazons  who 
exhibited  their  well  or  ill  turned  shapes,  in  dresses  imitated  from  the 
French  invandiere,  and  how  particular  ribands  were  used,  so  as  to  suit 
the  complexion  of  each  fair  warrior- dame?"  The  word  "  fair"  used  so 
hastily  in  the  last  sentence,  is  recalled  in  a  query  made  a  little  furUier 
on.     '*  Why  is  it  that,  in  ail  public  displays,  only  the  fat  and  ill-lookiJDg 

u  2 


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286  *'  Our  Oum  Correspoudenf'  in  Italy. 

^cimens  of  womankind  take  a  part,  and  that  the  yoathfiil  fair  invariaUj 
aToid  them  ?  I  have  seen  heroines  enough  in  every  part  of  the  elohe 
where  civil  war  has  existed,  and  I  never  knew  one  who  had  the  slightest 
claims  to  heing  called  good-looking."  A  certain  marchioness,  who  was  at 
the  head  of  the  patriotic  demonstrations  at  Genoa,  appears  to  have  been 
an  exception  to  this  rule,  for  she  is  described  as  one  of  the  handsomest 
women  "  Our  Own"  ever  saw. 

The  news  of  the  revolution  at  Milan  carried  "  Our  Own"  to  the  Lorn* 
bard  capital,  which,  after  some  detention  at  Novarra,  he  reached  a  few 
days  after  the  city  had  been  evacuated  by  the  Austrians.  The  account 
of  his  first  pilgrimage  through  the  streets  is  highly  picturesque  : 

By  this  time  the  moon  had  risen,  and  the  effect  her  rays  produced  was  most 
extraordinary,  as  they  only  lighted  the  tops  of  the  barricades,  whilst  the  inter- 
mediate space  was  left  in  darkness  visible.  No  lamps  or  lorcljes  were  permitted 
by  the  guardians  of  the  night,  for  what  reason  I  cannot  now  recollect ;  and  as 
the  strictest  silence  was  maintained,  the  pass-word  being  asked  and  given  in  a 
whisper,  the  whole  was  attended  with  an  air  of  mystery  of  the  most  impressive 
nature.  The  barricades  were  not  more  than  ten  yards  apart,  a  passage  being 
made  to  admit  one  man  only  at  a  time  on  the  right-hand  side  ;  so  that  to  a 
person  conducted  through  them,  without  a  single  word  above  one's  breath 
being  spoken,  it  appeared  as  if  he  were  led  witliin  the  wards  of  an  interminable 
prison,  to  some  place  beyond  the  usual  haunts  of  man. 

The  effect  ^as  made  still  more  singular  by  no  person  being  allowed  to  loiter 
in  any  of  those  subdivisions,  the  sentinel  who  guarded  them  being  concealed  in 
the  projecting  shndow  of  the  high  wall,  and  not  an  indication  of  life  being  given 
until  you  touched  the  point  of  communication.  The  officer  charged  to  conduct 
me,  who  headed  our  little  party,  gave  the  word  to  some  persons  at  first  invi- 
sible to  us,  but  no  sooner  did  we  reach  a  particular  spot,  than  one  or  two  armed 
men  rose  up,  as  if  by  magic,  and,  after  receiving  our  "pochi  giomi,*'  sent  us  on 
with  the  solemn  warning  of  **  adagio,  silemioy 

The  barricades  were  made  up  of  every  possible  material,  large  stones,  wide 
^Qggiiig*  being  combined  witli  sofas,  gentlemen*s  carriages,  and  other  objects  of 
luxury,  drawn  from  the  neighbouring  palaces.  Carriages  were  partioularlv 
acceptable,  as  they  formed  most  comfortable  sentry-boxes ;  and  1  was  much 
amused  on  seeing  two  lads  of  not  more  than  sixteen  years  of  age,  sons  of  the 
Marquis  of  — ,  retiring  to  their  father's  last  London-built  chariot,  after 
having  given  me  the  usual  "  adagio,'* 

It  was.  Indeed,  a  solemn  thing  to  walk  through  such  a  labyrinth  in 
the  darkness  of  the  night,  the  moon's  rays  only  touching  the  top  of  each 
barricade,  not  a  word  being  permitted  save  the  whispered  "  adagio^"  and 
no  sign  of  life  being  given  but  on  the  spot  where  the  concealed  sentinels 
were  placed. 

And  now  we  must,  at  the  risk  of  betraying  Mr.  Michael  Burke 
Honan's  "published*'  confidences,  n^ake  a  long  extract  to  show  one  of 
the  many  strange  sources  from  whence  newspaper  correspondents  derive 
all  that  valuable  and  trustworthy  information  which  '*  Our  Own"  tells  us, 
over  and  over  again,  causes  ministers  to  turn  pale,  kings  to  shake,  cabinets 
to  fall,  and  even  influences  the  destinies  of  nations. 

Angela,  I  once  fancied,  was  rather  partial  to  "  Our  Own  Correspondent 
and  when  she  sung  the  music  of  Bellini^  lisped  in  broken  English  the  melodies 
of  my  native  land,  or  charmed  all  by  a  sweet  French  romance,  I  took  into  my 
bead,  fool  as  I  then  was,  that  I  was  very  high  in  her  eood  graces. 

Time,  with  the  aid  of  a  captain  of  dragoons,  as  handsome  as  I  am  ill-looking 
convinced  me,  one  brisht  day,  that  I  had  made  a  great  mistake ;  and  the  deli- 
cate creature  seeing  that  my  eyes  were  opened,  offered  me  her  friendship  in 


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"  Our  Own  Correspcmdent**  in  Italy.  387 

Keu  of  her  heart:  I  accepted  the  gift,  consoling  myself  with  the  reflection,  that 
all  the  women  cannot  be  taken  with  the  same  person,  and  that  if  I  had  been 
M.  Mantilini,  I  might  liave  had  two  or  three  "  demed  fine  duchesses  demnably 
io  love  with  me." 

Since  that  period  the  divine  girl  has  given  me  various  proofs  of  her  attach- 
ment— to  the  captain,  now  a  colonel ;  but  whenever  we  meet,  we  are  the 
warmest  friends,  and  I  have  the  honour  to  be  in  her  complete  confidence  no 
doubt  as  much  as  she  is — not  in  mine.  She  was  once  a  tender  flower,  with  the 
rose  and  the  lily  so  artfully  blended  on  her  soft  cheek,  that  it  was  diflicult  to 
say  which  claimed  the  preference,  accompanied  by  '*  eyes  of  blue  and  braids  of 
gold  i"  but  Angela  has  now  grown  a  little  out  of  shape,  and  as  some  thirty- 
five  summers  have  matured  her  bloom,  she  is  fast  settling  down  into  a  reason- 
able woman,  and  to  me  she  is  more  attractive  than  before.  Therefore  it  is, 
whenever  I  arrive  in  the  city  where  she  is  engaged — of  course  you  guess  she  is 
a  prima  donna — I  pay  her  an  early  visit,  and  at  all  hours  not  devoted  to 
business,  I  am  at  her  side. 

On  the  third  day  of  my  appearance  at  the  Corso,  I  embraced,  as  an  elderly 
gentleman  should,  the  object  of  my  former  passion,  and  told  her  as  many  false- 
hoods as  I  could  for  the  first  lialf-hour  accumulate,  on  the  increasing  beauty  of 
her  person,  and  the  irresistible  attraction  of  her  languishing  eye.  Angela 
heard  me  with  delight,  for  she  was  touching  on  the  grateful  age,  and  siie  almost 
hinted,  in  return  for  my  astounding  impudence,  that  she  regretted  the  pre- 
ference she  had  given  to  the  captain,  and  made  me  understand,  that  promotion 
in  his  profession  had  not  improved  his  temper  or  good  looks.  She  then  opened 
the  piano  and  warbled  some  of  those  strains  which  entrance  the  world,  next 
she  saluted  me  on  both  cheeks,  and  lastly  we  sat  down  to  talk  over  old  times, 
and  present  days,  and  wondered  at  the  good  fortune  that  had  brought  such  sin- 
cere  friends  so  often  together,  at  Madrid,  at  Lisbon,  at  Paris,  Vienna,  and  Milan. 

"  Dearest  Angela,  tell  me,"  said  I,  "  why  is  your  piano  so  near  the  window  ; 
and  to  what  use  are  these  two  baskets  full  of  paving-stones  to  he  devoted  ?" 

"  Caro  '  Our  Own,'  the  piano  was  to  be  launched  on  the  lieads  of  the  first 
body  of  Croats  that  passed,  and  the  paving-stones  were  to  be  flung  after  them, 
as  they  retired." 

"  You  are  then  a  republican,  dearest  Angela?" 

•*  No,  caro,  only  a  liberal  enragie.^^ 

•*  You  are  very  rich,  I  presume  ?" 

•*  No,  friend  of  my  soul,  quite  the  reverse.** 

**  You  have  many  engagements,  no  doubt?" 

"  Not  one,  carissimo.  The  Scala,  the  Fenice,  the  Pergola,  and  San  Carlo 
are  all  closed,  and  as  long  as  the  revolution  lasts,  there  is  no  chance  of  a 
tcritturaJ* 

**  But,  carissima,  where  is  your  common  sense?  Don't  you  see  you  are 
destroying  your  income  by  taking  part  in  this  movement  ?  What  is  it  to  you 
who  governs,  if  the  opera  be  well  attended ;  and  think  you  it  is  the  mob  who 
pays  the  immense  sum  you  are  yearly  in  the  habit  of  receiving  ?" 

"  Friend  of  my  soul,  say  all  that  again,  for  a  new  light  is  breaking  in  on  me." 

**  Why,  Angela,  is  it  not  evident  that  the  opera  and  music  are  luxuries 
which  the  rich  only  can  support,  and  that  if  you  plunge  the  country  into  revo- 
lution, the  theatres  must  all  be  closed  T 

"  Oh  I  carissimo,  you  plant  daggers  in  my  heart.  Here,  Maria  (to  her  maid) 
assist  the  signore  in  putting  the  piano  in  its  own  place,  and  have  all  these  paving- 
stones  removed  withoiit  delay." 

"  Bravissima!  Angela,  you  are  a  dear  creature,  and  pray  don't  forget  to  let 
me  know,  if  anything  should  happen  the  colonel." 

Angela  had  played  her  part  in  tlie  glorious  four  days,  and  as  her  house  was 
near  the  Duomo,  she  ran  many  risks  from  the  fire  of  the  slmrp-shooters  sta- 
tioned by  Radetzlcy  on  the  roof.  To  woman  all  excitement  is  acceptable,  and 
when  the  first  scene  of  panic  was  mastered,  she  enjoyed  the  fun,  mingling  in 
the  common  danger,  and  rushing  to  the  points  where  the  heat  of  battle  raged. 

From  her  lips  I  had  the  most  graphic  account  of  wliat  passed,  and  half  my 


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288  *'  Our  Own  CorrtBpandent'  in  liafy. 

first  letters  were  made  up  of  these  descriptions.  With  her  I  (^dually  traoedl 
the  creation  of  the  priocipal  barricades,  and  joined  the  insurgents,  as,  step  by 
step,  they  excluded  the  army  from  the  centre  of  the  town.  Guided  bv  her,  I 
examined  the  bastions  and  approaches  to  the  castle,  and  came  to  undentuid 
the  simple  tactics  on  which  the  valiant  citizens  foughL  She  explained  how 
the  Porta  Tosa  was  won,  and  the  Austrian  line  cut  in  two ;  in  what  maniier 
access  to  the  country  was  obtained  through  subterraneous  passages  ;  and  dwelt 
with  minute  detail  on  the  heroic  acts  of  courage  she  had  seen  performed  by 
the  brave  youth  of  Milan. 

Such  a  cicerone  was  invaluable,  and  I  only  regret  I  have  not  so  charming  m 
pioneer  to  precede  me  in  all  my  expeditions,  and  so  lovely  an  authority  to  col- 
lect materials  **pour  servir  a  fhittoire.**  These,  indeed,  were  pleasant  days, 
and  Angela,  bavins  nothing  else  to  do,  seemed  inclined  to  reconsider  her 
former  rejection  of  my  suit,  but  a  confounded  tenor  from  Naples,  one  of 
Madame  Belgiojoso*s  three  hundred  Crociati,  appeared,  and  for  a  second  time 
my  nose  was  put  out  of  joint. 

*'  Our  Own,"  although  carried  away  for  a  time  by  the  enthusiasm  that 
surrounded  him,  still  did  not  fail  soon  to  imbibe  ideas  of  instability  and 
of  the  weak  foundation  on  which  Italian  liberty  rested.  He  found  the 
Provisional  Goremmenti  which  had  usurped  the  place  of  the  council  of 
war,  to  be  full  of  pride,  ignorance,  and  vanity,  taking  credit  to  itself  for 
having  succeeded  in  a  revolt  which  it  had  in  vain  secretly  endeavoured 
to  suppress,  and  more  anxious  to  win  the  favour  of  Charles  Albert  than 
to  complete  the  victory  the  people  had  begun  so  well.  Still,  for  a  time^ 
«  Our  Own"  was  earned  away  by  the  stream. 

The  gentry  of  Milan,  with  the  exception  of  the  republican  party,  were  fully 
as  indolent  and  vainglorious  as  the  Provisional  Government^  and  I  must  own 
to  m)r  sliame,  I  was  completely  deluded  by  them.  As  I  had  a  vei^  large 
acquaintance,  and  visited  every  night  in  one  family  or  another,  hearing  the 
same  energetic  language  in  all, — fatner  and  husband  declaring  they  would  not 
survive  the  return  of  the  hated  Tedeschi;  and  mothers  and  wives  asserting, 
that  if  the  city  were  again  to  fall  into  Radetzky's  hands,  they  would  rusli  to 
the  Duomo  with  their  children,  jewels,  and  most  precious  effects,  and,  setting 
fire  to  the  building,  perish  all  together. 

I  believed  they  spoke  the  truth,  and  I  said  so  in  my  correspondence.  The 
hatred  to  German  rule  was  undoubted,  and  the  same  animosity  prevailed  in 
eveiy  class  of  society,  but  the  rest  was  all  an  empty  boast ;  and  when  the 
Austrians  did  return,  not  a  single  victim  appeared— no  funeral  pile  was  lighted 
-»and  the  Duomo  remained  untouched  and  untenanted  by  their  ashes. 

Old  English  residents  were  deluded  as  well  as  the  correspondent  of  the 
Times;  and  they  too  were  impressed  with  a  profound  conviction  of  the  good 
fiiith  of  these  devoted  patriots.  Judging  from  outward  appearances,  there  was 
no  cause  of  suspicion ;  and  who  could  doubt  the  professions  of  the  people 
when  he  saw  all  men  preparing  for  the  campaign,  and  found  women  and 
children,  of  eveiy  rank,  occupied  day  and  night,  manufacturing  cartridges  and 
making  lint?  The  latter  was  a  harmless  employment,  but  the  former  made  all 
visitors  after  sunset  not  a  little  nervous. 

Only  imagine  a  large  basket  or  bowl  full  of  gunpowder,  placed  on  a  work- 
table,  close  to  a  lamp  or  wax-light,  and  one,  two,  or  half  a  dozen  ladies  sitting 
round  the  table,  filling  the  paper  modek  furnished  for  the  purpose,  and  con- 
ceive your  horror  in  reflecting  what  must  be  the  consequence  if  a  spark  from 
the  lamp  or  the  candle  fell  into  the  magazine.  The  ladies  were  totally  uncon- 
scious of  the  danger,  or  rather  they  were  pleased  with  the  excitement  its  close 
vicinity  created ;  and  every  now  and  then  one  of  the  wildest  would  place  her 
portion  of  the  work,  by  way  of  bravado,  near  the  light. 

Ab  long  as  militant  processions  paraded  the  streets,  and  embroideied 
colours  were  exhibitea  in  the  Corso,  the  campaign  was  considered  as  pro- 
gressing most  favonrably.     Regiments  on  paper  were  formed,  and  non- 


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*'  Our  Own  Correspondenf  tn  Itahf.  28S 

ttd0tioe  battalions  enrolled,  but  not  a  company  waa  fit  to  take  the  field 
until  abottt  a  week  after  the  termination  of  the  campaign,  when  some 
hcmdred  raw  recruits  appeared  on  the  borders  of  «the  Mincio.  Even  the 
Princess  Belgiojoso's  three  hundred  crusaders  lost  their  martial  ardour  on 
reaching  the  modem  Capua,  and  turned  fiddlers,  singers,  and  impro- 
visatores !  Te  Deums  were  sung  in  the  cathedral,  and  the  foreign 
consuls  joined  the  processions.  '<  What  a  stupid  fellow  I  was,"  says  "  Our 
Own,"  "  to  mistake  all  this  child-play  for  national  enthusiasm !  but  others 
were  humbus^ged  in  the  same  manner,  and  actors  and  spectators  were 
alike  imposed  on." 

The  main  eyil  to  the  Italian  cause,  arising  from  all  this  folly,  was,  that 
whilst  all  this  nonsense  was  going  on  at  Milan,  Radetzky  was  conducting 
his  retreat  in  a  masterly  manner.  Charles  Albert,  having  thrown  off  the 
mask,  instead  of  pouring  all  his  force  along  the  right  bank  of  the  Po, 
and  gettmg  before  Radetzky  to  the  Mincto,  was,  at  the  same  time,  fol- 
lowing the  Austrian  commander  at  a  careful  distance,  leaving  him  to 
take  up  his  positions  undisturbed.  There  was,  at  the  onset,  no  cordiality 
betwixt  Piedmontese  and  Milanese.  At  the  very  opening  of  the  war, 
each  detested  the  other  as  much  as  the  Anstrians.  '<  Our  Own"  relates, 
that  when  he  joined  Charles  Albert,  he  wore  a  little  Milanese  berret^  or 
cap,  which  became  the  rage  on  the  Corso  as  soon  as  the  town  was  iree ; 
it  was  soon  intimated  to  him  at  head-quarters  that  his  doing  so  gave 
offence  to  the  whole  army,  and  the  sooner  he  changed  it  the  better.  Of 
course,  he  lost  no  time  in  getting  a  white  hat  from  Milan. 

"  Our  Own's"  head-quarters  during  the  campaign  were  at  Valleggio, 
and  as  we  intend  to  give  some  examples,  in  his  own  words,  as  to  bow 
**  an  active  campaigner  can  find  good  quarters  when  other  men  lie  in  the 
fields,"  we  must  premise  that  he  had  provided  himself  with  a  letter  to 
Dr.  Ercole,  and  then  quote  his  own  narrative. 

The  communication  being  at  length  restored,  I  was  allowed  to  pass,  and  in 
a  short  time  found  myself  on  the  height  leading  to  the  destined  quarter  of 
Valleggio,  and  in  a  few  minutes  I  was  in  the  street  looking  out  for  a  lodging, 
and  offering  silver  and  gold  for  a  night's  shelter.  In  vain  I  applied  to  every 
house ;  in  vain  I  implor^  the  podestd  or  mayor ;  in  vain  I  besonght  the  paroco, 
or  parish  priest,  even  for  three  chairs  and  a  bolster ;  nothing  of  the  kind  was 
to  be  obtained,  and  retreat  and  defeat  were  present  to  my  mind.  The  doctor 
to  whom  I  had  been  addressed  was  in  the  country  visiting  his  patients,  and  it 
would  seem  that  men  and  gods  conspired  against  me. 

At  that  time  speaking  very  indifferent  Italian,  I  made  no  way  in  the  shape 
of  conciliation,  and  nothing  like  a  good  Samaritan  appeared  in  any  street.  At 
length,  as  the  day  was  drawing  to  a  close,  //  medieo  Ercole  arrived,  and  as  he 
spoke  French,  I  made  him  clearly  understand  the  full  extent  of  my  embarrass- 
ment. I  kept  the  object  of  my  visit  in  the  background,  as  well  as  the  proba^ 
bility  of  fixing  my  head-quarters  in  that  vicinity,  and  made  the  whole  burden 
of  my  lament  one  or  two  niehts'  lodging. 

The  doctor  had  the  kindness  to  search  among  the  persons  having  usually 
apartments  to  let,  but  in  all  the  same  answer  was  given,  and  I  began  to  think 
of  retiring  on  Volta  or  Dezanzano.  At  last  Ercole  exclaimed,  **  Let  us  see 
what  my  brother's  wife  can  do ;"  and  the  phrase,  "a  brother's  wife,"  sounding 
well  in  all  languages,  I  gladly  complied  with  the  suggestion,  and  in  an  instant 
we  were  before  the  best  house  in  the  village. 

Donna  Lucia  did  not  hesitate  in  offering  a  bed  for  one  night  only,  as  the 
officer  to  which  it  belonged,  by  right  of  billet,  was  that  day  absent,  and  I  lost 
BO  time  in  transporting  bag  and  baggage,  having  made  up  my  mind  not  to  leave 
8«ch  admiiable  quarters,  as  long  as  the  army  remained  within  ten  miles  of  the 
Mincio. 


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290  "•Oi£r  Own  Correspondent  in  Italy. 

**  It*3  all  very  fine,  Donna  Lucia,*'  said  I  to  myself,  io  Uio  spirit  of  a  true 
campaigner,  "opening  your  house  for  one  night  only;  but  if  there  be  blaraey 
on  an  Irish man*s  tongue,,  or  the  least  taste  in  life  of  softness  in  your  heart,  it 
is  neither  this  week  nor  the  next  that  I  mean  to  take  my  leave.  Have  I  not,' 
I  continued  to  myself,  "a  very  pretty  young  Italian  to  deal  with,  and  if  soft 
sawder  fail,  cannot  a  very  bad  cowld  confine  me  to  my  room,  and  opening  the 
war  with  a  Napoleon  fee,  make  it  the  doctors  interest  to  retain  roe?  Human 
nature  is  the  same  at  Vnllcggio  as  at  Folkestone,  and  why  should  not  honest 
Mike's  lesson  be  put  into  practice  here?" 

I  took  care,  in  the  first  place,  not  to  alarm  Donna  Lucia*s  housewifery  bj 
any  demands  on  her  hospitality,  or  her  domestic  time.  I  sent  in  a  small  lamp 
and  some  wax-lights,  dined  at  the  Albergo,  and  passed  up  and  down  stairs  with 
a  velvet  step,  though  I  had  nearly  six  feet  height  and  fourteen  stone  weight  to 
carry.  The  result  was,  that  when  I  met  the  signore  and  the  signora  next  day 
in  the  passage,  I  was  most  kindly  received  by  both,  and  the  only  complaints 
they  made  were,  that  I  did  not  avail  myself  more  fully  of  the  accommodation 
of  the  house,  and  give  more  freely  orders  to  their  servant. 

Of  course  I  replied  in  the  most  courteous  terms,  after  which  Don  Pieiro 
made  me  a  low  bow,  and  I  remained  alone  with  the  signora.  Now  or  never 
was  the  battle  to  be  fought,  and  so  tlianking  Donna  Lucia  for  her  hospitality, 
I  made  believe  to  take  a  final  leave ;  but  it  u  not  every  day  in  the  year  that 
wild  Irishmen  are  seen  on  the  banks  of  the  Mincio,  and  my  charming  hostess 
would  not  let  me  depart  without  obtaining  some  information  about  foreign  parts. 

"  Where  was  I  born  ?'* 

"  In  Ireland." 

"Of  what  religion?'* 

"A  Roman  Catholic,  of  course.*' 

"  You  are  then  a  Cliristian  ?'* 

"  An  ugly  man,  but  a  good  Christian." 

**  Did  you  know  the  great  O'Connell  ?'* 

"Did  \  not?  he  was  my  first  cousin." 

*'E'  vcrof 

"  Verusmor 

'*  Oh !  what  a  blessing  it  is  to  have  a  cousin  of  the  great  O'Connell  under 
our  roof  I** 

A  low  bow  on  my  part,  and  an  euloo:y  of  the  character  of  the  Agitator,  in 
which  I  exhausted  my  power  of  rhetoric,  and  all  the  Italian  I  possessed ;  after 
which  Donna  Lucia  continued  : 

"  He  was  a  great  man,  an  honest  patriot,  and  a  true  Christian.  He  died  at 
Genoa.  It  was  in  Italy  he  breathed  his  last  sigh.  How  I  love  his  memory  I 
Wiiat  can  we  do  to  show  respect  for  his  great  name,  or  to  do  honour  to  uis 
cousin  ?" 

"Our  Own'*  again  affecting  to  bid  adieu : 

"Adieu,  Donna  Lucia,  eternal  tlianks  for  your  kind  hospitality;  I  must 
look  out  for  a  bed  in  tlie  village,  as  I  have  business  that  detains  me  some  days, 
and  I  cannot  leave  until  I  see  the  king." 

"  No,  signore,  no ;  your  bed  is  here :  when  the  officer  returns,  we  will  find 
him  other  quarters,  but  the  cousin  of  the  great  patriot  shall  not  leave  our 
house.  Oh !  Don  Pietro,"  to  her  husband,  now  returned,  "  only  think,  this 
gentleman  is  an  Irishman,  a  Christian,  and  a  cousin  of  O'ConnelFs." 

"  Of  the  great  O'Connell?  give  me  your  hand,  signore  ;  1  am  truly  glad  to 
see  you,  contentissimo.*' 

"He  wants  to  leave  us,  Dun  Pietro,  but  I  say  no ;  the  cousin  of  the  illu»> 
trious  Hibernian  must  remain  here.'* 

"  Certainly,  my  dear  wife :  you  will  do  us  that  honour,  signore  ?" 

"  If  I  do  not  derange  you." 

"  We  loved  him  whilst  he  lived ;  we  cherish  his  memory  now;  one  of  hi? 
blood  is  dear  to  us." 

•*  You  overpower  me  ;  I  thank  you  in  the  name  of  his  family  .and  of  my 
country ;  you  affect  me  almost  to  tears." 


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*^.Ottr  Own  CorrespondefU''  in  ItaJy.  291 

It  was  thus  I  won  my  battle  of  the  Mincio,  and  it  was  thus  I  established 
head-quarters  wliich  served  me  to  the  last  day  of  the  campaign.  Of  course  the 
reader  is  angry,  and  the  would-be  fine  gentleman  is  indignant ;  but  the  person 
who  writes  a  personal  narrative  roust  tell  the  whole  truth,  and  as  no  great  man 
is  a  hero  to  his  valet-de-chambre,  a  seeker  for  adventures,  like  myself,  must  not 
be  over  nice  in  explaining  how  he  contrived,  whilst  others  had  neither  bed  nor 
board,  to  find  a  good  roof  over  his  head,  a  clean  bed,  and  abundance  of  good 
cheer  every  day  during  tlie  campaign. 

It  is  needless  to  repeat  the  oft  narrated  stories  of  the  affairs  of 
Pastrengo,  Santa  Lucia,  Peschiera,  Curtatone,  Goito,  Alpo,  Rivoli, 
Somma  Campagna,  and  Custoza ;  according  to  our  uncompromising  cor- 
respondent, every  engagement,  however  unimportant,  or  however  serious, 
only  served  to  show  die  utter  incapacity  or  imbecility  of  Charles  Albert. 
Even  the  Duke  of  Savoy  himself  said,  "  N'est  cepasy  Monsieur  Honan, 
nous  sommes  mat  menes"  For  "  our  own"  part,  we  get  distrustful  of  so 
much  and  such  oft-repeated  detraction.  There  was  no  doubt  of  Charles 
Albert's  courage,  although  he  may  not  have  been  gifted  with  great  mili- 
tary genius ;  but  he  could  scarcely  have  always  done  precisely  that  which 
was  wrong.  Most  likely  his  opponents  made  things  so ;  at  all  events,  we 
have  seen  too  often  in  **  our  own"  times  the  presumed  incompetency  of 
the  commander  made  the  loophole  for  the  cowardice  of  an  army.  ''  Our 
Own"  exhibits  more  practical  wisdom  in  an  asseveration  of  another  order : 

If  Charles  Albert  had  taken  the  same  precautions  to  provide  quarters  and 
food  for  his  gallant  troops,  as  I  did  for  myself,  or  if  the  Provisional  Government 
of  Milan  had  sent  beef  and  mutton  instead  of  varnished  boots  to  the  Mincio 
side,  the  war  would  have  been  successful. 

I  never  wanted  a  bed,  a  breakfast,  a  dinner,  during  the  whole  campaign,  and 
as  I  bore  up  against  more  fatigue  tlian  would  have  killed  any  ordinary  man,  how, 
in  the  name  of  common  sense,  could  I  have  got  through  my  work  unless  healtli 
was  maintained  by  creature  comforts? 

If  the  Italian  kitchen  be  bad  even  in  every  large  city  from  Milan  down  to 
Naples,  you  may  imagine  how  execrable  it  was  at  our  village  restaurant.    I  • 
found,  however,  that  Angela  was  perfect  in  the  management  of  a  coteletia  di 
vUelio  i  la  MUanesey  and  that  was  a  constant  and  ever-grateful  plat. 

First  take  your  cutlet,  and  beat  it  well  with  the  flat  side  of  the  cleaver,  or  witli 
a  rolling-pin  ;  beat  it  for  at  least  five  minutes ;  then,  having  thrown  a  quantity 
of  butter,  eggs,  and  flour,  into  a  frying-pan,  when  the  mixture  is  hissing  hot, 
fling  your  cutlet  in,  and  there  let  it  stew. 

*nie  mixture  penetrates  to  the  core,  and  is  imbibed  in  every  part ;  and  when 


an  ordinary  chop,  as  buttered  toast  at  Christmas  time  has  to  dry  hard  bread,  or 
a  well  larded  woodcock  served  at  the  TroU  Frh-cz  to  a  red-legged  partridge 
roasted  to  the  fibre  in  Spain. 

I  have  since  that  period  travelled  much  in  Italy,  but  even  in  the  most 
wretched  inn  this  dish  is  well  cooked — not  so  nicely  to  be  sure  as  Angela  did 
it  for  her  caro  Inglese,  but  quite  well  enough  to  please  a  hungry  man. 

We  had  daily  several  hundred  persons  demanding  dinners  from  my  fair 
friends,  but  not  half  the  number  were  ever  supplinl.  Angela  barred  the 
kitchen  door,  and  made  one  of  her  adorers  keep  guard  with  the  poker  and 
drive  off  the  hungry  customers ;  but  an  exception  was  made  in  my  favour,  and 
the  subito  and  presto  were  regularly  heard. 

Sweet  goddess  of  fried  chops  and  melted  butter,  who  could  imagine  that  a 
man  who  loved  half  the  prima  donnas  in  Europe,  should  liave  descended  to 
the  kitchen  and  sighed  to  you  ?  Who  could  believe  that  exactly  the  same 
arts^  and  same  flattering  words,  that  won— like  Mr.  Dickens*s  hero— so  many 
demmed  fine  duchesses,  should  have  been  expended  on  an  unctuous  cook  ? 


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292  ''  Omr  Own  Correspomknf'  m  lUify. 

But  you  wiU  not  believe  me,  dear  madam,  tlmt  human  nature  u  altU  the 
saaae-Hibove  stain  and  below,  in  the  drawing-room  as  in  the  dairy*-«iid  tet 
the  mntress  and  the  maid  are  won  in  the  same  manner.  To  be  sure  my  reward 
was  merely  a  Milanese  cutlet,  but  the  means  are  tlie  same,  though  the  end  pn^ 
posed  may  be  very  different. 

So  much  for  a  receipt  which  we  shall  certainly  put  in  practioey  and 
shall  christen  Cotelette  a  la  JBConan  Custoza,  During  the  whole  of  this 
campaign  of  akinnishers,  '^  Our  Own"  continued  to  enjoy,  with  an  occasional 
excursion  into  the  field  of  turmoil,  all  the  comforts  of  VaUeggio,  the 
gossip  of  the  camp,  sometimes  strange  risitorSy  amonff  whom  most 
notorious  were  some  English  Amazons,  and,  abore  all,  delightful  alfrueo 
soirees  with  Donna  Lucia,  h^  beautiful  children,  ''  haughty  Maria"  and 
« tender  Julia,"  and  certain  aides-de-camp,  among  whom  the  finest* 
hearted,  best-tempered,  and  greatest  dare-devil  was  an  English  officer  of 
the  Piedmontese  lancers. 

Characters  of  more  doubtful  respectability,  both  male  and  female,  also 
sometimes  visited  the  town  of  Bacchi  and  Bambini ;  among  the  latter 
the  ox-eyed  Juno,  as  '<  Our  Own''  designates  a  beautiful  silent  and 
mysterious  lady;  and  among  the  former,  a  gentleman  ever  in  search  of  a 
younger  brother. 

I  met  a  person  at  Valleggio,  who  more  tlum  once  crossed  my  path  under 
circumstances  that  I  fear  excited  strong  doubt  in  my  mind  that  he  was  nothing 
better  than  a  spy,  though  he  might  have  been  in  reality  the  character  which  he 
affected. 

During  the  lost  civil  war  at  Oporto,  this  same  Belgian  called  on  me,  saying 
he  understood  I  had  some  influence  with  the  Junto,  and  praying  my  assistance 
to  trace  out  a  younger  brother,  who,  in  a  feigned  name,  ne  had  reason  to  b^ 
lieve,  on  account  of  differences  with  his  £unily,  had  enlisted  as  a  common 
soldier. 

I  gave  him  all  tlie  aid  in  my  power,  and  the  minister  of  war,  and  his  secre- 
taries, went  over  the  muster-roll  of  tlie  whole  forces,  and  allowed  him  to  go 
through  the  several  barracks  and  inspect  the  men.  No  brother,  however,  was 
found,  and,  as  I  now  suspect,  no  runawav  of  the  name  existed. 

I  found  the  same  gentleman  playing  the  same  game  in  tiie  bureaux  of  Mar- 
shal Saldanha  at  Lisbon,  when  Donna  Maria  was  in  the  ascendancy,  but  die 
brother  was  not  forthcoming,  though  his  relative  searched  for  him  in  eveiy 
voltigeur*s  knapsack. 

What  was  my  astonishment  to  meet  him  once  more  at  Valleggio,  going  from 
general  to  ^neral,  from  aide-de-camp  to  aide-de-camp,  like  Peter  Schlemil  in 
search  of  his  lost  shadow. 

"  What,  sir,**  said  I  one  day,  in  presence  of  the  quartermaster-genial,  "have 
you  not  yet  found  thatscion  of  your  race,  whom  you  looked  for  in  the  rival 
armies  of  the  Junta  and  Donna  Maria  ?  Fray,  sir,  let  us  have  his  precise 
signalement'* 

The  Belgian  returned  that  night  to  Milan,  and  I  resumed  active  opeiatioas. 

At  last  the  reverses  at  Custoxa  drove  ''  Our  Own"  from  the  scene  of  so 
many  pleasing  adventures,  and  after  seeing  Donna  Lucia  and  her  chil* 
dien  into  a  carriage,  and  "  receiving  the  nghs  of  the  good  Angela,  ibe 
ymmg  cook  at  the  Trattoria,"  he  betook  himself,  with  a  wonderfm  d^;iee 
of  resignation  under  the  circumstances,  to  Dezanzano,  with  a  balcony 
orer  the  lake,  stewed  eels,  fried  eels,  boiled  eels,  trout  in  abundance^ 
eoieieUes  d  la  Sonan  Custoza^  and  capital  bordeaux*  Well  may  he 
sometimes  linger  for  a  few  sombre  pages  over  the  fatigues  and  privations 
of  a  newspaper  correspondoit  1 

The  rapid  advance  of  the  Anstrians,  however,  drove  him  quickly  fimft 
inns,  eels,  and  bordeaux,  first  to  Brescia,  and  then  to  Oramona,  vmrs  lie 


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''  Our  Own  CarrtipoHdmi'  in  Italy.  29S 

WM  nduoed  to  canymg  on  the  retreat,  haraessed  to  a  wheelbanow, 
flinging  soatches  of  Irish  eongs  on  the  way.  Well  may  he,  nnder  such 
rererses,  exclaim : 

Ob,  jrou  colossal  7We#,  ob,  you  wonder  of  tbe  age,  you  miracle  of  invention, 
what  would  you  have  said,  if  you  bad  seen  your  "  Own  Correspondent**  har- 
nessed to  a  wheelbarrow,  and  navigating  bis  precious  load  over  the  rocks  and 
stones  of  tbe  dry  bed  of  a  mountain  torrent  ?  And  you,  who  read  the  Thneiy 
yoa  ministers  of  state  who  tremble  at -its  dictum,  you  members  of  parliament 
who  gain  immortal  fame  only  through  its  columns,  what  would  you  have  said 
on  knowing  that  tbe  pen  whose  account  of  the  campaign  gave  the  only  infor- 
mation then  to  be  depended  on,  was  performing  the  duty  of  a  dray-horse  ? 

At  Flaisanoe  <<  Our  Own"  was  taken  for  a  spy,  was  mobbed,  and  for  a 
moment  his  life  was  in  danger ;  but  his  usual  good  luck,  or  raUier  quick- 
ness, sared  him,  and  he  was  let  off  as  a  '*  spy*'  on  the  right  side.  We 
have  given  one  or  two  examples  as  to  how  '*  Our  Own'*  got  good  dinners 
whilst  many  were  half-starved,  and  good  wine,  though  the  king's  staff 
were  reduced  to  half  rations.  We  must  now  give  an  example  as  to  how 
he  obtained  a  bed,  and  that  on  more  than  one  occasion,  when  others  had 
to  sleep  in  the  streets.     This  was  at  Codogno— the  city  of  cheeses. 

I  had  no  difficul^  in  finding  enough  to  eat  and  a  glass  of  wine,  but  where 
was  a  bed  to  be  had  ?  as  the  quartermaster-general  had  secured  every  lodging 
at  tbe  hotels  and  private  houses,  and  I  met  only  refusal  wherever  I  applied. 

Resolved,  however,  to  sleep  under  a  good  roof,  and  hare  a  pkce  where  I 
could  in  quiet  prepare  my  correspondence,  I  formed  a  little  plan,  and  calling 
the  coachman  to  my  aid,  gave  him  orders  to  walk  his  horse  slowly  on  the 
right  hand  of  the  High-street,  and,  wherever  I  stopped,  and  gave  a  certain 
signal,  to  unload  the  carriage  without  further  mders,  as  well  as  to  carry  the 
luggage  up-stairs.  If  nothing  occurred  on  that  side  of  the  street,  he  was  to 
cross  over  to  the  left,  and  repeat  the  same  manoeuvre. 

The  plain  truth  is,  my  dear  madam,  I  have  long  since  made  up  my  mind, 
that  the  only  true  friends  we  have  in  tbe  world  are  the  women-kind  ;  and  I 
never  was  in  a  difficulty  during  the  long  course  of  my  operations,  without  ap- 
plying to  that  unfailing  source  of  comfort  and  consolation,  and,  I  may  say, 
without  being  once  disappointed. 

I  was  now  bound  on  discovering  a  suitable  subject  on  which  I  might  operate ; 
one  not  too  young,  for  what  favour  could  a  man  of  my  years  expect  from 
youth  and  beauty  ? — and  not  too  old.  for  the  old  are  generally  cross  and 
spiteful,  and  such  were  not  tbe  materials  from  which  I  could  spin  a  good 
mattress  and  a  moderate  supply  of  clean  linen.  I  sought  for  a  buxom,  tidy 
widow,  or  wife,  about  thirty-five  or  forty,  for  that  is  the  grateful  age,  with  blue 
eyes  if  possible,  a  sweet  smile,  and  a  general  ensemble  of  good-nature. 

I  went  down  the  High-street  at  one  side,  and  up  the  same  street  on  the 
other,  without  finding  anything  that  suited  my  book,  though  I  looked  sharply 
at  every  daughter  of  Eve  I  saw  within  each  shop-door ;  and  I  was  sorely  boeC 
with  doubt.  I  repeated*  however,  the  mancsuvre,  and  I  bad  not  gone  many 
yards  on  the  second  turn,  when  I  beheld  a  full  and  portly  dame,  chattinc 
with  her  husband,  and  playing  with  her  chili^  who  was  the  very  object  I 
sought  for. 

She  was  at  least  eight-and-thirty,  but  she  might  pass  for  five  years  less  ;  she 
bad  mild  blue  eyes,  fiiir  hair,  soft  skin,  and  a  rosebud  complexion,  with  lips 
like  two  cherries,  and  a  general  expression  of  goodness  that  won  my  heart 
at  once.  Her  husband  was  a  well-iavonred  cheese-making  soul,  about  tiftf^ 
with  a  look  of  card»«nd*wbey,  which  rimwed  that  whatever  tbe  fiiir  dame  said 
was  law  to  him. 

Stopping  the  carriage,  and  giving  a  hint  to  the  driver  to  be  on  the  alert,  I 
jumped  out,  and  with  much  respect,  and  a  certain  easy  frankness,  walked  into 
the  shop,  pushing  the  hfilf  door  gently  before  me,  with  the  air  of  a  friend  who 
knew  the  ways  of  the  house. 


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294  **  Our  Oum  Correipondenf*  in  Italy. 

'*  Ah,  madam  "  said  I,  taking  off*  my  hat,  and  making  a  low  bow,  "  what 
beautiful  eyes  you  have!  I  am  sure  that  such  fine  eyes  indicate  a  good 
heart.    Is  it  not  so,  Sigoor  Marito  ?** 

**Why,  sir,"  said  " curds-and-whey,"  all  taken  aback,  "my  wife  lias,  you 
see,  most  expressive  eyes,  and  I  can  answer  for  the  excellence  of  her  heart. 

"  I  thought  so,  caro  signore,  and  for  that  reason  only  I  address  myself  to 
her,  and  to  you." 

The  wife  blushed  and  seemed  uneasy,  but  I  saw  at  a  glance  that  she  was 
not  displeased — what  woman  at  forty  ever  is,  when  the  compliment  to  her 
person  is  well  applied  ? — and  she  said, 

"  We  have  little  in  our  power,  Mr.  Stranger,  to  offer  ;  but  what  can  we  do 
for  you  ?" 

"The  fact  is,  cara  signora,  I  am  a  stranger  in  Codogno;  I  know  not  where 
to  lay  my  head  this  niglit,  as  all  the  inns  and  lodging-houses  are  occupied  by 
the  aTmy,  and  unless  you  consent  to  take  me  in,  like  a  good  Samaritan,  as 
you  are,  and  give  me  a  bed,  a  sofa,  or  let  me  sleep  on  the  floor,  I  must  lie  in 
the  fields,  and  perish  with  cold." 

I  saw  looks  interchanged  between  husband  and  wife.  His  said  "  No ;"  hers 
said  "  Yes ;"  so  that,  taking  the  matter  as  settled,  in  one  second  I  gave  the 
signal  agreed  on  to  the  coachman ;  in  one  minute  the  luggage  was  on  the 
shop-floor,  and  in  another  twinkling  of  an  eye,  with  a  few  caros  and  carait  it 
was  going  up  the  staircase  to  an  excellent  chamber,  with  a  most  comfortable  bed. 

I  liave  often  wondered  since  at  the  coolness  and  courage  which  I  assumed 
on  this  occasion,  and  the  effronter}*  it  required  to  take  a  roan's  house  by 
storm ; — but  who  will  sleep  in  the  streets  if  he  can  get  a  bed ;  and  is  not  soft 
sawder  as  ready  change  as  coined  tin  ?  This  I  consider  to  have  been  my 
cheval  de  baiaille — my  masterpiece,  my  capo  cTopera.  Who  but  myself  would 
have  arrived  in  a  town  close  on  nightfall,  without  knowing  a  single  person 
in  it,  with  every  bed  taken  by  royal  orders,  and  have  still  found  a  most  com- 
fortable home,  and,  as  the  result  proved,  a  hearty  welcome  ? 

"  Our  Own"  practised  precisely  the  same  device  at  Lodi,  passing  up  the 
streets  on  the  left  hand,  and  down  on  the  right,  till  he  could  meet  a  face 
that  pleased  him,  and  with  the  same  success,  only  that  in  this  instance  he 
had  a  frail  wife  and  a  jealous  husband  to  deal  with.  Here  lie  stayed 
till  "  Our  Own  CoiTespondent"  was  all  that  remained  of  the  ''  grand 
army ;"  and  at  length,  on  the  4th  of  August,  he  re-entered  Milan,  only 
two  days  in  advance  of  the  victorious  army.  ''Our  Own''  complains 
sadly,  notwithstanding  the  boast  in  his  title-page,  of  the  slavery  at« 
tenaant  upon  newspaper  life — of  exposure,  fatigue,  and  consequent  early 
sickness  and  exhaustion.  **  Above  all,"  he  says,  "  avoid  the  never-ending 
task  of  writing  for  a  London  newspaper,  or  of  furnishing  it  with  details 
of  public  events  from  the  banks  of  the  Elbe  or  the  Vistula.  Your  pride 
and  your  pocket  will  be  gratified,  I  admit ;  but  what  you  gun  in  fame 
you  lose  in  person,  and  the  passing  pride  of  a  successful  correspondence 
will  be  but  poor  compensation  for  disordered  health  and  disjointed 
members."  And  might  not  this  be  said  of  almost  any  pursuit  in  life 
demanding  extraordinary  exertion,  either  mental  or  ph>'sical  ?  Has  not 
"  Our  Own"  had  his  rewards  ? — his  dinners  and  his  flirtations ;  his  ob- 
taining an  English  lady  with  30,000/.  for  a  Piedmontese  officer,  thrice 
refused,  by  writing  up  his  gallantry ;  his  conferring  fame  on  members  of 
Parliament,  and  making  ministers  of  state  tremble !  If  «  Our  Own"  is 
really  so  used  up,  we  have  only  to  express  our  hopes  that  his  future  cam* 
paigns  may  be  limited  to  militaiy  promenades  between  the  Trais  Frirei 
and  the  Co/e  de  Paris,  As  it  is,  he  has  produced  a  brace  of  very 
amusing  volumes,  for  which  we  thank  him. 


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(    295    ) 

FEMALE     NOVELISTS. 

No.  IIL— "CuRRER  Bell." 

Op  the  many  among  whom  "  Jane  Eyre**^  made  a  sensation,  not  a  few 
professed  themselves  a  little  shocked.  The  author  was  so  wayward,  so 
free-spoken,  so  unconventional.  The  book  was  to  be  read  gingerly,  with 
caution,  with  suspicion ;  it  was  evidently  by  some  one  not  used,  or  will- 
ing, to  run  in  harness  of  the  old  style — some  one  not  cumbered  with  much 
serving  to  the  prejudices,  primnesses,  and  proprieties  of  genteel  fiction  as 
by  law  established — some  one  not  over  punctilious  touching  her  p*s  and 
q  s,  not  sedulously  trained  to  mind  her  stops.  The  Sympson  daughters, 
in  "  Shirley,"  are  described  as  having  penetrated  the  mystery  of  the 
abomination  of  desolation  ;  and  what  was  it  ?  They  had  discovered  that 
unutterable  thing  in  the  characteristic  others  call  Originality.  The 
signs  of  this  evil  they  were  quick  to  recognise  wherever  developed — in 
look,  word,  or  deed ;  whether  they  read  it  in  the  fresh,  vigorous  style  of  a 
book,  or  listened  to  it  in  unhackneyed,  pure,  expressive  language : — and 
then  they  shuddered  and  recoiled  at  what,  being  unintelligible,  must  be 
bad.  Many  are  the  Misses  Sympson  of  our  reading  world.  And  while 
they  felt  the  power  of  this  new  aspirant,  they  were  half-disposed  to  taboo 
her  on  the  score  of  this  same  ^Xvyfia  rrfs  €pTffjuo(rtas,  Originality.  ^^  Let 
it  be^  denounced  and  chained  up."  When  Shirley  Keeldar  sang  to  the 
Misses  Sympson,  and  gave  dramatic  expression  to  the  ballad,  and  breathed 
feeling  into  the  softness,  and  poured  force  around  the  passion — what  could 
they  do  but  look  on  her  as  quiet  poultry  might  look  on  an  eg^et,  an  ibis, 
or  any  other  strange  fowl.  "  Wnat  made  her  sing  so  ?  They  never  sang 
so.  Was  it  proper  to  sing  with  such  expression,  with  such  originality — 
80  imlike  a  school-girl  ?  Decidedly  not :  it  was  strange ;  it  was  unusual. 
What  was  strange  must  be  wrong ;  what  was  unusual  must  be  improper." 
Even  so  thought  correct  and  exemplary  officials  of  the  spinster  guild, 
when  canvassing  the  peculiarities  of  Currer  Bell.  She  was  not  one-sided 
enough  for  them :  how  to  take  her  measure  they  knew  not ;  how  to  define 
her  was  a  problem  undreamt  of  in  their  philosophy,  "^th  the  toga  virxHs 
she  had  put  on  a  *<  ditto-to-match"  demeanour,  quite  puzzling  to  folks 

Content  to  dwell  in  decencies  for  ever. 
Especially  was  this  antipathy  in  force  at  a  time  when  she  was  the  accre- 
dited author  of  that  wild,  wilful,  and  some  think,  wicked  book,  *'  Wuthei*- 
ing  Heights" — written  in  a  tone  of  such  reckless  defiance  of  ordmary 
canons  of  art  Now  that  she  has  expressly  disclaimed  the  authorship  of 
that  nondescript  tale,  it  may  be  easy  for  us  to  express  our  ea;  post  facto 
opinion  that  there  is  no  such  evidence  of  identity  in  the  origin  of  the  two 
works  ("  Jane  Eyre"  and  "  Wuthering  Heights")  as  to  justify  the 
peremptory  affirmative  decision  at  which  many  arrived.  Mr.  Rochester 
IS  grim  enough ;  but  Heathcli£Fis  positively  unique  in  grimness — too  big, 
black,  foul  a  blot  to  have  ever  dropped  from  Cuirer  Bell's  pen.  The 
texture  of  his  stoiy  is  bo  abnormal,  its  warp  so  monstrous,  its  woof  so 
grotesque,  that  it  is  almost  a  relief  to  know  that  Currer  Bell  did  not,  aa 
we  sunnised  she  could  not,  perpetrate  such  a  lustu  natura.  At  the  same 
time^  there  was  sufficient  tesemblance  in  a  certain  geneial  mode  of  ex- 


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296  Female  Naoeli»i$^tro.  IlL 

prefldon,  habit  of  faner,  and  underlying  eumnt  of  thought,  to  wanant 
the  conclusion  tihat  '^  Wuthering  Heights'*  was  composed  under  the  same 
roof  as  *'  Jane  Eyre** — ^that  Ellis  and  Currer  were  close  kinswomen,  and 
had  long  taken  sweet  and  sad  and  solemn  counsel  together,  and  tc^ether 
had  stumed  rugged  human  nskore  as  it  lay,  unsfaapdy  hut  characteristic 
CBOBgh,  beside  their  sequestered  northern  homestead. 

It  has  been  said,  that  while  Currer  Bell  has  superiors  in  oompositioB, 
in  construction,  in  range  of  fsncy,  in  delieacjr  of  conception,  in  felicity  of 
execution,  in  width  of  grasp,  in  height  and  depth  of  thought,  she  has  no 
living  rival  in  the  £sculty  of  imposing  belief.  Without  subscribing  un- 
conditionally to  this  statement — for  we  think  her  sometimes  unfortunate 
and  unsuccessful  in  her  attempts  on  our  good-natured  credulity — there 
can  be  no  question  as  to  the  impressive  efiect  of  her  earnest,  realising 
manner.  Those  who  scout  her  as  forbidding  and  masculine,  yet  discover 
an  inevitable  spell  in  the  hearty  seriousness  of  her  narrative.  *^  We  feel 
her  power,"  they  say,  <<  though  we  do  not  like  her.' '  <^  Like  me,  forsooth  I" 
we  can  suppose  her  to  exclaim :  '<  as  if  I  wrote  to  tickle  your  palates,  or 
provide  matter  for  your  albums,  or  quotetions  for  your  love-letters.  Be- 
cause I  write  a  novel,  am  I  to  be  herded  with  your  Rosa  Matildas  ?  Be- 
cause I  please  to  write,  must  I  write  to  please  ?  When  you  like  me,  it 
will  be  high  time  for  my  pen  to  stop.  It  is  to  tell  you  tilings  you  like 
not,  but  wholesome  for  these  times,  that  I  use  it  at  all.  The  true  no- 
velist must  have  something  of  the  seer,  and  be  in  advance  of  the  ace. 
Like  the  romancers  of  Belgraria  and  Tybumia  as  &st  as  you  please,  like  me 
rilver-fork  school  ad  libitum;  but  I  pray  you  have  me  excused.  If  yon 
tiiink  me  anxious  to  secure  my  bad  book  a  place  in  your  good  books,  yon 
know  not  what  manner  of  spirit  I  am  of." 

In  many  respects  '<  Shirley"  is  a  more  **  likeable"  work  than  **  Jane 
Eyre,"  but  it  is  correspondingly  deficient  in  power  and  freshness.  The 
more  elaborate  is  the  least  effective,  and  kcks  tiie  are  eeiare  artem  which 
its  predecessor  possessed  in  so  genial  a  way.  *^  Jane  Eyre"  has  been 
compared  to  the  real  spar,  the  slow  deposit  which  the  heart  of  genius 
filters  from  life's  dailV  stream ;  ^  Shirley"  to  its  companion,  made  to 
order,  fiiir  to  look  on,  but  wanting  the  internal  ciystaL 

The  opening  of  ^  Jane  Eyre"  at  once  rivets  thought  and  feeling.  It 
will  not  let  us  go  until  we  bless  it  for  ito  truth — ^its  pathetic  trutii  to  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  of  childhood.  Chateaubriand  has  said,  that  children 
lose  their  features  of  resemblance  only  in  losing  their  innocence,  which 
is  the  same  everywhere.  This  is  true  enough  to  ensure  universal  sym- 
pathy with  details  so  instinct  with  fidelity  as  those  of  littie  Jane's  eariy 
trials  at  Gateshead  Hall.  The  tutelage  of  an  Aunt  Reed,  with  all  its 
hard  restrictions,  and  heartless  principles,  and  debasing  motives,  might 
well  grind  to  dust  and  ashes  the  quick  young  heart  that  leaps  up  when  a 
ndnl^w  spans  the  sky — might  well  maxe  it  a  curse,  and  not  a  lx)on,  that 
the  child  is  father  of  the  man — ^might  well  make  it  impossible-  tiiat  days 
begun  in  total  eclipse  of  gracious  sunshine  and  its  genial  warmti^  should 
be  bound  each  to  each  by  natural  piety.  A  blighted  childhood,  an  ante- 
dated manhood,  is  one  of  the  saddest  rights  under  heaven.  Full  soon, 
ereature  of  spring-tide  and  promise,  shall  the  summer  heat  smite  tiiee  by 
day,  and  the  autumn  moon  chill  thee  by  night : 


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JPgnufk  NopeliMUr-'No.  IIL  297 

Full  8000  thy  soul  slmll  luive  her  earthly  freight, 
And  custom  lie  upon  thee  with  a  weight 
Heavy  as  frost,  and  deep  almost  as  life ! 

Such  experience  to  forestal  is  a  dreary  doom,  whose  blackness  of  dark- 
ness can  be  pierced  only  by  the  £Buth  that  looks  through  death,  in  yean 
ibat  bring  the  philoeophic  mind.  Aunt  Reeds  flourish  and  multiply  ex- 
ceedingly in  ihag  w(Mrk-a-day  world ;  but  what  have  they  in  common  with 
the  poetry  and  sanctity  of  life's  matin-hours  ?  They  can  gaxe  on  m 
■Keeping  child  as  Peter  bell  gazed  on  a  yellow  cowslip ;  nor  to  them  wiH 
it  ever  occur,  that  even  now  within  that  baby-brow  are  lighted  tmtha  that 
wake  to  perish  never ;  or  that,  as  Wilson  sweetly  sings. 

Things  we  dream,  but  cannot  speak. 
Like  clouds  come  floating  o'er  its  cheek, 
Such  summer-clouds  as  travel  light 
When  the  soul's  heaven  lies  calm  and  bright. 

It  has  been  said  of  Man  in  general,  that  he  is  greater  than  he  thinks. 
Of  children  we  may  add,  they  are  g^reater  than  they  are  thought.  The 
germ  of  the  good,  the  beautiful,  and  the  true,  is  swelling  within  thoee 
tiny  boeoms ;  the  light  is  shining,  though  through  a  glass  darkly,  and 
though  17  9Korta  avro  6v  icmrtKaffw,  A  contemporary  autobiocraphov 
whose  days  are  in  the  sere  and  yellow  leaf,  records  how  vividly  there 
still  fingers  in  his  ears,  firom  the  time  of  infancy,  the  opening  of  Mrs. 
Barbauld's  prose  hymn — where  some  solitary  in&nt  is  enticed  into  some 
solitary  garden,  with  the  words,  '<  Come,  and  I  will  show  you  what  is 
beautinil.**  Tbos  trifle,  this  shred  of  a  fragment — ^for  it  is  all  he  remem- 
bers— still  echoes,  he  declares,  with  luxurious  sweetness  in  his  ears,  from 
some  unaccountable  hide-and-seek  of  fugitive  childish  memories.  Great 
is  the  mystery  of  childhood  ;  and  correspondingly  mournful  is  its  viola- 
tioii  by  coarse  hands— the  cuttmg  of  its  Gordian  knot  by  impatient  world- 
finess.  These  thoughts  are  aroused,  and  kindred  ones  suggested,  by  the 
moving  passages — so  many  daguerreotypic  miniatures— of  "  Jane  EyreV 
earliest  years.  Something  abnormal  and  isolated  there  may  be  in  her 
temperament,  but  the  portrait  is,  after  all,  made  up  of  touches  of  nature 
that  make  us  all  akin.  Mark  how  the  child's  poetry  will  expadate 
somewhere,  trttf  soar  somewhither,  wUl  develop  itself  somehow,  mil 
glorify  and  idealise  something :  checked  and  stunted  as  it  is — cabined, 
cribbed,  confined,  by  household  tyranny  and  killing  coldness — still  it  must 
fasten  upon  some  object,  and  that  ob|ect  (in  de&ult  of  a  better)  is  the 
coarse  and  petulant  Bessie,  the  house-drudge,  who  is  so  often  pushing 
Jane  about,  and  scolding  her  without  cause,  and  whose  temper  is  as  hasty 
and  capricious  as  her  notions  of  principle  and  justice  are  lax  ;  but  some- 
times Bessie  is  gentle,  and  speaks  sofUy  (an  excellent  thing  in  woman)  to 
the  ill-favoured  ornhan,  and  ihen,  ''  when  thus  gentle,  Bessie  seemed  to 
me,"  she  says,  ''the  best,  prettiest,  kindest  being  in  the  world.** 

Or  again,  take  Jane's  comfort  in  her  dolL  Justly  it  has  been  aveired 
that  a  great  psjjrchologic  truth  is  contained  m  that  simple  sentence,  ^  I 
was  happy,  bihevin^  it  to  be  happy  likewise.''  Here,  m  the  inanimate 
toy,  the  child*s  poetical  instinct  found  scope  for  exercise,  and  her  spiritual 
nature  sustenance  and  solacement.  That  o'erfraught  heart  must,  if  it 
would  not  break,  whisper  its  secrets  to  a  cross  nursery-maid,  and  wind  its 
tendrils  around  a  bruised  and  battered  dolL  Nobly  has  chUdhood  been 
apostrophised  as— 


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298  Feniak  Novelists— No.  IlL 

Thou  vindication 
or  God  ;  thou  living  witness  against  all  men 
Who  have  been  babes;  thou  everlasting  promise 
Which  no  man  keeps.* 

And  much  have  the  Aunt  Heeds  of  society  to  answer  for  in  defeating  this 
"  everlasting  promise,"  in  playing  the  iconoclast  with  these  yet  unbroken 
household  gods.  Few  are  the  Jane  Eyres  whose  spirit  survives  the 
hlight  and  malaria — whoso  constitution  is  at  once  sensitive  and  robust 
enough  to  outlive  the  dwarfing  processes  of  such  a  home.  Her  lot,  how- 
ever, it  is,  to  be  cradled  into  right  by  wrongs,  to  have  her  strength  made 
perfect  in  weakness,  and  herself  made  perfect  through  sufferings.  The 
tracing  out  of  this  destiny,  the  illustrating  it  by  manifold  touches  of 
spirit  and  life,  the  developing  its  subjective  influences  on  an  idiosyncrasy 
of  memorable  mould — how  effectively  Currer  Bell  has  done  all  this ! 
And  yet  it  is  commonly  felt  that  there  is  a  something  repulsive,  or  un- 
lovely, or  at  least  unfeminine,  in  Jane's  character ;  certainly,  she  is  not  the 
sort  of  girl  with  whom  you  could  abandon  yourself  to  me  smallest  of 
small-taJk  at  a  Christmas  party,  or  who  would  simper  appreciation  of 
your  threadbare  jokes  on  Bloomerism,  or  consider  you  a  conquest  if  you 
admired  her  achievements  in  crochet  and  Berlin-wool.  Jane  has  a 
decided  development  of  the  strong-minded  female  about  her.  But  these 
objections,  from  their  very  truthfulness,  enhance  the  natural  effect  of  the 
characterr— they  guarantee  its  fidelity  to  life  as  it  is — they  vouch  for  the 
reality  of  the  ideal.  She  is  not  the  being  whom,  at  a  glance,  all  hearts 
worship ;  she  is  no  universal  enchantress,  to  be  raved  about  by  all  estates 
and  degrees  of  men  among  us — the  idol  of  Oxford  gownsmen  and  Man* 
Chester  cotton-spinners,  of  army  and  navy  clubmen  and  commercial  tra- 
vellers, of  respectables  who  own  a  yacht,  and  respectables  who  keep  a 
fig,  of  gentlemen  and  gents.  Nine-tenths  of  them  would  probably  find 
er  only  not  disagreeable  (and  here  a  miss  is  not  as  good  as  a  mile)  in  a 
tete-a-tete.  All  strong-minded  females,  it  may  be  asserted,  must  be  dis- 
agreeable. Jane,  however,  is  redeemed  from  the  disrepute  attached  to 
the  class,  technically  speaking,  by  her  freedom  from  the  affectations  and 
selfishness  it  conventionally  involves.  She  is  true  to  nature,  to  herself, 
to  duty  ;  and  if  circumstances  have  made  her  somewhat  abrupt,  deter- 
minedi,  and  forbidding — so  that  bland  and  bespectacled  young  men,  and 
dove-eyed  maidens  of  lisping  propensities,  agree  they  could  never  (no, 
never !  )  love  her — still,  these  things  pertain  to  the  surfiEuse ;  they  trouble 
not  the  strong  under-current  of  character  ;  they  little  affect  that  withia 
which  passeth  show,  that  deep  devotedness,  that  impulse  chastened  by 
self-discipline,  that  sensitive  hankering  to  duty, 

Stem  daughter  of  the  voice  of  God  ; 

who,  in  all  her  sternness,  yet  wears 

The  Godhead^s  most  benignant  grace, 
Nor  know  we  anything  so  fair 
As  is  the  smile  upon  her  face — 

qualities  these,  in  Jane's  character,  which  have  an  irresistible  power  of 
attraction,  because  of  their  entire  genuineness.     She  is  strong-minded  ; 

*  Sydney  Tendji. 


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Female  NovelisU—No.  III.  299 

but  she  is  not  coarse-minded  and  cold-hearted.  A  woman  with  a  mis- 
sion, you  may  call  her ;  but  she  acts  out  the  mission,  not  preaches  it. 
A  woman  with  a  purpose ;  but  to  fulfil  that  purpose,  she  communes  with 
her  heart  in  her  chamber  and  is  still — she  strives  and  cries,  but  is  not 
heard  in  the  streets — she  is  in  earnest,  but  makes  no  exhibition  of  her 
earnestness  in  newspapers  and  mechanics'  institutes.  Not  unwounded, 
not  unscathed  is  she  in  that  weary  strife  of  frail  humanity  from  which 
she  comes  out  more  than  conqueror ;  self-respecting  she  is,  but  not  self- 
absorbed  ;  her  life  is  the  realising  of  the  prayer, 

Give  unto  me,  made  lowly  wise, 
The  spirit  of  self-sacrifice  ; 
The  confidence  of  reason  give! 

In  this  respect  the  tone  of  the  book  is  more  healthy  and  satisfactory  than 
that  of  '*  Shirley,"  which  has  been  rebuked  as  a  pleading  for  passion — a 
denial  of  the  power  of  duty  and  self-sacrifice  to  bless  the  human  agent 
with  a  hopeful  or  serene  spirit. 

Readers,  of  Currer  Bell  s  own  sex,  are  said  to  admire  the  character  of 
Mr.  Rochester  as  wholly  superior  to  that  of  Jane  herself.  This  Mr. 
Rochester  is  one  of  the  few  heroes  of  contemporary  romance  whom  we 
do  not  forget  at  the  close  of  the  third  volume.  His  presence  is  not  to  be 
put  by.  Middle-aged,  crippled,  blind,  morose,  a  poor  and  battered  bank- 
rupt---what  a  venture  to  make  in  a  virgin  novel !  What  a  fiuttering  the 
descent  of  this  grim,  lawless  eagle  would  have  made  among  the  dove-cots 
of  the  Minerva  Press  !  How  contrary  to  the  aesthetics  of  novel-craft,  to 
the  etiquette  of  post-octavo  and  thirty-one-and-sixpence,  to  the  antece- 
dents and  glorious  constitution  of  fiction  as  by  common  law  established, 
is  this  frowning,  moody,  impetuous  master  of  Thomfield  Hall !  What 
could  Rosa  Matilda  do  with  such  a  creature — unless  to  scream  for  the 
police,  or  destroy  her  manuscript  ?  Whereas  Currer  Bell  makes  sweet- 
ness to  come  out  from  the  strong,  honey  from  the  lion's  carcase.  Out  of 
materials  so  cross-grained,  so  unshapely,  to  construct  a  "  love  of  a  man," 
hie  labor  hoc  opus/uit.  And  verily,  numbers  of  maidenly  hearts  have 
been  strangely  captivated  by  Mr.  Rochester — awed  by  a  certain  mystic 
influence,  susceptibility  to  which  they  have  caught  from  the  poor  gover- 
ness— ^fascinated  by  that  steadfast,  searching  eye,  and  that  tersely  elo- 
quent tongue,  which  look  and  speak  things  unutterable  by  the  stereo- 
typed handsome  and  unexceptionable  heroes  of  ordinary  fiction.  The 
difference  is  felt  to  be  that  between  eau  sucree  and  eau  de  vie — and  the 
stimulant  comes  with  infinite  relief  to  the  jaded  and  ennuyed.  A 
Byronic  corsair,  with  his  one  virtue  linked  to  a  thousand  crimes,  makes  a 
sensation,  and  becomes  the  lion  of  the  coteries  ;  and  so  does  Mr.  Ro- 
chester. If  Desdemona  believes  her  black  man  to  be  '*  beautiful  exceed- 
ii^gly,"  what  marvel  that  a  gruff,  time-soured,  heart-seared  English 
squu«»  should  be  h  la  mode  ?  Hero-worship  is,  in  women  at  least,  inde- 
structible •.  show  them  a  superior  nature,  with  a  beard,  and  incontinently 
they  are  on  their  knees— none  so  proud  not  to  do  him  reverence.  Currer 
Beu  satirises  male  novelists  as  being  often,  the  cleverest  and  acutest  of 
them,  under  an  illusion  about  women :  they  do  not  read  them,  she  holds, 
in  a  true  light;  they  misapprehend  them,  both  for  good  and  evil :  their 
good  woman  is  a  queer  thing,  half  doll,  and  half  angel ;  their  bad  wo- 
man almost  always  a  fiend.     Women — she  affirms  by  the  mouth  of 

Jufy — VOL.  XCV.  NO.  CCCLXXIX.  X 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


'300  Femak  NimOkia^NQ.  m. 

I^irlej  Ke^dar — ^women  Tead  men  more  truly  i^n  men  fead  wen 
Now,  it  has  been  Tery  reasonably  alleged,  by  a  critic,  too,  of  eoooeed  _ 
wportb  in  the  lady's  declared  opinion,  that  she,  Currer  Bell,  thinks  of  the 
abstraction,  man,  with  all  the  blissful  ignorance  of  a  boy's  dreams  of 
woman :  to  her,  he  is  a  thing  to  be  studied  present,  and  mused  npoa 
absent :  he  comes,  •  and  she  owns  her  master ;  departs,  and  leaves  the  ak 
full  of  vision.  It  was  this  rery  circumstance — this  idealbing  of  the  k»d 
of  creation — that  determined  some  of  her  male  reviewers  that  Currer  B^ 
was  not  of  their  own  sex.  Mr.  Rochester  could  not  have  sat  for  his  por- 
trait to  any  but  a  female  artist.  '*  Only  a  woman's  eye  could  see  man 
as  Currer  ]3ell  sees  him.  The  landscape  is  too  near  to  ««  to  glow  with 
purple  light.  We  cannot  make  a  religion  of  man,  for  to  us  he  has  no 
mysteries."  Jane  Eyre's  state  of  feeling  when  she  fint  sees  Mr.  Rochea- 
ter,  as  she  rests  by  the  wayside  in  the  gloaming,  and  overhears  the 
tramp,  tramp,  of  lus  steed  along  the  winding  lane — when,  in  utter  un- 
consciousness of  who  is  approaching,  she  invests  the  unseen  presence  with 
a  halo  of  the  supernatural — is  signiBcant  of  her  entire  habit  of  thought 
towards  this  '^  illustrious  stranger."  As  the  horse  approached,  and  as  she 
watched  for  it  to  appear  through  the  dusk,  she  remembered  certain  of 
Bessie's  tales,  wherein  figured  a  North-of-England  spirit,  called  a  '^  Gy- 
trash ;"  and  the  traveller's  dog,  as  it  glided  by  her,  gave  "  form  and 
pressure"  to  the  tradition ;  nor  is  the  illusion  so  utterly  dispersed  as  Jane 
supposes,  when  the  rider  makes  a  clattering  tumble — from  the  sublime  to 
the  ridiculous — ^and  exclaims,  in  tratuiiUy  '*  What  the  deuce  is  to  do 
now?" 

The  pre-Raphaelite  brotherhood  love  to  select  prize  specimens  of  ugli- 
ness, to  represent  Saint  This  or  That  In  something  of  the  same  <apiiit 
Currer  Bell  fixes  on  a  Mr.  Rochester — though  he  is  not  quite  so  far  gone 
as  some  of  the  ssunts.  Jane  Eyre  protests  that  she  could  not  have  stood 
by  the  unhorsed  rider  that  night,  and  helped  him  to  his  feet,  had  he 
been  a  *^  handsome,  heroic-looking  young  gentleman."  '^  I  had,"  she 
continues,  **  a  theoretical  reverence  and  homage  for  beauty,  elegaaee^ 
gallantry,  fascination ;  but  had  I  met  those  qualities  incarnate  in  masca- 
line  shape,  I  should  have  known,  instinctively,  that  they  neither  had  nor 
could  have  sympathy  with  anything  in  me,  and  should  have  shunned 
them  as  one  would  fire,  lightning,  or  anything  else  that  is  bright  bat 
antipathetic."  We  are  to  accept  the  hero  as  abnormal ;  that  constitutes 
mucli  of  the  spell ;  and  regarding  him  accordingly  from  the  autobiogia- 
pher's  Standpunei,  we  must  all  own  that  there  is  a  spell  about  him — «i 
attraction,  or  at  least  a  power,  which  canonical  heroes  of  Apollo  propoop- 
tbns  and  twenty -one  summers,  the  walking  gentlemen  of  everyday 
fiction,  are  entirely  devoid  of. 

Of  the  minor  characters,  several  are  hit  off  with  considerable  effeot: 
Annt  Reed,  for  instance,  and  her  two  daughters;  Helen  .Bum^  the 
"early  called,"  whose  story,*  appairently  from  real  life^  forms  a  touching 

*  Hie  attachment  formed  between  her  and  Jane  is  deacribed  with  singular  and 
unaffiscted  interest — and  in  its  refteshiug  reality  it  reminds  us  of  Jean  Paul's 
remark  {Die  vnsichUxxre  Loae,  §  10),  ^  Wie  heitem  im  steinigten  Arabicn  der 
hassenden  Welt  Kinder  wieder  auf,  die  einander  lieben  und  deren  gate  kldne 
Augen  xmd  Ueine  Lippen  imd  kleiae  flande  noch  kehie  Masken  sindr  This 
must  bare  been  specially  note-4vwtl^at  Lowood,  under  Mr.  Bioeklehniit. 


Digitized  by  LjOO^ IC 


Fmak  knO^i^l^.  lU.  MH 

\ ;  and  Mr.  Brockkhmst,  the  Lo wood  pieDipotentiaxy,  tke  teu^pond 
nd  'Spnitaal  despot  of  deHeBceleBS  orphanhood,  whom  we  are  as  reluetailt 
to  helieve,  as  many  are  eonfident  in  asserting,  to  be  an  actual  personage, 
veiled  with  a  peeudooym^  in  deference  either  to  charity  or  the  law  of  li^. 
The  other  clergyman,  St.  John  RiTeia,  is  in  no  sense  one  of  our  fanoy 
portraits;  respect  him  we  must,  but  we  ooidd  hardly  ''sit  under*'  him  with- 
'oat  A  sense  of  suffocation,  or  meet  him  in  his  parish  rounds  without 
^thinking  of  the  austere  man,  who  reaps  where  he  has  not  sowed,  and 
gathers  where  he  has  not  strawed.  His  sisters  make  amends ;  they  have 
not  only  la  lumtere^  but  la  chaleur  of  sunshine — of  which  no  ray  can  he 
spared  in  that  dreary  moorland  home. 

As  a  tale  of  woman's  endurance,  illustrating  the  triumph  of  righteous 
will  and  penetrating  intellect  over  passion  and  the  sophistries  of  passion, 
the  merit  of  "  Jane  Eyre"  is  pre-eminent.  The  book  is  spirit  and  it  is 
life.  It  demands  spirit  and  life  in  the  reader;  its  power  almost  creates 
them  in  the  prosiest  of  readers — in  a  dry-as-dust  anatomy  of  a  man, 
beneath  the  literal  and  fleshless  ribs  of  death.  Deep  calleth  unto  deep ; 
heart  unto  heart  thrills  its  electric  message.  You  feel  yourself  en  rap- 
'jior/ with  amind  that  has  somewhat  to  disclose,  and  will  disclose  it  in 
earnest,  sincere,  direct  language.  And  for  once  the  critics,  too,  might  be 
earnest  and  sincere,  when  they  proclaimed  "  Jane  Eyre*'  the  most  extra- 
ordinary production  that  had  issued  from  the  press  for  years — when  they 
set  up  their  stereotyped  formula,  prophesying  its  destmy  as  t/ie  book  of 
the  season — and  when  they  defined  it  as  a  work  to  make  the  pulses 
gallop,  and  the  heart  beat,  and  the  eyes  fill  with  tears. 

Great  was  the  expectation  of  the  public  from  Currer  Bell.  The  ap- 
pearance of  "  Shirley"  was  an  event.  Sir  Walter  Scott* — a  well- 
qualified  observer — has  remarked  how  often  it  happens,  that  a  writer's 
previous  reputation  proves  the  g^atest  enemy  which  has  to  be  encountered 
in  a  second  attempt  upon  popular  favour :  exaggerated  expectations  are 
excited  and  circulated,  and  criticism,  which  had  been  seduced  into  former 
approbation  by  the  pleasure  of  surprise,  now  stands  awakened  and  alert 
to  pounce  upon  every  failing.  The  full-blown  rose  of  literary  triumph 
has  thus  its  attendant  thorn — sometimes  its  canker-worm  too.  Compa- 
ratively, '<  Shirley"  was  not  a  great  success;  positively,  it  was  a  book  of 
distinguished  vigour,  origixudity,  and  eloquence. 

Ir  is  rich  in  portraiture.  Some  of  the  figures  seem  to  stand  out  from 
their  frames,  instinct  with  life  and  motion,  like  the  elder  Vernon,  in  '^  Bob 
Roy."  Shirley  Keeldar  herself,  her  soul  bent  on  admiring  the  great, 
reverencing  the  good,  being  joyous  with  the  genial ;  her  countenance, 
when  quiescent,  wearing  a  mixture  of  wistfulness  and  carelessness — ^when 
animated,  blending  the  wistfulness  with  a  genial  gaiety,  seasoning  the 
mirth  with  an  unique  flavour  of  sentiment ;  ever  ready  to  satirise  her 
own  or  any  other  person's  enthusiasm;  indolent  in  many  things,  reckless, 
and  unconscious  that  her  dreams  are  rare,  her  feelings  peculiar — one  who 
knows  not,  nor  ever  will  know,  the  full  value  of  that  spring  whose  bright, 
fresh  bubbling  in  her  heart  ke^  it  green.  *<  However  kindly  the 
hand,"  says  the  arbiter  of  her  heart  and  fate,  *^  if  it  is  feeble,  it  cannot 
bend  Shirley;   and   she  must  be  bent:   it  cannot  curb  her,    and  she 

•  Memoir  of  Mrs.  Badcliffe. 


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302  Female  NoveU$l8—No.  III. 

must  be  curbed."*  Is  she  au  Amazon,  then  ?  No ;  she  is  a  stmngto 
being — so  fair  and  girlish:  not  a  manlike  woman  at  all  (so  her  cousin 
Henry  describes  her)— not  an  Amazon,  and  yet  lifting  her  head  above 
both  help  and  sympathy.  And  yet  she  is  neither  so  strong,  nor  has  she 
such  pride  in  her  strength,  as  people  tliink ;  nor  is  she  so  regardless  of 
sympathy ;  but  %vhen  she  has  any  grief  (this  is  her  confession,  meant  for 
one  ear  alone),  she  fears  to  impatt  it  to  those  she  loves,  lest  it  should 
pain  them ;  and  to  those  whom  she  views  with  indifference,  she  cannot 
condescend  to  complain.  Independence  of  all  but  one  is  a  condition  to 
her  very  existence.     She  seems  to  say, 

111  walk  where  my  own  nature  would  be  leading — 

It  vexes  mo  to  choose  another  guide — 
Where  the  grey  flocks  in  ferny  glens  are  feeding. 

Where  the  wild  wind  blows  on  ihe  mountain's  side.f 

It  needs  a  sort  of  tempest- shock  to  bring  her  to  the  point  with  **  her 
master,"  Louis  Moore  :  fettered  she  is,  at  last,  to  a  fixed  day — conquered 
by  love,  and  boimd  with  a  vow ;  but  when  thus  vanquished  and  restricted, 
she  pines  like  any  other  chained  denizen  of  deserts.  The  substratum  of 
character  in  Caroline  Helstone  is  similar,  notwithstanding  circumstantial 
diversity.  Quiet  as  the  gentle  Gary  looks,  there  is,  as  Shirley  sees  and  says, 
a  force  and  a  depth  somewhere  within,  not  easily  reached  or  appreciated ; 
and  for  the  novelist  it  is  to  sound  this  depth,  to  g^uge  this  vital  force. 
Gary  is  so  "  delicate,  dexterous,  quaint,  quick,  quiet" — Raffaelle  in  fea- 
tures, quite  English  in  expression — all  insular  grace  and  purity.  She  is, 
in  Louis  Moore's  figure,  a  lily  of  the  valley,  untinted,  needing  no  tint; 
while  Shirley  is  a  rose,  a  sweet  lively  delight,  guarded  with  prickly  peril. 
But  the  contrast  of  this  comparison  is  a  little  too  broad  ;  still  more  so  in 
that  between  the  mute  monotonous  innocence  of  the  lamb  or  the  nestling 
dove,  and  the  fluttering  and  untamed  energies  of  the  restless  merlin. 
There  are  many  passages  in  Garoline*s  speech  which  are  parallel  to 
Shirley's  most  characteristic  outbreaks  :  the  difference  is  one  in  degree, 
not  kind.  So,  too,  with  the  brothers  Moore.  They  are  but  a  variation 
played  on  the  same  therre — one  on  a  minor  key.  Neither  of  them  is 
such  a  man  as  a  man  of  genius  would  have  drawn ;  but  this  no  way  ne- 
gatives the  claim  of  a  woman  of  genius.  None  but  a  woman  would,  and 
none  but  a  woman  of  genius  could,  have  elaborated  two  such  portraits. 
We  do  not  believe  in  them  ;  but  we  do  believe  in  Gurrer  Bell's  faith  in 
them,  and  in  the  reality  of  their  features,  as  discerned  by  womanly 
vision.  We  see  them,  not  as  they  are,  but  through  the  mystic  and 
transflgurating  medium  of  a  dim  religious  light,  idealised  by  tne  conse- 
cration and  the  poet's  dream.  These  be  thy  gods,  O  woman ! — gods  of 
the  mountain,  and  not  of  the  plain — like  stars,  dwelling  apart,  dwelling 
afar  off — indifferent  to  the  strife  of  tongues^  untainted  by  the  madness  of 
the  people. 

The  other  male  characters,  with  one  or  two  exceptions,  are  disagree- 
able ;  each  forms,  more  or  less,  a  nucleus  for  Gurrer  Bell's  powers  of 

*  Similarly  aha  speaks  of  herself,  when  njecting  the  tuit  of  Sir  Philip  Nun- 
nely:— "He  is  very  amiable— vexy  excellent— truly  estimable,  but  not  wy  master. 
...  I  could  not  trust  myself  with  his  happiness:  I  will  accept  no  hand  which 
cannot  hold  me  in  check.*' 

t  Ellis  BelL 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Femuhs  NoveUsU—No.  IIL  303 

ConsideiaUe  pains  the  limner  has  evidently  bestowed  on  Hiram 
Yorke,  who  doubtless  had  his  prototype  in  substantiid  Yorkshire  flesh  and 
blood — ^a  man  difficult  to  lead,  and  impossible  to  drive — ^rude  yet  real 
originality  marked  in  every  lineament,  and  latent  in  every  furrow  of  his 
nnaristocratic  visage.  The  analysis  of  his  mental  and  moral  frame  is 
masterly ;  but»  although  he  is  the  very  last  man  whom  one  expects  to  see 
icduSj  iereSf  atque  rotundus^  there  is  a  something  too  little^  or  too  much,  in 
the  subsequent  presentment  of  him :  he  seems  to  have  occasioned  doubt 
what  to  do  with  him,  how  to  make  so  angular  a  personage  dovetail  with 
the  story.  His  family  circle  is  also,  we  suppose,  taken  from  life,  and  a 
crotchety  crew  are  they.  The  pages  devoted  to  them  and  their  eccentric 
ways  are,  to  our  taste,  the  least  pleasing  part  of  the  work.  Mr.  Helstone 
is  capitally  done :  a  conscientious,  hard-neaded,  hard-handed,  brave,  stem, 
implacable,  faithful  little  man — unsympathising,  ungentle,  prejudiced,  and 
rigid — ^but  true  to  principle,  honourable,  sagacious,  sincere.  A  clerical 
Cossack,  who  ought  to  have  donned  a  red  coat,  and  not  a  black  one.  We 
have  all  of  us  seen  the  man  in  actual  life,  with  his  upright  port,  his  broad 
shoulders,  his  hawk's  head,  beak,  and  eye  ;  we  have  all  heard  the  direct, 
outspoken,  mipoetical  sentences  of  the  man,  uttered  in  that  unmodulated, 
rasping  voice.  His  bewilderment  when  woman's  heart  is  on  the  tapis^  is 
felicitously  rendered ;  when  women  are  sensible,  intelligible,  he  can  get  on 
with  them,  but  their  vague,  superfine  sensations  put  him  sadly  about.  As 
he  says  in  his  invalid  niece's  chamber,  when  she  pleases  him  by  asking  for 
a  little  bit  of  supper,  "  Let  a  woman  ask  me  to  give  her  an  edible  or  a 
wearable,  be  the  same  a  roc's  egg  or  the  breastplate  of  Aaron,  a  share  of 
St.  John's  locusts  and  honey  or  the  leathern  girdle  about  his  loins,  I  can, 
at  least,  understand  the  demand ;  but  when  they  pine  for  they  know  not 
what — sympathy,  sentiment,  some  of  these  indefinite  abstractions — I  can't 
do  it ;  1  don't  know  it ;  I  haven't  got  it."  Agreeable  in  company,  he  is 
stem  and  silent  at  home.  As  he  puts  away  his  cane  and  shovel-hat  in 
the  rectory-hall,  so  he  locks  his  liveliness  in  his  bookcase  and  study-desk ; 
the  knitted  brow  and  brief  word  for  the  fireside ;  the  smile,  the  jest,  the 
witty  sally  for  society.  Nothing  can  be  more  true  to  life  than  this  highly - 
finished  portrait.  The  three  curates,  again,  are  racily  hit  off,  with  a  dash 
of  burlesque,  but  no  special  transgression  of  probability.  The  Irishman, 
Peter  Malone,  athletic,  noisy,  pugnacious — a  cross  of  bear  and  baboon ; 
the  cockney,  Donne,  propping  up  his  rickety  dignity  with  a  stilted  self- 
complacency  and  half-sullen  phlegm — an  arrogant,  insipid  slip  of  the 
common-place ;  and  little  Sweeting,  the  ladies'  man,  who  has  the  repute, 
with  certain  fair  parishioners  (not  of  the  Shirley  sort),  of  playing  the 
flute  and  singing  hymns  like  a  seraph,  and  who  is  so  handy  and  agree- 
able in  a  case  of  teaand  turn  out.  Of  the  subordinate  female  characters, 
Hortense  Moore,  in  her  striped  cotton  camisole  and  curl  papers,  is  cleverly 
sketched ;  and  there  are  genial  touches  about  Miss  Ainley,  which  attract 
charitable  regards  towards  that  mild,  meek  spinster,  that  worshipper  of 
the  clergy,  who,  in  her  pure,  sincere  enthusiasm,  looks  upon  the  very 
curates  (Malone  and  Co.)  as  sucking  saints ;  albeit  they,  in  their  trivial 
arrogance,  are  unworthy  to  tie  the  good  soul's  patten- strings,  or  carry  her 
cotton  umbrella  or  her  check  woollen  shawl.  Joe  Scott  and  William 
Farren  deserve  a  good  word ;  and  one  reverend  gentleman  there  is  whom 
it  is  possible  to  revere,  in  the  person  of  Cyril  Hall. 


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304  Female  NowH9ii^N&,  lUl 

However  fknity  die  story  of  '^  Shirley"  may  be  8S  a  whole,  it  alwwindg* 
with  QamtiTe  fragments  of  unquestionaUe  power.  Sueh  are,  for  imtanee, 
the  chapters  recording  the  arrival  of  the  riflkl  waggooi  at  Gerard  Moone^a^ 
mill,  and  his  subsequent  interview  with  the  deputation ;  Caroline  and  her 
uncle's  first  visit  toFieldhead;  the  midnight  attadc  on  the  mill;  Canrfiner 
in  the  "  Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death  ;**  Shiriey's  interview  with  Lonw 
Moore,  when  she  anticipates  the  strange  and  speedy  horrors  of  hydros 
phobia;  and  the  Sclaireissement  between  puffy,  fiusy,  foming  Under 
Sympson  and  his  indomitable  niece.  Currer  Bell's  Iramour  nuikes  for 
itself "  ample  room  and  verge  enough,"  in  its  dry,  hard  way,  in  such 
scenes  as  Mr.  Donne's  encounter  with  dog  Tartar,  that  gentleman's 
**  Exodus,"  Malone's  courtship,  Martin's  tactics,  &c.  The  long,  ezcurnve 
diatribes  concerning  woman's  mission  and  destiny,  are  strained  and  some- 
what Margaret  Fuller^ish  in  tone;  nor  are  they  any  too  healthy  in* 
doctrine,  implying,  as  one  reviewer  has  said  they  do,  a  denial  of  the  power 
of  duty  and  self-sacrifice  to  bless  the  human  agent  with  a  serene  or  nope-- 
ful  spirit,  and  virtually  constituting  a  pleading  for  passion,  rather  than  an 
enforcement  of  that  practical  faith  which,  knowing  life  to  be  a  conflict, 
accepts  the  conditions  of  struggle  as  a  necessity  not  to  be  evaded,  bat 
to  be  lovingly,  firmly,  cheerfully  borne.  Happily  for  the  repute  of 
<'  Shiriey,"  such  a  doctrinal  tendency  is  latent  or  unobvious  to  the  many, 
patent  only  to  the  meditative  few.  But  so  far  as  the  strictures  are  valid, 
they  are  fatal  to  Currer  Bell's  claims  as  a  sound  and  earnest  moral 
teacher.  The  heroine  who  cannot  submit,  nor  try  to  reeoncile  herself  to  a 
cross  imposed  upon  her,  but  wOl  rather  pine  in  g^reen  and  yellow  melan^ 
choly,  and,  with  an  aspect  certainly  not  smiling  at  g^ef,  will  rather  oast* 
herself  from  the  monument  than  sit  like  Patience  upon  it,  is  no  heroine  at 
all.  The  novel  that  can  make  its  favourites  happy  only  by  letting  them 
have  their  own  way  ad  libitum,  is  perchance  a  little  rickety  in  truth  and 
morab— objectionable  both  as  a  picture  of  life  and  as  a  guide  in  ethics. 
For,  between  our  notion  of  a  safe  code  of  ethics,  profitable  for  doctrine,  far 
correction,  for  instruction  in  righteousness,  and  any  Wertherean  exponent 
of  <^  aching  discontents  and  vague  amlntions,'*  there  is  a  great  gulf  fixied* 
But  enough — ^perhaps  something  too  much— of  this : 

Non  ragionam  di  lor,  ma  guardae  passa ! 

Apart  from  the  overstrained  expectations  which  were  disappointed  in. 
*'  Shiriey,"  as  following  in  the  wake  of  '^  Jane  Eyre,"  there  is  an  intrinsic 
inferiority  in  the  former,  much  of  it  arising,  we  conjecture,  from  the. 
author's  solicitude  to  redeem  the  pledge  already  given.  It  is  a  common 
case ;  and  an  almost  constant  *'  corollary"  is,  that  the  author  thinks  besfc 
of  the  second  venture,  on  account  of  the  extra  pains  it  involved.  Scott 
has  pointed  this  out  as  the  explanation  of  that  difference  of  opinion  which 
sometimes  occnrs  betwixt  autnor  and  reader,  respecting  the  con^iarative 
value  of  early  and  of  subsequent  publications.*     In  the  complaint  against 

*  '*The  author  naturally  esteems  that  moat  upon  which  he  is  eonsdoas  mndt 
mere  labour  has  been  bestowed;  while  the  public  often  remsia  ooBstant  to  tbeftr 
first  love,  and  prefer  the  faoUit^aad  truth  of  the  eariier  work  to  the  movaelaba« 
rate  execntioa  displsjed  in  those  which  follow  it"  The  reason  of  the  gxeslar 
"  &ciUty  and  truth**  whkh  characterise  the  first-born,  seems  to  be,  that  when  an 
author  brings  forth  his  first  representation  of  anj  class  of  characters,  he  seises  on 
the  leading  and  striking  outlines,  and  therefore^  in  a  second  attenqit  of  ths  ss»B  * 


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Female  ycveHgU^No.  III.  305 

"  Shirley/'  of  its  slow  and  dragging  narratiTe,  its  paucity  of  incidenty  its 
ezaberance  of  didactic  dialogue^  and  so  forth,  we  very  partially  concur ; 
knowing  at  the  outset^  that  if  we  expect  moving  accidents  by  flood  and 
fields  and  a  sterling  guinea  and  a  half's  worth  of  dashing  dramatics,  we  have 
come  to  the  wrong  "  store/'  We  come  to  Currer  Bell  not  for  narrative, 
but  for  delineation  of  character.  We  want,  not  her  plot,  but  her  reading 
of  the  heart  of  man — or  rather  of  woman.  Between  her  and  the  mere 
narrative  novelist  there  is  all  the  difference  which  exists  (to  use  an  illus- 
tration of  Dr.  Johnson's)  between  a  man  who  knows  how  a  watch  is  made, 
and  a  man  who  can  tell  the  hour  by  looking  at  the  dial-plate.  And  when 
dianwters  are  fuUy  developed,  the  narrative  necessarily  loiters.*  The 
Jbrte  of  Cniier  Bell  lies  in  deep  searohings  of  heart  She  heads  the 
sohool  which  devotes  its  fiction  to  this  anatomy  of  psychology.  The 
'^sirong-minded"  <' Jane  Eyre"  has  been  properly  pronounced  the  most 
notable  example  of  thb  school.  "  And  if  no  question  be  raised  of  the 
maraiej  and  if  an  undue  relianoe  on  self,  unamiable,  if  not  positively  irre- 
ligions,  in  such  a  d^pree,  can  be  excused,  if  allowance  be  made  for  a  worse 
than  unfeminine  coarsenessl  of  diction  and  even  of  sentiment, ''  Jane  Eyre" 
with  its  more  pleasing  though  less  clever  sister,  stands  at  the  head  of  this 
category,  for  their  searching  revelations  of  nature  and  deep  vein  of 
poetry."}  A  prejudice  is  apt  to  rise  against  the  chefoi  any  literair  see- 
tion,  from  the  tiresome  and  exhaostless  swarms  of  imitators  who  deluge 
the  market  with  their  Brummagem  ware,  and  cause  a  reaction  against 
the  entire  system.  Just  now  our  ears  are  dinned  with  peals  meant  to  ring 
with  the  true  Bell-metal ;  but  it  shall  not  make  us  careless  of  again  hear- 
ing the  silver,  dear,  church-tower  chimes,  whensoever  they  again  sum- 
mon us  to  devotion  on  ground  where  we  have  met  already  a  Jane  Eyre 
and  a  Caroline  Helstone,  and  where  we  hope  to  see  fresn  faces,  and  to 
read  new  names  in  its  book  of  life.  We  believe  not  what  some  allege^ 
that  these  chimes  have  rung  out  all  their  changes.  We  shall  yet  liMr 
tfacm,  we  trust,  on  a  new  theme,  and,  as  at  the  first,  discoursing  most 
eloquent  music.  Currer  Bell  is  wise  to  restrain  her  hand  for  a  season ; 
but  when  once  she  has  gathered  enough  from  "  fresh  woods  and  pastures 
new,"  let  her  empty  her  bosom  of  its  treasures,  and  confirm  her  part  in 
the  description — ^^  Out  of  the  abundanee  of  the  heart  the  month  speaketh." 

kind,  he  is  forced  to  make  some  distinction,  and  either  to  invest  his  personage 
with  less  obvious  and  ordinary  traits  of  character,  or  to  phice  him  in  a  new  and 
less  natural  light.    See  Scott's  <*  Life  of  Smollett.'* 

**  *'  Whenever  the  narrative  is  rapid,  which  so  much  delights  superficial  readers, 
thftcharactan  cannot  he  veiyminuteljfeatuied.''  Disraeli,  "*  Curiosities  of  Iiil»* 


t  Ellis  Bell,  in  "  Wuthering  Heights,"  seems  to  revel  in  a  gratuitous  use  of  black* 
guardism  in  phraseology;  Acton  Bell  affects  it  far  too  freely  in  "Agnes  Grey"  and' 
the  '*  Tenant  of  Wildfell  Hall  f  and  Currer  Bell  is  open  to  the  same  charge  in  a  miti* 
gafted  fonn.  It  is  a  oompttmeot,  however,  to  add,  that  when  slang  it  introduced 
im  **  Jane  £^e"  and  in  '*  Shirley,"  it  is  any  hut  the  slang,  a  man  wou&  have  indited. 
It  is  second-hand,  and  doesn't  teiL  But  we  would  fain  see  the  author's  deUu  as  a 
marslnal'readingto  her  hravura  in  this  style. 

t\Aror«lkAritii&ilcmw,  Angnst,  1861. 


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(    306    ) 
HESTER     SOMERSET. 

BV  NICHOLAS  MICH£LL. 

BOOK  m. 
Chapter  XXni. 

THE  FAREWELL  TO  THE  FLEET  PRISON — THE  LAST  VISIT  TO 
BETHLEHEM  HOSPITAL. 

Evil  as  Hartley  was,  and  though  he  had  followed  his  hrother,  during 
SO  many  years,  with  hitter,  relentless  persecution,  that  brother  mourned 
his  untmiely  end.  But  it  was  a  feeling  of  terror  and  awe,  rather  than  of 
sorrow,  which  oppressed  Hester  and  Julie,  when  they  heard  of  the  tragic 
occurrence. 

Ere  the  scene  described  in  our  last  chapter  took  place,  the  bill  of  ex- 
change held  by  Hartley  had  been  paid,  and  the  day  was  now  come  when 
the  prison  doors  were  to  be  opened  to  the  captive.  Tea  years  had 
Somerset  languished  within  those  walls,  but  freedom  had  arrived  at 
last.  The  morning  was  fair,  and  the  sun  shone  as  brightly  as  it  could 
shine  through  the  atmosphere  of  the  city,  when  he  took  leave  of  the 
turnkeys  of  the  Fleet.  He  grasped  old  Reuben's  hand  with  the  warmth 
and  affection  of  a  true  friend ;  and  Julie  kissed  his  rough  cheek  again 
and  again,  assuring  him  he  was  still  her  foster-father,  and  that  she 
would  often  come  and  see  him. 

Free  !  free !  \yith  what  a  buoyant  step  the  grey-headed  man  walked 
off  between  his  two  daughters!  The  houses "dooked  gayer,  the  people's 
faces  happier,  than  formerly — he  thought  it  was  to  welcome  him.  The 
heavens,  too,  seemed  to  smile  upon  them,  and  the  very  pavement  on 
which  they  trod  spread  to  their  fancy  fairer  and  smoother  than  it  had 
appeared  to  do  before.  Free  !  free !  The  sense  of  liberty,  the  assurance 
that  no  black  walls,  locks,  and  bars,  were  to  shut  him  out  any  longer 
from  the  breathing  world,  filled  his  heart  with  thankfulness  and  exuberant 
joy.  How  proud,  too,  was  he  of  those  children ! — Julie,  the  lost  one,  and 
Hester,  to  miose  energy,  perseverance,  and  unconquerable  spirit,  he  owed 
his  release.  Oh,  yes !  Mr.  Somerset  now  felt  the  true  magic  of  that 
word — liberty.     He  was  free !  he  was  free ! 

They  took  lodgings  in  a  pleasant  part  of  London.  The  old  man 
looked  around  his  room,  made  cheerful  and  comfortable  by  the  busy 
hands  of  his  daughters,  and  rendered  happy  by  their  happy  faces.  What 
was  wanting  to  complete  his  satisfaction  ?  The  presence  of  another-^ 
the  partner  of  his  life.  The  chair  she  should  have  filled  by  his  side  was 
vacant ;  and  yet  Isabella  lived. 

''  We  will  go,'*  said  Mr.  Somerset  to  his  dau^ters ;  ^^  it  is  right  Jidie 
should  see  her.  She  recognises  you,  Hester,  and  your  voice  has  always 
a  soothing  effect  upon  her.  Oh !  that  she  could  remember  me !  How 
would  it  rejoice  my  heart  if  only  she  would  call  me  by  my  name !  But, 
my  children,  we  will  go." 

The  porter  opened  the  gates  in  front  of  Bethlehem  Hospital.  He 
always  displayed  more  than  bis  accustomed  alacrity  when  be  admitted 
Hester,  for  he  had  begun  to  regard  her  almost  like  his  own  child. 


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HuUr  Samenet  307 

**  Good  day,  miss ;  glad  I  am  to  see  you  look  more  cheerful  than 
Qsnal." 

'^  I  have  reason  to  be  cheerful,  MartiD,"  answered  Hester,  unwiUing 
to  check  the  old  man*8  garmlitj ;  '*  my  father  will  not  return  to  the 
place  where,  you  know,  he  has  hieen  detained  so  long." 

*^ Is  it  then  so?  God  bless  you,  sir;  and  forgive  a  poor  man  like  me 
wishing  you  joy.  I  have  heard  the  story — 'tis  the  dear  child  that  has 
done  it — 'tis  her  noble  work.  You  have  an  angel  in  that  daughter,  your 
honour,  believe  me.  It  is  now  nine  years  and  upwards  since  I  beg^  to 
let  her  in  through  that  gate,  and  here  she  is  still,  never  a-weary  coming 
to  see  her  poor  mother.  I  had  a  daughter  once,  so  like  her — gentle, 
kind,  and  loving ;  but  she  is  gone,"  added  the  poor  man,  stooping  his 
head;  <* she's  in  a  better  place  now,  and  I  have  no  comfort  but  her 
memory  in  the  world.'* 

Mr.  Somerset  said  a  kind  and  soothing  word  to  the  childless  man,  and 
passed  on  with  hb  daughters  to  t^e  asylum. 

All  there  wore  much  the  same  aspect  as  when  we  visited  the  spot  with 
Hester  some  years  before.  Several  patients  had  left ;  new  ones  had  been 
admitted,  and  others  had  passed  with  their  distempered  brain  through  the 
portals  of  death.  The  ruined  merchant,  whom  we  described,  was  still 
there,  not  tired  yet  of  counting  his  ships,  and  piling  his  imaginary  heaps 
of  gold.  But  the  young  g^ri  who  had  been  forsaken  by  her  lover  had 
left  the  asylum  cured,  and  was  happy,  for  he  loved  her  now,  and  they 
were  married.  The  ambitious  author,  too,  writhing  in  madness  under 
the  neglect  of  the  world,  had  regained  the  brightness  of  his  soul.  He 
had  exchanged  his  cell  for  a  quiet  and  elegant  study.  The  world,  that 
had  been  deaf  so  long,  heaid  him  at  length  ;  fashion  had  whispered  his 
name,  and  the  works  in  which  no  one  yesterday  could  see  anything  good 
or  beautiful,  no  person  to-day  could  sufficienUy  praise. 

The  father  and  his  children  were  introduced  into  the  room  where  Mrs. 
Somerset  was  lodged.  They  trod  gently,  and,  without  speaking,  stationed 
themselves  at  a  short  distance  from  her.  She  was  still  habited  in  the 
dress  of  the  establishment,  but  the  long  grey  robe,  fitting  closely  to  her 
shape,  became  her  well.  Her  luxuriant  black  hair  had  remained  unshorn, 
and  amidst  it  still  the  poor  admirer  of  flowers  wore  her  fragile  rose. 

Insanity  had  not  emaciated  her  form,  or  rendered  her  features  haggard. 
Though  age  was  now  stealing  upon  her,  her  commanding  beauty  was  un- 
impaired'. Her  manner  was  tranquil,  subdued,  pensive,  and  her  whole 
appearance  was  that  of  a  nun — a  Sister  of  Charity — ^rather  than  of  a 
person  of  disordered  intellect.  She  was  engaged  in  embroidery -work, 
and  bending  over  it,  was  so  entirely  occupied  by  the  task,  that,  for  some 
minutes,  she  did  not  remark  the  presence  of  the  visitors. 

''  Here  are  some  friends,  ma'am,  to  see  you,"  said  the  nurse. 

With  instinctive  politeness  the  insane  woman  rose  from  her  chair ; 
Mr.  Somerset  advanced  cautiously  before  his  daughters,  and  took  his 
W^'s  hand  in  his. 

'*  Isabella!"  he  said,  venturing  only  to  pronounce  her  name. 

She  looked  at  him,  shrank  back,  and  shuddered. 

^*  Are  yon  come  once  more  to  persecute  and  torment  me  ?  I  have  told 
ychi  again  and  again  how  I  abhor  and  despise  you.  Wretched  man, 
leave  me !"  •      ^  ' 


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9DB 

Sftd  was  tiM  oomteBBikee  of  tl»  b«bMdj  as  ho  gMei  millly  adi  be- 
seechingly on  her. 

^^Daar  mother!"  said  Heater^  '^tlns  is  no  eneiiij-<-yoa  nusiafae;  this 
is.my  father'—yonr  otwn  husband — Hngh        *' 

<<  Poor  child,  good  ohild,yo«  wish  to  diseeiye  met  Come  here»  Hester,  for 
you  I  know  and  love.  Take  off  yovr  hat>  and  let  roe  look  at  yoiur  height 
hair — so— thank  you  ;  how  happy  yoa  look,  and  how  joyfully  shine  yon 
eyes  I  Yoa  are  my  <^d,  ray  only  Mend,  why  do  yon^  then,  erer  le«v» 
me  here  alone?  Yoa  once  lired  with  me  ;  others,  too,  who/are  lost» 
made  a  happy  family.     Oh!  yes,  I  was  happy  iheni" 

'<  Dear  mother,  I  wish  to  lire  with  you,"  said  Hester;  *'waailamrie«slyv 
desire  nerer  to  be  parted  from  yoa.'* 

'* Hush !  hush!'*  said  the  poor  woman  under  her  breath,  '^ henreaa  we: 
Eve  together?'    Hartley,  yonder,  will  still  persecute  me." 

''  Pause,  Isabella— reflect ;  look  at  me,"  said  Mr.  Somesaet,  '<  and  you 
will  not  mistake  me  for  that  man.  I  am  not  Ha^[tley ;  he  is  no  mesa; 
alasl  Roland  Hartley,  my  brother,  ia  in  the  grave." 

^<  You  mean,  then,  to  say  he  is  dead — that  Hartley  is  dead?**  onedMra^ 
Somerset,  with  vehemence.  Suddenly  she  dropped  on  her  knees,  daaped^ 
ber  hands,  and  her  lips  moved  as  in  prayer.  The  nurse  was  astonished 
at  an  action  she  had  nerer  witnessed  before^  and  the  others  regarded  her 
with  breathless  interest.  After  a  few  minutes  she  arose  with  a  look  of 
composure  and  dignity.  *'  Then  the  blackest  man  that  God  ever  suffered 
to  walk  this  world  has  left  it  at  last.  I  thank  Heaven  that  such  has  beaa 
its  will ;  I  shell  live  now  without  fear  for  myself  and  my  duld.  Whoever* 
yoa  are,  sir,"  she  exdaimed,  addressing  Mr.  Somerset,  '*I  will  no  longer 
believe  you  an  enemy.  You  look  too  kindvto  do  me  or  my  bhild  aa. 
injury.  But  who  is  this?"  she  oontinned,  looking  at  Julie— ^'  tins  young 
person  ?  what  does  she  here  ?*' 

<' Mother,"  said  Hester,  <<she  is-  a  dear  friend-— one  i^e  is  greatly 
attached  to  me*" 

^<  Then  £at  loving  you,  I  will  love  her*  Come  here^  little  one — pazdea 
ne  for  looking  so  into  your  &ee*  Fair  is  your  hair,  L  see^. and  blue  aie. 
your  qres.  Ah  !  it  is  a  fancy ;  lam  in  a  dream,  and  yet  I  am  noAin  my 
bed ;  tell  me^  nurse^  am  I  in  my  bed?  How  much,  ghi»  you  jesemUe: 
nqr.  daughter  Hester!*' 

'<  Mother,'*  said  Julie,  «<  I  may  well  be  a  Uttle  like  Hester,  for  I  am  hsr 
sister."    Mrs.  Somerset  looked  vacantly,  yet  wondexingly  around. 

"What  did  you  jay?" 

'<  That  I  am  Hester's  sister,  and  ymir  own  ohiU/' 

"  Ha,  ha !"  laughed  the  mother ;  ^*  poor,  dxeamar !  I  ham^nly  osiei 
child;  but  I  will  love  you,  I  repeat^  for  Hester's  sake." 

''Isabella,*'  said  Mr.  Somenet,.  ''can  you  remember,  longuleMUgo, 
that  your  eldest  child  was  taken  from  yoa?  Think  of  Biooldand  UalL— 
call  to  your  mind  aninfisnt^— <-'•' 

Mrs.  Somerset  placed  her  hand  on  her  forehead,  and  anpearodstrTriag:- 
to  awaken  thoughts  that  sooiewhereweresleepiig  in  her  msordeeedbnin. 
Half  of  her  mentid  malady  seemed  to  have  been  an  utter  fbigetfiihiaserof 

rona  sBid  events ;  hot  the  end  of:  the  chain  of.  mamosyvonee  caB|^ 
links  might  be  oontimied,  and. thus  soene after  asena^  and  fiMeaftes!» 
&oe,  might  become  frmiliar  again. 


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309 

''  BfOoUand  Hall,  where  is  tbat  ?  Stay,  I  know  it— I  think  I  lived  there 
onoe ;  it  was  a  lorelj  spot»  the  fine  old  house " 

*^  And  the  oak  drawiog-room,  the  terraces,  the  gardens^"  said  Mr. 
Somerset,  assisting  her,  '*  the  quiet  lawn,  and  the  clumps  of  trees        ** 

"  Yes,  j^es ;  but  how  should  you  know  this,  sir  ?" 

^  Tlie.mfiuit  that  wa»  oanied  awsy,  and  the  fmitlesB  search  for  it  in 


^^Oh,  y«^  I  rsmember  ail ;  that  time  comes  back  to  me  now  like  »> 
diMW  long,  fbfgotten.     What  hanre  I  been  domg  all  tfaeee  years  ?** 

JCr.  Somerset  made  a  sign  to  Jnlie^  who  drew  cbse  to  her  mother. 

^  Isabella  1  that  infimt  had  a  peculiar  mark  on  the  arm ;  here,  lock 
hen;,  say,  wiU  not  this  prove  what  we  have  stated  ?" 

Mrs.  Somerset  stooped,  and,  looking  at  Julie's  arm  attentively,  seemed 
loalin  thought  The  web  of  reason  was  evidently  disentangling  itself-^- 
oaeidea  prompted  another ;  trifles  sometimes  are  impressed  on  the  brain, 
wiifln  the  reeoUeetion  of  great  events  is  obliterated,  and  small  incidents 
win  bring' abont  what  yean  of  training  and  discipline  may  have  fuled  to 
aooomplish. 

The  peer  woman  took  Jtdie^s  hand ;  she  also  seized  Mr.  Somerset's, 
wUle  Hester  stood  dose  bdiind  them.  She  looked,  bewildered,  from  one 
to  the  other,  as  if  some  light,  for  the  first  time^  was  pouring  in  upon  her* 
seal. 

<«  What  does  this  mean ?"  die  cried,  in  abreathless  accent.  ''  Yon  teil 
me  this  is  Hester^s  sister ;  I  am  assmredof  it  now — she  is  my  lost  child! 
A  veil  seems  to  be  drawn  back,  and  scales  to  fall  from  my  eyes.  Hie* 
wUiline  and  ringing  have  ceased  in  my  brain,  and  I  appear  to  be  a  new* 
beiog,  full  of  new  thoughtl^  feelings,  and  energy.  My  child,  my  little- 
onel  you  shall  share  my  heart  with  Hester ;  and  you  shall  both  oomfbrt 
your  wretched — no!  wretched  no  longer — ^you. snail  both  be  a  delight 
to:- your  restored  and  happy  mother.  Ah,  blind  that  I  was,"  she  oon*' 
tinned,  taming  to  Mr.  Somerset — *'  blind  that  I  was ;  but  I  see  yoit'— I 
know'you  now^     Hn^,  Hugh,  my  husband !" 

And>the  wife  rushed  into  the  opened  anns  of  him  who  felt  a  zaplarBr 
beyond  the  power  of  words  to  express. 

<<  She  is  weeping,"  saidihe  nurse.  '^  Tins  is  the  first  time  I  have  seen 
her  in  .tears. .   No  sign  could  be  better." 

And  weeping,  sobbing,  i^  remained,  nor  did  they  strive  to  check  that 
softened  aaa  tmer  grief.  It  was  human,  and  betrayed  that  the  funettosa 
of.  11m  mind  aad.the  franl^  of  feeling  had  awakened  from  their  torpid 
state.  Yes,  memory  had  first  been  roused,  and  its  beautiful  mecfaaniamy . 
at  it  were^  being  readjusted,  imparted  life  md  action  to  the  reasoning 
paiserB:  the  godlike  soul  again  daimed  her  swajr,  and  Mrs.  Somerset's 
mIeBeotlial  fiMiltiee,  by  a  process  sbaaple  aaeffective,  were  comnleteiy  re*^ 
stored.  The  next  day  she  left  the  walls  of  Bethl^em  HospitiJ,  never  to 
ealearyibeAJ 


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310  SeHer  SommA 


Chapter  XXIV. 

HESTER  Ain>  THB  PROFESSOR  07  MUSIC — W&  TAKE  OUR  FAREWELL  OF 

MR.  PIKE. 

Mr.  Somerset,  we  have  elsewhere  observed,  had  felt  veiy  re- 
luctant for  his  daughter  to  appear  before  a  public  audience,  even  as  a 
nnger  at  concerts  ;  but,  fortunately,  Mr.  Kellerman's  representations, 
and  Hester^s  earnest  wishes  in  connexion  with  her  great  object, 
had  borne  down  his  scruples.  What  was  she  now  to  do  ?  continue  the 
career  so  successfully  begun  ?  Her  own  feelings  were  as  much  adverse 
as  t!ie  feelings  of  her  father  to  a  line  of  life  that  unavoidably  placed  her 
in  a  public  position.  Yet  her  engagement  with  the  musical  professor 
could  not  be  broken.  Mr.  Kellennan*s  good  faith,  the  pains  he  had  taken 
with  her  as  a  pupil,  and  hb  unvarying  kindness,  were  also  claims  upon  her 
no  less  strong  than  those  of  honour.  Hester,  then,  was  to  sing  another 
season  under  the  name  previously  assumed,  the  professor,  as  agreed,  re- 
ceiving half  her  gains. 

The  duty  was  entered  on ;  but  more  and  more  the  sensitive  and  re- 
tiring nature  of  Hester  turned  with  aversion  from  a  public  exhibition  of 
her  talents.  Happy,  indeed,  was  she  when  her  last  piece  was  sung,  and 
her  last  instalment  of  money  placed  into  the  hands  of  Mr.  Kellerman.  In 
taking  leave  of  that  gentleman,  she  expressed  herself  in  terms  of  the 
warmest  gratitude ;  Mr.  Somerset  equalled  his  daughter  in  the  fervour 
vnth  which  he  acknowledged  his  obligations,  and  hoped,  so  long  as  he 
lived,  that  he  should  be  honoured  by  the  acquaintance  of  one  who  had 
proved  himself  to  be  his  true  friend  and  benei^tor. 

Meantime,  the  trial  of  Mr.  Pike  had  come  on  at  the  Old  Bailey  ;  but 
in  spite  of  all  his  talented  pleading — for  he  defended  his  own  cause — ^in 
spite  of  his  innocent  and  demure  looks,  and  the  grievous  wrongs  which 
tne  deceased  Hartley  and  other  evil  men— in  short,  the  combined  world 
— ^had  showered  upon  his  head,  he,  Mr.  Pike,  the  inoffensive  old  man, 
whose  only  aim  had  been — "and  surely,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,"  he  said, 
"  it  can't  be  called  a  crime" — whose  only  aim  had  been  to  make  a  com- 
fortable provision  for  his  declining  years — this  excellent  old  man,  we  say, 
was  found  guilty  of  common  housebreaking  and  an  atrocious  robbeiy. 
The  judge  passed  sentence  on  the  defender  of  English  laws,  the  once 
respectable  fundholder,  and  the  man  who  had  been  such  an  active 
member  of  the  Fraud-Preventing  Society  ;  that  sentence  was — *^  Trans- 
portation beyond  the  seas  for  the  term  of  his  natural  life  !" 

Mr.  Pike  did  not  bear  his  fate  with  the  equanimity  and  fortitude  which 
might  have  been  expected  from  a  man  of  his  education,  and  one  who  had 
been  engaged  in  so  many  undertakings  of  spirit  and  daring.  He  shed 
tears  one  minute,  and  shook  his  fists  at  the  judge  and  jury  the  next. 
But  it  was  of  no  avail ;  his  sorrow  and  his  ferocious  indignation  were 
alike  useless.  They  took  him  out  of  the  court,  and  barred  the  respectable 
old  gentleman  in  his  cell ;  they  took  him  away  to  the  hulks,  and  in  due 
time  transferred  him  to  the  convict-ship.  There  they  chained  him  to 
another  felon,  who  proved  to  be  the  man  of  Greyhound-alley,  whom  he 
once  served  with  a  letter  threatening  prosecution  for  his  maltreatment  of 
the  costermooger's  donkey.     So  the  ruffian  was  to  be  his  companion,  and 


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HeiterSomrUL  311 

now,  resolving  to  be  zevenged,  swore  and  erinned  at  him,  and  mocked 
the  sorrows  of  the  fallen  attorney.  He  asked  Mr.  Pike  what  had  become 
of  his  office,  and  his  papers  tieid  with  red  tape,  and  all  the  poor  lawyer 
could  return  in  reply  was  to  call  him  a  foul  insulting  demon  ;  he  asked 
the  ex-fiindholder  what  had  become  of  his  proper^ — and  all  the  hard- 
working, penurious  gentleman  could  do  was  to  gnasn  his  teeth,  and  howl 
out  curses  on  his  tormentor  and  those  who  had  robbed  him.  So,  while 
in  this  situation,  one  fine  morning  the  vessel  weighed  anchor,  and  our  old 
friend  and  companion — he  who  has  accompanied  us  through  so  many  scenes 
of  this  history — set  out  on  his  pleasant  voyage  to  the  far-off  land  of 
Botany  Bay. 

Chaftek  XXV. 

UNFORGOTTEN  LOVE — THE  C0NFE8BI0K. 

Ten  years*  imprisonment  had  imfitted  Mr.  Somerset  for  any  active 
duties ;  though  his  health  was  pretty  good,  his  frame  had  become  en- 
feebled. He  was,  however,  cheerful,  and  the  restoration  of  his  wife  to 
the  full  enjoyment  of  her  fiiculties  was  a  source  to  him  of  supreme  happi- 
ness. StiU,  it  appeared,  that  on  Hester  devolved  the  task  of  supporting 
her  parents ;  for  Julie,  who  had  obtained  a  situation,  coidd  do  little  more 
than  provide  for  herself.  Hester  commenced  teaching  music  in  private 
families,  and  having  no  longer  any  enemies  to  contend  with,  her  pupils 
steadily  increased.  Such  a  life  might  be  laborious,  but  she  greatly  pre- 
ferred the  duties  it  imposed  to  any  other  mode  of  livelihood  it  had  been 
her  fate  at  different  times  to  follow. 

Yet,  not  unfrequently,  a  sadness  came  over  the  spirit  of  the  ruined 
gentleman's  daughter,  aud  which  neither  her  parents  nor  Julie  were  able 
to  account  for.  The  g^at  object  for  which  she  had  laboured,  was  ob- 
tained ;  the  plans  that  hitherto  had  put  her  faculties  on  the  stretch,  were 
unneeded  now;  the  turmoil,  the  fears,  the  bitter  disappointments  and 
sorrows,  all  were  over.  Why,  then,  was  she  not  happy  ?  In  the  absence 
of  excitement,  the  spirit  had  time  to  think,  and  the  past  rose  before  her. 
There  was  an  image  impressed  on  her  heart.  Like  the  characters  traced 
in  sympathetic  ink,  though  they  may  remain  for  years  invisible,  yet, 
place  them  before  the  fire,  how  the  lines  spring  into  sight,  as  if  by  the 
spell  of  a  magician!  So  the  image  on  the  heart  of  Hester,  never  oblite- 
rated, though  none  knew  of  its  existence,  was  now  called  forth  in  vivid 
colours  by  quiet  and  contemplation.  It  was  the  image  of  one  with  whom 
her  early  dreams  and  young  affections  were  entwined — the  image  of  one 
she  strove  to  forget,  but  could  not — the  image  of  one  loved  in  girlhood's 
days,  when  scarcely  she  knew  what  love  meant,  and  whose  memory 
still,  through  the  mists  of  years,  shone  like  a  star.  Talk  not  of  the 
fickleness  of  woman,  nor  say  the  love  of  her  childhood  will  never  survive 
the  joyous  spring-time  of  life ;  marvel  rather  at  her  constancy,  and  con- 
fess that  love,  then  formed,  is  the  blossom  of  the  heart — a  blossom  which 
in  time  produces  the  full  and  perfect  fruit. 

'*  Father,  again  you  ask  me  why  I  am  unhappy.  I  will  conceal 
nothing  from  you ;  I  will  confess  my  folly — ^for  such  it  is.  Bear  with 
me ;  do  not  condemn  me,  although  I  may  deserve  reproof." 


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ai2  HetUr  Sammmet. 


" Reproof!  norer,  my  eliiU--^iDy  bwrfxtor  nofcf  shill yoitiiwMW 
.Kspooof  froDTi  me,** 

Am  Mr.  Somerset  aat  in  his  cfaBir,  Heiter  leant  fenModsy  «Dd  zested 
her  head  on  bU  «nn«  Oh !  how  he  loved  her.  The  idolatry  of  fab  afie- 
tiMi  might  even  be  a  sio,  but  the  blot  of  swh  a  sin  the  ^^TOOordiag' 
aagel"  would  surely  wipe  oat  with  the  tears  of  mercy  aad  pi^. 

'^  Do  you  think  he  is  still  alive?"  asked  the  girl,  looking  up. 

'^  .Who  alive,  Hester  ?    I  do  not  know  what  peraon  yoamaaiL" 

'*  Ah!  how  eould  I  suppose  you  should?  80  BMny  yean  have  pasMd, 
and  I  have  not  even  mentioned  to  you  his  name.  I  thou^  too»  at  oae 
time,  I  had  forgotten  him ;  but  I  was  mistaken.  Well,  father,  you  va- 
member,  long  ago,  when  we  lived  at  firookland  Hall ** 

A  shade  overspread  the  oountenance  of  Mr.  Somerset ;  he  turned  in 
his  chair  and  sighed.  Brookland  Hall,  the  seat  of  his  ancestors,  bat 
long  in  the  possession  of  strangers — ^what  thoughts  of  happy  hours,  and 
pursuits  of  fonner  days,  did  the  name  call  up  in  the  breast  of  the  rained 
man! — the  old  Elisabethan  pile,  the  venerable  rooaos  and  £Bunily  painl- 
ings,  the  slopes,  the  gardens,  the  trees,  and  sweeping  park—the  pietuie 
rose  before  his  fancy  in  all  the  freshness  of  reahty.  But  not  for  hioi^- 
never  again  for  bim — must  the  scene  spread  its  beauties ;  his  eyes  most 
close  far  away,  and  he  must  not  even  sleep  in  the  old  duirch  wkaie  hb 
forefathers  for  centuries  have  reposed. 

Mr.  Somerset  stooped  his  head,  and  covered  his  faee  with  his  hands : 

''  Go  on,  Hester/'  he  said,  after  a  pause.  ''  What  of  Brookland 
Hall?'' 

'^  You  remember  one  of  your  tenants  called  Banks?  He  had  a  son, 
placed  by  you  in  the  village-schooL" 

''  I  recollect  perfectly.  Yes,  I  think  too  much  and  too  often  of  Brook- 
land HaU  for  any  incident  of  old  times  to  esc^te  my  memory.  Banka— 
Lewis  Banks,  that  was  the  bid's  name — a  bold  httle  fellow,  who  oalled 
once  at  the  hall,  begnng  to  be  sent  to  school — a  lad  of  most  precocnoos 
intellect,  smitten  with  ihe  love  of  military  life,  foigetting  to  drive  the 
oxen  <  afield,'  or  hoe  potatoes,  in  his  ardour  to  read  Vaaban  on  *  Fortifi- 
eation'  and  the  battles  of  Marlborough.  You  see  my  memoiy  is  good, 
Hester." 

"I  rejoice  at  it,  father.  But  you  sent  hin  away  afterwards,  and 
dazed  him  to  trespass  upon  your  grounds." 

*'■  So  I  did,  poor  youth  $  yet  was  I  sorry  in  being  compelled  to  do  it. 
Bless  me  I  I  had  almost  forgotten  that  litUe  ctreomatanoe.  He  took  it 
into  his  head  to  love  you,  I  bdieve,  child.  At  that  time  I  consideted 
sufili  a  thing  daring  and  presumptuous  on  his  part;  and,  of  coitfae, 
situated  as  we  then  were,  I  was  justified  in  my  sentuMnts.  But,  Hester, 
why  do  we  allude  to  all  thb  now?  What  have  the  fartnaea  of  a  peasant's 
sen  to  do  with  ours  ?" 

^^  He  went  to  a  foreign  land.  He  wrote  me  several  letters ;  bat  when 
Brookland  Hall  was  taken  from  us,  none  of  his  letters,  if  any  mefe 
arrived,  reached  me  in  London.  So  perhi^s  he  is  dead,  «r  baa — has  for* 
gotten  me." 

A  low  sob  burst  from  Hester ;  and  when  Mr.  Somerset  raised  his  ohiU 
from  her  stooping  posture,  he  saw  that  her  &oe  was  badnd  with  tean. 


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Hmtn  'Somnut.  3 18 

/EiwD  he.'kaeiriwr  •6cret;itheii  iie  mdentood  the  camae  of  hermebBDi- 
odiol3F-^<a  lore  that  yn»  ill  placed,  and  widioat  hope. 

''  Donot  yield  1»  thb  ^tnea.  I  will  not,'!  cannot  TOpximand-jou,'* 
;aatd  the  phi  man,  teitderlv.  *'  Vet  litile  did  I  imagine  these  recoUeetioiis 
and  early  feelings  would  he  cheriaiied  by  yon  daring  so  many  years.  Bat 
iwhether  sadi  conatancy  be  a  weakness  or  a  Tirtoe,  yoor  peace  of  inind 
juid  your  welfare  in  life  demand  that  you  should  make  efforts  to  coaqmr 
an  attachment  which,  in  any  case,-  can  bring  you  no  happiness.  Most  pro- 
haUy — I  feel  it  my  duty  to  speak  plainly — the  young  man  is  dead.  If 
he  l>e  aliTe,  good  conduct  or  deremess  may  haTe  advanced  him  to  the 
Tank  of  a  corporal  or  a  sergeant ;  but  with  such  a  person,  you  are  awaro,  • 
.no  female  much  above  a  menial  servant  could  form  an  alliance.  There- 
liEPre,  I  repeat,  consult  your  mind  and  your  judgment  in  this  matter  rather 
than  your  heart  Renounce  feelings  that  can  only  be  a  source  of  disquiet, 
and  forget  that  sudi  a  person  as  this  poor  youth  ever  existed." 

''  I  will  strive,  father ;  but  your  adviee  will  be  difficult — very  diffieolt 
— ^to  follow.  One  thing  let  me  say,  the  mind  of  Lewis  BanloB  was  not 
rthe  mind  of  an  ordinary  person ;  it  was  noble  by  nature.  And  I  will  be- 
.  Iteve—  But  it  is  enough.  Let  as  speak  no  more  of  a  subject  which 
crashes  my  spirit  while  it  gives  you  pain.  Father,"  said  Hester,  after  a 
pause,  ^'  I  have  a  faVour  to  ask  of  you." 

''  A  fJEtvour  ?     What  would  I  not  grant  or  do  for  you,  my  child  ?^ 

''  I  have  long  wished — my  mother  and  JuHe,  too,  aze  very  desirous-— 
we  have  long  wished  to  go  down  to  Norfolk,  just  to  see  ^e  place  where 
we  passed  so  many  years — to  look  once  more  on  the  well-kiiown  spots, 
and  the  old  house " 

<<  What !  go  to  Brookkmd  Hall  ?"  said  Mr.  Somerset,  who  turned  pale, 
while  his  lip  quivered — "the  house  that  was  once  mine,  but  is  now 
anothei^s — ^the  place  so  dear  to  my  heart  that  sciffcely  a  night  has  passed 
for  twelve  years  without  my  dreaming  of  it?  Oh,  no !"  he  cried,  waving 
his  hand ;  "  I  could  not  bear  the  trial — I  could  not  support  the  sight !" 

"  Now  you  are  mistaken,  fether.  You  would  be  soothed  and  gratified ; 
I  feel  conndent  of  it  And  perhaps  the  present  owner  is  a  kind  man,  and 
might  allow  us  to  look  over  the  rooms.  Let  us  pay  a  visit  to  Brookland 
HaU." 

Mr.  Somerset  remained  fer  a  conaiderable  time  without  speaking.  At 
length  he  raised  his  head. 

'<  Well,  Hester,  I  confess  that,  while  I  have  shrunk  at  the  thought,  I 
have  sometimes  longed  to  see  that  spot  again.  There  is  a  strange  fiuci- 
nating  interest  about  the  home  of  my  ancestors  whidi  attracts  me  to  it 
I  wHU  see  the  old  hall  again,  and  tne  sweet  vilkge,  and  the  venerable 
ivied  church,  before  I  die.     Yes,  we  will  go  down  to  Norfolk," 

Chaptkb  XXVI. 

IK  WHICH  OUK  mSTOBY  DRAWS  TO  A  CONCLUSION. 

It  was  a  beautiful  afUmoon  in  raring  when  Mr.  Somerset,  his  wife, 
and  two  daughters,  alighted  from  ihe  stage-coach  near  the  village  Of 

• 1  in  No^olk.     TlMy  stood  uwn  the  alope  of  the  well-known  hill, 

contemplating  in  nlenoe  the  scene  before  them.     Lovely  and  pictuxes^iie, 
ae  in  fiottmer  days,  spread  the  verdaat  landscape.    The  warm  sun,  shimng 


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314  Hester  Somerset. 

obliquely  from  the  west,  ting^  with  yellow  light  the  tops  of  the  tall  efans 
that  rose  around  the  old  Norman  courch,  and  threw  its  lustre  on  the 
stream  which  wandered  away  in  the  direction  of  Brookland  HalL  The 
cleiAr  song  of  the  blackbird  was  heard  from  the  thicket,  and  the  low  of 
cattle  came  softly  from  the  opposite  hill. 

The  little  party  walked  into  the  village.  Every  step  they  took  awoke 
some  old  remembrance,  except  in  the  breast  of  Julie ;  yet  she,  having 
been  bom  in  the  neighbourhood,  could  not  consider  herself  a  stranger; 
faces,  however,  were  altered ;  the  merry  young  children  that  had  gam- 
bolled under  the  trees  had  grown  into  sturdy  peasants,  and  the  old  slept 
in  the  village  churchyard. 

They  entered  the  cottage  where  Mr.  Somerset's  tenant,  honest  Banks, 
had  lived ;  he  and  his  wife  were  no  more,  and  the  sexton  occupied  the 
hovel.  Mr.  Somerset  differed  so  g^atly  in  appearance  from  the  jovial 
and  rosy  squire  of  a  former  day,  that  a  recognition  seemed  improbable; 
even  Hester  and  her  mother  might  not  have  been  remembered,  but  they 
took  the  precaution  to  draw  their  veils  closely  around  their  faces. 

The  sexton  was  very  complaisant,  considering  himself  honoured  by 
this  visit  from  strangers.  *^  You  seem  tired,  sir,"  he  said.  '*  And  will 
the  ladies  be  pleased  to  rest  themselves  on  this  settle ;  *tis  a  rough  and 
poor  seat,  I  confess.     Any  business,  sir?*' 

*'No,'*  answered  Mr.  Somerset,  endeavouring  to  calm  his  feelings; 
"  my  visit  is  merely  one  of  curiosity.  We  knew  this  sweet  neigbbour- 
hooQ  well  in  former  years." 

'*  That  was,  maybe,  in  the  old  squire's  time.  Heaven  bless  him,  be 
he  dead  or  alive !  Ah !  sir,  he  was  a  man  loved  by  us  all.'* 

*•  "Who,"  asked  Mr.  Somerset,  shading  his  face  with  his  hand — "  who 
occupies  Brookland  Hall  at  present?" 

^'  VVhy,  you  see,  it  has  had  two  or  three  owners  since  Squire  Somerset 
left.  About  six  months  ago,  a  very  rich  man  came  into  these  parts,  and 
bought  up  Brookland  estate,  the  manor-house,  and  all;  and  a  main 
curious  gentleman  he  is,  though  kind  to  the  poor." 

**  And  why  is  he  curious  ?"  asked  Mr.  Somerset. 

'*  You  see,  he's  come  from  the  Kast  In^es,  is  Colonel  Gordon —a  fine 
handsome  man,  though  burnt  up  by  the  sun,  and  cut  about  the  face  with 
a  great  many  scars.  He*s  been  in  a  number  of  hot  battles,  they  say,  in 
that  country." 

"But  why  should  this  render  him  curious,  good  old  man?"  asked 
Hester. 

*'  Anan  ?  Oh !  t^ou  spoke,  miss.  Well,  you  see  the  colonel  isn't  mar- 
ried, and  all  them  bachelors  are  'centric  and  queer.  He'll  walk  by  moon- 
light for  hours,  say  the  servants,  along  the  terrace  and  under  the  trees  in 
the  park ;  while,  instead  of  hunting  or  riding  about,  half  his  day  b  passed 
mopmg  in  an  old  ruined  grotto  made  of  spars  and  shells  in  the  garden. 
Then  he  has  begun  to  build  another  house  at  the  top  of  the  valley, 
nobody  knows  why  or  wherefore.  Some  say,  too,  he  wants  to  find  the 
old  squire,  and  put  him  again  in  possession ;  and  that  for  a  total  stranger 
to  do  for  another,  is,  I  think,  the  oddest  thing  of  all." 

Quitting  the  garrulous  sexton,  the  party  proceeded  at  once  to  the 
maSior-house,  which  was  situated  about  a  mile  from  the  village.  Apply- 
ing at  the  lodge,  the  keeper  informed  them  they  had  liberty  to  walk  in 


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Hester  Somerset.  315 

ibe  grounds.  Ijiany  a  sigh  did  old  familiar  objects  call  forth  from  Mr. 
Somerset.  The  fields  that  spread  around  them,  the  park  studded  over 
with  treesy  the  shrubberies,  and  the  gardens — all  had  been  his  own ;  and 
here  once  he  was  lord  and  master,  while  now  he  felt  himself  an  intruder 
and  a  stranger. 

Thej  wandered  on  until  they  found  themselves  in  front  of  the  mansion. 
Mr.  Somerset  cast  a  rapid  glance  over  the  building,  every  window  of 
which,  every  rusticated  quoin,  eveiy  arch,  every  stone,  seemed  dear  to  his 
heart  They  were  about  to  retire,  when  Hester's  quick  eye,  which  had 
been  directed  to  the  library- window,  perceived  a  gentleman  within,  ap- 
parently engaged  in  reading. 

"  Father,  look  yonder !  that  is  Colonel  Gordon,  no  doubt'' 

Mr.  Somerset  saw  him.  Strange,  but  at  that  moment  his  thoughts 
flashed  back  on  an  incident  which  had  happened  long,  long  ago.  There, 
just  in  that  position,  had  he  been  studying  fifUen  years  before ;  when,  on 
the  steps  of  the  front  door,  he  perceived  the  little  peasant-boy,  Lewis 
Banks,  who  had  come  to  entreat  him  to  place  him  in  the  village-school ; 
his  cap  was  in  his  hand — the  porter  was  driving  him  away ;  but  these 
retrospective  meditations  were  disturbed,  for  Colonel  Gordon,  having 
evidently  seen  the  strangers,  rose  t3  ring  his  bell ;  the  next  minute  the 
hall-door  opened,  and  a  rootman  approached  them. 

'^  Sir,  my  master  says  if  you  wish  to  see  the  inside  of  the  house,  and 
the  old  paintings  in  the  gallery,  you  are  quite  at  liberty." 

Mr.  Somerset  was  embarrassed ;  his  hand  shook  with  emotion,  and  he 
glanced  at  his  wife  and  daughters. 

<<  Do  as  you  please,  my  dear,"  said  Isabella ;  "  but  we  should  very 
much  like  to  see  the  rooms." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Somerset  to  the  man ;  "  then  we  will  avail 
ourselves  of  Colonel  Gordon's  kind  permission." 

As  they  entered  the  hall,  Mr.  Somerset  started  at  seeing  the  portrait 
of  his  grandfather,  which  he  thought  had  passed  into  the  possession  of 
strangers.  But  Colonel  Gordon,  attracted,  perhaps,  by  the  venerable 
appearance  of  the  old  gentleman,  now  introduced  himself  to  them,  as  if 
for  the  purpose  of  being  their  cicerone.  He  was  a  man  in  the  prime  of 
life,  and,  notwithstanding  the  scars  on  his  forehead,  and  the  change 
which  the  burning  suns  of  the  East  rarely  &il  to  effect  in  the  counte- 
nance of  an  European,  remarkably  handsome 

<<  You  seem  struck  by  that  portrait,"  observed  the  colonel. 

'<  I  am,"  said  Mr.  Somerset,  in  a  low  voice,  ''  for  I  knew  the  originaL" 

^'Indeed!  then  come  into  my  library,  and  see  whether  you  are 
acquainted  with  any  of  the  pictures  there.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I 
have  taken  much  pains,  since  my  purchase  of  Brooklaiui  HaU,  to  collect 
the  old  f&mily  portraits  that  belonged  to  a  former  owner,  for  they  had 
been  sold  without  reserve  to  Jews  and  picture-dealers." 

"  This  is  one  of  his  eccentricities,  &ther,  alluded  to  by  the  sexton," 
whispered  Hester,  as  they  followed  the  colonel  into  his  library. 

Several  portraits  were  hung  around  the  room,  perfectly  familiar  to 
Mr.  Somerset ;  but  presently  £ey  came  to  a  picture  carefully  veiled  by  a 
curtain ;  this  being  removed,  JEUi  exquisite  painting  was  discovered  of  a 
girl  about  twelve  years  of  age. 

''Do  you  know  who  this  is?"  asked  Colonel  Gordon,  iriih  no  little 

«/il4^— VOL.  XCT.  NO.  OCCI^ZXIZ.  T 


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316  HeU0r  Semer$et 

waaabkj  ia  his  maanery  for  he  believed  he  had  met  at  last,  in  the  gentfe- 
man  befora  him,  with  some  raemhec,  or  at  least  acquaintance,  of  the  lost 
fiimily  80  loog  sought  by  him  in  vain. 

^'  That,"  replied  Mr.  Somerset,  sinking  into  a  chair,  apparently  through 
fatigue — **  that  picture,  I  have  reason  to  believe,  the  tormer  occupier  of 
this  house  would  never  have  parted  with,  had  it  not  been  taken  £rom  him 
almost  by  farce.     It  is  «  portrait  of  Mr.  Somerset's  daughter." 

^*  You  know  all,  my  dear  sir;  I  see,  you  know  all,"  said  the  soldier, 
with  increased  warmth.  ^^  I  hope  you  may  be  able  to  give  me  a  little 
further  information  concerning  this  respected  but  most  unfortunate 
family." 

'*  They  are  unfortunate,"  said  the  old  sentleman,  with  a  deep  sigh. 

**  I  have  written  letters  and  employed  lawyers  to  no  purpose.  All  I 
have  ascertained  is,  that,  about  a  year  and  a  half  ago,  Mr.  ^merset  was 
liberated — my  heart  bleeds  to  think  he  was  ever  in  such  a  place — ^firom 
the  Fleet  Prison.  Since  that  time  all  due  of  him  and  his  family  has  been 
lost" 

*'  Very  likely.  An  obscure  person,  in  an  obscure  street  in  the  great 
metropolis,  is  almost  like  a  shell  on  the  dea-shore.  It  is  not  very  extra- 
ordinary you  should  have  failed  to  discover  him." 

^<  Then  do  you  know  wheie  he  really  lives  ?"  asked  Colonel  Gordon, 
eagerly. 

« I  do." 

«<  Bless  my  soul !     What  is  his  address  ?" 

'^  Pardon  me  if  I  do  not  answer  the  question,"  said  Mr.  Somezaet, 
groatly  moved. 

Women  are  not,  perhaps,  so  easily  deceived  as  men,  and,  more  quickly 
than  they,  recollect  individual  features,  however  altered.  Whether 
Hester  was  affected  by  a  strange  misgiving  as  to  the  identity  of  Colonel 
Gordon,  or  by  other  feelings^  we  cannot  say;  but  her  agitation  was 
increasing  to  such  a  degree  that  she  retired  to  a  recess  in  a  window,  and 
pfessed  her  hands  against  her  throbbing  temples. 

'*  I^  Colonel  Gordon,"  said  Mr.  Somerset,  **  you  will  be  candid  enough 
to  tell  me  your  motive  for  wiaiiing  to  discover  or  drag  these  unfortunate 
people  into  notice — for,  thoogh  unfortunate,  they  are  proud — I  may  assist 
you  in  your  search." 

''  Then,  my  dear  sir,  I  will  be  candid ;  and,  to  gain  your  confidence, 
while  I  expeet  you  to  be  communicative  in  return,  I  will  state  the  hct, 
that  the  money  which  has  enabled  me  to  purchase  this  property  was  not 
all  acquired  by  the  sword.  I  rose  in  the  army  from  a  vexy  low  beginning, 
and  not  bv  purchase.  Three  years  ago  I  had  but  an  officer's  pav,  and  also 
bofe  anotk^  name.  But  a  gentleman  of  laige  fortune  at  Calcutta,  and 
wiio  had  no  &mily  of  his  own,  took  a  fancy  to  me,  and  made  me  his  heb, 
on  the  proviso  that  1  should  assume  his  name.  It  was  after  returning 
from  a  campaign  in  the  north  of  India  that  I  followed  my  patron  to  the 
grave.  His  property  then  was  mine.  I  xetnmed  to  England ;  and  this, 
air,  is  my  native  place." 

**  Yoor  native  place?  Impossible  I  There  is  no  other  aeat  or  good 
resideiiee,  but  the  manor-honse,  in  the  meighbourfaood." 

'*  Nay,  nay,"  said  Colonel  Gordon,  smiling,  **  I  was  not  bom  in  a 


'Mt,' oraaypmdmanskm.     Bat  we  will  not  talk  <^  lihat  now.    My 
object  in  indlng  the  old  squire  is  simpljtophoe  into  his  haad  a  pcket 

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Hester  Somerset,  317 

**  This  is  strange  V*  exclaimed  Mr.  Somerset,  in  surprise.  <^  I  confess 
I  am  interested  in  his  affairs.  What  may  the  packet  contain  ?  Shall  I 
take  it  to  him  T* 

An  extraordinary  expression  hroke  over  the  coantenance  of  the  soldier, 
as  if,  ivhile  he  witnessed  the  old  man's  emotion,  a  sudden  light  had 
flashed  upon  him. 

^*  Be  not  offended,"  he  said,  taking  the  poor  gentleman  hy  the  hand, 
*'lmt  I  am  no  longer  to  he  deceived.  Thank  Heaven,  my  search  is 
finished  at  last!  This  packet  is  for  yourself;  for,  honoured  and  re- 
spected sir,  you  are  Mr.  Somerset." 

''  What  does  this  mean  ?  How  should  you  know  me  ?  The  parcel, 
too  Why,  these  are  the  title-deeds  of  the  Brookland  estates,  and — 

and You  mock  me,  Colonel  Gordon." 

But  as  the  open-hearted  soldier  regarded  him  with  moistened  eyes, 
Hester,  who  had  retired  to  the  window-recess,  was  heard  to  soh  violently, 
and  the  next  minute,  overcome  hy  her  conflicting  feelings,  she  sprang 
towards  her  parent 

**  Father!  father!  look  at  him! — do  you  not  know  your  generous 
fifiend?" 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Somerset,"  said  Colonel  Gordon,  "  you  see  before  you  the 
once  poor  ploughboy,  that,  many  years  ago,  you  kindly  consented  to 
place  m  (he  village- school." 

''  I  know  it — I  see  it  now!"  cried  the  old  man.  **  Brave,  noble- 
hearted  Lewis  Banks  !     Heaven,  then,  has  smiled  on  you  indeed !" 

**  Not  more,  I  hope,  than  Heaven  will  from  this  nour  smile  on  you, 
my  dear  sir;  for  surely  Providence  means  well  in  having  thus,  when  we 
litde  expected  it,  brought  us  together  again." 

And  now  came  explanations  of  past  events,  pressings  of  the  title- 
deeds  on  Mr.  Somerset)  and,  at  last,  their  acceptance :  then  followed 
allusions  to  early  affection  on  the  part  of  Colonel  Gordon,  showing  how, 
times  without  number,  he  had  written  to  Eng^nd,  his  letters,  from  a 
good  cause,  having  failed  to  reach  their  destination ;  while  Hester,  wish- 
ing to  spare  him  pain,  had  never  informed  him  of  the  ruin  which  had 
overtaken  the  fiimily. 

This  conversation  at  length  came  to  a  close.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Somerset, 
with  Julie,  walked  into  the  room  beyond,  examining  the  paintings 
there;  but  Hester,  gently  objecting  though  not  unwilling,  for  some 
unaccountable  reason,  found  herself  detained  by  Colonel  Gordon ;  she 
also  heard  him,  in  low,  tremulous  accents,  urge  many  things  about  first 
and  only  love,  and  constancy  never  shaken ;  so  that,  quite  unexpectedly, 
and,  as  it  were,  unknown  to  herself,  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  her 
trembling  hand  was  clasped  in  his. 

When  Mr.  Somerset  returned  to  the  room,  he  soon  perceived  how 
matters  stood,  and  the  colonel  begging  to  speak  privately  with  him,  the 
old  gentleman,  then  and  there,  without  hesitation,  consented  to  give  his 
daughter  to  one  she  had  loved  as  a  peasant-boy,  and  who  had  proved 
himself  to  be  as  generous  and  noble  as  he  was  endowed  with  abilities 
and  genius — genius  which,  triumphing  over  all  obstacles^  had  raised  him 
to  the  rank  he  now  enjoyed. 

The  good  father  pronounced  his  blessing  upon  them;  and  it  were 

Y  2 


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318         The  Last  Night  of  Jamts  IVatsons  Honeymoon. 

^ffieult  to  say  which  heart  of  the  respective  persons  who  maide  'up  dial 
pleasing  group  overflowed  with  the  most  intense  happiness. 

On  the  following  day,  when  it  was  known  in  the  viUafipe  and  among 
the  surrounding  peasantry,  that  the  good  squire  and  his  mmily  had  re* 
turned  to  them  once  more,  old  and  young,  hnked  together,  walked  up  to 
the  manor-house  to  welcome  them  hack ;  and  for  days  afterwards  there 
was  nothing  hut  feasting  and  ringing  of  bells. 

What  has  the  chronicler  now  to  add,  ere  he  writes  ''  end"  to  his  his* 
tory?  It  is  this — ^while  the  once  bitter-souled  Hartley  slumbered  in  hk 
grave;  while  Abercrombie,  the  swmdling  director  of  the  Great  Dia- 
mond Company  of  Braul,  having  spent  all  the  money  he  carried  off, 
begged  his  bread  in  a  foreign  land ;  while  the  poor  girls  in  the  Regent* 
street  establishment,  governed  by  Mademoiselle  Harfleur,  continued  to 
toil  and  to  die  ;  while  Mr.  Moses,  the  picture-dealer  of  the  Seven-Diak^ 
industriously  persevered  in  '^  making  the  old  masters  ;''  and  while  Mr. 
Fike  labourea  in  chains  on  the  shores  of  a  penal  settlement ;  at  Brook- 
land  Hall  the  restored  owner  passed  a  peaceful  old  age,  with  his  wife 
and  daughter  Julie.  From  the  park  they  could  see  a  neat  cottage 
standing  at  the  foot  of  a  green  knoll ;  there  lived  Reuben  and  his  irife ; 
and  Mr.  Somerset  had  given  them  a  plot  of  ground  for  a  garden :  the 
ez-turnkey  of  the  Fleet  revelled  among  pinks,  dahlias,  and  peonies  as 
broad  and  red  as  his  own  happy  face ;  and  in  his  horticultural  pursuits 
he  was  often  assisted  by  Julie,  who  never  failed  every  day  to  visit  her 
foster-father.  From  the  park,  too^  they  could  plainly  see  the  new 
mansion  built  by  Colonel  Gordon;  and  there  Hester,  after  all  her 
struggles  and  trials  in  our  '^  great  metropolis,''  was  blest  in  performing 
two  parts  harmonising  with  her  loving  nature — the  part  of  a  dutiful  and 
affectionate  daughter,  and  that  of  a  faithful,  devoted  wife. 


THE    LAST    NIGHT    OF   JAMES    WATSON'S     HONEYMOON. 

BY  THE  AUTHOR  OP   "  HAMON  AND  CATAR ;   OR,  THE  TWO  RACES.*' 

The  helmsman  steered;  the  ship  moved  on. 

Ancient  Mariner. 

It  was  the  evening  of  Thursday,  the  11th  of  September,  1861.  .My 
dear  Lucpr  and  I  had  been  spending  the  last  week  of  our  honeymoon  at 
Broadstairs,  where  we  had  lodgings  in  Chandos-place ;  and  oa  this,  onr 
last  evening,  the  two  Miss  Frazers,  old  school-friends  of  Lucy's,  who 
happened  to  be  stopping  at  Broadstaurs  too,  dropped  in  to  tea. 

1  was  not  curious  then,  nor  am  I  curious  now,  about  my  wife's  littk 
confidences  and  secrets.  Females  will  gossip  among  themselves  and  have 
secrets^men  have — I  myself  have.  There  are  many  tidnes  wUch  I  do 
not  tell  Luc;^;  and  I  can  qmte  ciieerfully  allow  it  to  be  t^  same  vith 
her.  I  despise  the  husbands  who  try  to  graft  the  Paul  Pry  upoa  the 
Romeo.  It  shows  a  pitiful  ambition,  I  thlnk^  for  any  human  being  to  «ti4a«^ 


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ne  Last  Night  of  James  WatsoiCs  Haneifmoon.        319 

Tonr  to  become  the  depositary  of  another's  secrets,  whether  he  calls  himself 
priest,  or  lover ;  and  &r  worse^  to  endeavour  to  become  ruler,  or  guardian, 
or  keeper  of  another's  mind.  Every  one  has  a  separate  and  independent 
existence,  and  should  keep  it  so.  Individualitv  never  ceases ;  and  who- 
ever strives  to  persuade  another  to  confess  to  him  is,  I  consider,  an  im- 
postor, and  should  be  treated  accordingly.  Our  wives  do  not  become 
one  and  indivisible  with  us  in  spirit,  because  we  are  tied  together  in  the 
body.  We  shall  all  be  in  units,  after  death,  however  we  may  be  united 
here. 

I  thought,  therefore,  that  Lucy  might  like  to  have  a  little  private 
chat  with  her  old  schoolfellows,  and  said  so.  She  laughed,  and  did  not 
deny  it  Accordingly,  I  resolved  to  take  a  stroll  after,  tea ;  and  at  about 
half-past  eight  o'clock  I  left  the  house,  and  walked  down  towards  the 
pier. 

I  had,  however,  another  motive.  This,  as  above,  was  the  last  night 
of  our  marriage-trip.  I  was  about  to  return  to  town  to-morrow,  and 
wished  to  think  over  a  few  matters  relative  to  the  world  of  busioess  to 
which  I  belonged. 

It  had  been  a  fine  but  rather  boisterous  day ;  and  though  the  wind 
had  now  somewhat  flEdlen,  the  sea  still  ran  high.  The  sun  had  set 
among  stormy  clouds,  and  the  weather-wise  and  the  weather-unwise 
amateurs — both  taking  their  cue  from  the  boatmen  of  the  place — shook 
their  heads  knowingly,  and  predicted  a  rough  to-morrow. 

Wise  and  foolish,  however,  were  nearly  all  housed  by  half-past  eight 
o^dock.  A  few  strags;lers  were  abroad,  on  the  parade,  but  even  these 
were  now  mostly  mi£ing  for  home ;  for  there  are  no  tom-fool  night- 
haunts  in  Broadstairs. 

The  evenings  had  begun  to  draw  in  very  fast,  and  before  I  had  taken 
many  turns  up  and  down  the  quaint  old  pier,  the  last  gleams  of  day  had 
Aided  from  the  sky.  The  moon,  however,  rose  early  and  was  nearly  full, 
so  that  there  was  no  lack  of  light. 

I  thought  over  my  partner's  late  letters.     Many  of  our  chief  trans- 
actions had  been  vexy  profitable ;  the  trains  which  I  had  laid  before  I 
lef);  town,  had,  as  far  as  they  had  had  time  to  explode,  done  weU ;  and 
though  I  was  very  happy  in  my  marriage  holiday,  yet  I  was  somewhat 
'  eager  to  be  back  again  at  the  exciting  game  of  business. 

After  I  had  walked  for  a  short  time,  I  saw  another  person  coming 
up  the  pier ;  and  as  I  did  not  wish  to  be  disturbed,  I  turned,  and  sat 
down  on  the  little  jetty  which  has  been  thrown  out  from  the  pier-head. 

At  first  I  feared  that  he  would  join  me,  even  here,  and  prepaied  to 
acknowledge,  as  surlily  as  I  could,  that  it  was  a  fine  night,  if  he  spoke 
to  me.  But  he  did  not  do  so.  I  heard  his  footfall  stop  about  the 
middle  of  the  pier.  I  then  heard  him  descend  the  rude  stairs  there,  and 
soon  after  a  sound  as  of  stepping  a  mast  in  a  sailing-boat  reached  my 
ears.  Satisfied  that  he  was  not  going  to  disturb  my  solitude,  I  leaned 
my  head  on  my  hand,  and  followed  out  the  various  thoughts  which  arose 
in  my  busy  brain. 

Among  the  many  people  with  whom  I  had  come  into  contact  in  the 
world  was  Alfred  Waters.  We  had  once  been  fellow-clerks,  and  there 
had  been  something  about  him  which  from  the  first  drew  me  to  him,  and 
made  me  like  him  better  than  any  other  of  my  companions. 


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320  T&«  LaU  Night  cfJmmes  Wat9on'9  Hauofmoom. 

It  «E8  not  hb  penon ;  ihat  was  rude  enouglL:  It  was  no  credit  to  ha 
seen  walkixkg  with  him,  aa  far  as  appearance  went  He  wanted  ''love's 
majesty/^  as  much  as  Biekard  did ;  was,  in  fact,  hideously  ugly.  The 
drm  in  which  nature  had  clothed  his  mind  was  altogether  unlike  that 
mind.  It  was  shocking  and  repulsive ;  his  mind  was,  I  often  thought^ 
very  admirable^ 

I  had,  I  say,  drawn  much  to  Alfred  Waters ;  and  acquaintanceship 
had  ripened  into  esteem  and  friendship.  I  cared  little  that  his  persoa 
was  uncouth,  his  head  too  big  for  his  big  body,  his  features  coarse,  hia 
hair  red,  his  eyes  small  and  ferret-like ;  his  character,  as  far  as  I  could 
read  it,  was  straightforward ;  his  tastes  were  like  my  own,  and  his  mind 
was  deeply  stor^.with  those  precious  things  whicn  literature  loves  to 
pve  its  votaries^ 

But  a  blank  had  suddenly,  and  quite  lately,  fallen  over  our  fnendship. 
I  had  crossed  his  path.  It  appeared  that  he  had  loved  Lucy  Hutchinson 
long  before  I  knew  her ;  loved  her  deeply,  too.  She  had  never  in  any 
way  encouraged  his  attachment,  and  he  certainly  never  spoke  of  it  to 
her.  But  I  heard  that  he  had  been  set  on  winning  her — that  he  had 
fully  expected  to  succeed  in  time,  until  my  interference,  as  he  considered 
it>  scattered  his  hopes  and  chances  to  the  winds. 

And  whether  I  had  shown  anything  like  trium[^  in  my  bearing  to 
him  (I  never  made  any  boast  of  my  success  in  words — of  that  1  am 
confident),  or  whether  some  mutual  friend  had  kindly  stimulated  his 
ezasperatioD,  he  suddenly  became  very  cool  towards  me.  His  self- 
esteem  was,  doubtless,  sorely  wounded,  and  perhaps  I  should  not  have 
alluded  to  the  subject ;  but  I  did.  I  sought  an  explanation  of  his  cold- 
ness. He  refused  to  give  any ;  and  from  that  time  he  avoided  me  as 
much  as  possible. 

This  would  not,  perhaps,  have  mattered  much,  if  he  had  stopped  there. 
In  the  whirl  of  London  life  we  do  not  feel  the  want  of  friendship.  It  is» 
indeed,  sometimes  in  the  way.  We  have  not  time  to  attend  to  it. 
Bacon's  statement^  "  That  if  a  man  have  not  a  friend,  he  ma^  as  weQ 
quit  the  stage,"  does  not  apply  in  modern  Babylon.  An  acquaintance  is 
quite  as  use^l,  often  more  so ;  quite  as  amusing,  and  more  easily  parted 
with ;  far  more  self-sacrificing,  if  there  is  any  chance  of  a  return. 

My  intercourse  with  Alfred  Waters  had  been  pleasant,  and  for  a  time 
I  regretted  that  it  was  broken  off.  But,  after  au,  I  could  do  very  well 
without  him ;  and  when  I  found  that  his  coldness  had  merged  into  hos- 
tility, my  feelings  changed  altogether.  From  a  paragraph  in  one  of  my 
partner's  letters,  it  seemed  that  my  late  friend  had  taken  an  offensive 
attitude  in  regard  to  some  transactions  between  our  respective  houses. 

Now,  I  am  not  easily  angered ;  but  I  am  not  to  be  trifled  with.  I  will 
bear  a  good  deal,  patiently ;  but  once  excited,  I  am  not  easily  pacified. 
This  conduct  of  Alfred  Waters's  had  been  much  on  my  mind,  and  now, 
as  I  reconsidered  matters,  the  double  sting  of  it  seemed  more  hitter  than 
before,  and  I  resolved  to  resent  it. 

I  was  thinking — my  thoughts  at  full  gallop — on  this,  as  well  as  other 
tlungs,  as  I  sat  on  the  jetty,  when  suddenly,  as  I  thought,  a  boat  came 

C^'  ^  ng  round  the  pier,  and  1  was  hailed  fix>m  it  in  a  voice  which  was 
liar,  but  whose  it  was  I  could  not  recollect. 
''  James  Watson,"  it  called,  '*  are  you  game  to-night  ?    It's  just  the 


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Mr  Lfmt  NigH  i^Jumn  WaUm's  Htxujpmom.        321 

I  for  a  Bail— a  furious  brarae  and  abnght  moon  I  Come^  wiB  jwalT 
Aad  the  boat  was  tlm)wzi  up  out  of  the  wmd,  and  the  next  moment  iPta 
betide  me. 

At  first  I  was  aoffry  at  being  disturbed ;  but  that  feeling  lefit  me  ia  a 
nmnent;  It  was  still  olowing  very  fresh ;  there  seemed  a  sort  of  romance 
about  the  inTitatimi,  and  the  seheme  altogether ;  above  all,  it  was  good- 
natured  in  the  sailor  to  think  of  me.  Yielding,  therefore,  to  these,  or 
other  impulses — ^rather  acting  as  if  inyoluntarily — ^I  rose,  stepped  for- 
ward,  stepped  down,  and  was  aboard  the  little  en& 

I  sat  down  where  I  could ;  but  my  oompanion  had  to  get  the  boat  into 
the  wind  once  more,  and  as  the  sail  shifted  it  nearly  swept  me  from  my 
seat.  When  I  recovered  from  the  sudden  shock,  the  little  veesel  was 
scudding  away  before  the  wind — the  crisp  waves  were  fuming  and  fretting 
against  it  as  it  flew  along;  everything  around  seemed  full  of  life,  and 
joyous. 

I  turned  to  look  at  my  companion,  but  a  large  heavy  cloud  had  sud- 
denly risen  up  the  heavens,  and  floated  across  the  moon,  and  shut  her 
light  away.  I  could  see  nothing  but  the  white  sail  above  me  and  the 
lights  on  shore,  and  a  few  dim  stars  in  the  distant  sky — all  else  was  sud- 
denly dark  around. 

And  so  it  continued  for  a  long  time ;  longer  than  I  can  tell  you.  The 
boat  went  sailing  on ;  the  wind  blew  fresher,  and  ever  fresher,  as  we  got 
further  from  the  shore ;  and  now  the  short  waves  gradually  changed  into 
that  longer  and  more  roUing  swell  which  sets,  after  stormy  weather, 
between  the  Forelands. 

And  still  the  darkness  was  about  us :  darkness  and  silence  too,  save  for 
the  rushing  of  the  vessel  through  the  waves.  I  had  £requently  spoken, 
but  either  the  wind  drowned  my  voice,  or  my  companion  would  not  re{dy. 
A  sense  of  mystery  was  over  me— seemed  to  g^her  dimly  round  me ; 
and  the  motaon  of  the  boat,  as  it  plunged  and  sprang  onward,  and  the 
darkness  brooding  round  us,  joined,  with  the  strange  silence  of  the  helms* 
tiaan,  to  rouse  a  kind  of  vague  terror  in  my  heart.     Who  could  he  be  ? 

Among  the  people  at  the  little  watering-place  were  several  acquaint- 
ances. The  Miss  Frazers'  brother  was  there^a  wild,  helter-skelter  fiellow. 
It  might  be  Henry  Frazer. 

^  What  are  you  so  confoundedly  silent  for?"  I  cried  out.     ^ Hemy, 
do  you  think  I  don't  know  you  ?" 
Still  there  was  no  reply. 

''Not  such  a  good  night  for  a  sail  as  you  thought,**  I  shouted,  deter- 
mined that  he  should  hear.     "  It  would  have  been  much  better  if  we  had 
not  lost  sight  of  the  moon." 
No  answer. 

"  How  long  were  your  sisters  to  stay  with  Lucy  ?" 
8till  no  response. 

**  I  wish  you  had  Inrought  them  out  too,"  I  pursued,  speaking  at  the 
fiiill  pitch  of  my  voice ;  '*  we  should  have  had  some  talking  then.    Why 
dbn^  you  speait^  man  ?" 
Not  a  word. 

1  strained  my  eyes  to  see  him.  In  vain.  The  great  cloud  still  hurried 
across  the  sky.     It  had,  however,  lifted  a  little  from  the  horiaon,  and  a 


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32ft         The  Last  Nighio/Jam^fFulsan^tMoMflfniPOfi* 

few  stars  were  to  be  seen  beneath ;  but  no  %ht  reached  jus.  .  I  could  not 
even  make  out  where  my  companion. was  sittiog;  whether  in  the  stem 
or  close  beside  me.  I  did  not  know  what  tackle  ne  had  for  steering ;  he 
might  be  at  my  side ! 

I  strained  my  eyes  to  see  the  lights  ashore .:  they  were  dim,  apd  yeiy 
distant  now.  The  North  Foreland  light  itself  was  a  long  way  off,  ap4 
one  of  the  Goodwin  beacons  seemed  very  near;  and  the  wind;  rose  ever 
stronger,  and  the  boat  still  flew  over  the  seas ;  and  still  no  sounds  were  tO 
be  heard  but  those  of  the  waves,  as  they  burst  against  the  prow. 

"  Confound  it  !**  I  cried  out  at  last,  <<  thu  passes  a  joke,  Henry.  You 
are  going  out  too  far.     I  must  get  back  to  Lucy " 

The  words  had  scarcely  left  my  lips  ere  a  sudden  tempest  of  wind 
swept  down  upon  the  boat.  With  quick  dexterity  he  steered  her  round 
into  the  teeth  of  the  gale — momentary  salvation  ! — but  the  boat  shook 
and  trembled  all  over  with  the  shock,  and  falling  off,  sprang  forward 
again  at  a  frightful  speed. 

The  doud  was  broken  up— -broken  and  whirled  away  from  the  face  of 
the  sky.  In  an  instant  the  whole  firmament  seemed  to  <^en  .before  our 
eyes  in  the  sudden  light.  Not  a  vestige  of  cloud  remained ;  but  the 
solemn  moon  looked  down  from  among  the  stars  on  the  wild  waves,  as 
they  fought  and  struggled  with  the  wind. 

I  turned  and  looked  In  my  companion's  face.  It  was  that  of  Alfbed 
Watebs  ! 

Instantly  that  he  saw  he  was  known,  he  sprang  up,  his  hideous  face 
working  with  passion ;  and  while  he  still  held  the  tiller  of  the  rudder 
firmly  with  one  hand,  he  pointed  with  the  other  to  the  sands,  which  we 
were  so  fast  nearing. 

It  seemed  as  though  he  wished  to  speak,  and  could  not.  My  tongue^ 
too,  appeared  to  be  tied  down  in  my  jaws.  I  strove,  but  strove  vfunly,  to 
say  a  word.  But  I  also  sprang  up  from  my  seat,  and  made  as  though  I 
would  advance  to  him. 

What  I  intended  to  do  I  did  not  know ;  perhaps  to  wrest  the  tiller 
from  him,  to  turn  the  boat  right  round,  and  once  more  make  for  shore. 
But  before  I  could  reach  him,  some  power — what,  I  know  not — he  eouU 
not  have  done  it,  at  least  I  thought  so — struck  me  down  upon  one  of  the 
seats,  where  I  remained,  as  though  fastened  to  it — as  though  insensibie, 
unable  to  stir  a  limb  for  a  long  time — how  long  I  never  knew. 

But  when  I  came  to  myself  again,  and  looked  up  at  him,  I  saw  that 
he  was  once  more  in  the  stem-sheets  of  the  boat,  and  seated  as  at  first 
The  moon  still  shone  brightly  down  upon  us — the  gale  still  blew ;  it  was 
a  fearful  wind,  and  the  boat  was  strained,  and  leaking  in  many  parts,  and 
the  sea  was  constantly  dashing  over  us.  Still  he  sat  steadily  there,  and 
steered  her  on  towards  the  Goodwin  Sands. 

Steadily  ?— he  sat  too  steadily  there !  At  first,  when  I  glanced  at  lag 
face,  and  saw  its  repulsive  features  by  the  moonlight,  and  its  Svide  c»ea 
eyeSy  I  thought  there  was  a  laugh  upon  it ;  but  it  was  not  so,  the  shifting 
of  the  lights  and  shades,  by  the  motion  of  the  boat,  made  this  appearance. 
He  was  not  laughinr. 

I  looked  again :  tke  eves  seemed  resolutely  fixed  on  me — ^they  appeared 
to  glare  from  under  their  shaggy  brows ;  but  there  was  a  rigidity  about 


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The  Last  Night  of  Jamtt  Wattwit  Honeymoon.        323 

their  stare  which  appalled  me.  It  never  altered — it  never  varied.  It 
rises  up  before  my  mind's  eye  Kow — I  see  it  stitL 

And  the  thought  came  upon  me  like  a  lightning  flash — quick,  startling, 
frightful — ^that  he  was  deaa !  And  at  eveiy  glance  I  gave  towards  him, 
still  there  seemed  the  same  horror  written  on  the  motionless  face  and  in 
the  glassy  eyes — ^Dead ! 

I  dared  not  stir;  my  blood  seemed  all  curdled  in  my  veins;  and  still  the 
boat  rushed  on.  The  moon  was  shining  high  in  heaven,  and  the  tempest 
of  wind  still  raged  below.  The  sea,  lashed  into  higher  and  higher  waves, 
rose  in  masses  under  our  very  feet ;  and  when  we  seemed  to  be  about  to 
sink  into  the  gp^eat  smooth  trough,  we  were  suddenly  raised  on  high 
again — nused  into  the  full  blast,  to  sink  once  more,  and  rise,  and  sink 
again. 

But  suddenly,  as  we  reached  the  summit  of  a  great  wave,  I  looked  out 
seaward,  and  saw  the  Groodwin  beacon-Kght  close  by.  The  full  horror 
of  my  situation  rushed  upon  me.  It  was  his  revenge  !-^he  dead  was 
fulfilling  the  last  wish  of  the  disappointed  man.  We  should  at  all  events 
perish  together;  and  if  Lucy  was  to  live  happily,  it  was  not  to  be  any 
more  with  me. 

Still  we  swept  onward,  ever  onward,  and  the  calm  moon  looked  upon 
us  while  we  rushed  toward  destruction.  Destruction! — was  there  no 
means  of  escape  left,  then?  Must  I  die?  Must  all  these  fair  life- visions 
vanish,  all  be  swallowed  up,  and  in  a  few  short  moments,  too,  by  the 
great  monster,  Death  ?     Was  there  no  way  of  escape  ? 

Yes !  With  a  wild  scream  I  threw  off  the  lethargy  which  had  fallen 
over  me — ^threw  it  off,  and  leaped  to  my  feet.  I  sprang  forward,  stumbled 
over  the  seat,  stood  up,  sprang  forward  again,  tripped  against  the  next  seat, 
fell  forward — fell  over  it,  and  was  in  the  next  moment  up  again.  I 
caught  hold  of  him;  he  was  cold  and  stiff;  I  tried  to  dash  him  away  from 
the  tiller,  he  was  immovable.  I  tore  at  him  to  get  him  away;  the  dread- 
ful feeling  of  deadness  which  met  my  hands  at  every  touch  did  not  deter 
me — ^nothing  deterred  me  ;  what  should  ?  Was  it  not  for  life  ?  I  re- 
newed my  exertions,  when,  suddenly,  to  my  terror,  I  felt  myself  seized ; 
he  clung  to  me,  grasped  me  to  himself,  whde  he  exclaimed,  with  a  tre- 
mendous voice,  that  seemed  to  echo  through  my  heart, 

"  Now  then,  James,  supper's  ready  !'* 

With  a  convulsive  start,  1  was  immediately  awake.  Henry  Frazer  had 
me  in  his  arms,  while  Lucy  and  his  two  sisters  stood,  laughinfi",  by.  I 
had  fallen  asleep  a£  I  sat,  and  thought,  upon  the  jetty,  and  they liad  come 
to  look  for  roe. 


Anything  further  would  be  raperfliiotis.  Alfined  Waters  is  still  hoatiley 
and  next  session  oor  differences  will  cany  us  both  into  "the  Coart  of 
Oommon  Pleas. 


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(    82*    ) 
PICTURES  OF  MY  BARRACK  LIFE. 

BY  A   gBBMATi  80UHME« 

Chaffer  X. 

THS     BIVOITAC. 

At  the  terminatioa  of  the  evolations,  we  were  ordered  to  bivosae  for 
the  nieht  upon  the  field  of  acdon,  the  two  sides  being  separated  by  a 
SBiaU,  bat  noisy  riTulet,  which  ran  diagonally  across  the  heaw.  Semaat 
Dose,  with  his  distinguished  company,  was  entrusted  with  one  of  the 
outposts  in  the  neighbourhood  of  this  rivulet— an  arrangement,  whidi 
though  it  was  intended  as  a  sort  of  honourable  distinction  for  our  good 
serrices,  was  not  appreciated  as  such,  either  by  Dose  or  myself;  for  he 
was  languishing  affer  a  larger  audieuce  to  listen  to  his  ''poetical"  and 
analytical  exposition  of  his  late  achievement ;  and  I  had  just  been  put 
upon  the  qui  vive  by  catching  a  momentary  glimpse  of  a  certain  iour< 
wheeled  carriage,  painted  green  and  black,  and  containing  an  elderly 
gentleman  and  a  young  lady,  who  were  driving  about  to  saze  at  omr  pio- 
ceedings ;  but  by  being  banished  to  an  outpost,  I  feared  that  I  should  be 
beyond  their  range.  However,  despite  our  balked  desires,  we  found  the 
eoup'dceUy  from  the  little  elevation  where  our  gun  was  posted,  sufficiently 
interesting  to  banish  regrets,  and  spirit-stirring  enough  to  awaken  the 
suso^tibmty  of  a  mind  even  less  ''poetical"  than  that  of  Sergeant 
Feodor. 

A  full-orbed  moon  showered  her  silvery  beams  over  the  camp,  with  its 
oircumjacent  heath,  and  played,  upon  a  thousand  bayonets  and  helms, 
whidi,  flashing  back  her  rays  with  redouUed  brilliancy,  created  a  rolling 
sea  of  light  quite  dazzling  to  behold.  Af^r  enjoying  all  the  pleasures 
and  excitement  of  action,  we  could  now  gaze  upon  its  picturesque  aooom^ 
paniments  without  suffering  any  of  their  attendant  norrors.  We  were 
nmtormeoted  by  the  sight  of  the  disabled  and  the  dying»  nor  were  oar 
ears  assailed  by  their  deep-drawn  groans.  Not  a  sound  was  heard  that 
raised  itself  above  the  loud  unvarying  hum  of  the  busy  camp»  save  now 
and  then  some  snatches  of  a  song,  or  a  peal  of  hearty  laughter.  No 
iMjroneted  friend  or  foe  raised  himself,  half-man,  half-ghost,  to  utter  a 
pamful  sigh,  and  a  "  Griisze  mein  Lottchen,  Freund,"  or  to  implore  the 

rier-by  for  a  draught  of  water.  The  only  articulate  sounds  that  ooull 
distinguished,  were  the  impatient  exclamations  of  hungry  soldiers, 
clamouring  for  their  schnapps  and  suppers,  and  throwing  the  toiling 
sutiers  into  a  frenzy  of  bewilderment  The  spectacle,  too^  was  of  an 
efoally  joyous  and  unlacfarvmose  description.  At  no  great  distanoefrom 
mar  post,  the  seating  wid^  diooldOTed  arms,  were  peeing  up  and  doMm 


iheir  beat;  behind  them,  gaudy  Uhlans,  with  their  eza]^]ms  coeked  i  _ 
their  heads  at  such  an  extraordinarily  low  angle  as  might  almost  have 
justified  one  in  constituting  them  an  exception  to  the  Newtonian  law, 
were  foraging  t^eir  steeds ;  and  further  off  our  comrades  were  limbering 
up  their  guns,  while  groups  of  officers  were  collected  round  blazing  fires, 
woich  ffickered  on  their  &oes,  and  brought  them  out  in  bright  refief, 
rttidering  them  quite  distinct,  though  at  a  considerable  distance.     Such 


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Pickires  qf  w^  Barraek  Lift.  325 

a  vou^  liwwd  vndar  a  doudlets  aky  and  a  balmy  air»  waa  snffidaiit 
ti>  hsre  atifred  a  stoic's  heart;  but  i^n  tha  impressive  temperament  of 
8sfgeaiit  Feodor  it  prodnoed  a  most  sublimating  effect,  making  hia  heart 
beat  high  for  poetry  and  patriotisro,  and  bringing  down  upon  my  head 
an  inunadiate  improvisation  of  all  the  incongruous  ideas  that  were  sug^- 
gaated  to  hia  mind  by  tfie  present  circamstances,  and  the  collectiye  sense 
of  whidk  was  very  much  like  the  hairs  imon  a  serpent's  skin,  so  fine  that 
no  micsroaoope  can  make  them  visible.  But  ere  long,  to  my  gp:eat  relief, 
tho  imnroviaaior  befran  to  feel  conscious  of  an  internal  vacuum,  which 
stopped  the  flow  of  lus  poetical  fervour,  and  we  therefore  applied  our- 
aelvea  coit  amort  to  the  km  romantic  occupation  of  preparing  and  eating 
oar  supper;  and  I  was  g^  to  perceive  that  Dose's  sentimental  tender- 
neaa  dia  not  prevent  him  from  making  a  furious  onslaught  upon  some 
^ylooking  compound  that  had  been  churning  all  day  at  nis  saddle-bow. 
While  thus  employed,  I  was  heartily  pleased  to  find,  by  the  appearance 
of  one  or  two  strange  horsemen  near  our  gun,  that  we  were  not  entirely 
lost  to  the  many  spectators  who  were  scattered  over  the  heath,  and 
shortly  afterwards  a  caniage  or  two  approached  to  within  a  short  distance 
of  us.  This  again  filled  me  brimful  of  restless  expectation,  and  I  kept  a 
w«tchfiil  eye  upon  everything  in  the  shape  of  a  vehicle  that  came  withia 
our  view ;  bat  so  many  were  the  disappointments  I  had  to  under^,  that 
my  stock  of  hopes  was  nearly  exhausted  when  I  saw  an  equipage  orawing 
near,  of  mudi  the  same  appearance  as  the  one  I  was  so  devoutly  wishing 
£ar.  I  waa  instantly  upon  my  feet,  and  my  mind  became  the  battle-field 
flir  warring  legions  of  "if 's"  and  "  hut's."  "  If  it  was  her  carriage  !" 
<<If  the  i£ould  be  in!"  "^If  she  should  come  nearl"  And  all  these 
hopeful  '^iPs"  were  met  by  a  seiried  phalanx  of  gloomy  '*  but's,"  which 
ovortomed  and  crushed  their  nascent  ardour. 

The  carriage  came  on  at  a  gentle  pace,  and  for  some  time  I  held  my 
breath  as  carefully  as  though  I  was  afraid  of  scaring  it  away  by  the 
beating  of  my  heart.  I  then  advanced  towards  it,  and  had  scarcely  had 
time  to  foel  assured  that  I  was  not  mistaken  in  its  identity,  before  I  heard 
the  gende  accents  of  a  well-remembered  voice,  addressing  the  coachaaa 
in  tones  so  sweet  that  I  thought  it  a  shame  they  should  be  wasted  upon 
him.  "  Where  are  we  now,  Frederick  ?"  And  when  Frederick  had  in- 
formed her  that  they  were  close  to  an  outpost,  she  directed  him  to  drive 
round,  that  she  might  view  it. 

''  Now  or  never,"  I  thought,  and  immediately  stepped  forward  to  bid 
her  good  evening. 

**  Oh,  are  you  there  ?^  waa  her  reply ;  and  the  words  were  spoken  with 
a  pecofiar  emf^iasis  upon  the  "  there^"  which  made  my  vanity  suggest 
that  my  appearance  was  not  a  totally  unlooked-for  or  unexpected  ( 


Fivderidc  immediatdy  palled  up,  and  I  coold  almost  have  hugged  the 
eBoeHant  oU  feUoiw  to  my  heart,  as  I  heard  him  say,  "  Look,  Gnadigaa 
Fsialein ;  here  is  the  young  cadet  that  was  at  our  house  the  other  diy. 
tf  Toa  wish  to  see  the  outposts,  he  will  be  aUe  to  take  you  round  then, 
wWat  I  can  wait  for  yom  hecek" 

Those  woida  threw  me  into  a  fover  of  the  most  agouimig  so^nse,  and 
I  alood  statiie«]]ke,  wil^  my  eyes  %xsdL  immovably  upon  h»v  lips,  draad* 
Bf  to  hear  her  deeliao  the  proposaL     Bat,  oh,  Gott  Amor!  my  i' 


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S26  Pictures  of  my  Barrack  Life. 

were  hardly  equal  to  mj  fortune.  After  a  moment's  hesitatioR  ^e  ac- 
quiesced. I  quickly  opened  the  door,  let  down  the  step,  supported  her  on 
my  arm,  and  assisted  ner  to  alight  My  first  sensations  upon  finding  my- 
self in  such  a  felicitous  position  were,  I  most  confess,  of  a  somewliat 
hewildered  description.  My  heart  beat  in  a  wild,  tumultuous  bliss,  and 
my  brain  reeled  under  the  immensity  of  my  good  fortune.  Hie  stars,  too, 
seemed  to  participate  in  my  excitement,  for  they  rolled  about  in  the  most 
eccentric  orbits.  Eren  sober  Cynthia  wore  a  laughing  face,  and  all  sub- 
lunary objects  seemed  to  be  under  the  tarantula's  influence,  landscape  and 
horses,  men  and  guns,  whirling  around  in  the  maddest  of  gyrations. 
Whether  I  was  the  prime  cause,  or  merely  a  participant  of  this  general 
vertigo,  the  effects  were  the  same.  It  most  effectually  dammed  up  the 
enthusiastic  and  fervid  flow  of  words  which  I  would  fain  have  noured  out, 
and  produced  nothing  but  some  miserable  abortions,  dry  ana  disjointed 
specimens  of  the  merest  commonplace.  In  the  most  profound  ignonnce 
of  what  I  was  saying,  I  ran  over  some  of  the  driest  details  of  our  outpost 
services,  mingled  with  occasional  scraps  of  our  morning's  adventure,  in  all 
of  which,  however,  the  amiable  Fr&ulein  was  good  enough  to  profess 
g^at  interest.  But  when  at  last  my  mind  was  disencumbered  of  its 
misty  mantle,  and  when,  by  the  gentle  pressure  of  the  Frftulein's  arm,  as 
she  shrank  back  in  alarm  at  a  plunging  horse,  I  became  more  alive  to  the 
happy  realities  of  my  situation,  I  succeeded,  much  to  my  own  satisfiiction, 
in  giving  a  more  entertaining  and  more  coherent  style  to  my  discourse, 
and  in  discharging  the  duties  appertaining  to  my  enviable  post  of  cicerone, 
I  attained,  for  some  few  minutes,  the  very  ne  plus  ultra  of  felicity.  But 
they  were  minutes,  alas !  which  passed  like  seconds ;  and  it  was  only  by 
hearing  the  old  coachman  impatiently  cracking  his  whip  that  I  became  at 
all  aware  that  we  had  described  a  tolerably  wide  circle  round  our  outpost, 
and  had  arrived  nearly  at  the  point  from  which  we  set  out. 

"  Good  night,  my  dear-est  Fraulein,"  I  uttered,  in  a  tentative  and 
half-doubting  tone ;  and  being  answered  by  another  *^  good  night,"  in  a 
whispered  but  most  satisfactory  tone,  I  conducted  her  to  the  carriage ; 
and  again  bidding  her  good  night,  she  drove  away  to  rejoin  her  uncle. 


Chapter  XI. 

STEFS  NUMBERS  TWO  AND  THREE  ON  THE  LADDER  OF  PROMOTION. 

Having  ascertained  from  the  Fraulein  that  both  she  and  her  uncle 
^ould  be  at  home  on  the  following  morning,  I  determined  to  follow  up 
my  progress  with  the  niece,  and  at  the  same  time  discover  what  sort  of  a 
reception  my  credentials  would  have  procured  me  from  the  uncle.  These 
I  found  had  operated  as  e£5caciousIy  as  could  be  hoped,  and  had  produced 
roost  vastly  satisfactory  results.  The  kind-hearted  count  was  delighted 
to  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing  the  ward  and  relative  of  his  old  mend 
Von  B.,  begged  I  would  always  consider  myself  a  welcome  visitor  at 
the  Schloss,  and  concluded  by  inviting  me  to  dinner  for  that  after* 
fioon,  informing  me  that  his  niece  was  miking  in  the  garden,  and  would, 
no  doubt,  be  gUd  to  see  me,  if  I  liked  to  look  for  her.  It  may  be  ima- 
gined that  there  was  no  veiy  long  debate  or  close  division  in. my  mind 


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jnetures  of  my  Barrack  Life,  327 

upon  the  merits  of  this  propositioo,  and  five  minutes  later  I  was  strolling 
down  the  gravel-walk,  the  Fraulein's  arm  within  my  owq,  and  with  the 
air  of  one  who  had  nothing  more  to  wish  for. 

But  my  happiness  was  too  great  to  last  I  had  not  heen  long  in  the 
enjoyment  of  my  terrestrial  Walhalla  before  my  path  was  crossed  by  a 
most  odious  apparition,  whose  malevolent  aspect  seemed  sadly  out  of  place 
among  these  blissful  shades.  "  Oh  dear !  tnat  adjutant  is  coming/'  were 
the  ominous  words  which  diverted  my  eyes  from  their  feast  of  pilfered 
glances  at  the  Fraulein's  face,  and  turned  them  upon  Herr  Honig- 
thauicht's  ill-favoured  features,  his  native  ugliness  being  by  no  means 
mitigated  by  the  contrast  under  which  he  was  presented  to  my  view,  or  by 
the  choleric  fumes  which  were  boiling  in  his  breast.  A  cross-grained 
lieutenant  is  the  positive  of  a  certain  predicate  which  shall  be  unwritten ; 
a  jealous  ditto  is  the  comparative ;  but  a  cross-grained  lieutenant  who  is 
jealous  of  an  inferior,  is  the  superlative.  Lieber  Himmel !  And  Lieu- 
tenant Honigthauicht  was  at  this  moment  in  the  highest  degree  superla- 
tive. His  first  impulse,  no  doubt,  was  to  take  a  run  and  apply  his  foot  to 
the  fundament  of  the  impudent  interloper  who  had  thrust  himself  into  the 
place  which  he  so  often  sighed  for ;  but,  fortunately  for  his  reputation,  he 
discerned  us  whilst  yet  at  some  little  distance,  so  that  the  6rst  efferves- 
cence of  his  rage  had  time  to  escape,  and  he  succeeded  in  keeping  within 
the  bounds  of  decorum  and  politeness.  But  his  wish  to  annihilate  myself 
and  at  the  same  time  to  play  the  amiable  before  the  Fraulein,  produced 
an  odd  incongruity  in  his  demeanour.  Into  his  left  eye,  which  was 
turned  towards  the  Fraulein,  he  tried  to  throw  a  kind  of  ogle,  which  re- 
sulted in  an  awkward,  amorous  leer.  He  smiled  most  graciously  out  of 
the  corresponding  corner  of  his  mouth,  while  with  the  hand  he  executed 
a  would-be  graceful  and  gallant  salute.  To  this  contented  calm  the 
raging  tempest  on  the  other  side  offered  a  striking  contrast.  There,  a 
twinkling,  restless  eye  lunged  forth  Toledos  and  Damascenes ;  the  tip  of 
his  moustache  curled  upwards  like  a  tiger-cat's ;  the  corner  of  his  mouth 
was  slightly  opened,  displaying  a  pair  of  jagged,  yellow  tusks ;  and  the 
fist  was  closed  with  a  threatening  gesture.  Such  an  eccentric  fig^ure  did 
my  lieutenant  cut,  while  his  heart  was  cooking  poison  at  finding  himself 
supplanted  by  his  impudent  subordinate.  But  alas  for  my  subordinacy ! 
By  virtue  of  his  epaulettes.  Lieutenant  Honigthauicht  was  enabled  to 
turn  my  smile  of  satisfaction,  which  he,  no  doubt  (and  perhaps  not  incor- 
rectly), construed  into  one  of  triumphant  mockery,  to  a  sober  stare  of 
bhink  surprise. 

**  Here,  Mr.  Cannoneer,*'  ( !  )  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  the  most  aggra* 
vating  depreciation,  at  the  same  time  pulling  a  packet  from  his  pocket, 
and  handmg  it  to  me — ^*  here,  take  these  despatches  to  the  commander  of 
the  brigade  at  Wilhelmstadt,  and  wait  for  any  that  may  have  to  be 
returned." 

Here  was  an  abrupt  and  dreadful  finale  to  the  hopeful  commencement 
of  the  morning.  This  time  Mr.  Adjutant-Lieutenant  Honigthauicht  had 
undoubtedly  succeeded  in  turning  the  tables  upon  me,  and  I  felt  coxisider-^ 
aUf  creatfulen  in  consequence.  But.  in  the  midst  of  niy  vexation  it  wa^' 
an  .immense  comfort  to  perceive  that,  though  the  enemy  had  ousted  me 
from  the.  position  which  I  had  ocoupied  wiw  so  much  i^onfidencc;.  yet  be 


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328  Pictures  of  my  Bavratk  Life. 

was  not  able  to  maintain  it  himself.  On  tHe  praflbr  of  his  arm  and  4 
pany,  he  was  met  by  a  polite  bat  immediate  *<  No,  Uiank  you,''  togodwr 
with  an  intimation  of  the  Fraulein's  intention  to  Tetorn  to  the  hooia^ 
which  was  giren  with  a  look  that  plainly  showed  she  did  not  appivciate 
his  politeness  in  thns  unceremoniously  depriving  her  of  her  escort. 

Much  reanimated  by  the  sight  of  my  antagonist  reoetnng  sodi  a  check, 
I  made  my  adieus  to  the  Fraulein,  expressing  my  sorrow  at  being  obfiged 
to  leare  her  so  unexpectedly ;  and,  hastening  to  our  stable,  I  was  soon  on 
my  charger's  back,  spurring  him  towards  Wilhelmstadt.  Arrived  ther^ 
I  dismounted  before  the  door  of  our  head-quarters,  and,  after  asoending 
the  steps,  was  proceeding  to  traverse  the  lengthy  corridor  which  led  to  the 
bureau  where  I  had  to  deport  my  despatches,  when  I  was  arrested  by  tlw 
sound  of  Von  Teschchcnschech's  voice  issuing  from  a  side-room,  whose 
door  opened  upon  the  passage. 

«  Hollo,  there !— halt !     Come  here." 

I  immediately  obeyed  the  summons,  and,  entering  hu  den,  I  fbuad  the 
•  M  colonel,  pipe  in  mouth  and  cap  on  head,  luxuriating  in  an  easy  chaff, 
seeming  to  be  on  remarkably  good  terms  with  himself. 
"  Well,  bombardier,  where  are  you  come  from  ?'* 
I  announced  myself  officially,  with  the  usual  salate.   ^  An  ordonBaiice, 
Herr  Oberst,  from  the  Fettenweiden  Battery,  to  deliver  despatches  at 
*the  Brigade  Commando."* 
"  Let  me  see  them." 

I  delivered  them  into  his  hands.  After  hastily  glancing  through  iheos, 
he  threw  them  back,  saying, 

**  Well,  take  them  to  the  bureau,  and  let  them  give  yon  an  answer.** 
I  made  my  salute,  and  was  proceeding  to  make  my  exit,  when  he  ott- 
prised  me  by  8a3ring, 

**  Softly,  softly,  Mr.  Bombardier ;  whither  away  so  fast  ?    Don't  be  in 
audi  an  outrageous  huny.     I  want  to  have  a  few  words  with  you.     Yon 
have  been  nearly  a  year  in  nnr  brigade,  haven't  you  ?*' 
"  Yes,  at  your  command,  Herr  Oberst" 

'^Well,  well,  drop  ^at  your  command;'  ^yes'  will  be  sufficient.  I 
can*t  say,  Mr.  Bombardier,  that  I  am  sony  I  received  you,  notwithstand- 
ing all  your  scatter-brained  exploits.  I  can  affiird  yon  vonngsten  a  libeiijr 
now  and  then,  always  provided  you  are  oheerfbl  and  lively---no  aolken  or 
head-hangers.  Now  you  had  better  go  to  the  bureau,  and  get  the 
return  despatches ;  and,  whilst  there,  you  may  as  well  emfdoy  your  imm 
by  glancing  at  the  promotion-list." 

Throughout  the  interview  I  had  been  sorely  ponied  by  the  eolonel's 
unwonted  suavity  of  manner,  for  which  I  could  not  at  all  antiafaeiorily 
aoooont ;  but  these  last  words  were  suggestive  of  an  electrifying  idea»  me 
hare  conception  of  which  shot  a  deli^tful  thrill  throughout  my  frame. 
Ah!  a  sergeant,  was  I?  No  longer  Bombardier,  but  Sergeant  B.! 
What  would  Emilie  say  ?  This  brilliant  ftmoy  had  no  sooner  %ot  across 
my  mind  than  I  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  an  aooomplished 
iaot,  and  took  it  for  granted  that  I  was  in  veri^  S«!gaaat  B^  witii  oofy 
oae  step  between  me  and  a  pair  of  epaulettes.  That  step  was  aoon  aor- 
nownted — in  imagination;  and,  with  visionary  ontiuna  of  marshsiii* 
hatons,  Frauleins'  faces,  and  other  agreeaUe  object  floaiii^  bdbsa  my 


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Pictures  of  my  Barrack  Life.  3St 

EB  in  cfaaotie  oonftuion,  I  stood  awhile  in  the  ccnridor,  erecting  magni^ 
nt  chateaux  in  the  air.  But  my  satisfied  self-complacency  was  snd* 
denly  changed  into  fear  for  the  fate  of  my  aerial  structares,  by  the  reecd^ 
lection  that  they  had  as  yet  no  secure  foundation-stone  to  stand  upon. 
How  did  I  know  I  was  a  sergeant?  Where  was  the  protocol?  The 
colonel  never  said  I  was  promoted  to  a  higher  rank.  Perhaps  his  majesty, 
in  consideration  of  my  good  services,  had  been  graciously  pleased  to 
transfer  me  to  a  guard-brigade  stationed  £eu*  away  from  Schloss  liegen- 
ditsch ;  and,  indeed,  the  colonel's  words  were  of  a  valedictory  rather  than 
a  congratulatory  nature.  This  last  supposition  was  intolerable,  and 
instantly  aroused  me  from  my  dreamy  lethargy.  With  headlong  eager- 
ness I  darted  down  the  corridor,  and  bolted  into  the  bureau  in  such  Irre- 
rerent  haste  as  gave  great  umbrage  to  my  sweet  friend  Captain  De  Foe, 
to  whom  I  had  to  deliver  my  despatches.  I  had  no  sooner  disburdened 
myself  of  these  than  I  hastily  clutched  hold  of  the  promotion-list,  which 
was  handed  to  me,  unasked,  by  one  of  the  clerks,  and  there  I  found,  to 
my  inexpressible  delight,  that  my  first  conjecture  was  correct  At  the 
very  top  of  the  list  stood  ^*  Horatz  Albrecht  B.,  bombardier,  to  be  Ser- 
ffeant."  These  few  words  I  read  and  re-read,  and  read  again  and  again, 
hardly  able  to  persuade  myself  that  they  were  not  the  creation  of  my 
heated  imagination.  But  no,  there  could  be  no  mistake  about  the  matter. 
AU  the  letters  stood  out  in  the  clearest  Roman  type,  and  steadily  main- 
tained their  places,  instead  of  dissolving  into  some  other  combination,  as 
I  was  apprehensive  they  might  I  was  at  last  compelled  to  give  credence 
to  the  irrefiragable  evi(lence  of  my  optics ;  and  then,  had  it  not  been  for 
the  refiigerative  presence  of  Captain  De  Foe,  I  do  not  know  into  what 
extravagances  my  excessive  exhilaration  might  not  have  launched  me. 
His  balefrd  glances,  however,  were  sufficient  to  throw  a  damp  even  over 
my  glowing  ardour ;  and  the  expression  of  his  countenance,  which  showed 
plainly  enough,  by  its  dolorous  contortions,  what  excruciating  tortures  he 
was  suffering  from  the  sight  of  my  satisfaction,  was  so  remarkably  male- 
volent as  to  divert  my  thoughts  for  a  while  from  my  newly-acquired  dig- 
nity, and  fix  them  upon  him.  So  great,  too,  was  the  contrast  between 
the  mild  though  stiffish  zephyr  that  I  had  met  with  in  the  colonel's  room 
to  this  rude,  borean  blast,  that  I  could  not  help  instituting  a  mental  com- 
parison between  the  two— two  men  so  similar  in  some  respects  that  a 
casual  observer  might  have  pronounced  them  both  off  the  same  model, 
but  in  aU  essential  particulars  as  opposite  as  the  poles.  They  were  both 
great  blusterers  on  parade,  and  seemed  to  make  a  point  of  finding  fault 
wherever  it  could  be  done.  But  their  motives  in  this  were  totaUy  dis- 
similar. With  the  colonel  it  arose  from  a  real  though  mistaken  and 
antiquated  love  for  discipline  and  order ;  and  half  the  punishments  which 
he  imposed  were  generaily  remitted  either  immediately  after  the  imposi- 
tion or  on  the  first  convenient  oppoirtunity.  With  De  Foe,  upon  the 
other  hand,  arrests  and  extra  drills  were  the  consequences  of  that  ran- 
corous spite  which  he  seemed  to  bear  to  almost  erery  soldier  in  the  ranks, 
a  few  sycophants  excepted,  and  which  was  generally  contracted  within  a 
few  days^  at  the  furthest,  after  his  entrance  into  the  captain's  company ; 
and  when  once  a  feud  arose  betwieen  C^aptain  De  Foe  and  an  infenor,  it 
would  iniaUiUy  last  as  lacBg  ■■  diej  bolli  conti— ed  in  the  brigade.    Re- 


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330  Pictures  of  my  Barrack  Lift. 

conciliation  and  forgiveness  were  principles  totally  alien  to  his  nature,  and 
words,  probably,  of  which  he  did  not  fully  understand  the  meaning.  He 
could  never  say,  with  our  bard  of  bards,  in  his  noble  hymn : 

Groll  und  Rache  sey  vergessen, 

UDserm  Todfeind  sey  verziehn. 
Keine  Thrane  soil  ihn  pressen, 

Keine  Reue  nage  ihn/ 

Unser  Schiildbuch  sey  vernichtet! 

Ausgescibnt  die  ganze  Welt ! 
Bruder—iiberm  Sternenzelt 

Hichtet  Gott,  wie  wir  gerichteL* 

But  Von  Teschchcnschech,  however  much  he  might  declaim  and  rave 
against  some  offending  wretch,  was  always  ready  to  bestow  an  approving 
grunt  at  the  first  signs  of  amendment,  and  always  liked  a  man  the  more 
for  looking  him  boldly  in  the  face,  and  not  seeming  to  be  frightened  by 
his  threats,  whereas  such  conduct  towards  De  Foe  would  dmost  have 
so  far  induced  the  necessity  for  a  strait  waistcoat  to  curb  that  worthy's 
maniac  frenzy.  It  was,  perhaps,  a  happy  thing  for  me  that  his  bile  on 
this  occasion  was  so  abundant,  as  I  might  otherwise  have  been  less  cau- 
tious, and  might  easily  have  afforded  him  a  pretext  for  discharjo^ng  some 
of  his  venom  at  me.  As  it  was,  the  almost  imperceptible  smile  of  satis- 
faction which  I  permitted  to  cross  my  lips  gave  him  an  opportunity  for 
letting  off  a  little  of  the  spleen  with  which  he  was  almost  bursting, 

"Hollo,  sirrah!  what  are  you  laughing  at  there?  Remember  where 
you  are,  you  young  Scum-of-the-earth.  I'll  take  some  of  your  sauciness 
out  of  you,  you  young  mongrel." 

Having  somewhat  eased  his  mind  by  the  emission  of  this  accumulation 
of  pronouns  and  elegant  epithets,  he  subsided  into  his  former  hissing  state 
wiUiout  damage  done  to  any  one.  As  soon  as  my  despatches  were  pre- 
pared, 1  lost  no  time  in  quitting  this  uncongenial  atmosphere,  and  I  again 
carried  the  papers  into  Von  Teschchenschech's  apartment  to  procure  his 
signature.  As  soon  as  he  saw  me  re-enter,  he  exclaimed  with  a  waggish 
gnn, 

"  Well,  Mr.  Sergeant  B.,  how  goes  it  now  ?  What  is  your  opinion  of 
affiiirs?  Nun  gut !  Only  keep  out  of  the  old  gentleman  s  kitchen,  and 
you'll  get  something  better  soon.  And  then" — this  he  said  in  a  tone 
which  bordered  on  the  sentimental — "  and  then,  when  you  have  g^t  my 
epaulettes  upon  your  shoulders,  think  sometimes  of  old  Teschchenschech, 
who  was  always  a  friend  to  you  young  dogs,  though  he  does  rail  at  you 
sometames." 

Contrary  to  all  the  established  rules  of  discipline  and  etiquette,  I  laid 

*  Be  rancorous  hate  remembered  not. 
Pardon  to  our  mortal  foe ; 
Let  every  tear  be  all  forgot, 
And  nothing  known  of  woe. 

Let  our  debt-book  cancelled  be, 

Let  the  world  harmonioos  live; 
Brothers,  above  yon  stanry  sea 

God  forgives  as  we  forgive.— Scbilusbt—  To  Jojf. 


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Pictures  of  my  Barrack  Uft,  831 

my  hand  upon  my  heart  and  thanked  him  with  groat  empressementf  at 
Wmch  he  took  a  mighty  suck  at  lus  meerschaum  and  ejaculated, 

'*  Na,  na,  you  aro  a  bold  young  dog." 

After  he  had  put  his  name  to  the  papers,  I  remounted  my  charger, 
and  the  exuberant  activity  of  my  spirits  communicating  itself  to  my  spurs, 
the  fortress  was  soon  a  long  way  behind  me,  and  the  Fat  Meadows  just 
under  my  nose.  After  deSvering  my  despatches  to  the  major  of  the  day, 
I  arrayed  myself  in  the  whole  armour  of  dandyism  (not  forgetting  my 
new  sergeant's  stripes),  and  then  took  my  way  to  the  Schloss.  Great  was 
the  astonishment  of  Lieutenant  Honigthauicht,  when  he  saw  me  enter  the 
drawing-room  in  dining  trim,  and  when  he  heard  the  count  introducing 
me  to  the  guests  as  a  young  friend  of  his.  This  was  the  crowning  stroke 
to  my  previous  impertinences.  My  presence  thero  was  gall  and  worm- 
wood to  his  soul — I  was  a  monstrous  eyesore ;  and  he  was  so  plainly 
writhing  under  the  infliction,  that  my  compassion  predominated  over  my 
dislike,  and  I  actually  felt  some  regret  that  I  should  have  proved  such  a 
mar-joy  to  the  wrotch.  The  only  time  that  an  unforced  smile  ever 
crossea  his  lips  that  evening  was  when  he  succeeded  in  taking  the  Frau- 
lein's  arm  to  lead  her  in  to  dinner — an  honour  which,  of  course,  I  was  com- 
pelled to  yield  to  my  superior;  but  even  this  pleasure  was  a  very  fleeting 
one,  for  a  minute  anerwards  the  count  chanced  to  observe  my  new  stripes, 
and  then  the  lieutenant  was  almost  flayed  alive  by  the  congratulations 
which  wero  bestowed  upon  me. 

Not  long  after  my  elevation  I  received  a  letter  from  my  guardian,  of  a 
very  amphibological,  or  in  the  vernacular,  a  many-sided  kind.  There  had 
evidently  been  a  well-fouffht  conflict  in  his  mind  between  satisfaction  and 
disappointment— eatis&ction  at  my  success,  and  disappointment  at  the 
falsification  of  his  own  predictions.  He  had  constantly  maintained  the 
imjpossibility  of  my  risme,  and  now  that  he  had  the  indisputable  fact 
before  him,  he  was  wonderfully  taken  aback,  and  the  only  solution  by 
which  he  could  satisfy  his  own  mind  was,  that  it  arose  from  the  principle 
JFortuna/avetfatuis^  *' Fortune  favours  fools.''  He  commenced  his  letter 
by  expressing  happiness  at  my  promotion,  but  then,  as  if  the  admis- 
sion of  such  a  selx-damnatory  consummation  required  extensive  qualifica- 
tion, he  immediately  began  to  expatiate  upon  the  impossibility  of  my  ever 
getting  a  step  farther.  The  only  methoa,  according  to  him,  of  obtain- 
ing a  commission  within  any  reasonable  length  of  time,  was  to  expend  a 
considerable  amount  of  hard  cash,  and  he  cUlated  upon  the  folly  of  ven- 
turing my  modest  peculium  in  a  lottery  of  such  problemadc  success.  This 
train  of  thought  entailed  a  lengthy  £squisition  (in  which  he  indulged  his 
penchant  for  pessimism  to  the  utmost^  on  the  veiy  true  and  very  trite  sub- 
ject of  the  necessity  of  gold  for  getting  on  in  this  matter-of-fact  world, 
interspersed  with  a  few  quotations  as  old  and  hackneyed  as  the  subject  they 
wero  intended  to  elucidate.  Thero  was  some  validity  in  these  remarks, 
and  I  myself  was  rather  daunted  when  roflecting  on  uie  length  of  time  I 
might  sUll  have  to  romain  in  the  ranks.  But  almost  contemporaneously 
with  my  reception  of  this  epistle,  came  the  unexpected  news  that  some 
Mexican  bonds  which  had  been  an  intended  possession,  but  which  had 
long  been  rogarded  as  so  much  waste  paper,  had  by  some  marvellous  and 
almost  unaccountable  piece  of  eood  iuck  been  converted  into  hard  cash 
for  not  less  than  half  their  value,  so  that  I  was  now  in  possession  of  a 

Jufy — VOL.  ZGV.  IfO.  CGCLZXIX.  Z 


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3SS  Fiekirea  of  my  Barmok  Life. 

respeetable  patrtmony,  ^juite  liirg«  «nmxgfa  to  wamni  tho  •mplojinefit  of 
some  of  it  m  furthering  my  promotion.  This  lucky  oceumnoe^  whaeh 
by-the-by  strengthened  my  guardian's  fiiith  in  the  befere-meDtioned 
adage  about  the  blind  caprice  of  fortune,  educed  another  missile  from  his 
hochsteigner  hand^  in  which  be  again  urged  me  to  shake  off  my  ehatns  and 
put  myself  at  my  own  disposal  once  more,  re-enunciating,  hf  way  of  arga- 
ment,  ^e  impractieabiltty  of  obtaining  a  commission .  But  to  prore  thiS)  he 
was  now  obliged  to  change  his  tactics,  and  he  accon&gly  tried  hard  to 
demonstrate  that  '^influence  at  court*'  was  a  sine  qua  non  for  the  attain- 
ment of  promotion,  and  that  unless,  by  a  wondrous  casualty  in  the  world 
of  chances,  some  Mend  or  relative  should  be  summoned  to  court,  like  tibe 
flea  of  which  Mephistophiles  sung  in  the  cellar  of  Leipiig,  and,  like  that 
great-hearted  flea,  should  distinguish  himself  by  heaping  patronage  upon 
all  his  connexions,  I  might  renounce  all  hopes  of  a  pair  of  epaul^tes, 
without  a  long  and  wearisome  bondage  under  the  stripes. 

By  all  this  it  was  very  evident  that,  for  some  reason  or  other,  my  gasr> 
dian  had  determined  to  get  me  out  of  the  king's  service  if  possible,  and 
would,  consequently,  make  no  efibrt  for  the  furtherance  of  my  promotion. 
But  I  was  now  less  inclined  than  ever  to  lose  all  the  benefit  of  my  long 
apprenticeship  to  his  majesty,  and  by  no  means  relived  the  idea  of  havins 
so  long  endured  the  capricious  bullyings  of  Messrs.  Honigthauicht  and 
De  Foe  for  nothing.  Besides  that,  there  was  a  sentence  in  this  very  letter, 
the  thought-pregnant  contents  of  which  were  alone  sufficient  to  counter- 
vail all  the  stores  of  elaborate  logic  by  which  it  was  accompanied.  In  this 
single  sentence,  on  which  I  bestowed  more  attention  than  on  all  his  other 
letters  together,  he  informed  me  that  he  had  lately  received  a  letter  &om 
Graf  Lieginditschy  who  expressed  g^reat  interest  in  my  unworthy  self,  and 
told  him  that  I  and  his  eldest  niece  seemed  to  be  on  very  friendly  terms, 
and  that,  when  we  were  two  or  three  years  older,  who  knew,  he*,  &c 
''This,"  added  my  guardian,  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  way,  "is  an 
affair  which  shoula  not  be  ne^eoted."  Neglected,  indeed  t  If  he  could 
only  have  foreseen  the  efiect  n^ch  this  communication  produced  upon  me, 
he  would  probably  have  hesitated  before  letting  me  know  anything  about 
it  He  urged  it  upon  me  as  an  additional  reason  for  following  his  advice. 
But,  alas  for  his  calculations !  it  had  a  precisely  opposite  effect.  It  im- 
mediately determined  me  not  on  any  account  to  quit  the  brigade  whilst 
stationed  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Wilhelmstadt 

After  coming  to  this  resolve,  I  lingered  on  for  several  weeks  at  the  Fat 
Meadows  in  a  state  of  dubious  anxiety,  excogitating  all  sorts  of  crude  and 
incongruous  schemes  for  hoisting  a  pair  of  epaulettes  on  to  my  shoulders, 
and  for  stirring  up  my  guardian  to  take  a  little  aetive  interest  in  the 
matter.  Our  brigade  was  still  detained  around  the  fbrttess,  though  my 
heart  beat  anxiously  each  morning  at  appell,  lest  I  should  hear  the 
marching  order  read  out.  The  difficult  and  tiresome  knot  was  at  length 
cut  by  a  hand  from  which  I  had  not  ventured  to  expect  so  great  a  boooi 
One  happy  morning,  on  arriving  on  my  matutinal  visit  to  the  Schlon,  I 
was  directed  by  the  count  to  go  immediately  in  quest  of  his  nieoe,  as  aJie 
had  something  particular  to  deliver  into  my  hands.  I  was,  as  usual,  a 
very  short  time  in  looking  for  her ;  for,  strange  as  it  m^ht  iqipear  to 
others,  I  knew  each  morning,  as  if  by  intuition,  the  exact  s^t  of  the 
house  or  grounds  where  I  Aould  find  her.     I  now  made  straight  for  a 


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Pictures  of  my  Barrack  Life.  333 

little  boudoir,  where  I  expected  to  find  her  sitting  either  alone  or  in  com- 
pany with  the  countess.  I  was  not  wrong.  There  I  found  her ;  and  I 
cannot  say  that  I  was  disappointed  to  find  the  countess — not  there.  As 
soon  as  the  first  morning  salutation  was  passed,  she  surprised  me  hj 
putting  into  my  hands  a  packet  of  most  portentous  dimensions,  sealed 
with  a  prodigious  expenditure  of  wax,  impressed  hy  the  great  seal  of  the 
brigade.  Such  a  packet  had  been  too  often  present  to  my  imagination 
for  me  not  to  recognise  its  genus  at  a  glance,  and,  without  breaking  the 
seal,  I  knew  that  I  was  now  "  Sub-lieutenant  B.,  of  his  Majesty's  Artil- 
lery." My  joy  may  be  imagmed.  My  first  impulse,  an  irresistible  and 
an  imresisted  one,  was  to  throw  my  arms  round  the  fair  donor's  neck,  and 
impress  my  gratitude  upon  her  lips  in  its  fullest  fervency.  This  first  kiss 
led  to  another  and  another,  and  then  to  a  long  conversation,  the  purport 
of  which  shall  be  left  to  the  reader's  own  lively  imagination.  Suffice  it 
to  say,  that  it  terminated  as  it  had  commenced,  in  a  rapturous  kiss,  and 
that  when  I  quitted  her  side  it  was  to  betake  myself  to  the  count,  and, 
after  thanking  him  for  his  splendid  gift,  to  exhibit  my  unblushing  insa- 
tiability by  requesting  a  favour  ten  times  as  valuable  as  the  one  I  had  just 
been  overwhelmed  with.  He  replied,  however,  in  the  most  encouraging 
terms ;  and  though  he  deferred  giving  a  decided  answer  for  the  present 
yet  I  had  every  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  the  position  of  affairs. 

Such  was  the  happy  finale  to  my  Lehrjahr  in  the  ranks.  The  next 
time  I  saw  Von  Tesoichenschech,  his  congratulations  were  as  eager  and 
as  boisterous  as  if  I  had  been  a  bosom-friend  for  half  a  lifetime,  and  he 
gave  me  such  a  hearty  hug  round  the  shoulders  as  made  me  almost  doubt 
whether  I  had  not  got  between  the  paws  of  a  half-famished  bear.  Cap- 
tain De  Foe,  upon  the  other  hand,  displayed  a  queer  mixture  of  shyness 
and  indignation,  and  often  looked  as  if  his  feelings  would  be  immensely 
relieved  by  the  old  pleasure  of  prescribing  me  an  extra  drill  or  watch.  To 
Herr  Adjutant-Lieutenant  Honigthauicht  this  last  was,  as  may  be 
.  guessed,  the  bitterest  one  of  all  the  nauseous  pills  that  I  had  compelled 
him  to  swallow,  and  my  name  and  title  always  stuck  so  fast  in  his  tnroat, 
that,  whenever  positively  compelled  to  address  me,  he  was  forced  to  have 
recourse  to  the  most  roundabout  methods  of  calling  my  attention  to  him 
—a  purpose,  by  the  way,  which  he  generally  found  most  difiicult  of  ac- 
complishment. As  to  my  old  crony,  Sergeant  Feodor,  he  soon  afterwards 
accepted  the  offer  of  retirement  which  was  made  to  him  at  the  expiration 
of  one  of  his  periods  of  service,  and,  in  lieu  of  a  pension,  he  accepted  the 
appointment  of  postmaster  in  the  town  of  Wilbelmstadt,  as  a  situation 
where  he  could  nave  abundant  scope  for  the  play  of  his  literary  abilities; 
When  I  and  Mrs.  B.  (nee  Emilie  Lieginditsch)  last  passed  through  the 
town,  we  found  that  he  had  provided  himself  with  a  fat  and  fruitful  Frau, 
and  he  was  then  engaged  in  poetising  upon  the  remarkably  romantic  oc- 
currence of  the  birSi  of  a  second  batch  of  lusty  twins  within  two  years 
after  his  maniage. 


z2 


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(    984     >^ 


THE  BLITHEDALE  ROMANCE.* 

A  NEW  work  from  the  pen  of  Nathaniel  Hawthorne  seems  to  he  wel- 
comed in  the  United  States  with  somewhat  of  the  fervour  that  once  awaited 
a  Waverley  Novel  in  the  mother  country.  It  is  an  event  of  such  import- 
ance as  to  he  now  heralded  simultaneously  on  hoth  sides  of  the  Atlantic^ 
and  we  esteem  ourselves  fortunate  in  heing  enahled  to  give  to  our 
readers,  almost  contemporaneously  with  its  publication,  some  idea  of  the 
last  new  romance  of  the  author  of  the  "  Scarlet  Letter,"  and  the  "House 
of  the  Seven  Gables." 

"  BUthedale,"  in  the  author's  own  modest  estimate,  is  "  a  faint  and 
not  very  faithful  shadowing"  of  Brook  Farm,  in  Roxbury,  which  (now  a 
little  more  than  ten  years  ago)  was  occupied  and  cultivated  by  a  company 
of  Socialists.  "  Blithedale"  is  thus  a  Socialist  romance,  removed  from 
the  highway  of  ordinary  literary  performances,  and  claiming  interests 
peculiarly  its  own.  The  chief  personages  are  few  in  number;  the 
author,  or  Miles  Coverdale,  as  he  designates  himself,  beginning  life 
with  strenuous  aspirations,  which,  dying  out  with  his  youthful  fervour, 
have  yet  left  behind  a  conviction  that  that  Socialist  experiment  was  cer- 
tainly the  most  romantic  episode  in  his  life — at  once  a  day-dream  and  a 
fact ;  a  weakly  maiden,  whose  tremulous  nerves  endow  her  with  Sibylline 
attributes ;  a  high-spirited  woman,  bruising  herself  against  the  narrow 
limitations  of  her  sex ;  an  intellectual,  self-willed,  egotistical  philanthro* 
pist ;  that  is  nearly  all ;  yet  around  these  he  has  thrown  more  than  his 
usual  amount  of  soul-engrossing  interest;  translating  also,  with  more 
than  usual  psycolog^cal  sul)tlety,  the  mysterious  harmonies  of  nature  into 
articulate  meanings. 

«*  The  ffreatest  obstacle,"  says  Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  "  to  being  heroic, 
is  the  doubt  whether  one  may  not  be  going  to  prove  oneself  a  fool."  Yet  in 
face  of  this,  it  was  in  the  heart  of  a  pitiless  snow-storm  that  the  bachelor^ 
poet  and  romancer  left  his  snug  town  quarters  to  go  into  the  wilderness 
in  search  of  a  better  life.  "  The  better  life  !  Possibly,"  he  says,  "  it 
would  hardly  look  sO}  now ;  it  is  enough  if  it  looked  so  then." 

Whatever  else  I  may  repent  of,  therefore,  let  it  be  reckoned  neither  among 
my  sins  nor  follies  that  I  once  had  faith  and  force  enough  to  form  generous 
hopes  of  the  world's  destiny, — yes ! — and  to  do  what  in  me  lay  for  their  accom- 
plishment; even  to  the  extent  of  quitting  a  warm  fireside,  flinging  away  a 
freshly-lighted  cigar,  and  travelling  far  beyond  the  strike  of  city  clocks,  through 
a  drifting  snow-storm. 

There  were  four  of  us  who  rode  together  through  the  storm ;  and  HoUicgB* 
worth,  who  had  agreed  to  be  of  the  number,  was  accidentally  delayed,  and-^et 
forth  at  a  later  hour  alone.  As  we  threaded  the  streets,  I  remenit»er  how  the 
buildings  on  either  side  seemed  to  press  too  closely  upon  us,  insomuch  that 
our  mighty  hearts  found  barely  room  enough  to  tlirob  between  them.  The 
snow-fall,  too,  looked  inexpressibly  dreary  (I  had  almost  called  it  dioir); 
coming  down  through  an  atmosphere  of  city  smoke,  and  alighting  on  the  sIdeJ 
walk  only  to  be  moulded  into  the  impress  of  somebody's  patched  bootor  erem 
shoe.  Thus  the  track  of  an  old  conventionalism  was  vMfais  on  wint  was 
freshest  from  the  sky.  But  when  we  left  the  pavements,  and  ^oar  nqffled 
hoof-tramps  beat  upon  a  desolate  extent  of  country  road,  and  wers  effiioed  hf 

*  The  Blithedale  Bomance.  By  Nvthaaiel  Hawthorne.  TweYQliuneB.  Chs^ 
mai^ and  fiall.  •    '         '?..»--•■).,  r  -^/i 


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The  BUA^le  Aamance.  335 

the  unfetlered  blast  at  soon  as  stamped,  then  there  was  better  air  to  breathe. 
Air  that  had  not  been  breathed  once  and  again  l^air  that  bad  not  been 
spoken  into  words  of  falsehood,  formality,  and  error,  like  all  the  air  of  the 
dusky  city. 

Our  **  world  reformers"  were,  however,  soon  seated  by  the  brisk  fire- 
aide  of  an  old  farm-house.  It  does  not  appear  that  the  great  Socialist 
experiment  was  performed  at  any  remarkable  distance  Arom  the  busy 
haunts  of  men — ^indeed,  we  may  gather  from  incidents  that  occur  further 
on,  not  much  more  than  a  long  morning's  walk.  It  was,  indeed,  a  right 
eood  fire,  built  up  of  great  rourh  logs  and  knotty  limbs,  and  splintered 
mgments  of  an  oak-tree ;  and  there  was  also  a  stout  farmer,  Silas 
Foster  by  name,  lank,  stalwart,  uncouth,  gxizzly -bearded,  whose  only 
remark  was,  "  Well,  folks,  youll  be  wishing  yourselves  back  to  town 
l^^n,  if  this  weather  holds." 

<'  Zenobia**  was  already  with  the  Community,  This,  it  is  needless  to 
say,  is  an  assumed  name,  given  to  a  literary  lady,  a  pupil  of  George 
Sand,  a  mat  advocate  for  the  rights  of  her  sex,  a  *'  world  reformer," 
imperial  in  figure  and  deportment — whence  her  name;  for  **  our  Zenobia — 
however  humble  looked  her  new  philosophy — had  as  much  native  pride 
as  any  queen  wotdd  have  known  what  to  do  with."  Margaret  Fuller 
Ossoli  is  here  apparently  intended.  And  now  for  our  romancer^s  first  in- 
troduction to  Socialism. 

*'  I  am  the  first  comer,"  Zenobia  went  on  to  say,  while  her  smile  beamed 
wnrmth  upon  us  all ;  "so  I  take  the  part  of  hostess  for  to-day,  and  welcome 
you  as  if  to  my  own  fireside.  You  shall  be  my  guests,  too,  at  supper.  To- 
morrow, if  you  please,  we  will  be  brethren  and  sisters,  and  begin  our  new  life 
from  daybreak." 

**  Have  we  our  various  parts  assigned  ?"  asked  some  one. 

"  O,  we  of  the  softer  sex,''  responded  Zenobia,  with  her  mellow,  almost 
broad  laugh — most  delectable  to  hear,  but  not  in  the  least  like  an  ordinary 
woman's  laugh — **  we  women  (there  are  four  of  us  here  already)  will  take  the 
domestic  and  in-door  part  of  the  business,  as  a  matter  of  course.  To  bake, 
to  boil,  to  roast,  to  fry,  to  stew ;  to  wash,  and  iron,  and  scrub,  and  sweep ;  and, 
at  our  idler  intervals,  to  repose  ourselves  on  knitting  and  sewing ;  these,  I 
suppose,  must  be  feminine  occupations,  for  the  present.  By-and-by,  perhaps, 
when  our  individual  adaptations  begin  to  develop  themselves,  it  may  be  that 
some  of  us  who  wear  the  petticoat  will  go  a-field,  and  leave  the  weaker 
brethren  to  take  our  places  in  the  kitchen.*' 

"  What  a  pity,"  I  remarked,  *'  that  the  kitchen,  and  the  house-work  gene- 
rally, cannot  be  left  out  of  our  system  altogether !  It  is  odd  enough  that  the 
kind  of  labour  which  &lls  to  the  lot  of  women  is  just  that  which  chiefly  dis- 
tinguishes artificial  life — the  life  of  degenerated  mortals— from  the  life  of 
Paradise.  Eve  had  no  dinner-pot,  and  no  clothes  to  mend,  and  no  washing- 
day." 

•*  I  am  afraid,"  said  Zenobia,  with  mirth  gleaming  out  of  her  eyes,  "  we 
shall  find  some  difliculty  in  adopting  the  Paradisiacal  system  for  at  least  a 
month  to  come.  Look  at  that  snow-drift  sweeping  past  the  window!  Are 
there  any  figs  ripe,  do  you  think  ?  Have  the  pme-apples  been  gathered, 
to  day?  Would  you  like  a  bread-fruit,  or  a  cocoa-nut?  Shall  I  ntn  out  and 
pluck  you  some  roees?  No,  no,  Mr.  Coverdale ;  the  only  flower  hereabouts 
IS  the  one  in  my  hair,  which  I  got  out  of  a  greenhouse  this  morning.  As  for 
the  garb  of  Eden,"  added  she,  shivering  playfully,  **  I  shall  not  assume  it  till 
after  May-day." 

Assuredly,  Zenobia  could  not  have  intended  it ; — the  fault  must  have  been 
entirely  in  my  imagination.  But  these  last  words,  together  with  something  in 
her  manner,  irresistibly  brought  up  a  picture  of  that  fine,  perfectly  developed 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


SM  7%e  BUkedak  Bmname. 

fignse,  tn  £ve^  earKest  icafmeiit.  Her  fi«e,  eareton,  generoiiB  modM  of  ex-* 
presiioD  often  bad  this  effect,  of  creating  images.,  which,  though  pave,  ate 
luadly  felt  to  be  quite  decorous  when  bom  of  a  thoiigbt  that  peases  between 
man  and  woman.  I  imputed  it,  at  that  time,  to  Zenobia's  noble  ooiitagey 
conscious  of  no  harm,  and  scorning  the  pelty  restraints  which  take  the  life  and 
colour  out  of  other  women's  conversation.  There  was  another  peculiari^ 
about  her.  We  seldom  meet  with  women,  now-a*days,  and  in  this  country, 
who  impress  tis  as  being  women  at  all  ;^-their  sex  fades  away,  and  goes  m 
Dothing,  in  ordinary  intercourse.  Not  so  with  Zenobia.  One  feh  an  influenee 
breadiing  out  of  her  such  as  we  might  suppose  to  come  from  £ve,  when  aha  ■ 
was  just  made,  and  her  Creator  brought  her  to  Adam,  sayiag,  **  Behold  I  hare 
is  a  woman  !'*  Not  that  I  would  convey  the  idea  of  especial  gentlenes8»  ff^oe^ 
modesty,  and  shyoess,  but  of  a  certain  warm  and  rich  characteristic,  which 
seems,  for  the  most  part,  to  have  been  refined  away  out  of  the  feminine 
system. 

In  leaving  the  *'  rusty  iron  framework  of  society"  behind  them,  ao^ 
breaking  through  those  hindrances  which  are  powerful  enough  to  keep 
most  people  on  the  weary  tread- mill  of  the  established  system,  one  of  the 
first  purposes  of  the  Community — a  generous  one,  certainly,  and  absurd 
in  full  proportion  to  its  generosity — was  to  give  up  whatever  each  had 
heretofore  attained,  for  the  sake  of  setting  mankind  the  example  of  a 
life  governed  by  other  than  the  false  and  cruel  principles  on  which  human 
society  has  all  along  been  based. 

And  first  among  these,  they  were  supposed  to  have  divorced  themselves 
from  piide,  and  to  be  at  ftdl  liberty  to  supply  its  place  with  femiliar  love. 
This  will  explain  the  latter  part  ot  the  romancers  rather  critical  observa- 
tions upon  Zenobia's  person,  and  we  shall  see  how  the  principle  woifa 
practically  hereafter.  Next  they  were  to  lessen  the  labouring  man's 
great  burden  of  toil,  by  performing  their  due  share  of  it  at  the  cost  of 
their  own  thews  and  smews.  If  Zenobia  and  the  pale  mysterious  Pris- 
cilla  represented  the  first  principle,  stout  Silas  Foster  embodied  the 
latter.  He  seldom  mingled  in  the  conversation ;  but  when  he  did,  it  was 
to  destroy,  at  one  fell  swoop,  some  splendid  castle  in  the  air  that  literary 
ladies  and  young  poets  and  philantnropists  had  been  weaving  among  tiie 
fervid  coals  of  the  hearth. 

"  Which  man  among  you,"  quoth  he,  "  is  the  best  judge  of  swine?  Some 
of  us  must  go  to  the  next  Brighton  fair,  and  buy  half  a  dozen  pigs." 

Pigs !  Good  Heavens!  had  we  come  out  from  among  the  swinish  multitude 
fortliis?  And,  again,  in  reference  to  some  discussion  about  raising  early 
vegetables  for  the  marine t : 

"We  shall  never  make  any  liand  at  market-gardening,**  said  Silas  Foster, 
"unless  the  women  folks  will  undertake  to  do  all  the  weeding.  We  haven't 
team  enough  for  that  and  the  regular  farm-work,  reckoning  three  of  you  ci^ 
folks  as  worth  one  common  field-hand.  No,  no  ;  I  tell  you,  we  should  have  to 
get  up  a  little  too  early  in  the  morning,  to  compete  with  the  market-gardeners 
round  Boston.^* 

It  struck  me  as  rather  odd,  that  one  of  the  first  questions  raised,  after  our 
separation  from  the  greedy,  struggling,  self-seekin<;  world,  should  rekite  to  the 
possibility  of  getting  the  advantage  over  the  outside  barbarians  in  tiieir  own 
field  of  labour.  But,  to  own  the  truth,  I  very  soon  became  sensible  that;  as 
regarded  society  at  large,  we  stood  in  a  position  of  new  hostility,  rather  tlum 
new  brotherhood.  Nor  could  this  fail  to  be  tlie  case,  in  some  degree,  until  the 
bigger  and  better  half  of  society  should  range  itself  on  our  side.  Constituting 
so  pitiful  a  minority  as  now,  we  were  inevitably  estranged  from  the  rest  of 
mankind  in  pretty  fair  proportion  with  the  strictness  of  our  mutual  bowl 
among  ourselves. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


TbeSIiiheAOeAmaMeii.  Mf 

Witk  10  Bhavp  a  serntinuer  of  human  xiatiim  as  JMlilas  CoveicUdo»  Htm 
pvesenoe  of  Zenohia,  at  the  rery  onaet,  caused  the  ^^  heroio  •nteiprise''  he 
had  engaged  in,  and  fer  which  he  had  saorifioed  eveiytfaing,  to  show  iike 
an  inusion,  a  masquerade,  a  pastoral,  a  counterfeit  Arcadia,  in  which 
grown-up  men  and  women  were  making  a  play-daj  of  the  years  that 
were  given  them  to  live  in.  "  I  tided,"  he  says,  '^  to  analyse  this  im- 
pEession,  but  not  with  much  success." 

'^  The  pleasant  fire-light !  I  must  still  keep  harping  on  it."  And  well 
he  might,  for  hj  its  fervid  glare  Zenobia  had  a  glow  on  her  cheeks 
that  made  the  poet  think  of  Pandora,  fresh  from  Vulcan's  workshop,  and 
full  of  the  celestial  warmth  by  dint  of  which  he  had  tempered  and 
moulded  her.  It  was  the  first  practical  trial  of  their  theories  of  equal 
brotherhood  and  sisterhood  ;  and  yet^  while  he  felt  as  if  something  were 
already  accomplished  towards  the  miUenium  of  love,  the  poet  did  not 
refrain  from  questioning,  in  secret,  whether  some  of  them— and  Zenobia 
among  the  rest — would  so  quietly  have  taken  their  places  there,  save 
for  the  cherished  consciousness  that  it  was  not  by  necessity,  but  choice : 

Though  we  saw  fit  to  drink  our  tea  out  of  earthen  cups  to-night,  and  in 
earthen  compauy,  it  was  at  our  own  option  to  vise  pictured  porcelain  and 
handle  silver  forks  again  to-morrow.  This  same  salvo,  as  to  the  power  of 
regaioing  our  former  position,  contributed  much,  I  fear,  to  the  equanimity 
with  which  we  subsequently  bore  many  of  the  hardships  and  humiliations  of  a 
life  of  toil.  If  ever  I  have  deserved  (which  has  not  often  been  the  case,  and, 
I  think,  never),  but  if  ever  I  did  deserve  to  be  soundly  cuffed  by  a  fellow* 
mortal,  for  secretly  putting  weight  upon  some  imaginary  social  advantage,  it 
must  have  been  while  I  was  striving  to  prove  myself  osteutatioualy  his  eqaal, 
and  no  more.  It  was  while  I  sat  beside  him  on  his  cobbler's  bench,  or  dinked 
my  hoe  against  his  own  in  the  coro*field,  or  broke  the  same  crust  of  bread,  my 
earth-grimed  hand  to  his,  at  our  noontide  lunch.  The  poor,  proud  man  should 
look  at  both  sides  of  sympathy  like  this. 

Wise  reflections,  such  as  these,  were,  however,  interrupted  by  the 
arrival  of  two  important  characters  in  these  Socialist  experiences — Hol- 
lingsworth,  the  philanthropist,  and  the  mysteaous  PrisoUla.  And  fint 
&r  the  philanthropist     Is  this  intended  as  a  portrait  of  Dana  ? 

Hollingsworth's  appeamnce  was  very  striking  at  this  moment.  He  was 
then  about  thirty  years  old,  but  looked  several  years  older,  with  bis  great 
shaggy  head,  his  heavy  brow,  his  dark  complexion,  liis  abundant  beard,  and  the 
rude  strength  with  wbidi  his  features  seemed  to  have  been  hammereid  out  of 
iron,  rather  than  chiselled  or  moulded  from  any  finer  or  softer  raateriaL  His 
figure  was  not  tJill,  but  massive  and  brawny,  and  well  befitting  his  original 
ocaipation^  which^as  the  reader  probably  knows— was  that  of  a  blacksmith. 
As  for  external  polish,  or  mere  courtesy  of  manner,  he  never  possessed  more 
than  a  tolerably  educated  bear ;  although,  in  his  gentler  moods,  there  was  a 
tenderness  in  his  voice,  eyes,  mouth,  in  his  gesture,  and  in  every  indescribable 
manifestation,  which  few  men  could  resist,  and  no  woman.  But  he  now  looked 
stem  and  reproachful ;  and  it  was  with  tlwt  inauspicious  roeamng  in  his  glance 
that  HoUingsworth  first  met  Zenobia's  eyes,  and  began  his  influence  upon  her 
life. 

Next  for  Priscilla.     Who  is  the  original  of  this  admirable  sketch  ? 

The  cloak  falling  partly  off,  she  was  seen  to  be  a  very  young  woman,  dressed 
in  a  poor  but  decent  gown,  made  high  in  the  neck,  and  without  any  re- 
card  to  fashion  or  smartness.  Her  brown  hair  fell  down  from  beneath  a 
hood,  not  in  curls,  but  with  only  a  slight  wave ;  lier  face  was  of  a  wan,  almost 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


838  Th0  BlkheMhRMntm^. 

tkkly  liae,  betokcoiog  habitual  sediMioo  from  die  sun  and  free  atflMaphere, 
like  a  flower^slirub  that  had  done  its  best  to  blossom  in  too  scanty  lialit.  To 
complete  the  pitiableness  of  her  aspect,  she  shivered,  either  with  cold,  or  fear, 
or  nervous  excitement,  so  that  you  might  have  beheld  iier  shadow  vibrating  on 
the  fire-lighted  wall.  In  short,  there  has  seldom  been  seen  so  depressed  and 
sad  a  figure  as  this  young  girfs ;  and  it  was  hardly  possible  to  help  being 
angry  with  her,  from  mere  despair  of  doing  anything  for  her  comfort.  The 
fantasy  occurred  to  me  that  she  was  some  desolate  kmd  of  creature,  doomed 
to  wander  about  in  snow-storms ;  and  tliat^  though  the  ruddiness  of  our 
window-panes  had  tempted  her  into  a  human  dwelling,  she  would  not  remain 
long  enough  to  melt  tiie  icicles  out  of  her  hair. 

Anotlier  conjecture  likewise  came  into  my  mind.  Recollecting  Hollines* 
worth's  sphere  of  ptiilanthropic  action,  I  deemed  it  possible  that  he  might 
have  brought  one  of  his  guilty  patients,  to  be  wrought  upon,  and  restored 
to  spiritual  health,  by  the  pure  influences  which  onr  mode  of  life  would 
create. 

As  yet,  the  girl  liad  not  stirred.  She  stood  near  the  door,  fixing  a  pair  of 
large,  brown,  melancholy  eyes  upon  Zenobia-— only  upon  Zenobia!--sbe  evir 
dently  saw  nothing  else  in  the  room,  save  that  bright,  fair,  rosy,  beautiful 
woman.  It  was  the  strangest  look  I  ever  witnessed ;  long  a  mystery  to  me,  and 
for  ever  a  memory.  Once  she  seemed  about  to  move  forward  and  greet  her— I 
knew  not  with  what  warmth,  or  with  what  words ;  but,  finally,  instead  of  doing 
so,  she  drooped  down  upon  her  knees,  clasped  her  hands,  and  gazed  piteously 
into  Zenobia's  &ce.  Meeting  no  kindly  reception,  her  head  fell  on  her 
bosom. 

I  never  thoroughly  forgave  Zenobia  for  her  conduct  on  this  occasion, 
fiut  women  are  always  more  cautious  in  their  casual  hospitalities  than  men. 

Zenobia  proclaimed  her  a  sempstress  from  the  city;  whence  her  pale* 
ness,  her  nervousnesa,  and  her  wretched  fragility.  But  the  impress  of  a 
magnetic  patient  is  forced  upon  the  reader  at  once.  *'  Let  her  tdce  the 
cow-breath  at  milking- time,"  was  the  sensible  and  benevolent  remark  of 
old  Silas,  "  and  in  a  week  or  two  she'll  begin  to  look  like  a  creatove  of 
this  world." 

The  description  of  the  inflneDce  of  things  around  and  about  this  sen* 
utive  girl  is  perfect  in  its  way : 

When  the  strong  puffk  of  wind  spattered  the  snow  against  the  windows,  and 
made  tlie  oaken  frame  of  the  farm-house  creak,  she  looked  at  us  appre- 
hensively, as  if  to  inquire  whether  these  tempestuous  outbreaks  did  not 
betoken  some  unusual  mischief  in  the  shrieking  blast.  She  liad  been  bred  up, 
no  doubt,  in  some  close  nook,  some  iiuiuspiciously  sheltered  court  of  the  city, 
where  the  uttermost  ra^e  of  a  tempest,  though  it  might  scatter  down  the  slates 
of  the  roof  into  the  bricked  area,  could  not  shake  the  casement  of  her  little 
room.  The  sense  of  vast,  undefined  space,  pressing  from  the  outside  against 
the  black  panes  of  our  uncurtained  windows,  was  fearful  to  the  poor  girl, 
heretofore  accustomed  to  the  narrowness  of  human  limits,  with  the  lamps  of 
neiglibouring  tenements  iilimmering  across  the  street.  The  bouse  probahlf 
seemed  to  her  adrift  on  tlie  great  ocean  of  the  night.  A  little  pamllek>gca9 
of  sk}'  was  all  tliat  she  liad  hitlierto  known  of  naUire,  so  that  she  felt  the 
awfulnefs  that  really  exists  in  its  limitless  extent.  Once,  witjle  the  blast  was 
bellowing,  she  caught  hold  of  Zenobia's  robe,  with  precisely  the  air  of  one 
who  hears  lier  own  name  spoken  at  a  distance,  but  is  unutterably  reluctant  to 
obey  the  call. 

As  to  HoIIingsworth,  habituated  to  the  sole  and  intense  contemplation 
of  one  leading,  soul-engrossitig  idea— «  plan  for  the  reformation  of  cri- 
Odinals,  through  an  appeal  to  their  higher  instincts— he  sat  wrapt  m  h^ 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


own  thoughts,  oiiKr  boeaaloniltj  glaring  nplMi  bis  SodiHst  broAmv  and 
sisters  from  the  thick  shrabbeiy  of  his  meditations,  like  a  ti^r  ont  of  a 
jungle,  and  then  betaking  himself  ba<ck  into  the  solitude  of  his  heart  and 
mind. 

The  beginning  of  our  romancer's  Socialist  labours  were  for  some  time 
ddayed  l^  sickness.  The  progress  of  his  experienees,  however,  went  on 
jost  the  same. 

'*Most  men,"  says  our  cynical  author-^*' and  certainly  I  ooold  not 
always  claim  to  be  one  of  the  exceptions— have  a  natural  indifference,  if 
not  an  absolutely  hostile  feeling,  towards  those  whom  disease  or  weak* 
ness,  or  calamitv  of  any  kind,  causes  to  flEilter  and  faint  amid  the  rude 
jostle  of  our  semsh  existence."  But  the  stem  HoUingsworth  gave  the 
sick  poet  a  more  than  brotherly  attendance,  for  which  toe  cynic  rewarded 
him  Dy  allowing  what  he  calls  a  horrible  suspicion  to  creep  into  his 
hfeart,  and  sting  the  veiy  core  of  it,  as  with  the  fangs  of  an  adder.  He 
wondered  wheuier  it  were  possible  that  HoUingsworth  could  have  watched 
by  his  bedfflde,  with  all  that  devoted  care,  only  for  the  ulterior  purpose  of 
making  him  a  proselyte  to  his  views  ! 

As  to  Zenobia,  she  brought  the  oatmeal  pottage  every  day,  and  sat  and 
conversed  with  the  invalid,  startling  htm  with  the  hardihood  of  her  philo- 
sophy. She  made  no  scruple  of  oversetting  all  human  institutions,  and 
scattering  them  as  with  a  breeze  from  her  fan.  *'  A  female  reformer,"  our 
poet  justly  remarks,  ^  in  her  attacks  upon  society,  has  an  instinctive  sense 
of  where  the  life  lies,  and  is  incluied  to  aim  directly  at  that  spot.  Especially 
the  relation  between  the  sexes  is  naturally  among  the  earliest  to  attract  her 
notice."  On  his  side,  the  poet  allows  that  he  perplexed  himaelf  with  no 
end  of  conjectures  as  to  whether  Zenobia  had  ever  been  married.  In  hss 
then  state  of  illness  he  felt  the  fact  by  mesmeric  clairvoyance,  ^  Per- 
tinacdooshr  the  thought,  *  Zenobia  is  a  wife — Zenobia  has  lived  and 
loved !  There  is  no  folded  petal,  no  latent  dewdrop,  in  this  perfectly- 
developed  rose  r — irresistibly  that  thought  drove  oat  all  other  condu- 
uons,  as  often  as  my  mind  reverted  to  the  subject" 

To  more  fully  understand  why  Coverdale  vexed  himself  with  so  imper- 
tioent  an  inqnirv,  we  should  be  aware  of  his  notion  that  a  bachelor  always 
ftels  Umself  demuded,  when  he  knows,  or  suspects,  that  any  woman  of 
his  acquaintance  has  given  herself  away.  Yet  Miles  Coverdale  could 
jkot  have  loved  Zenobia,  and  her  pottage  was  wretched  stuff ;  but  still  the 
riddle  made  him  so  nervous,  that  he  ended  by  wishing  she  would  leave 
him  alone. 

With  Prisdlla  matters  stood  differently.  There,  there  were  mesmeric 
relations,  but  the  two  subtle  streams  would  not  unite  or  flow  on  smoothly 
together.  The  more  rigorons  nature  of  HoUingsworth  asserted  its  power 
over  the  traffedy-queen  and  the  frail  giri  alike ;  and  as  Priscilla  recovered 
strength  and  healtn.  and  with  them  beauty  and  spirits,  she  would  hurry 
out  to  meet  the  snaggy-browed  roan,  clapping  her  hands  with  that- 
exuberance  of  gesture  *'  which  is  common  to  young  girls  when  their 
electricity  overdiarges  them." 

The  progress  of  events  in  the  modem  Arcadia  may  be  readily  sur* 
mised.  HoUingsworth,  like  many  other  illustrious  prophets,  reformers, 
and  philanthropists,  made  proselytes  among  the  women  only.  Young 
girls,  and  women  of  enthuriastic  tempers,  are  as  perilously  situated  within 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


MO  Tie  BlUhiidMh  ftiinaw. 


tibe  apktte^tf  soeh  a  mftA,  as  Ihe  jauden  whiMy  anAe  old  Amp  myAi^ 
the  people  used  toeKpoee  to  a  dragon ;  and  tito  poet  wM  eeoa-emUed  to 
nvoW  in  his  own  Muod,  that  for  a  ^  like  PnflcUh*  and  a  woman  like 
Zenobia,  to  jostle  one  another  in  their  love  of  a  man  like  HoUingswotthy 
va0  likely  to  be  aa  ohild*s  pkj. 

The  manner  in  which  nature  is  made  to  imort  her  Bunreoia^  oi 
philosophical  theories  is  well  told.  Zenobia  was,  as  usoal,  decrhii— ig  t 
the  injufltict  whioh  the  -worid  did  to  ^ 


"  It  shall  not  always  be  so  T  cried  she.    "  If  I  live  another  jrear,  I  wffl  lift 
up  my  own  Toice  in  behalf  of  woman's  wider  liberty  f^ 
iShe,  perhaps,  saw  me  smile. 

*  What  matter  of  ridicule  do  you  find  in  this.  Miles  Coverdale  P*  esclsmed 
£eiiobia,  with  a  iaab  of  anger  in  her  eyes.  "  That  emik,  permit  me  to  sayt 
makes  me  suspicious  of  a  low  tone  of  feeling  and  shallow  thought.  It  is  my 
belief— ves,  and  my  prophecy,  should  I  die  before  it  happens — that,  when  my 
sex  shall  achieve  its  rights,  there  will  be  ten  eloquent  women  where  there  is 
now  one  eloauent  man.  Thus  far,  no  woman  m  the  world  has  ever  once 
spoken  out  ner  whole  heart  and  her  whole  mind.  The  mistnist  and  dis- 
approval of  the  vast  bulk  of  society  throttles  us,  as  with  two  gigantic  hands  at 
owr  throats !  We  mumUe  a  few  weak  words,  and  leave  a  thousand  better 
ones  unsaid.  You  let  us  write  a  little,  it  is  true,  on  a  limited  range  of  Bab> 
jects.  But  the  pen  is  not  for  woman.  Her  power  is  too  natural  and  imme* 
diate.  It  is  with  the  living  voice  alone  that  she  can  compel  the  snorld  to 
recognise  the  light  of  her  intellect  and  the  depth  of  her  heart  I" 

Kow — though  I  could  not  well  say  so  to  Zenobia — I  had  not  smiled  from 
any  unworthy  estimate  of  woman,  or  in  denial  of  the  claims  which  she  is  be- 
ginning to  put  forth.  Wlrat  amused  and  puzzled  me  was  the  fact,  that 
women,  however  intellect nally  superior,  so  seldom  disquiet  themselves  about 
tke  rights  or  wrongs  of  their  sex,  unlem  Uieir  ovra  individual  affectioos  efaaaee 
to  lie  in  idlenem,  or  to  be  ill  at  ease.  Tiiev  are  not  natural  reforsneffs,  but 
become  such  by  the  pressure  of  exceptional  misfortune.  I  could  measune 
Zenobia's  inward  trouble  by  the  animosity  with  which  she  now  took  up  the 
general  ouarrel  of  woman  against  man. 

*  I  will  give  you  leave,  Zenobia,*'  replied  I,  **  to  fling  your  utmost  scorn 
upon  me,  if  you  ever  hear  me  utter  a  sentiment  unfevoumUe  to  the  widest 
Hberty  which  woman  has  yet  dreamed  of.  I  would  give  lier  all  she  asks,  and  add 
a  great  deal  more,  whicii  she  wiU  not  be  tbe  party  to  denmnd,  bat  which  bmb, 
if  they  were  generous  and  wise,  would  gnot  of  their  own  free  motion.  For  i»- 
atance,  I  should  love  dearly— for  the  next  thousand  yaars,  at  least— to  have  all 
govecament  devolve  into  Uie  hands  of  women.  I  hate  to  be  ruled  by  my  own 
sex ;  it  excites  my  jealousy,  and  wounds  my  pride.  It  is  tlie  iron  sway  of 
bodily  force  which  abases  us,  in  our  compellea  submission.  But  how. sweet 
the  free,  generous  courtesy,  with  which  I  would  kneel  before  a  womao-mler  !** 

**  Yes,  if  she  were  young  and  beauttftil,*'  said  Zenobia,  knghing.  **  But  how 
if  ahe  were  aix^  and  a  fright  ?" 

<<  Ah  1  it  is  yau  that  mte  woasanhood  low,**  smd  L  '*£ut  lot  me  ga  oa.  I 
have  never  found  it  possible  to  suffer  a  bearded  priest  so  near  my  heait  aad 
conscience  as  to  do  me  any  spiritual  good.  I  blusii  at  the  very  thoughti  Q. 
in  the  better  order  of  things^  Heaven  grant  that  the  ministry  of  souls  may  be 
left  in  charge  of  women  1  The  gates  of  the  Blessed  City  will  be  throivsed 
with  the  multitude  that  enter  it,  when  that  day  comes!  The  task  belong  to 
woman.  God  meant  it  for  her.  He  has  endowed  her  with  the  rdigiooar 
seatiment  in  its  utmost  depth  knd  purity,  refined  (rom  tliat  gfon,  ioOsUactual 
aUpy  vrith  which  every  masonline  theologist— save  only  One,  who  merely 
wiled  himself  in  mortal  and  masculine  shape*  but  was,  m  truth,  divine — luia 
been  prane  to  mingle  iL    I  have  always  envied  the  Gslholics  their  fi^ith  in. 


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that  swoflt,  Mttrad  ViigiD  Motbwf,  wlio  atands  between  tbem  aod  the  Deiiy, 
intercepting  somewhat  of  his  awful  splendour,  but  pennkting  his  love  to. 
stream  mpom  the  wocsbtpper  mone  intelligibly  to  human  comprehension  through 
the  nedinm  of  a  woman's  tenderness.     Have  I  not  said  enough,  Zenobia?*' 

"  I  cannot  think  that  this  is  true,"  observed  Priseilla,  who  liad  been  gszing 
at  me  with  great,  disapproving  ejpes.  "  And  I  am  sure  I  do  not  wish  it  to  be 
true!" 

**  Poor  child  T  exclaimed  Zenobia,  rather  ^contemptuously.  **  Slie  is  the 
type  of  womanhood*  sudi  as  man  has  spent  centuries  in  making  it.  He  is 
never  content,  unless  he  can  degrade  himself  by  stooping  towards  what  he 
loves.  In  denyine  us  oin*  rights,  he  betrays  even  more  blindness  to  his  own 
interesti  than  profligate  disregard  of  onis!** 

"  Is  this  true?"  asked  Priscilla,  with  simplicity,  turning  to  Holliagsworth. 
**  la  It  all  trti^  that  Mr.  Coverdale  and  Zenobia  have  been  saying?" 

**^  No,  Priscilla!"  answered  Hollingsworth,  with  his  customaxy  bluntness. 
"  They  have  neither  of  them  spoken  one  true  word  yet" 

**•  Do  you  despise  woman  ?*'  said  Zenobia.  **  Ah,  Hollingsworth,  that  would 
be  most  ungrateful  T 

''Despise her?  No!**  cried  Hollingsworth,  lifting  his  great  shaggy  head 
and  shaking  it  at  us,  while  his  eyes  glowed  almost  fiercely.  "  She  is  uie  most 
adminMe  faandiworic  of  God,  in  her  trne  place  and  diaracter.  Her  place  is 
at  man's  side.  Her  office,  that  of  the  sympathiser ;  tlie  unreserved,  unquestion* 
ing  believer;  the  recognition,  withheld  in  every  other  manner,  but  given,  in 
pity,  throueh  woman's  hearty  lest  man  should  utterly  lose  faith  in  himself; 
the  echo  otGod's  own  voice,  pronouncing, '  It  is  well  done  !*  All  the  separate 
action  of  woman  is,  and  ever  has  been,  and  alwap  shall  be,  false,  foolish,  vain, 
destructive  of  her  own  best  and  holiest  qualities,  void  c^  every  good  effect, 
and  productive  of  intolerable  mischiefs !  Man  is  a  wretch  without  woman  ; 
but  woman  is  a  monster — and,  thank  Heaven,  an  almost  impossible  and 
hitherto  imaginary  monster — ^without  man  as  her  acknowledged  principal! 
As  true  as  I  had  once  a  mother  whom  I  loved,  were  there  any  possible  prospect 
of  woman's  taking  the  social  stand  which  some  of  them-^poor,  miserable, 
abortive  creatures,  who  only  dream  of  such  things  because  they  have  missed 
woman*s  peculiar  happines*,  or  because  nature  made  them  really  neither  man 
nor  woman ! — if  there  were  a  chance  of  their  attaining  the  end  which  these 
pettiooated  monstrosities  have  in  view,  I  would  call  upon  my  own  sex  to  use 
Its  physical  force,  that  unmistakable  evidence  of  sovereignty,  to  scourge  tliem 
back  within  their  proper  bounds  I  But  it  will  not  be  needful.  The  lieart  of 
true  womanhood  knows  where  its  own  sphere  is,  and  never  seeks  to  stray 
beyond  it  I* 

rfever  was  mortal  blessed — if  blessing  it  were — with  a  glance  of  such  entire 
acquieseence  and  unquestioning  faith,  m&ppy  in  its  compkteness,  as  onr  little 
Praeilla  unoonscioiisly  bestow^  on  Hollingsworth.  She  seemed  to  take  the 
sentiment  from  his  lips  into  her  heart,  and  brood  over  it  in  perfect  content. 
The  very  woman  whom  he  pictured^the  gentle  parante,  the  soft  reflection  of 
a  more  powerfiil  existence-— sat  there  at  his  feet. 

I  looked  at  Zenobia,  however,  fully  expecting  her  to  resent,— as  I  fek,  by 
the  indignant  ebullition  of  my  own  blood,  that  she  ought — this  outiageoaB 
affirmation  of  wimt  strack  me  as  the  intensity  of  masculine  egotism.  It 
centred  everything  in  itself,  and  deprived  woman  of  her  very  soul,  her  ineK«- 
pressible  and  unfathomable  all,  to  make  it  a  mere  incident  in  the  great  snm 
of  man.  HolKngsworth  had  boldly  uttered  what  he,  and  millions  of  despots 
like  him,  really  felt.  Without  intending  it,  he  had  disclosed  the  well-spring 
of  all  these  ^troubled  waterf.  N^dw,  if  ever,  it  surely  behoved  Zenobia  to  be 
the  champion  of  her  sex. 

Bert,  to  my  surprise  and  indignation  too,  she  oniy  looked  humbled.    Some 
tnansMrkM in  her  eyes,  but  my  were  wholly  of  grief,  not  anger. 
«*  well,  be  it  so,*'  was  all  she  said.     "  I  at  least,  have  deep  cauae  to  think 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


84fi  Tke  BUthedah  S&manck 

yon  right.     Let  man  be  but  manly  and  godlike,  and  woman  is  only  too  ready 
to  become  to  him  what  you  tay !" 

•  I  smiled— somewhat  bitterly,  it  is  tnie^in  contemplation  of  my  own  HI* 
lucic.  How  little  did  these  two  women  care  for  me,  who  had  freely  conceded 
all  their  claims,  and  a  great  deal  more,  out  of  the  (illness  of  my  heart ;  while 
Hollingsworth,  by  some  necromancy  of  bis  horrible  injustice,  seemed  to  have 
brought  them  both  to  his  feet! 

For  a  time,  the  scene  is  made  to  chanee.  Weary  with  Arcadian  toils, 
ill  at  ease  with  the  domineering  philanuuropist,  beloved  by  neither  Pris- 
cilia  nor  Zenobia,  Miles  Coverdale  betook  himself  to  town  again,  whither 
he  was  soon  followed  by  the  more  important  personages  of  the  Community. 
iZenobia  was  once  more  a  wealthy  woman  of  fashion,  and  a  woman  of  the 
world.  Pretty  Priscilla  had  fallen  once  more  into  the  hands  of  Pro- 
fessor Westervelt,  but  was  rescued  by  Hollingsworth  from  her  ignoble 
mesmeric  performances  in  the  character  of  a  Veiled  Lady.  There  is 
also  another  character  introduced  to  us,  in  the  person  of  a  moody  old 
unde  of  Zenobia  and  Priscilla ;  for  the  heroines  of  Blithedale  turn  out 
to  be  half-sisters. 

But  this  little  interlude  soon  passes  away,  and  we  are  once  more  at 
Blithedale.  Hollingsworth  is  in  nis  working-dress,  Zenobia  and  Priscilla 
in  the  rural  simplicity  of  an  Arcadia  revisited.  But  the  fatal  truth 
had  come  out.  Hollmgsworth  loved  Priscilla,  and  Zenobia  was  dis- 
carded. Unable  to  bear  with  such  an  irretrievable  defeat  on  the  battle- 
field of  life,  the  proud  spirit  of  the  woman  succumbed  beneath  the 
blow,  and  sought  refuge  in  death.  Zenobia  drowned  herself  in  the  stream 
that  watered  their  Arcadia.  The  feelings  of  the  poet  and  the  cynic  upon 
such  a  catastrophe,  such  a  climax  to  a  reformed  world  of  love,  are 
strangely  imsympathising.  They  had  just  recovered  the  body  from  its 
watery  grave : 

We  took  two  rails  from  a  neighbouring  fence,  and  formed  a  bier  by  laying 
across  some  boards  from  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  And  thus  we  bore  Zenobia 
homeward.  Six  hours  before,  how  beautiful !  At  midnight,  what  a  horror ! 
A  reflection  occurs  to  me  that  will  show  ludicrously,  I  doubt  not,  on  my  page, 
but  must  come  in,  for  its  sterling  truth .  Being  the  woman  that  she  was,  could 
Zenobia  have  foreseen  all  these  ugly  circumstances  of  death — how  ill  it  would 
become  her,  the  altogether  unseemly  aspect  which  she  must  put  on,  and  espe-> 
cially  old  Silas  Foster's  eflbrts  to  improve  the  matter— she  would  no  more  have 
committed  the  dreadful  act  than  have  exhibited  herself  to  a  public  assembly  in 
a  badly-fltting  garment  I  Zenobia,  I  have  often  thought,  was  not  quite  simple 
in  her  death.  She  had  seen  pictures,  I  suppose,  of  drowned  persons  in  lithe 
and  graceful  attitudes.  And  she  deemed  it  well  and  decorous  to  die  as  so  many 
village  maidens  liave,  wronged  in  their  first  love,  and  seeking  peace  in  the 
bosom  of  the  old,  familiar  stream — so  familiar  that  they  could  not  dread  it — 
where,  in  childhood,  they  used  to  bathe  their  little  feet,  wading  mid-leg  deep, 
unmindful  of  wet  skirts.  But  in  Zenobia*s  case  there  was  some  tint  of  the 
Arcadian  affectation  that  had  been  visible  enough  in  all  our  lives,  for  a  few 
months  past. 

This,  however,  to  my  conception,  takes  nothing  from  the  tragedy.  For,  has 
not  the  world  come  to  an  awfully  sophisticated  pass,  when,  after  a  certain 
degree  of  acquaintance  with  it,  we  cannot  even  put  ourselves  to  death  in 
whole-hearted  simplicity  ? 

Slowly,  slowly,  with  many  a  dreary  pause— resting  the  bier  often  on  some 
rock,  or  balancing  it  across  a  mossy  log,  to  take  fresh  hold— we  bore  our 
burden  onvrard  through  the  moonUght,  and  at  last  laid  Zenobia  on  the  Aoor 


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The  BlUMak  itomoai?.  848 

of  the  old  farm-houde.  By-8od*by  came  throe  or  four  witbeved  women,  aod 
stood  whUperin|;  around  the  corpse,  peering  at  it  through  their  spectacles^ 
holding  up  theu  »kinny  liands,  sliaking  their  night-<»pt  heads*  and  taking 
coansel  of  one  anolher's  experience  what  was  to  be  done. 

With  tliose  tire-women  we  lefi  Zenobia ! 

The  cynic  enjoys  also,  at  the  last,  an  imaginary  triumph  over  his 
swarthy  rival  in  Arcadia  : 

But  Holltngsworth !  After  all  the  evil  that  he  did,  are  we  to  leave  him 
thus,  blest  with  the  entire  devotion  of  this  one  true  heart,  and  with  wealth  at 
his  disposal,  to  execute  the  louMontemplated project  tliat  liad  led  him  so  far 
astray?  What  retribution  is  tliere  here?  My  miod  being  vexed  with  pre- 
cisely this  query,  I  made  a  journey,  some  years  since,  for  the  sole  purpose  of 
catcliinc  a  lost  glimpse  at  Hollingsworth,  and  judging  for  myself  wliether  he 
were  a  nappy  man  or  no.  I  learned  ttiat  he  inhabited  a  small  cottage,  that  his 
way  of  life  was  exceedingly  retired,  and  that  my  only  cliance  of  encountering 
him  or  Priscilla  was  to  meet  them  in  a  secluded  lane,  where,  in  the  latter  part 
of  the  afternoon,  they  were  accustomed  to  walk.  I  did  meet  tliem,  accordingly. 
As  they  approached  me,  I  observed  in  UolIing6worth*s  face  a  depressed  and 
melancnoly  look,  that  seemed  habitual ; — the  powerfully-built  man  showed  a 
self-distrustful  weakness,  and  a  childlike  or  childish  tendency  to  press  close, 
and  closer  still,  to  the  side  of  the  slender  woman  whose  arm  was  within  his. 
In  Priscilla's  manner  there  was  a  protective  and  watchful  Quality,  as  if  she  felt 
herself  the  guardian  of  her  companion  ;  but,  likewise,  a  deep,  submissive,  un- 
questioning reverence,  and  also  a  veiled  happiness  in  her  fair  and  quiet  coun- 
tenance. 

Drawing  nearer,  Prbcilla  recognised  me,  and  gave  me  a  kind  and  friendly 
smile,  but  with  a  slight  gesture,  which  I  could  not  help  interpreting  as  an 
entreaty  not  to  make  myself  known  to  Hollingsworth.  Nevertheless,  an 
impulse  took  possession  of  me,  and  compelled  me  to  address  him. 

**  I  have  come,  Hollingsworth,"  said  I,  "  to  view  your  grand  edifice  for  the 
reformation  of  criminals.    Is  it  finished  yet?** 

"  No,  nor  begun,"  answered  he,  without  raising  his  eyes.  "  A  vexy  small 
one  answers  all  my  purposes.** 

Priscilla  threw  mean  upbraiding  glance.  But  I  spoke  again,  with  a  bitter 
and  revengeful  emotion,  as  if  flinging  a  poisoned  arrow  at  Holling^worth*s  heart. 

*'  Up  to  this  moment,*'  I  inquired,  '*  how  many  criminals  have  you  reformed  ?^ 

"  Not  one,**  said  Hollingsworth,  with  his  ey^  still  fixed  on  the  ground. 
'*  £ver  since  we  parted,  I  have  been  busy  with  a  single  murderer.*' 

Then  the  tears  gushed  into  my  eyes,  and  I  forgave  him  ;  for  I  remembered 
the  wild  energy,  the  passionate  shriek,  with  which  Zenobia  had  spoken  those 
words—"  Tell  him  he  has  murdered  me !  Tell  him  that  I'll  haunt  him  I" — 
and  I  knew  what  murderer  he  meant,  and  whose  vindictive  shadow  dogged  the 
side  where  Priscilla  was  not. 

Such  is  the  ^^  Blidietdale  Romance:^  a  story  of  great  power,  which  will 
rivet  the  interest  of  thousands.  There  is  an  infinite  fund  of  stem, 
philosophic  truth  in  these  sketches  of  a  Socialist  Arcadiar*— truth  spoken 
in  a  language  that  will  often  sound  harsh  and  discordant  in  the  polished 
ears  of  £e  Old  Country,  but  that  is  not  the  less  true  for  the  under- 
current of  scepticism  and  cynicism  that  flows  beneath.  What  man  is 
there  who  r^^urds  the  thoughts  or  fiselingB,  the  sexrows  or  the  sickness  of 
another,  if  he  wants  his  services  ?  What  woman  is  there  that  will  let 
even  a  sister  stand  in  her  vmy,  when  her  heart  is  bent  on  an  imaginarf 
hero-worship? 

As  we  have  intamafed^  tbe  author  is  self-porirayed  in  Miles  Coverdale ; 
in  !^i)obia  we  lancy  we  recognise  the  lineaments  of  the  gifted  hut  unfbr- 
tunate  Margaret  Fuller ;  while  Hollingsworth,  we  presume,  is  intended 
for  Dana  or  Channing. 


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(    34*    ) 


THE  MAN  OF  COINCIDENCES. 

AK  EYERT-DAT  SKETCH. 

There  are  some  people  who,  without  beiDg  absolutely  fatalists,  ia- 
dulge  in  "  coincidences  "  to  so  great  an  extent  as  to  make  their  passioa 
for  them  quite  a  monomania.  Nothing  occurs  to  them  in  the  regular 
order  of  things ;  and  their  events,  if  not  actuallj  pre-ordained,  are  always 
so  singularly  timed  as  to  justify  (to  themselres)  the  supposition  of  their 
pre-ordination.  Such  occurrences  are  usually  termed  "  remarkable  coin- 
cidences," and  they  grow  *^  as  plenty  as  blackberries^''  to  be  had  for  the 
mere  trouble  of  picking. 

There  are  those  who  will  extract  the  materials  for  their  favourite  theme 
from  the  commonest  affairs  of  life ;  who  will  find  "  something  extra- 
ordinaiy"  in  seeing  cauliflower  and  roast  mutton  on  the  same  table,  a 
green  coat  worn  with  brown  trousers,  or  a  poodle-dog  leading  a  blind 
man ;  they  remember  *^  something  of  the  kind  happened  once  before,'* 
and  they  call  it  **a  remaikable  coincidence." 

There  are  others  who  cherish  particular  sayings,  who  "  bless  their 
stars  *'  when  some  well-filtered  commonplace  is  a  second  time  entangled 
in  the  sieve  of  their  memories,  and  assumes  a  coincidental  aspect.  It  is 
termed  **  a  very  surprising  fact."  If  half  a  doaen  people  are  assembled, 
on  any  particular  occasion,  who  were  all  bom  in  the  same  county,  or  each 
in  a  cufiR&rent  part  of  the  globe, — ^who  can  all  speak  French,  or  are  every 
one  ignorant  even  of  their  mother-tongue, — who  happen  to  be  all  tall  or 
short,  or  amongst  whom  neither  tallness  nor  shortness  predominates, — in 
any  case,  the  ''coincidence"  is  termed  *' remarkable." 

The  coincidentalist  is  he  who  marshals  the  names  of  a  party  at  dinner, 
and  '^frorn  the  cross-row  plucks  the  letter  G,"  to  prove  the  mysterious 
influence  of  combination.  He  it  is,  who,  every  now  and  then,  sends  a 
paragraph  to  the  newspapers,  informing  the  public  diat  **nine  old  women 
drank  tea  together  last  week  at  Hag^eton-cum- Warlock,  whose  united 
ages  amounted  to  seven  hundred  and  seventy-seven  years," — by  which 
process  of  grouping  he  seems  to  have  persuaded  himself  that  he  has 
rolled  all  his  old  tea-drinkers  into  one  of  patriarchal  longevity.  This 
gentleman  is  the  contriver  also  of  the  announcement  that  '^  there  is  now 
living  at  Chawbakenham,  in  Staffordshire,  '^  a  respectable  &rmer,  who 
has--- — ,"  of  course,  no  end  to  children,  grandchildren,  ereat-grand- 
children,  &c.,  to  the  tune  of — ^how  many  shall  we  say? — one  hundred  and 
fifty-seven  persons, — the  aforesaid  "respectable  fiirmer"  being  <<in  the 
enjoyment  of  all  his  Boculties,"  which  is  more  than  can  be  said  for  the 
writer  of  the  paragraph. 

The  life  of  the  coincidentalist  is  a  perpetual  succession  of  wonders, 
though  nothing,  afW  all,  is  new  to  him.  His  ideas  are  always  under- 
going a  kind  of  Pythagorean  reproduction.  He  lives  dually,  not  on  the 
present  alone,  but  (m  foregone  conclusions.  If  you  mention  to  him  some 
casual  circumstances,  too  trivial  for  remembrance  beyond  the  moment  of 
its  oecunence,  he  receives  it  [like  an  old  acquaintance,  and  describes  to 
you  <<  a  curious  resemblance"  which  is 

As  like 
As  the  extremest  ends  of  parallels. 


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The3gm(^Comeidenees.  345 

He  finds  a  subjaet  for  eompuison  in  everything,  and  nothuig  bappeiiB 
that  18  not  extnordmaiy,  sarprisnaig,  or  remarkable.  He  is  for  eTerilliis- 
tfaCing  the  three  degrees  oi  eompariaoR :  he  is  positiye  in  his  assertiov, 
eoBpaiative  in  his  relerenee,  and  soperhitiye  in  his  condnaon.  His 
motto  is  bicus  a  non  lueendo  ;  he  is  a  perfect  apropos  of  nothing  at  all^ 
K?es  in  a  state  of  constant  and  purposeless  excitement,  and — to  borrow 
phrases  from  Rabehus — goes  on  maiagraboUting  (8tud3ring  or  uttering  a 
wn  thing)  and  ineomtfestiMaiing  (tronbied  with  an  mieasiness  of 
mind)  to  the  end  of  the  chapter. 

It  was  our  fate,  one  day  last  week,  to  encomiter  an  individual  of  tiiis 
description. 

Owing  to  a  necessity  which  had  in  it  nothing  "  remarkable,"  we  found 
omselres  the  other  day  journeying  in  an  omnibus  from  Chelsea  to  the 
Bank.  Until  we  reached  the  comer  of  Coventry-street,  no  one  else 
appeared,  but  at  the  usual  halt  a  stout  elderly  personage  rushed  into  the 
rehicle,  charing  at  empty  space  with  his  levelled  umbrella,  as  he  would 
have  charged  at  the  eyes  of  the  passengers,  had  there  been  any  in  his 
way,  and  the  fint  words  he  uttered  as  he  plumped  down,  after  staggering 
from  one  end  of  the  bus  to  the  other,  showed  clearly  enough  that  coinci- 
donees  were  the  meat  he  fed  on. 

<'  'Strord'nary  thing !  here  I  am !  Grot  in  at  Coventry-street  to-day ; 
vras  at  Coventry  this  day  twelvemonth  !  It*s  wonderful  what  things  ch 
occur !  I  call  this  a  very  remarkable  coincidence,"  with  a  lengthened 
prolongation  of  the  penultimate  syllable,  as  he  squared  his  shoulders  and 
settled  himself  down  as  our  vis-a-vis. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  this  gentleman  was  a  Carthusian  or  Trap- 
pist;  he  bad  already  given  me  a  proof  that,  like  Cowper's  duck,  he 
^*row^d  garrulous"  wherever  he  went,  and  thus  he  resumed,  in  a  voice  that 
made  itself  heard  above  the  din  of  conflictmg  wheels  and  pavement : 

'*  Weil!  strange  things  do  happen!  >^o'd  have  thought  I  should 
have  been  here  to-day  ?  The  5th  of  May  I  The  very  day  that  Bonypart 
died  at  St  Helena  r 

As  his  remaris  appeared  to  challenge  an  inquiry,  we  ventured  to  ask  if 
he  had  ever  been  at  that  island, — 

^Perhaps  he  was  there  when  the  event  he  spoke  of  happened?" 

''  Bless  your  heart,  no  T  was  his  reply,  **  I  wasn't  dim ;  never  been 
out  of  England  in  my  life.** 

^'  Some  friend  or  relation  died  in  Ae  island  at  the  same  time  ?" 

"  Not  that  I  know  of,"  he  returned. 

<<  What,  dien,"  I  asked,  ^*  recals  the  circumstanee  so  forcibly  ?" 

^*  Why,"  replied  the  man  of  c(mioidences,  *'  on  this  very  day  one-and- 
thirty  years  ago,  I  was  bound  'prentbe  to  Miller,  the  tea-dealer,  in  Fleet- 
street. 

"  And  had  that  anydung  to  do  with  the  Emperor  Napoleon?'^  we  in« 
nocendy  inquired. 

^*  Why,  don't  you  see  vriiat  astran^  ooinctdenoe  itisidtogether  ?  Did 
I  ever  think,  n^n  I  tied  my  first  paur  of  strings  lomid  my  body,  that  I 
should  be  travellmg  through  the  streets  of  London,  Bonypart  dead  and 
buried,  his  nephew  Resident  of  France,  and  me  Fresideiit  of  the  SodaUes 
—my  club,  sir,  meet  every  Tuesday  at  the  Essex  Serpent." 

We  confess  that»  unlike  Mis.  Mali^rop,  <<ihe  simUitada"  did  nai 


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346  Tke  Mm  of  Coimdenees. 

"  strike  u8  directly*' — ^nor  has  it  yet  penetrated  to  the  seat  of  reason ;  but 
we  questioned  no  further,  and  the  stranger  pursued  his  comparative  theme 
as,  with  an  accession  of  passengers^  we  ratded  on  towards  Charing  Croea. 

^  Ah !  there's  Farrance's,"  exclaimed  he,  when  we  came  in  sight  of  the 
well-known  shop—**  that's  odd  enough !" 

Considering  that  the  respectable  pastrycook  who  enlivens  Siu-iag- 
gardens — *'  Spring  decked  with  sweets*' — has  been  a  fixture  since  the  be- 
ginning of  the  present  century,  within  our  own  remembrance,  and  will 
most  probably  delight  the  town  when  we  are  no  more,,  we  ventured  again 
to  demand  the  cause  of  this  oddity. 

''  Why,  isn't  it  odd  ?  Knew  Farrance's  when  I  was  a  boy — lived 
exactly  half-way  between  that  and  Birch's;  served  my  time  in  that 
predicament ;  and  think  of  my  seeing  'em  both  quite  by  chance  to-day^-: 
as  I  shall  see  Birch's  by-and-by !" 

This  mode  of  coincidentalising  a  priori  was  novel,  though,  as  a 
matter  of  second-sight,  not  remarkably  fortuitous. 

"  Queer  things  come  to  pass,*'  pursued  the  man  of  coincidences.  .  '^  I 
recollect  when  Uiat  was  the  Queen's  Mews,"  pointing  to  the  spot  where 
Nelson's  Column  stands  ;  "  ah,  and  the  Golden  Cross  stood  there :  now 
the  Mews  is  nowhere,  and  the  Golden  Cross  has  got  into  the  Strand ! 
If  anybody  had  told  me  that  before  they  passed  the  Reform  Bill,  I 
shouldn't  have  believed  'em.     I  call  that  something  remarkable !" 

On  we  went»  and,  luckily,  nothing  turned  up  to  strike  the  man  of 
coincidences  till  we  came  to  Exeter  Hall.  That  well-known  spot,  how- 
ever, awoke  his  recollections. 

<'  There's  Exeter  Hall— it  used  to  be  called  Exeter  Change  :  I  think 
it*s  Exeter  Change  noir;"  and  the  elderly  individual  grinned  at  his  base 
pun.  "  Very  odd,  somehow,  I  say  that  every  time  I  go  by — curious 
&ctMa^  isn't  it?" 

We  remembered  Lord  Bvrons  complaint  against  his  father-in-law's 
standing-joke,  and  said  nothing,  devouring  our  rage  in  silence. 

Would  it  not  be  tedious  to  dra^  the  reader  through  the  mazes  of  the 
labyrinth  of  coincidences  which  filled  the  honeycomb  beneath  this  old 
gentleman's  wig  ? 

Waterloo  Bridge  was  strange,  because  the  Hungerford  Suspension  was 
so  unlike  it.  Somerset  House  was  stranger  still ;  for  he  was  bom  at  Bath, 
and  that  was  in  Somersetshire  (we  wished  him  there  as  he  spoke).  It 
was  "  curious*'  that  the  New  Church  in  the  Strand  should  be  older  than 
his  youngest  boy ;  and  with  regard  to  Temple  Bar,  it  was  <*  most  extra- 
ordinary" that  it  was  at  that  end  of  Fleet-street. 

Our  patience  here  began  to  fiul,  and  we  meditated  an  escape  at  the  first 
&vourable  moment.  We  passed  the  John  Bull  office  in  Fleet-street ;  and 
the  Man  of  Coincidences,  whose  eyes  had  been  fixed  upon  us  verv  intently 
for  the  last  minute  or  two,  as  if  in  search  of  a  resemblance,  suddenly  ex- 
claimed, "  There's  the  bull's  mouth.  Well,  that  is  most  surprising.  I've 
been  looking  at  you  for  some  time,  and  now  I've  found  out  that  your * 

Before  he  had  time  to  finish  the  disparagmg  comparison,  ''Stop! 
stop  !"  we  shouted,  in  the  most  frantic  accents,  to  the  conductor ;  and, 
heedless  of  projecting  limbs  and  corn-developed  feet,  trampled  towards  the 
door,  reaping  a  harvest  of  curses,  ''not  loud,  but  deep,"  which  we  menr 
tally  tzansfmed  to  the  Man  of  Coincidetices. 


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(    347    ) 

YOUNG  TOM  HALL'S  HEART-ACHES  AND  HORSES. 
Chameb  XXX. 

Major  Guihbafowle  was  a  great  man^-a  very  great  man ;  indeed, 
mdst  of  our  characters  are  great  men,  somehow  or  another.  The  major, 
however,  was  a  great  man  in  a  small  compass  ;  and  here  we  may  remark 
on  the  admirable  dispensations  of  Proyidence,  that  whenerer  a  man  is 
troubled  with  an  extra  deal  of  consequence,  it  is  generally  put  into  a 
small  body.  But  for  this,  the  world  could  never  get  along ;  all  the  roads 
axid  ihoroaghfiires  would  be  stopped  and  choked,  if  great,  gigantic  life- 
guardsmen  fellows  went  strutting  and  faming  about  like  the  little 
hantam-cocks  of  creation.  But  to  the  major.  Though  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  say  on  what  particular  point  our  little  great  man  was  greatest,  there 
were  hw  upon  which  he  was  greater  than  that  of  being  a  master  of  hounds 
— "  five-and-twenty  years  master  of  hounds,  without  a  subscription,^^  as 
he  emphatically  adds,  puffing  out  his  cheeks,  and  diving  into  his  pockets. 
And,  certamly,  '*  five-and-twenty  years  master  of  hounds,  without  a  sub- 
scription,'' sounds  well  in  these  poverty-stricken,  mpney-scraping  times. 
Five-and-twenty  years  master  of  hounds,  without  a  subscription,  shows 
that  a  man  is  a  keen,  steady-going  sportsman,  clearly  above  the  wants 
and  exigencies  of  this  most  necessitous  world.  When,  in  addition,  a  family 
man — a  grown-up  family  man,  too — a  double-barrelled  family  man,  in- 
deed, dispenses  urith  a  subscription,  there  is  every  reason  to  think  that, 
in  the  language  of  servitude,  "money  is  no  object."  So  it  was  with 
Muor  Guineafowle. 

He  had  buried  his  first  wife,  who,  though  quite  a  suitable  match  for 
him  at  the  time  he  married  her  (he  having  then  recently  failed  as  a 
wine-merchant,  and  set  up  as  an  auctioneer  at  Tewkesbury),  was,  per- 
haps, rather  below  the  advanced  position  he  subsequently  attained  by  the 
unexpected  descent  of  the  Carol  Hill  Green  estate,  in  Mangelwurzelshire, 
which  also  obtained  for  him  the  majority  of  the  militia — an  honour  that 
very  materially  added  to  his  consequence ;  ''  Major  Guineafowle,  master 
of  hounds,  of  Carol  Hill  Green,"  sounding  much  better  than  "  Mr. 
Guineafowle,  auctioneer  and  appraiser,  High-street,  Tewkesbury."  His 
dear  wife  having  left  him  three  daughters,  all  fdr,  rather  reddish-haired 
girls — ^Mrs.  Guineafowle  being  white,  and  our  major  rather  gingery — and 
our  friend  being  then  quite  in  the  "morning  in  life,"  as  the  quack 
doctors  say,  resolved  to  send  the  girls  to  school,  and  in  due  time  to  have 
another  venture  in  the  lucky-bag — passing  for  a  bachelor  or  otherwise, 
as  circumstances  might  favour.  Accordingly,  he  placed  the  girls  at  the 
degant  Miss  Birchtwig*s  "  seminary  for  a  select  number  of  pupils,"  at 
Muda  Hill,  London,  where,  for  Ahy  guineas  per  annum,  and  about  as 
much  more  for  ext^,  with  "  three  months*  payment  always  in  advance," 
they  were  to  be  tau?ht  everything ;  and  while  Miss  Birchtwig  was  ful- 
filling her  part  of  the  contract,  me  major  mounted  a  dead  gold  button 
with  a  bright  border,  and  the  letters  *•  C.  H.  G.  H."  (Carol  Hill  Green 
Hunt)  in  bright  also,  on  a  green  cut-away  coat,  with  a  buff  vest,  and 
proceeded  to  disport  himself  at  the  watering-places.  Like  a  wise  man, 
ne  did  not  take  a  servant  from  home  with  him,  bat  picked  up  the  first 

Jtf/y— VOL.  XCT.  NO.  CCCLXXIX.  2  A 


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348  Young  Tom  Halts  Mtart-aches  and  Hones. 

likely-lookiog  one  he  fell  in  vith^  when,  arraying  him  in  his  liveiy — 
green  and  gold — ^with  a  oookade  in  hiB  hat|  he  gave  him  such  a  dose  of 
his  consequence — "  moy  hounds,  and  moy  horses,  and  moy  country,  and 
moy  regiment" — and  so  on,  that  the  man  was  glad  of  a  let-off  at  the 
Sadler's,  blacksmith's,  and  other  importance-propagating  places.  The 
result  was,  that  the  major  very  soon  grew  into  consequence,  and  wher- 
ever he  went,  he  was  always  pointed  out  by  those  who  take  a  {Mea- 
sure in  the  sports  of  the  field,  and  indeed  by  some  who  do  not,  bvit 
who  like  to  be  thought  knowing,  as  the  ^^  great  Major  Gruineafowlo,  the 
master  of  hounds,"  or  the  "  great  Major  Guineafowle,  the  gent  who 
hunted  Mangelwurzelshire.  The  major,  too^  used  to  aid  the  ddusioD  flbd 
gratify  his  own  curiosity,  by  lounging  into  the  shops,  under  pretence  of 
buying  a  knot  of  whipcord,  a  set  of  spur*leathers,  or  some  tnfle  of  that 
sort,  when  he  would  worm  out  all  the  secrets  of  everybody,  and  eveiybody^s 
establishment — how  many  daughters  Mrs.  Longhead  had — whether  tfanie 
were  any  sons — why  Mrs.  Megg^n  didn't  live  with  her  husband — what 
Mrs.  Winship  gave  her  coachman,  and  how  many  suits  Miss  O'Flaherty^s 
footman  had.  The  wages  of  everybody,  too,  he  knew;  and,  altogethtfr, 
there  was  scarcely  anything  that  didn't  seem  to  be  worth  the  major^s 
cognizance.  The  curiosity,  however,  was  not  all  on  his  side,  for  maiiy 
were  the  questions  raised  and  observations  made  upon  our  sportingij- 
dressed,  consequential  little  cock.  Mrs.  Mantrappe  thought  it  a  pty  he 
should  be  so  devoted  to  hunting ;  Mrs.  Mouser  heard  he  was  very  liek ; 
Mrs.  Soberfield  supposed  he  was  a  ''  great  catch  ;"  while  Jack  Lawleas 
asserted  that  he  had  the  finest  pack  of  hounds  in  the  world. 

Thus  our  bachelor-widower  friend  passed  about  from  watering-place  to 
bathing-place,  and  from  bathing-place  back  to  watering-place,  always 
as  the  great  Major  Guineafowle,  always  talking  about  *'  moy  hounds,"  and 
"  moy  horses,"  and  "  moy  huntsman,"  but  always  keeping  his  weather-eye 
open  for  an  heiress  or  a  widow.  Several  good  finds  he  had,  and  sevend 
smart  bursts  he  ran,  always,  however,  ending  in  trouble  and  disappoinl- 
ment.  The  inquisitive,  ferreting  women  invariably  turned  up  the  daugh- 
ters, and  then  all  the  big  talk  about  '*  moy  hounds,"  and  "  moy  horses," 
and  **  moy  huntsman,"  went  for  nothing.  Mrs.  Doublefile,  who^  while  he 

Sassed  for  a  bachelor,  didn't  think  him  a  day  too  old  for  their  Sarah 
ane,  then  discovered  that  he  was  a  nasty  made-up  old  fellow,  who  she 
wouldn't  let  her  daughter  think  of  on  any  account.  Mrs.  Grinner,  who 
had  hounded  her  daughter  on  with  all  the  vehemence  of  a  pettiooat, 
then  pirouetted  and  said,  ^'  It  would  be  a  pretty  thing  for  her  beautiful 
Bridget  to  go  and  tackle  with  a  nasty  ugly  old  fogy  like  Gmneafbwk, 
with  a  ready-made  family.  At  length  the  major  had  been  so  often  z<e- 
lulsed  that  he  began  to  lose  heart,  especially  as  he  felt  that  each  fivah 
iefeat  only  increa^  his  difficulties ;  women's  tongues,  as  he  said,  bemg 
bad  to  muzzle.  He  abnost  began  to  wish  he  had  gone  on  the  honest  taek. 
At  length  the  famous  Rumbleford  Wells  befriended  him.  To  it  there 
came,  just  as  the  major  had  inflated  himself  to  his  frdlest  extent,  and 
mastered  eveiybody*s  affiurs  in  the  place — what  Colonel  Filer  gave  Us 
coachman,  what  Mr.  Gobleton  his  cook,  and  why  Miss  Mantle's  maid  wn 
leaving — to  it  there  came,  we  say,  just  as  the  major  was  thinking  of  paok- 
ing  up  his  portmanteau  and  going,  the  once  capital  but  then  slighUy  WBoag 
beauty,  Miss  Longmaide^  with  her  fortune  of  sutty  thovsaad  poands. 


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I 


Young  Tmn  MalTs  Beari-aehea  mud  iZmct.  349^ 

LoBgnudde  Iiad  ovenfeood  her  muket^  and  would  gkdly  have 
leoalled  Bome  of  the  earlier  suitors  whom,  in  the  arrogance  of  youthful 
beaotY)  she  had  rejected.  Her  serenity  was  at  this  time  more  tbaa 
vsually  ru£9ed  by  the  last  of  these — the  charming  Captain  Balmeybuokey 
of  the  Royal  Gentle  Zephyrs,  having  come  in  for  a  large  fortune,  and 
married  the  ^'  dear  confidante"  wlio  strongly  advised  Miss  Longmaide 
not  to  have  him.  Under  such  circumstances  a  woman  is  very  pregnaU% 
and  the  major  was  just  the  man  for  the  occasion*  He  was  in  the  Imperial 
Hotel  yard  as  her  green  travelling-chariot  came  jingling  in.  (for  this,  o£ 
course,  was  before  railway  times),  and  soon  learnt,  through  the  usual 
course  of  hotel  communication,  all,  how,  and  about  her.  He  paused  and 
drew  breath  as  he  pondered  on  the  vastness  of  her  wealth — sixty  thousand 
pounds — sixty,  not  fifty,  which  made  it  look  more  real — but  he  presendy 
recovered  his  equanimity,  and  felt  he  was  equal  to  whatever  it  was.  He 
bought  it  seemed  the  very  thing.  Here  was  a  lady  no  longer  in  her 
premiere  jeunegse—A  lady  too,  apparently,  all  in  her  own  disposal,  with- 
out being  environed  by  troublesome  busybodies,  whose  sole  object  seemed 
to  be  the  suppression  of  matrimony.  The  major  had  undergone  much 
persecution,  and  seen  much  service  in  the  wars  of  Cupid — more  than  he 
was  ever  likely  to  see  in  the  militia,  if  he  lived  to  be  a  thousand.  He 
determined,  however,  to  have  another  cot^ — the  last— the  very  last,  as  he 
always  said  wh«a  he  buckled  on  his  armour.  He  therefore  altered  hia 
plans,  and  took  his  lodgings  on  for  another  week. 

This  being  in  the  days  of  bags,  when  every  lady  carried  one,  there  was 
never  any  difficulty  about  an  introduction ;  a  lady  having  nothing  to  do 
but  drop  her  bag  in  the  hbrary,  or  other  approved  lounge,  when  down 
would  go  the  gentleman  for  it.  Sometimes  a  couple  would  cannon  with 
their  heads,  which  made  it  all  the  more  interesting.  On  this  occa- 
sion, however,  the  major  had  it  all  to  himself.  Miss  Longmaide  visited 
Creamlidd  and  Satinwove's  library  at  an  earlier  hour  than  the  ^aumande 
frequented  it,  and  found  the  major  busy,  as  usual,  with  the  Morning 
Post,  reading  the  fashionable  parties,  the  Duchess  of  So-and-So's  ;  Stud 
sales — "  Messrs.  Tattersall  wiU,  &c.,  the  entire  stud  of  Mr.  Doneup,  who 
is  declining  hunting" — and  so  on.  She  had  marked  the  little  man  from 
her  window ;  indeed,  had  met  him  strutting  in  the  street  the  day  before, 
when,  though  she  thought  him  a  queerish-lookbg  cod's-head-and- 
shoulders  little  man,  still  the  glowing  account  her  maid  gave  of  his 
worth  and  his  wealth,  his  hounds  and  his  horses,  above  all,  of  his 
exalted  position,  made  her  look  complacently  on  him,  instead  of  ^'  eyes 
right"-ing  as  she  passed. 

Moreover,  Miss  Longmaide  was  tall  and  stately,  and  the  major  little, 
which,  perhaps,  made  them  incline  to  each  other.  She  now  came  rust- 
ling into  the  library,  extremely  well  got  op  in  a  close-fitting  black  satin 
dress  and  a  white  cbip  bonnet  with  a  graceful  white  feather  reclining  over 
the  left  side.  There  being  a  couple  of  steps  up  to  the  library-door,  and  this 
being  before  the  nasty  draggle-tail  days,  she  slightly  raised  her  dress  as 
she  ascended,  showing  very  symmetrical,  bten  chautse  feet  and  ankles.  She 
passed  her  lavender-colour  gloved  hand  down  her  Madonna-like  dressed 
hair,  and  in  lowering  her  arm,  dropped  her  bespangled  reticule  at  the 
little  major's  feet.  '•  OM  Flexible  Back,"  as  they  called  him,  from  hii 
great  bowing  capabilities,  pounced  upon  it  like  a  hawk,  and  in  an  instant 

2a2 


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350  YiHit^  t'om  Salfs  HUari-acku  and  HptsH. 

was  restoring  it,  with  a  prolMini  of  grimaees,  to  the  smiliDg,  beaming- 
eyed  owner.     They  then  stnick  up  an  aeqoaintanoe^  and  watering-place 
courtships  always  proceeding  with  railway  rapidity,  at  the  end  of  a  week 
—during  which  time  the  miyor  plied  her  well  with  "moy  horses,"  and 
'^moy  kennels,"  and  *'moy  hounds  kept  without  a  subscription" — Miss 
Long^aide,  whose  Bath  and  Cheltenham  experience  had  made  familiar 
with  the  Duke  of  Beaufort's  and  Lord  Fitahardinge's  establishments, 
concluded  he  must  be  very  rich ;  and  having  her  4i£fections  well  in  hand, 
despairing  of  ever  supplying  the  place  of  the  elegant  charmer  she  had 
lost,  she  thought  might  just  as  well  diare  •  the  honoun  and  attentions 
that  our  major  represented  were  so  freely  lavished  on  himself.    Indeed,  we 
believe  ihe  gallant  officer  and  liberal  sportsman  might  have  brought  the 
affiiir  to  an  earlier  termination,  had  he  not  thought  it  prudent-^ue  to 
himself,  as  he  said — to  get  his  lawyers,  Keenhand  and  Blunderi>y,  of  To* 
kenhouse-yard,  to  "  cast  their  eyes"  over  the  will  of  the  late  Marmaduke 
Longmaide,  of  Slumpington  Grove,  in  the  county  of  Somerset,  under 
whom  she  claimed.     These  worthies,  who  did  all  the  major's  amatory 
business  gratis,  on  the  understanding  that  they  were  to  have  his  settle'* 
ment  when  he  married  again — a  chance  that  they  thought  rather  long  in 
coming — reported  that  Marmaduke  had  died  >^  seised  and  posseesecT  of 
several  capital  estates— to  wit,  of  Slumpington  and  Squashington,  in  the 
county  of  Somerset ;  Scratchington,  in  the  county  of  Salop ;  and  Rushing* 
ton,  in  the  county  of  Kent ;  together  with  a  collier)',  or  coal  mine^  near 
Leeds,  in  the  county  of  York ;  all  of  which  he  devised  to  trustees  in  trust 
for  his  daughters,  Blanch,  Clementina,  Rosamond,  and  Priscilla,  our  bir 
lady,  in  equal  shares  and  proportions.     They  further  reported  that,  with 
regard  to  the  Slumpington  and  Squashington  estates,  their  client,  Mr. 
Heavy bille,  of  Cxlastonbury,  knew  them  well,  and  reported  that  they 
were  not  only  very  large,  but  capable  of  great  improvement, — an  assertion 
that  may  be  safoly  hajnrded  of  three-fourths  of  the  estates  in  the  king- 
dom ;  and,  altogether,  Keenhand  and  Blunderby,  though  they  **  didn't 
advise,"  thought  it  "  very  promising." 

The  major  turned  the  thing  quickly  over  with  his  mental  hay-rake, 
and  though  he  felt  it  would  have  been  better — ^more  satis&ctoiy— if  the 
excellent  Marmaduke  had  had  his  money  in  the  funds,  so  that  it  might 
have  been  seen  at  a  glance  what  each  daughter  was  worth,  yet  when  he 
came  to  reflect  on  the  honours  of  land-ownership,  with  the  perils  and 
dangers  of  protracted  courtships,  the  repulses  he  had  suffered — repulses 
more  galling  and  humiliating  than  anything  Sir  Harry  .Smith  has  since 
encountered  at  the  Cape— he  thought  it  wouldn?t  do  to  haggle  about  it. 
In  this  view  he  was  conflrmed  by  recalling  the  particulars  of  the  mishaps 
of  some  of  his  former  adventures — how  Miss  Willowtree  had  jilted  him  at 
the  last  moinent,  in  favour  of  the  captain  of  Heavy  Dxagoens,  becaufie, 
she  said,  he  had  been  too  inquisitive  about  her  fortune,  and  she  didn't 
want  any  man  to  marry  her  for  her  money ;  how  the  rich  widow,  Mrs. 
Quickly,  would  hare  taken  him  off-hand,  if  he  had  only  had  the  oourage 
to  close  with  her  at  once,  instead  of  waiting  to  ascertain  the  value  of  her 
Bridgewater  Canal  shares^  theraby  affording  time  for  her  too  assiduous 
friends  to  €nd  out  about  his  daugnteis.  Worse  than  all,  he  thought  with 
hbfror  of  the  longlawyer^s  bill  that  aocompaaidd  the  return  of  his. pro-, 
pbsah  for  a  manriagi^  with  the- eUhBtda^htor;9(.•N^B^ttelWul». the' 


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IVttii^  Tom  Baffi-Ikarf^chls  0Hi  J^omff.  361 

retired' cheesemonger,  whom  iha  major  thoiigiit  would  only  have  bean  toQ 
glad  to  have  a  gentleman  of  his  coMre*— a  major  and  a  master  of  hounds 
—for  a  son-in-law.  These^  and  many  more  mottifioations,  flashed  across 
his  mind  as  he  sat  before  the  minor,  making  his  morning  toilette,  taking 
an  idtemate  scrape  of  his  chin  and  a  glance  at  Keenhand  and  Blunderby's 
letter.  He  remarked,  with  a  sigh,  Uiat  his  once  gingery  whiskers  were 
getting  rather  grey,  and  the  roof  of  his  round  knowledffe-box  was  not 
so  well  thatched  as  it  used  to  be ;  that  times  graver  was  biting  furrowing 
lines  deep  in  his  once  fat  hce ;  while  Backstrap,  the  trouser-maker,  had 
asked  permission  to  pass  the  measure  round  his  waist,  the  last  order  he 
gave  him—- clearly  intimating  that  he  thought  he  was  getting  roy-tber 
stout. 

The  consequence  of  all  this  meditation  and  experience  was,  that  the 
major  determined  to  risk  it ;  and  making  an  elaborate  toilette — a  cream- 
coloured  cravat,  whose  diunond-pattem'd  tie  was  secured  with  a  gold 
pointer  pin,  a  step-collared,  canary-coloured  kerseymere  vest,  with  a  new 
fight-green  cut-away  with  velvet  collar  and  "  moy  hunt"  buttons,  above 
fawn-coloured  doeskin  trousers  and  patent  leather  boots,  his  whiskers 
well  trimmed,  so  as  to  show  as  much  ginger  and  as  little  grey  as  pos- 
nble,  and  his  hair  brushed  out  to  the  greatest  advantage,  he  stuck  his 
punt-hat  jauntily  on  one  side,  and  sluicing  his  blue  biid's-eye  kerchief 
with  lavender-water,  he  drew  on  a  white  doeskin  glove,  and  whisking 
the  other  in  his  right  hand,  set  off  on  his  sixteenth  crusade. 

Arrived  at  the  Imperial  Hotel,  he  was  received  by  Timothy  Tenpence, 
the  head-waiter,  who,  with  a  profusion  of  bows — *^  mariced  respect,"  as 
the  major  said — passed  him  on  to  Miss  Longmaide's  pretty  maid,  Emma 
Spring€eld,  into  whose  little  hand  the  major,  with  adnurable  tact  and 
judgment,  well  worth  the  imitation  of  all  similar  suitors,  at  an  early 
day  had  managed,  with  no  great  difficulty  perhaps,  to  insinuate  a 
sovereign ;  and  Emma  had  made  it  her  business  to  ply  her  mistress  with 
all  the  pleasant  importance-giving  stories  she  could  raise  relative  to  our 
gallant  master  of  hounds. 

Emma  smiled  as  she  saw  how  smart  the  major  was,  knowing  full  well 
what  was  coming ;  indeed,  she  thought  him  rather  slow,  and  had  lost 
half  a  dozen  kisses  to  Alderman  Portsoken's  '^  gentleman,"  whose  master 
was  staying  in  the  house,  that  ^'  Old  Gringer  Heckle,"  as  they  called  the 
major,  would  offer  on  the  Tuesday,  this  being  Thursday.  However,  the 
ki^es  were  neither  here  nor  there;  so  with  an  arch  smile,  as  she 
answered  the  major's  observation  about  the  weather — asking  if  her 
mistress  was  at  home  being  now  quite  out  of  the  question— she  ushered 
him  into  the  sitting-room,  where  the  fair  lady  was  already  arranged  with 
her  company-work  to  receive  him.  Emma  then  withdrew ;  and  passing 
gently  into  the  adjmninff  bedroom,  which  was  onlv  separated  mm  the 
sitting-room  by  folding-doors,  with  the  aid  of  the  keyhole,  she  saw  and 
heard  everything,  just  as  well  as  if  she  had  been  in  the  room.  He  com* 
menoed  with  ihat  steady  old  firiend  to  stupidity,  the  weather,  expatiating 
on  its  favourableness  to  agricultural  purposes,  which  led  him  to  hope  for 
an  early  harvest,  which  would  enable  him  to  begin  hunting  early,  which 
was  very  desirable  for  masters  of  hounds,  as  it  enabled  them  to  get  their 
packs  in  good  order  before  the  great  influx  of  sportsmen  arrived,  who 
were  sometimes  rather  unreasonable  in  their  ej^iectations,  and  did  not 


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S52  Yomip  Tom  ffalPs  Heart^aeies  and  Banes. 

ttiftke  allowance  fw  the  dilSculties  masten  liad  to  contend  with.  Indeed, 
he  sometimes  wondered  that  gentlemen  could  be  found  willing  to  make 
the  great  pecuniaiy  and  other  sacrifioes  necessary  for  thar  maintenance 
for  nobody  knew  what  keeping  hounds  was  but  diose  who  tried ;  that 
Lord  Petre's  observation  to  Delme  Ratdiffe,  that  a  master  of  hounds 
would  never  have  his  hand  out  of  his  pocket,  and  must  always  have  a 
guinea  in  it,  was  most  correct ;  and  so  he  went  maundering  and  saunder- 
ing  on,  the  feir  lady  contrastmg  his  matter-of-^Eict  egotism  with  the 
impassioned  languislungs  of  Captain  fialmeybudce,  who  worchipped  her 
eyes,  and  worshipped  her  nose,  and  worshipped  her  lips,  and  worahipped 
her  teeth,  and  worshipped  her  hand,  and  worshipped  her  foot,  and  wor- 
shipped everything  belonging  to  her. 

indeed,  the  gidlant  master  of  hounds  dwelt  so  long  on  the  scent, 
that  Emma  Springfield  began  to  vrish  he  might  get  done  before  the 
servants*  dinner-bell  rang,  uid  she  couldn't  help  wondering  her  mistress 
didn*t  give  him  a  lift.  Emma  was  a  dashing  little  girl  with  her  own 
suitors,  and  always  brought  them  to  book  within  the  third  day.  How* 
ever,  the  major  went  towl — ^towl — towhng  on,  never,  as  he  would  say, 
with  a  burning,  but  still  with  a  g^ood  holding  scent,  but  making,  appa- 
xently,  very  little  progress.  At  length  the  lady,  looking  up  ^m  the 
broad-bordered  kerchief  she  was  hemming,  touched  a  chord  to  which  the 
major's  heart  responded.     Gentle  reader,  that  word  was — ^Turnips  ! 

A  gardener's  waggon  was  passing  with  a  load,  and  Miss  Longmaide 
observed  on  its  height.  The  mi^r  went  off  at  a  tangent.  He  grew 
turnips,  the  finest  in  the  country ;  indeed,  whatever  he  did,  or  had,  or  grew, 
or  bought,  was  always  the  best,  the  very  best,  far  better  than  anybody 
else's.  He  grew  turnips,  the  finest,  the  very  finest  in  the  country  ;  no- 
body could  hold  a  candle  to  him  in  that  line.  He  had  some  beautiful 
turnip-land  at  Carol  Hill  Green,  worth  three-pound-ten  an  acre  of  any- 
body's money.  **  lliree -pound-ten  an  acre,"  he  repeated,  sucking  his 
breath,  as  if  he  were  kissing  the  land.  Indeed,  if  Emma's  eye  hadn*t  been 
to  the  door,  she'd  have  thought  he  was  kissing  her  mistress.  However, 
that  was  shortly  to  come.  From  the  merits  of  the  turnip-land  the  major 
proceeded  to  expatiate  on  the  beauties  of  '^  his  place,"  Carol  Hill  Green  ; 
its  lovely  situation — ^its  splendid  avenue  of  ancient  elms — its  healthy 
climate — ^its  glassy  lake — its  conservatories — its  pleasure-grounds — ^its 
mossy  slopes  and  purling  brook — conversation  that  was  much  more  in- 
teresting and  intelligible  to  the  fair  lady  than  either  the  hound  or  the  turnip 
diseussion.  She  therefore  chimed  in  with  the  subject,  getting  up  a  gooa 
cry,  asking  many  particulars  about  the  roses,  of  which  the  major  assured 
her  he  had  every  sort  under  the  sun,  feeling  confident  he  could  get  them 
at  short  notice  should  circumstances  favour  their  requirement.  From 
the  roses,  the  lady  led  him  with  considerable  adroitness  to  enter  upon  a 
description  of  the  gardens  of  the  neighbouring  gentry ;  from  whence  she 
speedily  diverged  to  their  houses,  and  was  assured  by  the  major  that  he 
had  the  run  of  them  all— could  do  what  he  liked  with  the  owners  of 
every  one  of  them,  all  of  whom  looked  up  to  him  with  the  greatest 
respeot,  and  arranged  their  parties  in  the  winter  to  suit  the  meets  of  his 
hounds.  Altogether,  he  made  himself  out  to  be  a  very  great  man,  and 
Miss  Longmaide,  being  heartily  tired  of  single  blessedness,  and  despaixing 
of  ever  cobbling  op  bar  feelmgs  to  what  tbey  were  before  the  fidbssj^ 


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Knnyi  Tom  Haff9  Mear^w^s  nwd  i^rse4  3 jSS 

bueke  fi8laftio|ri»9  decided  that  ahe  might  just  as  Wett  imest  henlelf  witih 
ow  oomequenml  fiieud,  and  reoeive  whatever  hoooues  and  atteatioiui'  be  • 
cooU  flpare  from  himself..    She  therefore  encouraged  him  to  proceed, 
hefapi^g  him  on  just  as  he  wedd  his  hounds  widi  a  failing  scmt. 

if  tss  Longmaide,  who  had  had  nearly  as  much  experience  in  matrimo- 
nial matters,  as.  the  major,  huag  her  head  when  he  came  to  what  the  old 
Qianeeiy  lawyers  used  to  call  the  '^charging  part,''  but^  being  a  bad 
hand  at  Unshnig,  she  gave  her  chair  a  slight  wheel,  so  as  to  get  her  back 
to  tha  light,  when^  dearing  her  sweet  voice  with  a  prefatory  hemy  she 
preeeeded  to  recapitulate  her  acknowledgments  of  the  compliment  the 
m^or  had  paid  her,  which  '^  was,  indeed,  so  (hem-— cough — hem)  unex* 
peotedt  that  it  had  taken  her  quite  (cough — ^hem^ — (x>ugh)  by  sur- 
prise. Though  their  (cough)  acquaintance  had  only  been  of  short  (hem) 
duration,  she  might  admit  (hem)— candidly  state,  perhaps  (cough)— that 
he  was  not  indifferent  to  (hem)  her ;"  whereupon  she  attempted  to  conceal 
her  fioce  in  the  company-kerchief  which  the  gallant  major  resisting,  a 
slight  scuffle  ensued ;  wherenpon  Emma,  rising  from  her  knees,  with  a 
mental  ejaculation  of  '<  Wot  a  couple  of  old  fools!"  proceeded  to  tell  all 
she  had  seen  down  stairs,  and  in  less  than  an  hour  the  news  was  all  over 
the  town. 

.  The  proceeding^  however,  did  not  terminate  with  what  Emma  saw, 
for  Miss  Longmaide  having  had  several  most  promising  offers,  most  un- 
deoiable  proposals,  all  of  which  melted  like  snow  before  the  &^y  search 
of  the  too  scrutinising  lawyers,  although  the  turnips  and  mastership  of 
hoonds  inspired  her  with  conrnderable  confidence  in  this  case,  still  she 
thought  it  would  be  well  to  get  some  more  definite  ideas  of  the  major^s 
ciroomstanoes,  were  it  only  to  enable  her  to  make  the  most  of  him  on 
the  fine- scented,  rose-coloured,  royal  note-paper  she  had  already  prepared 
to  write  to  her  friends  upon.     After  the  first  transports  of  joy  were  over, 
and  little  Flexible  Back  had  again  subsided  in  his  seat,  now  drawn  close 
to  our  fair  friend*s,  she  began,  in  a  very  pretty,  simpering  way,  to  banter 
him  on  his  boldness  in  engaging  with  a  lady  he  knew  notning  about ; 
intimating  that  she  thought  it  only  fair  to  give  him  such  information  as 
she  could  supply  vrithout  the  aid  of  her  lawyers,  Messrs.  Roaster  and 
Pinner,  of  Sackville-street,  to  whom  she  begged  to  refer  him  for  the  re- 
mainder.    But  the  gallant  major,  knowing  full  well  that  if  he  went  to 
Roaster  and  Pinner's,  they  would  not  only  roast  and  pin  him  as  to  his  own 
afi^rs,  but  very  likely  give  him  the  sack  into  the  bargain,  protested  most 
vehemently  against  such  a  proceeding,  vowing  that  he  didn't  care  a  farthing 
about  money ;  that  he*d  be  too  happy  to  take  her  without  a  copper ;  that 
he  was  above  all  mercenary  considerations,  as  might  be  inferred  from  the 
fact  of  his  keeping  a  pack  of  hounds,  without  a  subscription ;  and  he 
went  on  at  such  a  rate  that  Emma,  who  had  now  returned  to  her  post, 
declared  she  never  heard  such  a  man,  and  expressed  her  belief  that  he 
could  ^<talk  a  table  off  its  legs.''     Miss  Longmaide  remonstrated,  but  the 
major  was  stanch;   he  wo^d  liave  nothmg  to  do  with  Roaster  and 
Pioaer,  or  any  oonfoonded  parchment-£Ekoed  lawyer,  who^  he  said,  were 
fit.for  nothing  but  ^oiling  qiort ;  adding,  that  he  would  like  to  rub  half 
of  them  over  with  aniseed,  and  run  them  down  with  his  hounds,  who,  he 
waa  certain,  would  give  a  good  account  of  them.    To  be  sure,  when  he 
had  dmea  Miss  J^oogmaide  off  the  lawyer  line,  as  ha  thought,  and  got  . 


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S§4  ¥&uv  Tom BalTs H^ri^aeb^Mi Hmie$. 

calottd  down  a  Hide,  he  showed  a  dispiMitiQii  to  eidiaage  Cnol  fiitt 
Qreea  infonnation  for  that  appertaining  to  her  property  i  bothe'd  haive 
"  no  pen,  ink,  and  paper  work— no  sehedulef,  no  rent-icJky  no  bekaoe- 
sheets,  no  bimkerB'  books ;  it  should  be  the  very  soul  and  etsenee  of 
honour  and  confidence  on  both  sides." 

So  he  kept  steadily  to  this  pointy  ui^^ng  on  the  match  with. the 
greatest  importunity,  and  refreshing  the  littb  maid  with  another  sore* 
reign.  Circumstances  &voured  our  &iend.  JSIiss  Longmaide  attributed 
the  loss  of  the  divine  Captiun  Balmeybucke  a  good  deal  to  the  inter* 
ference  of  her  over*zealous  friends,  who  persuaded  her  that  the  coar 
tingency  which  had  since  arisen  was  one  of  those  remote  possibilities 
it  would  never  do  to  marry  upon ;  and  she  began  to  su^ect  that  her 
friends,  as  they  called  themselves,  were  leagued  together  to  prevent  Jier 
marrying,  in  order  that  they  might  share  her  money  among  them.  The 
idea  of  this  she  couldn't  endure ;  and  though  the  gallant  major  was  as 
unlike  any  of  her  former  lovers  as  anything  could  possibly  be,  still  she 
believed  nim  to  be  a  worthy,  warm-hearted,  disinterested  man,  meet 
ardently  attached  to  her,  and  with  whom  she  made  no  doubt  she  eouM 
live  in  comfort  and  respectability.  So  she  Altered  *'  yes,"  to  the  m^or, 
and  further  yielded  to  his  urgent  solicitations  of  an  immediate  marriage* 
Another  sovereign  to  the  miaid  overcame  all  difficulty  about  dresses^  and 
Rumbleford  Wells  rose  in  repute  by  the  match. 

Great  was  the  day  when  tne  little  major,  in  the  full  unifbnn  of  th» 
Mangelwurzelshire  Militia,  strutted  up  the  flaffs  of  St.  Bride's  Chuicb, 
looking  so  arrogantly  bumptious,  that  if  he  hadn't  been  going  to-  be 
tamed  by  matrimony,  he  ought  to  have  been  taken  before  a  justice^  and 
bound  over  to  keep  the  peace.  He  strutted,  and  sidled,  and  fumed,  like 
a  turkey-cock  at  toe  sight  of  a  red  coat  But  if  he  went  in  grea^  how 
much  greater  did  he  come  out !  with  the  tall,  elegant,  ItaUan-coro{dexioned 
angel  Teaniug  on  his  arm,  thinking,  perhaps,  of  some  one  fiir  different  to 
the  pocket  Adonis  who  now  guided  her  steps,  while  amidst  the  menry 
peal  of  the  bells,  the  shouts  of  the  populace,  and  the  silvery  showers  of 
the  shillings,  the  little  m^jor  hugged  himself  with  Us  astonishinr, 
Waterloo-like  victory.  He  had,  indeed,  accomplished  wonders^  and  ^t 
revenged  for  all  the  slights  and  snubbmgs  of  former  times.  So  koonkjl 
for  Rouge  and  Noir,  as  Miss  Jaundice  called  the  happy  couple,  as  they 
stepped  into  their  travelling-carriage  and  four.  Crack  go  the  whips, 
round  go  the  wheels,  and  back  the  white  favours  stream. 

What  a  pity  to  leave  such  a  charming  theme,  to  retwm  to  the  dull 
realities  of  life !   However,  we  must  do  it. 

We  are  free  to  admit  that  there  was  a  little  disaf^iatment  on  the  past 
of  the  hufy  when  she  arrived  at  Carol  Hill  Green,  for  instead  of  ap» 
proachiog  through  a  long  avenue  of  venerable  elmi^  as  the  bridegrooM 
represented,  the  chaise  suddenly  stopped  ere  she  was  fully  aware  thfey 
hM  entered  the  grounds,  the  dosen  or  two  trees,  of  which  the  striigfat 
avenue  was  composed,  being  all  passed;  neither  was  dieiiiinsion  nerf 
imposing.  Indeed,  had  it  not  been  for  the  determined  stop  of  the.«av« 
riage,  she  would  hav^  thought  the  tidv  Uttib  ^hitewa«bed  house  Aay 
stood  before  was  the  k>d^.  However,  like  a.  wise  .woman,  she  lr«t»4/hMr. 
opmions  to  herself,  foelingi  perhaps,  tbali  the  difspiKMliSMNatJiranU  1^* 
reciprocal  when  the  major  came  to  find  how  the  coUiery,  or  coal  raine^ 


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¥wmf  9%m  MMt  Stafi-adM  and  Hwm.  SSS 

LMdSy  in  the  oounty  <tf  Ifoik,  kept  down  the  rents  of  the  Sltna- 
pington^aad  Sqnathiogton  eetatee,  in  Uie  county  of  Somerset,  Scratch- 
ingloo,  inthe  coonty  of  Salop^  and  Rashington,  in  the  county  of  Kent. 

Hie  existenoe  of  the  danghten  was  an  after-find^  and  perhaps  oar 
readers  will  allow  us  to  dispose  of  that  discoYeiv  as  one  of  those  catas- 
tiophes  that  are  more  easily  imagined  than  descnbed.  Still  theie  was  the 
eaaseqoenee  of  the  hounds  to  console  her;  and  perhaps  our  sporting 
fimida  will  do  as  the  &vour  of  accompanying  us  to  the  kennel.  Kennel 
did  we  say  ?  There  was  no  kennel— only  an  old  root-house,  with  a  hench 
in  it.     The  following  was  the  rise  and  progress  of  '^  moy  establishment :" 

When  Carol  Hill  Green  descended  on  the  auctioneery  there  was  then 
in  the  neighbourhood  a  small  trencher-fed  pack,  called  llie  *'  Jolly  Rum- 
maffen,"  nom  the  independent  way  they  scrimmaged  o? er  everybody's 
land,  and  which  had  got  into  sad  disreputOi  as  well  for  their  trespasses  as 
Ibr  their  propensity  to  mutton.  In  fact,  they  were  under  sentence  of 
capital  punishment,  when  it  oocutred  to  the  butchery  bakerB,  nubficans, 
beenhop-keepers,  rad  people  they  belonged  to,  that  it  would  oe  a  good 
ddng  if  they  could  get  the  major  (then  Mr.  Cruineafowle)  to  head 
them,  which  would  give  them  respectability  and  greater  liberty  over  the 
land.  Accordmgly  they  waited  upon  our  friend,  and  represented  to  him 
tlie  great  advantage  these  hounds  were  of  to  the  country  in  a  public 
(house)  point  of  view ;  expatiated  on  their  anxiety  to  promote  the  sports 
and  amusements  of  the  people,  than  which  there  could  be  nothing  more 
legitimate  or  more  truly  national  than  the  noble  pastime  of  the  chase ;  and 
they  concluded  by  informing  our  friend,  that  if  he  would  only  consent  to 
lend  them  his  name—let  the  hounds  be  called  his,  in  £Ebct — they  would  in- 
demnify him  against  all  costs,  charges,  damages,  and  expenses  whatsoever. 
Honour  on  sttdi  easy  terms  not  fUling  to  the  lot  of  man  every  day,  the 
auctioneer,  after  due  consideration,  acceded  to  their  proposal,  and  forth- 
with the  hounds  became  his.  He  then  struck  the  fine  gilt  button,  and 
established  a  uniform — green,  with  a  red  waistcoat  and  white  breeches— 
and  proceeded  to  qualify  for  his  high  office,  by  readiug  all  the  books  he 
cotda  boRow  on  the  subject. 

Befeve  taxitog^me,  however,  came  round,  most  of  the  worthies  had 
vanished,  and  oar  friend  was  left  sole  master  of  the  establbhment  They 
wete  now  Mr.  Gkiineofowle's  hounds^  in  every  sense  of  the  word.  Many 
men,  with  no  more  taste  for  hunting  than  our  friend,  would  have  revived 
the  old  sentence  of  extermination ;  but  our  Ghiineafowle,  having  tasted 
the  sweets  of  office,  £dn't  like  to  lose  it  so  soon.  He  therefore  agreed, 
among  his  own  and  some  of  the  neighbouriog  farmers,  that  if  they  would 
keen  die  hounds^  he  would  paythetax;  and  that  his  groom  cow-keepmg- 
gainener,  Jonathan  Fahxmer,  should  collect  them  the  evening  before 
hmting,  and  distribute  them  after. 

'  This  was  thought  very  handsome  of  our  friend,  seeing  that  eadi  hound 
wooU  cost  him  nnnieen  shillings,  and  there  ware  seven  or  eight  couple 
of  them.  T»  be  eure^  as  between  the  public  and  the  tax-gatherer,  there 
wai  ahMiys  a  slight  iMscrepaacy ;  the  major,  when  on  his  nigh  horsey  at 
n]pAet»tablte«id  other  paMie  places,  talking  of  them  as  a  fuH  paiek, 
fi»a«aad>»tliirty  .or  forty  ednpW;  while  to  the  tto-^thei^  he  used  to 
sa^  wiA  mi  aifified  toss  of  his  head,  that  there  were  only  a  few  coajpls. 


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thathe  lapt  out  of  ehwibr)  and  he  wiAad  he  waa  ni  of  ihem  attugdiht  > 
Ldaed,  he  onoe  weat  so  &r  as  to  try  to  pan  them  off  as  fox-hoaadi»  io 
order  to  escape  tbe^  then  oertificale  duty — aUeging  thai  they  only  con* 
deaeended  to  hare  m  the  ahsence  of  fox ;  hut  wis  the  surrsyor  amUn't 
stand,  and  our  master  didn't  tbtok  it  prudent  to  risk  an  appeaL 

A  Teiy  severe  contest  having  taken  place  for  Ma^^wniaeUive 
shortly  after  our  frirad's  accession  to  the  Carol  Hill  Green  eatate^  in 
wlath.  he  particularly  distbguished  himself,  by  votbg  for  the  Whig  can- 
didate^ after  promising  and  canvassing  with  the  Tory  one^  he  waa  m* 
warded  by  the  majority  of  the  nulitia,  in  lieu  of  bemg  placed  on  the  com- 
mission of  the  peace,  as  he  wished ;  the  justices  of  nis  petty  sessional 
divisbn  vowing  they  would  all  resign  if  he  was.  fiowerer,  he  got  his 
majority ;  and  then  the  hounds  were  Major  Guineafowle's^  sad  Jonathan 
Falconer  got  a  cockade  and  a  fine  gold  band  for  his  hat. 

Many  of  our  sporting  readers,  we  dare  say,  will  remember  **  Major 
Gnineafowle's,  the  Carol  Hill  Hounds,"  figurine^  away  in  the  papf*** 
along  with  the  packs  of  dukes,  and  lords,  and  omer  great  men,  making 
quite  as  great  a  figure  on  paper  as  any  of  them.  A  pack  is  a  pack^  in 
the  eyes  of  the  uninitiated,  just  as  a  child  thii^s  a  cherry  is  a  oheiij, 
when  it  eats  a  baking  one.  The  major  got  leave  over  more  land,  too,  thovn 
Lord  Heartycheer — at  the  earnest  solicitation  of  whose  steward,  mr, 
Smoothley,  our  friend  had  voted  as  he  did — said,  in  his  usual  haughfy 
way,  when  applied  to  for  some,  that  *' though  the  man  nndoahtedly 
ought  to  have  something  for  disgracing  himself,  he  didn't  know  that 
letting  him  maraud  over  a  country  was  the  right  sort  of  payment.'' 

His  lordship's  natural  fox»hunter's  contempt  for  a  hare-hunter  had 
been  greatly  heightened  by  hearing  from  Dicky  Dyke  that  the  major 
classed  their  establishments  together,  and  talked  of  Hear^dieer  iod 
^*  oi"  hunting  the  country. 

Very  tdling,  however,  the  major's  talk  was  when  the  first  batch  of 
daughters  were  emancipated  from  Miss  Birchtwig's,  and  began  twistbg 
and  twirling  about  to  the  music  of  the  watering-place  bands ;  the  miyor 
still  haunting  the  scenes  of  his  early  career — still  talking  about  moy 
horses,  and  moy  country,  and  moy  hounds  kept  without  a  subscription. 

Ofiers  came  pouring  in  apace,  each  suppliant  fooling  satisfied  that  a 
five-and-twenty,  or  four-and-twenty,  or  three-and*  twenty  years  (as  the 
case  might  be)  master  of  hounds  ^<  without  a  subscription"  could  want 
nothing  but  amiable,  well-disposed  young  men  for  his  incomparable 
daughters,  and  that  was  a  character  they  all  could  sustain — at  least,  for  a 
time.  Mrs.  Guineafowle,  being  anxious  to  get  the  first  brood  off  before 
her  own  beauties  were  ready  to  appear,  favoured  all  comers,  bringing 
m^i  to  book  with  amaiing  rapidity,  and  never  letting  one  off  without  n 
thorough  sifting.  She  took  possessions,  reversions,  remsinders,  and  con- 
tingencies into  consideration,  with  all  the  acuteness  of  an  assuranoe-offibe 
keeper.  Having  been  done  heraelf,  she  was  not  going  to  let  any  one 
do  her.  If  tlM  unfortunate  passed  the  ordeal  of  her  inquiries— the 
Commons  of  the  Guineafowle  constitution — he  was  passed  on  ta  the 
Lords,  in  the  person  of  our  great  little  major,  now  *' five^and-twanty 
years  master  of  bounds  without  a  subscription." 

,  llien  the  major,  having  got  up  as  mueh  oonsaqucnee  as  a  newlyr- 


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YauMjf  Torn  JBMfs  HeariHielieB  and  Rones.  i57 

acrgomt,  would  receive  lihe  sitiirking,  nmperiiig  simpleton  ivith 
wnk^mMfy  stiff  bow,  and  motioiiiDg  him  into  a  imit,  waM  invite  him 
to  uttbosom  hinself-^jiist  as  a  dentist  invites  a  patient  to  open  Us 
niMilb* 

^*Of  coQisey'*  Gttineafowle  wovid  say,  witii  a  puff  of  his  cheeks^  and  a 
dftve  into  dbe  bottom  of  his  pockets,  aa  he  stock  out  his  little  legs  befere 
hini*-*^<tf  ooofse  I  don't  want  you  to  go  into  elaborate  detail — minutis, 
is  faiot — to  t^  roe  the  townships,  acreage,  and  all  that;  what  I  want  is 
iMtefy  a  general  oatfine  of  your  p-r*o^r-perty  and  means  of  living,  so  that 
I  nuKv  be  able  to  judge  whether  yon  have  the  means  of  maintaining  my 
damgnter  in  the  elegant  lujrary  and  comforts  to  which  she  has  been 
atoostomed  ;  the  lawyers  will  look  to  the  detail  of  the  matter,  see  that 
things  are  all  right  and  on  the  square  ;**  with  which  comfortable  assmv 
ance  Guinea  would  again  inflate  his   cheeks  and  —  ^'paiise   for  an 


Bless  us,  how  that  ominous  speech  used  to  scatter  and  annihilate  the 
hopes  and  aspirations  of  sighs,  and  glances,  and  squeezes,  and  supper- 
dances  !  Guinea  knew  how  to  wield  the  terrors  of  Roasters  and  Pin- 
ners, and  had  been  done  too  often  himself  to  let  any  one  do  him.  But, 
to  be  brief ;  the  consequence  of  all  this  was,  that  men  whom  our  master 
of  hounds  without  a  subscription  thought  good  enough  for  his  daughters, 
did  not  think  the  daughters  good  enough  for  them — at  least,  not  unless 
he  came  down  with  a  good  many  guineas,  which  he  always  most  peremp- 
torily refused  to  do,  doubtless  considering  it  honour  and  glooy  enough  for 
any  one  to  marry  the  daughter  of  a  master  of  hounds  without  a  sub- 
scription, the  owner,  as  he  used  to  insinuate,  of  Slumpington  and 
Squashington,  and  all  the  other  places. 

Gruineafbwle  had  bowed  out  so  many  insinuating  young  men,  who, 
as  they  snatched  up  their  hats  as  they  rushed  throu^  ^e  entrance- 
hall,  felt  quite  shocked  and  grieved  that  tnere  should  be  such  a  nmcenaiy 
spirit  in  the  world,  that  Mrs.  Guinea  was  about  tired  of  passing  bills  for 
her  lord  and  master  to  reject ;  and  the  young  ladies  themselves  had  re- 
solved just  to  accept  offers  without  faUiug  in  love,  until  such  times  as 
there  was  a  possibility  of  the  suitors  passing  the  upper  house.  This, 
however,  they  did  not  do;  and  Mrs.  Guineafowle  saw  with  concern  her 
own  dark-haired,  dark-eyed  beauties  now  treading  on  the  heels  of  the 
light-haired  angels  of  the  former  marriage. 

Miss  Birchtwig  had  returned  Laura,  the  eldest  of  the  three  dark  ones, 
whom,  like  the  street  orange-women,  she  only  counted  as  two,  making  up, 
perhaps,  in  extras  what  she  took  off  the  other  end — Miss  Birchtwig,  we 
say,  had  "  finished  and  polished  "  Laura,  and  returned  her  with  such  a 
glowing  description  of  her  virtues,  that  any  one  reading  it  would  imme- 
diately exclaim,  <^  Why,  this  Maida  Hill  establishment  must  be  a  real 
manufactory  for  angels !"  Laura  was  *'  obliging,  enchanting,  engaging, 
endearing,  and  so  remarkably  attentive  to  the  instructions  of  her  music, 
dancing,  drawing,  French,  and  Italian  masters,  that  they  all  regretted  her 
departure.  Indeed,  she  had  endeared  herself  to  every  one,  while  Miss 
Birchtwig  doubted  not,  that  having  had  to  come  in  contact  with  some 
whose  tempers  were  not  quit*  in  unison  with  her  own,  would  have  a 
beneficial  result  in  exercising  li8r*pMlienee;"^^miich  snofa  a  circular  as 


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3j;8  The .Cndariut^  PaioM. Gufdm. 

she  sent  to  the  parents  of  all  the  *' Jeleot  number  of  piqiilfl^"  leaTii^ 
them,  of  ooune,  to  believe  as  much  of  it  as  they  lihed^aeooidiiig  to  theff 
individual  capacity  for  gammoo*  Best  of  all,  Laurawaa  a  perfect  beauty ; 
an  elegant  sylph-like  ngure,  with  raven-Uack  hair,  ft  dear  Italian  com- 
plexion, and  the  largest,  deepest,  Lola- Jiontes-like  Uue  eyes^  with  flash- 
ing fringes,  that  ever  were  seen.  The  whole  oounuy  rang  with  her 
beauty.  IHcky  Thomdyke's  report  of  her  to  Lord  Heartycheer  was  so 
encouraging,  that  his  lordship,  who  had  always  kept  that  '^pompooSy 
pot-huntine  humbug^ — as  he  pro&nely  called  Major  Guineafewle— at  » 
distance,  observed,  with  a  pout  of  his  Ups  and  a  hoist  of  his  snow-white 
eyebrows,  that  he  '*  didn't  know  that  there  would  be  any  great  hann 
in  letting  Captain  Guineapig  towl  over  BarUnside  Moor,  and  so  19  to 
their  covers  at  Snipeton  and  Firle." 

And  now,  after  this  wide  hare»huntinff  ciroumbendibus,  made  for  the 
purpose  of  introducing  our  distinguished  friend,  we  again  break  off  at 
the  major's  invitation  to  Tom  HaU  to  partake  of  a  hjune-hunt,  leaving 
our  fiiir  friends  to  put  whatever  charitable  construction  they  like  on  his 
motive. 

So  ends  this  terrible  long  chapter. 


THE  CEDAR  IN  THE  PALACE  GARDEN. 

BT  W.  BRAILSFORD. 

[This  celetarated  tree,  probably  the  largest  of  its  kind  in  this  country,  was 
planted  by  Dr.  IJvedale,  about  the  vear  1680.  It  itaods  in  the  garden  of  the 
polsoe,  once  the  abode  of  Edward  the  Sixth  and  Queen  Elizabeth,  and  is  a  very 
conspicuous  object  in  the  town  of  Enfield.] 

Undebmeath  the  quiet  night 
Gentle  thoughts  will  flow  arig^t^ 
When  the  belted  silver  stars 
Charm  away  the  old-world  scars, 
And  the  silence  of  the  time 
Leads  the  heart  to  joys  sublime. 

Underneath  the  solemn  shade 
By  this  stately  cedar  made, 
Ere  the  moonlight  &des  away, 
And  the  ruder  glare  of  day 
Calls  us  into  active  life, 
Let  us  pause,  apart  from  strife 
Or  the  taint  of  earthly  press, 
To  rejoice  with  thanldtUness 
In  this  noble  relic  won 
From  the  ancient  Lebanon. 

Standing  like  a  symbol  vast, 
Given  from  the  buried  past, 


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lie  CMar  in  Vie'Palace  Garden.  S59 

Of  a  man'*  enduring  wtU, 
JnUlMit  o'er  mortal  91, 
Scathed  and  worn,  it  seems  to  be 
Great  as  Hope's  reaKtj  ; 
Storms  and  winds  have  raced  in  tain, 
And  the  dreaiy  fleeting  ram ; 
Sommer^s  snn,  and  winter  s  snow 
HaTe  not  wrought  its  overthrow. 
Time,  who  chilu  the  flowers  of  Jane 
To  a  wotni  antomn  tone, ' 
Sounding  through  the  gloomy  wild 
like  the  sobbing  of  a  ehild — 
Time,  who  never  fails  to  come 
With  his  touch  of  change  and  doom, 
Seems  to  lose  ins  wonted  spell 
Round  this  leafy  citadel. 

Songs  of  love  and  lespends  old, 
Deeds  of  kniehts  and  gallants  bold, 
Underneath  Uiis  lofty  tree 
May  be  chanted  merrily  ; 
Hither  o%  when  day  has  fled, 
Poets  may  be  dreaming  led. 
In  their  idlesse  bent  to  weave 
Phantasies  for  summer's  eve— - 
Thoughts  of  subtle  sway  and  power, 
Kindled  at  that  mystic  hour, 
When  the  mind  with  daring  art 
Travels  to  some  distant  part, 
And  beholds  bright  visions  blent 
With  the  charms  by  fancy  lent  . 
For  the  spirit's  ravishment. 

Lordly  monarch,  sylvan  king, 
Joyous  be  the  songs  we  sing, 
All  about  the  dewy  e^^ass 
Where  thy  waving  shadows  pass, 
Not  a  sound  of  care  to  wake 
Discord  in  the  lays  we  make  ; 
Affes  yet  to  come,  mayst  thou 
Stdl  uplift  each  spreamng  bough. 
That  when  loving  rovers  come 
To  their  happy  Enfield  home. 
Thou  wilt  be  die  first  to  show 
Home  is  home  where'er  we  go. . 


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(  use  ) 


THE  BURMAH  WAR. 

The  immediate  contact  of  civilised  and  of  barbaroiu  nations  almost 
inevitably  entails  war.  The  fnots  of  lustoiy  and  the  erample  of  different 
coantries  attest  the  same  thing.  It  was  so  at  the  time  of  the  Greeks  and 
Romans,  it  is  so  in  the  present  day.  It  exists  with  regard  to  the  Eng- 
lish in  India  and  at  the  Cape»  as  it  does  with  regard  to  the  Anglo- 
Saxons  in  America  and  the  French  in  Algeria.  As  the  hand  of  Provi- 
dence may  be  traced  in  all  things  here  below,  it  was  probably  so  intended. 
The  barbarian  is  bigoted  in  his  prejudices,  opposed  to  improvement; 
blinded  by  self-conceit,  and  ignorant  of  his  eaemY*8  resources,  he  treats  a 
civilised  as  he  has  been  wont  to  do  his  uncivilised  nmghbours,  and  he 
adds  contempt  to  insult,  and  deceit  to  defiance.  Civilised  nations  almost 
as  invariably  increase  this  self-sufl&cienoy  and  arroffance  by  observing  the 
rules  of  decorum  towards  such  an  enemy.  The  different  missions  to  the 
Burmahs  attest  this  in  a  very  forcible  manner.  At  length,  no  resource 
is  left  but  to  check  this  overweening  confidence  and  insulting  demeanour 
by  the  strong  arm  of  power.  These  are  not  the  ethics  of  the  Aborigines' 
Irotection  Society,  but  they  are  the  logic  of  fiact  and  experience  as 
opposed  to  well-meaning  but  vain  and  empty  theories. 

Who  are  the  Burmabi,  or  Burmese,  who  now  for  nearly  the  hundredth 
time  dare  the  force  of  British  arms,  after  repudiating  for  a  century  or 
more  all  social  or  commercial  intercourse  ?  A  warlike  tribe  of  unknown 
origin,  who  settled  on  the  Upper  Irawady,  or  in  Ava  Proper ;  were  till 
the  16th  century  subject  to  the  King  of  Pegu.  At  that  time  a  success- 
ful revolution  made  the  Burmahs  masters  of  Pegu  and  Martaban.  But 
in  1740  the  Peguans  revolted  c^inst  their  new  masters,  and  war  was 
prosecuted  on  both  sides  with  savage  ferocity.  In  1760  and  1761,  the 
Peguans,  with  the  aid  of  arms  imported  by  Europeans,  and  the  active 
services  of  some  Dutch  and  Portuguese,  beat  their  rivals,  and  in  1762, 
Ava,  the  capital,  surrendered  to  them  at  discretion,  and  the  last  of  a  long 
line  of  Burmah  kings  was  taken  prisoner. 

The  conquest  had,  however,  scarcely  appeared  complete  and  settled, 
when  one  of  those  extraordinary  characters  whom  Providence  sometimes 
raises  up  to  change  the  destinies  of  nations,  appeared.  This  was  a 
Burman  called,  like  the  present  usurper  at  the  head  of  the  empire — 
Alompra--a  man  of  obscure  birth,  but  known  prowess,  being,  like  ihe 
founder  of  the  Assyrian  empire,  designated  as  ^'  the  huntsman."  This 
Burmah  Nimrod  collected  a  few  followers  and  defeated  the  Peguans  in 
small  skirmishes.  These  successes  attracted  more  followers,  till  in  the 
autumn  of  1763  he  was  enabled  to  attack  and  gain  possession  of  Ava. 
After  this,  he  defeated  the  King  of  Pegu  in  several  engagements,  invaded 
his  territories,  and  took  his  capital,  which  he  gave  un  to  indiscriminate 
plunder  and  carnage.  Like  all  adventurers,  Alompra  did  not  know  where 
to  stop,  but  seizing  on  the  first  pretext,  he  wrested  the  province  of 
Tenasserim  from  the  Siamese,  and  then  invaded  Siam  itself,  but  was 
carried  off  by  sickness. 

Alompra  was  succeeded  by  his  son,  Namduji  Prah,  a  minor;  but 
Strembuan,  the  unde  of  this  prince,  brother  to  Alompra,  acted  as  regent, 
and  on  the  death  of  the  nephew,  assumed  the  crown.     Strembuan  de- 


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Tim  Burmah  War.  381 

ohured  war  agmiiat  the  Skmese,  and  took  their  capital,  in  1766,  but  did 
AOt  retain  permanent  possession  of  the  country.  He  also  subdued  Kasay 
in  1 774,  and  died  in  1776.  His  son  and  successor,  Chenguza,  a  debauched 
md  bloody  tyrant^  was  dethroned  and  put  to  death  in  1782,  in  a  con- 
Sjpiracy  headed  by  his  own  uncle,  Mindujt,  who  took  possession  of  the 
goveniment.  TUs  prince  was  the  fourth  son  of  Alompra.  In  1783  he 
sent  a  fleet  of  boats  against  Arakan,  or  Arracan,  which  he  easily  eon- 
«ered.  He  then  maiched  against  Siam,' where  he  met  with  some 
ctiecks ;  and,  finding  himself  unable  to  retain  possession  of  the  interior, 
was  obliged  to  content  himself  with  the  dominion  of  its  western  coast,  as 
&r  south  as  Mergui,  including  the  two  important  seaports  of  Tavoy  and 
Meigtti,  which  were  ceded  to  him  by  a  treaty  of  peace  in  1793. 

The  occurrence  of  hostilities  with  the  neighbouring  kingdom  of  Ava  (says 
Professor  H.  H.  Wilson,  in  his  excellent  and  well-timed  **  Narrative  or  the 
Burmese  War  in  1824-26*'*)  was  an  event  which  was  not  unforeseen  by  the 
British  gOTernment  of  India,  as  the  probable  consequence  of  the  victorious 
career  and  the  extravagant  pretensions  of  the  Burman  state. 

Animated  by  the  reaction  which  suddenly  elevated  the  Burmas  from  a 
subjugated  and  humiliated  people  into  conquerors  and  sovereignsi  the  era  of 
their  ambition  may  be  dated  from  the  recovery  of  their  political  independence ; 
and  their  libemtion  from  the  temporary  yoke  of  the  Peguans  was  the  prelude 
to  their  conquest  of  all  the  surronndiog  realms.  The  vigorous  despotism  of 
the  government,  and  the  confident  courage  of  the  people,  crowned  every  en- 
terprise witli  success,  and  for  above  half  a  century  the  Burman  arms  were 
invariably  victorious,  whether  wielded  for  attack  or  defence.  Shortly  after 
their  insurrection  against  Pegu,  the  Burmas  became  the  masters  of  that  king- 
dom. They  next  wrested  the  valuable  districts  of  the  Teuasserim  coasts  from 
Siam.  They  repelled,  with  great  gallantry,  a  formidable  invasioii  from  China, 
and  by  the  final  annexation  of  Amkan,  Manipur,  and  Assam,  to  the  empire, 
they  established' themselves  throughout  the  whole  of  the  narrow  but  extensive 
tract  of  country  which  separates  the  western  provinces  of  China  from  the 
eastern  boundaries  of  Hindustan.  Along  the  greater  part  of  this  territoiy 
they  threatened  the  open  plains  of  British  India,  and  they  only  awaited  a 
plausible  pretext  to  assail  tne  barrier  which,  in  their  estimation,  as  presump- 
tuously as  idly  opposed  the  further  prosecution  of  their  triumphs. 

..  It  18  most  important,  for  truth-sake  and  for  the  honour  of  a  civilised 
country,  that  it  should  be  understood  that  the  Bunnahs  are  not  the 
aborigines  of  the  territories  which  we  now  hold  from  them — the  delta  of 
the  Irawady  and  of  the  Saluen,  or  of  Tenasserim,  Arracan,  or  Assam ; 
and  that  war  has  in  no  instance  been  voluntarily  undertaken  by  the 
British  for  purposes  of  aggrandisement  or  of  commercial  development, 
but  has  been  invariably  forced  upon  us  by  the  arrogance  and  the  open 
acts  of  hostility  of  a  vain  and  ambitious  people.  Even  the  adventurer 
Alompra  was  not  satisfied  with  disdauiing  the  proffered  alliance  of  the 
Company,  but  he  authorised  a  barbarous  massacre  of  their  '^  servants," 
on  the  island  of  Negrais,  and  which  act  of  barbarism  was  not  at  the 
time  resented  by  the  British  government. 

The  next  act  of  aggresnon  on  the  part  of  the  Burmahs  against  the 
British  government  occurred  in  1794.  That  year,  a  Burman  army 
violated  the  British  territory  in  pursuit  of  robbers,  and,  according  to 
Pwfeasor  l/nison,  a  force  of  20,000  men  assembled  at  Arracan  to  sup- 

*  W.H.  Allan  and  Co,  London. 


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SS2  Th0  Burmak  War. 

port  the  iiiTanon.  It  was  upon  this  ooearion  that  the  emfauir^  o. 
Colonel  Symes — 00  well  known  from  the  aocottut  published  or  hie 
mission  by  the  intelligent  officer  himself— took  place,  and  the  reception 
of  the  ienvoy,  Professor  Wilson  justly  remarks,  as  detailed  by  himsdi^ 
clearly  ezhil»its  the  interpretation  given  to  it  by  the  coort,  and  thejr 
evidently  regarded  it  as  the  tribute  of  fear,  rather  than  as  an  advance 
towards  liberal  conciliation  and  civilised  intercourse. 

A  next,  and  a  far  more  prolonged  subject  of  discord,  arose  from  the. 
numbers  of  aborigmal  natives,  more  especially  Mugs  or  Mughs,  who, 
flying  before  the  oppressions  of  their  conquerors,  or  to  withdraw  from 
their  tyranny  and  exactions,  sought  shelter  within  our  territories.  These 
fugitives,  gathering  together  on  the  frontier,  soon  increased  so  in  num- 
bers as  to  begin  to  form  marauding  parties,  and  to  carry  on  predatory 
incursions  against  their  hereditary  enemies.  The  firitish  government 
made  every  possible  exertion  to  prevent  these  breaches  of  the  peace,  and 
the  Marquis  of  Hastings  went  so  far  as  to  permit  a  Burman  force  to 
follow  the  refugees  into  the  forest  of  Chittafi;ong.*  A  concession  so  inju- 
dicious as  this  very  naturally  only  increased  the  arrogance  of  the  Bur- 
mahs,  and  Captain  Canning  was  sent  on  an  explanatory  mission  to 
Burmah,  only  to  be  treated  with  every  possible  indignity,  even  to  putting 
his  life  in  peril ;  and  he  was  not  allowed  to  proceed  beyond  Rangoon. 

In  1818  the  Burmahs  invaded  Assam,  established  a  partisan  on  the 
throne,  and  lefb  a  force  for  his  defence.  Insurrection,  however,  succeeded 
to  insurrection,  till  in  1822  a  Burmah  chief  was  appointed  to  the  supreme 
authority,  and  the  vicinity  of  a  powerful  and  ambitious  neighbour  was 
substituted  for  a  feeble  and  distracted  state. 

This  forcible  occupation  of  Assam  was  soon  followed  by  parties  of 
Burmahs  committing  serious  devastations  within  the  British  territory, 
burning  a  number  of  villages,  and  plundering  and  murdering  the  inha- 
bitants, or  carrying  them  off  as  slaves.  At  the  same  time  an  island  in 
the  Brahmaputra,  on  which  the  British  flag  had  been  erected,  was 
invaded,  the  flag  was  thrown  down,  and  an  armed  force  collected  to 
maintwn  the  insult. 

To  meet  these  difficulties,  and  to  strengthen  their  eastern  frontier,  the 
British  government  resolved  upon  occupying  Kachar,  which,  with  the 
more  important  province  of  Manipur,  haa  long  ago  claimed  the  pro- 
tection of  the  British  against  the  tyranny  of  the  Burmahs.  Active 
hostilities  had  by  this  time  also  broke  out  on  the  Naf  river,  which  con- 
stituted the  boundary  between  the  provinces  of  Chittagong  and  Arracan. 
As  usual,  the  Company  asked  for  a  commission  of  inquiry  in  the  next 

*  Dr.  Hamilton  remarks  upon  this  first  collision  with  Burmah,  that  "the 
opinion  that  prevailed  hoth  in  Chittagong  and  at  Ava  was,  that  the  refiigees  were 
mven  up  from  fear;  and  this  opinion  has,  no  doubt,  continued  to  operate  on  the 
ill-informed  court  of  Ava,  and  has  occaaioned  a  frequent  repetition  of  violence  and 
insolence,  ending  in  open  war.  These  evils  might  possiblj  have  been  avoided  by 
a  vigorous  repulse  of  the  invasion  of  1794,  and  a  positive  refrisal  to  hearken  to 
any  proposal  for  giving  up  the  insurgents,  after  the  coort  of  Ava  had  adopted 
hostile  measures,  instead  of  negotiation,  to  which  alone  it  was  entiUed." — AeoomU 
of  the  Frontier  between  the  Southern  part  of  Bengal  and  Ava»  Edmbvrgh  Journal 
of  Science,  So  much  for  ultimate  evils  entailed  by  avoiding  a  lesser  evil  at  first, 
and  substituting  negotiations,  always  mistaken  for  timiduty  or  cowardice  by 
barbarians,  for  a  prompt  and  efficacious  resentment. 


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coU  season,  whioh  paoifio  request  was  answered  by'  an  attacJc  upon,  and' 
os4>tuTe  of  the  British  postof  Shahpnri,  an  affair  that  was  atteiided  with  ■ 
considerable  loss  of  life^  and  which  was  followed  by  a  menlu^in^  letter 
froin  the  Rapdi  of  Arracan,  to  the  effect  that  unless  the  British  govern* 
mebt  submitted  quietly  to  this  treatment,  it  would  bA  followed  by  the' 
like  forcible  seizure  of  the  cities  of  Dacca  and  Moorshedabad.  The' 
Company  answered  thu  overt  act  of  invasion  by  calling  upon  the  court 
of  Ava  to  disavow,  the  proceedings  of  its  officers  in  Arracan.  This  last 
act  of  a  miistaken  and  temporizing  policy  had  no  other  effect,  Professor 
Wilson  tellis  us,  than  that  of  confurning  the  court  of  Ava  in  their  con-  > 
fident  expectation  of  re-annexing  the  eastern  provinces  of  Bengal  to  the' 
empire,  if  not  of  expelling  the  English  from  India  altogether  f 

The  idand  of  Shahpuri  was  re-occupied  by  the  British.  .The  Planet^ 
armed  vessel,  and  three  gun-boats,  were  stationed  in  the  Naf,  and  the 
Burmahs  prepared  for  war.  As  Mr.  Laird  stated,  "  from  the  king  to 
the  begmr,  the  Burmans  were  hot  for  a  war  with  the  English."  They- 
collected  thdr  forces,  and  threatened  the  different  exposed  points  of  the 
Company's  frontiers  in  Assam  and  Arracan  at  the  same  time.  Yet  the' 
system  adopted  by  the  Company  in  this  emergency  was  purely  defensive ; 
this,  aftc»r  a  series  of  acts  of  rapine,  cruelty,  imprisonment,  and  murder, 
oombined  with  tyranny  and  oppression  of  subjugated  natives,  and  the 
most  contemptuous  and  insolent  rejections  of  all  amicable  overtures,  such 
as  are  almost  without  example  in  the  history  even  of  barbarian  states. 

Early  in  January,  1824,  the  Burmahs  moved  nearly  simultaneously 
from  Assam  and  Manipur  into  Kachar  and  the  Jyntea.  Major  Newton 
advanced  on  his  side  at  the  head  of  a  small  force  against  the  invading 
party,  and  routed  them  after  a  smart  action ;  but  being  unable  to  follow 
up  the  advantage  gmhed,  t^e  fugitives  soon  rallied,  and  effected  thmr 
junction  with  the  tro6p&  from  Manipur.  On  the  13th  of  Februar)',  Cap- 
tain Johnstone  drove  the  combined  forces  out  of  their  stockades  on  the 
Surma,  and  this  advantage  was  followed  up  by  Colonel  Bowen,  who 
dispersed  the  Assam  dividon ;  but  the  same  officer  met  with  a  check  in 
enaeavouring  to  force  the  stockades  of  the  Manipur  division  at  Dood-- 
patli* 

While  these  events  were  taking  place  in  Kachar,  the  occurrences  in 
the  southern  extremity  of  the  frontier  partook  of  the  same  character. 
The  island  of  Sbahpun  had  been  once  more  abandoned,  and  the  com- 
manding officer  of  the  Company's  pilot-vessel  Sophia  had,  with  another 
officer  and  some  seamen,  been  treacherously  seized  and  sent  prisoners  to 
Arracan.  Upon  this,  war  was  formally  declared  by  the  British  govern- 
ment, and  as  readily  retorted  by  the  *'  golden  feet." 

The  first  hostilities  occurred  in  Assam,  into  which  country  a  small 
force  advanced  at  once,  under  Brigadier  M^Morine.  The  Burmahs  re- 
treated before  the  British,  killing  and  barbarously  mutilating  the  unfor- 
tunate Assamese,  their  fellows  in  arms,  on  the  way.  Another  small 
force  advanced  at  the  same  time  up  the  Brahmaputra,  and  after  several 
skirmishes,  the  first  campaign  in  Assam  ended  by  the  occupation  of  a 
considerable  tract  of  country  between  Goalpara  and  Gohati;  Colonel 
Richards  having  succeeded  to  Brigadier  M^Morine,  who  perished  from 
cholera.  A  sm^l  force  under  Captain  Noton  had,  at  the  same  time, 
been  defeated  with  considerable  loss  at  Ramoo,  on  the  southern  extremity 

Jufy — ^VOL.  XCV.  wo.  CCCLXXDC.  2  B 


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S64  ZSke  BunmA  Witr. 

(£  the  frontier ;  bat  tlie  adtentagie  guned  At  tfant  pomt,  md  ^ 

for  a  moment,  spread  a  panie  even  at  Cafeutta,  wefe  not  foUoived  i^  by 

the  Bunnahs* 

Early  the  eosaing^  season  a  powerful  foxoe,  fitted  out.  by  the  P^eadenoiea 
of  Bengal  and  MiMras,  took  its  departure,  in  proseontion  of  an  ofienttie 
system  of  operations.  The  oomUneii  foroes  anired  off  the  movith  of  die 
&uigoon  river  on  the  9th  of  May,  and  on  the  11th  the  town  of  Raagam 
was  taken  possession  o^  after  a  rery  trifiing  resistance.  The  town  was 
found,  indeed,  to  be  entirely  deserted — a  circumstanee  which  was  pio* 
duotive  of  serious  inconTenience  to  the  expedition,  and  disoonoorted 
more  than  anything  else  the  expectations  which  had  been  formed  of  its 
immediate  results.  The  troops  were  posted  in  the  great  pi^goda  <£ 
Shwe-da-gon,  which  played  an  important  part  in  recent  efents,  and 
many  unfortunate  prisoners  were  diacovered,  forgotten  by  the  Burmaiw 
in  the  confusion  of  their  retreat  Several  sharp  skirmishes  fbllowedt 
upon  the  capture  of  Rangoon,  and  in  the  latter  part  of  May  heavy  Faina 
began  to  £&!!.  The  troops  were  accordingly  cantoned  in  the  numetons 
pagodas  and  religious  buildings  which  connect  the  before-mentioiied 
great  temple  with  the  town.  The  great  pagoda  was  itself  occupied  by 
part  of  his  Majesty's  89th  Regiment  and  the  Madras  artillery,  and  formed 
the  key  to  the  whole  position,  from  which  the  rains,  and  the  impossilnlity 
of  equipping  a  flotilla,  put  it  out  of  their  power  to  move.  Add  to  this^ 
nothing  in  the  shape  of  supplies  was  to  be  procured,  while  the  Bnrmahs^ 
entrenched  close  upon  the  British  lines,  or  concealed  in  the  dense  jungle 
that  grew  close  to  the  posts,  maintained  a  system  of  constant  attacks — 
cutting  off  stragglers,  firing  upon  the  ptcquets,  and  creating  alarms  by 
night  as  well  as  by  day.  This  harassing  war&re  was  responded  to  by 
fr^uent  sorties,  fatiguing  man^s  in  jungle  and  rice-grounds,  and  at- 
tacks upon  stockades,  always  attended  by  more  or  less  loss  of  life.  On 
one  occasion  a  British  column  was  mistaken  for  a  body  of  Burmahs,  as 
they  moved  through  the  thicket  withui  gun-shot,  and  received  a  heavy 
cannonade  from  the  armed  vessels  on  the  river.  Of  all  the  stockades, 
that  of  Kemendine  was  the  most  obstinately  defended. 

In  the  short  interval  that  ensued  between  the  capture  of  the  last- 
mentioned  stockade  and  the  renewal  of  active  operations,  the  British 
authorities  had  leisure  to  consider  the  position  in  which  they  were  placed. 
An  advance  up  the  river,  whilst  either  bank  was  commanded  by  the 
enemy  in  such  formidable  numbers  and  by  strong  entrenchments,  was 
wholly  out  of  the  question ;  as,  although  conveyance  for  the  troops  and 
ordnance  had  been  provided,  the  impossibility  of  deriving  supplies  from 
the  country  was  undeniable^  and  it  was  equally  impracticable  to  maintain 
a  communication  with  Rangoon.  It  was  clearly  neeessacy,  therefore,  to 
begin  by  annihilating  the  force  immediately  opposed  to  the  invading 
army,  before  any  advance  could  be  attemptecL  But  this  was  not  so  easy 
a  task  as  was  to  have  been  anticipated  from  the  superior  organisatioQ 
and  valour  of  the  British  army. 

In  the  field  (observes  Professor  Wilson)  the  enemy  were  as  little  able  as 
inclined  to  face  the  British  force,  but  their  perseverance  and  dexterity  in 
throwins  up  entrenchments,  rendered  their  expulsion  from  these  an  under- 
taking that  involved  a  loss  of  time  and  sacrifice  of  lives,  and  the  country  and 
seasons  stood  tbcm  in  the  stead  of  discipline  and  courage.    The  vicinity  of 


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The  Bkrmah  JVm*.  980 

fi«ip>ofi»  except abMit  the  town oralong  tte main  road^ was  oa?ered  with 
awamp  or  jungle,  through  which  the  men  were  ohliged  to  wade  kneendeep  m 
water,  or  force  their  way  through  harassing  and  wearisome  entanglemenla. 
The  rains  had  set  in,  and  the  effects  of  a  burning  sun  were  only  relieved  by 
the  torrents  that  fell  from  the  accumulated  clouds,  and  wliich  brought  disease 
along  with  their  coolness.  Constantly  exposed  to  the  vicissitudes  of  a  tropical 
dimate,  and  exhausted  by  tlie  necessity  of  unremitted  exertion,  it  need  not  be 
a  matter  of  surprise  that  sickness  now  began  to  thin  the  ranks,  and  impair  the 
energies  of  the  invaders.  No  rank  was  exempt  from  the  operation  of  these 
causes,  and  many  officers,  among  whom  were  the  senior  naval  officer.  Captain 
Marryat,  the  political  agent.  Major  Canning,  and  the  commander-in-chief  hiii»> 
self,  were  attacked  with  fever.  Among  the  privates,  the  Europeans  especially, 
the  sickness  incident  to  fatigue  and  exposure  was  aggravated  by  the  defective 
quantity  and  quality  of  the  provisions  which  had  been  supplied  for  their  use. 
Relying  upon  the  reported  facility  of  obtaining  cattle  and  vegetables  at  Ran- 
goon, it  bad  not  been  thought  necessary  to  embark  stores  for  protracted  cod- 
somption  on  board  the  transports  from  Calcutta,  and  the  Madras  troops  landed 
With  a  still  more  limited  stock.  As  soon  as  the  deficiency  was  ascertained^ 
arrangements  were  made  to  remedy  it ;  but  in  the  mean  time,  before  supplies 
could  reach  Rangoon,  the  troops  were  dependent  for  food  upon  salt  meat, 
much  of  which  was  in  a  state  of  putrescence,  and  biscuit  in  an  equally  repul* 
sive  condition,  under  the  decomposing  influence  of  heat  and  moisture.  The 
want  of  sufficient  and  wholesome  food  enhanced  the  evil  effects  of  the  damp 
soil  and  atmosphere,  and  of  the  malaria  from  the  decaying  vegetable  matter  of- 
the  surrounding  forests,  and  the  hospitals  were  rapidly  filled  with  sick,  be- 
yond the  means  available  of  medical  treatment.  The  fatal  operation  of  these 
causes  was  enhanced  by  their  continuance,  and  towards  the  end  of  the  rainy 
season  scarcely  3000  men  were  fit  for  active  duty. 

It  is  of  the  highest  importance  to  understand  fully  the  difficulties  and 
dangers  which  surround  the  present  invading  expedition ;  that  the  pecu- 
liarities of  the  country  and  the  system  of  defence  adopted  by  the  Burmahs 
— that  of  picking  off  an  enemy  in  detail,  and  leaving  the  remainder  to  die 
oi  exposure,  fatigue,  disease,  and  starvation — should  be  fully  comprehended. 
There  lies  before  an  invading  army  a  distance  of  at  least  500  miles  bj 
river  between  the  mouths  of  the  Irawady  and  the  capital  of  the  country. 
The  navigability  of  the  river  throughout  by  steamers  has  not  yet  been 
proved.  There  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  it  is  much  interrupted,  if 
not  rendered  altogether  uifeasible  by  banks  and  islands.  Captun  Lynch, 
who  commands  &e  East  India  Company's  steam  contingent,  has  lucki]^ 
had  much  experience  in  river  navigation,  having  been  among  the  fiist 
explorers  of  the  Euphrates  and  Tigris. 

It  will  be  seen  afterwards,  that  in  face  of  all  difficulties,  Sir  A.  Camp- 
bell pushed  on  up  the  Irawady,  as  far  as  the  town  of  Pagahm,  or  Pugam, 
not  a  himdred  miles  from  Ava.  If  the  expedition  of  1825  reached 
Pagahm,  the  steam-boat  expedition  of  1852  should  reach  Ava  and  AnuM- 
para. 

In  1825,  an  army  of  10,000  men  was  also  assembled  on  the  Chittar 
gong  frontiw  under  General  Morrison,  to  enter  Arracan,  cross  the  moun- 
tains, and  strike  upon  the  Irawady,  to  form  a  junction  with  Sir  A.  Camp- 
bell. General  Morrison,  a  brave  and  distinguished  officer,  after  a  smart 
action,  captured  the  city  of  Arracan,  the  capital  of  the  province,  while 
£fir  A.  Campbell  was  advancing  to  Prome ;  but  though  the  routed  enemv 
had  fled  to  the  Irawady,  the  passage  over  the  mountains  was  believed^ 
iqpon  a  partial  reconnaissance,  to  be  impracticable,  and  all  further  attempt 

2b2 


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366  IThe  Bwrmah  War. 

at  cooperation  was  abandoned.  General  Morrison  being  thus  com- 
pelled to  remain  in  the  swampy  pestilential  flats  of  Arracan,  one-half  of 
his  army  perished  there  miserably  by  disease,  and  the  rest  became  so  ema- 
ciated from  sickness,  that  it  was  completely  disorganised  and  useless. 

The  most  annoying  and  extraordmary  incident  connected  with  this 
£gdlure  is,  that  after  the  conclusion  of  peace,  Sir  Archibald  Campbell, 
deeming  it  to  be  of  the  highest  importance  that  the  inlet  from  Arracan 
to  the  heart  of  Ava  should  be  known  to  us,  in  case  of  another  war,  he 
despatched  Captain  Trant,  with  a  battalion  of  Sepoys  and  the  elephants  of 
the  army,  to  explore  the  best  route  across  the  mountains,  from  Sembeg- 
hewn,  on  the  Irawady,  to  Aeng,  in  Arracan.  Captain  Trant  found  a 
*'  superb  road"  across  the  mountains,  which  is  marked  on  the  map  that 
accompanies  Professor  Wilson's  work,  and  which  had  been  executed  by 
the  Burmah  government  some  years  before,  to  facilitate  the  intercourse 
between  Arracan  and  Aya,  and  which,  as  it  was  the  channel  of  so  great 
an  inland  trade  as  to  be  annually  trayersed,  it  is  computed,  by  40,000 
persons,  ought  to  have  been  as  well  known  to  our  authorities  in  India  as 
the  high  route  from  Calcutta  to  Cawnpore.  The  whole  distance  from 
the  Irawady  to  Aeng  is  only  124  miles;  and  the  detachment,  as  well  as 
the  elephants,  accomplished  a  march  which  had  been  supposed  imprac- 
ticable, in  eleven  days. 

On  the  present  occasion,  besides  the  advantage  of  steam,  we  have,  then, 
the  knowledge  of  this  short  and  excellent  road  across  the  mountains,  and 
it  is  said  to  be  held  by  an  efficient  force.  Sir  A.  Campbell's  division 
having  passed  the  rainy  season  at  Prome  with  comparative  impunity,  the 
upper  part  of  the  river  is,  perhaps,  looked  upon  as  sufficiently  safe;  but  while 
the  mountains  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Aeng  and  Talak  must  be  a  sani- 
tarium compared  with  the  valleys -of  the  Arracan  river  and  the  Irawady, 
operations  on  the  latter,  to  enforce  any  reasonable  demands,  would  be  im- 
mensely fadlitated,  at  the  same  time  that  any  permanent  hold  on  Ava 
Proper  would  be  impossible,  without,  indeed,  securing  the  pass  in  ques- 
tion. The  two  great  obstacles  to  the  subjugation  of  Burmah,  the  un- 
healthiness  of  the  river  valleys  and  the  system  of  jungle  warfare,  are  to  a 
great  extent  obviated  by  a  descent  from  this  pass ;  at  the  same  time  that 
the  possession  of  Arracan  insures  a  better  provisioning  to  a  division  ad- 
vancing from  that  quarter  than  to  one  advancing  by  the  Irawady,  and 
leaving  deserted  town  and  villages  and  a  hostile  population  in  its  rear. 

A  correct  notion  of  what  an  expedition  up  the  Irawady  has  to  encounter, 
can  behest  obtained  from  the  experience  obtained  in  Sir  Archibald  Camp- 
bell's case.  On  receiving  intelligence  of  the  occupation  of  Rangoon  by  the 
British  armament,  the  court  of  Ava  was  far  from  feeling  any  apprehen- 
sion or  alarm ;  on  the  contrary,  the  news  was  welcomed  as  peculiarly  pro- 
pitious; the  destruction  of  the  invaders  was  regarded  as  certain,  and  the 
only  anxiety  entertamed  was,  lest  they  should  eifect  a  retreat  before  they 
were  punished  for  their  presumption.  "  As  large  a  force  as  possible,"  it 
is  said,  which  would  presuppose  the  employment  of  the  immediate  re- 
sources of  the  empire,  was  assembled  to  surround  and  capture  the  British. 
Needless  to  say  that  they  were  repelled  with  great  loss,  and  their  com- 
mander slain.  A  similar  onslaught  of  a  large  army,  assembled  some 
months  afterwards  under  Bundula,  the  Arracan  general,  terminated  in  a 
similar  discomfiture  of  the  Burmahs. 


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The  Burmah  War.  367 

ThoBe^  and  numerous  other  minor  actions,  including  the  more  impor- 
tant operations  carried  on  in  the  reduction  of  Tennasserim  and  Martahan, 
totally  changed  the  character  of  the  war.  The  Burmahs  no  lons^er  dared 
attempt  offensive  operations,  hut  restricted  themselves  to  the  defence  of 
their  positions  along  the  river.  The  province  and  towns  of  Arracan  had, 
as  hetore  observed,  been  by  this  time  also  occupied  by  the  division  under 
General  Macbean,  but  unfortunately,  from  ignorance  of  the  highway  open 
to  them  to  the  Irawady,  did  not  effect  a  junction  with  Sir  A.  Campbell. 

Before  Sir  Archibald  was  enabled  to  make  a  forward  movement  up  the 
Irawady,  he  had  still  to  reduce  the  old  Portuguese  fort  of  Syriam,  and  to 
dislodge  an  advance  division  of  the  Burmah  force,  stationed  at  Thantabain, 
on  the  Lyne  river.  This  accomplished,  the  army  advanced  in  two  columns, 
one  by  water,  the  other  by  land,  and  a  strong  reserve  was  lefl  at  Rangoon. 
Two  circumstances  of  interest  at  the  present  conjuncture  occurred  about 
the  same  time :  one  was,  that  the  Peguan  inhabitants  of  the  delta  of  the 
Irawady  showed  an  inclination  to  befriend  the  British  in  preference  to 
their  Burmah  conouerors ;  another  was,  that  a  Siamese  army  collected 
in  the  vicinity  of  Martaban. 

As  the  troops  advanced,  the  country  kept  improving,  the  Burmahs 
fled  at  their  approach,  and  roost  of  the  villages  were  deserted ;  but  in 
various  places,  aifter  the  first  panic  had  subsided,  the  people,  both  ELarians 
and  Burmahs,  returned  to  their  homes,  and  some  supplies  were  collected. 
It  appears  evident  that  the  Burmahs  were  not  prepared  for  this  move- 
ment. The  water  party  had  to  encounter  stoclouies  or  batteries  almost 
every  day,  and  at  length  received  a  severe  check  at  Donabew,  where 
Bundula  had  entrenched  himself  with  some  15,000  men,  to  which  only 
500  or  600  British  bayonets  were  opposed.  This  check  necessitated  the 
return  of  Sir  A.  Campbell,  who,  by  crossing  the  delta,  had  got  some 
distance  up  the  Irawady,  beyond  the  point  where  the  Bassein,  the  China- 
buckeer,  or  central  stream  on  which  Donabew  is  situated,  the  Paulang  or 
Rangoon  river,  and  the  various  other  watercourses,  separate  from  the 
main  stream.  A  junction  was,  however,  effected,  and  after  a  very  brilliant 
action  Donabew  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  British,  with  consideralh 
stores,  both  of  grain  and  ammunition,  and  many  guns.     Bundula,  the 

great  Burmah  general,  who  had  threatened  from  Arracan  the  capital  of 
ritish  India,  was  killed  at  this  siege,  and  his  death  was  a  severe  blow 
to  the  Burmah  cause. 

Captain  Marryat,  although  as  distinguished  an  author  as  he  was  a 
gallant  officer,  and  commanding  the  naval  detachment  at  the  capture  of 
Jftaneoon,  has  lefl  no  account  of  that  afiair ;  but  he  has,  in  his  "  Diary 
on  the  Continent,"  given  some  details  of  the  expedition  to  the  Bassein 
river,  which  was  carried  on  contemporaneously  with  the  advance  of  a 
naval  force  up  the  Chinabuckeer,  and  of  the  land  force  to  the  right 
of  that 

It  will  be  proper  (says  the  eallant  captain)  to  explain  why  it  was  considered 
necessary  to  detach  a  part  of  the  forces  to  Bassein.  The  Rangoon  river  joins 
the  Irrawaddy  on  the  left,  about  170  miles  from  its  flowing  into  the  ocean. 
On  the  rigiit  of  the  Irrawaddy  is  tlie  river  of  Bassein,  the  mouth  of  it  about 
150  miles  from  that  of  the  Irrawaddy,  and  running  up  the  countrv  in  an  angle 
towards  it  until  it  joins  it  about  400  miles  up  in  the  interior.     Tne  two  rivers 


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3>8  The  Burmak  War. 

tkuBvaehae  a  kfge  ddte  of  land,  whieb  is  the  mmt  fictile  asd  best  peopled 
of  the  Buraiah  pcoviocet»  and  it  was  from  this  delta  that  Buodoola,  the 
Bitmah  general,  received  all  his  supplies  of  men.  Bundoola  was  in  the  stroDj 
fortress  of  Donahue,  on  the  Bassein  side  of  the  river,  about  half  way  between 
where  the  Rangoon  river  joined  it  on  the  left,  and  the  Bassein  river  commu- 
nicsted  with  it  a  long  way  further  up  on  the  right  Sir  A.  CampbelFs  land 
fbfees  were  on  the  left  of  the  river,  so  that  Bundoola's  commiinication  with 
the  Bassein  territory  was  quite  open ;  and  m  the  river  forces  had  to  attack 
Donahue  on  their  wa^  up,  the  force  sent  to  Bsssein  was  to  take  him  in  the  rear 
and  cut  off  his  suppUes.     This  was  a  most  judicious  plan  of  the  general's,  as 

wiU  be  proved  in  the  sequeL     Major  S ,  with  400  or  500  men  in  three 

transports,  the  Lame  and  the  Mercury^  Hon.  Company's  brig,  were  ordered 
upon  this  expedition,  which  sailed  at  the  same  time  that  the  army  began  to 
march  and  the  boats  to  ascend  tlie  river.  On  the  arrival  at  the  mouth  of  the 
river  we  found  the  entrance  most  formidable  in  appearance,  there  being  a 
doaen  or  more  stockailes  of  great  extent ;  but  diere  were  but  two  manned, 
the  guns  of  the  others,  as  w^  as  the  meii,.having  been  forwarded  to  Dooabiie^ 
the  Bormahs  not  imagining,  as  we  had  so  long  left  that  part  of  their  territory 
unmolested,  tlut  we  should  have  attempted  it.  Our  passage  was  therefore 
easy ;  after  a  few  broadsides,  we  landed  and  spiked  the  guns,  and  then,  with  a 
fair  wind,  ran  about  seventy  miles  up  one  of  the  most  picturesque  and  finest 
rivers  I  was  ever  in.  Occasionally  the  right  lines  of  stockades  presented  them- 
selves, but  we  found  nobody  in  them,  and  passed  by  them  in  peace.  But  the 
river  now  became  more  intricate,  and  the  pilots,  as  usual,  knew  nothing  about 
it.  It  was,  however,  of  little  consequence ;  the  river  was  deep  even  at  its 
banks,  over  which  the  forest  trees  threw  tlieir  bows  in  wild  luxuriance.  The 
wind  was  now  down  the  river,  and  we  were  two  or  three  days  before  we 
arrived  at  Bassein,  during  which  we  tided  and  warped  how  we  could,  while 

Major  S grumbled.     If  the  reader  wishes  to  know  why  Major  S 

grumbled,  I  will  tell  him — because  there  was  no  fighting.  He  grumbled  wiien 
we  passed  the  stockades  at  the  entrance  of  the  river,  because  they  were  not 
nMBned ;  and  he  grumbled  at  every  dismantled  stockade  that  we  passed.     Bat 

there  was  no  pleasing  S ;  if  he  was  in  hard  action  and  not  wounded,  he 

gnmibled ;  if  he  received  a  slight  wound,  he  grumbled  because  it  was  not  a 
severe  one ;  if  a  severe  one,  he  gnimbled  because  he  was  not  able  to  fight  the 
next  day.  He  had  been  nearly  cut  to  pieces  in  many  actions,  but  he  was  not 
ODOtent.    Like  the  man  under  punishment,  the  drummer  might  strike  high  or 

strike  low,  tliere  was  no  pleasing  S :  nothing  but  the  coup  de  grace,  if  he 

be  now  alive,  will  satisfy  him.  But  notwithstanding  this  mania  for  being 
carved,  he  was  an  excellent  and  judicious  officer.  I  have  been  toM  he  Is 
since  dead ;  if  so,  his  Majesty  has  lost  one  of  the  most  devoted  and  cfaivahic 
officers  in  his  service,  to  whom  might  most  justly  be  applied  the  words  of 
Hotspur — "  But  if  it  be  a  sin  to  covet  honour,  I  am  the  most  offending  soul 
alive.** 

I  think  it  was  on  the  third  day  that  we  arrived  below  tiie  town  of  Naputah, 
which  was  defended  by  a  very  formidable  stockade,  commanding  the  whole 
reach  of  the  river.  The  stockade  was  manned,  and  we  expected  that  it  would 
be  defended ;  but  as  we  did  not  fire,  neither  did  they ;  and  we  should  have 
passed  it  quietly,  had  not  S  grumbled  so  much  at  his  bad  luck.  The  next 
day  we  arrived  at  Bassein,  one  of  the  principal  towns  in  the  Burman  ewpiie 
Here  again  the  major  was  disappointeo,  for  it  appeared  that,  on  hearing  of 
the  arrival  of  the  expedition  at  the  entrance  of  the  river,  the  people  nad 
divided  into  two  parties,  one  for  resistance,  the  other  for  submission.  This 
difference  of  opinion  bad  ended  in  their  setting  fire  to  the  town  and  immense 
magazines  of  grain,  dismantling  the  stockades,  and  the  major  part  of  tbe 
inhabitants  flying  into  the  country.  The  consequence  was,  that  we  took  po»> 
session  of  the  smoking  ruins  without  opposition. 


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It  WM  toon  observed  iStrnt  die  pco^  were  trred  of  the  proCnwted  war,  and 
of  the  desoiatton  occasioaed  by  it  Tktj  wanted  to  return  to  their  wives  and 
iwBilies,  wiio  werestanriog.  Bat  up  to  this  tinw  the  chieft  had  remained 
idthM  to  BModoola,  who  bad  amassed  stores  and  provisions  at  Bassein, 
intending  to  retreat  npoo  it,  should  he  be  chiven  oiit  of  the  fortress  of  Do- 
aabiK ;  and  as  long  as  he  held  that  fortress,  receiving  from  Bassein  his  snppiiei 
of  men  and  of  provisions*  The  Burmahs  were  so  unwilling  to  fight  any 
longer,  that  they  were  collected  by  armed  bands  and  made  prisoners  by  the 
chieft,  who  sent  them  op  as  reouired ;  sad  many  hundreds  were  still  in  thn 
way  detained,  enclosed  in  stockaded  ground,  and  watched  by  armed  men,  in 
several  towns  along  the  river.  An  expedition  was  first  despatched  up  the 
river,  to  its  junction  with  the  Irrawaddy,  as  there  was  a  town  tliere  in  which 
was  the  dockyard  of  the  Burmahs,  all  their  war-boats,  and  eanoet  of  every 
description  being  hyiU  at  that  place.  They  ascended  without  difficulty,  and, 
after  a  little  skirmishing,  took  possession  of  the  place,  burnt  all  the'boats, 
built  or  building,  and  then  returned  to  Bassein. 

Of  course,  we  had  then  nothing  to  do  :  Major  S  's  orders  were  to  join 
Sir  A.  Campbell,  if  he  possibly  could ;  which,  with  much  difficulty,  he  ulti- 
mately effected. 

Major  S here  alluded  to,   is  the  heroic  but  unfortunate  Sal«. 

Captain  Marryat  does  not  explain,  in  reference  to  the  little  opposition 
met  with  on  the  Bassein,  that  Sir  Archibald  Campbell,  on  retracing  fait 
steps  to  storm  the  Donabew  stockades  (having  received  information  that 
the  Kyee  Woongyee  was  posted  on  the  Bassein,  to  intercept  the  detach- 
ment expected  iu  that  direction),  sent  off  a  party,  mider  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Godwin  (now  General  Godwin,  and  commanding  the  present  ex- 
pedition), to  endeavour  to  surprise  him.  The  alarm,  however,  was  given 
m  time  for  the  Burroah  force  to  escape  ;  but  it  was  completely  scattered 
without  a  contest,  their  commander  setting  the  example  of  precipitate 
flight 

The  ''  Great  Water-dog, **  as  the  Burmahs  called  Captain  Marryat, 
describes  the  Burmah  nation  as  distinct  from  the  Hindu-Chinese.  (Blu- 
raenbach  and  Yirey  have  classed  them  with  the  Mongols ;  Bory  de  St. 
Vincent  with  the  Chinese ;  and  Mr.  Crawford  with  the  Malays.  Frichard 
calls  them  Indo-Chinese.  Others  have  identified  them  with  the  lost  ten 
tribes,  that  have  robbed  some  hundred  existing  nations  of  their  nation- 
ality.) Marryat  describes  them  as  certainly  not  aborigines  nor  Hindn- 
Chinese,  as  taller  than  Europeans  (in  this  he  differs  from  most  authorities, 
who  describe  them  as  short  and  thickset,  or  squat),  as  powerful,  with 
strong  hair  and  beards,  great  mental  energy,  semi -barbarous,  yet  liberal, 
and  desirous  to  improve ;  superstitious  about  charms,  but  not  about  reli- 
gious points ;  remarkably  good-tempered,  very  industrious,  and,  lastly,  at 
eminently  brave,  generous,  and  warlike. 

Captain  Marryat  g^ves  two  remarkable  instances  of  Spartan-like 
stoicism  on  the  part  of  the  Burmahs : 

In  one  instance  (he  relates)  I  wished  to  obtain  information  from  a  prisoner, 
but  could  extract  none.  He  had  been  sitting  between  the  carronades  on  deck 
for  twenty-Four  hours,  and  some  of  the  men  or  officers  had  given  him  a  bowl 
of  grog  and  a  couple  of  cigars,  with  which  he  was  busy  when  I  interrogated 
him.  As  he  professed  ignorance,  I  told  him  that  if  he  would  not  give  me  the 
desired  information,  I  should  take  hn  head  off;  and  I  sent  for  the  sereeant  of 
marines,  who  appeared  with  two  of  his  party,  and  with  his  drawn  sword.  We 
called  him  out  from  between  the  guns,  but  he  begged  through  the  interpreter 


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370  Tht  Burmak  War. 

to  be  allowed  to  fioitb  his  grog,  to  which  I  ooDsented ;  when  that  was  done, 
be  was  again  ordered  out,  but  reouested  leave  to  finish  about  an  inch  of  cigar 
which  remained  in  his  mouth.  To  whicii  1  also  acceded,  not  being  in  a  par* 
tjcular  hurry  to  do  that  which  I  never  intended  to  do.  During  all  this  the 
man  was  perfectly  composed,  and  did  not  show  the  least  alarm  at  his  approach* 
ing  fate.  As  soon  as  tlie  cigar  was  finished,  he  bound  his  long  hair  up  afresh, 
and  made  preparation.  I  again  asked  him  if  he  would  tell,  but  he  pleaded 
ignorance,  and  stepped  forward,  went  down  on  his  knees,  and  took  off  the  cloth 
from  about  his  loins,  which  he  spread  on  the  deck,  to  receive  his  head,  and 
then  putting  iiis  hands  on  the  deck,  Iteld  it  in  the  position  to  be  cut  off.  Not 
a  muscle  trembled,  for  I  watched  the  man  carefully.  He  was,  of  course, 
remanded,  and  the  sailors  were  so  pleased  with  him,' that  he  went  on  shore 
with  more  grog  and  more  tobacco  tlian  he  had  probably  ever  seen  in  his  life. 

The  Burmanis  have,  however,  a  means  of  extracting  information  from  spies, 
&C.,  which  I  never  saw  practised  by  them,  although  it  was  borrowed  from  tliem 
by  us.  1 1  was  in  our  own  quartermaster-general's  office  that  I  witnesf ed  this 
species  of  torture,  so  simple  in  its  operation  and  apparently  so  dreadful  in  its 
effects.  It  consists  in  givine  one  single  blow  upon  the  region  of  the  heart,  so 
as  to  stop  for  some  seconds  the  whole  circuhition.  The  way  by  which  this 
is  effected  is  as  follows: — the  man— the  Burroahs  are  generally  naked  to  the 
waist — is  made  to  sit  down  on  the  floor ;  another  man  stands  behind  him,  and 
leaning  over  him,  takes  a  very  exact  aim  with  his  sharp  bent  elbow  at  the 
precise  spot  over  his  heart,  and  then  strikes  a  blow  which,  from  its  being  pro- 
pelled so  very  mechanically,  descends  with  increased  force. 

He  also  gives  an  instance  of  still  greater  fortitude  and  resolution  on 
the  part  of  a  chief  who  was  treacherously  delivered  up  by  his  people  : 

The  chief  was  a  fine  tall  man  with  a  long  beard.  Like  all  Burmalis,  he 
took  his  loss  of  liberty  very  composedly,  sitting  down  between  tlie  guns  with 
his  attendants,  and  on!y  expressing  his  indignation  at  the  treachery  of  his  own 
people.  We  were  very  anxious  to  know  what  had  become  of  the  guns  of  the 
dismantled  stockade,  which  were  said  to  be  in  his  possession,  but  he  positively 
denied  it,  saving  that  they  had  been  despatched  in  boato  across  to  the  Irra- 
waddy.  Whether  this  were  true  or  not,  it  was  impossible  to  say ;  but,  at  all 
events,  it  was  necessary  to  make  some  further  attempts  to  obtain  them,  so  we 
told  him,  that  if  he  did  not  inform  us  where  the  guns  were,  by  the  next 
morning,  his  head  would  be  taken  off  his  shoulders.  At  this  pleasant  intel- 
ligence he  opened  his  betel-hag  and  renewed  his  quid.  The  next  day  he  was 
summoned  forth  to  account  for  the  said  gnns,  and  again  protested  tliat  they 
liad  been  sent  to  Donahue,  which  I  really  believe  was  false,  as  they  were  not 
taken  out  of  the  stockade  until  after  Donahue  was  in  the  possession  of  Sir  A. 
Campbell :  it  was  therefore  judged  proper  to  appear  to  proceed  to  extremities ; 
and  this  time  it  was  done  with  more  form.  A  Hie  of  marines  was  marched  aft 
with  their  muskets,  and  the  sergeant  appeared  with  his  drawn  sword.  Sand 
was  strewed  on  the  deck  in  front  of  the  marines  ;  and  he  was  led  there  and 
ordered  to  kneel  down,  so  that  his  head,  if  cut  off,  would  fall  where  the  sand 
was  strewn.  He  was  again  asked  if  he  would  tell  where  the  guns  were  con- 
cealed, and  again  stated  that  they  were  at  Donahue ;  upon  which  he  was 
desired  to  prepare  for  death.  He  called  one  of  his  attendants  and  gave  him 
his  silver  betel-box,  saving,  *<  Take  this  to  my  wife — when  she  sees  it  she  will 
know  all.**  I  watched  him  very  closely ;  his  countenance  was  composed,  but, 
as  he  bent  forward  over  the  sand,  the  muscles  of  his  arms  and  shoulders 
quivered.  However,  as  it  is  not  the  custom  to  cut  off  people's  heads  on  the 
quarter-deck  of  his  Majest/s  ships,  we  very  magnanimously  reprieved  him, 
and  he  was  afterwards  sent  a  prisoner  to  Calcutta.  But  that  he  had  the  guns, 
we  discovered  afterwards,  which  adds  to  his  merit. 

Captain  Marryat  saya  the  Burmahs  despise  the  Sepoys — a  statemexit 


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.77ie  Burmah  War.  S71 

.which  18  not  coonteoEDced  by  the  detaals  of  Sir> Archibald's  campaign. 
He  adds  that  we  may  eventually  find  them  to  be  the  most  poweiiiil  enemy 
that  we  shall  have  to  contend  with  in  India ;  and,  with  greater  fore- 
sight^ says,  ^  Although  the  East  In£a  Company  may  imagine  that  they 
have  done  with  the  fiurmahs,  it  is  my  conviction  that  the  fiurmahs  have 
not  done  with  them." 

The  British  army,  reinforced  by  elephants  and  carriage-cattle  sent  round 
from  Bengal,  advanced,  after  the  decisive  action  at  Donabew,  to  Prome 
unopposed.  The  Prince  of  Tharawadi,  who  had  succeeded  in  command  to 
JBundula,  fell  back  as  the  British  advanced,  and  a  disposition  was  shown 
to  negotiate.  It  is  to  be  observed,  as  a  lesson  to  the  future,  that  Ph>me 
was  found  not  only  deserted,  but  in  part  consumed.  The  same  was  the 
case  for  a  considerable  distance  alon^  the  course  of  the  river,  the  villages 
being,  everywhere  abandoned  and  laid  in  ashes.  But  this  state  of  things 
— the  result  partly  of  the  fears  of  the  people,  and  partly  of  the  policy  of 
the  Burman  court^was  not  of  long  continuance,  aod  a  few  days  sufficed 
to  bring  back  the  population  of  Prome  to  their  dwellings. 

The  command  of  the  lower  provinces  acquired  by  this  position  in- 
spiring the  people  with  confidence,  they  soon  began  to  resume  their  usual 
avocations,  and  to  form  markets  along  the  river,  and  especially  at  Prome 
and  Rangoon,  by  which  the  resources  of  the  country  became  available 
for  carriage  and  support.  It  would  appear  from  this,  that  the  inhabitants 
of*  the  long  valley  ot  the  Irawady — Burmahs,  Karians,  and  Peguans — 
are  vexy  far  from  being  an  irreclaimable  race,  although  prostrated  by 
despotism,  ignorance,  and  superstition. 

Cheered  by  success,  and  encouraged  by  the  friendly  aspect  of  the  peo- 
ple^ the  troops  took  up  their  position  at  Prome,  in  tolerable  health  and 
in  good  spirits.  But  the  monsoon  brought  with  it  its  ordinary  effects, 
especially  upon  the  Europeans,  who,  although  they  suffered  less  severely 
than  at  Rangoon,  lost  nearly  one-seventh  of  their  number  between  June 
and  October.  The  site  of  the  town,  it  is  to  be  observed,  although  the 
level  of  the  country  was  higher  than  in  the  districts  nearer  the  sea,  was 
so  low  as  to  be  under  water  with  the  rise  of  the  river ;  luckily,  that  south 
of  the  town  was  a  range  of  low  hills,  crowned,  as  usual,  by  the  principal 
pagodas,  and  as  many  troops  were  at  once  removed  to  these  as  they  could 
accommodate. 

-  At  the  latter  end  of  July,  Sir  A.  Campbell  left  Prome  in  the  steam- 
vessel,  the  Diana  ;  and,  after  spending  a  few  davs  at  Rangoon,  returned 
to  his  head-quarters.  This  journey  proved  two  things — the  easy  naviga- 
tion of  the  Irawady  by  steam,  and  the  settled  state  of  the  country  under 
English  administration.  The  people  of  the  once  renowned  city  of  Pegu 
rose  of  themselves  against  the  JSurmahs,  and  having  expelled  them  from 
the  city,  demanded  a  small  detachment  from  the  British  to  uphold  their 
independence.  Indeed,  to  use  the  words  of  Professor  Wilson,  the  whole 
of  the  lower  provinces  were  becoming  habituated  to  the  change  of  masters, 
and  yielding  their  new  governors  cheerful  submission.  The  villagers 
issued  from  their  hiding-j^iBC^s  in  the  thickets,  reconstructed  their  huts, 
and  resumed  their  occupations ;  and  the  Minthagis,  or  head-men  of  the 
districts  and  chief  towns,  tendered  their  allegiance,  and  were  restored  to 
their  municipal  functioDS  by  the  British  general.  A  state  of  desolation 
and  anarchy  once  more  gave  way  to  order  and  plenty ;  and  from  Bassein 
to  Martaban,  and  Rangoon  to  Prome^  every  class  of  natives  not  only 


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37S  Tie  Bmnmk  Wkr. 


owiftribated  liieir  «d  to  eoUaot  wA  suppliM  as  ^imemakej  cmU  i 
but  readily  lent  their  lemcses  to  Ae  eqwijMinmt  aad  mndi  ef  \ 
detochmente. 

It  is  aot  our  oljcct  to  Ibllow  out  all  the  detnk  of  erents 
pUoe  sobaeqaent  to  tbe  eaQtonment  of  the  tioopa  aft  Pkome,  and  die  nd- 
ncation  of  peace.  Before  liie  latter  could  be  e£%ctedy  Sar  AirfcihaH 
Ccuapbell  aaetnded  the  riT«r,  first  to  Melloon,  and  thence  to  llie  aactent 
city  of  Pagahm,  or  Pugam,  widim  a  short  distance  of  Anu 

Previous  to  the  final  acceptanee  of  the  terms  offared,  and  doriqp  ifae 
discussion  of  stipolatioas,  an  exdianee  of  firiendly  hospitality^^and  timt 
even  during  the  prosecution  of  hostilities — ^took  pJase  between  tibe  Britbk 
and  the  Burmahs^  which,  while  it  excited  the  astonishment  of  the  latlsi^ 
oo«ld  not  have  failed  to  have  taught  them  a  lesson  of  dvilisation,  wUd^ 
it  is  to  be  hoped,  may  not  have  proved  in  vain.  The  BamnuoL  ehsrartiBr 
is  fiur  from  suspicious,  and  no  feeling  of  uneaaintfiSB  or  alarm  ^peand  to 
impair  their  enjoyment  of  British  hospitality. 

The  experience  of  so  extensive  a  campaign,  added  to  the  reooBBaia- 
sances  of  Messrs.  Syme  and  Crawford,  on  tiie  occasion  of  their  respective 
embassies,  show  tnat  during  the  dry  months  of  Jannary,  Febmaiyy 
March,  and  April,  the  waters  of  the  Iiawady  subside  into  a  strsam  that 
is  barely  navigable ;  frequent  shoals  and  banks  of  sand  retard  boats  of 
baden,  and  a  northerly  wind  invariably  prevails.  The  internal  trade 
from  Basseiu  is  said  also  to  be  carried  on  m  boats  of  larse  sise  diiefly, 
which  assembled  about  the  end  of  April,  ready  to  take  advantage  of  tba 
rise  of  the  river,  and  the  prevailing  winds  from  the  south ;  for  even  in 
the  months  of  June,  Jul^,  and  August,  the  navigation  of  the  liver  would 
be  impracticable  to  sailmg-boats,  were  they  not  aided  by  the  strengtb 
of  the  south-west  monsoon.  Assisted  by  this  wind,  and  keeping  cautiously 
within  the  eddies  of  the  banks,  the  Burmaha  use  their  saus,  and  make  a 
nsoie  expeditious  passage  at  that  than  at  any  other  seascm  of  the  yca& 
It  is  remarked  in  the  narrative  of  Sir  A.  Campbeirs  progress,  that  the 
channel  of  the  river  vnis  in  many  places  so  narrow  as  to  oUige  the  boats 
to  pass  within  200  yards  of  either  bank,  so  that  the  passage,  if  oppoaed, 
oonld  not  have  been  forced  without  sustuning  considerable  loss. 

It  appears,  notwithstanding  the  outcry  that  has  bem  made  in  Ziq;aid 
to  selection  of  season,  the  appointment  of  a  general  officer,  and  imaginacj 
delays,  that  the  present  expedition  arrived  just  anterior  to  the  wetaeason— 
the  very  best  season  possible  for  bringing  operations  to  a  close  in  tha 
shortest  possible  time.  Having  reduced  Rangoon  and  Martaban,  aa  the 
nasessary  basis  for  future  operations,  aided  by  the  power  of  steam,  and 
backed  by  the  advantages  avaikble  firom  the  proximity  and  abundant  le* 
sestfces  of  the  flourishing  provinces  of  Arracan  and  Tenasserim,  an  efice- 
tive  division  of  the  army  will  be  able  to  proceed  vrith  the  riae  of  the  watoaa 
thvoagh  the  sickly  delta  of  the  Irawady  to  the  more  healthy  vicinity  of  the 
capital,  and  with  no  doubt  a  fawriiarp  stockade  afiain,  oneortwogcswral 
engagements,  and  after  overcoming  what  opposition  Donabew,  JVnaMi, 
Meeaday  (Miyada),  Patanago,  and  MeUoon,  Pagaimi,  AhJcym  Isfand,  cr 
Avca  itsd^  may  be  able  to  offer,  will  Aetata  terms  to  the  usnipcroC  Anft- 
rapana. 

Ptefcssor  Wikran  tells  us  (p.  263),  that  expcrienpe  \m  eatefalisbad  As^ 
the  Bnrasah  dimate  is  oomparatiTely  imuMcious,  and  thai  T 


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TkeJBvrmaA  War.  9n 

Teoassenm  sre  floperior  in  ubabnty  to  other  parts  of  India  within  liie 
tn^ptcs.  But  we  must  not  forget,  timt  within  the  first  eleven  months 
after  landing  at  Rangoon,  nearly  one-half  the  Earopeans  died  ;  and  that 
a.  similar  rate  of  loss  occurred  in  the  subsequent  operations  at  FVome,  and 
to  the  northwards.  In  like  manner,  in  Arracan  at  least  three-fourths  of 
A«  EuBopean  force  perished,  and  of  those  who  survived,  few  were  again 
tit  for  senrioe.  Altogether,  indeed,  the  deaths  nearly  equalled  Ae 
noBiber  of  Briti A  origmaUy  employed ;  so  tihat,  but  for  die  reinforcements 
which  from  time  to  time  arrive<t  Ae  whole  would  have  been  anmhUaied. 

But  this  great  mortality  was  by  no  means  caused  by  climate  alone. 
There  were  a  combination  of  causes.  First,  the  casualiiies  in  action,  which 
were  nearly  equal  to  that  suffered  in  the  Peninsular  war — being  diree 
and  a  half  per  cent.  Secondly,  the  severity  of  exposure  which  the  troops 
underwent.  Their  being  repeatedly  in  the  field  during  tropical  rain,  iheix 
dady  marching  through  inundated  fields,  and  their  bivouacking  unsheltered 
amidst  mud  and  water,  were  trials  to  which  no  European  constitutions 
could  be  subjected  with  impunity  ;  and  to  this  cause  of  sickness  was 
added  unwholesome  and  insufficient  food ;  and  it  need  not  be  a  matter  of 
Surprise  that  fevers  and  disorders  of  the  worst  kind  should  have  remorse- 
les^  mowed  down  the  ranks  of  the  British  force  in  Ava. 

Tne  actual  expeditionaiy  force,  being  detained  for  a  short  time  at  Ban- 
goon,  awaiting  tne  rise  of  the  waters  that  follows  upon  the  rains  of  May, 
with  an  indifferent  commissariat,  and  still  more  indifferent  quarters,  has 
i^ready  suffered  much  from  sickness  ;  and  that  bane  of  India,  the  cholera, 
is  said  to  be  rifo  in  the  ranks.  But  it  is  unfair  to  attribute  such  visita- 
tions solely,  as  is  done  by  some,  to  forty-eight  hours'  exposure  before  the 
guns  were  landed  and  the  Great  Pagoda  captured;  or  by  others  to 
*^  measly  pork.**  The  climate  and  the  delta  must  be  taken  into  considera- 
tion, and  troops  that  cannot  stand  forty -eight  hours'  exposure  may  as  well 
leave  off  soldiering  altogether. 

With  the  advantages  to  be  obtained  from  a  large  steam  flotilla,  capable 
of  taking  troops  in  tow  and  native  boats,  it  is,  however,  to  be  hoped  that 
the  still  greater  exposure  entailed  by  the  movement  of  a  land  column 
win  not  be  dreamt  of  on  the  present  occasion,  except  to  co-operate  firom 
Arracan. 

On  the  departure  of  General  Campbell  with  his  troops  down  the  river, 
after  the  conclusion  of  peace,  we  read  in  Professor  Wilson's  work  : 

A  regiment  of  Madras  native  infantry,  the  18th,  with  the  elephants  and  de- 
tails of  pioneers,  was  sent  with  the  constraioed  concurrence  of  the  Burmah 
functionaries  by  land  to  Arakan,  with  the  view  of  determining  the  practicability 
of  the  route.  The  detachment  marched  from  Yandabo  on  the  6th  of  March, 
and  crossed  the  Irawadi  at  Pakangyeh  on  the  14th.  On  the  evening  of  the 
IMfa,  the  march  was  resumed  through  the  town  of  Sembewgeun,  about  four 
miles  from  the  riglit  bank  of  the  river,  and  continued  on  the  following  daj  by 
an  excellent  road  to  Cbalain-mew,  an  extensive  walled  town,  tlie  capital  oi  the 
province  of  Chalain,  one  of  the  most  populous  and  fertile  divisions  of  the  king- 
don.  A  road  from  hence  lay  across  the  mountains  to  Talak,  but  it  was  re- 
I>orted  to  be  difficult  for  cattle,  and  to  be  ill  provided  with  water.  The  divi- 
sion, therefore,  proceeded  more  directly  southwards,  and  in  three  days  more 
halted  at  Kwensa,  on  the  Mine  river,  two  miles  beyond  which  the  ascent  over 
tile  boundary  moUntaias  commenced ;  two  days  more  of  gradual  ascent  brought 
tbr  force  to  Napehmew,  the  last  Bumsn  town  towaids  the  moantaias ;  Ima 


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374  The  Bnrmah  War.  ^ 

hence  the  rcmd  was  more  precipitous  and  rugged,  chiefly  in  the  bed  of  the  Mine 
river,  and  presenting  occasionally  narrow  and  defensible  defiles,  but  by  no 
means  impracticnblc ;  two  days  more  reached  the  summit  of  the  pass,  the  boun* 
dary  between  Ava  and  Arakan,  and  completely  commandine  the  ascent  hom 
either  territor}'.  From  hence  an  excellent  road-- the  work  of  the  last  Burman 
sovereign^ led  down  to  Aen(r«  in  Arakan,  where  the  division  arrived  in  three 
days  more,  or  on  the  26th  of  March,  having  thus  determined  two  important 
points,  the  knowledge  of  a  tract  equally  well  adapted  for  defensive  or  offensive 
warfare,  by  the  establishment  of  an  impregnable  barrier  on  the  top  of  the  pass» 
or  the  practicable  march  across  the  mountain  of  an  invading  force,  into  tlie 
most  fertile  and  healtiiy  provinces  of  Ava,  within  an  easy  distance  of  the 
capital. 

There  is  no  doubt  but  that  under  the  circumstances  before  detailed  of 
steam-boat  navigation  of  the  Irawady,  that  a  blow  can  be  struck  at  the 
heart  of  the  empire,  such  as  necessitated  in  1825  the  combined  efforts  of 
20,000  men,  with  a  very  moderate  force,  and  in  a  very  small  amount  of 
time ;  but  it  is  only  under  the  supposition  that  the  dictation  of  peace  is 
all  that  is  sought  for,  that  we  can  imagine  the  mountain  transit  of  an 
efficient  body  of  troops  at  once  into  the  healthy  and  rich  districts  of 
Burmah  to  he  neglected.  But  all  that  has  passed  since  the  last  declara- 
tion of  peace  tends  to  show  that  any  new  treaty  of  a  similar  kind  would 
only  be  postponing  the  day  of  evil,  and  sowing  the  seed  for  future  hosti- 
lities. 

The  policy  of  muntaining  a  friendly  intercourse,  for  ezamnle,  with  the 
Burmah  government,  which  it  was  one  of  the  objects  of  tne  treaty  of 
Tandabo  to  accomplish,  has  never  been  carried  into  effect  any  more  than 
another  article  of  the  same  treaty,  which  provided  for  the  permanent  pre- 
sence of  a  British  envoy  at  the  Burmah  capital.  The  manner  in  which 
Mr.  Crawford's  mission  was  received  at  Ava  in  1826,  offered  at  the  onset 
little  or  no  encouragement  The  terms  of  the  commercial  articles  of  the 
treaty  have  been  evaded  in  a  still  more  flagrant  manner.  In  1829, 
Lieutenant- Colonel  Burney  was  sent  on  a  mission  to  claim  the  payment 
of  instalments  of  the  contribution  that  were  over  due,  and  to  remonstrate 
concerning  the  constant  infraction  of  the  boundary  treaty.  The  colonel 
remained  several  years  at  Ava,  exposed  to  constant  annoyances,  and 
having  constantly  to  contend  against  the  caprice  of  the  king  and  the 
insincerity  of  his  ministers. 

The  I^ng  of  Ava  had  at  this  time  fallen  into  a  state  of  imbecility,  and 
the  administration  had  been  assumed  by  his  favourite  queen,  with  the 
support  of  her  brother  Menthagyee,  to  the  total  exclusion  of  the  heir- 
apparent  and  the  brother  of  the  king  from  all  offices  of  trust  and  emolu- 
ment.    The  court  then  became  a  scene  of  intrigue  and  dissension. 

The  parties  came  to  an  open  rupture  towards  the  end  of  1837,  when 
the  Prince  of  Tharawadi,  the  king's  eldest  brother,  rose  up  in  insurrec- 
tion, and  by  the  month  of  April,  1838,  obtaifaing  possession  of  Ava,  had, 
in  defiance  of  his  promises  to  the  British  resident,  all  the  chief  and 
influential  persons  of  the  opposite  party  either  secretly  strangled  in 
prison  or  publicly  executed,  with  those  circumstances  of  atrocious  inhu- 
manity which  characterise  the  capital  punishments  of  the  Burmahs. 

Tharawadi,  indeed,  upon  arriving  at  supreme  power,  openly  and  at 
onoe  threw  off  the  Ekighsh  alliance.  He  not  onlj^  declared  in  council, 
but  he  explicitly  stated  to  the  resident^  that  he  did  not  consider  himself 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


The  Burmah  War.  375 

bound  by  tbe  acts  of  his  predecessor,  and  that  he  did  not  acknowledge 
the  treaties  made  by  his  brother  with  the  gOTcmment  of  India ;  replying 
to  the  argument  tnat  the  treaties  made  with  the  British  government 
were  not  personal  with  the  late  king,  but  perpetual  with  the  Burmah 
nation  bj  whomsoever  governed,  by  saying  tnat  such  might  be  the  Eng« 
Ush  custom,  it  was  not  ue  Burman;  that  the  English  had  not  conquereid 
him,  or  made  the  treaty  with  him,  and  that  he  was  determined  to  have 
nothing  to  say  to  it :  a  policy,  according  to  which,  in  a  country  of  per- 
petual rebellions,  usurpations,  and  regal  assassinations,  a  new  treaty 
would  have  to  be  enforced  at  every  new  accession  by  force  of  arms,  and 
at  an  untold  sacrifice  of  life  and  treasure. 

Nothing  remained  then  for  the  British  resident  but  to  take  his  departure 
with  what  few  Eurojpean  traders  and  American  missionaries  had  ventured 
to  take  up  their  residence  in  the  Burman  capital  since  the  treaty.  The 
British  government  was  weak  enough,  however,  to  persevere  in  its  con- 
ciliatory measures.  Colonel  Benson  and  Captain  M*Leod  were  despatched 
to  the  Burman  court,  to  be  exposed  to  nothing  but  insult  and  annoyance 
at  every  step  of  their  progress.  After  being  detained  a  long  time  at 
Rangoon,  they  were  informed,  when  at  Prome,  that .  they  had  better 
remain  there ;  and  as  they  treated  the  intimation  as  unofficial,  and  con- 
tinued their  journey,  they  were  detained  on  an  island  in  the  river,  little 
better  than  a  sandbank,  not  permitted  to  communicate  vrith  the  people, 
and  the  physical  pangs  of  starvation  were  added  to  the  degradation  of 
moral  insults.  This  occurred  at  Amarapura,  whither  Tharawadi  first 
removed  his  court. 

Colonel  Benson  had  the  good  sense  to  withdraw  from  so  undignified 
and  inconvenient  a  position,  but  Captain  M'Leod  was  left  till  the  rising 
of  the  river  covered  the  island,  and  then  he  too  was  compelled  to  follow 
the  example  of  his  superior,  to  the  infinite  diversion  of  him  of  the  ''  golden 
foot,"  who,  barbarian  like,  thought  that  he  had  played  a  y&xy  clever 
trick  in  thus  disembarrassing  himself  of  a  troublesome  mission. 

Several  insurrections  occurred  subsequent  to  this,  and  they  were  all 
followed  by  barbarous  and  appalling  ezecutionB.  The  old  queen  was 
trod  to  death  by  an  elephant  on  the  occasion  of  an  insurrection  among 
the  Shan  tribes,  and  Tharawadi's  eldest  son,  the  Prince  of  Prome,  was 
also  put  to  death.  At  length,  Tharawadi  himself,  having  always  been 
addicted  to  intemperate  habits,  became  so  ferocious  in  his  cruelty  that 
his  own  ministers  were  obliged  to  treat  him  as  insane,  and  he  died  a 
few  months  after  his  deposal.  His  nephew  then  became  sovereign.  In 
the  commencement  of  his  reign,  hopes  were  entertained  that  the  inter- 
course vrith  the  court  of  Ava  might  be  renewed  on  the  terms  of  the 
treaty,  as  some  disposition  was  shown  to  relax  the  restrictions  to  which, 
during  the  life  of  Tharawadi,  the  resort  of  Europeans  to  the  capital  and 
the  trade  of  Rangoon  had  been  rigorously  subjected.  The  new  prince, 
however,  speedily  subsided  into  inactivity  and  sensual  indulgence,  and 
experienced  the  fate  of  his  father,  having  been  deposed  by  one  of  his 
ministers,  who  placed  himself  upon  the  throne. 

The  usurper,  who  appears  to  have  assumed  the  popular  name  of  Alom- 
pra,  soon  delivered  himself  to  all  kinds  of  cruelty  and  debaucherv.  He 
discarded  his  wife,  and  fiUed  his  ssenana  with  low  women,  mthin  a 
single  twelvemonth  there  were  two  insurrections  in  Ava,  in  which  more 


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378  TkeBmTmkWmr^ 

diBD  5000  Tietiiiis  are  xepttrted  to  hmve  heea  nenStei^  mmaj  €d  i 
with  the  most  revoltiiig  oniehaeSb  Diose  who  now  ssnmuid  the  tl 
an  dun  steeped  to  the  lips  in  dime^  «nd,  hHnded  hv  the  arn^genoe  of  • 
gfOBity  sncoess,  they  have,  above  all,  been  iavetenite  m  dMir  hostility  to^ 
and  peraecvtion  of,  the  Brituh,  and  indeed  of  all  Envopeans  and  Annsji 
cans  in  the  oovntry,  and  who  have  in  latter  times  been  chiefly  congrc^atad 
at  Rangoon. 

At  length  these  excesses  wece  carried  to  such  an  sKoess  as  to  ha 
no  kmger  safferable,  and  the  fiist  penalty  of  long-oontinned  n^lect  mm- 
paid  in  the  diape  of  demands  of  redress  addressed  to  the  oonrt  of  Ava. 
The  lessons  of  adversity  are  notorionsly  soon  forgotten  by  an  cag>Ma 
despot.  When  Lord  Dalhoasie's  letter  was  read  to  Alompia  he  dashed 
it  down  on  the  floor,  and,  in  a  fnry,  ordered  the  barbarian  ships  of  war 
that  brought  it  to  be  driven  out  of  the  rt««r.  The  cabinet  arrived  at  9l 
similar  determination,  and  it  was  resolved  to  try  eandnsions  with  us  m 
the  field.  Still  it  was  worth  while  gaining  a  little  time ;  a  tempoiisi^g 
munrer  was  returned,  and  a  royal  commissioner,  the  Governor  of  Pmms% 
was  despatched  to  Rangoon  in  regal  pomp,  taking  with  him  a  xeinfosc^ 
ment  of  8000  men,  ten  boats  of  powdor,  and  money  and  stores  levied  «a. 
Ins  way,  as  a  ^  pacific  demonstration  !"  Instead  of  reprimanding  the 
yieeroy  of  Rangoon  as  a  promoter  of  disturbance,  the  Fnnce  of  FroaM 
treated  him  most  fraternally,  while  he  totally  ignored  the  presence  of  a 
British  commodore.  An  interriew  was  attempted,  but  in  vain.  Our 
flag  was  trampled  under  foot.  Commodore  Lambert  directed  all  British 
subjects  to  embark  immediately,  and  offered  refuge  in  the  squadron  to 
such  as  desired  it.  Sixty  unforttmates,  who  were  endeavouring  tof  save 
their  property,  were  detained  and  thrown  into  prison.  At  length  the 
viceroy  warned  the  commodore,  on  the  9th  of  January,  that  should  he 
attempt  to  move  down  the  river,  the  squadron  would  be  fired  on  from  the 
shore. 

On  the  morning  of  the  10th,  the  Fox  was  towed  down  and  anchored 
within  400  yards  of  the  stockade ;  the  steamer  having  returned  to  bring 
away  with  her  a  Burman  man-of-war,  was  fired  on  as  uie  neared  the  Fox, 
with  the  prize  in  tow.  The  fire  was  immediately  returned  with  great 
rigour.  The  enemy  dispersed,  after  some  300  of  them  were  supposed  to 
have  been  slain.  The  squadron  then  proceeded  on  its  course^  and  the 
river  ports  of  Burmah  were  proclaimed  to  be  in  a  state  of  blockade — an 
anrangement  conditionally  agreed  upon  beforehand  by  the  Govunov^ 
General. 

Preparations  were,  on  the  receipt  of  this  warlike  inteUigenee,  made 
with  very  unusual  promptitude  and  vigour,  to  bring  a  war  that  had  kag 
been  inevitable  to  as  prompt  a  conclurion  as  possible.  After  one  nrase 
coneifiatorv  letter,  sent  up  to  Rangoon  by  the  Fox  on  the  30th  of  Jaan- 
axy,  and  wmch  vessel  was  fired  upon  as  an  answer,  it  was  determined  to 
force  the  Bnrmahs  to  terms  before  the  setting  in  of  the  monsoon ;  and  a 
flotilla  of  more  than  a  dozen  war-steamevs,  widi  6000  troops  on  hoovd, 
were  ordered  to  proceed  at  once  to  the  seat  of  war  £ram  the  three  preri* 
dencies.  Tiie  Calcutta  portion  of  1^  eiqwditionary  ferae  left  the  HoogUy 
on  the  25th  of  March,  and  the  Madras  troops  eatiharked  on  board  tb 
Bombay  squadron  on  the  27th  aadi^Mi. 

The  oommaader^in-ohiefy  Genefal  Godwin,  and  Baar^Admind  . 


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1%$  Bmrmah  War.  377 

ppBcaedrf  ai  onoe  to  tbe  rirer  SahieOy  on  ooe  flide  of  -whieh  is  the  British 
sefeUemeot  oC  Motthnem,  on  the  other  the  Btmnan  town  of  Martafaon. 
Tkey  nrii«d  there  on  the  5th  of  April,  and  hy  the  next  morning  Mar- 
tafcan  was  in  onr  hands.  The  dirisbn  returned  to  Rangoon,  where  the 
Madias  fofoe  had  arrived  the  merious  evemng,  on  the  7th.  On  the 
VMk  «nd  11th  of  April  the  oomnned  forces  destroyed  the  whole  of  the 
gfeoekades  on  the  Rangoon  riter.  On  the  12th,  a  stockade,  called  the 
White-horse  picket,  was  earned  after  severe  fighting.  On  the  13th  the 
heavy  gviis  were  landed,  and  on  the  14th  the  celebrated  Dagon  Pagoda 
waa  stormed,  and  with  it  fell  all  the  sorronnding  country.  The  less 
SBStained  in  these  aetions  was  very  severe,  and  was  singularly  increased 
by  ezposnre  to  an  unusually  hot  sun. 

Such  are  the  brilliant  feats  of  arms  which  have  opened  a  campaign  to 
whi<^  no  doubt,  we  shall  have  many  occasions  to  recur.  After  the  conduct 
(as  previously  detailed)  of  the  Burmahs  towards  us  ever  since  the  two  go* 
vemments  have  been  brought  in  contact,  and  more  especially  their  flagrant 
disr^g^ard  of  a  treaty  wrung  from  ihem  by  force  of  arms,  added  to  the 
political  and  moral,  or  rather  immoral,  history  of  the  country,  there  can 
De  only  one  opinion  as  to  what  remains  to  be  accomplished — ^the  an- 
nexation of  the  delta  of  the  Irawady,  as  a  confiscation  of  territory  is 
spoken  of,  and  it  would  comprise  the  whole  of  the  seaboard  of  the  em- 
pire ;  but  ibis  might  have  been  done  last  time,  merely  by  placing  tlie 
reguans  under  British  protection ;  but  such  an  annexation  would  not 
suffice  to  ensure  peace,  nor  is  it  likely,  with  a  nation  so  irrationally  ob- 
stinate, and  so  suiddally  vainglorious,  that  permanent  peace  can  be 
ensurid  without  a  resident  at  the  capital,  supported,  like  his  brethren  at 
the  native  courts  of  India,  by  a  respectable  force  of  British  troops. 

There  will  be  the  usual  outcry,  '^  Where,"  if  removed  to  the  Irawady, 
<'  will  the  boundaries  of  the  Anglo-Indian  empire  end  ?'^  Providence 
will  one  day  determine  that  question.  Arracan  and  Tenasserim  have 
already  been  included  within  the  beneficent  rule  of  the  Anglo-Indian 
government.  The  latter  was  wrung  from  Siam  by  the  Burmahs,  and 
may  one  day  entail  us  trouble  with  that  strange  and  little  known  countiy. 
Bat  in  the  mean  time  the  question  is,  in  all  these  progressive  encroaim- 
ments — in  whidi,  let  peace  societies  and  aborigines'  protection  societiee 
aay  what  they  will,  the  hand  of  Providence  must  be  present — are  not 
the  results  eminently  beneficial  to  the  welfare,  the  morality,  the  happiness, 
and  prosperity  of  the  natives  themselves  ? 

The  Burmahs,  as  they  now  exist,  are  an  industrious  but  prostrate 
people,  goaded  and  tyrannised  over  by  a  cruel,  vainglorious,  exacting, 
and  treacherous  aristocracy.  Every  msue  inhabitant  must  have  been  both 
priest  and  soldier  once  in  his  lifetime.  The  women  are  considered  as  an 
mferior  race,  and  are  mere  slaves  to  their  husbands.  Thus  the  despotism 
of  the  head  of  the  state  is  handed  down  fiiom  one  class  to  another,  till  it 
reaches  the  domestic  hearth.  Every  man  in  the  country  is  regarded  as 
the  king's  slave.  A  white  elephant  has  his  ministers,  secretaries,  and 
followers.  The  reridence  of  the  august  animal  is  contiguous  to  the 
royal  palace.  It  is  by  the  Burmahs  supposed  to  contain  a  human  soul, 
in  the  last  stage  of  many  millions  of  transmigrations,  and  about  to  be 
absorbed  into  the  essence  of  the  deity.     The  system  of  government  is 


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378  The  Burmah  War. 

arbitrary  and  rexatious  beyond  toleration.  The  national  punishments 
are  of  ao  horrid  a  d^aracter  that  the  pen  refuses  to  record  them. 

Is  it  too  much  to  say,  then,  that  the  amelioration,  the  gradual  civilisa- 
tion, and  even  Christianising  of  such  a  prostrate,  outcast,  suffering  people, 
may,  by  an  All- wise  Providence,  be  brought  about  even  by  the  apparentljr 
objectionable  means  of  a  preliminary  recourse  to  arms  ?  There  can  no 
more  be  a  battle  fought  than  there  can  be  a  peace-meeting  at  Exeter^ 
hall,  without  the  same  cognizance.  By  curious  coincidence,  the  Anglo« 
Saxon B>  from  the  west  and  from  the  east,  the  one  in  entering  India  beyond 
the  Ganges,  the  other  in  opening  the  long-dosed  ports  of  Japan,  appear 
to  be  forced  on,  by  an  inevitable  current  of  events,  to  work  at  bringing 
about  the  same  results— to  establish  a  connexion  with  the  long-seclud£d 
Chinese,  Mongol,  and  Hiudu^Chinese  nations. 

That  such  intercourse,  and  even  annexation  of  barbarous  ooontries  by 
more  civilised  nations,  is  for  the  benefit  of  the  population  generally,  is 
attested  by  all  history  ;  but  to  keep  to  the  example  before  us,  when 
Anracan  and  Tenasserim  were  first  taken  possession  of  in  1826,  they  were 
almost  depopulated,  and  were  so  unproductive  that  it  was  seriously 
deliberated  whetlier  they  were  worth  retaining,  and  it  was  even  proposed 
to  restore  them  to  the  despotic  rulers  whose  tyranny  and  exactions  heA 
entailed  that  absence  of  population  and  infertility  or  soil  Fortunately, 
however,  for  the  people,  the  proposal  was  overruled;  and,  although  their 
advancement  was  somewhat  retarded  by  errors  of  management  when  first 
placed  under  British  rule,  the  result,  as  given  by  Professor  WUson,  has 
establbhed  beyond  question  the  benefits  they  have  derived  from  the 
change  of  rulers.  • 

By  the  last  returns  (\fe  quote  from  the  professor),  the  population  of 
Moiilmein,  which  consisted  originally  of  a  few  fishing-huts  alone,  exceeded 
50,000,  comprising  a  niunber  of  enterprising  European  merchants.  The  value 
of  the  imporU  and  exports  in  1850-51  was  nearly  600,000/«  The  revenues  of 
the  Tenasserim  provinces,  which  were  ongioally  next  to  nothing,  amounted  in 
1848-49  to  55,0002.  Tlie  population  of  the  country  is  still  y6t  thinly-scat- 
tered, and  the  resources  of  the  province  are  far  from  developed.  In  Arracan 
the  progress  has  been  still  more  remarkable  ;  the  population  was  rated,  on  the 
1st  of  January,  1850,  at  344,914,  of  whom  only  200  were  Europeans.  In 
1628  it  was  estimated  at  less  than  one-third,  or  about  100,000.  Ttie  revenue 
of  1850-51  amounted  to  88,000/.,  and  more  than  covered  the  expenses.  The 
trade  of  Akyab,  the  principal  port,  was,  in  tlie  same  year,  of  the  value  of 
360,000/^  of  which  153,123/.  was  the  value  of  the  rice  exported,  Arracan 
having  become  the  granary  of  the  countries  along  the  Bay  of  Bengal,  and 
being  capable  of  supplying  them  to  an  incalculable  extent.  Such  (observes 
Professor  Wilson)  have  been  the  effects  of  a  mild  and  equitable,  though 
foreign  government,  in  the  short  interval  of  twenty-six  years. 


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THE 

NEW   MONTHLY   MAGAZINE 

AND 

HUMORIST. 


VOL.  xcv.]  AUGUST,  1852.  [no.  ccclxxx. 


CONTENTS. 

Th£  Dat-Deeah  of  George  Yansittart:  and  its  Recom- 
pense   379 

Female  Novelists.    No.  IV. — The  Author  op  "  Olive  "       .  399 

Y»  Crazed  Monk.    By  G.  W.  Thobnburt       ....  407 

A  Day's  Hunting  at  Baden-Baden 412 

A  SCAaiPER  TO  KiLLARNBTy  VIA  THE  CORK  EXHIBITION        .  .   418 

Ghost  or  no  Ghost  ? 430 

On  the  Grave  op  Moobe 438 

Teas  and  the  Tea  Country 439 

Young  Tom  Hall's  Heart-aches  and  Horses.    Chap.  XXXI. 
to  XXXIV 455 

Jung  Bahadur 471 

Mr.  Jollt  Green's  Account  op  his  Election  por  Mupp- 
borough 484 


LONDON: 

CHAPMAN  AND  HALL,  193,  PICCADILLY. 
To  whom  aU  Communicatunufor  the  fditor  are  to  be  addreeeed, 

*«*  KEJSCTED  ABTIGLEB  CANNOT  BE  BBTUBNED. 
BOLD   BT   ALL   BOOKSELLERS   IN    THE    UNITED   KINGDOM. 

PBIlfTED  BT  CHABLB0  WHITIBe,  BKAITIOXT  HOVBB,  0TBABP* 


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Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


NEW  MONTHLY  MAGAZINE. 


THE  DAY-DREAM  OF  GEORGE  VANSITTART:  AND  ITS 
RECOMPENSE. 

BT  THE  AtrrHOR  OF    *^  8ETEK  TEARS  IN  THE  WEDDED  LIFE  OF  A  ROMAK 
CATHOUC,"  THE  **  GOIJ>EN  ERA,"  ETC. 

L 

It  was  in  the  spring  of  a  year  not  very  far  removed  from  us,  that  a 
group  of  human  beings— ^r  it  may  be  more  oorrect  to  say  several  groups, 
for  numbers  weve  scattered  about — stood  in  a  wild-locddng  but  beaumul 
district  of  Ireland.  Human  beings  they  were ;  sent  into  the  world  by 
the  same  God  who  has  made  us  all,  and  endowed,  as  we  are,  with  a  living 
soul ;  yet  as  they  huddled  there,  crouching  beneadi  hedges,  lying  motion- 
less on  the  groimd,  or  standing  erect  and  hurling  de6ance,  both  with 
looks  and  tongue,  around,  they  scarcely  looked  human.  To  the  first 
glance  of  the  eye,  the  scene  they  presented  was  a  mass  of  dirt,  rags, 
nakedness,  disease,  and  fannne:  and  these  were  not  the  worst  features. 
Every  evil  passion  that  neglect,  miseir?  and  the  most  abject  ignorance 
engender,  might  be  traced  in  many  of  the  countenances.  For  that  divine 
part  of  them,  the  living  spirit,  had  been  left  to  its  own  evil  training,  and 
to  the  companionship  and  example  of  beings  such  as  they  were.  And 
they  had  grown  from  youth  to  age,  ay,  many  to  the  verge  of  the  grave, 
knowing  not  that  for  the  thoughts,  passions,  sins  of  which  that  soul  was 
guilty.  It  was  fast  hastening  on  to  a  day  when  it  must  render  up  a  dread 
account  of  what  it  had  done  in  the  body. 

Yet  how  could  it  be  that  these  people  were  in  so  lamentable  a  state  of 
spiritual  darkness,  when  they  were  under  the  caie  of  Father  Phelim, 
and  attended  his  chapel  for  mass,  some  of  them  at  least,  every  Sabbath- 
day  ?  What  Father  Phelim  pretended  to  teach  them  I  cannot  tell ;  what 
*  he  did  teach  them  I  know  less :  but  I  do  know,  that  of  fkefruiis  of  pure 
religion  they  had  none ;  tbey  knew  not  audi  by  name.  If  you  tmnk 
this  state  of  things  existed  not,  you  are  wrong;  u  you  deem  that  it  does 
not  still  exist,  go  into  many  parts  of  Irehind  and  see  and  judge  for  your- 
selves. 

The  moral  and  physkal  enstence  of  tikis  ill-fated  race  of  people  was 
not  in  a  more  happy  condition.  The  e&cts  of  the  years  of  mmine  had 
not  ^et  passed,  and  Ireland,  especially  in  the  part  of  it  alladed  to  here, 
was  in  a  deplorable  state.  To  nirm  an  adequate  idea  of  the  existence  her 
ill-fated  children  were  condemned  to  drag  out,  would  be  imposnble,  unless 
their  sufferings  had  been  actually  witnessed.  The  workhouses  were  f  uH 
to  overflowing — it  may  almost  oe  said  to  aufibcadon — and  of  out-door 
relief  there  was  none;  tiiere  were  not  snflEment  supplies  to  famiidi  it. 
No  bread  came  out  of  the  Unions,  but  plenlnr  of  coflfins :  as  to  the  sinking 
poor  outside,  they  buiied  their  fast-accumulating  dead  how  they  could. 

Yet  there  were  broad  rich  lands  around.     Coiud  not  these  be  cultivated, 

Aug. — ^voL.  xcv.  WO.  cgclxzx.  2  c 


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380  The  Day-Dream  of  Geotye  VaneiUart: 

and  80  furnish  employment  and  food  for  this  famishing  race  ?  And  there 
were  shoals  upon  shoals  of  what  are  called  able-hodied  men  upon  it,  who 
only  wanted  work  and  sustenance  to  render  them  able-bodied  in  truth. 
Could  not  these  men  have  been  placed  to  till  the  ground,  so  that  it  might 
yield  its  increase  ?  Sitting  comfortably  at  our  ease  here  at  a  distance,  we 
may  ask  why  was,  or  is,  not  this  done,  and  why  the  other?  But  had  we 
been  upon  the  spot  then,  we  might  have  hesitated  in  dismay  ere  putting 
the  question.  Symptoms  of  ejection  and  ruin  were  visible  everywhere  ; 
rich  lands  lying  unproductive,  and  suffered  to  run  to  waste;  burnt  cabins, 
unroofed  huts.  They  told  a  long  tale — a  tale  that  might  have  extended 
back  for  years.  It  spoke  of  absenteeism — of  neglect  from  those  who 
ought  to  nave  encouraged  and  sustained— of  reckless  expenditQre--of 
forced  extortion — of  the  overbearing  of  agents  and  nuddlemen— of 
wretched  management— of  an  industrious  peasantry,  sinking  into  a  far 
worse  state  than  were  their  lord's  dogs,  and  who  would  have  devoured 
ravenously  the  meats  those  dainty  dogs  rejected.  Ruin,  nothing  but 
ruin,  stalked  around,  and  apparently  irretrievable.  The  estate  was  now 
up  for  sale,  but  what  recked  that  despairing  crew  gathered  there  mhb 
should  be  its  buyer.  Curses,  more  deep  than  loud,  were  all  that  just  now 
could  be  heard  from  them.  They  threw  their  naked  skeleton  arms 
about  and  cursed  awav — a  sort  of  general  curse :  the  authorities  of  the 
workhouse,  the  British  Government,  British  laws,  and  especially  all  the 
members  of  the  British  Parliament,  save  the  Irish  Catholic  representa- 
tives. Great  Britain's  sovereign  did  not  whoUy  escape ;  and,  coming 
nearer  home,  they  wound  up  with  a  few  oaths  at  the  Bntish  soldiers  theti 
in  Ireland,  and  a  great  many  at  the  local  police.  A  more  repulsive  sight 
than  they  presented  in  these  moments  was  never  witnessed  on  earth  ; 
the  wildest  race  of  savages  that  ever  peopled  the  wildest  tracts  of  land, 
could  not  have  inspired  to  the  eye  more  abhorrence  and  disgust.  But 
did  God  create  them  so  ?  No,  no.  He  created  them  as  He  has  created 
the  more  favoured  inhabitants  of  these  enlightened  lands — ^with  fair 
forms,  and  noble  intellects,  and  human  and  teachable  hearts.  An  nn* 
happy  chain  of  circumstances,  which  they  could  not  control,  a  pernicious 
system,  and  wretched  management  in  more  ways  than  one,  had  reduced 
them  to  it.  And  there  they  were  now — ^foodless,  houseless,  shelterless^ 
untaught ;  lying  together  on  the  ground  as  do  the  lowest  animals,  and 
neglected  as  such ;  and  there  was  not  one  man  in  all  Ireland  who  took 
the  trouble  to  ascertain  whether  those  hearts  had  become  radically  despi- 
cable in  the  struggle,  or  if  something  Christian  might  not  be  left  in  them 
yet 

The  voices  sunk  into  silence,  and  many  of  those  stretched  on  the 
ground  arose  as  a  carriage  containing  three  gentlemen  bowled  rapidly 
up.  It  slackened  its  pace  as  it  neared  them  :  the  road  was  none  of  the 
best ;  and  the  postboy  finally  stopped  his  horses,  for  he  oonid  not  drive 
over  the  dark  forms  still  lying  there.  One  of  the  gentlemen — and 
though  by  far  the  youngest  m  age,  he  appeared  to  be  the  principal — 
leaned  from  the  carriage  window,  a  contraction  of  pain  shading  his  open 
and  commanding  countenance,  as  his  looks  gathered  on  the  scene  around. 

'<  Have  you  no  better  resting-place  than  this,  my  friends?*'  he  aaikedy 
in  a  kindly  tone. 


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And  its  Recompense.  381 

There  vtbs  no  answer ;  but  a  low  growl,  whose  tone  spoke  defiance, 
broke  from  some  of  tbe  men. 

"  Have  they — the  sick  there,"  he  retnmed,  pointing  to  a  g^up,  whose 
ashy,  drawn  countenances  betrayed  the  suffering  state  they  were  in — 
^*  hai»  they  no  shelter,  no  other  home  than  the  open  air?" 

^'  Hear  to  him !"  uttered  one,  a  tail,  bold,  but  terribly  emaciated  man, 
whose  whole  bearing  spoke  ferocity.  *^  Hear  to  htm  !*'  he  repeated,  turn- 
ing to  his  fellow- men ;  "  this  is  the  way  they  dome  to  mock  us.  After 
grinding  us  down  for  years  and  years,  each  year  worse  than  the  last^  and 
bringing  famine  upon  us,  till  our  natural  strength  and  energy  are  wasted, 
and  we  sink  away  by  handsful,  and  letting  us  see  our  children  die  before 
oiu*  eyes,  and  taking  the  work  out  of  our  hands,  and  sacking  our  homes 
over  our  heads,  and  destroying  our  country, — they  parade,  mockingly,  up 
in  their  fine  carriages,  these  foreigners,  and  say,  '  How  is  it  ye  be  without 
food  and  shelter  ?*  Drive  on  with  ye ;  and  if  ye  want  something  to 
apeed  ye  on  yere  way,  take  some  curses ;  theyll  follow  ye  in  plenty." 

He,  the  former  spokesman,  resumed.  They  were  soothing  words  it 
would  seem,  and  he  spoke  in  a  soothing  tone ;  but  a  storm  of  oaths  in- 
terrupted him,  drowning  his  voice,  and  a  frightfully  discordant  yell 
arose,  amidst  which  the  postilion,  untold,  touched  his  horses,  and  drove 
oarefully  on. 

**  It  IS  of  no  use,  sir,"  observed  the  stouter  of  his  two  companions, 
who  had  been  coiled  up  in  a  comer  of  the  carriage  ;  '*  sympathy  with 
such  hardened  wretches  is  worse  than  thrown  away.  I  kept  close,  for  if 
they  had  seen  me,  it  is  hard  to  say  if  they  would  not  have  attacked  the 
carriage.  I  had  a  deal  to  do  with  them  in  my  former  capacity  as  agent, 
and  I  can  assure  you  the  most  stringent  treatment  was  not  sufficient  to 
manage  them." 

"  Did  you  ever  try  the  opposite  course  ?"  inquired  the  younger  gen- 
tleman. 

"  Opposite  course  for  them  /"  and  the  ex-agent  laughed  an  incredu- 
lous laugh  as  he  spoke ;  "you  don't  know  them,  sir." 

'<  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  these  men  would  not  work  under  en- 
couraging circumstances,  or  that  those  herds  of  children  there,  trained  to 
usefulness  and  morality,  would  not  become  as  faithful  and  efficient 
Libourers  as  any  we  can  boast  of  in  England?" 

"  But  we  are  talking,  sir,  of  what  is  done,  not  of  what  might  be,'*  was 
the  agent's  reply.  "All  the  training  they  get  now  is  from  the  local 
priests.  And  between  ourselves,  sir,  these  priests  do  three  parts  of  the 
mischief ;  yes,  I  do  say  it,  though  I  am  a  Catholic  myself.  They  excite 
their  flock  to  discontent,  and  all  sorts  of  evil ;  and  as  for  improvement, 
either  of  the  land  or  the  people,  their  utmost  endeavours  are  used  to  keep 
that  down." 

"  How  do  you  account  for  that?" 

"  The  animosities  of  the  priesthood  are  so  great — ^pardon  the  remark 
— ^against  England,  and  knowing— -or,  at  least,  believing — that  from  the 
sister  country  must  spring  the  remedies  which  will  eventually  restore 
Ireland  to  prosperity,  they  naturally  endeavour  to  counteract  all  im- 
provement I  speak  of  the  priesthood  as  a  body ;  there  are,  of  course, 
individual  exceptions." 

2c2 


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382  The  Day  Bream  of  George  Vaneittart : 

"  And  the  source  of  this  ammority,"  inquired  the  Engliehmao,  '^  ^iriience 

isitr 

^'That  she  is  a  Protestant  oountrj.  This  is  the  ehief  source,  hut 
there  are  other  minor  ones." 

The  carriage  continued  its  way,  and,  ere  long,  drew  up  hefbre  the 
gates  of  a  large  hut  half-rukied  mansion.  Doors  were  broken,  windows 
shattered,  oathnildtngs  dilapidated.  A  ease  of  greater  neglect  oould 
scarcely  be  witnessed.  The  gardens  and  pleasure-grounds  bore  the  ap* 
peerance  of  waste  land,  and  the  same  scene  of  neglect  extended  itself  for 
ndles  and  miles.  Hedging,  ditching,  draining,  fellings  fencing!  what  a 
field  for  labour  presented  itself  to  tiie  eye ! — and  few  could  doubt  tba£ 
soeh  labour  would  be  amply  repaid. 

But  a  few  minutes  after  the  carriage  was  out  of  sight  of  the  Irish, 
two  priests  came  suddenly  upon  the  scene.  One  was  their  customary 
pastor,  Father  Phelira,  the  other  was  known  to  the  people  as  Father 
^cholas.  The  latter  made  oecasi<Mial  yisits  to  the  parish— one  every  two 
years  or  so— and  as  he  was  always  treated  with  the  greatest  deference  bj 
Father  Phelim,  it  may  be  supposed  he  held  a  hi^er  preferment,  and 
was,  perhaps,  a  sort  of  overlooker.  Father  Ph^im  himself  was  a  good- 
hmnoured,  easy  little  body,  scolding  his  flock  very  fittle,  and  finding  fault 
with  few.  Provided  he  and  his  "  niece,"  who  kept  house  for  him,  were 
left  alone  quietly  in  the  residence  dignified  with  the  name  of  the  ''  Priest's 
House,"  he  interfered  but  little  with  them.  The  whole  mass — those  wha 
were  capable  of  it — ^rose  from  their  slouching^  positions  at  the  appearance 
of  their  pastors,  reverently  greeting  them. 

"  Who  were  those  parties  T  inquired  Father  Nicholas,  pointing  in  the 
(Mrection  which  the  chaise  had  taken. 

Many  a  scowl  gathered  around,  and  many  a  voice  uttered  the  woid, 
**  English." 

'^  It  took  the  road  to  the  great  house,"  continued  one ;  '^  maybe  they 
are  thinking  to  look  at  the  land." 

''  Never  let  them  become  your  masters,  my  children,**  exclaimed  Father 
Nicholas,  the  excitement  of  anger  knitting  up  his  1m>w  ;  "  never  let  it 
be  said  that  a  faithfiil  Cat^ofic  population  was  lorded  over  by  a  Pny- 
tesiant  despot.  Erase  from  the  surface  of  your  sofl  these  odious  anoma- 
lies ;  they  would  sap  our  faith,  destroy  our  salvation,  lead  'your  chiidrea 
to  he  their  daves  and  serfs.  Never,  until  these  Rrotestants — ^these  chil- 
dren of  the  devil — ^shall  be  rooted  out  from  amongst  us,  will  Ireland 
regain  peace,  and  you  prosperity.  Let  it  be  your  care,  the  thwarting  of 
tibese  Protestants — ^let  it  be  your  continued  theme,  at  uprisings  and  down- 
ntting,  the  hatred  you  must  cherish  to  these  heretics.  Come  to  the 
chapel  on  Sunday,  my  children,  all  of  ye  that  are  able.  We  will  make 
this  theme  the  subject  of  our  discourse,  and  give  you  advice  upon  it.** 

The  exemplary  priest  moved  away,  followed  by  Father  Phelim.  A 
murmur  of  thankful  applause  followed  them  from  the  suffering  groups ; 
hot  they  had  spoken  not  a  word  in  pity  of  those  sufferings,  or  given  any 
hope  that  they  would  be  mitigated. 

The  chaise  had  stopped  before  the  great  gates — if  anything  so  £Iapi- 
dated  could  deserve  the  name — and  the  tme  gentiemen  ahghted  inA 
walked  up  to  the  dwelling,  the  agent  producing  a  key  from  his  pocket 


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And  its  Beeampenm.  388 

wldeh  OMned  iihe  haU-doars.  Tbe  youngei^  and  eliief  of  the  party,  was 
George  vannttart.  He  had  come  to  lo&  orer  the  estate^  wu  a  visfip 
to  its  porehase.  The  ex-agpent  had  been  appainted  to  show  the  place  ; 
and  the  third  gentleman  was  Mr.  Vansittart's  solicitor. 

**  Years  ago— it  must  now  be  ten,"  observed  Mr.  Yaosittart,  in  the 
course  of  the  day — *^  when  I  was  a  very  young  man,  I  came  to  iias  place 
on  a  visit  to  its  proprietor,  Lcnrd  Spendall.  It  struck  me  as  beine  a  per- 
fect Eden,  or,  at  least,  that  it  might  be  made  sneh.  I  saw  thmgs  of 
coune  with  the  warmdi  of  colouring  which  belongs  only  to  the  meimiiig 
of  life ;  and  it  may  be  that  the  regret  for  the  n^  and  ruin  to  wham 
the  place  was  even  then  fiist  hastening,  endowed  its  natual  beauties  with 
a  deeper  charm.*' 

**I  remember  it,  sir,"  interposed  the  agent.  '^  Lord  Spendall's  vinta 
here  were  not  so  many  as  to  make  the  recollection  of  them  difficult." 

'*  What  think  you?"  inquired  Mr.  Vansittart  of  his  lawyer,  aa  they 
stood  together  on  the  lawn  some  hours  later. 

^'It*is  a  Mr  field;  the  materials  are  here  in  abundance,  bat— di» 
working !     With  English  labourers,  indeed " 

**  No,"  interrupted  Mr.  Vansittart  "  Those  wretched  men  that  we 
passed  this  morning  have  grown  upon  the  soil,  and  I,  for  one,  will : — 


add  msult  to  mjuries  by  bringing  luther  strangers  to  usurp  their  places.*^ 

'<  You  will  never  tame  M^m,    observed  the  agent 

^  If  I  come  here  I  shall  try  it,"  was  the  rejoinder  of  Mr.  Van- 
sittart. 

"  I  believe,  sir,"  observed  the  agent,  "  you  have  now  seen  alL" 

**  I  have  seen  quite  sufficient,"  returned  Mr.  Vannttart.  ^*  A  few 
diBi.ys  for  consideration,  and  then  for  the  decision." 

^^Will  it  be  out  of  place,  sir,"  resumed  the  agent,  *Mf  I  presume,  at 
this  stage  of  the  proceedings,  to  speak  a  word  for  myself?  Should  you 
become  the  proprietor  of  the  estate,  you  will  be  wantmg  an  agent 
here ;  may  I  hope  that  my  attention  to  the  interests  of  my  former  em- 
ployer%  and  the  testimonials  I  hold  from  them,  will  plead  with  you  in 
my  fiivour?" 

*^  1  shall  not  require  an  agent,"  replied  Mr.  Vansittart. 

"Sir?" 

''  Should  the  estate  become  mine,  I  shall  be  my  own  agent — ^tive  npon 
the  spot,  and  direct  the  working  of  my  plans." 

The  agent's  countenance  expressed  unqualified  surprise,  and  he  an- 
swered, a  smile  breaking  his  lips, 

"  I  win  give  you  three  months,  sir,  to  try  that,  but  you  may  rely  upon 
it  that  before  those  three  months  are  elapsed,  you  ^rill  have  been  worned 
back  to  England  in  disgust." 

Some  days  later,  a  young  and  gentle  woman  stood  at  one  of  the  front 
windows  of  an  elegant  mansion  at  the  west-end  of  London,  loddog  from 
time  to  time  anxiously  towards  the  road.  But  the  hours  went  on,  ahd 
whoever  she  was  expecting  came  not  The  dusk  of  the  early  qpring 
evening  was  speedily  growing  into  darkness,  and,  with  a  slow  step,  she 
toned  fix>m  the  windows,  and  stirred  the  fire  into  a  bisae. 

At  that  veiy  moment,  even  as  she  held  the  polished  poker  in  her  haad,- 
certain  sounds  smote  upon  her  ear.  A  carriage  had  driven  up;  the  hall* 
dbor  was  opened  ;  ana  a  step  was  heard  ascending  the  stain — the  qnicki^ 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


384  The  Day -Dream  of  George  Vansiitart: 

aetire  step  of  George  Vansittart  He  closed  the  door  behind  him,  and 
held  his  wife  to  his  heart ;  a  better  and  a  truer  one  never  beat 

*'  Oh,  George,  I  have  been  looking  for  jou  these  two  hours !"  she 
murmured. 

"  The  train  was  behind  its  time,  Lucy.     Have  you  dined  ?" 

*'  Of  course  not.     I  waited  for  you." 

*'  And  the  children,  my  love,  how  are  they  ?'* 

She  went  to  the  bell  and  rang  it  twice.  It  was  the  nurse's  signal. 
Poor  little  things !  the  hour  for  uieir  coming  down  to  dessert  was  past» 
and  they  had  been  waiting  impatiently.  Nurse  carried  the  youngest,  but 
the  other  three  jumped  about  their  papa,  struc^gling  noisily  for  the  first 
kiss.  Four  lovely  children  they  were,  and  with  dispositions  as  tractable 
as  their  forms  were  fair.  It  was  a  pleasant  sight — a  domestic  scene  that 
you  would  be  puzzled  to  see  out  of  England.  The  nurse,  being  sent  by 
her  mistress  to  fetch  some  letters  from  another  room,  had  placed  the  baby 
upon  the  ground,  and  there  it  sat,  crowing,  and  knocking  its  coral  and 
bells  agaiiist  the  carpet ;  whilst  Mr.  Vansittart,  breaking  from  the  little 
arms  that  entwined  him,  raised  the  infant  from  the  carpet,  and  caressingly 
tossed  and  played  with  it.  The  fire  threw  its  cheerful  glow  upon  the 
group,  and  Mrs.  Vansittart  looked  on,  her  heart  throbbing  with  holy 
affection,  and  her  eyes  glistening.  Tears  rise  unbidden  at  these  moments 
— moments  that  can  only  be  known  by  a  happy  wife  and  mother. 

They  were  again  in  the  same  room  later  in  the  evening,  George  Van- 
sittart and  his  wife.  He  had  been  giving  her  the  particulars  of  his 
Irish  journey — his  observations  and  his  opinions.  He  did  not  conceal 
horn  her  the  wearing  crossings  and  difficulties  he  should  certainly  have 
to  surmount  in  the  onset :  but  he  dwelt  fondly  upon  the  good  that  would 
be  ultimately  effected,  and  the  reward  that  must  in  time  be  his.  A  ^eiir 
and  flourishing  estate — a  contented  and  attached  peasantry,  those  tm- 
happy  sons  of  the  soil,  whom  he  had  now  seen  in  all  the  miseries  of 
neglect  and  want,  restored  to  days  of  peace — ^the  approbation  of  a  good 
conscience,  and  the  hope  that  his  example  would  induce  others  like  him« 
self  to  try  the  same  experiment,  and  so  rescue  some  small  portion  of 
Ireland  from  the  abyss  into  which  she  had  sunk. 

**  Then  you  have  finally  decided  in  the  affirmative  ?"  his  wife  remarked. 

"  I  have  fully  discussed  the  scheme  with  my  lawyer  and  the  agent^'' 
he  replied,  "  and  I  have  deliberated  much  upon  it  myself,  and  weighed 
it  in  all  its  bearings." 

**  And  your  decision,  George  ?*'  she  asked  again. 

*'  To  enter  upon  it  at  once.  Lucyj  this  has  been  my  Day-Dream  for 
years." 

II. 

Thb  months  went  on — ^it  may  be  four  or  five — and  wonderful  altera- 
tions and  improvements  had  been  set  on  foot  on  the  estate,  which,  as  a 
substitute  for  its  real  name,  we  will  call  Balmayne.  The  ^*  filnest  pisantry 
in  the  worid,"  that  portion  of  them,  at  least,  indigenous  to  the  soil  of 
Balmayne,  had  been  shamefully  bitter  and  hostile  at  first,  but  patience 
and  perseverance  had  overcome  their  antipathy.  Comfort  and  relief 
had  been  the  primary  assistance  held  out  to  them — relief  from  the 
ample  means  and  liberal  hand  of  Mr.  Vansittart,     They  were  bepnning 


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And  its  Recompense.  385 

now  to  comprehend  that  a  kind,  considerate  master,  days  passed  in 
labour  for  wnich  they  were  equitably  remunerated,  wholesome  cabins,  a 
warm  hearth,  food  every  day,  renewed  health,  and  iudicious  encourage- 
ment and  counsel,  were  not  bad  substitutes  for  abandonment,  &mine, 
disease,  ill-feeling,  and  cursing,  although  the  author  of  all  this  change 
was  a  Protestant  and  an  Englishman*  Father  Nicholas  had  left  for  a 
distant  part  of  Ireland  long  before  Mr.  Yansittart's  arrival ;  and  though 
Father  Phelim  did  raye  a  little  at  first,  and  conjure  his  flock,  with  teazs 
in  his  eyes,  never  to  accept  a  penny  from,  or  do  a  stroke  of  work  for, 
this  alien,  yet  when  he  saw,  with  the  gradual  change,  how  much  less  of 
troublesome  complaints  there  were,  and  how  many  more  pennies  came 
in  to  him  at  the  Sunday  mass,  he  made  a  pause  in  nis  urging  and  abuse. 
It  cannot  be  supposed  he  became  a  convert  himself  to  the  new  plans, 
but  he  did  learn  to  look  approvingly  upon  the  good  order  and  comfort 
ensured  by  their  working,  so  far  as  silently  to  withdraw  all  marks  of 
disapprobation,  and  let  things  take  their  course.  Neither  had  Mr. 
Vansittart  disregarded  the  moral  reformation  of  his  poor  dependents,  or 
ihe  salutary  training  of  their  children.  Schools  had  been  instituted  for 
the  latter,  provided  with  suitable  teachers ;  and  the  acquaintance  they 
had  formerly  made  with  much  that  was  bad,  was  being,  as  far  as  pos- 
sible, counteracted. 

It  was  a  contrast  suggestive  of  much  serious  thought,  the  evening 
which  witnessed  the  arrival  of  Mrs.  Vansittart  and  her  children,  and  the 
day  when  her  husband  had  driven  up,  accompanied  by  his  solicitor  and 
the  agent,  to  look  at  the  estate.  Then  the  starving  mob  had  hooted  and 
scoffed  at  the  new  comerS)  the  chaise  perhaps  narrowly  escaping  an 
attack  :  but  now,  as  Mrs.  Yansittart's  carriage  drove  in  sights  and  she 
sat  in  it  by  the  side  of  her  husband,  who  had  gone  to  the  coast  to  meet 
her,  these  same  men  desbted  from  their  several  employments,  and  with 
happy  countenances  and  pleasant  words  of  greeting  waved  their  shaggy 
hats  over  their  heads,  and  prayed  openly,  one  and  all,  for  a  blessing  upon 
her — upon  her  and  Mr.  Yansittart 

"  I  will  look  about  me  a  little,  now,"  she  said  to  her  husband,  as  she 
alighted  from  the  carriage. 

**  You  are  not  too  tired,  Lucy  ?" 

*'  No,  no  ;  just  a  few  paces.     I  am  anxious  to  see  the  place." 

He  walked  with  her.  "  By  its  aspect  now,"  he  observed,  "  yoa  must 
not  judge  of  what  the  estate  will  hew  It  has  been  made  to  look  a  little 
less  like  a  wilderness,  and  that  is  all  as  yet" 

**  But  I  see  nothing  of  the  extreme  desolation  you  spoke  of,  George,'' 
she  observed,  in  the  progress  of  their  walk,  *'  or  of  the  wretchedness  of 
the  people." 

"  That  has  been  remedied,  Lucy.  I  could  not  expect  these  men  to 
work  for  me  with  a  will,  until  they  had  a  decent  cabin  to  put  their  heads 
into  at  night,  and  a  meal  to  eat  in  it.  Had  these  ameliorationa  not  been 
required,  the  out-door  improvements  would  have  been  by  now  more  for* 
ward.     But  we  get  on  very  welL" 

^'  How  do  you  find  them — these  men  ?     They  look  rough." 

^*  The  Durest  diamond  wears  the  roughest  simace-^is  there  not  sach 
a  sa)'ingr*  he  added,  smiling.  '*  When  you  are  acquainted  with  these 
Irishmen,  Lucy,  you  will  judge  as  I  do— that  they  are  faithful  and  warm- 


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386  The  Day-Dream  of  George  Vansittart  : 

hearted  ;  and,  where  they  are  attached,  industrioiifl.  I  could  not  wisks 
hetter  race  of  labourers/' 

'^  They  seem  attached  to  you,  if  we  may  judge  by  thdr  actions  aad 
looks  as  we  pass,''  die  observed. 

"  They  axe  so.  I  had  a  world  of  trouble  at  first.  I  believe  one  with 
less  patience  or  less  hope  than  I  had  would  have  given  up  the  strag^e  ia 
detain  The  difficulty  was  to  convince  them  that  I  had  as  moch  their, 
eood  in  view  as  I  had  my  own.  They  looked  iqwn  me  as  their  mo^ 
bitter  enemy,  and  could  not  be  brought  to  understand  or  to  imagine  thai 
I  could  be  anything  else." 

^'  That  feeling  has  been  overeome  ?'*  she  adced,  anxiously. 

"  Quite— quite.  How  could  it  be  otherwise,  doing  for  them  what  I 
have  done  ?  There  is  not  a  body  of  labourers  on  any  estate  in  Elngland^. 
Lucy,  who  need  be  more  contented  than  these." 

'<  What  buildings  are  those  ?"  inquired  Mrs*  Vansittart,  pointing  to 
some  whose  view  &ey  had  just  come  upon. 

*'  They  are  the  schools,"  replied  her  husband.  "  1  wrote  you  word  I 
had  established  them." 

<^  And  aoe  they  well  attended?" 

**  Now  they  are.  At  first  there  waa  a  strong  prejudice  against  theni»« 
but  when  the  few  whose  children  came,  teld  how  much  more  tractable 
and  better  these  children  were  daily  becoming,  it  induced  others  to  join  ; 
and  now  we  have  nearly  all.  These  things  cannot  be  accomplished  in  a 
dav,  Lucy ;  it  takes  time  and  conviction  to  subdue  longrstanding  pre- 

^  Do  you  interfere  with  their  religion  ?" 

**  Oh,  Lucy,  no !     I  did  not  come  to  sow  discord  in  the  country." 

"  Yet,  in  tibe  Roman  Catholic  religion  there  are  grievous  errors,''  she 
saidy  timidly. 

^  My  deaf  wife^"  he  answered,.  ^*  true  religion  may  be  embodied  ia 
these  words :  ^Tobe  good,  and  to  do  good.'  Whatever  errors  there  may 
be  in  a  man's  creed,  if  he  so  will  it,  they  are  no  errors  to  him.  There 
aie  good  Catholics,  as  well  as  good  Protestants,  who  seek  to  do  their 
duhr  to  God  and  to  their  neighbour.  To  be  goody  ami  to  do  good^  It 
is  this  religion  which  we  strive  to  inculcate  upon  these  hitherto  neglected 
children,  but  we  interfere  not  with  the  fiaith  they  have  inherited  from 
their  foro^hers." 

"  Ever  sound-judging  and  considerate,  George,"  she  whispered,  preasing 
his  arm  j  "  ever,  ever  right." 

They  stood  together  upon  the  rising  ground  of  the  lawn,  on  their 
return,  before  entering  their  rmdenoe.  The  beams  of  the  sun  were 
sinking  in  the  west,  but  its  golden  light  still  lingered  over  the  lands. 
It  was  a  lovely  scene — a  scene  full  of  promise  and  hope  for  the  future. 

"  The  woric  can  scarcely  be  said  to  be  begnn,"  he  remarked  to  Ins. 
wife^  leaning  on  the  low,  ornamental  iron  gate^  which  opened  from  the 
lawn  on.  the  western  side  of  the  house,  and  gazing  around  him.  ''  la 
a  twelvemonth's  time  ftova  this,  Lucy,  yon  will  not  know  the  place." 

She  did  not  speak,  but  stood  there  silently  by  his  side,  acquiesemg  in 
afl  he  uttered. 

^  life  holds  forth  to  ua  a  bright  prospect,  Lnoy,"  he  continued,  taking: 
hen  hand^  tiiat  it  mig^t  rest  in  his.     '^  To  reicae  this  fine  estate  iamb 


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And  its  Recompense.  38T 

rnin^  and  cultivate  it  that  k  may  yield  its  increase ;  to  elevate  its  xm^ 
happy  people  from  the  excess  of  misery  and  degradation,  and  lead  them 
to  fuefulnesa  and  peace ;  to  train  tiieir  ehiidren  to  serve  onrs  when  we 
shall  he  no  more,  and  to  teach  ours,  hy  precept  and  example^  how  to 
npay  and  sustain  &r  ever  these^  their  cbpendenta ;  and  to  know  that  in 
the  end,  when  we  are  laid  upon  our  dying  beds^  we  shall  haTC  it  in  onr 
power  to  thank  Grod  lor  His  mercy  in  having  enabled  ns  to  live  here  a 
life  of  naeftilneflsw  Think  not  I  was  a  visionary  enthusiast,  my  dear  wife, 
when  I  said  that  for  years  this  had  been  my  Day-Dceam." 

in. 

The  twelvemonth  spoken  of  by  George  Vansittart  flew  by,  and  onea 
more  he  stood  vnth  his  wife  in  a  room  w&ch  overlooJied  tlie  lands*  The 
ohange  he  had  so  fondly  anticipated  had  indeed  taken  place,  and  the 
estate  was  now  flourishing  and  prosperous.  All  his  plana  had  been  well 
eanied  out.  Buildings  had  been  reared,  unsightly  or  useless  ones  taken 
down,  and  the  land  had  been  drained,  dug,  fenced,  planted,  sown,  aad 
iM^»ed..  And  fer  him  who  had  accomplished  this,  what  reward  was 
dMre?.  Even  that  which  he  had  promised  himself:  the  blessing  of  a 
good  conscience,  at  peace  with  God,  and  with  the  world  -,  the  knowledge 
ttiat  he  was  pursuing  the  path  of  usefuhiess,  and  fulfilling  his  duties  to 
Ae  best  ci  his  abilities ;  and  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  that  he  had 
diflfuaed  hapfwiess  to  scores  of  his  fellow- creatures,  who,  without  his 
help,  would  probably  have  sunk  under  th^  intolecaJble  burdens.  Ok  I 
diat  Ireland  could  find  a  few  more,  such  as  he,  to  hasten  to  her  rescue  I 

Mr.  Vansittart  stood  there  at  the  window,  poin^g  out  to  his  wife 
the  glowing  appearance  of  the  harvest  fields,  and  what  a  fine  luxuriance 
seemed  to  rest  universally  on  the  plains.  It  was  some  we^  since  she 
saw  the  prospect  from  that  commanding  window.  She  had  but  recently 
naem  from  a  sick  bed,  for  another  child  had  been  added  to  thdr  femily. 
He  had  passed  his  arm  round  her,  to  sopport  her  still  delicate  frame,  and 
they  remained  together,  gazing  on  the  smiling  promise  of  ploity,  which, 
bill  for  Mr.  Vansittart,  had  never  been  seen  there. 

''See,  Lucy,''  he  observed  to  his  wife,  as  two  dark  ferms  passed 
xafidly  across  the  land  in  the  distance  ''  there  goes  Father  Phelim,  and 
some  one  with  him." 

**  Another  priest,  I  think,"  she  answered ;  *'  at  least,  it  looks  so  from 
hank" 

It  was  another  priest.  About  half  an  hour  previously,  wbM>  should 
arrive  in  the  territory  of  Balmayne,  at  the  house  d  the  parish  priest,  after 
more  than  eig^iteen  months'  absence  but  Father  Nicholas.  Heavens, 
what  a  terrible  rage  he  was  in!  In  vain  Father  Phelim  diook,  and 
eowered,  and  deprecated,  and  inyented  a  heap  of  stories  to  secure  his  own 
aipostacy ;  for  so  the  senior  fether  derignated  his  havii^  suffered  his 
nock  to  become  contented  servants  of  the  Protestant — ^this  new  Mr. 
Vansittart.  All  to  no  purpose.  Father  Nicholas  stormed,  and  rayed, 
and  cursed.  C^r^fc/.*— a  priest  cane?  Hei»L  He  cursed  Mr.  Van^ 
trt  with  a  thousand  curses ;  he  cnrsed  the  whole  race  of  Protest&nts  ; 
,  more  still,,  he  bestowed  a  share  of  explstiyes  upon  Father  Phelun 


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388  The  Day-Dream  of  X^torge  VamUtart: 

himself;  and  finally,  taking  his  pnestly  hat,  he  rushed  out  of  the  house, 
commanding  Father  Phelira  to  follow  him. 

^  Look  you/'  he  ra?ed,  as  they  walked  along,  ^  means  must  he  put  in 
force  to  stop  this  pernicious  state  of  things.  A  faithful  Catholic  flock 
lorded  over  hy  a  Protestant  master,  and  attached  to  him ;  fed  hy  his 
hand,  and  ready  to  lick  it,  as  does  a  hound !  What  would  hecome  of 
Ireland's  independence— of  Ireland's  long-tried  faith?  What  would 
eventually  hecome  of  us,  her  slaving  hut  faithful  priesthood,  if  these  ex- 
amples are  to  multiply  in  the  land  ?  Instead  of  fosterine  their  natural 
hatred  to  Protestants  and  to  Englishmen,  and  exhorting  them  untiringly 
to  hunt  them  out  of  the  island,  or  never  to  rest  until  it  is  accomplished, 
you  have  suffered  their  feeling  for  this  new  comer  to  change  its  nature 
and  ripen  into  love." 

"  It — it— was  what  they  got :  the  benefits — ^the  food  and  the  fuel — and 
the  kind  treatment,"  panted  Father  Phelim,  not  knowing  what  to  say,  or 
where  to  turn,  from  the  angry  and  crimsoned  countenance  of  his  provoked 
superior,  and  wishing  he  could  sink  into  the  ground,  or  take  a  soaring 
flight  over  the  hills,  as  the  birds  did,  or  else  that  he  was  safe  at  home 
with  his  "  niece,"  locked  up  in  some  comer  cupboard,  where  the  eyes  and 
voice  of  old  Nicholas  could  not  penetrate — ''  it  was  all  that  which  made 
the  flock  turn  to  him  with  kindliness." 

''  Of  course  it  was  that,"  screamed  Father  Nicholas ;  "  do  you  take  me 
for  as  great  a  fool  as  yourself,  not  to  know  what  it  was  ?  And  for  that 
vexy  reason  you  should  have  counteracted  his  plans.  A  people  sunk  in 
famine  will  not  be  long  in  attaching  themselves  to  those  who  raise  them 
into  plenty.     You  should  have  thwarted  this  man  and  his  measures." 

"  How  could  I  thwart  them?"  humbly  pleaded  Father  Phelim.  "I 
did  all  in  my  power,  but  I  could  not  stop  nis  buying  the  estate,  and  set- 
ting the  men  to  work  on  it.  I  could  not  stop  the  bread  and  the  meat 
which  he  gave,  and  the  erecting  of  cabins,  and  the  paying  for  their  labour, 
and  all  the  rest  of  it.  And — and — as  for  the  schools,"  proceeded  Father 
Phelim,  conscious  that  there  lay  the  worst  grievance,  *'  they  teach  nothing 
in  them  that  can  undermine  their  faith." 

'*  You  fool !  you  utter  fool !"  stuttered  Father  Nicholas,  provoked  be- 
yond all  bounds  ;  '^  don't  they  teach  them  to  be  good  and  moral  ?  Don't 
they  teach  them  to  be  thinking  and  reasoning  beings  ?  Let  them  once 
become  this,  and  our  absolute  iiile  is  over  for  ever." 

'*  I  don't  think  these  low  Irish  can  be  made  reasoning  beings,"  depre- 
cated Father  Phelim,  praying  that  his  reverend  compeer  might  be  sud- 
denly taken  with  the  cholera,  or  any  other  malady  that  would  deprive 
him  of  his  tongue.     "  Their  natures  are  so  thoroughly " 

A  blighting  curse  interrupted  him,  and  the  voice  of  Faiher  Nicholas 
hissed  harshly  in  his  ear. 

*'  Were  there  no  other  means  to  undermine  the  influence  of  this  vain 
Englishman,  you  should  have  resorted  to  the  last :  that  was  in  your 
power." 

The  younger  priest's  face  became  a  glowing  red,  and  he  turned  his 
eyes,  for  the  first  time,  full  upon  his  superior. 

*'  A  denunciation  should  haVe  been  hurled  against  him,  this  Geox^ 
Vansittart ;  he  should  have  been  cursed  from  the  altar — as  he  must 
be  now  r 


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And  Us  B^compett$€.  389 

Father  PheUm's  limbs  shook  a  little,  while  the  dread  whisper  of  his 
companion  rang  in  his  ear.  He  was  a  kind-hearted  man  by  nature,  and 
had  never  yet  heard  the  denmiciation  of  a  i^ife  without  a  shudder.  But 
he  neither  objected  nor  remonstrated  :  he  dared  not  have  done  either,  nor 
was  it  in  his  line  of  dut^. 

'*  Denounced  from  the  altar,"  repeated  Father  Nicholas,  as  if  it  gxa* 
tified  him  to  dwell  upon  the  theme,  *'  and  that  without  delay.  I  do  not 
leave  the  place  until  I  see  the  work  accomplished.'' 

He  strode  on  with  giant  strides,  Father  Phelim's  short  legs  trotting 
after  him,  on  the  run.  They  entered  the  first  cabin  they  came  to,  which 
was  inhabited  by  a  family  bearing  the  name  of  Fitzgerald.  They  were 
somewhat  superior,  at  least  the  wife  was,  to  most  of  the  labourers.  In 
early  life  she  had  been  assbtant  lady's  maid  to  the  Countess  of  SpendaU, 
had  resided  with  the  &mily  in  England,  and  she  had  infused  a  dash  of 
refinement  (comparatively  speaking)  into  her  home,  and  brought  up  her 
children  in  a  better  manner  than  is  customary  with  Irishwomen  in  her 
class  of  life.  For  the  husband,  he  was  a  good-humoured,  easy  man,  in- 
clined to  be  idle,  and,  when  he  could  get  it,  g^ven  to  whisky.  There 
were  three  children.  The  eldest,  Mary,  had  married  and  gone  to  reside 
with  her  husband  at  a  distance  ;  but  he  died  within  the  first  year,  and  she 
came  back  to  her  parents  :  the  second  daughter  had  been  taken  by  Mrs* 
Vansittart  as  laundry-maid,  and  the  third  child,  a  boy,  was  not  yet 
thirteen. 

As  the  priests  entered  the  cabin,  the  lad  was  seated  on  a  stool  reading 
from  a  book  which  he  held  upon  his  knee,  and  his  sister  leaned  over  his 
shoulder,  partly  reading  with  him,  partly  setting  him  right  when  he 
mispronounced  the  long  or  hard  English  words.  They  bK)th,  with  the 
mother,  rose  dutifully  at  the  presence  of  their  reverences. 

'<  What  book  is  that  ?"  inquired  Father  Nicholas,  after  hearing  from 
the  woman  that  Ned,  as  she  styled  her  husband,  had  not  yet  come  in 
from  labour. 

**  It  is  »— a — book,"  stammered  the  boy,  somewhat  alarmed  at  the 
aspect  of  Father  Nicholas. 

''I  see  it  is  a  book,"  repeated  the  holy  father.  ''Read  me  the 
title." 

« <  The  New  Testament  of  our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ' " 

The  priest  had  been  in  the  remains  of  a  passion  before,  but  it  was  now 
augmented  into  as  great  a  one  as  it  was  possible  for  a  holy  man  to  go 
into.     He  turned  a  withering  look  upon  the  unhappy  Father  Phelim. 

**  Is  this  the  care  you  take  of  your  flock  ?"  he  exclaimed,  his  lips  livid 
with  rage,  although  the  tones  of  his  voice  were  low  and  measured.  "  Who 
permitted  this  to  fall  into  their  hands?" 

''  How  did  you  become  possessed  of  this  book  ?"  reiterated  Father 
Phelim,  holding  the  culprit,  the  boy,  at  arm's  length,  and  imitating  the 
harsh  tones  of  his  superior  as  cleverly  as  he  could.  ''  Who  gave  it  you  ?" 

''  My  sister,"  sobbed  the  boy,  nearly  frightened  to  death. 

"  So !  It  was  your  doings !"  uttered  Father  Phelim,  turning  to  the 
young  woman  with  one  of  the  most  indignant  looks  he  could  put  on. 

"  Not  her,"  broke  in  the  lad.     '*  The  one  what  is  at  the  big  house." 

"  The  book  is  a  good  book,"  said  Mary,  timidly.     It  contuns " 

^'  But  not  for  indiscriminate  readers — ^not  for  the  ignorant,"  interrupted 


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8M  The  Day-Drmm  9f  Gewfe  Vansiitart  : 

Fftther  Niehoku,  fiercely.  "  The  volame,  pioperfy  ezpomided  to  you  by 
ooBBdvei,  would  be  prodnoiive  of  good ;  but  its  doctrinef,  reed  iy  yov, 
«nAi  your  own  interpretation  of  them,  might  bring  perdition*  Euuad  it 
over  to  me." 

The  boy  obeyed,  and  Father  Nicholas  took  possession  of  the  Testa- 
ment. *'  Kever  let  me  hear  of  your  touching  one  again !"  lie  ezdaimed ; 
*^  yon  must  do  penanoe  for  this.  And  for  you,^  he  oontinoed,  turning  to 
the  mother,  *'  be  more  wary  for  the  liiture.  Ask  yourself  w4iether  it  is 
possible  that  yon  can  be  numbered  with  the  fiuthful,  thus  to  peril  the 
eouls  of  your  children.  The  one  sent  to  live  and  serre  out  her  days 
amongst  our  enemies,  the  heretioB ;  the  minds  of  the  others  penrerted  by 
ihe  doctrines  these  heretics  promulgate." 

The  woman,  by  way  of  atonement,  set  up  a  sort  of  semi-howl,  mnoli 
patronised  amonnt  ihe  Irish. 

'*  Send  your  husband  up  to  me  at  nine  to-night,  at  Ms  rererene^ 
Father  Phelim's,"  concluded  the  priest,  as  he  lefb  the  cabin,  after  motion- 
ing Fallier  Phelim,  with  awfully  black  looks,  to  pass  out  first. 

And  Fadier  Phelim  was  conscious  he  deservea  them ;  for,  had  not  his 
want  of  watchfulness  caused  a  copy  of  Our  Saviour's  Testament  to  find  its 
wi^  to  the  private  reading  of  his  submissive  fiook  ?     Dangerous  study ! 

They  entered  the  next  cabin,  and  then  the  next,  and  so  on  in  succes- 
sion ;  not  all  that  day,  but  by  the  next,  every  cabin  had  been  lasited,  and 
every  male  head  of  it  seen.  Loud,  and  hot,  and  angry  was  the  con- 
yerse  of  Father  Nicholas  with  those  Irishmen,  as  he  spoke  away  in  their 
native  tongue.  Against  whatever  he  may  have  uttered,  there  was  no 
appeal ;  a  Roman  Catholic  dares  not  gainsay,  or  dissent  from,  the  argu- 
ments of  his  priest,  or  attempt  to  disobey  his  commands — no  matter 
what  their  nature  may  be.  But  the  inmates  of  those  cabins  universally 
wore  an  air  of  gloom  after  the  priests*  departure.  The  men  threw  aside 
their  pipes,  as  in  deep  grief  or  peiplexity,  and  laid  their  heads  upon  Ate 
rude  settles,  and  kept  silence ;  and  more  than  one  woman  rocked  her 
baby  to  sleep,  blinded  by  her  own  tears,  as  she  unconsciously,  from  the 
association  of  ideas,  chanted  over  it  the  death  wail. 

IV. 

Has  it  ever  been  your  fate,  reader,  to  hear,  in  one  of  Ireland's  Roman 
Catholic  churches,  a  human  being  cursed  from  the  altar  ? — ^to  sit  and 
listen,  while  a  fellow-creature  is  doomed  to  death— doomed  by  those 
who  have  no  more  right  to  assume  the  attributes  of  that  Divine  Being, 
in  whose  hands  are  idone  the  issues  of  life  and  death,  than  you  have? 
In  all  probability  this  pain  has  hitherto  been  spared  you,  and  oh,  may  it 
ever  be  so! 

On  the  Sunday  following  the  arrival  of  Father  Nidiolas,  the  usual 
crowded  congregation  poured  into  the  little  parish  church  of  Balmayne. 
It  consisted  entirely  of  the  poor,  and  was  more  numerous  than  usual,  for 
they  dared  not  remain  away ;  Fadier  Nicholas  had  commanded  their 
attendance,  and  they  never  thought  to  dbobey,  although  they  knew  diat 
they  were  about  to  hear  one,  whom  they  loved  and  revered,  doomed  to 
death.  Father  Nicholas  preached  the  sermon ;  need  you  ask  what  was 
its  purport,  or  against  whom  he  preached  ?     Every  word  and  thought 


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Ami  i$$  Xteampefme.  391 

tlist  could  tend  to  influne  bis  hewran  agnnrt 'their  benefiiotor  wid  g^ven 
utteranoe  to,  and,  eie  ihej  left  tiie  'chareh,  that  terrible  oune,  >tDO 
terrible  to  be'velatod  heie»  liad  been  invoked  agaixnt  Geoige  Vansittart. 

They  wallrad  away  gloomily,  not  knonRring,  each  one,  bnt  upon  idm 
might  fall  the  lot  to  do  the  deed  of  darknees.  They  knew  that  eie  the 
fblh>wing  Babbatb-di^  oame  round,  the  nourder  must  be  aocompliahed 
— ordinary  opportumtr  bemg  afforded— 4henr  oath  .bound  them  to  it. 
The  Irish  are  nationafly  and  naturally  improvident,  seldom  antioipsling 
the  future ;  but  it  did  occur  to  a  few  to  ask  themselTes  whether,  wlnn 
their  benefactor  was  gone,  they  should  be  again  reduced  to  the  state  of 
aljeot  misery  from  which  he  had  rescued  them.  Yet  be  you  assured  of 
one  thing — that  not  an  indiridnal  of  those  Catholic  Irishmen  hesitated 
at  the  accomplishment  of  the  crime,  or  asked  himself  whether  there  was 
«ny  manner  of  escape  for  Mr.  Vansittart,  or  even  glanced,  for  one  angle 
moment,  at  the  foul  wrong  they  were  doing  him :  their  priest  had  laid 
his  command  upon  them,  and  that  command  was  all-suffioient  They 
knew  that  their  deepest  claims  of  gratitude  were  due  to  Mr.  Vansittart ; 
their  heart  acknowledged  such ;  and  many  would  rather  haye  been  told  to 
destroy  their  own  brother;  yet  they  no  more  thought  of  the  possibility  of 
evading  the  crime,  and  suffering  the  man  to  live,  than  you  who  read  this 
think  cf  committing  it 

Things  went  on  peaceably  until  the  Friday  morning,  yrhen  on  diat 
day  occurred  a  sad  eveni--<not  one,  however,  bearing  any  relation  to  the 
contemplated  murder.  Mary  Fitsgerald,  as  she  was  commonly  called — 
the  name  acquired  by  marriage  being  usually  left  in  abeyance— had  gone 
up  to  the  <*  great  house''  on  an  errand  to  her  sister  Fanny.  The  latter, 
with  another  flsmale  scFvant,  was  in  the  iMuhhouse  in  the  course  of  her 
duties,  and,  after  a  few  minutes'  conversation  with  her,  Mary  turned  to 
leave,  asking  if  she  could  take  then  a  basket  vriiich  belonged  to  her. 

"Yes,  you  can  have  it,"  was  the  younger  girl's  reply.  "It  is  up 
there." 

She  pointed  as  she  spoke  to  a  nail  immediately  over  the  furnace,  or 
copper,  where  the  basket  was  hanjeing,  and  Maiy  leaned  over  the  furnace 
to  get  it,  but  it  was  somewhat  difficult  to  reach. 

"  Take  caie  of  your  clothes,"  observed  one  of  the  girk,  for  the  door  of 
the  grate  was  open,  and  ^  &e  was  blaiing  away.  "  You  had  better 
get  a  chair." 

Unheeding  this  advice,  Maiy,  simply  pulling  up  her  gown  a  little  in 
front,  still  kept  stretching  after  the  basket  She  was  unconscious  of  any- 
thing amiss,  but  a  scream  from  the  two  servants  caused  her  to  draw  back. 
Her  petticoats  had  caught  fire,  and  she  was  speedily  enveloped  in  flames. 

It  is  possible  the  other  two  might  have  put  them  out  before  mucb 
injury  was  done,  but  their -presence  of  mmd  was  gone  in  the  overpower- 
ing terror.     They  threw  the  door  open,  and  screamed  aloud. 

Assistance. came.  Two  men  who  were  passing  near,  from  the  stables, 
ran  up  and  extinguished  the  flames.  It  all  seemed  to  be  but  the  work 
of  a'minute ;  nevertheless,  the  uidiappy  girl  had  received  her  death- 
warrant. 

"  Not  here,  not  here,"  she  cried,  in  i^ony,  as  they  prepared  to  take 
her  to  a  chamber ;  "  I  could  not  die  in  peace,  away  from  home  and  mother. 
Bear  me  thither." 


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392  The  Day-Dream  qf  George  VantiUari: 

Had  Mr.  or  Mrs.  Vaiinttttrt  been  prmten^  or,  indeed,  any  of  the  upper 
servants,  they  might  have  essayed  to  oppose  her  wish.  &it  ithe  lower 
orders  of  Irish  are  astonishingly  superstitious,  and  the  words, ."  I  could 
not  die  in  peace  away  from  home^"  were  quite  sufficient  to  induce  them 
at  once  to  convey  her  to  it,  in  the  best  manner  they  oonld. 

*<  For  the  love  of  Heaven,"  cried  the  head  nurse^  an  EngUshwomao, 
when  the  shocking  account  was  taken  to  the  nursenr,  "don't  let  it  get  to 
the  ears  of  my  mistress !  It  would  be  enough  to  kill  her,  weak  as  she  is." 
Mr.  Vansittart,  also,  judged  it  expedient  to  adopt  the  same  caution  with 
regard  to  his  wife. 

So  the  children  were  duly  warned ;  the  nurse,  as  a  double  preoantioa, 
for  the  present,  ordering  the  elder  ones  to  be  taken  out  for  a  walk.  In 
the  evening,  however,  liter  dinner,  Mrs.  Vansittart  sent  for  them  to  st^ 
with  her.  It  was  the  first  secret  the  children  had  ever  kept  from  their 
mother,  and  the  consciousness  that  they  possessed  one,  imparted  a  con* 
straint  to  their  manner. 

^'George,'*  she  said,  addressing  her  eldest  boy,  ''why  are  you  so 
silent  ?" 

As  a  matter  of  course,  he  was  more  nlent  still  at  the  question,  and  not 
one  of  the  others  spoke.  But  their  looks  betrayed  them,  and  Mrs.  Van- 
sittart  saw  there  was  something  to  be  told,  though  to  all  her  questions 
she  could  get  no  reply. 

"  Do  not  ask  him  any  more,  mamma,"  whispered  little  £Late^  who  was 
only  four  years  old,  ''  because  he  must  not  tell  you." 

(( Who  says  he  must  not,  Katie  ?"  returned  Mrs.  Vansittart. 

''  Nurse  said  so." 

^^NurseT*  interrupted  tiieir  mother.  "Nurse  never  desires  you  to 
conceal  things  from  me." 

"  But  papa  said  we  must  not  tell  you,"  cried  George. 

The  colour  rose  for  an  instant  to  Mrs.  Vansittart*s  £BLce ;  but  she 
spoke,  after  reflection : 

"  George,  this  is  some  secret ;  something  has  hi^pened." 

"  Oh,  yes,  mamma,  something  vexy  firightful,"  he  answered,  with  teaxs 
in  his  eyes.     "  But  papa  charged  us  all  not  to  tell  you,  so  vre  cannot." 

Mrs.  Vansittart  summoned  the  nurse,  and  questioned  her.  The  ser- 
vant could  not  conceal  the  facts  now,  and  her  mistress  was  soon  in  pos- 
session of  the  dreadful  story. 

"Help  me  on  mtii  my  things,  nurse,"  she  said,  in  a  £unt  tone;  "  I 
must  go  and  see  her." 

"  Dear  madam,  no !"  cried  the  servant,  startied.  "  You  could  do  hw 
no  good,  and  the  sight  may  be  too  much  for  you.  She  is  dreadfully 
bunit,  they  say." 

"  My  shawl,"  was  the  reply  of  Mrs.  Vansittart.  "  I  cannot  let  the 
poor  girl  die  in  this  neglected  manner." 

"  My  master  went  there  as  soon  as  he  heard  of  it,  and  sent  for  the 
doctor,  and  ordered  them  to  have  everything  necessaiy,"  remonstrated  the 
servant  "  Pray,  ma'am,  do  not  venture.  Linen  and  everything  else  has 
been  sent  down." 

Mrs.  Vansittart  unheeded  the  nurse,  and  started  on  her  eirand.  It  was 
the  first  time  she  had  been  abroad  since  her  confinement,  and  she  felt 


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And  its  Reeompeme.  Z9^ 

scarcely  able  to  walk.    But  the  cabin  was  situated  not  far  from  her  home^ 
and  she  gained  it. 

The  unfortunate  girl  was  dying.  The  only  part  of  her  which  had 
escaped  the  flames  was  her  fkee,  and  that  lay  pale  and  damp  upon  the 
pillow.     She  was  conscious,  though  wandering  at  moments. 

*'  It  is  a  fearful  death  to  die,"  cried  the  weeping  mother  to  Mrs.  Van- 
Bfttart;  *'  but  her  state  of  mind  is  happy,  the  Virgin  be  praised!  I  sent 
for  his  reverence  this  afternoon,  and  he  was  out ;  but  I  have  now  sent 
Fanny  again,  and  expect  him  eyery  moment  He  will  make  it  all 
straight  for  her,  and  see  her  soul  safely  through  purgatory." 

"  May  Heaven  bless  you,  my  lady  r  murmured  the  suffering  invalid^ 
as  Mrs.  Vansittart  leaned  over  her — *^  bless  you  and  your  children ! 
You  have  done  for  us  all  what  no  others  have  ever  done  in  life." 

«  Have  you  no  desire  to  express — ^no  wish  ?"  questioned  Mrs.  Van* 
sittart     *'  Are  you  perfectly  reconciled  to  die  ?*' 

"  She  has  but  one  wish,  my  lady,"  interrupted  the  mother,  *^  and  that 
she  did  but  mention  once ;  for  it  is  next  to  imposdble  that  it  could  be 
gratified.'* 

"  But  one  wish,"  echoed  the  dying  girl,  making  a  movement  as  if  she 
would  have  clasped  her  hands  together. 

"  And  that  one,  Mary  ?"  inquired  Mrs.  Vansittart 

"Oh,  my  lady,  inquire  not,"  was  the  feeble  answer.  "It  is  the 
thought  of  that  which  makes  me  rebellious  agunst  death.  That  it 
shomd  have  come  now  !'* 

Mrs.  Vansittart  turned  to  die  mother  for  an  explanation. 

"  We  knew  Mary  would  not  be  a  long  liver,  my  lady;  for,  you  seOt 
ever  since  her  husband's  death,  the  presentiment  has  been  upon  her  that 
she  should  not  be  long  after  him ;  but  her  prayers  have  always  been  that 
she  might  not  be  taken  until  she  had  saved  sufficient  to  carry  her  corpse 
to  where  his  lies.  She  had  already  begun  a  little  store  towards  it.  It 
seems  she  gave  him  the  promise  when  the  death-agony  was  upon  him." 

"  Oh,  that  I  had  lived— that  I  had  lived  till  I  was  able  to  accomplish 
it  I"  was  the  faint  prayer  that  came  upon  their  ears. 

Mrs.  Vansittart  considered.  She  knew  where  the  husband  lay,  and 
she  could  give  a  random  guess  what  the  cost  would  be  to  convey  the 
remains  of  Maiy  thkher.  She  wondered  whether  Mr.  Vansittart  would 
consent  to  incur  the  expense :  yet  she  looked  at  the  hapless  girl  stretched 
before  her,  hastening  on  to  another  world,  and  she  Knew  that  ihis  one 
disappointment  was  contributing  to  render  her  passage  thither  restless. 

"  Mary,"  she  said,  wiping  the  dew  from  her  brow,  "  if  it  depended 
imon  myself  alone,  I  would  at  once  give  you  the  promise  that  tiiis  desire 
should  be  accomplished ;  bat  I  will  speak  to  Mr.  Vansittart  I  expect  he 
will  be  at  home  when  I  return ;  and  if  he  can  grant  you  this  request,  I 
will  send  you  word  to  that  e£bct*' 

"  Oh,  my  lady,  you  were  ever  too  good— you— he— all  of  you,  ever 
too  good!  And  ii^— if —if ^"itseemed  as  if  one  of  those  fits  of  aberra- 
tion was  coming  over  her—"  if  it  has  fallen  upon  him  to  do  the  deed," 
she  continued,  speaking  in  a  low  whisper,  and  glancing  towards  her 
father,  who  still  sat  lowering  in  the  chimney-comer,  as  he  had  done  ever 
smce  the  kdy's  entrance,  **  never,  never  think  that  his  heart  is  in  it  Wm 
oath  to  the  priest  binds  him,  and  it  must  be  executed ;  otherwise  he  would 
sooner  cut  off  his  right  hand  than  commit  it"  « 

Aug.-^YOU  XCY.  NO.  CCCLZ2X.  2  D 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


394  The  Day-Dream  of  George  Vansittart : 

^  Wbat  do  yoa  mean  ?"  inqiured  His.  Vansittart. 

"  The  lot  fell  upon  him,"  she  continued  to  whisper,  her  glassy  eyes  bent 
in  the  direction  of  the  caUn-door,  just  ovtside  of  which  stood  the  mother, 
lo<^dng  out  for  the  priest ;  and  it  was  evident,  by  the  fixed  stare  of  thoee 
eyes,  turned,  as  it  were,  witlun  her,  that  she  was  coimnaning  with  her- 
self radier  than  speaking  to  Mrs.  Vansittart  Beyond  all  doi£t  her  mind 
was  not  in  a  perfectly  sane  state :  iacts  and  insanity,  recollection  and  fbr^ 
getfiilness,  seemed  to  be  strangely  mized  up  together.  Had  she  been  in 
her  dear  senses,  she  would  have  lain  and  £ed  a  thousand  times  rather 
than  have  given  utterance  to  v^at  she  was  now  saying.  ^  In  the  even- 
ings, when  ye  shall  be  sitting  by  yourself,  a  lone  woman,"  she  continued, 
''  surroonded  by  your  oxphan  children,  and  you  feel  iudined  to  curse  the 
hand  that  made  you  so^  oh!  blame  h^  not  entirely;  think  that,  left  to 
himself  he  would  sooner  have  laid  his  body  down  for  ye  to  waNc  upon, 
than  have  joined  in  this.  He  would  have  been  content  to  fight  for  ye 
both,  for  ye  all,  nntil  his  Hfe's  blood  had  ooaed  from  his  heart ;  and  he 
would  do  it  still,  hot  that  &te  has  cast  the  deed  upon  him,  and  he  may  not 
gainsay  it." 

^  mary,  I  cannot  understand  what  yon  mean ;  but  be  still  and  calm,  for 
your  own  sake.** 

She  raised  her  unfortmiato  hands,  nused  tiiem  in  their  pain,  all  wrapped 
in  cottons  as  they  were,  and  laid  them  upon  Mrs.  Vansittart's  arm,  speak- 
ing in  a  more  dread  whisper ;  but  still  it  seemed  that  she  was  addr^sing 
some  imaginary  being,  and  not  Mrs.  Vansittart. 

"  Oh  I  my  lady,  try  not  to  curse  htm ;  by  yonr  own  kind  heart,  and 
by  the  peaceful  heavens  above  ns,  I  conjure  you,  do  not  curse  him ;  when 
time  shall  have  worn  away  yoor  first  burst  of  anger  and  de^ndr,  and 
you  shaU  look  back  to  this  time  witii  tears,  still  forbear  to  curse  him ! 
He  would  not  willingly  bring  a  day's  sorrow  upon  ye,  or  hurt  a  hair  of 
your  head,  but  he  has  no  aliemative.  His  will  is  good  to  save,  my 
lady,  but  he  dare  not.  Promise  him,  as  he  sits  tiiere,  that  you  will  try 
not  to  corse  him." 

''Here  comes  Fanny,  and  his  reverence  is  following — ^botii  their 
reverences,*'  broke  in  the  mother,  turning  from  the  door  towards  the  bed. 
When,  as  she  approached  it,  she  caught  sight  of  the  earnest  attitude  of 
her  daughter,  and  the  painful,  anxious  expression  on  her  countenance, 
fifeeming  to  denote  that  more  than  bodily  pain  oppressed  her,  the 
woman's  &oe  became  white  as  marble,  and  a  cold  dew  broke  out 
over  it. 

**  What  has  she  been  saying  to  ye,  my  lady  ? — all  in  a  whisper,  too ; 
what  is  it?** 

''  I  think  she  is  wandering,"  relied  Mrs.  Vansittart.  **  I  do  not 
understand  what  it  is  that  she  would  say  to  me." 

«<  Indeed,  my  lady,  and  she  has  been  wandering  at  times  sioce  it  hap* 
pened.  And  then  she  uttered  things — such  things,  my  lady  !~but  we 
ceald  make  neither  top  nor  tail  of  them ;  and  I  think  her  mind  was 
running  on  her  dead  husband.  Ned,"  continued  the  woman,  rushing  up 
to  her  husband,  and  speaking  in  Irish,  as  she  seized  him  by  the  arm,  *'  what 
is  it  the  child  has  been  a-saying  ?  Look  at  her  i" 
^  The  man  aroused  himself,  and  glanced  at  his  daughter  and  Mrs.  Van* 
nttart  But  he  had  been  lost  in  his  own  reveries,  and  had  heard 
nothing. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


And  its  Becompense.  S95 

**  Do  not  alann  yourself,"  said  Mrs.  Vansittart  to  the  woman ;  *'  she 
is  evidently  not  wholly  conscious.  Why  should  it  trouble  you  to  dvreli 
upon  what  she  has  been  uttering  ?** 

Mrs.  Vansittart  was  perfectly  calm,  and  the  woman  became  reassured. 
In  a  few  moments  the  priests  entered  the  cabin,  and  Mrs.  Vansittart 
took  her  leave,  to  proceed  homewards.  The  sun  had  set,  bat  t^ 
large  moon,  nearly  at  the  full,  was  above  the  east,  giving  token  of  a 
glorious  night  She  hoped  to  find  her  husband  at  home  when  she 
entered ;  he  had  gone  out  immediately  after  their  dinner  to  look  at  some 
works  that  were  progressing  on  the  estate.  Near  to  the  house,  Mrs.  Van- 
sittart met  one  of  their  men-servants.     She  stopped  and  spoke  to  him. 

"  Patrick,  has  your  master  come  in  ?" 

*^  Sure  then  he  has,  my  lady,  but  just  at  the  moment.  Indeed,  and  I 
don't  think  he  knew  that  ye  were  oat,  ma'am ;  for  I  heard  him  ask  then 
where  was  the  mistress." 

A  few  moments  more,  and  Mr.  Vansittart  met  his  wife.  He  drew  her 
arm  widiin  his,  and  gently  chided  her  for  walldng  to  l^e  Fitzgerald^ 
cabin,  and  alone.  They  entered  the  house,  and  passed  into  the  western 
sitting-room,  the  large  window  of  which  commanded  so  fine  a  view. 
Mrs.  Vansittart  untied  her  bonnet,  and  laid  it  on  the  table ;  she  was 
much  fatigued,  and  sank  into  an  easy-chair  by  the  window,  Mr.  Van- 
sittart 8tan£ng  by;  and  she  proceeded  to  tell  him  of  this  aaxioos 
wish  of  Maiy  Fitzgerald  to  be  conveyed  to  the  lesting-plaoe  of  her 
hufliband. 

Kind,  kind— ever  kind !  It  involved  but  a  little  money,  and  Aat  he 
instantaneously  resolved  to  sacrifice,  so  that  the  ill-fated  young  woman 
might  end  her  last  few  hours  in  peace. 

*^  I  wiU  go  at  once,  and  tell  her  that  her  wish  is  granted,"  he  observed 
to  his  wife. 

"  You  will  not  stay,  George  ?*'  she  asked,  somewhat  anxiously. 

'*  Not  an  instant,"  he  replied.  "  I  shall  walk  fast,  and  be  oack  with 
you  directly.*' 

He  would  have  turned  to  leave,  but  his  wife  had  risen  from  her  chur, 
and  stood  there,  clasping  his  arm.  Durinc;  her  way  back,  she  had  been 
thinking  of  the  strange  words  Man^  uttered  to  her,  and  ihe  more  she 
dwelt  on  them,  the  less  she  liked  their  purport.  In  a  low  whisper — low 
and  dread  as  that  in  which  they  were  spoken  to  her — she  now  revealed 
to  her  husband  as  much  of  them  as  she  could  remember,  though  it  was 
but  little  of  their  meaning  she  had  been  able  to  collect,  asking  him,  in 
conclusion,  whether  danger  was  to  be  dreaded. 

«<  Danger  ?"  he  repeated. 

''  Such  things  have  been  heard  of  in  this  eountry,"  she  wlnspered, 
clinging  to  him,  ''  repeatedly  and  repeatedly — ^that  me  Irish  have  taken 
the  fives  of  their  benefectors." 

'<  Think  you  they  would  take  mine,  La<nr  ?"  he  Tetnmed,  almost 
laughing  at  tiie  improbability  of  the  idea.  *^  Who  has  done^  who  wonU 
do  for  them  what  I  have  ?  I  do  not  believe  there  is  a  man  on  the 
estate  who  would  not  lay  down  his  life  to  serve  me." 

"  Then  what  could  Mary  Fitzgerald  mean  ?"  she  rejoined. 

"Her  thoughts  were  wandering,  of  course,  Lucy,"  he  answered, 
drawing  his  wife  closer  to  him,  as  if  to  reassure  her. 

''  Peihaips  they  were :  ind^dd,  I  fully  thongfat  ao  ait  lihe  time.    It  il 

2d2 


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396  The  Day-Dream  of  George  VansUtart: 

only  in  dwelling  upon  the  matter  since  I  left,  that  a  fear  has  come  upon 
me." 

**  Lucy,  my  dear  wife,  he  under  no  alarm,"  he  uttered.  *'  Who  has 
cause  to  fear  such  a  thing  so  little  as  I  ?  Sill  me  !  Oh,  Lucy,  Lucy, 
could  you  for  a  moment  entertain  the  idea  that  that  could  be  my  recom- 
pense ?" 

No,  she  did  not  entertain  it  now ;  hut  sad  thoughts  had  heen  conjured 
up,  and  still  she  dun?  to  him,  the  tears  which  had  gathered  in  her  eye« 
falling  upon  his  shoul^r.  He  strained  her  to  lus  beating  heart,  there  in 
the  moonlight,  and  kissed  the  cheek  that  lay  so  passively  against  his. 

'^  God  in  heaven  bless  you,  my  dearest  r  he  uttered,  as  he  released 
her.     ''  Almost  immediately  I  will  be  back  with  you." 

She  looked  after  him  as  he  left  the  room.  It  was  the  last  look  she 
bad  of  him  alive  on  earth,  and  those  words  were  the  last  she  ever  heard 
him  utter. 

Mrs.  Vansittart  went  up  to  her  dresnng-room,  and  ordered  lights  in 
it     She  removed  her  walking  things,  and  ^en  went  into  the  nursery. 

'*  Nurse,  are  the  children  in  bed  r" 

'^  All  but  Master  George,  madam,  and  he  is  being  undressed.  Did 
you  want  them  ?** 

<^  No  matter.  I  felt  nervous  and  out  of  spirits,  and  would  have  taken 
George  to  sit  with  me.     But  it  is  growing  late,  and  he  is  better  in  bed.** 

Mrs.  Vansittart  returned.  Two  candles  were  on  the  sofe-table,  in 
the  dressing-room,  and  a  wax  taper,  which  she  had  carried  in  her  hand, 
•he  laid  by  their  side,  without  extinguishing  it.  Taking  up  a  book,  she 
began  to  read,  and  presently  a  maid-servant,  an  Irish  girl,  entered  the 
room. 

'*  The  Blunts  be  good  to  ye,  my  lady  T  exclaimed  the  gu*l,  the  moment 
she  caufi^ht  sight  of  the  three  candles.  ^'  but  ye  surely  are  not  burning 
three  li^ts  !     It  is  the  token  of  some  great  evil  to  ye.'* 

Mrs.  Vansittart  had  heard  of  this  superstition  before,  so  rife  in  Ireland, 
that  to  see  three  lights  burning  at  once  denotes  evil,  and  she  looked  up 
and  saw  the  girFs  white  and  terrified  countenance. 

"  How  can  you  be  so  simple,  Bridget  ?  What  difference  can  it  possi- 
bly make,  whether  I  bum  two  candles  or  three  ?*' 

•*  For  the  love  of  God,  my  lady,  let  me  put  it  out  I  know  some  ill 
is  going  to  fall  upon  the  house." 

Mrs.  Vansittart  handed  her  the  taper,  and  the  maid,  taking  some  woric 
which  she  had  come  for,  retired.  This  little  incident  did  not  tend  to  raise 
the  poor  lady's  spirits.  Not  that  she  save  a  thought  to  the  Irish  supersti- 
tion, but  her  nerves  were  unstrung,  and  at  such  times  a  trifle  upsets  them. 

She  sat  on,  waiting  for  her  husband.  Tea  was  ready  ;  he  had  pro* 
mised  to  be  back  for  it — to  be  back  again  directly,  and  he  came  not 
She  paced  the  room.  She  asked  herself  what  could  have  detained  him ; 
more  still,  she  asked  herself  how  she  could  have  suffered  him  to  go  out 
that  night  alone,  with  these  fears  upon  her,  and  she  went  to  the  windows 
and  strained  her  eyes  in  the  direction  he  ought  to  come ;  and  still  he  came 
not 

When  Mrs.  Vansittart  left  the  Fitzc^eralds'  cabin^  the  two  priests  had 
entered  it    Father  Nicholas  advanced  towards  the  bed. 

^  It  is  the  judgment  of  the  Lord !"  he  exdumed,  as  he  looked  on  the 
suflbring  fezm  that  lay  there.     *'  I  told  yon,"  he  sud,  tummg  to  this 


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And  its  Beeompaise.  397 

man — ''  I  told  you  both^"  he  eontinued^  tummg  to  the  woman,  ^'that 
YOU  were  drawing  down  the  anger  of  Hearen  upon  your  heads,  and  now 
It  has  &11en.  Woe^  woe,  woe  he  unto  all  who  snail  listen  unto  and  take 
counsel  of  God^s  enemies,  the  heretics !" 

**  Father,  father !"  prayed  the  womao,  **  for  the  lore  of  Christ  accord 
her  the  last  sacraments,  ere  her  soul  shall  have  passed  away." 

''  Through  yoar  children  have  you  rebelled,  and  through  them  must 
be  your  punishment,''  continued  Father  Nicholas :  "  a  just  requital. 
Your  younger  daughter  was  consigned  to  the  home  of  this  alien  family- 
suffered  to  live  amoDg  them — suffered  to  become  attached  to  them — 
suffered  to  listen  to  their  pernicious  doctrines.  Tour  son  was,  still  through 
them,  encouraged  to  peruse  a  Book  which  we  have  forbidden  you,  and 
whose  teaching,  unexplained  and  unguided  by  your  spiritual  pastors,  can 
but  be  productive  of  evil.  And  for  her,  your  daughter  here,  whose  career 
has  been  suddenly  stopped,  it  was  but  last  week  that  she-^she  ! — dared 
to  differ  from  us  in  reference  to  this  very  Book,  putting  forth  her  own 
opinion  that  the  volume  was  a  good  one,  when  we  warned  her  against 
reading  it." 

^'Father,  holy  father,  forgive  her!— forgive  us  all!  May  not  the 
terrible  agony  that  has  withered  her  body  be  the  expiation  of  her  sin  ? 
Oh,  have  mercy  upon  her,  and  save  her  soul,  for  that  is  rapidly  passing." 

The  priest  glanced  towards  the  bed,  and  then  at  the  father  and  mother. 
Father  Phelim  took  a  step  forwards,  and  spoke : 

''  You  know,  my  children,  how  I  warned  you  against  this  Englishman. 
You  should—" 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  woman,  who  set  up  a  loud  wail ;  for  a 
change,  it  looked  to  be  that  of  death,  had  fallen  upon  the  bed. 

"  For  the  Englishman's  sins  to  us — ^for  ours  to  you — ^visit  not  God's 
anger  upon  her,**  implored  the  man,  turning  to  Father  Nicholas,  and 
speaking  for  the  first  time.  ''  They  will  be  expiated,  both  his  and  ours, 
before  to-morrow  night.  Father,  you  know  that  I  have  sworn  to  accom- 
plish the  deed." 

"  And  tardy  enough  have  you  been  over  it.  Five  days !  You  might 
have  accomplished  it  before." 

*^  I  could  not  I  have  found  no  opportunity,  though  I  have  watched 
for  one.  Never,  since  he  has  been  amongst  us,  have  I  found  him  so  Uttle 
abroad,  alone,  as  this  week.  Oh,  father,  the  child,  the  child !  absolve  her 
ere  her  soul  be  gone." 

*'  Too  late,  too  late !"  shrieked  the  mother,  as  she  set  up  the  death- 
wail. 

"  Could  you  expect  she  would  be  suffered  to  live  for  absolution  ?"  re- 
torted the  priest,  bending  to  the  bed  to  ascertain  that  the  mother's  words 
were  true.     *'  Absolution  for  one  who  erred  as  she  has  done  !" 

And  still  the  mother  kept  on  the  death-wail.  It  was  one  of  unusual 
anguish  and  despair,  for  that  the  soul  had  quitted  its  earthly  tenement 
without  the  forffiveness  of  the  two  worthy  fathers  who  stood  there.  But 
would  it  for  this  be  the  less  likely  to  obtain  the  forgiveness  of  another 
Father,  to  whom  it  had  hastened  ? 

It  was  some  little  time  afterwards  when  Mr.  Vansittart  reached  the 
cabin  on  his  errand  of  mercy.  The  priests  had  left  the  place  to  return  to 
Father  Phelim's,  and  the  husband,  Fitzgerald,  had  also  disappeared.  But 
the  wife  was  there,  surrounded  by  several  neighbours,  who  were  perfonn- 


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398  The  Day-Dream  ^  Gtorge  VamHttH. 

• 
isg  the  last  offices  required  bj  the  dead,  and  how]iii|^  aloudy  after  the 
maniter  of  the  Irish,     fie  remained  a  short  time^  speaking  what  he  might 
of  com&rt  to  the  woman,  and  then  left  the  cabin  to  go  home. 

The  evening  was  drawing  on  apace  ;  but  for  the  moon,  it  would  have 
been  quite  dark,  and  that,  which  had  risen  so  brightly,  became  from  time 
to  time  obscured  by  clouds*  As  he  walked  rapidly  along,  hia  thougfati 
flew  back  to  the  time  when  he  first  came  to  settle  there.  He  seemed  to 
fee  the  desolation  of  the  place  then ;  he  looked  at  its  smiling  aspect 
now.  He  remembered  the  tenfold  desolation  of  its  unhappy  people ;  he 
glanced  at  their  present  prospmty.  Murder  liia  recompense! — no^ 
surely,  no,  while  aught  of  gratitude  and  justice  remained  in  the  land. 

Even  as  the  thoughts  passed  through  his  mind,  he  saw,  or  £uicied  he 
saw,  a  dark  form  moving  in  the  distance,  under  cover  of  the  hedge.  He 
stood  still,  and  looked  attentively.     It  was  surely  a  human  being. 

Did  his  heart  beat  quicker  at  that  moment  ?  Did  the  woras  of  his 
wifo  occur  to  him,  that  it  was  no  infirequent  occurrence  for  the  Irish  to 
take  the  lives  of  their  benefactors  ?  It  cannot  be  known.  But  the  dark, 
slouching  form  had  stopped  as  he  stopped,  and  Mr.  Vansittart,  eon- 
vinced  that  a  man  was  hiding  there,  shouted  out  to  him,  inquiring  what 
he  did. 

There  was  no  answer  in  words.  A  steady,  unerring  aim,  a  slight 
fladi,  a  report  which  echoed  through  the  field,  a  dark  form  stealing  away 
with  the  flight  of  one  who  dreads  detection,  that  was  all  the  answer ; 
and  Geoige  Vansittart  was  lying  on  the  ground,  with  the  murderer's  ball 
through  his  body. 

StiU  Mrs.  Vansittart  sat  on  alone,  and  still  her  husband  came  not ; 
and  at  length,  weary,  sick,  terrified,  she  sent  out  in  search  of  him. 

But  a  little  while  longer,  barely  a  quarter  of  an  hour  of  agonising 
SMspense^  ere  the  messengera  returned,  bearing  a  heavy  burden.  They 
oonld  not  keep  this  firom  her,  as  they  had  kept  the  accident  in  the  morn- 
ing. The  servants  had  found  him  in  the  path ;  they  had  almost  walked 
over  it — ^the  dead  body  of  George  Vansittart ! 

Oh,  what  a  house  it  was !  That  ghastly  sight  lying  in  the  hall,  and 
sh€y  in  a  state  of  temporary  insanity,  stan£ng  over  it;  her  children, 
aroused  £rom  their  beds,  weeping  and  wailing  around  her  in  the  extre- 
mity of  terror.  Once  her  voice  was  heard,  with  a  shrill  cry  and  despair- 
ing words,  heard  above  them  all,  '*  Oh,  what  had  he  done  that  this  should 
be  his  recompense  ?" 

Ay,  what  had  he  done  ?  He  had  devoted  his  time,  and  money,  and  ener- 
nes  to  the  welfare  of  these  Catholic  Irishmen — he  had  lavished  his  heart*s 
kind  feelines  upon  them — ^he  had  made  their  happiness  and  the  ameliora- 
tion of  Ireland  his  Day-Dream — ^he  had  forsaken  his  own  land  that  he 
might  cherish  theirs — and  now,  even  in  the  very  act  of  performing  an 
act  of  generosity  to  one  of  their  race,  he  had  received  his  reward.  And 
that  reward  ?  The  being  hurled  to  the  death  from  which  he  had  rescued 
them,  and  the  bring^g  sorrow  worse  than  death  upon  his  wife  and  upon 
his  diildren.  Verily  it  was  a  fearfid  recompense,  the  recompense  of 
George  Vansittart. 

How  many  similar  cases  have  occurred,  think  you,  in  Ireland,  and  are 
occurring  still  ? 


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(     390    ) 

FEMALE      NOVELISTS, 
No.  IV. — The  Author  of  "  Olive.** 

UifDER  the  generic  title  of  the  NoTel,  are  congregated  maaj  tmd 
diyerse  species.  Its  unity  is  a  huge  syncretism.  Its  catholicity  is  a 
comprehension  of  sectaries.  Its  articles  of  fiuth,  hroad  as  they  may  he  in 
definition  of  doctrine,  will  always  hare  some  suhscrifeers  who  adopt  a  nen- 
natural  sense.  The  Novel  is  a  title  bestowed  on,  or  claimed  by,  a  leasB 
of  opposing  forces ;  it  is  supposed  to  sanction  alike  the  toryism  of  oae 
man  and  the  sans-culottism  of  another — pathos  tn  exiiremis,  and  lolly  in 
cap  and  bells — argument  in  linked  flatness  long  drawn  out,  and  desnHory 
description  ever  flying  off  at  a  tangent — severe  didactic  morality  aad 
lawless  indecent  ribaldry — the  experiences  of  retired  maidenly  innocence^ 
and  of  cracksmen  on  their  last  legs — the  tendencies  of  Oxford  tractisia^ 
and  of  Straussian  a-theology — the  sober  sadness  of  earnest  souls^  who 
write  every  line  under  a  present  sense  of  grave  responsil^ty,  and  the 
flippant  ffilettantism  of  those  who  descry  no  under-carrent  in  life,  and 
hurry  adown  the  surface  stream,  reckless  as  to  the  how  and  the  whither. 
To  whi<^ever  of  these  classes — and  the  enumeration  might  be  extended 
beyond  compute— the  author  of  "  Olive*'  may  belong,  it  is  not  to  the  last 
She  is  not  one  of  the  frivolous,  light-headed,  empty-hearted  sehooL 
Fashion  is  not  her  first  and  last,  and  midst  and  without  end.  Let 
others,  as  they  Hst,  chronicle  the  soft  nothings  of  boudoir  sentime&t — the 
subdued  smartnesses  of  boudoir  sarcasm :  so  will  not  she. 

Flourish,  ye  vulgar  dri veilings  of  the  vain. 
The  fill'd  with  folly,  and  the  void  of  brain ! 
Ye  Tales  of  Ton  shine  on  for  countless  years, 
Proud  of  your  idiot  squires  and  witless  peers  ! 
Tales  of  High  Life,  in  endless  beauty  bloom, 
Mirrocs  of  grandeur  in  the  buder*s  room ! 

Let  accomplished  gentility  write  itself  weary  on  such  themes;  they 
shall  have  no  aiding  and  abetting  from  one  who  reveres  the  soul  of  man, 
and  believes  that  its  '^beauty  is  immense,"  and  who  seeks  to  inspire 
him  with  a  desire  to  weave  no  longer,  as  Emerson  phrases  it,  ^  a  spotted 
fife  of  shreds  and  patches,  but  to  live  with  a  divine  unity."  She  has 
imbibed  deeply  the  ''  life  in  earnest"  philosophy  popularised  by  Longfel- 
low and  Tupper  :  her  tales  seem  to  embody  the  appeal  of  the  latter — 

Dost  thou  live,  man,  dost  thou  live — or  onty  breathe  and  hbonr? 

. .  <. .  For  this  is  Denth  in  Life,  to  be  sunk  beneath  the  waters  of  the  Actual, 

Without  one  feebly  struggling  sense  of  an  airier  spiritual  realBi. 

She  recognises  the  heroic  beneath  the  broadcloth  of  contemporary 
common  life,  and  extracts  the  romance  of  a  heart  that  knoweth  its  own 
bitterness,  and  would  fedn  let  none  know  besides.  Her  novels  are  the 
records  of  inner  life — narratives  of  spiritual  struggles — memorials  of 
lowly  aflection,  such  as  would,  but  for  such  a  scribe,  find  no  acquaintance 
half  a  mile  from  home,  but  fade  with  the  light  of  common  day — live,  and 
make  no  noise— die,  and  make  no  sign.  In  giving  form  and  motion  to 
her  characters,  she  exhibits  considerable  skiU  in  observation,  delicate 
insight  into  motive,  and  a  happy  tact  in  the  application  of  illustrative 
details.     It  is  to  be  regretted  that  she  indulges  in  a  frequent  and 


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400  Female  NaoeMa—No.  IV. 

frequently  wearisome  habit  of  *'  sermonisiDg^  on  thei^  actions— of  dtaw- 
ing  heads  of  *'  practical  improvement  of  the  subject** — and  of  spinning 
out  to  undue  lengths  the  exposition  of  their  feelings,  and  the  renections 
to  which  they  give  rise.  Indeed,  we  should  like  her  tales  all  the  better 
were  they  in  two  volumes  instead  of  three,  and  were  the  two  supplanted 
by  one  we  should  manifest  no  factious  opposition.  Her  excellent  heroes 
and  heroines  are  all  given  to  talk,  and  some  of  their  cousins  to  twaddle  ; 
for,  in  her  wish  to  be  easy  and  natural  in  the  conversation  entrusted  to 
iJiem,  she  certainly  doses  us  at  times  with  rather  watery  draughts — 
harmless  enough,  no  doubt,  as  &r  as  we^  the  recipients,  are  concerned^ 
but  query,  as  regards  herself.  A  kindred  looseness  and  platitude  attaches 
to  the  construction  of  her  plots,  and  the  elaboration  of  their  progress. 
Story  is  not  carefully  studied,  but  used  too  palpably  as  a  mere  mechanical 
convenience  for  educing  the  dynamics  of  cnaracter.  There  is  rather  a 
surfeiting  of  scenes  of  heart-distraction — a  sameness  of  sorrow — a  repeti- 
tion of  mward  conflict,  recurring  and  re-echoing  itself  like  the  woful 
monosyllables  of  Greek  tragedy.  But  it  is  in  the  natural  history  of 
30IT0W,  in  the  sanctuary  of  grief^  that  the  (air  author  best  reveab  her 
power ;  and  it  requires  but  the  experience  of  art,  and  the  ^elf-restraint 
imposed  by  intelligent  experience,  to  place  her  beside  the  highest  of  her 
sisterhood  in  the  reality  of  pathetic  description .  Let  her  cultivate  this, 
rather  than  the  lively  and  the  humorous.  The  gods  have  not  made  her 
<'  funny,'*  nor  will  she  make  herself  funny. 

If  those  who  have  read  the  ^<  integral  series''  of  our  author's  novels 
were  more  "  taken"  by  the  "  Ogilviea**  than  by  either  of  its  successor, 
the  probable  cause  lies  in  the  freshness  which  it  enjoyed  by  virtue  of 
prior  publication ;  for,  sooth  to  say,  there  is  a  certain  sameness,  not  only 
of  style  and  diction,  but  of  invention  and  character,  about  the  series, 
which  palls  somewhat  on  repetition,  and  leaves  an  impression  of  languor 
or  satiety  which  attached  not  to  the  first-love.  There  n^ty  be  greater 
force  of  writing  and  more  finished  skill  of  construction  in  the  "  Head  of 
the  Family'*  and  in  "  Olive,**  but  the  force  is  but  a  new  phase  of  the 
older  ru,  and  the  skill  is  but  a  variation  of  the  former  method ;  and  so 
the  **  Ogilvies**  retain  a  charm  defacto^  if  not  dejure,  and  press  a  claim 
upon  the  memory  by  the  law,  *'  qu*on  revient  toujours  2L  ses  premiers 
amours."  There  are  few  portraits  m  the  later  tales  which  exist  not,  in 
some  stage  of  developruent  or  other,  in  the  first.  Our  interest  is  mainly 
attracted  towards  Katharine  Ogilvie,  whose  impulsive  temperament, 
undisciplined  susceptibility,  prideiful  passion,  and  mental  distresses,  are 
described  with  high  and  wefl-sustfuned  ability ;  it  was  right  and  proper 
(mark  the  atrocity  to  which  the  critical  conscience  is  inured!)  to  kill 
Katharine  at  the  close,  and  to  make  the  coffin  her  bridal  bed,  and  the 
jihroud  her  wedding-garment,  after  a  manner  which  would  have  delighted 
the  "  Old  Mortality'^ taste  of  Webster  or  of  T.  L.  Beddoes.  Her  cousin 
Eleanor  is  twice  as  good,  and — as  is  common  in  actual  life  as  well  as 
fiction — only  half  as  interesting ;  not  that  she  is  too  good  to  be  true  or 
loveable ;  but,  somehow,  a  spice  of  error,  a  sonpfon  of  mischief  and  wrong* 
headedness,  does  materially  add  to  the  flavour  of  character  analysis. 
Hugh  Ogilvie  is  but  a  lay  figure ;  but  there  is  life  in  the  death-scene  of 
Sir  James  of  that  ilk,  in  whose  worn-out  brain  the  warp  of  long-ago 
memories  crosses  and  grows  tangled  so  strangely  with  the  woof  of  to-day's 
dull  facts.     We  like  the  story  of  young  Leigh  Pennythorne — wrought 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Female  NoveSsk—No.  IV.  401 

out  M  it  is  by  touches  of  real  pathos  and  shrewd  observation ;  the  balance 
of  mind  and  matter,  of  intellectual  culture  and  bodily  sanity,  being  &tally 
disturbed  by  educational  fallacy;  the  poor  lad's  experiences — now  as 
diseased  in  mind,  and  now  in  body,  first  one  overladen  scale  and  then 
the  other  watching  its  fellow  kick  the  beam — ^are  narrated  with  touching 
and  teaching  effect  It  is  a  tearful  sketch,  that  of  the  dying  boy  lying 
on  Wychnor's  shoulder,  during  his  last  drive  along  the  Chiswick  lanes — 
lus  head  growing  momently  heavier,  his  hands  damp  and  rigid,  his  eyes 
closed,  and  his  white  cheek  looking  grey  and  sunken  in  the  purple  even- 
ing light — followed  by  the  beautiful  calm  of  dissolution  in  his  mother's 
arms,  after  his  '*  Mother,  you  will  let  me  go  ?"  in  answering  and  ques- 
tioning appeal  to  her  wild,  earnest,  beseeching  gaze;  and,  like  the 
Apostles  on  the  holy  mount,  we  feel  a  chastened  fear  as  we  enter  into  the 
cloud  which  hides  him  from  our  sight,  when  there  falls  over  that  twilight- 
shadowed  room  a  solemn  silence,  long  and  deep — ^in  the  midst  of  which 
the  spirit  passes  away — and  the  passing  is  only  certified  when,  as  the 
moon  rises,  its  pale  spiritual  light  falls  on  the  calm  face  of  the  dead  boy, 
still  pillowed  on  his  mother's  breast — and  when  she^  if  interrogated  like 
one  of  old,  "  Is  it  well  with  the  child  7"  can  and  will  answer,  "  It  is  well." 
Such  are  the  scenes  in  which  the  author  excels  ;  but  probably  this  one, 
of  Leigh  PennYthome*s  last  hour,  excels  them  all.  Lynedon  is  carefully 
drawn,  and  plays  in  some  passionate  and  stirring  interviews;  but  his 
masculine  traits  are  hit  off  by  a  womanly  hand. 

Turn  we  to  "  Olive."  The  most  clamorous  stickler  for.  a  knowledge 
of  the  antecedents^  all  and  sundry,  of  a  novel's  hero  or  heroine,  must  own 
himself  content  with  a  novel  wnich,  at  page  one  of  its  three  volumes, 
records  hour  the  first  of  its  heroine's  life.  We  are  introduced  to  Olive 
Rothesay  at  that  incipient  stage.  We  bear  the  old  nurse's  benvenuto^ 
"  Puir  wee  lassie,  ye  nae  a  waesome  welcome  to  a  waesome  warld !" — 
and  our  primary  glimpse  of  the  young  lady  reveals  a  small  nameless  con- 
(»%tion  of  humanity,  as  the  author  calls  it,  in  colour  and  consistency 
strongly  resembling  the  red  earth  whence  was  taken  the  father  of  all 
nations— no  foreshadow  of  the  coming  life  across  the  tiny  purple,  pinched- 
up,  withered  face,  "which,  as  in  all  new-bom  children,  bore  such  a 
ridiculous  likeness  to  extreme  old  age" — no  tone  of  the  all-expressive 
human  voice  thrilling  through  the  wwl  of  her  first  utterance — no  dawn 
of  the  beautiful  human  soul  in  her  wide-open,  meaningless  eyes — ^in  brief, 
a  helpless  lump  of  breathing  flesh,  faintly  stirred  by  animal  life,  and 
scarce  at  all  by  that  inner  life  which  we  call  spirit.  Is  it  commonplace 
to  dwell  on  the  details  of  babyhood  ?  Well,  to  redeem  Olive's  infancy 
finom  that  charge,  she  is  represented  as  no  glorious  model  of  cradle  love- 
liness— ^no  peerless  vision  of  immortality  m  long  clothes — no  radiant 
embedment  of  an  etherial  essence,  intent  on  a  "boatie;"  but  just  a 
"  puir  bit  crippled  lassie,"  with  a  crooked  spine.  We  respect  an  autiioress 
who  can  produce  such  a  heroine,  and  who,  in  place  of  decking  her  with 
hyperbolic  charms  even  in  her  swaddling-robes,  strikes  the  sad  key-note 
of  her  after-history  by  putting  this  moral  into  Nurse  Elspie's  mouth : 
^'Aweel!  He  kens  best  wha's  made  the  warld  and  a'  that's  in't ;  and 
maybe  He  will  gie  unto  this  puir  wee  thing  a  meek  spirit  to  bear  111- 
lucL  Ane  must  wark,  anither  suffer.  As  the  minister  says,  '  Itll  a'  come 
richt  at  last.' "  And  our  vexation  at  the  frivolous  young  mother's  repug- 
nance to  her  deformed  chil4  is  softened  by  our  foresight  of  the  realisa- 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


402  Ftmak  NaveUst^—No.  IV. 

don  of  that  dream  Vhich  suggests  the  name  o£  01i?e — the  melbar*B 
dream  of  losiDg  her  child^  and  then,  after  awhile,  seeing  at  the  loot  of 
the  bed  a  little  angel — a  child-aDgel — with  a  green  olive-branch  in  its 
hand,  and  being  l^d  by  its  baby  Toice  to  follow,  and  following  it  accwd- 
ingly  over  a  wide  desert  country,  and  across  rivers,  and  amour  wild 
beasts ;  aod  how  at  every  peril  tlie  child  held  out  the  olive-branda,  and 
all  was  well ;  and  how,  when  the  mother  felt  weaiy,  and  her  ftet  weie 
bleediug  with  the  rough  journey,  the  little  angel  touched  them  with  the 
olive,  and  she  was  strong  again ;  and  how,  at  last,  they  reached  a  beaa* 
tiful  valley,  and  the  child  said,  *'  You  are  quite  safe  now,'^  and  then  the 
white  wiogs  fell  off^  and  there  was  seen  only  a  sweet  (Gild's  feice,  and  the 
little  one  stretched  out  her  hands  and  said,  '^  Mother !"  When  that 
mother  was  lying,  long  years  after,  on  her  death-bed,  tended  by  the 
daughter  she  had  once  scornfully  entreated,  she  recalled  and  recited  that 
strange  dream,  saying,  "  All  this  has  come  true,  save  that  I  did  not  lose 
you :  I  wickedly  cast  you  from  me."  There  is  something  strained  in  the 
character  of  ]\£:s.  Rothes^,  not  qudte  pardonable  on  the  ground  ol  de- 
veloping that  of  Olive.  The  father,  too,  seems  to  us  rather  a  fusion  of 
characters  than  a  character  in  himself.  Olive  is,  indeed,  the  only  being 
in  the  novel  who  possesses  a  true,  sustuned,  and  vital  individuality  of 
her  own;  for  the  psunter  Vanbrugh  and  bis  sister  Meliora,  though 
admired  by  some  critics,  are,  to  our  thinking,  unfinished  sketches,  which 
evince  an  aim  at  originality  and  humour,  but  without  asserting  suooess  ; 
and  again,  the  infidel  priest  and  his  mother,  Christal  Manners  and  Lyle 
Derwent,  able  aa  are  some  of  the  touches  by  which  they  are  discriminated, 
do  not,  either  of  them,  stand  out  upon  the  canvas  with  a  reality  to  be 
had  in  remembrance,  with  the  intensity  of  a  presence  which  is  not  to  be 
put  by.  Olive  we  'accept,  and  chivalrously  reverence  as  a  woman  such 
as  the  world  is  not  rife  in —at  once  gentle  and  strong,  meek  and  fearless, 
patient  to  endure,  heroic  to  act.  It  is  good,  as  wc^  as  sad,  to  see  the 
frail  girl  at  the  time  of  her  father's  sudden  death,  and  her  mother's  dull 
helplessness — ^when  ''misery  had  made  her  very  wise,  very  quick  to 
comprehend — and  without  sorinkmg  she  talked  over  every  matter  con- 
nected with  that  saddest  thing,  a  deceased  bankrupt's  sale.''  That  is  a 
fine  picture  of  Olive,  pallid  and  careworn,  her  fair  hair  falling  neglected 
over  her  black  dress,  her  hand  supporting  her  aching  brow,  as  she  pores 
over  dusty  papers,  pausing  at  times  to  speak  to  the  hard,  cold  lawyer,  in 
a  quiet,  sensible,  subdued  manner,  of  things  fit  only  for  old  heads  and  worn 
hearts.  Perhaps  the  author  is  a  little  too  hard  upon  Olive,  and  barely 
tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb,  as  art  might  counsel  and  mercy 
incline.  A  blighted  infancy  ;  a  childhood  of  neglect,  like  com  blasted 
before  it  be  grown  up  ;  a  ''  youthheid  "  too  alien  from  the  joyous,  and 
too  well  acquainted  with  grief;  the  troubles  of  a  fathers  death,  an  em- 
barrassed res  angusta  domij  a  mother's  blindness,  unrelieved  to  the  hour 
when  her  feet  stumble  on  the  dark  mountains,  and  Olive  is  lefb  alone  in 
the  shadow  of  the  valley  beneath ;  and  then  the  distresses  caused  by 
guardianship  of  a  wilful  sister;  the  withering  dejection  of  one  who  never 
told  her  love,  but  who,  like  a  virgin  martyr,  must  suffer  pang  by  pang 
the  anguish  of  a  maiden,  pure  and  high-minded,  who  has  given  her  heart 
way  unrequited — ''  casting  it  down  irretrievably  and  hopelessly  at  the 
feet  of  a  man  who  knows  not  of  the  gih  he  has  never  sought  to  win."* 
Harold  Gwynne  himself  is  portrayed  in  a  painstaking  manner,  and  is 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Femak  Nwe&i9—No.  IV.  403 

meanl  to  met  no  ordinary  degree  of  interest.  Bat  as  to  the  proprietj 
of  making  his  sceptical  career  ^e  suhject  of  romantic  nanratiTe,  grave 
doubts  may  be  preferred.  This  the  author  meant  to  challenge  when, 
after  fneseating  a  collection  of  excerpts  from  the  letters  of  the  half-eoo- 
Terted  freethinker,  she  supposes  her  reader  to  turn  to  the  title-page, 
^  Oliye,  a  Noveiy"  and  to  exdaim,  "  Most  incongruous — most  strange  !'* 
or  perhaps  to  accuse  her  of  irreverence  in  thus  bringing  into  a  fictitious 
•lory  those  subjects  which  are  acknowledged  as  most  vital  to  every  human 
soul,  but  yet  which  most  people  are  content,  save  at  set  times  and  places, 
tacitly  to  ignore.  Now,  there  are  those  who,  as  she  observes^  sincerely 
believe  that  in  such  works  as  this  there  should  never  once  be  named  tk^ 
Holy  Name.  Objecting,  as  we  are  disposed  to  do,  to  the  story  of  Haiokl 
Gwynoe,  we  yet  repudiate  the  notion  that  novels  are  to  exclude  religion^ 
and  either  to  be  ^'  without  God  in  the  world,*'  or  to  have  the  altar  of  an 
Unknown  €rod.  We  are  willing  to  accept  her  definition  of  what  a  novel 
is^  (Mr  rather  ought  to  be — ^namely,  the  attempt  of  one  earnest  mind  to 
show  to  many  what  humanity  is  and  may  become — to  depict  what  is  true 
in  essence  through  inuiginary  forms — to  teach,  counsel,  and  warn,  by 
BMans  of  the  silent  transcript  of  human  Kfe.  "  Human  life  without  God  I 
Who  will  dare  to  tell  us  we  should  paint  thatf  Who^  indeed !  But  be 
it  remembered,  that  while  we  would  protest  against  a  novel  without  traces 
of  the  Divine,  as  we  would  against  the  production  of  '^Hamlef*  without  the 
Prince  of  Denmarhy  we  at  the  same  time  distinguish  broadly  between 
the  spirit  of  religion  and  the  polemics  of  relig^n — ^between  a  novel  as 
the  reflection  of  a  holy  pervading  presence,  and  a  novel  as  the  vehk^e  of 
dogmatic  dispute.  A  hero  inspired  with  thoughts  that  wander  through 
eternity,  that  come  from  God  and  go  to  God,  that  with  the  lofty  sanctHy 
the  k>w  in  his  existence,  and  with  one  mellow  hue  chasten  every  change 
in  his  many-coloured  life, — is  a  hero  worthy  of  all  acceptation,  provided 
only  he  savour  not  of  Salem  Tabernacle,  and  snuffle  not  with  the  Little 
Bethelites.  But  a  hero  whose  intellectual  crochets,  or  delusions,  or 
Uitidnesses,  are  to  be  entrusted  for  repairs  to  a  fascinating  heroine — a 
mental  perplexity  which  is  to  be  solved  in  fiction— a  deep-rooted  scep- 
ticism which  is  to  lose  its  vis  vita  according  to  the  artistic  demands  of  a 
tale  of  the  £uicy, — this  we  cannot  away  with.  If  arguments  are  used  in 
a  controversial  fiction,  we  can  never  escape  the  often  and  justly  repeated 
caution,  that  here  the  fiicts,  as  well  as  the  arguments,  are  made  by  the 
novelbt.  He  eoms — to  use  the  language  of  an  Edinburgh  Reviewer — 
the  premises  from  which  his  conclusions  are  deduced ;  and  he  may  coin 
exactly  what  he  wants :  nay,  the  controversial  writer  of  fiction  need  not 
actually  make  his  facts ;  he  needs  only  to  select  them.*  The  author  of 
^  Olive"  has  not,  indeed,  written  a  polemical  novel ;  she  has  not  made  it 
the  arena  for  theological  discussion,  as  Plumer  Ward  did  with  his  "  Man 
of  Refinement,'*  or  for  sociological  eiqposxtion,  as  Mr.  Ringdey  did  with 
his  ^  Tailor  and  Poet."     But  she  has  made  enoc^  of  Harold  Gwynne 

*  •*  We  object  on  principle  to  stories  written  with  the  purpose  of  illustrating  au 
opinion,  or  establishing  a  aoctrine.  We  consider  this  an  illegitimate  use  of  fiction. 
Fiction  may  be  rightfully  employed  to  impress  upon  the  public  mind  an  acknow- 
ledged truth,  or  to  revive  and  recal  a  forgotten  woe,— never  to  prove  a  disputed 
one.  Its  appropriate  aims  are  the  delineation  of  life,  the  exhibition  and  analysis 
of  character,  the  portraiture  of  passion,,  the  description  of  nature.  Polemics, 
whether  religious,  political,  or  metaphysical,  lie  wholly  beyond  its  province." — 
Sdinhwrgh  JRevitw,  No.  dxxxix. 


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404  Female  Navelists-^No.  IV. 

and  his  sorrowful  story  to  justify  a  word  of  deprecation  fi'om  those  who 
go  not  for  evidences  of  Christianity,  or  restoratires  of  fidth,  to  the  agree- 
able prescriptions  of  light  literature.  Nor  do  we  see  a  sufficient  pro- 
bability in  the  recal  of  this  lost  sheep :  he  was  too  far  gone,  and  on  a 
path  too  far  removed  from  ordinary  means  of  recovery,  to  be  so  easUj 
Drought  back,  so  courteously  compliant  to  the  exigencies  of  the  plot. 
Sceptics  of  his  level  are  not  so  plastic  and  obliging ;  not  even,  if  honest, 
when  a  lady's  in  the  case.  Would  to  Heaven  scepticism  could  be  cured 
by  bright  eyne,  dulcet  tones,  and  a  novelist's  art  of  love ! 

Our  author's  latest  venture — the  "  Head  of  the  Family"— evidences  a 
gradual  ripening,  if  not  a  marked  strengthening  of  her  powers.  Niniaa 
Gneme,  the  *'  head  of  the  &mily,*'  who,  at  his  father's  death,  takes  upon  him 
the  duties,  responsibilities,  and  rights  of  eldership,  strong  to  renounce  to 
perform,  to  endure — is  one  of  those  plain-faced  and  unyouthful  heroes 
whom  it  would  once  have  been  too  daring  a  novelty  to  depict  in  fiction, 
and  whom  novelists  are  now  only  too  fond  of  depicting  at  full  length. 
Too  fond,  not  because  such  a  picture  is  untrue  to  nature^  but  be- 
cause its  frequent  reproduction  seems  to  involve  a  little  affectation. 
Ninian,  however,  is  a  fine  fellow,  despite  his  ordinary  phiz  and  mature 
years ;  and  if  all  our  handsome  young  men,  real  or  fictitious,  were  half  as 
amiable,  they  would  be  as  handsome  again.  Judged  by  the  old  saw, 
'<  Handsome  is  that  handsome  does,"  Ninian  is  a  very  Apollo.  That 
hard-featured  Scottish  face  of  his,  marked  with  bold,  clear,  rugged  lines, 
is  the  sort  of  face  you  can  iustinctively  trust — the  face  of  one  who  never 
uttered  a  falsehood  or  broke  a  pledge.  He  looks  like  what  he  is — a  con- 
tented, quiet-hearted  man,  plodding  from  home  to  office^  yet  touched 
occasionally  with  keen  sympathies  £i*om  without — on  which  occasions  a 
significant  change  passes  over  his  average  countenance,  or  what  Sister 
Tmie  calls  ^  his  W.  S.  face"  (Ninian  being  a  writer  to  the  signet) — that 
is,  his  attentive,  penettating,  business  look.  ^'  For  be  had  to  wonc  hard 
— how  hard  none  but  himself  knew— to  keep  the  *  wolf  from  the  door* 
of  his  large  household.  But  he  did  it  cheerfully  —he  loved  them  all  so 
much."  There  is  in  Ninian  a  something  to  which  every  one  instinctively 
comes  for  help ;  witness  the  confidine  reverence  of  his  elder  sister,  poor 
meek  Lindsay;  and  of  the  "  wronged  sinner,"  Rachel  Armstrong ;  and 
of  little  Hope  Ansted,  over  whom  his  big  heart  throbs  so  passionately, 
and  disquieteth  itself  in  vain.  That  noble,  manly  heart! — ^for  he  is, 
indeed,  worthy  the  name  of  man,  who  can  speak  so  calmly  when  in  pain, 
with  a  voice  that  never  betrays  one  trace  of  the  struggle  beneath — the 
Tehemence,  the  self-reproach,  the  love  warring  agmnst  other  lovct  and 
the  stem  iron  hand  of  duty  laid  over  all.  He  is  one  of  those  who  caa 
cut  off  a  right  arm,  and  pluck  out  a  right  eye,  and  so  enter  maimed  into 
heaven.  He  is  one  who  can  give  up  dreaming,  and  go  to  his  daily  realities — 
who  can  smother  down  his  heart,  its  love  or  woe,  and  take  to  the  hard 
work  of  his  hand — who  defies  &te,  and  if  he  must  die,  dies  fighting  to 
the  last.  His  bearing  under  the  pangs  of  unretumed  love  recals  the 
poet's  sweet,  sad  verse : 

Sorrows  Tve  had,  severe  ones, 
1  will  not  think  of  n6w ; 

And  calmly  midst  my  dear  ones 
Have  wasted  with  dry  brow.* 

♦  Leigh  Hunt  {"  Lines  to  T.  L.  H.").  ~ 


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Female  Novelists— No,  IV.  406 

In  sQch  moods  it.miglit  be,  as  the  author  says,  more  iniereAting  and 
poetical  to  paint  Ninian  Graeme  dropping  womanly  tears,  and  exhausted 
with  overwrought  sentiment  But  instc^^d  of  that— ^instead  of  analysing 
his  emotional  susceptibilities  (whatever  he  felt,  Heaven  knoweth !  and 
Heaven  is  merciftil,  tender,  and  dumb}— she  makes  him  *'  go  home  and 
work  ;''  for  work,  in  her  healthy  creed,  is  the  iron  ploughshare  that  goei 
over  the  field  of  the  heart,  rooting  up  all  the  pretty  grasses,  and  the 
beautiful,  hurtful  weeds  that  we  have  taken  such  pleasure  in  growing, 
laying  them  all  under,  fair  and  foul  together — making  plidn,  dull-looking 
arable  land  for  our  neighbours  to  peer  at ;  until  at  night-time,  down  ia 
the  deep  furrows  the  angels  come  and  sow.  Ninian's  sister,  Lindsay,  is 
a  subdued  and  less  impassioned,  less  energetic  counterpart  of  himself ; 
^  just  a.  woman,  nothing  less  and  nothing  more."  A  shadow — the  cbiU 
shadow  of  a  beloved  and  betrothed  one's  death — has  swept  over  her,  bat 
has  left  no  bitterness,  no  heartlessness,  scarcely  even  grief^-contenty 
perhaps,  with  sealing  up  all  her  youth's  restless  emotions  into  one  serene 
repose.  Never  has  she  been,  or  been  thought,  clever  or  beautiful ;  and 
she  has  now  passed  the  age  of  caring  to  be  thought  either.  All  the 
household  love  her  dearly,  and  call  her  "  Our  Sister,"  and  say,  ''  Poor 
dear  Sister  Lindsay ! — even  if  she  does  go  clucking  after  us  wild  youngf 
chickens,  like  an  old  grey  hen,  she  keeps  us  warm  under  her  wings. 
Of  the  rest  of  the  circle,  the  twins,  Esther  and  Ruth,  are  ^'sonsie 
lassies,*'  of  that  ordinary  type  to  which  belongs  a  large  dass  of  men 
and  women,  who,  as  our  author  words  it,  live  a  contented,  harmless  life, 
help  to  people  ihe  earth,  and  then  leave  their  quiet  dust  in  its  bosom, 
having  done  all  they  can,  and  no  more :  ''  perhaps  these  are  the  happiest 
people  of  all,  in  this  world  at  least  V  Edmund  is  the  poet-brother,  sensitive 
and  too  susceptible — a  votary  of  that  wild  poetry  of  passion  and  emotion 
so  attractive  m  early  life,  '^  of  which  every  young  Rasselas  tries  to  make 
himself  wings  to  soar  out  of  the  Happy  Valley  of  childhood  into  man- 
hood's stormy  world."  The  other  two — Reuben,  a  somewhat  gruff  and 
forbidding  youngster,  an  tmlicked  cub,  who  cultivates  mathematics,  and 
forswears  the  Graces, — and  Charlie,  a  restless  predestined  child  of  Ocean, 
— are  very  subordinate  young  gentlemen.  Christina,  or  Tinie,  the 
'^  youngest  princess"  of  the  family,  "  and  a  creature  beautiful  and  biythe 
as  youngest  princesses  always  happen  to  be,"  has  yet  fuled,  we  regret  to 
own,  to  fascinate  us :  in  fact,  we  think  Miss  Tinie  a  fulure,  whose  qu^ 
and  quirks  and  wanton  wiles  are  dull  and  laboured,  whose  eoquettislmess 
wants  natural  abandon,  and  whose  wit  is  neither  fresh  nor  nur,  simple 
nor  winsome,  seasonable  nor  well-seasoned.  Then  comes  another  member 
of  the  group  at  *'  The  Gowans" — little  Hope  Ansted — at  first  so  shy, 
precise,  and  commonplace,  but  afterward  budding  out  with  beauty  and 
excellence — 4i  poor  frozen  plant,  which  the  geniid  atmosphere  of  "  The 
Gowans"  wakes  up  to  fragrant  life — a  gentle  presence,  who  charms  all  by 
a  certain  combination  of  childish  simplicity  and  womanly  repose,  and 
whose  unobtrusive,  unpretending  womanhood  excites  so  deep  a  love  in 
the  heart  of  Ninian ;  just  as  we  often  see,  it  is  remarked,  a  man  of  high 
genius  or  intellectual  power  pass  by  the  De  Staels  and  the  Corinnes,  to 
take  into  his  bosom  some  wayside  flower,  who  has  nothing  on  earth  to 
make  her  worthy  of  him,  except  that  she  is»  whal  so  few  of  your  ^'  female 
celebrities"  are — a  true  woman.    Then  again,  we  have  the  tragedy-queen 


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40S  Femak  NcvelktM—No.  IV. 

of  this  domestic  drama,  Rachel  Armstrong,  and  her  iirorthless  husband, 
UlTorstoD,  who  is  a  rascal  qtdte  of  the  sort  which  ladies  put  into  prints 
John  Forsyth,  the  heart-withered  enthusiast,  is  forciUy  drawn;  and  honest 
KenDoth  Reaj  is  pleasing  and  life-like.     Passages  of  pathos  there  are, 
neither  few  nor  feehle ;  such  as  the  first  rt-union  of  the  orphaned  femily 
under  their  new  head;  and  the  demented  mood  of  Radiel;  and  the 
*'  flitting**  of  Hope  Ansted  from  a  home  where  she  was  neither  wife,  nor 
maid,  nor  widow ;  and  the  death-bed  of  Geoflrey  Ulventon ;  and  the 
betrothals  of  the  grey-haired  Ninian  with  the  *^  wee  birdie"  he  had  loredl 
80  secretly  and  so  well.     And  for  vivid  examples  of  powerful  wntiog^, 
take  the  various  scenes  wherein  Raehel  enacts  a  foremost  part;  especiailj 
that  night  at  the  theatre,  where  her  husband,  and  his  titular  w^  and 
Ninian,  and  Ji^n  Forsyth,  are  present  to  see  her  play  the  poor  maddened 
biide  in  *^  Fazio^" — making  the  gentle  Hope  shudder  by  the  v^emeooe 
of  her  ennes  against  her  rival,  and  the  exulting  ferocity  of  the  glare 
which  seems  to  readi  and  confeont  her  own  mild  gaze ;  or  that  other 
night,  clouded  with  blackness  of  darkness — darkness  that  might  be  kH^ 
when  Rachel  suddenly  stood  beside  the  couch  of  Hope's  sleeping  first- 
bom,  and  satiated  her  long-brooding  spirit  of  revenge  by  one  free,  full, 
terrible  disclosure  of  a  Masting  secret     There  is,  perhaps,  a  "  spioe"  too 
much  of  the  theatrical  in  the  '^make  up*'  of  this  strange  being;  nor  do 
we  admire  the  abrupt  terms  in  the  disposition  of  John  Forsyra,  nor  the 
management  of  Edmund's  story,  the  whole  epbode  of  whose  dissipated 
London  life  appears  to  us  stale,  fiat,  and  unprofitable.     But  the  novel,  as 
a  whole,  is  ar  fine  and  afieoting  iUustration  of  a  chequered  biography,  of 
which  the  realised  motto  is :  Non  it  lagnar^  ma  toffri,  €  tad!     And  so 
richly  does  Ninian  Grame  deseire  his  final  blessedness,  that  we  are  will-> 
ing  to  foiget  the  ^  forcing  process"  by  which  each  obstacle  to  it  is  over- 
come ;  for,  in  snatching  away  first  the  baby,  Walter,  and  then  Ulverston 
himself,  Death  surely  is  employed  in  the  capacity  of  a  deus  ex  machm^ 
and  cuts  the  Grordtan  knot  with  his  scythe,  after  a  manner  highly  con- 
venient to  catastrophes  in  art     But  we  are  grumbling,  forsooth,  while 
little  Hope  b  sobbiog  out  her  happiness  in  Ninian's  bosom.     More  shame 
fer  us! 

*<  Alice  Learmont"  is  a  Christmas  fairy  tale — ^a  pretty,  poetical  tradition 
of  Scottish  elf-land — ^told  with  sweet  and  touching  effects.  Its  materials 
are  drawn  both  from  imagination  and  fancy ;  and  the  due  adjustment  of 
the  preternatural  and  human  elements  in  the  conduct  of  the  legend  is 
skilfully  managed.  All  the  works  of  this  lady  prove  her  fine  poetical 
instincts,  but  in  the  larger  and  more  ambitious,  the  poetry  is  apt  to 
occupy  more  than  its  share  of  room ;  while  in  this  little  tale,  it  is  as  in- 
digenoos  and  by  prescriptive  right  ^'  at  home,"  as  in  a  story  of  Bonny 
Kilmeny  or  in  a  Midsummer  Night's  Dream.  And  verily,  it  requires  no 
contemptible  capacity,  in  these  days  of  useful  knowledge  and  rational 
inquiry,  to  produce  a  picture  of  elfin  life  which  shall  not  be  pooh-pooh*d 
by  philosophic  small  boys.  Such  a  picture  is  **  Alice  Learmont,"  which 
the  said  small  boys  cannot  read  without  interest,  de^te  their  familiarity 
with  abridged  Lardners  and  royal  roads  to  science;  and  which  their 
elders  cannot  peruse  without  emotion — ^the  welling-up  of  ancient  though 
uncherished  thoughts,  which  should,  and  io  the  purest-hearted  </o,  bind 
jeutb  to  age  in  natural  piety. 


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(    ^7    ) 


Br  G.  W.  Thohnbuky, 

AUTHOR  OF  "  BALLADS  OP  THE  NEW  WORLD.' 

Last  night  I  sat  within  my  cell 

Musing  upon  the  Trinity, 
In  the  flame  of  the  single  dying  lamp 

Shone  the  silver  clasps  of  my  breviary ; 
When  a  great  darkness  on  me  Yell—- 
From  whence,  and  bow,  I  cannpt  tell. 
But  I  felt  it  was  the  breath  of  Hell. 

My  missal  was  a  goodly  book«- 
A  beauteous  volume,  blazoned  quaint 
With  images  of  king  and  saint, 
Bright  winged  angels,  fair  to  see. 
And  emblems,  Jesu,  Lord,  of  thee. 

Ah !  much  I  loved  therein  to  look — 
Mndi  on  its  gilded  page  to  pore ; 
That  tauglit  my  grovelling  soul  to  soar — 

The  lustre  of  that  holy  book, 
Lit  up  the  cross  that  o  er  my  head 
Hung  on  the  wall,  by  my  pallet  bed— 
Twas  with  my  crimson  heart's  blood  painted, 
For  many  a  time  I've  swooned  and  fainted 
In  the  long  vigil  through  the  night, 
Till  the  pale  dawning  of  the  light. 
Scroll,  legend,  flower,  and  imagery. 
Bedecked  its  glowing  leaf.    (  Pardie, 
It  was  a  goodlv  thing  to  see,) 
And  cross,  and  crown,  and  each  deadly  sin, 
And  the  passion  of  our  Heavenly  King. 
With  many  a  psalm  of  the  days  of  old 
Were  traced  upon  the  burnished  gold  ; 
And  the  lives  of  the  saints  were  gathered  there, 
Writ  in  the  mystic  character. 

Many  an  hour,  and  many  a  day, 

Of  the  sin-stained  years  long  passed  away. 

Have  seen  me  busied  at  tliat  txjjl, 

No  poor  churl,  digger  of  tiie  soil. 

With  more  of  anxious  care  and  mail« 

Labours  to  win  his  silver  groat. 
I  loved  to  see  the  flowers,  tlut  seemed 
To  grow  beneath  my  pen — I  dreamed. 
Not  of  ye  abbaye's  stately  towers, 
With  its  silver  bells  that  tell  the  hours. 
Or  of  the  cloister  that  my  shoon 

Has  worn  away  by  frequent  walk 
With  holy  brothers,  who  too  soon  • 

Fell  all  asleep.    See,  now  the  moon 

Silvers  their  nameless  grave  ; — but  talk 
Not  loud,  lest  they  should  wake 
To  this  poor  dream  of  care  and  pain. 
I  would  not  tell  the  Sacristan, 
But  I  have  seen  the  buried  man, 
Good  Anselm,  in  his  blanched  weeds. 
With  the  murdered  abbot  tell  his  beadd. — 


YeCraoedtfonlc 
teUethhis 
VisioiistoOne 
of  the  Beligioos. 

Ye  Honk,  intent 
onpioos  Medi- 
tation, WHS  over- 
shadowed by 
a  Supernatural 
Darkness. 

Difloourseth  of 
his  Missal,  its 
manifold  Arir 
devices  and 
bright  blaaon- 
ings. 


Has  a  dim  fore- 
shadowing ot 
the  Night  of 
Madness  alreod 
darkening. 


BeUevflitfaatIn 
WBBtiug  his  life 
upon  foolish 
liiT^fijug  be  has 
committed  ye 
Deadly  Sin 
^tyeHoly 


Biddeth  his 
Hearer  whisper 
lower,  lest  he 
eliould  wake 
their  Brethren, 
who  sleep  in  yo 
Cloister  with, 
out. 


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408 


P  Crazed  Monk. 


Prayi  for  Mercy 
to  ye  Saints. 


Ye  Time  of  ye 
Vision,  and  ye 
Temptation 
that  came  there- 
with. 


Te  Sentence  of 
Condemnation 
meets  his  eyes. 


His  countless 
sins  appear 
written  in  co- 
loured light 
upon  the  walls 
of  je  Monk  his 
cell. 

Te  sins  from 
Childhood  to 
miserable  Age. 

Groweth  deeply 
despondent,  and 
hopeless  of  bis 
Salyation. 


A  Procession  of 
Spirits  pass  him, 
and  utter  ire 
words  of  Con- 
demnation. 
Theiy  assume  ye 
forms  of  his 
Missal's  derioes; 


I  had  forgot,  my  poor  brain  burns. 
And  I  am  wasted  witli  that  toil 
Oiy  blood  seems  all  to  flame  and  boil). 
St  Francis  knows  *twas  pions  love 

That  drove  me  to  spend  hours  and  days 
Upon  that  book  ;  and  God  above 

Knows  that  when  fell  the  morning's  rays. 
In  slanting  brightness,  through  my  cell. 
They  found  me  bending  o*er  its  page. 
I  never  read  a  Pagan  sage. 
But  kept  my  heart,  as  in  a  cage, 
Intent  upon  that  only  thought. 
Save  prayer  and  praise  I  cared  for  nought^ 
I  swear  it  by  good  St.  Anthony, 
For  he  knows  my  deep  misery. 

The  day,  the  hour,  1  treasure  well, 
'Twas  sunset  in  my  narrow  cell. 
The  light  had  rent  the  sun*s  dark  pall, 
And  gilded  the  convent  garden's  wall, 
V^here  the  quivering  lime-trees  formed  a  shade. 
And  in  my  cell  green  darkness  made. 
I  sat  half  joyful,  half  afraid. 
To  see  the  sun,  like  a  burning  world. 
Flame  in  the  west,  as  if  the  last 
Great  day  had  come,  and  with  it  past 
Light  from  the  heavens ;  one  lingering  streak 
Still  rested  on  mv  hollow  cheek. 
And  seemed  to  shine,  and  gleam,  and  flicker. 
Now  fast,  now  slow;  then,  growing  quicker. 
Upon  the  page  before  me  laid, 
On  these  aread  words  God's  sunlight  played. 
The  rest  grew  dark,  till  not  a  trace 
But  was  absorbed  in  that  dreadful  place : 
"  ISegone  from  me,  I  nebtr  knetD  pou!^* 
I  shut  my  eyes  to  hide  tlie  sight; 
I  looked  again,  the  coloured  light 
Had  left  the  book— it  liad  grown  dark. 
But  written  on  the  cell's  black  wall 
Were  all  my  sins  (it  now  was  night) — 
All  sins  that  from  my  early  youth 
My  spotted  soul  had  thought  or  done — 
Sins  that,  with  sharp  and  poisoned  tooth. 
Gnaw  at  the  heart ;  each  monster  one 
Down  to  the  merely  shadowed  crime, 
That  never  grew  to  word  or  deed. 
Were  written  there — 
Were  written  there  ! 

I  saw  a  burning  core  of  light 
Dilate  and  grow  exceeding  bright. 
Until  it  chased  the  sullen  gloom 
That  filled  the  narrow-grated  room. 
Grammercy,  'twas  a  fearful  sight  I — 

They  sprang  up,  as  a  flower  that  rises 
From  the  May  meadov^s  to  the  sound 

Of  birds.— 1  saw  my  missal's  quaint  devices 
Start  all  to  life,  and  the  martyr  crowned; 
With  king  and  prophet  danced  around. 
Then,  with  a  loud  despairing  shout, 


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Y*  Qrazed  Mo9ik.  409 

They  passed  unto  the  gmTea  without. 
And,  sighing  on  the  night-wind*s  blast, 
Again  the  dreadful  words  moaned  past: 
'*  ISegont  from  mc,  IE  ncDer  iincio  vott !'' 
I  felt  saWation  now  was  lost. 
And  I  was  but  a  doomed  one, 
That  hears  his  death-bell  o'er  white  frost* 
Strewn  fields,  and  looks  through  dungeon  grate. 
Upon  a  new-dug  grave. 

My  vision  changed ;  I  heard  the  swell  HuitIm  through 

And  the  silver  chime  of  the  matin  bell.  yeCloUtorto^ 

I  hurried  to  the  holy  rite,  AbW^ 

The  east  was  streaked  with  palHd  light. 

The  lines  of  vapour  brooding  storm. 

Tliose  fetal  letters  seemed  to  form 

The  sentence  of  my  condemnation, 

That  barred  for  ever  from  salvation. 

No  holy  brothers  gathered  there. 

Muttering  the  Ave  and  PaleT'tiosier 

Through  the  dark  vault  of  the  carvelled  cloister. 

I  ran  as  I  breathed  a  pious  prayer ; 

In  the  twilight  dusk  1  could  not  feel 

The  transept  door.    Eternal  weal 

Was  lost  I    By  such  great  grief  overtaken, 

My  senses  five  were  sorely  shaken. 

I  felt  for  the  latch,  but  a  dead  man*s  grasp 

Touched  mine,  and  strove  to  join  and  clasp. 

I  past  the  knightly  founder's  tomb, 

miere  the  good  man  waits  the  day  of  doom. 

I  felt  a  ghastly  solitude 

Pressing  upon  my  breast : 

I  hurri^  on— I  could  not  rest. 

Like  a  mastless  bark,  with  sails  all  riven, 

So  was  I  ever  onward  driven. 

I  peered  within  the  Abbaye's  nave,  TeAbbaye  seems 

*Twas  dark  and  silent  as  die  grave.  on  (Ire. 

I  looked  again.    'Twas  all  on  fire : 
The  pillars  were  of  flame,  bent  o'er 
With  arches  rising  high  and  higher ; 
The  sculptured  bosses  brightly  glowed ; 
The  tinctured  panes  their  lustre  showed 
With  crimson,  as  of  clouds  that  shine, 
Stained  by  the  sun  incarnadine; 
The  organ  pipes  were  of  molten  ore, 
Yet  still  from  their  throats  the  anthems  pour. 
I  saw  no  form,  but  I  could  hear . 
A  chant  as  of  priests  that  were  drawing  near. 
I  shook  with  a  thrill  of  speechless  fear. — 
I  looked  again.    A  shrouded  train 
Came  pouring  in  procession  long. 

With  chant,  and  litany,  and  song.  A  Prooewioii  of 

The  cowl  was  drawn  before  the  face  SS^'i^  he* 

Of  each  one  thjat  sought  his  well-known  place ;  remains  as  in  a 

But,  at  a  sign,  each  brother  raised  Trance. 

His  head,  and  pointed,  with  a  shriek 
Still  in  my  ears,  to  one  whose  brow 
A  burning  mitre  bore ;  but  none  did  speak. 
Aug. — ^VOL.  xcy«  vo.  ccclzzx.  2  b 


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410 


PlunSBthinto 
ye  thronff,  tnd 
MizethyeTiai- 
ble  Bmbkm  of 
Salmtion. 


TeAbbaye 
chuigethinto 
ye  aimilitiide  of 
)New  Jeran- 


▼ew< 
lem. 


Ye  very  oorbels 
and  ye  painted 
ahadowinaof 
yeAbbayrft 
windowa  be- 
come inatixiot 
withXiraculoiis 
life,  and  aeem 
to  his  troubled 
brain  to  mop, 
and  mow,  and 
gibber. 


P  Crazed  Mcnk. 

They  turned  their  eyet  «t  once  on  me— 
On  me  the  tinner— me,  whom  God 
Had  smitten  with  hit  iiery  rod  ; 
Again  I  heard  the  organ  roll 
The  words  that  shook  my  inmost  soul— 
•*  IBegone  from  m(«  i  ncfwt  iuuts  »o«r 

I  felt  tiiat  I  was  one  marked  out 

For  Tengeence,  and  I  coaW  not  doubt 

I  was  from  Heaven  a  castaway. 

I  know  not  whether  demon's  force 
Impelled  me,  but  1  rushed  within. 

And  with  a  shout  of  fury  hoarae— 
I,  the  proscribed*  the  man  of  sin* 

Tore  from  the  bearer*s  grasp  the  cross, 

And  waved  it  in  the  torrid  air. 

I  knelt  and  prayed,  but  still  despair 

Clung  to  roe ;  on  the  stonv  floor 

I  dashed  the  holy  thing  1  bore. 

O,  God !  let  not  thy  focc  be  hid— ■ 

Forgive  me,  I  knew  not  what  I  did. 

I  felt  the  abbaye's  walls  grow  wider. 

And  stretch  above ;  on  every  side 

Each  pillar  rose,  like  forest  trees, 

They  widened  to  infinity,  .  ,    ^.    v 

And  shone  like  the  walls  of  the  Bn^t  Cityfe. 

I  saw  the  figures  of  saints  and  kingi 

Fly  from  the  walls  with  their  shadowy  wings ; 

The  frescoes  grew  thin,  and  white,  and  pale. 

As  autumn  leaves  in  the  winter's  gale  ; 

And  the  stony  shapes,  with  the  srinning  mask. 

That  ply  for  ever  their  fated  task, 

Leapt  from  the  pillar,  taper  and  tall, 

Down  from  the  leaf-wreathed  capital. 

I  saw  from  the  great  east  window's  pone, 

Of  king  and  saint  a  gorgeous  train. 

Come  fluttering  with  their  lustrous  wings, 

Those  saints,  and  patriarchs,  and  kings. 

And  dance  o'er  the  brass-enchased  stone. 

And  past  my  lord  the  abbot's  throne. 

And  through  our  ladye*s  chapel  pass 

And  melt  again  into  the  glass, 

That  throbbed  and  bunied  like  the  angry  eye 

Of  a  god  of  the  old  mythologie. 

But  first  in  stately  slow  progression. 

In  one  long  drawn  and  sad  procession. 

They  paced  through  the  vaulted  aisle. 

By  the  altar  tomb,  where  the  bishop  smiles, 

^ith  clasped  hands  upon  his  breast. 

In  all  the  sacred  calm  of  rest ; 

And  each  one  as  he  passed  out 

Bent  his  briglit  flammg  eye  on  me ; 

In  vain  I  prayed,  O  God,  to  thee  I 

I  heard  that  whisper  once  again. 

And  it  fell  on  me  like  Sodom's  rain— 

'*  IStgone  from  me,  I  nebtr  kntiB  QoV." 

This  se*nnight  as  I  lay  awake— 
(What  rest  can  guilty  sianer  take  ?) 


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y  Crazed  Monk. 


411 


A  bmndcd  one,  in  jecipardj. 
Of  his  soul^  IcMB  at  the  doom^sday ;  ) 
I  heard  the  autumn  winds  without 
Unto  the  sheeted  dead  men  shout— > 
I  heard  the  leaTCs  in  tempest  driving — 
I  heard  the  storm  the  branches  rivinf^ 
I  heard  the  rain,  like  counted  beads. 

Fall  drop  by  drop  upon  the  stone, 
Where  nettles  and  the  loathsome  weeds 

Spring  from  the  suicide*s  bleached  bone 
(The  wicked  monk  who  broke  his  vow). 
I  felt  that  I  must  rise  and  pray, 
To  our  lady's  altar  I  made  my  way ; 
The  dawn  bad  come,  and  the  autumn  air 
Played  on  my  temples  and  forehead  bare  ; 
Round  which  my  sacred  tonsure  burned. 
As  if  to  fire  it  had  been  turned. 
How  could  a  sinner — a  thing  of  scorn. 
Wear  emblem  of  the  bloody  thorn 
That  bound  his  Saviour's  pallid  brow  ? 
1  could  not  see,  but  I  groped  my  way 
I  knew  it  as  well  by  night  as  by  day, 
Each  sculptured  niche,  each  canopy. — 
Mv  outstretched  hand  touched  the'stony  face 
Of  a  cross-legeed  knight.    I  seemed  to  be 
'Mured  with  the  dead  in  a  lonely  place. 
Beside  a  maiden  fair  and  pale. 
Aroint  thee,  fiend ;  why  bring  aeain 
Those  thoughts  of  bitter  woe  and  pain» 
To  bleeding  heart  and  burning  brain  ? 

Omnes  GSNTXS  PLAaniTE, 
EXAUDI  MEI  DOMINB. 

I  passed  on  to  the  garden's  shade — 

Upon  the  grass  a  missal  laid  ; — 

My  shrunk  hand  clasped  my  rosary. 

As  1  read  a  pious  homily. 

My  beads  flew  from  the  "silver  chain. 

And  every  single  ebon  grain 

Rose  up  to  Heaven — far,  O  far. 

And  shone  there  like  a  ^robbing  star 

That  paves  the  holy  pilgrim's  way.* 

I  read  me  on  by  the  glow-worm's  light — 

I  read  each  prayer  and  strove  to  fight 

With  him — the  fiend — who  tempted  me. 

JcMu  Chrute^  awdi  me. 

Thou  of  the  high  and  starry  blow. 

Virgin  mother,  shield  me  now. 

O,  three  in  one,  and  one  in  three, 

Mtmdi  Salvator,  libera  me. 

Miserere  met,  JDeus, 

O,  DoMiMS !  O,  Patbk  mbus  I 

O,  P^TSa  HOSTtB,  SANCTUB  PaTBB, 
O,  JbsU,  HOMIVUM  BALVATOa  ! 

Rbgina  oceu,  Sancta  Matbe. 
They  roused  me  from  my  grassy  lair-* 
They  bid  me  to  the  grate  repair ; 


In  ve  solemn 
Autumn  Time 
he  goeth  to  ye 
Conrent  Garden 
for  rest. 


HurriethtoOor 
Ladye's  Altar. 


Tempted  \a  ye 
Arch-nead 
with  thoughts 
of  ye  Past: 


Addreasea  sup- 

pttcattlona  to 

tauandya 

Sainto.    Hia 

witamwmore 

traooiod.«Bd 

hiaOldBrain 


ftaff. 


PODltant 


kt£r 


Ages  the  **Pilgrim'e 


*  The  Milky  Way  waa  called  by  the  monks  of  the  Middle 
Path  to  ComposteUa." 

2b2 


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412  A  Day's  Hunting  at  Badni-Baden. 

Mjr  father  had  come  to  beg  ibr  alms, 
I  still  sat  there  and  sang  the  psalms ; 
Were  things  of  death,  and  clay,  and  earth. 
And  thoughts  of  him  i?ho  gave  me  birth. 
To  draw  me  from  the  things  of  God  ? 
I  saw  him  pale,  with  sunken  eyes, 
But  from  my  knees  I  could  not  rise, 
lie  cursed  me  as  I  kneeled  there, 
I  saw  the  curse  ascend  the  air. 
The  MS.  break'  '^^  •®*'^  God's  throne  in  the  sea  of  whiteness, 

otb  oft  abruptly.  Jehovah  shining  in  his  brightness.        *        * 

A  Monk  of  je 

nine  Brother-  ^Twoi  the  eve  of  St,  John — at  Pascal  tide 

5?Ma.?by  im-  Our  smro'erwhehned  brother  died; 

plorin^'  re  May  kia  tortured  soul  be  glori/led  / 

Jttderlo  way  Pray  for  his  soul 

M^sS^.  When  the  death^UstoU! 


A  DATS  HUNTING  AT  BADEN-BADEN. 

Reader,  did  you  ever  have  the  good  fortune  to  be  present  at  a  boar- 
hunt — a  real,  legitimate  boar-hunt  ?  Do  not  lay  the  flattering  unction  to 
your  soul  that  you  have  done  so  because  you  witnessed  the  so-called  sport 
of  catching  greasy-tailed  pigs  among  the  old  English  games  at  the  Jaidm 
d'Hiver  at  Pans,  but  answer  candidly,  laying  your  hand  upon  your  heart, 
have  you  ever  seen  how  a  boar  should  die,  surroimded  by  a  score  or  more 
of  dauntless  youths,  '*  their  souls  all  fire,  and  their  swords  all  flame,"  as 
some  one  has  said,  or  rather  sung,  before  me?  If  not,  have  patience  with 
me  for  a  few  pages,  and  I  will  tell  you  all  I  saw  at  an  ''  Eber  Jagd'* 
which  came  off  at  Baden-Baden  about  the  close  of  summer,  1847. 

M.  Benaset,  chief  proprietor  of  the  gambling^rooms,  I  must,  as  a  pre- 
liminary  measure,  inform  you,  considers  it  his  l^t  policy  to  do  his  utmost 
in  furnishing  amusement  to  those  who  honour  his  tables  with  a  visit;  and 
wisely  deeming  there  may,  peradrenture,  be  something  monotonous  in 
continually  losing  money  or  pricking  off  the  run  of  the  couleur  on  a  card, 
strives  to  provide  them  some  relaxadon  in  the  pleasures  of  the  chase. 
These  manly  sports  do  not,  however,  commence  till  September ;  because 
in  bSgfa  summer,  as  the  German  phrase  runs,  there  is  no  lack  of  quieter 
amusements  more  congenial  to  the  state  of  the  thermometer,  and  partly, 
pour  eneourager  les  autres,  the  later  flock  of  migratory  birds,  whom  he 
thus  induces  to  prolong  their  stay,  and  to  whom  he  seeks  to  offer  some 
compensation  for  the  buried  glories  they  were  too  late  to  share  in. 

As  long  as  I  can  remember,  I  have  ever  felt  a  strange  inclination  to  be 
present  at  a  boar-hunt  Surely  it  could  not  be  reminiscences  of  Meleager 
and  the  fierce  Hyicanian  boar.  But  no ;  these  and  other  heroes  of  anti- 
quity could  only  summon  up  recollections  of  many  a  dire  flogging  they 
had  cost  me.  But  still  the  fact  remains  the  same ;  the  name  itseff  pos- 
sesses something  very  exciting  for  me.  It  reminds  me  of  legendary  lore 
— of  scenes  of  danger  and  strife,  baying  of  hounds,  trumpet-sounds, 


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A  Day*s  Hunting  at  Baden-Baden.  413 

glittenne  dresses,  and  all  the  gorgeous  panoplj  with  which  the  great  Ma- 
gician of  the  North  has  inTested  Sie  creatures  and  creations  of  his  fancy. 
At  length  my  long-nursed  wishes  were  to  meet  with  realisation. 

M.  Benazet  had  expended  all  the  Edel  Htrsche  he  had  been  furnished 
with  from  the  grand  ducal  park  at  Carlsruhe,  and,  like  a  clever  manager, 
who  reserves  his  chief  attraction  for  the  season  when  the  public  taste 
begins  to  pall,  suddenly  came  out  with  a  flaring  affiche  that  a  boar 
would  be  started  on  the  ensuing  Monday ;  the  meet,  a  forest,  about  two 
leagues^^r,  according  to  German  admeasurement,  three  pipes  and  a  half 
— ^^m  Baden-Baden,  and  at  no  great  distance  from  the  willow-covered 
banks  of  Father  Rhine. 

A  party  was  soon  formed  at  the  table  cThdte  of  the  hotel  where  I  was 
accustomed  to  dine ;  horses  ordered  to  be  sent  on,  and  a  caliche  to  be 
held  in  readiness  for  us  on  the  Monday  morning. 

The  eventful  day  soon  came,  and  at  a  very  early  hour  the  loud  and 
joyous  fan&ies  of  the  Jager  horns  sounded  the  reveille  through  the  quiet 
streets  of  the  town.  I  sprung  out  of  bed,  and  began  dressing  in  frantic 
haste.  I  pulled  on  a  pair  of  ''canonen  slufel,**  or  jack-boots,  I  had 
borrowed  from  a  friend  of  mine,  a  student  at  Heidelberg,  g^ed  on  my 
hirschfanger,  and  seized  my  boar-spear,  which  rested  g^racefiilly  in  a 
corner  of  my  room:  these  two  articles,  I  must  remark,  were  my  own 
property,  and  expressly  ordered  for  the  occasion,  as  I  was  determined  to 
'*  do  or  die,"  ana  flesh  my  maiden  lance  in  the  carcase  of  poor  piggy. 

All  my  preparations  being  made,  I  sallied  out  to  join  my  '<  compagnons 
de  voyage"  at  breakfast  I  found  them  also  all  armed  and  eager  for  the 
fray.  They  were  three  in  number — an  Englishman,  a  Frenchman,  and 
an  Italian.  Let  me  describe  their  appearance  minutely.  The  first  was 
attired  in  immaculate  tops  and  leathers,  and  a  well-stained  coat,  which 
had  once  been  red,  but  was  now  purple.  Having  almost  lost  all  recol* 
lection  of  our  national  (hunting)  costume,  I  took  him  for  one  of  the 
grand-duke's  footmen  on  furlough — an  opinion  in  which  I  was  not  sin- 
gular, for  later  in  the  day  a  party  of  God-forgotten  students  saluted  him 
with  the  rattling  Commers  Lied,  ''Was  bringt  der  postilion?"  The 
Frenchman  was  dressed  in  a  green  velvet  hunting^frock,  and  wore  a 
many-tasselled  much-befringed  gibeciere^  large  enough  to  contain  the 
boar  we  were  about  to  hunt  On  his  head  was  a  black  velvet  jockey-cap ; 
on  his  shoulder  a  double-barrelled  carbine.  The  Italian  resembled 
nothing,  except  a  mild  edition  of  ''  Fra  Diavolo,"  wearing,  as  he  did,  a 
tall  conical  felt  hat,  and  a  belt  graced  by  a  couple  of  pistols.  With 
these  companions  I  ascended  the  creaking  steps  of  the  Droschki,  hum- 
ming, as  I  did  so,  tiie  time-honoured  "  refrain,"  ''  Arise  the  burden  of 
my  so*-ong.  This  day  a  stag  (it  was  a  boar  we  intended  to  kill,  but 
then  I  was  m  no  way  particuls^)  must  die — ^this  day,*'  &c. 

On  starting,  the. morning  was  beautiful  and  fresh,  and  we  merrily 
rattied  along  the  road  to  Oos,  through  orchards  of  apple  and  pear  trees, 
the  Alt  Schloss  frowning  down  upon  us  in  all  its  ruined  majesty.  But  all 
this  soon  changed ;  one  of  those  detestable  mists,  the  curse  of  Baden, 
covered  the  valley,  and  rendered  us  cold,  uncomfortable,  and  prone  to 
quarrel.  Cigars  did  their  part  in  keeping  us  warm ;  and  soon  after, 
arriving  at  a  **  public,"  we  made  fierce  onslaught  on  the  potato-brandy, 


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414  A  Day's  Hunting  ai  Baden-Baden. 

dignified  with  the  name  of  *<  Kiiaehwasser,'*  which,  while  warming  the 
inwaid  man,  seemed  to  exert  a  sympathetic  influence  on  the  oatward,  for 
from  this  moment  I  heard  no  more  complaints  of  damp. 

In  a  short  time  afterwards  we  arrived  at  the  rendezvoms  de  ehamey  the 
Tillage  of  Sandwier,  when  we  were  enaUed  to  watch  the  other  noble 
sportsmen  discontentedly  sparring  on  through  the  rain,  as  we  stood  very 
contentedly  smokinG^  our  dgars  at  the  window  of  the  village  inn. 

In  a  short  time  the  place  hegan  to  get  very  animated.  The  stgaggicrg 
came  in  hy  twos  and  threes,  some  on  honeback,  some  on  foot,  while  ear* 
riases  of  every  description  followed  each  other  in  rapid  sueeesrion,  filled 
wim  elegantly  dressed  ladies,  whom  no  weather,  however  had,  would  have 
deterred  from  bmng  present  at  the  throw  off.  Every  door  in  the  villagre 
was  thronged  with  peasants  and  their  families,  all  wearing  that  peeaUari]^ 
stolid  look,  the  concentrated  essence  of  Sanerkrauiy  which  is  ^aracteris* 
tic  of  every  uneducated  German.  The  scene  soon  became  veiy  lively, 
espedally  as  the  sun  broke  through  the  mist,  lighting  up  the  medley  of 
horses,  hounds,  jager,  and  servants,  or  glancing  from  the  spear-heada  and 
ears  de  chassCf  though  it  could  not  pierce  through  the  dense  cloud  of  to* 
baoco  smoke  which,  bke  a  halo,  surrounded  the  whole  group. 

The  pack  was  the  most  lamentable  part  of  the  whole  afiair ;  Joi^ 
rodcs,  that  M.F.H.  of  facetious  memory,  would  have  shed  tears  hid  he 
seen  it ;  it  was  composed  of  foxhounds,  harriers,  iurchen,  turnspits,  ere« 
the  '*  cur  of  low  degree"  was  not  absent,  all  making  a  horrible  noise  and 

yelping  fearfully  whenever  M.  le  Comte  de  S ,  Benaiet's  huntsman 

en  chrfi  rode  in  amongst  them  and  liberally  laid  about  him  with  his  double 
thong.  The  whip-smacking  and  trampet-blowing  seemed  to  have  no  end. 

We  were  soon  marshalled  in  proper  order,  holding  our  boar-spears  erect, 
ISec  Paladins  of  yore,  and  set  out  for  the  forest  ^de,  when  the  boors 
were  cabined  and  confined.  They  were  penned  up  in  hutches,  about  six 
in  number,  with  tr^-doors  to  turn  them  out  at.  The  huntsman  then 
arranged  the  meet  in  proper  order,  beaters  in  front,  horsemen  in  the 
second  rank,  and  the  cairiages  in  die  rear.  About  half  an  hour  was  con- 
sumed in  making  these  preparations,  and  I  had  ample  leisure  to  notioe 
and  admire  the  picturesqueness  of  tiie  whole  group.  I  think  it  is  old 
fieckford  who,  in  his  history  of  hunting,  expresses  a  wish  that  an  artist 
sportsman  had  been  present  on  a  certain  occasion  to  paint  the  glories  of  a 
successful  death;  we  were,  in  one  way,  more  fortunate  than  the  veteran, 
for  before  starting  I  noticed  an  artist  very  busy  with  his  sketch-bo(^  and 
was,  indeed,  at  a  later  date  reminded  of  the  fact  by  his  hononriog  me  widi 
an  invitation  to  subscribe  for  a  proof. 

However,  let  me  get  on  with  my  history.  About  ^ye  or  m  eoople 
of  the  most  stanch-looking  hound^  in  whom  Count  S  seemed  to 

place  implicit  confidence,  were  brought  to  the  rear  of  the  hatches,  just 
near  enough  to  get  sight  of  the  *'  varmint."  The  dogs  made  a  great 
row,  and  certainly  seemed  to  justify  the  confidence  that  was  placed  ia 
them.     How  they  did  so,  the  sequel  will  show. 

The  beaters  were  drawn  up  in  a  dense  semicircle,  00  that  the  boar 
could  only  have  one  way  of  escape  when  turned  out  upon  a  flinty  worid. 
All  waited  in  eager  expectation  for  the  decbive  moment. 

The  jilger  horns  sounded  dieerily.     ^  Lasst  gehen  !"*  shouted  Couol 


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A  Dm^'s  Hunting  at  Baden-Baden.  415 

S        i  ft  cry  which  was  taken  up  by  a  thoiuand  throa^  and  in  ereiy 
poHiUe  variety  of  translation. 

Oat  the  boar  stalked,  and  amused  himself  by  a  long  and  pertinadoas 
stare  at  the  scene  n^ch  met  his  astonished  vision.  He  was  an  animal 
of  very  respectable  size,  and  in  the  possesnon  of  a  oonsiderBble  amount 
of  shup  and  well-whetted  tusk.  At  length  he  seemed  to  have  decided 
on  his  proper  course  of  action.  Shaking  his  head  very  ognificanily,  he 
came  liong  at  a  quick,  shuffling  trot  towards  the  beaters,  as  if  intending 
to  force  his  way  through  them.  But  we  were  not  to  be  balked  of  our 
pleasure  by  any  such  display  of  valour ;  and  as  soon  as  he  arrived  within 
assailable  distance,  they  attacked  him  with  their  long  staves.  At 
first  he  was  iodined  to  show  6ght ;  but  not  relishing,  and  probably  not 
expecting,  such  a  reception,  he  gave  a  few  angry  growls,  and  then  tum- 
iug  tail,  started  for  the  wood  in  front  of  us.  Five  minutes'  grace  was 
geoeroBsly  conceded  him,  and  then  the  dogs  were  laid  on  tfie  scent, 
apparently  as  dreadfully  eager  to  be  at  biro,  as  was  the  Earl  of  Chat- 
hiam,  who,  with  his  sword  drawn,  was  waiting  for  Sir  Richard  Stcachan, 
or  vke  vend,  I  hardly  remember  which,  to  be  at  the  French. 

An  extraordinary  scene  now  commenced.  Every  horseman  seemed  to 
consider  it  hia  bounden  duty  to  be  foremost  in  the  fray,  and,  in  coa- 
sequenee^  two  or  three  of  the  most  valuable  dogs  were  ridden  over  and 
spoiled  for  the  day.  The  result  may  easily  be  imagined.  Many  ardent 
sportsmen,  disgusted  by  the  jostling  and  noise,  turned  angrily  back,  and 
gave  up  all  hope  of  participating  in  the  chase ;  while  many,  only  too  glad 
of  the  excuse,  hurried  back  to  take  up  their  posts  each  by  the  side  of  la 
beik  dame  in  the  li^ht  of  whose  eyes  ne  delighted  to  son  himsel£ 

Those  who  were  lef^  and  would  not  be  daunted  by  a  slight  annoyance, 
pressed  on  after  the  boar,  who  was  very  calmly  pursuing  his  course  along 
a  g^ade  in  the  forest     Finding  the  hounds  close  at  his  heels,  he  fiercely 
tmned  at  bay,  and  then  the  vdorous  pack— ran  in  and  finished  him,  the 
reader  may  iouiffine.   German  dogs  are  too  well  bred  to  be  guilty  of  such 
rudeness;  so  they  stood  at  a  respectful  distance  and  barked  at  him. 
AfUr  aidiile^  the  boar,  getting  tired  of  this  amusement,  or  probably 
warned  by  the  sounds  of  coming  horses,  forced  his  way  through  a  thicket, 
and  disappeared  from  sight.   My  French  firiend  had  already  taken  aim  at 
him  witn  his  double-barrel,  to  the  certain  disgust  of  the  red-coated 
Englishman,  who  bitterly  complained  of  the  crime  of  shootine  '<  Mr. 
Reyndda*'  in  face  of  the  pack.     The  poor  gentleman  had  by  this  time 
become  almost  as  enthusiastic  and  insane  as  if  following  the  hounds  in  his 
own  native  land.   Fortunately  there  were  no  bullfinches  for  him  to  break 
his  neck  over.    After  two  hours'  hard  work,  chasmg  our  bristly  friend 
from  thicket  to  thicket — ^which,  by  the  way,  caused  awful  havoc  amoi^ 
die  gaily-checked  trousers  of  la  jeane  France — we  drove  the  boar  from 
hb  last  entrenchment,  and  had  a  capital  run  after  him  through  com  and 
potato-fields  to  the  village  of  Iffeiheim,  when  he  took  lefiige  in  a  pig- 
9tj,  amonr  his  porcine  relatives.     A  second  time  we  set  the  dogs  upon 
him,  but  &ey  fiorly  showed  the  white  feather,  and  the  old  adage  was  fully 
verified,  «<  their  bark  was  worse  than  their  bite." 

We  were  not  sorry  for  the  iniermezzOf  as  our  horses  -not  at  the  most 
£svoiiiaUe  season  brothers  or  sisters  of  the  wind— had  been  completely 


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416  A  Day! 8  Hunting  at  Badenc  Baden- 

pounded  by  the  last  bnist.  We  could  have  killed  the  boar  as  he  stood 
def^D^  us,  and,  indeed,  the  FreDchman  begged  most  earnestly  to  have 
a  snot  at  him ;  but  the  sun  was  still  high  in  the  heavens,  so  we  lig'faied 
our  ciffars,  and  passed  the  kirsckwctsser  from  hand  to  hand  very  ceeily. 

At  length  the  count  gare  the  signal  to  start  him  afresh,  and  one  of  the 
piqueurs  gave  him  a  persuader  with  his  hunting-spear.  After  a  fiercse 
gnmt  of  dissatisfaction,  the  animal  made  up  his  mind  to  leave  his  present 
comfortable  quarters,  and  started  off  towards  the  Rhine,  apparently  with 
the  intention  of  taking  to  water.  The  best  mounted,  therefore,  hurried 
along  to  cut  him  off,  in  which  they  succeeded,  and  he  sulkily  bait  bia 
way  once  more  to  the  forest.  Only  a  few  of  us  managed  to  keep  up 
with  him  at  all ;  as  for  the  dogs,  they  had  long  been  left  behind.  Hsul 
he  managed  to  reach  the  wood  again,  he  would  certainly  have  eseaped 
ns,  and  adieu  then  to  all  the  fun  of  the  curie.  It  was,  therefore,  time 
to  end  the  farce ;  with  levelled  ^ears  we  pushed  on  after  him,  and  soon 
brought  him  to  bay.  A  sporting  publican  of  the  town  was  the  first  to 
dismount,  and,  drawing  his  cotUeau  de  chasse^  he  advanced  bc^dly  to  deal 
the  coup  de  grace.  But,  alas !  that  hand  generally  so  sure  when  aboat 
to  tap  a  cask  of  beer,  failed  its  master  when  about  to  tap  the  Uood  of  the 
boar,  and,  his  foot  slipping,  he  fairly  lay  at  the  mercy  of  the  now  infa*  . 
riated  animal.  FortunateW  for  him,  the  broadest  part  of  his  person  was 
exposed  to  the  assault  of  the  boar,  and  the  latter,  making  a  furious  rusfa» 
dug  his  tusks  rather  deeply  into  him,  before  any  of  us  had  time  to 
prevent  it.     A  shrill  yell  ensued,  accompanied  by  the  last  savage  g^rowl 

of  the  boar,  whom   young  L coolly  trans6xed   at   the  moment 

when  he  was  drawing  back  for  a  second  edition.  I  also  had  the  pleasoxe 
of  having  a  drive  at  him,  and  thus  tarnished  the  hitherto  unsullied  spot- 
lessness  of  my  spear. 

Four  piqueurs  now  dismounted,  and  forming  a  brancard  of  their  speara' 
laid  poor  pigg}',  once  the  hero  of  the  day,  upon  it,  and  wo  marched  off 
at  a  quick  pace  to  receive  the  meed  of  valour  at  the  hands  of  the  ex- 
pectant ladies.  When  we  arrived  at  the  rendezvous  de  chasse^  there  was 
no  time  for  anything  of  the  sort,  as  every  one  seemed  only  awaiting  our 
advent  to  make  a  still  fiercer  onslaught  than  that  on  the  boar,  on  the 
comestibles  M.  Benazet  had  so  bountuully  provided  for  them.  A  staking 
change  had  taken  place  during  our  absence.  A  tent  had  been  raised,  ia 
which  we  could  see  casseroles  stewing,  and  hear  frying-pans  hissing ; 
fires  were  blazing  in  every  direction,  soup  boiling,  fowls  roasting  on  spits, 
coffee  exhaling  its  fragrant  aroma.  Tables,  too,  had  been  spread  fironde 
super  wridiy  covered  with  drapery,  white  as  the  driven  snow,  and  all  the 
paraphernalia  of  the  Kursaal  Restaurant's  teUfle  d'hdte.  We  willingly 
resigned  all  daim  to  soft  speeches,  and  fuUy  coincided  with  a  stout 
German,  who  exclaimed,  with  a  greasy  smile  of  pleasure,  *'  Doss  lass^  ich 
mir  gefallen,^* 

The  silleri  soon  began  to  mantle  in  the  glasses,  and  endue  the  ladies, 
sparkling  eyes  with  still  greater  brilliancy.  Each  hunter  bold  began 
speaking  of  the  perils  he  had  undergone,  except  the  publican,  who  seemed 
somewhat  disconcerted,  and  writhed  uneasily  on  his  seat  whenever  any 
allusion  was  made  to  his  misadventure.  As  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield  would 
say,  "  if  there  was  not  much  wit,  there  was  plenty  of  laughing,''  especially 


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A  Day's  Hunting  at  Baden-Baden.  417 

at  our  end  of  the  table,  for  we  had  bribed  a  Kellner  to  make  us  a  potent 
brewage  of ''  croc.**  In  ghort,  all  seemed  delighted  with  the  pic-nicy  and 
ready  to  join  in  the  chorus — "  A  Life  in  the  Woods  for  me.*' 

Amr  everything  eatable  and  drinkable,  except  the  water,  had  been 
demolished,  the  chasseun  attached  to  Benazet's  wilde  Jagd,  came  in  for 
their  share  of  the  day's  amusement.  A  mark  was  set  upon  a  tall  pine- 
tree,  and  money^prixes  offered  for  the  successful  competitors.  It  was 
quite  a  realisation  of  the  opening  scene  of  '*  Der  Freyschiitz."  The 
piqueurs  were,  on  the  whole,  excellent  marksmen ;  and,  O  ye  Gods  I 
DOW  the  trumpets  brayed,  and  what  shouts  were  raised  by  beer-bemused 
peasants  at  each  successful  shot !  Many  amateurs  also  tried  their  hand, 
among  them  my  French  friend,  who  thus  had  an  opportunity  of  discharg- 
ing his  gun — a  cause  of  heartfelt  joy  to  me,  for  I  had  been  in  fear,  if  not 
in  danger,  during  the  whole  of  the  day.  Extempore  matches  were  abo 
got  up ;  in  fine,  no  one  seemed  to  think  the  sports  of  the  day  would  ever 
come  to  a  conclusion,  and  we  were  all  surprised  by  the  approach  of  night- 
fall, and  the  preparations  for  the  curiCy  the  last  scene  of  this  exciting 
drama. 

The  count  now  ordered  torches  to  be  lighted,  and  the  dogs  brought  up, 
who  had  arrived  at  the  rendezvous,  straggling  in  one  after  the  other, 
weary  and  waysore.  A  circle  was  then  formed  round  the  dead  boar,  and 
the  mystic  rites  of  the  curke  commenced.  The  count  doffed  his  coat, 
tucked  up  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  commenced  cutting  up  the  boar  with  all 
the  grace  of  a  professional  butcher — the  cor  de  chasse  sounding  the  mort 
during  the  whole  scene.  Ultimately,  the  hounds  were  fed,  much  better, 
in  my  opinion,  than  they  had  deserved  after  the  day's  exhibition. 

We  were  then  marshalled  in  the  same  order  as  upon  our  arrival,  the 
piqueurs  carrying  the  reliquue  of  the  boar  before  us  to  Sandwier.  Af^r 
this  we  started  home  for  Baden,  impressed  with  an  exalted  opinion  of 
Honsienr  Benazet's  generosity;  and  I  can  safely  avouch  that  he  must 
have  made  a  handsome  profit  by  the  day,  after  all  expenses  were  paid. 
Each  felt  bound  in  honour  to  g^ve  the  table  a  turn  ;  for  my  own  part — but 
it  is  unnecessary  ^*  infandum  renovare  dolorem." 

All  I  can  say  in  conclusion  is,  that  I  trust  my  readers  will  feel  more 
plearare  than  1  do  at  these  reminiscences  of  a  "Day's  Hunting  at 
Baden." 


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(     418     ) 


A  SCAMPER  TO  KILLARNEY,  VIA  THE  CORK  EXHIBITION. 

Come,  reader,  traveller,  friend,  John  Bull  or  Jean  Crmad,  Yankee 
or  sour-croat-loving  German,  be  yon  what  you  may,  yoa  skall  oome  mlon^ 
with  me«  Nay,  I  will  have  no  ezcnie.  Yon  shall  oome  and  aee  the 
South  of  Ireland.  <<  Expense  I"  Pshaw !  And  fields  upon  fields  of  gold 
found  in  Australia — the  Bank  of  £n|^d  so  full  of  mon^,  tiiey  are 
about  to  pay  off  the  National  Debt,  and  mortgages  to  be  had  at  3f  per 
cent  I  What !  you  still  shake  your  head?  CSirpe  dkm^  man!  let  m 
be  off— save  the  rest  of  the  year  ;  invent  a  patent,  and  make  your  for- 
tune. Do  something  great ;  tne  climate  may  mspire  you.  Clever  Irish- 
men have  lived  ere  now,  caused,  no  doubt,  by  *'  praties  and  potheen.'* 
Come!  ''  Sea-«ckness !"  Never  think  of  it!  Six  hours  only.  Take 
'<  Murray's  Magnesia."  I  will  have  no  excuses,  I  am  determined ;  ywi 
shall  be  off  for  a  three  weeks'  holiday,  or  ''  krk"— *«all  it  what  you 
wilL  No,  no,  no!  you  shall  not  go  up  the  Rhine,  nor  to  SwitierUuid 
— no,  nor  to  Scotlaod.  No,  you  shall  come  with  me  to  the  '^  land  of 
strange  contrasts — ^nature's  fiurest  home,"  poor,  neglecle4  beantifiil, 
priest-ridden  Ireland. 

Well,  before  we  set  off  we  must  be  prepared  for  everything.  Let 
us  take  plenty  of  wraps  and  wrappers  from  Coiding^s  well-known  ena- 
porium  in  the  Strand ;  umbrellas^  extra  shawls  for  the  ladies^  and  a  large 
cottage  bonnet  for  each,  adorned  with  an  ^'  Ugly"  if  you  will,  plenty  of 
railway  blankets  for  all,  as  the  bedding  is  often  scanty,  never  forgetting 
a  nair  of  Mackintosh  gaiters  for  the  masculine  sex,  or  a  coarse  wooUen 
rioing-skirt  for  the  furer  one  ;  a  few  tin  cases  of  presenred  meats  from. 
Fortnum  and  Mason's,  and  a  doaen  of  sheny  fimm  Hedges  and  Bvtler*fly 
as  the  appedte  will  pall  on  the  perpetual  couple  of  fowls  which  did  yon 
the  good  office  of  laying  the  eggs  for  voor  breakfoat,  and  faaeon  of 
equivocal  feeding  and  siiU  more  doubtful  dEeath,  which  are  invariably  laid 
out  for  ^our  repast  at  almost  every  hosfcelxy  in  the  island,  save  those  of 
Cork,  Killamey,  and  a  few  of  the  other  principal  towns  in  Iiekmd. 

Well,  we  have  taken  our  excunion  ticket  at  the  Boston  station.  I 
need  not  tell  you  the  price,  for  you  cannot  open  Bradshaw  without  seemg 
the  advertisement,  or  raise  your  eye  along  any  dead  wall  or  seaffbld'- 
ing  without  seeing  placards  about  '^  the  tours  to  the  South  of  Ireland ;" 
and  having  got  a  carriage  all  to  ourselves,  and  having  steamed  away  to 
Holyhead,  passing  along  the  beautiful  Welsh  scenery,  and  through  that 
noble  triumph  of  man's  genius,  the  Menai  tunnel,  we  reach  &  sea. 
We  feel  cold,  chill,  and  fiednt,  as  we  enter  the  packet-boat,  and  smell  the 
oil,  grease,  and  steam  ;  we  busde  about  on  deck,  unmindful  of  spray  or 
sailors'  oaths ;  we  look  first  after  this  paroel,  then  that,  then  the  cloaks, 
then  the  carpet-bag  ;  but  it  is  all  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit  and  of  no 
good,  for  although  the  sea  is  as  '^  smooth  as  a  mill-pond,"  we  must  suc- 
cumb to  the  tormentor  that  overpresses  us.  We  faintly  cry  "  Steward,'* 
and  on  his  stalwart  arm  totter  down  the  companion-ladder,  and  are  yerj 
siekand  iU.  Well,  at  last  the  bell  has  done  tolling  that  monotonous 
one— two— three — four,  the  white  cliffs  are  in  sight,  we  enter  Kiosi- 
town  harbour,  we  are  on  shore.  The  bell  rings,  we  hurry  off  to  Uie 
terminus,  and  get  our  ticket.     Pause  here,  for  one  moment,  my  dear 


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A  Scamper  to  Killamej^^  via  the  Cork  Exhibition,        419 

reader.  Be  advised — talce  a  second  class  ticket ;  for  the  second  dass  car- 
riages on  this  line  resemble  closely  the  holiday  8(»ing  cars  of  the  days  of 
yore,  which  country  folk  used  to  jaunt  off  in  on  a  gipsying  pic-nic  The 
seats  of  the  carriages  are  well  cushioned,  and  the  sea-breeze  will  play  about 
your  cheeks,  and  bring  back  all  the  roses  the  bilious  Monster  drove  away. 
On  your  arrival  in  Dublin,  drive  to  an  hotel  (the  fiure  is  nzpence^  lug- 
gage  extra),  and  immediately  order  a  warm  bath,  after  that  a  basin  of 
soup  a  lajuUenntf  a  bottle  of  soda-water,  with  a  liqueur  glass  of  brandy 
to  dash  off  the  cold,  and  so  to  bed :  while  on  the  morrow,  by  my  fiiitfa, 
you  will  rise  as  merry  and  healthy  as  a  midsummer  bee,  or  a  spring 

There  is  plenty  to  see  in  Dublin,  Wicklow,  and  the  other  parts  of 
Ireland,  along  your  line  of  railway,  but  I  shall  not  let  you  step ;  for 
having  got  your  ticket  vised^  away  we  are  for  *^  the  beautiful  city  called 
Cork."  On  your  arrival  at  the  terminus  you  are  saluted  by  a  crowd  of 
tatterdemallions,  all  clamorous  for  your  acquaintance,  who  introduce  them- 
selves without  any  of  the  formalities  of  English  society.  You  may  have 
no  sympathy  with  such  creatures,  or  a  peculiar  dislike  to  esprit  de  corps 
and  rags.  It  does  not  signify  to  them  one  fraction.  The  oc  voXXm  wel- 
come your  advent  with  cheers,  or  greet  you  by  ''That  is  a  beautifid 
lady,"  **  An  iligant  jintleman,"  "  More  power  to  you  both,"  "  Hope 
your  honour  is  quite  well,"  ''  Long  life  to  your  lady.^  They  inform 
yon  they  have  been  waiting  your  honour's  arrival,  and  then  furiously 
suggest  ''  a  jingle "  to  the  hotels ;  or,  if  by  reason  of  the  hurry  I  have 
borne  you  along  with,  I  have  not  given  you  time  sufficient  to  allow  your 
razor  to  traverse  its  matnninal  course  along  yourupp^  lip,  and  something 
is  struggling  forth  that  men  might  call  a  mustochio;  or  yet,  agun, 
although  you  are  only  given  to  commercial  pursuits,  there  is  a  ''some- 
thing"  naturally  martial  in  your  appearance,  and  your  Brook*green 
volunteerism  oozes  out  from  your  military  nature,  your  new  acquaintances 
immediately  dub  you  "captain,"  and  naively  inform  you  there  will  be 
mess  at  seven  at  Cork  and  Ballinec^lig  barracks,  and  the  "officers  are 
waiting  to  see  ye,  please  yer  honour-— captain." 

Reader,  if  you  are  a  vain  man,  sink  your  eonstitotional  weakness  for 
the  nonoe,  ana  jot  not  down  your  popularity  to  the  old  scores — your  good 
looks  and  prepossessing  mien;  for,  believe me^  as  each  wave  of  travellers, 
be  they  cheesemongers  or  cu^rs,  lords  or  blacklegs,  anive,  you  will  find 
they  each  receive  dw  same  attention  and  humbug  ;  while  if  you  are  a  proud 
man,  quench  your  anger  in  a  smile,  for  you  are  not  now  on  the  bench  of 
your  petty  sessioas,  with  clerk  and  constable  by  your  side,  about  to 
sentence  tne  pauper  for  *'  coming  between  the  wind  and  your  nobility"  to 
a  month's  trendmiU  as  rogue  and  vagabond.  No  vagrant  act  is  yet 
passed  for  Ireland.  No,  no !  ke^  your  temper,  button  up  your  pockets, 
and,  like  Mark  Tapley,  be  jolly  under  any  circumstances,  more  especially 
wfaoi  pestered  by  the  laizaraiii  of  the  Emerald  Ue. 

Touts,  porters,  commissionaires,  meet  you  from  eveiy  hotel  in  Code 
My  fecommendation  is  certainly  the  fanperial  Hotel,  which  has  an  emni- 
bos  to  meet  every  train*  It  is  kept  by  a  Sootswoman,  Mrs.  Cotton,  and 
I  have  ever  there  found  cleanliness,  economy,  and  civility  combined. 

When  that  ttmnphaat  effort  of  man's  mighty  genius,  skill,  power,  and 
iage&uhy,  raised  its  tewexing  ftonl  in  Hyde  Paik^the  Ckxwam.  'Pasjuol 


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420        A  Scamper  to  Killarneyy  vid  the  Cork  Exhibition. 

for  the  Exposition  of  All  Nations — ^there  iB  not  a  question  Munster  was 
the  worst  exhibitor  of  any  other  district  Strange  anomaly,  then,  that  it 
should  be  the  first  to  get  up  one  on  an  individual  and  a  minor  scale.  But 
so  it  is.  A  party  of  gentlemen  proposed  an  Exhibition  for  the  produce 
of  native  talent,  to  be  shown  in  Cork ;  the  suggestion  took,  the  plan 
succeeded ;  increased  ;  is  now  increasing,  and  will,  without  fear,  reach  « 
creditable  issue. 

On  Thursday,  the  10th  day  of  June,  his  Excellency  the  Lord-Lieu- 
tenant opened  the  National  Exhibition  of  Ireland  in  person,  and  sailed 
up  the  river  from  Cove,  whilst  the  fleet  boomed  forth  its  salutes,  and 
myriads  of  yachts,  smacks,  and  other  craft  took  up  the  salvo,  and  kept 
up  a  fire  of  guns  ;  and  on  his  Excellency's  landing,  heartfelt  cheers 
resounded  from  all  sides  when  he  set  foot  on  the  quay.  As  you  walked 
along  the  town,  you  saw  the  whole  garrison  turned  out :  dragoons,  ar- 
tillery, infantry,  pensioners,  and  the  armed  police ;  a  guard  of  honour 
met  you  at  every  turn ;  until  at  last  you  beg^n  to  thinkyOurself  in  the 
Champs  Elysees  of  Paris,  or  the  boulevards  of  some  French  garrison 
town,  rather  than  in  a  realm  of  our  peaceful  and  virtuous  Queen. 

The  opening  over,  a  banquet  followed,  then  a  ball,  at  wluch  the  beauty 
and  fashion  of  the  county  appeared,  whilst  the  evening*s  amusements 
concluded  by  a  coalition  between  the  father  of  a  musical  composer  and  a 
^ntleman  of  the  ball  committee,  whom  you  might  afterwards  gather  from 
tile  police  reports  was  connected  with  the  export  of  that  staple  commo- 
dity of  Munster — ^butter. 

The  quarrel  arose  from  the  rejection  of  a  set  of  quadrilles  composed  by 
the  afore-mentioned  gentleman's  son  on  this  auspicious  event,  and  the 
other  gentleman  being  one  of  the  committee,  according  to  Hibernian  men- 
suration, became  not  only  a  part  of  the  whole,  but  the  whole  itself. 

After  a  very  Vandal  encounter  in  the  ball-room,  which  must  have 
astonished  strangers  in  no  slight  degree,  if  they  took  it  as  a  specimen  of 
Irish  manners  in  the  south — (I  can  testify  otherwise  in  the  nudland  and 
northern  counties) — these  two  gentlemen  met  in  the  street,  where  one 
observed  that  it  was  lucky  for  the  other  he  had  not  drowned  him  in  one 
of  his  butter-firkins  the  other  evening  at  the  ball — a  purely  poetical 
figure  of  speech,  by-the-by,  for  no  butter-firkins  really  did  embellish  the 
ludl-room.  To  this  the  assailed  gentleman  replied  hy  an  offensive  epi- 
thet, and  a  passage,  not  of  arms,  but  words  and  blows  ensued,  which 
ended  by  the  parties  having  to  appear  at  the  police-office,  the  case  proven, 
and  committed  for  trial  before  tne  recorder. 

Well,  here  we  are,  inside  the  Exhibition.  What  feelings  does  it  not 
arouse  within  you?  Are  these  people  not  a  race  with  perverted  talents  ? 
Look  at  the  linen,  woollen,  freize,  and  worsted  fabrics — are  they  not  good  ? 
Look  at  the  silk,  lace,  and  embroidery — can  it  be  equalled  ?  See  the 
manufactory  of  poplins  and  velvets  within  the  place.  Look  at  the  fine 
linen  or  coarser  towelling,  but  yet  these  people  are  begging  by  the  road- 
side, starving  amongst  natural  resources  unequalled,  shooting  landlords, 
emig^tinc^  to  America  and  Australia,  and  during  the  hara  years  of 
1846-47,  having  a  million  pounds  sterling  per  month  paid  from  the  royal 
treasury  into  their  country. 

The  pictures  are,  with  some  exceptions,  the  veriest  daubs  I  ever  saw. 
There  is  a  beautifid  one  by  Maclise,  and  one  or  two  others,  well  known 


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A  Scampfr  to  KiUamet/,  vid  the  Cork  Exhibiiion.        421 

in  the  world  of  fioe  arts,  but  they  only  prove  the  more  forcibly  that  Irish 
talent  does  not  lie  in  that  of  the  artist  or  limner ;  and  wherever  you  do 
aee  it,  and  you  may  very  often,  and  that  too  pre-eminently  beautiful,  it  is 
aD  individual,  not  a  general  genius. 

One  thing  certiunly  raised  a  smile  to  my  face.  An  Irish  Exhibition 
without  a  bull  in  it,  would  be  certainly  **  Hamlet"  with  the  Prince  of 
Denmark  omitted,  or  one  of  Miss  Edgeworth's  novels  without  the  moral ; 
but  this  time  the  bull  took  the  form  of  a  tiger — of  course  I  do  not  mean  an 
*^  Irish  tiger,"  escaped  from  Sackville-street,  and  parading  the  sunny  side 
of  Piccadilly — but  a  real  feline  speoimen  of  the  animal,  the  species  Cuvier 
and  Linnseus  describes,  and  which  I  have  yet  to  learn  is  indigenous  to 
Ireland.  But  a  truce  to  badinoge.  Let  us  turn  to  the  beautiful  bijouterie, 
the  Wicklow  gold,  some  very  good  sculpture,  and  the  beautiful  carvings, 
chairs,  and  tables  made  from  the  bog  oak  and  Killarney  woods. 
But  even  here,  again,  the  pictorial  art  is  sadly  deficient.  One  table 
I  saw  had  a  circle  of  shamrocks  inlaid  in  holly  wood,  which  was  very 
fairly  done;  but  another  artbt,  more  venturous,  had  attempted  to  add  the 
thistle  and  rose ;  but  such  ridiculous  hieroglyphics  I  never  saw,  save  in 
some  old  illuminated  missal,  or  an  idle  schoolboy's  desk.  If  a  few  Scot^sh 
artists  and  workmen  would  come  over  and  settle  in  Killarney  or  Cork  and 
propagate  this  fancy  trade,  I  feel  confident  the  speculation  would  answer. 
Capital  workmen  could  be  easily  found  who  only  require  *'  putting  in  the 
way'*  of  doing  things,  to  equal  any  in  the  world.  I  have  not  de* 
scribed  half  that  is  to  be  seen  in  the  Exhibition,  for  I  shall  leave  that  to 
you  to  find  out,  my  good  reader.  A  military  band  plays  twice  a  week, 
and  a  grand  promenade  of  all  the  rank  and  beauty  of  Cork  attend. 
Dillon,  from  the  Sheffield  circuit,  has  opened  the  theatre,  and  Senor  Pablo 
Fanque  a  6ne  amphitheatre,  with  a  good  stud  of  horses,  and  well-drilled 
artistes. 

Before  you  leave  Cork,  however,  you  must  run  down  to  Queens- 
town,  as  it  is  now  called,  where  you  will  see  the  finest  natural  harbour  in 
the  world,  and  '<  our  wooden  walls,"  or  fleet,  riding  at  anchor  in  the  bay. 

So  now  we  are  fairly  off  for  Killarney.  You  remember  the  advice  I 
gave  you,  ere  we  left  London,  about  plenty  of  wrappers.  We  have  ordered 
an  outside  car,  or  ''jingle"  as  it  is  called  in  Cork,  for  which  you  pay  six- 
pence a  mile,  and  three^halfpence  a  mile  to  the  driver ;  and  when  you  con- 
sider it  takes  fourteen  English  miles  to  make  eleven  Irish,  and  you  always 
pay  at  the  national  rate,  Icannot  think  you  have  much  to  grumble  at  on 
the  score  of  extortion.  You  are  to  reach  Macropm  at  night,  but  as  therie 
is  not  much  to  see  en  routCy  you  need  not  hurry  ofF  very  early.  After 
you  have  gone  about  four  miles,  on  your  right  stands  a  large  barrack  for 
artillery  and  cavalry,  and  within  its  walls  the  powder-mills  of  Messrs. 
Tobins,  and  Co.,  well  wprth  the  inspection  of  any  one  who  has  not  seen 
such  a  manufactor}'.  They  are  open  from  mommg  until  dusk,  and  no 
trouble  is  experienced  in  obtaining  a  view  of  them.  On  your  road  you 
pass  the  old  ruin  of  Carrig-a-Droid,  built  on  a  rock  in  the  centre  of  the 
river  Lee.  A  damsel  once  lived  near  the  site  of  the  present  ruin.  She 
was  beautiful,  proud,  and  rich — the  heiress  of  an  old  baron.  A  poor 
hump-backed  shoemaker  fell  in  love  with  her,  and  pined  in  solitude  for 
her  sake.    One  day,  whilst  weeping  by  the  banks  of  the  stream  over  his 


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422         A  Scamper  to  KiQameyj  tnd  the  Cork  Exhibition. 

disappointed  hopes,  he  heaid  the  tep,  tap,  tap  of  the  hammer  of  <Jd 
Cluricaune,  the  preridiag  genius  of  shoemaken.  To  captmv  the  antiqiie 
gentleman  would  realise  aU  his  hopes ;  so  off  he  set>  and  followed  Mr. 
Cluricaune  over  many  lands,  through  many  countries,  for  many  a  long 
mile,  often  weaiy  and  hungry,  for  the  space  of  two  years,  until  his 
assiduity  was  rewarded  hy  catching  the  old  cx>y  in  a  profound  nap  some- 
where in  the  Giant's  Causeway,  and  then  and  there  compelling  the  imp 
to  transform  him,  the  deformed  and  weather-heaten  shoemaker,  into  a 
tall,  handsome  youth,  and  endow  him  with  untold  riches ;  with  these — 
symmetry  and  riches  comhined — ^he  wooed,  won,  and  wedded  the  object 
of  his  rondest  hopes,  and  in  one  nig/U  huilt  this  Castle  of  Carrig^«- 
Droid  for  his  future  residence. 

There  is  not  much  to  he  seen  at  Macroom  except  a  castle;  and  after 
doing  that  and  dinner,  yon  must  to  bed  early,  and  be  up  with  the  lark 
next  mominff.  Not  one  moment  later  than  half-past  seren,  a.m.,  most 
I  see  yott  sairely  deposited  in  the  car,  and  ready  for  a  start. 

We  now  come  upon  a  beautiful  road,  so  let  us  take  our  time  to  enjoy 
it  well.  It  is,  indeed,  a  wild  majestic  drive  to  Inchigeela,  or  *^  the  IsUnd 
of  the  Hostages  ;*'  then  by  the  river  Lee  we  proceed  until  it  widens 
into  the  beautaiful  lake  of  Allna,  and  ihence  to  Gougane  Barra.  Here 
we  change  horses  and  cars,  and  our  appetites,  sharpened  by  the  drire, 
we  find  ourselves  quite  ready  for  the  ''  crisped**  potatoes,  new  milk,  and 
fowls,  which  the  old  lady  soon  prepares  to  tame  our  appetite,  for  we 
shall  not  get  our  dinner  until  nine  in  the  evening.  After  luncheon  you 
must  set  off  for  the  lone  lake,  around  which  the  craggy  mountains  crowd 
in  gloomy  splendour,  while  on  an  island  stands  the  hermitage  of  St. 
Bcma.  You  have  surely  read  that  beautiful  ode  upon  this  sequestered 
spot ;  if  you  have  not,  my  Viator,  you  have  a  treat  in  store,  and  one  I 
would  advise  you  not  to  neglect  enjoying.  (  Vide  any  of  the  larger  g^de- 
books  to|Killamey.)  Whilst  resting  at  this  place,  or  spot,  for  your  ^  tiffin," 
I  wandered  forth  and  saw  a  patteen,  or  hebdominal  feast,  at  the  afore* 
mentioned  hermitage,  which,  of  course,  is  instituted  for  prayer.  Alas  ! 
however,  I  am  too  greatiy  afraid  it  generally  ends  in  drunkenness  and  rice. 

We  are  once  more  on  our  car,  and  ascending  the  hill  between  the 
pass  of  Keim-an-eigh,  fiunous  for  the  treason  and  daring  of  Captain 
Rock,  a  yeoman-finrmer  of  Michelstown,  and  leader  of  the  White  Boys. 
Lord  Bantry  determined  upon  this  ci-devant  captain's  imprisonment,  and 
turned  out  the  whole  of  his  tenants,  retainers,  and  people,  to  take  this 
rebel  chief  and  his  clan ;  but  while  descending  the  pass  his  party  had  a 
very  narrow  escape,  for  just  as  the  last  of  his  lordship's  followers  passed 
the  heiehts,  an  immense  stone  was  rolled  down,  happily  without  efllect 

At  about  eight,  p.iff.,  arrive  at  Bantry,  and  rest  there  for  the  night. 

Yesterday  you  had  a  hard  day,  so  take  your  snooze,  vrorthy  reader, 
and  I  will  not  disturb  you.  At  about  noon,  however,  we  must  be  off  in 
a  car  for  Glengariff,  eight  miles  distant,  passing  the  baywhere  the  French 
fleet  "  rode"  in  1796.  Of  course  you  have  read  Mrs.  Hall's  book,  where^ 
in  an  early  edition,  she  gives  her  opinion,  and  with  justice  too,  rela- 
tive to  the  badness  of  the  hotel  at  Glengariff,  improved  siuce,  but  capable 
of  improvement  even  now.  I  must  here  digress.  In  1844,  I  recollect  I 
went  with  some  boysy  for  they  were  really  not  above  fifteen  to  sixteen 


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A  Scamper  to  KUlamey^  via  the  Cork  Emkibidon.        423 

jean  of  age,  on  a  fiahing  ezcunioii  to  this  T«ry  hotel    Chaff  waa  the 
order  of  die  day* 

'<  Take  care,"  said  one,  (<  if  you  don't  treat  me  well,  waiter,  I  shall 
report  yoa  to  Mrs.  HalL** 

'*  Faiz,  and  ye  make  a  deal  of  bobbesy,  air,"  he  replied. 

'^  What  do  yoa  aaj  Y*  added  another,  angrily,  without  a  hair  on  his 
face.  *'  Take  eare^  you  knight  of  the  dirty  nuddn,  for  I  am  writing  a 
bookmyiel£" 

'<Te  are,  are  ye,  air  ?"  replied  the  ready-witted  waiter.  «' Faith,  then, 
I  am  after  thinking  it  will  be  many  a  kmg  day  before  that  book  sees  its 
binding." 

Before  dinner,  you  ought  to  have  seen  CromweH's  bridge,  whidi  the 
legends  tell  you  was  built  in  twenty*four  hours— beUeye  it,  if  you  please. 
Nevertheless,  it  is  a  fine  old  ruin.  Having  seen  it,  you  are  ready  in  the 
morning  to  clamber  the  mountain's  side,  inferior  to  nothing  that  either 
the  Britiah  Islands  or  Europe  aflPocds— I  mean  die  Sugar-loaf  Mountain, 
around  whose  edge  are  365  lakes  (or  one  for  every  day  in  the  year),  fed 
alomt  by  the  elouds ;  and  from  its  heights  you  have  as  fine  and  as  expan- 
sive a  panorama  of  scenery  as  ever  you  mh  to  obtain — ay,  be  it  Swit- 
zerland or  the  north  of  Italy. 

While  descending,  our  guide  said  in  a  low  tone  •—  '*  Whi^>er,  yer 
honour !    Will  yer  honour  see  a  fight  ?" 

"A  fight?" 

'*  Ay,  a  fight ! — ^a  facdon  fight  between  the  Haringtons  and  Glen- 
lyons!** 

So»  acoordinglv,  imbued  widi  old  grandmamma  Eye's  cmrioaitT,  I  went  to 
see  it,  and  though  they  have  no  use ''  of  their  mauleys,"  yet  with  their  shil- 
lelafas  there  was  many  a  broken  bead  and  contused  l>ody  to  show  how  much 
the  belligerentshad  thor  spirit  and  vengeance  well  '<up^  with  their  conflicts. 
We  retimied  by  Lord  Bantry'a  grounds^  and  I  bought  an  *'  Irish  terrier;" 
and  although  assured  by  Mrs.  Hall's  work  I  had  obtained  an  '^  original,'* 
1  am  sdll  very  sceptieal,  as  upon  the  produedon  of  Glena  to  the  strictures 
of  the  "  foncy,"  I  was  told  she  was  *'  nought  but  a  Seatek  bred  one." 

After  seeing  Glengari£^  we  sleep  the  next  night  at  Kenmare,  a  yery 
good  inn,  and  leave  the  next  day  for  Killamey.  Here  I  recommend  the 
«<  Lake  Hotel,"  at  the  "  Casde  Lough."  Charges  dius :  Breakfast,  U.  Sd, ; 
dinner,  2#.  6dL ;  beds.  Is,  StL ;  two-oared  boat  and  men,  69.  per  diem  ; 
a  four-oared  boat  with  ditto,  10#.  These  charges^  remember,  include 
servants  of  every  description,  and  the  boatmen;  the  latter  you  are  pard- 
eulariy  requested  by  the  landlord,  and  in  short  every  one  else,  not  to/ee^ 
otherwise  you  encourage  extortion. 

Yon  are  SQ{»osed  to  pay  nothing  for  the  omnibus  from  the  town  to 
die  Lake  Hotel,  but  the  driver  sends  in  his  reqpects,  and  intimates  he  has 
''  no  meat  or  <Uet  allowed"  but  what  he  receives  horn  the  honour  of 
'*  jintlemen.*'  Certes  you  have  no  interest  in  the  eternal  economy  of  the 
dnver^s  wardrobe  or  lutchen,  and  you  may  foel  disgusted — ^what  ladies 
think,  I  know  not — ^for  surely  yon  would  feel  very  angry  at  a  Brixton  or 
city  cab-driver  naively  informmg  you  he  had  *^  popped  "  his  Sunday-coat, 
and  would  be  much  obliged  by  the  loan  of  three  shillings  to  get  it  out  of 
pawn.     However,  you  send  the  Irish  bus-driver  sixpence  a  head,  and  jot 


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424         A  Scamper  to  KiUarney^  vid  tlie  Cork  Exhibition. 

it  down  in  your  mincl  to  the  score  of  iDOongniities  of  Ireland.  Friend 
Boniface !  in  future,  take  a  hint :  chaige  each  fMUSsenger,  and  let  the 
product  he  your  servants'  wages.  The  Saxon  will  pay  what  yon  demand 
as  long  as  you  keep  within  bounds ;  but  do  not  let  your  servants  he^.  Am 
Captain  Deuoeaoe,  of  the  Blues,  would  say,  ^'  It  is  demn  low,  old  fella-ar/' 
Well,  here  you  are  at  Killarney.  Now,  do  not  expect  me  to  break  out 
into  a  wild  rhapsody  of  delight,  and  describe  everything  with  the  eosf/mr- 
de-rose  pen  of  a  George  Robins  or  a  Mrs.  Norton,  as  we  climb  the  xnoan- 
tuns  or  row  alone  the  lakes ;  for  I  suppose  you  are  here  yourself,  and  if 
so,  quite  as  capable  of  forming  your  own  ideas  on  the  sofbiess  or  beauty 
of  the  scene,  as  I  am  of  telling  you  of  it  I  consider  it  a  paoorama 
for  bold  sterility  and  soft-wooded  loveliness,  combined  of  varied  lig'hts 
and  shades,  of  tints  and  colouring,  unequalled  in  any  country  I  have 
ever  seen. 

You  had  better  engage  a  guide,  who  expects  from  four  to  five  shillings 
a  day.  Mr.  Kerry  O'Leary  is  a  diverting  and  amusing  creature,  full  of  wit 
and  anecdote,  stories  andlegends  without  end,  and  very  proud  of  having 
accompanied  Mr.  Charles  Lever  on  his  visit  to  this  spot  some  years  ago. 
<<  He  wrote  a  book  about  this  place,  sir,"  said  Kerry. 
"Indeed— did  he?" 

"  He  has  written  one  just  now,  too,  sir.     He  told  me  he  would,  please 
your  honour.     Let  us  see — what  is  it  ?" 
"  The  Daltons,  perhaps,"  I  replied. 

"  Yes,  sir,  ^  The  Dolphins  after  the  Flying-Fish,'  that  is  the  name,  str^ 
an  iligant  title  entirely,  please  your  honour." 

The  greatest  curse  to  Ireland,  its  visitors,  and  travellers,  is  its  beggars  ; 
and  at  Killarney  they  swarm  around  you  like  flies  on  a  hot  summer^s  day. 
Mrs.  Hall  attempts  to  justify  them ;  I  am  sorry  to  say,  that,  with  doe 
deference  to  her  superior  judgment,  I  contemplate  the  class  with  mingled 
feelings  of  anger,  disgust,  and  pity.  Mrs.  Hall  urges,  as  a  great  redeenung 
plea  for  their  humilmtmg  and  depraved  habits,  that  of  repartee.  But 
even  here  I  am  at  issue  with  the  clever  authoress ;  for  although  not 
clothed  in  such  eleeant  language,  and  yet  embellished  with  anathematical 
expletives  hardly  fit  for  ^^  ears  polite,"  I  have  heard  as  witty  an  answer, 
or  as  smart  a  chaffing-match,  from  a  Billingsgate  fish-woman  or  London 
dockyard-man,  a  bus-cad  or  Whitechapel  butcher-boy,  as  ever  you  heard 
at  the  foot  of  Mangerton,  or  in  the  streets  of  Killarney.  I  have  no 
interest  in  contorted  features,  paralysed  limbs,  or  disagreeable  deformities, 
and  cannot  consider  it  anything  picturesque  to  see  human  beings  covered 
with  rags,  filth,  and  vermin ;  who  have  been  strangers  to  a  good  wash  and 
use  of  soap  and  a  hair-brush  from  the  hour  of  their  childhood ;  nor  have 
I  any  sympathy  with  people  who  exist  solely  by  lying  and  importunity. 
Strip  the  subject  of  its  romance,  and  let  us  look  at  it  as  though  we  were 
solemnly  reading  a  leader  of  the  Times,  not  listenmg  to  the  light-hearted 
holiday-prattle  of  some  black-eyed  girl,  or  the  jokes  and  laughter  of  a 
boon-companion.  What  are  these  beggars  but  a  race  who  have  been 
initiated  from  their  childhood  in  deception  and  vice,  until  each  succeed- 
ing year  of  their  existence  is  but  another  and  a  higher  phase  achieved  in 
the  mystery  of  their  craft  ?  What  are  they  but  a  people  who>  by  cun- 
nmg,  deceit,  and  fraud,  work  on  your  vanity  or  good  nature,  and  by  these 


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A  Sietmper  to  KtSurmfy  vid tieGaf*  Exhibiiion.        425 

means  empty  your  pockets  of  yoor  money,  and  trho  aro,  at  le^t  to  my 
•ye,  but  little  removed  from  tbd  pickpocket,  the  swindler,  or  the  Cheva- 
lier dlndustvie  !  Happily  they  are  disappearing  in  a  degree— emigra- 
tiDg  to  America  or  the  diggings  of  Au8ta*ali8|  the  good  sense  of  travel- 
lers and  visitors  showing  them  how  much  better  it  is  to  button  up  their 
breeches-pockets  than  to  enoomage  these  beggai^  in  their  sloth,  drunk- 
eimess,  and  lies.  The  landlords  in  these  parts  reside  on  their  property, 
and  there  is  work  for  all.  One  gentleman  in  particular  is  worthy  of 
much  praise.  He  has  diamed  and  improved  his  fieu-ms,  and  turned  the 
miserable  cabins  into  comfortable  homesteads — a  senator,  a  philanthropist, 
and  a  Christian. 

WeD,  we  must  be  up  eariy  next  moming,  and  see  the  sun  rise,  and 
then  to  bieak&st ;  after  that,  order  onr  ponies,  and  Kerry  O'Leary  as 
guide,  to  ascend  Mangerton. 

The  ponies  are  most  wonderfully  sure-footed,  warranted  not  to  trip  or 
£all,  and  to  carry  a  lady.  In  shorty  I  saw  a  €Eur  damsel,  who  had  never  been 
''  outside  a  horse  ^  before^  mount  one  of  these  palfreys,  and  such  confidence 
did  it  give  her,  that  I  am  a/mos^  inclined  to  back  her  against  that  lady  who 
is  going  the  rounds  of  the  sporting  papers  as  desirous  of  making  a  match 
to  perform  such  prodigies  in  horse-t£7omanship.  A  short  mile  brings  you 
to  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  and  here  again  you  are  assailed  by  a  huntJred 
or  so  barefooted  girls,  with  a  thorough  contempt  for  millinery,  or  hair-dress- 
ing, who  press  upon  you  most  assiduously  the  goat's  milk  and  mountain- 
dew  they  carry.  You  are  very  an^ry  at  first,  for  during  your  guide's 
explanations  of  the  scenery  a  runnmg  obligato  is  kept  up  by  these  girls 
of  "  The  stones  are  sharp,  yer  honour ;"  "  The  day  is  fine,  yer  honour ;" 
"  Yer  honour  is  looking  well ;"  "  The  water  is  smooth,"  and  so  forth  ; 
and  at  last  you  come  to  the  conclusion  English  travellers  must  have  some- 
thing very  foohsh  written  in  their  faces,  for  these  nymphs  of  goat's  milk 
to  tbink  they  were  not  as  well  aware  of  all  these  facts  they  have  been 
telliang  them  as  they  were  themselves,  for  I  assure  you  they  never  give 
you  further  information  than  the  very  commonplace  phrases  I  have 
quoted  above.  One  old  lady  was  very  persevering  in  begging  of  my 
companion. 

'*  Ah,  then!  good  jinilemen  always  give  me  something,"  said  the  old 
beldame. 

'^  But  I  am  the  bad  gentleman,"  he  replied,  '^  and  my  friends  always 
call  me  Satan,  for  shortness." 

The  reply  set  the  oM  hag  ofF  into  a  paroxysm  of  laughter,  and  she 
went  away  jabbering  and  cackling,  better  pleased,  I  do  beheve,  than  if  he 
had  given  her  half-a-crown. 

Two  young  ladies,  in  very  degage  attire,  attached  themselves  to  me. 
I  do  not  know  what  they  saw  to  become  so  suddenly  fond  of  me— -perhaps 
my  grey  hairs  and  crow's  feet  had  something  to  attract  them.  I  did  all 
I  could,  however,  to  get  rid  of  them.  I  tried  anger,  then  persuasion, 
then  love ;  every  means  in  my  power,  but  of  no  avail.  I  put  my  pony 
into  a  sharp  trot,  but  they  clung  to  its  tul ;  so,  at  last,  upon  the  prin- 
ciple "  that  what  cannot  be  cured  must  be  endured,"  I  let  my  good- 
humour  get  the  better  of  my  wrath,  and  up  we  aU  went  together.  Afber 
a  while  they  became  more  communicative;  they  pointed  me  out  the 
different  reeks  and  hills,  streams  and  valleys.    They  then  offered  to  sell 

Aug. — ^VOL.  XCV.  NO.  CCCLXXZ.  2  F 


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426        A  Scamper  to  Kilkarmtg^  m&  the  Cork  EmhMiiom. 

xne  worsted  stockmgs,  imtteiis,  and  Keny  diamonds;  and  on rMdnog*  the 
Pouch  Bowl,  where  the  denl  is  supposed  to  foeiicii  his  thirst  after  hie 
eTenin^  cigar,  the  fairest  of  1117  Hebes  diaappeared,  and  when  she  caase 
back  it  was  with  a  Uttle  can  o^  as  she  assiued  me^  the  coldest  water  in 
the  world.  I  drank  to  please  her,  and  not  withootlho  hopes  diese  b«fT 
of  damsels  wooMremsBD  with  the  ponies  at  the  po<d;  hut  no !  £or  althov^ 
they  had  been  np  to  the  top^  I  should  think,  five  or  six  times  every  day, 
np  they  all  came  trcM^ing  with  ns  again  to  the  very  summit.  I  gave 
my  fair  companions  a  trine,  which  entailed  s^Km  me  all  the  blessings 
ih^  could  bestow,  and  the  in^rtnnities  of  all  the  odier  giib. 

When  we  reached  the  plain  again,  I  inquired  of  Keny  who  the  two 
girls  were  who  had  been  so  attracted  by  my  fiitheriy  ^ipeaiBnoe.  He 
tdd  me  they  were  the  daughters  of  a  small  £urmer,  doing  very  well  in 
ihe  world,  with  cows,  pigs,  and  potato -^elds,  but  begging  ma  too  good 
a  trade  in  the  summer  to  be  ne^ected.  Many  of  these  girls  are  very 
Inward,  but  persons  well  skiUed  in  those  matters  informed  me  that  they 
irould  beg,  lie,  dance,  and  drink  punch,  bmt  they  were  rigidly  virtnons. 

After  you  have  descended  from  Mangerton,  you  must  take  a  ride  in 
Lord  Kenmare's  park,  where  you  have  some  splendid  views  and  capital 
mss  to  canter  on.  Then  to  £nner,  where  you  will  have  an  oiq;inid  in 
Charles  the  waiter.  Do  not  fail  to  question  him  anffist  his  love  for  rice- 
pudding.  Once,  when  butler  to  a  gentleman — so  the  story  goes — ^Iiis 
master  ordered  him  *^  to  heat  the  rice-pudding  made  for  tne  pic-ruc." 
The  pronouncing  of ''  eat"  and  ^^  heat"  being  so  similar  in  the  Iridi  lan- 
guage— both  beine^  pronounced  ^'ato" — Charles  thought  the  latter  the 
most  approved  fashion  of  '^  cooking"  the  pudding,  and  a  capital  meal  he 
made  of  it  Another  anecdote  of  the  worthy.  Charles  vras  one  day  at 
mess.  Two  ladies  entered  the  chapeL  *'  Two  dieers  (chairs)  for  the 
ladies,'*  said  the  priest  '^  Hurrah,  hurrah !  for  the  ladies,"  screamed 
Charles;  and  such  a  hullaballoo  of  cheers  was  taken  1:^  by  the  con- 
gregation, and  sounded  through  the  chapel,  as  vras  never  heard  there 
before. 

After  dinner,  old  Gansey,  the  blind  piper,  came  in,  and  his  son,  v^io 
accompanies  hun  on  a  violin ;  and  for  those  who  like  the  strains  of  the 
bagpipes,  he  plays  remarkably  well.  One  air  is  very  plaintive,  and  the 
woros  contain  the  lament  of  an  old  farmer  who  has  married  a  young 
wife^  and  who  has  his  jealousy  aroused,  and  his  honour  assailed,  by  the 
attempts  of  a  danciug-master,  who  allures  her  plighted  love  from  him* 
At  last  the  dancing-master  succeeds,  and  elcmes  with  the  old  man's  wife. 
(By-the-by,  even  to  this  day,  these  rural  dancmg-masters  are  great  Bon 
Giovannis  in  Ireland---most  successful  rascals  wUh  the  hearts  of  ladies.) 
And  in  the  song  he  bewails  his  loss^  and  that  part  where  he  says  he 
nursed  and  tended  his  prattling  infont  in  the  fond  belief  it  was  his  own, 
and  now  finds  it  was  another's,  is  mournfully  sweet,  enough  to  mdt  the 
sternest  heart  to  tears. 

Next  morning  we  are  up  early  again,  and  after  breakfast  we  moont  on 
a  car  and  drive  off  to  the  fine  waterfall  called  the  Tore  Cascade — thence 
to  see  the  old  ruin  of  Madcruss,  the  burial-plaoe  now  of  the  lairds  of  this 
district  It  is  fine,  certainly,  but  Hn.  Hall  ought  not  to  compare  it 
to  Melrose  Abb^,  in  Scotland.  A  pretty  drive  tibzongh  the 
farings  you  to  your  boat    First  of  all,  then,  you  row  mp  <<the 


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A  Scamper  to  KiUarney^  viA  the  Cork  Exhibition.         427 

of  the  waters,"  the  spot  Sir  Walter  Scott  most  admired;  yoa  then  enase 
about  the  islets  until  five,  and  land  at  Lady  Kenmure's  cottage^  where 
'<  Sweet  Kitty^  will  quickly  roast  you  some  new-caught  salmon  on  arhutus 
sticks,  and  ''  crisp"  some  potatoes,  which,  together  with  the  ''  prog"  you 
have  brought  from  the  Lake  Hotel,  makes  you  a  very  comfortable  cUnii«r. 
This  despatched,  row  and  see  O'SuUivan's  Cascade,  where  you  must  not 
fail  to  collect  some  roots  of  the  tree-moss,  which  Professor  Wilson  tells 
us  is  only  found  here  and  in  Hampshire. 

You  then  cross  over  to  the  fertile  and  beautiful  island  of  Innisfallen, 
where  is  the  world-famed  bed  of  honour.  A  knight  once  eloped  with  a 
neighbouring  baron's  daughter.  The  enraged  father  caught  the  disobe- 
dient lovers  claq>ed  in  one  another's  arms  asleep  in  this  cave.  The  ^her, 
like  stage  papas  of  the  present  day,  immediately  ordered  his  daughter 
home,  but,  like  Mrs.  Desdemona,  she  ezdaimed, 

And  so  much  duty  as  my  mother  showed 
To  you,  preferring  you  before  her  father. 
So  much  I  challenge. 

'<  Besides,  sir,  she  has  slept  with  me  all  this  night,"  broke  in  her 
lover,  in  a  very  untheatrical  meter. 

'^  As  a  knight,  sir,  I  feel  sure  you  are  too  much  of  a  gentleman  to  have 
taken  any  dishonourable  advantage  of  my  daughter,"  replied  the  father. 

The  surmise  proved  true,  and  as  a  reward  the  old  baron  became  recon- 
dled,  and  bestowed  his  daughter's  hand  on  the  young  knight.  The 
questionable  properties  of  this  bed  of  honour  now,  in  modem  dmes,  I 
know  nothing  about ;  but  if  stories  be  true,  many  of  the  youths,  even  of 
this  year  of  grace  1852 — aye,  and  noble  ones  too — owe  their  existence 
from  a  visit  of  their  parents  to  this  very  cave.  Ask  0*Leary.  On  your 
return  you  touch  at  the  cottage,  and,  if  the  evening  is  fine,  land ;  where  a 
party  is  almost  sure  to  be  dancing  away  at  some  Lish  jigs  or  reels,  to  the 
strains  of  the  croaking  bagpipes,  as  light-hearted  and  as  mmj  as  health, 
youth,  and  innocence  can  make  tiiem.  Should  you  be  Terpsichoreanly  in- 
clined, my  word  for  it  you  will  find  plenty  of  partners  ana  lasses  that  will 
dance  you  down  too  much,  as  you  may  fancy  you  are  indomitable  from 
your  frequent  visits  to  the  Windmill-street  Casmo  or  the  Cremome  Gar- 
dens. As  the  shades  of  evening  gather  around  you,  you  slowly  paddle 
homewards  ;  but  ere  you  land,  you  must  call  upon  Faddy  Blake,  a  won- 
derful echo  heard  from  the  peninsula  at  the  Lake  Hotel,  and  which  re- 
peats most  distinctly  every  cry  and  holloa  you  make. 

My  limits  will  not  allow  me  to  stxike  out  for  you  the  programme  for 
each  day's  touring.  Mr.  Thackeray  tells  us,  *'  As  for  a  man's  coming 
from  his  desk  in  London  or  Dublm  and  seeing  the  whole  lakes  in  a 
day,  he  is  an  ass  for  his  pains."  And  truly  does  the  author  of  ''  Vanity 
Fair"  write.  To  see  Killamey  well,  you  require  at  least  a  week ;  but 
whether  you  see  the  Gap  of  Dunloe  on  a  Thursday,  or  the  Reeks  on  a 
Tuesday,  or  Ross  Island  on  a  Wednesday  Qn.  inspecting  the  latter,  how- 
ever, devote  a  whole  day),  must  be  a  question  for  you  to  decide  on  when 
you  are  on  the  spot.  It  would  be  presumptuous  in  me  to  dictate  when 
we  remember  Terence's  aphorism,  Tot  homines  guot  senientia* 

The  week  over,  with  regret  you  inquire  of  Charles,  the  waiter^  ihe 
conveyances  to  Mallow,  where  you  meet  the  Dublin  tndn. 

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428         A  Scamper  to  Killarneyy  vid  the  Cork  Exhibition. 

**  The  mail,  please  your  honour,  at  a  quarter  past  four/'  he  replied. 

*^  Take  me  a  seat,  if  you  please,  wuter.  Mrs.  Brown  Smith,  of  Pirn- 
lico,  London,"  chimed  in  an  elderly  lady,  with  a  decided  toupee  of 
dark  hlack  hair  and  very  green  eyes.  "  An  inside  one,  if  you  please^ 
waiter ;  and  tell  the  hoots  to  he  very  particular  in  bringing  down  my 

The  mail — I  had  an  indistinct  fancy  of  a  red-painted,  light- bodied 
coach,  with  four  thorough-bred  galloping  horses,  doing  the  twelve  miles 
within  the  hour ;  and  wondered  what  Charles's  cynicd  smile  meant  as 
he  left  the  room,  mumbling,  "  An  inside  place  on  an  outside  car — faith  ! 
that  bangs  Banagher !" 

I  know  I  was  very  much  astonished,  and  I  saw  Mrs.  Brown  Smith  was 
also  astonished,  and  a  sixteen-stone  Sheffield  hagraan,  with  a  ton  wd^ght 
of  cutlery,  was  also  astonished,  and  a  young  lady  was  astonished,  and  my 
travelling  companion  was  very  much  astonished,  to  find  her  Majesty's 
royal  mail  nothing  better  than  a  joint-dislocating,  bone-breaking, 
rough,  outside  '^jingle,"  to  carry  five  people,  besides  all  the  luggage  and 
letter-bags,  and  a  bit  of  a  gossoon  for  a  coachman,  with  a  short  clay  pipe 
in  his  mouth,  filled  with  the  most  execrable  tobacco  I  ever  remember  to 
have  smelt — and  all  drawn  by  one  poor  unfortunate  horse.  I  conclude 
Martin's  Act  is  not  in  force  in  Ireland. 

"  Mind  that  portmanteau,  porter,"  said  Mrs.  Brown  Smith ;  "  do  set 
it  up  straight.  Now  be  careral,  do.  Now — now  ! — there! — I  am  sure 
you  will  spoil  everything  in  it.  How  very  careless  and  thoughtless  these 
Irish  are,  sir  !" 

"Very,  ma'am,"  replied  the  cutler.  "Now,  you  shaver,  are  we 
never  to  be  off?     We  shall  miss  the  train." 

Upon  which,  the  driver  gave  a  peculiar  Irish  whistle  between  his 
lips,  and  desiring  us  to  scramble  up  as  best  we  could,  played  a  few  dull 
notes  on  a  tin  bora,  that  set  all  our  teeth  on  edge,  and  kept  them  so 
for  the  next  five  minutes.  Once  under  weigh,  I  found  myself  next  Mrs. 
Brown  Smith. 

"  Any  danger  do  you  think,  sir  ?**  she  inquired  of  me,  timidly. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  without  thinking. 

"  You  don't  really  mean  it  ?  It  is  a  very  dull,  dreary  road  I  hear, 
and  these  Irish  are  just  like  Caffres — shoot  you  from  behind  a  wall,  and 
no  one  takes  any  notice  at  all  of  it — and  no  police  here,  sir.  If — if — 
-anything  does  occur,  sir — my  will,  sir,  is  with  Wilcox  and  SwanquiQ, 
Figtree-court,  Temple,  sir — and — Jane! — Anne! " 

"My  dear  madam,"J  I  exclaimed,  "you  quite  misunderstood  ray 
meaning.  The  only  danger  I  anticipated  was  that  of  our  being  late  for 
the  tndn." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  sir." 

"  Besides,  there  are  police  here ;  perhaps  as  fine  a  body  of  men  as  ever 
yon  saw.  They  are  drilled  like  soldiers,  and  wear  a  uniform  somewhat 
similar  to  the  Rifles." 

'^  Oh,  thank  you,  sir,"  replied  the  duenna.  "  Are  these  policemen  as 
successflil  with  gentlemen's  cooks  as  they  are  in  London,  do  you 
think?" 

*'  Really,  madam,"  I  said,  courteously,  "  I  have  no  experience  in  the 
amorous  triumphs  of  policemen,  either  here  or  in  town." 


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A  Scamper  to  KiUarney^  vid  the  Cork  Exhibition.        429 

''  I  hope  my  portmanteau  is  safe,"  said  Mrs.  Smith,  after  a  long  pause. 
'<  You  see,  sir,  I  am  not  much  of  a  traveller.  I  was  never  iiirther  than 
Gravesend  in  my  life  until  now.  It  is  a  great  imdertaking,  sir,  for  me. 
The  sea  was  very  unpleasant — quite  different  to  what  1  felt  when  I 
went  down  to  Greenwich  to  see  the  Hospital  there,  sir." 

I  endeavoured  to  explain  the  difference  between  the  sea  and  a  river^ 
for  which  the  old  lady  was  very  much  obliged,  and  in  return  gave  me  a 
short  epitome  of  her  family  history — of  the  departed  Smith,  who  had 
been  a  tallow-chandler,  and  of  Jane  Anne,  her  daughter. 

**  I  was  very  nervous  the  other  day,  when  Jane  Anne  went  to  Wind- 
sor to  see  her  aunt,  sir,"  said  the  elderly  lady,  cutting  imaginary  circles 
in  the  air  with  her  hands,  as  if  she  was  clearing  off  some  fog  gathering 
around  her.  "  I  don't  mind  a  hackney-coach,  sir,  but  those  railroads 
are  so  very  dangerous,  and  the  tunnels  very  frightful,  sir — to  be  in  the 
dark  with  a  strange  gentleman,  you  know,  is  anything  but  correct,  sir." 
And  so  Mrs.  Brown  Smith  went  on  prattling  until  we  finished  our  first 
stage. 

Here  we  changed  horses,  and  got  into  the  shafts  a  smartish-looking, 
rather  well-bred  mare;  much  wind-galled,  however,  and  without  an 
ounce  of  flesh  on  her  bones. 

**  How  far  is  it  to  the  next  stage,  boy  ?"  I  asked. 

'*  Seventeen  miles,  yer  honour,"  he  replied. 

Seventeen  miles  for  one  poor  unfortunate  mare  to  drag  a  heavy  car, 
six  people,  and  luggage  ! 

If  ever  there  was  a  shameful  act  of  cruelty  to  a  poor  animal,  and 
that  the  noblest  of  creation,  surely  this  stands  pre-eminent;  but  how 
much  more  was  my  disgust  heightened  by  finding  she  had  already 
done  the  stage  in  the  morning — thirty-four  miles  in  one  day  !  I  regis- 
tered a  vow  never  to  travel  again  by  the  '*  Royal  Mail,"  but  to  take 
the  coach  that  leaves  at  ten  in  the  morning  in  future. 

On  our  arrival  at  the  Mallow  terminus,  the  car  would  not  drive  up 
to  the  station,  urging  as  an  excuse  that  they  were  not  allowed,  by 
reason  of  carrying  the  letter-bags.  A  herd  of  ragamuffins,  therefore, 
besiege  you  on  your  arrival  to  carry  up  your  luggage.  My  friend, 
Mrs.  Brown  Smith,  had  carefully  entriisted  her  portmanteau  to  a  boy, 
when  an  opposition  *'  porter"  came  sneaking  up  behind  him,  and  pitched 
the  **  sacred  box"  off  the  bearer's  shoulders  with  all  the  force  imaginable 
on  to  the  bard  flinty  road.  A  pugilistic  encounter  ensued  between  the 
boys,  whilst  the  poor  lady  sat  weeping  and  gnashing  her  teeth,  declaring 
ten  pounds*  worth  of  damage  had  been  done  to  her  goods  and  chattels 
by  these  audacious  wretches,  and  like  patience  on  the  monument  she  there 
sat,  until  the  arrival  of  the  Dublin  train  whirled  us  all  off  to  Dublin. 

Engagements  compelled  me  to  return  to  town  immediately;  but  if  you 
have  time,  good  viator,  take  my  advice,  and  see  the  county  of  WicUow 
ere  you  leave.     It  will  amply  repay  you. 

I  look  upon  Killamey  as  one  of  the  great  features  of  the  world,  and  my 
only  hope  is,  that  when  Albert  Smith  gets  tired  of  his  diorama  of  Mont 
Blanc,  he  will  take  a  peep  here,  and  give  us  in  Piccadilly  a  few  delinea- 
tions of  Irish  character,  and  a  few  scenes,  illustrated  by  Mr.  Beverley,  of 
the  south  of  Ireland. 


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(    430    ) 


GHOST  OR  KO  GHOST? 

Thx  foUowing  {M^g^  ^v®  ^^^  written  in  the  vain  attempt  to  beguile 
the  wearj  hours  of  aoUtade^  and  to  aUeyiate  the  tortiuing  pangs  of 
memoiy.  I  shall  not,  however,  fatieae  the  reader  with  the  story  <^  mj 
own  li&— -a  blank  indeed — ^but  I  shall  throw  together  some  incsdento 
which  have  come  under  my  observation  daring  a  somewhat  extensiTB 
acquaintance  with  the  worid — all,  1  am  afiraid,  coloured  by  the  prevailing 
hue  of  my  own  mind.  The  first  which  occurs  to  my  memory,  is  one 
which  fifty  years  ago  would  have  assumed  the  dignity  of  a  ghost-story ; 
whether,  in  this  sceptical  age,  it  will  sustain  its  pretensions,  I  do  not  Ten- 
tuie  to  decide. 

It  is  now  many  yean  ago  that  I  was  sent  to  complete  my  edocation  at 

a  boarding-school  at  the  town  of  D .     Ah !  how  wdl  I  remember 

the  quiet  old  place,  with  its  quaint-looking  Guildhall,  its  High-street,  with 
shops  where  you  could  get  nothing  you  wanted!  the  walks  that  we  took, 
shivering,  in  the  early  morning,  padng  along  demurely  two  and  two 
together,  our  watchful  governess  majestically  bringing  up  the  rear — tbe 
Sunday  procession  to  church — the  stupid  old  French  governess — the  sen- 
timental and  romantic-looking  Italian  master,  supposed  by  us  to  be  a 
prince  in  disg^se  I  But  my  recollections  are  carrying  me  away — let  me 
return  to  my  tale. 

It  was,  of  course,  an  indispensable  condition  of  my  time  of  life  that  I 
should  contract  certain  romantic  and  indissoluble  mendships  :  of  these 
there  were  two  which  stood  out  pre-eminently  from  the  rest ;  one  with 
a  young  lady,  two  or  three  years  my  senior,  of  whom  I  need  say  nothing 
here,  except  that  she  was  in  every  respect  worthy  of  the  affection  with 
which  I  regarded  her.  As  for  my  other  friend,  whose  name  was  Alice, 
what  shall  I  say  of  her  ?  how  can  I  set  before  your  eyes  a  being  at  onoe 
so  attractive  and  so  tormenting  ?  The  calumnies  which  the  male  sex  are 
so  ready  to  throw  upon  ours  had  some  justification  when  applied  to  her. 
Possessed  as  she  was  of  a  singular  charm  of  person  and  manner,  she 
made  admiration  her  sole  object ;  so  long  as  that  was  withheld,  nothing 
could  exceed  her  anxiety  to  please  ;  but  her  object  once  attained,  suddenly 
the  scene  changed ;  a  chilling  reserve  was  substituted  for  smiles  and  ani- 
mation, and  similar  arts  were  employed  upon  some  other  unfortunate,  widi 
similar  success,  and  were  follows!  by  similar  neglect  But  why  should  I 
waste  time  in  describing  a  character  so  common  that  all  of  my  readers 
must  at  some  period  of  their  lives  have  been  acquainted  with  it  ?  Yet, 
with  all  her  faults,  one  could  not  help  loving  her ;  to  me,  indeed,  she  was 
less  cajMricious  than  to  others,  and  1  felt  sure  that  time  would  give  ber 
steadiness  and  consistency,  in  which  points  only  her  disposition  was  re- 
markably deficient 

Many  happy  hours  did  I  spend  in  that  old  town  ;  the  small  cares  and 
miseries  of  one's  existence — the  interminable  Italian  verbs — ^the  hours 
and  hours  spent  at  the  old  jingling  piano — ^the  formalities  and  vexatious* 
ness  of  the  tiresome  French  governess — all  intolerable  at  the  moment, 
were  all  at  once  forgotten  when  I  could  get  a  half-hour's  conversation 
with  either  of  the  friends  I  have  mentioned— half-hours  spent  chiefly  in 
forming  to  ourselves  pictures  of  that  world  of  winch  we  had  heard  so 


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GhmtormGhwtf  431 

kmw  80  fitde,  fl«d  in  anticipatbg  llie  day  when  our  viaonf  of 
it  vouldbe  irnliinii 

Time  ahrajt  pmkhi  doiriy  tothe  yom^,  tome  it  passed  slowly  enongii; 
how  I  counted  the  days— -even  the  hours — ^which  yet  intenrened  hofero 
the  happy  momeDt  in  wUdi  I  should  be  pronounced  ''6nish^'*.  At 
length  the  time  SRXfed ;  on  awaldng  that  moming,  a  dull,  drizzling  sinr 
presented  itself  to  my  eyes.  On  a  suidden,  a  change  came  orer  the  spint 
of  my  dream;  the  acts  of  kindness  iHiic^  I  had  experioioed  firom  all 
anmnd,  now  crowded  on  my  mind  ;  the  stupid  French  goremess  herself 
imeared  almost  tolerable.  On  the  other  hand,  the  future,  to  which  I  had 
looked  forward  so  hopefully,  now  seemed  dim  and  indistinct  before  my 

res  ;  what,  indeed,  IumI  I  in  prospect?  to  reside  with  a  relatiTe  of  whom 
knew  nothing,  and  to  be  brought  out  into  a  worid  of  which  all  I  had 
faeaiid,  all  I  had  road^  assured  me  it  was  false  and  deceptive — like  the 
mirage,  which  mocks  the  fainting  traveller  in  the  desert ;  in  the  distance 
it  seems  to  answer  all  his  hopes,  but  approaching  nearer,  he  finds  that 
there  is  no  change  from  the  arid  waste  which  he  has  hitherto  traversed. 

With  an  aching  heart,  I  dressed  myself,  and  nroceeded  down  stairs.  A 
sad  and  solemn  nlence  prevailed  at  our  breakfast ;  for  my  part,  it  waa 
with  difficulty  that  I  could  force  a  few  morsels  of  bread  down  my  throat 
After  die  gloomy  meal  was  ended  (a  mist  rises  before  my  eyes  while  I 
write),  we  were  all  summoned  to  the  drawing-room,  where  in  solemn 
state  sat  the  mistress  of  the  establishment,  suppc^ted  on  either  side  by  her 
deputies*  On  my  approach,  the  mistress,  before  not  too  much  beloved 
by  me,  arose,  boiring  in  her  hand  a  neatly-bound  Bible.  I  knew 
well  what  was  coming — ^it  was  a  ceremony  that  had  been  repeated  fifty 
times  while  I  was  at  the  school,  but  still  it  seemed  to  take  me  by  surprise. 
I  stood  as  if  in  a  dream.  My  head  swam.  I  had  an  indistinct  concep- 
tion of  the  scene  which  followed.  The  mistress  presented  me  with  the 
Bible,  making,  at  the  same  time,  a  short  and,  I  dare  say,  suitable  address. 
After  her,  each  advanced  in  turn  with  her  little  offering.  I  heard  the  sound 
of  words,  but  their  tenour  I  discerned  not.  Last  of  all,  the  old,  ugly,  des- 
pised French  governess  approached  and  placed  in  my  hands  a  patchwork 
reticule,  made,  it  appeared,  by  her  own  hands.  All  the  slights,  all  the 
affronts  I  had  put  upon  the  poor  woman,  flashed  across  my  mind.  I  was 
fiurly  overcome,  and  sobbed  like  a  child.  Those  presents,  I  have  them 
all  now.     The  patchwork  reticule,  it  is  not  beautiful,  but  I  keep  it  stilL 

Seeing  my  distress,  they  moved  off  in  solemn  procession,  and  shortly 
my  friend  Alice  came  to  my  aid.  Hero  was  a  new  trial — to  part  from 
her.  The  rest  of  the  morning  was  devoted  to  tears  and  vows  of  eternal 
friendship ;  they  have  not  been  too  well  kept,  but  I  must  not  complain. 
Our  intentions  are  good,  but,  as  the  poet  tells  us, 

the  strong  hours 
Conquer  us. 

Besides,  a  wife  and  mother  has  other  things  to  think  of  besides  the 
desolate. 

I  find  that,  in  ratte  of  my  statement  that  I  shouU  avoid  nw  own  story, 
I  have  insensibly  been  dwelliog  on  my  own  thoughts  and  feelings  at  a 
&r  greater  length  than  is  desirable.  I  will  endeavour  hereafter  to  keep 
more  closely  in  new  the  matter  in  hand.     Time  rolled  on ;  the  elder  of 


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432  Ghost  or  no  Gho$i  f 

my  friends,  who  liad  left  school  some  time  hefore  me,  shortly  after  \ 

ried  a  middle-aged  sobleman — a  Lord  N an  amiable,  phlegmaitie^ 

rather  stupid  man — not  altogether,  however,  unsuited  in  character  to  his 
wife. 

With  respect  to  Alice,  I  did  not  see  her  for  many  years,  as  she  resided  la 
London,  and  I  with  my  aunt  at  Bath.  As  a  correspondent,  she  was  sadly 
irregular.  Eveiy  now  and  then  I  had  a  letter ;  three  sides  closely  filled 
and  crossed,  the  folds  not  being  neglected ;  all  three  sides,  crossings,  and 
folds,  breathing  the  most  ardent  Section  and  anxiety  for  our  meet&D^. 
Then  again  would  ensue  a  silence  of  a  year  or  more.  Though  I  did  not 
see  her,  however,  I  heard  of  her  pretty  often;  as  in  Bath  I  fell  in 
with  many  who  had  met  her  during  the  season  in  London.  The  terms 
in  which  she  was  spoken  of  were,  by  no  means,  always  those  of  praise. 
The  gentlemen  were  most  enthusiastic  in  their  expressions  of  admiration  ; 
hut  her  own  sex  (the  elderly  portion  of  them  in  particular)  spoke  of  her 
in  terms  of  decided  reprobation.  Indeed,  unless  rumour  was  very  unjust 
to  her,  she  had,  in  more  than  one  instance,  exceeded  those  wide  bounds 
which  custom  allows  to  young  ladies  on  the  head  of  coquetry.  Of  course 
no  one  of  her  victims  went  so  far  as  to  blow  his  brains  out,  or  to  do 
any  other  foolish  action  of  that  kind.  Even  in  that  day,  when  there 
were  such  things  as  hearts,  a  proceeding  of  that  sort  was  quite  out  of 
the  question ;  nevertheless,  some  of  her  admirers  were  led  on  till  they 
made  themselves  ridiculous — the  point,  perhaps,  on  which  they  were 
most  susceptible. 

At  last  these  reports  gprew  so  unpleasant  that  I  determined  in  my  next 
letter  to  hint  at  what  I  had  heard.  This  I  did  with  great  caution,  as  I 
knew  with  whom  I  had  to  deal.  No  answer  was  returned,  and  I  began 
to  think  I  had  offended  beyond  hope  of  forgiveness ;  when  one  day, 
calling  on  a  family  who  had  shortly  before  arrived  from  London,  they 
burst  upon  me  with  the  intelligence  that  Alice  was  shortly  to  be  married 

to  a  Mr.  A .     Mortified  as  I  was  that  I  had  been  left  to  learn 

from  strangers  tidings  so  interesting,  I  concealed  my  chagrin  as  well  as 
I  was  able,  and  proceeded  to  make  inqmries  as  to  the  disposition  of  the 
bridegroom.  The  information  I  received  was  anything  but  satisfactory. 
A  member  of  a  family  notorious  for  violence  of  temper,  he  had  in 
nowise  degenerated  from  the  hereditary  character.  Being  an  only  son, 
at  an  early  age  he  had  quarrelled  with  his  father  on  some  trifling  grounds, 
and  was  turned  out  of  doors.  This  dismissal  recommended  him  to  a 
wealthy  uncle,  who  was  on  ill  terms  with  his  father.  He  accordingly 
adopted  him,  and  ultimately  left  him  heir  to  a  large  property.     Besides 

this,  Mr.  A had  fought  two  duels,  which,  however,  were  looked 

upon  far  more  leniently  in  that  day  than  in  the  present ;  stUl  the  cir- 
cumstances attending  one  of  them  reflected  very  much  upon  him — ^his 
adversary  having  been  his  most  intimate  friend,  and  Mr.  A — ^  having 
insisted  on  continuing  the  contest  till  his  opponent  was  carried  off  from 
the  field  severely,  though  not  mortally,  wounded. 

So  far  as  station  and  prospects  were  concerned,  the  match  was  most 
eligible,  the  gentleman  having  for  some  years  sat  in  Parliament  as  repre- 
sentative of  a  certain  borough  in  the  West  of  England,  and  having 
made  one  or  two  speeches  which  had  been  heard  with  attention  by  both 
sides  of  the  House.    It  was  indeed  expected  that  when  Mr.  A 'a  party 


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Ghost  or  no  Ohost  f  433 

CBsne  into  power,  he  would  be  offered  some  high  post  under  Goyemment. 
This  account  of  his  prospects  did  not  by  any  means  counterbalance  the 
fears  which  the  description  of  his  temper  and  character  caused  me.  Little, 
indeed,  does  external  splendour  contribute  to  happiness  when  the  mind  is 
Aot  at  ease : 

Glories  in  public  view  but  add  to  misery 

Which  travails  in  unrest  at  home. 

Nevertheless,  young  as  I  then  was,  I  well  knew  that  implicit  reliance 
eould  not  be  placed  on  all  the  on  dits  of  society  ;  so  I  comforted  myself 
with  the  reflection  that  Mr.  A.'s  disposition  might  really  be  more  amiable 
than  it  appeared  in  the  narrative  of  my  informants. 

Immediately  I  got  home,  I  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Alice,  reproaching 
her  with  having  left  me  in  ignorance  of  the  important  step  she  was  about 
to  take.  The  next  post  brought  me  a  humed  note  in  reply,  full  of 
apologies  for  her  long  silence,  and  assurances  of  unabated  affection.  It 
also  contained  an  earnest  entreaty  that  I  would  officiate  as  bridesmaid  at 
the  approaching  ceremony.  This  invitation  I  was  compelled  to  decline, 
as  the  health  of  my  aunt  would  not  admit  of  my  quitting  Bath.  In  due 
time  the  celebration  of  the  marriage  was  announced  to  us  by  the  arrival 
of  cards  and  wedding-cake  in  due  form ;  and  a  note  from  my  friend,  now 

Jdrs.  X ,  informed  me  that  the  happy  couple  intended  to  spend  the 

next  six  months  in  Switzerland  and  Italy,  at  the  expiration  of  which 

time  the  meeting  of  Parliament  would  require  Mr.  A 's  presence  in 

London. 

The  six  months  had  almost  expired  when  I  again  heard  from  my 
friend,  who  now  wrote  in  the  highest  spirits.  She  was  gifted  with  a  most 
lively  appreciation  of  the  beauties  both  of  art  and  nature.  It  appeared  that 
in  this  respect  her  husband  was  no  less  enthusiastic  than  herself ;  so  that 
while  enjoying  the  romantic  scenery  of  Switzerland  and  the  architectural 
and  pictorial  glories  of  Florence  and  Rome,  they  had  but  little  time  left 

for  entering  into  society.     This  privation  Mrs.  A assured  me  she 

did  not  at  dl  regret ;  in  fact,  she  was  cured  of  her  taste  for  gaiety  and 
dissipation,  and  preferred  to  all  the  turmoil  of  the  world  the  sympathy  of 
one  kindred  mind.  She  concluded  by  assuring  me  that  she  was  the 
happiest  woman  living. 

Thus  far  all  was  well;  my  only  fear  was,  lest  this  state  of  things 
should  prove  to  be  of  short  duration.     I  forgot  to  mention  that  Mrs. 

A 's  letter  informed  me  that  they  were  on  the  point  of  starting  on 

their  return  to  England,  having  already  lingered  in  that  delightful  land 
longer  than  they  originally  designed,  and  longer  than  was  altogether 
consistent  with  Mr.  A 's  attention  to  his  parliamentary  duties. 

What  I  proceed  to  relate,  I  have  only  from  the  narration  of  others ; 
but  I  assure  you  it  is  not  to  be  doubted,  as  the  occurrences  have  been 
related  to  me  by  those  who  were  present  and  took  part  in  them.     It 

happened  that  on  Mr.  and  Mrs.  A 's  landing  in  England,  their 

route  to  London  took  them  directly  past  T Abbey,  the  seat  of 

Lord  N .     Alice,  on   finding  that  she  was   near  the  residence  of 

her  early  friend,  whom  she  had  not  met  since  leaving  school,  thought  it 
too  favourable  an  opportutiity  of  renewing  their  intimacy  to  be  neglected. 
They  were,  as  I  said  before,  much  pressed  for  time,  Mr.  A  having 

b$en  already  too  tong  absent  from  the  head-quarters  of  politics.    How- 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


434  Gko§tormGA09tf 

mmtf  }m  codd  not  wMuta&d  the  BoiieitttionB  of  his  wile,  end 
te  indulge  her  with  a  few  hours'  enjojaent  of  her  fneod's  aociety, 
etipuktiiig,  however,  that  in  any  caie  tiiey  Aonld  oontrive  to  tame  m. 
London  that  night. 

Thej  arrived  at  T Abbey  about  noon.     I  need  not  deeeribe  the 

rapture  with  whidi  tiie  two  ladies  flew  into  each  other's  arms,  nor  will  I 
weary  the  reader  with  the  expostulations  of  Lord  and  Lady  N 
against  their  intention  of  continuing  their  journey  that  afternoon.     Mr. 

A for  some  dme  stood  firm,  much  to  the  dissatisfaction  of  his  lovalj 

wife.     At  length,  as  is  usoid  in  such  cases,  a  mezzo  termme  was  agreed 

on :  as  business  required  Mr.  A 's  presence  in  town,  he  should  go 

up  by  the  mail,  which  passed  the  Lodge  at  eleren  at  night ;  Mrs.  A 

dhonld  remain  until  the  next  Thursday,  and  then  proceed,  under  tiM 
care  of  some  Mends  who  proyidentially  were  setting  out  for  London  osi 
that  day. 

Peace  being  at  length  concluded  on  these  terms,  the  nswiy-arnTod 
visitors  had  time  to  look  round  them.     It  happened  that  there  were 

flBTeral  guests  staying  at  the  Abbey ;  among  others,  the  Count  di  F » 

a  Neapolitan,  who  in  his  own  country  had  fallen  under  the  suspicion  of 
the  government,  as  a  friend  of  some  of  the  Carbonaro  leaders  of  that  day. 
Thongii  nothing  could  actually  be  brought  home  to  him,  his  position 
became  so  uncomfortable  that  be  thought  it  better  to  withdraw  to 
England,  wh^e  he  was  reoetved  in  certain  circles  in  London  as  a  patriot 
and  martyr  to  his  principles.  This  gentleman  had  frequently  met  Mzsl 
A — * —  in  society  before  her  marriage,  and  had  professed  himself  one  of 

her  most  ardent  admirers.     Mrs.  A was  an  enthusiastic  friend  of 

liberty,  equaMty,  and  frat«iiity — principles  which  were  more  in  favoar 
vitii  our  sex  at  that  time  thflm  they  are  now.  She  threw  hersdf  into 
politics  with  that  ardour  whidi  characterised  everything  she  said  and  did ; 
and  consequently  the  admiration  of  the  Count  was  by  no  means  disagreeable 
to  her,  he  being  at  that  time  treated  quite  as  a  lion  by  the  liberal  partj. 
The  a&ir  of  course  came  to  notiiing,  as  she  was  the  last  person  to  ihmk 
of  uniting  her  lot  to  that  of  a  man  without  fortune  or  acknowledged 
position  in  society.     However,  their  names  had  frequently '  been  coupled 

together  :  of  this  Mr.  A was  well  aware,  and  it  is  quite  certain  that, 

had  he  known  that  the  Count  was  a  visitor  at  the  Abbey,  he  would  not 
have  consented  to  hb  wife's  remaining  there. 

The  thing,  however,  was  done ;  and  when  the  Couot  made  his  appear- 
ance, there  was  no  possibility  of  drawing  back.  The  lady,  indeed  widi 
her  customary  fiankness,  did  not  attempt  to  disguise  the  pleasure  she 
experienced  in  this  rencontre ;  and  the  Count,  on  his  part,  was  not  behind 
hand  in  reciprocating  her  expressions  of  gratification  at  the  meeting. 
The  morning  was  wet  and  cold,  and  out-of-door  exercise  being  out  of  the 

question,  L(^  N proposed  to  his  guests  that  they  shoald  inspect, 

under  his  guidance,  the  diflerent  apartments  of  the  Abbey,  ffis  offer  was 

eidly  accepted,  and,  as  it  fortunately  happened  that  the  house  was  singn- 
ly  rich  in  old  armour  and  objects  of  oir^  the  greater  partof  the  cool* 
pamr  was  soon  engaged  in  the  mteresting  surv^. 

Tb»  Count,  duiti^  the  whole  perambdation,  attadied  hinwetf  to 

Mn.  A ,  not  quitting  her  side  for  a  moment :  their  convecsatian  so 

conpletely  engaged  their  attention,  that  I  am  afraid  they  took  litde 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


nolioe  of  ihe  ♦nmurwi  fsplajed  to  their  vieir,  or  to  the  learned  ooa- 
nantt  of  tibeir  deerome.  The  hnabaad  stalked  in  the  rear  of  the  pm- 
eeoaion,  looidng^  Uack  as  a  thimdeiebttd,  and  funk  in  oonten^daftioii  of 
die  proceeding*  of  his  wife  aad  her  admirer. 

Not  poppy,  DOT  raandn^oTa, 

ShaH  ever  flwdVine  thee  to  that  sweet  sleep 

Which  thou  ow'dst  yesterday. 

The  peramhnlatioD,  which  had  heen  tedious  enough  to  one  of  tiie 
party,  at  length  ended,  and  other  guests  who  had  heen  invited  to  dinner 
axrived ;  when  the  move  was  made  for  the  dining-room,  the  Count  eon- 

txired  to  take  in  Mrs.  A ,  and  was  thus  seated  next  her  during  tbe 

repast  But  I  need  not  pursue  further  my  description  of  their  proceed- 
ings ;  in  hrie^  they  seemed  entirely  engrossed  hy  each  other. 

The  rest  of  the  company  did  not  ffdl  to  comment  on  this  hehavioor ; 
some  contenting  themselves  with  interchanging  significant  looks,  while 
others  eave  vent  to  their  opinions  in  cautious  whispers. 

As  the  evening  wore  away,  the  gloom  on  the  hrow  of  Mr.  A , 

who  had  remained  throughout  in  moody  silence,  grew  darker  and  darker; 
latteriy,  I  am  told,  his  face  hecame  perfectly  livid  with  rage.  Stifl, 
sfowly  or  quickly,  pleasantly  or  painfully,  the  hours  proceed  on  their 
nobeless  course,  and  at  length  the  hand  of  the  dock  on  the  chimnej- 
piece  announced  to  the  unhappy  young  man  that  the  time  for  his  depar- 
ture was  arrived.  Having  taken  an  unceremonious  leave  of  his  host  and 
hostess,  and  none  at  all  of  his  offending  wife  and  the  rest  of  the  company, 
he  hurried  out  of  the  room ;  the  lady,  however,  who  at  that  moment  was 
dancing  with  the  Count,  suddenly  c^led  to  mind  that  something  was  due 
to  the  proprieties  of  life ;  she  accordinglyquitted  her  partner,  and  ran 
out  after  her  husband  into  the  hall.  What  passed  between  them  I 
cannot  say,  but  in  a  few  minutes  she  returned  to  the  drawing-room, 
looking  like  the  ghost  of  the  lovely  and  animated  being  she  had  appealed 
a  short  time  before.  She  excused  herself  from  again  joining  in  the 
dance,  on  the  plea  of  fatigue,  and  sat,  pale  and  dUstraiie^  apparently 
hardly  consciqps  of  the  anxious  inquiries  addressed  to  her  by  the  Count 

and  Lady  N ^  and  merely  asserting  in  reply  that  she  was  peifedly 

welL  Those  of  the  guests  who  were  not  staying  in  the  house,  seeii^ 
that  their  presence  was  de  trap,  seised  the  first  opportunity  of  taking 
their  leave ;  the  others  spee£]y  retired  to  dieir  respective  apartments — 
ail  of  them  making  their  own  comments  on  what  had  been  paasisg. 

When  they  were  all  gonej  Lady  N conducted  Mrs.  A — —  to  her 

bedroom,  where,  however,  she  shortly  aflfcer  left  her,  thinking  that,  most 
probably,  solitude  and  repose  would  prove  the  most  effectual  remedies  fi>r 
her  indisposition. 

The  wretched  young  woman,  on  being  left  alone,  sat  for  some  time 
motionless,  turning  over  in  her  mind  the  events  of  the  day.  In&tinet 
images  of  bloodshed  and  horror  rose  before  her  eyes.  At  one  moment 
she  saw  her  husband,  at  another  the  Count,  stretched  before  her  a  eorpee. 
Then  again  other  images,  indefinable,  yet  even  more  terrible,  flaaned 
across  her  bnun.  Bitterly  did  she  reproach  herself  with  having^  ao 
hastily  united  her  fate  with  that  of  a  man  agdnst  whose  violent  and  im- 
placable temper  she  had  been  often  warned,  and  which  was  now  begin« 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


436  Ghost  arno  Ghost? 

xung  to  display  itself  in  the  darkest  colours.  Her  grief  and  dismay  were 
aggravated  by  the  thought,  which,  drive  it  away  as  she  would,  still  kept 
intruding  on  her  mind,  that  her  own  giddiness  and  imprudence  were  the 
sole  cause  of  all  this  misery.  At  one  time  she  resolved  upon  seeking 
out  her  hushand,  and  attempting  to  avert,  hy  prayers  and  tears,  the 
catastrophe  she  foreboded.  Still  the  determination  not  to  submit — not 
to  give  way — steeled  her  stubborn  heart  She  assured  herself  that  she 
had  not  been  in  the  wrong — that  it  was  only  a  suspicious  and  ill- 
regulated  mind  like  his  which  could  impute  blame  to  her.  In  these  vain 
and  unprofitable  reflections  the  hours  flew  unheeded ;  at  last  the  fliclcering 
of  the  candle  in  its  socket  in  some  degree  roused  her  to  exertion.  Hastily 
commending  herself  to  the  care  of  her  Creator,  she  threw  herself  on  the 
bed,  dressed  as  she  was.  In  a  moment  or  two  the  candle  had  completely 
expired,  and  before  long  she  lost,  in  a  heavy  slumber,  the  remembrance 
of  her  anxieties.  How  long  she  slept  she  knew  not,  but  after  a  time  she 
partially  awoke,  and  became  cognisant  of  objects  about  her.  A  &in^ 
dear  light  was  streaming  down  upon  the  bed,  which,  doubtless,  had  been 
the  cause  of  her  awaking.  This,  however,  gave  her  no  uneasiness,  as  she 
took  it  to  be  merely  the  li^ht  of  the  moon ;  thus  for  some  time  she  lay 
in  a  half-dreaming  state,  when  suddenly  the  idea  darted  across  her  mind 
that  she  had  remarked,  on  entering  the  room,  that  the  shutters  of  the  only 
window  were  carefully  closed.  At  the  same  moment  she  became  sensible 
that  the  light  was  too  blue  and  pale  to  arise  from  any  natural  cause. 
This  thought,  as  you  may  suppose,  caused  her  inexpressible  terror ;  she 
lay  for  some  minutes,  scarcely  daring  to  draw  her  breath,  much  less  to 
turn  her  head  to  the  side  whence  the  light  proceeded. 

This  state  of  torture  became,  after  a  time,  too  painful  to  be  borne ; 
uttering  such  prayers  for  Divine  support  as  her  shaken  faculties  enabled 
her  to  call  to  mind,  she  raised  herself  on  her  elbow,  and  saw  that  the 
curtain  of  the  bed  was  partly  drawn  back,  and  a  hand  put  forth,  which 
seemed  to  be  tendering  a  letter  for  her  acceptance.  One  glance  was 
enough ;  but  in  that  one  glance  she  saw,  with  feminine  instinct,  that  the 
hand  was  white  and  delicate  as  that  of  a  woman;  besides  which  she 
fancied  that  the  letter  was  tied  with  a  silken  thread,  the  Aids  being  con- 
fined by  a  large  seal,  bearing  the  impress  of  certain  armorial  bearings* 
Having  seen  thus  much,  her  courage  quite  forsook  her,  and  she  sank  back 
on  the  bed.  As  she  did  so,  however,  she  fancied  that  the  hand  was  with* 
drawn,  the  curtain  resuming  its  original  position  ;  at  the  same  time  she 
heard  a  deep  sigh,  as  of  disappointment.  Here  her  senses  entirely  fiiiled 
her,  and  what  followed  further  she  knew  not. 

At  about  four  in  the  morning.  Lord  and  Lady  N were  aroused 

from  their  sleep  bv  a  faint  knocking  at  the  door  of  their  room,  which 

was  only  separated  from  that  of  Mrs.  A by  a  Ipng  gallery ;  much 

alarmed  they  hurried  to  open  it,  and  to  their  dismay  beheld  Mrs.  A , 

stretched  in  a  half- fainting  state  before  them.  The  usual  remedies  were 
applied,  and  after  a  time,  with  success.  When  she  was  sufficiently  reco- 
vered, Mrs.  A gave  an  account  of  what  had  occurred,  similar  to 

that  which  I  have  narrated. 

^  On  this,  Lord  and  Lady  N— -  were  obliged  to  admit — not  without 
bitter  self-reproach— that  the  room  which  had  been  allotted  to  Mrs. 


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Ghost  orno  Ghost?  437 

A- ',  had  for  many  years  been  shut  up  as  exposed  to  visltatioDS  from 

the  other  world.  They,  however,  looking  on  these  tales  as  the  offspring 
of  idle  superstition,  had  lately  caused  it  to  he  opened  ajid  refurnished  in 
the  modem  style,  and  hy  ill-fortune  Mrs.  A  was  the  first  person  whose 
nerves  had  heen  suhjected  to  the  severe  ordeal  of  sleeping  there. 

The  distressed  lady,  heartily  sick  of  the  hospitality  of  T Abbey, 

insisted  on  immediately  rejoining  her  husband,  in  spite  of  all  entreaties 
to  the  contrary.     Her  intention  being  made  known,  it  transpired  through 

one  of  the  servants,  that  Mr.  A had  not  gone  by  the  mail  to 

London,  but  remained  at  the  village  inn  ;  with  what  purpose  we  need  not 
inquire.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  his  afflicted  wife  flew  to  him  on  the  wings 
of  love  and  penitence,  and  at  length  succeeded,  though  not  without 
difficulty,  in  restoring  herself  to  his  g^ood  opinion.  She,  also,  though 
with  still  greater  difficulty,  diverted  him  from  his  intention  of  sending  a 
hostile  message  to  the  Count,  which  he  had  only  delayed  till  he  could 

send  it  without  exciting  suspicion  in  Lord  N 's  household.  Subdued 

in  spirit,  and  firmly  reconciled  to  each  other,  the  husband  and  wife  pur- 
sued their  journey  to  London. 

It  remains  that  I  should  say  a  few  words  on  the  legend  attached  to 

the  haunted  chamber.     An  ancestor  of  Lord  N ,  who  lived  in  the 

sixteenth  century,  was  ''blessed  in  a  fair  wife,"  which  blessing,  however, 
he  turned  to  a  curse,  by  his  unreasonable  and  suspicious  temper.  It 
was  said,  indeed,  that  the  lady  permitted  herself  a  flirtation  with  her 

cousin,  whose  estates  adjoined  those  of  the  N family.     This  indis^ 

creet  conduct  naturally  inflamed  the  ire  of  her  lord,  and  one  day, 
in  intercepting  a  letter  addressed  by  his  wife  to  her  supposed  gallant^ 
he  worked  himself  up  to  such  a  pitcn  of  rage,  that  without  so  much  as 
opening  the  letter,  he  rushed  into  her  chamber,  and  without  giving  time 
for  explanation,  ran  his  sword  through  her  body.  The  story  further 
runs,  that  the  lady  was  innocent ;  and  her  eyes  bemg  at  length  opened 
to  the  folly  of  triffing  with  her  husband's  affection,  she  had  written  this 
very  letter  to  desire  her  cousin  to  discontinue  his  visits  at  the  Abbey,  as 
they  gave  her  husband  so  much  uneasiness.  The  spirit  of  the  murdered 
wife  was  supposed,  even  in  the  other  world,  to  resent  the  aspersion  cast 
on  her  fair  fame,  and  accordingly  wandered  about  the  scene  of  her  death, 
tendering  to  every  person  who  fell  in  her  way  the  fatal  letter,  as  contain- 
ing proof  of  her  innocence.     What  is  very  strange,  the  armorial  bearings 

on  the  seal  which  Mrs.  A saw,  and  which  she  described  to  her  host 

and  hostess,  were  those  of  the  family  of  Lord  N . 

Some  sceptics,  indeed,  insist  that  the  whole  afi&ir  was  the  work  of  an 

excited  imagination,  asserting  that  Mrs.  A had  seen  the  arms  several 

times  in  the  comrse  of  the  morning,  and  that  they  had  been  especially 

pointed  out  to  her,  and  commented  on  by  Lord  N .     To  this  they 

add,  that  her  husband's  anger  on  leaving  her  had  given  rise  to  a  dis- 
agreeable dream,  in  which  the  conversation  of  the  rooming  was  repro- 
duced, coloured  by  the  gloomy  thoughts  which  disturbed  her  mind  when 

she  lay  down  to  rest.     Mrs.  A -,  on  the  contrary,  steadily  maintained 

^at  she  had  never  seen  the  arms  before  they  were  forced  on  ner  attention 
in  that  preternatural  manner. 

It  is  nardly  necessary  to  point  out  the  numerous  improbabilities  com- 
prised in  the  legend  of  the  haunted  chamber.    That  a  man  should  be 


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43S  On  At  Grave  rf  Mo€re. 

homed  into  boA  a  Tiolent  act,  wHfaont  e? en  tnUag  ifae  tnmUe  to  open 
the  letter,  winch  would  either  diepel  or  eonfinn  his  enspicio— ,  may  he 
explained  in  this  way,  tiiat  eren  n  he  had  opened  die  letter,  he  winld 
not  have  heen  aUe  to  read  it,  as,  in  die  sixteenth  eentary,  edvoi^ion  was 
not  universal,  even  among  men  of  rank  and  prc^ertj.  Again,  we  may  con- 
chide  that  the  lady  p^haps  could  have  written  the  letter,  though  writing 
was  an  accomplishment  rare  indeed  among  the  fidr  sex  of  that  day ;  hut 
what  shall  we  say  of  sealinc^  a  letter  of  sneh  ddicate  import,  and  one 
idiich,  she  must  naturally  wish,  should  escape  attention,  with  the  armo- 
rial bearings  of  her  husMnd's  family  ?  This  absurdity  alone  is  soiBcMBt 
to  stamp  the  stoiy  as  an  invention.  Anodier  and  perliaps  a  stiQ  stronger 
pesnt  in  favour  ot  the  sceptical  view  is,  that  the  chamber  of  mystery  has 
Deen  frequently  occupied  since,  and  no  one's  slnmbers  in  it  have  been 
distorbed  by  any  ghostty  visitant. 

However  that  may  be,  Mrs.  A— ^  never  entirely  forgave  Lord  and 

Lady  N for  the  cruel  trial  to  which  they  had  exposed  her.     On  their 

attempting  to  renew  their  acquaintance  widi  her  and  her  husband,  their 
overtures  were  received  so  coldly  that  they  were  not  induced  to  repeat  the 

effort.     The  Count  di  F ^  I  am  happy  to  sav,  shortly  aher  retomed 

to  his  own  country,  without  having  ventured  agam  to  present  himself  be- 
fore Mrs.  A ,  afto  all  that  had  occurred. 

The  best  part  of  my  stoiy  I  have  jet  to  tell.  The  events  of  that  nigh^ 
irfiedier  real  or  imagmary,  worked  a  beneficial  change  in  Mrs.  A  *s 
character.  She  has  since  entirely  devoted  herself  to  the  duties  of  a  wife 
and  mother ;  and  the  most  rigid  prude  cannot  now  impute  to  her  too  great 
a  love  of  admiration  or  too  great  freedom*of  manner.  Her  husband,  alao^  is 
an  altered  man.  Continually  bearing  in  mind  how  near  he  was  making 
shipwreck  of  their  joint  happiness  almost  on  leaving  port,  he  has  since 
caudoosly  avoided  the  shoals  and  whirlpools  that  beset  the  perilous  voyage 
of  that  mul  bark.  They  both  thankfully  admit,  diat  for  their  ptesent 
happiness  they  are  in  great  measure  indebted  to  the  apparition  of  die 
luMmted  chamber;  and  the  good  effects  of  its  interference  being  substan- 
tial, the  reader  will  agree  with  me  in  the  conclusion,  that  it  matters  litde 
v^ther  it  was  accomplished  by  a  Ghasi  or  no  Ghost. 


ON  THE  GRAVE  OF  MOORE. 

BT  CABOUKE  DE  CRESPIONT. 

His  music  has  ceased,  and  the  ma^c  no  more 

Of  his  lyre  shall  strike  home  to  the  heart's  deepest  core ; 

The  laurel  ahall  blend  with  die  cypress  its  shade, 

And  the  shamrock  and  rose  deck  die  turf  where  he's  laid. 

The  patriot,  the  poet,  the  lover,  the  friend — 

He  sung  for  them  all— o'er  his  tomb  all  shall  bend, 

Soothe  his  long-suffering  spirit  with  tear  upon  tear, 

And  sigh  that  the  English  Anacreon  sleeps  here. 


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(  439  ) 


TEAS  AND  THE  TEA  COUNTRY* 

No  long  period  of  time  can  now  elapse  before  a  railroad  across  titt 
Isthmus  of  Soezy  and  the  opening  of  tne  navigation  of  the  Euphrates, 
will  connect  the  Mediterranean  and  Indian  Seas  in  the  East ;  and  a  host 
of  railroads  across  the  Isthmus  of  Panama  must  yeiy  soon  join  the 
Atlantic  and  Pacific  Oceans  in  the  West, — we  wish  we  could  also  add, 
would  also  soon  unite  Canada  and  YancouTer  in  the  bonds  of  brotherhood. 

When  the  entire  circumference  of  our  planet  is  thus  opened  to  steam 
and  rail,  and  a  girdle  can  be  put  about  the  earth  in  little  more  than  a  hun- 
dred days,  it  will  no  longer  be  possible  for  such  countries  as  China,  Japan, 
Cochin-China,  Siam,  and  Burmah,  notwithstanding  their  sullen  system  of 
seclusion,  to  remun  long  unopen  to  a  busy,  inquisitiYe,  and  progressive 
world.  In  proportion  as  such  strides  bring  us  nearer  to  these  stnmm 
countries,  in  the  same  proportion  do  they  become  objects  of  interest.  The 
expedition  of  the  Anglo-Americans  to  Japan,  which  some  years  ago 
would  have  attracted  no  more  attention  than  did  the  conflict  of  the  French 
with  the  Annamese,  in  1847,  is  at  the  present  fraught  with  the  deepest 
interest  to  dvilisation  and  to  the  welfare  of  our  species  generally.  The 
wars  perpetually  recurring  with  the  insolent  Burmahs  must  end  in  their 
affiliation  by  the  Anglo-Indian  Empire,  or  the  humiliation  of  the  latter. 
These  wars  have  already,  by  the  occupation  of  Tenasserim,  once  a  Siamese 
province,  brought  us  into  contact  with  the  heart  of  the  Hindu-Chinese 
countries.  The  gold-discoveries  in  California  and  Australia,  and  the  con- 
sequent rapid  settlement  of  those  countries,  the  colonisation  of  New 
Zealand,  the  opening  of  Borneo,  the  growing  importance  of  the  Sandwich 
Islands,  all  tend  in  bringing  those  ties  closer  and  closer,  which  would  be 
capped  by  gold-discoveries  or  other  efficient  causes  of  colonisation  of 
Upper  Oregoa  and  Vancouver,  and  a  nul-oommunication  between  the 
Ccdumbia  and  the  St.  Lawrence. 

Already,  shipwrecked  Japanese  have  been  conveyed  back  from  Mexico 
across  the  Pacific,  westward ;  and  the  now-established  emigration  of  the 
Chinese — almost  as  ungracionsly  met  by  Brother  Jonathan  as  if  he  had 
been  a  Chinaman,  and  the  Chinese  the  barbarian — ^to  California,  is  one 
of  the  most  remarkable  incidents  in  the  history  of  the  human  race  that 
has  occurred  since  the  discovery  of  the  New  World.  The  existing 
relations  established  between  Europe  and  China,  as  a  result  of  the  war 
of  1840,  place  the  latter  country — next  to  Russia^  the  greatest  empire  in 
the  world — ^in  a  different  category  to  Japan  and  the  Hindu-Chinese 
states.  We  have  already  treated  of  the  progress  of  events  in  Japan  and 
Burmah ;  and  to  those  who  would  like  to  peruse  the  history  of  the  war 
with  China,  rendered  the  more  especially  interesting  from  being  derived 
dbiefly  from  the  documents  of  the  Chinese  themselves^  we  cannot  but 

*  China  during  the  War  and  since  the  Peace.  By  Sir  John  Francis  Davis, 
Bart,  P.R.8.,  late  her  Migest/s  Plenipotentiary  in  China  ;  Governor  and  Com- 
mander-in-Chief of  the  Coloay  of  Hong-Kong.    2  vols.    Longman  and  Co. 

A  Journey  to  the  Tea  Countries  of  China ;  including  Sung-lo  and  the  Bohea 
Hills  ;  with  a  short  Notice  of  the  East  India  Company's  Tea  Plantations  in  the 
Himalaya  Mountains.  By  Robert  Fortune,  author  of  "  Three  Years'  Wanderings 
in  China."    With  Map  and  Illustrations.    John  Murray. 


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440  Tm»  and  thelTea  Country. 

reoommend  the  first  voluine  of  Sir  John  Francis  IXaTis'fl  recently  publidied 
and  excellent  work,  '<  China  during  the  War  and  since  the  Peace." 

The  history  of  the  war  (says  Sir  John)  describes  the  impression  produced 
on  this  most  ancient  existing  empire,  by  a  blow  uneqttalled  in  importance 
ance  the  Manchou  Tartar  conquest.  The  British  undertaking  was  the  Aiithest 
military  enterprise,  of  the  same  extent,  in  the  Mstory  of  the  world ;  sur- 
passing, in  that  respect,  the  expeditions  of  Alexander  and  Ca»ar  in  the  one 
nemisphere,  and  those  of  Cortez  and  Pizarro  in  the  other. 

Qui  gurges,  aut  que  flumina  iugubris 
Ignara  belli?— quasve  Britannicua 
Non  decoloravere  caedes? 
Qa»  caret  ora  cruore  nostro? 

Followed  so  soon  by  the  £1  Dorado  of  California,  to  which  the  Chinese  are 
swarming  from  Hong  Kong  across  the  Pacific — by  that  of  Australia — and  by 
the  short  passage  over  the  Isthmus  of  Panama,  it  is  not  easy  to  calculate  the 
extent  of  the  forthcoming  revolutions  in  the  channels  of  national  and  commer- 
cial intercourse.  But  it  may  be  predicted  that  a  British  colony  with  25,000 
Chinese  subjects,  in  sight  of  the  south  coast  of  China,  is  destined  to  play  a 
part  in  the  drama  of  the  future. 

Comparing  the  China  war  with  the  Japan  expedition,  Sir  J.  F.  Davis 
also  remarks : 

Whatever  may  be  the  result  of  this  undertaking  (the  expedition  to  Japan)* 
nothing  important  is  likely  to  be  gained  by  mere  negotiation,  as  the  United 
States  had  already,  in  1846,  about  as  strong  a  force  in  the  bay  of  J6do,  in- 
cluding a  ship  of  ninety  guns,  under  Commodore  Biddle.  It  is  possible  that 
the  present  exclusively  navd  armament  may  prove  sufficient  to  carry  out 
strong  measures ;  but  its  amount  is  very  different  from  our  own  seventy 
vessels  of  war  and  transports,  with  12,000  fighting-men,  before  the  walk  of 
Nanking  in  1842.  If  not  sufficient,  however,  it  may  lead  to  something 
further,  from  either  the  same  or  some  other  quarter. 

This  expedition  is  an  opportune  confirmation  of  the  views  and  expectations 
entertained  in  the  two  chapters  on  the  Indo-Chinese  nations,  who  certainly 
will  not  be  allowed  much  longer  to  remain  in  a  state  of  avowed  hostility  to 
the  rest  of  the  world ; — more  especially  Japan,  which  fires  on  ships  in  their 
necessity,  and  exhibits  shipwrecked  mariners  in  cages,  preparatory  to  a  cruel 
death.    With  them,  at  least,  the  time  has  arrived 


.  pacis  imponere  morem. 

It  remains  for  the  rest  of  the  civilised  world  to  wish  the  United  States  all 
success,  and  to  expect  that  they  will  make  a  humane,  liberal,  and  enlightened 
use  of  it. 

We  shall  turn  presently  to  Mr.  Fortune's  interesting  account  of  the 
prog:re8S  of  British  connexion  with  China,  but  must  precede  those  state- 
ments with  a  few  observations  of  Sir.  J.  F.  Davis.  First,  in  regard  to 
Chusan,  for  the  loss  of  which  we  are  remotely  comforted  by  the  assur- 
ance that  it  '*  is  a  point  of  such  importance,  political  and  military,  if  not 
commercial,  that  the  course  of  time  and  events  might  again  some  day 
make  us  acquainted  ^th  it,"  Sir  J.  F.  Davis  says,  that  when  occupied 
by  lis,  "nothing  could  exceed  the  good-humour  and  contentedness  of  the 
native  Chinese,  so  different  from  the  assumptions  in  Yukien's  mock  decla- 
ration during  the  war.  It  was  impossible  to  traverse  the  suburb  between 
the  sea  and  the  town  without  observing  plain  proofs  of  the  good  under- 
standing existing  between  the  military  and  tiie  people.  In  one  shop 
might  be  seen  inscribed,  *  Stultz,  Tailor,  from  London ;'  m  another. 


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Teas  and  the  Tea  Country.  441 

*Ici  on  park  Francois*  indications  of  anything  rather  than  iU-hamour 
and  oppresdon.  In  fkct,  the  people  of  Tinghae  (the  capital)  enjoyed 
opportunities  of  enriching  themselves  by  industry  during  our  occupation 
which  may  not  very  soon  recur." 

Chusan  derives  its  importance,  not  only  &om  its  position  near  the 
month  of  the  Yangtsekeang,  and  the  high-road  to  the  grand  canal,  but 
it  possesses  the  finest  climate  imaginable,  in  the  precise  latitude  of  the 
tea  and  mulberry-growing  provinces,  and  four  times  the  area,  with  much 
more  level  surface  than  Hong-Kong — a  name  now  almost  proverbial  for 
its  fatality  to  troops. 

Mr.  Fortune,  who  visited  Shanghae  soon  aflter  the  war  had  been,  brought 
to  a  satisfactory  termination,  said  of  that  city,  in  his  "  Three  Years'  Wan- 
derings in  Cmna,*'  that  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  in  a  few  years  it 
would  not  only  rival  Canton,  but  become  a  place  of  far  greater  import- 
ance. Sir  J.  F.  Davis  said  of  the  same  place,  that  the  unrivalled  advan- 
tages of  its  position,  the  friendliness  of  the  native  authorities,  and  the 
zeal  and  exertions  of  the  consul,  were  all  pledges  of  the  prosperity  of 
this  port  of  trade,  which  may  be  expected  in  no  long  period  to  surpass 
Canton.  It  is  not  a  little  interesting  to  compare  these  prognostications 
of  success  with  things  as  they  actually  are,  and  we  are  enabled  to  do  so 
by  Mr.  Fortune's  account  of  his  late  journey  to  the  Tea  Countries  of 
China,  undertaken  to  obtain  seeds  ana  plants  of  the  tea-shrub  for  the 
Hon.  East  India  Company's  plantations  in  the  north-west  provinces  of 
India.  Mr.  Fortune  proceeded  at  once,  in  pursuit  of  the  objects  he  had 
in  view,  to  the  most  northerly  of  the  five  ports  at  which  foreigners  are 
permitted  to  trade. 

I  now  found  myself,  he  relates  (September,  1848),  after  having  been  in 
England  for  nearly  three  years,  once  more  in  a  China  boat  sailing  up  the 
Shanghae  river  towards  the  city.  The  first  object  which  met  my  view  as  I 
approached  the  town  was  a  forest  of  masts,  not  of  junks  only,  which  had  been 
so  striking  on  former  occasions,  but  of  goodly  foreign  ships,  chiefly  from 
England  and  the  United  States  of  America.  There  were  now  twenty-six 
large  vessels  at  anchor  here,  many  of  which  had  come  loaded  with  the  produce 
of  our  manufacturing  districts,  and  were  returning  filled  with  silks  and  teas. 
But  I  was  much  more  surprised  with  the  appearance  which  the  shore  presented 
than  with  the  shipping.  I  had  heard  that  many  English  and  American  houses 
had  been  built,  indeed  one  or  two  were  being  built  before  I  left  China ;  but 
a  new  town,  of  very  considerable  size,  now  occupied  the  place  of  wretched 
Chinese  hovels,  cotton-fields,  and  tombs.  The  Chinese  were  moving  gradually 
backwards  into  the  country,  with  their  families,  effects,  and  all  that  appertained 
unto  them,  reminding  one  of  the  aborigines  of  the  west,  with  this  important 
difference,  that  the  Cliinese  generally  left  of  their  free  will,  and  were  liberally 
remunerated  for  their  property  by  the  foreigners.  Their  chief  care  was  to 
remove,  witli  their  other  effects,  the  bodies  of  their  deceased  friends,  which 
are  commonly  interred  on  private  property  near  their  bouses.  Hence  it  was 
no  imcommon  thing  to  meet  several  coffins  being  borne  by  coolies  or  friends 
to  the  westward,  tn  many  instances,  when  the  cofilns  were  uncovered,  they 
were  found  totally  decayed,  and  it  was  impossible  to  remove  them.  When 
this  was  the  case,  a  Chinese  might  be  seen  uolding  a  book  in  his  hand,  which 
contained  a  list  of  the  bones,  and  directing  others  in  their  search  after  these 
the  last  remnants  of  mortality. 

It  is  most  amusing  to  see  the  groups  of  Chinese  merchants  who  come  from 
some  distance  inland  on  a  visit  to  Shanghae.  They  wander  about  along  the 
river  side  with  wonder  depicted  in  their  countenances.    The  square-rigged 

Auff, — VOL.  XCV.  NO.  CCCLXXX.  2  o 


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4fi2  Teas  amd  tie  Tea  CauiUry. 

Tessels  which  crowd  the  river,  the  houses  of  the  foreigners,  their  horses  and 
their  dogs,  are  all  objects  of  wonder,  even  more  so  than  the  foreigners  them- 
selves. Mr.  Beale,  who  has  one  of  the  finest  houses  here^  has  frequent  appli- 
cations from  respectable  Chinese  who  are  anxious  to  see  the  inside  of  an 
English  dwelling.  These  applications  are  always  complied  with  in  the  kindest 
manner,  and  the  visitors  depart  highly  delighted  with  the  view.  It  is  to  be 
hoped  that  these  peeps  at  our  comforts  and  refinements  may  have  a  tendeacj 
to  raise  the  *'  barbarian  race  "  a  step  or  two  higher  in  tlie  eyes  of  the  "  enlight- 
ened" Chinese. 

A  pretty  English  church  forms  one  of  the  ornaments  of  the  new  town,  and 
a  smaU  cemetery  has  been  purchased  from  the  Chinese ;  it  is  walled  round, 
and  has  a  little  cnapel  in  the  centre.  In  the  course  of  time  we  may  perhaps 
take  a  lesson  from  the  Chinese,  and  render  this  place  a  more  pleasing  object 
than  it  is  at  present.  Were  it  properly  laid  out  with  good  walks,  and  planted 
with  weeping-willows,  cypresses,  pines,  and  other  trees  of  an  ornamental  and 
appropriate  kind,  it  would  tend  to  raise  us  in  the  eyes  of  a  people  who,  of  all 
nations,  are  most  particular  in  their  attention  to  the  graves  of  the  dead. 

The  gardens  of  the  foreign  residents  in  Shanghae  are  not  unworthy  of 
notice ;  they  far  excel  those  of  the  Chinese,  both  in  the  number  of  trees  and 
shrubs  which  they  contain,  and  also  in  the  neat  and  tasteful  manner  in  which 
they  are  laid  out  and  arranged. 

The  selection  of  ports,  afler  the  treaty  of  Nanking,  was  made  (with 
the  exception  of  Canton)  under  the  obvious  disadvantage  of  a  very  im- 
perfect topographical  knowledge  of  the  country.  Ningpo  and  Amoj 
were  named  m  the  instructions  from  home,  as  having  been  formerly  ports 
of  European  trade  ;  but  Shanghae  and  Foochow-foo  were  entirely  new. 
The  last  has  proved  a  decided  failure,  after  more  than  seven  years'  trial. 
It  is  situated  on  the  Min,  a  kind  of  Chinese  Rhine,  crowded  with  rocks 
and  shoals ;  and  the  city  cannot  be  approached  by  vessels  of  any  ate 
within  eight  miles.  The  disposition  of  the  people  is  also  exceemngly 
unfriendly,  and  at  the  time  of  Sir  John  Davis's  official  visit,  the  consul 
was  consigned  to  a  very  miserable  dwelling  in  the  suburb,  on  the  side  of 
the  rivar  opposite  to  the  city.  Since  then,  the  capital  of  Folden  and  Ningpo 
have  been  reduced  to  vice-consulates,  merely  aided  by  interpreters.  Mr. 
Fortune  visited  also  the  Fokien  capital,  and  extended  his  explorations,  not- 
withstanding the  jealousy  of  the  innabitants,  up  the  river  Min ;  first  visiting 
a  celebrated  Buddhist  temple,  which,  he  says,  seems  to  be  the  Jeru- 
salem !  of  that  part  of  China,  to  whose  relics,  consisting  of  what  appears 
to  be  an  elephant's  or  mammoth's  tooth,  and  which  is  revered  as  one  of 
Buddha's  gigantic  masticators,  and  a  mysterious  crystal  vase,  he  assigns 
the  importance  of  oommemorative  engravings ;  and  next  a  spring,  &mou8 
for  the  excellency  of  its  water,  and  situated  in  what  he  describes  as  one  of 
the  most  romantic-looking  dells  or  ravines  that  he  ever  beheld.  Chinese 
like,  a  caldron  of  this  excellent  water  is  kept  always  hoiling,  in  order  that 
tea  may  be  readily  made  for  visitors.  The  view  from  the  fir  and  azalia- 
clad  mountains  on  the  Min  is  described  as  being  peculiarly  picturesque. 

The  view  which  I  now  obtained  was  one  of  the  grandest  I  had  seen  for 
many  a  day.  Above  me,  towering  in  majestic  grandeur,  was  the  celebrated 
peak  of  Koo-shan,  1000  feet  higher  than  where  I  stood.  Below,  I  looked 
down  upon  rugged  and  rocky  ravines,  in  many  places  barren,  and  in  others 
clothed  with  trees  and  brushwood,  but  perfectly  wild.  To  afford,  as  it  were, 
a  striking  contrast  to  this  scenery,  my  eye  next  rested  on  the  beautiful  valley 
of  the  Min,  in  which  the  town  of  Foo-chow-foo  stands.  The  river  was  wind- 
ing through  it,  and  had  its  surface  studded  with  boats  and  junks  sailing  to  and 


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Teas  ad  the  Tea  Country,  44S 

firo,  and  all  eqgpiged  in  actiTe  bininess.  Its  fields  were  green,  and  were 
watered  by  numerous  canals;  while  in  the  background  to  this  beautiful  picture 
were  hills  nearly  as  high  as  Koo-shan,  from  amongst  which  the  river  runs»  and 
where  it  is  lost  to  the  eye. 

The  gates  of  the  city  are  always  locked  soon  after  dark  ;  but  tlus 
does  not  pvevent  ingress  and  egress,  for  ladders  are  placed  against  the 
walls,  up  which  men  are  seen  ascending  and  descending  like  a  hive  of 
bees,  ana  the  guards  reap  a  rich  harvest,  each  man  having  to  pay  a  few 
caah  for  the  use  of  the  ladder. 

The  chief  drawback  at  Amoy  has  been  the  comparative  poverty  of 
the  population,  and  smallness  of  the  trade  ;  but  the  latter  is  improving. 
The  harbour,  whidi  is  safe  and  easy  of  access,  has  long  rendered  it  a 
xnsurket  for  the  Straits'  produce  of  the  Malay  Islands  ;  and  this  trade, 
and  that  with  Singapore,  is,  according  to  the  latest  information,  increas- 
ing^. Sir  John  Davis  describes  the  town  and  citadel  as  built  on  low 
ground,  exceedingly  dirty,  but  populous,  and  bearing  a  busy  appearance. 
He  says  that  no  doubt  this  port  will  be  second  only  to  Shanghae  among 
the  new  ones. 

I^ingpo  is  a  place  of  considerable  importance,  by  its  situation.  The 
people  are  also  favourably  disposed  towards  Europeans.  The  near 
neifi^hbourhood  of  the  preferable  emporium  of  Shanghae  alone  interferes 
with  its  success ;  and  at  the  time  of  Sir  John  Davis's  visit  only  one 
merchant  had  arrived.  The  embroidered  silks,  celebrated  for  their  beauty, 
axe  sold  in  the  best  streets  of  the  city.  The  furniture-shops  compete^ 
in  size  and  richness,  with  those  of  our  upholsterers.  A  kind  of  highly 
yamished  inlaid  work  is  peculiar  to  this  city,  and  beautifully  carved  bea- 
steads  are  manufactured,  as  large  as  a  little  room  or  tabernacle.  Mr. 
Fortune  does  not  say  much  of  this  city,  whither  he  arrived  from  his  visit 
to  the  tea  districts  of  Hwuy-chow,  and  whence  he  proceeded  on  his  still 
more  interesting  journey  to  the  Bohea  mountains,  in  both  cases  disguised 
as  a  Chinaman.  As  these  journeys  comprise  much  that  is  new  and  curious, 
both  with  regard  to  tea-cultivation  and  manufacture  and  also  to  Chinese 
geography,  we  propose  to  follow  our  intelligent  and  intrepid  traveller 
througn  some  of  the  more  striking  episodes  of  these  journeys. 

The  tea  district  of  Hwuy-chow,  not  yet  familiarised  to  our  western 
ears  like  Bohef^  lies  about  200  miles  inland  from  Shanghae  and  Ningpo, 
and  has  been  hitherto  a  sealed  country  to  Europeans.  Mr.  Fortune  pro- 
cured two  men  of  the  country — and  great  rascals  they  turned  out  to  be — 
to  act  as  servants  and  guides.  These  men  played  him  &lse  at  the  onset, 
having  betrayed  the  secret  of  his  intentions  to  the  boatmen.  The  shaving 
that  is  necessary  in  adopting  the  Chinese  costume  was,  in  the  hands  of 
these  servants,  an  operation  entailing  no  slight  suffering.  ^^  He  did  not 
shave,"  Mr.  Fortune  relates,  "  he  actually  scraped  my  poor  head  until 
the  tears  came  running  down  my  cheeks,  and  I  cried  out  with  pain.  All 
he  said  was  '  Hai — yah,'  *  veiy  bad,  very  bad,'  and  continued  the  opera- 
tion. To  make  matters  worse,  and  to  try  my  temper  more,  the  boatmen 
were  peeping  into  the  cabin,  and  evidently  enjoying  the  whole  affiiir,  and 
thinking  it  capital  sport" 

The  whole  country  to  the  westward  of  Shanghae,  it  must  be  under- 
stood, is  intersected  with  rivers  and  canals,  so  tmit  the  traveller  can  visit 
by  boat  almost  all  the  towns  and  cities  in  that  part  of  the  province. 

2o2 


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444  Tea$  mi  Ok  lia'  Ominify. 

Some  of  the  canals  lead  to  the  large  oties  of  Sung^kiang^feot  Soo*cho«ri> 
foo,  Nanking,  and  onward  hy  the  Grand  Canal  to  t£e  ca^tal  itself. 
Others,  again,  running  to  the  west  and  south-west,  form  the  highwajrs  to 
the  Tartar  city  of  Chapoo,  Hang-chow-foo,  and  to  numerous  other  citie^ 
and  towns  which  are  studded  over  this  large  and  important  plain. 

Mr.  Fortune's  way  to  the  tea  district  lay  in  a  south-westerly  direction, 
and  so  populous  is  this  part  of  China,  that  he  passed  two  considerable 
towns,  one  of  them  walled  and  nearly  as  large  as  ofaanghae,  on  the  seoood 
day  of  his  journey.  Beyond  this,  he  entered  the  great  E^g-chow  silk 
district,  and  the  mulherry  was  observed  in  great  abundance  on  the  banks 
of  the  canal,  and  in  patches  all  over  the  country.  In  the  broad  and  more 
shallow  sheets  of  water,  the  people  were  gathermg  ling,  a  highly  esteenied 
fruit,  resembling  in  shape  tne  head  and  hoxns  of  a  bullock,  in  tubs  like 
our  washing^tubs.  This  silk  district  occupies  a  circle  of  at  least  a  hun- 
dred miles  in  diameter,  and  it  is  the  principal  and  best  in  the  country. 

At  Tan-see,  a  bustling  town  of  considerable  siae,  the  conntry  changed 
from  a  level  flat  to  hilly,  and  is  under  a  high  state  of  cultivation.  Mr. 
Fortune  says  the  country  around  Hang-chow-foo  may  be  called  the  gar* 
den  of  Cmna.  Hang-chow-foo  is  itself  one  of  the  largest  and  most 
flourishing  cities  in  the  richest  district  of  the  Chinese  empire.  The 
Chinese  authorities  are  exceedingly  jealous  of  foreigners  approaching  or 
entering  the  city,  the  more  especially  as  they  have  baffled  the  English 
by  transferring  the  customs  wluch  used  to  be  levied  in  the  ports  to  this 
and  other  interior  cities,  in  opposition  to  the  terms  of  the  treaty  of 
Nankin. 

As  Mr.  Fortune  approached  the  city,  everything,  he  says,  which  came 
under  his  observation  marked  it  as  a  place  of  great  importance.  The 
Grand  Canal  was  deep  and  wide,  and  bore  on  its  waters  many  hundreds 
of  boats  of  different  sizes,  all  engaged  in  an  active,  bustling  trade.  Mr. 
Fortune  had  been  promised  by  his  rascally  attendants  that  they  would 
conduct  him  to  the  Hang-chow  river  without  passing  through  the  town  ; 
but  this,  as  usual,  was  a  mere  deception,  and  a  chair  was  procured  for  the- 
botanist,  and  coolies  for  the  luggage. 

Everything  being  satisfactorily  arranged,  I  stepped  into  the  chair,  and, 
desiring  my  two  servants  to  follow  me,  proceeded  along  the  narrow  streets  at 
a  rapid  pace.  After  travelling  in  this  way  for  about  a  mile,  and  expecting 
every  moment  to  get  -  ont  into  the  open  country,  I  was  greatly  surprised  by 
tindint;  tliat  I  was  getting  more  and  more  into  a  dense  town.  For  the  first 
time  I  began  to  suspect  that  my  servants  were  deceiving  me,  and  that  I  was 
to  pass  tlirough  the  city  of  Hans-chow  after  all.  These  suspicions  were  soon 
confirmed  by  the  appearance  of  the  walls  and  ramparts  of  tlie  city.  It  va& 
now  too  late  to  object  to  this  procedure,  and  I  thought  the  best  way  to  act 
was  to  let  matters  take  their  course,  and  remain  passive  in  the  business. 

Wc  passed  through  the  gates  into  the  city.  It  seenaed  an  ancient  place  : 
the  walls  and  ramparts  were  high,  and  in  excellent  repair,  and  the  gates  were 
guarded  as  usual  by  a  number  of  soldiers.  Its  main  street,  througli  which  L 
passed,  is  narrow  when  compared  with  streets  in  European  towns ;  but  it  is 
well  paved,  and  reminded  me  of  the  main  street  of  Ning-po.  Hang-chow« 
however,  is  a  place  of  much  greater  importance  than  NiDgnpo,  both  in  » 
political  and  mercantile  point  of  view.  It  is  the  chief  town  ofihe  Chekiang 
province,  and  is  the  residence  of  many  of  the  principal  mandarins  and  officers 
of  government,  as  well  as  nf  many  of  the  great  merchants.  It  has  been  re» 
marked,  not  unfrequently,  when  comparing   the  towns  of  Sbangfaae  and 


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Teoi  and  iik  Jiu  Cauntrff.  445 

Ming-po,  that  the  former  b  a  tiadiDg  place,  and  the  latter  a  place  of  great 
wesfih.  HaDg-cbow4bo  has  both  these  advantages  combined.  Besides,  it  Is 
a  laahjonable  place^  and  is  to  the  proyince  of  Chekiang  what  Soo-chow-foo  is 
to  Kiang-nan.  Du  Halde  quotes  an  old  proverb  which  significantly  says  tliat 
**  Paradise  is  above,  but  bthw  are  Soo-chow  and  Hang-chow." 

The  walls  of  this  terrestrial  paradise  are  said  to  be  forty  le  in  circumference, 
that  is,  about  eight  £nglish  miles.  Although  there  are  a  great  many  gardens 
aDd  open  spaces  inside,  yet  the  extent  of  the  city  is  very  great,  and  in  many 
parts  the  population  is  most  dense.  The  suburbs  also  are  very  extensive,  and 
muat  contain  a  verv  large  population.  Sir  George  Staunton  supposed  that 
the  population  of  the  city  and  suburbs  was  equal  to  that  of  Peking,  and  Du 
Halde  estimates  it  at  a  million  of  souls. 

The  houses  bear  a  striking  resemblance  to  those  of  Ning-po,  Soo-chow,  and 
other  northern  towns.  Were  I  set  down  blindfolded  in  the  main  street  of  one 
of  these  Chinese  towns,  even  in  one  which  I  knew  well,  and  the  bandage  re- 
moved from  my  eves,  I  should  have  great  difficulty  in  saving  where  i  was. 
There  are,  doubtless,  distinctions  with  which  the  **  barbarian  "  eye  is  unac- 
quainted, but  which  would  be  plain  enough  to  a  Chinese. 

I  observed  in  many  parts  of  the  city  triumphal  arches,  monuments  to  great 
men,  and  gorgeous-looking  Buddhist  temples ;  but  although  these  buildings 
have  a  certain  degree  of  interest  about  them,  and  many  of  them  are  certainly 
curious,  yet  as  works  of  art  they  are  not  to  be  compared  with  the  buildings  of 
the  same  class  which  one  meets  with  at  home. 

The  shops  in  the  main  streets  liave  their  fronts  entirely  removed  by  day,  so 
that  the  passenger  may  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing  and  of  forming  a  good 
idea  of  the  wares  which  are  for  sale.  I  observed  many  shops  where  gold  and 
silver  ornaments  and  valuable  Jade  stone  were  exposed  for  sale.  Old  curiosity 
shops  were  numerous,  and  contained  articles  of  great  value  amongst  the 
Chinese,  such  as  ancient  porcelain  jars,  bronzes,  carved  bamboo,  jars  cut  out 
of  tlie  beautiful  Jade  stone,  and  a  variety  of  other  things  of  like  description. 
I  observed  some  large  silk-shops  as  I  passed  along,  and,  judging  from  the 
number  of  people  in  the  town  who  wear  silk  dresses,  they  must  have  a 
thriving  trade.  Everj'thing,  indeed,  which  met  the  eye,  stamped  Hang-chow- 
foo  as  a  place  of  wealth  and  luxury.  As  usual  in  all  the  Chinese  towns  which 
I  have  visited,  there  were  a  vast  number  of  tea  and  eating  houses  for  the 
middle  classes  and  the  poor.  They  did  not  seem  to  lack  customers,  for  they 
were  all  crowded  with  hundreds  of  natives,  who,  for  a  few  cash  or  **  tseen,** 
can  obtain  a  healthy  and  substantial  meal. 

Besides  the  officers  of  government,  merchants,  shopkeepers,  and  common 
labourers  connected  with  any  of  these  professions,  the  city  contains  a  large 
manufacturing  population.  Silk  is  the  staple  article  of  manufacture.  Du 
Halde  estimates  the  numbers  engaged  in  this  operation  at  60,000.  I  observed 
a  great  number  employed  in  die  reeling  process,  and  others  were  busily 
engaged  with  the  beautiful  embroidery  for  which  this  part  of  China  is  so 
famous. 

The  people  of  Hang-chow  dress  gaily,  and  are  remarkable  amongst  the 
Chinese  for  their  dandyism.  All  except  the  lowest  labourers  and  coolies 
strutted  about  in  dresses  composed  of  silk,  satin,  and  crape.  My  Chinese 
servants  were  one  day  contrasting  tlie  natives  of  Hang-chow  in  this  respect 
with  those  of  the  more  inland  parts  from  which  they  came.  They  said  there 
were  many  rich  men  in  their  country,  but  they  all  dressed  plainly  and 
modestly ;  while  the  natives  of  Hang-chow,  both  rich  and  poor,  were  never 
contented  unless  gaily  dressed  in  silks  and  satins.  **  Indeed,"  said  they,  **  one 
can  never  tell  a  rich  man  In  Hang-chow,  for  it  is  just  possible  that  all  he  pos- 
sesses in  the  world  is  on  his  back." 

When  we  were  about  half  way  through  the  city  the  chairmen  set  me  down, 
and  informed  me  that  they  went  no  further.  I  got  out  and  looked  round  for 
my  servauts,  from  whom  I  expected  an  explanation,  for  I  had  understood  that 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


446  anm  and  Ae  Tea  CaufUry. 

the  chairmen  had  heen  paid  to  take  me  the  whole  w^r  tfarou^,  My  sow 
yaots,  however,  were  nowhere  to  he  seen — thef  had  either  gone  some  olber 
road,  or,  what  was  more  prohable^  had  intentionally  kept  out  of  the  way  in 
case  of  anv  disturhance.  I  was  now  in  a  dilemma,  and  did  not  dearly  see  my 
way  out  of  it.  Much  to  my  surprise  and  pleasure,  however,  another  dudr  was 
brought  me,  and  I  was  inK>rmed  that  I  was  to  proceed  in  it.  I  now  under- 
stood how  the  business  had  been  managed.  The  innkeeper  had  intnisted  the 
first  bearers  witii  a  sum  of  money  sufficient  to  hire  another  chair  for  the 
second  stage  of  the  journey.  P&rt  of  this  sum»  however,  had  been  spent  by 
them  in  tea  and  tobacco  as  we  came  along,  and  the  second  bearera  could  not 
be  induced  to  take  me  on  for  the  sum  which  was  left.  A  brawl  now  ensued 
between  the  two  sets  of  chairmen,  which  was  noisv  enough ;  but  as  such  things 
are  quite  common  in  China,  it  seemed,  fortunately  for  me,  to  attract  but  little 
notice.  The  situation  in  which  I  was  now  placed  was  nther  critical,  and  6r 
from  an  enviable  one.  Had  it  been  known  that  a  foreigner  was  in  the  veiy 
heart  of  the  city  of  Hang-chow-foo,  a  mob  would  have  soon  collected,  and  the 
consequences  might  have  been  serious. 

Our  traveller  is  at  length  consigned  to  a  Hong-le — a  quiet,  oomfbrtable 
Chinese  inn,  pleasantly  situated  on  the  banks  of  the  Green  river,  five 
or  six  respectable-looking  Chinese  merchants  were  smoking  firom  long 
bamboo  pipes,  and  discussing  the  news  of  the  day  and  the  state  of  the 
trade.  Mr.  Fortune  took  a  seat,  and,  to  be  neigfabonr-like,  OHumenoed 
smoking  as  fast  as  any  of  them. 

A  little  incident  happened  which  gave  me  some  uneasiness  at  the  time,  but 
at  which  I  have  often  had  a  good  laugh  since.  Preparations  began  to  be  made 
for  dinner,  and  the  travellers  who  were  seated  around  the  table  arose  and 
wandered  about  the  other  parts  of  the  house.  It  was  mid-day,  and,  as  I  had 
eaten  no  breakfast,  I  felt  rather  hungry.  In  these  circumstances  it  may  be 
thought  that  the  appearance  of  dinner  would  have  afforded  me  some  pleasure. 
This,  however,  was  not  the  ease,  and  for  the  following  reason :  I  had  not  eaten 
with  chop-sticks  for  three  years,  and  I  had  no  confidence  in  my  talents  in  the 
use  of  tliem.  This  important  circumstance  had  not  struck  me  before,  other* 
wise  I  would  have  practised  all  the  way  from  Shanghae  to  Hang-chow»  and 
might  have  been  proficient  by  this  time.  As  it  was,  I  was  quite  certain  dud  I 
should  draw  the  eyes  of  the  Chinamen  upon  me,  for  nothing  would  astonish 
them  so  much  as  a  person  using  the  chopsticks  in  an  awkward  manner.  I 
was  therefore  obliged,  reluctantly  I  confess,  to  abandon  all  ideas  of  a  dinner 
on  that  day. 

Meanwhile  the  dishes  were  placed  upon  the  table,  and  the  guests  were  called 
by  their  names,  and  requested  to  sit  down.  "  Sing  Wa,  Sing  Wa  "  (the  name 
I  bore  amongst  the  Chinese),  "  come  and  sit  down  to  dinner.*'  I  felt  much 
inclined  to  break  my  resolution  and  sit  down,  but  prudence  came  to  my  aid, 
and  J  replied,  "  No,  I  thank  you,  I  shall  dine  by-and-by,  when  my  servants 
come  back."  I  believe  it  is  common  enough  for  travellers  to  dine  at  different 
hours  and  in  different  vrays,  according  to  circumstances,  so  that  my  refusal  did 
not  seem  to  attract  much  notice. 

The  river  Tcien-tang-kiang,  which  Mr.  Fortune  navigated  hence,  is 
fed  by  three  great  branches,  one  of  which  rises  among  the  g^reen-tea  hills 
of  Hwuy-chow,  another  near  to  the  town  of  Changshan,  on  the  borders 
of  Kiang-see,  and  a  third  on  the  northern  side  of  the  Bohea  mountuns. 
Thus  all  the  green  and  black  tea  comes  down  this  river  on  its  way  to 
Shanghae,  and  hence  the  great  mercantile  importanoe  of  HaDg»chow*£b(H 
a  city  at  which,  when  the  treaty  is  lefbimed,  which  is  to  be  the  case  in  a 
few  years  hence,  permission  should  be  obtained  to  estabErii  a  consular 
agency. 


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Tea8  and  the  Tea  Camtry.  447 

The  journey  up  the  river  woold  hsre  beea  perfenned  with  tolerable 
comfort,  only  that  one  of  the  coolies  impradeBtly  let  it  be  known  among 
the  passengers  that  a  Hong-mous^  or  foreigner,  was  among  them,  a  cir- 
cnmstance  which  led  to  much  subsequent  annoyance.  Two  days  were 
spent  at  a  laige  town  called  Yen-chow- foo,  half  way  between  Hang-chow 
and  Hwny-chow.  Navigation  beyond  this  was  impeded  by  rapid^  the 
bilk  were  covered  with  pines,  and  the  lowlands,  when  not  cultivated^ 
abounded  in  tallow-trees,  camphor-trees,  and  bamboos.  A  palm-tree^  the 
only  species  of  the  genus  indigenous  to,  or  cultivated  in,  the  northern  or 
central  provinces  of  the  empire,  was  seen  on  the  hill-sides,  in  a  high  state 
of  perfection.  Some  plants  of  this  remarkable  palm,  wbich  flounshes  in 
temperate  climates,  were  sent  home  by  Mr.  Fortune  in  1848  or  1849, 
and  w«re  planted  in  the  royal  gardens  at  Kew,  and  at  Osborne  House^ 
and  braved  the  severe  winter  of  1849-60  unharmed,  unprotected  by  any 
sort  of  covering.  Mr.  Fortune  is  in  hopes  from  these  circumstances  that 
we  shall  one  day  see  this  beautiful  palm-tree  ornamenting  the  hill-sides 
in  the  south  of  England ! 

Here  also  Mr.  Fortune  discovered  that  most  beautiful  tree,  the  funereal 
or  weeping  cypress,  seeds  of  which  are  now  growing  in  England,  and  we 
may  expect,  in  a  few  years,  to  see  a  new  and  striking  feature  produced 
upon  our  landscape  by  this  valuable  acquisition. 

Thus,  with  such  discoveries  to  charm  him,  our  traveller  passed  day 
after  day  pleasantly  enough :  the  weather  was  delightful,  the  natives 

2uiet  and  inoffensive,  the  scenery  picturesque  in  the  highest  degree, 
large  quantities  of  water-fowl,  such  as  geese,  ducks,  teal,  and  several 
varieties  of  the  kingfisher,  were  common  about  the  river.  Inland,  on 
the  hill-sides,  pheasants,  woodcocks,  and  partridges,  were  most  abundant 
Several  large  towns  were  passed,  some  with  a  population  estimated  at 
least  100,000.  At  length  the  tea-plant  was  met  with  in  frequent  culti- 
vation on  the  hill-sides,  and  a  town  called  Waeping,  with  a  population  of 
150,000,  heralded  the  borders  of  the  green-tea  district.  It  was  an  ancient 
city,  watered  by  a  clear  and  beautiful  river  (the  Hwuy-chow),  surrounded 
by  hills  and  romantic  scenery,  and  defended  by  time-honoured  walls.  The 
troops  in  the  Hwuy-chow  district,  it  is  to  be  remarked,  were  not  on  good 
terms  with  those  of  Hang-chow.  The  Chinese  provincialists,  indeed, 
of^en  speak  of  one  another  as  of  foreigners.  As  the  river  got  shallow, 
the  boat  was  obliged  to  be  changed  :  and  upon  this  occasion,  Mr.  Fortune 
found  that  two  coffins,  each  containing  the  body  of  a  Chinaman,  had  been 
lying  directly  under  his  bed  for  the  last  three  weeks,  without  his  having 
any  suspicion  of  the  fact. 

The  river  port  of  Hwuy-chow-foo,  where  the  teas  are  shipped,  is  called 
Tun-che,  and  is  a  bustling  place,  with  a  population  of  about  150,000. 
The  river  had  hitherto  been  bounded  by  high  hills  on  each  side.  Now, 
however,  they  seemed,  as  it  were,  to  isSX  back,  and  left  an  extensive  and 
beautiful  valley,  through  the  middle  of  which  the  river  flowed.  Nearly 
aU  this  lowland  was  under  tea-cultivation^  and  the  soil  being  rich  and 
fertile,  the  bushes  grew  most  luxuriantly.  The  place,  however,  where, 
according  to  Chinese  tradition,  the  green  tea- shrub  was  first  discovered, 
is  a  hill  called  Sung-lo,  or  Sung-lo-sban,  and  was  only  reached  next  day. 
It  was  found  to  rise  about  2000  or  3000  feet  above  the  plain,  and  pro- 
duced but  little  tea  now — ^the  lowlands  around  furnishing  the  greater 


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448  Teoj^  wdik^  Tea  C^mtrgf* 

part  of  the  teas  of  oommeioe  ;  hwice  the  dktiQCtioii  betweeafaill-teiLaiid 
garden-tat ;  Iwt  tbese  pUrns  atood  at  some  elevation  above  ibe  level  o£ 
we  sea. 

After  some  geoexal  remarks  upon  the  nature  of  the  soil,  and  the  pco^ 
pagation  of  the  tea-plant  by  seedi  ^  ^^U  as  to  its  cultivatioD,  Mr»  Fortiuie 
goes  on  to  remark  on  the  vexed  question  of  green  tfirsunhhick  teas  t 

In  my  former  work  I  offered  some  refroarks  upon  the  preference  which  many 
persons  in  Europe  and  in  America  have  for  cohwed  green  teas,  and  I  will  now 
give  a  *'fuU  and  particular  account  '*  of  the  colouring  process  as  practised  ia 
the  Hwuy-chow  green-tea  country  upon  those  teas  which  are  destined  for  the 
foreign  market.  Having  noted  down  the  process  carefully  at  the  ti^ne,  I  wiil 
extract  verbatim  from  my  note-book : 

*'The  superintendent  of  the  workmen  managed  the  colouring  part  of  the 
process  himself.  Having  procured  a  portion  of  Pnissian  blue,  he  threw  it 
into  a  porcelain  bowl,  not  unlike  a  chemist's  mortar,  and  cnished  it  into  a  very 
fine  powder.  At  tlie  same  time  a  quantity  of  ^psum  was  produced  and 
burned  in  the  charcoal  fires  which  were  tlien  roastmg  the  teas.  The  object  of 
this  was  to  soften  it,  in  order  that  it  might  be  readily  pounded  into  a  very  fine 

Eowder,  in  the  same  manner  as  the  Prussian  blue  had  been.  The  gypsum, 
aving  been  taken  out  of  the  fire  after  a  certain  time  had  elapsed,  readily 
crumbled  down  and  was  reduced  to  powder  in  the  mortar.  These  two  sub- 
stances, having  been  thus  prepared,  were  then  mixed  together  in  the  propor- 
tion of  four  parts  of  gypsum  to  three  parts  of  Prussian  blue,  and  formed  a 
light-blue  powder,  which  was  then  ready  for  use. 

*'  This  colouring  matter  was  applied  to  dm  teas  during  the  last  process  of 
roasting.  About  five  minutes  before  tlie  tea  was  removed  from  the  pans— 
the  time  being  regulated  by  the  burning  of  a  joss-stick — the  superintendent 
took  a  small  porcelain  spoon,  and  with  it  he  scattered  a  portion  of  the  colour- 
ing matter  over  the  leaves  in  each  pan.  The  workmen  then  turned  the 
leaves  rapidly  round  with  both  hanos,  in  order  that  the  colour  might  be 
equally  difiiised. 

*'  During  this  part  of  the  onemtion  the  hands  of  tlie  workmen  were  quite 
blue.  I  could  not  help  tiiinking  that  if  any  green*tea  drinkers  had  been 
present  during  the  operation,  their  taste  would  have  been  corrected,  and,  I 
may  he  allowed  to  add,  improved.  It  seems  perfectly  ridiculous  that  a 
civilised  people  should  prefer  tliese  dyed  teas  to  those  of  a  natural  green.  No 
wonder  that  the  Chinese  consider  the  natives  of  the  west  to  be  a  race  ot 
^  barbarians.* 

*'  One  day  an  English  gentleman  in  Shanghae,  being  in  conversation  with 
some  Chinese  from  the  green>tea  country,  asked  them  what  reasons  they  Iwd 
for  dyeing  the  tea,  and  whether  it  would  not  be  better  witliout  undei^goinc 
this  process.  They  acknowledged  that  tea  was  much  better  wh^n  preparea 
without  having  any  such  ingredients  mixed  with  it,  and  Uiat  they  never  drank 
dyed  teas  themselves,  hut  justly  remarked  that,  as  foreigners  seemed  to  prefer 
having  a  mixture  of  Prussian  blue  and  eypsum  with  tlieir  tea,  to  make  it  look 
uniform  and  pretty,  and  as  these  ingredients  were  cheap  enough,  the  Chinese 
had  no  objection  to  supply  them,  especially  as  such  teas  always  fetched  a 
higher  price ! 

"  I  took  some  trouble  to  ascertain  predsely  the  quantity  of  colouring 
matter  used  in  the  process  of  dyeing  green  teas»  not  certainly  with  the  view 
of  assisting  others,  eitlier  at  home  or  abroad,  in  the  art  of  colouring  hut 
simply  to  show  green-tea  drinkers  in  England,  and  more  particular^  m  the  , 
United  States  of  America,  what  quantity  of  Prussian  blue  and  gvpsum  they 
imbibe  in  the  course  of  one  year.  To  l4i  lbs.  of  tea  were  applied  8  mace 
2i  candareens  of  colouring  matter,  or  rather  more  than  an  ounce.  In  eveiy 
100  lbs.  of  coloured  green  tea  consumed  m  England  or  America,  the  consumer 
actually  drinks  more  dian  half  a  pound  of  Prnasiae  blue  rniA^jpunm  I    And 


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Tea9  and  iKt  tea  (k/iMry.  449 

yet,  tell  die  driakera  of  this  coloured  tea  that  the  Chioete  eat  cats,  dogs,  and 
rats,  and  tliey  will  hold  up  their  bands  in  amazenept^  and  pity  the  poor 

celestials  !** 

Specimens  of  tea-dyes  were  forwarded  by  Mr.  Fortune  from  the  north 
of  China,  in  time  for  the  Great  Exhibition  of  last  year,  and  these  were 
reported  upon  by  Mr.  Warrington,  of  Apothecaries  Hall,  as  being  com- 
posed of  fibrous  gypsum  (calcined),  turmeric-root,  and  PrussianiUae; 
the  latter  of  a  bright,  pale  tint,  most  likely  from  admixture  with  alumina 
or  poieelain-clay,  which  admixture  may  account  for  the  alumina  and  silica 
found  previously,  and  attributed  possibly  to  the  employment  of  kaolin  or 
agalmatalite.  According  to  Mr.  Warrington,  then,  it  may  be  remotely 
inferred,  that  the  same  soil  that  is  favourable  to  the  production  of  green 
tea,  is  also  favourable  to  the  manufacture  of  the  porcelain  wherein  to 
drink  it.  It  is  more  likely  that  the  idea  of  kaolin  (decomposed  feldspar) 
being  prominect,  it  was  immediately  associated  with  evidence  of  the  pre- 
sence of  alumina.  Mr.  Fortune  describes  the  country  as  one  of  Silurian  (?) 
slates  and  red  calcareous  sandstones. 

The  return  from  the  famed  Sung-Io-shan  tea-country,  being  with  the 
current,  was  much  more  easily  effected  than  the  journey  thither ;  and 
Mr.  Fortune  having  taken  the  road  to  Ningpo,  he  passed  several  towns 
of  importance  in  his  way.  Thence  he  went  to  Kintang,  or  SQver  Island, 
one  of  the  islands  of  the  Chusan  Archipelago,  where  he  was  treated,  not 
only  with  civility,  but  with  marked  kindness.  The  green  tea*shrub  is  culti** 
vated  very  extensively  in  the  interior  of  this  island,  and  Mr.  Fortune  ob- 
tained a  large  supply  of  tea-seeds.  There  is  a  road  open  between 
Shanghae  and  Chusan,  by  Chapoo,  not  included  in  the  treaty,  but  which, 
by  enabling  the  European  residents  to  repair  quickly  to  the  islands  in  the 
bad  season  of  the  year,  has  saved  many  lives. 

From  Shanghae,  Mr.  Fortune  repaired  with  his  collections  to  Hong- 
Kong,  returning  thence  by  Foo-chow-foo,  of  which  we  have  before  spoken, 
once  more  to  Ningpo,  whence  this  time  he  was  bent  upon  an  excursion  to 
the  Bohea  niountains,  the  great  black- tea  district,  and  a  name  more  fami- 
liar to  English  ears  than  that  of  the  great  green-tea  district  of  Hwuy- 
chow  or  Sung-lo.  The  way  lay  at  first  up  the  Hwuy-chow,  or  Greea 
river,  taking,  at  the  old  city  of  Yen*chow-K)o,  the  south-west  tributary, 
instead  of  the  north-west,  which  he  had  ascended  the  previous  year. 
Although  the  krger  branch,  this  river  was  full  of  rapids,  and  difficult  of 
navigation.  Passing  Nan-che,  which  Mr.  Fortune  describes  as  one  of 
the  prettiest  Chinese  towns  which  he  had  seen,  reminding  him  more  of 
an  EngKsh  place  than  a  Chinese  one,  and  containing  about  200,000  in- 
habitants, and  the  river  in  front  covered  with  boats,  and  several  other 
towns,  pagodas,  and  bridges,  he  arrived  at  Chang-san,  beyond  which  the 
river  was  no  longer  navigable. 

Hence  the  journey,  therefore,  had  to  be  performed  in  a  chair,  which 
materially  increased  exposure  and  chance  of  detection.  And  at  one  of 
the  inns  on  the  roadside,  our  traveller  was  very  nigh  being  discovered 
by  some  of  the  Canton  merchants  who  firequent  the  tea  districts.  The 
land  journey  extended  to  Yuk-shan,  a  walled  town  of  considerable  sizei 
whence,  having  crossed  the  line  or  ridge  which  divides  the  streams  that 
flow  to  the  eastward  from  those  wUch  flow  to  the  westward,  Mr.  Fortune 
was  enabled  to  take  to  the  water  again.     The  descent  to  Quan-8in«>fQ0>  s 


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4fO  Tms  and  Ae  Tea  Qnmhy. 

laige  citj  to  the  weft  of  the  Behea  mountiinSy  wtaquiddy  efifeeted  ;  and 
bejond  this  he  came  to  Hokow,  tiie  great  emporiam  of  the  Uack-tea 
trade,  and  one  of  the  most  important  inland  towns  of  the  empire,  haTing 
a  pc^nlation  of  about  300,000  sods.  Large  inns,  tea-hongs,  and  ware- 
houses,  were  met  with  in  erery  part  of  the  town,  and  particidarlj  along 
the  banks  of  the  rirer.  The  boats  moored  abreast  of  the  towa  were  very 
nnmerons*  There  were  small  ones  for  single  passengers,  large  paaoago 
boats  for  the  publio,  and  mandarins!  boats  gjKiy  decorated  with  flags. 
Besides  these,  there  were  laige  cargo-boats  for  oonveyinf  tea,  and  other 
menchandise,  ttther  eastward  to  Ynk-shan  or  westward  to  the  Payang 
lake.  Hokow  is  to  the  inland  coantries  of  the  west  what  Shangfaae  aiid 
Soo-chow  are  to  places  nearer  the  sea. 

From  hence  Mr.  Fortune  proceeded,  in  a  motmtun-chair,  across  the 
Bohea  hills  to  Woo-e-shan  ;  the  natural  difficulties  of  the  way  increased 
by  the  importunities  of  beggars.  Beyond  Yuen-shan  was  a  crowded  and 
bustling  tnorough&re,  like  that  between  Yuk-shan  and  Chang^san,  witii 
inns  and  tea-shops  all  along  the  road.  Hoe  describes  the  same  thing  as 
existing  in  more  northerly  parts  of  China.  Long  trains  of  cooliesy  or 
porters,  laden  with  chests  of  tea  and  other  produce,  and  trarellers  in 
mountain-chairs,  were  toiling  up  the  mountam  sides,  or  winding  along 
the  valleys. 

Soon  the  Bohea  mountains  lay  before  our  trareller  in  all  their  grandeur; 
their  tops  pierced  through  the  clouds,  and  showed  themselves  far  above 
them.  They  seemed  to  be  broken  into  a  thousand  fragments,  some  of 
which  had  most  remarkable  and  striking  outlines.  But  still  ever  the 
mountain-road  was  good,  there  was  the  same  crowded  thoroughfare,  and 
the  same  perpetual  suocesrion  of  inns  and  tea-shops.  Great  gates  and 
an  arched  way  divided  the  provinces  of  Fokien  and  Kang-see  at  the 
crest  of  the  mountains.  Vegetation  was  various  and  beautiful,  and 
beyond  this  the  streams  flowed  to  the  southward.  There  was  anoiher 
lower  range  to  cross,  and  one  or  two  towns,  before  reaching  the  tea* 
districts  of  Fokien.  In  the  midst  of  the  district  is  the  great  town  of 
Tsong-gan-hien,  where  nearly  all  the  teas  are  packed  and  prepared  for 
eiportation. 

The  '<  fiir-fiimed  Woo-e-shan"  is  a  collection  of  little  hills,  of  broken 
rocks,  and  perpendicular  diffa  and  precipices,  some  of  which  attain  a 
height  of  more  than  a  thousand  feet,  and  stand  in  the  midst  of  the  pbdn 
of  Tsong-gan-hien. 

Woo-e-shan  (says  Mr.  Fortune)  is  considered  by  the  Chinese  to  be  one  of 
the  most  woDdenuI,  as  well  as  one  of  the  most  sacred,  spots  in  the  empire. 
One  of  their  manuscripts,  quoted  by  Mr.  Ball,  thus  describes  it :  *'  Of  all  the 
mounuins  of  Fokien  those  of  Woo-e  are  the  finest,  and  its  water  the  best. 
They  are  awfully  high  and  rugged,  surrounded  by  water,  and  seem  as  if  ex- 
cavated by  spirits ;  nothing  more  wonderful  can  be  seen.  From  the  dynasty 
of  Csin  and  Han  down  to  the  present  time,  a  succession  of  hermits  and 
priests,  of  the  sects  of  Tao-cze  and  Fo,  have  here  risen  up  like  the  clouds  of 
the  air  and  the  grass  of  the  field,  too  numerous  to  eninnerate.  Its  chief  re* 
nown,  however,  is  derived  from  its  productions,  and  of  these  tea  is  the  most 
celebrated. 

I  stood  for  some  time  on  a  point  of  rising  ground  midway  between  Tsong- 
g;in-hien  and  W'oo-e-shan,  and  surveyed  the  strange  scene  which  lay  before 
me.  I  had  expected  to  see  a  wonderful  sight  when  I  reached  this  place,  but 
I  must  confess  the  scene  far  surpassed  any  ideas  I  had  formed  respecting  it 


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Iter  md  Hie  Tea  Comhy.  451 

There  had  been  no  ezaggefatian  in  the  description  given  by  the  Jesuits,  or  in 
Ae  writings  of  the  Chinese^  eiraepttiig  as  to  the  height  of  the  hills.  They  are 
not "  awfully  high ;"  indeed,  they  are  lower  than  most  of  the  hills  in  this  part 
of  the  country,  and  far  below  the  hei^t  of  the  mountain  ranges  which  I  had 
just  crossed.  The  men  who  were  with  me  pointed  to  the  spot  with  great 
pride,  and  said,  "  Look,  that  is  Woo-e-shan !  have  you  anything  in  your 
country  to  he  compared  with  ii  ?'' 

The' day  was  fine,  and  the  sun's  rays  being  very  powerfal,  I  had  taken  up 
my  position  under  the  spreading  branches  of  a  large  camphor^tree  which  grew 
by  the  roadside.  Here  I  could  willingly  have  remained  until  night  had  shut 
out  the  soene  from  my  view,  but  my  (mirbearers,  who  were  now  near  the  end 
of  their  journey,  intimated  that  they  were  ready  to  proceed,  so  we  went 
onwards. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  foot  of  the  hills,  they  inquired  their  way  to 
the  temple.  '*  Which  temple  do  you  wish  to  go  to  ?^  was  the  answer. 
"  There  are  nearly  a  thousand  temples  in  Woo-e-shan.''  The  Buddhist 
priesthood,  like  the  monks  of  old,  always  select  the  most  beautiful  spots 
for  the  erection  of  their  temples  and  dwellings.  The  first  group  oar 
traveller  visited  was  situated  on  the  sloping  side  of  a  small  valley  or 
basin,  on  the  top  of  Woo-e-shan,  with  a  small  lake  in  its  centre.  Our 
traveller  was  most  kindly  received  and  hospitably  treated.  Whilst  with 
these  priests,  Mr.  Fortune  relates, 

During  our  meal  the  conversation  between  Sing»-Hoo  and  the  priests  turned 
upon  the  strange  scenery  of  these  hills,  and  the  numerous  temples  which  were 
scattered  over  them,  many  of  which  are  built  in  the  most  inaccessible  places. 
He  informed  them  how  delighted  I  had  been  with  my  walk  during  the  after- 
noon, and  how  much  I  was  struck  with  the  strange  scenery  I  had  witnessed. 
Anything  said  in  praise  of  these  hills  seemed  to  please  the  good  priests  greatly, 
ana  rendered  them  very  communicative.  They  informed  us  that  there  were 
temples  erected  to  Buddha  on  every  hill  and  peak,  and  that  in  all  they  num* 
bered  no  less  than  999. 

The  whole  of  the  land  on  these  hills  seems  to  belong  to  the  priests  of  the 
two  sects  already  mentioned,  but  by  far  the  largest  portion  belongs  to  the 
Buddhists.  There  are  also  some  farms  established  for  the  supply  of  the  court 
of  Peking.  They  are  called  the  imperial  enclosures ;  but  I  suspect  that  they 
too  are,  to  a  certain  extent,  under  the  management  and  control  of  the  priests. 
The  tea^shrub  is  cultivated  everywhere,  and  often  in  the  most  inaccessible 
situations,  such  as  on  the  summits  and  ledges  of  precipitous  rocks.  Mr.  Ball 
states  that  chains  are  said  to  be  used  in  collecting  the  leaves  of  the  shrubs 
growing  in  such  places;  and  I  have  even  heard  it  asserted  (I  forget  whether 
by  the  Chinese  or  by  others)  that  monkeys  are  employed  for  the  same  pur- 
pose, and  in  the  following  manner :  These  animals,  it  seems,  do  not  like  work, 
and  would  not  gather  the  leaves  willingly ;  but  when  they  are  seen  up  amongst 
the  rocks  where  the  tea-bushes  are  growing,  the  Chinese  throw  stones  at 
them  ;  the  monkeys  get  very  angry,  and  commence  breaking  ofi*  the  branches 
of  the  teap^hmbs,  which  tliey  throw  down  at  their  assailants ! 

Of  all  the  varied  and  picturesque  scenery  of  the  tea-district  of  Woo- 
e-shan,  that  of  <<  the  Streams  of  Nine  Windings,"  and  of  which  a  Chinese 
bird's-eye  view  ia  given  in  Mr.  Fortune's  work,  is,  however,  the  most  curi- 
ous and  striking.  It  is  from  hence  that  the  finest  souchongs  and  pekoes  are 
derived,  and  we  would  strongly  recommend  it,  with  the  rest  of  the  Woo- 
e-shan,  to  the  attention  of  Mr.  Burford.  In  bidding  adieu  to  this  curious 
spot,  Mr.  Fortune  says  : — "  In  a  few  years  hence,  when  China  shall  have 
been  really  open  to  foreigners,  and  when  the  naturalist  can  roam  unmo- 
lested amongst  these  hills,  with  no  fear  of  fines  and  imprisonments  to  haunt 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


452  TeOM  md  th$  TeaCminhy. 

hk  imagination,  he  will  ezperienoe  a  rich  treat  indeed.  To  the  ge6log^8t, 
in  particular,  this  place  will  furnish  attractions  of  no  ordinary  kind.  A 
Murchison  maj  yet  visit  them,  who  will  give  us  some  idea  how  these 
strange  hills  were  formed,  and  at  what  period  of  the  worid's  ezistenee 
they  assumed  these  strange  shapes  which  are  now  presented  to  the  tra- 
Teller's  wondering  gaze." 

Mr.  Fortune  returned  from  the  Bohea  district  hy  Poncfaing-hien,  then 
across  the  mountains  again,  to  the  province  of  Chekiang,  and  by  Cfaing- 
hoo  and  Ne-chow  to  Snanghae,  whence  he  took  ship  to  Hong-Kon^  and 
India.  As  a  result  of  his  new  obseryations  on  the  tea«plant,  our  traveller 
remarks  as  follows : 

The  principal  tea  districts  of  China,  and  those  which  supply  the  greater 
portion  of  the  teas  exported  to  Europe  and  America,  lie  between  the  25th 
and  3 1st  degrees  of  north  latitude,  and  the  best  districts  are  those  between 
27  deg.  and  31  deg. 

The  plant  in  cultivation  about  Canton,  from  which  the  Canton  teas  are 
made,  is  known  to  botanists  as  the  Thta  bohea,  while  the  more  northern 
variety,  found  in  the  green-tea  country,  has  been  called  Tkea  viridis.  The 
first  appears  to  have  been  named  upon  the  supposition  that  all  the  black  teas 
of  the  Bohea  mountains  were  obtained  from  this  species,  and  the  second  was 
called  viridit  because  it  furnished  the  green  teas  of  commerce.  These  names 
seem  to  have  misled  the  public,  and  hence  many  persons,  until  a  few  years 
back,  firmly  believed  tliat  black  tea  could  be  made  only  from  Thea  hoheOt  and 
green  tea  only  from  Thea  viridis. 

In  my  "  Wanderings  in  China,*'  published  in  1846,  I  made  some  observa- 
tions upon  the  plants  from  which  tea  is  made  in  different  parts  of  China. 
While  I  acknowledged  that  the  Canton  plant,  known  to  botanists  as  Tkta 
bohea,  appeared  distinct  from  the  more  northern  one  called  Thea  viridit,  I  en- 
deavoured to  show  that  both  black  and  green  teas  could  be  made  from  either, 
and  that  the  difference  in  the  appearance  of  these  teas,  in  so  far  as  colour  was 
concerned,  depended  upon  manipulation,  and  upon  that  only.  In  proof  of 
this  I  remarked  that  the  black-tea  plant  found  by  me  near  Foo-chow-foo,  at 
no  great  distance  from  the  Bohea  hills,  appeared  identical  with  tlie  green-tea 
plant  of  Chekiang. 

These  observations  were  met  by  the  objection,  that,  although  I  had  been  in 
many  of  the  tea  districts  near  the  coast,  yet  I  had  not  seen  those  greater  ones 
inland  which  furnish  the  teas  of  commerce.  And  this  was  penectly  true. 
Tlie  same  objection  can  hardly  be  urged  now,  however,  as  I  have  visited  both 
the  green-tea  country  of  Hwuy-chow  and  the  black-tea  districts  about  Woo-e- 
shan,  and  during  these  long  journeys  I  have  seen  no  reason  to  alter  the 
opinions  I  had  previously  formed  upon  the  subject. 

It  is  quite  true  that  the  Chinese  rarely  make  the  two  kinds  of  tea  in  one 
district,  but  this  is  more  for  the  sake  of  convenience  and  from  custom  than  for 
any  other  reason.  The  workmen,  too.  generally  make  that  kind  of  tea  best 
with  which  tliey  have  had  most  practice.  But  while  this  is  generally  the  case 
in  the  great  tea  districts,  there  are  some  exceptions.  It  is  now  well  known 
that  the  fine  Moning  districts  near  the  Poyang  Lake,  which  are  daily  rising  in 
importance  on  account  of  the  superior  cliaracter  of  their  black  teas,  formerly 
produced  nothing  else  but  green  tens.  At  Canton  green  and  black  teas  are 
made  from  the  I'hea  bohea  at  the  pleasure  of  the  manufacturer,  and  according 
to  demand. 

After  detailing  the  differences  in  the  manufacture  of  black  and  g^reen 
teas,  Mr.  Fortune  adds,  that  these  not  only  fully  account  for  the  difference 
in  colour,  but  also  for  the  effect  produced  on  some  constitutions  by  greeti 
tea,  such  as  nervous  irritability,  sleepnessness,  &c.     This,  he  says,  is  fur- 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Tew  and  tH  Ten  C9umbr^  453 

ther  shown  by* ihe  observations  of  lir.  Wami^;ion,  of  Apothecaries' 
Sail,  as  well  as  by  hia  own  made  on  the  spot. 

"  Theqaestioti  presents  itself,  then/'  says  Mr.  Warrington,  alhiding  to  the 
variation  of  physical  and  chemical  nroperties  in  green  and  black  teas, "  from 
whence  do  these  distin^ishing  peculiactties  arise,  and  to  what  are  they  to  be 
attributed  ?  From  observations  made  in  other  directions,  in  the  course  of  the 
routine  work  of  the  establishment  to  which  I  am  attached,  I  bad  formed  in 
tny  own  mind  certain  conclusions  on  this  subjeqt.  I  allude  to  the  exsiccation 
of  medicintd  herbs;  these  are  for  the  most  part  nitrogenous  plants,  as  the. 
Atropa  belladonna,  the  Htfosciamus  niger,  the  Conmm  maculatum,  and  others. 
The  plants  are  brought  to  us  by  the  growers  or  collectors  from  the  country, 
tied  up  in  bundles,  and  when  they  arrive  fresh  and  cool,  they  dry  of  a  good 
bnght'green  colour ;  but  on  the  contrary,  it  is  found  tliat  if  they  are  delayed  in 
their  transit,  or  remain  in  a  confined  state  for  too  long  a  period,  they  become 
heated,  from  a  species  of  spontaneous  fermentation,  and  when  loosened  and 
spread  open  emit  vapours,  and  are  sensibly  warm  to  the  hand :  when  such 
plants  are  dried,  the  whole  of  the  green  colour  is  found  to  have  been  destroyed, 
and  a  red'brown  and  sometimes  a  blackuhrbroum  remit  is  obtained.  I  bad 
also  noticed  that  a  dear  infusion  of  such  leaves  evaporated  carefully  to  dry- 
ness was  not  fUL  undissolved  by  water^  but  left  a  quantity  of  brown  oxidised 
extractive  matter,  to  which  the  denomination  Apothetn  has  been  applied  by 
some  chemists  ;  a  similar  result  is  obtained  by  the  evaporation  of  an  infusion 
of  black  tea.  The  same  action  takes  place  by  the  exposure  of  the  infusions 
of  many  vegetable  substances  to  the  oxidising  influence  of  the  atmosphere ; 
they  become  darkened  on  the  surface,  and  this  gradually  spreads  through  the 
solution,  and  on  evaporation  the  same  ojridised  extractive  matter  will  remain 
insoluble  in  water.  Again,  I  had  found  that  the  green  teas,  when  wetted  and 
re-dried,  with  exposure  to  the  air,  were  nearly  as  dark  in  colour  as  the  ordi- 
nary black  teas.  From  these  observations,  therefore,  I  was  induced  to  believe 
that  the  peculiar  characters  and  chemical  differences  which  distinguish  black 
tea  from  green  were  to  be  attributed  to  a  species  of  heating  or  fermentation, 
accompanied  with  oxidation  by  exposure  to  the  air,  and  not  to  its  being  sub* 
nutted  to  a  higher  temperature  in  die  process  of  drying,  as  had  been  generally 
concluded.  My  opinion  was  partly  confirmed  by  ascertaining  from  parties 
conversant  with  the  Chinese  manufacture,  that  the  leaves  for  the  black  teas 
were  alwaysallowed  to  remain  exposed  to  the  air  in  mass  for  some  time  before 
thev  were  roasted." 

Here,  then,  we  have  the  matter  fully  and  clearly  explained ;  and,  in  truth, 
what  Mr.  Warrington  observed  in  the  laboratory  of  Apothecaries*  Hall  may  be 
seen  by  every  one  who  has  a  tree  or  bush  in  his  garden.  Mark  the  leaves 
which  are  blown  from  trees  in  early  autumn  -,  they  are  brown,  or  perhaps  of  a 
dullish  green,  when  they  fall,  and  yet,  if  they  are  examined  some  time  after- 
wards, when  they  have  been  exposed  to  air  and  moisture  in  their  detached 
state,  they  will  be  found  quite  as  black  as  our  blackest  teas. 

I  must  now  make  some  observations  upon  tlie  tea-plant  itself.  It  has 
already  been  remarked  that  two  tea-plants,  considered  to  be  distinct  varieties, 
are  met  with  in  China,  both  of  which  have  been  imported  into  Europe.  One, 
the  Canton  variety,  is  called  Theabohea-  the  other,  the  northern  variety,  is 
called  Thea  viridity  The  former  produces  the  inferior  green  and  black  teas 
which  are  made  about  Canton,  and  from  the  latter  are  made  all  the  fine  green 
teas  in  the  great  Hwuy-chow  country  and  in  the  adjoining  provinces.  Until  a 
a  few  years  back  it  was  generally  supposed  that  the  fine  black  teas  of  the 
Bohea  hills  were  also  made  from  the  Canton  variety,  and  hence  its  name. 
Such,  howeveir,  is  not  the  ease; 

When  I  visited  Foo^^w-foo  for  the  first  time  in  1645, 1  observed  that  the 
tea-plant  in  cultivation  in  that  neighbourhood  was. very  different  from  the 
Canton  varietyj^  and  appare^ly.  identical  with  the  T!^a  vmdu  of  Chekiang. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


454  TeoM  md  the  Tea  Omniry. 

Foo-chow*foo  was  not  a  veiy  great  dbtance  from  the  Bohea  hills,  and  I  had 
good  reasons  for  believing  that  ihe  Bohea  plant  was  the  same  as  the  Foo-diow 
one ;  but  still  1  had  no  positive  proof.  Now,  however,  haTing  been  on  Woo-> 
e-shan  itself,  and  over  a  great  deal  of  the  surroundiug  country,  and  having 
dried  specimens  of  all  these  plants  before  me,  I  am  better  able  to  give  an 
opinion  upon  this  lon^-disputed  subject. 

I  believe  that  the  Woo-e-shan  plant  is  elosel}'  allied  to  the  7%ea  atrvdic,  and 
originally  identical  with  that  species,  but  slightly  altered  by  climate.  On  the 
closest  examination  I  was  only  able  to  detect  very  slight  diSereoeea,  not  sol^ 
ficient  to  constitute  a  distinct  variety,  far  less  a  species,  and  in  many  of  the 
plants  these  differences  were  not  even  vbible.  The  differences  alluded  to 
were  these — the  Woo-e  plant  showed  less  inclination  to  throw  out  brandies 
than  the  Hwuy-chow  one,  and  its  leaves  were  sometimes  rather  dari^er  and 
more  finely  serrated. 

But  it  b  possible  to  go  into  a  tea-plantation  in  any  part  of  China,  and  to 
find  more  marked  distinctions  amongst  its  plants  than  these  I  have  noticed. 
The  reason  of  this  is  obvious.  The  tea-plant  is  multiplied  by  seed,  like  oar 
hawthorns,  and  it  is  perfectly  impossible  that  the  produce  can  be  identical  in 
every  respect  with  the  parent.  Instead,  therefore,  of  having  one  or  two 
varieties  of  tea-plant  in  China,  we  have,  in  &ct,  many  kinds,  although  the 
difference  between  them  may  be  slight.  Add  to  this,  that  the  seeds  oC  tUs 
plant  are  raised  year  afler  year  in  different  climates,  and  we  shall  no  longer 
wonder  that  in  the  course  of  time  the  plants  in  one  district  appear  slightly 
different  from  those  of  another^  although  they  may  have  been  originally  pro- 
duced from  the  same  stock. 

For  these  reasons  I  am  of  opinion  that  the  plants  of  Hwuy-chow  and 
Woo-e  are  the  same  species,  and  that  the  slight  differences  observed  are  the 
results  of  reproduction  and  difference  of  climate. 

With  regard  to  the  Canton  plant — that  called  T^ea  bohea  by  botanists — 
different  as  it  appears  to  be,  both  in  constitution  and  habit,  it  too  may  have 
originally  sprung  from  one  and  the  same  species. 

These  changes,  however,  do  not  alter  the  commercial  value  of  those  plants 
found  cultivated  in  the  great  tea-countries  of  Fokien  and  Hwuy-chow,  where 
the  finest  teas  are  produced ;  for,  while  the  tea-shrub  may  have  improved  in 
the  course  of  reproduction  in  these  districts,  it  may  have  become  deteriorated 
in  others.  For  this  reason  seeds  and  plants  ought  alwavs  to  be  procured  from 
these  districts  for  transmission  to  other  parts  of  the  world,  where  it  is  desirable 
to  grow  tea. 

Of  late  years  some  attempts  have  been  made  to  cultivate  the  tea-shrub  in 
the  United  States  of  America,  and  also  in  our  own  Australian  colonies.  I 
believe  all  such  attempts  will  end  in  failure  and  disappointment.  The  tea- 
plant  will  grow  wherever  the  climate  and  soil  are  suitable,  and,  were  it  merely 
intended  as  an  ornamental  shrub,  there  could  be  no  objections  to  its  intro- 
duction into  those  countries.  But  if  it  is  introduced  to  be  cultivated  as  an 
object  of  commercial  speculation,  we  must  not  only  inquire  into  the  suitable- 
ness of  climate  and  soil,  but  also  into  tlie  price  of  labour.  Labour  is  cheap 
in  China.  The  labourers  in  the  tea-countries  do  not  receive  more  than  two- 
pence or  threepence  a  day.  Can  workmen  be  procured  for  this  small  sum 
either  in  the  United  States  or  in  Australia  ?  And  if  they  cannot  be  hired  for 
this  sum,  nor  for  anything  near  it,  how  will  the  manufacturers  in  such  places 
be  able  to  compete  with  tlie  Chinese  in  the  market? 

China,  it  will  appear  from  these  remarks,  is  likely  to  remun  the  '<  Tea 
Country"  par  excellence.  To  every  country  its  own  g^fts  and  its  own  natu- 
ral produce.  At  the  same  time,  Mr.  Fortune's  researches  and  discoveries 
will  gradually  effect  a  great  revolution  in  the  nomenclature  and  use  or  abuse 
of  teas,  and,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  will  explode  the  coloured,  adulterated,  and 
poisonous  compound^  sold  at  such  high  prices  to  the  luxurious  uninitiated. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


(    455    ) 

YOUNG  TOM  HALUS  HE  ART- ACHES  AND  HORSES. 

Chapter  XXXL 

The  fiue  hunt-emboflaed  note  of  which  we  have  spoken  was  not  sent 
to  Tom  EbiU  without  very  deep  and  mature  consideration.     It  had 
formed  the  subject  of  Tcry  anxious  deliberation  between  Major  and  Mrs. 
Goineafowle;  tiie  former  opposing  his  wife's  urgent  precipttancj,  on  the 
ground  that  they  were  not  prepared  for  company;  the  latter  insisting  on 
the  necessity  of  immediate  action,  because  of  the  certidnty  of  such  an 
undoubted  piise  as  our  Tom  being  quickly  caught  up.     She  knew  what 
a  run  there  would  be  after  him,  she  said;  aim  how  all  the  nasty  de- 
skpoing  women  would  be  spreading  their  nets  and  snares  to  catch  him. 
'rfie  iSct  of  Tom  breaking  out  in  the  character  of  a  sportsman  seemed 
to  farour  their  desiffn,   and  Mrs.  Guineafowle  congratulated  hersdf 
upon  not  having  let  we  major  give  up  hu  hounds,  as  he  had  often  and 
often  threaten^  to  do.     The  reault  of  the  debate  was,  that  the  major 
wrote  the  aforesaid  note,  quite  in  the  sporting  strain,  innting  our  frieaid 
to  come  over  and  hunt  with  his  hounds,  and  partake  of  whatever  might 
happen  to  be  going  on ;  adding,  that  he  could  put  him  up  a  couple  of 
horses,  and  hoped  he  would  stay  as  long  as  he  liked :  qmte  the  hail- 
feUow-well-met  sort  of  note.     This  style  was  thought  better  than  re- 
questing the  honour  of  his  company  on  such  a  day,  to  stay  till  such  a 
day,  inasmuch  as,  though  they  would  get  up  all  tlie  steam  of  pomp  and 
drcumstance  they  codd  raise,  it  would  enable  them  to  put  any  de- 
ficiency to  the  rough-and-ready  score  of  the  sportsman.     In  truth,  it 
was  rather  an  anxious  time  for  our  friends ;  for  with  an  advancing  in 
expense  £unily  there  had  been  a  receding   in   amount  income;    the 
rents^ofjthe  Squashington  and  Slumpington  estates,   as  indeed  their 
names  would  imply,  having  been  seriously  affected  by  the  repeal  of  the 
com  laws  ;  while  the  colliery,  or  coal  mine,  near  Leeds,  in  the  county  of 
York,  still  did  nothing  towards  their  assistance.     The  consequence  was, 
that  the  major,  who  had  been  an  ardent  repealer,  and,  like  some  other 
intemperate  men,  had  denounced  the  dass  of  which  he  was  an  unworthy 
member,  began  to  sing  extremely  small,  and  complain  that  he  had  been 
robbed  and  plundered  for  the  million,  who  had  got  far  more  than  they 
ought  to  have.     He  threatened  most  vehemently  to  give  up  his  hounds. 
This  Mrs.  Guineafowle  still  opposed,  feeling  assured  that  he  would  be 
nothing  without  them;  and  knowing  how  attractive  they  had  been  to 
herself,  she  was  anxious  that  her  daughters  should  now  participate  in  the 
benefit     It  was  only  the  tax  on  eight  couple — sixteen  sixteen  shillings 
— twelve  pound  sixteen  a  year — and  an  occasional  lap  at  the  pig-pail  the 
night  before  hunting.     It  was  worth  all  that  to  see  them  figuring  in 
the  newspapers,  even  though  the  knowing  editors  did  dass  them  as 
harriers. 

Though  a  trencher-fed  pack  is  generally  a  troublesome  affair,  there 
being  generally  some  one  or  other  of  the  worthies  in  mischief,  either 
worrying  sheep,  or  lambs,  or  poultiy,  or  hunting  on  their  own  account 
among  3ie  standing  com,  yet,  upon  the  whole,  me  major's  were  as  well- 
conducted  as  any. 


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456  Yoanff  Tom  Salts  Heari-athu  md  Honet. 

For  this  tbey  were  mainly  isdebted  to  the  ezerdonf  of  thdr  nwhboiir, 
Mr.,  or,  as  he  was  commonlv  called,  BiQy  BedCog^n,  ofCakehamMaoor, 
a  ponderous  twenty-stone  fanner — not  an  agriculturist,  but  a  fieinner--*^a 
man  who  farmed  to  make  money,  who  paid  great  attention  as  well  to  die 
hounds*  breeding  as  to  their  morals.  He  it  was  who  crossed  them 
judiciously,  drafting  the  skirters,  and  babblers,  and  nickers,  and  choppers, 
and  cunning  ones,  keeping  none  but  true  nose-to-the-ground  hunters,  that 
wouldn't  go  a  yard  without  a  scent ;  his  maxim  being  to  keep  no  cats 
that  didn't  catch  mice.  Billy  was  ably  assisted  by  our  old  friend,  Jonathan 
Falconer,  who  had  grown  not  only  grey  but  snow-white  in  the  service  of 
the  major. 

Jonathan  Falconer  was  one  of  a  class  of  servants  of  which  the 
breed  is  now  nearly  extinct — an  honest,  industrious,  ptunstaking'  ip^n— > 
who  was  always  doing  something,  and  could  turn  his  nand  to  anythwg; 
never  standing  upon  this  not  being  his  work,  or  that  not  being  his  place, 
but  just  doing  whatever  he  saw  wanted  doing.  He  did  not  beg^n  life  as 
a  huntsman,  or,  indeed,  as  anything  ebe  in  particular  ;  and,  we  dare  say, 
if  the  major  had  taken  a  yacht  instead  of  a  pack  of  hounds,  Jonathan 
would  have  turned  his  hand  to  the  sea-service  just  as  readily  as  he  did  to 
the  land.  In  the  major's  establishment  he  filled  many  offices,  being 
huntsman,  coachman,  groom,  gardener,  game  and  cow-keeper,  and  occa- 
sionally, second  footman.  The  major,  when  on  his  high  horse  at  his  dear 
watering-places,  and  so  on,  used  to  talk  as  if  he  had  a  man  in  each  of 
these  departments ;  and  even  at  home,  when  talking^  before  those  who  he 
thought  were  not  up  to  the  ins  and  outs  of  his  establishment,  this  man- 
of-all-work  was  called  Jonathan  in  the  house,  and  Falconer  in  the  field, 
as  if  for  all  the  world  he  were  two  men. 

The  real  domestic  stafiT,  at  the  period  of  which  we  are  writing,  consisted 
of  one  Joshua  Cramlington,  a  tall,  knook-kneed  stripling,  who  outgrew 
his  clothes,  and  whose  protruding  hands  and  receding  knees  now  showed 
how  far  advanced  was  the  quarter.  He  was  an  awkward,  careless  boy, 
always  breaking  and  spoiling  things,  whom  no  drilling  would  ever  malce 
into  a  servant.  The  major,  who  always  dealt  in  cubs  of  this  description;!, 
used  to  console  himself  for  their  awkward  gaucheries  with  the  reflection 
that  they  were  cheap,  and  by  getting  them  young,  he  attached  them  to 
his  person ;  while,  he  said,  they  would  make  fine  figure  footmen  as  they 
grew  up  and  got  furnished.  When,  however,  they  did  grow  up  and  get 
furnished,  they  invariably  took  themselves  off,  and  the  major  had  to  oatch 
another,  and  go  through  the  process  of  teaching  and  attaching  again. 
Cramlington  ^as,  however,  perhaps,  the  most  hopeless  article  the  major 
had  ever  had  to  do  with,  being  as  stupid  and  mischievous  ai  lad  as  ever 
came  out  of  a  workhouse.  His  extreme  cheapness — 8^  the  first  year,  and 
10/.  the  second — was  completely  counteracted  by  the  enormity  of  bis 
appetite  and  the  amount  of  his  breakage. 

The  sporting  reader  will  perhaps  observe,  that  amid  the  great  mul- 
tiplicity of  real  or  imaginanr  servants,  there  has  been  no  mention  vi;hat- 
ever  of  that  usual  appendage  to  a  pack  of  hounds,  a  whipper-in; 
**  Moy  whipper-in" — Tom,  or  Bill,  or  Jack,  or  Joe — never  having  been 
heard  of.  The  censorious  will  perhaps  imagine  that  the  major  had 
none,  or,  perhaps,  that  he  filled  that  department  himself,  or  was  in- 
debted to  the   exertions  of   any  chance   sportsman  for  turning  the 


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Young  Tbm  Salts  JSeart-achei  aiid  Horses.  457 

hounds  to  Jonathaa  Falconer;  but  there  they  would  be  wrong  — 
the  major  had  a  whipper-in,  though  he  didn't  do  to  talk  about, 
heing,  in  fact,  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  ereat,  tail-less,  Smith- 
field  cur,  that  ran  at  the  erring  pack  just  as  ne  would  at  a  flock  of 
sheep.  At  a  word— -almost  a  Iook — ^firom  Jonathan  Falconer,  Bluecap 
— as  they  called  him,  from  his  colour — would  rush  from  his  horse's 
heels,  and  '^  at"  the  pack  with  a  zeal  that  made  them  uncommonly  glad 
to  fly  to  Falconer — for  protection.  It  was  a  cheap  and  ingenious  device; 
and  if  it  had  been  ingenious  without  being  cheap,  possibly  the  major 
might  hare  proclaimed  it :  as  it  was,  however,  he  was  content  with  know- 
ing it  himself,  and  let  others  find  it  out  that  liked.  <'  Moy  whipper-in," 
therefore,  was  never  mentioned. 

We  will  now  take  a  look  at  our  Tom,  for  which  purpose  we  will  begin 
a  fresh  chapter. 

Chapteb  XXXIL 

*^  SiyiN  and  four^s  elivin,  and  fourteen  is  twenty-five — ^I've  heard 
of  Major  Guineafowle ;  that's  to  say,  I  know  the  name.  He*s  one  of 
your  huntin',  gamblin*  chaps,"  replied  old  Hall,  in  answer  to  his  son's 
inquiry  if  he  knew  anything  of  him.  '^  Ah  1"  continued  he,  running  his 
memory  through  the  hght  reading  of  his  ledger,  "  his  name  was  to  Long- 
wind's  bills,  in  1849,  and  a  precious  deal  of  trouble  we  had  with  it 
— ^was  forced  to  put  it  into  Grinder's  hands  afore  we  could  get  the 
money." 

'<  He  keeps  a  pack  of  hounds,"  observed  Tom,  exhibiting  the  fine 
hmit-embossed  note — men,  with  winding  horns,  riding  among  a  porpoisey 
pack  along  the  top. 

'^  I  know  he  does,"  replied  Hall,  taking  it ;  '*  see  'em  in  the  papers 
constant — at  least,  every  now  and  then  ;  and  that's  what  surprised  me 
that  he  didn't  take  up  the  bill.  But  these  huntln',  gamblin'  chaps  are  all 
queer — never  know  where  you  have  them  —  always  outrunnin*  the 
constable,"  as  Grinder  says. 

This  was  rather  a  damper ;  and  there  is  no  saying  but  Tom  would 
haye  listened  to  his  Other's  suggestions,  had  he  not  been  suffering  under 
the  united  influence  of  Angelena's  coquetry  and  Laura's  loveliness. 

*' Ruddles,  this  is  the  gent — ^the  right  honourable  gent  that's  a  courtin' 
of  the  great  heiress  at  the  barracks,"  still  sounded  in  Tom's  ears,  while 
Laura  had  drawn  her  languishing,  love-kiUing  eyes  slowly  over  his  face 
and  down  his  hi  person,  as  she  lolled  becomingly  in  the  old  barouche  be- 
fore Diaper  and  Dimity's  door.  She  had  given  him  just  such  a  look  as 
Miss  Longmaide  gave  the  major  the  first  time  they  met  at  Rumbleford 
Wells — a  look  that  neither  said  '^  what  an  object  you  are  !"  nor  yet, 
'^  what  a  beauty  you  are  I"  but  just  a  medium  look  of  approbation,  in- 
viting, as  it  were,  a  further  acquaintance. 

Tom,  who  always  loved  the  last  eyes  that  beamed  upon  him  best,  was  so 
struck  with  Laura's  beauty,  "that  he  took  three  turns  up  and  down  before 
the  cairiacpe,  ere  he  went  to  the  Salutation  Inn  to  ask  the  ostier  whose 
carriage  that  was  with  all  the  fine  things  on  the  panel — the  major  having 
come  out  uncommonly  strong  with  two  crests,  Longmaide's  and  his  own, 
and  supporters,  two  gumea-hens,  with  amany-quartered  coat  of  arms,  made 

Aug. — ^YOL.  xcy.  no.  ccct.xxx.  2  h 


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4fi8  Young  Tom  Halts  Heart-aches  and  Horses. 

entirelj  out  of  his  own  head,  mnnonnted  with  red  and  white  peitico«t% 
entvrined  with  bell-puIIs  in  great  abundance.  Jonathan  Falconer,  too^ 
had  got  a  fine  three-rows^of-corls  coachman's  wig  under  his  gold-laoed 
cockaded  hat»  an  i^pendage  that  Jonathan  complained  gare  him  cold  when 
he  exdianged  it  for  his  hunting  cap.  However^  '<  pxide  feels  no  pain"  beiw 
one  of  the  major^s  roazimSy  he  adhered  to  the  wig,  coDSolin  r  Jonathan  wH£ 
liquorice,  and  assuring  him  that  it  was  the  weather  and  not  the  wig  that  game 
him  cold ;  that  he  had  cold  himself,  just  the  same,  and  he  didn't  wear  a  w%. 
This  sort  of  finery  being  unusual  in  the  country,  and  the  maior's  car- 
riage, haunting  the  streets  of  Rattlinghope  rather  than  Fleecyborough, 
caused  connderable  commotion,  especially  with  such  a  beauty  as  Lausa 
inside,  and  such  dashing  green-and-yellow  rosettes  flowing  at  the  we|^ 
shaped  but  rather  %ht-carcassed  hunter  carriage^horses'  heads.  Shuttle- 
ton,  and  Jaycock,  and  Gape,  and  Pippin,  and  seyeral  others  of  the  Jdly 
Heavysteeders,  had  been  ringing  their  spurson  theflags,  and  ogling  the  £ur 
inmates  of  the  carriage  as  it  jingled  from  Miss  Flouncey's  to  Mrs.  Sarce- 
nets, and  from  Mrs.  Sarcenets  to  Miss  Cheapstitches,  and  from  Miss 
Cheapstitches  to  Mrs.  Skeins,  for  an  ounce  of  Lady  Betty  worsted,  and 
£rom  the  Lady  Betty  worsted-shop  back  to  Hiss  Flouncey's  again.  AVheUier 
Laura  had  looked  benignly  on  ihem^  too,  is  not  to  the  purpose  of  our 
Yj  seeing  that  Tom  was  not  there,  and  assuredly  she  lookea  pleasantly 

"       "  looks*— n 


on  him.  That  look— or,  rather,  that  series  of  looks*— were  now  counter- 
acting old  Hall's  advice. 

*^  Well,  but  he"  (meaning  the  major)  *'  must  have  mon^,"  obseryed 
Tom, "  for  he  keeps  a  pack  of  hounds,  and  I'ye  heard  that  old  Ueartycheer^e 
cost  him  three  or  four  thousand  a  year." 

^'  Sivin  and  four's  elivin,  and  twenty's  thirty-one — ^if  they  do^  he  must 
he  a  very  bad  old  man,"  replied  Hall.  "  Sivin  and  four's  elivin,  and  thirteen 
18  twenty- two-— no  wonder  the  major  couldn't  take  up  the  bill.  Sivin  and 
four's  ehvin,  and  forty-one  is  fifty-two — these  huntin',  gamblin'  chaps  a«e 
none  on  'em  to  be  trusted,"  mused  Hall,  inwardly  determining  to  get  lid 
of  head-and-shoulders  Brown's  account,  which  was  oftener  on  the  wrong 
side  than  the  right.     And  so  old  Hall  talked  against  the  invitation. 

Mrs.  Hall  thought  better  of  the  major  than  her  husband  did,  or  rather, 
having  had  a  good  look  at  Laura,  as  she  passed  the  carriage  on  her 
way  to  Brisket  the  butcher,  she  thought  she  was  not  only  a  great  deal 
younger,  but  a  great  deal  better-looking  than  Angelena,  whom,  she 
mwardly  hoped,  Laura  might  extinguish  ;  consequentiy  she  fiivoured  the 
expedition,  and  undertook  to  get  all  Tom's  flash  shirts  and  ties  ready 
against  the  day,  by  which  time  she  had  no  doubt  he  would  have  recovered 
nom  the  unpleasant  effects  of  the  day  with  Lord  Heartycheer'a  hounds. 
So,  after  many  pro's  and  con's,  our  Tom  wrote  to  the  major  saying  that 
he  would  have  great  pleasure  in  availing  himself  of  hispohte  invitation — 
an  answer  that  reconducts  us  to  Carol  Hill  Green. 

cratteb  xxxm. 

Ths  receipt  of  Tom's  note  dianged  the  spirit  of  speouladon  in  whidb 
our  friends  were  indulging,  into  that  of  bustling,  active  prepazatioiu 
The  major,  as  we  said  befive^  ever  stnoe  the  repeal  of  the  corn-laws,  had 
heea  contnoting  his  OTpenass^  and  in  plaee  of  maintenano^  had  been 


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JbttJiy  Tom  HaVHt  Heart-aeb^s  ani  Horses  459 

leitiDff  thing!  fi;o  down  hill  a  little.  The  consequence  waf,  that  what 
with  the  natural  wear  and  tear  of  that  consuming  animal,  a  house,  aided 
hy  the  spoilage  and  breakage  of  such  boys  as  Cramlington,  now  that  it 
became  necessary  to  smarten  up  a  little,  it  was  found  that  there  was  a 
a  very  serious  deficiency  in  glass,  china,  crockery — all  perishable  articles^ 
ia  fact ;  the  veiy  lamp-shades  that  Cramlington  displayed  so  conspicu- 
ously on  his  shenres  were  found  to  be  broken  on  the  far  side,  thou^  as 
the  major  had  not  taken  stock  on  the  departure  of  his  predecessor,  John 
SnufBes,  of  course  Cramlington  dedaxed  they  were  so  when  he  came ;  of 
tumblers  and  decanters  there  was  a  woful  deficiency,  while  the  stock  of 
wine-glasses  was  scarcely  worth  speaking  o£  Altogether  the  major  found 
things  in  a  yery  dilapidated  state;  though,  as  Cramlington  stood  out 
that  they  were  just  as  they  were  when  he  came,  the  major  could  only 
anathemise  Snuffles,  and  determine  to  look  sharper  after  Cramlington 
and  Co.  in  future. 

Though  it  was  so  near  Christmas,  and  his  credit  by  no  means  first- 
rate^  sundry  little  documents  being  in  course  of  preparation  at  Battling- 
hope,  headed  with  the  ominous  words,  ^*  to  bill  deliyered,"  the  major  was 
forced  to  try  his  luck  at  Fleecyborough  for  such  things  as  couldn't 
be  dispensed  with,  thereby  su£fering  seyerely  in  carriage  for  his  want 
of  credit  at  home.  Howeyer,  he  hoped  it  was  all  for  the  best,  and  that 
the  expenditure  would  tend  to  the  capture  of  our  most  desirable  young 
fiiend,  Mr.  Hall  So  the  major  took  heart,  and  dashed  off  his  order 
just  as  if  he  was  full  of  money. 

Mrs.  Guineafowle,  too,  knowing  the  influence  that  the  first  daughter 
marrymg  well  has  on  the  fortunes  of  her  sisters,  was  most  anxious 
that  Laura  should  haye  eyery  advantage;  so,  step-mother  like,  she 
intimated  to  the  fur-haired  daughters  of  the  first  marriage,  that  having 
had  their  *'  opportunities,"  they  must  not  interfere  with  Laura. 

Well  knowing,  too,  how  even  the  greatest  beauty  may  be  improved  by 
dress,  Mrs.  Guineafowle  spared  no  expense  in  getting  Laura  up  be- 
comingly. Miss  Birchtwig,  of  course,  had  a  first-rate  London  milliner-— 
namely,  her  cousin,  Miss  Freemantle,  calling  herself  Mademoiselle  de 
Freemande,  of  the  Bue  de  la  Paix,  Paris,  and  South  Audley-street,  Lon- 
don— with  whom  she  always  recommended  her  '^  young  friends"  to  leave 
their  measures,  in  case  they  chanced  to  want  anything  smart  when  they 
got  into  the  country ;  and  from  this  eminent  artiste  was  procured,  at 
the  usual  short  notice  of  ladies,  a  beautiful  light-blue  silk  dress,  with  trim- 
mmg  en  tabUer  down  the  front,  composed  of  a  dozen  very  narrow  silk 
flounces,  embroidered  in  chain  stitch.  The  body  was  made  tight,  setting 
off  to  advantage  Laura's  beautiful  figure,  with,  of  course^  ample  fly-away 
sleeves,  for  sweeping  things  off  tables  and  draggling  into  teacups  and 
soup-plates. 

Dresses  being  at  length  arranged,  dinners  then  occupied  their  united 
attention.  The  major  and  Mrs.  Gruineafewle  were  most  anxious  that  they 
should  be  of  the  most  elegant  description,  partaking  as  much  of  the  cha- 
racter of  one  recentiy  given  by  the  Duke  of  Gormanstone  as  Miss  Nettle- 
worth,  the  Gormanstone  Castie  toady,  had  been  able  to  recollect  and  nanate 
to  Mrs.  Guineafowle. 

Gormanstone  Castie>  we  may  observe,  was  the  stronghold  of  the  Toiy 

2h2 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


460  Youn^  Tom  Haiti  Heart-aches  and  Horsei. 

— a  heayen  from  which  our  major  was  expelled  when  he  ratted  over  to 
theVFWgs. 

'  After  due  deHberation  and  counting  of  die  ooati  ii  wa«  determine^ 
that  the  major  should  write  off  to  Shell  and  Tortoise  for  as  muck  of 
their  shabby-genteel  turtle^soap  as  would  6Brre  two  partita  d£  tooy  which 
the  major  £d,  promising  to  send  a'jKMt-oSce  order  for  the  amounty  hut 
omitting  to  famish  a  reference,  thmkiog,  peihafNS,  hie  signalurei  with 
*^  Major,  Mangelwunelshife  iMGlitia,"  attached,  would  be  dm^j  sufficient ; 
bat  SheH  and  T<»rtoitfe,  not  referencing  military  rankj  as  they  uodoubtedl^y 
ought,  after  the  lapse  of  some  days  sent  a  bill^  intimating  that  the  soup 
would  be  forwarded  when  the  money  came.  This  tlmw  our  fxieniu 
completely  out ;  fol*,  independent^  or  the  fine,  dashing  style  oi  leading 
off  a  dinner  wi&  tuiile->8oup,  the  SheU-«nd«Tort()ise  proeraatination  pre*- 
yented  their  ttaiin^  Qdier  armngementsy  and  in  lieu  iheojeef  tfaey.  were* 
o&h'ged  to  put  up  with  motton-broth^^Hi  nrach  better  things  by« the- way,, 
when  wen  made,  than  spurious  turde-Bonp. 

Misfortunes,  howeyer,  neyer  come  sinsly;  tuid  Mr.  dear^reU^  the 
stupendous  landlord  of  the  Duke's  Head,  at  Rattlingbope,  who  h^. 
ahrays  acted  butler  at  Carol  Hill  Green  on  eU/te  ooei^onsi  baring  be> 
c6hie  afficted  wil^  the  usual  innke^ers'  maladyy  dekrium  ^reimm%  Ynotki. . 
or  rather  scratched;  to  tay  he^eoidAi't  posribiy  come ;  00  that  the  exeoution. 
of  afimrs  devolyed  on  Joshua  Oramlington,  assisted  by  Jonathan  JPaAconctn ; 
'The  major  used  td  haye  ah  arrangement  with  Ctearwdl,  who  was  at 
fiiie^  stately,  important-lookine  personage,  for  enaotleg  the  chaia^ter  of 
butTer,  whereby  he  flaMeted  fannself  he  not  <mly  impaeed'tipoa^traQ^geii^.i 
bt^t  ^thid  taW  kidi  alittle  useful  drillings  Whenitahk  high<hot8e»  espe^' 
cially  at  watering-places,  he  used  to  talk  of  <*  moy  bntier  getting  &t^"  and 
*^  moy  btrtlbr  baring  notliing  to  do»"  and  f^  moy  butler  licting  Sie  g^atie^; 
njisin. 

Cleart^elPs  defdcation  greatly  aflSioted  our  ftiendt  for  iadependeatly* 
of  the  ipciposing  appearsnce  of  tbs  magnificent  laaOf  rbvolvk^g  noiselessly- 
about  the  liCtlcf  dhnng-room;  eoavcely  ebyating  his  yoice  abote  a.whisper»'- 
Cramlington  was  so  totally  undrilled,  that  eyei&amonff  thamselyes  he  wesi 
continuaBy  making  the  stupidest 'mistakes,  which  male  th$  joajor  dread, 
his  appearance  in  public.  '  .        \  •     . 

'  Hbweyer,  there  wtur  no  help  for  it;  eo  the  mtQor  just  ocderei  a  rehearsalt 
making  Joshua  arrange  the  ttible  for  a  party  of  ten^  with  the  fine  Italian-* 
patterned  T.  Cox  SaVoiy  eledtro-plated  covers  and  comBr-^dishea;  shoniog 
him  how  t6  raise  the  former,  wiUiout  girinff  ibe  neat  sitter  «  shower^- . 
bath,  and  how  to  hand  fbe  latter  about  en  ue  palm  of  his  hand,  without 
upsetting  them  into  %  helper's  lap.    The  major,  too,'  establiahed  a  code  of 
rignab — ^a  forefinger  to  his  nose  indwating  when  Cmmlington  was  to 
bnng  in  the  champagne,  a  piece  of  bread'  stuck  un  on  end  whan  he  va» . 
to  hand  round  the  sheny.    There  had  been  no  asking  to  take  wine  at  the 
duke's— and  of  course  otur  friends  must  fbUow  the  Aushioa,  be  It  {eyes  eo. 
absurd  and  unsociable.    Indeed,  we  may  here.obserye,  by  way  of  parenr 
thesis,  that  we  don*t  know  why  people  trouble  themselyes  to  give. parties 
at  all,'  when  a  diririon  of  the  money  among  the  intended  guests  would 
answer  every  appai*ent  purpose.     That  observation,  however,  reminds  usi ; 
that  we  ^ust  say  a  fbw  woxda  abobt  the  Carol  i^Ul  Green  guestsv 


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Young  Tom  HalPs  Heari'oches  and  Hones.  A6t 

Deep  and  anxious  were  the  deliberations  who  they  should  haTl»  to 
meet  our  distioguiAhed  friend.  They  must  be  people  whom  Tom  would 
think  stylish,  and  yet  peofde  who  would  not  inter&re  with  their  plans* 
As  it  was  a  dead  set  at  our  Tom,  of  course  they  were  most  anxious  to 
inalEe  it  appear  otherwise.  The  migor,  indeed,  would  shudder  at  the 
idea  of  askings  yomig  men  to  his  house  in  the  hopes  of  getting  them  for 
his  daughters^  while  Mrs.  Guinea£>wle  was  equally  disinteiested  in  theoiy, 
only  determined  not  to  lose  a  diance  in  reality.  They  hugged  themselves 
with  the  reflection  of  haTing  such  an  excellent  excuse  as  the  hounds  for 
asking  Tom  oter. 

WeU,  who  should  they  have  to  meet  him  ?     Sir  George  and  Ladv 
Happyhit  were  their  cock  acquaintance,  and  had  no  daughter  old  enougb 
to  interfere  with  their  plans ;  hot  they  were  hitey-titey,  prior-engage- 
ment, or  ^'expeoting^a'-friend-fn>m-Londoti'*  s«rt  of  people^  who  never 
came  if  they  could  help  it.     Their  eaceoses  cut  but  sonv  figuies  when 
they  came  to  be  sifted  throt^h  the  seardung  ordeal  of  servants'  hall 
inqraries.     Still,  asking  them  was  something,  as  it  enabled  the  major  to 
say,  in  his  usual  off-hand  way,  ^  We  asked  the  Happyhits  to  come,  but 
unfortunate  they  were  engaged,"  and  so  on.     Accwdingly,  they  sent 
a  hunt-embossed  note,  requesting  the  honour  of  Sir  George  and  Lady 
HappyhitVi  company  at  dinner,  and  enclosing  a  hunt-embossed  card  of 
two  days'  meets  of  Mijor  Guineafowle's,  the  Carol  Hill  Green  hounds- 
one  at  Hestercombe  House^  the  other  at  Loxley  Mount,  each  monung  at 
haff-past  ten.     They  also  asked  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dominic  Smith,  and  Mr,, 
Mrs.,  and  Miss  Brandenburg  Brown,  thinking  that  out  of  so  large  a 
venture  they  were  sure  to  get  as  many,  if  not  more  than  they  wanted. 
Indeed,  they  made  so  sure  of  the  Browns,  that  they  asked  young 
Smoothley,  the  curate,   who  was  supposed  to  be  looking  after  Miss 
Brown,  to  meet  them.     Here,  however,  they  were  all  wrong  agun ;  for 
the  Browns  expected  company  at  home,  and  had  booked  Mr.  Smoothley 
tliemselves,  the  Smiths  were  going  away,  while  Sir  George  and  Lady 
Happyhit  merely  presented   their  compliments,  and  were  sony  they 
were  prevented  the  honour,  &c.,  dbc     What  a  nuisance  I  what  a  bore  I 
It  surely   was  the  most  unsociable  neighbourhood  in  the  world;  and 
then  ihey  had  to  set  to  and  cast  over  theur  aequuntanoe  again.     The 
Caiboysnad  no  carriage,  and  would  not  like  to  hire  one;  the  Owens  were 
hardly  good  enough  for  a  state  occasion;  and  Mrs.  Manfield  was  so  dis- 
agreeable, with  her  great  starbg  daughters,  that  they  had  firmly  resolvied 
never  to  have  them  any  more.     Worse  than  all,  time  was  running  short, 
and  people  wiio  heard  that  others  had  been  asked,  would  not  be  likely 
now  to  accept,  and  so  book  themselves  as  second-dass  guests.     They 
thought  over  several  people,  both  far  and  near  —  the  Fieldings^  the 
Thompsons,  the  Passmores,  the  Lockse^s,  the  Braoeys,  the  Flappers, 
and  the  Figginses ;  but  there  were  objections  of  some  sort  or  another  to 
the  whole  of  them.     Instead  of  having  two  parties  of  ten,  they  did  not 
seem  likely  to  get  one,  and  the  major  was  nearly  writine  off  to  Shell 
and  Tortoise  to  bid  them  send  only  half  the  quantity  of  soup.     Billy 
Bedlittgton  was  always  to  be  had  at  short  notice,  but  turtle-soup  would 
be  wasted  on  such  a  monster  as  that.      It  then  occurred  to  Mrs.  Guinea- 
fowle  that  the  mention  of  turtle-soup,  so  unusual  a  thing  in  their  quiet 
circle,  might  have  a  beneficial  effect  in  drawing  company,  and  the  mijor 


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462  Young  Turn  Halts  Heart-aehes  and  Hones. 

Ibrdiwith penned  a*' Dear  fli^  episde  to  tbe  Rev.  Mr.  Fuitile, u^ing  he 
-would  esteem  it  a  ftHTomr  if  he  would  oome  and  givie  his  o{niiioa  on  smme 
he  expected  from  London,  adding,  that  he  hoped  Mr&  and  Miae  Paalile 
would  accompany  him. 

Pantfle  was  a  learned  man,  fell  of  Heroditus,  Tbneydidm,  Damoa- 
thenes,  who  th<MX>nghly  despised  hunting  and  all  belonging  to  it  But 
lor  the  mention  of  the  turtle-aoup,  he  would  hwre  reteed  to  dine  with 
such  a  hare^hunting  squireen  as  Guineafewle.  As  it  was,  he  pretendad 
to  yield,  at  the  suggestion  of  Mrs.  Pantile  that  it  was  his  duty  aa  a 
Christian  minister  to  go  and  endeavour  to  reclaim  Gmneafowle  from  the 
wild  atrocities  and  innumanities  of  the  chase,  and  implant  noUer  and 
lof^r  principles  in  his  bosom.  Mrs.  Pantile  liked  a  run  out  aa  weU  as 
anybody,  ana  knew  how  to  tickle  her  Soloiaon  into  going.  Miss  Puitils^ 
too,  was  all  for  going  from  home  whene^ver  she  could  get,  and  stxoa^y 
supported  her  mother's  views;  for  though  very  plain,  not  to  say  udy, 
she  had  an  irreproachable  hand  and  arm,  and  played  beautifidly  on  ne 


^fter  so  many  refusals,  it  was  a  godsend  to  6uineafb«de  to  get  an 
acceptance,  and  he  followed  up  his  ludc  by  asking  another  divine,  the 
Rev.  Arthur  Pinkerton,  to  oome  and  pass  judgment  on  the  eoup  also. 
Pinkerton,  however,  hearing  that  Pantile,  whom  he  hated,  was  oooniag, 
declined  ;  and,  as  a  last  resource,  Gtdneafowle  summoned  the  great  Billy 
Bedlington,  intimating  that  as  Mr.  PantUe  was  coming,  it  would  he  «ell 
to  avoid  the  subject  of  hunting.  And  Bifiy,  who  could  talk  of  fittle 
else,  wondered  that  there  should  he  euch  a  creature  in  <he  world  as  a  man 
who  didn't  like  to  hear  about  hunting,  and  inwardly  promised  himaelf 
considerable  amusement  from  the  interview.  So  he  told  his  hind  to  give 
^*  t'ard  meer"  an  easy  day  in  the  plough,  as  he  should  be  wanting  her  in 
the  Whitechapel  at  night. 

Chaptkr  XXXIV, 

I^RIBIJB  is  the  trouble  of  unaccustomed  party-making — despesate 
when  you  want  to  make  a  dash  with  ineffioient  forces ;  our  gallant  friend 
Mt  the  fell  force  of  the  situation,  and  never  appreciated  ClearwelLat  his 
fall  value  before.  Our  mi^or  could  have  raised  a  regiment  of  nUiiia 
with  less  trouble  than  this  party  gave  him,  and  drilled  and  trained  them 
with  more  eajse  than  he  could  ^ili  and  train  Joshua  Cramlington. 

Hlough  they  had  had  ihree  rehearsals,  he  could  not  get  the  stupid  hoy 
to  understand  that  the  punch  was  only  to  be  handed  round  after  m 
turtle-soup  ;  Jos  would  have  it  in  at  all  intervals,  thinking,  no  dowbi, 
that  it  was  much  better  stuff  than  wine.  Oar  host  never  de^Mired  of  the 
tnrtle«soup  until  the  ^ellwand-Tortoise  bill  arrived,  which  it  did  close  upon 
dinner,  having  taken  a  jaunt  to  some  other  toim  beginning  witli  an  TBL ; 
then,  indeed,  he  was  horri6ed.  Pantile,  too,  coming  expressly  to«at  it! 
He  denounced  Shell  and  Tortoise  from  the  bottom  of  his  heart. 

But  to  our  sjpread.  The  major  having  finished  the  third  reheacsal, 
and  espedally  charged  Joshua  Cramlington  to  be  on  the  alert,  and  not 
to  forget  any  of  the  injunolions  he  had  laid  upon  lura,  dismissed  him  to 
run  his  arms  and  legs  thiovgh  his  fine  green-and-yellow  livery,  while  he 
went  and  got  himself  up  for  the  reception. 


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Yomng  Tim  SalTs  HeartHUskeB  and  Boms.  463 

Resolved  upon  doing  the  tlimg  in  style,  «nd  having  read  in  the  papers 
ham  the  Daka  of  WeUing^n  reoeired  Prinoe  All^rt  at  the  door  of 
Apsley  House  on  the  annivenary  of  the  battle  of  Waterloo,  he  went  and 
soBMBad  Us  little  pot*h«Ilj  into  the  now  very  tight  militia  uniform  in 
whieh  he  aohioTed  his  great  -victory  over  the  beaatifcil  Miss  Lonffmaidoy 
inwardly  hoping  that  it  would  lead  to  a  similar  beneficial  resoit  m  Tom 
HaU'scase. 

Then  as  he  stood  before  the  glass,  examining  first  one  grizzly  cheek 
aftd  then  the  othcfr,  his  hair  now  partaking  more  of  the  silver-grey  than 
the  ginger-hedrle,  a  luggage-loaded  fly  was  seen  crawling  up  the 
arenue,  and,  girding  on  hu  sword,  our  friend  nearly  broke  his  neck  by 
tnppng  over  it  as  he  hurried  down  stairs.  Fortunately,  the  nearly- 
exhausted  horse  gave  him  time  to  recover  his  equilibrium,  and  as  the 
door  opened  responsive  to  the  poroh  bell'-pull,  our  flexible-backed  major, 
cAopeav  bras  in  hand,  stepped  courteously  forward,  making  a  series  of 
those  ramaxkable  salaams  that  never  were  equalled  save  by  old  Vauxhall 
Simpson  of  glorious  memory. 

Our  Tom,  who  was  gaping  out  of  the  fly-window  at  the  white-winged, 
white-bodied  little  house,  in  the  manner  of  an  appnuser,  or  a  person 
with  a  design  upon  it,  was  startled  at  the  apparition  that  suddenly  disclosed 
itself;  whSe  the  fly-man  stood  with  his  hand  on  tho  door,  unable  to 
make  out  what  it  meant. 

The  flexible-back  having  at  length  subsided,  and  the  major  having 
notioned  the  man  to  open  the  door,  out  rolled  Tom,  in  a  pair  of  the 
widest  red-checked,  snuff-brown  tweed  trousen  that  ever  were  seen,  a 
light  grey  jacket,  with  scarcely  any.  laps,  a  stout,  double-breasted  white 
oorduroy  vest,  and  a  wide-extending,  once-nmnd  buff  joinville — ^looking 
as  if  his  stomach  was  sensible  of  cold,  but  his  fat  throat  impervious 
to  it 

"  Proud  of  the  honour  of  seeing  you  at  my  humble  hunting-boK,'* 
bowed  the  major,  tendering  Tom  a  hand.  ''  Hope,  if  I  can't  put  you  up 
as  sumptuously  as  I  could  wish,  I  shall  be  able  to  make  amends  by  the 
sport  I  shall  snow  you  with  my  hounds ;  and  if  you  will  honour  us  with  a 
visit  at  either  Slumpington  or  Sqnashingten,  in  the  county  of  Somerset, 
we  shall  be  able  to  do  by  you  as  we  could  wish." 

Whereat  our  Tom  grmned,  being  partly  struck  by  the  magnificence  of 
die  major,  and  partly  occupied  in  thinking  what  the  gates  had  been 
in  coming,  so  that  he  might  not  be  imposed  upon  by  the  flyman. 

The  datter  of  the  major's  sword  m  the  passage,  and  the  pompous 
pposiness  of  his  greetings,  acted  as  warnings  to  the  inmates  of  the  litde 
dittwing-room  on  the  right,  cansing  them  to  hoiry  their  aprons  and  dirty 
tiungs  oot  of  sight,  and  arrange  themselves  in  company  postures ;  Miv. 
Guineafowle  in  the  centre,  supported  by  Laura,  in  her  beautifol  Free- 
mantie  dress,  on  her  right,  wim  the  three  other  girls,  in  various-coloured^ 
rather  shabby  merinos,  on  the  loft. 

The  major,  lord<^3hamberlain  like,  then  i^ipeared,  backing  and  bowing 
our  Tom  into  die  presence,  introducing  Mm  to  his  intended  and  the  Oimily 
eirale  generalKr.  And  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  Lanni  thought  Tom  rather 
stout;  whale  the  sour-grapes  sisters  declared  they  never  saw  such  a  man, 
and  diey  pitied  poor  Laura  excessively.  However,  they  all  chimed  into  a 
fated  ooDversationy  chiefly  about  the  weather,  whieh  was  unusually  open» 


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464  Young  Torn  HaWs  Heart-adus  and  Bfitutn   \  I 

! 
leading  into  speciilation  as  to  its  probable  fieatmes  at  Cbristmaak.    IW  | 

maior  belped  the  ery  on  by  expatiating  on  tihe  splendid  season  bis  liounds 
had  had ;  sometbiogqmte  ttntuoal,  as  indeed  all  nis  seasons  were.  '^^CTer 
had  a  better  season,"  he  said,  '^  and  he  had  kept  hounds  now  fiye-aad- 
twenty  years — ^five^and-twenty  Tears— -a  long  time— > very  long  time-^  > 

though  not  so  long  as  his  brotner-master,  Heartycheer,  had  doae,"  the  \ 

memory  of  man  not  running  to  tbe  time  when  Heartycheer  took  them* 

Then  the  major  asked  if  Tom*s  horses  were  come,  and  was  glad  to  find 
he  had  only  one,^  i^ch  he  thought  would  save  Ae  bin  ;  and  then  he 
aslttd  whether  Tom  would  take  anjrthing  before  dinner,  obsernngy  '*  that 
they  dined  at  six,  which  he  iiiought  was  a  better  hour  than  seven  in 
winter,  as  it  didn't  make  the  evening  so  long ;  and,  indeed,  after  a  hard 
day*s  hunting,  he  was  always  quite  ready  for  Us  dinner  at  six,  for  he 
never  took  anything  out  with  him,  except  it  m^t  be  a  biscuit,  or  a  hun^ 
or  somethiQg  of  the  sort,  which  he  often  brought  back,  the  excitensent  of 
the  chase  completely  absorbing  his  fiiculties,  and  making  luo^  insensible . 
of  hunger,  thirst,  &ng»,  everything,"  kickmg  his  sword  behind  him  lu 
he  spoke,  to  prevent  its  tripping  him  up  a,gain.  . ' 

llie  gallant  man  was  proceeding  m  this  strain  when  Cramlington 
came  sneaking  into  the  room,  announcing  to  Bfrs.  Guineafowie,  in  sueh 
an  undertone  as  enabled  every  one  to  hear,  that  "  cook  wanted  her ;" 
whereupon  Mrs.  Guineafowie  knit  her  brow  and  disappeared,  woodexing 
whether  the  eat  had  got  the  fish,  or  the  soot  had  come  down  the  cb^mneyt 
or  the  cook  was  overcome  with  the  heat  of  the  fire  or  the  strength  of  the 
brandy,  or  which  of  the  hnndred-and-one  ills  of  party-making  had  befallen 
her.  The  Amphitiyon  reader  will  readily  conjecture  that  the  non-anif  #1 
of  the  turde-soup  was  the  cause :  Jonathan  Falconer  had  returned  for  the  ^^ 
third  time  fsom  the  station  without  it,  and  the  missent  Shellrand-Tprtolse 
letter  aniving  simultaneously  with  Jonathan,  extinguished  the  last  raj  of 
hope.  "What  a  go  T  as  the  major  said, 'when  he  read  it  There  was 
nothing  for  it  but  to  substitute  the  mutton-broth;  and  then,  didearl 
what  would  Pantile  say  ?  There  surely  never  was  anything  so  unlucky- 
If  the  major  could  have  got  at  Shell  and  Tortoise,  he  would  have  run  hii 
sword  down  one  of  their  throats,  and  his  scabbard  down  the  other. 

The  flyman  then  sent  to  say  he  was  ''  ready  fo  go  '*  (Guineafowle'a 
house  not  aflbrding entertainment  either  for  man  or  horse);  and  just  as 
Tom  had  settled  his  demands,  his  newly-caught  groom.  Jack  Tights^  - ' 
arrived  with  his  horse.     John  was  a  slangy,  saucy  Londoner,  who  could  . 
dress  himself,  or  dress  his  master,  or  dress  a  hook,  or  dress  a  muttood*. 
chop— indeed,  dress  anything  except  a  horse.    Be  called  himself  '<  gi^Qom 
and  valet,"  and  was  up  to  tdl  the  bad  practices  of  both  services.     He 
had  been  in  many  good  places,  but,  like  aU  these  Characterless  fellows, 
the  experienee  of  adversity  was  totaBy  lost  upon  him,  and  no  sooner 
did  he  get  a  fresh  place,  than  he  seemed  to  be  trying  how  soon  he  could 
get  out  of  it  again.     His  last  master  had  dismissed  him  for  making,  his-  ' 
horses*  ccMrn  into  brandyand-water.     His  real  name  was  Branfoote —   ' 
John  Branfoote — but  he  had  ridden  several  steeple- chases — "  Aristooca? 
tics,"  of  course — ^as  Captain  de  Roseville.     He  had  acquired  the  name 
of  '*  Tights**  from  having  his  clothes  made  so  tight  that  it  was  a  marv^ 
how  he  ever  got  into  them.     He  was  a  nephew  of  Greedy  Sam^s,  the 
ostler  at  the  Salutation  Im,  who  had  strongly  recommended  him  to  our 


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Young  T^bm  Salts  Start-aches  and  Horses.  465 

Tom  as  the*'*  very  mao  for  Um ;"  and  Tigb%  being  hard  upon  gtarTa* 
tion,  had  not  let  the  chance  ^p.  He  had  now  got  hixnaelf  into  a  com* 
plete  new  rig-out  at  Ton^*8  expense— -a  flat, .  indeed  a  rather  retrdussi 
brimmed  hat  with  a  cockade,  a  tremendously  long-haoked»  shprt-lapped^ 
ti^fst  grey  coat,  with  an  equally  long  striped  waistcoat,  leatben  that 
would  do  nothing  for  his  legs  after  their  accompanying  stomadi  had  had 
tbe  run  of  old  H all's  kitchen  for. a  month,  and  roast-ehestnut-eolomred 
topA^'boots,  with  very  lon^-necked  spurs.  Such  was  the  gentleman  who 
came  working  his  arms  into  the  little  Guineafowle  8taUe*yard»  with  his 
horse  knee-capped  and  head-atalled,  in  proper  marAiiy  order. 

^AH,  that^s  you,  is  it?^  observed  Xom,  recegnising  them  tltfough 
the  gathering  gloom  of  a  winter's  ievemng.  "Hpw's  the  horse?" 
asketohe. 

'*  AR  is  sereke,  sir  T  replied  Tights,  with  a  aort  of  military  sakitey 
throwing  himself  jockey  waya  off  his  horse, 

*<A1I  is  what?''  muttered  Tom,  who  had  not  got  the  last  London 
phrase. 

«'  Well,"  said  Tora;^  following  TighU  into  the  atahle,  ''  I  shall  want 
you  to  dress  me  in  halJT  an  hour  or  so." 

*^  By  all  means,  sir,"  rolled  Tights,  whp  bad  been  imbiUng  on  the 
road,  and  was  obligingly  drunks 

^'  Your  things,  andmy  thmgi,  and  the  stable  things,  are  somewhere," 
observed  Tom,  whose  fly-load  of  luggage  had  not  been  all  for  himself^ 
though  he  bad  certainly  brought  as  many  clothes  as  would  serve  a 
moderate  man  a  month. 

*^  Att  is  serene^''  repeated  Tights;  lurching  up  to  the  horsft'a  heed. 

Tom,  puzded  at  the  phrase,  then  returned  to  the  ^unily  curale  in  the 
parlotir,  where  his  quantity  of  lugfi;age  was  undeigoing  diacussioPy 
nusing  the  important  speculation  howTbng he  waa gomg  to  stay« 

^*  I  Abpe  ydu  find  eveiytbing  right  and  comibrtable  for  your  horse," 
obsermed  Guineafowle,  as  Tom  entered  2  adding,  *^  I  wish,  though^  you  had 
brought  a  couple  with  you,  as  then  we  might  have  hoped  far  the  &vour 
of  a  roUger  visit ;  for  really  it's  due  to  ooeself  to  get  as  much  hunting  as 
ever  one  can  before  Christmas^" 

**  h  is,"  assented  Tom,  who  had  just  as  much  taste  £or  the  iihing  as 
Chiineafowle.  *'  However/'  said  he,  '^  I  have  a  very  excellent  groom«*<- 
a  Mefton  man — who  tella  me  he  has  a  most  wondenul  recipe^  by  meana 
of  which  he  can  bring  a  horse  out  every  day  in  the  week*" 

^  Indeed,"  stared  Guineafowle ;  observinff^  *^  it  must  be  a  very  valuable 
recipe;  he* must  be  a  very  surprising  man.' 

"  ItV  an  iiivention  of  nis  own,"  continued  Tom,  in  an  off-haad  sort  of 
way;  *'fhe  Melton  men  offered  him  no  end  of  money  for  it>  but  he 
wouldn't  sell — ^preferred  dispensing  it  himself." 

"  Indeed  r  said  Guineafowle.     **  What  is  the  principle  of  it?" 

*' Don't  know,"  replied  Tom— "don't  luiow;  it's  some  decoction  of 
heibs,  mixed  with  spirit — ^rum,  I  think.  But  he. makes  it  at  midnight, 
and  won't  let  any  one  come  nea^  let  alone  see  what  U  is''  Tighta  kept 
bad  hours,  and  used  to  declare^  when  found  faidt  with,  that)  he  was  busy 
with  his  chemistry. 

After  some  more  forced  discussion  about  the  wonderful  diiooveiy, 


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456  Pmw  ^«*»  ^BbM^  S^arl^cheB  ca^  Harm. 

dmiDg  which  Mrs.  Gumeafowle  ve-eDtered,  showing  hj  her  '«Dxi<Hi8  hob 
that  there  was  somethbg  wrong,  our  host  projpoeed  showing  Tom  Us 
room — ihe  best  lofty  four-poster,  of  courae — with  the  usual  indicstioiis  of 
a  lady's  eye,  where  the  redoubtable  Tights  was  laying  out  such  a  miiht* 
fiuious  wfurdrobe — such  coats,  such  waistcoats,  such  cravats,  sudi  troa- 
fleis,  80  many  purs  of  boots — that  the  major  thought  any  defideney  «f 
horseflesh  was  amply  compensated  by  the  quantity  of  clothes.  Haiviiv 
stirred  the  fire,  lighted  the  toilette  composites,  and  told  Tom  dinner  wodd 
be  ready  in  half  an  hour  or  so,  the  miyor  retired  to  learn  the  mn^ 
calamity,  and  indulge  in  the  denunciations  agdnst  Shell  and  Tortoise 
that  we  have  already  mentioned ;  and  having  duly  anathemized  ibeniy 
our  gallaut  friend  proceeded  to  release  himself  from  the  bondage  to  whidi 
he  had  been  subjected  in  his  tight  uniform,  and  instal  himself  in  his 
green  dress  hunt-coat  with  bright  buttons,  velvet  collar,  and  nlk  fiKsings, 
and  a  roll-collared  white  waistcoat,  with  a  yellow  silk  under  one.  Dress* 
ing  was  the  order  of  the  day  throughout  the  house.  Tinkle  tinkle  went 
the  bells ;  hot  water  here,  hot  water  there.  One  miss  wanted  her  aluies, 
another  wanted  her  comb ;  and  the  whisking  commotion  of  petticoats 
sounded  up  and  down  stairs,  and  iftu^ughout  the  little  house.  Om*  Tom 
went  to  work  anxiously,  and,  after  no  end  of  tiyings-on  and  takings-o£^ 
alterings,  and  changings,  and  pinchings,  and  tyings,  and  twistinga^  he 
at  len^h  accompJisned  a  toilette  that  stood  the  test  of  the  mirror;  for, 
being  an  ugly  dog,  of  course  he  was  correspondingly  conceited — tliai  is 
to  say,  in  the  inverse  ratio,  uglv  dog,  great  conceit. 

And  Tights,  as  he  now  retu*ed  from  valeting  him,  met  Harriet,  the 
joint-stock  ladies*  maid,  as  she  emerged  from  her  voung  mistress's  room, 
and  in  reply  to  her  inquiry  what  all  the  crumpled  cravats  dangling  over 
his  arm  were  about,  answered,  with  the  most  pompous  throatiness : 

"  /'— a— f— /— yar*/  /-T-a— .i-^— yar*/'' 

The  sound  of  Pantile's  pnaeton-wheels,  fgrinding  under  his  windew, 
aroused  Tom  from  the  admiration  of  himself,  his  studs  and  his  stockii^ 
his  marvellous  shirt-front  and  amplified  Joinville,  and  caused  him  to  put 
the  finishing-stroke  to  the  performance  by  a  copious  dash  of  essence  of 
Rondeletla  into  his  cambric  pocket-handkerchief.  He  then  save  his 
ivory-backed  brushes  a  final  flourish  through  his  light  hair,  and,  deseend- 
ing  the  little  staircase,  he  re-entered  the  parlour  just  as  the  Pantiles  weie 
subsiding  into  seats,  after  the  grinnbgs,  and  smirkmga,  and  bowinga^ 
and  curtseyings  of  coming  were  over.  They  then  resumed  the  operar 
tion,  and  Mrs.  Pantile's  quick  eye  now  seeing  at  a  glance  what  Laura's 
beaudful  pink  silk,  chain-stitch,  embroidered  flounced  dress  was  for,  by  a 
skilful  manoeuvre  took  a  ohsur  nearer  the  fire,  leaving  a  vacant  one  between 
the  pretty  pink  and  the  silver-grey  silk  of  mamma  for  our  Tom. 

The  major,  seeing^  the  petticoat  movement,  observed,  as  he  finished 
introducing  Tom,  tnat  Mr.  Hall  was  a  brother-sportsman  who  had  come 
to  have  a  little  hunting  with  his  hounds ;  and  Mrs.  Pantile^  who  waa  a 
tderably  skilful  '<mouser,"  said  to  herseli^  as  she  eved  Laura  glaneiqg 
alternately  at  our  Tom  and  then  at  her  own  pink  tuUe  drBpp6,  **  Believe 
as  much  of  that  as  we  like  f  and  as  she  was  talking  earnestly  to  Mrs. 
Guineafowie  about  the  weather,  thinking  all  the  time  what  a  shame  it 
was  dressing  Laura  out  in  that  way,  instead  of  in  a  neat  book-mvilin, 
like  her  sisters,  the  door  opened,  and,  to  Pantile's  horror,  the  great 


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Ytmng  Tvm  Salts  Heari-aches  and  Horses.  4C7 

Billj  Bedlineton  came  sweeping  the  ceiKDg  with  his  head.  Pan  hated 
£aUy,  and  BiUy  didn't  Hke  Fan,  and,  moreoTer^  Pan  thought  Billy  wasn't 
exactly  the  sort  of  man  to  have  to  meet  them.  He»  therefore^  gare 
Billy  a  very  cool  reoeption,  and  dosed  in,  instead  of  making  room  for  hiaiy 
at  ftaefife. 

Not  did  matters  mend  when,  on  the  announcement  of  dinner,  Tom 
atuck  to  LauzB,  linstead  of  o£Fering  his  arm  to  Miss  Pantile,  who,  con- 
sequently, £ell  a  prey  to  the  giant ;  and  Pantile,  who  was  watching  how 
things  went  as  he  took  Mrs.  Guineafbwle  out,  douhted,  if  he  had  Imown, 
whether  even  the  turtle-soup  could  luure  induced  him  to  come.  Judge 
then  of  his  dismay,  when,  after  enunciating  an  elahorate  grace,  Joshua 
Cramlington  gave  the  orthodox  flourish  to  the  tureen-cover,  and  the 
major  hegan  apologising  for  the  substitution  of  mutton-broth  I  Pantile 
inwardly  didn't  believe  a  word  about  the  turtle-soup ;  it  was  just  one 
of  the  minor's  cheap  flashes  that  he  was  always  indulging  in;  and  he 
hegan  cross-questioning  him  most  severely  how  the  thin?  could  have 
happened  ? — who  wrote? — ^who  took  the  letter  to  the  post  f— whether  it 
was iegihly  directed? — and,  as  a  climax,  who  he  sent  to  ? 

This  was  rather  a  dencher,  for  if  the  major  answered  "  Shell  and  Tor- 
toise," the  murder  would  be  out,  and  his  splendour  thought  nothing  of; 
so,  after  a  moment's  hesitation — recollecting  where  Lord  Heartydieer 
got  his — he  boldly  answered,  *'  Painter,  in  Leadenhall-street." 

'^  Indeed,"  repned  Pantile,  thmking  he  had  heard  the  name. 

^^Have  dealt  with  him  for  twenty  years,"  asserted  the  miijor,  '^and 
this  is  the  first  time  he  ever  disuipomted  me. 

"  Very  anfortunate,"  observea  Pantile,  wondering  he  had  never  heafd 
of  the  major's  turtle-soup  parties  before,  and  thinking  he  could  have  had 
mutton-broth  at  home;  ana  presently  Joshua  Cramlington,  as  if  by  way  of 
adding  insult  to  injury,  placed  a  green  glass  of  punch  under  Pantile's  nose ; 
when  an  exclamation  from  the  major  of  **  No !  no  I  you  stupid  dog!"  so 
startied  Jos,  that  he  spilt  the  contents  over  his  mistress's  turban  and  silver- 
grey  silk.  Great  then  was  the  hubbub^  and  mopping,  and  napkinmg,  and 
declaring  that  it  wasn't  of  the  slightest  consequence,  though  Jos  knew  it 
would  be  a  very  different  story  on  the  morrow.  However,  that  stopped 
the  further  supply  of  the  punch ;  and  when  he  got  the  tray  into  the 
kitchen.  Tights,  who  was  making  himself  agreeable  to  the  cook,  moved 
that,  as  they  couldn't  drink  it  in  the  parlour,  they  should  have  it  in  the 
hall ;  and  nlling  glasses  round,  he  tossed  off  a  bumper  to  a  better  ac- 
quaintance with  them  alL 

Mrs.  Hogalard  and  he  had  been  speculating  whether  the  fine  London 
dresses  woold  be  likely  to  catch  his  young  master,  and  affording  each 
ether  such  ins^hts  into  their  respective  families  as  servants  are  in  the 
habit  of  doing.  There  is  very  littie  that  servants  don't  know,  as  any 
master  or  mistress  will  find  i£  they  make  an  unexpected  descent  into 
their  receiving-rooms  at  meal  or  unexpected  times.     But  to  our  story. 

Cramlington's  glass  of  punch,  hastily  swallowed  after  sundry  bottle 
ends,  coupled  with  the  hurry  of  waiting  and  the  anxieties  of  office,  get 
into  hh  head,  and  he  nearly  let  the  best  chain-bordered  porcelain  down 
as  he  entered  with  the  second  course,  giving  Mrs.  Guineafowle,  and  all 
parties  interested  in  its  welfare,  the  creeps.  The  major  looked  unutter- 
able things  at  the  great  gouk ;  but  the  dnak  was  more  potent  than  the 
major's  eye,  and  our  host  sate  tremblizig  as  he  saw  the  lad  Uinkiag  and 


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468  Vonny  Tom  HaWs  Heari-aehes  and  Horses, 

meidne  at  th*  canfflet,  and  eveiy  now  and  then  maldfig  a  fidoe  dart  at 
the  diBoet.  The  major  always  intistiiig  upon  having  ever}*tlttDg  handed 
round  by  the  terYants,  the  dinner  made  very  little  progress,  and  Jonathan 
Fakoner,  never  having  '*  led,"  was  of  Kttle  or  no  use.  The  mMor  oghed 
for  the  days  of  Clearwelli  who  made  all  things  go  as  if  of  toenudves. 
The  lad  presently  got  itapid. 

The  sherry  signed  and  the  champagne  signal  were  eqnaHy  disregarded, 
and  as  the  major,  of  com^  eomd  not  be  so  unfiuhionable  as  ask  any 
one  to  take  wine,  the  guests  were  soon  high  and  dry.  The  boy  had  been 
round  once  with  the  sherry,  making  some  very  bad  shots  at  the  glasses, 
then  fiUing  bumpers,  ana  dribMng  the  wine  plentifully  over  people's 
hands.  "  Get  some  chanKpagne^  at  length  snapped  the  major,  as  the 
guests  being  now  helped  to  the  contents  of  the  dishes,  Joshua  atood 
winldng  and  hKnking,  and  disr^arding  the  signaL 

Joa  then  disappeared,  and  finding  Tights  in  his  old  quarters  in  the 
kkehen,  they  took  another  glass  of  punch  together,  then  diving  into  the 
foot-bath  in  the  sink,  where  he  had  the  wine  cooling,  he  hurried  away 
with  a  bottle.  It  bring  the  finest  spaikling,  not  to  say  frisky,  429. 
a  docen  stufi;  made  at  the  well-known  champagne  and  foreign  Hqueur 
diatillezy  in  Lambeth,  the  major  had  especially  <£aTged  Jos  on  no  account 
whatever  to  cut  the  string  until  he  had  the  wine  in  the  room,  well 
knowing  that  if  it  once  got  away,  there  would  be  no  stopping  it ;  find  tins 
injunction  suiting  the  lashes  of*  which  Jos  had  just  been  gmlt)',  he  now 
frantically  seiaed  a  knife  off  the  sideboard,  and  cutting  the  string',  as  he 
stood  behind  his  master's  ohur,  fof  I  hang  !  went  the  cork  against  the 
opiate  wall,  and  w-^-^i — Sr^h  went  ihe  foaming  fluid  right  into  the 
major^s  hair!  What  a  commotion  there  was!  If  the  major  had  been 
played  upon  by  a  fire-engine,  he  couldn't  have  been  wetter,  while  Jos, 
m  the  agon^  of  the  moment,  put  his  thumb  over  the  bottle-top,  causmg 
it  to  spirt  sideways  into  Mrs.  Pantile  a  fi^e. 

^'Get  out  of  my  ei^t!  get  out  of  the  robm!  get  out  of  the  houser* 
screamed  the  littie  major,  rising  from  his  chair,  seizing  the  still  fiazing, 
bubbling  bottie  with  one  hand^  and  Jodiua  with  the  other,  whom  he 
kicked  and  eaflflsd  into  the  passage  while  the  remanets  rose  and  ofit^red 
such  consolation  to  Mrs.  Pantile  as  a  lady  in  a  new  black'-watered — now, 
alas!  champagned-— silk  required.  Great  was  the  mopping  and  rubbbg, 
and  patting  and  drying,  again. 

At  lenfftfa,  having  done  all  they  could,  the  guests  resumed  their 
seats;  and  it  being  impossible  to  rally  the  scattered  consequence,  Mrs. 
Gmneafowie  sent  Jonathan  Fakoner  to  get  Harriet  to  come  in  and  widt. 
This  she  did  so  ably,  that  when  the  major  returned,  after  locking  Cram- 
fington  up  in  his  bed-room,  and  changmg  his  own  wet  upper  garments, 
he  found  Pantile  leading  die  charge  against  men-servants  in  geneial, 
vowing  that  they  were  nothing  like  women  for  waiting — an  opinion  in 
wfasch  Billy  Bedlington  heartily  concurred,  adding,  that  he  would  matdi 
his  Mary  against  any  two  men  that  ever  were  seen.  But  thoug!i-the 
major  wouldn't  admit  this  view,  attributing  Pantile's  preference  a  good 
deaJ  to  iealoosy,  because  he  only  kept  a  tea^iray  groom  himself,  he  can- 
didly admitted  that  CramUngton  was  not  quite  the  thing,  muttering 
something  about  his  ''old  butler,  Clearwell — ^never  used  to  have  any 
trouble*' — observations  that  were  meant  more  for  Tom  Hall's  ear  than 
Pantile's,  who  was  evidenUy  on  the  alert  for  a  cavil. 


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Young  Tom  Halts  Heart-aches  and  Horses.  469 

However,  now  that  they  had  got  rid  of  the  dull  o£  etiguette,  and 
peop)9ibegi^  to. reach  a^a  ask  efim.  otbeQ&r  wba^.ihej  waatsdy  dinner 
p^X)gre«fsed  mox«  plea9«Qtl; :  thej  got  what  th^  wiuuked  to  eat  at  the 
tuxie  they  wantedi^  and  not  after,  while  Harmt  auUvtd  a  boCtie  of . 
cJbftioppgop  veiT  fkilfuUjy  tflii  doled  it  out  to  GiuneafawFs  satisfiustion. 
As  yet  no  coiUd  not  accoid  his  guetfte  the  privilege  of  helping  them* 
selves.  The  "  Duke*'  had  had  the  wine  handed  tam^  and  so  must  he. 
B{y  ihj^time  the.  8ecoudr-*-lwt  what  ought  to  beive  been  tilie  third,  botde — 
ifa^  disposed  of,  and  the  chopped  chaeae  had  tafouTatedy  people  began  to* 
b^  ippre  at  their  ease,  especially  ^  thej  beavd,  by  CramUngten's  kickbga 
and  roarings  at  the  door,  that  the  dangenoueboy  was  in  aafe  cnstody* 
So  the  cloth  waa  drawn,  the  wine  and  dM«^  M  on,  and  the  room  p»*' 
sj^ntly  vacated  by  the  siervants..  O^r  fnend^  dtien  began  to  be  move 
sQc^ablcw  and  to  take  Uie  evoE^a  of  the  ev«nitig  mbre  phikaophiddly. 
l^antile  was  the  least  iigreeahli^  of  the  party.  In-.tb^lbsb  plaoe^  he 
4^da*t  fancy  being  made  .a  caifa^paw  oil  helping  ChiiMa  to  4saptuDe  HdU ; 
in.theaecc«4<phu:<V^badheend4W0outof  a&y*8  coal  leading  widi 
}4a.)^9i^  hy  baidng  to  cpme  tb«)e  to  .serte*  aA  be  ihought,  on  a  turtle*' 
soup  jury :  an^,  in  the  third  p]|MX»|.he  thought  theyrbad  no-'budnes?  ta* 
ai|k  £iUy  Bedlingt^  to,meefe.tb0m«  If  Billy  bad  had  to  tely  on  the' 
pardon's  asking  him  to  tiibe  wine,  he.  woaldoi't  baire'  gdt  d  diot>«  Tfaanka  - 
toi  the  Craiplijagtop  cataAtroc^q  cauaiog  it  ta.  be  wiibin  rea(^  he  earner^ 
bi^r.off  than  uaual  wbeu  dining  wi^tb.  his  distiaffuisbed  friend. 

Pantile,  thinking  to  hajre  a.  outi  at  bia  pvetenoAiig  host  throni'h  Billy, 
attacked  the  latter  about  his  hunting,  aa  soon  as  the  ladies  withdrew. 
.  Y  Well,  Mrw  William  B4dlmgtQii,*^di«|7led  be-^-ier  he  didiiottedre  to 
coj»e  thefamiliaBT  '^BiUy  " — ^<  well,  JkTr,' William  BedlinJKion,'  I  see  yon 
sUU  pursue  the  chasB.**  .       • 

";\Vbile|i,  Mr.  Pantile,,  whiles^''  relied  fii%»  anekmg  awi^  at  an 
orange. 

*<  Well,  but  don*t  you  think  you^  might  employ  your  timia  more  pro- 
fitably, more  beneficially,  than  soampfiuig.  aboiut  the  conntry  after  a 
poor  timid  har«  ?" 

«« No,  i  doD\  Mr.  PantUe/:  ueplied  Billy,  fijtmly. 
'  <<  life  was  given  us  for  a  nobkv  pmpose^  surdy !"  exdMsed  PantUe. 

"  PVfqps  it  may,"  replied  Billy,  carelessly,    .         ' 

"  Besides^"  added, Pantile,  .''  a  pian  of  your  nae  and  weight  can  nev«r 
hope  to  ride  up  to  hounds  as  he  ought" 

"Fr'apn  not,"  scplied  BiUy;  *'btt1i  at  can  glo^r  at  'em  all  the 


.<< Glower  at  'email  the  samei"  snanped  Paatitte,  aa  Hail  and^Gmaaa- 
fowle  began  tittering  ^at  Billy'a  om  tfeatrntet  of  the  claa^  ^^fiut 
whwe'g  the  ^eaaure-^where'a  the  es^itsmtnt  of  gbwering?  I  thou|^ht 
the  great  enjoyment  of  hunting  consisted  in  braving  and  surinounting 
the  dangers  and  obstacles  of  natvgre«'' 

«<  AJb,"  said  Billy,  ''  that  'ill  be  yonjp  steepWHshase  gents,  and  chaps 
wot  want  to  break  their  necks.,.  I  go  to*  see  bounds  woric,  not  to  crack 
my  crown.*' 

The  major  here  tried  to  turn  the  conv^nwtion  by  psasiag  the  wine, 
and  engagbg  Tom  Hall  on  the  military  taok,  ezpatiatbg  on  the  splen* 


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470  Young  Tom  HaUCs  Htatt^'ackn  and  Hones. 

dbur  of  Lord  Lavender's  HagsaxB,  and  hoping  their  reghnents  nngfat  he 
embodied  togedier ;  but  Pantile,  who  had  got  a  petition  up  againat  dw 
militia,  woald  not  chime  in,  and,  the  first  oppoitanity,  waa  nagging  at 
Billy  Bedlington  again* 

^  Well  now,  Mr.  William  Bedlington,**  resmned  he^  in  his  usml  sneer- 
ing, drawling  tone,  '*  I  don't  understand  the  pleasnre  of  a  man  wh<» 
can't  follow  the  hounds  going  out  to  hunt." 

<'  WeU,  Mr.  Pantile,  that* s  posable  enough,'*  replied  Klly,  taking  » 
hack  hand  at  Ae  port — '^  that's  possible  enough ;  but  you  might  as  w^ 
say  that  no  one  has  any  business  at  a  race  that  can't  ride  one,  as  that  no 
one  has  any  busmess  at  a  hunt,  mdess  he  can  ride  to  tread  on  the  hounds 


«<I  don't  see  Ihat,  Mr.  William  Bedlington,"  repGed  Pantile,  robbmg 
his  hook  nose  for  an  idea. 

**  I  do,"  replied  Billy,  now  taking  a  back  hand  at  the  sheny. 

^  I  don't,"  rejoined  rantile,  looking  very  irate. 

The  major  then  again  tried  to  turn  the  conversation  by  inquiring  if 
Mr.  Pantile  had  succeeded  in  getting  the  old  land  hay  he  wanted,  wmdi 
led  to  a  discussion  on  the  price  of  straw,  and  the  difficulty  of  getting  any, 
all  the  tenants  being  restricted  from  selling,  which  Pan  thought  a  feoliah 
rule,  and  Gruinea  a  wise  one ;  and  finding  that  they  had  got  on  a  &• 
puted  point,  the  major  made  another  effort  to  turn  the  conversation  by 
dilatbg  on  the  unpunctuality  of  tiieir  foot-messenger  with  the  letters, 
but  Pantile,  who  haa  been  meditating  another  cut  on  Billy,  availed  himself 
of  the  break  to  make  it 

^<  Tou  still  have  your  great  brown  horse,  I  see,  Mr.  WiDiam  Bed- 
lington," observed  he. 

"  I  have/'  replied  Billy,  with  an  emphasis ;  adding,  ''you  did  wrong 
net  to  buy  him."  Billy  and  the  parson  had  had  a  hard  deal,  and  only 
parted  for  fifty  shillings. 

''  Well,  but  they  say  he's  spavined,"  observed  Pantile. 

"  Do  they  ?"  replied  Billy ;  adding,  '<  as  much  spavined  as  I  am." 

''  They  say  he's  not  good  in  the  shafts,"  observed  Pantile. 

''  Good  in  anything!"  exclaimed  Billy;  adding,  ''  that  hone  can  draw 
anything." 

''  Can  he  draw  an  inference  P'  asked  Pantile. 

''  He  can  draw  a  ton  and  a  half,"  replied  Bedfington,  with  a  riiake  of  his 
head,  drawin?  hb  acre  of  buff  waistcoat  from  under  die  table  as  he  rose  to 
depart  And  the  maior,  who  accompanied  him  to  tiie  door,  in  order  to 
have  a  few  words  with  him  about  the  next  morning's  meet,  reported  on 
his  return  that  it  was  a  fine  starlight  night ;  which  mduced  the  Pantiles 
to  stay,  in  order  that  the  fine  hand  and  arm  might  do  a  little  execution 
on  tiie  harp ;  the  consequence  of  which  delay  was,  tiiat  it  rained  doga  and 
cats  the  greater  part  of  their  way  home. 

And  Pantile  declared  that  no  power  on  earth  should  ever  induce  him 
to  dine  with  that  humbug  again,  and  the  Ouineafowles  unanimously 
agreed  tiiat  the  Pantiles  were  the  most  disagreeable  people  under  the 
sun. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


(     4tl     ) 


JUNG  BAHADUiL 


Nepaul,  thoDgh  greatly  curtailed  in  extent  by  the  peace  of  1815,  is 
etiU  one  of  the  laigeat  and  most  compact  sovereigntiea  of  India.  The 
ooootry  is  composed  of  three  belts  of  territory  :  one  a  low  plain,  hot» 
woodeo,  and  nnnealthy ;  a  second  hilly,  with  rich  rales ;  ft  thurd  moun- 
tainous. Writers  differ  rery  much  as  to  the  origin  of  the  inhabitants. 
Colonel  Kirkpatrick,  who  wrote  a  well-known  account  of  his  visit  to 
Nepaul  in  1803,  argued  that  though  the  Newara  hare  round  and  rather 
flat  faces,  small  eyes,  and  low-spreading  noses,  they  bear  no  resemblance 
to  Chinese  features.  Captain  Smith,  the  author  of  <' A  Narratire  of  a 
Eire  Years'  Residence  at  Nepaul,*'  recently  published  by  Messrs. 
Colbum  and  Co.,  avers,  on  the  contrary,  that  the  great  aboriginal 
stock  is  Mongol.  The  fiict,  says  the  late  assistant  political  resident 
in  Nepaul,  is  inscribed  in  characters  so  plain  upon  their  faces,  forms^ 
and  l^guages,  that  we  may  well  dispense  with  the  superfluous  and 
▼ain  attempts  to  trace  it  historically  in  die  meagre  chronicles  of 
barbarians.  Mr.  Laurence  Oliphant,  author  of  an  interesting  little 
work,  ''A  Journey  to  Katmandu,  with  the  Camp  of  Jung  Baha- 
dur," also  describes  himself  as  being  much  struck  with  the  great  simi^ 
larity  of  the  mass  of  the  lower  orders  to  the  Chinese.  The  Nepaulese 
appear,  indeed,  to  have  always  had  relations  with  the  Flowery  Empire. 
Separated  from  them  only  by  the  mountains  of  Thibet,  they  were  invaded 
in  1792  by  a  large  army  of  Chinese,  on  which  occasion  they  sought,  but 
without  success,  an  alliance  with  the  English.  Cuptain  Smith  and  Mr. 
Oliphant  exhaust  themselves  in  conjectures  as  to  the  political  objects  of 
Jung  Bahadur's  visit  to  this  country.     The  relations  of  Nepal,  as  tribu 

a  to  China  on  the  one  hand  and  to  England  on  the  other,  may  have 
much  to  do  with  it. 

The  Gurkhas,  the  now  dominant  race  in  Nepaul,  are  only  a  mountain 
tribe  ;  there  does  not  appear  to  be  any  race-distioction  between  them  and 
the  Newars.  The  Brahmins  fled  into  the  country  before  the  tide  of  Mus- 
sulman conquest,  converted  many,  especially  the  Gurkhas,  and  introduced 
the  Hindu  olood  in  the  now  numerous  tribe  of  the  Khas,  whence  the 
proud  title  of  Kshatriya,  the  military  order  of  the  kingdom.  Th^re  are 
also  several  other  tribes  and  denommations  in  the  ooimtx^,  arising  from 
occupations,  as  in  the  instance  of  the  Darwars  and  Margis,  husbandmen 
and  fishermen  ;  or  from  situation,  as  the  ParbaUiahs,  or  hill  people ;  but 
the  chief  differences  are  founded  in  religious  opinions,  the  Brahmin  or 
Hindoo  creed  being,  however,  dominant  over  the  Mongolian  Buddhism. 

The  East  India  government  has  ever  been  dissatisfied  with  the  secret 
treatj^  concluded  by  the  Nepaulese  with  the  Chinese  government,  on  the 
occasion  of  the  invasion  of  the  country  by  the  latter,  and  which  treaty 
was  concluded  without  Colonel  Eirkpatrick's  assistance.  An  attempt  to 
establish  a  commercial  treaty  in  1801  fidled  equally  signally.  At  length, 
in  the  time  of  Bhim  Sab,  the  Gurkhas  began  to  carry  the  passion  for 
territorial  aggprandisemen^  not  only  among  surrounding  hill  rajahs,  but 
also  into  temtories  subject  to  the  British  government. 

Taking  advantage  of  a  demand  i(>r  assistance  on  tibe  part  of  the  Kajah 
of  Bitiyi£,  whose  territories  had  bef  n  invaded  by  the  B^^ah  of  Muckwan- 


(  Digitized  by  Google 


472  JvMf  Bakadmr. 

imre,  abetted  hj  the  Gurldbaa,  a  miUtaiy  foroe  vas  dwpfttchad,  under 
Major  Kinlooh,  lAo  nieceeded  in  driving  the  Gurkhas  oot  of  the 
province.  This  waa  in  1767.  In  181 1,  the  Nepanileae  again  invaded 
Bitiyah,  to  a  portion  of  which  territory  they  have  never  ceased  to  advance 
hereditary  dainu,  and  committed  man^  gross  outrages  upon  the  ser- 
vants of  the  company  ;  among  othersi  killing  at  one  spot  eighteen  armed 
police,  and  tying  the  head  officer,  or  Kaunadar,  to  a  tree,  and  desnatehing 
nim  vnth  arrows.  These  and  otfier  acts  of  violence,  added  to  disiegara 
of  every  attempt  at  conciliation,  led  to  the  war  of  1813-14, 

It  is  not  our  object  here  to  follow  out  the  details  of  this  border  war,  as 
they  have  been  recorded  by  Professor  H.  H.  Wilson,  in  his  continuation 
of  IdUls's  <*  History  of  India;"  and  by  Professor  Wilson,  in  Captain 
Smith's  work.  Suffice  it  that  the  war  was  by  no  means  either  always 
&vourahle  or  honourable  to  Anglo-Indian  prowess.  The  siege  and 
storming  of  Ealunga,  and  the  death  of  General  GUlespie,  gave  a  foretaste 
of  the  gallant  resistance  with  which  the  Gurkhas  everywhere  met  their 
enemies.  Women  and  children  fought  in  the  ranks  of  the  brave  moun- 
taineers, and  were  slain  with  them  in  the  defence  of  the  fort  This 
sanguinary  affidr  was  followed  by  a  signal  reverse,  met  with  in  a  too  hasty 
pursuit  of  the  retiring  enemy.  The  energy  and  ability  of  Genesal 
Oditerlony,  however,  vdtimately  retrieved  all  disasters,  and  the  result  of 
the  first  campaign  was  the  expulsion  of  the  Gurkhas  ftom  the  debated 
territory. 

Attempts  at  negotiation  were  then  made,  and  after  the  usual  amount 
of  specious  professions  and  deceit  common  to  native  courts  generally  had 
been  practised  by  the  Nepaul  durbar  with  a  view  to  gain  time,  open  hos- 
tilities broke  out  vrith  redoubled  vigour  on  both  sides.  General  Ochter- 
lony  commenced  the  second  campaign  by  moving  an  army  of  86,000  men 
across  the  Cfaariagatty  hills,  an  operation  involving  incredible  toil  aud 
difficulty,  but  which  was,  nevertheless,  performed  with  the  greatest 
rapidity.  This  accomplished,  he  advanced  upon  Muckwanpure,  which, 
after  two  engagements,  fell  into  our  hands,  but  with  a  loss  amounting 
to  nearly  300.  This  fort  commanding  the  valley  of  Katmandu,  the 
durbar  now  entered  into  serious  negotiation.  The  terms  which  were 
finally  agreed  upon  differed  Httie  from  those  peviously  proposed,  leiviog 
in  our  hands  a  portion  of  the  Turai,  and  what  was  more  important,  giving 
the  Gurkhas  a  better  opinion  of  the  power  of  the  enemy  they  had  to  deal 
with  than  they  had  gained  from  their  experience  in  the  first  campaign. 

The  young  Rajah  of  Nepaul  baring  died  on  the  20th  of  November, 
1816,  of  smaU  pox,  and  havmg  been  succeeded  by  an  infant  son,  named 
Raj  Indur  Bikrum  Sah,  this  event  contributed  to  fix  more  firmly  the  au- 
thority of  Bhim  Sing,  by  giving  him  another  lease  of  uncontrolled  domi- 
nion pending  a  second  long  minority.  This  minister  directed  the  home 
and  foreign  poKcy  of  the  durbar  with  such  ability  and  moderation  as  to 
have  preserved  peace  and  tranquillity  for  twenty-two  years.  The  rajah 
having,  however,  with  the  progress  of  time,  wedded  the  daughter  of  a 
Guruclcpure  farmer,  his^  rani  resolved  upon  the  overthrow  and  destruc- 
tion of  the  minister.  The  latter  brought  a  rival  rani  into  play,  but  with- 
out success  ;  the  senior  queen's  party  prevuled,  and  Bhim  Sing  was  im- 
prisonedand  found  dead  in  his  cell  with  his  throat  frightfully  mangled.* 
*  According  to  Captain  Cavenagh,  who  accompanied  Jung  Bahadur  in  an  offi* 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Jung  JBakadirr.  473 

The  y<mng  ngab,  thiis  left  to  evil  couDBeBon,  i^esolved  upon  war  with 
the  English,  and  despatched  an  emhassy  to  Pekin  for  assistance  in  men 
and  money.  As,  however,  Nepaul  was  tributary  to  China,  the  celestial 
emperor  treated  the  embassy  as  a  piece  of  great  impertinence,  and  resented'^ 
It  by  sending  a  large  Tartar  force  against  the  Nepaul^,  which  obliged- 
them  to  sue  for  peace  with  an  additional  tribute  of  10,000/L  to  be  sent 
overland  every  five  years  to  Pekin. 

At  the  same  time,  Colonel  Og^ander,  of  the  26th  Cameronians,  was 
sent  to  guard  our  own  frontier,  and  the  presence  of  a  British  force  had 
the  effect  of  procuring  the  dismissal  of  the  Pandee,  or  war  minbtry,  and 
the  formation  of  another,  called  the  Chountra,  or  British  ministry.  But 
upon  the  withdrawal  of  the  troops,  the  latter  found  themselves  in  danger^ 
and  the  king  and  durbar  evinced  violent  hostility  towards  Mr.  Hodgson,. 
the  well-known  naturalist^  at  that  time  British  resident  in  Nepaul,  and 
several  scenes  occurred,  which  were  remarkable  for  a  rare  mixture  of  ab- 
surdity with  danger : 

Upon  one  occasion  ttie  king  came  down  to  the  Residency,  accompanied  by 
several  chiefs  and  a  large  body  of  troops,  and  demanded  that  a  British  mer- 
chant, wlio  had  been  trading  for  some  years  in  Nepaul,  and  was  within  the 
walls  of  the  Residency,  should  be  given  up.  The  merchant  had  become  a 
party  to  a  civil  suit  in  the  Nepaul  court  of  law ;  but  not  having  appeared  in 
answer  to  a  summons,  judgment  was  given  against  him,  and  he  became  (the 
Nepaulese  said)  amenable  to  their  penal  laws.  The  British  resident  deeming 
him  a  proper  object  of  protection,  refused  to  surrender  his  person.  The  rajah 
waxed  insolent,  threatened  immediate  coercion,  and  even  gave  an  order  for  the 
seizure  of  the  merchant.  The  writer,  being  then  in  command  of  the  escort, 
resisted  the  execution  of  this  order,  and  assuming  an  attitude  of  defiance, 
alarmed  the  Nepaulese  and  his  chiefs,  and  compelled  them  to  withdraw  them- 
selves and  their  pretensions. 

A  few  days  afler  this — the  court  being  then  in  mourning  for  the  senior 
queen,  neither  the  king  nor  chiefs  were  allowed,  for  a  certain  period,  to  ride 
either  in  carriages  or  on  horseback — the  king  and  heir-apparent  having  had  a 
quarrel,  and  a  serious  disturbance  taking  place  in  the  palace,  determined  upon 
coming  down  to  the  Residency  ;  the  heir-apparent  insisting  that  the  rajah 
should  accompany  him.  It  had  been  raining  heavily  in  the  morning,  and  about 
twelve  o'clock  we  were  informed  that  the  rajah  and  heir-anparent  were  outside 
,the  Residency  gates.  We  went  out  to  meet  them,  and  there  found  the  rajah 
and  his  son  mounted  on  the  backs  of  two  vety  decrepit  old  chieft.  The  heir- 
apparent  requested  the  r^jah  at  once  to  give  us  the  order  to  pack  up,  and  take 
our  departure  for  the  plains.  Tlie  rajah  refused,  whereupon  the  heir-apparent 
abused  him  most  grossly,  and  urging  his  old  chief  close  up  to  the  rajah^ 
assaulted  him.  A  Hght  ensued,  and  after  scratching  and  pulling  each  other's 
hair  for  some  time,  the  son  got  hold  of  his  father,  pulled  him  over,  and  down 
they  went,  chiefs  and  all,  into  a  very  dirty  puddle.  The  two  old  nags,  extri- 
cating themselves,  hobbled  away  as  fast  as  they  could,  as  did  the  other  followers 
from  fear.  After  rolling  in  the  muddy  water,  up  got  the  now  two  dirty  kings,, 
and  after  some  little  delay,  fresh  uags  were  obtained,  and  the  rajah  and  bis  son 
were  taken  home. . 

iM  caj^ity  to  £«PopQ»  as  also  on  his  return,  and  who  piubUsbed  some  account  of 
Iris  experiences  in  Calcutta,  under  the  title  of  **  Rough  Notes  of  the  State  of  ISer 
paul,**&c.,  Bhim  Siog,  or  lihem  Sen,  committed  suicide.  In  this,  as  in  many  other 
matters,  Mr.  Oliphant  has  followed  the  opinion  of  his  fellow  traveller,  not  only  in 
the  sense,  but  to  the  letter.  Hie  fact!  is,  that  their  notes  were  probably  derived, 
in  that  part  of  the  journey  in  which  they  were  associated,  from  the  same  sources.. 

jiup. — VOL.  XCV.  NO.  CCCLXXX.  2  I 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


474  Jvny  Bahaiun 

In  this  dilemmft  the  king  called  back  MahtalMir  Stngv  the  nepkew  of 
Bhim  8ing,  who  had  fled,  on  his  uncle's  death,  into  British  temtory,  and 
gare  him  the  sanguinary  mission  of  destroying  both  ministeries.  Nine 
of  the  Pandee  chiefs  were  at  once  made  awaj  with  ;  but  it  was  not  so 
easy  to  destroy  the  other  faction,  which  was  sufficiently  powerful  to  get 
the  new  premier  himself  shot,  an  occurrence  which  took  place  in  the 
upper  apartments  of  the  palace.  A  frightful  state  of  anarchy  succeeded 
to  this  murder.  Upwards  of  seventy  chiefs  were  killed,  and  among  them 
the  head  of  the  Chountra  party,  Futty-Jung. 

The  rajah,  who  fled  upon  these  disasters  to  Benares,  where  his  equally 
cruel  ancestor  Run  Bahadur  had  sought  refuge  nearly  fifty  years  bef(Mre, 
was  succeeded  on  the  throne  by  the  heir-apparent,  Mahraja  Girwan 
Juddha  Bickram  Sah,  the  present  King  of  Nepaul,  who  has  done  his 
best  towards  drawing  closer  the  bonds  of  amity  between  the  British  and 
Rhatmardu  courts.  Jung  Bahadur,  the  present  prime  minister  of  the 
King  of  Nepaul,  is  the  son  of  a  brother  of  Mahtabur  Sing,  who  com- 
manded the  army  on  the  north-west  frontier.  He  is  thus  nephew  to  the 
late  prime  minister,  and  grand-nephew  to  the  equally  unfortunate  Bhim 
Sing.  Jung  distinguished  himself,  from  his  earliest  years,  by  a  peculiarly 
bokl,  daring,  and  reckless  disposition ;  and  when  his  uncle,  Mahtabur 
Sing,  was  raised  to  power,  he  organised  a  momentarily  formidable  con- 
spiracy against  his  present  friends,  the  British.  It  does  not  appear,  how- 
ever, that  at  that  time,  although  the  nephew  of  the  prime  minister,  that 
he  was  much  in  favour  with  the  king. 

It  was  perhaps  (says  Mr.  Olipbant)  the  near  relationship  of  Jung  to  the 
prime  minister  that  brought  upon  him  the  ill-will  of  the  prince,  who  treated 
him  with  the  most  unmitigated  animosity,  and  used  every  means  in  his  power 
surreptitbusly  to  destroy  him.  On  one  occasion  he  ordered  him  to  cross  a 
flooded  mountain  torrent  on  horseback,  and  when  he  had  reached  the  middle 
of  the  current,  which  was  so  furiously  rapid  that  his  horse  could  with  difficulty 
keep  his  footing  the  young  prince  suddenly  called  him  back,  hoping  that,  in 
the  act  of  turnmg,  the  force  of  the  stream  would  overpower  both  horse  and 
rider.  This  danger  Jung  escaped,  owing  to  his  great  nerve  and  presence  of 
mind.  In  relating  this  anecdote  he  seemed  to  think  that  liis  life  had  been  in 
more  imminent  peril  than  on  any  otlier  occasion ;  though  the  following  struck 
me  as  being  a  much  more  hazardous  exploit.  After  the  affair  of  the  torrent 
the  prince  was  no  longer  at  any  pains  to  conceal  his  designs  upon  the  life  of 
the  young  adventurer,  and  that  life  being  of  no  particular  value  to  any  one 
but  Jong  himself,  it  was  a  matter  of  perfect  indifference  to  anybody  and  every- 
body whether  the  prince  amused  himself  by  sacrificing  Jung  to  his  own  dis- 
likes or  not.  It  is  by  no  means  an  uncommon  mode  of  execution  in  Nepaul 
to  throw  the  unfortunate  victim  down  a  well:  Jung  had  often  thought  that  it 
was  entirely  the  fault  of  the  aforesaid  victim  if  he  did  not  come  up  again  alive 
and  unhurt.  In  order  to  prove  the  matter  satisfactorily,  and  also  be  prepared 
for  any  case  of  future  emergency,  he  practised  the  art  of  Jumping  down  wells, 
and  finally  perfected  himself  therein.  When,  therefore,  he  heard  that  it  was 
the  intention  of  the  prince  to  throw  him  down  a  well,  he  was  in  no  way  dt^ 
mayed,  and  only  made  one  last  request,  in  a  very  desponding  tone,  which  was, 
that  an  exception  might  be  made  in  his  favour  as  regarded  the  being  cast  dowo» 
and  that  he  might  be  permitted  to  throw  himself  down.  This  was  so  reason- 
able a  request  that  it  was  at  once  granted ;  and,  surrounded  by  a  large  con- 
course of  people — the  prince  himself  being  present  by  way  of  a  momio^s  ^ 
recreation — Jung  repaired  to  the  well,  where,  divesting  himself  of  all  super- 
fluous articles  of  clothing,  and  looking  very  much  as  if  he  were  bidding  adieu 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Jituff^  Bakatbtr.  475 

ftvr  ever  to  the  happy  valley  of  NepauU  he  crossed  bis  legs,  and,  jumping 
boldly  dowoi  was  lost  to  the  view  of  the  prinoe  and  nobles,  a  dull  spU^h  alone 
testi^ing  to  his  arrival  at  the  bottom.  Fortunately  for  Jung  there  was  plenty 
of  water— a  fact  of  which,  most  probably,  he  was  well  aware— and  there  were» 
moreover,  many  chinks  and  crannies  in  the  porous  stone  of  which  the  well 
was  built ;  so,  having  learnt  iiis  lesson,  Jung  clung  dexterously  to  the  side  of 
the  well  until  midnight,  when  his  friends,  who  had  been  previously  apprised  of 
the  part  they  were  to  perform,  came  and  rescued  him  from  his  uncomfortable 
position,  and  secreted  him  until  affairs  took  such  a  turn  as  rendered  it  safe  for 
Jung  Bahadoor  to  resuscitate  himself.  Such  was  the  adventure  of  the  well, 
which,  marvellous  as  it  may  appear,  was  gravely  related  to  me  by  his  excel- 
ency,  who  would  have  been  very  much  scandalised  if  I  had  doubted  it,  which 
of  course  I  did  not. 

Mr.  Oliphant  goes  on  to  relate  a  stoiy  of  Jung  Bahadur  subjugating  a 
miuk  or  rutting  elephant  by  jumping  on  its  necL  It  is  quite  evident 
that  the  friend  of  the  minister  does  not  insist  upon  the  reader  placing 
implicit  credit  in  such  stories,  although  related  by  Jnng  Bahadur  himsell 

The  most  extraordinary  feature  in  Jung  Bahadur's  history,  however, 
is,  that  he  was,  in  otur  social  view  of  the  matter,  the  murderer  of  his  un- 
fortunate uncle,  Mahtabur  Sing ;  at  least,  so  say  Captain  Cavenagh  and 
Mr.  Oliphant  Captain  Smith,  who  was  resident  in  Nepaul  at  the  time, 
gives  a  different,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  a  more  correot>  version  of  this 
stoiry. 

According  to  Mr.  Oliphant,  Mahtabur  Sing  incurred  the  displeasure  of 
the  rani,  by  very  properly  refusing  to  put  to  death  'some  of  her  personal 
enemies.  In  consequence  of  tMs,  she  became  his  implacable  foe — 
applied  to  the  very  party  whom  she  intended  to  destroy,  for  assistance 
in  the  furtherance  of  her  nefarious  designs,  and  the  prime  minister  waa 
doomed  to  fall  a  victim  to  his  own  "  indecision,"  by  the  hands  of  las 
favourite  nephew.  We  cannot  see  here,  how,  if  Jang  Bahadur  was  a 
*^  favourite*'  nephew  of  Mahtabur,  he  could  also  be  one  of  the  party 
whom  the  rani  doomed  to  destruction,  and  who  were  opposed  to  the 
prime  minister. 

One  night,  about  eleven  o'clock,  a  messenger  came  from  the  palace  to  in« 
form  him  (Mahtabur  Sing)  that  his  services  were  required  by  their  majesties-— . 
for  the  queen  had  always  kept  up  a  semblance  of  friendship  with  him.  With- 
out the  slightest  suspicion  he  repaired  to  the  palace,  but  scarcely  had  he  ascended 
the  great  staircase,  and  was  entering  the  room  in  which  their  majesties  were 
seated,  when  the  report  of  a  pistol  rung  through  the  room ;  the  fatal  bullet 
pierced  the  heart  of  the  gallant  old  man,  who  staggered  forward,  and  fell  at  the 
leet  of  the  wretohed  woman  who  had  been  the  instigator  of  the  cruel  murder.  1 

It  is  difficult  to  sav  what  were  the  motives  that  prompted  Jung  Bahadoor 
to  the  perpetration  of  this  detestable  act,  of  which  he  always  speaks  now  in 
terms  of  the  deepest  regret,  but  asserts  that  it  was  an  act  of  necessity,  from 
which  there  was  no  escaping.  The  plea  which  he  invariably  uses  when  refer- 
ring to  the  catastrophe  is,  that  either  his  life  or  his  uncle's  must  have  been 
sacrificed,  and  he  naturally  preferred  that  it  should  be  the  latter.  However 
that  may  be,  the  immediate  eflect  was  the  formation  of  a  new  ministry,  in 
which  Jung  held  office  in  the  capacity  of  commander-in-chief.  The  premier, 
Guggun  Singh,  was  associated  with  two  colleagues.  A  year  had  hardly 
elapsed  before  Guggun  Singh  was  shot  while  sitting  in  his  own  room.  This 
occurred  in  the  year  1846.  A  sirdar  was  taken  up  on  suspicion  of  having 
committed  this  murder,  and  Abiman  Singh,  one  of  the  premier*s  colleagues, 
^ras  ordered  by  the  queen  to  put  him  to  death  ;  as,  however,  the  rajah  would 

2i2 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


476  Jung  BdhaduK 

not  sanction  the  execution,  Abiman  Singb  refused  to  obey  the  codi«aiid«-« 
proceeding  on  his  part  which  seems  to  hare  nosed  a  aospicion  in  the  mind  «f 
Jung  that  be  bad  been  concerned  in  the  assassination.  Tliis  saspicioa  be 
communicated  to  Futteh  Jung,  the  other  colleague  of  tbe  late  prkne  ttiinstef* 
suggesting  that  Abiman  Singh  and  the  sirdar  already  in  euMody  alioakl  be 
forthwith  executed,  and  Futteh  Jung  installed  as  prime  minister.  ¥wtttKk 
Jung,  however,  refused  to  accede  to  so  stfoog  a  meaaure ;  ai^d  Joi^.  who*  was 
not  of  a  nature  to  be  thwarted  in  bk  plaoa»  determined  upon  temporarily  de> 
priviag  him  of  bis  libecty,  in  order  to  enable  bim  to  put  the  design  into  exe- 
cution himself. 

He  bad  no  sooner  decided  upon  his  Kne  of  conduct  than  he  displayed  ilie 
utmost  resohition  in  carrying  it  out.  On  the  same  Difiht,  and  whfW  at  the 
palace,  the  suspicions  which  Jung  already  entertained  were  cenfinned,.  by  hm 
obsenring  that  Abiman  Singjh  ordered  hi»  men  to  load.  It  was  no  time  for 
hesitation.  The  two  coUeagues,  with  many  of  their  adherents,  were  assembled 
in  the  large  hall,  where  the  queen,  in  a  highly-excited  state^  was  insisting  upon 
an  immediate  disclosure  of  the  murderer  of  Gugguu  Singb,  who  was  supposed 
to  have  been  her  panmour*  At  ibis  moment^  Jung  gave  the  signal  for  the 
seizure  of  Futteh  Jung.  The  attempt  waa  no  sooner  made  Uian  his  son, 
Karak  Bikram  Sab,  imagining  that  his  iather's  life  was  at  stake*  rushed  for- 
ward to  save  him,  and  seiitng  a  kukri,  had  already  dealt  Bum  Bahadoor  a 
severe  blow,  when  he  was  cut  down  by  Dere  Shum  Shere  Bahadoor,  then  a 
yonth  of  sixteen  or  seventeen. 

Futteh  Jung,  vowing  vengeance  on  the  murderers  of  his  son,  sprang  forwai:d 
to  avenge  his  death,  and  in  another  moment.  Bum  Bahadoor.  already  seriously 
wonnd^,  would  have  fiillen  at  his  feet,  when  the  report  of  a  rifle  rang  tiiroueh 
the  hall,  and  the  timely  buUet  sped  by  the  hand  ot  Jung  Bahadoor  laid  toe 
galYant  father  by  the  side  of  bis  no  less  gallant  son* 

Thus  Jung's  ooupd'Uai  had  taken  rather  a  different  turn  from  what  he  had 
intended ;  the  die,  however,  was  oast»  and  everything  depended  upon  his 
coolness  afid  dedsion  in  the  trying  circumstances  in  which  he  was  placed. 
Though  he  may  have  felt  that  his  life  was  in  most  imminent  peril,  it  is 
difficult  to  conceive  how  any  man  could  attain  to  such  a  pitch  of  cool 
desperation  as  to  enact  the  scene  which  closed  this  frightful  tragedy.  There 
still  confronted  him  fourteen  of  iJhe  nobles  whose  leader  Imd  been  slain  before 
their  eyes,  and  who  thirsted  for  vengeance :  but  tlie  appearance  at  his  side  of 
that  faithful  body-guard,  on  whose  fidelity  the  safety  of  the  minister  has  moVe 
than  once  depended,  preohided  them  from  seising  tlie  murderer  of  their  chief. 
It  was  but  too  dear  to  those  unhappy  men  what  was  to  be  the  last  act  of  this 
tragedy.  Jung  received  the  rifle  from  the  hand  of  the  man  next  him,  and 
levelled  it  at  the  foremost  of  the  little  band.  Fourteen  times  did  ttiat  fatal 
report  ring  through  the  lull  as  one  by  one  the  rifles  were  handed  to  one  who 
wonld  trust  no  eye  but  his  own,  and  at  each  shot  another  noble  lay  stretched 
on  the  gronnd*  Abiman  Singh  alone  escaped  tlie  deadly  aim ;  he  managed  to 
reach  the  door,  bat  there  he  was  cnt  almost  in  two  by  the  sword  of  Krishn 
Bahadoor. 

Thus,  in  a  few  moments,  and  by  his  own  hand,  had  Jung  rid  himself  of 
those  whom  he  most  feared.  In  that  one  room  lay  the  corpses  of  the  highest 
nobles  of  the  land,  shrouded  by  the  dense  smoke  still' hangine  in  the  confined 
atmosphere,  as  if  to  hide  the  horrors  of  a  tragedy  tiiat  would  <not  bear  the 
light  of  day.  The  massacre  now  went  on  in  all  parts  of  the  building*  Cfeie 
hundred  and  fifty  sirdars  perished  on  that  eventful  night*  and  the  pai^ic  was 
wide-spread  and  geneial.  Before  day  had  dawned  Jung  Raliadoor  had  been 
aptjointied  prime  minister  of  Nepaul,  and  had  placed  guards  over  the  arsenal* 
treasury,  end  palace. 

In  the  mommg  the  troops  were  all  drawn  up  0n  parade ;  bdbte  them'w^re 
glacedf  in  a  gliastiy  heap,  the  bodies  of  their  Ittte  commandersitof  which- Jdng 
pointed,  as  he  assured  the  army  that  it  wovld  fittd  in  hlw  all  that  liihadj^er 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


JungBufiafivr.  477 

feund  w  tiieiiift.ai)d  be  coosoled  loanjr  of  the  officers  in  a  great  measure  for  the 
•loflb  they  bad  just  anstaiDed  by  granting  them  immediate  promotion.  It  seems 
Ml  eaaj  for  a  darivg  adventurer  to  gain  the  affections  of  an  army  in  India  as  in 
Buropa^  and  Jung  found  no  difficulty  in  reconciling  his  Gborkas  to  a  change 
of  ooauiaD4en»  and  they  have  ever  since  professed  the  greatest  devotion  to  his 
|»cnoB. 

Jong  Bahadur  having  thus,  aoeording  to  his  own  atatemen^  risea  to 
power  by  almost  indiscriminate  slaughter,  he  had  himself,  in  his  turn,  to 
use  the  utmost  caution,  lest  the  partizans  of  those  whom  he  had  massacred 
«hould  suooeed  ia  ozganisiog  a  conspiracy  anijut  his  life.  A  sirdar,  Mr. 
Oiiphant  tells  us,  was  put  to  death,  simply  because  he  had  a  private  audi- 
-ence  whk  the  king  I 

Circumstances  soon  showed  that  Jung  had  good  reason  to  feel  the  insecurity 
of  his  position.  The  two  elder  princes,  sons  of  a  former  queen,  had  been  for 
some  time  in  confinement,  and  the  ranee  now  attempted  to  induce  Jung  to 
put  them  to  death,  in  order  to  secure  the  throne  for  one  of  her  own  sons. 
This  he  positively  refused  to  do,  and  his  refusal  brought  upon  lum  the  wrath 
of  this  vindictive  woman,  whose  vengeance  had  already  been  so  signally 
wreaked  on  his  uncle  by  hb  own  instrumentality. 

He  had  not  played  so  prominent  a  part  on  that  occasion  without  profiting 
^by  the  lesson  he  had  learnt ;  and  knowing  well  the  character  of  the  woman 
with  whom  he  had  to  deal,  he  took  care  to  obtain  accurate  intelligence  of  all 
that  transpired  at  court. 

Information  soon  reached  him  that  a  plot  was  formed  against  his  life,  and 
tliat  the  post  of  premier  had  already  been  promised  to  his  intended  murderer, 
as  a  reward  for  so  dangerous  a  service.  Once  more  the  command,  which  had 
proved  so  fatal  to  Mahtabar  Singh,  issued  from  the  palace,  desiring  the  imme- 
diate attendance  of  the  minister ;  the  messenger  was  the  very  man  at  whose 
hand  Jung  was  to  meet  his  doom.  He  had  Karcely  delivered  his  treacherous 
message,  when  he  was  struck  to  the  ground  by  one  of  \\\t  attendants  of  the 
prime  minister.  Jung  then  proceeded  on  his  way  to  the  palace,  wliere  he  at 
once  demanded  of  the  rajah  to  be  dismissed  from  office,  or  to  be  furnished 
with  authority  to  order  the  destruction  of  all  the  enemies  of  the  heir-apparent. 
The  king  could  not  refuse  to  grant  the  authority  demanded  s  and  it  was  no 
^oner  granted  than  Jung  seizra  and  beheaded  all  the  adherents  of  the  con- 
spirator. 

As  the  ranee  herself  was  the  most  inveterate  enemv  of  the  young  prince, 
the  rajah's  order  was  at  once  carried  kito  effect  against  her,  and,  to  her  mfinite 
astonishment,  she  was  informed  by  Jung  that  she  was  to  leave  Nepau]  imme- 
diately, accompanied  by  her  two  sons.  It  was  of  no  use  to  resist  the  suc- 
cessful young  adventurer,  whose  indomitable  courage  and  good  fortune  liad 
triumphed  over  the  plots  and  intrigues  of  his  enemies,  and  wlto  thus  saw 
himself  freed  from  every  obstacle  to  his  quiet  possession  of  the  government. 

The  rajah  accompanied  the  queen  to  Benares.  Meantime  the  heir-apparent 
was  raised  to  the  throne,  and  the  whole  administrative  power  vested  in  his 
minister. 

The  old  moDarch,  upon  hearing  of  his  son's  installation  as  rajah, 
evioeed,  for  the  first  and  last  time  of  his  life,  some  interest  in  proceedings 
by  which  he  himself  was  so  seriously  affected ;  and  the  result  was  a  de- 
termination not  to  relinquish  his  throne  vnthout  a  final  struggle.  Urged 
to  this  course,  probably,  by  the  persuasions  of  the  ambitious  and  disap- 
pointed rani,  he  coUected  a  few  followers,  and  crossed  the  southern  fron- 
tier of  Nepaul.  Jung,  however,  had  received  timely  notice  of  his  inten- 
tion, and  the  luckless  king  had  no  sooner  encamped  in  the  Nepaul 
dominions  than  he  was  surprised  at  night  by  the  troops  of  the  minister, 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


478  Jung  Bahaiimr. 

and  his  gmall  forces  utletlf  routed,  four  or  Sto  handled  xenuDnhig  kilkd 

or  wounded  upon  the  field.  The  rajah  himself  was  taken  prisoQer,  and 
placed  in  conmiement,  hj  the  dutiful  son  who  now  occupies  the  throne, 
and  who  sometimes  aUows  him,  on  grand  occasions,  to  take  his  seat  upon 
it  next  himself. 

Such  (says  Mr.  Oliphant)  was  the  rapid  rise  to  power  at  the  early  age  of 
thirty  of  General  Jung  Bahadoor,  the  Ne[)aulese  ambassador  to  England,  who 
would  have  been  invested  with  a  deeper  interest  than  the  mere  colour  of  his 
face  OT  brilliancy  of  his  diamonds  entitled  him  to,  had  the  British  pubBc 
known  the  foregoing  particulars  of  his  eventful  career.  Bot,  pertaips,  it  was 
•swell  for  him  that  they  did  not,  since  our  occidental  notions  as  to  the 
legitimate  method  of  carrying  political  measures  might  have  altogether  exr 
eluded  him  from  the  favour  of  those  who  delighted  to  honour  him  during  his 
visit  to  England  ;  but,  in  extenuation  of  his  conduct,  it  must  be  remembered 
that  the  mode  employed  by  him  of  gaining  power  is  the  common  one  in  his 
country,  and  that  his  early  training  bad  induced  a  disregard  of  life  and  reck- 
lessness of  consequences ;  for  he  is  not,  I  am  convinced,  naturally  cruel.  Im- 
petuous and  tlioughtless,  he  has  mauy  generous  and  noble  qualities ;  and  in  a 
companionship  of  two  months  I  discovered  so  many  estimable  traits  in  him, 
that  I  could  not  help  making  allowances  for  the  defects  in  a  character  entirely 
self-formed  by  one  ignorant  of  all  moral  responsibilities,  the  half-tamed  son 
of  an  almost  totally  uncivilised  country. 

And  while  thus  unreservedly  relating  his  history,  I  do  so  in  the  belief  that 
he  has  no  desire  to  conceal  what,  in  his  own  mind  and  that  of  his  countrymen, 
is  not  regarded  as  crime,  since  I  have  frequently  beard  him  refer,  with  all  ciie 
simplicity  of  conscious  innocence,  to  many  of  the  facts  I  have  related,  and  for 
some  of  which  he  himself  is  my  authority. 

The  account  given  of  Jung  Bahadur's  rise,  by  Captain  Egertou,  in  has 
**  Journal  of  a  Winter's  Tour  in  India,"  &c.,  differs  materially  from  that 

fiven  by  Captain  Cavenagh  and  Mr.  Oliphant,  and  which,  being  evidently 
erived  from  Jung  Bahadur  himself,  cannot  but  be  considered  as  at  once 
one-sided  and  highly  coloured ;  and,  indeed,  is  on  many  accounts  not  to 
be  depended  upon. 

I  heard  to  day  (relates  Captain  Egerton)  what  I  suppose  is  the  true  history 
of  our  friend  Jung*s  accession  to  power.  The  first  move  was  the  assassination 
of  a  certain  general,  Guggun  Singh,  a  great  friend  and  ally  of  the  queen,  or 
mabaranee.  In  the  confusion  arising  from  that  murder,  three  other  chiefe 
were  assassinated ;  by  whom  nobody  seems  to  know,  but  probably  friend  Jung 
was  at  the  bottom  of  ic  One  was  also  cut  down  by  Budree  Nur  Sing.  The 
maharanee's  object  seems  all  along  to  have  been  the  placing  her  own  son  on 
the  throne,  which  she  could  only  contrive  by  removing  the  king's  son  (the 
present  rajah).    This  Jnng  would  not  at  all  agree  to.    (He  was  then  not 

E rime-minister,  I  believe,  but  a  man  of  authority  in  the  army.)  So  the  good 
idy  settled  to  do  away  with  him  too.  She  had  long  been  the  real  ruler  of  the 
coantry,  and  had  not  been  sparing  of  blood  in  enforcing  her  authority,  tto 
jatriiarajah  havisg  taken  hiaaself  off  to  Patau,  in  a  fright,  soon  after  the  j~ 


aacre  of  the  chie&  before-mentioned.  In  farthemnoe  of  her  pkas,  she  git 
another  friend  of  hers  appointed  prime  minister,  with  power  to^et  rid  of  her 
enemies.  Jung,  however,  got  intimation  of  this,  and  summoning  his  frienda> 
he  started  instantly  for  the  durbar,  where  he  found  tiie  maharajah  and  the 
heir*apparent  together.  On  his  way  he  met  the  new  loudUani  prime-miniatel; 
and  after  a  few  civil  remarks  on  that  gentleman's  condoct,  he  effeotuailyfltoppad 
his  game,  by  making  a  sign  to  an  attendant,  who  iustanlAy  kiiM  him  with  a 
riiMhot.  That  enen^  mioved,  he  bad  little  difficaky  in  gettaag  xid  oC^he 
reouioder.    The  maharauee  and  her  sons  were  sent  to  Beniuea,  whither  She 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


JifHg  JEkihadm.  470 

aaharajab,  after  his  disposition,  subsequently  followed  them^  and  Jung  has 
eier  since  been  in  possession  of  the  supreme  power. 

Both  Captain  Smith  and  Mr.  Oliphant  unite' in  ridiculing  the  zeoeption 
«¥en  to  Jung  Bahadur  and  his  lelativee  upon  the  occasion  of  his  visit  to 
this  country — ^for  it  is  absurd  to  call  that  an  embassy  which  was  self* 
saggested — as  also  the  ludicrous  notion  entertained  by  the  English  of 
Nepaul  generally,  and  of  Jung  Bahadur  and  his  companions  in  particular. 
The  world  cared  nol^  however,  for  the  antecedents  of  Jung  Bahadur  and 
his  brothers  and  suite  ;  it  was  sufficient  that  their  costume  was  spleB^tidlj 
martial,  their  bearing  gaHant,  their  liberality  profoae,  and  their  diamonui 
ttnd  pearls  undeniable.  The  plun  "  generaP  was  immediately  elevated 
to  the  titular  distinction  of  ^'prince,''  and  the  digni^  conferred  by 
common  consent  on  his  stolid,  tartar-looking  brothers.  Invitations  from 
every  distinguished  host  or  hostess  rained  upon  them,  and  "  his  excel* 
lency^'  figured  daily  in  the  Morning  Past  as  the  g^uest  at  some  soiree^  or 
Ae  visitor  of  some  public  place  of  amusement.  ^*  The  Peninsular  and 
Oriental  Company,  says  Captain  Smith, ''  in  one  of  whose  fine  steamers 
they  had  come  to  England  at  a  charge  of  5000)?.,  gave  them  a  baU.  The 
artillery  at  "Woolwich,  the  Guards  in  the  park,  were  reviewed  before  them  : 
and  the  military  authorities  (risum  teneaits)  coveted  their  critical  applause! 
Managers  of  public  places  of  recreation  held  out  their  coming,  as  baits  to 
the  populace  :  and  tne  baits  took,  though  the  prince  did  not  always  go. 
The  press,  aroused  at  the  excitement  the  '  illustrious  strangers'  produced, 
devoted  articles  to  brief  (and  erroneous)  descriptions  of  Nepaul,  circu- 
lated a  variety  of  absurd,  apocryphal  anecdotes,  and  wrote  lively  satirea 
of  their  appearance." 

Notwithstanding  the  frivolous  character  of  many  rf  these  anecdotes, 
and  the  weaknesses  of  the  oriental  chief,  which  were  more  paraded  thm 
his  virtues,  it  would  appear  frx)m  Mr.  Oliphant's  account,  that  he  has  been 
fiir  from  deriving  no  advantages,  moral  or  intellectual,  from  his  visit  to 
Europe. 

Many  stories  were  related,  when  Jung  Bahadur  was  in  this  country,  of 
Us  prowess  as  a  marksman  ;  Mr.  Olipmnt  corroborates  these  statements, 
by  what  he  himself  witnessed  on  his  voyage  to  Calcutta. 

Time  never  seemed  to  bang  heavy  on  the  bands  of  the  Minister  Sahib,  for 
that  was  his  more  ordinary  appellation ;  rifle  practice  was  a  daiW  occupation 
witli  him,  and  usually  lasted  two  hours.  Surrounded  by  those  of  bis  suite  in 
whoae  peooliar  department  was  the  chaise  of  tlie  magnificent  batteiy  be  had 
•a  boani,  he  used  to  take  up  his  station  on  the  poopi,  and  the  crack  of  the 
Me  was  almost  invariably  followed  by  an  excJamatice  of  delight  from  some  of 
km  attendants,  as  the  bottle^  bobbing  &r  astern*  was  svink  for  ever ;  or  the 
thtee  strung,  one  below  the  other,  from  the  end  of  tbe  fore»>3'ard-ann,  were 
siMttertd  by  three  succeswre  bullets  in  almost  the  same  number  of  seconds. 
Sialol  praetice  succeeded  that  of  the  rifle,  and  the  ace  of  hearts,  at  fifteen 
paces  was  a  anirk  keimreiy  nusod. 

Then  the  dogs  were  to  be  Uaiaed,  and  in  a  very  peculiar  manner.  A  kid 
wum  diagsed  akng  the  deck  before  the  noses  of  two  handsome  stag-bounds» 
mbo,  iktle  SHspecttng  that  a  huge  hunting-whip  was  concealed  in  the  folds  of 
Ihairfn— iiji^s  dres^  were  usMdde  te  lesist  so  tempting  a  victim,  and  invariably 
amde  at  rash  -upon  it,-~a  prooeedtng  which  brought  down  upon  them  the 
kes^tkaagef  the  Minister  fiehib'a  iwlitp  in  tbe  most  remorselesB  manner. 
n>t  taskwoBom^ished  i»  his  salisfiKtuMi,  and  not  being  abb  to  think  of  anyr 


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480  Jung  Bukpuiur. 

thing  else  wherewith  to  amuse  biqsself,  it  would  occur  to  i^im  tbat  liis.b»s% 
ha^iog  thrown  out  a  spliut  from  standing  so  long,  ought  to  be  physicked.  Gb 
was  accordingly  made  to  swallow  a  quantity  of  raw  bi^ndy  t  It  was  useless  to 
auggett  any  other  mode  of  treatment,  eitlier  of  horse  or  dogs.  Tlie  general 
laughed  at  my  ignoraaee,  end  challenged  me  to  a  game  of  backgammon.  Occs* 
vionally  gyoraaaties  or  jumping  wera  the  order  of  the  day,  asd  be  was  so  fi^ 
and  active  that  few  could  compete  with  him  at  either* 
*  WfaSe  smoking  hia  evaniog  pipe,  he  ti^  to.  talk  with  defig4it  of  lib 
«isit  to  Europe,  looking  back  wilh  regret  on.  tha  gaietiea  of  the  Englislt 
and  French  capitals,  and  recounting  with  admiration  the  wonders  of  eiyi- 
liaation  he  had  seen  in  those  cities.  Mr.  CMiphant  was  partioiiho'ly  taken 
with  the  youngest  of  the  brothers,  Dhir  Shum  Shir,  he  was,  he  says,  the 
nott  jovial,  li^t^heavted,  and  thonmgUy  tinselfish  being  inoaginable,  and 
brave  as  a  -lion,  as  Kcent  ev«nt8  in  lfepa«d  have  proved.  Hia  merits 
were,  alas !  entbely  passed  over  in  England,  the  more  elevated  position 
of  the  Minister  Sahib  moaopoliaiQg  all  the  attention  of  die  lion-kmng 
public. 

JungBahador  took  to  himaelf  a  wile  at  Benarea,  and  this  was  no  less  a 
pereonage  than  the  second  datoghter  of  his  highness  Prince  Bir  Rajanda^ 
ex^RajiSi  of  Corg.  The  Princess  Gouramma,  now  Victoria,  who  was 
lately  admitted  into  the  Christian  Church  under  the  spoDSorship  of  her 
Most  Gtacious  Majesty,  is  a  younger  daughter  of  the  same  i«jafa  by 
another  rani. 

The  old  n^ah,  with  all  dae  deference,  must  be  a  bit  of  a  latitudioanan 
ia  the  disposal  of  his  daughters.  One  he  hands  over  hastily  to  a  bird  of 
passage,  a  Hindu  with  Tartar  blood  in  his  veins,  and  one  of  the  most 
intelligent,  but  least  scrupulous,  adventurers  of  his  time,  perhaps,  in  the 
East ;  anothw  he  humbiy  consigns  to  a  religion  of  meclcness  and  self- 
denial,  and  to  the  g^ardhui^ip  of  our  most  gracious  sovereign !  Mr. 
Oiiphant's  ideas  of  the  old  rajah  were  quite  different  to  this.  He  saw 
nothing  but  a  speculative,  bigotted  old  Hindu  in  ^  now  liberal  and  en- 
lightened rajah. 

The  fact  u,  that  the  old  Hindu  eould  in  reality  have  cared  very  litlie 
for  Gungahmah — for  such  is  the  euphonous  name  of  Jung's  wilb*— bein^ 
seen  by  eyes  pro&ae^  or  he  would  never  have  allowed  his  favoaiCte 
Gouramma  to  become  a  Christian.  Gungahmah,  however  invisible  at 
Benares,  was  critically  examined  at  Jung  Bahadur's  camp. 

Leaving  Jaunpore  about  midnight,  I  reached  the  camp  of  June  Bahadooroa 
the  following  day.  The  scene  as  we  approached  was  in  the  highest  degree 
picturesque ;  5000  Nepaulese  were  here  collected,  foUowers,iD  various  capaci- 
ties, of  the  prime  minister,  whose  tents  were  pitched-at  a  little  distance  frssi 
the  grove  of  mango-trees  which  sheltered  his  army  and  retainers.  On  ear 
arrival  he  was  out  shooting,  so,  mountina  an  elephant,  we  proceeded  to  join 
him.  We  heard  such  frequent  reports  of  fire-arms  tliat  we  fully  expected  to 
find  excellent  sport ;  great  was  my  disappointment,  Uierefore»  when  I  saw  hia 
surrounded  by  some  twenty  or  thu-ty  foltowers,  who  held  umbrellas,  loaded  his. 
guns,  rushed  to  pick  up  thegam^,  or  looked  on  applaudingly  while  he  steaUliligr 
crept  up  to  take  a  deliberate  pot  shot  at  some  unlucky  parrot  or  small  biia 
that  might  catch  his  eye  as  it  perched  on  a  branch,  or  fluUered  uacoosciouit^ 
amongst  the  leaves.  But  the  most  interesting  object  in  the  group  was  ikf^ 
lately -wedded  bride,  who  was  seated  in  a  howdah»  Juqg  iotroducad  hss.fto 
me  as  "  his  beautiful  Missis''— a  description  she  finUyd^s/si}.  -She  «as.9fl9 


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Jung  Bahmlur.  .481 

lhm<fi$ome,  and  r^flect^  much  credit  on  the  taste  of  the  happy  bridegrooni, 
iR^o  seemed  pleased  when  we  expressed  our  approval  of  his  choice. 

On  the^  way  from  Benares  to  Katmandu,  the  renowned.  Turai  had 
to  be  passed*  This  Is  a  long  narrow  atrip  of  territory,  extending  for  300 
mileaalo^g  theo^ortheru  frontier  of  Britiah  Indi|i,  and  about  twenty  miles 
in  breadth.  The  whole  tinaot  ia  a  dead  level.  About  ten  miles  of  this 
Mpmn-  to  b»  o06UBi«l'  by  vaat  :fon9it8  of  the  yakaUe  sa^il  troar  Beyond 
tne  Turn  are  the  Chariafatty  hiUs,  a  sandstone  range,  which  preBented  a 
dangerous  and  foraaidable  ohntacle  to  the  progress  of  our  army,  and  soma 
4ii  tibe  sBvecast  fighttiag  took  place  in  these  faUla  in  1816,  during  tim  Ne* 
paulese.war. 

The  principal  sources  of  revenue  deriv^  from  the  Turai,  are  the  land 
tfks,.  a^  the  receipts  from  the  pale  of  licenses,  lor  felling  timber,  and  for 
spaaing  cattle*  The  Ifttge  amcyunt  thus  jreceiTed,  together  with  the 
sumber  of  elef  haintS:  which  are  annually  caught  in  the  great  forest,  render 
the  Turai  a  most  valuable  appendage  to  the  Nepaul  dominions.  Still 
^e  Turai,  Mr.  Ollphant  saya,  might  be  made  yet  more  profitable.  At 
present,  no  uae  whatever  is  made  of  the  hides  and  horns  of  the  hundreds 
9f  bead  of  cattle  that  die  ^<  daily"  (?)  in  this  district,  and  which  are  lefib 
tp  rot  on  the  carcases  of  the  beasts.  Such  a  belt  of  forest-jungle  and  marsh 
i$  naturally,,  in  such  a  climate^  a  rich  foous  of  disease*  For  nine  months  of 
the  year  a  malady,  denominated  by  the  natives  the  Ayul,  renders  it  impaas* 
aUa  ^viSn  to  the  natives  tfaemselves.  The  native  superstition  is,  that  the 
air  is  poisoned  by  the. breath  of  serpents  and  noidous  animals.  GcBtm 
and  cretmidm  are  also  prevalent. 

.  Besides  elephants,  rhinoceroses,  immense-sised  wild  oxen,  bears,  alliga* 
topTS^  and  wild  dogs,  abound  in  the  forests  and  marshes  of  NepauL 
Aoourate  information  upon  subjects  of  natural  history  cannot  be  ex* 
pected  from  accidental  travellers,  like  Cavenagh,  Smith,  and  Oliphant; 
W  both  of  the  latter  relate  many  sporting  scenes  ^lacted  with  these 
monsters  of  the  forest,  which  are  equally  curious  and  interesting.  A 
statement  regarding  the  musk-deer  ia  so  xio^l  as  to  be  well  worthy  of 
extraoting. 

The  mosknieer,  although  one  of  the  most  timid  and  harmless,  is  at  the 
SjBjne  time  one  of  the  most  deadly  enemies  the  viper  and  adder  have  in 
the  hills,  and  its  mode  of  destroying  them  is  curious.  The  ground. oo 
which  the  musk-deer  are  generally  found  contains  likewise  large  numbers 
of  the  small  hill-adder,  a  reptile  little  more  than  eighteen  inches  long, 
hut  very  venomous.  It  throws  itself  in  the  way  of  man  or  beast,  and 
invariably  bittes  them.  The  musk-deer,  however,  seek  for  and  destroy  the 
adders,  wherever  they  And  them,  in  the  following  manner.  The  deeis 
tMvel  generally  in  pairs;  the  first  that  discovers  an  adder,  gives  a  sharp 
snort  through  the  nostril,  when  the  other  deer  immediately  comes  to  its  side. 
Tile  two  now  commence  a  series  of  the  most  eccentric  gambols,  jumping  and 
skipping  about,  over  each  other*s  backs,  and  running  round  the  viper  in  a  circle 
(I  may  here  mention  that  the  inner  hoof  of  the  musk-deer  is  black  and  hard 
and  as  sharp  as  a  knife),  and  after  jumping  over  the  adder  for  five  or  six 
nlfnutes,  the  male  strikes  it  with  the  fore-foot  so  rapidly,  that  the  eye  cannot 
fbfbw  It;  and  the  adder  is  thereby  immediately  destroyed.  He  then,  with  two 
bl6W9,  seven  the  head  from  the  body,  after  which  he  di^lays  his  triumph  and 
satisfection  by  a  series  of  gahibdis  round  and  over  the  dead  adder  and  then 
Ilss  down.    On  these  occasions  the  musk-deer  is  invariably  followed  by  a 


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MS  Jwtg  Bakadwr. 

hrgo  hnnwrd  or  kite,  who,  as  eooa  as  the  ^r  lies  d^WDi  flies  to  and  eunm 
off  the  headless  body  of  tlie  dead  adder  to  the  nearest  rock  and  there  devoiw 
it.  The  charge  of  camivorousness,  kid  to  the  poor  musk  by  the  igooiant 
natives,  is  thus  accounted  for  and  removed.  I  may  add  that  the  favourite 
food  of  the  musk-deer  is  a  bulbous  kind  of  wild  garlic,  for  the  digging  up  of 
which  nature  has  provided  the  male  with  two  small  tusks  tn  the  upper  jaw, 
about  three  indies  long,  and  of  the  thickness  of  a  common  quill ;  with  these 
he  digs  up  the  bulb,  which  smells  as  powerfully,  when  fresh,  as  the  strongot 
omitk,  and  from  thia  food  undoubtedly  the  glutinous  and  nuaky  matter  nstt- 
4nined  in  the  bag  of  the  deer  ia  generated. 

Toretnrn,  however,  to  our  hero,  Jung  Bahadur,  Mr.  Olipfaant  describes 
Jus  brilliant  reception  by  the  court  of  Katmandu;  and  yet  this  honourable 
TBception  was  succeedea,  only  a  week  afterwards,  by  an  attempt  made 
upon  hiB  life  by  Run  Bahadur,  one  of  his  brothers,  itho  had  aoted  ai 
prime  minister  during  his  absence  in  Europe  I  Certain  it  is,  both  from 
the  testimony  of  Captain  Smith  and  of  Mr.  Olipfaant,  that  the  positton 
of  Jung  Bahadur  in  Nepanl,  where  he  is  now  supposed  to  be  t^e  advo^ 
cate  of  European  manners  and  civilisation,  is  at  once  unpopular  and 
exceedingly  dangerous. 

Upon  his  arrival  at  Nepaul,  Jung  Bahadoor  became  the  victim  of  mudk 
obloQuy.  Jealous  of  the  exalted  position  and  influence  he  had  acquired,  some 
people  about  the  court  conspired  to  displace  him  from  the  command  of  the 
army ;  and  in  the  attempt  to  accomplish  this  end,  they  foimd  a  ready  agent  in 
one  of  the  men  who  had  accompanied  him  to  England.  This  man  trumped 
up  a  story  that  he  had  lost  his  caste  by  associating,  eating  «nd  drinking  with 
people  of  a  low  csLSte—pariakt,  in  fact — for  such  he  regarded  the  Engliab. 
Notntng  could  be  more  untrue. 

Jung  Baiiadoor  was  a  most  rigid  observer  of  the  usages  enjomed  by  his 
religion,  never  going  anywhere  unless  arrangements  could  be  made  for  his 
dining  with  his  own  suite,  and  in  a  retired  and  exclusive  apartment.  De* 
nounced  for  his  alleged  violations  of  the  practices  of  devout  Bralnnins,  he 
took  a  signal  vengeance  on  his  calumniator.  Assembling  the  traces  on 
parade,  he  called  the  offender  before  him  ;  and  challenging  him  to  an  open 
accusation,  the  wretch  fell  on  his  knees,  declared  himself  most  unworthy,  and 
entreated  pardon.  Jung  Bahadoor  turned  upon  him  like  a  tiger,  applied  to 
him  all  the  horrible  epithets  with  which  the  Hindoo  vocabulary  abounds,  and 
then  commanding  some  soldiers  to  throw  him  to  the  ground,  caused  the  most 
shocking  indignities  to  be  offered  to  his  person. 

This  crush«l  tlie  conspiracy :  and  from  that  time  to  the  present,  he  has 
continued  uninterruptedly  in  the  possession  of  his  office  of  commander-in- 
chief. 

Mr.  Oliphant,  also,  after  detailmg  his  own  personal  convictions  that 
Jung  Bahadur  is  doing  everythine^  in  his  power  to  ameliorate  the  condi- 
tion of  his  countrymen,  and  to  mtroduce  more  liberal  and  enlightened 
views  with  regard  to  their  intercourse  with  Europeans,  gives  meianchdy 
avidence  as  to  the  obstacles  by  which  the  minister  is  beset. 

It  cannot  but  be  regretted  that  with  so  pure  an  object  he  should  be  totally 
without  co-operaition  from  any  quarter.  The  young  king,  capable  onl|y 
<kf  aiding  in  nefiirious  schemes,  such  as  those  already  recounted,  can  in  no 
•way  comprehend  the  new-fangled  phiknthropic  views  of  the  prime  mioiatcr. 
He  cares  little  about  the  welfare  of  his  country;  his  amusement  seenato 
consist  in  concocting  and  executing  bloody  designs^,  and  his  mind  muit.be 
«o  accustomed  to  these  species  of  excitement  that  it  can  scarce  do  wilhont 


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Jung  Bahadur.  483 

it.  It  is  nnfortiinate  that  the  rajah's  hobby  should  lie  in  this  peculiar  direc- 
tion, more  unfortunate  still  that  the  contemplated  victim  should  be  Jung;  for 
I  presume  that  there  is  little  doubt  that  Ibe  king's  brother,  who  was  engaged 
in  tlie  last  conspiracy  against  the  minister's  Hfe — which  took  place  a  few  day's 
after  my  visit — ^must  have  acted  with  the  knowledge,  and  most  probably  at  the 
iDBtigation,  of  his  maiesty. 

Nor  can  Jung  look  to  his  brothers  for  support  as  in  times  of  old  :  one  of 
them,  whom  he  esteemed  amongst  the  most  faithful,  was,  as  before  mentioned, 
deqply  implicated  in  the  same  attempt  on  his  life;  and  there  is  no  one  now  on 
whom  he  can  confidently  depend  in  the  hour  of  need  except  the  two  youngest 
of  the  family,  who  accompanied  him.  to  England,  and  whom  I  consider  thc^ 
roughly  devoted  to  his  interests.  Deserted  by  his  king,  who  owes  this 
throne  to  him,  his  life  conspired  against  by  one  or  his  own  brothers,  bound  to 
him  by  the  yet  stronger  ties  of  blood,  he  stands  alone  a  mark  for  the  dagger 
of  any  one  who  would  win  tlie  approval  of  his  degraded  sovereign.  Buthis 
bearing  is  not  the  less  bold,  or  his  eye  less  piercing,  as  he  makes  the  man  quail 
before  him  who  is  that  moment  planning  his  destruction.  He  anticipates  the 
fate  of  his  fourteen  predecessors  ;  they  were  all  assasainated  I  His  predeces- 
sors, however,  did  not  surround  themselves  with  a  guard  armed  with  rifles 
always  loaded.  In  all  probabilitv  the  man  who  takes  the  life  of  the  prime 
minister  will  do  so  at  the  price  of  [lis  owu.  So  securely  guarded  is  he,  and  so 
careful  of  his  own  safe^,  that  I  cannot  but  hope  he  may  live  to  frustrate  the 
designs  of  his  enemies,  and  to  carry  out  that  enlighteued  policy  which,  while  it 
morally  elevates  the  people,  would  develop  the  resources  of  a  country  possess^ 
ing  many  natural  advantages,  in  its  delightful  climate,  fertile  soil,  and  indus- 
tnous  population.  Valleys  unvisited  by  civilisation,  save  as  received  through 
the  m^ium  of  a  few  semi*barbarous  travellers,  may  contain  treasures  which 
they  are  now  unknown  to  possess  ;  mines  of  copper,  lead,  and  antimony^  now 
elumsily  worked,  may  be  made  to  yield  of  their  abundance ;  tracts  of  uncul* 
tivated  lands  be  brought  into  rich  cultivation,  and  efficient  means  of  transport 
would  carry  their  transport  far  and  wide  through  the  country.  Katmandu 
itself  would  be  on  the  high  road  for  the  costly  trade  of  Chinese  Tartary  and 
Thibet  with  the  provinces  of  Upper  India. 

Alas !  it  18  not  likely  that  either  Lancaster's  or  Purdie's  rifles  will  long 
protect  the  life  of  a  man  who  is  charged  with  losing  caste,  who  wishes  to 
mtroduce  European  customs  and  habits  Into  his  country ;  who  is  suspected 
of  heresy,  is  surrounded  by  enemies,  and  is  alike  feared  and  hated  by 
ihe  king !  With  all  his  faults,  however,  we  cannot  but  wish  him  suocen 
in  his  philanthropic  objects,  and  though  the  result  must  be  either  a 
reyolution  favourable  to  an  unlimited  ascendancy  to  power,  or  a  fatal  &11, 
still  the  future  career  of  Jung  Bahadur  will  not  now  be  without  interest 
to  a  wide  circle  of  Europeans. 


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(    ^'84    •) 


MR.  JOLLY  OREBN'S  ACCOUNT  OF  HIS  ELECTION  FOK  MUFF- 
BOROUGH. 

L 

THB  POLITICAL  AQSNT. 

It  will  surprise  no  one  who  ia  familiar  with  the  impulslveoefls  of  mj 
fervent  spirit  to  learn  thai,  since  I  made  my  iaat  i^peanuKO  in  public,  I 
have  been  hewing  out  a  new  path  to  oelebritj. 

The  restlessness  of  gemns — if  I  ntay  be  permitted  to  lay  eo — hai  con* 
fltantly  driven  me  ahead  of  my  time,  and  I  fedi  that»  to  a  certain  extenl^ 
I  have  been  a  man  *'  ineompri^* — a  being  too  subtle  and  too  far-reaching 
to  be  comprehended  by  the  ezistuig  generation.  It  is,  without  doubt,  a 
public  misfortune  that  any  one  should  be  in  this  predimanent,  but  I  hans^ 
at  any  rate,  the  secret  satufaetion  of  knowing  that  I  perfectly  llnd^r8i|Uld 
ffiyselfy  and  I  am  sustained  by  tiie  conviction  that  the  day  will  come  when 
the  temple  erected  to  my  memory  shall  be  pointed  at  as  the  landmarki>f 
the  human  race.  I  have  aheady  prepared  an  inscription  ft>r  the  portioo 
of  that  temple,  but  to  mention  it  just  now  would  be  prematurei  and  I 
turn,  therefore,  from  the  realms  of  idealism  to  the  world  of  fact^  and-r- 
not  to  keep  the  public  any  longer  in  suspeosei-I  think  it  incombeot  on 
me  to  state  that  I  have  got  into  Parliament  for  the  purpose  of  achieviiq^ 
a  brilKant  noUtical  careen 

Under  wnat  circumstances  I  resolved  upon  this  course^  and  how  I  a0- 
oomplished  my  intention,  I  shall  proceed  to  luurate. 

The  condition  of  parties,  during  the  session  which  has  just  ended,  had, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  engaged  my  serious  attention,  and  I  could  not  con- 
ceal from  myself  the  &ct  &t  '^  the  coming  man,"  who  has  been  so  long 
'promised,  had  not  yet  made  his  appearance.  If  the  leadeie  of  the  dif* 
lerent  sections  of  politicians  could  nave  been  rolled  into  one,  such  a  man 
might,  periiaps,  have  resulted,  but  as  this  was  no  less  a  moral  than  a  phv- 
sical  impossibility,  it  behoved  those  who  had  the  best  interests  of  the 
country  at  heart  to  look  elsewhere  ;  and,  after  fully  considering  the  sub- 
ject, I  cast  my  eyes  on  an  individual  on  whom  I  felt  my  countrymen  had 
'ong  been  gazing. 

That  ini&vidual  was  Mtsslf. 

I  ran  over,  mentally,  the  qualities  which  distangmsh  some  of  our  prin- 
cipal public  men,  and  had  no  difficulty  in  coming  to  the  conclusbn  that 
**  all  that  adom'd  the  others  met  in  me."  I  felt  that  in  my  person  were 
combined  the  caution  of  L^— rd  J — hn,  the  frankness  of  Gr — ^h — m, 
the  placidity  of  R — b— ck,  the  astuteness  of  S— btb— rp,  the  wit  of 
Br— ffht,  the  suavity  of  C — ^bd-— n,  the  matter-of-fact  nlainneas  of 
Gl— dst — ne,  the  statesmanship  of  Ch — sh — Im  Anst — y,  ana  the  temper 
of  the  Ir — sh  fir — g— -de ;  and  to  all  these  attributes  were  to  be  added 
an  eloquence  and  a  capacity  for  business  that  were  entirely  my  own.  I 
was  untrammelled  by  official  harness,  unfettered  by  red  tape,  fresh  fiir 
my  work  and  ready  to  plunge  into  political  life  wjth  all  the  udour  of  one 
who  yearns  for  a  new  excitement 


{ 


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Ekctionfor  ^ujffparough,  485 

Tlie  only  question  that  remained  was  how  to  make  mj  self-devotion 
generally  known. 

I  was,  of  eotarse,  well  aware  that  few  persons  in  the  metropolis  enjoyed 
a  greater  share  of  popularity  than  nur^lf :  the  misfortune,  indeed,  was 
that  I  was  too  popular.  Thus  had  I  issued  an  address  to  the  electors  of 
Marylehone,  where  I  at  present  reside,  the  next  day  would  have  beheld  a 
deputation  from  Lambeth  or  Fiusbury  knocking  at  my  door,  and  the 
exigencies  of  Parliament  would  have  compelled  me  to  select  one,  while^ 
likie  the  people  of  Edinburgh,  I  tfasew  cold,  water  upon  the  rest  JAj 
position,  would  have  Msembled  that  of  th»**<4he'*t^the  quadruped  between 
two  portions  of  nrovender,-^so  I  came  to  the  deteiminationrof  not  puttiog 
up  for  any  of  the  iitetropoli^ptn  boioughs.  The  same  reason  that  de- 
terred me  from  offering  myidif  to  the  largest  coaftitiienoies  operated  in 
preventing  me  from  embarrassior  the  counties^  and  I,  thereforei  resolved 
to  specify  no  plaoe  in  paitioulor,  but  leave  the  question  to  the  good  taste 
of  the  Jmiish  poMio  in  geaeraL 

>  I  accordingly  drew  up  an  advertisement  whidi^  by  paying  for  pretty 
fisndsottiely,  I  got  inserted  at  the  bead  of  ^e  fimrth  column  of  the 
Times,  where  it  6guted  fo?  seveiai  days  aa  eonspiouously  as  I  could 
desire,  and,  I  flatter  myrolf,  quite  took  the  shine  out  of  "  Beans  and 
l)oor-mat,''  <^  Where  the  Teuton  intemuDss  with  the  Skve/'  '^Boc^ 
—All's  well!"  <<Rowley  NowW,"— '<Iam  an  Ass/'  and  even  eclipsed 
«  Slmpi  F^  npi  C,  qgl  &  F,  k^./'  that  cdebf ated  hien^yphic^  I  have  no 
Ambt,  of  dipfomaey.    It  was  simply  tfab : 

"  To  THE  UnC — KV — 88KD  OF  Br — T — IN*      ThB  CoKING  MaN  IS 

Bradt!  At  home  horn  ten-  iSll  six  dkyy«««Sundays  eixeepted.  All 
letters  addressed  (poet-pud)  to  the  oare  of  J*^lly  Gr— n.  Esquire, 
Mephistopheles  Cottage,  St  John's  Wood,  will  be  promptly  attended  to. 
N.B.  A  private  door  round  the  eocner/' 

This  advertisement  produced  its  effect,  though  not  in  the  first  instance, 
exactly  in  the  manner  I  expected.  I  received  numerous  calls,  and  a  great 
many  letters«**-not  all  of  tliem  post-paid,  by*the-by-*4iat  the  minority 
were  applications  for  the  loan  of  ^'  a  small  sum,''  to  **  humble  individuals'' 
whom  my  <^  benevolent  intimation"  had  ^^reiuctantiy  dragged  from  the 
depths  or  a  painful  obscurity,"  and  so*  £oi€^^  These  I  got  rid  of  in  a 
summary  way,  at  the  cost  of  a  few  pounds;  but  there  were  others  which 
I  could  not  so  easily  shake  off.  The  intelligent  reader  will  readily 
understand  why,  when  I  tell  him  that  my  advertisement  had,  in  some 
cases,  been  interpreted  in  a  matrimooial  or  ^uost-matrimonial  sense, 
and  that  '<  settiements,"  "jointures,"  ** champagne,"  and  **  dog*carts," 
were  subjects  which  came  under  dtscassion  when  the  (fair)  anplicants 
succeeded  in  obtaining  an  interview.  AlS  I  fomid  that  this  kind  of  im-> 
portunity  increased,  I  was  obliged  to  alter  the  terms  of  the  advertisement, 
and  strikinfi^  out  the  "private  door  round  the  corner,^'  I  substituted  " No 
female  need  apply ;"  though  X  am  free  to  admit,  such  is  the  peculiarity 
of  the  sex,  that  on  the  day  after  this  alteration,  the  feminine  puUs  at  my 
*'  visitors'  bdl"  were  three  times  as  many  as  they  had  ever  been  before. 

At  length,  after  several  days  of  surprised  suspense,  during  which  I 
began  to  wonder  what  the  people  of  England  could  really  be  thinking 
about,  I  received  a  letter,  in  a  very  formal  handwriting^-and  evidentiy  a 
disguised  one — which  ran  as  follows : 


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48r  Mr.  Mlf  Oremes  Aecamtcfhis 

<«  19%  Ftorit  Stmt,  July  2,  16W; 
"  Mr.  Topcock,  having  noticed  Mr.  J— Ily  Gr — ^n's  adv*  in  the  Thnm 
of  yesterdaj,  will  hare  the  pleas^  of  waiting  on  that  gentl"'at  a  quarter 
before  eleven  to-mo^  m',  when  he  trusts  he  shall  be  able  to  commmiicflle 
Bometh*  of  mut*  advant^.** 

After  reading  over  this  note  carefollj  abont  a  dozen  times,  in  otder  to 
detect  any  arriere-pensSe  that  might  be  lurking  in  it,  I  came  to  ihe  eon* 
chision  that  the  writer  was,  as  the  French  say,  au  niveau  de  tnon  inieK' 
gence,  and  I  answered  it  forthwith,  informing  JMr.  Topcock  that  I  shonU 
hold  myself  at  his  service  at  the  hour  appointed. 

Being  fully  alive  to  the  value  of  appearances,  the  importance  of  which 
I  had  learnt  in  the  different  courts,  camps,  and  vaticans,  of  Europe, 
where  my  talent  had  been  displayed,  I  made  my  arrangements  accord- 
ingly, and,  after  an  early  breakfast  on  the  day  named,  vrithdrew  to  my 
study  to  prepare  for  the  interview.  The  first  thing  I  did  was  to  oider 
Blithers,  my  butler,  to  wheel  up  my  Glastonbury  reading-chair  between 
the  windows,  in  such  a  position  that  the  cross-light  might  fall  full  upon 
the  countenance  of  the  stranger,  whose  inmost  soul  I  should  thus  be 
enabled  to  dissect,  while  my  own  features  and  the  workings  of  my  mind 
were  hidden  in  impenetrable  obscurity.  The  library  table  was  then 
advanced  to  an  easy  distance  of  the  Glastonbury,  and  besides  being 
amply  provided  with  writing-materials,  was  strewn  vdth  a  few  choice 
books,  calculated  to  impress  the  stranger  with  the  variety  and  extent  of 
my  acquirements.  It  may  be  of  advantage  to  those  who  may  one  day 
chance 'to  be  thrown  into  a  similar  situation,  if  I  mention  some  of  tte 
works  I  had  selected.  There  were  "  Hobbes  "  and  "  Sir  Thomas  Brown* 
(the  younger)  of  course ;  **  Goethe's  Faust  **  (in  the  original  Gredr), 
"  Lardner,  on  the  steam-engine,"  "  Gulliver's  travels,"  "  Thoughts  on 
Select  Vestries,  by  a  Marylebone  rate-payer**  (a  presentation  copy,  hand- 
somely bound — at  my  own  expense — in  green  calf),  "  Enfield's  Speaker** 
(scarce),  "  The  Newgate  Calendar  **  (a  few  leaves  wanting),  "  Johnson's 
Dictionary,"  the  "Statutes  of  Geoi^e  IV.,  Anno  Tertio*  (entirely 
uncut),  the  "Almanach  de  Gotha"  (for  1804),  "Professor  Li^g^s 
Report  on  Allsopp's  Pale  Ale"  (a  circular),  the  "Official  Catalogue 
of  the  Great  Exhibition,"  «  Heal's  List  of  Bedding,"  «  Dod*s  FMiamen- 
tary  Compamon,"  and — in  somewhat  satirical  juxtaposition,  that  he 
might  see  I  was  up  to  a  thing  or  two,  and  not  to  be  done — "  Isudt 
Walton's  Complete  Angler."  He  who  could  master  this  collection — and 
they  did  not  form  the  fiftieth  part  of  what  stood  on  my  library  shelves — 
must  possess  a  mind  of  no  common  order — a  fact  which  I  was  resolved 
the  stranger  should  feel ;  and  that  he  might  not  suppose  these  works  were 
merely  set  out  for  show,  three  or  four  of  them  were  open  for  purposes  of 
reference,  while,  with  a  meditative  air,  I  took  up  my  pen  and  commenced 
the  pamphlet  called  "  Thoughts  on  the  present  Crisis,"  which,  when  it  ifl 
published,  will,  I  flatter  myself,  let  in  a  little  light  on  the  condition  of 
public  affairs. 

I  had  got  as  far  as  the  dedication  **  To  my  esteemed  friend,  Mr. 
Ridgway,  of  Piccadilly,"  and  had  just  signed  myself  "  Ignotns,'*  when, 


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suddenly,  according  to  mj  astraatioDy  Blidwif  opened  tibe  stmdj-door 
and  annonneed : 

"Mr.  Topoockr 

I  started  with  well-feigned  astoniabmenty  threw  down  my  pen,  paued 
my  hand  across  my  brow,  and,  for  a  few  moments,  gazed  vacantly  on  the 
stranger.  Then,  as  if  abmptly  recalled  fe>m  philosophic  musings  to  the 
world  of  action,  I  suffered  a  cUplomatic  smile  to  steal  vaguely  over  my 
countenance,  and  requested  Mr.  Topcock  to  do  me  the  honour  to  take  a 
seat.  I  have  since  put  it  to  myself,  very  frequently,  whether  Lord 
P — ^Im — r— St — n  could  have  done  the  thing  better,  and  my  invariable 
reply  has  been  that  he  could  not 

There  was  a  momentary  hesitation  on  the  part  of  the  new«comer"— 
which  was  very  natural  under  the  circumstances — before  he  spoke.  I 
shall  take  advantage  of  the  pause  to  give  a  description  of  his  person. 

Mr.  Topcock  was  a  man  who  might  have  been  supposed  to  have  passed 
the  period  of  middle  life,  but  there  was  a  freshness  in  his  appearance  and 
a  ruddy  hue  on  his  features,  which  showed,  as  Gray  says  in  his  '^  Ode  to 
the  Passions,"  that  '^  even  in  lus  ashes  glowed  his  wanton  fires;"  here 
and  there,  perhaps,  the  hyacinthine  locks  of  youth  had  been  slightly 
touched,  though  by  the  delicate  hand  of  an  "  Elkington  and  Co.,"  with 
frosted  silver,  but  the  general  effect  was  massive,  redundant,  and  prolific. 
His  nose,  which  was  florid  and  squarely  chiselled,  beetled  boldly  over  a 
capacious  mouth,  which  revealed,  when  he  smiled,  a  row  of  Herculean 
teeth.  His  whiskers  were  stiff  and  stubbly,  the  certain  indications  of  an 
untiring  and  energetic  nature,  somewluit  foxily-tinged,  it  might  be, 
but  weli'planted  on  his  cheek.  His  forehead  was  broad  and  unwrinkled, 
his  eyebrows  thick  and  shaggy,  and  the  eyes,  which  he  seemed  to  have  a 
habit  of  keeping  half  shut,  gleamed  with  the  verdant  light  of  the  un* 
ripened  gooseberry.  His  stature  exceeded  mine  considerably,  in  a  stand** 
ing  pesture,  but  when  we  were  both  seated,  the  difference  was  not  so  re- 
markable; but  his  figure  struck  me  as  bulky  and  overgrown,  though  this 
opinion  might  have  had  its  birth  in  the  recollection  of  what  I  was  in  the 
habit  of  seeing  every  morning  in  the  cAevoZ-glass  of  my  dressing-room. 
However,  taken  altogether,  Mr.  Topcock  wonld  have  passed  with  the 
multitude  for  a  very  personable  sort  <n  man*  On  his  powers  of  intellect 
I  had  yet  to  form  a  judgment 

After  a  couple  of  preliminary  hems,  in  which  he  tried  to  cough  away 
the  embarassment  he  felt,  he  thus  addressed  me : 

'^  Mr.  Jolly  Green,  I  presume  F'  he  said,  inquiringly,  for  up  to  the 
pesent  moment  the  newspaper  ineogmto  had  been  religiously  observed 
in  our  correspondence. 

"  I  have  that  honour,"  I  replied  with  dignity. 

*'I,  sir,"  he  continued,  **am  Mr.  Topcock — a  name,"  he  added, 
smilingly,  *<  pretty  nearly  as  well  known,  in  certain  quarters,  as  your 
own." 

"  I  have  the  measure  of  this  person's  capacity,'*  thought  I;  "he  is  con- 
ceited— I  shall  wind  him  round  my  little  nnger." 

I  made  no  observation,  however,  but  mere^  bent  my  head,  diplomati- 
cally. 

*'  Your  advertisement,  sir,"  Mr.  Topcock  went  on — "your  advertise- 
ment, when  it  caught  my  eye,  stmck  me  as  the  production  of  a  man  of 
an  original  turn  of  mind.** 


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488  Mr.  Jolly  Grem*s  Account  of  Ids 

«'  Not  80  bad  as  I  thought,''  said  I  to  myaelf. 

<'  There  was  a  species  of  persuasive  home-thrusting  in  it,  sir,  that  con- 
vinced me  we  might  do  business  together  ;  a  conviction,  sir,  which  has 
been  increased  by  the  practical  chiuracter,  combined  with  the  elegauiuB 
viUBf  of  everythiug  I  see  around  me." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Topoock,**  exdumed  I,  interrupting  him^ 
"  but  have  you  breakfasted  ?" 

''  Hours  since,  Mr.  Green,"  was  his  reply. 

^'  A  glass  of  Madeira  and  a  sandwich?    I  asked. 

^'Not  at  present,  thank  you.  We  will  first  of  all  settle  the  little 
matter  that  has  brought  me  nere."  Then  fixing  his  eyes  steadily  upon 
me,  which  he  opened  ever  so  little  wider,  and  sinking  his  voice  to  a 
whisper,  he  said  :  <'  You  want  to  get  into  Parliament." 

"  Mr.  Topcock,"  replied  I,  ^*  your  penetration  has  not  decdved  you ;. 
I  do"  ' 

**  And,"  he  continued,  ^*  you  have  not  yet  selected  a  constituency." 

'^  It  is  perfectly  true,  Mr.  Topcock,  I  have  not" 

"  Suppose  then,  Mr.  Green, — I  say  only  suppose — that  T  knew  of  a — 
shall  we  say — borough — a  nice  little  borough — uncanvassed,  you  know» 
and  in  want  of  a>-a  statesman  like  yourself— to  represent  it?" 

'^  There  are  many  such,"  I  observed,  confidently. 

^'  Hem !  hem !  no  doubt,  no  doubt  there  are,  if  one  could  only  put 
one*6  finger  upon  them.  Plenty  that  would  jump  at  you,  Mr.  Green,  as 
far  as  wishes  go ;  but  we're  a  little  late  in  the  field,  and  most  of  the 
constituencies  have,  I  fear,  been  tampered  with — yes,  tampered  with, 
that's  my  meaning.  Fine  flowery  addresses,  easily  got  up,  mean  nothing, 
cost  nothing  but  the  printing — no  wear  and  tear  of  mind,  person — or 
pockety^uone  of  the  old  stuff  about  'em, — no  boldness,  no  home- 
thrusting, — all  gammon — mere  words, — no  laying  it  on  thick  in  the 
right  place,  no  opening  of  people's  minds.  Ah,  Mr.  Green,  I  haven't 
had  the  pleasure  of  your  acquaintance  any  great  length  of  time,  but  it's 
pretly  clear  to  me  that  a  gentleman  of  fortune  like  you — hang  it,  why 
shouldn't  I  speak  my  mind,  what's  the  use  of  conferring  tcTt^  a  gentle- 
man if  one  isn't  frank  and  aboveboard — if,  as  I  say,  you  have  a  mind  to 
go  in  and  win,  what's  to  prevent  you  ?" 

"  You  think  I  could  ?"  said  I,  fixing  a  piercing,  interrogative  glance 
on  his  broad,  unmeaning  face.  *'  You  imagine  that  if  I  were  to  make  an 
eloquent  appeal " 

'* Eloquent!  ah,  that's  just  it;  eloquence,  of  the  right  sort,  is 
exactly  what's  wanted.  Come,  Mr.  Green,  I  don't  mind  trusting  you 
with  my  secret.  I  had  a  letter,  only  this  morning,  from  a  very  worthy 
fellow — can  pretty  nearly  do  anything  he  likes  with  the  borough  he  lives 
in — who  was  lamenting  that  there  was  nobody  now-a-days  who  knew 
how  to  appeal  to  an  elector* s  feelings.  He  did  ask  me,  casually,  in  the 
postscript,  if  I  happened  to  be  acquainted  vrith  a  good  man.  I  naven't," 
pursued  Mr.  Topcock,  thoughtfully — **  no,  I  haven't  answered  his  letter 
yet." 

There  was  a  pause  for  a  minute  or  two,  during  which  Mr.  Topcock  was, 
I  suppose,  collecting  his  ideas,  in  order  to  bring  his  intellect  up,  as  far  as 
it  was  possible,  to  the  level  of  mine. 

"There's  no  such  thing  now  Mr.  Green,"  he  at  length  resumed, — ^*'no 
such  thing  now  as  what  people  used  to  call  'bribery  and  corruption^' 


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ElmtkmfSBr  M/fftotrngh.  48f 

y«n  1aioir4  ikafs  all  done  «wiy  iriifay*-4he  lait  ParHament  foi  that 
out" 

^  I  ahould  hope  io^"  wu  mj  tone  and  patiiotic  rejoinder. 

'^  Very  good ;  just  what  I  expected,  '*chuned  in  Mr.  Topcock ;  ^  besidBi^ 
electors  are  not  to  be  bought  now-a-daysfi — they  shudder  at  the  bare 
idea.  By-the-by,  Mr.  Green^  did  you  see  the  accounts  last  week  of  ihe 
dreadful  fires  in  Canada?" 

<'  No,"  xepHed  I ;  '<  what  about  them  ?' 

**  They  have  raised  the  piioe  of  timber  immeiiBely.  Deals  are  not  to 
be  had  for  lore  or  money." 

<^  Indeed  1"  I  ejaculated,  wondering  what  connexion  there  was  betwan 
charcoal  and  politics. 

^'  And  without  deals,"  pursued  Mr.  Topcook,  soliloquising,  ^  how  are 
we  to  build  our  hustings  ?  At  all  events,  they'll  be  tremendously  espen- 
fldve.  Hustings  are  a  part  of  the  British  Constitution.  I  suppose  yon 
are  aware,  Mr.  Green — thpugh  of  course  you  are — ^that  the  candidates 
always  pay  for  the  hustings  ?" 

^'Oh,  yes,"  I  returned,  with  a  strong  matter-of-&ct  emphasis,  not 
sorry  to  let  him  see  I  was  well  up  in  statistics—^'  oh,  yes — hustings,  postesSi 
and  advertisements — those  are  the  three  great  elements." 

*'  Quite  right,  Mr.  Green ;  and  voters'  conveyances,  and — during  this 
hot  weather,  there's  an  act  of  parliament  provides  for  that — a  litde  re- 
feeshment,  just  to  sustain  nature." 

*^  Oh,  of  course,"  said  I,  "  people  must  eat  and  drink,  as  well  as  vote." 

^^  Exactly — ^ha,  ha,  ha !  so  they  must ;  very  good  indeed :  and  flags, 
banners,  and  ribbons,  I  needn't  allude  to  them.  Well,  then,  Mr.  Green," 
he  continued,  taking  up  a  pen,  and  jotting  down  numbers  while  he  was 
speaking,  ^Mf  I  were  to  name  a  constituency,  ready  for  the  cominff 

man" here  he  made  a  long  pause,  "  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  mind 

doing  the  regular  thing  ?  When  I  say  '  regular,'  we  must  consider  the 
advanced  price  of  deals." 

'^  Mr.  Topcock,"  said  I,  impressively,  ''  it  was  not  without  a  motive  that 
I  made  that  stirring  appeal,  which,  as  you  say,  caught  your  ^e.  Money 
is  no  object  to  me,  provided  it  be  legitimately  employed.  You,  I  per- 
ceive^ are  a  man  of  the  strictest  honour  and  integrity.  I  place  myseU  in 
your  hands.  A  glance  at  that  book  will  convince  you  tiiat  the  sinews  of 
war  will  not  be  wanting." 

'' Really,  Mr.  Green,  there  was  no  necessity  for  this,"  repUed  Mr. 
Topcock,  repelling  my  bankers*  book,  which,  however,  I  forced  him  to 
examine  ;  ''  well,  if  yoninsist,  hem-^hem — '  balance  to  the  30th  nit,  two 
thousand  two  hundred  and  forty-one  poimds  nine  and  three' — a  verv  nioe 
little  balance  ;  yes,  sir,  I  will  not  be  premature,  but  I  think  I  may  whisper 
in  your  ear  that  I  shall  shortly  have  the  pleasure  of  drinking  the  health 

of  the  honourable  member for  MnflPborough  ;  that*s  the  place,  Mr. 

Green,  and  you  shall  be  the  man !" 

We  grasped  each  other's  hands  cordially  across  the  table,  and  pssied 
the  Rubicon  together. 

In  the  course  of  half  an  hour  we  had  settled  all  the  necessary  details, 
and  pledged  each  other  in  some  of  my  best  Madeira.  I  gave  him  a  cheok 
for  a  thousand  pounds,  to  buy  up  timber,  before  the  price  rose  again,  as 
he  felt  sure  it  would ;  and  with  the  strongest  expressions  of  eoi^deooe 
in  the  result,  Mr.  Topcock  took  his  departure. 

Aug, — VOL.  xcv.  NO.  ccclxxx.  2  k 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


4M  Mr,  JhUjf  €ht9n's  Aceauni  of  his 

I  fidded  mj  aMna  and  gaied  atead&ady  on  his  liiu;e  xvtnatbig^  fixm* 
When  he  had  disappeared  from  my  yiew,  I  crrlaimfd; 

**  The  Taflcan  was  light.  '  It  is  the  pnvilege  of  Hind  to  triomph 
ofwMattarr" 

II. 

I  APPEAI.  TO  THE  COUNTRT. 

Thb  aiuneDt  and  independent  town  of  Mnffborongfa,  heing  at  least 
fifteen  nules  distant  from  the  nearest  railway  station,  and  aeoessiUe  only 
by  a  cross-road  traversed  by  one  omnibus  and  a  fly,  is  one  of  those  places 
which  seem  as  likely  to  presenre  their  antiquity  and  independence  as  any 
town  m  the  west  of  England. 

On  the  dissolution  of  the  Heptarchy  |by  William  the  Conqueror,  the 
last  of  the  Saxon  kings,  named  Mulphus  pr  Muffus  (the  name  is  written 
differently  in  <<  Domesday  Book**  and  the  '<  Roll  of  Battle  Abbey  "),  took 
refuge,  with  a  chosen  band  of  gallant  followers,  in  the  fieistnesses  of  the 
extensive  downs  that  lie  between  London  and  the  Land's  End,  where  he 
Ibonded  a  city,  called  afiter  him  Mufisbyrig  or  Mufisburg,  which  in  the 
process  of  time  became  corrupted  into  Muffborough,  the  name  it  now 
bears. 

The  Saxon,  or,  locally  speaking,  the  MufBsh  character  of  the  inha- 
bitants, is  still  very  strongly  mariced,  as  well  in  their  dialect  as  in  their 
personal  appearance ;  but,  fortunately  for  themselves,  they  have  preserved 
with  these  attributes,  which  are  very  broadly  developed,  all  the  simplicity 
of  their  honest  but  unpolished  ancestors* 

We  do  not  find  Muffborough  mentioned  as  having  any  pai^ticular  con- 
cern in  the  numerous  and  violent  contests  between  the  houses  of  York 
and  Lancaster — most  probably  because  it  was  at  a  considerable  distance 
£rom  both  those  places ;  but  there  is  no  doubt  that  King  Charles  I. 
slept  here  the  night  before  the  .battle  of  Culloden,  as  a  building  called 
"  The  Banquetting  House"  is  still  shown,  which  perfectly  accords  with 
the  jovial  disposition  of  ^'the  merry  monarch,"  some  of  whose  witticbros 
are  preserved  in  the  archives  of  the  town,  and  are  invariably  used  at  the 
installation  of  the  mayor,  and  on  other  remarkable  occasions.  At  what 
tone  Muffborough  .fell  into  the  hands  of  the  parliamentary  forces  is  not 
certain,  but  it  is  clearly  established  on  reoora  that,  as  far  back  as  the 
xeign  of  George  III.,  it  returned  one  member  to  parliament. 

At  present,  perhaps,  it  would  be  a  fruitless  task  to  endeavour  to 
discover  the  nature  of  the  conatKtution  of  Muffborough  at  the  period 
just  referred  tot  but  the  oldest  inhabitant  distinctly  remembers  that 
writs  were  issued  when  he  was  a  young  man,  for  one  of  them  was 
served  upon  himself,  and  the  Cage  being  out  of  repair,  he  was  locked  up 
for  the  night  in  the  Pound,  from  whence  he  contrived  to  effect  his  escape 
with  no  greater  damage  than  an  awkward  rent  in  his  lower  sarments* 

In  the  scale  of  productiveness  Muffborough  formerly  held  a  high 
(rface,  as  well  oo  account  of  the  delicate  texture  of  its  smock-frocks,  as 
for  the  durability  of  its  oorduroys ;  but  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth  the 
latter  staple  was  put  down,  the  Virgin  Queen  having  resolved,  after  the 
finppression  o£  Wat  Tyler*s  rebellion,  that  jio  one  should  wear  pantaloons 
hat  herself.  It  was,  roost  likely,  owing  to  the  want  of  stoutness  in  the 
modem  cordurov,  caused  by  £liEabeth*s  edict,  that  the  accident  which  we 
have  mentioned  occurred  to  the  temporary  denizen  of  the  iPound..    Be 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


tnls  as  it  may,  the  corduroy  trade  lias  never  revived  in  Mnffboraogli,  and 
the  graceful  fVock  is  the  only  manufacture  it  now  can  boast  o£ 

Muffborough  is  famous  for  its  annual  fair,  which  is  held  on  the  1st  of 
April ;  and  so  highly  have  the  inhabitants  cultivated  the  aocowpltshment 
of  grinning  through  a  horse-collar^  that  it  is  believed  there  is  no  other 
place  in  England  can  ooipe  near  diem.  It  is  affirmed  by  Leland,  that 
they  once  diallenged  "  y*  renowned  Cheshyre  cattes  to  grynne  for  ane 
tunna  of  beere,"  but  that  the  wager  was  not  accepted. 
^  The  town  is  built  on  a  g^tle  eminence,  and  is  in  shape  like 
the  letter  T,  consisting  of  one  street,  called  the  High<-street,  and 
of  two  others  which  cross  it  at  the  upper  end,  and  beta:  no  name  at 
all.  It  has  a  market-place,  which  is  well  filled  with  vegetables,  as  I 
happen  to  be  particularly  aware,  and  makes  a  good  show  of  black  pigs  on 
the  first  Wednesday  in  every  month.  The  principal  buildings  are  the 
.  workhouse,  which,  from  the  chief  occupation  of  its  tenants,  is  supposed 
to  have  been  erected  after  the  designs  of  Flcucrnvn ;  the  almshouses, 
more  remarkable  for  length  than  elevation ;  and  the  town  pump,  of  vexy 
Gothic  construction,  and  as  useless  as  it  is  old,  which  occupies  a  con- 
spicuous position  at  the  loftiest  extremity  of  the  High-street  It  is  a 
curious  fact,  and  has  probably  some  bearing  on  the  maritime  discoveries 
of  our  countrymen,  Uiat  the  handle  of  the  Muffborough  pump,  which 
is  made  of  cast  iron,  always  points  due  north. 

As  I  am  not  writing  a  ''Guide  to  Muffborough ** — ^however  well 
qualified  to  do  so^I  shall  not  enter  into  any  more  local  details,  further 
than  to  mention  that  the  general  style  of  its  architecture  is  either  the 
whitewashed  gable  end  or  the  square  red-brick  front;  that  an  open 
gutter — a  very  valuable  contrivance  for  carrying  off  the  superfluous 
moisture — runs  down  each  side  of  the  High-street  and  is  crossed,  every 
here  and  there,  before  the  doors  of  the  leadine  inhabitants,  by  a  large 
flat  stone,  inclined  from  the  pavement;  that  there  are  numerous  dark 
rassages  leading  nowhere ;  and  that  the  two  principal  inns  are  **  The 
Bear's  Paw"  and  ''  The  Green  Lion,**  the  last-mentioned  being  that 
which  was  selected  for  my  head  quarters. 

The  country  immediately  round  Muffhorough  cannot,  perhaps,  vie 
with  Switseriand  for  romantic  scenery,  nor  with  Lombardy  tor  fertility ; 
''but  those,''  as  a  native  historian  observes,  "  who  can  relish  a  stony  soil, 
and  have  no  particular  objection  to  dust  in  summer  and  mud  in  winter, 
may,  during  tnose  genial  seasons,  receive  a  considerable  portion  of  grati- 
fication from  the  views  which  th^  Muffdunian  landscapes  afford.'* 

It  vriU  be  observed,  by  the  preceding  extract,  that  I  have  availed 
myself  of  the  labours  of  a  local  antiquary,  whose  valuable  work  I  have 
consulted;  but  it  is  also  necessary  for  me  to  state  that  I  have  derived  a 
considerable  portion  of  my  information  respecting  Muffborough  from  the 
communications  which  were  kindly  made  to  me  by  I/awyer  Smoaker,  the 
c)iairman  of  my  committee. 

I  felt  that  to  represent  so  important  a  constituency  as  that  of  Muff- 
borough would,  under  any  circumstances,  be  a  high  honour,  but  coming 
/orward  as  I  did,  with  no  tie  subsisting  between  the  electors  and  myself 
save  that  of  congeniality  of  sentiment,  must  greatly  enhance  the  import- 
mi^pe  of  the  triumph  over  my  antagonist ;  for — ^in  spite  of  the  halo  which 
I  surrounds  vcyy  name — I  was  not  to  be  allowed,  it  seemed,  to  walk  over 
the  course  without  a  struggle. 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


492  Mr.  JMg  Ot^en^s  Aeeaunt  of  his 

My  opponent,  moraorer,  was  a  person  of  considerable  local  inflaeooay 
which,  tnoagh  it  rendered  the  struggle  more  ardaous,  only  made  it  move 
exdting.  To  battle  with  the  tempest  has  been  m j  happy  privilege  in  all 
the  leading  events  of  my  chequered  life,  and  it  was  not  denied  me  on 
this  momentous  occasion,  tfe  was  a  country  squire,  named  Shovd,  and 
lesided  on  his  own  acres  at  Pitchfork  Hall,  within  three  or  four  miles  of 
Muffborongh.  His  politics,  I  need  scarcely  say,  were  diametrically 
opposed  to  mine ;  but,  without  diaracterising  them  more  specifically,  X 
may  observe  that,  like  his  colours,  they  were  intensely  blue,  while  mine 
were  rividly  green.  My  devotion  to  my  country  was  sublime,  his  was 
sufficiently  ri^culous — a  distinction  which  narrowed  the  neutral  g^und 
on  whidi  we  fought,  but  made  our  conflict  rage  the  fiercer. 

*^  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Topcock,  as  we  sat  at  breakfast,  chez  nun,  on  the 
morning  after  the  conference  which  I  have  already  described — <^  I  see 
that  the  nomination  for  MufFborough  is  fixed  for  the  7th ;  the  time  is 
short,  but  we  must  make  the  most  of  it.  I  have  prepared  the  rough 
draught  of  an  address  for  you,  which  I  will  send  off  to  the  papers  as  soon 
as  it  is  copied  out  fiur " 

**  An  unnecessary  trouble,**  I  observed,  with  a  benignant  smile ;  "  I 
haven't  embarked  m  tins  cause  without  knowing  what  are  the  duties 
attached  to  it.  While  you  and  the  rest  of  the  world  were  sleeping,  last 
night,  I  was  consuming  the  midnight  oil ;  and  this  is  the  result.** 

With  these  words  I  opened  my  treasury  despatch-box,  which  I  had 
bought  only  the  day  before,  and  drew  forth  a  sheet  of  paper  on  which  I 
had  already  drawn  out  the  address  he  meditated.  It  was  couched  m 
tiiese  words: 

"  Electobs  op  Muffbobough, 
"  A  stranger  to  you,  though  not,  I  flatter  myself,  to  Fame,  the  prompt- 
ings of  an  ardent  nature  have  impelled  me  into  the  vortex  of  politics,  lo 
redeem  you  from  the  bonds  of  the  oppressor,  and  raise  you  in  the  scale  o£ 
humanity.  Too  long  has  the  galling  yoke  of  slaveiy  weighed  down  your 
manacled  limbs.  I  come  to  rend  those  chains,  and  restore  you  to  your- 
selves. But  how,  let  me  ask  you,  free  and  independent  electors — how  is 
this  to  be  done?  You  have  read,  no  doubt,  in  your  .£sop-^that 
yaluable  political  xfode'-mecum,  that  ^  real  blessing  to  (the)  mothers'  of 
electors — ^you  have  read,  I  say,  how  Hercules,  one  day,  stuck  in  the  mud 
while  going  across  the  countiy — it  might  have  been  such  a  country  ss 
yours,  brother  fox-hpnters  and  independent  electors, — and  how,  when  he 
was  iairiy  bullfinched  in  the  clay,  he  called  upon  somebody  to  help  him 
out  again.  On  that  occasion — and  it  was  *  the  proudest  day  of  his  life,' 
I  dare  say — a  countryman  who  was  standing  by  quaintly  observed :  'Tbe 
best  way  to  get  out  of  that  fix,  friend  Hercules,  is  to  help  yourself  !* 
Hercules  immediately  put  his  shoulder  to  the  wheel — of  his  oog^cart — 
and  at  once  became  that  glorious  charactei',  a  freeman.  Such,  brother 
electors,  is  your  position.'  You  must  help  yourselves  out  of  the  'slough 
of  despond^  in  which  you  have  so  long  been  immersed ;  but  if  you  6l 
to  do  so  by  your  own  energies,  I  am  hebe  to  stimulate  you.  Mine  is  the 
voice  that  is  destined  to  cheer  your  labours,  inine  the  accents  to  reward 
them  when  you  place  me  at  the  top  of  the  poll.  My  *  detested  rivaF— 
I  use  that  terra  in  a  •  free  and  independent'  sense,  for  personaTly  I  have 
the  highest  respect  for  his  character,  though  until  yesterday  I  was 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


EketianfarMuffborough.  493 

ignorant  of  his  existence — ^my  '  detested  rival'  is,  they  tell  me,  a  stanch 
agriculturist ;  beware  lest  he  treat  you  like  his  own  oxen.  If  he  threaten 
with  the  goad,  retort  with  your  horns,  bold  m^ n  of  Muffborough !  Drive 
him  from  between  the  stilts  of  his  own  plough,  bushharrow  him  with  his 
own  implements,  dig  it  into  him  with  his  own  spade,  winnow  him  through 
his  own  sieve,  thrash  him  with  his  own  flail,  pitch  it  into  him  with  his 
own  fork,  grind  him  in  his  own  mill.  He  reckons  upon  your  votes 
as  if  he  hid  sown  them  broadcast;  arise,  brother  husbandmen,  and 
show  him  that  the  few  he  reaps  have  been  only  drillea,  in  small,  dark, 
separate  holes,  shunning  the  light  of  day.  I  am  not  a  mere  practical 
agriculturist  like  Squire  Shovel,  but,  let  me  tell  you,  sons  of  the  soil, 
that  I  am  something  more.  I  am  the  advocate  of  every  measure  for 
fattening  the  farmer  without  stinting  the  meal  of  the  mechanic.  While  I 
thrust  my  hand  into  no  man's  pocket  for]  rent,  I  levy  no  distress  upon 
the  tythe-pigs  of  the  houseless  poor.  Anxious  to  relieve  all  classes  from 
pressure,  1  trample  upon  no  man's  com.  I  am  for  everything.  Not  only 
would  I  remove  your  civil  disabililies,  but  gladly  sweep  away  all  that  are 
uncivil.  My  principles,  in  a  word,  are  these :  to  humanise,  improve, 
elaborate,  and  enlarge  my  species ;  and  if  ever  the  destinies  of  this  great 
and  happy  country  should  be  entrusted  to  my  guidance — as  I  feel  assured 
they  one  day  will  be — rely  upon  it,  my  sea-girt  companions,  that  you 
will  then  have  at  the  heun  a  pilot  who  can  and  will  weather  she  storm. 
In  the  mean  rime,  brother  electors,  prepare  your  plumpers,  and  on  the 
day  of  election  record  them  for 

''  Your  obedient  and  fedthful  Servant, 

<<  Jolly  Gheen. 
"  Mephistopheles  Cottage,  St.  John^s  Wood, 
July  4,  1852;* 

''  What  do  you  think  of  that,  Mr.  Topcock  ?"  I  exclumed,  as  soon  as  I 
had  finished;  *^that  will  make  a  slight  sensation  in  Muffborough, 
I  fancy." 

^^  Slight,  sir !"  replied  my  agent,  on  whose  countenance  it  was  difficult 
to  say  what  emotion  was  uppermost ;  *' '  slight'  is  not  the  word — say  rather 
'stunning.'  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Green,  but  I  really  did  not  imagine-— 
though  I  was  in  some  degree  prepared — that  even  t/ou  could  have  pro- 
duced 60— so — so  remarkable  a  composition." 

'*  I  thought  not,"  I  observed,  with  an  air  of  quiet  triumph.  ''  You  are 
of  opinion,  then,  that  it  will  tell  ?*' 

<*  Perfectly,'*  returned  Mr.  Topcock;  ''it  is  exactly  what  an  election 
address  ought  to  be ;  grand  and  misty,  looming  large  with  possibilities, 
but  committing  you  to  nothing  ;  figurative,  vague,  and  eloquent  There 
is  nothing  in  that  address  that  the  other  side  can,  by  any  possibility,  lay 
hold  of.  I  call  it  as  fine  a  piece  of  that  sort  of  writing  as  the  human 
pen  is  capable  of  producing.  I  couldn't  have  done  it  myself.  Really,  the 
newspapers  ought  to  admit  it  for  nothing ;  but  they  won't,  that's  the 
worst  of  it ;  the  better  these  things  are  done,  the  more  they  make  you  pay 
for  'em." 

"  Well,  my  friend,"  said  I,  "  that  can't  be  helped.  Never  mind  the 
expense.     What  is  it  but  a  tribute  to  genius?" 

••  You're  right,  Mr.  Green.  You're  a  sort  of  person  I  do  like  to  do 
business  with.     By-the-by,  we  shall  want  a  little  more  of  that  balance  at 

Aug. — yoL.  xct.  no.  ccclxzz.  2  l 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


494  Mr.  Joify  Crreen*s  Accmmt  of  his 

GoiHiig^s.  There*B  petty  cash,  and  secret  B^vice^money,  and  simdrie^ 
you  know.  It's  all  noosenBe  to  talk  about  an  election  costing  noihinffm 
It  must  cost  something.  I  haven't  been  at  ttus  sort  of  thing  for  thirty 
yean  without  finding  tkatimiJ* 

<^  Don't  mention  it/'  I  readied.  '^  The  man  who  wouldn't  lay  down  hb 
eaah  for  his  country  is  unworthy  to  be  called  her  representatiTe.  How 
anch  do  you  want  ?" 

'^  A  noble  sentiment,  Mr.  Green.  How  much  ?  Suppose  we  ny— 
another— hey  ? — 'another  thousand  ?" 

Not  to  detain  the  public  with  financial  details,  let  it  soffioe  that  I  gave 
Mr.  Topcock  a  carte  Uanehe  for  conductbg  all  the  expenses  of  Ae 
dection.  A  little  private  memoranduai  also  passed  between  us,  by  wbidi 
I  bound  myself  to  lodge  to  his  credit  the  sum  of  five  hundred  pounds  the 
day  after  I  took  my  seat  in  the  House  of  Commons.  It  was  the  least  I 
eomd  do  for  one  who  was  exerting  himself  so  much  in  my  cause^  to  tha 
negleet,  as  he  said,  of  all  his  other  clients. 

''Now,  Mr.  Green,"  said  he,  as  he  put  up  his  pocket-book^  ^  I  have  a 
&Tonr  to  ask  of  yon.  You  must  dine  with  me  to-day.  I  want  to  introduce 
you  to  Smoaker,  the  leading  attorney  at  Mnffborough  ;  does  all  my  bosi* 
aess  there ;  happened  to  be  in  town  just  now  ;  the  very  man  to  be  chairman 
of  your  committee  ;  he'll  be  delighted  with  you,  and  you  with  him.  We'O 
settle  the  whole  plan  of  the  campaign  togeuier.  m  put  you  in  Smoaker^s 
hands,  and  then  the  sooner  you  go  to  the  oountxy  the  better." 

I  did  not  hesitate  to  accept  this  friendly  invitation,  and  a  very  pleasant 
dinner  we  had.  Topcock*s  claret  was  excellent,  and  Smoaker  and  I  soon 
came  to  an  understanding.  I  saw  that  he  was  just  the  man  for  my  purpose, 
and  drew  him  out  accoidingly.  Indeed,  so  completely  was  he  fascinated 
by  my  conversation  and  manners,  that  I  believe  there  was  nothing  in  the 
world  he  would  not  have  promised  to  do  for  me,  when,  after  shaking 
hands  a  great  many  times,  we  separated  for  the  evening. 

in. 

AFTER  A  TSEMENDOtTS  STRUOOLE,  I  WSTTE  HT8ELP  '^M.?." 

People  who  are  uoaccustomed  to  trace  effects  to  their  causes,  would 
have  felt  the  profouudest  astonishment  at  witnessing  the  electrical  effect 
which  my  presence  excited  in  Muffborough,  when,  on  the  third  day  after 
the  appearance  of  my  address  in  The  Muffborough  Gazette^  I  entered 
tliat  loyal  city.  Topcock  and  Smoaker  had  already  preceded  me,  and 
been  busy,  as  they  told  me,  in  canvassing  the  electors  ;  but  I  very  well 
knew  what  it  was  that  bad  so  suddenly  rendered  me  popular  amongst  the 
honest  and  unsophisticated  burgesses.  The  shafb  that  is  barbed  by  true 
eloquence  never  fails  to  hit  the  buU's-eye  of  the  public  mind ;  and  that 
mine  had  done  so  was  plain  to  the  meanest  apprehension.  To  what 
pther  cause  could  be  ascribed  the  demonstrations  in  my  favour  which 
greeted  me  at  every  turn  ?  Why  should  the  wives  of  even  the  humblest 
pf  the  electors  have  nut  on  new  gowns  on  the  very  day  of  my  arrival ; 
why  should  their  husbands  have  been  unceasingly  occupied  in  drinkiog 
my  health,  in  the  strongest  beer  that  the  tap  of  the  Green  Lion  afforded ; 
why  should  the  boys  in  the  streets  have  assembled  beneath  my  window^ 
sad  shouted  my  name  till  they  were  hoarse,  when  I  scattered  the  coppers 
fixr  which  they  so  madly  ftciambled  ? 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Eheiionfcr  Muffborough.  *'  495 

Bat  besides  these  publie  proofii  of  attachment  to  my  penou;  t-zdoeived 
ikkt  most  encouraging  assurances  from  my  agent.  Topcock  told  me  that 
he  had  paid  a  Tisit  to  every  one  of  the  two  hundred  and  sixty -five  regif- 
iered  electors^  all  of  whom  had  sworn  not  to  give  their  votes  to  my 
adversary,  leaving  it  pretty  certain  that  diey  were  intended  for  me. 

^*  The  Muffs,''  he  said,  ^  are  a  body  whom  it  is  not  difficult  to  persuade 
to  their  own  advantage.  They  see  in  you,  Mr.  Green,  a  thorough 
Liberal ;  and  I  have  taken  care  they  shall  feel  that  your  principles  are  so. 
A  narrow,  and,  as  I  may  term  it,  a  close-fisted  policy  is  not  the  thing  for 
the  men  of  Muffborough,  who  are  themselves  eminently  open-handed  ; 
they  would  ill  deserve  to  be  ten-pound  householders  if  they  were  not.  I 
believe,  when  the  Reform  Bill  was  carried,  the  assent  of  the  men  of  Muff- 
borough  to  that  valuable  measure  was  mainly  obtained  by  the  insertion  of 
the  ten-pound  clause.  I  think,  Mr.  Green,",  he  continued,  smilingly,  'Hhat 
I  can  promise  you  one-half  of  the  constituency ;  and  when  the  Man  in 
tiie  Moon  comes  out,  it  will  go  very  hard  if  we  can't  at  least  divide  the 
remainder." 

*'  The  Man  in  the  Moon !"  I  exclaimed ;  "  you  speak  in  riddles.  Be 
so  kind  as  to  explain." 

'^  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Green,"  he  replied,  "  that  is  one  of  our  little  mys- 
teries ;  the  Man  in  the  Moon  is  a  particular  friend  of  yours,  though 
you  may  not  happen  to  be  acquainted  with  him.  Every  one  knows 
Tom — hem — hem ;  what  I  mean  is,  that  he  is  a  distinguished  stranger, 
who  takes  a  great  interest  in  your  election ;  he  is  very  influential  with 
the  Muffs,  especially  the  ten-pounders.  Incog,,  Mr.  Green,  incog. ;  you 
understand  me." 

So  saying,  he  tapped  his  nose  significantly  with  his  forefinger,  and 
gave  me  two  or  three  expressive  winks,  as  much  as  to  say  that  the  Man 
in  the  Moon  was  somebody  who  must  be  nameless.  I  rapidly  compre- 
hended him,  and  saw  at  a  glance  that  he  was  alluding  to  one  of  the 
highest  personages  in  the  realm,  either  Pr — nee  Alb — ^rt  or  the  Pr — me 
M — ^n — St — ^r ;  but  reasons  of  state  of  course  kept  me  silent,  and,  remem- 
bering the  old  proverb,  I  merely  nodded  in  reply. 

My  committee,  who  dined  with  me  every  day  during  my  canvass,  and 
1^0  were  the  jolUest  set  of  fellows  I  ever  met  with,  were  in  the  highest 
spirits  at  the  brilliant  prospect  which  lay  before  me ;  and  Lawyer  Smoaker, 
as  he  coupled  my  name  with  the  new  House  of  Commons,  gave  it  as  his 
decided  opinion  that  it  only  rested  with  myself  to  turn  Mr.  Sh — w 
L — f — vre  out  of  the  Sp — k — r's  chair  on  the  very  first  night  of  the 
session. 

There  is  one  thing  which,  as  may  well  be  supposed,  I  did  not  omit,  in 
prosecuting  my  personal  canvass,  and  that  was  to  pay  my  respects  to  the 
softer  portion  of  my  constituents ;  neither  will  it  startle  the  public  to 
learn  that  my  efforts  were  highly  successful.  I  think  it  is  a  tolerably 
well-ascertained  fact  that  the  fair  sex  are  not  absolutely  impregnable,  and 
as  far  as  my  own  experience  goes — but  perhaps  I  may  be  excused  from 
dilating  on  this  subject,  discretion  being  my  motto  as  well  in  affaires  dt 
ctxur  as  in  political  warfare.  I  say  nothing,  therefore,  of  my  interview 
with  pretty  Mrs.  Sh — rtc — ke,  the  wife  of  the  chief  b — ^k — r  of  Muff- 
borough,  of  whom  I  ordered  a  hundred-weight  of  p — ^rl — m — ^nt — a 
neat  and  appropriate  idear— to  distribute  amongst  the  juvenile  population 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


■IS  ^olhf  GrMis,  Aeei>Hut  tf  his 

Mt  'y  Aeitber  shall  I  describe  the  scene  that  took  place  between 
.  ^o  raflcinating  rival  m — ^ll--n — ra,  Miss  B*-bb  of  the  H— gh-street, 
axkd  Miss  T--ck— r,  of  the  street  without  a  name,  when  they  quarrelled 
for  my  favours  (I  mean  my  political  ones,  though  I  might,  perhaps — but 
no  matter),  a  feud  which  I  healed  by  requesting  each  to  make  as  many 
as  she  could  find  hands  to  employ  in  the  work ;  nor  shall  the  public 
accuse  me  of  vaiiity  in  repeating  what  Mrs.  Sw — ^tbr— ^d,  the  buxom 
b — tch — r's  wife,  saul  about  my  ^  uncommon  pluck,"  when  I  paid  her  the 
compliment  of  requesting  an  unlimited  supply  of  r — mpst^ks  and 
k— an — ys  for  the  luncheons  at  the  '*  Green  Lion/'  on  the  day  when  the 
free-  and  independent  burgesses  were  called  upon  to  exercise  their  elec- 
toral rights.  It  may  be  enough  for  me  to  say,  that  I  won  all  hearts,  and 
that  the  name  of  Green  became  thenceforward  a  household  word  in 
Muffborough. 

The  day  of  nomination  at  length  arrived.  Although  I  knew  the  im- 
portance of  the  stake  for  which  I  was  playing,  and  how  entirely  my 
country's  welfare  depended  on  the  issue,  1  met  the  morning  with  an 
aspect  as  serene  as  that  of  nature  herself.  It  is  true  that  I  had  directed 
the  Boots  to  call  me  early,  for  I  was  desirous  of  going  over,  in  the  priva^ 
of  my  chamber,  the  heads  of  the  speech  which  I  was  shortly  to  deliver ; 
and  as  soon  as  he  had  performed  his  function,  I  sat  up  in  bed  for  the 
purpose.  I  had,  however,  scarcely  broken  ground  with  the  words, 
^^  Brother  Electors,"  when  I  heard  a  considerable  scuffling  and  pattering 
of  feet  on  the  pavement  beneath  my  bedroom  window,  which  looked  out 
upon  the  market-place.  My  impression  was,  that  some  of  the  most 
zealous  of  my  supporters  were  assembling  to  offer  me  a  serenade,  and  I 
paused  in  my  oration  to  listen  to  the  welcome  tribute;  but  though  I  heard 
the  sound  of  voices  ascending,  I  could  not  exactly  make  out  the  words.  I 
therefore  stole  quietly  out  of  bed,  and  gently  approaching  one  of  the 
windows,  raised  it  a  little,  while  I  concealed  myself  behind  the  curtain. 
The  sounds  arose  again ;  yet,  nearer  as  I  now  was  to  the  enthusiastic 
choristers,  I  seemed  as  far  off  as  ever  from  catching  the  meaning  of  the 
song.  The  Muffborough  dialect,  thought  I,  must  be  singularly  broad, 
thus  to  evade  the  acuteness  of  my  ear !  Again  I  listened,  but,  e.xcept  a 
kind  of  nasal  chant,  now  rising  clamorously,  and  then  subsiding  into  faint 
tones,  like  the  last  efforts  of  an  expiring  violin,  I  could  make  nothing  out 
of  it. 

"  I  will  take  a  peep  at  the  singers,"  said  I  to  myself,  and,  at  any  rate, 
see  if  I  cannot  understand  them.'* 

Cautiously  removing  my  nighcap,  that  I  might  not  be  caught  en  dis- 
habille, if  accidentally  discovered  by  any  of  the  Muffborough  ladies  who 
chanced  to  be  amongst  the  musicians,  I  peeped  from  behind  the  curtain ; 
but,  to  my  extreme  surprise,  not  a  human  being  was  visible,  though  the 
voices  were  louder  than  ever.  I  was  now  determined,  coule  qui  couie,  to 
find  out  who  the  serenaders  were,  and  fairly  thrusting  my  head  out  of  the 
window,  gazed  eagerly  up  and  down.  I  am  not  prone  to  superstition,  nor 
apt  to  believe  in  ocular  deceptions  ;  but  what  I  saw  was  either  preter- 
natural or  strangely  delusive,  for,  except  a  flock  of  cackling  geeie,  and  a 
few  grunting  black  pigs,  the  market-place  was  entirely  empty.  These 
annoying  brutes  expecting,  I  suppose,  that  I  had  come  to  feed  them, 
set  up  a  loud  noise  on  seeing  me ;  but  they  took  nothing  by  their  motion, 
for  I  slammed  the  window  down  in  their  faces  and  went  back  again  to 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


'      Ebethnfttr  Mujffborouffh.  497 

hedf  tboroaghlj  disgusted  with  ihe  iaterraption,  which  had  entirely 
driven  my  intended  speech  oat  of  my  head.  1  imagine,  after  this,  that  I 
must  have  fiillen  asleep,  for  the  next  thing  I  recollect  was  a  loud  knocking 
kt  my  door,  and  the  well-known  accents  of  Blithers,  informing  me  that 
nine  o'clock  had  stmck,  and  that  the  committee  were  waiting  hreakfiast 
for  me,  before  they  escorted  me  to  the  hustings. 

Of  course  I  made  short  work  of  my  toilette  when  I  found  myself  thus 
called  upon  by  ray  counti^,  and  in  less  than  ten  nunutes  I  was  encircled 
1>y  my  friends,  sustaining  nature  with  prime  rashers  o^  Muffborough 
bacon.  It  was  well  that  ^e  made  play ;  for  before  the  process  of  masti- 
cation had  been  ten  minutes  in  operation,  the  sound  of  music — real 
'music  this  time — was  heard,  accompanied  by  the  shouts  of  the  multitude. 
Smoaker  jumped  up  and  rushed  to  the  balcony.  It  was  my  own  band 
that  was  advancing  along  the  High-street,  like  an  avalanche  down  Mount 
Blanc.  As  quick  as  lightning  I  dashed  into  the  balcony  after  Smoaker, 
and  taking  off  my  green  velyet  cap,  waved  it  in  the  air,  while  I  uttered 
three  British  cheers.  The  MufFborough  men  took  up  the  signal,  and 
rent  the  air  with  their  cries,  while  at  the  same  moment  the  gidlant  band 
struck  up  the  well-known  melody  of  "  See  the  conquering  Hero  comes," 
a  compliment  which  t  acknowledged  by  saluting  and  cheering  more 
vigorously  than  ever.  The  cortege  speedily  assembled  in  front  of  the 
Green  Lion,  to  form  in  order  of  procession.  Smoaker's  activity  was  un- 
paralleled. He  was  here,  there,  and  everywhere,  in  a  moment:  now 
serrying  the  ranks  of  the  non-electors,  now  deploying  the  columns  of  the 
free  and  independent  burgesses ;  now  throwing  the  right  in  front,  now 
making  the  left  the  pivot.  Ten  o'clock  struck,  and  I  issued  from  the 
portico  of  the  Green  Lion,  radiant  with  animation  and  full  of  martial  fire. 
It  was  a  sea  of  green  in  every  direction  :  green  were  the  banners,  g^reen 
the  ribbons,  green  the  electors,  and  greener  than  all  myself.  If  I  had 
had  a  sword  by  my  side,  I  should  have  drawn  it  at  that  moment ;  but 
nn fortunately  I  was  not  standing  for  the  county,  so  there  was  no  pretext 
for  wearing  one.  En  revanche^  I  kissed  my  hand  and  smiled  upon  the 
ladies,  who  waved  their  kerchiefs  and  fluttered  their  ribbons  in  reply, 
while  the  men  of  MufiPborough  shouted  their  cri  de  guerre  of  "  Green 
for  ever  !" 

The  procession  then  moved  on.  First  came  a  phalanx  of  non-electors, 
three- and-three,  the  sacred  colour  of  the  Moslemah  streaming  from  their 
wideawakes,  and  brilliantly  contrasting  with  the  ensanguined  glow  of 
their  countenances.  Then  followed  my  brave  banner-bearers,  who  "  gave 
their  horse-tails  to  the  wind"  with  more  than  Moslem  energy.  The 
banners  themselves  were  worthy  of  the  utmost  admiration.  On  one  of 
them,  I  appeared  at  full  length  in  the  costume  of  the  infant  Hercules 
strangling  the  Hydra  of  Protection  in  his  gory  cradle;  on  another, 
armed  cap^a-pie,  and  with  my  lance  in  the  rest,  like  the  Knight  of  La 
Mancha,  I  was  charging  a  windmill,  a  severe  and  bitter  allegory,  intended 
to  typify  my  hostility  to  dear  bread ;  on  a  third,  I  was  represented  in  full 
British  pontificals,  trampling  on  a  triple  crown,  to  signify  my  horror  of 
Popery ;  and  on  a  fourth,  I  stood  forward  in  the  very  dress  which  I  then 
actually  wore,  while  a  scroll  floated  over  my  head,  on  which  was  inscribed, 
**  Behold  the  man  of  our  choice  I"  Next  came  the  band,  playing  the 
inspiring  air  of  "  Go  where  GJory  awaits  thee ;"  a  troop  of  real  electors 
followed,  two-and<-two,  and  then,  leaning  on  the  arms  of  Smoaker  and  my 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


498  Mr.  JoUy  Gnen's  Atcoomt  of  hit 

seconder,  appeared  the  Hero  of  the  Day  I     After  thu  it  is  seanel  j  wortb 
while  to  particularise  anybody  else. 

It  was  not  far  to  the  hustings^  but  owing  to  the  popolsr  enthusiasm 
which  caused  the  procession  to  halt  repeatedly,  it  was  some  time  befoce 
we  reached  them,  which  we  did,  it  seems,  simultaneously*  with  the  other 
party,  who  cut  but  a  very  sorry  figure,  the  only  allegory  they  oouU 
muster  being  conveyed  by  the  tune  of  '*  Hooray  for  the  Bonnets  of 
Bloo  !" — a  ridiculous  anaclironism,  which  might  have  answered  yery  wdl 
at  John  o'  Groat's  or  the  Land's  End,  but  was  quite  oat  of  place  in 
Muffborough.  It  would  have  formed  a  fine  subject  for  Vanderrelde  or 
Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  had  either  of  them  been  present,  the  moment  when 
I  first  encountered  my  antagonist  on  the  hustings,  which  my  money  had 
vaidfoTy  a  fact  which  he  little  knew,  or  he  would  have  trembled  where 
he  stood,  as,  indeed,  I  think  he  did.  We  glared  at  each  other  privately,  for 
a  moment,  beneath  the  shadow  of  our  head-pieces^  and  then,  with  r^y 
dissimulation,  converted  these  deadly  scowls  into  llie  semblance  of  a 
friendly  greeting. 

^'  I  am  at  home  here,"  said  I,  in  a  tone  of  deep  meaning  which  my 
adversary  was  unable  to  fathom.  ''  Animosity  is  for  the  battle-field.  Mr. 
Shovel,  accept  my  hand !" 

I  accompanied  these  words  with  the  proffer  of  my  stalwart  palm,  and 
the  magnanimity  of  my  conduct  elicited  deafening  shouts  from  the  mul- 
titude. Mr.  Shovel  shook  it  in  some  confusion,  and  then  retired  to  lus 
side  of  the  hustings. 

Being  the  older  man  of  the  two,  my  antagonist's  name  was  put  up  first 
He  was  proposed  by  Mr.  Poleaxe,  a  Conservative  butcher,  and  the  swoia 
foe  of  the  Liberal  Sweetbreads.  The  man  made  a  slaughtering  kind  of 
speech,  as  if  he  was  killing  a  calf,  instead  of  supporting  a  friend.  The 
seconder  was  a  farmer,  named  Gumpshire,  who  wore  a  very  bad  hat,  and 
talked  worse  language — but  it  was  quite  good  enough  for  the  occasion. 
Then  came  my  turn.  Smoaker  proposed  me.  Smoaker  was  eloquent ; 
Smoaker  was  strong  ;  I  could  hardly  have  done  it  better  myself.  My 
seconder  was  Mr.  Spinner,  the  eminent  wheelwright ;  and  he,  too,  turned 
the  agricultural  party  over  and  over,  as  if  they  had  been  so  much  hay, 
and  he  was  making  it. 

The  nominations  made,  Mr.  Shovel  stood  forward.  He  told  the  electors 
that  no  one  loved  Muffborough  so  well  as  he ;  and  splendidly  hooting  at 
him  in  reply,  they  asked  him  what  he  had  ever  done  for  it  ?  He  said  be 
was  for  preserving  all  the  institutions  of  the  country,  and  was  reminded 
of  being  an  unmitigated  game-preserver.  He  said  he  would  support 
the  Church,  and  straightway  was  asked  where  was  his  subscription  for  the 
steeple  ?  About  the  extension  of  the  franchise,  he  did  not  think  it  expe- 
dient     Here  he  was  interrupted  by  such  a  roar  of  impatience,  that 

every  syllable  he  afterwards  uttered  was  lost  in  the  din  ;  and  thoroughly 
discomfited  by  his  reception,  Mr.  Shovel  withdrew  to  devour  that  morti- 
fication which  was  increased  in  a  tenfold  degree  when  the  populax 
CAKDiDATE,  gracefully  bowing,  advanced  to  the  front  of  the  hustings. 

What  I  said  I  need  not  recapitulate.  The  arguments  I  made  use  of 
have  ever  since  furnished  the  Times  with  materials  for  leading  articles^ 
which  are  not  even  yet  exhausted ;  while  the  editor  of  the  Muffborough 
CrazetUf  who  was  standing  with  six  of  his  best  reporters  at  my  elboir, 
was  heard  to  declare,  that  for  wit  and  sarcasm,  and  brilliant  gladiatorid 


Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


Election  for  Muffberouyh.  499 

dispib^,  he  was  conTinoed  that  not  eren  the  present  Ch — nc— 11 — r  of 
the  Eich— q — ^r  was  a  match  fbr  me,  and  in  the  next  number  of  his 
paper  he  seriously  advised  him,  in  a  notice  to  correspondents,  to  look  to 
his  laurels.  At  the  close  of  my  speech  a  show  of  luuids  was  taken,  and 
dedared^  as  a  matter  of  coarse^  to  be  in  my  fayour;  on  which  a  poll 
was  demanded  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Shoyel.  Then  came  a  scene  of 
tremendous  confusion.  The  Blues  made  a  rush  at  the  hustings,  as  if 
with  the  intention  of  attacking  the  popular  candidate^  but  were  gallantly 
met  and  dnym  back  by  the  indomitable  Greens;  fisticufis  were  ex- 
changed, cabbage-stalks  darkened  the  air,  vituperatiTe  e|athets  flew 
about  like  wildfire,  and  at  one  moment  a  strong  disposition  showed  itself 
on  the  part  of  the  civic  authorities  to  read  the  Riot  Act,  a  course  which 
was  only  prevented  by  two  circumstances ;  first,  the  fact  that  there  were 
BO  troops  in  the  town  to  fire  upon  the  Blue  mob,  and  next,  that  the 
moment  the  subject  was  mentioned,  the  aforesaid  Blue  mob  took  to  iheir 
heels,  and  left  the  field  of  victory  to  the  triumphant  Greens. 

It  was  now  that  the  real,  stirring  business  which  had  thrown  me  upon 
ihe  regards  of  the  Nation  began,  and  my  marvellous  activity,  aided  in  a 
minor  degree  by  Topcock  and  Srooaker,  developed  itself.  As  I  descended 
from  the  hustings  to  the  tune  of  **  There's  a  good  time  oommg,  boys,'' 
Topcock  whispered  in  my  ear  that  the  Man  in  the  Moon  had  arrived ; 
**  but,"  he  added,  '*  I  recommend  you  not  to  notice  him  ;  he  knows  what 
he's  about.  Shovel's  party  is  stronger  than  I  thought  for,  so  our  friend 
will  have  to  lay  it  on  pretty  thick."  I  understood  diplomacy  too  well  to 
interfere  with  another  minister  s  department,  and  could  only  express  my 
{hanks  by  a  grateful  look.  '<  I  must  now,"  said  Topcock,  "  look  up  the 
outlying  voters :  we  must  get  all  the  doubtful  ones  first."  Space  does  not 
permit  me  to  describe  all  the  manoeuvres  which,  like  another  Hannibal, 
I  performed,  in  conjunction  with  Smoaker,  to  secure  the  unsophisticated 
Muffs,  who  would  otherwise  have  faUea  Tiotims  to  the  arts  of  the  opposite 
party ;  but  I  will  mention  one  instance.  Topcock,  by  means  of  an  argu- 
meut  which  he  assured  me  his  experience  had  always  found  success^, 
though  what  it  was  he  would  not  tell  roe,  had  obtained  the  promise  of  a 
vote  from  a  most  respectable  elector,  named  Porker,  whose  only  failing 
— ^if  it  could  he  called  one  during  the  late  hot  weather — was  a  manifesta- 
tion in  favour  of  strong  beer.  Mr.  Porker  resided  on  his  own  farm, 
eating,  drinking,  and  smoking,  like  another  Cincinnatus,  and  not  devoting 
himself  with  remarkable  energy  to  anything  else.  As  long  as  he  re- 
mained in  his  Ssbine  retreat,  it  was  evident  to  myself  and  Smoaker  that 
he  eould  not  be  depended  upon  to  go  to  the  poll.  His  inclination  and  his 
intellect,  feebly  as  it  glimmered,  would  have  led  him  to  record  his  vote 
in  favour  of  'Uhe  popular  candidate ;"  but  it  was  difficult  to  make  him 
understand  who  that  was,  and,  moreover,  he  might  be  waylaid,  if  he  set 
out  imaocompanied. 

On  the  evening  before  the  election,  having  given  it  out  that  I  was 
engaged  in  writing  despatches,  I  borrowed  a  cap  and  gown  from  the 
landlady  of  the  Green  Lion,  and,  slipping  out  by  a  private  way,  pro- 
ceeded to  the  residence  of  Mr.  Porker.  Accessible,  as  I  understood  he 
was,  to  female  blandishments,  I  commenced  operations  by  singing  the 
Irish  melody  of  ^'  Wake,  dearest,  wake,"  beneath  his  lattice,  wmch  soon 
brought  him  outside ;  and  once  across  his  threshold,  changing  the  air  to 
''Come  unto  these  yellow,  sands^"  I  inveigled  him  to  a  lonely  public 


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600  Mr.  Jolly  Green* s  Election  for  Muffhorough. 

house,  called  the  ''  Maffborough  Serpent,'*  where  Blithers,  and  two  or 
three  faithful  followers  whom  he  had  retained,  soon  persuaded  him  to 
taste  the  joys  of  the  flowing  can,  and  whiff  '<  the  gem-adorned  chibouque," 
to  such  an  extept  that  he  was  not  in  a  condition  to  return  home  that 
eyening.  In  the  mean  time  the  Shovellers  had  surrounded  Mr.  Porker^s 
domicile,  and  remamed  all  night  in  his  garden,  intending  to  grab  him  the 
first  thing  in  the  morning.  When  that  morning  came,  he  was  conducted 
from  'Hhe  Muff  borough  Serpent"  to  the  polling-booth,  and  the  first 
hui)fi^ess  who  testified  in  my  fovour  to  the  purity  of  election  was  Mr. 
Porker,  of  GruntwelL 

But  feminine  fiiscination  and  bairelled  beer  were  not  the  only  induce- 
ments held  out  to  make  the  men  of  Muffborough  take  a  statesmanlike 
▼iew  of  the  great  question  which  impended.  I  distributed  myself  amongst 
them,  and,  without  committing  mvself  by  a  single  definite  promise,  which 
would  hare  amounted  to  ''intimidation,''  threw  out  such  lures  of  colonial 
governments,  fat  livings,  military  commands,  and  judicial  appointments, 
that,  I  feel  proud  to  say  it,  I  must  have  gained  over  nearly  every  man 
who  afterwards  voted  for  me  ;  and  many  a  future  Archbishop  of  Canter- 
bury and  Duke  of  Wellington  is  at  this  moment  in  expectation  of  the 
episcopal  truncheon  or  the  military  mitre. 

Cool-headed  as  I  am  by  nature,  my  brain  still  whirls  when  I  think  of 
the  frantic  excitement  of  Mufil^orough  on  the  memorable  8th  of  July: 
how  at  one  moment  all  seemed  lost,  when  fat  Mrs.  Poleaxe,  in  her  bran 
new  carriage,  came  driving  in  from  her  *'  country  seat ;"  Marrowbone 
Hall,  vrith  a  dozen  turnip-feeding  farmers,  who,  at  the  very  last  moment, 
basely  deserted  me  for  Mr.  Shovel ;  and  how  their  defection  was  remedied 
when  Smoaker,  on  a  gallant  grey,  appeared  with  a  corUge  of  fifteen 
electoral  Bluchers,  whose  arrival  turned  the  Waterloo  of  Muffborough 
again  in  my  favour.  On  a  moderate  calculation,  I  made  seventy-two 
speeches  that  day,  each  under  the  inspiration  of  its  own  glass  of  brandy- 
and- water,  and  without  the  lucidity  of  my  brain  being  diverted  from  its 
accustomed  current.  At  length  four  o'clock  struck — the  last  man  was 
polled — the  returning  ofiicer  received  the  lists,  and,  to  the  maddening 
delight  of  the  patriots  of  Muffborough,  it  was  found  that  I  had  gained 
the  day  by  a  majority  of  one!  Tne  countenances  of  the  Shovellers 
fell,  and  the  Green  Band,  at  my  suggestion,  immediately  struck  up  the 
derisive  tune  of  ^  Oh,  dear,  what  can  the  matter  be !"  which  was  played, 
I  am  happy  to  say,  in  the  most  sardonic  manner  of  which  wind-instru- 
ments are  capable.  

I  am  now  reposing  on  my  laurels,  undisturbed  by  the  allegations  of 
"  The  Muffborough  Scorpion  "  that  my  election  was  g^ned  by  "  bribery 
and  corruption" — a  perfectly  absurd  accusation,  for  not  a  shilling  was 
given  by  me  to  a  single  elector,  nor  would  the  honest  fellows,  I  am  con- 
vinced, have  accepted  the  smallest  coin  of  the  realm  in  exchange  for 
their  unpurchasable  votes.  With  equal  contempt,  also,  I  treat  the  cnarge 
of  intimidation  in  the  case  of  Porker,  though  a  petition,  I  am  told,  is 
getting  up  to  unseat  me.  Thanks  to  my  r — ^y — 1  or  m — n — at — r — ^1 
friend,  the  Man  in  the  Moon,  I  am  firmer  in  the  saddle  than  my  enemies, 
imagine,  as  they  will  find  when  I  bring  in  my,  J)ill  for  making  the  present 
Parliament  perpetuaL 

XND  OF  VOL.  ZCV. 


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